The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
ILLO.
And doubt not That his example will win over to you The best men in the army.
WALLENSTEIN.
Go and send Isolani hither. Send him immediately; He is under recent obligations to me: With him will I commence the trial. Go.
[_Exit_ ILLO.]
WALLENSTEIN (_turns himself round to the females_).
Lo, there the mother with the darling daughter For once we'll have an interval of rest--Come!
my heart yearns to live a cloudless hour In the beloved circle of my family.
COUNTESS.
'Tis long since we've been thus together, brother.
WALLENSTEIN (_to the_ COUNTESS _aside_).
Can she sustain the news? Is she prepared?
COUNTESS.
Not yet.
WALLENST.
Come here, my sweet girl! Seat thee by me.
For there is a good spirit on thy lips.
Thy mother praised to me thy ready skill; She says a voice of melody dwells in thee, Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice Will drive away from me the evil demon That beats his black wings close above my head.
d.u.c.h.eSS.
Where is thy lute, my daughter? Let thy father Hear some small trial of thy skill.
THEKLA.
My mother!
I--
d.u.c.h.eSS.
Trembling? Come, collect thyself. Go, cheer father.
THEKLA.
O my mother! I--I cannot.
COUNTESS.
How, what is that, niece?
THEKLA (_to the_ COUNTESS).
O spare me--sing--now--in this sore anxiety, Of the o'erburthen'd soul--to sing to _him_, Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong Into her grave.
d.u.c.h.eSS.
How, Thekla! Humorsome!
What! shall thy father have express'd a wish In vain?
COUNTESS.
Here is the lute.
THEKLA.
My G.o.d! how can I--
[_The orchestra plays. During the ritornello_ THEKLA _expresses in her gestures and countenance the struggle of her feelings; and at the moment that she should begin to sing, contracts herself together, as one shuddering, throws the instrument down, and retires abruptly_.]
d.u.c.h.eSS. My child! O she is ill--
WALLENSTEIN.
What ails the maiden?
Say, is she often so?
COUNTESS.
Since then herself Has now betray'd it, I too must no longer Conceal it.
WALLENSTEIN.
What?
COUNTESS.
She loves him!
WALLENSTEIN.
Loves him! Whom?
COUNTESS.
Max does she love! Max Piccolomini.