The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 14

"Much I approve of thy caution," the preacher replied as he followed.

"Not for ourselves is the suit, and 'tis delicate wooing for others."

Toward the good magistrate, then, the men directed their footsteps, Who was again ascending the street in discharge of his duties.

Him the judicious pastor at once addressed and with caution.

"Look! we a maiden have here descried in the neighboring garden, Under an apple-tree sitting, and making up garments for children Out of second-hand stuff that somebody doubtless has given; And we were pleased with her aspect: she seems like a girl to be trusted.

Tell us whatever thou knowest: we ask it with honest intentions."

Soon as the magistrate nearer had come, and looked into the garden, "Her thou knowest already," he said; "for when I was telling Of the heroic deed performed by the hand of that maiden, When she s.n.a.t.c.hed the man's sword, and delivered herself and her charges, This was the one! she is vigorous born, as thou seest by her stature; Yet she is good as strong, for her aged kinsman she tended Until the day of his death, which was finally hastened by sorrow Over his city's distress, and his own endangered possessions.

Also, with quiet submission, she bore the death of her lover, Who a high-spirited youth, in the earliest flush of excitement, Kindled by lofty resolve to fight for a glorious freedom, Hurried to Paris, where early a terrible death he encountered.

For as at home, so there, his foes were deceit and oppression."

Thus the magistrate spoke. The others saluted and thanked him, And from his purse a gold-piece the pastor drew forth;--for the silver He had some hours before already in charity given, When he in mournful groups had seen the poor fugitives pa.s.sing;-- And to the magistrate handed it, saying: "Apportion the money 'Mongst thy dest.i.tute people, and G.o.d vouchsafe it an increase."

But the stranger declined it, and, answering, said: "We have rescued Many a dollar among us, with clothing and other possessions, And shall return, as I hope, ere yet our stock is exhausted."

Then the pastor replied, and pressed the money upon him: "None should be backward in giving in days like the present, and no one Ought to refuse to accept those gifts which in kindness are offered.

None can tell how long he may hold what in peace he possesses, None how much longer yet he shall roam through the land of the stranger, And of his farm be deprived, and deprived of the garden that feeds him."

"Ay, to be sure!" in his bustling way interrupted the doctor: "If I had only some money about me, ye surely should have it, Little and big; for certainly many among you must need it.

Yet I'll not go without giving thee something to show what my will is, Even though sadly behind my good-will must lag the performance."

Thus, as he spoke, by its straps his embroidered pocket of leather, Where his tobacco was kept, he drew forth,-enough was now in it Several pipes to fill,--and daintily opened, and portioned.

"Small is the gift," he added. The justice, however, made answer: "Good tobacco can ne'er to the traveller fail to be welcome."

Then did the village doctor begin to praise his canaster.

But the clergyman drew him away, and they quitted the justice.

"Let us make haste," said the thoughtful man: "the youth's waiting in torture; Come! let him hear, as soon as he may, the jubilant tidings."

So they hastened their steps, and came to where under the lindens Hermann against the carriage was leaning. The horses were stamping Wildly the turf; he held them in check, and, buried in musing, Stood, into vacancy gazing before him; nor saw the two envoys, Till, as they came, they called out and made to him signals of triumph.

E'en as far off as they then were, the doctor began to address him; But they were presently nearer come and then the good pastor Grasped his hand and exclaimed, interrupting the word of his comrade: "Hail to thee, O young man! thy true eye and heart have well chosen; Joy be to thee and the wife of thy youth; for of thee she is worthy.

Come then and turn us the wagon, and drive straightway to the village, There the good maid to woo, and soon bring her home to thy dwelling."

Still, however, the young man stood, without sign of rejoicing, Hearing his messenger's words, though heavenly they were and consoling.

Deeply he sighed as he said: "With hurrying wheels we came hither, And shall be forced, perchance, to go mortified homeward and slowly.

For disquiet has fallen upon me since here I've been waiting, Doubt and suspicion, and all that can torture the heart of a lover.

Think ye we have but to come, and that then the maiden will follow Merely because we are rich, while she is poor and an exile?

Poverty, too, makes proud, when it comes unmerited! Active Seems she to be, and contented, and so of the world is she mistress.

Think ye a maiden like her, with the manners and beauty that she has, Can into woman have grown, and no worthy man's love have attracted?

Think ye that love until now can have been shut out from her bosom?

Drive not thither too rashly: we might to our mortification Have to turn softly homewards our horses' heads. For my fear is That to some youth already this heart has been given; already This brave hand has been clasped, has pledged faith to some fortunate lover.

Then with my offer, alas! I should stand in confusion before her."

Straightway the pastor had opened his lips to speak consolation, When his companion broke in, and said in his voluble fashion: "Years ago, forsooth, unknown had been such a dilemma.

All such affairs were then conducted in regular fashion.

Soon as a bride for their son had been by the parents selected, First some family friend they into their councils would summon, Whom they afterward sent as a suitor to visit the parents Of the elected bride. Arrayed in his finest apparel, Soon after dinner on Sunday he sought the respectable burgher, When some friendly words were exchanged upon general subjects, He knowing how to direct the discourse as suited his purpose.

After much circ.u.mlocution he finally mentioned the daughter, Praising her highly, and praising the man and the house that had sent him.

Persons of tact perceived his intent, and the politic envoy Readily saw how their minds were disposed, and explained himself further.

Then were the offer declined, e'en the 'no' brought not mortification; But did it meet with success, the suitor was ever thereafter Made the chief guest in the house on every festive occasion.

For, through the rest of their lives, the couple ne'er failed to remember That 'twas by his experienced hand the first knot had been gathered.

All that, however, is changed, and, with many another good custom, Quite fallen out of the fashion; for every man woos for himself now.

Therefore let every man hear to his face p.r.o.nounced the refusal, If a refusal there be, and stand shamed in the sight of the maiden!"

"Let that be as it may!" made answer the youth, who had scarcely Unto the words paid heed; but in silence had made his decision.

"I will go thither myself, will myself hear my destiny spoken Out of the lips of a maiden in whom I a confidence cherish Greater than heart of man has e'er before cherished in woman.

Say what she will, 'twill be good and wise; of that I am certain.

Should I behold her never again, yet this once will I see her; Yet this once the clear gaze of those dark eyes will encounter.

If I must press her ne'er to my heart, yet that neck and that bosom Will I behold once more, that my arm so longs to encircle; Once more that mouth will see, whose kiss and whose 'yes' would for ever Render me happy, from which a 'no' will for ever destroy me.

But ye must leave me alone. Do not wait for me here; but return ye Back to my father and mother again, and give them the knowledge That their son has not been deceived, that the maiden is worthy.

So then leave me alone! I shall follow the footpath that crosses Over the hill by the pear-tree, and thence descends through our vineyard, Taking a shorter way home. And oh, may I bring to our dwelling, Joyful and quick my beloved! but perhaps I alone may come creeping Over that path to the house, and ne'er again tread it with gladness."

Thus he spoke, and gave up the reins to the hand of the pastor, Who understandingly grasped them, the foaming horses controlling, Speedily mounted the carriage, and sat in the seat of the driver.

But thou didst hesitate, provident neighbor, and say in remonstrance: "Heart and soul and spirit, my friend, I willingly trust thee; But as for life and limb, they are not in the safest of keeping, When the temporal reins are usurped by the hand of the clergy."

But thou didst laugh at his words, intelligent pastor, and answer: "Sit thee down, and contentedly trust me both body and spirit; For, in holding the reins, my hand grew long ago skilful, Long has my eye been trained in making the nicest of turnings; For we were practised well in driving the carriage in Strasburg, When I the youthful baron accompanied thither; then daily Rolled the carriage, guided by me, through the echoing gateway, Out over dusty roads till we reached the meadows and lindens, Steering through groups of the town's-folk beguiling the day there with walking."

Thereupon, half-rea.s.sured, the neighbor ascended the wagon, Sat like one who for a prudent leap is holding him ready, And the stallions sped rapidly homeward, desiring their stable.

Clouds of dust whirled up from under their powerful hoof-beats.

Long the youth stood there yet, and saw the dust in its rising, Saw the dust as it settled again: he stood there unheeding.

ERATO

DOROTHEA

Like as the traveller, who, when the sun is approaching its setting, Fixes his eyes on it once again ere quickly it vanish, Then on the sides of the rocks, and on all the darkening bushes, Sees its hovering image; whatever direction he look in That hastes before, and flickers and gleams in radiant colors,-- So before Hermann's eyes moved the beautiful shape of the maiden Softly, and seeming to follow the path that led into the corn-field.

But he aroused from his wildering dream and turned himself slowly Toward where the village lay and was wildered again; for again came Moving to meet him the lofty form of the glorious maiden.

Fixedly gazed he upon her; herself it was and no phantom.

Bearing in either hand a larger jar and a smaller, Each by the handle, with busy step she came on to the fountain.

Joyfully then he hastened to meet her; the sight of her gave him Courage and strength; and thus the astonished girl he accosted: "Do I then find thee, brave-hearted maiden, so soon again busy, Rendering aid unto others, and happy in bringing them comfort?

Say why thou comest alone to this well which lies at such a distance, When all the rest are content with the water they find in the village?

This has peculiar virtues, 'tis true; and the taste is delicious.

Thou to that mother wouldst bring it, I trow, whom thy faithfulness rescued."

Straightway with cordial greeting the kindly maiden made answer: "Here has my walk to the spring already been amply rewarded, Since I have found the good friend who bestowed so abundantly on us; For a pleasure not less than the gifts is the sight of the giver.

Come, I pray thee, and see for thyself who has tasted thy bounty; Come, and the quiet thanks receive of all it has solaced.

But that thou straightway the reason may'st know for which I am hither Come to draw, where pure and unfailing the water is flowing, This I must tell thee,--that all the water we have in the village Has by improvident people been troubled with horses and oxen Wading direct through the source which brings the inhabitants water.

And furthermore they have also made foul with their washings and rinsings All the troughs of the village, and all the fountains have sullied; For but one thought is in all, and that how to satisfy quickest Self and the need of the moment, regardless of what may come after."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HERMANN AND DOROTHEA MEET AT THE FOUNTAIN Ludwig Richter]

Thus she spoke, and the broad stone steps meanwhile had descended With her companion beside her, and on the low wall of the fountain Both sat them down. She bent herself over to draw, and he also Took in his hand the jar that remained, and bent himself over; And in the blue of the heavens, they, seeing their image reflected, Friendly greetings and nods exchanged in the quivering mirror.

"Give me to drink," the youth thereupon in his gladness pet.i.tioned, And she handed the pitcher. Familiarly sat they and rested, Both leaning over their jars, till she presently asked her companion: "Tell me, why I find thee here, and without thy horses and wagon, Far from the place where I met thee at first? How camest thou hither?"

Thoughtful he bent his eyes on the ground, then quietly raised them Up to her face, and, meeting with frankness the gaze of the maiden, Felt himself solaced and stilled. But then impossible was it, That he of love should speak; her eye told not of affection, Only of clear understanding, requiring intelligent answer.

And he composed himself quickly, and cordially said to the maiden: "Hearken to me, my child, and let me reply to thy question.

'Twas for thy sake that hither I came; why seek to conceal it?

Know I live happy at home with both my affectionate parents, Faithfully giving my aid their house and estates in directing, Being an only son, and because our affairs are extensive.