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PROSPECT
MUSES, O ye who the course of true love so willingly favor, | |
| Ye who thus far on his way the excellent youth have conducted, | |
| Even before the betrothal have pressed to his bosom the maiden; | |
| Further your aid vouchsafe this charming pair in uniting, | |
| Straightway dispersing the clouds which over their happiness lower! | 5 |
| Yet first of all declare what is passing meanwhile at the Lion. | |
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| Now for the third time again the mother impatient had entered | |
| Where were assembled the men, whom anxious but now she had quitted; | |
| Spoke of the gathering storm, and the moonlight’s rapid obscuring; | |
| Then of her son’s late tarrying abroad and the dangers of nightfall; | 10 |
| Sharply upbraided her friends that without having speech of the maiden, | |
| And without urging his suit, they had parted from Hermann so early. | |
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| “Make it not worse that it is,” the father replied with displeasure. | |
| “For, as thou seest, we tarry ourselves and are waiting the issue.” | |
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| Calmly, however, from where he was sitting the neighbor made answer: | 15 |
| “Never in hours of disquiet like this do I fail to be grateful | |
| Unto my late, blessed father, who every root of impatience | |
| Tore from my heart when a child, and left no fibre remaining; | |
| So that I learned on the instant to wait as do none of your sages.” | |
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| “Tell us,” the pastor returned, “what legerdemain he made use of.” | 20 |
| “That will I gladly relate, for all may draw from it a lesson;” | |
| So made the neighbor reply. “When a boy I once stood of a Sunday | |
| Full of impatience, and looking with eagerness out for the carriage | |
| Which was to carry us forth to the spring that lies under the lindens. | |
| Still the coach came not. I ran, like a weasel, now hither, now thither, | 25 |
| Up stairs and down, and forward and back, ’twixt the door and the window; | |
| Even my fingers itched to be moving; I scratched on the tables, | |
| Went about pounding and stamping, and hardly could keep me from weeping. | |
| All was observed by the calm-tempered man; but at last when my folly | |
| Came to be carried too far, by the arm he quietly took me, | 30 |
| Led me away to the window, and spoke in this serious language: | |
| ‘Seest thou yonder the carpenter’s shop that is closed for the Sunday? | |
| He will re-open to-morrow, when plane and saw will be started, | |
| And will keep on through the hours of labor from morning till evening. | |
| But consider you this,—a day will be presently coming | 35 |
| When that man shall himself be astir and all of his workmen, | |
| Making a coffin for thee to be quickly and skilfully finished. | |
| Then that house of boards they will busily bring over hither, | |
| Which must at last receive alike the impatient and patient, | |
| And which is destined soon with close-pressing roof to be covered.’ | 40 |
| Straightway I saw the whole thing in my mind as if it were doing; | |
| Saw the boards fitting together, and saw the black color preparing, | |
| Sat me down patiently then, and in quiet awaited the carriage. | |
| Now when others I see, in seasons of anxious expectance, | |
| Running distracted about, I cannot but think of the coffin.” | 45 |
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| Smiling, the pastor replied: “The affecting picture of death stands | |
| Not as a dread to the wise, and not as an end to the pious. | |
| Those it presses again into life, and teaches to use it; | |
| These by affliction it strengthens in hope to future salvation. | |
| Death becomes life unto both. Thy father was greatly mistaken | 50 |
| When to a sensitive boy he death in death thus depicted. | |
| Let us the value of nobly ripe age, point out to the young man, | |
| And to the aged the youth, that in the eternal progression | |
| Both may rejoice, and life may in life thus find its completion.” | |
| |
| But the door was now opened, and showed the majestical couple. | 55 |
| Filled with amaze were the friends, and amazed the affectionate parents, | |
| Seeing the form of the maid so well matched with that of her lover. | |
| Yea, the door seemed too low to allow the tall figures to enter, | |
| As they together now appeared coming over the threshold. | |
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| Hermann, with hurried words, presented her thus to his parents: | 60 |
| “Here is a maiden,” he said; “such a one as ye wish in the household. | |
| Kindly receive her, dear father: she merits it well; and thou, mother, | |
| Question her straightway on all that belongs to a housekeeper’s duty, | |
| That ye may see how well she deserves to ye both to be nearer.” | |
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| Quickly he then drew aside the excellent clergyman, saying: | 65 |
| “Help me, O worthy sir, and speedily out of this trouble; | |
| Loosen, I pray thee, this knot, at whose untying I tremble. | |
| Know that ’tis not as a lover that I have brought hither the maiden; | |
| But she believes that as servant she comes to the house, and I tremble | |
| Lest in displeasure she fly as soon as there’s mention of marriage. | 70 |
| But be it straightway decided; for she no longer in error | |
| Thus shall be left, and I this suspense no longer can suffer. | |
| Hasten and show us in this a proof of the wisdom we honor.” | |
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| Towards the company then the clergyman instantly turned him; | |
| But already, alas! had the soul of the maiden been troubled, | 75 |
| Hearing the father’s speech; for he, in his sociable fashion, | |
| Had in these playful words, with the kindest intention addressed her: | |
| “Ay, this is well, my child! with delight I perceive that my Hermann | |
| Has the good taste of his father, who often showed his in his young days, | |
| Leading out always the fairest to dance, and bringing the fairest | 80 |
| Finally home as his wife; our dear little mother here that was. | |
| For by the bride that a man shall elect we can judge what himself is, | |
| Tell what the spirit is in him, and whether he feel his own value. | |
| Nor didst thou need for thyself, I’ll engage, much time for decision; | |
| For, in good sooth, methinks, he’s no difficult person to follow.” | 85 |
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| Hermann had heard but in part; his limbs were inwardly trembling, | |
| And of a sudden a stillness had fallen on all of the circle. | |
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| But by these words of derision, for such she could not but deem them, | |
| Wounded, and stung to the depths of her soul, the excellent maiden, | |
| Stood, while the fugitive blood o’er her cheeks and e’en to her bosom | 90 |
| Poured its flush. But she governed herself, and her courage collecting, | |
| Answered the old man thus, her pain not wholly concealing: | |
| “Truly for such a reception thy son had in no wise prepared me, | |
| When he the ways of his father described, the excellent burgher. | |
| Thou art a man of culture, I know, before whom I am standing; | 95 |
| Dealest with every one wisely, according as suits his position; | |
| But thou hast scanty compassion, it seems, on one such as I am, | |
| Who, a poor girl, am now crossing thy threshold with purpose to serve thee; | |
| Else, with such bitter derision, thou wouldst not have made me remember | |
| How far removed my fortune from that of thyself and thy son is. | 100 |
| True, I come poor to thy house, and bring with me naught but my bundle | |
| Here where is every abundance to gladden the prosperous inmates. | |
| Yet I know well myself; I feel the relations between us. | |
| Say, is it noble, with so much of mockery straightway to greet me, | |
| That I am sent from the house while my foot is scarce yet on the threshold?” | 105 |
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| Anxiously Hermann turned and signed to his ally the pastor | |
| That he should rush to the rescue and straightway dispel the delusion. | |
| Then stepped the wise man hastily forward and looked on the maiden’s | |
| Tearful eyes, her silent pain and repressed indignation, | |
| And in his heart was impelled not at once to clear up the confusion, | 110 |
| Rather to put to the test the girl’s disquieted spirit. | |
| Therefore he unto her said in language intended to try her: | |
| “Surely, thou foreign-born maiden, thou didst not maturely consider, | |
| When thou too rashly decidedst to enter the service of strangers, | |
| All that is meant by the placing thyself ’neath the rule of a master; | 115 |
| For by our hand to a bargain the fate of the year is determined, | |
| And but a single ‘yea’ compels to much patient endurance. | |
| Not the worst part of the service the wearisome steps to be taken, | |
| Neither the bitter sweat of a labor that presses unceasing; | |
| Since the industrious freeman must toil as well as the servant. | 120 |
| But ’tis to bear with the master’s caprice when he censures unjustly, | |
| Or when, at variance with self, he orders now this, now the other; | |
| Bear with the petulance, too, of the mistress, easily angered, | |
| And with the rude, overbearing ways of unmannerly children. | |
| All this is hard to endure, and yet to go on with thy duties | 125 |
| Quickly, without delay, nor thyself grow sullen and stubborn. | |
| Yet thou appearest ill-fitted for this, since already so deeply | |
| Stung by the father’s jests: whereas there is nothing more common | |
| Than for a girl to be teased on account of a youth she may fancy.” | |
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| Thus he spoke. The maiden had felt the full force of his language, | 130 |
| And she restrained her no more; but with passionate outburst her feelings | |
| Made themselves way; a sob broke forth from her now heaving bosom, | |
| And, while the scalding tears poured down, the straightway made answer: | |
| “Ah, that rational man who thinks to advise us in sorrow, | |
| Knows not how little of power his cold words have in relieving | 135 |
| Ever a heart from that woe which a sovereign fate has inflicted. | |
| Ye are prosperous and glad; how then should a pleasantry wound you? | |
| Yet but the lightest touch is a source of pain to the sick man. | |
| Nay, concealment itself, if successful, had profited nothing. | |
| Better show now what had later increased to a bitterer anguish, | 140 |
| And to an inward consuming despair might perhaps have reduced me. | |
| Let me go back! for here in this house I can tarry no longer. | |
| I will away, and wander in search of my hapless companions, | |
| Whom I forsook in their need; for myself alone choosing the better. | |
| This is my firm resolve, and I therefore may make a confession | 145 |
| Which might for years perhaps have else lain hid in my bosom. | |
| Deeply indeed was I hurt by the father’s words of derision; | |
| Not that I’m sensitive, proud beyond what is fitting a servant; | |
| But that my heart in truth had felt itself stirred with affection | |
| Towards the youth who to-day had appeared to my eyes as a savior. | 150 |
| When he first left me there on the road, he still remained present, | |
| Haunting my every thought; I fancied the fortunate maiden | |
| Whom as a bride, perhaps, his heart had already elected. | |
| When at the fountain I met him again, the sight of him wakened | |
| Pleasure as great as if there had met me an angel from heaven; | 155 |
| And with what gladness I followed, when asked to come as his servant. | |
| True, that I flattered myself in my heart,—I will not deny it,— | |
| While we were hitherward coming, I might peradventure deserve him, | |
| Should I become at last the important stay of the household. | |
| Now I, alas! for the first time see what risk I was running, | 160 |
| When I would make my home so near to the secretly loved one; | |
| Now for the first time feel how far removed a poor maiden | |
| Is from an opulent youth, no matter how great her deserving. | |
| All this I now confess, that my heart ye may not misinterpret, | |
| In that ’twas hurt by a chance to which I owe my awaking. | 165 |
| Hiding my secret desires, this dread had been ever before me, | |
| That at some early day he would bring him a bride to his dwelling; | |
| And ah, how could I then my inward anguish have suffered! | |
| Happily I have been warned, and happily now has my bosom | |
| Been of its secret relieved, while yet there is cure for the evil. | 170 |
| But no more; I have spoken; and now shall nothing detain me | |
| Longer here in a house where I stay but in shame and confusion, | |
| Freely confessing my love and that foolish hope that I cherished. | |
| Not the night which abroad is covered with lowering storm clouds; | |
| Not the roll of the thunder—I hear its peal—shall deter me; | 175 |
| Not the pelt of the rain which without is beating in fury; | |
| Neither the blustering tempest; for all these things have I suffered | |
| During our sorrowful flight, and while the near foe was pursuing. | |
| Now I again go forth, as I have so long been accustomed, | |
| Carried away by the whirl of the times, and from every thing parted. | 180 |
| Fare ye well! I tarry no longer; all now is over.” | |
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| Thus she spoke and back to the door she hastily turned her, | |
| Still bearing under her arm, as she with her had brought it, her bundle. | |
| But with both of her arms the mother seized hold of the maiden, | |
| Clasping her round the waist, and exclaiming, amazed and bewildered: | 185 |
| “Tell me, what means all this? and these idle tears, say, what mean they? | |
| I will not let thee depart: thou art the betrothed of my Hermann.” | |
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| But still the father stood, observing the scene with displeasure, | |
| Looked on the weeping girl, and said in a tone of vexation: | |
| “This then must be the return that I get for all my indulgence, | 190 |
| That at the close of the day this most irksome of all things should happen! | |
| For there is naught I can tolerate less than womanish weeping, | |
| Violent outcries, which only involve in disorder and passion, | |
| What with a little of sense had been more smoothly adjusted. | |
| Settle the thing for yourselves: I’m going to bed; I’ve no patience | 195 |
| Longer to be a spectator of these your marvellous doings.” | |
| Quickly he turned as he spoke, and hastened to go to the chamber | |
| Where he was wonted to rest, and his marriage bed was kept standing, | |
| But he was held by his son, who said in a tone of entreaty: | |
| “Father, hasten not from us, and be thou not wroth with the maiden. | 200 |
| I, only I, am to blame as the cause of all this confusion, | |
| Which by his dissimulation our friend unexpectedly heightened. | |
| Speak, O worthy sir; for to thee my cause I intrusted. | |
| Heap not up sorrow and anger, but rather let all this be ended; | |
| For I could hold thee never again in such high estimation, | 205 |
| If thou shouldst show but delight in pain, not superior wisdom.” | |
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| Thereupon answered and said the excellent clergyman, smiling: | |
| “Tell me, what other device could have drawn this charming confession | |
| Out of the good maiden’s lips, and thus have revealed her affection? | |
| Has not the trouble been straightway transformed into gladness and rapture? | 210 |
| Therefore speak up for thyself; what need of the tongue of another?” | |
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| Thereupon Hermann came forward, and spoke in these words of affection: | |
| “Do not repent of thy tears, nor repent of these passing distresses; | |
| For they complete my joy, and—may I not hope it—thine also? | |
| Not to engage the stranger, the excellent maid, as a servant, | 215 |
| Unto the fountain I came; but to sue for thy love I came thither. | |
| Only, alas! my timorous look could thy heart’s inclination | |
| Nowise perceive; I read in thine eyes of nothing but kindness, | |
| As from the fountain’s tranquil mirror thou gavest me greeting. | |
| Might I but bring thee home, the half of my joy was accomplished. | 220 |
| But thou completest it unto me now; oh, blest be thou for it!” | |
| Then with a deep emotion the maiden gazed on the stripling; | |
| Neither forbade she embrace and kiss, the summit of rapture, | |
| When to a loving pair they come as the longed-for assurance, | |
| Pledge of a lifetime of bliss, that appears to them now never-ending. | 225 |
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| Unto the others, meanwhile, the pastor had made explanation. | |
| But with feeling and grace the maid now advanced to the father, | |
| Bent her before him, and kissing the hand he would fain have withholden, | |
| Said: “Thou wilt surely be just and forgive one so startled as I was, | |
| First for my tears of distress, and now for the tears of my gladness. | 230 |
| That emotion forgive me, and oh! forgive me this also. | |
| For I can scarce comprehend the happiness newly vouchsafed me. | |
| Yes, let that first vexation of which I, bewildered, was guilty | |
| Be too the last. Whatever the maid of affectionate service | |
| Faithfully promised, shall be to thee now performed by the daughter.” | 235 |
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| Straightway then, concealing his tears, the father embraced her, | |
| Cordially, too, the mother came forward and kissed her with fervor, | |
| Pressing her hands in her own: the weeping women were silent. | |
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| Thereupon quickly he seized, the good and intelligent pastor, | |
| First the father’s hand, and the wedding-ring drew from his finger,— | 240 |
| Not so easily either: the finger was plump and detained it,— | |
| Next took the mother’s ring also, and with them betrothed he the children, | |
| Saying: “These golden circlets once more their office performing | |
| Firmly a tie shall unite, which in all things shall equal the old one, | |
| Deeply is this young man imbued with love of the maiden, | 245 |
| And, as the maiden confesses, her heart is gone out to him also. | |
| Here do I therefore betroth you and bless for the years that are coming, | |
| With the consent of the parents, and having this friend as a witness.” | |
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| Then the neighbor saluted at once, and expressed his good wishes; | |
| But when the clergyman now the golden circlet was drawing | 250 |
| Over the maiden’s hand, he observed with amazement the other, | |
| Which had already by Hermann been anxiously marked at the fountain. | |
| And with a kindly raillery thus thereupon he addressed her: | |
| “So, then thy second betrothal is this? let us hope the first bridegroom | |
| May not appear at the altar, and so prohibit the marriage.” | 255 |
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| But she, answering, said: “Oh, let me to this recollection | |
| Yet one moment devote; for so much is due the good giver, | |
| Him who bestowed it at parting, and never came back to his kindred. | |
| All that should come he foresaw, when in haste the passion for freedom, | |
| When a desire in the newly changed order of things to be working, | 260 |
| Urged him onward to Paris, where chains and death he encountered. | |
| ‘Fare thee well,’ were his words; ‘I go, for all is in motion | |
| Now for a time on the earth, and every thing seems to be parting. | |
| E’en in the firmest states fundamental laws are dissolving; | |
| Property falls away from the hand of the ancient possessor; | 265 |
| Friend is parted from friend; and so parts lover from lover. | |
| Here I leave thee, and where I shall find thee again, or if ever, | |
| Who can tell? Perhaps these words are our last ones together. | |
| Man’s but a stranger here on the earth, we are told and with reason; | |
| And we are each of us now become more of strangers than ever. | 270 |
| Ours no more is the soil, and our treasures are all of them changing: | |
| Silver and gold are melting away from their time-honored patterns. | |
| All is in motion as though the already-shaped world into chaos | |
| Meant to resolve itself backward into night, and to shape itself over. | |
| Mine thou wilt keep thine heart, and should we be ever united | 275 |
| Over the ruins of earth, it will be as newly made creatures, | |
| Beings transformed and free, no longer dependent on fortune; | |
| For can aught fetter the man who has lived through days such as these are! | |
| But if it is not to be, that, these dangers happily over, | |
| Ever again we be granted the bliss of mutual embraces, | 280 |
| Oh, then before thy thoughts so keep my hovering image | |
| That with unshaken mind thou be ready for good or for evil! | |
| Should new ties allure thee again, and a new habitation, | |
| Enter with gratitude into the joys that fate shall prepare thee; | |
| Love those purely who love thee; be grateful to them who show kindness. | 285 |
| But thine uncertain foot should yet be planted but lightly, | |
| For there is lurking the twofold pain of a new separation. | |
| Blessings attend thy life; but value existence no higher | |
| Than thine other possessions, and all possessions are cheating!’ | |
| Thus spoke the noble youth, and never again I beheld him. | 290 |
| Meanwhile I lost my all, and a thousand times thought of his warning. | |
| Here, too, I think of his words, when love is sweetly preparing | |
| Happiness for me anew, and glorious hopes are reviving. | |
| Oh forgive me, excellent friend, that e’en while I hold thee | |
| Close to my side I tremble! So unto the late-landed sailor | 295 |
| Seem the most solid foundations of firmest earth to be rocking.” | |
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| Thus she spoke, and placed the two rings on her finger together. | |
| But her lover replied with a noble and manly emotion: | |
| “So much the firmer then, amid these universal convulsions, | |
| Be, Dorothea, our union! We two will hold fast and continue, | 300 |
| Firmly maintaining ourselves, and the right to our ample possessions. | |
| For that man, who, when times are uncertain, is faltering in spirit, | |
| Only increases the evil, and further and further transmits it; | |
| While he refashions the world, who keeps himself steadfastly minded. | |
| Poorly becomes it the German to give to these fearful excitements | 305 |
| Aught of continuance, or to be this way and that way inclining. | |
| This is our own! let that be our word, and let us maintain it! | |
| For to those resolute peoples respect will be ever accorded, | |
| Who for God and the laws, for parents, women and children, | |
| Fought and died, as together they stood with their front to the foeman. | 310 |
| Thou art mine own; and now what is mine, is mine more than ever. | |
| Not with anxiety will I preserve it, and trembling enjoyment; | |
| Rather with courage and strength. To-day should the enemy threaten, | |
| Or in the future, equip me thyself and hand me my weapons. | |
| Let me but know that under thy care are my house and dear parents, | 315 |
| Oh! I can then with assurance expose my breast to the foreman. | |
| And were but every man minded like me, there would be an upspring | |
| Might against might, and peace should revisit us all with its gladness.” | |
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