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GORDON (rises).

The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders,
This citadel shall close its gates upon him.
If then he will besiege us, let him try it.
But this I say; he'll find his own destruction
With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner
Than weary down the valor of our spirit.
He shall experience what a band of heroes,
Inspirited by an heroic leader,

Is able to perform. And if indeed
It be thy serious wish to make amend

For that which thou hast done amiss,-this, this
Will touch and reconcile the Emperor
Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy,
And Friedland, who returns repentant to him,
Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favor,
Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen.
WALLENSTEIN (contemplates him with surprise, remains
silent awhile, betraying strong emotion).
Gordon-your zeal and fervor lead you far.
Well, well-an old friend has a privilege.
Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never
Can the Emperor pardon me: and if he could,
Yet I-I ne'er could let myself be pardon'd.
Had I foreknown what now has taken place,
That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me,
My first death-offering; and had the heart
Spoken to me, as now it has done-Gordon,
It may be, I might have bethought myself.
It may be too, I might not. Might or might not,
Is now an idle question. All too seriously
Has it begun, to end in nothing, Gordon!
Let it then have its course.

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[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER, who had entered during the last dialogue, and had been stand

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Butler!

"Tis Gordon.

I should know that voice.

GORDON.

BUTLER.

What do you want here! ing at a distance and listening to it with Was it so late then, when the Duke dismiss'd you?

visible expressions of the deepest interest, ad

GORDON.

vances in extreme agitation, and throws him- Your hand bound up and in a scarf?
self at the DUKE's feet.

And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish
My reconcilement with the Emperor.
Poor man he hath a small estate in Carnthen,
And fears it will be forfeited because

He's in my service. Am I then so poor,
That I no longer can indemnify

My servants? Well! to no one I employ
Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief
That Fortune has fled from me, go! forsake me.
This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me,
And then go over to thy Emperor.

BUTLER.

"Tis wounded
That Illo fought as he were frantic, till
At last we threw him on the ground.
GORDON (shuddering).

BUTLER.

GORDON.

Is he in bed?

Ah, Butler!

BUTLER.

Both dead!

Gordon, good night! I think to make a long
Sleep of it for the struggle and the turmoil

He shall not perish!

Of this last day or two was great. May't please you! Refuses your arm.
Take care that they awake me not too early.

Is he? Speak.

GORDON.

Not through you' The Heaven See-'tis wounded!—

BUTLER.

GORDON.

[Erit WALLENSTEIN, the GROOM OF THE CHAMBER There is no need of my arm.
lighting him. SENI follows, GORDON remains
on the darkened stage, following the DUKE

The most guilty

with his eye, till he disappears at the farther Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice.

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Burst the doors open.

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 If that my husband now were but return'd 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!

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Who will be here himself? Octavio

In Egra? Treason! Treason!-Where's the Duke? [She rushes to the Gallery.

SCENE VIII.

[They rush over the body into the gallery-two (Servants run across the Stage full of terror. The whole

doors are heard to crash one after the other— Voices deadened by the distance-Clash of

Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses). SENI (from the Gallery).

arms-then all at once a profound silence. O bloody frightful deed!

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Within the Duke lies murder'd-and your husband I've but fulfill'd the Emperor's own sentence.
Assassinated at the Castle.

[The COUNTESS stands motionless.
FEMALE SERVANT (rushing across the stage).
Help! Help! the Duchess!

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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!

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-

MACDONALD.

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They are the fruits
Of your contrivances. The duke is dead,
My husband too is dead, the Duchess struggles
In the pangs of death, my niece has disappear'd.
This house of splendor, and of princely glory,
Doth now stand desolated: the affrighted servant
Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last
Therein; I shut it up, and here deliver
The keys.

OCTAVIO (with a deep anguish).

O Countess! my house too is desolate.

COUNTESS.

Who next is to be murder'd? Who is next
To be maltreated? Lo! the Duke is dead.
The Emperor's vengeance may be pacified!
Spare the old servants; let not their fidelity
Be imputed to the faithful as a crime-

The evil destiny surprised my brother

Too suddenly: he could not think on them.

OCTAVIO.

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!

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[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.)

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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

In the execution of the

ACT I.

SCENE, The Tuilleries.

BARRERE.

The tempest gathers-be it mine to seek
A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him.
But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant's soul—
Sudden in action, fertile in resource,
And rising awful 'mid impending ruins;
In splendor gloomy, as the midnight meteor,
That fearless thwarts the elemental war.

astrous lustre on his name.
work, as intricacy of plot could not have been at-
tempted without a gross violation of recent facts, it
has been my sole aim to imitate the impassioned and
highly figurative language of the French Orators,
and to develop the characters of the chief actors on when last in secret conference we met,
a vast stage of horrors.

He scowl'd upon me with suspicious rage,
Making his eye the inmate of my bosom.

Yours fraternally,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

JESUS COLLEGE, September 22, 1794.

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

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