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- but Len. Farewell ' octavio. What! Would you draw this good and gallant sword In such a cause: Into a curse would you Transform the gratitude which you have earn'd By forty years' fidelity from Austria? butler (laughing with bitterness). Gratitude from the House of Austria. [He is going. octavio (permits him to go as far as the door, then calls after him). Butler put Lea. What wish you? octavio. How was "t with the Count 7 BUTLeit. Count? what? octavio (coldly). The title that you wish'd, I mean. butler (starts in sudden passion). Hell and damnation! octavio (coldly). You petition'd for it— And your petition was repell’d—Was it so? but LER. Your insolent scoff shall not go by unpunish'd. I)raw: octavio. Nay! your sword to'ts sheath and tell me calmly, How all that happen'd. I will not refuse you Your satisfaction afterwards.-Calmly, Butler! but Left. Be the whole world acquainted with the weakness For which I never can forgive myself. Lieutenant-general ' Yes—I have ambition. Ne'er was able to endure contempt. It stung me to the quick, that birth and title Should have more weight than merit has in the army. I would fain not be meaner than my equal, So in an evil hour I let myself Be tempted to that measure—It was folly! But yet so hard a penance it deserved not. It might have been refused; but wherefore barb And venom the refusal with contempt? Why dash to earth and crush with heaviest scorn The grey-hair'd man, the faithful veterant Why to the baseness of his parentage Itefer him with such cruel roughness, only Because he had a weak hour and forgot himself? But nature gives a sting een to the worm Which wanton Power treads on in sport and insult. octavio. You must have been calumniated. Guess you The enemy, who did you this ill service? But Ler. Be 't who it will—a most low-hearted scoundrel, Some vile court-ininion must it be, some Spaniard, Some young squire of some ancient family, In whose light I may stand, some envious knave, Stung to his soul by my fair self-earn'd honours! octavlo. But tell me! Did the Duke approve that measure? but Lee. Himself impell'd me to it, used his interest In my behalf with all the warmth of friendship.

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Ha! what is this?
octavio. -
I fear ine, Colonel Butler,
An infamous game have they been playing with you.
The Duke, you say, impell'd you to this measure ?
Now, in this letter talks he in contempt
Concerning you, counsels the minister
To give sound chastisement to your conceit,
For so he calls it.
[Burler reads through the letter, his knees tremble,
he seizes a chair, and sinks down in it.
You have no enemy, no persecutor;
There's no one wishes ill to you. Ascribe
The insult wou received to the Duke only.
His aim is clear and palpable. He wish'd
To tear you from your Emperor—he hoped
To gain from your revenge what he well knew
(What your long-tried fidelity convinced him)
He ne'er could dare expect from your calm reason.
A blind tool would he make you, in contempt
Use you, as means of most abandon'd ends.
Ile has gain'd his point. Too well has he succeeded
In luring you away from that good path
On which you had been journeying forty years!
burlen (his voice trembling).
Can e'er the Emperor's Majesty forgive ine?
More than forgive you. He would fain compensate
For that affront, and most unmerited grievance
Sustain'd by a deserving, gallant veteran.
From his free impulse he confirms the present,
Which the Duke made you for a wicked purpose.
The regiment, which you now command, is your's.
[Butler attempts to rise, sinks down again. He
labours inwardly with violent emotion s : tries
to speak, and cannot. At length he takes his
sword from the belt, and offers it to Pic-

colonii Ni. octavio. What wish you? Recollect yourself, friend. burleft. Take it. octavio. But to what purpose? Calm yourself. Burt. Ea. O take it!

I am no longer worthy of this sword.

octavio. Receive it then anew from my hands—and Wear it with honour for the right cause ever.

- but Le R.

––Perjure myself to such a gracious Sovereign

octavio. You'll make amends. Quick! break off from the Duke'

But Len.

Break off from him' octavio. What now? Bethink thyself. burler (no longer governing his emotion). Only break off from him? Ile dies! he dies! dc TAvio. Come after me to Frauenberg, where now All who are loyal, are assembling under Counts Altringer and Galas. Many others I've brought to a remembrance of their duty, This night be sure that you escape from Pilsen. burlon (strides up and down in excessive agitation, then steps up to Octavio with resolved countenance). Count Piccolomini! Dare that man speak Of honour to you, who once broke his troth. octaw I 0. He, who repents so deeply of it, dares. R. Then leave me here, upon my word of honour! octavio. What's your design? but Len. Leave me and my regiment. octaw 10. I have full confidence in you. But tell me What are you brooding? but Lt. R. That the deed will tell you. Ask me no more at present. Trust to me. Ye may trust safely. By the living God Ye give him over, not to his good angel!

Farewell. [Exit Butler.

seavant (enters with a hillet). A stranger left it, and is gone. The Prince-Duke's horses wait for you below. " [Exit ServaNr. octavio (reads). a Be sure make haste! Your faithful Isolan.” –0 that I had but left this town behind me. To split upon a rock so near the haven'Away! This is no longer a safe place for me' Where can my son be tarrying? — S C E N E VI.

Octavio and Max. Piccolomi N1.

Max. enters almost in a state of derangement from extreme agitation, his eyes roll wildly, his walk is unsteady, and he appears not to observe his father, who stands at a distance, and gazes at him with a countenance expressive of compassion. Ile paces with torq strides through the chamber, then stands still again, and at last throu's himself into a chair, stariny vacantly at the object directly before him.

octavio (advances to him). I am going off, my son.

- [Receiving no answer, he takes his hand. My son, farewell.

M.A.W. Farewell. octavio. Thou wilt soon follow me?

Max. —we will go together.

MAX. I follow thee? Thy way is crooked—it is not my way. [Octavio drops his hand, and starts back. O, hadst thou been but simple and sincere, Ne'er had it coine to this—all had stood otherwise. He had not done that foul and horrible deed, The virtuous had retain'd their influence o'er him: He had not fallen into the snares of villains. Wherefore so like a thief, and thief's accomplice Didst creep behind him—lurking for thy prey? O, unblest falsehood Mother of all evil! Thou misery-making daemon, it is thou That sink'st us in perdition. Simple truth, Sustainer of the world, had saved us all! Father, I will not, I cannot excuse thee! wallenstein has deceived me–0, most foully! But thou hast acted not much better. octaw Io. Son | My son, ah! I forgive thy agony! Max. (rises, and contemplates his father with looks of suspicion). Was 't possible? hadst thou the heart, my father, iladst thou the heart to drive it to such lengths, With cold premeditated purpose? Thou– Hadst thou the heart, to wish to see him guilty, Rather than saved? Thou risest by his fall. Octavio, 't will not please me. out Avio. God in Heaven MAX. O, woe is me! sure I have changed my nature. How comes suspicion here—in the free soul? Hope, confidence, belief, are gone; for all Lied to me, all that I e'er loved or honour’d. No! no! not all! She-she yet lives for me, And she is true, and open as the Heavens! Deceit is every where, hypocrisy, Murder, and poisoning, treason, perjury: The single holy spot is our love, The only unprofaned in human nature. octaw to. 'T will be better. MAX. What? ere I've taken a last parting leave, The very last—no never! octaw 10. Spare thyself The pang of necessary separation.

Come with me! Come, my son'

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Shall I perform ignobly-steal away,
With stealthy coward flight forsake her? No!
She shall behold my suffering, my sore anguish,
Hear the complaints of the disparted soul,
And weep tears o'er me. Oh! the human race
Have steely souls—but she is as an angel.
From the black deadly madness of despair
Will she redeem my soul, and in soft words
Of comfort, plaining, loose this pang of death !
octaw Io.
Thou wilt not tear thyself away; thou canst not.
o, come, my son! I bid thee save thy virtue.
Squander not thou thy words in vain.
The heart I follow, for I dare trust to it.

octavio (trembling, and losing all self-command).

Max." Max." if that most damned thing could be,
If thou—my son—my own blood–(dare I think it?)
Do sell thyself to him, the infamous, -
Do stamp this brand upon our noble house,
Then shall the world behold the horrible deed
And in unnatural combat shall the steel
Of the son trickle with the father's blood.

O hadst thou always better thought of men,
Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion!
Unholy miserable doubt. To him
Nothing on earth remains unwrench'd and firm,
Who has no faith.

- octavio.
And if I trust thy heart,
Will it be always in thy power to follow it?

The heart's voice thou hast not o'erpower d-as little
Will Wallenstein be able to o'erpower it.

0, Max.' I see thee never more again!
Unworthy of thee wilt thou never see me.

I go to Frauenberg—the Pappenheimers
1 leave thee here, the Lothrings too; Toskana
And Tiefenbach remain here to protect thee.
They love thee, and are faithful to their oath,
And will far rather fall in gallant contest
Than leave their rightful leader, and their honour.

Rely on this, I either leave my life
In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen.


Farewell, my son


octaw Io.
How not one look
Offilial love? No grasp of the hand at parting?
It is a bloody war to which we are going,
And the event uncertain and in darkness.
So used we not to part—it was not so!
Is it then true? I have a son no longer?
[Max. falls into his arms, they hold each other for
a long time in a speechless embrace, then go
away at different sides.
(The Curtain drops).

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nary explanation. For these reasons it has been thought
expedient not to translate it.
The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their

The two Dramas, Piccolonini, or the first part of idea of that author from the Robbers, and the Cabal and WALLENs rein, and WALLENst Eix, are introduced in the Love, plays in which the main interest is produced by original manuscript by a Prelude in one Act, entitled the excitement of curiosity, and in which the curiosity WALLENstein's CAMP. This is written in rhyme, and in is excited by terrible and extraordinary incident, will nine-syllable verse, in the same lilting metre (if that ex- not have perused without some portion of disappointpression may be permitted) with the second Eclogue of ment the Dramas, which it has been my employment Spencer's Shepherd's Calendar. to translate. They should, however, reflect that these are

This Prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and Historical Dramas, taken from a popular German Hisis not deficient in character; but to have translated it tory; that we must therefore judge of them in some meainto prose, or into any other metre than that of the sure with the feelings of Germans; or by analogy, with original, would have given a false idea both of its style the interest excited in us by similar Dramas in our own and purport: to have translated it into the same metre language. Few, I trust, would be rash or ignorant would have been incompatible with a faithful adherence enough to compare Schiller with Shakspeare; yet, mere

to the sense of the German, from the comparative pover- |ly as illustration, I would say that we should proceed to :

ty of our language in rhymes; and it would have been the perusal of Wallenstein, not from Lear or othello, unadvisable, from the incongruity of those lax verses , but from Richard the Second, or the three parts of

with the present taste of the English Public. Schiller's Henry the Sixth. We scarcely expect rapidity in an histo

intention seems to have been merely to have prepared rical Drama; and many prolix speeches are pardoned his reader for the Tragedies by a lively picture of the from characters, whose names and actions have formed

lavity of discipline, and the mutinous dispositions of | the most amusing tales of our early life. On the other .

Wallenstein's soldiery. It is not necessary as a prelimi- | band, there exist in these plays unore individual beauties,

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more passages whose excellence will bear reflection, than in the former productions of Schiller. The description of the Astrological Tower, and the reflections of the Young Lover, which follow it, form in the original a fine poem; and my translation must have been wretched indeed, if it can have wholly overclouded the beauties of the Scene in the first Act of the first Play between Questenberg, Max., and Octavio Piccolomini. If we except the Scene of the setting sun in the Robbers, I know of no part in Schiller's Plays which equals the whole of the first Scene of the fifth Act of the concluding Play. It would be unbecoming in me to be more diffuse on this subject. A Translator stands connected with the original Author by a certain law of subordination, which makes it more decorous to point out excellencies than defects: indeed he is not likely to be a fair judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from his own labour will mingle with the feelings that arise from an after-view of the original. Even in the first perusal of a work in any foreign language which we understand, we are apt to attribute to it thore excellence than it really possesses from our own pleasureable sense of difficulty overcome without effort. Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because the Translator must give a brilliancy to his language without that warmth of original conception, from which such brilliancy would follow of its own accord. But the Translator of a living Author is encumbered with additional inconveniencies. If he render his original faithfully, as to the sense of each passage, he must, necessarily, destroy a considerable portion of the spirit; if he endeavour to give a work executed according to laws of compensation, he subjects himself to imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I have thought it my duty to remain bound by the sense of my original, with as few exceptions as the nature of the languages rendered possible.


Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces in the Thirty-years' hoar. Duchess of Friedland, Wife of Irallenstein. Therla, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland. The Countess Tearsky, Sister of the Duchess. Lady Nkunk UN N. Ocravio Piccolomix1, Lieutenant General. Max. Piccolomint, his son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. Count Tearsky, the Commander of several Regiments, and Brother-in-law of Wallenstein. Illo, Field Marshal, Wallenstein's Confidant. Burlen, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons. Goradox, Governor of Fyra. Majos GEA Alorn. CAPTA1x Devereux. — — Macoon Ald. NEvan ANN, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-camp to Tertsky. Swedish CAPTAIN. Sen 1. Burgomasten of Egra. Awsr Essade of the Cuirassiers. Gnoox1 or rur CitaMnet, A PA Gr, ColaAssions, Daagoons, Sehwants.

| felonging to the Duke.

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countess. It does not please me, Princess, that he holds Himself so still, exactly at this time. the RLA. Exactly at this time? countess. He now knows all : T were now the moment to declare himself. The RLA. If I'm to understand you, speak less darkly. countess. 'Twas for that purpose that I bade her leave us. Thekla, you are no more a child. Your heart Is now no more in nonage: for you love, And boldness dwells with love—that you have proved. Your nature moulds itself upon your father's More than your mother's spirit. Therefore may you Hear, what were too much for her fortitude. the k-L.A. Enough : no further preface, I entreat you. At once, out with it! Be it what it may, It is not possible that it should torture me More than this introduction. What have you To say to me? Tell me the whole, and briefly! count Ess. You'll not be frighten’d––

ther L.A. Name it, I entreat you.

countess. It lies within your power to do your father A weighty service

thrk L.A. Lies within my power? countess. Max. Piccolomini loves you. You can link him Indissolubly to your father. ther L.A. in What need of me for that? And is he not Already link'd to him countess. He was. The KLA. And wherefore Should he not be so now—not be so always 2 countess. He cleaves to the Emperor too. Ther. L.A. Not more than duty And honour may demand of him. countess. We ask Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his honour. Dutv and honour! those are ambiguous words with many meanings. you should interpret them for him : his love Should be the sole definer of his honour. The RLA. How 2 countess. The Emperor or you must he renounce. th. Ekla. He will accompany my father gladly In his retirement. From himself you heard, How much he wish'd to lay aside the sword. countess. He must not lay the sword aside, we mean; He must unsheath it in your father's cause. th. ExL.A. He ‘ll spend with gladness and alacrity His life, his heart's-blood in my father's cause, If shame or injury be intended him. countess. You will not understand me. Well, hear then :Your father has fallen off from the Emperor, And is about to join the enemy With the whole soldiery—— thrki, A. Alas, my mother! countess. There needs a great example to draw on The army after him. The Piccolomini Possess the love and reverence of the troops; They govern all opinions, and wherever They lead the way, none hesitate to follow. The son secures the father to our interests— You ve much in your hands at this moment. The KLA. - Ah, My miserable mother! what a death-stroke Awaits thee!—No! she never will survive it.

countriss. She will accommodate her soul to that Which is and must be. I do know your mother. The far-off future weighs upon her heart With torture of anxiety; but is it Unalterably, actually present, She soon resigns herself, and bears it calmly. The k L.A. O my foreboding bosom Even now, Een now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror! And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp; I knew it well–no sooner had 1 enter'd, An heavy ominous presentiment Reveald to me, that spirits of death were hovering Over my happy fortune. But why think I First of myself? My mother! O my mother! countess. Calm yourself: Break not out in vain lamenting Preserve you for your father the firm friend, And for yourself the lover, all will yet Prove good and fortunate. ther L.A. Prove good! What good? Must we not part?--part ne'er to meet again? cou NT ess. He parts not from you! He can not part from you. The klı. Alas for his sore anguish ' It will rend His heart asunder. cou Nress. If indeed he loves you, His resolution will be speedily taken. Thr ki. A. His resolution will be speedily taken— O do not doubt of that A resolution Does there remain one to be taken 2

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ovchess (to the Countess). Who was here sister I heard some one talking, And passionately too. couxTess. Nay! There was no one. touchess. I am grown so timorous, every tritling noise Scatters my spirits, and announces to me The footstep of some messenger of evil. And you can tell me, sister, what the event is Will he agree to do the Emperor's pleasure, And send the horse-regiments to the Cardinal Tell me, has he dismiss'd won Questenberg With a favourable answer? coux Tess. No, he has not. - touchess. Alas! then all is lost! I see it coming, The worst that can come! Yes, they will depose him ;

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