The Death of Wallenstein. Friedrich von Schiller

                     What is there here, then,

        So against nature? Help me to perceive it!

        Oh, let not superstition's nightly goblins

        Subdue thy clear, bright spirit! Art thou bid

        To murder? with abhorred, accursed poniard,

        To violate the breasts that nourished thee?

        That were against our nature, that might aptly

        Have ventured even this, ay, and performed it.

        What is there in thy case so black and monstrous?

        Thou art accused of treason – whether with

        Or without justice is not now the question —

        Thou art lost if thou dost not avail thee quickly

        Of the power which thou possessest – Friedland! Duke!

        Tell me where lives that thing so meek and tame,

        That doth not all his living faculties

        Put forth in preservation of his life?

        What deed so daring, which necessity

        And desperation will not sanctify?

        Once was this Ferdinand so gracious to me;

        He loved me; he esteemed me; I was placed

        The nearest to his heart. Full many a time

        We like familiar friends, both at one table,

        Have banqueted together – he and I;

        And the young kings themselves held me the basin

        Wherewith to wash me – and is't come to this?

        So faithfully preservest thou each small favor,

        And hast no memory for contumelies?

        Must I remind thee, how at Regensburg

        This man repaid thy faithful services?

        All ranks and all conditions in the empire

        Thou hadst wronged to make him great, – hadst loaded on thee,

        On thee, the hate, the curse of the whole world.

        No friend existed for thee in all Germany,

        And why? because thou hadst existed only

        For the emperor. To the emperor alone

        Clung Friedland in that storm which gathered round him

        At Regensburg in the Diet – and he dropped thee!

        He let thee fall! he let thee fall a victim

        To the Bavarian, to that insolent!

        Deposed, stripped bare of all thy dignity

        And power, amid the taunting of thy foe

        Thou wert let drop into obscurity.

        Say not, the restoration of thy honor

        Has made atonement for that first injustice.

        No honest good-will was it that replaced thee;

        The law of hard necessity replaced thee,

        Which they had fain opposed, but that they could not.

        Not to their good wishes, that is certain,

        Nor yet to his affection I'm indebted

        For this high office; and if I abuse it,

        I shall therein abuse no confidence.

        Affection! confidence! – they needed thee.

        Necessity, impetuous remonstrant!

        Who not with empty names, or shows of proxy,

        Is served, who'll have the thing and not the symbol,

        Ever seeks out the greatest and the best,

        And at the rudder places him, e'en though

        She had been forced to take him from the rabble —

        She, this necessity, it was that placed thee

        In this high office; it was she that gave thee

        Thy letters-patent of inauguration.

        For, to the uttermost moment that they can,

        This race still help themselves at cheapest rate

        With slavish souls, with puppets! At the approach

        Of extreme peril, when a hollow image

        Is found a hollow image and no more,

        Then falls the power into the mighty hands

        Of nature, of the spirit-giant born,

        Who listens only to himself, knows nothing

        Of stipulations, duties, reverences,

        And, like the emancipated force of fire,

        Unmastered scorches, ere it reaches them,

        Their fine-spun webs, their artificial policy.

        'Tis true! they saw me always as I am —

        Always! I did not cheat them in the bargain.

        I never held it worth my pains to hide

        The bold all-grasping habit of my soul.

        Nay rather – thou hast ever shown thyself

        A formidable man, without restraint;

        Hast exercised the full prerogatives

        Of thy impetuous nature, which had been

        Once granted to thee. Therefore, duke, not thou,

        Who hast still remained consistent with thyself,

        But they are in the wrong, who, fearing thee,

        Intrusted such a power in hands they feared.

        For, by the laws of spirit, in the right

        Is every individual character

        That acts in strict consistence with itself:

        Self-contradiction is the only wrong.

        Wert thou another being, then, when thou

        Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with fire,

        And sword, and desolation, through the circles

        Of Germany, the universal scourge,

        Didst mock all ordinances of the empire,

        The fearful rights of strength alone exertedst,

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