Wallenstein/The Piccolomini/A2S04

by Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller

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 Tertsky!

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,
O! 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 dar'd not but be silent. And those brilliants,
That like a crown of stars enwreath'd your brows,
They scar'd me too! O wherefore, wherefore should he
At the first meeting spread as 'twere the bann
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 splendour
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 liv'd 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 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?
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 e'en 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.

He 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.

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 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 seem'd to come from them.
'These are the planets,' said that low old man,
'They govern worldly fates, and for that cause
Are imag'd 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,
And that was Venus, the bright star of joy.
On 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 fide I saw the Sun and Moon.

MAX.

O 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 '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 their haunts in dale, or piny mountain,
Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,
Or chasms and wat'ry depths; all these have vanish'd.
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,
^[1]Spirits or gods, that us'd to share this earth
With man as with their friend; and to the lover
Yonder 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 every thing 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 full 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 twin'd, 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 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.

Oh, that the sword could win her!

COUNTESS.

What was that?

Did you hear nothing? Seem'd as if I heard
Tumult and larum in the banquet-room.
[Exit Countess.

1. No more of talk, where god or angel guest
   With man, as with his friend familiar, us'd
   To sit indulgent.paradise lost, b. ix.