Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  And angry sullenness dissolve in grief.

  SCENE IV.

  Princess, Tasso.

  (Towards the end of the Scene the others.)

  Princess.

  Thou thinkest to forsake us, or remainest

  Rather behind in Belriguardo, Tasso.

  And then thou wilt withdraw thyself from us?

  I trust thine absence will not be for long.

  To Rome thou goest?

  Tasso.

  Thither first I wend,

  And if, as I have reason to expect,

  I from my friends kind welcome there receive,

  With care and patient toil I may, at length,

  Impart its highest finish to my poem.

  Full many men I find assembled there,

  Masters who may be styl’d in every art.

  Ay, and in that first city of the world.

  Hath not each site, yea, every stone a tongue?

  How many thousand silent monitors,

  With earnest men, majestic, beckon us!

  There if I fail to make my work complete,

  I never shall complete it. Ah, I feel it —

  Success doth wait on no attempt of mine!

  Still altering, I ne’er shall perfect it.

  I feel, yea, deeply feel, the noble art

  That quickens others, and does strength infuse

  Into the healthy soul, will drive me forth,

  And bring me to destruction. Forth I haste!

  I will to Naples first.

  Princess.

  Darest thou venture?

  Still is the rigid sentence unrepeal’d

  Which banish’d thee, together with thy father.

  Tasso.

  I know the danger, and have ponder’d it.

  Disguis’d I go, in tatter’d garb, perchance

  Of shepherd, or of pilgrim, meanly clad.

  Unseen I wander through the city, where

  The movements of the many shroud the one.

  Thee to the shore I hasten, find a bark,

  With people of Sorrento, peasant folk,

  Returning home from market, for I too

  Must hasten to Sorrento. There resides

  My sister, ever to my parents’ heart,

  Together with myself, a mournful joy.

  I speak not in the bark, I step ashore

  Also in silence, slowly I ascend

  The upward path, and at the gate inquire:

  Where may she dwell, Cornelia Sersale?

  With friendly mien, a woman at her wheel

  Shows me the street, the house; I hasten on;

  The children run beside me, and survey

  The gloomy stranger, with the shaggy locks.

  Thus I approach the threshold. Open stands

  The cottage door; I step into the house —

  Princess.

  O Tasso! if ’tis possible, look up,

  And see the danger that environs thee!

  I spare thy feelings, else I well might ask,

  Is’t noble so to speak as now thou speakest?

  Is’t noble of thyself alone to think,

  As if thou didst not wound the heart of friends?

  My brother’s sentiments, are they conceal’d?

  And how we sisters prize and honor thee, —

  Hast thou not known and felt it? Can it be

  That a few moments should have alter’d all?

  O Tasso, if thou wilt indeed depart,

  Yet do not leave behind thee grief and care.

  [Tasso turns away.

  How soothing to the sorrowing heart to give,

  To the dear friend who leaves us for a season,

  Some trifling present, though ‘twere nothing more

  Than a new mantle, or a sword perchance!

  There’s naught, alas, that we can offer thee,

  For thou ungraciously dost fling aside

  E’en what thou hast. Thou choosest for thyself

  The pilgrim’s scallop shell, his sombre weeds.

  His staff to lean on, and departing thus,

  In willing poverty, from us thou takest

  The only pleasure we could share with thee.

  Tasso.

  Then thou wilt not reject me utterly?

  O precious words! O comfort dear and sweet!

  Do thou defend me! Shield me with thy care! —

  Oh, send me to Consandoli, or here,

  Keep me in Belriguardo, where thou wilt!

  The prince is lord of many a pleasant seat,

  Of many a garden, which the whole year round

  Is duly kept, whose paths ye scarcely tread

  A single day, perchance but for an hour.

  Then, choose among them all the most remote

  Which through long years ye have not visited.

  And which perchance e’en now untended lies.

  Oh, send me thither! There let me be yours!

  And I will tend thy trees! With screen and tile

  Will shield thy citrons from autumnal blasts,

  Fencing them round with interwoven reeds!

  Flowers of the fairest hue shall in the beds

  Strike deep their spreading roots; with nicest care

  Each pathway, every corner shall be kept.

  And of the palace also give me charge!

  At proper times the windows I will open,

  Lest noxious vapor should the pictures mar;

  The walls, with choicest stucco-work adorn’d,

  I with light feather-work will free from dust;

  artist: herm. schneider.

  TORQUATO TASSO. ACT V, SCENE IV.

  tasso and the princess

  There shall the polish’d pavement brightly shine,

  There shall no stone, no tiling be misplac’d;

  There shall no weeds sprout from the crevices!

  Princess.

  I find no counsel in my troubled breast,

  And find no comfort for thyself and — us.

  Around I look to see if some kind god

  Will haply grant us succor, and reveal

  Some healing plant, or potion, to restore

  Peace to thy ‘wilder’d senses, peace to us!

  The truest word that floweth from the lip,

  The surest remedy hath lost its power.

  Leave thee I must, — yet doth my heart refuse

  From thee to part.

  Tasso.

  Ye gods! And is it she?

  She who thus pities, who thus speaks with thee?

  And could’st thou e’er mistake that noble heart?

  And in her presence, was it possible,

  That thee despondency could seize, could master?

  No, no, ’tis thou! I am myself again!

  Oh, speak once more! Sweet comfort let me hear

  Again from thy dear lips! Speak, nor withdraw

  Thy counsel from me. — Say, what must I do,

  That I may win the pardon of the prince,

  That thou thyself may’st freely pardon me,

  That ye may both with pleasure take me back

  Into your princely service? Speak to me.

  Princess.

  It is but little we require from thee.

  And yet that little seemeth all too much.

  Freely should’st thou resign thyself to us.

  We wish not from thee aught but what thou art,

  If only with thyself thou wert at peace.

  When joy thou feelest, thou dost cause us joy,

  When thou dost fly from it, thou grievest us;

  And if sometimes we are impatient with thee,

  ’Tis only that we fain would succor thee,

  And feel, alas, our succor all in vain,

  If thou the friendly hand forbear to grasp,

  Stretch’d longingly, which yet doth reach thee not.

  Tasso.

  ’Tis thou thyself, a holy angel still,

  As when at first thou didst appear to me!

 
The mortal’s darken’d vision, oh, forgive,

  If while he gaz’d, he for a moment err’d;

  Now he again discerns thee, and his soul

  Aspires to honor thee eternally.

  A flood of tenderness o’erwhelms my heart —

  She stands before me! She! What feeling this?

  Is it distraction draws me unto thee?

  Or is it madness? or a sense sublime

  Which apprehends the purest, loftiest truth?

  Yes, ’tis the only feeling that on earth

  Hath power to make and keep me truly bless’d,

  Or that could overwhelm me with despair,

  What time I wrestled with it, and resolv’d

  To banish it forever from my heart.

  This fiery passion I had thought to quell,

  Still with mine inmost being strove and strove,

  And in the strife my very self destroy’d,

  Which is to thee indissolubly bound.

  Princess.

  If thou would’st have me, Tasso, listen to thee,

  Restrain this fervid glow, which frightens me.

  Tasso.

  Restrains the goblet’s rim the bubbling wine

  That sparkling foams, and overflows its bounds?

  Thine every word doth elevate my bliss,

  With every word more brightly gleams thine eye,

  Over my spirit’s depths there comes a change;

  Reliev’d from dark perplexity I feel

  Free as a god, and all I owe to thee!

  A charm unspeakable, which masters me,

  Flows from thy lips. Thou makest me all thine.

  Of mine own being naught belongs to me.

  Mine eye grows dim in happiness and light,

  My senses fail; no more my foot sustains me,

  Thou draw’st me to thee with resistless might,

  And my heart rushes self-impell’d to thee.

  Me hast thou won for all eternity,

  Then take my whole of being to thyself.

  [He throws himself into her arms, and clasps her to his bosom.

  Princess.

  (Throwing him from her and retiring in haste.) Away!

  Leonora.

  (Who has for some time appeared in the background, hastening forward.) What hath befallen? Tasso! Tasso!

  [She follows the Princess.

  Tasso.

  (About to follow her.) O God!

  Alphonso.

  (Who has for some time been approaching with Antonio.) He is distracted, hold him fast.

  [Exit .

  SCENE V.

  Tasso, Antonio.

  Antonio.

  If that a foeman — as thou deem’st thyself

  Environ’d by a multitude of foes —

  Beside thee stood, how would he triumph now!

  Unhappy man! I am not yet myself!

  When something quite unparallel’d occurs,

  When something monstrous first arrests our sight,

  The stagger’d spirit stands a moment still,

  For we know nothing to compare it with.

  Tasso.

  (After a long pause.) Fulfil thine office, I perceive ’tis thou!

  Ay, thou deserv’st the prince’s confidence.

  Fulfil thine office, since my doom is seal’d.

  With ling’ring tortures, torture me to death!

  Draw! draw the shaft, that I may feel the barb

  That lacerates, with cruel pangs, my heart!

  The tyrant’s precious instrument art thou;

  Be thou his gaoler, — executioner, —

  For these are offices become thee well!

  (Towards the scene.)

  Yes, tyrant, go! Thou could’st not to the last

  Thy wonted mask retain; in triumph go!

  Thy slave thou hast well pinion’d, hast reserv’d

  For predetermin’d and protracted pangs:

  Yes, go! I hate thee. In my heart I feel

  The horror which despotic power excites,

  When it is grasping, cruel and unjust.

  (After a pause.)

  Thus, then, at last I see myself exil’d,

  Turn’d off, and thrust forth like a mendicant!

  Thus they with garlands wreath’d me, but to lead

  The victim to the shrine of sacrifice!

  Thus, at the very last, with cunning words,

  They drew from me my only property,

  My poem, — ay, and they retain it too!

  Now is my one possession in your hands,

  My bright credential wheresoe’er I went;

  My sole resource ‘gainst biting poverty!

  Ay, now I see why I must take mine ease.

  ’Tis a conspiracy, and thou the head.

  Thus that my song may not be perfected,

  That my renown may ne’er be spread abroad,

  That envy still a thousand faults may find,

  And my unhonor’d name forgotten die;

  Therefore I must consent to idleness,

  Therefore must spare my faculties, myself.

  O precious friendship! Dear solicitude!

  Odious appear’d the dark conspiracy

  Which ceaseless round me wove its viewless web,

  But still more odious does it now appear!

  And, thou too, Siren! who so tenderly

  Didst lead me on with thy celestial mien,

  Thee now I know! Wherefore, O God, so late!

  But we so willingly deceive ourselves,

  We honor reprobates, who honor us.

  True men are never to each other known;

  Such knowledge is reserv’d for galley-slaves,

  Chain’d to a narrow plank, who gasp for breath,

  Where none hath aught to ask, nor aught to lose,

  Where for a rascal each avows himself,

  And holds his neighbor for a rascal too, —

  Such men as these perchance may know each other.

  But for the rest, we courteously misjudge them,

  Hoping they may misjudge us in return.

  How long thine hallow’d image from my gaze

  Veil’d the coquette, working, with paltry arts!

  The mask has fallen! — Now I see Armida

  Denuded of her charms, — yes, thou art she,

  Of whom my bodeful verse prophetic sang!

  And then the little, cunning go-between!

  With what profound contempt I view her now!

  I hear the rustling of her stealthy step,

  As round me still she spreads her artful toils.

  Ay, now I know you! And let that suffice!

  And misery, though it beggar me of all,

  I honor still, — for it hath taught me truth.

  Antonio.

  I hear thee with amazement, though I know

  How thy rash humor, Tasso, urges thee

  To rush in haste to opposite extremes.

  Collect thy spirit and command thy rage!

  Thou speakest slander, dost indulge in words

  Which to thine anguish though they be forgiven,

  Yet thou canst ne’er forgive unto thyself.

  Tasso.

  Oh, speak not to me with a gentle lip,

  Let me not hear one prudent word from thee!

  Leave me my sullen happiness, that I

  May not regain my senses, but to lose them.

  My very bones are crush’d, yet do I live; —

  Ay! live to feel the agonizing pain.

  Despair enfolds me in its ruthless grasp,

  And, in the hell-pang that annihilates,

  These sland’rous words are but the feeble cry,

  Wrung from the depth of my sore agony.

  I will away! If honest, point the path,

  And suffer me at once to fly from hence.

  Antonio.

  In thine extremity I will not leave thee;

  And should’st thou wholly lose thy self-control,

  My patience shal
l not fail.

  Tasso.

  And must I then

  Yield myself up a prisoner to thee?

  Resign’d I yield myself, and it is done;

  I cease to struggle, and ’tis well with me —

  Now let mine anguish’d heart recall how fair

  What, as in sport, I madly flung away.

  They hence depart — O God! I there behold

  The dust, ascending from their chariot wheels —

  The riders in advance — ay, there they go,

  E’en to the very place from whence I came!

  Now they are gone — they are estrang’d from me.

  Oh, that I once again had kiss’d his hand!

  Oh, that I once again might say farewell!

  Once only might I falter: O forgive!

  Once only hear the word: Go, thou’rt forgiven!

  Alas! I hear it not; — I ne’er shall hear it —

  Yes, I will go! Let me but say farewell,

  Only farewell! Give me, oh, give me back

  Their long’d-for presence for a single moment!

  Perchance I might recover! Never more!

  I am rejected, doom’d to banishment!

  Alas! I am self-banish’d, never more

  To hear that gentle voice, that tender glance

  To meet no more —

  Antonio.

  Yet hear the voice of one

  Who, not without emotion, stands beside thee!

  Thou’rt not so wretched, Tasso, as thou thinkest.

  Collect thyself! Too much thou art unmann’d.

  Tasso.

  And am I then as wretched as I seem?

  Am I as weak as I do show myself?

  Say, is all lost? Has sorrow’s direful stroke,

  As with an earthquake’s sudden shock, transform’d

  The stately pile into a ruin’d heap?

  Is all the genius flown that did erewhile

  So richly charm, and so exalt my soul?

  Is all the power extinguish’d which of yore

  Stirr’d in my bosom’s depths? Am I become

  A nothing? A mere nothing? No, all’s here!

  I have it still, and yet myself am nothing!

  I from myself am sever’d, she from me!

  Antonio.

  Though to thyself thou seemest so forlorn,

  Be calm, and bear in mind what still thou art!

  Tasso.

  Ay, in due season thou remindest me! —

  Hath history no example for mine aid?

  Before me doth there rise no man of worth

  Who more hath borne than I, that with his fate,

  Mine own comparing, I may gather strength.

  No, all is gone! — But one thing still remains;

  Tears, balmy tears, kind nature has bestow’d.

  The cry of anguish, when the man at length

  Can bear no more — yea, and to me beside,

  She leaves in sorrow melody and speech,

  To utter forth the fulness of my woe: