Читать книгу The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition) - Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Страница 218
SCENE IV
ОглавлениеTHEKLA (hurries forward), COUNTESS, MAX PICCOLOMINI.
Thekla (to the Countess). Spare yourself the trouble:
That hears he better from myself.
Max. My Princess!
What have you let her hear me say, aunt Tertsky?
Thekla (to the Countess). Has he been here long?
Countess. Yes; and soon
must go.
Where have you stayed so long?
Thekla. Alas! my mother 5
Wept so again! and I — I see her suffer,
Yet cannot keep myself from being happy.
Max. Now once again I have courage to look on you.
To-day at noon I could not.
The dazzle of the jewels that play’d round you 10
Hid the beloved from me.
Thekla. Then you saw me
With your eye only — and not with your heart?
Max. This morning, when I found you in the circle
Of all your kindred, in your father’s arms,
Beheld myself an alien in this circle, 15
O! what an impulse felt I in that moment
To fall upon his neck, to call him father!
But his stern eye o’erpowered the swelling passion —
It dared not but be silent. And those brilliants,
That like a crown of stars enwreathed your brows, 20
They scared me too! O wherefore, wherefore should he
At the first meeting spread as ‘twere the ban
Of excommunication round you, wherefore
Dress up the angel as for sacrifice,
And cast upon the light and joyous heart 25
The mournful burthen of his station? Fitly
May love dare woo for love; but such a splendour
Might none but monarchs venture to approach.
Thekla. Hush! not a word more of this mummery.
You see how soon the burthen is thrown off. 30
[To the COUNTESS.
He is not in spirits. Wherefore is he not?
‘Tis you, aunt, that have made him all so gloomy!
He had quite another nature on the journey —
So calm, so bright, so joyous eloquent. [To MAX.
It was my wish to see you always so, 35
And never otherwise!
Max. You find yourself
In your great father’s arms, belovéd lady!
All in a new world, which does homage to you,
And which, wer’t only by its novelty,
Delights your eye.
Thekla. Yes; I confess to you 40
That many things delight me here: this camp,
This motley stage of warriors, which renews
So manifold the image of my fancy,
And binds to life, binds to reality,
What hitherto had but been present to me 45
As a sweet dream!
Max. Alas! not so to me.
It makes a dream of my reality.
Upon some island in the ethereal heights
I’ve lived for these last days. This mass of men
Forces me down to earth. It is a bridge 50
That, reconducting to my former life,
Divides me and my heaven.
Thekla. The game of life
Looks cheerful, when one carries in one’s heart
The inalienable treasure. ‘Tis a game,
Which having once reviewed, I turn more joyous 55
Back to my deeper and appropriate bliss.
In this short time that I’ve been present here,
What new unheard-of things have I not seen!
And yet they all must give place to the wonder
Which this mysterious castle guards.
Countess. And what 60
Can this be then? Methought I was acquainted
With all the dusky corners of this house.
Thekla. Ay, but the road thereto is watched by spirits,
Two griffins still stand sentry at the door.
Countess (laughs). The astrological tower! — How happens it 65
That this same sanctuary, whose access
Is to all others so impracticable,
Opens before you even at your approach?
Thekla. A dwarfish old man with a friendly face
And snow-white hairs, whose gracious services 70
Were mine at first sight, opened me the doors.
Max. That is the Duke’s astrologer, old Seni.
Thekla. He questioned me on many points; for instance,
When I was born, what month, and on what day,
Whether by day or in the night.
Countess. He wished 75
To erect a figure for your horoscope.
Thekla. My hand too he examined, shook his head
With much sad meaning, and the lines methought,
Did not square over truly with his wishes.
Countess. Well, Princess, and what found you in this tower? 80
My highest privilege has been to snatch
A side-glance, and away!
Thekla. It was a strange
Sensation that came o’er me, when at first
From the broad sunshine I stepped in; and now
The narrowing line of daylight, that ran after 85
The closing door, was gone; and all about me
‘Twas pale and dusky night, with many shadows
Fantastically cast. Here six or seven
Colossal statues, and all kings, stood round me
In a half-circle. Each one in his hand 90
A sceptre bore, and on his head a star;
And in the tower no other light was there
But from these stars: all seemed to come from them.
‘These are the planets,’ said that low old man,
‘They govern worldly fates, and for that cause 95
Are imaged here as kings. He farthest from you,
Spiteful, and cold, an old man melancholy,
With bent and yellow forehead, he is Saturn.
He opposite, the king with the red light,
An arm’d man for the battle, that is Mars: 100
And both these bring but little luck to man.’
But at his side a lovely lady stood,
The star upon her head was soft and bright,
And that was Venus, the bright star of joy.
On the left hand, lo! Mercury, with wings. 105
Quite in the middle glittered silver-bright
A cheerful man, and with a monarch’s mien;
And this was Jupiter, my father’s star:
And at his side I saw the Sun and Moon.
Max. O never rudely will I blame his faith 110
In the might of stars and angels! ‘Tis not merely
The human being’s Pride that peoples space
With life and mystical predominance;
Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love
This visible nature, and this common world, 115
Is all too narrow: yea, a deeper import
Lurks in the legend told my infant years
Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn.
For fable is Love’s world, his home, his birthplace;
Delightedly dwells he ‘mong fays and talismans, 120
And spirits; and delightedly believes
Divinities, being himself divine.
The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
The fair humanities of old religion,
The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 125
That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain,
Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,
Or chasms and wat’ry depths; all these have vanished.
They live no longer in the faith of reason!
But still the heart doth need a language, still 130
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names,
And to yon starry world they now are gone,
Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth
With man as with their friend; and to the lover
Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky 135
Shoot influence down: and even at this day
‘Tis Jupiter who brings whate’er is great,
And Venus who brings every thing that’s fair!
Thekla. And if this be the science of the stars,
I too, with glad and zealous industry, 140
Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith.
It is a gentle and affectionate thought,
That in immeasurable heights above us,
At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven,
With sparkling stars for flowers.
Countess. Not only roses, 145
But thorns too hath the heaven; and well for you
Leave they your wreath of love inviolate;
What Venus twined, the bearer of glad fortune,
The sullen orb of Mars soon tears to pieces.
Max. Soon will his gloomy empire reach its close. 150
Blest be the General’s zeal: into the laurel
Will he inweave the olive-branch, presenting
Peace to the shouting nations. Then no wish
Will have remained for his great heart! Enough
Has he performed for glory, and can now 155
Live for himself and his. To his domains
Will he retire; he has a stately seat
Of fairest view at Gitschin; Reichenberg,
And Friedland Castle, both lie pleasantly —
Even to the foot of the huge mountains here 160
Stretches the chase and covers of his forests:
His ruling passion, to create the splendid,
He can indulge without restraint; can give
A princely patronage to every art,
And to all worth a Sovereign’s protection. 165
Can build, can plant, can watch the starry courses —
Countess. Yet I would have you look, and look again,
Before you lay aside your arms, young friend!
A gentle bride, as she is, is well worth it,
That you should woo and win her with the sword. 170
Max. O, that the sword could win her!
Countess. What was that?
Did you hear nothing? Seem’d, as if I heard
Tumult and larum in the banquet-room. [Exit COUNTESS.
