ORESTES.
Behold the sword with which the hero slew The valiant Trojans. From his murderer I took the weapon, and implor’d the Gods To grant me Agamemnon’s mighty arm, Success, and valour, 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 refus’d.
THOAS.
This privilege hath ancient custom here To strangers ne’er accorded.
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 sympathy and love, Or unconsol’d 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 advanc’d in years, oppose the foe, And am prepar’d to try the chance of arms.
IPHIGENIA.
No, no! such bloody proofs are not requir’d. Unhand thy weapon, king! my lot consider; Rash combat oft immortalizes man; If he should fall, he is renown’d in song; But after ages reckon not the tears Which ceaseless the forsaken woman sheds; And poets tell not of the thousand nights Consum’d in weeping, and the dreary days, Wherein her anguish’t soul, a prey to grief, Doth vainly yearn to call her lov’d one back. Fear warn’d me to beware lest robber’s wiles Might lure me from this sanctuary, and then Betray me into bondage. Anxiously I question’d them, each circumstance explor’d, Demanded signs, and now my heart’s assur’d. See here, the mark as of three stars impress’d On his right hand, which on his natal day Were by the priest declar’d to indicate Some dreadful deed by him to be perform’d. And then this scar, which doth his eyebrow cleave, Redoubles my conviction. When a child, Electra, rash and inconsiderate, Such was her nature, loos’d 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 banish’d every doubt, And I had curb’d 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 that I’ll 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 avail’d 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 implor’d,
To free me from the Furies’ grisly band.
He answer’d, “Back to Greece the sister bring,
Who in the sanctuary on Tauris’ shore
Unwillingly abides; so ends the curse!”
To Phœbus’ sister we applied the words,
And he referr’d 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 restor’d. Within thine arms,
Madness once more around me coil’d its folds,
Crushing the marrow in my frame, and then
For ever, 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 Diana took,
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 clos’d,
And safety hopeless, thou dost give us all.
O king, incline thine heart to thoughts of peace! 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 childlike and so pure.
IPHIGENIA.
Think on thy promise; let thy heart be mov’d 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 sever’d. Honour’d and belov’d
As mine own father was, art thou by me:
And this impression in my soul remains.
Should e’en the meanest peasant of thy land
Bring to my ear the tones I heard from thee
Or should I on the humblest see thy garb,
I 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!
Farewell! Oh, do not turn away, but give
One kindly word of parting in return!
So shall the wind more gently swell our sails,
And from our eyes with soften’d 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
Translated by Anna Swanwick
This play was first conceived in Weimar in 1780, but the majority of the work was written during Goethe’s two year visit in Italy, between 1786 and 1788. The playwright completed the play in 1790. It concerns the dramatic life and adventures of Torqato Tasso, an Italian poet, exploring the struggles of the artist. Goethe also composed a cantata text, inspired by Canto Sixteen by Tasso’s famous work Jerusalem Delivered, which was later set to music by Johannes Brahms.
The first edition
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
Torquato Tasso (1544-1595), the 16th century Italian poet, best known for his epic poem ‘Jerusalem Delivered’
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ALPHONSO II.,
Duke of Ferrara.
LEONORA D’ESTE,
Sister to the Duke.
LEONORA SANVITALE,
Countess of Scandiano.
TORQUATO TASSO.
ANTONIO Mo
niecatino..
Secretary of State.
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.
Princess 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 pleas’d.
Leonora.
Yes, I am pleas’d, my princess, to behold
Us twain in rural fashion thus attir’d.
Two happy shepherd-maidens we appear.
And like the happy we are both employ’d.
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 phant laurel made thy choice.
Princess.
The laurel wreath, which aimlessly I twin’d,
Hath found at once a not unworthy 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.
Let him whose sportive sashes never fade.
Receive his tribute from the early spring
Princess.
My brother is most kind to bring us here
In this sweet season to our rural haunts:
Here, by the hour, in freedom unrestrain’d.
We may dream back the poet’s golden age.
I love this Belriguardo; in my youth
Full many a jovous day I linger’d here,
And this bright sunshine, and this verdant green,
Bring back the feelings of that bygone 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 childlike eves.
The gardener, fearless grown, removes the roof
That screen’d 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;
I bring to him his son, who rapidly
Hath grown in stature and matur’d in mind
Since last they met, — I share his father’s joy.
Florence is great and noble, but the worth
Of all her treasur’d 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 remain’d.
Leonora.
Chance doth again disperse what chance collects;
A noble nature can alone attract
The noble, 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 darken’d 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
Extoll’d Ferrara! Oft in youthful dream
Hither I fondly turn’d; now am I here.
Here was Petrarca kindly entertain’d,
And Ariosto found his models here.
Italia boasts no great, no mighty name,
This princely mansion hath not call’d 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 hallow’d where the good man treads;
When centuries have roll’d, 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.
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 feel’st 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 should’st 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 bequeath’d.
I owe my mother, who, in varied lore
And mental power, her daughters far excell’d.
Might either claim comparison with her,
’Tis undeniably Lucretia’s right.
Besides, what nature and what chance bestow’d
As property or rank I ne’er esteem’d.
’Tis pleasure to me when the wise converse,
That I their scope and meaning comprehend;
Whether they judge a man of bygone times
And weigh his actions, or of science treat,
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 pleas’d 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,
Develop’d skilfully with subtle tact,
Doth not perplex and dazzle, but instruct.
Leonora.
&n
bsp; 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,
And am in truth toward Tasso only just.
His eye scarce lingers on this earthly scene,
To nature’s harmony his ear is tun’d.
What history offers, and what life presents,
His bosom promptly and with joy receives,
The widely scatter’d is by him combin’d,
And his quick feeling animates the dead.
Oft he ennobles what we count for naught;
What others treasure is by him despis’d.
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 portray’d 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, scatter’d here and there,
With which we sometimes find our trees adorn’d,
Creating like the golden fruit of old
A new Hesperia, perceiv’st thou not
The gentle tokens of a genuine love?
Leonora.
In these fair leaves I also take delight.
Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Page 202