14
THE DEATH OF
Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong
Into her grave.
Into her grave.
DUCHESS.
How, Thekla? Humoursome?
What! shall thy father have express'd a wish
In vain?
How, Thekla? Humoursome?
What! shall thy father have express'd a wish
In vain?
COUNTESS.
Here is the lute.
Here is the lute.
THEKLA.
My God! how can I—
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.)
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! Oh, she is ill—
My child! Oh, she is ill—
WALLENSTEIN.
What ails the maiden?
Say, is she often so?
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.
Since then herself
Has now betray'd it, I too must no longer
Conceal it.
WALLENSTEIN.
What?
What?
COUNTESS.
She loves him!
She loves him!
WALLENSTEIN.
