Is from Cassiopeia, and therein

Is Jupiter. (a pause.) But now

The blackness of the troubled element hides him! (He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance.)

Wal.

Coun. (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand.)

What art thou brooding on?

Methinks,

If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me.

He is the star of my nativity,

And often marvellously hath his aspect

Shot strength into my heart.

Coun.

Thou'lt see him again.

Wal. (remains for a while with absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly

to the Countess.)

See him again? O never, never again.

Coun. How?

Wal.

Coun.

He is gone-is dust.

Whom mean'st thou then?

Wal. He the more fortunate! yea, he hath finish'd! For him there is no longer any future—

His life is bright-bright without spot it was,
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
Knocks at his door with tidings of mis-hap.

Far off is he, above desire and fear;

No more submitted to the change and chance

Of the unsteady planets. O'tis well

With him! but who knows what the coming hour,

Veil'd in thick darkness, brings for us!

Coun.

Thou speakest

Of Piccolomini. What was his death?

The courier had just left thee, as I came.

(Wallenstein by a motion of his hand makes signs to her to be silent.)

Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view,

Let us look forward into sunny days.

Welcome with joyous heart the victory,

Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day,
For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead;
To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.

Wal. This anguish will be wearied down,* I know; What pang is permanent with man? From th' highest, As from the vilest thing of every day

He learns to wean himself; for the strong hours
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost

In him. The bloom is vanish'd from my life.
For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,
Transform'd for me the real to a dream,
Clothing the palpable and the familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn.
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils,
The beautiful is vanish'd-and returns not.

Coun. O be not treacherous to thy own power.

Thy heart is rich enough to vivify

Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him,

The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold.

Wal. (stepping to the door,) Who interrupts us now at this late hour?

It is the Governor. He brings the keys

* A very inadequate translation of the original.
"Verschmerzen werd ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,
Dennwas verschmerzte nicht der Mensch !"

LITERALLY.

I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious;
What does not man grieve down?

Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister!

Coun. O'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee— A boding fear possesses me!

Wal.

Fear? Wherefore?

Coun. Shouldst thou depart this night, and we at

Has long been weigh'd down by these dark forebodings.
And if I combat and repel them waking,

They still rush down upon my heart in dreams.
I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife

Sit at a banquet, gorgeously attir'd.

Wal. This was a dream of favourable omen, That marriage being the founder of my fortunes. Coun. To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee In thy own chamber. As I enter'd, lo!

It was no more a chamber, the Chartreuse

At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded,
And where it is thy will that thou should'st be

Interr'd.

Wal.

Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.

Coun. What dost thou not believe, that oft in dreams

A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us?

Wal. There is no doubt that there exist such voices.

Yet I would not call them

Voices of warning that announce to us
Only the inevitable. As the sun,
Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image
In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits
Of great events stride on before the events;
And in to-day already walks to-morrow.

That which we read of the fourth Henry's death,

Did ever vex aud haunt me like a tale
Of my own future destiny. The king
Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife,
Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith.
His quiet mind forsook him; the phantasma
Started him in his Louvre, chac'd him forth
Into the open air; like funeral knells

Sounded that coronation festival;

And still with boding sense he heard the tread
Of those feet, that ev'n then were seeking him
Throughout the streets of Paris.

I hasten'd after thee, and thou ran'st from me

Thro' a long suit, thro' many a spacious hall.

There seem'd no end of it-door creek'd and clapp'd ;
I follow'd panting, but could not o'ertake thee;
When on a sudden did I feel myself

Grasp'd from behind-the hand was cold, that grasp'd

me

'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seem'd A crimson covering to envelope us.

Wal. That is the crimson tap'stry of my chamber. Coun. (gazing on him,) If it should come to that-if I should see thee,

Who standest now before me in the fullness

Of life

(She falls on his breast and weeps.)

Wal. The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon theeAlphabets wound not-and he finds no hands.

Coun. If he should find them, my resolve is takenI bear about me my support and refuge.

Wal. I hear a boisterous music! and the Castle Is lighted up. Who are the revellers?

Gor. There is a banquet given at the Castle To the Count Tertsky, and Field Marshal Illo. Wal. In honour of the victory. This tribe Can show their joy in nothing else but feasting.

(Rings. The Groom of the Chamber enters.) Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep.

(Wallenstein takes the keys from Gordon.)

So we are guarded from all enemies,

And shut in with sure friends.

For all must cheat me, or a face like this

(Fixing his eye on Gordon.)

Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.

Wal.

(The Groom of the Chamber takes off his mantle, collar, and scarf.)

Take care-what is that?

Gro. of the Cham. The golden chain is snapp'd in two. Wal. Well, it has lasted long enough. Here-give it. (He takes and looks at the chain.)

"Twas the first present of the Emperor.

He hung it round me in the war of Friule,