Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Page 235
Consoles us, not a tear is shed for us.
Counsellor.
Not unbewail’d, not without bitter pain
Of friends deserted, who would rescue you,
Who stretch forth yearning arms, ye pass from sight.
Oh, yet perchance from far will smile upon you
Desir’d in vain the vision ye now scorn.
(To Eugenie.)
A few short moments since I welcom’d thee
With rapture. Must a hasty “Fare-thee-well”
Now seal our everlasting separation?
Governess.
Do I surmise the purport of your talk?
Counsellor.
Thou seest me anxious for the eternal union.
Governess.
(To Eugenie.) And how dost thou receive so great an offer?
Eugenie.
With keenest gratitude that heart could render.
Governess.
And art thou not inclin’d to grasp this hand?
Counsellor.
She turn’d to me for aid importunately.
Eugenie.
What next us lies is oft beyond our reach.
Governess.
Ah! quite too soon relief will be too late.
Counsellor.
And hast thou thought of all the threatening ill?
Eugenie.
E’en to the last that threatens — death itself.
Governess.
Dost thou decline the life that’s offer’d thee?
Counsellor.
Delectable days of glad festivity.
Eugenie.
One festival I hop’d for: hope is past.
Governess.
Who much has lost again can quickly gain.
Counsellor.
A lingering destiny instead of glory.
Eugenie.
When glory quench’d its light slow days began.
Governess.
The possible fate in store should bring content.
Counsellor.
Who would not be content with love and faith?
Eugenie.
My heart would contradict those flattering words,
And contravene you both impatiently.
Counsellor.
Alas! I know how all too burdensome
Is succor undesir’d. It only rouses
Within our hearts the strongest opposition.
We should be grateful, but our thanks are scanty
Because we are not willing to receive.
So let me go. But ere our paths divide
I must fulfil the duty and the custom
Incumbent on the native of the port:
And to your voyage across the barren main
Devote refreshing stores of fruits and flowers,
My parting benediction and farewell.
Then will I stand and watch with stony eyes
While down the horizon fades the towering sail.
And with it go my happiness and fortune.
SCENE IV.
Eugenie. Governess.
Eugenie.
Upon thy will I know my happiness,
My misery depend. Oh, be persuaded!
Oh, let thy hard heart yield! Send me not hence.
Governess.
It lies with thee to guide our future course.
Thou hast a choice. I only can obey
The ruling hand; it hurls me swift away.
Eugenie.
And dost thou call it choice when opposite
The stronghold of impossibility
The unavoidable arrays itself?
Governess.
The alliance can be made, the ban be broken.
Eugenie.
There are things that a noble cannot do.
Governess.
This worthy man might well inspire thy favor.
Eugenie.
If thou would’st bring me back to better fortune
I would reward his kindness boundlessly.
Governess.
Oh, give him now the only boon he asks,
And lead him by thy hand to higher levels.
If virtue, if desert but slowly forward
The man of capability, if he,
With calm renunciation, scarcely notic’d,
Devotes himself to others, striving upwards,
A noble wife will lead him to his goal.
Let no man look below him for a spouse.
Too lofty his ambition cannot be.
If he succeeds to woo a high-born lady
The path of life will smooth before his steps.
Eugenie.
The meaning of thy false, confusing words
I disentangle from thy lying speech.
The opposite I know too well is true.
The husband irresistibly compels
The wife to take the exclusive course he follows.
Once there, forever there; she cannot choose
By force inherent ways dissimilar.
From low condition he will lift her up;
And so from higher spheres he snares her down;
Her former self is vanish’d quite away,
Extinguish’d every trace of days departed.
What she has won who now can tear from her?
And who can give her back what she has lost?
Governess.
And thus thou dost pronounce the fatal sentence.
Eugenie.
Yet full of hope I look for rescue still.
Governess.
When he who loves despairs how canst thou hope?
Eugenie.
A man less passionate would counsel better.
Governess.
Of choice and counsel let no more be said;
Thou driv’st me into exile: thou must follow.
Eugenie.
Oh, would that yet once more before my eyes
Thou would’st appear with gentle friendliness,
As always from the earliest days I saw thee.
With not more sweet, benevolent glance than thine,
The sun whose glory animates all life,
The bright moon with its soft inspiring rays,
Pour’d forth their heavenly influence on my mind.
What boldest wish was not anticipated?
What was to fear? The safeguard was prepar’d.
And though my mother held herself aloof
And did not show her favor to her child
Thou camest to me in a mother’s place,
Consoling me with limitless affection.
And art thou now so chang’d? Thou seemest
In outward guise the same old loving friend.
But inwardly thy heart has wholly chang’d.
It still is thou whom I so often ask’d
For favors small and great, never denied.
The childlike sentiment of wonted reverence
It prompts me now to ask the greatest boon.
artist: otto seitz.
THE NATURAL DAUGHTER. ACT IV, SCENE IV.
eugenia and the governess.
And could it lower me to beg thee now
On bended knee, as though before my father,
As though before my King, my God, for safety?
[She kneels.
Governess.
It seems to me that in thy present mood
Thou mockest me, and falsehood moves me not.
[She roughly lifts Eugenie to her feet.
Eugenie.
A tone so harsh, such inconsiderate treatment,
Must I endure to suffer at thy hands?
And dost thou fright away my dream so rudely?
In clearest light I see my destiny.
’Twas not my fault, ’twas not the strife of party,
It was my brother’s guile that drove me hither;
And thou, a sworn conspirator with him,
Compellest me to suffer lifelong exile.
Governess.
Thy error drives thee into thoughts unjust.
> What will thy brother scheme to do against thee?
He has the will perchance but not the power.
Eugenie.
As he desires, so let it be. I will not
In those far-distant hopeless deserts languish.
A living people move around me here,
A loving people, in whose hearts the name
Of father spoken by a child is sweet.
I will demand their aid. A mighty shout
Would summon rescuers from the brawny rabble.
Governess.
The brawny rabble thou hast never known.
They stare and wonder and procrastinate
While what is done is done. And if they move
Failure attends their planless enterprise.
Eugenie.
Thou shalt not with thy chilling word destroy
My faith, as thou hast ruin’d my happiness.
Down in the city life shall give me life;
There where the billowing throngs stream ceaselessly,
Where every heart contented with its pittance
Will open to the touch of sympathy —
Thou shalt not keep me back. I’ll shout aloud,
Impetuously mixing in the throng,
And blazon forth the frightful deed of crime
Which fills my soul with poignant pangs of fear.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Plaza at the Port.
Eugenie. Governess.
Eugenie.
What influence dost thou use to draw me back?
Now also I obey against my will.
O cursed power, thy voice has won upon me,
Which erst so smoothly led me to obey,
Which got the mastery of the whole domain
Wherein my plastic nature was confin’d.
’Twas thou who taught me first the magic power
Of speech, the fine artistic web of words.
Thy lips unseal’d the world to me and gave me
The costly knowledge of my inmost heart.
This magic now thou usest to my harm;
Thou bindest me, thou draggest me away.
My mind is dull’d, my feelings are confus’d,
And I could wish I were among the dead.
Governess.
Oh, would this magic had reveal’d its power
In days when I besought thee fervently
To let those lofty schemes of thine dissolve.
Eugenie.
Didst thou imagine such a monstrous evil
And didst not warn the all-too-trustful mind?
Governess.
Indeed I warn’d thee but in guarded words;
The secret spoken out had brought thee death.
Eugenie.
And yet behind thy silence exile lay;
More welcome to me were the doom of death.
Governess.
Yet this misfortune, unforeseen or not,
Has snar’d me with thee in the selfsame net.
Eugenie.
How can I know what great reward thou’lt have
When thou hast work’d the undoing of thy charge?
Governess.
’Tis waiting for me on a foreign shore.
The sail is spread and bears us both away.
Eugenie.
The prison of the ship has not yet seiz’d me;
’Tis not too late; why should I go unwilling?
Governess.
Hast thou not once appeal’d unto the people?
They only stared in silence and went their way.
Eugenie.
Contending as I was with keen emotions
The common people thought that I was mad.
Yet not with words or violence should’st thou hinder
My bold, courageous steps to get me aid.
The magnates of this city from their houses
Come hither to the strand to watch the vessels
Which mass’d in fleets, by us unlov’d, depart.
Within the palace of the governor
The guards are stirring; he it is who comes
Adown you steps escorted by a throng.
I will address him and unfold my case.
If he be fit to represent my King
And take his place in matters of concern,
He’ll not repulse me without hearing me.
Governess.
I stand not in the way of this attempt;
Yet name no names, but only tell thy story.
Eugenie.
No names until I see that I can trust him.
Governess.
He seems to be a noble youth, and gladly
Will do his utmost to confer a favor.
SCENE II.
The Same.
The Governor. Adjutants.
Eugenie.
I crave a pardon for my over boldness;
Oh, wilt thou heed the stranger in thy way?
Governor.
(After long and attentive contemplation.) One who, like thee, commends herself at sight
Will be secure of friendliest reception.
Eugenie.
No bright and friendly matter do I bring;
The deepest woe compels me to address thee.
Governor.
Then let it be my duty to dispel it;
Or failing that, to make it light to bear.
Eugenie.
She who petitions is of loftiest race;
And yet she has no right to bear its name.
Governor.
A name is soon forgotten; but thy face
Would stay forever in the memory.
Eugenie.
Me from my father’s breast to the wild sea
Has treacherous violence harshly torn and forc’d.
Governor.
Who with irreverent, hostile hand could think
Of bringing pain to such a peaceful heart?
Eugenie.
Suspicion only tells me that this blow
Wag’d by a member of my race fell on me.
Misled by selfishness and evil counsels
My brother plotted this destruction for me.
And she whom here thou seest, who nurtured me,
I know not why, sides with my enemies.
Governess.
I side with her and mitigate an evil
Which I, alas! cannot entirely cure.
Eugenie.
She forces me to embark upon the ship;
She carries me away to yonder isles!
Governess.
If I myself go with thee on this exile
It proves my love and motherly devotion.
Governor.
Forgive me, honor’d ladies, if, one instant,
Surprise at seeing and at hearing you
O’ercomes a man who, young in years, has seen
And has consider’d many things in life.
Ye both to me seem worthy of belief;
And yet does each of you distrust the other.
At least it seems so. What am I to do
To disentangle now the twisted threads
Which in a puzzling knot so strangely bind you?
Eugenie.
If thou wilt hear me I will tell thee more.
Governess.
I also much am able to explain.
Governor.
That oftentimes we are deceiv’d by strangers
Must also prejudice the truth when seen
Behind the seeming of adventurers.
Eugenie.
If thou dost not believe me I am lost.
Governor.
E’en if I did believe ’tis hard to help.
Eugenie.
Oh, send me to my father’s house again!
Governor.
To rescue outcast children, to protect
Foundlings or those who have been put away
Brings small reward to wisely-thinking men.
About the inheritance of property
Arises question of th
e rightful heir,
And hateful passions seethe, and if relations
Brawl noisily about the Mine and Thine
The stranger who shall meddle wins the hate
Of both sides. Not infrequently indeed,
If his more strenuous interference fail,
In shame before the judgment he is brought.
And so excuse me if I cannot promise
A hopeful answer to thy pressing claim.
Eugenie.
If such timidity becomes the noble,
Then whither shall the poor downtrodden turn?
Governor.
Yet certainly thou wilt excuse me now,
Since urgent business calls me swiftly hence,
If I invite thee early on the morrow
To seek my palace, there more comfortably
To learn the heavy fate that weighs thee down.
Eugenie.
With pleasure will I come. And in advance
Accept my earnest thanks for my relief.
Governess.
(Putting a paper into his hands.) If we do not accept thy invitation
This leaflet will appear our exculpation.
Governor.
(Reading it attentively and handing it back.) My only service to thee then can be
To wish that thou may’st have a fortunate voyage,
Submission to thy destiny, and hope.
SCENE III.
Eugenie. Governess.
Eugenie.
Is this the talisman which thou hast wielded
To carry me away, to hold me prison’d,
Which palsies all who come to my assistance?
Oh, let me look upon this deadly sheet.
I’ve learn’d to know my grief; so let me now
Know also who has caus’d the fatal blow.
Governess.
(Opening the paper before her.)
Here! Look upon it!
Eugenie.
(Turning away.) Horrible sensation!
Have I surviv’d it that my father’s name,
My King’s name flash’d against me from the page?
Yet may deception have been play’d, perchance
Some crown official, insolent, has dared
Misuse his power, and serve my brother’s whim,
To harass me. Then can I yet be rescu’d.
I’ll try this also. Let me see.
Governess.
(As before.) Behold!
Eugenie.
(As before.) My courage fails me. Nay! I dare not look.
Let be as Fate will have it: I am lost.
Driven out from all advantage of this world.
Oh, let me then renounce this world forever.
Oh, grant me this one boon. My enemies,
And thou among them, wish my death, they wish
To bury me alive. Permit me then
To yield me to the church which greedily
Has swallow’d so many a guiltless offering.
Here the cathedral stands: this door conducts
To silent sorrow or to silent joy.