The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

• 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.

A Garden adorned with busts of the Epic Poets. To the right a bust of Virgil: to the left, one of Ariosto.

PrincessandLeonora,habited as shepherdesses

Princess.

Smiling thou dost survey me, Leonora.

And with a smile thou dost survey thyself.

What is it? Let a friend partake thy thought!

Thou seemest pensive, yet thou seemest pleas’d.

Leonora.

Yes, I am pleas’d, my princess, to behold

Us twain in rural fashion thus attir’d.

Two happy shepherd-maidens we appear.

And like the happy we are both employ’d.

Garlands we wreathe; this one, so gay with flowers,

Beneath my hand in varied beauty grows:

Thou hast with higher taste and larger heart

The slender phant laurel made thy choice.

Princess.

The laurel wreath, which aimlessly I twin’d,

Hath found at once a not unworthy head;

I place it gratefully on Virgil’s brow.

[She crowns the bust of Virgil.

Leonora.

With my full joyous wreath the lofty brow

Of Master Ludovico, thus I crown—

[She crowns the bust of Ariosto.

Let him whose sportive sashes never fade.

Receive his tribute from the early spring

Princess.

My brother is most kind to bring us here

In this sweet season to our rural haunts:

Here, by the hour, in freedom unrestrain’d.

We may dream back the poet’s golden age.

I love this Belriguardo; in my youth

Full many a jovous day I linger’d here,

And this bright sunshine, and this verdant green,

Bring back the feelings of that bygone time.

Leonora.

Yes, a new world surrounds us! Grateful now

The cooling shelter of these evergreens.

The tuneful murmur of this gurgling spring

Once more revives us. In the morning wind

The tender branches waver to and fro.

The flowers look upwards from their lowly beds.

And smile upon us with their childlike eves.

The gardener, fearless grown, removes the roof

That screen’d his citron and his orange trees,

The azure dome of heaven above us rests:

And, in the far horizon, from the hills

The snow in balmy vapor melts away.

Princess.

Most welcome were to me the genial spring,

Did it not lead my friend away from me.

Leonora.

My princess, in these sweet and tranquil hours,

Remind me not how soon I must depart.

Princess.

Yon mighty city will restore to thee,

In double measure, what thou leavest here.

Leonora.

The voice of duty and the voice of love

Both call me to my lord, forsaken long;

I bring to him his son, who rapidly

Hath grown in stature and matur’d in mind

Since last they met,—I share his father’s joy.

Florence is great and noble, but the worth

Of all her treasur’d riches doth not reach

The prouder jewels that Ferrara boasts.

That city to her people owes her power;

Ferrara grew to greatness through her princes.

Princess.

More through the noble men whom chance led here,

And who in sweet communion here remain’d.

Leonora.

Chance doth again disperse what chance collects;

A noble nature can alone attract

The noble, and retain them, as ye do.

Around thy brother, and around thyself,

Assemble spirits worthy of you both,

And ye are worthy of your noble sires.

Here the fair light of science and free thought

Was kindled first, while o’er the darken’d world

Still hung barbarian gloom. E’en when a child,

The names resounded loudly in mine ear,

Of Hercules and Hippolyte of Este.

My father oft with Florence and with Rome

Extoll’d Ferrara! Oft in youthful dream

Hither I fondly turn’d; now am I here.

Here was Petrarca kindly entertain’d,

And Ariosto found his models here.

Italia boasts no great, no mighty name,

This princely mansion hath not call’d its guest.

In fostering genius we enrich ourselves:

Dost thou present her with a friendly gift,

One far more beautiful she leaves with thee.

The ground is hallow’d where the good man treads;

When centuries have roll’d, his sons shall hear

The deathless echo of his words and deeds.

Princess.

Yes, if those sons have feelings quick as thine;

This happiness full oft I envy thee.

Leonora.

Which purely and serenely thou, my friend,

As few beside thee, dost thyself enjoy.

When my full heart impels me to express

Promptly and freely what I keenly feel,

Thou feel’st the while more deeply, and—art silent.

Delusive splendor doth not dazzle thee,

Nor wit beguile; and flattery strives in vain

With fawning artifice to win thine ear;

Firm is thy temper, and correct thy taste,

Thy judgment just, and, truly great thyself,

With greatness thou dost ever sympathize.

Princess.

Thou should’st not to this highest flattery

The garment of confiding friendship lend.

Leonora.

Friendship is just; she only estimates

The full extent and measure of thy worth.

Let me ascribe to opportunity,

To fortune too, her portion in thy culture,

Still in the end thou hast it, it is thine,

And all extol thy sister and thyself

Before the noblest women of the age.

Princess.

That can but little move me, Leonora,

When I reflect how poor at best we are,

To others more indebted than ourselves.

My knowledge of the ancient languages,

And of the treasures by the past bequeath’d.

I owe my mother, who, in varied lore

And mental power, her daughters far excell’d.

Might either claim comparison with her,

’Tis undeniably Lucretia’s right.

Besides, what nature and what chance bestow’d

As property or rank I ne’er esteem’d.

’Tis pleasure to me when the wise converse,

That I their scope and meaning comprehend;

Whether they judge a man of bygone times

And weigh his actions, or of science treat,

Which, when extended and applied to life,

At once exalts and benefits mankind.

Where’er the converse of such men may lead,

I follow gladly, for with ease I follow.

Well pleas’d the strife of argument I hear,

When, round the powers that sway the human breast,

Waking alternately delight and fear,

With grace the lip of eloquence doth play:

And listen gladly when the princely thirst

Of fame, of wide dominion, forms the theme.

When of an able man, the thought profound,

Develop’d skilfully with subtle tact,

Doth not perplex and dazzle, but instruct.

Leonora.

And then, this grave and serious converse o’er,

Our ear and inner mind with tranquil joy

Upon the poet’s tuneful verse repose,

Who through the medium of harmonious sounds

Infuses sweet emotions in the soul.

Thy lofty spirit grasps a wide domain;

Content am I to linger in the isle

Of poesy, her laurel groves among.

Princess.

In this fair land, I’m told, the myrtle blooms

In richer beauty than all other trees;

Here, too, the Muses wander, yet we seek

A friend and playmate ’mong their tuneful choir

Less often than we seek to meet the bard,

Who seems to shun us, nay, appears to flee,

In quest of something that we know not of,

And which perchance is to himself unknown.

How charming were it, if in happy hour

Encountering us, he should with ecstasy

In our fair selves the treasure recognize,

Which in the world he long had sought in vain!

Leonora.

To your light raillery I must submit;

So light its touch it passeth harmless by.

I honor all men after their desert,

And am in truth toward Tasso only just.

His eye scarce lingers on this earthly scene,

To nature’s harmony his ear is tun’d.

What history offers, and what life presents,

His bosom promptly and with joy receives,

The widely scatter’d is by him combin’d,

And his quick feeling animates the dead.

Oft he ennobles what we count for naught;

What others treasure is by him despis’d.

Thus moving in his own enchanted sphere,

The wondrous man doth still allure us on

To wander with him and partake his joy;

Though seeming to approach us, he remains

Remote as ever, and perchance his eye,

Resting on us, sees spirits in our place.

Princess.

Thou hast with taste and truth portray’d the bard,

Who hovers in the shadowy realm of dreams.

And yet reality, it seems to me,

Hath also power to lure him and enchain.

In the sweet sonnets, scatter’d here and there,

With which we sometimes find our trees adorn’d,

Creating like the golden fruit of old

A new Hesperia, perceiv’st thou not

The gentle tokens of a genuine love?

Leonora.

In these fair leaves I also take delight.

With all his rich diversity of thought

He glorifies one form in all his strains.

Now he exalts her to the starry heavens

In radiant glory, and before that form

Bows down, like angels in the realms above.

Then stealing after her through silent fields,

He garlands in his wreath each beauteous flower;

And should the form he worships disappear,

Hallows the path her gentle foot hath trod.

Thus like the nightingale, conceal’d in shade,

From his love-laden breast he fills the air

And neighboring thickets with melodious plaints:

His blissful sadness and his tuneful grief

Charm every ear, enrapture every heart—

Princess.

And Leonora is the favor’d name

Selected for the object of his strains.

Leonora.

Thy name it is, my princess, as ’tis mine.

It would displease me were it otherwise.

Now I rejoice that under this disguise

He can conceal his sentiment for thee,

And am no less contented with the thought

That this sweet name should also picture me.

Here is no question of an ardent love,

Seeking possession, and with jealous care

Screening its object from another’s gaze.

While he enraptur’d contemplates thy worth,

He in my lighter nature may rejoice.

He loves not us,—forgive me what I say,—

His lov’d ideal from the spheres he brings,

And doth invest it with the name we bear;

His feeling we participate; we seem

To love the man, yet only love in him

The highest object that can claim our love.

Princess.

In this deep science thou art deeply vers’d,

My Leonora, and thy words in truth

Play on my ear, yet scarcely reach my soul.

Leonora.

Thou Plato’s pupil! and not comprehend

What a mere novice dares to prattle to thee?

It must be then that I have widely err’d;

Yet well I know I do not wholly err.

For love doth in this graceful school appear

No longer as the spoil’d and wayward child;

He is the youth whom Psyche hath espous’d:

Who sits in council with the assembled gods,

He hath relinquish’d passion’s fickle sway,

He clings no longer with delusion sweet

To outward form and beauty, to atone

For brief excitement by disgust and hate.

Princess.

Here comes my brother! let us not betray

Whither our converse hath conducted us;

Else we shall have his raillery to bear.

As in our dress he found a theme for jest.