Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 165
George.
(Entering in the cuirass of a fullgrown man.) Worshipful sir.
Goetz.
What kept you? Were you asleep? — What in the devil’s name means this masquerade? — Come hither; 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 bridled; 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 merchants 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 lookout — 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 you 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 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 should’st 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 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?
[Goes out and looks anxiously after the boy. Returns.
Martin.
Would that God had made me a gardener, or day laborer, I might then have been happy! My convent 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 insupportable are they all; — and to spend a lifetime under this burthen, 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, condemns 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 my shoulders had strength to bear armor, and my arm to unhorse an enemy! — Poor weak hand, accustomed from infancy to swing censers, to bear crosses and banners of peace, how could’st thou manage the lance and falchion? My voice, tuned only to Aves and Halleluiahs, 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 your 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 you 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 wipes 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 condition 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. Farewell, 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 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 his helmet 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. They 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 Martin.) 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.
George.
Ah! what a splendid gray horse! If I had but one like 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.
Fr. Pecht del.
published by george barrie
[Editor: illegible text]
Elizabeth
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 money 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 benevolence 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.’ “
Maria.
“Then the child ran home, and could not speak for joy — ”
Charles.
“And fell upon his mother’s neck and wept for 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 uneasy. 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 dangerous?
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 an
ything 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 you not 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 opportunities enough of doing good on one’s own lands. Even the worthiest knights do more harm than good in their excursions.
Elizabeth.
Sister, you know not what you are saying. — God grant our boy may 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?