Читать книгу The Death of Wallenstein - Фридрих Шиллер, Friedrich von Schiller - Страница 10

  My general!

         That I am no longer, if

  Thou stylest thyself the emperor's officer.

  Then thou wilt leave the army, general?

  I have renounced the service of the emperor.

  And thou wilt leave the army?

                  Rather hope I

  To bind it nearer still and faster to me.

  Yes, Max., I have delayed to open it to thee,

  Even till the hour of acting 'gins to strike.

  Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily

  The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is

  To exercise the single apprehension

  Where the sums square in proof;

  But where it happens, that of two sure evils

  One must be taken, where the heart not wholly

  Brings itself back from out the strife of duties,

  There 'tis a blessing to have no election,

  And blank necessity is grace and favor.

  This is now present: do not look behind thee, —

  It can no more avail thee. Look thou forwards!

  Think not! judge not! prepare thyself to act!

  The court – it hath determined on my ruin,

  Therefore I will be beforehand with them.

  We'll join the Swedes – right gallant fellows are they,

  And our good friends.

  I have taken thee by surprise. Answer me not:

  I grant thee time to recollect thyself.

  My general, this day thou makest me

  Of age to speak in my own right and person,

  For till this day I have been spared the trouble

  To find out my own road. Thee have I followed

  With most implicit, unconditional faith,

  Sure of the right path if I followed thee.

  To-day, for the first time, dost thou refer

  Me to myself, and forcest me to make

  Election between thee and my own heart.

  Soft cradled thee thy fortune till to-day;

  Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport,

  Indulge all lovely instincts, act forever

  With undivided heart. It can remain

  No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads

  Start from each other. Duties strive with duties,

  Thou must needs choose thy party in the war

  Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and him

  Who is thy emperor.

             War! is that the name?

  War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence,

  Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that is.

  Is that a good war, which against the emperor

  Thou wagest with the emperor's own army?

  O God of heaven! what a change is this.

  Beseems it me to offer such persuasion

  To thee, who like the fixed star of the pole

  Wert all I gazed at on life's trackless ocean?

  O! what a rent thou makest in my heart!

  The ingrained instinct of old reverence,

  The holy habit of obediency,

  Must I pluck life asunder from thy name?

  Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me —

  It always was as a god looking upon me!

  Duke Wallenstein, its power has not departed;

  The senses still are in thy bonds, although

  Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself.

                      Max., hear me.

  Oh, do it not, I pray thee, do it not!

  There is a pure and noble soul within thee,

  Knows not of this unblest unlucky doing.

  Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only

  Which hath polluted thee – and innocence,

  It will not let itself be driven away

  From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not,

  Thou canst not end in this. It would reduce

  All human creatures to disloyalty

  Against the nobleness of their own nature.

  'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief,

  Which holdeth nothing noble in free will,

  And trusts itself to impotence alone,

  Made powerful only in an unknown power.

  The world will judge me harshly, I expect it.

  Already have I said to my own self

  All thou canst say to me. Who but avoids

  The extreme, can he by going round avoid it?

  But here there is no choice. Yes, I must use

  Or suffer violence – so stands the case,

  There remains nothing possible but that.

  Oh, that is never possible for thee!

  'Tis the last desperate resource of those

  Cheap souls, to whom their honor, their good name,

  Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep,

  Which, having staked and lost, they staked themselves

  In the mad rage of gaming. Thou art rich

  And glorious; with an unpolluted heart

  Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest!

  But he who once hath acted infamy

  Does nothing more in this world.

                   Calmly, Max.!

  Much that is great and excellent will we

  Perform together yet. And if we only

  Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon

  Forgotten, Max., by what road we ascended.

  Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now,

  That yet was deeply sullied in the winning.

  To the evil spirit doth the earth belong,

  Not to the good. All that the powers divine

  Send from above are universal blessings

  Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes,

  But never yet was man enriched by them:

  In their eternal realm no property

  Is to be struggled for – all there is general.

  The jewel, the all-valued gold we win

  From the deceiving powers, depraved in nature,

  That dwell beneath the day and blessed sunlight.

  Not without sacrifices are they rendered

  Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth

  That e'er retired unsullied from their service.

  Whate'er is human to the human being

  Do I allow – and to the vehement

  And striving spirit readily I pardon

  The excess of action; but to thee, my general!

  Above all others make I large concession.

  For thou must move a world and be the master —

  He kills thee who condemns thee to inaction.

  So be it then! maintain thee in thy post

  By violence. Resist the emperor,

  And if it must be force with force repel;

  I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it.

  But not – not to the traitor – yes! the word

  Is spoken out —

  Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon.

  That is no mere excess! that is no error

  Of human nature – that is wholly different,

  Oh, that is black, black as the pit of hell!

  Thou canst not hear it named, and wilt thou do it?

  O turn back to thy duty. That thou canst,

  I hold it certain. Send me to Vienna;

  I'll make thy peace for thee with the emperor.

  He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He

  Shall see thee, duke! with my unclouded eye,

  And I bring back his confidence to thee.

  It is too late! Thou knowest not what has happened.

  Were it too late, and were things gone so far,

  That a crime only could prevent thy fall,

  Then – fall! fall honorably, even as thou stoodest,

  Lose the command. Go from the stage of war!

  Thou canst with splendor do it – do it too

  With innocence. Thou hast lived much for others,

  At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee.

  My destiny I never part from thine.

  It is too late! Even now, while thou art losing

  Thy words, one after another, are the mile-stones

  Left fast behind by my post couriers,

  Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra.

  Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forced.

  I cannot give assent to my own shame

  And ruin. Thou – no – thou canst not forsake me!

  So let us do, what must be done, with dignity,

  With a firm step. What am I doing worse

  Than did famed Caesar at the Rubicon,

  When he the legions led against his country,

  The which his country had delivered to him?

  Had he thrown down the sword, he had been lost.

  As I were, if I but disarmed myself.

  I trace out something in me of this spirit.

  Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear.