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 FREDERICK- SCHILLER. 
 
 HISTORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS, 
 
 CONTINUED — TRIALS OF COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN AND WILHELM TELL, 
 
 HISTORICAL DRAMAS. 
 
 TRANSLA TED FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 LONDON: 
 BELL & DALDY, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1872. 
 
k 4 
 
 
 ft/ 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 
 AND CHARING CROSS. 
 
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 PEEFAC £. 
 
 Hit 
 
 A/ 
 
 On presenting this second Volume of his edition of Schiller's 
 Works, the Publisher thinks it necessary to say a few words 
 respecting the various translations comprised in it. 
 
 The Histoey of the Revolt of the Netheklands, the 
 first portion of which appeared in the former volume, was 
 translated by Lieut. E. B. Eastwick, and originally published 
 abroad for the use of students. But this translation, though 
 excellent, was too strictly literal for general reading, and has, 
 therefore, been carefully revised, and some portions entirely 
 re-written, by the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison. 
 
 The Camp of Wallenstein is translated by the late Mr 
 James Churchill, and first appeared in that able miscellany, 
 "Frafc ;r's Magazine;" the proprietor of which, Mr. G. W. 
 Nickisson, has kindly permitted its republication here. It is 
 an exceedingly happy transfusion of what has always been 
 deen. d the most untranslatable of Schiller's Works. 
 
 The Piccolomini and Death of Wallenstein, which 
 form the second and third parts of this great Dramatic 
 trilogy, are the admirable version of Mr. Coleridge, com 
 pleted by the addition of all those passages which he had 
 omitted, and by a restoration of Schiller's own arrangement 
 of the Acts and Scenes It is said, in defence of the 
 variations which exist between the German original and the 
 version given by Mr. Coleridge, that he translated from a 
 prompter's copy in manuscript, before the Drama had been 
 printed, and that Schiller himself subsequently altered it, 
 omitting some passages, adding others, and even engrafting 
 several of Mr. Coleridge's adaptations. However this may 
 be, the Publisher considers it advisable to give every line of 
 Coleridge's version, without the least alteration, ("especially 
 as it contains more than one fine passage not to be found in the 
 printed editions of Schiller,) and to add, in brackets, all those 
 portions (upwards of 250 lines) which have heretofore been 
 omitted. These are chiefly translated by G. F Richardson, 
 Esq., the translator of the poems of Korner. They will be 
 found at pages 188, 189, 195, 215, 216, 219, 221, 231, 236 
 245, 297, 300, 305, 323, 324, 325, 387, 389, and 416. 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 Wilhelm Tell is translated by Theodore Martin, Esq., 
 who is favourably known to the readers of Blackwood's Ma- 
 gazine, by his various contributions illustrative of Schiller 
 and other German poets. 
 
 It was intended to include Don Caklos in the present 
 volume, but the extent of that Drama rendered it imprac 
 ticable, and Tell has been substituted. Don Carlos, there 
 fore, will form the commencement of the next volume. 
 
 The Publisher, somewhat in the position of an Editor, 
 has taken considerable pains in superintending this edition 
 of Schiller through the press ; but does not pretend to any 
 merit on the score of its literary execution. At the same 
 time, he feels himself responsible for its faults, and in a 
 future edition, will gladly correct any which may be pointed 
 out. 
 
 York Street, November, 1846. 
 
 H. G. B 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 HISTOKY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS: 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 The Iconoclasts. — Civil War. — Resignation of William of Orange. — Decay 
 and Dispersion of the Grueusen League. — Alva's Armament and Expedition to 
 the Netherlands. — Alva's First Measures, and Departure of the Duchess of 
 Parma. — Page 1 to 87. 
 
 Trial and Execution of Counts Egmont and Horn. — Page 88 to 95. 
 Siege of Antwerp by the Prince of Parma. — Page 95 to 135. 
 
 HISTORICAL DRAMAS. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP ; by James Churchill— Page 141 to 176. 
 THE PICCOLOMINI ; by S. T. Coleridge {with Additions).— -Page 177 
 
 to 286. 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN ; by S. T. Coleridge {with Add* 
 
 tions).— Page 287 to 448. 
 WILHELM TELL ; by Theodore Martin.— Page 449 to 553. 
 
 %* An Alphabetical Index will be Aiven in a future Volume, 
 
THE 
 
 HISTOKY OF THE REVOLT 
 
 UNITED NETHERLANDS. 
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 THE ICONOCLASTS 
 
 The springs of this extraordinary occurrence are plainly not 
 to be sought for so far back as many historians affect to trace 
 them. It is certainly possible, and very probable that the 
 French Protestants did industriously exert themselves to 
 raise in the Netherlands a nursery for their religion, and to 
 prevent, by all means in their power, an amicable adjustment 
 of differences between their brethren in the faith in that 
 quarter and the King of Spain, in order to give that implacable 
 joe of their party enough to do in his own country. It is 
 natural, therefore, to suppose that their agents in the pro- 
 vinces left nothing undone to encourage their oppressed 
 brethren with daring hopes, to nourish their animosity against 
 the ruling church, and by exaggerating the oppression under 
 which they sighed, to hurry them imperceptibly into illegal 
 courses. It is possible, too, that there were many among the 
 confederates who thought to help out their own lost cause by 
 increasing the number of their partners in guilt ; who thought 
 they could not otherwise maintain the legal character of their 
 league, unless the unfortunate results, against which they had 
 earned the king, really came to pass ; and who hoped in the 
 general guilt of all to conceal their own individual criminality. 
 
2 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 It is, however, incredible that the outbreak of the Iconoclasts 
 was the fruit of ^ deliberate plan, preconcerted, as it is 
 alleged, at the convent of St. Truyen. It does not seem 
 likely, that in a solemn assembly of so many nobles and war- 
 riors, of whom the greater part were the adherents of popery, 
 an individual should be found insane enough to propose 
 an act of positive infamy, which did not so much injure any 
 religious party in particular, as rather tread under foot all 
 respect for religion in general, and even all morality too, and 
 which could have been conceived only in the mind of the vilest 
 reprobate. Besides, this outrage was too sudden in its out- 
 break, too vehement in its execution altogether, too monstrous 
 to have been any thing more than the offspring of the mo- 
 ment in which it saw the light, it seemed to flow so naturally 
 from the circumstances which preceded it, that it does not re 
 quire to be traced far back to remount to its origin. 
 
 A rude mob, consisting of the very dregs of the populace, 
 rendered brutal by harsh treatment, by sanguinaiy decrees 
 which dogged them in every tow T n, scared from place to place, 
 and driven almost to despair, were compelled to worship their 
 God, and to hide, like a work of darkness, the universal sacred 
 privilege of humanity. Before their eyes proudly rose the tem- 
 ples of the dominant church, in which their haughty brethren in- 
 dulged in ease their magnificent devotion, while they themselves 
 were driven from the walls, expelled, too, by the weaker number 
 perhaps, and forced, here in the wild woods, under the burning 
 heat of noon, in disgraceful secrecy to worship the same God — 
 cast out from civil society into a state of nature, and reminded, 
 in one dread moment, of the rights of that state ! The greater 
 their superiority of numbers, the more unnatural did their lot 
 appear — with wonder they perceive the truth. The free heaven, 
 the arms lying ready, the frenzy in their brains and fury in their 
 hearts combine to aid the suggestions of some preaching 
 fanatic ; the occasion calls, no premeditation is necessary, 
 where all eyes at once declare consent; the resolution is 
 formed ere yet the word is scarcely uttered ; ready for any un- 
 lawful act, no one yet clearly knows what, the furious band 
 rushes onwards. The smiling prosperity of the hostile reli- 
 gion insults the poverty of their own ; the pomp of the au- 
 thorized temples casts contempt on their proscribed belief ' 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHEELANDS. 8 
 
 every cross set up upon the highway, every image of the saints 
 that they meet, is a trophy erected over their humiliation, and 
 they all must be removed by their avenging hands. Fana- 
 ticism suggests these detestable proceedings, bat base passions 
 carry them into execution, 
 
 1566. The commencement of the attack on images took 
 place in West Flanders and Artois, in the districts between 
 Lys and the sea. A frantic herd of artisans, boatmen, and 
 peasants, mixed with prostitutes, beggars, vagabonds, and 
 thieves, about 300 in number, furnished with clubs, axes, 
 hammers, ladders, and cords, (a few only were provided with 
 swords or fire-arms,) cast themselves, with fanatical fury, into 
 the villages and hamlets near St. Omer, and breaking open 
 the gates of such churches and cloisters as they find locked, 
 overthrow everywhere the altars, break to pieces the images 
 of the saints, and trample them under foot. With their ex- 
 itement increased by its indulgence, and reinforced by new 
 ^mers, they press on, by the direct road, to Ypres, where 
 they can count on the support of a strong body of Calvinists, 
 Unopposed, they break into the cathedral, and mounting on 
 ladders, they hammer to pieces the pictures, hew down with 
 axes the pulpits and pews, despoil the altars of their orna- 
 ments, and steal the holy vessels. This example was quickly 
 followed in Menin, Comines, Verrich, Lille, and Oudenard ; 
 in a few days, the same fury spreads through the whole of 
 Flanders. At the very time, when the first tidings of this 
 occurrence arrived, Antwerp was swarming with a crowd of 
 houseless people, which the feast of the Assumption of the 
 Virgin had brought together in that city. Even the presence 
 of the Prince of Orange was hardly sufficient to restrain the 
 licentious mob, who burned to imitate the doings of their bre 
 thren in St. Omer ; but an order from the court, which sum- 
 moned him to Brussels, where the regent was just assembling 
 ner Council of State, in order to lay before them the royal let- 
 ters, ubliged him to abandon Antwerp to the outrages of this 
 band. His departure was the signal for tumult. Apprehensive 
 of tLe lawless violence, of which, on the very first day of the fes 
 tival, the mob had given indications in derisory allusions 
 the priests, after carrying about thu image of tnn Virgin 
 for a short time, bro jght it for safety tc >he choir, witnout, as 
 
 Bo 
 
4 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 formerly, setting it up in the middle of the church. This 
 incited some mischievous boys from among the people, to 
 pay it a visit there, and jokingly inquire, why she had so 
 soon absented herself from among them ? Others mounting 
 the pulpit mimicked the preacher, and challenged the Papists 
 to a dispute. A Roman Catholic waterman, indignant at this 
 jest, attempted to pull them down, and blows were exchanged 
 in the preacher's seat. Similar scenes occurred on the follow- 
 ing evening. The numbers increased, and many came already 
 provided with suspicious implements and secret weapons. At 
 last it came into the head of one of them to cry, " Long live 
 the Gueux ! " immediately the whole band took up the cry, 
 and the image of the Virgin was called upon to do the same. 
 The few Roman Catholics who were present, and who had 
 given up the hope of effecting anything against these despera- 
 does, left the church, after locking all the doors except one. So 
 soon as they found themselves alone, it was proposed to sing one 
 of the psalms in the new version, which was prohibited by the 
 government. While they were yet singing, they all, as at a 
 given signal, rushed furiously upon the image of the Virgin, 
 piercing it with swords and daggers, and striking off its head ; 
 thieves and prostitutes tore the great wax-lights from the al- 
 tar, and lighted them to the work. The beautiful organ of the 
 church, a masterpiece of the art of that period, was broken to 
 pieces, ail the paintings were effaced, the statues smashed to 
 atoms. A crucifix, the size of life, which was set up between 
 the two thieves opposite the high altar, an ancient and highly 
 valued piece of workmanship, was pulled to the ground with 
 cords, and cut to pieces with axes, while the two malefactors 
 at its side were respectfully spared. The holy wafers were 
 strewed on the ground and trodden under foot ; in the wine 
 used for the Lord's Supper, which was accidentally found there, 
 the health of the Gueux was drunk ; while with the holy oil 
 they rubbed their shoes. The very tombs were opened, and 
 the half- decayed corpses torn up and trampled on. All this 
 was done with as much wonderful regularity, as if each had 
 previously had his part assigned to him; every one worked 
 into his neighbour's hands ; no one, dangerous as the work 
 was, met with injury ; in the midst of thick darkness, which 
 the tapers only served to render more sensible, with heavy 
 masses falling on all sides, and though on the very topmost 
 
BE VOLT OF THE NETHERIANDS. 5 
 
 steps of the ladders, they scuffled with each other for the hu 
 nours of demolition — yet no one suffered the least injury. In 
 spite of the many tapers which lighted them below in their 
 villanous work, not a single individual was recognised. With 
 incredible rapidity was the dark deed accomplished ; a num 
 ber of men, at most a hundred, despoiled in a few hours a 
 temple of seventy altars — after St. Peter's at Eome, perhaps, 
 the largest and most magnificent in Christendom. 
 
 The devastation of the cathedral did not content them . 
 with torches and tapers purloined from it, they set out at 
 midnight to perform a similar work of havoc on the remain 
 ing churches, cloisters, and chapels. The destructive hordes 
 increased with every fresh exploit of infamy, and thieves were 
 allured by the opportunity. They carried away whatever 
 they found of value, the consecrated vessels, altar-cloths, mo- 
 ney, and vestments ; in the cellars of the cloisters they drank 
 to intoxication; to escape greater indignities, the monks and 
 nuns abandoned every thing to them. The confused noises 
 of these riotous acts had startled the citizens from their first 
 sleep ; but night made the danger appear more alarming than 
 ; t really was, and instead of hastening to defend their churches, 
 the citizens fortified themselves in their houses, and in terror 
 and anxiety awaited the dawn of morning. The rising sun at 
 length revealed the devastation which had been going on dur- 
 ing the night ; but the havoc did not terminate with the dark- 
 ness. Some churches and cloisters still remained uninjured ; 
 the same fate soon overtook them also. The work of destruc- 
 tion lasted three whole days. Alarmed at last, lest the frantio 
 mob, when it could no longer find anything sacred to destroy, 
 should make a similar attack on lay property, and plunder 
 their warehouses ; and encouraged, too, by discovering how 
 small was the number of the depredators, the wealthier citi- 
 zens ventured to show themselves in arms at the doors of 
 their houses. All the gates of the town were locked but one, 
 through which the Iconoclasts brake forth to renew the same 
 atrocities in the rural districts. On one occasion only, during 
 all this time, did the municipal officers venture to exert their 
 authority ; so strongly were they held in awe by the superior 
 power of the Calvinists, by whom, as it was believed, this mob 
 of miscreants was hired. The injury inflicted by this work of 
 devastation was incalculable. In the church of the Virgin, it 
 
Oi H1ST0EY OF THE 
 
 was estimated at not less than 400,000 gold florins. Many 
 precious works of art were destroyed ; many valuable manu- 
 scripts ; many monuments of importance to history and to di- 
 plomacy were thereby lost. The city magistrate ordered the 
 plundered articles to be restored on pain of death ; in enforc- 
 ing this restitution, he was effectually assisted by the preachers 
 of the Reformers, who blushed for their followers. Much 
 was in this manner recovered, and the ringleaders of the mob, 
 less animated, perhaps, by the desire of plunder, than by 
 fanaticism and revenge, or perhaps being ruled by some 
 unseen head, resolved, for the future, to guard against these 
 excesses, and to make their attacks in regular bands and 
 in better order. 
 
 The town of Ghent, meanwhile, trembled for a like destiny. 
 Immediately on the first news of the outbreak of the Icono- 
 clasts in Antwerp, the magistrate of the latter town, with 
 the most eminent citizens, had bound themselves to repel 
 by force the church-spoilers ; when this oath was proposed to 
 the commonalty also, the voices were divided, and many de- 
 clared openly, that they were by no means disposed to hinder 
 so devout a work. In this state of affairs, the Roman Catholic 
 clergy found it advisable to deposit in the citadel the most 
 precious moveables of their churches, and private families 
 were permitted, in like manner, to provide for the safety of 
 offerings which had been made by their ancestors. Mean- 
 while, all the services were discontinued, the courts of justice 
 were closed; and like a town in momentary danger of being 
 stormed by the enemy, men trembled in expectation of what 
 was to come. At last, an insane band of rioters ventured 
 to send delegates to the governor, with this impudent mes- 
 sage : " They were ordered," they said, " by their chiefs, 
 to take the images out of the churches, as had been done in 
 the other towns. If they were not opposed, it should be done 
 quietly, and with as little injury as possible, but otherwise 
 they would storm the churches;" nay, they went so far in 
 their audacity, as to ask the aid of the officers of justice there* 
 in. At first, the magistrate was astounded at this demand ; 
 upon reflection, however, and in the hope that the presence 
 of the officers of law would perhaps restrain their excesses, be 
 did not scruple to grant their request. 
 
 In Tournay, the churches were despoiled of their ornaments 
 
REVOLT OB THE NETHERLANDS. 7 
 
 within sight of the garrison, who could not be induced to 
 march against the Iconoclasts. As the latter had been told 
 that the gold and silver vessels, and other ornaments of 
 the church, were buried underground, they turned up the 
 whole floor, and exposed, among others, the body of the 
 Duke Adolph of Gueldres, who fell in battle at the head 
 of the rebellious burghers of Ghent, and had been buried 
 here in Tournay. This Adolph had waged war against his 
 father, and had dragged the vanquished old man some miles 
 barefoot to prison — an indignity which Charles the Bold 
 afterwards retaliated on him. And now, again, after more than 
 half a century, fate avenged a crime against nature by another 
 against religion ; fanaticism was to desecrate that which was 
 holy, in order to expose once more to execration the bones of 
 a parricide. Other Iconoclasts from Valenciennes united 
 themselves with those of Tournay, to despoil all the cloisters 
 of the surrounding district, during which a valuable library, 
 the accumulation of centuries, was destroyed by fire The 
 evil soon penetrated into Brabant, also Malines, Herzogen- 
 busch, Breda, and Bergen-op-Zoom experienced the same fate. 
 The provinces Namur and Luxemburg, with a part of Artois 
 and of Hainault, had alone the good fortune to escape the con- 
 tagion of these outrages. In the short period of four or five 
 days, 400 cloisters were plundered in Brabant and Flanders 
 alone. The northern Netherlands were soon seized with the 
 same mania which had raged so violently through the south- 
 ern. The Dutch towns, Amsterdam, Leyden, and Graven- 
 haag, had the alternative of either voluntarily stripping their 
 churches of their ornaments, or of seeing them violently torn 
 from them ; the determination of their magistrates saved 
 Delft, Haarlem, Gouda, and Rotterdam from the devastation. 
 The same acts of violence were practised also in the islands of 
 Zealand ; the town of Utrecht, and many places in Overyssei 
 and Groningen suffered the same storms. Friesland was pro- 
 tected by the Count of Aremberg, and Gueldres by the Count 
 of Megen from a like fate. 
 
 An exaggerated report of these disturbances which came in 
 from the provinces, spread the alarm to Brussels, where the 
 regent had just made preparations for an extraordinary session 
 of the Council of State. Swarms of Iconoclasts already pene« 
 trated into Brabant; and the metropolis, where they were cer 
 
8 HISTOET OF THE 
 
 tain of powerful support, was threatened by them with a renewal 
 of the same atrocities then under the very eyes of majesty. 
 The regent, in fear for her personal safety, which even in the 
 heart of the country, surrounded by provincial governors and 
 knights of the Fleece, she fancied insecure, was already medi- 
 tating a flight to Mons, in Hainault, which town the Duke of 
 Arschot held for her as a place of refuge, that she might not be 
 driven to any undignified concession by falling into the power 
 of the Iconoclasts. In vain did the knights pledge life and 
 blood for her safety, and urgently beseech her not to expose 
 them to disgrace by so dishonourable a flight, as though they 
 were wanting in courage or zeal to protect their princess ; to 
 no purpose did the town of Brussels itself supplicate her not to 
 abandon them in this extremity, and vainly did the Council of 
 State make the most impressive representations that so pusilla- 
 nimous a step would not fail to encourage still more the inso- 
 lence of the rebels; she remained immoveable in this desperate 
 condition. As messenger after messenger arrived to warn her 
 that the Iconoclasts were advancing against the metropolis, she 
 issued orders to hold every thing in readiness for her flight, 
 which was to take place quietly with the first approach of 
 morning. At break of day, the aged Viglius presented him- 
 self before her, whom, with the view of gratifying the nobles, 
 she had been long accustomed to neglect. He demanded to 
 know the meaning of the preparations he observed, upon which 
 she at last confessed, that she intended to make her escape, 
 and assured him that he would himself do well to secure his 
 own safety by accompanying her. " It is now two yeai's," said 
 the old man to her, "that you might have anticipated these 
 results. Because I have spoken more freely than your cour- 
 tiers, you have closed your princely ear to me, which has 
 been open only to pernicious suggestions." The regent al- 
 lowed tfyat she had been in fault, and had been blinded by an 
 appearance of probity ; but that she w T as now driven by neces 
 sity. " Are you resolved," answered Yiglius, " resolutely to 
 insist upon obedience to the royal commands?" " I am." 
 answered the duchess. " Then have recourse to the great 
 secret of the art of government, to dissimulation, and pre- 
 tend to join the princes until, with their assistance, you have 
 repelled this storm. Show them a confidence, which you are far 
 from feeling in your heart. Make them take an oath to you. 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 9 
 
 that they will make common cause in resisting these disorders. 
 Trust those, as your friends, who show themselves willing to 
 do it ; . but be careful to avoid frightening away the others by 
 contemptuous treatment?." Viglius kept the regent engaged in 
 conversation until the princes arrived, who he was quite certain 
 would in nowise consent to her flight. When they appeared, he 
 quietly withdrew, in order to issue commands to the town council 
 to close the gates of the city, and prohibit egress to every one 
 connected with the court. This last measure effected more 
 than all the representations had done. The regent, who saw 
 herself a prisoner in her own capital, now yielded to the 
 persuasions of the nobles, who pledged themselves to stand 
 by her to the last drop of blood. She made Count Mans- 
 feld commandant of the town, who hastily increased the 
 garrison, and armed her whole court. 
 
 The State Council was now held, who finally came to a reso- 
 lution, that it was expedient to yield to the emergency; to 
 permit the preachings in those places where they had already 
 commenced ; to make known the abolition of the Papal Inqui- 
 sition ; to declare the old edicts against the heretics repealed, 
 and before all things, to grant the required indemnity to the 
 confederate nobles without limitation or condition. At the 
 same time the Prince of Orange, Counts Egmont and Horn, 
 with some others were appointed to confer on this head with 
 the deputies of the league. Solemnly and in the most unequi- 
 vocal terms, the members of the league were declared free from 
 all responsibility, by reason of the petition which had been pre- 
 sented, and all royal officers and authorities were enjoined to 
 act in conformity with this assurance, and neither now, nor for 
 the future, to inflict any injury upon any of the confederates 
 on account of the said petition. In return, the confederates 
 bound themselves to be true and loyal servants of his majesty, 
 to contribute to the utmost of their power to the re-establish- 
 ment of order and the punishment of the Iconoclasts, to 
 prevail on the people to lay down their arms, and to afford 
 active assistance to the king against internal and foreign 
 enemies. Securities, formally drawn up and subscribed by 
 the plenipotentiaries of both sides, were exchanged between 
 them ; the letter of indemnity, in particular, was signed by 
 the duchess with her own hand, and attested by her seal 
 It was only after a severe struggle, and with tears in he* 
 
10 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 eyes, that the regent, as she tremblingly confessed to tha 
 king, was at last induced to consent to this painful step. She 
 threw the whole blame upon the nobles, who had kept her a 
 prisoner in Brussels and compelled her to it by force. Above 
 all, she complained bitterly of the Prince of Orange. 
 
 This business accomplished, all the governors hastened to 
 their provinces; Egmont to Flanders, Orange to Antwerp. In 
 the latter city the Protestants had seized the despoiled and 
 plundered churches, and, as if by the rights of war, had taken 
 possession of them. The prince restored them to their lawful 
 owners, gave orders for their repair, and re-established in 
 them the Roman Catholic form of worship. Three of the 
 Iconoclasts, who had been convicted, paid the penalty of 
 their sacrilege on the gallows ; some of the rioters were ban- 
 ished, and many others underwent punishment. Afterwards 
 he assembled four deputies of each dialect, or nations, as 
 they were termed, and agreed with them, that as the 
 approaching winter made preaching in the open air im- 
 possible, three places within the town should be granted 
 them, where they might either erect new churches, or convert 
 private houses to that purpose That they should there 
 perform their service every Sunday and holiday, and always 
 at the same hour, but on no other days. If, however, no 
 holiday happened in the week, Wednesday should be kept by 
 them instead. No religious party should maintain more than 
 two clergymen, and these must be native Netherlanders, or 
 at least have received naturalization from some considerable 
 town of the provinces. All should take an oath to submit 
 in civil matters to the municipal authorities and the Prince 
 of Orange. They should be liable, like the other citizens, to 
 all imposts. No one should attend sermons armed ; a sword, 
 however, should be allowed to each. No preacher should 
 assail the ruling religion from the pulpit, nor enter upon 
 controverted points, beyond what the doctrine itself rendered 
 unavoidable, or what might refer to morals. No psalm 
 should be sung by them out of their appointed district. At 
 the election of their preachers, churchwardens and deacons, 
 as also at all their other consistorial meetings, a person from 
 the government should on each occasion be present, to report 
 their proceedings to the prince and the magistrate. As to 
 all other points, they should enjoy the same protection as the 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. li 
 
 riling religion. This arrangement was to hold good until 
 the king, with consent of the states, should determine other 
 wise ; but then it should he free to every one to quit the 
 country with his family and his property. From Antwerp 
 the prince hastened to Holland, Zealand, and Utrecht, in 
 order to make there similar arrangements for the restoration 
 of peace ; Antwerp, however, was, during his absence, en- 
 trusted to the superintendence of Count Hogstraten, who was 
 a mild man, and although an adherent of the League, had 
 never failed in loyalty to the king. It is evident that in 
 this agreement the prince had far overstepped the powers 
 entrusted to him, and though in the service of the king, had 
 acted exactly like a sovereign lord. But he alleged in 
 excuse, that it would be far easier to the magistrate to watch 
 these numerous and powerful sects, if he himself interfered 
 in their worship, and if this took place under his eyes, than 
 if he were to leave the sectarians to themselves in the 
 open air. 
 
 In Gueldres, Count Megen showed more severity, and 
 entirely supressed the Protestant sects and banished all their 
 preachers. In Brussels, the regent availed herself of the 
 advantage derived from her personal presence, to put a stop 
 to the public preaching, even outside the town. When, in 
 reference to this, Count Nassau reminded her, in the name of 
 the confederates, of the compact which had been entered 
 into, and demanded if the town of Brussels had inferior rights 
 to the other towns ? she answered, if there were public preach- 
 ings in Brussels before the treaty, it was not her work if they 
 were now discontinued. At the same time, however, she 
 secretly gave the citizens to understand, that the first who 
 should venture to attend a public sermon should certainly 
 be hung. Thus she kept the capital at least faithful to her. 
 
 It was more difficult to quiet Tournay, which office was 
 committed to Count Horn, in the place of Montigny, to 
 whose government the town properly belonged. Horn com- 
 manded the Protestants to vacate the churches immediately, 
 |od to content themselves with a house of worship outside 
 the walls. To this their preachers objected, that the churches 
 were erected for the use of the people, by which term, 
 { they said, not the heads but the majority were meant 
 If they were expelled from the Roman Catholic churches, it 
 
12 HISTOEY OF THE 
 
 was at least fair that they should be furnished with money for 
 erecting churches of their own. To this the magistrate 
 replied, even if the Catholic party was the weaker, it was 
 indisputably the better. ' The erection of churches should not 
 be forbidden them ; they could not, however, after the injury 
 which the town had already suffered from their brethren, the 
 Iconoclasts, very well expect that it should be further bur- 
 dened by the erection of their churches. After long quar- 
 relling on both sides, the Protestants contrived to retain 
 possession of some churches, which, for greater security, they 
 occupied with guards. In Valenciennes, too, the Protestants 
 refused submission to the conditions which were offered to 
 them through Philip St. Aldegonde, Baron of Noircarmes, to 
 whom, in the absence of the Marquis of Bergen, the govern- 
 ment of that place was entrusted. A reformed preacher, 
 La Grange, a Frenchman by birth, who by his eloquence had 
 gained a complete command over them, urged them to insist 
 on having churches of their own within the town, arid to 
 threaten in case of refusal to deliver it up to the Hugue- 
 nots. A sense of the superior numbers of the Calvinists, 
 and of their understanding with the Huguenots, prevented 
 the governor adopting forcible measures against them. 
 
 Count Egmont also, to manifest his zeal for the king's ser- 
 vice, did violence to his natural kind-heartedness. Introducing 
 a garrison into the town of Ghent, he caused some of the most 
 refractory rebels to be put to death. The churches were re- 
 opened, the Roman Catholic worship renewed, and all fo- 
 reigners, without exception, ordered to quit the province. To 
 the Calvinists, but to them alone, a site was granted outside 
 the town for the erection of a church. In return, they 
 were compelled to pledge themselves to the most rigid 
 obedience to the municipal authorities, and to active co- 
 operation in the proceedings against the Iconoclasts. He 
 pursued similar measures through all Flanders and Artois. 
 One of his noblemen, John Cassembrot, Baron of Beckerzeel, 
 and a Leaguer, pursuing the Iconoclasts at the head of some 
 horsemen of the League, surprised a band of them, just as they 
 were about to break into a town of Hainault, near Grammont, 
 in Flanders, and took thirty of them prisoners, of whom 
 twenty-two were hung upon the spot, and the rest whipped 
 out of the province. 
 
EEVOLT OF THE NETHEELANDS. IS 
 
 Services of such importance, one would have thought, 
 scarcely deserved to he rewarded with the displeasure of the 
 king ; what Orange, Egmont, and Horn performed on this 
 occasion, evinced at least as much zeal, and had as beneficial 
 a result, as anything that was accomplished by Noircarmes, 
 Megen, and Aremberg, to whom the king vouchsafed to show his 
 gratitude both by words and deeds. But their zeal, their ser- 
 vices, came too late. They had spoken too loudly against his 
 edicts, had been too vehement in their opposition to his mea 
 sures, had insulted him too grossly in the person of his minis- 
 ter Granvella, to leave room for forgiveness. No time, no 
 repentance, no atonement, however great, could efface this 
 one offence from the memory of their sovereign. 
 
 Philip lay sick at Segovia, when the news of the out- 
 break of the Iconoclasts, and the uncatholic agreement entered 
 into with the Eeformers, reached him. At the same time, the 
 regent renewed her urgent entreaty for his personal visit, 
 of which also all the letters treated, which the President 
 Viglius exchanged with his friend Hopper. Many also of 
 the Belgian nobles addressed special letters to the king, 
 as, for instance, Egmont, Mansfeld, Megen, Aremberg, Noir- 
 carmes, and Barlaimont, in which they reported the state 
 of their provinces, and at once explained and justified the 
 arrangements they had made with the disaffected. Just at 
 this period a letter arrived from the German Emperor, in 
 which he recommended Philip to act with clemency towards 
 his Belgian subjects, and offered his mediation in the matter. 
 He had also written direct to the regent herself in Brussels, 
 and added letters to the several leaders of the nobility, 
 which, however, were never delivered. Having conquered the 
 first anger which this hateful occurrence had excited, the king 
 referred the whole matter to his council. 
 
 The party of Granvella, which had the preponderance in 
 the council, was diligent in tracing a close connexion between 
 the behaviour of the Flemish nobles and the excesses of the 
 church desecrators, which showed itself in the similarity of 
 the demands of both parties, and especially the time which 
 the latter chose for their outbreak. In the same month, they 
 observed, in which the nobles had sent in their three articles 
 of pacification, the Iconoclasts had commenced their work; 
 on the evening of the very day that Orange quitted Antwerp, 
 
J 4 HISTORY OF 1 HE 
 
 the churches, too, were plundered. During the whole tumult 
 not a finger was lifted to take up arms ; all the expediei ta 
 employed were invariably such as turned to the advantage of 
 the sects, while, on the contrary, all others were neglected 
 which tended to the maintenance of the pure faith. Many of 
 the Iconoclasts, it was further said, had confessed that all 
 that they had done was with the knowledge and consent of the 
 princes ; though surely nothing was more natural, than for 
 such worthless wretches to seek to screen with great names a 
 crime which they had undertaken solely on their own account. 
 A writing also was produced, in which the high nobility were 
 made to promise their services to the " Gueux," to procure 
 the assembly of the States General, the genuineness of which, 
 however, the former strenuously denied. Four different se- 
 ditious parties were, they said, to be noticed in the Nether- 
 lands, which were all more or less connected with one another, 
 and all worked towards a common end. One of these, was 
 those bands of reprobates who desecrated the churches ; a 
 second consisted of the various sects who had hired the former 
 to perform their infamous acts ; the " Gueux," who had 
 raised themselves to be the defenders of the sects, were the 
 third ; and the leading nobles, who were inclined to the 
 " Gueux ". by feudal connexions, relationship, and friendship, 
 composed the fourth. All, consequently, were alike fatally 
 infected, and all equally guilty. The government had not 
 merely to guard against a few isolated members ; it had to 
 contend with the whole body. Since, then, it was ascertained 
 that the people were the seduced party, and the encourage- 
 ment to rebellion came from higher quarters, it would be wise 
 and expedient to alter the plan hitherto adopted, which now 
 appeared defective in several respects. Inasmuch as all classes 
 had been oppressed without distinction, and as much of se 
 verity shown to the lower orders as of contempt to the 
 nobles, both had been compelled to lend support to one an- 
 other ; a" party had been given to the latter, and leaders to 
 the former. Unequal treatment seemed an infallible expe- 
 dient to separate them ; the mob, always timid and indolent 
 when not goaded by the extremity of distress, would very 
 soon desert its adored protectors, and quickly learn to see in 
 their fate well-merited retribution, if only it was not driven 
 to share it with them. It was therefore proposed to the king 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 1£ 
 
 to treat the great multitude for the future with more leniency, 
 and to direct all measures of severity against the leaders of 
 the faction. In order, however, to avoid the appearance of a 
 disgraceful concession, it was considered advisable to accept 
 the mediation of the Emperor, and to impute to it alone, and 
 not to the justice of their demands, that the king, out of pure 
 generosity, had granted to his Belgian subjects as much as 
 they asked. 
 
 The question of the king's personal visit to the provinces 
 was now again mooted, and all the difficulties which had for- 
 merly been raised on this head, appeared to vanish before 
 the present emergency. " Now," said Tyssenacque and 
 Hopper, " the juncture has really arrived at which the 
 king, according to his own declaration, formerly made to 
 Count Egmont, will be ready to risk a thousand lives. To 
 restore quiet to Ghent, Charles V. had undertaken a trouble- 
 some and dangerous journey through an enemy's country. 
 This was done for the sake of one single town ; and now 
 the peace, perhaps even the possession, of all the United Pro- 
 vinces was at stake." This was the opinion of the majority; 
 and the journey of the king was looked upon as a matter from 
 which he could not possibly any longer escape. 
 
 The question now was, whether he should enter upon it 
 with a numerous body of attendants, or with few ; and here 
 the Prince of Eboli and Count Figueroa were at issue with 
 the Duke of Alva, as their private interests clashed. If the 
 king journeyed at the head of an army, the presence of the 
 Duke of Alva would be indispensable, who, on the other hand, 
 if matters were peaceably adjusted, would be less required, and 
 must make room for his rivals. "An army," said Figueroa, 
 who spoke first, " would alarm the princes, through whose 
 territories it must march, and perhaps even be opposed by 
 them ; it would, moreover, unnecessarily burden the pro- 
 vinces for whose tranquillization it was intended, and add a 
 new grievance to the many which had already driven the 
 people to such lengths. It would press indiscriminately upon 
 all of the king's subjects, whereas a court of justice, peaceably 
 administering its office, would observe a marked distinction 
 between the innocent and the guilty. The unwonted violence 
 of the former course would tempt the leaders of the faction 
 to take a more alarming view of their behaviour, in which 
 
16 HISTOKY OF THE 
 
 wantonness and levity had the chief share, and consequently 
 induce them to proceed with deliberation and union; the^ 
 thought of haying forced the king to such lengths would 
 plunge them into despair, in which they would be ready to 
 undertake anything. If the king placed himself in arms 
 against the rebels, he would forfeit the most important ad- 
 vantage which he possessed over them, namely, his authority 
 as sovereign of the country, which would prove the more 
 powerful in proportion as he showed his reliance upon that 
 alone. He would place himself thereby, as it were, on a 
 level with the rebels, who, on their side, would not be at 
 a loss to raise an army, as the universal hatred of the Spanish 
 forces would operate in their favour with the nation. By this 
 procedure, the king would exchange the certain advantage 
 which his position as sovereign of the country conferred upon 
 him, for the uncertain result of military operations, which, 
 result as they might, would of necessity destroy a portion of 
 his own subjects. The rumour of his hostile approach would 
 outrun him time enough to allow all who w T ere conscious of a 
 bad cause to place themselves in a posture of defence, and to 
 combine and render availing both their foreign and domestic 
 resources. Here, again, the general alarm would do them 
 important service ; the uncertainty who would be the first 
 object of this warlike approach, would drive even the less 
 guilty to the general mass of the rebels, and force those to 
 become enemies to the king, who otherwise would never 
 have been so. If, however, he was coming among them with- 
 out such a formidable accompaniment ; if his appearance was 
 less that of a sanguinary judge than of an angry parent, the 
 courage of all good men would rise, and the bad would perish 
 in their own security. They would persuade themselves what 
 had happened was unimportant, that it did not appear to the 
 king of sufficient moment to call for strong measures. They 
 wished, if they could, to avoid the chance of ruining, by acts 
 of open violence, a cause which might perhaps yet be saved ; 
 consequently, by this quiet, peaceable method, every thing 
 would be gained, which by the other would be irretrievably 
 lost; the loyal subject would in no degree be involved in the 
 same punishment with the culpable rebel ; on the latter alone 
 would the whole weight of the royal indignation descend 
 Lastly, the enormous expenses would be avoided, which the 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 11 
 
 tranport of a Spanish army to those distant regions would 
 occasion. 
 
 '" But," began the Duke of Alva, " ought the injury of some 
 few citizens to be considered, when danger impends over the 
 whole ? Because a few of the loyally disposed may suffer 
 wrong, are the rebels therefore not to be chastised ? The 
 offence has been universal, why then should not the pun- 
 ishment be the same? What the rebels have incurred by 
 their actions, the rest have incurred equally by their supine- 
 ness. Whose fault is it but theirs, that the former have? 
 so far succeeded? Why did they not promptly oppose 
 their first attempts ? It is said, that circumstances were 
 not so desperate as to justify this violent remedy; but who 
 will ensure us that they will not be so, by the time the 
 king arrives, especially when, according to every fresh de 
 spatch of the regent, all is hastening with rapid strides to a 
 ruinous consummation ? Is it a hazard we ought to run, to 
 leave the king to discover on his entrance into the provinces 
 the necessity of his having brought with him a military force ? 
 It is a fact only too well established, that the rebels have secured 
 foreign succours which stand ready at their command on the 
 first signal ; will it then be time to think of preparing for 
 war, when the enemy pass the frontiers ? Is it a wise risk 
 to rely for aid upon the nearest Belgian troops, when their 
 loyalty is so little to be depended upon ? And is not the 
 regent perpetually reverting in her despatches to the fact, 
 that nothing but the want of a suitable military force has 
 hitherto hindered her from enforcing the edicts, and stopping 
 the progress of the rebels? A well- disciplined and formi- 
 dable army alone will disappoint all their hopes of maintain- 
 ing themselves in opposition to their lawful sovereign, and 
 nothing but the certain prospect of destruction will make 
 them lower their demands. Besides, without an adequate 
 force, the king cannot venture his person in hostile countries; 
 he cannot enter into any treaties with his rebellious subjects 
 which would not be derogatory to his honour." 
 
 The authority of the speaker gave preponderance to 
 his arguments, and the next question was, when the king 
 should commence his journey, and what road he should take. 
 » As the voyage by sea was on every account extremely hazard 
 
 o 
 
18 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 oas, he had no other alternative but either to proceed thither 
 through the passes near Trent across Germany, or to pene- 
 trate from Savoy over the Apennine Alps. The first route 
 would expose him to the danger of the attack of the German 
 Protestants, who were not likely to view with indifference the 
 objects of his journey, and a passage over the Apennines was 
 at this late season of the year not to be attempted. More- 
 over, it would be necessary to send for the requisite galleys 
 from Italy, and repair them, which would take several months. 
 Finally, as the assembly of the Cortes of Castile, from which 
 he could not well be absent, was already appointed for Decem- 
 ber, the journey could not be undertaken before the spring. 
 Meanwhile, the regent pressed for explicit instructions how 
 she was to extricate herself from her present embarrassment, 
 without compromising the royal dignity too far ; and it was 
 necessary to do something in the interval, till the king could 
 undertake to appease the troubles by his personal presence. 
 Two separate letters were therefore despatched to the duchess ; 
 one public, which she could lay before the states and the 
 council chambers, and one private, which was intended for 
 herself alone. In the first, the king announced to her his 
 restoration to health and the fortunate birth of the Infanta, 
 Clara Isabella Eugenia, afterwards wife of the Archduke Al- 
 bert of Austria, and Princess of the Netherlands. He de- 
 clared to her his present firm intention to visit the Nether- 
 lands in person, for which he was already making the neces- 
 sary preparations. The assembling of the states he refused, 
 as he had previously done. No mention was made in this 
 letter of the agreement which she had entered into with the 
 Protestants and with the League, because he did not deem it 
 advisable at present absolutely to reject it, and he was still 
 less disposed to acknowledge its validity. On the other hand, 
 he ordered her to reinforce the army, to draw together new 
 regiments from Germany, and to meet the refractory with 
 force. For the rest, he concluded, he relied upon the loyalty 
 of the leading nobility, among whom he knew many who were 
 sincere in their attachment both to their religion and their 
 king. In the secret letter, she was again enjoined to do all in 
 her power to prevent the assembling of the states ; but if the 
 general voice should become irresistible, and she was com 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. V* 
 
 pelled to yield, she was at least to manage so cautiously, that 
 the royal dignity should not suffer, and no one learn the king's 
 consent to their assembly. 
 
 While these consulations were held in Spain, the Protest- 
 ants in the Netherlands made the most extensive use of the 
 privileges which had been compulsorily granted to them. 
 The erection of churches, wherever it was permitted, was com- 
 pleted with incredible rapidity ; young and old, gentle and sim- 
 ple, assisted in carrying stones ; women sacrificed even their 
 ornaments in order to accelerate the work. The two religious 
 parties established in several towns consistories, and a church 
 council of their own, the first move of the kind being made in 
 Antwerp, and placed their form of worship on a well regulated 
 footing. It was also proposed, to raise a common fund by 
 subscription, to meet any sudden emergency of the Protestant 
 church in general. In Antwerp, a memorial was presented by 
 the Calvinists of that town to the Count of Hogstraten, in 
 which they offered to pay three millions of dollars to secure 
 the free exercise of their religion. Many copies of this writ- 
 ing were circulated in the Netherlands ; and in order to sti- 
 mulate others, many had ostentatiously subscribed their names 
 to large sums. Various interpretations of this extravagant 
 offer were made by the enemies of the reformers, and all had 
 some appearance of reason. For instance, it was urged that 
 under the pretext of collecting the requisite sum for fulfilling 
 this engagement, they hoped, without suspicion, to raise funds 
 for military purposes ; for whether they should be called upon 
 to contribute for or against, they would, it was thought, be 
 more ready to burden themselves ^ith a view of preserving 
 peace, than for an oppressive and devastating war. Others 
 saw in this offer nothing more than a temporary stratagem 01 
 the Protestants, by which they hoped to bind the court and 
 keep it irresolute, until they should have gained sufficient 
 strength to confront it. Others again declared it to be a 
 downright bravado in order to alarm the regent, and to raise 
 the courage of their own party by the display of such rich re- 
 sources. But whatever was the true motive of this pro- 
 position, its originators gained little by it; the contributions 
 flowed in scantily and slowly, and the court answered the pro- 
 posal with silent contempt. The excesses, too, of the Icono- 
 clasts, far from promoting the cause of the League and ad* 
 
 c 2 
 
20 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 vancing the Protestant interests, had done irreparable injur}' 
 to both. The sight of their ruined churches, which, in the 
 language of Viglius, resembled stables more than houses of 
 God, enraged the Roman Catholics, and above all the clergy. 
 All of that religion, who had hitherto been members of the 
 League, now forsook it, alleging that even if it had not in- 
 tentionally excited and encouraged the excesses of the Icono- 
 clasts, it had beyond question remotely led to them. The in 
 tolerance of the Calvinists, who, wherever they were the 
 ruling party, cruelly oppressed the Roman Catholics, com- 
 pletely expelled the delusion in wilich the latter had long in- 
 dulged, and they withdrew their support from a party, from 
 which, if they obtained the upper hand, their own religion 
 had so much cause to fear. Thus the League lost many of 
 its best members ; the friends and patrons, too, which it had 
 hitherto found amongst the well-disposed citizens now de- 
 serted it, and its character began perceptibly to decline. The 
 severity with which some of its members had acted against 
 the Iconoclasts, in order to prove their good disposition to- 
 wards the regent, and to remove the suspicion of any connexion 
 with the malcontents, had also injured them with the people, 
 who favoured the latter, and thus the League was in danger 
 of ruining itself with both parties at the same time. 
 
 The regent had no sooner become acquainted with this 
 change in the public mind, than she devised a plan by which 
 she hoped gradually to dissolve the whole League, or at least 
 to enfeeble it through internal dissensions. For this end, she 
 availed herself of the private letters, which the king had ad- 
 dressed to some of the nobles, and enclosed to her, with full 
 liberty to use them at her discretion. These letters, which 
 overflowed with kind expressions, were presented to those for 
 whom they were intended with an attempt at secrecy, which 
 designedly miscarried, so that on each occasion, some one or 
 other of those who had received nothing of the sort got a hint 
 of them. In order to spread suspicion the more widely, nu- 
 merous copies of the letters were circulated. This artifice 
 attained its object. Many members of the League began to 
 doubt the honesty of those to w T hom such brilliant promises 
 were made; through fear of being deserted by their prin- 
 cipal members and supporters, they eagerly accepted the 
 conditions which were offered them by the regent, and evinced 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 21 
 
 great anxiety for a speedy reconciliation with the court. The 
 general rumour of the impending visit of the king, which the 
 regent took care to have widely circulated, was also of great 
 service to her in this matter ; many who could not augur much 
 good to themselves from the royal presence, did not hesitate 
 to accept a pardon, which, perhaps, for what they could tell, 
 was offered them for the last time. Among those who thus 
 received private letters, were Egmont and the Prince of 
 Orange. Both had complained to the king of the evil reports 
 with which designing persons in Spain had laboured to brand 
 their names, and to throw suspicion on their motives and in- 
 tentions ; Egmont, in particular, with the honest simplicity 
 which was peculiar to his character, had asked the monarch, 
 only to point out to him what he most desired, to determine 
 the particular action by which his favour could be best ob- 
 tained, and zeal in his service evinced, and it should, he as- 
 sured him, be done. The king, in reply, caused the President 
 Von Tyssenacque, to tell him that he could do nothing better 
 to refute his traducers than to show perfect submission to the 
 royal orders, which were so clearly and precisely drawn up, 
 that no further exposition of them was required, nor any par- 
 ticular instruction. It was the sovereign's part to deliberate, 
 to examine, and to decide ; unconditionally to obey was the 
 duty of the subject ; the honour of the latter consisted in his 
 obedience. It did not become a member to hold itself wiser 
 than the head. He was assuredly to be blamed for not having 
 done his utmost to curb the unruliness of his sectarians ; but 
 it was even yet in his power to make up for past negligence 
 by at least maintaining peace and order until the actuax 
 arrival of the king. In thus punishing Count Egmont 
 with reproofs like a disobedient child, the king treated him 
 in accordance with what he knew of his character ; with his 
 friend he found it necessary to call in the aid of artifice and 
 deceit. Orange, too, in his letter, had alluded to the sus- 
 picions which the king entertained of his loyalty and attach- 
 ment, but not like Egmont, in the vain hope of removing 
 them ; for this he had long given up ; but in order to pass 
 from these complaints to a request for permission to resign 
 his offices. He had already frequently made this request to tho 
 regent, but had always received from her a refusal, accompanied 
 with the strongest assurance of her regard. The king also 
 
22 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 jo whom he now at last addressed a direct application, re 
 turned him the same answer, graced with similar strong as- 
 surances of his satisfaction and gratitude. In particular, ho 
 expressed the high satisfaction he entertained of the services, 
 which he had lately rendered the Crown in Antwerp, and 
 lamented deeply, that the private affairs of the prince (which 
 the latter had made his chief plea for demanding his dismissal) 
 should have fallen into such disorder; but ended with the 
 declaration that it was impossible for him to dispense with his 
 valuable services, at a crisis which demanded the increase, 
 rather than diminution, of his good and honest servants. He 
 had thought, he added, that the prince entertained a better 
 opinion of him, than to suppose him capable of giving credit 
 to the idle talk of certain persons, who were friends neither 
 to the prince nor to himself. But, at the same time, to give 
 him a proof of his sincerity, he complained to him in confi- 
 dence of his brother, the Count of Nassau, pretended to ask 
 his advice in the matter, and finally expressed a wish to have 
 the count removed for a period from the Netherlands 
 
 But Philip had here to do with a head which, in cunning, 
 was superior to his own. The Prince of Orange had, for a 
 long time, held watch over him and his Privy Council in 
 Madrid and Segovia, through a host of spies, who reported to 
 him every thing of importance that was transacted there. The 
 court of this most secret of all despots had become accessible 
 to his intriguing spirit and his money ; in this manner, he had 
 gained possession of several autograph letters of the regent, 
 which she had secretly written to Madrid, and had caused 
 copies to be circulated in triumph in Brussels, and in a mea- 
 sure under her own eyes, insomuch that she saw with as- 
 tonishment in every body's hands what she thought was pre- 
 served with so much care, and entreated the king for the 
 future to destroy her despatches immediately they were read. 
 William's vigilance did not confine itself simply to the Court 
 of Spain, he had spies in France, and even at more distant 
 courts. He is also charged with not being over scrupulous 
 as to the means by which he acquired his intelligence. But 
 the most important disclosure was made by an intercepted 
 letter of the Spanish ambassador in France, Francis Von 
 Aiava, to the duchess, in which the former descanted on the 
 fair opportunity which was now afforded to the king through 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 23 
 
 the guilt of the Netherlandish people, of establishing an ar 
 bitrary power in that country. He therefore advised her, to 
 deceive the nobles by the very arts which they had hitherto 
 employed against herself, and to secure them through smooth 
 words, and an obliging behaviour. The king, he concluded, 
 who knew the nobles to be the hidden springs of all the pre- 
 vious troubles, would take good care to lay hands upon them 
 at the first favourable opportunity, as well as the two, whom 
 he had already in Spain ; and did not mean to let them 
 go again, having sworn to make an example in them, which 
 should horrify the whole of Christendom, even if it should 
 cost him his hereditary dominions. This piece of evil news 
 was strongly corroborated by the letters which Bergen and 
 Montigny wrote from Spain, and in which they bitterly com- 
 plained of the contemptuous behaviour of the Grandees, and 
 the altered deportment of the monarch towards them, and the 
 Prince of Orange was now fully sensible what he had to ex- 
 pect from the fair promises of the king. 
 
 The letter of the minister Alava, together with some 
 others from Spain, which gave a circumstantial account 
 of the approaching warlike visit of the king, and of his 
 evil intentions against the nobles, w 7 as laid by the prince 
 before his brother Count Louis of Nassau, Counts Egmont, 
 Horn, and Hogstraten, at a meeting at Dendermonde in 
 Flanders, whither these five knights had repaired to confer on 
 the measures necessary for their security. Count Louis, who 
 listened only to his feelings of indignation, foolhardily main- 
 tained, that they ought, without loss of time, to take up arms 
 and seize some strongholds. That they ought at all risks to 
 prevent the king's armed entrance into the provinces. That 
 they should endeavour to prevail on the Swiss, the Protestant 
 princes of Germany, and the Huguenots to arm and obstruct 
 his passage through their territories ; and if, notwithstanding, 
 he should force his way through these impediments, that the 
 Flemings should meet him with an army on the frontiers. 
 He would take upon himself to negociate a defensive alliance 
 in France, in Switzerland, and in Germany, and to raise in 
 the latter empire four thousand horse, together with a propor- 
 tionate body of infantry ; pretexts would not be wanting for 
 collecting the requisite supplies of money, and the merchants 
 of the reformed sect would, he felt assured, not fail them. 
 
£<i HISTORY OF THE 
 
 But William, more cautious and more wise, declared himseli 
 against this proposal, which, in the execution, would be ex- 
 posed to numberless difficulties, and had as yet nothing to 
 justify it. The Inquisition, he represented, was in fact abo- 
 lished, the edicts were nearly sunk into oblivion, and a fair 
 degree of religious liberty accorded. Hitherto, therefore, 
 there existed no valid or adequate excuse for adopting this 
 hostile method ; he did not doubt, however, that one would 
 be presented to them before long, and in good time for prepar- 
 ation. His own opinion, consequently, was that they should 
 await this opportunity with patience, and in the mean while 
 still keep a watchful eye upon everything, and contrive to give 
 the people a hint of the threatened danger, that they might be 
 ready to act if circumstances should call for their co-operation. 
 If all present had assented to the opinion of the Prince of 
 Orange, there is no doubt but so powerful a league, formid- 
 able both by the influence and the high character of its mem- 
 bers, would have opposed obstacles to the designs of the king 
 which would have compelled him to abandon them en- 
 tirely. But the determination of the assembled knights was 
 much shaken by the declaration with which Count Egmont 
 flurprised them. "Rather," said he, "may all that is evil 
 befall me, than that I should tempt fortune so rashly. The 
 idle talk of the Spaniard Alava does not move me ; how should 
 such a person be able to read the mind of a sovereign so re- 
 served as Philip, and to decipher his secrets ? The intelli- 
 gence which Montigny gives us, goes to prove nothing more 
 than that the king has a very doubtful opinion of our zeal for 
 his service, and believes he has cause to distrust our loyalty ; 
 and for this, I, for my part, must confess that we have 
 given him only too much cause. And it is my serious pur- 
 pose, by redoubling my zeal, to regain his good opinion, and 
 by my future behaviour to remove, if possible, the distrust 
 which my actions have hitherto excited. How could I tear 
 myself from the arms of my numerous and dependent family, 
 to wander as an exile at foreign courts, a burden to every one 
 who received me, the slave of every one who condescended to 
 assist me — a servant of foreigners, in order to escape a slight- 
 degree of constraint at home ? Never can the monarch act 
 unkindly towards a servant who was once beloved and dear 
 to him, and who has established a well grounded claim to his 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. £6 
 
 gratitude. Never shall I be persuaded, that he, who has ex 
 pressed such favourable, such gracious sentiments towards his 
 Belgian subjects, and with his own mouth gave me such 
 emphatic, such solemn assurances, can be now devising, 
 as it is pretended, such tyrannical schemes against them. If 
 we do but restore to the country its former repose, chastise 
 the rebels, and re-establish the Koman Catholic form of 
 worship wherever it has been violently suppressed, then, be- 
 lieve me, we shall hear no more of Spanish troops. This is 
 the course to which I now invite you all by my counsel and 
 my example, and to which also most of our brethren already 
 incline. I, for my part, fear nothing from the anger of the 
 king. My conscience acquits me. I trust my fate and for- 
 tunes to his justice and clemency." In vain did Nassau, Horn, 
 and Orange labour to shake his resolution, and to open his 
 eyes to the near and inevitable danger. Egmont was really 
 attached to the king ; the royal favours, and the condescen- 
 sion with which they were conferred were still fresh in his 
 remembrance. The attentions with which the monarch had 
 distinguished him above all his friends, had not failed of their 
 effect. It was more from false shame than from party spirit 
 that he had defended the cause of his countrymen against him ; 
 more from temperament and natural kindness of heart, than 
 from tried principles, that he had opposed the severe mea- 
 sures of the government. The love of the nation, which wor- 
 shipped him as its idol, carried him away. Too vain to re- 
 nounce a title which sounded so agreeable, he had been com- 
 pelled to do something to deserve it ; but a single look at his 
 family — a harsher designation applied to his conduct — a dan- 
 gerous inference drawn from it — the mere sound of crime ter- 
 rified him from his self-delusion, and scared him back in haste 
 and alarm to his duty. 
 
 Orange's whole plan was frustrated by Egmont 's with- 
 drawal. The latter possessed the hearts of the people and 
 the confidence of the army, without which it was utterly im- 
 possible to undertake any thing effective. The rest had 
 reckoned with so much certainty upon him, that his unex- 
 pected defection rendered the whole meeting nugatory. They 
 therefore separated without coming to a determination. All 
 who had met in Dendermonde were expected in the Council 
 of State in Brussels; but Egmont alone repaired thither. 
 
26 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 The regent wished to sift him on the subject of this confer- 
 ence, but she could extract nothing further from him, than 
 the production of the letter of Alava, of which he had pur- 
 posely taken a copy, and which with the bitterest reproofs he 
 laid before her. At first she changed colour at sight of it, 
 but quickly recovering herself, she boldly declared that it was 
 a forgery. "How can this letter," she said, " really come 
 from Alava, when I miss none ; and would he, who pretends 
 to have intercepted it, have spared the other letters ? Nay, 
 how can it be true, when not a single packet has miscarried, 
 nor a single despatch failed to come to hand ? How, too, can 
 it be thought likely that the king would have made Alava 
 master of a secret, which he has not communicated even to 
 me?" 
 
 CIVIL WAR. 
 
 1566. Meanwhile the regent hastened to take advantage of 
 the schism amongst the nobles to complete the ruin of the 
 League, which was already tottering under the weight of in- 
 ternal dissensions. Without loss of time, she drew from Ger- 
 many the troops which Duke Eric of Brunswick was holding 
 in readiness, augmented the cavalry, and raised five regiments 
 of Walloons, the command of which she gave to Counts 
 Mansfield, Megen, Aremberg, and others. To the prince, 
 likewise, she felt it necessary to confide troops, both be- 
 cause she did not wish, by withholding them pointedly, to in 
 suit him, and also because the provinces of which he was 
 governor was in urgent need of them ; but she took the pre- 
 caution of joining with him a Colonel Waldenfinger, who 
 should watch all his steps, and thwart his measures if they 
 appeared dangerous. To Count Egmont, the clergy in 
 Flanders paid a contribution of forty thousand gold florins foi 
 the maintenance of 1500 men, whom he distributed among 
 the places where danger was most apprehended. Every 
 governor was ordered to increase his military force, and to 
 provide himself with ammunition. These energetic prepara- 
 tions which were making in all places, left no doubt as to the 
 measures which the regent would adopt in future. Conscious 
 of her superior force, and certain of this important support, 
 
1 
 
 KEV0LT OF THE NETHERLANDS 27 
 
 she now ventured to change her tone, and to employ quito 
 another language with the rebels. She began to put the 
 most arbitrary interpretation on the concessions which, through 
 fear and necessity, she had made to the Protestants, and to 
 restrict all the liberties which she had tacitly granted them 
 to the mere permission of their preaching. All other reli 
 gious exercises and rites, which yet appeared to be involved 
 in the former privilege, were, by new edicts, expressly for- 
 bidden, and all offenders in such matters were to be proceeded 
 against as traitors. The Protestants were permitted to think 
 differently from the ruling church upon the sacrament, but 
 to receive it differently was a crime ; baptism, marriage, 
 burial, after their fashion, were prohibited under pain of 
 death. It was a cruel mockery to allow them their reli- 
 gion, and forbid the exercise of it; but this mean artifice 
 of the regent to escape from the obligation of her pledged 
 word, was worthy of the pusillanimity with which she 
 had submitted to its being extorted from her. She took 
 advantage of the most trifling innovations, and the smallest 
 excesses, to interrupt the preachings ; and some of the 
 preachers, under the charge of having performed their office 
 in places not appointed to them, were brought to trial, con- 
 demned and executed. On more than one occasion, the 
 regent publicly declared that the confederates had taken un- 
 fair advantage of her fears, and that she did not feel herself 
 bound by an engagement which had been extorted from her by 
 threats. 
 
 Of all the Belgian towns which had participated in the insur- 
 rection of the Iconoclasts, none had caused the regent so much 
 alarm as the town of Valenciennes in Hainault. In no other 
 was the party of the Calvinists so powerful, and the spirit of 
 rebellion for which the province of Hainault had always made 
 itself conspicuous, seemed to dwell here as in its native place 
 The propinquity of France, to which, as well by language as 
 by manners, this town appeared to belong, rather than to the 
 Netherlands, had from the first led to its being governed with 
 great mildness and forbearance, which, however, only taught 
 it to feel its own importance. At the last outbreak of the 
 church desecrators it had been on the point of surrendering 
 to the Huguenots, with whom it maintained the closest under 
 standing The slightest excitement might renew this danger. 
 
§8 HISTOKY OF THE 
 
 On this account Valenciennes was the first town to which thr 
 regent proposed, as soon as it should be in her power, to send 
 a strong garrison. Philip of Noircarmes, Baron of St. Aide 
 gonde, Governor of Hainault in the place of the absent Mar- 
 quis of Bergen, had received this charge, and now appeared at 
 the head of an army before its walls. Deputies came to meet 
 him on the part of the magistrate from the town, to petition 
 against the garrison, because the Protestant citizens, who 
 were the superior number, had declared against it. Noir- 
 carmes acquainted them with the will of the regent, and gave 
 them the choice between the garrison or a siege. He assured 
 them that not more than four squadrons of horse and six 
 companies of foot should be imposed upon the town ; and for 
 this he would give them his son as a hostage. These terms 
 were laid before the magistrate, who, for his part, was much 
 inclined to accept them. But Peregrine Le Grange, the 
 preacher, and the idol of the populace, to whom it was of vital 
 importance to prevent a submission of which he would inevit- 
 ably become the victim, appeared at the head of his followers, 
 and by his powerful eloquence excited the people to reject the 
 conditions. When their answer was brought to Noircarmes, 
 contrary to all law of nations, he caused the messengers to be 
 placed in irons, and carried them away with him as prisoners ; 
 he was, however, by express command of the regent compelled 
 to set them free again. The regent, instructed by secret 
 orders from Madrid to exercise as much forbearance as possi- 
 ble, caused the town to be repeatedly summoned to receive 
 the garrison ; when, however, it obstinately persisted in it& 
 refusal, it was declared by public edict to be in rebellion, and 
 Noircarmes was authorized to commence the siege in form. 
 The other provinces were forbidden to assist this rebellious 
 town with advice, money, or arms. All the property contained 
 in it was confiscated. In order to let it see the war, before 
 it began in earnest, and to give it time for rational reflection, 
 Noircarmes drew together troops from all Hainault and Cam 
 bray (1566), took possession of St. Amant, and p]aced gam 
 Bons in all adjacent places. 
 
 The line of conduct adopted towards Valenciennes, allowed 
 the other towns which were similarly situated, to infer the 
 fate which was intended for them also, and at once put the 
 whole League in motion, An army of the Gueux between 
 
EEVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 29 
 
 3000 and 4000 strong, which was hastily collected from the 
 rabble of fugitives, and the remaining bands of the Iconoclasts, 
 Rppeared in the territories of Tournay and Lille, in order to 
 secure these two towns, and to annoy the enemy at Valen- 
 ciennes. The commandant of Lille was fortunate enough to 
 maintain that place by routing a detachment of this army, 
 which, in concert with the Protestant inhabitants, had made 
 an attempt to get possession of it. At the same time, the 
 army of the Gueux, which was uselessly wasting its time at 
 Lannoy, was surprised by Noircarmes and almost entirely an- 
 nihilated. The few, who with desperate courage forced their 
 way through the enemy, threw themselves into the town of 
 Tournay, which was immediately summoned by the victor to 
 open its gates and admit a garrison. Its prompt obedience 
 obtained for it a milder fate. Noircarmes contented himself 
 with abolishing the Protestant consistory, banishing the 
 preachers, punishing the leaders of the rebels, and again re- 
 establishing the Eoman Catholic worship, which he found 
 almost entirely suppressed. After giving it a stedfast 
 Eoman Catholic as governor, and leaving in it a sufficient 
 garrison, he again reliurned with his victorious army to Valen- 
 ciennes to press the siege 
 
 This town, confident in its strength, actively prepared for de- 
 fence, firmly resolved to allow things to come to extremes before 
 it surrendered. The inhabitant had not neglected to furnish 
 themselves with ammunition and provisions for a long siege ; 
 all who could carry arms, (the very artisans not excepted,) be- 
 came soldiers ; the houses before the town, and especially the 
 cloisters, were pulled down, that the besiegers might not avail 
 themselves of them to cover their attack. The few adherents 
 of the crown, awed by the multitude, were silent ; no Eoman 
 Catholic ventured to stir himself. Anarchy and rebellion had 
 taken the place of good order, and the fanaticism of a foolhardy 
 priest gave laws, instead of the legal dispensers of justice. The 
 male population was numerous, their courage confirmed by de- 
 spair, their confidence unbounded that the siege would be 
 raised, while their hatred against the Eoman Catholic religion 
 was excited to the highest pitch. Many had no mercy to ex 
 pect, all abhorred the general thraldom of an imperious garrison. 
 Noircarmes, whose army had become formidable through the 
 /reinforcements which streamed to it from all quarters, and 
 
W HISTORY OF THE 
 
 fras abundantly furnished with all the requisites for a long 
 blockade, once more attempted to prevail on the town by 
 gentle means, but in vain. At last he caused the trenches to 
 be opened, and prepared to invest the place. 
 
 In the mean while, the position of the Protestants had 
 grown as much worse as that of the regent had improved. 
 The league of the nobles had gradually melted away to a 
 third of its original number. Some of its most important 
 defenders, Count Egmont, for instance, had gone over to 
 the king ; the pecuniary contributions which had been so con- 
 fidently reckoned upon came in but slowly and scantily ; the 
 zeal of the party began perceptibly to cool, and the close of the 
 fine season made it necessary to discontinue the public preach- 
 ings, which, up to this time, had been continued. These and 
 other reasons combined, induced the declining party to mode- 
 rate its demands, and to try every legal expedient before it 
 proceed to extremities. In a general synod of the Protest- 
 ants, which was held for this object in Antwerp, and which 
 was also attended by some of the confederates, it was resolved 
 to send deputies to the regent, to remonstrate with her upon 
 this breach of faith, and to remind her of her compact. Bre- 
 derode undertook this office, but was obliged to submit to a 
 harsh and disgraceful rebuff, and was shut out of Brussels. 
 He had now recourse to a written memorial, in which, in the 
 name of the whole league, he complained that the duchess 
 Lad, by violating her word, falsified in sight of all the Protest- 
 ants the security given by the league, in reliance on which all 
 of them had laid down their arms ; that by her insincerity she 
 had undone all the good which the confederates had laboured 
 to effect ; that she had sought to degrade the league in the 
 eyes of the people, had excited discord among its members, 
 and had even caused many of them to be persecuted as cri- 
 minals. He called upon her to recall her late ordinances, 
 which deprived the Protestants of the free exercise of their 
 religion, but above all to raise the siege of Valenciennes, to 
 disband the troops newly enlisted, and ended by assuring her 
 that on these conditions and these alone the league would be 
 responsible for the general tranquillity. 
 
 To this the regent replied in a tone, very different from 
 her previous moderation. " Who these confederates are, 
 who address me in this memorial, is, indeed, a mystery to 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 3 4 
 
 &ie The confederates with whom I had formerly to do, foi 
 flight I know to the contrary, have dispersed. All at least 
 cannot participate in this statement of grievances, for I myself 
 know of many, who, satisfied in all their demands, have 
 returned to their duty. But still, whoever he may be, who 
 without authority and right, and without name addresses me, 
 he has at least given a very false interpretation to my word, 
 if he asserts that I guaranteed to the Protestants complete 
 religious liberty. No one can be ignorant how reluctantly I 
 was induced to permit the preachings in the places where 
 they had sprung up unauthorized, and this surely cannot be 
 counted for a concession of freedom in religion. Is it likely 
 that I should have entertained the idea of protecting these 
 illegal consistories, of tolerating this state within a state? 
 Could I forget myself so far as to grant the sanction of law 
 to an objectionable sect ; to overturn all order in the church 
 and in the state, and abominably to blaspheme my holy 
 religion ? Look to him, who has given you such permission, 
 but you must not argue with me. You accuse me of having 
 violated the agreement, which gave you impunity and 
 Security. The past I am willing to look over, but not what 
 may be done in future. No advantage was to be taken of 
 fou on account of the petition of last April, and to the best 
 Df my knowledge, nothing of the kind has as yet been done ; 
 but whoever again offends in the same way, against the 
 majesty of the king, must be ready to bear the consequences 
 of his crime. In fine, how can you presume to remind me 
 of an agreement, which you have been the first to break? 
 At whose instigation were the churches plundered, the images 
 of the saints thrown down, and the towns hurried into rebel- 
 lion ? Who formed alliances with foreign powers, set on foot 
 illegal enlistments, and collected unlawful taxes from the sub- 
 jects of the king ? These are the reasons which have impelled 
 me to draw together my troops, and to increase the severity 
 of the edicts. Whoever now asks me to lay down my arms, 
 cannot mean well to his country or his king, and if ye value 
 your own lives, look to it that your own actions acquit you, 
 instead of judging mine." 
 
 All the hopes which the confederates might have enter- 
 tained of an amicable adjustment sank with this high-toned 
 declaration. Without being confident of possessing powerful 
 
82 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 support, the regent would not, they argued, employ such 
 language. An army was in the field, the enemy was before 
 Valenciennes, the members who were the heart of the league 
 had abandoned it, and the regent required unconditional 
 submission. Their cause was now so bad, that open resist- 
 ance could not make it worse. If they gave themselves up 
 defenceless into the hands of their exasperated sovereign, 
 their fate was certain ; an appeal to arms could at least make 
 it a matter of doubt ; they, therefore, chose the latter, and 
 began seriously to take steps for their defence. In order to 
 ensure the assistance of the German Protestants, Louis of 
 Nassau attempted to persuade the towns of Amsterdam, 
 Antwerp, Tournay, and Valenciennes, to adopt the confession 
 of Augsburg, and in this manner to seal their alliance with 
 a religious union. But the proposition was not successful, 
 because the hatred of the Calvinists to the Lutherans ex- 
 ceeded, if possible, that which they bore to popery. Nassau 
 also began in earnest to negociate for supplies from France, 
 the Palatinate, and Saxony. The Count of Bergen fortified 
 his castles ; Brederode threw himself with a small force into 
 his strong town of Viane on the Leek, over which he claimed 
 the rights of sovereignty, and which he hastily placed in a 
 state of defence, and there awaited a reinforcement from the 
 league, and the issue of Nassau's negociations. The flag of 
 war was now unfurled, everywhere the drum was heard to 
 beat ; in all parts troops were seen on the march, contribu- 
 tions collected, and soldiers enlisted. The agents of each 
 party often met in the same place, and hardly had the col- 
 lectors and recruiting officers of the regent quitted a town, 
 when it had to endure a similar visit from the agents of the 
 league. 
 
 From Valenciennes the regent directed her attention 
 to Herzogenbusch, where the Iconoclasts had lately com- 
 mitted fresh excesses, and the party of the Protestants 
 had gained a great accession of strength. In order to pre- 
 vail on the citizens peaceably to receive a garrison, she sent 
 thither, as ambassador, the chancellor Scheiff from Brabant, 
 with counsellor Merode of Petersheim, whom she appointed 
 governor of the town ; they were instructed to secure the 
 place by judicious means, and to exact from the citizens a 
 new oath of allegiance. At the same time, the Count of 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 83 
 
 Megen, who was in the neighbourhood with a body of troops, 
 was ordered to support the two envoys in effecting theil 
 commission, and to afford the means of throwing in a gar 
 rison immediately. But Brederode, who obtained information 
 of these movements in Viane, had already sent thither one 
 of his creatures, a certain Anton von Bomberg, a hot 
 Calvinist, but also a brave soldier, in order to raise the 
 courage of his party, and to frustrate the designs of the 
 regent. This Bomberg succeeded in getting possession of 
 the letters which the chancellor brought with him from the 
 duchess, and contrived to substitute in their place coun- 
 terfeit ones, which, by their harsh and imperious language, 
 were calculated to exasperate the minds of the citizens. 
 At the same time, he attempted to throw suspicion on both 
 the ambassadors of the duchess, as having evil designs 
 upon the town. In this he succeeded so well with the 
 mob, that in their mad fury they even laid hands on the 
 ambassadors, and placed them in confinement. He him- 
 self at the head of 800 men, who had adopted him as 
 their leader, advanced against the Count of Megen, who 
 was moving in order of battle, and gave him so warm a 
 reception, with some heavy artillery, that he was com- 
 pelled to retire without accomplishing his object. The 
 regent now sent an officer of justice to demand the release 
 of her ambassadors, and in case of refusal to threaten the 
 place with siege; but Bomberg with his party surrounded 
 the town hall, and forced the magistrate to deliver to him 
 the key of the town. The messenger of the regent was 
 ridiculed and dismissed, and an answer sent through him, 
 that the treatment of the prisoners would depend upon 
 Brederode 's orders. The herald, who was remaining outside 
 before the town, now appeared to declare war against her, 
 which however the chancellor prevented. 
 
 After his futile attempt on Herzogenbusch, the Count of 
 Megen threw himself into Utrecht, in order to prevent the 
 execution of a design, which Count Brederode had formed 
 against that town. As it had suffered much from the army 
 of the confederates, which was encamped in its immediate 
 neighbourhood, near Viane, it received Megen with open 
 arms as its protector, and conformed to all the alterations 
 /which he made in the religious worship. Upon this, he 
 
34 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 immediately caused a redoubt to be thrown up on the 
 bank of the Leek, which would command Yiane. Bre- 
 derode, not disposed to await his attack, quitted that ren- 
 dezvous with the best part of his army and hastened to 
 Amsterdam. 
 
 However unprontably the Prince of Orange appeared to 
 be losing his time in Antwerp during these operations, he was, 
 nevertheless, busily employed. At his instigation the league 
 had commenced recruiting, and Brederode had fortified his 
 castles, for which purpose he himself presented him with 
 three cannons, which he had had cast at Utrecht. His eye 
 watched all the movements of the court, and he kept the 
 league warned of the towns which were next menaced with 
 attack. But his chief object appeared to be to get possession 
 of the principal places in the districts under his own govern 
 ment, to which end he, with all his power, secretly assisted 
 Brederode s plans against Utrecht and Amsterdam. The 
 most important place was the Island of Walcheren, where 
 the king was expected to land ; and he now planned a 
 scheme for the surprise of this place, the conduct of which 
 was entrusted to one of the confederate nobles, an intimate 
 friend of the Prince of Orange, John of Marnix, Baron 
 of Thoulouse, and brother of Philip of Aldegonde. 
 
 1567. Thoulouse maintained a secret understanding with 
 the late mayor of Middleburg, Peter Haak, by which he 
 expected to gain an opportunity of throwing a garrison 
 into Middleburg and Flushing. The recruiting, however, 
 for this undertaking, which was set on foot in Antwerp, 
 could not be carried on so quietly as not to attract the 
 notice of the magistrate. In order, therefore, to lull the 
 suspicions of the latter, and at the same time to promote the 
 success of the scheme, the prince caused the herald, by public 
 proclamation, to order all foreign soldiers and strangers who 
 were in the service of the state, or employed in other business, 
 forthwith to quit the town. He might, say his adversaries, 
 by closing the gates, have easily made himself master of all 
 these suspected recruits ; but he expelled them from the 
 town, in order to drive them the more quickly to the place of 
 their destination. They immediately embarked on the Scheldt, 
 and sailed down to Rammekens ; as, however, a market- vessel 
 of Antwerp, which ran into Flushing a little before them, had 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 35 
 
 given warning of their design, they were forbidden to enter 
 the port. They found the same difficulty at Arnemuiden, 
 near Middleburg, although the Protestants in that place 
 exerted themselves to raise an insurrection in their favour. 
 Thoulouse, therefore, without having accomplished anything, 
 put about his ships, and sailed back down the Scheldt as far as 
 Osterweel, a quarter of a mile from Antwerp, where he dis- 
 embarked his people and encamped on the shore, with the 
 hope of getting men from Antwerp; and also in order to 
 revive by his presence the courage of his party, which had 
 been cast down by the proceedings of the magistrate. By 
 the aid of the Calvinistic clergy, who recruited for him, 
 his little army increased daily, so that at last he began to 
 be formidable to the Antwerpians, whose whole territory he 
 laid waste. The magistrate was for attacking him here 
 with the militia, which, however, the Prince of Orange 
 successfully opposed, by the pretext that it would not be pru- 
 dent to strip the town of soldiers. 
 
 Meanwhile, the regent had hastily brought together a small 
 army, under the command of Philip of Launoy, which moved 
 from Brussels to Antwerp by forced marches. At the same 
 time, Count Megen managed to keep the army of the Gueux 
 shut up and employed at Viane, so that it could neither hear 
 of these movements, nor hasten to the assistance of its con- 
 federates. Launoy, on his arrival, attacked by surprise the 
 dispersed crowds, who, little expecting an enemy, had gone 
 out to plunder, and destroyed them in one terrible carnage. 
 Thoulouse threw himself with the small remnant of his 
 troops into a country house, which had served him as his 
 head-quarters, and for a long time defended himself with the 
 courage of despair, until Launoy, finding it impossible to 
 dislodge him, set fire to the house. The few who escaped 
 the flames, fell on the swords of the enemy, or were drowned 
 in the Scheldt. Thoulouse himself preferred to perish in the 
 flames, rather than to fall into the hands of the enemy. This 
 victory, which swept off more than a thousand of the enemy, 
 was purchased by the conqueror cheaply enough, for he did 
 not lose more than two men. Three hundred of the leaguers 
 who surrendered, were cut down without mercy on the spot, 
 as a sally from Antwerp was momentarily dreaded. 
 / Before the battle actually commenced, no anticipation of 
 
 D 2 
 
36 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 such an event had been entertained in Antwerp. The Prince 
 of Orange, who got early information of it, had taken the 
 precaution, the day before, of causing the bridge which unites 
 the town with Osterweel to be destroyed, in order, as he 
 gave out, to prevent the Calvinists within the town going out 
 to join the army of Thoulouse. A more probable motive 
 seems to have been a fear lest the Catholics should attack the 
 army of the Gueux general in the rear, or lest Launoy should 
 prove victorious, and try to force his way into the town. On 
 the same pretext, the gates of the city were also shut by 
 his orders, and the inhabitants, who did not comprehend the 
 meaning of all these movements, fluctuated between curiosity 
 and alarm, until the sound of artillery from Osterweel 
 announced to them what there was going on. In clamorous 
 crowds they all ran to the walls and ramparts, from which, as 
 the wind drove the smoke from the contending armies, they 
 commanded a full view of the whole battle. Both armies 
 were so near to the town that they could discern their 
 banners, and clearly distinguish the voices of the victors and 
 the vanquished. More terrible even than the battle itself 
 was the spectacle which this town now presented. Each of 
 the conflicting armies had its friends and its enemies on the 
 wall. All that went on in the plain, roused on the ramparts 
 exultation or dismay ; on the issue of the conflict the fate of 
 each spectator seemed to depend. Every movement on the 
 field could be read in the faces of the townsmen ; defeat 
 and triumph, the terror of the conquered, and the fury 
 of the conqueror. Here a painful but idle wish to support 
 those who are giving way, to rally those who fly ; there an 
 equally futile desire to overtake them, to slay them, to extir- 
 pate them. Now the Gueux fly, and ten thousand men 
 rejoice ; Thoulouse's last place and refuge is in flames, and 
 the hopes of twenty thousand citizens are consumed with 
 him. 
 
 But the first bewilderment of alarm soon gave place to 
 a frantic desire of revenge. Shrieking aloud, wringing 
 her hands and with dishevelled hair, the widow of the 
 slain general rushed amidst the crowds to implore their pity 
 and help. Excited by their favourite preacher, Hermann, 
 the Calvinists fly to arms, determined to avenge their 
 brethren, or to perish with them ; without reflection, without 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 37 
 
 plan or leader, guided by nothing but their anguish, their 
 delirium, they rush to the Eed Gate of the city, which leads 
 to the field of battle ; but there, is no egress, the gate is shut, 
 and the foremost of the crowd recoil on those that follow. 
 Thousands and thousands collect together, a dreadful rush is 
 made to the Meer Bridge. We are betrayed ! we are prison 
 ers ! is the general cry. Destruction to the Papists, death 
 to him who has betrayed us ! — a sullen murmur, portentous of 
 a revolt, runs through the multitude. They begin to suspect, 
 that all that has taken place has been set on foot by the 
 Roman Catholics, to destroy the Calvinists. They had slain 
 their defenders, and they would now fall upon the defenceless. 
 With fatal speed this suspicion spreads through the whole of 
 Antwerp. Now they can, they think, understand the past, 
 and they fear something still worse in the back ground ; a 
 frightful distrust gains possession of every mind. Each party 
 dreads the other ; every one sees an enemy in his neighbour ; 
 the mystery deepens the alarm and horror; a fearful condi- 
 tion for a populous town, in which every accidental concourse . 
 instantly becomes tumult, every rumour started amongst them 
 becomes a fact, every small spark a blazing flame, and by the 
 force of numbers and collision all passions are furiously 
 inflamed. All who bore the name of Calvinists were roused 
 by this report. Fifteen thousand of them take possession of 
 the Meer bridge, and plant heavy artillery upon it, which 
 they had taken by force from the arsenal ; the same thing 
 also happens at another bridge ; their number makes them 
 formidable, the town is in their hands ; to escape an imagin 
 ary danger, they bring all Antwerp to the brink of ruin. 
 
 Immediately on the commencement of the tumult, the 
 Prince of Orange hastened to the Meer Bridge, where, boldly 
 forcing his way through the raging crowd, he commanded 
 peace, and entreated to be heard. At the other bridge, 
 Count Hogstraten, accompanied by the Burgomaster Strahlen, 
 made the same attempt ; but not possessing a sufficient share 
 either of eloquence or of popularity to command attention, 
 he referred the tumultuous crowd to the prince, around whom 
 all Antwerp now furiously thronged. The gate, he endea- 
 voured to explain to them, was shut simply to keep off the 
 victor, whoever he might be, from the city, which would other 
 toi&e become the prey of an infuriated soldiery. In vain I 
 
38 HISTOSY OF THE 
 
 the frantic people would not listen, and one more daring than 
 the rest presented his musket at him, calling him a traitor. 
 With tumultuous shouts, they demanded the key of the Red 
 Gate, which he was ultimately forced to deliver into the hands 
 of the preacher Hermann. But, he added with happy pre- 
 sence of mind, they must take heed what they were doing ; in 
 the suburbs, 600 of the enemy's horse were waiting to receive 
 them. This invention, suggested by the emergency, was rot 
 so far removed from the truth as its author perhaps imagined ; 
 for no sooner had the victorious general perceived the com- 
 motion in Antwerp, than he caused his whole cavalry to mount, 
 in the hope of being able, under favour of the disturbance, 
 to break into the town. I, at least, continued the Frince 
 of Orange, shall secure my own safety in time, and he who 
 follows my example will save himself much future regret. 
 These words, opportunely spoken and immediately acted 
 upon, had their effect. Those who stood nearest, followed 
 him, and were again followed by the next, so that at last 
 the few who had already hastened out of the city, when they 
 saw no one coming after them, lost the desire of coping 
 alone with the six hundred horse. All accordingly returned 
 to the Meer Bridge, where they posted watches and videttes, 
 and the night was passed tumultuously under arms. 
 
 The town of Antwerp was now threatened with fearfu 1 
 bloodshed and pillage. In this pressing emergency, Orange 
 assembled an extraordinary senate, to which were summoned 
 all the best disposed citizens of the four nations. If they 
 wished, said he, to repress the violence of the Calvinists, they 
 must oppose them with an army strong enough and prepared 
 to meet them. It was therefore resolved to arm with speed 
 the Roman-Catholic inhabitants of the town, whether natives, 
 Italians, or Spaniards, and, if possible, to induce the Lutherans 
 also to join them. The haughtiness of the Calvinists, who, 
 proud of their wealth and confident in their numbers, treated 
 every other religious party with contempt, had long made the 
 Lutherans their enemies, and the mutual exasperation of these 
 two Protestant churches was even more implacable than their 
 common hatred of the dominant church. This jealousy tho 
 magistrate had turned to advantage, by making use of one 
 party to curb the other, and had thus contrived to keep the 
 Calvinists in check, who, from their numbers and insolence, 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 39 
 
 were most to be feared. With this view, he had tacitly taken into 
 his protection the Lutherans, as the weaker and more peaceable 
 party, having moreover invited for them, from Germany, spirit- 
 ual teachers, who, by controversial sermons, might keep up the 
 mutual hatred of the two bodies. He encouraged the Lutherans 
 in the vain idea, that the king thought more favourably of their 
 religious creed than of that of the Calvinists, and exhorted 
 them to be careful how they damaged their good cause, by any 
 understanding with the latter. It was not, therefore, difficult 
 to bring about, for the moment, a union with the Eoman Ca- 
 tholics and the Lutherans, as its object was to keep down their 
 detested rivals. At dawn of day, an army was opposed to the 
 Calvinists, which was far superior in force to their own. At the 
 head of this army, the eloquence of Orange had far greater ef- 
 fect, and found far more attention than on the preceding evening, 
 unbacked by such strong persuasion. The Calvinists, though 
 in possession of arms and artillery, yet alarmed at the supe- 
 rior numbers arrayed against them, were the first to send en- 
 voys, aud to treat for an amicable adjustment of differences, 
 which by the tact and good temper of the Prince of Orange, he 
 concluded to the satisfaction of all parties. On the proclama- 
 tion of this treaty, the Spaniards and Italians immediately 
 laid down their arms. They were followed by the Calvinists, 
 and these again by the Eoman Catholics ; last of all, the 
 Lutherans disarmed. 
 
 Two days and two nights Antwerp had continued in this 
 alarming state. During the tumult, the Eoman Catholics had 
 succeeded in placing barrels of gunpowder under the Meer 
 Bridge, and threatened to blow into the air the whole army of 
 the Calvinists, who had done the same in other places to de- 
 stroy their adversaries. The destruction of the town hung on 
 the issue of a moment, and nothing but the prince's pre- 
 sence of mind saved it. 
 
 Noircarmes with his army of Walloons still lay before 
 Valenciennes, which, in firm reliance on being relieved 
 by the Gueux, obstinately refused to listen to all the repre 
 sentations of the regent, and rejected every idea of surrender. 
 An order of the court had expressly forbidden the royalist 
 general to press the siege, until he should receive reinforce- 
 ments from Germany. Whether from forbearance or fear, 
 /the king regarded with abhorrence the violent measure of storm- 
 
4'J HISTORY OF THE 
 
 ing the place, as necessarily involving the innocent in the fate 
 of the guilty, and exposing the loyal suhject to the same ill- 
 treatment as the rebel. As, however, the confidence of the 
 besieged augmented daily, and emboldened by the inactivity 
 of the besiegers, they annoyed him by frequent sallies, and 
 after burning the cloisters before the town, retired with the 
 plunder — as the time uselessly lost before this town was put to 
 good use by the rebels and their allies, Noircarmes besought 
 the duchess to obtain immediate permission from the king 
 to take it by storm. The answer arrived more quickly than 
 Philip was ever before wont to reply. As yet they must 
 be content, simply to make the necessary preparations, 
 and then to wait awhile to allow terror to have its effect; 
 but if, upon this, they did not appear ready to capitulate, 
 the storming might take place, but, at the same time, with 
 the greatest possible regard for the lives of the inhabitants 
 Before the regent allowed Noircarmes to proceed to this ex 
 tremity, she empowered Count Egmont, with the Duke of 
 Arschot, to treat once more with the rebels amicably. Both 
 conferred with the deputies of the town, and omitted no argu 
 ment calculated to dispel their delusion. They acquainted them 
 with the defeat of Thoulouse, their sole support, and with 
 the fact that the Count of Megen had cut off the army of the 
 Gueux from the town, and assured them that if they had held 
 out so long, they owed it entirely to the king's forbearance 
 They offered them full pardon for the past ; every one was to be 
 free to prove his innocence before whatever tribunal he should 
 choose ; such as did not wish to avail themselves of this pri- 
 vilege were to be allowed fourteen days to quit the town with 
 all their effects. Nothing was required of the townspeople 
 but the admission of the garrison. To give time to deliberate 
 on these terms, an armistice of three days was granted. 
 When the deputies returned, they found their fellow 
 citizens less disposed than ever to an accommodation, re- 
 ports of new levies by the Gueux having, in the mean time, 
 gained currency. Thoulouse, it was pretended, had con- 
 quered, and was advancing with a powerful army to relieve 
 the place. Their confidence went so far, that they even ven 
 tured to break the armistice, and to fire upon the besiegers. 
 At last, the burgomaster with difficulty succeeded in bringing 
 matters so far towards a peaceful settlement, that twelve of the 
 
/ 
 
 REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 4} 
 
 fc>wu counsellors were sent into the camp with the following 
 conditions. The edict, by which Valenciennes had been 
 charged with treason, and declared an enemy to the country, 
 was required to be recalled, the confiscation of their goods 
 revoked, and the prisoners on both sides restored to liberty, 
 the garrison was not to enter the town, before every one, who 
 thought good to do so, had placed himself and his property in 
 security ; and a pledge to be given, that the inhabitants should 
 not be molested in any manner, and that their expenses 
 should be paid by the king. 
 
 Noircarmes was so indignant with these conditions, that he 
 was almost on the point of ill treating the deputies. If they 
 had not come, he told them, to give up the place, they might 
 return forthwith, lest he should send them home, with their 
 hands tied behind their backs. Upon this, the deputies threw 
 the blame on the obstinacy of the Calvinists, and entreated 
 him with tears in their eyes to keep them in the camp, as 
 they did not, they said, wish to have anything more to do 
 with their rebellious townsmen, or to be joined in their fate. 
 They even knelt to beseech the intercession of Egmont, but 
 Noircarmes remained deaf to all their entreaties, and the sight 
 of the chains which he ordered to be brought out, drove them 
 reluctantly enough back to Valenciennes. Necessity, not se- 
 verity, imposed this harsh procedure upon the general. The 
 detention of ambassadors had, on a former occasion, drawn 
 upon him the reprimand of the duchess ; the people in the 
 town would not have failed to have ascribed the non-appear- 
 ance of their present deputies to the same cause as in the 
 former case had detained them. Besides, he was loathe to de- 
 prive the town of any out of the small residue of well disposed 
 citizens, or to leave it a prey to a blind, foolhardy mob. 
 Egmont was so mortified at the bad result of his embassy, 
 that he, the night following, rode round to reconnoitre its 
 fortifications, and returned well satisfied to have convinced 
 himself that it was no longer tenable. 
 
 Valenciennes stretches down a gentle acclivity into the 
 level plain, being built on a site as strong as it is delightful. 
 On one side enclosed by the Scheldt and another smaller river, 
 and on the other protected by deep ditches, thick walls, and 
 towers, it appears capable of defying every attack. But Noir- 
 carmes had discovered a few points where neglect had allowed 
 
42 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 the fosse to be filled almost up to the level of the natural sur- 
 face, and of these he determined to avail himself in storming. 
 He drew together all the scattered corps, by which he had 
 invested the town, and during a tempestuous night carried the 
 suburb of Berg, without the loss of a single man. He then 
 assigned separate points of attack to the Count of Bossu, 
 the young Charles of Mansfeld, and the younger Barlaimont, 
 and under a terrible fire which drove the enemy from his 
 walls, his troops were moved up with all possible speed. 
 Close before the town, and opposite the gate, under the eyes 
 of the besiegers, and with very little loss, a battery was thrown 
 up to an equal height with the fortifications. From this point, 
 the town was bombarded with an unceasing fire for four hours. 
 The Nicolaus tower, on which the besieged had planted some 
 artillery, was among the first that fell, and many perished 
 under its ruins. The guns were directed against all the most 
 conspicuous buildings, and a terrible slaughter was made 
 amongst the inhabitants. In a few hours, their principal 
 works were destroyed, and in the gate itself so extensive a 
 breach was made, that the besieged despairing of any longer 
 defending themselves, sent in haste two trumpeters to en- 
 treat a parley. This was granted, but the storm was con 
 tinued without intermission. The ambassador entreated 
 Noircarmes to grant them the same terms, which only two 
 days before they had rejected. But circumstances had now 
 changed, and the victor would hear no more of conditions. 
 The unceasing fire left the inhabitants no time to repair the 
 ramparts, which filled the fosse with their debris, and opened 
 many a breach for the enemy to enter by. Certain of utter 
 destruction, they surrendered next morning at discretion, 
 after a bombardment of six-and-thirty hours without intermis- 
 sion, and three thousand bombs had been thrown into the city. 
 Noircarmes marched into the town with his victorious army 
 under the strictest discipline, and was received by a crowd of 
 women and children, who went to meet him, carrying green 
 boughs, and beseeching his pity. All the citizens were im- 
 mediately disarmed, the commandant and his son beheaded ; 
 thirty- six of the most guilty of the rebels, among whom were 
 La Grange and another Calvinistic preacher, Guido de Bresse, 
 atoned for their obstinacy at the gallows ; all the municipal 
 functionaries were deprived oi their offices, and the town of ail 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. &% 
 
 its privileges. The Roman Catholic worship was imme- 
 diately restored in full dignity, and the Protestant abolished. 
 The Bishop of Arras was obliged to quit his residence in the 
 town, and a strong garrison placed in it to ensure its future 
 obedience. 
 
 The fate of Valeuciennes, towards which all eyes had 
 been turned, was a warning to the other towns which had 
 similarly offended. Noircarmes followed up his victory, and 
 marched immediately against Maestricht, which surrendered 
 without a blow, and received a garrison. From thence he 
 marched to Tornhut, to awe, by his presence, the people of 
 Herzogenbusch and Antwerp. The Gueux in this place, 
 who, under the command of Bomberg, had carried all things 
 before them, were now so terrified at his approach that they 
 quitted the town in haste. Noircarmes was received without 
 opposition. The ambassadors of the duchess were immediately 
 set at liberty. A strong garrison was thrown into Tornhut ; 
 Cambray also opened its gates, and joyfully recalled its arch- 
 bishop, whom the Calvinists had driven from his see, and 
 who deserved this triumph, as he did not stain his entrance 
 with blood. Ghent, Ypres, and Oudenarde submitted and 
 received garrisons. Gueldres was now almost entirely 
 cleared of the rebels, and reduced to obedience by the Count 
 of Megen. In Friesland and Groningen, the Count of 
 Aremberg had eventually the same success ; but it was not 
 obtained here so rapidly or so easily, since the count wanted 
 consistency and firmness, and these warlike republicans 
 maintained more pertinaciously their privileges, and were 
 greatly supported by the strength of their position. With 
 the exception of Holland, all the provinces had yielded before 
 the victorious arms of the duchess. The courage of the dis- 
 affected sunk entirely, and nothing was left to them but flight 
 or submission. 
 
 RESIGNATION OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 
 
 Ever since the establishment of the Geusen League, but 
 more perceptibly since the outbreak of the Iconoclasts, the 
 spirit of rebellion and disaffection had spread so rapidly 
 among all classes ; parties had become so blended and con- 
 
44 HTSTOEY OF THE 
 
 fused, that the regent had difficulty in distinguishing her 
 own adherents, and at last hardly knew on whom to rely. 
 The lines of demarcation between the loyal and the dis- 
 affected had grown gradually fainter, until at last they 
 almost entirely vanished. The frequent alterations, too, 
 which she had been obliged to make in the laws, and which 
 were at most the expedients and suggestions of the moment, 
 had taken from them their precision and binding force, 
 and had given full scope to the arbitrary will of every 
 individual, whose office it was to interpret them. And at 
 last, amidst the number and variety of the interpreta- 
 tions, the spirit was lo£\,, and the intention of the law- 
 giver baffled. The close connexion, which in many cases 
 subsisted between Protestants and Roman Catholics, between 
 Gueux and Royalists, and which not unfrequently gave 
 them a common interest, led the latter to avail themselves of 
 the loophole, which the vagueness of the laws left open, and 
 in favour of their Protestant friends and associates, evaded, 
 by subtle distinctions, all severity in the discharge of their 
 duties In their minds, it was enough not to be a declared 
 rebel, not one of the Gueux, or at least not a heretic, to be 
 authorized to mould their duties to their inclinations, and to 
 set the most arbitrary limits to their obedience to the king. 
 Feeling themselves irresponsible, the governors of the pro- 
 vinces, the civil functionaries, both high and low, the munici- 
 pal officers, and the military commanders had all become 
 extremely remiss in their duty, and presuming upon this 
 impunity, showed a pernicious indulgence to the rebels and 
 their adherents, which rendered abortive all the regent's mea- 
 sures of coercion. This general indifference and corruption 
 of so many servants of the state had further this injurious 
 result, that it led the turbulent to reckon on far stronger 
 support, than in reality they had cause for, and to count on 
 their own side all who were but lukewarm adherents of the 
 court. This way of thinking, erroneous as it was, gave them 
 greater courage and confidence, it had the same effect as if it 
 had been well founded ; and the uncertain vassals of the king 
 became in consequence almost as injurious to him, as his 
 declared enemies, without at the same time being liable 
 to the same measures of severity. This was especially the 
 case with the Prince of Orange, Counts Egmont, Bergon, 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 45 
 
 Hogstraten, Horn, and several others of the higher no- 
 bility. The regent felt the necessity of bringing these 
 doubtful subjects to an explanation, in order either to deprive 
 the rebels of a fancied support, or to unmask tne enemies of 
 the king. And the latter reason was of the more urgent mo • 
 ment, when being obliged to send an army into the field, it 
 was of the utmost importance to entrust the command of the 
 troops to none but those of whose fidelity she was fully assured. 
 She caused, therefore, an oath to be drawn up, which bound 
 all who took it to advance the Roman Catholic faith, to pur- 
 sue and punish the Iconoclasts, and to help by every means 
 in their power in extirpating all kinds of heresy. It also 
 pledged them to treat the king's enemies as their own, and 
 to serve, without distinction, against all whom the regent, in 
 the kings name, should point out. By this oath, she did not 
 hope so much to test their sincerity, and still less to secure 
 them, as rather to gain a pretext for removing the sus- 
 pected parties if they declined to take it, and for wrest- 
 ing from their hands a power which they abused, or a 
 legitimate ground for punishing them, if they took it and 
 broke it. This oath was exacted by the court from all 
 Knights of the Fleece, all civil functionaries and magistrates, 
 all officers of the army — from every one in short who held 
 any appointment in the state. Count Mansfeld was the 
 first who publicly took it in the Council of State at Brus 
 sels; his example was followed by the Duke of Arsckot, 
 Counts Egmont, Megen, and Barlaimont. Hogstraten and 
 Horn endeavoured to evade the necessity. The former was 
 offended at a proof of distrust which shortly before the regent 
 had given him. Under the pretext that Malines could not 
 safely be left any longer without its governor, but that the 
 presence of the count was no less necessary in Antwerp, she 
 had taken from him that province, and given it to another, 
 whose fidelity she could better reckon upon. Hogstraten 
 expressed his thanks that she had been pleased to release 
 him from one of his burdens, adding that she would complete 
 the obligation, if she would relieve him of the other also. 
 True to his determination, Count Horn was living on one of 
 his estates in the strong town of Weerdt, having retired alto- 
 gether from public affairs. Having quitted the service of the 
 state, he owed, he thought, nothing more either to the re 
 
4-6 HISTORY OF THS 
 
 public or to the king, and declined the oath, which in his case 
 appears at last to have been waved. 
 
 The Count of Brederode was left the choice of either tak- 
 ing the prescribed oath, or resigning the command of his 
 squadron of cavalry. After many fruitless attempts to evade 
 the alternative, on the plea that he did not hold office in the 
 state, he at last resolved upon the latter course, and thereby 
 escaped all risk of perjuring himself. 
 
 Vain were all the attempts to prevail on tne Prince of 
 Orange to take the oath, who, from the suspicion which 
 had long attached to him, required more than any other this 
 purification ; and from whom the great power, which it had 
 been necessary to place in his hands, fully justified the 
 regent in exacting it. It was not, however, advisable to pro- 
 ceed against him with the laconic; brevity adopted towards 
 Brederode and the like; on the other hand, the voluntary 
 resignation of all his offices, whien he tendered, did not meet 
 the object of the regent, who foresaw clearly enough how 
 really dangerous he would become, as soon as he should feel 
 himself independent, and be no longer checked by any ex- 
 ternal considerations of character or duty, in the prosecution 
 of his secret designs. But ever since the consultation in 
 Dendermonde, the Prince of Orange had made up his mind 
 to quit the service of the King of Spain on the first favour- 
 able opportunity, and till better days to leave the country 
 itself. A very disheartening experience had taught him 
 how uncertain are hopes built on the multitude, and how 
 quickly their zeal is cooled by the necessity of fulfilling its 
 ofty promises. An army was already in the field, and a 
 far stronger one w r as, he knew, on its road, under the 
 command of the Duke of Alva. The time for remonstrances 
 was past, it was only at the head of an army that an advan- 
 tageous treaty could now be concluded with the regent, and 
 by preventing the entrance of the Spanish general. But now 
 where was he to raise this army, in want as he was of 
 money, the sinews of warfare, since the Protestants had re- 
 tracted their boastful promises, and deserted him in this 
 pressing emergency * ? Keligious jealousy and hatred, rnore- 
 
 * How valiant the wish, and how sorry the deed was, is proved by the 
 following instance amongst others. Some friends of the national liberty 
 
KEVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 4T 
 
 aver, separated the two Protestant churches, and stood in the 
 way of every salutary combination against the common enemy 
 of their faith. The rejection of the confession of Augsburg 
 by the Calvinists had exasperated all the Protestant princes 
 of Germany, so that no support was to be looked for from the 
 empire. With Count Egmont, the excellent army of Walloons 
 was also lost to the cause — for they followed with blind de- 
 votion the fortunes of their general, who had taught them at 
 St. Quentin and Gravelines to be invincible. And again, 
 the outrages which the Iconoclasts had perpetrated on the 
 churches and convents, had estranged from the league the 
 numerous, wealthy, and powerful class of the established 
 . clergy, who, before this unlucky episode, were already more 
 than half gained over to it ; while, by her intrigues, the 
 regent daily contrived to deprive the league itself of some 
 one or other of its most influential members. 
 
 All these considerations combined, induced the prince to 
 postpone to a more favourable season a project for which the 
 present juncture was little suited, and to leave a country where 
 his longer stay could not effect any advantage for it, but must 
 bring certain destruction on himself. After intelligence gleaned 
 from so many quarters, after so many proofs of distrust, so 
 many warnings from Madrid, he could be no longer doubtful 
 of the sentiments of Philip towards him. If even he had 
 any doubt, his uncertainty would soon have been dispelled 
 by the formidable armament which was preparing in Spain, 
 and which was to have for its leader, not the king, as was 
 falsely given out, but, as he was better informed, the Duke of 
 Alva, his personal enemy, and the very man he had most 
 cause to fear. The prince had seen too deeply into Philip's 
 heart to believe in the sincerity of his reconciliation, after 
 having once awakened his fears. He judged his own con- 
 duct too justly to reckon, like his friend Egmont, on reap- 
 
 Roman Catholics as well as Protestants, had solemnly engaged in Amster- 
 dam to subscribe to a common fund the hundredth penny of their estates, 
 until a sum of 11,000 florins should be collected, which was to be devoted 
 to the common cause and interests. An alms box, protected by three locks, 
 was prepared for the reception of these contributions. After the expiration 
 of the prescribed period it was opened ; and a sum was found amounting 
 to 700 florins, which was given to the hostess of the Count of Brederode, in 
 part payment of his unliquidated score. Univ. Hist, of the N. YoL 3, 
 
48 HISTORY OF THU 
 
 ing a gratitude from the king to which he had not sown. Hg 
 could, therefore, expect nothing but hostility from him, and 
 prudence counselled him to screen himself by a timely flight 
 from its actual outbreak. He had hitherto obstinately refused 
 to take the new oath ; and all the written exhortations of the 
 regent had been fruitless. At last she sent to him at Antwerp 
 her private secretary Berti, who was to put the matter em 
 phatically to his conscience, and forcibly remind him of all 
 the evil consequences which so sudden a retirement from the 
 royal service would draw upon the country, as well as the 
 irreparable injury it would do to his own fair fame. Already, 
 she informed him by her ambassador, his declining the re- 
 quired oath had cast a shade upon his honour, and imparted 
 to the general voice, which accused him of an understanding 
 with the rebels, an appearance of truth which this uncondi- 
 tional resignation would convert to absolute certainty. It was 
 for the sovereign to discharge his servants, but it did not be- 
 come the servant to abandon his sovereign. The envoy of 
 the regent found the prince in his palace at Antwerp, already, 
 as it appeared, withdrawn from the public service, and entirely 
 devoted to his private concerns. The prince told him, in the 
 presence of Hogstraten, that he had refused to take the re- 
 quired oath, because he could not find that such a proposition 
 had ever before been made to a governor of a province ; be- 
 cause he had already bound himself, once for all, to the king, 
 and therefore, by taking this new oath, he would tacitly ac- 
 knowledge that he had broken the first. He had also refused, 
 because the old oath enjoined him to protect the rights and 
 privileges of the country, but he could not tell whether this 
 new one might not impose upon him duties which would con- 
 travene the first ; because, too, the clause which bound him to 
 serve, if required, against all without distinction, did not ex- 
 cept even the Emperor, his feudal lord, against whom, how- 
 ever, he, as his vassal, could not conscientiously make war. 
 He had refused to take this oath, because it might impose 
 upon him the necessity of surrendering his friends and re- 
 lations, his children, nay, even his wife, who was a Lu- 
 theran, to butchery. According to it, moreover, he must lend 
 himself to every thing which it should occur to the king's 
 fancy or passion to demand ; but the king might thus exact 
 from him things which he shuddered even to think of; and 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 49 
 
 even the severities which were now, and had been all along 
 exercised upon the Protestants, were the most revolting to his 
 heart. This oath, in short, was repugnant to his feelings as a 
 man, and he could not take it. In conclusion, the name of 
 the Duke of Alva dropped from his lips, in a tone of bitter- 
 ness, and he became immediately silent. 
 
 All these objections were answered, point by point, by Berti. 
 Certainly such an oath had never been required from a go- 
 vernor before him, because the provinces had never been 
 similarly circumstanced. It was not exacted because the 
 governors had broken the first, but in order to remind them 
 vividly of their former vows, and to freshen their activity in 
 the present emergency. This oath would not impose upon 
 him any thing which offended against the rights and privi- 
 leges of the country, for the king had sworn to observe 
 these, as well as the Prince of Orange. The oath did 
 not, it was true, contain any reference to a war with the 
 Emperor, or any other sovereign to whom the prince might 
 be related; and if he really had scruples on this point, 
 a distinct clause could easily be inserted, expressly providing 
 against such a contingency. Care would be taken to spare 
 him any duties which were repugnant to his feelings as a 
 man, and no power on earth would compel him to act against 
 his wife or against his children. Berti was then passing to 
 the last point, which related to the Duke of Alva, but the 
 prince, who did not wish to have this part of his discourse 
 canvassed, interrupted him. " The king was coming to the 
 Netherlands," he said, " and he knew the king. The king 
 would not endure that one of his servants should have wedded 
 a Lutheran, and he had, therefore, resolved to go with his 
 whole family into voluntary banishment, before he was obliged 
 to submit to the same by compulsion. But," he concluded, 
 " wherever he might be, he would always conduct himself 
 as a subject of the king." Thus far-fetched were the motives 
 which the prince adduced, to avoid touching upon the single 
 one which really decided him. 
 
 Berti had still a hope of obtaining, through Egmont's elc* 
 quence, what by his own he despaired of effecting. He there- 
 fore proposed a meeting with the latter (1567), which the 
 prince assented to the more willingly, as he himself felt a 
 desire to embrace his friend once more before his departure 
 
50 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 and if possible, to snatch the deluded man from certain de- 
 struction. This remarkable meeting, at which the private se 
 cretary Berti, and the young Count Mansfeld, were also pre- 
 sent, was the last that the two friends ever held, and took place 
 in Villebroeck, a village on the Rupel, between Brussels and 
 Antwerp. The Calvinists, whose last hope rested on the 
 issue of this conference, found means to acquaint themselves 
 of its import by a spy, who concealed himself in the chimney 
 of the apartment where it was held. All three attempted to 
 shake the determination of the prince, but their united elo- 
 quence was unable to move him from his purpose. " It will 
 cost you your estates, Orange, if you persist in this inten- 
 tion," said the Prince of Gaure, as he took him aside to a 
 window. " And you your life, Egmont, if you change not 
 yours," replied the former. ''To me it will at least be a 
 consolation in my misfortunes, that I desired, in deed as well 
 as in word, to help my country and my fiiends in the hour of 
 need ; but you, my friend, you are dragging friends and coun- 
 try with you to destruction." And saying these words, he 
 once again exhorted him, still more urgently than ever, to 
 return to the cause of his country, which his arm alone was 
 yet able to preserve ; if not, at least, for his own sake, to avoid 
 the tempest which was gathering against him from Spain 
 
 But all the arguments, however lucid, with which a far 
 discerning prudence supplied him, and however urgently en- 
 forced, with all the ardour and animation which the tender 
 anxiety of friendship could alone inspire, did not avail to 
 destroy the fatal confidence which still fettered Egmont's 
 better reason. The warning of Orange seemed to come from 
 a sad and dispirited heart ; but for Egmont the world still 
 smiled. To abandon the pomp and affluence in which he had 
 grown up to youth and manhood; to part with all the 
 thousand conveniences of life which alone made it valuable 
 to him, and all this to escape an evil which his buoyant spirit 
 regarded as remote, if not imaginary; no, that was not a 
 sacrifice which could be asked from Egmont. But had he 
 even been less given to indulgence than he was, with what 
 heart could he have consigned a princess accustomed by un- 
 interrupted prosperity to ease and comfort, a wife who loved 
 him as dearly as she was beloved, the children on whom his 
 soul hung in hope and fondness, to privations at the prospect 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 51 
 
 of which his own courage sank, and which a sublime philosophy 
 alone can enable sensuality to undergo. "You will never 
 persuade me, Orange," said Egmont, " to see things in the 
 gloomy light in which they appear to thy mournful prudence. 
 When I have succeeded in abolishing the public preachings, . 
 and chastising the Iconoclasts, in crushing the rebels, and re- 
 storing peace and order in the provinces, what can the king 
 lay to my charge? The king is good and just; I have claims 
 upon his gratitude, and I must not forget what I owe to my- 
 self." "Well, then," cried Orange indignantly, and with bit- 
 ter anguish, " trust, if you will, to this royal gratitude ! bat s 
 mournful presentiment tells me — and may Heaven grant that 
 I am deceived ! — that you, Egmont, will be the bridge by 
 which the Spaniards will pass into our country to destroy it." 
 After these words, he drew him to his bosom, ardently clasp- 
 ing him in his arms. Long, as though the sight was to serve 
 for the remainder of his life, did he keep his eyes fixed upon 
 him ; the tears fell ; they saw each other no more. 
 
 The very next day, the Prince of Orange wrote his letter of 
 resignation to the regent, in which he assured her of his per- 
 petual esteem, and once again entreated her to put the best in- 
 terpretation on his present step. He then set off, with his 
 three brothers, and his whole family, for his own town of Breda, 
 where he remained only as long as was requisite to arrange 
 some private affairs. His eldest son, Prince Philip William, 
 was left behind at the University of Louvain, where he thought 
 him sufficiently secure under the protection of the privileges of 
 Brabant, and the immunities of the academy ; an imprudence 
 which, if it was really not designed, can hardly be recon- 
 ciled with the just estimate which, in so many other cases, he 
 had taken of the character of his adversary. In Breda, the 
 heads of the Calvimsts once more consulted him whether there 
 was still hope for them, or whether all was irretrievably lost. 
 " He had before advised them," replied the prince, " and must 
 now do so again, to accede to the Confession of Augsburg ; 
 then they might rely upon aid from Germany. If they would 
 still not consent to this, they must raise 600,000 florins, or 
 more, if they could." ''The first," they answered, "was at 
 variance with their conviction and their conscience; but 
 means might perhaps be found to raise the money, if he 
 would only let them know for what purpose he wouid use it. 
 
 e 2 
 
52 HISTOKY OF THE 
 
 <4 No !" cried he, with the utmost displeasure, " if I must tell 
 you that, it is all over with the use of it." With these words 
 he immediately broke off the conference, and dismissed the 
 deputies. 
 
 The Prince of Orange was reproached with having squan- 
 dered his fortune, and with favouring the innovations on ac- 
 count of his debts ; but he asserted that he still enjoyed 60,000 
 florins yearly rental. Before his departure, he borrowed 
 20,000 florins from the states of Holland, on the mortgage 
 of some manors. Men could hardly persuade themselves that 
 he would have succumbed to necessity so entirely, and with- 
 out an effort at resistance, given up all his hopes and schemes. 
 But what he secretly meditated no one knew, no one had 
 read in his heart. Being asked how he intended to conduct 
 himself towards the King of Spain. " Quietly," was his 
 answer, " unless he touches my honour or my estates." He 
 left the Netherlands soon afterwards, and betook himself in 
 retirement to the town of Dillenburg in Nassau, at which 
 place he was born. He was accompanied to Germany by 
 many hundreds, either as his servants or as volunteers, and 
 was soon followed by Counts Hogstraten, Kuilemberg, and 
 Bergen, who preferred to share a voluntary exile with him, 
 rather than recklessly involve themselves in an uncertain des- 
 tiny. In his departure the nation saw the flight of its guard- 
 ian angel ; many had adored, all had honoured him. "With him 
 the last stay of the Protestants gave way ; they, however, had 
 greater hopes from this man in exile, than from all the others 
 together who remained behind. Even the Roman Catholics 
 could not witness his departure without regret. Them also 
 had he shielded from tyranny ; he had not unfrequently pro- 
 tected them against the oppression of their own church, and he 
 had rescued many of them from the sanguinary jealousy of 
 their religious opponents. A few fanatics among the Calvin- 
 ists, who were offended with his proposal of an alliance with 
 their brethren, who avowed the Confession of Augsburg, 
 solemnized with secret thanksgivings the day on which the 
 enemy left them. 1567 
 
■REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 53 
 
 DECAY AND DISPERSION OF THE GEUSEN LEAGUE. 
 
 Immediately after taking leave of his friend, the Prince 
 of Gaure hastened back to Brussels, to receive from the 
 regent the reward of his firmness, and there in the ex- 
 citement of the court, and in the sunshine of his good fortune, 
 to dispel the light cloud which the earnest warnings of the 
 Prince of Orange had cast over his na/tural gaiety. The 
 flight of the latter now left him in possession of the stage. 
 He had now no longer any rival in the republic to dim his 
 glory. With redoubled zeal he wooed the transient favour of 
 the court, above which he ought to have felt himself far ex- 
 alted. All Brussels must participate in his joy. He gave 
 splendid banquets and public entertainments, at which, the 
 better to eradicate all suspicion from his mind, the regent 
 herself frequently attended. Not content with having taken 
 the required oath, he outstripped the most devout in devo- 
 tion ; outran the most zealous in zeal to extirpate the Pro- 
 testant faith, and to reduce by force of arms the refractory 
 towns of Flanders. He declared to his old friend, Count 
 Hogstraten, as also to the rest of the Gueux, that he 
 would withdraw from them his friendship for ever, if they 
 hesitated any longer to return into the bosom of the church, 
 and reconcile themselves with their king. All the confiden 
 tial letters which had been exchanged between him and them 
 were returned, and by this last step, the breach, between them 
 was made public and irreparable. Egmont's secession, and 
 the flight of the Prince of Orange, destroyed the last hope of 
 the Protestants and dissolved the whole league of the Gueux 
 Its members vied with each other in readiness — nay, they 
 could not soon enough abjure the covenant and take the new 
 oath proposed to them by the government. In vain did the 
 Protestant merchants exclaim at this breach of faith on the 
 part of the nobles ; their weak voice was no longer listened 
 to, and all the sums were lost with which they had sup- 
 plied the league. 
 
 The most important places were quickly reduced and gar- 
 risoned ; the rebels had fled, or perished by the hand of the 
 executioner ; in the provinces no protector was left. All 
 yielded to the fortune of the regent, and her victorious army 
 
54 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 was advancing against Antwerp. After a "Jong and obstinate 
 contest, this town had been cleared of the worst leueis ; Her- 
 mann and his adherents took to flight ; tfre internal storms 
 had spent their rage. The minds of the people became gra- 
 dually composed, and, no longer excited at will by every fu- 
 rious fanatic, began to listen to better counsels. The weal- 
 thier citizens earnestly longed for peace, to revive commerce 
 and trade, which had suffered severely from the long reign of 
 anarchy. The dread of Alva's approach worked wonders ; in 
 order to prevent the miseries, which a Spanish army would 
 inflict upon the country, the people hastened to throw them- 
 selves on the gentler mercies of the regent. Of their own 
 accord they despatched plenipotentiaries to Brussels, to nego- 
 ciate for a treaty and to hear her terms. Agreeably as the 
 regent was surprised by this voluntary step, she did not allow 
 herself to be hurried away by her joy. She declared that she 
 neither could nor would listen to any overtures or representa- 
 tions until the town had received a garrison. Even this 
 was no longer opposed, and Count Mansfeld marched in, 
 the day after, with sixteen squadrons in battle array. A so- 
 lemn treaty was now made between the town and duchess, by 
 which the former bound itself to prohibit the Calvinistic form 
 of worship, to banish all preachers of that persuasion, to re- 
 store the Roman Catholic religion to its former dignity, to 
 decorate the despoiled churches with their former ornaments, 
 to administer the old edicts as before, to take the new oath 
 which the other towns had sworn to, and lastly to deliver into 
 the hands of justice all who had been guilty of treason, in 
 bearing arms, or taking part in the desecration of the 
 churches. On the other hand, the regent pledged herself to 
 forget all that had passed, and even to intercede for the of- 
 fenders with the king. All those, who being dubious of obtain- 
 ing pardon preferred bannishment, were to be allowed a month 
 to convert their property into money, and place themselves in 
 safety. From this grace, none were to be excluded but such 
 as had been guilty of a capital offence, and who were excepted 
 by the previous article. Immediately upon the conclusion of 
 this treaty, all Calvinist and Lutheran preachers in Antwerp, 
 and the adjoining territory, were warned by the herald to quit 
 the country within twenty-four hours. All the streets and gates 
 were now thronged with fugitives, who for the honour of their 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHEKLANDS. 65 
 
 3-od abandoned what was dearest to them, and sought a more 
 peaceful home for their persecuted faith. Here husbands 
 were taking an eternal farewell of their wives, fathers of their 
 children; there whole families were preparing to depart. 
 All Antwerp resembled a house of mourning ; wherever the 
 eye turned, some affecting spectacle of painful separation pre- 
 sented itself. A seal was set on the doors of the Protestant 
 churches ; the whole worship seemed to be extinct. The 10th 
 cf April (1567) was the day appointed for the departure of 
 the preachers. In the town hall, where they appeared for the 
 last time to take leave of the magistrate, they could not com- 
 mand their grief; but broke forth into bitter reproaches. 
 They had been sacrificed, they exclaimed, they had been 
 shamefully betrayed. But a time would come when Antwerp 
 would pay dearly enough for this baseness. Still more bitter 
 were the complaints of the Lutheran clergy, whom the magis- 
 trate himself had invited into the country, to preach against 
 the Calvinists. Under the delusive representation that the 
 king was not unfavourable to their religion, they had been se- 
 duced into a combination against the Calvinists, but as soon 
 as the latter had been, by their co-operation, brought under 
 subjection, and their own services were no longer required, 
 they were left to bewail their folly, which had involved them- 
 selves and their enemies in common ruin. 
 
 A few days afterwards, the regent entered Antwerp in 
 triumph, accompanied by a thousand Walloon horse, the 
 Knights of the Golden Fleece, all the governors and coun- 
 sellors, a number of municipal officers, and her whole 
 court. Her first visit was to the cathedral, which still bore 
 lamentable traces of the violence of the Iconoclasts, and 
 drew from her many and bitter tears. Immediately after- 
 wards four of the rebels, who had been overtaken in their 
 flight, were brought in and executed in the public market- 
 place. All the children who had been baptized after the 
 Protestant rites were rebaptized by Roman Catholic priests ; 
 all the schools of heretics were closed, and their churches le- 
 velled to the ground. Nearly all the towns in the Nether- 
 lands followed the example of Antwerp, and banished the 
 Protestant preachers. By the end of April, the Roman Ca- 
 tholic churches were repaired and embellished more splendidly 
 than ever, while all the Protestant places of worship were 
 
56 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 pulled down, and every vestige of the proscribed belief obliter 
 ated in the seventeen provinces. The populace, whose sym- 
 pathies are generally with the successful party, was now as 
 active in accelerating the ruin of the unfortunate, as a short 
 time before it had been furiously zealous in its cause ; in 
 Ghent, a large and beautiful church which the Calvinists had 
 erected was attacked, and in less than an hour had wholly 
 disappeared. From the beams of the roofless churches, gib- 
 bets were erected for those who had profaned the sanctuaries 
 of the Roman Catholics. The places of execution were filled 
 with corpses, the prisons with condemned victims, the high 
 roads with fugitives. Innumerable were the victims of this 
 year of murder; in the smallest towns fifty at least, in 
 several of the larger as many as three hundred, were put to 
 death, while no account was kept of the numbers in the open 
 country who fell into the hands of the provost-marshal, and 
 were immediately strung up as miscreants, without trial and 
 without mercy. 
 
 The regent was still in Antwerp, when ambassadors pre- 
 sented themselves from the Electors of Brandenburg, Saxony, 
 Hesse, Wurtemberg, and Baden to intercede for their fugitive 
 brethren in the faith. The expelled preachers of the Augs- 
 burg Confession had claimed the rights assured to them by 
 the religious peace of the Germans, in which Brabant, as part 
 of the empire, participated, and had thrown themselves on the 
 protection of those princes. The arrival of the foreign mi- 
 nisters alarmed the regent, and she vainly endeavoured to 
 prevent their entrance into Antwerp ; under the guise, how 
 ever, of showing them marks of honour, she continued to 
 keep them closely watched, lest they should encourage the 
 malcontents in any attempts against the peace of the town. 
 From the high tone which they most unseasonably adopted 
 towards the regent, it might almost be inferred that they were 
 little in earnest in their demand. " It was but reasonable," they 
 said, "that the Confession of Augsburg, as the only one, which 
 met the spirit of the Gospel, should be the ruling faith in the 
 Netherlands ; but to persecute it by such cruel edicts as 
 were in force was positively unnatural, and could not be 
 allowed They therefore required of the regent, in the name of 
 religion, not to treat the people, entrusted to her rule, with such 
 severity. She replied through the Count of Staremberg. her 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 57 
 
 minister for German affairs, that such an exordium deserved 
 no answer at all. From the sympathy which the German 
 princes had shown for the Belgian fugitives, it was clear that 
 they gave less credit to the letters of the king, in explanation 
 of his measures, than to the reports of a few worthless wretches 
 who, in the desecrated churches, had left behind them a worthier 
 memorial of their acts and characters. It would far more he- 
 come them to leave to the King of Spain the care of his own 
 subjects, and abandon the attempt to foster a spirit cf re- 
 bellion in foreign countries, from which they would reap 
 neither honour nor profit. The ambassadors left Antwerp in 
 a few days without having effected anything. The Saxon 
 minister, indeed, in a private interview with the regent, even 
 assured her that his master had most reluctantly taken this 
 step. 
 
 The German ambassadors had not quitted Antwerp, when 
 intelligence from Holland completed the triumph of the 
 regent. From fear of Count Megen, Count Brederode 
 had deserted his town of Viane, and with the aid of the 
 Protestant inhabitants had succeeded in throwing himself 
 into Amsterdam, where his arrival caused great alarm to 
 the city magistrate, who had previously found difficulty in 
 preventing a revolt, while it revived the courage of the Pro- 
 testants. Here Brederode s adherents increased daily, and 
 many noblemen flocked to him from Utrecht, Friesland, and 
 Groningen, whence the victorious arms of Megen and Arem- 
 berg had driven them. Under various disguises, they found 
 means to steal into the city, where they gathered round Bre- 
 derode, and served him as a strong bodyguard. The regent, 
 apprehensive of a new outbreak, sent one of her private secre- 
 taries, Jacob de la Torre, to the Council of Amsterdam, and 
 ordered them to get rid of Count Brederode on any terms, 
 and at any risk. Neither the magistrate nor de la Torre him- 
 self, who visited Brederode in person to acquaint him with the 
 will of the duchess, could prevail upon him to depart. The se- 
 cretary was even surprised in his own chamber by a party of Bre- 
 derode's followers, and deprived of all his papers, and would, 
 perhaps, have lost his life also, if ne had not contrived to make 
 his escape. Brederode remained in Amsterdam a full month af- 
 ter this occurrence, a powerless idol of the Protestants, and an 
 oppressive burden to the Eoman Catholics ; while his fine army, 
 
58 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 which he had left in Yiane, reinforced by many fugitives 
 from the southern provinces, gave Count Megen enough to do 
 without attempting to harass the Protestants in their flight. 
 At last, Brederode resolved to follow the example of Orange, 
 and yielding to necessity, abandon a desperate cause. He in- 
 formed the town council that he was willing to leave Am- 
 sterdam, if they would enable him to do so by furnishing him 
 with the pecuniary means. Glad to get quit of him, they 
 hastened to borrow the money on the security of the town 
 council. Brederode quitted Amsterdam the same night, and 
 was conveyed in a gun-boat as far as Vlie, from whence he for- 
 tunately escaped to Embden. Fate treated him more mildly 
 than the majority of those he had implicated in his foolhardy 
 enterprise : he died the year after, 1568, at one of his castles 
 in Germany, from the effects of drinking, by which he sought 
 ultimately to drown his grief and disappointments. His wi- 
 dow, Countess of Moers in her own right, was remarried to 
 the Prince Palatine, Frederick III. The Protestant cause 
 lost but little by his demise ; the work which he had com- 
 menced, as it had not been kept alive by him, so it did not 
 die with him. 
 
 The little army, which in his disgraceful flight he had desert- 
 ed, was bold and valiant, and had a few resolute leaders. It 
 disbanded, indeed, as soon as he, to whom it looked for pay, had 
 fled ; but hunger and courage kept its parts together some 
 time longer. One body, under the command of Dietrich of 
 Battenburgh, marched to Amsterdam, in the hope of carry- 
 ing that town ; but Count Megen hastened with thirteen 
 companies of excellent troops to its relief, and compelled the 
 rebels to give up the attempt. Contenting themselves with 
 plundering the neighbouring cloisters, among which the abbey 
 of Egmont in particular was hardly dealt with, they turned 
 off towards Waaterland, where they hoped the numerous 
 swamps would protect them from pursuit., But thither 
 Count Megen followed them, and compelled them, in all 
 haste, to seek safety in the Zuyderzee. The brothers Van 
 Battenburg, and two Friesan nobles, Beima and Galama, with 
 a hundred and twenty men and the booty they had taken from 
 the monasteries, embarked near the town of Hoorne, intend- 
 ing to cross to Friesland, but, through the treachery of the 
 steersman, who ran the vessel on a sandbank near Harlingen, 
 
EEVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 59 
 
 they fell into the hands of one of Aremberg's captains, who 
 took them all prisoners. The Count of Aremberg immediately 
 pronounced sentence upon all the captives of plebeian rank, 
 but sent his noble prisoners to the regent, who caused seven 
 of them to be beheaded. Seven others of the most noble, in 
 eluding the brothers Van Battenburg and some Frieslanders, 
 all in the bloom of youth, were reserved for the Duke of Alva, 
 to enable him to signalize the commencement of his adminis- 
 tration by a deed, which was in every way worthy of him. 
 The troops in four other vessels which set sail from Medem- 
 blick, ancf were pursued by Count Megen in small boats, 
 were more successful. A contrary wind had forced them out of 
 their course, and driven them ashore on the coast of Gueldres, 
 where they all got safe to land ; crossing the Rhine near Heu- 
 sen, they fortunately escaped into Cleves, where they tore 
 their flags in pieces, and dispersed. In North Holland, 
 Count Megen overtook some squadrons who had lingered 
 too long in plundering the cloisters, and completely overpow- 
 ered them. He afterwards formed a junction with Noir- 
 carmes, and garrisoned Amsterdam. The Duke Erich of 
 Brunswick also surprised three companies, the last remains of 
 the army of the Gueux, near Viane, where they were endea- 
 vouring to take a battery, routed them and captured their 
 leader Rennesse, who was shortly afterwards beheaded at the 
 castle of Freudenburg in Utrecht. Subsequently, when Duke 
 Erich entered Viane, he found nothing but deserted streets, 
 the inhabitants having left it with the garrison on the first 
 alarm. He immediately razed the fortifications, and reduced 
 this arsenal of the Gueux to an open town without defences. 
 All the originators of the league were now dispersed ; Brede- 
 rode and Louis of Nassau had fled to Germany, and Counts 
 Hogstraten, Bergen, and Kuilemberg had followed their ex- 
 ample, Mansfeld had seceded, the brothers Van Battenburg 
 awaited in prison an ignominious fate, while Thoulouse alone 
 had found an honourable death on the field of battle. Those 
 of the confederates who had escaped the sword of the enemy, 
 and the axe of the executioner, had saved nothing but their 
 lives, and thus the title which they had assumed for show, be- 
 came at last a terrible reality. 
 
 Such was the inglorious end of the noble league, which 
 in its beginning awakened such fair hopes, and pro- 
 
60 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 raised to become a powerful protection against oppression. 
 Unanimity was its strength ; distrust and internal dissension 
 its ruin. It brought to light and developed many rare and 
 beautiful virtues ; but it wanted the most indispensable of all, 
 prudence and moderation, without which any undertaking 
 must miscarry, and all the fruits of the most laborious in- 
 dustry perish. If its objects had been as pure as it pretended, 
 or even had they remained as pure as they really were at its 
 first establishment, it might have defied the unfortunate com- 
 bination of circumstances which prematurely overwhelmed it ; 
 and even if unsuccessful, it would still have deserved an ho- 
 nourable mention in history. But it is too evident that the 
 confederate nobles, whether directly or indirectly, took a 
 greater share in the frantic excesses of the Iconoclasts than 
 comported with the dignity and blamelessness of their confe- 
 deration ; and many among them openly exchanged their own 
 good cause for the mad enterprise of these worthless vaga- 
 bonds. The restriction of the Inquisition, and a mitigation of 
 the cruel inhumanity of the edicts, must be laid to the credit 
 of the league ; but this transient relief was dearly pur- 
 chased, at the cost of so many of the best and bravest citi- 
 zens, who either lost their lives in the field, or in exile 
 carried their wealth and industry to another quarter of the 
 world ; and of the presence of Alva and the Spanish arms 
 Many, too, of its peaceable citizens, who, without its danger- 
 ous temptations, would never have been seduced from the 
 ranks of peace and order, were beguiled by the hope of success 
 into the most culpable enterprises, and by their failure 
 plunged into ruin and misery. But it cannot be denied, that 
 the league atoned in some measure for these wrongs by posi- 
 tive benefits. It brought together and emboldened many 
 whom a selfish pusillanimity kept asunder and inactive ; it 
 diffused a salutary public spirit amongst the Belgian people, 
 which the oppression of the government had almost entirely 
 extinguished, and gave unanimity and a common voice to the 
 scattered members of the nation, the absence of which alone 
 makes despots bold. The attempt, indeed, failed, and the 
 knots, too carelessly tied, were quickly unloosed ; but it was 
 through such failures that the nation was eventually to attain 
 to a firm and lasting union, which should bid defiance to 
 change. 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 61 
 
 The total destruction of the Geusen army quickly brought 
 the Dutch towns also back to their obedience, and in the pro- 
 vinces there remained not a single place which had not sub- 
 mitted to the regent ; but the increasing emigration, both of 
 the natives and the foreign residents, threatened the country 
 with depopulation. In Amsterdam the crowd of fugitives was 
 so great, that vessels were wanting to convey them across the 
 North Sea and the Zuyderzee, and that flourishing emporium 
 beheld with dismay the approaching downfall of its prosperity. 
 Alarmed at this general flight, the regent hastened to write 
 letters to all the towns, to encourage the citizens to remain, 
 and by fair promises to revive a hope of better and milder 
 measures. In the king's name, she promised to all who 
 would freely swear to obey the state and the church complete 
 indemnity, and by public proclamation invited the fugitives to 
 trust to the royal clemency and return to their homes. She 
 engaged also to relieve the nation from the dreaded presence 
 of a Spanish army, even if it were already on the frontiers ; 
 nay, she went so far as to drop hints that, if necessary, means 
 might be found to prevent it by force from entering the pro- 
 vinces, as she was fully determined not to relinquish to an- 
 other the glory of a peace which it had cost her so much la- 
 bour to effect. Few, however, returned in reliance upon her 
 word, and these few had cause to repent it in the sequel ; 
 many thousands had already quitted the country, and several 
 thousands more quickly followed them. Germany and Eng- 
 land were filled with Flemish emigrants, who, wherever they 
 settled, retained their usages and manners, and even their cos- 
 tume, unwilling to come to the painful conclusion that they 
 should never again see their native land, and to give up all 
 hopes of return. Few carried with them any remains of their 
 former affluence ; the greater portion had to beg their way, 
 and bestowed on their adopted country nothing but indus- 
 trious skill and honest citizens. 
 
 And now the regent hastened to report to the king, tidings 
 such as during her whole administration she had never beforo 
 been able to gratify him with. She announced to him that 
 she had succeeded in restoring quiet throughout the provinces, 
 and that she thought herself strong enough to maintain it. 
 The sects were extirpated, and the Koman Catholic worship 
 re-established in all its former splendour; the rebels had 
 
(52 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 either already met with, or were awaiting in prison, the punish 
 ment they deserved ; the towns were secured by adequate garri 
 sons. There was, therefore, no necessity for sending Spanish 
 troops into the Netherlands, and nothing to justify their en- 
 trance. Their arrival would tend to destroy the existing repose, 
 which it had cost so much to establish, would check the much- 
 desired revival of commerce and trade, and while it would in- 
 volve the country in new expenses, would, at the same time, de- 
 prive them of the only means of supporting them. The mere ru- 
 mour of the approach of a Spanish army had stripped the 
 country of many thousands of its most valuable citizens ; its 
 actual appearance would reduce it to a desert. As there was 
 no longer any enemy to subdue, or rebellion to suppress, the 
 people would see no motive for the march of this army but 
 punishment and revenge ; and, under this supposition, its ar- 
 rival would neither be welcomed nor honoured. No longer 
 excused by necessity, this violent expedient would assume the 
 odious aspect of oppression, would exasperate the national 
 mind afresh, drive the Protestants to desperation, and arm 
 their brethren in other countries in their defence. The re- 
 gent, she said, had, in the king's name, promised the nation 
 it should be relieved from this foreign army, and to this stipu- 
 lation she was principally indebted for the present peace ; she 
 could not, therefore, guarantee its long continuance if her 
 pledge was not faithfully fulfilled. The Netherlands would 
 receive him as their sovereign the king, with every mark of 
 attachment and veneration ; but he must come as a father to 
 bless, not as a despot to chastise them. Let him come 
 to enjoy the peace which she had bestowed on the country, 
 but not to destroy it afresh. 
 
 ALVAS ARMAMENT AND EXPEDITION TO THE NETHERLANDS. 
 
 But it was otherwise determined in the council at Madrid. 
 The minister Granvella, who, even while absent himself, ruled 
 the Spanish cabinet by his adherents ; the Cardinal Grand In- 
 quisitor Spinosa, and the Duke of Alva swayed respectively 
 by hatred, a spirit of persecution, or private interest, had out- 
 voted the milder councils of the Prince Ruy Gomes of Eboli, 
 the Count of Feria, and the king's confessor Fresneda. The 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 6S 
 
 insurrection, it was urged by the former, was indeed quelled 
 for the present, but only because the rebels were awed by the 
 rumour of the king's armed approach ; it was to fear of punish- 
 ment alone, and not to sorrow for their crime, that the present 
 calm was to be ascribed, and it would soon again be broken if 
 that feeling were allowed to subside. In fact, the offences of 
 the people fairly afforded the king the opportunity he had so 
 long desired, of carrying out his despotic views with an ap- 
 pearance of justice. The peaceable settlement for which the 
 regent took credit to herself, was very far from according 
 with his wishes, which sought rather for a legitimate pretext to 
 deprive the provinces of their privileges, which were so ob- 
 noxious to his despotic temper. 
 
 With an impenetrable dissimulation, Philip had hitherto 
 fostered the general delusion that he was about to visit the 
 provinces in person, while, all along, nothing could have been 
 more remote from his real intentions. Travelling at any time 
 ill suited the methodical regularity of his life, which moved 
 with the precision of clockwork ; and his narrow and sluggish 
 intellect was oppressed by the variety and multitude of 
 objects with which new scenes crowded it. The difficul- 
 ties and dangers w r hich would attend a journey to the Nether- 
 lands must, therefore, have been peculiarly alarming to his 
 natural timidity and love of ease. Why should he, who, 
 in all that he did, was accustomed to consider himself alone, 
 and to make men accommodate themselves to his principles, 
 not his principles to men, undertake so perilous an expedition, 
 when he could see neither the advantage nor necessity of it. 
 Moreover, as it had ever been to him an utter impossibility to 
 separate, even for a moment, his person from his royal dignity, 
 which no prince ever guarded so tenaciously and pedantically 
 as himself, so the magnificence and ceremony, which in his 
 mind were inseparably connected with such a journey, and 
 the expenses which, on this account, it would necessarily occa- 
 sion, were of themselves sufficient motives to account for his 
 indisposition to it, without its being at all requisite to call in 
 the aid of the influence of his favourite, Euy Gomes, who is 
 said to have desired to separate his rival, the Duke of Alva, 
 from the king. Little, however, as he seriously intended this 
 "ourney, he still deemed it advisable to keep up the expecta- 
 tion of it, as well with a view of sustaining the courage of the 
 
34 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 loyal, as of preventing a dangerous combination of the dis 
 affected, and stopping the further progress of the rebels. 
 
 In order to carry on the deception as long as possible, 
 Philip made extensive preparations for his departure, and 
 neglected nothing which could be required for such an event 
 He ordered ships to be fitted out, appointed the officers and 
 others to attend him. To allay the suspicion such warlike 
 preparations might excite in all foreign courts, they were 
 informed through his ambassadors of his real design. He 
 applied to the King of France for a passage for himself and 
 attendants through that kingdom, and consulted the Duke 
 of Savoy as to the preferable route. He caused a list to be 
 drawn up of all the towns and fortified places that lay in his 
 march, and directed all the intermediate distances to be accu- 
 rately laid down. Orders were issued for taking a map and 
 survey of the whole extent of country between Savoy and 
 Burgundy, the duke being requested to furnish the requisite 
 surveyors and scientific officers. To such lengths was the 
 deception carried, that the regent was commanded to hold 
 eight vessels, at least, in readiness, off Zealand, and to de- 
 spatch them to meet the king the instant she heard of his 
 having sailed from Spain ; and these ships she actually got 
 ready, and caused prayers to be offered up in all the churches 
 for the king's safety during the voyage, though, in secret, 
 many persons did not scruple to remark that, in his chamber 
 at Madrid, his majesty would not have much cause to dread 
 the storms at sea. Philip played his part with such masterly 
 skill, that the Belgian ambassadors in Madrid, Lords Bergen 
 and Montigny, who at first had disbelieved in the sincerity 
 of his pretended journey, began at last to be alarmed, and in- 
 fected their friends in Brussels with similar apprehensions. 
 An attack of tertian ague, which about this time the king 
 suffered, or perhaps feigned, in Segovia, afforded a plausible 
 pretence for postponing his journey, while, mean time, the 
 preparations for it were carried on with the utmost activity. 
 At last, when the urgent and repeated solicitations of his 
 sister compelled him to make a definite explanation of his 
 plans, he gave orders that the Duke of Alva should set out 
 forthwith with an army, both to clear the way before him 
 of rebels, and to enhance the splendour of his own royal 
 arrival. He did not yet venture to throw off the mask, and 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 65 
 
 announce the duke as his substitute. He had but too much 
 reason to fear, that the submission which his Flemish nobles 
 would cheerfully yield to their sovereign, would be refused to 
 one of his servants, whose cruel character was well known, 
 and who, moreover, was detested as a foreigner, and the enemy 
 of their constitution. And, in fact, the universal belief that 
 the king was soon to follow, which long survived Alva's en 
 trance into the country, restrained the outbreak of disturb- 
 ances which otherwise would assuredly have been caused by 
 the cruelties which marked the very opening of the duke's 
 government. 
 
 The clergy of Spain, and especially the Inquisition, con 
 tributed richly towards the expenses of this expedition, as to 
 a holy war. Throughout Spain, the enlisting was carried on 
 with the utmost zeal. The viceroys and governors of Sardinia, 
 Sicily, Naples, and Milan, received orders to select the best of 
 their Italian and Spanish troops in the garrisons, and despatch 
 them to the general rendezvous in the Geneose territory, 
 where the Duke of Alva would exchange them for the Spanish 
 recruits which he should bring with him. At the same time, 
 the regent was commanded to hold in readiness a few more 
 regiments of German infantry in Luxembourg, under the 
 command of the Counts Eberstein, Schaumburg, and Lodrona, 
 and also some squadrons of light cavalry in the duchy of 
 Burgundy, to reinforce the Spanish general immediately on 
 his entrance into the provinces. The Count of Barlaimont 
 was commissioned to furnish the necessary provision for the 
 armament, and a sum of 200,000 gold florins was remitted to 
 the regent, to enable her to meet these expenses, and to 
 maintain her own troops. 
 
 The French court, however, under pretence of the danger 
 to be apprehended from the Huguenots, had refused to allow 
 the Spanish army to pass through France. Philip applied to 
 the Dukes of Savoy and Lorraine, who were too dependent 
 upon him to refuse his request. The former merely stipulated 
 that he should be allowed to maintain 2,000 infantry and a 
 squadron of horse at the king's expense, in order to protect his 
 country from the injuries to which it might otherwise be ex- 
 j posed from the passage of the Spanish army. At the same 
 r time, he undertook to provide the necessary supplies for its 
 maintenance during the transit. 
 
 ¥ 
 
66 HISTORY OF THUS 
 
 The rumour of this arrangement roused the Huguenots, 
 the Genevese, the Swiss, and the Grisons. The Prince of 
 Conde and the Admiral Coligny entreated Charles IX. not to 
 neglect so favourable a moment of inflicting a deadly blow on 
 the hereditary foe of France. With the aid of the Swiss, the 
 Genevese, and his own Protestant subjects, it would, they 
 alleged, be an easy matter to destroy the flower of the Spanish 
 troops in the narrow passes of the Alpine mountains ; and 
 they promised to support him in this undertaking with an 
 army of 50,000 Huguenots. This advice, however, w^hose 
 dangerous object was not easily to be mistaken, was plausibly 
 declined by Charles IX., who assured them that he was both 
 able and anxious to provide for the security of his kingdom. 
 He hastily despatched troops to cover the French frontiers ; 
 and the republics of Geneva, Bern, Zurich, and the Grisons, 
 followed his example, all ready to offer a determined opposi- 
 tion to the dreaded enemy of their religion and their liberty. 
 
 On the 5th of May, 1567, the Duke of Alva set sail from 
 Carthagena with thirty galleys, which had been furnished by 
 Andrew Doria and the Duke Cosmo of Florence, and within 
 eight days landed at Genoa, where the four regiments were 
 waiting to join him. But a tertian ague, with which he was 
 seized shortly after his arrival, compelled him to remain for 
 some days inactive in Lombardy- — a delay of which the neigh- 
 bouring powers availed themselves to prepare for defence. As 
 soon as the duke recovered, he held at Asti, in Montferrat, a 
 review of all his troops, who were more formidable by their 
 valour than by their numbers, since cavalry and infantry 
 together did not amount to much above 10,000 men. In his 
 long and perilous march, he did not wish to encumber himself 
 with useless supernumeraries, which would only impede his 
 progress and increase the difficulty of supporting his army. 
 These 10,000 veterans were to form the nucleus of a greater 
 army, which, according as circumstances and occasion might 
 require, he could easily assemble in the Netherlands them 
 selves. 
 
 This army, however, was as select as it was small. It con- 
 sisted of the remains of those victorious legions, at whose head 
 Charles V. had made Europe tremble ; sanguinary, indomitable 
 bands, in whose battalions the firmness of the old Macedonian 
 phalanx lived again; rapid in their evolutions from long 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHEKLANDS. 67 
 
 practice, hardy and enduring, proud of their leader's success, 
 and confident from past victories, formidable by their licen- 
 tiousness, but still more so by their discipline ; let loose 
 with all the passions of a warmer climate upon a rich and 
 peaceful country, and inexorable towards an enemy whom the 
 church had cursed. Their fanatical and sanguinary spirit, 
 their thirst for glory and innate courage was aided by a rude 
 sensuality, the instrument by which the Spanish general 
 firmly and surely ruled his otherwise intractable troops. 
 With a prudent indulgence, he allowed riot and voluptuous- 
 ness to reign throughout the camp. Under his tacit con- 
 nivance, Italian courtezans followed the standards; even in 
 the march across the Apennines, where the high price of the 
 necessaries of life compelled him to reduce his force to the 
 smallest possible number, he preferred to have a few regi- 
 ments less, rather than to leave behind these instruments of 
 voluptuousness *. 
 
 But industriously as Alva strove to relax the morals of his 
 soldiers, he enforced the more rigidly a strict military disci- 
 pline, which was interrupted only by a victory, or rendered 
 less severe by a battle. For all this he had, he said, the 
 authority of the Athenian General Iphicrates, who awarded 
 the prize of valour to the pleasure-loving and rapacious sol- 
 dier. The more irksome the restraint by which the passions 
 of the soldiers were kept in check, the greater must have been 
 the vehemence with which they broke forth at the sole outlet 
 which was left open to Ihem. 
 
 The duke divided his infantry, which was about 9,000 
 strong, and chiefly Spaniards, into four brigades, &nd gave 
 the command of them to four Spanish officers. Alphonso of 
 Ulloa led the Neapolitan brigade of nine companies, amount- 
 ing to 3230 men; Sancho of Lodogno commanded the Milan 
 brigade, 3200, men in ten companies, the Sicilian brigade 
 with the same number of companies, and consisting of 1600 
 
 * The bacchanalian procession of this army, contrasted strangely enough 
 with the gloomy seriousness and pretended sanctity of its aim. The num- 
 ber of these women was so great that, to restrain the disorders and quarrel- 
 ling among themselves, they hit upon the expedient of establishing a disci- 
 pline of their own. They ranged themselve under particular flags, 'marched 
 in ranks and sections, and in admirable military order, after each battalion 
 and classed themselves with strict etiquette according to their rank and pav* 
 
 F 9 
 
68 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 men, was under Julian Romero, an experienced warrior, who 
 had already fought on Belgian ground * ; while Gonsalo of 
 Braccamonte headed that of Sardinia, which was raised by 
 three companies of recruits, to the full complement of the 
 former. To every company, moreover, were added fifteen 
 Spanish musqueteers. The horse, in all 1200 strong, con 
 sisted of three Italian, two Albanian, and seven Spanish 
 squadrons, light and heavy cavalry, and the chief command 
 was held by Ferdinand and Frederick of Toledo, the two sons 
 of Alva. Chiappin Vitelli, Marquis of Cetona, was field- 
 marshal ; a celebrated general whose services had been made 
 over to the King of Spain by Cosmo of Florence, and Gabriel 
 Serbellon was general of artillery. The Duke of Savoy lent 
 Alva an experienced engineer, Francis Pacotto, of Urbino, 
 who was to be employed in the erection of new fortifications. 
 His standard was likewise followed by a number of volunteers, 
 and the flower of the Spanish nobility, of whom the greater 
 part had fought under Charles V. in Germany, Italy, and 
 before Tunis. Among these were Christopher Mondragone, 
 :>ne of the ten Spanish heroes, who near Muhlberg swam 
 across the Elbe with their swords between their teeth, and 
 under a shower of bullets from the enemy, brought over from 
 the opposite shore the boats which the Emperor required for 
 the construction of a bridge. Sancho of Avila, who had been 
 trained to war under Alva himself, Camillo of Monte, Francis 
 Ferdugo, Karl Davila, Nicolaus Basta, and Count Martinego, 
 all fired with a noble ardour, either to commence their military 
 career under so eminent a leader, or by another glorious cam- 
 paign under his command, to crown the fame they had already 
 won. After the review, the army marched in three divisions 
 across Mount Cenis, by the very route which, sixteen cen- 
 turies before, Hannibal is said to have taken. The duke him- 
 self led the van ; Ferdinand of Toledo, with whom was asso- 
 ciated Lodogno as colonel, the centre ; and the Marquis of 
 Cetona the rear. The Commissary General, Francis of Ibarra, 
 was sent before with General Serbellon to open the road for 
 the main body, and get ready the supplies at the several 
 quarters for the night. The places which the van left in the 
 
 * The same officer, who commanded one of the Spanish regiments, about 
 which so much complaint had formerly been made in the States-Greneral 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 69 
 
 morning were entered in the evening by the centre, which in 
 its turn made room on the following day for the rear. Thus 
 the army crossed the Alps of Savoy by regular stages, and 
 with the fourteenth day completed that dangerous passage. 
 A French army of observation accompanied it side by side 
 along the frontiers of Dauphine and the course of the Rhone, 
 and the allied army of the Genevese followed it on the right, 
 and was passed by it at a distance of seven miles. Both 
 these armies of observation carefully abstained from any 
 act of hostility, and were merely intended to cover their 
 own frontiers. As the Spanish legions ascended and de- 
 scended the steep mountain crags, or while they crossed the 
 rapid Iser, or file by file wound through the narrow passes of 
 the rocks, a handful of men would have been sufficient to 
 have put an entire stop to their march, and to drive them 
 back into the mountains, where they would have been irre- 
 trievably lost, since at each place of encampment supplies were 
 provided for no more than a single day, and for a third part 
 only of the whole force. But a supernatural awe and dread 
 of the Spanish name appeared to have blinded the eyes of 
 the enemy, so that they did not perceive their advantage, or 
 at least did not venture to profit by it. In order to give them 
 as little opportunity as possible of remembering it, the Spa- 
 nish general hastened through this dangerous pass. Con- 
 vinced, too, that if his troops gave the slightest umbrage he 
 was lost, the strictest discipline was maintained during the 
 march, not a single peasant's hut, not a single field was in- 
 jured * ; and never, perhaps, in the memory of man, was so 
 numerous an army led so far in such excellent order. Des- 
 tined as this army was for vengeance and murder, a malignant 
 and baleful star seemed to conduct it safe through all dan- 
 gers; and it would be difficult to decide whether the prudence 
 of its general, or the blindness of its enemies is most to be 
 wondered at 
 
 * Once only on entering Lorraine, three horsemen ventured to drive away 
 a few sheep from a flock, of which circumstance the duke was no sooner in- 
 formed, than he sent back to the owner what had been taken from him, and 
 sentenced the offenders to be hung. This sentence was, at the intercession of 
 the Lorraine general, who had come to the frontiers to pay his respects to the 
 duke, executed on only one of the three, upon whom the lot fell at the drum* 
 head. 
 
70 H1STOKY OF THE 
 
 In Franche Comte, four squadrons of Burgundian cavalry 
 newly raised joined the main army, which, at Luxembourg, 
 was also reinforced by three regiments of German infantry 
 under the command of Counts Eberstein, Schaumburg, and 
 Lodrona. From Thionville, where he halted a few days, 
 Alva sent his salutations to the regent by Francis of Ibarra, 
 who was, at the same time, directed to consult her on the quar- 
 tering of the troops. On her part, Noircarmes and Barlaimont 
 were despatched to the Spanish camp to congratulate the duke 
 on his arrival, and to show him the customary marks of honour. 
 At the same time they w 7 ere directed to ask him to produce 
 the powers entrusted to him by the king, of which, however, 
 he only showed a part. The envoys of the regent were fol- 
 lowed by swarms of the Flemish nobility, who thought they 
 could not hasten soon enough to conciliate the favour of the 
 new viceroy, or, by a timely submission, avert the vengeance 
 which w r as preparing. Among them was Count Egmont. 
 As he came forward, the duke pointed him out to the 
 bystanders. " Here comes an arch-heretic," he exclaimed, 
 loud enough to be heard by Egmont himself, who, surprised at 
 these words, stopped and changed colour. But when the 
 duke, in order to repair his imprudence, went up to him with 
 a serene countenance, and greeted him with a friendly em- 
 brace, the Fleming was ashamed of his fears, and made light 
 of this warning, by putting some frivolous interpretation upon 
 it. Egmont sealed this new friendship with a present of two 
 valuable chargers, which Alva accepted with a grave con- 
 descension. 
 
 Upon the assurance of the regent that the provinces were 
 in the enjoyment of perfect peace, and that no opposition 
 was to be apprehended from any quarter, the duke discharged 
 some German regiments, which had hitherto drawn their 
 pay from the Netherlands. Three thousand six hundred men. 
 under the command of Lodrona, were quartered in Antwerp, 
 from which town the Walloon garrison, in which full reliance 
 could not be placed, was withdrawn ; garrisons proportionably 
 stronger were thrown into Ghent and other important places ; 
 Alva himself marched with the Milan brigade towards 
 Brussels, whither he was accompanied by a splendid cortege 
 of the noblest in the land. 
 
 Here, as in all the other towns of the Netherlands, feai 
 
HEYOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 71 
 
 and terror had preceded him, and all who were conscious of 
 any offences, and even those who were sensible of none, alike 
 awaited his approach with a dread similar to that with which 
 criminals see the coming of their day of trial. All who 
 could tear themselves from the ties of family, property, and 
 country, had already fled, or now at last took to flight. The 
 advance of the Spanish army had already, according to the 
 report of the regent, diminished the population of the pro 
 vinces by the loss of 100,000 citizens, and this general flight 
 still continued. But the arrival of the Spanish general 
 could not be more hateful to the people of the Netherlands, 
 than it was distressing and dispiriting to the regent. At 
 last, after so many years of anxiety, she had begun to taste 
 the sweets of repose, and that absolute authority, which had 
 been the long cherished object of eight years of a troubled 
 and difficult administration. This late fruit of so much 
 anxious industry, of so many cares and nightly vigils, was now 
 to be wrested from her by a stranger, who was to be placed 
 at once in possession of all the advantages which she had 
 been forced to extract from adverse circumstances, by a 
 long and tedious course of intrigue and patient endur- 
 ance. Another was lightly to bear away the prize of 
 promptitude, and to triumph by more rapid success over her 
 superior but less glittering merits. Since the departure of 
 the minister Granvella, she had tasted to the full the plea 
 sures of independence. The flattering homage of the nobility, 
 which allowed her more fully to enjoy the shadow of power, 
 the more they deprived her of its substance, had, by degrees, 
 fostered her vanity to such an extent, that she at last estranged 
 by her coldness, even the most upright of all her servants, 
 the state counsellor Viglius, who always addressed her in 
 the language of truth. All at once, a censor of her actions 
 was placed at her side, a partner of her power was associated 
 with her, if indeed it was not rather a master who was forced 
 upon her, whos^ proud, stubborn, and imperious spirit, which 
 no courtesy could soften, threatened the deadliest wounds U 
 her self-love and vanity. To prevent his arrival, she had, 
 in her representations to the king, vainly exhausted every 
 political argument. To no purpose had she urged, that the 
 utter ruin of the commerce of the Netherlands would be the 
 inevitable consequence of this introduction of the Spanish 
 
72 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 troops ; in vain had she assured the king, that peace was 
 universally restored, and reminded him of her own services 
 in procuring it, which deserved, she thought, a better guerdon 
 than to see all the fruits of her labours snatched from her 
 and given to a foreigner, and more than all, to behold all the 
 good which she had effected, destroyed by a new and different 
 line of conduct. E^/en when the duke had already crossed 
 Mount Cenis, she made one more attempt, entreating him at 
 least to diminish his army; but that also failed, for the 
 duke insisted upon acting up to the powers entrusted to him. 
 In poignant grief she now awaited his approach, and with 
 the tears she shed for her country, were mingled those of 
 offended self-love. 
 
 On the 22nd of August, 1567, the duke of Alva appeared 
 before the gates of Brussels. His army immediately took 
 up their quarters in the suburbs, and he himself made it his 
 first duty to pay his respects to the sister of his king. 
 She gave him a private audience, on the plea of suffering 
 from sickness. Either the mortification she had undergone 
 had in reality a serious effect upon her health, or what 
 is not improbable, she had recourse to this expedient, 
 to pain his haughty spirit, and in some degree to lessen his 
 triumph. He delivered to her letters from the king, and 
 laid before her a copy of his own appointment, by which the 
 supreme command of the whole military force of the Nether- 
 lands was committed to him, and from which, therefore, it 
 would appear, that the administration of civil affairs remained, 
 as heretofore, in the hands of the regent. But as soon as he 
 was alone with her, he produced a new commission which was 
 totally different from the former. According to this, the 
 power was delegated to him of making war at his discretion, 
 of erecting fortifications, of appointing and dismissing at 
 pleasure the governors of provinces, the commandants of 
 towns, and other officers of the king, of instituting inquiries 
 into the past troubles, of punishing those who originated 
 them, and of rewarding the loyal. Powers of this extent, 
 which placed him almost on a level with a sovereign prince, 
 and far surpassed those of the regent herself, caused her 
 the greatest consternation, and it was with difficulty that 
 she could conceal her emotion. She asked the duke whether 
 he had not even a third commission, or some special orders 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 73 
 
 in reserve which went still further, and were drawn up still 
 more precisely, to which he replied distinctly enough in the 
 affirmative, but at the same time gave her to understand, that 
 this commission might be too full to suit the present occasion, 
 and would be better brought into play hereafter, with due regard 
 to time and circumstances. A few days after his arrival, he 
 caused a copy of the first instructions to be laid before the 
 several councils and the states, and had them printed to ensure 
 their rapid circulation. As the regent resided in the palace, 
 he took up his quarters temporarily in Kuilemberg house, 
 the same in which the association of the Grueux had received 
 its name, and before which, through a wonderful vicissitude, 
 Spanish tyranny now planted its flag. 
 
 A dead silence reigned in Brussels, broken only at times 
 by the unwonted clang of arms. The duke had entered the 
 town but a few hours, when his attendants, like blood-hounds 
 that have been slipped, dispersed themselves in all directions. 
 Everywhere foreign faces were to be seen ; the streets were 
 empty, all the houses carefully closed, all amusements sus- 
 pended, all public places deserted. The whole metropolis 
 resembled a place visited by the plague. Acquaintances 
 hurried on without stopping for their usual greeting ; all 
 hastened on the moment a Spaniard showed himself in the 
 streets. Every sound startled them, as if it were the knock 
 of the officials of justice at their doors ; the nobility, in 
 trembling anxiety, kept to their houses ; they shunned ap- 
 pearing in public, lest their presence should remind the new 
 viceroy of some past offence. The two nations now seemed 
 to have exchanged characters. The Spaniard had become the 
 talkative man, and the Brabanter taciturn ; distrust and fear 
 had scared away the spirit of cheerfulness and mirth, a con- 
 strained gravity fettered even the play of the features. Every 
 moment the impending blow was looked for with dread. 
 
 This general straining of expectation, warned the duke to 
 hasten the accomplishment of his plans, before they should 
 be anticipated by the timely flight of his victims. His first 
 object was to secure the suspected nobles, in order, at once 
 and for ever, to deprive the faction of its leaders, and the 
 nation, whose freedom was to be crushed, of all its supporters. 
 By a pretended affability, he had succeeded in lulliug their 
 first alarm, and in restoring Count Egmont, in particular, to 
 
74 HISTORY OF THE 
 
 nis former perfect confidence, for which purpose he artfully 
 employed his sons, Ferdinand and Frederick of Toledo, whose 
 companionableness and youth assimilated more easily with 
 the Flemish character. By this skilful device, he succeeded 
 also in enticing Count Horn to Brussels, who had hitherto 
 thought it advisable to watch the first measures of the duke 
 from a distance, but now suffered himself to be seduced by 
 the good fortune of his friend. Some of the nobility, and 
 Count Egmont at the head of them, even resumed their 
 former gay style of living. But they themselves did not 
 do so with their whole hearts, and they had not many 
 imitators. Kuilemberg house was incessantly besieged by a 
 numerous crowd, who thronged around the person of the new 
 viceroy, and exhibited an affected gaiety on their countenances, 
 while their hearts were wrung with distress and fear. Egmont 
 in particular assumed the appearance of a light heart, enter 
 taining the duke's sons, and being feted by them in return. 
 Meanwhile, the duke was fearful lest so fair an opportunity 
 for the accomplishment of his plans might not last long, and 
 lest some act of imprudence might destroy the feeling of 
 security, which had tempted both his victims voluntarily to 
 put themselves into his power ; he only waited for a third ; 
 Hogstraten also was to be taken in the same net. Under a 
 plausible pretext of business, he therefore summoned him 
 to the metropolis. At the same time, that he purposed to 
 secure the three counts in Brussels, Colonel Lodrona was 
 to arrest the burgomaster Strahlen in Antwerp, an intimate 
 friend of the Prince of Orange, and suspected of having 
 favoured the Calvinists ; another officer was to seize the 
 private secretary of Count Egmont, whose name was John 
 Casembrot von Beckerzeel, as also some secretaries of Count 
 Horn, and was to possess themselves of their papers. 
 
 When the day arrived which had been fixed upon for the 
 execution of this plan, the duke summoned all the coun 
 sellors and knights before him, to confer with them upon 
 matters of state. On this occasion, the Duke of Arschot, the 
 Counts Mansfeld, Barlaimont, and Aremberg, attended on 
 the part of the Netherlander, and on the part of the 
 Spaniards, besides the duke's sons, Vitelli, Serbellon, and 
 Ibarra. The young Count Mansfeld, who likewise ap- 
 peared v at the meeting, received a sign from his father tu 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. tb 
 
 withdraw with all speed, and by a hasty flight avoid the fate 
 which was impending over him, as a former member of the 
 Geusen league. The duke purposely prolonged the consulta- 
 tion, to give time before he acted for the arrival of the 
 courtiers from Antwerp, who were to bring him the tidings 
 of the arrest of the other parties. To avoid exciting any 
 suspicion, the Engineer Paciotto was required to attend the 
 meeting, to lay before it the plans for some fortifications. At 
 last, intelligence was brought him that Lodrona had success- 
 fully executed his commission. Upon this the duke dexter- 
 ously broke off the debate, and dismissed the council. And 
 now, as Count Egmont was about to repair to the apartment 
 of Don Ferdinand, to finish a game that he had commenced 
 with him, the captain of the duke's body guard, Sancho 
 D'Avila, stopped him, and demanded his sw r ord in the king's 
 name. At the same time, he was surrounded by a number of 
 Spanish soldiers, who, as had been preconcerted, suddenly 
 advanced from their concealment. So unexpected a blow 
 deprived Egmont, for some moments, of all powers of utter 
 ance and recollection ; after a while, however, he collected 
 himself, and taking his sword from his side with dignified 
 composure, said, as he delivered it into the hands of the 
 Spaniard, " This sword has before this, on more than one oc- 
 casion, successfully defended the king's cause." Another 
 Spanish officer arrested Count Horn, as he was return 
 ing to his house, without the least suspicion of danger. 
 Horn's first inquiry was after Egmont. On being told 
 that the same fate had just happened to his friend, he 
 surrendered himself without resistance. " I have suffered 
 myself to be guided by him," he exclaimed, "it is fair 
 that I should share his destiny." The two counts were 
 placed in confinement, in separate apartments. While this 
 was going on in the interior of Kuilemberg house, the whole 
 garrison was drawn out under arms in front of it. No one 
 knew what had taken place inside, a mysterious terror dif- 
 fused itself throughout Brussels, until rumour spread the 
 news of this fatal event. Each felt as if he himself were 
 the sufferer ; with many, indignation at Egmont's blind in- 
 fatuation, preponderated over sympathy for his fate ; all 
 rejoiced that Orange had escaped. The first question of the 
 Cardinal Granvella, too, wnen these tidings reached h&n in 
 
76 HISTOEY OF THE 
 
 Rome, is said to have been, whether they had taken the 
 Silent One also. On being answered in the negative, he 
 shook his head : " then as they have let him escape they 
 have got nothing." Fate ordained better for the Count of 
 Hogstraten. Compelled by ill health to travel slowly, he 
 was met by the report of this event, while he was yet on his 
 way. He hastily turned back, and fortunately escaped de- 
 struction. Immediately after Egmont's seizure, a writing was 
 extorted from him, addressed to the commandant of the 
 citadel of Ghent, ordering that officer to deliver the fortress 
 to the Spanish Colonel, Alphonso d'Ulloa. Upon this, the 
 two counts were then (after they had been for some weeks 
 confined in Brussels) conveyed under a guard of 3000 Span- 
 iards to Ghent, where they remained imprisoned till late in 
 the following year. In the mean time, all their papers bad 
 been seized. Many of the first nobility, who, by the pre- 
 tended kindness of the Duke of Alva, had allowed themselves 
 to be cajoled into remaining, experienced the same fate. 
 Capital punishment was also, without further delay, inflicted 
 on all who, before the duke's arrival, had been taken with 
 arms in their hands. Upon the news of Egmont's arrest a 
 second body of about 20,000 inhabitants took up the wan 
 derer's staff, besides the 100,000 who, prudently declining to 
 await the arrival of the Spanish general, had already placed 
 themselves in safety*. After so noble a life had been as- 
 sailed, no one counted himself safe any longer ; but many 
 found cause to repent that they had so long deferred this 
 salutary step ; for every day flight was rendered more diffi- 
 
 * A great part of these fugitives helped to strengthen the army of th* 
 Huguenots, who had taken occasion, from the passage of the Spanish army 
 through Lorraine, to assemble their forces, and now pressed Charles IX. 
 hard. On these grounds, the French court thought it had a right to demand 
 aid from the regent of the Netherlands. It asserted that the Huguenots had 
 looked upon the march of the Spanish army as the result of a preconcerted 
 plan, which had been formed against them by the two courts at Bayonne, 
 and that this had roused them from their slumber. That consequently it 
 behoved the Spanish • court to assist in extricating the French king from 
 difficulties, into which the latter had been brought, simply by the march ot 
 the Spanish troops. Alva actually sent the Count of Aremberg with a con- 
 siderable force, to join the army of the Queen Mother in France, and even 
 offered to command these subsidiaries in person, which, however, was de 
 clined. Strada, 206. Thuan, 541. 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS, 77 
 
 cult, for the duke ordered all the ports to be closed, and 
 pun. shed the attempt at emigration with death. The beggars 
 were now esteemed fortunate, who had abandoned country 
 and property, in order to preserve at least their liberty and 
 their lives. 
 
 alva's fiest measuees, and depaettjee of the duchess 
 
 OF PAEMA. 
 
 Alva's first step, after securing the most suspected of the 
 nobles, was to restore the Inquisition to its former authority ; 
 to put the decrees of Trent again in force, abolish the "Mo- 
 deration" and promulgate anew the edicts against heretics 
 in all their original severity. The Court of Inquisition in 
 Spain had pronounced the whole nation of the Netherlands 
 guilty of treason in the highest degree ; Catholics and hetero- 
 dox, loyalists and rebels, without distinction; the latter as 
 having offended by overt acts, the former as having incurred 
 equal guilt by their supineness. From this sweeping con- 
 demnation a very few were excepted, whose names, how- 
 ever, were purposely reserred, while the general sentence 
 was publicly confirmed by the king. Philip declared him- 
 self absolved from all his promises, and released from all 
 engagements, which the regent, in his name, had entered 
 into with the people of the Netherlands ; and all the jus- 
 tice which they had in future to expect from him must 
 depend on his own good will and pleasure. All who had 
 aided in the expulsion of the minister Granvella, who had 
 taken part in the petition of the confederate nobles, or had 
 but even spoke in favour of it ; all who had presented a peti- 
 tion against the decrees of Trent, against the edicts relating 
 to religion, or against the installation of the bishops ; all who 
 had permitted the public preachings, or had only feebly re- 
 sisted them ; all who had worn the insignia of the Gueux, 
 had sung Geusen songs, or who in any way whatsoever had 
 manifested their joy at the establishment of the league ; all 
 who had sheltered or concealed the reforming preachers, at- 
 tended Calvinistic funerals, or had even merely known of. 
 their secret meetings, and not given information of them f 
 all who had appealed to the national privileges ; all in fine, 
 
TS H1ST0EY OF THE 
 
 who had expressed an opinion that they ought to obey God 
 rather than man ; all these, indiscriminately, were declared 
 liable to the penalties which the law imposed upon any 
 violation of the royal prerogative, and upon high treason, 
 and these penalties were, according to the instruction which 
 Alva had received, to be executed on the guilty persons, 
 without forbearance or favour — without regard to rank, sex, 
 or age, as an example to posterity, and for a terror to all 
 future times. According to this declaration, there was nc 
 longer an innocent person to be found in the whole Neither 
 lands, and the new viceroy had it in his power to make a 
 fearful choice of victims. Property and life were alike at his 
 command, and whoever should have the good fortune to pre- 
 serve one or both, must receive them as the gift of his 
 generosity and humanity. By this stroke of policy, as refined 
 as it was detestable, the nation was disarmed, and unanimity 
 rendered impossible. As it absolutely depended on the 
 duke's arbitrary will, upon whom the sentence should be car- 
 ried in force, which had been passed without exception upon 
 all, each individual kept himself quiet, in order to escape, if 
 possible, the notice of the viceroy, and to avoid drawing the 
 fatal choice upon himself. Every one, on the other hand, in 
 whose favour he was pleased to make an exception, stood in 
 a degree indebted to him, and was personally under an 
 obligation, which must be measured by the value he set 
 upon his life and property. As, however, this penalty could 
 only be executed on the smaller portion of the nation, the 
 duke naturally secured the greater by the strongest ties 
 of fear and gratitude, and for one whom he sought out 
 as a victim, he gained ten others whom he passed over. 
 As long as he continued true to this policy, he remained 
 in quiet possession of his rule, even amid the streams 
 of blood which he caused to flow, and did not forfeit this 
 advantage, till the want of money compelled him to im- 
 pose a burden upon the nation, which oppressed all indis- 
 criminately. 
 
 In order to be equal to this bloody occupation, the de- 
 tails of which were fast accumulating, and to be certain 
 of not losing a single victim through the want of instru 
 tnents; and on the other hand to render his proceedings 
 independent of the states, with whose privileges they were 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 79 
 
 so much at variance, and who, indeed, were far too hu- 
 mane for him, he instituted an extraordinary court of 
 justice. This court consisted of twelve criminal judges, who 
 according to their instructions, to the very letter of which they 
 must adhere, were to try and pronounce sentence upon 
 those implicated in the past disturbances. The mere insti- 
 tution of such a board, was a violation of the liberties of the 
 country, which expressly stipulated, that no citizen should be 
 tried out of his own province; but the duke filled up the 
 measure of his injustice, when, contrary to the most sacred 
 privileges of the nation, he proceeded to give seats and votes in 
 that court to Spaniards, the open and avowed enemies of 
 Belgian liberty. He himself was the president of this court, 
 and after him a certain Licentiate Vargas, a Spaniard by birth, 
 of whose iniquitous character the historians of both parties are 
 unanimous ; cast out like a plague spot from his own country, 
 where he had violated one of his wards, he was a shameless, 
 hardened villain, in whose mind avarice, lust, and the thirst 
 for blood, struggled for ascendancy. The principal members 
 were Count Aremberg, Philip of Noircarmes, and Charles of 
 Barlaimont, who, however, never sat in it ; Hadrian Nicolai, 
 Chancellor of Gueldres ; Jacob Mertens, and Peter Asset, 
 Presidents of Artois and Flanders; Jacob Hesselts, and John 
 de la Porte, Counsellors of Ghent ; Louis del Eoi, Doctor of 
 Theology, and by birth a Spaniard; John du Bois, Kings Advo- 
 cate; and De la Torre, Secretary of the Court. In compliance 
 with the representations of Viglius, the Privy Council was 
 spared any part in this tribunal ; nor was any one introduced 
 into it from the great council at Malines. The votes of the 
 members were only recommendatory, not conclusive ; the 
 final sentence being reserved by the duke to himself. No 
 particular time was fixed for the sitting of the court; the 
 members, however, assembled at noon, as often as the duke 
 thought good. But after the expiration of the third month, 
 Alva began to be less frequent in his attendance, and at last 
 resigned his place entirely to his favourite Vargas, who filled 
 it with such odious fitness, that in a short time all the mem- 
 bers, with the exception merely of the Spanish Doctor Dei 
 yEio, and the Secretary De la Torre *, weary of the atrocities 
 
 * The sentences passed upon the most eminent persons (for example, the 
 sentence of death passed upon Strahlen, the 1 burgomaster of Antwerp) were 
 feianed only by Vargas, Del Rio, and De la Torre. 
 
80 HISTOBY OF THE 
 
 of which they were compelled to be both eyewitnesses and 
 accomplices, remained away from the assembly. It is revolt- 
 ing to the feelings to think how the lives of the noblest and 
 best were thus placed at the mercy of Spanish vagabonds, 
 and how even the sanctuaries of the nation, its deeds and 
 charters, were unscrupulously ransacked, the seals broken, 
 and the most secret contracts between the sovereign and the 
 state profaned and exposed*. 
 
 From the Council of Twelve, (which, from the object of its 
 institution was called the Council for Disturbances, but, on 
 account of its proceedings, is more generally known under 
 the appellation of the Council of Blood, a name which the 
 nation in their exasperation bestowed upon it,) no appeal was 
 allowed. Its proceedings could not be revised. Its verdicts 
 were irrevocable, and independent of all other authority. No 
 other tribunal in the country could take cognizance of cases 
 which related to the late insurrection, so that in all the other 
 courts, justice was nearly at a standstill. The great council 
 at Malines was as good as abolished; the authority of the 
 Council of State entirely ceased, insomuch that its sittings were 
 discontinued. On some rare occasions, the duke conferred 
 with a few members of the late assembly, but even when this 
 did occur, the conference was held in his cabinet, and was no 
 more than a private consultation, without any of the proper 
 forms being observed. No privilege, no charter of immunity, 
 however carefully protected, had any weight with the Council 
 for Disturbances f. It compelled all deeds and contracts to 
 be laid before it, and often forced upon them the most 
 strained interpretations and alterations. If the duke caused 
 a sentence to be drawn out, which there was reason to fear 
 
 * For an example of the unfeeling levity with which the most important 
 matters, even decisions in cases of life and death, were treated in this san- 
 guinary council, it may serve to relate what is told of the Counsellor Hesselts. 
 He was generally asleep during the meeting, and when his turn came to vote 
 on a sentence of death, he used to cry out, still half asleep : " Ad patibulum! 
 Ad patibulum ! " so glibly did his tongue utter this word. It is further to 
 be remarked of this Hesselts, that his wife, a daughter of the President 
 Viglius, had expressly stipulated in the marriage contract, that he should 
 
 sign the dismal office of attorney for the king, which made him detested by 
 
 e whole nation. Vigl. ad Hopp. LXYII. L. 
 
 + Vargas, in a few words of barbarous Latin, demolished at once the 
 boasted libertien of the Netherlands. " Non curamus vestros privilegios," 
 he replied to one who wished to plead the immunities of the University ol 
 Louvain. 
 
U15V0LT OF THE NETHERLANDS 8 1 
 
 might be opposed by the states of Brabant, it was legalized 
 without the Brabant seal. The most sacred rights of indi- 
 viduals were assailed, and a tyranny without example forced 
 its arbitrary will even into the circle of domestic life. As 
 the Protestants and rebels had hitherto contrived to strengthen 
 their party so much by marriages with the first families in 
 the country, the duke issued an edict, forbidding all Nether- 
 landers, whatever might be their rank or office, under pain 
 of death and confiscation of property, to conclude a marriage 
 without previously obtaining his permission. 
 
 All, whom the Council for Disturbances thought proper to 
 summon before it, were compelled to appear, clergy as well 
 as laity, the most venerable heads of the senate, as well as the 
 reprobate rabble of the Iconoclasts. Whoever did not present 
 himself, as indeed scarcely anybody did, was declared an 
 outlaw, and his property was confiscated ; but those who were 
 rash or foolish enough to appear, or who were so unfortunate 
 as to be seized, were lost without redemption. Twenty, 
 forty, often fifty were summoned at the same time and from 
 the same town, and the richest were always the first on whom 
 the thunderbolt descended. The meaner citizens, who pos- 
 sessed nothing that could render their country and their 
 homes dear to them, were taken unawares, and arrested with- 
 out any previous citation. Many eminent merchants, who 
 had at their disposal fortunes of from 60,000 to 100,000 
 florins, were seen with their hands tied behind their backs, 
 dragged like common vagabonds at the horse's tail to execu- 
 tion, and in Valenciennes, fifty-five persons were decapitated 
 at one time. All the prisons, and the duke immediately on 
 commencing his administration had built a great number 
 of them, were crammed full with the accused; hanging, 
 beheading, quartering, burning, were the prevailing and 
 ordinary occupations of the day; the punishment of the 
 galleys and banishment were more rarely heard of, for there 
 was scarcely any offence, which was reckoned too trivial to 
 be punished with death. Immense sums were thus brought 
 into the treasury, which, however, served rather to stimulate 
 the new viceroy's and his colleagues' thirst for gold, than to 
 quench it. It seemed to be his insane purpose to make 
 beggars of the whole people, and to throw all their riches 
 into the hands of the king and his servants. The yearly 
 
»H HISTORY OF THE 
 
 income derived from these confiscations was computed to 
 equal the revenues of the first kingdoms of Europe; it ia 
 said to have been estimated, in a report furnished to the 
 king, at the incredible amount of 20,000,000 of dollars. Bn 
 these proceedings were the more inhuman, as they often born 
 hardest precisely upon the very persons who were the mosl 
 peaceful subjects, and most orthodox Eoman Catholics, whom 
 they could not want to injure. Whenever an estate was con- 
 fiscated, all the creditors who had claims upon it were de 
 frauded. The hospitals, too, and public institutions, which 
 such properties had contributed to support, were now ruined, 
 and the poor, who had formerly drawn a pittance from this 
 source, were compelled to see their only spring of comfort 
 dried up. Whoever ventured to urge their well grounded claims 
 on the forfeited property, before the Council of Twelve, (for 
 no other tribunal dared to interfere with these inquiries,) con- 
 sumed their substance in tedious and expensive proceedings, 
 and were reduced to beggary before they saw the end of them. 
 The histories of civilized states, furnish but one instance of a 
 similar perversion of justice, of such violation of the rights of 
 property, and of such waste of human life ; but Cinna, Sylla, 
 and Marius entered vanquished Home as incensed victors, 
 and practised without disguise, what the viceroy of the Nether- 
 lands performed under the venerable veil of the laws. 
 
 Up to the end of the year 1567, the king's arrival had 
 been confidently expected, and the well disposed of the people 
 had placed all their last hopes on this event. The vessels, 
 which Philip had caused to be equipped expressly for the pur- 
 pose of meeting him, still lay in the harbour of Flushing, 
 ready to sail at the first signal ; and the town of Brussels 
 had consented to receive a Spanish garrison, simply because 
 the king, it was pretended, was to reside within its walls 
 But this hope gradually vanished, as he put off the journey 
 from one season to the next, and the new viceroy very soon 
 began to exhibit powers, which announced him less as a pre- 
 cursor of royalty, than as an absolute minister, whose pre- 
 sence made that of the monarch entirely superfluous. To 
 complete the distress of the provinces, their last good angel 
 was now to leave them in the person of the regent. 
 
 From the moment, when the production of the duke's ex- 
 .ensive powers left no doubt remaining, as to the practical 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. So 
 
 termination of her own rule, Margaret had formed the resolu- 
 tion of relinquishing the name also of regent. To see a succes- 
 sor in the actual possession of a dignity, which a nine years' en- 
 joyment had made indispensable to her ; to see the authority, 
 the glory, the splendour, the adoration, and all the marks of 
 respect, which are the usual concomitants of supreme power, 
 pass over to another ; and to feel that she had lost that, which 
 she could never forget she had once held, was more than 
 a woman's mind could endure ; moreover, the Duke of 
 Alva was of all men the least calculated to make her feel 
 her privation the less painful, by a forbearing use of his 
 newly acquired dignity. The tranquillity of the country, too, 
 which was put in jeopardy by this divided rule, seemed to impos 
 upon the duchess the necessity of abdicating. Many governor 
 of provinces refused, without an express order from the court, to 
 receive commands from the duke, and to recognise him as co 
 regent. 
 
 The rapid change of their point of attraction, could not be 
 met by the courtiers so composedly and imperturbably, but 
 that the duchess observed the alteration, and bitterly felt 
 it. Even the few who, like State Counsellor Viglius, still 
 firmly adhered to her, did so less from attachment to her 
 person, than from vexation at being displaced by novices and 
 foreigners, and from being too proud to serve a fresh ap- 
 prenticeship under a new viceroy. But far the greater num- 
 ber, with all their endeavours to keep an exact mean, could 
 not help making a difference between the homage they 
 paid to the rising sun, and that which they bestowed on the 
 setting luminary. The royal palace in Brussels became more 
 and more deserted, while the throng at Kuilemberg House 
 daily increased. But what wounded the sensitiveness of the 
 duchess most acutely, was the arrest of Horn and Egmont, 
 which was planned and executed by the duke, without her 
 knowledge or consent, just as if there had been no such per- 
 son as herself in existence. Alva did, indeed, after the act 
 was done, endeavour to appease her, by declaring that the 
 design had been purposely kept secret from her, in order to 
 spare her name from being mixed up in so odious a transac- 
 tion ; but no such considerations of delicacy could close the 
 wound which had been inflicted on her pride. In order at 
 •mce, to escape all risk of similar insults, of which the pro- 
 
 g 2 
 
£4 HISTOBY OF THK 
 
 sent was probably only a forerunner, she despatched her pri- 
 vate secretary Macchiavell to the court of her brother, there to 
 solicit earnestly for permission to resign the regency. The 
 request was granted without difficulty by the king, who ac- 
 companied his consent with every mark of his highest esteem. 
 He would put aside (so the king expressed himself) his own 
 advantage and that of the provinces, in order to oblige his 
 sister. He sent her a present of 30,000 dollars, and allotted 
 to her a yearly pension of 20,000 *. At the same time, a 
 diploma was forwarded to the Duke of Alva, constituting him 
 in her stead, viceroy of all the Netherlands, with unlimited 
 powers. 
 
 Gladly would Margaret have learned that she was permitted 
 to resign the regency before a solemn assembly of the states, 
 a wish, which she had not very obscurely hinted to the king. 
 But she was not gratified. She was particularly fond of so- 
 lemnity, and the example of the Emperor her father, who had 
 exhibited the extraordinary spectacle of his abdication of the 
 crown in this very city, seemed to have great attractions for 
 her As she was compelled to part with supreme power, 
 she could scarcely be blamed for wishing to do so with as much 
 splendour as possible. Moreover, she had not failed to ob 
 serve how much the general hatred of the duke had effected 
 in her own favour, and she looked, therefore, the more wistfully 
 forward to a scene, which promised to be at once so flattering 
 to her and so affecting. She would have been glad to mingle 
 her own tears with those, which she hoped to see shed 
 by the Netherlanders, for their good regent. Thus the 
 bitterness of her descent from the throne, would have been 
 alleviated by the expression of general sympathy. Little 
 as she had done to merit the general esteem, during the 
 nine years of her administration, while fortune smiled upon 
 
 * "Which, however, does not appear to have been very punctually paid, if a 
 pamphlet may be trusted which was printed during her lifetime. (It bears 
 the title : Discours sur la Blessure de Monseigneur Prince d' Orange, 1582, 
 without notice of the place where it was printed, and is to be found in the 
 Elector's library at Dresden.) Ske languished, it is there stated, at Namur in 
 poverty, and so ill supported by her son, (the then governor of the Nether- 
 lands,) that her own secretary Aldrobandin called her sojourn there an 
 exile. But the writer goes on to ask, what better treatment could she ex- 
 pect from a son, who, when still very young, being on a visit to her at 
 Brussels, snapped his fingers at her, behind her back. 
 
REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 85 
 
 her, and the approbation of her sovereign was the limit to all 
 her wishes, yet now the sympathy of the nation had acquired 
 a value in her eyes, as the only thing which could in some 
 degree compensate to her for the disappointment of all her 
 other hopes. Fain would she have persuaded herself that 
 she had become a voluntary sacrifice to her goodness of heart, 
 and her too humane feelings towards the Netherlander. As, 
 however, the king was very far from being disposed to incur 
 any danger by calling a general assembly of the states, in order 
 to gratify a mere caprice of his sister, she was obliged to con- 
 tent herself with a farewell letter to them. In this document, 
 she went over her whole administration, recounted, not without 
 ostentation, the difficulties with which she had had to struggle, 
 the evils which, by her dexterity, she had prevented, and 
 wound up at last, by saying that she left a finished work, and 
 had to transfer to her successor nothing but the punishment 
 of offenders. The king, too, was repeatedly compelled to 
 hear the same statement, and she left nothing undone to 
 arrogate to herself the glory of any future advantages, which 
 it might be the good fortune of the Duke to realize. Her 
 own merits, as something which did not admit of a doubt, 
 but was at the same time a burden oppressive to her modesty, 
 she laid at the feet of the king. 
 
 Dispassionate posterity may, nevertheless, hesitate to sub 
 scribe unreservedly to this favourable opinion. Even though 
 the united voice of her contemporaries, and the testimony of 
 the Netherlands themselves vouch for it, a third party will 
 not be denied the right to examine her claims with stricter 
 scrutiny. The popular mind, easily affected, is but too ready 
 to count the absence of a vice as an additional virtue, and, 
 under the pressure of existing evil, to give excess of praise 
 for past benefits. The Netherlander seems to have concen- 
 trated all his hatred upon the Spanish name. To lay the 
 1 blame of the national evils on the regent, would tend to remove 
 from the king and his minister the curses, which he would 
 rather shower upon them alone and undividedly ; and the Duke 
 of Alva's government of the Netherlands was, perhaps, not 
 the proper point of view from which to test the merits of his pre- 
 decessor. It was undoubtedly no light task to meet the king's 
 expectations, without infringing the rights of the people, and 
 the duties of humanity ; but in struggling to effect these two 
 
86 HISTOKY OF THE 
 
 contradictory objects, Margaret had accomplished neither. 
 She had deeply injured the nation, while comparatively she 
 had done little service to the king. It is true that she at last 
 crushed the Protestant faction, but the accidental outbreak of 
 the Iconoclasts assisted her in this, more than all her dexterity. 
 She certainly succeeded by her intrigues in dissolving the 
 league of the nobles, but not until the first blow had been 
 struck at its roots by internal dissensions. The object, to se- 
 cure which, she had for many years vainly exhausted her 
 whole policy, was effected at last by a single enlistment of 
 troops, for which, however, the orders were issued from Ma- 
 drid. She delivered to the duke, no doubt, a tranquillized 
 country ; but it cannot be denied that the dread of his ap- 
 proach had the chief share in tranquillizing it. By her 
 reports, she led the Council in Spain astray; because she 
 never informed it of the disease, but only of the occasional 
 symptoms ; never of the universal feeling and voice of the na 
 tion, but only of the misconduct of factions. Her faulty ad 
 ministration, moreover, drew the people into the crime, be 
 cause she exasperated, without sufficiently awing them. She 
 it was that brought the murderous Alva into the country, by 
 leading the king to believe that the disturbances in the pro- 
 vinces were to be ascribed, not so much to the severity of the 
 royal ordinances, as to the unworthiness of those who were 
 charged with their execution. Margaret possessed natural capa- 
 city and intellect ; and an acquired political tact enabled her 
 to meet any ordinary case ; but she wanted that creative ge- 
 nius which, for new and extraordinary emergencies, invents 
 new maxims, or wisely oversteps old ones. In a country 
 where honesty was the best policy, she adopted the unfortun- 
 ate plan of practising her insidious Italian policy, and thereby 
 sowed the seeds of a fatal distrust in the minds of the people. 
 The indulgence which has been so liberally imputed to her as 
 a merit, was, in truth, extorted from her weakness and timid- 
 ity by the courageous opposition of the nation ; she had 
 never departed from the strict letter of the royal commands, 
 by her own spontaneous resolution ; never did the gentle feel- 
 ings of innate humanity lead her to misinterpret the cruel 
 purport of her instructions. Even the few concessions, to 
 which necessity compelled her, were granted with an uncertain 
 and shrinking hand, as if fearing to give too much ; and she 
 
BKVOLT OF THE NETHEKLANDS. 8? 
 
 lost the fruit of her benefactions, because she mutilated them 
 by a sordid closeness. What, in all the other relations of her 
 life, she was too little, she was on the throne too much — a wo- 
 man ! She had it in her power, after Granvella's expulsion, 
 to become the benefactress of the Belgian nation, but she did 
 not. Her supreme good was the approbation of her king, her 
 greatest misfortune his displeasure ; with all the eminent 
 qualities of her mind, she remained an ordinary character, be- 
 cause her heart was destitute of native nobility. She used a 
 melancholy power with much moderation, and stained her go- 
 vernment with no deed of arbitrary cruelty ; nay, if it had de- 
 pended on her, she would have always acted humanely. Years 
 afterwards, when her idol, Philip II., had long forgotten her, 
 the Netherlanders still honoured her memory ; but she was 
 far from deserving the glory which her successor's inhu- 
 manity reflected upon her. 
 
 She left Brussels about the end of December, 1567. The 
 duke escorted her as far as the frontiers of Brabant, and 
 there left her under the protection of Count Mansfeld, in 
 jrder to hasten back to the metropolis, and show himsel* 
 to the Netherlanders as sole regent. 
 
TRIAL AND EXECUTION 
 o? 
 
 COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 
 
 Th e two counts were, a few weeks after their arrest, conveyed 
 to Ghent, under an escort of 3000 Spaniards, where they 
 were confined in the citadel for more than eight months. 
 Their trial commenced in due form, before the Council of 
 Twelve, and the Solicitor-General, John Du Bois, conducted 
 the proceedings. The indictment against Egmont consisted 
 of ninety counts, and that against Horn of sixty. It would oc- 
 cuppy too much space to introduce them here. Every action, 
 however innocent, every omission of duty, was interpreted on 
 the principle which had been laid down in the opening of the 
 indictment, " that the two counts, in conjunction with the 
 Prince of Orange, had planned the overthrow of the royal 
 authority in the Netherlands, and the usurpation of the go- 
 vernment of the country;" the expulsion of Granvella ; the 
 embassy of Egmont to Madrid ; the confederacy of the Gueux; 
 the concessions which they made to the Protestants in the 
 provinces under their government ; all were made to have a 
 connexion with, and a reference to, this deliberate design 
 Thus importance was attached to the most insignificant occur- 
 rences, and one action made to darken and discolour another. 
 By taking care to treat each of the charges as in itself a 
 treasonable offence, it was the more easy to justify a sentence 
 of high treason by the whole. 
 
 The accusations were sent to each of the prisoners, who 
 were required to reply to them within five days. After doing 
 so, they were allowed to employ solicitors and advocates, 
 who were permitted free access to them ; but as they wero 
 accused of treason, their friends were prohibited from visit- 
 ing them. Count Egmont employed for his solicitor Von 
 Landas, and made choice of a few eminent advocates from 
 Brussels. 
 
 Their first step was to demur against the tribunal which wa* 
 
TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 8'*? 
 
 Co try them, since, by the privilege of their Order, they, as 
 Knights of the Golden Fleece, were amenable only to the king 
 himself, the Grand Master. But this demurrer was overruled, 
 and they were required to produce their witnesses, in default oi 
 which they were to be proceeded against in contumaciam. Eg- 
 mont had satisfactorily answered to eighty-two counts, while 
 Count Horn had refuted the charges against him, article by ar- 
 ticle. The accusation and the defence are still extant ; on that 
 defence, every impartial tribunal would have acquitted then 
 both. The Procurator Fiscal pressed for the production of thei? 
 evidence, and the Duke of Alva issued his repeated commands 
 to use despatch. They delayed, however, from week to week, 
 while they renewed their protests against the illegality of the 
 court. At last, the duke assigned them nine days to produce 
 their proofs ; on the lapse of that period, they were to be de- 
 dared guilty, and as having forfeited all right of defence. 
 
 During the progress of the trial, the relations and friends 
 of the two counts were not idle. Egmont's wife, by birth a 
 duchess of Bavaria, addressed petitions to the princes of the 
 German empire, to the Emperor, and to the King of Spain. 
 The Countess Horn, mother of the imprisoned count, who was 
 connected by the ties of friendship or of blood with the prin- 
 cipal royal families of Germany, did the same. All alike pro- 
 tested loudly against this illegal proceeding, and appealed 
 to the liberty of the German empire, on which Horn, as 
 a count of the empire, had special claims ; the liberty of the 
 Netherlands, and the privileges of the Order of the Golden 
 Fleece were likewise insisted upon. The Countess Egmont 
 succeeded in obtaining the intercession of almost every Ger- 
 man court in behalf of her husband. The King of Spain and 
 his viceroy were besieged by applications in behalf of the 
 accused, which were referred from one to the other, and made 
 light of by both. Countess Horn collected certificates from 
 all the Knights of the Golden Fleece in Spain, Germany, and 
 Italy, to prove the privileges of the Order. Alva rejected 
 them, with a declaration that they had no force in such a case 
 as the present. " The crimes of which the counts are accused, 
 relate to the affairs of the Belgian provinces, and he, the duke, 
 was appointed by the king sole judge of all matters connected 
 with those countries." 
 
 Four mouths had been allowed to the Solicitor-General to 
 
90 TRTAJ, AND EXECUTION OF 
 
 draw up the indictment, and five were granted to the twc 
 counts to prepare for their defence. But instead of losing 
 their time and trouble in adducing their evidence, which, 
 perhaps, would have profited them but little, they preferred 
 wasting it in protests against the judges, which availed 
 them still less. By the former course, they would probably 
 have delayed the final sentence, and in the time thus gained, 
 the powerful intercession of their friends might perhaps have 
 not been ineffectual. By obstinately persisting in denying 
 the competency of the tribunal which was to try them, they 
 furnished the duke with an excuse for cutting short the pro- 
 ceedings. After the last assigned period had expired, on the 
 1st of June, 1 568, the Council of Twelve declared them guilty, 
 and on the 4th of that month, sentence of death was pro- 
 nounced against them. 
 
 The execution of twenty-five noble Netherlanders, who were 
 beheaded in three successive days, in the market place at 
 Brussels, was the terrible prelude to the fate of the two counts. 
 John Casembrot von Beckerzeel, Secretary to Count Eg 
 mont, was one of the unfortunates, who was thus rewarded for 
 his fidelity to his master, which he stedfastly maintained even 
 upon the rack, and for his zeal in the service of the king, 
 which he had manifested against the Iconoclasts. The others 
 had either been taken prisoners, with arms in their hands, in 
 the insurrection of the " Grueux," or apprehended and con 
 demned as traitors, on account of having taken a part in the 
 petition of the nobles. 
 
 The duke had reason to hasten the execution of the sen 
 tence. Count Louis of Nassau had given battle to the Count 
 of Aremberg, near the monastery of Heiligerlee in Groningen, 
 and had the good fortune to defeat him. Immediately after 
 his victory, he had advanced against Groningen, and laid siege 
 to it. The success of his arms had raised the courage of his 
 faction, and the Prince of Orange, his brother, was close at 
 hand with an army to support him. These circumstances 
 made the dukes presence necessary in those distant pro- 
 vinces ; but he could not venture to leave Brussels, before the 
 fate of two such important prisoners was decided. The whole 
 nation loved them, which was not a little increased by their 
 unhappy fate. Even the strict Papists disapproved of the 
 execution of these eminent nobles. The slightest advantage 
 
COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 91 
 
 which tne arms of the rebels might gain over the duke, or 
 even the report of a defeat, would cause a revolution in 
 Brussels, which would immediately set the two counts at 
 liberty. Moreover, the petitions and intercessions which 
 came to the viceroy, as well as to the King of Spain, from the 
 German princes, increased daily ; nay, the Emperor Maximi- 
 lian II. himself caused the countess to be assured " that she 
 had nothing to fear for the life of her spouse." These power- 
 ful applications might at last turn the king's heart in fa- 
 vour of the prisoners. The king might, perhaps, in re- 
 liance on his viceroy's usual dispatch, put on the appearance 
 of yielding to the representations of so many sovereigns, and 
 rescind the sentence of death, under the conviction that his 
 mercy would come too late. These considerations moved the 
 duke not to delay the execution of the sentence, as soon as 
 it was pronounced. 
 
 On the day after the sentence was passed, the two counts 
 were brought, under an escort of 3,000 Spaniards, from Ghent 
 to Brussels, and placed in confinement in the Brodhause, in 
 the great market place. The next morning the Council of 
 Twelve were assembled ; the duke, contrary to his custom, 
 attended in person, and both the sentences, in sealed enve- 
 lopes, were opened, and publicly read by Secretary Pranz. 
 The two counts were declared guilty of treason, as having 
 favoured and promoted the abominable conspiracy of the 
 Prince of Orange, protected the confederated nobles, and 
 been convicted of various misdemeanors against their king, and 
 the church, in their governments and other appointments. 
 Both were sentenced to be publicly beheaded, and their heads 
 were to be fixed upon pikes, and not taken down without the 
 duke's express command. All their possessions, fiefs, and 
 rights escheated to the royal treasury. The sentence was 
 signed only by the Duke and the Secretary Pranz, without 
 asking or caring for the consent of the other members of the 
 council. 
 
 During the night between the 4th and 5th of June, the sen- 
 tences were brought to the prisoners, after they had already 
 gone to rest. The duke gave them to the Bishop of Ypres, 
 Martin Rithov, whom he had expressly summoned to Brussels 
 to prepare the prisoners for death. When the bishop received 
 this commission, he threw himself at the feet of the duke, and 
 supplicated him with tears in his eyes for mercy — at least for 
 
02 TRIAL AND EXECUTION Off 
 
 respite for the prisoners ; but he was answered in a rough and 
 angry voice, that he had been sent for from Ypres, not to op- 
 pose the sentence, but by his spiritual consolation to reconcile 
 the unhappy noblemen to it. 
 
 Egmont was the first to whom the bishop communicated 
 the sentence of death. " That is, indeed, a severe sentence ! ' 
 exclaimed the count, turning pale, and with a faltering voice. 
 " I did not think that I had offended his majesty so deeply as 
 to deserve such treatment. If, however, it must be so, I sub- 
 mit to my fate with resignation. May this death atone for 
 my offence, and save my wife and children from suffering ! 
 This, at least, I think I may claim for my past services. As 
 for death, I will meet it with composure, since it so pleases 
 God and my king." He then pressed the bishop to tell him 
 seriously and candidly if there was no hope of pardon. 
 Being answered in the negative, he confessed and re- 
 ceived the sacrament from the priest, repeating after him 
 ;he mass with great devoutness. He asked what prayer 
 was the best and most effective to recommend him to 
 God in his last hour. On being told that no prayer could 
 be more effectual than the one which Christ himself had 
 taught, he prepared immediately to repeat the Lord's prayer. 
 The thoughts of his family interrupted him ; he called for 
 pen and ink, and wrote two letters, one to his wife, the other 
 to the king ; the latter was as follows : 
 
 " Sire, — This morning I have heard the sentence which 
 your majesty has been pleased to pass upon me. Far as J 
 have ever been from attempting any thing against the person 
 or the service of your majesty, or against the only true, old, 
 and Catholic religion ; I yet submit myself with patience to 
 the fate which it has pleased God to ordain I should suffer. 
 If, during the past disturbances, I have omitted, advised, or 
 done any thing that seems at variance with my duty, it was most 
 assuredly performed with the best intentions, or was forced 
 upon me by the pressure 'of circumstances. I therefore pray 
 your majesty to forgive me, and in consideration of my past ser- 
 vices, show mercy to my unhappy wife, my poor children, 
 and servants. In a firm hope of this, I commend myself t * 
 the infinite mercy of God. 
 
 " Your Majesty's most faithful vassal and servant, 
 
 " Lamoral Count Egmont. 
 
 " Brussels, June oth, 1568, near my last moments." 
 
COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 98 
 
 This letter he placed in the hands of the bishop, with the 
 strongest injunctions for its safe delivery ; and for greater se- 
 curity, he sent a duplicate in his own handwriting to State 
 Counsellor Viglius, the most upright man in the senate, by 
 whom, there is no doubt, it was actually delivered to the king. 
 The family of the count were subsequently reinstated in all 
 his property, fiefs, and rights, which, by virtue of the sentence, 
 had escheated to the royal treasury. 
 
 Meanwhile, a scaffold had been erected in the market place, 
 before the town hall, on which two poles were fixed with 
 iron spikes, and the whole covered with black cloth. Two 
 and-twenty companies of the Spanish garrison surrounded the 
 scaffold, a precaution which was by no means superfluous. 
 Between ten and eleven o'clock, the Spanish guard appeared 
 in the apartment of the count ; they were provided with cords 
 to tie his hands according to custom. He begged that this 
 might be spared him, and declared that he was willing and 
 ready to die. He himself cut off the collar from his doublet 
 to facilitate the executioner's duty. He wore a robe of red 
 damask, and over that a black Spanish cloak trimmed with 
 gold lace. In this dress he appeared on the scaffold, and was 
 attended by Don Julian Romero, Maitre de Camp ; Salinas, a 
 Spanish captain ; and the Bishop of Ypres. The Grand Pro 
 vost of the court, with a red wand in his hand, sat on horse 
 back at the foot of the scaffold ; the executioner was concealed 
 beneath. 
 
 Egmont had at first shown a desire to address the people 
 from the scaffold. He desisted, however, on the bishop's re 
 presenting to him that, either he would not be heard, or that 
 if he were, he might, such at present was the dangerous dis- 
 position of the people, excite them to acts of violence, which 
 would only plunge his friends into destruction. For a few 
 moments he paced the scaffold with noble dignity, and lamented 
 that it had not been permitted him to die a more honourable 
 death for his king and his country. Up to the last he 
 seemed unable to persuade himself that the king was in 
 earnest, and that his severity would be carried any further than 
 the mere terror of execution. When the decisive period 
 approached, and he was to receive the Extreme Unction, 
 he looked wistfully round, and when there still appeared 
 no prospect of a reprieve, he turned to Julian Romero, and 
 
9.4 TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF COUNTS EGMOCT AND HORN. 
 
 asked him once more if there was no hope of pardon for him 
 Julian Romero shrugged his shoulders, looked on the ground, 
 and was silent. 
 
 He then closely clenched his teeth, threw off his mantle 
 and robe, knelt upon the cushion, and prepared himself for 
 the last prayer. The bishop presented him the crucifix to 
 kiss, and administered to him Extreme Unction, upon which 
 the count made him a sign to leave him. He drew a silk cap 
 over his eyes, and awaited the stroke. Over the corpse and 
 the streaming blood, a black cloth was immediately thrown. 
 
 All Brussels thronged around the scaffold, and the fatal 
 blow seemed to fall on every heart. Loud sobs alone broke 
 the appalling silence. The duke himself, who watched the 
 execution from a window of the town house, wiped his eyes as 
 his victim died. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, Count Horn advanced on the scaffold. 
 Of a more violent temperament than his friend, and stimu- 
 lated by stronger reasons for hatred against the king, he had 
 received the sentence with less composure, although in his 
 case, perhaps, it was less unjust. He burst forth in bitter re- 
 proaches against the king, and the bishop with difficulty pre- 
 vailed upon him to make a better use of his last moments, than 
 to abuse them in imprecations on his enemies. At last, how- 
 ever, he became more collected, and made his confession to 
 the bishop, which at first he was disposed to refuse. 
 
 He mounted the scaffold with the same attendants as his 
 friend. In passing, he saluted many of his acquaintances ; 
 his hands were, like Egmont's, free, and he was dressed in a 
 black doublet and cloak, with a Milan cap of the same colour 
 upon his head. When he had ascended, he cast his eyes upon 
 the corpse, which lay under the cloth, and asked one of the 
 bystanders if it was the body of his friend. On being an- 
 swered in the affirmative, he said some words in Spanish, 
 threw his cloak from him, and knelt upon the cushion. All 
 shrieked aloud as he received the fatal blow. 
 
 The heads of both were fixed upon the poles which were 
 set up on the scaffold, where they remained until past three 
 in the afternoon, when they were taken down, and, with the 
 two bodies, placed in leaden coffins and deposited in a vault. 
 
 In spite of the numoer of spies and executioners who sur- 
 rounded the scaffold, the citizens of Brussels would not ba 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWEKP ^5 
 
 prevented from dipping their handkerchiefs in the streaming 
 blood, and carrying home with them these precious memc- 
 ^nls 
 
 SIEGE OF ANTWERP 
 
 BY THE PEINCE OF PARMA, 
 
 IN THE YEARS 1584 AND 1585. 
 
 It is an interesting spectacle to observe the struggle of 
 man's inventive genius in conflict with powerful opposing ele- 
 ments, and to see the difficulties, which are insurmountable to 
 ordinary capacities, overcome by prudence, resolution, and a 
 determined will. Less attractive, but only the more instruct- 
 ive, perhaps, is the contrary spectacle, where the absence of 
 those qualities renders all efforts of genius vain, throws away 
 all the favours of fortune, and where inability to improve such 
 advantages renders hopeless a success which otherwise seemed 
 sure and inevitable. Examples of both kinds are afforded by 
 the celebrated siege of Antwerp, by the Spaniards, towards 
 the close of the sixteenth century, by which that flourishing 
 city was for ever deprived of its commercial prosperity, but 
 which, on the other hand, conferred immortal fame on the 
 general who undertook and accomplished it. 
 
 Twelve years had the war continued, which the northern 
 provinces of Belgium had commenced at first in vindication 
 simply of their religious freedom, and the privileges of their 
 states, from the encroachments of the Spanish viceroy, but 
 maintained latterly in the hope of establishing their inde 
 pendence of the Spanish crown. Never completely victors, 
 but never entirely vanquished, they wearied out the Spanish 
 valour by tedious operations on an unfavourable soil, and ex 
 hausted the wealth of the sovereign of both the Indies, while 
 they themselves were called beggars, and in a degree actually 
 
93 SIEGE OF AVIWEBI'. 
 
 were so. The League of Ghent, which had united the whole 
 Netherlands, Eoman Catholic and Protestant, in a common 
 and (could such a confederation have lasted") invincible body, 
 was indeed dissolved ; but in place of this uncertain and un- 
 natural combination, the northern provinces had, in the year 
 1579, formed among themselves the closer Union of Utrecht, 
 which promised to be more lasting, inasmuch as it was linked 
 and held together by common political and religious interests. 
 What the new republic had lost in extent, through this sepa- 
 ration from the Roman Catholic provinces, it was fully com- 
 pensated for by the closeness of alliance, the unity of enter- 
 prise, and energy of execution ; and, perhaps, it was fortunate 
 in thus timely losing what no exertion, probably, would ever 
 have enabled it to retain. 
 
 The greater part of the Walloon provinces had, in the year 
 1584, partly by voluntary submission, and partly by force of 
 arms, been again reduced under the Spanish yoke. The 
 northern districts alone had been able at all successfully to 
 oppose it. A considerable portion of Brabant and Flan- 
 ders still obstinately held out against the arms of the Duke 
 Alexander of Parma, who at that time administered the civil 
 government of the provinces, and the supreme command of 
 the army, with equal energy and prudence, and, by a series of 
 splendid victories, had revived the military reputation of 
 Spain. The peculiar formation of the country, which, by its 
 numerous rivers and canals, facilitated the connexion of the 
 towns with one another and with the sea, baffled all attempts 
 effectually to subdue it, and the possession of one place could 
 only be maintained by the occupation of another. So long as 
 this communication was kept up, Holland and Zealand could 
 with little difficulty assist their allies, and supply them abund- 
 antly by water as well as by land witn all necessaries, so that 
 valour was of no use, and the strength of the king's troops 
 was fruitlessly wasted on tedious sieges. 
 
 Of all the towns in Brabant, Antwerp was the most im- 
 portant, as well from its wealth, its population, and its mili- 
 tary force, as by^its position on the mouth of the Scheldt. 
 This great and populous town, which at this date contained 
 more than 80,000 inhabitants, was one of the most active 
 members of the national league, and had in the course of the 
 war distinguished itself above all the towns of Belgium, by an 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 97 
 
 untameable spirit of liberty. As it fostered within its bosom 
 ail the three Christian churches, and owed much of its pro- 
 sperity to this unrestricted religious liberty, it had the more 
 cause to dread the Spanish rule, which threatened to abolish 
 this toleration, and by the terror of the Inquisition to drive all 
 the Protestant merchants from its markets. Moreover, it had 
 had but too terrible experience of the brutality of the Spanish 
 garrisons, and it was quite evident that if it once more suf- 
 fered this insupportable yoke to be imposed upon it, it would 
 never again, during the whole course of the war, be able to 
 throw it off. 
 
 But powerful as were the motives which stimulated Ant- 
 werp to resistance, equally strong were the reasons which de- 
 termined the Spanish general to make himself master of 
 the p]ace at any cost. On the possession of this town de- 
 pended, in a great measure, that of the whole province of Bra- 
 bant, which by this channel chiefly derived its supplies of corn 
 from Zealand, while the captu> e of this place would secure to 
 the victor the command of the Scheldt. It would also deprive 
 the League of Brabant, which held its meetings in the town, 
 of its principal support ; the whole faction of its dangerous in- 
 fluence, of its example, its counsels, and its money, while the 
 treasures of its inhabitants would open plentiful supplies for 
 the military exigencies of the king. Its fall would, sooner or 
 later, necessarily draw after it that of all Brabant, and the 
 preponderance of power in that quarter would decide the whole 
 dispute in favour of the king. Determined by these grave 
 considerations, the Duke of Parma drew his forces together 
 in July, 1584, and advanced from his position at Dornick to 
 the neighbourhood of Antwerp, with the intention of invest 
 mgit. 
 
 But both the natural position and fortifications of the town 
 appeared to defy attacks. Surrounded on the side of Brabant 
 with insurmountable works and moats, and towards Flanders 
 covered by the broad and rapid stream of the Scheldt, it could 
 not be carried by storm ; and to blockade a town of such ex- 
 tent, seemed to require a land force three times larger than 
 that which the duke had, and moreover a fleet, of which he was 
 utterly destitute. Not only did the river yield the town all 
 necessary supplies from Ghent, it also opened an easy commu 
 nication with the bordering province of Zealand. For, as the 
 
 H 
 
98 SIEGE OF ANTWEKP. 
 
 tide of the North Sea extends far up the Scheldt, and ebbs 
 and flows regularly, Antwerp enjoys the peculiar advantage, 
 that the same tide flows past it at different times in two oppo- 
 site directions. Besides, the adjacent towns of Brussels, Ma- 
 lines, Ghent, Dendermonde, and others, were all at this time 
 in the hands of the league, and could aid the place from the 
 land side also. To blockade, therefore, the town by land, 
 and to cut off its communication with Flanders and Brabant, 
 required two different armies, one on each bank of the river. 
 A sufficient fleet was likewise needed to guard the passage 
 of the Scheldt, and to prevent all attempts at relief, which 
 would most certainly be made from Zealand. But by the 
 war which he had still to carry on in other quarters, and 
 by the numerous garrisons which he was obliged to leave 
 in the towns and fortified places, the army of the duke was 
 reduced to 10,000 infantry and 1700 horse, a force very inade- 
 quate for an undertaking of such magnitude. Moreover, 
 these troops were deficient in the most necessary supplies, 
 and the long arrears of pay had excited them to subdued 
 murmurs, which hourly threatened to break out into open mu- 
 tiny. If, notwithstanding these difficulties, he should still 
 attempt the siege, there would be much occasion to fear from 
 the strongholds of the enemy, which were left in the rear, and 
 from which it would be easy, by vigorous sallies, to annoy an 
 army distributed over so many places, and to expose it to want 
 by cutting off its supplies. 
 
 All these considerations were brought forward by the coun- 
 cil of war, before which the Duke of Parma now laid his 
 scheme. However great the confidence which they placed in 
 themselves, and in the proved abilities of such a leader, never- 
 theless, the most experienced generals did not disguise their 
 despair of a fortunate result. Two only were exceptions, Ca- 
 pizucchi and Mondragone, whose ardent courage placed them 
 above all apprehensions, the rest concurred in dissuading the 
 duke from attempting so hazardous an enterprise, by which 
 they ran the risk of forfeiting the fruit of all their former vic- 
 tories, and tarnishing the glory they had already earned. 
 
 But objections, which he had already made to himself and 
 refuted, could not shake the Duke of Parma in his purpose. 
 Not in ignorance of its inseparable dangers, not from thought- 
 lessly overvaluing his forces, had he taken this bold resolve 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWEBP. 99 
 
 But that instinctive genius, which leads great men by paths 
 which inferior minds either never enter upon or never finish, 
 raised him above the influence of the doubts which a cold and 
 narrow prudence would oppose to his views, and without being 
 able to convince his generals, he felt the correctness of his 
 calculations in a conviction indistinct, indeed, but not on that 
 account less indubitable. A succession of fortunate results 
 had raised his confidence, and the sight of his army, un- 
 equalled in Europe for discipline, experience, and valour, and 
 commanded by a chosen body of the most distinguished 
 officers, did not permit him to entertain fear for a moment. 
 To those who objected to the small number of his troops, 
 he answered, that however long the pike, it is only the point 
 that kills ; and that in military enterprise, the moving power 
 was of more importance than the mass to be moved. He was 
 aware, indeed, of the discontent of his troops, but he knew 
 also their obedience ; and he thought, moreover, that the best 
 means to stifle their murmurs was by keeping them employed 
 in some important undertaking, by stimulating their desire of 
 glory by the splendour of the enterprise, and their rapacity, by 
 hopes of the rich booty which the capture of so wealthy a town 
 would hold out. 
 
 In the plan which he now formed for the conduct of the 
 siege, he endeavoured to meet all these difficulties. Famine 
 was the only instrument by which he could hope to subdue 
 the town ; but effectually to use this formidable weapon, it 
 would be expedient to cut off all its land and water com- 
 munications. With this view, the first object was to stop, or 
 at least to impede, the arrival of supplies from Zealand. It 
 was, therefore, requisite not only to carry all the outworks, 
 vhich the people of Antwerp had built on both shores of the 
 Scheldt for the protection of their shipping ; but also, wher- 
 ever feasible, to throw up new batteries, which should com- 
 mand the whole course of the river : and to prevent the 
 place from drawing supplies from the land side, while efforts 
 were being made to intercept their transmission by sea, all 
 the adjacent towns of Brabant and Flanders were compre- 
 hended in the plan of the siege, and the fall of Antwerp was 
 based on the destruction of all those places. A bold, and con 
 sidering the duke's scanty force, an almost extravagant project, 
 
 K £ 
 
100 SIEGE OF ANTWERP 
 
 which was, however, justified by the genius of its author, 
 and crowned by fortune with a brilliant result. 
 
 As, however, time was required to accomplish a plan of 
 this magnitude, the Prince of Parma was content, for the 
 present, with the erection of numerous forts on the canals 
 and rivers which connected Antwerp with Dendercnonde, 
 Ghent, Malines, Brussels, and other places. Spanish gar- 
 risons were quartered in the vicinity, and almost at the 
 very gates of those towns, which laid waste the open 
 country, and by their incursions kept the surrounding terri- 
 tory in alarm. Thus, round Ghent alone, were encamped 
 about 3000 men, and proportionate numbers round the other 
 towns. In this w r ay, and by means of the secret understand- 
 ing, which he maintained with the Roman Catholic inha- 
 bitants of those towns, the duke hoped, without weakening 
 his own forces, gradually to exhaust their strength, and by 
 the harassing operations of a petty but incessant warfare, 
 even without any formal siege, to reduce them at last to 
 capitulate. 
 
 In the mean time, the main force was directed against 
 Antwerp, which he now closely invested. He fixed his head 
 quarters at Bevern in Flanders, a few miles from Antwerp, 
 where he found a fortified camp. The protection of the 
 Flemish bank of the Scheldt was intrusted to the Margrave 
 of Rysburg, general of cavalry, the Brabant bank to the 
 Count Peter Ernest Von Eansfeld, who was joined by another 
 Spanish leader, Mondragone. Both the latter succeeded in 
 crossing the Scheldt upon pontoons, notwithstanding the 
 Flemish admiral's ship was sent to oppose them, and passing 
 Antwerp, took up their position at Stabroek, in Bergen. De- 
 tached corps dispersed themselves along the whole Brabant 
 side, partly to secure the dykes and the roads. 
 
 Some miles below Antwerp, the Scheldt was guarded by two 
 strong forts, of which one was situated at Liefkenshoek, on 
 the island Doel, in Flanders, the other at Lillo, exactly op- 
 posite the coast of Brabant. The last had been erected by 
 Mondragone himself, by order of the Duke of Alva, when 
 the latter was still master of Antwerp, and for this very 
 reason the Duke of Parma now entrusted to him the attack 
 upon it. On the possession of these two forts the success of 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. J 01 
 
 the siege seemed wholly to depend, since all the vessels sail- 
 ing from Zealand to Antwerp must pass under their guns. 
 Both forts had, a short time before, been strengthened by 
 the besieged, and the former was scarcely finished w T hen the 
 Margrave of Kysburg attacked it. The celerity with which 
 he weut to work, surprised the enemy before they were sufn 
 ciently prepared for defence; and a brisk assault quickly 
 placed Liefkenshoek in the hands of the Spaniards. The 
 confederates sustained this loss on the same fatal day that 
 the Prince of Orange fell at Delft, by the hands of an as 
 sassin. The other batteries, erected on the island of Doel, 
 were partly abandoned by their defenders, partly taken by 
 surprise, so tbat in a short time the whole Flemish side was 
 cleared of the enemy. But the fort at Lillo, on the Brabant 
 shore, offered a more vigorous resistance, since the people of 
 Antwerp had had time to strengthen its fortifications, and to 
 provide it with a strong garrison. Furious sallies of the be- 
 sieged, led by Odets von Teligny, supported by the cannon 
 of the fort, destroyed all the works of the Spaniards, and an 
 inundation, which was effected by opening the sluices, finally 
 drove them away from the place after a three weeks' siege, 
 and with the loss of nearly two thousand killed. They now 
 retired into their fortified camp at Stabroek, and contented 
 themselves with taking possession of the dams, which run 
 across the lowlands of Bergen, and oppose a breastwork to 
 the encroachments of the East Scheldt. 
 
 The failure of his attempt upon the fort of Lillo compelled 
 the Prince of Parma to change his measures. As he could 
 not succeed in stopping the passage of the Scheldt by his 
 original plan, on which the success of the siege entirely de- 
 pended, he determined to effect his purpose by throwing a 
 bridge across the whole breadth of the river. The thought 
 was bold, and there were many who held it to be rash. Both 
 the breadth of the stream, which at this part exceeds 1,200 
 paces, as well as its violence, which is still further augmented 
 by the tides of the neighbouring sea, appeared to render 
 every attempt of this kind impracticable. Moreover, he had 
 to contend with a deficiency of timber, vessels, and workmen, 
 as well as with the dangerous position between the fleets of 
 Antwerp and of Zealand, to which it would necessarily be an 
 easy task, in combination with a boisterous element, to inter- 
 
103 STEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 rupt so tedious a work. But the Prince of Parma knew 
 his power, and his settled resolution would yield to nothing 
 short of absolute impossibility. After he had caused the 
 breadth as well as the depth of the river to be measured, 
 and had consulted with two of his most skilful engineers, 
 Barocci and Plato, it was settled that the bridge should be 
 constructed between Calloo in Flanders, and Ordam in 
 Brabant. This spot was selected, because the river is here 
 narrowest, and bends a little to the right, and so detains 
 vessels awhile, by compelling them to tack. To cover the 
 bridge, strong bastions were erected at both ends, of which 
 the one on the Flanders shore was named fort St. Maria, 
 the other on the Brabant side fort St. Philip, in honour of 
 che king. 
 
 While active preparations were making in the Spanish 
 camp for the execution of this scheme, and the whole atten- 
 tion of the enemy was directed to it, the duke made an un- 
 expected attack upon Dendermonde, a strong town between 
 Ghent and Antwerp, at the confluence of the Dender and the 
 Scheldt. As long as this important place was in the hands of 
 the enemy, the towns of Ghent and Antwerp could mutually 
 support each other, and by the facility of their communication, 
 frustrate all the efforts of the besiegers. Its capture would 
 leave the prince free to act against both towns, and might 
 decide the fate of his undertaking. The rapidity of his at- 
 tack left the besieged no time to open their sluices, and lay 
 the country under water. A hot cannonade was opened upon 
 the chief bastion of the town, before the Brussels gate ; but 
 was answered by the fire of the besieged, which made great 
 havoc amongst the Spaniards. It increased, however, rather 
 than discouraged their ardour; and the insults of the garrison, 
 who mutilated the statue of a saint before their eyes, and 
 after treating it with the most contumelious indignity, hurled 
 it down from the rampart, raised their fury to the highest 
 pitch. Clamorously they demanded to be led against the 
 bastion, before their fire had made a sufficient breach in it, 
 and the prince, to avail himself of the first ardour of their 
 impetuosity, gave the signal for the assault. After a sanguin- 
 ary contest of two hours, the rampart was mounted, and 
 those, who were not sacrificed to the first fury of the Span 
 Lards, threw themselves into the town. The latter was, iir 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP 10a 
 
 deed, now more exposed, a fire being directed upon it from 
 the works which had been carried ; but its strong walls, and 
 the broad moat which surrounded it, gave reason to expect 
 a protracted resistance. The inventive resources of the 
 Prince of Parma soon overcame this obstacle also. While 
 the bombardment was carried on night and day, the troops 
 were incessantly employed in diverting the course of the 
 Dender, which supplied the foss with water, and the besieged 
 were seized with despair, as they saw the water of the trenches, 
 the last defence of the town, gradually disappear. They 
 hastened to capitulate, and in August, 1584, received a Span- 
 ish garrison. Thus, in the short space of eleven days, the 
 Prince of Parma accomplished an undertaking which, in the 
 opinion of competent judges, would require as many weeks. 
 
 The town of Ghent, now cut off from Antwerp and the sea, 
 and hard pressed by the troops of the king, which were en- 
 camped in its vicinity, and without hope of immediate suc- 
 cour, began to despair, as famine, with all its dreadful train, 
 advanced upon them with rapid steps. The inhabitants 
 therefore despatched deputies to the Spanish camp at Bevern 
 to tender its submission to the king, upon the same terms as 
 the prince had a short time previously offered. The deputies 
 were informed that the time for treaties was past, and that an 
 unconditional submission alone could appease the just anger 
 of the monarch whom they had offended by their rebellion. 
 Nay, they were even given to understand, that it would be 
 only through his great mercy if the same humiliation were 
 not exacted from them, as their rebellious ancestors were 
 forced to undergo under Charles V., namely, to implore 
 pardon half naked, and with a cord round their necks. The 
 deputies returned to Ghent in despair, but three days after- 
 wards a new deputation was sent to the Spanish camp, which 
 at last, by the intercession of one of the prince's friends, who 
 was a prisoner in Ghent, obtained peace upon moderate terms. 
 The town was to pay a fine of 200,000 florins, recall the 
 banished Papists, and expel its Protestant inhabitants, who, 
 however, were to be allowed two yenrs for the settlement of 
 their affairs. All the inhabitants, except six, who were re- 
 served for capital punishment, (but afterwards pardoned,) 
 were included in a general amnesty, and the garrison, which 
 amounted to 2,000 men, were allowed to evacuate the place 
 
104 SIKGE OF ANTWERP 
 
 with the honours of war. This treaty was concluded in Sep 
 tember of the same year, at the head quarters at Bevern, and 
 immediately 3.000 Spaniards marched into the town as a 
 garrison. 
 
 It was more by the terror of his name, and the dread of 
 famine, than by the force of arms, that the Prince of Parma 
 had succeeded in reducing this city to submission, the largest 
 and strongest in the Netherlands, which was little inferior tc 
 Paris within the barriers of its inner town, consisted of 
 37,000 houses, and was built on twenty islands, connected by 
 ninety- eight stone bridges. The important privileges which, 
 in the course of several centuries, this city had contrived to 
 extort from its rulers, fostered in its inhabitants a spirit of 
 independence, which not unfrequently degenerated into riot 
 and licence, and naturally brought it in collision with the 
 Austrian- Spanish government. And it was exactly this bold 
 spirit of liberty, which procured for the reformation the 
 rapid and extensive success it met with in this town, and the 
 combined incentives of civil and religious freedom produced 
 all those scenes of violence, by which, during the rebel- 
 lion, it had unfortunately distinguished itself. Besides the 
 fine levied, the prince found within the walls a large store 
 of artillery, carriages, ships, and building materials of all 
 kinds, with numerous workmen and sailors, who materially 
 aided him in his plans against Antwerp. 
 
 Before Ghent surrendered to the king, Vilvorden and He- 
 rentals had fallen into the hands of the Spaniards, and the 
 capture of the block-houses near the village of Willebrock 
 had cut off Antwerp from Brussels and Malines. The loss 
 of these places, within so short a period, deprived Antwerp 
 of all hope of succour from Brabant and Flanders, and limit- 
 ed all their expectations to the assistance which might be 
 looked for from Zealand. But to deprive them also of this, 
 the Prince of Parma was now making the most energetic 
 preparations. 
 
 The citizens of Antwerp had beheld the first operations of 
 the enemy against their town with the proud security with 
 which the sight of their invincible river inspired them. This 
 confidence was also in a degree justified by the opinion of the 
 Prince of Orange, who, upon the first intelligence of the de- 
 sign, had said, that the Spanish array would inevitably perish 
 
siege of Antwerp. 105 
 
 before the walls of Antwerp. That nothing, however, might 
 be neglected, he sent, a short time before his assassina- 
 tion, for the Burgomaster of An twerp, Philip Marnix of 
 St. Aldegonde, his intimate friend, to Delft, where he con- 
 sulted with him as to the means of maintaining defensive 
 operations. It was agreed between them that it would 
 be advisable to demolish forthwith the great dam between 
 Sanvliet and Lillo, called the Blaaugarendyk, so as to allow 
 the waters of the East Scheldt to inundate, if necessary, the 
 lowlands of Bergen, and thus, in the event of the Scheldt 
 being closed, to open a passage for the Zealand vessels to the 
 town across the inundated country. Aldegonde had, after his 
 return, actually persuaded the magistrate and the majority of 
 the citizens to agree to this proposal, when it was resisted by 
 the guild of butchers, who complained that they would he 
 ruined by such a measure ; for the plain, which it was wished 
 to lay under water, was a vast tract of pasture land, upon 
 which about 12,000 oxen were annually put to graze. The 
 objection of the butchers was successful, and they managed to 
 prevent the execution of this salutary scheme, until the 
 enemy had got possession of the dams as well as the pasture 
 land. 
 
 At the suggestion of the burgomaster, St. Aldegonde, who, 
 himself a member of the states of Brabant, was possessed of 
 great authority, in that council, the fortifications on both 
 sides the Scheldt had, a short time before the arrival of the 
 Spaniards, been placed in repair, and many new redoubts 
 erected round the town The dams had been cut through at 
 Saftingen, and the water of the West Scheldt let out over 
 nearly the whole country of Waes. In the adjacent Mar 
 quisate of Bergen, troops had been enlisted by the Count of 
 Hohenlohe, and a Scotch regiment, under the command of 
 Colonel Morgan, was already in the pay of the republic, 
 while fresh reinforcements were daily expected from Eng 
 land and France. Above all, the states of Holland and Zea- 
 land were called upon to hasten their supplies. But after 
 the enemy had taken strong positions on both sides of the 
 river, and the fire of their batteries made the navigation dan- 
 gerous, when place after place in Brabant fell into their 
 hands, and their cavalry had cut off all communication on the 
 land side, the inhabitants of Antwerp began at last to enter- 
 
J 06 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 tain serious apprehensions for the future. The town then 
 contained 85,000 souls, and according to calculation 300,000 
 quarters of corn were annually required for their support 
 At the beginning of the siege neither the supply nor the 
 money was wanting for the laying in of such a store ; for in 
 spite of the enemy's fire, the Zealand victualling ships, taking 
 advantage of the rising tide, contrived to make their w T ay to 
 the town. All that was requisite, was to prevent any of the 
 richer citizens from buying up these supplies, and, in case 
 of scarcity, raising the price. To secure his object, one 
 Gianibelli, from Mantua, who had rendered important ser- 
 vices in the course of the siege, proposed a property tax 
 of one penny in every hundred, and the appointment of a 
 board of respectable persons to purchase corn w 7 ith this 
 money, and distribute it weekly. And until the returns 
 of this tax should be available, the richer classes should 
 advance the required sum, holding the corn purchased, as 
 a deposit, in their own magazines ; and were also to share in 
 the profit. But this plan was unwelcome to the wealthier 
 citizens, who had resolved to profit by the general distress. 
 They recommended that every individual should be required 
 to provide himself with a sufficient supply for two years ; a 
 proposition which, however it might suit their own circum- 
 stances, was very unreasonable in regard to the poorer inha- 
 bitants, who, even before the siege, could scarely find means 
 to supply themselves for so many months. They obtained, 
 indeed, their object, which was to reduce the poor to the 
 necessity of either quitting the place, or becoming entirely 
 their dependents. But when they afterwards reflected, that 
 in the time of need the rights of property would not be re- 
 spected, they found it advisable not to be over hasty in making 
 their own purchases. 
 
 The magistrate, in order to avert an evil that would have 
 pressed upon individuals only, had recourse to an expe- 
 dient which endangered the safety of all. Some enterpris- 
 ing persons in Zealand had freighted a large fleet with pro- 
 visions, which succeeded in passing the guns of the enemy, 
 and discharged its cargo at Antwerp. The hope of a large 
 profit had tempted the merchants to enter upon this hazard 
 ous speculation ; in this, however, they were disappointed, aa 
 the magistrate of Antwerp had, just before their arrival, issued 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 107 
 
 an edict, regulating the price of all the necessaries of life. 
 At the same time, to prevent individuals from buying up 
 the whole cargo, and storing it in their magazines, with a 
 view of disposing of it afterwards at a dearer rate, he ordered 
 that the whole should be publicly sold in any quantities 
 from the vessels. The speculators, cheated of their hopes of 
 profit by these precautions, set sail again, and left Antwerp 
 with the greater part of their cargo, which would have sufficed 
 for the support of the town for several months. 
 
 This neglect of the most essential and natural means of pre- 
 servation can only be explained by the supposition, that the 
 inhabitants considered it absolutely impossible ever to close 
 the Scheldt completely, and consequently had not the least ap- 
 prehension that things would come to extremity. When the 
 intelligence arrived in Antwerp that the prince intended to 
 throw a bridge over the Scheldt, the idea was universally ridi 
 culed as chimerical. An arrogant comparison was drawn be- 
 tween the republic and the stream, and it was said, that the 
 one would bear the Spanish yoke as little as the other. "A 
 river which is 2400 feet broad, and, with its own waters alone, 
 above sixty feet deep, but which with the tide rose twelve 
 feet more — would such a stream," it was asked, "submit to be 
 spanned by a miserable piece of paling ? Where were beams 
 to be found, high enough to reach to the bottom and project 
 above the surface ? and how was a work of this kind to stand 
 in winter, when whole islands and mountains of ice, which 
 stone walls could hardly resist, would be driven by the flood 
 against its weak timbers, and splinter them to pieces like glass? 
 Or, perhaps, the prince purposed to construct a bridge of 
 boats ; if so, where would he procure the latter, and how 
 bring them into his entrenchments ? They must necessarily 
 be brought past Antwerp, where a fleet was ready to capture 
 or sink them." 
 
 But while they were trying to prove the absurdity of 
 the Prince of Parma's undertaking, he had already com- 
 pleted it. As soon as the forts St. Maria and St. Philip 
 were erected, and protected the workmen and the work by 
 their fire, a pier was built out into the stream from both banks, 
 for which purpose the masts of the largest vessels were ein 
 ployed ; by a skilful arrangement of the timbers, they con- 
 trived to give the whole such solidity, that, as the result 
 
108 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 proved, it was able to resist the violent pressure of the ice 
 These timbers, which rested firmly and securely on the bot- 
 tom of the river, and projected a considerable height above it, 
 being covered with planks, afforded a commodious roadway. 
 It was wide enough to allow eight men to cross abreast, and a 
 balustrade that ran along it on both sides, protected them 
 from the fire of small arms from the enemy's vessels. This 
 " Stacade," as it was called, ran from the two opposite 
 shores as far as the increasing depth and force of the 
 stream aLowed. It reduced the breadth of the river to 
 about 1100 feet; as, however, the middle and proper current 
 would not admit of such a barrier, there remained, therefore, 
 between the two stacades, a space of more than six hundred 
 paces, through which a whole fleet of transports could sail 
 with 'iase. This intervening space, the prince designed to 
 close by a bridge of boats, for which purpose the craft must 
 be procured from Dunkirk. Bat besides that they could not 
 be obtained in any number at that place, it would be difficult 
 to bring them past Antwerp without great loss. He was, 
 therefore, obliged to content himself for the time with having 
 narrowed the stream one half, and rendered the passage of 
 the enemy's vessels so much the more difficult. Where the 
 stacades terminated in the middle of the stream, they spread 
 xmt into parallelograms, which were mounted with heavy guns, 
 and served as a kind of battery on the water. From these, a 
 heavy fire was opened on every vessel that attempted to pass 
 through this narrow channel. Whole fleets, however, and sin 
 gle vessels still attempted and succeeded in passing this dan- 
 gerous strait. 
 
 Meanwhile Ghent surrendered, and this unexpected success 
 at once rescued the prince from his dilemma. He found in 
 this town every thing necessary to complete his bridge of 
 boats ; and the only difficulty now was its safe transport, 
 which was furnished by the enemy themselves. By cutting 
 the dams at Saftingen, a great part of the country of Waes, 
 as far as the village of Borcht, had been laid under water, so 
 that it was not difficult to cross it with flat-bottomed boats. 
 The prince, therefore, ordered his vessels to run out from 
 Ghent, and after passing Dendermonde and Kupelmonde, to 
 pass through the left dyke of the Scheldt, leaving Antwerp to 
 the right, and sail over the inundated fields in the direction 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 100 
 
 of Borcht. To protect this passage, a fort was erected at the 
 latter village, which would keep the enemy in check. All 
 succeeded to his wishes, though not without a sharp action 
 with the enemy's flotilla, which was sent out to intercept this 
 convoy. After breaking through a few more dams on their 
 route, they reached the Spanish quarters at Calloo, and suc- 
 cessfully entered the Scheldt again. The exultation of the 
 army w T as the greater, when they discovered the extent of 
 danger the vessels had so narrowly escaped. Scarcely had they 
 got quit of the enemy's vessels, when a strong reinforcement 
 from Antwerp got under weigh, commanded by the valiant 
 defender of Lillo, Odets von Teligny. When this officer saw 
 .hat the affair was over, and that the enemy had escaped, he 
 took possession of the dam through which their fleet had 
 passed, and threw up a fort on the spot, in order to stop the 
 passage of any vessels from Ghent, which might attempt to 
 follow them. 
 
 By this step, the prince was again thrown into embarrass 
 ment. He w T as far from having, as yet, a sufficient number 
 of vessels, either for the construction of the bridge, or for 
 its defence, and the passage by which the former convoy 
 had arrived, was now closed by the fort erected by Teligny. 
 While he was reconnoitring the country to discover a new 
 way for his fleets, an idea occurred to him, which not only 
 put an end to his present dilemma, but great r y accelerated 
 the success of his whole plan. Not far from the village of 
 Stecken, in Waes, which is within some 5000 paces of the 
 commencement of the inundation, flows a small stream called 
 the Moer, which falls into the Scheldt near Ghent. From 
 this river, he caused a canal to be dug to the spot where the 
 inundations began, and as the water of these was not every 
 where deep enough for the transit of his boats, the canal be- 
 tween Bevern and Verrebroek was continued to Calloo, where 
 it was met by the Scheldt. At this work five hundred pioneers 
 laboured without intermission, and in order to cheer the toil 
 of the soldiers, the prince himself took part in it. In this 
 way did he imitate the example of two celebrated Romans, 
 Drusus and Corbulo, who, by similar works, had united the 
 Rhine with the Zuyder Zee, and the Maes with the Rhine. 
 
 This canal, which the army in honour of its projector called 
 the canal of Parma, was 14,000 paces in length, and was of 
 
110. SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 proportionable depth and breadth, so as to be navigable for 
 ships of a considerable burden. It afforded to the vessels 
 from Ghent not only a more secure, but also a much shorter 
 course to the Spanish quarters, because it was no longer ne* 
 cessary to follow the many windings of the Scheldt, but enter- 
 ing the Moer at once near Ghent, and from thence passing 
 close to Stecken, they could proceed through the canal, and 
 across the inundated country as far as Calloo. As the pro- 
 duce of all Flanders was brought to the town of Ghent, this 
 canal placed the Spanish camp in communication with the 
 whole province. Abundance poured into the camp from all 
 quarters, so that during the whole course of the siege the 
 Spaniards suffered no scarcity of any kind. But the greatest 
 benefit which the prince derived from this work, was an ade- 
 quate supply of flat-bottomed vessels to complete his bridge. 
 
 These preparations were overtaken by the arrival of winter, 
 which, as the Scheldt was filled with drift ice, occasioned a 
 considerable delay in the building of the bridge. The prince 
 had contemplated with anxiety the approach of this season, 
 lest it should prove highly destructive to the work he had 
 undertaken, and afford the enemy a favourable opportunity for 
 making a serious attack upon it. But the skill of his engi- 
 neers saved him from the one danger, and the strange inac- 
 tion of the enemy freed him from the other. It frequently 
 happened, indeed, that at flood time large pieces of ice were 
 entangled in the timbers, and shook them violently, but they 
 stood the assault of the furious element, which only served to 
 prove their stability. 
 
 In Antwerp meanwhile, important moments had been 
 wasted in futile deliberations, and in a struggle of factions, 
 the general welfare was neglected. The government of the 
 town was divided among too many heads, and much too great 
 a share in it was held by the riotous mob, to allow room for 
 calmness of deliberation, or firmness of action. Besides the 
 municipal magistracy itself, in which the burgomaster had 
 only a single voice, there were in the city a number of guilds, 
 to whom were consigned the charge of the internal and exter- 
 nal defence, the provisioning of the town, its fortifications, 
 the marine, commerce, &c. ; some of whom must be consulted 
 in every business of importance. By means of this crowd of 
 speakers, who intruded at pleasure into the council, and ma 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. I 1 1 
 
 naged to carry, by clamour and the number of their adher- 
 ents, what they could not effect by their arguments, the peo- 
 ple obtained a dangerous influence in the public debates, and 
 the natural struggle of such discordant interests retarded the 
 execution of every salutary measure. A government, so vacil- 
 lating and impotent, could not comand the respect of unruly 
 sailors and a lawless soldiery. The orders of the state conse 
 quently were but imperfectly obeyed, and the decisive mo 
 ment was more than once lost by the negligence, not to say 
 the open mutiny, both of the land and sea forces. 
 
 The little harmony in the selection of the means by which 
 the enemy was to be opposed, would not, however, have proved 
 so injurious, had there but existed unanimity as to the end 
 But on this very point the wealthy citizens and poorer classes 
 were divided, for the former, having every thing to apprehend 
 from allowing matters to be carried to extremity, were strongly 
 inclined to treat with the Prince of Parma. This disposition 
 they did not even attempt to conceal, after the fort of Lief- 
 kenshoek had fallen into the enemy's hands, and serious 
 fears were entertained for the navigation of the Scheldt. 
 Some of them, indeed, withdrew entirely from the danger, and 
 left to its fate the town whose prosperity they had been ready 
 enough to share, but in whose adversity they were unwilling 
 to bear a part. From sixty to seventy of those who remained 
 memorialized the council, advising that terms should be made 
 with the king. No sooner, however, had the populace got in 
 telligence of it, than their indignation broke out in a violent 
 uproar, which was with difficulty appeased by the imprison- 
 ment and fining of the petitioners. Tranquillity could only 
 be fully restored by the publication of an edict, which im- 
 posed the penalty of death on all who either publicly or pri- 
 vately should countenance proposals for peace. 
 
 The Prince of Parma did not fail to take advantage of 
 these disturbances: for nothing that transpired within the 
 city escaped his notice, being well served by the agents with 
 whom he maintained a secret understanding with Antwerp, 
 as well as the other towns of Brabant and Flanders. Al- 
 though he had already made considerable progress in his 
 measures for distressing the town, still he had many steps to 
 take before he could actually make himself master of it; 
 and one unlucky moment might destroy the work of mairv 
 
il2 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 months. Without, therefore, neglecting any of his warlike 
 preparations, he determined to make one more serious at- 
 tempt to get possession by fair means. With this object, 
 he despatched a letter in November to tho great Council 
 of Antwerp, in which he skilfully made use of every 
 topic likely to induce the citizens to come to terms, or at 
 least to increase their existing dissensions. He treated them 
 in this letter in the light of persons who had been led astray, 
 and threw the whole blame of their revolt and refractory 
 conduct hitherto upon the intriguing spirit of the Prince 
 af Orange, from whose artifices the retributive justice of 
 Heaven had so lately liberated them. " It was," he said, 
 " now in their power to awake from their long infatuation, 
 and return to their allegiance to a monarch, who was 
 ready and anxious to be reconciled to his subjects. For 
 this end, he gladly offered himself as mediator, as he 
 had never ceased to love a country in which he had been 
 born, and where he had spent the happiest days of his youth. 
 He therefore exhorted them to send plenipotentiaries with 
 whom he could arrange the conditions of peace, and gave 
 them hopes of obtaining reasonable terms if they made a 
 timely submission, but also threatened them with the severest 
 treatment if they pushed matters to extremity." 
 
 This letter, in which we are glad to recognise a language 
 very different from that which the Duke of Alva held ten 
 years before on a similar occasion, was answered by the towns- 
 people in a respectful and dignified tone. While they did 
 full justice to the personal character of the prince, and 
 acknowledged his favourable intentions towards them with 
 gratitude, they lamented the hardness of the times, which 
 placed it out of his power to treat them in accordance with 
 his character and disposition. They declared that they 
 would gladly place their fate in his hands, if he were absolute 
 master of his actions, instead of being obliged to obey the 
 will of another, whose proceedings his own candour would not 
 allow him to approve of. The unalterable resolution of the 
 King of Spain, as well as the vow which he had made to the 
 Pope, were only too well known for them to have any hopes 
 in that quarter. They at the same time defended with a 
 noble warmth the memory of the Prince of Orange, their 
 benefactor and preserver, while they enumerated the true 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWEKP, 113 
 
 ^arises which had produced this unhappy war, and had caused 
 the provinces to revolt from the Spanish crown. At the 
 same time, they did not disguise from him that they had hopes 
 of finding a new and a milder master in the King of France, 
 and that, if only for this reason, they could not enter into any 
 treaty with the Spanish king, without incurring the charge 
 of the most culpable fickleness and ingratitude. 
 
 The united provinces, in fact, dispirited by a succession of 
 reverses, had at last come to the determination of placing 
 themselves under the protection and sovereignty of France, 
 and of preserving their existence and their ancient privileges 
 by the sacrifice of their independence. With this view, an 
 embassy had some time before been despatched to Paris, and 
 it was the prospect of this powerful assistance which prin 
 cipally supported the courage of the people of Antwerp 
 Henry III., King of France, was personally disposed to 
 accept this offer; but the troubles which the intrigues of 
 the Spaniards contrived to excite within his own kingdom, 
 compelled him against his will to abandon it. The provinces 
 now turned for assistance to Queen Elizabeth of England, 
 who sent them some supplies, which, however, came too late 
 to save Antwerp. While the people of this city were awaiting 
 the issue of these negociations, and expecting aid from foreign 
 powers, they neglected, unfortunately, the most natural and 
 immediate means of defence; the whole winter was lost, and 
 while the enemy turned it to greater advantage, the more 
 complete was their indecision and inactivity. 
 
 The burgomaster of Antwerp, St. Aldegonde, had> indeed, 
 repeatedly urged the fleet of Zealand to attack the enemy's 
 works, which should be supported on the other side from 
 Antwerp. The long and frequently stormy nights would 
 favour this attempt, and if at the same time a sally were 
 made by the garrison at Lillo, it seemed scarcely possible 
 for the enemy to resist this triple assault. But unfortunately 
 misunderstandings had arisen between the commander of the 
 fleet, William von Blois von Treslong, and the Admiralty of 
 Zealand, which caused the equipment of the fleet to be most 
 unaccountably delayed. In order to quicken their move- 
 ments, Teligny at last resolved to go himself to Middelburg, 
 where the states of Zealand were assembled ; but as the 
 enemy were in possession of all the roads, the attempt cost 
 
 x 
 
114 SIEGE 01< ANTWERP 
 
 him his freedom, and the republic its most valiant dfr 
 fender. However, there was no want of enterprising vessels, 
 which, under the favour of the night and the flood tide, 
 passing through the still open bridge, in spite of the 
 enemy's fire, threw provisions into the town, and returned 
 with the ebb. But as many of these vessels fell into the 
 hands of the enemy, the council gave orders that they should 
 never risk the passage, unless they amounted to a certain 
 number; and the result unfortunately was, that none at- 
 tempted it, because the required number could not be collected 
 at one time. Several attacks were also made from Antwerp 
 on the ships of the Spaniards, which were not entirely 
 unsuccessful; some of the latter were captured, others sunk, 
 and all that was required was to execute similar attempts on 
 a grand scale. But however zealously St. Aldegonde urged 
 this, still not a captain was to be found who would command 
 a vessel for that purpose. 
 
 Amid these delays the winter expired, and scarcely had 
 the ice begun to disappear, when the construction of the 
 bridge of boats was actively resumed by the besiegers. 
 Between the two piers, a space of more than 600 paces still 
 remained to be filled up, which was effected in the following 
 manner. Thirty-two flat-bottomed vessels, each sixty-six feet 
 long and twenty broad, were fastened together with strong 
 cables and iron chains, but at a distance from each other of 
 about twenty feet, to allow a free passage to the stream. 
 Each boat, moreover, was moored with two cables, both up 
 and down the stream, but which, as the water rose with the 
 tide, or sunk with the ebb, could be slackened or tightened. 
 Upon the boats great masts were laid, which reached from 
 one to another, and being covered with planks, formed a 
 regular road, which, like that along the piers, was protected 
 with a balustrade. This bridge of boats, of which the two 
 piers formed a continuation, had, including the latter, a length 
 of 24,000 paces. This formidable work was so ingeniously 
 constructed, and so richly furnished with the instruments of 
 destruction, that it seemed almost capable, like a living crea- 
 ture, of defending itself at the word of command, scattering 
 death among all who approached. Besides the two forts of 
 St. Maria and St. Philip, which terminated the bridge on 
 either shore, and the two wooden bastions on the bridge 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWEBP 115 
 
 itself, which were filled with soldiers and mounted with guns 
 on all sides, each of the two-and-thirty vessels was manned 
 with thirty soldiers and four sailors, and showed the cannon's 
 mouth to the enemy, whether he came up from Zealand or 
 down from Antwerp. There were in all ninety-seven cannon, 
 which were distributed beneath and above the bridge, and 
 more than 1500 men who were posted partly in the forts, 
 partly in the vessels, and in case of necessity, could main 
 tain a terrible fire of small arms upon the enemy. 
 
 But with all this, the prince did not consider his work suf 
 ficiently secure. It was to be expected that the enemy would 
 leave nothing unattempted to burst, by the force of his 
 machines, the middle and weakest part. To guard against 
 this, he erected in a line with the bridge of boats, but at 
 some distance from it, another distinct defence, intended to 
 break the force of any attack that might be directed against the 
 bridge itself. This work consisted of thirty-three vessels of 
 considerable magnitude, which were moored in a row athwart 
 the stream, and fastened in threes by masts, so that they 
 formed eleven different groups. Each of these, like a file of 
 pikemen, presented fourteen long wooden poles, with iron 
 heads to the approaching enemy. These vessels were loaded 
 merely with ballast, and were anchored each by a double but 
 slack cable, so as to be able to give to the rise and fall of the 
 tide. As they were in constant motion, they got from the 
 soldiers the name of " swimmers." The whole bridge of boats, 
 and also a part of the piers was covered by these swimmers, 
 which were stationed above as well as below the bridge. To 
 all these defensive preparations, was added a fleet of forty 
 men of war, which were stationed on both coasts, and served 
 as a protection to the whole. 
 
 This astonishing work was finished in March, 1585, the 
 seventh month of the siege, and the day on which it was com- 
 pleted was kept as a jubilee by the troops. The great event 
 was announced to the besieged by a grand feu de joie, and 
 the army, as if to enjoy ocular demonstration of its triumph, 
 extended itself along the whole platform to gaze upon the 
 proud stream, peacefully and obediently flowing under the 
 yoke, which had been imposed upon it. All the toil they had 
 undergone was forgotten in this delightful spectacle, and 
 every man, who had had a hand in it, however insignificant 
 
 I 2 
 
116 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 he mtght be, assumed to himself a portion of the honour, which 
 the successful execution of so gigantic an enterprise conferred 
 on its illustrious projector. On the other hand, nothing could 
 equal the consternation which seized the citizens of Antwerp, 
 when intelligence was brought them, that the Scheldt was now 
 actually closed, and all access from Zealand cut off. To in- 
 crease their dismay, they learned the fall of Brussels also, 
 which had at last been compelled by famine to capitu- 
 late. An attempt, made by the Count of Hohenlohe about 
 the same time, on Herzogenbusch, with a view to recapture 
 the town, or at least form a diversion, was equally unsuccess- 
 ful ; and thus the unfortunate city lost all hope of assistance, 
 both by sea and land. 
 
 These evil tidings were brought them by some fugitives, 
 who had succeeded in passing the Spanish videttes, and had 
 made their way into the town ; and a spy, whom the Burgo- 
 master had sent out to reconnoitre the enemy's works, in- 
 creased the general alarm by his report. He had been seized 
 and carried before the Prince of Parma, who commanded him 
 to be conducted over all the works, and all the defences of the 
 bridge to be pointed out to him. After this had been done, 
 he was again brought before the general, who dismissed him 
 with these words. " Go," said he, " and report what you 
 have seen, to those who sent you. And tell them too, 
 that it is my firm resolve to bury myself under the ruins of 
 this bridge, or by means of it to pass into your town." 
 
 But the certainty of danger now at last awakened the zeal 
 of the confederates, and it was no fault of theirs, if the former 
 half of the prince's vow was not fulfilled. The latter had long 
 viewed with apprehension the preparations, which were making 
 in Zealand for the relief of the town. He saw clearly that it 
 was from this quarter, that he had to fear the most dangerous 
 blow, and that with all his works, he could not make head 
 against the combined fleets of Zealand and Antwerp, if they 
 were to fall upon him at the same time, and at the proper 
 moment. For a while, the delays of the Admiral of Zealand, 
 which he had laboured by all the means in his power to 
 prolong, had been his security ; but now the urgent necessity 
 accelerated the expedition, and without waiting for the admi- 
 ral, the states at Middleburg despatched the Count Justin o f 
 Nassau, with as many ships as they could muster, to the as- 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP I1Y 
 
 Bistance of the besieged. This fleet took up a position 
 before Liefkenshoek, which was in possession of the Span 
 iards, and supported by a few vessels from the opposite fort 
 of Lillo, cannonaded it with such success, that the walls were 
 in a short time demolished, and the place carried by storm 
 The Walloons, who formed the garrison, did not display the 
 firmness which might have been expected from soldiers of 
 the Duke of Parma ; they shamefully surrendered the fort 
 to the enemy, who in a short time were in possession of 
 the whole Island of Doel, with all the redoubts situated upon 
 it The loss of these places, which were, however, soon re 
 taken, incensed the Duke of Parma so much, that he tried the 
 officers by court-martial, and caused the most culpable among 
 them to be beheaded. Meanwhile, this important conquest 
 opened to the Zealanders a free passage as far as the bridge ; 
 and after concerting with the people of Antwerp, the time was 
 fixed for a combined attack on this work. It was arranged 
 that, while the bridge of boats was blown up by machines 
 already prepared in Antwerp, the Zealand fleet with a sufficient 
 supply of provisions should be in the vicinity, ready to sail to 
 the town through the opening. 
 
 While the Duke of Parma was engaged in constructing his 
 bridge, an engineer, within the walls, was already preparing 
 the materials for its destruction. Frederick Gianibelli, was 
 the name of the man whom fate had destined to be the Ar 
 chime des of Antwerp, and to exhaust in its defence, the same 
 ingenuity with the same want of success. He was born in 
 Mantua, and had formerly visited Madrid, for the purpose, it 
 was said, of offering his services to King Philip in the Belgian 
 war. But wearied with waiting, the offended engineer left 
 the court, with the intention of making the King of Spain 
 sensibly feel the value of talents, which he had so little known 
 how to appreciate. He next sought the service of Queen 
 Elizabeth of England, the declared enemy of Spain, who, 
 after witnessing a few specimens of his skill, sent him to 
 Antwerp. He took up his residence in that town, and, in the 
 present extremity, devoted to its defence, his knowledge, his 
 energy, and his zeal. 
 
 As soon as this artist perceived that the project of erecting 
 the bridge was seriously intended, and that the work was fast 
 approaching to completion, he applied to the magistracy for 
 
118 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 three large vessels, from a hundred and fifty to five hundred 
 tons, in which he proposed to place mines. He also demanded 
 sixty boats, which, fastened together with cables and chains, 
 furnished with projecting grappling irons, and put in motion 
 with the ebbing of the tide, were intended to second the 
 operation of the mine-ships, by being directed in a wedgelike 
 form against the bridge. But he had to deal with men 
 who were quite incapable of comprehending an idea out of the 
 common way, and even where the salvation of their country 
 was at stake, could not forget the calculating habits of trade. 
 
 His scheme was rejected as too expensive, and with diffi- 
 culty he at last obtained the grant of two smaller vessels, from 
 seventy to eighty tons, with a number of flat-bottomed boats. 
 With these two vessels, one of which he called the " For- 
 tune," and the other the " Hope," he proceeded in the fol- 
 lowing manner. In the hold of each, he built a hollow cham- 
 ber of freestone, five feet broad, three and a half high, and forty 
 long. This magazine he filled with sixty hundredweight of the 
 finest priming powder, of his own compounding, and covered it 
 with as heavy a weight of large slabs and millstones, as the 
 vessels could carry. Over these he further added a roof 
 of similar stones, which ran up to a point, and projected six 
 feet above the ship's side. The deck itself was crammed 
 with iron chains and hooks, knives, nails, and other destruc- 
 tive missiles ; the remaining space, which was not occu- 
 pied by the magazine, was likewise filled up with planks. 
 Several small apertures were left in the chamber for the 
 matches, which were to set fire to the mine. For greater 
 certainty, he had also contrived a piece of mechanism, which, 
 after the lapse of a given time, would strike out sparks, and 
 even if the matches failed, would set the ship on fire. . To 
 delude the enemy into a belief, that these machines were only 
 intended to set the bridge on fire, a composition of brimstone 
 and pitch w 7 as placed in the top, which could burn a whole hour. 
 And still further to divert the enemy's attention from the 
 proper seat of danger, he also prepared thirty-two small flat- 
 bottomed boats, upon which there were only fireworks burning, 
 and whose sole object was to deceive the enemy. These fire- 
 ships w r ere to be sent down upon the bridge, in four separate 
 squadrons, at intervals of half an hour, and keep the enemy inces- 
 santly engaged for two whole hours, so that, tired of firing, and 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 119 
 
 wearied by vain expectation, they might at last relax their 
 vigilance, before the real fireships came. In addition to all 
 this, he also despatched a few vessels in which powder was 
 concealed, in order to blow up the floating work before the 
 bridge, and to clear a passage for the two principal ships. 
 At the same time, he hoped by this preliminary attack to en 
 gage the enemy's attention, to draw them out, and expose 
 them to the full deadly effect of the volcano. 
 
 The night between the 4th and 5th of April was fixed for 
 the execution of this great undertaking. An obscure rumour 
 of it had already diffused itself through the Spanish camp, 
 and particularly from the circumstance of many divers from 
 Antwerp having been detected, endeavouring to cut the cables 
 of the vessels. They were prepared, therefore, for a serious 
 attack ; they only mistook the real nature of it, and counted 
 on having to fight rather with man than the elements. In 
 this expectation, the duke caused the guards along the whole 
 bank to be doubled, and drew up the chief part of his troops 
 in the vicinity of the bridge, where he was present in person ; 
 thus meeting the danger while endeavouring to avoid it. No 
 sooner was it dark, then three burning vessels were seen to 
 float dow r n from the city towards the bridge, then three more, 
 and directly after the same number. They beat to arms 
 throughout the Spanish camp, and the whole length of the 
 bridge was crowded with soldiers. Meantime, the number 
 of the fireships increased, and they came in regular order 
 down the stream, sometimes two, and sometimes three abreast, 
 being at first steered by sailors on board them. The Admiral 
 of the Antwerp fleet, Jacob Jacobson, (whether designedly, or 
 through carelessness, was not known,) had committed the 
 error of sending off the four squadrons of fireships too quickly 
 one after another, and caused the two large mine-ships also 
 to follow them too soon, and thus disturbed the intended 
 order of attack 
 
 The array of vessels kept approaching, and the darknes? 
 of night still further heightened the extraordinary specta- 
 cle. As far as the eye could follow the course of the 
 stream, all was fire ; the fireships burning as brilliantly 
 as if they were themselves in the flames ; the. surface of 
 the water glittered with light ; the dykes and the batteries 
 along the shore, the flags, arms, and accoutrements of the 
 
120 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 soldiers, who lined the rivers as well as the bridge, were 
 clearly distinguishable in the glare. With a mingled sens- 
 ation of awe and pleasure, the soldiers watched the unusual 
 sight, which rather resembled a fete than a hostile prepara- 
 tion, but from the very strangeness of the contrast filled the 
 mind with a mysterious awe. When the burning fleet had 
 come within 2,000 paces of the bridge, those who had the 
 charge of it lighted the matches, impelled the two mine- 
 vessels into the middle of the stream, and leaving the others 
 to the guidance of the current of the waves, they hastily 
 made their escape in boats, which had been kept in readiness. 
 Their course, however, was irregular, and, destitute of 
 steersmen, they arrived singly and separately at the floating 
 works, where they either continued hanging, or were dashed 
 off sidewise on the shore. The foremost powder-ships, which 
 were intended to set fire to the floating works, were cast by 
 the force of a squall, which arose at that instant, on the 
 Flemish coast ; one of the two, the " Fortune," grounded 
 in its passage, before it reached the bridge, and killed by its 
 explosion some Spanish soldiers, who were at work in a 
 neighbouring battery. The other and larger fireship, called 
 the " Hope," narrowly escaped a similar fate. The current 
 drove her against the floating defences towards the Flemish 
 bank, where it remained hanging ; and had it taken fire at 
 that moment the greatest part of its effect would have been 
 lost. Deceived by the flames, which this machine, like the 
 other vessels, emitted, the Spaniards took it for a common 
 fireship, intended to burn the bridge of boats. And as 
 they had seen them extinguished one after the other without 
 further effect, all fears were dispelled, and the Spaniards 
 began to ridicule the preparations of the enemy, which 
 had been ushered in with so much display, and now had so 
 absurd an end. Some of the boldest threw themselves into 
 the stream, in order to get a close view of the fireship, and 
 extinguish it, when, by its weight, it suddenly broke through, 
 burst the floating work which had detained it, and drove with 
 terrible force on the bridge of boats. All was now in com- 
 motion on the bridge, and the prince called to the sailors to 
 keep the vessel off with poles, and to extinguish the flames 
 before they caught the timbers. 
 
 At this critical moment, he was standing at the farthest end 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWEKP. 121 
 
 of the left pier, where it formed a bastion in the water, and 
 joined the bridge of boats. By his side stood the Margrave 
 of Bysburg, general of cavalry, and governor of the province 
 of Artois, who had formerly served the states, but from a pro- 
 tector of the republic had become its worst enemy ; the Baron 
 of Billy, Governor of Friesland, and commander of the Ger- 
 man regiments; the Generals Cajetan and Guasto, with 
 several of the principal officers ; all forgetful of their own 
 danger, and entirely occupied with averting the general 
 calamity. At this moment, a Spanish ensign approached the 
 Prince of Parma, and conjured him to remove from a place, 
 where his life was in manifest and imminent peril. No at- 
 tention being paid to his entreaty, he repeated it still more 
 urgently, and at last fell at his feet, and implored him in this 
 one instance to take advice from his servant. While he 
 said this, he had laid hold of the duke's coat, as though he 
 wished forcibly to draw him away from the spot, and the 
 latter, surprised rather at the man's boldness, than persuaded 
 by his arguments, retired at last to the shore attended by 
 Cajetan and Guasto. He had scarcely time to reach the fort 
 St. Maria, at the end of the bridge, when an explosion took 
 place behind him, just as if the earth had burst, or the vault 
 of heaven given way. The duke and his whole army fell 
 to the ground as dead, and several minutes elapsed before 
 they recovered their consciousness 
 
 But then what a sight presented itself! The waters of 
 the Scheldt had been divided to its lowest depth, and driven 
 with a surge, which rose like a wall above the dam that con- 
 fined it ; so that all the fortifications on the banks were several 
 feet under water. The earth shook for three miles round. 
 Nearly the whole left pier, on which thefireship had been driven, 
 with a part of the bridge of boats, had been burst and shattered 
 to atoms, with all that was upon it ; spars, cannon, and men, 
 blown into the air. Even the enormous blocks of stone which 
 had covered the mine, had, by the force of the explosion, been 
 hurled into the neighbouring fields, so that many of them 
 were afterwards dug out of the ground at the distance of a 
 thousand paces from the bridge. Six vessels were buried, 
 several had gone to pieces. But still more terrible was tho 
 carnage, which the murderous machine had dealt amongst the 
 
12*2 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 soldiers. ¥ive hundred, according to other reports even eight 
 hundred, were sacrificed to its fury, without reckoning those who 
 escaped with mutilated or injured bodies. The most opposite 
 kinds of death were combined in this frightful moment. 
 Some were consumed by the flames of the explosion, others 
 sca]ded to death by the boiling water of the river, others 
 stifled by the poisonous vapour of the brimstone ; some were 
 drowned in the stream, some buried under the hail of falling 
 masses of rock, many cut to pieces by the knrves and hooks, 
 or shattered by the balls, which were poured from the bowels 
 of the machine. Some were found lifeless without any visible 
 injury, having in all probability been killed by the mere con- 
 cussion of the air. The spectacle, which presented itself 
 directly after the firing of the mine, was fearful. Men 
 were seen wedged between the palisades of the bridge, or 
 struggling to free themselves from beneath ponderous masses 
 of rock, or hanging in the rigging of the ships ; and from all 
 places and quarters the most heart-rending cries for help 
 arose, but as each was absorbed in his own safety, these could 
 only be answered by helpless wailings. 
 
 Many had escaped in the most wonderful manner. An 
 officer, named Tucci, was carried by the whMwind, like a 
 feather, high into the air, where he was for a moment sus 
 pended, and then dropped into the river, where he saved 
 himself by swimming. Another, was taken up by the force 
 of the blast from the Flanders shore, and deposited on 
 that of Brabant, incurring merely a slight contusion on 
 the shoulder ; he felt, as he afterwards said, during this 
 rapid aerial transit, just as if he had been fired out of a cannon. 
 The Prince of Parma himself had never been so near death, 
 as at that moment, when half a minute saved his life. He 
 had scarcely set foot in the fort of St. Maria, when he was 
 lifted off his feet, as if by a hurricane ; and a beam, which 
 struck him on the head and shoulders, stretched him sense- 
 less on the earth. For a long time he was believed to be 
 actually killed, many remembering to have seen him on 
 the bridge only a few minutes before the fatal explosion. He 
 was found at last between his attendants, Cajetanand Guasto, 
 raising himself up with his hand on his sword ; and the in 
 telligence stirred the spirits of the whole army. But vain 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 123 
 
 would be the attempt to depict his feelings, when he sur- 
 veyed the devastation, which a single moment had caused 
 in the work of so many months. The bridge of boats, upon 
 which all his hopes rested, was rent asunder ; a great part of 
 his army was destroyed ; another portion maimed and render- 
 ed ineffective for many days ; many of his best officers were 
 killed ; and as if the present calamity were not sufficient, he 
 had now to learn the painful intelligence, that the Margrave 
 of Eysburg, whom of all his officers he prized the highest, 
 was missing. And yet the worst was still to come, for 
 every moment the fleets of the enemy were to be expected 
 from Antwerp and Lillo, to which this fearful position of the 
 army would disable him from offering any effectual resistance. 
 The bridge was entirely destroyed, and nothing could prevent 
 the fleet from Zealand passing through in full sail ; while the 
 confusion of the troops in this first moment was so great and 
 general, that it would have been impossible to give or obey 
 orders, as many corps had lost their commanding officers, and 
 many commanders their corps ; and even the places where 
 they had been stationed were no longer to be recognised amid 
 the general ruin. Add to this, that all the batteries on shore 
 were under water, that several cannon were sunk, that the 
 matches were wet, and the ammunition damaged. What a 
 moment for the enemy, if they had known how to avail 
 themselves of it ! 
 
 It will scarcely be believed, however, that this success, which 
 surpassed all expectation, was lost to Antwerp, simply because 
 nothing was known of it. St. Aldegonde, indeed, as soon 
 as the explosion of the mine was heard in the town, had 
 sent out several galleys in the direction of the bridge, 
 with orders to send up fireballs and rockets the moment 
 they had passed it, and then to sail with the intelligence 
 straight on to Lillo, in order to bring up, without delay, 
 the Zealand fleet, which had orders to co-operate. At the 
 same time, the Admiral of Antwerp was ordered, as soon as 
 the signal was given, to sail out with his vessels, and attack 
 the enemy in their first consternation. But although a con- 
 siderable reward was promised to the boatmen sent to recon 
 noitre, they did not venture near the enemy, but returned 
 without effecting their purpose, and reported that the bridge 
 of boats was uninjured, and the fire-ship had had no effect. 
 
12 t SIEGE OF ANTWERP 
 
 Even on the following day, also, no better measures were 
 taken to learn the true state of the bridge ; and as the fleet at 
 Lillo, in spite of the favourable wind, was seen to remain in- 
 active, the belief that the fire-ships had accomplished nothing 
 was confirmed. It did not seem to occur to any one, that this 
 very inactivity of the confederates, which misled the people of 
 Antwerp, might also keep back the Zealanders at Lillo, as 
 in fact it did. So signal an instance of neglect could only 
 have occurred in a government, which, without dignity or 
 independence, was guided by the tumultuous multitude it 
 ought to have governed. The more supine, however, they 
 were themselves in opposing the enemy, the more violently 
 did their rage boil against Gianibelli, whom the frantic mob 
 would have torn in pieces, if they could have caught him 
 For two days the engineer was in the most imminent danger, 
 until at last, on the third morning, a courier from Lillo, who 
 had swum under the bridge, brought authentic intelligence of 
 its having been destroyed, but at the same time announced 
 that it had been repaired. 
 
 This rapid restoration of the bridge was really a miraculous 
 effort of the Prince of Parma. Scarcely had he recovered 
 from the shock, which seemed to have overthrown all his 
 plans, when he contrived, with wonderful presence of mind, 
 to prevent all its evil consequences. The absence of the 
 enemy's fleet, at this decisive moment, revived his hopes. 
 The ruinous state of the bridge appeared to be a secret to 
 them, and though it was impossible to repair, in a few hours, 
 the work of so many months, yet a great point would be gained 
 if it could be done even in appearance. All his men were 
 immediately set to work to remove the ruins, to raise the 
 timbers which had been thrown down, to replace those which 
 were demolished, and to fill up the chasms with ships. 
 The duke himself did not refuse to share in the toil, and his 
 exampie was followed by all his officers. Stimulated by this 
 popular behaviour, the common soldiers exerted themselves to 
 the utmost ; the work was carried on during the w T hole night 
 under the constant sounding of drums and trumpets, which 
 were distributed along the bridge to drown the noise of 
 the work-people. With dawn of day, few traces remained 
 of the night's havoc ; and although the bridge was re- 
 stored only in appearance, it nevertheless deceived the spy 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWEKP 125 
 
 and consequently no attack was made upon it. In the mean 
 time, the prince contrived to make the repairs solid, nay, 
 even to introduce some essential alterations in the struc- 
 ture In order to guard against similar accidents for the 
 future, a part of the bridge of boats was made moveable, so 
 that, in case of necessity, it could be taken away, and a pas- 
 sage opened to the fire-ships. His loss of men was supplied 
 from the garrisons of the adjoining places, and by a German 
 regiment which arrived very opportunely from Gueldres. He 
 rilled up the vacancies of the officers who were killed, and in 
 doing this, he did not forget the Spanish ensign who had saved 
 his life. 
 
 The people of Antwerp, after learning the success of their 
 mine-ship, now did homage to the inventor with as much ex- 
 travagance, as they had a short time before mistrusted him, 
 and they encouraged his genius to new attempts Gianibelli 
 now actually obtained the number of flat-bottomed vessels 
 which he had at first demanded in vain, and these he equipped 
 in such a manner, that they struck with irresistible force on 
 the bridge, and a second time also burst and separated it. 
 But this time, the wind was contrary to the Zealand fleet, 
 so that they could not put out, and thus the prince obtained 
 once more the necessary respite to repair the damage. The 
 Archimedes of Antwerp was not deterred by any of these dis- 
 appointments. Anew he fitted out two large vessels, which 
 were armed with iron hooks and similar instruments, in order 
 to tear asunder the bridge. But when the moment came for 
 these vessels to get under weigh, no one was found ready to em- 
 bark in them. The engineer was therefore obliged to think 
 of a plan for giving to these machines such a self-impulse, 
 that, without being guided by a steersman, they would keep 
 the middle of the stream, and not, like the former ones, be 
 driven on the bank by the wind. One of his workmen, a 
 German, here hit upon a strange invention, if Strada's de- 
 scription of it is to be credited. He affixed a sail under the 
 vessel, which was to be acted upon by the water, just as an 
 ordinary sail is by the wind, and could thus impel the ship 
 with the whole force of the current. The result proved the 
 correctness of his calculation ; for this vessel, with the position 
 of its sails reversed, not only kept the centre of the stream. 
 but also ran against the bridge with such impetuosity that the 
 
J 26 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 enemy had not time to open it, and it was actually burst 
 asunder. But all these results were of no service to the 
 town, because the attempts were made at random, and were 
 supported by no adequate force. A new fire-ship, equip- 
 ped like the former, which had succeeded so well, and which 
 Gianibelli had filled with 4000 lbs. of the finest powder, 
 was not even used ; for a new mode of attempting their 
 deliverance had now occurred to the people of Antwerp. 
 
 Terrified, by so many futile attempts, from endeavouring U 
 clear a passage for vessels on the river by force, they at last 
 came to the determination of doing without the stream en- 
 tirely. They remembered the example of the town of Leyden, 
 which, when besieged by the Spaniards ten years before, had 
 saved itself by opportunely inundating the surrounding coun- 
 try, and it was resolved to imitate this example. Between 
 Lillo and Stabroek, in the district of Bergen, a wide and 
 somewhat sloping plain extends as far as Antwerp, being pro- 
 tected by numerous embankments and counter-embankments 
 against the irruptions of the East Scheldt. Nothing more was 
 requisite than to break these dams, when the whole plain 
 would become a sea, navigable by flat-bottomed vessels almost 
 to the very walls of Antwerp. If this attempt should succeed, 
 the Duke of Parma might keep the Scheldt guarded with his 
 bridge of boats as long as he pleased ; a new river would be 
 formed, which, in case of necessity, would be equally service- 
 able for the time. This was the very plan which the Prince of 
 Orange had, at the commencement of the siege, recommended, 
 and in which he had been strenuously, but unsuccessfully, 
 seconded by St. Aldegonde, because some of the citizens could 
 not be persuaded to sacrifice their own fields. In the present 
 emergency they reverted to this last resource, but circum- 
 stances in the mean time had greatly changed. 
 
 The plain in question is intersected by a broad and high 
 dam, which takes its name from the adjacent Castle of Cowen- 
 stein, and extends for three miles from the village of Stabroek, 
 in Bergen, as far as the Scheldt, with the great dam of which 
 it unites near Ordam. Beyond this dam no vessels can pro- 
 ceed, however high the tide, and the sea would be vainly 
 turned into the fields as long as such an embankment re- 
 mained in the way, which would prevent the Zealand vessels 
 from descending into the plain before Antwerp. The fate of 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 127 
 
 the town would therefore depend upon the demolition of this 
 Cowenstein dam; but, foreseeing this, the Prince of Parma 
 had, immediately on commencing the blockade, taken posses- 
 sion of it, and spared no pains to render it tenable to the last. 
 At the village of Stabroek, Count Mansfeld was encamped with 
 the greatest part of his army, and by means of this very 
 Cowenstein dam kept open the communication with the 
 bridge, the head quarters, and the Spanish magazines at 
 Calloo. Thus the army formed an uninterrupted line from 
 Stabroek in Brabant, as far as Bevern in Flanders, inter- 
 sected indeed, but not broken, by the Scheldt, and which could 
 not be cut off without a sanguinary conflict. On the dam 
 itself, within proper distances, five different batteries had been 
 erected, the command of which was given to the most valiant 
 officers in the army. Nay, as the Prince of Parma could not 
 doubt that now the whole fury of the war would be turned to 
 this point, he entrusted the defence of the bridge to Count 
 Mansfeld, and resolved to defend this important post himself. 
 The war, therefore, now assumed a different aspect, and the 
 theatre of it was entirely changed. 
 
 Both above and below Lillo, the Netherlanders had in 
 several places cut through the dam, which follows the Brabant 
 shore of the Scheldt; and where a short time before had been 
 green fields, a new element now presented itself, studded 
 with masts and boats. A Zealand fleet, commanded by Count 
 Hohenlohe, navigated the inundated fields, and made repeated 
 movements against the Cowenstein dam, without, however, 
 attempting a serious attack on it, while another fleet showed 
 itself in the Scheldt, threateneng the two coasts alternately 
 with a landing, and occasionally the bridge of boats with an 
 attack. For several days, this manoeuvre was practised on 
 the enemy, who, uncertain of the quarter whence an attack 
 was to be expected, would, it was hoped, be exhausted by 
 continual watching, and by degrees lulled into security by 
 so many false alarms. Antwerp had promised Count Ho- 
 henlohe to support the attack on the dam by a flotilla from 
 the town ; three beacons on the principal tower were to be 
 the signal that this was on the way. When, therefore, on 
 a dark night, the expected columns of fire really ascended 
 above Antwerp, Count Hohenlohe immediately caused 500 
 of his troops to scale the dam between two of the enemy's 
 
128 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 redoubts, who surprised part of the Spanish garrison asleep, 
 and cut down the others, who attempted to defend themselves 
 In a short time, they had gained a firm footing upon the dam, 
 and were just on the point of disembarking the remainder 
 of their force, 2000 in number, when the Spaniards in 
 the adjoining redoubts marched out, and favoured by the 
 narrowness of the ground, made a desperate attack on 
 the crowded Zealanders The guns from the neighbouring 
 batteries opened upon the approaching fleet, and thus ren- 
 dered the landing of the remaining troops impossible ; and 
 as there were no signs of co-operation on the part of the 
 city, the Zealanders were overpowered after a short conflict, 
 and again driven down from the dam The victorious 
 Spaniards pursued them through the water as far as their 
 boats, sunk many of the latter, and compelled the rest to 
 retreat with heavy loss. Count Hohenlohe threw the blame 
 of this defeat upon the inhabitants of Antwerp, who had 
 deceived him by a false signal, and it certainly must be 
 attributed to the bad arrangement of both parties, that the 
 attempt failed of better success. 
 
 But at last the allies determined to make a systematic 
 assault on the enemy with their combined force, and to put 
 an end to the siege by a grand attack, as well on the dam as 
 on the bridge. The 16th of May, 1585, was fixed upon for 
 the execution of this design, and both armies used their 
 utmost endeavours to make this day decisive. The force 
 of the Hollanders and Zealanders, united to that of Antwerp, 
 exceeded 200 ships, to man which they had stripped their 
 towns and citadels, and with this force they purposed to 
 attack the Cowenstein dam on both sides. The bridge over 
 the Scheldt was to be assailed with new machines of Giani- 
 belli's invention, and the Duke of Parma thereby hindered 
 from assisting the defence of the dam. 
 
 Alexander, apprised of the danger which threatened him^ 
 spared nothing on his side to meet it with energy. Imme- 
 diately after getting possession of the dam, he had caused 
 redoubts to be erected at five different places, and had given 
 the command of them to the most experienced officers of the 
 army. The first of these, which was called the Cross Battery, 
 was erected on the spot where the Cowenstein dam enters 
 the great embankment of the Scheldt, and makes with the 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 129 
 
 latter the form of a cross ; the Spaniard, Mondragone, was 
 appointed to the command of this battery. A thousand paces 
 farther on, near the castle of Cowenstein, was posted the 
 battery of St. James, which was entrusted to the command 
 of Camillo de Monte. At an equal distance from this, lay 
 the battery of St. George, and at a thousand paces from the 
 latter, the Pile Battery, under the command of Gamboa, so 
 called from the pile- work on which it rested ; at the farthest 
 end of the dam, near Stabroek, was the fifth redoubt, where 
 Count Mansfeld, with Capizucchi, an Italian, commanded. 
 All these forts the prince now strengthened with artillery 
 and men ; on both sides of the dam, and along its whole 
 extent, he caused piles to be driven, as well to render the 
 main embankment firmer, as to impede the labour of the 
 pioneers, who were to dig through it. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 16th of May, the enemy's 
 forces were in motion. With the dusk of dawn, there came 
 floating down from Lillo, over the inundated country, four 
 burning vessels, which so alarmed the guards upon the dams, 
 who recollected the former terrible explosion, that they hastily 
 retreated to the next battery. This was exactly what the 
 enemy desired. In these vessels, which had merely the 
 appearance of fire-ships, soldiers were concealed, who now 
 suddenly jumped ashore, and succeeded in mounting the dam 
 at the undefended spot, between the St. George and Pile 
 batteries. Immediately afterward, the whole Zealand fleet 
 showed itself, consisting of numerous ships of war, transports, 
 and a crowd of smaller craft, which were laden with great 
 sacks of earth, wool, fascines, gabions, and the like, for 
 throwing up breastworks, wherever necessary. The ships 
 of war were furnished with powerful artillery, and numerously 
 and bravely manned, and a whole army of pioneers accom- 
 panied it, in order to dig through the dam as soon as it 
 should be in their possession. 
 
 The Zealanders had scarcely begun on their side to ascend 
 the dam, when the fleet of Antwerp advanced from Osterweel, 
 and attacked it on the other. A high breastwork was hastily 
 thrown up between the two nearest hostile batteries, so as at 
 once to divide the two garrisons and to cover the pioneers. 
 The latter, several hundreds in number, now fell to work 
 with their spades on both sides of the dam, and dug with 
 
 K 
 
180 SLfiGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 such energy, that hopes were entertained of soon seeing tho 
 two seas united. But, meanwhile, the Spaniards also had 
 gained time to hasten to the spot from the two nearest re- 
 doubts, and make a spirited assault, while the guns from the 
 battery of St. George played incessantly on the enemy's fleet. 
 A furious battle now raged in the quarter where they were 
 cutting through the dike, and throwing up the breastwork. 
 The Zealanders had drawn a strong line of troops round the 
 pioneers, to keep the enemy from interrupting their work ; 
 and in this confusion of battle, in the midst of a storm of 
 bullets from the enemy, often up to the breast in water, 
 among the dead and dying, the pioneers pursued their work, 
 under the incessant exhortations of the merchants, who im- 
 patiently waited to see the dam opened and their vessels in 
 safety. The importance of the result, which it might be 
 said depended entirely upon their spades, appeared to animate 
 even the common labourers with heroic courage. Solely in- 
 tent upon their task, they neither saw nor heard the work of 
 death, which was going on around them, and as fast as the 
 foremost ranks fell, those behind them pressed into their 
 places. Their operations were greatly impeded by the piles 
 which had been driven in, but still more by the attacks of 
 the Spaniards, who burst with desperate courage through the 
 thickest of the enemy, stabbed the pioneers in the pits where 
 they were digging, and filled up again with dead bodies, the 
 cavities which the living had made. At last, however, when 
 most of their officers were killed or wounded, and the number 
 of the enemy constantly increasing, while fresh labourers were 
 supplying the place of those who had been slain, the courage 
 of these valiant troops began to give way, and they thought 
 it advisable to retreat to their batteries. Now, therefore, the 
 confederates saw themselves masters of the whole extent of 
 the dam, from Fort St. George as far as the Pile Battery 
 As, however, it seemed too long to wait for the thorough 
 demolition of the dam, they hastily unloaded a Zealand 
 transport, and brought the cargo over the dam to a vessel of 
 Antwerp, with which Count Hohenlohe sailed in triumph 
 to that city. The sight of the provisions at once filled the 
 inhabitants with joy, and as if the victory was already won, 
 they gave themselves up to the wildest exultation. The 
 bells were rung, the cannon discharged, and the inhabitants 
 
SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 131 
 
 transported at their unexpected success, hurried to the Oster 
 weel gate, to await the store ships, which were supposed to 
 be at hand. 
 
 In fact, fortune had never smiled so favourably on the be- 
 sieged as at that moment. The enemy, exhausted and dis- 
 pirited, had thrown themselves into their batteries, and far 
 from being able to struggle with the victors for the post they 
 had conquered, they found themselves rather besieged in the 
 places where they had taken refuge. Some companies of 
 Scots, led by their brave colonel, Balfour, attacked the bat- 
 tery of St. George, which, however, was relieved, but not 
 without severe loss, by Camillo di Monte, who hastened 
 thither from the St. James's battery. The Pile battery was in 
 a much worse condition, it being hotly cannonaded by the 
 ships, and threatened every moment to crumble to pieces ; 
 Gamboa, who commanded it, lay wounded, and it was unfor- 
 tunately deficient in artillery to keep the enemy at a distance. 
 The breastwork, too, which the Zealanders had thrown up be- 
 tween this battery and that of St. George, cut off all hope of 
 assistance from the Scheldt. If, therefore, the Belgians had 
 only taken advantage of this weakness and inactivity of the 
 enemy, to proceed with zeal and perseverance in cutting 
 through the dam, there is no doubt that a passage might have 
 been made and thus put an end to the whole siege. But 
 here also, the same want of consistent energy showed itself, 
 which had marked the conduct of the people of Antwerp dur- 
 ing the whole course of the siege. The zeal with which the 
 work had been commenced, cooled in proportion to the success 
 which attended it. It was soon found too tedious to dig 
 through the dyke ; it seemed far easier to transfer the cargoes 
 from the large store-ships into smaller ones, and carry these to 
 the town with the flood tide. St. Aldegonde and Hohenlohe, 
 instead of remaining to animate the industry of the workmen 
 by their personal presence, left the scene of action in the de- 
 cisive moment, in order by sailing to the town with a corn 
 vessel, to win encomiums on their wisdom and valour. 
 
 While both parties were fighting on the dam with the most 
 obstinate fury, the bridge over the Scheldt had been attacked 
 from Antwerp, with new machines, in order to give employ- 
 ment to the prince in that quarter. But the sound of the 
 firing soon apprised him of what was going on at the dyke, 
 
 k 2 
 
i32 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 and as soon as he saw the bridge clear, he hastened to sup- 
 port the defence of the dyke. Followed by two hundred Spa- 
 nish pikemen, he flew to the place of attack, and arrived just 
 in time to prevent the complete defeat of his troops. He 
 hastily posted some guns, which he had brought with him, in 
 the two nearest redoubts, and maintained from thence a heavy 
 fire upon the enemy's ships. He placed himself at the head 
 of his men, and with his sword in one hand and shield in the 
 other, led them against the enemy. The news of his arrival, 
 which quickly spread from one end of the dyke to the other, 
 revived the drooping spirits of his troops, and the conflict 
 recommenced with renewed violence, made still more mur- 
 derous by the nature of the ground where it was fought. 
 Upon the narrow ridge of the dam, which in many places was 
 not more than nine paces broad, about five thousand com- 
 batants were fighting ; so confined was the spot upon which the 
 strength of both armies was assembled, and which was to de- 
 cide the whole issue of the siege. With the Antwerpers the 
 last bulwark of their city was at stake, with the Spaniards it 
 was to determine the whole success of their undertaking. 
 Both parties fought with a courage, which despair alone could 
 inspire. From both the extremities of the dam, the tide of 
 war rolled itself towards the centre, where the Zealanders and 
 Antwerpers had the advantage, and where they had collected 
 their whole strength. The Italians and Spaniards, inflamed 
 by a noble emulation, pressed on from Stabroek ; and from the 
 Scheldt, the Walloons and Spaniards advanced with their ge- 
 neral at their head. While the former endeavoured to relieve 
 the Pile battery, which was hotly pressed by the enemy both 
 by sea and land, the latter threw themselves on the breast- 
 work, between the St. George and the Pile batteries, with a 
 fury which carried everything before it. Here the flower of 
 the Belgian troops fought behind a well-fortified rampart. 
 and the guns of the two fleets covered this important post 
 The prince was already pressing forward to attack this formid- 
 able defence with his small army, when he received intelli 
 gence that the Italians and Spaniards, under Capizucchi and 
 Aquila, had forced their way, sword in hand, into the Pile bat- 
 tery, haa got possession of it, and were now likewise advancing 
 from the other side against the enemy's breastwork. Before 
 this entrenchment, therefore, the whole force of both armies 
 
SIEUE OF ANTWERP. 133 
 
 was now collected, and both sides used their utmost efforts to 
 carry and to defend this position. The Netherlanders on 
 board the fleet, loath to remain idle spectators of the con- 
 flict, sprang ashore from their vessels. Alexander attacked 
 the breastwork on one side, Count Mansfeld on the other ; five 
 assaults were made, and five times they were repulsed. The 
 Netherlanders, in this decisive moment, surpassed themselves ; 
 never in the whole course of the war had they fought with 
 such determination. But it was the Scotch and English in 
 particular, who baffled the attempts of the enemy by their va- 
 liant resistance. As no one would advance to the attack in 
 the quarter where the Scotch fought, the duke himself led on 
 the troops, with a javelin in his hand, and up to his breast in 
 water. At last, after a protracted struggle, the forces of Count 
 Mansfeld succeeded with their halberds and pikes, in making 
 a breach in the breastwork, and by raising themselves on one 
 another's shoulders, scaled the parapet. Barthelemy Toralva, 
 a Spanish captain, was the first who showed himself on the 
 top ; and almost at the same instant, the Italian Capizucchi 
 appeared upon the edge of it ; and thus the contest of valour 
 was decided with equal glory for both nations. It is worth 
 while to notice here, the manner in which the Prince of Parma, 
 who was made arbiter of this emulous strife, encouraged this 
 delicate sense of honour among his warriors. He embraced 
 the Italian Capizucchi in presence of the troops, and acknow- 
 ledged aloud that it was principally to the courage of this 
 officer that he owed the capture of the breastwork. He caused 
 the Spauish Captain Toralva, who was dangerously wounded, 
 to be conveyed to his own quarters at Stabroek, laid on his 
 own bed, and covered with the cloak which he himself had 
 worn the day before the battle. 
 
 After the capture of the breastwork, the victory no longer 
 remained doubtful. The Dutch and Zealand troops, who had 
 disembarked to come to close action with the enemy, at once 
 lost their courage, when they looked about them and saw 
 the vessels, which were their last refuge, putting off from the 
 shore. 
 
 For the tide had began to ebb, and the commanders of the 
 fleet, fromfear of being stranded with their heavy transports, and, 
 in case of an unfortunate issue to the engagement, becoming the 
 prey of the enemy, retired from the dam, and made for deep 
 
(34 SIEGE OF ANTWERP 
 
 water. No sooner did Alexander perceive this, than he point- 
 ed out to his troops the flying vessels, and encouraged them 
 to finish the action with an enemy, who already despaired of 
 their safety. The Dutch auxiliaries were the first that gave 
 way, and their example was soon followed hy the Zealanders. 
 Hastily leaping from the dam, they endeavoured to reach the 
 vessels by wading or swimming; but from their disorderly 
 flight, they impeded one another, and fell in heaps under the 
 swords of the pursuers. Many perished even in the boats, as 
 each strove to get on board before the other, and several ves- 
 sels sank under the weight of the numbers who rushed into 
 them. The Antwerpers, who fought for their liberty, their 
 hearths, their faith, were the last who retreated, but this very 
 circumstance augmented their disaster. Mary of their ves- 
 sels were outstripped by the ebb-tide, and grounded within 
 reach of the enemy's cannon, and were consequently destroyed 
 with all on board. Crowds of fugitives endeavoured by swim- 
 ming to gain the other transports, which had got into deep 
 water ; but such was the rage and boldness of the Spaniards, 
 that they swam after them with their swords between their 
 teeth, and dragged many even from the ships. The victory 
 of the king's troops was complete, but bloody ; for of the Spa- 
 niards about 800, of the Netherlander some thousands (with- 
 out reckoning those who were drowned) were left on the field, 
 and on both sides many of the principal nobility perished. 
 More than thirty vessels, with a large supply of provisions for 
 Antwerp, fell into the hands of the victors, with 150 cannon 
 and other military stores. The dam, the possession of which 
 had been so dearly maintained, was pierced in thirteen differ- 
 ent places, and the bodies of those who had cut through it were 
 now used to stop up the openings. 
 
 The following day, a transport of immense size and singular 
 construction, fell into the hands of the royalists. It formed 
 a floating castle, and had been destined for the attack on the 
 Cowenstein dam. The people of Antwerp had built it at an 
 immense expense, at the very time when the engineer Giani 
 belli's useful proposals had been rejected, on account of the 
 cost they entailed, and this ridiculous monster was called by 
 the proud title of " End of the War," which appellation was 
 afterwards changed for the more appropriate sobriquet of 
 « Money lost ! " When this vessel was launched, it turned 
 
SIEGK op ANTWERP. ! 35 
 
 out, as every sensible person had foretold, that on account of 
 its unwieldy size it was utterly impossible to steer it, and it 
 could hardly be floated by the highest tide. With great 
 difficulty it was worked as far as Ordam, where, deserted by 
 the tide, it went aground, and fell a prey to the enemy. 
 
 The attack upon the Cowenstein dam was the last attempt 
 ^hich was made to relieve Antwerp. From this time, the 
 courage of the besieged sank, and the magistracy of the town, 
 vainly laboured to inspirit with distant hopes the lower orders, 
 on whom the present distress weighed heaviest. Hitherto 
 the price of bread had been kept down to a tolerable rate, al- 
 though the quality of it continued to deteriorate ; by degrees, 
 however, provisions became so scarce, that a famine was evi 
 dently near at hand. Still hopes were entertained of being 
 able to hold out, at least, until the corn 1 "ween the town and 
 the farthest batteries, which was already m full ear, could be 
 reaped ; but before that could be done, the enemy had carried 
 the last outwork, and had appropriated the whole harvest to 
 their use. At last the neighbouring and confederate town of 
 Malines fell into the enemy's hands, and with its fall vanished 
 the only remaining hope of getting supplies from Brabant. As 
 there was, therefore, no longer any means of increasing the stock 
 of provisions, nothing was left but to diminish the consumers. 
 All useless persons, all strangers, nay even the women and 
 children were to be sent away out of the town, but this pro- 
 posal was too revolting to humanity to be carried into execution. 
 Another plan, that of expelling the Catholic inhabitants, exas- 
 perated them so much, that it had almost ended in open mu- 
 tiny. And thus St. Aldegonde at last saw himself compelled 
 to yield to the riotous clamours of the populace, and on the 
 17th of August, 1585, to make overtures to the Duke of 
 Parma for the surrender of the town. 
 
 THE EKI>. 
 
WALLEN STEIN'S CAMP, 
 
 TRANSLATED BY JAMES CHURCHILL. 
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI, 
 
 AND 
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN, 
 
 BY S. T. COLERIDGE. 
 
 INCLUDING SCENES AND PASSAGES HITHERTO EMITTED. 
 
 '« Upon the whole there can be no doubt that this trilogy forms, in its original tongue, 
 one of the most splendid specimens of tragic art the world has witnessed ; and none at 
 all, that the execution of the version from which we have quoted so largely, places Mr. 
 Coleridge in the very first rank of poetical translators. He is, perhaps, the solitary 
 example of a man of very great original genius submitting to allthe labours, and reap- 
 ing ali the honours, ol this species of literary exertion." — Blackwood, 1823. 
 
The Camp of Wallenstein is an introduction to the cele- 
 brated tragedy of that name ; and, by its vivid portraiture of 
 the state of the General's army, gives the best clue to the 
 epell of his gigantic power. The blind belief entertained in 
 the unfailing success of his arms, and in the supernatural 
 agencies by which that success is secured to him ; the unre- 
 strained indulgence of every passion, and utter disregard of 
 all law, save that of the camp ; a hard oppression of the pea- 
 santry and plunder of the country ; have all swollen the sol- 
 diery with an idea of interminable sway. But, as we have 
 translated the whole, we shall leave these reckless marauders 
 to speak for themselves. 
 
 Of Schiller's opinion concerning the Camp, as a necessary 
 introduction to the tragedy, the following passage taken from 
 the Prologue to the first representation, will give a just idea, 
 and may also serve as a motto to the work : — 
 
 "Not He it is, who on the tragic scene 
 Will now appear — but in the fearless bands 
 Whom his command alone could sway, and whom 
 His spirit fired, you may his shadow see, 
 Until the bashful Muse shall dare to bring 
 Himself before you in a living form; 
 For power it was that bore his heart astray-- 
 His Camp, alone, elucidates his crime.'' 
 
THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Sergeant-Major, \ of a regiment of Recruti. 
 
 Trumpeter, J Terzky's carabineers. Citizen. 
 
 Artilleryman. Peasant. 
 
 Sharpshooters. Peasant Boy. 
 
 Mounted Yagers, of Hoik's corps. Capuchin. 
 
 Dragoons, of Butler's regiment. Regimental Scliool^naoifr* 
 
 Arquebusiers, of Tiefenbach's regiment. Sutler Woman. 
 
 Cuirassier, of a Walloon regiment. Servant Girl. 
 
 Cuirassier, of a Lombard regiment. Soldiers* Boys. 
 
 Croats. Musicians. 
 
 Hulans. 
 
 (Scene — The camp before Pilsen, in Bohemia.) 
 
 Scene 1. 
 Sutlers' tents — in front, a Slop-shop. — Soldiers of all colours 
 and uniforms thronging about. — Tables all filled. — Croats 
 and Hulans cooking at a fire. — Sutler-woman serving out 
 wine. — Soldier-boys throwing dice on a drum-head. — Singing 
 heard from the tent. 
 
 Enter a Peasant and his Son. 
 
 SON. 
 
 Father, I fear it will come to harm, 
 So let us be off from this soldier swarm ; 
 But boist'rous mates will ye find in the shoal — 
 Twere better to bolt while our skins are whole. 
 
 father. 
 How now, boy ! the fellows won't eat us> tho 
 They may be a little unruly, or so. 
 See, yonder, arriving a stranger train, 
 Fresh comers are they from the Saal and Mayn. 
 Much booty they bring of the rarest sort— - 
 Tis ours, if we cleverly drive our sport 
 
143 wallenstfjn's camp. [so. i. 
 
 A captain, who fell by his comrade's sword, 
 This pair of sure dice to me transferr'd ; 
 To-day I'll just give them a trial, to see 
 If their knack's as good as it used to be. 
 You must play the part of a pitiful devil, 
 For these roaring rogues, who so loosely revel, 
 Are easily smooth'd, and trick'd, and flatter 'd, 
 And, free as it came, their gold is scatter 'd. 
 But we — since by bushels our all is ta'en, 
 By spoonfuls must ladle it back again ; 
 And, if with their swords they slash so highly, 
 We must look sharp, boy, and do them slyly. 
 
 [Singing and shouting in the tent 
 Hark, how they shout ! God help the day ! 
 Tis the peasant's hide for their sport must pay. 
 Eight months in our beds and stalls have they 
 Been swarming here, until far around 
 Not a bird or a beast is longer found, 
 And the peasant, to quiet his craving maw, 
 Has nothing now left but his bones to gnaw 
 Ne'er were we crush 'd with a heavier hand, 
 When the Saxon was lording it o'er the land : 
 And these are the Emperor's troops, they say ! — 
 
 SON. 
 
 From the kitchen a couple are coming this way, 
 Not much shall we make by such blades as they 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 They're born Bohemian knaves — the two — 
 
 Belonging to Terzky's carabineers, 
 
 Who've lain in these quarters now for years 
 
 The worst are they of the worthless crew. 
 
 Strutting, swaggering, proud, and vain, 
 
 They seem to think they may well disdain 
 
 With the peasant a glass of his wine to drain 
 
 But, soft — to the left o' the fire I see 
 
 Three riflemen, who from the Tyrol should be 
 
 Emmerick, come, boy, to them will we — 
 
 Birds of this feather 'tis luck to find, 
 
 Whose trim's so spruce, and their purse well lined. 
 
 They move towards the tent. 
 
sc. ii.] wallenstetn's camp. 141 
 
 Scene II. 
 The above — Sergeant-Major, Trumpeter, IJulan 
 
 TEUMPETEE. 
 
 What would the boor ? — Out, rascal, away ! 
 
 PEASANT. 
 
 Some victuals and drink, worthy masters, I pray, 
 For not a warm morsel we've tasted to day. 
 
 TEUMPETEE. 
 
 Ay, guzzle and guttle — 'tis always the way. 
 
 hulan (with a glass). 
 Not broken your fast !— there — drink, ye hound ! 
 He leads the peasant to the tent — the others come forward* 
 
 seegeant (to the Trumpeter). 
 Think ye, they've done it without good ground ? 
 Is it likely they double our pay to day, 
 Merely that we may be jolly and gay? 
 
 TEUMPETEE. 
 
 Why, the duchess arrives to-day, we know. 
 And her daughter too — 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Tush! that's mere shew — • 
 'Tis the troops collected from other lands 
 Who here at Pilsen have joined our bands — 
 We must do the best we can t' allure 'em, 
 With plentiful rations, and thus secure 'em, 
 Where such abundant fare they find, 
 A closer league with us to bind 
 
 TEUMPETEE. 
 
 Yes .'-—there's something in the wind 
 
 SEEGEANT. 
 
 The generals and commanders too — 
 
 TEUMPETEE. 
 
 A rather ominous sight, 'tis true 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Who're met together so thickly here — 
 
 TEUMPETEE. 
 
 Have plenty of work on their hands, that's clear 
 
 SEEGEANT. 
 
 The whisp'ring and sending to and fro — 
 
142 wallenstein's camp. [sc iu 
 
 trumpeter. 
 Ay! Ay! 
 
 SERGEANT 
 
 The big- wig from Vienna, I trow, 
 Who since yesterday's seen to prowl about 
 In his golden chain of office there — 
 Somethings at bottom of this, I'll swear. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 A bloodhound is he, beyond a doubt, 
 By whom the duke's to be hunted out. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Mark ye well, man ! — they doubt us now, 
 And they fear the duke's mysterious brow; 
 He hath clomb too high for them, and fain 
 Would they beat him down from his perch again. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 But we will hold him still on high — 
 That all would think as you and I ! 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Our regiment, and the other four 
 
 Which Terzky leads — the bravest corps 
 
 Throughout the camp, are the General's own, 
 
 And have been trained to the trade by himself alone. 
 
 The officers hold tbeir command of him, 
 
 And are all his own, or for life, or limb 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Enter Croat with a 'Necklace. — Sharpshooter following him 
 The above. 
 
 SHARPSHOOTER. 
 
 Croat, where stole you that necklace, say ? 
 Get rid of it, man — for thee 'tis unmeet : 
 Come, take these pistols in change, I pray. 
 
 CROAT. 
 
 Nay, nay, Master Shooter, you're trying to cheat 
 
 SHARPSHOOTER. 
 
 Then 111 give you this fine blue cap as well, 
 A Lottery prize which just I've won : 
 Look at the cut of it — quite the swell ! 
 
so iv.] wallenstein's camp. 143 
 
 croat (twirling the Necklace in the Sun). 
 But this is of pearls and of garnets bright, 
 See, how it plays in the sunny light ! 
 
 sharpshooter (taking the Necklace). 
 Well, I'll give you to hoot, my own canteen — 
 I'm in love with this bauble's beautiful sheen 
 
 [Looks at it. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 See, now ! — how cleanly the Croat is done : 
 Snacks ! Master Shooter, and mum's the word. 
 
 croat (having put on the cap). 
 I think your cap is a smartish one. 
 
 sharpshooter (winking to the Trumpeter). 
 Tis a regular swop — as these gents have heard. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 The above. — An Artilleryman. 
 artilleryman (to the Sergeant). 
 How is it, I pray, brother Carabineer ? 
 Shall we longer stay here, our fingers warming, 
 While the foe in the field around is swarming ? 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Art thou, indeed, in such hasty fret ? 
 
 Why the roads, as I think, are scarce passable yet. 
 
 artilleryman. 
 For me they are not — I'm snug enough here — 
 But a courier's come, our wits to waken 
 With the precious news that Ratisbon's taken. 
 
 trumpeter. 
 Ha ! then we soon shall have work in hand. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Indeed ! to protect the Bavarian's land, 
 Who hates the Duke, as we understand, 
 We won't put ourselves in a violent sweat. 
 
 ARTILLERYMAN. 
 
 Heyday ! — you'll find you're a wiseacre yet. 
 
14 4 wallenstein's camp [sc. v 
 
 Scene V 
 
 The above — Two Yagers. — Afterwards Sutler-woman. Soldiei 
 
 boy, Schoolmaster ', Servant-girl. 
 
 FIRST YAGER 
 
 See ! see ! 
 Here meet we a jovial company ! 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 Who can those green coats be, I wonder, 
 That strut so gay and sprucely yonder ? 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 They're the Yagers of Hoik — and the lace they wear s 
 I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair 
 
 sutler-woman (bringing wine). 
 Welcome, good sirs ! 
 
 first yager. 
 Zounds, how now ? 
 Gustel of Blasewitz here, I vow ! 
 sutler-woman 
 The same in sooth — and you, I know, 
 Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho : 
 Who at Gliickstadt once, in a revelling night, 
 With the wags of our regiment, put to flight 
 All his father's shiners — then crown 'd the fun— 
 
 first yager. 
 By changing his pen for a rifle gun. 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 We're old acquaintance, then, 'tis clear. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 And to think we should meet in Bohemia here • 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 Oh, here to-day — to-morrow yonder — 
 As the rude war-broom, in restless trace, 
 Scatters and sweeps us from place to place. 
 Meanwhile I've been doom'd far round to wander. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 So one would think, by the look of your face 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 Up the country I've rambled to Temsewar. 
 Whither I went with the baggage car. 
 
<?c v.] wallenstein's camp. 
 
 When Mansfeld before us we chased away ; 
 With the Duke near Stralsund next we lay, 
 Where trade went all to pot, I may say. 
 I jogged with the succours to Mantua ; 
 And back again came, under Feria. 
 Then, joining a Spanish regiment, 
 I took a short cut across to Ghent; 
 And now to Bohemia I'm come to get 
 Old scores paid off, that are standing yet, 
 If a helping hand by the Duke be lent— 
 And yonder you see my sutler's tent. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Well, all things seem in a flourishing way, 
 
 But what have you done with the Scotchman, say. 
 
 Who once in the camp was your constant flame ? 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 A villain, who trick'd me clean, that same I 
 He bolted, and took to himself, whate'er 
 I'd managed to scrape together, or spare, 
 Leaving me naught but the urchin there 
 
 soldier-boy [springing forward). 
 Mother, is it my papa you name ? 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Well, the Emperor now must father this elf, 
 For the army must ever recruit itself. 
 
 SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Forth to the school, ye rogue — d'ye hear ? 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 He, too, of a narrow room has fear. 
 
 servant girl (entering). 
 Aunt, they'll be off. 
 
 sutler-woman. 
 I come apace. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 What gypsy is that with the roguish face ? 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 My sister's child from the south, is she. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Ay, ay, a sweet little niece — I see. 
 
 145 
 
146 WALLENSTEIN's CAMP, [si. VI, 
 
 second YAGEK (holding the girl r 
 Softly, my pretty one ! stay with ine. 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 The customers wait, sir, and I must go. 
 
 [Disengages herself, and exit 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 That maiden's a dainty morsel, I trow ! 
 And her aunt — by Heav'n ! I mind me well, 
 When the best of the regiment loved her so, 
 To blows for her beautiful face they fell. 
 What different folks one's doomed to know ! 
 How time glides off with a ceaseless flow ! 
 And what sights as yet we may live to see ! 
 
 (To the Sergeant and Trumpeter.) 
 Your health, good sirs, may we be free, 
 A seat beside you here to take ? 
 
 Scene VI 
 The Yagers, Sergeant, and Trumpeter. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 We thank ye — and room will gladly make. 
 To Bohemia welcome. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Snug enough here ! 
 In the land of the foe our quarters were queer. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 You hav'n't the look on't —you're spruce to view. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Ay, faith, on the Saal, and in Meissen too, 
 Your praises are heard from the lips of few 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Tush, man ! — why, what the plague d'ye mean ? 
 The Croat had swept the fields so clean, 
 There was little, or nothing, for us to glean 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 Yet your pointed collar is clean and sightly, 
 And, then, your hose, that sit so tightly ! 
 Your linen so fine, with the hat and feather 
 Make a show of the smartest altogether ! 
 
so. vi. 1 wallenstein's camp. 147 
 
 (To Sergeant,) 
 That fortune should upon younkers shine — 
 While nothing in your way comes, or mine. 
 
 SEEGEANT. 
 
 But then we're the Friedlander's regiment, 
 And, thus, may honour and homage claim. 
 
 FIEST YAGEE. 
 
 For us, now, that's no great compliment, 
 . We, also, hear the Friedlander's name. 
 
 SEEGEANT. 
 
 True — you form part of the general mass. 
 
 FIEST YAGEB. 
 
 And you, I suppose, are a separate class ! 
 The difference lies in the coats we wear, 
 And I have no wish to change with you there ! 
 
 SEEGEANT. 
 
 Sir Yager, I can't but with pity melt, 
 
 When I think how much among boors youVe dwelt 
 
 The clever knack and the proper tone, 
 
 Are caught by the General's side alone. 
 
 FIEST YAGEE. 
 
 Then the lesson is wofully thrown away, — 
 How he hawks and spits, indeed, I may say 
 You've copied and caught in the cleverest way 
 But his spirit, his genius — oh, these I ween, 
 On your guard parade are but seldom seen. 
 
 SECOND YAGEE. 
 
 Why, zounds ! ask for us wherever you will, 
 Friedland's wild hunt is our title still !' 
 Never shaming the name, all undaunted we go 
 Alike thro' the field of a friend, or a foe : 
 Through the rising stalk, or the yellow corn, 
 Well know they the blast of Hoik's Yager horn 
 In the flash of an eye, we are far or near, 
 Swift as the deluge, or there or here — 
 As at midnight dark, when the flames outbreak 
 In the silent dwelling where none awake ; 
 Vain is the hope in weapons or flight, 
 Nor order nor discipline thwart its might. 
 Then struggles the maid in our sinewy arms, 
 But war hath no pity, and scorns alarms. 
 
 I 2 
 
143 WALLENSTEINS CAMP. [fkJ. VU 
 
 Go ask — I speak not with boastful tongue — 
 In Bareuth, Westphalia, Voigtland, where'er 
 Our troop has traversed — go, ask them there — 
 Children and children's children long, 
 When hundreds and hundreds of years are o'er 
 Of Hoik will tell and his Yager corps. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Why, hark ! Must a soldier then be made 
 By driving this riotous, roaring trade ! 
 Tis drilling that makes him, skill and sense — 
 Perception — thought — intelligence. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 'Tis liberty makes him ! — Here's a fuss ! 
 
 That I should such twaddle as this discuss. 
 
 Was it for this, that I left the school ? 
 
 That the scribbling desk, and the slavish rule, 
 
 And the narrow walls, that our spirits cramp, 
 
 Should be met with again in the midst of the camp ? 
 
 No ! — Idle and heedless, I'll take my way, 
 
 Hunting for novelty every day ; 
 
 Trust to the moment with dauntless mind, 
 
 And give not a glance or before or behind. 
 
 For this to the Emperor I sold my hide, 
 
 That no other care I might have to bide. 
 
 Through the foe's fierce firing bid me ride, 
 
 Through fathomless Rhine, in his roaring flow, 
 
 Where ev'ry third man to the devil may go, 
 
 At no bar will you find me boggling there ; 
 
 But, farther than this, 'tis my special prayer, 
 
 That I may not be bother'd with aught like care. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 If this be your wish, you needn't lack it, 
 'Tis granted to all with the soldier's jacket. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 What a fuss and a bother, forsooth, was made 
 By that man-tormentor, Gustavus the Swede, 
 Whose camp was a church, where prayers were said 
 At morning reveille and evening tattoo ; 
 And, whenever it chanced that we frisky grew, 
 A sermon himself from the saddle he'd read. 
 
}C VT.J wallenstein's camp. U9 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Ay, that was a man with the fear of God. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Girls he detested ; and, what's rather odd, 
 
 If caught with a wench, you in wedlock were tack d — 
 
 I could stand it no longer, so off I pack'd. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Their discipline now has a trifle slack'd. 
 
 FIRST TAGER. 
 
 Well, next to the League I rode over ; their men 
 Were must'ring in haste against Magdeburg then 
 Ha ! that was another guess sort of a thing ! — 
 In frolic and fun we'd a glorious swing ; 
 With gaming, and drinking, and girls at call, 
 I'faith, sirs, our sport was by no means small. 
 For Tilly knew how to command, that's plain ; 
 He held himself in, but gave us the rein ; 
 And, long as he hadn't the bother of paying, 
 " Live, and let live ! " was the General's saying. 
 But fortune soon gave him the slip ; and ne'er, 
 Since the day of that villanous Leipzig affair, 
 Would aught go aright. 'Twas of little avail 
 That we tried, for our plans were sure to fail. 
 If now we drew nigh, and rapp'd at a door, 
 No greeting awaited, 'twas opened no more ; 
 From place to place we went sneaking about, 
 And found that their stock of respect was out- 
 Then touch'd I the Saxon bounty, and thought 
 Their service with fortune must needs be fraught 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 You join'd 'em then just in the nick to share 
 Bohemia's plunder? 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 I'd small luck there 
 Strict discipline sternly ruled the day, 
 Nor dared we a foeman's force display. 
 They set us to guard the imperial forts 
 And plagued us all with the farce of the courts. 
 War they waged as a jest 'twere thought — 
 And but half a heart to the business brought. 
 
150 wallenstein's camp. [so. VI 
 
 They would break with none ; and thus 'twas plain, 
 Small honour 'mong them could a soldier gain. 
 So heartily sick in the end grew I, 
 That my mind was the desk again to try; 
 When suddenly, rattling near and far, 
 The Friedlander's drum was heard to war. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 And how long here may you mean to stay ? 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 You jest, man. — So long as he bears the sway, 
 
 By my soul ! not a thought of change have I 
 
 Where better than here could the soldier lie ? 
 
 Here the true fashion of war is found, 
 
 And the cut of power's on all things round ; 
 
 While the spirit, whereby the movement's given. 
 
 Mightily stirs, like the winds of heaven, 
 
 The meanest trooper in all the throng. 
 
 With a hearty step shall I tramp along ; 
 
 On a burgher's neck as undaunted tread, 
 
 As our General does on the prince's head. 
 
 As 'twas in the times of old 'tis now, 
 
 The sword is the sceptre, and all must bow. 
 
 One crime alone can I understand, 
 
 And that's to oppose the word of command. 
 
 What's not forbidden, to do make bold, 
 
 And none will ask you what creed you hold. 
 
 Of just two things in this world I wot, 
 
 What belongs to the army, and what does not 
 
 To the banner alone is my service brought. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Thus, Yager, I like thee — thou speak'st, I vow, 
 With the tone of a Friedland trooper now. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 'Tis not as an office lie holds command, 
 Or a power received from the Emperor s hand ; 
 For the Emperor's service what should he care V 
 What better for him does the Emperor fare ? 
 With the mighty power, he wields at will, 
 Has ever he shelter'd the land from ill ? 
 
PS. V].J wallenstein's camp. 151 
 
 No ; a soldier-kingdom he seeks to raise, 
 And for this would set the world in a blaze, 
 Daring to risk and to compass all 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 Hush — who shall such words as these let fall ? 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Whatever I think may be said by me, 
 For the General tells us, the word is free 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 True — that he said so I fully agree, 
 I was standing by. " The word is free— 
 The deed is dumb — obedience blind!" 
 His very words I can call to mind. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 I know not if these were his words or no, 
 But he said the thing, and 'tis even so, 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Victory ne'er will his flag forsake, 
 
 Though she's apt from others a turn to take : 
 
 Old Tilly outlived his fame's decline, 
 
 But, under the banner of Wallenstein, 
 
 There am I certain that victory's mine ! 
 
 Fortune is spell-bound to him, and must yield ; 
 
 Whoe'er under Friedland shall take the field 
 
 Is sure of a supernatural shield : 
 
 For, as all the world is aware full well, 
 
 The Duke has a devil in hire from hell 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 In truth that he's charm 'd is past a doubt, 
 For we know how, at Lutzen's bloody affair, 
 Where firing was thickest, he still was there, 
 As coolly as might be, sirs, riding about. 
 The hat on his head was shot thro' and thro', 
 In coat and boots the bullets that flew 
 Left traces full clear to all men's view ; 
 But none got so far as to scratch off his skin, 
 For the ointment of hell was too well rubb'd in 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 What wonder so strange can you all see there ? 
 An elk-skin jacket he happens to wear, 
 And through it the bullets can make no way 
 
f 53 wallenstein's camp. [so. vti 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 'Tis an ointment of witches' herbs, I say, 
 Kneaded and cook'd by unholy spell. 
 
 TKUMPETEK. 
 
 No doubt 'tis the work of the powers of hell 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 That he reads in the stars, we also hear, 
 Where the future he sees — distant or near — 
 But I know better the truth of the case • 
 A little grey man, at the dead of night, 
 Through bolted doors to him will pace — 
 The sentinels oft have hailed the sight, 
 And something great was sure to be nigh, 
 When this little Grey Coat had glided by. 
 
 FIKST YAGER. 
 
 Ay, ay, he's sold himself to the devil, 
 Wherefore, my lads, let's feast and revel. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 The above. — Recruit, Citizen, Dragoon. 
 (T\e Recruit advances from the tent, wearing a tin cap on kit 
 head, and carrying a wine flash.) 
 recruit. 
 To father and uncle pray make my bow, 
 And bid 'em good bye — I'm a soldier now. 
 
 first yager. 
 See, yonder they're bringing us something new 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 0, Franz, remember, this day you'll rue 
 recruit (sings). 
 The drum and the fife, 
 
 War's rattling throng, 
 And a wandering life 
 The world along ! 
 Swift steed — and a hand 
 To curb and command — 
 With a blade by the side, 
 We're off far and wide, 
 
SS. vii. 1 wallenstein's camp. 15S 
 
 As jolly and free, 
 As the finch in its glee, 
 On thicket or tree, 
 Under Heaven's wide hollow — 
 Hurrah ! for the Friedlander's banner I'll follow ! 
 
 SECOND YAGEE. 
 
 Foregad ! a jolly companion, though. 
 
 [They salute him. 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 He comes of good kin ; now pray let him go. 
 
 FIKST YAGEE. 
 
 And we weren't found in the streets you must know 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 I tell you his wealth is a plentiful stock ; 
 
 Just feel the fine stuff that he wears for a frock. 
 
 TEUMPETER. 
 
 The Emperor's coat is the best he can wear. 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 To a cap manufactory he is the heir. 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 The will of a man is his fortune alone 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 His grandmother's shop will soon be his own. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Pish ! traffic in matches ! who would do 't ? 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 A wine- shop his godfather leaves, to boot, 
 A cellar with twenty casks of wine. 
 
 TEUMPETEE. 
 
 These with his comrades he'll surely share 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Hark ye, lad — be a camp-brother of mine 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 A bride he leaves sitting, in tears, apart. 
 
 FIRST YAGEE. 
 
 Good — that now's a proof of an iron heart 
 
 CITIZEN 
 
 His grandmother s sure to die with sorrow, 
 
154 wallenstein's CAMP. [£\J. Vli. 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 The better — for then he'll inherit to-morrow. 
 sergeant (advances gravely, and lays his hand on the Recruit's 
 
 tin cap). 
 The matter, no doubt, you have duly weighed, 
 And here a new man of yourself have made ; 
 With hanger and helm, sir, you now belong 
 To a nobler and more distinguished throng. 
 Thus, a loftier spirit, 'twere well to uphold — 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 And, specially, never be sparing of gold. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 In Fortune's ship, with an onward gale, 
 
 My friend, you have made up your mind to sail 
 
 The earth-ball is open before you — yet there 
 
 Nought's to be gained, but by those w T ho dare. 
 
 Stupid and sluggish your citizen's found, 
 
 Like a dyer's dull jade, in his ceaseless round; 
 
 While the soldier can be whatever he will, 
 
 For war o'er the earth is the watclrword still. 
 
 Just look now at me, and the coat I wear, 
 
 You see that the Emperor's baton I bear — 
 
 And all good government, over the earth, 
 
 You must know from the baton alone has birth ; 
 
 For the sceptre that's sway'd by the kingly hand, 
 
 Is nought but a baton, we understand. 
 
 And he who has corporal's rank obtain'd, 
 
 Stands on the ladder where all's to be gained, 
 
 And you, like another, may mount to that height — 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Provided you can but read and write. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Now, hark to an instance of this, from me, 
 And one, which I've lived myself to see : 
 There's Buttler, the chief of dragoons, why he, 
 Whose rank was not higher a whit than mine, 
 Some thirty years since, at Cologne on Ehine, 
 Is a Major- General now — -because 
 He put himself forward and gained applause ; 
 
So. VTI.J s wallenstein's camp. 155 
 
 Filling the world with his martial fame, 
 While slept my merits without a name. 
 And ev'n the Friedlander's self — I've heard — 
 Our General and all commanding Lord, 
 Who now can do what he will at a word, 
 Had at first but a private squire's degree ; 
 In the goddess of war yet trusting free, 
 He rear'd the greatness, which now you see, 
 And, after the Emperor, next is he. 
 Who knows what more he may mean or get ? 
 Slily.) For all-day's evening isn't come yet. 
 
 FIRST YAGER, 
 
 He was little at first, tho' now so great — 
 
 For, at Altorf, in student's gown, he play'd, 
 
 By your leave, the part of a roaring blade, 
 
 And rattled away at a queerish rate. 
 
 His fag he had well nigh kill'd by a blow, 
 
 And their Nur'mberg worships swore he should go 
 
 To jail for his pains, — if he liked it, or no. 
 
 Twas a new-built nest to be christen'd by him, 
 
 Who first should be lodged. Well, what was his whim'r 
 
 Why, he sent his dog forward to lead the way, 
 
 And they call the jail from the dog to this day. 
 
 That was the game a brave fellow should play, 
 
 And of all the great deeds of the General, none 
 
 E'er tickled my fancy, like this one. 
 
 [During this speech, the Second Yager has begun toying 
 with the Girl, who has been in waiting.} 
 dragoon [stepping between them). 
 Comrade — give over this sport, I pray 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Why, who the devil shall say me nay ? 
 
 DRAGOON. 
 
 I've only to tell you the girl's my own. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Such a morsel as this, for himself alone! — 
 Dragoon, why say, art thou crazy grown ? 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 In the camp to be keeping a wench for one ! 
 
 No! the light of a pretty girl's face must fall, 
 
 Like the beams of the sun to gladder us all. (Kisses her A 
 
! o 6 WALLEN STEIN 's CAMP. [ SC . VI 1 1. 
 
 dragoon (tears her away). 
 I tell you again, that it shan't be done. 
 
 FTRST YAGER. 
 
 The pipers are coming, lads ! now for fun ! 
 
 second yager (to Dragoon). 
 I sha'n't be far off, should you look for rne. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Peace, my good fellows ! — a kiss goes free. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 Enter Miners, and play a Waltz — at first slowly, and after 
 wards quicker. — The First Yager dances with the Girl, the 
 Sutler-woman with the Recruit. — The Girl springs away, and 
 the Yager, pursuing her, seizes hold of a Capuchin Friar 
 just entering. 
 
 CAPUCHIN. 
 
 Hurrah! halloo! tol, lol, de rol, le! 
 
 The fun's at its height! I'll not be away! 
 
 Is't an army of Christians that join in such works? 
 
 Or are we all turn'd Anabaptists and Turks ? 
 
 Is the Sabbath a day for this sport in the land, 
 
 As tho' the great God had the gout in his hand, 
 
 And thus couldn't smite in the midst of your band ? 
 
 Say, is this a time for your revelling shouts, 
 
 For your banquetings, feasts, and holiday bouts? 
 
 Quid hie statis otiosi? declare 
 
 Why, folding your arms, stand ye lazily there? 
 
 While the furies of war on the Danube now fare, 
 
 And Bavaria's bulwark is lying full low, 
 
 And Ratisbon's fast in the clutch of the foe. 
 
 Yet, the army lies here in Bohemia still, 
 
 And caring for nought, so their paunches they fill ! 
 
 Bottles far rather than battles you'll get, 
 
 And your bills than your broad swords more readily wet 5 
 
 With the wenches, I ween is, your dearest concern, 
 
 And you'd rather roast oxen than Oxenstiern. 
 
 In sackcloth and ashes while Christendom's grieving, 
 
 No thought has the soldier his guzzle of leaving. 
 
 *Tis a time of misery, groans, and tears ! 
 
 Portentous the face of the heavens appears! 
 
sj. viii.] wallenstein's camp. 15Y 
 
 And forth from the clouds behold blood-red, 
 The Lord's war-mantle is downward spread — 
 While the comet is thrust as a threatening rod, 
 From the window of Heaven by the hand of God. 
 The world is but one vast house of woe, 
 The Ark of the Church stems a bloody flow, 
 The Holy Empire — God help the same ! 
 Has wretchedly sunk to a hollow name. 
 The Bhine's gay stream has a gory gleam, 
 The cloister's nests are robbed by roysters ; 
 The church-lands now are changed to lurch-lands ; 
 Abbacies, and all other holy foundations 
 Now are but Eobber-sees — rogues' habitations. 
 And thus is each once-blest German state, 
 Deep sunk in the doom of the desolate ! 
 Whence comes all this ? 0, that will I tell — 
 It comes of your doings, of sin, and of hell ; 
 Of the horrible, heathenish lives ye lead, 
 Soldiers and officers, all of a breed. 
 For sin is the magnet, on every hand, 
 That draws your steel throughout the land ! 
 As the onion causes the tear to flow, 
 So Vice must ever be followed by Woe — 
 The W duly succeeds the V, 
 This is the order of A, B, C. 
 
 Ubi erit victories spes, 
 Si offenditur Deus ? which says, 
 How, pray ye, shall victory e'er come to pass, 
 If thus you play truant from sermon and mass, 
 And do nothing but lazily loll o'er the glass? 
 The woman, were told in the Testament, 
 Found the penny, in search whereof she went. 
 Saul met with his father's asses again, 
 And Joseph his precious fraternal train, 
 But he, who 'mong soldiers shall hope to see 
 God's fear, or shame, or discipline — he 
 From his toil, beyond doubt, will baffled, return, 
 Tho' a hundred lamps in the search he burn. 
 To the wilderness preacher, th' Evangelist says, 
 The soldiers, too, throng'd to repent of their ways, 
 And had themselves christen 'd in former days. 
 
l58 walle ostein's camp. [sc. viil 
 
 Quid faciemus ncs / they said : 
 
 Tow'rd Abraham's bosom what path must we tread ? 
 
 Et ait Mis, and, said he, 
 Neminem concutiatis ; 
 
 From bother and wrongs leave your neighbours free. 
 Neque calumniam facialis ; 
 And deal nor in slander nor lies, d'ye see ? 
 Contenti estote — content ye, pray, 
 Stipendiis vestris — with your pay — 
 And curse for ever each evil way. 
 
 There is a command — thou shalt not utter 
 The name of the Lord thy God, in vain ; 
 But, where is it men most blasphemies mutter ? 
 Why here, in Duke Friedland's head quarters, 'tis plain 
 If for every thunder ! — and every blast ! 
 Which blazing ye from your tongue-points cast, 
 The bells were but rung, in the country round, 
 Not a bellman, I ween, would there soon be found ; 
 And if for each and ev'ry unholy prayer 
 Which to vent from your jabbering jaws you dare, 
 From your noddles were pluck'd but the smallest hair, 
 Ev'ry crop would be smooth 'd ere the sun went down, 
 Tho' at morn 'twere as bushy as Absalom's crown. 
 Now Joshua, methinks, was a soldier as well — 
 By the arm of King David the Philistine fell ; 
 But where do we find it written, I pray, 
 That they ever blasphemed in this villanous way ? 
 One would think ye need stretch your jaws no more, 
 To cry, " God help us ! " than " Zounds ! " to roar. 
 But, by the liquor that's pour'd in the cask, we know 
 With what it will bubble and overflow. 
 
 Again, it is written — thou shalt not steal, 
 And this you follow, i 'faith-! to the letter, 
 For open faced robbery suits ye better. 
 The gripe of your vulture claws you fix 
 On all — and your wiles and rascally tricks 
 Make the gold unhid in our coffers now, 
 And the calf unsafe while yet in the cow — 
 Ye take both the egg and the hen, I vow. 
 
 DO m ' 
 
 Contenti estote — the preacher said ; 
 
 Which means — be content with your army bread. 
 
S'J Vlli.] WALLENSTEINS camp lf>9 
 
 But how should the slaves not from duty swerve ? 
 The mischief hegins with the lord they serve 
 Just like the members so is the head. 
 I should like to know who can tell me Ms creed. 
 
 FIEST YAGER. 
 
 Sir Priest, 'gainst ourselves rail on as you will — 
 Of the General we warn you to breathe no ill. 
 
 CAPUCHIN. 
 
 Ne custodias gregem meant I 
 
 An Ahab is he, and a Jerobeam, 
 
 Who the people from faith's unerring way, 
 
 To the worship of idols would turn astray. 
 
 TRUMPETER and RECRUIT 
 
 Let us not hear that again, we pray. 
 
 CAPUCHIN. 
 
 Such a Bramarbas, whose iron tooth 
 
 Would seize all the strongholds of earth, forsooth ! — ■ 
 
 Did he not boast, with ungodly tongue, 
 
 That Stralsund must needs to his grasp be wrung, 
 
 Though to heaven itself with a chain 'twere strung ? 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 Will none put a stop to his slanderous bawl ? 
 
 CAPUCHIN. 
 
 A wizard he is ! — and a sorcerer Saul ! — 
 
 Holofernes ! — a Jehu ! — denying, we know, 
 
 Like St. Peter, his Master and Lord below ; 
 
 And hence must he quail when the cock doth crow — 
 
 BOTH YAGERS. 
 
 Now, parson, prepare ; for thy doom is nigh. 
 
 CAPUCHIN. 
 
 A fox more cunning than Herod I trow — - 
 
 trumpeter and both yagers (pressing against him). 
 Silence, again, — if thou wouldst not die ! 
 
 Croats (interfering). 
 Stick to it, father ; we'll shield you, ne'er fear, 
 The close of your preachment now let's hear, 
 
 capuchin (still louder). 
 A Nebuchadnezzar, in towering pride ! 
 And a vile and heretic sinner beside ! 
 
16) wallenstein's camp. [sc. ex. 
 
 He calls himself rightly the stone of a wall ; 
 
 For, faith ! he's a stumbling-stone to us all. 
 
 And ne'er can the Emperor have peace indeed, 
 
 Till of Friedland himself the land is freed. 
 
 [During the last passage, which he pronounces in 
 an elevated voice, he has been gradually retreat* 
 ing t the Croats keeping the other Soldiers off 
 
 Scene IX. 
 The above, without the Capuchin. 
 first yager (to the Sergeant). 
 But, tell us, what meant he 'bout chanticleer, 
 Whose crowing the General dares not hear ? 
 No doubt it was uttered in spite and scorn. 
 
 sergeant. 
 Listen — 'tis not so untrue as't appears ; 
 For Friedland was rather mysteriously born, 
 And is 'specially troubled with ticklish ears. 
 He can never suffer the mew of a cat : 
 Aud, when the cock crows, he starts thereat. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 He's one and the same with the lion in that. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Mouse-still must all around him creep, 
 Strict watch in this the sentinels keep, 
 For he ponders on matters most grave and deep. 
 
 [Voices in the Tent. A Tumult. 
 Seize the rascal ! lay on ! lay on ! 
 peasant's voice. 
 Help ! — mercy ! — help ! 
 
 OTHERS. 
 
 Peace ! peace ! begone ! 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Deuce take me, but yonder the swords are out ! 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Then I must be off, and see what 'tis about. 
 
 [Yagers enter the Tent 
 sutler- woman {comes forward). 
 A scandalous villain !— a scurvy thief! 
 
go. x.] wallenstein's camp 1GI 
 
 TEUMPETER. 
 
 Good hostess, the cause of this clamorous grief ? 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 A cut-purse ! — a scoundrel ! the villain I call. 
 That the like in my tent should ever befall ! 
 I'm disgraced and undone with the officers all! 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Well, coz, what is it ? 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 Why, what should it he ? 
 But a peasant they've taken just now with me — 
 A rogue with false dice, to favour his play. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 See ! they're bringing the boor and his son this way 
 
 Scene X. 
 Soldiers dragging in the Peasant, bound, 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 He must hang ! 
 
 SHARPSHOOTERS and DRAGOONS 
 
 To the provost come on! 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Tis the latest order that forth has gone. 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 In an hour I hope to behold him swinging! 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Bad work bad wages will needs be bringing. 
 first arquebusier (to the others). 
 This comes of their desperation. We 
 First ruin them out and out, dye see ; 
 Which tempts them to steal, as it seems to me. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 How now ! the rascal's cause would you plead 9 
 The cur ! — the devil is in you indeed ! 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 The boor is a man — as a body may say. 
 
 first yager (to the Trumpeter). 
 Let 'em go ! — they're of Tiefenbach's corps, the railers, 
 A glorious train of glovers and tailors ! 
 At Brieg, in garrison, long they lay ; 
 What should they know about camps, I pray.* 
 
 M. 
 
162 WALLENSTEIN S CAMP. [SC- XL 
 
 Scene XI 
 The above. — Cuirassiers. 
 
 FIEST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Peace ! what's amiss with the boor, may I crave ? 
 
 FIRST SHARPSHOOTER. 
 
 He has cheated at play, the cozening knave ! 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 But say, has he cheated you, man, of aught ? 
 
 FIRST SHARPSHOOTER. 
 
 Just clean'd me out — and not left me a groat 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 And can you, who've the rank of a Friedland man. 
 
 So shamefully cast yourself away, 
 
 As to try your luck with a boor at play ? 
 
 Let him run off, so that run he can. 
 
 [The Peasant escapes, the others throng together, 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 He makes short work — is of resolute mood — 
 And that with such fellows as these is good. 
 Who is he ?— not of Bohemia, that's clear. 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 He's a Walloon — and respect, I trow, 
 Is due to the Pappenheim cuirassier ! 
 first dragoon (Joining). 
 Young Piccolomini leads them now, 
 Whom they chose as Colonel, of their own free might, 
 When Pappenheim fell in Lutzen's fight. 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 Durst they, indeed, presume so far ? 
 
 FIRST DRAGOON. 
 
 This regiment is something above the rest. 
 It has ever been foremost throughout the war, 
 And may manage its laws, as it pleases best * 
 Besides, 'tis by Friedland himself carest. 
 
 first cuirassier (to the Second) 
 Is't so in truth, man ? Who averr'd it ? 
 
 SECOND CUIRASSIER. 
 
 From the lros of the Colonel himself I heard it. 
 
5C. XT. J WALT/ENSTEIN's CAMP 153 
 
 FIKST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 The devil ! we re not their dogs, I ween ! 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 How now, what's wrong ? You're swoln with SDleen ! 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Is it anything, comrades, may us concern ? 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Tis what none need be wondrous glad to learn. 
 
 The Soldiers press round him. 
 To the Netherlands they would lend us now — 
 Cuirassiers, Yagers, and Shooters away, 
 Eight thousand, in all, must march, they say. 
 
 SUTLER- WOMAN. 
 
 What ! what ! again the old wandering way — 
 I got back from Flanders but yesterday ! 
 
 second cuirassier (to the Dragoons). 
 You of Buttler s corps must tramp with the rest 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 And we, the Walloons, must doubtless be gor.e 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 Why of all our squadrons these are the best. 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 To march where that Milanese fellow leads oil. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 The Infant ! that's queer enough in its way. 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 The Priest — then, egad ! there's the devil to pay 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Shall we then leave the Friedlander's train, 
 Who so nobly his soldiers doth entertain — 
 And drag to the field with this fellow from Spain I 
 A niggard whom we in our souls disdain ! 
 That'll never go down — I'm off, I swear. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 Why, what the devil should we do there ? 
 We sold our blood to th' Emperor — ne'er 
 For this Spanish red hat a drop we'll spare! 
 
 m 2 
 
104 wallenstein's CAMP. [SO. XXt 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 On the Friedlander's word and credit alone 
 We ranged ourselves in the trooper line, 
 And, but for our love to Wallenstein, 
 Ferdinand ne'er had our service known. 
 
 FIRST DRAGOON. 
 
 Was it not Friedland that formed our force ? 
 His fortune shall still be the star of our course 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Silence, good comrades, to me give ear — 
 Talking does little to help us here. 
 Much farther in this I can see than you all, 
 And a trap has been laid in which were to fall. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 List to the order-book ! hush — be still ! 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 But first, cousin Grustel, I pray thee fill 
 
 A glass of Melneck, as my stomach's but weak ; 
 
 When I've tost it off, my mind I'll speak. 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 Take it, good Sergeant. I quake for fear — 
 Think you that mischief is hidden here ? 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Look ye, my friends, 'tis fit and clear 
 That each should consider what's most near. 
 But as the General says, say I, 
 One should always the whole of a case descry. 
 We call ourselves all the Friedlander's troops ; 
 The Burgher, on whom we're billeted, stoops 
 Our wants to supply, and cooks our soups. 
 His ox, or his horse, the Peasant must chain 
 To our baggage car, and may grumble in vain. 
 Just let a lance-corp'ral, with seven good men, 
 Tow'rd a village from far but come within ken, 
 You re sure he'll be prince of the place, and may 
 Cut what capers he will, with unquestion'd sway. 
 Why, zounds ! lads, they heartily hate us all — 
 And would rather the devil should give them a call, 
 Than our yellow collars. And why don't they fall 
 
50. XI.] WALLENSTEINS CAMP. 165 
 
 On us fairly at once, and get rid of our lumber ? 
 They're more than our match in point of number, 
 And carry the cudgel as we do the sword. 
 Why can we laugh them to scorn ? By my word, 
 Because we make up here a terrible horde. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Ay, ay, in the mass lies the spell of our might, 
 And the Friedlander judged the matter aright, 
 When, some eight or nine years ago, he brought 
 The Emperor's army together. They thought 
 Twelve thousand enough for the Gen'ral. In vain— 
 Said he — such a force I can never maintain. 
 Sixty thousand I'll bring ye into the plain, 
 And they, I'll be sworn, wont of hunger die, 
 And thus were we Wallenstein's men, say I 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 For example — cut one of my fingers off — 
 
 This little one, here, from my right hand doff. 
 
 Is the taking my finger, then, all you've done ? 
 
 No, no, to the devil my hand is gone ! 
 
 'Tis a stump — no more — and use has none. 
 
 The eight thousand horse they wish to disband, 
 
 May be but a finger of our army's hand. 
 
 But, when they're once gone — may we understand 
 
 We are but one-fifth the less ? Oh, no — 
 
 By the Lord, the whole to the devil will go ! 
 
 All terror, respect, and awe, will be o'er, 
 
 And the Peasant will swell his crest once more ; 
 
 And the Board of Vienna will order us where 
 
 Our troops must be quartered, and how we must fare, 
 
 As of old, in the days of their beggarly care. 
 
 Yes — and how long it will be who can say 
 
 Ere the General himself they may take away ? 
 
 For they don't much like him at court, I learn ; 
 
 And then it's all up with the whole concern ! 
 
 For who, to our pay, will be left to aid us ? 
 
 And see that they keep the promise they made us. 
 
 WTio has the energy — who the mind — 
 
 The flashing thought — and the fearless hand — • 
 
 Together to bring, and thus fastly bind 
 
 The fragments that form our close-knit band 
 
'06 wallenstein's camp. ;so xi 
 
 For example, Dragoon — -just answer us now, 
 From which of the countries of earth art thou ? 
 
 DRAGOON. 
 
 From distant Erin came I here. 
 
 sergeant (to the two Cuirassiers ) 
 You're a Walloon, my friend, that's clear . 
 And you, an Italian, as all may hear. 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Who I may he, faith ! I never could say ■ 
 In my infant years they stole me away. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 And you, from what far land may you he ? 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 I come from Buchau — on the Feder Sea. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Neighbour, and you? 
 
 SECOND ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 I am a Swiss. 
 sergeant (to the Second Yager) 
 And Yager, lets hear where your country is ? 
 
 second yager. 
 Up above Wismar, my fathers dwell. 
 
 sergeant [pointing to the Trumpeter) 
 And he's from Eger — and I as well : 
 And, now, my comrades, I ask you whether. 
 Would any one think, when looking at us, 
 That we, from the North and South, had thus 
 Been hitherward drifted and blown together ? 
 Do we not seem as hewn from one mass ? 
 Stand we not close against the foe 
 As tho' we were glued, or moulded so ? 
 Like mill- work don't we move, d'ye think ! 
 'Mong ourselves in the nick, at a word or wink** 
 Who has thus cast us, here, all as one, 
 Now to be sever 'd again by none ? 
 Who ? why, no other than Wallenstein ! 
 
 first yager. 
 In my life it ne'er was a thought of mine, 
 Whether we suited each other or not, 
 I let myself go with the rest of the lot. 
 
3d. xi.] wallenstein's caht IC7 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 I quite agree in the Sergeant's opinion — 
 They'd fain have an end of our camp dominion, 
 And trample the soldier down, that they 
 May govern alone in their own good way. 
 Tis a conspiration — a plot, I say ! 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN. 
 
 A conspiration — God help the day ! 
 
 Then my customers won't have cash to pay. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Why, faith, we shall all be bankrupts made : 
 The captains and generals, most of them, paid 
 The costs of the regiments with private cash, 
 And, wishing, 'bove all, to cut a dash, 
 Went a little beyond their means — but thought, 
 No doubt, that they thus had a bargain bought. 
 Now they'll be cheated, sirs, one and all, 
 Should our chief, our head, the General fall. 
 
 SUTLER- WOMAN. 
 
 Oh, Heav n ! this curse I never can brook ! 
 Why, half of the army stands in my book. 
 Two hundred dollars I've trusted madly, 
 That Count Isolani, who pays so badly. 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Well, comrades, let's fix on what's to be done — 
 Of the ways to save us, I see but one ; 
 If we hold together we needn't fear; 
 So let us stand out as one man here ; 
 And then they may order and send as they will 
 Fast planted we'll stick in Bohemia still. 
 We'll never give in — no, nor march an inch, 
 We stand on our honour, and must not flinch. 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 We're not to be driven the country about, 
 Let 'em come here, and they'll find it out. 
 
 FIRST AEQUEBUSIER. 
 
 Good sirs, 'twere well to bethink ye still, 
 That such is the Emperor's sovereign will. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 Oh, as to the Emperor, we needn't be nice. 
 
138 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. |_ S0, X1 
 
 FIKST AEQUEBUSIEK. 
 
 Let me not hear you say so twice. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 Why 'tis even so — as I just have said. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 True, man — I've always heard 'em say, 
 Tis Friedland, alone, you've here to obey 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 By our bargain with him it should be so, 
 Absolute power is his, you must know. 
 We've war, or peace, but as he may please, 
 Or gold or goods he has power to seize, 
 And hanging or pardon his will decrees. 
 Captains and colonels he makes — and he, 
 In short, by th' Imperial seal is free, 
 To hold all the marks of sovereignty. 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 The Duke is high and of mighty will, 
 But yet must remain, for good or for ill, 
 Like us all, but the Emperor's servant still. 
 
 SERGEANT 
 
 Not like us all — I there disagree — 
 
 Friedland is quite independent and free, 
 
 The Bavarian is no more a Prince than he ; 
 
 For, was I not by myself to see, 
 
 When on duty at Brandeis, how th' Emperor sa'd, 
 
 He wished him to cover his princely head. 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 That was because of the Mecklenburgh land, 
 Which he held in pawn from the Emperor's hai:d. 
 
 first yager (to the Sergeant). 
 In the Emperor's presence, man ! say you so ? 
 That, beyond doubt, was a wonderful go ! 
 
 sergeant {feels in his pocket). 
 If you question my word in what I have told, 
 I can give you something to grasp and hold. 
 
 [Showing a coin 
 Whose image and stamp d'ye here behold ? 
 
 sutler-woman. 
 Oh ! that is a Wallenstein's, sure! 
 
6C. xi.] wallenstein's camp. 1G9 
 
 SERGEANT-MAJOR. 
 
 Well, there, you have it — what doubt can rest ? 
 
 Is he not Prince just as good as the best ? 
 
 Coins he not money like Ferdinand ? 
 
 Hath he not his own subjects and land ? 
 
 Is he not called your Highness, I pray ? 
 
 And why should he not have his soldiers in pay ? 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 That no one has ever meant to gainsay; 
 
 Bat we're still at the Emperor's beck and call, 
 
 For his Majesty 'tis who pays us all. 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 In your teeth I deny it — and will again — 
 His Majesty 'tis who pays us not, 
 For this forty weeks, say, what have we got 
 But a promise to pay, believed in vain ? 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 What then ! 'tis kept in safe hands, I suppose. 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Peace, good sirs, will you come to blows ? 
 Have you a quarrel and squabble to know 
 If the Emperor be our master or no ? 
 Tis because of our rank, as his soldiers bravo, 
 That we scorn the lot of the herded slave ; 
 And will not be driven from place to place, 
 As priests or puppies our path may trace. 
 And, tell me, is't not the Sovereign's gain, 
 If the soldiers their dignity well maintain ? 
 Who but his soldiers give him the state 
 Of a mighty, wide-ruling potentate ? 
 Make and preserve for him, far and near, 
 The voice which Christendom quakes to hear? 
 Well enough they may his yoke-chain bear, 
 Who feast on his favours, and daily share, 
 In golden chambers, his sumptuous fare. 
 We — we of his splendours have no part, 
 Nought but hard wearying toil and care, 
 And the pride that lives in a soldier's heart. 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 All great tyrants and kings have shown 
 Their wit, as I take it, in what they've done ; 
 
170 WALLENSTEINS CAMP. r SC XI. 
 
 They've trampled al] otliers with stern command, 
 But the soldier they Ve led with a gentle hand 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 The soldier his worth must understand ; 
 Whoe'er doesn't nobly drive the trade, 
 'Twere best from the business far he'd staid. 
 If I cheerily set my life on a throw, 
 Something still better than life I'll know ; 
 Or I'll stand to be slain for the paltry pelf, 
 As the Croat still does — and scorn myself 
 
 BOTH YAGERS. 
 
 Yes — honour is dearer than life itself. 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 The sword is no plough nor delving tool, 
 
 He, who would till with it, is but a fool. 
 
 For us, neither grass nor grain doth grow, 
 
 Houseless the soldier is doomed to go, 
 
 A changeful wanderer over the earth, 
 
 Ne'er knowing the warmth of a home-lit hearth. 
 
 The city glances — he halts — not there — 
 
 Nor in village meadows, so green and fair ; 
 
 The vintage and harvest wreath are twined 
 
 He sees, but must leave them far behind. 
 
 Then, tell me, what hath the soldier left, 
 
 If he's once of his self-esteem bereft? 
 
 Something he must have his own to call, 
 
 Or on slaughter and burnings at once he'll fall. 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 God knows 'tis a wretched life to live ! 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Yet one which I for no other would give 
 Look ye — far round in the world I've been, 
 And all of its different service seen. 
 The Venetian Republic — the Kings of Spain 
 And Naples I've served, and served in vain. 
 Fortune still frowned — and merchant and knight 
 Craftsman and Jesuit, have met my sight ; 
 Yet, of all their jackets, not one have I known 
 To please me like this steel coat of my own. 
 
SO. XT.] WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 171 
 
 FIEST AEQUEBUSIEE. 
 
 Well — that now is what I can scarcely say 
 
 FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 
 
 In the world, a man who would make his way. 
 Must plague and bestir himself night and day. 
 To honour and place, if he choose the road, 
 He must bend his back to the golden load. 
 And if home-delights should his fancy please, 
 With children and grandchildren round his knees, 
 Let him follow an honest trade in peace. 
 I've no taste for this kind of life — not I ! 
 Free will I live, and as freely die. 
 No man's spoiler nor heir will I be — 
 But, throned on my nag, I will smile to see 
 The coil of the crowd that is under me. 
 
 FEEST YAGEE. 
 
 Bravo! — that's as I've always done. 
 
 FIEST AEQUEBUSIEE. 
 
 In truth, sirs, it may be far better fun 
 
 To trample thus over your neighbour's crown. 
 
 FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 
 
 Comrade, the times are bad of late — 
 The sword and the scales live separate. 
 But do not then blame that I've preferr'd, 
 Of the two, to lean, as I have, to the sword. 
 For mercy in war I will yield to none, 
 Tho' I never will stoop to be drumm'd upon 
 
 FIEST AEQUEBUSIEE. 
 
 Who but the soldier the blame should bear 
 That the labouring poor so hardly fare ? 
 The war with its plagues, which all have blasted, 
 Now sixteen years in the land hath lasted. 
 
 FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 
 
 Why, brother, the blessed God above 
 
 Can't have from us all an equal love. 
 
 One prays for the sun, at which t'other will fret : 
 
 One is for dry weather — t'other for wet. 
 
 What you, now, regard as with misery rife, 
 
 Is to me the unclouded sun of life. 
 
172 wallenstein's camp [sc. XL 
 
 If 'tis at the cost of the burgher and boor, 
 I really am sorry that they must endure ; 
 But how can I help it ? Here, you must know, 
 Tis just like a cavalry charge 'gainst the foe : 
 The steeds loud snorting, and on they go ! 
 Whoever may lie in the mid career — 
 Be it my brother or son so dear, 
 Should his dying groan my heart divide, 
 Yet over his body I needs must ride, 
 Nor pitying stop to drag him aside. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 True — who ever asks how another may bide ? 
 
 FIRST CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Thus, my lads, 'tis my counsel, while 
 On the soldier dame Fortune deigns to smile, 
 That we with both hands her bounty clasp, 
 For it mayn't be much longer left to our grasp- 
 Peace will be coming some over night, 
 And then there's an end of our martial might. 
 The soldier unhorsed, and fresh-mounted the boor, 
 Ere you can think it, 'twill be as before. 
 As yet we're together firm bound in the land, 
 The hilt is yet fast in the soldier's hand. 
 But let 'em divide us, and soon we shall find 
 Short commons is all that remains behind. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 No, no, by the Lord ! that won't do for me. 
 Come, come, lads, let's all now, as one, agree. 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Yes, let us resolve on what 'tis to be. 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 (To the Sutler-woman, drawing out his leather purse?) 
 Hostess, tell us how high you've scored. 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAN 
 
 Oh, 'tis unworthy a single word. [They settU, 
 
 TRUMPETER. 
 
 You do well, sirs, to take a farther walk, 
 Your company only disturbs our talk. 
 
 [Exeunt Arquebusiers . 
 
go xi.] wallenstein's camp. 173 
 
 FIEST CUIEASSIEE 
 
 Plague take the fellows — they're brave, I know. 
 
 FIEST TAGEE. 
 
 They hav'n't a soul 'bove a soapboiler's though. 
 
 SECOND YAGEE. 
 
 We're now alone, so teach us who can 
 How best we may meet and mar their plan. 
 
 TEUMPETER. 
 
 How ? Why, let's tell 'em we will not go ! 
 
 FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 
 
 Despising all discipline ! no, my lads, no. 
 Eather his corps let each of us seek, 
 And quietly then with his comrades speak, 
 That every soldier may clearly know, 
 It were not for his good so far to go ; 
 For my Walloons to answer I'm free, 
 Every man of 'em thinks and acts with me. 
 
 SEEGEANT. 
 
 The Terzky regiments, both horse and foot, 
 Will thus resolve, and will keep them to't. 
 
 second cuirassier (joining the first). 
 The Walloons and the Lombards, one intent* 
 
 FIEST YAGEE. 
 
 Freedom is Yagers* own element. 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Freedom must ever with might entwine — ■ 
 I live and will die by Wallenstein. 
 
 FIEST SHAEPSHOOTEE. 
 
 The Lorrainers go on with the strongest tide. 
 Where spirits are light and courage tried. 
 
 DEAGOON. 
 
 An Irishman follows his fortune s star. 
 
 SECOND SHAEPSHOOTEE. 
 
 The Tyrolese for their sovereign war. 
 
 FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 
 
 Then, comrades, let each of our corps agree 
 A vro memorid to sign — that we, 
 In spite of all force or fraud, will be 
 
174 WALLEN STEIN'S CAMP [SO. XL 
 
 To the fortunes of Friedland firmly bound. 
 For in him is the soldier's father found. 
 This we will humbly present, when done, 
 To Piccolo mini — I mean the son — 
 Who understands these kind of affairs, 
 And the Friedlander's highest favour shares ; 
 Besides, with the Emperor's self, they say 
 He holds a capital card to play. 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Well, then, in this, let us all agree, 
 That the Colonel shall our spokesman be ! 
 
 all (going). 
 Good ! the Colonel shall our spokesman be. 
 
 SERGEANT 
 
 Hold, sirs — -just toss off a glass with me 
 To the health of Piccolomini. 
 
 sutler-woman {brings a flask). 
 This shall not go to the list of scores, 
 I gladly give it — success be yours ! 
 
 CUIRASSIER. 
 
 The soldier shall sway ! 
 
 BOTH YAGERS 
 
 The peasant shall pay ! 
 
 DRAGOONS and SHARPSHOOTERS 
 
 The army shall flourishing stand ! 
 
 TRUMPETER and SERGEANT. 
 
 And the Friedlander keep the command ! 
 
 second cuirassier (sings). 
 Arouse ye, my comrades, to horse ! to horse ! 
 
 To the field and to freedom we guide ! 
 For there a man feels the pride of his force, 
 
 And there is the heart of him tried. 
 No help to him there by another is shown, 
 He stands for himself and himself alone. 
 
 \The Soldiers from the back ground have come forward 
 during the singing of this verse, and form the chorus 
 Chorus. 
 No help to him there by another is shown, 
 He stands for himself and himself alone. 
 
sc xi.] wallenstein's camp 175 
 
 DRAGOON. 
 
 Now freedom hath fled from the world, we find 
 
 Bui lords and their bondsmen vile : 
 And nothing holds sway in the breast of mankind 
 
 Save falsehood and cowardly guile. 
 Who looks in death s face with a fearless brow, 
 The soldier, alone, is the freeman now. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow, 
 The soldier, alone, is the freeman now. 
 
 FIKST YAGER. 
 
 With the troubles of life he ne'er bothers his pate, 
 
 And feels neither fear nor sorrow ; 
 Bat boldly rides onward to meet with his fate — 
 
 He may meet it to-day, or to-morrow ! 
 And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say, 
 Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say, 
 Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day ! 
 
 [The glasses are here refilled, and all drink. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Tis from heaven his jovial lot has birth ; 
 
 Nor needs he to strive or toil. 
 The peasant may grope in the bowels of earth, 
 
 And for treasure may greedily moil : 
 He digs and he delves through life for the pelf, 
 And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself. 
 
 Chorus. 
 He digs and he delves through life for the pelf, 
 And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 The rider and lightning steed — a pair 
 
 Of terrible guests. I ween ! 
 From the bridal-hall as the torches glare, 
 
 Unbidden they join the scene : 
 Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove ; 
 By storm he carries the prize of love ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove ; 
 By storm he carries the prize of love J 
 
176 WALLENSTEIN S CAMP [SC. XI. 
 
 SECOND CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Why mourns the wench with so sorrowful face ? 
 
 Away, girl, the soldier must go ! 
 No spot on the earth is his resting-place ; 
 
 And your true love he never can know. 
 Still onward driven by fate's rude wind, 
 He nowhere may leave his peace behind. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Still onward driven by fate's rude wind, 
 He nowhere may leave his peace behind. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 He takes the two next to him by the hand — the others do the 
 same — and form a large semicircle. 
 Then rouse ye, my comrades — to horse ! to horse ! 
 
 In battle the breast doth swell ! 
 Youth boils — the life cup foams in its force — 
 
 Up ! ere time can the dew dispel ! 
 And deep be the stake, as the prize is high — 
 Who life would win, he must dare to die ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 And deep be the stake, as the prize is high — 
 Who life would win, he must dare to die I 
 
 [The Curtain falls before the Chorus has finhlwd t 
 
THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The two Dramas, — Piccolomini, or tlie first part of Wal 
 lenstein, and the Death of Wallenstein, are introduced 
 in the original manuscript by a Prelude in one Act, entitled 
 Wallenstein 's Camp. This is written in rhyme, and in 
 nine-syllable verse, in the same lilting metre (if that expres- 
 sion may be permitted) with the second Eclogue of Spenser's 
 Shepherd's Calendar. 
 
 This prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and is not 
 deficient in character : but to have translated it into prose, 
 or into any other metre than that of the original, would have 
 given a false idea both of its style and purport; to have 
 translated it into the same metre would have been incom 
 patible with a faithful adherence to the sense of the German, 
 from the comparative poverty of our language in rhymes ; 
 and it would have been unadvisable, from the incongruity of 
 those lax verses with the present taste of the English public 
 . Schiller's intention seems to have been merely to have 
 prepared his reader for the Tragedies by a lively picture of 
 laxity of discipline, and the mutinous dispositions of Wal- 
 lenstein's soldiery. It is not necessary as a preliminary 
 explanation. For these reasons it has been thought expedient 
 not to translate it. 
 
 The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their idea 
 of that author from the Robbers, and the Cabal and Love, 
 plays in which the main interest is produced by the excite- 
 ment of curiosity, and in which the curiosity is excited by 
 terrible and extraordinary incident, will not have perused 
 without some portion of disappointment the Dramas, which 
 it has been my employment to translate. They should, how- 
 ever, reflect that these are Historical Dramas, taken from 
 a popular German History; that we must, therefore, judge 
 of them in some measure with the feelings of Germans ; or, 
 by analogy, with the interest excited in us by similar Dramas 
 in our own language. Few, I trust, would be rash or ignor- 
 ant enough to compare Schiller with Shakspeare ; yet, 
 merely as illustration, I would say, that we should proceed 
 
178 PREFACE. 
 
 to the perusal of Wallenstein, not from Lear or Othello, but 
 from Kichard the Second, or the three parts of Henry the 
 Sixth. We scarcely expect rapidity in an Historical Drama ; 
 and many prolix speeches are pardoned from characters, 
 whose names and actions have formed the most amusing tales 
 of our early life. On the other hand, there exist in these 
 plays more individual beauties, more passages whose excel- 
 lence will bear reflection, than in the former productions of 
 Schiller. The description of the Astrological Tower, and 
 the reflections of the Young Lover, which follow it, form in 
 the original a fine poem ; and my translation must have been 
 wretched indeed, if it can have wholly overclouded the beau- 
 ties of the scene in the first act of the first play, between 
 Questenberg, Max. and Octavio Piccolomini. If we except 
 the scene of the setting sun in the Robbers, I know of no 
 part in Schiller's Plays which equals the first scene of the 
 fifth act of the concluding play * . It would be unbecoming in 
 me to be more diffuse on this subject. A translator stands 
 connected with the original author by a certain law of sub 
 ordination, which makes it more decorous to point out excel 
 lences than defects : indeed he is not likely to be a fair 
 judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from his own 
 labour will mingle with the feelings that arise from an after- 
 view of the original. Even in the first perusal of a work in 
 any foreign language which we understand, we are apt to 
 attribute to it more excellence than it really possesses, from 
 our own pleasurable sense of difficulty overcome without 
 effort. Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because 
 the translator must give a brilliancy to his language without 
 that warmth of original conception, from which such bril- 
 liancy would follow of its own accord. But the translator of 
 a living author is encumbered with additional inconveniences. 
 If he render his original faithfully, as to the sense of each 
 passage, he must, necessarily, destroy a considerable portion 
 of the spirit; if he endeavour to give a work executed ac- 
 cording to laws of compensation, he subjects himself to 
 imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I have thought 
 it my duty to remain bound by the sense of my original, 
 with as few exceptions as the nature of the languages ren- 
 dered possible. S T. C. 
 * In this edition, Scene III. Act V. 
 
THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Von Questenberg, the War Commis- 
 
 Generalissimo of the Imperial sioner, Imperial Envoy. 
 
 Forces in the Thirty Years' War. Baptista Seni, an Astrologer. 
 
 Octavio Piccolomini, Lieutenant- ^^ Qp Friedland> wife oJ 
 
 (xenerat. WalUnstptn 
 
 Max. Piccolomini, his Son, Colonel m WaUms ™ m ' . . 
 
 of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. TH ^; ^ Da W hter > Prmcess °f 
 Count Terzkt, the Commander of Friedland. 
 
 several Regiments, and Brother-in- The Countess Terzky, Sister of the 
 
 law of Wallenstein. Duchess. 
 
 Illo, Field-Marshal, Wallenstein' s A Cornet. 
 
 Confidant. Colonels and Generals [several). 
 
 Isolani, General of the Croats. p AGEg a%d Attendants Monging to 
 .Butler, an Irishman, Commander of Wallenstein 
 
 a Regiment of Dragoons. . 7TT T , 
 
 Tiefenbach 1 Attendants and Hoboists belonging 
 
 Don Maradas, ( Generals under to Terz ty- 
 
 Goetz, X Wallenstein, Master op the Cellar to Count 
 
 Kolatto, J Terzky. 
 
 Neumann, Captain of Cavalry, Aide- Valet de Chambre of Count Picco* 
 de-Camp to Terzky. lomini. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 An old Gothic Chamber in the Council House at Pilsen, 
 
 decorated with Colours and other War Insignia. 
 
 Illo with Butler and Isolani. 
 
 illo. 
 
 Ye have come too late — but ye are come ! The distance 
 
 Count Isolani, excuses your delay. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Add this too, that we come not empty-handed. 
 At Donauwerth* it was reported to us, 
 
 * A town about twelve German miles N.E. of Ulm. 
 
 N % 
 
1 80 THE PICCOLOMINI, [ACT I. 
 
 A Swedish caravan was on its way, 
 Transporting a rich cargo of provision, 
 Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats 
 Plunged down upon and seized, this weighty prize ! — 
 We bring it hither 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Just in time to banquet 
 The illustrious company assembled here. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 'Tis all alive ! a stirring scene here ! 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Ay! 
 The very churches are all full of soldiers. 
 
 [Casts his eye round. 
 And in the Council-house too, I observe, 
 You're settled, quite at home ! Well, well ! we soldiers 
 Must shift and suit us in what way we can. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 We have the colonels here of thirty regiments. 
 You'll find Count Terzky here, and Tiefenbach, 
 Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam, 
 
 The Piccolomini, both son and father 
 
 You'll meet with many an unexpected greeting 
 From many an old friend and acquaintance Only 
 Galas is wanting still, and Altringer 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 Expect not Galas. 
 
 illo {hesitating). 
 
 How so ? Do you know 
 
 isolani (interrupting him). 
 Max. Piccolomini here?— bring me to him. 
 I see him yet, ('tis now ten years ago, 
 We were engaged with Mansfeldt hard by Dessau,) 
 I see the youth, in my mind's eye I see him, 
 Leap his black war-horse from the bridge adown, 
 And t'ward his father, then in extreme peril, 
 Beat up against the strong tide of the Elbe. 
 The down was scarce upon his chin ! I hear 
 He has made good the promise of his youth, 
 And the full hero now is finish'd in him. 
 
SC. I.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 181 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts 
 The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess * 
 From Carnthen f. We expect them here at noon. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Both wife and daughter does the Duke call hither ? 
 He crowds in visitants from all sides. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Hm! 
 
 So much the better ! I had framed my mind 
 To hear of nought but warlike circumstance, 
 Of marches, and attacks, and batteries ; 
 And lo ! the Duke provides, and something too 
 Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present 
 To feast our eyes. 
 illo (who has been standing in the attitude of meditation, to 
 butler, whom he leads a little on one side). 
 And how came you to know 
 That the Count Galas joins us not ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Because 
 He importuned me to remain behind. 
 
 illo (with warmth). 
 And you? — You hold out firmly ! 
 
 [Grasping his hand with affection 
 Noble Butler ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 After the obligation which the Duke 
 Had laid so newly on me 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 T had forgotten 
 A pleasant duty — Major- General, 
 I wish you joy ! 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 What, you mean, of his regiment ? 
 I hear, too, that to make the gift still sweeter, 
 The Duke has given him the very same 
 
 * The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons 
 daughters are entitled Princes and Princesses. 
 f Carinthia. 
 
1S$ THE PICCOLOMINI [ACT I. 
 
 In which he first saw service, and since then, 
 
 Work'd himself, step by step, through each preferment, 
 
 From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives 
 
 A precedent of hope, a spur of action 
 
 To the whole corps, if once in their remembrance 
 
 An old deserving soldier makes his way. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 I am perplex'd and doubtful, whether or no 
 
 I dare accept this your congratulation. 
 
 The Emperor has not yet confirm'd the appointment. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Seize it, friend ! Seize it ! The hand which in that post 
 Placed you, is strong enough to keep you there, 
 Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Ay, if we would but so consider it ! — 
 
 If we would all of us consider it so ! 
 
 The Emperor gives us nothing ; from the Duke 
 
 Comes all — whate'er we hope, whate'er we have 
 
 ISOLANI (tO ILLO). 
 
 My noble brother ! did I tell you how 
 The Duke will satisfy my creditors ? 
 Will be himself my banker for the future, 
 Make me once more a creditable man ! — 
 And this is now the third time, think of that ! 
 This kingly-minded man has rescued me 
 From absolute ruin, and restored my honour. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 that his power but kept pace with his wishes ! 
 Why, friend ! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers. 
 But at Vienna, brother! — here's the grievance. — 
 What politic schemes do they not lay to shorten 
 
 His arm, and where they can, to clip his pinions, 
 Then these new dainty requisitions ! these, 
 Which this same Questenberg brings hither ! — 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 Ay! 
 These requisitions of the Emperor, — 
 
 1 too have heard about them ; but I hope 
 The Duke will not draw back a single inch 1 
 
SC II.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 1 83 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Not from his right most surely, unless first 
 — From office ! 
 
 butlek (shocked and confused) 
 Know you aught then ? You alarm me. 
 isolani (at the sam,e time with butlek, and in a 
 
 hurrying voice). 
 We should be ruind, every one of us ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 No more ! 
 Yonder I see our worthy friend * approaching 
 With the Lieutenant-General, Piccolomini. 
 
 butler (shaking his head significantly) 
 I fear we shall not go hence as we came. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Octavio, Piccolomini, and Questenberg 
 octayio (still in the distance). 
 Ay ! ay ! more still ! Still more new visitors ! 
 Acknowledge, friend ! that never was a camp, 
 Which held at once so many heads of heroes. 
 
 [questenberg. 
 Let none approach a camp of Friedland's troops 
 Who dares to think unworthily of war ; 
 E'en I myself had nigh forgot its evils 
 When I surveyed that lofty soul of order, 
 By which while it destroys the world, — itself 
 Maintains the greatness which itself created.] 
 
 octavio (approaching nearer). 
 Welcome, Count Isolani ! 
 
 isolani. 
 
 My noble brother ! 
 Even now am I arrived ; it had been else my duty— 
 
 octavio. 
 And Colonel Butler — trust me, I rejoice 
 Thus to renew acquaintance with a man 
 Whose worth and services I know and honour. 
 See, see, my friend ! 
 
 * Spoken with a sneer. 
 
i84 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT I. 
 
 There might we place at once before our eyes 
 The sum of war's whole trade and mystery — 
 
 [To Questenberg, 'presenting Butler 
 and Isolani at the same time to him. 
 These two the total sum — Strength and Dispatch. 
 
 QUESTENBERG (to OCTAVIO). 
 
 And lo ! betwixt them both, experienced Prudence ! 
 
 octavio (presenting questenberg to butler and isolani). 
 
 The Chamberlain and War-Commissioner Questenberg, 
 
 The bearer of the Emperor's behests, 
 
 The long- tried friend and patron of all soldiers, 
 
 We honour in this noble visitor. [ Universal silence 
 
 illo {moving towards questenberg). 
 Tis not the first time, noble Minister, 
 You have shown our camp this honour. 
 questenberg 
 
 Once before 
 I stood beside these colours. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Perchance too you remember where that was. 
 
 It was at Znaim * in Moravia, where 
 
 You did present yourself upon the part 
 
 Of the Emperor, to supplicate our Duke 
 
 That he would straight assume the chief command 
 
 questenberg. 
 To supplicate ? Nay, bold General ! 
 So far extended neither my commission 
 (At least to my own knowledge) nor my zeal. 
 
 _ . ILLO. 
 
 Well, well, then — to compel him, if you choose. 
 I can remember me right well, Count Tilly 
 Had suffer'd rotal rout upon the Lech. 
 Bavaria lay all open to the enemy, 
 Whom there was nothing to delay from pressing 
 Onwards into the very heart of Austria 
 At that time you and Werdenberg appear 'd 
 Before our General, storming him with prayers, 
 And menacing the Emperors displeasure, 
 Unless he took compassion on this wretchedness. 
 * A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road from Vienna 
 to Prague. 
 
SO. 11 ] THE PICC0L0M1NI, 185 
 
 isolani (steps up to them). 
 Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough, 
 Wherefore with your commission of to-day 
 You were not all too willing to remember 
 Your former one. 
 
 QTTESTEKBERG. 
 
 Why not, Count Isolani ? 
 No contradiction sure exists between them. 
 It was the urgent business of that time 
 To snatch Bavaria from her enemy's hand ; 
 And my commission of to-day instructs me 
 To free her from her good friends and protectors 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 A worthy office ! After with our blood 
 
 We have wrested this Bohemia from the Saxon, 
 
 To be swept out of it is all our thanks, 
 
 The sole reward of all our hard- won victories. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Unless that wretched land be doomed to suffer 
 
 Only a change of evils, it must be 
 
 Freed from the scourge alike of friend or foe. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 What ? 'Twas a favourable year ; the boors 
 Can answer fresh demands already. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Nay, 
 If you discourse of herds and meadow-grounds — 
 
 # ISOLANI. 
 
 The war maintains the war. Are the boors ruin VI ? 
 The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 And is the poorer by even so many subjects 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Poh! we are all his subjects 
 
 QUESTENBERG, 
 
 Yet with a difference, General ! The one fill 
 
 With profitable industry the purse, 
 
 The others are well skill'd to empty it. 
 
 The sword has made the Emperor poor ; the plough 
 
 Must reinvigorate his resources. 
 
186 THE PICCOLOMINT. 'ACT I, 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Sure! 
 Times are not yet so bad. Me thinks I see 
 
 [Examining with his eye the dress and ornaments of 
 
 QtJESTENBERG. 
 
 Good store of gold that still remains uncoin'd. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Thank Heaven ! that means have been found out to hide 
 Some little from the fingers of the Croats. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 There ! The Stawata and the Martinitz, 
 
 On whom the Emperor heaps his gifts and graces, 
 
 To the heart-burning of all good Bohemians — 
 
 Those minions of court favour, those court harpies, 
 
 Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens 
 
 Driven from their house and home — who reap no harvests 
 
 Save in the general calamity — 
 
 Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and mock 
 
 The desolation of their country — these, 
 
 Let these, and such as these, support the war, 
 
 The fatal war, which they alone enkindled ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 And those state-parasites, who have their feet 
 
 So constantly beneath the Emperor's table, 
 
 Who cannot let a benefice fall, but they 
 
 Snap at it with dogs' hunger — they, forsooth, 
 
 Would pare the soldier's bread and cross his reckoning i 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 My life long will it anger me to think, 
 How when I went to court seven years ago, 
 To see about new horses for our regiment, 
 How from one antechamber to another 
 They dragg'd me on, and left me by the hour 
 To kick my heels among a crowd of simpering 
 Feast-fatten'd slaves, as if I had come thither 
 A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favour 
 That fall beneath their tables. And, at last, 
 Whom should they send me but a capuchin ! 
 Straight I began to muster up my sins 
 For absolution — but no such luck for me! 
 
SO. II. J THE PICCOLOMINI. 187 
 
 This was the man, this capuchin, with whom 
 I was to treat concerning the army horses * 
 And I was forced at last to quit the field, 
 The business unaccomplish'd. Afterwards 
 The Duke procured me in three days, what T 
 Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG. 
 
 Yes, yes ! your travelling bills soon found their way tc us ! 
 Too well I know we have still accounts to settle. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 War is a violent trade : one cannot always 
 Finish one's work by soft means ; every trifle 
 Must not be blacken 'd into sacrilege. 
 If we should wait till you, in solemn council, 
 With due deliberation had selected 
 The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils, 
 I' faith we should wait long — 
 
 "Dash! and through with it!" — That's the better watch- 
 word. 
 Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's nature 
 To make the best of a bad thing once past. 
 A bitter and perplex'd "what shall I do?" 
 Is worse to man than worst necessity. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG. 
 
 Ay, doubtless, it is true ; the Duke does spare us 
 The troublesome task of choosing. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Yes, the Duke 
 Cares with a father's feelings for his troops ; 
 But how the Emperor feels for us, we see. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG. 
 
 His cares and feelings all ranks share alike, 
 Nor will he offer one up to another. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 And therefore thrusts he us into the deserts 
 As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve 
 His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home. 
 
 questenberg (with a sneer). 
 Count! this comparison you make, not L 
 
188 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT X, 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Why, were we all the Court supposes us 
 Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty 
 
 questenbeeg (gravely). 
 You have taken liberty — it was not given you. 
 And therefore it becomes an urgent duty 
 To rein it in with curbs. 
 
 [ILLO. 
 
 Expect to find a restive steed in us, 
 
 QUESTENBEEG. 
 
 A better rider may be found to rule it. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 He only brooks the rider who has tamed him. 
 
 QUESTENBEEG 
 
 Ay, tame him once, and then a child may lead him. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 The child, we know, is found for him already 
 
 QUESTENBEEG. 
 
 Be duty, sir, your study, not a name 
 
 butlee (who has stood aside with piccolomini, but with visibU 
 interest in the conversation, advances.) 
 Sir President, the Emperor has in Germany 
 A splendid host assembled ; in this kingdom 
 Full twenty thousand soldiers are cantooned, 
 With sixteen thousand in Silesia ; 
 Ten regiments are posted on the Weser, 
 The Ehine, and Maine ; in Swabia there are six, 
 And in Bavaria twelve, to face the Swedes ; 
 Without including in th' account, the garrisons 
 Who on the frontiers hold the fortresses. 
 This vast and mighty host is all obedient 
 To Friedland's captains ; and its brave commanders, 
 Bred in one school, and nurtured with one milk, 
 Are all excited by one heart and soul ; 
 They are as strangers on the soil they tread, 
 The sendee is their only house and home. 
 No zeal inspires them for their country's cause, 
 For thousands like myself were born abroad ; 
 Nor care they for the Emp'ror, for one half 
 Deserting other service fled to ours, 
 
SO. II.] THE PICCOLOMIHI. 180 
 
 Indiff 'rent what their banner, whether 'twere 
 The Double Eagle, Lily, or the Lion. 
 Yet one sole man can rein this fiery host 
 By equal rule, by equal love and fear ; 
 Blending the many-nationed whole in one ; 
 And like the lightning's fires securely led 
 Down the conducting rod, e'en thus his power 
 Eules all the mass, from guarded post to post, 
 From where the sentry hears the Baltic roar, 
 Or views the fertile vales of the Adige, 
 E'en to the body-guard, who holds his watch 
 Within the precincts of th' Imperial palace ! 
 
 QUESTENBERG-. 
 
 What's the short meaning of this long harangue ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 That the respect, the love, the confidence, 
 
 Which makes us willing subjects of Duke Friedland, 
 
 Are not to be transferr'd to the first comer 
 
 That Austria's Court may please to send to us 
 
 We have not yet so readily forgotten 
 
 How the command came into Friedland's hands. 
 
 Was it, forsooth, the Emperor's majesty 
 
 That gave the army ready to his hand, 
 
 And only sought a leader for it ? No. 
 
 The army then had no existence. He, 
 
 Friedland it was, who called it into being, 
 
 And gave it to his sovereign — but receiving 
 
 No army at his hand ; — nor did the Emperor 
 
 Give Wallenstein to us as General. — No, 
 
 It was from Wallenstein we first received 
 
 The Emperor as our master and our sov'reign ; 
 
 And he, he only, binds us to our banners !] 
 
 octavio {interposing and addressing questenberg). 
 My noble friend, 
 This is no more than a remembrancing 
 That you are now in camp, and among warriors 
 The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom. 
 Could he act daringly, unless he dared 
 Talk even so ? One runs into the other. 
 The boldness of this worthy officer, 
 
 [Pointing to Butleb. 
 
190 THE PICCOLOMINI [ACT I. 
 
 Which now is but mistaken in its mark, 
 Preserved, when nought but boldness could preserve it 
 To the Emperor, his capital city, Prague, 
 In a most formidable mutiny 
 
 Of the whole garrison. [Military music at a distance. 
 
 Hah! here they come ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 The sentries are saluting them: this signal 
 Announces the arrival of the Duchess. 
 
 OCTAVTO [tO QUESTENBERG). 
 
 Then my son Max. too has returned. 'Twas he 
 Fetch 'd and attended them from Carnthen hither 
 
 ISOLANI (tO ILLO). 
 
 Shall we not go in company to greet them ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Well, let us go — Ho ! Colonel Butler, come. [To Octavio 
 You'll not forget, that yet ere noon we meet 
 The noble Envoy at the General's palace. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Questenberg and Octavio 
 
 Scene III. 
 Questenberg and Octavio. 
 
 questenberg (with signs of aversion and astonishment 
 What have I not been forced to hear, Octavio ! 
 What sentiments ! what fierce, uncurb 'd defiance ! 
 And were this spirit universal — 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Em! 
 You are now acquainted with three-fourths of the army 
 
 questenberg. 
 Where must we seek then for a second host 
 To have the custody of this ? That Illo 
 Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. And then 
 This Butler too — he cannot even conceal 
 The passionate workings of his ill intentions. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Quickness of temper — irritated pride ; 
 'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler. 
 I know a spell that will soon dispossess 
 The evil spirit in him 
 
SO III. 
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 19 1 
 
 questenbebg (walking up and down in evident disquiet) 
 Friend, friend ! 
 ! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffer'd 
 Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There 
 We saw it only with a courtier's eyes, 
 Eyes dazzled by the splendour of the throne. 
 We had not seen the War-chief, the Commander, 
 The man all-powerful in his camp. Here, here, 
 'Tis quite another thing. 
 
 Here is no Emperor more — the Duke is Emperor, 
 Alas, my friend ! alas, my noble friend ! 
 This walk which you have ta'en me through the camp 
 Strikes my hopes prostrate. 
 
 octavio. 
 
 Now you see yourself 
 Of what a perilous kind the office is, 
 Which you deliver to me from the Court. 
 The least suspicion of the General 
 Costs me my freedom and my life, and would 
 But hasten his most desperate enterprise. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Where was our reason sleeping when we trusted 
 This madman with the sword, and placed such power 
 In such a hand ? I tell you. he'll refuse, 
 Flatly refuse, to obey the Imperial orders. 
 Friend, he can do't, and what he can, he will. 
 And then the impunity of his defiance — 
 Oh ! what a proclamation of our weakness ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 D'ye think too, he has brought his wife and daughter 
 
 Without a purpose hither ? Here in camp ! 
 
 And at the very point of time, in which 
 
 We're arming for the war? That he has taken 
 
 These, the last pledges of his loyalty, 
 
 Away from out the Emperor's domains — 
 
 This is no doubtful token of the nearness 
 
 Of some eruption ? 
 
 QTJESTENBERG. 
 
 How shall we hold footing 
 Beneath this tempest, which collects itself 
 
192 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 And threats us from all quarters ? The enemy 
 Of the empire on our borders, now already 
 The master of the Danube, and still farther, 
 And farther still, extending every hour ! 
 In our interior the alarum-bells 
 Of insurrection— peasantry in arms — 
 All orders discontented — and the army, 
 Just in the moment of our expectation 
 Of aidance from it — lo ! this very army 
 Seduced, run wild, lost to all discipline, 
 Loosen 'd, and rent asunder from the state 
 And from their sovereign, the blind instrument 
 Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon 
 Of fearful power, which at his will he wields ! 
 
 OCTAVIO 
 
 Nay, nay, friend ! let us not despair too soon 
 Men's words are ever bolder than their deeds, 
 And many a resolute, who now appears 
 Made up to all extremes, will, on a sudden, 
 Find in his breast a heart he wot not of, 
 Let but a single honest man speak out 
 The true name of his crime ! Remember too, 
 We stand not yet so wholly unprotected. 
 Counts Altringer and G alias have maintain 'd 
 Their little army faithful to its duty, 
 And daily it becomes more numerous. 
 Nor can he take us by surprise : you know 
 J hold him all encompass'd by my listeners. 
 Whate'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing — 
 No step so small, but instantly I hear it ; 
 Yea, his own mouth discloses it. 
 
 QTJESTENBEKG- 
 
 'Tis quite 
 Incomprehensible, that he detects not 
 The foe so near ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Beware, you do not think, 
 That I by lying arts, and complaisant 
 Hypocrisy, have skulked into his graces, 
 Or with the substance of smooth professions 
 Nourish his all-confiding friendship ! No 
 
SC. 111.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 198 
 
 Oompell'd alike by prudence, and that duty 
 Which we all owe our country, and our sovereign, 
 To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet 
 Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits ! 
 
 QUESTENBEEG. 
 
 It is the visible ordinance of Heaven. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I know not what it is that so attracts 
 
 And links him both to me and to my son. 
 
 Comrades and friends we always were — long habit, 
 
 Adventurous deeds performed in company, 
 
 And all those many and various incidents 
 
 Which store a soldier's memory with affections, 
 
 Had bound us long and early to each other — 
 
 Yet I can name the day, when all at once 
 
 His heart rose on me, and his confidence 
 
 Shot out into sudden growth. It was the morning 
 
 Before the memorable fight at Liitzen. 
 
 Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out, 
 
 To press him to accept another charger. 
 
 At a distance from the tents, beneath a tree, 
 
 I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him, 
 
 And had related all my bodings to him, 
 
 Long time he stared upon me, like a man 
 
 Astounded : thereon fell upon my neck, 
 
 And manifested to me an emotion 
 
 That far outstripp'd the worth of that small service 
 
 Since then his confidence has follow'd me 
 
 With the same pace that mine has fled from him. 
 
 QUESTENBEEG 
 
 You lead your son into the secret ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 No! 
 
 QUESTENBEEG. 
 
 What ! and not warn him either what bad hands 
 His lot has placed him in ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I must perforce 
 Leave him in wardship to his innocence. 
 His young and open soul — dissimulation 
 
 o 
 
194 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT L 
 
 Is foreign to its habits ! Ignorance 
 Alone can keep alive the cheerful air. 
 The unembarrass'd sense and light free spirit, 
 That make the Duke secure. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG (anxiously). 
 
 My honour'd friend ! most highly do I deem 
 
 Of Colonel Piccolomini — yet — if 
 
 Reflect a little 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I must venture it. 
 Hush ! — There he comes ! 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Max. Piccolomini, Octavio Piccolomini, Questenbeeg. 
 
 max. 
 Ha ! there he is himself. Welcome, my father ! 
 
 [He embraces his father. As he turns rounds he 06- 
 serves Questenberg, and draws hack with a cold 
 and reserved air. 
 You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 How, Max. ? Look closer at this visitor. 
 Attention, Max. an old friend merits — Reverence 
 Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign. 
 
 max. (drily). 
 Von Questenberg ! — Welcome — if you bring with you 
 Aught good to our head quarters. 
 
 questenbeeg {seizing his hand). 
 
 Nay, draw not 
 Your hand away, Count Piccolomini ! 
 Not on mine own account alone I seized it, 
 And nothing common will I say therewith. 
 
 [Taking the hands of both, 
 Octavio — Max. Piccolomini ! 
 O saviour names, and full of happy omen ! 
 Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria, 
 While two such stars, with blessed influences 
 Beaming protection, shine above her hosts. 
 
SO. IV.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 195 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Heh ! — Noble minister ! You miss your part. 
 You came not here to act a panegyric. 
 You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us — 
 I must not be beforehand with my comrades. 
 
 OCTAVIO [to MAX.). 
 
 He comes from court, where people are not quite 
 So well contented with the Duke, as here. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 What now have they contrived to find out in him ? 
 
 That he alone determines for himself 
 
 What he himself alone doth understand ! 
 
 Well, therein he does right, and will persist in 't 
 
 Heaven never meant him for that passive thing 
 
 That can be struck and hammer'd out to suit 
 
 Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance 
 
 To every tune of every minister : 
 
 It goes against his nature — he can't do it, 
 
 He is possess 'd by a commanding spirit, 
 
 And his, too, is the station of command. 
 
 And well for us it is so ! There exist 
 
 Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use 
 
 Their intellects intelligently. Then 
 
 W ell for the whole, if there be found a man, 
 
 Who makes himself what nature destined him, 
 
 The pause, the central point, to thousand thousands—* 
 
 Stands fixed and stately, like a firm-built column,. 
 
 Where all may press with joy and confidence 
 
 Now such a man is Wall ens tein ; and if 
 
 Another better suits the court — no other 
 
 But such a one as he can serve the army 
 
 QUESTENBEKG 
 
 The army ? Doubtless ! 
 
 • [max. 
 v What delight t'observe 
 
 How he incites and strengthens all around him, 
 Infusing life and vigour. Every power 
 Seems as it were redoubled by his presence : 
 He draws forth every latent energy, 
 Showing to each his own peculiar talent, 
 
 o 2 
 
196 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT I 
 
 Yet leaving all to be what nature made thein, 
 And watching only that they be nought else 
 In the right place and time ; and he has skill 
 To mould the powers of all to his own end. 
 
 QUESTENBEEG. 
 
 But who denies his knowledge of mankind, 
 And skill to use it ? Our complaint is this : — 
 That in the master he forgets the servant, 
 As if he claimed by birth his present honours 
 
 MAX. 
 
 And does he not so ? Is he not endowed 
 With every gift and power to carry out 
 The high intents of nature, and to win 
 A ruler's station by a ruler's talent ? 
 
 QUESTENBEEG. 
 
 So then it seems to rest with him alone 
 What is the worth of all mankind beside ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Uncommon men require no common trust ; 
 Give him but scope, and he will set the bounds 
 
 QTJESTENBERG 
 
 The proof is yet to come. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Thus are ye ever. 
 Ye shrink from every thing of depth, and think 
 Yourselves are only safe while ye 're in shallows.] 
 
 OCTAVIO (tO QUESTENBEEG). 
 
 Twere best to yield with a good grace, my friend. 
 Of him there you'll make nothing. 
 
 max. (continuing). 
 
 In their fear 
 They call a spirit up, and when he comes, 
 Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread hiin 
 More than the ills for which they call'd him up 
 The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be 
 Like things of every day. But in the field, 
 Ay, there the Present Being makes itself felt. 
 The personal must command, the actual eye 
 Examine. If to be the chieftain asks 
 
SC. IV.} THE PICCOLOMINI 197 
 
 All that is great in nature, let it be 
 
 Likewise his privilege to move and act 
 
 In all the correspondences of greatness. 
 
 The oracle within him, that which lives, 
 
 He must invoke and question — not dead books, 
 
 Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 My son ! of those old narrow ordinances 
 
 Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights 
 
 Of priceless value, which oppress'd mankind 
 
 Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors. 
 
 For always formidable was the league 
 
 And partnership of free power with free will. 
 
 The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds, 
 
 Is yet no devious path. Straight forward goes 
 
 The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path 
 
 Of the cannon ball. Direct it flies, and rapid ; 
 
 Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches, 
 
 My son ! the road the human being travels, 
 
 That, on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow 
 
 The river's course, the valley's playful windings, 
 
 Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines, 
 
 Honouring the holy bounds of property ! 
 
 And thus secure, though late, leads to its end. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 hear your father, noUe youth ! hear him, 
 Who is at once the hero and the man. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee ! 
 
 A war of fifteen years 
 
 Hath been thy education and thy school. 
 
 Peace hast thou never witness 'd ! There exists 
 
 An higher than the warrior's excellence. 
 
 In war itself war is no ultimate purpose. 
 
 The vast and sudden deeds of violence, 
 
 Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment, 
 
 These are not they, my son, that generate 
 
 The Calm, the Blissful, and the enduring Mighty ! 
 
 Lo there ! the soldier, rapid architect ! 
 
 Builds his light town of canvas, and at once 
 
 The whole scene moves and bustles momently. 
 
198 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT I- 
 
 With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel 
 
 The motley market fills ; the roads, the streams 
 
 Are crowded with new freights ; trade stirs and hurries ! 
 
 But on some morrow morn, all suddenly, 
 
 The tents drop down, the horde renews its march. 
 
 Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard 
 
 The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie, 
 
 &nd the year's harvest is gone utterly. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 let the Emperor make peace, my father ! 
 Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel 
 For the first violet * of the leafless spring, 
 Pluck'd in those quiet fields where I have journey 'd ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 What ails thee ? What so moves thee all at onc« ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Peace have I ne'er beheld ? I have beheld it. 
 
 From thence am I come hither : ! 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. 
 
 Whateer 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 uneasitiess^ 
 And so your journey has revealed this to you ? 
 
 • In the original, 
 
 " Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb'ich hin mit Freuden 
 Furs erste Veilchen, das der Marz uns bringt, 
 Das durftige Pfand der neuverjungten Erde." 
 
SO. IV. j THE PICCOLOMINI. 1 99 
 
 MAX. 
 
 'Twas the first leisure of my life. tell me, 
 
 What is the meed and purpose of the toil, 
 
 The painful toil which robb'd me of my youth, 
 
 Left me a heart unsoul'd and solitary, 
 
 A spirit uninform'd, unornamented ! 
 
 For the camp's stir, and crowd, and ceaseless laruni, 
 
 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 t 
 
 OCTAYIO. 
 
 Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 ! day thrice lovely ! when at length the soldier 
 Eeturns 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 I 
 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 filled 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, 
 The joyous vespers of a bloody day. 
 O happy man, fortunate ! for whom 
 The well-known door, the faithful arms are open, 
 The faithful tender arms with mute embracing. 
 questenberg [apparently much affected). 
 that you should speak 
 Of such a distant, distant time, and not 
 Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day. 
 
800 THE PICCOLOMINI. [kOT L 
 
 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 I make 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. [Exit. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG, OcTAVIO PlCCOLOMINI. 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Alas, alas ! and stands it so ? 
 
 [Then in pressing and impatient tones 
 What friend ! and do we let him go away 
 In this delusion — let him go away ? 
 Not oall him back immediately, not open 
 His eyes upon the spot? 
 
 octavio (recovering himself out of a deep study} 
 He has now open'd mine, 
 And I see more than pleases me. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 What is it? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Curse on this journey! 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 But why so ? What is it? 
 
SO. V.J THE PICCOLOMINI. 201 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Corns, come along, friend ! I must follow up 
 The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes 
 Are open'd now, and I must use them. Come ! 
 
 [Draws Questenberg on with him. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 What now ? Where go you then ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 To her herself. 
 
 QUESTENBERG 
 
 To 
 
 octavio (interrupting him, and correcting himself) 
 To the Duke. Come let us go — Tis done, 'tis done, 
 I see the net that is thrown over him. 
 Oh ! he returns not to me as he went 
 
 questenberg. 
 Nay, hut explain yourself. 
 
 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 too 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. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Changes to a spacious Chamber in the House of the Duke of 
 Priedland. — Servants employed in putting the tables and 
 chairs in order. — During this enters Seni, like an old 
 Italian Doctor, in black, and clothed somewhat fantastic- 
 ally. He carries a white staff, with which he marks out 
 the quarters of the heavens. 
 
 FIRST servant. 
 Come — to it, lads, to it ! Make an end of it. I hear the 
 
202 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT EL 
 
 * sentry call out, " Stand to your arms ! " They will be here 
 in a minute. 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 Why were we not told before that the audience would bo 
 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. 
 
 Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. He says 
 it is an unlucky chamber. 
 
 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. 
 
 And wnat may you have to object against eleven? I should 
 like to know that now. 
 
 SENI. 
 
 Eleven is transgression ; eleven oversteps 
 The ten commandments. 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 That's good ! and why do you call five a holy number ? 
 
 seni. 
 Five is the soul of man : for even as man 
 Is mingled up of good and evil, so 
 The five is the first number that's made up 
 Of even and odd. 
 
SC. II ] THE PICCOLOMINI. 203 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 The foolish old coxcomb ! 
 
 FIEST SERVANT. 
 
 Ay ! let him alone though. I like to hear him ; there is 
 more in his words than can be seen at first sight. 
 
 THIRD SERVANT. 
 
 OIF, they come. 
 
 SECOND SERVANT 
 
 There ! Out at the side-door. 
 
 [They hurry off. Seni follows slowly. A Page 
 brings the staff of command on a red cushion, and 
 places it on the table near the Duke's chair. They 
 are announced from without, and the wings of the 
 door fly open. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Wallenstein, Duchess 
 wallenstein. 
 You went then through Vienna, were presented 
 To the Queen of Hungary '? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Yes ; and to the Empress too, 
 And by both Majesties were we admitted 
 To kiss the hand. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And how was it received, 
 That I had sent for wife and daughter hithei 
 To the camp, in winter- time ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 I did even that 
 Which you commission'd me to do. I told them, 
 You had determined on our daughter's marriage, 
 And wish'd, ere yet you went into the field, 
 To show the elected husband his betrothed. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And did they guess the choice which I had made ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 They only hoped and wish'd it may have fallen 
 Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble. 
 
204 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT II. 
 
 WALLENSTETN. 
 
 And you — what do you wish, Elizabeth ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Your will, you know, was always mine. 
 
 wallenstein (after a pause). 
 
 ' Well then— 
 And in all else, of what kind and complexion 
 Was your reception at the court ? 
 
 [The Duchess casts her eyes on the ground, and 
 remains silent. 
 Hide nothing from me. How were you received ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 ! my dear lord, all is not what it was. 
 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. 
 
 that they had ! 
 
 1 have been long accustomed to defend you, 
 To heal and pacify distemper'd spirits. 
 
 No ; no one rail'd at you. They wrapp'd them up, 
 Heaven ! in such oppressive, solemn silence ! — 
 Here is no every-day misunderstanding, 
 No transient pique, no cloud that passes over ; 
 
so. n.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 205 
 
 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. 
 
 Silent, silent! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 These suns then are eclipsed for us< Henceforward 
 Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 And were it — were it, my dear lord, in that 
 Which mov'd about the court in buzz and whisper, 
 But in the country let itself be heard 
 Aloud — in that which Father Lamormain 
 In sundry hints and 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (eagerly). 
 
 Lamormain ! what said hs t 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 That you're accused of having daringly 
 O'erstepped the powers entrusted to you, charged 
 
208 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT II 
 
 With traitorous contempt of the Emperor 
 
 And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian, 
 
 He and the Spaniards stand up jour accusers — 
 
 That there's a storm collecting over you 
 
 Of far more fearful menace than that former one 
 
 Which whiiTd you headlong down at Regensburg 
 
 And people talk, said he, of- Ah ! — 
 
 [Stifling extreme emotion 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Proceed ! 
 
 DUCHESS 
 
 I cannot utter it! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 Proceed ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 They talk - 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 Well! 
 
 DUCHESS 
 
 Of a second {catches her voice and hesitate$\ 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Second 
 
 DUCHESS 
 
 More disgraceful 
 Dismission 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 Talk they? 
 [Strides across the Chamber in vehement agitation. 
 
 ! they force, they thrust me 
 With violence, against my own will, onward ! 
 
 duchess (presses near to him in entreaty). 
 ! 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. let no longer 
 Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning 
 With abhorr'd venomous glosses. Stand you up 
 
EG JJJ.J THE PlCCOLOMINi. 207 
 
 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 III. 
 
 Enter the Countess Tekzky, leading in her hand the Princess 
 Thekla, richly adorned with Brilliants. 
 
 Countess, Theexa, Wallenstein, Duchess 
 
 Countess. 
 How, sister ! What, already upon business ? 
 
 [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 re 
 ceives her in his arms, and remains standing foi 
 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. 
 
 Twas 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 returned home, out of Pomerania, 
 Your daughter was already in the convent, 
 Wherein she has remained till now. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The while 
 
 We in the field here gave our cares and toils 
 To make her great, and fight her a free way 
 To the loftiest earthly good ; lo ! mother Nature 
 Within the peaceful silent convent walls 
 
808 THE PICCOICMINI. [ACT a 
 
 Has done her part, and out of her free grace 
 Hath she bestow 'd on the beloved child 
 The god-like ; and now leads her thus adorn'd 
 To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope. 
 
 DUCHESS (to THEKLA). 
 
 Thou wouldst not now have recognised thy father, 
 Wouldst thou, my child ? She counted scarce eight years, 
 When last she saw your face. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 yes, yes, mother ! 
 At the first glance ! — My father has not alter'd. 
 The form that stands before me falsifies 
 No feature of the image that hath lived 
 So long within me ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The voice of my 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 extinguished being 
 In a proud line of princes. 
 I wronged 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, 
 Transmuted to a regal ornament. 
 Around these beauteous brows. 
 
 [He clasps her in his arms as Piccolomini enters 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Enter Max. Piccolomini, and some time after Count Teezky, 
 
 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 
 
SC. IV.] THE PICCOLOMINI, 200 
 
 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 with grateful heart to thank you for. 
 No ! 'twas not so intended, that my business 
 Should be my highest best good fortune ! 
 
 [Tekzky enters, and delivers letters to the Duke, 
 which he breaks open hurriedly. 
 
 COUNTESS (tO MAX.). 
 
 Remunerate your trouble ! For his joy 
 
 He makes you recompense. 'Tis 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. 
 
 * A reviewer in the Literary Gazette observes that, in these lines, Mr. 
 Coleridge has misapprehended the meaning of the word " zug," a team, trans* 
 mating it as " anzug," a suit of clothes. The following version, as a substitute, 
 I propose : — 
 
 When from your stables there is brought to me 
 A team of four most richly harnessed horses. 
 The term, however, is "jagd-zug," which may mean a "hunting equipage," 
 or a " hunting stud ; " although Hilpert gives only " a team of four horses." 
 
 P 
 
210 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT II. 
 
 MAX 
 
 Yes ; 'tis his nature ever to be giving 
 And making happy. 
 
 [He grasps the hand of the Duchess with xtili in 
 creasing warmth. 
 
 How my heart pours out 
 Its all of thanks to him ! ! 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 himself, 
 
 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 Pkincess 
 
 teezky [calling after him). 
 Max., we depend on seeing you at the meeting. 
 
 Scene V, 
 Wallenstein. Count Tekzky 
 wallenstein [in deep thought, to himself^. 
 She has 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 
 Thev think themselves already fairly rid, 
 
SC. V.J THE PIOCOLOMINI. 211 
 
 And as we were deceased, the heir already 
 
 Is entering on possession — Therefore — despatch ! 
 
 [As he turns round he observes Terzky, and givm 
 him a letter. 
 Count Altringer will have himself excused, 
 And Gallas too-— I like not this ! 
 
 TEEZKY 
 
 And if 
 Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away, 
 One following the other. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Altringer 
 £s 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 ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 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 
 
212 THE PICCOLOMINI L ACT 11 
 
 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. 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 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 
 Toward 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. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 You will deal, however, 
 More fairly with the Saxons ? they lose patience 
 While you shift round and make so many curves. 
 Say, to what purpose all these masks ? Your friends 
 Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you. 
 There's Oxenstiern, there's Arnheim — neither knows 
 What he should think of your procrastinations 
 And in the end I prove the liar ; all 
 Passes through me. I've not even your handwriting 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 I never give handwriting ; and thou knowest it 
 
 TERZKY 
 
 But how can it be known that you are in earnest, 
 
 If the act follows not upon the word ? 
 
 You must yourself acknowledge, that in all 
 
 Your intercourses hitherto with the enemy, 
 
 You might have done with safety all you have done. 
 
SC vi^ THE PICCOLOMINI. J^13 
 
 Had you meant nothing further than to gull him 
 For the Emperor's service. 
 
 wallenstein (after a pause, during which he looks 
 narrowly on teezky). 
 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, 
 Hath 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 wiser than thy fellows. 
 
 teezky. 
 So hast thou always played thy game with us. 
 
 [Enter Illo. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Illo, Wallenstein, Teezky. 
 wallenstein. 
 How stand affairs without ? Are they prepared ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 You'll find them in the very mood you wish. 
 They know about the Emperor's requisitions, 
 And are tumultuous. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 How hath Isolani 
 Declared himself ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 He's yours both soul and body, 
 Since you built up again his Faro-bank. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And which way doth Kolatto bend ? Hast thou 
 Made sure of Tiefenbach and Deodati ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 What Piccolomini does, that they do too. 
 
214 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT li 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 You mean, then, I may venture somewhat with them ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 — If you are assured of the Piccolomini. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Not more assured of mine own self. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 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 the like stars — in short, 
 
 [With an air of mystery 
 To this belongs its own peculiar 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. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Of course. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Their words of honour they must give, their oaths, 
 Give them in writing to me, promising 
 Devotion to my service unconditional. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Why not? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Dev-^ion unconditional? 
 The exception, of their duties towards Austria 
 They'll always place among the premises. 
 With this reserve 
 
SO VT.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 215 
 
 w allen stein (shaking his head.) 
 All unconditional 
 No premises, no reserves. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 A thought has struck rue. 
 Does not Count Terzky give us a set banquet 
 This evening? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Yes ; and all the Generals 
 Have been invited. 
 
 ILLO (tO WALLENSTEIN). 
 
 Say, will you here fully 
 Commission me to use my own discretion ? 
 I'll gain for you the Generals' word of honour, 
 Even as you wish. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Gain me their signatures ! 
 How you come by them, that is your concern. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 And if I bring it to you, black on white, 
 That all the leaders who are present here 
 Give themselves up to you, without condition ; 
 Say, will you then — then will you show yourself 
 In earnest, and with some decisive action 
 Try your fortune. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Get but the signatures ! 
 
 Q ILLO. 
 
 Think what thou dost, thou canst not execute 
 The Emperor's orders, nor reduce thine armvj 
 Nor send the regiments to the Spaniards' aid, 
 Unless thou wouldst resign thy power for ever. 
 Think on the other hand — thou canst not spurn 
 The Emperor's high commands and solemn orders, 
 Nor longer temporize, nor seek evasion, 
 "Wouldst thou avoid a rupture with the court. 
 Resolve then ! Wilt thou now by one bold ant 
 Anticipate their ends, or doubting still, 
 Await the extremity? 
 
210 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT IT. 
 
 WALLENSTE1N. 
 
 There's time before 
 The extremity arrives. ] 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Seize, seize the hour, 
 Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment 
 In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty. 
 To make a great decision possible, 
 ! many things, all transient and all rapid, 
 Must meet at once : and, hai^y, they thus met 
 May by that confluence be enforced to pause 
 Time long enough for wisdom, though too short, 
 Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple ! 
 This is that moment. See, our army chieftains, 
 Our best, our noblest, are assembled round you 
 Their king like leader ! On your nod they wait. 
 The single threads, which here your prosperous fortune 
 Hath woven together in one potent web 
 Instinct with destiny, let them not 
 Unravel of themselves. If you permit 
 These chiefs to separate, so unanimous 
 Bring you them not a second time together. 
 'Tis the high tide that heaves the stranded ship, 
 And every individual's spirit waxes 
 In the great stream of multitudes. Behold 
 They are still here, here still ! But soon the war 
 Bursts them once more asunder, and in small 
 Particular anxieties and Interests 
 Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy 
 Of each man with the whole. He, who to-day 
 Forgets himself, forced onward with the stream. 
 Will become sober, seeing but himself. 
 Feel only his own weakness, and with speed 
 Will face about, and march on in the old 
 High road of duty, the old broad-trodden road, 
 And seek but to make shelter in good plight. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 The time is not yet come. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 So you say always. 
 But when will it be time ? 
 
SC. VI.] THE PIGCOLOMINI. 217 
 
 WALLEN STEIN 
 
 When I shall say it. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 You'll wait upon the stars, and on their hours, 
 Till the earthly hour escapes you. 0, believe me, 
 In your own bosom are your destiny's stars. 
 Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution, 
 This is your Venus ! and the sole malignant, 
 The only one that harmeth you, is Doubt. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Thou speakest as thou understands. How oft 
 And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter, 
 That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth. 
 Thy visual power subdues no mysteries ; 
 Mole-eyed, thou mayest but burrow in the earth, 
 Blind as that sub terrestrial, who with wan 
 Lead-colour'd shine lighted thee into life. 
 The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest see. 
 With serviceable cunning knit together 
 The nearest with the nearest ; and therein 
 I trust thee and believe thee ! but whate'er 
 Full of mysterious import Nature weaves, 
 And fashions in the depths — the spirit's ladder, 
 That from this gross and visible world of dust 
 Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds, 
 Builds itself up ; on which the unseen powers 
 Move up and down on heavenly ministries — 
 The circles in the circles, that approach 
 The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit — 
 These see the glance alone, the unsealed eye, 
 Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre. 
 
 [He walks across the Chamber, then returns, and 
 standing still, proceeds. 
 The heavenly constellations make not merely 
 The day and nights, summer and spring, not merely 
 Signify to the husbandman the seasons 
 Of sowing and of harvest. Human action, 
 That is the seed too of contingencies, 
 Strew'd on the dark land of futurity 
 In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate. 
 Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time, 
 
218 THE P1CC0L0MINI. [ACT II. 
 
 To watch the stars, select their proper hours, 
 And trace with searching eye tne heavenly houses, 
 Whether the enemy of growth and thriving 
 Hide himself not, malignant, m his corner. 
 Therefore permit me my own time Meanwhile 
 Do you your part. As yet I cannot say 
 What I shall do — only, give way I will not 
 Depose me too they shall not. On these points 
 You may rely. 
 
 page (entering). 
 My Lords, the Generals. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Let them come in 
 
 [ TERZKY. 
 
 Shall all the chiefs be present ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Twere needless. Both the Piccolomini 
 Maradas, Butler, Forgcetsch, Deodati, 
 KararTa, Tsolani — these may come. 
 
 [Terzky goes out with the Page. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN \tO ILLO). 
 
 Hast thou ta'en heed that Questenberg was watched ? 
 Had he no means of secret intercourse ? 
 
 ILLO 
 
 I have watched him closely — and he spoke with norje 
 But with Octavio. ] 
 
 Scene VII. 
 Wallenstein, Terzky, Illo. — To them enter Questen- 
 berg, Octavio, and Max. Piccolomini, Butler, lso 
 lani, Maradas, and three other Generals. W alien- 
 stein motions Questenberg, who in consequence takes 
 the chair directly opposite to him; the others follow, 
 arranging themselves according to their rank There 
 reigns a momentary silence. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I have understood, 
 Tis true, the sum and import, Questenberg, 
 Of your instructions. I have weighed them well, 
 And formed my final, absolute resolve : 
 
30. VII ] THE PICCOLOMINI. 219 
 
 Yet it seems fitting, that the Generals 
 Should hear the will of the Emperor from your mouth 
 May't please you then to open your commission 
 Before these noble Chieftains ? 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 I am ready 
 To obey you ; but will first entreat your Highness, 
 And all these noble Chieftains, to consider, 
 The Imperial dignity and sovereign right 
 Speaks from my mouth, and not my own presumption, 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 We excuse all preface. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 When his Majesty 
 The Emperor to his courageous armies 
 Presented in the person of Duke Friedland 
 A most experienced and renown'd commander, 
 He did it in glad hope and confidence 
 To give thereby to the fortune of the war 
 A rapid and auspicious change. The onset 
 Was favourable to his royal wishes. 
 Bohemia was delivered from the Saxons, 
 The Swede's career of conquest check'd ! These lands 
 Began to draw breath freely, as Duke Friedland 
 From all the streams of Germany forced hither 
 The scattered armies of the enemy ; 
 Hither invoked as round one magic circle 
 The Rhinegrave, Bernhard, Banner, Oxenstiern, 
 Yea, and that never-conquerd King himself; 
 Here finally, before the eye of Nurnberg, 
 The fearful game of battle to decide. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 To the point, so please you. 
 
 Q QUESTENBERG. 
 
 A new spirit 
 At once proclaimed to us the new commander. 
 No longer strove blind rage with rage more blind ; 
 But in th' enlighten'd field of skill was shown 
 How fortitude can triumph over boldness, 
 And scientific art outweary courage. 
 
223 THE PICC0L0MIN1. [ACT II 
 
 In vain they tempt him to the fight, he only 
 Entrenches him still deeper in his hold, 
 As if to build an everlasting fortress. 
 At length grown desperate, now, the king resolves 
 To storm the camp and lead his wasted legions, 
 Who daily fall by famine and by plague, 
 To quicker deaths than hunger and disease. 
 Through lines of barricades behind whose fence 
 Death lurks within a thousand mouths of fire, 
 He yet unconquer'd strives to storm his way. 
 There was attack, and there resistance, such 
 As mortal eye had never seen before : 
 Kepulsed at last the king withdrew his troops 
 From this so murd'rous field, and not a foot 
 Of ground was gain'd by all that fearful slaughter. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Pray spare us these recitals from gazettes, 
 Which we ourselves beheld with deepest horror. ] 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 In Nurnberg's camp the Swedish monarch left 
 
 His fame — in Lutzen's plains his life. But who 
 
 Stood not astounded, when victorious Friedland 
 
 After this day of triumph, this proud day, 
 
 March'd toward Bohemia with the speed of flight, 
 
 And vanish'd from the theatre of war ? 
 
 While the young Weimar hero * forced his way 
 
 Into Franconia, to the Danube, like 
 
 Some delving winter-stream, which, where it rushes, 
 
 Makes its own channel ; with such sudden speed 
 
 He marched, and now at once 'fore Begensburg 
 
 Stood to the affright of all good Catholic Christians. 
 
 Then did Bavaria's well-deserving Prince 
 
 Entreat swift aidance in his extreme need ; 
 
 The Emperor sends seven horsemen to Duke FriedlancL 
 
 Seven horsemen couriers sends he with the entreaty : 
 
 He superadds his own, and supplicates 
 
 Where as the sovereign lord he can command. 
 
 In vain his supplication ! At this moment 
 
 The Duke hears only his old hate and grudge, 
 
 * Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who succeeded Gfustavus in command 
 
SC. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 221 
 
 Barters the general good to gratify 
 Private revenge — and so falls Kegensburg* 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Max., to what period of the war alludes he ? 
 My recollection fails me here. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 He means 
 When we were in Silesia. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 Ay ! is it so ! 
 But what had we to do there ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 To beat out 
 The Swedes and Saxons from the province. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 True; 
 In that description which the Minister gave, 
 [ seemed to have forgotten the whole war. 
 
 [To QUESTENBERG 
 
 Well, but proceed a little. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 £ We hoped upon the Oder to regain 
 
 What on the Danube shamefully was lost. 
 
 We looked for deeds of all-astounding grandeur 
 
 Upon a theatre of war, on which 
 
 A Friedland led in person to the field, 
 
 And the famed rival of the great Gustavus 
 
 Had but a Thurn and Arnheim to oppose him ! 
 
 Yet the encounter of their mighty hosts 
 
 Served but to feast and entertain each other. 
 
 Our country groaned beneath the woes of war, 
 
 f et nought but peace prevail'd in Friedland's camp ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Full many a bloody strife is fought in vain, 
 Because its youthful general needs a vict'ry. 
 But 'tis the privilege of th' old commander 
 To spare the cost of fighting useless battles 
 Merely to show that he knows how to conquer. 
 It would have little help'd my fame to boast 
 Of conquest o'er an Arnheim ; but far more 
 
£22 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT LL. 
 
 Would my forbearance have avail'd my country, 
 Had I succeeded to dissolve th alliance 
 Existing 'twixt the Saxon and the Swede. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG. 
 
 But you did not succeed, and so commenced 
 
 The fearful strife anew. And here at length,] 
 
 Beside the river Oder did the Duke 
 
 Assert his ancient fame. Upon the fields 
 
 Of Steinau did the Swedes lay down their arms, 
 
 Subdued without a blow. And here, with others, 
 
 The righteousness of Heaven to his avenger 
 
 Deliver'd that long-practised stirrer-up 
 
 Of insurrection, that curse-laden torch 
 
 And kindler of this war, Matthias Thurn 
 
 But he had fallen into magnanimous hands ; 
 
 Instead of punishment he found reward, 
 
 And with rich presents did the Duke dismiss 
 
 The arch-foe of his Emperor. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (laughs). 
 
 I know, 
 I know you had already in Vienna 
 Your windows and your balconies forestall 'd 
 To see hkn on the executioner's cart. 
 I might have lost the battle, lost it too 
 With, infamy, and still retain'd your graces — 
 But, to have cheated them of a spectacle, 
 Oh ! that the good folks of Vienna never, 
 No, never can forgive me ! 
 
 QUESTENBEKG. 
 
 So Silesia 
 Was freed, and all things loudly called the Duka 
 Into Bavaria, now press'd hard on all sides. 
 And he did put his troops in motion : slowly, 
 Quite at his ease, and by the longest road 
 He traverses Bohemia ; but ere ever 
 He hath once seen the enemy, faces round, 
 Breaks up the march, and takes to winter quarters. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The troops were pitiably destitute 
 Of every necessary, every comfort, 
 
SC. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 228 
 
 The winter came. What thinks his Majesty 
 His troops are made of ? Ar'n't we men ? subjected 
 Like other men to wet, and cold, and all 
 The circumstances of necessity? 
 
 miserable lot of the poor soldier ! 
 Wherever he comes in, all flee before him, 
 And when he goes away, the general curse 
 Follows him on his route. All must be seized. 
 Nothing is given him. And compell'd to seize 
 From every man, he's every man's abhorrence. 
 Behold, here stand my Generals. Karaffa 
 Count Deodati ! Butler ! Tell this man 
 
 How long the soldier's pay is in arrears. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Already a full year. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And 'tis the hire 
 That constitutes the hireling's name and duties, 
 The soldier's pay is the soldier's covena™* *. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Ah ! this is a far other tone from that, 
 
 In which the Duke spoke eight, nine years ago. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Yes ! 'tis my fault, I know it : I myself 
 Have spoilt the Emperor by indulging him. 
 Nine years ago, during the Danish war, 
 
 1 raised him up a force, a mighty force, 
 Forty or fifty thousand men, that cost him 
 Of his own purse no doit. Through Saxony 
 The fury goddess of the war march 'd on, 
 E'en to the surf-rocks of the Baltic, bearing 
 The terrors of his name. That was a time ! 
 
 In the whole Imperial realm no name like mine 
 
 * The original is not translatable into English : 
 
 Und sein Sold 
 
 Mnss dem Soldaten werden, darnach heisst er. 
 It might perhaps have been thus rendered : 
 
 And that for which he sold his services, 
 The soldier must receive- 
 but a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun. 
 
224 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT II 
 
 Honour 'd with festival and celebration— 
 And Albrecht Wallenstein, it was the title 
 Of the third jewel in his crown ! 
 But at the Diet, when the Princes met 
 At Begensburg, there, there the whole broke out, 
 There 'twas laid open, there it was made known, 
 Out of what money-bag I had paid the host. 
 And what were now my thanks, what had I now, 
 That I, a faithful servant of the Sovereign, 
 Had loaded on myself the people's curses, 
 And let the Princes of the empire pay 
 The expenses of this war, that aggrandizes 
 The Emperor alone. What thanks had 1 ! 
 What ? I was offer 'd up to their complaints 
 Dismiss'd, degraded ! 
 
 QUESTENBEKG. 
 
 But your Highness knowe 
 What little freedom he possess'd of action 
 In that disastrous diet. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Death and hell ! 
 / had that which could have procured him freedom. 
 No ! since 'twas proved so inauspicious to me 
 To serve the Emperor at the empire s cost, 
 I have been taught far other trains of thinking 
 Of the empire, and the diet of the empire. 
 From the Emperor, doubtless, I received this staff 
 But now I hold it as the empire's general — 
 For the common weal, the universal interest, 
 And no more for that one man's aggrandizement ! 
 But to the point. What is it that's desired of me ? 
 
 QUESTENBEKG-. 
 
 First, his Imperial Majesty hath will'd 
 That without pretexts of delay the army 
 Evacuate Bohemia. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 In this season ? 
 And to what quarter wills the Emperor 
 That we direct our course ? 
 
&3. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINl. 2~& 
 
 QUESTENBERG-. 
 
 To the enemy. 
 His Majesty resolves, that Kegensburg 
 Be purified from the enemy ere Easter, 
 That Lutheranism may be no longer preach M 
 In that cathedral, nor heretical 
 Defilement desecrate the celebration 
 Of that pure festival. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 My generals, 
 Can thi3 be realized ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 'Tis not possible. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 It can't be realized. 
 
 QUESTENBERG 
 
 The Emperor 
 Already hath commanded colonel Suys 
 To advance towards Bavaria. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What did Suys? 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 That which his duty prompted. He advanced 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What ! he advanced ? And I, his general, 
 Had given him orders, peremptory orders, 
 Not to desert his station ! Stands it thus 
 With my authority ? Is this the obedience 
 Due to my office, which being thrown aside, 
 No war can be conducted ? Chieftains, speak . 
 You be the judges, generals ! What deserves 
 That officer who, of his oath neglectful, 
 Is guilty of contempt of orders ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Death. 
 wallenstein (raising his voice, as all but illo had remained 
 silent and seemingly scrupulous). 
 Count Piccolomini ! what has he deserved ? 
 
 a 
 
£26 THE PICCOLOMINI. f ACT II 
 
 max. piccolomini (after a long pause). 
 According to the letter of the law, 
 Death. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Death. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Death, by the laws of war. 
 [Questenberg rises from his seat, Wallenste in /o doit's; 
 all the rest rise. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 To this the law condemns him, and not I. 
 And if I show him favour, 'twill arise 
 From the reverence that I owe my Emperor. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 If so, I can say nothing further — here ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 T accepted the command but on conditions : 
 
 And this the first, that to the diminution 
 
 Of my authority no human being, 
 
 Not even the Emperor's self, should be entitled 
 
 To do aught, or to say aught, with the army 
 
 If I stand warranter of the event, 
 
 Placing my honour and my head in pledge, 
 
 Needs must I have full mastery in all 
 
 The means thereto. What render 'd this Gustavus 
 
 Resistless, and unconquer'd upon earth ? 
 
 This — that he was the monarch in his army ! 
 
 A monarch, one who is indeed a monarch, 
 
 Was never yet subdued bat by his equal. 
 
 But to the point ! Th e best is yet to come 
 
 Attend now, generals \ 
 
 q T JESTENBERG. 
 
 The Prince Cardinal 
 Begins his route at the approach of spring 
 From the Milanese ; and leads a Spanish army 
 Through Germany into the Netherlands. 
 That he may march secure and unimpeded, 
 'Tis the Emperor V mil you grant him a detachment 
 Of eight horse-regiments from the army here. 
 
SO. V1I.1 THE PICCOLOMINI. 227 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Yes, yes ! T understand ! — Eight regiments ! Well, 
 Eight well concerted, father Lamormain ! 
 Eight thousand horse ! Yes, yes ! 'tis as it should be * 
 I see it coming. 
 
 QUESTENBEKGL 
 
 There is nothing coming. 
 411 stands in front : the counsel of state-prudence, 
 The dictate of necessity ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What then? 
 What, my Lord Envoy ? May I not be suffer 'd 
 To understand, that folks are tired of seeing 
 The sword's hilt in my grasp ; and that your court 
 Snatch eagerly at this pretence, and use 
 The Spanish title, to drain off my forces, 
 To lead into the empire a new army 
 Unsubjected to my control ? To throw me 
 Plumply aside, — I am still too powerful for you 
 To venture that. My stipulation runs, 
 That all the Imperial forces shall obey me 
 Where'er the German is the native language. 
 Of Spanish troops and of Prince Cardinals 
 That take their route as visitors, through the empire, 
 There stands no syllable in my stipulation. 
 No syllable ! And so the politic court 
 Steals in on tiptoe, and creeps round behind it ; 
 First makes me weaker, then to be dispensed with, 
 Till it dares strike at length a bolder blow 
 And make short work with me. 
 What need of all these crooked ways, Lord Envoy ? 
 Straight-forward, man ! his compact with me pinches 
 The Emperor. He would that I moved off ! — 
 Well ! — I vvil± gratiiy mm ! 
 
 [Here there commences an agitation among the General 
 which increases continually. 
 It grieves me for my noble officers' sakes ! 
 I see not yet, by what means they will come at 
 The moneys thay have advanced, or how obtain 
 The recompense their services demand. 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 THE PICCOLOMlflL \AJJE fz. 
 
 Still a new leader brings new claimants forward, 
 
 And prior merit superannuates quickly. 
 
 There serve here many foreigners in the army, 
 
 And were th.e man in all else brave and gallant* 
 
 I was not wont to make nice scrutiny 
 
 After his pedigree or catechism. 
 
 This will be otherwise, i' the time to come. 
 
 Well — me no longer it concerns. [He seats himself 
 
 MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Forbid it, Heaven, that it should come to this ! 
 Our troops will swell in dreadful fermentation — 
 The Emperor is abused — it cannot be. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 It cannot be ; all goes to instant wreck. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Thou hast said truly, faithful Isolani ! 
 What we with toil and foresight have built up, 
 Will go to wreck — all go to instant wreck. 
 What then ? Another chieftain is soon found, 
 Another army likewise (who dares doubt it ?) 
 Will flock from all sides to the Emperor, 
 At the first beat of his recruiting drum. 
 
 [During this speech, Isolaki, Teezky, Illo, and Maea- 
 das talk confusedly with great agitation, 
 
 Kax. piccolomixi (busily and passionately going from one to 
 
 another, and soothing them). 
 
 Hear, my commander ! Hear me, generals ! 
 Let me conjure you, Duke ! Determine nothing, 
 Till we have met and represented to you 
 Our joint remonstrances. — Nay, calmer! Friends! 
 I hope all may yet be set right again. 
 
 TEEZKY- 
 
 Away ! let us away ! in the antecnaraber 
 
 Find we the others. [They 
 
 BUTLER- ifO QUESTENBEEG). 
 
 If good counsel gain 
 Due audience from your wisdom, my Lord Envoy * 
 You will be cautious how you show yourself. 
 
:0 'vTLI.J THE PICCOLOMINI. £29 
 
 In public for some hours to come — or hardly 
 Will that gold key protect you from mal-treatment. 
 
 [Commotions heard from ivithout 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 A. salutary counsel Thou, Octavio ! 
 
 Wilt answer for the safety of our guest. 
 Farewell, Von Questenberg ! 
 
 [Questenberg is about to speak. 
 Nay, not a word. 
 Not one word more of that detested subject ! 
 You have perform'd your duty — We know how 
 To separate the office from the man. 
 
 [As Questenbeeg is going off with Octavio, Goetz, 
 Tiefenbach, Kolatto, press in ; several other Generals 
 following them, 
 
 goetz. 
 Where's he who means to rob us of our general ? 
 
 tiefenbach (at the same time). 
 What are we forced to hear ? That thou wilt leave us ? 
 
 kolatto [at the same time). 
 We will live with thee, we will die with thee. 
 
 wallenstein (with stateliness, and pointing to illo). 
 There ! the Field-Marshal knows our will. [Exit. 
 
 [While all are going off the stage, the curtain drops. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 A small Chamber. 
 Illo and Teezkt. 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 Now for this evening's business ! How intend you 
 To manage with the generals at the banquet ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Attend ! We frame a formal declaration, 
 Wherein we to the Duke consign ourselves 
 Collectively, to be and to remain 
 His both with life and limb, and not to spare 
 The last drop of our blood for him, provided 
 
930 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT IH. 
 
 So doing we infringe no oath or duty 
 
 We may be under to the Emperor. — Mark ! 
 
 This reservation we expressly make 
 
 In a particular clause, and save the conscience. 
 
 Now hear ! this formula so framed and worded 
 
 Will he presented to them for perusal 
 
 Before the banquet. No one will find in it 
 
 Cause of offence or scruple. Hear now further 1 
 
 After the feast, when now the vap'ring wine 
 
 Opens the heart, and shuts the eyes, we let 
 
 A counterfeited paper, in the which 
 
 This one particular clause has been left out, 
 
 Go round for signatures. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 How ! think you then 
 That they'll believe themselves bound by an oath, 
 Which we have trick'd them into by a juggle ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 We shall have caught and caged them ! Let them then 
 Beat their wings bare against the wires, and rave 
 Loud as they may against our treachery ; 
 At court their signatures will be believed 
 Far more than their most holy affirmations. 
 Traitors they are, and must be ; therefore wisely 
 Will make a virtue of necessity. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Well, well, it shall content me ; let but something 
 Be done, let only some decisive blow 
 Set us in motion. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Besides, 'tis of subordinate importance 
 How, or how far, we may thereby propel 
 The generals. 'Tis enough that we persuade 
 * The Duke that they are his. — Let him but act 
 In his determined mood, as if he had them, 
 And he will have them. Where he plunges in, 
 He makes a whirlpool, and all stream down to it, 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 His policy is such a labyrinth, 
 
 That many a time when I have thought myself 
 
SO. I.] THE PICCOJ.OM1NI. 231 
 
 Close at his side, he's gone at once, and left me 
 Ignorant of the ground where I was standing. 
 He lends the enemy his ear, permits me 
 To write to them, to Arnheim ; to Sesina 
 Himself comes forward blank and undisguised ; 
 Talks with us by the hour about his plans. 
 And when I think I have him — off at once — 
 He has slipp'd from me, and appears as if 
 He had no scheme, but to retain his place. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 He give up his old plans ! I'll tell you, friend ! 
 His soul is occupied with nothing else, 
 Even in his sleep — They are his thoughts, his dreams, 
 That day by day he questions for this purpose 
 The motions of the planets 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 Ay ! you know 
 This night, that is now coming, he with Seni 
 Shuts himself up in the astrological tower 
 To make joint observations — for I hear 
 It is to be a night of weight and crisis ; 
 And something great, and of long expectation, 
 Takes place in heav'n. 
 
 £illo. 
 that it might take place 
 On earth ! The generals are full of zeal, 
 And would with ease be led to any thing, 
 Kather than lose their chief. Observe, too, that 
 We have at last a fair excuse before us, 
 To form a close alliance 'gainst the court, 
 Yet innocent its title, bearing simply 
 That we support him only in command. 
 But in the ardour of pursuit thou know'st 
 Men soon forget the goal from which they started. 
 The object I've in view is that the Prince 
 Shall either find them, or believe them ready 
 For every hazard. Opportunity 
 Will tempt him on. Be the great step once taken, 
 Which at Vienna's Court can ne'er be pardon'd, 
 The force of circumstance will lead him onward 
 The farther still and farther. Tis the choice 
 
£32 THE PICCOLOMINi. [ACT III. 
 
 That makes him undecisive ; — come but need . 
 And all his powers and wisdom will come with it. 
 
 TERZKT. 
 
 Tis this alone the enemy awaits 
 
 To change their chief and join their force with ours. ] 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Come ! be we bold and make despatch. The work 
 
 In this next day or two must thrive and grow 
 
 More than it has for years. And let but only 
 
 Things first turn up auspicious here below — 
 
 Mark what I say — the right stars, too, will show themselves. 
 
 Come to the generals. All is in the glow, 
 
 And must be beaten while 'tis malleable. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Do you go thither, Illo. I must stay 
 And wait here for the Countess Terzky. Know 
 That we, too, are not idle. Break one string, 
 A second is in readiness 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Yes ! yes ! 
 I saw your lady smile with such sly meaning. 
 What's in the wind ? 
 
 TERZKT. 
 
 A secret. Hush ! she comes. 
 
 [Exit Illo, 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 (The Countess steps out from a Closet.) 
 
 Count and Countess Terzky. 
 
 terzky. 
 
 Well — is she coming ? I can keep him back 
 
 No longer. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 She will be here instantly, 
 Y02 only send him. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 I am not quite certain* 
 I must confess it, Countess, whether or not 
 We are earning the Duke's thanks hereby. You know, 
 No ray has broke out from him on this point. 
 You have o'erruled me, and yourself know best 
 How far you dare proceed. 
 
SC. II. THE PICC0L0MIN1 
 
 233 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 I take it on me. 
 [Talking to herself ivhile she is advancing 
 Here's no need of full powers and commissions — 
 My cloudy Duke. ! we understand each other — 
 And without words. What, could I not unriddle, 
 Wherefore the daughter should he sent for hither, 
 Why first he, and no other, should be chosen 
 To fetch her hither ? This sham of betrothing her 
 To a bridegroom *, whom no one knows — No ! no !— 
 This may blind others ! I see through thee, Brother ! 
 But it beseems thee not, to draw a card 
 At such a game. Not yet ! — It all remains 
 
 Mutely delivered up to my finessing 
 
 Well — thou shalt not have been deceived, Duke Friedland* 
 
 In her who is thy sister. 
 
 seevant. (enters). 
 
 The Commanders ! [Exit. 
 
 tekzkt (to the countess). 
 Take care you heat his fancy and affections — 
 Possess him with a reverie, and send him, 
 Absent and dreaming to the banquet ; that 
 He may not boggle at the signature. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Take you care of your guests ! — Go, send him hither. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 All rests upon his undersigning. 
 
 countess (interrupting him). 
 
 Go to your guests ! Go 
 
 illo (comes back). 
 
 Where art staying, Terzky ? 
 The house is full, and all expecting you. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Instantly ! instantly ! [To the Countess, 
 
 And let him not 
 Stay here too long. It might awake suspicion 
 In the old man 
 
 * In Germany, after honourable addresses have been paid and formally 
 accepted, the lovers are called Bride and Bridegroom, even though the mas> 
 *iap:e should not take place till years afterwards. 
 
284, THE PICC0L0MINI. [ACT m 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 A truce with, your precautions ! 
 
 [Exeunt Teezkt and Illo. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Countess, Max. Picgdlom:ni. 
 
 max (joeeping in on the stage slily). 
 Aunt Terzky ! may I venture ? 
 
 [Advances to the middle of the stage, and looks around 
 him with uneasiness. 
 
 She's not here ! 
 Where \s she ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Look but somewhat narrowly 
 In yonder corner, lest perhaps she lie 
 Conceal'd behind that screen. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 There lie her gloves ! 
 [Snatches at them, hut the Countess takes them herself. 
 You unkind Lady ! You refuse me this — 
 You make it an amusement to torment me. 
 
 countess. 
 And this the thanks you give me for my trouble ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 O, if you felt the oppression at my heart ! 
 Since we've been here, so to constrain myself — 
 With such poor stealth to hazard words and glances — 
 These, these are not my habits ! 
 
 countess. 
 
 You have still 
 Many new habits to acquire, young friend ! 
 But on this proof of your obedient temper 
 I must continue to insist ; and only 
 On this condition can I play the agent 
 For your concerns. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 But wherefore comes she not ? 
 Where is she ? 
 
so hl] the piccolomini. 235 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 Into my hands you must place it 
 Whole and entire. Whom could you find, indeed, 
 More zealously affected to your interest ? 
 No soul on earth must know it — not your father 
 He must not, above all. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Alas ! what danger ? 
 Here is no face on which I might concentre 
 All the enraptured soul stirs up within me. 
 
 Lady ! tell me, is all changed around me ? 
 Or is it only I ? 
 
 I find myself, 
 As among strangers ! Not a trace is left 
 Of all my former wishes, former joys. 
 Where has it vanish'd to ? There was a time 
 When even, methought, with such a world as this, 
 
 1 was not discontented. Now how flat ! 
 
 How stale ! No life, no bloom, no flavour in it! 
 
 My comrades are intolerable to me. 
 
 My father — Even to him I can say nothing. 
 
 My arms, my military duties — ! 
 
 They are such wearying toys ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 But, gentle friend ! 
 I must entreat it of your condescension, 
 You would be pleased to sink your eye, and favour 
 With one short glance or two this poor stale world, 
 Where even now much, and of much moment, 
 Is on the eve of its completion. 
 
 "MAX. 
 
 Something, 
 l can't but know is going forward round me. 
 I see it gathering, crowding, driving on, 
 In wild uncustomary movements. Well, 
 In due time, doubtless, it will reach even me 
 Where think you I have been, dear Lady? Nay 
 No raillery. The turmoil of the camp, 
 The spring-tide of acquaintance rolling in, 
 The pointless jest, the empty conversation, 
 
£36 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT Til 
 
 Oppress'd and stifled me. I gasp'd for air — 
 
 I could not breathe — I was constraint to fly, 
 
 To seek a silence out for my full heart ; 
 
 And a pure spot wherein to feel my happiness. 
 
 No smiling, Countess ! In the church was I. 
 
 There is a cloister here " To the heaven's gate," * 
 
 Thither I went, there found myself alone. 
 
 Over the altar hung a holy mother : 
 
 A wretched painting 'twas, yet 'twas the friend 
 
 That I was seeking in this moment. Ah, 
 
 How oft have I beheld that glorious form 
 
 In splendour, 'mid ecstatic worshippers ; 
 
 Yet, still it moved me not ! and now at once 
 
 Was my devotion cloudless as my love. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Enjoy your fortune and felicity ! 
 
 Forget the world around you. Meantime, friendship 
 
 Shall keep strict vigils for you, anxious, active. 
 
 Only be manageable when that friendship 
 
 Points you the road to full accomplishment. 
 
 £max. 
 But where abides she then ? Oh golden time 
 Of travel, when each morning sun united 
 And but the coming night divided us ; 
 Then ran no sand, then struck no hour for us, 
 And Time, in our excess of happiness, 
 Seemed on its course eternal to stand still. 
 Oh, he hath fallen from out his heaven of bliss 
 Who can descend to count the changing hours, 
 No clock strikes ever for the happy !] 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 How long is it since you declared your passion ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 This morning did I hazard the first word. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 This morning the first time in twenty days ? 
 
 * I am doubtful whether this be the dedication of the cloister, or the name 
 of one of the city gates, near which it stood. I have translated it in the 
 former sense ; but fearful of having made some blunder I add the original. — 
 Es ist ein Kloster hier zur Himmelsjpforte. 
 
SC III.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 287 
 
 MAX. 
 
 'Twas at that hunting-castle, betwixt here 
 
 And Nepomuck, where you had join 'd us, and — 
 
 That was the last relay of the whole journey ; 
 
 In a balcony we were standing mute, 
 
 And gazing out upon the dreary field : 
 
 Before us the dragoons were riding onward, 
 
 The safe-guard which the Duke had sent us — heavy 
 
 The inquietude of parting lay upon me, 
 
 And trembling ventured I at length these words : 
 
 This all reminds me, noble maiden, that 
 
 To-day I must take leave of my good fortune. 
 
 A few hours more, and you will find a father, 
 
 Will see yourself surrounded by new friends, 
 
 And I henceforth shall be but as a stranger, 
 
 Lost in the many—" Speak with my aunt Terzky !" 
 
 With hurrying voice she interrupted me. 
 
 She falter'd. I beheld a glowing red 
 
 Possess her beautiful cheeks, and from the ground 
 
 Raised slowly up her eye met mine — no longer 
 
 Did I control myself. 
 
 [The Princess Thekla appears at the door, and re- 
 mains standing, observed by the Countess, bat not by 
 Piccolomini. 
 
 With instant boldness 
 I caught her in my arms, my lips touch'd hers ; 
 There was a rustling in the room close by ; 
 It parted us — 'Twas you. What since has happen'd, 
 You know. 
 countess (after a pause, with a stolen glance at thekl-a), 
 
 And is it your excess of modesty ; 
 Or are you so incurious, that you do not 
 Ask me too of my secret ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Of your secret? 
 countess. 
 Why, yes ! When in the instant after you 
 I stepp'd into the room, and found my niece there^ 
 What she in this first moment of the heart 
 Ta'en with surprise — 
 
 max. (with eagernessj, 
 Well? 
 
288 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Tbbela. (hurries forward), Countess, Max. Piccolomini. 
 
 THEKLA (to the COUNTESS). 
 
 Spare yourself the trouble : 
 That hears he better from myself. 
 
 max. (stepping backward). 
 
 My Princess ! 
 What have you let her hear me say, aunt Terzky ? 
 
 THEKLA (tO the COUNTESS). 
 
 Has he been here long ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Yes ; and soon must go. 
 Where have you stay'd so long ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Alas ! my mother 
 Wept so again ! and I— I see her suffer, 
 Yet cannot keep myself from being happy. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Now once again I have courage to look on you. 
 To-day at noon I could not. 
 The dazzle of the jewels that play'd round you 
 Hid the beloved from me. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Then you saw me 
 With your eye only — and not with your heart? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 This morning, when I found you in the circle 
 
 Of all your kindred, in your father's arms, 
 
 Beheld myself an alien in this circle, 
 
 ! what an impulse felt I in that moment 
 
 To fall upon his neck, to call him father ! 
 
 But his stern eye o'erpower'd the swelling passion, 
 
 It dared not but be silent. And those brilliants. 
 
 That like a crown of stars en wreathed your brows, 
 
 They scared me too ! wherefore, wherefore should he 
 
 At the first meeting spread as 'twere the ban 
 
 Of excommunication round you, — wherefore 
 
 Dress up the angel as for sacrifice. 
 
SO- IV i THE PICCOLOMINI. 239 
 
 And cast upon the light and joyous heart 
 The mournful burthen of his station? Fitly 
 May love dare woo for love ; but such a splendour 
 Might none but monarchs venture to approach. 
 
 THEKLA 
 
 Hush ! not a word more of this mummery ; 
 You see how soon the burthen is thrown off. 
 
 [To the Countess. 
 He is not in spirits. Wherefore is he not? 
 Tis you, aunt, that have made him all so gloomy ! 
 He had quite another nature on the journey — 
 So calm, so bright, so joyous eloquent. [To Max. 
 
 It was my wish to see you always so, 
 And never otherwise ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 You find yourself 
 In your great father's arms, beloved lady ! 
 All in a new world, which does homage to you, 
 And which, were't only by its novelty 
 Delights your eye. 
 
 TH E KLA.. 
 
 Yes ; I confess to you 
 That many things delight me here : this camp, 
 This motley stage of warriors, which renews 
 So manifold the image of my fancy, 
 And binds to life, binds to reality, 
 What hitherto had but been present to me 
 As a sweet dream ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Alas ! not so to me. 
 It makes a dream of my reality. 
 Upon some island in the ethereal heights 
 I've lived for these last days. This mass of incu 
 Forces me down to earth. It is a bridge 
 That, reconducting to my former life, 
 Divides me and my heaven. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 The game of life 
 Looks cheerful, when one carries in one's heart 
 
240 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III 
 
 The unalienable treasure. 'Tis a game, 
 Which having once review'd, I turn more joyous 
 Back to my deeper and appropriate bliss. 
 
 [Breaking off, and in a sportive tone. 
 In this short time that I've been present here. 
 What new unheard-of things have I not seen i 
 And yet they all must give place to the wonder 
 Which this mysterious castle guards. 
 
 countess (recollecting). 
 
 And what 
 Can this be then ? Methought I was acquainted 
 With all the dusky corners of this house. 
 
 thekla (smiling). 
 Ay, but the road thereto is watch'd by spirits, 
 Two griffins still stand sentry at the door. 
 
 countess (laughs). 
 The astrological tower ! — How happens it 
 That this same sanctuary, whose access 
 Is to all others so impracticable, 
 Opens before you even at your approach ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 A dwarfish old man with a friendly face 
 
 And snow-white hairs, whose gracious services 
 
 Were mine at first sight, open'd me the doors. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 That is the Duke's astrologer, old Seni. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 fie question 'd me on many points ; for instance, 
 When I was born, what month, and on what day, 
 Whether by day or in the night. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 He wish'd 
 To erect a figure for your horoscope. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 My hand too he examined, shook his head 
 
 With much sad meaning, and the lines, methought. 
 
 Did not square over truly with his wishes. 
 
SC. V.J ^E PICCOLOMIKI £41 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Well, Princess, and what found you in this tower 7 
 My highest privilege has been to snatch 
 A. side-glance, and away ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 It was a strange 
 Sensation that came o'er me, when at first 
 From the broad sunshine I stepp'd in ; and now 
 The narrowing line of daylight, that ran after 
 The closing door, was gone ; and all about me 
 'Twas pale and dusky night, with many shadows 
 Fantastically cast. Here six or seven 
 Colossal statues, and all kings, stood round me 
 In a half-circle. Each one in his hand 
 A sceptre bore, and on his head a star ; 
 And in the tower no other light was there 
 But from these stars : all seern'd to come from them 
 " These are the planets," said that low old man, 
 " They govern worldly fates, and for that cause 
 Are imaged here as kings. He farthest from you, 
 Spiteful, and cold, an old man melancholy, 
 With bent and yellow forehead, he is Saturn. 
 He opposite, the king with the red light, 
 An arm'd man for the battle, that is Mars ; 
 And both these bring but little luck to man." 
 But at his side a lovely lady stood, 
 The star upon her head was soft and bright, 
 On that was Venus, the bright star of joy. 
 And the left hand, lo ! Mercury, with wings 
 Quite in the middle glitter 'd silver bright 
 A cheerful man, and with a monarch's mien ; 
 And this was Jupiter, my father's star : 
 And at his side I saw the Sun and Moon, 
 
 MAX. 
 
 never rudely will I blame his faith 
 
 In the might of stars and angels. 'Tis not merely 
 
 The human being's Pride that peoples space 
 
 With life and mystical predominance ; 
 
 Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love 
 
 This visible nature, and this common world, 
 
 u 
 
242 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT HI 
 
 Is all too narrow ; yea, a deeper import 
 
 Lurks in the legend told my infant years 
 
 Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn. 
 
 For fable is Love's world, his home, his birth-place ; 
 
 Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans, 
 
 And spirits ; and delightedly believes 
 
 Divinities, being himself divine • 
 
 The intelligible forms of ancient poets, 
 
 The fair humanities of old religion, 
 
 The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 
 
 That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain, 
 
 Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, 
 
 Or chasms, and wat'ry depths ; all these have vanished. 
 
 They live no longer in the faith of reason ! 
 
 But still the heart doth need a language, still 
 
 Doth the old instinct bring back the old names, 
 
 And to yon starry world they now are gone, 
 
 Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth 
 
 With man as with their friend * ; and to the lover 
 
 lender they move, from yonder visible sky 
 
 Shoot influence down : and even at this day 
 
 'Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great, 
 
 And Venus who brings everything that s fair ! 
 
 THEKLA 
 
 And if this be the science of the stars, 
 
 I too, with glad and zealous industry, 
 
 Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith. 
 
 It is a gentle and affectionate thought, 
 
 That in immeasurable heights above us, 
 
 At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven, 
 
 With sparkling stars for flowers. 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 Not only roses 
 But thorns too hath the heaven, and well for you 
 Leave they your wreath of love inviolate : 
 What Venus twined, the bearer of glad fortune, 
 , The sullen orb of Mars soon tears to pieces. 
 
 * No more of talk, where god or angel guest 
 "With man, as with his friend familiar, used 
 To sit indulgent. Paradise Lost, B, IX. 
 
SC V.J THE PICCOLOMINI. 243 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Soon will his gloomy empire reach its close. 
 
 Blest be the General's zeal : into the laurel 
 
 Will he inweave the olive-branch, presenting 
 
 Peace to the shouting nations. Then no wish 
 
 Will have remain'd for his great heart ! Enough 
 
 Has he perform 'd for glory, and can now 
 
 Live for himself and his. To his domains 
 
 Will he retire ; he has a stately seat 
 
 Of fairest view at Gitschin ; Reichenberg, 
 
 And Friedland Castle, both lie pleasantly — 
 
 Even to the foot of the huge mountains here 
 
 Stretches the chase and covers of his forests : 
 
 His ruling passion, to create the splendid, 
 
 He can indulge without restraint ; can give 
 
 A princely patronage to every art, 
 
 And to all worth a Sovereign's protection. 
 
 Can build, can plant, can watch the starry courses 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Yet I would have you look, and look again, 
 Before you lay aside your arms, young friend ! 
 A gentle bride, as she is, is well worth it, 
 That you should woo and win her with the sword. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 0, that the sword could win her ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What was that ? 
 Did you hear nothing? Seem'd as if I heard 
 Tumult and iarum in the banquet-room. 
 
 [Exit Countess 
 
 Scene V. 
 Thekla and Max. Piccolomini. 
 IHEKLA (as soon as the Countess is out of sight, in a quick lou 
 voice to piccolomini. 
 Don't trust them ! They are false ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Impossible ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Trust no one here but me. I saw at once. 
 They had a purpose. 
 
 k 2 
 
244 THE PICCOLOMINI, [ACT 1TL 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Purpose ! but what purpose ? 
 And how can we be instrumental to it ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 I know no more than you ; but yet believe me : 
 There's some design in this ! to make us happy. 
 To realize our union — trust me, love ! 
 They but pretend to wish it. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 But these Terzkys- — 
 Why use we them at all ? Why not your mother ? 
 Excellent creature ! she deserves from us 
 A full and filial confidence. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 She doth love you, 
 Doth rate you high before all others — but — 
 But such a secret — she would never have 
 The courage to conceal it from my father. 
 For her own peace of mind we must preserve it 
 A secret from her too. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Why any secret ? 
 I love not secrets. Mark what I will do. 
 I'll throw me at your father's feet — let him 
 Decide upon my fortunes ! He is true, 
 He wears no mask — he hates all crooked ways- 
 He is so good, so noble ! 
 
 thekla {falls on his neck). 
 That are you ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 You knew him only since this morn ! but I 
 Have lived ten years already in his presence, 
 And who knows whether in this very moment 
 He is not merely waiting for us both 
 To own our loves, in order to unite us ? 
 You are silent ! — 
 
 You look at me with such a hopelessness ! 
 What have you to object against your father? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 I? Nothing. Only he's so occupied — 
 He has no leisure time to think about 
 
SC. VI.j TEE PICC0L0MINI. 245 
 
 The happiness of us two. [Taking his hand tenderly 
 
 Follow me ! 
 Let us not place too great a faith in men. 
 These Terzkys — we will still be grateful to them 
 For every kindness, but not trust them further 
 Than they deserve; — and in all else rely — 
 On our own hearts ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 ! shall we e'er be happy ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Are we not happy now ? Art thou not mine ? 
 
 Am I not thine ? There lives within my soul 
 
 A lofty courage — 'tis love gives it me ! 
 
 I ought to be less open— ought to hide 
 
 My heart more from thee — so decorum dictates : 
 
 But where in this place couldst thou seek for truth, 
 
 If in my mouth thou didst not find it ? 
 
 [We now have met, then let us hold each other 
 
 Clasp 'd in a lasting and a firm embrace. 
 
 Believe me this was more than their intent. 
 
 Then be our loves like some blest relic kept 
 
 Within the deep recesses of the heart. 
 
 From Heav'n alone the love has been bestow'd, 
 
 To Heav'n alone our gratitude is due 
 
 It can work wonders for us still.] 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 To them enters the Countess Teezky. 
 
 countess (in a pressing manner). 
 
 Come, come ! 
 My husband sends me for you. — It is now 
 The latest moment. 
 
 [They not appearing to attend to what she says> she steps 
 between them. 
 
 Part you ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 O, not yet I 
 
 It has been scarce a moment. 
 
'246 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Ay! Then time 
 Flies swiftly with your Highness, Princess niece ! 
 
 MAX 
 
 There is no hurry, aunt. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Away ! away ! 
 The folks begin to miss you. Twice already 
 His father has ask'd for him. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Ha ! his father ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 You understand that, niece ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Why needs he 
 To go at all to that society? 
 'Tis not his proper company. They may 
 Be worthy men, but he's too young for them. 
 In brief, he suits not such society. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 You mean, you'd rather keep him wholly here ? 
 
 thekla (with energy). 
 Yes ! you have hit it, aunt ! That is my meaning. 
 Leave him here wholly ! Tell the company 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What ! have you lost your senses, niece? 
 Count, you remember the conditions. Come ! 
 
 max. (to thekla). 
 Lady, I must obey. Farewell, dear lady! 
 
 [Thekla turns away from him with a quick m< 
 What say you then, dear lady ? 
 
 thekla (without looking at him). 
 
 Nothing. Go I 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Can I, when you are angry 
 
 [He draws up to her, their eyes meet, she stands silent 
 a moment, then throws herself into his arms ; lie 
 presses her fast to his heart 
 
SC. V1I.J THE PIOCOLOMINI. 247 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 Off ! Heavens ! if any one should come ! 
 
 Hark ! What's that noise ! It conies this way. — Off ! 
 
 [Max. tears himself away out of her arms, and goes. 
 The Countess accompanies him. Thekla follows 
 him with her eyes at first, walks restlessly across 
 the room, then stops, and remains standing, lost in 
 thought. A guitar lies on the table, she seizes it 
 as by a sudden emotion, and after she has played 
 awhile an irregular and melancholy symphony, 
 she falls gradually into the music and sings. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 thekla [plays and sings). 
 The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar, 
 The damsel paces along the shore ; 
 The billows, they tumble with might, with might ; 
 And she flings out her voice to the darksome night ; 
 
 Her bosom is swelling with sorrow ; 
 The world it is empty, the heart will die, 
 There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky: 
 Thou Holy One, call thy child away! 
 I've lived and loved, and that was to-day; 
 
 Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow* 
 
 * I found it not in my power to translate this song with literal fidelity, 
 preserving at the same time the Alcaic movement, and have therefore added 
 the original, with a prose translation. Some of my readers may be more for- 
 tunate. 
 
 thekla (spielt und singt). 
 Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn, 
 Das Magdlein wandelt an Ufers Grrun; 
 Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht, 
 Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht, 
 
 Das Auge von Weinen getrlibet : 
 Das Herz is gestorben, die Welt ist leer, 
 Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr. 
 Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zuriick, ' 
 Ich habe genossen das irdische Gfluck, 
 Ich habe gelebt und geliebet. 
 
 LITERAL TRANSLATION. 
 
 thekla {plays and sings). 
 Tl e oak-forest bellows, the clouds gather, the damsel walks to and fro on 
 the green of the shore; the wave breaks with might, with might, and she 
 
248 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 Countess (returns), Thekla. 
 
 countess. 
 Fie, lady niece ! to throw yourself upon him, 
 Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it, 
 x\nd so must he flung after him ! For you, 
 Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought, 
 It had been more beseeming to have shown yourself 
 More chary of your person. 
 
 thekla {rising). 
 
 And what mean you ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten 
 Who you are, and who he is. But perchance 
 That never once occurr'd to you. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 What then? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 That you re daughter of the Prince Duke Friedland. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Well, and what farther ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What ? a pretty question ! 
 
 sings out into the dark night, her eye discoloured with weeping : the heart 
 is dead, the world is empty, and further gives it nothing more to the wish. 
 Thou Holy One, call thy child home. I have enjoyed the happiness of this 
 world, I have lived and have loved. 
 
 I cannot but add here an imitation of this song, with which my friend, 
 Charles Lamb, has favoured me, and which appears to me to have caught 
 the happiest manner of our old ballads. 
 
 The clouds are blackening, the storms threat'ning, 
 
 The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan! 
 Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching, 
 
 Thus in the dark night she singeth alone, 
 Her eye upward roving : 
 The world is empty, the heart is dead sorely, 
 
 In this world plainly all seemeth amiss; 
 To thy heaven, Holy One, take home thy little one^ 
 
 I have partaken of all earth's bliss, 
 Both living and loving. 
 
60. YU1.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 249 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 He was born that which we have but become. 
 He's of an ancient Lombard family, 
 Son of a reigning princess. 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 Are you dreaming ? 
 Talking in sleep ? An excellent jest, forsooth ! 
 We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him 
 To honour with his hand the richest heiress 
 In Europe. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 That will not be necessary. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Methinks 'twere well, though, not to ran the hazard 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 His father loves him ; Count Octavio 
 Will interpose no difficulty 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 His! 
 
 His father! His! But yours, niece, what of yours? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Why I begin to think you fear his father. 
 So anxiously you hide it from the man ! 
 His father, his, I mean. 
 
 countess (looks at her as scrutinising). 
 Niece, you sue false. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Are you then wounded ? 0, be friends with me ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 You hold your game for won already. Do not 
 Triumph too soon ! 
 
 thekla (interrupting her, and attempting to soothe Iter). 
 Nay now, be friends with ine, 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 It is not yet so far gone. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 I believe you. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Did you suppose your father had laid out 
 His most important life in toils of war, 
 
250 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT JJI 
 
 Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss, 
 
 Had banish 'd slumber from his tent, devoted 
 
 His noble head to care, and for this only, 
 
 To make a happier pair of you ? At length 
 
 To draw you from your convent, and conduct 
 
 In easy triumph to your arms the man 
 
 That chanced to please your eyes ! All this, mcthiLks 9 
 
 He might have purchased at a cheaper rate. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 That which he did not plant for me might yet 
 Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord. 
 And if my friendly and affectionate fate, 
 Out of his fearful and enormous being, 
 Will but prepare the joys of life for me — 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Thou seest it with a lovelorn maiden's eyes. 
 
 Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who thou art. 
 
 Into no house of joyance hast thou stepp'd, 
 
 For no espousals dost thou find the walls 
 
 Deck'd out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing. 
 
 Here is no splendour but of arms. Or think st thou 
 
 That all these thousands are here congregated 
 
 To lead up the long dances at thy wedding ! 
 
 Thou see'st thy father's forehead full of thought, 
 
 Thy mother's eye in tears : upon the balance 
 
 Lies the great destiny of all our house. 
 
 Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling, 
 
 O thrust it far behind thee ! Give thou proof, 
 
 Thou'rt the daughter of the Mighty — his 
 
 Who where he moves creates the wonderful. 
 
 Not to herself the woman must belong, 
 
 Annex'd and bound to alien destinies. 
 
 But she performs the best part, she the wisest, 
 
 Who can transmute the alien into self, 
 
 Meet and disarm necessity by choice ; 
 
 And what must be, take freely to her heart, 
 
 And bear and foster it with mother's love. 
 
 THEEXA. 
 
 Such ever was my lesson in the convent. 
 T. had no loves, no wishes, knew myself 
 
SC. /III.] THE PICCOLOMINI, 251 
 
 Only as his — his daughter — his, the Mighty ! 
 His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me 
 From the far distance, waken 'd in my soul 
 No other thought than this — I am appointed 
 To offer myself up in passiveness to him. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 That is thy fate. Mould thou thy wishes to it. 
 I and thy mother gave thee the example. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 My fate hath shown me him, to whom behoves it 
 That I should offer up myself. In gladness 
 Him will I follow. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Not thy fate hath shown him ! 
 Thy heart, say rather — 'twas thy heart, my child ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Fate hath no voice but the heart's impulses. 
 I am all his ! His present — his alone, 
 Is this new life, which lives in me ? He hath 
 A right to his own creature. What was I 
 Ere his fair love infused a soul into me? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Thou wouldst oppose thy father then, should he 
 Have otherwise determined with thy person ? 
 
 [Thekla remains silent. The Countess continues 
 Thou mean'st to force him to thy liking ? — Child, 
 His name is Friedland. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 My name too is Friedland. 
 He shall have found a genuine daughter in me. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What ! he has vanquish'd all impediment, 
 And in the wilful mood of his own daughter 
 Shall a new struggle rise for him ? Child! child ! 
 As yet thou hast seen thy father's smiles alone ; 
 The eye of his rage thou hast not seen. Dear child, 
 I will not frighten thee. To that extreme, 
 I trust, it ne'er shall come. His will is yet 
 Unknown to me : 'tis possible his aims 
 May have the same direction as thy wish. 
 
£52 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III. 
 
 But this can never, never be his will, 
 That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes, 
 Should'st e'er demean thee as a love-sick maiden ; 
 And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself 
 Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever 
 Be destined to await him, yet, with sacrifices 
 The highest love can bring, must pay for it. 
 
 [Exit Countess. 
 
 Scene IX. 
 thekla (who during the last speech had been standing evi 
 
 dently lost in her reflections), 
 I thank thee for the hint. It turns 
 My sad presentiment to certainty. 
 And it is so ! — Not one friend have we here, 
 Not one true heart ! we've nothing but ourselves ! 
 
 she said rightly — no auspicious signs 
 Beam on this covenant of our affections. 
 This is no theatre, where hope abides : 
 The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here ; 
 And Love himself, as he were arm'd in steel, 
 Steps forth, and girds him for the strife of death. 
 
 [Music from the banquet-room is heard. 
 There's a dark spirit walking in our house, 
 And swiftly will the Destiny close on us. 
 It drove me hither from my calm asylum, 
 It mocks my soul with charming witchery, 
 It lures me forward in a seraph's shape, 
 
 1 see it near, I see it nearer floating, 
 
 It draws, it pulls me with a god-like power — 
 And lo ! the abyss — and thither am I moving — 
 I have no power within me not to move ! 
 
 [The music from the banquet-room becomes louder 
 O when a house is doom'd in fire to perish, 
 Many and dark Heaven drives his clouds together, 
 Yea, shoots his lightnings down from sunny heights, 
 Flames burst from out the subterraneous chasms, 
 
 * And fiends and angels, mingling in their fury, 
 
 Sling fire-brands at the burning edifice. [Exit Thekla. 
 
 • There are few who will not have taste enough to laugh at the two con- 
 
ACT TV., SC. I.J THE PICCOLOMINI 253 
 
 ACT IV, 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 A large Saloon lighted up with festal Splendour ; in the midst 
 of it, and in the centre of the Stage, a Table richly set out, 
 at which eight Generals are sitting, among whom are Octayio 
 Piccolomini, Teezky, and Makadas. Bight and left of 
 this, but farther back, two other Tables, at each of which six 
 persons are placed. The Middle Door, which is standing 
 open, gives to the prospect a fourth Table ivith the same num- 
 ber of persons. More forward stands the sideboard. The 
 whole front of the Stage is kept open for the Pages and 
 Servants in waiting. All is in motion. The Band of Music 
 belonging to Terzky's Begiment march across the Stage, 
 and draw up round the Tables. Before they are quite off 
 from the front of the Stage, Max. Piccolomini appears, 
 Teezky advances towards him with a paper, Isolani comes 
 up to meet him with a Beaker or Service-cup. 
 
 Teezky, Isolani, Max. Piccolomini. 
 
 isolani. 
 
 Here, brother, what we love ! Why, where hast been ? 
 
 • Off to thy place — quick ! Terzky here has given 
 The mother's holiday wine up to free booty. 
 Here it goes on as at the Heidelberg castle. 
 Already hast thou lost the best. They're giving 
 At yonder table ducal crowns in shares ; 
 There's Sternberg's lands and chattels are put up, 
 With Eggenberg's, Stawata's, Lichtenstein's, 
 And all the great Bohemian feodalities. 
 Be nimble, lad ! and something may turn up 
 For thee — who knows ? off — to thy place ! quick ! march ! 
 tiefenbach and goetz {call out from the second and third 
 tables). 
 Count Piccolomini ! 
 terzky. 
 Stop, ye shall have him in an instant. — Eead 
 
 eluding lines of this soliloquy; and still fewer, I would fain hope, who would 
 not have been more disposed to shudder, had I given a faithful translation* 
 For the readers of Gferman I have added the original : 
 
 Blind-wuthend schleudert selbst der Grott der Freude 
 
 Den Pechkranz in das brennende Gfebaude. 
 
'454 THE PICCOLOMINI (ACT IV 
 
 This oath here, whether as 'tis here set forth, 
 The wording satisfies you. They've all read it, 
 Each in his turn, and each one will subscribe 
 His individual signature. 
 
 max. (reads). 
 "Ingratis servire nefas." 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 That sounds to my ears very much like Latin, 
 And being interpreted, pray what may't mean ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 No honest man will serve a thankless master. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 " Inasmuch as our supreme Commander, the illustrious 
 Duke of Friedland, in consequence of the manifold affronts 
 and grievances which he has received, had expressed his 
 determination to quit the Emperor, but on oar unanimous 
 entreaty has graciously consented to remain still with the 
 army, and not to part from us without our approbation 
 thereof, so we, collectively and each in particular, in the 
 stead of an oath personally taken, do hereby oblige our- 
 selves — likewise by him honourably and faithfully to hold, 
 and in nowise whatsoever from him to part, and to be ready 
 to shed for his interests the last drop of our blood, so far, 
 namely, as our oath to the Emperor will permit it. (These 
 last words are repeated by Isolani.) In testimony of which 
 we subscribe our names." 
 
 IERZKY. 
 
 Now ! — are you willing to subscribe this paper ? 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Why should he not ? All officers of honour 
 Can do it, ay, must do it. — Pen and ink here ! 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 Nay, let it rest till after meal. 
 
 isolani 'drawing Max. along). 
 
 Come, Max. 
 \Both seat themselves at their tubl . 
 
60. II.) THE PI0COLOMTNI 255 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Terzky, Neumann. 
 terzky (beckons to Neumann, who is waiting at the side-tabl& 
 and steps forward with him to the edge of the stage). 
 Have you the copy with you, Neumann ? Give it. 
 It may be changed for the other ? 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 I have copied it 
 Letter by letter, line by line ; no eye 
 Would e'er discover other difference, 
 Save only the omission of that clause, 
 According to your Excellency's order. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Eight! lay it yonder, and away with this — 
 It has performed its business — to the fire with it — 
 [Neumann lays the copy on the table, and steps back 
 again to the side-table. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Illo (comes out from the second Chamber), Terzky. 
 illo. 
 How goes it with young Piccolomini ! 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 All right, I think He has started no objection. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 He is the only one I fear about — 
 
 He and his father. Have an eye on both ! 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 How looks it at your table : you forget not 
 To keep them warm and stirring ? 
 
 11X0 
 
 0, quite cordial, 
 They are quite cordial in the scheme. We have them 
 And 'tis as I predicted too. Already 
 T t is the talk, not merely to maintain 
 The Duke in station. " Since we're once for all 
 Together and unanimous, why not," 
 Says Montecuculi, "ay, why not onward, 
 Ajid make conditions with the Emperor 
 
256 THE PICCOLOMTNI. [kGT IV. 
 
 There in his own Vienna?" Trust me, Count, 
 Were it not for these said Piccolomini, 
 We might have spared ourselves the cheat. 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 And Butler? 
 How goes it there ? Hush ! 
 
 Scene IV. 
 To them enter Butler from the second table. 
 
 BUTLER, 
 
 Don't disturb yourselves. 
 Field-Marshal, I have understood you perfectly. 
 Good luck be to the scheme ; and as to me, 
 
 [With an air of mystery 
 You may depend upon me. 
 
 illo (with vivacity). 
 
 May we, Butler? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 With or without the clause, all one to me ! 
 
 You understand me ? My fidelity 
 
 The Duke may put to any proof — I'm with him i 
 
 Tell him so ! I'm the Emperor's officer, 
 
 As long as 'tis his pleasure to remain 
 
 The Emperor's general ! and Friedland's servant, 
 
 As soon as it shall please him to become 
 
 His own lord. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 You would make a good exchange 
 No stern economist, no Ferdinand, 
 Is he to whom you plight your services. 
 
 butler (ivith a haughty look). 
 I do not put up my fidelity 
 To sale, Count Terzky ! Half a year ago 
 I would not have advised you to have made me 
 An overture to that, to which I now 
 Offer myself of my own free accord. — 
 But that is past ! and to the Duke, Field Marshal, 
 I bring myself together with my regiment. 
 And mark you, 'tis my humour to believe, 
 The example which I give will not remain 
 Without an influence 
 
SO. II. 1 THE PICCOLOMINI. &5 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Who is ignorant. 
 That the whole army look to Colonel Butler, 
 As to a light that moves before them ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Ey? 
 Then I repent me not of that fidelity 
 Which for the length of forty years I held, 
 If in my sixtieth year my good old name 
 Can purchase for me a revenge so full. 
 Start not at what I say, sir Generals ! 
 My real motives — they concern not you. 
 And you yourselves, I trust, could not expect 
 That this your game had crook'd my judgment — or 
 That fickleness, quick blood, or such like cause, 
 Has driven the old man from the track of honour, 
 Which he so long had trodden. Come, my friends t 
 I'm not thereto determined with less firmness, 
 Because I know and have looked steadily 
 At that on which I have determined. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Say, 
 And speak roundly, what are we to deem you? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 A friend ! I give you here my hand ! I'm yours 
 
 With all I have. Not only men, but money 
 
 Will the Duke want. — Go, tell him, sirs ! 
 
 I've earn'd and laid up somewhat in his service, 
 
 I lend it him ; and is he my survivor, 
 
 It has been already long ago bequeathed him- 
 
 He is my heir. For me, I stand alone 
 
 Here in the world ; nought know I of the feeling 
 
 That binds the husband to a wife and children. 
 
 My name dies with me, my existence ends. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Tis not your money that he needs — a heart 
 
 Like yours weighs tons of gold down, weighs down millions! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 I came a simple soldier's boy from Ireland 
 
 To Prague—and with a master, whom I buried. 
 
 s 
 
258 THE PICCOLOMINI. jACT IV. 
 
 From lowest stable duty I climb'd up, 
 Such was the fate of war, to this high rank, 
 The plaything of a whimsical good fortune. 
 And Wallenstein too is a child of luck ; 
 I love a fortune that is like my own. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 All powerful souls have kindred with each other. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 This is an awful moment ! to the brave, 
 To the determined, an auspicious moment. 
 The Prince of Weimar arms, upon the Maine, 
 To found a mighty dukedom. He of Halberstadt, 
 That Mansfeldt, wanted but a longer life 
 To have mark'd out with his good sword a lordship 
 That should reward his courage. Who of these 
 Equals our Friedland ? There is nothing, nothing 
 So high, but he may set the ladder to it ! 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 That's spoken like a man ! 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Do you secure the Spaniard and Italian — 
 I'll be your warrant for the Scotchman Lesly. 
 Come, to the company ! 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 Where is the master of the cellar ? Ho ! 
 
 Let the best wines come up. Ho ! cheerly, boy ! 
 
 Luck comes to-day, so give her hearty welcome. 
 
 [Exeunt, each to his table. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 The Mastee of the Cellae, advancing with Neumann. 
 
 Servants passing backwards and forwards. 
 
 mastee of the cellar. 
 
 The best wine ! 0, if my old mistress, his lady mother, 
 
 could but see these wild goings on, she would turn herself 
 
 round in her grave. Yes, yes, sir officer ! 'tis all down the 
 
 hill with this noble house ! no end, no moderation ! And 
 
 this marriage with the Duke's sister, a splendid connexion, a 
 
 very splendid connexion ! but I will tell you, sir officer, it 
 
 looks no good. 
 
gd. V.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 25fc 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 Heaven forbid! Why, at this very moment the whole 
 prospect is in bud and blossom ! 
 
 MASTEE OF THE CELLAK. 
 
 You think so ? — Well, well ! much may be said on that head, 
 
 FIEST SEKVANT (comes). 
 
 Burgundy for the fourth table. 
 
 MASTEE OF THE CELLAR. 
 
 Now, sir lieutenant, if this an't the seventieth flask — 
 
 FIEST SEEVANT. 
 
 Why, the reason is, that German lord, Tiefenbach, sits at 
 that table. 
 
 mastee of the cellae [continuing his discourse to 
 
 NEUMANN). 
 
 They are soaring too high. They would rival kings and 
 electors in their pomp and splendour ; and wherever the Duke 
 leaps, not a minute does my gracious master, the Count, loiter 
 on the brink — (to the Servants). — What do you stand there 
 listening for ? I will let you know you have legs presently 
 Off ! see to the tables, see to the flasks ! Look there ! Count 
 Tain has an empty glass before him ! 
 eunnee (comes). 
 
 The great service-cup is wanted, sir ; that rich gold cup 
 with the Bohemian arms on it. The Count says you know 
 which it is 
 
 MASTEE OF THE CELLAE. 
 
 Ay ! that was made for Frederick's coronation by the art- 
 ist William— there was not such another prize in the whole 
 booty at Prague. 
 
 EUNNEE. 
 
 The same ! — a health is to go round in him. 
 mastee of the cellae (shaking his head while he fetches 
 
 and rinses the cups). 
 This will be something for the tale-bearers — this goes to 
 Vienna. 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 Permit me to look at it. — Well, this is a cup indeed ! How 
 heavy! as well it maybe, being all gold. —And what neat 
 things are embossed on it ! how natural and elegant they 
 look ! — There, on the first quarter, let me see. That proud 
 
 s 2 
 
260 THE PJCCOLOMINI. L ACT IV 
 
 Amazon there on horseback, she that is taking a leap over the 
 crosier and mitres, and carries on a wand a hat together with 
 a banner, on which there's a goblet represented. Can you 
 tell me what all this signifies ? 
 
 MASTEB OF THE CELLAR. 
 
 The woman you see there on horseback, is the Free Elec 
 tion of the Bohemian Crown. That is signified by the round 
 hat, and by that fiery steed on which she is riding. The hat 
 is the pride of man ; for he who cannot keep his hat on before 
 kings and emperors is no free man. 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 But what is the cup there on the banner ? 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 
 
 The cup signifies the freedom of the Bohemian Church, 
 as it was in our forefathers' times. Our forefathers in th6 
 wars of the Hussites forced from the Pope this noble privi- 
 lege ; for the Pope, you know, will not grant the cup to any 
 layman. Your true Moravian values nothing beyond the cup; 
 it is his costly jewel, and has cost the Bohemians their pre- 
 cious blood in many and many a battle. 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 And what says that chart that hangs in the air there, over 
 it all ? 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 
 
 That signifies the Bohemian letter-royal, which we forced 
 from the Emperor Rudolph — a precious, never to be enough 
 valued parchment, that secures to the new church the old pri- 
 vileges of free ringing and open psalmody. But since he of 
 Steiermark has ruled over us, that is at an end ; and after the 
 battle at Prague, in which Count Palatine Frederick lost crown 
 and empire, our faith hangs upon the pulpit and the altar — 
 and our brethren look at their Jiomes over their shoulders ; 
 but the letter-royal the Emperor himself cut to pieces with 
 his scissors. 
 
 NEUMANN. ' 
 
 Why, my good Master of the Cellar ! you are deep read in 
 the chronicles of your country ? 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 
 
 So were my forefathers, and for that reason were they min- 
 strels, and served under Proocpius and Ziska. Pea^&L© with 
 
6C. V.] THE PICCOLOMTNI. 261 
 
 their ashes ! Well, well ! they fought for a good cause th< ugh 
 — There ! carry it up ! 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 Stay ! let me but look at this second quarter. Look there\ 
 That is, when at Prague Castle the Imperial counsellors, Mar- 
 tinitz, and Stawata, were hurled down head over heels. 'Tis 
 even so ! there stands Count Thur who commands it. 
 
 [Eunner takes the service- cup and goes off with it. 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 
 
 let me never more hear of that day. It was the three- 
 and-twentieth of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand 
 six hundred and eighteen. It seems to me as it were but 
 yesterday — from that unlucky day it all began, all the heart- 
 aches of the country Since that day it is now sixteen years, 
 and there has never once been peace on the earth 
 
 [Health drank aloud at the second table. 
 
 The Prince of Weimar! Hurra! 
 
 [At the third and fourth table. 
 
 Long live Prince William ! Long live Duke Bernard ! 
 Hurra ! [Music strikes up 
 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Hear 'em ! Hear 'em ! What an uproar ! 
 
 second servant (comes in running). 
 Did you hear ? They have drunk the Prince of Weimar's 
 health. 
 
 third servant. 
 The Swedish Chief Commander ! 
 
 first servant {speaking at the same time). 
 The Lutheran ! 
 
 second servant. 
 Just before, when Count Deodati gave out the Emperor's 
 health, they were all as mum as a nibbling mouse. 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 
 
 Po, po ! When the wine goes in strange things come out. 
 A good servant hears, and hears not! — You should be nothing 
 but eyes and feet, except when you are called to. 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 [To the Runner, to whom he gives secretly a flask Oj 
 wine, keeping his eye on the Master of the Cellar, 
 standing between him and the Eunner. 
 Quick, Thomas ! before the Master of the Cellar runs this 
 
2G2 THE PICCOLOMINI [ACT IV 
 
 way — 'tis a flask of Frontignac ! — Snapped it up at the third 
 table— Canst go off with it ? 
 
 runner [hides it in his pocket). 
 All right ! [Exit the Second Servant. 
 
 thied servant [aside to the First). 
 Be on the hark, Jack ! that we may have right plenty to 
 tell to Father Quivoga. — He will give us right plenty of abso- 
 lution in return for it. 
 
 first servant. 
 For that very purpose I am always having something to do 
 behind Illos chair. — He is the man for speeches to make you 
 stare with ! 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAR [to NEUMANN). 
 
 Who, pray, may that swarthy man be, he with the cross, 
 that is chatting so confidently with Esterhats ? 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 Ay ! he too is one of those to whom they confide too much 
 He calls himself Maradas, a Spaniard is he. 
 
 master of the cellar (impatiently). 
 Spaniard! Spaniard! — I tell you, friend, nothing good 
 comes of those Spaniards. All these outlandish fellows are 
 little better than rogues. 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 Fy, fy ! you should not say so, friend. There are among 
 them our very best generals, and those on whom the Duke at 
 this moment relies the most. 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 
 
 [Taking the flask out of the Runner's pocket. 
 My son, it will be broken to pieces in your pocket. 
 
 [Terzky hurries in, fetches away the Paper and 
 calls to a Servant for Pen and Ink, and goes to 
 the back of the Stage. 
 
 master of the cellar [to the Servants). 
 The Lieutenant- General stands up. — Be on the watch — 
 Now ! They break up. — Off and move back the forms. 
 
 [They rise at all the Tables, the Servants hurry off 
 the front of the Stage to the Tables ; part of the 
 guests come forward 
 
BC VI.] THE PICCOL0M1JNI 268 
 
 Scene VI 
 
 Octavio Piccolomini enters in conversation ivith Maradas, 
 and both place themselves quite on the edge of the Stage on 
 one side of the Proscenium, On the side directly opposite, 
 Max. Piccolomini, by himself, lost in thought, and taking 
 no part in any thing that is going forward. The middle 
 space between both, but rather more distant from the edge of 
 fhe Stage, is filled up by Butler, Isolani, Goetz, Tiefen- 
 bach, and Kolatto. 
 
 isolani (while the Company is coming forward). 
 Good night, good night, Kolatto ! Good night, Lieutenant 
 General ! — I should rather say, good morning. 
 
 GOETZ (fo TIEFENBACH). 
 
 Noble brother ! (making the usual compliment after meals). 
 
 TIEFENBACH. 
 
 Ay ! 'twas a royal feast indeed. 
 
 GOETZ. 
 
 Yes, my Lady Countess understands these matters. Her 
 mother-in-law, Heaven rest her soul, taught her ! — Ah ! that 
 was a housewife for you ! 
 
 TIEFENBACH. 
 
 There was not her like in all Bohemia for setting out a 
 table 
 
 octavio i aside to maradas). 
 
 Do me the favour to talk to me — talk of what you will — or 
 of nothing. Only preserve the appearance at least of talking. 
 I would not wish to stand by myself, and yet I conjecture 
 that there will be goings on here worthy of our attentive 
 observation. (He continues to fix his eye on the whole follow* 
 ing scene.) 
 
 isolani (on the point of going). 
 Lights ! lights ! 
 
 terzky (advances with the Paper to Isolani). 
 Noble brother ; two minutes longer ! — Here is something 
 to subscribe. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Subscribe as much as you like — but you must excuse me 
 from reading it. 
 
264 THE PICCOLOMINT. [ACT IV 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 There is no need. It is the oath which you have already 
 read. — Only a few marks of your pen ! 
 
 [Isolani hands over the Paper to Octavio respectfully 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Nay, nay, first come first served. There is no precedence 
 here. [Octavto runs over the Paper with apparent indiffer- 
 ence. Terzky watches him at some distance. 
 
 GOETZ (tO TERZKY). 
 
 Noble Count ! with your permission — good night. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Where's the hurry ? Come, one other composing draught. 
 (To the Servants). — Ho ! 
 
 GOETZ. 
 
 Excuse me — a nt able. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 A thimble-full ! 
 
 GOETZ. 
 
 Excuse me. 
 
 TIEFENBACH (sits down). 
 
 Pardon me, nobles ! — This standing does not agree with 
 me. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Consult only your own convenience, General ! 
 
 TIEFENBACH. 
 
 Clear at head, sound in stomach — only my legs won't carry 
 me any longer 
 
 isolani (pointing at his corpulence). 
 Poor legs ! how should they ! Such an unmerciful load I 
 [Octavio subscribes his name, and reaches over the 
 Paper to Terzky, who gives it to Isolani ; and he 
 goes to the table to sign his name. 
 
 TIEFENBACH. 
 
 Twas that war in Pomerania that first brought it on. Out 
 in all weathers — ice and snow— no help for it. I shall never 
 sjet the better of it all the days of my life 
 
 GOETZ. 
 
 Why, in simple verity, your Swede makes no nice inquiries 
 about the season 
 
riC. VI ] THE PICCOLOMINI. 2G6 
 
 terzky {observing isolani, whose hand trembles excessively so 
 that he can scarce direct his pen). 
 Have you had that ugly complaint long, noble brother? — 
 Dispatch it. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 The sins of youth! I have already tried the chalybeate 
 waters Well — I must bear it. 
 
 [Tekzky gives the Paper to Makadas; he steps to 
 the table to subscribe. 
 
 octavio [advancing to butlee). 
 You are not over fond of the orgies of Bacchus, Colonel 1 
 I have observed it. You would, I think, find yourself more 
 to your liking in the uproar of a battle, than of a feast. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 I must confess, 'tis not in my way. 
 
 octavio {stepping nearer to him friendlily). 
 Nor in mine either, I can assure you; and I am not a 
 little glad, my much honoured Colonel Butler, that we agree 
 so well in our opinions*. A half dozen good friends. at most, 
 at a small round table, a glass of genuine Tokay, open hearts, 
 and a rational conversation— that's my taste ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 And mine too, when it can be had. 
 
 [The paper comes to Tiefenbach, who glances over 
 it at the same time with Goetz and Kolatto. 
 Maradas in the mean time returns to Octavio. 
 All this takes place, the conversation with Butler 
 proceeding uninterrupted. 
 
 octavio {introducing maradas to butler). 
 
 Don Balthasar Maradas ! likewise a man of our stamp, and 
 long ago your admirer. [Butler bows. 
 
 octavio {continuing). 
 
 You are a stranger here — 'twas but yesterday you arrived 
 — you are ignorant of the ways and means here. 'Tis a 
 wretched place — I know, at our age, one loves to be snug and 
 quiet. What if you moved your lodgings? — Come, be my 
 visitor. (Butler makes a low bow.) Nay, without comply 
 ment! — For a friend like you, I have still a corner re- 
 maining. 
 
266 THE P1CC0L0MINI [ACT IV. 
 
 BUTLER (coldly). 
 
 Your obliged humble servant, my Lord Lieutenant- General. 
 [The payer comes to Butler, who goes to the table 
 to subscribe it. The front of the stage is vacant, 
 so that both the Piccolominis, each on the side 
 where he had been from the commencement of the 
 scene, remain alone. 
 octavto (after having some time watched his son in silence, 
 advances somewhat nearer to him). 
 You were long absent from us, friend ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 I urgent business detained me. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And, I observe, you are still absent ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 You know this crowd and bustle always makes me silent. 
 
 octavio (advancing still nearer). 
 May I be permitted to ask what the business was that 
 detained you ? Terzky knows it without asking ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 What does Terzky know ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 He was the only one who did not miss you. 
 tsoLANi (who has been attending to them for some distance t 
 
 steps up). 
 Well done, father! Kout out his baggage! Beat up his 
 quarters ! there is something there that should not be. 
 terzky (with the paper). 
 Is there none wanting? Have the whole subscribed? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 All 
 
 terzky (calling aloud). 
 Ho ! Who subscribes ? 
 
 BUTLER (tO TERZKY). 
 
 Count the names. There ought to be just thirty. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Here is a cross. 
 
 TIEFENBAOH. 
 
 That's nw mark. 
 
SC. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 967 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 He cannot write ; but his cross is a good cross, and is 
 honoured by Jews as well as Christians. 
 
 octavio (presses on to max.). 
 Come, general ! let us go. It is late. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 One Piccolomini only has signed. 
 
 isolani [pointing to max.). 
 Look ! that is your man, that statue there, who has had 
 neither eye, ear, nor tongue for us the whole evening. 
 
 [Max. receives the paper from Terzky, which he looks 
 upon vacantly. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 To these enter Illo from the inner room. He has in his 
 hand a golden service-cup, and is extremely distempered with 
 drinking; Goetz and Butler follow him, endeavouring to 
 keep him back. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 What do you want? Let me go. 
 
 goetz and butler. 
 
 Drink no more, Illo ! For Heaven's sake, drink no more. 
 
 illo (goes up to octavio, and shakes him cordially by the 
 
 hand, and then drinks). 
 
 Octavio ! I bring this to you ! Let all grudge be drowned 
 in this friendly bowl ! I know well enough, ye never loved 
 me — Devil take me ! — and I never loved you ! — I am always 
 even with people in that way ! Let what's past be past — 
 that is, you understand — forgotten! I esteem you infinitely 
 (Embracing him repeatedly). You have not a dearer friend 
 on earth than I — but that you know. The fellow that cries 
 rogue to you calls me villain — and I'll strangle him!— my 
 dear friend ! 
 
 terzky (whispering to him). 
 
 Art in thy senses ? For Heaven's sake, Illo, think where 
 you are ! 
 
 illo (aloud). 
 
 What do you mean ? — There are none but friends here, are 
 there? (Looks round the whole circle with a jolly and tri- 
 umphant air.) Not a sneaker amongst us, thank Heaven ! 
 
268 THE PICCOLOMINI [ACT IV. 
 
 tebzky (to butlee, eagerly). 
 Take him off with you, force him off, I entreat you, Butler ! 
 
 BUTLER (to ILLO). 
 
 Field Marshal! a word with you. (Leads him to the 
 sideboard)* 
 
 illo (cordially). 
 A thousand for one; Fill — Fill it once more up to the 
 brim. To this gallant man's health ! 
 
 isolani (to max. who all the while has been staring on the 
 paper with fixed but vacant eyes). 
 Slow and sure my noble brother ! — Hast parsed it all yet? 
 Some words yet to go through?— Ha? 
 
 max. (waking as from a dream). 
 What am I to do ? 
 
 terzky, and at the same time isolani. 
 Sign your name. (Octavio directs his eyes on him with in- 
 tense anxiety.) 
 
 max. (returns the paper). 
 Let it stay till to-morrow. It is business— to-day I am not 
 sufficiently collected. Send it to me to-morrow. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Nay, collect yourself a little. 
 
 isolani. 
 
 Awake man ! awake ! — Come, thy signature, and have done 
 with it ! What ! Thou art the youngest in the whole company, 
 and would be wiser than all of us together ? Look there ! thy 
 father has signed — we have all signed. 
 
 TERZKY (fo OCTAVIO). 
 
 Use your influence. Instruct him. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 My son is at the age of discretion. 
 
 illo {leaves the service-cup on the sideboard). 
 What's the dispute? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 He declines subscribing the paper. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 I say, it may as well stay till to-morrow. 
 
 illo. 
 It cannot stay. We have all subscribed to it — and 30 
 must you. — You must subscribe. 
 
SC. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 269 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Illo, good night ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 No ! You come not off so! The Duke shall learn who are 
 his friends. (All collect round Illo and Max.) 
 
 MAX. 
 
 What my sentiments are towards the Duke, the Duke knows, 
 every one knows — what need of this wild stuff? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 This is the thanks the Duke gets for his partiality to Ita- 
 lians and foreigners. Us Bohemians he holds for little hetter 
 ihan dullards — nothing pleases him but what's outlandish. 
 
 teezky (in extreme embarrassment, to the Commanders, who 
 
 at illo's words give a sudden start as preparing to resent 
 
 them.) 
 
 It is the wine that speaks, and not his reason. Attend not 
 10 him, I entreat you. 
 
 isolani [with a bitter laugh). 
 
 Wine invents nothing : it only tattles. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 He who is not with me is against me. Your tender con 
 sciences ! Unless they can slip out by a back-door, by a puny 
 proviso — 
 
 teezky (interrupting him). 
 
 ±Ie is stark mad — don't listen to him ! 
 
 illo (raising his voice to the highest pitch). 
 Unless they can slip out by a proviso. What of the pro- 
 viso ? The devil take this proviso ! 
 
 max. (has his attention roused, and looks again into the paper). 
 What is there here then of such perilous import? You 
 make me curious — I must look closer at it. 
 
 teezky (in a low voice to illo). 
 What are you doing, Illo ? You are ruining us. 
 
 TIEFENBACH (to KOLATTO). 
 
 Ay, ay ! I observed, that before we sat down to supper, it 
 was read differently. 
 
 GOETZ. 
 
 Why, I seemed to think so too. 
 
270 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT IV. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 What do I care for that ? Where there stand other names, 
 mine can stand too. 
 
 TIEFENBACH. 
 
 Before supper there was a certain proviso therein, or short 
 clause, concerning our duties to the Emperor. 
 
 butler (to one of the Commanders). 
 For shame, for shame ! Bethink you. What is the main 
 business here? The question now is, whether we shall keep 
 our General, or let him retire. One must not take these 
 things too nicely, and over-scrupulously. 
 
 isolani (to one of the Generals). 
 Did the Duke make any of these provisos when he gave 
 you your regiment ? 
 
 TERZKY (tO GOETz). 
 
 Or when he gave you the office of army-purveyancer, which 
 brings you in yearly a thousand pistoles ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 He is a rascal who makes us out to be rogues. If there be 
 any one that wants satisfaction, let him say so, — I am his man. 
 
 TIEFENBACH 
 
 Softly, softly ! 'Twas but a word or two. 
 
 max. (having read the paper gives it back). 
 Till to-morrow therefore ! 
 
 illo (stammering with rage and fury, loses all command over 
 himself and presents the paper to max. with one hand, and 
 his sword in the other). 
 
 Subscribe —Judas ! 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Out upon you, Illo ! 
 
 octavio, terzky, butler (all together). 
 Down with the sword ! 
 
 max. (rushes on him suddenly and disarms him, then to count 
 
 terzky\ 
 Take him off to bed. 
 
 [Max. leaves the stage. — Illo cursing and raving is held 
 back by some of the Officers, and amidst a universal 
 confusion the Curtain drops. 
 
MSV V , SO. I.j THE PICCOLOMINI 271 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 A Chamber in Piccolomini's Mansion. — It is Night 
 
 Octavio Piccolomini. A Valet de Chambre with Lights. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 « -And when my son comes in, conduct him hither. 
 
 What is the hour ? 
 
 VALET. 
 
 'Tis on the point of morning 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Set down the light. We mean not to undress. 
 
 You may retire to sleep. 
 
 [Exit Valet. Octavio paces, musing, across the cham* 
 her ; Max. Piccolomini enters unobserved, and looks 
 at his father for some moments in silence. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Art thou offended with me ? Heaven knows 
 
 That odious business was no fault of mine. 
 
 'Tis true, indeed, I saw thy signature, 
 
 What thou hadst sanction 'd, should not, it might seem, 
 
 Have come amiss to me. But — 'tis my nature— 
 
 Thou know'st that in such matters I must follow 
 
 My own light, not another's. 
 
 octavio {goes up to him and embraces him) 
 Follow it, 
 
 follow it still further, my best son ! 
 To-night, dear boy ! it hath more faithfully 
 Guided thee than the example of thy father. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Declare thyself less darkly. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I will do so ; 
 For after what has taken place this night, 
 There must remain no secrets 'twixt us two. 
 
 [Both seat themselves. 
 Max. Piccolomini ! what thinkest thou of 
 The oath that was sent round for signatures ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 1 hold it for a thing of harmless import, 
 Although I love not these set declarations 
 
272 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT V. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And on no other ground hast thou refused 
 The signature they fain had wrested from thee ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 It was a serious business 1 was absent — 
 
 The affair itself seem'd not so urgent to me. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Be open, Max. Thou hadst then no suspicion ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Suspicion! what suspicion? Not the least. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Thank thy good angel, Piccolomini : 
 
 He drew thee back unconscious from the abyss. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 I know not what thou meanest. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I will tell thee. 
 Fain would they have extorted from thee, son, 
 The sanction of thy name to villany ; 
 Yes, with a single nourish of thy pen, 
 Made thee renounce thy duty and thy honour ! 
 
 max. [rises). 
 Octavio ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Patience ! Seat yourself. Much yet 
 Hast thou to hear from me, friend ! — hast for years 
 Lived in incomprehensible illusion. 
 Before thine eyes is Treason drawing out 
 As black a web as e'er was spun for venom: 
 A power of hell o'erclouds thy understanding. 
 I dare no longer stand in silence — dare 
 No longer see thee wandering on in darkness, 
 Nor pluck the bandage from thine eyes. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 My father 
 Yet, ere thou speakest, a moment's pause of thought 1 
 If your disclosures should appear to be 
 Conjectures only — and almost I fear 
 They will be nothing further — spare them ! I 
 Am not in that collected mood at present, 
 That I could listen to them quietly. 
 
£0 I.] THE PICC0L0MINI. 278 
 
 OGTAVIO. 
 
 The deeper cause thou hast to hate this light, 
 
 The more impatient cause have I, my son, 
 
 To force it on thee. To the innocence 
 
 And wisdom of thy heart I could have trusted thee 
 
 With calm assurance — but I see the net 
 
 Preparing — and it is thy heart itself 
 
 Alarms me for thine innocence— that secret, 
 
 [Fixing his eyes stedfastly on his sons j ace. 
 Which thou concealest, forces mine from me. 
 
 [max. attempts to answer, but hesitates, and casts /«* 
 eyes to the ground embarrassed. 
 
 octavio (after a pause). 
 Know, then, they are duping thee ! — a most foul game 
 With thee and with us all — nay, hear me calmly — 
 The Duke even now is playing. He assumes 
 The mask, as if he would forsake the army ; 
 And in this moment makes he preparations 
 That army from the Emperor to steal, 
 And carry it over to the enemy! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 That low Priest's legend I know well, but did not 
 Expect to hear it from thy mouth. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 That mouth, 
 From which thou hearest it at this present moment, 
 Doth warrant thee that it is no Priest's legend. 
 
 MAX 
 
 How mere a maniac they supposed the Duke ; 
 What, he can meditate ? — the Duke ? — can dream 
 That he can lure away full thirty thousand 
 Tried troops and true, all honourable soldiers, 
 More than a thousand noblemen among them, 
 From oaths, from duty, from their honour lure them. 
 And make them all unanimous to do 
 A deed that brands them scoundrels ? 
 
 OCTAVIO 
 
 Such a doed, 
 With such a front of infamy, the Duke 
 No way desires — what he requires of us 
 
274 THE PICCOLOMINI. ~A02 V 
 
 Bears a far gentler appellation. Nothing 
 He wishes, but to give the Empire peace. 
 And so, because the Emperor hates this peace, 
 Therefore the Duke — the Duke will force him to it, 
 All parts of the Empire will he pacify, 
 And for his trouble will retain in payment 
 (What he has already in his gripe) — Bohemia! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Has he, Octavio, merited of us, 
 
 That we— that we should think so vilely of him ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 What we icould think is not the question here, 
 The affair speaks for itself— and clearest proofs \ 
 Hear me, my son — 'tis not unknown to thee, 
 In what ill credit with the Court we stand. 
 But little dost thou know, or guess, what tricks, 
 What base intrigues, what lying artifices, 
 Have been employed — for this sole end — to sow 
 Mutiny in the camp ! All bands are loosed — 
 Loosed all the bands, that link the officer 
 To his liege Emperor, all that bind the soldier 
 Affectionately to the citizen 
 Lawless he stands, and threateningly beleaguers 
 The state he's bound to guard. To such a height 
 'Tis swoln, that at this hour the Emperor 
 Before his armies— his own armies — tremoi.es ; 
 Yea, in his capital, his palace, fears 
 The traitors' poniards, and is meditating 
 
 To hurry off and hide his tender offspring 
 
 Not from the Swedes, not from the Lutherans — No ! 
 From his own troops to hide and hurry them ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Cease, cease ! thou torturest, shatterest me. I know 
 That oft we tremble at an empty terror ; 
 But the false phantasm brings a real misery. 
 
 OCTAVIO 
 
 It is no phantasm. An intestine war, 
 Of all the most unnatural and cruel, 
 Will burst out into flames, if instantly 
 We do not fly and stifle it. The Generals 
 
60. 1.J THE PICC0L0MINI. 275 
 
 Are many of them long ago won over ; 
 The subalterns are vacillating — whole 
 Regiments and garrisons are vacillating. 
 To foreigners our strongholds are entrusted ; 
 To that suspected Schafgotch is the whole 
 Force of Silesia given up : to Terzky 
 Five regiments, foot and horse — to Isolani, 
 To Illo, Kinsky, Butler, the best troops. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Likewise to both of us. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Because the Dake 
 Believes he has secured us — means to lure us 
 Still further on by splendid promises. 
 To me he portions forth the princedoms, Glatz 
 And Sagan ; and too plain I see the bait 
 With which he doubts not but to catch thee. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 No! no I 
 I tell thee—no ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 open yet thine eyes ! 
 And to what purpose think'st thou he has called 
 Hither to Pilsen ? — to avail himself 
 Of our advice ? — when did Friedland ever 
 Need our advice ? — Be calm, and listen to me. 
 To sell ourselves are we called hither, and 
 Decline we that — to be his hostages. 
 Therefore doth noble G alias stand aloof; 
 Thy father, too, thou wouldst not have seen here, 
 If higher duties had not held him fetter'd. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 He makes no secret of it— needs make none — 
 That we're called hither for his sake —he owns it 
 He needs our aidance to maintain himself — 
 He did so much for us ; and 'tis but fair 
 That we, too, should do somewhat now for him. 
 
 OCTAVTO. 
 
 And know'st thou what it is which we must do ? 
 That Illo's drunken mood letray'd it to thee. 
 
 T 2 
 
270 THE PICCOLOMINI ACT V 
 
 Betliiuk thyself — what hast thou heard, what seen ? 
 The counterfeited paper — the omission 
 Of that particular clause, so full of meaning, 
 Does it not prove, that they would bind us down 
 To nothing good ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 That counterfeited paper 
 Appears to me no other than a trick 
 Of Illo's own device. These underhand 
 Traders in great men's interests ever use 
 To urge and hurry all things to the extreme. 
 They see the Duke at variance with the Court, 
 And fondly think to serve him, when they widen 
 The breach irreparably. Trust me, father, 
 The Duke knows nothing of all this. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 It grieves me 
 That I must dash to earth, that I must shatter 
 A faith so specious ; but I may not spare thee ! 
 For this is not a time for tenderness. 
 Thou must take measures, speedy ones — must act. 
 I therefore will confess to thee, that all 
 Which I've entrusted to thee now — that all 
 Which seems to thee so unbelievable, 
 That — yes, I will tell thee — {a pause) — Max. ! I had it all 
 From his own mouth — from the Duke's mouth I had it. 
 
 max (in excessive agitation). 
 No ! — no i— never ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Himself confided to me 
 What I, 'tis true, had lpng before discovered 
 By other means — himself confided to me, 
 That 'twas his settled plan to join the Swedes; 
 And, at the head of the united armies, 
 Compel the Emperor 
 
 MAX. 
 
 He is passionate, 
 The Court has stung him — he is sore all over 
 With injuries and affronts ; and in a moment 
 Of irritation, what if he, for once, 
 Forgot himself? He's an impetuous man 
 
SO I ] THE PICCOLOX1NI 277 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Nay, in cold blood he did confess this to me 
 And having construed my astonishment 
 Into a scruple of his power, he showed me 
 His written evidences — showed me letters, 
 Both from the Saxon and the Swede, that gave 
 Promise of aidance, and denned the amount 
 
 MAX. 
 
 It cannot be ! — can not be ! — can not be ! 
 
 Dost thou not see, it cannot ! 
 
 Thou wouldst of necessity have shown him 
 
 Such horror, such deep loathing — that or ho 
 
 Had taken thee for his better genius, or 
 
 Thou stood'st not now a living man before nie> - 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I have laid open my objections to him, 
 Dissuaded him with pressing earnestness ; 
 But my abhorrence, the full sentiment 
 Of my whole heart — that I have still kept sacred 
 To my own consciousness. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 And thou hast been 
 So treacherous ? That looks not like my father i 
 I trusted not thy words, wher* thou didst tell me 
 Evil of him ; much less can I now do it, 
 That thou calumniatest thy own self. 
 
 OCTAVIO, 
 
 I did not thrust myself into his secrecy 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Uprightness merited his confidence, 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 He was no longer worthy of sincerity 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Dissimulation, sure, was still less worthy 
 Of thee, Octavio! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Gave I him a cause 
 To entertain a scruple of my honour"? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 That he did not evinced his confidence. 
 
278 THE PICCOLOMINI [kO*D 7. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Dear son, it is not always possible 
 
 Still to preserve that infant purity 
 
 Which the voice teaches in our inmost hear , 
 
 Still in alarm, for ever on the watch 
 
 Against the wiles of wicked men : e'en Virtue 
 
 Will sometimes bear away her outward robes 
 
 Soiled in the wrestle with Iniquity. 
 
 This is the curse of every evil deed, 
 
 That, propagating still, it brings forth evil. 
 
 I do not cheat my better soul with sophisms ; 
 
 I but perform my orders ; the Emperor 
 
 Prescribes my conduct to me. Dearest boy, 
 
 Far better were it, doubtless, if we all 
 
 Obey'd the heart at all times ; but so doiug., 
 
 In this our present sojourn with bad men, 
 
 We must abandon many an honest object. 
 
 'Tis now our call to serve the Emperor ; 
 
 By what means he can best be served — the heart. 
 
 May whisper what it will — this is our call ! 
 
 MAX 
 
 It seems a thing appointed, that to-day 
 
 I should not comprehend, not understand thee 
 
 The Duke, thou sayst, did honestly pour out 
 
 His heart to thee, but for an e\ il purpose : 
 
 And thou dishonestly hast cheated him 
 
 For a good purpose ! Silence, I entreat thee — 
 
 My friend, thou stealest not from me — 
 
 Let me not lose my father ! 
 
 octavio (suppressing resentment). 
 As yet thou know'st not all, my son. I have 
 Yet somewhat to disclose to thee. [After a pauce 
 
 Duke Friedland 
 Hath made his preparations. He relies 
 Upon his stars. He deems us unprovided, 
 And thinks to fall upon us by surprise. 
 Yea, in his dream of hope, he grasps already 
 The golden circle in his hand. He errs, 
 We, too, have been in action — he but grasps 
 His evil fate, most evil, most mysterious ! 
 
PC. f.J THE PICCOLOMINI. 279 
 
 MAX. 
 
 nothing rash, my sire ! By all that's good 
 Let me invoke thee — no precipitation ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 With light tread stole he on his evil way, 
 And light of tread hath Vengeance stole on after him. 
 Unseen she stands already, dark behind him — 
 But one step move — he shudders in her grasp ! 
 Thou hast seen Questenberg with me. As yet, 
 Thou know'st but his ostensible commission . 
 He brought with him a private one, my son ! 
 And that was for me only. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 May I know it? 
 octavio (seizes the patent). 
 
 -In this disclosure place I in thy hands 
 
 Max.! 
 
 [A pame 
 
 The Empire's welfare and thy father's life : 
 Dear to thy inmost heart is Wallenstein : 
 A powerful tie of love, of veneration, 
 Hath knit thee to him from thy earliest youth. 
 Thou nourishest the wish, — let me still 
 Anticipate thy loitering confidence ! 
 The hope thou nourishest to knit thyself 
 Yet closer to him 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Father 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 O, my sou ! 
 I trust thy heart undoubtingly. But am I 
 Equally sure of thy collectedness ? 
 Wilt thou be able, with calm countenance, 
 To enter this man's presence, when that I 
 Have trusted to thee his whole fate ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 According 
 As thou dost trust me, father, with his crime. 
 
 [Octavio takes a paper out of his escratoir^ 
 and gives it to him 
 
28'* THS PICCOLOMINI [kCT V. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 What ! how ! a full Imperial patent ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Read it. 
 max. (just glances on it). 
 Duke Friedland sentenced and condemn'd ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Even so. 
 max. [throws down the paper). 
 this is too much ! unhappy error ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Read on. Collect thyself. 
 
 max. (after he has read further, with a look of affright and 
 astonishment on his father). 
 
 How! what! Thou! thou! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 But for the present moment, till the King 
 Of Hungary may safely join the army, 
 Is the command assign 'd to me. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 And thinkst thou-, 
 Dost thou believe, that thou wilt tear it from him ? 
 O never hope it ! — Father ! father ! father ! 
 An inauspicious office is enjoin'd thee. 
 This paper here — this ! and wilt thou enforce it ? 
 The mighty in the middle of his host, 
 Surrounded by his thousands, him wouldst thou 
 Disarm — degrade ! Thou art lost, both thou and all of as 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 What-hazard I incur thereby, I know 
 In the great hand of God I stand. The Almighty 
 Will cover with his shield the Imperial house, 
 And shatter, in his wrath, the work of darkness. 
 The Emperor hath true servants still ; and even 
 Here in the camp, there are enough brave men 
 Who for the good cause will fight gallantly. 
 The faithful have been warn'd — the dangerous 
 Are closely watch'd. I wait but the first step, 
 And then immediatel T — 
 
SO 1.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 2ft 1 
 
 MAX. 
 
 What ! on suspicion 9 
 Immediate j? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 The Emperor is no tyrant. 
 The deed alone he'll punish, not the wish. 
 The Duke hath yet his destiny in his power. 
 Let him but leave the treason uncompleted, 
 He will be silently displaced from office, 
 And make way to his Emperor's royal son 
 An honourable exile to his castles 
 Will be a benefaction to him rather 
 Than punishment. But the first open step — 
 
 MAX. 
 
 What callest thou such a step ? A wicked step 
 Ne'er will he take ; but thou mightest easily, 
 Yea, thou hast done it, misinterpret him 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Nay, howsoever punishable were 
 
 Duke Friedland's purposes, yet still the steps 
 
 Which he hath taken openly, permit 
 
 A mild construction. It is my intention 
 
 To leave this paper wholly unenforced 
 
 Till some act is committed which convicts him 
 
 Of high treason, without doubt or plea, 
 
 And that shall sentence him 
 
 MAX. 
 
 But w T ho the judge ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Thyself 
 
 MAX. 
 
 For ever, then, this paper will lie idle. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Too soon, I fear, its powers must all be proved. 
 After the counter promise of this evening. 
 It cannot be but he must deem himself 
 Secure of the majority with us ; 
 And of the army's general sentiment 
 He hath a pleasing proof in that petition, 
 
^02 THE PICCOLOMINI. [AjCT 7 
 
 Which thou delivered'st to him from the regiments. 
 Add this too — I have letters that the Rhinegrave 
 Hath changed his route, and travels by forced marches 
 To the Bohemian forests. What this purports 
 Remains unknown ; and, to confirm suspicion, 
 This night a Swedish nobleman arrived here. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 I have thy word. Thoult not proceed to action 
 Before thou hast convinced me — me myself. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Is it possible ? Still, after all thou know'st, 
 Canst thou believe still in his innocence ? 
 
 max. [with enthusiasm). 
 Thy judgment may mistake ; my heart can not. 
 
 [Moderates Ms voice and manv£T 
 These reasons might expound thy spirit or mine ; 
 But they expound not Fried! and — I have faith : 
 For as he knits his fortunes to the stars, 
 Even so doth he resemble them in secret, 
 Wonderful, still inexplicable courses ! 
 Trust me, they do him wrong. All will be solved. 
 These smokes at once will kindle into flame — 
 The edges of this black and stormy cloud 
 Will brighten suddenly, and we shall view 
 The Unapproachable glide out in splendour. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I will await it. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Octavio and Max. as before. To them the Valet of the 
 
 Chamber. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 How now, then ? 
 
 VALET. 
 
 A despatch is at the door. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 So early ? From whom comes he then ? Who is it? 
 
 VALET 
 
 That he refused to tell me. 
 
SO. II.] THE PICOOLOMINI. 283 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Lead him in : 
 And, hark you — let it not transpire. 
 
 [Exit Valet ; the Cornet steps in . 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Ha ! Cornet — is it you ? and from Count Gallas ? 
 Give me your letters. 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 The Lieutenant-General 
 Trusted it not to letters. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And what is it ? 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 He bade me tell you — Dare I speaK opeiuy here ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 My son knows all. 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 We have him. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Whom V 
 
 Sesina, 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 The old negociator. 
 
 octavto (eagerly). 
 And you have him? 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 In the Bohemian Forest Captain Mohrbrand 
 Found and secured him yester morning early : 
 He was proceeding then to Regensburg, 
 And on him were despatches for the Swede. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And the despatches 
 
 CORNET 
 
 The Lieutenant-General 
 Sent them that instant to Vienna, and 
 The prisoner with them. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 This is, indeed, a tiding ! 
 That fellow is a precious casket to us, 
 Enclosing weighty things. — Was much found en him ? 
 
284 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT V. 
 
 COKNET. 
 
 I think, six packets, with Count Terzky's arms. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 None in the Duke's own hand ? 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 Not that I know 
 
 OCTAYIO. 
 
 And old Sesina ? 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 He was sorely frighten'd, 
 When it was told him he must to Vienna 
 But the Count Altringer bade him take heart. 
 Would he but make a full and free confession. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Is Altringer then with your Lord ? I heard 
 That he lay sick at Linz. 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 These three days past 
 He's with my master, the Lieutenant- General, 
 At Frauenburg. Already have they sixty 
 Small companies together, chosen men ; 
 Respectfully they greet you with assurances, 
 That they are only waiting your commands. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 In a few days may great events take place. 
 And when must you return ? 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 I wait your orders 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Remain till evening. 
 
 Comet signifies Ms assent and obeisance, and is gving 
 No one saw you — ha ? 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 No living creature. Through the cloister wicket 
 The Capuchins, as usual, let me in. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Go, rest your limbs, and keep yourself conceal'd. 
 I hold it probable, that yet ere evening 
 I shall despatch yon The development 
 
3C. III. J THE PICCOLOMINI. 285 
 
 Of this affair approaches : ere the day. 
 That even now is dawning in the heaven, 
 Ere this eventful day hath set, the lot 
 That must decide our fortunes will be drawn. 
 
 [Exit Cornet. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Octavio and Max. Piccolomini. 
 octavio. 
 Well — and what now, son ? All will soon be clear ; 
 For all, I'm certain, went through that Sesina. 
 max. (who through the whole of the foregoing scene has 
 been in a violent and visible struggle of feelings, at length 
 starts as one resolved). 
 I will procure me light a shorter way, 
 Farewell. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Where now ? — Remain here. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 To the Duke. 
 
 octavio (alarmed). 
 
 What 
 
 max. (returning). 
 If thou hast believed that I shall act 
 
 A part in this thy play— 
 
 Thou hast miscalculated on me grievously. 
 
 My way must be straight on. True with the tongue, 
 
 False with the heart — I may not, cannot bo: 
 
 Nor can I suffer that a man should trust me — 
 
 As his friend trust me — and then lull my conscience 
 
 With such low pleas as these : — " I ask him not — 
 
 He did it all at his own hazard — and 
 
 My mouth has never lied to him." — No, no ! 
 
 What a friend takes me for, that I must be. 
 
 — I'll to the Duke ; ere yet this day is ended 
 
 Will. I demand of him that he do save 
 
 His good name from the world, and with one stride 
 
 Break through and rend this fine-spun web of your?. 
 
 He can, he will ! — I still am his believer 
 
 Yet I'll not pledge myself, but that those letters 
 
S>yG THE PICCOLOMINI. [kOT V 
 
 May furnish you, perchance, with proofs against him. 
 
 How far may not this Terzky have proceeded — 
 
 What may not he himself too have permitted 
 
 Himself to do, to snare the enemy, 
 
 The laws of war excusing ? Nothing, save 
 
 His own mouth shall convict him — nothing less ! 
 
 And face to face will I go question him. 
 
 OCTAVIO 
 
 Thou wilt ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 I will, as sure as this heart beats. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I have, indeed, miscalculated on thee. 
 I calculated on a prudent son, 
 Who would have bless'd the hand beneficent 
 That pluck'd him back from the abyss — and lo ! 
 A fascinated being I discover, 
 Whom his two eyes befool, whom passion wilders* 
 Whom not the broadest light of noon can heal. 
 Go, question him ! — Be mad enough, I pray thee. 
 The purpose of thy father, of thy Emperor, 
 Go, give it up free booty ! — Force me, drive nio 
 To an open breach before the time. And now* 
 Now that a miracle of Heaven had guarded 
 My secret purpose even to this hour, 
 And laid to sleep Suspicion's piercing eyes, 
 Let me have lived to see that mine own sou, 
 With frantic enterprise, annihilates 
 My toilsome labours and state-policy. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Ay — this state policy? how I curse it ! 
 
 You will some time, with your state-policy. 
 
 Compel him to the measure : it may happen, 
 
 Because ye are determined that he is guilty, 
 
 Guilty yell make him. All retreat cut off, 
 
 You close up every outlet, hem him in 
 
 Narrower and narrower, till at length ye force kiin — 
 
 Yes, ye y ye force him, in his desperation, 
 
 To set iire to his prison. Father ! father ! 
 
 That never can end well— it cannot — will not i 
 
3 111.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 287 
 
 And let it be decided as it may, 
 I see with boding heart the near approach 
 Of an ill-starr'd, unblest catastrophe. 
 For this great Monarch-spirit, if he fall, 
 Will drag a world into the ruin with him. 
 And as a ship (that midway on the ocean 
 Takes fire) at once, and with a thunder-burst 
 Explodes, and with itself shoots out its crew 
 In smoke and ruin betwixt sea and heaven ! 
 So will he, falling, draw down in his fall 
 All us, who 're fix'd and mortised to his fortune. 
 Deem of it what thou wilt ; but pardon me, 
 That I must bear me on in my own way. 
 All must remain pure betwixt him and me : 
 And, ere the daylight dawns, it must be known 
 Which I must lose — my father, or my friend. 
 
 [During his exit the curtain irops t 
 
 0Ni) oh v&a j?iJj:;t.3MU»i 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 « Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Butler, an Irishman, Comnantltr 
 
 Generalissimo of the Imperial of a Regiment of Dragoons. 
 
 Forces in the Thirty Years' War. Gordon, Governor of Egra. 
 Duchess op Friedland, Wife of Major Gteraldin. 
 
 Wallenstein. Captain Devereux. 
 
 Thekla, her Daughter, Princess of Captain Macdonald. 
 
 Friedland. An Adjutant. 
 
 The Countess Terzky, Sister of the Neumann, Captain of Cavalry, Aide- 
 Duchess, de-camp to Terzky. 
 Lady Neubrunn. Colonel Wrangel, Envoy from thi 
 Octavio Piccolomini, Lieutenant- Swedes. 
 
 General. Rosenburg, Master of Horse. 
 
 Max. Piccolomini, his Son, Colonel Swedish Captain. 
 
 of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. Seni. 
 
 Count Terzky, the Commander of Burgomaster of Egra. 
 
 several Regiments, and Brother-in- Anspessade of the Cuirassiers. 
 
 law of Wallenstein. Groom of the Cham- ) t> , 
 
 Illo, Field Marshal, Wallenstein 's ber, C h i eio ^9 to 
 
 Confidant. A Page, ) the Duke ' 
 
 J.soLANi, General of the Croats. Cuirassiers, Dragoons, Servants. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 A Room fitted up for astrological laoours, and provided with 
 celestial Charts, with Globes, Telescopes, Quadrants, and 
 other mathematical Instruments. — Seven Colossal Figures, 
 representing the Planets, each with a transparent Star of a 
 different colour on its head, stand in a semicircle in the 
 background, so that Mars and Saturn are nearest the eye. 
 — The remainder of the Scene, and its disposition, is given 
 in the Fourth Scene of the Second Act. — There must be a Cur 
 tain over the Figures, which may be dropped, and conceal 
 them on occasions. 
 
 [In the Fifth Scene of this Act it must be dropped ; but in the 
 Seventh Scene, it must be again drawn up wholly or in part.] 
 
 Wallenstein at a black Table, on which a Speculum Astrolo- 
 gicum is described with Chalk. Seni is taking Observations 
 through a wiudcw. 
 
6^7. I.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 288 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 All well — and now let it be ended, Seni. Come, 
 The dawn commences, and Mars rules the hour. 
 We must give o'er the operation. Come, 
 We know enough. 
 
 SENI. 
 
 Your Highness must permit me 
 Just to contemplate Venus. She's now rising: 
 Like as a sun, so shines she in the east. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 She is at present in her perigee, 
 
 And now shoots down her strongest influences. 
 
 [Contemplating the figure on the table. 
 Auspicious aspect! fateful in conjunction, 
 At length the mighty three corradiate ; 
 And the two stars of blessing, Jupiter 
 And Venus, take between them the malignant 
 Slily-malicious Mars, and thus compel 
 Into my service that old mischief-founder : 
 For long he viewed me hostilely, and ever 
 With beam oblique, or perpendicular, 
 Now in the Quartile, now in the Secundan, 
 Shot his red lightnings at my stars, disturbing 
 Their blessed influences and sweet aspects. 
 Now they have conquer'd the old enemy, 
 And bring him in the heavens a prisoner to me. 
 
 seni [who has come down from the window). 
 And in a corner house, your Highness — think of that ! 
 That makes each influence of double strength. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And sun and moon, too, in the Sextile aspect, 
 The soft light with the vehement— so I love it 
 Sol is the heart, Luna the head of heaven, 
 Bold be the plan, fiery the execution. 
 
 SENI. 
 
 And both the mighty Lumina by no 
 Maleficus affronted. Lo ! Saturnus, 
 Innocuous, powerless, in cadente Domo. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The empire of Saturnus is gone by ; 
 Lord of the secret birth of things is he ; 
 
290 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACr I. 
 
 Within the lap of earth, and in the depths 
 
 Of the imagination dominates ; 
 
 And his are all things that eschew the light. 
 
 The time is o'er of brooding and contrivance, 
 
 For Jupiter, the lustrous, lordeth now, 
 
 And the dark work, complete of preparation, 
 
 He draws by force into the realm of light. 
 
 Now must we hasten on to action, ere 
 
 The scheme, and most auspicious positure 
 
 Parts o'er my head, and takes once more its flight, 
 
 For the heavens journey still, and sojourn not. 
 
 [There are knocks at the door 
 There's some one knocking there. See who it is. 
 
 terzky [from without). 
 Open, and let me in. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Ay — 'tis Terzky. 
 What is there of such urge rice ? We are busy. 
 
 terzky (from without). 
 Lay all aside at present, I entreat you. 
 It suffers no delaying. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Open, Seni! 
 [While Seni opens the door for Terzky, Wallensteih 
 draws the curtain over the figures. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Wallenstein. Count Terzky 
 terzky {enters). 
 Hast thou already heard it ? He is taken. 
 Gallas has given him up to the Emperor. 
 
 [Seni draws off the black table, and exit. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (to TERZKY). 
 
 Who has been taken ? Who is given up ? 
 
 TERZKY 
 
 fhe man who knows our secrets, who knows every 
 Negotiation with the Swede and Saxon, 
 
 Through whose hands all and every thing has pass'd • 
 
 wallenstein \drawing back). 
 Nay, not Sesina? — Say, No ! I entreat thee. 
 
SC. III. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 291 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 All on his road for Eegensburg to the Swede 
 He was plunged down upon by Gallas' agent, 
 Who had been long in ambush, lurking for him. 
 There must have been found on him my whole packet 
 To Thur, to Kinsky, to Oxenstiern, to Arnheim: 
 All this is in their hands ; they have now an insight 
 Into the whole— our measures and our motives. 
 
 Scene III. 
 To them enters Illo. 
 
 ILLO (to TEKZKY). 
 
 Has he heard it ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 He has heard it. 
 
 ILLO (tO WALLENSTEINV 
 
 Thinkest thou still 
 To make thy peace with the Emperor, to regain 
 His confidence ? E'en were it now thy wish 
 To abandon all thy plans, yet still they know 
 What thou hast wish'd : then forwards thou must press ; 
 Eetreat is now no longer in thy power. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 They have documents against us, and in hands, 
 Which show beyond all power of contradiction — 
 
 WALLENSTETN. 
 
 Of my handwriting — no iota. Thee 
 I punish for thy lies 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 And thou believest, 
 That what this man, and what thy sister's husband, 
 Did in thy name, will not stand on thy reck'ning ? 
 His word must pass for thy word with the Swede, 
 And not with those that hate thee at Vienna ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 In writing thou gavest nothing — But bethink thee.. 
 How far thou venture dst by word of mouth 
 With this Sesina ! And will he be silent ? 
 If he can save himself by yielding up 
 Thy secret purposes, will he retain them? 
 
 U 2 
 
£92 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I 
 
 ILLO 
 
 Thyself dost not conceive it possible ; 
 And since they now have evidence authentic 
 How far thou hast already gone, speak! — tell us, 
 What art thou waiting for? Thou canst no longer 
 Keep thy command ; and beyond hope of rescue 
 Thou rt lost, if thou resign 'st it. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 In the army 
 Lies my security. The army will not 
 Abandon me. Whatever they may know, 
 The power is mine, and they must gulp it down — 
 And if I give them caution for my fealty, 
 They must be satisfied, at least appear so. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 The army, Duke, is thine now — for this moment — 
 'Tis thine : but think with terror on the slow, 
 The quiet power of time. From open violence 
 The attachment of thy soldiery secures thee 
 To-day — to-morrow: but grant'st thou them a respite, 
 Unheard, unseen, they'll undermine that love 
 On which thou now dost feel so firm a footing, 
 With wily theft will draw away from thee 
 One after the other 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 'Tis a cursed accident ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Oh ! I will call it a most blessed one, 
 If it work on thee as it ought to do, 
 Hurry thee on to action — to decision. 
 The Swedish General 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He's arrived ! Know'st thou 
 What his commission is 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 To thee alone 
 Will he entrust the purpose of his coming. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 A cursed, cursed accident ! Yes, yes, 
 Sesina knows too much, and won't be silent. 
 
80. HI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 295 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 He's a Bohemian fugitive and rebel, 
 
 His neck is forfeit. Can he save himself 
 
 At thy cost, think you he will scruple it ? 
 
 And if they put him to the torture, will he. 
 
 Will he, that dastardling, have strength enough 
 
 wallenstein (lost in thought). 
 Their confidence is lost, irreparably ! 
 And I may act which way I will, I shall 
 Be and remain for ever in their thought 
 A traitor to my country. How sincerely 
 Soever I return back to my duty, 
 It will no longer help me — — 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Ruin thee, 
 That it will do ! Not thy fidelity, 
 Thy weakness will be deemed the sole occasion — 
 
 wallenstein (pacing up and down in extreme agitation). 
 What ! I must realize it now in earnest, 
 Because I toy'd too freely with the thought ! 
 Accursed he who dallies with a devil ! 
 And must I — I must realize it now — 
 Now, while I have the power, it must take place ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Now — now — ere thejrcan ward and parry it ! 
 
 wallenstein (looking at the paper of signatures). 
 I have the Generals' word — a written promise ! 
 Max. Piccolomini stands not here— how's that ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 It was he fancied 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Mere self-willedness. 
 There needed no such thing 'twixt him and you. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He is quite right ; there needed no such thing. 
 The regiments, too, deny to march for Flanders- 
 Have sent me in a paper of remonstrance 
 And openly resist the Imperial orders. 
 The first step to revolt's already taken. 
 
294 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEEN [ACT I. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Believe me, thou wilt find it far more easy 
 To lead them over to the enemy 
 Than to the Spaniard. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I will hear, however ; 
 What the Swede has to say to me. 
 
 illo {eagerly to terzky). 
 
 Go, call him 
 He stands without the door in waiting. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Stay! 
 Stay but a little. It hath taken me 
 All by surprise ; it came too quick upon me ; 
 'Tis wholly novel, that an accident, 
 With its dark lordship, and blind agency, 
 Should force me on with it. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 First hear him only, 
 And after weigh it. [Exeunt Terzky and Illo 
 
 Scene IV. 
 wallenstein (in soliloquy). 
 Is it possible ? 
 Is't so ? I can no longer what I would ? 
 No longer draw back at my liking ? I 
 Must do the deed, because I thought of it ? 
 And fed this heart here with a dream ? Because 
 I did not scowl temptation from my presence, 
 Dallied with thoughts of possible fulfilment, 
 Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain. 
 And only kept the road, the access open ? 
 By the great God of Heaven ! it was not 
 My serious meaning, it was ne'er resolved. 
 I but amused myself with thinking of it. 
 The free-will tempted me, the power to do 
 Or not to do it- — Was it criminal 
 To make the fancy minister to hope, 
 To fill the air with pretty toys of air, 
 And clutch fantastic sceptres moving t'ward me ! 
 Was not the will kept free ? Beheld I not 
 
SC. IV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 295 
 
 The road of duty close beside me — but 
 
 One little step, and once more I was in it ! 
 
 Where am I ? Whither have I been transported ? 
 
 No road, no track behind me, but a wall, 
 
 Impenetrable, insurmountable, 
 
 Rises obedient to the spells I muttered 
 
 And meant not — my own doings tower behind me. 
 
 [Pauses and remains in deep thought 
 A punishable man I seem ; the guilt, 
 Try what I will, I cannot roll off from me ; 
 The equivocal demeanour of my life 
 Bears witness on my prosecutor's party. 
 And even my purest acts from purest motives 
 Suspicion poisons with malicious gloss. 
 Were I that thing for which I pass, that traitor, 
 A goodly outside I had sure reserved, 
 Had drawn the coverings thick and double round me, 
 Been calm and chary of my utterance ; 
 But being conscious of the innocence 
 Of my intent, my uncorrupted will, 
 I gave way to my humours, to my passion : 
 Bold were my words, because mv deed^ were not. 
 Now every planless measure, chance event, 
 The threat of rage, the vaunt of joy and triumph, 
 And all the May- games of a heart o'erflowing, 
 Will they connect, and weave them all together 
 Into one web of treason ; all will be plan, 
 My eye ne'er absent from the far-off mark, 
 Step tracing step, each step a politic progress ; 
 And out of all they'll fabricate a charge 
 So specious, that I must myself stand dumb. 
 I am caught in my own net, and only force, 
 Nought but a sudden rent can liberate me. 
 
 [Pauses again 
 How else ! since that the heart's unbiass'd instinct 
 Impell'd me to the daring deed, which now 
 Necessity, self-preservation, orders. 
 Stern is the on-look of Necessity, 
 Not without shudder may a human hand 
 Grasp the mysterious urn of destiny. 
 My deed was mine, remaining in my bosom : 
 
296 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I. 
 
 Once suffer'd to escape from its safe corner 
 Within the heart, its nursery and birth-place, 
 Sent forth into the Foreign, it belongs 
 For ever to those sly malicious powers 
 Whom never art of man conciliated. 
 
 [Paces in agitation through the chamber, then pauses, and, 
 after the pause, breaks out again into audible soliloquy 
 What is thy enterprise? thy aim? thy object? 
 Hast honestly confess'd it to thyself? 
 Power seated on a quiet throne thou'dst shake, 
 Power on an ancient consecrated throne, 
 Strong in possession, founded in all custom ; 
 Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots 
 Fix'd to the people's pious nursery-faith. 
 This, this will be no strife of strength with strength. 
 That fear'd I not. I brave each combatant, 
 Whom I can look on, fixing eye to eye, 
 Who, full himself of courage, kindles courage 
 In me too. 'Tis a foe invisible 
 The which I fear — a fearful enemy, 
 Which in the human heart opposes me, 
 By its coward fear alone made fearful to me. 
 Not that, which full of life, instinct with power, 
 Makes known its present being ; that is not 
 The true, the perilously formidable. 
 no ! it is the common, the quite common, 
 The thing of an eternal yesterday. 
 What ever was, and evermore returns, 
 Sterling to-morrow, for to-day 'twas sterling ! 
 For of the wholly common is man made, 
 And custom is his nurse ! Woe then to them, 
 Who lay irreverent hands upon his old 
 House furniture, the dear inheritance 
 From his forefathers ! For time consecrates ; 
 And what is grey with age becomes religion. 
 Be in possession, and thou hast the right, 
 And sacred will the many guard it for thee ! 
 
 [To the Page, who here enters 
 The Swedish officer ? — Well, let him enter. 
 
 [The Page exit, Wallenstktx fixes his eye in deep 
 thought on the door. 
 
SC. V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 297 
 
 Yet is it pure — as yet ! — the crime has come 
 Not o'er this threshold yet — so slender is 
 The boundary that divideth life's two paths. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Wallenstetn and Weangel. 
 
 wallenstein [after having fixed a searching look on him) 
 Your name is Wrangel ? 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 Gustave Wrangel, General 
 Of the Sudermanian Blues. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 It was a Wrangel 
 Who injured me materially at Stralsund, 
 And by his brave resistance was the cause 
 Of the opposition which that sea-port made. 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 It was the doing of the element 
 
 With which you fought, my Lord ! and not my merit. 
 
 The Baltic Neptune did assert his freedom : 
 
 The sea and land, it seem'd, were not to serve 
 
 One and the same. 
 
 [_ WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 You pluck'd the Admiral's hat from off my head. 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 I come to place a diadem thereon.] 
 
 wallenstein (makes the motion for him to take a seat, and 
 seats himself). 
 
 And where are your credentials ? 
 Come you provided with full powers, Sir General ? 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 There are so many scruples yet to solve 
 
 wallenstein (having read the credentials). 
 An able letter ! — Ay — he is a prudent 
 Intelligent master whom you serve, Sir General ! 
 The Chancellor writes me, that he but fulfils 
 His late departed Sovereign's own idea 
 In helping me to the Bohemian crown. 
 
298 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN [.ACT L 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 He says the truth. Our great King, now in heaven, 
 
 Did ever deem most highly of your Grace's 
 
 Pre-eminent sense and military genius ; 
 
 And always the commanding Intellect, 
 
 He said, should have command, and he the King. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Yes, he might say it safely. — General Wrangel, 
 
 [Taking his hand affectioiuUely 
 Come, fair and open. Trust me, I was always 
 A Swede at heart. Eh ! that did you experience 
 Both in Silesia and at Nuremberg ; 
 I had you often in my power, and let you 
 Always slip out by some back door or other. 
 Tis this for which the Court can ne'er forgive me, 
 Which drives me to this present step : and since 
 Our interests so run in one direction, 
 E'en let us have a thorough confidence 
 Each in the other. 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 Confidence will come 
 Has each but only first security. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The Chancellor still, I see, does not quite trust me ; 
 And, I confess — the game does not lie wholly 
 To my advantage. Without doubt he thinks, 
 If I can play false with the Emperor, 
 Who is my sovereign, I can do the like 
 With the enemy, and that the one too were 
 Sooner to be forgiven me than the other. 
 Is not this your opinion too, Sir General ? 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 I have here a duty merely, no opinion. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The Emperor hath urged me to the uttermost : 
 
 I can no longer honourably serve him. 
 
 For my security, in self-defence, 
 
 I take this hard step, which m.y conscience blames 
 
 WRANttEL, 
 
 That I believe. So far would no one go 
 
 Who was not forced to it. [After a pause. 
 
SC. V ] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 299 
 
 What may have impell'd 
 Your princely Highness in this wise to act 
 Toward your Sovereign Lord and Emperor, 
 Beseems not us to expound or criticise. 
 The Swede is fighting for his good old cause, 
 With his good sword and conscience. This concurrence, 
 This opportunity, is in our favour, 
 And all advantages in war are lawful. 
 We take what offers without questioning ; 
 And if all have its due and just proportions 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Of what then are ye doubting ? Of my will ? 
 
 Or of my power ? I pledged me to the Chancellor, 
 
 Would he trust me with sixteen thousand men, 
 
 That I would instantly go over to them 
 
 With eighteen thousand of the Emperor's troops. 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 Your Grace is known to be a mighty war-chief, 
 To be a second Attila and Pyrrhus. 
 'Tis talked of still with fresh astonishment, 
 How some years past, beyond all human faith, 
 You call'd an army forth, like a creation : 
 But yet 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 But yet ? 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 But still the Chancellor thinks, 
 It might yet be an easier thing from nothing 
 To call forth sixty thousand men of battle, 
 Than to persuade one sixtieth part of them— 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What now ? Out with it, friend ? 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 To break their oaths, 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And he thinks so ? He judges like a Swede, 
 And like a Protestant. You Lutherans 
 Fight for your Bible. You are interested 
 About the cause ; and with your hearts you follow 
 Your banners. Among you, whoe'er deserts 
 
300 
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. {ACT t 
 
 To the enemy, hath broken covenant 
 
 With two Lords at one time. We've no such fancies. 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 Great God in Heaven ! Have then the people here 
 No house and home, no fireside, no altar ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I will explain that to you, how it stands : — 
 
 The Austrian has a country, ay, and loves it, 
 
 And has good cause to love it — but this army, 
 
 That calls itself the Imperial, this that houses 
 
 Here in Bohemia, this has none — no country ; 
 
 This is an outcast of all foreign lands, 
 
 Unclaim'd by town or tribe, to whom belongs 
 
 Nothing, except the universal sun. 
 
 And this Bohemian land for which we fight 
 
 £ Loves not the master whom the chance of war, 
 
 Not its own choice or will, hath given to it. 
 
 Men murmur at the oppression of their conscience, 
 
 And power hath only awed but not appeased them 
 
 A glowing and avenging mem'ry lives 
 
 Of cruel deeds committed on these plains ; 
 
 How can the son forget that here his father 
 
 Was hunted by the blood-hound to the mass ? 
 
 A people thus oppress 'd must still be feared, 
 
 Whether they suffer or avenge their wrongs.] 
 
 WRANGEL 
 
 But then the Nobles and the Officers '? 
 Such a desertion, such a felony, 
 It is without example, my Lord Duke, 
 In the world's history. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 They are all mine — 
 Mine unconditionally — mine on all terms. 
 Not me, your own eyes you must trust. 
 
 [He gives him the paper containing the written oath 
 Wrangel reads it through, and, having read it, lay* 
 it on the table, remaining silent. 
 
 So then? 
 Now comprehend you ? 
 
SC. V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 301 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 Comprehend who can ! 
 My Lord Duke, I will let the mask drop — yes ! 
 I Ve full powers for a final settlement. 
 The Rhinegrave stands but four days' march from here 
 With fifteen thousand men, and only waits 
 For orders to proceed and join your army. 
 Those orders I give out, immediately 
 We're compromised. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What asks the Chancellor ? 
 wrangel (considerately). 
 Twelve regiments, every man a Swede — my head 
 The warranty — and all might prove at last 
 Only false play — — 
 
 wallenstein (starting). 
 Sir Swede ! 
 wrangel (calmly proceeding). 
 
 Am therefore forced 
 T' insist thereon, that he do formally, 
 Irrevocably break with the Emperor, 
 Else not a Swede is trusted to Duke Friedland. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Come, brief, and open ! What is the demand ? 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 That he forthwith disarm the Spanish regiments 
 Attached to the Emp'ror, that he seize on Prague, 
 And to the Swedes give up that city, with 
 The strong pass Egra. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 That is much indeed ! 
 Prague ! — Egra's granted — but — but Prague ! — 'Twon't da 
 I give you ev'ry security 
 
 Which you may ask of me in common reason — 
 But Prague — Bohemia — these, Sir General, 
 I can myself protect. 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 We doubt it not. 
 But 'tis not the protection that is now 
 Our sole concern. We want security, 
 
302 THE DEATH OF WALI.ENSTEIN. [ACT I 
 
 That we shall not expend our men and money 
 All to no purpose. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Tis but reasonable. 
 
 WBANGEL. 
 
 And till we are indemnified, so long 
 Stays Prague in pledge. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Then trust you us so little ? 
 weangel (rising). 
 The Swede, if he would treat well with the German, 
 Must keep a sharp look-out. We have been call'd 
 Over the Baltic, we have saved the empire 
 From ruin — with our best blood have we sealed 
 The liberty of faith, and gospel truth. 
 But now already is the benefaction 
 No longer felt, the load alone is felt. — 
 Ye look askance with evil eye upon us, 
 As foreigners, intruders in the empire, 
 And would fain send us, with some paltry sum 
 Of money, home again to our old forests. 
 No, no ! my Lord Duke ! no ! — it never was 
 For Judas' pay, for chinking gold and silver, 
 That we did leave our King by the Great Stone* 
 No, not for gold and silver have there bled 
 So many of our Swedish Nobles — neither 
 Will we, with empty laurels for our payment, 
 Hoist sail for our own country. Citizens 
 Will we remain upon the soil, the which 
 Our Monarch conquer 'd for himself, and died. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Help to keep down the common enemy, 
 
 A.nd the fair border land must needs be yours. 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 But when the common enemy lies vanquish'd, 
 Who knits together our new friendship then? 
 We know, Duke Friedland ! though perhaps the Swede 
 
 * A great stone near Lutzen, since called the Swede's Stone, the body of 
 their great king having been found at the foot of it, after the battle in which 
 he lost his life. 
 
80. V.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 303 
 
 Ought not t have known it, that you carry on 
 
 Secret negociations with the Saxons. 
 
 Who is our warranty, that we are not 
 
 The sacrifices in those articles 
 
 Which 'tis thought needful to conceal from us ? 
 
 wallenstein (rises). 
 Think you of something better, Gustave Wrangel ! 
 Of Prague no more. 
 
 wrangel. 
 Here my commission ends. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Surrender up to you my capital ! 
 
 Far liever would I face about, and step 
 
 Back to my Emperor. 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 If time yet permits — 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 That lies with me, even now, at any hour. 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 Some days ago, perhaps. To-day, no longer ; 
 No longer since Sesina's been a prisoner. 
 
 [Wallenstein is struck, and silenced. 
 My Lord Duke, hear me — We believe that you 
 At present do mean honourably by us. 
 Since yesterday we're sure of that — and now 
 This paper warrants for the troops, there's nothing 
 Stands in the way of our full confidence. 
 Prague shall not part us. Hear ! The Chancellor 
 Contents himself with Altstadt ; to your Grace 
 He gives up Ratschin and the narrow side. 
 But Egra above all must open to us, 
 Ere we can think of any junction. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 You, 
 You therefore must I trust, and not you me ? 
 I will consider of your proposition. 
 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 I must entreat, that your consideration 
 Occupy not too long a time. Already 
 Has this negociation, my Lord Duke ! 
 
S04 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I 
 
 Crept on into the second year. If nothing 
 Is settled this time, will the Chancellor 
 Consider it as broken off for ever. 
 
 WALLEN STEIN. 
 
 Ye press me hard. A measure such as this, 
 Ought to be thought of. 
 
 WRANGEL 
 
 Ay ! but think of this too, 
 That sudden action only can procure it 
 Success — think first of this, your Highness. 
 
 [Exit Wrangel 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Wallenstein, Terzky, and Illo (re-enter). 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Is't all right? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Are you compromised ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 This Swede 
 Went smiling from you. Yes ! you're compromised. 
 
 wallenstein. 
 As yet is nothing settled : and (well weighed) 
 I feel myself inclined to leave it so. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 How? What is that? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Come on me what will come, 
 The doing evil to avoid an evil 
 Cannot be good ! 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Nay, but bethink you, Duke. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 To live upon the mercy of these Swedes ! 
 
 Of these proud-hearted Swedes ! — I could not bear it 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Goest thou as fugitive, as mendicant? 
 
 Bringest thou not more to them than thou receivest ? 
 
S \nt ] TILE DEATH OF WALLEN8TE1N. 305 
 
 QwALLENSTETN. 
 
 How fared it with the brave and royal Bourbon 
 Who sold himself unto his country's foes, 
 And pierced the bosom of his father-land ? 
 Curses were his reward, and men's abhorrence 
 Avenged th' unnatural and revolting deed. 
 
 TLLO. 
 
 Is that thy case ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 True faith, I tell thee, 
 Must ever be the dearest friend of man : 
 His nature prompts him to assert its rights. 
 The enmity of sects, the rage of parties, 
 Long cherish'd envy, jealousy, — unite ; 
 And all the struggling elements of evil 
 Suspend their conflict, and together league 
 In one alliance 'gainst their common foe— 
 The savage beast that breaks into the fold, 
 Where men repose in confidence and peace. 
 For vain were man's own prudence to protect him. 
 'Tis only in the forehead nature plants 
 The watchful eye — the back, without defence, 
 Must find its shield in man's fidelity. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Think not more meanly of thyself than do 
 
 Thy foes, who stretch their hands with joy to greet thee 
 
 Less scrupulous far was the Imperial Charles, 
 
 The powerful head of this illustrious house ; 
 
 With open arms he gave the Bourbon welcome ; 
 
 For still by policy the world is ruled.] 
 
 Scene VII. 
 To these enter the Countess Terzky- 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 W ho sent for you ? There is no business here 
 For women. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 I am come to bid you joy. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Use thy authority, Terzky ; bid her go. 
 
306 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ KCT L 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 X3ome I perhaps too early ? I hope not. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Set not this tongue upon me, I entreat you : 
 You know it is the weapon that destroys me. 
 I am routed, if a woman but attack me : 
 I cannot traffic in the trade of words 
 With that unreasoning sex. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 T had already 
 Given the Bohemians a king. 
 
 wallenstein (sarcastically). 
 
 They have one, 
 In consequence, no doubt. 
 
 countess (to the others). 
 
 Ha ! what new scruplo < 
 teezky. 
 The Duke will not. 
 
 countess. 
 He will not what he must ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 It lies with you now. Try. For I am silenced. 
 When folks begin to talk to me of conscience, 
 And of fidelity. 
 
 countess. 
 
 How ? then, when all 
 Lay in the far-off distance, when the road 
 Stretch 'd out before thine eyes interminably, 
 Then hadst thou courage and resolve ; and now, 
 Now that the dream is being realized, 
 The purpose ripe, the issue ascertain'd, 
 Dost thou begin to play the dastard now ? 
 Plann'd merely, 'tis a common felony ; 
 Accomplish'd, an immortal undertaking : 
 And with success comes pardon hand in hand ; 
 For all event is God's arbitrement. 
 
 servant (enters). 
 The Colonel Piccolomini. 
 
 countess (hastily). 
 — Must wait 
 
S'J. VTJ.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 807 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I cannot see him now. Another time. 
 
 SEKVANT. 
 
 But for two minutes he entreats an audience : 
 Of the most urgent nature is his business. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Who knows what he may bring us ! I will hear him 
 
 countess (laughs). 
 Urgent for him, no doubt ? but thou may'st wait. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What is it? 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 Thou shalt be inform'd hereafter 
 First let the Swede and thee be compromised. 
 
 [Exit Servant 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 If there were yet a choice ! if yet some milder 
 Way of escape were possible — I still 
 Will choose it, and avoid the last extreme. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Desirest thou nothing further? Such a way 
 
 Lies still before thee. Send this Wrangel off. 
 
 Forget thou thy old hopes, cast far away 
 
 All thy past life ; determine to commence 
 
 A new one. Virtue hath her heroes too, 
 
 As well as fame and fortune. — To Vienna 
 
 Hence — to the Emperor — kneel before the throne ; 
 
 Take a full coffer with thee — say aloud, 
 
 Thou didst but wish to prove thy fealty ; 
 
 Thy whole intention but to dupe the Swede 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 For that too 'tis too late. They know too much ; 
 He would but bear his own head to the block. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 I fear not that. They have not evidence 
 
 To attaint him legally, and they avoid 
 
 The avowal of an arbitrary power. 
 
 They'll let the Duke resign without disturbance, 
 
 I see how all will end. The King of Hungary 
 
 X 2 
 
308 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN *A'OT I 
 
 Makes his appearance, and 'twill of itself 
 
 Be understood, that then the Duke retires. 
 
 There will not want a formal declaration : 
 
 The young King will administer the oath 
 
 To the whole army ; and so all returns 
 
 To the old position. On some morrow morning 
 
 The Duke departs ; and now 'tis stir and bustle 
 
 Within his castles. He will hunt, and build ; 
 
 Superintend his horses' pedigrees, 
 
 Creates himself a court, gives golden keys, 
 
 And introduceth strictest ceremony 
 
 In fine proportions, and nice etiquette; 
 
 Keeps open table with high cheer : in brief, 
 
 Commenceth mighty King — in miniature. 
 
 And while he prudently demean s himself, 
 
 And gives himself no actual importance, 
 
 He will be let appear whate'er he likes : 
 
 And who dares doubt, that Friedland will appear 
 
 A mighty Prince to his last dying hour ? 
 
 Well now, what then ? Duke Friedland is as others, 
 
 A fire-new Noble, whom the war hath raised 
 
 To price and currency, a Jonah's gourd, 
 
 An over-night creation of court-favour, 
 
 Which with an undistinguishable ease 
 
 Makes Baron or makes Prince. 
 
 wallenstein (in extreme agitation). 
 
 Take her away. 
 Let in the young Count Piccolomini. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Art thou in earnest ? I entreat thee ! Canst thou 
 
 Consent to bear thyself to thy own grave, 
 
 So ignominiously to be dried up ? 
 
 Thy life, that arrogated such an height 
 
 To end in such a nothing ! To be nothing, 
 
 When one was always nothing, is an evil 
 
 That asks no stretch of patience, a light evil ; 
 
 But to become a nothing, having been 
 
 wallenstein (starts up in violent agitation}, 
 Show me a way out of this stifling crowd, 
 Ye powers of Aidance ! Show me such a way 
 
SO. VII. j THE DEATH OF WALLENSTFJN. 309 
 
 As I am capable of going. I 
 
 Am no tongue-hero, no fine virtue-prattler; 
 
 I cannot warm by thinking ; cannot say 
 
 To the good luck that turns her back upon me. 
 
 Magnanimously ; " Go ; I need thee not." 
 
 Cease I to work, I am annihilated. 
 
 Dangers nor sacrifices will I shun, 
 
 If so I may avoid the last extreme ; 
 
 But ere I sink down into nothingness, 
 
 Leave off so little, who began so great, 
 
 Ere that the world confuses me with those 
 
 Poor wretches, whom a day creates and crumbles, 
 
 This age and after ages * speak my name 
 
 With hate and dread ; and Friedland be redemption 
 
 For each accursed deed. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What is there here, then, 
 So against nature ? Help me to perceive it ! 
 O let not Superstition's nightly goblins 
 Subdue thy clear bright spirit ! Art thou bid 
 To murder ? — with abhorr'd, accursed poniard, 
 To violate the breasts that nourish 'd thee ? 
 That were against our nature, that might aptly 
 Make thy flesh shudder, and thy whole heart sicken t. 
 Yet not a few, and for a meaner object, 
 Have ventured even this, ay, and perform'd it. 
 What is there in thy case so black and monstrous ? 
 Thou art accused of treason — whether with 
 Or without justice is not now the question — 
 Thou art lost if thou dost not avail thee quickly 
 Of the power which thou possessest— Friedland ! Duke I 
 Tell me where lives that thing so meek and tame, 
 That doth not all his living faculties 
 
 * Could I have hazarded such a Germanism, as the use of the word after* 
 world, for posterity, — " Es spreche Welt und Nachwelt meinen Namen " — 
 might have been rendered with more literal fidelity : — Let world and after- 
 world speak out my name, etc. 
 
 + I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age with a 
 literal translation of this line, 
 
 werth 
 Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregen. 
 
810 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I. 
 
 Put forth in preservation of his life ? 
 What deed so daring, which necessity 
 And desperation will not sanctify ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Once was this Ferdinand so gracious to me ; 
 
 He loved me ; he esteem'd me ; I was placed 
 
 The nearest to his heart. Full many a time 
 
 We like familiar friends, both at one table, 
 
 Have banqueted together. He and I — 
 
 And the young kings themselves held me the bason 
 
 Wherewith to wash me — and is't come to this ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 So faithfully preservest thou each small favour, 
 
 And hast no memory for contumelies ? 
 
 Must I remind thee, how at Regensburg 
 
 This man repaid thy faithful services ? 
 
 All ranks and all conditions in the empire 
 
 Thou hadst wronged, to make him great, — hadst loaded 012 
 
 thee, 
 On thee, the hate, the curse of the whole world. 
 No friend existed for thee in all Germany, 
 And why ? because thou hadst existed only 
 For the Emperor. To the Emperor alone 
 Clung Friedland in that storm which gather'd round him 
 At Regensburg in the Diet — and he dropp'd thee ! 
 He let thee fall ! he let thee fall a victim 
 To the Bavarian, to that insolent ! 
 Deposed, stript bare of all thy dignity 
 And power, amid the taunting of thy foes, 
 Thou wert let drop into obscurity. — 
 Say not, the restoration of thy honour 
 Has made atonement for that first injustice. 
 No honest good- will was it that replaced thee ; 
 The law of hard necessity replaced thee, 
 Which they had fain opposed, but that they could not 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Not to their good wishes, that is certain 
 Nor yet to his affection I'm indebted 
 For this high office ; and if I abuse it. 
 I shall therein abuse no confidence. 
 
60. VII. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 311 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Affection ! confidence ! — they needed thee. 
 
 Necessity, impetuous remonstrant ! 
 
 Who not with empty names, or shows of proxy, 
 
 Is served, who'll have the thing and not the symbol. 
 
 Ever seeks out the greatest and the best, 
 
 And at the rudder places him, e'en though 
 
 She had been forced to take him from the rabble — 
 
 She, this Necessity, it was that placed thee 
 
 In this high office ; it was she that gave thee 
 
 Thy letters patent of inauguration. 
 
 For, to the uttermost moment that they can, 
 
 This race still help themselves at cheapest rate 
 
 With slavish souls, with puppets ! At the approach 
 
 Of extreme peril, when a hollow image 
 
 Is found a hollow image and no more, 
 
 Then falls the power into the mighty hands 
 
 Of Nature, of the spirit giant-born, 
 
 Who listens only to himself, knows nothing 
 
 Of stipulations, duties, reverences, 
 
 And, like the emancipated force of fire, 
 
 Unmaster'd scorches, ere it reaches them, 
 
 Their fine-spun webs, their artificial policy. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Tis true ! they saw me always as I am — 
 Always ! I did not cheat them in the bargaiu. 
 I never held it worth my pains to hide 
 The bold all-grasping habit of my soul. 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 Nay rather - thou hast ever shown thyself 
 
 A formidable man, without restraint ; 
 
 Hast exercised the full prerogatives 
 
 Of thy impetuous nature, which had been 
 
 Once granted to thee. Therefore, Duke, not thou 
 
 Who hast still remained consistent with thyself, 
 
 But they are in the wrong, who fearing thee, 
 
 Entrusted such a power in hand they fear'd. 
 
 For, by the laws of Spirit, in the right 
 
 Is every individual character 
 
 That acts in strict consistence with itself 
 
31*2 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I 
 
 Self contradiction is the only wrong. 
 
 Wert thou another being, then, when thou 
 
 Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with fire, 
 
 And sword, and desolation, through the Circles 
 
 Of Germany, the universal scourge, 
 
 Didst mock all ordinances of the empire, 
 
 The fearful rights of strength alone exertedst, 
 
 Trampledst to earth each rank, each magistracy, 
 
 All to extend thy Sultan's domination ? 
 
 Then was the time to break thee in, to curb 
 
 Thy haughty will, to teach thee ordinance. 
 
 But no, the Emperor felt no touch of conscience ; 
 
 What served him pleased him, and without a murmur 
 
 He stamp'd his broad seal on these lawless deeds. 
 
 What at that time was right, because thou didst it 
 
 For him, to day is all at once become 
 
 Opprobrious, foul, because it is directed 
 
 Against him. — most flimsy superstition ! 
 
 wallenstein (rising). 
 I never saw it in this light before, 
 'Tis even so. The Emperor perpetrated 
 Deeds through my arm, deeds most unorderly. 
 And even this prince's mantle, which I wear, 
 I owe to what were services to him, 
 But most high misdemeanors 'gainst the empire. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Then betwixt thee and him (confess it Friedland !) 
 
 The point can be no more of right and duty, 
 
 Only of power and the opportunity. 
 
 That opportunity, lo ! it comes yonder 
 
 Approaching with swift steeds ; then with a swing 
 
 Throw thyself up into the chariot-seat, 
 
 Seize with firm hand the reins, ere thy opponent 
 
 Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest 
 
 Of the now empty seat. The moment comes ; 
 
 It is already here, when thou must write 
 
 The absolute total of thy life's vast sum. 
 
 The constellations stand victorious o'er thee, 
 
 The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions, 
 
 And tell thee, " Now's the time ! " The starry courses 
 
&!. VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 315 
 
 Hast thou thy life-long measured to no purpose ? 
 
 The quadrant and the circle, were they playthings ? 
 
 [Pointing to the different objects in the room. 
 
 The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven, 
 
 Hast pictured on these walls, and all around thee 
 
 In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou placed 
 
 These seven presiding Lords of Destiny — 
 
 For toys ? Is all this preparation nothing ? 
 
 Is there no marrow in this hollow art, 
 
 That even to thyself it doth avail 
 
 Nothing, and has no influence over thee 
 
 In the great moment of decision ? 
 
 wallenstein (during this last speech walks up and down 
 with inward struggles, labouring with passion ; stops sud 
 denty, stands still, then interrupting the Countess) 
 
 Send Wrangel to me — I will instantly 
 
 Despatch three couriers 
 
 illo (hurrying out). 
 
 God in heaven be praised ! 
 wallenstein. 
 
 It is his evil genius and mine. 
 
 Our evil genius ! It chastises him 
 
 Through me, the instrument of his ambition ; 
 
 And I expect no less, than that Revenge 
 
 E'en now is whetting for my breast the poniard. 
 
 Who sows the serpent's teeth, let him not hope 
 
 To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime 
 
 Has, in the moment of its perpetration, 
 
 Its own avenging angel— dark misgiving, 
 
 An ominous sinking at the inmost heart. 
 
 He can no longer trust me — Then no longer 
 
 Can I retreat— so come that which must come. — 
 
 Still destiny preserves its due relations, 
 
 The heart within us is its absolute 
 
 Vicegerent. [To Terzky 
 
 Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangfel 
 
 To my state-cabinet. — Myself will speak to 
 
 The couriers. — And despatch immediately 
 
 A servant fur Octavio Piccolomini. 
 
 [To the Countess, who cannot conceal her triumph 
 
 No exultation ! woman, triumph not ! 
 
814 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT [1 
 
 For jealous are the Powers of Destiny 
 Joy premature, and shouts ere victory, 
 Encroach upon their rights and privileges. 
 We sow the seed, and they the growth determine. 
 
 [While he is making his exit the curtain drops. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Scene, as in the preceding Act. 
 Wallenstein, Octavio Piccolomini. 
 wallenstein (coming forward in conversation). 
 He sends me word from Linz, that he lies sick ; 
 But I have sure intelligence, that he 
 Secretes himself at Frauenberg with Gallas. 
 Secure them both, and send them to me hither. 
 Remember, thou takest on thee the command 
 Of those same Spanish regiments, — constantly 
 Make preparation, and be never ready ; 
 And if they urge thee to draw out against me, 
 Still answer yes, and stand as thou wert fetter'd. 
 I know, that it is doing thee a service 
 To keep thee out of action in this business. 
 Thou lovest to linger on in fair appearances ; 
 Steps of extremity are not thy province, 
 Therefore have I sought out this part for thee. 
 Thou wilt this time be of most service to me 
 By thy inertness. The mean time, if fortune 
 Declare itself on my side, thou wilt know 
 What is to do. 
 
 Enter Max. Piccolomini. 
 Now go, Octavio. 
 This night must thou be off, take my own horses : 
 Him here I keep with me — make short farewell- - 
 Trust me, I think, we all shall meet again 
 In joy and thriving fortunes. 
 
 octavio [to his son). 
 
 I shall see you 
 Yet ere I go. 
 
80.11.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN, 815 
 
 Scene IT. 
 Wallenstein, Max. Piccolomik: 
 
 max. (advances to him). 
 My General ! 
 
 wallenstein. 
 
 That I am no longer, if 
 Thou stylest thyself the Emperor's officer. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Then thou wilt leave the army, General ? 
 
 wallenstein. 
 I have renounced the service of the Emperor. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 And thou wilt leave the army ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Kather hope I 
 To bind it nearer still and faster to me. 
 
 [He seats him self. 
 Yes, Max., I have delay'd to open it to thee, 
 Even till the hour of acting 'gins to strike. 
 Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily 
 The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is 
 To exercise the single apprehension 
 Where the sums square in proof; 
 But where it happens, that of two sure evils 
 One must be taken, where the heart not wholly 
 Brings itself back from out the strife of duties. 
 There 'tis a blessing to have no election, 
 And blank necessity is grace and favour. 
 — This is now present : do not look behind thee, — 
 It can no more avail thee. Look thou forwards ! 
 Think not ! judge not ! prepare thyself to act ! 
 The Court — it hath determined on my ruin, 
 Therefore I will be beforehand with them. 
 We'll join the Swedes — right gallant fellows are they, 
 And our good friends. 
 
 \He stops himself, expecting Piccolomint's answe? 
 
316 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [A3T II 
 
 I have ta'en thee by surprise. Answer me not. 
 
 I grant thee time to recollect thyself. 
 
 [He rises, retires at the bach of the stage. Max. re- 
 mains for a long time motionless , in a trance of 
 excessive anguish. At his first motion Wallen 
 stein returns, and places himself before him. 
 
 max. 
 My General, this day thou makest me 
 Of age to speak in my own right and person, 
 For till this day I have been spared the trouble 
 To find out my own road. Thee have I follow'd 
 With most implicit unconditional faith, 
 Sure of the right path if I follow'd thee. 
 To-day, for the first time, dost thou refer 
 Me to myself, and forcest me to make 
 Election between thee and my own heart. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Soft cradled thee thy Fortune till to day ; 
 Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport, 
 Indulge all lovely instincts, act for ever 
 With undivided heart. It can remain 
 No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads 
 Start from each other. Duties strive with duties. 
 Thou must needs choose thy party in the war 
 Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and kim 
 Who is thy Emperor. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 War ! is that the name ? 
 War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence. 
 Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that is 
 Is that a good war, which against the Emperor 
 Thou wagest with the Emperor's own army? 
 O God of heaven ! what a change is this. 
 Beseems it me to offer such persuasion 
 To thee, who like the fix'd star of the pole 
 Wert all I gazed at on life's trackless ocean ? 
 O ! what a rent thou makest in my heart ! 
 The ingrain'd instinct of old reverence, 
 The holy habit of obediency, 
 Must I pluck live asunder from thy name ? 
 
SC. 11 1 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 817 
 
 Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me — 
 It always was as a god looking upon me ! 
 Duke Wallenstein, its power has not departed • 
 The senses still are in thy bonds, although, 
 Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Max. hear me 
 
 MAX. 
 
 ! do it not, I pray thee, do it not ! 
 There is a pure and noble soul within thee, 
 Knows not of this unblest unlucky doing. 
 Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only 
 Which hath polluted thee — -and innocence, 
 It will not let itself be driven away 
 From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not, 
 Thou canst not end in this. It would reduce 
 All human creatures to disloyalty 
 Against the nobleness of their own nature. 
 'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief, 
 Which holdeth nothing noble in free will, 
 And trusts itself to impotence alone, 
 Made powerful only in an unknown power. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The world will judge me sternly, I expect it. 
 Already have I said to my own self 
 All thou canst say to me. Who but avoids 
 The extreme, can he by going round avoid it ? 
 But here there is no choice. Yes — I must use 
 Or suffer violence— so stands the case, 
 There remains nothing possible but that. 
 
 max. 
 O that is never possible for thee ! 
 Tis the last desperate resource of those 
 Cheap souls, to whom their honour, their good name 
 Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep, 
 Which having staked and lost, they stake themselves 
 In the mad rage of gaming Thou art rich, 
 And glorious ; with an unpolluted heart 
 Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest 1 
 But he, who once hath acted infamy, 
 Doos nothing more in this world. 
 
318 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT II 
 
 wallenstein (grasps his hand). 
 
 Calmly > Max. ! 
 Much that is great and excellent will we 
 Perform together yet. And if we only 
 Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon 
 Forgotten, Max., by what road we ascended. 
 Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now, 
 That yet was deeply sullied in the winning. 
 To the evil spirit doth the earth belong, 
 Not to the good. All, that the powers divine 
 Send from above, are universal blessings : 
 Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes, 
 But never yet was man enrich'd by them : 
 In the:.r eternal realm no property 
 Is to be struggled for — all there is general. 
 The jewel, the all-valued gold we win 
 From the deceiving Powers, depraved in nature, 
 That dwell beneath the day and blessed sun-light. 
 Not without sacrifices are they render 'd 
 Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth 
 That e'er retired unsullied from their service. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Whate'er is human, to the human being 
 
 Do I allow — and to the vehement 
 
 And striving spirit readily I pardon 
 
 The excess of action ; but to thee, my General ! 
 
 Above all others make I large concession. 
 
 For thou must move a world, and be the master — 
 
 He kills thee, who condemns thee to inaction. 
 
 So be it then ! maintain thee in thy post 
 
 By violence. Resist the Emperor, 
 
 And if it must be, force with force repel : 
 
 I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it. 
 
 But not — not to the traitor — yes ! — the word 
 
 Is spoken out 
 
 Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon. 
 That is no mere excess ! that is no error 
 Of human nature —that is wholly different, 
 O that is black, black as the pit of hell ! 
 
 [Wallenstein betrays a sudden agitatiwx 
 Thou canst not hear it named, and wilt thou do it ? 
 
BC. II.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 3i^ 
 
 turn back to thy duty. That thou canst, 
 
 1 hold it certain. Send me to Vienna : 
 
 I'll make thy peace for thee with the Emperor. 
 He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He 
 Shall see thee, Duke ! with my unclouded eye, 
 And I bring back his confidence to thee. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 It is too late ! Thou knowest not what has happen \i. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Were it too late, and were things gone so far, 
 That a crime only could prevent thy fall, 
 Then — fall ! fall honourably, even as thou stood'st, 
 Lose the command. Go from the stage of war. 
 Thou canst with splendour do it — do it too 
 With innocence. Thou hast lived much for others, 
 At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee. 
 My destiny I never part from thine. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 It is too late ! Even now, while thou art losing 
 Thy words, one after the other are the mile-stones 
 Left fast behind by my post couriers, 
 Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra. 
 
 [Max. stands as convulsed, with a gesture and counte- 
 nance expressing the most intense anguish. 
 Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forced. 
 I cannot give assent to my own shame 
 And ruin. Thou — no — thou canst not forsake me ! 
 So let us do, what must be done, with dignity, 
 With a firm step. What am I doing worse 
 Than did famed Caesar at the Rubicon, 
 When he the legions led against his country, 
 The which his country had delivered to him ? 
 Had he thrown down the sword, he had been lost, 
 As I were, if I but disarm 'd myself. 
 I trace out something in me of this spirit ; 
 Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear. 
 
 [Max. quits him abruptly. Wallenstein startled and 
 overpowered, continues looking after him, and is still in 
 this posture when Tekzky enters. 
 
8^0 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [aOT II 
 
 Scene III. 
 Wallenstein, Terzky 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Max. Piccolomini just left you ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He is already gone. 
 
 Where is Wrangel ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 In such a hurry ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 It is as if the earth had swallow'd him. 
 
 He had scarce left thee, when I went to seek him. 
 
 I wish'd some words with him — but he was gone. 
 
 How, when, and where, could no one tell me. Nay, 
 
 I half believe it was the devil himself ; 
 
 A human creature could not so at once 
 
 Have vanish'd. 
 
 illo (enters). 
 Is it true that thou wilt send 
 Octavio ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 How, Octavio ! Whither send him ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He goes to Frauenburg, and will lead hither 
 The Spanish and Italian regiments. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 No! 
 Nay, Hea en forbid ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And why should Heaven forbid ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Him ! — that deceiver ! Wouldst thou trust to him 
 The soldiery ? Him wilt thou let slip from thee. 
 Now in the very instant that decides us 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Thou wilt not do this ! — No ! I pray thee, no ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Yc are whimsical. 
 
SC III.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 321 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 but for this time, Duke, 
 Yield to our warning ! Let him not depart 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And why should I not trust him only this time, 
 
 Who have always trusted him ? What, then, has happen 'd, 
 
 That I should lose my good opinion of him ? 
 
 In complaisance to your whims, not my own, 
 
 I must, forsooth, give up a rooted judgment. 
 
 Think not I am a woman. Having trusted him 
 
 E'en till to-day, to-day too will I trust him. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Must it be he — he only ? Send another. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 It must be he, whom I myself have chosen ; 
 He is well fitted for the business. Therefore 
 I gave it him. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Because he's an Italian — 
 Therefore is he well fitted for the business ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I know you love them not — nor sire nor son — • 
 
 Because that I esteem them, love them — visibly 
 
 Esteem them, love them more than you and others, 
 
 E'en as they merit. Therefore are they eye-blights, 
 
 Thorns in your foot-path. But your jealousies, 
 
 In what affect they me or my concerns ? 
 
 Are they the worse to me because you hate them ? 
 
 Love or hate one another as you will, 
 
 I leave to each man his own moods and likings ; 
 
 Yet know the worth of each of you to me. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Von Questenberg, while he was here, was always 
 Lurking about with this Octavio. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 It happen 'd with my knowledge and permission. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 I know that secret messengers came to him 
 From Gallas 
 
322 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN [kQ r . 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 That's not true. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 thou art blind, 
 With thy deep-seeing eyes ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Thou wilt not shake 
 My faith for me — my faith, which founds itself 
 On the profoundest science. If 'tis false, 
 Then the whole science of the stars is false : 
 For know, I have a pledge from Fate itself, 
 That he is the most faithful of my friends. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Hast thou a pledge, that this pledge is not false ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 There exist moments in the life of man, 
 
 When he is nearer the great Soul of the world 
 
 Than is man's custom, and possesses freely 
 
 The power of questioning his destiny : 
 
 And such a moment 'twas, when in the night 
 
 Before the action in the plains of Lutzen, 
 
 Leaning against a tree, thoughts crowding thoughts 
 
 I look'd out far upon the ominous plain. 
 
 My whole life, past and future, in this moment 
 
 Before my mind's eye glided in procession, 
 
 And to the destiny of the next morning 
 
 The spirit, nll'd with anxious presentiment, 
 
 Did knit the most removed futurity. 
 
 Then said I also to myself, " So many 
 
 Dost thou command. They follow all thy stars 
 
 And as on some great number set their All 
 
 Upon thy single head, and only man 
 
 The vessel of thy fortune. Yet a day 
 
 Will come, when Destiny shall once more scatter 
 
 All these in many a several direction : 
 
 Few be they who will stand out faithful to thee." 
 
 I yearn'd to know which one was faithfullest 
 
 Of all, this camp included. Great Destiny, 
 
 Give me a sign ! And he shall be the man, 
 
 Who, on the approaching morning, comes the first 
 
 To meet me with a token of his love: 
 
6C III ] THE DEATH OF WALLEN STEIN. 3 % 23 
 
 And thinking this, I fell into a slumber. 
 
 Then midmost in the battle was I led 
 
 In spirit. Great the pressure and the tumult i 
 
 Then was my horse kill'd under me : 1 sank ; 
 
 And over me away, all unconcernedly, 
 
 Drove horse and rider — and thus trod to pieces 
 
 I lay, and panted like a dying man ; 
 
 Then seized me suddenly a saviour arm ; 
 
 It was Octavio's — I awoke at once, 
 
 'Twas broad day, and Octavio stood before me. 
 
 " My brother," said he, " do not ride to-day 
 
 The dapple, as you're wont ; but mount the horse 
 
 Which I have chosen for thee. Do it, brother ! 
 
 In love to me. A strong dream warn'd me so." 
 
 It was the swiftness of this horse that snatch'd me 
 
 From the hot pursuit of Bannier's dragoons. 
 
 My cousin rode the dapple on that day, 
 
 And never more saw I or horse or rider. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 That was a chance. 
 
 wallenstein (significantly). 
 
 There's no such thing as chance ; 
 \_ And what to us seems merest accident 
 Springs from the deepest source of destiny.] 
 In brief, 'tis sign'd and seal'd that this Octavio 
 Is my good angel — and now no word more. 
 
 [He is retiring 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 This is my comfort — Max. remains our hostage. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 And he shall never stir from here alive. 
 
 wallenstein (stops and turns himself round). 
 Are ye not like the women, who for ever 
 Only recur to their first word, although 
 One had been talking reason by the hour ! 
 Know, that the human being's thoughts and deeds 
 Are not like ocean billows, Kindly moved. 
 The inner world, his microcosmus, is 
 The deep shaft, out of which they spring eternally. 
 They grow by certain laws, like the tree's fruit — 
 No juggling chance can metamorphose them, 
 
 y 2 
 
824 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT II, 
 
 Have I the human kernel first examined ? 
 
 Then I know, too, the future will and action. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Chamber in the residence of Piccolomini. 
 
 Octavio Piccolomini (attired for travelling), an Adjutant. 
 
 [_ OCTAVIO 
 
 Is the detachment here ? 
 
 ADJUTANT 
 
 It waits below. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And are the soldiers trusty, Adjutant ? 
 
 Say, from what regiment hast thou chosen them ? 
 
 ADJUTANT. 
 
 From Tiefenbach's 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 That regiment is loyal, 
 Keep them in silence in the inner court, 
 Unseen by all, and when the signal peals 
 Then close the doors, keep watch upon the house, 
 And all ye meet be instantly arrested. [Exit Adjutant. 
 
 I hope indeed I shall not need their service, 
 So certain feel I of my well laid plans ; 
 But when an empire's safety is at stake 
 Twere better too much caution than too little.] 
 
 Scene V. 
 A Chamber in Piccolomini's Dwelling -House 
 Octavio Piccolomini, Isolani, entering 
 isolani. 
 Here am I —Well ! who comes yet of the others? 
 
 octavio (with an air of mystery). 
 But, first, a word with you, Count Isolani. 
 
 isolani (assuming the same air of mystery). 
 Will it explode, ha ? — Is the Duke about 
 To make the attempt? In me, friend, you may place 
 Full confidence. — Nay, put me to the proof. 
 
 OCTAVIO 
 
 That may happen. 
 
 ISOLANI 
 
 Noble brother, I am 
 Not one of those men who in words are valiant* 
 
SC. V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 325 
 
 Aiid when it comes to action skulk away. 
 The Duke has acted towards me as a friend. 
 
 God knows it is so ; and I owe him all 
 
 He may rely on my fidelity. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 That will be seen hereafter. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Be on your guard, 
 All think not as I think ; and there are many 
 Who still hold with the Court — yes, and they say 
 That those stolen signatures bind them to nothing, 
 
 £ OCTAVIO. 
 
 Indeed ! Pray name to me the chiefs that think so. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Plague upon them ! all the Germans think so ; 
 Esterhazy, Kaunitz, Deodati, too, 
 Insist upon obedience to the Court.] 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I am rejoiced to hear it. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 You rejoice ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 That the Emperor has yet such gallant servants, 
 And loving friends. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Nay, jeer not, I entreat you. 
 They are no such worthless fellows, I assure you. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I am assured already. God forbid 
 
 That I should jest! — In very serious earnest, 
 
 I am rejoiced to see an honest cause 
 
 So strong. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 The Devil ! — what ! — why, what means this ? 
 Are you not, then For what, then, am I here ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 That you may make full declaration, whether 
 You will be call'd the friend or enemy 
 Of the Emperor. 
 
 ISOLANI (ivith an air of defiance) 
 That declaration, friend, 
 
3*26 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT tL 
 
 I'll make to him in whom a right is placed 
 To put that question to me. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Whether, Count, 
 That right is mine, this paper may instruct yoa< 
 
 isolani (stammering). 
 Why, — why — what! this is the Emperors hand and seal! 
 
 [Reads 
 " Whereas, the officers collectively 
 Throughout our army will obey the orders 
 Of the Lieutenant- General Piccolomini. 
 
 As from ourselves." Hem! — Yes! so! — Yes! yes! — 
 
 I — I give you joy, Lieutenant- General ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And you submit you to the order ? 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 But you have taken me so by surprise — 
 Time for reflection one must have 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Two minutes. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 My God ! But then the case is — 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Plain and simple. 
 You must declare you, whether you determine 
 To act a treason 'gainst your Lord and Sovereign, 
 Or whether you will serve him faithfully. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Treason ! — My God ! — But who talks then of treason ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 That is the case. The Prince-duke is a traitor — 
 Means to lead over to the enemy 
 
 The Emperor's army. — Now, Count ! — brief and full — 
 Say, will you break your oath to the Emperor? 
 Sell yourself to the enemy ? — Say, will you ? 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 What mean you ? I — I break my oath, d'ye say, 
 
 To his Imperial Majesty? 
 
 Did I say so ! — When, when have I said that? 
 
SC. V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 327 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 You have not said it jet — not yet. This instant 
 I wait to hear, Count, whether you will say it, 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Ay ! that delights me now, that you yourself 
 Bear witness for me that I never said so. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And you renounce the Duke then ? 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 If he's planning 
 Treason — why, treason breaks all bonds asunder. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And are determined, too, to fight against him? 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 Ee has done me service — but if he's a villain, 
 Perdition seize him ! — All scores are rubb'd off. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I am rejoiced that you are so well disposed. 
 This night, break off in the utmost secrecy 
 With all the light-arm'd troops — it must appear 
 As came the order from the Duke himself. 
 At Frauenburg's the place of rendezvous ; 
 There will Count Gallas give you further orders. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 It shall be done.— But you'll remember me 
 
 With the Emperor — how well-disposed you found me. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I will not fail to mention it honourably. 
 
 [Exit Isolani. A Servant enters 
 What, Colonel Butler ! — Show him up. 
 isolani (returning). 
 Forgive me too my bearish ways, old father ! 
 Lord God ! how should I know, then, what a great 
 Person I had before me. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 No excuses ! 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 
 I am a merry lad, and if at time 
 
 A rash word might escape me gainst the Court 
 
 Amidst my wine — You know no harm was meant [Exit 
 
828 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT II. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 You need not be uneasy on that score. 
 That has succeeded. Fortune favour us 
 With all the others only but as much ! 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 OCTAYIO PlCCOLOMINI, BUTLER. 
 BUTLER. 
 
 At your command Lieutenant-general. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Welcome, as honour'd friend and visitor. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 You do me too much honour. 
 
 octavio (after both have seated themselves). 
 You have not 
 Return'd the advances which I made you yesterday — 
 Misunderstood them as mere empty forms. 
 That wish proceeded from my heart— I was 
 . In earnest with you — for 'tis now a time 
 In which the honest should unite most closely. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Tis only the like-minded can unite. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 True ! and I name all honest men like-minded. 
 
 I never charge a man but with those acts 
 
 To which his character deliberately 
 
 Impels him ; for alas ! the violence 
 
 Of blind misunderstandings often thrust 
 
 The very best of us from the right track. 
 
 You came through Frauenburg. Did the Count Galla? 
 
 Say nothing to you ? Tell me. He's my friend 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 His words were lost on me. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 It grieves me sorely, 
 To hear it : for his counsel was most wise. 
 I had myself the like to offer. 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 Spare 
 Yourself the trouble — me th' embarrassment, 
 To have deserved so ill your good opinion. 
 
SC. VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 829 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 The time is precious — let us talk openly. 
 You know how matters stand here. Wallenstein 
 Meditates treason — I can tell you further, 
 He has committed treason ; but few hours 
 Have past, since he a covenant concluded 
 With the enemy. The messengers are now 
 Full on their way to Egra and to Prague. 
 To-morrow he intends to lead us over 
 To the enemy. But he deceives himself; 
 For Prudence wakes — The Emperor has still 
 Many and faithful friends hese, and they stand 
 In closest union, mighty though unseen. 
 This manifesto sentences the Duke — 
 Eecalls the obedience of the army from him, 
 And summons all the loyal, all the honest, 
 To join and recognise in me their leader. 
 Choose — will you share with us an honest cause? 
 Or with the evil share an evil lot ? 
 butler (rises). 
 His lot is mine. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Is that your last resolve ? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 It is. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Nay, but bethink you, Colonel Butler ! 
 As yet you have time. Within my faithful breast 
 That rashly utter'd word remains interr'd. 
 Recall it, Butler ! choose a better party : 
 You have not chosen the right one. 
 butlee [going). 
 
 Any other 
 Commands for me, Lieu tenant- General ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 See your white hairs : recall that word ! 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 What ' Would you draw this good and gallant sword 
 In such a cause ? Into a curse would you 
 
330 THE DEATH CF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT II. 
 
 Transform the gratitude which you have earn'd 
 By forty years' fidelity from Austria ? 
 
 butler (laughing with bitterness). 
 Gratitude from the House of Austria ! [He is going. 
 octavio (permits him to go as far as the door, then calls after 
 
 him). 
 Butler ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 What wish you ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 How was't with the Count ? 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 Count? what? 
 
 octavio (coldly). 
 The title that you wish'd, I mean. 
 butler (starts in sudden passion). 
 Hell and damnation ! 
 
 octavio (coldly). 
 
 You petition'd for it — 
 Arid your petition was repelled — Was it so ? 
 
 butler. 
 Your insolent scoff shall not go by unpunish'd. 
 Draw ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Nay ! your sword to 'ts sheath ! and tell me calmly, 
 How all that happen'd. I will not refuse you 
 Your satisfaction afterwards. Calmly, Butler ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Be the whole world acquainted with the weakness 
 
 For which I never can forgive myself. 
 
 Lieutenant- General ! Yes ; I have ambition. 
 
 Ne'er was I able to endure contempt. 
 
 It stung me to the quick, that birth and title 
 
 Should have more weight than merit has in the army. 
 
 I would fain not be meaner than my equal, 
 
 So in an evil hour I let myself 
 
 Be tempted to that measure. It was folly ! 
 
 But yet so hard a penance it des-erved not. 
 
 It might have been refused ; but wherefore barb 
 
 And venom the refusal with contempt ? 
 
SC. VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLEN3TETN. 33 4 
 
 Why dash to earth and crush with heaviest scorn 
 The grey-hair 'd man, the faithful vet; ran? 
 Why to the baseness of his parentage 
 Refer him with such cruel roughness, only 
 Because he had a weak hour and forgot himself? 
 But nature gives a sting e'en to the worm 
 Which wanton Power treads on in sport and insult 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 You must have been calumniated. Guess you 
 The enemy who did you this ill service ? 
 
 BTJTLEK. 
 
 Be't who it will — a most low-hearted scoundrel ! 
 Some vile court-minion must it be, some Spaniard ; 
 Some young squire of some ancient family, 
 In whose light I may stand ; some envious knave, 
 Stung to his soul by my fair selfearn'd honours ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 But tell me, did the Duke approve that measure ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Himself impell'd me to it, used his interest 
 In my behalf with all the warmth of friendship. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Ay ? are you sure of that ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 I read the letter. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 And so did I — but the contents were different. 
 
 [Butler is suddenly struck. 
 By chance I'm in possession of that letter — 
 Can leave it to your own eyes to convince you. 
 
 [He gives him the letter 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Ha : what is this ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I fear me, Colonel Butler, 
 An infamous game have they been playing with you. 
 The Duke, you say, impell'd you to this measure ? 
 Now, in this letter, talks he in contempt 
 Concerning you ; counsels the minister 
 
&82 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN, ["ACT II 
 
 To give sound chastisement to your conceit, 
 For so he calls it. 
 
 [Butler reads through the letter; his knees tremble^ 
 he seizes a chair, and sinks down in it. 
 You have no enemy, no persecutor ; 
 There's no one wishes ill to you. Ascribe 
 The insult you received to the Duke only. 
 His aim is clear and palpable. He wish'd 
 To tear you from your Emperor : he hoped 
 To gain from your revenge what he well knew 
 {What your long-tried fidelity convinced him) 
 He ne'er could dare expect from your calm reason. 
 A blind tool would he make you, in contempt 
 Use you, as means of most abandoned ends. 
 He has gained his point. Too well has he succeeded 
 In luring you away from that good path 
 On which you had been journeying forty years ! 
 
 butler (Jiis voice trembling). 
 Can e'er the Emperor's Majesty forgive me? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 More than forgive you. He would fain compensate 
 For that affront, and most unmerited grievance 
 Sustain'd by a deserving gallant veteran. 
 From his free impulse he confirms the present, 
 Which the Duke made you for a wicked purpose. 
 The regiment, which you now command, is yours. 
 
 [Butler attempts to rise, sinks down again. He labours 
 inwardly with violent emotions ; tries to speak, and can- 
 not. At length he takes his sword from the belt, and 
 offers it to Piccolomini. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 What wish you ? Recollect yourself, friend. 
 butler. 
 
 Take it 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 But to what purpose? Calm yourself. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 take it ! 
 I am no longer worthy of this sword. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Receive it then anew, from my hands — and 
 
SC VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 333 
 
 Wear it with honour for the right cause ever. 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 Perjure myself to such a gracious Sovereign ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 You'll make amends. Quick ! break off from the Duke : 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Break off from him ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 What now ? Bethink thyself. 
 butlek (no longer governing his emotion). 
 Only break off from him ? He dies ! he dies ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Come after me to Frauenburg, where now 
 All who are loyal, are assembling under 
 Counts Altringer and Gallas. Many others 
 I've brought to a remembrance of their duty : 
 This night be sure that you escape from Pilsen. 
 butlee (strides up and down in excessive agitation, then steps 
 up to octavio ivith resolved countenance). 
 Count Piccolomini ! dare that man speak 
 Of honour to you, who once broke his troth 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 He, who repents so deeply of it, dares. 
 
 butlee. 
 Then leave me here upon my word of honour ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 What's your design ? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Leave me and my regiment. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I have full confidence in you. But tell me 
 What are you brooding ? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 That the deed will tell you 
 Ask me no more at present. Trust to me. 
 Ye may trust safely. By the living God 
 Ye give him over, not to his good angel ! 
 Farewell. [Exit Butler 
 
 seevant (enters with a billet). 
 A stranger left it, and is gone. 
 The Prince-Duke's horses wait for you below. 
 
 [Exit Ser 
 
334 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT H. 
 
 octavio [reads). 
 " Be sure make haste ! Your faithful Isolan." 
 — that I had but left this town behind me. 
 To split upon a rock so near the haven ! — 
 Away ! This is no longer a safe place for me ! 
 Where can my son be tarrying ! 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 Octavio and Max. Piccolomini. 
 
 max. enters almost in a state of derangement, from extreme 
 agitation; his eyes roll wildly, his walk is unsteady, and 
 he appears not to observe his father, who stands at a dis- 
 tance, and gazes at him with a countenance expressive of 
 compassion. He paces with long strides through the 
 chamber, then stands still again, and at last throws him- 
 self into a chair, staring vacantly at the object directly 
 before him. 
 
 octavio (advances to him). 
 i am going off, my son. 
 
 [Receiving no answer, he takes his hand 
 My son, farewell. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 octavio. 
 Thou wilt soon follow me ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 I follow thee? 
 Thy way is crooked — it is not my way. 
 
 [Octavio drops his hand, and starts back 
 O, hadst thou been but simple and sincere, 
 Ne'er had it come to this — all had stood otherwise. 
 He had not done that foul and horrible deed, 
 The virtuous had retain 'd their influence o'er him : 
 He had not fallen into the snares of villains. 
 Wherefore so like a thief, and thief's accomplice 
 Didst creep behind him, lurking for thy prey ! 
 O, unblest falsehood ! Mother of all evil ! 
 Thou misery-making demon, it is thou 
 That sink'st us in perdition. Simple truth, 
 Sustainer of the world, had saved us all ! 
 
SC. VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 835 
 
 Father, I will not, I can not excuse thee ! 
 Wallenstein has deceived me — 0, most foully ! 
 But thou hast acted not much better. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Son! 
 My son, ah ! I forgive thy agony ! 
 max. (rises and contemplates his father with looks of suspicion)* 
 Was't possible ? hadst thou the heart, my father, 
 Hadst thou the heart to drive it to such lengths, 
 With cold premeditated purpose ? Thou — 
 Hadst thou the heart to wish to see him guilty 
 Rather than saved ? Thou risest by his fall. 
 Octavio, 'twill not please me. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 God in heaven i 
 
 MAX. 
 
 O, woe is me ! sure I have changed my nature. 
 How comes suspicion here — in the free soul? 
 Hope, confidence, belief, are gone ; for all 
 Lied to me, all that I e'er loved or honoured. 
 No, no ! not all ! She — she yet lives for me, 
 And she is true, and open as the heavens ! 
 Deceit is everywhere, hypocrisy, 
 Murder, and poisoning, treason, perjury : 
 The single holy spot is our love, 
 The only unprofaned in human nature. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Max. ! — we will go together. 'Twill be better. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 What ? ere I've taken a last parting leave, 
 The very last — no, never ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Spare thyself 
 The pang of necessary separation. 
 Come with me ! Come, my son! 
 
 [Attempts to take him with him 
 
 MAX. 
 
 No ! as sure as God lives, no ! 
 
 octavio (more urgently). 
 Come with me, I command thee ! I, thy father. 
 
386 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN. [ACT II 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Command ire what is human. I stay here 
 
 OCTAVIO 
 
 Max. ! in the Emperor's name I bid thee come 
 
 MAX. 
 
 No Emperor has power to prescribe 
 
 Laws to the heart ; and wouldst thou wish to rob me 
 
 Of the sole blessing which my fate has left me, 
 
 Her sympathy ? Must then a cruel deed 
 
 Be done with cruelty ? The unalterable 
 
 Shall I perform ignobly — steal away, 
 
 With stealthy coward flight forsake her? No ! 
 
 She shall behold my suffering, my sore anguish, 
 
 Hear the complaints of the disparted soul, 
 
 And weep tears o'er me. Oh ! the human race 
 
 Have steely souls — but she is as an angel. 
 
 From the black deadly madness of despair 
 
 Will she redeem my soul, and in soft words 
 
 Of comfort, plaining, loose this, pang of death ! 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Thou wilt not tear thyself away ; thou canst not. 
 O, come, my son ! I bid thee save thy virtue. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Squander not thou thy words in vain. 
 The heart I follow, for I dare trust to it, 
 
 octavio (trembling, and losing all self-command)* 
 Max. ! Max. ! if that most damned thing could be, 
 If thou — my son — my own blood — (dare I think it ?) 
 Do sell thyself to him, the infamous, 
 Do stamp this brand upon our noble house, 
 Then shall the world behold the horrible deed 
 And in unnatural combat shall the steel 
 Of the son trickle with the father's blood 
 
 MAX. 
 
 hadst thou always better thought of men, 
 Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion ! 
 Unholy miserable doubt ! To him 
 Nothing on earth remains unwrench'd and firm, 
 Who has no faith 
 
SC VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 3Ht 
 
 OCTAVTO. 
 
 And if I trust thy heart, 
 Will it be always in thy power to follow it ? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 The heart's voice thou hast not o'erpowered — as little 
 Will Wallen stein be able to o'erpower it. 
 
 OCTAVTO. 
 
 0, Max. ! I see thee never more again ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Unworthy of thee wilt thou never see me. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 I go to Frauenberg — the Pappenheimers 
 
 I leave thee here, the Lothrings too ; Tsokana 
 
 And Tiefenbach remain here to protect thee. 
 
 They love thee, and are faithful to their oath, 
 
 And will far rather fall in gallant contest 
 
 Than leave their rightful leader, and their honour. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Rely on this, I either leave my life 
 
 In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen 
 
 OCTAVTO. 
 
 Farewell, my son ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 
 OCTAVIO, 
 
 How ! not one look 
 Of filial love ? No grasp of the hand at parting ? 
 It is a bloody war to which we are going, 
 And the event uncertain and in darkness. 
 So used we not to part — it was not so ! 
 Is it then true ? I have a son no longer ? 
 
 [Max. falls into his arms, they hold each other for a long 
 time in a speechless emhrace % then go away at different 
 
 (The Curtain drops.) 
 
S38 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. [ACT IIL 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 A Chamber in the House of the Duchess of Friedland. 
 
 Countess Teezky, Thekla, Lady Neubkunn (the two Latter 
 sit at the same table at work). 
 
 countess [watching them from the opposite side). 
 So you have nothing to ask me — nothing ? 
 I have been waiting for a word from you. 
 And could you then endure in all this time 
 Not once to speak his name ? 
 
 [Thekla remaining silent, the Countess rises and ad- 
 vances to her. 
 
 Why, how comes this ! 
 Perhaps I am already grown superfluous, 
 And other ways exist, besides through me ? 
 Confess it to me, Thekla : have you seen him ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 To-day and yesterday I have not seen him. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 And not heard from him, either ? Come, be open. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 No syllable. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 And still you are so calm? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 I am. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 May't please you, leave us, Lady Neubrunn. 
 
 [Exit Lad? Neubrunn 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The Countess, Thekla. 
 
 countess. 
 It does not please me, Princess, that he holds 
 Himself so still, exactly at this time. 
 
 thekla. 
 Exactly at this time ? 
 
3C II. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 339 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 He now knows all : 
 Twere now the moment to declare himself. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Tf I'm to understand you, speak less darkly. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Twas for that purpose that I bade her leave us. 
 
 Thekla, you are no more a child. Your heart 
 
 Is now no more in nonage : for you love, 
 
 And boldness dwells with love — that you have proved. 
 
 Your nature moulds itself upon your father's 
 
 More than your mother's spirit. Therefore may you 
 
 Hear, what were too much for her fortitude. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Enough : no further preface, I entreat you. 
 At once, out with it ! Be it what it may, 
 It is not possible that it should torture me 
 More than this introduction. What have you 
 To say to me ? Tell me the whole, and briefly ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 You'll not be frighten'd 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Name it, I entreat you. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 It lies within your power to do your father 
 A weighty service 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Lies within my power ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Max. Piccolomini loves you. You can link him 
 Indissolubly to your father. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 I? 
 
 What need of me for that ? And is he not 
 Already link'd to him ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 He was. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 And wherefore 
 Should he not be so now — not be so always ? 
 
 z 2 
 
840 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. FACT 111 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 He cleaves to the Emperor too. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Not more than duty 
 
 And honour may demand of him. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 We ask 
 Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his honour. 
 Duty and honour ! 
 
 Those are ambiguous words with many meanings 
 You should interpret them for him : his love 
 Should be the sole definer of his honour. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 How? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 The Emperor or you must he renounce. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 He will accompany my father gladly 
 
 In his retirement. From himself you heard, 
 
 How much he wish'd to lay aside the sword. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 He must not lay the sword aside, we mean; 
 He must unsheath it in your father's cause. 
 
 THEEXA. 
 
 He'll spend with gladness and alacrity 
 
 His life, his heart's blood in my father's cause, 
 
 If shame or injury be intended him. 
 
 COUNTESS, 
 
 You will not understand me. Well, hear then :«— 
 Your father has fallen off from the Emperor, 
 And is about to join the enemy 
 With the whole soldiery 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Alas, my mother ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 There needs a great example to draw on 
 The army after him. The Piccolomini 
 Possess the love and reverence of the troops ; 
 They govern all opinions, and wherever 
 
ML II.] THE DEATH )F WALLENSTEIN. 341 
 
 They lead the way, none hesitate to follow. 
 The son secures the father to our interests — 
 You've much in your hands at this moment. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Ah, 
 
 My miserable mother ! what a death-stroke 
 Awaits thee ! — No ! she never will survive it. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 She will accommodate her soul to that 
 
 Which is and must be. I do know your mother: 
 
 The far-off future weighs upon her heart 
 
 With torture of anxiety ; but is it 
 
 Unalterably, actually present, 
 
 She soon resigns herself, and bears it calmly. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 my foreboding bosom ! Even now, 
 E'en now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror ! 
 And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp ; 
 
 1 knew it well — no sooner had I enter'd, 
 An heavy ominous presentiment 
 
 Reveal 'd to me that spirits of death were hovering 
 Over my happy fortune. But why think I 
 First of myself ? My mother ! my mother ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Calm yourself ! Break not out in vain lamenting ! 
 Preserve you for your father the firm friend, 
 And for yourself the lover, all will yet 
 Prove good and fortunate. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Prove good ! What good? 
 Must we not part ? — part ne'er to meet again ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 He parts not from you ! He cannot part from you. 
 
 THEEXA. 
 
 Alas for his sore anguish ! It will rend 
 His heart asunder. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 If indeed he loves you, 
 His resolution will be speedily taken. 
 
342 THE DEATH OF WALLENS1EIN. fACT TU. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 His resolution will be speedily taken — 
 O do not doubt of that ! A resolution ! 
 Does there remain one to be taken ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Hush! 
 
 Collect yourself ! I hear your mother coming. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 How shall I bear to see her ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Collect yourself. 
 
 Scene III. 
 To them enter the Duchess. 
 
 duchess (to the countess). 
 Who was here, sister ? I heard some one talking, 
 And passionately too. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Nay ! there was no one. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 I am grown so timorous, every trifling noise 
 Scatters my spirits, and announces to me 
 The footstep of some messenger of evil. 
 And you can tell me, sister, what the event is ? 
 Will he agree to do the Emperor's pleasure, 
 And send the horse-regiments to the Cardinal ? 
 Tell me, has he dismiss'd Von Questenberg 
 With a favourable answer ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 No, he has not. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Alas ! then all is lost ! I see it coming, 
 The worst that can come ! Yes, they will depose him ; 
 The accursed business of the Regensburg diet 
 Will all be acted o'er again ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 No ! never ! 
 Make your heart easy, sister, as to that. 
 
 [Thekla, in extreme agitation, throws herself upon h#i 
 mother, and enfolds her in her arms, weeping 
 
SC III.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 843 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Yes, my poor child ! 
 
 Thou too hast lost a most affectionate godmother 
 
 In the Empress. O that stern unbending man ! 
 
 In this unhappy marriage what have I 
 
 Not suffer'd, not endured ? For even as if 
 
 I had been link'd on to some wheel of fire 
 
 That restless, ceaseless, whirls impetuous onward, 
 
 I have pass'd a life of frights and horrors with him, 
 
 And ever to the brink of some abyss 
 
 With dizzy headlong violence he bears me. 
 
 Nay, do not weep, my child. Let not my sufferings 
 
 Presignify unhappiness to thee, 
 
 Nor blacken with their shade the fate that waits thee. 
 
 There lives no second Friedland : thou, my child, 
 
 Hast not to fear thy mother's destiny. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 let us supplicate him, dearest mother! 
 Quick ! quick ! here's no abiding place for us. 
 Here every coming hour broods into life 
 Some new affrightful monster. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Thou wilt share 
 An easier, calmer lot, my child ! We too, 
 
 1 and thy father, witnessed happy days. 
 Still think I with delight of those first years, 
 When he was making progress with glad effort. 
 When his ambition was a genial fire, 
 
 Not that consuming flame which now it is. 
 
 The Emperor loved him, trusted him : and all 
 
 He undertook could not but be successful. 
 
 But since that ill-starr'd day at Eegensburg, 
 
 Which plunged him headlong from his dignity, 
 
 A gloomy uncompanionable spirit, 
 
 Unsteady and suspicious, has possess'd him. 
 
 His quiet mind forsook him, and no longer 
 
 Did he yield up himself in joy and faith 
 
 To his old luck, and individual power ; 
 
 But thenceforth turn'd his heart and best affection*; 
 
 All to those cloudy sciences, which never 
 
 Have yet made happy him who follow'd them. 
 
344 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IIL 
 
 COUNTESS 
 
 You see it, sister ! as your eyes permit you 
 
 But surely this is not the conversation 
 
 To pass the time in which we are waiting for him. 
 
 You know he will be soon here. Would you have hiiD 
 
 Find her in this condition ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Come, my child ! 
 Come wipe away thy tears, and show thy father 
 A cheerful countenance. See, the tie-knot here 
 Is off — this hair must not hang so dishevell'd. 
 Come, dearest ! dry thy tears up. They deform 
 Thy gentle eye. — Well now — what was I saying ? 
 Yes, in good truth, this Piccolomini 
 Is a most noble and deserving gentleman. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 That is he, sister ! 
 thekla (to the countess, with marks of great oppression of 
 
 spirits). 
 Aunt, you will excuse me ? (Is going). 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 But whither ? See, your father comes 
 
 THEKLA 
 
 I cannot see him now 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Nay, but bethink you. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Believe me, I cannot sustain his presence. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 But he will miss you, will ask after you. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 What now ? Why is she going ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 She's not well. 
 duchess (anxiously). 
 What ails then my beloved child ? 
 
 [Both follow the Princess, and endeavour to detain 
 her. During this Wallenstein appears , engaged 
 in conversation with Illo. 
 
60 IV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 345 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Wallenstepn, Illo, Countess, Duchess, Theki.a 
 
 wallenstein. 
 All quiet in the camp ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 It is all quiet. 
 
 wallen STEIN. 
 In a few hours may couriers come from Prague 
 With tidings, that this capital is ours. 
 Then we may drop the mask, and to the troops 
 Assembled in this town make known the measure 
 And its result together. In such cases 
 Example does the whole. Whoever is foremost 
 Still leads the herd. An imitative creature 
 Is man. The troops at Prague conceive no other, 
 Than. that the Pilsen army has gone through 
 The forms of homage to us ; and in Pilsen 
 They shall swear fealty to us, because 
 The example has been given them by Prague. 
 Butler, you tell me, has declared himself? 
 
 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 listen'd 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 intreat forgiveness, for that secretly 
 
 I've wrong'd this honourable 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 warn'd, 
 
 This honest man is he, who reaches to me 
 
 The first pledge of my fortune. 
 
$1$ THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT Tit 
 
 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 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. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Where is thy lute, my daughter ? Let thy father 
 Hear some small trial of thy skill. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 My mother ! 
 I— 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Trembling ? Come, collect thyself. Go, cheer 
 Thy father. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 my mother ! I — I cannot. 
 
SC IV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 347 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 How, what is that, niece ? 
 
 thekla (to the countess). 
 O spare me — sing— now — in this sore anxiety, 
 Of the o'erburthen'd soul — to sing to him, 
 Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong 
 Into her grave. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 How, Thekla ! Humoursome ! 
 What \ shall thy father have express'd a wish 
 In vain ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Here is the lute. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 My God ! 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. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 My child ! O she is ill— 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What ails the maiden ? 
 Say, is she often so ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Since then herself 
 Has now betray'd it, I too must no longer 
 Conceal it. 
 
 What? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 She loves him ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 Loves him ! Whom? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Max. does she love ! Max. Piccolomini. 
 
 Hast thou ne'er noticed it? Nor yet my sister? 
 
848 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT III, 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Was it this that lay so heavy on her heart ? 
 
 God's blessing on thee, my sweet child ! Thou need'st 
 
 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. 
 
 Hopes to win her ! 
 Is the boy mad ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Well — hear it from themselves. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He thinks to carry off Duke Friedland's daughter! 
 
 Ay ? — The thought pleases me. 
 
 The young man has no grovelling spirit. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Since 
 Such and such constant favour you have shown him — 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He chooses finally to be my heir. 
 And true it is, I love the youth ; yea, honour him. 
 But must he therefore be my daughter's husband? 
 Is it daughters only ? Is it only children 
 That we must show our favour by ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 His noble disposition and his manners — 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Win him my heart, but not my daughter. 
 duchess. 
 
 Then 
 His rank, his ancestors — 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Ancestors ! What ? 
 He is a subject, and my son-in-law 
 I will seek out upon the thrones of Europe. 
 
SC TV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 849 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 dearest Albrecht ! Climb we not too high 
 Lest we should fall too low. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What ! have I paid 
 A price so heavy to ascend this eminence, 
 And jut out high above the common herd, 
 Only to close the mighty part I play 
 In Life's great drama, with a common kinsman ? 
 Have I for this — 
 
 [Stops suddenly, repressing himself. 
 She is the only thing 
 That will remain behind of me on earth ; 
 And I will see a crown around her head, 
 Or die in the attempt to place it there. 
 
 1 hazard all — all ! and for this alone, 
 To lift her into greatness — 
 
 Yea, in this moment, in the which we are speaking — 
 
 [He recollects himself. 
 And I must now, like a soft-hearted father, 
 Couple together in good peasant-fashion 
 The pair, that chance to suit each other's liking — 
 And I must do it now, even now, when I 
 Am stretching out the wreath that is to twine 
 My full accomplish'd work — no ! she is the jewel, 
 Which I have treasured long, my last, my noblest, 
 And 'tis my purpose not to let her from me 
 For less than a king's sceptre. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 O my husband ! 
 You're ever building, building to the clouds, 
 Still building higher, and still higher building, 
 And ne'er reflect, that the poor narrow basis 
 Cannot sustain the giddy tottering column . 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS). 
 
 Have you announced the place of residence 
 Which I have destined for her ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 No ! not yet. 
 Twere better you yourself disclosed it to her 
 
850 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. [ACT TO 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 How ? Do we not return to Carinthia then ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 No 
 
 DUCHESS, 
 
 And to no other of your lands or seats ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 You would not be secure there. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Not secure 
 In the Emperor's realms, beneath the Emperor's 
 Protection ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Friedland's wife may be permitted 
 No longer to hope that, 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 God in heaven ! 
 And have you brought it even to this ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 In Holland 
 You'll find protection. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 In a Lutheran country ? 
 What ? And you send us into Lutheran countries ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Duke Franz of Lauenburg conducts you thither. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Duke Franz of Lauenburg ? 
 
 The ally of Sweden, the Emperor s enemy. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The Emperor's enemies are mine no longer. 
 
 duchess (casting a look of terror on the duke and the 
 
 countess). 
 Is it then true ? It is. You are degraded ? 
 Deposed from the command ? God in heaven ! 
 
 countess (aside to the duke). 
 Leave her in this belief. Thou seest she cannot 
 Support the real truth. 
 
tO. VI. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 351 
 
 Scene V. 
 To them enter Count Tekzky. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 — Terzky ! 
 What ails him ? What an image of affright ! 
 He looks as he had seen a ghost. 
 
 tekzky (leading wallenstein aside). 
 Is it thy command that all the Croats — 
 wallenstein. 
 
 Mine! 
 
 TEKZKY 
 
 We are betray'd. 
 
 wallenstein. 
 What? 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 They are off! This night 
 The Jagers likewise— all the villages 
 In the whole round are empty. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Isolani ! 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 Him thou hast sent away. Yes, surely. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I? 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 No ! Hast thou not sent him off? Nor Deodati? 
 They are vanish'd both of them. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 To them enter Illo. 
 illo. 
 Has Terzky toid thee ? 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 He knows all. 
 
 ILLO 
 
 And likewise 
 That Esterhatzy, Goetz, Maradas, Kaunitz, 
 Kolalto, Pain, have forsaken thee. 
 
 TEKZKY 
 
 Damnation ! 
 
852 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT HL 
 
 wallenstein (winks at them). 
 Hush! 
 countess (who has been watching them anxiously from the 
 
 distance and now advances to them). 
 Terzky ! Heaven ! What is it ? What has happen'd ? 
 
 wallenstein (scarcely suppressing his emotions). 
 Nothing ! let us be gone ! 
 
 terzkt [following him). 
 
 Theresa, it is nothing. 
 countess (holding him back). 
 Nothing ? Do I not see that all the life-blood 
 Has left yjur cheeks — look you not like a ghost? 
 That even my brother but affects a calmness ? 
 
 page (enters). 
 An Aide-de-Camp inquires for the Count Terzky. 
 
 [Teezky follows the Page 
 wallenstein. 
 Go, hear his business. 
 
 [To Illo. 
 This could not have happen'd 
 So unsuspected without mutiny. 
 Who was on guard at the gates ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 'Twas Tiefenbach. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Let Tiefenbach leave guard without delay, 
 And Terzky's gienadiers relieve him. 
 illo (is going). 
 
 Stop ! 
 Hast thou heard aught of Butler ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Him I met : 
 He will be here himself immediately. 
 Butler remains unshaken. 
 
 [Illo exit. Wallenstein is following him. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Let him not leave thee, sister ! go, detain him ! 
 There's some misfortune. 
 
 duchess (clinging to him). 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! What is it? 
 
SG VIT.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 353 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Be tranquil ! leave me, sister ! dearest wife ! 
 We are in camp, and this is nought unusual ; 
 Here storm and sunshine follow one another 
 Wicn rapid interchanges. These fierce spirits 
 Champ the curb angrily, and never yet 
 Did quiet bless the temples of the leader. 
 If I am to stay, go you. The plaints of women 
 111 suit the scene where men must act. 
 
 [He is going : Teezky returns. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Remain here. From this window must we see it. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS). 
 
 Sister, retire,' 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 No — never. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 'Tis my will. 
 tebzky {leads the countess aside, and drawing her attention 
 to the duchess). 
 Theresa ! 
 
 duchess. 
 Sister, come ! since he commands it. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY. 
 
 wallenstein (stepping to the window). 
 What now, then ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 There are strange movements among all the troops, 
 And no one knows the cause. Mysteriously, 
 With gloomy silentness, the several corps 
 Marshal themselves, each under its own banners. 
 Tiefenbach's corps make threat 'ning movements ; only 
 The Pappenheimers still remain aloof 
 In their own quarters, and let no one enter. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Does Piccolomini appear among them ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 We are seeking him : he is nowhere to be met with. 
 
 A A 
 
354 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [*<,! III. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What did the Aide-de-Camp deliver to you ? 
 
 TE RZKY. 
 
 My regiments had despatch'd him ; yet once mors 
 
 They swear fidelity to thee, and wait 
 
 The shout for onset, all prepared, and eager 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 But whence arose this larum in the camp ? 
 
 It should have been kept secret from the army, 
 
 Till fortune had decided for us at Prague. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 that thou hadst believed me ! Tester evening 
 Did we conjure thee not to let that skulker, 
 That fox, Octavio, pass the gates of Pilsen. 
 Thou gavest him thy own horses to flee from thee 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The old tune still ! Now, once for all, no more 
 Of this suspicion— it is doting folly. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Thou didst confide in Isolani too ; 
 
 And lo ! he was the first that did desert thee. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 It was but yesterday I rescued him 
 
 From abject wretchedness. Let that go by ; 
 
 1 never reckon'd yet on gratitude. 
 
 And wherein doth he wrong in going from me ? 
 
 He follows still the god whom all his life 
 
 He has worshipp'd at the gaming-table. With 
 
 My fortune, and my seeming destiny, 
 
 He made the bond, and broke it not with me. 
 
 I am but the ship in which his hopes were stow'd, 
 
 And with the which, well-pleased and confident, 
 
 He traversed the open sea ; now he beholds it 
 
 In eminent jeopardy among the coast-rocks, 
 
 And hurries to preserve his wares. As light 
 
 As the free bird from the hospitable twig 
 
 Where it had nested, he flies off from me : 
 
 No human tie is snapp'd betwixt us two 
 
 Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived 
 
 Who seeks a heart in the unthinking mail. 
 
6C. VIII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 355 
 
 Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life 
 Impress their characters on the smooth forehead. 
 Nought sinks into the bosom's silent depth : 
 Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure 
 Moves the light fluids lightly ; but no soul 
 Warmeth the inner frame. 
 
 TEBZKY. 
 
 Yet, would I rather 
 Trust the smooth brow than that deep furrow'd one . 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 Wallenstein, Terzky, Illo. 
 illo {who enters agitated with rage). 
 Treason and mutiny ! 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 And what further now? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Tiefenbach's soldiers, when I gave the orders, 
 To go off guard — Mutinous villains t 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Well! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 What followed? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 They refused obedience to thein. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Fire on them instantly ! Give out the order. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Gently ! what cause did they assign ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 No other, 
 They said, had right to issue orders but 
 Lieutenant-General Piccolomini. 
 
 wallenstein (in a convulsion of agony). 
 What? How is that? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 He takes that office on him by commission, 
 Under sign-manual of the Emperor. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 From the Emperor — hear'st thou, Duke ? 
 
 AAti 
 
356 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT 111'. 
 
 1LLO 
 
 At his incitement 
 The Generals made that stealthy flight — 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Duke ! hear'st thou ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Caraffa too, and Montecuculi. 
 
 Are missing, with six other Generals, 
 
 All whom he had induced to follow him. 
 
 This plot he has long had in writing by him 
 
 From the Emperor ; but 'twas finally concluded, 
 
 With all the detail of the operation, 
 
 Some days ago with the Envoy Questenberg. 
 
 [Wallenstein sinks doivn into a chair, and covers his face 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 O hadst thou but believed me ! 
 
 Scene IX. 
 
 To them enter the Countess. 
 
 countess. 
 
 This suspense. 
 This horrid fear — I can no longer bear it. 
 For heaven's sake tell me what has taken place ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 The regiments are all falling off from us. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Octavio Piccolomini is a traitor. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 my foreboding ! 
 
 [Rushes out of the room . 
 
 TERZKY 
 
 Hadst thou but believed me ! 
 Now seest thou how the stars have lied to thee. 
 
 wallenstein 
 The stars lie not ; but we have here a work 
 Wrought counter to the stars and destiny. 
 The science is still honest : this false heart 
 Forces a lie on the truth-telling heaven 
 On a divine law divination rests ; 
 Where nature deviates from that law, and stumbles 
 
80. X.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 357 
 
 Out of her limits, there all science errs. 
 
 True I did not suspect ! Were it superstition 
 
 Never by such suspicion t' have affronted 
 
 The human form, may that time ne'er come 
 
 In which I shame me of the infirmity. 
 
 The wildest savage drinks not with the victim, 
 
 Into whose breast he means to plunge the sword. 
 
 This, this, Octavio, was no hero's deed : 
 
 'Twas not thy prudence that did conquer mine ; 
 
 A bad heart triumph'd o'er an honest one. 
 
 No shield received the assassin stroke ; thou plungest 
 
 Thy weapon on an unprotected breast — 
 
 Against such weapons I am but a child. 
 
 Scene X. 
 To these enter Butler, 
 terzky (meeting him). 
 look there ! Butler ! Here we've still a friend ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (meets him with outspread arms, and embrace* 
 him with warmth). 
 Come to my heart, old comrade ! Not the sun 
 Looks out upon us more revivingly 
 In the earliest month of spring, 
 Than a friend's countenance in such an hour. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 My General: I come — 
 
 wallenstein (leaning on butler's shoulder) 
 Know'st thou already ? 
 That old man has betray 'd me to the Emperor. 
 What say'st thou ? Thirty years have we together 
 Lived out, and held out, sharing joy and hardship. 
 W T e have slept in one camp-bed, drunk from one glass, 
 One morsel shared ! I lean'd myself on him, 
 As now I lean me on thy faithful shoulder. 
 And now in the very moment, when, all love, 
 All confidence, my bosom beat to his, - 
 He sees and takes the advantage, stabs the knife 
 Slowly into my heart. 
 
 [He hides his face on Butlers breast 
 
353 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT III. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Forget the false one. 
 What is your present purpose ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Well remember \1 ! 
 Courage, my soul ! I am still rich in friends, 
 Still loved by Destiny; for in the moment 
 That it unmasks the plotting hypocrite, 
 It sends and proves to me one faithful heart. 
 Of the hypocrite no more ! Think not, his loss 
 Was that which struck the pang : do ! his treason 
 Is that which strikes this pang ! No more of him ! 
 Dear to my heart, and honour 'd were they both, 
 And the young man — yes — he did truly love me, 
 He — he — has not deceived me. But enough. 
 Enough of this — swift counsel now beseems us. 
 The Courier, whom Count Kinsky sent from Prague, 
 I expect him every moment : and whatever 
 He may bring with him, we must take good care 
 To keep it from the mutineers. Quick then ! 
 Despatch some messenger you can rely on 
 To meet him, and conduct him to me. 
 
 [Illo is going. 
 butler (detaining him). 
 My General, whom expect you then ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The Courier 
 Who brings me word of the event at Prague. 
 
 butlee (hesitating). 
 Hem! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And what now ? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 You do not know it ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Well? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 From what that larum in the camp arose ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 From what ? 
 
£ 0t £.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 859 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 That Courier- 
 
 wallenstein (with eager expectation). 
 Well? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Is already here 
 terzkt and illo {at the same time). 
 Already here ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 My Courier ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 For some hours. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And I not know it ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 The sentinels detain him 
 In custody. 
 
 illo {stamping with his foot). 
 Damnation ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 And his letter 
 Was broken open, and is circulated 
 Through the whole camp. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, 
 
 You know what it contains ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Question me not ! 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Illo ! alas for us. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Hide nothing from me — I can hear the worst. 
 Prague then is lost. It is. Confess it freely. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Yes ! Prague is lost. And all the several regiments 
 
 At Budweiss, Tabor, Braunau, Konigingratz, 
 
 At Brunn and Znaym, have forsaken you, 
 
 And ta'en the oaths of fealty anew 
 
 To the Emperor. Yourself, with Kinsky, Terzky, 
 
 And Illo have been sentenced. 
 
 [Terzky and Illo express alarm and fury. Wal- 
 lenstein remains firm and collected. 
 
800 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT 1H. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 'Tis decided! 
 'Tis well ! I have received a sudden cure 
 From all the pangs of doubt : with steady stream 
 Once more my life-blood flows ! My soul's secure ! 
 In the night only Friedland's stars can beam. 
 Lingering irresolute, with fitful fears 
 I drew the sword — 'twas with an inward strife, 
 While yet the choice was mine. The murderous knife 
 Is lifted for my heart ! Doubt disappears ! 
 I fight now for my head and for my life. 
 
 [Exit Wallenstein; the others follow him. 
 
 Scene XI. 
 countess terzkt (enters from a side room). 
 I can endure no longer. No ! 
 
 [Looks around her. 
 Where are they ! 
 No one is here. They leave me all alone, 
 Alone in this sore anguish of suspense. 
 And I must wear the outward show of calmne&s 
 Before my sister, and shut in within me 
 The pangs and agonies of my crowded bosom. 
 It is not to be borne. If all should fail ; 
 If — if he must go over to the Swedes, 
 An empty-handed fugitive, and not 
 As an ally, a covenanted equal, 
 A proud commander with his army following ; 
 If we must wander on from land to land, 
 Like the Count Palatine, of fallen greatness 
 An ignominious monument. But no ! 
 That day I will not see ! And could himself 
 Endure to sink so low, 1 would not bear 
 To see him so low sunken. 
 
 Scene XII. 
 Countess, Duchess, Thekla. 
 thekla {endeavouring to hold back the duchess) 
 Dear mother, do stay here ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 No ! Here is yet 
 Some frightful mystery that is hidden from rne. 
 
SO. XIII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. x SGI 
 
 Why does my sister shun me ? Don't I see her 
 Full of suspense and anguish roam about 
 From room to room ? Art thou not full of terror ? 
 And what import these silent nods and gestures 
 Which stealth wise thou exchangest with her ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Nothing : 
 Nothing, dear mother ! 
 
 duchess (to the countess). 
 
 Sister, I will know. 
 countess. 
 What boots it now to hide it from her ? Sooner 
 Or later she must learn to hear and bear it. 
 'Tis not the time now to indulge infirmity ; 
 Courage beseems us now, a heart collect, 
 And exercise and previous discipline 
 Of fortitude. One word, and over with it ! 
 Sister, you are deluded. You believe 
 The Duke has been deposed — the Duke is not 
 
 Deposed — he is 
 
 thekla (going to the countess). 
 
 What ? do you wish to kill her ? 
 countess. 
 
 The Duke is 
 
 thekla (throwing her arms round her mother). 
 
 stand firm ! stand firm, my mother ! 
 countess. 
 Eevolted is the Duke ; he is preparing 
 To join the enemy ; the army leave him, 
 And all has fail'd. 
 
 Scene XIII. 
 A spacious Room in the Duke of Friedland's Palace. 
 wallenstein (in armour). 
 Thou hast gain'd thy point, Octavio ! Once more am I 
 Almost as friendless as at Eegensburg. 
 There I had nothing left me, but myself; 
 But what one man can do, you have now experience, 
 The twigs have you hew'd off, and here I stand 
 A leafless trunk. But in the sap within 
 
362 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. [ACT in. 
 
 Lives the creating power, and a new world 
 May sprout forth from it. Once already have I 
 Proved myself worth an army to you — I alone ! 
 Before the Swedish strength your troops had melted ; 
 Beside the Lech sank Tilly your last hope ; 
 Into Bavaria, like a winter torrent, 
 Did that Gustavus pour, and at Vienna 
 In his own palace did the Emperor tremble. 
 Soldiers were scarce, for still the multitude 
 Follow the luck : all eyes were turn'd on me, 
 Their helper in distress : the Emperor's pride 
 Bow'd itself down before the man he had injured. 
 'Twas I must rise, and with creative word 
 Assemble forces in the desolate camps. 
 I did it. Like a god of war, my name 
 Went through the world. The drum was beat ; and, lo 
 The plough, the workshop is forsaken, all 
 Swarm to the old familiar long-loved banners ; 
 And as the wood- choir rich in melody 
 Assemble quick around the bird of wonder, 
 When first his throat swells with his magic song, 
 So did the warlike youth of Germany 
 Crowd in around the image of my eagle. 
 I feel myself the being that I was. 
 It is the soul that builds itself a body, 
 And Friedlands camp will not remain unfill'd. 
 Lead then your thousands out to meet me — true ! 
 They are accustom'd under me to conquer, 
 But not against me. If the head and limbs 
 Separate from each other, 'twill be soon 
 Made manifest, in which the soul abode 
 (illo and terzky enter.) 
 Courage, friends ! courage ! we are still unvanquish'c 
 1 feel my footing firm ; five regiments, Terzky, 
 Are still our own, and Butler's gallant troops ; 
 And an host of sixteen thousand Swedes to-morrov. 
 I was not stronger when, nine years ago, 
 I marched forth, with glad heart and high of hope, 
 To conquer Germany for the Emperor. 
 
SJ. XV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 3C)3 
 
 Scene XIV. 
 
 Wallenstein, Illo, Tekzky. 
 
 (To them enter Neumann, who leads Tekzky aside, and talks 
 
 with him.) 
 
 tekzky. 
 
 What do they want ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What now ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Ten Cuirassiers 
 From Pappenheim request leave to address you 
 In the name of the regiment. 
 
 wallenstein {hastily to neumann). 
 Let them enter. 
 
 [Exit Neumann. 
 This 
 May end in something. Mark you. They are still 
 Doubtful, and may be won 
 
 Scene XV. 
 Wallenstein, Terzky, Illo, ten Cuirassiers (led by an An- 
 spessade * , march up and arrange themselves, after the 
 word of command, in one front before the Duke, and make 
 their obeisance. He takes his hat off, and immediately 
 covers himslf again). 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Halt! Front! Present! 
 wallenstein (after he has run through them with his eye, to 
 the anspessade). 
 I know thee well. Thou art out of Bruggen in Flanders : 
 Thy name is Mercy 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Henry Mercy 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Thou wert cut off on the march, surrounded by the Hes- 
 sians, and didst fight thy way with an hundred and eighty 
 men through their thousand. 
 
 * Anspessade, in German Gefreiter, a soldier inferior to a corporal, but 
 above the sentinels. The German name implies that he is exempt frjEi 
 mounting guard. 
 
3G4 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. fACT III 
 
 ANSPESSADE 
 
 'Twas even so, General ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What reward hadst thou for this gallant exploit ? 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 That which I asked for : the honour to serve in this corps. 
 
 wallenstein (turning to a second). 
 Thou wert among the volunteers that seized and made 
 booty of the Swedish battery at Altenburg. 
 second cuirassier. 
 Yes, General! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I forget no one with whom I have exchanged words. (A 
 pause.) Who sends you? 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Your noble regiment, the Cuirassiers of Piccolomini. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Why does not your colonel deliver in your request, accord- 
 ing to the custom of service ? 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Because we would first know whom we serve. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Begin your address. 
 
 ANSPESSADE [giving the word of command). 
 Shoulder your arms ! 
 
 wallenstein {turning to a third). 
 Thy name is Eisbeck ; Cologne is thy birth-place. 
 
 THIRD CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Risbeck of Cologne. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 It was thou that broughtest in the Swedish colonel, Dii- 
 bald, prisoner, in the camp at Nuremberg. 
 
 THIRD CUIRASSIER 
 
 It was not I, General. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 Perfectly right! It was thy elder brother: thou hadst a 
 younger brother too : Where did he stay ? 
 
 THIRD CUIRASSIER. 
 
 He is stationed at Olmutz, with the Imperial army. 
 
gC. XV. j THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 365 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (to the ANSPESSADE). 
 
 Now then — begin. 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 There came to hand a letter from the Emperor 
 Commanding us — 
 
 wallenstein {interrupting him). 
 Who chose you ? 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Every company 
 Drew its own man by lot. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Now ! to the business. 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 There came to hand a letter from the Emperor 
 Commanding us collectively, from thee 
 Ail duties of obedience to withdraw, 
 Because thou wert an enemy and traitor. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And what did you determine ? 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 All our comrades 
 At Braunau, Budweiss, Prague and Olmiitz, have 
 Obey'd already ; and the regiments here, 
 Tiefenbach and Toscano, instantly 
 Did follow their example. But — but we 
 Do not believe that thou art an enemy 
 And traitor to thy country, hold it merely 
 For lie and trick, and a trumped up Spanish story ! 
 
 [With warmth. 
 Thyself shalt tell us what thy purpose is, 
 For we have found thee still sincere and true : 
 No mouth shall interpose itself betwixt 
 The gallant General and the gallant troops. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Therein I recognise my Pappenheimers. 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 And this proposal makes thy regiment to thee : 
 Is it thy purpose merely to preserve 
 In thine own hands this military sceptre, 
 Which so becomes thee, which the Emperor 
 Made over to thee by a covenant ! 
 
366 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [AC( III. 
 
 Is it thy purpose merely to remain 
 
 Supreme commander of the Austrian armies ? — 
 
 We will stand by thee, General ! and guarantee 
 
 Thy honest rights against all opposition. 
 
 And should it chance, that all the other regiments 
 
 Turn from thee, by ourselves will we stand forth 
 
 Thy faithful soldiers, and, as is our duty, 
 
 Far rather let ourselves be cut to pieces, 
 
 Than suffer thee to fall. But if it be 
 
 As the Emperor's letter says, if it be true, 
 
 That thou in traitorous wise wilt lead us over 
 
 To the enemy, which God in heaven forbid ! 
 
 Then we too will forsake thee, and obey 
 
 That letter— 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Hear me, children ! 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Yes, or no ! 
 There needs no other answer 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 Yield attention. 
 You're men of sense, examine for yourselves ; 
 Ye think, and do not follow with the herd : 
 And therefore have I always shown you honour 
 Above all others, suffer 'd you to reason ; 
 Have treated you as free men, and my orders 
 Were but the echoes of your prior suffrage. — 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Most fair and noble has thy conduct been 
 
 To us, my General ! With thy confidence 
 
 Thou hast honour'd us, and shown us grace and favour 
 
 Beyond all other regiments ; and thou seest 
 
 We follow not the common herd. We will 
 
 Stand by thee faithfully. Speak but one word — 
 
 Thy word shall satisfy us, that it is not 
 
 A treason which thou meditatest — that 
 
 Thou meanest not to lead the army over 
 
 To the enemy ; nor e'er betray thy country. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Me, me are they betraying. The Emperor 
 Hath sacrificed me to my enemies, 
 
6C. XV J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 301 
 
 And I must fall, unless my gallant troops 
 
 Will rescue me. See ! I confide in you. 
 
 And be your hearts my stronghold ! At this Ireast 
 
 The aim is taken, at this hoary head. 
 
 This is your Spanish gratitude, this is our 
 
 Requital for that murderous fight at Lutzen ! 
 
 For this we threw the naked breast against 
 
 The halbert, made for this the frozen earth 
 
 Our bed, and the hard stone our pillow ! never stream 
 
 Too rapid for us, nor wood too impervious ; 
 
 With cheerful spirit we pursued that Mansfeldt 
 
 Through all the turns and windings of his flight : 
 
 Yea, our whole life was but one restless march : 
 
 And homeless, as the stirring wind, we travell'd 
 
 O'er the war- wasted earth. And now, even now, 
 
 That we have well nigh firrish'd the hard toil, 
 
 The unthankful, the curse-laden toil of weapons, 
 
 With faithful indefatigable arm 
 
 Have roll'd the heavy war-load up the hill, 
 
 Behold ! this boy of the Emperor's bears away 
 
 The honours of the peace, an easy prize ! 
 
 He'll weave, forsooth, into his flaxen locks 
 
 The olive branch, the hard-earn'd ornament 
 
 Of this grey head, grown grey beneath the helmet. 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 That shall he not, while we can hinder it ! 
 
 No one, but thou, who hast conducted it 
 
 With fame, shall end this war, this frightful war. 
 
 Thou ledd'st us out to the bloody field 
 
 Of death ; thou and no other shalt conduct us homo, 
 
 Rejoicing, to the lovely plains of peace — 
 
 Shalt share with us the fruits of the long toil — 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What ! Think you then at length in late old age 
 To enjoy the fruits of toil ? Believe it not. 
 Never, no never, will you see the end 
 Of the contest ! you and me, and all of us, 
 This war will swallow up ! War, war, not peace, 
 Is Austria's wish ; and therefore, because I 
 Endeavour 'd after peace, therefore I fall. 
 For what cares Austria, how long the war 
 
368 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. fjLCT III 
 
 Wears out the armies and lays waste the world ! 
 She will but wax and grow amid the ruir 
 And still win new domains. 
 
 [The Cuirassiers eocpress agitation by their gestures. 
 Ye re moved — I see 
 A noble rage flash from your eyes, ye warriors ! 
 Oh that my spirit might possess you now 
 Daring as once it led you to the battle ! 
 Ye would stand by me with your veteran arms, 
 Protect me in my rights ; and this is noble ! 
 But think not that you can accomplish it, 
 Your scanty number ! to no purpose will you 
 Have sacrificed you for your General. [Confidentially 
 No ! let us tread securely, seek for friends ; 
 The Swedes have proffer 'd us assistance, let us 
 Wear for a while the appearance of good will, 
 And use them for your profit, till we both 
 Carry the fate of Europe in our hands, 
 And from our camp to the glad jubilant world 
 Lead Peace forth with the garland on her head ! 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 'Tis then but mere appearances which thou 
 Dost put on with the Swede ! Thou'lt not betray 
 The Emperor ? Wilt not turn us into Swedes ? 
 This is the only thing which we desire 
 To learn from thee. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What care I for the Swedes ? 
 I hate them as I hate the pit of hell, 
 And under Providence I trust right soon 
 To chase them to their homes across their Baltic. 
 My cares are only for the whole : I have 
 A heart — it bleeds within me for the miseries 
 And piteous groaning of my fellow Germans. 
 Ye are but common men, but yet ye think 
 With minds not common ; ye appear to me 
 Worthy before all others, that I whisper ye 
 A little word or two in confidence ! 
 See now ! already for full fifteen years, 
 The war-torch has continued burning, yet 
 No rest, no pause of conflict. Swede and German, 
 
£0. XVI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. U09 
 
 Papist and Lutheran ! neither will give way 
 
 To the other, every hand's against the other. 
 
 Each one is party and no one a judge. 
 
 Where shall this end? Where's he that will unravel 
 
 This tangle, ever tangling more and more. 
 
 It must be cut asunder. 
 
 1 feel that I am the man of destiny, 
 
 And trust, with your assistance, to accomplish it. 
 
 Scene XVI. 
 
 To these enter Butler. 
 
 butler [passionately). 
 General ! This is not right ! 
 
 wallenstein. 
 
 What is not right? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 It must needs injure us with all honest men 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 But what? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 It is an open proclamation 
 Of insurrection. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Well, well— hut what is it? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Count Terzky's regiments tear the Imperial Eagle 
 From off the banners, and instead of it 
 Have rear'd aloft their arms. 
 
 anspessade [abruptly to the Cuirassiers). 
 
 Bight about ! March ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Cursed be this counsel, and accursed who gave it ! 
 
 [To the Cuirassiers, who are retiring. 
 Halt, children, halt ! There's some mistake in this ; 
 Hark! — I will punish it severely. Stop ! 
 They do not hear. [To Illo). Go after them, assure them, 
 And bring them back to me, cost what it may. 
 
 [Illo hurries oat 
 This hurls us headlong. Butler ! Butler ! 
 You are my evil genius, wherefore must vou 
 Announce it in their presence ? It was all 
 
 B B 
 
370 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IIJ. 
 
 In a fair way. They were half won ! those madmen 
 With their improvident over-readiness — 
 A cruel game is Fortune playing with me. 
 The zeal of friends it is that razes me, 
 And not the hate of enemies. 
 
 Scene XVII, 
 
 To these enter the Duchess, who rushes into the Chamber 
 
 Thekla and the Countess follow her. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Albrecht ! 
 What hast thou done ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And now comes this beside. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Forgive me, brother ! It was not in my power — 
 They know all. 
 
 DUCHES9. 
 
 What hast thou done ? 
 
 COUNTESS (tO TERZKY). 
 
 Is there no hope ? Is all lost utterly ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 All lost. No hope. Prague in the Emperor's hands. 
 The soldiery have taen their oaths anew. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 That lurking hypocrite, Octavio ! 
 Count Max. is off too. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Where can he be ? He's 
 Gone over to the Emperor with his father. 
 
 [Thekla rushes out into the arms of her mother, hiding 
 her face in tier bosom. 
 
 duchess [enfolding her in her arms) 
 Unhappy child ! and more unhappy mother ! 
 
 wallenstein (aside to terzky). 
 Quick ! Let a carriage stand in readiness 
 In the court behind the palace. Scherfenberg 
 Be their attendant ; he is faithful to us , 
 
BO AVIII.J the death of wallenstein. 37] 
 
 To Egra he'll conduct them, and we follow. 
 
 [To Illo, who returns. 
 Thou hast not brought them back ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Hear'st thou the uproar ? 
 The whole corps of the Pappenheimers is 
 Drawn out : the younger Piccolomini, 
 Their colonel, they require : for they affirm, 
 That he is in the palace here, a prisoner ; 
 And if thou dost not instantly deliver him, 
 They will find means to free him with the sword. 
 
 [All stand amazed 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 What shall we make of this ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Said I not so ? 
 
 my prophetic heart ! he is still here. 
 
 He has not betray 'd me — he could not betray me. 
 
 1 never doubted of it. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 If he be 
 Still here, then all goes well ; for I know what 
 
 [Embracing Thekla 
 Will keep him here for ever. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 It can't be. 
 His father has betray 'd us, is gone over 
 To the Emperor — the son could not have ventured 
 To stay behind. 
 
 thekla (her eye fixed on the door). 
 There he is ! 
 
 Scene XVIII. 
 To these enter Max. Piccolomini. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Yes ! here he is ! I can endure no longer 
 To creep on tiptoe round this house, and lurk 
 In ambush for a favourable moment : 
 This loitering, this suspense exceeds my powers 
 
 [Advancing to Thekla, who has thrown herself into kef 
 mother'* arms. 
 
 B p n 
 
372 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [-ACT 113 
 
 Turn not thine eyes away. look upon me ! 
 Confess it freely before all. Fear no one. 
 Let who will hear that we both love each other. 
 "Wherefore continue to conceal it ? Secrecy 
 Is for the happy — misery, hopeless misery, 
 Needeth no veil ! Beneath a thousand suns 
 It dares act openly. 
 
 [He observes the Countess looking on Thekla with 
 expressions of triumph 
 
 No, Lady ! No ! 
 Expect not, hope it not. I am not come 
 To stay : to bid farewell, farewell for ever. 
 For this I come ! 'Tis over ! I must leave thee ! 
 Thekla, I must — must leave thee ! Yet thy hatred 
 Let me not take with me. I pray thee, grant me 
 One look of sympathy, only one look. 
 Say that thou dost not hate me. Say it to me Thekla ! 
 
 [Grasps her hand, 
 
 God ! I cannot leave this spot — I cannot ! 
 Cannot let go this hand. tell me, Thekla ! 
 That thou dost suffer with me, art convinced 
 That I can not act otherwise. 
 
 [Thekla, avoiding his look, points with her hand to 
 her father. Max. turns round to the Duke, whom hi 
 had not till then perceived. 
 Thou here ? It was not thou, whom here I sought. 
 
 1 trusted never more to have beheld thee 
 My business is with her alone. Here will I 
 Receive a full acquittal from this heart — 
 For any other I am no more concern 'd. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, 
 
 Think'st thou that, fool-like, I shall let thee go, 
 
 And act the mock-magnanimous with thee ? 
 
 Thy father is become a villain to me ; 
 
 I hold thee for his son, and nothing more : 
 
 Nor to no purpose shalt thou have been given 
 
 Into my power. Think not, that I will honour 
 
 That ancient love, which so remorselessly 
 
 He mangled. They are now past by, those hours 
 
 Of friendship and forgiveness Hate and vengeance 
 
6€. XVIII ] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 873 
 
 Succeed — 'tis now their turn — I too can throw 
 All feelings of the man aside — can prove 
 Myself as much a monster as thy father ! 
 
 max. {calmly). 
 Thou wilt proceed with me, as thou hast power. 
 Thou know'st, I neither brave nor fear thy rage. 
 What has detain 'd me here, that too thou know'st. 
 
 [Taking Thekla by the hand 
 See, Duke ! All — all would I have owed to thee, 
 Would have received from thy paternal hand 
 The lot of blessed spirits. This hast thou 
 Laid waste for ever — that concerns not thee. 
 Indifferent thou tramplest in the dust 
 Their happiness, who most are thine. The god 
 Whom thou dost serve, is no benignant deity. 
 Like as the blind irreconcileable 
 Fierce element, incapable of compact, 
 Thy heart's wild impulse only dost thou follow*. 
 
 * I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. I feai 
 that I should not have done amiss, had I taken this liberty more frequently. 
 It is, however, incumbent on me to give the original, with a literal trans- 
 lation. 
 
 Weh denen, die auf Dich vertraun, an Dich 
 Die sichre Hiitte ihres Gliickes lehnen, 
 Gelockt von deiner geistlichen Gestalt. 
 Schnell unverhofft, bet n'achtlich stiller Weile 
 Gahrts in dem tiickschen Feuerschlunde, ladet 
 Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg 
 Treibt \iber alle Pflanzungen der Menschen 
 Dei wilde Strom in grausender Zerstorung. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Du schilderst deines Yaters Herz. Wie Du's 
 Beschreibst, so ist's in seinem Eingeweide, 
 In dieser schwarzen Heuchlers Brust gestaltet. 
 0, mich hat Hollenkunst get'auscht ! Mir sandte 
 Der Abgrund den verflecktesten der Geister, 
 Den Liigenkundigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn 
 A Is Freund an meiner Seite. "Wer vermag 
 Der Holle Macht zu widerstehn ! Ich zog 
 Den Basilisken auf an meinem Busen, 
 Mit meinem Herzblut nahrt ich ihn, er sog 
 Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe Brustcn, 
 Ich hatte nimmer Arges gegen ihn, 
 Weit offen Hess ich des Gedankens Thoie, 
 
374 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. L ACT 111 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Thou art describing thy own father s heart. 
 
 The adder ! 0, the carhms of hell o'erpowered me. 
 
 He dwelt within me, to my inmost soul 
 
 Still to and fro he pass'd, suspected never 
 
 On the wide ocean > in the starry heaven 
 
 Did mine eyes seek the enemy, whom I 
 
 In my heart's heart had folded ! Had I been 
 
 To Ferdinand what Octavio was to me, 
 
 War had I ne'er denounced against him. No, 
 
 I never could have done it. The Emperor was 
 
 My austere master only, not my friend, 
 
 There was already war 'twixt him and me 
 
 When he deliver'd the Commander's Staff 
 
 Into my hands ; for there's a natural 
 
 Unceasing war 'twixt cunning and suspicion ; 
 
 Peace exists only betwixt confidence 
 
 And faith. Who poisons confidence, he murders 
 
 The future generations 
 
 MAX. 
 
 I will not 
 Defend my father Woe is me, I cannot ! 
 Hard deeds and luckless have ta'en place ; one crime 
 Drags after it the other in close link. 
 But we are innocent : how have we fallen 
 
 Und warf die Schl'tissel weiser Vorsicht weg, 
 Am Sternenhimmel, etc. 
 
 LITERAL TRANSLATION. 
 
 Alas ! for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee lean the 
 secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable form. Suddenly, un- 
 expectedly, in a moment still as night, there is a fermentation in the 
 treacherous gulf of fire ; it discharges itself with raging force, and away 
 over all the plantations of men drives the wild stream in frightful devasta- 
 tion. — wallenstein. Thou art portraying thy father's heart ; as thou 
 describest, even so is it shaped in his entrails, in this black hypocrite's breast. 
 0, the art of hell has deceived me ! The Abyss sent up to me the most 
 spotted of the spirits, the most skilful in lies, and placed him as a friend by 
 my side. "Who may withstand the power of hell ] I took the basilisk to 
 my bosom, with my heart's blood I nourished him ; he sucked himself glut- 
 full at the breasts of my love. I never harboured evil towards him ; wide 
 open did I leave the door of my thoughts ; I threw away the key of wise 
 
 foresight. In the starry heaven, &c We find a difficulty in believing this 
 
 to have been written by Schiller. 
 
8C. XVIII.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 875 
 
 Into this circle of mishap and guilt ? 
 
 To whom have we been faithless ? Wherefore must 
 
 The evil deeds and guilt reciprocal 
 
 Of our two fathers twine like serpents round us ? 
 
 Why must our fathers' 
 Unconquerable hate rend us asunder, 
 Who love each other ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Max., remain with me. 
 Go you not from me, Max. ! Hark ! I will tell thee — 
 How when at Prague, our winter quarters, thou 
 Wert brought into my tent a tender boy, 
 Not yet accustom'd to the German winters ; 
 Thy hand was frozen to the heavy colours ; 
 Thou wouldst not let them go. — 
 At that time did I take thee in my arms, 
 And with my mantle did I cover thee ; 
 I was thy nurse, no woman could have been 
 A kinder to thee ; I was not ashamed 
 To do for thee all little offices, 
 However strange to me ; I tended thee 
 Till life return d ; and when thine eyes first open d, 
 I had thee in my arms. Since then, when have 
 Alter 'd my feelings towards thee ? Many thousands 
 Have I made rich, presented them with lands ; 
 Rewarded them with dignities and honours ; 
 Thee have I loved : my heart, my self, I gave 
 To thee ! They all were aliens : thou wert 
 Our child and inmate*. Max. ! Thou canst not leave me ; 
 It cannot be ; I may not, will not think 
 That Max. can leave me. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 my God ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I have 
 
 * This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate simplicity 
 of the original — 
 
 Sie alle waren Fremdlinge, Du warst 
 
 Das Kind des Hauses. 
 Indee the whole speech is in the best style of Massinger. si sic 
 
 omnia ! 
 
376 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT <H . 
 
 Held and sustain'd thee from thy tottering childhood 
 
 What holy bond is there of natural love, 
 
 What human tie, that does not knit thee to me ? 
 
 I love thee, Max. ! What did thy father for thee, 
 
 Which I too have not done, to the height of duty ? 
 
 Go hence, forsake me, serve thy Emperor ; 
 
 He will reward thee with a pretty chain 
 
 Of gold ; with his ram's fleece will he reward thee*, 
 
 For that the friend, the father of thy youth, 
 
 For that the holiest feeling of humanity, 
 
 Was nothing worth to thee. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 God ! how can I 
 Do otherwise ? Am I not forced to do it, 
 My oath — my duty — my honour — 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 How? Thy duty? 
 Duty to whom ? Who art thou ? Max. ! bethink thee 
 What duties mayst thou have ? If I am acting 
 A criminal part toward the Emperor, 
 It is my crime, not thine. Dost thou belong 
 To thine own self ? Art thou thine own commander ? 
 Stand'st thou, like me, a freeman in the world, 
 That in thy actions thou shouldst plead free agency ? 
 On me thou 'rt planted, I am thy Emperor ; 
 To obey me, to belong to me, this is 
 Thy honour, this a law of nature to thee ! 
 And if the planet, on the which thou livest 
 And hast thy dwelling, from its orbit starts 
 It is not in thy choice, whether or no 
 Thoult follow it. Unfelt it whirls thee onward 
 Together with his ring, and all his moons. 
 With little guilt stepp'st thou into this contest ; 
 Thee will the world not censure, it will praise thee. 
 For that thou held'st thy friend more worth to thee 
 Than names and influences more removed 
 For justice is the virtue of the ruler, 
 Affection and fidelitv the subject's. 
 Not every one doth it beseem to question 
 The far-off high Arcturus. Most securely 
 
CC. XIX.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 37 "i 
 
 Wilt thou pursue the nearest duty : let 
 The pilot fix his eye upon the pole-star. 
 
 Scene XIX. 
 To these enter Neumann. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What now? 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 The Pappenheimers are dismounted, 
 And are advancing now on foot, determined 
 With sword in hand to storm the house, and free 
 The Count, their colonel. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (to TERZKY). 
 
 Have the cannon planted. 
 I will receive them with chain-shot. 
 
 [Exit Tebzky> 
 Prescribe to me with sword in hand ! Go, Neumann I 
 'Tis my command that they retreat this moment, 
 And in their ranks in silence wait my pleasure. 
 
 lNeumann exit. Illo steps to the wind mm 
 countess. 
 Lat him go, I entreat thee, let him go. 
 illo [at the window). 
 Hell and perdition ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What is it? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 They scale the council-house, the roof's uncovered, 
 They level at this house the cannon — 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Madmen ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 They are making preparations now to fire on us. 
 
 duchess and countess. 
 Merciful heaven ! 
 
 MAX. UO WALLENSTEIN) 
 
 Let me go to them ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Not a stec ! 
 
878 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN f" ACT m 
 
 max. (pointing to thekla and the duchess ). 
 But their life ! Thine! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What tidings bring'st thou, Teizky \ 
 
 Scene XX. 
 To these Teezky returning. 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 Message and greeting from our faithful regiments. 
 Their ardour may no longer be curbd in. 
 They entreat permission to commence the attack ; 
 And if thou wouldst but give the word of onset, 
 They could now charge the enemy in rear, 
 Into the city wedge them, and with ease 
 O'erpower them in the narrow streets. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 come ! 
 Let not their ardour cool. The soldiery 
 Of Butler s corps stand by us faithfully; 
 We are the greater number. Let us charge them, 
 And finish here in Pilsen the revolt. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What ? shall this town become a field of slaughter, 
 
 And brother-killing Discord, fire-eyed, 
 
 Be let loose through its streets to roam and rage ? 
 
 Shall the decision be deliver'd over 
 
 To deaf remorseless Rage, that hears no leader ? 
 
 Here is not room for battle, only for butchery. 
 
 Well, let it be f I have long thought of it, 
 
 So let it burst then ! 
 
 [Turns to Max 
 Well, how is it with thee ? 
 Wilt thou attempt a heat with me. Away! 
 Thou art free to go. Oppose thyself to me, 
 Front against front, and lead them to the battle ; 
 Thou'rt skill'd in war, thou hast learn 'd somewhat under me, 
 I need not be ashamed of my opponent, 
 And never hadst thou fairer opportunity 
 To pay me for thy schooling. 
 
PC. XX. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 379 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Is it then, 
 Can it have come to this ? — What ! Cousin, cousin ! 
 Have you the heart? 
 
 MAX. 
 
 The regiments that are trusted to my care 
 
 I have pledged my troth to bring away from Pilsen 
 
 True to the Emperor ; and this promise will I 
 
 Make good, or perish. More than this no duty 
 
 Requires of me. I will not fight against thee, 
 
 Unless compell'd ; for though an enemy, 
 
 Thy head is holy to me still. 
 
 [Two reports of cannon. Illo and Tekzky hurry to the 
 window 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What's that? 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 He falls. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Falls! Who? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Tiefenbach s corps 
 Discharged the ordnance. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Upon whom ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 On Neumann 
 Your messenger. 
 
 wallenstein (starting up). 
 
 Ha! Death and hell ! I will— 
 
 TEKZKY 
 
 Expose thyself to their blind frenzy ? 
 
 duchess and countess. 
 
 No! 
 For God's sake, no ! 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Not yet, my General ! 
 O hold him ! hold him ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Leave mo — — 
 
580 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN [ACT 131. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Do it not ; 
 Not y3t ! This rash and bloody deed has thrown them 
 Into a frenzy-fit — allow them time 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Away! too long already have I loiter'd. 
 They are emboldened to these outrages, 
 Beholding not my face. They shall behold 
 
 My countenance, shall hear my voice 
 
 Are they not my troops ? Am I not their General, 
 
 And their long-fear 'd commander ! Let me see, 
 
 Whether indeed they do no longer know 
 
 That countenance, which was their sun in battle ! 
 
 From the balcony (mark !) I show myself 
 
 To these rebellious forces, and at once 
 
 Revolt is mounded, and the high-sworn current 
 
 Shrinks back into the old bed of obedience. 
 
 [Exit Wallenstein; Illo, Terzky, and Butleb 
 follow. 
 
 Scene XXI. 
 
 Countess, Duchess, Max. and Thekla., 
 
 countess (to the duchess). 
 Let them but see him — there is hope still, sister 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Hope ! I have none ! 
 
 max. (who during the last scene has heen standing at a dit 
 tance, in a visible struggle of feelings, advances). 
 This can I not endure. 
 With most determined soul did I come hither ; 
 My purposed action seem'd unblamable 
 To my own conscience — and I must stand here 
 Like one abhorr'd, a hard inhuman being : 
 Yea, loaded with the curse of all I love ! 
 Must see all whom I love in this sore anguish, 
 Whom I with one word can make happy — ! 
 My heart revolts within me, and two voices 
 Make themselves audible within my bosom. 
 My soul's benighted ; I no longer can 
 Distinguish the right track. 0, well and truly 
 
8C. XXI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. tj£ I 
 
 Didst thou say, father, I relied too much 
 
 On my own heart. My mind moves to and fro-* 
 
 I know not what to do. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What ! you know not ? 
 Does not your own heart tell you? ! then I 
 Will tell it you. Your father is a traitor, 
 A frightful traitor to us — he has plotted 
 Against our General's life, has plunged us all 
 In misery — and you're his son ! Tis yours 
 To make the amends — Make you the son's fidelity 
 Outweigh the father's treason, that the name 
 Of Piccolomini be not a proverb 
 Of infamy, a common form of cursing 
 To the posterity of Wallenstein. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Where is that voice of truth which I dare follow ! 
 It speaks no longer in my heart. We all 
 But utter what our passionate wishes dictate : 
 
 that an angel would descend from heaven, 
 And scoop for me the right, the uncorrupted, 
 With a pure hand from the pure Fount of Light. 
 
 [His eyes glance on Thekla 
 What other angel seek I? To this heart, 
 To this unerring heart, will I submit it; 
 Will ask thy love, which has the power to bless 
 The happy man alone, averted ever 
 From the disquieted and guilty — canst thou 
 Still love me, if I stay? Say that thou canst, 
 And I am the Duke's— — 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Think, niece 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Think, nothing, Thekla I 
 Speak what thou feelest. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Think upon your father. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 1 did not question thee, as Fried] and 's daughter. 
 Thee, the beloved and the unerring god 
 Within thy heart, I question. What's at stake? 
 
382 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT III 
 
 Not whether diadem of royalty 
 
 Be to be won or not — that mightst thou think on. 
 
 Thy friend, and his soul's quiet, are at stake: 
 
 The fortune of a thousand gallant men, 
 
 Who will all follow me ; shall I forswear . 
 
 My oath and duty to the Emperor ? 
 
 Say, shall I send into Octavio's camp 
 
 The parricidal ball ? For when the ball 
 
 Has left its cannon, and is on its flight, 
 
 It is no longer a dead instrument ! 
 
 It lives, a spirit passes into it. 
 
 The avenging furies seize possession of it, 
 
 And with sure malice guide it the worst way. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 0! Max. 
 
 max. (interrupting her). 
 Nay, not precipitately either, Thekla. 
 I understand thee. To thy noble heart 
 The hardest duty might appear the highest. 
 The human, not the great part, would I act 
 Even from my childhood to this present hour, 
 Think what the Duke has done for me, how loved me, 
 And think, too, how my father has repaid him. 
 likewise the free lovely impulses 
 Of hospitality, the pious friend's 
 Faithful attachment, these, too, are a holy 
 Religion to the heart ; and heavily 
 The shudderings of nature do avenge 
 Themselves on the barbarian that insults them 
 Lay all upon the balance, all — then speak, 
 And let thy heart decide it. 
 
 THEKLA 
 
 0, thy own 
 Hath long ago decided. Follow thou 
 Thy heart's first feeling 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Oh ! ill-fated woman : 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Is it possible, that that can be the right, 
 The which thy tender heart did not at first 
 Detect and seize with instant impulse ? Go, 
 
«0. XX1I.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEJN 388 
 
 Fulfil thy duty ! I should ever love thee. 
 
 Whate'er thou hadst chosen, thou wouldst still have acted 
 
 Nobly and worthy of thee — but repentance 
 
 Shall ne'er disturb thy souls fair peace 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Then I 
 M ust leave thee, must part from thee ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Being faithful 
 
 To thine own self, thou art faithful, too, to me ■ 
 
 If our fates part, our hearts remain united. 
 
 A bloody hatred will divide for ever 
 
 The houses Piccolomini and Friedland ; 
 
 But we belong not to our houses. Go ! 
 
 Quick ! quick ! and separate thy righteous cause 
 
 From our unholy and unblessed one ! 
 
 The curse of Heaven lies upon our head : 
 
 Tis dedicate to ruin. Even me 
 
 My father's guilt drags with it to perdition. 
 
 Mourn not for me : 
 
 My destiny will quickly be decided. 
 
 [Max. clasps her in his arms in extreme emotion. There 
 is heard from behind the Scene a loud, wild, long con- 
 tinued cry, Yivat Ferdinandus ! accompanied by war* 
 like instruments. Max. and Thekla remain without 
 motion in each other s embraces. 
 
 Scene XXII. 
 To the above enter Teezky. 
 
 countess (meeting him). 
 What meant that cry ? What was it ? 
 teezky. 
 
 All is lost ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What! they regarded not his countenance? 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 Twas all in vain. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 They shouted Vivat ! 
 
384 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [JUT IT) 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 To the Emperor* 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 The traitors ! 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 Nay ! he was not permitted 
 Even to address them. Soon as he began, 
 With deafening noise of warlike instruments 
 They drown'd his words. But here he comes. 
 
 Scene XXIII. 
 
 To these enter Wallenstein, accompanied by Illo and 
 
 Butlee. 
 
 wallenstein (as he enters). 
 
 Terzky ! 
 
 TEEZKY 
 
 My General ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Let our regiments hold themselves 
 In readiness to march ; for we shall leave 
 Pilsen ere evening. [Exit Terzky 
 
 Butler ! 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 Yes, my General 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The Governor of Egra is your friend 
 And countryman. Write to him instantly 
 By a post courier. He must be advised, 
 That we are with him early on the morrow. 
 You follow us yourself, your regiment with you. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 It shall be done, my General ! 
 wallenstein (steps between Max. and Thekla, who have ■re- 
 mained during this time in each other s arms). 
 
 Part ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 God! 
 
 [Cuirassiers enter with drawn swords, and assemble in the 
 back-ground. At the same time there are heard from below 
 some spirited passages out of the Pappenheim March, which 
 seem, tc address Max. 
 
8C. XXIII.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTELN. 385 
 
 wallenstein (to the Cuirassiers). 
 Here he is, he is at liberty : I keep him 
 No longer. 
 
 [He turns away, and stands so that Max. cannot pass by 
 him nor approach the Princess, 
 max. 
 Thou know'st that I have not yet learnt to live 
 Without thee ! I go forth into a desert, 
 Leaving my all behind me. O do not turn 
 Thine eyes away from me ! once more show me 
 Thy ever dear and honour 'd countenance. 
 
 [Max. attempts to take his hand, but is repelled : he 
 turns to the Countess. 
 Ts there no eye that has a look of pity for me ? 
 
 [The Countess turns away from him ; he turns to the 
 Duchess. 
 My mother ! 
 
 duchess. 
 Go where duty calls you. Haply 
 The time may come, when you may prove to us 
 A true friend, a good angel at the throne 
 Of the Emperor. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 You give me hope ; you would not 
 Suffer me wholly to despair. No ! no ! 
 Mine is a certain misery. Thanks to Heaven ! 
 That offers me a means of ending it. 
 
 [The military music begins again. The stage fills more 
 and more with armed men. Max. sees Butler and 
 addresses him. 
 And you here, Colonel Butler— and will you 
 Not follow me ? Well, then ! remain more faithful 
 To your new lord, than you have proved yourself 
 To the Emperor. Come, Butler ! promise me. 
 Give me your hand upon it, that you'll be 
 The guardian of his life, its shield, its watchman. 
 He is attainted, and his princely head 
 Fair booty for each slave that trades in murder. 
 Now he doth need the faithful eye of friendship, 
 And those whom here I see — 
 
 [Casting suspicious looks on Illo and Butler, 
 
 c c 
 
380 THR JDEATH of wallenstein. [act IV. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Go — seek for traitors 
 In Gallas', in your father's quarters. Here 
 Is only one. Away ! away ! and free us 
 From his detested sight ! Away ! 
 
 [Max. attempts once more to approach Thekla. Wallen- 
 stein prevents him. Max. stands irresolute, and in 
 apparent anguish. In the mean time the stage fills more 
 and more ; and the horns sound from below louder 
 and louder, and each time after a shorter interval. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Blow, blow ! were it but the Swedish Trumpets, 
 And all the naked swords, which I see here, 
 Were plunged into my breast ! What purpose you ? 
 You come to tear me from this place ! Beware, 
 Ye drive me not to desperation. Do it not ! 
 Ye may repent it ! 
 
 [The stage is entirely filled with armed men. 
 Yet more ! weight upon weight to drag me down ! 
 Think what ye 're doing. It is not well don** 
 To choose a man despairing for your leader ; 
 You tear me from my happiness. Well, then, 
 I dedicate your souls to vengeance. Mark ! 
 For your own ruin you have chosen me : 
 Who goes with me, must be prepared to perish. 
 
 [He turns to the background, their ensues a sudden anC 
 violent movement among the Cuirassiers ; they sur 
 round him, and carry him off in wild tumult. Wal- 
 lenstein remains immoveable. Thekla sinks into her 
 mothers arms. The curtain falls. The music becomes 
 loud and overpowering , and passes into a complete war- 
 march^— the orchestra joins it — and continues during 
 the interval between the second and third Act. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 The Buegomastek's House at Egra. 
 butlek (just arrived). 
 Here then he is, by his destiny conducted. 
 Here, Friedland ! and no farther ! From Bohemia 
 
SO. If f THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. SS'l 
 
 Thy meteor rose, traversed the sky awhile, 
 And here upon the borders of Bohemia 
 Must sink. 
 
 Thou hast foresworn the ancient colours, 
 Blind man ! yet trustest to thy ancient fortunes. 
 Profaner of the altar and the hearth, 
 Against thy Emperor and fellow citizens 
 Thou mean st to wage the war. Friedland, beware — 
 The evil spirit of revenge impels thee — 
 Beware thou, that revenge destroy thee not ! 
 
 Scene II. 
 Butler and Gordon. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Is it you ? 
 
 How my heart sinks ! The Duke a fugitive traitor ! 
 His princely head attainted ! O my God ! 
 [_ Tell me, General, I implore thee, tell me 
 In full, of all these sad events at Pilsen.] 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 You have received the letter which I sent you 
 By a post-courier ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Yes : and in obedience to it 
 Open'd the stronghold to him without scruple, 
 For an imperial letter orders me 
 To follow your commands implicitly. 
 But yet forgive me ! when even now I saw 
 The Duke himself, my scruples recommenced. 
 For truly, not like an attainted man, 
 Into this town did Friedland make his entrance ; 
 His wonted majesty beam'd from his brow, 
 And calm, as in the days when all was right, 
 Did he receive from me the accounts of office. 
 Tis said, that fallen pride learns condescension • 
 But sparing and with dignity the Duke 
 Weigh'd every syllable of approbation, 
 As masters praise a servant who has done 
 His duty and no more. 
 
 co 2 
 
888 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIS. r L ACT IV 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 'Tis all precisely 
 As I related in my letter. Friedland 
 Has sold the army to the enemy, 
 And pledged himself to give up Prague and I gra 
 On this report the regiments all forsook him, 
 The five excepted that belong to Terzky, 
 And which have follow'd him, as thou hast seen 
 The sentence of attainder is pass'd on him, 
 And every loyal subject is required 
 To give him in to justice, dead or living. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 A traitor to the Emperor. Such a noble ! 
 
 Of such high talents ! What is human greatness ! 
 
 I often said, this can't end happily. 
 
 His might, his greatness, and this obscure power 
 
 Are but a coverd pit-fall. The human being 
 
 May not be trusted to self-government. 
 
 The clear and written law, the deep trod foot-marks 
 
 Of ancient custom, are all necessary 
 
 To keep him in the road of faith and duty. 
 
 The authority entrusted to this man 
 
 Was unexampled and unnatural, 
 
 It placed him on a level with his Emperor, 
 
 Till the proud soul unleam'd submission. Wo is mc ; 
 
 I mourn for him ! for where he fell, I deem 
 
 Might none stand firm. Alas ! dear General, 
 
 We in our lucky mediocrity 
 
 Have ne'er experienced, cannot calculate, 
 
 What dangerous wishes such a height may breed 
 
 In the heart of such a man. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Spare your laments 
 Till he need sympathy ; for at this present 
 He is still mighty, and still formidable. 
 The Swedes advance to Egra by forced marches, 
 M+ncL quickly will the junction be accomplish'd. 
 This must not be ! The Duke must never leave 
 This stronghold on free footing ; for I have 
 Pledged life and honour here to hold him prisoner, 
 i2tXKa yuur assistance 'tis on which I calculate. 
 
tSC II.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 389 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 that I had not lived to see this day ! 
 From his hand I received this dignity, 
 
 He did himself entrust this stronghold to me, 
 Which I am now required to make his dungeon. 
 We subalterns have no will of our own : 
 The free, the mighty man alone may listen 
 To the fair impulse of his human nature. 
 Ah ! we are but the poor tools of the law, 
 Obedience the sole virtue we dare aim at ! 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Nay ! let it not afflict you, that your power 
 Is circumscribed. Much liberty, much error ! 
 The narrow path of duty is securest. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 And all then hftve deserted him you say ? 
 He has built up the luck of many thousands ; 
 For kingly was his spirit : his full hand 
 Was ever open ! Many a one from dust 
 
 [With a sly glance on Butler 
 Hath he selected, from the very dust 
 Hath raised him into dignity and honour. 
 And yet no friend, not one friend hath he purchased, 
 Whose heart beats true to him in the evil hour. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Here's one, I see. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 I have enjoy 'd from him 
 No grace or favour. I could almost doubt, 
 If ever in his greatness he once thought on 
 An old friend of his youth. For still my office 
 Kept me at distance from him ; and when first 
 He to this citadel appointed me, 
 He was sincere and serious in his duty. 
 
 1 do not then abuse his confidence, 
 If I preserve my fealty in that 
 Which to my fealty was first delivered. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Say, then, will you fulfil th' attainder on him, 
 £ And lend your aid to take him in arrest ? ~\ 
 
 Gordon (pauses, reflecting — then as in deep dejection) 
 If it be so — if all be as you say — 
 
390 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. r ACT T7 
 
 If heVe betray 'd the Emperor, his master, 
 Have sold the troops, have purposed to deliver 
 The strongholds of the country to the enemy — 
 Yea, truly ! — there is no redemption for him ! 
 Yet it is hard, that me the lot should destine 
 To be the instrument of his perdition ; 
 For we were pages at the court of Bergau 
 At the same period; but I was the senior. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 I have heard so 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 'Tis full thirty years since then 
 A youth who scarce had seen his twentieth year 
 Was Wallenstein, when he and I were friends : 
 Yet even then he had a daring soul : 
 His frame of mind was serious and severe 
 Beyond his years : his dreams were of great objects. 
 l£e walk'd amidst us of a silent spirit, 
 Communing with himself; yet I have known him 
 Transported on a sudden into utterance 
 Of strange conceptions ; kindling into splendour. 
 His soul reveal'd itself, and he spake so 
 That we look'd round perplex'd upon each other, 
 Not knowing whether it were craziness, 
 Or whether it were a god that spoke in him. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 But was it where he fell two story high 
 
 From a window-ledge, on which he had fallen asleer 
 
 And rose up free from injury ? From this day 
 
 (It is reported) he betrayed clear marks 
 
 Of a distemper 'd fancy. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 He became 
 Doubtless more self-enwrapt and melancholy ; 
 He made himself a Catholic *. Marvellously 
 His marvellous preservation had transform'd him. 
 Thenceforth he held himself for an exempted 
 And privileged being, and, as if he were 
 Incapable of dizziness or fall, 
 
 * It appears that the account of his conversion being caused by such 
 fall, and other stories of his juvenile character, are not well authenticated. 
 
 a 
 
6C III] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 391 
 
 He ran along the unsteady rope of life 
 
 But now our destinies drove us asunder, 
 
 He paced with rapid step the way of greatness, 
 
 Was Count, and Prince, Duke-regent, and Dictator . 
 
 And now is all, all this too little for him ; 
 
 He stretches forth his hands for a king's crown, 
 
 And plunges in unfathomable ruin. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 No more, he comes. 
 
 Scene III 
 To these enter Wallenstein, in conversation with the Burgo- 
 master of Egra. 
 wallenstein. 
 You were at one time a free town. I see, 
 Ye bear the half eagle in your city arms. 
 Why the half eagle only ? 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 We were free, 
 But for these last two hundred years has Egra 
 Remain 'd in pledge to the Bohemian crown ; 
 Therefore we bear the half eagle, the other half 
 Being cancell'd till the empire ransom us, 
 If ever that should be. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Ye merit freedom. 
 Only be firm and dauntless. Lend your ears 
 To no designing whispering court-minions. 
 What may your imposts be ? 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 So heavy that 
 We totter under them. The garrison 
 Lives at our costs. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I will relieve you Tell me, 
 There are some Protestants among you still ? 
 
 [The Burgomaster hesitates 
 Yes, yes ; I know it. Many lie conceal'd 
 Within these walls — Confess now — you yourself — 
 
 [Fixes his eye on him. The Burgomaster alarmed 
 
^92 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN^ [ACT IV 
 
 Be not alarm'd. I hate the Jesuits. 
 Could my will have determined it, they had 
 Been long ago expell'd the empire. Trust me — 
 Mass-book or bible, 'tis all one to me. 
 Of that the world has had sufficient proof. 
 I built a church for the Reform 'd in Glogau 
 At my own instance. Harkye, Burgomaster! 
 What is your name ? 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Pachhalbel, may it please you 
 
 WALLEN STEIN. 
 
 Harkye ! 
 
 But let it go no further, what I now 
 Disclose to you in confidence. 
 
 [Laying his hand on the Burgomaster's shoulder 
 with a certain solemnity. 
 
 The times 
 Draw near to their fulfilment, Burgomaster ! 
 The high will fall, the low will be exalted. 
 Harkye ! But keep it to yourself ! The end 
 Approaches of the Spanish double monarchy — 
 A new arrangement is at hand. You saw 
 The three moons that appear 'd at once in the Heaven ? 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 With wonder and affright ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Whereof did two 
 Strangely transform themselves to bloody daggers, 
 And only one, the middle moon, remained 
 Steady and clear. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 We applied it to the Turks. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The Turks ! That all? — I tell you, that two empires 
 Will set in blood, in the East and in the West, 
 And Luth'ranism alone remain. 
 
 [Observing Gordon and Butler 
 I' faith, 
 'Twas a smart cannonading that we heard 
 This evening, as we journey 'd hitherward; 
 Twas on our left hand. Did you hear it here ? 
 
sC IV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 393 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Distinctly. The wind brought it from the south. 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 It seem'd to come from Weiden or from Neustadt. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 'Tis likely. That's the route the Swedes are taking. 
 How strong is the garrison ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Not quite two hundred 
 Competent men, the rest are invalids. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Good ! And how many in the vale of Jochim ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Two hundred arquebusiers have I sent thither 
 To fortify the posts against the Swedes. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Good ! I commend your foresight. At the works too 
 You have done somewhat ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Two additional batteries 
 I caused to be run up. They were needless. 
 The Ehinegrave presses hard upon us, General ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 You have been watchful in your Emperor's service. 
 I am content with you, Lieutenant-Golonel. 
 
 Release the outposts in the vale of Jochim 
 With all the stations in the enemy's route. 
 
 Governor, in your faithful hands I leave 
 My wife, my daughter, and my sister. I 
 Shall make no stay here, and wait but the arrival 
 Of letters to take leave of you, together 
 With all the regiments. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 To these enter Count Terzky. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Joy, General ; joy i I bring you welcome tidings 
 
 [To Butler 
 [To Gordon. 
 
394 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN [ACT IV. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And what may they be ? 
 
 TERZKT. 
 
 There has been an engagement 
 
 At Neustadt; the Swedes gain'd the victory. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 From whence did you receive the intelligence ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 A countryman from Tirschenreut convey 'd it* 
 Soon after sunrise did the fight begin ! 
 A troop of the Imperialists from Tachau 
 Had forced their way into the Swedish camp ; 
 The cannonade continued full two hours ; 
 There were left dead upon the field a thousand 
 Imperialists, together with their Colonel ; 
 Further than this he did not know. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 How came 
 Imperial troops at Neustadt ? Altringer, 
 But yesterday, stood sixty miles from there. 
 Count Gallas' force collects at Frauenberg, 
 And have not the full complement. Is it possible 
 That Suys perchance had ventured so far onward ? 
 It cannot be 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 We shall soon know the whole, 
 For here comes Illo, full of haste, and joyous. 
 
 Scene V. 
 To these enter Illo. 
 
 ILLO (tO WALLENSTEIN). 
 
 A courier, Duke ! he wishes to speak with thee . 
 
 terzky (eagerly). 
 Does he bring confirmation of the victory? 
 
 wallenstein (at the same time). 
 What does he bring? Whence comes he? 
 illo. 
 
 From the Rhinegrave 
 And what he brings I can announce to you 
 
SC. VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 39«*> 
 
 Beforehand. Seven leagues distant are the Swedes; 
 
 At Neustadt did Max. Piccolomini 
 
 Throw himself on them with the cavalry ; 
 
 A murderous fight took place ! o'erpower'd by numbers 
 
 The Pappenheimers all, with Max. their leader, 
 
 [Wallenstein shudders and turns pale 
 Were left dead on the field. 
 
 wallenstein {after a 'pause in a low voice). 
 Where is the messenger ? Conduct me to him. 
 
 [Wallenstein is going, when Lady Neubrunn rushes 
 into the room. Some servants follow her and run 
 across the stage. 
 
 neubrunn 
 Help! Help! 
 
 illo and terzky (at the same time). 
 What now? 
 
 neubrunn. 
 
 The Princess ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN and TERZKY. 
 
 Does she know it? 
 neubrunn (at the same time with them). 
 She is dying ! 
 
 [Hurries off the stage, when Wallenstein and Terzky 
 follow her. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Butler and Gordon. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 What's this ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 She has lost the man she loved— 
 Young Piccolomini who fell in the battle. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Unfortunate Lady ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 You have heard what Illo 
 Reporteth, that the Swedes are conquerors, 
 And marching hitherward 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Too well I heard it 
 
&96 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN [ACT IV 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 They are twelve regiments strong, and there are five 
 Close hy us to protect the Duke. We have 
 Only my single regiment ; and the garrison 
 Ts not two hundred strong. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Tis even so. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 It is not possible with such small force 
 To hold in custody a man like him, 
 
 GORDON 
 
 I grant it. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Soon the numbers would disarm us, 
 And liberate him. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 It were to be fear'd. 
 butler (after a pause). 
 Know, I am warranty for the event ; 
 With my head have I pledged myself for his, 
 Must make my word good, cost it what it will, 
 And if alive we cannot hold him prisoner, 
 Why — death makes all things certain ! 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Butler! What? 
 Do I understand you ? Gracious God ! You could — 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 He must not live. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 And you can do the deed ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Either you or I. This morning was his last 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 You would assassinate him. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 'Tis my purpose. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Who leans with his whole confidence upon you ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Such is his evil destiny ! 
 
SC. VI j THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 397 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 Your General ! 
 The sacred person of your General ' 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 My General he has been. 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 That 'tis only 
 An " has been ' ' washes out no villany. 
 And without judgment pass'd ? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 The execution 
 Is here instead of judgment. 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 This were murder, 
 Not justice. The most guilty should be heard. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 His guilt is clear, the Emperor has pass'd judgment, 
 And we but execute his will. 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 We should not 
 Hurry to realize a bloody sentence. 
 A word may be recall 'd, a life can never be. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Despatch in service pleases sovereigns. 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 No honest man's ambitious to press forward 
 To the hangman's service. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 And no brave man loses 
 His colour at a daring enterprise. 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 A brave man hazards life, but not his conscience. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 What then ? Shall he go forth anew to kindle 
 The unextinguishable flame of war? 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 Seize ,him, and hold him prisoner — do not kill him 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Had not the Emperor's army been defeated, 
 I might have done so. — But 'tis now past by. 
 
 GOEDON. 
 
 0, wherefore open'd I the stronghold to him 9 
 
$98 THE i)EATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IV. 
 
 BUTLEB 
 
 His destiny and not the place destroys him. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Upon these ramparts, as beseem'd a soldier, 
 I had fallen, defending the Emperor's citadel ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Yes ! and a thousand gallant men have perish'd ! 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Doing their duty — that adorns the man ! 
 
 But murder's a black deed, and nature curses it. 
 
 butler (brings out a paper). 
 Here is the manifesto which commands us 
 To gain possession of his person. See — 
 It is addressed to you as well as me. 
 Are you content to take the consequences, 
 If through our fault he escape to the enemy ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 I? — Gracious God! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Take it on yourself. 
 Come of it what may, on you I lay it. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 God in heaven ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Can you advise aught else 
 Wherewith to execute the Emperor's purpose ? 
 Say if you can. For I desire his fall, 
 Not his destruction. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 , Merciful heaven ! what must be 
 
 1 see as clear as you. Yet still the heart 
 Within my bosom beats with other feelings ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Mine is of harder stuff ! Necessity 
 
 In her rough school hath steel'd me. And this Illo, 
 
 And Terzky likewise, they must not survive him 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 I feel no pang for these. Their own bad hearts 
 Impell'd them, not the influence of the stars. 
 'Twas they who strew'd the seeds of evil passions 
 In his calm breast, and with officious villany 
 
fO. VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 399 
 
 Water d and nursed the pois'nous plants. May tbey 
 "Receive their earnests to the uttermost mite ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 And their death shall precede his ! * 
 
 We meant to have taken them alive this evening 
 
 Amid the merry-making of a feast, 
 
 And keep them prisoners in the citadel. 
 
 But this makes shorter work. I go this instant 
 
 To give the necessary orders. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 To these enter Illo and Terzky. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Our luck is on the turn. To-morrow come 
 The Swedes — twelve thousand gallant warriors, ILo ! 
 Then straightwise for Vienna. Cheerily, friend ! 
 What ! meet such news with such a moody face ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 It lies with us at present to prescribe 
 
 Laws, and take vengeance on those worthless traitoi s, 
 
 Those skulking cowards that deserted us ; 
 
 One has already done his bitter penance, 
 
 The Piccolomini : be his the fate 
 
 Of all who wish us evil ! This flies sure 
 
 To the old man s heart; he has his whole life long 
 
 Fretted and toil'd to raise his ancient house 
 
 From a Count's title to the name of prince; 
 
 And now must seek a grave for his only son. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 'Twas pity, though ! A youth of such heroic 
 And gentle temperament ! The Duke himself, 
 'Twas easily seen, how near it went to his heart 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Hark ye, old friend ! That is the very point 
 That never pleased me in our General — 
 He ever gave the preference to the Italians. 
 Yea, at this very moment, by my soul ! 
 He'd gladly see us all dead ten times over, 
 Could he thereby recall his friend to life. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Hush, hush ! Let the dead rest ! This evening's business 
 Is, who can fairly drink the other down — 
 
400 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. J AOL IV 
 
 Your regiment, Illo ! gives the entertainment. 
 Come ! we will keep a merry carnival — 
 The night for once be day. and mid full glasses 
 Will we expect the Swedish avant-garde. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Yes, let us be of good cheer for to-day, 
 For there's hot work before us, friends ! This swcrd 
 Shall have no rest, till it be bathed to the hilt 
 In Austrian blood. 
 
 GOBDON. 
 
 Shame, shame ! what talk is this 
 My Lord Field-Marshal ? Wherefore foam you so 
 Against your Emperor ? 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 Hope not too much 
 From this first victory. Bethink you, sirs ! 
 How rapidly the wheel of Fortune turns ; 
 The Emperor still is formidably strong. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 The Emperor has soldiers, no commander, 
 
 For this King Ferdinand of Hungary 
 
 Is but a tyro. Gallas ? He's no luck, 
 
 And was of old the miner of armies. 
 
 And then this viper, this Octavio, 
 
 Is excellent at stabbing in the back, 
 
 But ne'er meets Friedland in the open field. 
 
 TERZKT. 
 
 Trust me, my friends, it cannot but succeed ; 
 Fortune, we know, can ne'er forsake the Duke t 
 And only under Wallenstein can Austria 
 Be conqueror. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 The Duke will soon assemble 
 A mighty army : all comes crowding, streaming 
 To banners, dedicate by destiny, 
 To fame, and prosperous fortune. I behold 
 Old times come back again ! he will become 
 Once more the mighty Lord which he has been. 
 How will the fools, who've now deserted him, 
 Look then ? I can't but laugh to think of them. 
 For lands will he present to all his friends, 
 
SC. VIII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 401 
 
 And like a King and Emperor reward 
 True services ; but we've the nearest claims. 
 
 [To Gordon. 
 You will tiot be forgotten, Governor! 
 He'll take you from this nest, and bid you shine 
 In higher station : your fidelity 
 Well merits it. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 I am content already, 
 And wish to climb no higher; where great height is, 
 The fall must needs be great. " Great height, great deptu." 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Here you have no more business, for to-morrow 
 The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. 
 Come, Terzky, it is supper- time. What think you ? 
 Nay, shall we have the town illuminated 
 In honour of the Swede ? And who refuses 
 To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Nay ! nay ! not that, it will not please the Duke — 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 What ! we are masters here ; no soul shall dare 
 Avow himself Imperial where we've the rule. 
 Gordon ! good night, and for the last time, take 
 A fair leave of the place. Send out patroles 
 To make secure, the watch-word may be alter'd 
 At the stroke of ten ; deliver in the keys 
 To the Duke himself, and then you've quit for ever 
 Your wardship of the gates, for on to-morrow 
 The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. 
 
 terzky (as he is going, to butler). 
 You come, though, to the castle? 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 At the right time. 
 [Exeunt Terzky and Iixo 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 Gordon and Butler. 
 Gordon (looking after them). 
 Unhappy men ! How free from all foreboding ! 
 They rush into the outspread net of murder 
 
402 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT Jv 
 
 In the blind drunkenness of victory ; 
 
 I have no pity for their fate. This Illo, 
 
 This overflowing and foolhardy villain, 
 
 That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's blood. — 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 Do as he order'd you. Send round patroles, 
 Take measures for the citadel's security ; 
 When they are within I close the castle-gate 
 That nothing may transpire. 
 
 Gordon [with earnest anxiety). 
 
 Oh ! haste not so ! 
 Nay, stop ; first tell me 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 You have heard already, 
 To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night 
 Alone is ours. They make good expedition. 
 But we will make still greater. Fare you. well. 
 
 GOKDON. 
 
 Ah ! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, Butler, 
 I pray you, promise me ! 
 
 - BUTLER. 
 
 The sun has set ; 
 
 A fateful evening doth descend upon us, 
 
 And brings on their long night ! Their evil stars 
 
 Deliver them unarm'd into our hands, 
 
 And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes 
 
 The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well, 
 
 The Duke was ever a great calculator ; 
 
 His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board, 
 
 To move and station, as his game required. 
 
 Other men's honour, dignity, good name, 
 
 Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of 
 
 Still calculating, ca-lculating still ; 
 
 And yet at last his calculation proves 
 
 Erroneous ; the whole game is lost ; and lo ! 
 
 His own life will be found among the forfeits. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 O think not of his errors now ! remember 
 His greatness, his munificence ; think on all 
 
SO. VIII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 40ii 
 
 The lovely features of his character. 
 On all the noble exploits of his life, 
 And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen. 
 Arrest the lifted sword. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 It is too late. 
 I suffer not myelf to feel compassion, 
 Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now : 
 
 [Grasping Gordon's hand. 
 Gordon ! 'tis not my hatred, (I pretend not 
 To love the Duke, and have no cause to love hinO 
 Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me 
 To be his murderer. 'Tis his evil fate. 
 Hostile concurrences of many events 
 Control and subjugate me to the office. 
 In vain the human being meditates 
 Free action. He is but the wire-work'd * puppet 
 Of the blind Power, which out of its own choice 
 Creates for him a dread necessity. 
 What too would it avail him, if there were 
 A something pleading for him in my heart — 
 Still I must kill him. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 If your heart speak to you, 
 Follow its impulse. 'Tis the voice of God. 
 Think you your fortunes will grow prosperous 
 Bedew'd with blood — his blood ? Believe it not ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 You know not. Ask not ! Wherefore should it happen, 
 
 That the Swedes gain'd the victory, and hasten 
 
 With such forced marches hitherwards ? Fain would I 
 
 Have given him to the Emperor's mercy. Gordon ! 
 
 I do not wish his blood — But I must ransom 
 
 The honour of my word, — it lies in pledge — 
 
 And he must die, or 
 
 [Passionately grasping Gordon's hand 
 Listen then, and know, 
 I am dishonoured if the Duke escape us. 
 
 * We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a statement in the 
 mouth of any character. — T. 
 
 D D 2 
 
i04 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT Vf 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 O ! to save such a man- 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 What! 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 It is worth 
 A sacrifice. Come, friend ! Be noble-minded ! 
 Our own heart, and not other men's opinions, 
 Forms our true honour. 
 
 butler (with a cold and haughty air). 
 He is a great Lord, 
 This Duke — and I am but of mean importance. 
 This is what you would say ! Wherein concerns it 
 The world at large, you mean to hint to me, 
 Whether the man of low extraction keeps 
 Or blemishes his honour — 
 So that the man of princely rank be saved ? 
 We all do stamp our value on ourselves : 
 The price we challenge for ourselves is given us. 
 There does not live on earth the man so station'd, 
 That I despise myself compared with him. 
 Man is made great or little by his own will ; 
 Because I am true to mine, therefore he dies. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 I am endeavouring to move a rock. 
 
 Thou hadst a mother, yet no human feelings. 
 
 I cannot hinder you, but may some God 
 
 Eescue him from you ! [Exit Gordon. 
 
 butler* (alone). 
 I treasured my good name all my life long ; 
 The Duke has cheated me of life's best jewel, 
 So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon ! 
 He prizes above all his fealty ; 
 His conscious soul accuses him of nothing ; 
 In opposition to his own soft heart , 
 He subjugates himself to an iron duty. 
 
 * [This soliloquy, which, according to the former arrangement, constitute J 
 the whole of Scene IX., and concluded the Fourth Act, is omitted in all the 
 printed German editions. It seems probable that it existed in the origiaal 
 manuscript from which Mr. Coleridge translated. — Ed.] 
 
S3 IX.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 405 
 
 Me in a weaker moment passion warp'd ; 
 I stand beside him, and must feel myself 
 The worse man of the two. What, though the world 
 Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet 
 One man does know it, and can prove it too — 
 High-minded Piccolomini ! 
 There lives the man who can dishonour me ! 
 This ignominy blood alone can cleanse ! 
 Duke Friedland, thou or I — Into my own hands 
 Fortune delivers me — The dearest thing a man has is him- 
 self. 
 
 Scene IX. 
 
 A Gothic and gloomy Apartment at the Duchess Friedland 's. 
 Thekla on a seat, pale, her eyes closed. The Duchess and 
 Lady Neubrunn busied about her. Wallenstein and the 
 Countess in conversation. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 How knew she it so soon ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 She seems to have 
 Foreboded some misfortune. The report 
 Of an engagement, in the which had fallen 
 A colonel of the Imperial army, frighten'd her. 
 I saw it instantly. She flew to meet 
 The Swedish courier, and with sudden questioning, 
 Soon wrested from him the disastrous secret. 
 Too late we missed her, hasten'd after her, 
 We found her lying in his arms, all pale 
 And in a swoon. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 A heavy, heavy blow ! 
 And she so unprepared ! Poor child ! how is it ? 
 
 [Turning to the Duohesp. 
 Is she coming to herself? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Her eyes are opening 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 She lives • 
 
 thekla {looking around her). 
 Where ami? 
 
406 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IV 
 
 wallenstein (steps to her, raising her up in his arms) 
 Come, cheerly, Thekla ! be my own brave girl ! 
 See, there's thy loving mother. Thou art in 
 Thy father's arms. 
 
 thekla (standing up). 
 Where is he ? Is he gone ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Who gone, my daughter? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 He — the man who utter'd 
 That word of misery 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 ! think not of it, 
 My Thekla ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Give her sorrow leave to talk ! 
 Let her complain — mingle your tears with hers, 
 For she hath suffer'd a deep anguish ; but 
 She'll rise superior to it, for my Thekla 
 Hath all her father's unsubdued heart. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 I am not ill. See, I have power to stand. 
 
 Why does my mother weep ? Have I alarm 'd her ? 
 
 It is gone by — I recollect myself — 
 
 [She casts her eyes round the room, as seeking some one 
 Where is he ? Please you, do not hide him from me. 
 You see I have strength enough : now I will hear him 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 No ; never shall this messenger of evil 
 Enter again into thy presence, Thekla ! 
 
 THEKLA 
 
 My father — 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 Dearest daughter ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 I'm not weak — 
 Shortly I shall be quite myself again. 
 You'll grant me one request ? 
 
SC. IX. J THE DEATH OF WALLEjnSTEIN. 40" 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Name it, my daughter 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Permit the stranger to be called to me, 
 And grant me leave, that by myself I may 
 Hear his report and question him. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 No, never i 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Tis not advisable — assent not to it. 
 
 WAELENSTEIN 
 
 Hush ! Wherefore wouldst thou speak with him, tuy 
 daughter ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Knowing the whole, I shall be more collected ; 
 I will not be deceived. My mother wishes 
 Only to spare me. I will not be spared — 
 The worst is said already : I can hear 
 Nothing of deeper anguish ! 
 
 countess and duchess. 
 Do it not. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 The horror overpower 'd me by surprise. 
 
 My heart betray d me in the stranger's presence • 
 
 He was a witness of my weakness, yea, 
 
 I sank into his arms ; and that has shamed me. 
 
 I must replace myself in his esteem, 
 
 And I must speak with him, perforce, that he, 
 
 The stranger, may not think ungently of me. 
 
 WALLENSTETN. 
 
 I see she is in the right, and am inclined 
 
 To grant her this request of hers. Go, call him. 
 
 [Lady Neubrunn goes to call him 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 But I, thy mother, will be present — 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Twere 
 More pleasing to me, if alone I saw him ; 
 Trust me, I shall behave myself the more 
 Collected] v 
 
108 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. |ACT tV. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Permit her her own will. 
 Leave her alone with him : for there are sorrows, 
 Where of necessity the soul must be 
 Its own support. A strong heart will rely 
 On its own strength alone. In her own bosom, 
 Not in her mother's arms, must she collect 
 The strength to rise superior to this blow. 
 It is mine own brave girl. I'll have her treated 
 Not as the woman, but the heroine. [Going. 
 
 countess {detaining him). 
 Where art thou going ? I heard Terzky say 
 That 'tis thy purpose to depart from hence 
 To-morrow early, but to leave us here. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Yes, ye stay here, placed under the protection 
 Of gallant men. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 # take us with you, brother ! 
 
 Leave us not. in this gloomy solitude 
 To brood o'er anxious thoughts. The mists of doubt 
 Magnify evils to a shape of horror. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Who speaks of evil ? I entreat you, sister, 
 Use words of better omen. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Then take us with you. 
 
 leave us not behind you in a place 
 That forces us to such sad omens. Heavy 
 And sick within me is my heart 
 
 These walls breathe on me, like a church-yard vault. 
 
 1 cannot tell you, brother, how this place 
 Doth go against my nature. Take us with you. 
 Come, sister, join you your entreaty ! Niece, 
 Yours too. We all entreat you, take us with you ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The place's evil omens will I change, 
 
 Making it that which shields and shelters for me 
 
 My best beloved. 
 
SO. X J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 409 
 
 lady neubrunn (returning). 
 The Swedish officer. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Leave her alone with me. 
 
 duchess (to thekla, who starts and shivers) 
 There — pale as death ! Child, 'tis impossible 
 That thou shouldst speak with him. Follow thy mother. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me. 
 
 [Exeunt Duchess and Countess 
 
 Scene X. 
 
 Thekla, the Swedish Captain, Lady Neubrunn 
 
 captain (respectfully approaching her). 
 Princess — I must entreat your gentle pardon — 
 My inconsiderate rash#speech. How could I — 
 
 thekla (with dignity). 
 You have beheld me in my agony. 
 A most distressful accident occasion'd 
 You from a stranger to become at once 
 My confidant. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 I fear you hate my presence, 
 For my tongue spake a melancholy word. 
 
 thekla. 
 The fault is mine. Myself did wrest it from you. 
 The horror which came o'er me interrupted 
 Your tale at its commencement. May it please you, 
 Continue it to the end. 
 
 Eenew your anguish. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Princess, 'twill 
 
 thekla. 
 
 I am firm, 
 
 I will be firm. Well — how began the engagement? 
 
 captain. 
 We lay, expecting no attack, at Neustadt, 
 Entrench'd but insecurely in our camp, 
 
410 THE DEATH OF WAlLENSTEIN. [ACT IV 
 
 When towards evening rose a cloud of dust 
 From the wood thitherward : our vanguard fled 
 Into the camp, and sounded the alarm. 
 Scarce had we mounted, ere the Pappenheimers, 
 Their horses at full speed, broke through the lines, 
 And leapt the trenches ; but their heedless courage 
 Had borne them onward far before the others — 
 The infantry were still at distance, only 
 The Pappenheimers follow'd daringly 
 
 Their daring leader 
 
 [Thekla betrays agitation in her gestures. The officer 
 pauses till she makes a sign to him to proceed. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Both in van and flanks 
 
 With our whole cavalry we now received them ; 
 
 Back to the trenches drove them, where the foot 
 
 Stretch'd out a solid ridge of pikes to meet them. 
 
 They neither could advance, nor yet retreat ; 
 
 And as they stood on every side wedged iu, 
 
 The Ehinegrave to their leader eall'd aloud, 
 
 Inviting a surrender ; but their leader, 
 
 Young Piccolomini 
 
 [Thekla, as giddy, grasps a chair. 
 Known by his plume, 
 
 And his long hair, gave signal for the trenches ; 
 
 Himself leapt first : the regiment all plunged after. 
 
 His charger, by a halbert gored, rear'd up, 
 
 Flung him with violence off, and over him 
 
 The horses, now no longer to be curbed, 
 
 [Thekla, who has accompanied the last speech with all 
 the marks of increasing agony, trembles through her 
 whole frame, and is falling. The Lady Neubrunn 
 runs to her, and receives her in her arms. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 My dearest lady 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 I retire 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 'Tis ovor. 
 Proceed to the conclusion. 
 
SC X.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 411 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Wild despair 
 Inspired the troops with frenzy when they saw 
 Their leader perish ; every thought of rescue 
 Was spurned ; they fought like wounded tigers ; their 
 Frantic resistance roused our soldiery ; 
 A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest 
 Finish'd before their last man fell. 
 
 thekla [faltering). 
 
 And where 
 
 Where is — You have not told me all. 
 
 captain (after a pause). 
 
 This morning 
 We buried him. Twelve youths of noblest birth 
 Did bear him to interment ; the whole army 
 Follow'd the bier. A laurel deck'd his coffin ; 
 The sword of the deceased was placed upon it, 
 In mark of honour, by the Rhinegrave's self. 
 Nor tears were wanting ; for there are among us 
 Many, who had themselves experienced 
 The greatness of his mind, and gentle manners ; 
 All were affected at his fate. The Rhinegrave 
 Would willingly have saved him ; but himself 
 Made vain the attempt — 'tis said he wish'd to die. 
 
 neubkunn (to thekla, who has hidden her countenance) 
 Look up, my dearest lady 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Where is his grave ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 At Neustadt, lady ; in a cloister church 
 
 Are his remains deposited, until 
 
 We can receive directions from his father. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 What is the cloister's name ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Saint Catherines. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 And how far is it thither? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Near twelve leagues. 
 
4 1 2 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IV* 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 And which the way ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 You go by Tirschenreut 
 And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Who 
 Is their commander ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Colonel Seckendorf. 
 [Thekla steps to the table, and takes a ring from a 
 casket. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 You have beheld me in my agony, 
 
 And shown a feeling heart. Please you, accept 
 
 [Giving him the ring. 
 A small memorial of this hour. Now go ! 
 
 captain (confusedly). 
 
 Princess 
 
 [Thekla silently makes signs to him to go, and turns 
 from him. The Captain lingers, and is about to 
 speak. Lady Neubrunn repeats the signal, and he 
 retires. 
 
 Scene XI. 
 Thekla, Lady Neubrunn. 
 
 THEKLA (falls On LADY NEUBRUNN 's neck). 
 
 Now, gentle Neubrunn, show me the affection 
 Which thou hast ever promised — prove thyself 
 My own true friend and faithful fellow-pilgrim. 
 This night we must away ! 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 Away ! and whither ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Whither ! There is but one place in the world. 
 Thither, where he lies buried ! To Lis coffin ! 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 What would you do there ? 
 
CC. XI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEitf. 4 IS 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 What do there ? 
 That wouldst thou not have ask'd, hadst thou e'ei loved. 
 There, there is all that still remains of him ! 
 That single spot is the whole earth to me. 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 That place of death 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Is now the only place 
 Where life yet dwells for me : detain me not ! 
 Gome and make preparations ; let us think 
 Of means to fly from hence. 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 Your father's rage * 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 That time is past 
 
 And now I fear no human being's rage. 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 The sentence of the world ! The tongue of calumny ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Whom am I seeking ? Him who is no more. 
 
 Am I then hastening to the arms O God ! 
 
 I haste but to the grave of the beloved. 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 And we alone, two helpless feeble women ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 We will take weapons : my arm shall protect thee. 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 In the dark night-time ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Darkness will conceal us 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 This rough tempestuous night 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Had he a soft bed 
 Under the hoofs of his war-horses ? 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 Heaven ! 
 And then the many posts of the enemy ! 
 
4 1.4 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [AC V IV. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 They are human beings, Misery travels free 
 Through the whole earth. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 The journey's weary length 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 The pilgrim, travelling to a distant shrine 
 
 Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 How can we pass the gates ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Gold opens them. 
 Go, do but go. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 Should we be recognised 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive, 
 
 Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 And where procure we horses for our flight ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 Dear lady ! and your mother ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Oh ! my mother ! 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 So much as she has suffer 'd too already ; 
 Your tender mother — Ah ! how ill prepared 
 For this last anguish ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Woe is me ! my mother ! 
 
 [Pauses 
 Go instantly. 
 
SJ XII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN iib 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 But think what you are doing! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 What can be thought, already has been thought, 
 
 NEUBRtttN. 
 
 And being there, what purpose you to do ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 There a Divinity will prompt my soul. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted ! 
 
 And this is not the way that leads to quiet, 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 To a deep quiet, such as he has found. 
 
 It draws me on, I know not what to name it, 
 
 Resistless does it draw me to his grave. 
 
 There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow. 
 
 hasten, make no further questioning ! 
 There is no rest for me till I have left 
 These walls — they fall in on me — a dim power 
 Drives me from hence — Oh mercy ! What a feeling i 
 What pale and hollow forms are those ! They fill, 
 They crowd the place ! I have no longer room here ! 
 Mercy ! Still more ! More still ! The hideous swarm . 
 They press on me ; they chase me from these walls — 
 Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men ! 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 You frighten me so, lady, that no longer 
 
 1 dare stay here myself. I go and call 
 
 Eosenberg instantly. [Exit Lady Neubrunn. 
 
 Scene XII. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 His spirit 'tis that calls me : 'tis the troop 
 
 Of his true followers, who offer 'd up 
 
 Themselves to avenge his death : and they accuse me 
 
 Of an ignoble loitering — they would not 
 
 Forsake their leader even in his death — they died for hiiw 
 
 And shall I live ? — 
 
 For me too was that laurel-garland twined 
 
 That decks his bier. Life is an empty casket : 
 
£16 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACTIY. 
 
 I throw it from rne. ! my only hope ; — 
 To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds — 
 That is the lot of heroes upon earth ! 
 
 [Exit Thekla*, 
 (The Curtain drops.) 
 
 Scene XIII. 
 
 Thekla, Lady Neubbunn, and Rosenberg. 
 
 [neubrunn. 
 He is here lady, and he will procure them. 
 
 thekla. 
 Wilt thou provide us horses, Rosenberg? 
 
 ROSENBERG. 
 
 I will, my lady. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 And go with us as well ? 
 
 ROSENBERG. 
 
 To the world's end, my lady. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 But consider, 
 Thou never canst return unto the Duke. 
 
 ROSENBERG. 
 
 I will remain with thee. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 I will' reward thee, 
 And will commend thee to another master, 
 Canst thou unseen conduct us from the castle ? 
 
 ROSENBERG. 
 
 I can. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 When can I go ? 
 
 ROSENBERG. 
 
 This very hour. 
 But whither would you, Lady ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 To- Tell him, Neubrunn. 
 
 * The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty lines, 
 twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I thought it prudent 
 to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between Thekla and Lady Neubruna 
 raitfht, perhaps, have been omitted without injury to the play. — C. 
 
8C. Xf/.j THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 417 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 To Neustadt. 
 
 EOSENBEEG. 
 
 So ; — I leave you to get ready. [Exit 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 see, your mother comes. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Indeed ! Heav'n ! 
 
 Scene XIV. 
 Thekla, Lady Neubeunn, the Duchess. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 He's gone ! I find thee more composed, my child 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 1 am so, mother ; let me only now 
 
 Retire to rest, and Neubrunn here be with me. 
 I want repose. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 My Thekla, thou shalt have it. 
 I leave thee now consoled, since I can calm \ 
 
 Thy father's heart. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Good night, beloved mother ! 
 (Falling on her neck and embracing her with deejj emotiop 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Thou scarcely art composed e'en now, my daughter. 
 Thou tremblest strongly, and I feel thy heart 
 Beat audibly on mine. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Sleep will appease 
 Its beating : now good night, good night, dear mother.]] 
 (As she withdraws from her mothers arms the curtain fall 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Butler's Chamber. 
 
 Butlee, and Majoe Geealdin. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Find me twelve strong dragoons, arm them with pikes, 
 For there must be no firing 
 
 E K 
 
4] 8 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 
 
 Conceal them somewhere near the banquet-room, 
 And soon as the dessert is served up, rush all in 
 And cry — " Who is loyal to the Emperor ! " 
 I will overturn the table — while you attack 
 Illo and Terzky, and despatch them both. 
 The castle-palace is well barr'd and guarded, 
 That no intelligence of this proceeding 
 May make its way to the Duke. Go instantly ; 
 Have you yet sent for Captain Devereux 
 And the Macdonald ? 
 
 GERALDIN. 
 
 They'll be here anon. 
 
 [Exit Geraldih 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 Here's no room for delay. The citizens 
 Declare for him, a dizzy drunken spirit 
 Possesses the whole town. They see in the Duke 
 A Prince of peace, a founder of new ages 
 And golden times. Arms too have been given out 
 By the town-council, and a hundred citizens 
 Have volunteered themselves to stand on guard. 
 Despatch! then, be the word; for enemies 
 Threaten us from without and from within. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Butleb, Captain Devekeux, and Macdonald. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Here we are, Genera. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 What's to be the watcnword ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Long live the Emperor ! 
 
 both (recoiling). 
 How? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Live the House of Austria 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 Ha\e we not sworn fidelity to Friedland? 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Have we not march'd to this place to protect him V 
 
6C IT.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 4J9 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Protect a traitor, and his country's enemy ? 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 Why, yes ! in his name you administer'd 
 Our oath 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 And follow'd him yourself to Egra. 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 I did it the more surely to destroy him 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 So then ! 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 An alter'd case ! 
 
 BUTLER (tO DEVEREUX). 
 
 Thou wretched man 
 So easily leavest thou thy oath and colours ? 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 The devil ! — I but follow'd your example, 
 If you could prove a villain, why not we ? 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 We've nought to do with thinking — that s your business. 
 You are our General, and give out the orders ; 
 We follow you, though the track lead to hell. 
 
 butler (appeased) 
 Good then ! we know each other. 
 
 MACDONALD- 
 
 I should hope so. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 Soldiers of fortune are we — who bids most, 
 He has us. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 'Tis e'en so ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Well, for the present 
 Ye must remain honest and faithful soldiers. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 We wish no other. 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 Ay, and make your fortunes. 
 
 IS B 2 
 
423 THE DFATH OF WALLENSTEIN. ; AC 
 
 MACD0\ T 1LD. 
 
 That is still better. 
 
 Listen ! 
 
 BOTH. 
 
 We attend. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 It is the Emperor's will and ordinance 
 
 To seize the person of the Prince-Duke Friedland. 
 
 Alive or dead. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 It inns so in the letter. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Alive or dead — these were the very words 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 And he shall be rewarded from the State 
 In land and gold, who proffers aid thereto 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 Ay ! that sounds well. The words sound always we'll 
 That travel hither from the Court. Yes ! yes ! 
 We know already what Court-words import. 
 A golden chain perhaps in sign of favour, 
 Or an old charger, or a parchment patent, 
 And such like. — The Prince-Duke pays better. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 The Duke's a splendid paymaster. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 All over 
 With that, my friends ! His lucky stars are set 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 And is that certain ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 You have my word for it 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 His lucky fortunes all past by? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 For ever 
 He is as poor as we. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 As poor as we ? 
 
 Yes, 
 
«C. It. THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 421 
 
 DEVEBEUX 
 
 Macdonald, well desert him. 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 We'll desert him ? 
 Full twenty thousand have done that already ; 
 We must do more, my countrymen ! In short — 
 We — we must kill him. 
 
 both (starting back). 
 Kill him! 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 Yes, must kill him ; 
 And for that purpose have I chosen you. 
 both. 
 
 Us! 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 You, Captain Devereux, and thee, Macdonald. 
 
 devebeux (after a pause). 
 Choose you some other. 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 What ! art dastardly \ 
 Thou, with full thirty lives to answer for — 
 Thou conscientious of a sudden ? 
 
 DEVEBEUX. 
 
 Nay 
 To assassinate our Lord and General 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 To whom we've sworn a soldier's oath 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 The oath 
 Is null, for Friedland is a traitor. 
 
 DEVEBEUX. 
 
 No, no ! it is too bad ! 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Yes, by my soul ! 
 It is too bad. One has a conscience too— - 
 
 DEVEBEUX. 
 
 If it were not our Chieftain, who so long 
 
 Has issued the commands, and claim 'd our duty— 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 Is that ti e objection ? 
 
422 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEJN. [ACT 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 Were it my own father, 
 And the Emperor's service should demand it of me, 
 It might be done perhaps — But we are soldiers, 
 And to assassinate our Chief Commander, 
 That is a sin, a foul abomination, 
 From which no monk or confessor absolves us. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 I am your Pope, and give you absolution. 
 Determine quickly! 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 'Twill not do 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 'Twon't do ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Well, off then ! and — send Pestalutz to me. 
 
 devereux (hesitates). 
 The Pestalutz 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 What may you want with him t 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 If you reject it, we can find enough — 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 Nay, if he must fall, we may earn the bounty 
 As well as any other. What think you, 
 Brother Macdonald? 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Why, if he must fail, 
 And will fall, and it can't be otherwise, 
 One would not give place to this Pestalutz. 
 
 devereux (after some reflection). 
 When do you purpose he should fall? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 This night. 
 To-morrow will the Swedes be at our gates. 
 
 devereux. 
 You take upon you all the consequences ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 I take the whole upon me. 
 
SC [r.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 4 '^8 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 And it is 
 The Emperor's will, his express absolute will ? 
 For we have instances, that folks may like 
 The murder, and yet hang the murderer. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 The manifesto says — " alive or dead." 
 Alive — 'tis not possible — you see it is not. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 Well, dead then ! dead ! But how can we come at him 
 The town is filled with Terzky's soldiery. 
 
 MACDONALD, 
 
 Ay ! and then Terzky still remains, and Illo 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 With these you shall begin — you understand me ? 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 How ! And must they too perish ? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 They the first. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Hear, Devereux ! A bloody evening this. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 Have you a man for that? Commission me — 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 'Tis given in trust to Major Geraldin ; 
 This is a carnival night, and there's a feast 
 Given at the castle — there we shall surprise them, 
 And hew them down. The Pestalutz and Lesley 
 Have that commission. Soon as that is finish'd — 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 Hear, General ! It will be all one to you — 
 Hark ye, let me exchange with Geraldin. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Twill be the lesser danger with the Duke. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 Danger ! The devil ! What do you think me, General ? 
 Tis the Duke's eye, and not his sword, I fear 
 
 BUTLEE 
 
 What can his eye do to thee ? 
 
4*24 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEJN, [ACT * 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 Death and hell! 
 Thou know'st that I'm no milksop, General ! 
 But 'tis not eight days since the Duke did send me 
 Twenty gold pieces for this good warm coat 
 Which I have on ! and then for him to see me 
 Standing before him with the pike, his murderer, 
 That eye of his looking upon this coat — 
 Why— why — the devil fetch me ! I'm no milksop ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 The Duke presented thee this good warm coat, 
 
 And thou, a needy wight, hast pangs of conscience 
 
 To run him through the body in return. 
 
 A coat that is far better and far warmer 
 
 Did the Emperor give to him, the Prince's mantle. 
 
 How doth he thank the Emperor ? With revolt, 
 
 And treason. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 That is true. The devil take 
 Such thankers! Ill despatch him. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 And would'st quiet 
 Thy conscience, thou hast nought to do but simply 
 Pull off the coat ; so canst thou do the deed 
 With light heart and good spirits. 
 
 DEVEREUX. * 
 
 You are right. 
 That did not strike me. I'll pull off the coat — 
 So there's an end of it. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Yes, but there's another 
 Point to be thought of. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 And what's that, Macdonald 9 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 What avails sword or dagger against him P 
 He is not to be wounded — he is — 
 
 butler {starting up). 
 
 What? 
 
 MACDONALD . 
 
 Safe against shot, and stab, and flash ! Hard frozen. 
 
?C. II. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. 425 
 
 Secured and warranted by the black art ! 
 His body is impenetrable, I tell you. 
 
 DEVEKEUX. 
 
 In Ingo .stadt there was just such another : 
 
 His whole skin was the same as steel ; at last 
 
 We were obliged to beat him down with gunstocke, 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Hear what I'll do. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 Well. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 In the cloister hero 
 There's a Dominican, my countryman. 
 Ill make him dip my sword and pike for me 
 In holy water, and say over them 
 One of his strongest blessings. That's probatum ! 
 Nothing can stand 'gainst that. 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 So do, Macdonald ! 
 But now go and select from out the regiment 
 Twenty or thirty able-bodied fellows, 
 And let them take the oaths to the Emperor. 
 Then when it strikes eleven, when the first rounds 
 Are pass'd, conduct them silently as may be 
 To the house— I will myself be not far off. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 But how do we get through Hartschier and Gordon, 
 That stand on guard there in the inner chamber ? 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 I have made myself acquainted with the place, 
 I lead you through a back door that's defended 
 By one man only. Me my rank and office 
 Give access to the Duke at every hour. 
 I'll go before you — with one poniard-stroke 
 Cut Hartschier 's windpipe, and make way for you. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 And when we are there, by what means shall we gain 
 The Duke's bed-chamber, without his alarming 
 The servants of the Court : for he has here 
 A numerous company of followers ? 
 
42(5 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 The attendants fill the right wing : he hates bustle, 
 And lodges in the left wing quite alone. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 Were it well over— hey, Macdonald? I 
 Feel queerly on the occasion, devil know?. ! 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 And I too. Tis too great a personage. 
 People will hold us for a brace of villains. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 In plenty, honour, splendour — you may safely 
 Laugh at the people's babble. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 If the business 
 Squares with one's honour — if that be quite certain — 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Set your hearts quite at ease. Ye save for Ferdinand 
 His crown and empire. The reward can be 
 No small one. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 And 'tis his purpose to dethrone the Emperor? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Yes ! — Yes ! — to rob him of his crown and life. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 And he must fall by the executioner's hands. 
 Should we deliver him up to the Emperor 
 Alive ? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 It were his certain destiny. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 Well ! Well ! Come then, Macdonald, he shall not 
 Lie long in pain. 
 
 [Exeunt Butlee through one door, Macdonald 
 Deveeeux through the other. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 A Saloon, terminated by a Gallery ivhich extends far into the 
 
 background. 
 
 Wallenstein sitting at a table. The Swedish Captain 
 
 standing before him. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Commend me to your lord. I sympathize 
 
r IH.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEln. 427 
 
 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. To-morrow 
 
 The citadel shall be surrender 'd 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, un- 
 observed by him ; at length he starts, sees her and 
 recollects himself. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Comest thou from her ? Is she restored ? How is she ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 My sister tells me, si? a was more collected 
 After her conversati 1 with the Swede. 
 She has now retirea co rest. 
 
 She will shed tears. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The pang will soften, 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 I find thee alter 'd too. 
 My brother ! After such a victory 
 I had expected to have found in thee 
 A cheerful spirit. 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, let me stay with thee ! 
 
♦ 28 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 
 
 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 * 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 marvellously hath his aspect 
 Shot strength into my heart. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Thou'lt see him again. 
 wallenstein (remains for a while with absent mind, then as- 
 sumes a livelier manner, and turning suddenly to the 
 Countess). 
 See him again ? never, never again ! 
 
 * 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 wanht, 
 
 Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle. 
 The word " moon-sickle/' reminds me of a passage 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 " wanken " and " schweben " are not easily translated. The 
 English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pe- 
 dantic, or not of sufficiently general application. So " der Wolken Zug " — 
 The Draft, the Procession of clouds. — The Masses of the Clouds sweep on* 
 ward in swift stream. 
 
Sn U£!.l THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. V<M 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 How? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He is gone — is dust. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Whom meanest thou, then ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 H^, 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. '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 to-day, 
 For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead ; 
 To thee he died, when first he parted from thee. 
 
 wallenstein. 
 This anguish will be wearied down*, 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 stroug hours 
 
 * A very inadequate translation of the original : — 
 
 Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss icli, 
 Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch ! 
 
 LITERALLY. 
 
 I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious : 
 "What does not man grieve down ? 
 
430 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. ] ACT V. 
 
 Conquer Lim. Yet I feel what I have lost 
 In him. The bloom is vanish'd from my life 
 For ! 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 s 
 The beautiful is vanished — and returns not. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 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. 
 
 '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. 
 
 my soul 
 Has long been weigh'd down by these dark forebodings 
 And if I combat and repel them waking, 
 They still crush down upon my heart in dreams. 
 
 1 saw thee yesternight with thy first wife 
 Sit at a banquet, gorgeously attired. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 This was a dream of favourable omen, 
 
 That marriage being the founder of my fortunes. 
 
 COUNTESS, 
 
 To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee 
 In thy own chamber. As I- enter 'd, lo ! 
 
\ III.l THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 431 
 
 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 ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 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 
 
 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 rann'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; 
 
43$ THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. TacT V. 
 
 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 seernd 
 
 A crimson covering to envelop us. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Wallenstein, Gordon, 
 wallenstein. 
 All quiet in the town ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 The town is quiet 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I hear a boisterous music ! and the Castle 
 Is lighted up. Who are the revellers ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 There is a banquet given at the Castle 
 
 To the Count Terzky, and Field Marshal Illo. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN 
 
 In honour of the victory — This tribe 
 
 Can show their joy in nothing else but feasting. 
 
 [Rings. The Groom of the Chamber enters 
 Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep. 
 
 [Wallenstein takes the keys from Gordon 
 So we are guarded from all enemies, 
 > And shut in with sure friends. 
 
2. TV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 4'33 
 
 For all must cheat me, or a face like this 
 
 [Fixing his eye on Gokdon 
 Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask. 
 
 [The Groom of the Chamber takes off his mantle, 
 collar, and scarf. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Take care — what is that ? 
 
 GROOM OF THE CHAMBER. 
 
 The golden chain is snapped. in two. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Well, it has lasted long enough. Here — give it. 
 
 [He takes and looks at the chain. 
 
 'Twas the first present of the Emperor. 
 
 He hang it round me in the war of Friule, 
 
 He being then Archduke ; and I have worn it 
 
 Till now from habit 
 
 From superstition, if you will. Belike, 
 
 It was to be a talisman to me ; 
 
 And while I wore it on my neck in faith, 
 
 It was to chain to me all my life long 
 
 The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was. 
 
 Well, be it so ! Henceforward a new fortune 
 
 Must spring up for me ; for the potency 
 
 Of this charm is dissolved. 
 
 [Groom of the Chamber retires with the vestments. 
 Wallenstein rises, takes a stride across the room, 
 and sta?ids at last before Gordon in a posture oj 
 meditation. 
 
 How the old time returns upon me ! I 
 
 Behold myself once more at Burgau, where 
 
 We two were Pages of the Court together 
 
 We oftentimes disputed : thy intention 
 
 Was ever good ; but thou wert wont to play 
 
 The Moralist and Preacher, and wouldst rail at ine^ 
 
 That I strove after things too high for me, 
 
 Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams, 
 
 And still extol to me the golden mean. 
 
 — Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend 
 
 To thy own self. S ^e, it has made thee early 
 
 A superannuated ma \, and (but 
 
 F F 
 
4:34 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 
 
 That my munificent stars will intervene) 
 Would let thee in some miserable corner 
 Go out like an untended lamp. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 z My Prince ! 
 
 With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat, 
 And watches from the shore the lofty ship 
 Stranded amid the storm. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Art thou already 
 In harbour then, old man ? Well ! I am not. 
 The unconquer'd spirit drives me o'er life's billows ; 
 My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly. 
 Hope is my goddess still, and Youth my inmate ; 
 And while we stand thus front to front almost 
 I might presume to say, that the swift years 
 Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair. 
 
 [He moves with long strides across the Saloon, and 
 remains on the opposite side over against Gordon. 
 Who now persists in calling Fortune false ? 
 To me she has proved faithful ; with fond love 
 Took me from out the common ranks of men, 
 And like a mother goddess, with strong arm 
 Carried me swiftly up the steps of life. 
 Nothing is common in my destiny, 
 Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares 
 Interpret then my life for me as 'twere 
 One of the undistinguishable many ? 
 True, in this present moment I appear 
 Fallen low indeed ; but I shall rise again. 
 The high flood will soon follow on this ebb ; 
 The fountain of my fortune, which now stops 
 Repress'd and bound by some malicious star, 
 Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Ajid yet remember I the good old proverb, 
 " Let the night come before we praise the day." 
 I would be slow from long-continued fortune 
 To gather hope : for Hope is the companion 
 Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven. 
 
SC V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 485 
 
 Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men : 
 For still unsteady are the scales of fate. 
 
 wallenstein (smiling). 
 I hear the very Gordon that of old 
 Was wont to preach, now once more preaching ; 
 
 know well, that all sublunary things 
 Are still the vassals of vicissitude. 
 The unpropitious gods demand their tribute 
 This long ago the ancient Pagans knew : 
 Arjd therefore of their own accord they offer'd 
 To themselves injuries, so to atone 
 The jealousy of their divinities : 
 And human sacrifices bled to Typhon. 
 
 [After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner 
 I too have sacrificed to him — For me 
 There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault 
 He fell ! No joy from favourable fortune 
 Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke. 
 The envy of my destiny is glutted : 
 Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning 
 Was drawn off which would else have shatter'd me. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 To these enter Seni. 
 wallenstein. 
 Is not that Seni ! and beside himself, 
 If one may trust his looks ? What brings thee hither 
 At this late hour, Baptista ? 
 
 SENI. 
 
 Terror, Duke ! 
 On thy account. 
 
 wallenstein. 
 What now? 
 
 SENI. 
 
 Flee ere the day-break 1 
 Trust not thy person to the Swedes ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What now 
 Is in thy thoughts ? 
 
 h f 2 
 
436 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V, 
 
 se^ni (with louder voice). 
 Trust not thy person to the Swedes. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What is it, then ? 
 seni (still more urgently). 
 
 wait not the arrival of these Swedes ! 
 An evil near at hand is threatening thee 
 
 From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror ! 
 Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition — 
 Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Baptista, thou art dreaming ! — Fear befools thee. 
 
 SENI. 
 
 Believe not that an empty fear deludes me. 
 Come, read it in the planetary aspects ; 
 Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee 
 From false friends. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 From the falseness of my friends 
 Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes. 
 The warning should have come before ! At present 
 
 1 need no revelation from the stars 
 To know that 
 
 SENI. 
 
 Come and see ! trust thine own eyes ! 
 A fearful sign stands in the house of life — 
 An enemy ; a fiend lurks close behind 
 The radiance of thy planet. — be warn'd ! 
 Deliver not up thyself to these heathens, 
 To wage a vur against our holy church. 
 
 wallenstein (laughing gently j. 
 The oracie rails that way ! Yes, yes ! Now 
 I recollect. This junction with the Swedes 
 Did never please thee — lay thyself to sleep, 
 Baptista ! Signs like these I do not fear. 
 ookdon (who during the whole of this dialogue has shown marks 
 of extreme agitation, and now turns to wallenstein j. 
 My Duke and General ! May I dare presume ? 
 
 wallenstein 
 Bpeak freely 
 
BO v] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 437 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 What if 'twere no mere creation 
 Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsafed 
 To interpose its aid for your deliverance, 
 And made that mouth its organ ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Ye 're both feverish ! 
 How can mishap come to me from the Swedes ! 
 They sought this junction with me — 'tis their interest, 
 
 Gordon {with difficulty suppressing his emotion). 
 But what if the arrival of these Swedes — 
 What if this were the very thing that wing'd 
 The ruin that is flying to your temples ? 
 
 [Flings himself at his feet 
 There is yet time, my Prince. 
 
 SENI. 
 
 hear him ! hear him ! 
 Gordon (rises). 
 The Ehinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders, 
 This citadel shall close its gates upon him. 
 If then he will besiege us, let him try it. 
 But this I say ; he'll find his own destruction 
 With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner 
 Than weary down the valour of our spirit. 
 He shall experience what a band of heroes, 
 Inspirited by an heroic leader, 
 Is able to perform. And if indeed 
 It be thy serious wish to make amend 
 For that which thou hast done amiss, — this, this 
 Will touch and reconcile the Emperor, 
 Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy ; 
 And Friedland, who returns repentant to him, 
 Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favour, 
 Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen. 
 wallenstein (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent 
 awhile, betraying strong emotion), 
 Gordon — your zeal and fervour lead you far. 
 Well, well — an old friend has a privilege. 
 Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never 
 Can the Emperor pardon me : and if he could, 
 
138 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 
 
 Yet I — I ne'er could let myself be pardon'd. 
 
 Had I foreknown what now has taken place, 
 
 That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me, 
 
 My first death-offering ; and had the heart 
 
 Spoken to me, as now it has done — Gordon, 
 
 It may be, I might have bethought myself. 
 
 It may be too, I might not. Might or might not, 
 
 Is now an idle question. All too seriously 
 
 Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon ! 
 
 Let it then have its course. [Stepping to the window. 
 
 All dark and silent — at the castle too 
 
 All is now hush'd — Light me, Chamberlain ! 
 
 [The Gkoom of the Chambek, who had entered dur 
 ing the last dialogue, and had been standing at a 
 distance and listening to it with visible expression* 
 of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agita- 
 tion, and throws himself at the Duke's feet. 
 
 And thou too ! But I know why thou dost wish 
 
 My reconcilement with the Emperor. 
 
 Poor man ! he hath a small estate in Carinthia, 
 
 And fears it will be forfeited because 
 
 He's in my service. Am I then so poor 
 
 That I no longer can indemnify 
 
 My servants ? Well ! to no one I employ 
 
 Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief 
 
 That fortune has fled from me, go ! forsake me. 
 
 This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me, 
 
 And then go over to thy Emperor. 
 
 Gordon, good night ! I think to make a long 
 
 Sleep of it : for the struggle and the turmoil 
 
 Of this last day or two was great. May't please you ! 
 
 Take care that they awake me not too early. 
 
 [Exit Wallenstein, the Gkoom of the Chamber 
 lighting him. Seni follows, Gordon remains on 
 the darkened stage, following the Duke with his 
 eye, till he disappears at the farther end of the 
 gallery: then by his gestures the old man expresses 
 the depth of his anguish and stands leaning 
 against a pillar. 
 
SO. VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 489 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Gordon, Butler (at first behind the scenes), 
 
 butler (not yet come into view of the stage). 
 Here stand in silence till I give the signal. 
 
 Gordon (starts up). 
 'Tis he ! he has already brought the murderers. 
 
 butler, 
 The lights are out All lies in profound sleep. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him ? 
 Shall I call up the house ? alarm the guards ? 
 
 butler (appears, but scarcely on the stage) 
 A light gleams hither from the corridor. 
 It leads directly to the Duke's bed-chamber. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 But then I break my oath to the Emperor ; 
 If he escape and strengthen the enemy, 
 Do I not hereby call down on my head 
 All the dread consequences ? 
 
 butler (stepping forward). 
 
 Hark ! Who speaks there ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 'Tis better, I resign it to the hands 
 Of ProvicLence. For what am I, that I 
 Should take upon myself so great a deed ? 
 I have not murdered him, if he be murder 'd ; 
 But all his rescue were my act and deed ; 
 Mine — and whatever be the consequences, 
 I must sustain them. 
 
 butler (advances). 
 
 I should know that voice 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Butler ! * 
 
 BUTLER 
 
 'Tis Gordon. What do you want here ? 
 Was it so late then, when the Duke dismiss'd you? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Your hand bound up and in a scarf? 
 
140 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN. [ACT V. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Tis wounded. 
 That Illo fought as he were frantic, till 
 At last, we threw him on the ground. 
 
 Gordon (shuddering). 
 
 Both dead ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Is he in bed ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Ah, Butler ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Is he ? speak. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 He shall not perish ! Not through you ! The Heaven 
 Refuses your arm. See — 'tis wounded ! — 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 There is no need of my arm. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 The most guilty 
 Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice. 
 
 [The Groom of the Chamber advances from the 
 Gallery with his finger on his mouth commanding 
 silence. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 He sleeps ! murder not the holy sleep ! 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 No ! he shall die awake. [Is going 
 
 GORDON 
 
 His heart still cleaves 
 To earthly things : he's not prepared to step 
 Into the presence of his God ! 
 
 butler (going). 
 
 God's merciful ! 
 
 Gordon (holds him). 
 Grant him but this night's respite. 
 
 butler (hurrying off). 
 
 1 The next moment 
 May ruin all. 
 
'; VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEtt* 441 
 
 gobdon {holds him still) 
 One hour ! 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Unhold ine ! What 
 Can that short respite profit him ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 0— Time 
 
 Works miracles. In one hour many thousands 
 Of grains of sand run out ; and quick as they, 
 Thought follows thought within the human soul. 
 Only one hour ! Your heart may change its purpose, 
 His heart may change its purpose — some new tidings 
 May come ; some fortunate event, decisive, 
 May fall from Heaven and rescue him. what 
 May not one hour achieve ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 You hut remind me, 
 How precious every minute is ! 
 
 [He stamps on the floor 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 To these enter Macdonald and Devereux, with the Hal- 
 berdiers. 
 
 Gordon (throwing himself between him and them). 
 
 No, monster ! 
 First over my dead body thou shalt tread. 
 I will not live to see the accursed deed ! 
 
 butler (forcing him out of the way). 
 Weak-hearted dotard ! 
 
 [Trumpets are heard in the distance 
 devereux and macdonald. 
 
 Hark ! The Swedish trumpets ! 
 The Swedes before the ramparts ! Let us hasten ! 
 
 Gordon (rushes out). 
 0, God of mercy! 
 
 butler (calling after him). 
 Governor, to your post ! 
 groom of the chamber (hurries in). 
 Who dares make larum here ? Hush ! The Duke sleeps 
 
442 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. .[ACT V 
 
 devereux (with loud harsh voice). 
 Friend, it is time now to make larum. 
 
 GROOM OF THE CHAMBER. 
 
 Help! 
 Murder ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Down with him ! 
 groom of the chamber (run through the body by devereux* 
 falls at the entrance of the Gallery). 
 
 Jesus Maria 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Burst the doors open. 
 
 [They rush over the body into the Gallery — two doors are 
 heard to crash one after the other. — Voices, deadened 
 by the distance — clash of arms — then all at once a pro- 
 found silence. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 COUNTESS terzkt {with a light). 
 Her bed-chamber is empty ; she herself 
 Is nowhere to be found ! The Neubrunn too, 
 Who watch'd by her, is missing. If she should 
 
 Be flown but whither flown ? We must call up 
 
 Every soul in the house. How will the Duke 
 Bear up against these worst bad tidings ? 
 If that my husband now were but return 'd 
 Home from the banquet ! — Hark ! I wonder whether 
 The Duke is still awake ! I thought I heard 
 Voices and tread of feet here ! I will go 
 And listen at the door. Hark ! what is that ? 
 'Tis hastening up the steps ! 
 
 Scene IX. 
 
 Countess, Gordon. 
 
 Gordon (rushes in out of breath). 
 'Tis a mistake ! 
 Tis not the Swedes — Ye must proceed no further — 
 Butler !— God ! where is he ? 
 
sc X J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 44 H 
 
 Gordon (observing the countess). 
 
 Countess! Say 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 You are come then from the castle ? Where's my husband ? 
 
 gokdon (in an agony of affright). 
 Your husband ! — Ask not ! — To the Duke 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Not till 
 You have discover 'd to me 
 
 GOKDON. 
 
 On this moment 
 Does tne world hang. For God's sake ! to the Duke. 
 
 While we are speaking [Calling loudly 
 
 Butler! Butler! God! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Why, he is at the castle with my husband. 
 
 [Butler comes from the Gallery 
 
 GOKDON. 
 
 'Twas a mistake — Tis not the Swedes — it is 
 The Imperialists' Lieutenant-General 
 Has sent me hither — will be here himself 
 Instantly. — You must not proceed. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 He comes 
 Too late. [Gordon dashes himself against the wall. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 O God of mercy ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What too late ? 
 Who will be here himself? Octavio 
 In Egra ? Treason ! Treason ! — Where's the Duke ? 
 
 [She rushes to the Gallery 
 
 Scene X. 
 
 Servants run acoss the Stage full of terror. The whole Scene 
 must be spoken entirely without pauses). 
 
 seni (from the Gallery). 
 bloody frightful deed ! 
 
444 THE DEATH Q^ WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What is it, Seni? 
 page {from the Gallery). 
 O piteous sight ! 
 
 [Other Servants hasten in with torches 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What is it? For God's sake! 
 
 SENI. 
 
 And do you ask ? 
 Within, the Duke lies murder 'd — and your husband 
 Assassinated at the Castle. 
 
 [The Countess stands motionless 
 female sekvant {rushing across the Stage). 
 Help ! help ! the Duchess ! 
 
 burgomaster {enters). 
 
 What mean these confused 
 Loud cries, that wake the sleepers of this house ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Your house is cursed to all eternity. 
 In your house doth the Duke lie murder'd ! 
 burgomaster {rushing out). 
 
 Heaven forbid ! 
 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Fly ! fly ! they murder us all ! 
 
 second servant {carrying silver plate). 
 
 That way ! the lower 
 Passages are block'd up. 
 
 voice {from behind the Scene). 
 Make room for the Lieutenant- General ! 
 
 [At these words the Countess starts from her stupor, col- 
 lects herself, and retires suddenly. 
 
 voice {from behind the Scene). 
 Keep back the people ! Guard the door ! 
 
 Scene XI. 
 To these enter Octavto Piccolomini with all his train. At 
 the same time Devereux and Macdonald enter from out 
 the Corridor with the Halberdiers. — Wallensteins dead 
 body is carried over the back part of the Stage, wrapped in a 
 piece of crimson tapestry. 
 
 octavio [entering abruptly). 
 It must not be ! It is not possible ! 
 
SC. XI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 445 
 
 Butler ! Gordon ! 
 
 I'll not believe it. Say no ! 
 
 [Gordon, without answering, points with his hand to the 
 body of Wallenstein as it is carried over the back oj 
 the stage. Octavio looks that way, and stands over- 
 powered with horror. 
 
 deveeeux (to butlek). 
 Here is the golden fleece — the Duke's sword — 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Is it your order — 
 
 butler (pointing to octavio). 
 Here stands he who now 
 Hath the sole power to issue orders. 
 
 [Devereux and Macdonald retire with marks of obcis 
 ance. One drops away after the other, till only But- 
 ler, Octavio, and Gordon, remain on the Stage 
 octavto (turning to butler). 
 Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted ? 
 O God of Justice ! 
 
 To thee I lift my hand ! I am not guilty 
 Of this foul deed. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Your hand is pure You havo 
 Avail'd yourself of mine. 
 
 OCTAVIO 
 
 Merciless man ! 
 Thus to abuse the orders of thy Lord — 
 And stain thy Emperor's holy name with murder, 
 With bloody, most accursed assassination ! 
 
 butler (calmly). 
 I've but fulfilled the Emperor's own sentence 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 curse of Kings, 
 
 Infusing a dread life into their words, 
 
 And linking to the sudden transient thought 
 
 The unchanging irrevocable deed. 
 
 Was there necessity for such an eager 
 
 Despatch ? Couldst thou not grant the merciful 
 
 A time for mercy? Time is man's good Angel. 
 
446 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. fAOT 7. 
 
 To leave no interval between the sentence, 
 And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem 
 God only, the immutable ! 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 For what 
 Kail you against me ? What is my offence ? 
 The Empire from a fearful enemy 
 Have I deliver 'd, and expect reward. 
 The single difference betwixt you and me 
 Is this : you placed the arrow in the bow ; 
 I pull'd the string. You sow'd blood, and yet stand 
 Astonish'd that blood is come up. I always 
 Knew what I did, and therefore no result 
 Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit. 
 Have you aught else to order ; for this instant 
 I make my best speed to Vienna ; place 
 My bleeding sword before my Emperor's throne, 
 And hope to gain the applause which undelaying 
 And punctual obedience may demand 
 From a just judge. [Exit Butter. 
 
 Scene XII. 
 
 To these enter the Countess Terzky, pale and disordered 
 Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned. 
 
 octavio {meeting her). 
 O, Countess Terzky ! These are the results 
 Of luckless unblest deeds. 
 
 countess. 
 
 They are the fruits 
 Of your contrivances. The Duke is dead, 
 My husband too is dead, the Duchess struggles 
 In the pangs of death, my niece has disappear'd 
 This house of splendour, and of princely glory, 
 Doth now stand desolated : the affrighted servants 
 Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last 
 Therein ; I shut it up, and here deliver 
 The keys. 
 
 octavio (with a deep anguish). 
 Countess ! my house, too, is desolate. 
 
SC. XII. ] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 447 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Who next is to be murder'd ? Who is next 
 To be maltreated ? Lo ! the Duke is dead, 
 The Emperor's vengeance may be pacified ! 
 Spare the old servants ; let not their fidelity 
 Be imputed to the faithful as a crime — 
 The evil destiny surprised my brother 
 Too suddenly : he could not think on them. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Speak not of vengeance ! Speak not of maltreatment ! 
 
 The Emperor is appeased ; the heavy fault 
 
 Hath heavily been expiated — nothing 
 
 Descended from the father to the daughter, 
 
 Except his glory and his services. 
 
 The Empress honours your adversity, 
 
 Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you 
 
 Her motherly arms ! Therefore no farther fears ; 
 
 Yield yourself up in hope and confidence 
 
 To the Imperial Grace ! 
 
 countess {with her eye raised to heaven). 
 To the grace and mercy of a greater Master 
 Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body 
 Of the Duke have its place of final rest ? 
 In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found 
 At Gitschin, rests the Countess Wallenstein ; 
 And by her side, to whom he was indebted 
 For his first fortunes, gratefully he wish'd 
 He might sometime repose in death ! let him 
 Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's 
 Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor 
 Is now the proprietor of all our castles. 
 This sure may well be granted us — one sepulchre 
 Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers ! 
 
 OCTAVIO 
 
 Countess, you tremble, you turn pale ! 
 
 countess (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy 
 and dignity) 
 
 You think 
 More worthily of me, than to believe 
 1 would survive the downfall of my house. 
 
448 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 
 
 We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp 
 After a monarch's crown — the crown did fate 
 Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit 
 That to the crown belong ! We deem a 
 Courageous death more worthy of our free station 
 Than a dishonour'd life. — I have taken poison. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Help ! Help ! Support her ! 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Nay, it is too late. 
 In a few moments is my fate accomplish'd 
 
 [Exit Countess 
 Gordon. 
 O house of death and horrors ! 
 
 [An Officer enters, and brings a letter with the great seal. 
 Gordon steps forward and meets him. 
 
 What is this ? 
 It is the Imperial Seal. 
 
 [He reads the address, and delivers the letter to Ootavio 
 with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the 
 word. 
 To the Prince Piccolomini. 
 
 [Octavio, with his whole frame expressive of sudden 
 anguish, raises his eyes to heaven. 
 
 The Curtain drops 
 
 RND OF XHJ3 DEATH OF WALLENSTBltt. 
 
WILHELM TELL 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONA 
 
 Hermann G-essler, Governor of 
 
 Switz and Uri. 
 Werner, Baron of Attinghausen, 
 
 free nolle of Switzerland. 
 Ulrich von Rudenz, his Nephew. 
 Werner Stauffacher, ^ 
 Conrad Hunn, 
 Hans auf der Mauer, 
 jorg im hofe, 
 Ulrich per Schmidt, 
 Jost von Weiler, 
 Itel Reding, 
 Walter Furst, 
 Wilhelm Tell, 
 Rosselmann, the Priest, 
 Petermann, Sacristan, 
 Kuoni, Herdsman, 
 Werni, Huntsman, 
 Ruodi, Fisherman, 
 Arnold of Melchthal, 
 Conrad Baumgarten, 
 Meyer von Sarnen, 
 Struth von Winkelried, y VJ u 'jj 
 Klaus von der Flue, 
 
 BURKHART AM BuHEL, 
 
 Arnold von Sewa, 
 Pfeiffer of Lucerne. 
 kunz of g-ersau. 
 Jenni, Fisherman's »an. 
 
 of 
 Schwytz. 
 
 > of Uri. 
 
 ^ 
 
 of TJnter- 
 
 Peasant women. 
 
 'TelVs sons. 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Seppi, Herdsman's son. 
 Gertrude, Stauffacher s wife. 
 Hedwig, wife of Tell, daughter oj 
 
 Furst. 
 Bertha of Bruneck, a rich heiress. 
 Armgart, \ 
 Mechthild, 
 Elsbeth, 
 Hildegard, 
 Walter, 
 Wilhelm, 
 Friesshardt, 
 Leuthold, 
 Rudolph der Harras, Gessler's 
 
 master of the horse. 
 Johannes Parricida, Duke of Sua- 
 
 oia. 
 Stussi, Overseer. 
 The Mayor of Uri. 
 A Courier. 
 Master Stonemason, Companions, 
 
 and Workmen. 
 Taskmaster. 
 A Crier. 
 
 Monks of the Order of Charity. 
 Horsemen of Gessler and Landen- 
 
 berg. 
 Many Peasants ; Men and Women 
 
 FROM THE WaLDSTETTEN. 
 
 gg 
 
£50 WILHELM TELL. [%CT L 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 £ high rocky shore of the lake of Lucerne opposite Schwytz. 
 The lake makes a bend into the land ; a hut stands at a 
 short distance from the shore ; the fisher boy is rowing 
 about in his boat. Beyond the lake are seen the green 
 meadows, the hamlets and farms of Schwytz, lying in the 
 clear sunshine On the left are observed the peaks of the 
 JSacken, surrounded with clouds; to the right, and in the 
 remote distance, appear the Glaciers. The Ranz des Vaches, 
 and the tinkling of cattle bells, continue for some time after 
 the rising of the curtain. 
 
 fisheb boy [sings in his boat). 
 Melody of the Ranz des Vaches. 
 The clear smiling lake woo'd to bathe in its deep, 
 A boy on its green shore had laid him to sleep ; 
 Then heard he a melody 
 
 Flowing and soft, 
 And sweet, as when angels 
 Are singing aloft. 
 And as thrilling with pleasure he wakes from his rest. 
 The waters are murmuring over his breast ; 
 And a voice from the deep cries, 
 
 "With me thou must go, 
 I charm the young shepherd, 
 
 I lure him below." 
 heedsman (on the mountains). 
 Air. — Variation of the Ranz des Vaches. 
 Farewell, ye green meadows, 
 
 Farewell, sunny shore. 
 The herdsman must leave you, 
 The summer is o'er. 
 We go to the hills, but you'll see us again, 
 
 When the cuckoo is calling, and woodnotes are gay, 
 When flow'rets are blooming in dingle and plain, 
 And the brooks sparkle up in the sunshine of May. 
 Farewell, ye green meadows, 
 
 Farewell, sunny shore, 
 The herdsman must leave you, 
 The summer is o'er 
 
SC. I. j W1LHELM TELL. 45 1 
 
 chamois hunter [appearing on the top of a cliff) 
 Second Variation of the Ranz des V aches. 
 On the heights peals the thunder, and trembles the bridge, 
 The huntsman bounds on by the dizzying ridge. 
 Undaunted he hies him 
 O'er ice-covered wild, 
 Where leaf never budded, 
 Nor Spring ever smiled ; 
 And beneath him an ocean of mist, where his eye 
 No longer the dwellings of man can espy ; 
 Through the parting clouds only 
 
 The earth can be seen, 
 Far down 'neath the vapour 
 The meadows of green. 
 [A change comes over the landscape. A rumbling, 
 cracking noise is heard among the mountains. Sha- 
 dows of clouds sweep across the scene. 
 [Ruodi, the fisherman, comes out of his cottage. Wekni, 
 the huntsman, descends from the rocks. Kuoni, the 
 shepherd, enters, with a milkpail on his shoulders, 
 followed by Seppi, his assistant. 
 Ruodi. Bestir thee, Jenni, haul the boat on shore. 
 
 The grizzly Vale-King* comes, the Glaciers moan, 
 The lofty Mytensteinf draws on his hood, 
 And from the Stormcleft chilly blows the wind ; 
 The storm will burst, before we are prepared. 
 Kuoni. 'Twill rain ere long ; my sheep browse eagerly, 
 
 . And Watcher there is scraping up the earth. 
 Werni. The fish are leaping, and the water-hen 
 
 Dives up and down. A storm is coming on 
 Kuoni (to his boy). 
 
 Look, Seppi, if the cattle are not straying. 
 Seppi. There goes brown Liesel, I can hear her bells. 
 Kuoni. Then all are safe ; she ever ranges farthest. 
 Ruodi. You've a fine yoke of bells there, master herdsman. 
 Werni. And likely cattle, too. Are they your own ? 
 
 * The German is, Thalvogt, Ruler of the Valley — the name given figura- 
 tively to a dense grey mist which the south wind sweeps into the valleys from 
 the mountain tops. It is well known as the precursor of stormy weather. 
 
 t A steep rock, standing on the north of Rutli, and nearly opposite tu 
 Bmtuen. , 
 
 G G 2 
 
452 WILHELM TELL. [ACT I 
 
 Kuoni. I'm not so rich. They are the noble lord's 
 
 Of Attinghaus, and trusted to my care. 
 Ruodi. How gracefully yon heifer bears her ribbon ! 
 Kuoni. Ay, well she knows she's leader of the herd, 
 
 And, take it from her, she'd refuse to feed. 
 Ruodi. You're joking now. A beast devoid of reason — 
 Werni. That's easy said. But beasts have reason, too, — 
 
 And that we know, we men that hunt the chamois : 
 
 They never turn to feed — sagacious creatures ! 
 
 Till they have placed a sentinel ahead, 
 
 Who pricks his ears whenever we approach, 
 
 And gives alarm with clear and piercing pipe. 
 Ruodi (to the shepherd). 
 
 Are you for home ? 
 Kuoni. The Alp is grazed quite bare. 
 
 Werni. A safe return, my friend ! 
 Kuoni. The same to you ! 
 
 Men come not always back from tracks like yours. 
 Ruodi. But who comes here, running at topmost speed? 
 Werni. I know the man ; 'tis Baumgart of Alzellen. 
 Konrad Baumgarten (rushing in breathless). 
 
 For God's sake, ferryman, your boat! 
 Ruodi. How now ? 
 
 Why all this haste? 
 Baum. Cast off! My life's at stake ! 
 
 Set me across ! 
 Kuoni. m Why, what's the matter, friend ? 
 
 Werni. Who are pursuing you ? First tell us that. 
 Baum. (to the fisherman). 
 
 Quick, quick, e'en now they're close upon my heels! 
 
 The Viceroy's horsemen are in hot pursuit ! 
 
 I'm a lost man, should they lay hands upon me. 
 Ruodi Why are the troopers in pursuit of you ? 
 Baum. First save my life, and then I'll tell you all. 
 Werni. There's blood upon your garments — how is this ? 
 Baum. The imperial Seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg — 
 Kuoni. How! What! The Wolfshot * ? Is it he pursues you ? 
 
 * In Gferman, Wolfenschiessen — a young man of noble family, and a native 
 i>C Unterwalden, who attached himself to the House of Austria, and was ap- 
 pointed Burgvogt, or Seneschal, of the Castle of Rossberg. He was killed bj 
 feaumgarten in the manner, and for the cause, mentioned in the text. 
 
SC. I. 
 
 W3XHELM TELL. 
 
 453 
 
 Baum. He'll ne'er hurt man again ; I've settled him. 
 All (starting back). 
 
 Now, God forgive you, what is this you Ve done ! 
 Baum. What every free man in my place had done. 
 
 I have but used mine own good household right 
 
 'Gainst him that would have wrong'd my wife — my 
 honour. 
 Kuoni. And has he wrong'd you in your honour, then? 
 Baum. That he did not fulfil his foul desire, 
 
 Is due to God and to my trusty axe. 
 Weeni. You've cleft his skull then, have you, with your axe ? 
 Kuoni. 0, tell us all ! You've time enough, before 
 
 The boat can be unfastened from its moorings. 
 Baum. When I was in the forest felling timber, 
 
 My wife came running out in mortal fear. 
 
 " The Seneschal," she said, " was in my house, 
 
 Had order'd her to get a bath prepared, 
 
 And thereupon had ta'en unseemly freedoms, 
 
 From which she rid herself, and flew to me." 
 
 Arm'd as I was, I sought him, and my axe 
 
 Has given his bath a bloody benediction. 
 Werni. And you did well ; no man can blame the deed. 
 Kuoni. The tyrant ! Now he has his just reward ! 
 
 We men of Unterwald have owed it long. 
 Baum. The deed got wind, and now they're in pursuit. 
 
 Heavens ! whilst we speak, the time is flying fast. 
 
 [It begins to thunder. 
 Kuoni. Quick, ferryman, and set the good man over. 
 Ruodi. Impossible! a storm is close at hand, 
 
 Wait till it pass ! You must. 
 Baum. Almighty heavens 1 
 
 I cannot wait ; the least delay is death. 
 Kuoni (to the fisherman). 
 
 Push out — God with you ! We should help our neigh- 
 bours ; 
 
 The like misfortune may betide us all. 
 
 [Thunder and the roaring of the wind 
 Ruodi. The South-wind's up * ! See how the lake is rising ! 
 
 I cannot steer against both storm and wave. 
 
 * Literally, The Fohn is loose ! " When," says M tiller, in his History of 
 Switzerland, " tfie wind called the Fohn is high, the navigation of the lak* 
 
454 
 
 WTLHELM TELL. 
 
 [ACT I, 
 
 Baum. (clasping him by the knees). 
 
 God so help you, as now you pity me ! 
 Werni. His life's at stake. Have pity on him, man! 
 Kuont. He is a father : has a wife and children. 
 
 [Repeated peals of thunder* 
 Ruodi. What! and have I not, then, a life to lose, 
 
 A wife and child at home as well as he ? 
 
 See, how the breakers foam, and toss, and whirl, 
 
 And the lake eddies up from all its depths ! 
 
 Eight gladly would I save the worthy man, 
 
 But 'tis impossible, as you must see. 
 Baum. (still kneeling). 
 
 Then must I fall into the tyrant's hands, 
 
 And with the port of safety close in sight! 
 
 Yonder it lies ! My eyes can measure it, 
 
 My very voice can echo to its shores. 
 
 There is the boat to carry me across, 
 
 Yet must I lie here helpless and forlorn. 
 Kuoni. Look ! who comes here ? 
 
 Ruodi. 'Tis Tell, brave Tell, of Biirglen*. 
 
 [Enter Tell with a crossbow. 
 Tell. Who is the man that here implores for aid ? 
 Kuoni. He is from Alzellen, and to guard his honour 
 
 From touch of foulest shame, has slain the Wolfshot, 
 
 The Imperial Seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg. 
 
 The Viceroy's troopers are upon his heels ; 
 
 He begs the boatman here to take him over, 
 
 But he, in terror of the storm, refuses. 
 Ruodi. Well, there is Tell can steer as well as I, 
 
 He'll be my judge, if it be possible. 
 [Violent peals of thunder — the lake becomes more tempestuous. 
 
 Am I to plunge into the jaws of hell ? 
 
 I should be mad to dare the desperate act. 
 Tell. The brave man thinks upon himself the last. 
 
 Put trust in God, and help him in his need ! 
 
 becomes extremely dangerous. Such is its vehemence, that the laws of the 
 country require that the fires shall be extinguished in the houses while it 
 lasts, and the night watches are doubled. The inhabitants lay heavy stones 
 upon the roofs of their houses, to prevent their being blown away." 
 
 * Biirglen, the birthplace and residence of Tell. A chapel, erected in 
 1522, remains on the spot formerly occupied by his house. 
 
ec. i.J 
 
 WILHELM TELL. 
 
 455 
 
 Tell. 
 
 Ruodi. 
 Tell. 
 
 Kuoni. 
 Werni 
 Baum. 
 Tell. 
 
 Huodi. Safe in the port, 'tis easy to advise. 
 
 There is the boat, and there the lake ! Try you! 
 Tell. The lake may pity, but the Viceroy wi J not. 
 
 Come, venture, man ! 
 Shepherd and Huntsman. 
 
 save him ! save him ! save him ! 
 Ruodi. Though 'twere my brother, or my darling child, 
 
 I would not go. It is St. Simon's day, 
 
 The lake is up, and calling for its victim. 
 
 Nought's to be done with idle talking here. 
 
 Time presses on — the man must be assisted. 
 
 Say, boatman, will you venture ? 
 
 No ; not I. 
 
 In God's name, then, give me the boat ! I will, 
 
 With my poor strength, see what is to be done ! 
 
 Ha, noble Tell ! 
 
 That's like a gallant huntsman ! 
 
 You are my angel, my preserver, Tell. 
 
 I may preserve you from the Viceroy's power, 
 
 But from the tempest's rage another must. 
 
 Yet you had better fall into God's hands, 
 
 Than into those of men. [To the herdsman. 
 
 Herdsman, do thou 
 
 Console my wife, should aught of ill befall me. 
 
 I do but what I may not leave undone. 
 
 [He leaps into the boat 
 Kuoni (to the fisherman). 
 
 A pretty man to be a boatman, truly t 
 
 What Tell could risk, you dared not venture on. 
 Kuoni. Far better men than I would not ape Tell. 
 
 There does not live his fellow 'mong the mountains 
 Werni (who has ascended a rock). 
 
 He pushes off. God help thee now, brave sailor ! 
 
 Look how his bark is reeling on the waves ! 
 Kuoni (on the shore). 
 
 The surge has swept clean over it. And now 
 
 Tis out of sight. Yet stay, there 'tis again ! 
 
 Stoutly he stems the breakers, noble fellow ! 
 
 Here come the troopers hard as they can ride ! 
 
 Heavens ! so they do ! Why, that was help, indeed. 
 [Enter a troo% of horsemen 
 
 Seppi. 
 Kuoni 
 
456 WILHELM TELL. [ACT I. 
 
 1st H. Give up the murderer ! You have him here ! 
 2nd H. This way he came ! Tis useless to conceal him ! 
 Euodi and Kuoni. 
 
 Whom do you mean ? 
 First Horseman (discovering the boat). 
 
 The devil ! What do I see ? 
 Werni (from ahove). 
 
 Is't he n yonder boat ye seek ? Eide on, 
 
 If you lay to, you may o'ertake him yet. 
 2nd H. Curse on you, he's escaped ! 
 First Horseman (to the shepherd and fisherman). 
 
 You help'd him off, 
 
 And you shall pay for it. Fall on their herds ! 
 
 Down with the cottage ! burn it ! beat it down ! 
 
 [They rush off. 
 Seppi (hurrying after them). Oh my poor lambs! 
 Kuoni (following him). Unhappy me, my herds ! 
 Werni. The tyrants ! 
 Ruodi (wringing his hands). 
 
 Righteous Heaven ! Oh, when will come 
 
 Deliverance to this devoted land ? [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A lime tree in front of Stauffacher's house at Steinen, in 
 Schivytz, upon the public road, near a bridge. 
 
 Werner Stauffacher and Pfeiffer, of Lucerne, enter 
 into conversation. 
 
 Pfeiff. Ay, ay, friend Stauffacher, as I have said, 
 Swear not to Austria, if you can help it. 
 Hold by the Empire stoutly as of yore, 
 And God preserve you in your ancient freedom ! 
 
 [Presses his hand warmly and is going. 
 
 Statjff. Wait till my mistress comes. Now do ! You are 
 My guest in Schwytz — I in Lucerne am yours. 
 
 Pfeiff. Thanks ! thanks ! But I must reach Gersau to-day. 
 Whatever grievances your rulers' pride 
 And grasping avarice may yet inflict, 
 Bear them in patience — soon a change may come. 
 
8C n.] WILKELM TELL. 457 
 
 Another emperor may mount the throne. 
 But Austria's once, and you are hers for ever. [Exit 
 [Stauffacher sits down sorrowfully upon a bench 
 under the lime tree. Gertrude, his wife, enters, 
 and finds him in this posture. She places herself 
 near him, and looks at him for some time in 
 silence. 
 
 Gert So sad, my love ! I scarcely know thee now. 
 For many a day in silence I have mark'd 
 A moody sorrow furrowing thy brow. 
 Some silent grief is weighing on thy heart. 
 Trust it to me. I am thy faithful wife, 
 And I demand my half of all thy cares. 
 
 [Stauffacher gives her his hand and is silent. 
 Tell me what can oppress thy spirits thus ? 
 Thy toil is blest — the world goes well with thee — 
 Our barns are full — our cattle, many a score ; 
 Our handsome team of sleek and well-fed steeds 
 Brought from the mountain pastures safely home, 
 To winter in their comfortable stalls. 
 There stands thy house — no nobleman's more fair ! 
 'Tis newly built with timber of the best, 
 All grooved and fitted with the nicest skill ; 
 Its many glistening windows tell of comfort ! 
 Tis quarter 'd o'er with scutcheons of all hues, 
 And proverbs sage, which passing travellers 
 Linger to read, and ponder o'er their meaning. 
 
 Stauff The house is strongly built, and handsomely, 
 
 But, ah ! the ground on which we built it totters. 
 
 Gert Tell me, dear Werner, what you mean by that ? 
 
 Stauff. No later since than yesterday, I sat 
 
 Beneath this linden, thinking with delight, 
 How fairly all was finished, when from Kiissnacht, 
 The Viceroy and his men came riding by. 
 Before this house he halted in surprise : 
 At once I rose, and, as beseemed his rank, 
 Advanced respectfully to greet the lord, 
 To whom the Emperor delegates his power, 
 As judge supreme within our Canton here. 
 " Who is the owner of this house?" he asked, 
 With mischief in his thoughts, for well he knew. 
 
458 WILHELM TELL. [ACT I. 
 
 With prompt decision, thus I answered him : 
 
 *• The Emperor, your grace — my lord and yours, 
 
 And held by me in fief." On this he answered, 
 
 " I am the Emperor's viceregent here, 
 
 And will not that each peasant churl should build 
 
 At his own pleasure, bearing him as freely 
 
 As though he were the master in the land. 
 
 I shall make bold to put a stop to this ! " 
 
 So saying, he, with menaces, rode off, 
 
 And left me musing with a heavy heart, 
 
 On the fell purpose that his words betray'd. 
 
 Gert. Mine own dear lord and husband ! Wilt thou take 
 A word of honest counsel from thy wife ? 
 I boast to be the noble Iberg's child, 
 A man of wide experience. Many a time, 
 As we sat spinning in the winter nights, 
 My sisters and myself, the people's chiefs 
 Were wont to gather round our father's hearth, 
 To read the old imperial charters, and 
 To hold sage converse on the country's weal. 
 Then needfully I listened, marking well 
 What or the wise man thought, or good man wished 
 And garner 'd up their wisdom in my heart. 
 Hear then, and mark me well ; for thou wilt see, 
 I long have known the grief that weighs thee down. 
 The Viceroy hates thee, fain would injure thee, 
 For thou hast cross'd his wish to bend the Swiss 
 In homage to this upstart house of princes, 
 And kept them staunch, like their good sires of old, 
 In true allegiance to the Empire. Say, 
 Is't not so, Werner? Tell me, am I wrong? 
 
 Stauff. 'Tis even so. For this doth Gessler hate me. 
 
 Gert. He burns with envy, too, to see thee living 
 Happy and free on thine inheritance, 
 For he has none. From the Emperor himself 
 Thou hold'st in fief the lands thy fathers left the< 
 There's not a prince i'the Empire that can show 
 A better title to his heritage ; 
 For thou hast over thee no lord but one, 
 And he the mightiest of all Christian kings. 
 Gessler, we know, is but a younger son, 
 
8C. IT.] WILHELM TELL. 459 
 
 His only wealth the knightly cloak he wears : 
 
 He therefore views an honest man's good fortune 
 
 With a malignant and a jealous eye. 
 
 Long has he sworn to compass thy destruction. 
 
 As yet thou art uninjured. Wilt thou wait, 
 
 Till he may safely give his malice scope ? 
 
 A wise man would anticipate the blow. 
 
 Stauff W T hat's to be done ? 
 
 Gekt Now hear what I advise 
 
 Thou knowest well, how here with us in Schwytz 
 All worthy men are groaning underneath 
 This Gessler's grasping, grinding tyranny. 
 Doubt not the men of Unterwald as well, 
 And Uri, too, are chafing like ourselves, 
 At this oppressive and heart-wearying yoke. 
 For there, across the lake, the Landenberg 
 Wields the same iron rule as Gessler here — 
 No fishing-boat comes over to our side, 
 But brings the tidings of some new encroachment, 
 Some outrage fresh, more grievous than the last. 
 Then it were well, that some of you — true men — 
 Men sound at heart, should secretly devise, 
 How best to shake this hateful thraldom off. 
 Well do I know, that God would not desert you, 
 But lend his favour to the righteous cause. 
 Hast thou no friend in Uri, say, to whom 
 Thou frankly mayst unbosom all thy thoughts ? 
 
 Stauff. I know full many a gallant fellow there, 
 
 And nobles, too, — great men, of high repute, 
 
 In whom I can repose unbounded trust. [Bising 
 
 Wife ! What a storm of wild and perilous thoughts 
 
 Hast thou stirr'd up within my tranquil breast? 
 
 The darkest musings of my bosom thou 
 
 Hast dragg'd to light, and placed them full before me, 
 
 And what I scarce dared harbour e'en in thought, 
 
 Thou speakest plainly out, with fearless tongue. 
 
 But hast thou weigh'd well what thou urgest thus ? 
 
 Discord will come, and the fierce clang of arms, 
 
 To scare this valley's long unbroken peace, 
 
 If we, a feeble shepherd race, shall dare 
 
 Him to the fight, that lords it o'er the world. 
 
460 WTLHELM TELL [ACT I 
 
 Ev'n now they only wait some fair pretext 
 For setting loose their savage warrior hordes, 
 To scourge and ravage this devoted land, 
 To lord it o'er us with the victor's rights, 
 And, 'neath the show of lawful chastisement, 
 Despoil us of our chartered liberties. 
 
 Gert You, too, are men ; can wield a battle axe 
 
 As well as they. God ne'er deserts the brave. 
 
 Stauff. Oh wife ! a horrid, ruthless fiend is war, 
 
 That strikes at once the shepherd and his flock. 
 
 Geet. Whate'er great Heaven inflicts, we must endure; 
 No heart of noble temper brooks injustice. 
 
 Stauff. This house — thy pride — war, unrelenting war, 
 Will burn it down. 
 
 Gert And did I think this heart 
 
 Enslaved and fettered to the things of earth, 
 With my own hand I'd hurl the kindling torch. 
 
 Stauff. Thou hast faith in human kindness, wife ; but war 
 Spares not the tender infant in its cradle. 
 
 Gert. There is a friend to innocence in heaven ! 
 
 Look forward, Werner — not behind you, now! 
 
 Stauff. We men may perish bravely, sword in hand ; 
 
 But oh, what fate, my Gertrude, may be thine ? 
 
 Gert. None are so weak, but one last choice is left. 
 A spring from yonder bridge, and I am free ! 
 
 Stauff. {embracing her). 
 
 Well may he light for hearth and home, that clasps 
 A heart so rare as thine against his own !_ 
 What are the hosts of Emperors to him ? 
 Gertrude, farewell ! I will to Uri straight. 
 There lives my worthy comrade, Walter Fiirst; 
 His thoughts and mine upon these times are one 
 There, too, resides the noble Banneret 
 Of Attinghaus. High though of blood he be, 
 He loves the people, honours their old customs. 
 With both of these I will take counsel, how 
 To rid us bravely of our country's foe. 
 Farewell ! and while I am away, bear thou 
 A watchful eye in management at home. 
 The pilgrim, journeying to the house of God, 
 And pious monk, collecting for his cloister, 
 
SC III.] WILHELM TELL. 461 
 
 To these give liberally from purse and garner. 
 Stauffacher's house would not be hid. Eight out 
 Upon the public way it stands, and offers 
 To all that pass an hospitable roof. 
 [While they are retiring, Tell enters with Baumgarten 
 Tell. Now, then, you have no further need of me. 
 
 Enter yon house. 'Tis Werner Stauffacher's, 
 
 A man that is a father to distress. 
 
 See, there he is, himself ! Come, follow me. 
 
 [They retire up. Scene changes 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 A common near Altdorf. On an eminence in the back-ground 
 a Castle in progress of erection, and so far advanced that the 
 outline of the whole may be distinguished. The back part 
 is finished; men are working at the front. Scaffolding, on 
 which the workmen are going up and down. A slater is seen 
 upon the highest part of the roof. All is bustle and activity. 
 
 Taskmaster, Mason, Workmen and Labourers. 
 
 Task, (with a stick, urging on the workmen). 
 
 Up, up ! You've rested long enough. To work ! 
 
 The stones here ! Now the mortar, and the lime ! 
 
 And ]et his lordship see the work advanced, 
 
 When next he comes. These fellows crawl like, 
 snails ! 
 
 [To two labourers, with loads, 
 
 What ! call ye that a load ? Go, double it. 
 
 Is this the way ye earn your wages, laggards ? 
 1st W. 'Tis very hard that we must bear the stones, 
 
 To make a keep and dungeon for ourselves ! 
 Task What's that you mutter ? 'Tis a worthless race, 
 
 And fit for nothing but to milk their cows, 
 
 And saunter idly up and down the mountains. 
 Old Man (sinks down exhausted). 
 
 I can no more. 
 Task, (shaking him). 
 
 Up, up, old man, to work ! 
 1 st W. Have you no bowels of compassion, thus 
 
 To press so hard upon a poor old man, 
 
 That scarce can drag his feeble limbs along ? 
 
462 WILHELM TELL. [ACT I 
 
 Master Mason and Workmen. 
 
 Shame, shame upon you — shame ! It cries to heaven ! 
 Task. Mind your own business. I but do my duty. 
 1st W. Pray, master, what's to be the name of this 
 
 Same castle, when 'tis built ? 
 Task. The Keep of Uri ; 
 
 For by it we shall keep you in subjection. 
 Work. The Keep of Uri ? 
 
 Task. Well, why laugh at that? 
 
 2nd W. So you'll keep Uri with this paltry place ! 
 1st W. How many molehills such as that must first 
 
 Be piled above each other, ere you make 
 
 A mountain equal to the least in Uri ? 
 
 [Taskmaster retires up the stage. 
 Mas. M. IU drown the mallet in the deepest lake, 
 
 That served my hand on this accursed pile. 
 
 [Enter Tell and Stauffacher 
 Stauff. 0, that I had not lived to see this sight ! 
 Tell. Here 'tis not good to be. Let us proceed. 
 Stauff. Am I in Uri, in the land of freedom ? 
 Mas.M. 0, sir, if you could only see the vaults 
 
 Beneath these towers. The man that tenants them 
 
 Will never hear the cock crow more. 
 Stauff. God! 
 
 Mason. Look at these ramparts and these buttresses, 
 
 That seem as they were built to last for ever. 
 Tell. Hands can destroy whatever hands have rear'd. 
 
 [Pointing to the mountains. 
 
 That house of freedom God hath built for us. 
 
 [A drum is heard. People enter bearing a cap 
 upon a pole, followed by a crier. Women and 
 children thronging tumultuously after them 
 1st W. What means the drum? Give heed! 
 Mason. Why, here's a mumming! 
 
 And look, the cap — what can they mean by that? 
 Crier. In the Emperor's name, give ear ! 
 Work. Hush! silence! hush 
 
 Crier. Ye men of Uri, ye do see this cap ! 
 
 It will be set upon a lofty pole 
 
 In Altdorf, in the market place : and this 
 
 Is the Lord Governor's good will and pleasure. 
 
SC. ITT. 
 
 WILHELM TELL. 463 
 
 The cap shall have like honour as himself, 
 And all shall reverence it with bended knee, 
 And head uncovered ; thus the king will know 
 Who are his true and loyal subjects here; 
 His life and goods are forfeit to the crown, 
 That shall refuse obedience to the order. 
 
 [The people burst out into laughter. The drum 
 beats, and the procession passes on 
 
 1st W. A strange device to fall upon, indeed ! 
 Do reverence to a cap ! A pretty farce ! 
 Heard ever mortal anything like this ? 
 
 Mas.M Down to a cap on bended knee, forsooth ! 
 Rare jesting this with men of sober sense! 
 
 1st W. Nay, were it but the imperial crown, indeed ! 
 But 'tis the cap of Austria ! I've seen it 
 Hanging above the throne in Gessler's hall. 
 
 Mason. The cap of Austria ? Mark that ! A snare 
 To get us into Austria's power, by Heaven ! 
 
 Work. No freeborn man will stoop to such disgrace. 
 
 Mas. M. Come — to our comrades, and advise with them ! 
 
 [They retire up 
 
 Tell (to Stauffacher). 
 
 You see how matters stand. Farewell, my friend ! 
 
 Stauff. Whither away ? Oh, leave us not so soon. 
 
 Tell. They look for me at home. So fare ye well. 
 
 Stauff. My heart's so full, and has so much to tell you. 
 
 Tell. Words will not make a heart that's heavy light. 
 
 Stauff. Yet words may possibly conduct to deeds. 
 
 Tell. All we can do is to endure in silence. 
 
 Stauff. But shall we bear what is not to be borne ? 
 
 Tell. Impetuous rulers have the shortest reigns. 
 
 When the fierce Southwind rises from his chasms, 
 Men cover up their fires, the ships in haste 
 Make for the harbour, and the mighty spirit 
 Sweeps o'er the earth, and leaves no trace behind. 
 Let every man live quietly at home ; 
 Peace to the peaceful rarely is denied. 
 
 Stauff. And is it thus you view our grievances ? 
 
 Tell. The serpent stings not, till it is provoked. 
 
 Let them alone ; they'll weary of themselves, 
 Whene'er they see we are not to be roused. 
 
464 WILHELM TELL [ACT I. 
 
 Stauff. Much might be done — did we stand fast together. 
 Tell. When the ship founders, he will best escape, 
 
 Who seeks no other's safety but his own. 
 Stauff. And you desert the common cause so coldly ? 
 Tell. A man can safely count but on himself ! 
 Stauff. Nay, even the weak grow strong by union. 
 Tell. But the strong man is strongest when alone. 
 Stauff. Your country, then, cannot rely on you, 
 
 If in despair she rise against her foes. 
 Tell. Tell rescues the lost sheep from yawning gulphs : 
 
 Is he a man, then, to desert his friends ? 
 
 Yet, whatsoe'er you do, spare me from council ! 
 
 I was not born to ponder and select ; 
 
 But when your course of action is resolved, 
 
 Then call on Tell ; you shall not find him fail. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. A sudden tumult is heard 
 around the scaffolding. 
 Mason (running in). What's wrong? 
 Fiest Workman (running forivard). 
 
 The slater's fallen from the roof. 
 Bertha (rushing in). 
 
 Is. he dashed to pieces? Eun — save him, help! 
 
 If help be possible, save him ! Here is gold. 
 
 [Throws her trinkets among the peovh 
 Mason. Hence with your gold, — your universal charm, 
 
 And remedy for ill ! When you have torn 
 
 Fathers from children, husbands from their wives, 
 
 And scattered woe and wail throughout the land, 
 
 You think with gold to compensate for all. 
 
 Hence ! Till we saw you, we were happy men ; 
 
 With you came misery and dark despair. 
 Bertha (to the Taskmaster, who has returned). 
 
 Lives he ? 
 
 [Taskmaster shakes his head. 
 Ill-fated towers, with curses built, 
 
 And doomed with curses to be tenanted ! [Exit 
 
Sk2. TV.] WILHELM TELL. 4(35 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 The House of Walteb Furst. Walter Furst and Arnold 
 Von Melchthal enter simultaneously at different sides 
 
 Melch. Good Walter Furst. 
 
 Furst. If we should be surprised ! 
 
 Stay where you are. We are beset with spies. 
 Melch. Have you no news for me from Unterwald ? 
 What of my father ? Tis not to be borne, 
 Thus to be pent up like a felon here ! 
 What have I done of such a heinous stamp, 
 To skulk and hide me like a murderer ? 
 I only laid my staff across the fingers 
 Of the pert varlet, when before my eyes, 
 By order of the governor, he tried 
 To drive away my handsome team of oxen. 
 
 Furst. You are too rash by far. He did no more 
 Than what the governor had ordered him. 
 You had transgress'd, and therefore should have paid 
 The penalty, however hard, in silence. 
 
 Melch. Was I to brook the fellow's saucy words ? 
 
 " That if the peasant must have bread to eat, 
 
 •' Why, let him go and draw the plough himself ! " 
 
 It cut me to the very soul to see 
 
 My oxen, noble creatures, when the knave 
 
 Unyoked them from the plough. As though they felt 
 
 The wrong, they lowed and butted with their horns. 
 
 On this I could contain myself no longer, 
 
 And, overcome by passion, struck him down. 
 
 Furst. 0, we old men can scarce command ourselves ! 
 
 And can we wonder youth should break its bounds ? 
 
 Melch. I'm only sorry for my father's sake ! 
 
 To be away from him, that needs so much 
 
 My fostering care ! The governor detests him, 
 
 Because he hath, whene'er occasion served, 
 
 Stood stoutly up for right and liberty. 
 
 Therefore they'll bear him hard — the poor old man ' 
 
 And there is none to shield him from their gripe. 
 
 Come what come may, I must go home again. 
 
 Furst Compose yourself, and wait in patience till 
 We get some tidings o'er from Unterwald. 
 
 H H 
 
48(5 W1LHELM TELL, [ACT I. 
 
 Away ! away ! I hear a knock ! Perhaps 
 A message from the Viceroy ! Get thee in ! 
 You are not safe from Landenberger's * arm 
 In Uri, for these tyrants pull together. 
 
 Melch. They teach us Switzers what we ought to do, 
 
 Fuest. Away ! I'll call you when the coast is clear. 
 
 [Melchthal ret i res . 
 Unhappy youth ! I dare not tell him all 
 The evil that my boding heart predicts ! 
 Who's there ? The door ne'er opens, but I look 
 For tidings of mishap. Suspicion lurks 
 With darkling treachery in every nook. 
 Even to our inmost rooms they force their way, 
 These myrmidons of power ; and soon we'll need 
 To fasten bolts and bars upon our doors. 
 
 [He opens the door, and steps back in surprise as 
 Weenee Stauffachee enters. 
 What do I see ? You, Werner ? Now, by Heaven ! 
 A valued guest, indeed. No man e'er set 
 His foot across this threshold, more esteem'd. 
 Welcome ! thrice welcome, Werner, to my roof! 
 What brings you here ? What seek you here in Uri ? 
 
 Stauff. {shakes Fuest by the hand). 
 
 The olden times and olden Switzerland. 
 
 Fuest You bring them with you. See how I'm rejoiced, 
 My heart leaps at the very sight of you. 
 Sit down — sit down, and tell me how you left 
 Your charming wife, fair Gertrude ? Iberg's child, 
 And clever as her father. Not a man, 
 That wends from Germany, by Meinrad's Cell,f 
 To Italy, but praises far and wide 
 Your house's hospitality. But say, 
 Have you come here direct from Fliielen, 
 And have you noticed nothing on your way, 
 Before you halted at my door ? 
 
 Berenger von Landeiiberg, a man of noble family in Thurgau, and 
 Governor of Unterwald, infamous for his cruelties to the Swiss, and parties 
 larly to the venerable Henry of the Halden. He was slain at the battle of 
 Morgarten, in 1315. 
 
 + A cell built in the 9th century, by Meinrad, Count of Hohenzollern, th* 
 founder of the Convent of Einsiedeln, subsequently alluded to in the text. 
 
SO IV.] 
 
 WILHELM TELL 
 
 467 
 
 Stauff. {sits down), I saw 
 
 A work in progress, as I came along, 
 I little thought to see — that likes me ill. 
 
 Fukst. friend ! you've lighted on my thought at once. 
 
 Stauff Such things in Uri ne'er were known before. 
 Never was prison here in man's remembrance, 
 Nor ever any stronghold but the grave. 
 
 Fukst You name it well. It is the grave of freedom. 
 
 Stauff Friend, Walter Fiirst, I will be plain with you. 
 No idle curiosity it is, 
 
 That brings me here, but heavy cares. I left 
 Thraldom at home, and thraldom meets me here. 
 Our wrongs, e'en now, are more than we can bear, 
 And who shall tell us where they are to end ? 
 From eldest time the Switzer has been free, 
 Accustom'd only to the mildest rule. 
 Such things as now we suffer, ne'er were known, 
 Since herdsman first drove cattle to the hills. 
 
 Furst Yes, our oppressions are unparallel'd ! 
 
 Why, even our own good lord of Attinghaus, 
 Who lived in olden times, himself declares. 
 They are no longer to be tamely borne. 
 
 Stauff. In Unterwalden yonder 'tis the same ; 
 And bloody has the retribution been. 
 The imperial Seneschal, the Wolfshot, who 
 At Rossberg dwelt, long'd for forbidden fruit — 
 Baumgarten's wife, that lives at Alzellen, 
 He wished to overcome in shameful sort, 
 On which the husband slew him with his axe. 
 
 Fuest. 0, Heaven is just in all its judgments still! 
 Baumgarten, say you ? A most worthy man. 
 Has he escaped, and is he safely hid ? 
 
 Stauff. Your son-in-law conveyed him o'er the lake, 
 And he lies hidden in my house at Steinen. 
 He brought the tidings with him of a thing 
 That has been done at Sarnen, worse than all, 
 A thing to make the very heart run blood ! 
 
 Furst (attentively). 
 
 Say on What is it ? 
 
 Stauff. There dwells in Melchthal, then, 
 
 Just ** you eater by the road from Kerns, 
 
 H H 2 
 
468 
 
 WILHELM TELL. 
 
 An upright man, named Henry of the Halden, 
 A man of weight and influence in the Diet. 
 Furst. Who knows him not? But what of him? Proceed. 
 Stauff. The Landenberg, to punish some offence, 
 Committed by the old man's son, it seems, 
 Had given command to take the youth's best pair 
 Of oxen from his plough ; on which the* lad 
 Struck down the messenger and took to flight. 
 Fukst. But the old father — tell me, what of him ? 
 Stauff. The Landenberg sent for him, and required 
 He should produce his son upon the spot ; 
 And when th' old man protested, and with truth, 
 That he knew nothing of the fugitive, 
 The tyrant call'd his torturers. 
 Furst (springs up and tries to lead him to the other side). 
 
 Hush, no more ! 
 Stauffacher (with increasing warmth). 
 
 "And though thy son," he cried, "has 'scaped me 
 
 now, 
 I have thee fast, and thou shalt feel my vengeance.'' 
 With that they flung the old man to the earth, 
 And plunged the pointed steel into his eyes. 
 Furst. Merciful Heaven ! 
 Melch. (rushing out). 
 
 Into his eyes, his eyes ? 
 Stauff . (addresses himself in astonishment to Walter Furst) 
 
 Who is this youth ? 
 Melch. (grasping him convulsively). 
 
 Into his eyes ? Speak, speak ! 
 Furst. Oh, miserable hour! 
 Stauff. Who is it, tell me ? 
 
 [Stauffacher makes a sign to him 
 It is his son ! All righteous heaven ! 
 Melch. And I 
 
 Must be from thence ! What ! into both his eyes ? 
 Furst. Be calm, be calm ; and bear it like a man ! 
 Melch. And all for me — for my mad wilful folly ! 
 
 Blind, did you say? Quite blind — and both his eyes? 
 Stauff. Ev'n so. The fountain of his sight's dried up 
 
 He ne'er will see the blessed sunshine more. 
 Furst Oh, spare his anguish ! 
 
 -> 
 
BC. IV. 
 
 WILHEIM TELL. 46? 
 
 Melch, Never, never more ! 
 
 [Presses his hands upon his eyes and is silent for 
 some moments; then turning from one to the 
 other, speaks in a subdued tone, broken by sobs 
 
 the eye's light, of all the gifts of Heaven, 
 The dearest, best ! From light all beings live — 
 Each fair created thing — the very plants 
 
 Turn with a joyful transport to the light, 
 
 And he — he must drag on through all his days 
 
 In endless darkness ! Never more for him 
 
 The sunny meads shall glow, the flow'rets bloom ; 
 
 Nor shall he more behold the roseate tints 
 
 Of the iced mountain top ! To die is nothing, 
 
 But to have life, and not have sight, — oh. that 
 
 Is misery indeed ! Why do you look 
 
 So piteously at me ? I have two eyes, 
 
 Yet to my poor blind father can give neither! 
 
 No, not one gleam of that great sea of light 
 
 That with its dazzling splendour floods my gaze. 
 
 Stauff. Ah, I must swell the measure of your grief, 
 Instead of soothing it. The worst, alas ! 
 Remains to tell. They've stripp'd him of his all ; 
 Nought have they left him, save his staff, on which. 
 Blind, and in rags, he moves from door to door. 
 
 Melch Nought but his staff to the old eyeless man! 
 Stripp'd of his all — even of the light of day, 
 The common blessing of the meanest wretch. 
 Tell me no more of patience, of concealment ! 
 Oh, v*hat a base and coward thing am I, 
 That on mine own security I thought, 
 And took no care of thine ! Thy precious head 
 Left as a pledge within the tyrant's grasp ! 
 Hence, craven-hearted prudence, hence ! And all 
 My thoughts be vengeance, and the despot's blood ! 
 I'll seek him straight — no power shall stay me now — 
 And at his hands demand my father's eyes. 
 I'll beard him 'mid a thousand myrmidons ! 
 What's life to me, if in his heart's best blood 
 
 1 cool the fever of this mighty anguish. [He is going 
 Fctbst. Stay, this is madness, Melchthal ! What avails 
 
 Your single arm against his power ? He sits 
 
470 WILHELM TELL. [ACT t 
 
 At Sarnen high within his lordly keep, 
 And, safe within its hattlemented walls, 
 May laugh to scorn your unavailing rage. 
 Melch. And though he sat within the icy domes 
 
 Of yon far Schreckhorn — ay, or higher, where 
 
 Veil'd since eternity, the Jungfrau soars, 
 
 Still to the tyrant would I make my way ; 
 
 With twenty comrades minded like myself, 
 
 I'd lay his fastness level with the earth! 
 
 And if none follow me, and if you all, 
 
 In terror for your homesteads and your herds, 
 
 Bow in submission to the tyrant's yoke, 
 
 I'll call the herdsmen on the hills around me, 
 
 And there beneath heaven's free and boundless roof, 
 
 Where men still feel as men, and hearts are true, 
 
 Proclaim aloud this foul enormity ! 
 
 >TAUFF. (tO FuRST). 
 
 'Tis at its height — and are we then to wait 
 Till some extremity 
 
 Melchthal. What extremity 
 
 Eemains for apprehension, when men's eyes 
 
 Have ceased to be secure within their sockets ? 
 
 Are we defenceless ? Wherefore did we learn 
 
 To bend the cross-bow, — wield the battle-axe ? 
 
 W T hat living creature, but in its despair, 
 
 Finds for itself a weapon of defence ? 
 
 The baited stag will turn, and with the show 
 
 Of his dread antlers hold the hounds at bay ; 
 
 The chamois drags the huntsman down th' abyss ; 
 
 The very ox, the partner of man's toil, 
 
 The sharer of his roof, that meekly bends 
 
 The strength of his huge neck beneath the yoke, 
 
 Springs up, if he's provoked, whets his strong horn, 
 
 And tosses his tormentor to the clouds. 
 
 Furst. If the three Cantons thought as we three do, 
 
 Something might, then, be done, with good effect. 
 
 Stauff. When Uri calls, when Unterwald replies, 
 
 Schwytz will be mindful of her ancient league *. 
 
 * The League, or Bond, of the Three Cantons was ot very ancient origin. 
 They met and renewed it from time to time, especiaJy when their liberties 
 
CC. TV.] WILHELM TELL. 471 
 
 Melch. IVe many friends in Unterwald, and none 
 
 That would not gladly venture life and limb, 
 If fairly back'd and aided by the rest. 
 Oh, sage and reverend fathers of this land, 
 Here do I stand before your riper years, 
 An unskiird youth, whose voice must in the Diet 
 Still be subdued into respectful silence. 
 Do not, because that I am young, and want 
 Experience, slight my counsel and my words. 
 Tis not the wantonness of youthful blood 
 
 were threatened with danger. A remarkable instance of this occurred in 
 the end of the 13th century, when Albert, of Austria, became Emperor, and 
 when, possibly, for the first time, the Bond was reduced to writing. As it 
 is important to the understanding of many passages of the play, a transla- 
 tion is subjoined of the oldest known document relating to it. The original, 
 which is in Latin and German, is dated in August, 1291, and is under the 
 seals of the whole of the men of Schwytz, the commonalty of the vale of 
 Uri and the whole of the men of the upper and lower vales of Stanz. 
 
 THE BOND. 
 
 Be it known to every one, that the men of the Dale of Uri, the Com- 
 munity of Schwytz, as also the men of the mountains of Unterwald, in 
 consideration of the evil times, have full confidently bound themselves, and 
 sworn to help each other with all their power and might, property and 
 people, against all who shall do violence to them, or any of them. That is 
 our Ancient Bond. 
 
 Whoever hath a Seignior, let him obey according to the conditions of his 
 service. 
 
 We are agreed to receive into these dales no Judge, who is not a country- 
 man and indweller, or who hath bought his place. 
 
 Every controversy amongst the sworn confederates shall be determined by 
 some of the sagest of their number, and if any one shall challenge their 
 judgment, then shall he be constrained to obey it by the rest. 
 
 Whoever intentionally or deceitfully kills another, shall be executed, 
 and whoever shelters him shall be banished. 
 
 Whoever burns the property of another shall no longer be regarded as a 
 countryman, and whoever shelters him shall make good the damage done. 
 
 Whoever injures another, or robs him, and hath property in our country, 
 shall make satisfaction out of the same. 
 
 No one shall distrain a debtor without a judge, nor any one who is not 
 flis debtor, or the surety for such debtor. 
 
 Every one in these dales shall submit to the judge, or we, the sworn 
 eonfederates, all will take satisfaction for all the injury occasioned by his 
 contumacy. And if in any internal division the one party will not accept 
 justice, all the rest shall help the other party. These decrees shall, Ghd 
 willing, endure eternally for our general advantage 
 
*72 WILHELM TELI [ACT L 
 
 That fires my spirit ; but a pang so deep 
 That e'en the flinty rocks must pity me. 
 You, too, are fathers, heads of families, 
 And you must wish to have a virtuous son, 
 To reverence your grey hairs, and shield your eyes 
 With pious and affectionate regard. 
 ^ — Ikrnot, I pray, because in limb and fortune 
 You still are unassail'd, and still your eyes 
 Revolve undimm'd and sparkling in their spheres ; 
 Oh, do not, therefore, disregard our wrongs ! 
 Above you, too, doth hang the tyrant's sword. 
 You, too, have striven to alienate the land 
 From Austria. This was all my father's crime : 
 You share his guilt, and may his punishment. 
 
 Stauffacher (to Furst). 
 
 Do thou resolve ! I am prepared to follow. 
 
 Furst. First let us learn, what steps the noble lords 
 Von Sillinen and Attinghaus propose. 
 Their names would rally thousands in the cause. 
 
 Melch. Is there a name within the Forest Mountains 
 
 That carries more respect than thine — and thine ? 
 To names like these the people cling for help 
 With confidence — such names are household words. 
 Rich was your heritage of manly virtue, 
 And richly have you added to its stores. 
 What need of nobles ? Let us do the work 
 Ourselves. Although we stood alone, methinks, 
 We should be able to maintain our rights. 
 
 Stauff. The nobles' wrongs are not so great as ours. 
 
 The torrent, that lays waste the lower grounds, 
 Hath not ascended to the uplands yet. 
 But let them see the country once in arms, 
 They'll not refuse to lend a helping hand. 
 
 Fuhst. Were there an umpire 'twixt ourselves and Austria, 
 Justice and law might then decide our quarrel. 
 But our oppressor is our emperor too, 
 And judge supreme. 'Tis God must help us, then, 
 And our own arm ! Be yours the task to rouse 
 The men of Schwytz . I'll rally friends in Uri. 
 But w T hom are we to send to Unterwald ? 
 
 Melch. Thither send me. Whom should it more concern ? 
 
SO. IV. J WILHELM TELL. 478 
 
 Furst. No, Melchthal, no ; thou art my guest, and I 
 Must answer for thy safety. 
 
 Melchthal. Let me go. 
 
 I know each forest track and mountain pass ; 
 Friends too I'll find, be sure, on every hand, 
 To give me willing shelter from the foe. 
 
 Stauff. Nay, let him go ; no traitors harbour there : 
 For tyranny is so abhorred in Unterwald, 
 No minions can be found to work her will. 
 In the low valleys, too, the Alzeller 
 Will gain confederates, and rouse the country. 
 
 Melch. But how shall we communicate, and not 
 Awaken the suspicion of the tyrants ? 
 
 Stauff. Might we not meet at Brunnen or at Treib, 
 
 Hard by the spot where merchant vessels land ? 
 
 Furst. We must not go so openly to work. 
 
 Hear my opinion. On the lake's left bank, 
 As we sail hence to Brunnen, right against 
 The Mytenstein, deep-hidden in the wood 
 A meadow lies, by shepherds called the Rootli, 
 Because the wood has been uprooted there. 
 'Tis where our Canton bound'ries verge on yours ; — 
 
 [To Melchthal 
 Your boat will carry you across from Schwytz. 
 
 [To Stauffacher, 
 Thither by lonely bypaths let us wend 
 At midnight, and deliberate o'er our plans. 
 Let each bring with him there ten trusty men, 
 All one at heart with us ; and then we may 
 Consult together for the general weal, 
 And, with God's guidance, fix our onward course. 
 
 Stauff. So let it be. And now your true right hand ! 
 
 Yours, too, young man ! and as we now three men 
 Among ourselves thus knit our hands together 
 In all sincerity and truth, e'en so 
 Shall we three Cantons, too, together stand 
 In victory and defeat, in life and death. 
 
 Furst and Melchthal. 
 In life and death. 
 
 IThey hold their hands clasped together for sorns 
 moments in silence. 
 
474 WILHELM TELL. [ACT U. 
 
 Melchthal. Alas, my old blind father! 
 
 Thou canst no more behold the day of freedom , 
 But thou shalt hear it. When from Alp to Alp 
 The beacon fires throw up their flaming signs, 
 And the proud castles of the tyrants fall, 
 Into thy cottage shall the Switzer burst, 
 Bear the glad tidings to thine ear, and o'er 
 Thy darken 'd way shall Freedom's radiance pour. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 The Mansion of the Baron of Attinghausen A Gothio 
 Hall, decorated with escutcheons and helmets. The Babon, 
 a grey-headed man, eighty-five years old, tall and of a com- 
 mandmg mien, clad in a furred pelisse, and leaning on a 
 staff tipped with chamois horn. Kuoni and six hinds stand- 
 ing round him with rakes and scythes Ulrich of Rudenz 
 enters in the costume of a Knight. 
 
 Rud. . . Uncle, I'm here ! Your will? 
 
 Attinghausen. First let me share, 
 
 After the ancient custom of our house, 
 The morning cup, with these my faithful servants ! 
 
 [He drinks from a cup, which is then passed round. 
 Time was, I stood myself in field and wood, 
 With mine own eyes directing all their toil, 
 Even as my banner led them in the fight, 
 Now I am only fit to play the steward ; 
 And, if the genial sun come not to me, 
 I can no longer seek it on the mountains. 
 Thus slowly, in an ever narrowing sphere, 
 I move on to the narrowest and the last, 
 Where all life's pulses cease. I now am but 
 The shadow of my former self, and that 
 Is fading fast — 'twill soon be but a name 
 
 Kuoni (offering Rudenz the cup). 
 A pledge, young master ! 
 
 [Rudenz hesitates to take the cup 
 Nay, Sir, drink it off! 
 One cup, one heart ! You know our proverb, Sir T 
 
sc l] wilhelm tell. -475 
 
 Attikg. Go, children, and at eve, when work is done, 
 
 We'll meet and talk the country's business over. 
 
 [Exeunt Servants 
 Belted and plumed, and all thy bravery on ! 
 Thou art for Altdorf — for the castle, boy ? 
 
 Rud. . . Yes, uncle. Longer may I not delay — 
 
 Attinghausen {sitting down). 
 
 Why in such haste ? Say, are thy youthful hours 
 Doled in such niggard measure, that thou must 
 Be chary of them to thy aged uncle ? 
 
 Rud. . . I see, my presence is not needed here, 
 I am but as a stranger in this house. 
 
 Attinghausen [gazes fixedly at him for a considerable time). 
 Alas, thou art indeed ! Alas, that home 
 To thee has grown so strange ! Oh, Uly ! Uly ! 
 I scarce do know thee now, thus deek'd in silks, 
 The peacock's feather * flaunting in thy cap, 
 And purple mantle round thy shoulders flung ; 
 Thou look'st upon the peasant with disdain, 
 And takest with a blush his honest greeting. 
 
 Rud. . . All honour due to him I gladly pay, 
 
 But must deny the right he would usurp. 
 
 Atting. The sore displeasure of the king is resting 
 Upon the land, and every true man's heart 
 Is full of sadness for the grievous wrongs 
 We suffer from our tyrants. Thou alone 
 Art all unmoved amid the general grief 
 Abandoning thy friends, thou tak'st thy stand 
 Beside thy country's foes, and, as in scorn 
 Of our distress, pursuest giddy joys, 
 Courting the smiles of princes, all the while 
 Thy country bleeds beneath their cruel scourge 
 
 Rud. . . The land is sore oppress'd, I know it, uncle. 
 But why ? Who plunged it into this distress ? 
 A word, one little easy word, might buy 
 Instant deliverance from such dire oppression, 
 And win the good will of the Emperor. 
 
 * The Austrian knights were in the habit of wearing a plume of peacocks 
 leathers in their helmets. After tae overthrow of the Austrian dominion 
 in Switzerland, it was made highly penal to wear the peacock's feather at 
 any public assembly there. 
 
4 76 WILHELM TVTX [ACT IL 
 
 Woe unto those, who seal the people's eyes, 
 
 And make them adverse to their country's good — 
 
 The men, who, for their own vile selfish e^H 
 
 Are seeking to prevent the Forest States 
 
 From swearing fealty to Austria's House, 
 
 As all the countries round about have done. 
 
 It fits their humour well, to take their seats 
 
 Amid the nobles on the Herrenbank * ; 
 
 They'll have the Caesar for their lord, forsooth, — 
 
 That is to say, they'll have no lord at all. 
 
 Atting. Must I hear this, and from thy lips, rash boy ! 
 
 Hud. . . You urged me to this answer. Hear me out. 
 What, uncle, is the character you've stoop 'd 
 To fill contentedly through life ? Have you 
 No higher pride, than in these lonely wilds 
 To be the Landamman or Banneret f, 
 The petty chieftain of a shepherd race ? 
 How ! Were it not a far more glorious choice, 
 To bend in homage to our royal lord, 
 And swell the princely splendours of his court, 
 Than sit at home, the peer of your own vassals, 
 And share the judgment-seat with vulgar clowns ? 
 
 Atting. Ah, Uly, Uly; all too well I see, 
 
 The tempter's voice has caught thy willing ear, 
 And pour'd its subtle poison in thy heart. 
 
 Rud. . . Yes, I conceal it not. It doth offend 
 
 My inmost soul, to hear the stranger's gibes, 
 
 That taunt us with the name of " Peasant Nobles t* 
 
 Think you the heart that's stirring here can brook, 
 
 While all the young nobility around 
 
 Are reaping honour under Habsburg's banner, 
 
 That I should loiter, in inglorious ease, 
 
 Here on the heritage my fathers left, 
 
 And, in the dull routine of vulgar toil, 
 
 Lose all life's glorious spring? In other lands 
 
 Deeds are achieved. A world of fair renown 
 
 Beyond these mountains stirs in martial pomp. 
 
 * The bench reserved for the nobility. 
 
 f The Landamman was an officer chosen by the Swiss Gemeinde, or Diet, 
 to preside over them. The Banneret was an officer entrusted with the 
 keeping cf the State Banner, and such others as were taken in battle. 
 
rC iJ WILHELM TKLfi. 477 
 
 My helm and shield are rusting in the hall ; 
 
 The martial trumpet's spirit-stirring blast, 
 
 The herald's call, inviting to the lists, 
 
 Rouse not the echoes of these vales, where nought, 
 
 Save cowherd's horn and cattle bell, is heard, 
 
 In one unvarying dull monotony. 
 
 Atttng- Deluded boy, seduced by empty show ! 
 
 Despise the land that gave thee birth ! Ashamed 
 
 Of the good ancient customs of thy sires ! 
 
 The day w T ill come, when thou, with burning tears, 
 
 Wilt long for home, and for thy native hills, 
 
 And that dear melody of tuneful herds, 
 
 Which now, in proud disgust, thou dost despise ! 
 
 A day when thou wilt drink its tones in sadness, 
 
 Hearing their music in a foreign land. 
 
 Oh ! potent is the spell that binds to home ! 
 
 No, no, the cold, false world is not for thee. 
 
 At the proud court, with thy true heart, thou wilt 
 
 For ever feel a stranger among strangers. 
 
 The world asks virtues of far other stamp 
 
 Than thou hast learned within these simple vales. 
 
 But go — go thither, — barter thy free soul, 
 
 Take land in fief, become a prince's vassal, 
 
 Where thou might 'st be lord paramount, and prince 
 
 Of all thine own unburden 'd heritage ! 
 
 O, TJly, Uly, stay among thy people ! 
 
 Go not to Altdorf. Oh, abandon not 
 
 The sacred cause of thy wrong'd native land ! 
 
 I am the last of all my race. My name 
 
 Ends with me. Yonder hang my helm and shield; 
 
 They will be buried with me in the grave *. 
 
 And must I think, when yielding up my breath, 
 
 That thou but wait'st the closing of mine eyes, 
 
 To stoop thy knee to this new feudal court, 
 
 And take in vassalage from Austria's hands 
 
 The noble lands, which I from God received, 
 
 Free and unfetter 'd as the mountain air ! 
 
 Hud. . . 'Tis vain for us to strive against the king. 
 
 The world pertains to him : — shall we alone, 
 
 * According to the custom, by which, when the last male descendant of a 
 uoble family died, his sword, helmet, and shield, were buried with him, 
 
478 , WILHELM TELL. [ACT tL 
 
 In niad presumptuous obstinacy, strive 
 To break that mighty chain of lands, which he 
 Hath drawn around us with his giant grasp. 
 His are the markets, his the courts, — his too 
 The highways ; nay, the very carrier's horse, - 
 That traffics on the Gotthardt, pays him toll. 
 By his dominions, as within a net, 
 We are enclosed, and girded round about. 
 — And will the Empire shield us ? Say, can it 
 Protect itself gainst Austria's growing power ? 
 To God, and not to emperors must we look ! 
 What store can on their promises be placed, 
 When they, to meet their own necessities, 
 Can pawn, and even alienate the towns 
 That flee for shelter 'neath the Eagle's wings * ? 
 No, uncle ! It is wise and wholesome prudence, 
 In times like these, when faction's all abroad, 
 To own attachment to some mighty chief. 
 The imperial crown's transferred from line to line f, 
 It has no memory for faithful service : 
 But to secure the favour of these great 
 Hereditary masters, were to sow 
 Seed for a future harvest. 
 Attinghausen. Art so wise? 
 
 Wilt thou see clearer than thy noble sires, 
 Who battled for fair freedom's costly gem, 
 With life, and fortune, and heroic arm ? 
 Sail down the lake to Lucern, there inquire, 
 How Austria's rale doth weigh the Cantons down. 
 Soon she will come to count our sheep, our cattle, 
 To portion out the Alps, e'en to their summits, 
 And in our own free woods to hinder us 
 From striking down the eagle or the stag ; 
 To set her tolls on every bridge and gate, 
 Impoverish us, to swell her lust of sway, 
 And drain our dearest blood to feed her wars 
 
 * This frequently occurred. But in the event of an imperial city being 
 mortgaged for the purpose of raising money, it lost its freedom, and was con« 
 sidered as put out of the realm. 
 
 f An allusion to the ' circumstance ol the Imperial Crown not being 
 hereditary, but conferred by election on one of the Counts of the Empire . 
 
SC. :.] WIIJTELM TELL. 470 
 
 No, if our blood must flow, let it be shed 
 In our own cause ! We purchase liberty 
 More cheaply far than bondage. 
 
 Rudenz. What can we, 
 
 A shepherd race, against great Albert's hosts ? 
 
 Acting. Learn, foolish boy, to know this shepherd race i 
 I know them, I have led them on in fight, — 
 I saw them in the battle at Favenz. 
 Austria will try, forsooth, to force on us 
 A yoke we are determined not to bear ! 
 Oh, learn to feel from what a race thou'rt sprung ! 
 Cast not, for tinsel trash and idle show, 
 The precious jewel of thy worth away. 
 To be the chieftain of a free born race, 
 Bound to thee only by their unbought love, 
 Ready to stand — to fight — to die with thee, 
 Be that thy pride, be that thy noblest boast ! 
 Knit to thy heart the ties of kindred — home — 
 Cling to the land, the dear land of thy sires, 
 Grapple to that with thy whole heart and soul ! 
 Thy power is rooted deep and strongly here. 
 But in yon stranger world thou'lt stand alone, 
 A trembling reed beat down by every blast. 
 Oh come ! 'tis long since we have seen thee, Uly ! 
 Tarry but this one day. Only to-day 
 Go not to Altdorf. Wilt thou ? Not to-day ! 
 For this one day, bestow thee on thy friends. 
 
 [Takes his hand 
 
 Rud. . I gave my word. Unhand me ! I am bound. 
 
 Attin 3r. (drops his hand and says sternly) 
 
 Bound, didst thou say ? Oh yes, unhappy boy, 
 Thou art indeed. But not by word or oath. 
 'Tis by the silken mesh of love thou'rt bound. 
 
 [Rudenz turns away 
 Ay, hide thee, as thou wilt. 'Tis she, I know, 
 Bertha of Bruneck, draws thee to the court ; 
 'Tis she that chains thee to the Emperor's service, 
 Thou think'st to win the noble knightly maid 
 By thy apostacy. Be not deceived. 
 She is held out before thee as a lure ; 
 But never meant for innocence like thine 
 
480 WILHELM TELL [ACT II. 
 
 Rud. . . No more, I've heard enough. So fare you well. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Atting. Stay, Uly ! Stay ! Rash boy, he's gone ! I can 
 Nor hold him back, nor save him from destruction 
 And so the Wolfshot has deserted us ; — 
 Others will follow his example soon. 
 This foreign witchery, sweeping o'er our hills, 
 Tears with its potent spell our youth away i 
 
 luckless hour, when men and manners strange 
 Into these calm and happy valleys came, 
 
 To warp our primitive and guileless ways. 
 The new is pressing on with might. The old, 
 The good, the simple, fleeteth fast away. 
 New times come on. A race is springing up, 
 That think not as their fathers thought before ! 
 What do I here ? All, all are in the grave 
 With whom erewhile I moved, and held converse ; 
 My age has long been laid beneath the sod : 
 Happy the man, who may not live to see 
 What shall be done by those that follow me ! 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A meadow surrounded by high rocks and wooded ground 
 On the rocks are tracks, with rails and ladders, by which the 
 peasants are afterwards seen descending. In the back-ground 
 the lake is observed, and over it a moon rainbow in the early 
 part of the scene. The prospect is closed by lofty mountains, 
 with glaciers rising behind them. The stage is dark ; but 
 the lake and glaciers glisten in the moonlight. 
 
 Melchthal, Baumgarten, Winkelkied, Meyer von Sab- 
 nen, burkhart am buhel, arnold von sewa, 
 Klaus von der Flue, and four other peasants, all armed. 
 
 Melchthal (behind the scenes). 
 
 The mountain pass is open. Follow me ! 
 
 1 see the rock, and little cross upon it : 
 This is the spot ; here is the Rootli. 
 
 {Then enter with torches 
 Wjnkelried Hark ! 
 
 Sewa. The coast is clear. 
 
60, II.] WILHELM TELL. 481 
 
 Meyee. None of our comrades come ? 
 
 We are the first, we Unterwaldeners,. 
 Melch. How far is't i' the night ? 
 Baum. The beacon watch 
 
 Upon the Selisberg has just called two. 
 
 [A bell is heard at a distance 
 Meyee. Hush ! Hark ! 
 
 Buhel. The forest chapel's matin bell 
 
 Chimes clearly o'er the lake from Switzerland. 
 Von F. The air is clear, and bears the sound so far. 
 Melch. Go, you and you, and light some broken boughs, 
 Let's bid them welcome with a cheerful blaze. 
 
 [Two peasants exeunt 
 Sewa. The moon shines fair to-night. Beneath its beams 
 
 The lake reposes, bright as burnish'd steel. 
 Buhel. They'll have an easy passage. 
 Wink, [pointing to the lake). Ha ! look there ! 
 
 See you nothing ? 
 Meyee. What is it ? Ay, indeed ! 
 
 A rainbow in the middle of the night. 
 Melch. Formed by the bright reflection of the moon ! 
 Von F. A sign most strange and wonderful, indeed ! 
 
 Many there be, who ne'er have seen the like. 
 Sewa. 'Tis doubled, see, a paler one above ! 
 Baum. A boat is gliding yonder right beneath it. 
 Melch. That must be Werner Stauffacher ! I knew 
 The worthy patriot would not tarry long. 
 
 [Goes with Baumgaeten towards the shore 
 Meyee. The Uri men are like to be the last. 
 Buhel. They're forced to take a winding circuit through 
 The mountains ; for the Viceroy's spies are out. 
 
 [In the meanwhile the two peasants have kindled 
 afire in the centre of the stage. 
 Melch. [on the shore). 
 
 Who's there ? The word ? 
 Stauff. [from below). Friends of the country. 
 
 [All retire up the stage, towards the party landing 
 from the boat. Enter Stauffachee, Itel Red- 
 ing, Hans auf dee Mauee, Joeg- im Hofe. 
 
 CONEAD HUNN, UlEICH DEE SCHMIDT, JOST VOS 
 
 Weilee, and three other peasants, armed. 
 
 I i 
 
482 WILHELM TELL [ACT II. 
 
 All Welcome ! 
 
 [While the rest remain behind exchanging greet- 
 ings, Melchthal comes forward with Stauf- 
 
 FACHEK. 
 
 Melch. Oh worthy Stauffacher, I've look'd but now 
 On him, who could not look on me again. 
 I've laid my hands upon his rayless eyes, 
 And on their vacant orbits sworn a vow 
 Of vengeance, only to be cool'd in blood. 
 
 Stauff. Speak not of vengeance. We are here, to meet 
 The threatened evil, not to avenge the past. 
 Now tell me what you've done, and what secured, 
 To aid the common cause in Unterwald, 
 How stand the peasantry disposed, and how 
 Yourself escaped the wiles of treachery ? 
 
 Melch. Through the Surenen's fearful mountain chain, 
 Where dreary ice-fields stretch on every side, 
 And sound is none, save the hoarse vulture's cry, 
 I reach'd the Alpine pasture, where the herds 
 From Uri and from Engelberg resort, 
 And turn their cattle forth to graze in common. 
 Still as I went along, I slaked my thirst 
 With the coarse oozings of the lofty glacier, 
 That thro' the crevices come foaming down, 
 And turned to rest me in the herdsmen's cots*, 
 Where I was host and guest, until I gain'd 
 The cheerful homes and social haunts of men. 
 Already through these distant vales had spread 
 The rumour of this last atrocity ; 
 And wheresoe'er I went, at every door, 
 Kind words and gentle looks were there to greet me 
 I found these simple spirits all in arms 
 Against our rulers' tyrannous encroachments. 
 For as their Alps through each succeeding year 
 Yield the same roots, — their streams flow ever on 
 In the same channels, — nay, the clouds and winds 
 The selfsame course unalterably pursue, 
 
 * These are the cots, or shealings, erected by the herdsmen for shelter, 
 while pasturing their herds on the mountains during the summer. These 
 are left deserted in winter, during which period Melchthal's journey was 
 taken. 
 
6C. II.] WILHELM TELL. 483 
 
 So have old customs there, from sire to son, 
 
 Been handed down, unchanging and unchanged ; 
 
 Nor will they brook to swerve or turn aside 
 
 From the fixed even tenor of their life. 
 
 With grasp of their hard hands they welcomed me, — 
 
 Took from the walls their rusty falchions down, — 
 
 And from their eyes the soul of valour flash 'd 
 
 With joyful lustre, as I spoke those names, 
 
 Sacred to every peasant in the mountains, 
 
 Your own and Walter Fiirst's. Whate'er your voice 
 
 Should dictate as the right, they swore to do ; 
 
 And you they swore to follow e'en to death. 
 
 — So sped I on from house to house, secure 
 
 In the guest's sacred privilege ; — and when 
 
 I reached at last the valley of my home, 
 
 Where dwell my kinsmen, scatter 'd far and near — 
 
 And when I found my father, stript and blind. 
 
 Upon the stranger's straw, fed by the alms 
 
 Of charity 
 
 Statjffachek. , Great Heaven ! 
 
 Melchthal. Yet wept I not ! 
 
 No — not in weak and unavailing tears 
 Spent I the force of my fierce burning anguish ; 
 Deep in my bosom, like some precious treasure? 
 I lock'd it fast, and thought on deeds alone. 
 Through every winding of the hills I crept, — 
 No valley so remote but I explored it ; 
 Nay, even at the glacier's ice-clad base, 
 I sought and found the homes of living men ; 
 And still, where'er my wandering footsteps turn'd- 
 The selfsame hatred of these tyrants met me. 
 For even there, at vegetation's verge, 
 Where the numb'd earth is barren of all fruits, 
 Their grasping hands had been streteh'd forth foi 
 
 plunder. 
 Into the hearts of all this honest race, 
 The story of my wrongs struck deep, and now 
 They, to a man, are ours ; both heart and hand. 
 
 Stauff. Great things, indeed, you've wrought in little time. 
 
 Melch. I did still more than this. The fortresses, 
 
 I I 2 
 
484 
 
 WILHELM TELL. 
 
 [act il 
 
 Eossberg and Sarnen, are the country's dread ; 
 For from behind their rocky walls the foe 
 Swoops, as the eagle from his eyrie, down, 
 And, safe himself, spreads havoc o'er the land. 
 With my own eyes I wish'd to weigh its strength, 
 So went to Sarnen, and explored the castle. 
 
 Stauff. How ! Risk thyself e'en in the tiger's den ? 
 
 Melch. Disguised in pilgrim's weeds I entered it ; 
 I saw the Viceroy feasting at his board — 
 Judge if I'm master of myself or no ! 
 I saw the tyrant, and I slew him not ! 
 
 Stauff. Fortune, indeed, has smiled upon your boldness. 
 
 [Meanwhile the others have arrived and join 
 Melchthal and Stauffacher. 
 Yet tell me now, 1 pray, who are the friends, 
 The worthy men, who came along with you ? 
 Make me acquainted with them, that we may 
 Speak frankly, man to man, and heart to heart. 
 
 Meyer. In the three Cantons, who, sir, knows not you? 
 Meyer of Sarnen is my name ; and this 
 Is S truth of Winkelried, my sister's son. 
 
 Stauff. No unknown name. A Winkelried it was, 
 Who slew the dragon in the fen at Weiler, 
 And lost his life in the encounter, too. 
 
 Wink. That, Master Stauffacher, was my grandfather. 
 
 Melch. (pointing to two peasants). 
 
 These two are men belonging to the convent 
 Of Engelberg, and live behind the forest. 
 You'll not think ill of them, because they're serfs, 
 And sit not free upon the soil, like us. 
 They love the land, and bear a good repute. 
 
 Stauffacher (to them). 
 
 Give me your hands. He has good cause for thanks, 
 That unto no man owes his body's service. 
 But worth is worth, no matter where 'tis found 
 
 Hunn. That is Herr Eeding, sir, our old Landamman. 
 
 Meyer. I know him well. There is a suit between us, 
 About a piece of ancient heritage. 
 Herr Reding, we are enemies in court, 
 Here we are one. [Shakes his hand 
 
6C 11.] WILHELM TELL. 485 
 
 Stauffacher. That's well and bravely said. 
 
 Wink. Listen i They come. Hark to the horn of Uri ! 
 
 [On the right and left armed men are seen descend 
 ing the rocks with torches. 
 
 Mauer. Look, is not that God's pious servant there ? 
 A worthy priest ! The terrors of the night, 
 And the way's pains and perils scare not him 
 A faithful shepherd caring for his flock. 
 
 Baum. The Sacrist follows him, and Walter Furst. 
 But where is Tell ? I do not see him there. 
 
 [Walter Furst, Kosselmann the Pastor, Peter- 
 mann the Sacrist, Kuoni the Shepherd, Werni 
 the Huntsman, Kuodi the Fisherman, and Jive 
 other countrymen, thirty-three in all, advance 
 and take their places round the fire. 
 
 Furst. Thus must we, on the soil our fathers left us, 
 Creep forth by stealth to meet like murderers, 
 And in the night, that should her mantle lend 
 Only to crime and black conspiracy, 
 Assert our own good rights, which yet are clear 
 As is the radiance of the noonday sun. 
 
 Melch. So be it. What is woven in gloom of night 
 Shall free and boldly meet the morning light. 
 
 Eossel. Confederates ! listen to the words which God 
 Inspires my heart withal. Here we are met, 
 To represent the general weal. In us 
 Are all the people of the land convened. 
 Then let us hold the Diet, as of old, 
 And as we're wont in peaceful times to do. 
 The time's necessity be our excuse, 
 If there be aught informal in this meeting. 
 Still, wheresoe'er men strike for justice, there 
 Is God, and now beneath his heav'n we stand. 
 
 Stauff. 'Tis well advised. — Let us, then, hold the Diet, 
 According to our ancient usages. — 
 Though it be night, there's sunshine in our cause 
 
 Melch. Few though our numbers be, the hearts are hero 
 Of the whole people ; here the best are met. 
 
 Hunn. The ancient books may not be near at hand, 
 Yet are they graven in our inmost hearts. 
 
486 WILHELM TELL. [ACT II. 
 
 Rossel. 'Tis well. And now, then, let a ring be formed, 
 
 And plant the swords of power within the ground * 
 Mauee. Let the Landamman step into his place, 
 
 And by his side his secretaries stand. 
 Saceist. There are three Cantons here. Which hath the right 
 
 To give the head to the united Council ? 
 Schwytz may contest that dignity with Uri, 
 
 We Unterwald'ners enter not the field. 
 Melch. We stand aside. We are but suppliants here, 
 
 Invoking aid from our more potent friends. 
 Stauff. Let Uri have the sword. Her banner takes, 
 
 In battle, the precedence of our own. 
 Fuest. Schwytz, then, must share the honour of the sword ; 
 
 For she's the honoured ancestor of all. 
 Rossel. Let me arrange this generous controversy. 
 
 Uri shall lead in battle — Schwytz in Council. 
 Fuest (gives Stauffachee his hand). 
 
 Then take your place. 
 Stauffachee. Not I. Some older man. 
 
 Hofe. Ulrich, the Smith, is the most aged here. 
 Mauee. A worthy man, but he is not a freeman ; 
 
 — No bondman can be judge in Switzerland. 
 Stauff. Is not Herr Reding here, our old Landamman ? 
 
 Where can we find a worthier man than he ? 
 Fuest. Let him be Amman and the Diet's chief ! 
 
 You that agree with me, hold up your hands ! 
 
 [All hold tip their right hands 
 Reding- ^stepping into the centre). 
 
 I cannot lay my hands upon the books ; 
 
 But by yon everlasting stars I swear,. 
 
 Never to swerve from justice and the right. 
 
 [The two swords are placed before him, and a circle 
 formed ; Schwytz in the centre, Uri on his right 
 Unterwald on his left. 
 Reding (resting on his battle sword). 
 
 Why, at the hour when spirits walk the earth, 
 
 Meet the three Cantons of the mountains here, 
 
 * It was the custom at the Meetings of the Landes Gremeinde, or "Diet, to 
 set swords upright in the ground as emblems of authority. 
 
SC. II.] W1LHELM TELL 487 
 
 Upon the lake's inhospitable shore ? 
 And what the purport of the new alliance 
 We here contract beneath the starry Heaven ? 
 
 Stauffacher (entering the circle). 
 
 No new alliance do we now contract, 
 • But one our fathers framed, in ancient times, 
 We purpose to renew ! For know, confederates, 
 Though mountain ridge and lake divide our bounds, 
 And every Canton's ruled by its own laws, 
 Yet are we but one race, bom of one blood, 
 And all are children of one common home 
 
 Wink. Then is the burden of our legends true, 
 
 That we came hither from a distant land ? 
 
 Oh, tell us what you know, that our new league 
 
 May reap fresh vigour from the leagues of old. 
 
 Stauff. Hear, then, what aged herdsmen tell. There dwelt 
 A mighty people in the land that lies 
 Back to the north. The scourge of famine came ; 
 And in this strait 'twas publicly resolved, 
 That each tenth man, on whom the lot might fall, 
 Should leave the country. They obey'd — and forth, 
 With loud lamentings, men and women went, 
 A mighty host ; and to the south moved on, 
 Cutting their way through Germany by the sword, 
 Until they gained these pine-clad hills of ours ; 
 Nor stopp'd they ever on their forward course, 
 Till at the shaggy dell they halted, where 
 The Miita flows through its luxuriant meads. 
 No trace of human creature met their eye, 
 Save one poor hut upon the desert shore, 
 Where dwelt a lonely man, and kept the ferry. 
 A tempest raged — the lake rose mountains high 
 And barr'd their further progress. Thereupon 
 They view'd the country — found it rich in wood, 
 Discover'd goodly springs, and felt as they 
 Were in their own dear native land once more 
 Then they resolved to settle on the spot; 
 Erected there the ancient town of Schwytz ; 
 And many a day of toil had they to clear 
 The tangled brake and forest's spreading roots. 
 Meanwhile their numbers grew, -the soil became 
 
^8B WILHELM TELL. [ACT H 
 
 Unequal to sustain them, and they cross'd 
 
 To the black mountain, far as Weissland, where, 
 
 Conceal'd behind eternal walls of ice, 
 
 Another people speak another tongue. 
 
 They built the village Stanz, beside the Kernwald ; 
 
 The village Altdorf, in the vale of Eeuss ; 
 
 Yet, ever mindful of their parent stem, 
 
 The men of Schwytz, from all the stranger race, 
 
 That since that time have settled in the land, 
 
 Each other recognize. Their hearts still know, 
 
 And beat fraternally to kindred blood. 
 
 [Extends his hand right and left 
 
 Mauer, Ay, we are all one heart, one blood, one race ! 
 
 All {joining hands). 
 
 We are one people, and will act as one. 
 
 Stauff. The nations round us bear a foreign yoke ; 
 For they have yielded to the conqueror. 
 Nay, e'en within our frontiers may be found 
 Some, that owe villein service to a lord, 
 A race of bonded serfs from sire to son. 
 But we, the genuine race of ancient Swiss, 
 * Have kept our freedom from the first till now. 
 Never to princes have we bow'd the knee ; 
 Freely we sought protection of the Empire. 
 
 Rossel. Freely we sought it — freely it was given. 
 
 'Tis so set down in Emperor Frederick's charter. 
 
 Stauff. For the most free have still some feudal lord. 
 There must be still a chief, a judge supreme, 
 To whom appeal may lie, in case of strife. 
 And therefore was it, that our sires ailow'd, 
 For what tit*/ had recover 'd from the waste, 
 This honour to the Emperor, the lord 
 Of all the German and Italian soil ; 
 And, like the other free men of his realm, 
 Engaged to aid him with their swords in war ; 
 And this alone should be the free man's duty, 
 To guard the Empire that keeps guard for him. 
 
 Melch. He's but a slave that would acknowledge more. 
 
 Stauff. They followed, when the Heribann* went forth, 
 
 * The Heribaim was a muster of warriors similar tc the arriere ban 
 France, 
 
BG. II.] WILHELM TELL. 489 
 
 The imperial standard, and they fought it3 battles I 
 
 To Italy they march 'd in arms, to place 
 
 The Csesars' crown upon the Emperor's head. 
 
 But still at home they ruled themselves in peace, 
 
 By their own laws and ancient usages. 
 
 The Emperor's only right was to adjudge 
 
 The penalty of death ; he therefore named 
 
 Some mighty noble as his delegate, 
 
 That had no stake nor interest in the land 
 
 He was call'd in, when doom was to be pass'd, 
 
 And, in the face of day, pronounced decree, 
 
 Clear and distinctly, fearing no man's hate. 
 
 What traces here, that w r e are bondsmen ? Speak, 
 
 If there be any can gainsay my words ! 
 
 Hofe. No ! You have spoken but the simple truth ; 
 We never stoop'd beneath a tyrant's yoke. 
 
 Stauff. Even to the Emperor we refused obedience, 
 
 When he gave judgment in the church's favour; 
 
 For when the Abbey of Einsiedlen claimed 
 
 The Alp our fathers and ourselves had grazed, 
 
 And showed an ancient charter, which bestowed 
 
 The land on them as being ownerless — 
 
 For our existence there had been concealed — 
 
 What was our answer ° • This. " The grant is void* 
 
 No Emperor can bestow what is our own : 
 
 And if the Empire shall deny us justice, 
 
 We can, within our mountains, right ourselves !" 
 
 Thus spake our fathers ! And shall we endure 
 
 The shame and infamy of this new yoke, 
 
 And from the vassal brook what never king 
 
 Dared, in the fulness of his power, attempt ? 
 
 This soil we have created for ourselves, 
 
 By the hard labour of our hands ; w r e've changed 
 
 The giant forest, that was erst the haunt 
 
 Of savage bears, into a home for man ; 
 
 Extirpated the dragon's brood, that wont 
 
 To rise, distent with venom, from the swamps ; 
 
 Eent the thick misty canopy that hung 
 
 Its blighting vapours on the dreary waste ; 
 
 Blasted the solid rock ; o'er the abyss 
 
 Thrown the firm bridge for the wayfaring man : 
 
49C WILHELM TELL. [ACT 11 
 
 By the possession of a thousand years 
 The soil is ours. And shall an alien lord, 
 Himself a vassal, dare to venture here, 
 On our own hearths insult us, — and attempt 
 To forge the chains of bondage for our hands, 
 And do us shame on our own proper soil ? 
 Is there no help against such wrong as this ? 
 
 [Great sensation among the people 
 Yes ! there's a limit to the despot's power ! 
 When the oppress'd looks round in vain for justice, 
 When his sore burden may no more be borne, 
 With fearless heart he makes appeal to Heaven, 
 And thence brings down his everlasting rights, 
 Which there abide, inalienably his, 
 And indestructible as are the stars. 
 Nature's primaeval state returns again, 
 Where man stands hostile to his fellow man ; 
 And if all other means shall fail his need, 
 One last resource remains — his own good sword. 
 Our dearest treasures call to us for aid, 
 Against the oppressor's violence ; we stand 
 For country, home, for wives, for children here ! 
 
 All (clashing their swords). 
 
 Here stand we for our homes, our wives, and 
 children. 
 
 Rosselmann {stepping into the circle). 
 
 Bethink ye well, before ye draw the sword. 
 Some peaceful compromise may yet be made ; 
 Speak but one word, and at your feet you'll see 
 The men who now oppress you. Take the terms 
 That have been often tendered you ; renounce 
 The Empire, and to Austria swear allegiance ! 
 
 Mauer. What says the priest ? To Austria allegiance ? 
 
 Buhel. Hearken not to him ! 
 
 Winkelried. 'Tis a traitor 's counsel, 
 
 His country's foe ! 
 
 Reding. Peace, peace, confederates ! 
 
 Serva. Homage to Austria, after wrongs like these ! 
 
 Flue. Shall Austria extort from us by force, 
 
 What we denied to kindness and entreaty ? 
 
 Meyer Then should we all be slaves, deservedly. 
 
SO. II.] WILHELM TELL. 491 
 
 Mauer. Yes ! Let him forfeit all a Switzer's rights, 
 
 Who talks of yielding to the yoke of Austria ! 
 I stand on this, Landamman. Let this be 
 The foremost of our laws ! 
 
 Melchthal. Even so ! Whoe'er 
 
 Shall talk of tamely bearing Austria's yoke, 
 Let him be stripp'd of all his rights and honours ; 
 And no man hence receive him at his hearth ! 
 
 All (raising their right hands). 
 
 Agreed ! Be this the law ! 
 
 Reding (after a pause). The law it is. 
 
 Rossel. Now you are free — by this law you are free. 
 Never shall Austria obtain by force 
 What she has fail'd to gain by friendly suit. 
 
 Wetl. On with the order of the day ! Proceed ! 
 
 Reding. Confederates ! Have all gentler means been tried ? 
 Perchance the Emp'ror knows not of our wrongs ; 
 It may not be his will that thus we suffer : 
 Were it not well to make one last attempt, 
 And lay our grievances before the throne, 
 Ere we unsheath the sword? Force is at best 
 A fearful thing een in a righteous cause ; 
 God only helps, when man can help no more. 
 
 STATJFF. (tO KONRAD HuNN). 
 
 Here you can give us information. Speak ! 
 Hunn. I was at Rheinfeld, at the Emperor's palace, 
 Deputed by the Cantons to complain 
 Of the oppressions of these governors, 
 And claim the charter of our ancient freedom, 
 Which each new king till now has ratified. 
 I found the envoys there of many a town, 
 From Suabia and the valley of the Rhine, 
 Who all received their parchments as they wish'd, 
 And straight went home again with merry heart. 
 They sent for me, your envoy, to the council, 
 Where I was soon dismiss 'd with empty comfort ; 
 " The Emperor at present was engaged; 
 Some other time he would attend to us !" 
 I turn'd away, and passing through the hall, 
 With heavy heart, in a recess I saw 
 
492 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IX, 
 
 The Grand Duke John * in tears, and by his side 
 
 The noble lords of Wart and Tegerfeld, 
 
 Who beckon'd me, and said, " Redress yourselves. 
 
 Expect not justice from the Emperor. 
 
 Does he not plunder his own brother's child. 
 
 And keep from him his just inheritance ? 
 
 The Duke claims his maternal property, 
 
 Urging he's now of age, and 'tis full time 
 
 That he should rule his people and dominions J 
 
 What is the answer made to him ? The king 
 
 Places a chaplet on his head; " Behold 
 
 The fitting ornament," he cries, " of youth !" 
 
 Mauer. You hear. Expect riot from the Emperor 
 
 Or right or justice ! Then redress yourselves ! 
 
 Reding. No other course is left us. Now, advise 
 What plan most likely to ensure success. 
 
 Furst. To shake a thraldom off that we abhor, 
 To keep our ancient rights inviolate, 
 As we received them from our fathers, — this, 
 Not lawless innovation, is our aim. 
 Let Caesar still retain what is his due ; 
 And he that is a vassal, let him pay 
 The service he is sworn to faithfully. 
 
 Meyer. I hold my land of Austria in fief. 
 
 Furst. Continue, then, to pay your feudal service. 
 
 Weil. I'm tenant of the lords of Rappers weil. 
 
 Furst. Continue, then, to pay them rent and tithe. 
 
 Rossel. Of Zurich's Lady I'm the humble vassal. 
 
 Furst. Give to the cloister, what the cloister claims. 
 
 Stauff. The Empire only is my feudal lord. 
 
 Furst. What needs must be, we'll do, but nothing further 
 We'll drive these tyrants and their minions hence, 
 And raze their towering strongholds to the ground, 
 Yet shed, if possible, no drop of blood. 
 Let the Emperor see, that we were driven to cast 
 The sacred duties of respect away ; 
 And when he finds we keep within our bounds, 
 His wrath, belike, may yield to policy ; 
 
 * The Duke of Suabia, who soon afterwards assassinated his uncle, foi 
 withholding his patrimony from him. 
 
SC. II.] WILHELM TELL. 493 
 
 For truly is that nation to be fear'd, 
 
 That, when in arms, is ternp'rate in its wrath. 
 
 Reding. But prithee tell us how may this be done ? 
 The enemy is arm'd as well as we, . 
 And, rest assured, he will not yield in peace. 
 
 Stauff. He will, whene'er he sees us up in arms ; 
 We shall surprise him, ere he is prepared. 
 
 Meyee. 'Tis easily said, but not so easily done. 
 
 Two fortresses of strength command the country — 
 They shield the foe, and should the King invade us, 
 The task would then be dangerous indeed. 
 Rossberg and Sarnen both must be secured, 
 Before a sword is drawn in either Canton. 
 
 Stauff. Should we delay the foe will soon be warned ; 
 We are too numerous for secrecy. 
 
 Meyek. There is no traitor in the Forest States. 
 
 Rossel. But even zeal may heedlessly betray. 
 
 Fukst. Delay it longer, and the keep at Altdorf 
 Will be complete, — the governor secure. 
 
 Meyer. You think but of yourselves. 
 
 Sacristan. You are unjust ! 
 
 Meyer. Unjust ! said you ? Dares Uri taunt us so ? 
 
 Reding. Peace, on your oath ! 
 
 Meyer. If Schwytz be leagued with Uri, 
 
 Why, then, indeed, we must perforce be silent. 
 
 Reding. And let me tell you, in the Diet's name, 
 Your hasty spirit much disturbs the peace. 
 Stand we not all for the same common cause ? 
 
 Wink. What, if we delay till Christmas ? 'Tis then 
 The custom for the serfs to throng the castle, 
 Bringing the governor their annual gifts. 
 Thus may some ten or twelve selected men 
 Assemble unobserved, within its walls, 
 Bearing about their persons pikes of steel, 
 Which may be quickly mounted upon staves, 
 For arms are not admitted to the fort. 
 The rest can fill the neighb'ring wood, prepared 
 To sally forth upon a trumpet's blast, 
 Whene'er their comrades have secured the gate ; 
 And thus the castle will be ours with ease 
 
 Melch. The Rossberg I will undertake to scale, 
 
±94 WILHELM TELL. [ACT II. 
 
 I have a sweetheart in the garrison, 
 
 Whom with some tender words I could persuade 
 
 To lower me at night a hempen ladder. 
 
 Once up, my friends will not be long behind. 
 
 Reding Are all resolved in favour of delay ? 
 
 [The majority raise their hands 
 
 Stauff. (counting them). 
 
 Twenty to twelve is the majority. 
 
 Furst. If on the appointed day the castles fall, 
 
 From mountain on to mountain we shall pass 
 
 The fiery signal : in the capital 
 
 Of every Canton quickly rouse the Landsturm*. 
 
 Then, when these tyrants see our martial front, 
 
 Believe me, they will never make so bold 
 
 As risk the conflict, but will gladly take 
 
 Safe conduct forth beyond our boundaries. 
 
 Stauff. Not so with Gessler. He will make a stand. 
 Surrounded with his dread array of horse, 
 Blood will be shed before he quits the field, 
 And even expell'd he'd still be terrible. 
 'Tis hard, indeed 'tis dangerous, to spare him. 
 
 Baum. Place me where'er a life is to be lost ; 
 I owe my life to Tell, and cheerfully 
 Will pledge it for my country. I have clear'd 
 My honour, and my heart is now at rest. 
 
 Reding. Counsel will come with circumstance. Be patient ! 
 Something must still be trusted to the moment. 
 Yet, while by night we hold our Diet here, 
 The morning, see, has on the mountain tops 
 Kindled her glowing beacon Let us part, 
 Ere the broad sun surprise us. 
 
 Furst. Do not fear. 
 
 The night wanes slowly from these vales of ours. 
 [AM have involuntarily taken off their caps, and 
 contemplate the breaking of day, absorbed in 
 silence. 
 
 Rossel. By this fair light which greeteth us, before 
 Those other nations, that, beneath us far, 
 In noisome cities pent, draw painful breath, 
 
 * A sort of national militia, 
 
ACT III!.] WILHELM TELL. 495 
 
 Swear ve the oath of our confederacy ! 
 We swear to be a nation of true brothers, 
 Never to part in danger or in death ! 
 
 [They repeat his words with three fingers raised. 
 We swear we will be free, as were our sires, 
 And sooner die than live in slavery ! 
 
 [All repeat as before. 
 We swear to put our trust in God Most High, 
 And not to quail before the might of man ! 
 
 [All repeat as before, and embrace each other. 
 Stauff Now every man pursue his several way 
 
 Back to his friends, his kindred, and his home. 
 Let the herd winter up his flock, and gain, 
 In silence, friends for our confederacy ! 
 What for a time must be endured, endure, 
 And let the reckoning of the tyrants grow, 
 Till the great day arrive, when they shall pay 
 The general and particular debt at once. 
 Let every man control his own just rage, 
 And nurse his vengeance for the public wrongs : 
 For he whom selfish interests now engage, 
 Defrauds the general weal of what to it belongs. 
 [As they are going off in profound silence, in 
 three different directions, the orchestra plays a 
 solemn air. The empty scene remains open for 
 some time, showing the rays of the sun rising 
 over the Glaciers. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Couri before Tell's house. Tell with an axe. Hedwig 
 engaged in her domestic duties. Walteb and Wilhelm iv 
 the back-ground, playing with a little cross-bow 
 
 (Walter sings). 
 With his cross-bow, and his quiver, 
 
 The huntsman speeds his way, 
 Over mountain, dale, and river, 
 
 At the dawning of the day, 
 
496 
 
 W1LHELM TEIX. 
 
 TAnr irr. 
 
 Tell. 
 
 Hedw. 
 
 Tell. 
 
 Hedw. 
 
 Tell. 
 
 As the eagle, on wild pinion, 
 
 Is the king in realms of air, 
 So the hunter claims dominion 
 
 Over crag and forest lair, 
 
 Far as ever bow can carry, 
 
 Thro' the trackless airy space, 
 All he sees he makes his quarry, 
 
 Soaring bird and beast of chase. 
 
 Wilhelm (runs forward). 
 
 My string has snapt ! Wilt mend it for me ; father ? 
 Not I ; a true-born archer helps himself. [Boys retire. 
 The boys begin to use the bow betimes. 
 'Tis early practice only makes the master. 
 Ah ! Would to Heaven they never learnt the art ! 
 But they shall leam it, wife, in all its points. 
 Whoe'er would carve an independent way 
 Through life, must learn to ward or plant a blow. 
 
 Hedw. Alas, alas ! and they will never rest 
 Contentedly at home. 
 
 Tjkll. No more can I ! 
 
 I was not framed by nature for a shepherd. 
 Restless I must pursue a changing course; 
 I only feel the flush and joy of life, 
 In starting some fresh quarry every day 
 
 Hedw. Heedless the while of all your wife's alarms, 
 
 As she sits watching through long hours at home. 
 For my soul sinks with terror at the tales 
 The servants tell about your wild adventures. 
 Whene'er we part, my trembling heart forebodes, 
 That you will ne'er come back to me again. 
 I see you on the frozen mountain steeps, 
 Missing, perchance, your leap from cliff to cliff. 
 I see the chamois, with a wild rebound, 
 Drag you down with him o'er the precipice. 
 I see the avalanche close o'er your head, — 
 The treacherous ice give way, and you sink dow^ 
 Intombed alive within its hideous gulf. 
 Ah ! in a hundred varying forms does death 
 Pursue the Alpine huntsman on his course, 
 l^hat way of life can surely ne'er be blessed, 
 Where life and limb are perlll'd every hor , ~ 
 
eo. i.l 
 
 WILHELM TELL. 
 
 49'. 
 
 Tell. The man that bears a quick and steady eye, 
 And trusts to God, and his own lusty sinews, 
 Passes, with scarce a scar, through every danger. 
 The mountain cannot awe the mountain child. 
 
 [Having finished his work, he lays aside his tools 
 And now, methinks, the door will hold awhile. — 
 The axe at home oft saves the carpenter. 
 
 [Takes his cap 
 Hedw. Whither away? 
 
 Tell. To Altdorf, to your father. 
 
 Hedw. You have some dangerous enterprise in view ? 
 
 Confess ! 
 Tell. Why think you so ? 
 
 Hedwigl Some scheme's on foot. 
 
 Against the governors. There was a Diet 
 Held on the Rootli — that I know — and you 
 Are one of the confederacy, I'm sure. 
 Tell. I was not there. Yet will I not hold back, 
 
 Whene'er my country calls me to her aid. 
 Hedw. Wherever danger is, will you be placed. 
 
 On you, as ever, will the burden fall. 
 Tell. Each man shall have the post that fits his powers 
 Hedw. You took — ay, 'mid the thickest of the storm — 
 The man of Unterwald across the lake. 
 'Tis a marvel you escaped. Had you no thought 
 Of wife and children, then ? 
 Tell. Dear wife, I had ; 
 
 And therefore saved the father for his children. 
 Hedw. To brave the lake in all its wrath ! 'Twas not 
 
 To put your trust in God ! 'Twas tempting him. 
 Tell. The man that's over cautious will do little. 
 Hedw. Yes, you've a kind and helping hand for all ; 
 But be in straits, and who will lend you aid? 
 Tell. God grant I ne'er may stand in need of it ! 
 
 [Takes up his crossbow and arrows 
 Hedw Why take your crossbow with you ? Leave it here 
 Tell. I want my right hand, when I want my bow. 
 
 [The boys return 
 Walt. Where, father, are you going? 
 Tell. To grand-dad, boy— 
 
 To Aitdorf. Will you go ? 
 
 K K 
 
*«J8 WILHELM TELL. r ACT III 
 
 Walter. Ay, that I will ! 
 
 Hedw. The Viceroy's there just now. Go not to Altdorf ! 
 
 Tell. He leaves to-day. 
 
 Hedwig. Then let him first be gone. 
 
 Cross not his path. — You know he bears us grudge. 
 
 Tell. His ill-will cannot greatly injure me. 
 
 I do what's right, and care for no man's hate. 
 
 Hedw. 'Tis those who do what's right, whom most he hates. 
 
 Tell. Because he cannot reach them. Me, I ween, 
 His knightship will be glad to leave in peace. 
 
 Hedw. Ay ! — Are you sure of that ? 
 
 Tell. Not long ago, 
 
 As I was hunting through the wild ravines 
 Of Shechenthal, untrod by mortal foot, ■•• 
 There, as I took my solitary way 
 Along a shelving ledge of rocks, where 'twas 
 Impossible to step on either side ; 
 For high above rose, like a giant wall, 
 The precipice's side, and far below 
 The Shechen thunder 'd o'er its rifted bed ; — 
 
 [The boys press towards him, looking upon him 
 with excited curiosity. 
 There, face to face, I met the Viceroy. He 
 Alone with me — and 1 myself alone — 
 Mere man to man, and near us the abyss. 
 And when his lordship had perused my face, 
 And knew the man he had severely fined 
 On some most trivial ground, not long before ; 
 And saw me, with my sturdy bsw in hand, 
 Come striding t 'wards him, then his cheek grew pair 
 His knees refused their office, and I thought 
 He would have sunk against the mountain side. 
 Then, touch' d with pity for him, I advanced, 
 Respectfully, and said, " 'Tis I, my lord." 
 But ne'er a sound could he compel his lips 
 To frame in answer. Only with his hand 
 He beckoned me in silence to proceed. 
 So I pass'd on, and sent his train to seek him. 
 
 Hedw. He trembled then before you ? Woe the while 
 You saw his weakness ; that he'll ne'er forgive. 
 
 Tell. I shun him, therefore, and he'll not seek me. 
 
50. n.] WILHELM TELL. 499 
 
 Hedw. But stay away to-day. Go hunting rather ! 
 Tell. What do you fear ? 
 Hedwig I am uneasy. Stay 
 
 Tell. Why thus distress yourself without a cause ? 
 Hedw. Because there is no cause. Tell, Tell ! stay here ! 
 Tell. Dear wife, I gave my promise I would go. 
 Hedw. Must you, — then go. But leave the hoys with me. 
 Walt. No, mother dear, I'm going with my father. 
 Hedw. How, Walter ! will you leave your mother then? 
 Walt. I'll bring you pretty things from grandpapa. 
 
 [Exit with his father. 
 Wilh. Mother, I'll stay with you ! 
 Hedwig (embracing him). Yes, yes ! thou art 
 
 My own dear child. Thou'rt all that's left to me 
 [She goes to the gate of the court, and looks 
 anxiously after Tell and her son for a con- 
 siderable time. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A retired part of the Forest. — Brooks dashing in spray over 
 the rocks. 
 
 Enter Bebtha in a hunting dress. Immediately afterwards 
 
 Rudenz. 
 
 Bekth. He follows me. Now to explain myself! 
 
 Eudenz (entering hastily). 
 
 At length, dear lady, we have met alone. 
 In this wild dell, with rocks on every side, 
 No jealous eye can watch our interview. 
 Now let my heart throw off this weary silence. 
 
 Berth. But are you sure they will not follow us ? 
 
 Eud. . . See, yonder goes the chase. Now, then, or never ! 
 I must avail me of the precious moment, — 
 Must hear my doom decided by thy lips, 
 Though it should part me from thy side for ever. 
 Oh, do not arm that gentle face of thine 
 With looks so stern and harsh ! Who — who am I, 
 That dare aspire so high, as unto thee ? 
 Fame hath not stamp 'd me yet ; nor may I take 
 
 K s 2 
 
500 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IH. 
 
 My place amid the courtly throng of knights, 
 That, crown'd with glory's lustre, woo thy smiles. 
 Nothing have I to offer, but a heart 
 That overflows with truth and love for thee. 
 
 Bertha (sternly and with severity). 
 
 And dare you speak to me of love — of truth? 
 You, that are faithless to your nearest ties ! 
 You, that are Austria's slave — bartered and sold 
 To her — an alien, and your country's tyrant ! 
 
 Bud. . . How ! This reproach from thee ! Whom do I seek, 
 On Austria's side, my own beloved, but thee ? 
 
 Berth. Think you to find me in the traitor's ranks ? 
 Now, as I live, I'd rather give my hand 
 To Gessler's self, all despot though he be, 
 Than to the Switzer who forgets his birth, 
 And stoops to be the minion of a tyrant. 
 
 Bud. . . Oh heaven, what must I hear ! 
 
 Bertha. Say ! what can lie 
 
 Nearer the good man's heart, than friends and 
 
 kindred ? 
 What dearer duty to a noble soul, 
 Than to protect weak, suffering innocence, 
 And vindicate the rights of the oppress'd ? 
 My very soul bleeds for your countrymen. 
 I suffer with them, for I needs must love them ; 
 They are so gentle, yet so full of power ; 
 They draw my whole heart to them. Every day 
 I look upon them with increased esteem. 
 But you, whom nature and your knightly vow, 
 Have given them as their natural protector, 
 Yet who desert them and abet their foes, 
 In forging shackles for your native land, 
 You — you it is, that deeply grieve and wound me. 
 I must constrain my heart, or I shall hate you. 
 
 Bud. . . Is not my country's welfare all my wish ? 
 What seek I for her, but to purchase peace 
 'Neath Austria's potent sceptre ? 
 
 Bertha. Bondage, rather ! 
 
 You would drive freedom from the last stronghold 
 That yet remains for her upon the ea*th. 
 
k *C. II. ] WILHELM TELL 501 
 
 The people know their own true int'rests better: 
 Their simple natures are not warp'd by show. 
 But round your head a tangling net is wound. 
 
 Rud. . . Bertha, you hate me — you despise me ! 
 
 Bertha. Nay! 
 
 And if I did, 'twere better for my peace. 
 But to see him despised and despicable, — 
 The man whom one might love — 
 
 Rudenz. Oh, Bertha ! You 
 
 Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss, 
 Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair ! 
 
 Berth. No, no ! the noble is not all extinct 
 
 Within you. It but slumbers, — I will rouse it 
 It- must have cost you many a fiery struggle, 
 To crush the virtues of your race within you. 
 But, Heaven be praised, 'tis mightier than yourself, 
 And you are noble in your own despite ! 
 
 Rud. . . You trust me, then ? Oh, Bertha, with thy love 
 What might I not become ! 
 
 Bertha. Be only that 
 
 For which your own high nature destin'd you. 
 Fill the position you were born to fill ; — 
 Stand by your people and your native land — 
 And battle for your sacred rights ! 
 
 Rudenz. Alas ! 
 
 How can I hope to win you — to possess you, 
 If I take arms against the Emperor ? 
 Will not your potent kinsmen interpose, 
 To dictate the disposal of your hand ? 
 
 Berth All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons ; 
 And I am free, when Switzerland is free. 
 
 Rud. . . Oh ! what a prospect, Bertha, hast thou shown me ! 
 
 Berth Hope not to win my hand by Austria's favour; 
 Fain would they lay their grasp on my estates, 
 To swell the vast domains which now they hold. 
 The selfsame lust of conquest, that would rob 
 You of your liberty, endangers mine. 
 Oh, friend, I'm mark'd for sacrifice ; — to be 
 The guerdon of some parasite, perchance I 
 They'll drag me hence to the Imperial court, 
 That hateful haunt of falsehood and intrigue ; 
 
502 WILHELM TELL. [AGT TH 
 
 There do detested marriage bonds await me. 
 Love, love alone, — your love can rescue me. 
 Rud. . . And thou couldst be content, love, to live here ; 
 In my own native land to be my own ? 
 Oh, Bertha, all the yearnings of my soul 
 For this great world and its tumultuous strife, 
 What were they, but a yearning after thee ? 
 In glory's path I sought for thee alone, 
 And all my thirst of fame was only love. 
 But if in this calm vale thou canst abide 
 With me, and bid earth's pomps and pride adieu, 
 Then is the goal of my ambition won ; 
 And the rough tide of the tempestuous world 
 May dash and rave around these firm-set hills ! 
 No wandering wishes more have I to send 
 Forth to the busy scene that stirs beyond. 
 Then may these rocks, that girdle us, extend 
 Their giant walls impenetrably round, 
 And this sequestered happy vale alone 
 Look up to heaven, and be my paradise ! 
 Beeth. Now art thou all my fancy dream'd of thee. 
 My trust has not been given to thee in vain 
 Rud. . Away, ye idle phantoms of my folly ! 
 
 In mine own home I'll find my happiness. 
 Here, where the gladsome boy to manhood grew, 
 Where ev'ry brook, and tree, and mountain peak, 
 Teems with remembrances of happy hours, 
 In mine own native land thou wilt be mine. 
 Ah, I have ever loved it well, I feel 
 How poor without it were all earthly joys. 
 Berth. Where should we look for happiness on earth, 
 If not in this dear land of innocence ? 
 Here, where old truth hath its familiar home, 
 Where fraud and guile are strangers, envy ne'er 
 Shall dim the sparkling fountain of our bliss, 
 And ever bright the hours shall o'er us glide. 
 There do I see thee, in true manly worth, 
 The foremost of the free and of thy peers, 
 Revered with homage pure and unconstrained, 
 Wielding a power that kings might envy thee. 
 Rud . , And thee I see, thy sex's crowning gem, 
 
PC. Til.] WILHELM TELL. 503 
 
 With thy sweet woman grace and wakeful love, 
 Building a heaven for me within my home, 
 And, as the spring-time scatters forth her flowers, 
 Adorning with thy charms my path of life, 
 And spreading joy and sunshine all around. 
 
 Berth. And this it was, dear friend, that caused my grief, 
 To see thee blast this life's supremest bliss, 
 With thine own hand. Ah ! what had been my fate. 
 Had I been forced to follow some proud lord, 
 Some ruthless despot, to his gloomy castle ! 
 Here are no castles, here no bastion'd walls 
 Divide me from a people I can bless. 
 
 Rud. . . Yet, how to free myself ; to loose the coils 
 
 Which I have madly twined around my head ? 
 
 Beeth. Tear them asunder with a man's resolve. 
 Whatever the event, stand by thy people. 
 . It is thy post by birth. 
 
 [Hunting horns are heard in the distance. 
 But hark !• The chase ! 
 Farewell, — 'tis needful we should part — away ! 
 Fight for thy land ; thou tightest for thy love. 
 One foe fills all our souls with dread ; the blow 
 That makes one free, emancipates us all. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 A meadow near Altdorf. Trees in the fore-ground. At the 
 back of the stage a cap upon a pole. The prospect is 
 bounded by the Banriberg, which is surmounted by a snow- 
 capped mountain. 
 
 Friesshardt and Leuthold on guard. 
 Friess. We keep our watch in vain. There's not a soul 
 
 Will pass, and do obeisance to the cap. 
 
 But yesterday the place swarm'd like a fair ; 
 
 Now the whole green looks like a very desert, 
 
 Since yonder scarecrow hung upon the pole. 
 Leuth. Only the vilest rabble show themselves, 
 
 And wave their tattered caps in mockery at us. 
 
 All honest citizens would sooner make 
 
 A tedious circuit over half the town, 
 
504 WILHELM TELL. [kOT HZ. 
 
 Than bend their backs before our master's cap. 
 
 Frjess. They were obliged to pass this way at noon, 
 
 As they were coming from the Council House. 
 I counted then upon a famous catch, 
 For no one thought of bowing to the cap. 
 But Eosselmann, the priest, was even with me : 
 Coming just then from some sick penitent, 
 He stands before the pole, — raises the Host — 
 The Sacrist, too, must tinkle with his bell, — 
 When down they dropp'd on knee — myself and all 
 In reverence to the Host, but not the cap. 
 
 Leuth. Hark ye, companion, I've a shrewd suspicion, 
 Our post's no better than the pillory. 
 It is a burning shame, a trooper should 
 Stand sentinel before an empty cap, 
 And every honest fellow must despise us 
 To do obeisance to a cap, too ! Faith, 
 I never heard an order so absurd ! 
 
 Feiess. Why not, an't please thee, to an empty cap ? 
 
 Thou'st duck'd, Im sure, to many an empty sconce. 
 [Hildegard, Mechthild, and Elsbeth enter 
 with their children, and station themselves 
 around the pole. 
 
 Leuth. And thou art an officious sneaking knave, 
 
 That's fond of bringing honest folks to trouble. 
 For my part, he that likes, may pass the cap : — 
 I'll shut my eyes and take no note of him. 
 
 Mech. There hangs the Viceroy ! Your obeisance, children \ 
 
 Els. . . I would to God he'd go, and leave his cap ! 
 The country would be none the worse for it. 
 
 Friesshardt (driving them away). 
 
 Out of the way ! Confounded pack of gossips ! 
 Who sent for you ? Go, send your husbands here, 
 If they have courage to defy the order. 
 
 [Tell enters with his crossbow, leading his son 
 Walter by the hand. They pass the hat with- 
 out noticing it, and advance to the front of the 
 stage. 
 
 Walter (pointing to the Bannberg). 
 
 Father, is't true, that on the mountain there, 
 The trees, if wounded with a hatchet, bleed ? 
 
fid. Ill, J WILHELM TELL 
 
 505 
 
 Tell. Who says so, boy ? 
 
 Walteb. The master herdsman, father ! 
 
 He tells us, there's a charm upon the trees, 
 And if a man shall injure them, the hand 
 That struck the blow will grow from out the grave. 
 
 Tell There is a charm about them — that's the truth. 
 
 Dost see those glaciers yonder — those white horns— 
 That seem to melt away into the sky ? 
 
 Walt They are the peaks that thunder so at night, 
 And send the avalanches down upon us 
 
 Tell. They are ; and Altdorf long ago had been 
 
 Submerged beneath these avalanches' weight, 
 Did not the forest there above the town 
 Stand like a bulwark to arrest their fall. 
 
 Walter (after musing a little). 
 
 And are there countries with no mountains, father? 
 
 Tell. Yes, if we travel downwards from our heights, 
 And keep descending in the rivers' courses, 
 We reach a wide and level country, where 
 Our mountain torrents brawl and foam no more, 
 And fair large rivers glide serenely on. 
 All quarters of the heaven may there be scann'd 
 Without impediment. The corn grows there 
 In broad and lovely fields, and all the land 
 Is fair as any garden to the view. 
 
 Walt But, father, tell me, wherefore haste we not 
 Away to this delightful land, instead 
 Of toiling here, and struggling as we do ? 
 
 Tell. The land is fair and bountiful as Heaven ; 
 But they who till it, never may enjoy 
 The fruits of what they sow. 
 
 Walter. Live they not free, 
 
 As you do, on the land their fathers left them? 
 
 Tell. The fields are all the bishop's or the king's. 
 
 Walt. But they may freely hunt among the woods ? 
 
 Tell. The game is all the monarch's — bird and beast. 
 
 Walt. But they, at least, may surely fish the streams ? 
 
 Tell. Stream, lake, and sea, all to the king belong. 
 
 Walt. Who is this king, of whom they're so afraid ? 
 
 Tell. He is the man who fosters and protects them. 
 
506 WILHELM TELL. JACT III. 
 
 Have they not courage to protect themselves ? 
 Tell. The neighbour there dare not his neighbour trust. 
 Walt. I should want breathing room in such a land. 
 
 I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanches. 
 Tell. 'Tis better, child, to have these glacier peaks 
 
 Behind one's back, than evil-minded men ! 
 
 [They are about to pass on. 
 Walt. See, father, see the cap on yonder pole ! 
 Tell. What is the cap to us ? Come, let's begone 
 
 [As he is going, Friesshardt, presenting his pike, 
 stops him. 
 Friess. Stand, I command you, in the Emperor's name ! 
 Tell (seizing the pike). 
 
 What would ye ? Wherefore do ye stop my path ? 
 Friess. You've broke the mandate, and must go with us. 
 Leuth. You have not done obeisance to the cap. 
 Tell. Friend, let me go. 
 
 Friess. Away, away to prison ! 
 
 Walt. Father to prison Help ! 
 
 [Calling to the side scene. 
 This way, you men ! 
 
 Good people, help ! They're dragging him to prison' 
 [Rosselmann the Priest, and the Sacristan, with 
 three other men, enter. 
 Sacris. What's here amiss ? 
 
 Ross. Why do you seize this man? 
 
 Friess. He is an enemy of the King — a traitor. 
 Tell (seizing him with violence). 
 
 A traitor, I ! 
 Rosselmann. Friend, thou art wrong. 'Tis Tell, 
 
 An honest man, and worthy citizen. 
 Walter (descries Furst and runs up to him). 
 
 Grandfather, help, they want to seize my father ! 
 Friess. Away to prison ! 
 Furst (running in). Stay, I offer bail. 
 
 For God's sake, Tell, what is the matter here ? 
 
 [Melchthal and Stauffacher enter 
 Leuth. He has contemn'd the Viceroy's sovereign power 
 
 Refusing flatly to acknowledge it 
 Stauff Has Tell done this ? 
 
SO. III.j WILHELM TELL. bOl 
 
 Melchthal. Villain, thou knowest 'tis falsel 
 
 Leuth. He has not made obeisance to the cap. 
 
 Fuest. And shall for this to prison ? Come, my friend, 
 
 Take my security, and let him go. 
 Fbiess. Keep your security for yourself — you'll need it. 
 
 We only do our duty. Hence with him. 
 Melchthal (to the country people). 
 
 This is too bad— shall we stand by, and see them 
 Drag him away before our very eyes ? 
 Sacbis. We are the strongest. Don't endure it, friends. 
 
 Our countrymen will back us to a man. 
 Friess Who dares resist the governor's commands ? 
 Other Three Peasants (running in). 
 
 We'll help you. What's the matter ? Down with 
 them ! 
 
 [Hildegard, Mechthild and Elsbeth return. 
 Tell. Go, go, good people, I can help myself. 
 
 Think you, had I a mind to use my strength, 
 These pikes of theirs should daunt me ? 
 Melchthal (to Friesshardt). Only try- 
 
 Try, if you dare, to force him from amongst us. 
 Furst and Stauffacher. 
 
 Peace, peace, friends ! 
 Friesshardt (loudly). Eiot ! Insurrection, ho ! 
 
 [Hunting horns without 
 Women. The Governor ! 
 
 Friesshardt (raising his voice). Eebellion ! Mutiny ! 
 Stauff. Eoar, till you burst, knave ! 
 
 Eosselmann and Melchthal. Will you hold your tongue ? 
 Friesshardt (calling still louder). 
 
 Help, help, I say, the servants of the law! 
 Furst. The Viceroy here ! Then we shall smart for this ! 
 
 [Enter Gessler on horseback, with a falcon 0*1 
 his wrist ; Eudolph der Harras, Bertha, and 
 Eudenz, and a numerous train of armed at- 
 tendants, who form a circle of lances round the 
 whole stage. 
 Har. . Eoom for the Viceroy ! 
 Gessleb. Drive the clowns apart. 
 
 Why throng the people thus ? Who calls for help ? 
 
 [General silence, 
 
50 S WILHELM TELL. [ACT IH. 
 
 "Who was it? I will know. 
 
 [Friesshardt steps forward. 
 And who art thou ? 
 And why hast thou this man in custody ? 
 
 [Gives his falcon to an attendant 
 
 Friess. Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard, 
 And station'd sentinel beside the cap ; 
 This man I apprehended in the act 
 Of passing it without obeisance due, 
 So I arrested him, as you gave order 
 Whereon the people tried to rescue him. 
 
 Gessler [after a pause). 
 
 And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your king, 
 And me, who act as his vicegerent here, 
 That you refuse the greeting to the cap 
 I hung aloft to test your loyalty? 
 I read in this a disaffected spirit. 
 
 Tell. Pardon me, good my lord ! The action sprung 
 From inadvertence, — not from disrespect. 
 Were I discreet, I were not William Tell : 
 Forgive me now — I'll not offend again. 
 
 Gessler (after a pause). 
 
 I hear, Tell, you're a master with the bow, — 
 And bear the palm away from every rival. 
 
 Walt. That must be true, sir ! At a hundred yards 
 He'll shoot an apple for you off the tree. 
 
 Gessl. Is that boy thine, Tell ? 
 
 Tell. Yes, my gracious lord 
 
 Gessl. Hast any more of them ? 
 
 Tell. Two boys, my lord. 
 
 Gessl And, of the two, which dost thou love the most ? 
 
 Tell. Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike. 
 
 Gessl Then, Tell, since at a hundred yards thou canst 
 Bring down the apple from the tree, thou shalt 
 Approve thy skill before me. Take thy bow — 
 Thou hast it there at hand— and make thee ready 
 To shoot an apple from the stripling's head ! 
 But take this counsel, — look well to thine aim, 
 See, that thou hitt'st the apple at the first, 
 For, shouldst thou miss, thy head shall pay the forfeit 
 
 [All give signs of liorror 
 
BB HI, WILHELM TELL. 509 
 
 Tell. What monstrous thing, my lord, is this you ask ? 
 
 That I, from the head of mine own child ! — No, no ! 
 It cannot be, kind sir, you meant not that — 
 God, in His grace, forbid ! You could not ask 
 A father seriously to do that thing ! 
 
 Gessl. Thou art to shoot an apple from his head ! 
 I do desire — command it so. 
 
 Tell. What I ! 
 
 Level my crossbow at the darling head 
 Of mine own child ? No — rather let me die ! 
 
 Gessl. Or thou must shoot, or with thee dies the boy. 
 
 Tell. Shall I become the murd'rer of my child ! 
 You have no children, sir — you do not know 
 The tender throbbings of a father's heart. 
 
 Gessl. How now, Tell, so discreet upon a sudden 
 I had been told thou wert a visionary, — 
 A wanderer from the paths of common men. 
 Thou lov'st the marvellous. So have I now 
 Cull'd out for thee a task of special daring. 
 Another man might pause and hesitate ; — 
 Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once. 
 
 Berth. Oh, do not jest, my lord, with these poor souls ! 
 See, how they tremble, and how pale they look, 
 So little used are they to hear thee jest. 
 
 Gessl. Who tells thee, that I jest? 
 
 [Grasping a branch above his head. 
 Here is the apple. 
 Koom there, 1 say ! And let him take his distance — 
 Just eighty paces, — as the custom is, — 
 Not an inch more or less ! It was his boast, 
 That at a hundred he could hit his man. 
 Now, archer, to your task, and look you miss not ! 
 
 Iar. . Heavens ! this grows serious— down, boy, on your 
 knees, 
 And beg the governor to spare your life. 
 
 Furst (aside to Melchthal, who can scarcely restrain his 
 impatience). 
 Command yourself, — be calm, I beg of you ! 
 
 Bertha (to the governor). 
 
 Let this suffice you, sir ! It is inhuman 
 
WILHELM TELL. 
 
 [act in. 
 
 To trifle with a father s anguish thus. 
 Although this wretched man had forfeited 
 Both life and limb for such a slight offence, 
 Already has he suffer 'd tenfold death. 
 Send him away uninjured to his home ; 
 He'll know thee well in future ; and this hour 
 He and his children's children will remember. 
 
 Gessl. Open a way there — quick ! Why this delay ? 
 Thy life is forfeited ; I might despatch thee, 
 And see I graciously repose thy fate 
 Upon the skill of thine own practis'd hand. 
 No cause has he to say his doom is harsh, 
 "Who's made the master of his destiny. 
 Thou boastest of thy steady eye. 'Tis well ! 
 Now is a fitting time to show thy skill. 
 The mark is worthy, and the prize is great. 
 To hit the bull's eye in the target ; — that 
 Can many another do as well as thou ; 
 But he, methinks, is master of his craft, 
 Who can at all times on his skill rely, 
 Nor lets his heart disturb or eye or hand 
 
 1 urst My lord, we bow to your authority ; 
 
 But oh, let justice yield to mercy here. 
 Take half my property, nay, take it all, 
 But spare a father this unnatural doom ! 
 
 Walt. Grandfather, do not kneel to that bad man ! 
 Say, where am I to stand ? I do not fear ; 
 My father strikes the bird upon the wing, 
 And will not miss now when 'twould harm his boy 1 
 
 Stauff. Does the child's innocence not touch your heart ? 
 
 Rossel. Bethink you, sir, there is a God in heaven, 
 
 To whom you must account for all your deeds. 
 
 Gessler {pointing to the boy). 
 
 Bind him to yonder lime tree straight ! 
 
 Walter. Bind me ? 
 
 No, I will not be bound ! I will be still, 
 Still as a lamb — nor even draw my breath ! 
 But if you bind me, I can not be still. 
 Then I shall writhe and struggle with my bonds - 
 
 Uab. . . But let your eyes at least be bandaged, boy ! 
 
SC. ni.j WILHELM TELL. 511 
 
 Walt. And why my eyes ? No ! Do you think I fear 
 
 An arrow from my father's hand ? Not I ! 
 
 Ill wait it firmly, nor so much as wink ! 
 
 Quick, father, show them that thou art an archer I 
 
 He doubts thy skill — he thinks to ruin us. 
 
 Shoot then, and hit, though but to spite the tyrant ! 
 [He goes to the lime tree, and an apple is placed 
 on his head. 
 Melchthal (to the country people). 
 
 What ! Is this outrage to be perpetrated 
 
 Before our very eyes ? Where is our oath ? 
 Stauff. Tis all in vain. We have n'o weapons here ; 
 
 And see the wood of lances that surrounds us ! 
 Melch. Oh ! would to Heaven that we had struck at once ! 
 
 God pardon those, who counsell'd the delay ! 
 Gessler (to Tell). 
 
 Now, to thy task ! Men bear not arms for nought 
 
 'Tis dangerous to carry deadly weapons, 
 
 And on the archer oft his shaft recoils. 
 
 This right, these haughty peasant churls assume. 
 
 Trenches upon their master's privileges. 
 
 None should be armed, but those who bear command. 
 
 It pleases you to wear the bow and bolt ; — 
 
 Well, — be it so. I will provide the mark. 
 Tell (bends the bow, and fixes the arrow). 
 
 A lane there ! Room ! 
 Stauffacher What, Tell ? You would — no, no ! 
 
 You shake — your hand's unsteady — your knees tremble. 
 Tell (letting the bow sink down). 
 
 There's something swims before mine eyes ! 
 Women. Great Heaven ! 
 
 Tell. Release me from this shot ! Here is my heart ! 
 
 [Tears open his breast 
 
 Summon your troopers — let them strike me down! 
 Gessl I do not want thy life, Tell, but the shot. 
 
 Thy talent's universal ! Nothing daunts thee ! 
 
 Thou canst direct the rudder like the bow ! 
 
 Storms fright not thee, when there's a life at stake . 
 
 Now, saviour, help thyself, — thou savest all ! 
 
 [Tell stands fearfully agitated by contending 
 
512 WTLHELM TELL. [ACT Hi 
 
 emotions, his hands moving convulsively, and 
 his eyes turning alternately to the governor and 
 Heaven, Suddenly he takes a second arrow 
 from his quiver, and sticks it in his belt. The 
 governor watches all these motions. 
 Walteb (beneath the lime tree). 
 
 Come, father, shoot ! I'm not afraid ! 
 Tell It must be ! 
 
 [Collects himself and levels the bow. 
 Rudenz (who all the while has been standing in a state of 
 violent excitement, and has with difficulty restrained 
 himself, advances). 
 My lord, you will not urge this matter further. 
 You will not. It was surely but a test. 
 You've gained your object. Eigour push'd too far 
 Is sure to miss its aim, however good, 
 As snaps the bow that's all too straitly bent. 
 Gessl. Peace, till your counsel's ask'd for] 
 Rudenz. I will speak ! 
 
 Ay, and I dare ! I reverence my king ; 
 But acts like these must make his name abhorr'd. 
 He sanctions not this cruelty. I dare 
 Avouch the fact. And you outstep your powers 
 In handling thus an unoffending people. 
 Gessl. Ha ! thou grow'st bold, methinks ! 
 Rudenz. I have been dumb 
 
 To all the oppressions I was doom'd to see. 
 I've closed mine eyes, that they might not behold 
 
 them, 
 Bade my rebellious, swelling heart be still, 
 And pent its struggles down within my breast. 
 But to be silent longer, were to be 
 A traitor to my king and country both. 
 Bektha {casting herself between him and the governor]. 
 
 Oh Heavens ! you but exasperate his rage ! 
 Rud. . . My people I forsook — renounced my kindred- 
 Broke all the ties of nature, that I might 
 Attach myself to you. I madly thought, 
 That I should best advance the general weal, 
 
SO. 111".] WILHELM TELL. 513 
 
 By adding sinews to the Emperors power. 
 The scales have fallen from mine eyes — I see 
 The fearful precipice on which I stand. 
 You've led my youthful judgment far astray,— 
 Deceived my honest heart. With best intent. 
 T had well nigh achiev'd my country's ruin. 
 Gessl Audacious boy, this language to thy lord ? 
 Rud. . The Emperor is my lord, not you ! I'm free 
 As you by birth, and I can cope with you 
 In every virtue that beseems a knight. 
 And if you stood not here in that King's name 
 Which I respect e'en where 'tis most abused, 
 I'd throw my gauntlet down, and you should givb 
 An answer to my gage in knightly fashion. 
 Ay, beckon to your troopers ! Here I stand ; 
 But not like these {Pointing to the people. 
 
 — unarmed. I have a sword, 
 
 And he that stirs one step 
 
 Stauffacher {exclaims). The apple's down ! 
 
 [While the attention of the crowd has been directed 
 to the spot where Bertha had cast herself be- 
 tween Rudenz and Gessler, Tell has shot. 
 Rossel. The boy's alive ! 
 Many voices. The apple has been struck ! 
 
 [Walter Furst staggers, and is about to fall 
 Bertha supports him. 
 Gessler (astonished). 
 
 How ? Has he shot ? The madman ! 
 Bertha. Worthy father J 
 
 Pray you, compose yourself. The boy's alive, 
 Walter (runs in ivith the apple). 
 
 Here is the apple, father ! Well I knew, 
 You would not harm your boy. 
 
 [Tell stands with his body bent forwards, as 
 though he would follow the arrow. His bow 
 drops from his hand. When he sees the boy 
 advancing, he hastens to meet him with open 
 arms, and embracing him passionately sinks 
 down with him quite exhausted All crowd 
 round them deeply affected. 
 Bertha. Oh, ye kind Heavens ! 
 
 L L 
 
5 1 i WILHELM TELL. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Furst [to father and son). My children, my dear children ! 
 Stauffacher. God he praised ! 
 
 Leuth. Almighty powers ! That was a shot indeed ! 
 
 It will he talked of to the end of time. 
 Har. . . This feat of Tell, the archer, will be told 
 
 While yonder mountains stand upon their base. 
 
 [Hands the apple to Gessler. 
 Gessl. By Heaven ! the apple's cleft right through the core. 
 
 It was a master shot, I must allow. 
 Rossel. The shot was good. But woe to him, who drove 
 
 The man to tempt his God by such a feat ! 
 Stauff. Cheer up, Tell, rise ! You've nobly freed yourself, 
 
 And now may go in quiet to your home. 
 Rossel. Come, to the mother let us bear her son ! 
 
 [They are about to lead him off. 
 Gessl. A word, Tell. 
 
 Tell. Sir, your pleasure ? 
 
 Gessler. Thou didst place 
 
 A second arrow in thy belt — nay, nay ! 
 
 I saw it well — what was thy purpose with it? 
 Tell (confused). It is a custom with all archers, Sir. 
 Gessl. No, Tell, I cannot let that answer pass. 
 
 There was some other motive, well I know. 
 
 Frankly and cheerfully confess the truth; — 
 
 Whate'er it be, I promise thee thy life, 
 
 Wherefore the second arrow ? 
 Tell, Well, my lord, 
 
 Since you have promised not to take my life, 
 
 I will, without reserve, declare the truth. 
 
 [He draws the arrow from his belt, and fixes his 
 eyes sternly upon the governor. 
 
 If that my hand had struck my darling child, 
 
 This second arrow I had aimed at you, 
 
 And, be assured, I should not then have miss'd. 
 Gessl. Well, Tell, I promised thou shouldst have thy life ; 
 
 I gave my knightly word, and I will keep it. 
 
 Yet, as I know the malice of thy thoughts, 
 
 I will remove thee hence to sure confinement, 
 
 Where neither sun nor moon shall reach thine eyes 
 
 Thus from thy arrows I shall be secure. 
 
 Seize on him, guards, and bind him ! [They bind him. 
 
60 111.] WiLHELM TELL. 515 
 
 Stauffacher. How, my lord — 
 
 How can you treat in such a way a man, 
 
 On whom God's hand has plainly been reveal'd 2 
 Gessl. Well, let us see if it will save him twice ! 
 
 Remove him to my ship ; I'll follow straight 
 
 In person I will see him lodged at Kussnacht. 
 Rossel. You dare not do't. Nor durst the Emperor's self 
 
 So violate our dearest chartered rights. 
 Gessl. Where are they? Has the Emp'ror confirm 'd them? 
 
 He never has. And only by obedience 
 
 Need you expect to win that favour from him. 
 
 You are all rebels 'gainst the Emp'ror's power, — 
 
 And bear a desperate and rebellious spirit. 
 
 I know you all — I see you through and through. 
 
 Him do I single from amongst you now, 
 
 But in his guilt you all participate. 
 
 The wise will study silence and obedience. 
 
 [Exit, followed by Bertha, Rudenz, Harras, 
 and attendants. Friesshardt and Leutholij 
 remain. 
 Furst (in violent anguish). 
 
 All's over now ! He is resolved, to bring 
 
 Destruction on myself and all my house. 
 Stauff. (to Tell). Oh, why did you provoke the tyrant's rago ? 
 Tell. Let him be calm who feels the pangs I felt. 
 Stauff. Alas ! alas ! Our every hope is gone. 
 
 With you we all are fettered and enchain 'd. 
 Country People (surrounding Tell). 
 
 Our last remaining comfort goes with youl 
 Leuth. (approaching him). 
 
 I'm sorry for you, Tell, but must obey 
 Tell. Farewell! 
 Walter Tell (clinging to him in great agony). 
 
 Oh, father, father, my dear father ! 
 Tell (pointing to Heaven). 
 
 Thy father is on high — appeal to him ! 
 Stauff. Hast thou no message, Tell, to send thy wife ? 
 Tell, (clasping the boy passionately to his breast). 
 
 The boy's uninjured ; God will succour me ! 
 
 [Tears himself suddenly aivay, and follows the sol- 
 diers of the guard 
 
 L L 2 
 
516 W1LHELM TELL. [AC'£ ?V 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Eastern shore of the Lake of Lucerne , rugged and singularly 
 shaped rocks close the prospect to the west. The lake is agi 
 tated, violent roaring and rushing of wind, with thunder and 
 lightning at intervals. 
 
 Kunz of Geesau, Fisherman and Boy. 
 
 Kunz. I saw it with these eyes ! Believe me, friend, 
 It happen'd all precisely as I've said. 
 
 Fisher. Tell made a prisoner and borne off to Kiissnacht ? 
 The best man in the land, the bravest arm, 
 Had we resolved to strike for liberty ! 
 
 Kunz. The Viceroy takes him up the lake in person : 
 They were about to go on board, as I 
 Left Fliielen ; but still the gathering storm, 
 That drove me here to land so suddenly, 
 Perchance has hindered their abrupt departure. 
 
 Fisher. Our Tell in chains, and in the Viceroy's power ! 
 0, trust me, Gessler will entomb him, where 
 He never more shall see the light of day ; 
 For, Tell once free, the tyrant well might dread 
 The just revenge of one so deep incensed. 
 
 Kunz. The old Landamman, too — von Attinghaus — 
 They say, is lying at the point of death. 
 
 Fisher. Then the last anchor of our hopes gives way ! 
 He was the only man that dared to raise 
 His voice in favour of the people's rights. 
 
 Kunz. The storm grows worse and worse. So, fare ye well ! 
 I'll go and seek out quarters in the village. 
 There's not a chance of getting off to-day. [Exit. 
 
 Fisher. Tell dragg'd to prison, and the Baron dead ! 
 Now, tyranny, exalt thy insolent front, — 
 Throw shame aside ! The voice of truth is silenced, 
 The eye that watch'd for us, in darkness closed, 
 The arm that should have struck thee down, in chains ! 
 
 Boy. . . 'Tis hailing hard — come, let us to the cottage ! 
 This is no weather to be out in, father ! 
 
 Fisher. Rage on, ye winds ! Ye lightnings, flash your fires ! 
 Burst, ye swollen clouds ! Ye cataracts of Heaven. 
 Descend, and drown the country! In the germ, 
 
SC. I 1 WILHELM TELL. bVi 
 
 Destroy the generations yet unborn ! 
 Ye savage elements, be lords of all ! 
 Return, ye bears ; ye ancient wolves, return 
 To this wide howling waste ! The land is yours 
 Who would live here, when liberty is gone ! 
 
 Boy. . . Hark! How the wind whistles, and the whirlpool roars; 
 I never saw a storm so fierce as this ! 
 
 Fishee. To level at the head of his own child ! 
 Never had father such command before. 
 And shall not nature, rising in wild wrath, 
 Revolt against the deed ? I should not marvel, 
 Though to the lake these rocks should bow their heads, 
 Though yonder pinnacles, yon towers of ice, 
 That, since creation's dawn, have known no thaw, 
 Should, from their lofty summits, melt away, — 
 Though yonder mountains, yon primeval cliffs, 
 Should topple down, and a new deluge whelm 
 Beneath its waves all living men's abodes ! 
 
 [Bells heard 
 
 Boy . . Hark, they are ringing on the mountain, yonder ! 
 They surely see some vessel in distress, 
 And toll the bell that we may pray for it. 
 
 [Ascends a rock 
 
 Fishee. Woe to the bark that now pursues its course, 
 
 Rock'd in the cradle of these storm-tost waves ! 
 Nor helm nor steersman here can aught avail ; 
 The storm is master. Man is like a ball, 
 Toss'd 'twixt the winds and billows. Far or near, 
 No haven offers him its friendly shelter ! 
 Without one ledge to grasp, the sheer smooth rocks 
 Look down inhospitably on his despair, 
 And only tender him their flinty breasts. 
 
 Boy (calling from above). 
 
 Father, a ship ; and bearing down from Fliielen 
 
 Fishee. Heaven pity the poor wretches ! When the storm 
 Is once entangled in this strait of ours, 
 It rages like some savage beast of prey, 
 Struggling against its cage's iron bars ! 
 Howling, it seeks an outlet — all in vain; 
 For the rocks hedge it round on every side, 
 Walling the narrow pass as high as Heaven. 
 
 [He ascends a cliff 
 
518 WILHELM TELL. [AifT IV. 
 
 Boy. . . It is the Governor of Uri's ship ; 
 
 By its red poop I know it, and the flag. 
 
 Fisher. Judgments of Heaven ! Yes, it is he himself. 
 It is the governor ! Yonder he sails, 
 And with him bears the burden of his crimes ! 
 Soon has the arm of the avenger found him ; 
 Now over him he knows a mightier lord. 
 These waves yield no obedience to his voice. 
 These rocks bow not their heads before his cap. 
 Boy, do not pray ; stay not the Judge's arm ! 
 
 Boy . . I pray not for the governor — I pray 
 
 For Tell, who is on board the sbip with him. 
 Fisher. Alas, ye blind, unreasoning elements ! 
 Must ye, in punishing one guilty head, 
 Destroy the vessel and the pilot too ? 
 Boy. . . See, see, they've clear'd the Buggisgrat*; but now 
 The blast, rebounding from the Devil's Minster * r 
 Has driven them back on the Great Axenberg * 
 I cannot see them now. 
 Fisherman. The Hakmesser* 
 
 Is there, that's founder'd many a gallant ship. 
 If they should fail to double that with skill, 
 Their bark will go to pieces on the rocks, 
 That hide their jagged peaks below the lake. 
 They have on board the very best of pilots. 
 If any man can save them, Tell is he ; 
 But he is manacled both hand and foot. 
 
 [Enter William Tell, with his crossbow. He 
 enters precipitately, looks wildly round, and tes- 
 tifies the most violent agitation. When he reaches 
 the centre of the stage, he throws himself upon his 
 knees, and stretches out his hands, first towards 
 the earth, then towards Heaven. 
 Boy {observing him). 
 
 See, father ! Who is that man, kneeling yonder 1 
 Fisher. He clutches at the earth with both his hands, 
 And looks as though he were beside himself. 
 Boy (advancing). 
 
 What do I see ? Father, come here, and look ! 
 
 * Rocks on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne. 
 
SC. I.J WILHELM TELL. 519 
 
 Fisheeman [approaches). 
 
 Who is it ? God in Heaven ! What ! William Tell ! 
 How came you hither ? Speak, Tell ! 
 
 Boy. Were you not 
 
 In yonder ship, a prisoner, and in chains? 
 
 Fisher. Were they not bearing you away to Kiissnacht ? 
 
 Tell (rising). I am released. 
 
 Fisherman and Boy. Released, oh miracle ! 
 
 Boy. . . Whence came you here ? 
 
 Tell. From yonder vessel ! 
 
 Fisherman. What ? 
 
 Boy. . . Where is the Viceroy ? 
 
 Tell. Drifting on the waves. 
 
 Fisher. Is't possible ? But you ! How are you here ? 
 
 How 'scaped you from your fetters and the storm ? 
 
 Tell. By God's most gracious providence. Attend. 
 
 Fisher, and Boy. Say on, say on! 
 
 Tell. You know what passed at Altdorf ? 
 
 Fisher. I do — say on ! 
 
 Tell. How I was seized and bound, 
 
 And order'd by the governor to Kiissnacht. 
 
 Fisher. And how with you at Fliielen he embarked. 
 
 All this we know. Say, how have you escaped ? 
 
 Tell. I lay on deck, fast bound with cords, disarm'd, 
 In utter hopelessness. I did not think 
 Again to see the gladsome light of day, 
 Nor the dear faces of my wife and children, 
 And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters. — 
 
 Fisher. Oh, wretched man ! 
 
 Tell. Then we put forth ; the Viceroy, 
 
 Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow 
 And quiver lay astern beside the helm ; 
 And just as we had reached the corner, near 
 The Little Axen *, Heaven ordain 'd it so, 
 That from the Gotthardt s gorge, a hurricane 
 Swept down upon us with such headlong force, 
 That every rower's heart within him sank, 
 And all on board look'd for a watery grave. 
 Then heard I one of the attendant train, 
 
 * A rock on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne* 
 
520 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IV. 
 
 Turning to Gessler, in this strain accost him : 
 " You see our danger, and your own, my lord, 
 And that we hover on the verge of death. 
 The boatmen there are powerless from fear, 
 Nor are they confident what course to take ; — 
 Now, here is Tell, a stout and fearless man, 
 And knows to steer with more than common skill. 
 How if we should avail ourselves of him 
 In this emergency ?" The Viceroy then 
 Address'd me thus: " If thou wilt undertake 
 To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell, 
 I might consent to free thee from thy bonds." 
 I answer 'd, " Yes, my lord, with Gods assistance, 
 I'll see what can be done, and help us Heaven!" 
 On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I 
 Stood by the helm and fairly steer" d along ; 
 Yet ever eyed my shooting gear askance, 
 And kept a watchful eye upon the shore, 
 To find some point where I might leap to land : 
 And when I had descried a shelving crag, 
 That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake 
 
 Fisher. I know it. Tis at foot of the Great Axen ; 
 
 But looks so steep, I never could have dreamt 
 Twere possible to leap it from the boat. 
 
 Tell. I bade the men put forth their utmost might, 
 Until we came before the shelving crag. 
 For there, I said, the danger will be past ! 
 Stoutly they pull'd, and soon we near'd the point ; 
 One prayer to God for his assisting grace, 
 And straining every muscle, I brought round 
 The vessel's stern close to the rocky wall ; 
 Tl^en snatching up my weapons, with a bound 
 I swung myself upon the flattened shelf, 
 And. with my feet thrust off, with all my might, 
 The puny bark into the hell of waters. 
 There let it drift about, as Heaven ordains ! 
 Thus am I here, deliver'd from the might 
 Of the dread storm, and man, more dreadful stilL 
 
 Fisher. Tell, Tell, the Lord has manifestly wrought 
 A miracle in thy behalf ! I scarce 
 Can credit my own eyes. Bat tell me, now. 
 
SC. II ] W1LHELM TELL. 521 
 
 Whither you purpose to betake yourself ? 
 
 For you will be in peril, should the Viceroy 
 
 Chance to escape this tempest with his life. 
 Tell. I heard him say, as I lay bound on board, 
 
 His purpose was to disembark at Brunnen ; 
 
 And, crossing Schwytz, convey me to his castle. 
 Fisher. Means he to go by land ? 
 Tell. So he intends 
 
 Fisher. Oh, then, conceal yourself without delay ! 
 
 Not twice will Heaven release you from his grasp. 
 Tell. Which is the nearest way to Arth and Kiissnacht ? 
 Fisher. The public road leads by the way of Stein en, 
 
 But there's a nearer road, and more retired, 
 
 That goes by Lowerz, which my boy can show you. 
 Tell (gives him his hand). 
 
 May Heaven reward your kindness ! Fare ye well. 
 
 [As he is going, he comes back. 
 
 Did not you also take the oath at Eootli ? 
 
 I heard your name, methinks. 
 Fisherman. Yes, I was there, 
 
 And took the oath of the confederacy. 
 Tell. Then do me this one favour : speed to Burglen — 
 
 My wife is anxious at my absence — tell her 
 
 That I am free, and in secure concealment. 
 Fisher. But whither shall I tell her you have fled? 
 Tell. You'll find her father with her, and some more, 
 
 Who took the oath with you upon the Eootli ; 
 
 Bid them be resolute, and strong of heart, — 
 
 For Tell is free and mas^rjo:Mris~arm ; 
 
 They shall hear further news of me ere long. 
 Fisher. What have you, then, in view ? Come, tell me 
 
 frankly ! 
 Tell. When once 'tis done, 'twill be in every mouth. [Exit. 
 Fisher. Show him the way, boy. Heaven be his support ! 
 
 Whate'er he has resolved, he'll execute [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Baronial mansion of Attinghausen. The Baron upon a 
 couch dying. Walter Furst, Stauffacher, Melchthal, 
 and Baumgarten attending round him. Walter Tell 
 kneeling before the dying man. 
 
 Furst, All now is over r with him. He is gone 
 
52*2 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IV 
 
 Stauff. He lies not like one dead. The feather, see, 
 
 Moves on his lips ! His sleep is very calm, 
 
 And on his features plays a placid smile. 
 
 [Baumgakten goes to the door and speaks with 
 some one. 
 Furst. Who's there ? 
 Baumgarten (returning). 
 
 Tell's wife, your daughter, she insists 
 
 That she must speak with you, and see her boy. 
 
 [Walter Tell rises 
 Furst. I who need comfort — can I comfort her ? 
 
 Does every sorrow centre on my head ? 
 Hedwig (forcing her way in). 
 
 Where is my child ? Unhand me ! I must see him. 
 Stauff. Be calm ! Reflect you're in the house of death ! 
 Hedwig (falling upon her boy's neck). 
 
 My Walter ! Oh, he yet is mine ! 
 Walter. Dear mother ! 
 
 Hedw. And is it surely so ? Art thou unhurt ? 
 
 [Gazing at him with anxious tenderness 
 
 And is it possible he aim'd at thee ? 
 
 How could he do it ? Oh, he has no heart — 
 
 And he could wing an arrow at his child ! 
 Furst. His soul was rack'd with anguish when he did it. 
 
 No choice was left him, but to shoot or die ! 
 Hedw. Oh, if he had a father's heart, he would 
 
 Have sooner perish'd by a thousand deaths ! 
 Stauff. You should be grateful for God's gracious care, 
 
 That ordered things so well. 
 Hedwig. Can I forget 
 
 What might have been the issue. God of Heaven . 
 
 Were I to live for centuries, I still 
 
 Should see my boy tied up, — his father's mark, — 
 
 And still the shaft would quiver in my heart! 
 Melch. You know not how the Viceroy taunted him ! 
 Hedw. Oh, ruthless heart of man ! Offend his pride, 
 
 And reason in his breast forsakes her seat ; 
 
 In his blind wrath he'll stake upon a cast 
 
 A child's existence, and a mother's heart ! 
 Baum. Is then your husband's fate not hard enough, 
 
 That you embitter it by such reproaches ? 
 
 Have you no feeling for his sufferings ? 
 
SO. II.] WILHELM TELL, 5£3 
 
 Hedwig {turning to him and gazing full upon him). 
 
 Hast thou tears only for thy friends distress? 
 Say, where were you when he — my noble Tell, 
 Was bound in chains? Where was your friendship 
 
 then ? 
 The shameful wrong was done before your eyes ; 
 Patient you stood, and let your friend be dragg'd, 
 Ay, from your very hands. Did ever Tell 
 Act thus to you ? Did he stand whining by 
 When on your heels the Viceroy's horsemen press 'd, 
 And full before you roared the storm-toss 'd lake ? 
 Oh not with idle tears he show'd his pity ; 
 Into the boat he sprung, forgot his home, 
 His wife, his children, and delivered thee ! 
 
 Furst. It had been madness to attempt his rescue, 
 Unarm'd, and few in numbers as we were? 
 
 Hedwjg (casting herself upon his bosom). 
 
 Oh, father, and thou, too, hast lost my Tell ! 
 
 The country — all have lost him ! All lament 
 
 His loss ; and, oh, how he must pine for us ! 
 
 Heaven keep his soul from sinking to despair! 
 
 No friend's consoling voice can penetrate 
 
 His dreary dungeon walls. Should he fall sick ! 
 
 Ah ! In the vapours of the murky vault 
 
 He must fall sick. Even as the Alpine rose 
 
 Grows pale and withers in the swampy air, 
 
 There is no life for him, but in the su% 
 
 And in the balm of Heaven's refreshing breeze. 
 
 Imprison'd ! Liberty to him is breath ; 
 
 He cannot live in the rank dungeon air ! 
 
 Stauff. Pray you be calm! And hand in hand, we'll all 
 Combine to burst his prison doors. 
 
 Hedwig. Without him, 
 
 What have you power to do ? While Tell was free, 
 There still, indeed, was hope — weak innocence 
 Had still a friend, and the oppress 'd a stay. 
 Tell saved you all ! You cannot all combined 
 Eelease him from his cruel prison bonds. 
 
 [The Baron wakes 
 
 Baum. Hush, hush! He starts! 
 
 Attinghausen (sitting up). Where is he ? 
 
524 WILHELM TELL. [ACT TV. 
 
 Stauffachee. Who ? 
 
 Attinghausen. He leaves me, — 
 
 In my last moments he abandons me. 
 
 Stauff. He means his nephew. Have they sent for him? 
 
 Fuest. He has been summoned. Cheerly sir! Take comfort! 
 He has found his heart at last, and is our own. 
 
 Atting. Say, has he spoken for his native land ? 
 
 Stauff. Ay, like a hero ! 
 
 Attinghausen. Wherefore comes he not, 
 
 That he may take my blessing ere I die ? 
 I feel my life fast ebbing to a close. 
 
 Stauff. Nay, talk not thus, dear sir ! This last short sleep 
 Has much refresh'd you, and your eye is bright. 
 
 Atting. Life is but pain, and even that has left me ; 
 
 My sufferings, like my hopes, have pass'd away. 
 
 [Observing the boy 
 What boy is that? 
 
 Fuest. Bless him. Oh, good my lord ! 
 
 He is my grandson, and is fatherless. 
 
 [Hedwig kneels with the boy before the dying man 
 
 Atting. And fatherless — I leave you all, ay all ! 
 
 Oh, wretched fate, that these old eyes should see 
 My country's ruin, as they close in death ! 
 Must I attain the utmost verge of life, 
 To feel my hopes go with me to the grave ? 
 
 Stauffachee (to Fuest). 
 
 Shall he depart 'mid grief and gloom like this ? 
 Shall not his parting moments be illumed 
 By hope's delightful beams ? My noble lord, 
 Raise up your drooping spirit ! We are not 
 Forsaken quite — past all deliverance. 
 
 Atting. Who shall deliver you ? 
 
 Fuest. Ourselves. For know 
 
 The Cantons three are to each other pledged, 
 To hunt the tyrants from the land. The league 
 Has been concluded, and a sacred oath 
 Confirms our union. Ere another year 
 Begins its circling course — the blow shall fall 
 In a free land your ashes shall repose. 
 
 Atting. The league concluded ! Is it really so ? 
 
 Melch. On one day shall the' Cantons rise together 
 
SC. IX.] WILHELM TELL. 5Q5 
 
 All is prepared to strike — and to this hour 
 The secret closely kept, though hundreds share it 
 The ground is hollow 'neath the tyrants' feet ; 
 Their days of rule are number 'd, and ere long 
 No trace of their dominion shall remain. 
 
 Atting. Ay, Du t their castles, how to master them? 
 
 Melch. On the same day they, too, are doom'd to fall. 
 
 Atting. And are the nobles parties to this league ? 
 
 Stauff. We trust to their assistance should we need it; 
 As yet the peasantry alone have sworn. 
 
 Atting. (raising himself up, in great astonishment?) 
 And have the peasantry dared such a deed 
 On their own charge, without the nobles' aid — 
 Eelied so much on their own proper strength ? 
 Nay then, indeed, they want our help no more ; 
 We may go down to death cheer'd by the thought, 
 That after us the majesty of man 
 Will live, and be maintain 'd by other hands. 
 
 [He lays his hand upon the head of the child, who 
 is kneeling before him. 
 From this boy's head, whereon the apple lay, 
 Your new and better liberty shall spring ; 
 The old is crumbling down — the times are changing — 
 And from the ruins blooms a fairer life. 
 
 Stauffacher (to Furst). 
 
 See, see, what splendour streams around his eye ! 
 This is not Nature's last expiring flame, 
 It is the beam of renovated life. 
 
 Atting From their old towers the nobles are descending, 
 And swearing in the towns the civic oath. 
 In Uechtland and Thurgau the work's begun ; 
 The noble Bern lifts her commanding head, 
 And Freyburg is a stronghold of the free ; 
 The stirring Zurich calls her guilds to arms ; — 
 And now, behold ! — the ancient might of kings 
 Is shiver 'd 'gainst her everlasting walls. 
 
 [He speaks what folloivs with a prophetic tone i 
 his utterance rising into enthusiasm. 
 I see the princes and their haughty peers, 
 Clad all in steel, come striding on to crush 
 A harmless shepherd race with mailed haul. 
 
526 WTLHELM TELL. [ACT IV 
 
 Desp'rate the conflict : 'tis for life or death ; 
 And many a pass will tell to after years 
 Of glorious victories sealed in foemen's blood * 
 The peasant throws himself with naked breast, 
 A willing victim on their serried lances. 
 They yield — the flower of chivalry's cut down, 
 And freedom waves her conquering banner high ! 
 [Grasps the hands of Waltek Furst and Stauf- 
 
 FACHER. 
 
 Hold fast together, then,— for ever fast ! 
 
 Let freedom's haunts be one in heart and mind ! 
 
 Set watches on your mountain tops, that league 
 
 May answer league, when comes the hour to strike. 
 
 Be one — be one — be one 
 
 [He falls back upon the cushion. His lifeless 
 hands continue to grasp those of Furst and 
 Statjffacher, who regard him for some mo- 
 ments in silence, and then retire, overcome with 
 sorrow. Meanwhile the servants have quietly 
 pressed into the chamber, testifying different de- 
 grees of grief Some kneel down beside him 
 and weep on his body : while this scene is pass- 
 ing, the castle bell tolls. 
 Rtjdenz (entering hurriedly). 
 
 Lives he ? Oh say, can he still hear my voice ? 
 Furst (averting his face). 
 
 You are our seignior and protector now ; 
 
 Henceforth this castle bears another name. 
 Rtjdenz {gazing at the body with deep emotton). 
 
 Oh, God ! Is my repentance, then, too late ? 
 
 Could he not live some few brief moments more, 
 
 To see the change that has come o'er my heart '? 
 
 Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice 
 
 While yet he walked on earth. Now he is gone, — 
 
 * An allusion to the gallant self-devotion of Arnold Struthan of Wink 
 ried, at the battle of Sempach, [9th July, 1386,] who broke the Austrian 
 phalanx by rushing on their lances, grasping as many of them as he could 
 reach, and concentrating them upon his breast. The confederates rushed 
 forward through the gap thus opened by the sacrifice of their comrade, broke 
 and cut down their enemy's ranks, and soon became the masters of the field. 
 " Dear and faithful confederates, I will open you a passage. Protect in) 
 wife and children," were the words of Winkelried, as he rushed to death. 
 
SC\ II.J WILHELM TELL. 59^ 
 
 Gone, and for ever, — leaving me the debt — 
 
 The heavy debt I owe him — undischarged ! 
 
 Oh, tell me ! did he part in anger with me ? 
 Stauff. When dying, he was told what you had done, 
 
 And bless'd the valour that inspired your words ! 
 Kudenz (kneeling down beside the dead body). 
 
 Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved ! 
 
 Thou lifeless corpse ! Here, on thy death-cold hand, 
 
 Do I abjure all foreign ties for ever ! 
 
 And to my country's cause devote myself. 
 
 I am a Switzer, and will act as one, 
 
 With my whole heart and soul. \ Rises 
 
 Mourn for our fi lead, 
 
 Our common parent, yet be not dismay 'd ! 
 
 'Tis not alone his lands that I inherit, — 
 
 His heart— his spirit, have devolved on me ; 
 
 And my young arm shall execute the task, 
 
 For which his hoary age remain 'd your debtor. 
 
 Give me your hands, ye venerable fathers ! 
 
 Thine, Melchthal, too ! Nay, do not hesitate, 
 
 Nor from me turn distrustfully away. 
 
 Accept my plighted vow — my knightly oath ! 
 Furst. Give him your hands, my friends ! A heart like his. 
 
 That sees and owns its error, claims our trust. 
 Melch. You ever held the peasantry in scorn, 
 
 What surety have we, that you mean us fair ? 
 Bud. . . Oh, think not of the error of my youth ! 
 Stauffacher (to Melchthal). 
 
 Be one ! They were our father's latest words. 
 
 See they be not forgotten ! 
 Melch. Take my hand, — 
 
 A peasant's hand, — and with it, noble sir, 
 
 The gage and the assurance of a man ! 
 
 Without us, sir, what w r ould the nobles be ? 
 
 Our order is more ancient, too, than yours ! 
 Eud. . . I honour it, and with my sword will shield it ! 
 Melch. The arm, my lord, that tames the stubborn earth, 
 
 And makes its bosom blossom with increase, 
 
 Can also shield a man's defenceless breast. 
 Rud . Then you shall shield my breast, and I will yours ; 
 
 Thus each be strengthen'd by the others aid ! 
 
528 WILHELM TELL. [ACT TV 
 
 .Yet wherefore talk we, while our native land 
 Is still to alien tyranny a prey ? 
 First let us sweep the foeman from the soil, 
 Then reconcile our difference in peace ! 
 
 [After a moment's pausA 
 How ! You are silent ! Not a word for me ? 
 And have I yet no title to your trust ? — 
 Then must I force my way, despite your will, 
 Into the League you secretly have formfd. 
 You've held a Diet on the Eootli, — I 
 Know this, — know all that was transacted there ! 
 And though I was not trusted with your secret, 
 I still have kept it like a sacred pledge. 
 Trust me, I never was my country's foe, 
 Nor would I e'er have ranged myself against ycu ! 
 Yet you did wrong — to put your rising off. 
 Time- presses ! We must strike, and swiftly too ! 
 Already Tell has fallen a sacrifice 
 To your delay. 
 
 Stauff. We swore to wait till Christmas. 
 
 Run. . I was not there, — I did not take the oath. 
 If you delay, I will not ! 
 
 Mexchthal. What ! You would 
 
 Bud. . . I count me now among the country's fathers, 
 And to protect you is my foremost duty. 
 
 Furst. Within the earth to lay these dear remains, 
 That is your nearest and most sacred duty. 
 
 Hud. . . When we have set the country free, well place 
 Our fresh victorious wreaths upon his bier. 
 Oh, my dear friends, 'tis not your cause alone ! — 
 I have a cause to battle with the tyrants, 
 That more concerns myself. Know, that my Bertha 
 Has disappear 'd, — been carried off by stealth, — - 
 Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian hands ! 
 
 Stauff. And has the tyrant dared so fell an outrage 
 Against a lady free and nobly born ? 
 
 Run. . . Alas ! my friends, I promised help to you, 
 And I must first implore it for myself ! 
 She that I love, is stolen — is forced away, 
 And who knows where the tyrant has conceal'd her, 
 Or with what outrages his ruffian crew 
 
gC III. J WILHELM TELL. 529 
 
 May force her into nuptials she detests ? 
 Forsake me not ! — Oh help me to her rescue. 
 She loves you ! Well, oh well, has she deserved, 
 That all should rush to arms in her behalf ! 
 
 Stauff. What course do you propose ? 
 
 Rudenz. Alas ! I know not. 
 
 In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate, — 
 In the dread agony of this suspense, — 
 Where I can grasp at nought of certainty, — 
 One single ray of comfort beams upon me. 
 From out the ruins of the tyrant's power 
 Alone can she be rescued from the grave. 
 Their strongholds must be levell'd ! every one, 
 Ere we can pierce into her gloomy prison. 
 
 Melch. Come, lead us on ! We follow ! Why defer 
 Until to-morrow, what to-day may do ? 
 Tells arm was free when we at Rootli swore, 
 This foul enormity was yet undone. 
 And change of circumstance brings change of law ; 
 Who such a coward as to waver still ? 
 
 Rudenz (to Walter Furst). 
 
 Meanwhile to arms, and wait in readiness 
 The fiery signal on the mountain tops. 
 For swifter than a boat can scour the lake 
 Shall you have tidings of our victory ; 
 And when you see the welcome flames ascend, 
 Then, like the lightning, swoop upon the foe, 
 And lay the despots and their creatures low ! 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The pass near Kussnacht, sloping down from behind, with rocks 
 on either side. The travellers are visible upon the heights, 
 before they appear on the stage. Bocks all round the stage 
 Upon one of the foremost a projecting cliff overgrown with 
 brushwood. 
 Tell (enters with his crossbow). 
 
 Here thro' this deep defile he needs must pass ; 
 
 There leads no other road to Kiissnacht : — here 
 
 I'll do it : — the opportunity is good. 
 
 Yon alder tree stands well for my concealment, 
 
 Thence my avenging shaft will surely reach him 
 
58 ) WILHELM TELL [ACT TV. 
 
 The straitness of the path forbids pursuit. 
 
 Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven ! 
 
 Thou must away from earth, — thy sand is run. 
 
 I led a peaceful inoffensive life ; — 
 My bow was bent on forest game alone, 
 And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder- 
 But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace ; 
 The milk of human kindness thou hast turn'd 
 To rankling poison in my breast ; and made 
 Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. 
 He who could make his own child's head his mark, 
 Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart. 
 
 My children dear, my lov'd and faithful wife, 
 Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury ! — 
 When last I drew my bow — with trembling hand — 
 And thou, with murderous joy, a father forced 
 To level at his child — when, all in vain, 
 Writhing before thee, I implored thy mercy — 
 Then in the agony of my soul, I vow'd 
 A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone, 
 That when my bow next wing'd an arrow's flight, 
 Its aim should be thy heart. — The vow I made, 
 Amid the hellish torments of that moment, 
 I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it. 
 
 Thou art my lord, my Emperor's delegate ; 
 Yet would the Emperor not have stretch 'd his powei 
 So far as thou. — He sent thee to these Cantons 
 To deal forth law — stern law — for he is anger'd ; 
 But not to wanton with unbridled will 
 In every cruelty, with fiend-like joy : — 
 There is a God to punish and avenge. 
 
 Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, 
 My precious jewel now, — my chiefest treasure — 
 A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of grief 
 Could never penetrate, — but thou shalt pierce it.— 
 And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft 
 Has served me faithfully in sportive scenes, 
 
tfC. Ill WILHELM TELL 531 
 
 Desert me not in this most serious hour — 
 Only be true this once, my own good cord, 
 That hast so often wing'd the biting shaft : — 
 For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand^ 
 I have no second to send after thee. 
 
 [Travellers pass over the stage 
 
 I'll sit me down upon this bench of stone, 
 Hewn for the way-worn traveller's brief repose — 
 For here there is no home. — Each hurries by 
 The other, with quick step and careless look, 
 Nor stays to question of his grief. — Here goes 
 The merchant, full of care, — the pilgrim, next, 
 With slender scrip, — and then the pious monk, 
 The scowling robber, and the jovial player, 
 The carrier with his heavy-laden horse, 
 That comes to us from the far haunts of men ; 
 For every road conducts to the world's end. 
 They all push onwards — every man intent 
 On his own several business — mine is murder. 
 
 [Sits down 
 
 Time was, my dearest children, when with joy 
 You hail'd your father's safe return to home 
 From his long mountain toils ; for, when he came, 
 He ever brought some little present with him. 
 A lovely x\lpine flower — a curious bird — 
 Or elf-boat, found by wanderer on the hills. — 
 But now he goes in quest of other game : 
 In the wild pass he sits, and broods on murder ; 
 And watches for the life-blood of his foe. — 
 But still his thoughts are fixed on you alone, 
 Dear children. — 'Tis to guard your innocence, 
 To shield you from the tyrant's fell revenge, 
 He bends his bow to do a deed of blood ! [Rises 
 
 Well — I am watching for a noble prey — 
 Does not the huntsman, with severest toil, 
 Boam for whole days, amid the winter's cold, 
 Leap with a daring bound from rock to rock, — 
 And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which 
 His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood— 
 
 m m 2 
 
532 
 
 WILHELM TELL. 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Stussi. 
 
 Tell. 
 
 Stussi. 
 
 Tell. 
 
 Stussi. 
 
 Tell. 
 Stussi. 
 
 And all this but to gain a wretched cnamois 
 A far more precious prize is now my aim — 
 The heart of that dire foe, who would destroy me. 
 [Sprightly music heard in the distance, which comes 
 gradually nearer. 
 From my first years of boyhood I have used 
 The bow — been practised in the archer's feats ; 
 The bull's eye many a time my shafts have hit, 
 And many a goodly prize have I brought home, 
 Won in the games of skill. — This day I'll make 
 My master- shot, and win the highest prize 
 Within the whole circumference of the mountains. 
 [A marriage train passes over the stage, and goes 
 up the pass. Tell gazes at it, leaning on his 
 bow. He is joined by Stussi the Ranger. 
 
 There goes the bridal party of the steward 
 Of Morlischachen's cloister. He is rich ! 
 And has some ten good pastures on the Alps. 
 He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee, 
 There will be revelry to-night at Kiissnacht. 
 Come with us — ev'ry honest man's invited. 
 A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast. 
 If grief oppress you, dash it from your heart I 
 Bear with your lot. The times are heavy now,' 
 And we must snatch at pleasure while we can. 
 Here 'tis a bridal, there a burial. 
 And oft the one treads close upon the other. 
 So runs the world at present. Everywhere 
 W T e meet with woe and misery enough. 
 There's been a slide of earth in Glarus, and 
 A whole side of the Glarnisch has fallen in. 
 Strange ! And do even the hills begin to totter ? 
 There is stability for nought on earth. 
 Strange tidings, too, we hear from other parts. 
 I spoke with one but now, that came from Baden, 
 Who said a knight was on his way to court, 
 And, as he rode along, a swarm of wasps 
 Surrounded him, and settling on his horse, 
 So fiercely stung the beast, that it fell dead, 
 And he proceeded to the court on foot. 
 
SC III.] WILHELM TELL 533 
 
 Tell. Even the weak are furnish'd with a sting. 
 
 Armgart {enters with several children, and places herself at the 
 
 entrance of the pass). 
 Stussi. Tis thought to bode disaster to the country, — 
 
 Some horrid deed against the course of nature. 
 Tell. Why, every day brings forth such fearful deeds ; 
 
 There needs no miracle to tell their coming. 
 Stussi. Too true! He's bless'd, who tills- his field in peace, 
 
 And sits untroubled by his own fireside. 
 Tell. The very meekest cannot rest in quiet, 
 
 Unless it suits with his ill neighbour's humour. 
 
 [Tell looks frequently with restless expectation to- 
 wards the top of the pass. 
 Stussi. So fare you well ! You're waiting some one here ? 
 Tell. I am. 
 Stussi. A pleasant meeting with your friends ! 
 
 You are from Uri, are you not ? His grace 
 
 The governor s expected thence to-day. 
 Traveller (entering). 
 
 Look not to see the governor to-day. 
 
 The streams are flooded by the heavy rains, 
 
 And all the bridges have been swept away. 
 
 [Tell rises. 
 Armgart (coming forward). 
 
 The Viceroy not arriv'd ? 
 Stussi. And do you seek him ? 
 
 Arm. . . Alas, I do ! 
 Stussi. But why thus place yourself 
 
 Where you obstruct his passage down the pass ? 
 Arm. . . Here he cannot escape me. He must hear me. 
 Friess. (coming hastily down the pass, and calls upon the stage). 
 
 Make way, make way ! My lord, the governor, 
 
 Is coming down on horseback close behind me. 
 
 [Exit Tell. 
 Abmgart (with animation). 
 
 The Viceroy comes ! 
 
 [She goes towards ine pass with her children. 
 Gessler and Rudolph der Harras appear 
 upon the heights on horseback. 
 Stussi (to Friesshardt). How got ye through the stream, 
 
 When all the bridges have been carried down ? 
 
534 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IV. 
 
 Fkiess. We've battled with the billows ; ar d, my friend, 
 An Alpine torrent's nothing after that. 
 
 Stussi. How ! Were you out, then, in that dreadful storm ? 
 
 Friess. Ay, that we were ! I shall not soon forget it. 
 
 Stussi. Stay, speak — 
 
 Friess. I cannot. I must to the castle, 
 
 And tell them, that the governors at hand. [Exit. 
 
 Stussi. If honest men, now, had been in the ship, 
 
 It had gone down with every soul on board : — 
 Some folks are proof 'gainst fire and water both. 
 
 [Looking round. 
 Where has the huntsman gone, with whom I spoke ? 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Enter Gessler and Rudolph der Harras on horseback. 
 
 Gessl. Say what you please ; I am the Emperor's servant, 
 And my first care must be to do bis pleasure. 
 He did not send me here to fawn and cringe 
 And coax these boors into good humour. No ! 
 Obedience he must have. We soon shall see, 
 If king or peasant is to lord it here ? 
 Arm. . , Now is the moment ! Now for my petition * 
 Gessl. 'Twas not in sport that 1 set up the cap 
 
 In Altdorf — or to try the people's hearts — 
 All this I knew before. I set it up 
 That they might learn to bend those stubborn necks 
 They carry far too proudly — and 1 placed 
 What well I knew their eyes could never brook 
 Full in the road, which they perforce must pass, 
 That, when their eye fell on it, they might call 
 That lord to mind whom they too much forget 
 Har. . . But surely, sir, the people have some rights — 
 Gessl. This is no time to settle what they are. 
 
 Great projects are at work, and hatching now. 
 The Imperial house seeks to extend its power. 
 Those vast designs of conquest, which the sire 
 Has gloriously begun, the son will end. 
 This petty nation is a stumbling-block — 
 One way or other, it must be subjected. 
 
 [They are about to pass on. Armgart throws 
 herself down before Gessler 
 
SC III.] WILHELM TELL. 53t, 
 
 Arm. . Mercy, lord governor ! Oh, pardon, pardon ! 
 
 Gessl. Why do you cross me on the public road ? 
 Stand back, I say. 
 
 Armgart. My husband lies in prison ; 
 
 My wretched orphans cry for bread. Have pity, 
 Pity, my lord, upon our sore distress ! 
 Bar. . . Who are you, woman ; and who is your husband ? 
 
 A rm. . . A poor wild-hay-man of the Rigiberg, 
 
 Kind sir, who on the brow of the abyss, 
 
 Mows down the grass from steep and craggy shelves.. 
 
 To which the very cattle dare not climb. 
 
 Harras (to Gessler). 
 
 By Heaven ! a sad and miserable life ! 
 
 I prithee, give the wretched man his freedom. 
 
 How great soever his offence may be, 
 
 His horrid trade is punishment enough. 
 
 [To Armgart, 
 You shall have justice. To the castle bring 
 Your suit. This is no place to deal with it. 
 
 Arm. . . No, no, I will not stir from where I stand, 
 Until your grace restore my husband to me. 
 Six months already has he been in prison, 
 And waits the sentence of a judge in vain. 
 
 Gessl. How ! would you force me, woman ? Hence ! Begone ! 
 
 Arm. . . Justice, my lord ! Ay, justice ! Thou art judge : 
 The deputy of the Emperor — of Heaven. 
 Then do thy duty, — as thou hopest for justice 
 From Him who rules above, show it to us ! 
 
 Gessl. Hence, drive this daring rabble from my sight ! 
 
 Armgart [seizing his horses reins). 
 
 No, no, by Heaven, I've nothing more to lose. — 
 Thou stirr'st not, Viceroy, from this spot, until 
 Thou dost me fullest justice. Knit thy brows, 
 And roll thy eyes — I fear not. Our distress 
 Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care 
 No longer for thine anger. 
 
 Gessler. Woman, hence ! 
 
 Give way, I say, or I will ride thee down. 
 
 Arm. . . Well, do so — there— 
 
 [Throws her children and herself upon the gro una 
 before him. 
 
536 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IT. 
 
 Here on the ground I lie, 
 I and my children. Let the wretched orphans 
 Be trodden by thy horse into the dust ! 
 It will not be the worst, that thou hast done. 
 Hab. . . Are you mad, woman ? 
 Armgart (continuing with vehemence). 
 
 Many a day thou hast 
 Trampled the Emperors lands beneath thy feet. 
 Oh, I am but a woman ! Were I man, 
 I'd find some better thing to do, than here 
 Lie grovelling in the dust. 
 
 [The music of the wedding party is again heaid 
 from the top of the pass, but more softly. 
 Gessler. Where are my knaves ? 
 
 Drag her away, lest I forget myself, 
 And do some deed I may repent hereafter. 
 Har. . ♦ My lord, the servants cannot force a passage : 
 
 The pass is block'd up by a marriage party. 
 Gessl. Too mild a ruler am I to this people, 
 
 Their tongues are all too bold — nor have they yet 
 Been tamed to due submission, as they shall be. 
 I must take order for the remedy ; 
 I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs, 
 And crush the Soul of Liberty within them. 
 Ill publish a new law throughout the land ; 
 I will— 
 
 [An arrow pierces him, — he puts his hand on his 
 heart, and is about to sink — with a feeble voice, 
 Oh God, have mercy on my soul ! 
 Har. . . My lord ! my lord ! Oh God ! What's this ? Whence 
 
 came it ? 
 Armgart (starts up). 
 
 Dead, dead ! He reels, he falls ! 'Tis in his heart i 
 H arras {springs from his horse). 
 
 This is most horrible ! Oh Heavens ! sir knight, 
 Address yourself to God and pray for mercy, — 
 You are a dying man. 
 Gessler. That shot was Tell's 
 
 [He slides from his horse into the arms of Ku 
 dolph der Harras, who lays him down upon 
 the bench. Tell appears above upon the rocks 
 
850 III.] WILHELM TELL. 537 
 
 Tell. Thou know'st the archer, seek no other hand. 
 Our cottages are free, and innocence 
 Secure from thee : thoult be our curse no more. 
 
 [Tell disappears. People rush in. 
 Stussi What is the matter ? Tell me what has happen'd ? 
 Arm. . . The governor is shot, — kill'd by an arrow ! 
 People (running in). 
 
 Who has been shot ? 
 
 [While the foremost of the marriage party an 
 coming on the stage, the hindmost are still upon 
 the heights. The music continues. 
 Habeas. He's bleeding fast to death. 
 
 Away, for help— pursue the murderer ! 
 Unhappy man, is't thus that thou must die ? 
 Thou wouldst not heed the warnings that I gave 
 thee ! 
 Stussi. By Heaven, his cheek is pale ! His life ebbs fast. 
 Many Voices. 
 
 Who did the deed ? 
 Habeas. What ! Are the people mad, 
 
 That they make music to a murder ? Silence ! 
 
 [Music breaks off suddenly. People continue to 
 flock in. 
 Speak, if thou canst, my lord. Hast thou no charge 
 To intrust me with ? 
 
 [Gessler makes signs with his hand, which hs 
 repeats with vehemence, when he finds they art 
 not understood. 
 
 What would you have me do k ? 
 Shall I to Kiissnacht ? I can't guess your meaning. 
 Do not give way to this impatience. Leave 
 All thoughts of earth, and make your peace with 
 Heaven. 
 [The whole marriage party gather round tht 
 dying man. 
 Stussi. See there ! how pale he grows ! Death's gathering 
 now 
 About his heart ; — his eyes grow dim and glazed. 
 Armgaet (holds up a child). 
 
 Look, children, how a tyrant dies ! 
 
538 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IV 
 
 Harras. Mad hag ! 
 
 Have you no touch of feeling, that you look 
 On horrors such as these, without a shudder? 
 Help me — take hold. What, will not one assist 
 To pull the torturing arrow from his breast ? 
 Women. We touch the man whom God's own hand has struck : 
 Har. . . All curses light on you ! [Draws his sword. 
 
 Stussi [seizes his arm). Gently, sir knight! 
 
 Your power is at an end. 'Twere best forbear. 
 Our country's foe is fallen. We will brook 
 No further violence. We are free men. 
 All. The country's free ! 
 
 Harras. And is it come to this? 
 
 Fear and obedience at an end so soon ? 
 
 [To the soldiers of the guard, who are thronging in. 
 You see, my friends, the bloody piece of work 
 They've acted here. 'Tis now too late for help, 
 And to pursue the murderer were vain. 
 New duties claim our care. Set on to Kussnacht, 
 And let us save that fortress for the king ! 
 For in an hour like this, all ties of order, 
 Fealty and faith, are scatter 'd to the winds. 
 No man's fidelity is to be trusted. 
 
 [As he is going out with the soldiers, six Fratres 
 Misericordle appear. 
 Arm. . . Here come the brotherhood of mercy. Room ! 
 Stussi. The victim's slain, and now the ravens stoop. 
 Brothers of Mercy (form a semicircle round the body, and 
 sing in solemn tones). 
 With hasty step death presses on, 
 
 Nor grants to man a moment's stay, 
 He falls ere half his race be run, 
 
 In manhood s pride is swept away ■ 
 Prepar'd, or unprepar'd, to die, 
 He stands before his Judge on high. 
 
 [While they are repeating the two last dues, the 
 curtain falls. 
 
SO. I.] 
 
 WILHELM TELL. 
 
 53^ 
 
 ACT V, 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 A common near Altdorf. In the background to the right the 
 Keep of Uri, with the scaffold still standing, as in the Third 
 Scene of the first Act. To the left, the view opens upon nu- 
 merous mountains, on all of which signal fires are burning. 
 Day is breaking, and bells are heard ringing from various 
 distances. 
 
 Ruodi, Kuoni, Werni, Master Mason, and many other 
 
 country people, also women and children. 
 Ruodi. Look at the fiery signals on the mountains ! 
 Mason. Hark to the bells above the forest there ! 
 Ruodi. The enemy's expelled. 
 Mason. The forts are taken. 
 
 Ruodi. And we of Uri, do we still endure 
 
 Upon our native soil, the tyrant's Keep ? 
 
 Are we the last to strike for liberty ? 
 Mason. Shall the yoke stand, that was to bow our necks ? 
 
 Up ! Tear it to the ground ! 
 All. Down, down with it I 
 
 Ruodi. Where is the Stier of Uri? 
 
 Uri. . . Here. What would ye ? 
 
 Ruodi. Up to your tower, and wind us such a blast, 
 
 As shall resound afar, from hill to hill ; 
 
 Rousing the echoes of each peak and glen, 
 
 And call the mountain men in haste together! 
 
 [Exit Stier of Uri — enter Walter Furst 
 Furst. Stay, stay, my friends ! As yet we have not learn'd 
 
 What has been done in Unterwald and Schwytz. 
 
 Let's wait till we receive intelligence ! 
 Ruodi. Wait, wait for what? The accursed tyrant's dead, 
 
 And the bright day of liberty has dawn'd ! 
 Mason. How ! Do these flaming signals not suffice, 
 
 That blaze on every mountain top around? 
 Ruodi. Come all, fall to — come, men and women, all ! 
 
 Destroy the scaffold ! Tear the arches down ! 
 
 Down with the walls , let not a stone remain ! 
 Mason. Come, comrades, come ! We built it, and we know 
 
 How best to hurl it down 
 
340 WILHELM TELL. ACT 7 
 
 All. Come ! Down with it ! 
 
 [They fall upon the building at every side. 
 
 Furst The floodgate's burst They're not to be restrained. 
 [Enter Melchthal and Baumgarten. 
 
 Melch. What ! Stands the fortress still, when Sarnen lies 
 In ashes, and when Rossberg is a ruin ? 
 
 Furst. You, Melchthal, here ? D'ye bring us liberty? 
 Say, have you freed the country of the foe ? 
 
 Melch. We've swept them from the soil. Rejoice, my friend, 
 Now, at this very moment, while we speak, 
 There's not a tyrant left in Switzerland ! 
 
 Furst. How did you get the forts into your power? 
 
 Melch. Rudenz it was who with a gal] ant arm, 
 
 And manly daring, took the keep at Sarnen. 
 The Rossberg I had storm 'd the night before. 
 But hear, what chanced. Scarce had we driven the foe 
 Forth from the keep, and given it to the flames, 
 That now rose crackling upwards to the skies, 
 When from the blaze rush'd Diethelm, Gessler's page. 
 Exclaiming, " Lady Bertha will be burnt ! " 
 
 Furst. Good heavens ! 
 
 [The beams of the scaffold are heard falling. 
 
 Melch. 'Twas she herself. Here had she been 
 
 Immured in secret by the Viceroy's orders. 
 Rudenz sprang up in frenzy. For we heard 
 The beams and massive pillars crashing down, 
 And through the volumed smoke the piteous shrieks 
 Of the unhappy lady. 
 
 Furst. Is she saved ? 
 
 Melch. Here was a time for promptness and decision ! 
 Had he been nothing but our baron, then 
 We should have been most chary of our lives ; 
 But he was our confederate, and Bertha 
 Honour 'd the people. So, without a thought, 
 We risk'd the worst, and rush'd into the flames. 
 
 Furst. But is she saved ? 
 
 Melch. She is. Rudenz and I 
 
 Bore her between us from the blazing pile. 
 With crashing timbers toppling all around. 
 And when she had revived, the danger past, 
 And raised her eyes to meet the light of heaven, 
 
1.1 
 
 WILHELM TELL 
 
 541 
 
 The baron fell upon my breast ; and then 
 A silent vow of friendship pass'd between us — 
 A vow that, temper'd in yon furnace heat, 
 Will last through ev'ry shock of time and fate. 
 
 Furst. Where is the Landenberg? 
 
 Melch. Across the Briinig. 
 
 No fault of mine it was, that he, who quench 'd 
 My father s eyesight, should go hence unharm'd. 
 He fled — I followed — overtook and seized him, 
 And dragg'd him to my father's feet. The sword 
 Already quiver'd o'er the caitiff's head, 
 When at the entreaty of the blind old man, 
 I spared the life for which he basely pray'd. 
 He swore Urphede * , never to return : 
 He'll keep his oatn, for he has felt our arm. 
 
 Furst. Thank God, our victory's unstain'd by blood ! 
 
 Child pen [running across the stage with fragments of wood) 
 Liberty ! Liberty ! Hurrah, we're free ! 
 
 Furst. Oh ! what a joyous scene ! These children will, 
 E'en to their latest day, remember it. 
 
 [Girls bring in the cap upon a pole. The whoU 
 stage is filled with people. 
 
 Ruodi. Here is the cap, to which we were to bow ! 
 
 Baum. . Command us, how we shall dispose of it. 
 
 Furst. Heavens ! 'Twas beneath this cap my grandson stood ! 
 
 Several Voices. 
 
 Destroy the emblem of the tyrant's power ! 
 Let it be burnt ! 
 
 Furst. No. Eather be preserved ! 
 
 'Twas once the instrument of despots — now 
 'Twill be a lasting symbol of our freedom. 
 
 [Peasants, men, women, and children, some stand- 
 ing, others sitting upon the beams of the shat- 
 tered scaffold, all picturesquely grouped, in a 
 large semicircle. 
 
 Melch. Thus now, my friends, with light and merry hearts, 
 
 * The Urphede was an oath of peculiar force. When a man, who wa« 
 at feud with another, invaded his lands and was worsted, he often made 
 terms with his enemy by swearing the Urphede, by which he bound himseli 
 So depart, and never to return with a hostile intentipn. 
 
642 WILHELM TELL 
 
 1CT V 
 
 We stand upon the wreck of tyranny ; 
 , And gallantly have we fulfill 'd the oath, 
 
 Which we at Rootli swore, Confederates ! 
 Furst The work is but began. We must be firm. 
 
 For, be assured, the king will -nake all speed, 
 
 To avenge his Viceroy's death, and reinstate, 
 
 By force of arms, the tyrant we've expell'd. 
 Melch. Why let him come, with all his armaments ! 
 
 The foe within has fled before our arms ; 
 
 Well give him welcome warmly from without ! 
 Ruodi. The passes to the countiy are but few ; 
 
 And these we'll boldly cover with our bodies. 
 Baum. . We are bound by an indissoluble league, 
 
 And all his armies shall not make us quail. 
 
 [Enter Rosselmann and Stauffacher. 
 Rosselmann (speaking as he enters). 
 
 These are the awful judgments of the Lord ! 
 Peas. . What is the matter? 
 
 Rosselmann. In what times we live ! 
 
 Fukst. Say on, what is't? Ha, Werner, is it you? 
 
 What tidings ? 
 Peasant. What's the matter ? 
 
 Rosselmann. Hear and wonder ! 
 
 Stauff. We are released from one great cause of dread. 
 Rossel. The Emperor is murdered. 
 Furst. Gracious Heaven ! 
 
 [Peasants rise up and throng round Stauffacher 
 All. . . Murder'd the Emp'ror? What! The Emp'ror ! Hear! 
 Melch. Impossible ! How came you by the news ? 
 Stauff. 'Tis true ! Near Bruck, by the assassin's hand, 
 
 King Albert fell. A most trustworthy man, 
 
 John Miiller, from Schaffhausen, brought the news 
 Furst. Who dared commit so horrible a deed ? 
 Stauff. The doer makes the deed more dreadful still ; 
 
 It was his nephew, his own brother's child, 
 
 Duke John of Austria, who struck the blow. 
 Melch. What drove him to so dire a parricide ? 
 S tauff. The Emp'ror kept his patrimony back, 
 
 Despite his urgent importunities ; 
 
sIC l] W1LHELM TELL. 54S 
 
 Twas said, indeed, he never meant to give it, 
 But with a mitre to appease the duke. 
 However this may be, the duke gave ear 
 To the ill counsel of his friends in arms ; 
 And with the noble lords, Von Eschenbach, 
 Von Tegerfeld, Von Wart and Palm, resolved, 
 Since his demands for justice were despised, 
 With his own hands to take revenge at least. 
 
 Ft rst. But say, how eompass'd he the dreadful deed ? 
 
 S jauff. The king was riding down from Stein to Baden, 
 Upon his way to join the court at Kheinfeld, — 
 With him a train of high-born gentlemen, 
 And the young Princes John and Leopold. 
 And when they'd reach'd the ferry of the Reuss, 
 The assassins forced their way into the boat, 
 To separate the Emperor from his suite. 
 His highness landed, and was riding on 
 Across a fresh plough'd field — where once, they say, 
 A mighty city stood in Pagan times — 
 With Habsburg's ancient turrets full in sight, 
 Where all the grandeur of his line had birth — 
 When Duke John plunged a dagger in his throat, 
 Palm ran him thro' the body with his lance, 
 Eschenbach cleft his skull at one fell blow, 
 And down he sank, all weltering in his blood, 
 On his own soil, by his own kinsmen slain. 
 Those on the opposite bank, who saw the deed, 
 Being parted by the stream, could only raise 
 An unavailing cry of loud lament 
 But a poor woman, sitting by the way, 
 Raised him, and on her breast he bled to death. 
 
 Melch. Thus has he dug his own untimely grave, 
 Who sought insatiably to grasp at all. 
 
 Stauff. The country round is nll'd with dire alarm. 
 The mountain passes are blockaded all, 
 And sentinels on ev'ry frontier set; 
 E'en ancient Zurich barricades her gates, 
 That for these thiity years have open stood, 
 Dreading the murd'rers, and th' avengers more. 
 For cruel Agnes comes, the Hungarian queen, 
 
644 WILHELM TELL. [ACT V, 
 
 To all her sex's tenderness a stranger, 
 
 Arm'd with the thunders of the church, to wreak 
 
 Dire vengeance for her parent's royal blood, 
 
 On the whole race of those that murder'd him, — 
 
 Upon their servants, children, children's children, — 
 
 Nay, on the stones that build their castle walls. 
 
 Deep has she sworn a vow to immolate 
 
 Whole generations on her father's tomb, 
 
 And bathe in blood as in the dew of May 
 
 Melch. Know you which way the murderers have fled ? 
 
 Stauff. No sooner had they done the deed, than they 
 Took flight, each following a different route, 
 And parted, ne'er to see each other more. 
 Duke John must still be wand ring in the mountains, 
 
 Furst. And thus their crime has yielded them no fruits. 
 Kevenge is barren. Of itself it makes 
 The dreadful food it feeds on ; its delight 
 Is murder — its satiety despair. 
 
 Stauff. The assassins reap no profit by their crime ; 
 But we shall pluck with unpolluted hands 
 The teeming fruits of their most bloody deed. 
 For we are ransomed from our heaviest fear ; 
 The direst foe of liberty has fallen, 
 And, 'tis reported, that the crown will pass 
 From Habsburg s house into another line ; 
 The Empire is determined to assert 
 Its old prerogative of choice, I hear. 
 
 Fursi and several others. 
 
 Has any one been named to you ? 
 
 Stauffacher. ' The Count 
 
 Of Luxembourg is widely named already. — 
 
 Furst. 'Tis well we stood so staunchly by the Empire ! 
 Now we may hope for justice, and with cause 
 
 Stauff. The Emperor will need some valiant friends. 
 
 And he will shelter us from Austria's vengeance. 
 [The peasantry embrace. Enter Sacrist with im- 
 perial messenger. 
 
 Sacris. Here are the worthy chiefs of Switzerland I 
 
 Rosselmann and several others. 
 Sacrist, what news ? 
 
SC 1.] WILHELM TELL. D45 
 
 Sacristan. A courier brings this letter. 
 
 All (to Walter Furst). 
 Open and read it. 
 
 Furst (reading). " To the worthy men 
 
 Of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwald, the Queen 
 Elizabeth sends grace and all good wishes ! " 
 
 Many voices. 
 
 What wants the queen with us ? Her reign is douc 
 
 Furst (reads). 
 
 " In the great grief and doleful widowhood, 
 In which the bloody exit of her lord 
 Has plunged her majesty, she still remembers 
 The ancient faith and love of Switzerland." 
 
 Melch. She ne'er did that, in her prosperity. 
 
 Eossel. Hush, let us hear ! 
 
 Furst (peads). " And she is well assured, 
 
 Her people will in due abhorrence hold 
 The perpetrators of this damned deed. 
 On the three Cantons, therefore, she relies, 
 That they in nowise lend the murderers aid ; 
 But rather, that they loyally assist, 
 To give them up to the avenger's hand, 
 Bemembering the love and grace which they 
 Of old received from Eudolph's princely house." 
 [Symptoms of dissatisfaction among the peasantry 
 
 Many voices. 
 
 The love and grace ! 
 
 Stauff. Grace from the father we, indeed, received, 
 But what have we to boast of from the son ? 
 Did he confirm the charter of our freedom, 
 As all preceding emperors had done ? 
 Did he judge righteous judgment, or afford 
 Shelter, or stay, to innocence oppress 'd ? 
 Nay, did he e'en give audience to the envoys 
 We sent, to lay our grievances before him ? 
 Not one of all these things e'er did the king. 
 And had we not ourselves achieved our rights 
 By resolute valour, our necessities 
 Had never touch'd him. Gratitude to him ! 
 Within these vales he sowed not gratitude 
 He stood upon an eminence — he might 
 
 N N 
 
546 WILHELM TELL. [ACT V 
 
 Have been a very father to his people, 
 But all his aim and pleasure was to raise 
 Himself and his own house : and now may those 
 Whom he has aggrandized, lament for him ! 
 
 Fuest We will not triumph in his fall, nor now 
 
 Recall to mind the wrongs we have endured. 
 Far be't from us ! Yet, that we should avenge 
 The sovereign's death, who never did us good, 
 And hunt down those who ne'er molested us, 
 Becomes us not, nor is our duty. Love 
 Must bring its offerings free, and unconstrain'd ; 
 From all enforced duties death absolves — 
 And unto him we are no longer bound. 
 
 Melch. And if the queen laments within her bower, 
 Accusing Heaven in sorrow's wild despair ; 
 Here see a people, from its anguish freed, 
 To that same Heav'n send up its thankful praise. 
 For who would reap regrets, must sow affection. 
 
 [Exit the Imperial Courier 
 
 Stauffacher (to the people). 
 
 But where is Tell ? Shall he, our freedom's founder, 
 
 Alone be absent from our festival ? 
 
 He did the most — endured the worst of all. 
 
 Come — to his dwelling let us all repair, 
 
 And bid the Saviour of our country hail ! 
 
 [Exeunt omnes 
 
 Scene II 
 
 Interior of Tell's cottage. A fire burning on the hearth 
 The open door shows the scene outside. 
 
 Hedwig, Walter, and Wilhelm. 
 
 Hedw. Boys, dearest boys ! your father comes to-day 
 He lives, is free, and we, and all are free ! 
 The country owes its liberty to him ! 
 
 Walt. And I, too, mother, bore my part in it ; 
 
 I shall be named with him. My father's shaft 
 Went closely by my life, but yet I shook not! 
 
 Hedwig (embracing him). 
 
 Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again ! 
 
gC. II ] WILHELM TELL 547 
 
 Twice have I given thee birth, — twice suffer'd all 
 
 A mother's agonies for thee, my child ! 
 
 But this is past — I have you both, boys, both ! 
 
 And your dear father will be back to-day, 
 
 [A monk appears at the door 
 Wilh> See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar ; 
 
 He's asking alms, no doubt. 
 Hedwig. Go lead him in, 
 
 That we may give him cheer, and make him feel 
 
 That he has come into the house of joy. 
 
 [Exit, and returns immediately with a cup 
 Wilhelm (to the monk). 
 
 Come in, good man. Mother will give you food ! 
 Walt. Come in and rest, then go refresh 'd away ! 
 Monk (glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks). 
 
 Where am I ? In what country ? 
 Waltee. Have you lost 
 
 Your way, that you are ignorant of this ? 
 
 You are at Biirglen, in the land of Uri, 
 
 Just at the entrance of the Sheckenthal 
 Monk (to Hedwig). 
 
 Are you alone ? Your husband, is he here ? 
 Hedw. I momently expect him. But what ails you ? 
 
 You look as one whose soul is ill at ease. 
 
 Whoe'er you be, you are in want — take that 
 
 [Offers him the cup 
 Monk. Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food, 
 
 I will taste nothing till you've promised me — 
 Hedw. Touch not my dress, nor yet advance one step. 
 
 Stand off, I say, if you would have me hear you. 
 Monk. Oh, by this hearth's bright hospitable blaze, 
 
 By your dear children's heads, which I embrace — 
 
 [Grasps the boys 
 Hedw. Stand back, I say ! What is your purpose, man ? 
 
 Back from my boys ! You are no monk, — no, no. 
 
 Beneath that robe content arid peace should dwell, 
 
 But neither lives within that face of thine. 
 Monk. I am the veriest wretch that breathes on earth 
 Hedw The heart is never deaf to wretchedness ; 
 
 But thy look freezes up my inmost soul. 
 
 N N S 
 
548 WILHELM TELL. [ACT V 
 
 Walteb (springs up). 
 
 Mother, my father ! 
 Hedwig, Oh, my God ! 
 
 [Is about to follow, trembles and stops 
 Wilhelm (running after his brother). My father ! 
 
 Waltek (without). Thou'rt here once more ! 
 Wilhelm (without). My father, my dear father a 
 
 Tell (without). 
 
 Yes, here I am once more ! Where is your mother ? 
 
 [They entet 
 Walt. There at the door she stands, and can no further, 
 
 She trembles so with terror and with joy. 
 Tell Oh Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children ! 
 
 God has been kind and helpful in our woes. 
 
 No tyrant's hand shall e'er divide us more. 
 Hedwig (falling on his neck). 
 
 Oh, Tell, what have I suffer'd for thy sake ! 
 
 [Monk becomes attentive 
 Tell. Forget it now, and live for joy alone ! 
 
 I'm here again with you ! This is my cot ! 
 
 I stand again on mine own hearth ! 
 Wilhelm. But, father, 
 
 Where is your crossbow left ? I see it not 
 Tell. Nor shalt thou ever see it more, my boy. 
 
 It is suspended in a holy place, 
 
 And in the chase shall ne'er be used again 
 Hedw. Oh, Tell! Tell! 
 
 [Steps back, dropping his hand 
 Tell. What alarms thee, dearest wife ? 
 
 Hedw. How — how dost thou return to me ? This hand — 
 
 Dare I take hold of it ? This hand— Oh God ! 
 Tell (with firmness and animation). 
 
 Has shielded you and set my country free ; 
 
 Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven. 
 
 [Monk gives a sudden start~he looks at him 
 
 Who is this friar here ? 
 Hedwig. Ah, I forgot him 
 
 Speak thou with him ; I shudder at his presence 
 Monk (stepping nearer). 
 
 Are you that Tell that slew the governor ? 
 
SC. II.] W1LHELM TELL. 54G 
 
 Tell Yes, I am he. I hide the fact from no man. 
 
 Monk You are that Tell! Ah! it is God's own hand 
 That hath conducted me beneath your roof. 
 
 Tell (examining him closely). 
 
 You are no monk. Who are you ? 
 
 Monk You have slain 
 
 The governor, who did you wrong. I, too, 
 Have slain a foe, who late denied me justice. 
 He was no less your enemy than mine. 
 I've rid the land of him. 
 
 Tell (drawing hack). Thou art — oh, horror f 
 
 In — children, children — in without a word 
 Go, my dear wife ! Go ! Go ! Unhappy man, 
 Thou shouldst be 
 
 Hedwig, Heav'ns, who is it? 
 
 Tell. Do not ask 
 
 Away ! away ! the children must not hear it. 
 Out of the house — away ! Thou must not rest 
 'Neath the same roof with this unhappy man ! 
 
 Hedw. Alas ! What is it ? Come ! [Exit with the children 
 
 Tell (to the Monk). Thou art the Duke 
 
 Of Austria — I know it. Thou hast slain 
 The Emperor, thy uncle, and liege lord 
 
 John He robb'd me of my patrimony. 
 
 Tell. How ! 
 
 Slain him — thy king, thy uncle ! And the earth 
 Still bears thee ! And the sun still shines on thee ! 
 
 John. Tell, hear me, ere you 
 
 Tell. Keeking with the blood 
 
 Of him that was thy Emperor, and kinsman, 
 Durst thou set foot within my spotless house ? 
 Show thy fell visage to a virtuous man, 
 And claim the rites of hospitality ? 
 
 John I hoped to find compassion at your hands. 
 You also took revenge upon your foe ! 
 
 Tell. Unhappy man ! And dar'st thou thus confound 
 Ambition's bloody crime, with the dread act 
 To which a father's direful need impell'd him t 
 Hadst thou to shield thy children's darling heads? 
 To guard thy fireside's sanctuary — ward off 
 The last, worst doom from all that thou didst love? 
 
550 WILHELM TELL [ACT V. 
 
 To Heaven I raise my unpolluted hands, 
 To curse thine act and thee ! I have avenged 
 That holy nature which thou hast profaned. 
 1 have no part with thee. Thou art a murderer ; 
 I've shielded all that was most dear to me. 
 : John You cast me off to comfortless despair ! 
 
 Tell My blood runs cold ev'n while I talk with thee. 
 Away ! Pursue thine awful course ! Nor longer 
 Pollute the cot where innocence abides ! 
 
 [John turns to depart. 
 
 John I cannot live, and will no longer thus ! 
 
 Tell And yet my soul bleeds for thee — gracious Heaven ! 
 So young, of such a noble line, the grandson 
 Of Rudolph, once my lord and emperor, 
 An outcast — murderer — standing at my door, 
 The poor man's door — a suppliant, in despair ! 
 
 [Covers his face 
 
 John. If thou hast power to weep, oh let my fate 
 Move your compassion — it is horrible. 
 I am — say, rather was — a prince. I might 
 Have been most happy, had I only curb'd 
 Th' impatience of my passionate desires. 
 But envy gnaw'd my heart — I saw the youth 
 Of mine own cousin Leopold endow'd 
 With honour, and enrich 'd with broad domains, 
 The while myself, that was in years his equal, 
 Was kept in abject and disgraceful nonage. 
 
 Tell. Unhappy man, thy uncle knew thee well, 
 
 When he withheld both land and subjects from thee 
 
 Thou, by thy mad and desperate act hast set 
 
 A fearful seal upon his sage resolve. 
 
 Where are the bloody partners of thy crime? 
 
 John. Where'er the demon of revenge has borne them ; 
 I have not seen them since the luckless deed. 
 
 Tell Know'st thou the Empire's ban is out, — that th;>u 
 Art interdicted to thy friends, and given 
 An outlaw 'd victim to thine enemies ! 
 
 J ohn Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares, 
 And venture not to knock at any door — 
 I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through 
 The mountains roam, a terror to myself. 
 
SC 12.] WTLHEIM TELL 551 
 
 From mine own self I shrink with horror back, 
 Should a chance "brook reflect my ill-starr'd form 
 
 If thou hast pity for a fellow mortal 
 
 [Falls down before him. 
 
 Tell Stand up, stand up ! 
 
 John. Not till thou shalt extend 
 
 Thy hand in promise of assistance to me. 
 
 Tet l Can I assist thee ? Can a sinful man ? 
 
 Yet get thee up — how black soe'er thy crime, — 
 Thou art a man. I, too, am one. From Tell 
 Shall no one part uncomforted. I will 
 Do all that lies within my power. 
 
 Duke John (springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand). 
 
 Oh, Tell, 
 You save me from the terrors of despair. 
 
 Tell. Let go my hand ! Thou must away. Thou canst not 
 Remain here undiscover'd, and discover 'd, 
 Thou canst not count on succour. Which way, then, 
 Wilt bend thy steps ? Where dost thou hope to find 
 A place of rest ? 
 
 Duke John. Alas ! alas ! I know not. 
 
 Tell. Hear, then, what Heaven suggesteth to my heart, 
 Thou must to Italy, — to Saint Peter's City — 
 There cast thyself at the Pope's feet, — confess 
 Thy guilt to him, and ease thy laden soul ! 
 
 John But will he not surrender me to vengeance ? 
 
 Tell. Whate'er he does, receive as God's decree. 
 
 John But how am I to reach that unknown land ? 
 
 I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not 
 Attach myself to other travellers. 
 
 Tell. I will describe the road, and mark me well ! 
 You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss, 
 Which from the mountains dashes wildly down. 
 
 Duke John (in alarm). 
 
 What ! See the Reuss ? The witness of my deed ! 
 
 Tell. The road you take lies through the river's gorge, 
 And many a cross proclaims where travellers 
 Have perish 'd 'neath the avalanche's fall. 
 
 John. I have no fear for nature's terrors, so 
 I can appease the torments of my soul. 
 
 Tell At every cross, kneel down and expiate 
 
552 WILHELM TELL ^ACT V. 
 
 Your crime with burning penitential tears — 
 And if you 'scape the perils of the pass, 
 And are not whelm'd beneath the drifted snows, 
 That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down, 
 You'll reach the bridge, that hangs in drizzling spray 
 Then if it yield not 'neath your beavy guilt, 
 When you have left it safely in your rear, 
 Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks, 
 Where never sun did shine Proceed through this 
 And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale. 
 Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps, 
 For in the haunts of peace you must not linger 
 
 John Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire ! thus 
 
 Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms ! 
 
 Tell. Ascending still, you gain the Gotthardt's heights 
 On which the everlasting lakes repose, 
 That from the streams of Heaven itself are fed, 
 There to the German soil you bid farewell ; 
 And thence, with rapid course, another stream 
 Leads you to Italy, your promised land. 
 
 [Ra7iz des V aches sounded on Alp-horns is heard 
 without 
 But I hear voices ! Hence ! 
 
 Hedwig (hurrying in) Where art thou, TeL ? 
 
 Our father comes, and in exulting bands 
 All the confederates approach. 
 
 Duke John (covering himself). Woe's me ! 
 
 I dare not tarry 'mid this happiness ! 
 
 Tell Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat. 
 
 Spare not your bounty. For his road is long, 
 And one where shelter will be hard to find 
 Quick ! they approach. 
 
 Hedwig. Who is he ? 
 
 Tell. Do not ask! 
 
 And when he quits thee, turn thine eyes away, 
 That they may not behold the road he takes. 
 
 [Duke John advances hastily towards Tell, but 
 he beckons him aside and exit. When both 
 have left the stage, the scene changes, and dis 
 closes in 
 
SC III.] WILHELM TELL. 55S 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The whole valley before Tell's house, the heights which enclose 
 it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are 
 seen crossing a lofty bridge, which crosses the Shechen. 
 Walter Furst with the two boys. Werner and Statjf 
 facher come forward. Others throng after them. When 
 Tell appears, all receive him with loud cheers. 
 
 All. Long live brave Tell, our shield, our liberator. 
 
 [While those in front are crowding round Tell, 
 and embracing him, Rudenz and Bertha ap- 
 pear. The former salutes the peasantry, tlie 
 latter embraces Hedwig. The music from the 
 mountains continues to play. When it has 
 stopped, Bertha steps into the centre of tlie 
 crowd. 
 Berth Peasants ! Confederates ! Into your league 
 Receive me here, that happily am the first 
 To find protection in the land of freedom. 
 To your brave hands I now entrust my rights. 
 Will you protect me as your citizen ? 
 Peas. Ay, that we will, with life and fortune both ! 
 Berth. 'Tis well ! And to this youth I give my hand. 
 
 A free Swiss maiden to a free Swiss man ! 
 Rud. . . And from this moment all my serfs are free ! 
 
 [Music and the curtain falls 
 
 the end. 
 
 PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 
 AND CHARING CROSS. 
 
FEBS 
 
 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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