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Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Page 157

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


  Sinclair.

  I must take the liberty of speaking unreservedly. The class I allude to does not exist in our country, and does not exist in France, because the fair sex, both amongst us and our gallant neighbors, enjoys a proper degree of freedom. But in countries where women are under restraint and debarred from sharing in public amusements, the class I speak of is numerous. In a neighboring country there is a peculiar name by which ladies of this class are invariably designated.

  Henrietta.

  You must tell us the name; we can never guess names.

  Sinclair.

  Well, I must tell you, they are called roguish.

  Henrietta.

  A strange appellation.

  Sinclair.

  Some time ago you took great interest in reading the speculations of Lavater upon physiognomy; do you remember nothing about roguish countenances in his book?

  Henrietta.

  It is possible; but it made no impression upon me. I may perhaps have construed the word in its ordinary sense, and read on without noticing it.

  Sinclair.

  It is true that the word “roguish” in its ordinary sense is usually applied to a person who, with malicious levity, turns another into ridicule; but in its present sense it is meant to describe a young lady, who, by her indifference, coldness and reserve — qualities which attach to her as a disease — destroys the happiness of one upon whom she is dependent. We meet with examples of this everywhere; sometimes even in our own circle. For instance, when I have praised a lady for her beauty, I have heard it said in reply, “Yes, but she is a bit of a rogue.” I even remember a physician saying to a lady who complained of the anxiety she suffered about her maid-servant, “My dear madam, the girl is somewhat of a rogue, and will give a deal of trouble.”

  Amelia rose from her seat and left the apartment.

  Henrietta.

  That seems rather strange.

  Sinclair.

  I thought so too, and I therefore took a note of the symptoms, which seemed to mark a disease half moral and half physical, and framed an essay which I entitled “A Chapter on Rogues,” and as I meant it to form a portion of a work on general anthropological observations, I have kept it by me hitherto.

  Henrietta.

  But you must let us see it, and if you know any interesting anecdotes to elucidate your meaning of the word “rogue,” they must find a place in our intended collection of novels.

  Sinclair.

  This may be all very well, but I find I have failed in the object which brought me hither. I was anxious to find some one in this intelligent assembly to undertake an explanation of these engravings, or who could recommend a talented writer for the purpose; in place of which, the engravings are abused and pronounced worthless, and I must take my leave without having attained my purpose. But if I had only made notes of our conversation and anecdotes this evening, I should almost possess an equivalent.

  Armidoro.

  (Coming from the cabinet, to which he had frequently retired.) Your wish is accomplished. I know the motive of our friend, the editor of the work. I have taken down the heads of our conversation upon this paper. I will arrange the draft, and if Eulalia will kindly promise to impart to the whole that spirit of charming animation which she possesses, the graceful tone of the work, and perhaps also its contents, will in some measure expiate the offence of the artist for his ungallant attack.

  Henrietta.

  I cannot blame your officious friendship, Armidoro, but I wish you had not taken notes of our conversation; it is setting a bad example. Our intercourse together has been quite free and unrestrained, and nothing can be worse than that our unguarded conversation should be overheard and written down, perhaps even printed for the amusement of the public.

  But Henrietta’s scruples were silenced by a promise that nothing should meet the public eye except the little anecdotes which had been related.

  Eulalia, however, could not be persuaded to edit the notes of the short-hand writer. She had no wish to withdraw her attention from the fairy tale with which she was then occupied. The notes remained in possession of the gentlemen of the party, who, with the aid of their own memories, generously afforded their assistance, that they might thereby contribute to the general edification of all “good women.”

  The Plays

  The garden house that the Duke of Weimar bought for Goethe, after making him a Privy Counsellor, with the second highest wage in the Dukedom in 1776

  Karl August, Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach (1757-1828). One of his first acts as Grand-Duke was to summon Goethe to Weimar. The Sturm und Drang spirit descended upon Weimar, and the stiff traditions of the little court dissolved into youthful exuberance.

  Goethe with his patron in later years. The Grand-Duke and Goethe remained close friends throughout their long lives. Their relationship had a momentous impact on German literature.

  THE WAYWARD LOVER

  Translated by Edgar A. Bowring

  This pastoral play in verse was written in the years 1767 and 1768, whilst Goethe, at the age of eighteen, was still a student at Leipzig University. The play commemorates his attachment to Käthchen Schonkopf, the daughter of a pewterer and wine merchant. Whilst studying law in Leipzig, Goethe met and fell in love with Käthchen in 1766. She was three years older than Goethe, who then decided to move into her parents’ hotel. She reacted reservedly to his declarations of love at first. Her parents, as well as Goethe’s, were kept in the dark about the unfolding love-affair, largely due to her lower birth status compared to his being the son of a Patriarch. During his relationship with Käthchen, he felt strong jealousy of real or imaginary rivals, which he depicts faithfully in what would become his first play.

  Käthchen appeared to Goethe as a perfect, charming and elegant young lady, who liked the love poems which he dedicated to her and later published. Goethe introduced Käthchen to Christian Karl Kanne, a jurist and later vice mayor, who was to become her husband. The poet continued their friendship by sending letters to Käthchen until 1770.

  The circumstances of Goethe’s first romance are portrayed through the characters of Eridon and Amina. The Wayward Lover was first performed on 20 May 1779 in Ettersburg, with Goethe playing the role of Eridon and music composed by Karl Siegmund von Seckendorf. The play concerns the theme of jealousy, as Egle and Amina, two maidens admit their love for the same shepherd.

  Goethe, aged 23

  CONTENTS

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

  SCENE I.

  SCENE II.

  SCENE III.

  SCENE IV.

  SCENE V.

  SCENE VI.

  SCENE VII.

  SCENE VIII.

  SCENE IX.

  Ettersburg, where Goethe’s first play was performed

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

  EGLE.

  ERIDON.

  AMINA.

  LAMON.

  SCENE I.

  AMINA and EGLE are sitting on one side of the theatre making garlands. LAMON enters, bringing a basket of flowers.

  LAMON (putting down the basket).

  I’ve brought more flowers.

  EGLE.

  Oh, thanks!

  LAMON.

  How fair they are! Just see!

  This pink is thine.

  EGLE.

  The rose? —

  LAMON.

  Dear child, that’s not for thee!

  Amina shall to-day receive this floweret fair;

  I think a rose looks best contrasted with black hair.

  EGLE.

  And this thou callest polite, obliging in a lover?

  LAMON.

  For one who loves, thou’rt slow my nature to discover.

  I’m perfectly aware thou lovest only me,

  And my true heart in turn will ever beat for thee;

  Thou knowest it. Yet thou seekest still stronger chains than these?

  Is it so wrong to think that other muds can please?

  I let the
e say; that youth is handsome, this one charming,

  Or full of wit, and see nothing there alarming,

  But say so too.

  EGLE

  Ne’er lose thy temper, nor will I.

  Both make the same mistake. To words of flattery

  Oft listen I well pleased; soft words dost thou address,

  When I’m not there to hear, to many a shepherdess.

  The heart should never deem a little jesting hard;

  ‘Gainst fickleness a mind that’s cheerful is a guard.

  I’m subject less than thou to jealousy’s dominion.

  (To AMINA.)

  Thou smilest at us? Say, dear friend, what’s thy opinion?

  AMINA.

  I’ve none.

  EGLE.

  And yet thou knowest I’m happy whilst thou’rt sad.

  AMINA.

  How so?

  EGLE.

  How so! Instead of being, like us, glad,

  And making all Love’s sulks before your laughter fly,

  Thy pain begins whene’er thy lover meets thine eye.

  I never knew a more unpleasant, selfish creature.

  Thou think’st he loves thee. No, I better know his nature;

  He sees that thou obeyest. The tyrant loves thee solely

  Because thou art a maid who will obey him wholly.

  AMINA.

  He oft obeys me, too.

  EGLE.

  To be still more thy master.

  Thou watchest all his looks, for fear of some disaster;

  The power that in our looks Dame Nature has installed,

  Whereby mankind are cowed, and charmingly enthralled,

  Hast thou to him transferred, and thou art happy now

  If he looks only pleased. With deeply wrinkled brow,

  Contracted eyebrows, eyes all wild and dark as night,

  And tightly fastened lips, a very charming sight

  Appears he every day, till kisses, tears, harangues,

  Disperse each wintry cloud that o’er his forehead hangs.

  AMINA.

  Thou knowest him not enough, thou never wert his lover;

  It is not selfishness that clouds his forehead over.

  A whimsical chagrin upon his bosom preys,

  And spoils for both of us the finest summer days:

  And yet I’m well content that when my voice he hears,

  And all my coaxing words, each whim soon disappears.

  EGLE.

  A mighty bliss, indeed, which one full well might spare!

  But name one single joy that he allowed thee e’er.

  How throbbed thy breast, whene’er a dance appeared in view!

  Thy lover flies the dance, and takes thee with him, too.

  No wonder he can’t bear thy presence at a feast;

  He hates the very glass touched by thee in the least.

  As rivals deems he e’en the birds that chance to please thee;

  How could he happy be, to see another seize thee,

  And press thee to his heart, and whisper words of love,

  As in the whirling dance before his eyes ye move?

  AMINA.

  Pray be not so unfair, without the least objection

  He let me join this feast, with thee as my protection.

  EGLE.

  Thou’lt learn the truth soon.

  AMINA.

  How?

  EGLE.

  Now, wherefore comes he not?

  AMINA.

  He little loves the dance.

  EGLE.

  Tis nothing but a plot.

  If thou returnest well pleased, he’ll ask thee in a trice: —

  “You had a happy day?” — “Yes.” — “That is very nice.

  “You played?” — “At forfeits.” — “Ah! was Damon also there?

  “You danced?” — “Yes, round the tree.” — “I fain had seen the pair.

  “He danced right well? And what reward received the youth?”

  AMINA. (smiling.

  Yes.

  EGLE.

  Smilest thou?

  AMINA.

  Yes, my friend, that is his tone, in truth. —

  More flowers!

  LAMON.

  The best are these.

  AMINA.

  It is with joy I see

  How he the world doth grudge the slightest look from me;

  I in this envy see how deep my lover’s love,

  And this proud consciousness doth all my pangs remove.

  EGLE.

  I pity thee, poor child. No hope for thee remains,

  Since thou thy misery lovest; thou dost but shake thy chains;

  And makest thyself believe ’tis music.

  AMINA.

  For this bow

  One ribbon still I need.

  EGLE (TO LAMON).

  A little time ago

  Thou stolest one from me, at that last feast in May.

  LAMON.

  I’ll fetch it.

  EGLE.

  Make good haste; return without delay.

  SCENE II.

  EGLE, AMINA.

  AMINA.

  He sets but little store on what his love presented.

  EGLE.

  With his demeanor I myself am not contented.

  For playful signs of love too little careth he,

  Which please a feeling heart, however small they be.

  And yet believe me, friend, the torment is far less

  To be too little loved, than worshipped to excess.

  Fidelity I prize; ’tis that alone can give

  With certainty true calm, to last us whilst we live.

  AMINA.

  Ah, friend! indeed a heart thus tender is a prize.

  Tis true he grieves me oft, yet pities he my sighs.

  If from his lips a sound of blame or wrath is heard,

  I’ve nothing more to do than speak a kindly word,

  And straightway he is changed, his anger disappears,

  He even weeps with me, when he observes my tears,

  Falls humbly at my feet, and begs me to forgive.

  EGLE

  And thou forgivest him?

  AMINA.

  Yes.

  EGLE.

  What a way to live!

  The lover who offends to go on pardoning ever!

  Take pains to win his love, and be rewarded never!

  AMINA.

  What cannot e’er be changed —

  EGLE.

  Not changed? ’Twould easy be

  To alter him.

  AMINA.

  How so?

  EGLE.

  I’ll teach the way to thee.

  The source of all thy griefs, the discontent oppressive

  Of Ericdon —

  AMINA.

  Is what?

  EGLE.

  Thy tenderness excessive.

  AMINA.

  I thought my plan would love reciprocal engender.

  EGLE.

  Thou’rt wrong; be harsh and cold, and thou wilt find him tender.

  Just try this course for once, make him some pain endure:

  A man prefers to strive, he cares not to be sure.

  If Eridon should come to spend with thee an hour,

  He knows it but too well, thou’rt wholly in his power.

  No rival is at hand, with whom to disagree,

  He knows thou lovest him far more than he loves thee.

  His bliss is far too great, he well deserves our laughter;

  As he no pangs e’er feels, he needs must pangs run after.

  He sees that in the world thou lovest him alone,

  He doubts, because by thee no doubts are ever shown.

  So treat him that he’ll think thou carest little for him;

  He’ll storm, indeed, but that will very soon pass o’er him.

  One look from thee will then please more than now a kiss;

  Make him afraid, and he will then soon know true bliss. />
  AMINA.

  Yes, that is very well; but then I’m quite unable

  To carry out thy plan.

  EGLE.

  Thy courage is unstable.

  Go, thou art far too weak. Look there!

  AMINA.

  My Eridon!

  EGLE.

  I thought so. Ah, my poor child! he comes, and thou anon

  Dost shake with joy: that ne’er will do. To make him change,

  Thou must, when he appears, a calmer mien arrange;

  That heaving of thy breast! Thy face, too, all aglow!

  And then —

  AMINA.

  O let me be, Amina loves not so.

  SCENE III.

  ERIDON advances slowly, with his arms crossed. AMINA arises and runs to meet him. EGLE continues sitting over

  her work.

  AMTNA (taking him by the hand).

  My own dear Eridon!

  ERIDON (kissing her hand).

  My darling!

  EGLE (aside).

  Ah, how pleasant?

  AMINA.

  What flowers! Explain my friend, who gave thee such a present?

  ERIDON.

  Who? My own loved one.

  AMINA.

  What! my gift of yesterday,

  As fresh as they were then?

  ERIDON.

  Whate’er thou givest, say,

  Is it not dear to me? But those I gave thee?

  AMINA.

  Oh, I in this festal wreath have placed them.

  ERIDON.

  Be it so!

  Love in each young man’s heart, and envy in each maid

  Wilt thou excite.

  EGLE.

  Rejoice to find thy love repaid

  By such a maiden’s love, for which so many vie.

  ERIDON.

  I cannot happy be to hear so many sigh.

  EGLE.

  Thou shouldst be; few men’s lot with thine could e’er compare.

  ERIDON (to AMINA).

  Now speak about the fête; will Damon, too, be there?

  EGLE (interrupting).

  That he would present be, I heard him say by chance.

  ERIDON (to AMINA).

  My child, and who will be thy partner in the dance?

  (As AMINA does not answer he turns to EGLE.)

  Take care to choose for her the one she holds most dear.

  AMINA.

  That cannot be, my friend, since thou wilt not be near!

 

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