Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 208
Princess.
What doth remain to me, Leonora? Patience!
Which I have learn’d to practise from my youth.
When friends and kindred, knit in social love,
In joyous pastime whil’d the hours away,
Sickness held me a captive in my chamber;
And in the sad companionship of pain
I early learn’d the lesson — to endure!
One pleasure cheer’d me in my solitude,
The joy of song. I commun’d with myself,
And lull’d with soothing tones the sense of pain,
The restless longing, the unquiet wish; —
Till sorrow oft would grow to ravishment,
And sadness’ self to harmony divine.
Not long, alas! this comfort was allow’d,
The leech’s stern monition silenc’d me;
I was condemn’d to live and to endure,
E’en of this sole remaining joy bereft.
Leonora.
Yet many friends attach’d themselves to thee,
And now thou art in health, art joyous too.
Princess.
I am in health; that is, I am not sick;
And many friends I have, whose constancy
Doth cheer my heart; and ah, I had a friend —
Leonora.
Thou hast him still.
Princess.
But soon must part with him.
That moment was of deep significance
When first I saw him. Scarce was I restor’d
From many sorrows; sickness and dull pain
Were scarce subdued; with shy and timid glance
I gaz’d once more on life, once more rejoic’d
In the glad sunshine, and my kindred’s love,
And hope’s delicious balm inhal’d anew;
Forwards I ventur’d into life to gaze,
And friendly forms saluted me from far:
Then was it, Leonora, that my sister
First introduc’d to me the vouthful bard,
She led him hither, and, shall I confess? —
My heart embrac’d him, and will hold for aye.
Leonora.
My princess! Let it not repent thee now!
To apprehend the noble is a gain
Of which the soul can never be bereft.
Princess.
The fair, the excellent we needs must fear;
’Tis like a flame, which nobly serveth us
So long as on our household hearth it burns.
Or sheds its lustre from the friendly torch.
How lovely then! Who can dispense with it?
But if unwatch’d it spreads destruction round.
What anguish it occasions! Leave me now;
I babble, and ‘twere better to conceal,
Even from thee, how weak I am and sick.
Leonora.
The sickness of the heart doth soonest yield
To tender plaints and soothing confidence.
Princess.
If in confiding love a cure be found,
I’m whole, so strong my confidence in thee
Alas! my friend. I am indeed resolv’d:
Let him depart! But ah! I feel already
The long protracted anguish of the day
When I must all forego that glads me now
His beauteous form, transfigur’d in my dream,
The morning sun will dissipate no more;
No more the blissful hope of seeing him,
With jovous longing, fill my waking sense;
Nor to discover him, my timid glance
Search wistfully our garden’s dewy shade.
How sweetly was the tender hope fulfill’d
To spend each eve in intercourse with him!
How, while conversing, the desire increas’d,
To know each other ever more and more;
And still our souls, in sweet communion join’d,
Were daily tun’d to purer harmonies.
What twilight-gloom now falls around my path!
The gorgeous sun, the genial light of day,
Of this fair world the splendors manifold,
Shorn of their lustre, are envelop’d all
In the dark mist, which now environs me.
In bygone times, each day compris’d a life;
Hush’d was each care, mute each foreboding voice.
And happily embark’d, we drifted on
Without a rudder o’er life’s lucid wave.
Now, in the darkness of the present hour,
Futurity’s vague terrors seize my soul.
Leonora.
The future will restore to thee thy friend,
And bring to thee new happiness, new joy.
Princess.
What I possess, that would I gladly hold;
Change may divert the mind, but profits not.
With youthful longing I have never join’d
The motley throng who strive from fortune’s urn
To snatch an object for their craving hearts.
I honor’d him, and could not choose but love him,
For that with him my life was life indeed,
Fill’d with a joy I never knew before.
At first I whisper’d to my heart, beware!
Shrinking I shunn’d, yet ever drew more near.
So gently lur’d, so cruelly chastis’d!
A pure substantial blessing glides away,
And for the joy that fill’d my yearning heart
Some demon substitutes a kindred pain.
Leonora.
If friendship’s soothing words console thee not,
This beauteous world’s calm power and healing time
Will imperceptibly restore thy heart.
Princess.
Ay, beauteous is the world, and many a joy
Floats through its wide dominion here and there.
Alas! that ever, by a single step,
As we advance, it seemeth to retreat,
Our yearning souls along the path of life
Thus step by step alluring to the grave!
To mortal man so seldom is it given
To find what seem’d his heaven-appointed bliss;
Alas, so seldom he retains the good
Which, in auspicious hour, his hand had grasp’d;
The treasure to our heart that came unsought
Doth tear itself away, and we ourselves
Yield that which once with eagerness we seiz’d.
There is a bliss, but ah! we know it not;
We know it, but we know not how to prize.
SCENE III.
Leonora.
(Alone.) The good and noble heart my pity moves;
How sad a lot attends her lofty rank!
Alas, she loses, — thinkest thou to win?
Is his departure hence so requisite?
Or dost thou urge it for thyself alone, —
To make the heart and lofty genius thine,
Which now thou sharest, — and unequally?
Is’t honest so to act? What lack’st thou yet?
Art thou not rich enough? Husband and son,
Possessions, beauty, rank — all these thou hast,
And him would’st have beside? What! Lov’st thou him?
How comes it else that thou canst not endure
To live without him? This thou dar’st confess!
How charming is it in his mind’s clear depths
One’s self to mirror. Doth not every joy
Seem doubly great and noble, when his song
Wafts us aloft as on the clouds of heaven?
Then first thy lot is worthy to be envied!
Not only hast thou what the many crave,
But each one knoweth what thou art and hast!
Thy fatherland doth proudly speak thy name;
This is the pinnacle of earthly bliss.
Is Laura’s then the only favor’d name
That aye from gentle lips shall sweetly f
low?
Is it Petrarca’s privilege alone,
To deify an unknown beauty’s charms?
Who is there that with Tasso can compare?
As now the world exalts him, future time
With honor due shall magnify his name.
What rapture, in the golden prime of life,
To feel his presence, and with him to near,
With airy tread, the future’s hidden realm!
Thus should old age and time their influence lose,
And powerless be the voice of rumor bold,
Whose breath controls the billows of applause.
All that is transient in his song survives;
Still art thou young, still happy, when the round
Of changeful time shall long have borne thee on.
Him thou must have, yet takest naught from her.
For her affection to the gifted man
Doth take the hue her other passions wear;
artist: herm. schneider.
TORQUATO TASSO. ACT III, SCENE II.
leonora and the princess
Pale as the tranquil moon, whose feeble rays
Dimly illumine the night-wanderer’s path;
They gleam, but warm not, and diffuse around
No blissful rapture, no keen sense of joy.
If she but know him happy, though afar,
She will rejoice, as when she saw him daily.
And then, ’tis not my purpose from this court,
From her, to banish both myself and friend.
I will return, will bring him here again.
So let it be! — My rugged friend draws near;
We soon shall see if we have power to tame him.
SCENE IV.
Leonora, Antonio.
Leonora.
War and not peace thou bringest: it would seem
As cam’st thou from a battle, from a camp,
Where violence bears sway, and force decides,
And not from Rome, where solemn policy
Uplifts the hand to bless a prostrate world,
Which she beholds obedient at her feet.
Antonio.
I must admit the censure, my fair friend,
But my apology lies close at hand;
’Tis dangerous to be compell’d so long
To wear the show of prudence and restraint.
Still at our side an evil genius lurks,
And with stern voice demands from time to time
A sacrifice, which I, alas, to-day
Have offer’d, to the peril of my friends.
Leonora.
Thou hast so long with strangers been concern’d,
And to their humors hast conform’d thine own,
That once more with thy friends thou dost their aims
Mistake, and as with strangers dost contend.
Antonio.
Herein, beloved friend, the danger lies!
With strangers we are ever on our guard,
Still are we aiming with observance due
To win their favor, which may profit us;
But with our friends we throw off all restraint;
Reposing in their love, we give the rein
To peevish humor; passion uncontroll’d
Doth break its bounds; and those we hold most dear
Are thus amongst the first whom we offend.
Leonora.
In this calm utterance of a thoughtful mind
I gladly recognize my friend again.
Antonio.
Yes, it has much annoy’d me, I confess —
That I to-day so far forgot myself.
But yet admit, that when a valiant man
From irksome labor comes with heated brow,
Thinking to rest himself for further toil
In the cool eve beneath the long’d-for shade,
And finds it, in its length and breadth, possess’d
Already, by some idler, he may well
Feel something human stirring in his breast.
Leonora.
If he is truly human, then, methinks,
He gladly will partake the shade with one
Who lightens toil, and cheers the hour of rest,
With sweet discourse and soothing melodies.
Ample, my friend, the tree that casts the shade,
Nor either needs the other dispossess.
Antonio.
We will not bandy similes, fair friend.
Full many a treasure doth the world contain,
Which we to others yield and with them share;
But there exists one prize, which we resign
With willing hearts to high desert alone;
Another, that without a secret grudge,
We share not even with the highest worth —
And would’st thou touching these two treasures ask —
They are the laurel and fair woman’s smile.
Leonora.
How! Hath yon chaplet round our stripling’s brow
Given umbrage to the grave, experienc’d man?
Say, for his toil divine, his lofty verse,
Could’st thou thyself a juster meed select?
A ministration in itself divine,
That floateth in the air in tuneful tones,
Evoking airy forms to charm our soul —
Such ministration, in expressive form,
Or graceful symbol, finds its fit reward.
As doth the bard scarce deign to touch the earth,
So doth the laurel lightly touch his brow.
His worshippers, with barren homage, bring
As tribute meet a fruitless branch, that thus
They may with ease acquit them of their debt.
Thou dost not grudge the martyr’s effigy,
The golden radiance round the naked head;
And, certes, where it rests, the laurel crown
Is more a sign of sorrow than of joy.
Antonio.
How, Leonora! Would thy lovely lips
Teach me to scorn the world’s poor vanities?
Leonora.
There is no need, my friend, to tutor thee
To prize each good according to its worth.
Yet it would seem that, e’en like common men,
The sage philosopher, from time to time,
Needs that the treasures he is bless’d withal,
In their true light before him be display’d.
Thou, noble man, wilt not assert thy claim
To a mere empty phantom of renown.
The service that doth bind thy prince to thee,
By means of which thou dost attach thy friends,
Is true, is living service, hence the meed
Which doth reward it must be living too.
Thy laurel is thy sovereign’s confidence,
Which, like a cherish’d burden, gracefully
Reposes on thy shoulders, — thy renown,
Thy crown of glory, is the general trust.
Antonio.
Thou speakest not of woman’s smile, that, surely,
Thou wilt not tell me is superfluous.
Leonora.
As people take it. Thou dost lack it not:
And lighter far, were ye depriv’d of it,
To thee would be the loss than to our friend.
For say, a woman were in thy behalf
To task her skill, and in her fashion strive
To care for thee, dost think she would succeed?
With thee security and order dwell;
And as for others, for thyself thou carest;
Thou dost possess what friendship fain would give;
Whilst in our province he requires our aid.
A thousand things he needs, which to supply
Is to a woman no unwelcome task.
The fine-spun linen, the embroider’d vest,
He weareth gladly, and endureth not,
Upon his person, aught of texture rude,
Such as befits the menial.
For with him
All must be rich and noble, fair and good;
And yet all this to win he lacks the skill;
Nor even when possess’d, can he retain;
Improvident, he’s still in want of gold;
Nor from a journey e’er returneth home,
But a third portion of his goods is lost.
His valet plunders him, and thus, Antonio,
The whole year round one has to care for him.
Antonio.
And these same cares endear him more and more.
Much-favor’d youth, to whom his very faults
As virtues count, to whom it is allow’d
As man to play the boy, and who forsooth
May proudly boast his charming weaknesses!
Thou must forgive me, my fair friend, if here
Some little touch of bitterness I feel.
Thou say’st not all, say’st not how he presumes,
And proves himself far shrewder than he seems.
He boasts two tender flames! The knots of love,
As fancy prompts him, he doth bind and loose.
And wins with such devices two such hearts!
Is’t credible?
Leonora.
Well! Well! This only proves
That ’tis but friendship that inspires our hearts.
And e’en if we return’d him love for love,
Should we not well reward his noble heart,
Who, self-oblivious, dreams his life away
In lovely visions to enchant his friends?
Antonio.
Go on! Go on! Spoil him yet more and more,
Account his selfish vanity for love;
Offend all other friends with honest zeal
Devoted to your service; to his pride
Pay voluntary tribute; quite destroy
The beauteous sphere of social confidence!
Leonora.
We are not quite so partial as thou think’st;
In many cases we exhort our friend.
We wish to mould his mind, that he may know
More happiness himself, and be a source
Of purer joy to others. What in him
Doth merit blame is not conceal’d from us.
Antonio.
Yet much that’s blamable in him ye praise.
I’ve known him long, so easy ’tis to know him,
Too proud he is to wear the least disguise.
We see him now retire into himself.
As if the world were rounded in his breast;
Lost in the working of that inner world,
The outward universe he casts aside,
And his rapt spirit, self-included, rests.
Anon, as when a spark doth fire a mine,
Upon a touch of sorrow or of joy,
Anger or whim, he breaks impetuous forth.
Now he must compass all things, all retain,
All his caprices must be realiz’d;
What should have ripen’d slowly through long years.