COUNTESS.
To-day I dreamed that I was seeking thee
In thy own chamber. As I entered, lo!
It was no more a chamber: the Chartreuse
At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded,
And where it is thy will that thou shouldst be
Interred.
WALLENSTEIN.
Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.
COUNTESS.
What! dost thou not believe that oft in dreams
A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us?
WALLENSTEIN.
There is no doubt that there exist such voices,
Yet I would not call them
Voices of warning that announce to us
Only the inevitable. As the sun,
Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image
In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits
Of great events stride on before the events,
And in to-day already walks to-morrow.
That which we read of the fourth Henry's death
Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale
Of my own future destiny. The king
Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife
Long ere Ravaillac armed himself therewith.
His quiet mind forsook him; the phantasma
Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth
Into the open air; like funeral knells
Sounded that coronation festival;
And still with boding sense he heard the tread
Of those feet that even then were seeking him
Throughout the streets of Paris.
COUNTESS.
And to thee
The voice within thy soul bodes nothing?
WALLENSTEIN.
Nothing.
Be wholly tranquil.
COUNTESS.
And another time
I hastened after thee, and thou rann'st from me
Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall.
There seemed no end of it; doors creaked and clapped;
I followed panting, but could not overtake thee;
When on a sudden did I feel myself
Grasped from behind,—the hand was cold that grasped me;
'Twas thou, and thou didst kiss me, and there seemed
A crimson covering to envelop us.
WALLENSTEIN.
That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber.
COUNTESS (gazing on him).
If it should come to that—if I should see thee,
Who standest now before me in the fulness
Of life——
[She falls on his breast and weeps.