The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge - LightNovelsOnl.com
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_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 pa.s.sive 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)._ Hus.h.!.+ 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 partners.h.i.+p 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 corn-field 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, n.o.ble 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 Are crowded with new freights, trade stirs and hurries! 95 But on some morrow morn, all suddenly, The tents drop down, the horde renews its march.
Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie, And the year's harvest is gone utterly. 100
_Max._ O let the Emperor make peace, my father!
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel For the first violet[614:1] of the leafless spring, Plucked in those quiet fields where I have journeyed!
_Octavio._ What ails thee? What so moves thee all at once? 105
_Max._ Peace have I ne'er beheld? I have beheld it.
From thence am I come hither: O! that sight, It glimmers still before me, like some landscape Left in the distance,--some delicious landscape!
My road conducted me through countries where 110 The war has not yet reached. Life, life, my father-- My venerable father, life has charms Which we have ne'er experienced. We have been But voyaging along its barren coasts, Like some poor ever-roaming horde of pirates, 115 That, crowded in the rank and narrow s.h.i.+p, House on the wild sea with wild usages, Nor know aught of the main land, but the bays Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing.
Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals 120 Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing, Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.
_Octavio._ And so your journey has revealed this to you?
_Max._ 'Twas the first leisure of my life. O tell me, What is the meed and purpose of the toil, 125 The painful toil, which robbed me of my youth, Left me a heart unsoul'd and solitary, A spirit uninformed, unornamented.
For the camp's stir and crowd and ceaseless larum, The neighing war-horse, the air-shattering trumpet, 130 The unvaried, still-returning hour of duty, Word of command, and exercise of arms-- There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart!
Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not-- 135 This cannot be the sole felicity, These cannot be man's best and only pleasures.
_Octavio._ Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey.
_Max._ O! day thrice lovely! when at length the soldier Returns home into life; when he becomes 140 A fellow-man among his fellow-men.
The colours are unfurled, the cavalcade Marshals, and now the buzz is hushed, and hark!
Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home!
The caps and helmets are all garlanded 145 With green boughs, the last plundering of the fields.
The city gates fly open of themselves, They need no longer the petard to tear them.
The ramparts are all filled with men and women, With peaceful men and women, that send onwards 150 Kisses and welcomings upon the air, Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures.
From all the towers rings out the merry peal, The joyous vespers of a b.l.o.o.d.y day.
O happy man, O fortunate! for whom 155 The well-known door, the faithful arms are open, The faithful tender arms with mute embracing.
_Questenberg._ O! that you should speak Of such a distant, distant time, and not Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day. 160
_Max._ Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna?
I will deal openly with you, Questenberg.
Just now, as first I saw you standing here, (I'll own it to you freely) indignation Crowded and pressed my inmost soul together. 165 'Tis ye that hinder peace, ye!--and the warrior, It is the warrior that must force it from you.
Ye fret the General's life out, blacken him, Hold him up as a rebel, and Heaven knows What else still worse, because he spares the Saxons, 170 And tries to awaken confidence in the enemy; Which yet 's the only way to peace: for if War intermit not during war, how then And whence can peace come?--Your own plagues fall on you!
Even as I love what's virtuous, hate I you. 175 And here make I this vow, here pledge myself; My blood shall spurt out for this Wallenstein, And my heart drain off, drop by drop, ere ye Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his ruin. [_Exit._
FOOTNOTES:
[614:1] In the original,
Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb ich him mit Freuden Furs erste Veilchen, das der Merz uns bringt, Das duftige Pffand der neuverjungten Erde.
_1800_, _1828_, _1829_.
LINENOTES:
[After 1] [_He embraces His father. As he turns round he observes Questenberg, and draws back with a cold and reserved air._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 6] _Max (drily)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 20] _Octavio (to Max)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[38] to] of 1800.
[44] _Octavio (to Questenberg)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[45] _some_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[46] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. _Max (continuing)._ In their, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829.
[52] _there_ the _Present Being_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[58] _lives_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[63] _th' oppressed_ MS. R.
