own account alone I seized it,And nothing common will I say therewith. 10
[Taking the hands of both.
Octavio — Max Piccolomini!
O saviour names, and full of happy omen!
Ne’er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria,
While two such stars, with blessed influences
Beaming protection, shine above her hosts. 15
Max. Heh! — Noble minister! You miss your part.
You came not here to act a panegyric.
You’re sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us —
I must not be beforehand with my comrades.
Octavio. He comes from court, where people are not quite 20
So well contented with the duke, as here.
Max. What now have they contrived to find out in him?
That he alone determines for himself
What he himself alone doth understand?
Well, therein he does right, and will persist in ‘t. 25
Heaven never meant him for that passive thing
That can be struck and hammered out to suit
Another’s taste and fancy. He’ll not dance
To every tune of every minister.
It goes against his nature — he can’t do it. 30
He is possessed by a commanding spirit,
And his too is the station of command.
And well for us it is so! There exist
Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use
Their intellects intelligently. — Then 35
Well for the whole, if there be found a man,
Who makes himself what nature destined him,
The pause, the central point to thousand thousands —
Stands fixed and stately, like a firm-built column,
Where all may press with joy and confidence. 40
Now such a man is Wallenstein; and if
Another better suits the court — no other
But such a one as he can serve the army.
Questenberg. The army? Doubtless!
Octavio (aside). Hush! suppress it, friend!
Unless some end were answered by the utterance. — 45
Of him there you’ll make nothing.
Max. In their distress
They call a spirit up, and when he comes,
Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread him
More than the ills for which they called him up.
The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be 50
Like things of every day. — But in the field,
Aye, there the Present Being makes itself felt.
The personal must command, the actual eye
Examine. If to be the chieftain asks
All that is great in nature, let it be 55
Likewise his privilege to move and act
In all the correspondencies of greatness.
The oracle within him, that which lives,
He must invoke and question — not dead books,
Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers. 60
Octavio. My son! of those old narrow ordinances
Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights
Of priceless value, which oppressed mankind
Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors.
For always formidable was the league 65
And partnership of free power with free will.
The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds,
Is yet no devious way. Straight forward goes
The lightning’s path, and straight the fearful path
Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid, 70
Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches.
My son! the road the human being travels,
That on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow
The river’s course, the valley’s playful windings,
Curves round the cornfield and the hill of vines, 75
Honouring the holy bounds of property!
And thus secure, though late, leads to its end.
Questenberg. O hear your father, noble youth! hear him,
Who is at once the hero and the man.
Octavio. My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee! 80
A war of fifteen years
Hath been thy education and thy school.
Peace hast thou never witnessed! There exists
A higher than the warrior’s excellence.
In war itself war is no ultimate purpose. 85
The vast and sudden deeds of violence,
Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment,
These are not they, my son, that generate
The calm, the blissful, and the enduring mighty!
Lo there! the soldier, rapid architect! 90
Builds his light town of canvas, and at once
The whole scene moves and bustles momently,
With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel
The motley market fills; the roads, the streams
