LITMIR.BIZ

        I have taken thee by surprise. Answer me not:

        I grant thee time to recollect thyself.

        My general, this day thou makest me

        Of age to speak in my own right and person,

        For till this day I have been spared the trouble

        To find out my own road. Thee have I followed

        With most implicit, unconditional faith,

        Sure of the right path if I followed thee.

        To-day, for the first time, dost thou refer

        Me to myself, and forcest me to make

        Election between thee and my own heart.

        Soft cradled thee thy fortune till to-day;

        Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport,

        Indulge all lovely instincts, act forever

        With undivided heart. It can remain

        No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads

        Start from each other. Duties strive with duties,

        Thou must needs choose thy party in the war

        Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and him

        Who is thy emperor.

                   War! is that the name?

        War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence,

        Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that is.

        Is that a good war, which against the emperor

        Thou wagest with the emperor's own army?

        O God of heaven! what a change is this.

        Beseems it me to offer such persuasion

        To thee, who like the fixed star of the pole

        Wert all I gazed at on life's trackless ocean?

        O! what a rent thou makest in my heart!

        The ingrained instinct of old reverence,

        The holy habit of obediency,

        Must I pluck life asunder from thy name?

        Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me —

        It always was as a god looking upon me!

        Duke Wallenstein, its power has not departed;

        The senses still are in thy bonds, although

        Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself.

                            Max., hear me.

        Oh, do it not, I pray thee, do it not!

        There is a pure and noble soul within thee,

        Knows not of this unblest unlucky doing.

        Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only

        Which hath polluted thee – and innocence,

        It will not let itself be driven away

        From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not,

        Thou canst not end in this. It would reduce

        All human creatures to disloyalty

        Against the nobleness of their own nature.

        'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief,

        Which holdeth nothing noble in free will,

        And trusts itself to impotence alone,

        Made powerful only in an unknown power.

        The world will judge me harshly, I expect it.

        Already have I said to my own self

        All thou canst say to me. Who but avoids

        The extreme, can he by going round avoid it?

        But here there is no choice. Yes, I must use

        Or suffer violence – so stands the case,

        There remains nothing possible but that.

        Oh, that is never possible for thee!

        'Tis the last desperate resource of those

        Cheap souls, to whom their honor, their good name,

        Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep,

        Which, having staked and lost, they staked themselves

        In the mad rage of gaming. Thou art rich

        And glorious; with an unpolluted heart

        Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest!

        But he who once hath acted infamy

        Does nothing more in this world.

                         Calmly, Max.!

        Much that is great and excellent will we

        Perform together yet. And if we only

        Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon

        Forgotten, Max., by what road we ascended.

        Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now,

        That yet was deeply sullied in the winning.

        To the evil spirit doth the earth belong,

        Not to the good. All that the powers divine

        Send from above are universal blessings

        Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes,

        But never yet was man enriched by them:

        In their eternal realm no property

        Is to be struggled for – all there is general.

        The jewel, the all-valued gold we win

        From the deceiving powers, depraved in nature,

        That dwell beneath the day and blessed sunlight.

        Not without sacrifices are they rendered

        Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth

        That e'er retired unsullied from their service.

        Whate'er is human to the human being

        Do I allow – and to the vehement

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