# Wallenstein/The Piccolomini/A2S07

SCENE VII.
Countess (returns)Thekla.
COUNTESS.
Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it, And so must be flung after him! For you, Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought, It had been more beseeming to have shewn yourself More chary of your person.
THEKLA (rising)
DUCHESS.
Who you are, and who he is. But perchance That never once occurr'd to you.
THEKLA.
COUNTESS.
THEKLA.
DUCHESS.
THEKLA.
He's of an ancient Lombard family, Son of a reigning Princess.
COUNTESS.
Talking in sleep? An excellent jest, forsooth! We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him To honour with his hand the richest heiress In Europe.
THEKLA.
COUNTESS.
THEKLA.
Will interpose no difficulty———
COUNTESS.
His father! his! But your's, niece, what of your's?
THEKLA.
So anxiously you hide it from the man; His father, his, I mean.
COUNTESS. (looks at her as scrutinizing)
THEKLA.
COUNTESS.
Triumph too soon!—
THEKLA (interrupting her, and attempting to soothe her.)
COUNTESS.
THEKLA.
COUNTESS.
His most important life in toils of war, Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss, Had banish'd slumbers from his tent, devoted His noble head to care, and for this only, To make a happy pair of you? At length To draw you from your convent, and conduct In easy triumph to your arms the man That chanc'd to please your eyes! All this, methinks, He might have purchas'd at a cheaper rate.
THEKLA.
Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord. And if my friendly and affectionate fate, Out of his fearful and enormous being, Will but prepare the joys of life for me—
COUNTESS.
Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who thou art. Into no house of joyance hast thou stepp'd, For no espousals dost thou find the walls Deck'd out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing. Here is no splendor but of arms. Or think'st thou
That all these thousands are here congregated To lead up the long dances at thy wedding? Thou see'st thy father's forehead full of thought, Thy mother's eye in tears: upon the balance Lies the great destiny of all our house. Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling, O thrust it far behind thee! Give thou proof, That thou'rt the daughter of the Mighty—his, Who where he moves creates the wonderful. Not to herself the woman must belong, Annex'd and bound to alien destinies. But she performs the best part, she the wisest, Who can transmute the alien into self, Meet and disarm necessity by choice; And what must be, take freely to her heart, And bear and foster it with mother's love.
THEKLA.
I had no loves, no wishes, knew myself Only as his—his daughter—his, the Mighty! His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me From the far distance, waken'd in my soul No other thought than this—I am appointed To offer myself up in passiveness to him.
COUNTESS.
I and thy mother gave thee the example.
THEKLA.
That I should offer up myself. In gladness Him will I follow.
COUNTESS.
Thy heart, say rather—'twas thy heart, my child!
THEKLA.
I am all his! His Present—his alone, Is this new life, which lives in me. He hath A right to his own creature. What was I Ere his fair love infus'd a soul into me?
COUNTESS.
Have otherwise determin'd with thy person? (Thekla remains silent. The Countess continues.) Thou mean'st to force him to thy liking?—Child, His name is Friedland.
THEKLA.
He shall have found a genuine daughter in me.
COUNTESS.
And in the wilful mood of his own daughter Shall a new struggle rise for him? Child! child! As yet thou hast seen thy father's smiles alone; The eye of his rage thou hast not seen. Dear child, I will not frighten thee. To that extreme, I trust, it ne'er shall come. His will is yet Unknown to me: 'tis possible, his aims May have the same direction as thy wish. But this can never, never be his will,
That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes, Should'st e'er demean thee as a love-sick maiden; And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever Be destin'd to await him, yet, with sacrifices The highest love can bring, must pay for it. [Exit Countess.
THEKLA (who during the last speech had been standing evidently lost in her reflections.)
My sad presentiment to certainty. And it is so!—Not one friend have we here, Not one true heart! we've nothing but ourselves! O she said rightly—no auspicious signs Beam on this covenant of our affections. This is no theatre where hope abides. The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here. And love himself, as he were arm'd in steel, Steps forth, and girds him for the strife of death. (Music from the banquet-room is heard.) There's a dark spirit walking in our house, And swiftly will the Destiny close on us. It drove me hither from my calm asylum, It mocks my soul with charming witchery, It lures me forward in a seraph's shape, I see it near, I see it nearer floating, It draws, it pulls me with a godlike power— And lo! the abyss—and thither am I moving— I have no power within me not to move! (The music from the banquet-room becomes louder.)
O when a house is doom'd in fire to perish,
Many and dark heaven drives his clouds together,
Yea, shoots his lightnings down from sunny heights,
Flames burst from out the subterraneous chasms,
And fiends and angels, mingling in their fury,
Sling fire-brands at the burning edifice.
[Exit Thekla.