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Front Page arrow Titles (by Subject) arrow SCENE VIII.—: The Spessart. - Goethe's Works, vol. 3 (Goetz von Berlichingen, Iphigenia in Tauris, Tarquato Tasso, etc)

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SCENE VIII.—: The Spessart. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Goethe’s Works, vol. 3 (Goetz von Berlichingen, Iphigenia in Tauris, Tarquato Tasso, etc) [1885]

Edition used:

Goethe’s Works, illustrated by the best German artists, 5 vols. (Philadelphia: G. Barrie, 1885). Vol. 3.

Part of: Goethe’s Works, 5 vols.

About Liberty Fund:

Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals.


SCENE VIII.—

The Spessart.

EnterGoetz, SelbitzandGeorge.

Selbitz.

You see it has turned out as I prophesied.

Goetz.

No, no, no.

George.

I tell you the truth, believe me. I did as you commanded, took the dress and password of the Bamberg trooper, and escorted some peasants of the Lower Rhine, who paid my expenses for my convoy.

Selbitz.

In that disguise? It might have cost thee dear.

George.

So I begin to think, now that it’s over. A trooper who thinks of danger beforehand will never do anything great. I got safely to Bamberg, and in the very first inn I heard them tell how the bishop and Weislingen were reconciled, and how Weislingen was to marry the widow of Von Walldorf.

Goetz.

Mere gossip!

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George.

I saw him as he led her to table. She is lovely, by my faith, most lovely! We all bowed—she thanked us all. He nodded, and seemed highly pleased. They passed on, and everybody murmured, “What a handsome pair!”

Goetz.

That may be.

George.

Listen further. The next day as he went to mass, I watched my opportunity; he was attended only by his squire; I stood at the steps, and whispered to him as he passed, “A few words from your friend Berlichingen.” He started—I marked the confession of guilt in his face. He had scarcely the heart to look at me—me, a poor trooper’s boy!

Selbitz.

His evil conscience degrades him more than thy condition does thee.

George.

“Art thou of Bamberg?” said he. “The Knight of Berlichingen greets you,” said I, “and I am to inquire—” “Come to my apartment to-morrow morning,” quoth he, “and we will speak further.”

Goetz.

And you went?

George.

Yes, certainly, I went, and waited in his ante-chamber a long, long time—and his pages, in their silken doublets, stared at me from head to foot. Stare on, thought I. At length I was admitted. He seemed angry. But what cared I? I gave my message. He began blustering like a coward who wants to look brave. He wondered that you should take him to task through a trooper’s boy. That angered me. “There are but two sorts of people,” said I, “true men and scoundrels, and I serve Goetz of Berlichingen.” Then he began to talk all manner of nonsense, which all tended to one point, namely, that you had hurried him into an agreement, that he owed you no allegiance, and would have nothing to do with you.

Goetz.

Hadst thou that from his own mouth?

George.

That, and yet more. He threatened me—

Goetz.

It is enough. He is lost forever. Faith and confidence, again have ye deceived me. Poor Maria! how am I to break this to you?

Selbitz.

I would rather lose my other leg than be such a rascal.