SCENE VII. Countess (returns), Thekla. Coun. 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 Thek. (rising) And what mean you? Coun. I mean, niece, that you should not have for gotten Who you are, and who he is. But perchance That never once occurr'd to you. Coun. That you're the daughter of the Prince-duke Friedland. Thek. Well-and what farther? Coun. What? a pretty question! Thek. He was born that which we have but become. He's of an ancient Lombard family, Son of a reigning princess. Coun. Are you dreaming? Talking in sleep? An excellent jest, forsooth! We shall, no doubt, right courteously entreat him To honour with his hand the richest heiress In Europe. Thek. That will not be necessary. Coun. Methinks 'twere well tho' not to run the hazard. Thek. His father loves him, Count Octavio Will interpose no difficulty Coun. His! His father! his! But your's, niece, what of your's? His father, his, I mean. Coun. (looks at her, as scrutinizing) Niece, you are false. Thek. Are you then wounded? O, be friends with me! Coun. You hold your game for won already. Do not Triumph too soon! Thek. (interrupting her, and attempting to sooth her) Nay now, be friends with me. Coun. It is not yet so far gone. Coun. Did you suppose your father had laid out Had banish'd slumber from his tent, devoted That chanc'd to please your eyes! All this, methinks, Thek. That which he did not plant for me, might yet Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord. Will but prepare the joys of life for me Coun. Thou seest it with a lovelorn maiden's eyes. S 1 Here is no splendour but of arms. Or think'st thou Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling, But she performs the best part, she the wisest, And what must be, take freely to her heart, Thek. Such ever was my lesson in the convent. I had no loves, no wishes, knew myself Only as his-his daughter-his, the Mighty! Coun. That is thy fate. Mould thou thy wishes to it. I and thy mother gave thee the example. Thek. My fate hath shown me him, to whom behoves it That I should offer up myself. In gladness Him will I follow. Coun. Not thy fate hath shown him! Thy heart, say rather-'twas thy heart, my child! 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 infus'd a soul into me? Coun. Thou would'st oppose thy father then, should he Have otherwise determin'd with thy person? (Thekla remains silent. The Countess continues.) Thou mean'st to force him to thy liking?-Child, His name is Friedland. Thek. My name too is Friedland. Dear child, He shall have found a genuine daughter in me. [Exit Countess. Thek. (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! Beam on this covenant of our affections. This is no theatre, where hope abides. The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here. (The music from the banquet room becomes louder.) [Exit Thekla. *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-wüthend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude |