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_ ACT III
SCENE I.
[A Small Chamber.]
[ILLO and TERZKY.]
TERZKY.
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,
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 be presented to them for perusal
Before the banquet. No one will find in it
Cause of offence or scruple. Hear now further!
After the feast, when now the vapering 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 tricked 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
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 slipped 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----
TERZKY.
Ah! 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 heaven.
ILLO.
O that it might take place
On earth! The generals are full of zeal,
And would with ease be led to anything
Rather 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 ardor of pursuit thou knowest
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 pardoned,
The force of circumstances will lead him onward
The farther still and farther. 'Tis the choice
That makes him undecisive--come but need,
And all his powers and wisdom will come with it.
TERZKY.
'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?
TERZKY.
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,
You 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.
COUNTESS.
I take it on me.
[Talking to herself while she is advancing.]
Here's no heed of full powers and commissions;
My cloudy duke! we understand each other--
And without words. What could I not unriddle,
Wherefore the daughter should be sent for hither,
Why first he, and no other should be chosen
To fetch her hither? This sham of betrothing her
To a bridegroom [9], 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.
[FOOTNOTE 9:
In Germany, after honorable addresses have been paid
and formally accepted, the lovers are called bride and
bridegreoom, even though the marriage should not take
place till years afterwards.]
SERVANT (enters).
The commanders!
[Exit.]
TERZKY (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 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----
COUNTESS.
A truce with your precautions!
[Exeunt TERZKY and ILLO.]
SCENE III.
[COUNTESS, MAX. PICCOLOMINI.]
MAX.
(peeping in on the stage slyly).
Aunt Terzky! may I venture?
[Advances to the middle of the stage,
and looks around him with uneasiness.]
She's not here!
Where is she?
COUNTESS.
Look but somewhat narrowly
In yonder corner, lest perhaps she lie
Concealed behind that screen.
MAX.
There lie her gloves!
[Snatches at them, but 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?
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.
O 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 vanished to? There was a time
When even, methought, with such a world as this,
I was not discontented. Now how flat!
How stale! No life, no bloom, no flavor in it!
My comrades are intolerable to me.
My father--even to him I can say nothing.
My arms, my military duties--O!
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 favor
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,
I 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,
Oppressed and stifled me. I gasped for air--
I could not breathe--I was constrained 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," [10]
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 splendor, 'mid ecstatic worshippers;
Yet, still it moved me not! and now at once
Was my devotion cloudless as my love.
[FOOTNOTE 10:
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 Himmelspforte.]
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?
MAX.
'Twas at that hunting-castle, betwixt here
And Nepomuck, where you had joined 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 safeguard which the duke had sent us--heavy;
The inquietude of parting lay upon me,
And trembling ventured 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 faltered. 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 remains
standing, observed by the COUNTESS, but not by PICCOLOMINI.]
With instant boldness
I caught her in my arms, my lips touched hers;
There was a rustling in the room close by;
It parted us--'Twas you. What since has happened
You know.
COUNTESS
(after a pause, with a stolen glance at THEKLA).
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 stepped into the room, and found my niece there;
What she in this first moment of the heart
Taken with surprise----
MAX.
(with eagerness).
Well?
SCENE IV.
[THEKLA (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 stayed 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 played 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,
O! what an impulse felt I in that moment
To fall upon his neck, to call him father!
But his stern eye o'erpowered the swelling passion,
It dared not but be silent. And those brilliants,
That like a crown of stars enwreathed your brows,
They scared me too! O wherefore, wherefore should be
At the first meeting spread as 'twere the ban
Of excommunication round you,--wherefore
Dress up the angel as for sacrifice.
And cast upon the light and joyous heart
The mournful burden of his station? Fitly
May love dare woo for love; but such a splendor
Might none but monarchs venture to approach.
THEKLA.
Hush! not a word more of this mummery;
You see how soon the burden 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.
THEKLA.
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 men
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
The unalienable treasure. 'Tis a game,
Which, having once reviewed, 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;
And yet they all must give place to the wond
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 watched 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, opened me the doors.
MAX.
That is the duke's astrologer, old Seni.
THEKLA.
He questioned 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 wished
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.
COUNTESS.
Well, princess, and what found you in this tower?
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 stepped 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 seemed 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 armed 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,
Oh, that was Venus, the bright star of joy.
And the left hand, lo! Mercury, with wings
Quite in the middle glittered 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.
Oh, 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,
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 among 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 watery 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 [11], and to the lover
Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky
Shoot influence down: and even at this day
'This Jupiter who brings whate'er is great,
And Venus who brings everything that's fair!
[FOOTNOTE 11:
No more of talk, where god or angel guest
With man, as with his friend familiar, used
To sit indulgent. Paradise Lost, B. IX.]
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
And 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.
MAX.
Soon will this 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 remained for his great heart. Enough
Has he performed 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.
Oh, that the sword could win her!
COUNTESS.
What was that?
Did you hear nothing? Seemed as if I heard
Tumult and larum in the banquet-room.
[Exit COUNTESS.]
SCENE V.
[THEKLA and MAX. PICCOLOMINI.]
THEKLA
(as soon as the COUNTESS is out of sight,
in a quick, low 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.
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 fortune! 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 from 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
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.
O! 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
Clasped 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 heaven alone the love has been bestowed,
To heaven alone our gratitude is due;
It can work wonders for us still.
SCENE VI.
[To them enters the COUNTESS TERZKY.]
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.
Oh, not yet!
It has been scarce a moment.
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 asked 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. Fairwell, dear lady!
[THEKLA turns away from him with a quick motion.]
What say you then, dear lady?
THEKLA
(without looking at him).
Nothing. Go!
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; he presses
her fast to his heart.]
COUNTESS.
Off! Heavens! if any one should come!
Hark! What's that noise! It comes 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. [12]
[FOOTNOTE 12: 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 fortunate.
THEKLA (spielt and singt).
Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn,
Das Maegdlein wandelt an Ufers Gruen;
Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht,
Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht,
Das Auge von Weinen getruebet:
Das Herz is gestorben, die Welt ist leer,
Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr.
Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurueck,
Ich babe genossen das irdische Glueck,
Ich babe gelebt and geliebet.
LITERAL TRANSLATION.
THEKLA (plays and sings). The 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 sings out into the dark night, her eye discolored 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 favored me, and which appears to me to have caught the happiest manner of our old ballads:--
The clouds are blackening, the storms are threatening,
The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan!
Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching,
Thus in the dark night she singeth alone,
He eye upward roving:
The world is empty, the heart is dead surely,
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.]
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,
And so must be 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?
DUCHESS.
I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten
Who you are, and who he is. But perchance
That never once occurred to you.
THEKLA.
What then?
COUNTESS.
That you're the daughter of the Prince Duke Friedland.
THEKLA.
Well, and what farther?
DUCHESS.
What? A pretty question!
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 honor with his hand the richest heiress
In Europe.
THEKLA.
That will not be necessary.
COUNTESS.
Methinks 'twere well, though, not to run 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 scrutinizing).
Niece, you are false.
THEKLA.
Are you then wounded? O, be friends with me!
COUNTESS.
You hold your game for won already. Do not
Triumph too soon!
THEKLA
(interrupting her, and attempting to soothe her).
Nay now, be friends with me.
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,
Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss,
Had banished slumbers 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, methinks,
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 stepped,
For no espousals dost thou find the walls
Decked out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing;
Here is no splendor but of arms. Or thinkest 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;
Oh, 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,
Annexed 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.
THEKLA.
Such ever was my lesson in the convent.
I had no loves, no wishes, knew myself
Only as his--his daughter--his, the mighty!
His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me
From the far distance, weakened 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.
Faith 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 meanest 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 vanquished 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.
But this can never, never be his will,
That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes,
Shouldest e'er demean thee as a lovesick 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
evidently 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!
Oh, 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 armed 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,
I see it near, I see it nearer floating,
It draws, it pulls me with a godlike 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.
Oh, when a house is, doomed 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 firebrands at the burning edifice. [13]
[Exit THEKLA.]
[FOOTNOTE 13: There are few who will not have taste enough to laugh at the two concluding 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 German I have added the original:--
Blind-wuethend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude
Den Pechkranz in das brennende Gebaeude.] _
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