Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 227
FAUST (opening the lock)
Ah! she forebodes not that her lover’s near, The clanking chains, the rustling straw, to hear. [He enters.]
MARGARET (hiding her face in the bed of straw)
Woe! woe! they come! oh bitter ’tis to die!
FAUST (Softly)
Hush! hush! be still! I come to set thee free.
MARGARET (throwing herself at his feet)
If thou art human, feel my misery!
FAUST
Thou wilt awake the jailer with thy cry!
[He grasps the chains to unlock them.]
MARGARET (on her knees)
Who, headsman, unto thee this power
O’er me could give?
Thou com’st for me at midnight-hour.
Be merciful, and let me live!
Is morrow’s dawn not time enough?
[She stands up.]
I’m still so young, so young —
And must so early die!
Fair was I too, and that was my undoing.
My love is now afar, he then was nigh;
Tom lies the garland, the fair blossoms strew’d.
Nay, seize me not with hand so rude!
Spare me! What harm have I e’er done to thee?
Oh let me not in vain implore!
I ne’er have seen thee in my life before!
FAUST
Can I endure this bitter agony?
MARGARET
I now am at thy mercy quite.
Let me my babe but suckle once again!
I fondled it the live-long night;
They took it from me but to give me pain,
And now, they say that I my child have slain.
Gladness I ne’er again shall know.
Then they sing songs about me, — ’tis wicked of the throng —
An ancient ballad endeth so;
Who bade them thus apply the song?
FAUST (throwing himself on the ground)
A lover at thy feet bends low,
To loose the bonds of wretchedness and woe.
MARGARET (throws herself beside him)
Oh, let us kneel and move the saints by prayer!
Look! look! yon stairs below,
Under the threshold there,
Hell’s flames are all aglow!
Beneath the floor,
With hideous noise,
The devils roar!
FAUST (aloud)
Gretchen! Gretchen!
MARGARET (listening)
That was my lov’d one’s voice!
[She springs up, the chains fall off.]
Where is he? I heard him calling me.
Free am I! There’s none shall hinder me.
To his neck will I fly,
On his bosom will lie!
Gretchen, he called! — On yon threshold he stood;
Amidst all the howling of hell’s fiery flood,
The scoff and the scorn of its devilish crew,
The tones of his voice, sweet and loving, I knew.
FAUST
’Tis I!
MARGARET
’Tis thou! O say so once again!
[embracing him.]
’Tis he! ’Tis he! where’s now the torturing pain?
Where are the fetters? where the dungeon’s gloom?
’Tis thou! To save me thou art come!
And I am sav’d! —
Already now the street I see
Where the first time I caught a glimpse of thee.
There to the pleasant garden shade,
Where I and Martha for thy coming stay’d.
FAUST (endeavoring to lead her away)
Come! come away!
MARGARET
Oh do not haste!
I love to linger where thou stayest. [caressing him.]
FAUST
Ah haste! For if thou still delayest,
Our lingering we shall both deplore.
MARGARET
How, dearest? canst thou kiss no more!
So short a time away from me, and yet,
To kiss thou couldst so soon forget!
Why on thy neck so anxious do I feel —
When formerly a perfect heaven of bliss
From thy dear looks and words would o’er me steal?
As thou wouldst stifle me thou then didst kiss! —
Kiss me!
Or I’ll kiss thee! [She embraces him.]
Woe! woe! Thy lips are cold, —
Are dumb!
Thy love where hast thou left?
Who hath me of thy love bereft?
[She turns away from him.]
FAUST
Come! Follow me, my dearest love, be bold!
I’ll cherish thee with ardor thousand-fold;
I but entreat thee now to follow me!
MARGARET (turning toward him)
And art thou he? and art thou really he?
FAUST
’Tis I! Oh come!
MARGARET
Thou wilt strike off my chain,
And thou wilt take me to thine arms again.
How comes it that thou dost not shrink from me? —
And dost thou know, love, whom thou wouldst set free?
FAUST
Come! come! already night begins to wane.
MARGARET
I sent my mother to her grave,
I drown’d my child beneath the wave.
Was it not given to thee and me — thee too?
’Tis thou thyself! I scarce believe it yet.
Give me thy hand! It is no dream! ’Tis true!
Thine own dear hand! — But how is this? ’Tis wet!
Quick, wipe it off! Meseems that yet
There’s blood thereon.
Ah God! what hast thou done?
Put up thy sword,
I beg of thee!
FAUST
Oh, dearest, let the past forgotten be!
Death is in every word.
MARGARET
No, thou must linger here in sorrow!
The graves I will describe to thee,
And thou to them must see
Tomorrow:
The best place give to my mother,
Close at her side my brother,
Me at some distance lay —
But not too far away!
And the little one place on my right breast.
Nobody else will near me lie!
To nestle beside thee so lovingly,
That was a rapture, gracious and sweet!
A rapture I never again shall prove;
Methinks I would force myself on thee, love,
And thou dost spurn me, and back retreat —
Yet ’tis thyself, thy fond kind looks I see.
FAUST
If thou dost feel ’tis I, then come with me!
MARGARET
What, there? without?
FAUST
Yes, forth in the free air.
MARGARET
Ay, if the grave’s without, — If death lurk there!
Hence to the everlasting resting-place,
And not one step beyond! — Thou’rt leaving me?
Oh Henry! would that I could go with thee!
FAUST
Thou canst! But will it! Open stands the door.
MARGARET
I dare not go! I’ve naught to hope for more.
What boots it to escape? They lurk for me!
’Tis wretched to beg, as I must do,
And with an evil conscience thereto!
’Tis wretched, in foreign lands to stray;
And me they will catch, do what I may!
FAUST
With thee will I abide.
MARGARET
Quick! Quick!
Save thy poor child!
Keep to the path
The brook along,
Over the bridge
To the wood beyond,
To the left, where the plank is,
In the pond.
Seize it at once!
It fain would rise,
It struggles still!
Save it. Oh save!
FAUST
Dear Gretchen, more collected be!
One little step, and thou art free!
MARGARET
Were we but only past the hill
There sits my mother upon a stone —
My brain, alas, is cold with dread! —
There sits my mother upon a stone,
And to and fro she shakes her head;
She winks not, she nods not, her head it droops sore;
She slept so long, she waked no more;
She slept, that we might taste of bliss:
Ah I those were happy times, I wis!
FAUST
Since here avails nor argument nor prayer,
Thee hence by force I needs must bear.
MARGARET
Loose me! I will not suffer violence!
With murderous hand hold not so fast!
I have done all to please thee in the past!
FAUST
Day dawns! My love! My love!
MARGARET
Yes! day draws near,
The day of judgment too will soon appear!
It should have been my bridal! No one tell,
That thy poor Gretchen thou hast known too well.
Woe to my garland!
Its bloom is o’er!
Though not at the dance —
We shall meet once more.
The crowd doth gather, in silence it rolls;
The squares, the streets,
Scarce hold the throng.
The staff is broken, — the death-bell tolls, —
They bind and seize me! I’m hurried along,
To the seat of blood already I’m bound!
Quivers each neck as the naked steel
Quivers on mine the blow to deal —
The silence of the grave now broods around!
FAUST
Would I had ne’er been born!
MEPHISTOPHELES (appears without)
Up! or you’re lost.
Vain hesitation! Babbling, quaking!
My steeds are shivering,
Morn is breaking.
MARGARET
What from the floor ascendeth like a ghost?
’Tis he! ’Tis he! Him from my presence chase!
What would he in this holy place?
It is for me he cometh!
FAUST
Thou shalt live!
MARGARET
Judgment of God! To thee my soul I give!
MEPHISTOPHELES (to FAUST)
Come, come! With her I’ll else abandon thee!
MARGARET
Father, I’m thine! Do thou deliver me!
Ye angels! Ye angelic hosts! descend,
Encamp around to guard me and defend! —
Henry! I shudder now to look on thee!
MEPHISTOPHELES
She now is judged!
VOICES (from above)
Is saved!
MEPHISTOPHELES (to FAUST)
Come thou with me!
[vanishes with FAUST.]
VOICE (from within, dying away)
Henry! Henry!
THE NATURAL DAUGHTER
Translated by Anna Swanwick
This is the last of Goethe’s three verse dramas in the classical style, after Iphigenia in Tauris and Torquato Tasso. It tells the story of Eugenia, a young woman caught in the troubles of the French Revolution, exploring the impact of uncontrollable events on ordinary people’s lives. Goethe intended for there to be a second part, but as with many of the works he wrote, the play was left unfisished on his death.
The Natural Daughter opens with the beautiful and talented Duke’s daughter, Eugenia, whose only drawback appears to be her illegitimacy. A riding accident in the countryside brings her face to face with the King, who offers to recognise her formally at court in return for her father’s support against a rumoured republican conspiracy. Despite the prospect of political turmoil, the Duke and his daughter seem confident of a future full of promise…
The first edition
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
SCENE VI.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
SCENE IV.
SCENE V.
SCENE VI.
SCENE VII.
SCENE VIII.
SCENE IX.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
King.
Duke.
Count.
Eugenie.
Governess.
Secretary.
Secular Priest.
Counsellor.
Governor.
Abbess.
Monk.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Thick Wood.
King. Duke.
King.
Our fleeting goal attracting dogs and man
To follow swift along the winding course —
The noble stag has led us far astray
O’er vales and mountains, till I needs must own
That I myself, although so country-wise,
Am quite at loss. Where are we, uncle? Duke,
Pray tell me what these hills are that we cross’d!
Duke.
The brook that babbles past us, Sire, arises
Upon thy servant’s near domain, for which
He has to thank the generous grace bestow’d
By thee and by thy royal ancestors
Upon him, as first vassal of the realm.
Beyond the rocks of yonder eminence
A pleasant house stands hid by veils of green,
Not built at all for housing royalty,
But ready to receive thee, if thou wilt.
King.
Nay! let the lofty arches of these trees
Give shelter for the moment that we rest,
And let the gentle stirring of the breeze
Weave round us, while the joy of peaceful scenes
Succeeds the joy of dashing o’er the course.
Duke.
The pleasure that thou feelest here, O King,
Behind this lovely screen of Nature’s work,
In absolute seclusion, I also feel.
Here comes not nigh the voice of discontent,
Nor yet the hand of shameless violence.
Here in the freedom born of loneliness
Thou seest not the ungrateful slink away.
The restless world, which ever makes demand
And never lends its aid, is vanish’d now.
King.
If I shall e’er forget what once oppress’d me
Then let no word recall me to its trials.
Ye echoes of the distant world’s commotion,
Little by little vanish from my ears!
Yea, prithee, uncle, suit thy fair discourse
To circumstances fitter for this spot.
Here wife and husband, hand-in-hand, should roam,
Rejoicing in the sight of comely children,
The highest reach of joy; here friend with friend
Draw nigh, disclosing every secret pleasure.
And didst not thou erewhile drop gentle hints
That when a quiet moment could be ours
Thou hadst some weighty secret to confess,
Some contemplated favor to demand,
Duke.
O Sire, no greater kindness could’st thou show me
Than setting free the fountain of my speech.
And what I fain would tell who else could hear
More fitly than my King, among whose treasures
None shine with such a lustre as his children, —
Who, I am sure, will give his sympathy
In all the father’s joy his servant feels?
King.
Of father’s joy thou speakest! Know’st thou then
Its heavenly rapture? Has thy only son
Not torn thy loving heart by lawless actions,
By disobedience, by unfilial scorn,
Until thy sadden’d life reach’d bitter age?
Has he then lately chang’d his evil ways?
Duke.
From him I have no hope of happier days,
His idle mind gives birth to clouds alone
Which ever gloom the horizon of my life.
A different star it is that sheds its light
Upon me. As in cheerless caverns shine,
Mysterious with their wonder-working rays,
Bright precious stones (so fairy legends say),
And gleam across the murky night which reigns,
So in my gloomy life a magic gift
Was granted, blessing me beyond all words —
A gift I cherish more than lands and gold
Inherited or won by deeds of war,
Yea, more than sight, more than the light of life,
And guard with joy and fear, with pain and pleasure.
King.
Speak not so darkly of the mystery dark.
Duke.
’Twould not be easy to confess our faults
In ears of royalty, were royalty
Alone not able to convert their harm
To fair results of right and good report.
King.
The treasure guarded with such watchful love?
Duke.
That treasure is a daughter.
King.
What! a daughter?
And like the gods in fable, uncle, stole
In secret hither to earth’s lower circles
To take delight in earthly love and bliss?
Duke.
Small things as well as great compell’d us, Sire,
To hide our actions from the world’s dispraise.
The lady, bound to me by wondrous Fate
In secret union, stood so high in rank: —
And even now thy court wears mourning garb
And secret sorrow gnaws my heart for her.
King.
The Princess? She who lately died
So honor’d and so mourn’d?
Duke.
She was the mother.
But let me speak of her alone — my child,
Who, living better than her parents liv’d,
Rejoices in the noble joys of life —
And all the rest leave buried in the grave