Wallenstein. It is his evil genius and mine. [245]
Our evil genius! It chastises him
Through me, the instrument of his ambition;
And I expect no less, than that Revenge
E'en now is whetting for my breast the poniard.
Who sows the serpent's teeth, let him not hope 250
To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime
Has, in the moment of its perpetration,
Its own avenging angel—dark misgiving,
An ominous sinking at the inmost heart.
He can no longer trust me—Then no longer 255
Can I retreat—so come that which must come.—
Still destiny preserves its due relations,
The heart within us is its absolute
Vicegerent. [To Tertsky.
Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangel
To my state-cabinet. Myself will speak to [260]
The couriers.—And dispatch immediately
A servant for Octavio Piccolomini. [To the Countess.
No exultation—woman, triumph not!
For jealous are the Powers of Destiny.
Joy premature, and shouts ere victory, 265
Incroach upon their rights and privileges.
We sow the seed, and they the growth determine.
[While he is making his exit the curtain drops.
FOOTNOTES:
[701:1] Could I have hazarded such a Germanism as the use of the word 'after-world' for posterity, 'Es spreche Welt und Nachwelt meinen Nahmen' might have been rendered with more literal fidelity:
'Let world and after-world speak out my name,' &c.
1800, 1828, 1829.
[701:2] I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age with a literal translation of this line:
'werth
Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregen.'
1800, 1828, 1829.