_Countess._ O my soul Has long been weighed down by these dark forebodings. 80 And if I combat and repel them waking, They still rush down upon my heart in dreams, I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife Sit at a banquet gorgeously attired. _Wallenstein._ This was a dream of favourable omen, 85 That marriage being the founder of my fortunes. _Countess._ To-day I dreamt 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, 90 And where it is thy will that thou should'st 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. 95 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 100 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 105 Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife, Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith. His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth Into the open air: like funeral knells 110 Sounded that coronation festival; And still with boding sense he heard the tread Of those feet that ev'n then were seeking him Throughout the streets of Paris. _Countess._ And to thee The voice within thy soul bodes nothing? _Wallenstein._ Nothing. 115 Be wholly tranquil. _Countess._ And another time I hastened after thee, and thou ran'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 o'ertake thee; 120 When on a sudden did I feel myself Grasped from behind--the hand was cold that grasped me-- 'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed A crimson covering to envelop us. _Wallenstein._ That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. 125 _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._ _Wallenstein._ The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee-- Alphabets wound not--and he finds no hands. 130