Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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 ship,

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 bloody 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 tomorrow, 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.

Table of Contents

QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI.

Questenberg. Alas, alas! and stands it so?

What, friend! and do we let him go away

In this delusion — let him go away?

Not call him back immediately, not open

His eyes upon the spot?

Octavio. He has now opened mine, 5

And I see more than pleases me.

Questenberg. What is it?

Octavio. Curse on this journey!

Questenberg. But why so? What is it?

Octavio. Come, come along, friend! I must follow up

The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes

Are opened now, and I must use them. Come! 10

[Draws QUESTENBERG on with him.

Questenberg. What now? Where go you then?

Octavio. To her herself.

Questenberg. To ——

Octavio. To the Duke. Come, let us go—’Tis done, ‘tis done,

I see the net that is thrown over him.

O! he returns not to me as he went.

Questenberg. Nay, but explain yourself.

Octavio. And that I should not 15

Foresee it, not prevent this journey! Wherefore

Did I keep it from him? — You were in the right.

I should have warned him! Now it is too late.

Questenberg. But what’s too late? Bethink yourself, my friend,

That you are talking absolute riddles to me. 20

Octavio. Come! — to the Duke’s. ‘Tis close upon the hour

Which he appointed you for audience. Come!

A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey!

[He leads QUESTENBERG off.

[After 1] [Then in pressing and impatient tones. 1800, 1828, 1829.

1829.

[Before 12] Octavio (interrupting him, and correcting himself). 1800,

1828, 1829.

[Before 21] Octavio (more collected). 1800, 1828, 1829.

Table of Contents

Changes to a spacious chamber in the house of the Duke of

Friedland. — Servants employed in putting the tables and chairs in

order. During this enters SENI, like an old Italian doctor, in black,

and clothed somewhat fantastically. He carries a white staff, with which

he marks out the quarters of the heaven.

First Servant. Come — to it, lads, to it! Make an end of it.

I hear the sentry call out, ‘Stand to your arms!’ They will

be there in a minute.

Second Servant. Why were we not told before that the

audience would be held here? Nothing prepared — no orders — no 5

instructions —

Third Servant. Ay, and why was the balcony-chamber

countermanded, that with the great worked carpet? — there one can

look about one.

First Servant. Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. 10

He says it is an unlucky chamber.

Second Servant. Poh! stuff and nonsense! That’s what I call

a hum. A chamber is a chamber; what much can the place

signify in the affair?

Seni. My son, there’s nothing insignificant, 15

Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing

First and most principal is place and time.

First Servant (to the Second). Say nothing to him, Nat. The

Duke himself must let him have his own will.

Seni (counts the chairs, half in a loud, half in a low voice, till

he comes to eleven, which he repeats). Eleven! an evil number!

Set twelve chairs. 20

Twelve! twelve signs hath the zodiac: five and seven,

The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve.

Second Servant. And what may you have to object against

eleven? I should like to know that now.

Seni. Eleven is — transgression; eleven oversteps 25

The ten commandments.

Second Servant. That’s good! and why do you call five an

holy number?

Seni. Five is the soul of man: for even as man

Is mingled up of good and evil, so 30

The five is the first number that’s made up

Of even and odd.

Second Servant. The foolish old coxcomb!

First Servant. Ey! let him alone though. I like to hear

him; there is more in his words than can be seen at first sight. 35

Third Servant. Off! They come.

Second Servant. There! Out at the side-door.

[They hurry off. SENI follows slowly. A page brings the

staff of command on a red cushion, and places it on