Wallenstein. Art thou already
In harbour then, old man? Well! I am not. 45
The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows;
My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly.
Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate;
And while we stand thus front to front almost,
I might presume to say, that the swift years 50
Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.
[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains on the opposite side over against Gordon.
Who now persists in calling Fortune false?
To me she has proved faithful, with fond love
Took me from out the common ranks of men,
And like a mother goddess, with strong arm 55
Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.
[[800]] Nothing is common in my destiny,
Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares
Interpret then my life for me as 'twere
One of the undistinguishable many? 60
True in this present moment I appear
Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again.
The high flood will soon follow on this ebb;
The fountain of my fortune, which now stops
Repressed and bound by some malicious star, 65
Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.

Gordon. And yet remember I the good old proverb,
'Let the night come before we praise the day.'
I would be slow from long-continued fortune
To gather hope: for hope is the companion 70
Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven.
Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men,
For still unsteady are the scales of fate.

Wallenstein (smiling). I hear the very Gordon that of old
Was wont to preach to me, now once more preaching; 75
I know well, that all sublunary things
Are still the vassals of vicissitude.
The unpropitious gods demand their tribute.
This long ago the ancient Pagans knew:
And therefore of their own accord they offered 80
To themselves injuries, so to atone
The jealousy of their divinities:
And human sacrifices bled to Typhon. [After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner.
I too have sacrific'd to him—For me
There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault 85
He fell! No joy from favourable fortune
Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke.
The envy of my destiny is glutted:
Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning
Was drawn off which would else have shattered me. 90

Scene III

To these enter Seni.

Wallenstein. Is not that Seni? and beside himself,
If one may trust his looks! What brings thee hither
At this late hour, Baptista?

Seni. Terror, Duke!
[[801]] On thy account.

Wallenstein. What now?

Seni. Flee ere the day-break!
Trust not thy person to the Swedes!