Abstract

The play contains two different fates of Wallenstein—the first, the fate of the determinate progress of a decision, the second, the fate of this decision and the forces opposing it. Each can be taken as a tragic whole in itself. The first: Wallenstein, a great man—for as his own man, as an individual, he has held command [geboten] over many men—appears as this being in command [gebietende], with the splendor and enjoyment of this reign, mysterious because he holds no mystery. The determinate divides itself, of necessity, against his indeterminateness, into two branches, the first internal, the second external. The internal is not a struggle for determination but a fermenting of it; he has personal stature, fame as a commander, as the deliverer of an empire through individuality, command over many who obey him, the fear of friend and foe; he is himself above [erhaben] determination as subject to the emperor and state he has delivered, still less to fanaticism; his plans themselves must be still higher [erhaben]; what determination can satisfy him? He prepares for himself the means for the greatest [end] of his time, to confer [gebieten], in general, peace upon Germany, and, in particular, to acquire for himself a kingdom, and for his friends—comparable rewards.—[But] his higher [erhabene], self-sufficient soul plays [spielende] with the greatest end, and, for this reason, it is without character and can grasp no end, it searches for something higher to prod it. The independent man, who is yet alive and no monk, wants to shift the guilt of determination from himself, and, if there is nothing that can command [gebieten] him—there can be no such thing—then he creates for himself what will command [gebiete] him. Wallenstein seeks his decision, his action and his fate, in the stars. Precisely the one-sidedness of indeterminate being in the midst of nothing but determinateness, independence within nothing but dependences, brings him into relation with a thousand determinations; his friends built these up into ends that become his, his enemies too, against which they must however fight; and this determination, which has developed itself in the fermenting matter—for these are human beings—binds him and renders him dependent, it is not something he created, rather it seizes him. This succumbing of the indeterminate before the determinate is a highly tragic being, it is posited as great and of consequence.—In this, reflection will not justify genius, only present it. The impression of this as a tragic whole stands out for me very vividly. If this whole were a novel, then one could demand to see the determination clarified,—namely, that which Wallenstein has brought to this rule over the people. They are fettered by greatness, lack of determination, his boldness for their sake. It is however part of the play, yet cannot be acted out dramatically, i.e., appear as determining and at the same time determinate. It appears only as a shadow-play [Schattenbild], as it is called in the Prologue, perhaps in a different sense; but the camp is this rule, as something that came into being [gewordenes], a product.