_Wallenstein._ Leave me---- _Max._ Do it not Not yet! This rash and bloody deed has thrown them Into a frenzy-fit--allow them time---- _Wallenstein._ Away! too long already have I loitered. They are emboldened to these outrages, 45 Beholding not my face. They shall behold My countenance, shall hear my voice---- Are they not my troops? Am I not their General, And their long-feared commander? Let me see, Whether indeed they do no longer know 50 That countenance, which was their sun in battle! From the balcony (mark!) I shew myself To these rebellious forces, and at once Revolt is mounded, and the high-swoln current Shrinks back into the old bed of obedience. 55 [_Exit WALLENSTEIN; ILLO, TERTSKY, and BUTLER follow._ LINENOTES: [48] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IX _COUNTESS, DUCHESS, MAX, and THEKLA._ _Countess (to the Duchess)._ Let them but see him--there is hope still, sister. _Duchess._ Hope! I have none! _Max (who during the last scene has been standing at a distance, advances)._ This can I not endure. With most determined soul did I come hither, My purposed action seemed unblameable To my own conscience--and I must stand here 5 Like one abhorred, a hard inhuman being; Yea, loaded with the curse of all I love! Must see all whom I love in this sore anguish, Whom I with one word can make happy--O! My heart revolts within me, and two voices 10 Make themselves audible within my bosom. My soul's benighted; I no longer can Distinguish the right track. O, well and truly Didst thou say, father, I relied too much On my own heart. My mind moves to and fro-- 15 I know not what to do. _Countess._ What! you know not? Does not your own heart tell you? O! then I Will tell it you. Your father is a traitor, A frightful traitor to us--he has plotted Against our General's life, has plunged us all 20 In misery--and you're his son! 'Tis yours To make the amends--Make you the son's fidelity Outweigh the father's treason, that the name Of Piccolomini be not a proverb Of infamy, a common form of cursing 25 To the posterity of Wallenstein. _Max._ Where is that voice of truth which I dare follow? It speaks no longer in my heart. We all But utter what our passionate wishes dictate: O that an angel would descend from Heaven, 30 And scoop for me the right, the uncorrupted, With a pure hand from the pure Fount of Light. [_His eyes glance on THEKLA._