The Death of Wallenstein. Friedrich von Schiller

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        Whate'er is human to the human being

        Do I allow – and to the vehement

        And striving spirit readily I pardon

        The excess of action; but to thee, my general!

        Above all others make I large concession.

        For thou must move a world and be the master —

        He kills thee who condemns thee to inaction.

        So be it then! maintain thee in thy post

        By violence. Resist the emperor,

        And if it must be force with force repel;

        I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it.

        But not – not to the traitor – yes! the word

        Is spoken out —

        Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon.

        That is no mere excess! that is no error

        Of human nature – that is wholly different,

        Oh, that is black, black as the pit of hell!

        Thou canst not hear it named, and wilt thou do it?

        O turn back to thy duty. That thou canst,

        I hold it certain. Send me to Vienna;

        I'll make thy peace for thee with the emperor.

        He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He

        Shall see thee, duke! with my unclouded eye,

        And I bring back his confidence to thee.

        It is too late! Thou knowest not what has happened.

        Were it too late, and were things gone so far,

        That a crime only could prevent thy fall,

        Then – fall! fall honorably, even as thou stoodest,

        Lose the command. Go from the stage of war!

        Thou canst with splendor do it – do it too

        With innocence. Thou hast lived much for others,

        At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee.

        My destiny I never part from thine.

        It is too late! Even now, while thou art losing

        Thy words, one after another, are the mile-stones

        Left fast behind by my post couriers,

        Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra.

        Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forced.

        I cannot give assent to my own shame

        And ruin. Thou – no – thou canst not forsake me!

        So let us do, what must be done, with dignity,

        With a firm step. What am I doing worse

        Than did famed Caesar at the Rubicon,

        When he the legions led against his country,

        The which his country had delivered to him?

        Had he thrown down the sword, he had been lost.

        As I were, if I but disarmed myself.

        I trace out something in me of this spirit.

        Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear.

        Max. Piccolomini just left you?

                         Where is Wrangel?

        He is already gone.

                   In such a hurry?

        It is as if the earth had swallowed him.

        He had scarce left thee, when I went to seek him.

        I wished some words with him – but he was gone.

        How, when, and where, could no one tell me.

        Nay, I half believe it was the devil himself;

        A human creature could not so at once

        Have vanished.

                Is it true that thou wilt send

        Octavio?

             How, Octavio! Whither send him?

        He goes to Frauenberg, and will lead hither

        The Spanish and Italian regiments.

                          No!

        Nay, heaven forbid!

                   And why should heaven forbid?

        Him! – that deceiver! Wouldst thou trust to him

        The soldiery? Him wilt thou let slip from thee,

        Now in the very instant that decides us —

        Thou wilt not do this! No! I pray thee, no!

        Ye are whimsical.

                  O but for this time, duke,

        Yield to our warning! Let him not depart.

        And why should I not trust him only this time,

        Who have always trusted him? What, then, has СКАЧАТЬ