[_Casting suspicious looks on_ ILLO _and_ BUTLER.]
Go--seek for traitors In Gallas', in your father's quarters. Here Is only one. Away! away! and free us From his detested sight! Away!
[MAX _attempts once more to approach_ THEKLA. WALLENSTEIN _prevents him_. MAX _stands irresolute, and in apparent anguish. In the mean time the stage fills more and more; and the horns sound from below louder and louder, and each time after a shorter interval_.]
Blow! blow! O were it but the Swedish trumpets, And all the naked swords, which I see here, Were plunged into my breast! What purpose you? You come to tear me from this place! Beware, Ye drive me not to desperation. Do it not! Ye may repent it!
[_The stage is entirely filled with armed men_.]
Yet more! weight upon weight to drag me down! Think what ye're doing. It is not well done To choose a man despairing for your leader; You tear me from my happiness. Well, then, I dedicate your souls to vengeance. Mark! For your own ruin you have chosen me: Who goes with me, must be prepared to perish.
[_He turns to the background, there ensues a sudden and violent movement among the Cuirassiers; they surround him, and carry him off in wild tumult_. WALLENSTEIN_ remains immovable_. THEKLA _sinks into her mother's arms. The curtain falls. The music becomes loud and overpowering, and passes into a complete war march--the orchestra joins it and continues during the interval between the second and third Act_.]
Here then he is, by his destiny conducted. Here, Friedland! and no farther! From Bohemia Thy meteor rose, traversed the sky awhile, And here upon the borders of Bohemia Must sink.
Thou hast foresworn the ancient colors, Blind man! yet trustest to thy ancient fortunes. Profaner of the altar and the hearth, Against thy Emperor and fellow citizens Thou mean'st to wage the war. Friedland, beware-- The evil spirit of revenge impels thee-- Beware thou, that revenge destroy thee not!
Is it you? How my heart sinks! The Duke a fugitive traitor! His princely head attainted! O my God! [Tell me, General, I implore thee, tell me In full, of all these sad events at Pilsen.]
You have received the letter which I sent you By a post-courier?
Yes: and in obedience to it Open'd the stronghold to him without scruple, For an imperial letter orders me To follow your commands implicitly. But yet forgive me! when even now I saw The Duke himself my scruples recommenced; For truly, not like an attainted man, Into this town did Friedland make his entrance; His wonted majesty beam'd from his brow, And calm, as in the days when all was right, Did he receive from me the accounts of office. 'Tis said that fallen pride learns condescension; But sparing and with dignity the Duke Weigh'd every syllable of approbation, As masters praise a servant who has done His duty and no more.