GORDON.

His heart still cleaves To earthly things: he's not prepared to step Into the presence of his God!

BUTLER (going).

God's merciful!
GORDON (holds him).

SCENE VI.

COUNTESS TERTSKY (with a light).

Her bed-chamber is empty; she herself
Is nowhere to be found! The Neubrunn too,
Who watch'd by her, is missing. If she should
Be flown-But whither flown? We must call up
Every soul in the house. How will the Duke
Bear up against these worst bad tidings? O
The next moment If that my husband now were but return'd

Grant him but this night's respite.
BUTLER (hurrying off).

May ruin all.

GORDON (holds him still).
One hour!-

BUTLER.

Unhold me! What

Home from the banquet!-Hark! I wonder whether
The Duke is still awake! I thought I heard
Voices and tread of feet here! I will go
And listen at the door. Hark! what is that?
"Tis hastening up the steps!

Burst the doors open.

BUTLER.

(Servants run across the Stage full of terror. The whole
Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses
SENI (from the Gallery).

[They rush over the body into the gallery-two
doors are heard to crash one after the other—
Voices deadened by the distance-Clash of
arms—then all at once a profound silence. O bloody frightful deed!

211

Fly! fly! they murder us all!

Heaven forbid!

FIRST SERVANT.

SECOND SERVANT (carrying silver plate).

That way! the lower

Passages are block'd up.

VOICE (from behind the Scene).

Make room for the Lieutenant-General!

Avail'd yourself of mine.

OCTAVIO.

Merciless man!

Thus to abuse the orders of thy Lord

And stain thy Emperor's holy name with murder,
With bloody, most accursed assassination!
BUTLER (calmly).

I've but fulfill'd the Emperor's own sentence.

O curse of kings,

OCTAVIO.

Infusing a dread life into their words,
And linking to the sudden transient thought
The unchangeable irrevocable deed.
Was there necessity for such an eager
Dispatch? Couldst thou not grant the merciful
A time for mercy? Time is man's good Angel.
To leave no interval between the sentence,
And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem
God only, the immutable!

BUTLER.

For what

Rail you against me? What is my offence?
The Empire from a fearful enemy
Have I deliver'd, and expect reward.
The single difference betwixt you and me
Is this you placed the arrow in the bow;

I pull'd the string. You sow'd blood, and yet stand

[At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, Astonish'd that blood is come up. I always collects herself, and retires suddenly.

VOICE (from behind the Scene).

Keep back the people! Guard the door!

SCENE IX.

To these enters OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his

Train. At the same time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter from the Corridor with the Halberdiers. -WALLENSTEIN's dead body is carried over the back part of the Stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry.

OCTAVIO (entering abruptly). It must not be! It is not possible! Butler! Gordon!

I'll not believe it. Say, No!

[GORDON, without answering, points with his hand to
the Body of WALLENSTEIN as it is carried over
the back of the Stage. OCTAVIO looks that way,
and stands overpowered with horror.
DEVEREUX (to BUTLER).

Here is the golden fleece-the Duke's sword-
Is it your order-

Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment!
The Emperor is appeased; the heavy fault
Hath heavily been expiated-nothing
Descended from the father to the daughter,
Except his glory and his services.

The Empress honors your adversity,
Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you
Her motherly arms! Therefore no farther fears;
Yield yourself up in hope and confidence
To the Imperial Grace!

COUNTESS (with her eye raised to heaven)
To the grace and mercy of a greater Master
Do I yield up myself Where shall the body
Of the Duke have its place of final rest?
In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found
At Gitschin, rest the Countess Wallenstein;
And by her side, to whom he was indebted
For his first fortunes, gratefully he wish'd
He might sometime repose in death! O let him
Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's
Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor
Is now proprietor of all our Castles.

This sure may well be granted us-one sepulchre
Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers!

[He reads the address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word.

To the Prince Piccolomini.

[OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish, raises his eyes to heaven.

(The Curtain drops.)

BARRERE.

ACCEPT, as a small testimony of my grateful attachment, the following Dramatic Poem, in which I have endeavored to detail, in an interesting form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a dis- The tempest gathers-be it mine to seek astrous lustre on his name. In the execution of the A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him. work, as intricacy of plot could not have been at-But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant's soul-— Sudden in action, fertile in resource, tempted without a gross violation of recent facts, it And rising awful 'mid impending ruins; has been my sole aim to imitate the impassioned and highly figurative language of the French Orators, That fearless thwarts the elemental war. In splendor gloomy, as the midnight meteor,

and to develop the characters of the chief actors on a vast stage of horrors.

Yours fraternally,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

JESUS COLLEGE, September 22, 1794.

When last in secret conference we met,
He scowl'd upon me with suspicious rage,
Making his eye the inmate of my bosom.

I know he scorns me-and I feel, I hate him-
Yet there is in him that which makes me tremble!
[Exil

I mark'd him well. I met his eye's last glance;
It menaced not so proudly as of yore.
Methought he would have spoke-but that he dared The state is not yet purified: and though

ROBESPIERRE.

Myself! the steel-strong Rectitude of soul
And Poverty sublime 'mid circling virtues!
The giant Victories, my counsels form'd,
Shall stalk around me with sun-glittering plumes,
Bidding the darts of calumny fall pointless.
[Exeunt cæteri. Manet CoUTHON.

COUTHON (solus).

So we deceive ourselves! What goodly virtues
Bloom on the poisonous branches of ambition!
Still, Robespierre! thou 'lt guard thy country's freedom
To despotize in all the patriot's pomp.
While Conscience, 'mid the mob's applauding clamors,
Sleeps in thine ear, nor whispers blood-stain'd tyrant!
Yet what is Conscience? Superstition's dream,
Making such deep impression on our sleep-
That long th' awaken'd breast retains its horrors!
But he returns-and with him comes Barrere.

[Exit COUTHON.

Enter ROBESPIERRE and BARRERE.

ROBESPIERRE.

There is no danger but in cowardice.-
Barrere! we make the danger, when we fear it.
We have such force without, as will suspend
The cold and trembling treachery of these members.

BARRERE.

Twill be a pause of terror.

ROBESPIERRE.

But to whom?
Rather the short-lived slumber of the tempest,
Gathering its strength anew. The dastard traitors!
Moles, that would undermine the rooted oak!
A pause!—a moment's pause!-'T is all their life.

BARRERE

Yet much they talk-and plausible their speech.
Couthon's decree has given such powers, that-

ROBESPIERRE.

There are who wish my ruin-but I'll make them
Blush for the crime in blood!

BARRERE.

Nay, but I tell theo Thou art too fond of slaughter-and the right |(If right it be) workest by most foul means!

streets

ROBESPIERRE.

Self-centering Fear! how well thou canst ape Mercy!
Too fond of slaughter!-matchless hypocrite!
Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Danton died?
Thought Barrere so, when through the streaming
Of Paris red-eyed Massacre o'er-wearied
Reel'd heavily, intoxicate with blood?
And when (O heavens!) in Lyons' death-red square
Sick Fancy groan'd o'er putrid hills of slain,
Didst thou not fiercely laugh, and bless the day?
Why, thou hast been the mouth-piece of all horrors,

And, like a blood-hound, crouch'd for murder! Now
Aloof thou standest from the tottering pillar,

Or, like a frighted child behind its mother,
Hidest thy pale face in the skirts of Mercy!

Transparent mask
They wish to clog the wheels of government,
Forcing the hand that guides the vast machine
To bribe them to their duty-English patriots!
Are not the congregated clouds of war
Black all around us? In our very vitals
Works not the king-bred poison of rebellion?
Say, what shall counteract the selfish plottings
Of wretches, cold of heart, nor awed by fears
Of him, whose power directs th' eternal justice?
Terror? or secret-sapping gold? The first
Heavy, but transient as the ills that cause it;
And to the virtuous patriot render'd light
By the necessities that gave it birth:
The other fouls the fount of the republic,
Making it flow polluted to all ages;
Inoculates the state with a slow venom,
That, once imbibed, must be continued ever.
Myself incorruptible, I ne'er could bribe them-
Therefore they hate me.

SCENE changes to the house of ADELAIDE.
ADELAIDE enters, speaking to a SERVANT.

ADELAIDE.

Didst thou present the letter that I gave thee?
Did Tallien answer, he would soon return?

SERVANT.

O this new freedom! at how dear a price
We've bought the seeming good! The peaceful virtues
And every blandishment of private life,
The father's cares, the mother's fond endearment,
All sacrificed to Liberty's wild riot.
The winged hours, that scatter'd roses round me,
Languid and sad drag their slow course along,
And shake big gall-drops from their heavy wings.
But I will steal away these anxious thoughts
By the soft languishment of warbled airs,
If haply melodies may lull the sense
Are the sections friendly? Of sorrow for a while.

BARRERE.

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