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The Complete Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - Part 6
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF
Jobann Molfoang von (3oetbe
/ N
TEN
VOLUMES
VOLUME VI
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS
TORQUATO TASSO
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN
THE FELLOW-CITIZEN
TRANSLATED BY
SIR WALTER SCOTT, E. A. BOWRING
AND ANNA SWANWICK
NEW YORK : P. F. COLLIER & SON : PUBLISHERS
e>
CONTENTS.
Page
Iphigenia in Tauris ---••• 7
TORQUATO TaSSO, - - • - - - 8l
GoETz VON Berlichingen, - « - - - 191
The Fellow -Culprits, « • • - - 291
Vol 6 Goethe— A
IPHJGENIA IN TAURiS.
A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS.
TRANSLATED BY ANNA ISWANWJOK.
Like Torquato Tasso, Iphigenia was originally written in
piDse, and in that form was acted at the Weimar Cuort
Theatre about 1779. Goethe himself took the part of Orestes.
DRAMATIS PERSONiF..
Iphigenia. Orestes.
Thoas, King of the Taurians. Pylades.
Arkas.
INTRODUCTION.
The drama of " Iphigenia in Tauris " has been considered
Goethe^s_^Lasiej::piece : it is conceived in the spirit of Greek
ideality Tand is characterized throughout by moral beauty and
dignified repose. Schlegel ^ styles it an echo of Greek song,
an epithet as appropriate as it is elegant ; for, without any
servile imitation of classic models, this beautiful drama,
through the medium of its polished verse, reproduces in
softened characters the graceful and colossal formfe of the
antique. • .
The destiny of Agamemnon and his race was a favorite
theme of the ancients. It has been dramatized in a variety
of forms by the three great masters of antiquity ; and from
these various sources Goethe has gathered the materials for
his drama, enriching it with touches of sublimity and beauty
selected indiscriminately from the works of each. The de-
scription of the Furies in the third act is worthy of JEschylus,
and in tlje spirit of the same great writer is the exclusion of
these terrific powers from the consecrated grove symbolical
of the peace which religion can alone afford to the anguish of
a wounded conscience. The prominence given to the idea
of destiny, together with the finished beauty of the whole, re-
minds us of Sophocles ; while the passages conveying general
moral truths, scattered throughout the poem, not unfre-
quently recall to our recollection those of a similar character
in the dramas of Euripides.
Two dramas of Euripides are founded upon the well-known
story of Iphigenia. In the "Iphigenia in Aulis," we are
introduced to the assembled hosts of Greece, detained by
contrary winds in consequence of Diana's anger against
Agamemnon. An oracle had declared that the goddess
could only be propitiated by the sacrifice of Iphigenia, who
is accordingly allured with her mother to the camp. On dis-
> Dramatic Literature, Bohn's edition, p. 518.
9
10 INTRODUCTION.
covering the fearful doom which awaits her, she is at first
overwhehiiecl with grief. She implores her father to spare
her life, endeavors to touch his heart by recalling the fond
memories of by-gone times, and holds up her infant brother,
Orestes, that he ma}'- plead for her with his tears. Learning,
however, that the glory of her country depends upon her
death, she rises superior to her fears, subdues her womanly
weakness, and devotes herself a willing sacrifice for Greece.
She is conducted to the altar : the sacred garlands are bound
around her head. Calchas lifts the knife to deal the fatal
stroke, when Iphigenia suddenly vanishes, and a hmd of un-
common beauty lies bleeding at his feet.
In the "Iphigenia in Tauris," our heroine re-appears in
the temple of Diana, situated in the Tauric Chersonese, a
savage region washed by the Euxine Sea, where, according
to the ancients, all strangers were sacrificed at the altar of
Diana. To this wild shore Iphigenia had been conveyed by
the pitying goddess ; and there, in her character of priestess,
she presided over the bloody rites of the barbarians. The
incidents in this drama have been adopted by Goethe as the
groundwork of his poem, the chief interest in which, as in
the drama of Euripides, turns upon the departure of Iphigenia
and Orestes from the Taurian shore. A brief outline of the
Grecian drama will show in what particulars the modern
poet has adhered to his classic model, and where he has
deviated from it.
The scene of both is in the vicinity of the temple of Diana.
In the opening soliloquy of the Grecian drama, Iphigenia,
after lamenting her unhappy destiny, relates her dream of
the previous night, from which she infers the death of
Orestes. She determines to offer a libation to his memory ;
and, while engaged in performing this pious rite, she is in-
formed that two strangers have been captured on the shore,
for whose sacrifice she is commanded to prepare. Orestes
and Pylades are shortly after introduced ; and, learning from
the former that he is a native of Argos, she offers to spare
his life provided he will carry a letter for her to Mycene.
He refuses to abandon his friend ; Pylades is equally disin-
terested ; a generous contest ensues ; and the latter, yielding
at length to the entreaties of Orestes, consents to accept life
on the proposed conditions. The letter addressed to Orestes
is produced, and Iphigenia discovers her brother ih the in-
tended victim. They anxiously consider how they may es-
cape ; and Iphigenia suggests, that, in her character of
INTRODUCTION. 11
priestess, she shall lead them, together with the image of
Diana, to the sea, there to be purified in the ocean waves,
where they may find safety in the attendant bark. With all
the wily subtlety of a Greek, she imposes upon the credulity
of the barbarian monarch, and induces him, not only to
sanction her project, but to assist in its execution, which she
at length successfully achieves. In this drama, Iphigenia,
though exhibiting some noble traits, offends us by her un-
scrupulous violation of the truth, and by the cunning artifice
which Goethe, with admirable art, has attributed to Pylades.
We are the more displeased with this portrait, because we
are unwilling to recognize in the crafty priestess the innocent
victim who so strongly awakens our S3^mpathy in the beauti-
ful drama of "Iphigenia in Aulis." In the Iphigenia of
Goethe, on the contrary, we discover with pleasure the same
filial tenderness, and the same touching mixture of timidity
and courage, which characterized that interesting heroine.
In the drama of Euripides we are chiefly interested in the
generous friendship of Orestes and Pylades : in that of
Goethe the character of Iphigenia constitutes the chief
charm, and awakens our warmest sympathy. While con-
templating her, we feel as if some exquisite statue of
Grecian art had become animated by a living soul, and
moved and breathed before us : thouo-h exhibitino; the severe
simplicity which characterizes the creations of antiquity, she
is far removed from all coldness and austerity ; and her
character, though cast in a classic mould, is free from that
harsh and vindictive spirit which darkened the heroism of
those barbarous times when religion lent her sanction to
hatred and revenge.
The docility with which, in opposition to her own feelings,
she at first consents to the stratagem of Pylades, though ap-
parently inconsistent with her reverence for truth, is in reality
a beautiful and touching trait. The conflict in her mind
between intense anxiety for her brother's safety, and de-
testation of the artifice by which alone she thinks it can be
secured, amounts almost to agony : in her extremity she calls
upon the gods, and implores them to save their image in her
soul. The struggle finally subsides : she remains faithful to
her high convictions, reveals the project of escape, and thus
saves her soul from treachery. From the commencement of
the fifth act she assumes a calm and lofty tone, as if feeling
the inspiration of a noble purpose. The dignity and deter-
mination with which she opposes the cruel project of the
12 INTRODUCTION.
barbarian king, remind us of the similar qualities displayed
by the Antigone of Sophocles, who is perhaps the noblest
heroine of antiquity. Thus, when called upon by the king to
reverence the law, Iphigenia appeals to that law written in
the heart, more ancient and more sacred than the ordinances
of man ; and Antigone, when, by the interment of her brother
Polynices, she has incurred the anger of the tyrant Creon,
and become subjected to a cruel death, justifies herself by an
appeal to the same sacred authority.
The remaining characters of the drama, though subordi-
nate to the central figure, are in admirable keeping with it ;
the poet having softened down the harsh features of the bar-
barians, so as not to form too abrupt a contrast with the
more polished Greeks, and thereby interfere with the har-
mony of the piece. The colossal figures of the Titans ap-
pearing in the background, and the dread power of Destiny
overarching all, impart a character of solemn grandeur to
the whole.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
ACT I.
Scene L — A Grove before the Temple of Diana,
IPHIGENIA.
Beneath your leafy gloom, ye waving boughs
Of this old, shady, consecrated grove,
As in the goddess' silent sanctuary,
With the same shuddering feeling forth I step,
As when I trod it first ; nor ever here
Doth my unquiet sgiritjeelat home.
Long as a higher will, to which I bow,
Hath kept me here concealed, still, as at first,
I feel myself a stranger. For the sea
Doth sever me, alas ! from those I love :
And day by day upon the shore I stand.
The land of Hellas seeking with my soul ;
But, to my sighs, the hollow- sounding waves
Bring, save their own hoarse murmurs, no reply.
Alas for him ! who, friendless and alone,
Remote from parents and from brethren dwells :
From him grief snatches every coming joy
Ere it doth reach his lip. His yearning thoughts
Throng back forever to his father's halls.
Where first to him the radiant sun unclosed
The gates of heaven ; where closer, day by day,
Brothers and sisters, leagued in pastime sweet,
Around each other twined love's tender bonds.
I will not reckon with the gods ; yet truly
Deserving of lament is woman's lot.
Man rules alike at home and in the field,
13
14 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Nor is in foreign climes without resource :
Him conquest crowneth, him possession gladdens,
And him an honorable death awaits.
How circumscribed is woman's destiny !
Obedience to a harsh, imperious lord,
Her duty and her comfort : sad her fate,
Whom hostile fortune drives to lands remote !
Thus Thoas holds me here, a noble man.
Bound with a heavy though a sacred chain.
Oh, how it shames me, goddess, to confess
That with repugnance I perform these rites
For thee, divine protectress ! unto whom
I would in freedom dedicate my life.
In thee, Diana, I have always hoped ;
And still I hope in thee, who didst infold
Within the holy shelter of thine arm
The outcast daughter of the mighty king.
Daughter of Jove ! hast thou from ruined Troy
Led back in triumph to his native land
The mighty man, whom thou didst sore afflict,
His daughter's life in sacrifice demanding, —
Hast thou for him, the god-like Agamemnon,
Who to thine altar led his darling;^ichHd,— — '
Preserved , his wife, plectra, and his son, -^
His dearest treasures? — then at length restore
Thy suppliant also to herLiriends and home,
And save her, as thou once from death didst save,
So now, from living here, a seeond death.
Scene li. — Iphigenia, Abkas.
AHKAS.
The king hath seht ine hither, bade me greet
With hail, and fair Salute, Diana's priestess.
For new and WOndrouS conqilest, this the day,
When to her goddess Tauris I'endei's thanks.
I hasten on before the kltig and host.
Himself to herald, and Its neat* approach.
IPHlGElftA.
We are prepared to give them worthy greeting ;
Our goddess doth behold with gracious eye
The welcome sacrifice from Thoas' hand.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 15
ARKAS,
Would that I also found the priestess' eye,
Much honored, much revered one, found thine eye,
consecrated maid, more calm, more 'bright.
To all a happy omen ! Still doth grief,
With gloom mysterious, shroud thy inner mind:
Vainly, through many a tedious year, we wait
For one confiding utterance from thy breast.
Long as I've known thee in this holy place.
That look of thine hath ever made me shudder ;
And, as with iron bands, thy soul remains
Locked in the deep recesses of thy breast.
IPHIGENIA.
As doth become the exile and the orphan.
ARKAS.
Dost thou, then, here seem exiled and an orphan?
IPHIGENIA.
Can foreign scenes our fatherland replace?
ARKAS.
Thy fatherland is foreign now to thee.
IPHIGENIA.
Hence is it that my bleeding heart ne'er heals.
In early youth, when first my soul, in love,
Held father, mother, brethren fondly twined,
A group of tender germs, in union sweet,
We sprang in beauty from the parent stem.
And heavenward grew : alas ! a foreign curse
Then seized and severed me from those I loved,
And wrenched with iron grasp the beauteous bands.
It vanished then, the fairest charm of youth,
The simple gladness of life's early dawn ;
Though saved, I was a shadow of myself.
And life's fresh joyance blooms in me no more.
ARKAS.
If thou wilt ever call thyself unblest,
1 must accuse thee of ingratitude.
16 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
IPHIGENIA.
Thanks have you ever.
ARKAS.
Not the honest thanks
Which prompt the heart to offices of love ;
The joyous glance, revealing to the host
A grateful spirit, with its lot content.
When thee a deep mysterious destiny
Brought to this sacred fane, long years ago,
To greet thee, as a treasure sent from heaven,
With reverence and affection, Thoas came.
Benign and friendly was this shore to thee.
To every stranger else with horror fraught ;
For, till thy coming, none e'er trod our realm
But fell, according to an ancient rite,
A bloody victim at Diana's shrine.
IPHIGENIA.
Freely to breathe alone is not to live.
Say, is it life, within this holy fane.
Like a poor ghost around its sepulchre
To linger out my days ? Or call you that
A life of conscious happiness and joy.
When every hour, dreamed listlessly away,
Still leadeth onward to those gloomy days
Which the sad troop of the departed spend
In self-forgetfulness on Lethe's shore?
A useless life is but an early death :
This woman's destiny hath still been mine.
ARKAS.
I can forgive, though I must needs deplore.
The noble pride which underrates itself :
It robs thee of the happiness of life.
But hast thou, since thy coming here, done naught?
Who hath the monarch's gloomy temper cheered?
Who hath with gentle eloquence annulled.
From year to year, the usage of our sires.
By which, a victim at Diana's shrine.
Each stranger perished, thus from certain death
Sending so oft the rescued captive home ?
Hath not Diana, harboring no revenge
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 17
For this suspension of her bloody rites,
In richest measure heard thy gentle prayer?
On joyous pinions o'er the advancing host,
Doth not triumphant conquest proudly soar?
And feels not every one a happier lot,
Bince Thoas, who so long hath guided us
With wisdom and with valor, swayed by thee,
The joy of mild benignity approves.
Which leads him to relax the rigid claims
Of mute submission ? Call thyself useless ! Thou,
When, from thy being, o'er a thousand hearts,
A healing balsam flows? when to a race.
To whom a god consigned thee, thou dost prove
A fountain of perpetual happiness,
And from this dire, inhospitable coast,
Dost to the stranger grant a safe return ?
IPHIGENIA.
The little done doth vanish to the mind
Which forward sees how much remains to do.
ARKAS.
Him dost thou praise, who underrates his deeds?
IPHIGENIA.
Who weigheth his own deeds is justly blamed.
ARKAS.
He too, real worth too proudly who condemns,
As who, too vainly, spurious worth o'errateth.
Trust me, and heed the counsel of a man
With honest zeal devoted to thy service :
When Thoas comes to-day to speak with thee,
Lend to his purposed words a gracious ear.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy well-intentioned counsel troubles me :
His offer I have ever sought to shun.
ARKAS.
Thy duty and thy interest calmly weigh.
Sithence King Thoas lost his son and heir,
18 IPHIGENIA INTAUBIS.
Among his followers he trusts but few,
And trusts those few no more as formerly.
With jealous eye he views each noble's son
As the successor of his realm : he dreads
A solitary, helpless age — perchance
Sudden rebellion and untimely death.
A Scythian studies not the rules of speech,
And least of all the king. He who is used
To act and to command, knows not the art.
From far, with subtle tact, to guide discourse
Through many windings to its destined goal.
Thwart not his purpose by a cold refusal,
By an intended misconception. Meet,
With gracious mien, half-way the royal wish.
IPHIGENIA.
Shall I, then, speed the doom that threatens me?
His gracious offer eanst thou call a threat?
IPHIGENIA.
*Tis the most terrible of all to me.
ARKAS.
For his affection grant him confidence.
IPHIGENIA.
If he wiU first redeem my soul from fear.
ARKAS.
Why dost thou hide from him thy origin?
IPHIGENIA.
A priestess secrecy doth well become.
ARKAS.
Naught to a monarch should a secret be ;
And, though he doth not seek to fathom thine,
His noble nature feels, ay, deeply feels.
That thou with care dost hide thyself from him.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 19
IPHIGENIA.
Ill-will and anger harbors he against me ?
ARKAS.
Almost it seems so. True, he speaks not of thee ;
But casual words have taught me that the wish
Thee to possess hath firmly seized his soul :
Oh, leave him not a prey unto himself,
Lest his displeasure, ripening in his breast,
Should work thee woe, so with repentance though
Too late my faithful counsel shalt recall !
IPHIGENIA.
How ! doth the monarch purpose what no man
Of noble mind, who loves his honest name,
Whose bosom reverence for the gods restrains,
Would ever think of? Will he force employ
To drag me from the altar to his bed ?
Then will I call the gods, and chiefly thee,
Diana, goddess resolute, to aid me :
Thyself a virgin, wilt a virgin shield.
And to thy priestess gladly render aid.
ARKAS.
Be tranquil ! Passion, and youth's fiery blood,
Impel not Thoas rashly to commit
A deed so lawless. In his present mood,
I fear from him another harsh resolve,
Which (for his soul is steadfast and unmoved)
He then will execute without delay.
Therefore I pray thee, canst thou grant no more.
At least be grateful — give thy confidence.
IPHIGENIA.
Oh, tell me what is further known to theo.
ARKAS.
Learn it from him. I see the king approach :
Him thou dost honor, thine own heart enjoins
To meet him kindly and with confidence.
A man of noble mind may oft be led
By woman's gentle word.
20 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
iPHiGENiA {alone).
How to observe
His faithful counsel see I not in sooth.
But willingly the duty I perform
Of giving thanks for benefits received,
And much I wish that to the king my lips
With truth could utter what would please his ear.
Scene III. — Iphigenia, Thoas.
IPHIGENIA.
Her royal gifts the goddess shower on thee,
Imparting conquest, wealth, and high renown,
Dominion, and the welfare of thy house ;
With the fulfilment of each pious wish.
That thou, whose sway for multitudes provides,
Thyself mayest be supreme in happiness !
THOAS.
Contented were I with my people's praise ;
My conquests others more than I enjoy.
Oh ! be he king or subject, he's most blest,
Whose happiness is centred in his home.
My deep aflfliction thou didst share with me
What time, in war's encounter, the fell sword
Tore from my side my last, my dearest son :
So long as fierce revenge possessed my heart,
I did not feel my dwelling's dreary void ;
But now, returning home, my rage appeased.
Their kingdom wasted, and my son avenged,
I find there nothing left to comfort me.
The glad obedience I was wont to see
Kindling in every eye, is smothered now
In discontent and gloom : each, pondering, weighs
The changes which a future day may bring.
And serves the childless king because he must.
To-day I come within this sacred fane.
Which I have often entered to implore
And thank the gods for conquest. In my breast
I bear an old and fondly cherished wish.
To which methinks thou canst not be a stranger :
I hope, a blessing to myself and realm.
To lead thee to my dwelling as my bride.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 21
IPHIGENIA.
Too great thine offer, king, to one unknown !
Abashed the fugitive before thee stands,
Who on this shore sought only what thou gavest, —
Safety and peace.
THOAS.
Thus still to shroud thyself
From me, as from the lowest, in the veil
Of mystery which wrapped thy coming here,
Would in no country be deemed just or right.
Strangers this shore appalled : 'twas so ordained.
Alike by law and stern necessity.
From thee alone, — a kindly welcomed guest,
Who hast enjoyed each hallowed privilege,
And spent thy days in freedom unrestrained, —
From thee 1 hoped that confidence to gain
Which every faithful host may justly claim.
IPHIGENIA.
If I concealed, king ! my name, my race,
It was embarrassment, and not mistrust.
For didst thou know who stands before thee now.
And what accursed head thine arm protects,
Strange horror would possess thy mighty heart ;
And, far from wishing me to share thy throne,
Thou, ere the time appointed, from thy realm
Wouldst banish me ; wouldst thrust me forth, perchanca.
Before a glad re-union with my friends
And period to my wanderings is ordained.
To meet that sorrow, which, in every clime,
With cold, inhospitable, fearful hand,
Awaits the outcast, exiled from his home.
THOAS.
Whatever respecting thee the gods decree,
Whate'er their doom for thee and for thy house,
Since thou hast dwelt amongst us, and enjoyed
The privilege the pious stranger claims,
To me hath failed no blessing sent from heaven;
And to persuade me, that protecting thee
I shield a guilty head, were hard indeed.
Ho
22 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
IPHiaENIA.
Thy bounty, not the guest, draws blessings down.
TM0A8.
The kindness shown the wicked is not blest.
End, then, thy silence, priestess i not unjust
Is he who doth demand it. In my hands
The goddess placed thee ; thou hast been to me
As sacred as to her, and her behest
Shall for the future also be my law :
If thou canst hope in safety to return
Back to thy kindred, 1 renounce my claims ;
But is thy homeward path forever closed,
\ Or doth thy race in hopeless exile rove.
Or lie extinguished by some mighty woe.
Then may I claim thee by more laws than one.
Speak openly : thou knowest I keep my word.
IPHIGENIA.
Its ancient bands reluctantly my tongue
Doth loose, a long-hid secret to divulge •
For, once imparted, it resumes no more
The safe asylum of the inmost heart,
But thenceforth, as the powers above deci*6e,
Doth work its ministry of weal or woe.
Attend ! I issue from the Titan's race.
fHOAS.
A word momentous calmly hast thou spoken.
Him namest thou ancestor whom all the world
Knows as a sometime favorite of the gods ?
Is it that Tantalus, whom Jove himself
Drew to his council and his social board?
On whose experienced words, with wisdom fraught,
As on the language of an oraole,
E'en gods delighted hung?
IPHIGENIA.
*Tis even he :
But the immortal gods with mortal men
Should not, on equal terms, hold intercourse ;
For all too feeble is the human race,
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 28
Not to grew dizzy on unwooted heights.
Ignoble was he not, and no betrayer ;
To be the Thunderer's slave, he was too great ;
To be his friend and comrade, — but a man.
His crime was human, and their doom severe ;
For poets sing, that treachery and pride
Did from Jove's table hurl him headlong down
To grovel in the depths of Tartarus.
Alas ! and his whole race must bear their hate.
THOAS.
Bear they their own guilt, or their ancestor's?
IPHIGENIA.
The Titan's mighty breast and nervous frame
Was his descendants' certain heritage ;
But round their brow Jove forged a band of brass.
Wisdom and patience, prudence and restraint,
He from their gloomy, fearful eye concealed ;
In them each passion grew to savage rage,
And headlong rushed with violence unchecked.
Already Pelops, Tantalus' loved son,
Mighty of will, obtained his beauteous bride,
Hippodamia, child of CEnomaus,
Through treachery and murder : she, ere long,
To glad her consort's heai*t, bare him two sons,
Thy est and Atreus. They with envy marked
The ever-growing love their father bare
To his first-born, sprung from another union.
Hate leagued the pair ; and secretly they wrought,
In fratricide, the first dread crime. The sire
Hippodamia held as murderess :
With savage rage he claimed from her his son.
And she in terror did destroy herself —
THOAS.
Thou'rt silent? Pause not in thy narrative,*
Repent not of thy confidence — say on I
IPHIGENIA.
How blest is he who his progenitors
With pride remembers, to the listener tells
24 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
The story of their greatness, of their deeds,
And, silently rejoicing, sees himself
The latest link of this illustrious chain !
For seldom does the self-same stock produce
The monster and the demigod : a line
Or good or evil ushers in, at last.
The glor}^ or the terror of the world. —
After the death of Pelops, his two sons
Ruled o'er the city with divided sway.
But such an union could not long endure.
His brother's honor first Thyestes wounds.
In vengeance Atreus drove him from the realm.
Thyestes, planning horrors, long before
Had stealthily procured his brother's son,
Whom he in secret nurtured as his own.
Revenge and fury in his breast he poured,
Then to the royal city sent him forth,
That in his uncle he might slay his sire.
The meditated murder was disclosed,
And by the king most cruelly avenged.
Who slaughtered, as he thought, his brother's son.
Too late he learned whose dying tortures met
His drunken gaze ; and, seeking to assuage
The insatiate vengeance that possessed his soul.
He planned a deed unheard of. He assumed
A friendly tone ; seemed reconciled, appeased ;
And lured his brother, with his children twain.
Back to his kingdom ; these he seized and slew,
Then placed the loathsome and abhorrent food
At his first meal before the unconscious sire.
And when Thyestes had his hunger stilled
With his own flesh, a sadness seized his soul :
He for his children asked, — their steps, their voice,
Fancied he heard already at the door ;
And Atreus, grinning with malicious joy,
Threw in the members of the slaughtered boys. —
Shuddering, O king, thou dost avert thy face !
So did the sun his radiant visage hide.
And swerve his chariot from the eternal path.
These, monarch, are thy priestess' ancestors ;
And many a dreadful fate of mortal doom.
And many a deed of the bewildered brain,
Dark night doth cover with her sable wing.
Or shroud in gloomy twilight.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 2^
THOAS.
Hidden there
Let them abide. A truce to horror now,
And tell me by what miracle thou sprangest
From race so savage.
IPHIGENIA.
Atreus' eldest son
Was Agamemnon, — he, O king, my sire !
But I may sa}^ with truth, that, from a child,
In him the model of a perfect man
I witnessed ever. Clytemnestra bore
To him, myself, the firstling of their love,
Electra then. Peaceful the monarch ruled,
And to the house of Tantalus was given
A long-withheld repose. A son alone
Was wanting to complete my parents' bliss :
Scarce was this wish fulfilled, and young Orestes,
The household's darling, with his sisters grew.
When new misfortunes vexed our ancient house.
To you hath come the rumor of the war.
Which, to avenge the fairest woman's wrongs,
The force united of the Grecian kings
Round Ilion's walls encamped. Whether the town
Was humbled, and achieved their great revenge,
I have not heard. M}' father led the host.
In Aulis vainly for a favoring gale
They waited ; for, enraged against their chief,
Diana stayed their progress, and required,
Through Chalcas' voice, the monarch's eldest daughter.
They lured me with my mother to the camp :
They dragged me to the altar, and this head
There to the goddess doomed. — She was appeased ;
She did not wish my blood, and shrouded me
In a protecting cloud : within this temple
I first awakened from the dream of death ;
Yes, I myself am she, Iphigenin,
Grandchild of Atreus, Agamemnon's child,
Diana's priestess, I who speak with thee.
THOAS.
I yield no higher honor or regard
To the king's daughter than the maid unknown :
nL ^ /'
26 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Once more my first proposal I repeat ;
Come, follow me, and share what I possess.
IPHIGENIA.
How dare I venture such a step, O king?
Hath not the goddess who protected me
Alone a right to my devoted head ?
*Twas she who chose for me this sanctuary,
Where she perchance reserves me for my sire,
By my apparent death enough chastised,
To be the joy and solace of his age.
Perchance m}' glad return is near ; and how,
If I, unmindful of her purposes,
Had here attached myself against her will ?
I asked a signal, did she wish my stay.
THOAS.
The signal is, that still thou tarriest here.
Seek not evasively such vain pretexts.
Not many words are needed to refuse,
The no alone is heard by the refused.
IPHIGENIA.
Mine are not words meant only to deceive :
I have to thee my inmost heart revealed.
And doth no inward voice suggest to thee,
How I with yearning soul must pine to see
My father, mother, and my long-lost home?
Oh, let thy vessels bear me thither, king !
That in the ancient halls, where sorrow still
In accents low doth fondly breathe my name,
Joy, as in welcome of a new-born child.
May round the columns twine the fairest wreath.
New life thou wouldst to me and mine impart.
THOAS.
Then, go ! Obey the promptings of thy heart.
And to the voice of reason and good counsel
Close thou thine ear. Be quite the woman, give
To every wish the rein, that, bridleless.
May seize on thee, and whirl thee here and there.
When burns the fire of passion in her breast.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 27
No sacred tie withholds her from the wretch
Who would allure her to forsake for him
A husband's or a father's guardian arms ;
Extinct within her heart its fiery glow,
The golden tongue of eloquence in vain
With words of truth and power assails her ear.
IPHIGENIA.
Remember now, O king, thy noble words !
My trust and candor wilt thou thus repay ?
Thou seemest, methinks, prepared to hear the truth.
THOAS.
For this unlooked-for answer not prepared.
Yet 'twas to be expected : knew I not
That with a woman I had now to deal?
IPHIGENIA.
Upbraid not thus, O king, our feeble sex !
Though not in dignity to match with yours,
The weapons woman wields are not ignoble.
And trust me, Thoas, in thy happiness
I have a deeper insight than thyself.
Thou thinkest, ignorant alike of both,
A closer union would augment our bliss ;
Inspired with confidence and honest zeal
Thou strongly urgest me to yield consent :
And here I thank the gods, who give me strength
To shun a doom unratified by them.
THOAS.
'Tis not a god, 'tis thine own heart, that speaks.
IPHIGENIA.
'Tls through the heart alone they speak to us.
THOAS.
To hear them have not an equal right?
IPHIGENIA.
The raging tempest drowns the still small voice.
28 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
THOAS.
This voice no doubt the priestess hears alone.
IPHIGENIA.
Before all others should the prince attend it.
THOAS.
Thy sacred office, and ancestral right
To Jove's own table, place thee with the gods
In closer union than an earth-born savage.
IPHIGENIA.
Thus must I now the confidence atone
Thyself didst wring from me !
THOAS.
I am a man.
And better His we end this conference.
Hear, then, my last resolve. Be priestess still
Of the great goddess who selected thee ;
And may she pardon me, that I from her.
Unjustly, and with secret self-reproach.
Her ancient sacrifice so long withheld !
From olden time no stranger n eared our shore
But fell a victim at her sacred shrine.
But thou, with kind affection (which at times
Seemed like a gentle daughter's tender love,
At times assumed to my enraptured heart
The modest inclination of a bride) ,
Didst so inthrall me, as with magic bonds.
That I forgot my duty. Thou didst rock
My senses in a dream : I did not hear
My people's murmurs ; now they cry aloud,
Ascribing my poor son's untimely death
To this my guilt. No longer for thy sake
Will I oppose the wishes of the crowd,
Who urgently demand the sacrifice.
IPHIGENIA.
For mine own sake I ne'er desired it from thee.
Who to the gods ascribe a thirst for blood
Do misconceive their nature, and impute
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 29
To them tlieir own inhuman dark desires.
Did not Diana snatch me from the priest,
Holding my service dearer than my death ?
THOAS.
'Tis not for us, on reason's shifting grounds,
Lightly to guide and construe rites divine.
Perform th^^ duty : I'll accomplish mine.
Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shore
We found concealed, and whose arrival here
Bodes to my realm no good, are in my power.
With them th}^ goddess may once more resume
Her ancient, pious, long-suspended rites !
I send them here, — thy duty not unknown. [^Exit,
IPHIGENIA (alone).
Gracious protectress ! thou hast clouds
To shelter innocence distressed,
And from the arms of iron fate.
Gently to waft her o'er the sea.
O'er the wide earth's remotest realms,
Where'er it seemeth good to thee.
Wise art thou, — thine all-seeing eye
The future and the past surveys :
Thy glance doth o'er thy children rest,
E'en as thy light, the life of night.
Keeps o'er the earth its silent watch.
O Goddess ! keep my hands from blood !
Blessing it never brings, and peace ;
And still in evil hours the form
Of the chance-murdered man appears
To fill the unwilling murderer's soul
With horrible and gloomy fears.
For fondly the Immortals view
Man's widely scattered, simple race ;
And the poor mortal's transient life
Gladly prolong, that he may lift
Awhile to their eternal heavens
His sympathetic joyous gaze.
30 IPHIGENIA m TAURIS.
ACT II.
Scene I. — Orestes, Pylades.
OBESTES.
It is the path of death that now we tread :
At every step my soul grows more serene.
When I implored Apollo to remove
The grisly band of Furies from my side,
He seemed, with hope-inspiring, god-like words,
To promise aid and safety in the fane
Of his loved sister, who o'er Tauris rules.
Thus the prophetic word fulfils itself,
That with my life shall terminate my woe.
How easy 'tis for me, whose heart is crushed,
Whose sense is deadened by a hand divine,
Thus to renounce the beauteous light of day !
And must the son of Atreus not intwine
The wreath of conquest round his dying brow?
Must I, as my forefathers, as my sire,
Bleed like a victim, — an ignoble death?
So be it ! Better at the altar here,
Than in a nook obscure, where kindred hands
Have spread assassination's wily net.
Yield me this brief repose, infernal Powers !
Ye, who, like loosened hounds, still scent the blood
Which, trickling from my feet, betrays my path.
Leave me ! ere long I come to you below.
Nor you, nor I, should view the light of day.
The soft green carpet of the beauteous earth
Is no arena for unhallowed fiends.
Below I seek you, where an equal fate
Binds all in murky, never-ending night.
Thee only, thee, my Pylades, my friend.
The guiltless partner of my crime and curse,
Thee am I loath, before thy time, to take
To yonder cheerless shore ! Thy life or death
Alone awakens in me hope or fear.
pylades.
Like thee, Orestes, I am not prepared
Downwards to wander to yon realm of shade.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 31
I purpose still, through the entangled paths,
Which seem as they would lead to blackest night,
Again to wind our upward way to life.
Of death I think not : I observe and mark
Whether the gods may not perchance present
Means and fit moment for a joyful flight.
Dreaded or not, the stroke of death must come ,
And though the priestess stood with hand upraised,
Prepared to cut our consecrated locks,
Our safety still should be my only thought :
UpUft thy soul above this weak despair ;
Desponding doubts but hasten on our peril.
Apollo pledged to us his sacred word,
That in his sister's holy fane for thee
Were comfort, aid, and glad return prepared.
The words of Heaven are not equivocal,
As in despair the poor oppressed one thinks.
ORESTES.
The mystic web of life my mother cast
Around my infant head, and so I grew
An image of my sire ; and my mute look
Was aye a bitter and a keen reproof
To her and base ^gisthus. Oh, how oft,
When silently within our gloomy hall
Electra sat, and mused beside the fire,
Have I with anguished spirit climbed her knee,
And watched her bitter tears with sad amaze !
Then would she tell me of our noble sire :
How much I longed to see him — be with him !
Myself at Troy one moment fondly wished,
My sire's return the next. The day arrived —
FTLADES.
Oh, of that awful hour let fiends of hell
Hold nightly converse ! Of a time more fair
May the remembrance animate our hearts
To fresh heroic deeds. The gods require
On this wide earth the service of the good,
To work their pleasure. Still they count on thee ;
For in thy father's train they sent thee not,
When he to Orcus went unwilling down.
32 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
ORESTES.
Would I had seized the border of his robe,
And followed him !
PYLADES.
They kindly cared for me
Who held thee here : for, hadst thou ceased to live,
I know not what had then become of me ;
Since I with thee, and for thy sake alone,
Have from my childhood lived, and wish to live.
ORESTES.
Remind me not of those delightsome days
When me thy home a safe asylum gave :
With fond solicitude thy noble sire
The half-nipped tender floweret gently reared ;
While thou, a friend and playmate always gay,
Like to a light and brilliant butterfly
Around a dusky flower, didst day by day
Around me with new life thy gambols urge,
And breathe thy joyous spirit in my soul.
Until, my cares forgetting, I with thee
Was lured to snatch the eager joys of youth.
PYLADES.
My very life began when thee I loved.
ORESTES.
Say, then thy woes began, and thou speakest truly.
This is the sharpest sorrow of my lot.
That, like a plague-infected wretch, I bear
Death and destruction hid within my breast ;
That, where I tread, e'en on the healthiest spot,
Ere long the blooming faces round betray
The anguished features of a lingering death.
PYLADES.
Were thy breath venom, I had been the first
To die that death, Orestes. Am I not,
As ever, full of courage and of joy?
And love and courage are the spirit's wings
Wafting to noble actions.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 33
ORESTES.
Noble actions?
Time was, when fancy painted such before us !
When oft, the game pursuing, on we roamed
O'er hill and valley ; hoping, that ere long.
Like our great ancestors in heart and hand.
With club and weapon armed, we so might track
The robber to his den, or monster huge.
And then at twilight, by the boundless sea.
Peaceful we sat, reclined against each other ;
The waves came dancing to our very feet.
And all before us lay the wide, wide world ;
Then on a sudden one would seize his sword.
And future deeds shone round us like the stars.
Which gemmed in countless throngs the vault of night.
PYLADES.
Endless, my friend, the projects which the soul
Burns to accomplish. We would every deed
At once perform as grandly as it shows
After long ages, when from land to land
The poet's swelling song hath rolled it on.
It sounds so lovely what our fathers did.
When, in the silent evening-shade reclined,
We drink it in with music's melting tones ;
And what we do is, as their deeds to them,
Toilsome and incomplete !
Thus wejpursue what always flies before^
We disregard the path in which we tread.
Scarce see around the footsteps of our sires,
Or heed the trace of their career on earth.
We ever hasten on to chase their shades.
Which, god-like, at a distance far remote.
On golden clouds, the mountain summits crown.
The man I prize not who esteems himself
Just as the people's breath may chance to raise him.
But thou, Orestes, to the gods give thanks.
That they through thee have early done so much.
ORESTES.
When they ordain a man to noble deeds.
To shield from dire calamity his friends.
Extend his empire, or protect its bounds,
34 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Or put to flight its ancient enemies,
Let him be grateful ! For to him a god
Imparts the first, the sweetest, joy of life.
Me have they doomed to be a slaughterer,
To be an honored mother's murderer,
And, shamefully a deed of shame avenging,
Me through their own decree they have o'erwhelmed.
Trust me, the race of Tantalus is doomed ;
And I, his last descendant, may not perish,
Or crowned with honor or unstained by crime.
PYLADES.
The gods avenge not on the son the deeds
Done by the father. Each, or good or bad,
Of his own actions reaps the due reward.
The parents' blessing, not their curse, descends.
ORESTES.
Methinks their blessing did not lead us here 4
PYLADES.
It was at least the mighty gods' decree.
ORESTES.
Then is it their decree which doth destroy us.
PYLADES.
Perform what they command , and wait the event.
Do thou Apollo's sister bear from hence,
That they at Delphi may united dwell.
There by a noble-thoughted race revered :
Thee, for this deed, the lofty pair will view
With gracious eye, and from the hateful grasp
Of the infernal Powers will rescue thee.
E'en now none dares intrude within this grove.
ORESTES.
So shall I die at least a peaceful death.
PYLADES.
Far other are my thoughts, and not unskilled
Have I the future and the past combined
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 36
111 quiet meditation. Long, perchance,
Hath ripened in the counsel of the gods
The great event. Diana yearns to leave
The savage coast of these barbarians,
Foul with their sacrifice of hunian blood.
We were selected for the high emprise :
To us it is assigned, and strangely thus
We are conducted to the threshold here.
ORESTES.
My friend, with wondrous skill thou linkest thy wish
With the predestined purpose of the gods.
PYLADES.
Of what avail is prudence, if it fail
Heedful to mark the purposes of Heaven ?
A noble man, who much hath sinned, some god
Doth summon to a dangerous enterprise,
Which to achieve appears impossible.
The hero conquers, and atoning serves
Mortals and gods, who thenceforth honor him.
ORESTES.
Am I foredoomed to action and to life,
Would that a god from my distempered br^in
Might chase this dizzy fever, which impels
My restless steps along a slippery path,
Stained with a mother's blood, to direful death,
And, pitying, dry the fountain, whence the blood,
Forever spouting from a mother's wounds,
Eternally defiles me !
PYLADES.
Wait in peace !
Thou dost increase the evil, and dost take \ j
The oflSce of the Furies on thyself. I
Let me contrive — be still ! And when at length 1
The time for action claims our powers combined, j
Then will I summon thee, and on we'll stride, I
With cautious boldness to achieve the event. I
ORESTES.
I hear Ulysses speak.
36 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
PYLADES.
Nay, mock me not.
Each must select the hero after whom
To climb the steep and difficult ascent
Of high Olympus. And to me it seems
That him nor stratagem nor art defiles
Who consecrates himself to noble deeds.
ORESTES.
I most esteem the brave and upright man.
PYLADES.
And therefore have I not desired thy counsel.
One step's already taken. From our guards
E'en now I this intelligence have gained, —
A strange ancj godlike woman holds in check
The execution of that bloody law :
Incense and prayer, and an unsullied heart, —
These are the gifts she offers to the gods.
Rumor extols her highly : it is thought
That from the race of Amazon she springs,
And hither fled some great calamity.
ORESTES.
Her gentle sway, it seems, lost all its power
When hither came the culprit whom the curse,
Like murky night, envelops and pursues.
Our doom to seal, the pious thirst for blood
The ancient cruel rite again unchains :
The monarch's savage will decrees our death ;
A woman cannot save when he condemns.
PYLADES.
That 'tis a woman, is a ground for hope !
A man, the very best, with cruelty
At length may so familiarize his mind.
His character through custom so transform,
That he shall come to make himself a law
Of what at first his very soul abhorred.
But woman doth retain the stamp of mind
She first assumed. On her we may depend
In good or evil with more certainty.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 37
She comes : leave us alone. I dare not tell
At once our names, nor unreserved confide
Our fortunes to her. Now, retire a while ;
And ere she speaks with thee we'll meet again.
Scene II. — Iphigenia, Pylades.
IPHIGENIA.
Whence art thou ? Stranger, speak ! To me thy bearing
Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian, race.
(She unbinds his chains.)
The freedom that I give is dangerous :
The gods avert the doom that threatens you !
PYLADES.
Delicious music ! dearly welcome tones
Of our own language in a foreign land !
With joy my captive eye once more beholds
The azure mountains of my native coast.
Oh, let this joy that I too am a Greek
Convince thee, priestess ! How I need thine aid,
A moment I forget, my spirit rapt
In contemplation of so fair a vision.
If fate's dread mandate doth not seal thy lips,
From which of our illustrious races say.
Dost thou thy god-like origin derive ?
iphigenia.
The priestess whom the goddess hath herself
Selected and ordained doth speak with thee.
Let that suffice ; but tell me, who art thou,
And what unblessed o'erruling destiny
Hath hither led thee with thy friend ? ♦
pylades.
The woe,
Whose hateful presence ever dogs our steps,
I can with ease relate. Oh, would that thou
Couldst with like ease, divine one, shed on us
One ray of cheering hope ! We are from Crete,
Adrastus' sons, and I, the youngest born,
Named Cephalus ; my eldest brother, he,
Vol e Goethe- B
38 IPHIGEN^IA IN TAURIS.
Laodamas. Between us stood a youth
Savage and wild, who severed e'en in sport
The joy and concord of our early youth.
Long as our father led his powers at Troy, I
Passive our mother's mandate we obeyed ; ■
But when, enriched with booty, he returned,
And shortly after died, a contest fierce,
Both for the kingdom and their father's wealth,
His children parted. I the eldest joined ;
He slew our brother ; and the Furies hence
For Kindred murder dog his restless steps.
But to this savage shore the Delphian god
Hath sent us, cheered by hope. He bade us wait ^^
Within his sister's consecrated fane
The blessed hand of aid. Captives we are ;
And, hither brought, before thee now we stand
Ordained for sacrifice. My tale is told.
IPHIGENIA.
Fell Troy ! Dear man, assure me of its fall.
PYLADES.
Prostrate it lies. Oh, unto us insure
Deliverance ! The promised aid of heaven
More swiftly bring. Take pity on my brother.
Oh, say to him a kind, a gracious word :
But spare him when thou speakest, — earnestly
This I implore ; for all too easily.
Through joy and sorrow and through memory,
Torn and distracted is his inmost being.
A feverish madness oft doth seize on him,
Yielding his spirit, beautiful and free,
A prey to furies.
IPHIGENIA.
Great as is thy woe.
Forget it, I conjure thee, for a while,
Till I am satisfied.
PYLADES.
The stately town.
Which ten long years withstood the Grecian host,
Now lies in ruins, ne'er to rise again ;
IPHTGENIA IN TAURIS.
Yet many a hero's grave will oft recall
Our sad remembrance to that barbarous shore.
There lies Achilles and his noble friend.
IPHIGENIA.
So are ye god-like forp n^ ^ reduced to dust !
PYLADES.
Nor Palamede, nor Ajax, e'er again
The daylight of their native land beheld.
IPHIGENIA.
He speaks not of my father, doth not name
Him with the fallen. He may yet survive !
I may behold him ! still hope on, fond heart I
PYLADES.
Yet happy are the thousands who received
Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand !
For terror wild, and end most tragical,
Some hostile, angry deity prepared,
Instead of triumph, for the home-returning.
Do human voices never reach this shore ?
Far as their sound extends, they bear the fame
Of deeds unparalleled. And is the woe
Which fills Mycene's halls with ceaseless sighs
To thee a secret still ? — And knowest thou not
That Clytemnestra, with ^gisthus' aid,
Her royal consort artfully ensnared.
And murdered on the day of his return? —
The monarch's house thou honorest ! I perceive
Thy breast with tidings vainly doth contend
Fraught with such monstrous and unlooked-for woe.
Art thou the daughter of a friend ? art born
Within the circuit of Mycene's walls?
Conceal it not, nor call me to account
That here the horrid crime I first announce.
IPHIGENIA.
Proceed, and tell me how the deed was done.
39
40 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
PYLADES.
The day of his return, as from the bath
Arose the monarch, tranquil and refreshed,
His robe demanding from his consort's hand,
A tangled garment, complicate with folds,
She o'er his shoulders flung and noble head:
And when, as from a net, he vainly strove
To extricate himself, the traitor, base
^gisthus, smote him ; and, enveloped thus,
Great Agamemnon sought the shades below.
IPHIGENIA.
And what reward received the base accomplice ?
PYLADES.
A queen and kingdom he possessed already.
IPHIGENIA.
Base passion prompted, then, the deed of shame?
PYLADES.
And feelings, cherished long, of deep revenge.
IPHIGENIA.
How had the monarch injured Clytemnestra?
PYLADES.
By such a dreadful deed, that, if on earth
Aught could exculpate murder, it were this.
To Aulis he allured her, when the fleet
With unpropitious winds the goddess stayed ;
And there, a victim at Diana's shrine.
The monarch, for the welfare of the Greeks,
Her eldest daughter doomed, Iphigenia.
And this, so rumor saith, within her heart
Planted such deep abhorrence, that forthwith
She to ^gisthus hath resigned herself,
And round her husband flung the web of death,
IPHIGENIA {veiling herself) ,
It is enough ! Thou wilt again behold me.
I
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 41
PYLADES {alone).
The fortune of this royal house, it seems,
Doth move her deeply. Whosoe'er she be,
She must herself have known the monarch well ; —
For our good fortune, from a noble house.
She hath been sold to bondage. Peace, my heart !
And let us steer our course with prudent zeal
Toward the star of hope which gleams upon us.
ACT III.
Scene I. — Iphigenia, Obestks.
IPHIGENIA.
Unhappy man, I only loose thy bonds
In token of a still severer doom.
The freedom which the sanctuary imparts,
Like the last life-gleam o'er the dying face,
But heralds death. I cannot, dare not, say
Your doom is hopeless ; for, with murderous hand,
Could I inflict the fatal blow myself ?
And, while I here am priestess of Diana,
None, be he who he may, dare touch your heads.
But the incensed king, should I refuse
Compliance with the rites himself enjoined,
Will choose another virgin from my train
As my successor. Then, alas ! with naught,
Save ardent wishes, can I succor you.
Much-honored countrymen ! The humblest slave.
Who had but neared our sacred household hearth,
Is dearly welcome in a foreign land :
How with proportioned joy and blessing, then.
Shall I receive the man who doth recall
The image of the heroes, whom I learned
To honor from my parents, and who cheers
My inmost heart with flattering gleams of hope !
ORESTES.
Does prudent forethought prompt thee to conceal
Thy name and race ? or may I hope to know
Who, like a heavenly vision, meets me thus?
42 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
IPHIGENIA.
Yes, thou shalt know me. Now conclude the tale
Of which thy brother only told me half :
Relate their end, who, coming home from Troy,
On their own threshold met a doom severe
And most unlooked for. Young I was in sooth
When first conducted to this foreign shore,
Yet well I recollect the timid glance
Of wonder and amazement which I cast
On those heroic forms. When they went forth,
It seemed as though Olympus had sent down
The glorious figures of a by-gone world,
To frighten Ilion ; and above them all,
Great Agamemnon towered pre-eminent !
Oh, tell me ! Fell the hero in his home.
Through Clytemnestra's and ^gisthus' wiles?
ORESTES.
He fell !
IPHIGENIA.
Unblest Mycene ! Thus the sons
Of Tantalus, with barbarous hands, have sown
Curse upon curse ; and, as the shaken weed
Scatters around a thousand poison-seeds.
So they assassins ceaseless generate,
Their children's children ruthless to destroy. —
Now tell the remnant of thy brother's tale.
Which horror darkly hid from me before.
How did the last descendant of the race, —
The gentle child, to whom the gods assigned
The office of avenger, — how did he
Escape that day of blood ? Did equal fate
Around Orestes throw Avernus' net?
Say, was he saved? and is he still alive?
And lives Electra too ?
ORESTES.
They both survive.
IPHIGENIA.
Golden Apollo, lend thy choicest beams !
Lay them an ofTernig at the throne of Jove !
For I am poor and dumb !
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 4^
ORESTES.
If social bonds,
Or ties more close, connect thee with this house,
As this thy rapturous joy betray eth to me,
Oh, then, rein in thy heart and hold it fast !
For insupportable the sudden plunge
From happiness to sorrow's gloomy depth.
Thou knowest only Agamemnon's death.
IPHIGENIA
And is not this intelligence enough?
ORESTES.
Half of the horror only hast thou heard.
IPHIGENIA.
'What should I fear? Oreste, Electra, live.
ORESTES.
And fearest thou for Clytemnestra naught?
IPHIGENIA.
Her, neither hope nor fear hath power to save.
ORESTES.
She to the land of hope hath bid farewell.
IPHIGENIA.
Did her repentant hand shed her own blood?
ORESTES.
Not so ; yet her own blood inflicted death.
IPHIGENIA.
More plainly speak, nor leave me in suspense.
Uncertainty around my anxious head
Her dusky, thousand- folded pinion waves.
ORESTES.
Have, then, the powers above selected me
To be the herald of a dreadful deed,
44 IPHIGENIA m TAURIS.
Which in the drear and soundless realms of night
I fain would hide forever? 'Gainst my will
Thy gentle voice constrains me : it demands,
And shall receive, a tale of direst woe.
Electra, on the day when fell her sire.
Her brother from impending doom concealed :
Him Strophius, his father's relative,
Received with kindest care, and reared him up,
With his own son, named Pylades, who soon
Around the stranger twined love's fairest bonds.
And as they grew, within their inmost souls.
There sprang the burning longing to revenge
The monarch's death. Unlooked for, and disguised,
They reach Mycene, feigning to have brought
The mournful tidings of Orestes' death.
Together with his ashes. Them the queen
Gladly receives. Within the house the}- enter :
Orestes to Electra shows himself ;
She fans the fires of vengeance into flame,
Which, in the sacred presence of a mother,
Had burned more dimly. Silently she leads
Her brother to the spot where fell their sire ;
Where lurid blood-marks, on the oft- washed floor,
With pallid streaks anticipate revenge.
With fiery eloquence she pictured forth
Each circumstance of that atrocious deed, —
Her own oppressed and miserable life.
The prosperous traitor's insolent demeanor,
The perils threatening Agamemnon's race
From her who had become their stepmother. —
Then in his hand the ancient dagger thrust.
Which often in the house of Tantalus
With savage fury raged, — and by her son
Was Clytemnestra slain.
IPHIGENIA.
Immortal powers !
Whose pure and blest existence glides away
'Mid ever-shifting clouds, me have ye kept
So many years secluded from the world.
Retained me near yourselves, consigned to me
The child-like task to feed the sacred fire.
And taught my spirit, like the hallowed flame,
With never-clouded brightness to aspire
IPHIGENIA IN TAURTS. 45
To your pure mansions, — but at length to feel
With keener woe the horror of my house ? '
Oh, tell me of the poor unfortunate !
Speak of Orestes ! , i i ^
ORESTES. ^.^i/^u/.U •■ tX^Y
Oh, could I speak to tell thee of his death !
Forth from the slain one's spouting blood arose
His mother's ghost ;
And to the ancient daughters of the night
Cries, " Let him not escape, — the matricide I
Pursue the victim, dedicate to you ! *'
They hear, and glare around with hollow eyes,
Like greedy eagles. In their murky dens
They stir themselves ; and from the corners creep
Their comrades, dire Remorse and pallid Fear ;
Before them fumes a mist of Acheron ;
Perplexingly around the murderer's brow
The eternal contemplation of the past
Rolls in its cloudy circles. Once again
The grisly band, commissioned to destroy,
Pollute earth's beautiful and heaven-sown fields,
From which an ancient curse had banished them.
Their rapid feet the fugitive pursue :
They only pause to start a wilder fear.
IPHIGENIA.
Unhappy one : thy lot resembles his ;
Thou feelest what he, poor fugitive, must suffer.
ORESTES.
What sayest thou ? Why presume my fate like his ?
IPHIGENIA.
A brother's murder weighs upon thy soul :
Thy younger brother told the mournful tale.
ORESTES.
I cannot suffer that thy noble soul
Should by a word of falsehood be deceived.
In cunning rich and practised in deceit,
A web ensnaring let the stranger weave
To snare the stranger's feet: between us twain
Be truth !
46 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
I am Orestes ! and this guilty head
Is stooping to the tomb, and covets death :
It will be welcome now in any shape.
Whoe'er thou art, for thee and for my friend
I wish deliverance ; — I desire it not.
Thou seemest to linger here against thy will :
Contrive some means of flight, and leave me here ;
My lifeless corpse hurled headlong from the rock,
My blood shall mingle with the dashing waves,
And bring a curse upon this barbarous shore !
Return together home to lovely Greece,
With joy a new existence to commence.
(Orestes retires.)
IPHIGENIA.
At length Fulfilment, fairest child of Jove,
Thou dost descend upon me from on high !
How vast thine image ! scarce my straining eye
Can reach thy hands, which, filled with golden fruit
And wreaths of blessing, from Olympus' height
Shower treasures down. As by his bounteous gifts
We recognize the monarch (for what seems
To thousands opulence, is naught to him) ;
So you, ye heavenly Powers, are also known
By bounty long withheld, and wisely planned.
Ye only know what things are good for us :
Ye view the future's wide-extended realm.
While from our eye a dim or starry veil
The prospect shrouds. Calmly ye hear our prayers,
When we like children sue for greater speed.
Not immature ye pluck heaven's golden fruit ,
And woe to him who with impatient hand.
His date of joy forestalling, gathers death.
Let not this long-awaited happiness,
Which yet my heart hath scarcely realized,
Like to the shadow of departed friends.
Glide vainly by with triple sorrow fraught !
ORESTES (returning).
Dost thou for Pylades and for thyself
Implore the gods, blend not my name with yours :
Thou wilt not save the wretch whom thou wouldst join,
But will participate his curse and woe.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 47
IPHIGENIA.
My destiny is firmly bound to thine.
ORESTES.
No, say not so : alone and unattended
Let me descend to Hades. Though thou shouldst
In thine own veil enwrap the guilty one,
Thou couldst not shroud him from his wakeful foes ;
And e'en thy sacred presence, heavenly maid,
But driveth them aside and scares them not.
With brazen, impious feet they dare not tread
"Within the precincts of this sacred grove ;
Yet in the distance, ever and anon,
I hear their horrid laughter, like the howl
Of famished wolves, beneath the tree wherein
The traveller hides. Without, encamped they lie*,
And should I quit this consecrated grove.
Shaking their serpent locks, they would arise,
And, raising clouds of dust on every side,
Ceaseless pursue their miserable prey.
IPHIGENIA.
Orestes, canst thou hear a friendly word?
ORESTES.
Reserve it for one favored by the gods.
IPHIGENIA.
To thee they give anew the light of hope.
ORESTES.
Through clouds and smoke I see the feeble gleam
Of the death-stream which lights me down to hell.
IPHIGENIA.
Hast thou one sister only, thy Electra?
ORESTES.
I knew but one ; yet her kind destiny,
Which seemed to us so terrible, betimes
Removed an elder sister from the woe
48 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. "
Which o'er the house of Pelops aye impends.
Oh, cease thy questions, nor thus league thyself
With the Erinnys I still they blow away,
With fiendish joy, the ashes from my soul,
Lest the last embers of the fiery brand.
The fatal heritage of Pelops' house,
Should there be quenched. Must, then, the fire for aye,
Deliberately kindled and supplied
With hellish sulphur, sear my tortured soul ?
IPHIGENIA.
I scatter fragrant incense in the flame.
Oh, let the pure, the gentle, breath of love,
Low murmuring, cool thy bosom's fiery glow !
Orestes, fondly loved, — canst thou not hear me?
Hath the terrific Furies' grisly band
Dried up the blood of life within thy veins ?
Creeps there, as from the Gorgon's direful head,
A petrifying charm through all thy limbs ?
With hollow accents from a mother's blood,
If voices call thee to the shades below.
May not a sister's word, with blessing rife.
Call from Olympus' height help-rendering gods?
ORESTES.
She calls ! she calls ! — Dost thou desire my doom ?
Is there a Fury shrouded in thy form ?
Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly
Can harrow up my bosom's inmost depths?
IPHIGENIA.
Thine inmost heart reveals it. I am she, —
Iphigenia, — look on me, Orestes !
ORESTES.
Thou !
IPHIGENIA.
My own brother
ORESTES.
Hence, away, begone !
I counsel thee, touch not these fatal locks !
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 49
As from Creusa's bridal robe, from me
An inextinguishable fire is kindled.
Leave me ! Like Hercules, a death of shame,
Unworthy wretch, locked in myself, I'll die !
IPHIGENIA.
Thou shalt not perish ! Would that I might hear
One quiet word from thee ! dispel my doubts,
Make sure the bliss I have implored so long.
A wheel of joy and sorrow in my heart
Ceaseless revolves. I from a man unknown
With horror turn, but with resistless might
My inmost heart impels me to my brother.
ORESTES.
Is this Lyaeus' temple ? Doth the glow
Of holy rage unbridled thus possess
The sacred priestess ?
IPHIGENIA.
Hear me ! Oh, look up !,
See how my heart, which hath been closed so long,
Doth open to the bliss of seeing thee.
The dearest treasure that the world contains, —
Of falling on thy neck, and folding thee
Within my longing arms, which have till now
Met the embraces of the empty wind.
Do not repulse me, — the eternal spring.
Whose crystal waters from Parnassus flow.
Bounds not more gayly on from rock to rock,
Down to the golden vale, than from my heart
The waters of affection freely gush.
And round me form a circling sea of bliss.
Orestes ! O my brother !
ORESTES.
Lovely nymph !
Nor thy caresses, nor thyself, I trust :
Diana claims attendants more severe.
And doth avenge her desecrated fane.
Remove thy circling arm ! Wilt thou indeed
Safety and love upon a youth bestow.
And fondly tender him earth's fairest joy?
50 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Unto my friend, more worthy than myself,
Impart thy favors ; 'mong yon rocks he roves :
Go, seek him, guide him hence, and heed not me.
IPHIGENIA.
Brother, command thyself, and better know
Thy sister, newly found ! Misconstrue not
Her pure and heavenly rapture, blaming it
As lustful heat unbridled. O ye gods.
Remove delusion from his rigid gaze.
Lest that this moment, fraught with bliss supreme.
Should make us trebly wretched ! She is here,
Thine own, thy long-lost sister ! From the altar
The goddess rescued me, and placed me here,
Secure within her consecrated fane —
A captive thou, prepared for sacrifice,
And findest here a sister in the priestess.
ORESTES.
Unblessed one ! So may the radiant sun
The final horror of our house behold !
Is not Electra here ? That she with us
May also perish, nor her life prolong
For heavier destiny and direr woe.
'Tis well — I follow, priestess ! Fratricide
Is an old custom of our ancient house ;
And you, ye gods, I thank, that ye resolve
Childless to root me hence. Thee let me counsel
To view too fondly neither sun nor stars.
Come, follow to the gloomy realms below !
As dragons, gendered in the sulphur pool,
Swallow each other with voracious rage.
So our accursed race destroys itself.
Childless and guiltless come below with me !
There's pity in thy look ! oh, gaze not so ! —
'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought
An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,
And yet his upraised arm her bosom pierced.
His mother fell ! — Appear, indignant shade !
Within the circle step, ye fiends of hell.
Be present at the welcome spectacle,
The last, most horrible, that ye prepare !
Nor hate, nor vengeance whets the poniard now :
TPIITGENIA IN TAURIS. 51
A loving sister is constrained to deal
The fatal blow. Weep not ! Thou hast no guilt.
From earliest infancy I naught have loved,
As thee I could have loved, my sister. Come,
The weapon raise, spare not, this bosom rend,
And make an outlet for its boiling streams !
{He sinks exhausted.)
IPHIGENIA.
Alone I cannot bear this bliss and woe.
Where art thou, Pylades ? Thine aid I need.
(Iphigenia retires,)
ScEio: n.
ORESTES (recovering from his swoon and standing up).
Give yet another ! reach from Lethe's stream
The last reviving draught of cool refreshment 1
Soon shall its waters in my bosom still
Life's fitful fever ; and my spirit then
Adown oblivion's stream shall glide to you,
Ye spirits shrouded in eternal mist.
With tranquil pleasure in your deep repose,
A weary son of earth may lave his soul ! —
What whispering sounds pervade the dreary grove?
What hollow murmurs haunt its twilight gloom ? —
They gather round to view the stranger guest !
Who are yon troop in high communion met,
Like an assembled family of princes?
They mingle peacefully, of every age.
Of either sex : godlike, of kindred mould,
Appear the gliding figures. Yes, 'tis they,
The fathers of my race ! With Atreus,
In friendly converse glides Thyestes' shade ;
And children playfully around them sport.
Is there no enmity among you now?
And is revenge extinguished with the sun?
So am I also welcome, and may hope
To mingle in your solemn company.
Welcome, my sires ! Orestes bids you hail !
The seed that ye have sowed, that hath he reaped.
Laden with curses he descends to 3^ou.
But burdens here are lighter far to bear.
Receive him, oh, receive him in your circle 1
52 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Thee, Atreus, I revere, and thee, Thyestes:
Here all are free from enmity and hate. —
Show me my father, whom I only once
In life beheld. — Art thou my father, thou,
My mother leading thus familiarly ?
Dares Clytemnestra reach her hand to thee?
Then may Orestes also draw near her,
And say. Behold thy son ! — my ancestors,
Behold your son, and bid him welcome here.
Among the sons of ancient Tantalus,
A kind salute on earth was murder's watchword;
And all their joys commence beyond the grave.
Ye welcome me ! Ye bid me join your circle !
Oh, lead me to my honored ancestor !
Where is our aged sire ? Let me behold
The dear, the venerable head of him
Who with the immortal gods in council sat.
Ye seem to shudder, and to turn away !
What may this mean? Suffers the god-like man?
Alas ! the mighty gods, with ruthless hate,
To his heroic breast, with brazen chains,
Have cruel pangs indissolubly bound.
Scene III. — Orestes, Iphigenia, Pylades.
ORESTES.
How ! Are ye come already here below ?
Welcome, my sister ! Still Electra fails :
Oh that some kindly god, with gentle arrow,
Her too, full speedily, would downward send!
Thee, hapless friend, I must compassionate !
Come with me ! Come ! To Pluto's gloomy throne,
There to salute our hosts like stranger guests.
IPHIGENIA.
Celestial pair, who from the realms above
By night and day shed down the beauteous light
To cheer mankind, but who may not illume
Departed spirits, save a mortal pair,
A brother's and a sister's anguish pity !
For thou, Diana, lovest thy gentle brother
Beyond what earth and heaven can offer thee ;
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 63
And dost, with quiet yearuing, ever turn
Thy virgin face to his eternal light.
Let not my only brother, found so late,
Rave in the darkness of insanity !
And is thy will, when thou didst here conceal me,
At length fulfilled, — wouldst thou to me through him,
To him through me, thy gracious aid extend, —
Oh, free him from the fetters of this curse,
Lest vainly pass the precious hours of safety.
PYLADES.
Dost thou not know us, and this sacred grove,
And this blest light, which shines not on the dead?
Dost thou not feel thy sister and thy friend.
Who hold the living in their firm embrace?
Us firmly grasp : we are not empty shades.
Mark well my words ! Collect thy scattered thoughts I
Attend ! Each moment is of priceless worth ;
And our return hangs on a slender thread,
Which, as it seems, some gracious fate doth spin.
ORESTES {to IPHIGENIA).
My sister, let me for the first time taste.
With open heart, pure joy within thine arms !
Ye gods, who charge the heavy clouds with dread,
And, sternly gracious, send the long-sought rain-
With thunder and the rush of mighty winds,
A horrid deluge on the trembling earth.
Yet dissipate at length man's dread suspense,
Exchanging timid wonder's anxious gaze
For grateful looks and joyous songs of praise, '
When, in each sparkling drop which gems the leaves,'
Apollo, thousand-fold, reflects his beam.
And Iris colors with a magic hand
The dusty texture of the parting clouds,
Oh, let me also in my sister's arms.
And on the bosom of my friend, enjoy
With grateful thanks the bliss ye now bestow !
My heart assures me that your curses cease.
The dread Eumenides at length retire :
The brazen gates of Tartarus I hear (
Behind them closing with a thunderous clang. '
A quickening odor from the earth ascends.
54 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Inviting me to chase, npon its plains,
The joys of life and deeds of high emprise.
PTLADES.
Lose not the moments which are limited !
The favoring gale, which swells our parting sail,
Must to Olympus waft our perfecft jo}^
Quick counsel and resolve the time demands.
I
I
ACT IV.
Scene I.
IPHIGENIA.
When the Powers on high decree
For a feeble child of earth
Dire perplexity and woe.
And his spirit doom to pass
With tumult wild from joy to grief,
And back again from grief to joy,
In fearful alternation.
They in mercy then provide.
In the precincts of his home,
Or upon the distant shore,
That to him may never fail
Ready help in hours of need,
A tranquil, faithful friend.
Oh, bless, ye heavenly powers, our Pylades,
And whatsoever he may undertake !
He is in fight the vigorous arm of youth,
And his the thoughtful eye of age in counsel :
For tranquil is his soul ; he guardeth there
Of calm a sacred and exhaustless dower.
And from its depths, in rich supply, outpours
Comfort and counsel for the sore distressed.
He tore me from my brother, upon whom.
With fond amaze, I gazed and gazed again :
I could not realize my happiness.
Nor loose him from my arms, and heeded not
The danger's near approach that threatens us.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 56
To execute their project of escape,
They hasten to the sea, where, in a bay,
Their comrades in the vessel lie concealed,
Waiting a signal. Me they have supplied
With artful answers, should the monarch send
To urge the sacrifice. Alas ! I see
I must consent to follow like a child :
I have not learned deception, nor the art
To gain with crafty wiles my purposes.
Detested falsehood ! it doth not relieve
The breast like words of truth : it comforts not,
But is a torment in the forger's heart.
And, like an arrow ^hich a god directs,
Flies back and wounds the archer. Through my heart
One fear doth chase another : perhaps with rage,
Again on the unconsecrated shore.
The Furies' grisly band my brother seize.
Perchance they are surprised. Methinks I hear
The tread of armeid men. A messenger
Is coming from the king, with hasty steps.
How throbs my heart, how troubled is my soul,
Now that I gaze upon the face of one
Whom with a word untrue I must encounter !
Scene II. — JpHiGEiaA, Abkas.
ARK AS.
Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice I % l^'
Impatiently the king and people wait. f^
' h 4
IPHIGENIA.
I had performed my duty and thy will, \ Wv
Had not an unforeseen impediment W
The execution of my purpose thwarted.
r b
.W"
ARKAS.
What is it that obstructs the king's commands?
IPHIGENIA.
Chance, which from mortals will not brook control.
56 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
ARKAS.
Possess me with the reason, that with speed
I may inform the king, who hath decreed
The death of both.
IPHIGENIA.
The gods have not decreed it.
The elder of these melT doth bear the guilt '
Of kindred murder : on his steps attend
The dread Erinnys. In the inner fane
They seized upon their prey, polluting thus
The holy sanctuary. I hasten now,
Together with my virgin-train, to bathe
The goddess' image in the sea, and there
With solemn rites its purity restore.
Let none presume our silent march to follow I
ARKAS.
This hinderance to the monarch I'll announce :
Commence not thou the rite till he permit.
IPHIGENIA.
The priestess interferes alone in this.
ARKAS.
An incident so strange the king should know.
IPHIGENIA.
Here nor his counsel nor command avails.
ARKAS.
Oft are the great consulted out of form.
IPHIGENIA.
Do not insist on what I must refuse.
ARKAS.
A needful and a just demand refuse not.
IPHIGENIA.
I yield, if thou delay not.
I
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 67
ARKAS.
I with speed
Will bear these tidings to the camp, and soon
Acquaint thee, priestess, with the king's reply.
There is a message I would gladly bear him, —
'Twould quickly banish all perplexity :
Thou didst not heed thy faithful friend's advice.
IPHIGENIA.
I willingly have done whatever I could.
ARKAS.
E'en now 'tis not too late to change thy purpose.
IPHIGENIA.
To do so is, alas ! beyond our power.
ARKAS.
What thou wouldst shun, thou deemest impossible^
IPHIGENIA.
Thy wish doth make thee deem it possible.
ARKAS.
Wilt thou so calmly venture every thing ?
IPHIGENIA.
My fate I have committed to the gods.
ARKAS.
The gods are wont to save by human means.
IPHIGENIA.
By their appointment every thing is done.
ARKAS
Believe me, all doth now depend on thee.
The irritated temper of the king
Alone condemns these men to bitter death.
58 IPHIGENIA IN TAUR'IS.
The soldiers from the cruel sacrifice
And bloody service long have been disused ;
Nay, many, whom their adverse fortunes cast
In foreign regions, there themselves have felt
How god-like to the exiled wanderer
The friendly countenance of man appears.
Do not deprive us of thy gentle aid !
With ease thou canst thy sacred task fulfil ;
For nowhere doth benignity, which comes
In human form from heaven, so quickly gain
An empire o'er the heart, as where a race.
Gloomy and savage, full of life and power,
Without external guidance, and oppressed
With vague forebodings, bear life's heavy load.
IPHIGENIA.
Shake not my spirit, which thou canst not bend
According to thy will.
ARKAS.
While there is time,
Nor labor nor persuasion shall be spared.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy labor but occasions pain to me ;
Both are in vain : therefore, I pray, depart.
ARKAS.
I summon pain to aid me : 'tis a friend
Who counsels wisely.
IPHIGENIA.
Though it shakes my soul,
It doth not banish thence my strong repugnance.
ARKAS.
Can, then, a gentle soul repugnance feel
For benefits bestowed by one so noble ?
IPHIGENIA.
Yes, when the donor, for those benefits,
Instead of gratitude, demands myself.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 59
ARK AS.
Who no affection feels doth never want
Excuses. To the king I will relate
What hath befallen. Oh that in thy soul
Thou wouldst revolve his noble conduct to thee
Since thy arrival to the present day !
Scene III.
iPHiGENiA {alone).
These words at an unseasonable hour
Produce a strong revulsion in my breast :
I am alarmed ! — For as the rushing tide
In rapid currents eddies o'er the rocks
Which lie among the sand upon the shore,
E'en so a stream of joy o'erwhelmed my soul.
I grasped what had appeared impossible.
It was as though another gentle cloud ^, .< f k v i f rY /
Around me lay, to raise me from the earth, '^ "' -^-^-^' --'^ vVvljti
And rock my spirit in the same sweet sleep
Which the kind goddess shed around my brow, a-— ..
What time her circling arm from danger snatched me.
My brother forcibly engrossed my heart ; t) '-
I listened only to his friend's advice ;
My soul rushed eagerly to rescue them ; .\^
And as the mariner with joy surve3's — «~^f ,
The lessening breakers of a desert isle.
So Tauris lay behind me. But^the voice
Of faithful Arkas wakes me from my dream,
Reminding me that those whom I forsake "Tl^ ^
Are also men. Deceit doth now become ""^ ^
Doubly detested. O m}^ soul, be still !
Beginnest thou now to tremble and to doubt?
Thy lonely shelter on the firm-set earth
Must thou abandon, and, embarked once more,
At random drift upon tumultuous waves,
A stranger to thyself and to the world ?
Scene IV. — Iphigenia, Pylades.
PYLADES.
Where is she ? that m}^ words with speed may tell
The joyful tidings of our near escape !
60 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
IPHIGENIA.
Oppressed with gloomy care, I much require
The certain comfort thou dost promise me.
PYLADES.
Thy brother is restored ! The rocky paths
Of this unconsecrated shore we trod
In friendly converse ; while behind us lay,
Unmarked by us, the consecrated grove ;
And ever with increasing glory shone
The fire of youth around his noble brow.
Courage and hope his glowing eye inspired ;
And his exultant heart resigned itself
To the delight, the joy, of rescuing
Thee, his deliverer, also me, his friend.
IPHIGENIA.
The gods shower blessings on thee, Py lades I
And from those lips which breathe such welcome news,
Be the sad note of anguish never heard !
PYLADES.
I bring yet more ; for fortune, like a prince,
Comes not alone, but well accompanied.
Our friends and comrades we have also found.
Within a ba}^ they had concealed the ship.
And mournful sat expectant. They beheld
Thy brother, and a joyous shout upraised,
Imploring him to haste the parting hour.
Each hand impatient longed to grasp the oar ;
While from the shore a gently murmuring breeze,
Perceived by all, unfurled its wing auspicious.
Let us then hasten : guide me to the fane,
That I may tread the sanctuary, and win
With sacred awe the goal of our desires.
I can unaided on my shoulder bear
The goddess' image : how I long to feel
The precious burden !
( While speaking the last words, he approaches the Temple,
without perceiving that he is not followed by Iphigenia :
at length he turns round.)
Why thus lingering stand?
Why art thou silent? wherefore thus confused?
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 61
Doth, some new obstacle oppose our bliss ?
Inform me, hast thou to the king announced
The prudent message we agreed upon ?
IPHIGENIA.
1 have, dear Pylades ; yet wilt thou chide.
Thy very aspect is a mute reproach.
The royal messenger arrived ; and I,
According to thy counsel, framed my speech.
He seemed surprised, and urgently besought,
That to the monarch I should first announce
The rite unusual, and attend his will.
I now await the messenger's return.
PYLADES.
Danger again doth hover o*er our heads !
Alas ! Why hast thou failed to shroud thyself
Within the veil of sacerdotal rites ?
IPHIGENIA.
I never have employed them as a veil.
PYLADES.
Pure soul ! thy scruples will destroy alike
Thyself and us. Why did I not foresee
Such an emergency, and tutor thee
This counsel also wisely to elude ?
IPHIGENIA.
Chide only me, for mine alone the blame.
Yet other answer could I not return
To him, who strongly and with reason urged
What my own heart acknowledged to be right.
PYLADES.
The danger thickens ; but let us be firm,
Nor with incautious haste betray ourselves ,
Calmly await the messenger's return,
And then stand fast, whatever his reply ;
For the appointment of such sacred rites
Doth to the pji'iestess, not the king, belong.
6i IPHIGEXIA IX TAURIS.
Should he demand the stranger to behold,
Who is by madness heavily oppressed,
Evasively pretend, that in the fane,
Well guarded, thou retainest him and me.
Thus you secure us time to fly with speed,
Bearing the sacred treasure from this race,
Unworthy its possession. Phoebus sends
Auspicious omens, and fulfils his word.
Ere we the first conditions have performed.
Free is Orestes, from the curse absolved !
Oh, with the freed one, to the rocky isle
Where dwells the god, waft us, propitious gales I
Thence to Mycene, that she may revive ;
That from the ashes of the extinguished hearth,
The household gods may joyously arise.
And beauteous fire illumine their abode !
Thy hand from golden censers first shall strew
The fragrant incense. O'er that threshold thou
Shalt life and blessing once again dispense,
The curse atone, and all thy kindred grace
With the fresh bloom of renovated life.
IPHIGENIA.
As doth the flower revolve to meet the sun,
Once more my spirit to sweet comfort turns,
Struck by thy words' invigorating ray.
How dear the counsel of a present friend,
Lacking whose god-like power, the lonely one
In silence droops ! for, locked within his breast,
Slowly are ripened purpose and resolve.
Which friendship's genial warmth had soon matured.
PYLADES.
Farewell ! I haste to re-assure our friends.
Who anxiously await us : then with speed
I will return, and, hid within the brake.
Attend thy signal. — Wherefore, all at once,
Doth anxious thought o'ercloud thy brow serene?
IPHIGENIA.
Forgive me ! As light clouds athwart the sun,
So cares and fears float darkling o'er my soul.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 63
PYLADES.
Oh, banish fear ! With danger it hath formed
A close alliance, — they are constant friends.
IPHIGENIA.
It is an honest scruple, which forbids
That I should cunningly deceive the king,
And plunder him who was mv second fathe r.
PYLADES.
Him thou dost fly, who would have slain thy brother.
IPHIGENIA.
To me, at least, he hath been ever kind.
PYLADES.
What fate commands is not ingratitude.
IPHIGENIA.
Alas ! it still remains ingratitude :
Necessity alone can justify it.
PYLADES.
Thee^before_god£j;ndjM^iJilu_3t^^ -
IPHIGENIA.
But my own heart is still unsatisfied.
PYLADES.
Scruples too rigid are a cloak for pride.
IPHIGENIA.
I cannot argue, I can only feel.
PYLADES.
Conscious of right, thou shouldst respect thyself.
IPHIGENIA.
Then only doth the heart know perfect ease
When not a stain pollutes it.
64 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
PYLADES.
In this fane
Pure hast thou kept thy heart. Life teaches us
To be less strict with others and ourselves :
Thou'lt learn the lesson too. So wonderful
Is human nature, and its varied ties
Are so involved and complicate, that none
May hope to keep his inmost spirit pure,
And walk without perplexity through life.
Nor are we called upon to judge ourselves :
With circumspection to pursue his path,
Is the immediate duty of a man ;
For seldom can he rightly estimate,
Or his past conduct or his present deeds.
IPHIGENIA.
Almost thou dost persuade me to consent.
PYLADES.
Needs there persuasion when no choice is granted?
To save thyself, thy brother, and a friend.
One path presents itself ; and canst thou ask
If we shall follow it?
IPHIGENIA.
Still let me pause,
For such injustice thou couldst not thyself
Calmly return for benefits received.
PYLADES.
If we should perish, bitter self-reproach,
Forerunner of despair, will be thy portion.
It seems thou art not used to suffer much,
When, to escape so great calamity.
Thou canst refuse to utter one false word»
IPHIGENIA.
Oh, that I bore within a manly heart !
Which, when it hath conceived a bold resolve,
'Gainst every other voice doth close itself.
PYLADES.
In vain thou dost refuse : with iron hand
Necessity commands ; her stern decree
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 66
Is law supreme, to which the gods themselves
Must yield submission. In dread silence rules
The uncounselled sister of eternal fate.
What she appoints thee to endure, — endure ;
What to perform, — perform. The rest thou knowest.
Ere long I will return, and then receive
The seal of safety from thy sacred hand.
Scene V.
, IPHIGENIA (alone).
I must obey him, for I see my friends
Beset with peril. Yet my own sad fate
Doth with increasing anguish move my heart.
May I no longer feed the silent hope
Which in my solitude I fondly cherished?
Shall the dire curse eternally endure ?
And shall our fated race ne'er rise again
With blessings crowned ? — All mortal tilings decay 1
The noblest powers, the purest joys of life,
At length subside, — then, wherefore not the curse?
And have I vainly hoped, that guarded here,
Secluded from the fortunes of my race,
I, with pure heart and hands, some future day,
Might cleanse the deep defilement of our house?
Scarce was my brother in my circling arms.
From raging madness suddenly restored.
Scarce had the ship, long prayed for, neared the strand^
Once more to waft me to my native shores,
When unrelenting fate, with iron hand,
A double crime enjoins ; commanding me
To steal -the image, sacred and revered,
Confided to my care, and him deceive
To whom I owe my life and destiny.
Let not abhorrence spring within my heart I
Nor the old Titan's hate toward you, ye gods^
Infix its vulture talons in my breast !
Save me, and save your image in my soul!
An ancient song comes back upon mine ear, ^
I had forgotten it, and willingly, —
The Parcae's song, which horribly they sang,
What time hurled headlong from his golden seat,
66 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Fell Tantalus. They with their noble friend
Keen anguish suffered : savage was their breast,
And horrible their song. In days gone by,
When we were children, oft our ancient nurse
Would sing it to us ; and I marked it well.
Oh, fear the immortals,
Ye children of men !
Eternal dominion
They hold in their hands,
And o'er their wide empire
Wield absolute sway.
Whom they have exalted
Let him fear them most !
Around golden tables,
On cliffs and clouds resting.
The seats are prepared.
If contest ariseth,
The guests are hurled headlong.
Disgraced and dishonored.
To gloomy abysses,
And, fettered in darkness,
Await, with vain longing,
A juster decree.
But in feasts everlasting,
Around the gold tables.
Still dwell the immortals.
From mountain to mountain
They stride ; while, ascending
From fathomless chasms,
The breath of the Titans,
Half -stifled with anguish,
Like volumes of incense
Fumes up to the skies.
From races ill-fated,
Their aspect joy-bringing.
Oft turn the celestials,
And shun in the children
To gaze on the features,
Once loved and still speaking,
Of their mighty sire.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 67
So chanted the Parcae :
The banished one hearkens
The song ; the hoar captive,
Immured in his dungeon,
His children's doom ponders,
And boweth his head.
ACT V.
Scene I. — Thoas, Abkas.
ARKAS.
I own I am perplexed, and scarcely know
'Gainst whom to point the shaft of my suspicion, —
Whether the priestess aids the captives' flight,
Or they themselves clandestinely contrive it.
'Tis rumored that the ship which brought them here
Is lurking somewhere in a bay concealed.
This stranger's madness, these new lustral rites,
The specious pretext for delay, excite
Mistrust, and call aloud for vigilance.
THOAS.
Summon the priestess to attend me here ;
Then go with speed, and strictly search the shore.
From yonder headland to Diana's grove ;
Forbear to violate its sacred depths ;
A watchful ambush set ; attack and seize,
According to your wont, whome'er ye find.
(Abkas retires,)
Scene II.
THOAS (alone).
Fierce anger rages in my riven breast.
First against her, whom I esteemed so pure ;
Then 'gainst myself, whose foolish lenity
Hath fashioned her for treason. Man is soon
Inured to slavery, and quickly learns
Submission, when of freedom quite deprived.
68 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
If she had fallen m the savage hands
Of my rude sires, and had their holy rage
Forborne to slaj' her, grateful for her life,
She would have recognized her destin}',
Have shed before the shrine the stranger's blood,
And duty named what was necessity.
Now my forbearance in her breast allures
Audacious wishes. _J^ainly I had hoped
Jo bind her to me : rather she contiives
To shape an independent destiny.
She won my heart through flattery, and, now
That I oppose her, seeks to gain her ends
By fraud and cunning, and my kindness deems
A worthless and prescriptive property.
Scene III.— Iphigenia, Thoas.
IPHIGENIA.
Me hast thou summoned ? wherefore art thou here ?
THOAS.
Wherefore delay the sacrifice ? inform me.
IPHIGENIA.
I have acquainted Arkas with the reasons.
THOAS.
From thee I wish to hear them more at large.
IPHIGENIA.
The goddess for reflection grants thee time.
THOAS.
To thee this time seems also opportune.
IPHIGENIA.
If to this cruel deed thy heart is steeled,
Thou shouldst not come ! A king who meditates
A deed inhuman, may find slaves enow,
Willing for hire to bear one-half the curse,
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 69
And leave the monarch's presence undefiled.
Enrapt in gloomy clouds he forges death :
Flaming destruction then his ministers
Hurl down upon his wretched victim's head ;
While he abideth high above the storm,
Calm and untroubled, an impassive god.
THOAS.
A wild song, priestess, issued from thy lips.
IPHIGENIA.
No priestess, king, but Agamemnon's daughter !
While yet unknown, thou didst respect my words :
A princess now, — and thinkest thou to command me?
From youth I have been tutored to obey,
My parents first and then the deity ;
And, thus obeying, ever hath my soul
Known sweetest freedom. But nor then nor now
Have I been taught compliance with the voice
And savage mandates of a man.
THOAS.
Not I:
An ancient law doth thy obedience claim.
IPHIGENIA.
Our passions eagerly catch hold of laws
Which they can wield as weapons. But to me
Another law, one far more ancient, speaks.
And doth command me to withstand thee, kins !
That law declaring sacred every stranger.
THOAS.
These men, methinks, lie very near thy heart,
When sympathy with them can lead thee thus
To violate discretion's primal law,
That those in power should never be provoked.
IPHIGENIA.
Speaking or silent, thou canst always know
What is, and ever must be, in my heart.
Doth not remembrance of a common doom
Goethe— C Vol 6
70 • IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
To soft compassion melt the hardest heart?
How much more mine ? in them I see myself.
I trembling kneeled before the altar once,
And solemnly the shade of early death
Environed me. Aloft the knife was raised
To pierce my bosom, throbbing with warm life ;
A dizzy horror overwhelmed my soul ;
My eyes grew dim ; — I found myself in safety.
Are we not bound to render the distressed
The gracious kindness from the gods received?
Thou knowest we are, and yet wilt thou compel me?
THOAS.
Obey thine office, priestess, not the king.
IPHIGENIA.
Cease ! nor thus seek to cloak the savage force
Which triumphs o'er a woman's feebleness.
Though woman, I am born as free as man.
Did Agamemnon's son before thee stand.
And thou requiredst what became him not,
His arm and trusty weapon would defend
His bosom's freedom. I have only words ;
But it becomes a noble-minded man
To treat with due respect the words of woman.
THOAS.
I more respect them than a brother's sword.
IPHIGENIA.
Uncertain ever is the chance of arms ;
No pmdent warrior doth despise his foe ;
Nor yet defenceless 'gainst severity
Hath nature left the weak, — she gives him craft
And wily cunning : artful he delays,
Evades, eludes, and finally escapes.
Such arms are justified by violence.
THOAS.
But circumspection countervails deceit.
IPHIGENIA.
Which a pure spirit doth abhor to use.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 71
THOAS.
Do not incautiously condemn thyself.
IPHIGENIA.
Oh, couldst thou see the struggle of my soul,
Courageously to ward the first attack
Of an unhappy doom, which threatens me !
Do I, then, stand before thee weaponless?
Prayer, lovely prayer, fair branch in woman's hand,
More potent far than instruments of war,
Thou dost thrust back. What now remains for me '
Wherewith my inborn freedom to defend? *
Must I implore a miracle from heaven ?
Is there no power within my spirit's depths?
THOAS.
Extravagant thy interest in the fate
Of these two strangers. Tell me who they are
For whom thy heart is thus so deeply moved.
IPHIGENIA.
They are — they seem at least — I think them Greeks.
THOAS.
Thy countrymen : no doubt they have renewed
The pleasing picture of return.
IPHIGENIA {after a pause) .
Doth man
Lay undisputed claim to noble deeds?
Doth he alone to his heroic breast
Clasp the impossible? What call we great?
What deeds, though oft narrated, still uplift
With shuddering horror the narrator's soul,
But those which, with improbable success,
The valiant have attempted? Shall the man
Who all alone steals on his foes by night,
And, raging like an unexpected fire.
Destroys the slumbering host, and, pressed at length
By roused opponents on his foemen's steeds,
Retreats with booty, be alone extolled ?
72 TPHTGEXTA TX TAURIS.
Or he who, scorning safety, boldly roams
Through woods and dreary wilds, to scour the land
Of thieves and robbers ? Is naught left for us ?
Must gentle woman quite forego her nature,
Force against force employ, — like Amazons, ^
Usurp the sword from man, and bloodily
Revenge oppression ? In my heart I feel
The stirrings of a noble enterprise ;
But if I fail — severe reproach, alas !
And bitter misery will be m}- doom.
Thus on my knees I supplicate the gods !
Oh, are ye truthful, as men say ye are,
Now prove it by your countenance and aid !
Honor the truth in me ! Attend, O king !
A secret plot deceitfully is laid :
Touching the captives thou dost ask in vain ;
They have departed hence, and seek their friends^
Who, with the ship, await them on the shore.
The eldest, — whom dire madness lately seized.
And hath abandoned now, — he is Orestes,
My brother, and the other Pylades,
His early friend and faithful confidant.
From Delphi, Phoebus sent them to this shore
With a divine command to steal away
The image of Diana, and to him
Bear back the sister thither ; and for this
He promised to the blood-stained matricide,
The Fury-haunted son, deliverance.
I have surrendered now into thy hands
The remnants of the house of Tantalus.
Destroy us — if thou canst.
THOAS.
And dost thou think .
That the uncultured Scythian will attend
The voice of truth and of humanity
Which Atreus, the Greek, heard not?
IPHIGENIA.
' Tis heard
By every one, born 'neath whatever clime.
Within whose bosom flows the stream of life.
Pure and unhindered. — What thy thought? O king !
IPHIGENIA m TAURIS. 73
What silent purpose broods in thy deep soul?
Is it destruction? Let me perish first !
For now, deliverance hopeless, I perceive
The dreadful peril into which I have
With rash precipitancy plunged my friends.
Alas ! I soon shall see them bound before me !
How to my brother shall I say farewell ? —
I, the unhappy author of his death.
Ne'er can I gaze again in his dear eyes !
THOAS.
The traitors have contrived a cunning web,
And cast it round thee, who, secluded long,
Givest willing credence to thine own desires.
IPHIGENIA.
No, no ! I'd pledge my life these men are true.
And shouldst thou find them otherwise, O king.
Then let them perish both, and cast me forth,
That on some rock-girt island's dreary shore
I may atone my folly ! Are they true,
And is this man indeed my dear Orestes,
My brother, long implored, release us both.
And o'er us stretch the kind protecting arm,
Which long hath sheltered me. My noble sire
Fell through his consort's guilt, — she by her son :
On him alone the hope of Atreus' race
Doth now repose. Oh, with pure heart, pure hand,
Let me depart to purify our house 1
Yes, thou wilt keep thy promise : thou didst swear,
That, were a safe return provided me,
I should be free to go. The hour is come.
A king doth never grant like common men.
Merely to gain a respite from petition ;
Nor promise what he hopes will ne'er be claimed.
Then first he feels his dignity supreme
When he can make the long-expecting happy.
THOAS.
As fire opposes water, and doth seek
With hissing rage to overcome its foe,
So doth my anger strive against thy words.
74 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
IPHIGENIA.
Let mercy, like the consecrated flame
Of silent sacrifice, encircled round
With songs of gratitude and joy and praise,
Above the tumult gently rise to heaven.
THOAS.
How often hath this voice assuaged my soul ?
IPHIGENIA.
Extend thy hand to me in sign of peace.
THOAS.
Large thy demand within so short a time.
IPHIGENIA.
Beneficence doth no reflection need.
THOAS.
'Tis needed oft, for evil springs from good.
IPHIGENIA.
'Tis doubt which good doth oft to evil turn.
Consider not : act as thy feelings prompt thee.
Scene IV. — Orestes (armed), Iphigenia, Thoas.
ORESTES {addressing his followers) ,
Redouble your exertions ! hold them back !
Few moments will suflfice : maintain your ground,
A.nd keep a passage open to the ship
For me and for my sister.
{To Iphigenia, without perceiving Thoas.)
Come with speed !
We are betrayed, — brief time remains for flight.
{He perceives the Mng.)
THOAS (laying his hand on his sword) ,
None in my presence with impunity
His naked weapon wears,
IPHIGENIA m TAURIS. 75
IPHIGENIA.
Do not profane
Diana's sanctuary with rage and blood.
Command your people to forbear a while,
And listen to the priestess, to the sister.
ORESTES.
Say, who is he that threatens us ?
IPHIGENIA.
In him
Revere the king, who was my second father.
Forgive me, brother, that my child-like heart
Hath placed our fate thus wholly in his hands.
I have betrajed your meditated flight.
And thus from treachery^-redeemed my soul.
ORESTES.
Will he permit our peaceable return ?
IPHIGENIA.
Thy gleaming sword forbids me to reply.
ORESTES (sheatJmig his sword) .
Then, speak ! thou seest I listen to thy words.
i
V. Scene V. — Orestes, Iphigenia, Thoas.
Enter Pylades, soon after him Arkas, both with drawn
swords.
PYLADES.
Do not delay ! our friends are putting forth
Their final strength, and, yielding step by step,
Are slowly driven backward to the sea. —
A conference of princes find I here ?
Is this the sacred person of the king?
ARKAS.
Calmly, as doth become thee, thou dost stand,
king, surrounded by thine enemies !
y \
76 ' IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Soon their temerity shall be chastised :
Their yielding followers fly, — their ship is ours :
Speak but the word, and it is wrapt in flames.
THOAS.
Go, and command my people to forbear !
Let none annoy the foe while we confer. (Arkas retires.)
ORESTES.
T willingly consent. Go, Pylades !
Collect the remnant of our friends, and wait
The appointed issue of our enterprise.
(Pylades retires.)
Scene VI. — Iphigenia, Thoas, Orestes.
IPHIGENIA.
Relieve my cares ere ye begin to speak.
I fear contention, if thou wilt not hear
The voice of equity, O king, — if thou
Wilt not, my brother, curb thy headstrong youth !
THOAS.
I, as becomes the elder, check my rage.
Now answer me : how dost thou prove thyself
The priestess' brother, Agamemnon's son?
ORESTES.
Behold the sword with which the hero slew
The valiant Trojans. From his murderer
I took the weapon, and implored the gods
To grant me Agamemnon's mighty arm,
Success, and valor, with a death more noble.
Select one of the leaders of thy host.
And place the best as my opponent here.
Where'er on earth the sons of heroes dwell,
This boon is to the stranger ne'er refused.
THOAS.
This privilege hath ancient custom here
To strangers ne'er accorded.
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 77
ORESTES.
Then from us
Commence the novel custom ! A whole race
In imitation soon will consecrate
Its monarch's noble action into law.
Nor let me only for our liberty, —
Let me, a stranger, for all strangers fight.
If I should fall, my doom be also theirs ;
But, if kind fortune crown me with success,
Let none e'er tread this shore, and fail to meet
The beaming eye of S3'mpathy and love,
Or unconsoled depart !
THOAS.
Thou dost not seem
Unworthy of thy boasted ancestry.
Great is the number of the valiant men
Who wait upon me ; but I will myself,
Although advanced in years, oppose the foe,
And am prepared to try the chance of arms.
IPHIGENIA.
No, no ! such bloody proofs are not required.
Unhand thy weapon, king ! my lot consider;
Rash combat oft immortalizes man ;
If he should fall, he is renowned in song :
But after-ages reckon not the tears
Which ceaseless the forsaken woman sheds ;
And poets tell not of the thousand nights
Consumed in weeping, and the dreary days,
Wherein her anguished soul, a prey to grief,
Doth vainly yearn to call her loved one back.
Fear warned me to beware lest robbers' wiles
Might lure me from this sanctuar}-, and then
Betray me into bondage. Anxiously
I questioned them, each circumstance explored,
Demanded proofs, now is my heart assured.
See here, the mark on his right hand impressed
As of three stars, which on liis natal day
Were by the priest declared to indicate
Some dreadful deed therewith to be performed.
And then this scar, which doth his eyebrow cleave,
Redoubles my conviction. When a child.
78 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Electra, rash and inconsiderate, —
Such was her nature, — loosed him from her arms :
He fell against a tripos. Oh, 'tis he ! —
Shall I adduce the likeness to his sire,
Or the deep rapture of my inmost heart.
In further token of assurance, king?
THOAS.
E'en though thy words had banished every doubt,
And I had curbed the anger in my breast.
Still must our arms decide. I see no peace.
Their purpose, as thou didst thyself confess,
Was to deprive me of Diana's image.
And think ye I will look contented on?
The Greeks are wont to cast a longing eye
Upon the treasures of barbarians, —
A golden fleece, good steeds, or daughters fair ; —
But force and guile not always have availed
To lead them, with their booty, safely home.
ORESTES.
The image shall not be a cause of strife !
We now perceive the error which the god,
Our journey here commanding, like a veil.
Threw o'er our minds. His counsel I implored,
To free me from the Furies' grisly band.
He answered, " Back to Greece the sister bring,
Who in the sanctuary on Tauris' shore
Unwillingly abides ; so ends the curse ! '*
To Phoebus' sister we applied the words.
And he referred to thee. The bonds severe.
Which held thee from us, holy one, are rent ;
And thou art ours once more. At thy blest touch,
I felt myself restored. Within thine arms.
Madness once more around me coiled its folds.
Crushing the marrow in my frame, and then
Forever, like a serpent, fled to hell.
Through thee the daylight gladdens me anew :
The counsel of the goddess now shines forth
In all its beauty and beneficence.
Like to a sacred image, unto which
An oracle immutably hath bound
A city's welfare, thee she bore away,
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 79
Protectress of our house, and guarded here
Within this holy stillness, to become
A blessing to thy brother and thy race.
Now when each passage to escape seems closed,
And safety hopeless, thou dost give us all.
king, incline thine heart to thoughts of peace I
Let her fulfil her mission, and complete
The consecration of our father's house ;
Me to their purified abode restore,
And place upon my brow the ancient crown !
Requite the blessing which her presence brought thee,
And let me now my nearer right enjoy !
Cunning and force, the proudest boast of man.
Fade in the lustre of her perfect truth ;
Nor unrequited will a noble mind
Leave confidence, so child-like and so pure.
IPHIGENIA.
Think on thy promise : let thy heart be moved
By what a true and honest tongue hath spoken !
Look on us, king ! an opportunity
For such a noble deed not oft occurs. ^
Refuse thou canst not, — give thy quick consent.
THOAS.
Then, go !
IPHIGENIA.
Not so, my king ! I cannot part
Without thy blessing, or in anger from thee:
Banish us not ! the sacred right of guests
Still let us claim : so not eternally
Shall we be severed. Honored and beloved
As mine own father was, art thou by me ;
And this impression in my soul abides,
Let but the least among thy people bring
Back to mine ear the tones I heard from thee,
Or should I on the humblest see thy garb,
1 will with joy receive him as a god.
Prepare his couch myself, beside our hearth
Invite him to a seat, and only ask
Touching thy fate and thee. Oh, may the gods
To thee the merited reward impart
Of all thy kindness and benignity !
80 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS.
Farewell ! Oh, turn thou not away, but give
One kindly word of parting in return !
So shall the wind more gently swell our sails,
And from our eyes with softened anguish flow
The tears of separation. Fare thee well !
And graciously extend to me thy hand,
In pledge of ancient friendship.
THOAS {extending his hand).
Fare thee well !
TORQUATO TASSO.
A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS.
TRANSLATED BY ANNA SWANWJOK.
This drama was written first in prose; during Goethe's resi-
dence in Rome in 1786-88 he began to versify it, and com-
pleted it on his journey home.
DRAMATIS PERSONiE.
Alphonso II, Duke of Ferrara.
Leonora D'Este, Sister to the Duke,
Leonora Sanvitale, Countess of Scandiano,
TORQUATO TaSSO.
Antonio Montecatino, Secretary of State,
INTRODUCTION.
The annals of biography offer no page the perusal of
which awakens a greater variety of emotions than that which
records the fate of Torquato Tasso. This great poet, dis-
tinguished alike by his genius and his misfortunes, concen-
trates in his own person the deepest interests of humanity ;
while the mystery which broods over his derangement and
his love imparts to his story the air rather of poetic fiction
than of sober truth. Goethe's poem, founded upon the resi-
dence of Tasso at the court of Ferrara, is justly celebrated
for its fine delineations of character and its profound insight
into the depths of the human heart. It exhibits a striking
picture of the great bard at the most momentous period of
his existence, which was signalized by the completion of his
immortal work ; and though the action of the drama embraces
only a few hours, by skilfully availing himself of retrospect
and anticipation, Goethe has presented us with a beautiful
epitome of the poet's life.
Thus, in the third scene of the drama, Tasso alludes to
his early childhood, the sorrows of which he has so patheti-
cally sung : we accompany the youthful bard, in his twenty-
second year, to the brilliant court of Ferrara, where he arrived
at a period when the nuptials of the duke with the emperor's
sister were celebrated with unrivalled splendor. At the con-
clusion of these festivities, he was presented by the Princess
Lucretia to her sister, Leonora, who was destined to exert
such a powerful influence over his future life : we behold him
the honored and cherished inmate of Belriguardo, a magnificent
palace, surrounded by beautiful gardens, where the dukes of
Ferrara were accustomed to retire with their most favored cour-
tiers, and where, under the inspiring influences of love, beauty,
and court favor, he completed his " GerusalemmeLiberata,"
one of the proudest monuments of human genius.
Goethe has with great skill made us acquainted with some
83
84 INTRODUCTION.
of the circumstances, which, acting upon the peculiar tempera-
ment of the poet, at length induced the mental disorder which
cast so dark a shadow over his later years. His hopeless love
for Leonora no doubt conspired with other causes to unsettle
his fine intellect, — a calamity which in him appears like the
bewilderment of a mind suddenly awakened from the visions
of poetry and love passionately cherished for so many years,
into the cold realities of actual life, where his too sensitive
ear was stunned by the harsh and discordant voices of envy
and superstition. We are thus prepared for his distracted
flight from Ferrara ; and Goethe has introduced prospectively
the touching incident related by Manso, — how, in the dis-
guise of a shepherd, he presented himself to his sister Cor-
nelia, to whom he related his story in language so pathetic,
that she fainted from the violence of her grief.
His return to Ferrara,' his imprisonment in the Hospital
of Santa Anna, and his subsequent miserable wanderings
from city to city, are not mentioned in the drama ; but the
allusion of Alphonso to the crown which should adorn him
on the Capitol, brings to our remembrance the affecting cir-
cumstancfes of his death.
It appears from his letters, that, at one period of his life,
he earnestly desired a triumph similar to that which Petrarca
had enjoyed ; but when at length this honor was accorded
him, when a period was assigned for this splendid pageant,
a change had come over his spirit. His long sufferings had
weaned his thoughts from earth : he felt that the hand of
death was upon him, and hoped — to use his own words —
" to go crowned, not as a poet to the Capitol, but with glory
as a saint to heaven." On the eve of the day appointed for
the ceremony, he expired at the monastery of St. Onofrio ;
and his remains, habited in a magnificent toga, and adorned
with a laurel crown, were carried in procession through the
streets of Rome.
Goethe has faithfully portrayed the times in which Tasso
lived ; and circumstances apparently trivial have an historical
significance, and impart an air of reality to the drama.
Thus the fanciful occupation and picturesque attire of the
princess and countess at the opening of the piece transport
us at once to that graceful court where the pastoral drama
was invented and refined, and where, not long . before,
Tasso's " Aminta," which is considered one of the most
beautiful specimens of this species of composition, had been
performed for the first time with enthusiastic applause.
INTRODUCTION. 85
The crown adorning thp bust of Ariosto, together with
the enthusiastic admiration expressed for that poet by
Antonio, is likewise characteristic of the age. The '' Or-
lando Furioso ' ' had been composed at the same court about
fifty years before, and had become so universally popular,
that, according to Bernardo Tasso, the father of Torquato,
" neither learned man nor artisan, no youth, no maid, no
old man, could be satisfied with a single perusal : passen-
gers in the streets, sailors in their boats, and virgins in
their chambers, sang for their disport the stanzas of
Ariosto." ^
The project of dethroning this monarch of Parnassus, or,
at least, of placing upon his own brow a crown as glorious,
appears from his own letters early to have awakened the
ambition of Tasso.
The subordinate characters of the drama are also his-
torical portraits. Alphonso II. is represented by his biog-
raphers as the liberal patron of the arts, and as treating
Tasso at this period with marked consideration ; nor had
he yet manifested that implacable and revengeful spirit
which has rendered his memory justly hateful to posterity.
In the relation which subsisted between this prince and
Tasso, Goethe has exhibited the evils resulting from the
false spirit of patronage prevalent at that period throughout
Italy, when talent was regarded as the necessary appendage
of rank, and works of genius were considered as belonging
rather to the patron than to the individual by whom they had
been produced.
Antonio Montecatino, the duke^s secretary, is also drawn
from life. He is an admirable personification of that spirit
of worldly wisdom which looks principally to material
results, and contemplates promotion and court favor as the
highest object of ambition. This "earth-born prudence,"
having little sympathy with poetic genius, affects to treat it
with contempt, resents as presumptuous its violation of
ordinary rules, holds up its foibles and eccentricities to
ridicule, and at the same time envies the homage paid to it
by mankind.
At the period of the drama, the court of Ferrara was
graced by the presence of Leonora, Countess of Scandiano,
in whom Goethe has portrayed a woman eminently grace-
ful and accomplished, but who fails to win our sympathy
because her ruling sentiment is vanity. Tasso paid to this
1 Black's Life of Tasso.
86 INTRODUCTION.
young beauty the tribute of public homage, and a^ldressed
to her some of his most beautiful sonnets : according to
Ginguene, however, his sentiment for her was merely
poetical, and could easily ally itself with the more genuine,
deep, and constant affection which he entertained for Leonora
of Este.
Lucretia and Leonora of Este were the daughters of
Ren^e of France, celebrated for her insatiable thirst for
knowledge, and for the variety and depth of her studies.
She became zealously attached to the tenets of the Re-
formers, in consequence of which she was deprived of her
children, and closely imprisoned for twelve years.
To the intellectual power, the knowledge, heresy, and
consequent misfortunes of her unhappy mother, the Prin-
cess Leonora twice alludes in the course of the drama.
The daughters of this heroic woman inherited her mental
superiority ; and Leonora, the younger, is celebrated by
various writers for her genius, learning, beauty, and early
indifference to the pleasures of the world.
TOEQUATO TASSO.
ACT I.
Scene I. — A Garden adorned with busts of the Epic Poets. To the
right a bust of Virgil ; to the left, one of Ariosto.
Pkincess and Leonora, habited as shepherdesses.
PRINCESS.
Smiling thou dost survey me, Leonora ;
And with a smile thou dost survey thyself.
What is it ? Let a friend partake thy thought !
Thou seemest pensive, yet thou seemest pleased.
»
LEONORA.
Yes, I am pleased, my princess, to behold
Us twain in rural fashion thus attired.
Two happy shepherd-maidens we appear,
And like the happy we are both employed.
Garlands we wreathe : this one, so gay with flowers,
Beneath my hand in varied beauty grows ;
Thou hast with higher taste and larger heart
The slender pliant laurel made thy choice.
PRINCESS.
The laurel wreath, which aimlessly I twined,
Hath found at once a not ui;iworthy head :
I place it gratefully on Virgil's brow.
(She crowns the bust of Virgil,)
LEONORA.
With my full joyous wreath the lofty brow
Of Master Ludovico thus I crown —
(She crowns the bust of Ariosto.)
87
88 TORQUATO TASSO.
Let him whose sportive sallies never fade
Receive his tribute from the early spriag.
PRINCESS.
My brother is most kind, to bring us here
In this sweet season to our rural haunts :
Here, by the hour, in freedom unrestrained,
We may dream back the poet's golden age.
I love this Belriguardo : in my youth
Full many a joyous day I lingered here ;
And this bright sunshine, and this verdant green,
Bring back the feelings of that by-gone time.
LEONORA.
Yes : a new world surrounds us ! Grateful now
The cooling shelter of these evergreens.
The tuneful murmur of this gurgling spring
Once more revives us. In the morning wind
The tender branches waver to and fro.
The flowers look upwards from their lowly beds,
And smile upon us with their child-like eyes.
The gardener, fearless grown, removes the roof
That screened his citron and his orange trees ;
The azure dome of heaven above us rests ;
And, in the far horizon, from the hills
The snow in balmy vapor melts away.
PRINCESS.
Most welcome were to me the genial spring.
Did it not lead my friend away from me.
LEONORA.
My princess, in these sweet and tranquil hours,
Remind me not how soon I must depart.
PRINCESS.
Yon mighty city will restore to thee,
In double measure, what thou leavest here.
LEONORA.
The voice of duty and the voice of love,
Both call me to my lord, forsaken long.
TORQUATO TASSO. 89
I briDg to him his son, who rapidly
Hath grown in stature, and matured in mind,
Since last they met : I share his father's joy.
Florence is great and noble, but the worth
Of all her treasured riches doth not reach
The prouder jewels that Ferrara boasts.
That city to her people owes her power :
Ferrara grew to greatness through her princes.
PRINCESS.
More through the noble men whom chance led here,
And who in sweet communion here remained.
LEONORA.
Chance doth again disperse what chance collects :
A noble nature can alone attract
The nobie, and retain them, as ye do.
Around thy brother, and around thyself,
Assemble spirits worthy of you both ;
And ye are worthy of your noble sires.
Here the fair light of science and free thought
Was kindled first, while o'er the darkened world
Still hung barbarian gloom. E'en when a child
The names resounded loudly in mine ear.
Of Hercules and Hippolyte of Este.
My father oft with Florence and with Rome
Extolled Ferrara ! Oft in youthful dream
Hither I fondly turned : now am I here.
Here was Petrarca kindly entertained.
And Ariosto found his models here.
Italia boasts no great, no mighty name,
This princely mansion hath not called its guest.
In fostering genius we enrich ourselves :
Dost thou present her with a friendly gift,
One far more beautiful she leaves with thee.
The ground is hallowed where the good man treads :
When centuries have rolled, his sons shall hear
The deathless echo of his words and deeds.
PRINCESS.
Yes, if those sons have feelings quick as thine :
This happiness full oft I envy thee.
00 TORQUATO TASSO.
LEONORA.
Which purely and serenely thou, my friend
As few beside thee, dost thyself enjoy.
When my full heart impels me to express
Promptly and freely what I keenly feel.
Thou feelest the while more deeply, and — art silent.
Delusive splendor doth not dazzle thee,
Nor wit beguile ; and flattery strives in vain
With fawning artifice to win thine ear :
Firm is thy temper, and correct thy taste,
Thy judgment just ; and, truly great thyself,
With greatness thou dost ever sympathize.
PRINCESS.
Thou shouldst not to this highest flattery
The garment of confiding friendship lend.
LEONORA.
Friendship is just : she only estimates
The full extent and measure of thy worth.
Let me ascribe to opportunity.
To fortune too, her portion in thy culture,
Still in the end thou hast it, it is thine ;
And all extol thy sister and thyself
Before the noblest women of the age.
PRINCESS.
That can but little move me, Leonora,
When I reflect how poor at best we are,
To others more indebted than ourselves.
My knowledge of the ancient languages,
And of the treasures by the past bequeathed,
1 owe my mother, who, in varied lore
And mental power, her daughters far excelled.
Might either claim comparison with her,
*Tis undeniably Lucretia's right.
Besides, what nature and what chance bestowed
As property or rank I ne'er esteemed.
'Tis pleasure to me when the wise converse.
That I their scope and meaning comprehend.
Whether they judge a man of by-gone times
And weigh his actions, or of science treat,
TORQUATO TASSO. 91
Which, when extended and applied to life,
At once exalts and benefits mankind.
Where'er the converse of such men may lead,
I follow gladly, for with ease I follow.
Well pleased the strife of argument I hear, ,
When, round the powers that sway the human breast,
Waking alternately delight and fear,
With grace the lip of eloquence doth play ;
And listen gladly when the princely thirst
Of fame, of wide dominion, forms the theme,
When of an able man, the thought profound.
Developed skilfully with subtle tact.
Doth not perplex and dazzle, but instruct.
LEONORA.
And then, this grave and serious converse o'er,
Our ear and inner mind with tranquil joy
Upon the poet's tuneful verse repose,
Who, through the medium of harmonious sounds,
Infuses sweet emotions in the soul.
Thy lofty spirit grasps a wide domain :
Content am I to linger in the isle
Of poesy, her laurel groves among.
PRINCESS.
In this fair land, I'm told, the myrtle blooms
In richer beauty than all other trees :
Here, too, the Muses wander ; yet we seek
A friend and playmate 'mong their tuneful choir
Less often than we seek to meet the bard.
Who seems to shun us, — nay, appears to flee
In quest of something that we know not of.
And which perchance is to himself unknown.
How charming were it, if, in happy hour
Encountering us, he should with ecstasy
In our fair selves the treasure recognize,
Which in the world he long had sought in vain !
LEONORA.
To your light raillery I must submit :
So light its touch it passeth harmless by.
I honor all men after their desert,
92 TORQUATO TASSO.
And am in truth toward Tasso only just.
His eye scarce lingers on this earthly scene :
To nature's harmony his ear is tuned.
What history offers, and what life presents,
His bosom promptly and with joy receives :
The widely scattered is by him combined,
And his quick feeling animates the dead.
Oft he ennobles what we count for naught :
What others treasure is by him despised.
Thus moving in his own enchanted sphere,
The wondrous man doth still allure us on
To wander with him and partake his joy :
Though seeming to approach us, he remains
Remote as ever ; and perchance his eye,
Resting on us, sees spirits in our place.
PRINCESS.
Thou hast with taste and truth portrayed the bard.
Who hovers in the shadowy realm of dreams.
And yet reality, it seems to me.
Hath also power to lure him and enchain.
In the sweet sonnets, scattered here and there,
With which we sometimes find our trees adorned,
Creating like the golden fruit of old
A new Hesperia, perceivest thou not
The gentle tokens of a genuine love ?
LEONORA.
In these fair leaves I also take delight.
With all his rich diversity of thought
He glorifies one form in all his strains.
Now he exalts her to the starry heavens
In radiant glory, and before that form
Bows down, like angels in the realms above.
Then, stealing after her through silent fields,
He garlands in his wreath each beauteous flower ;
And, should the form he worships disappear.
Hallows the path her gentle foot hath trod.
Thus like the nightingale, concealed in shade.
From his love-laden breast he fills the air
And neighboring thickets with melodious plaints :
His blissful sadness and his tuneful grief
Charm every ear, enrapture ever^^ heart —
TORQUATO TASSO. 93
PRINCESS.
And Leonora is the favored name
Selected for the object of his strains.
LEONORA.
Thy name it is, my princess, as 'tis mine.
It would displease me were it otherwise.
Now I rejoice that under this disguise
He can conceal his sentiment for thee.
And am no less contented with the thought
That this sweet name should also picture me.
Here is no question of an ardent love.
Seeking possession, and with jealous care
Screening its object from another's gaze.
While he enraptured contemplates thy worth,
He in my lighter nature may rejoice.
He loves not us, — forgive me what I say, —
His loved ideal from the spheres he brings,
And doth invest it with the name we bear :
His feeling we participate ; we seem
To love the man, yet only love in him
The highest object that can claim our love.
PRINCESS.
In this deep science thou art deeply versed.
My Leonora ; and thy words in truth
Play on my ear, yet scarcely reach my soul.
LEONORA.
Thou Plato's pupil ! and not comprehend
What a mere novice dares to prattle to thee?
It must be, then, that I have widely erred ;
Yet well I know I do not wholly err.
For love doth in this graceful school appear
No longer as the spoilt and wayward child :
He is the youth whom Psyche hath espoused.
Who sits in council with the assembled gods.
He hath relinquished passion's fickle sway :
He clings no longer with delusion sweet
To outward form and beauty, to atone
For brief excitement by disgust and hate.
H TORQUATO TASSO.
PRINCESS.
Here comes my brother ! let us not betray
Whither our converse hath conducted us ;
Else we shall have his raillery to bear,
As in our dress he found a theme for jest.
Scene II. — Princess, Leonora, Alphonso,
ALPHONSO.
Tasso I seek, whom nowhere I can find ;
And even here, with you, I meet him not.
Can you inform me where he hides himself ?
PRINCESS.
I have scarce seen him for the last two days.
ALPHONSO.
'Tis his habitual failing that he seeks
Seclusion rather than society.
I can forgive him when the motley crowd
Thus studiously he shuns, and loves to hold
Free converse with himself in solitude ;
Yet can I not approve, that he should thus
Also the circle of his friends avoid.
LEONORA.
If I mistake not, thou wilt soon, O prince !
Convert this censure into joyful praise.
To-day I saw him from afar : he held
A book and scroll, in which at times he wrote,
And then resumed his walk, then wrote again.
A passing word, which yesterday he spoke,
Seemed to announce to me his work complete :
His sole anxiety is now to add
A finished beauty to minuter parts,
That to your grace, to whom he owes so much,
A worthy offering he at length may bring.
ALPHONSO.
A welcome, when he brings it, shall be his.
And long immunity from all restraint.
TORQUATO TASSO. 96
Great, in proportion to the lively joy
And interest which his noble work inspires,
Is my impatience at its long delay.
After each slow advance he leaves his task :
He ever changeth, and can ne'er conclude,
Till baffled hope is weary ; for we see
Reluctantly postponed to times remote
A pleasure we had fondly deemed so near.
PRINCESS.
I rather praise the modesty, the care.
With which thvjs, step by step, he nears the goal.
His aim is not to string amusing tales,
Or weave harmonious numbers, which at length,
Like words delusive, die upon the ear.
His numerous rhymes he labors to combine
Into one beautiful, poetic whole ;
And he whose soul this lofty aim inspires.
Must pay devoted hfeage to the Muse.
Disturb him not, my brother : time alone
Is not the measure of a noble work ;
And, is the coming age to share our joy,
We of the present must forget ourselves.
ALPHONSO.
Let us, dear sister, work together here,
As for our mutual good we oft have done.
Am I too eager — thou must then restrain ;
Art thou too gentle — I will urge him on.
Then we perchance shall see him at the goal,
Where to behold him we have wished in vain
His fatherland, the world, shall then admire
And view with wonder his completed work.
I shall receive my portion of the fame.
And Tasso will be ushered into life.
In a contracted sphere, a noble man
Cannot develop all his mental powers.
On him his country and the world must work.
He must endure both censure and applause,
Must be compelled to estimate aright
Himself and others. Solitude no more
Lulls him delusively with flattering dreams.
Opponents will not, friendship dare not, spar^ ;
96 TORQUATO TASSO.
Then in the strife the youth puts forth his powers,
Knows what he is, and feels himself a man.
LEONORA.
Thus will he, prince, owe every thing to thee,
Who hast already done so much for him.
Talents are nurtured best in solitude, —
A character on life's tempestuous sea.
Oh that according to thy rules he would
Model his temper as he forms his taste,
Cease to avoid mankind, nor in his breast
Nurture suspicion into fear and hate !
ALPHONSO.
He only fears mankind who knows them not.
And he will soon misjudge them who avoids.
This is his case, and so by slow degrees
His noble mind is trammelled and perplexed.
Thus to secure my favor he betrays,
At times, unseemly ardor ; against some.
Who, I am well assured, are not his foes,
He cherishes suspicion ; if by chance
A letter go astray, a hireling leave
His service, or a paper be mislaid,
He sees deception, treachery, and fraud,
Working insidiously to sap his peace.
PRINCESS.
Let us, beloved brother, not forget
That his own nature none can lay aside.
And should a friend, who with us journeyeth,
Injure by chance his foot, we would in sooth
Rather relax our speed, and lend our hand
Gently to aid the sufferer on his way.
ALPHONSO.
Better it were to remedy his pain,
With the physician's aid attempt a cure.
Then with our healed and renovated friend
A new career of life with joy pursue.
And yet, dear friends, I hope that I may ne*er
The censure of the cruel leech incur.
TORQUATO TASSO 97
I do my utmost to impress his mind
With feelings of security and trust.
Oft purposely, in presence of the crowd,
With marks of favor I distinguish him.
Should he complain of aught, I sift it well,
As lately when his chamber he supposed
Had been invaded ; then, should naught appear,
I calml}^ show him how I view the affair.
And, as we ought to practise every grace
With Tasso, seeing he deserves it well,
I practise patience : you, I'm sure, will aid.
I now have brought you to your rural haunts,
And must myself at eve return to town.
For a few moments you will see Antonio :
He calls here for me on his way from Rome.
We have important business to discuss.
Resolves to frame, and letters to indite.
All which compels me to return to town.
PRINCESS.
Wilt thou permit that we return with thee ?
ALPHONSO.
Nay : rather linger here in Belriguardo,
Or go together to Consandoli ;
Enjoy these lovely days as fancy prompts.
PRINCESS.
Thou canst not stay with us ? Not here arrange
All these affairs as well as in the town ?
LEONORA.
So soon, thou takest hence Antonio, too.
Who hath so much to tell us touching Rome.
ALPHONSO.
It may not be, ye children : but with him
So soon as possible will I return ;
Then shall he tell you all ye wish to hear,
And ye shall help me to reward the man,
Who, in my cause, hath labored with such zeal.
And, when we shall once more have talked our fill,
98 TORQUATO TASSO.
Hither the crowd may come, that mirth and joy
May in our gardens revel, that for me,
As is but meet, some fair one in the shade
May, if I seek her, gladly meet me there.
LEONORA.
And we meanwhile will kindly shut our eyes*
ALPHONSO.
Ye know that I can be forbearing too.
PRINCESS (turned towards the scene).
I long have noticed Tasso ; hitherward
Slowly he bends his footsteps ; suddenly,
As if irresolute, he standeth still ;
Anon, with greater speed he draweth near,
Then lingers once again.
ALPHONSO.
Disturb him not.
Nor, when the poet dreams and versifies,
Intrude upon his musings : let him roam.
LEONORA.
No : he has seen us, and he comes this way.
Scene III. — Princess, Leonora, Alphonso, Tasso {with a
volume hound in parchment).
TASSO.
Slowly I come to bring my work to thee,
And yet I linger ere presenting it.
Although apparently it seem complete.
Too well I know, it is unfinished still.
But, if I cherished once an anxious fear
Lest I should bring thee an imperfect work,
A new solicitude constrains me now :
I would not seem ungrateful, nor appear
Unduly anxious ; and as to his friends,
A man can say but simply, " Here I am ! "
That they, with kind forbearance, may rejoice,
So I can.onl^ say, " Receive my work 1 "
(He presents the volume*^
TORQUATO TASSO. 99
ALPHONSO.
Thou hast surprised me, Tasso, with thy gift,
And made this loA^ely day a festival.
I hold it, then, at length within my hands,
And in a certain sense can call it mine.
Long have I wished that thou couldst thus resolve,
And say at length, '' 'Tis finished ! here it is."
TASSO.
Are you contented ? then it is complete,
For it belongs to you in every sense.
Were I to contemplate the pains bestowed,
Or dwell upon the written character,
I might, perchance, exclaim, " This work is mine ! *'
But when I mark what 'tis that to my song
Its inner worth and dignity imparts,
I humbly feel I owe it all to you.
If Nature from her liberal stores on me
The genial gift of poesy bestowed,
Capricious Fortune, with malignant power,
Had thrust me from her ; though this beauteous world
With all its varied splendor lured the boy.
Too early was his youthful eye bedimmed
By his loved parents' undeserved distress.
Forth from my lips, when I essayed to sing,
There ever flowed a melancholy song ;
And I accompanied, with plaintive tones,
My father's sorrow and my mother's grief.
'Twas thou alone, who, from this narrow sphere^
Raised me to glorious liberty, relieved
From each depressing care my youthful mind,
And gave me freedom, in whose genial air
My spirit could unfold in harmony :
Then, whatsoe'er the merit of the work,
Thine be the praise, for it belongs to thee.
ALPHONSO.
A second time thou dost deserve applause,
And honorest modestly thyself and us.
TASSO.
Fain would I say how sensibly I feel
That what I bring is all derived from thee !
100 TORQUATO TASSO.
The inexperienced youth — could he produce
The poem from his own unfurnished mind?
Could he invent the conduct of the war,
The gallant bearing and the martial skill
Which every hero on the field displayed,
The leader's prudence, and his followers' zeal,
How vigilance the arts of cunning foiled,
Hadst thou not, valiant prince, infused it all,
As if my guardian genius thou hadst been,
Through a mere mortal deigning to reveal
His nature high and inaccessible ?
PRINCESS.
Enjoy the work in which we all rejoice !
ALPHONSO.
Enjoy the approbation of the good 1
LEONORA.
Rejoice, too, in thy universal fame !
TASSO.
This single moment is enough for me.
Of you alone I thought while I composed :
You to delight was still my highest wish.
You to enrapture was my final aim.
Who doth not in his friends behold the world,
Deserves not that of him the world should hear.
Here is my fatherland, and here the sphere
In which my spirit fondly loves to dwell ;
Here I attend and value every hint ;
Here speak experience, knowledge, and true taste;
Here stand the present and the future age.
With shy reserve the artist shuns the crowd :
Its judgment but perplexes. Those alone
With minds like yours can understand and feel,
And such alone should censure and reward !
ALPHONSO.
If thus the present and the future age
We represent, it is not meet that we
Receive the poet's song unrecompensed.
TORQUATO TASSO. 101
The laurel wreath, fit chaplet for the bard,
Which e'en the hero, who requires his verse,
Sees without envy round his temples twined,
Adorns, thou seest, thy predecessor's brow.
{Pointing to the bust of Virgil.)
Hath chance, hath some kind genius, twined the wreath,
And brought it hither ? Not in vain it thus
Presents itself : Virgil I hear exclaim,
" Wherefore confer this honor on the dead?
They in their lifetime had reward and joy ;
Do ye indeed revere the bards of old ?
Then, to the living bard accord his due.
My marble statue hath been amply crowned.
And the green laurel branch belongs to life."
{Alphonso makes a sign to his sister ; she takes the crown
from the bust of Virgil, and approaches Tasso ; he
steps back.)
LEONORA.
Thou dost refuse ? Seest thou what hand the wreath,
The fair, the never-fading wreath, presents?
TASSO.
Oh, let me pause ! I scarce can comprehend
How after such an hour I still can live.
ALPHONSO.
Live in enjoyment of the high reward
From which thy inexperience shrinks with fear.
PRINCESS (raising the crown).
Thou dost afford me, Tasso, the rare joy
Of giving silent utterance to my thought.
TASSO.
The beauteous burden from thy honored hands.
On my weak head, thus kneeling I receive.
{He kneels down : the Princess places the crown upon,
his head.)
LEONORA {applauding) ,
Long live the poet, for the first time crowned !
How well the crown adorns the modest man !
(Tasso rises.)
Goethe— D Vol Q
102 TORQUATO TASSO.
ALPHONSO.
It is an emblem only of that crown
Which shall adorn thee on the Capitol.
PRINCESS.
There louder voices will salute thine ear :
Friendship with lower tones rewards thee here.
TASSO.
Take it, oh take it quickly, from my brow ;
Pray thee remove it ! It doth scorch my locks :
And like a sunbeam, that with fervid heat
Falls on my forehead, burnetii in my brain
The power of thought ; while fever's fiery glow
Impels my blood. Forgive ! it is too much.
LEONORA.
This garland rather doth protect the head
Of him who treads the burning realm of fame,
And with its grateful shelter cools his brow.
TASSO.
I am not worthy to receive its shade,
Which only round the hero's brow should wave.
Ye gods, exalt it high among the clouds,
To float in glory inaccessible.
That through eternity my life may be
An endless striving to attain this goal !
ALPHONSO.
He who in youth acquires life's noblest gifts,
Learns early to esteem their priceless worth ;
He who in youth enjoys, resigneth not
Without reluctance what he once possessed ;
And he who would possess, must still be armed.
TASSO.
And who would arm himself, within his breast
A power must feel that ne'er forsaketh him.
Ah, it forsakes me now ! In happiness
The inborn power subsides, which tutored me
I
TORQUATO TASSO. 103
To meet injustice with becoming pride,
And steadfastly to face adversity.
Hathi the delight, the rapture, of this hour,
Dissolved the strength and marrow in my limbs?
My knees sink feebly ! yet a second time
Thou seest me, princess, here before thee bowed:
Grant my petition, and remove the crown,
That, as awakened from a blissful dream,
A new and fresh existence I may feel.
PRINCESS.
If thou with quiet modesty canst wear
The glorious talent from the gods received,
Learn also now the laurel wreath to wear,
The fairest gift that friendship can bestow.
The brow it once hath worthily adorned,
It shall encircle through eternity.
TASSO.
Oh, let me, then, ashamed from hence retire !
Let me in deepest shades my joy conceal.
As there my sorrow I was wont to shroud.
There will I range alone : no eye will there
Remind me of a bliss so undeserved.
And if perchance I should behold a youth
In the clear mirror of a crystal spring,
Who in the imaged heaven, 'midst rocks and trees,
Absorbed in thought appears, his brow adorned
With glory's garland, — there, methinks, I see
Elysium mirrored in the magic flood.
I pause and calmly ask. Who may this be?
What youth of by-gone times so fairly crowned?
Whence can I learn his name ? his high desert ?
I linger long, and musing fondly think :
Oh, might there come another, and yet more,
To join with him in friendly intercourse !
Oh, could I see assembled round this spring
The bards, the heroes, of the olden time !
Could I behold them still united here
As they in life were ever firmly bound !
As with mysterious power the magnet binds
Iron with iron, so do kindred aims
Unite the souls of heroes and of bards.
104 TORQUATO TASSO.
Himself forgetting, Homer spent his life
In contemplation of two mighty men ;
And Alexander in the Elysian fields
Doth Homer and Achilles haste to seek.
Oh, would that I were present to behold
Those mighty spirits in communion met !
LEONORA.
Awake ! awake ! let us not feel that thou
The present quite forgettest in the past.
TASSO.
It is the present that inspireth me :
Absent I seem alone, I am entranced !
PRINCESS.
When thou dost speak with spirits, I rejoice
The voice is human, and I gladly hear.
(A page steps to the Prince.)
ALPHONSO.
He is arrived ! and in a happy hour :
Antonio ! Bring him hither, — here he comes !
Scene IV.— Princess, Leonora, Alphonso, Tasso, Antonio.
ALPHONSO.
Thou'rt doubly welcome ! thou who bringest at once
Thyself and welcome tidings.
princess.
Welcome here I
ANTONIO.
Scarce dare I venture to express the joy
Which in your presence quickens me anew.
In your society I find restored
What I have missed so long. You seem content
With what I have accomplished, what achieved ;
So am I recompensed for every care.
TORQUATO TASSO. 106
For many days impatiently endured,
And man}^ others wasted purposely.
At length our wish is gained, — the strife is o*er.
LEONORA.
I also greet thee, though in sooth displeased :
Thou dost arrive when I must hence depart.
ANTONIO.
As if to mar my perfect happiness,
One lovely part forthwith thou takest hence.
TASSO.
My greetings too ! I also shall rejoice
In converse with the much-experienced man.
ANTONIO.
Thou'lt find me time, whenever thou wilt deign
To glance a while from thy world into mine.
ALPHONSO.
Though thou by letter hast announced to me
The progress and the issue of our cause,
Full many questions I have yet to ask
Touching the course thou hast pursued therein.
In that strange region a well-measured step
Alone conducts us to our destined goal.
Who doth his sovereign's interest purely seek,
In Rome a hard position must maintain ;
For Rome gives nothing, while she grasps at all :
Let him who thither goes some boon to claim,
Go well provided, and esteem himself
Most happy, if e'en then he gaineth aught.
(^' ANTONIO. 3
'Tis neither my demeanor nor my art
By which thy will hath been accomplished, prince.
For where the skill which at the Vatican
Would not be over-mastered ? Much conspired
Which I could use in furtherance of our cause.
Pope Gregory salutes and blesses thee.
106 TORQUATO TASSO.
That aged man, that sovereign most august,
Who on his brow the load of empire bears,
Recalls the time when he embraced thee last
With pleasure. He who can distinguish men
Knows and extols thee highly. For thy sake
He hath done much.
ALPHONSO.^
So far as 'tis sincere,
His good opinion cannot but rejoice me.
But well thou knowest, from the Vatican
The Pope sees empires dwindled at his feet :
Princes and men must needs seem small indeed.
Confess what was it most assisted thee.
ANTONIO.
Good! if thou will'st: the Pope's exalted mind.
To him the small seems small, the great seems great.
That he may wield the empire of the world,
He to his neighbor yields with kind good will.
The strip of land, which he resigns to thee,
He knoweth, like thy friendship, well to prize.
Italia must be tranquil, friends alone
Will he behold around him, peace must reign
Upon his borders, that of Christendom
The might which he so potently directs,
May smite at once the Heretic and Turk.
PRINCESS.
And is it known what men he most esteems,
And who approach him confidentially ?
ANTONIO.
The experienced man alone can win his ear.
The active man his favor and esteem.
He, who from early youth has served the state,
Commands it now, ruling those very courts
Which, in his office of ambassador,
He had observed and guided years before.
I The world lies spread before his searching gaze,
Clear as the interests of his own domain.
In action we must yield him our applause,
And mark with joy, when time unfolds the plans
TORQUATO TASSO. 107
Which his deep forethought fashioned long before.
There is no fairer prospect in the world
Than to behold a prince who wisely rules ;
A realm where every one obeys with pride,
Where each imagines that he serves himself,
Because 'tis justice only that commands.
LEONORA.
How ardently I long to view that realm !
ALPHONSO.
Doubtless that thou mayst play thy part therein,
For Leonora never could remain
A mere spectator : meet it were, fair friend,
If now and then we let your gentle hands
Join in the mighty game — say, is't not so?
LEONORA (to ALPHONSO) .
Thou wouldst provoke me, — thou shalt not succeed.
ALPHONSO.
I am already deeply in thy debt.
LEONORA.
Good : then to-day I will remain in thine !
Forgive, and do not interrupt me now.
(To Antonio.)
Say, hath he for his relatives done much?
ANTONIO.
Nor more nor less than equity allows.
The potentate, who doth neglect his friends,
Is even by the people justly blamed. ;
With wise discretion Gregory emploj'^s
His friends as trusty servants of the state,
And thus fulfils at once two kindred claims.
TASSO.
Doth science, do the liberal arts, enjoy
His fostering care? and doth he emulate
The glorious princes of the olden tirne?
108 TORQUATO TASSO.
ANTONIO.
He honors science when it is of use, —
Teaching to govern states, to know mankind:
He prizes art when it embellishes, —
When it exalts and beautifies his Rome,
Erecting palaces and temples there.
Which rank among the marvels of this earth.
Within his sphere of influence he admits
Naught inefficient, and alone esteems
The active cause and instrument of good.
ALPHONSO.
/Thou thinkest, then, that we may soon conclude
The whole affair ? that no impediments
Will finally be scattered in our way?
ANTONIO.
Unless I greatly err, 'twill but require
A few brief letters and thy signature,
To bring this contest to a final close.
ALPHONSO.
This day with justice, then, I may proclaim
A season of prosperity and joy.
My frontiers are enlarged and made secure :
Thou hast accomplished all without the sword,
And hence deservest well a civic crown.
Our ladies on some beauteous morn shall twine
A wreath of oak to bind around thy brow.
Meanwhile our poet hath enriched us too :
He, by his conquest of Jerusalem,
Hath put our modern Christendom to shame.
With joyous spirit and unwearied zeal,
A high and distant goal he had attained ;
For his achievement thou beholdest him crowned.
ANTONIO.
•, / Thou solvest an enigma. Two crowned heads
' I saw with wonder on arriving here.
TASSO.
While thou dost gaze upon my happiness,
With the same glance, oh, couldst thou view my heart.
And witness there my deep humility !
TORQUATO TASSO. 109
ANTONIO.
How lavishly Alphonso can reward
I long have known : thou only provest now
What all enjoy who come within its sphere
PRINCESS.
When thou shalt see the work he hath achieved,
Thou wilt esteem us moderate and just.
The first, the silent, witnesses are we
Of praises which, the world and future years
In tenfold measure will accord to him.
ANTONIO.
Through you his fame is certain. Who so bold
To entertain a doubt when you commend? ,/
But tell me, who on Ariosto's brow
Hath placed this wreath ? ^
LEONORA.
This hand.
/
ANTONIO.
It hath done well.
It more becomes him than a laurel crown.
As o'er her fruitful bosom Nature throws
Her variegated robe of beauteous green,
So he enshrouds in Fable's flowery garb,
Whatever can conspire to render man
Worthy of love and honor. Power and taste,
Experience, understanding, and content.
And a pure feeling for the good and true,
Pervade the spirit of his every song.
And there appear in person, to repose !
'Neath blossoming trees, besprinkled by the snow
Of lightly-falling flowers, their heads entwined
With rosy garlands ; while the sportive Loves
With frolic humor weave their magic spells.
A copious fountain, gurgling near, displays
Strange variegated fish ; and all the air
Is vocal with the song of wondrous birds ;
Strange cattle pasture in the bowers and glades ;
Half hid in verdure. Folly slyly lurks ;
110 TORQUATO TASSO.
At times, resounding from a golden cloud,
The voice of Wisdom utters lofty truth ;
While Madness, from a wild, harmonious lute,
Scatters forth bursts of fitful harmony,
Yet all the while the justest measure holds.
He who aspires to emulate this man,
E'en for his boldness well deserves a crown.
Forgive me if I feel myself inspired,
Like one entranced forget both time and place,
And fail to weigh my words ; for all these crowns,
These poets, and the festival attire
Of these fair ladies, have transported me
Out of myself into a foreign land.
PRINCESS.
Who thus can prize one species of desert,
Will not misjudge another. Thou to us,
Some future day, shalt show in Tasso's song
What we can feel, and thou canst comprehend.
ALPHONSO.
Come, now, Antonio ! many things remain
Whereof I am desirous to inquire.
Then, till tlie setting of the sun, thou shalt
Attend the ladies. Follow me, — farewell !
(Antonio /oZ^ozos the prince, Tasso thejadies* )
ACT n.
SCENE I. — A Room. Princess, Tasso.
TASSO.
I with uncertain footsteps follow thee,
O princess : there arise within my soul
Thoughts without rule and measure. Solitude
Appears to beckon me : complaisantly
She whispers, '' Hither come, I will allay.
Within thy breast, the newly wakened doubt."
Yet catch I but a glimpse of thee, or takes
My listening ear one utterance from thy lip.
At once a new-born day around me shines,
TORQUATO TASSO. Ill
And all the fetters vanish from my soul.
To thee I freely will confess, the man
Who unexpectedly appeared among us
Hath rudely waked me from a beauteous dream :
So strangely have his nature and his words
Affected me, that more than ever now
A want of inward harmony I feel,
And a distracting conflict with myself.
PRINCESS.
'Tis not to be expected that a friend,
Who long hath sojourned in a foreign land,
Should, in the moment of his first return.
The tone of former times at once resume :
He in his inner mind is still unchanged ;
And a few days of intercourse will tune
The jarring strings, until they blend once more
In perfect harmony. When he shall know
The greatness of the work thou hast achieved,
Believe me, he will place thee by the bard,
Whom as a giant now he sets before thee.
TASSO.
My princess, Ariosto's praise from him
Has more delighted than offended me.
Consoling 'tis, to know the man renowned,
Whom as our model we have placed before us :
An inward voice then whispers to the heart,
" Canst thou obtain a portion of his worth,
A portion of his fame is also thine."
No : that which hath most deeply moved my heart,
AVhich even now completely fills my soul.
Was the majestic picture of that world.
Which, with its living, restless, mighty forms
Around one great and prudent man revolves,
And runs with measured steps the destined course
Prescribed beforehand by the demigod.
I listened eagerly, and heard with joy
The wise discourse of the experienced man ;
But, ah ! the more I heard, the more I felt
Mine own un worthiness, and feared that I,
Like empty sound, might dissipate in air,
Or vanish like an echo or a dream.
112 TORQUATO TASSO.
PRINCESS.
And yet erewhile thou didst so truly feel
How bard and hero for each other live,
How bard and hero to each other tend,
And toward each other know no envious thought.
Noble in truth are deeds deserving fame ;
But it is also noble to transmit
The lofty grandeur of heroic deeds,
Through worthy song, to our posterity.
Be satisfied to contemplate in peace.
From a small, sheltering state, as from the shore,
The wild and stormy current of the world.
TASSO.
Was it not here, amazed, I first beheld
The high reward on valiant deeds bestowed?
An inexperienced j^outh I here arrived,
When festival on festival conspired
To render this the centre of renown.
Oh, what a scene Ferrara then displayed !
The wide arena, where in all its pomp
Accomplished valor should its skill display,
Was bounded by a circle, whose high worth
The sun might seek to parallel in vain.
The fairest women sat assembled there,
And men the most distinguished of the age.
Amazed the eye ran o'er the noble throng :
Proudly I cried, "And 'tis our fatherland.
That small, sea-girded land, hath sent them here.
They constitute the noblest court that e'er
On honor, worth, or virtue, judgment passed.
Survey them singly, thou wilt not find one
Of whom his neighbor needs to feel ashamed ! "—
And then the lists were opened, chargers pranced,
Esquires pressed forward, helmets brightly gleamed,
The trumpet sounded, shivering lances split.
The din of clanging helm and shield was heard,
And for a moment eddying dust concealed
The victor's honor and the vanquished 's shame.
Oh, let me draw a curtain o'er the scene,
The all too brilliant spectacle conceal,
That in this tranquil hour I may not feel
Too painfully mine own unworthiness !
TORQUATO TASSO. 113
PRINCESS.
If that bright circle and those noble deeds
Aroused thee then to enterprise and toil,
I could the while, young friend, have tutored thee
In the still lesson of calm sufferance.
The brilliant festival thou dost extol.
Which then and since a hundred voices praised,
I did not witness. In a lonely spot,
So tranquil, that, unbroken on the ear,
Joy's lightest echo faintly died away,
A prey to pain and melancholy thoughts,
I was compelled to pass the tedious hours.
Before me hovered, on extended wing.
Death's awful form, concealing from my view
The prospect of this ever-changing world.
Slowly it disappeared : and I beheld.
As through a veil, the varied hues of life.
Pleasing but indistinct ; while living forms
Began once more to flicker through the gloom.
Still feeble, and supported by my women,
For the first time my silent room I left,
When hither, full of happiness and life,
Thee leading by the hand, Lucretia came.
A stranger then, thou, Tasso, wast the first
To welcome me on my return to life. '
Much then I hoped for both of us ; and hope
Hath not, methinks, deceived us hitherto.
TASSO.
Stunned by the tumult, dazzled by the glare,
Impetuous passions stirring in my breast,
I by thy sister's side pursued my way
In silence through the stately corridors.
Then in the chamber entered, where ere long
Thou didst appear supported by thy women.
Oh, what a moment ! Princess, pardon me '
As in the presence of a deity
The victim of enchantment feels with joy
His frenzied spirit from delusion freed ;
So was my soul from every fantasy.
From every passion, every false desire
Restored at once by one calm glance of thine.
And if, before, my inexperienced mind
114 TORQUATO TASSO.
Had lost itself in infinite desires,
I then, with shame, first turned my gaze within,
And recognized the trul}^ valuable.
Thus on the wide seashore we seek in vain
The pearl, reposing in its silent shell.
PRINCESS.
'Twas the commencement of a happy time.
And had Urbino's duke not led away
My sister from us, many years had passed
For us in calm, unclouded happiness.
But now, alas ! we miss her all too much,
Miss her free spirit, buoyancy, and life,
And the rich wit of the accomplished woman.
TASSO.
Too well I know, since she departed hence,
None hath been able to supply to thee
The pure enjoyment which her presence gave.
Alas, how often hath it grieved my soul !
How often have I, in the silent grove.
Poured forth my lamentation ! How ! I cried
Is it her sister's right and joy alone
To be a treasure to the dear one's heart?
Does, then, no other soul respond to hers,
No other heart her confidence deserve ?
Are soul and wit extinguished ? and should one,
How great soe'er her worth, engross her love?
Forgive me, princess ! Often I have wished
I could be something to thee, — little, perhaps,
But something : not with words alone, with deeds
I wished to be so, and in life to prove
How I had worshipped thee in solitude.
But I could ne'er succeed, and but too oft ^
In error wounded thee, offending one
By thee protected, or perplexing more
What thou didst wish to solve, and thus, alas !
E'en in the moment when I fondly strove
To draw more near thee, felt more distant still.
PRINCESS.
Thy wish I never have misconstrued, Tasso ;
How thou dost prejudice thyself I know ;
TORQUATO TASSO. 115
Unlike my sister, who possessed the aii;
Of living happily with every one,
After so many years, thou art in sooth
Thyself well nigh unfriended.
TASSO.
Censure me !
But after say, where shall I find the man,
The woman where, to whom as unto thee »
I freely can unbosom every thought?
PRINCESS.
Thou shouldest in my brother more confide.
TASSO.
He is my prince ! — Yet do not hence suppose
That freedom's lawless impulse swells my breast.
Man is not born for freedom ; and to serve /
A prince deserving honor and esteem /
Is a pure pleasure to a noble mind.
He is my sovereign, — of that great word
I deeply feel the full significance.
I must be silent when he speaks, and learn
To do what he commandeth, though perchance
My heart and understanding both rebel.
PRINCESS.
That with my brother never can befall.
And in Antonio, who is now returned,
Thou wilt possess another prudent friend.
\y
TASSO.
I hoped it once, now almost I despair.
His converse how instructive, and his words
How useful in a thousand instances !
For he possesses, I may truly say.
All that in me is wanting. But, alas !
When round his cradle all the gods assembled
To bring their gifts, the Graces were not there ;
And he who lacks what these fair Powers impart,
May much possess, may much communicate ;
But on his bosom we can ne'er repose.
116 TORQUATO TASSO.
PRINCESS.
But we can trust in him, and that is much.
Thou shouldst not, Tasso, in one man expect
All qualities combined : Antonio
What he hath promised surely will perform.
If he have once declared himself thy friend,
He'll care for thee, where thou dost fail thyself.
Ye must be friends ! I cherish the fond hope
Ere long this gracious work to consummate.
Only oppose me not, as is thy wont.
Then, Leonora long hath sojourned here,
Who is at once refined and elegant :
Her easy manners banish all restraint,
Yet thou hast ne'er approached her as she wished.
TASSO.
To thee I hearkened, or, believe me, princess,
I should have rather shunned her than approached.
Though she appear so kind, I know not why,
I can but rarely feel at ease with her :
E'en when her purpose is to aid her friends,
They feel the purpose, and are thence constrained.
PRINCESS.
Upon this pathway, Tasso, nevermore
Will glad companionship be ours ! This track
Leadeth us on through solitary groves
And silent vales to wander ; more and more
The spirit is untuned ; and fondly strives
The golden age, that from the outer world
For aye hath vanished, to restore within.
How vain soever the attempt may prove.
TASSO.
Oh, what a word, my princess, hast thou spoken I
The golden age, ah ! whither is it flown,
For which in secret every heart repines?
When o'er the yetunsubjugated earth,
Men roamed, like herds, in joyous liberty ;
When on the flowery lawn an ancient tree
Lent to the shepherd and the shepherdess
Its grateful shadow, and the leafy grove
TORQUATO TASSO. 117
Its teader branches lovingly entwined
Around confiding love ; when still and clear,
O'er sands forever pure, the pearly stream
The nymph's fair form encu'cled ; when the snake
Glided innoxious through the verdant grass,
And the bold youth pursued the daring faun ;
When every bird winging the limpid air,
And every living thing o'er hill and dale.
Proclaimed to man, — What pleases is allowed.
PRINCESS.
My friend, the golden age hath passed away ;
Only the good have power to bring it back :
Shall I confess to thee my secret thought ?
The golden age, wherewith the bard is wont
Our spirits to beguile, that lovely prime,
Existed in the past no more than now ;
And, did it ere exist, believe me, Tasso,
As then it was, it now may be restored.
Still meet congenial spirits, and enhance
Each other's pleasure in this beauteous world ;
But in the motto change one single word,
And say, my friend, — What's fitting is allowed.
TASSO.
Would that of good and noble men were fonned
A great tribunal, to decide for all
What is befitting ! then no more would each
Esteem that right which benefits himself.
The man of power acts ever as he lists.
And whatsoe'er he doth is fitting deemed.
PRINCESS.
Wouldst thou define exactly what is fitting,
Thou shouldst apply, me thinks, to noble women ;
For them it most behooveth that in life
Naught should be done unseemly er unfit :
Propriety encircles with a wall
The tender, weak, and vulnerable sex.
Where moral order reigneth, women reign ;
They only are despised where rudeness triumphs ,
And wouldst thou touching either sex inquire,
'Tis order woman seeketh ; freedom, man. .^
— V
118 TORQUATO TASSO.
TASSO.
Thou thinkest us unfeeling, wild, and rude?
PRINCESS.
Not so ! but ye with violence pursue
A multitude of objects far remote.
Ye venture for eternity to act ;
While we, with views more narrow, on this earth
Seek only one possession, well content
If that with constancy remain our own.
For we, alas ! are of no heart secure,
Whate'er the ardor of its first devotion.
Beauty is transient, which alone ye seem
To hold in honor ; what beside remains
No longer charms, — what doth not charm is dead.
If among men there were who knew to prize
The heart of woman, who could recognize
What treasures of fidelity and love
Are garnered safely in a woman's breast ;
If the remembrance of bright single hours
Could vividly abide within your souls ;
If your so searching glance could pierce the veil
Which age and wasting sickness o'er us fling ;
If the possession which should satisfy
Wakened no restless cravings in your hearts, —
Then were our happy days indeed arrived,
We then should celebrate our golden age.
TASSO.
Thy words, my princess, in my breast awake
An old anxiety half lulled to sleep.
PRINCESS.
What meanest thou, Tasso? Freely speak with me.
TASSO.
I oft before have heard, and recently
Again it hath been rumored, — had I not
Been told, I might have known it, — princes strive
To win thy hand. What we must needs expect
We view with dread, — nay, almost with despair.
Thou wilt forsake us, — it is natural ;
Yet how we shall enduie it, know I not.
TORQUATO TASSO. 119
PRINCESS.
Be for the present moment unconcerned, —
Almost, I might say, unconcerned forever.
I am contented still to tarry here, t /
Nor know I any tie to lure me hence.
And if thou wouldst indeed detain me, Tasso,
Live peaceably with all ; so shalt thou lead
A happy life thyself, and I through thee.
TASSO.
Teach me to do whate'er is possible ! ^
My life itself is consecrate to thee.
When to extol thee and to give thee thanks
My heart unfolded, I experienced first
The purest happiness that man can feel :
My soul's ideal I first found in thee.
As destiny supreme is raised above
The will and counsel of the wisest men,
So tower the gods of earth o'er common mortals.
The rolling surge which we behold with dread,
Doth all unheeded murmur at their feet
Like gentle billows : they hear not the storm
Which blusters round us, scarcely heed our prayers,
And treat us as we helpless children treat,
Letting us fill the air with sighs and plaints.
Thou hast, divine one ! often borne with me,
And, like the radiant sun, thy pitying glance
Hath from mine eyelid dried the dew of sorrow.
PRINCESS. ^
'Tis only just that women cordially
Should meet the poet, whose heroic song
In strains so varied glorifies the sex.
Tender or valiant, thou hast ever known
To represent them amiable and noble ;
And, if Armida is deserving hate,
Her love and beauty reconcile us to her.
TASSO.
Whatever in my song doth reach the heart
And find an echo there, I owe to one.
And one alone ! No image undefined
120 TORQUATO TASSO.
Hovered before my soul, approaching now
In radiant glory, to retire again.
I have myself, with mine own eyes, beheld
The type of every virtue, every grace ;
What I have copied thence will aye endure :
The heroic love of Tancred to Clorinda,
Erminia's silent and unnoticed truth,
Sophronia's greatness and Olinda's woe ;
These are not shadows by illusion bred ;
I know they are eternal, for they are.
And what is more deserving to survive,
And silently to work for centuries,
Than the confession of a noble love
Confided modestly to gentle song ?
PRINCESS.
/<
And shall I name to thee another charm
Which, all unconsciously, this song may claim?
It doth allure us still to listen to it :
We listen, and we think we understand ;
We understand, and yet we censure not ;
So, with thy song, thou winnest us at last.
TASSO.
Oh, what a heaven thou dost open to me,
My princess ! if this radiance blinds me not,
I see unhoped-for and eternal bliss
Descending gloriously on golden beams.
PRINCESS.
No further, Tasso ! many things there are
That we may hope to win with violence ;
While others only can become our own
Through moderation and wise self-restraint.
Swch, it is said, is virtue, such is love.
Which is allied to her. Think well of this I
Scene II.
TASSO.
And art thou, then, allowed to raise thine eyes?
Around thee darest thou gaze ? Thou art alone [
TORQUATO TASSO. 121
O'erheard these pillars what the princess spake?
And hast thou witnesses, dumb witnesses
Of thine exalted happiness to fear?
The sun arises of a new life-day,
Whose splendor dims the light of former days.
The goddess, downward stooping, swiftly bears
Aloft the mortal. What a wide expanse
Is to mine eye discovered, what a realm !
How richly recompensed my burning wish !
In dreams the highest happiness seemed near :
This happiness surpasses all my dreams.
The man born blind conceiveth as he may
Of light and color : when upon his eye
The daylight pours, he hails a new-born sense.
Full of vague hope and courage, drunk with joy,
Reeling I tread this path. Thou givest me much :
Thou givest lavishly, as earth and heaven,
With bounteous hand, dispense their costly gifts,
Demanding in return what such a boon
Alone empowers thee to demand from me.
I must be moderate, I must forbear.
And thus deserve thy cherished confidence.
What have I ever done that she should choose me ?
What can I do to merit her regard?
Her very confidence doth prove thy worth.
Yes, princess, to thine every word and look
Be my whole soul forever consecrate !
Ask what thou wilt, for I am wholly thine I
To distant regions let her send me forth
In quest of toil and danger and renown ;
Or in the grove, present the golden lyre,
Devoting me to quiet and her praise.
Hers am I : me possessing, she shall mould !
For her my heart hath garnered every treasure.
Oh, had some heavenly power bestowed on me
An organ thousand-fold, I scarcely then
Could utter forth my speechless reverence.
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lip,
The sweetest that e'er sipped the vernal honey,
I covet now. No ! Tasso shall henceforth
Wander no more forlorn, 'mong trees, 'mong men,
Lonely and weak, oppressed with gloomy care !
He is no more alone, he is with thee.
Oh, would that visibly the noblest deed
122 TORQUATO TASSO.
Were present here before me, circled round
With grisly danger ! Onward I would rush,
And with a joyous spirit risk the life
Now from her hand received — the choicest men
As comrades I would hail, a noble band,
To execute her will and high behest.
And consummate what seemed impossible.
Rash mortal ! wherefore did thy lip not hide
What thou didst feel, till thou couldst lay thyself
Worthy, and ever worthier, at her feet?
Such was thy purpose, such thy prudent wish !
Yet be it so ! 'Tis sweeter to receive,
Free and unmerited, so fair a boon,
Than, with self -flattery, dream one might perchance
Successfully have claimed it. Gaze with joy !
So vast, so boundless, all before thee lies !
And youth, with hope inspired, allures thee on
Towards the future's unknown, sunny realms I
My bosom, heave ! propitious seasons smile
Once more with genial influence on this plant !
It springeth heavenward, and shooteth out
A thousand branches that unfold in bloom.
Oh, may it bring forth fruit, — ambrosial fruit !
And may a hand beloved the golden spoil
Cull from its verdant and luxuriant boughs !
Scene III. — Tasso, Antonio.
TASSO.
Gladly I welcome thee : it seems indeed
As though I saw thee for the first time now !
Ne'er was arrival more auspicious. Welcome !
I know thee now, and all thy varied worth.
Promptly I offer thee my heart and hand,
And trust that thou wilt not despise my love.
ANTONIO.
Freely thou offerest a precious gift :
Its worth I duly estimate, and hence
Would pause a while before accepting it.
I know not yet if I can render thee
A full equivalent. Not willingly
TORQUATO TASSO. 123
Would I o'erhasty or unthankful seem :
Let, then, my sober caution serve for both.
TASSO.
What man would censure caution ? Every step
Of life doth prove that 'tis most requisite ;
Yet nobler is it, when the soul reveals,
Where we, with prudent foresight, may dispense.
ANTONIO.
The heart of each be here his oracle,
Since each his error must himself atone.
TASSO.
So let it be ! My duty I've performed :
It is the princess' wish we should be friends ;
Her words I honored and thy friendship sought.
I wished not to hold back, Antonio ;
But I will never be importunate.
Time and more near acquaintance may induce thee
To give a warmer welcome to the gift
Which now thou dost reject, almost with scorn.
ANTONIO.
Oft is the moderate man named cold by those
Who think themselves more warm than other men,
Because a transient glow comes over them.
TASSO.
Thou blamest what I blame, — what I avoid.
Young as I am I ever must prefer
Unshaken constancy to vehemence.
ANTONIO.
Most wisely said ! Keep ever in this mind.
TASSO.
Thou'rt authorized to counsel and to warn ;
For like a faithful, time-approved friend.
Experience holds her station at thy side.
But trust me, sir, the meditative heart
124 TORQUATO TASSO.
Attends the warning of each day and hour,
And practises in secret every virtue,
Which in thy rigor thou wouldst teach anew.
ANTONIO.
'Twere well to be thus occupied with self,
If it were only profitable too.
His inmost nature no man learns to know
By introspection : still he rates himself.
Sometimes too low, but oft, alas ! too high.
Self-knowledge comes from knowing other men •
'Tis life reveals to each his genuine worth.
TASSO.
I listen with applause and reverence.
ANTONIO.
Yet to my words I know thou dost attach
A meaning wholly foreign to my thought.
TASSO.
Proceeding thus, we ne*er shall draw more near*
It is not prudent, 'tis not well, to meet
With purposed misconception any man.
Let him be who he may ! The princess* word
I scarcely needed ; — I have read thy soul :
Good thou dost purpose and accomplish too.
Thine own immediate fate concerns thee not.
Thou thinkest of others, others thou dost aid ;
And on life's sea, vexed by each passing gale.
Thou boldest a heart unmoved. I view thee thus ;
What, then, were I, did I not draw towards thee?
Did I not even keenly seek a share
Of the locked treasure which thy bosom guards ?
Open thine heart to me, thou 'It not repent ;
Know me, and I sure am thou 'It be my friend ;
Of such a friend I long have felt the need.
My inexperience, my ungoverned youth,
Cause me no shame ; for still around my brow
The future's golden clouds in brightness rest.
Oh, to thy bosom take me, noble man !
Into the wise, the temperate use of life
Initiate my rash, my unfledged youth.
TORQUATO TASSO. 125
ANTONIO.
Thou in a single moment wouldst demand
What time and circumspection only yield.
TASSO.
In one brief moment love has power to give
What anxious toil wins not in lengthened years.
I do not ask it from thee, I demand.
I summon thee in Virtue's sacred name,
For she is zealous to unite the good ;
And shall I name to thee another name? ^ u
The princess, she doth wish it, — Leonora. Ap ^.c.-^-^^t-'^^
Me she would lead to thee, and thee to me.
Oh, let us meet her wish with kindred hearts ! ^~
United let us to the goddess haste.
To offer her our service, our whole souls,
Leagued to achieve for her the noblest aims.
Yet once again ! — Here is my hand ! Give thine!
I do entreat, hold thyself back no longer,
noble man, and grudge me not the joy,
The good man's fairest joy, without reserve,
Freely to yield himself to nobler men !
ANTONIO.
Thou goest with full sail ! It would appear
Thou'rt wont to conquer, eveiy where to find
The pathways spacious and the portals wide.
1 grudge thee not or merit or success, —
Only I see indeed, too plainly see.
We from each other stand too far apart.
TASSO.
It may be so in years and time-tried worth ; —
In courage and good will I yield to none.
ANTONIO.
Good will doth oft prove deedless : courage still
Pictures the goal less distant than it is. /
His brow alone is crowned who reaches it, ^
And oft a worthier must forego the crown.
Yet wreaths there are of very different fashion, —
Light, worthless wreaths, which, idly strolling on,
The loiterer oft without the toil obtains.
126 TORQUATO TASSO.
TASSO.
What a divinity to one accords,
And from another sternly doth withhold,
Is not obtained by each man as he lists.
ANTONIO.
To Fortune before other gods ascribe it :
I'll hear thee gladly, for her choice is blind.
TASSO.
Impartial Justice also wears a band,
And to each bright illusion shuts her eyes.
ANTONIO.
Fortune 'tis for the fortunate to praise !
Let him ascribe to her a hundred eyes
To scan desert, — stern judgment, and wise choice.
Call her Minerva, call her what he will,
He holds as just reward her golden gifts,
Chance ornament as symbol of desert.
TASSO.
Thou needest not speak more plainly. 'Tis enough!
Deeply I see into thine inmost heart.
And know thee now for life. Oh, would that so
M}^ princess knew thee also ! Lavish not
The arrows of thine eyes and of thy tongue !
In vain thou aimest at the fadeless wreath
Entwined around my brow. First be so great
As not to envy me the laurel wreath.
And then perchance thou mayst dispute the prize.
I deem it sacred, yea, the highest good ;
Yet only show me him, who hath attained
That after which I strive ; show me the hero.
Of whom on history's ample page I read ;
The poet place before me, who himself
With Homer or with Virgil may compare ;
Ay, what is more, let me behold the man
Who hath deserved threefold this recompense.
And yet can wear the laurel round his brow,
^'"ith modesty thrice greater than my owu, — >
TORQUATO TASSO. 127
Then at the feet of the divinity
Who thus endowed me, thou shouldst see me kneel,
Nor would I stand erect, till from my brow,
She had to his the ornament transferred.
ANTONIO.
Till then thou'rt doubtless worthy of the crown,
TASSO.
Let me be justly weighed ; I shun it not :
But your contempt I never have deserved.
The wreath considered by my prince my due,
Which for my brow my princess' hand entwined.
None shall dispute with me, and none asperse !
ANTONIO.
This haughty tone, methinks, becomes thee not,
Nor this rash glow, unseemly in this place.
TASSO.
The tone thou takest here, becomes me too.
Say, from these precincts is the truth exiled?
Within the palace is free thought imprisoned?
Here must the noble spirit be oppressed ?
This is nobility's appropriate seat, —
The soul's nobility ! and may she not.
In presence of earth's mighty ones, rejoice?
She may and shall. Nobles draw near the prince
In virtue of the rank their sires bequeathed : '
Why should not genius, then, which partial Nature
Grants, like a glorious ancestry, to few?
Here littleness alone should feel confused,
And envy shun to manifest its shame ;
As no insidious spider should attach
Its noisome fabric to these marble walls.
ANTONIO.
Thyself dost show that my contempt is just !
The impetuous youth, forsooth, would seize by force
The confidence and friendship of the man !
Rude as thou art, dost think thyself of worth ?
128 TORQUATO TASSO.
TASSO.
V I'd rather be what thou esteemest rude,
Than what I must myself esteem ignoble.
ANTONIO.
Thou art still so youitg that wholesome chastisement
May tutor thee to hold a better course.
TASSO.
Not young enough to bow to idols down,
Yet old enough to conquer scorn with scorn.
ANTONIO.
From contests of the lip and of the lyre,
A conquering hero, thou mayst issue forth.
TASSO.
It were presumptuous to extol my arm ,
As yet 'tis deedless ; still I'll trust to it.
ANTONIO.
Thou trustest to forbearance, which too long
Hath spoiled thee in thine insolent career.
TASSO.
That I am grown to manhood, now I feel :
It would have been the farthest from my wish
To try with thee the doubtful game of arms ;
But thou dost stir the inward fire ; my blood.
My inmost marrow, boils ; the fierce desire
Of vengeance seethes and foams within my breast.
Art thou the man thou boastest thj^self , — then stand.
ANTONIO.
Thou knowest as little who, as where, thou art.
TASSO.
No fane so sacred as to shield contempt.
/ Thou dost blaspheme, thou dost profane, this spot,
Not I, who fairest offerings, — confidence.
TOKQUATO TASSO. 129
Respect, and love, — for thine acceptance brought.
Thy spirit desecrates this paradise,
X And thy injurious words this sacred hall, —
' Not the indignant heaving of my breast,
Which boils to wipe away the slightest stain.
ANTONIO.
What a high spirit in a narrow breast !
TASSO.
Here there is space to vent the bosom's rage.
ANTONIO.
The rabble also vent their rage in words.
TASSO.
Art thou of noble blood as I am, draw.
ANTONIO.
I am, but I remember where I stand.
TASSO.
Come, then, below, where weapons may avail.
ANTONIO.
Thou shouldst not challenge, therefore 1*11 not follow.
'K
TASSO.
To cowards welcome such impediments.
ANTONIO.
The coward only threats where he's secure.
TASSO.
With joy would I relinquish this defence.
ANTONIO.
Degrade thyself : degrade the place thou canst not.
130 TORQUATO TASSO.
^^
TASSO.
The place forgive me that I suffered it !
{He draws his sword,)
Or draw or follow, if, as now I hate,
I'm not to scorn thee to eternity !
Scene IV. — Tasso, Antonio, Alphonso.
alphonso.
In what unlooked-for strife I find you both?
ANTONIO. •
Calm and unmoved, O prince, thou findest me here^
Before a man whom passion's rage hath seized !
TASSO.
As a divinity I worship thee
That thus thou tamest me with one warning look.
ALPHONSO.
/ Relate, Antonio, Tasso, tell me straight ; —
Say, why doth discord thus invade my house ?
^ How hath it seized you both, and hurried you
Confused and reeling from the beaten track
Of decency and law ? I stand amazed.
TASSO.
I feel it, thou dost know nor him, nor me.
This man, reputed temperate and wise,
Hath towards me, like a rude, ill-mannered churl,
Behaved himself with spiteful insolence.
I sought him trustfully, he thrust me back :
With constancy I pressed myself on him ;
And still, with growing bitterness imbued.
He rested not till he had turned to gall
My blood's pure current. Pardon ! Thou, my prince,
Hast found me here, possessed with furious rage.
If guilty, to this man the guilt is due :
With violence he fanned the fiery glow
Which, seizing me, hath injured both of us.
TORQUATO TASSO. 131
ANTONIO.
Poetic frenzy hurried him away !
Thou hast, O prince ! addressed thyself to me,
Hast questioned me : be it to me allowed
After this rapid orator to speak.
TASSO.
Oh, yes ! repeat again each several word ;
And if before this judge thou canst recall
Each syllable, eachiook, — then dare to do so!
Disgrace thyself a second time, and bear
Witness against thyself! I'll not disown
A single pulse-throb, nor a single breath.
ANTONIO.
If thou hast somewhat more to say, proceed ;
If not, forbear, and interrupt me not.
Whether at first this fiery youth or I
Began this quarrel, whether he or I
Must bear the blame, is a wide question, prince,
Which stands apart, and need not be discussed.
TASSO.
How so? The primal question seems to me.
Which of the two is right, and which is wrong.
ANTONIO.
Not so precisely, as the ungoverned mind
Might first suppose.
ALPHONSO.
Antonio !
ANTON16.
Gracious prince I
Thy hint I honor, but let him forbear ;
When I have spoken, he may then proceed :
Thy voice must then decide. I've but to say,
I can no longer with this man contend ;
Can nor accuse him, nor defend myself,
Nor give the satisfaction he desires ;
For, as he stands, he is no longer fre(i,
132 TORQUATO TASSO.
There hangeth over him a heavy law,
Which, at the most, thy favor may relax.
Here hath he dared to threat, to challenge me.
Scarce in thy presence sheathed his naked sword ;
And if between us, prince, thou hadst not stepped,
Obnoxious to reproof, I now had stood.
Before thy sight, the partner of his fault.
ALPHONSO {to TASSO).
^^ Thou hast not acted well.
TASSO.
Mine own heart, prince,
And surely thine, doth speak me wholly free.
Yes, true it is, I threatened, challenged, drew ;
But how maliciously his guileful tongue.
With words well chosen, pierced me to the quick !
How sharp and rapidly his biting tooth
The subtle venom in my blood infused !
How more and more the fever he inflamed —
Thou thinkest not ! cold and unmoved himself.
He to the highest pitch excited me.
Thou knowest him not, and thou wilt never know him !
Waimly I tendered him the fairest friendship ;
Down at my feet he flung the proffered gift :
And had my spirit not with anger glowed,
Of thy fair service and thy princely grace
I were for aye unworthy. If the law
I have forgotten, and this place, forgive !
The spot exists not where I dare be base.
Nor j'et where I debasement dare endure.
But if this heart in any place be false.
Or to itself or thee, — condemn, reject,—
And let me ne'er again behold thy face.
ANTONIO.
How easily the youth bears heavy loads,
And shake^h misdemeanors off like dust !
It were indeed a marvel, knew 1 not
Of magic popsy the wondrous power.
Which loTeth stUl with the impossible
In frolic '^ood to sport. I almost doubt
TORQUATO TASSO. 133
Whether to thee, and to thy ministers,
This deed will seem so insignificant.
For Majesty extends its shield o'er all
Who draw near its inviolate abode.
And bow before it as a deity :
As at the altar's consecrated foot,
So on its sacred threshold rage subsides ;
No sword there gleams, no threatening word resounds,
Ji'en injured innocence seeks no revenge.
The common earth affordeth ample scope
For bitter hate, and rage implacable.
There will no coward threat, no true man flee :
Thy ancestors, on sure foundations, based
These walls, fit shelter for their dignity,
And, with wise forecast, hedged the palace round
With fearful penalties. Of all transgressors.
Exile, confinement, death, the certain doom.
Respect of persons was not, nor did mercy
The arm of justice venture to restrain.
The boldest culprit felt himself o' era wed.
And now, after a lengthened reign of peace,
We must behold unlicensed rage invade
The realm of sacred order. Judge, O prince,
And punish ! for unguarded by the law.
Unshielded by his sovereign, who will dare
To keep the narrow path that duty bounds?
ALPHONSO.
More than your words, or aught that ye could say.
My own impartial feelings let me heed.
If that your duty ye had both fulfilled,
I should not have this judgment to pronounce ;
For here the right and wrong are near allied.
If that Antonio hath offended thee.
Due satisfaction he must doubtless give.
In such a sort as thou shalt choose to ask.
I gladly would be chosen arbiter.
(ToTasso.)
Meanwhile thy misdemeanor subjects thee '\
To brief confinement, Tasso. I forgive thee,
And therefore, for thy sake, relax the law. v
Now leave us, and within thy chamber bide,
Thyself thy sole companion, thy sole guard.
Vol 6 Goethe — E
A
134 TORQUATO TASSO.
TASSO.
Is this, then, thy judicial sentence, prince?
ANTONIO.
Discernest thou not a father's lenity?
TASSO (to ANTONIO ) .
With thee, henceforth, I have no more to say.
(To Alphonso.)
Thine earnest word, O prince, delivers me,
A freeman, to captivity ! So be it !
Thou deemest it right. Thy sacred word I hear,
And counsel silence to mine inmost heart.
It seems so strange, so strange, — myself and thee,
This sacred spot I scarce can recognize.
Yet him ! know full well. Oh ! there is much
I might and ought to say, yet I submit.
My lips are mute. Was it indeed a crime?
At least, they treat me as a criminal.
Howe'er my heart rebel, I'm captive now.
ALPHONSO.
Thou takest it, Tasso, more to heart than I.
TASSO.
To me it still is inconceivable ;
And yet not so, I am no child. Methinks
I should be able to unravel it.
A sudden light breaks in upon my soul ;
As suddenly it leaves me in the dark ;
I only hear my sentence, and submit.
These are, indeed, superfluous, idle words !
Henceforth inure thy spirit to obey.
Weak mortal ! To forget where thou didst stand !
Thou didst forget how high the abode of gods.
And now art staggered by the sudden fall.
Promptly obey, for it becomes a man
Each painful duty to perform with joy.
Take back the sword thou gavest me, what time
The cardinal I followed into France.
Though not with glory, not with shame, I wore it, —
No, not to-day. The bright, auspicious gift,
With heart sore troubled* I relinquish now.
TORQUATO TASSO. 135
ALPHONSO.
Thou knowest not, Tasso, how I feel towards thee.
TASSO.
My lot is to obey, and not to think !
And destiny, alas ! demands from me
Renunciation of this precious gift.
Ill doth a crown become a captive's brow.
I from my head myself remove the wreath
Which seemed accorded for eternity.
Too early was the dearest bliss bestowed.
And is, alas ! as if I had been boastful,
Too early taken away.
Thou takest back what none beside could take,
And what no god a second time accords.
We mortals are most wonderfully tried :
We could not bear it, were we not endowed
By Nature with a kindly levity.
Calmly necessity doth tutor us
With priceless treasures lavishly to sport :
Our hands we open of our own free will —
The prize escapes us, ne'er to be recalled.
A tear doth mingle with this parting kiss,
Devoting thee to mutability !
This tender sign of weakness may be pardoned !
Who would not weep when what was deemed immortal
Yields to destruction's power ! Now to this sword
(Alas, it won thee not) ally thyself,
And round it twined, as on a hero's bier
Reposing, mark the grave where buried lie
My short-lived happiness, my withered hopes i
Here at thy feet, O prince, I lay them down !
For who is justly armed if thou art wroth ?
Who justly crowned, on whom thy brow is bent?
I go a captive, and await my doom. \^ExU.
(On a sign from the prince^ a page raises the sword and
wreath, and bears them away.)
Scene V. — Alphonso, Antonio.
ANTONIO.
Whither doth frenzied fancy lead the boy?
And in what colors doth he picture forth
136 TORQUATO TASSO.
His high desert and glorious destiny?
Rash, inexperienced, youth esteems itself
A chosen instrument, and arrogates
Unbounded license. He has been chastised ;
And chastisement is profit to the boy,
For which the man will render cordial thanks.
ALPHONSO.
He is chastised too painfully I fear.
ANTONIO.
Art thou disposed to practise lenity,
Restore to him his liberty, O prince !
And then the sword may arbitrate our strife.
ALPHONSO.
So be it, if the public voice demands.
But tell me, how didst thou provoke his ire?
ANTONIO.
In sooth, I scarce can say how it befell.
As man, I may perchance have wounded him.
As nobleman, I gave him no offence.
And, in the very tempest of his rage.
No word unseemly hath escaped this lip.
ALPHONSO.
Of such a sort your quarrel seemed to me,
And your own word confirms me in my thought.
When men dispute we justly may esteem
The wiser the offender. Thou with Tasso
Shouldst not contend, but rather guide his steps
It would become thee more. 'Tis not too late.
The sword's decision is not called for here.
So long as I am blessed with peace abroad,
So long would I enjoy it in my house.
Restore tranquillity, — thou canst with ease.
Leonora Sanvitale may at first
Attempt to soothe him with her honeyed lip ;
Then go thou to him ; in my name restore
His liberty ; with true and noble words
y. Endeavor to obtain his confidence.
TORQUATO TASSO. 137
Accomplish this with all the speed thou canst :
As a kind friend and father speak with him.
Peace I would know restored ere I depart :
All, if thou wilt, is possible to thee.
We gladly will remain another hour,
Then leave it to the ladies' gentle tact
To consummate the work commenced by thee.
80 when we come again, the last faint trace
Of this rash quarrel will be quite effaced.
It seems thy talents will not rust, Antonio !
Scarcely hast thou concluded one affair,
And on thy first return thou seekest another.
In this new mission may success be thine !
ANTONIO.
I am ashamed : my error in thy words, "
As in the clearest mirror, I discern !
How easy to obey a noble prince
"T^ Who doth convince us while he doth command !
ACT III.
Scene I.
PRINCESS (alone).
Where tarries Leonora? Anxious fear,
Augmenting every moment, agitates
My inmost heart. Scarce know I what befell ;
Which party is to blame I scarcely know.
Oh, that she would return ! I would not yet
Speak with my brother, with Antonio,
Till I am more composed, till I have heard
How matters stand, and what may be the issue.
Scene II. — Princess, Leonora.
PRINCESS.
What tidings, Leonora? Tell me all :
How stands it witli our friends ? Say, what befell ?
138 TORQUATO TASSO.
LEONORA.
More than I knew before I have not learned.
Contention rose between them ; Tasso drew ;
Thy brother parted them : yet it would seem
That it was Tasso who began the fray.
Antonio is at large, and with his prince
Converses freely. Tasso, in his chamber,
Abides meanwhile, a captive and alone.
PRINCESS.
/ Doubtless Antonio irritated him,
)/ And met with cold disdain the high-toned youth.
LEONORA.
I do believe it : when he joined us first,
A cloud already brooded o'er his brow.
PRINCESS.
Alas, that we so often disregard
The pure and silent warnings of the heart !
Softly a god doth whisper in our breast.
Softly, yet audibly, doth counsel us.
Both what we ought to seek and what to shun.
This morn Antonio hath appeared to me
E'en more abrupt than ever, — more reserved.
When at his side I saw our youthful bard.
My spirit warned me. Only mark of each
The outward aspect, — countenance and tone,
Look, gesture, bearing ! Every thing opposed :
Affection thej^ can never interchange.
Yet Hope persuaded me, the flatterer :
They both are sensible, she fondly urged,
Both noble, gently nurtured, and thy friends.
What bond more sure than that which links the good?
JL urged the youth : with what devoted zeal,
How ardently, he gave himself to me !
Would I had spoken to Antonio then !
But I delayed ; so recent his return.
That I felt shy, at once and urgently.
To recommend the youth to his regard :
On custom I relied, and courtesy,
And on the common iisaoe of the world,
TORQUATO TASSO. 139
E'en between foes which smoothly intervenes.
I dreaded not from the experienced man
The rash impetuosity of youth.
The ill seemed distant, now, alas, 'tis here.
Oh, give me counsel ! What is to be done?
LEONORA.
Thy words, my princess, show that thou dost feel
How hard it is to counsel. 'Tis not here
Between congenial minds a misconception :
A word, if needful an appeal to arms.
Peace in such case might happily restore.
Two men they are, who therefore are opposed,
I've felt it long, because by Nature cast
In moulds so opposite, that she the twain
Could never weld into a single man.
And were they to consult their common weal,
A league of closest friendship they would form :
Then as one man their path they would pursue,
With power and joy and happiness through life.
I hoped it once, I now perceive in vain.
To-day's contention, whatsoe'er the cause,
Might be appeased ; but this assures us not
Or for the morrow, or for future time.
Methinks 'twere best, that Tasso for a while
Should journey hence : to Rome he might repair,
To Florence also bend forthwith his course ;
A few weeks later I should meet him there,
And as a friend could work upon his mind :
Thou couldest here meanwhile Antonio,
Who has become almost a stranger to us.
Once more within thy friendly circle bring ;
And thus benignant time, that grants so much,
Might grant, perchance, what seems impossible.
PRINCESS.
A happiness will thus, my friend, be thine,
Which I must needs forego ; say, is that right?
LEONORA.
Thou only wouldst forego what thou thyself.
As things at present stand, couldst not enjoy.
140 TORQUATO TASSO.
PRINCESS.
So calmly shall I banish hence a friend?
LEONORA.
Rather retain whom thou dost seem to banish.
PRINCESS.
The duke will ne*er consent to part with him.
LEONORA.
When he shall see as we do, he will yield.
PRINCESS.
'Tis painful in one's friend to doom one's self.
LEONORA.
Yet, with thy friend, thou'lt also save thyself,
PRINCESS.
I cannot give my voice that this shall be.
LEONORA.
An evil still more grievous then expect.
PRINCESS.
Thou givest me pain, — uncertain thy success.
LEONORA.
Ere long we shall discover who doth err.
PRINCESS.
Well, if it needs must be so, say no more.
LEONORA.
He conquers grief who firmly can resolve.
PRINCESS.
Resolved I am not : nathless let it be.
If he for long doth not absent himself ;
TORQUATO TASSO, 141
And let us, Leonora, care for him,
That he may never be oppressed by want,
But that the duke, e'en in a distant land,
May graciously' assign him maintenance.
►Speak with Antonio : with my brother he
Can much accomplish, and will not remember
The recent strife, against our friend or us.
LEONORA.
Princess, a word from thee would more avail.
PRINCESS.
I cannot, well thou knowest, Leonora,
Solicit favors for myself and friends.
As my dear sister of Urbino can.
A calm, secluded life I'm fain to lead.
And from my brother gratefully accept
Whate'er his princel}^ bounty freely grants.
For this reluctance once I blamed myself :
I've conquered now, and blame myself no more.
A friend full oft would censure me, and say,
Unselfish art thou, and unselfishness
Is good ; but thou dost carry it so far,
That even the requirements of a friend
Thou canst not rightly feel. I let it pass,
And even this reproach must also bear.
It doth the more rejoice me, that I now
Can be in truth of service to our friend :
My mother's heritage descends to me,
And to his need I'll gladly minister.
LEONORA.
Princess, I, too, can show myself his friend.
In truth he is no thrifty manager :
My skilful aid shall help him where he fails.
PRINCESS. \
Well, take him then, — if part with him I must, A
To thee before all others be he given :
1 now perceive it will be better so.
This sorrow also must my spirit hail
As good and wholesome ? Such my doom from youth :
I am inured to it. But half we feel
142 TORQUATO TASSO.
Renunciation of a precious joy,
When we have deemed its tenure insecure.
LEONORA.
Happy according to thy high desert
I hope to see thee.
PRINCESS.
Leonora ! Happy ?
Who, then, is happy ? — So indeed I might
Esteem my brother, for his constant mind
Still with unswerving temper meets his fate ;
Yet even he ne'er reaped as he deserved.
My sister of Urbino, is she happy?
With beauty gifted and a noble heart !
Childless she's doomed to live : her younger lord
Values her highly, and upbraids her not ;
But happiness is stranger to their home.
Of what avail our mother's prudent skill,
Her varied knowledge, and her ample mind?
Her could they shield from foreign heresy?
They took us from her : now she is no more,
And, dying, left us not the soothing thought,
That, reconciled with God, her spirit passed.
LEONORA.
Oh, mark not only that which fails to each,
Consider rather what to each remains !
And, princess, what doth not remain to thee?
PRINCESS.
What doth remain to me, Leonora? Patience !
Which I have learned to practise from my youth.
When friends and kindred, knit in social love,
In joyous pastime wliiled the hours away.
Sickness held me a captive in my chamber ;
And, in the sad companionship of pain,
I early learned the lesson , — to endure !
One pleasure cheered me in my solitude, —
The joy of song. I communed with myself,
And lulled, with soothing tones, the sense of pain.
The restless longing, the unquiet wish.
Till sorrow oft would grow to ravishment,
TORQUATO TASSO. 143
And sadness' self to harmony divine.
Not long, alas ! this comfort was allowed :
The leech's stern monition silenced me ;
I was condemned to live and to endure
E'en of this sole remaining joy bereft.
LEONORA.
Yet many friends attached themselves to thee ;
And now thou art in health, art joyous too.
PRINCESS.
I am in health ; that is, I am not sick
And many friends I have, whose constancy
Doth cheer my heart ; and, ah ! I had a friend —
LEONORA.
Thou hast him still.
PRINCESS.
But soon must part with him.
That moment was of deep significance
When first I saw him. Scarce was I restored
From many sorrows ; sickness and dull pain
Were scarce subdued ; with shy and timid glance
I gazed once more on life, once more rejoiced
In the glad sunshine and my kindred's love
And hope's delicious balm inhaled anew ;
Forwards I ventured into life to gaze,
And friendly forms saluted me from far ;
Then was it, Leonora, that my sister
First introduced to me the youthful bard :
She led him hither ; and, shall I confess? —
My heart embraced liim, and will hold for aye.
LEONORA.
My princess ! Let it not repent thee now !
To apprehend the noble is a gain
Of which the soul can never be bereft.
PRINCESS.
The fair, the excellent, we needs must fear :
'Tis like a flame, which nobly serveth us,
144 TORQUATO TASSO.
So long as on our household hearth it burns,
Or sheds its lustre from the friendly torch.
How lovely then ! Who can dispense with it?
But if, unwatched, it spreads destruction round,
What anguish it occasions ! Leave me now,
I babble ; and 'twere better to conceal,
Even from thee, how weak I am and sick.
LEONORA.
The sickness of the heart doth soonest yield
To tender plaints and soothing confidence.
PRINCESS.
If in confiding love a cure be found,
I'm whole, so strong my confidence in thee.
Alas ! my friend, I am indeed resolved :
_Let him depart ! But, ah ! I feel already
The long-protracted anguish of the day
When I must all forego that glads me now.
His beauteous form, transfigured in my dream,
The morning sun will dissipate no more ;
No more the blissful hope of seeing him.
With joyous longing, fill my waking sense ;
Nor, to discover him, my timid glance
Search wistfully our garden's dewy shade.
How sweetly was the tender hope fulfilled
To spend each eve in intercourse with him !
How, while conversing, the desire increased.
To know each other ever more and more ;
And still our souls, in sweet communion joined,
Were daily tuned to purer harmonies.
What twilight-gloom now falls around my path !
The gorgeous sun, the genial light of day,
Of this fair world the splendors manifold.
Shorn of their lustre, are enveloped all
In the dark mist which now environs me.
In by-gone times, each day comprised a life :
Hushed was each care, mute each foreboding voice.
And, happily embarked, we drifted on.
Without a rudder, o'er life's lucid wave.
Now, in the darkness of the present hour,
Futurity's vague terrors seize my soul.
TORQUATO TASSO. 145
LEONORA.
The future will restore to thee thy friend,
And bring to thee new happiness, new joy.
PRINCESS.
What I possess, that would I gladly hold :
Change may divert the mind, but profits not.
With youthful longing I have never joined
The motley throng who strive from fortune's urn
To snatch an object for their craving hearts.
I honored him, and could not choose but love him,
For that with him my life was life indeed.
Filled with a joy I never knew before.
At first I whispered to my heart, beware !
Shrinking I shunned, yet ever drew more near.
So gently lured, so cruelly chastised !
A pure, substantial blessing glides away ;
And, for the joy that filled my yearning heart,
Some demon substitutes a kindi*ed pain.
LEONORA.
If friendship's soothing words console thee not,
This beauteous world's calm power, and healing time,
Will imperceptibly restore thy heart.
PRINCESS.
Ay, beauteous is the world ; and many a joy
Floats through its wide dominion here and there.
Alas ! That ever, by a single step,
As we advance, it seemeth to retreat.
Our yearning souls along the path of life
Thus step by step alluring to the grave !
To mortal man so seldom is it given
To find what seemed his heaven-appointed bliss ;
Alas ! so seldom he retains the good
Which, in auspicious hour, his hand had grasped ;
The treasure to our heart that came unsought
Doth tear itself away, and we ourselves
Yield that which once with eagerness we seized.
There is a bliss, but, ah ! we know it not :
We know it, but we know not how to prize.
146 TORQUATO TASSO.
Scene III.
LEONORA {cdone).
The good and noble heart my pity moves ;
How sad a lot attends her lofty rank !
Alas she loses ! — thinkest thou to win?
Is his departure hence so requisite?
Or dost thou urge it for thyself alone, —
To make the heart and lofty genius thine,
Which now thou sharest, — and unequally?
Is't honest so to act? What lackest thou yet?
Art thou not rich enough? Husband and son.
Possessions, beauty, rank, — all these thou hast.
And him wouldst have beside ? What ? Lovest thou him ?
How comes it else that thou canst not endure
To live without him ? This thou darest confess !
How charming is it in his mind's clear depths
One's self to mirror ! Doth not every joy
Seem doubly great and noble, when his song
Wafts us aloft as on the clouds of heaven?
Then first thy lot is worthy to be envied !
Not only hast thou what the many crave.
But each one knoweth what thou art and hast !
Thy fatherland doth proudly speak thy name :
This is the pinnacle of earthly bliss.
Is Laura's, then, the only favored name
That aye from gentle lips shall sweetly flow?
Is it Petrarca's privilege alone.
To deify an unknown beauty's charms?
Who is there that with Tasso can compare?
As now the world exalts him, future time
With honor due shall magnify his name.
What rapture, in the golden prime of life,
To feel his presence, and with him to near,
With airy tread, the future's hidden realm !
Thus should old age and time their influence lose,
And powerless be the voice of rumor bold.
Whose breath controls the billows of applause.
All that is transient in his song survives ;
Still art thou young, still happy, when the round
Of changeful time shall long have borne thee on.
Him thou must have, yet takest naught from her.
For her affection to the gifted man
Doth take the hue her other passions wear :
TORQUATO TASSO 147
Pale as the tranquil moon, whose feeble rays
Dimly illumine the night-wanderer's path,
They gleam, but warm not, and diffuse around
No blissful rapture, no keen sense of joy.
If she but know him happy, though afar.
She will rejoice, as when she saw him daily.
And then, 'tis not my purpose from this court,
From her, to banish both myself and friend.
I will return, will bring him here again.
So let it be ! — My rugged friend draws near :
We soon shall see if we have power to tame him.
V
Scene TV. — Leonora, Antonio.
LEONORA.
War and not peace thou bringest : it would seem
As camest thou from a battle, from a camp.
Where violence bears sway, and force decides,
And not from Rome, where solemn policy
Uplifts the hand to bless a prostrate world,
Which she beholds obedient at her feet.
ANTONIO.
I must admit the censure, my fair friend ;
But my apology lies close at hand.
'Tis dangerous to be compelled so long
To wear the show of prudence and restraint.
Still at our side an evil genius lurks.
And, with stern voice, demands from time to time
A sacrifice, which I alas ! to-day
Have offered, to the peril of my friends.
LEONORA.
Thou hast so long with strangers been concerned.
And to their humors hast conformed thine own,
That, once more with thy friends, thou dost their aims
Mistake, and as with strangers dost contend.
ANTONIO.
Herein, beloved friend, the danger lies !
With strangers we are ever on our guard,
148 TORQUATO TASSO.
Still are we aiming with observance due,
To win their favor which may profit us :
But, with our friends, we throw off all restraint;
Reposing in their love, we give the rein
To peevish humor ; passion uncontrolled
Doth break its bounds ; and those we hold most dear
Are thus amongst the first whom we offend.
LEONORA.
In this calm utterance of a thoughtful mind
I gladly recognize my friend again.
ANTONIO.
Yes : it has much annoyed me, I confess,
That I to-day so far forgot myself.
But yet admit, that when a valiant man
From irksome labor comes, with heated brow,
Thinking to rest himself for further toil,
XIn the cool eve beneath the longed-for shade,
And finds it, in its length and breadth, possessed
Already by some idler, he may well
Feel something human stirring in his breast !
LEONORA.
If he is truly human, then, methinks,
He gladly will partake the shade with one
Who lightens toil and cheers the hour of rest
With sweet discourse and soothing melodies.
Ample, my friend, the tree that casts the shade ;
Nor either needs the other dispossess.
ANTONIO.
We will not bandy similes, fair friend.
Full many a treasure doth the world contain.
Which we to others yield and with them share :
But there exists one prize, which we resign
With willing hearts to high desert alone ;
Another, that without a secret grudge.
We share not even with the highest worth ^-
And, wouldst thou touching these two treasures ask.
They are the laurel, and fair woman's smile.
TORQUATO TASSO. 149
LEONORA.
How ! Hath yon chaplet round our stripling's brow
Given umbrage to the grave, experienced man ?
Say, for his toil divine, his lofty verse,
Couldst thou thyself a juster meed select?
A ministration in itself divine,
That floats th in the air in tuneful tones,
Evoking airy forms to charm our souls —
Such ministration, in expressive form,
Or graceful symbol, finds its fit reward.
As doth the bard scarce deign to touch the earth,
So doth the laurel lightly touch his brow.
His worshippers, with barren homage, bring,
As tribute meet, a fruitless branch, that thus
They may with ease acquit them of their debt.
Thou dost not grudge the martyr's effigy.
The golden radiance round the naked head ;
And, certes, where it rests, the laurel crown
Is more a sign of sorrow than of joy.
ANTONIO.
How, Leonora ! Would thy lovely lips
Teach me to scorn the world's poor vanities?
LEONORA.
There is no need, my friend, to tutor thee
To prize each good according to its worth.
Yet it would seem, that, e'en like common men,
The sage philosopher, from time to time.
Needs that the treasures he is blest withal,
In their true light before him be displayed.
Thou, noble man, wilt not assert thy claim
To a mere empty phantom of renown.
The service that doth bind thy prince to thee.
By means of which thou dost attach thy friends,
Is true, is living service ; hence the meed
Which doth reward it must be living too.
Thy laurel is thy sovereign's confidence.
Which, like a cherished burden, gracefully
Reposes on thy shoulders, — thy renown,
Thy crown of glory, is the general trust.
150 TORQUATO TASSO.
ANTONIO.
Thou speakest not of woman's smile, — that, surely,
Thou wilt not tell me is superfluous.
LEONORA.
As people take it. Thou dost lack it not ; »
And lighter far, were ye deprived of it,
To thee would be the loss than to our friend.
For say, a woman were in thy behalf
To task her skill, and in her fashion strive
To care for thee, dost think she would succeed?
With thee security and order dwell ;
And as for others, for thyself thou cares t ; I
Thou dost possess what friendship fain would give ;
Whilst in our province he requires our aid.
A thousand things he needs, which, to supply,
Is to a woman no unwelcome task.
The fine-spun linen, the embroidered vest,
He weareth gladly, and endureth not.
Upon his person, aught of texture rude,
Such as benefits the menial. For with him
All must be rich and noble, fair and good ;
And yet, all this to win, he lacks the skill,
Nor, even when possessed, can he retain ;
Improvident, he's still in want of gold ;
Nor from a journey e'er returneth home.
But a third portion of his goods is lost.
His valet plunders him ; and thus, Antonio,
The whole year round one has to care for him.
ANTONIO.
And these same cares endear him more and more.
Much-favored youth, to whom his very faults
As virtues count, to whom it is allowed
As man to play the boy, and who forsooth
May proudly boast his charming weaknesses !
Thou must forgive me, my fair friend, if here
Some little touch of bitterness I feel.
Thou sayest not all, — sayest not how he presumes.
And proves himself far shrewder than he seems.
He boasts two tender flames ! The knots of love.
As fancy prompts him, he doth bind and loose.
TORQUATO TASSO. 151
And wins with such devices two such hearts I
Is't credible?
LEONORA.
Well ! Well ! This only proves
That 'tis but friendship that inspires our hearts.
And, e'en if we returned him love for love,
fehould we not well reward his noble heart,
Who, self -oblivious, dreams his life away
In lovely visions to enchant his friends?
ANTONIO.
GrO on ! Go on ! Spoil him yet more and more ;
Account his selfish vanity for love ;
Offend all other friends, with honest zeal
Devoted to your service ; to his pride
Pay voluntary tribute ; quite destroy
The beauteous sphere of social confidence I
LEONORA.
We are not quite so partial as thou thinkest :
In many cases we exhort our friend.
We wish to mould his mind, that he may know
More happiness himself, and be a source
Of purer joy to others. What in him
Doth merit blame is not concealed from us.
ANTONIO.
Yet much that's blamable in him ye praise.
I've known him long, so easy 'tis to know him:
Too proud he is to wear the least disguise.
We see him now retire into himself,
As if the world were rounded in his breast ;
Lost in the working of that inner world,
The outward universe he casts aside :
And his rapt spirit, self -included, rests.
Anon, as when a spark doth fire a mine,
Upon a touch of sorrow or of joy.
Anger or whim, he breaks impetuous forth.
Now he must compass all things, all retain,
All his caprices must be realized ;
What should have ripened slowly through long years,
Must, in a moment, reach maturity ;
152 TORQUATO TASSO.
And obstacles, which years of patient toil
Could scarce remove, be levelled in a trice.
He from himself the impossible dejnan^a^««
That he from others may demand it xoo:
The extremest limits of existing things
His soul would hold in contiguity ;
This one man in a million scarce achieves,
And he is not that man : at length he falls,
No whit the better, back into himself.
LEONORA.
/\ Others he injures not, himself he injures.
ANTONIO.
Yet others he doth outrage grievously.
Canst thou deny, that in his passion's height,
Which o'er his spirit oft usurps control,
The prince and e'en the princess he contemns.
And dares at whom he may to hurl abuse ?
True, for a moment only it endures ;
But then, the moment quickly comes again.
His tongue, as little as his breast, he rules.
h
LEONORA.
\
To me, indeed, it seems advisable,
That he should leave Ferrara for a while : —
Himself would benefit, and others too.
ANTONIO.
Perchance, — perchance, too, not. But now, my friend.
It is not to be thought of. For myself,
I will not on my shoulders bear the blame.
It might appear as if I drove him hence.
I drive him not. As far as I'm concerned.
He at the court may tarry undisturbed ;
And if with me he will be reconciled.
And to my counsel if he will give heed.
We may live peaceably enough together.
LEONORA.
Now thou dost hope to work upon a mind
Which lately thou didst look upon as lost.
TORQUATO TASSO. ' 153
ANTONIO.
We always hope ; and still, in every case,
'Tis better far to hope than to despair :
For who can calculate the possible ?
Our prince esteems him ; he must stay with us ;
And, if we strive to fashion him in vain,
He's not the only one we must endure.
LEONORA.
So free from passion and from prejudice \/
I hadLnot thought thee : — thy conversion's sudden. ^^
ANTONIO.
Age must, my friend, this one advantage claim,
That, though from error it be not exempt,
Its balance it recovers speedily.
Thou didst at first essay to heal the breach
Between thy friend and me. I urge it now.
Do what thou canst to bring him to himself,
And to restore things to their wonted calm.
Myself will visit him, when I shall know.
From thee, that he is tranquil, when thou thinkest
My presence will not aggravate the evil.
But what thou dost, that do within the hour :
Alphonso will return to town ere night ; ~>^''
I must attend him there. Meanwhile, farewell.
Scene V.
LEONORA (alone).
For once, dear friend, we are not of one mind:
Our separate interests go not hand in hand.
I'll use the time to compass my design,
And will endeavor to win Tasso. Quick I
I
154 ' TORQUATO TASSO.
ACT IV.
Scene I. — A Chamber.
TASSO {alone).
Art thou awakened from a dream, and is
The fair delusion suddenly dissolved?
Thee, in fruition of the highest joy,
Hath sleep o'ermastered, and now holds thy soul
Tortured and bound with heavy fetters? Ay,
Thou art awake, and dreamest? Where the hours
That round thy head with flowery garlands played?
The days, when unrestrained thy yearning soul *
Freely explored the heaven's o'erarching blue? ^^^
Thou'rt living still ; art sensible to touch ; ^
Feelest, yet knowest not if thou livest still. r|
Say ! for mine own or for another's fault, "- . '
Am I, as criminal, thus captive here?
Have I been guilty tliat I suffer thus ?
Is not my fancied crime a toerit rather ?
With kindly feeling I encountered him,
Persuaded by the heart's delusive hope,
He must be man who bears a mortal form :
With open arms I sped to his embrace.
And felt no human breast but bolts and bars.
Oh, had I but with prudent forecast weighed,
How I most fitly could receive the man.
Who from the first inspired me with mistrust !
Let me, however, whatso'er betide,
Forever to this one assurance cling : —
'Twas she herself ! She stood before my view !
She spoke to me ! I hearkened to her voice !
Her look, her tone, her words' sweet import, — these,
These are forever mine ; nor time nor fate.
Nor ruthless chance, can plunder me of these !
And if my spirit hath too swiftly soared,
If all too promptly in my breast I gave
Vent to the flame which now consumes my heart.
So let it be, — I never can repent.
E'en though my fortune were forever wrecked.
To her devoted, I obeyed with joy
The hand that beckoned me to ruin's brink.
So let it be ! Thus have I proved myself
{ ni
%
TORQUATO TASSO. 155
Deserving of the precious confidence
Tiiat cheers my soul, — ay, cheers it in this hour,
When cruel fate unlocks the sable gates
Of long-protracted woe. — Yes, now 'tis done !
For me the sun of gracious favor sets.
Never to rise again : his glance benign
The prince withdraws, and leaves me standing here,
Abandoned on this narrow, gloomy path.
The hateful and ill-boding feathered throng.
Obscene attendants upon ancient night.
Swarm forth, and whirl round my devoted head.
Whither, oh whither, shall I bend my steps.
To shun the loathsome brood that round me flit,
,. ^^ And 'scape the dread abyss that yawns before?
Scene II. — Leonora, Tasso.
LEONORA.
Dear Tasso, what hath chanced ? Hath passion's glow,
Hath thy suspicious temper, urged thee thus ?
How hath it happened ? We are all amazed.
Where now thy gentleness, thy suavity.
Thy rapid insight, thy discernment just,
Which doth award to every man his due ;
Thine even mind, which beareth, what to bear
The wise are prompt, the vain are slow, to learn ;
The prudent mastery over lip and tongue ?
I scarcely recognize thee now, dear friend.
TASSO.
And what if all were gone, — forever gone !
If as a beggar thou shouldst meet the friend
Whom just before thou hadst deemed opulent !
Thou speakest truth : I am no more myself.
Yet am I now as much so as I was.
It seems a riddle, yet it is not one.
The tranquil moon, that cheers thee through the night.
Whose gentle radiance, with resistless power,
Allures thine eye, thy soul, doth float by day
An insignificant and pallid cloud.
In the bright glare of daylight I am lost :
Ye know me not, I scarcely know myself.
156 TORQUATO TASSO.
LEONORA.
Such words, dear friend, as thou hast uttered them,
I cannot comprehend. Explain thyself.
Say, hath that rugged man's offensive speech
So deeply wounded thee, that now thou dost
Misjudge thyself and us? Confide in me.
TASSO.
I'm not the one offended. Me thou seest
Thus punished here because I gave offence.
The knot of many words the sword would loose
With promptitude and ease ; but I'm not free.
Thou art scarce aware, — nay, start not, gentle friend,
'Tis in a prison thou dost meet me here.
Me, as a schoolboy, doth the prince chastise, —
His right I neither can nor will dispute.
LEONORA.
Thou seemest moved beyond what reason warrants.
TASSO.
Dost deem me, then, so weak, so much a child.
That this occurrence could o'erwhelm me thus?
Not what has happened wounds me to the quick,
'Tis what it doth portend, that troubles me.
Now let my foes conspire ! The field is clear.
LEONORA.
Many thou boldest falsely in suspect :
Of this, dear friend, I have convinced myself.
Even Antonio bears thee no ill will.
As thou presumest. The quarrel of to-day —
TASSO.
Let that be set aside : I^only view
Antonio as he was and yet remains.
Still hath his formal prudence fretted me,
His proud assumption of the master's tone.
Careless to learn whether the listener's mind
Doth not itself the better track pursue,
He tutors thee in much which thou thj^self
TORQUATO TASSO. 157
More truly, deeply feelest ; gives no heed
To what thou sayest, and perverts thy words.
Misconstrued thus by a proud man, forsooth,
Who smiles superior from his fancied height !
I am not yet or old or wise enough
To answer meekly with a patient sqiile.
It could not bold ; we must at last have broken ;
The evil greater had it been postponed.
One lord I recognize, who fosters me :
Him I obey, but own no master else.
In poesy and thought I will be free,
In act the world doth limit us enough.
^.
LEONORA.
Yet often with respect he speaks of thee.
TASSO.
Thou meanest with forbearance, prudent, subtle.
'Tis that annoys me ; for he knows to use
Language so smooth and so conditional,
That seeming praise from him is actual blame :
And there is nothing so offends my soul,
As words of commendation from his lip.
LEONORA.
Thou shouldst have heard but lately how he spoke
Of thee and of the gift which bounteous nature
So largely hath conferred on thee. He feels
Thy genius, Tasso, and esteems thy worth.
TASSO.
Trust me, no selfish spirit can escape
The torment of base envy. Such a man
Pardons in others honor, rank, and wealth ;
For thus he argues, these thou hast thyself,
Or thou canst have them, if thou persevere.
Or if propitious fortune smile on thee.
But that which Nature can alone bestow.
Which aye remaineth inaccessible
To toil and patient effort, which nor gold,
Nor yet the sword, nor stern persistency,
Hath power to wrest, — that he will ne'er forgive.
%•
X
158 TORQUATO TASSO.
Not envy me ? The pedant who aspires
To seize by force the favor of the muse?
Who, when he strings the thoughts of other bards,
Fondly presumes he is a bard himself?
The prince's favor he would rather yield, —
Though that he fain would limit to himself, —
Than the rare gift which the celestial powers
Have granted to the poor, the orphaned youth.
LEONORA.
Oh that thy vision were as clear as mine !
Thou readest him wrongly, thou art deceived in him.
TASSO.
And if I err, I err with right good will !
I count him for my most inveterate foe.
And should be inconsolable were I
Compelled to think of him more leniently.
'Tis foolish in all cases to be just :
It is to wrong one's self. Are other men
Towards us so equitable? No, ah no !
Man's nature, in its narrow scope, demands
The twofold sentiment of love and hate.
Requires he not the grateful interchange
Of day and night, of wakefulness and sleep ?
No : from henceforward I do hold this man
The object of my direst enmity ;
And naught can snatch from me the cherished joy
Of thinking of him ever worse and worse.
LEONORA.
Dear friend, I see not, if this feeling last.
How thou canst longer tarry at the court.
Thou knowest the just esteem in which he's held.
TASSO.
I'm fully sensible, fair friend, how long
I have already been superfluous here.
LEONORA.
That thou art not, that thou canst never be !
Thou rather knowest how both prince and princess
TORQUATO TASSO. 159
Rejoice to have thee Ib their company.
The sister of Urbino, comes she not
As much for thine as for her kindred's sake?
They all esteem thee, recognize thy worth,
And each confides in thee without reserve.
TASSO.
O Leonora ! Call that confidence !
Of state affairs has he one single word, ,.,„^^^
One earnest word, vouchsafed to speak with me? ^^
In special cases, when he has advised.
Both with the princess, and with others too,
To me, though present, no appeal was made.
The cry was ever then, Aptonio comes !
Consult Antonio ! To Antonio write 1
LEONORA.
Thanks here, methinks, were juster than complaint.
Thus in unchallenged freedom leaving thee.
He to thy genius fitting homage pays.
TASSO.
He lets me rest, because he deems me useless. X^
LEONORA.
Thou art not useless, e'en because thou restest.
Care and vexation, like a child beloved,
Thou still dost cherish, Tasso, in thy breast.
It oft has struck me, and the more I think,
The more convinced I feel, on this fair soil,
Where fate auspicious seemed to plant thy lot,
Thou dost not flourish. — May I speak, my friend?
May I advise thee? — Thou shouldst hence depart.
TASSO.
Spare not thy patient, gentle leech ! Extend
The draught medicinal, nor think thereon
If it is bitter. — This consider well,
Kind, prudent fiiend, if he can yet be cured !
I see it all myself, 'tis over now I
Him I indeed could pardon, he not me ; \ y
He's needful to them, I, alas ! am not.
160 TORQUATO TASSO.
And he has prudence, I, alas ! have none.
He worketh to my injury, and I
Can not and will not counterwork. My friends
Leave things to chance ; they see things otherwise ;
They scarcely struggle, who should stoutly fight.
Thou thinkest I should depart, I think so too ; —
Then, farewell, friends ! — This, too, I must endure.
Q. You're parted from me. — Oh, to me be given
\ The courage and the strength to part from you !
LEONORA.
Seen from a distance things show less confused,
That in the present serve but to perplex.
Perchance, when absent, thou wilt recognize
The love which here environs thee, wilt learn
The worth of friends, and feel how the wide world
Cannot replace those dearest to the heart.
TASSO.
I shall experience this ! Alas ! I've known
The world from early youth, how, pressing on,
She lightly leaves us, helpless and forlorn,
Like sun and moon and other deities.
LEONORA.
Dear friend, if ttiou wilt lend an ear to me,
This sad experience thou wilt not repeat.
If I may counsel thee, thou wilt at first
Repair to Florence, — there thou 'It find a friend
Will cherish thee most kindly, — 'tis myself !
Thither I travel soon to meet my lord ;
And there is nothing would afford us, Tasso,
A richer pleasure than thy company.
1 need not tell thee, for th3^self dost know.
Mow noble is the prince who ruleth there ;
What men, what women too, our favored town
Doth cherish in her bosom. — Thou art silent I
jConsider well my counsel, andjresolve !
TASSO.
Full of sweet {iromise are thy words, dear friend,
And in accordance with my secret wish.
TORQUATO TASSO. 161
But 'tis too sudden : let me pause a while,
Let me consider ! I will soon resolve !
LEONORA.
I leave thee now, and with the fairest hope
For thee, for us, and also for this house. y
Only reflect, and weigh the matter well :
Thou scarcely wilt devise a better plan.
TASSO.
Yet one thing more, tell me, beloved friend,
How is the princess minded towards me ? Speak !
Was "she displeased with me ? Give me her words. —
Hath she severely blamed me ? Tell me all !
LEONORA.
She knows thee well, and therefore has excused thee.
TASSO.
Say, have I lost her friendship? Flatter not.
J
LEONORA.
A woman's friendship is not lightly lost.
TASSO.
Without reluctance will she let me go?
LEONORA.
If 'twill promote thy welfare, certainly.
TASSO.
Shall I not lose the favor of the prince ?
LEONORA.
His nature's noble : thou mayest trust in him.
TASSO.
And shall we leave the princess all alone?
Thou leavest her ; and though perhaps not much,
I know full well that I was something, to her.
y.
y
V
162 TORQUATO TASSO.
LEONORA,
An absent friend is sweet society,
When of his welfare we are well assured.
My plan succeeds, I see thee happy now :
Thou wilt not hence depart unsatisfied.
The prince commands, — Antonio seeks thee, Tasso.
He censures in himself the bitterness
With which he wounded thee. I do entreat.
Receive him with forbearance when he comes.
TASSO.
\y I have no cause to shun the interview.
LEONORA.
And O dear friend ! that heaven would grant me this :
To make it clear to thee ere thou departest,
That in thy fatherland there is not one
Pursues thee, hates, or covertly molests.
Thou art deceived ; and as for others' pleasure
Wont art thou still to poetize, alas !
Thou in this case dost weave a cunning web
To blind thyself, the which to rend asunder
I'll do mine utmost, that with vision clear
Thou may est pursue life's glad career untrammelled.
Farewell ! I hope for happy words ere long.
Scene IIL
TASSO {alone).
I must believe, forsooth, that no one hates me,—
That no one persecutes, that all the guile,
The subtle malice, that environs me.
Is but the coinage of my own sick brain !
I must acknowledge that myself am wrong !
And am unjust to many, who in sooth
Deserve it not ! What ! This confess e'en now*
When clearly, in the open face of day,
Appear their malice and my rectitude !
T ought to feel most deeply, how the prince
To me with generous breast his grace imparts,
And in rich measure loads me with his gifts,
E'en at the time when lie is weak enough
^-
TOllQUATO TASSO. 103
To let his eyes be blinded by my foes,
Yea, doubtless, and his hand be fettered too !
His own delusion he cannot perceive ;
That they deluders are, I may not prove ;
And that unchecked he may delude himself.
And they delude him whensoe'er they please,
I still must hold my peace, — must yield forsooth !
And who thus counsels me ? With prudent zeal
And thoughtful kindness, who doth urge me thus?
Leonora's self, Leonora Santivale,
Considerate friend ! Ha, ha, I know thee now !
Oh, wherefore did I ever trust her words?
She was not honest when she uttered forth
To me her favor and her tenderness
With honeyed words ! No : hers hath ever been
And still remains a crafty heart : she turns
With cautious, prudent step where fortune smiles.
How often have I willingly deceived
Myself in her ! And yet it was in truth
But mine own vanity deluded me !
I knew her, but, self -flattered, argued thus, —
True, she is so towards others ; but towards thee
Her hear^ is honest, her intention pure.
Mine eyes are open now, — alas, too late !
I was in favor — on the favorite
How tenderly she fawned ! I'm fallen now.
And she, like fortune, turns her back on me
Yes, now she comes, the agent of my foe :
She glides along, the little artful snake.
Hissing, with slippery tongue, her magic tones.
How gracious seemed she ! More than ever gracious I
H^'^'soothinglylier honeyed accents flowed !
Yet could the flattery not long conceal
The false intention : on her brow appeared
Too legibly inscribed the opposite
Of all she uttered. Quick I am to feel
Whene'er the entrance to my heart is sought
With a dishonest purpose. I should hence !
Should hie to Florence with convenient speed*
And why to Florence? Ah, I see it all !
There reigns the rising house of .Medici,
Y
164 TORQUATO TASSO.
True, with Ferrara not in open feud ;
But secret rivalry, with chilling hand,
Doth hold asunder e*en the noblest hearts.
If from those noble princes I should reap
Distinguished marks of favor, as indeed
I may anticipate, the courtier here
Would soon impugn my gratitude and truth,
And would, with easy wile^ achieve his purpose.
Yes, I will go, but not as ye desire :
I will away, and farther than ye think*
Why should I linger ? Who detains me here ?
Too well I understood each several word
That I drew forth from Leonora's lips !
With anxious heed each syllable I caught ;
And now I fully know the princess' mind, —
That too is certain : let me not despair !
*' Without reluctance she will let me go
If it promote my welfare." Would her heart
Were mastered by a passion that would whelm
Me and my welfare ! Oh, more welcome far
The grasp of death than of the frigid hand
That passively resigns me ! — Yes, I go ! —
Now be upon thy guard, and let no show
Of love or friendship bind thee ! None hath power
Now to deceive thee, if not self -deceived.
Scene IV. —Antonio, Tasso.
ANTONIO.
Tasso, I come to say a word to thee,
If thou'rt disposed to hear me tranquilly.
TASSO.
I am denied, thou knowest, the power to act:
It well becomes me to attend and listen.
ANTONIO.
Tranquil I find thee, as I hoped to find,
And speak to thee in all sincerity.
But in the prince's name I first dissolve
The slender band that seemed to fetter theCt
TORQUATO TASSO. 165
TASSO.
Caprice dissolves it, as caprice imposed :
1 yield, and no judicial seutence claim.
ANTONIO.
Next, Tasso, on my own behalf I speak.
I have, it seems, more deeply wounded thee,
Than I — myself by divers passions moved — -
Was conscious of. But no insulting word
Hath from my lip incautiously escaped.
Naught hast thou, as a noble, to avenge.
And, as a man, wilt not refuse thy pardon.
TASSO.
Whether contempt or insult galls the most,
I will not now determine : that doth pierce
The inmost marrow, this but frets the skin.
The shaft of insult back returns to him
Who winged the missile, and the practised sword
Soon reconciles the opinion of the world —
A wounded heart is difficult to cure.
ANTONIO.
'Tis now my turn to press thee urgently : y-
Oh, step not back, yield to mine earnest wish,
The prince's wish, who sends me unto thee !
TASSO.
I know the claims of duty, and submit.
Be it, as far as possible, forgiven !
The poets tell us of a magic spear.
Which could a wound, inflicted by itself,
Through friendly contact, once again restore.
The human tongue hath also such a power :
1 will not peevishly resist it now.
ANTONIO.
I thank thee, and desire that thou at once
Wouldst put my wish to serve thee to the proof. \/
Then say if I in aught can pleasure thee ; —
Most gladly will I do so : therefore speak.
Vol 6 * Goethe— E
166 TORQUATO TASSO.
TASSO.
Thine offer tallies with my secret wish :
But now thou hast restored my liberty,
Procure for me, I pray, the use of it.
ANTONIO.
What meanest thou ? More plainly state thy wish.
TASSO.
My poem, as thou knowest, I have ended :
Yet much it wants to render it complete.
To-day I gave it to the prince, and hoped
At the same time to proffer my request.
Full many of my friends I now should find
In Rome assembled ; they have writ to me
Their judgments touching divers passages ;
By many I could profit ; others still
Require consideration ; and some lines
I should be loath to alter, till at least
My judgment has been better satisfied.
All this by letter cannot be arranged,
While intercourse would soon untie the knots.
I thought myself to ask the prince to-day ;
The occasion failed : I dare not venture now,
And must for this permission trust to thee.
ANTONIO.
It seems imprudent to absent thyself
Just at the moment when thy finished work
Commends thee to the princess and the prince.
A day of favor is a day of harvest :
We should be busy when the corn is ripe.
Naught wilt thou win if thou departest hence.
Perchance thou 'It lose what thou hast won already.
Presence is still a powerful deity, —
Learn to respect her influence, — tarry here !
TASSO.
I nothing have to fear : Alphonse is noble,
Such hath he always proved himself towards me ; —
To his heart only will I owe the boon
Which now I crave. By no mean, servile arts
I
TORQUATO TASSO. 167
Will I obtain his favor. Naught will I receive
Which it can e'er repent him to have given.
ANTONIO.
Then, do not now solicit leave to go :
He will not willingly accord thy suit ;
And much I fear he will reject it, Tasso.
TASSO.
Duly entreated, he will grant my prayer ?
Thou hast the power to move him, if thou wilt.
ANTONIO.
But what sufficient reason shall I urge ?
TASSO.
Let every stanza of my poem speak !
The scope was lofty that I aimed to reach,
Though to my genius inaccessible.
Labor and strenuous effort have not failed ;
The cheerful stroll of many a lovely day,
The silent watch of many a solemn night,
Have to this pious lay been consecrate.
With modest daring I aspired too near
The mighty masters of the olden time ; \
With lofty courage planned to rouse our age
From lengthened sleep, to deeds of high emprise;
Then, with a Christian host, I hoped to share
The toil and glory of a holy war.
And, that my song may rouse the noblest men,
It must be worthy of its lofty aim.
What worth it hath is to Alphonso due :
For its completion I would owe him thanks.
ANTONIO.
The prince himself is here, with other men,
Able as those of Rome to be thy guides.
Here is thy station, here complete thy work :
Then haste to Rome to carry out thy plan.
TASSO.
Alphonso first inspired rhy muse, and he
Will be the last to counsel me. Thy judgment,
168 TORQUATO TASSO.
The judgment also of the learned men
Assembled at our court, I highly value :
Ye shall determine when my friends at Rome
Fail to produce conviction in my mind.
But them I must consult. Gonzaga there
Hath summoned a tribunal before which
I must present myself. I scarce can wait.
Flaminio de' Nobili, Angelio
Da Barga, Antoniano, and Speron Speroni !
To thee they must be known. — What names they are !
They in my soul, to worth which gladly yields,
Inspire at once both confidence and fear.
ANTONIO.
Self-occupied, thou thinkest not of the prince:
I tell thee that he will not let thee go.
And, if he does, 'twill be against his wish.
Thou wilt not surely urge what he to thee
Unwillingly would grant. And shall I here
Still mediate, what I cannot approve?
TASSO.
Dost thou refuse me, then, my first request
When I would put thy friendship to the proof ?
ANTONIO.
Timely denial is the surest test
Of genuine friendship : love doth oft confer
A baneful good, when it consults the wish,
And not the happiness, of him who sues.
Thou, in this moment, dost appear to me
To overprize the object of thy wish.
Which, on the instant, thou wouldst have fulfilled.
The erring man would oft by vehemence
Compensate what he lacks in truth and power :
Duty enjoins me now, with all my might.
To check the rashness that would lead thee wrong.
TASSO.
I long have known this tyrann}^ of friendship,
Which of all t3Tannies appears to me
The least endurable. Because, forsooth,
TORQCJATO TASSO. 169
Our judgments differ, thine must needs be right :
I ghidly own that thou dost wish my welfare,
Require me not to seek it in thy way.
ANTONIO.
And wouldst thou have me, Tasso, in cold blood,
With full and clear conviction, injure thee?
TASSO.
I will at once absolve thee from this care !
Thou hast no power to hold me with thy words.
Thou hast declared me free : these doors which lead
Straight to the prince, stand open to me now.
The choice I leave to thee. Or thou or I !
The prince goes forth, no time is to be lost :
Determine promptly ! D^ost thou still refuse,
I go myself, let come of it what will.
ANTONIO.
A little respite grant me ; not to-day :
Wait, I beseech thee, till the prince returns I
TASSO.
If it were possible, this very hour !
My soles are scorched upon this marble floor,
Nor can my spirit rest until the dust
Of the free highway shrouds the fugitive.
I do not entreat thee ! How unfit I am
Now to appear before the prince thou seest ;
And thou must see, — how can I hide from thee —
That I'm no longer master of myself ;
No power on earth can sway my energies ;
Fetters alone can hold me in control !
No tyrant is the prince, he spake me free.
Once to his words how gladly I gave ear !
To-day to hearken is impossible. \
Oh, let me have my freedom but to-day.
That my vexed spirit may regain its peace I
Back to my duty I will soon return.
ANTONIO.
Thoumakest me dubious. How shall I resolve?
That error is contagious, I perceive.
170 TORQUATO TASSO.
TASSO.
If thy professions I'm to count sincere,
Perform what I desire, as well as thou canst.
Then will the prince release me, and I lose
Neither his favor nor his gracious aid.
For that I'll thank thee, — ay, with cordial thanks.
But if thy bosom bear an ancient grudge,
Wouldst thou forever banish me this court,
Forever wouldst thou mar my destiny,
And drive me friendless forth into the world,
Then hold thy purpose and resist my prayer !
ANTONIO.
Tasso ! — for I'm doomed to injure thee, —
1 choose the way which thou thyself dost choose :
The issue will determine who doth err !
Thou wilt away ! I warn thee ere thou goest :
Scarce shalt thou turn thy back upon this house,
Ere thou shalt yearn in spirit to return,
AVhile wilful humor still shall urge thee on.
Sorrow, distraction, and desponding gloom
In Rome await thee. There as well as here
Thou'lt miss thine aim. But this I do not say
To counsel thee : alas ! I but predict
What soon will happen, and invite thee, Tasso,
In the worst exigence to trust to me.
I now, at thy desire, will seek the prince.
Scene V.
TASSO ( alone ) .
Ay, go, and in the fond assurance go,
That thou hast power to bend me to thy will.
I learn dissimulation, for thou art
An able master, and I prompt to learn.
Thus life full oft compels us to appear.
Yea, e'en to be, like those whom in our hearts
We haughtily despise. How clearly now
I see the subtle web of court intrigue !
Antonio desires to drive me hence.
Yet would not seem to drive me. He doth play
The kind, considerate friend, that I may seem
TORQUATO TASSO. 171
Incapable and weak ; installs himself
My guardian too, degrading to a child,
Him whom he could not bend to be a slave.
With clouds of error thus he darkens truth,
And blinds alike the princess and the prince.
They should indeed retain me, so he counsels,
P^or with fair talents Nature has endowed me ;
Although, alas ! she has accompanied
Her lofty gifts with many weaknesses.
With a foreboding spirit, boundless pride,
And sensibility too exquisite.
It cannot now be otherwise, since Fate,
In her caprice, has fashioned such a man :
We must consent to take him as he is.
Be patient, bear with him, and then, perchance,
On days auspicious, as an unsought good,
Plnd pleasure in his joy-diffusing gift ;
While for the rest, why, e'en as he was born.
He must have license both to live and die.
Where now Alphonso's firm and constant mind?
The man who braves his foe, who shields his friend,
In him who treats me thus can I discover?
Now I discern the measure of my woe !
This is my destiny, — towards me alone
AlFchange their nature, — ay, the very men
Who are with others steadfast, firm, and true.
In one brief moment, for an idle breath,
Swerve lightly from their constant quality.
Has not this man's arrival here, alone.
And in a single hour, my fortune marred ?
Has he not, even to its very base,
Laid low the structure of my happiness ?
This, too, must I endure, — even to-day !
Yea, as before all pressed around me, now
I am by all abandoned ; as before
Each strove to seize, to win me for himself.
All thrust me from them, and avoid me now.
And wherefore? My desert, and all the love
Wherewith I was so bounteously endowed.
Does he alone in equal balance weigh?
Yes, alljQrsake^me now. Tlioutoo! Thou too! '^
172 TORQUATO TASSO.
Beloved princess, thou, too, leavest me !
HatTi she, to cheer me in tliis dismal hour,
A single token of her favor sent?
Have I deserved this from her ? — Thou poor heart,
AV'hose very nature was to honor her ! —
How, when her gentle accents touched mine ear,
Feelings unutterable thrilled my breast !
When she appeared, a more ethereal light
Outshone the light of day. Her eyes, her lips,
Drew me resistlessly : my very knees
Trembled beneath me ; and my spirit's strength
Was all required to hold myself erect.
And curb the strong desire to throw myself
Prostrate before her. Scarcely could I quell
The giddy rapture. Be thou firm, my heart !
No cloud obscure thee, thou clear mind ! She too !
Dare I pronounce what yet I scarce belieyie ?
I must believe, yet dread to utter it.
She too ! She too ! Think not the slightest blame,
Only conceal it not. She too ! She too !
Alas ! This word, whose truth I ought to doubt,
Long as a breath of faith survived in me, —
This word, like fate's decree, doth now at last
Engrave itself upon the brazen rim
That rounds the full-scrolled tablet of my woe.
Now first mine enemies are strong indeed :
Forever now I am of strength bereft.
How shall I combat when she stands opposed
Amidst the hostile army? How endure
If she no more reach forth her hand to me ?
If her kind glance the suppliant meet no more ?
Ay, thou hast dared to think, to utter it.
And, ere thou couldst have feared, — behold, 'tis true!
And now, ere yet despair, with brazen talons,
Doth rend asunder thy bewildered brain.
Lament thy bitter doom, and utter forth
The unavailing cry, She too! She too!
TORQUATO TASSO. 173
ACT V.
Scene I, —A Garden. — Alphonso, Antonio.
ANTONIO.
Obedient to thy wish, I went to Tasso
A second time : I come from him but now.
I sought to move him, yea, I strongly urged
But from his fixed resolve he swerveth not ;
He earnestly entreats, that for a time
Thou wouldst permit him to repair to Rome.
ALPHONSO. ^
His purpose much annoys me, I confess : —
I rather tell thee my vexation now,
Than let it strengthen, smothered in my breast.
He fain would travel, good ! I hold him not.
He will depart, he will to Rome : so be it !
Let not the crafty Medici, nor yet
Scipio Gouzaga, wrest him from me, though !
' Tis this hath made our Italy so great.
That rival neighbors zealously contend
To foster and employ the ablest men.
Like chief without an army, shows a prince
Who round him gathers not superior minds ;
And who the voice of Poesy disdains
Is a barbarian, be he who he may.
Tasso I found, I chose him for myself,
I number him with pride among my train ;
And, having done so much for him already,
I should be loath to lose him without cause.
ANTONIO.
I feel embarrassed, prince ; for in thy sight
I bear the blame of what to-day befell :
That I was in the wrong, I frankly own,
And look for pardon to thy clemency ;
But I were inconsolable couldst thou.
E'en for a moment, doubt my honest zeal
In seeking to appease him. Speak to me
With gracious look, that so I may regain
My self-reliance and my wonted calm.
174 TORQUATO TASSO.
ALPHONSO.
Feel no disquietude, Antonio ; —
In no wise do I count the blame as thine :
Too well I know the temper of the man,
Know all too well what I have done for him,
How often I have spared him, and how oft
Towards him I have o'erlooked my rightful claims.
O'er many things we gain the mastery.
But stern necessity and lengthened time
•Scarce give a man dominion o'er himself.
ANTONIO.
When other men toil in behalf of one,
'Tis fit this one with diligence inquire
How he may profit others in return.
He who hath fashioned his own mind so well.
Who hath aspired to make each several science,
And the whole range of human lore, his own,
Is he not doubly bound to rule himself?
Yet doth he ever give it e'en a thought?
ALPHONSO.
Continued rest is not ordained for man.
Still, when we purpose to enjoy ourselves,
To try our valor, fortune sends a foe ;
To try our equanimity, a friend.
ANTONIO.
Does Tasso e'en fulfil man's primal duty,
To regulate his appetite, in which
He is not, like the brute, restrained by nature?
Does he not rather, like a child, indulge
In all that charms and gratifies his taste ?
When has he mingled water with his wine ?
Comfits and condiments, and potent drinks,
One with another still he swallows down.
And then complains of his bewildered brain.
His hasty temper, and his fevered blood,
Railmg at nature and at destiny.
How oft I've heard him in a bitter style
With childish folly argue with his leech.
'T would raise a laugh, if aught were laughable
Which teases others and torments one's self.
TORQUATO TASSO. 175
'' Oh, this is torture ! '* anxiously he cries,
Then, in splenetic mood, " Why boast your art?
Prescribe a cure ! " — " Good ! " then exclaims the leech.
' ' Abstain from this or that. " — " That can I not. ' ' —
" Then, take this potion." — '' No : it nauseates me,
The taste is horrid, nature doth rebel." —
" Well, then, drink water." — " Water ! never more !
Like hydrophobia is my dread of it. " —
" Then, your disease is hopeless." — " Why, I pray? *' —
' ' One evil sjrmptom will succeed another ;
And, though your ailment should not fatal prove,
' Twill daily more torment you." — " Fine, indeed !
Then, wherefore play the leech? You know my case:
You should devise a remedy, and one
That's palatable too, that I may not
First suffer pain before relieved from it."
I see thee smile, my prince : 'tis but the truth ;
Doubtless thyself hast heard it from his lips.
ALPHONSO.
Oft I have heard, and have as oft excused.
^^ ANTONIO.
It is most certain, an intemperate life,
As it engenders wild, distempered dreams,
At length doth make us dream in open day.
What's his suspicion but a troubled dream?
He thinks himself environed still by foes.
None can discern his gift who envy not ;
And all who envy, hate and persecute.
Oft with complaints he has molested thee :
Notes intercepted, violated locks.
Poison, the dagger ! All before him' float !
Thou dost investigate his grievance, — well,
Doth aught appear? Why, scarcely a pretext.
No sovereign's shelter gives him confidence.
The bosom of no friend can comfort him.
I Wouldst promise happiness to such a man.
Or look to him for joy unto thyself ?
ALPHONSO.
Thou wouldst be right, Antonio, if from him
I sought my own immediate benefit ;
176 TORQUATO TASSO.
But I have learned no longer to expect
Service direct and unconditional.
All do not serve us in the selfsame way :
Who needeth much, according to his gifts
Must each employ, so is he ably served.
This lesson from the Medici we learned,
'Tis practised even by the popes themselves.
With what forbearance, magnanimity.
And princely patience, have they not endured
Full many a genius, who seemed not to need
iTlieir ample favor, yet who needed it !
ANTONIO.
Who knows not this, my prince? The toil of life
Alone can tutor us life's gifts to prize.
In youth he hath already won so much.
He cannot relish aught in quietness.
Oh that he were compelled to earn the blessings
Which now with liberal hand are thrust upon him !
With manly courage he would brace his strength,
And at each onward step feel new content.
|~The nfeedy noble has attained the height
Of his ambition, if his gracious prince
Raise him, with hand benign, from poverty,
And choose him as an inmate of the court.
Should he then honor him with confidence.
And before others raise him to his side.
Consulting him in war, or state affairs.
Why, then, methinks, with silent gratitude,
The modest man may bless his lucky fate.
And with all this, Tasso enjoys besides
Youth's purest happiness : — his fatherland
Esteems him highly, loolis to him with hope.
Trust me for this, — ^his peevish discontent
On the broad pillow of his fortune rests. •
He comes, dismiss him kindly, give him time .
In Rome, in Naples, wheresoe'er he will, l^..
To search in vain for what he misses here,
Yet here alone can ever hope to find.
ALPHONSO.
Back to Ferrara will he first return?
V
TORQUATO TASSO. 177
ANTONIO.
He rather would remain in Belriguardo.
And, for his journey, what he may require,
He will request a friend to forward to him.
ALPHONSO.
I am content. My sister, with her friend,
Returns immediately to town ; and I,
Riding with speed, hope to reach home before them.
Thou 'It follow straight when thou for him hast cared ;
Give needful orders to the castellan, j
That in the castle he may here abide V'
So long as he desires, until his friend ;
Forward his equipage, and till the letters.
Which we shall give him to our friends at Rome,
Have been transmitted. Here he comes. Farewell !
Scene II. — Alphonso, Tasso.
TASSO {with embarrassment).
The favor thou so oft has shown me, prince,
Is manifest, in clearest light, to-day.
The deed which, in the precincts of thy palace,
I lawlessly committed, thou hast pardoned ;
Thou hast appeased and reconciled my foe ;
Thou dost permit me for a time to leave
The shelter of thy side, and, rich in bounty,
Wilt not withdraw from me thy generous aid.
Inspired with confidence, I now depart.
And trust that this brief absence will dispel
The heavy gloom that now oppresses me.
My renovated soul shall plume her wing.
And pressing forward on the bright career,
Which, glad and bold, encouraged by thy glance,
I entered first, deserve thy grace anew.
ALPHONSO.
Prosperity attend thee on thy way !
With joyous spirit, and to health restored,
Return again amongst us. Thus thou shalt
To lis, in double measure, for each hour
Thou now deprivest us of, requital bring.
Letters I give thee to my friends at Rome,
178 TORQUATO TASSO.
And also to my kinsmen, and desire
That to my people everywhere thou shouldst
Confidingly attach thyself ; — though absent,
Thee I shall certainly regard as mine.
TASSO.
Thou dost, O prince ! o'erwhelm with favors one
Who feels himself unworthy, who e'en wants
Ability to render fitting thanks.
Instead of thanks I proffer a request :
My poem now lies nearest to my heart.
My labors have been strenuous, yet I feel
That I am far from having reached my aim.
Fain would I there resort, where hovers yet
The inspiring genius of the mighty dead,
Still raining influence : there would I become
Once more a learner, then more worthily
My poem might rejoice in thine applause.
Oh, give me back the manuscript, which now
I feel ashamed to know within thy hand !
ALPHONSO.
Thou wilt not surely take from me to-day
What but to-day to me thou hast consigned.
Between thy poem, Tasso, and thyself,
Let me now stand as arbiter. Beware —
Nor, through assiduous diligence, impair
The genial nature that pervades thy rhymes,
And give not ear to every critic's word !
With nicest tact the poet reconciles
The judgments thousand-fold of different men,
In thoughts and life at variance with each other,
And fears not numbers to displease, that he
Still greater numbers may enchant the more.
And yet I say not but that here and there
Thou mayst, with modest care, employ the file.
I promise thee at once, that in brief space,
Thou shalt receive a copy of thy poem.
Meanwhile I will retain it in my hands,
That I may first enjoy it with my sisters.
Then, if thou bring 'st it back more perfect still,
Our joy will be enhanced ; and here and there
We'll hint corrections, only as thy friends.
TORQUATO TASSO. 179
TASSO.
I can but modestly repeat my prayer :
Let me receive the copy with all speed.
My spirit resteth solely on this work,
Its full completion it must now attain.
ALPHONSO.
I praise the ardor that inspires thee, Tasso !
Yet, were it possible, thou for a while
Shouldst rest thy mind, seek pleasure in the world,
And find some means to cool thy heated blood.
Then would thy mental powers, restored to health.
Through their sweet harmony, spontaneous yield
What now, with anxious toil, in vain thou seekest.
TASSO.
My prince, it seems so ; but I am in health
When I can yield myself to strenuous toil.
And this my toil again restores my health.
Long hast thou known me ; thou must long have seen,
I thrive not in luxurious indolence.
Rest brings no rest to me. Alas ! I feel it :
My mind, by nature, never was ordained, ^
Borne on the yielding billows of the hour.
To float in pleasure o'er time's ample sea.
ALPHONSO.
Thine aims, thy dreams, all whelm thee in thyself.
Around us there doth yawn full many a gulf.
Scooped by the hand of destiny ; but here,
In our own bosoms, lies the deepest ; — ay !
And tempting 'tis to hurl one's self therein !
[ I charge thee, Tasso, snatch thee from thyself !
The man will profit, though the bard may lose.
TASSO.
To quell the impulse I should vainly strive,
Which, ceaseless in my bosom, day and night
Alternates ever. Life were life no more
Were I to cease to poetize, to dream.
Wouldst thou forbid the cunning worm to spin,
For that to nearer death he spins himself?
From his own being, he unfoldeth still
180 TORQUATO TASSO.
The costly texture, nor suspends his toil,
Till in his shroud he hath immured himself.
Oh, to us mortals may some gracious power
Accord the insect's enviable doom,
In some new sunny vale, with sudden joy,
To spread our eager pinions !
ALPHONSO.
List to me !
Thou givest still to others to enjoy
Life with a twofold relish. Learn thyself
To know the worth of life, whose richest boon
In tenfold measure is bestowed on thee.
Now fare thee well ! The sooner thou returnest
All the more cordial will thy welcome be.
Scene III.
TASSO (alone).
Hold fast my heart, thy work has been well done !
The task was arduous, for ne'er before
Didst thou or wish or venture to dissemble.
Ay, thou didst hear it, that was not his mind,
Nor his the words : to me it still appeared,
As if I heard again Antonio's voice.
Only give heed ! Henceforth on every side
Thou'lt hear that voice. Be firm, my heart, be firm !
'Tis only for a moment. He who learns
The trick of simulation late in life,
Doth outwardly the natural semblance wear
Of honest faith : practise, and thou'lt succeed.
(Aftei^ a pause.)
Too soon thou triumphest, for lo ! she comes !
The gentle princess comes ! Oh, what a feeling !
She enters now : suspicion in my breast
And angry sullenness dissolve in grief.
Scene IV. — Pkincess, Tasso. ( Towards the end of the Scene the
others. )
PRINCESS.
Thou thinkest to forsake us, or remainest
Rather behind in Belriguardo, Tasso,
TORQUATO TASSO. 181
And then thou wilt withdraw thyself from us ?
I trust thine absence will not be for long.
To Rome thou goest?
TASSO.
Thither first I wend ;
And if, as I have reason to expect,
I from my friends kind welcome there receive,
With care and patient toil I may, at length.
Impart its highest -finish to my poem.
Full many men I find assembled there.
Masters who may be styled in every art.
Ay, and in that first city of the world,
Hath not each site, yea, every stone, a tongue?
How many thousand silent monitors.
With earnest mien, majestic, beckon us !
There if I fail to make my work complete,
1 never shall complete it. Ah, I feel it —
Success doth wait on no attempt of mine !
Still altering, I ne'er shall perfect it.
I feel, yea, deeply feel, the noble art
That quickens others, and does sti'ength infuse
Into the healthy soul, will drive me forth,
And bring me to destruction. Forth I haste !
I will to Naplesjirst.
PRINCESS.
Darest thou venture?
Still is the rigid sentence unrepealed -^
Which banished thee, together with thy father.
TASSO.
I know the danger, and have pondered it.
Disguised I go, in tattered garb, perchance
Of shepherd or of pilgrim, meanly clad.
Unseen I wander through the city, where
The movements of the many shroud the one.
Then to the shore I hasten, find a bark.
With people of Sorrento, pleasant folk,
Returning home from market ; for I too
Must hasten to Sorrento. Xliere resides
My sister, ever to m}^ parents' heart.
Together with myself, a mournful joy.
I speak not in the bark ; I step ashore
Also in silence ; slowly I ascend
182 TORQUATO TASSO.
The upward path, and at' the gate inquu*e,
Where may she dwell, Cornelia Sersale?
AVith friendly mien, a woman at her wheel
Shows me the street, the house ; I hasten on ;
The children run beside me, and survey
The gloomy stranger with the shaggy locks.
Thus I approach the threshold. Open stands
The cottage door : I step into the house —
PRINCESS.
Oh, Tasso ! if 'tis possible, look up.
And see the danger that environs thee !
I spare thy feelings, else I well might ask,
Is't noble, so to speak as now thou speakest?
Is't noble of thyself alone to think,
As if thou didst not wound the heart of friends?
My bi-other's sentiments, are they concealed?
And how we sisters prize and honor thee, —
Hast thou not known and felt it? Can it be,
That a few moments should have altered all?
Oh, Tasso ! if thou wilt indeed depart.
Yet do not leave behind thee grief and care.
(Tasso turns away.)
How soothing to the sorrowing heart to give.
To the dear friend who leaves us for a season.
Some trifling present, though 'twere nothing more
Than a new mantle, or a sword perchance !
There's naught, alas ! that we can offer thee,
For thou ungraciously dost fling aside
E'en what thou hast. Thou choosest for thyself
The pilgrim's scallop-shell, his sombre weeds,
His staff to lean on, and departing thus,
In willing poverty, from us thou takest
The only pleasure we could share with thee.
TASSO.
Then, thou wilt not reject me utterly?
O precious words ! O comfort dear and sweet !
Do thou defend me ! Shield me with thy care ! —
;^0h, send me to Consandoli, or here.
Keep me in Belriguardo, where thou wilt !
The prince is lord of many a pleasant seat.
Of many a garden, which the whole year round
TORQUATO TASSO. 183
Is duly kept, whose paths ye scarcely tread
A single day, perchance but for an hour.
Then, choose among them all the most remote
Which through long years ye have not visited,
And which perchance e'en now untended lies.
Oh, send me thither ! There let me be yours !
And I will tend thy trees ; with screen and tile
Will shield thy citrons from autumnal blasts,
Fencing them round with interwoven reeds ;
Flowers of the fairest hue shall in the beds
Strike deep their spreading roots ; with nicest care
Each pathway, every corner, shall be kept ;
And of the palace also give me charge ;
At proper times the windows I will open.
Lest noxious vapors should the pictures mar ;
The walls, with choicest stucco-work adorned,
I with light feather- work will free from dust ;
There shall the polished pavement brightly shine ;
There shall no stone, no tiling, be misplaced ;
There shall no weeds sprout from the crevices !
PRINCESS.
I find no counsel in my troubled breast.
And find no comfort for thyself and — us.
Around I look to see if some kind god
Will haply grant us succor, and reveal
Some healing plant, or potion, to restore
Peace to thy bewildered senses, peace to us 1
The truest word that floweth from the lip.
The surest remedy, hath lost its power.
Leave thee I must, — yet doth my heart refuse
From thee to part.
TASSO.
Ye gods ! And is it she ?
She who thus pities, who thus speaks with thee?
And couldst thou e'er mistake that noble heart?
And, in her presence, was it possible.
That thee despondency could seize, could master?
No, no, 'tis thou ! I am myself again !
Oh, speak once more ! Sweet comfort let me hear
Again from thy dear lips ! Speak, nor withdraw
Thy counsel from me. Say, what must I do.
That I ma}^ win the pardon of the prince,
184 TORQUATO TASSO.
That thou thyself mayst freely pardon me,
That ye may both with pleasure take me back
Into your princely service? Speak to me.
PRINCESS.
It is but little we require from thee,
And yet that little seemeth all too much.
Freely shouldst thou resign thyself to us.
We wish not from thee aught but what thou art,
If only with thyself thou wert at peace.
When joy thou feelest, thou dost cause us joy ;
When thou dost fly from it, thou grievest us ;
And if sometimes we are impatient with thee,
'Tis only that we fain would succor thee.
And feel, alas ! our succor all in vain,
If thou the friendly hand forbear to grasp.
Stretched longingly, which yet doth reach thee not.
TASSO.
'Tis thou thyself ,. a holy angel still.
As whenlit first thou didst appear to me !
The mortal's darkened vision, oh, forgive !
If, while he gazed, he for a moment erred,
Now he again discerns thee ; and his soul
Aspires to honor thee eternally.
A flood of tenderness o'erwhelms my heart —
She stands before me ! She ! What feeling this ?
Is it distraction draw^s me unto thee ?
Or is it madness ? or a sense sublime
Which apprehends the purest, loftiest truth?
Yes : 'tis the only feeling that on earth
Hath power to make and keep me truly blest,
Or that could overwhelm me with despair.
What time I wrestled with it, and resolved
To banish it forever from my heart.
This fiery passion I had thought to quell.
Still with mine inmost being strove and strove,
And in the strife my very self destroyed,
Which is to thee indissolubly bound.
PRINCESS.
If thou wouldst have me, Tasso, listen to thee,
Restrain this fervid glow, which frightens me.
.TORQUATO TASSO. 185
TASSO.
Restrains the goblet's rim the bubbling wine
That sparkling foams, and overflows its bounds?
Thine every word doth elevate my bliss,
With every word more brightly gleams thine eye,
Over my spirit's depths there comes a change :
Relieved from dark perplexity, I feel
Free as a god ; and all I owe to thee !
A charm unspeakable, which masters me,
Flows from thy lips. Thou makest me all thine.
Of mine own being naught belongs to me.
Mine eye grows dim in happiness and light,
My senses fail ; no more my foot sustains me :
Thou drawest me to thee with resistless might,
And my heart rushes self -impelled to thee.
Me hast thou won for all eternity.
Then take my whole of being to thyself.
{He throws himself into her arms, and clasps her to his
bosom.)
PRINCESS
( Throwing him from her, and retiring in haste) .
Away !
LEONORA
( Who has for some time appeared in the background, hasten- Y
ing forward) .
What hath befallen ? Tasso ! Tasso !
(She follows the Princess.)
TASSO {about to follow her) .
OGod!
ALPHONSO
( Who has for some time been approaching with Antonio) . \
He is distracted : hold him fast.
lExit.
Scene V. — Tasso, Antonio.
ANTONIO.
If that a foeman — as thou deem'st thyself
Environed by a multitude of foes —
Beside thee stood, how would he triumph now !
186 TORQUATO TASSO.
Unhappy man ! I am not yet myself !
When something quite unparalleled occurs,
When something monstrous first arrests our sight,
The staggered spirit stands a moment still ;
For we know nothing to compare it with.
TASSO {after a long pause) .
Fulfil thine office : I perceive 'tis thou !
Ay, thou deservest the prince's confidence.
Fulfil thine office, since my doom is sealed :
With lingering tortures, torture me to death !
Draw ! draw the shaft, that I may feel the barb
That lacerates, with cruel pangs, my heart !
The tyrant's precious instrument art thou ;
Be thou his jailer — executioner —
For these are offices become thee well !
{Towards the scene.)
Yes, tyrant, go ! Thou couldst not to the last
Thy wonted mask retain ; in triumph go !
Thy slave thou hast well pinioned, hast reserved
For predetermined and protracted pangs ;
Yes, go ! I hate thee. In my heart I feel
The horror which despotic power excites.
When it is grasping, cruel, and unjust.
{After a pause.)
Thus, then, at last, I see myself exiled,
Turned off, and thrust forth like a mendicant !
Thus they with garlands wreathed me, but to lead
The victim to the shrine of sacrifice !
Thus, at the very last, with cunning words,
They drew from me my only property.
My poem, — ay, and they retain it too !
Now is my one possession in your hands,
My bright credential wheresoe'er I went,
My sole resource 'gainst biting poverty !
Ay, now I see why I must take mine ease.
\ ' Ti3. ,a conspiracy, and thou_tlie_ hexid .
Thus that my song may not be perfected.
That my renown may ne'er be spread abroad,
That envy still a thousand faults may find,
And my unhonored name forgotten die :
Therefore I must consent to idleness,
Therefore must spare my faculties, myself.
TORQUATO TASSO. 187
O precious friendship ! Dear solicitude !
Odious appeared the dark conspiracy
Which ceaseless round me wove its viewless web,
But still more odious does it now appear !
And thou too, Siren ! who so tenderly
Didst lead me on with thy celestial mien,
Thee now I know ! Wherefore, O God, so late !
; But we so willingly deceive ourselves,
We honor reprobates, who honor us.
True men are never to each other known :
Such knowledge is reserved for galley-slaves.
Chained to. a narrow plank, who gasp for breath,
Where none hath aught to ask, nor aught to lose,
Where for a rascal each avows himself.
And holds his neighbor for a rascal too, —
Such men as these, perchance, may know each other.
But for the rest we courteously misjudge them, ^
f Hoping they may misjudge us in return.
u
How long thine hallowed image from my gaze
Veiled the coquette, working with paltry arts !
The mask has fallen ! — Now I see Armida
Denuded of her charms, — yes, thou art she,
Of whom my bodeful verse prophetic sang !
And then the little, cunning go-between !
With what profound contempt I view her now !
I hear the rustling of her stealthy step.
As round me still she spreads her artful toils.
Ay, now I know you ! And let that suffice !
And misery, though it beggar me of all,
I honor still, — for it hath taught me truth.
ANTONIO.
I hear thee with amazement, though I know
How thy rash humor, Tasso, urges thee
To rush in haste to opposite extremes.
Collect thy spirit and command thy rage !
Thou speakest slander, dost indulge in words
Which to thine anguish though they be forgiven,
Yet thou canst ne'er forgive unto thyself.
188 TORQUATO TASSO.
TASSO.
Oh, speak not to me with a gentle lip :
Let me not hear one prudent word from thee !
Leave me my sullen happiness, that I
May not regain my senses, but to lose them.
My very bones are crushed, yet do I live ; —
Ay ! live to feel the agonizing pain.
Despair infolds me in its ruthless grasp ;
And, in the hell-pang that annihilates.
These slanderous words are but a feeble cry,
Wrung from the depth of my sore agony.
I will away ! If honest, point the path,
And suffer me at once to fly from hence.
ANTONIO.
In thine extremity I will not leave thee ;
And, shouldst thou wholly lose thy self-control,
My patience shall not fail.
TASSO.
And must I, then.
Yield myself up a prisoner to thee ?
Resigned I yield myself, and it is done :
I cease to struggle, and 'tis well with me. —
Now let mine anguished heart recall how fair
What, as in sport, I madly flung away.
They hence depart — O God ! I there behold
The dust, ascending from their chariot- wheels —
The riders in advance — ay, there they go
E'en to the very place from whence I came !
Now they are gone — they are estranged from me.
Oh that I once again had kissed his hand !
Oh that I once again might say farewell !
Once only might I falter. Oh, forgive !
Once only hear the word, Go, thou'rt forgiven !
Alas ! I hear it not : — I ne'er shall hear it —
Yes, 1 will go ! Let me but say farewell.
Only farewell ! Give me, oh, give me back
Their longed-for presence for a single moment !
Perchance I might recover ! Never more !
I am rejected, doomed to banishment !
Alas ! I am self-banished, never more
To hear that gentle voice, that tender glance
To meet no more —
TORQUATO TASSO. 189
ANTONIO.
Yet hear the voice of one
Who, not without emotion, stands beside thee !
Thou'rt not so wretched, Tasso, as thou thinkest.
Collect thyself ! Too much thou art unmanned.
TASSO
And am I, then, as wretched as I seem?
Am I as weak as I do show myself?
Say, is all lost? Has sorrow's direful stroke,
As with an earthquake's sudden shock, transformed
The stately pile into a ruined heap? X
Is all the genius flown that did erewhile
So richly charm, and so exalt my soul?
Is all the power extinguished which of yore
Stirred in my bosom's depths? Am I become
A nothing? A mere nothing? No : all's here !
I have it still, and yet myself am nothing !
I from myself am severed, she from me !
ANTONIO.
Though to thyself thou seemest so forlorn,
Be calm, and bear in mind what still thou art !
TASSO.
Ay, in due season thou remindest me ! —
Hath history no example for mine aid?
Before me doth there rise no man of worth
Who more hath borne than I, that with his fate
Mine own comparing, I may gather strength?
No : all is gone ! — But one thing still remains, —
Tears, bahny tears, kind nature has bestowed.
The cry of anguish, when the man at length
Can bear no more — yea, and to me beside,
She leaves in sorrow melody and speech.
To utter forth the fulness of my woe :
Though in their mortal anguish men are dumb,
To me a God hath given to tell my grief.
(Antonio approaches him^ and takes his hand,)
Oh, noble man ! thou standest firm and calm.
While I am like the tempest-driven wave.
But be not boastful of thy strength. Reflect !
190 TORQUATO TASSO.
iNature, whose mighty power hath fixed the rock,
Gives to the wave its instability.
She sends her storm, the passive wave is driven,
And rolls and swells and falls in billowy foam.
Yet in this very wave the glorious sun
Mirrors his splendor, and the quiet stars
Upon its heaving bosom gently rest.
"Dimmed is the splendor, vanished is the calm ! —
In danger's hour I know myself no longer,
Nor am I now ashamed of the confession.
The helm is broken, and on every side
The reeling vessel splits. The riven planks,
Bursting asunder, yawn beneath my feet !
Thus with my outstretched arms I cling to thee !
So doth the shipwrecked mariner at last
Cling to the rock whereon his vessel struck.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN
WITH THE IRON HAND.
A DRAMA.
TRANSLATED BY SIR WALTER SOOTT.
This drama was written in 1771; but it was not published
until 1773, during which interval it underwent considerable
alterations. It was the first work which Goethe submitted to
the public; and it at once excited great attention, both on
account of the originality of the subject, and of the vigorous
and unconventional manner in which it was worked out.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Maximilian, Emperor of Germany.
GoETz VON Berlichingen, a free knight of the empire,
Elizabeth, his wife.
Maria, his sister.
Charles, his son, — a boy.
George, his page.
Bishop of Bamberg.
Adelbert von Weislingen, a free German knight of the empire.
Adelaide von Walldorf, widow of the Count von Walldorf.
LiEBTRAUT, a coiirtier of the Bishop^ s.
Abbot of Fulda, residing at the Bishop^ s court.
Olearius, a doctor of laws.
Brother Martin, a monk.
fpt/NZ^ON^IicKiNGEN, [ ^"' '^^'I'hts, in alliance with Goetz.
Lerse, a trooper.
Francis, esquire to Weislingen.
Female attendant on Adelaide.
President, Accuser, and Avenger of the Secret Tribunal.
Metzler, 1
SlEVERS,
Link, - Leaders of the insurgent peasantry.
Kohl,
Wild,
Imperial Commissioners.
Two Merchants of Nuremberg,
Magistrates of Heilbronn.
Maximilian Stumf, a vassal of the Palsgrave.
An unknown.
Bride'' s father, )
Bride, > Peasants.
Bridegroom^ )
Gypsy captain.
Gypsy mother and women.
Sticks and Wolf, gypsies.
Imperial captain.
Imperial officers.
Innkeeper.
Sentinel.
Sergeant-at-arms.
Imperial soldiers — Troopers belonging to Goetz, to Sklbitz, to
SiCKiNGEN, and to Weislii^gen — Peasants — Gypsies — Judges of
the Secret Tribunal — Jailers — Cow^tiers, etc.
192
TRAMSLATOR'S PREFACE.
GoETz VON Bbrlichingen, the hero of the following
drama, flourished in the fifteenth century, during the reign
of Maximilian the First, Emperor of Germany. Previous to
this period, every German noble holding a fief immediately
from the emperor, exercised on his estate a species of
sovereignty subordinate to the imperial authority alone.
Thus, from the princes and prelates possessed of extensive
territories, down to the free knights and barons, whose
domains consisted of a castle and a few acres of mountain
and forest ground, each was a petty monarch upon his own
property, independent of all control but the remote suprem-
acy of the emperor.
Among the extensive rights conferred by such a constitu-
tion, that of waging war against each other, by their own
private authority, was most precious to a race of proud and
military barons. These private wars were called feuds, and
the privilege of carrying them on was named Faustrecht
(club-law). As the empire advanced in civilization, the
evils attending feuds became dreadfully conspicuous : each
petty knight was by law entitled to make war upon his
neighbors without any further ceremony than three days'
previous defiance by a written form called Fehdebrief. Even
the Golden Bull, which remedied so many evils in the Ger-
manic body, left this dangerous privilege in full vigor. In
time the residence of every free baron became a fortress,
from which, as his passions or avarice dictated, sallied a
band of marauders to back his quarrel, or to collect an
extorted revenue from the merchants who presumed to pass
through his domain. At length whole bauds of these free-
booting nobles used to league together for the purpose of
mutual defence against their more powerful neighbors, as
likewise for that of predatory excursions against the princes,
free towns, and ecclesiastic states of the empire, whose
193
194 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
wealth tempted the needy barons to exercise against them
their privilege of waging private war. These confederacies
were distinguished by various titles expressive of their
object : we find among them the Brotherhood of the Mace,
the Knights of the Bloody Sleeve, etc. If one of the broth-
erhood was attacked, the rest marched without delay to his
assistance ; and thus, though individually weak, the petty
feudatories maintained their ground against the more power-
ful members of the empire. Their independence and privi-
leges were recognized and secured to them by many edicts ;
and though hated and occasionally oppressed by the princes
and ecclesiastical authorities, to whom in return they were a
scourge and a pest, they continued to maintain tenaciously
the good old privilege (as they termed it) of Faustrecht,
which they had inherited from their fathers. Amid the
obvious mischiefs attending such a state of society, it must
be allowed that it is frequently the means of calling into
exercise the highest heroic virtues. Men daily exposed to
danger, and living by the constant exertion of their courage,
acquired the virtues as well as the vices of a savage state ;
and among many instances of cruelty and rapine, occur not
a few of the most exalted valor and generosity. If the
fortress of a German knight was the dread of the wealthy
merchant and abbot, it was often the ready and hospitable
refuge of the weary pilgrim and oppressed peasant. Al-
though the owner subsisted by the plunder of the rich, yet
he was frequently beneficent to the poor, and beloved by his
own family dependents and allies. The spirit of chivalry
doubtless contributed much to soften the character of these
maurading nobles. A respect for themselves taught them
generosity towards their prisoners, and certain acknowledged
rules prevented many of the atrocities which it might have
been expected would have marked these feuds. No German
noble, for example, if made captive, was confined in fetters
or in a dungeon, but remained a prisoner at large upon his
parole (which was called knightly ward) , either in the castle
of his conqueror, or in some other place assigned to him.
The same species of honorable captivity was often indulged
by the emperor to offenders of a noble rank, of which some
instances will be found in the following pages.
Such was the state of the German nobles, when, on the
7th of August, 1495, was published the memorable edict of
Maximilian for the establishment of the public peace of the
empire. By this ordinance, the right of private war was
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 195
totally abrogated, under the penalty of the Ban of the
empire, to be enforced by the Imperial Chamber then insti-
tuted. This was at once a sentence of anathema secular
and spiritual, containing the dooms of outlawry and excom-
munication. This ordinance was highly acceptable to the
princes, bishops, and free towns, who had little to gain and
much to lose in these perpetual feuds ; and they combined to
enforce it with no small severity against the petty feudato-
ries : these, on the other hand, sensible that the very root
of their importance consisted in their privilege of declaring
private war, without which they foresaw they would not long
be able to maintain their independence, struggled hard
against the execution of this edict, by which their confeder-
acies were declared unlawful, and all means taken from them
of resisting their richer neighbors.
Upon the jarring interests of the princes and clergy on
the one hand, and of the free knights and petty imperial
feudatories on the other, arise the incidents of the following
drama. The hero, Goetz von Berlichingen, was in reality a
zealous champion for the -privileges of the free knights, and
was repeatedly laid under the Ban of the empire for the
feuds in which he was engaged, from which he was only
released in consequence of high reputation for gallantry and
generosity. His life was published at Nuremberg, 1731 ;
and some account of his exploits, with a declaration of feud
{Felidehrief) issued by him against that city, will be found
in Meusel's '' Inquiry into History," vol. iv.
While the princes and free knights were thus banded
against each other, the peasants and bondsmen remained in
the most abject state of ignorance and oppression. This
occasioned at different times the most desperate insurrec-
tions, resembling in their nature, and in the atrocities com-
mitted by the furious insurgents, the rebellions of Tyler and
Cade in England, or that of the Jacquerie in France. Such
an event occurs in the following tragedy. There is also a
scene founded upon the noted institution called the Secret
or Invisible Tribunal. With this extraordinary judicatory,
the members and executioners of which were unknown, and
met in secret to doom to death those criminals whom other
courts of justice could not reach, the English reader has
been made acquainted by several translations from the
German, particularly the excellent romances called " Her-
man of Unna," and " Alf von Duilman."
The following drama was written by the elegant author of
196 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
the "Sorrows of Werther," in imitation, it is said, of the
manner of Shakspeare. This resemblance is not to be
looked for in the style or expression, but in the outline of
the characters, and mode of conducting the incidents of the
piece. In Germany it is the object of enthusiastic admira-
tion, partly owing doubtless to the force of national partial-
ity towards a performance in which the ancient manners of
the country are faithfully and forcibly painted. Losing,
however, this advantage, and under all the defects of a
translation, the translator ventures to hope, that, in the
following pages, there will still be found something to excite
interest. Some liberties have been taken with the original,
in omitting two occasional disquisitions upon the civil law as
practised in Germany.^ Literal accuracy has been less stud-
ied in the translation, than an attempt to convey the spirit
and general effect of the piece. Upon the whole, it is hoped
the version will be found faithful ; of which the translator is
less distrustful, owing to the friendship of a gentleman of
high literary eminence, who has obligingly taken the trouble
of superintending the publication. '
WALTER SCOTT.
Edinburgh, 3d February, 1799.
1 In the present revision these omitted portions are restored, whilet a few correo
tions have been made with a view to greater literalness. — Ed.
GOETZ VON BEELICHINGEN
WITH THE IRON HAND.
ACT I.
Scene I. — An Inn at Schwarzenherg in Franconia.
Metzler and Sievers, tivo Swahian peasants^ are seated at
a table. At the fire^ at some distance from them, two
troopers fiom Bamberg. The Innkeeper.
Sievers. Hansel ! Another cup of brandy — and Chris-
tian measure.
Innkeeper. Thou art a Never-enough.
Metzler {apart to Sievers). Repeat that again about
Berlichingen. — The Bambergers, there, are so angry they
are almost black in the face.
Sievers. Bambergers ! — What are they about here?
Metzler. Weislingen has been two days up yonder at
the castle with the earl — they are his attendants — they
came with him, I know not whence. They are waiting for
him — He is going back to Bamberg.
Sievers. Who is that Weislingen ?
Metzler. The Bishop of Bamberg's right hand ! a pow-
erful lord, who is lying in wait to play Goetz some trick.
Sievers. He had better take care of himself.
Metzler (aside). Prithee go on ! (Alo2id.) How long
is it since Goetz had a new dispute with the bishop? I
thought all had been agreed and squared between them.
Sievers. Ay ! Agreement with priests ! — When the
bishop saw he could do no good, and always got the worst
of it, he pulled in his horns, and made haste to patch up a
truce — and honest Berlichingen yielded to an absurd extent,
as he always does when he has the advantage.
Metzler. God bless him ! a worthy nobleman.
197
Vol 6 Goetiie— a
198 GOETZ VON RERLICIITNGEN.
SiEVERS. Only think ! Was it not shameful? They fell
upon a page of his, to his no small surprise ; but they will
soon be mauled for that.
Metzler. How provoking that his last stroke should
liave missed. He must have been plaguily annoyed.
SiEVERS. I don't think any thing has vexed him so much
for a long time. Look you, all had been calculated to a
nicety : the time the bishop would come from the bath, with
how many attendants, and which road ; and, had it not been
betrayed by some traitor, Goetz would have blessed his bath
for him, and rubbed him dry.
First Trooper. What are you prating there about our
bishop ? do you want to pick a quarrel ?
SiEVERS. Mind your own affairs : you have nothing to
do with our table.
Second Trooper. Who taught you to speak disrespect-
fully of our bishop ?
SiEVERS. Am I bound to answer your questions? —
Look at the fool ! \_Tlie first Trooper boxes his ears.
Metzler. Smash the rascal! [^They attack each other.
Second Trooper {to Metzler) . Come on if you dare —
Innkeeper {separating them,). Will you be quiet?
Zounds ! Take yourself off if you have any scores to settle :
in my house I will have order and decency. {He pushes the
Troopers out of doors.) — And what are you about, you
jackasses ?
Metzler. No bad names, Hansel ! or your sconce shall
pay for it. Come, comrade, we'll go and thrash those black-
guards.
Enter two o/Berlichingen's Troopers.
First Trooper. What's the matter?
SiEVERS. Ah ! Good-day, Peter ! — Good-day, Veit ! —
Whence come you?
Second Trooper. Mind you don't let out whom we serve.
SiEVERS (whispering) . Then, your master Goetz isn't far
off?
First Trooper. Hold your tongue ! — Have you had a
quarrel ?
SiEVERS. You must have met the fellows without — they
are Bambergers.
First Trooper. What brings them here?
SiEVERS. They escort Weislingen, who is up yonder at
the castle with the earl.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEK 199
First Trooper. Weislinsen !
&'
Second Trooper {aside to his companion). Peter, that
is grist to our mill — How long has he been here ?
Metzler. Two days ; but he is off to-day, as I heard
one of his fellows say.
First Trooper, {aside) . Did I not tell you he was here ?
— We might have waited yonder long enough — Come,
Veit —
SiEVERS. Help us first to drub the Bambergers.
Second Trooper. There are already two of you — We
must away — Farewell! [_Exeunt both Trooff^us.
SiEVERS. Scurvy dogs, these troopers ! They won't
strike a blow without pay.
Metzler. I could swear they have something in hand. —
Whom do they serve?
SiEVERS. I am not to tell — They serve Goetz.
Metzler. So ! — Well, now we'll cudgel those fellows
outside — While I have a quarter-staff I care not for their
spits.
SiEVERS. If we durst but once serve the princes in the
same manner, who drag our skins over our ears ! [Exeunt.
Scene H. — A Cottage in a thick Forest.
GoETz VON Berlichingen discovered loalking among the trees
before the door.
GoETZ. Where linger my servants? — I must walk up
and down, or sleep will overcome me — Five days and
nights already on the watch — It is hardly earned, this bit
of life and freedom. But when I have caught thee, Weis-
lingen, I shall take my ease. {Fills a glass of wine, and
drinks; looks at the flask.) — Again empty. — George!
— While this and my courage last, I can laugh at the ambi-
tion and chicanery of princes ! — George ! — You may
send round your obsequious Weislingen to your uncles and
cousins to calumniate my character — Be it so — I am on
the alert. — Thou hast escaped me, bishop : then thy dear
Weislingen shall pay the score. — George ! — Doesn't the
boy hear ? — George ! George !
George {entering in the cuirass of a fidl-grown man) .
Worshipful sir.
Goetz. What kept you? Were you asleep ? — What in
the Devil's name means this masquerade?; — Come hither:
200 GOETZ VON BERLICHINOElsr.
you don't look amiss. Be not ashamed, boy : you look
bravely. Ah ! if you could but fill it ! — Is it Hans' cuirass ?
George. He wished to sleep a little, and unbuckled it.
GoETZ. He takes things easier than his master.
George. Do not be angry ! I took it quietly away and
put it on, then fetched my father's old sword from the wall,
ran to the meadow, and drew it —
GoETZ. And laid about you, no doubt? — Rare times
for the brambles and thorns ! — Is Hans asleep ?
George. He started up and cried out to me when you
called — I was trying to unbuckle the cuirass when I heard
you twice or thrice.
GoETz. Go take back his cuirass, and tell him to be
ready with his horses.
George. I have fed them well, and they are ready bri-
dled : you may mount when you will.
GoETZ. Bring me a stoup of wine. Give Hans a glass
too, and tell him to be on the alert — there is good cause:
I expect the return of my scouts every moment.
George. Ah ! noble sir !
GoETZ. What's the matter?
George. May I not go with you?
GoETZ. Another time, George — when we waylay mer-
chants and seize their wagons —
George. Another time ! — You have said that so often.
— Oh, this time, this time ! I will only skulk behind ; just
keep on the look-out — I will gather up all the spent arrows
for you.
GoETz. Next time, George ! — You must first have a
doublet, a steel cap, and a lance.
George. Take me with you now ! — Had I been with
3^ou last time, you would not have lost your cross-bow.
GoETZ. Do you know about that?
George. You threw it at your antagonist's head : one of
his followers picked it up, and off with it he went. Don't I
know about it?
GoETz. Did my people tell you ?
George. Oh, yes ! and for that, I whistle them all sorts
of tunes while we dress the horses, and teach them merry
songs too.
GoETz. Thou art a brave boy.
George. Take me with you to prove myself so.
GoETZ. The next time, I promise you ! You must not
go to battle unarmed as you are.. There is a time coming
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 201
which will also require men. I tell thee, boy, it will be a
dear time. Princes shall offer their treasures for a man
whom they now hate. Go, George, give Hans his cuirass
again, and bring me wine. {Exit George.) Where can my
people be ? It is incomprehensible ! — A monk ! What
brings him here so late?
Enter Brother Martin.
GoETz. Good-evening, reverend father! Whence come
you so late? Man of holy rest, thou shamest many knights.
Martin. Thanks, noble sir ! I am at present but an
unworthy brother, if we come to titles. My cloister name
is Augustin ; but I like better to be called by my Christian
name, Martin.
GoETz. You are tired, brother Martin, and doubtless
thirsty.
Enter George with wine,
GoETz. Here, in good time, comes wine.
Martin. For me a draught of water. I dare not drink
wine.
GoETz. Is it against your vow?
Martin. Noble sir, to drink wine is not against my
vow ; but because wine is against my vow, therefore I drink
it not.
GoETz. How am I to understand that?
Martin. 'Tis well for thee that thou dost not understand
it. Eating and drinking nourish man's life.
GoETz. Well !
Martin. When thou hast eaten and drunken, thou art,
as it were, new-born, stronger, bolder, fitter for action.
Wine rejoices the heart of man, and joyousness is the
mother of every virtue. When thou hast drunk wine, thou
art double what thou shouldst be ! twice as ingenious, twice
as enterprising, and twice as active.
GoETz. As I drink it, what you say is true.
Martin. 'Tis when thus taken in moderation that I speak
of it. But we — [George brings water.
GoETz {aside to George) . Go to the road which leads to
Daxbach : lay thine ear close to the earth, and listen for the
tread of horses. Return immediately.
Martin. But we, on the other hand, when we have eaten
and drunken, are the reverse of what we should be. Our
sluggish digestion depresses our mental powers ; and, in the
202 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
indulgence of luxurious ease, desires are generated which
grow too strong for our weakness.
GoETz. One glass, brother Martin, will not disturb your
sleep. You have travelled far to-day. {Raises his glass,)
Here's to all fighting-men !
Martin. With all my heart. (They ring their glasses.)
I cannot abide idle people — yet will I not say that all monks
are idle ; they do what they can : I am just come from St.
Bede, where I slept last night. The prior took me into the
garden : that is their hive. Excellent salad, cabbages in
perfection, and such cauliflowers and artichokes as you will
hardly find in Europe.
GoETz. So that is not the life for you?
[Groes out^ and looks anxiously after the boy. Returns.
Maktin. Would that God had made me a gardener or
day-laborer ! I might then have been happy ! My con-
vent is Erfurt in Saxony : my abbot loves me ; he knows I
cannot remain idle ; and so he sends me round the country,
wherever there is business to be done. I am on my way to
the bishop of Constance.
GoETz. Another glass. Good speed to you !
Martin. The same to you.
GoETz. Why do you look at me so steadfastly, brother?
Martin. I am in love with your armor.
GoETz. Would you like a suit? It is heavy and toilsome
to the wearer.
Martin. What is not toilsome in this world? — But to
me nothing is so much so as to renounce my very nature !
Poverty, chastity, obedience, — three vows, each of which
taken singly seems the most dreadful to humanity — so in-
supportable are they all ; — and to spend a lifetime under
this burden, or to groan despairingly under the still heavier
load of an evil conscience — Ah ! Sir Knight, what are the
toils of your life compared to the sorrows of a state, which,
from a mistaken desire of drawing nearer to the Deity, con-
demns as crimes the best impulses of our nature, — impulses
by which we live, grow, and prosper !
GoETZ. Were your vow less sacred, I would give you a
suit of armor and a steed, and we would ride out together.
Martin. Would to Heaven ni}^ shoulders had strength
to bear armor, and my arm to unhorse an enemy ! Poor,
weak hand, accustomed from infancy to swing censers, to
l)ear crosses and banners of peace, how couidst thou manage
the lance and falchion? My voice, tuned only to Aves and
GOETZ VON BERLTCHTNrxEN. 203
Hallelujahs, would be a herald of my weakness to the
enemy ; while yours would overpower him : otherwise no vows
should keep me from entering an order founded by the
Creator himself.
GoETz. To your happy return ! [Drinks.
Martin. I drink that only in compliment to you ! A
return to my prison must ever be unhappy. When you, Sir
Knight, return, to your castle, with the consciousness of
3"0ur courage and strength, which no fatigue can overcome ;
when you, for the first time, after a long absence, stretch
yourself unarmed upon your bed, secure from the attack
of enemies, and resign yourself to a sleep sweeter than
the draught after a long- thirst, — then can you speak of
happiness.
GoETz. And accordingly it comes but seldom !
Martin {with growing ardor) . But, when it does come,
it is a foretaste of paradise. When 3^ou return home laden
with the spoils of your enemies, and remember, "such a
one I struck from his horse ere he could discharge his piece
— such another I overthrew, horse and man," then you ride
to your castle, and —
GoETz. And what?
Martin. And your wife — (Fills a glass.) To her
health ! {He tvipes his eyes.) You have one?
Goetz. a virtuous, noble wife !
Martin. Happy the man who possesses a virtuous wife :
his life is doubled. This blessing was denied me, yet was
woman the glory or crown of creation.
GoETz {aside). I grieve for him. The sense of his con-
dition preys upon his heart.
Enter George, breathless.
George. My lord, my lord, I hear horses in full gallop !
— two of them — 'Tis they for certain.
GoETz. Bring out my steed : let Hans mount. Fare-
well, dear brother, God be -with you. Be cheerful and
patient. He will give you ample scope.
Martin. Let me request your name.
GoETz. Pardon me — Farewell ! \^Gives his left hand.
Martin. Why do you give the left? — Am I unworthy
of the knightly right hand ?
GoETZ. Were you the emperor, you must be satisfied
with this. My right hand, though not useless in combat, is
204 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
unresponsive to the grasp of affection. It is one with its
mailed gauntlet — You see, it is iron!
Martin. Then art thou Goetz of Berlichingen. I thank
thee, Heaven, who hast shown me the man whom princes
hate, but to whom the oppressed throng ! {He takes his
right hand.) Withdraw not this hand : let me kiss it.
Goetz. You must not !
Martin. Let me, let me — Thou hand, more worthy
even than the saintly relic through which the most sacred
blood has flowed ! lifeless instrument, quickened by the
noblest spirit's faith in God.
[Goetz adjusts ?iis Jielmet, and takes his lance.
Martin. There was a monk among us about a year ago,
who visited you when your hand was shot off at the siege of
Landshut. He used to tell us what you suffered, and your
grief at being disabled for your profession of arms, till you
remembered having heard of one who had also lost a hand,
and yet served long as a gallant knight — I shall never
forget it.
Enter the two Troopers. TJiey speak apart with Goetz.
Martin (continuing). I shall never forget his words,
uttered in the noblest, the most childlike, trust in God : "If
I had twelve hands, what would they avail me without thy
grace ? then may I with only one ' ' —
Goetz. In the wood of Haslach, then. ( Turns to Mar-
tin.) Farewell, worthy brother ! [^Embraces him.
Martin. Forget me not, as I shall never forget thee !
[ Exeunt Goetz and his Troopers.
Martin. How my heart beat at the sight of him ! He
spoke not, yet my spirit recognized his. What rapture to
behold a great man !
George. Reverend sir, you will sleep here?
Martin. Can I have a bed ?
George. No, sir ! I know of beds only by hearsay : in
our quarters there is nothing but straw.
Martin. It will serve. What is thy name ?
George. George, reverend sir.
Martin. George ! Thou hast a gallant patron saint.
George. They say he was a trooper : that is what I intend
to be.
Martin. Stop ! ( Takes a picture from his breviary, and
gives it to him.) There behold him — follow his example ; be
brave, and fear God. [ Exit into the cottage.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 205
George. Ah ! what a splendid gray horse ! If 1 had but
one hke that — and the golden armor. There is an ugly
dragon. At present I shoot nothing but sparrows. O St.
George ! make me but tall and strong ; give me a lance,
armor, and such a horse, and then let the dragons come !
[ Exit.
Scene III. — An Apartment in Jaxthausen, the Castle of Goetz von
Berlichingen.
Elizabeth, Maria, and Charles discovered.
Charles. Pray, now, dear aunt, tell me again that story
about the good child : it is so pretty —
Maria. Do you tell it to me, little rogue ! that I may see
if you have paid attention.
Charles. Wait, then, till I think. — ''There was once
upon" — Yes — "There was once upon a time a child,
and his mother was sick : so the child went ' ' —
Maria. No, no! — "Then his mother said, 'Dear
child'" —
Charles. " ' I am sick ' " —
Maria. " ' And cannot go out ' " —
Charles. " And gave him mone}^ and said, ' Go and buy
yourself a breakfast.' There came a poor man " —
Maria. "The child went. There met him an old man
who was " — Now, Charles !
Charles. ' ' Who was — old ' ' —
Maria. Of course. "Who was hardly able to walk,
and said, ' Dear child ' " —
Charles. "'Give me something: I have eaten not a
morsel yesterday or to-day.' Then the child gave him the
money ' ' —
Maria. " That should have bought his breakfast " —
Charles. " Then the old man said " —
Maria. " Then the old man took the child by the
hand" —
Charles. " By the hand, and said — and became a fine
beautiful saint — and said — ' Dear child ' " —
Maria. " ' The holy Virgin rewards thee for thy benevo-
lence through me : whatever sick person thou touchest ' " —
Charles. ' ' ' With thy hand ' " — It was the right hand,
I think.
, Maria. Yes.
Charles, " ' He will get well directly ' " — ,
206 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Maria. " Then the child ran home, and could not speak
for joj" —
Charles. "And fell upon his mother's neck, and wept
f or joy'' —
Maria. "Then the mother cried, 'What is this?' and
became " — Now, Charles.
Charles. ' ' Became — became ' ' —
Maria. You do not attend — "and became well. And
the child cured kings and emperors, and became so rich that
he built a great abbey."
Elizabeth. I cannot understand why my husband stays.
He has been away five days and nights, and he hoped to
have finished his adventure so quickly.
Maria. I have long felt uueas}^ Were I married to a
man who continually incurred such danger, I should die
within the first year.
Elizabeth. I thank God that he has made me of firmer
stuff !
Charles. But must my father ride out if it is so dan-
gerous ?
Maria. Such is his good pleasure.
Elizabeth. He must, indeed, dear Charles !
Charles. Why?
Elizabeth. Do you not remember the last time he rode
out, when he brought you those nice things ?
Charles. Will he bring me any thing now?
Elizabeth. I believe so. Listen : there was a tailor at
Stutgard who was a capital archer, and had gained the prize
at Cologne.
Charles. Was it much ?
Elizabeth. A hundred dollars ; and afterwards they
would not pay him.
Maria. That was naughty, eh, Charles?
Charles. Naughty people !
Elizabeth. The tailor came to your father, and begged
him to get his money for him : then your father rode out, and
intercepted a party of merchants from Cologne, and kept
them prisoners till they paid the money. Would not you
have ridden out too ?
Charles. No ; for one must go through a dark, thick
wood, where there are gypsies and witches —
Elizabeth. You're a fine fellow ; afraid of witches !
Maria. Charles, it is far better to live at home in your
castle, like a quiet Christian knight. One may find opportu-
1
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 207
iiities euough of doing good on one's own lauds. Even the
worthiest knights do more harm than good in their excur-
sions.
Elizabeth. Sister, j^ou know not what you are saying. —
God grant our boy ma}^ become braver as he grows up, and
not take after that Weislingen, who has dealt so faithlessly
with my husband.
Maria. We will not judge, Elizabeth. My brother is
highly incensed, and so are you : I am only a spectator in
the matter, and can be more impartial.
Elizabeth. Weislingen cannot be defended.
Maria. What I have heard of him has interested me. —
Even your husband relates many instances of his former
goodness and affection — How happy was their youth when
they were both pages of honor to the margrave !
Elizabeth. That may be. But only tell me, how can a
man ever have been good who lays snares for his best and
truest friend ? who has sold his services to the enemies of my
husband ; and who strives, by invidious misrepresentations,
to poison the mind of our noble emperor, who is so gracious
to us ? \^A horn is heard.
Charles. Papa ! papa ! the warder sounds his horn !
Joy ! joy ! Open the gate !
Elizabeth. There he comes with booty !
Enter Peter.
Peter. We have fought — we have conquered! God
save you, noble ladies !
Elizabeth. Have you captured Weislingen '
Peter. Himself and three followers.
Elizabeth. How came you to stay so long?
Peter. We lay in wait for him between Nuremberg and
Bamberg ; but he would not come, though we knew he had
set out. At length we heard of his whereabouts : he had
struck off sideways, and was staying quietly with the earl at
Schwarzenberg.
Elizabeth. They would also fain make the earl my hus-
band's enemy.
Peter. I immediately told my master. — Up and away
we rode into the forest of Haslach. And it was curious,
that, while we were riding along that night, a shepherd was
watching ; and five wolves fell upon the flock, and attacked
them stoutly. Then my master laughed, and said, "Good
208 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
luck to us all, dear comrades, both to you and us ! '' And
the good omen overjoyed us. Just then Weislingen came
riding toward us with four attendants —
Maria. How my heart beats !
Peter. My comrade and I, as our master had com-
manded, threw ourselves suddenly on him, and clung to him
as if we had grown together, so that he could not move ;
while my master and Hans fell upon the servants, and over-
powered them. They were all taken, except one who
escaped.
Elizabeth. I am curious to see him. Will he arrive
soon?
Peter. They are riding through the valley, and will be
here in a quarter of an hour.
Maria. He is, no doubt, cast down and dejected?
Peter. He looks gloomy enough.
Maria. It will grieve me to see his distress !
Elizabeth. Oh ! I must get food ready. You are, no
doubt, all hungry?
Peter. Hungry enough, in truth.
Elizabeth (to Maria). Take the cellar-keys and bring
the best wine. They have deserved it. \^Exit Elizabeth.
Charles. I'll go too, aunt.
Maria. Come, then, boy. [^Exeunt Charles and Maria.
Peter. He'll never be his father, else he would have
gone with me to the stable.
Enter Goetz, Weislingen, Hans, and other Troopers.
GoETz (laying his helmet and sword on a table). Un-
buckle my armor, and give me my doublet. Ease will
refresh me. Brother Martin, thou saidst truly. You have
kept us long on the watch, Weislingen !
[Weislingen paces up and down in silence.
GoETz. Be of good cheer. Come, unarm yourself !
Where are your clothes? I hope nothing has been lost.
(To the attendants.) Go, ask his servants: open the bag-
gage, and see that nothing is missing. Or I can lend you
some of mine.
Weislingen. Let me remain as I am — it is all one.
GoETz. I can give you a handsome doublet, but it is
only of linen : it has grown too tight for me. I wore it at
the marriage of my Lord the Palsgrave, when your bishop
was so incensed at me. About a fortnight before I had sunk
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 209
two of his vessels upon the Main — I was going up-stairs in
the Stag at Heidelberg, with Franz von Sickingen. Before
you get quite to the top, there is a landing-place with iron
rails — there stood the bishop, and gave his hand to Franz
as he passed, and to me also as I followed close behind him.
I laughed in my sleeve, and went to the Landgrave of
Hanau, who was always a kind friend to me, and said,
'' The bishop has given me his hand, but I'll wager he did
not know me." The bishop heard me, for I was speaking
loud on purpose. He came to us angrily, and said, " True,
I gave thee my hand, because I knew thee not." To which
I answered, '' I know that, my lord; and so here you have
your shake of the hand back again! " The manikin grew
red as a turkey-cock with spite ; and he ran up into the
room, and complained to the Palsgrave Lewis and the Prince
of Nassau. We have laughed over the scene again and
again.
Weislingen. I wish you would leave me to myself.
GoETz. Why so? I entreat you be of good cheer. You
are my prisoner, but I will not abuse my power.
Weislingen. I have no fear of that. That is your duty
as a knight.
GoETz. And you know how sacred it is to me.
Weislingen. I am your prisoner — the rest matters not.
GoETz. You should not say so. Had you been taken by
a prince, fettered, and cast into a dungeon, your jailer
directed to drive sleep from your eyes —
Enter Servants with clothes. Weislingen unarms himself.
Enter Charles.
Charles. Good-morrow, papa !
GoETz {hisses him) . Good-morrow, boy ! How have
you been this long time?
Charles. Very well, father ! Aunt says I am a good
boy.
GoETz. Does she?
Charles. Have you brought me any thing?
GoETz. Nothing this time.
Charles. I have learned a great deal.
GoETz. Ay !
Charles. Shall I tell you about the good child?
GoETz. After dinner.
Charles. I know something else too.
210 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
GoETz. What may that be?
Charles. " Jaxthausen is a village and castle on the
Jaxt, which has appertained in property and heritage for
two hundred years to the Lords of Berlichingen " —
GoETz. Do you know the Lord of Berlichingen?
(Charles stares at him. Aside.) His learning is so
abstruse that he does not know his own father ! To whom
does Jaxthausen belong ?
Charles. " Jaxthausen is a village and castle upon the
Jaxt"—
GoETz. I did not ask that. I knew every path, pass,
and ford about the place before ever I knew the name of the
village, castle, or river. — Is your mother in the kitchen?
Charles. Yes, papa. They are cooking a lamb and
turnips.
Goetz. Do you know that too, Jack Turnspit?
Charles. And my aunt is roasting an apple for me to
eat after dinner —
GoETz. Can't you eat it raw?
Charles. It tastes better roasted.
Goetz. You must have a tidbit, must you? — "Weis-
lingen, I will be with you immediately. I must go and see
my wife. — Come, Charles !
Charles. Who is that man?
GoETz. Bid him welcome. Tell him to be merry.
Charles. There's my hand for you, man ! Be merry —
for dinner will soon be ready.
Weislingen (takes up the child and kisses him) . Happy
boy ! that knowest no worse evil than the delay of dinner.
May you live to have much joy in your son, Berlichingen !
GoETz. Where there is most light the shades are deep-
est. Yet I should thank God for it. We'll see what they
are about. [^Exit tvith Charles and Servants.
Weislingen. Oh that I could but wake and find this all a
dream ! In the power of Berlichingen ! — from whom I had
scarcely detached myself — whose remembrance I shunned
like fire — whom I hoped to overpower ! and he still the old
true-hearted Goetz ! Gracious God ! what will be the end
of it ? O Adelbert ! Led back to the very hall where we
played as children ; when thou didst love and prize him as
thy soul ! Who can know him and hate him ? Alas ! I am
so thoroughly insignificant here. Happy days ! ye are gone.
There, in his chair by the chimney, sat old Berlichingen,
while we played around him, and loved each other like
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 211
cherubs ! How anxious the bishop and all my friends will
be ! Well, the whole country will sympathize with my mis-
fortune. But what avails it ? Can they give me the peace
after which I strive ?
Re-enter Goetz with wine and goblets,
GoETZ. We'll take a glass while dinner is preparing.
Come, sit down — think yourself at home! Fancy you've
once more come to see Goetz. It is long since we have sat
and emptied a flagon together. {Lifts his glass.) Come:
a light heart !
Weislingen. Those times are gone by.
Goetz. God forbid ! To be sure, we shall hardly pass
more pleasant days than those we spent together at the
margrave's court, when we were inseparable night and day.
I think with pleasure on my youth. Do you remember the
scuffle I had with the Polauder, whose pomaded and frizzled
hair I chanced to rub with my sleeve ?
Weislingen. It was at table ; and he struck at you
with a knife.
Goetz. I gave it him, however ; and you had a quarrel
upon that account with his comrades. We always stuck
together like brave fellows, and were the admiration of
everyone. (Raises his glass.) Castor and Pollux! It
used to rejoice my heart when the margrave so called us.
Weislingen. The bishop of Wurtzburg first gave us the
name.
Goetz. That bishop was a learned man, and withal so
kind and gentle. I shall remember as long as I live how he
used to caress us, praise our friendship, and say, " Happy
is the man who is his friend's twin-brother."
Weislingen. No more of that.
Goetz. Why not? I know nothing more delightful after
fatigue than to talk over old times. Indeed, when I recall
to mind how we bore good and bad fortune together, and
were all in all to each other, and how I thought this was to
continue forever ! Was not that my sole comfort when my
hand was shot away at Landshut, and you nursed and tended
me like a brother ? I hoped Adelbert would in future be my
right hand. And now —
Weislingen. Alas !
Goetz. Hadst thou but listened to me when I begged
thee to go with me to Brabant, all would have been well.
212 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
But then that unhappy turn for court-dangling seized thee,
and thy coquetting and flirting with the women. I always
told thee, when thou wouldst mix with these lounging, vain
court sycophants, and entertain them with gossip about un-
lucky matches and seduced girls, scandal about absent friends,
and all such trash as they take interest in, — I always said,
Adelbert, thou wilt become a rogue !
Weislingen. To what purpose is all this?
GoETz. Would to God I could forget it, or that it were
otherwise ! Art not thou free and nobly born as any in Ger-
many ; independent, subject to the emperor alone ; and dost
crouch among vassals ? What is the bishop to thee ? Granted,
he is thy neighbor, and can do thee a shrewd turn ; hast thou
not power and friends to requite him in kind ? Art thou igno-
rant of the dignity of a free knight, who depends only upon
God, the emperor, and himself, that thou degradest thyself
to be the courtier of a stubborn, jealous priest?
Weislingen. Let me speak !
GoETz. What hast thou to say ?
Weislingen. You look upon the princes as the wolf
upon the shepherd. And can you blame them for defending
their territories and property? Are they a moment secure
from the unruly knights, who plunder their vassals even upon
the high-roads, and sack their castles and villages? Upon
the other hand, our country's enemies threaten to overrun the
lands of our beloved emperor ; yet, while he needs the princes'
assistance, they can scarce defend their own lives : is it not
our good genius which at this moment leads them to devise
means of procuring peace for Germany, of securing the ad-
ministration of justice, and giving to great and small the
blessings of quiet? And can you blame us, Berlichingen,
for securing the protection of the powerful princes, our
neighbors, whose assistance is at hand, rather than relying
on that of the emperor, who is so far removed from us, and
is hardly able to protect himself?
GoETz. Yes, yes, I understand you. Weislingen, were
the princes as you paint them, we should all have what we
want. Peace and quiet ! No doubt ! Every bird of prey
naturally likes to eat its plunder undisturbed. The general
weal ! If they would but take the trouble to study that. And
they trifle with the emperor shamefully. Every day some new
tinker or other comes to give his opinion. The emperor means
well, and would gladly put things to rights ; but because he
happens to understand a thing readily, and, by a single word;
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 213
cau put a thousand hands into motion, he thinks every thing
will be as speedily and as easily accomplished. Ordinance
upon ordinance is promulgated, each nullifying the last ;
while the princes obey only those which serve their own in-
terest, and prate of peace and security of the empire, while
they are treading under foot their weaker neighbors. I will
be sworn, many a one thanks God in his heart that the Turk
keeps the emperor fully employed !
Weislingen. You view things your own way.
GoETz. So does every one. The question is, which is the
right way to view them? And your plans at least shun the
day.
Weislingen. You may say what you will : I am your
prisoner.
GoETZ. If your conscience is free, so are you. How was
it with the general tranquillity ? I remember going as'^a boy
of sixteen with the margrave to the Imperial Diet. What
harangues the princes made ! And the clergy were the most
vociferous of all. Your bishop thundered into the emperor's
ears his regard for justice, till one thought it had become part
and parcel of his being. And now he has imprisoned a page
of mine, at a time when our quarrels were all accommodated,
and I had buried them in oblivion. Is not all settled between
us ? What does he want with the boy ?
Weislingen. It was done without his knowledge.
GoETz. Then, why does he not release him?
Weislingen. He did not conduct himself as he ought.
Goetz. Not conduct himself as he ought ! By my honor
he performed his duty, as surely as he has been imprisoned
both with your knowledge and the bishop's ! Do you think
I am come into the world this very day, that I cannot see
what all this means ?
Weislingen. You are suspicious, and do us wrong.
Goetz. Weislingen, shall I deal openly with you? Incon-
siderable as I am, I am a thorn in your side, and Selbitz and
Sickingen are no less so, because we are firmly resolved to
die sooner than to thank any one but God for the air we
breathe, or pay homage to any one but the emperor. This
is why they worry me in every possible way, blacken my
character with the emperor, and among my friends and
neighbors, and spy about for advantage over me. They
would have me out of the way at any price ; that was your
reason for imprisoning the page whom you knew I had de-
spatched for intelligence ; and now you say he did not con-
214 GOETZ A^ON BERLICHINGEN.
duct himself as he should do, because he would not betray
my secrets. And you, Weislingen, are their tool !
Weislingen. Berlichingen !
GoETz. Not a word more. I am an enemy to long expla-
nations : they deceive either the maker or the hearer, and
generally both.
Enter Charles.
Charles. Dinner is ready, father !
GoETz. Good news ! Come, I hope the company of my
women folk will amuse you. You always liked the girls.
■A^Jj ay? they can tell many pretty stories about you. Come !
[^Exeunt.
Scene IV. — The Bishop of Bamberg^ s Palace,
The Bishop, the Abbot of Fulda, Olearius, Liebtraut, and
Courtiers at table. The dessert and tvine before them.
Bishop. Are there many of the German nobility stud3'ing
at Bologna ?
Olearius. Both nobles and citizens ; and I do not exag-
gerate in saying that they acquire the most brilliant reputa-
tion. It is a proverb in the university, — '' As studious as
a German noble." For while the citizens display a laudable
diligence, in order to compensate by learning for their want
of birth, the nobles strive, with praise worth}' emulation, to
enhance their ancestral dignity by superior attainments.
Abbot. Indeed !
Liebtraut. What may one not live to hear ! We live and
learn, as the proverb says. "As studious as a German
noble." I never heard that before.
Olearius. Yes : they are the admiration of the whole
university. Some of the oldest and most learned will soon
be coming back with their doctor's degree. The emperor will
doubtless be happy to intrust to them the highest offices.
Bishop. He cannot fail to do so.
Abbot. Do you know, for instance, a young man — a
Hessian ? —
Olearius. There are many Hessians with us.
Abbot. His name is — is — Does nobody remember it ?
His mother was a Von — Oh ! his father had but one eye,
and was a marshal —
Liebtraut. Vou Wildenholz !
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 215
Abbot. Right. Von Wildenholz.
Olearius. I know him well. A young man of great
abilities. He is particularly esteemed for his talent in dis-
putation.
Abbot. He has that from his mother.
LiEBTRAUT. Yes ; but his father would never praise her
for that quality. '
Bishop. How call you the emperor who wrote your
" Corpus Juris? "
Olearius. Justinian.
Bishop. A worthy prince : — here's to his memory !
Olearius. To his memory ! \_They drink.
Abbot. That must be a fine book.
Olearius. It may be called a book of books ; a digest of
all laws ; there you find the sentence ready for every case ;
and, where the text is antiquated or obscure, the deficiency
is supplied by notes, with which the most learned men have
enriched this truly admirable work.
Abbot. A digest of all laws ! — Indeed ! — Then the
Ten Commandments must be in it.
Olearius. Implicit^ ; not explicite.
Abbot. That's what I mean : plainly set down, without
any explication.
Bishop. But the best is, you tell us that a state can be
maintained in the most perfect tranquillity and subordination
by receiving and rightly following that statute-book.
Olearius. Doubtless.
Bishop. All doctors of laws ! ' [^Tliey drink.
Olearius. I'll tell them of this abroad. [They drink.
Would to heaven that men thought thus in my country.
Abbot. AVhence come you, most learned sir?
Olearius. From Frankfort, at your eminence's service !
Bishop. You gentlemen of the law, then, are not held in
high estimation there ? — How comes that ?
Olearius. It is strange enough — when I last went there
to collect my father's effects, the mob almost stoned me
when they heard I was a lawyer.
Abbot. God bless me !
Olearius. It is because their tribunal, which they hold
in great respect, is composed of people totally ignorant of
the Roman law. An intimate acquaintance with the internal
condition of the town, and also of its foreign relations,
acquired through age and experience, is deemed a sufficient
qualification. They decide according to certain established
216 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
edicts of their own, and some old customs recognized in the
city and neighborhood.
Abbot. That's very right.
Olearius. But far from sufficient. The life of man is
short, and in one generation cases of every description can-
not occur : our statute-book is a collection of precedents,
furnished by the experience of many centuries. Besides,
the wills and opinions of men are variable : one man deems
right to-day, what another disapproves to-morrow ; and con-
fusion aud injustice are the inevitable results. Law deter-
mines absolutely, and its decrees are immutable.
Abbot. That's certainly better.
Olearius. But the common people won't acknowledge
that ; and, eager as they are after novelty, they hate any
innovation in their laws which leads them out of the beaten
track, be it ever so much for the better. They hate a jurist
as if he were a cut- purse or a subverter of the state, and
become furious if one attempts to settle among them.
LiEBTRAUT. You comc from Frankfort? — I know the
place well — we tasted your good cheer at the emperor's
coronation. You say your name is Olearius — I know no
one in the town of your name.
Olearius. My father's name was Oilman — But, after
the example and with the advice of many jurists, I have
Latinized the name to Olearius, for the decoration of the
title-page of my legal treatises.
LiEBTRAUT. You did well to translate yourself : a prophet
is not honored in his own country — in your native guise you
might have shared the same fate.
Olearius. That was not the reason.
LiEBTRAUT. All things have two reasons.
Abbot. A prophet is not honored in his own country.
LiEBTRAUT. But do you know why, most reverend sir?
Abbot. Because he was born and bred there.
LiEBTRAUT. Well, that may be one reason. The other is,
because, upon a nearer acquaintance with these gentlemen,
the halo of glory and honor shed around them by the dis-
tant haze totally disappears : they are then seen to be noth-
ing more than tiny rushlights !
Olearius. It seems you are placed here to tell pleasant
truths.
LiEBTRAUT. As I havc wit enough to discover them, I do
not lack courage to utter them.
Olearius. Yet you lack the art of appl^^ing them well.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 217
LiEBTRAUT. It is no matter where you place a cupping-
glass, provided it draws blood.
Olearius. Barbers are known by their dress, and no one
takes offence at their scurvy jests. Let me advise you, as a
precaution, to bear the badge of your order, — a cap and
bells !
LiEBTRAUT. Where did you take your degree? I only
ask, so that, should I ever take a fancy to a fool's cap, I
could at once go to the right shop.
Olearius. You carry face enough.
LiEBTRAUT. And you paunch.
\_The Bishop and Abbot laugh.
BiSHor. Not so warm, gentlemen ! — Some other sub-
ject. At table all should be fair and quiet. Choose another
subject, Liebtraut.
LiEBTRAUT. Opposite Frankfort lies a village called
Sachsenhausen —
Olearius {to the Bishop). What news of the Turkish
expedition, your excellency?
Bishop. The emperor has most at heart, first of all to
restore peace to the empire, put an end to feuds, and secure
the strict administration of justice : then, according to re-
port, he will go in person against the enemies of his country
and of Christendom. At present internal dissensions give
him enough to do ; and the empire, despite half a hundred
treaties of peace, is one scene of murder. Franconia,
Swabia, the Upper Rhine, and the surrounding countries
are laid waste by presumptuous and reckless knights. —
And here, at Bamberg, Sickingen, Selbitz with one leg, and
Goetz with the iron hand, scoff at the imperial authority.
Abbot. If his majesty does not exert himself, these fel-
lows will at last thrust us into sacks.
Liebtraut. He would be a sturdy fellow indeed who
should thrust the wine-butt of Fulda into a sack !
Bishop. Goetz especially has been for many years my
mortal foe, and annoys me beyond description. But it will
not last long, I hope. The emperor holds his court at
Augsburg. We have taken our measures, and cannot fail
of success. — Doctor, do you know Adelbert von Weis-
lingen ?
Olearius. No, your eminence.
Bishop. If you stay till his arrival, you will have the
pleasure of seeing a most noble, accomplished, and gallant
knight.
218 GOETZ VON BERLICITINGEN.
Olearius. He must be an excellent man indeed to de-
serve snch praises from such a mouth.
LiEBTRAUT. And yet he was not bred at any university.
Bishop. We know that. {The attendants throng to the
icindow.) What's the matter?
Attendant. Farber, Weislingen's servant, is riding in at
the castle-gate.
Bishop. See what he brings. He most likely comes to
announce his master.
[Exit LiEBTRAUT. Tliey stand up and drink.^
LiEBTRAUT re-enters.
Bishop. What news?
LiEBTRAUT. I wish auothcr had to tell it — Weislingen
is a prisoner.
Bishop. What?
LiEBTRAUT. Berlichingen has seized him and three troop-
ers near Haslach — One is escaped to tell you.
Abbot. A Job's messenger !
Olearius. I grieve from my heart.
Bishop. I will see the servant: bring him up — I will
speak with him myself. Conduct him into my cabinet.
[Exit Bishop.
Abbot {sitting down) . Another draught, however.
[The Servants j^ZZ round.
Olearius. Will not your reverence take a turn in the
garden? ^' Post coenam stabis, sen passus mille meabis."
LiEBTRAUT. In truth, sitting is unhealthy for you. You
might get an apoplexy. {The Abbot rises. Aside.) Let
me but once get him out of doors, I will give him exercise
enough ! [Exeunt,
Scene V. — Jaxthausen.
Maria, Weislingen.
Maria. You love me, you say. I willingly believe it,
and hope to be happy with you, and make you happy also.
Weislingen. I feel nothing but that I am entirely thine.
[Embraces her.
Maria. Softly ! — I gave you one kiss for earnest, but
you must not take possession of what is only yours condi-
tionally.
Weislingen. You are too strict, Maria ! Innocent love
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 219
is pleasing in the sight of Heaven, instead of giving of-
fence.
Maria. It may be so. But I think differently ; for I
have been taught that caresses are, like fetters, strong
through their union, and that maidens, when they love, are
weaker than Samson after the loss of his locks.
Weislingen. Who taught you so?
Maria. The abbess of my convent. Till my sixteenth
year I was with her — and it is only with you that I enjoy
happiness like that her company afforded me. She had
loved, and could tell — She had a most affectionate heart.
Oh ! she was an excellent woman !
Weislingen. Then, you resemble her. {Takes her hand.)
What will become of me when I am compelled to leave
you?
Maria {withdrawing his hand). You will feel some re-
gret, I hope ; for I know what my feelings will be. But you
must away !
Weislingen. I know it, dearest; and I will — for well I
feel what happiness I shall purchase by this sacrifice ! Now,
blessed be 3-our brother, and the day on which he rode out to
capture me !
Maria. His heart was full of hope for you and himself.
" Farewell," he said at his departure : " I go to recover my
friend."
Weislingen. That he has done. Would that I had
studied the arrangement and security of my property, instead
of- neglecting it, and dallying at that worthless court ! — then
couldst thou have been instantly mine.
Maria. Even delay has its pleasures.
Weislingen. Say not so, Maria, else I shall fear that th}'
heart is less warm than mine. True, I deserve punishment ;
but what hopes will brighten every step of my journey ! To
be wholly thine, to live only for thee and thy circle of friends
— far removed from the world, in the enjoyment of all the
raptures which two hearts can mutually bestow. What is the
favor of princes, what the applause of the universe, to
such simple yet unequalled felicity ? Many have been my
hopes and wishes, but this happiness surpasses them all.
Enter Goetz.
GoETZ. Your page has returned. He can scarcely utter
a word for hunger and fatigue. My wife has ordered him
220 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
some refreshment. Thus much I have gathered : the bishop
will not give up my page — imperial commissioners are to be
appointed, and a day named, upon which the matter may be
adjusted. Be that as it ma^-, Adelbert, 3'ou are free.
Pledge me but your hand that you will for the future give
neither open nor secret assistance to my enemies.
Weislingen. Here I grasp thy hand. From this moment
be our friendship and confidence firm and unalterable as a
primary law of nature ! Let me take this hand also {takes
Maria's liand^, and with it the possession of this most noble
lady.
GoETz. May I say yes for you?
Maria {timidly) . If — if it is your wish —
GoETz. Happily our wishes do not differ on this point.
Thou need'st not blush — the glance of thine eye betrays
thee. Well, then, Weislingen, join hands ; and I say Amen!
My friend and brother ! I thank thee, sister : thou canst do
more than spin flax, for thou hast drawn a thread which can
fetter this wandering bird of paradise. Yet you look not
quite at your ease, Adelbert. What troubles you ? I am
perfectly happy ! What I but hoped in a dream, I now see
with my eyes, and feel as though I were still dreaming. Now
my dream is explained. I thought last night, that, in token
of reconciliation, I gave you this iron hand, and that you
held it so fast that it broke awa}^ from my arm : I started,
and awoke. Had I but dreamed a little longer, I should
have seen how you gave me a new living hand. You must
away this instant, to put your castle and property in order.
That cursed court has made you neglect both. I must call
my wife. — Elizabeth !
Maria. How overjoyed my brother is !
Weislingen. Yet I am still more so.
GoETz {to Maria) . You will have a pleasant residence.
Maria. Franconia is a fine country.
Weislingen. And I may venture to say that my castle
lies in the most fertile and delicious part of it.
GoETz. That you may, and I can confirm it. Look you,
here flows the Main, round a hill clothed with cornfields and
vineyards, its top crowned with a Gothic castle : then the
river makes a sharp turn, and glides round behind the rock
on which the castle is built. The windows of the great hall
look perpendicularly down upon the river, and command a
prospect of many miles in extent.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 221
Enter Elizabeth.
Elizabeth. What are ye about?
GoETz. You, too, must give your hand, and say, God
bless you ! They are a pair.
Elizabeth. So soon?
GoETz. But not unexpectedly.
Elizabeth. May you ever adore her as ardently as while
you sought her hand ! And then, as your love, so be your
happiness !
Weislingen. Amen ! I seek no happiness but on this
condition.
GoETz. The bridegroom, my love, must leave us for a
while ; for this great change will involve many smaller ones.
He must first withdraw himself from the bishop's court, in
order that their friendship may gradually cool. Then he
must rescue his property from the hands of selfish stewards,
and . . . But come, sister ; come, Elizabeth ; let us leave
him ; his page has, no doubt, private messages for him.
Weislingen. Nothing but what you may hear.
GoETz. 'Tis needless. Franconians and Swabians ! Ye
are now more closely united than ever. Now we shall be
able to keep the princes in check.
{^Exeunt Goetz, Elizabeth, Maria.
Weislingen (alone) . God in heaven ! And canst thou
have reserved such happiness for one so unworthy? It is
too much for my heart. How meanly I depended upon
wretched fools, whom I thought I was governing, upon the
smile of princes, upon the homage of those around me !
Goetz, my faithful Goetz, thou hast restored me to myself ;
and thou, Maria, hast completed my reformation. I feel
free, as if brought from a dungeon into the open air. Bam-
berg will I never see more, — will snap all the shameful bonds
that have held me beneath myself. My heart expands, and
never more will I degrade myself by struggling for a great-
ness that is denied me. He alone is great and happy who
fills his own station of independence, and has neither to com-
mand nor to obey.
Enter Francis.
Francis. God save you, noble sir ! I bring you so many
salutations that I know not where to begin. Bamberg, and
ten miles round, cry with a thousand voices, God save
you !
222 GOETZ VON BERLICIIINGEN.
Weislingen. Welcome, Francis ! Bring 'st thou aught
else?
Francis. You are held in such consideration at court that
it cannot be expressed.
Weislingen. That will not last long.
Francis. As long as you live ; and after your death it
will shine with more lustre than the brazen characters on a
monument. How they took your misfortune to heart !
Weislingen. And what said the bishop?
Francis. His eager curiosity poured out question upon
question, without giving me time to answer. He knew
of your accident already ; for Farber, who escaped from
Haslach, had brought him the tidings. But he wished
to hear every particular. He asked so anxiously whether
3^ou were wounded. I told him you were whole, from the
hair of your head to the nail of your little toe.
Weislingen. And what said he to the proposals?
Francis. He was ready at first to give up the page and a
ransom to boot for your liberty. But when he heard you
were to be dismissed without ransom, and merely to give
your parole that the boy should be set free, he was for put-
ting off Berlichingen with some pretence. He charged me
with a thousand messages to you, more than I can ever utter.
Oh, how he harangued ! It was a long sermon upon the text,
^' I cannot live without Weislingen ! "
Weislingen. He must learn to do so.
Francis. What mean you? He said, '' Bid him hasten :
all the court waits for him."
Weislingen. Let them wait on. I shall not go to court.
Francis. Not go to court ! My gracious lord, how come
you to say so? If you knew what I know, could 3'ou but
dream what I have seen —
Weislingen. What ails thee ?
Francis. The bare remembrance takes away my senses.
Bamberg is no longer Bamberg. An angel of heaven, in
semblance of woman, has taken up her abode there, and has
made it a paradise.
Weislingen. Is that all ?
Francis. May I become a shaven friar if the first
glimpse of her does not drive 3^011 frantic !
Weislingen. Who is it, then ?
Francis. Adelaide von Walldorf.
Weislingen. Indeed ! I have heard much of her beauty.
Francis. Heard ! You might as well say I have seen
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 223
music. So far is the tongue from being able to rehearse
the slightest particle of her beauty, that the very eye which
beholds her cannot drink it all in.
Weislingen. You are mad.
Francis. That may well be. The last time I was in her
company I had no more command over my senses than if I
had been drunk, or, I may rather say, I felt like a glorified
saint enjoying the angelic vision ! All my senses exalted,
more lively and more perfect than ever, yet not one at its
owner's command.
Weislingen. That is strange !
Francis. As I took leave of the bishop, she sat b}' him :
the}^ were playing at chess. He was very gracious, gave
me his hand to kiss, and said much, of which I heard not a
syllable ; for I was looking on his fair antagonist. Her eye
was fixed upon the board, as if meditating a bold move. —
A touch of subtle watchfulness around the mouth and cheek.
— I could have wished to be the ivory king. The mixture
of dignity and feeling on her brow — and the dazzling .lustre
of her face and neck, heightened by her raven tresses —
Weislingen. The theme has made you quite poetical.
Francis. I fee.] ,at-this moment what constitutes poetic
iiisplratioiiy— -.a lieart. altogether wrapt in oae.idea,. As
the bishop ended, and I made my obeisance, she looked up,
and said, "Offer to your master the best wishes of an un-
known. Tell him he must come soon. New friends await
him : he must not despise them, though he is already so rich
in old ones." I would have answered ; but the passage
betwixt my heart and my tongue was closed, and I only
bowed. I would have given all I had for permission to kiss
but one of her fingers ! As I stood thus, the bishop let fall
a pawn ; and, in stooping to pick it up, I touched the hem of
her garment. Transport thrilled through my limbs, and I
scarce know how I left the room.
AVeislingen. Is her husband at court?
Francis. She has been a widow these four months, and
is residing at the court of Bamberg to divert her melancholy.
You will see her, and to meet her glance is to bask in the
sunshine of spring.
Weislingen. She would not make so strong an impres-
sion on me.
Francis. I hear you are as good as married.
Weislingen. Would I were really so ! My gentle Maria
will be the happiness of m^- life. The sweetness of her soul
224 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
beams through her mild blue eyes ; and, like an angel of
innocence and love, she guides my heart to the paths of
peace and felicity ! Pack up, and then to my castle. I will
not to Bamberg, though St. Bede came in person to fetch
me. \^Exit Weislingen.
Francis (alone) . Not to Bamberg ! Heavens forbid !
But let me hope the best. Maria is beautiful and amiable,
and a prisoner or an invalid might easily fall in love with
her. Her eyes beam with compassion and melancholy
sympathy ; but in thine, Adelaide, is life, fire, spirit. I
would ... I am a fool : one glance from her has made me
so. My master must to Bamberg, and I also, and either
recover my senses or gaze them quite away.
ACT II.
Scene I. — Bamberg. A Hall.
The Bishop and Adelaide (playing at chess), Liebtraut
(with a guitar) , Ladies and Courtiers (standing in groups) .
Liebtraut (plays and sings) ,
Armed with quiver and bow,
With his torch all aglow.
Young Cupid comes winging his flight.
Courage glows in his eyes,
As adown from the skies.
He rushes, impatient for fight.
Up ! up !
On! on!
Hark ! the bright quiver rings !
Hark ! the rustle of wings !
All hail to the delicate sprite !
They welcome the urchin ; —
Ah, maidens, beware !
He finds every bosom
Unguarded and bare.
In the light of his flambeau
He kindles his darts ; —
They fondle and hug him
And press to their hearts.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 225
Adelaide. Your thoughts are not in your game. Check
to the king !
Bishop. There is still a way of escape.
Adelaide. You will not be able to hold out long. Check
to the king !
LiEBTRAUT. Were I a great prince, I would not play at
this game, and would forbid it at court, and throughout the
whole land.
Adelaide. 'Tis indeed a touchstone of the brain.
LiEBTRAUT. Not ou that account. I would rather hear a
funeral bell, the cry of the ominous bird, the howling of
that snarling watch-dog, conscience, — rather would I hear
these through the deepest sleep, than from bishops, knights,
and such beasts ;^ the eternal — Check to the king !
Bishop. Into whose head could such an idea enter?
LiEBTRAUT. A man's, for example, endowed with a weak
body and a strong conscience, which, for the most part,
indeed, accompany each other. Chess is called a royal
game, and is said to have been invented for a king, who
rewarded the inventor with a mine of wealth. If this be
so, I can picture him to myself. He was a minor, either
in understanding or in years, under the guardianship of his
mother or his wife ; had down upon his chin, and flaxen hair
around his temples ; was pliant as a willow-shoot, and liked
te play at draughts with women, not from passion, God for-
bid ! only for pastime. His tutor, too active for a scholar,
too intractable for a man of the world, invented the game,
in iisum DelpJiini, that was so homogeneous with his majesty
— and so on.
Adelaide. Checkmate ! You should fill up the chasms
in our histories, Liebtraut. \_T7iey rise,
LiEBTRAUT. To supply thosc in our family registers
would be more profitable. The merits of our ancestors, as
well as their portraits, being available for a common object,
namely, to cover the naked sides of our chambers and of
our characters, one might turn such an occupation to good
account.
Bishop. He will not come, you say.
Adelaide. I beseech you, banish him from your thoughts.
Bishop. What can it mean?
LiEBTRAUT. What ! The reasons may be told over like
the beads of a rosary. He has been seized with a fit of
compunction, of which I could soon cure him.
Bishop- Do so : ride to him instantly.
226 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
LiEBTRAUT. My commission —
Bishop. Shall be UDlimited. Spare nothing to bring him
back.
LiEBTRAUT. May I venture to use your name, gracious
lady?
Adelaide. With discretion.
LiEBTRAUT. That's a vague commission.
Adelaide. Do you know so little of me, or are you so
young, as not to understand in what tone you should speak
of me to Weislingen?
LiEBTRAUT. In the tone of a fowler's whistle, I think.
Adelaide. You will never come to j^our senses.
LiEBTRAUT. Does cvcr any one, gracious lady?
Bishop. Go ! Go ! Take the best horse in my stable ;
choose your servants, and bring him hither.
LiEBTRAUT. If I do uot coujurc him hither, say that an
old woman who charms warts and freckles knows more of
sympathy than I.
Bishop. Yet, what will it avail? Berlichingen has
wholly gained him over. He will no sooner be here than he
will wish to return.
LiEBTRAUT. Wish, uo doubt he will ; but will he be able?
A prince's squeeze of the hand and the smiles of a beauty,
from these no Weislingen can tear himself away. I have
the honor to take my leave.
Bishop. A prosperous journey !
Adelaide. Adieu ! [^Exit Liebtraut.
Bishop. When once he is here, I must trust to you.
Adelaide. Would you make me your lime-twig?
Bishop. By no means.
Adelaide. Your call-bird, then?
Bishop. No : that is Liebtraut's part. I beseech you do
not refuse to do for me what no other can.
Adelaide. We shall see. ^Exeunt.
Scene II. — Jaxthausen. A Hall in Goetz^s Castle,
Enter Goetz arid Hans von Selbitz.
Selbitz. Every one will applaud you for declaring feud
against the Nurembergers.
Goetz. It would have eaten my very heart away had I
remained longer their debtor. It is clear that they betrayed
my page to the Bamberger^ The}' shall have cause to
remember me.
GOETZ VON BERLICniNGEN. 227
Selbitz. They have an old grudge against you.
GoETZ. And I against them. I am glad they have begun
the fray.
Selbitz. These free towns have always taken part with
the priests.
GoETz. They have good reason.
Selbitz. But we will cook their porridge for them !
GoETZ. I reckon upon you. Would that the Burgo-
master of Nuremberg, with his gold chain round his neck,
fell in our way : we'd astonish him w^ith all his cleverness.
Selbitz. I hear Weislingen is again on your side. Does
he really join in our league ?
Goetz. Not immediately. There are reasons whicli
prevent his openly giving us assistance, but for the pres-
ent it is quite enough that he is not against us. The priest
without him is what the stole would be without the priest !
Selbitz. When do we set forward?
Goetz. To-morrow or next day. There are merchants
of Bamberg and Nuremberg returning from the fair of
Frankfort — ' We may strike a good blow.
Selbitz. Let us hope so !
Scene III. — The Bishop's Palace at Bamberg.
Adelaide and lier Waiting-maid.
Adelaide. He is here, say est thou? I can scarce be-
lieve it.
Maid. Had I not seen him myself, I should have doubted
it.
Adelaide. The bishop should frame Liebtraut in gold
for such a masterpiece of skill.
Maid. I saw him as he was about to enter the palace.
He was mounted on a gray charger. The horse started
when he came on the bridge, and would not move forward.
The populace thronged up the street to see him. They
rejoiced at the delay of the unruly horse. He was greeted
on all sides, and he thanked them gracefully all round. He
sat the curvetting steed with an easy indifference, and by
threats and soothing brought him to the gate, followed by
Liebtraut and a few servants.
Adelaide. What do you think of him ? .
MiUD. I never saw a man who pleased me so well. He
is as like that portrait of the emperor as if he were his son
228 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
{pointing to a picture) . His nose is somewhat smaller, but
just such gentle light-brown eyes, just such fine light hair,
and such a figure ! A half-melancholy expression on his
face, I know not how ; but he pleased me so well.
Adelaide. I am curious to see him.
Maid. He would be the husband for you !
Adelaide. Foolish girl !
Maid. Children and fools —
Enter Liebtraut.
LiEBTRAUT. Now, gracious lady, what do I deserve ?
Adelaide. Horns from your wife ! — for, judging from
the present sample of your persuasive powers, you have
certainly endangered the honor of many a worthy family.
Liebtraut. Not so, be assured, gracious lady.
Adelaide. How did you contrive to bring him?
Liebtraut. You know how they catch snipes, and why
should I detail my little stratagems to you ? — First, I pre-
tended to have heard nothing, did not understand the reason
of his behavior, and put him upon the disadvantage of tell-
ing me the whole story at length ; then I saw the matter in
a light altogether different from what he did — could not
find — could not see, and so forth ; then I gossipped things
great and small about Bamberg, and recalled to his memory
certain old recollections ; and, when I had succeeded in occu-
pying his imagination, I knitted together many a broken
association of ideas. He knew not what to say — felt newly
attracted to Bamberg — he would, and he would not. When
I found him begin to waver, and saw him too much occupied
with his own feelings to suspect my sincerity, I threw over
his head a halter, woven of the three powerful cords,
beauty, court-favor, and flattery, and dragged him hither in
triumph.
Adelaide. What said you of me?
Liebtraut. The simple truth, — that you were in per-
plexity about 3^our estates, and had hoped, as he had so
much influence with the emperor, all would be satisfactorily
settled.
Adelaide. 'Tis well.
Liebtraut. The bishop will introduce him to you.
Adelaide. I expect them. {Exit Liebtraut.) And
with such feelings have I seldom expected a visitor.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 229
Scene IV. — The Spessart.
Enter Selbitz, Goetz, and George in the armor and dress
of a trooper.
Goetz. So, thou didst not find him, George?
George. He had ridden to Bamberg the day before, with
Liebtraut and two servants.
Goetz. I cannot understand what this means.
Selbitz. But I do : your reconciliation was almost too
speedy to be lasting. Liebtraut is a cunning fellow, and
has, no doubt, inveigled him over.
Goetz. Think 'st thou he will become a traitor
Selbitz. The first step is taken.
Goetz. I can't believe it. Who knows what he may have
to do at court? — his affairs are not yet Settled. Let us hope
for the best.
Selbitz. Would to Heaven he may deserve of your good
opinion, and may act for the best !
Goetz. A thought strikes me ! — We will disguise
George in the spoils of the Bamberg trooper, and furnish
him with the password : he may then ride to Bamberg, and
see how matters stand.
George. I have long wished to do so.
Goetz. It is thy first expedition. Be careful, boy : I
should be sorry if ill befell thee.
George. Never fear. I care not how many of them
crawl about me. I think no more of them than of rats and
mice. ^Exeunt.
Scene V. — The Bishop^ s Palace. His Cabinet,
The Bishop and Weislingen.
Bishop. Then, thou wilt stay no longer?
Weislingen. You would not have me break my oath.
Bishop. I could have wished thou hadst not sworn it. —
What evil spirit possessed thee? — Could I not have pro-
cured thy release without that? Is my influence so small in
the imperial court?
Weislingen. The thing is done : excuse it as you can.
Bishop. I cannot see that there was the least necessity for
taking such a step — To renounce me ? — Were there not
a thousand other ways of procuring thy freedom? — Had
we not his page? And would not I have given gold enough
yol Q Goethe— H
230 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
to boot, and thus satisfied Berlichingen ? Our operations
against him and his confederates could have gone on . . .
But, alas ! I do not reflect that I am talking to his friend,
who has joined him against me, and can easily counter- work
the mines he himself has dug.
Weislingen. My gracious lord —
Bishop. And yet — when I again look on thy face, again
hear thy voice — it is impossible — impossible !
Weislingen. Farewell, good my lord !
Bishop. I give thee my blessing — formerly, when wc
parted, I was wont to say "Till we meet again ! " — Now,
Heaven grant we meet no more !
Weislingen. Things may alter.
Bishop. Perhaps I may live to see thee appear as an
enemy before my walls, carrying havoc through the fertile
plains which now owe their flourishing condition to thee.
Weislingen. Never, my gracious lord !
Bishop. You cannot say so. My temporal neighbors all
have a grudge against me ; but while thou wert mine . . .
Go, Weislingen! — I have no more to say — Thou hast
undone much — Go —
Weislingen. I know not what to answer.
[_ExU Bishop.
Enter Francis.
Francis. The lady Adelaide expects you. She is not
well, but she will not let you depart without bidding her
adieu.
Weislingen. Come.
Francis. Do we go for certain?
Weislingen. This very night.
Francis. I feel as if I were about to leave the world —
Weislingen. I too, and as if, besides, I knew not whither
to go.
Scene VI. — Adelaide^ s Apartment.
Adelaide and Waiting-maid.
Maid. You are pale, gracious lady.
Adelaide. I love him not ; yet I wish him to stay — for
I am fond of his company, though I should not like him
for my husband.
Maid. Does your ladyship think he will go?
Adelaide. He is even now bidding the bishop farewell.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 231
Maid. He has yet a severe struggle to undergo.
Adelaide. What raeanest thou ?
Maid. Why do you ask, gracious lady? The barbed
hook is in his heart : ere he tear it away, he must bleed to
death.
Enter Weislingen.
Weislingen. You are not well, gracious lady?
Adelaide. That must be indifferent to you — you leave
us, leave us forever : what matters it to you whether we live
or die ?
Weislingen. You do me injustice.
Adelaide. I judge you as you appear.
Weislingen. Appearances are deceitful.
Adelaide. Then, you are a chameleon.
Weislingen. Could you but see my heart —
Adelaide. I should see fine things there.
Weislingen. Undoubtedly ! — You would find in it your
own image —
Adelaide. Thrust into some dark corner, with the pic-
tures of defunct ancestors ! I beseech you, Weislingen,
consider with whom you speak : false words are of value
only when they serve to veil our actions ; a discovered mas-
querader plays a pitiful part. You do not disown your
deeds, yet your words belie them : what are we to think of
you?
Weislingen. What you will — I am so agonized at
reflecting on what I am, that I little reck for what I am
taken.
Adelaide. You came to say farewell.
Weislingen. Permit me to kiss your hand, and I will say
adieu ! . . . You remind me — I did not think — but I am
troublesome —
Adelaide. You misinterpret me. Since you will depart,
I only wished to assist your resolution.
Weislingen. Oh, say rather, I must ! — were I not com-
pelled, by my knightly word, — my solemn engagement —
Adelaide. Go to ! Talk of that to maidens who read
^' Theuerdanck," and wish they had such a husband. —
Knightly word ! — Nonsense !
Weislingen. That is not your opinion.
Adelaide. On my honor, you are dissembling. What
have you promised? and to whom? You have pledged your
alliance to one who is a traitor to the emperor, at the vei*^
232 GOETZ VON BEKLICHINGEN.
moment when he incurred the ban of the empire by taking
you prisoner. Such an agreement is no more binding than
an extorted, unjust oath. And do not our laws release you
from such oaths? Go, tell that to children, who believe in
Eiibezahl. There is something behind all this. — To become
an enemy of the empire — a disturber of public happiness
and tranquillity, an enemy of the emperor, the associate of a
robber ! — Thou, Weislingen, with thy gentle soul !
Weislingen. If you knew him —
Adelaide. I would deal justly with Goetz. He has a
lofty, indomitable spirit ; and woe to thee, therefore, Weis-
lingen ! Go, and persuade thyself thou art his companion.
Go, and receive his commands. Thou art courteous, gen-
tle—
Weislingen. And he too.
Adelaide. But thou art yielding, and he is stubborn.
Imperceptibly will he draw thee on. Thou wilt become the
slave of a baron, — thou that mightest command princes ! —
Yet it is cruel to make you discontented with your future
position.
Weislingen. Did you but know what kindness he showed
me.
Adelaide. Kindness ! — Do you make such a merit of
that? It was his dut}^ And what would you have lost had
he acted otherwise? I would rather he had done so. An
overbearing man like —
Weislingen. You are speaking of 3'our enemy.
Adelaide. I' was speaking for your freedom ; yet I know
not why I should take so much interest in it. Farewell !
Weislingen. Permit me, but a moment. \_Takes her
hand. A pause.']
Adelaide. Have you aught to say?
Weislingen. I must hence.
Adelaide. Then, go.
Weislingen. Gracious lad}^, I cannot.
Adelaide. You must.
Weislingen. And is this your parting look?
Adelaide. Go : I am unwell, very inopportunely.
Weislingen. Look not on me thus !
Adelaide. Wilt thou be our enemy, and yet have us
smile upon thee ? — go !
Weislingen. Adelaide !
Adelaide. I hate thee I
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 233
Enter Francis
Francis. Noble sir, the bishop inquires for you.
Adelaide. Go ! go !
Francis. He begs you to come instantly.
Adelaide. Go ! go !
Weislingen. I do not say adieu : I shall see you again.
[^Exeunt Weislingen and Francis.
Adelaide. Thou wilt see me again? We must provide
for that. Margaret, when he comes, refuse him admittance.
Say I am ill, have a headache, am asleep, any thing. If this
does not detain him, nothing will. \^Exe%mt.
Scene YII. — An Ante-room.
Weislingen and Francis.
Weislingen. She will not see me !
Francis. Night draws on : shall we saddle?
Weislingen. She will not see me !
Francis. Shall I order the horses ?
Weislingen. It is too late : we stay here.
Francis. God be praised ! \^Exit.
Weislingen (alone) . Thou stayest ! Be on thy guard —
the temptation is great. My horse started at tne castle-
gate. My good angel stood before him : he knew the dan-
ger that awaited me. Yet it would be wrong to leave in
confusion the various affairs intrusted to me by the bishop,
witliout, at least, so arranging them, that my successor may be
able to continue where I left off. Thus much I can do with-
out injury to Berlichingen, and my alliance with him ; and,
when it is done, no one shall detain me. Yet it would have
been better that I had never come. But I will away — to-
morrow — or next day. [^Exit.
Scene YIII. — The Spessart. — Enter Goetz, Selbitz, and George.
Selbitz. You see, it has turned out as I prophesied.
Goetz. No, no, no !
George. I tell you the truth, believe me. I did as you
commanded, took the dress and pass-word of the Bamberg
trooper, and escorted some peasants of the Lower Rhine,
who paid my expenses for my convoy.
234 GOETZ YON BERLTCITINGEN.
Selbitz. In that disguise? It might have cost thee
dear.
George. So I begin to think, now that it's over. A
trooper who thinks of danger beforehand will never do any
thing great. I got safely to Bamberg ; and in the very
first inn I heard them tell how the bishop and Weislingen
were reconciled, and how Weislingen was to marry the widow
of Von Walldorf .
GoETz. Mere gossip !
George. I saw him as he led her to table. She is lovely,
by my faith, most lovely ! We all bowed — she thanked ns
all. He nodded, and seemed highly pleased. They passed
on ; and everybody murmured, " What a handsome pair ! "
GoETZ. That may be.
George. Listen further. The next day, as he went to
mass, I watched my opportunity ; he was attended only by
his squire : I stood at the steps, and whispered to him as he
passed, " A few words from your friend Berlichingen." He
started — I marked the confession of guilt in his face. He
had scarcely the heart to look at me — me, a poor trooper's
boy !
Selbitz. His evil conscience degrades him more than thy
condition does thee.
George. "Art thou of Bamberg?" said he. "The
Knight of Berlichingen greets you," said I, " and I am to
inquire " — " Come to my apartment to-morrow morning,"
quoth he, "and we will speak further."
GoETZ. And you went?
George. Yes, certainly, I went, and waited in his ante-
chamber a long, long time ; and his pages, in their silken
doublets, stared at me from head to foot. Stare on, thought
I. At length I was admitted. He seemed angry. But
what cared I? I gave my message. He began blustering
like a coward who wants to look brave. He wondered that
you should take him to task through a trooper's ])oy. That
angered me. " There are but two sorts of people," said I,
"true men and scoundrels; and I serve Goetz of Berlich-
ingen." Then he began to talk all manner of nonsense,
which all tended to one point ; namely, that you had hurried
him into an agreement, that he owed you no allegiance, and
would have nothing to do with you.
Goetz. Hadst thou that from his own mouth?
George. That, and yet more. He threatened me —
Goetz. It is enough. He is lost forever. Faith and
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 235
confidence, again have ye deceived me. Poor Maria ! how
am I to break this to you?
Selbitz. I would rather lose my other leg than be such
a rascal.
Scene IX. — Hall in the Bishop^ s Palace at Bamberg.
Adelaide ayid Weislingen discovered.
Adelaide. Time begins to hang insupportably heavy
here. I dare not speak seriously, and I am ashamed to trifle
with you. Ennui, thou art worse than a slow fever.
Weislingen. Are you tired of me already?
Adelaide. Not so much of you as of your society. I
would you had gone when you wished, and that we had not
detained you.
AVeislingen. Such is woman's favor ! At first she
fosters with maternal warmth our dearest hopes ; and then,
like an inconstant hen, she forsakes the nest, and abandons
the infant brood to death and decay.
Adelaide. Yes, you may rail at women. The reckless
gambler tears and curses the harmless cards which have
been the instruments of his loss. But let me tell you some-
thing about men. What_ai'a„yQU JiiaL. talk.aMtt.t ..fickleness ?
Y.QM that arc seldom even what you would, wish to be^ nevei'
wLl'lt..you__shonlcLI^^^^^ Princes in holiday garb ! the envy of
the vulgar. Oh, what would not a tailor's wife give for a
necklace of the pearls on the skirt of your robe, which you
kick back contemptuously with your heels.
Weislingen. You are severe.
Adelaide. It is but the antistrophe to j^our song. Ere
I knew you, Weislingen, I felt like the tailor's wife. Hun-
dred-tongued rumor, to speak without metaphor, had so
extolled you, in quack-doctor fashion, that I was tempted to
wish, Oh, that I could but see this quintessence of manhood,
this phoenix, Weislingen ! My wish was granted.
Weislingen. And the phoenix turned out a dunghill-
cock.
Adelaide. No, Weislingen : I took an interest in you.
Weislingen. So it appeared.
Adelaide. So it wa-s* — for you really surpassed your
reputation. The multitude prize only the reflection of worth.
For my part, I do not care to sciiitiuize the character of
those I like and esteem : so we \\\gl\ on for some time.
236 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
I felt there was a deficiency in you, but knew not what I
missed : at length my eyes were opened — I saw instead otf
the energetic being who gave impulse to the affairs of a
kingdom, and was ever alive to the voice of fame ; who was
wont to pile princely project on project, till, like the moun-
tains of the Titans, they reached the clouds, — instead of all
this, I saw a man as querulous as a love-sick poet, as melan-
choly as a slighted damsel, and more indolent than an old
bachelor. I first ascribed it to your misfortune, which still
lay at your heart, and excused you as well as I could ; but
now that it daily becomes worse, you must really forgive me
if I withdraw my favor from you. You possess it unjustly :
I bestowed it for life on a hero who cannot transfer it to you.
Weislingen. Dismiss me, then.
Adelaide. Not till all chance of recovery is lost. Soli-
tude is fatal in your distemper. Alas ! poor man ! you are
as dejected as one whose first love has proved false, and
therefore I won't give you up. Grive me your hand, and
pardon what affection has urged me to say.
Weislingen. Couldst thou but love me, couldst thou but
return the fervor of my passion with the least glow of
sympathy. — Adelaide, thy reproaches are most unjust.
Couldst thou but guess the hundredth part of my sufferings,
thou wouldst not have tortured me so unmercifully with en-
couragement, indifference, and contempt. You smile. To
be reconciled to myself after the step I have taken must be
the work of more than one day. How can I plot against the
man w^ho has been so recently and so vividly restored to my
affection ?
Adelaide. Strange being ! Can you love him whom you
envy ? It is like sending provisions to an enemy.
Weislingen. I well know that here there must be no
dall^'ing. He is aware that I am again Weislingen, and he
will watch his advantage over us. Besides, Adelaide, we are
not so sluggish as you think. Our troopers are re-enforced
and watchful ; our schemes are proceeding ; and the Diet of
Augsburg will, I hope, soon bring them to a favorable issue.
Adelaide. You go there?
Weislingen. If I could carry a glimpse of hope with
me. [A7.s.s'es her hand.
Adelaide. Oh ! ye infidels ! Always signs and wonders
required. Go, Weislingen, and accomplish the work ! The
interest of the bishop, yours and mine, are all so linked to-
gether, that were it only for policy's sake —
GOETZ VON BERLICIIINGEN. 237
Weislingen. You jest.
Adelaide. I do not jest. The haughty duke has seized
my property. Goetz will not be slow to ravage yours ; and
if we do not hold together, as our enemies do, and gain over
the emperor to our side, we are lost.
Weislingen. I fear nothing. Most of the princes think
with us. The emperor needs assistance against the Turks,
and it is therefore just that he should help us in his turn.
What rapture for me to rescue your fortune from rapacious
enemies,; to crush the mutinous chivalry of Swabia ; to
restore peace to the bishopric, and then —
Adelaide. One day brings on another, and fate is mis-
tress of the future.
Weislingen. But we must lend our endeavors.
Adelaide. We do so.
Weislingen. But seriously.
Adelaide. Well, then, seriously. Do but go —
Weislingen. Enchantress ! \^Exeunt.
Scene X. — An Inn.
The Bridal of a Peasant.
The Bride's Father, Bride, Bridegroom, and other Coun-
try-folks, Goetz of Berlichingen, and Hans of Selbitz
all discovered at table. Troopers and Peasants attend.
Goetz. It was the best way thus to settle your lawsuit
by a merry bridal.
Bride's Father. Better than ever I could have dreamed
of, noble sir, — to spend my days in quiet with my neighbor,
and have a daughter provided for to boot.
Bridegroom. And I to get the bone of contention and a
pretty wife into the bargain ! Ay, the prettiest in the whole
village. Would to Heaven you had consented sooner !
Goetz. How long have you been at law?
Bride's Father. About eight years. I would rather
have the fever for twice that time, than go through with it
again from the beginning. For these periwigged gentry
never give a decision till you tear it out of their very hearts ;
and, after all, what do you get for your pains? The Devil fly
away with the assessor Sapupi for a damned swarthy Italian !
Bridegroom. Yes, he's a i)rctty fellow : I was before
him twice.
238 GOETZ VON BERLTCHINGEN.
Bride's Father. And I thrice : and look ye, gentlemen,
we got a judgment at last, which set forth that he was as
much in the right as I, and I as much as he ; so there we
stood like a couple of fools, till a good Providence put it
into my head to give him my daughter, and the ground
besides.
GoETz (drinks). To your better understanding in future.
Bride's Father. With all my heart ! But, come what
may, I'll never go to law again as long as I live. What a
mint of money it costs ! For every bow made to you by
a procurator, you must come down with your dollars.
Selbitz. But there are annual imperial visitations.
Bride's Father. I have never heard of them. Many an
extra dollar have they contrived to squeeze out of me. The
expenses are horrible.
GoETz. How mean you?
Bride's Father. Why, look you, these gentlemen of the
law are always holding out their hands. The assessor alone,
God forgive him, eased me of eighteen golden guilders.
Bridegroom. Who ?
Bride's Father. Why, who else but Sapupi?
GoETz. That is infamous.
Bride's Father. Yes : he asked twenty ; and there I had
to pay them in the great hall of his fine country-house. I
thought my heart would burst with anguish. For look you,
my lord, I am well enough off with my house and little farm ;
but how could I raise the ready cash? I stood there, God
knows how it was with me. I had not a single farthing to
carry me on my journey. At last I took courage, and told
him my case : when he saw I was desperate, he flung me
back a couple of guilders, and sent me about my business.
Bridegroom. Impossible! Sapupi?
Bride's Father. Ay, he himself ! What do you stare at ?
Bridegroom. Devil take the rascal ! He took fifteen
guilders from me too !
Bride's Father. The deuce he did!
Selbitz. They call us robbers, Goetz !
Bride's Father. Bribed on both sides ! That's why the
judgment fell out so queer. Oh ! the scoundrel !
Goetz. You must not let this pass unnoticed.
Bride's Father. What can we do?
Goetz. Why — go to Spire, where there is an imperial
visitation : make your complaint; they must inquire into it^
and help you to your own again.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 239
Bridegroom. Does j^our honor think we shall succeed?
GoETz. If I might take it in hand, I could promise it you.
Selbitz. The sum is worth an attempt.
GoETZ. Ay: many a day have I ridden out for the fourth
part of it.
Bride's Father (io Bridegroom). What think'st thou?
Bridegroom. We'll try, come what may.
Enter George.
George. The Nurembergers have set out.
GoETz. Whereabouts are they?
George. If we ride off quietly, we shall just catch them
in the wood betwixt Berheim and Miihlbach.
Selbitz. Excellent.
Goetz. Well, my children, God bless you, and help
ever}" man to his own !
Bride's Father. Thanks, gallant sir ! Will you not stay
to supper?
Goetz. We cannot. Adieu !
[Exeunt Goetz, Selbitz, and Troopers.
ACT III.
Scene I. — A Garden at Augsburg.
Enter two Merchants of Nuremhurg.
First Merchant. We'll stand here, for the emperor
must pass this way. He is just coming up the long avenue.
Second Merchant. Who is he that's with him?
First Merchant. Adelbert of Weislingen.
Second Merchant. The bishop's friend. That's lucky !
First Merchant. We'll throw ourselves at his feet.
Second Merchant. See ! they come.
Enter the Emperor and Weislingen.
First Merchant. He looks displeased.
Emperor. I am disheartened, Weislingen. When I
review my past life, I am ready to despair. So many half- -
ay, and wholly ruined undertakings — and all because tL
ti.!C
240 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
pettiest feudatory of the empire thinks more of gratifying
his own whims than of seconding my endeavors.
\_The Merchants throw themselves at his feet.
First Merchant. Most mighty ! Most gracious !
Emperor. Who are ye? What seek ye?
First Merchant. Poor merchants of Nuremberg, your
majesty's devoted servants, who implore your aid. Goetz
von Berlichingen and Hans von Selbitz fell upon thirty of us
as we journeyed from the fair of Frankfort, under an escort
from Bamberg : they overpowered and plundered us. We
implore your imperial assistance to obtain redress, else we
are all ruined men, and shall be compelled to beg our bread.
Emperor. Good heavens ! What is this ? The one has
but one hand, the other but one leg : if they both had two
hands and two legs, what would you do then?
First Merchant. We most humbly beseech your majesty
to cast a look of compassion upon our unfortunate condition.
Emperor. How is this ? — If a merchant loses a bag of
pepper, all Germany is to rise in arms ; but when business
is to be done, in which the imperial majesty and the empire
are interested, should it concern dukedoms, principalities, or
kingdoms, there is no bringing you together.
Weislingen. You come at an unseasonable time. Go,
and stay at Augsburg for a few days.
Merchants. We make our most humble obeisance.
[Exeunt Merchants.
Emperor. Again new disturbances ; they multiply like
the hydra's heads !
Weislingen. And can only be extirpated with fire and
sword, and a courageous enterprise.
Emperor. Do you think so ?
Weislingen. Nothing seems to me more advisable, could
your majesty and the princes but accommodate your other
unimportant disputes. It is not the body of the state that
complains of this malady — Franconia and Swabia alone
glow with the embers of civil discord ; and even there manj^
of the nobles and free barons long for quiet. Could we but
crush Sickingen, Selbitz — and — and Berlichingen, the oth-
ers would fall asunder ; for it is the spirit of these knights
which quickens the turbulent multitude.
Emperor. Fain would I spare them : they are noble and
hardy. Should I be engaged in war, they would follow me
to the field.
Weislingen. It is to be wished they had at all times
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 241
known their duty : moreover it would be dangerous to re-
ward their mutinous bravery by offices of trust. For it is
exactly this imperial mercy and forgiveness which they have
hitherto so grievously abused, upon which the hope and
confidence of their league rest ; and this spirit cannot be
quelled till we have wholly destroyed their power in the
eyes of the world, and taken from them all hope of ever
recovering their lost influence.
Emperor. You advise severe measures, then?
Weislingen. I see no other means of quelling the spirit
of insurrection which has seized upon whole provinces. Do
we not already hear the bitterest complaints from the nobles
tliat their vassals and serfs rebel against them, question
their authority, and threaten to curtail their hereditary pre-
rogatives? A proceeding which would involve the most
fearful consequences.
Emperor. This were a fair occasion for proceeding
against Berlichingen and Selbitz, but I will not have them
])ersonally injured. Could they be taken prisoners, they
should swear to renounce their feuds and to remain in their
own castles and territories upon their knightly parole. At
the next session of the diet we will propose this plan.
Weislingen. A general exclamation of joyful assent will
spare your majesty ihe trouble of particular detail.
[ Exeunt.
Scene II. — Jaxthausen.
Enter Goetz and Franz von Sickingen.
SiCKiNGEN. Yes, my friend, I come to beg the heart and
hand of your noble sister.
GoETz. I would you had come sooner. Weislingen, dur-
ing his imprisonment, obtained her affections, proposed for
her ; and I gave my consent. I let the bird loose, and he
now despises the benevolent hand that fed him in his
distress. He flutters about to seek his food, God knows
upon what hedge.
Sickingen. Is this so?
GoETz. Even as I tell you.
Sickingen. He has broken a double bond. 'Tis well for
you that you were not more closely allied with the traitor.
GoETz. The poor maiden passes her life in lamentation
and prayer.
Sickingen. I will comfort her.
242 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
GoETz. What ! Could you ma^e up your mind to marry
a forsaken —
SiCKiNGEN. It is to the honor of you both, to have been
deceived by him. Should the poor girl be caged in a cloister
because the first man who gained her love proved a villain ?
Not so : I insist on it. She shall be mistress of my castles !
GoETz. I tell you, he was not indifferent to her.
SiCKiNGEN. Do you think I cannot efface the recollection
of such a wretch ? Let us go to her. [_Exeunt.
Scene III. — The Camp of the Party sent to execute the Imperial
Mandate.
Imperial Captain and Officers discovered.
Captain. We must be cautious, and spare our people as
much as possible. Besides, we have strict orders to over-
power and take him alive. It will be difficult to obey, for
who will engage with him hand to hand ?
First Officer. 'Tis true. And he will fight like a wild
boar. Besides, he has never in his whole life injured any
of us ; so each will be glad to leave to the other the honor of
risking life and limb to please the emperor.
Second Officer. 'Twere shame to us should we not
take him. Had I him once by the ears, fie should not easily
escape.
First Officer. Don't seize him with your teeth, how-
ever : he might chance to run away with your jaw-bone. My
good young sir, such men are not taken like a runaway thief.
Second Officer. We shall see.
Captain. By this time he must have had our summons.
We must not delay. I mean to despatch a troop to watch
his motions.
Second Officer. Let me lead it.
Captain. You are unacquainted with the country.
Second Officer. I have a servant who was born and
bred here.
Captain. That will do. [ Exeunt
Scene IV. — Jaxthausen.
SiCKiNGEN (alone.)
All goes as I wish ! She was somewhat startled at my
proposal, and looked at me from head to foot : I'll wager
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 243
8he was comparing me with her gallant. Thank Heaven I
can stand the scrutiny ! She answered little and confusedly.
So much the better ! Let it work for a time. A proposal
of mirriage does not come amiss after such a cruel dis-
appointment.
Enter Goetz.
SiCKiNGEN. What news, brother?
GoEiz. They have laid me under the ban.
SiCKixGEN. How ?
GoETz. Tliere, read the edifying epistle. The emperor
has issued an edict against me, which gives my body for
food to the beasts of the earth and the fowls of the air.
SiCKiNGEN. They shall first furnish them with a dinner
themselves. I am here in the very nick of time.
GoETz. No, Sickiugen, you must leave me. Your great
undertakings might be ruined, should you become the
enemy of the emperor at so unseasonable a time. Besides,
you can be of more use to me by remaining neutral. The
worst that can happen, is my being made prisoner ; and
then your good word with the emperor, who esteems you,
may rescue me from the misfortune into which your untimely
assistance would irremediably plunge us both. To what
purpose should you do otherwise? These troops are march-
ing against me ; and, if they knew we were united, their
numbers would only be increased, and our position con-
sequently be no better. The emperor is at the fountain-
head ; and I should be utterly ruined were it as easy to
inspire soldiers with courage as to collect them into a body.
SiCKiNGEN. But I can privately re-enforce you with a
score of troopers.
GoETz. Good. I have already sent George to Selbitz,
and to my people in the neighborhood. My dear brother,
when my forces are collected, they will be such a troop as
few princes can bring together.
SiCKiNGEN. It will be small against the multitude.
GoETz. One wolf is too many for a whole flock of sheep.
SiCKiNGEN. But if they have a good shepherd !
GoETz. Never fear! They are all hirelings; and then,
even the best knight can do but little if he cannot act as he
pleases. It happened once, that, to oblige the Palsgrave, I
went to serve against Conrad Schotten : they then presented
me with a paper of instructions from the chancery, which
set forth, Thus and thus must 3^ou proceed. I threw dovfu
244 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. /
the paper before the magistrates, and told them I could not
act according to it ; that something might happen unprorided
for in my instructions, and that I must use my own eyes
and judge what it is best for me to do.
SiCKiNGEN. Good luck, brother ! I will hence, an/i send
thee what men I can collect in haste.
GoETz. Come first to the women. I left them together.
I would you had her consent before you depart ! Then
send me the troopers, and come back in private to carry
away my Maria ; for my castle, I fear, will shortly be no
abode for women.
SiCKiNGEN. We will hope for the best. [Exeunt.
Scene V. — Bamberg. Adelaide's Chamber.
Adelaide and Francis.
Adelaide. They have already set out to enforce the ban
against both?
Francis. Yes ; and my master has the happiness of
marching against your enemies. I would gladly have gone
also, however rejoiced I always am at being despatched to
you. But I will away instantly, and soon return with good
news : my master has allowed me to do so.
Adelaide. How is he?
Francis. He is well, and commanded me to kiss your
hand.
Adelaide. There I — Thy lips glow.
Francis (aside ^ pressing his breast). Here glows some-
thing yet more fiery. (Aloud.) Gracious lady, your ser-
vants are the most fortunate of beings !
Adelaide. Who goes against Berlichingen ?
Francis. The Baron von Sirau. Farewell! Dearest,
most gracious lady, I must awa3^ Forget me not !
Adelaide. Thou must first take some rest and refresh-
ment.
Francis. I need none, for I have seen you ! I am
neither weary nor hungry.
Adelaide. I know thy fidelity.
Francis. Ah, gracious lady !
Adelaide. You can never hold out : you must repose and
refresh yourself.
Francis. You are too kind to a poor youth. [Exit.
Adelaide. The tears stood in his eyes. I love him from
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 245
my heart. Never did man attach himself to me with such
warmth of affection. [^Exit.
Scene VI. — Jaxthausen.
GoETz and George.
George. He wants to speak with you in person. I do
not know him : he is a tall, well-made man, with keen dark
eyes.
GoETz. Admit him. \_Exit George.
Enter Lerse.
GoETZ. God save you ! What bring you ?
Lerse. Myself ; not much ; but, such as it is, it is at your
service.
Goetz. You are welcome, doubly welcome ! A brave
man, and at a time when, far from expecting new friends,
I was in hourly fear of losing the old. Your name ?
Lerse. Franz Lerse.
Goetz. I thank you, Franz, for -making me acquainted
with a brave man !
Lerse. I made you acquainted with me once before, but
then you did not thank me for my pains.
Goetz. I have no recollection of you.
Lerse. I should be sorry if you had. Do you recollect
when, to please the Palsgrave, you rode against Conrad
Schotten, and went through Hassfurt on an All-hallow's
eve?
Goetz. I remember it well.
Lerse. And twenty-five troopers encountered you in a
village by the way?
Goetz. Exactly. I at first took them for only twelve. I
divided my party, which amounted but to sixteen, and halted
in the village behind the barn, intending to let them ride by.
Then I thought of falling upon them in the rear, as 1 had
concerted with the other troop.
Lerse. We saw you, however, and stationed ourselves
on a height above the village. You drew up beneath the hill,
and halted. When we perceived that you did not intend to
come up to us, we rode down to you.
Goetz. And then. I saw for the first time that I had thrust
my hand into the fire. Five and twenty against eight is no
jesting business. Everard Truchsess killed one of my fol-
246 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
lowers, for which I knocked him off his horse. Had they
all behaved like him and one other trooper, it would have
been all over with me and my little band. /
Lerse. And that trooper —
GoETz. Was as gallant a fellow as I ever saw. He
attacked me fiercely ; and when I thought I had given him
enough, and was engaged elsewhere, he was upon me again,
and laid on like a fury : he cut quite through mj armor,
and wounded me in the arm.
Lerse. Have you forgiven him ?
GoETZ. He pleased me only too well.
Lerse. I hope, then, you have cause to be contented with
me ; since the proof of my valor was on your own person.
GoETz. Art thou he? Oh, welcome! welcome! Canst
thou boast, Maximilian, that, amongst thy followers, thou
hast gained one after this fashion ?
Lerse. I wonder you did not sooner hit upon me.
GoETz. How could I think that the man would engage in
my service who did his best to overpower me ?
Lerse. Even so, my lord. From my youth upwards I
liave served as a trooper, and have had a tussle w^ith many a
knight. I w^as overjoyed when we met you ; for I had heard
of your prowess, and wished to know you. You saw I gave
way, and that it was not from cowardice ; for I returned to
the charge. In short, I learnt to know you ; and from that
hour I resolved to enter your service.
Goetz. How long wilt thou engage with me?
Lerse. For a year, without pay.
GoETz. No : thou shalt have as much as the others ; nay,
more, as -befits him who gave me so much work at Remlin.
Enter George.
George. Hans of Selbitz greets you. To-morrow he will
be here with fifty men.
GoETz. 'Tis well.
George. There is a troop of Imperialists riding down
the hill, doubtless to reconnoitre.
Goetz. How many?
George. About fifty.
Goetz. Only fifty ! Come, Lerse, we'll have a slash at
them ; so that w hen Selbitz comes he may find some work
done to his hand.
Lerse. 'Twill be capital 2)ractice.
Goetz. To horse ! {^Exeunt/
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 247
Scene VII. — A Woody on the Borders of a Morass.
Two Imperialist Troopers meeting.
First Imperialist. What dost thou here ?
Second Imperialist. I have leave of absence for ten
minutes. Ever since our quarters were beat up last night, I
have had such violent attacks that I can't sit on horseback
for two minutes together.
First Imperialist. Is the party far advanced ?
Second Imperialist. About three miles into the wood.
First Imperialist. Then, why are you playing truant
here ?
Second Imperialist. Prithee, betray me not. I am
going to the next village to see if I cannot get some warm
])andages, to relieve my complaint. But whence comest
thou ?
First Imperialist. I am bringing our officer some wine
and meat from the nearest village.
Second Imperialist. So, so ! he stuffs himself under our
very noses, and we must starve, — a fine example !
First Imperialist. Come back with me, rascal.
Second Imperialist. Call me a fool if I do ! There are
plenty in our troop who would gladly fast, to be as far away
as I am. \_Trampling of horses heard.
First Imperialist. Hearest thou ? — Horses !
Second Imperialist. Oh dear ! oh dear !
First Imperialist. I'll get up into this tree.
Second Imperialist. And I'll hide among the rushes.
[^They hide themselves.
Enter on horseback^ Goetz, Lerse, George, and Troopers,
all completely armed.
Goetz. Away into the wood, by the ditch on the left —
then we have them in the rear. \_They gallop off.
First Imperialist {descending). This is a bad business —
Michael! — He answers not — Michael, they are gone!
( Goes towards the marsh.) Alas, he is sunk ! — Michael ! —
He hears me not : he is suffocated. — Poor coward, art thou
done for ? — We are slain — Enemies ! Enemies on al^
sides !
He-enter Goetz aiid George on horseback,
Goetz. Yield thee, fellow, or thou diesti
Imperiaj.ist. Spare my life !
248 GOETZ VON BERLICIilNGEN.
GoETZ. Thy sword! — George, lead him to the other
prisoners, whom Lerse is guarding yonder in the wood —
I must pursue their fugitive leader. [Exit,
Imperialist. What has become of the knight, our officer?
George. My master struck him head over heels from his
horse, so that his plume stuck in the mire. His troopers got
him up, and off they were as if the Devil were behind them.
\_Exeunt,
Scene VIII. — Camp of the Imperialists,
Captain ayid First Officer.
First Officer. They flee from afar towards the camp.
Captain. He is most likely hard at their heels — Draw
out fifty as far as the mill : if he follows up the pursuit too
far, you may perhaps entrap him. \_Exit Officer.
The Second Officer is home in.
Captain. How now, my young sir — have you got a
cracked headpiece ?
Officer. A plague upon you ! The stoutest helmet went
to shivers like glass. The demon! — he ran upon me as if
he would strike me into the earth !
Captain. Thank God that you have escaped with j-our
life.
Officer. There is little left to be thankful for : two of
my ribs are broken — where' s the surgeon?
[jHe is carried off.
Scene IX. — Jaxthausen.
Enter Goetz and Selbitz.
Goetz. And what say 3'ou to the ban, Selbitz?
Selbitz. 'Tis a trick of Weislingeo's.
Goetz. Do you think so?
Selbitz. I do not think — I know it.
Goetz. How so?
Selbitz. He was at the diet, I tell thee, and near the
emperor's person.
Goetz. Well, then, we shall frustrate another of his
schemes.
Selbitz. I hope so.
Goetz. We will away, and course these hares.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 249
Scene X. — The Imperial Camp.
Captain, Officers, and Followers.
Captain. We shall gaiu nothing at this work, sirs ! He
beats one troop after another ; and whoever escapes death or
captivity, would rather flee to Turkey than return to the
camp. Thus our force diminishes daily. We must attack him
once for all, and in earnest — I will go myself, and he shall
find with whom he has to deaL
Officer. We are all content ; but he is so well acquainted
with the country, and knows every path and ravine so thor-
oughly, that he will be as difficult to find as a rat in a barn.
Captain. I warrant you we'll ferret him out. On towards
Jaxthausen ! Whether he like it or not, he must come to de-
fend his castle.
Officer. Shall our whole force march?
Captain. Yes, certainly — do you know that a hundred
of us are melted away already ?
Officer. Then, let us away with speed, before the whole
snow-ball dissolves ; for this is warm work, and we stand
here like butter in the sunshine.
\_Exeunt. A march sounded.
Scene XI. Mountains and a Wood.
GoETz, Selbitz, and Troopers.
Goetz. They are coming in full force. It was high time
that Sickingen's troopers joined us.
Selbitz. We will divide our party — I will take the left
hand by the hill.
GrOETz. Good — and do thou, Lerse, lead fifty men
straight through the wood on the right. They are coming
across the heath — I will draw up opposite to them. George,
stay by me — when you see them attack me, then fall upon
their flank : we'll beat the knaves into a mummy — they
little think we can face them. \_Exeunt.
Scene XII. — A Heath. On one side an Eminence with a ruined
Towery on the other the Forest.
Enter, marching, the Captain of the Imperialists with
Officers and his Squadron. — Drums and standards.
Cai^ain. He halts upon the heath ! that's too impudent.
He shall smart for it — what ! not fear the torrent that
threatens to ovex'whelm him I
250 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Officer. I had rather you did not head the troops : he
looks as if he meant to plant the first that comes upon him in
the mire with his head downmost. Prithee ride in the
rear.
Captain. Not so.
Officer. I entreat you. You are the knot which unites
this bundle of hazel-twigs : loose it, and he will break them
separately like so many reeds.
Captain. Sound, trumpeter — and let us blow him to
hell ! [-4 charge sounded. Exeunt in full career,
Selbitz, with his Troopers, comes from behind the hilly
galloping.
Selbitz. Follow me ! They shall wish that they could
multiply their hands.
\^They gallop across the stage, et exeunt.
Loud alarm. Lerse and his party sally from the wood.
Lerse. Ho ! to the rescue ! Goetz is almost surrounded.
— Gallant Selbitz, thou hast cut thy way — we will sow the
heath with these thistle-heads. \^Gallop off.
A loud alarm, with shouting and firing for some minutes,
Selbitz is borne in wounded, by two Troopers. .
Selbitz. Leave me here, and hasten to Goetz.
First Trooper. Let us stay, sir — you need our aid.
Selbitz. Get one of you on the watch-tower, and tell me
how it goes.
First Trooper. How shall I get up?
Second Trooper. Mount upon my shoulders — you can
then reach the ruined part, and thence scramble up to the
opening. [First Trooper gets up into the tower.
First Trooper. Alas, sir !
Selbitz. What seest thou ?
First Trooper. Your troopers fly towards the hill.
Selbitz. Rascally cowards! — I would that they stood
their ground, and I had a ball through my head. — Ride, one
of you, full speed — Curse and thunder them back to the
field — Seest thou Goetz ? [Exit Second Trooper.
Trooper. I see his three black feathers floating in the
midst of the wavy tumult.
Selbitz. Swim, brave swiinmor — T lie here.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
251
Trooper. A white plume — whose is that?
Selbitz. The captain's.
Trooper. Goetz gallops upon him — crash ! Down he goes.
Selbitz. The captain?
Trooper. Yes, sir.
Selbitz. HuiTah ! hurrah !
Trooper. Alas ! alas ! I see Goetz no more.
Selbitz. Then die, Selbitz !
Trooper. A dreadful tumult where he stood — George's
blue plume vanishes too.
Selbitz. Come down ! Dost thou not see Lerse ?
Trooper. No. — Every thing is in confusion.
Selbitz. No more. Come down. — How do Sickingen's
men bear themselves ?
Trooper. Well ; — one of them flies to the wood —
another — another — a whole troop. Goetz is lost!
Selbitz. Come down.
Trooper. I cannot -
Hurrah ! hurrah ! I see Goetz, I
see George.
Selbitz.
Trooper.
On horseback ?
Ay, ay, high on horseback — Victory! vic-
tory I — they flee.
Selbitz. The Imperialists?
Trooper. Yes, standard and all, Goetz behind them.
They disperse — Goetz reaches the ensign — he seizes the
standard : he halts. A handful of men rally round him —
My comrade reaches him — they come this way.
Enter Goetz, George, Lerse, and Troopers, on horseback.
Selbitz. Joy to thee, Goetz ! — Victory ! victory !
Goetz {dismounting) . Dearly, dearly bought. Thou art
wounded, Selbitz !
Selbitz. But thou dost live and hast conquered I I have
done little ; and my dogs of troopers ! How hast thou
come off?
Goetz. For the present, well ! And here I thank George,
and thee, Lerse, for my life. I unhorsed the captain : they
stabbed my horse, and pressed me hard. George cut his
way to me, and sprang off his horse. I threw m3^self like
lightning upon it, and he appeared suddenly like a thunder-
]>olt upon another. How camest thou by thy steed ?
George. A fellow struck at you from behind : as he
raised his cuirass in the act, I stabbed him with my dagger.
252 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Down he came ; and so I rid you of an enemy, and helped
myself to a horse.
GoETz. There we held together till Francis here came to
our help, and thereupon we mowed our way out.
Lerse. The hounds whom I led were to have mowed
their way in, till our scythes met ; but they fled like Impe-
rialists.
GoETZ. Friend and foe all fled, except this little band
who protected my rear. I had enough to do with the fel-
lows in front, but the fall of their captain dismayed them :
they wavered and fled. I have their banner, and a few
prisoners.
Selbitz. The captain has escaped you?
GoETz. They rescued him in the scuffle. Come, lads,
come, Selbitz. — Make a litter of lances and boughs : thou
canst not mount a horse, come to my castle. They are scat-
tered, but we are very few ; and I know not what troops
they may have in reserve. I will be 3^our host, my friends.
Wine will taste well after such an action.
[^Exeunt, carrying Selbitz.
Scene XIII. — The Camp,
The Captain and Imperialists.
Captain. I could kill you all with my own hand. —
What ! to turn tail ! He had not a handful of men left.
To give way before one man ! No one will believe it but
those who wish to make a jest of us. Ride round the coun-
try, you, and you, and you : collect our scattered soldiers,
or cut them down wherever you find them. We must grind
these notches out of our blades, even should we spoil our
swords in the operation. * \_Exeunt.
Scene XIV. — Jaxthausen.
GoETz, Lerse, and George.
GoETz. We must not lose a moment. My poor fellows,
I dare allow you no rest. Gallop round and strive to enlist
troopers, appoint them to assemble at Weilern, where they
will be most secure. Should we delay a moment, they will
be before the castle. — (Exeu7it Lerse and George.) — I
must send out a scout. This begins to grow warm. — If we
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 253
liad but brave foemen to deal with ! But these fellows are
formidable only through their number. [^Exii,
Enter Sickingen and Maria.
Maria. I beseech thee, dear Sickingen, do not leave my
brother ! His horsemen, your own, and those of Selbitz,
all are scattered : he is alone. Selbitz has been carried
home to his castle wounded. I fear the worst.
Sickingen. Be comforted : I will not leave him.
Enter Goetz.
GoETz. Come to the chapel, the priest waits : in a few
minutes you shall be united.
Sickingen. Let me remain with you.
GoETZ. You must come now to the chapel.
Sickingen. Willingly ! — and then —
GoETZ. Then you go your way.
Sickingen. Goetz !
GoETz. Will you not to the chapel?
Sickingen. Come, come 1 [^Exeuntm
Scene XY. — Camp,
Captain and Officers.
Captain. How many are we in all?
Officer. A hundred and fifty —
Captain. Out of four hundred. — That is bad. Set out
for Jaxthausen at once, before he recovers, and attacks us
once more.
Scene XVI. — Jaxthausen.
GoETz, Elizabeth, Maria, and Sickingen.
GoETz. God bless you, give you happy days, and keep
those for your children which he denies to you !
Elizabeth. And may they be virtuous as you — then let
come what will.
Sickingen. I thank you. — And you, my Maria ! As I
led you to the altar, so shall you lead me to happiness.
Maria. Our pilgrimage will be together towards that
distant and promised land.
Goetz. A prosperous journey.
254 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Maria. That was not what I meant — we do not leave
you.
GoETz. You must, sister.
Maria. You are very harsh, brother.
GoETZ. And you more affectionate than prudent.
Enter George.
George {aside to Goetz) . I can collect no troopers :
one was inclined to come, but he changed his mind, and
refused.
Goetz {to George). 'Tis well, George. Fortune begins
to look coldly on me. I foreboded it, however. {Aloud.)
Sickingen, I entreat you, depart this very evening. Per-
suade Maria. — You are her husband : let her feel it. When
women come across our undertakings, our enemies are more
secure in the open field, than they would else be in their
castles.
Enter a Trooper.
Trooper {aside to Goetz) . The Imperial squadron is in
full and rapid march hither.
Goetz. I have roused them with stripes of the rod !
How many are they?
Trooper. About two hundred. They can scarcely be six
miles from us.
Goetz. Have they passed the river yet?
Trooper. No, my lord.
Goetz. Had I but fifty men, they should not cross it.
Hast thou seen Lerse ?
Trooper. No, my lord.
Goetz. Tell all to hold themselves ready. We must
part, dear friends. Weep on, my gentle Maria. Many a
moment of happiness is yet in store for thee. It is better
thou shouldst weep on thy wedding-da3^, than that present
joy should be -the forerunner of future misery. Farewell,
Maria ! — Farewell, brother !
Maria. I cannot leave you, sister. Dear brother, let us
stay. Dost thou value my husband so little as to refuse
his help in thy extremity ?
Goetz. Yes : it is gone far with me. Perhaps my fall
is near. You are but beginning life, and should separate
your lot from mine. I liave ordered your horses to be sad-
dled : you must away instantly.
Maria. Brother ! brotlier !
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 255
Elizabeth (to Sickingen). Yield to his wishes. Speak
to her.
Sickingen. Dear Maria ! we must go.
Maria. Thou too? My heart will break !
GoETz. Then, stay. In a few hours my castle will be
surrounded.
Maria {weeping bitterly) . Alas ! alas !
GoETz. We will defend ourselves as long as we can.
Maria. Mother of God, have mercy upon us .
GoETZ. And at last we must die or surrender. Thy
tears will then have involved thy noble husband in the same
misfortune with me.
Maria. Thou torturest me !
GoETz. Remain ! Remain ! We shall be taken together !
Sickingen, thou wilt fall with me into the pit, out of which I
had hoped thou shouldst have helped me.
Maria. We will away — Sister — sister !
GoETz. Place her in safety, and then think of me.
Sickingen. Never will I repose a night by her side till I
know thou art out of danger.
GoETz. Sister ! dear sister. [^Kisses her.
Sickingen. Away ! away !
GoETz. Yet one moment ! I shall see you again. Be
comforted, we shall meet again. (Exeunt Sickingen and
Maria.) I urged her to depart — yet now that she leaves
me, what would I not give to detain her ! Elizabeth, thou
stayest with me. [Exit.
Elizabeth. Till death !
GoETz. Whom God loves, to him may he give such a
wife.
Enter George.
George. They are near ! I perceived them from the
tower. The sun is rising, and I saw their lances glitter. I
cared no more for them than a cat would for a whole army
of mice. It is we, though, who act the rats in this play.
Goetz. Look to the fastenings of the gates : barricade
them with beams and stones. {Exit George.) We'll exer-
cise their patience, and they may chew away their valor
in biting their nails. A trumpet from tvithout. Goetz goes
to the windoiv.) Aha! Here comes a red-coated rascal to
ask me whether I will be a scoundrel ! What says he ? ( The
voice of the Herald is heard indistinctly, as from a distance.
Goetz mutters to himself.) A rope for thy throat ! {Voice
256 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
again.) "Offended majesty! " — Some priest has drawn
up that proclamation. ( Voice concludes^ and Goetz answers
from the windoiv.) Surrender — surrender at discretion!
AVith whom speak you? Am I a robber? Tell your captain,
that for the emperor I entertain, as I have ever done, all
due respect ; but, as for him, he may —
[^Shuts the window with violence.
Scene XVII. — The Kitchen.
Elizabeth preparing food. Enter Goetz.
GoETz. You have hard work, my poor wife !
Elizabeth. Would it might last ! But you can hardly
hold out long.
Goetz. We have not had time to provide ourselves.
Elizabeth. And so many people as you have been wont
to entertain. The wine is well-nigh finished.
Goetz. If we can but hold out a certain time, they must
propose a capitulation. We are doing them some damage,
I promise you. They shoot the whole day, and only wound
our walls and break our windows. Lerse is a gallant fellow.
He slips about with his gun : if a rogue comes too nigh —
Pop ! there he lies ! \^Firi7ig.
Enter Trooper.
Trooper. We want live coals, gracious lady !
Goetz. For what?
Trooper. Our bullets are spent : we must cast some new
ones.
Goetz. How goes it with the powder?
Trooper. There is as yet no want : we save our fire.
[Firing at intervals. Exeunt Goetz and Elizabeth.
Enter Lerse with a bullet-mould. Servants with coals.
Lerse. Set them down, and then go and see for lead
about the house : meanwhile I will make shift with this.
( Goes to the window^ and takes out the leaden frames. ) Every
thing must be turned to account. So it is in this world —
no one knows what a thing may come to : the glazier who
made these frames little thought that the lead here was to
give one of his grandsons his last headache ; and the father
that begot me little knew whether the fowls of heaven or the
worms of the earth would pick m}' bones.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 257
Enter George with a leaden spout,
George. Here's lead for thee ! If you hit with only half
of it, not one will return to tell his majesty, '' Thy servants
have sped ill ! "
Lerse {cutting it down) . A famous piece !
George. The rain must seek some other way. I'm not
afraid of it — a brave trooper and a smart shower will always
find their road. \_They cast balls.
Lerse. Hold the ladle. (Goes to the ivindow.) Yonder
is a fellow creeping about with his rifle : he thinks our fire is
spent. He shall have a bullet warm from the pan.
[J^e loads his rifle.
George (puts down the mould). Let me see.
Lerse. (Fires.) There lies the game !
George. He fired at me as I stepped out on the roof to
get the lead. He killed a pigeon that sat near me : it fell
into the spout. I thanked him for my dinner, and went
back with the double booty. \_They cast balls.
Lerse. Now let us load, and go through the castle to
earn our dinner.
Enter Goetz.
GoETz. Stay, Lerse, I must speak with thee. I will not
keep thee, George, from the sport. [^Exit George.
GoETz. They offer terms.
Lerse. I will go and hear what they have to say.
Goetz. They will require me to enter myself into ward
in some town on my knightly parole.
Lerse. That won't do. Suppose they allow us free
liberty of departure ? for we can expect no relief from Sick-
ingen. We will bury all the valuables where no divining-rod
shall find them ; leave them the bare walls, and come out
with flying colors.
GoETz. They will not permit us.
Lerse. It is worth the asking. We will demand a safe
conduct, and I will sally out.
Scene XVIII. — A Hall.
Goetz, Elizabeth, George, and Troopers at table.
Goetz. Danger unites us, my friends ! Be of good
cheer : don't forget the bottle ! The flask is empty. Come,
258 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
another, dear wife ! (Elizabeth shakes her head.) Is
there no more?
Elizabeth (aside). Only one, which I have set apart for
you.
GoETz. Not so, my love ! Bring it out : they need
strengthening more than I, for it is my quarrel.
Elizabeth. Fetch it from the cupboard.
GoETz. It is the last, and I feel as if we need not spare
it. It is long since I have been so merry. (They fill.) To
the health of the emperor !
All. Long live the emperor !
GoETz. Be it our last word when we die ! I love him,
for our fate is similar; but I am happier than he. To
please the princes, he must direct his imperial squadrons
against mice, while the rats gnaw his possessions. — I
know he often wishes himself dead, rather than to be any
longer the soul of such a crippled body. (They fill.) It
will just go once more round. And when our blood runs
low, like this flask ; when we pour out its last ebbing drop
(empties the wine drop by drop into his goblet) , — what then
shall be our cry ?
George. Freedom forever !
GoETz. Freedom forever !
All. Freedom forever !
GoETZ. And, if that survive us, we can die happy ; for
our spirits shall see our children's children and their emperor
happy ! Did the sei*vants of princes show the same filial
attachment to their masters as you to me — did tlieir masters
serve the emperor as I would serve him —
George. Things would be widely different.
GoETz. Not so much so as it would appear. Have I not
known worthy men among the princes ? And can the race
be extinct?. Men, happy in their own minds and in their
subjects, who could bear a free, noble brother in their
neighborhood without harboring either fear or envy ; whose
hearts expanded when they saw their table surrounded by
their free equals, and who did not think the knights unfit
companions till they had degraded themselves by. courtly
homage.
George. Have you known such princes?
GoETz. Ay, truly. As long as I live I shall recollect
Itow the Landgrave of Hanau gave a grand hunting-party,
and the princes and free feudatories dined under the open
heaven, and the country people all thronged to see them :
GOETZ VON BERLICIIINGEN. 259
it was no selfish masquerade iDstituted for his own private
pleasure or vanity. To see the great round-headed peasant
lads and the pretty brown girls, the sturdy hinds and the
venerable old men, a crowd of happy faces, all as merry as
if they rejoiced in the splendor of their master, which he
shared with them under God's free sky !
George. He must have been as good a master as you.
GoETz. And may we not hope that many such will rule
together some future day, to whom reverence for the em-
peror, peace and friendship with their neighbors, and the
love of their vassals, shall be the best and dearest family
treasure handed down to their children's children? Every
one will then keep and improve his own, instead of reckon-
ing nothing as gain that is not stolen from his neighbors.
George. And should we have no more forays?
GoETZ. Would to God there were no restless spirits in
all Germany ! — we should still have enough to do ! We
would clear the mountains of wolves, and bring our peace-
able laborious neighbor a dish of game from the wood,
and eat it together. Were that not full employment, we
would join our brethren, and, like cherubims with flaming
swords, defend the frontiers of the empire against those
wolves the Turks, and those foxes the French, and guard
for our beloved emperor both extremities of his extensive
empire. That would be a life, George ! To risk one's
head for the safety of all Germany. (George springs up.)
Whither away?
George. Alas ! I forgot we were besieged — besieged
b}' the very emperor ; and, before we can expose our lives in
his defence, we must risk them for our liberty.
GoETz. Be of good cheer.
Enter Lerse.
Lerse. Freedom ! freedom ! The cowardly poltroons —
the hesitating, irresolute asses. You are to depart with
men, weapons, horses, and armor: provisions you are to
leave behind.
GoETZ. They will hardly find enough to exercise their
jaws.
Lerse {aside to Goetz) . Have you hidden the plate and
money ?
Goetz. No ! Wife, go witli Lerse : he has something to
tell thee. lExevrU.
260 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Scene XIX. — The Court of the Castle,
George {in the stable. Sings),
An urchin once, as I have heard,
Ha! ha!
Had caught and caged a little bird,
Sa! sa!
Ha! ha!
Sa! sa!
He viewed the prize with heart elate,
Ha! ha!
Thrust in his hand — ah, treacherous fate !
Sa ! sa !
Ha! ha!
Sa ! sa !
Away the titmouse winged its flight.
Ha! ha!
And laughed to scorn the silly wight,
Sa! sa!
Ha! ha!
Sa! sa!
Enter Goetz.
GoETz. How goes it?
George (brings out his horse) . All saddled.
GoETz. Thou art quick.
George. As the bird escaped from the cage.
Enter all the besieged,
Goetz. Have you all your rifles? Not yet! Go, take
the best from the armory ; it is all one : we'll ride on in
advance.
George (sings).
Ha! ha!
Sa! sa!
Ha! ha!
Scene XX. — The Armory.
Two Troopers choosing guns.
First Trooper. I'll have this one.
Second Trooper. And I this — l)ut yonder's a better
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 261
First Trooper. Never mind — make haste.
\_Tumult and firing without.
Second Trooper. Hark !
First Trooper (^springs to the window). Good heavens,
they are murdering our master ! He is unhorsed ! George
is down !
Second Trooper. How shall we get off? Over the wall
by the walnut-tree, and into the field. [Exit,
First Trooper. Lerse keeps his ground : I will to him.
If they die, I will not survive them. [Exit,
ACT IV.
Scene I. — An Inn in the City of Heilbronn,
Goetz (solus),
GoETZ. I am like the evil spirit whom the Capuchin con-
jured into a sack. I fret and labor, but all in vain. The
perjured villains ! {Enter Elizabeth.) What news, Eliza-
beth, of my dear, my trusty followers ?
Elizabeth. Nothing certain : some are slain, some are
prisoners ; no one could or would tell me further particulars.
Goetz. Is this the reward of fidelity, of filial obedience?
— " That it may be' well with thee, and that thy days may
be long in the land ! "
Elizabeth. Dear husband, murmur not against our
heavenly Father. They have their reward. It was born
with them, — a noble and generous heart. Even in the dun-
geon they are free. Pay attention to the imperial commis-
sioners : their heavy gold chains become them —
Goetz. As a necklace becomes a sow ! I should like to
see George and Lerse in fetters !
Elizabeth. It were a sight to make angels weep.
Goetz. I would not weep — I would clinch my teeth,
and gnaw my lip in fury. What ! in fetters ? Had ye but
loved me less, dear lads ! I could never look at them
enough . . . What ! to break their word, pledged in the
name of the emperor !
Elizabeth. Put away these thoughts. Reflect: you
must appear before the council — you are in no mood to
meet them, and I fear the worst.
Vol 6 Croethe— J
262 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
GoETZ. What harm can they do me?
Elizabeth. Here comes the sergeant.
GoETz. What ! the ass of justice that carries the sacks
10 the mill and the dung to the field ? What now ?
Enter Sergeant.
Sergeant. The lords commissioners are at the Council
House, and require your presence.
GoETz. I come.
Sergeant. I am to escort you.
GoETZ. Too much honor.
Elizabeth. Be but cool.
GoETz. Fear nothing. \Exeunt.
Scene II. — The Town House at Heilhronn.
The Imperial Commissioners seated at a table. The Cap-
tain and the Magistrates of the city attending.
Magistrate. In pursuance of your order, we have col-
lected the stoutest and most determined of our citizens.
They are at hand, in order, at a nod from you, to seize
Berlichingen.
Commissioner. We shall have much pleasure in com-
municating to his imperial majesty the zeal with which you
have obeyed his illustrious commands. — Are they artisans ?
Magistrate. Smiths, coopers, and carpenters, men with
hands hardened by labor ; and resolute here.
\^Points to his breast.
Commissioner. ' Tis well.
Enter Sergeant.
Sergeant. Goetz von Berlichingen waits without.
Commissioner. Admit him.
Enter Goetz.
GoETz. God save you, sirs ! What would you with me?
Commissioner. First, that you consider where you are,
and in whose presence.
Goetz. By my faith, I know you right well, sirs.
Commissioner. You acknowledge allegiance.
Goetz. With all my heart.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 263
Commissioner. Be seated.
GoETz. What, down there? I'd rather stand. That
stool smells so of poor sinners, as indeed does the whole
apartment.
Commissioner. Stand, then.
GoETz. To business, if you please.
Commissioner. We shall proceed in due order,
GoETZ. I am glad to hear it. Would you had always
done so.
Commissioner. You know how you fell into our hands,
and are a prisoner at discretion.
GoETz. What will you give me to forget it?
Commissioner. Could I give you modesty, I should better
your affairs.
GoETz. Better my affairs ! could you but do that ! To
repair is more difficult than to destroy.
Secretary. Shall I put all this on record?
Commissioner. Only what is to the purpose.
GoETz. You may put it in print, if you like ; what do I
care !
Commissioner. You fell into the power of the emperor,
whose paternal goodness got the better of his justice, and,
instead of throwing you into a dungeon, ordered you to
repair to his beloved city of Heilbronn. You gave your
knightly parole to appear, and await the termination* in all
humility.
GoETZ. Well : I am here, and await it.
Commissioner. And we are here to intimate to you his
imperial majesty's mercy and clemency. He is pleased to
forgive your rebellion, to release you from the ban and all
well-merited punishment, provided you do, with becoming
humility, receive his bounty, and subscribe to the articles
which shall be read unto you.
GoETz. I am his majesty's faithful servant, as ever.
One word ere you proceed. My people- — where are they?
What will be done with them ?
Commissioner. That concerns you not.
GoETz. So may the emperor turn his face from you in
the hour of your need. They were my comrades, and are
so now. What have you done with them?
Commissioner. We are not bound to account to you.
GoETz. Ah ! I forgot that you are not even pledged to
perform what you have promised, much less —
C031MISSIONER. Our business is, to lay the articles before
264 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
you. Submit yourself to the emperor, and you may find a
way to petition for the life and freedom of your comrades.
GoETz. Your paper.
Commissioner. Secretary, read it.
Secretary (reads) . "I, Goetz of Berlichingen, make
public acknowledgment, by these presents, that I, having
lately risen in rebellion against the emperor and empire '* —
Goetz. ' Tis false ! I am no rebel, I have committed no
offence against the emperor, and with the empire I have
no concern.
Commissioner. Be silent, and hear further.
Goetz. I will hear no further. Let any one arise and
bear witness. Have I ever taken one step against the em-
peror, or against the house of Austria? Has not the whole
tenor of my conduct proved that I feel better than any one
else what all Germany owes to its head, and especially what
the free knights and feudatories owe to their liege lord the
emperor? 1 should be a villain could I be induced to sub-
scribe that paper.
Commissioner. Yet we have strict orders to try and
persuade you by fair means, or, in case of your refusal, to
throw you into prison.
Goetz. Into prison ! — Me?
Commissioner. Where you may expect 370ur fate from
the hands of justice, since you will not take it from those
of mercy.
Goetz. To prison ! You abuse the imperial power ! To
prison ! That was not the emperor's command. What, ye
traitors, to dig a pit for me, and hang out your oath, your
knightly honor, as the bait ! To promise me permission to
ward myself on parole, and then again to break your treaty !
Commissioner. We owe no faith to robbers.
Goetz. Wert thou not the representative of my sove-
reign, whom I respect even in the vilest counterfeit, thou
should swallow that word, or choke upon it. I was engaged
in an honorable feud. Thou mightest thank God, and
magnify thyself before the world, hadst thou ever done as
gallant a deed as that with which I now stand charged.
(The Commissioner makes a sign to the Magistrate of Heil-
bronn, who rings a bell.) Not for the sake of paltry gain,
not to wrest followers or lands from the weak and the defence-
less, have I sallied forth. To rescue my page and defend
my own person — see ye any rebellion in that ? The emperor
and his magnates, reposing on their pillows, would never
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 265
have felt our need. I have, God be praised, one hand left ;
and I have done well to use it.
Enter a party of Artisans armed with halberds and swords.
GoETZ. What means this?
Commissioner. You will not listen. — Seize him !
GoETz. Let none come near me who is not a very Hun-
garian ox. One salutation from my iron fist shall cure him
of headache, toothache, and every other ache under the wide
heaven! (^They rush upon him. He strikes one down^ and
snatches a sword from another. They stand aloof.) Come
on ! come on ! I should like to become acquainted with the
bravest among you.
Commissioner. Surrender !
GoETz. With a sword in my hand ! Know ye not that it
depends but upon myself to make way through all these
hares and gain the open field? But I will teach you how a
man should keep his word. Promise me but free ward,
and I will give up my sword, and am again your prisoner.
Commissioner. How ! Would you treat with the em-
peror, sword in hand?
GoETz. God forbid! — only with you and your worthy
fraternity ! You may go home, good people : you are only
losing your time, and here there is nothing to be got but
bruises.
Commissioner. Seize him I What ! does not your love
for the emperor supply you with courage ?
GoETz. No more than the emperor supplies them with
plaster for the wounds their courage would earn them.
Enter Serge a.nt hastily.
Officer. The warder has just discovered, from the castle-
tower, a troop of more than two hundred horsemen hasten-
ing towards the town. Unperceived by us, they have pressed
forward from behind the hill, and threaten our walls.
"Commissioner. Alas ! alas ! What can this mean?
A Soldier enters.
Soldier. Francis of Sickingen waits at the drawbridge,
and informs you that he has heard how perfidiously you
have broken your word to his brother-in-law, and how the
Council of Heilbronn have aided and abetted in the treason.
He is now come to insist upon justice, and, if refused it,
threatens, within an hour, to fire the four quarters of your
town, and abandon it to be plundered by his vassals-
266 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
GoETz. My gallant brother !
Commissioner. Withdraw, Goetz. (^Exit Goetz.) What
is to be done?
Magistrate. Have compassion upon us and our town !
Sickingen is inexorable in his wrath : he will keep his word.
Commissioner. Shall we forget what is due to ourselves
and the emperor?
Captain. If we had but men to enforce it ; but, situated
as we are, a show of resistance would only make matters
worse. It is better for us to yield.
Magistrate. Let us apply to Goetz to put in a good
word for us. I feel as though I saw the town already in
flames.
Commissioner. Let Goetz approach. {Enter Goetz.)
Goetz. What now?
Commissioner. Thou wilt do well to dissuade thy brother-
in-law from his rebellious interference. Instead of rescuing
thee, he will only plunge thee deeper in destruction, and
become the companion of thy fall !
Goetz (sees Elizabeth at the door, and speaks to her aside) .
Go, tell him instantl}^ to break in and force his way hither,
but to spare the town. As for these rascals, if they offer
any resistance, let him use force. I care not if I lose my
life, provided they are all knocked on the head at the same
time.
Scene III. — A large Hall in the Council-House, beset by
Sickingen' s Troops.
Enter Sickingen and Goetz.
Goetz. That was help from heaven. How cam est thou
so opportunely and unexpectedly, brother?
Sickingen. Without witchcraft. I had despatched two
or three messengers to learn how it fared with thee : when
I heard of the perjury of these fellows, I set out instantly ;
and now we have them safe.
Goetz. I ask nothing but knightly ward upon my parole.
Sickingen. You are too noble. Not even to avail your-
self of the advantage which the honest man has over the
perjurer ! They are in the wrong, and we wDl not give them
cushions to sit upon. They have shamefully abused the
imperial authority ; and, if I know any thing of the emperor,
you might safely insist upon more favorable terms. You
ask too little.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 267
GoETz. I have ever been content with little.
SiCKiNGEN. And therefore that little has always been
denied thee. My proposal is, that they shall release your
servants, and permit you all to return to your castle on
parole — you can promise not to leave it till the emperor's
pleasure be known. You will be safer there than here.
GoETz. They will say my property is escheated to the
empei'or.
SiCKiNGEN. Then we will answer, thou canst dwell there,
and keep it for his service till he restores it to thee again.
Let them wriggle like eels in the net, they shall not escape
us ! They may talk of the imperial dignity — of their com-
mission. We will not mind that. I know the emperor, and
have some influence with him. He has ever wished to have
thee in his service. You will not be long in your castle
without being summoned to serve him.
GoETz. God grant it, ere I forget the use of arms I
SiCKiNGEN. Valor can never be forgotten, as it can never
be learnt. Fear nothing ! When thy affairs are settled, I
will repair to court, where my enterprises begin to ripen.
Good fortune seems to smile on them. I want only to sound
the emperor's mind. The towns of Triers and Pfalz as soon
expect that the sky should fall, as that I shall come down
upon their heads. But I will come like a hail-storm ! and, if
I am successful, thou shalt soon be brother to an elector. I
had hoped for thy assistance in this undertaking.
GoETZ (looks at his hand) . Oh ! that explains the dream
I had the night before I promised Maria to Weislingen. I
thought he vowed eternal fidelity, and held my iron hand
so fast that it loosened from the arm. Alas ! I am at this
moment more defenceless than when it was shot away.
Weislingen ! Weislingen !
SiCKiNGEN. Forget the traitor ! We will thwart his plans,
and undermine his authority, till shame and remorse shall
gnaw him to death. I see, I see the downfall of our ene-
mies. — Goetz, only other six months !
GoETz. Thy soul soars high ! I know not why, but for
some time past no fair prospects have dawned upon me. I
have been ere now in sore distress — I have been a prisoner
before — but never did I experience such a depression.
SiCKiNGEN. Success givcs courage. Come, let us to the
bigwigs. They have had time enough for holding forth : let
us for once take the trouble upon ourselves. \^Exeu7it.
268 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Scene IV. — The Castle of Adelaide^ Augsbverg.
Adelaide and Weislingen discovered.
Adelaide. This is detestable.
Weislingen. I have gnashed my teeth. So good a plan
— so well followed out — and, after all, to leave him in pos-
session of his castle ! That cursed Sickingen !
Adelaide. The council should not have consented.
Weislingen. They were in the net. What else could
they do? Sickingen threatened them with fire and sword
— the haughty, vindictive man ! I hate him ! His power
waxes like a mountain torrent — let it but gain a few brooks,
and others come pouring to its aid.
Adelaide. Have they no emperor?
Weislingen. My dear wife, he waxes old and feeble : he
is only the shadow of what he was. When he heard what
had been done, and I and the other counsellors murmured
indignantly, " Let them alone ! " said he : "I can spare my
old Goetz his little fortress ; and, if he remains quiet there,
what have you to say against him ? ' ' We spoke of the
welfare of the state: "Oh," said he, "that I had always
had counsellors who would have urged my restless spirit to
consult more the happiness of individuals 1 "
Adelaide. He has lost the spirit of a prince !
Weislingen. We inveighed against Sickingen ! — " He
is my faithful servant," said he : " and, if he has not acted
by my express order, he has performed better what I wished
than my plenipotentiaries ; and I can ratify what he has done
as well after as before."
Adelaide. 'Tis enough to drive one mad.
Weislingen. Yet I have not given up all hope. Goetz
is on parole to remain quiet in his castle. 'Tis impossible
for him to keep his promise, and we shall soon have some
new cause of complaint.
Adelaide. That is the more likely, as we may hope that
the old emperor will soon leave the world ; and Charles, his
gallant successor, will display a more princely mind.
Weislingen. Charles ! He is neither chosen nor
crowned.
Adelaide. Who does not expect and hope for that
(?vent?
Weislingen. You have a great idea of his abilities : one
niiglit ahnost tliiiik you k)oked on him with partial eyes.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 269
Adelaide. You insult me, Weislingeu. For what do
you take me?
Weislingen. I do not mean to offend, but I cannot be
silent upon the subject. Charles's marked attentions to you
disquiet me.
Adelaide. And do I receive them as —
Weislingen. You are a woman, and no woman hates
those who pay their court to her.
Adelaide. This from you !
Weislingen. It cuts me to the heart — the dreadful
thought — Adelaide.
Adelaide. Can I not cure thee of this folly?
Weislingen. If thou wouldst — Thou canst leave the
court.
Adelaide. But upon what pretence? Art thou not here?
Must I leave you and all my friends, to shut myself up with
the owls in j^our solitary castle? No, Weislingen, that will
never do : be at rest, thou knowest I love thee.
Weislingen. That is my anchor so long as the cable
holds. [Exit.
Adelaide. Ah ! It is come to this ? This was yet want-
ing. The projects of my bosom are too great to brook the
interruption. Charles — the great, the gallant Charles —
the future emperor — shall he be the only man unrewarded
by my favor? Think not, Weislingen, to hinder me — else
shalt thou to earth : my way lies over thee !
Enter Francis (with a letter) .
Francis. Here, gracious lady.
Adelaide. Hadst thou it from Charles's own hand?
Francis. Yes.
Adelaide. What ails thee? Thou lookest so mournful !
Francis. It is your pleasure that I should pine awa}^,
and waste my fairest years in agonizing despair.
Adelaide (aside) . I pity him ; and how little would it
cost me to make him happy! (Aloud.) Be of good cour-
age, youth ! I know thy love and fidelity, and will not be
ungrateful.
Francis (with stifled breath). If thou wert capable of
ingratitude, I could not survive it. There boils not a drop
of blood in my veins but what is thine own — I have not a
snigle feeling but to love and to serve thee !
Adelaide. Dear Francis !
270 GOETZ VON BERLICHTNGEN.
Francis. You flatter me. {Bursts into tears.) Does my
attachment deserve only to be a stepping-stool to another,
— to see all your thoughts fixed upon Charles?
Adelaide. You know not what you wish, and still less
what you say.
Francis {stamping ivith vexation and rage) . No more will
I be your slave, your go-between !
Adelaide. Francis, you forget yourself.
Francis. To sacrifice my beloved master and myself —
Adelaide. Out of my sight !
Francis. Gracious lady !
Adelaide. Go, betray to thy beloved master the secret
of my soul ! Fool that I was to take thee for what thou
art not !
Francis. Dear lady ! you know how I love you.
Adelaide. And thou, who wast my friend — so near my
heart — go, betray me.
Francis. Rather would I tear my heart from my breast !
Forgive me, gentle lady ! my heart is too full, my senses
desert me.
Adelaide. Thou dear, affectionate boy ! {She takes
him by both ha7ids, draws him towards her^ and Jcisses him.
He throws himself weeping upon her neck.) Leave me !
Francis {his voice choked by tears) . Heavens !
Adelaide. Leave me ! The walls are traitors. Leave
me! {Breaks from him.) Be but steady in fidelity and
love, and the fairest reward is thine. \_Exit.
Francis. The fairest reward ! let me but live till that
moment — I could murder my father, were he an obstacle
to my happiness ! \^Exit.
Scene V. — Jaxthausen.
Goetz seated at a table with writing materials. Elizabeth
beside him with her work.
Goetz. This idle life does not suit me. My confine-
ment becomes more irksome every day : I would I could
sleep, or persuade myself that quiet is agreeable.
Elizabeth. Continue writing the account of thy deeds
which thou hast commenced. Give into the hands of thy
friends evidence to put thine enemies to shame : make a
noble posterity acquainted with thy real character.
Goetz. Alas ! writing is but busy idleness : it wearies
I
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 271
me. While I am writing what I have done, I lament the
misspent time in which I might do more.
Elizabeth (takes the writing) . Be not impatient. Thou
hast got as far as thy first imprisonment at Heilbronn.
GoETZ. That was always an unlucky place to me.
Elizabeth (reads) . ' ' There were even some of the
confederates who told me that I had acted foolishly in
appearing before my bitterest enemies, who, as I might
suspect, would not deal justly with me." And what didst
thou answer? Write on.
Goetz. I said, ''Have I not often risked life and limb
for the welfare and property of others, and shall I not do
so for the honor of my knightly word? "
Elizabeth. Thus does fame speak of thee.
Goetz. The}^ shall not rob me of my honor. They have
taken all else from me, — property — liberty — every thing.
Elizabeth. I happened once to stand in an inn near the
Lords of Miltenberg and Singlingen, who knew me not.
Then I was joyful as at the birth of my first-born ; for they
extolled thee to each other, and said, " He is the mirror of
knighthood, noble and merciful in prosperitj^ dauntless and
true in misfortune."
Goetz. Let them show me the man to whom I have
broken my word. Heaven knows, my ambition has ever
been to labor for my neighbor more than for myself, and to
acquire the fame of a gallant and irreproachable knight,
rather than principalities or power ; and, God be praised !
I have gained the meed of my labor.
Enter George and Lerse with game.
Goetz. Good luck to my gallant huntsmen !
George. Such have we become from gallant troopers.
Boots can easily be cut down into buskins.
Lerse. The chase is always something — 'tis a kind of
war.
George. Yes : if we were not always crossed by these
imperial gamekeepers. Don't you recollect, my lord, how
you prophesied we should become huntsmen when the world
was turned topsy-turvy? We are become so now without
waiting for that.
Goetz. 'Tis all the same : we are pushed out of our
sphere.
George. These are wonderful times ! For eight days a
272 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
dreadful comet has been seen : all Germany fears that it
portends the death of the emperor, who is very ill.
GoETZ. Very ill ! Then, our career draws to a close.
Lerse. And in the neighborhood there are terrible corn-
motions : the peasants have made a formidable insurrection.
GoETz. Where?
Lerse. In the heart of Swabia : they are plundering,
bm'ning, and slaying. I fear they will sack the whole
country.
George. It is a horrible warfare ! They have already
risen in a hundred places, and daily increase in number. A
hurricane, too, has lately torn up whole forests ; and, in the
place where the insurrection began, two fiery swords have
been seen in the sky crossing each other.
Goetz. Then, some of my poor friends and neighbors no
doubt suffer innocently.
George. Alas ! that we are pent up thus !
ACT V.
Scene I. — A Village plundered by the insurgent Peasantry.
Shrieks and tumult. Women, old Men, and Children fly across
the Stage.
Old Man. Away ! away ! let us fly from the murdering
dogs.
Woman. Sacred heaven ! How blood-red is the sky !
how blood-red the setting sun !
Another. That must be fire.
A Third. My husband ! my husband !
Old Man. Away ! away ! To the wood ! [Exewnt.
Enter Link and Insurgents.
Link. Whoever opposes you, down with him ! The
village is ours. Let none of the booty be injured, none be
left behind. Plunder clean and quickly. We must soon
set fire —
Enter Metzler, coming down the MIL
Metzler. How do things go with you. Link?
Link. Merrily enough, as you see : you are just in time
for the fun. — Whence come you?
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 273
Metzler. From Weinsberg. There was a jubilee.
Link. How so?
Metzler. We stabbed them all, in such heaps, it was a
joy to see it !
Link. All whom?
Metzler. Dietrich von Weiler led up the dance. The
fool ! We were all raging round the church-steeple. He
looked out, and wished to treat with us. — Baf ! A ball
through his head ! Up we rushed like a tempest, and the
fellow soon made his exit by the window.
Link. Huzza !
Metzler {to the peasants). Ye dogs, must I find you
legs? How they gape and loiter, the asses !
Link. Set fire ! Let them roast in the flames ! forward !
Push on, ye dolts.
Metzler. Then we brought out Helfenstein, Eltershofen,
thirteen of the nobility, — eighty in all. They were led
out on the plain before Heilbronn. What a shouting and
jubilee among our lads as the long row of miserable sinners
passed by ! they stared at each other ; and, heaven and
earth ! we surrounded them before they were aware, and
then despatched them all with our pikes.
Link. Why was I not there ?
Metzler. Never in all my life did I see such fun.
Link. On ! on ! Bring all out !
Peasant. All's clear.
Link. Then, fire the village at the four corners.
Metzler. 'Twill make a fine bonfire ! Hadst thou but
seen how the fellows tumbled over one another, and croaked
like frogs ! It warmed my heart like a cup of brandy. One
Rexinger was there, a fellow with a white plume and flaxen
locks, who, when he went out hunting, used to drive us
before him like dogs, and with dogs. I had not caught
sight of him all the while, when suddenly his fool's visage
looked me full in the face. Push ! went the spear between
his ribs, and there he lay stretched on all- fours above his
companions. The fellows lay kicking in a heap like the
hares that used to be driven together at their grand hunting-
parties.
Link. It smokes finely already !
Metzler. Yonder it burns ! Come, let us with the booty
to the main body.
Link. Where do they halt?
Metzler. Between this and Heilbronn. They wish to
274 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
choose a captain whom every one will respect, for we are
after all only their equals : they feel this, and turn restive.
Link. Whom do they propose ?
Metzler. Maximilian Stumf, or Goetz von Berlichingen.
Link. That would be well. 'Twould give the thing
credit should Goetz accept it. He has ever been held a
worthy, independent knight. Away, away ! We march
towards Heilbronn 1 Pass the word.
Metzler. The fire will light us a good part of the way.
Hast thou seen the great comet?
Link. Yes. It is a dreadful ghastly sign ! As we march
by night we can see it well. It rises about one o'clock.
Metzler. And is visible but for an hour and a quarter,
like an arm brandishing a sword, and bloody red !
Link. Didst thou mark the three stars at the sword's
hilt and point?
Metzler. And the broad haze-colored stripe illuminated
by a thousand streamers like lances, and between them little
swords.
Link. I shuddered with horror. The sk}^ was pale red,
streaked with ruddy flames, and among them grisly figures
with shaggy hair and beards.
Metzler. Did you see them too? And how they all
swam about as though in a sea of blood, and struggled in
confusion, enough to turn one's brain !
Link. Away ! away ! \^Exeunt,
Scene II. — Open Country. In the distance two Villages and an
Abbey are burning.
Kohl, Wild, Maximilian Stumf, Insurgents,
Stumf. You cannot ask me to be your leader ; it were
bad for you and for me : I am a vassal of the Palsgrave,
and how shall I make war against my liege lord? Besides,
you would always suspect I did not act from my heart.
Kohl. We knew well thou wouldst make some excuse.
Enter George, Lerse, and Goetz.
Goetz. What would you with me?
Kohl. You must be our captain.
Goetz. How can I break my knightly word to the em-
peror? I am under the ban : I cannot quit my territory.
Wild. That's no excuse.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 275
GoETz. And were I free, and you wanted to deal with
the lords and nobles as you did at Weinsberg, laying waste
the country round with fire and sword, and should wish me
to be an abettor of your shameless, barbarous doings, rather
than be your captain, you should slay me like a mad dog !
Kohl. What has been done cannot be undone.
Stumf. That was just the misfortune, that they had no
leader whom they honored, and who could bridle their fury.
I beseech thee, Goetz, accept the office ! The princes will
be grateful : all Germany will thank thee. It will be for
the weal and prosperity of aU. The countiy and its inhabit-
ants will be preserved.
GoETz. Why dost not thou accept it?
Stumf. I have given them reasons for my refusal.
Kohl. We have no time to waste in useless speeches.
Once for all ! Goetz, be our chief, or look to thy castle and
thy head ! Take tw^o hours to consider of it. Guard him !
GoETz. To what purpose? I am as resolved now as I
shall ever be. Why have ye risen up in arms? If to
recover your rights and freedom, why do you plunder and
lay waste the land? Will you abstain from such evil doings,
and act as true men who know what they want? Then will
I be your chief for eight days, and help you in your lawful
and orderly demands.
Wild. What has been done was done in the first heat,
and thy interference is not needed to prevent it for the
future.
Kohl. Thou must engage with us at least for a quarter
of a year.
Stumf. Say four weeks : that will satisfy both parties.
GoETz. Then, be it so.
Kohl. Your hand !
GoETz. But you must promise to send the treaty you
have made with me in writing to all your troops, and to
punish severely those who infringe it.
Wild. Well, it shall be done.
GoETz. Then, I bind myself to you for four weeks.
Stumf. Good fortune to you ! In whatever thou doest,
spare bur noble lord the Palsgrave.
Kohl (aside). See that none speak to him without our
knowledge.
GoETz. Lerse, go to my wife. Protect her : you shall
soon have news of me.
[^Exeunt Goetz, Stumf, George, Lerse, and some Peasants.
276 GOETZ YON BERLICHINGEN.
Enter Metzler, Link, and their followers.
Metzler. Who talks of a treaty? What's the use of a
treaty ?
Link. It is shameful to make any such bargain !
Kohl. Wg know as well what we want as you, and we
may do or let alone what we please.
Wild. This raging and burning and murdering must
have an end some day or other ; and, by renouncing it just
now, we gain a brave leader.
Metzler. How ? An end ? Thou traitor ! why are we
here but to avenge ourselves on our enemies, and enrich
ourselves at their expense? Some prince's slave has been
tampering with thee.
Kohl. Come, Wild : he is like a brute-beast.
\_Exeunt Wild and Kohl.
Metzler. Ay, go your way : no band will stick by you.
The villains ! Link, we'll set on the others to burn Milten-
berg yonder ; and, if they begin a quarrel about the treat}',
we'll cut off the heads of those that made it.
Link. We have still the greater body of peasants on
our side. \_Exeunt with Insurgents.
Scene III. — A Hill, and Prospect of the Country. In the fiat
scene a Mill. A Body of Horsemen.
Weislingen comes out of the Mill., followed by Francis
and a Courier.
Weislingen. My horse ! Have you announced it to the
other nobles?
Courier. At least seven standards will meet you in the
wood behind Miltenberg. The peasants are marching iu
that direction. Couriers are despatched on all sides : the
entire confederacy will soon be assembled. Our plan cannot
fail, and they say there is dissension among them.
Weislingen. So much the better. Francis !
Francis. Gracious sir !
Weislingen. Discharge thine errand punctually. I bind
it upon thy soul. Give her the letter. She shall from the
court to my castle instantly. Thou must see her depart,
and bring me notice of it.
Francis. Your commands shall be obeyed.
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 277
Weislingen. Tell her she shall go. {To the Courier.)
Lead us by the nearest and best road.
Courier. We must go round : all the rivers are swollen
with the late heavy rains.
Scene IV. — Jaxthausen.
Elizabeth and Lerse.
Lerse. Gracious lady, be comforted !
Elizabeth. Alas ! Lerse, the tears stood in his eyes
when he took leave of me. It is dreadful, dreadful !
Lerse. He will return.
Elizabeth. It is not that. When he went forth to gain
honorable victories, never did grief sit heavy at my heart.
I then rejoiced in the prospect of his return, which I now
dread.
Lerse. So noble a man.
Elizabeth. Call him not so. There lies the new misery.
The miscreants ! they threatened to murder his family and
burn his castle. Should he return, gloomy, most gloomy,
shall I see his brow. His enemies will forge scandalous
accusations against him, which he will be unable to refute.
Lerse. He will and can.
Elizabeth. He has broken his parole. — Canst thou deny
that?
Lerse. No ! he was constrained : what reason is there to
condemn him ?
Elizabeth. Malice seeks not reasons, but pretexts. He
has become an ally of rebels, malefactors, and murderers :
— he has become their chief. Say No to that.
Lerse. Cease to torment yourself and me. Have they
not solemnly sworn to abjure all such doings as those at
Weinsberg? Did not I myself hear them sa}-, in remorse,
that, had not that been done already, it never should have
been done? Must not the princes and nobles return him
their best thanks for having undertaken the dangerous office
of leading these unruly people i in order to restrain their
rage, and to save so many lives and possessions?
Elizabeth. Thou art an affectionate pleader. Should
tliey take him prisoner, deal with him as with a rebel, and
bring his gray hairs . . . Lerse, I should go mad !
Lerse. Send sleep to refresh her body, dear Father of
mankind, if thou deniest comfort to her soul.
278 GOETZ VON BEBLICHINGEN.
Elizabeth. George has promised to bring news, but he
will not be allowed to do so. They are worse than prisoners.
Well I know they are watched like enemies. — The gallant
boy ! he would not leave his master.
Lerse. The very heart within me bled when he bade me
leave him. — Had you not needed my help, all the terrors
of grisly death should not have separated us.
Elizabeth. I know not where Sickingen is. — Could I
but send a message to Maria !
Lerse. Write your message : I will take charge of it.
Scene V. — A Village.
Enter Goetz and George.
GoETz. To horse, George ! Quick ! I see Miltenberg in
flames. Is it thus they keep the treaty? Ride to them, tell
theui my purpose. The murderous incendiaries — I renounce
them — Let them make a thieving gypsy their captain, not
me ! — Quick, George ! ( Exit George.) Would that I were
a thousand miles hence, at the bottom of the deepest dun-
geon in Turkey ! Could I but come off with honor from
them ! I have thwarted them every day, and told them the
bitterest truths, in the hope they might weary of me and let
me go.
Enter mi Unknown.
Unknown. God save you, gallant sir !
GoETz. I thank you! What is your errand? Your
name?
Unknown. My name does not concern my business. I
come to tell you that your life is in danger. The insurgent
leaders are weary of hearing from you such harsh language,
and are resolved to rid themselves of you. Speak them fair,
or endeavor to escape from them ; and God be with you.
[ Exit.
GoETZ. To quit life in this fashion, Goetz, to end thus?
But be it so — My death will be the clearest proof to the
world that I have had nothing in common with the mis-
creants.
Enter Insurgents.
First Insurgent. Captain, they are prisoners, they are
slain !
Goetz. Who?
GOETZ VON berlichinge:n'. 279
Second Insurgent. Those who burned Miltenberg : a
troop of confederate cavalry suddenly charged upon them
from behind the hill.
GoETz. They have their reward. O George ! George !
They have taken him prisoner with the caitiffs — My George !
my George !
Enter Insurgents in confusion.
Link. Up, sir captain, up ! — There is no time to lose.
The enemy is at hand and in force.
GoETz. Who burned Miltenberg?
Metzler. If you mean to pick a quarrel, we'll soon show
you how we'll end it.
Kohl. Look to your own safety and ours. — Up !
GoETz {to Metzler). Darest thou threaten me, thou
scoundrel? . . . Thinkest thou to awe me, because thy gar-
ments are stained with the Count of Helfenstein's blood?
Metzler. Berlichingen !
GoETz. Thou maj'est call me by my name, and my chil-
dren will not be ashamed to hear it.
Metzler. Out upon thee, coward ! — prince's slave !
[GoETZ strikes him down. The others interpose.
Kohl. Ye are mad ! — The enemy are breaking in on
all sides, and you quarrel !
Link. Away ! Away ! [ Cries and tumult. The Insur-
gents flee across the stage.
Enter Weislingen and Troopers.
Weislingen. Pursue ! Pursue ! they flee ! — Stop neither
for darkness nor rain. — I hear Goetz is among them :
look that he escape you not. Our friends say he is sorely
wounded. (Exeunt Troopers.) And when I have caught
thee — it will be merciful secretly to execute the sentence
of death in prison. Thus he perishes from the memory of
man ; and then, foolish heart, thou mayst beat more freely.
Scene YI. — The Front of a Gypsy Hut in a wild Forest. Night.
A Fire before the Hut^ at which are seated the Mother of the
Crypsies and a Girl.
Mother. Throw some fresh straw upon the thatch,
daughter : there'll be heavy rain again to-night.
280 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Enter a Gypsy Boy.
Boy. a dormouse, mother ! and look ! two field-mice !
Mother. I'll skin them and roast them for thee, and thou
shalt have a cap of their skins. Thou bleedest !
Boy. Dormouse bit me.
Mother. Fetch some dead wood, that the fire may burn
bright when thy father comes : he will be wet through and
through.
Another Gypsy Woman, with a child at her back.
First Woman. Hast thou had good luck ?
Second Woman. Ill enough. The whole country is in an
uproar : one's life is not safe a moment. Two villages are in
a blaze.
FmsT Woman. Is it fire that glares so yonder? I have
been watching it long. One is so accustomed now to fiery
signs in the heavens.
The Captain of the Gypsies enters with three of his gang.
Captain. Heard ye the wild huntsman ?
First Woman. He is passing over us now.
Captain. How the hounds give tongue ! Wow ! Wow !
Second Man. How the whips crack !
Third Man. And the huntsmen cheer them — Hallo — ho !
Mother. 'Tis the Devil's chase.
Captain. We have been fishing in troubled waters. The
peasants rob each other: there's no harm in our helping
them.
Second Woman. What hast thou got, Wolf ?
Wolf. A hare and a capon, a spit, a bundle of linen,
three spoons and a bridle.
Sticks. I have a blanket and a pair of boots, also a flint
and tinder-box.
Mother. All wet as mire : I'll dry them, give them here !
[ Trampling without.
Captain. Hark ! — A horse ! Go see who it is.
Enter Goetz on horseback.
Goetz. I thank thee, God ! I see fire — they are gyp-
sies — My wounds bleed sorely — my foes are close behind
me ! — Great God, this is a fearful end !
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 281
Captain. Is it in peace thou comest?
GoETz. I crave help from you — My wounds exhaust
me : assist me to dismount !
Captain. Help him ! — A gallant warrior in look and
speech.
Wolf (aside) . 'Tis Goetz von Berlichingen !
Captain. Welcome ! welcome ! — All that we have is
yours.
GoETz. Thanks, thanks !
Captain. Come to my hut. [^Exeunt to the hut.
Scene VII. — Inside the Hut.
Captain, Gypsies, and Goetz.
Captain. Call our mother : tell her to bring bloodwort
and bandages. (Goetz unarms Jiimself.) Here is my holi-
day doublet.
Goetz. God reward you !
[^The Mother binds his wounds.
Captain. I rejoice that you are come.
Goetz. Do you know me?
Captain. Who does not know you, Goetz? Our lives
and heart's blood are yours.
Enter Sticks.
Sticks. Horsemen are coming through the wood. They
are confederates.
Captain. Your pursuers! They shall not harm you.
Away, Sticks, call the others : we know the passes better
than they. We shall shoot them ere they are aware of us.
l^Exeunt Captain and Men-Gypsies with their guns.
Goetz {alone) . O Emperor ! Emperor ! Robbers pro-
tect thy children. {A sharp firing.) The wild foresters !
Steady and true !
Enter Women.
Women. Flee, flee ! The enemy has overpowered us.
Goetz. Where is my horse?
Women. Here.
Goetz {girds on his sword and mounts without his armor) .
For the last time shall you feel my arm. I am not so weak
yet. [^Exit. — Tumult.
Women. He gallops to join otir party. [^Firing.
282 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Enter Wolf.
Wolf. Away ! Away ! All is lost ! — The captain is
shot ! — Goetz a prisoner.
\The Women scream, andjly into the wood.
Scene VIII. — Adelaide's Bed-chamber,
Enter Adelaide with a letter.
Adelaide. He, or I ! The tyrant — to threaten me ! We
will anticipate him. Who glides through the ante-chamber?
(-4 low knock at the door.) Who is there?
Francis {in a low voice). Open, gracious lady !
Adelaide. Francis ! He well deserves that I should
admit him. \_Opens the door.
Francis (throws himself on her neck) . My dear, my gra-
cious lady !
Adelaide. What audacity ! If any one should hear
you!
Francis. Oh — all — all are asleep !
Adelaide. What wouldst thou?
Francis. I cannot rest. The threats of my master —
your fate — my heart.
Adelaide. He was incensed against me when you parted
from him?
Francis. He was as I have never seen him. — *' To my
castle," said he, "she must — she shall go."
Adelaide. And shall we obey?
Francis. I know not, dear lady !
Adelaide. Thou foolish, infatuated boy ! Thou dost not
see where this will end. Here he knows I am in safety.
He has long had designs on my freedom, and therefore
wishes to get me to his castle — there he will have power to
use me as his hate shall dictate.
Francis. He shall not !
Adelaide. Wilt thou prevent him?
Francis. He shall not !
Adelaide. I foresee the whole misery of my fate. He
will tear me forcibly from his castle to immure me in a
cloister.
Francis. Hell and damnation !
Adelaide. Wilt thou rescue me ?
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 283
Francis. Any thing ! Every thing !
Adelaide (throws herself weeping upon his neck) . Fran-
cis ! Oh, save me !
Francis. He shall fall. I will plant my foot upon his
neck.
Adelaide. No violence. You shall carry a submissive
letter to him announcing obedience — Then give him this
vial in his wine.
Francis. Give it me ! Thou shalt be free !
Adelaide. Free ! — And then no more shalt thou need
to come to my chamber trembling and in fear. No more
shall I need anxiously to say, "Away, Francis! the morn-
ing dawns."
Scene IX. — Street before the Prison at Heilbronn.
Elizabeth and Lerse.
Lerse. Heaven relieve your distress, gracious lady !
Maria is come.
Elizabeth. God be praised ! Lerse, we have sunk into
dreadful misery. My worst forebodings are realized ! A
prisoner — thrown as an assassin and malefactor into the
deepest dungeon.
Lerse. I know all.
Elizabeth. Thou knowest nothing. Our distress is too —
too great! His age, his wounds, a slow fever — and, more
than all, the despondency of his mind, to think that this
should be his end.
Lerse. Ay, and that Weislingen should be commissioner !
Elizabeth. Weislingen !
Lerse. They have acted with unheard-of severity. Metz-
ler has been burnt alive — hundreds of his associates broken
upon the wheel, beheaded, quartered, and impaled. All the
country round looks like a slaughter-house, where human
flesh is cheap.
Elizabeth. Weislingen commissioner ! O Heaven ! a ray
of hope ! Maria shall go to him : he cannot refuse her. He
had ever a compassionate heart ; and when he sees her whom
he once loved so much, whom he has made so miserable —
Where is she?
Lerse. Still at the inn.
Elizabeth. Take me to her. She must away instantly.
I fear the worst. [Exeunt.
284 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Scene X. — An Apartment in Weislingen^s Castle.
Weislingen, alone.
Weislingen. I am so ill, so weak — all my bones are
hollow — this wretched fever has consumed their very mar-
row. No rest, no sleep, by day or night ! and when I slum-
ber, such fearful dreams ! Last night methought I met
Goetz in the forest. He drew his sword, and defied me to
combat. I grasped mine, but my hand failed me. He darted
on me a look of contempt, sheathed his weapon, and passed
on. He is a prisoner, yet I tremble to think of him.
Miserable man ! Thine own voice has condemned him, yet
thou tremblest like a malefactor at his very shadow. And
shall he die ? Goetz ! Goetz ! we mortals are not our own
masters. Fiends have empire over us, and shape our actions
after their own hellish will, to goad us to perdition. (JSits
clown.) Weak! Weak! Why are my nails so blue? A
cold, clammy, wasting sweat drenches every limb. Every
thing swims before my eyes. Could I but sleep ! Alas !
Enter Maria.
Weislingen. Mother of God ! Leave me in peace —
leave me in peace ! This spectre was yet wanting. Maria
is dead, and she appears to the traitor. Leave me, blessed
spirit I I am wretched enough.
Maria. Weislingen, I am no spirit. I am Maria.
Weislingen. It is her voice !
Maria. I came to beg my brother's life of thee. He is
guiltless, however culpable he may appear.
Weislingen. Hush ! Maria — Angel of heaven as thou
art, thou bringest with thee the torments of hell ! Speak no
more !
Maria. And must my brother die? Weislingen, it is
horrible that I should have to tell thee he is guiltless ; that
I should be compelled to come as a suppliant to restrain thee
from a most fearful murder. Thy soul to its inmost depths
is possessed by evil powers. Can this be Adelbert?
Weislingen. Thou seest — the consuming breath of the
grave hath swept over me — my strength sinks in death — 1
die in misery, and thou comest to drive me to despair. —
Could I but tell thee all, thy bitterest hate would melt to
sorrow and compassion. O Maria ! Maria !
Maria. Weislingen, mj' brother is pining in a dungeon
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 285
— The anguish of his wounds — his age — Oh, hadst thou
the heart to bring his gray hairs . . . Weislingen, we should
despair !
Weislingen. Enough ! [ Rings a hand-belL
Enter Francis, in great agitation.
Francis. Gracious sir.
Weislingen. Those papers, Francis. ( He gives them.
Weislingen tears open a packet, and shows Maria a paper.)
Here is thy brother's death-warrant signed !
Maria. God in heaven !
Weislingen. And thus I tear it. He shall live ! But
can I restore what I have destroyed? Weep not so, Francis !
Dear youth, my wretchedness lies deeply at thy heart.
[ Francis throws himself at his feet, and clasps his knees.
Maria {apart). He is ill — very ill. The sight of him
rends my heart. I loved him ! And now that I again ap-
proach him, I feel how dearly —
Weislingen. Francis, arise, and cease to weep — I may
recover ! While there is life, there is hope.
Francis. You cannot ! You must die !
Weislingen. Must?
Francis (beside himself ). Poison! poison! — from your
wife ! I — I gave it. [ Bushes out.
Weislingen. Follow him, Maria — he is desperate.
[Exit Maria.
Poison from my wife ! Alas I alas ! I feel it. Torture and
dearth !
Maria ( within ) . Help ! help !
Weislingen ( attempts in vain to rise ) . God ! I cannot.
Maria ( re-entering ). He is gone ! He threw himself
desperately from a window of the hall into the river.
Weislingen. It is well with him. Thy brother is out of
danger. The other commissioners, especially Seckendorf, are
his friends. They will readily allow him to ward himself
upon his knightly word. Farewell, Maria ! Now go.
Maria. I will stay with thee — thou poor forsaken one !
Weislingen. Poor and forsaken indeed ! O God, thou
art a terrible avenger ! My wife !
Maria. Remove from thee that thought. Turn thy soul
to the throne of mercy.
Weislingen. Go, thou gentle spirit ] leave me to my
misery I Horrible ! Even thy presence, Maria, even the
attendance of my only comforter, is agony.
286 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Maria ( aside ) . Strengthen me, Heaven I My soul
droops with his.
Weislingen. Alas ! alas ! Poison from my wife ! My
Francis seduced by the wretch ! She waits — listens to every
horse's hoof for the messenger who brings her the news of
my death. And thou, too, Maria, wherefore art thou come
to awaken every slumbering recollection of my sins? Leave
me, leave me that I may die !
Maria. Let me stay ! Thou art alone : think I am thy
nurse. Forget all. May God forgive thee as freely as I do !
Weislingen. Thou spirit of love ! pray for me ! pray for
me ! My heart is seared.
Maria. There is forgiveness for thee. — Thou art ex-
hausted.
Weislingen. I die ! I die ! and yet I cannot die. In the
fearful contest between life and death lie the torments of
hell.
Maria. Heavenly Father, have compassion upon him.
Grant him but one token of th}' love, that his heart may be
opened to comfort, and his soul to the hope of eternal life,
even in the agony of death !
Scene XI. — A Narrow Vault dimly illuminated. The Judges of the
Secret Tribunal discovered seated^ all muffled in Black Cloaks.
Eldest Judge. Judges of the Secret Tribunal, sworn by
the cord and the steel to be inflexible in justice, to judge in
secret, and to avenge in secret, like the Deity ! Are your
hands clean and your hearts pure ? Raise them to heaven ,
and cry, Woe upon evil-doers !
All. Woe ! woe !
Eldest Judge. Crier, begin the diet of judgment.
Crier. I cry, I cry for accusation against evil-doers !
He whose heart is pure, whose hands are clean to swear by
the cord and the steel, let him lift up his voice and call upon
the steel and the cord for vengeance 1 vengeance ! ven-
geance !
Accuser ( comes forward ) . My heart is pure from mis-
deed, and my hands are clean from innocent blood : God
pardon my sins of thought, and prevent their execution. I
raise my hand on high, and cry for vengeance ! vengeance !
vengeance !
Eldest Judge. Vengeance upon whom?
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 287
Accuser. I call upon the cord and the steel for vengeance
against Adelaide of Weislingen. She has committed adultery
and murder. She has poisoned her husband by the hands of
his servant — the servant hath slain himself — the husband
is dead.
Eldest Judge. Dost thou swear by the God of truth, that
thy accusation is true ?
Accuser. I swear !
Eldest Judge, Dost thou invoke upon thine own head the
punishment of murder and adultery, should thy accusation be
found false?
Accuser. On my head be it.
Eldest Judge. Your voices !
\_They converse a few minutes in whispers.
Accuser. Judges of the Secret Tribunal, what is your
sentence upon Adelaide of Weislingen, accused of murder and
adultery ?
Eldest Judge. She shall die ! — she shall die a bitter and
twofold death ! By the double doom of the steel and the
cord shall she expiate the double crime. Raise your hands
to heaven and cry, Woe, woe upon her ! Be she delivered
into the hands of the avenger.
All. Woe ! woe !
Eldest Judge. Woe ! Avenger, come forth.
[ A man advances.
Here, take thou the cord and the steel ! Within eight days
shalt thou blot her out from before the face of heaven :
wheresoever thou findest her, down with her into the dust.
Judges, ye that judge in secret, and avenge in secret like the
Deity, keep your hearts from wickedness, and your hands
from innocent blood ! [ Scene closes.
Scene XII. — The Court of an Inn.
Lerse and Marla..
Maria. The horses have rested long enough : we will
away, Lerse.
Lerse. Stay till to-morrow : this is a dreadful night.
Maria. Lerse, I cannot rest till I have seen my brother.
Let us away : the weather is clearing up — we may expect a
fair morning.
Lerse. Be it as you Ydll.
288 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Scene XIII. — The Prison at Ileilbronn.
GoETz and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth. I entreat thee, dear husband, speak to me.
Thy silence alarms me: thy spirit consumes thee, pent up
within thy breast. Come, let me see thy wounds : they
mend daily. In this desponding melancholy I know thee no
longer !
GoETz. Seekest thou Goetz? He is long since gone!
Piece by piece have they robbed me of all I held dear, — my
hand, my property, my freedom, my good name ! My life !
Of what value is it to me? What news of George? Is
Lerse gone to seek him?
Elizabeth. He is, my love ! Be of good cheer : things
may yet take a favorable turn.
Goetz. He whom God hath stricken lifts himself up no
more ! 1 best know the load I have to bear. — To misfor-
tune I am inured. — But now it is not Weislingen alone,
not the peasants alone, not the death of the emperor, nor
my wounds, — it is the whole united. . . . My hour is
come ! I had hoped it should have been like my life. But
his will be done !
Elizabeth. Wilt not thou eat something?
Goetz. Nothing, my love. See how the sun shines
yonder !
Elizabeth. It is a fine spring day !
Goetz. My love, wilt thou ask the keeper's permission
for me to walk in his little garden for half an hour, that I
may look upon the clear face of heaven, the pure air, and
the blessed sun?
Elizabeth. I will — and he will readily grant it.
Scene the Last. — The Prison Garden.
Lerse and Maria.
Maria. Go in, and see how it stands with them.
\_ExU Lerse.
Enter Elizabeth and Keeper.
Elizabeth (to the Keeper). God reward your kindness
and attention to my husband ! (Exit Keeper.) Maria, how
hast thou sped ?
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. 289
Maria. My brother is safe ! But my heart is torn asun-
der. Weislingen is dead ! Poisoned by his wife. My hus-
band is in danger — the princes are becoming too powerful
for him : they say he is surrounded and besieged.
Elizabeth. Believe not the rumor, and let not Goetz
hear it.
Maria. How is it with him?
Elizabeth. I feared he would not survive till thy re-
turn : the hand of the Lord is heavy on him. And George
is dead !
Maria. George ! The gallant boy !
Elizabeth. When the miscreants were burning Milten-
berg, his master sent him to check their villany. A body of
cavalry charged upon them : had they all behaved as George,
they must all have had as clear a conscience. Many were
killed, and George among them : he died the death of a
warrior.
Maria. Does Goetz know it?
Elizabeth. We conceal it from him. He questions me
ten times a day concerning him, and sends me as often to
see what is become of him. I fear to give his heart this
last wound.
Maria. O God ! What are the hopes of this world?
Enter Goetz, Lerse, and Keeper.
Goetz. Almighty God ! How lovely it is beneath thy
heaven ! How free ! The trees put forth their buds, and
all the world awakes to hope. . . . Farewell, my children !
My roots are cut away, my strength totters to the grave.
Elizabeth. Shall I not send Lerse to the convent for
thy sou, that thou mayst once more see and bless him?
Goetz. Let him be : he needs not my blessing, he is
holier than I. — Upon our wedding-day, Elizabeth, could
I have thought I should die thus ! — My old father blessed
us, and prayed for a succession of noble and gallant sons. —
God, thou hast not heard him. I am the last . . . Lerse,
thy countenance cheers me in the hour of death, more than
in our most daring fights : then, my spirit encouraged all of
you ; now, thine supports me . . . Oh that I could but once
more see George, and sun myself in his look ! You turn
away, and weep. He is dead? George is dead? Then, die,
Goetz ! Thou hast outlived thyself, outlived the noblest of
thy servants. . . . How died he? Alas! they took him
among the incendiaries, and he has been executed?
290 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN.
Elizabeth. No ! he was slain at Miltenberg, while fight-
ing for his freedom like a lion.
GoETz. God be praised ! He was the kindest youth
under the sun, and one of the bravest. . . . Now release
my soul. My poor wife ! I leave thee in a wicked world.
Lerse, forsake her not! Lock your hearts more carefully
than your doors. The age of fraud is at hand, treachery
will reign unchecked. The worthless will gain the ascen-
dency by cunning, and the noble will fall into their net.
Maria, may God restore thy husband to thee ! May he not
fall the deeper for having risen so high ! Selbitz is dead,
and the good emperor, and my George. . . . Give me. a
draught of water ! . . . Heavenly air ! Freedom ! free-
dom ! [^He dies.
Elizabeth. Freedom is above, — above, with thee ! The
world is a prison-house.
Maria. Noble man ! Woe to this age that rejected thee!
Lerse. And woe to the future, that shall misjudge thee!
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
A COMEDO IiN VERSE AND IN THREE ACTS,
TRANSLATED BY EDQAR A. BOWBING. O. B.
This clever comedy, like the preceding piece, was written
during Goethe's residence at Leipsic; but it wa^ touched up and
improved at intervals, during subsequent years, until it was
printed in his collected works. That its aucnor considered it
of'»some importance, is shown by the fact that it was one of the
plays acted by the amateur companv at the Court of Weimar.
DRAMATIS PERSONiE
The Host. Alcestes.
Sophia, his daughter. A Waiter.
SoLLER, her husband.
The Scene is in the Inn.
THE FELLOW-CULPEITS.
ACT I.
Scene I. The Inn Parlor,
SoLLER, in a domino at a table, with a bottle of wine before
him. Sophia, opposite him, sewing a white feather on to
a hat. The Host enters. At the back of the stage is a
table with pen, ink, and paper, A large easy-chair is near
it,
HOST.
Another ball ! My son, I'm sick of all this riot ;
I thought that by this time you'd like a little quiet.
I certainly ne'er gave my daughter's hand to you,
To see my hard- won cash so recklessly run through.
I'm getting old, and sought my forces to recruit ;
Assistance wanted I, and so allow'd your suit ;
A nice assistance yours, to waste each little earning !
(SoLLER hums a tune to himself,)
Yes, sing away ! You'll soon another song be learning.
A good-for-nothing chap, whose folly few men's matches,
Plays, drinks, tobacco smokes, and plots of all kinds hatches.
You revel all the night, are half the day in bed :
No prince throughout the land an easier life e'er led.
There the adventurer sits, with spreading sleeves. Ha ! ha !
The king of coxcombs he !
SOLLER {drinks. )
I drink your health, papa !
293
Vol 6 Goethe— J
294 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
HOST.
You drink my health, indeed ! Enough to give me fever I
SOPHIA.
My father, pray be kind !
soLLER (drinks).
Soph, happy be forever !
SOPHIA.
Be happy ! Ah, could I but see you two agree I
HOST.
Unless he changes much, that certainly can't be.
I've long indeed been sick of these disputes eternal ;
But while he thus behaves, the nuisance is infernal.
He is a wicked man, cold, thankless to the last ;
He sees not what he is, remembers not the past :
The poverty from which I saved him, he forgets.
And my munificence in paying all his debts.
Distress, repentance, time, no change in him have wrought:
The man who's once a scamp is always good for nought.
SOPHIA.
He'll surely change some day.
HOST.
He little hurry shows.
SOPHIA.
'Tis but the way of youth.
SOLLER (drinks) .
To all we love, here goes !
HOST.
In at one ear, forsooth, and at the other out.
He doesn't hear me. I a cipher am, no doubt.
I now for twenty years an honor' d life have led :
What I have saved, you hope to make your own instead,
"^*>,,.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 295
And bit by bit consume ? If this is what you're at,
You're much mistaken, friend ! 'Tis not so bad as that.
Long has endured, and long will still last, my vocation :
The host of the Black Bear is known throughout creation.
No foolish Bear is he, his skin he looks to well :
My house is painted now, I call it a hotel.
Soon cavaliers will come, and gold will fall in showers :
We none must idle be, or waste in drink our hours.
To bed at twelve o'clock, up soon as it is day,
That's it!
SOLLER.
All this, just now, is pretty far away.
May things go on as now, and never get less steady !
Where are our many guests ? The rooms above are ready.
HOST.
Few travel at this time : the house will fill up soon.
Has Squire Alcestes not two rooms and the saloon ?
SOLLER.
That's nothing, yes : a right good customer is he ;
Yet sixty minutes good in ev'ry hour there be,
And Squire Alcestes knows why he is here.
HOST.
Knows why?
SOLLER.
But, apropos, papa ! To-day informed was I :
A corps of brave young folks in Germany's preparing
To help America, both gold and succor bearing.
If they get men enough, and courage for the mission,
Next spring, 'tis said, they'll start upon their expedition.
HOST.
Yes, oft I've heard them boast, as they a bottle share,
"What wonders they would do for my compatriots there ;
Then freedom was the cry, vast valor they affected.
But when the morning came their vows none recollected.
SOLLER.
Ah, there are chaps enough, who' re always gushing over :
There's one not far from 3'ou who is an ardent lover ;
296 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
"Would he romantic be, or aim at the sublime,
With head well placed in front, he'll scour the world in time.
HOST.
If from our customers that one would take a hint,
'Twould be so nice, and he could write us, without stint,
Such letters ! What a joke !
SOLLER.
'Tis deuced far from here.
HOST.
What matters that ? In time the letters would appear.
I'll go up-stairs at once, and with the map's assistance,
That's in the little room, I'll soon find out the distance.
Scene II.
Sophia, Soller.
SOLLER.
One's pretty well off here, when one can read the papers.
sophla..
Yes, let him have his way.
SOLLER.
I'm calm, and have no vapors :
'Tis well for him, indeed ! Was ever such a bully !
SOPHIA.
I pray you —
SOLLER.
No ! I needs must speak my mind out fully !
A year ago was I, as I can ne'er forget,
A trav'ller here by chance, head over ears in debt —
SOPHIA.
My dear, be not so cross !
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 297
SOLLER.
Those thoughts will still molest me,
And yet Sophia found she didn't quite detest me.
SOPHIA.
You leave me ne'er in peace, reproaching night and day.
SOLLER.
I don't reproach you, dear ; 'tis but my little way.
A pretty woman ne'er can be by man held hateful,
Whatever may betide ! You see I'm not ungrateful.
Sophia pretty is, and I am not of stone :
'Tis my delight that you now me as husband own.
1 love you —
SOPHIA.
Yet you ne'er allow a moment's bliss.
SOLLER.
There's nothing in it, love ! But I can tell you this :
Alcestes loved you well, for you with love did burn ;
You long have known him too, and loved him in return.
SOPHIA.
Ah!
SOLLER.
No : don't be disturb' d. I see no evil there :
If we should plant a tree, it shoots up in the air ;
And when it brings forth fruit, who happens to be by
Will eat it, and next year there's more. Sophia, I
Know you too well to feel the least annoyance after.
I find it laughable.
SOPHIA.
I see no cause for laughter.
"Alcestes loved me well, for me with love did bum ;
I long have known him too, and loved him in return."
What's after that?
SOLLER.
Why, nought ! I never said, in truth,
That more remains behind. For in her early youth,
298 THE FELLOW-CULrRITS.
When first a maiden blooms, she loves in make-believe :
A something stirs her heart, but what, she can't conceive.
At forfeits she will kiss : she presently grows bigger ;
The kiss still nicer is, impress' d with greater vigor.
She knows not why she now her mother's blame incurs :
'Tis virtue when she loves, she's guileless when she errs.
And if experience comes her other gifts to swell,
And makes a prudent wife, her husband likes it well.
SOPHIA.
You understand me not.
SOLLER.
I only meant to quiz ;
What drinking is to men, a kiss to maidens is :
One glass, and then one more, till on the ground we sink.
If we would sober keep, the plan is — not to drink.
Enough that you are mine ! — Is't not three years and more
Since Squire Alcestes here was guest and friend before ?
How long was he away ?
SOPHIA.
Three years, I think.
SOLLER.
And now
He's been a fortnight here this time —
SOPHIA.
My love, I vow
I know not what you mean.
SOLLER.
'Tis only conversation :
'Tween man and wife there is so little explanation.
But wherefore is he here ?
SOPHIA.
For pleasure, I suppose.
SOLLER. V»i
Perchance his heart for you with love still overflows.
If he still loves, would you still treat him as before?
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 299
SOPHIA.
Love's capable of much, but duty is of more.
You think —
SOLLEE.
I nothing think ; and understand the saying :
A man's worth more than fops who live by fiddle-playing.
The sweetest tunes we hear in any shepherd's song
Are only tunes ; and tunes the palate cloy ere long.
SOPHIA.
'Tis well to talk of tunes. Does yours sound much more
gayly ?
The state of discontent in which you live grows daily.
No moment in the day is from your teasing free :
If folks would be beloved, they lovable must be.
And were you quite the man, happy to make a maiden?
Why should I always be with your reproaches laden
For what is nothing? Yes, the house is near a crash :
You will not do a stroke, and only spend the cash.
You live from hand to mouth ; your debts are always many ;
And when your wife wants aught, she cannot get a penny,
And you won't take the pains to earn it for her. Yes :
Be a good man, would you a worthy wife possess.
Help her to pass her time, and what she needs, obtain ;
And as concerns the rest, you may in peace remain.
SOLLER.
Speak to your father, then !
SOPHIA.
That's what I've done quite lately.
There's many a thing we want, and trade has suffer'd greatly.
I asked him yesterday to hand me something over :
^' What," cried he, ''you no cash, and Soller there in clo-
ver!"
He gave me nothing, swore, with much abuse behind it.
Now tell me, please, where you expect that I shall find it?
You're not a man who e'er would for his wife feel sorrow.
SOLLER.
Oh, wait, dear child ! perchance I shall receive to-morrow
From a good friend —
300 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
SOPHIA.
Oh, yes ! from one who is a ninny.
I often hear of friends prepared to lend their guinea ;
But when we want gold, I never see that friend.
No, Soller, you must know that game is at an end !
SOLLER.
You have what needful is —
SOPHIA.
I know what you are at ;
But those who ne'er were poor need something more than that.
The gifts of Fortune oft to spoil us are inclined ;
We have what needful is, yet fancy her unkind.
The pleasure maidens love, and women too, — that joy
I neither hunger for, nor do I find it cloy.
Fine dresses, balls ! Enough, I am a woman true.
SOLLER.
Then go with me to-day. That's what I say to you.
SOPHIA.
That like the carnival our mode of life may be,
A revel for a time, that's ended suddenly.
I'd sooner sit alone whole years together here.
If you will nothing save, your wife must save, — that's clear.
Enough already is my father's indignation :
I calm his wrath, and am his only consolation.
No ! with my money, sir, you shall not make so free :
A little save yourself, and something spend on me !
SOLLER.
My child, for just this once allow me to be merry :
When comes the time for mass, we'll then be serious, — very.
A Waiter enters.
Squire Soller !
SOLLER.
Well, what now?
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 301
WAITER.
Here s Herr von Tirinette !
SOPHIA.
The gambler?
SOLLER.
Send him off ! Could I his name forget !
WAITER.
See you he must, he says.
SOPHIA.
What can he want with you ?
SOLLER.
He's leaving nere — {to the Waiter) — I'll come !
(to Sophia.) He wants to say adieu.
{Exit.)
Scene IH.
SOPHIA (alone).
He comes to dun him ! Yes, his money's lost at play :
He's ruining us all, and I must bear it ! Say,
Is this where all thy joys, thy dreams of pleasure, are?
The wife of such a man ! Hast thou gone back so far ?
Where is the vanished time, in which the youngsters sweet
In troops were wont to pay their homage at thy feet ?
When each one sought to read his fate within thine eyes?
In affluence I stood, a goddess from the skies.
The servants of my whims all watchful round me pressed :
It was enough to fill with vanity my breast.
And, ah ! a maiden is in evil case, in truth.
If she is pretty, she is ogled by each youth ;
All day her head's confused by praises loud and strong :
What maiden can withstand such fiery trial long ?
Ye could so nobly act, one thinks your word enough.
Ye men ! But all at once the Devil takes you off :
When ye can taste by stealth, all join the feast instanter ;
But if a girl's in love, ye vanish in a canter.
302 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
Thus gentlemen themselves in these hard times amu8C,
Some twenty disappear, and half a one then woos.
I found myself at last not utterly passed o'er ;
But chances fewer grow, when one is twenty-four.
Then Soller came, and soon accepted was by me :
He's an unworthy wretch, but still a man is he.
Here sit I now, and might as well be in my grave.
Admirers by the score I still, indeed, might have.
But what would be the use ? If haply they are silly,
They would but breed ennui, and bore me, willy-nilly ;
And dang'rous 'tis to love, suppose your friend is clever :
He'll to your detriment his cleverness turn ever.
When love was absent, I for no attentions cared, —
And now, — Oh my poor heart ! wert thou for this prepared?
Alcestes has returned. Ah, what new torment this !
To see him formerly — ay, those were days of bliss.
How loved I him ! — And yet — I know not what I will.
I shun him timidly, he is reserved and still ;
I am afraid of him ; my fear is fully grounded.
Ah, knew he that my heart still throbs with love unbounded !
He comes. I tremble now. My breast feels anguish new :
1 know not what I will, still less what I should do.
Scene IV. — Sophia, Alcestes.
ALCESTES {dressed, but without hat and sword) ,
Your pardon, ma'am, I pray, if I appear intrusive.
SOPHIA.
You're joking, sir : you know this room is not exclusive.
alcestes.
I feel that you no more to others me prefer.
SOPHIA.
I do not understand how that can hurt you, sir.
ALCESTES.
You do not, cruel one? Can I survive your ire?
SOPHIA.
Pxcuse me, if you please : I fear I must retire.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 303
ALCESTES.
where, Sophia, where? — You turn your face away,
Withdraw your hand? Have you no mem'ry left to-day?
Behold. Alcestes 'tis ! A hearing he entreats.
SOPHIA.
Alas ! how my poor heart with wild excitement beats
ALCESTES.
If you're Sophia, stay I
SOPHIA.
I must, I must away !
In mercy, spare me, spare me!
ALCESTES.
Sophia, can't you bear me?
cruel one ! Methought, She now is quite alone :
This is the very time to have some kindness shown.
1 hoped that she could speak one friendly word to me
But go now, go ! 'Twas in this very room that she
The ardor of her love to me discovered first ;
'Twas here that into flames our mutual passion burst.
Upon this very spot, — remember you no more ? —
Eternal faith you pledged ! —
SOPHIA.
O spare me, I implore 1
ALCESTES.
I never can forget, — the evening was enchanting :
Your eyes spoke out, and I in ardor was not wanting.
Your lips against my lips you tremblingly did press, —
]My heart still deeply feels that utter happiness.
Your only joy was then to see or think of me ;
And now, for me not e'en one hour will you keep free.
You see me seek for you ; you see how I am sad :
Go, false heart, go I you ne'er for me affection had.
SOPHIA.
You torture me, when now my heart enough oppressed is?
You dare to say that I have never loved Alcestes ?
304 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
You were my one sole wish, my greatest joy were you ;
For you my blood was stirred, for you my heart beat true ;
And this good heart which I did then to you surrender,
Must still remember jou, can never be untender.
I'm often troubled still with all this recollection :
As fresh as it was then, remaineth my affection,
ALCESTES.
You angel ! Dearest heart ! {He attempts to embrace her.)
SOPHIA.
There's some one coming now.
ALCESTES.
What, not one single word? I ne'er can this allow.
Thus the whole day is spent. How wretched is my lot !
I've been a fortnight here, to you have spoken not.
I know you love me still, but this I painful find :
We never are alone, we ne'er can speak our mind.
Not for one moment e'er this room in peace abides :
Sometimes your father 'tis, your husband then besides.
I shall not stay here long : I can endure it never.
All things are possible to those who will, however.
Once you were always prompt, expedients to devise ;
And jealousy was blind, though with a hundred eyes.
And if you only —
SOPHIA.
What?
ALCESTES.
Would bear in mind that ne'er
Alcestes must by you be driven to despair.
Beloved one, do not fail to seek a fitting spot
For private converse, since this place affords it not.
But hark ! this very night goes out your worthy spouse.
'Tis thought I, too, shall join a carnival-carouse.
The back-door to my stairs is quite adjacent, so
No person in the house of my return will know.
The keys are in my hands, and if you'll me receive —
SOPHIA -
Alcestes, I'm surprised —
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 305
ALCESTES.
And am I to believe
That you're no woman false? that still your heart is mine?
The only means that yet are left us, you decline?
Know you Alcestes not ? And can you still delay
During the night one hour to while with him away ?
Enough ! Sophia, I to-night may visit you ?
Or, if it safer seems, you'll come to me ? Adieu I
SOPHIA.
This is too much !
ALCESTES.
Too much ! A pretty way to speak !
The deuce ! too much ! too much ! Am I week after week
To waste for nothing here ? — Damnation ! why remain
If you don't care? I'll go to-morrow off again.
SOPHIA.
Beloved one ! Best one !
ALCESTES.
Ay, my grief you see and know,
And you remain unmoved ! I'll hence forever go.
Scene V.
The Above. The Host.
HOST.
A letter, sir, — from some great person, I opine.
The seal is very large : the paper, too, is fine.
(Alcestes tears open the letter.)
HOST (aside).
What's in this letter, I should vastly like to know!
ALCESTES {who has read the letter through hastily).
To-morrow morning hence full early I must go.
The bill !
806 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
HOST.
To start off thus, at such a time of rain,
The letter must indeed important news contain.
May I perchance presume to ask your Honor why ?
ALCESTES.
No!
HOST {to SOPHIA) .
Ask him : he to you will certainly reply.
{He goes to the table at the bottom of the stage ^ ivhere he takes
his books out of the drawer^ sits down, and makes out the
bill.)
SOPHIA.
Alcestes, is it so?
ALCESTES.
Her coaxing face, just see !
SOPHIA.
Alcestes, I entreat, depart not thus from me !
ALCESTES.
Make up your mind at once to see me, then, to-night.
SOPHIA (aside).
What shall — what can I do ! He must not leave my sight :
My only joy is he —
{Aloud,)
You see, I never can —
Remember, I'm a wife.
ALCESTES.
The Devil take the man I
You'll be a widow then ! These passing hours employ :
Perchance they'll be the last, as well as first, of joy.
One word. At midnight, then, my love, I shall appear.
SOPHIA.
My father's chamber is to mme so very near.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 307
ALCESTES.
Well, then, you'll come to me ! Why this consideration?
The moments fly away 'midst all your hesitation.
Here, take the keys.
SOPHIA.
My key will open ev'ry door.
ALCESTES.
Then come, my darling child ! Why trifle any more?
Now, will you ?
SOPHIA.
Will I?
ALCESTES.
Well?
SOPHIA.
Yes, I will come to you.
ALCESTES {to the host) .
Mine host, I shall not go.
HOST {advancing) .
Good!
( To Sophia) Wherefore this ado ?
SOPHIA.
Nought will he say.
HOST.
What, nought?
Scene VI.
The Above. Soller.
alcestes.
My hat!
SOPHIA.
There lies it ! here 5
^^^ THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
ALCESTES.
Adieu, I must be off.
SOLLER.
I wish you, sir, good cheer!
ALCESTES.
Fair madam, fare you well I
SOPHIA.
Farewell !
SOLLER.
Your humble servant !
ALCESTES.
I first must go up-stairs.
SOLLER (aside).
Each day he grows more fervent.
HOST (taking a light) .
Allow me, sir.
ALCESTES (talcing it politely out of his hand) .
Good host, indeed I can't consent !
(Exit.)
SOPHIA.
Well, SoUer, you are off ! How if I also went ?
SOLLER.
Aha ! you now would fain —
SOPHIA.
No, go ! I spoke in jest.
SOLLER.
No, no ! I understand this longing in your breast.
If one a person sees who's going to a ball
While one must go to bed, full hard 'tis after all.
There'll be another soon.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 309
SOPHIA.
O yes, to wait I'm able.
Now, SoUer, be discreet, and shun the gaming-table. .
( To the Host, who has meanwhile been standing in deep
thought.)
And now, good-night, papa. I'm off to bed, you see.
HOST.
Good-night, Sophia dear.
SOLLER.
Sleep well !
( Looking after her. ) Right fair is she !
( He runs after her., and kisses her again at the door.)
Sleep well, my lamb !
( To the Host.) And you will also go to bed!
HOST.
A Devil's letter that ! I'd like to hear it read !
{To SoLLER.)
Now, Carnival ! Good-night !
SOLLER.
Thanks ! Calm be your repose !
HOST.
Good SoUer, when you go, take care the door to close !
{Exit)
SOLLER.
You needn't be alarmed !
Scene VII.
SOLLER {alone).
What song will now be sung?
Oh that accursed play ! I wish the rogue were hung !
His figures were not fair, and I must bear it too !
He storms and fumes ayray : I know not what to do.
Suppose . . . Alcestes gold has got . . . and my false
keys —
I'm sure at my expense he fain himself would please.
310 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
I long have hated him ; around my wife he slinks ;
And now, just for this once, I'll be his guest, methinks.
But then, if it were known, there 'd be the deuce to pay —
I'm now in such distress, I know no other way.
The gamester claims his gold, or threatens vengeance deep.
Then, Soller, courage take ! The whole house is asleep.
And if it be found out, they'll find me safely bedded :
Thieves oft escape who are to handsome women wedded.
(Exit.)
ACT II.
Alcestes' Boom,
The stage is divided in its whole length into parlor and alcove.
On one side of the parlor stands a table, on which are
papers and a strong box. At the bottom is a large door,
and at the side a small one, opposite the alcove.
Scene I.
SOLLER ( in his domino, with a mask on his face, without
shoes, a dark lantern in his hand, enters at the little
door, and turns the light fearfully round the room : he
then advances more boldly, takes off his mask, and
speaks) .
One need not valiant be, in following one's calling :
One through the world may go by cunning and by crawling.
While one, to get a bag of gold, or p'rhaps his death,
With pistols armed, will come and say with bated breath,
*' Give up your purse, and lose no time about it, pray,"
As quietly as if he only said. Good-day.
Another round you steals, and with his magic passes
And sleight-of-hand your watch soon in his power, alas ! is ;
And when you seek it, he says boldly to your face,
" I'll steal it. Take good care ; " and that is soon the case.
But Nature gave me ne'er endowments such as that :
My heart too tender is, my fingers are too fat.
Yet, not to be a rogue, is difficult indeed :
Each day the cash grows less, each day the more we need.
You now have made the leap : take care that you don't fall !
Each person iu the house believes I'm at the ball.
THE FELLOW-CULPIUTS. 311
Alcestes at the fete is now ; my wife's alone :
Has constellation e'er a better aspect shown?
( Approaching the table.)
Oh come thou holy one ! Thou god in this strong-box !
Without thee, e'en a king is scarcely orthodox.
Ye pick-locks, many thanks ! your merit is untold :
Through you I capture him, the mighty pick-lock, — Gold !
( Wliilst he is trying to open the strong-box.)
An extra-clerk I once was in a court of justice :
I didn't stop there long, — so little people's trust is.
'Twas write, write, write, all day, with trouble still increas-
ing :
The prospects were not good, the drudgery unceasing ;
'Twas insupportable. A thief was caught one day :
False keys were on him found, and he was hanged straight-
way, i
Tenacious of her rights is justice known to be :
A subaltern was I, the false keys fell to me.
I picked them up. A thing may seem for little fit,
But there may come a time when you'll be glad of it.
And now (the lock springs open) .
O lovely coin ! I feel like one possessed.
(He puts money in his pocket.)
My pocket swells with cash, with rapture swells my breast —
Unless 'tis fright. But hark ! Ye coward limbs ! Pooh,
pooh !
Why tremble thus ? — Enough !
(He looks into the strong-box again, and takes more money.)
Once more ! Yes, that will do.
(He closes it and starts.)
Again? There's something stirs! This house was never
haunted —
The Devil 'tis, perchance ! His presence isn't wanted.
Is it a cat ? But no ! Tom-cats walk lighter, rather.
Be quick ! They're at the lock —
(He springs into the alcove.)
Scene U.
The Host (entering at the side door with a wax candle).
SOLLER.
SOLLER.
The deuce ! It's my wife's father I
312 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
HOST.
'Tis folly to possess a nervous disposition :
Half guilty only yet, my heart's in ebullition.
Inquisitive I ne'er in all my life have been,
But in that letter some great secret may be seen.
The papers are so dull, they long have nothing told :
The newest thing one hears is always one month old.
And then, indeed, it is a most excessive bore,
When each one says: "Oh, yes! I've read your tale be-
fore."
Were I a cavalier, a minister I'd be ;
Then all the couriers needs must bring their news to me.
This letter I can't find. Perchance he left it not :
If so, confound it all I There's nothing to be got.
SOLLER (aside).
You good old fool ! I see the god of news and thieves
Less worship gets from you than he from me receives.
HOST.
I cannot find it — Hah ! — Just hark ! What noise is that
In the saloon ? —
SOLLER.
Perchance he smells me !
HOST.
By the pat,
It is a woman's foot.
SOLLER.
That hardly meets my case.
HOST (blows out his candle^ and lets it fall, whilst in his confu-
sion he cannot unlock the little door.)
This lock still bothers me.
(Pushes open the door^ and exit,)
Scene HI. — Sophia, entering at the bottom door with a light.)
SoLLER.
SOLLER (aside, in the alcove) .
It is a woman's face !
Hell ! Devil ! 'Tis my wife ! What can this indicate?
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 818
SOPHIA.
I quake at this bold step.
SOLLER.
'Tis she, as sure as fate
A pretty rendezvous ! But now suppose again
I showed myself! My neck would be ni danger then.
SOPHIA.
Just follow in Love's wake ! With friendly mien he first
Allures you on a while —
SOLLER.
I feel that I shall burst.
But I dare not —
SOPHIA.
. . . But if you ever lose your way,
No ignis-fatuus e'en such cruel tricks will play.
SOLLER.
A bog to you would prove less than this room a curse.
SOPHIA.
Matters have long gone ill, but now grow daily worse.
My husband gets quite wild. He always caused me
trouble ;
But now so bad is he, I hate him nearly double.
SOLLER.
You wretch !
SOPHIA.
He has my hand. Alcestes, as erewhile,
My heart possesses still.
SOLLER.
Enchantment, poison vile,
Were not so bad !
SOPHIA.
This heart, which for him fiercely burned.
And which from him alone the art of love first learned —
814 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
SOLLER.
The deuce !
SOPHIA.
. . Was calm and cold, ere softened by Alcestes.
SOLLER.
Ye husbands, hear the tale that now by her confessed is I
SOPHIA.
Alcestes loved me well.
SOLLER.
That's over long ago.
SOPHIA.
And how I loved him too !
SOLLER.
Mere child's play, as you know.
SOPHIA.
Fate parted us ; and, ah ! my sins to expiate,
I needs must wed a brute. — Oh what a dreadful fate !
SOLLER.
A brute am I? — A brute? A brute with horns, too, now.
SOPHIA.
What see I?
SOLLER.
Madam, what?
SOPHIA.
My father's candle ! How
Could it come here ? — Suppose . . . If so, I needs must fly-
Perchance he's watching us ! —
SOLLER.
Your scourge, O conscience, ply I
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 315
SOPHIA.
Yet I can*t understand how he could lose it here.
SOLLER.
Fears she her father not, the Devil she won't fear.
SOPHIA.
Ah, no ! all in the house in deepest slumber lie.
SOLLER.
Ay, lust more potent is than fear of penalty.
SOPHIA.
My father is in bed. — How ever could it be ?
Well, be it so !
SOLLER.
Alas!
SOPHIA.
Alcestes, where is he?
SOLLER.
Oh could I but —
SOPHIA.
My heart forebodes some coming evil :
I love and fear him too.
SOLLER.
I fear him like the Devil,
And more too. If he came, I'd say : " Good king infernal,
If you will take them off, I'll owe you thanks eternal.'*
SOPHIA.
Thou art too honest, heart ! What crime committest thou ?
Thou vowed st to be true ? Why care for such a vow ?
True to that man to be, who has no single merit,
"\Vhois so very course, false, foolish?
SOLLER,
Thanks, I hear it J
316 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
SOPHIA.
If one may not detest such monsters for their pains,
I much prefer the land where Devil-worship reigns.
He is a devil !
SOLLER.
What? A devil? Monster? Me!
I cannot bear it more.
{He is about to spring out,)
Scene IV. — Alcestes {dressed with hat and swordy covered with a
cloakj which he immediately takes off. ) The Above.
ALCESTES.
You're waiting then, I see.
SOPHIA.
Sophia came here first.
ALCESTES.
You fear?
SOPHIA.
I'm fainting nearly.
No, dearest, no?
ALCESTES.
SOLLER.
How fond ! Preliminaries merely.
SOPHIA.
You feel how much this heart has suffered for your sake, —
This heart you understand : forgive the step I take !
ALCESTES.
Sophia !
SOPHIA.
Ne'er shall I, if 3'ou forgive it, rue.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 317
SOLLER.
You'd better ask of me if I forgive it too.
SOPHIA.
What made me hither come ? In truth, I scarce know why.
SOLLER.
I know it but too welL
SOPHIA.
As one that dreams am I.
SOLLER.
Would I were dreaming too !
SOPHIA.
A heart full of distress
I bring to you.
ALCESTES.
To tell one's trouble makes it less.
SOPHIA.
A sympathetic heart like yours I ne'er did see.
SOLLER.
When you together yawn, you call that sympathy!
Delightful !
SOPHIA.
And when thus a perfect man I've found,
Why to your opposite am I forever bound ?
I have a heart which ne'er to virtue said adieu.
ALCESTES.
I know it.
SOLLER.
Yes, and I.
SOPHIA.
Though lovable are you,
One single word from me you never should have guessed,
Unless this hapless heart were hopelessly oppressed.
318 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
I day by day behold our house to ruin go.
The life my husband leads ! How can we go on so !
I know he loves me not ; my tears he never sees :
And when my father storms, him too must I appease.
Each morning with it brings fresh ground for provocation.
soLLER {touched after a fashion) .
Poor woman ! I confess there's cause for her vexation.
SOPHIA.
My husband has no wish to lead a proper life :
In vain I talk ; no man has such a yielding wife.
He revels all the day, makes debts on ev'ry side :
At once he plays, fights, sneaks, and quarrels far and wide.
His only wit consists in folly and wild pranks,
His only cleverness is that of mountebanks.
He lies, traduces, cheats.
SOLLER.
She's gath'ring now, I see,
Materials to compose my fun'ral eulogy.
SOPHIA.
The torments I endure are quite enough to kill,
Did I not know —
SOLLER.
Speak out!
SOPHIA.
Alcestes loves me stilL
ALCESTES.
He loves, complains like you.
SOPHIA.
It mitigates my pain,
From one, at least, — from you, — compassion to obtain.
Alcestes, by this hand, this dear hand, I entreat
That you will ever keep your heart unchanged.
SOLLER.
How sweet
Her words are !
THE FELLOW-CULrRITS. 319
SOPHIA.
For this heart, which save for you ne'er glowed,
No other comfort knows than that by you bestowed.
ALCESTES.
I know of nought that's fit to match your noble heart.
(^He takes Sophia in his arms and kisses her.)
SOLLER.
Alas ! will no kind fate appear, to take my part?
My heart is full of woe.
SOPHIA.
My friend !
SOLLER.
'Tis quite enough.
I'm altogether sick of friendship and such stuff.
And since it seems that they have nothing more to say,
I wish they'd kiss no more, and forthwith go their way !
SOPHIA.
Unkind one, let me go !
SOLLER.
The deuce ! What affectation !
" Unkind one, let me go ! " that means capitulation.
" You ought to be ashamed ! " the stale cry is of many.
As down the hill they fall. I wouldn't give a penny
Now for her virtue.
SOPHIA (extricating herself) .
Friend, one final parting kiss,
And then farewell !
ALCESTES.
You go?
SOPHIA.
I go, for needful 'tis.
ALCESTES.
You love me, and you go?
320 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
SOPHIA.
I go, because I love.
I soon should lose a friend, did I not quickl}^ move.
The course of one's laments to run at night prefers.
In some sure spot, where nought to startle us occurs.
We more confiding grow, when calmly we complain ;
But for our weaker sex, the risks increase amain.
In over-confidence too many dangers lie :
A sorrow-softened heart the mouth will not deny
At such a happy time to friends for friendship's kisses.
A friend is still a man —
SOLLER.
She knows full well what this is.
SOPHIA.
Farewell, and be assured that I am still your lover.
SOLLER.
Quite close above my head the storm is passing over.
{Exit Sophia. Alcestes accompanies her through the
middle door^ tchich remains open. They are seen to
stand together in the distance.
For this once be content. I've small time for reflection :
The moment 'tis to fly ; I'm off in this direction.
{He quits the alcove, and hastens through the side door).
Scene V.
alcestes {returning) .
What wouldest thou, m}^ heart? Indeed, 'tis passing strange,
How that dear creature has for thee endured no change !
Thy early gratitude for those past hours so bright
Of love's first happiness, has not departed quite.
What have I purposed not ! What feelings have been mine !
Still uneffaced remains that image all divine.
Where love, in glorious wise, its presence first avowed, —
The image at whose shrine my heart with reverence bowed.
How all is altered now ! What change comes o'er our lives !
Yet of that sacred glow a something still survives.
If truly thou'lt confess what made thee hither come.
The page will be turned o'er, thy love afresh will bloom.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 321
And thy free-thinking ways, thy distant schemes, the shame
By thee for her devised, the plan which thou didst frame, —
How vile they now appear ! Thou art distressed at last ?
Before thou snaredst her, she long had held thee fast !
This is the lot of man ! We hurry on apace.
And he who thinks the most is in the saddest case.
But now to urgent lliings : a plan must I invent
Whereby to-morrow she may have some money lent.
It is a cursed mischance : her fate my pity wakes.
Her husband, that vile wretch, her life a burden makes.
I've got here just enough. Let's think ! — yes, it will do.
Were I a stranger e'en, her hard lot I must rue.
But, ah ! this mournful thought my heart and mind op-
presses —
My conduct far too much the cause of her distress is.
I could not hinder it ; to happen thus 'twas fated.
What cannot now be changed, may be alleviated.
{He opens the strong-box.)
The Devil ! What is this ? My strong-box empty nearly ?
Of all the silver there, three-fourths have vanished clearly.
I have the gold with me. The keys are in my pocket ! —
All since the afternoon ! My room — who could unlock it ?
Sophia? Pshaw ! But j^es, — Sophia ! Base suspicion !
My servant? No ! that's, too, a foolish supposition.
He's fast asleep. Good man, his innocence I know.
Who then? By Heaven, the thought impatient makes me
grow.
ACT III.
Scene I. — The Inn Parlor.
HOST.
{In a dressing-gown^ sitting near the table., on which are a
half -burnt candle., coffee-things^ pipes and newspapers.
After the first few verses he rises ^ arid dresses himself dur-
ing this scene and the beginning of the next.
That letter, hang the thing ! of sleep and rest it robs me.
This comes from doing what I oughtn't, well I see.
It seems impossible to make this matter out :
When one is doing wrong, the Devil's there, no doubt.
322 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
'Twas my vocation ne'er, and therefore I'm afraid ;
And yet of any host it never should be said
He fears, when in the house strange noises he perceives.
For ghosts, as is well known, are close allied with thieves.
No man was in the house, not Soller nor Alcestes ;
The waiter it was not ; each maiden gone to rest is.
But stop ! At early dawn, perchance 'tween three and four,
I heard a gentle noise : it was Sophia's door.
She, maybe, was the ghost at whose approach I fled :
It was a woman's foot, just like Sophia's tread.
But then, what did she there ? One knows that women-kind
To pulling things about and meddling are inclined :
Guests' clothes and linen they inspect. I wish I first
Had finely frightened her, then into laughter burst.
She would have searched with me — the letter had been
found :
My efforts, now in vain, had with success been crowned.
Curse it ! One ne'er can think when one is in a strait,
And any plan that's good is thought of just too late !
Scene II. — The Host, Sophia.
SOPHIA.
My father, only think ! —
HOST.
You do not say good-morrow?
SOPHIA.
Oh, pardon me, papa ! my head is full of sorrow.
HOST.
And why ?
SOPHIA.
Alcestes' cash, which he received so lately,
Has altogether gone.
HOST.
That comes from gambling greatly.
They can't restrain themselves.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 323
SOPHIA.
Not so : 'tis stolen !
HOST.
What?
SOPHIA.
Yes, stolen from his room }
HOST.
I wish the thief were shot !
Who is it? Quick!
SOPHIA.
Who knows ?
HOST.
What ! In this house, you say?
SOPHIA.
Out of the box which on his table stands all day.
HOST.
And when?
SOPHIA.
This night !
HOST {aside).
Since I so curious was, the scandal
Will surely fall on me, for they will find my candle.
SOPHIA (aside).
He mutters, looks confused. Can he the culprit be?
That he was in the room, his candle proves to me.
HOST (aside).
Can she have taken it? The notion makes me swear :
Cash yesterday ran short, and she to-night was there.
(Aloud.)
This is a dreadful mess. Who injures us take heed !
Respectable and cheap our watchwords are indeed.
324 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
SOPHIA.
Though he may bear the loss, 'tis we who'll suffer most :
The public will be sure to lay it to the host.
HOST.
I know that but too well. A dreadful mess, no doubt.
If 'tis a house-thief, who will find the rascal out?
Much trouble it will give.
SOPHIA.
What shall we do ? Good lack !
HOST {aside).
Aha, she's much disturbed !
(Aloud, in a more peevish tone.)
I wish he had it back !
Right glad were I.
SOPHIA (aside).
He now repents, 'tis my belief.
(Aloud.)
And if it were restored, whoever was the thief,
He need not know, and soon 'twill from his memory pass.
HOST (aside).
If she is not the thief then write me down an ass.
(Aloud.)
A good child you have been. My confidence in you —
Just wait ! (He goes to the door to see.)
SOPHIA (aside).
By Heaven ! he means to make confession true !
HOST.
My child, I know you well. A lie you never told —
SOPHIA.
Sooner from all the world than you I'd aught withhold ;
And so I hope that now you'll also be assured —
HOST.
You are my child : what can't be cured must be endured.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 325
SOPHIA.
The best of hearts sometimes is subject to temptation.
HOST.
Oh let the past no more occasion us vexation !
That you were in the room, no mortal knows but I.
SOPHIA {startled).
You know ? —
HOST.
Yes, I was there. I heard you passing by.
I knew not who it was, and started off full speed.
SOPHIA (aside).
Yes, he the money has. There's now no doubt indeed.
HOST.
This morning heard I you, I lately recollected.
SOPHIA.
And, what is best of all, you will not be suspected :
I found the candle —
HOST.
You?
SOPHIA.
Yes, I!
HOST.
'Tis passing strange I
To give it back again, how can we best arrange?
SOPHIA.
You'll say, " Alcestes, sir, do spare my house, I pray !
Behold your money, I have found the thief to-day.
You know yourself how great we find temptation's force :
He scarcely had the cash, when vast was his remorse.
He came and gave it me. Here 'tis ! Let him be pardoned
For his offence ! " — I'm sure Alcestes' heart's not
hardened.
Vol 6 Goethe — K
326 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
HOST.
You certainly can use persuasion soft as honey.
SOPHIA.
Yes, that's the proper way.
HOST.
I first must have the money.
SOPHIA.
You have it not?
HOST.
How I should have it, I can't see,
SOPHIA.
How have it?
HOST.
Y«s ! Well, how ? Unless you give it me.
SOPHIA. ^
Who has it?
HOST.
Who?
SOPHIA.
Of course, if 'tis not you?
HOST.
Absurd.
SOPHIA.
Where have you put it?
HOST.
I can't understand a word.
You haven't got it?
SOPHU.
I?
HOST.
Yea!
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 327
SOPHIA.
How could that be so ?.
HOST (making signs as if he were stealing).
Eh!
SOPHIA.
I can't understand !
HOST.
Quite shameless, child, you grow.
You slip away when comes the time for restitution.
You have confessed. For shame on such irresolution !
SOPHIA.
This is too much ! You now make this vile accusation.
Just now you said that you gave way to the temptation.
HOST.
You toad ! I said so ? When ? Is this the way you love
me,
And show me due respect? A thief you try to prove me,
When you're the thief yourself !
SOPHIA.
HOST.
This morning in the room?
SOPHIA.
HOST.
To say you've not the cash ?
SOPHIA.
My father !
Yet you were
Yes I
Yet you still can dare
That does not follow.
HOST.
• Yes I
828 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
SOPHIA.
You, too, were there to-day —
HOST.
I'll pull your hair, unless
You hold your tongue and go !
(Exit Sophia, crying.)
You take the joke too far.
Unworthy one ! — She's gone ! Too impudent you are.
Perchance she thinks that lies will make him overlook it.
Enough, the money's gone, and she's the one who took it.
Scene HI.
Alcestes (in deep thought, in a frock-coat) , The Host.
HOST (in an embarrassed and entreating tone) .
Right sorrowful am I at what I've lately heard.
Well understand I, sir, how you by wrath are stirr'd ;
And yet I beg that you will nothing say about it,
And I will do what's right. I pray you do not doubt it.
If in the town 'tis known, 'twill fill my foes with glee.
And their maliciousness will throw the guilt on me.
It was no stranger, sir. The culprit is indoors.
Be calm, and soon again the money shall be yours.
Pray, what was the amount? /
ALCESTES.
A hundred dollars I
HOST.
WhatI
ALCESTES.
A hundred dollars, though —
HOST.
Contemptible are not!
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 329
ALCESTES.
Yet I am quite disposed my pardon to bestow,
Could I the culprit's name, and how he did it, know.
HOST.
Had I the money back, I ne'er would ask, I vow,
If Michael or if Jack had taken it, or how.
ALCESTES (aside).
My old attendant ? No, he cannot be the thief.
And from my chamber too — It passes all belief.
HOST.
"Why rack your brains like this ? The trouble is in vain.
Enough, I'll find the cash !
ALCESTES.
My cash?
HOST.
I ask again
That none may know of it ! We long have known each
other :
Enough, I'll find your cash, so give yourself no bother !
ALCESTES.
You know then ? —
HOST.
H'm ! The cash you soon shall have, however.
ALCESTES.
But only tell me this —
HOST.
Not for the world, no, never !
ALCESTES.
Just tell me who it was.
330 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
HOST.
I say, I dare not say.
ALCESTES.
'Twas some one in the house?
HOST.
Don't ask me that, I pray !
ALCESTES.
Was it the servant girl?
HOST.
Good Hannah ? No, not she.
ALCESTES.
The waiter 'twas, perchance?
HOST.
No, neither was it he.
ALCESTES.
The cook's a skilful hand —
HOST.
At dishing up a dinner.
ALCESTES.
The scullion Jack ? I
HOST.
He ne'er would be so great a sinner*
ALCESTES.
The gard'ner it might be ?
HOST.
No, wrong again, I guess.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 331
ALCESTES.
The gard'ner's son?
HOST.
No, no I
ALCESTES.
Perchance —
HOST.
The house-dog ? — Yes !
ALCESTES (aside)
Just wait a bit, old fool ! I'll catch you by and by,
{Aloud.)
Whoever was the thief, it doesn't signify,
If I my money get. (He pretends to be leaving.^
HOST.
True!
ALCESTES (as if a sudden thought struck him) .
Host, I see by chance, sir,
My inkstand's empty. I this letter straight must answer.
HOST. ,
What ! Yesterday it came : to answer it to-day,
Shows that it weighty is.
ALCESTES.
I ought not to delay.
HOST.
It is a channing thing to have to correspond.
ALCESTES.
It is not always so. The time one loses on't
Is worth more than the game.
332 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
HOST.
'Tis like a game of cards :
A single trump turns up, and past ill-luck rewards.
The letter yesterday important news, however,
Contains. Might I inquire —
ALCESTES.
Not for the world, no, never!
HOST.
Nought from America?
ALCESTES.
I say, I dare not say!
HOST.
Is Frederick ill again?
ALCESTES.
Don't ask me that, I pray I
HOST.
Are matters changed in Hesse? are people going?
ALCESTES.
Nol
HOST.
Perchance the Emperor —
ALCESTES.
Yes, that may well be so.
HOST.
Things in the North go wrong?
ALCESTES.
I cannot swear to that.
HOST.
They secretly conspire?
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 333
ALCESTES.
Oh ! people love to chat.
HOST.
There's no disaster, though?
ALCESTES.
Bravo ! You soon wiU guess.
HOST.
Perchance in the late frost —
ALCESTES.
The hares were frozen? — Yes !
HOST.
You don't appear to place much confidence in me.
ALCESTES.
When folks mistrustful are, we trust them not, you see.
HOST.
What mark of confidence will suit 3^our purpose better?
ALCESTES.
Well, tell me who's the thief : you then shall read my letter.
Right good the bargain is, which I to you now offer.
Will you the letter have?
HOST {confused and eagerly,)
I must accept your proffer !
{Aside.)
Would it were something else, which he from me would
learn !
ALCESTES.
You see that one good turn deserves another turn.
That I'll the secret keep, I by my honor swear.
834 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
HOST {aside).
Would that this letter now less appetizing were !
But if Sophia — she should see my tribulation !
No mortal could resist such wonderful temptation.
To master its contents, I all impatience am.
ALCESTES (aside).
No greyhound ever rushed so wildly at a ham.
HOST (ashamed, giving way, and still hesitating).
Well, as you wish it, sir, your great civility —
ALCESTES (aside).
He's biting now —
HOST.
Demands like confidence from me.
(Doubtfully and half entreatingly.)
You'll let me see at once the letter, sir, because —
ALCESTES (holding out the letter.)
This moment !
HOST (slowly approaching Alcestes with his eyes fixed on the
letter) .
Well, the thief—
ALCESTES.
The thief!
HOST.
ALCESTES.
Who stole it, was
Well, out with it I
HOST.
Was my —
ALCESTES.
W«ll|
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 335
HOST (in a resolute tone, whilst he comes up to Alcestes, and
tears the letter from his hand).
Was my daughter !
' ALCESTES (astonished).
What?
HOST (comes forward, tears the cover to pieces in his eagerness
to open the letter, and begins to read) .
" Right honorable sir ! "
ALCESTES (taking him by the shoulder) ,
'Twas she ? You're telling not
The truth.
HOST (impatiently).
Yes, it was she ! And much distressed am I.
(He reads.)
''And also"-—
ALCESTES (as obove) ,
No, good host ! Sophia ! 'Tis a lie !
HOST (tears himself loose, and continues without answering
him) .
'' My much respected '' —
ALCESTES (as above) .
What ! The guilty one was she ?
I'm quite confounded.
HOST.
"Sir" —
ALCESTES (as obovc) .
Now, pray just answer mel
How came it all about?
HOST.
You by and by shall hear.
336 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
ALCESTES.
Is it quite sure?
HOST.
Quite sure I
ALCESTES (^o Jiimself, as he goes ouf),
Methinks my course is clear.
Scene IT.
HOST (reads and speaks between whiles^ .
" And patron " — Has he gone? — '' The very friendly way
In which you view my faults, induces me to-day
Once more to trouble you ' ' — What faults would he con-
fess ?
" I feel assured, kind sir, you'll share my happiness.**
That's good! — "To-day kind Heaven another joy has
brought,
And you're the first of whom my thankful heart has
thought.
My dear wife is confined of her sixth son " — With rage
I'm fit to die ! — " The boy appeared upon the stage
Quite early." — Hang or drown the brat ! the vile invention .
*' And I make bold to ask if, in your condescension " —
I feel about to choke ! To suffer such a blow.
Just when I'm getting old ! I will not bear it, no !
Just wait a bit ! Your due reward shall you receive :
Alcestes, you shall see ! My house you straight shall leave.
So good a friend as me thus shamefully to treat !
I'd fain inflict on him a retribution meet.
But then my daughter ! Oh ! in such a scrape to get her !
And I've betrayed her for a mere godfather's letter !
(He seizes hold of his wig.)
Oh donkey that I am ! I'm in my dotage now !
Oh letter, cash, and trick ! I'll kill myself, I vow !
With what shall I begin ? How punish such vile tricks ?
{He grasps a stick, and runs round the stage.)
If any one comes near, I'll thrash him into snicks.
If I but had them here who planned the thing so wisely,
By all the powers that be, I'd currycomb them nicely !
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 337
I'll die unless I can — I'd give a sight of cash
To see the servant now a glass or bottle smash !
I shall devour myself. — Revenge, revenge for me !
{He attacks his arm-chair and thrashes it.)
Ha ! Thou art dusty? Come ! I'll take it out of thee !
Scene V.
The Host continuing to strike. Soller enters and is fright-
ened. He is in his domino^ with his mask hound to his
arm, and is half intoxicated.
SOLLER.
What's this? Why, is he mad? Methinks I'd best be
mute !
I shouldn't care to be that arm-chair's substitute !
Some evil spirit has the old man seized to-day :
'Twere better I were off. It isn't safe to stay.
HOST (without seeing Soller) .
I can no more ! Alas ! how ache both back and arm !
(He throws himself into the arm-chair).
My body's in a sweat.
soller (aside).
Yes, motion makes us warm.
(He shows himself to the Host.)
Good father !
host.
Oh the brute ! The night in revels spends he :
I vex myself to death, and de'il a bit attends he.
The Shrovetide fool his cash at play and dancing loses,
And laughs, while holding here his carnival the deuce is !
soller.
In such a rage !
HOST.
Just wait ! No longer will I call so.
338 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
SOLLEB.
What now?
HOST.
Alcestes ! Child ! Shall I infonn hhn also?
SOLLEB.
No! no I
HOST.
If you were hanged, 'twould be for me much better ;
And that Alcestes, too, with his confounded letter.
{Exit,)
Scene VI.
60LLEB {the very picture of terror).
What's this? Alas! Perchance, ere many minutes flee —
Take good care of your skull ! Your back will cudgelled be.
P'raps all has been found out. I'm in a burning fever,
So dreadful is my fright. Why, Doctor Faustus never
Was in so bad a case, or Richard Crook-back e'en !
Hell here, the gallows there, the cuckold in between !
{He runs about like a madman, and finally recovers himself,)
One's never happy made by stolen goods, you know.
Go, coward, scoundrel, go ! Why are you frightened so?
Perchance 'tis not so bad. I'll soon know how I'll fare.
{He sees Alcestes and runs away.)
Alas ! 'tis he ! 'tis he ! He'll seize me by the hair !
Scene VII.
alcestes {fully dressed, with hat and sword).
How fearful is the blow by which my heart oppressed is !
That wondrous creature whom the fancy of Alcestes
So tenderly the shrine of ev'ry virtue thought,
Who him the highest grade of fairest love first taught,
In whom god, maiden, friend, in one were all so blended,
And now so much abased ! That vision now is ended,
'Tis well p'raps to descend a height so superhuman :
Like other women now, she's nothing but a woman ;
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 339
But then, so deep ! so deep ! That drives me into madness.
My contumacious heart yearns after her with sadness.
How mean ? Canst thou not turn to good account the change ?
Seize on the proffer'd bliss that comes in form so strange !
A matchless woman, whom you love so very dearly,
Needs cash. Alcestes, quick I The pence you give her,
clearly
Would turn to pounds. But now, the cash herself she
takes, —
'Tis well ! If she once more parade of virtue makes.
Go ! pluck your courage up, and speak thus in cold blood :
" You, madam, have perchance the money taken? Good !
I'm heartily rejoiced. Let no reserve be shown
In such a small affair, but treat mine as your own."
A confidential tone, as though 'tween man and wife, —
And virtue's self, if you enact it to the life,
Won't be alarmed, but e'en to yield will soon incline.
She comes ! You are confused? 'Tis an unhappy sign !
You guilty deem yourself ; you cheat me in addition ;
Your heart is ill-disposed, but weak's your disposition.*
Scene VIII.
Alcestes, Sophia.
SOPHIA.
Alcestes, what means this? My sight you seem to sbun —
Has solitude for you such vast attractions won?
ALCESTES.
I know not what it is impels me at this season :
We oft soliloquize without a special reason.
SOPHIA.
Your loss indeed is great, and well may cause vexation.
* In the later editions, the following five lines take the place of the nine conclud'
log lines of this scene : —
" You find yourself in need of ready money? Good!
No secret of it make ! Let no reserve be shown
In taking what is mine, but treat it as your own." —
She comes ! All my false calm at once has flown away.
You think she took the cash, and yet would say her nay.
K. A. B.
340 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
ALCESTES.
It nothing signifies : I feel no irritation.
To lose a little cash small self-restraint demands :
Who knows but that it may have fallen in good hands?
SOPHIA.
No loss will your kind heart allow on us to fall.
ALCESTES.
A little openness this pain had saved us all.
SOPHIA.
How must I take this?
ALCESTES (smiling).
What?
SOPHLA.
What can your meaning be?
ALCESTES.
Sophia, me you know I Have confidence in me !
The money's gone, and where 'tis lying, let it lie !
I should have held my tongue, if sooner known had I
That thus the matter stands —
SOPHIA (astonished).
You know, then, all about it?
ALCESTES (with tendemess ; he seizes her hand and kisses it,)
Your father ! Yes, I know : my dearest, do not doubt it !
SOPHIA (surprised and ashamed) .
And you forgive ?
ALCESTES.
A joke, who'd deem it as a crime ?
SOPHIA.
Methinks —
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 341
ALCESTES.
Pray suffer me to speak my mind this time.
Alcestes' heart towards you with love's still running over.
Fate severed you from me, and yet I am your lover ;
Your heart is ever mine, as mine unchanged you find ;
My money's yours as though by law assigned ;
You have an equal right to all that I possess :
Take what you will, if with your love you me will bless.
{He embraces her, and she is silent.)
Command whatever you want ! I'm quite prepared to grant it.
SOPHIA (haughtily, whilst she tears herself away from him).
I prize your money, sir ! Indeed, I do not want it.
I scarcely understand a tone so strange and fervent.
Ha ? You mistake me —
ALCESTES (piqued).
Oh ! your most obedient servant
Knows you indeed too well ; and what he wants, he knows,
And sees not why your wrath thus suddenly o'erflows.
When one so far goes wrong —
SOPHIA (astonished).
Goes wrong ? Pray, in what sense ?
ALCESTES.
Madam !
SOPHIA (angrily).
What mean you, sir?
ALCESTES.
Forgive my diffidence .
I love you far too much to think of telling it.
SOPHIA (with indignation),
Alcestes !
He knows, so seems it
ALCESTES.
Well, then, ask papa, if you thmk fit?
342 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
SOPHIA {with an outbreak of vehemence as above) .
What ? Give me an answer true !
I am not joking, sir !
ALCESTES.
He says that it was you —
SOPHIA (as above) .
WeU, what?
ALCESTES.
That it was you, — by whom the cash was taken.
SOPHIA (with anger and tears, while she turns away).
He dares ? O God ! By shame so utterly forsaken !
Sophia !
ALCESTES {entreatingly) .
SOPHIA (turned away from him).
You're not worth —
ALCESTES (as obove).
Sophia !
SOPHIA.
Leave the place !
ALCESTES.
Pray pardon me !
SOPHIA.
Away ! Forgive such conduct base ?
M}^ father scruples not to rob me of my honor !
O poor Sophia ! Thus Alcestes looks upon her ?
Sooner than tell the truth, my life I'd forfeit rather —
But now it must come out ! — The robber was — my father !
(Exit hastily.)
Scene IX.
Alcestes. Afterwards Soller.
ALCESTES.
Would I could make it out ! Here is a pretty mess !
Only the Devil now this riddle strange can guess?
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 34S
Two persons who the best of characters have had,
Accuse each other ! — 'Tis enough to drive one mad.
No story such as this has ever reached my ears,
And yet IVe known them both for many, many years.
This is a case where thought no proper clew reveals :
The more one meditates, the greater fool one feels.
Sophia ! the old man ! Could either of them thieve ?
Had SoUer been accused, that well could I believe :
On him could but one spark of mere suspicion fall !
But he the livelong night, I know, was at the ball.
SOLLER (in his usual dress and rather intoxicated) .
There sits the Devil's imp, after his night-long revel !
Could I but seize your neck, I'd scrag you, master Devil I
ALCESTES (aside).
He comes as if bespoke !
(Aloud.) Well, Soller, what's the news?
SOLLER.
The noise the music made has given me the blues.
(He rubs his forehead,)
My headache's dreadful.
ALCESTES.
Ladies there too?
You were at the ball : were many
SOLLER.
About as usual ! When there's any
Bacon, the mice will seek the trap.
ALCESTES.
Was't merry?
SOLLER.
Quite!
ALCESTES.
You danced?
SOLLER.
I but looked on.
(Aside.) At your fine dance last night !
344 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
ALCESTES.
What I Seller did not dance? Why, how came that aboat?
SOLLER.
I went there with the full intention, there's no doubt.
ALCESTES.
And yet you didn't?
SOLLER.
No ! My headache was so bad.
And so, for dancing not, a good excuse I had.
ALCESTES.
Indeed !
SOLLER.
And what was worse, I found out to my cost,
The more I heard and saw, I sight and hearing lost.
ALCESTES.
So bad? I'm sorry for't ! 'Twas quite a sudden fit?
SOLLER.
Oh, no ! since you first came I've twinges had of it,
And longer.
ALCESTES.
That is strange !
SOLLER.
No remedy I know.
ALCESTES.
Your head with warm cloths rub : 'twill put you in a glow,
And p'raps you'll then be cured.
SOLLER (aside).
You 're chaflSng me, my friend?
i^Alovd.) *Tis not such easy work.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 345
ALCESTES.
'Twill answer in the end.
And yet you're rightly served. I'll one suggestion make :
You ne'er by any chance your poor wife with you take,
When to a ball you go. Small wisdom, sir, is shown,
In leaving a young wife in her cold bed alone.
SOLLER.
She likes to stop at home, and let me masquerade :
Well knows she how to warm herself, without my aid.
ALCESTES.
That's funny !
SOLLER.
Yes ! When one is fond of dainty food,
One doesn't need a hint to scent out what is good.
ALCESTES (piqued).
Why all this hyperbole?
SOLLER.
My meaning's plain I think:
Exempli gratia, I vastly like to drink
Father's old wine : but he my taste for it deplores, —
He spares his own ; and so I drink it out of doors.
ALCESTES (with resentment).
You'd best be careful, sir ! —
SOLLER.
Most noble squire of ladies,
She's now my wife : to that, by you no def 'rence paid is.
Her husband maybe deems she's something in addition.
ALCESTES (with Suppressed anger).
Fine husband ! I defy the slightest admonition ;
And if you should presume a single word to say ■ —
346 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
soLLER {frightened. Aside) .
How fine ! The end will be, that I must ask him, Pi'ay
How virtuous is she ?
(Aloiid.) My hearth is still my hearth,
Despite strange cooks !
ALCESTES.
Beside your wife, how small your worth?
So virtuous and fair ! A soul of purity !
What matchless dower she brought ! A very angel she !
SOLLER.
Her blood, too, as I've found, has much expansive power:
Head-ornaments for me were also in her dower.
For such a wife was I predestinated found,
And e'en before my birth was as a cuckold crowned.
ALCESTES (breaking out) .
Now, SoUer !
SOLLER {impertinently) ,
Well, what now?
ALCESTES (restraining himself) .
I tell you, hold your peace !
SOLLER.
I'd like to see the man who'd make my talking cease !
ALCESTES.
If place allowed, you'd get a proper castigation !
SOLLER (fialf aloud) .
He'd fight a duel for my wife's good reputation !
ALCESTES.
Indeed !
SOLLER (as before).
No mortal knows so well, how lies the land.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 34T
ALCESTES.
The deuce !
. SOLLEE.
Alcestes, we perceive how matters stand.
Now wait ! just wait a bit ! The subject we'll pursue ;
And we shall understand how gentlemen like you
The corn-jBelds for themselves will reap, yes, ev'ry one,
And for the husbands leave the gleanings, when they've
done.
ALCESTES.
I wonder much that you should be so bold, sir, knowing —
SOLLER.
Full often-times my eyes with tears are overflowing :
Each day I feel as though I'm sniffing onions.
ALCESTES {angrily and resolutely).
How?
You go too far ! Speak out ! Explain your meaning now !
Your tongue to loosen I shall be compelled, I ween.
SOLLER (boldly).
I have a right, methinks, to know what I have seen.
ALCESTES.
Seen ? What does seeing mean ?
SOLLER.
It means, what we discover
When we both see and hear.
ALCESTES.
Ha!
SOLLER.
Why with wrath boil over !
ALCESTES (with the most determined anger) .
What have you heard ? What seen ? Reply without delay 1
348 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
soLLER {frightened, trying to go away) .
Allow me, my good sir !
ALCESTES (holding him back).
Where go you?
SOLLER.
Right away !
ALCESTES.
Tou shall not leave this spot !
SOLLER {aside),
I would the man were dead !
ALCESTES.
What have you heard ?
SOLLER.
I? Nought ! *Twas only what they said !
ALCESTES (with angry impetuosity).
Who was the man?
SOLLER.
The man ? A man —
ALCESTES (more violently, and attacking him) .
Be quick ! Begin !
SOLLER (in anguish).
Who saw it with his eyes.
(More boldly.) I'll call the servants in !
ALCESTES (seizing him by the neck) .
Who was it?
SOLLER (trying to tear himself loose).
What? The deuce!
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 349
ALCESTES {holding him more firmly) .
No more my temper try !
{Drawing his sword.)
Who is the wicked wretch? the rogue? the liar?
soLLER {falling on his knees in his terror) .
II
ALCESTES {threateningly) .
What did you see ?
SOLLER {timidly),
I saw what proves that we're but human :
You, sir, are but a man ; Sophia is a woman.
ALCESTES {as abovc) .
And then?
SOLLER.
Precisely what we see in each direction,
When men and women have reciprocal affection.
ALCESTES.
And that's? —
SOLLER.
I should have thought you'd know by intuition.
ALCESTES.
Well?
SOLLER.
Surely you'll not dare to scout the supposition.
ALCESTES.
Indeed ! More plainly speak !
SOLLER.
Release me ! Oh, pray do !
ALCESTES {still as above).
It's called? The Devil!
850 THE FELLOW-CULFRITS.
SOLLER.
Well, it's called a rendezvous
ALCESTES (startled),
SOLLER {aside).
He's frightened now.
ALCESTES (aside).
How could he know it e'er?
(He sheathes his sword.)
You lie !
Take courage !
SOLLER (aside).
ALCESTES (aside).
Who betrayed that we together were ?
(Recovering himself.)
What mean you by your words ?
SOLLER (insolently).
We'll now make all things pleasant.
The comedy last night ! I happened to be present.
ALCESTES (astonished) .
Where ?
SOLLER.
In the closet.
ALCESTES.
Oh ! you thus were at your ball !
SOLLER.
And you were at your feast ! Without one drop of gall,
Two words : though secret plans you gentry may pursue,
Be sure that by and by they'll be exposed to view.
ALCESTES.
Its clear that you're the thief. I'd sooner have a raven
Or jackdaw in my house, than such a wicked craven
As you ! For shame, bad man !
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 351
SOLLER.
I'm bad, I must confess ;
But then you gentlemen are always right, I guess !
Our property you think to handle at your pleasure :
No laws you keep, but deal to us another measure.
The principle's the same : some woman love, some gold.
If you would hang us, let your passions be controlled !
ALCESTES.
You're very impudent -
SOLLER.
I'm impudent, no doubt :
In truth, it is no joke with horns to go about.
In short, we mustn't make the thing a cause of strife :
'Twas I who took your cash, and you who took my wife.
ALCESTES {threateningly).
What took I?
SOLLER.
Nothing, sir ! It long had been yom own.
Before 'twas mine.
ALCESTES.
If —
SOLLER.
I must leave the thing alone.
ALCESTES.
The gallows for the thief !
SOLLER.
Is it unknown to you
That stringent laws provide for other people too?
ALCESTES.
SciUer!
SOLLER (makes a sign of beheading).
Yes : there's the axe, if you indulge your passions —
352 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
ALCESTES.
Are you an expert, then, and understand the fashions?
You'll certainly be hanged, or flogged in any case.
soLLER (jpointing to his forehead).
I'm branded as it is.
Scene X. — The abcyoe.
The Host, Sophia.
SOPHIA (at the bottom of the stage).
His accusations base
My father still maintains.
HOST {at the bottom of the stage) .
My daughter still won't yield.
SOPHIA.
There is Alcestes !
HOST {seeing alcestes).
Ha!
SOPHIA.
The truth will be revealed.
HOST (to alcestes).
She is the thief, good sir !
SOPHIA (on the other side) .
The thief, sir, there you see !
ALCESTES (looks at them both laughingly, and then says in the
same tone as they, pointing to Soller) .
He is the thief I
soller (aside),
Alas for my poor skin !
THE FELLOW-CULPEITS. 353
SOPHIA.
HOST.
ALCESTES.
You are both innocent : *tis he !
He?
He?
HOST.
With pleasure
I*d run a
through his head !
SOPHIA.
You?
nail
sCllee (aside).
Thunderbolts and hail !
Pdlike —
HOST.
ALCESTES.
Be patient, sir : your wrath is ill-directed.
Although she guiltless was, Sophia was suspected.
She came to visit me. The step was bold, 'tis true ;
Yet for her virtue I —
{to Soller).
But you were present too !
(Sophia is astonished.)
To us was this unknown : propitious was the night,
Her virtue —
SOLLER.
There it was I had a pretty fright.
ALCESTES (to the host).
But you?
host.
Sir, I was there from curiosity ;
That cursed letter I so anxious was to see.
I wonder, sir, that you such conduct manifested !
That fine godfather's trick I have not yet digested.
354 THE FELLOW-CULPRITS.
ALCESTES.
Excuse the jest ! And you, Sophia, faithful wife —
Will surely pardon me ?
SOPHIA.
Alcestes !
ALCESTES.
Ne'er in life
Your virtue will I doubt. Forgive that rendezvous I
As virtuous as good —
SOLLEB.
I half believe it too !
ALCESTES {to SOPHIA)
And also you*ll forgive our Soller?
SOPHLA..
Willingly!
(^^e gives him her hand.)
There !
ALCESTES (to the host).
Mlons!
HOST {gives soller his hand).
Steal no more !
soller.
What's distant, time brings nigh !
Ai^CESTES.
But Where's my money now ?
SOLLER.
I took it in my trouble :
That gamester plagued me till he nearly bent me double.
I knew not what to do ; I stole, and paid the debt :
And now I" 11 give you back the dollars left me yet.
THE FELLOW-CULPRITS. 365
ALCESTES.
I'll give you what is spent.
SOLLER.
Now all has come out right.
ALCESTES.
I only hope you'll grow quite honest, staid, polite !
And if you ever dare again with me to palter ! —
SOLLER.
So be it I — For this once? we've all escaped the halter.
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