Chapter 3

Then, collecting himself, the excellent youth made her answer: "Truly no heart can that man have in his bosom of iron, Who is insensible now to the needs of this emigrant people; He has no brains in his head, who not for his personal safety, Not for his fatherland's weal, in days like the present is anxious. Deeply my heart had been touched by the sights and sounds of the morning; Then I went forth and beheld the broad and glorious landscape Spreading its fertile slopes in every direction about us, Saw the golden grain inclining itself to the reapers, And the promise of well-filled barns from the plentiful harvest. But, alas, how near is the foe! The Rhine with its waters Guards us, indeed; but, ah, what now are rivers and mountains 'Gainst that terrible people that onward bears like a tempest! For they summon their youths from every quarter together, Call up their old men too, and press with violence forward. Death cannot frighten the crowd: one multitude follows another. And shall a German dare to linger behind in his homestead? Hopes he perhaps to escape the everywhere threatening evil? Nay, dear mother, I tell thee, to-day has made me regretful That I was lately exempt, when out of our townsmen were chosen Those who should serve in the army. An only son I am truly, Also our business is great, and the charge of our household is weighty. Yet were it better, I deem, in the front to offer resistance There on the border, than here to await disaster and bondage. So has my spirit declared, and deep in my innermost bosom Courage and longing have now been aroused to live for my country, Yea, and to die, presenting to others a worthy example. If but the strength of Germany's youth were banded together There on the frontier, resolved that it never would yield to the stranger, Ah, he should not on our glorious soil be setting his foot-steps, Neither consuming before our eyes the fruit of our labor, Ruling our men, and making his prey of our wives and our daughters. Hark to me, mother: for I in the depths of my heart am determined Quickly to do, and at once, what appears to me right and in reason; For he chooses not always the best who longest considers. Hearken, I shall not again return to the house; but directly Go from this spot to the city, and there present to the soldiers This right arm and this heart, to be spent in the fatherland's service. Then let my father say if there be no feeling of honor Dwelling within my breast, nor a wish to raise myself higher." Then with significant words spoke the good and intelligent mother, While from her eyes the quick-starting tears were silently falling: "Son, what change has come o'er thee to-day, and over thy temper, That thou speakest no more, as thou yesterday didst, and hast always, Open and free, to thy mother, and tellest exactly thy wishes? Any one else, had he heard thee thus speak, would in sooth have commended, And this decision of thine would have highly approved as most noble, Being misled by thy tone and by thy significant language. Yet have I nothing but censure to speak; for better I know thee. Thou concealest thy heart, and thy thoughts are not such as thou tellest. Well do I know that it is not the drum, not the trumpet that calls thee: Neither in uniform wouldst thou figure in sight of the maidens; Since, for all thou art honest and brave, it is thy vocation Here in quiet to care for the farm and provide for the household. Tell me honestly, therefore, what goads thee to such a decision?"

Earnestly answered the son: "Nay, thou art mistaken, dear mother: One day is not like another. The youth matures into manhood: Better in stillness oft ripening to deeds than when in the tumult Wildering and wild of existence, that many a youth has corrupted. And, for as still as I am and was always, there yet in my bosom Has such a heart been shaped as abhors all wrong and injustice; And I have learned aright between worldly things to distinguish. Arm and foot, besides, have been mightily strengthened by labor. All this, I feel, is true: I dare with boldness maintain it. Yet dost thou blame me with reason, O mother! for thou hast surprised me Using a language half truthful and half that of dissimulation. For, let me honestly own,--it is not the near danger that calls me Forth from my father's house; nor is it the lofty ambition Helpful to be to my country, and terrible unto the foeman. They were but words that I spoke: they only were meant for concealing Those emotions from thee with which my heart is distracted; And so leave me, O mother! for, since the wishes are fruitless Which in my bosom I cherish, my life must go fruitlessly over. For, as I know, he injures himself who is singly devoted, When for the common cause the whole are not working together."

"Hesitate not," replied thereupon the intelligent mother, "Every thing to relate me, the smallest as well as the greatest. Men will always be hasty, their thoughts to extremes ever running: Easily out of their course the hasty are turned by a hindrance. Whereas a woman is clever in thinking of means, and will venture E'en on a roundabout way, adroitly to compass her object. Let me know every thing, then; say wherefore so greatly excited 'As I ne'er saw thee before, why thy blood is coursing so hotly, Wherefore, against thy will, tears are filling thine eyes to o'erflowing."

Then he abandoned himself, the poor boy, to his sorrow, and weeping, Weeping aloud on his kind mother's breast, he brokenly answered: "Truly my father's words to-day have wounded me sorely,-- Words which I have not deserved; not to-day, nor at any time have I: For it was early my greatest delight to honor my parents. No one knew more, so I deemed, or was wiser than those who begot me, And had with strictness ruled throughout the dark season of childhood. Many the things, in truth, I with patience endured from my playmates, When the good-will that I bore them they often requited with malice. Often I suffered their flings and their blows to pass unresented; But if they ventured to ridicule father, when he of a Sunday Home from Church would come, with his solemn and dignified bearing; If they made fun of his cap-string, or laughed at the flowers of the wrapper He with such stateliness wore, which was given away but this morning,-- Threateningly doubled my fist in an instant; with furious passion Fell I upon them, and struck out and hit, assailing them blindly, Seeing not where. They howled as the blood gushed out from their noses: Scarcely they made their escape from my passionate kicking and beating. Then, as I older grew, I had much to endure from my father; Violent words he oft vented on me, instead of on others, When, at the board's last session, the council had roused his displeasure, And I was made to atone for the quarrels and wiles of his colleagues. Thou has pitied me often thyself; for much did I suffer, Ever remembering with cordial respect the kindness of parents, Solely intent on increasing for us their goods and possessions, Much denying themselves in order to save for their children. But, alas! saving alone, for the sake of a tardy enjoyment,-- That is not happiness: pile upon pile, and acre on acre, Make us not happy, no matter how fair our estates may be rounded. For the father grows old, and with him will grow old the children, Losing the joy of the day, and bearing the care of tomorrow. Look thou below, and see how before us in glory are lying, Fair and abundant, the corn-fields; beneath them, the vineyard and garden; Yonder the stables and barns; our beautiful line of possessions. But when I look at the dwelling behind, where up in the gable We can distinguish the window that marks my room in the attic; When I look back, and remember how many a night from that window I for the moon have watched; for the sun, how many a morning! When the healthful sleep of a few short hours sufficed me,-- Ah, so lonely they seem to me then, the chamber and courtyard, Garden and glorious field, away o'er the hill that is stretching; All so desert before me lie: 'tis the wife that is wanting."

Thereupon spoke the good mother, and thus with intelligence answered: "Son, not greater thy wish to bring thee a bride to thy chamber, That thou mayst find thy nights a beautiful part of existence, And that the work of the day may gain independence and freedom, Than is thy father's wish too, and thy mother's. We always have counselled,-- Yea, we have even insisted,--that thou shouldst select thee a maiden. But I was ever aware, and now my heart gives me assurance, That till the hour appointed is come, and the maiden appointed Shall with the hour appear, the choice will be left for the future, While more strong than all else will be fear of grasping the wrong one. If I may say it, my son, I believe thou already hast chosen; For thy heart has been touched, and been made more than wontedly tender. Speak it out honestly, then; for my soul has told me beforehand: That same maiden it is, the exile, whom thou hast elected."

"Thou has said, mother!" the son thereupon with eagerness answered. "Yes, it is she; and if I to-day as my bride do not bring her Home to our dwelling, she from me will go, perhaps vanish for ever, Lost in the war's confusion and sad movings hither and thither. Mother, for ever in vain would then our abundant possessions Prosper before me, and seasons to come be in vain to me fruitful. Yea, I should hold in aversion the wonted house and the garden: Even my mother's love, alas! would not comfort my sorrow. Every tie, so I feel in my heart, by love is unloosened Soon as she fastens her own; and not the maid is it only Leaves behind father and mother, to follow the man she has chosen. He too, the youth, no longer knows aught of mother and father, When he the maiden, his only beloved, sees vanishing from him. Suffer me, then, to go hence wherever despair shall impel me: Since by my father himself the decisive words have been spoken; Since his house can no longer be mine if he shut out the maiden, Her whom alone as my bride I desire to bring to our dwelling."

Thereupon quickly made answer the good and intelligent mother: "How like to rocks, forsooth, two men will stand facing each other! Proud and not to be moved, will neither draw near to his fellow; Neither will stir his tongue to utter the first word of kindness. Therefore I tell thee, my son, a hope yet lives in my bosom, So she be honest and good, thy father will let thee espouse her, Even though poor, and against a poor girl so decisive his sentence. Many a thing he is wont to speak out in his violent fashion Which he yet never performs; and so what he denies will consent to. Yet he requires a kindly word, and is right to require it: He is the father! Besides we know that his wrath after dinner,-- When he most hastily speaks, and questions all others' opinions,-- Signifies naught; the full force of his violent will is excited Then by the wine, which lets him not heed the language of others; None but himself does he see and feel. But now is come evening, Talk upon various subjects has passed between him and his neighbors. Gentle, he is; I am sure now his little excitement is over, And he can feel how unjust his passion has made him to others. Come, let us venture at once: success is alone to the valiant! Further we need the friends, still sitting together there with him; And in especial the worthy pastor will give us assistance."

Thus she hastily spoke, and up from the stone then arising, Drew from his seat her son, who willingly followed. In silence Both descended the hill, their important purpose revolving.

POLYHYMNIA

THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD

HERE the three men, however, still sat conversing together, With mine host of the Lion, the village doctor, and pastor; And their talk was still on the same unvarying subject, Turning it this way and that, and viewing from every direction. But with his sober judgment the excellent pastor made answer: "Here will I not contradict you. I know that man should be always Striving for that which is better; indeed, as we see, he is reaching Always after the higher, at least some novelty craving. But be careful ye go not too far, for with this disposition Nature has given us pleasure in holding to what is familiar; Taught us in that to delight to which we have long been accustomed. Every condition is good that is founded on reason and nature. Many are man's desires, yet little it is that he needeth; Seeing the days are short and mortal destiny bounded. Ne'er would I censure the man whom a restless activity urges, Bold and industrious, over all pathways of land and of ocean, Ever untiring to roam; who takes delight in the riches, Heaping in generous abundance about himself and his children. Yet not unprized by me is the quiet citizen also, Making the noiseless round of his own inherited acres, Tilling the ground as the ever-returning seasons command him. Not with every year is the soil transfigured about him; Not in haste does the tree stretch forth, as soon as 'tis planted, Full-grown arms towards heaven and decked with plenteous blossoms. No: man has need of patience, and needful to him are also Calmness and clearness of mind, and a pure and right understanding. Few are the seeds he intrusts to earth's all-nourishing bosom; Few are the creatures he knows how to raise and bring to perfection. Centred are all his thoughts alone on that which is useful. Happy to whom by nature a mind of such temper is given, For he supports us all! And hail, to the man whose abode is Where in a town the country pursuits with the city are blended. On him lies not the pressure that painfully hampers the farmer, Nor is he carried away by the greedy ambition of cities; Where they of scanty possessions too often are given to aping, Wives and daughters especially, those who are higher and richer. Blessed be therefore thy son in his life of quiet employment; Blessed the wife, of like mind with himself, whom he one day shall choose him."

Thus he spoke; and scarce had he ended when entered the mother, Holding her son by the hand, and so led him up to her husband. "Father," she said, "how oft when we two have been chatting together, Have we rejoiced in the thought of Hermann's future espousal, When he should bring his bride to be the light of our dwelling! Over and over again the matter we pondered: this maiden Fixing upon for him first, and then that, with the gossip of parents. But that day is now come; and Heaven at last has the maiden Brought to him hither, and shown him; and now his heart has decided. Said we not always then he should have his own choice in the matter? Was it not just now thy wish that he might with lively affection Feel himself drawn to some maiden? The hour is come that we hoped for. Yes; he has felt and has chosen and come to a manly decision. That same maiden it is that met him this morning, the stranger: Say he may have her, or else, as he swears, his life shall be single."

"Give her me, father," so added the son: "my heart has elected Clear and sure; she will be to you both the noblest of daughters."

But the father was silent. Then hastily rose the good pastor, Took up the word and said: "The moment alone is decisive; Fixes the life of man, and his future destiny settles. After long taking of counsel, yet only the work of a moment Every decision must be; and the wise alone seizes the right one. Dangerous always it is comparing the one with the other When we are making our choice, and so confusing our feelings. Hermann is pure. From childhood up I have known him, and never E'en as a boy was he wont to be reaching for this and the other: What he desired was best for him too, and he held to it firmly. Be not surprised and alarmed that now has appeared of a sudden, What thou hast wished for so long. It is true that the present appearance Bears not the form of the wish, exactly as thou hadst conceived it: For our wishes oft hide from ourselves the object we wish for; Gifts come down from above in the shapes appointed by Heaven. Therefore misjudge not the maiden who now of thy dearly beloved, Good and intelligent son has been first to touch the affections: Happy to whom at once his first love's hand shall be given, And in whose heart no tenderest wish must secretly languish. Yes: his whole bearing assures me that now his fate is decided. Genuine love matures in a moment the youth into manhood; He is not easily moved; and I fear that if this be refused him, Sadly his years will go by, those years that should be the fairest,"

Straightway then in a thoughtful tone the doctor made answer, On whose tongue for a long time past the words had been trembling: "Pray let us here as before pursue the safe middle course only. Make haste slowly: that was Augustus the emperor's motto. Willingly I myself place at my well-beloved neighbor's disposal, Ready to do him what service I can with my poor understanding. Youth most especially stands in need of some one to guide it. Let me therefore go forth that I may examine the maiden, And may question the people among whom she lives and who know her. Me 'tis not easy to cheat: I know how words should be valued."

Straightway the son broke in, and with wing'ed words made he answer: "Do so, neighbor, and go and make thine inquiries; but with thee I should be glad if our minister here were joined in the errand: Two such excellent men would be irreproachable judges. O my father! believe me, she's none of those wandering maidens, Not one of those who stroll through the land in search of adventure, And who seek to ensnare inexperienced youth in their meshes. No: the hard fortunes of war, that universal destroyer, Which is convulsing the earth and has hurled from its deep foundations Many a structure already, have sent the poor girl into exile. Are not now men of high birth, the most noble, in misery roaming? Princes fly in disguise and kings are in banishment living. So alas! also is she, the best among all of her sisters, Driven an exile from home; yet, her personal sorrows forgetting, She is devoted to others; herself without help, she is helpful. Great is the want and the suffering over the earth that are spreading: Shall not some happiness, too, be begotten of all this affliction, And shall not I in the arms of my wife, my trusted companion, Look back with joy to the war, as do ye to the great conflagration?"

Outspoke the father then in a tone of decision, and answered: "Strangely thy tongue has been loosened, my son, which many a year past Seemed to have stuck in thy mouth, and only to move on compulsion! I must experience to-day, it would seem, what threatens all fathers, That the son's headstrong will the mother with readiness favors, Showing too easy indulgence; and every neighbor sides with them When there is aught to be carried against the father and husband. But I will not oppose you, thus banded together: how could I? For I already perceive here tears and defiance beforehand. Go ye therefore, inquire, in God's name, bring me the daughter. But if not so, then the boy is to think no more of the maiden."

Thus the father. The son cried out with joyful demeanor, "Ere it is evening the noblest of daughters shall hither be brought you, Such as no man with sound sense in his breast can fail to be pleased with. Happy, I venture to hope, will be also the excellent maiden. Yes; she will ever be grateful for having had father and mother Given once more in you, and such as a child most delights in. Now I will tarry no longer, but straightway harness the horses, Drive forth our friends at once on the footsteps of my beloved, Leaving them then to act for themselves, as their wisdom shall dictate, Guide myself wholly, I promise, according to what they determine, And, until I may call her my own, ne'er look on the maiden." Thus he went forth: the others meanwhile remained in discussion, Rapid and earnest, considering deeply their great undertaking.

Hermann hasted straightway to the stable, where quietly standing Found he the spirited stallions, the clean oats quickly devouring, And the well-dried hay that was cut from the richest of meadows. On them without delay the shining bits he adjusted, Hastily drew the straps through the buckles of beautiful plating, Firmly fastened then the long broad reins, and the horses Led without to the court-yard, whither the willing assistant Had with ease, by the pole, already drawn forward the carriage. Next to the whipple-tree they with care by the neatly kept traces Joined the impetuous strength of the freely travelling horses. Whip in hand took Hermann his seat and drove under the doorway. Soon as the friends straightway their commodious places had taken, Quickly the carriage rolled off, and left the pavement behind it, Left behind it the walls of the town and the fresh-whitened towers. Thus drove Hermann on till he came to the well-known causeway. Rapidly, loitering nowhere, but hastening up hill and down hill. But as he now before him perceived the spire of the village, And no longer remote the garden-girt houses were lying, Then in himself he thought that here he would rein up the horses.

Under the solemn shade of lofty linden-trees lying, Which for centuries past upon this spot had been rooted, Spread in front of the village a broad and grass-covered common, Favorite place of resort for the peasants and neighboring townsfolk. Here, at the foot of the trees, sunk deep in the ground was a well-spring; When you descended the steps, stone benches you found at the bottom, Stationed about the spring, whose pure, living waters were bubbling Ceaselessly forth, hemmed in by low walls for convenience of drawing. Hermann resolved that here he would halt, with his horses and carriage, Under the shade of the trees. He did so, and said to the others; "Here alight, my friends, and go your ways to discover Whether the maiden in truth be worthy the hand that I offer. That, she is so, I believe; naught new or strange will ye tell me. Had I to act for myself, I should go with speed to the village, Where a few words from the maiden's own lips should determine my fortune. Ye will with readiness single her out from all of the others, For there can scarcely be one that to her may be likened in bearing. But I will give you, besides, her modest attire for a token: Mark, then, the stomacher's scarlet, that sets off the arch of her bosom, Prettily laced, and the bodice of black fitting close to her figure; Neatly the edge of her kerchief is plaited into a ruffle, Which with a simple grace her chin's rounded outline encircles; Freely and lightly rises above it the head's dainty oval; And her luxuriant hair over silver bodkins is braided; Down from under her bodice, the full, blue petticoat falling, Wraps itself, when she is walking, about her neatly shaped ankles. Yet one thing will I say, and would make it my earnest petition,-- Speak not yourselves with the maiden, nor let your intent be discovered; Rather inquire of others, and hearken to what they may tell you. When ye have tidings enough to satisfy father and mother, Then return to me here, and we will consider what further. So did I plan it all out in my mind while driving you hither."