Over a foreign land, unless to return we are able.
See, here stands the youth to whom for those gifts we’re indebted,
All those clothes for the child, and all those acceptable viands.
Well, he has come, and is anxious that I to his house should go with him,
There as a servant to act to his rich and excellent parents,
And I have not refus’d him, for serving appears my vocation,
And to be serv’d by others at home would seem like a burden.
So I’ll go willingly with him; the youth appears to be prudent;
Thus will his parents be properly car’d for, as rich people should be.
Therefore, now, farewell, my much-lov’d friend, and be joyful
In your living infant, who looks so healthily at you.
When you press him against your bosom, wrapp’d up in those color’d
Swaddling-clothes, then remember the youth who so kindly bestow’d them,
And who in future will feed and clothe me also, your lov’d friend.
You too, excellent man,” to the magistrate turning, she added: —
“Warmly I thank for so often acting the part of a father.”
Then she knelt herself down before the lying-in patient,
Kiss’d the weeping woman, her whisper’d blessing receiving.
Meanwhile the worthy magistrate spoke to Hermann as follows: —
“You deserve, my friend, to be counted amongst the good landlords
Who are anxious to manage their house through qualified people.
For I have often observ’d how cautiously men are accustom’d
Sheep and cattle and horses to watch, when buying or bart’ring;
But a man, who’s so useful, provided he’s good and efficient,
And who does so much harm and mischief by treacherous dealings,
Him will people admit to their houses by chance and haphazard,
And too late find reason to rue an o’erhasty decision.
This you appear to understand, for a girl you have chosen
As your servant, and that of your parents, who thoroughly good is.
Treat her well, and as long as she finds the business suits her,
You will not miss your sister, your parents will miss not their daughter.”
Other persons now enter’d, the patient’s nearest relations,
Mahy articles bringing, and better lodgings announcing.
All were inform’d of the maiden’s decision, and warmly bless’d Hermann,
Both with significant looks, and also with grateful expressions,
And one secretly whisper’d into the ear of another: —
“If the master should turn to a bridegroom, her home is provided.”
Hermann then presently took her hand, and address’d her as follows: —
“Let us be going; the day is declining, and far off the village.”
Then the women, with lively expressions, embrac’d Dorothea;
Hermann drew her away; they still continu’d to greet her.
Next the children, with screams and terrible crying, attack’d her,
Pulling her clothes, their second mother refusing to part from.
But first one of the women, and then another rebuk’d them: —
“Children, hush! to the town she is going, intending to bring you
Plenty of gingerbread back, which your brother already had order’d,
From the confectioner, when the stork was passing there lately,
And she’ll soon return, with the papers prettily gilded.”
So at length the children releas’d her; but scarcely could Hermann
Tear her from their embraces and distant-signaling kerchiefs.
Melpomene.
HERMANN AND DOROTHEA.
SO tow’rd the sun, now fast sinking to rest, the two walk’d together,
Whilst he veil’d himself deep in clouds which thunder portended;
Out of his veil now here, now there, with fiery glances
Beaming over the plain with rays foreboding and lurid.
“May this threatening weather,” said Hermann, “not bring to us shortly
Hail and violent rain, for well does the harvest now promise.”
And they both rejoic’d in the corn so lofty and waving,
Well nigh reaching the heads of the two tall figures that walk’d there.
Then the maiden spoke to her friendly leader as follows: —
“Generous youth, to whom I shall owe a kind destiny shortly,
Shelter and home, when so many poor exiles must weather the tempest,
In the first place tell me all about your good parents,
Whom I intend to serve with all my soul from henceforward;
Knowing one’s master, ’tis easier far to give satisfaction,
By rememb’ring the things which he deems of the highest importance,
And on which he has set his heart with the greatest decision.
Tell me, then, how best I can win your father and mother.”
Then the good and sensible youth made answer as follows: —
“You are indeed quite right, my kind and excellent maiden,
To begin by asking about the tastes of my parents!
For I have hitherto striven in vain to satisfy father,
When I look’d after the inn, as well as my regular duty,
Working early and late in the field, and tending the vineyard.
Mother indeed was contented; she knew how to value my efforts;
And she will certainly hold you to be an excellent maiden,
If you take care of the house, as though the dwelling your own were.
But my father’s unlike her; he’s fond of outward appearance.
Gentle maiden, deem me not cold and void of all feeling,
If I disclose my father’s nature to you, who’re a stranger.
Yes, such words have never before escap’d, I assure you,
Out of my mouth, which is little accustom’d to babble and chatter;
But you have manag’d to worm all my secrets from out of my bosom.
Well, my worthy father the graces of life holds in honor,
Wishes for outward signs of love, as well as of rev’rence,
And would doubtless be satisfied with an inferior servant
Who understood this fancy, and hate a better, who did not.”
Cheerfully she replied, with gentle movement increasing
Through the darkening path the speed at which she was walking: —
“I in truth shall hope to satisfy both of your parents,
For your mother’s character my own nature resembles,
And to external graces have I from my youth been accustom’d.
Our old neighbors, the French, in their earlier days laid much stress on
Courteous demeanor; ’twas common alike to nobles and burghers,
And to peasants, and each enjoin’d it on all his acquaintance.
In the same way, on the side of the Germans, the children were train’d up
Every morning, with plenty of kissing of hands and of curtsies,
To salute their parents, and always to act with politeness.
All that I have learn’d, and all I have practis’d since childhood,
All that comes from my heart, — I will practise it all with the old man.
But on what terms shall I — I scarcely dare ask such a question, —
Be with yourself, the only son, and hereafter my master?”
Thus she spoke, and at that moment they came to the pear tree.
Down from the skies the moon at her full was shining in glory;
Night had arriv’d, and the last pale gleam of the sunset had vanish’d.
So before them were lying, in masses all heap’d up together,
Lights as clear as the day, and shadows of night and of darkness.
And the friendly question was heard by Hermann with pleasure,
Under the shade of the noble tree at the spot which he lov’d so,
Which that day had witness’d his tears at the fate of the exile.
And whilst they sat themselves down, to take a little repose there,
Thus the loving youth spoke, whilst he seiz’d the hand of the maiden: —
“Let your heart give the answer, and always obey what it tells you!”
But he ventur’d to say no more, however propitious
Was the moment; he fear’d that a No would be her sole answer,
Ah! and he felt the ring on her finger, that sorrowful token.
So by the side of each other they quietly sat and in silence,
But the maiden began to speak, and said, “How delightful
Is the light of the moon! The clearness of day it resembles.
Yonder I see in the town the houses and courtyards quite plainly,
In the gable a window; methinks all the panes I can reckon.”
“That which you see,” replied the youth, who spoke with an effort,
“That is our house down to which I now am about to conduct you,
And that window yonder belongs to my room in the attic,
Which will probably soon be yours, as we’re making great changes.
All these fields are ours, and ripe for the harvest to-morrow;
Here in the shade we are wont to rest, enjoying our meal-time.
But let us now descend across the vineyard and garden,
For observe how the threatening storm is hitherward rolling,
Lightening first, and then eclipsing the beautiful full moon.”
So the pair arose, and wander’d down by the corn-field,
Through the powerful corn, in the nightly clearness rejoicing;
And they reach’d the vineyard, and through its dark shadows proceeded.
So he guided her down the numerous tiers of the flat stones
Which, in an unhewn state, serv’d as steps to the walk through the foliage.
Slowly she descended, and plac’d her hands on his shoulders;
And, with a quivering light, the moon through the foliage o’erlook’d them,
Till by storm-clouds envelop’d, she left the couple in darkness.
Then the strong youth supported the maiden, who on him was leaning;
She, however, not knowing the path, or observing the rough steps,
Slipp’d as she walk’d, her foot gave way, and she well nigh was falling.
Hastily held out his arm the youth with nimbleness thoughtful,
And held up his belov’d one; she gently sank on his shoulder,
Breast was press’d against breast, and cheek against cheek, and so stood he
Fix’d like a marble statue, restrain’d by a firm resolution;
He embrac’d her no closer, though all her weight he supported;
So he felt his noble burden, the warmth of her bosom,
And her balmy breath, against his warm lips exhaling,
Bearing with manly feelings the woman’s heroical greatness.
But she conceal’d the pain which she felt, and jestingly spoke thus: —
“It betokens misfortune, — so scrupulous people inform us, —
For the foot to give way on entering a house, near the threshold.
I should have wish’d, in truth, for a sign of some happier omen!
Let us tarry a little, for fear your parents should blame you,
For their limping servant, and you should be thought a bad landlord.”
Urania.
Chronological table of contents
Alphabetical table of contents
CONCLUSION.
YE MUSES, who gladly favor a love that is heartfelt,
Who on his way the excellent youth have hitherto guided,
Who have press’d the maid to his bosom before their betrothal,
Help still further to perfect the bonds of a couple so loving,
Drive away the clouds which over their happiness hover!
But begin by saying what now in the house has been passing.
For the third time the mother impatiently enter’d the chamber
Where the men were sitting, which she had anxiously quitted,
Speaking of the approaching storm, and the loss of the moon’s light,
Then of her son’s long absence, and all the perils that night brings.
Strongly she censur’d their friends for having so soon left the youngster,
For not even addressing the maiden, or seeking to woo her.
“Make not the worst of the mischief,” the father peevishly answer’d;
“For you see we are waiting ourselves, expecting the issue.”
But the neighbor sat still, and calmly address’d them as follows: —
“In uneasy moments like these I always feel grateful
To my late father, who, when I was young, all seeds of impatience
In my mind uprooted, and left no fragment remaining,
And I learn’d how to wait, as well as the best of the wise men.”
“Tell us what legerdemain he employ’d,” the pastor made answer.
“I will gladly inform you, and each one may gain by the lesson,”
Answer’d the neighbor. “When I was a boy, I was standing one Sunday
In a state of impatience, eagerly waiting the carriage
Which was to carry us out to the fountain under the lime trees;
But it came not; I ran like a weasel, now hither, now thither,
Up and down the stairs, and from the door to the window;
Both my hands were prickling, I scratch’d away at the tables,
Stamping and trotting about, and scarcely refrain’d I from crying.
All this the calm man composedly saw; but finally when I
Carried my folly too far, by the arm he quietly took me,
Led me up to the window, and used this significant language: —
‘See you up yonder the joiner’s workshop, now clos’d for the Sunday?
‘Twill be reopen’d to-morrow, and plane and saw will be working.
Thus will the busy hours be pass’d from morning till evening.
But remember this: the morning will soon be arriving
When the master, together with all his men, will be busy
In preparing and finishing quickly and deftly your coffin,
And they will carefully bring over here that house made of boards, which
Will at length receive the patient as well as impatient,
And which is destin’d to carry a roof that’s unpleasantly heavy.’
All that he mention’d I forthwith saw taking place in my mind’s eye,
Saw the boards join’d together, and saw the black cover made ready, —
Patiently then I sat, and meekly awaited the carriage.
And I always think of the coffin whenever I see men
Running about in a state of doubtful and wild expectation.”
Smilingly answer’d the pastor: — ”Death’s stirring image is neither
Unto the wise a cause of alarm, — or an end to the pious.
Back into life it urges the former, and teaches him action,
And for the weal of the latter, it strengthens his hope in affliction.
Death is a giver of life unto both. Your father did wrongly
When to the sensitive boy he pointed out death in its own form.
Unto the youth should be shown the worth of a noble and ripen’d
Age, and unto the old man, youth, that both may rejoice in
The eternal circle, and life may in life be made perfect!”
Here the door was open’d. The handsome couple appear’d there,
And the friends were amaz’d, the loving parents astonish’d
At the form of the bride, the form of the bridegroom resembling.
Yes! the door appear’d too small to admit the tall figures
Which now cross’d the threshold, in company walking
together.
To his parents Hermann presented her, hastily saying: —
“Here is a maiden just of the sort you are wishing to have here.
Welcome her kindly, dear father! she fully deserves it, and you too,
Mother dear, ask her questions as to her housekeeping knowledge,
That you may see how well she deserves to form one of our party.”
Then he hastily took on one side the excellent pastor,
Saying: — ”Kind sir, I entreat you to help me out of this trouble
Quickly, and loosen the knot, whose unravelling I am so dreading;
For I have not ventur’d to woo as my bride the fair maiden,
But she believes she’s to be a maid in the house, and I fear me
She will in anger depart, as soon as we talk about marriage.
But it must be decided at once! no longer in error
Shall she remain, and I no longer this doubt can put up with.
Hasten and once more exhibit that wisdom we all hold in honor.”
So the pastor forthwith turn’d round to the rest of the party,
But the maiden’s soul was, unhappily, troubled already
By the talk of the father, who just had address’d her as follows,
Speaking good-humoredly, and in accents pleasant and lively: —
“Yes, I’m well satisfied, child! I joyfully see that my son has
Just as good taste as his father, who in his younger days show’d it,
Always leading the fairest one out in the dance, and then lastly
Taking the fairest one home as his wife — ’twas your dear little mother!
For by the bride whom a man selects, we may easily gather
What kind of spirit his is, and whether he knows his own value.
But you will surely need but a short time to form your decision,
For I verily think he will find it full easy to follow.”
Hermann but partially heard the words; the whole of his members
Inwardly quiver’d, and all the circle were suddenly silent.
But the excellent maiden, by words of such irony wounded,
(As she esteem’d them to be) and deeply distress’d in her spirit,
Stood, while a passing flush from her cheeks as far as her neck was
Spreading, but she restrain’d herself, and collected her thoughts soon;
Then to the old man she said, not fully concealing her sorrow: —
“Truly I was not prepar’d by your son for such a reception,
When he describ’d his father’s nature, — that excellent burgher,
And I know I am standing before you, a person of culture,
Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Page 296