DUCHESS.

Where is thy lute, my daughter?  Let thy father
Hear some small trial of thy skill.

THEKLA.

My mother! 
I—­

DUCHESS.

Trembling?  Come, collect thyself.  Go, cheer
father.

THEKLA.

O my mother!  I—­I cannot.

COUNTESS.

How, what is that, niece?

THEKLA (to the COUNTESS).

O spare me—­sing—­now—­in this sore anxiety,
Of the o’erburthen’d soul—­to sing to him,
Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong
Into her grave.

DUCHESS.

How, Thekla!  Humorsome! 
What! shall thy father have express’d a wish
In vain?

COUNTESS.

Here is the lute.

THEKLA.

My God! how can I—­

[The orchestra plays.  During the ritornello THEKLA expresses in her gestures and countenance the struggle of her feelings; and at the moment that she should begin to sing, contracts herself together, as one shuddering, throws the instrument down, and retires abruptly.]

DUCHESS.  My child!  O she is ill—­

WALLENSTEIN.

What ails the maiden? 
Say, is she often so?

COUNTESS.

Since then herself
Has now betray’d it, I too must no longer
Conceal it.

WALLENSTEIN.

What?

COUNTESS.

She loves him!

WALLENSTEIN.

Loves him!  Whom?

COUNTESS.

Max does she love!  Max Piccolomini. 
Hast thou ne’er noticed it?  Nor yet my sister?

DUCHESS.

Was it this that lay so heavy on her heart? 
God’s blessing on thee, my sweet child!  Thou need’st
Never take shame upon thee for thy choice.

COUNTESS.

This journey, if ’twere not thy aim, ascribe it
To thine own self.  Thou shouldst have chosen another
To have attended her.

WALLENSTEIN.

And does he know it?

COUNTESS.

Yes, and he hopes to win her!

WALLENSTEIN.  Hopes to win her! 
Is the boy mad?

COUNTESS.

Well—­hear it from themselves.

WALLENST.

He thinks to carry off Duke Friedland’s daughter! 
Ay?—­The thought pleases me. 
The young man has no groveling spirit.

COUNTESS.

Since
Such and such constant favor you have shown him—­

WALLENST.

He chooses finally to be my heir. 
And true it is, I love the youth; yea, honor him. 
But must he therefore be my daughter’s husband? 
Is it daughters only?  Is it only children
That we must show our favor by?

DUCHESS.

His noble disposition and his manners—­

WALLENST.

Win him my heart, but not my daughter.

DUCHESS.

Then
His rank, his ancestors—­

WALLENSTETN.