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 as 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 he,
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 succour 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 valour 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 you who is an ardent lover;
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.
SOPHIA.
Yes, let him have his way.
SOLLER.
I’m calm, and have no vapours:
’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!
SOLLER.
Those thoughts will still molest ma
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.
I 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 burn;
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,
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 vigour.
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.
Perchance his heart for you with love still overflows.
If he still loves, would you still treat him as before?
SOPHIA.
Love’s capable of much, but duty is of more.
You think —
SOLLER.
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 gaily?
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 clover!”
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 tomorrow
From a good friend —
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?
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 here — (To the WAITER.) — I’ll come!
(To SOPHIA.) He wants to say adieu.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
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.
Thus gentlemen themselves in these hard times amuse,
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:
I 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.
Excuse me, if you please: I fear I must retire.
ALCESTES.
Oh, 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!
SOPHIA.
In mercy, spare me, spare me!
I must, I must away!
ALCESTES.
Sophia, can’t you bear me?
O — cruel one! Methought, She now is quite alone:
This is the very time to have some kindness shown.
I — I hoped that she could speak one friendly word to me,
But go now, go! ’Twas in this very room that she
The ardour 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.
Oh, spare me, I implore!
ALCESTES.
I never can forget, — the evening was enchanting:
Your eyes spoke out, and I in ardour 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! 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?
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 you, can never be untender.
&nbs
p; 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 —
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!
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 for ever 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).
Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Page 160