Oh, let me take this step and hide myself.
And what awaits me there shall be my fate.
Governess.
I see the Abbess comes accompanied
By twain o’ the sisters down into the plaza.
She too is young and of a princely house.
Disclose thy wish to her; I will not hinder.
SCENE IV.
The Same.
Abbess. Two Nuns.
Eugenie.
Adorable, holy virgin, here thou seest
One who is stupefied, confus’d, at odds
With self and with the world. My present sorrow,
Solicitude for future evils drive me
To seek thy presence, where I dare to hope
For swift deliverance from monstrous wrong.
Abbess.
If peace, reflection, reconciliation
With God and our own hearts can be imparted,
Then, noble stranger, shall the faithful word
Be taught thee which shall make thee know the joy
That blesses now and ever me and mine.
Eugenie.
Unending is my woe; not even speech
With power divine could serve to assuage it.
Oh, take me! let me stay where thou dost stay,
And first, dissolv’d in tears of melancholy,
Devote my lighten’d heart to consolation.
Abbess.
Oft have I seen within my holy sphere
The tears of earth change into heavenly smiles,
And bitter sorrow into joy divine.
Yet not by force can entrance here be made.
Full many a trial must the novice suffer
That we may know her absolute desert.
Governess.
Complete desert is easy to perceive,
And easy to fulfil severe conditions.
Abbess.
I do not doubt thy gentleness of birth,
Thy property, are all could be desir’d
To gain the privileges of this house
For thee, although they are so great and tempting:
So let me quickly learn what be thy wishes.
Eugenie.
Grant my petition, take me to thy care!
Conceal me from the world in deep seclusion.
All that is mine I freely give to thee.
Much do I bring and more I hope to offer.
Abbess.
If youth and beauty can appeal to us,
A noble maiden fills our heart with love;
Dear child, then hast thou many claims upon us.
Beloved daughter, come into my arms.
Eugenie.
With words like these, with such a warm embrace,
Thou hast at once appeas’d the angry storm
Which rag’d within my heart. The last wave dying
Still foams around me. I have reach’d the port.
Governess.
(Stepping between.) Did not a wretched destiny oppose!
Behold this paper! give us then thy pity.
[She hands the Abbess the paper.
Abbess.
(Having read it.) My censure thou deservest since thou knewest
That this was so, and yet our vain discourse
Thou didst permit unchalleng’d, though thou heardest.
I bow my head before the mightier hand
That seems to rule here.
SCENE V.
Eugenie. Governess.
Eugenie.
What! a mightier hand?
What means the hypocrite? Is’t God she means?
The Almighty God of heaven has not surely
To do with any such atrocious deed.
Or does she mean our King? Well! I must bear it —
Whatever he imposes on me. Yet
I will no longer dubiously hover
Between my love and fear, nor like a woman
E’en while I sink will spare the feelings
Which fill my timid heart. So let it break
If break it must; and now I wish to see
That paper, if the sentence unto death
Be by my King or by my father sign’d.
Before the angry godhead that has crush’d me
I stand and face the consequences boldly.
Oh, that I really stood before it! Fearful
Is the last glance of injur’d innocence.
Governess.
I never have refus’d it; take it now.
Eugenie.
(Looking at the outside of the paper.) It is the idiosyncrasy of man
That in the very extremity of evil
The fear of further loss clings to him still.
Are we so rich, ye gods, that at one blow
Ye cannot strip us of our last possession?
This paper tore me from my life’s delight,
And lets me still forebode a deeper grief.
[She unfolds it.
Ah, well! be brave, my heart, and tremble not
To drain this bitter cup e’en to the dregs.
[She peers into it.
The seal and manual of the King!
Governess.
(Taking away the paper.)
Good child!
On me have pity while thyself thou mournest.
In undertaking this disastrous duty
I but fulfil the bidding of the Almighty,
That I may stand beside thee in thy sorrow,
Lest in the hand of strangers thou should’st fall.
What fills my soul with anguish, all I know
About this frightful deed soon thou shalt learn.
But grant me pardon if necessity
With iron hand compels me instantly
To take our passage on the parting vessel.
SCENE VI.
Eugenie.Afterwards Governess in background.
Eugenie.
Thus then the loveliest kingdom on the earth,
This seaport peopled by its busy thousands,
Becomes a wilderness. I am alone.
Here noble gentlemen conform to laws,
And warriors listen to the word of duty;
Here saints in peace beseech the God of heaven;
The throng are busy striving after gain;
But I am banish’d without right or justice.
There is no hand to arm itself for me;
The house of safety is shut fast against me;
None dares to stir an inch in my defence.
Banishment! Yes, the hideous, burdensome word
Already crushes me with all its weight.
I feel that I am but a lifeless member
The which the healthy body lops away.
As one who dies before his time I am —
Who, conscious of himself but stricken dumb,
Lies shuddering in a waking dream, to be
The unwilling witness of his own interment.
Unspeakable necessity! Yet hold!
Is not a choice still left me? Can I not
Lay hold upon the hand of that good man
Who offer’d aid to me, the nobly born.
But could I do it? I renounce the birth
Which lifted me to such a lofty height?
Forever yield the glory of my hope?
In vain! oh, seize me, Force, with brazen claws!
Unseeing Fate, oh, take me hence away!
The choice that trembles dubious ‘twixt two ills
Is even harder than the ill itself.
[Governess,with porters carrying luggage, goes in silence across the background.
They come, they bear off with them my possessions,
The last remaining of my costly treasures.
Will all I have be stolen from me too?
They take them to the ship and I must follow.
A favoring zephyr lifts the pennant seawards;
Soon shall I see the swelling sails all spread.
The fleet already leaves the harbor mouth!
And now the ship that
bears me wretched sails.
They’re coming! I must set my foot on board.
O God! Why are the heavens as brass above me?
Does not my voice of anguish reach thine ear?
So be it! I will go. Yet shall the vessel
Not swallow me within its prison cell.
The plank that leads me over to its side
Shall be the first step for me unto freedom.
Receive me then, ye billows, take me up,
And girdling me around let me descend
Into the bosom of your solemn peace.
And when at last no more I have to fear
From the injustice of this world, then roll
To shore my whitening bones, that pious care
May make my grave upon my native soil.
[She takes a few steps.
Why stop then?
[She hesitates.
Will my foot no more obey me?
What chains my steps? What seems to hold me here?
Oh, fatal love for miserable life,
Again thou bring’st me to the bitter strife.
By banishment, by death and degradation
I am environ’d round about and each
Has deeper anguish for me than the other.
And when I turn my shuddering eyes from one
The other glares with hellish face upon me.
Is there no mortal means, no means divine
To free me from this thousand-footed anguish?
Oh, that a single sympathetic word
Might chance to reach me from the passing throng.
Oh, that a bird, foreboding peace, might fly
Light-winged by me, guiding me to shelter.
I gladly follow whither fate should call.
Point me the way and faith shall lead me on.
Or give me but a hint and I will yield
In hope and confidence without delay.
SCENE VII.
Eugenie. Monk.
Eugenie.
(Standing long in contemplation, then lifting her eyes and seeing the Monk.)
I cannot doubt it: here at last is safety.
Yes, this is he who shall decide my course.
In answer to my prayer he comes to me,
A man of wisdom, full of years, to whom
The heart unhesitating flies for succor.
[Approaching him.
My father! let the sweet, paternal name
To me denied, forbidden and embitter’d,
Be now transferr’d to thee, the noble stranger.
Let me narrate my trouble in few words.
With pain and yet with confidence I lay it
Upon thy heart, not for thy quality
Of wisdom and discreetness, but because
Thou art an aged man belov’d by God.
Monk.
What troubles thee disclose with perfect freedom.
Through Providence the sufferer meets with him
Who ever must regard his highest duty
The alleviation of the woes of others.
Eugenie.
A riddle thou wilt hear and not complaints.
For I would seek an oracle, not counsel.
In two detestable directions stretch
Two paths before my feet. The one leads hither,
The other thence. Which one shall I select?
Monk.
Thou art a tempter to me. Thou wilt count
My answer as a lot?
Eugenie.
A sacred lot.
Monk.
If I conceive thee right, thy eyes aspire
To higher regions out of deepest need.
The will is stricken dead within thy heart.
Thou hopest for a stronger to decide.
In sooth, incomprehensibly to us,
The ever-active Agent as by chance
Sets this or that before us, for our good,
For our deliberation, our decision,
Or our accomplishment: thus, as it were,
Carried, in spite of us we win the goal.
To comprehend this is the richest fortune;
’Tis absolute duty not to interfere,
To wait in patience, comfort in distress.
Oh, would that I were granted grace to feel
Beforehand what were truly best for thee.
But in my breast presentiment is silent.
And if thou canst confide no more in me
Then take a fruitless pity for farewell.
Eugenie.
Shipwreck’d I still have one last spar to clutch.
I hold thee fast and speak against my will
For the last time the word that crushes hope.
A scion of a noble house I now
Am outcast, banish’d o’er the sea; but yet
I could avoid my fate through marriage bonds
Which drag me down to low ignoble spheres.
What whispers now thy heart? Still is it silent?
Monk.
Let it not speak until my searching reason
Shall be oblig’d to recognize its weakness.
The story which to me thou hast confided
Is too indefinite, and my advice
Can likewise only be indefinite.
If thou art forc’d to choose between two evils
Both hated, face them boldly, and then choose
The one that will allow thee widest scope
For worthy deeds and holy undertakings,
That puts the smallest limits to thy spirit,
That hinders thee the least from noble actions.
Eugenie.
It is not marriage then that thou advisest?
Monk.
Not such an one as seems to threaten thee.
What blessing can the priest give when the “Yes”
Proceeds not from the fair bride’s inmost heart?
He should not chain two contraries together
Lest conflict ever freshly born should rise.
It is his godlike service to fulfil
The wish of Love which to the All, the one,
To the eternal joins the momentary,
And that which fades to that which lasts forever.
Eugenie.
Thou sendest me to woe across the ocean.
Monk.
Go hence with comfort for the wretched there.
Eugenie.
What comfort can I give in dark despair?
Monk.
A pure heart as is witness’d by thy face.
A noble courage, lofty, boundless thoughts,
Will hold thee firm and others, wheresoe’er
On earth thy steps may wander. If thou now
In bloom of youth art banish’d innocent,
And bearest through thy solemn acquiescence
The imputation of the sins of others,
Then wilt thou, like a superhuman nature,
Diffuse a wondrous virtue all around thee —
The happy fortune of thy innocence.
So then go hence! Go like a healing breeze
Within the circle of those sorrowing ones;
Rejoice with thy appearance that sad world.
Through powerful words, through mighty deeds encourage
New strength in hearts that have forgot to hope.
Unite the scatter’d into bands around thee.
Bind them in love together, all to thee.
Create there what thou here hast lost,
A race and fatherland and princely house.
Eugenie.
Would’st thou have faith to do what thou commandest?
Monk.
Thus have I done. When still my years were young
The spirit led me into savage lands.
I chang’d rough lives to gentle practices;
I gave the hope of heaven unto death.
Oh, had I not, misled by genuine longing
To serve my fatherland, turn’d back my steps
Unto this desert of audacious
life,
This city wilderness of subtile crimes,
This troubled pool of selfish vanity!
The era’s impotency chains my spirit,
Old customs, duties and perhaps a fate
That brought its heaviest trial on me late.
But thou art young, and free from every hindrance;
The wide world lies before thee; press thou on
And get salvation. All the grief thou feelest
Will change to genuine pleasure. Hasten forth!
Eugenie.
Explain more clearly what it is thou fearest.
Monk.
In darkness comes the future pressing on;
What closest lies before us is not seen
E’en by the open eyes of sense, of reason.
If I by daylight wander through these streets
In wonder, and behold the splendid buildings,
The solid bulks rocklike with lofty towers,
The parks with palaces, the noble churches,
And see the harbor with its fleets of ships —
It all appears to me dispos’d and founded
To last forever, and these hurrying throngs
Of busy workers rushing on and on
In ceaseless waves through all the spaces seem
The promise of eternal lastingness.
But when at night this mighty panorama
Repasses through the chambers of my mind,
Then all the murky air is fill’d with rumblings,
The solid earth gives way, the towers totter,
The fitted stonework falls, and all the glory
Which fill’d the scene is scatter’d in confusion.
A few sad creatures climb the hills new risen,
And every heap of rubbish marks a tomb.
A lessen’d people, hard-oppress’d, no more
Are able to restrain the elements;
And with its restless overflow the tide
Fills up the harbor with its sand and slime.
Eugenie.
Night first disarms a man and then in spite
Subdues him with her idle fantasies.
Monk.
Ah! soon enough the sun’s face veil’d in sadness
Comes forth to look upon our woful plight.
But thou must go, thou whom a kindly spirit
Bless’d e’en in banishing. Farewell and hasten!
SCENE VIII.
Eugenie.
From selfish sorrow I am led away
And others’ woes are plac’d before my ken.
Yet does it not concern thee what shall happen
Unto thy fatherland? With added weight
This settles on my overburden’d heart.
Besides the present evil must I bear
The imaginary burdens of the future?
Then it is true what e’en in childhood’s days
Rang in my ears unconscious, what I heard
In youth and question’d and at last have learn’d
From truthful lips of father and of King:
Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Page 236