Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  If the dispenser remains, I shall leave my house in good spirits;

  If my ready money is sav’d, and my body, why truly

  All is sav’d, for a bachelor easily flies when ’tis needed.”

  “Neighbor,” rejoin’d forthwith young Hermann, with emphasis speaking: —

  “Altogether I differ, and greatly blame your opinions.

  Can that man be deem’d worthy, who both in good and ill fortune

  Thinks alone of himself, and knows not the secret of sharing

  Sorrows and joys with others, and feels no longing to do so?

  I could more easily now than before determine to marry;

  Many an excellent maiden needs a husband’s protection,

  Many a man a cheerful wife, when sorrow’s before him.”

  Smilingly said then the father: — ”I’m pleas’d to hear what you’re saying,

  Words of such wisdom have seldom been utter’d by you in my presence.”

  Then his good mother broke in, in her turn, with vivacity speaking: —

  “Son, you are certainly right. We parents set the example.

  ’Twas not in time of pleasure that we made choice of each other,

  And ’twas the saddest of hours that knitted us closely together.

  Monday morning, — how well I remember! the very day after

  That most terrible fire occurr’d which burn’d down the borough,

  Twenty years ago now; the day, like to-day, was a Sunday,

  Hot and dry was the weather, and little available water.

  All the inhabitants, cloth’d in their festival garments, were walking,

  Scatter’d about in the inns and the mills of the neighboring hamlets.

  At one end of the town the fire broke out, and the flames ran

  Hastily all through the streets, impell’d by the draught they created.

  And the barns were consum’d, where all the rich harvest was gather’d.

  And all the streets as far as the market; the dwelling-house also

  Of my father hard by was destroy’d, as likewise was this one.

  Little indeed could we save; I sat the sorrowful night through

  On the green of the town, protecting the beds and the boxes.

  Finally sleep overtook me, and when by the cool breeze of morning

  Which dies away when the sun arises I was awaken’d,

  Saw I the smoke and the glow, and the half-consum’d walls and the chimneys.

  Then my heart was sorely afflicted; but soon in his glory

  Rose the sun more brilliant than ever, my spirits reviving.

  Then in haste I arose, impell’d the site to revisit

  Where our dwelling had stood, to see if the chickens were living

  Which I especially lov’d; for childlike I still was by nature.

  But when over the ruins of courtyard and house I was climbing,

  Which still smok’d, and saw my dwelling destory’d and deserted,

  You came up on the other side, the ruins exploring.

  You had a horse shut up in his stall; the still-glowing rafters

  Over it lay, and rubbish, and naught could be seen of the creature.

  Over against each other we stood, in doubt and in sorrow,

  For the wall had fallen which used to sever our courtyards;

  And you grasp’d my hand, addressing me softly as follows: —

  ‘Lizzy, what here are you doing? Away! Your soles you are burning,

  For the rubbish is hot, and is scorching my boots which are thicker.’

  Then you lifted me up, and carried me off through your courtyard.

  There still stood the gateway before the house, with its arch’d roof,

  Just as it now is standing, the only thing left remaining.

  And you set me down and kiss’d me, and I tried to stop you,

  But you presently said, with kindly words full of meaning: —

  ‘See, my house is destroy’d! Stop here and help me to build it,

  I in return will help to rebuild the house of your father.’

  I understood you not, till you sent to my father your mother,

  And ere long our marriage fulfill’d the troth we soon plighted.

  Still to this day I remember with pleasure the half-consum’d rafters,

  Still do I see the sun in all his majesty rising,

  For on that day I gain’d my husband; the son of my youth too

  Gain’d I during that earliest time of the wild desolation.

  Therefore commend I you, Hermann, for having with confidence guileless

  Turn’d towards marriage your thoughts in such a period of mourning,

  And for daring to woo in war and over the ruins.”

  Then the father straightway replied, with eagerness speaking: —

  “Sensible is your opinion, and true is also the story

  Which you have told us, good mother, for so did ev’rything happen.

  But what is better is better. ’Tis not the fortune of all men

  All their life and existence to find decided beforehand;

  All are not doom’d to such troubles as we and others have suffer’d.

  Oh, how happy is he whose careful father and mother

  Have a house ready to give him, which he can successfully manage!

  All beginnings are hard, and most so the landlord’s profession.

  Numberless things a man must have, and ev’rything daily

  Dearer becomes, so he needs to scrape together more money.

  So I am hoping that you, dear Hermann, will shortly be bringing

  Home to us a bride possessing an excellent dowry,

  For a worthy husband deserves a girl who is wealthy,

  And ’tis a capital thing for the wish’d-for wife to bring with her

  Plenty of suitable articles stow’d in her baskets and boxes.

  Not in vain for years does the mother prepare for her daughter

  Stocks of all kinds of linen, both finest and strongest in texture;

  Not in vain do god-parents give them presents of silver,

  Or the father lay by in his desk a few pieces of money.

  For she hereafter will gladden, with all her goods and possessions,

  That happy youth who is destined from out of all others to choose her.

  Yes! I know how pleasant it makes a house for a young wife,

  When she finds her own property plac’d in the rooms and the kitchen,

  And when she herself has cover’d the bed and the table.

  Only well-to-do brides should be seen in a house, I consider,

  For a poor one is sure at last to be scorn’d by her husband,

  And he’ll deem her a jade who as jade first appear’d with her bundle.

  Men are always unjust, but moments of love are but transient.

  Yes, my Hermann, you greatly would cheer the old age of your father

  If you soon would bring home a daughter-in-law to console me,

  Out of the neighborhood too, — yes, out of yon dwelling, — the green one!

  Rich is the man, in truth: his trade and his manufactures

  Make him daily richer, for when does a merchant not prosper?

  He has only three daughters; the whole of his wealth they’ll inherit.

  True the eldest’s already engag’d; but then there’s the second,

  And the third, who still (not for long) may be had for the asking.

  Had I been in your place, I should not till this time have waited;

  Bring home one of the girls, as I brought your mother before you.”

  Then, with modesty, answer’d the son his impetuous father: —

  “Truly my wish was, like yours, to marry one of the daughters

  Of our neighbor. We all, in fact, were brought up together,

  Sported in youthful days near the fountain adjoining the market,

  And from the rudeness of boys I often manag’d to save them.

  But
those days have long pass’d; the maidens grew up, and with reason

  Stop now at home and avoid the rougher pastimes of childhood.

  Well brought up with a vengeance they are! To please you, I sometimes

  Went to visit them, just for the sake of olden acquaintance;

  But I was never much pleas’d at holding intercourse with them,

  For they were always finding fault, and I had to bear it:

  First my coat was too long, the cloth too coarse, and the color

  Far too common, my hair was cut and curl’d very badly.

  I at last was thinking of dressing myself like the shop-boys,

  Who are accustom’d on Sundays to show off their persons up yonder,

  And round whose coats in summer half-silken tatters are hanging.

  But ere long I discover’d they only intended to fool me;

  This was very annoying, my pride was offended, but more still

  Felt I deeply wounded that they so mistook the good feelings

  Which I cherish’d towards them, especially Minnie, the youngest.

  Well, I went last Easter, politely to pay them a visit,

  And I wore the new coat now hanging up in the closet,

  And was frizzl’d and curl’d, like all the rest of the youngsters.

  When I enter’d, they titter’d; but that didn’t very much matter.

  Minnie sat at the piano, the father was present amongst them,

  Pleas’d with his daughter’s singing, and quite in a jocular humor.

  Little could I understand of the words in the songs she was singing,

  But I constantly heard of Pamina, and then of Tamino,

  And I fain would express my opinion; so when she had ended,

  I ask’d questions respecting the text, and who were the persons.

  All were silent and smil’d; but presently answer’d the father: —

  ‘Did you e’er happen, my friend, to hear of Eve or of Adam?’

  Then no longer restrain’d they themselves, the girls burst out laughing,

  All the boys laugh’d loudly, the old man’s sides appear’d splitting.

  In my confusion I let my hat fall down, and the titt’ring

  Lasted all the time the singing and playing continu’d.

  Then I hasten’d home, asham’d and full of vexation,

  Hung up my coat in the closet, and put my hair in disorder

  With my fingers, and swore ne’er again to cross o’er their threshold.

  And I’m sure I was right; for they are all vain and unloving.

  And I hear they’re so rude as to give me the nickname Tamino.”

  Then the mother rejoin’d: — ”You’re wrong, dear Hermann, to harbor

  Angry feelings against the children, for they are but children.

  Minnie’s an excellent girl, and has a tenderness for you;

  Lately she ask’d how you were. Indeed, I wish you would choose her!”

  Then the son thoughtfully answer’d: — ”I know not why, but the fact is

  My annoyance has graven itself in my mind, and hereafter

  I could not bear at the piano to see her, or list to her singing.”

  But the father sprang up, and said, in words full of anger: —

  “Little comfort you give me, in truth! I always have said it,

  When you took pleasure in horses, and cared for nothing but fieldwork;

  That which the servants of prosperous people perform as their duty,

  You yourself do; meanwhile the father his son must dispense with,

  Who in his honor was wont to court the rest of the townsfolk.

  Thus with empty hopes your mother early deceiv’d me,

  When your reading, and writing, and learning at school ne’er succeeded

  Like the rest of the boys, and so you were always the lowest.

  This all comes from a youth not possessing a due sense of honor,

  And not having the spirit to try to raise his position.

  Had my father but cared for me, as I have for you, sir,

  Sent me to school betimes, and given me proper instructors,

  I should not merely have been the host of the fam’d Golden Lion.”

  But the son arose, and approach’d the doorway in silence,

  Slowly, and making no noise; but then the father in dudgeon

  After him shouted: — ”Be off! I know you’re an obstinate fellow!

  Go and look after the business; else I shall scold you severely;

  But don’t fancy I’ll ever allow you to bring home in triumph

  As my daughter-in-law any boorish impudent hussy.

  Long have I liv’d in the world, and know how to manage most people,

  Know how to entertain ladies and gentlemen, so that they leave me

  In good humor, and know how to flatter a stranger discreetly.

  But my daughter-in-law must have useful qualities also,

  And be able to soften my manifold cares and vexations.

  She must also play on the piano, that all the best people

  Here in the town may take pleasure in often coming to see us,

  As in the house of our neighbor the merchant happens each Sunday.”

  Softly the son at these words rais’d the latch, and left the apartment.

  Thalia.

  THE BURGHERS.

  THUS did the prudent son escape from the hot conversation,

  But the father continu’d precisely as he had begun it: —

  “What is not in a man can never come out of him, surely!

  Never, I fear, shall I see fulfill’d my dearest of wishes,

  That my son should be unlike his father, but better.

  What would be the fate of a house or a town, if its inmates

  Did not all take pride in preserving, renewing, improving,

  As we are taught by the age, and by the wisdom of strangers?

  Man is not born to spring out of the ground, just like a mere mushroom,

  And to rot away soon in the very place that produc’d him!

  Leaving behind him no trace of what he has done in his lifetime.

  One can judge by the look of a house of the taste of its master,

  As on ent’ring a town, one can judge the authorities’ fitness.

  For where the towers and walls are falling, where in the ditches

  Dirt is collected, and dirt in every street is seen lying,

  Where the stones come out of their groove, and are not replac’d there,

  Where the beams are rotting, and vainly the houses are waiting

  New supports; that town is sure to be wretchedly manag’d.

  For where order and cleanliness reign not supreme in high places,

  Then to dirt and delay the citizens soon get accustom’d,

  Just as the beggar’s accustom’d to wear his clothes full of tatters.

  Therefore I often have wish’d that Hermann would start on his travels

  Ere he’s much older, and visit at any rate Strasburg and Frankfort,

  And that pleasant town, Mannheim, so evenly built and so cheerful.

  He who has seen such large and cleanly cities rests never

  Till his own native town, however small, he sees better’d.

  Do not all strangers who visit us praise our well-mended gateways,

  And the well-whited tower, the church so neatly repair’d too?

  Do not all praise our pavements? Our well-arrang’d cover’d-in conduits,

  Always well furnish’d with water, utility blending with safety,

  So that a fire, whenever it happens, is straightway extinguish’d, —

  Is not this the result of that conflagration so dreadful?

  Six times in Council I superintended the town’s works, receiving

  Hearty thanks and assistance from every well-dispos’d burgher.

  How I design’d, follow’d up and insur’d the completion of measures

  Worthy men had projected, and af
terwards left all unfinish’d!

  Finally, every man in the Council took pleasure in working.

  All put forth their exertions, and now they have finally settled

  That new highway to make, which will join our town with the mainroad.

  But I am greatly afraid that the young generation won’t act thus;

  Some on the one hand think only of pleasure and trumpery dresses,

  Others won’t stir out of doors, and pass all their time by the fireside,

  And our Hermann, I fear, will always be one of this last sort.”

  Forthwith to him replied the excellent sensible mother: —

  “Father, you’re always unjust whenever you speak of your son, and

  That is the least likely way to obtain your wishes’ fulfilment;

  For we cannot fashion our children after our fancy.

  We must have them and love them, as God has given them to us,

  Bring them up for the best, and let each do as he listeth.

  One has one kind of gift, another possesses another,

  Each one employs them, and each in turn in his separate fashion

  Good and happy becomes. My Hermann shall not be upbraided,

  For I know that he well deserves the wealth he’ll inherit;

  He’ll be an excellent landlord, a pattern to burghers and peasants,

  And, as I clearly foresee, by no means the last in the Council.

  But with your blame and reproaches, you daily dishearten him sadly,

  As you have done just now, and make the poor fellow unhappy.”

  Then she left the apartment, and after her son hasten’d quickly,

  Hoping somewhere to find him, and with her words of affection

  Gladden his heart, for he, the excellent son, well deserv’d it.

  Smilingly, when she had clos’d the door, continu’d the father: —

  “What a wonderful race of people are women and children!

  All of them fain would do whatever pleases their fancy,

  And we’re only allow’d to praise them and flatter them freely.

  Once for all there’s truth in the ancient proverb which tells us:

  He who moves not forward, goes backward! a capital saying!”

  Speaking with much circumspection, the druggist made answer as follows: —

  “What you say, good neighbor, is certainly true, and my plan is

  Always to think of improvement, provided though new, ’tis not costly.

  But what avails it in truth, unless one has plenty of money,

  Active and fussy to be, improving both inside and outside?

  Sadly confin’d are the means of a burgher; e’en when he knows it,