O! what a proclamation of our weakness,

Oct. 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!

Ques.
How shall we hold footing
Beneath this tempest, which collects itself
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.
Loosened, and rent asunder from the state
And from their sov'reign, the blind instrument
Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon
Of fearful power, which at his will he wields.

Oct. Nay, nay, friend! let us not despair too soon.
Men's words are over 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 knew 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 Galas have maintained
Their little army faithful to its duty.
And daily it becomes more numerous.

Nor can he take us by surprise you know,

I hold him all encompassed 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.

Ques.

"Tis quite

Incomprehensible, that he detects not
The foe so near!

Oct.

Beware you do not think

Oct.

I must venture it.

Hush-There he comes!

SCENE IV.

MAX. PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, QUESTENBERG. Max. Ha! There he is himself. Welcome, my father!

(He embraces his father. As he turns round he observes QUES TENBERG, and draws back with a cold and reserved air.) You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you.

Oct. How Max.? Look closer at this visitor; Attention, Max., an old friend merits-Reverence Belongs of right to the envoy of your sov'reign.

Max. (drily). Von Questenberg!-Welcome-if you bring with

you

Aught good to our headquarters.

Ques. (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.

Octavio-Max. Piccolomini!

(Taking the hands of both.)

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.

Max. Hey!-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.

Oct. (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 hammered 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 possessed 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

Well 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 Wallenstein; and if
Another better suits the Court-no other
But such a one as he can serve the army.
Ques. The army? Doubtless!

Oct. (aside to QUES.). Hush suppress it, friend!
Unless some end were answered by the utterance.—
Of him there you'll make nothing.

Max.

In their distress

They call a spirit up, and when he comes,

Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread him More than the ills for which they called 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
All that is great in nature, let it be
Likewise his privilege to move and act
In all the correspondencies of greatness.
The oracle within him, that which lives,
He must invoke and question-not dead books,
Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers.

Oct. My son! of those old narrow ordinances
Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights
Of priceless value, which oppressed 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 way. 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.

Ques. O hear your father, noble youth! hear him

Who is at once the hero and the man.

Oct. My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee! A war of fifteen years

Hatn been thy education and thy school.

Peace hast thou never witnessed! There exists

A 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 canvass, and at once

The whole scene moves and bustles momently,

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,

And the year's harvest is gone utterly.

Max. O let the Emperor make peace, my father! Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel

For the first violet* of the leafless spring,

Plucked in those quiet fields where I have journeyed!
Oct. What ails thee? what so moves thee all at once?
Max. Peace have I ne'er beheld? I have beheld it.
From thence am I come hither: O! 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 reached. 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,

In the original

Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb ich hin mit Freuden
Fur's erste Veilchen das der Merz ins bringt
Das duftige Pfand der neuverjüngten Erdo.