I hold him all encompass'd by my list'ners. Whate'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doingNo step so small, but instantly I hear it;

Yea, his own mouth discloses it.

That I by lying arts, and complaisant
Hypocrisy, have skulk'd into his graces;
Or with the sustenance of smooth professions
Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No-
Compell'd alike by prudence, and that duty
Which we all owe our country, and our sovereign,
To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet
Never have I dup'd him with base counterfeits !
Ques. It is the visible ordinance of heaven.
Oct. 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 perform'd 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 in sudden growth. It was the morning
Before the memorable fight at Lützner.
Urg'd by an ugly dream, I sought him out,

To press him to accept another charger.
At distance from the tents, beneath a tree,

I found him in a sleep. When I had wak'd him,
And had related all my bodings to him,

Long time he star'd upon me, lake 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.

Ques. You led your son into the secret?

Oct.

No!

Ques. What? and not warn him either what bad hands His lot has plac'd him in?

Oct.
I must perforce
Leave him in wardship to his innocence.
His young and open soul-dissimulation
Is foreign to it's habits! Ignorance
Alone can keep alive the cheerful air,

The unembarrass'd sense and light free spirit,
That make the Duke secure.

Ques. (anxiously) My honour'd friend! most highly do
I deem

Of Colonel Piccolomini-yet-if

Max. Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father! (He embraces his father. As he turns round, he observes Questenberg, and draws back with a cold and reserved air.)

You are engag'd, I see. I'll not disturb you.

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

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

Aught good to our head quarters.

Ques. (seizing his hand)

Nay, draw not

Your hand away, Count Piccolomini !

Not on mine own account alone I seiz'd 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.

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.

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 contriv'd 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

Well for the whole, if there be found a man,
Who makes himself what nature destin'd him,

The pause, the central point of thousand thousands-
Stands fix'd 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. (to Questenberg) Hush! Suppress it friend! Unless some end were answer'd by the utterance.—

Of him there you'll make nothing.

Max. (continuing)

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 call'd him up.

Th' uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be
Like things of every day.-But in the field,
Aye, 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 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, tho' it winds,
Is yet no devious way. Straight forwards goes
The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path
Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid,
Shatt'ring that it may reach, and shatt'ring 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, tho' 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

Hath been thy education and thy school.

Peace hast thou never witness'd! 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 th' 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.