Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 230
At last although our hearts bleed at the duty.
Two worlds there be, my darling, which, conflicting
With awful violence, crush us between them.
Governess.
Thy steps appear to wander in a world
To me entirely foreign, since thou schemest
A treacherous stroke against thy noble patron,
The Duke, preparing days of sorrow for him
By holding to his son. If the Almighty
Appears at times to give assent to crime
We call it accident. But man who chooses
With due reflection such unlawful paths,
He is a puzzle. But — and am not I
A puzzle to myself that I should cling
With such affection to thee when thou strivest
To drag me with thee o’er the precipice?
Oh, why did Nature cast thee in her mould,
So pleasing, lovely, irresistible,
And plant within thy bosom a cold heart,
A heart destructive of the peace of others?
Secretary.
Dost thou distrust the warmth of my affection?
Governess.
This hand should slay me if I only dar’d.
Oh, why, alas! with this detested plot
Again assault my heart? Didst thou not swear
To hide the horror in everlasting night?
Secretary.
Alas! it rose with more impellent might!
This step is forc’d upon the Prince’s son.
An insignificant, inoffensive child
Eugenie was, for many peaceful years.
Commencing with her very earliest days,
Shrin’d in this ancient hall thou wert her guardian,
Few came to see her, and those secretly.
Yet how a father’s love deceiv’d itself.
The Duke, proud of his daughter’s excellence,
Relax’d his care and by degrees allow’d her
To show herself in public openly:
On horseback, driving, she is seen. All ask,
And all at last know, who the maiden is.
Her mother now is dead. The haughty dame,
To whom the child was an abomination,
A keen reminder of her fatal passion,
Had never recogniz’d her, scarcely seen her.
By her decease the Duke at last feels freed,
Devises secret plans, once more attends
At court, forgets the ancient grudge he owed
And seeks the King in reconciliation,
Demanding only that he grant this child
Her birthright as a princess of his race.
Governess.
And do you then begrudge this lovely creature
The joy of feeling that the right was hers?
Secretary.
Belov’d! dearest! ah, thou speakest lightly,
Thus wall’d and separated from the world,
In cloister-wise, of riches of the earth!
Turn hence thine eyes! A treasure such as this
Is valu’d there more truly at its worth.
The father grudges it his son, the son
Reckons his father’s years, and deadly discord
Parts brothers, through this right intangible.
And e’en the priest forgets his sacred goal
And strives for riches. Is it then surprising
That, when the Prince has always call’d himself
The only child, he should decline to welcome
This sister who with insolent intrusion
Diminishes his fair inheritance?
What, if in his place, would’st thou do thyself?
Governess.
Already is he not a wealthy Prince?
And at his father’s death will he not be
Superfluously rich? If he should spend
A part of his possessions would he waste them
In winning by them such a lovely sister?
Secretary.
To act with arbitrary will delights
The man of fortune. Nature’s claims he scorns;
He scorns the authority of law and reason,
And spends his substance on the throw of chance.
Merely to have sufficient is to starve.
Give all or nothing. Measureless possessions
For endless squandering are what he wishes.
Advice is not desir’d; think not to turn us.
If thou wilt not work with us, give us up.
Governess.
What is the deed ye plan? Long ye have threaten’d,
Holding aloof, to blast the lovely child.
What have ye now in monstrous crime devis’d
To spoil her chance of fortune. Do ye ask
That I should blindly cling to what ye plan?
Secretary.
By no means. Thou shalt be initiated.
The first step lies with thee. Our scheme demands
That thou abduct Eugenie. She must vanish
So utterly from knowledge of the world
That we can confidently mourn her death.
The secret of her fate must be conceal’d
Forever, like the secret of the dead.
Governess.
Ye doom her to a living grave, O villains,
And think to send me with her as companion.
Me too ye doom. I am with her to share —
I the betrayer chain’d to the betray’d —
The awful fate of death, a living death!
Secretary.
Thou shalt return when thou hast done the deed.
Governess.
Is it a cloister where her days will end?
Secretary.
Not in a cloister! Such a costly pledge
We could not give the clergy, who might use it
Against us as a most convenient tool.
Governess.
Then is it to the Islands? Tell me plainly!
Secretary.
Thy destination shall be known. Be patient!
Governess.
How can I be before the fear and danger
That threat my lov’d one’s happiness and mine?
Secretary.
Thy lov’d one in her new life joy will find.
And joy and rapture will await thee here.
Governess.
Oh, flatter not yourselves with such a hope!
What good is there in holding such temptations
Before me — forcing me, enticing me?
The noble child herself will block your scheme.
Think not to drag her off a willing victim
And helpless. Nay, the spirit that fills her heart
With courage, and the power inherited,
Will go with her where’er she goes, and break
The evil net which you have cast around her.
Secretary.
Thy part will be to make the meshes strong.
Wilt thou persuade me that a simple child,
Till now protected by the arm of Fortune,
Will show, when unexpected chance arises,
Forethought and power, sagacity and wisdom?
Her mind is cultur’d but to think, not act.
And if her thoughts are right, her speech delightful,
Yet much is lacking in her will to do.
The lofty boundless courage of ignorance
Sinks easily to cowardice and despair
When stern Necessity presents itself.
What we have plann’d see that thou carry out.
Small will the harm be, splendid the reward.
Governess.
Then give me time to ponder and decide.
Secretary.
The moment for the action is at hand.
The Duke knows well that the next holiday
The King will grant the favor long desired,
And recognize his daughter’s princely birth.
For clothes and costly jewels are pro
vided
Already, laid in splendid cabinets,
The keys of which he guards with jealous care,
And thinks he keeps a perfect mystery.
But we are in his secret and prepar’d.
What we have schem’d must quickly now be done.
This evening thou’lt hear more. Till then farewell.
Governess.
On dubious paths ye work, on mischief bent,
And think ye see a profit in your plans.
Has no suspicion ever cross’d your mind
That over guilt and innocence there hovers
A Being from whose essence streams avenging
A light divine that rescues the oppress’d?
Secretary.
Who dares gainsay the ruling Providence
That shapes conformably to his own will
The outcome of our deeds whate’er they be?
Yet who presumes to make himself an arbiter
In God’s high councils? Who can know
The rule and law by which his fiat works?
We have our reason, and in stature grown
We walk erect upon the face of earth,
And our advantage is our highest right.
Governess.
Thus are ye traitors to the godlike
If ye despise the dictates of the heart!
It calls me boldly to ward off the danger
That hangs with horrid threat’ning o’er my darling;
It bids me arm myself against my lover,
Against the base designs that strong men harbor!
No glittering promise and no threats shall force me
To leave my rightful place beside my pupil:
Thus do I stand devoted to protect her.
Secretary.
Ah! sweetest, thou alone canst give her safety,
And thou alone the danger canst avert
And at the selfsame time assist our plan.
Lay hold upon her swiftly; take the maiden
As far as possible away, conceal her
That no one know her habitation! Else —
(Thou tremblest — for thou knowest well
The words upon my lips!) Since thou hast forc’d me
Let the alternative at last be said: —
Removal with her is the mildest measure —
If thou refusest to co-operate,
If thou art minded secretly to check us,
And if thou darest, out of friendly purpose,
To drop the slightest hint of what I tell thee,
Then dead she lies upon thy bosom! What
Would fill my heart with sorrow must be done!
SCENE II.
Governess.
His angry threat brings no surprise for me!
’Tis long that I have seen this smouldering fire,
And now it bursts in flames of fury out.
If I would save thee, must I, darling child,
Dispel the lovely dream that beckons thee?
One hope alone diminishes my sorrow —
It vanishes before I fairly hold it.
Eugenie! if thou only could’st renounce
The splendid fortune, which appears so boundless,
Before thy footsteps cross the fatal threshold
Where danger, death, or banishment awaits thee!
Oh, if I only dared enlighten thee,
Dared point the secret hiding-place where lurk
The evil conclave of thy persecutors!
Ah, I must keep dark counsel! Only hints
Can shrive my soul before thee! In the tumult
Of eager pleasure wilt thou understand?
SCENE III.
Eugenie. Governess.
Eugenie.
Welcome a thousand times, friend of my heart,
Who showest a mother’s fondness for me, welcome!
Governess.
With joy, dear child, I press thee to my bosom,
And share the rapture which thy buoyant life
So richly yields thee. How thy dear eyes sparkle!
O’er cheek and brow what lovely color mantles.
What joyous fortune swells thy youthful breast?
Eugenie.
A great misfortune has befallen me:
The horse fell headlong from the crag with me.
Governess.
My God!
Eugenie.
Be calm! thou seest me again
Unharm’d and fortunate, though great the fall!
Governess.
How was it? Tell me!
Eugenie.
Thou shalt hear how fortune
Resulted splendidly from my disaster.
Governess.
Alas! from fortune often pain develops.
Eugenie.
Let words of evil import not be spoken,
And fright me not with evil thoughts of sorrow!
Governess.
Ah, would that thou could’st trust me absolutely!
Eugenie.
Above all others thee! Yet leave me now,
Beloved, to myself! I wish, alone,
To wont myself to feelings new and strange.
Thou knowest what delight my father takes
Whene’er a little poem comes to greet him
Not look’d for, as the favor of the Muses
Grants power to give expression to my thoughts.
So leave me! Even now the inspiration
Is on me; I must seize it ere it fail me.
Governess.
When shall we hold again the precious hours
Of sweet discourse and gentle confidences?
When shall we once again like happy maidens,
Who tireless show each other their adornments,
Unlock the secret chambers of our hearts,
Comparing all our changeable possessions?
Eugenie.
Those pleasant moments will return again
Whose peaceful joys one gladly recollects,
Sharing with confidence our confidences.
Yet leave me in full loneliness to-day
To find the need of trustful days like those.
SCENE IV.
Eugenie.
Later Governess without.
Eugenie.
(Getting out a portfolio.)
Now quick to work with parchment and with pen!
’Tis wholly mine and soon it shall be written;
The tribute flowing from my thankful heart,
Which to the King, upon that festal day
When, new-born by his all-compelling word,
I enter life, shall now be dedicated.
[She copies out what she slowly recites.
With what a wondrous prospect am I greeted!
Canst thou, O master of the realm elysian,
Forgive the novice for her indecision?
Blinded by Majesty I sink defeated!
Yet soon encourag’d by the judgment meted,
I lift to thee my eyes in raptur’d vision,
Confess’d thy kin, receiv’d without derision,
And all my young hopes are at last completed!
Thus let the boundless spring of grace flow ever!
Here will my faithful heart, ecstatic, tarry,
Sway’d by the majesty of love’s emotion.
My all hangs by a thread a touch might sever!
Methinks the life thou gavest I should carry
And lay before thy throne in sweet devotion.
[Contemplating her writing with satisfaction.
Long has it been, O agitated heart,
Since thou hast spoken in the words of verse.
How happy are we when our inmost feelings
Can take the impress of infinity!
Yet is it quite enough? Here streams it forth,
Here streams it up! Great day, thou drawest nigh,
Which gives the King to us and which shall give
For measureless delight me to the King,
Me to my father
, me unto myself.
May this high festival exalt my song!
The wings of Fancy are already spread.
It bears me up before the throne, presents me,
And gives me to the circle rare —
Governess.
Eugenie!
Eugenie.
Hark! What is that?
Governess.
’Tis I! Open the door!
Eugenie.
Vexatious interruption! I am busy.
Governess.
Word from thy father!
Eugenie.
What! my father? Hold!
Then I will open!
Governess.
Yes, thy father sends
Great gifts to thee
Eugenie.
One moment!
Governess.
Dost thou hear?
Eugenie.
One moment! Where shall I conceal this paper?
Too clearly it betrays the hopes I feel.
No nook affords concealment! and with me
There is no safety even in my desk.
For treacherous and faithless are my servants.
When I have slept my papers have been rummag’d,
And many of my treasures have been stolen.
This mystery, the greatest of my life,
Where, where shall I bestow it?
[She approaches the wall.
Ah, yes! here,
Where thou, in days past, wainscot cabinet,
Didst hide the innocent secrets of my childhood!
Discover’d by my restless energy,
Investigating, born of idleness
And childish natural curiosity,
Thou, known to no one save myself, springest open!
[She presses on an invisible spring and a little door flies open.
Thus as I once conceal’d forbidden sweets
For sly enjoyment in thy secret chamber,
So now, transported, timid, I entrust thee
A little space with my life’s happiness.
[She lays the parchment in the cupboard and closes it.
The days press on and full of expectation
Bring joy and sadness with them in their train.
[She opens the door.
SCENE V.
Eugenie. Governess. Servants bringing a magnificent dressing-case.
Governess.
If I disturb thee, still I bring with me
What in thy eyes should give me absolution.
Eugenie.
This from my father! This resplendent gift!
What content does a shrine like that portend?
(To the Servants.)
Ho! tarry yet a moment!
[She hands them a purse.
Take this trifle
As foretaste of reward for service! richer follows!
[Exit Servants.
No letter and no key! ’Tis passing strange!
Must such a treasure wait me unexplor’d?
O curiosity! O eager longing!
Suspectest thou what mean these gifts to me?