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HERMANN
NOW when of comely mien the son came into the chamber, | |
| Turned with a searching look the eyes of the preacher upon him, | |
| And with the gaze of the student, who easily fathoms expression, | |
| Scrutinized well his face and form and his general bearing. | |
| Then with a smile he spoke, and said in words of affection: | 5 |
| “Truly a different being thou comest! I never have seen the | |
| Cheerful as now, nor ever beheld I thy glances so beaming. | |
| Joyous thou comest, and happy: ’tis pain that among the poor people. | |
| Thou hast been sharing thy gifts, and receiving their blessings upon thee.” | |
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| Quietly then, and with serious words, the son made him answer: | 10 |
| “If I have acted as ye will commend, I know not; but I followed | |
| That which my heart bade me do, as I shall exactly relate you. | |
| Thou wert, mother, so long in rummaging ’mong thy old pieces, | |
| Picking and choosing, that not until late was thy bundle together; | |
| Then too the wine and the beer took care and time in the packing. | 15 |
| When I came forth through the gateway at last, and out on the high-road, | |
| Backward the crowd of citizens streamed with women and children, | |
| Coming to meet me; for far was already the band of the exiles. | |
| Quicker I kept on my way, and drove with speed to the village, | |
| Where they were meaning to rest, as I heard, and tarry till morning. | 20 |
| Thirtherward up the new street as I hasted, a stout-timbered wagon, | |
| Drawn by two oxen, I saw, of that region the largest and strongest; | |
| While, with vigorous steps, a maiden was walking beside them, | |
| And, a long staff in her hand, the two powerful creatures was guiding, | |
| Urging them now, now holding them back; with skill did she drive them. | 25 |
| Soon as the maiden perceived me, she calmly drew near to the hoses, | |
| And in these words she addressed me: ‘Not thus deplorable always | |
| Has our condition been, as to-day on this journey thou seest. | |
| I am not yet grown used to asking gifts of a stranger, | |
| Which he will often unwillingly give, to be rid of the beggar. | 30 |
| But necessity drives me to speak; for here, on the straw, lies | |
| Newly delivered of child, a rich land-owner’s wife, whom I scarcely | |
| Have in her pregnancy, safe brought off with the oxen and wagon. | |
| Naked, now in her arms the new-born infant is lying, | |
| And but little the help our friends will be able to furnish, | 35 |
| If in the neighboring village, indeed, where to-day we would rest us, | |
| Still we shall find them; though much do I fear they already have passed it. | |
| Shouldst thou have linen to spare of any description, provided | |
| Thou of this neighborhood art, to the poor in charity give it.” | |
| |
| “Thus she spoke, and the pale-faced mother raised herself feebly | 40 |
| Up from the straw, and towards me looked. The said I in answer: | |
| ‘Surely unto the good, a spirit from heaven oft speaketh, | |
| Making them feel the distress the threatens a suffering brother. | |
| For thou must know that my mother, already presaging thy sorrows, | |
| Gave me a bundle to use it straightway for the need of the naked.’ | 45 |
| Then I untied the knots of the string, and the wrapper of father’s | |
| Unto her gave, and gave her as well the shirts and the linen. | |
| And she thanked me with joy, and cried: ‘The happy believe not | |
| Miracles yet can be wrought: for only in need we acknowledge | |
| God’s own hand and finger, that leads the good to show goodness. | 50 |
| What unto us he has done through thee, may he do to thee also!’ | |
| And I beheld with what pleasure the sick woman handled the linens, | |
| But with especial delight the dressing-gown’s delicate flannel. | |
| ‘Let us make haste,’ the maid to her said, ‘and come to the village, | |
| Where our people will half for the night and already are resting. | 55 |
| There these clothes for the children I, one and all, straightway will portion.’ | |
| Then she saluted again, her thanks most warmly expressing, | |
| Started the oxen; the wagon went on; but there I still lingered, | |
| Still held the horses in check; for now my heart was divided | |
| Whether to drive with speed to the village, and there the provisions | 60 |
| Share ’mong the rest of the people, or whether I here to the maiden | |
| All should deliver at once, for her discreetly to portion. | |
| And in an instant my heart had decided, and quietly driving | |
| After the maiden, I soon overtook her, and said to her quickly: | |
| ‘Hearken, good maiden;—my mother packed up not linenstuffs only | 65 |
| Into the carriage, that I should have clothes to furnish the naked; | |
| Wine and beer she added besides, and supply of provisions: | |
| Plenty of all these things I have in the box of the carriage. | |
| But now I feel myself moved to deliver these offerings also | |
| Into thy hand; for so shall I best fulfil my commission. | 70 |
| Thou wilt divide them with judgment, while I must by chance be directed.’ | |
| Thereupon answered the maiden: ‘I will with faithfulness portion | |
| These thy gifts, that all shall bring comfort to those who are needy.’ | |
| Thus she spoke, and quickly the box of the carriage I opened, | |
| Brought forth thence the substantial hams, and brought out the breadstuffs, | 75 |
| Bottles of wine and beer, and one and all gave to the maiden. | |
| Willingly would I have given her more, but the carriage was empty. | |
| All she packed at the sick woman’s feet, and went on her journey. | |
| I, with my horses and carriage, drove rapidly back to the city.” | |
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| Instantly now, when Hermann had ceased, the talkative neighbor | 80 |
| Took up the word, and cried: “Oh happy, in days like the present, | |
| Days of flight and confusion, who lives by himself in his dwelling, | |
| Having no wife nor child to be clinging about him in terror! | |
| Happy I feel myself now, and would not for much be called father; | |
| Would not have wife and children to-day, for whom to be anxious. | 85 |
| Oft have I thought of this flight before; and have packed up together | |
| All my best things already, the chains and old pieces of money | |
| That were my sainted mother’s, of which not one has been sold yet. | |
| Much would be left behind, it is true, not easily gotten. | |
| Even the roots and the herbs, that were with such industry gathered, | 90 |
| I should be sorry to lose, though the worth of the goods is but trifling. | |
| If my purveyor remained, I could go from my dwelling contented. | |
| When my cash I have brought away safe, and have rescued my person, | |
| All is safe: none find it so easy to fly as the single.” | |
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| “Neighbor,” unto his words young Hermann with emphasis answered: | 95 |
| “I can in no wise agree with thee here, and censure thy language. | |
| Is he indeed a man to be prized, who, in good and in evil, | |
| Takes no thought but for self, and gladness and sorrow with others | |
| Knows not how to divide, nor feels his heart so impel him? | |
| Rather than ever to-day would I make up my mind to be married: | 100 |
| Many a worthy maiden is needing a husband’s protection, | |
| And the man needs an inspiriting wife when ill is impending.” | |
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| Thereupon smiling the father replied: “Thus love I to hear thee! | |
| That is a sensible word such as rarely I’ve known thee to utter.” | |
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| Straightway, however, the mother broke in with quickness, exclaiming: | 105 |
| “Son, to be sure, thou art right! we parents have set the example; | |
| Seeing that not in our season of joy did we choose one another; | |
| Rather the saddest of hours it was that bound us together. | |
| Monday morning—I mind it well; for the day that preceded | |
| Came that terrible fire by which our city was ravaged - | 110 |
| Twenty years will have gone. The day was a Sunday as this is; | |
| Hot and dry was the season; the water was almost exhausted. | |
| All the people were strolling abroad in their holiday dresses, | |
| ’Mong the villages partly, and part in the mills and the taverns. | |
| And at the end of the city the flames began, and went coursing | 115 |
| Quickly along the streets, creating a draught in their passage. | |
| Burned were the barns where the copious harvest already was garnered; | |
| Burned were the streets as far as the market; the house of my father, | |
| Neighbor to this, was destroyed, and this one also fell with it. | |
| Little we managed to save. I sat, that sorrowful night through, | 120 |
| Outside the town on the common, to guard the beds and the boxes. | |
| Sleep overtook me at last, and when I again was awakened, | |
| Feeling the chill of the morning that always descends before sunrise, | |
| There were the smoke and the glare, and the walls and chimneys in ruins. | |
| Then fell a weight on my heart; but more majestic than ever | 125 |
| Came up the sun again, inspiring my bosom with courage. | |
| Then I rose hastily up, with a yearning the place to revisit | |
| Whereon our dwelling had stood, and to see if the hens had been rescued, | |
| Which I especially loved, for I still was a child in my feelings. | |
| Thus as I over the still-smoking timbers of house and of court-yard | 130 |
| Picked my way, and beheld the dwelling so ruined and wasted, | |
| Thou camest up to examine the place, from the other direction. | |
| Under the ruins thy horse in his stall had been buried; the rubbish | |
| Lay on the spot and the glimmering beams; of the horse we saw nothing. | |
| Thougthful and grieving we stood there thus, each facing the other, | 135 |
| Now that the wall was fallen that once had divided our court-yards. | |
| Thereupon thou by the hand didst take me, and speak to me, saying,— | |
| ‘Lisa, how camest thou hither? Go back! thy soles must be burning; | |
| Hot the rubbish is here: it scorches my boots, which are stronger.’ | |
| And thou didst lift me up, and carry me out through thy courtyard. | 140 |
| There was the door of the house left standing yet with its archway, | |
| Just as ’tis standing now, the one thing only remaining. | |
| Then thou didst set me down and kiss me; to that I objected; | |
| But thou didst answer and say with kindly significant language: | |
| ‘See! my house lies in ruins: remain here and help me rebuild it; | 145 |
| So shall my help in return be given to building thy father’s.’ | |
| Yet did I not comprehend thee until thou sentest thy mother | |
| Unto my father, and quick were the happy espousals accomplished. | |
| E’en to this day I remember with joy those half-consumed timbers, | |
| And I can see once more the sun coming up in such splendor; | 150 |
| For ’twas the day that gave me my husband; and, ere the first season | |
| Passed of that wild desolation, a son to my youth had been given. | |
| Therefore I praise thee, Hermann, that thou, with an honest assurance, | |
| Shouldst, in these sorrowful days, be thinking thyself of a maiden, | |
| And amid ruins and war shouldst thus have the courage to woo her.” | 155 |
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| Straightway, then, and with warmth, the father replied to her, saying: | |
| “Worthy of praise is the feeling, and truthful also the story, | |
| Mother, that thou hast related; for so indeed everything happened. | |
| Better, however, is better. It is not the business of all men | |
| Thus their life and estate to begin from the very foundation: | 160 |
| Every one needs not to worry himself as we and the rest did. | |
| Oh, how happy is he whose father and mother shall give him, | |
| Furnished and ready, a house which he can adorn with his increase. | |
| Every beginning is hard; but most the beginning a household. | |
| Many are human wants, and every thing daily grows dearer, | 165 |
| So that a man must consider the means of increasing his earnings. | |
| This I hope therefore of thee, my Hermann, that into our dwelling | |
| Thou wilt be bringing ere long a bride who is handsomely dowered; | |
| For it is meet that a gallant young man have an opulent maiden. | |
| Great is the comfort of home whene’er, with the woman elected, | 170 |
| Enter the useful presents, besides, in box and in basket. | |
| Not for this many a year in vain has the mother been busy | |
| Making her daughter’s linens of strong and delicate texture; | |
| God-parents have not in vain been giving their vessels of silver, | |
| And the father laid by in his desk the rare pieces of money; | 175 |
| For there a day will come when she, with her gifts and possessions, | |
| Shall that youth rejoice who has chosen her out of all others. | |
| Well do I know how good in a house is a woman’s position, | |
| Who her own furniture round her knows, in kitchen and chamber; | |
| Who herself the bed and herself the table has covered. | 180 |
| Only a well-dowered bride should I like to receive to my dwelling. | |
| She who is poor is sure, in the end, to be scorned by her husband; | |
| And will as servant be held, who as servant came in with her bundle. | |
| Men will remain unjust when the season of love is gone over. | |
| Yes, my Hermann, thy father’s old age thou greatly canst gladden, | 185 |
| If thou a daughter-in-law will speedily bring to my dwelling, | |
| Out of the neighborhood here,—from the house over yonder, the green one. | |
| Rich is the man, I can tell thee. His manufactures and traffic | |
| Daily are making him richer; for whence draws the merchant not profit? | |
| Three daughters only he has, to divide his fortune among them. | 190 |
| True that the eldest already is taken; but there is the second | |
| Still to be had, as well as the third; and not long so, it may be. | |
| I would never have lingered till now, had I been in thy place; | |
| But had fetched one of the maidens, as once I bore off thy dear mother.” | |
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| Modestly then did the son to the urgent father make answer: | 195 |
| “Truly ’twas my wish too, as well as thine own, to have chosen | |
| One of our neighbor’s daughters, for we had been brought up together; | |
| Played, in the early days, about the market-place fountain; | |
| And, from the other boys’ rudeness, I often have been their defender. | |
| That, though, is long since past: the girls, as they grew to be older, | 200 |
| Properly stayed in the house, and shunned the more boisterous pastimes. | |
| Well brought up are they, surely! I used sometimes to go over, | |
| Partly to gratify thee, and because of our former acquaintance: | |
| But no pleasure I ever could take in being among them; | |
| For I was always obliged to endure their censures upon me. | 205 |
| Quite too long was my coat, the cloth too coarse, and the color | |
| Quite too common; my hair was not cropped, as it should be, and frizzled. | |
| I was resolved, at last, that I, also, would dress myself finely, | |
| Just as those office-boys do who always are seen there on Sundays, | |
| Wearing in summer their half-silken flaps, that dangle about them; | 210 |
| But I discovered, betimes, they made ever a laughing-stock of me. | |
| And I was vexed when I saw it,—it wounded my pride; but more deeply | |
| Felt I aggrieved that they the good-will should so far misinterpret | |
| That in my heart I bore them,—especially Minna the youngest. | |
| It was on Easter-day that last I went over to see them; | 215 |
| Wearing my best new coat, that is now hanging up in the closet, | |
| And having frizzled my hair, like that of the other young fellows. | |
| Soon as I entered, they tittered; but that not at me, as I fancied. | |
| Minna before the piano was seated; the father was present, | |
| Hearing his daughters sing, and full of delight and good-humor. | 220 |
| Much I could not understand of all that was said in the singing; | |
| But of Pamina I often heard, and oft of Tamino: | |
| And I, besides, could not stay there dumb; so, as soon as she ended, | |
| Something about the words I asked, and about the two persons. | |
| Thereupon all were silent and smiled; but the father made answer: | 225 |
| ‘Thou knowest no one, my friend, I believe, but Adam and Eve?’ | |
| No one restrained himself longer, but loud laughed out then the maidens, | |
| Loud laughed out the boys, the old man held his sides for his laughing. | |
| I, in embarrassment, dropped my hat, and the giggling continued, | |
| On and on and on, for all they kept playing and singing. | 230 |
| Back to the house here I hurried, o’ercome with shame and vexation, | |
| Hung up my coat in the closet, and pulled out the curls with my fingers, | |
| Swearing that never again my foot should cross over that threshold. | |
| And I was perfectly right; for vain are the maidens, and heartless. | |
| E’en to this day, as I hear, I am called by them ever ‘Tamino.’” | 235 |
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| Thereupon answered the mother, and said: “Thou shouldest not, Hermann, | |
| Be so long vexed with the children: indeed, they are all of them children. | |
| Minna, believe me, is good, and was always disposed to thee kindly. | |
| ’Twas not long since she was asking about thee. Let her be thy chosen!” | |
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| Thoughtfully answered the son: “I know not. That mortification | 240 |
| Stamped itself in me so deeply, I never could bear to behold her | |
| Seated before the piano or listen again to her singing.” | |
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| Forth broke the father then, and in words of anger made answer: | |
| “Little of joy will my life have in thee! I said it would be so | |
| When I perceived that thy pleasure was solely in horses and farming: | 245 |
| Work which a servant, indeed, performs for an opulent master, | |
| That thou doest; the father meanwhile must his son be deprived of, | |
| Who should appear as his pride, in the sight of the rest of the townsmen. | |
| Early with empty hopes thy mother was wont to deceive me, | |
| When in the school thy studies, thy reading and writing, would never | 250 |
| As with the others succeed, but thy seat would be always the lowest. | |
| That comes about, forsooth, when a youth has no feeling of honor | |
| Dwelling within his breast, nor the wish to raise himself higher. | |
| Had but my father so cared for me as thou hast been cared for; | |
| If he had sent me to school, and provided me thus with instructors, | 255 |
| I should be other, I trow, than host of the Golden Lion!” | |
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| Then the son rose from his seat and noiselessly moved to the doorway, | |
| Slowly, and speaking no word. The father, however, in passion | |
| After him called, “Yes, go, thou obstinate fellow! I know thee! | |
| Go and look after the business henceforth, that I have not to chide thee; | 260 |
| But do thou nowise imagine that ever a peasant-born maiden | |
| Thou for a daughter-in-law shalt bring into my dwelling, the hussy! | |
| Long have I lived in the world, and know how mankind should be dealt with; | |
| Know how to entertain ladies and gentlemen so that contended | |
| They shall depart from my house, and strangers agreeably can flatter. | 265 |
| Yet I’m resolved that some day I one will have for a daughter, | |
| Who shall requite me in kind and sweeten my manifold labors; | |
| Who the piano shall play to me, too; so that there shall with pleasure | |
| All the handsomest people in town and the finest assemble, | |
| As they on Sundays do now in the house of our neighbor.” Here Hermann | 270 |
| Softly pressed on the latch, and so went out from the chamber. | |
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