"Winds from the orange-trees of Palermo that blow over Circe's isle; breezes that pass to Tasso's tomb, that caress the nymphs and Cupids of the Farnese; you that play in the Vatican among Raphael's Virgins, among the statues of the Muses; you that dip your wings in the cascades of Tivoli; genii of the arts that live on master-pieces and flutter with the memories, come: you alone do I permit to inspire Cynthia's sleep. "And you, majestic daughters of Pythagoras, Fates in your robes of flax, inevitable sisters seated at the axle of the spheres, turn the thread of Cynthia's destiny over golden spindles; make it fall from your fingers and rise again to your hands with ineffable harmony; immortal spinsters, open the gate of ivory to those dreams which lie on a woman's breast without oppressing it! I will sing thee, O canephor of the Roman solemnities, young Charite fed on ambrosia in Venus' lap, smile sent from the East to glide over my life, violet forgotten in Horace' garden...." "Mein Herr, ten kreutzers vor de durnbike!" A plague upon you with your "crutches!" I had changed my sky! I was just in the right mood! The Muse will not return! That accursed Eger, to which we are coming, is the cause of my unhappiness. The nights are fatal at Eger. Schiller shows us Wallenstein, betrayed by his accomplices, going to the window of a room in the fortress of Eger: Am Himmel ist geschäftige Bewegung, Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht Der Wolken Zug, die Mondeszichel wankt, Und durch die Nacht zucht ungewisse Helle[3]. Wallenstein, on the point of being assassinated, expresses himself in touching terms on the death of Max Piccolomini[4], beloved by Thekla[5]: Die Blume ist hinweg aus meinem Leben . . . . . . . Denn er stand neben mir, wie meine Jugend, Er machte mir das Wirkliche zum Traum[6]. Wallenstein retires to his place of rest: Sieh, es ist Nacht geworden; auf dem Schloss Ist's auch schon stille. Leucine, Kämmerling! . . . . . . . Ich denke einen langen Schlaf zu thun; Denn dieser letzten Tage Qual war gross. Sorgt, dass sie nicht zu zeitig mir erwecken[7]. The dagger of the murderers snatches Wallenstein from his dreams of ambition, even as the voice of the turnpike-man put an end to my dream of love. Both Schiller and Benjamin Constant, who gave proof of a new talent by imitating the German tragic poet, have gone to join Wallenstein, while I, at the gates of Eger, recall their treble fame. [Sidenote: Bavaria.] 2 _June_ 1833.