The Piccolomini: A Play

SCENE VIII.

      COUNTESS (returns), THEKLA.

   COUNTESS.
   Fie, lady niece! to throw yourself upon him
   Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it,
   And so must be flung after him! For you,
   Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought
   It had been more beseeming to have shown yourself
   More chary of your person.

   THEKLA (rising).
                 And what mean you?

   DUCHESS.
   I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten
   Who you are, and who he is. But perchance
   That never once occurred to you.

   THEKLA.
                    What then?

   COUNTESS.
   That you're the daughter of the Prince Duke Friedland.

   THEKLA.
   Well, and what farther?

   DUCHESS.
                What? A pretty question!

   THEKLA.
   He was born that which we have but become.
   He's of an ancient Lombard family,
   Son of a reigning princess.

   COUNTESS.
                  Are you dreaming?
   Talking in sleep? An excellent jest, forsooth!
   We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him
   To honor with his hand the richest heiress
   In Europe.

   THEKLA.
         That will not be necessary.

   COUNTESS.
   Methinks 'twere well, though, not to run the hazard.

   THEHLA.
   His father loves him; Count Octavio
   Will interpose no difficulty——

   COUNTESS.
                    His!
   His father! His! But yours, niece, what of yours?

   THERLA.
   Why, I begin to think you fear his father,
   So anxiously you hide it from the man!
   His father, his, I mean.

   COUNTESS (looks at her as scrutinizing).
                Niece, you are false.

   THEBLA.
   Are you then wounded? O, be friends with me!

   COUNTESS.
   You hold your game for won already. Do not
   Triumph too soon!

   THEKLA (interrupting her, and attempting to soothe her).
             Nay now, be friends with me.

   COUNTESS.
   It is not yet so far gone.

   THEKLA.
                 I believe you.

   COUNTESS.
   Did you suppose your father had laid out
   His most important life in toils of war,
   Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss,
   Had banished slumbers from his tent, devoted
   His noble head to care, and for this only,
   To make a happier pair of you? At length
   To draw you from your convent, and conduct
   In easy triumph to your arms the man
   That chanced to please your eyes! All this, methinks,
   He might have purchased at a cheaper rate.

   THEKLA.
   That which he did not plant for me might yet
   Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord.
   And if my friendly and affectionate fate,
   Out of his fearful and enormous being,
   Will but prepare the joys of life for me——

   COUNTESS.
   Thou seest it with a lovelorn maiden's eyes,
   Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who thou art;—
   Into no house of joyance hast thou stepped,
   For no espousals dost thou find the walls
   Decked out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing;
   Here is no splendor but of arms. Or thinkest thou
   That all these thousands are here congregated
   To lead up the long dances at thy wedding!
   Thou see'st thy father's forehead full of thought,
   Thy mother's eye in tears: upon the balance
   Lies the great destiny of all our house.
   Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling;
   Oh, thrust it far behind thee! Give thou proof
   Thou'rt the daughter of the mighty—his
   Who where he moves creates the wonderful.
   Not to herself the woman must belong,
   Annexed and bound to alien destinies.
   But she performs the best part, she the wisest,
   Who can transmute the alien into self,
   Meet and disarm necessity by choice;
   And what must be, take freely to her heart,
   And bear and foster it with mother's love.

   THEKLA.
   Such ever was my lesson in the convent.
   I had no loves, no wishes, knew myself
   Only as his—his daughter—his, the mighty!
   His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me
   From the far distance, weakened in my soul
   No other thought than this—I am appointed
   To offer myself up in passiveness to him.

   COUNTESS.
   That is thy fate. Mould thou thy wishes to it—
   I and thy mother gave thee the example.

   THEKLA.
   My fate hath shown me him, to whom behoves it
   That I should offer up myself. In gladness
   Him will I follow.

   COUNTESS.
             Not thy fate hath shown him!
   Thy heart, say rather—'twas thy heart, my child!

   THEKLA.
   Faith hath no voice but the heart's impulses.
   I am all his! His present—his alone.
   Is this new life, which lives in me? He hath
   A right to his own creature. What was I
   Ere his fair love infused a soul into me?

   COUNTESS.
   Thou wouldst oppose thy father, then, should he
   Have otherwise determined with thy person?
      [THEKLA remains silent. The COUNTESS continues.
   Thou meanest to force him to thy liking? Child,
   His name is Friedland.

   THEKLA.
               My name too is Friedland.
   He shall have found a genuine daughter in me.

   COUNTESS.
   What! he has vanquished all impediment,
   And in the wilful mood of his own daughter
   Shall a new struggle rise for him? Child! child!
   As yet thou hast seen thy father's smiles alone;
   The eye of his rage thou hast not seen. Dear child,
   I will not frighten thee. To that extreme,
   I trust it ne'er shall come. His will is yet
   Unknown to me; 'tis possible his aims
   May have the same direction as thy wish.
   But this can never, never be his will,
   That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes,
   Shouldest e'er demean thee as a lovesick maiden
   And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself
   Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever
   Be destined to await him, yet with sacrifices
   The highest love can bring, must pay for it.

                    [Exit COUNTESS.