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• Götz Von Berlichingen With the Iron Hand. a Drama.
• Dramatis PersonÆ
• Act I.
• Scene I.—: An Inn At Schwarzenberg In Franconia.
• Scene II.—: A Cottage In a Thick Forest.
• Scene III.—: An Apartment In Jaxthausen, the Castle of Goetz Von Berlichingen.
• Scene IV.—: The Bishop of Bamberg’s Palace.
• Scene V.—: Jaxthausen.
• Act II.
• Scene I.—: Bamberg. a Hall.
• Scene II.—: Jaxthausen. a Hall In Goetz’s Castle.
• Scene III.—: The Bishop’s Palace At Bamberg.
• Scene IV.—: The Spessart.
• Scene V.—: The Bishop’s Palace. His Cabinet.
• Scene VI.—: Adelaide’s Apartment.
• Scene VII.—: An Ante-room.
• Scene VIII.—: The Spessart.
• Scene IX.—: Hall In the Bishop’s Palace At Bamberg.
• Scene X—: an Inn.
• Act III.
• Scene I.—: A Garden At Augsburg.
• Scene II.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene III.—: The Camp of the Party Sent to Execute the Imperial Mandate.
• Scene IV.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene V.—: Bamberg. Adelaide’s Chamber.
• Scene VI.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene VII.—: A Wood On the Borders of a Morass.
• Scene VIII.—: Camp of the Imperialists.
• Scene IX.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene X.—: The Imperial Camp.
• Scene XI.—: Mountains and a Wood.
• Scene XII.—: A Heath—on One Side an Eminence, With a Ruined Tower, On the Other the Forest.
• Scene XIII.—: The Camp.
• Scene XIV.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene XV.—: Camp.
• Scene XVI.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene XVII.—: The Kitchen.
• Scene XVIII.—: A Hall.
• Scene XIX.—: The Court of the Castle.
• Scene XX.: The Armory.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.—: An Inn In the City of Heilbronn
• Scene II.—: The Council-house At Heilbronn.
• Scene III.—: A Large Hall In the Council-house, Beset By Sickingen’s Troops.
• Scene IV.—: The Castle of Adelaide. Augsburg.
• Scene V.—: Jaxthausen.
• Act V.
• Scene I.—: A Village Plundered By the Insurgent Peasantry. Shrieks and Tumult.
• Scene II.—: Open Country. In the Distance Two Villages and an Abbey Are Burning.
• Scene III.—: A Hill and Prospect of the Country. In the Flat Scene a Mill. a Body of Horsemen.
• Scene IV.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene V.—: A Village.
• Scene VI.—: The Front of a Gypsy-hut In a Wild Forest.—night.—a Fire Before the Hut, At Which Are Seated the Mother of the Gypsies and a Girl.
• Scene VII.—: Inside the Hut.
• Scene VIII.—: Adelaide’s Bedchamber.
• Scene IX.—: Street Before the Prison At Heilbronn.
• Scene X.—: An Apartment In Weislingen’s Castle.
• Scene XI.—: A Narrow Vault Dimly Illuminated. the Judges of the Secret Tribunal Discovered Seated, All Muffled In Black Cloaks.
• Scene XII.—: The Court of an Inn.
• Scene XIII.—: The Prison At Heilbronn.
• Scene the Last. —: the Prison Garden.
• Iphigenia In Tauris a Drama
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Scene I.—: A Grove Before the Temple of Diana.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Act II.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Act III.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act V.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Scene VI.
• Torquato Tasso
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Scene I.: A Garden Adorned With Busts of the Epic Poets. to the Right a Bust of Virgil: to the Left, One of Ariosto.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Act II.
• Scene I.—: A Room.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act III.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.—: A Chamber.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act V.
• Scene I.—: A Garden.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Clavigo
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Scene I.—: Clavigo’s Dwelling.
• Scene II.—: Guilbert’s Dwelling.
• Act II.
• Scene I.—: Clavigo’s House.
• Act III.
• Scene I.—: Guilbert’s Abode.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.—: Clavigo’s Abode. Carlos, Alone.
• Scene II.—: Guilbert’s Abode.
• Act V.
• Scene I.—: The Street Before the House of Guilbert. Night.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Scene VI.
• Stella. a Tragedy.
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• The Brother and Sister
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• A Tale.
• The Good Women.
• Reynard the Fox.
• Chapter I.: The Accusation.
• Chapter II.: The First Summons.
• Chapter III.: The Second Summons.
• Chapter IV.: The Trial.
• Chapter V.: The Pardon.
• Chapter VI.: The Relapse.
• Chapter VII.: The Outlawry.
• Chapter VIII.: The Journey.
• Chapter IX.: The Advocacy.
• Chapter X.: The Second Pardon.
• Chapter XI.: The Defiance.
• Chapter XII.: The Battle.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—

An Inn at Schwarzenberg in Franconia.

[MetzlerandSievers,two SwabianPeasants,are seated at a table—At the fire, at some distance from them, twoTroopersfrom Bamberg—TheInnkeeper.

Sievers.

Hänsel! Another cup of brandy—and Christian measure.

Innkeeper.

Thou art a Never-enough.

Metzler.

(Apart toSievers.) Repeat that again about Berlichingen.—The Bambergers there are so angry they are almost black in the face.

Sievers.

Bambergers!—What are they about here?

Metzler.

Weislingen has been two days up yonder at the castle with the Earl—they are his attendants—they came with him, I know not whence; they are waiting for him—he is going back to Bamberg.

Sievers.

Who is that Weislingen?

Metzler.

The Bishop of Bamberg’s right hand! a powerful lord, who is lying in wait to play Goetz some trick.

Sievers.

He had better take care of himself.

Metzler.

(Aside.) Prithee go on! (Aloud.) How long is it since Goetz had a new dispute with the bishop? I thought all had been agreed and squared between them.

Sievers.

Ay! Agreement with priests!—When the bishop saw he could do no good, and always got the worst of it, he pulled in his horns, and made haste to patch up a truce—and honest Berlichingen yielded to an absurd extent, as he always does when he has the advantage.

Metzler.

God bless him! a worthy nobleman.

Sievers.

Only think! Was it not shameful? They fell upon a page of his, to his no small surprise; but they will soon be mauled for that.

Metzler.

How provoking that his last stroke should have missed. He must have been plaguily annoyed.

Sievers.

I don’t think anything has vexed him so much for a long time. Look you, all had been calculated to a nicety; the time the bishop would come from the bath, with how many attendants, and which road; and had it not been betrayed by some traitor, Goetz would have blessed his bath for him, and rubbed him dry.

First Trooper.

What are you prating there about our bishop; do you want to pick a quarrel?

Sievers.

Mind your own affairs; you have nothing to do with our table.

Second Trooper.

Who taught you to speak disrespectfully of our bishop?

Sievers.

Am I bound to answer your questions?—Look at the fool!

[The firstTrooperboxes his ears.

Metzler.

Smash the rascal!

[They attack each other.

Second Trooper.

(ToMetzler.) Come on if you dare—

Innkeeper.

(Separating them.) Will you be quiet? Zounds! Take yourself off if you have any scores to settle; in my house I will have order and decency. (He pushes theTroopersout of doors.)—And what are you about, you jackasses?

Metzler.

No bad names, Hänsel! or your sconce shall pay for it. Come, comrade, we’ll go and thrash those blackguards.

Enter two ofBerlichingen’s Troopers.

First Trooper.

What’s the matter?

Sievers.

Ah! Good-day, Peter!—Good-day, Veit!—Whence come you?

Second Trooper.

Mind you don’t let out whom we serve.

Sievers.

(Whispering.) Then your master Goetz isn’t far off?

First Trooper.

Hold your tongue!—Have you had a quarrel?

Sievers.

You must have met the fellows without—they are Bambergers.

First Trooper.

What brings them here?

Sievers.

They escort Weislingen, who is up yonder at the castle with the Earl.

First Trooper.

Weislingen!

Second Trooper.

(Aside to his companion.) Peter, that is grist to our mill. How long has he been here?

Metzler.

Two days—but he is off to-day, as I heard one of his fellows say.

First Trooper.

(Aside.) Did I not tell you he was here?—We might have waited yonder long enough. Come, Veit—

Sievers.

Help us first to drub the Bambergers.

Second Trooper.

There are already two of you—We must away—Farewell!

[Exeunt bothTroopers.

Sievers.

Scurvy dogs, these troopers!

They won’t strike a blow without pay.

Metzler.

I could swear they have something in hand.—Whom do they serve?

Sievers.

I am not to tell—they serve Goetz.

Metzler.

So!—Well, now we’ll cudgel those fellows outside. While I have a quarter-staff I care not for their spits.

Sievers.

If we durst but once serve the princes in the same manner, who drag our skins over our ears!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—

A Cottage in a thick Forest.

[Goetz von Berlichingendiscovered walking among the trees before the door.

Goetz.

Where linger my servants?—I must walk up and down, or sleep will overcome me—five days and nights already on the watch. It is hardly earned, this bit of life and freedom. But when I have caught thee, Weislingen, I shall take my ease. (Fills a glass of wine and drinks; looks at the flask.)—Again empty.—George!—While this and my courage last, I can laugh at the ambition and chicanery of princes!—George!—You may send round your obsequious Weislingen to your uncles and cousins to calumniate my character—be it so—I am on the alert.—Thou hast escaped me, bishop; then thy dear Weislingen shall pay the score.—George!—Doesn’t the boy hear?—George! George!

George.

(Entering in the cuirass of a fullgrown man.) Worshipful sir.

Goetz.

What kept you? Were you asleep?—What in the devil’s name means this masquerade?—Come hither; you don’t look amiss. Be not ashamed, boy; you look bravely. Ah! if you could but fill it!—Is it Hans’ cuirass?

George.

He wished to sleep a little, and unbuckled it.

Goetz.

He takes things easier than his master.

George.

Do not be angry! I took it quietly away and put it on, then fetched my father’s old sword from the wall, ran to the meadow, and drew it—

Goetz.

And laid about you, no doubt?—Rare times for the brambles and thorns!—Is Hans asleep?

George.

He started up and cried out to me when you called—I was trying to unbuckle the cuirass when I heard you twice or thrice.

Goetz.

Go take back his cuirass, and tell him to be ready with his horses.

George.

I have fed them well and they are ready bridled; you may mount when you will.

Goetz.

Bring me a stoup of wine. Give Hans a glass too, and tell him to be on the alert—there is good cause; I expect the return of my scouts every moment.

George.

Ah! noble sir!

Goetz.

What’s the matter?

George.

May I not go with you?

Goetz.

Another time, George! when we waylay merchants and seize their wagons—

George.

Another time!—You have said that so often.—Oh, this time, this time! I will only skulk behind; just keep on the lookout—I will gather up all the spent arrows for you.

Goetz.

Next time, George!—You must first have a doublet, a steel cap and a lance.

George.

Take me with you now!—Had I been with you last time, you would not have lost your cross-bow.

Goetz.

Do you know about that?

George.

You threw it at your antagonist’s head; one of his followers picked it up, and off with it he went.—Don’t I know about it?

Goetz.

Did my people tell you?

George.

Oh, yes: and for that I whistle them all sorts of tunes while we dress the horses, and teach them merry songs, too.

Goetz.

Thou art a brave boy.

George.

Take me with you to prove myself so.

Goetz.

The next time, I promise you! You must not go to battle unarmed as you are. There is a time coming which will also require men. I tell thee, boy, it will be a dear time. Princes shall offer their treasures for a man whom they now hate. Go, George, give Hans his cuirass again, and bring me wine. (ExitGeorge.) Where can my people be? It is incomprehensible!—A monk! What brings him here so late?

Enter BrotherMartin.

Goetz.

Good-evening, reverend father! Whence come you so late? Man of holy rest, thou shamest many knights.

Martin.

Thanks, noble sir! I am at present but an unworthy brother, if we come to titles. My cloister name is Augustin, but I like better to be called by my Christian name, Martin.

Goetz.

You are tired, brother Martin, and doubtless thirsty.

EnterGeorgewith wine.

Goetz.

Here, in good time, comes wine!

Martin.

For me a draught of water. I dare not drink wine.

Goetz.

Is it against your vow?

Martin.

Noble sir, to drink wine is not against my vow; but because wine is against my vow, therefore I drink it not.

Goetz.

How am I to understand that?

Martin.

’Tis well for thee that thou dost not understand it. Eating and drinking nourish man’s life.

Goetz.

Well!

Martin.

When thou hast eaten and drunken, thou art as it were new born, stronger, bolder, fitter for action. Wine rejoices the heart of man, and joyousness is the mother of every virtue. When thou hast drunk wine thou art double what thou should’st be! twice as ingenious, twice as enterprising, and twice as active.

Goetz.

As I drink it, what you say is true.

Martin.

’Tis when thus taken in moderation that I speak of it. But we—

[Georgebrings water.

Goetz.

(Aside toGeorge.) Go to the road which leads to Daxbach; lay thine ear close to the earth, and listen for the tread of horses. Return immediately.

Martin.

But we, on the other hand, when we have eaten and drunken, are the reverse of what we should be. Our sluggish digestion depresses our mental powers; and in the indulgence of luxurious ease, desires are generated which grow too strong for our weakness.

Goetz.

One glass, brother Martin, will not disturb your sleep. You have travelled far to-day. (Raises his glass.) Here’s to all fighting men!

Martin.

With all my heart! (They ring their glasses.) I cannot abide idle people—yet will I not say that all monks are idle; they do what they can: I am just come from St. Bede, where I slept last night. The prior took me into the garden; that is their hive. Excellent salad, cabbages in perfection, and such cauliflowers and artichokes as you will hardly find in Europe.

Goetz.

So that is not the life for you?

[Goes out and looks anxiously after the boy. Returns.

Martin.

Would that God had made me a gardener, or day laborer, I might then have been happy! My convent is Erfurt in Saxony; my abbot loves me; he knows I cannot remain idle, and so he sends me round the country, wherever there is business to be done. I am on my way to the Bishop of Constance.

Goetz.

Another glass. Good speed to you!

Martin.

The same to you.

Goetz.

Why do you look at me so steadfastly, brother?

Martin.

I am in love with your armor.

Goetz.

Would you like a suit? It is heavy and toilsome to the wearer.

Martin.

What is not toilsome in this world?—But to me nothing is so much so as to renounce my very nature! Poverty, chastity, obedience—three vows, each of which taken singly seems the most dreadful to humanity—so insupportable are they all;—and to spend a lifetime under this burthen, or to groan despairingly under the still heavier load of an evil conscience—ah! Sir Knight, what are the toils of your life compared to the sorrows of a state which, from a mistaken desire of drawing nearer to the Deity, condemns as crimes the best impulses of our nature, impulses by which we live, grow and prosper!

Goetz.

Were your vow less sacred I would give you a suit of armor and a steed, and we would ride out together.

Martin.

Would to Heaven my shoulders had strength to bear armor, and my arm to unhorse an enemy!—Poor weak hand, accustomed from infancy to swing censers, to bear crosses and banners of peace, how could’st thou manage the lance and falchion? My voice, tuned only to Aves and Halleluiahs, would be a herald of my weakness to the enemy, while yours would overpower him; otherwise no vows should keep me from entering an order founded by the Creator himself.

Goetz.

To your happy return.

[Drinks.

Martin.

I drink that only in compliment to you! A return to my prison must ever be unhappy. When you, Sir Knight, return to your castle, with the consciousness of your courage and strength, which no fatigue can overcome; when you, for the first time, after a long absence, stretch yourself unarmed upon your bed, secure from the attack of enemies, and resign yourself to a sleep sweeter than the draught after a long thirst—then can you speak of happiness.

Goetz.

And accordingly it comes but seldom.

Martin.

(With growing ardor.) But when it does come, it is a foretaste of paradise. When you return home laden with the spoils of your enemies, and, remember, “such a one I struck from his horse ere he could discharge his piece—such another I overthrew, horse and man;” then you ride to your castle, and—

Goetz.

And what?

Martin.

And your wife—(Fills a glass.) To her health! (He wipes his eyes.) You have one?

Goetz.

A virtuous, noble wife!

Martin.

Happy the man who possesses a virtuous wife, his life is doubled. This blessing was denied me, yet was woman the glory or crown of creation.

Goetz.

(Aside.) I grieve for him. The sense of his condition preys upon his heart.

EnterGeorge,breathless.

George.

My lord, my lord, I hear horses in full gallop!—two of them—’tis they for certain.

Goetz.

Bring out my steed; let Hans mount. Farewell, dear brother; God be with you. Be cheerful and patient. He will give you ample scope.

Martin.

Let me request your name.

Goetz.

Pardon me—Farewell!

[Gives his left hand.

Martin.

Why do you give the left?—Am I unworthy of the knightly right hand?

Goetz.

Were you the Emperor, you must be satisfied with this. My right hand, though not useless in combat, is unresponsive to the grasp of affection. It is one with its mailed gauntlet—You see, it is iron!

Martin.

Then art thou Goetz of Berlichingen. I thank thee, Heaven, who hast shown me the man whom princes hate, but to whom the oppressed throng! (He takes his right hand.) Withdraw not this hand: let me kiss it.

Goetz.

You must not!

Martin.

Let me, let me—Thou hand, more worthy even than the saintly relic through which the most sacred blood has flowed! lifeless instrument, quickened by the noblest spirit’s faith in God.

[Goetzadjusts his helmet and takes his lance.

Martin.

There was a monk among us about a year ago, who visited you when your hand was shot off at the siege of Landshut. He used to tell us what you suffered, and your grief at being disabled for your profession of arms; till you remembered having heard of one who had also lost a hand, and yet served long as a gallant knight—I shall never forget it.

Enter the twoTroopers.They speak apart withGoetz.

Martin.

(Continuing.) I shall never forget his words uttered in the noblest, the most childlike trust in God: “If I had twelve hands, what would they avail me without thy grace? then may I with only one—”

Goetz.

In the wood of Haslach then. (Turns toMartin.) Farewell, worthy brother!

[Embraces him.

Martin.

Forget me not, as I shall never forget thee!

[ExeuntGoetzand hisTroopers.

Martin.

How my heart beat at the sight of him. He spoke not, yet my spirit recognized his. What rapture to behold a great man!

George.

Reverend sir, you will sleep here?

Martin.

Can I have a bed?

George.

No, sir! I know of beds only by hearsay; in our quarters there is nothing but straw.

Martin.

It will serve. What is thy name?

George.

George, reverend sir.

Martin.

George! Thou hast a gallant patron saint.

George.

They say he was a trooper; that is what I intend to be!

Martin.

Stop! (Takes a picture from his breviary and gives it to him.) There behold him—follow his example; be brave, and fear God.

[Exit into the cottage.

George.

Ah! what a splendid gray horse! If I had but one like that—and the golden armor. There is an ugly dragon. At present I shoot nothing but sparrows. O St. George! make me but tall and strong; give me a lance, armor and such a horse, and then let the dragons come!

[Exit.

SCENE III.—

An Apartment in Jaxthausen, the Castle of Goetz von Berlichingen.

Elizabeth, MariaandCharlesdiscovered.

Charles.

Pray now, dear aunt, tell me again that story about the good child; it is so pretty—

Maria.

Do you tell it to me, little rogue! that I may see if you have paid attention.

Charles.

Wait then till I think.—“There was once upon—” Yes—“There was once upon a time a child, and his mother was sick; so the child went—”

Maria.

No, no!—“Then his mother said, ‘Dear child—’ ”

Charles.

“ ‘I am sick—’ ”

Maria.

“ ‘And cannot go out.’ ”

Charles.

“And gave him money and said, ‘Go and buy yourself a breakfast.’ There came a poor man—”

Maria.

“The child went. There met him an old man who was—.” Now, Charles!

Charles.

“Who was—old—”

Maria.

Of course. “Who was hardly able to walk, and said, ‘Dear child—’ ”

Charles.

“ ‘Give me something; I have eaten not a morsel yesterday or to-day.’ Then the child gave him the money—”

Maria.

“That should have bought his breakfast.”

Charles.

“Then the old man said—”

Maria.

“Then the old man took the child by the hand—”

Charles.

“By the hand, and said—and became a fine beautiful saint—and said—‘Dear child,—’ ”

Maria.

“ ‘The holy Virgin rewards thee for thy benevolence through me: whatever sick person thou touchest—’ ”

Charles.

“ ‘With thy hand—.’ ” It was the right hand, I think.

Maria.

Yes.

Charles.

“ ‘He will get well directly.’ ”

Maria.

“Then the child ran home, and could not speak for joy—”

Charles.

“And fell upon his mother’s neck and wept for joy.”

Maria.

“Then the mother cried. ‘What is this?’ and became—” Now, Charles.

Charles.

“Became—became—”

Maria.

You do not attend—“and became well. And the child cured kings and emperors, and became so rich that he built a great abbey.”

Elizabeth.

I cannot understand why my husband stays. He has been away five days and nights, and he hoped to have finished his adventure so quickly.

Maria.

I have long felt uneasy. Were I married to a man who continually incurred such danger, I should die within the first year.

Elizabeth.

I thank God that he has made me of firmer stuff!

Charles.

But must my father ride out if it is so dangerous?

Maria.

Such is his good pleasure.

Elizabeth.

He must indeed, dear Charles!

Charles.

Why?

Elizabeth.

Do you not remember the last time he rode out, when he brought you those nice things?

Charles.

Will he bring me anything now?

Elizabeth.

I believe so. Listen: there was a tailor at Stutgard who was a capital archer, and had gained the prize at Cologne.

Charles.

Was it much?

Elizabeth.

A hundred dollars; and afterwards they would not pay him.

Maria.

That was naughty, eh, Charles?

Charles.

Naughty people!

Elizabeth.

The tailor came to your father and begged him to get his money for him; then your father rode out and intercepted a party of merchants from Cologne, and kept them prisoners till they paid the money. Would you not have ridden out too?

Charles.

No; for one must go through a dark thick wood, where there are gypsies and witches—

Elizabeth.

You’re a fine fellow; afraid of witches!

Maria.

Charles, it is far better to live at home in your castle like a quiet Christian knight. One may find opportunities enough of doing good on one’s own lands. Even the worthiest knights do more harm than good in their excursions.

Elizabeth.

Sister, you know not what you are saying.—God grant our boy may become braver as he grows up, and not take after that Weislingen, who has dealt so faithlessly with my husband.

Maria.

We will not judge, Elizabeth.—My brother is highly incensed, and so are you; I am only a spectator in the matter, and can be more impartial.

Elizabeth.

Weislingen cannot be defended.

Maria.

What I have heard of him has interested me.—Even your husband relates many instances of his former goodness and affection.—How happy was their youth when they were both pages of honor to the margrave!

Elizabeth.

That may be. But only tell me, how can a man ever have been good who lays snares for his best and truest friend? who has sold his services to the enemies of my husband; and who strives, by invidious misrepresentations, to poison the mind of our noble emperor, who is so gracious to us?

[A horn is heard.]

Charles.

Papa! papa! the warder sounds his horn! Joy! joy! Open the gate!

Elizabeth.

There he comes with booty!

EnterPeter.

Peter.

We have fought—we have conquered!—God save you, noble ladies!

Elizabeth.

Have you captured Weislingen?

Peter.

Himself, and three followers.

Elizabeth.

How came you to stay so long?

Peter.

We lay in wait for him between Nuremberg and Bamberg, but he would not come, though we knew he had set out. At length we heard of his whereabouts; he had struck off sideways, and was staying quietly with the earl at Schwarzenberg.

Elizabeth.

They would also fain make the earl my husband’s enemy.

Peter.

I immediately told my master.—Up and away we rode into the forest of Haslach. And it was curious that while we were riding along that night, a shepherd was watching, and five wolves fell upon the flock and attacked them stoutly. Then my master laughed, and said, “Good luck to us all, dear comrades, both to you and us!” And the good omen overjoyed us. Just then Weislingen came riding towards us with four attendants—

Maria.

How my heart beats!

Peter.

My comrade and I, as our master had commanded, threw ourselves suddenly on him, and clung to him as if we had grown together, so that he could not move, while my master and Hans fell upon the servants and overpowered them. They were all taken, except one who escaped.

Elizabeth.

I am curious to see him. Will he arrive soon?

Peter.

They are riding through the valley, and will be here in a quarter of an hour.

Maria.

He is no doubt cast down and dejected?

Peter.

He looks gloomy enough.

Maria.

It will grieve me to see his distress!

Elizabeth.

Oh, I must get food ready. You are no doubt all hungry?

Peter.

Hungry enough, in truth.

Elizabeth.

(ToMaria.) Take the cellar keys and bring the best wine. They have deserved it.

[ExitElizabeth.

Charles.

I’ll go too, aunt.

Maria.

Come then, boy.

[ExeuntCharlesandMaria.

Peter.

He’ll never be his father, else he would have gone with me to the stable.

EnterGoetz. Weislingen, Hansand otherTroopers.

Goetz.

(Laying his helmet and sword on a table.) Unbuckle my armor, and give me my doublet. Ease will refresh me. Brother Martin, thou saidst truly. You have kept us long on the watch, Weislingen!

[Weislingenpaces up and down in silence.

Goetz.

Be of good cheer! Come, unarm yourself! Where are your clothes? I hope nothing has been lost. (To the attendants.) Go, ask his servants; open the baggage and see that nothing is missing. Or I can lend you some of mine.

Weislingen.

Let me remain as I am—it is all one.

Goetz.

I can give you a handsome doublet, but it is only of linen; it has grown too tight for me. I wore it at the marriage of my Lord the Palsgrave, when your bishop was so incensed at me. About a fortnight before I had sunk two of his vessels upon the Main.—I was going upstairs in the Stag at Heidelberg, with Franz von Sickingen. Before you get quite to the top there is a landing-place with iron rails—there stood the bishop, and gave his hand to Franz as he passed, and to me also as I followed close behind him. I laughed in my sleeve, and went to the Landgrave of Hanau, who was always a kind friend to me, and said, “The bishop has given me his hand, but I’ll wager he did not know me.” The bishop heard me, for I was speaking loud on purpose. He came to us angrily, and said, “True, I gave thee my hand, because I knew thee not.” To which I answered, “I know that, my lord; and so here you have your shake of the hand back again!” The manikin grew red as a turkey-cock with spite, and he ran up into the room and complained to the Palsgrave Lewis and the Prince of Nassau. We have laughed over the scene again and again.

Weislingen.

I wish you would leave me to myself.

Goetz.

Why so? I entreat you be of good cheer. You are my prisoner, but I will not abuse my power.

Weislingen.

I have no fear of that. That is your duty as a knight.

Goetz.

And you know how sacred it is to me.

Weislingen.

I am your prisoner—the rest matters not.

Goetz.

You should not say so. Had you been taken by a prince, fettered and cast into a dungeon, your gaoler directed to drive sleep from your eyes—

EnterServantswith clothes.Weislingenunarms himself. EnterCharles.

Charles.

Good-morrow, papa!

Goetz.

(Kisses him.) Good-morrow, boy! How have you been this long time?

Charles.

Very well, father! Aunt says I am a good boy.

Goetz.

Does she?

Charles.

Have you brought me anything?

Goetz.

Nothing this time.

Charles.

I have learned a great deal.

Goetz.

Ay!

Charles.

Shall I tell you about the good child?

Goetz.

After dinner.

Charles.

I know something else, too.

Goetz.

What may that be?

Charles.

“Jaxthausen is a village and castle on the Jaxt, which has appertained in property and heritage for two hundred years to the Lords of Berlichingen—”

Goetz.

Do you know the Lord of Berlichingen? (Charlesstares at him. Aside.) His learning is so abstruse that he does not know his own father. To whom does Jaxthausen belong?

Charles.

“Jaxthausen is a village and castle upon the Jaxt—”

Goetz.

I did not ask that. I knew every path, pass and ford about the place before ever I knew the name of the village, castle or river.—Is your mother in the kitchen?

Charles.

Yes, papa! They are cooking a lamb and turnips.

Goetz.

Do you know that too. Jack Turnspit?

Charles.

And my aunt is roasting an apple for me to eat after dinner—

Goetz.

Can’t you eat it raw?

Charles.

It tastes better roasted.

Goetz.

You must have a titbit, must you?—Weislingen, I will be with you immediately. I must go and see my wife.—Come, Charles!

Charles.

Who is that man?

Goetz.

Bid him welcome. Tell him to be merry.

Charles.

There’s my hand for you, man! Be merry—for the dinner will soon be ready.

Weislingen.

(Takes up the child and kisses him.) Happy boy! that knowest no worse evil than the delay of dinner. May you live to have much joy in your son, Berlichingen!

Goetz.

Where there is most light the shades are deepest. Yet I should thank God for it. We’ll see what they are about.

[Exit withCharlesandServants.

Weislingen.

Oh, that I could but wake and find this all a dream! In the power of Berlichingen!—from whom I had scarcely detached myself—whose remembrance I shunned like fire—whom I hoped to overpower! and he still the old true-hearted Goetz! Gracious God! what will be the end of it? O Adelbert! Led back to the very hall where we played as children; when thou didst love and prize him as thy soul! Who can know him and hate him? Alas! I am so thoroughly insignificant here. Happy days! ye are gone. There, in his chair by the chimney, sat old Berlichingen, while we played around him, and loved each other like cherubs! How anxious the bishop and all my friends will be! Well, the whole country will sympathize with my misfortune. But what avails it? Can they give me the peace after which I strive?

Re-enterGoetzwith wine and goblets.

Goetz.

We’ll take a glass while dinner is preparing. Come, sit down—think yourself at home! Fancy you’ve come once more to see Goetz. It is long since we have sat and emptied a flagon together. (Lifts his glass.) Come: a light heart!

Weislingen.

Those times are gone by.

Goetz.

God forbid! To be sure, we shall hardly pass more pleasant days than those we spent together at the margrave’s court, when we were inseparable night and day. I think with pleasure on my youth. Do you remember the scuffle I had with the Polander, whose pomaded and frizzled hair I chanced to rub with my sleeve?

Weislingen.

It was at table; and he struck at you with a knife.

Goetz.

I gave it him, however; and you had a quarrel upon that account with his comrades. We always stuck together like brave fellows, and were the admiration of every one. (Raises his glass.) Castor and Pollux! It used to rejoice my heart when the margrave so called us.

Weislingen.

The Bishop of Wurtzburg first gave us the name.

Goetz.

That bishop was a learned man, and withal so kind and gentle. I shall remember as long as I live how he used to caress us, praise our friendship, and say, “Happy is the man who is his friend’s twin-brother.”

Weislingen.

No more of that.

Goetz.

Why not? I know nothing more delightful after fatigue than to talk over old times. Indeed, when I recall to mind how we bore good and bad fortune together, and were all in all to each other, and how I thought this was to continue forever. Was not that my sole comfort when my hand was shot away at Landshut, and you nursed and tended me like a brother? I hoped Adelbert would in future be my right hand. And now—

Weislingen.

Alas!

Goetz.

Hadst thou but listened to me when I begged thee to go with me to Brabant, all would have been well. But then that unhappy turn for court-dangling seized thee, and thy coquetting and flirting with the women. I always told thee, when thou would’st mix with these lounging, vain court sycophants, and entertain them with gossip about unlucky matches and seduced girls, scandal about absent friends, and all such trash as they take interest in—I always said, Adelbert, thou wilt become a rogue!

Weislingen.

To what purpose is all this?

Goetz.

Would to God I could forget it, or that it were otherwise! Art thou not free and nobly born as any in Germany; independent, subject to the emperor alone; and dost thou crouch among vassals? What is the bishop to thee? Granted, he is thy neighbor, and can do thee a shrewd turn; hast thou not power and friends to requite him in kind? Art thou ignorant of the dignity of a free knight, who depends only upon God, the emperor, and himself, that thou degradest thyself to be the courtier of a stubborn, jealous priest?

Weislingen.

Let me speak!

Goetz.

What hast thou to say?

Weislingen.

You look upon the princes as the wolf upon the shepherd. And can you blame them for defending their territories and property? Are they a moment secure from the unruly knights, who plunder their vassals even upon the highroads, and sack their castles and villages? Upon the other hand, our country’s enemies threaten to overrun the lands of our beloved emperor, yet, while he needs the princes’ assistance, they can scarce defend their own lives; is it not our good genius which at this moment leads them to devise means of procuring peace for Germany, of securing the administration of justice, and giving to great and small the blessings of quiet? And can you blame us, Berlichingen, for securing the protection of the powerful princes, our neighbors, whose assistance is at hand, rather than relying on that of the emperor, who is so far removed from us, and is hardly able to protect himself?

Goetz.

Yes, yes, I understand you. Weislingen, were the princes as you paint them, we should all have what we want. Peace and quiet! No doubt! Every bird of prey naturally likes to eat its plunder undisturbed. The general weal! If they would but take the trouble to study that. And they trifle with the emperor shamefully. Every day some new tinker or other comes to give his opinion. The emperor means well, and would gladly put things to rights; but because he happens to understand a thing readily, and by a single word can put a thousand hands into motion, he thinks everything will be as speedily and as easily accomplished. Ordinance upon ordinance is promulgated, each nullifying the last, while the princes obey only those which serve their own interest, and prate of peace and security of the empire, while they are treading under foot their weaker neighbors. I will be sworn, many a one thanks God in his heart that the Turk keeps the emperor fully employed!

Weislingen.

You view things your own way.

Goetz.

So does every one. The question is, which is the right way to view them? And your plans at least shun the day.

Weislingen.

You may say what you will; I am your prisoner.

Goetz.

If your conscience is free, so are you. How was it with the general tranquillity? I remember going as a boy of sixteen with the margrave to the Imperial Diet. What harangues the princes made! And the clergy were the most vociferous of all. Your bishop thundered into the emperor’s ears his regard for justice, till one thought it had become part and parcel of his being. And now he has imprisoned a page of mine, at a time when our quarrels were all accommodated, and I had buried them in oblivion. Is not all settled between us? What does he want with the boy?

Weislingen.

It was done without his knowledge.

Goetz.

Then why does he not release him?

Weislingen.

He did not conduct himself as he ought.

Goetz.

Not conduct himself as he ought? By my honor he performed his duty, as surely as he has been imprisoned both with your knowledge and the bishop’s! Do you think I am come into the world this very day, that I cannot see what all this means?

Weislingen.

You are suspicious, and do us wrong.

Goetz.

Weislingen, shall I deal openly with you? Inconsiderable as I am, I am a thorn in your side, and Selbitz and Sickingen are no less so, because we are firmly resolved to die sooner than to thank any one but God for the air we breathe, or pay homage to any one but the emperor. This is why they worry me in every possible way, blacken my character with the emperor, and among my friends and neighbors, and spy about for advantage over me. They would have me out of the way at any price; that was your reason for imprisoning the page whom you knew I had despatched for intelligence: and now you say he did not conduct himself as he should do, because he would not betray my secrets. And you, Weislingen, are their tool!

Weislingen.

Berlichingen!

Goetz.

Not a word more. I am an enemy to long explanations; they deceive either the maker or the hearer, and generally both.

EnterCharles.

Charles.

Dinner is ready, father!

Goetz.

Good news! Come, I hope the company of my women folk will amuse you. You always liked the girls. Ay, ay, they can tell many pretty stories about you. Come!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—

TheBishop of Bamberg’sPalace.

[TheBishop,theAbbot of Fulda, Olearius, LiebtrautandCourtiersat table. The dessert and wine before them.

Bishop.

Are there many of the German nobility studying at Bologna?

Olearius.

Both nobles and citizens; and, I do not exaggerate in saying that they acquire the most brilliant reputation. It is a proverb in the university: “As studious as a German noble.” For while the citizens display a laudable diligence, in order to compensate by learning for their want of birth, the nobles strive, with praiseworthy emulation, to enhance their ancestral dignity by superior attainments.

Abbot.

Indeed!

Liebtraut.

What may one not live to hear. We live and learn, as the proverb says. “As studious as a German noble.” I never heard that before.

Olearius.

Yes, they are the admiration of the whole university. Some of the oldest and most learned will soon be coming back with their doctor’s degree. The emperor will doubtless be happy to intrust to them the highest offices.

Bishop.

He cannot fail to do so.

Abbot.

Do you know, for instance, a young man—a Hessian?—

Olearius.

There are many Hessians with us.

Abbot.

His name is—is—. Does nobody remember it? His mother was a Von—. Oh! his father had but one eye, and was a marshal—

Liebtraut.

Von Wildenholz!

Abbot.

Right. Von Wildenholz.

Olearius.

I know him well. A young man of great abilities. He is particularly esteemed for his talent in disputation.

Abbot.

He has that from his mother.

Liebtraut.

Yes; but his father would never praise her for that quality.

Bishop.

How call you the emperor who wrote your Corpus Juris?

Olearius.

Justinian.

Bishop.

A worthy prince:—here’s to his memory!

Olearius.

To his memory!

[They drink.

Abbot.

That must be a fine book.

Olearius.

It may be called a book of books; a digest of all laws; there you find the sentence ready for every case, and where the text is antiquated or obscure, the deficiency is supplied by notes, with which the most learned men have enriched this truly admirable work.

Abbot.

A digest of all laws!—Indeed!—Then the ten commandments must be in it.

Olearius.

Implicitè; not explicitè.

Abbot.

That’s what I mean; plainly set down, without any explication.

Bishop.

But the best is, you tell us that a state can be maintained in the most perfect tranquillity and subordination by receiving and rightly following that statute-book.

Olearius.

Doubtless.

Bishop.

All doctors of laws!

[They drink.

Olearius.

I’ll tell them of this abroad. (They drink.) Would to Heaven that men thought thus in my country.

Abbot.

Whence come you, most learned sir?

Olearius.

From Frankfort, at your eminence’s service!

Bishop.

You gentlemen of the law, then, are not held in high estimation there?—How comes that?

Olearius.

It is strange enough—when I last went there to collect my father’s effects, the mob almost stoned me, when they heard I was a lawyer.

Abbot.

God bless me!

Olearius.

It is because their tribunal, which they hold in great respect, is composed of people totally ignorant of the Roman law. An intimate acquaintance with the internal condition of the town, and also of its foreign relations, acquired through age and experience, is deemed a sufficient qualification. They decide according to certain established edicts of their own, and some old customs recognized in the city and neighborhood.

Abbot.

That’s very right.

Olearius.

But far from sufficient. The life of man is short, and in one generation cases of every description cannot occur; our statute-book is a collection of precedents, furnished by the experience of many centuries. Besides, the wills and opinions of men are variable; one man deems right to-day what another disapproves to-morrow; and confusion and injustice are the inevitable results. Law determines absolutely, and its decrees are immutable.

Abbot.

That’s certainly better.

Olearius.

But the common people won’t acknowledge that; and, eager as they are after novelty, they hate any innovation in their laws which leads them out of the beaten track, be it ever so much for the better. They hate a jurist as if he were a cut-purse or a subverter of the state, and become furious if one attempts to settle among them.

Liebtraut.

You come from Frankfort?—I know the place well—we tasted your good cheer at the emperor’s coronation. You say your name is Olearius—I know no one in the town of your name.

Olearius.

My father’s name was Oilman; but after the example, and with the advice of many jurists, I have Latinized the name to Olearius for the decoration of the title-page of my legal treatises.

Liebtraut.

You did well to translate yourself: a prophet is not honored in his own country—in your native guise you might have shared the same fate.

Olearius.

That was not the reason.

Liebtraut.

All things have two reasons.

Abbot.

A prophet is not honored in his own country.

Liebtraut.

But do you know why, most reverend sir?

Abbot.

Because he was born and bred there.

Liebtraut.

Well, that may be one reason. The other is, because, upon a nearer acquaintance with these gentlemen, the halo of glory and honor shed around them by the distant haze totally disappears; they are then seen to be nothing more than tiny rushlights!

Olearius.

It seems you are placed here to tell pleasant truths.

Liebtraut.

As I have wit enough to discover them, I do not lack courage to utter them.

Olearius.

Yet you lack the art of applying them well.

Liebtraut.

It is no matter where you place a cupping-glass provided it draws blood.

Olearius.

Barbers are known by their dress, and no one takes offence at their scurvy jests. Let me advise you as a precaution to bear the badge of your order—a cap and bells!

Liebtraut.

Where did you take your degree? I only ask, so that, should I ever take a fancy to a fool’s cap, I could at once go to the right shop.

Olearius.

You carry face enough.

Liebtraut.

And you paunch.

[TheBishopandAbbotlaugh.

Bishop.

Not so warm, gentlemen! Some other subject. At table all should be fair and quiet. Choose another subject, Liebtraut.

Liebtraut.

Opposite Frankfort lies a village called Sachsenhausen—

Olearius.

(To theBishop.) What news of the Turkish expedition, your excellency?

Bishop.

The emperor has most at heart, first of all to restore peace to the empire, put an end to feuds, and secure the strict administration of justice: then, according to report, he will go in person against the enemies of his country and of Christendom. At present internal dissensions give him enough to do; and the empire, despite half a hundred treaties of peace, is one scene of murder. Franconia, Swabia, the Upper Rhine and the surrounding countries are laid waste by presumptuous and reckless knights.—And here, at Bamberg, Sickingen, Selbitz with one leg, and Goetz with the iron hand, scoff at the imperial authority.

Abbot.

If his majesty does not exert himself, these fellows will at last thrust us into sacks.

Liebtraut.

He would be a sturdy fellow indeed who should thrust the wine-butt of Fulda into a sack!

Bishop.

Goetz especially has been for many years my mortal foe, and annoys me beyond description. But it will not last long, I hope. The emperor holds his court at Augsburg. We have taken our measures, and cannot fail of success.—Doctor, do you know Adelbert von Weislingen?

Olearius.

No, your eminence.

Bishop.

If you stay till his arrival you will have the pleasure of seeing a most noble, accomplished and gallant knight.

Olearius.

He must be an excellent man indeed to deserve such praises from such a mouth.

Liebtraut.

And yet he was not bred at any university.

Bishop.

We know that. (Theattendantsthrong to the window.) What’s the matter?

Attendant.

Färber, Weislingen’s servant, is riding in at the castle-gate.

Bishop.

See what he brings. He most likely comes to announce his master.

[ExitLiebtraut.They stand up and drink.

Liebtrautre-enters.

Bishop.

What news?

Liebtraut.

I wish another had to tell it—Weislingen is a prisoner.

Bishop.

What?

Liebtraut.

Berlichingen has seized him and three troopers near Haslach. One is escaped to tell you.

Abbot.

A Job’s messenger!

Olearius.

I grieve from my heart.

Bishop.

I will see the servant; bring him up—I will speak with him myself. Conduct him into my cabinet.

[ExitBishop.

Abbot.

(Sitting down.) Another draught, however.

[TheServantsfill round.

Olearius.

Will not your reverence take a turn in the garden? “Post cœnam stabis, seu passus mille meabis.”

Liebtraut.

In truth, sitting is unhealthy for you. You might get an apoplexy. (TheAbbotrises. Aside.) Let me but once get him out of doors, I will give him exercise enough!

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.—

Jaxthausen.

Maria. Weislingen.

Maria.

You love me, you say. I willingly believe it, and hope to be happy with you, and make you happy also.

Weislingen.

I feel nothing but that I am entirely thine.

[Embraces her.

Maria.

Softly!—I gave you one kiss for earnest, but you must not take possession of what is only yours conditionally.

Weislingen.

You are too strict, Maria! Innocent love is pleasing in the sight of Heaven, instead of giving offence.

Maria.

It may be so. But I think differently; for I have been taught that caresses are, like fetters, strong through their union, and that maidens, when they love, are weaker than Samson after the loss of his locks.

Weislingen.

Who taught you so?

Maria.

The abbess of my convent. Till my sixteenth year I was with her—and it is only with you that I enjoy happiness like that her company afforded me. She had loved, and could tell—she had a most affectionate heart. Oh! she was an excellent woman!

Weislingen.

Then you resemble her. (Takes her hand.) What will become of me when I am compelled to leave you?

Maria.

(Withdrawing her hand.) You will feel some regret, I hope, for I know what my feelings will be. But you must away!

Weislingen.

I know it, dearest! and I will—for well I feel what happiness I shall purchase by this sacrifice! Now, blessed be your brother, and the day on which he rode out to capture me!

Maria.

His heart was full of hope for you and himself. Farewell! he said, at his departure, I go to recover my friend.

Weislingen.

That he has done. Would that I had studied the arrangement and security of my property, instead of neglecting it, and dallying at that worthless court!—then could’st thou have been instantly mine.

Maria.

Even delay has its pleasures.

Weislingen.

Say not so, Maria, else I shall fear that thy heart is less warm than mine. True, I deserve punishment, but what hopes will brighten every step of my journey! To be wholly thine, to live only for thee and thy circle of friends—far removed from the world, in the enjoyment of all the raptures which two hearts can mutually bestow. What is the favor of princes, what the applause of the universe, to such simple, yet unequalled felicity? Many have been my hopes and wishes; but this happiness surpasses them all.

EnterGoetz.

Goetz.

Your page has returned. He can scarcely utter a word for hunger and fatigue. My wife has ordered him some refreshment. Thus much I have gathered: the bishop will not give up my page; imperial commissioners are to be appointed, and a day named upon which the matter may be adjusted. Be that as it may, Adelbert, you are free. Pledge me but your hand that you will for the future give neither open nor secret assistance to my enemies.

Weislingen.

Here I grasp thy hand. From this moment be our friendship and confidence firm and unalterable as a primary law of nature! Let me take this hand also (takesMaria’shand), and with it the possession of this most noble lady.

Goetz.

May I say yes for you?

Maria.

(Timidly.) If—if it is your wish—

Goetz.

Happily our wishes do not differ on this point. Thou need’st not blush—the glance of thine eye betrays thee. Well then, Weislingen, join hands, and I say Amen! My friend and brother! I thank thee, sister; thou canst do more than spin flax, for thou hast drawn a thread which can fetter this wandering bird of paradise. Yet you look not quite at your ease, Adelbert. What troubles you? I am perfectly happy! What I but hoped in a dream I now see with my eyes, and feel as though I were still dreaming. Now my dream is explained. I thought last night that, in token of reconciliation, I gave you this iron hand, and that you held it so fast that it broke away from my arm; I started, and awoke. Had I but dreamed a little longer I should have seen how you gave me a new living hand. You must away this instant, to put your castle and property in order. That cursed court has made you neglect both. I must call my wife.—Elizabeth!

Maria.

How overjoyed my brother is!

Weislingen.

Yet I am still more so.

Goetz.

(ToMaria.) You will have a pleasant residence.

Maria.

Franconia is a fine country.

Weislingen.

And I may venture to say that my castle lies in the most fertile and delicious part of it.

Goetz.

That you may, and I can confirm it. Look you, here flows the Main, around a hill clothed with cornfields and vineyards, its top crowned with a Gothic castle; then the river makes a sharp turn, and glides round behind the rock on which the castle is built. The windows of the great hall look perpendicularly down upon the river, and command a prospect of many miles in extent.

EnterElizabeth.

Elizabeth.

What would’st thou?

Goetz.

You too must give your hand, and say, God bless you! They are a pair.

Elizabeth.

So soon?

Goetz.

But not unexpectedly.

Elizabeth.

May you ever adore her as ardently as while you sought her hand. And then, as your love, so be your happiness!

Weislingen.

Amen! I seek no happiness but under this condition.

Goetz.

The bridegroom, my love, must leave us for awhile; for this great change will involve many smaller ones. He must first withdraw himself from the bishop’s court, in order that their friendship may gradually cool. Then he must rescue his property from the hands of selfish stewards, and—but come, sister; come, Elizabeth; let us leave him; his page has no doubt private messages for him.

Weislingen.

Nothing but what you may hear.

Goetz.

’Tis needless. Franconians and Swabians! Ye are now more closely united than ever. Now we shall be able to keep the princes in check.

[ExeuntGoetz, Elizabeth, Maria.

Weislingen.

(Alone.) God in heaven! And canst Thou have reserved such happiness for one so unworthy? It is too much for my heart. How meanly I depended upon wretched fools, whom I thought I was governing, upon the smile of princes, upon the homage of those around me! Goetz, my faithful Goetz, thou hast restored me to myself, and thou, Maria, hast completed my reformation. I feel free, as if brought from a dungeon into the open air. Bamberg will I never see more—will snap all the shameful bonds that have held me beneath myself. My heart expands, and never more will I degrade myself by struggling for a greatness that is denied me. He alone is great and happy who fills his own station of independence, and has neither to command nor to obey.

EnterFrancis.

Francis.

God save you, noble sir! I bring you so many salutations that I know not where to begin. Bamberg, and ten miles round, cry with a thousand voices, God save you!

Weislingen.

Welcome, Francis! Bring’st thou aught else?

Francis.

You are held in such consideration at court that it cannot be expressed.

Weislingen.

That will not last long.

Francis.

As long as you live; and after your death it will shine with more lustre than the brazen characters on a monument. How they took your misfortune to heart!

Weislingen.

And what said the bishop?

Francis.

His eager curiosity poured out question upon question, without giving me time to answer. He knew of your accident already; for Färber, who escaped from Haslach, had brought him the tidings. But he wished to hear every particular. He asked so anxiously whether you were wounded. I told him you were whole, from the hair of your head to the nail of your little toe.

Weislingen.

And what said he to the proposals?

Francis.

He was ready at first to give up the page and a ransom to boot for your liberty. But when he heard you were to be dismissed without ransom, and merely to give your parole that the boy should be set free, he was for putting off Berlichingen with some pretence. He charged me with a thousand messages to you, more than I can ever utter. Oh, how he harangued! It was a long sermon upon the text, “I cannot live without Weislingen!”

Weislingen.

He must learn to do so.

Francis.

What mean you? He said, “Bid him hasten; all the court waits for him.”

Weislingen.

Let them wait on. I shall not go to court.

Francis.

Not go to court! My gracious lord, how comes that? If you knew what I know; could you but dream what I have seen—

Weislingen.

What ails thee?

Francis.

The bare remembrance takes away my senses. Bamberg is no longer Bamberg. An angel of heaven, in semblance of woman, has taken up her abode there, and has made it a paradise.

Weislingen.

Is that all?

Francis.

May I become a shaven friar if the first glimpse of her does not drive you frantic!

Weislingen.

Who is it, then?

Francis.

Adelaide von Walldorf.

Weislingen.

Indeed! I have heard much of her beauty.

Francis.

Heard! You might as well say I have seen music. So far is the tongue from being able to rehearse the slightest particle of her beauty, that the very eye which beholds her cannot drink it all in.

Weislingen.

You are mad.

Francis.

That may well be. The last time I was in her company I had no more command over my senses than if I had been drunk, or, I may rather say, I felt like a glorified saint enjoying the angelic vision! All my senses exalted, more lively and more perfect than ever, yet not one at its owner’s command.

Weislingen.

That is strange!

Francis.

As I took leave of the bishop, she sat by him; they were playing at chess. He was very gracious; gave me his hand to kiss, and said much, of which I heard not a syllable, for I was looking on his fair antagonist. Her eye was fixed upon the board, as if meditating a bold move.—A touch of subtle watchfulness around the mouth and cheek.—I could have wished to be the ivory king. The mixture of dignity and feeling on her brow—and the dazzling lustre of her face and neck, heightened by her raven tresses—

Weislingen.

The theme has made you quite poetical.

Francis.

I feel at this moment what constitutes poetic inspiration—a heart altogether wrapped in one idea. As the bishop ended, and I made my obeisance, she looked up and said, “Offer to your master the best wishes of an unknown. Tell him he must come soon. New friends await him; he must not despise them, though he is already so rich in old ones.” I would have answered, but the passage betwixt my heart and my tongue was closed, and I only bowed. I would have given all I had for permission to kiss but one of her fingers! As I stood thus, the bishop let fall a pawn, and in stooping to pick it up, I touched the hem of her garment. Transport thrilled through my limbs, and I scarce know how I left the room.

Weislingen.

Is her husband at court?

Francis.

She has been a widow these four months, and is residing at the court of Bamberg to divert her melancholy. You will see her; and to meet her glance is to bask in the sunshine of spring.

Weislingen.

She would not make so strong an impression on me.

Francis.

I hear you are as good as married.

Weislingen.

Would I were really so! My gentle Maria will be the happiness of my life. The sweetness of her soul beams through her mild blue eyes, and, like an angel of innocence and love, she guides my heart to the paths of peace and felicity! Pack up, and then to my castle. I will not to Bamberg, though St. Bede came in person to fetch me.

[ExitWeislingen.

Francis.

(Alone.) Not to Bamberg! Heavens forbid! But let me hope the best. Maria is beautiful and amiable, and a prisoner or an invalid might easily fall in love with her. Her eyes beam with compassion and melancholy sympathy; but in thine, Adelaide, is life, fire, spirit. I would . . . I am a fool; one glance from her has made me so. My master must to Bamberg, and I also, and either recover my senses or gaze them quite away.