And had my spirit not with anger glow’d,
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 yet 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 shaketh misdemeanors off like dust!
It were indeed a marvel, knew I not
Of magic poesy the wondrous power,
Which loveth still with the impossible
In frolic mood to sport. I almost doubt
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 threat’ning word resounds.
E’en injur’d 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 bas’d
These walls, fit shelter for their dignity;
And, with wise forecast, hedg’d 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’eraw’d.
And now, after a lengthen’d reign of peace,
We must behold unlicens’d rage invade
The realm of sacred order. Judge, O prince,
And punish! for unguarded by the law,
Unshielded by his sov’reign, 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 fulfill’d,
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 chose to ask.
I gladly would be chosen arbiter.
(To Tasso.)
Meanwhile thy misdemeanor subjects thee
To brief confinement. Tasso. I forgive thee,
And therefore, for thy sake, relax the law.
Now leave us, and within thy chamber bide,
Thyself thy sole companion, thy sole guard.
Tasso.
Is this, then, thy judicial sentence, prince?
Antonio.
Discern’st 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 deem’st 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 I 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 tak’st 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 stagger’d 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 follow’d into France.
Though not with glory, not with shame I word it. —
No, not to-day. The bright auspicious gift,
With heart sore troubled, I relinquish now.
Alphonso.
Thou know’st 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 seem’d accorded for eternity.
Too early was the dearest bliss bestow’d,
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 endow’d,
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 recall’d.
A tear doth mingle with this parting kiss,
Devoting thee to mutability!
This tender sign of weakness may be pardon’d!
Who would not weep when what was deem’d immortal
Yields to destruction’s power! Now to this sword
(Alas, it won thee not!) ally thyself,
And round it twin’d, as on a hero’s bier
Reposing, mark the grave where buried lie
My short-liv’d happiness, my wither’d hopes!
Here at thy feet, O prince, I lay them down;
For who is justly arm’d if thou art wroth?
Who justly crown’d, on whom thy brow is bent?
I go a captive, and await my doom.
[Exit .
[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
His high desert and glorious destiny?
Rash, inexperienc’d, youth esteems itself
A chosen instrument, and arrogates
Unbounded license. He has been chastis’d,
And chastisement is profit to the boy.
For which the man will render cordial thanks.
Alphonso.
He is chastis’d too painfully I fear.
Antonio.
Art thou dispos’d 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 escap’d this lip.
Alphonso.
Of such a sort your quarrel seem’d 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
Should’st not contend, but rather guide his steps;
It would become thee more. ’Tis not too late
The sword’s decision is not call’d for here.
So long as I am bless’d 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 honey’d lip;
Then go thou to him; in my name restore
His liberty; with true and noble words
Endeavor to obtain his confidence.
Accomplish this with all the speed thou canst;
As a kind friend and father speak with him.
Peace I would know restor’d 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 commenc’d by thee.
So when we come again, the last faint trace
Of this rash quarrel will be quite effac’d.
It seems thy talents will not rust, Antonio!
Scarcely hast thou concluded one affair,
And on thy first return thou seek’st another.
In this new mission may success be thine!
Antonio.
I am asham’d; my error in thy words,
As in the clearest mirror, I discern!
How easy to obey a noble prince
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 compos’d, 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 with our friends? Say, what befell?
Leonora.
More than I knew before I have not learn’d.
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-ton’d youth.
Leonora.
I do believe it, when he join’d 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 appear’d to me
E’en more abrupt than ever — more reserv’d.
When at his side I saw our youthful bard,
My spirit warn’d me. Only mark of each
The outward aspect — countenance and tone,
Look, gesture, bearing! Everything oppos’d;
Affection they can never interchange.
Yet Hope persuaded me, the flatterer:
They both are sensible, she fondly urg’d,
Both noble, gently nurtur’d, and thy friends.
What bond more sure than that which links the good?
I urg’d the youth; with what devoted zeal,
How ardently he gave himself to me!
Would I had spoken to Antonio then!
But I delay’d: 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 usage of the world,
E’en between foes which smoothly intervenes.
I dreaded not from the experienc’d man
The rash impetuosity of youth.
The ill seem’d 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 oppos’d,
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 hop’d it once, I now perceive in vain.
To-day’s contention, whatsoe’er the cause,
Might be appeas’d, but this assures us not,
Or for the morrow, or for future time.
Methinks ‘twere best that Tasso for awhile
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 would’st forego what thou thyself,
As things at present stand, could’st not enjoy.
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 oneself.
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 giv’st 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.
Resolv’d I am not; nathless let it be,
If he for long doth not absent himself.
And let us, Leonora, care for him,
That he may never be oppress’d 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 princely bounty freely grants.
For this reluctance once I blam’d myself;
I’ve conquer’d 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,
To thee before all others be he given:
I 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 inur’d to it. But half we feel
Renunciation of a precious joy,
When we have deem’d 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 reap’d as he deserv’d.
My sister of Urbino, is she happy?
With beauty gifted and a noble heart!
Childless she’s doom’d 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 reconcil’d with God, her spirit pass’d.
Leonora.
Oh, mark not only that which fails to each;
Consider rather what to each remains!
And, princess, what doth not remain to thee?
Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Page 207