[GROOM OF THE CHAMBER retires with the vestments. WALLENSTEIN rises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last before GORDON in a posture of meditation.

How the old time returns upon me! I Behold myself once more at Burgau, where We two were pages of the court together.

We oftentimes disputed: thy intention Was ever good; but thou were wont to play The moralist and preacher, and wouldst rail at me-- That I strove after things too high for me, Giving my faith to bold, unlawful dreams, And still extol to me the golden mean.

Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend To thy own self. See, it has made thee early A superannuated man, and (but That my munificent stars will intervene) Would let thee in some miserable corner Go out like an untended lamp.

GORDON.

My prince With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat, And watches from the sh.o.r.e the lofty ship Stranded amid the storm.

WALLENSTEIN.

Art thou already In harbor, then, old man? Well! I am not.

The unconquered spirit drives me o"er life"s billows; My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly.

Hope is my G.o.ddess still, and youth my inmate; And while we stand thus front to front almost, I might presume to say, that the swift years Have pa.s.sed by powerless o"er my unblanched hair.

[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains on the opposite side over against GORDON.

Who now persists in calling fortune false?

To me she has proved faithful; with fond love Took me from out the common ranks of men, And like a mother G.o.ddess, with strong arm Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.

Nothing is common in my destiny, Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares Interpret then my life for me as "twere One of the undistinguishable many?

True, in this present moment I appear Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again.

The high flood will soon follow on this ebb; The fountain of my fortune, which now stops, Repressed and bound by some malicious star, Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.

GORDON.

And yet remember I the good old proverb, "Let the night come before we praise the day."

I would be slow from long-continued fortune To gather hope: for hope is the companion Given to the unfortunate by pitying heaven.

Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men, For still unsteady are the scales of fate.

WALLENSTEIN (smiling).

I hear the very Gordon that of old Was wont to preach, now once more preaching; I know well, that all sublunary things Are still the va.s.sals of vicissitude.

The unpropitious G.o.ds demand their tribute.

This long ago the ancient pagans knew And therefore of their own accord they offered To themselves injuries, so to atone The jealousy of their divinities And human sacrifices bled to Typhon.

[After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner.

I too have sacrificed to him--for me There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault He fell! No joy from favorable fortune Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke.

The envy of my destiny is glutted: Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning Was drawn off which would else have shattered me.

SCENE V.

To these enter SENI.

WALLENSTEIN.

Is not that Seni! and beside himself, If one can trust his looks? What brings thee hither At this late hour, Baptista?

SENI.

Terror, duke!

On thy account.

WALLENSTEIN.

What now?

SENI.

Flee ere the day break!

Trust not thy person to the Swedes!

WALLENSTEIN.

What now Is in thy thoughts?

SENI (with louder voice).

Trust not thy person to the Swedes.

WALLENSTEIN.

What is it, then?

SENI (still more urgently).

Oh, wait not the arrival of these Swedes!

An evil near at hand is threatening thee From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror!

Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition-- Yea, even now "tis being cast around thee!

WALLENSTEIN.

Baptista, thou art dreaming!--fear befools thee.

SENI.

Believe not that an empty fear deludes me.

Come, read it in the planetary aspects; Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee From false friends.

WALLENSTEIN.

From the falseness of my friends Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes.

The warning should have come before! At present I need no revelation from the stars To know that.

SENI.

Come and see! trust thine own eyes.

A fearful sign stands in the house of life-- An enemy; a fiend lurks close behind The radiance of thy planet. Oh, be warned!

Deliver not up thyself to these heathens, To wage a war against our holy church.

WALLENSTEIN (laughing gently).

The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! Now I recollect. This junction with the Swedes Did never please thee--lay thyself to sleep, Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear.

GORDON (who during the whole of this dialogue has shown marks of extreme agitation, and now turns to WALLENSTEIN).

My duke and general! May I dare presume?

WALLENSTEIN.

Speak freely.

GORDON.

What if "twere no mere creation Of fear, if G.o.d"s high providence vouchsafed To interpose its aid for your deliverance, And made that mouth its organ?

WALLENSTEIN.

Ye"re both feverish!

How can mishap come to me from the Swedes?