The Death of Wallenstein. Friedrich von Schiller

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        I never saw it in this light before,

        'Tis even so. The emperor perpetrated

        Deeds through my arm, deeds most unorderly.

        And even this prince's mantle, which I wear,

        I owe to what were services to him,

        But most high misdemeanors 'gainst the empire.

        Then betwixt thee and him (confess it, Friedland!)

        The point can be no more of right and duty,

        Only of power and the opportunity.

        That opportunity, lo! it comes yonder

        Approaching with swift steeds; then with a swing

        Throw thyself up into the chariot-seat,

        Seize with firm hand the reins ere thy opponent

        Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest

        Of the now empty seat. The moment comes;

        It is already here, when thou must write

        The absolute total of thy life's vast sum.

        The constellations stand victorious o'er thee,

        The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions,

        And tell thee, "Now's the time!" The starry courses

        Hast thou thy life-long measured to no purpose?

        The quadrant and the circle, were they playthings?

           [Pointing to the different objects in the room.

        The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven,

        Hast pictured on these walls and all around thee.

        In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou placed

        These seven presiding lords of destiny —

        For toys? Is all this preparation nothing?

        Is there no marrow in this hollow art,

        That even to thyself it doth avail

        Nothing, and has no influence over thee

        In the great moment of decision?

        Send Wrangel to me – I will instantly

        Despatch three couriers —

                      God in heaven be praised!

        It is his evil genius and mine.

        Our evil genius! It chastises him

        Through me, the instrument of his ambition;

        And I expect no less, than that revenge

        E'en now is whetting for my breast the poinard.

        Who sows the serpent's teeth let him not hope

        To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime

        Has, in the moment of its perpetration,

        Its own avenging angel – dark misgiving,

        An ominous sinking at the inmost heart.

        He can no longer trust me. Then no longer

        Can I retreat – so come that which must come.

        Still destiny preserves its due relations,

        The heart within us is its absolute

        Vicegerent.         [To TERZKY.

               Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangel

        To my state cabinet. Myself will speak to

        The couriers. And despatch immediately

        A servant for Octavio Piccolomini.

        No exultation! woman, triumph not!

        For jealous are the powers of destiny,

        Joy premature, and shouts ere victory,

        Encroach upon their rights and privileges.

        We sow the seed, and they the growth determine.

           [While he is making his exit the curtain drops.

        He sends me word from Linz that he lies sick;

        But I have sure intelligence that he

        Secretes himself at Frauenberg with Gallas.

        Secure them both, and send them to me hither.

        Remember, thou takest on thee the command

        Of those same Spanish regiments, – constantly

        Make preparation, and be never ready;

        And if they urge thee to draw out against me,

        Still answer yes, and stand as thou went fettered.

        I know, that it is doing thee a service

        To keep thee out of action in this business.

        Thou lovest to linger on in fair appearances;

        Steps of extremity are not thy province,

        Therefore have I sought out this part for thee.

        Thou wilt this time be of most service to me

        By thy inertness. The meantime, if fortune

        Declare itself on my side, thou wilt know

        What is to do.

                Now go, Octavio.

        This night must thou be off, take my own horses

        Him here I keep with me – make short farewell —

        Trust me, I think we all shall meet again

        In joy and thriving fortunes.

                        I shall see you

        Yet ere I go.

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