The Online Library of Liberty

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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.

SCENE I.

Orestes, Pylades.

Orestes.

It is the path of death that now we tread:

At every step my soul grows more serene

When I implor’d Apollo to remove

The grisly band of Furies from my side,

He seem’d, with hope-inspiring, godlike words,

To promise aid and safety in the fane

Of his lov’d sister, who o’er Tauris rules.

Thus the prophetic word fulfils itself,

That with my life shall terminate my woe.

How easy ’tis for me, whose heart is crush’d,

Whose sense is deaden’d by a hand divine,

Thus to renounce the beauteous light of day!

And must the son of Atreus not entwine

The wreth of conquest round his dying brow—

Must I, as my forefathers, as my sire,

Bleed like a victim,—an ignoble death—

So be it! Better at the altar here,

Than in a nook obscure, where kindred hands

Have spread assassination’s wily net.

Yield me this brief repose, infernal Powers!

Ye who, like loosen’d hounds, still scent the blood

Which, trickling from my feet, betrays my path,

Leave me! ere long I come to you below.

Nor you, nor I, should view the light of day,

The soft green carpet of the beauteous earth

Is no arena for unhallow’d fiends

Below I seek you, where an equal fate

Binds all in murky, never-ending night.

Thee only, thee, my Pylades, my friend,

The guiltless partner of my crime and curse,

Thee am I loath, before thy time, to take

To yonder cheerless shore! Thy life or death

Alone awakens in me hope or fear

Pylades.

Like thee, Orestes, I am not prepar’d

Downwards to wander to yon realm of shade.

I purpose still, through the entangled paths,

Which seem as they would lead to blackest night,

Again to wind our upward way to life

Of death I think not: I observe and mark

Whether the gods may not perchance present

Means and fit moment for a joyful flight,

Dreaded or not, the stroke of death must come:

And though the priestess stood with hand uprais’d,

Prepar’d to cut our consecrated looks

Our safety still should be my only thought;

Uplift thy soul above this weak despair;

Desponding doubts but hasten on our peril.

Apollo pledg’d to us his sacred word.

That in his sister’s holy fane for thee

Were comfort, aid and glad return prepar’d.

The words of Heaven are not equivocal,

As in despair the poor oppress’d one thinks.

Orestes.

The mystic web of life my mother cast

Around my infant head, and so I grew

An image of my sire; and my mute look

Was aye a bitter and a keen reproof

To her and base Ægisthus. Oh, how oft,

When silently within our gloomy hall

Electra sat, and mus’d beside the fire,

Have I with anguish’d spirit climb’d her knee,

And watch’d her bitter tears with sad amaze!

Then would she tell me of our noble sire:

How much I long’d to see him—be with him!

Myself at Troy one moment fondly wish’d,

My sire’s return, the next. The day arriv’d—

Pylades.

Oh, of that awful hour let fiends of hell

Hold nightly converse! Of a time more fair

May the remembrance animate our hearts

To fresh heroic deeds. The gods require

On this wide earth the service of the good

To work their pleasure. Still they count on thee:

For in thy father’s train they sent thee not,

When he to Orcus went unwilling down.

Orestes.

Would I had seiz’d the border of his robe,

And follow’d him!

Pylades.

They kindly car’d for me

Who held thee here; for hadst thou ceas’d to live,

I know not what had then become of me;

Since I with thee, and for thy sake alone,

Have from my childhood liv’d, and wish to live.

Orestes.

Remind me not of those delightsome days,

When me thy home a safe asylum gave;

With fond solicitude thy noble sire

The half-nipp’d, tender flow’ret gently rear’d:

While thou, a friend and playmate always gay,

Like to a light and brilliant butterfly

Around a dusky flower, didst day by day

Around me with new life thy gambols urge,

And breathe thy joyous spirit in my soul,

Until, my cares forgetting, I with thee

Was lur’d to snatch the eager joys of youth.

Pylades.

My very life began when thee I lov’d.

Orestes.

Say, then thy woes began, and thou speak’st truly.

This is the sharpest sorrow of my lot,

That, like a plague-infected wretch, I bear

Death and destruction hid within my breast;

That, where I tread, e’en on the healthiest spot,

Ere long the blooming faces round betray

The anguish’d features of a ling’ring death.

Pylades.

Were thy breath venom, I had been the first

To die that death, Orestes. Am I not,

As ever, full of courage and of joy?

And love and courage are the spirit’s wings

Wafting to noble actions.

Orestes.

Noble actions?

Time was, when fancy painted such before us!

When oft, the game pursuing, on we roam’d

O’er hill and valley; hoping that ere long,

Like our great ancestors in heart and hand,

With club and weapon arm’d, we so might track

The robber to his den, or monster huge.

And then at twilight, by the boundless sea,

Peaceful we sat, reclin’d against each other,

The waves came dancing to our very feet,

And all before us lay the wide, wide world;

Then on a sudden one would seize his sword,

And future deeds shone round us like the stars,

Which gemm’d in countless throngs the vault of night.

Pylades.

Endless, my friend, the projects which the soul

Burns to accomplish. We would every deed

At once perform as grandly as it shows

After long ages, when from land to land

The poet’s swelling song hath roll’d it on.

It sounds so lovely what our fathers did,

When, in the silent evening shade reclin’d,

We drink it in with music’s melting tones;

And what we do is, as their deeds to them,

Toilsome and incomplete!

Thus we pursue what always flies before;

We disregard the path in which we tread,

Scarce see around the footsteps of our sires,

Or heed the trace of their career on earth.

We ever hasten on to chase their shades,

Which, godlike, at a distance far remote,

On golden clouds, the mountain summits crown.

The man I prize not who esteems himself

Just as the people’s breath may chance to raise him.

But thou, Orestes, to the gods give thanks,

That they through thee have early done so much.

Orestes.

When they ordain a man to noble deeds,

To shield from dire calamity his friends,

Extend his empire, or protect its bounds,

Or put to flight its ancient enemies,

Let him be grateful! For to him a god

Imparts the first, the sweetest joy of life.

Me have they doom’d to be a slaughterer,

To be an honor’d mother’s murderer,

artist: a. schmitz.

IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. ACT II, SCENE I.

orestes and pylades.

And shamefully a deed of shame avenging,

Me through their own decree they have o’er-whelm’d.

Trust me, the race of Tantalus is doom’d;

And I, his last descendant, may not perish,

Or crown’d with honor or unstain’d by crime.

Pylades.

The gods avenge not on the son the deeds

Done by the father. Each, or good or bad,

Of his own actions reaps the due reward.

The parents’ blessing, not their curse, descends.

Orestes.

Methinks their blessing did not lead us here.

Pylades.

It was at least the mighty gods’ decree.

Orestes.

Then is it their decree which doth destroy us.

Pylades.

Perform what they command, and wait the event.

Do thou Apollo’s sister bear from hence,

That they at Delphi may united dwell,

There by a noble-thoughted race rever’d;

Thee, for this deed, the lofty pair will view

With gracious eye, and from the hateful grasp

Of the infernal Powers will rescue thee.

E’en now none dares intrude within this grove.

Orestes.

So shall I die at least a peaceful death.

Pylades.

Far other are my thoughts, and not unskill’d

Have I the future and the past combin’d

In quiet meditation. Long, perchance,

Hath ripen’d in the counsel of the gods

The great event. Diana yearns to leave

The savage coast of these barbarians,

Foul with their sacrifice of human blood.

We were selected for the high emprise;

To us it is assign’d, and strangely thus

We are conducted to the threshold here.

Orestes.

My friend, with wondrous skill thou link’st thy wish

With the predestin’d purpose of the gods.

Pylades.

Of what avail is prudence, if it fail

Heedful to mark the purposes of Heaven?

A noble man, who much hath sinn’d, some god

Doth summon to a dangerous enterprise.

Which to achieve appears impossible.

The hero conquers, and atoning serves

Mortals and gods, who thenceforth honor him.

Orestes.

Am I foredoom’d to action and to life.

Would that a god from my distemper’d brain

Might chase this dizzy fever, which impels

My restless steps along a slipp’ry path.

Stain’d with a mother’s blood, to direful death;

And pitying, dry the fountain, whence the blood,

Forever spouting from a mother’s wounds,

Eternally defiles me!

Pylades.

Wait in peace!

Thou dost increase the evil, and dost take

The office of the Furies on thyself.

Let me contrive,—be still! And when at length

The time for action claims our powers combin’d.

Then will I summon thee, and on we’ll stride,

With cautions boldness to achieve the event.

Orestes.

I hear Ulysses speak.

Pylades.

Nay, mock me not!

Each must select the hero after whom

To climb the steep and difficult ascent

Of high Olymphs, And to me it seems

That him nor stratagem not art defiles

Who consecrates himself to noble deeds

Orestes.

I most esteem the brave and upright man.

Pylades.

And therefore have I not despis’d thy counsel.

One step’s already taken. From our guards

E’en now I this intelligence have gain’d

A strange and godlike woman holds in check

The execution of that bloody law:

Incense and prayer and an unsulded heart.

These are the gifts she offers to the gods.

Rumor’extols her highly: it is thought

That from the race of Amazon she springs.

And hither fled some great calamity

Orestes.

Her gentle sway, it seems, lost all its power

When hither came the culprit, whom the curse,

Like murky night, envelops and pursues

Our doom to seal, the pious thirst for blood

The ancient cruel rite again unchains:

The monarch’s savage will decrees our death:

A woman cannot save when he condemns.

Pylades.

That ’tis a woman is a ground for hope!

A man, the very best, with cruelty

At length may so familiarize his mind.

His character through custom so transform,

That he shall come to make himself a law

Of what at first his very soul abhorr’d

But woman doth retam the stamp of mind

She first assum’d. On her we may depend

In good or evil with more certainty.

She comes; leave us alone I dare not tell

At once our names, not unreserv’d confide

Our fortunes to her. Now retire awhile.

And ere she speaks with thee we’ll meet again.