Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Ne’er have I duped him with base counterfeits! 85

Questenberg. It is the visible ordinance of heaven.

Octavio. I know not what it is that so attracts

And links him both to me and to my son.

Comrades and friends we always were — long habit,

Adventurous deeds performed in company, 90

And all those many and various incidents

Which store a soldier’s memory with affections,

Had bound us long and early to each other —

Yet I can name the day, when all at once

His heart rose on me, and his confidence 95

Shot out in sudden growth. It was the morning

Before the memorable fight at Lützner.

Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out,

To press him to accept another charger.

At distance from the tents, beneath a tree, 100

I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him,

And had related all my bodings to him,

Long time he stared upon me, like a man

Astounded; thereon fell upon my neck,

And manifested to me an emotion 105

That far outstripped the worth of that small service.

Since then his confidence has followed me

With the same pace that mine has fled from him.

Questenberg. You lead your son into the secret?

Octavio. No!

Questenberg. What? and not warn him either what bad hands 110

His lot has placed him in?

Octavio. I must perforce

Leave him in wardship to his innocence.

His young and open soul — dissimulation

Is foreign to its habits! Ignorance

Alone can keep alive the cheerful air, 115

The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit,

That make the Duke secure.

Questenberg. My honoured friend! most highly do I deem

Of Colonel Piccolomini — yet — if ——

Reflect a little ——

Octavio. I must venture it. 120

Hush! — There he comes!

[Before 1] Questenberg (with signs of aversion and astonishment).

1817, 1828, 1829.

Questenberg (walking up and down in evident disquiet). Friend, &c.

1817, 1828, 1829.

Table of Contents

MAX PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, QUESTENBERG.

Max. Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father!

You are engaged, I see. I’ll not disturb you.

Octavio. How, Max? Look closer at this visitor;

Attention, Max, an old friend merits — Reverence

Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign. 5

Max. Von Questenberg! — Welcome — if you bring with you

Aught good to our head quarters.

Questenberg (seizing his hand). Nay, draw not

Your hand away, Count Piccolomini!

Not on mine 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

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 churchyard

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 bloodstained laurel

For the first violet 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!