Chapter XI: Part II: Alexis and Dora (1)

[This beautiful poem was first published in Schiller's Horen.]

FARTHER and farther away, alas! at each moment the vessel

Hastens, as onward it glides, cleaving the foam-cover'd flood! Long is the track plough'd up by the keel where dolphins are sporting,

Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit. All forebodes a prosperous voyage; the sailor with calmness

Leans 'gainst the sail, which alone all that is needed performs. Forward presses the heart of each seamen, like colours and streamers;

Backward one only is seen, mournfully fix'd near the mast, While on the blue tinged mountains, which fast are receding, he gazeth,

And as they sink in the sea, joy from his bosom departs. Vanish'd from thee, too, oh Dora, is now the vessel that robs thee

Of thine Alexis, thy friend,--ah, thy betrothed as well! Thou, too, art after me gazing in vain. Our hearts are still throbbing,

Though, for each other, yet ah! 'gainst one another no more. Oh, thou single moment, wherein I found life! thou outweighest

Every day which had else coldly from memory fled. 'Twas in that moment alone, the last, that upon me descended

Life, such as deities grant, though thou perceived'st it not. Phoebus, in vain with thy rays dost thou clothe the ether in glory:

Thine all-brightening day hateful alone is to me. Into myself I retreat for shelter, and there, in the silence,

Strive to recover the time when she appear'd with each day. Was it possible beauty like this to see, and not feel it?

Work'd not those heavenly charms e'en on a mind dull as thine? Blame not thyself, unhappy one! Oft doth the bard an enigma

Thus propose to the throng, skillfully hidden in words. Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful,

Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense. When at length it is found, the heart of each hearer is gladden'd,

And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight. Wherefore so late didst thou remove the bandage, oh Amor,

Which thou hadst placed o'er mine eyes,--wherefore remove it so late? Long did the vessel, when laden, lie waiting for favouring breezes,

'Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o'er the sea. Vacant times of youth! and vacant dreams of the future!

Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains. Yes! it remains,--my joy still remains! I hold thee; my Dora,

And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclos'd. Oft have I seen thee go, with modesty clad, to the temple,

While thy mother so dear solemnly went by thy side. Eager and nimble thou wert, in bearing thy fruit to the market,

Boldly the pail from the well didst thou sustain on thy head. Then was reveal'd thy neck, then seen thy shoulders so beauteous,

Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen. Oft have I fear'd that the pitcher perchance was in danger of falling,

Yet it ever remain'd firm on the circular cloth. Thus, fair neighbour, yes, thus I oft was wont to observe thee,

As on the stars I might gaze, as I might gaze on the moon, Glad indeed at the sight, yet feeling within my calm bosom

Not the remotest desire ever to call them mine own. Years thus fleeted away! Although our houses were only

Twenty paces apart, yet I thy threshold ne'er cross'd. Now by the fearful flood are we parted! Thou liest to Heaven,

Billow! thy beautiful blue seems to me dark as the night. All were now in movement; a boy to the house of my father

Ran at full speed and exclaim'd: "Hasten thee quick to the strand Hoisted the sail is already, e'en now in the wind it is flutt'ring,

While the anchor they weigh, heaving it up from the sand; Come, Alexis, oh come!"--My worthy stout-hearted father

Press'd, with a blessing, his hand down on my curly-lock'd head, While my mother carefully reach'd me a newly-made bundle,

"Happy mayst thou return!" cried they--" both happy and rich!" Then I sprang away, and under my arm held the bundle,

Running along by the wall. Standing I found thee hard by, At the door of thy garden. Thou smilingly saidst then "Alexis!

Say, are yon boisterous crew going thy comrades to be? Foreign coasts will thou visit, and precious merchandise purchase,

Ornaments meet for the rich matrons who dwell in the town. Bring me, also, I praythee, a light chain; gladly I'll pay thee,

Oft have I wish'd to possess some stich a trinket as that." There I remain'd, and ask'd, as merchants are wont, with precision

After the form and the weight which thy commission should have. Modest, indeed, was the price thou didst name! I meanwhile was gazing

On thy neck which deserv'd ornaments worn but by queens. Loudly now rose the cry from the ship; then kindly thou spakest

"Take, I entreat thee, some fruit out of the garden, my friend Take the ripest oranges, figs of the whitest; the ocean

Beareth no fruit, and, in truth, 'tis not produced by each land." So I entered in. Thou pluckedst the fruit from the branches,

And the burden of gold was in thine apron upheld. Oft did I cry, Enough! But fairer fruits were still falling

Into the hand as I spake, ever obeying thy touch. Presently didst thou reached the arbour; there lay there a basket,

Sweet blooming myrtle trees wav'd, as we drew nigh, o'er our heads. Then thou began'st to arrange the fruit with skill and in silence:

First the orange, which lay heavy as though 'twere of gold, Then the yielding fig, by the slightest pressure disfigur'd,

And with myrtle the gift soon was both cover'd and grac'd. But I raised it not up. I stood. Our eyes met together,

And my eyesight grew dim, seeming obscured by a film, Soon I felt thy bosom on mine! Mine arm was soon twining

Round thy beautiful form; thousand times kiss'd I thy neck. On my shoulder sank thy head; thy fair arms, encircling,

Soon rendered perfect the ring knitting the rapturous pair. Amor's hands I felt: he press'd us together with ardour,

And, from the firmament clear, thrice did it thunder; then tears Stream'd from mine eyes in torrents, thou weptest, I wept, both were weeping,

And, 'mid our sorrow and bliss, even the world seem'd to die. Louder and louder they calI'd from the strand; my feet would no longer

Bear my weight, and I cried:--"Dora! and art thou not mine?" "Thine forever!" thou gently didst say. Then the tears we were shedding

Seem'd to be wiped from our eyes, as by the breath of a god. Nearer was heard the cry "Alexis!" The stripling who sought me

Suddenly peep'd through the door. How he the basket snatch'd up! How he urged me away! how press'd I thy hand! Wouldst thou ask me

How the vessel I reach'd? Drunken I seem'd, well I know. Drunken my shipmates believed me, and so had pity upon me;

And as the breeze drove us on, distance the town soon obscur'd. "Thine for ever!" thou, Dora, didst murmur; it fell on my senses

With the thunder of Zeus! while by the thunderer's throne Stood his daughter, the Goddess of Love; the Graces were standing

Close by her side! so the bond beareth an impress divine! Oh then hasten, thou ship, with every favouring zephyr!

Onward, thou powerful keel, cleaving the waves as they foam! Bring me unto the foreign harbour, so that the goldsmith

May in his workshop prepare straightway the heavenly pledge! Ay, of a truth, the chain shall indeed be a chain, oh my Dora!

Nine times encircling thy neck, loosely around it entwin'd Other and manifold trinkets I'll buy thee; gold-mounted bracelets,

Richly and skillfully wrought, also shall grace thy fair hand. There shall the ruby and emerald vie, the sapphire so lovely

Be to the jacinth oppos'd, seeming its foil; while the gold Holds all the jewels together, in beauteous union commingled.

Oh, how the bridegroom exults, when he adorns his betroth'd! Pearls if I see, of thee they remind me; each ring that is shown me

Brings to my mind thy fair hand's graceful and tapering form. I will barter and buy; the fairest of all shalt thou choose thee,

Joyously would I devote all of the cargo to thee. Yet not trinkets and jewels alone is thy loved one procuring;

With them he brings thee whate'er gives to a housewife delight. Fine and woollen coverlets, wrought with an edging of purple,

Fit for a couch where we both, lovingly, gently may rest; Costly pieces of linen. Thou sittest and sewest, and clothest

Me, and thyself, and, perchance, even a third with it too. Visions of hope, deceive ye my heart! Ye kindly Immortals,

Soften this fierce-raging flame, wildly pervading my breast! Yet how I long to feel them again, those rapturous torments.

When, in their stead, care draws nigh, coldly and fearfully calm. Neither the Furies' torch, nor the hounds of hell with their harking

Awe the delinquent so much, down in the plains of despair, As by the motionless spectre I'm awed, that shows me the fair one

Far away: of a truth, open the garden-door stands! And another one cometh! For him the fruit, too, is falling,

And for him, also, the fig strengthening honey doth yield! Doth she entice him as well to the arbour? He follows? Oh, make me

Blind, ye Immortals! efface visions like this from my mind! Yes, she is but a maiden! And she who to one doth so quickly

Yield, to another ere long, doubtless, Will turn herself round. Smile not, Zeus, for this once, at an oath so cruelly broken!

Thunder more fearfully! Strike!--Stay--thy fierce lightnings withhold! Hurl at me thy quivering bolt! In the darkness of midnight

Strike with thy lightning this mast, make it a pitiful wreck! Scatter the planks all around, and give to the boisterous billows

All these wares, and let me be to the dolphins a prey Now, ye Muses, enough! In vain would ye strive to depicture

How, in a love-laden breast, anguish alternates with bliss. Ye cannot heal the wounds, it is true, that love hath inflicted;

Yet from you only proceeds, kindly ones, comfort and balm.

1796. ----- HERMANN AND DOROTHEA.

IN NINE CANTOS. ----- I. KALLIOPE.

FATE AND SYMPATHY.

"NE'ER have I seen the market and streets so thoroughly empty! Still as the grave is the town, clear'd out! I verily fancy Fifty at most of all our inhabitants still may be found there. People are so inquisitive! All are running and racing Merely to see the sad train of poor fellows driven to exile. Down to the causeway now building, the distance nearly a league is, And they thitherward rush, in the heat and the dust of the noonday. As for me, I had rather not stir from my place just to stare at Worthy and sorrowful fugitives, who, with what goods they can carry, Leaving their own fair land on the further side of the Rhine-stream, Over to us are crossing, and wander through the delightful Nooks of this fruitful vale, with all its twistings and windings. Wife, you did right well to bid our son go and meet them, Taking with him old linen, and something to eat and to drink too, Just to give to the poor; the rich are bound to befriend them. How he is driving along! How well he holds in the horses! Then the new little carriage looks very handsome; inside it Four can easily sit, besides the one on the coachbox. This time he is alone; how easily-turns it the corner!" Thus to his wife the host of the Golden Lion discoursed, Sitting at ease in the porch of his house adjoining the market. Then replied as follows the shrewd and sensible hostess "Father, I don't like giving old linen away, for I find it Useful in so many ways, 'tis not to he purchased for money Just when it's wanted. And yet to-day I gladly have given Many excellent articles, shirts and covers and suchlike; For I have heard of old people and children walking half-naked. Will you forgive me, too, for having ransacked your presses? That grand dressing-gown, cover'd with Indian flowers all over, Made of the finest calico, lined with excellent flannel, I have despatch'd with the rest; 'tis thin, old, quite out of fashion."

But the worthy landlord only smiled, and then answer'd I shall dreadfully miss that ancient calico garment, Genuine Indian stuff! They're not to be had any longer. Well! I shall wear it no more. And your poor husband henceforward Always must wear a surtout, I suppose, or commonplace jacket, Always must put on his boots; good bye to cap and to slippers!"

"See," continued his wife, "a few are already returning Who have seen the procession, which long ago must have pass'd by. See how dusty their shoes are, and how their faces are glowing Each one carries a handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his forehead. I, for one, wouldn't hurry and worry myself in such weather Merely to see such a sight! I'm certain to hear all about it."

And the worthy father, speaking with emphasis, added "Such fine weather seldom lasts through the whole of the harvest And we're bringing the fruit home, just as the hay we brought lately, Perfectly dry; the sky is clear, no cloud's in the heavens, And the whole day long delicious breezes are blowing. Splendid weather I call it! The corn already too ripe is, And to-morrow begin we to gather the plentiful harvest."

Whilst he was thus discoursing, the number of men and of women Crossing the market and going towards home kept ever increasing; And there return'd amongst others, bringing with him his daughters, On the other side of the market, their prosperous neighbour, Going full speed to his newbuilt house, the principal merchant, Riding inside an open carriage (in Landau constructed). All the streets were alive; for the town, though small, was well peopled, Many a factory throve there, and many a business also.

Long sat the excellent couple under the doorway, exchanging Many a passing remark on the people who happen'd to pass them. Presently thus to her husband exclaim'd the good-natured hostess "See! Yon comes the minister; with him is walking the druggist: They'll be able to give an account of all that has happen'd, What they witness'd, and many a sight I fear which was painful."

Both of them came in a friendly manner, and greeted the couple, Taking their seats on the wooden benches under the doorway, Shaking the dust from their feet, their handkerchiefs using to fan them. Presently, after exchanging reciprocal greetings, the druggist Open'd his mouth, and almost peevishly vented his feelings "What strange creatures men are! They all resemble each other, All take pleasure in staring, when troubles fall on their neighbours. Ev'ry one runs to see the flames destroying a dwelling, Or a poor criminal led in terror and shame to the scaffold. All the town has been out to gaze at the sorrowing exiles, None of them bearing in mind that a like misfortune hereafter, Possibly almost directly, may happen to be their own portion. I can't pardon such levity; yet 'tis the nature of all men." Thereupon rejoin'd the noble and excellent pastor, He, the charm of the town, in age scarce more than a stripling:-- (He was acquainted with life, and knew the wants of his hearers, Fully convinced of the worth of the Holy Scriptures, whose mission Is to reveal man's fate, his inclinations to fathom; He was also well read in the best of secular writings.) "I don't like to find fault with any innocent impulse Which in the mind of man Dame Nature has ever implanted; For what reason and intellect ne'er could accomplish, is often Done by some fortunate, quite irresistible instinct within him. If mankind were never by curiosity driven, Say, could they e'er have found out for themselves the wonderful manner Things in the world range in order? For first they Novelty look for, Then with untiring industry seek to discover the Useful, Lastly they yearn for the Good, which makes them noble and worthy. All through their youth frivolity serves as their joyous companion, Hiding the presence of danger, and. swiftly effacing the traces Caused by misfortune and grief, as soon as their onslaught is over. Truly the man's to be praised who, as years roll onward, develops Out of such glad disposition an intellect settled and steady,-- Who, in good fortune as well as misfortune, strives zealously, nobly; For what is Good he brings forth, replacing whatever is injured." Then in a friendly voice impatiently spoke thus the hostess:-- "Tell us what have you seen; I am eagerly longing to hear it."

Then with emphasis answer'd the druggist:--" The terrible stories Told me to-day will serve for a long time to make me unhappy. Words would fail to describe the manifold pictures of mis'ry. Far in the distance saw we the dust, before we descended Down to the meadows; the rising hillocks hid the procession Long from our eyes, and little could we distinguish about it. When, however, we reach'd the road that winds thro' the valley, Great was the crowd and the noise of the emigrants mix'd with the waggons. We unhappily saw poor fellows passing in numbers, Some of them showing how bitter the sense of their sorrowful flight was, Some with a feeling of joy at saving their lives in a hurry. Sad was the sight of the manifold goods and chattels pertaining Unto a well-managed house, which the careful owner's accustom'd Each in its proper position to place, and in regular order, Always ready for use, for all are wanted and useful.-- Sad was the sight of them now, on many a waggon and barrow Heap'd in thorough confusion, and hurriedly huddled together. Over a cupboard was placed a sieve and a coverlet woollen; Beds in the kneeding troughs lay, and linen over the glasses. Ah! and the danger appear'd to rob the men of their senses, Just as in our great fire of twenty years ago happen'd, When what was worthless they saved, and left all the best things behind them. So on the present occasion with heedless caution they carried Many valueless chattels, o'erlading the cattle and horses,-- Common old boards and barrels, a birdcage next to a goosepen. Women and children were gasping beneath the weight of their bundles, Baskets and tubs full of utterly useless articles, bearing. (Man is always unwilling the least of his goods to abandon.) Thus on its dusty way advanced the crowded procession, All in hopeless confusion. First one, whose cattle were weaker, Fain would slowly advance, while others would eagerly hasten. Then there arose a scream of half-crush'd women and children, And a lowing of cattle, with yelping of dogs intermingled, And a wailing of aged and sick, all sitting and shaking, Ranged in their beds on the top of the waggon too-heavily laden. Next some lumbering wheel, push'd out of the track by the pressure, Went to the edge of the roadway; the vehicle fell in the ditch then, Rolling right over, and throwing, in falling, the men who were in it Far in the field, screaming loudly, their persons however uninjured. Then the boxes roll'd off and tumbled close to the waggon. Those who saw them failing full surely expected to see them Smash'd to pieces beneath the weight of the chests and the presses. So the waggon lay broken, and those that it carried were helpless, For the rest of the train went on, and hurriedly pass'd them, Thinking only of self, and carried away by the current. So we sped to the spot, and found the sick and the aged Who, when at home and in bed, could scarcely endure their sad ailments, Lying there on the ground, all sighing and groaning in anguish, Stifled by clouds of dust, and scorch'd by the fierce sun of summer.

Then replied in tones of compassion the sensitive landlord Hermann I trust will find them and give them refreshment and clothing. I should unwillingly see them: I grieve at the eight of such sorrow. Touch'd by the earliest news of the sad extent of the suffering, Hastily sent we a trifle from out of our superabundance, Just to comfort a few, and then our minds were more easy. Now let us cease to discourse on such a sorrowful subject, For men's hearts are easily overshadow'd by terror, And by care, more odious far to me than misfortune. Now let us go to a cooler place, the little back-parlour; There the sun never shines, and the walls are so thick that the hot air Never can enter; and mother shall forthwith bring us a glass each Full of fine Eighty-three, well fitted to drive away trouble. This is a bad place for drinking; the flies will hum round the glasses." So they all went inside, enjoying themselves in the coolness. Then in a well-cut flask the mother carefully brought them Some of that clear good wine, upon a bright metal waiter With those greenish rummers, the fittingest goblets for Rhine wine. So the three sat together, around the glistening polish'd Circular large brown table-─on massive feet it was planted. Merrily clink'd together the glasses of host and of pastor, But the other one thoughtfully held his glass without moving, And in friendly fashion the host thus ask'd him to join them:--

"Drink, good neighbour, I pray! A merciful God has protected Us in the past from misfortune, and will protect us in future. All must confess that since He thought fit to severely chastise us, When that terrible fire occurr'd, He has constantly bless'd us. And watch'd over us constantly, just as man is accustom'd His eye's precious apple to guard, that dearest of members. Shall He not for the future preserve us, and be our Protector? For 'tis in danger we learn to appreciate duly His Goodness. This so flourishing town, which He built again from its ashes By the industrious hands of its burghers, and bless'd it so richly, Will He again destroy it, and render their toil unavailing?"

Cheerfully answer'd the excellent pastor, in accents of mildness "Steadfastly cling to this faith, and cherish such worthy opinions; In good fortune they'll make you prudent, and then in misfortune Well-grounded hopes they'll supply, and furnish you true consolation."

Then continued the host, with thoughts full of manhood and wisdom "Oft have I greeted with wonder the rolling flood of the Rhine stream, When, on my business trav'lling, I've once more come to its borders. Grand has it ever appear'd, exalting my feelings and senses; But I could never imagine that soon its beautiful margin Into a wall would be turn'd, to keep the French from our country, And its wide-spreading bed a ditch to hinder and check them. So by Nature we're guarded, we're guarded by valorous Germans, And by the Lord we're guarded; who then would foolishly tremble? Weary the combatants are, and all things indicate peace soon; And when at length the long-expected festival's holden Here in our church, and the bells chime in with the organ in chorus, And the trumpets are blowing, the noble Te Deum upraising, Then on that selfsame day I fain would see, my good pastor, Our dear Hermann kneel with his bride at the altar before you, And the glad festival held through the length and breadth of the country Will henceforward to me be a glad anniversary also! But I am grieved to observe that the youth, who is always so active When he is here at home, abroad is so slow and so timid. Little at any time cares he to mix with the rest of the people; Yes, he even avoids young maidens' society ever, And the frolicsome dance, that great delight of young people."

Thus he spake, and then listen'd. The sound of the stamping of horses Drawing nearer was heard; and then the roll of the carriage, Which, with impetuous speed, now thunder'd under the gateway. ----- II. TERPSICHORE.

HERMANN.

THEN when into the room the well-built son made his entry, Straightway with piercing glances the minister eyed him intently, And with carefulness watch'd his looks and the whole of his bearing, With an inquiring eye which easily faces decyphers; Then he smiled, and with cordial words address'd him as follows "How you are changed in appearance, my friend! I never have seen you Half so lively before; your looks are thoroughly cheerful. You have return'd quite joyous and merry. You've doubtless divided All of the presents amongst the poor, their blessings receiving."

Then in calm accents replied the son, with gravity speaking "Whether I've laudably acted, I know not; I follow'd the impulse Of my own heart, as now I'll proceed to describe with exactness. Mother, you rummaged so long, in looking over old pieces, And in making your choice, that 'twas late when the bundle was ready, And the wine and the beer were slowly and carefully pack'd up. When I at length emerged at the gate, and came on the highway, Streams of citizens met I returning, with women and children, For the train of the exiles had long disappear'd in the distance. So I quicken'd my pace, and hastily drove to the village Where I had heard that to-night to rest and to sleep they intended. Well, as I went on my way, the newly-made causeway ascending, Suddenly saw I a waggon, of excellent timber constructed, Drawn by a couple of oxen, the best and the strongest of foreign. Close beside it there walk'd, with sturdy footsteps, a maiden, Guiding the two strong beasts with a long kind of staff, which with skill she Knew how to use, now driving, and now restraining their progress. When the maiden observed me, she quietly came near the horses, And address'd me as follows:--'Our usual condition, believe me, Is not so sad as perchance you might judge from our present appearance. I am not yet accustom'd to ask for alms from a stranger, Who so often but gives, to rid himself of a beggar. But I'm compell'd to speak by necessity. Here on the straw now Lies the lately-confined poor wife of a wealthy landowner, Whom with much trouble I managed to save with oxen and waggon. We were late in arriving, and scarcely with life she escaped. Now the newly-born child in her arms is lying, all naked, And our friends will be able to give them but little assistance, E'en if in the next village, to which to-night we are going, We should still find them, although I fear they have left it already. If you belong to the neighbourhood, any available linen These poor people will deem a most acceptable present.

"Thus she spake, and wearily raised herself the pale patient Up from the straw and gazed upon me, while thus I made answer 'Oft doth a heavenly spirit whisper to kind-hearted people, So that they feel the distress o'er their poorer brethren impending; For my mother, your troubles foreboding, gave me a bundle Ready prepared for relieving the wants of those who were naked.' Then I loosen'd the knots of the cord, and the dressing-gown gave her Which belong'd to my father, and gave her some shirts and some linen, And she thank'd me with joy and said:--'The fortunate know not How 'tis that miracles happen; we only discover in sorrow God's protecting finger and hand, extended to beckon Good men to good. May your kindness to us by Him be requited.' And I saw the poor patient joyfully handling the linen, Valuing most of all the soft flannel, the dressing-gown lining. Then the maid thus address'd her:--'Now let us haste to the village Where our friends are resting, to-night intending to sleep there There I will straightway attend to what e'er for the infant is needed.' Then she saluted me too, her thanks most heartily giving, Drove the oxen, the waggon went on. I lingerd behind them, Holding my horses rein'd back, divided between two opinions, Whether to hasten ahead, reach the village, the viands distribute 'Mongst the rest of the people, or give them forthwith to the maiden, So that she might herself divide them amongst them with prudence Soon I made up my mind, and follow'd after her softly, Overtook her without delay, and said to her quickly 'Maiden, it was not linen alone that my mother provided And in the carriage placed, as clothing to give to the naked, But she added meat, and many an excellent drink too; And I have got quite a stock stow'd away in the boot of the carriage. Well, I have taken a fancy the rest of the gifts to deposit In your hands, and thus fulfil to the best my commission; You will divide them with prudence, whilst I my fate am obeying.' Then the maiden replied:--'With faithfulness I will distribute All your gifts, and the needy shall surely rejoice at your bounty.' Thus she spake, and I hastily open'd the boot of the carriage, Took out the hams (full heavy they were) and took out the bread-stuffs, Flasks of wine and beer, and handed the whole of them over. Gladly would I have given her more, but empty the boot was. Straightway she pack'd them away at the feet of the patient, and forthwith Started again, whilst I hasten'd back to the town with my horses."

Then when Hermann had ended his story, the garrulous neighbour Open'd his mouth and exclaim'd:--"I only deem the man happy Who lives alone in his house in these days of flight and confusion, Who has neither wife nor children cringing beside him I feel happy at present; I hate the title of father; Care of children and wife in these days would be a sad drawback. Often have I bethought me of flight, and have gather'd together All that I deem most precious, the antique gold and the jewels Worn by my late dear mother, not one of which has been sold yet. Much indeed is left out, that is not so easily carried. Even the herbs and the roots, collected with plenty of trouble, I should he sorry to lose, though little in value they may be. If the dispenser remains, I shall leave my house in good spirits If my ready money is saved, and my body, why truly All is saved, for a bachelor easily flies when 'tis needed."

"Neighbour," rejoin'd forthwith young Hermann, with emphasis speaking "Altogether I differ, and greatly blame your opinions. Can that man be deem'd worthy, who both in good and ill fortune Thinks alone of himself, and knows not the secret of sharing Sorrows and joys with others, and feels no longing to do so? I could more easily now than before determine to marry Many an excellent maiden needs a husband's protection, Many a man a cheerful wife, when sorrow's before him." Smilingly said then the father:--"I'm pleas'd to hear what you're saying, Words of such wisdom have seldom been utter'd by you in my presence.

Then his good mother broke in, in her turn, with vivacity speaking "Son, you are certainly right. We parents set the example. 'Twas not in time of pleasure that we made choice of each other, And 'twas the saddest of hours, that knitted us closely together. Monday morning,--how well I remember! the very day after That most terrible fire occurr'd which burnt down the borough, Twenty years ago now; the day, like to-day, was a Sunday, Hot and dry was the weather, and little available water. All the inhabitants, clothed in their festival garments, were walking, Scatter'd about in the inns and the mills of the neighbouring hamlets. At one end of the town the fire broke out, and the flames ran Hastily all through the streets, impell'd by the draught they created. And the barns were consumed, where all the rich harvest was gather'd And all the streets as far as the market; the dwelling house also Of my father hard by was destroy'd, as likewise was this one. Little indeed could we save; I sat the sorrowful night through On the green of the town, protecting the beds and the boxes. Finally sleep overtook me, and when by the cool breeze of morning Which dies away when the sun arises I was awaken'd, Saw I the smoke and the glow, and the half-consumed walls and the chimneys. Then my heart was sorely afflicted; but soon in his glory Rose the sun more brilliant than ever, my spirits reviving. Then in haste I arose, impell'd the site to revisit Where our dwelling had stood, to see if the chickens were living Which I especially loved; for childlike I still was by nature. But when over the ruins of courtyard and house I was climbing, Which still smoked, and saw my dwelling destroy'd and deserted, You came up on the other side, the ruins exploring. You had a horse shut up in his stall; the still-glowing rafters Over it lay, and rubbish, and nought could be seen of the creature. Over against each other we stood, in doubt and in sorrow, For the wall had fallen which used to sever our courtyards; And you grasp'd my hand, addressing me softly as follows 'Lizzy, what here are you doing? Away! Your soles you are burning, For the rubbish is hot, and is scorching my boots which are thicker.' Then you lifted me up, and carried me off through your courtyard. There still stood the gateway before the house, with its arch'd roof, Just as it now is standing, the only thing left remaining. And you sat me down and kiss'd me, and I tried to stop you, But you presently said, with kindly words full of meaning 'See, my house is destroy'd! Stop here and help me to build it, I in return will help to rebuild the house of your father.' I understood you not, till you sent to my father your mother, And ere long our marriage fulfilid the troth we soon plighted. Still to this day I remember with pleasure the half-consumed rafters, Still do I see the sun in all his majesty rising, For on that day I gain'd my husband; the son of my youth too Gained I during that earliest time of the wild desolation. Therefore commend I you, Hermann, for having with confidence guileless Turn'd towards marriage your thoughts in such a period of mourning, And for daring to woo in war and over the ruins.--"

Then the father straightway replied, with eagerness speaking:-- "Sensible is your opinion, and true is also the story Which you have told us, good mother, for so did ev'rything happen. But what is better is better. 'Tis not the fortune of all men All their life and existence to find decided beforehand; All are not doom'd to such troubles as we and others have suffer'd. O, how happy is he whose careful father and mother Have a house ready to give him, which he can successfully manage! All beginnings are hard, and most so the landlords profession. Numberless things a man must have, and ev'rything daily Dearer becomes, so he needs to scrape together more money. So I am hoping that you, dear Hermann, will shortly be bringing Home to us a bride possessing an excellent dowry, For a worthy husband deserves a girl who is wealthy, And 'tis a capital thing for the wish'd-for wife to bring with her Plenty of suitable articles stow'd in her baskets and boxes. Not in vain for years does the mother prepare for her daughter Stocks of all kinds of linen, both finest and strongest in texture; Not in vain do god-parents give them presents of silver, Or the father lay by in his desk a few pieces of money. For she hereafter will gladden, with all her goods and possessions, That happy youth who is destined from out of all others to choose her. Yes! I know how pleasant it makes a house for a young wife, When she finds her own property placed in the rooms and the kitchen, And when she herself has cover'd the bed and the table. Only well-to-do brides should be seen in a house, I consider, For a poor one is sure at last to be scorn'd by her husband, And he'll deem her a jade who as jade first appear'd with her bundle. Men are always unjust, but moments of love are but transient. Yes, my Hermann, you greatly would cheer the old age of your father If you soon would bring home a daughter-in-law to console me, Out of the neighbourhood too,--yes, out of yon dwelling, the green one! Rich is the man, in truth his trade and his manufactures Make him daily richer, for when does a merchant not prosper? He has only three daughters; the whole of his wealth they'll inherit. True the eldest's already engaged; but then there's the second, And the third, who still (not for long) may be had for the asking. Had I been in your place, I should not till this time have waited; Bring home one of the girls, as I brought your mother before you.

Then, with modesty, answer'd the son his impetuous father "Truly my wish was, like yours, to marry one of the daughters Of our neighbour. We all, in fact, were brought up together, Sported in youthful days near the fountain adjoining the market, And from the rudeness of boys I often managed to save them. But those days have long pass'd the maidens grew up, and with reason Stop now at home and avoid the rougher pastimes of childhood. Well brought up with a vengeance they are! To please you, I sometimes Went to visit them, just for the sake of olden acquaintance But I was never much pleased at holding intercourse with them, For they were always finding fault, and I had to bear it First my coat was too long, the cloth too coarse, and the colour Far too common, my hair was cut and curl'd very badly. I at last was thinking of dressing myself like the shop-boys, Who are accustom'd on Sundays to show off their persons up yonder, And round whose coats in summer half-silken tatters are hanging. But ere long I discover'd they only intended to fool me This was very annoying, my pride was offended, but more still Felt I deeply wounded that they so mistook the good feelings Which I cherish'd towards them, especially Minnie, the youngest. Well, I went last Easter, politely to pay them a visit, And I wore the new coat now hanging up in the closet, And was frizzled and curld, like all the rest of the youngsters. When I enter'd, they titter'd; but that didn't very much matter. Minnie sat at the piano, the father was present amongst them, Pleased with his daughter's singing, and quite in a jocular humour. Little could I understand of the words in the song she was singing, But I constantly heard of Pamina, and then of Tamino,*

(* Characters In Mozart's Zauberflote.) And I fain would express my opinion; so when she had ended, I ask'd questions respecting the text, and who were the persons. All were silent and smiled; but presently answer'd the father 'Did you e'er happen, my friend, to hear of Eve or of Adam?' Then no longer restrain'd they themselves, the girls burst out laughing, All the boys laugh'd loudly, the old man's sides appear'd splitting. In my confusion I let my hat fall down, and the titt'ring Lasted all the time the singing and playing continued. Then I hasten'd home, ashamed and full of vexation, Hung up my coat in the closet, and put my hair in disorder With my fingers, and swore ne'er again to cross o'er their threshold. And I'm sure I was right; for they are all vain and unloving. And I hear they're so rude as to give me the nickname Tamino." Then the mother rejoin'd:--"You're wrong, dear Hermann, to harbour Angry feelings against the children, for they are but children. Minnie's an excellent girl, and has a tenderness for you; Lately she ask'd how you were. Indeed, I wish you would choose her!"

Then the son thoughtfully answer'd:--"I know not why, but the fact is My annoyance has graven itself in my mind, and hereafter I could not bear at the piano to see her, or list to her singing."

But the father sprang up, and said, in words full of anger "Little comfort you give me, in truth! I always have said it, When you took pleasure in horses, and cared for nothing but fieldwork; That which the servants of prosperous people perform as their duty, You yourself do; meanwhile the father his son must dispense with, Who in his honour was wont to court the rest of the townsfolk. Thus with empty hopes your mother early deceived me, When your reading, and writing, and learning at school ne'er succeeded Like the rest of the boys, and so you were always the lowest. This all comes from a youth not possessing a due sense of honour, And not having the spirit to try and raise his position. Had my father but cared for me, as I have for you, sir, Sent me to school betimes, and given me proper instructors, I should not merely have been the host of the famed Golden Lion."

But the son arose, and approach'd the doorway in silence, Slowly, and making no noise: but then the father in dudgeon After him shouted:--"Be off! I know you're an obstinate fellow! Go and look after the business; else I shall scold you severely; But don't fancy I'll ever allow you to bring home in triumph As my daughter-in-law any boorish impudent hussy. Long have I lived in the world, and know how to manage most people, Know how to entertain ladies and gentlemen, so that they leave me In good humour, and know how to flatter a stranger discreetly. But my daughter-in-law must have useful qualities also, And be able to soften my manifold cares and vexations. She must also play on the piano, that all the best people Here in the town may take pleasure in often coming to see us, As in the house of our neighbour the merchant happens each Sunday." Softly the son at these words raised the latch, and left the apartment. ----- III. THALIA.

THE BURGHERS.

THUS did the prudent son escape from the hot conversation, But the father continued precisely as he had begun it What is not in a man can never come out of him, surely! Never, I fear, shall I see fulfill'd my dearest of wishes, That my son should be unlike his father, but better. What would be the fate of a house or a town, if its inmates Did not all take pride in preserving, renewing, improving, As we are taught by the age, and by the wisdom of strangers? Man is not born to spring out of the ground, just like a mere mushroom, And to rot away soon in the very place that produced him! Leaving behind him no trace of what he has done in his lifetime. One can judge by the look of a house of the taste of its master, As on ent'ring a town, one can judge the authorities' fitness. For where the towers and walls are falling, where in the ditches Dirt is collected, and dirt in every street is seen lying, Where the stones come out of their groove, and are not replaced there, Where the beams are rotting, and vainly the houses are waiting New supports; that town is sure to be wretchedly managed. For where order and cleanliness reign not supreme in high places, Then to dirt and delay the citizens soon get accustom'd, Just as the beggar's accustom'd to wear his cloths full of tatters. Therefore I often have wish'd that Hermann would start on his travels Ere he's much older, and visit at any rate Strasburg and Frankfort, And that pleasant town, Mannheim, so evenly built and so cheerful. He who has seen such large and cleanly cities rests never Till his own native town, however small, he sees better'd. Do not all strangers who visit us praise our well-mended gateways, And the well-whited tower, the church so neatly repair'd too? Do not all praise our pavements? Our well-arranged cover'd-in conduits, Always well furnish'd with water, utility blending with safety, So that a fire, whenever it happens, is straightway extinguish'd,-- Is not this the result of that conflagration so dreadful? Six times in Council I superintended the town's works, receiving Hearty thanks and assistance from every well-disposed burgher. How I design'd, follow'd up, and ensured the completion of measures Worthy men had projected, and afterwards left all unfinish'd! Finally, every man in the Council took pleasure in working. All put forth their exertions, and now they have finally settled That new highway to make, which will join our town with the main road. But I am greatly afraid that the young generation won't act thus; Some on the one hand think only of pleasure and trumpery dresses, Others wont stir out of doors, and pass all their time by the fireside, And our Hermann, I fear, will always be one of this last sort."

Forthwith to him replied the excellent sensible mother "Father, you're always unjust whenever you speak of your son, and That is the least likely way to obtain your wishes' fulfillment, For we cannot fashion our children after our fancy. We must have them and love them, as God has given them to us, Bring them up for the best, and let each do as he listeth. One has one kind of gift, another possesses another, Each one employs them, and each in turn in his separate fashion Good and happy becomes. My Hermann shall not be upbraided, For I know that he well deserves the wealth he'll inherit; He'll be an excellent landlord, a pattern to burghers and peasants, And, as I clearly foresee, by no means the last in the Council. But with your blame and reproaches, you daily dishearten him sadly, As you have done just now, and make the poor fellow unhappy."

Then she left the apartment, and after her son hasten'd quickly, Hoping somewhere to find him, and with her words of affection Gladden his heart, for he, the excellent son, well deserved it. Smilingly, when she had closed the door, continued the father "What a wonderful race of people are women and children. All of them fain would do whatever pleases their fancy, And we're only alow'd to praise them and flatter them freely. Once for all there's truth in the ancient proverb which tells us: He who moves not forward, goes backward! a capital saying!"

Speaking with much circumspection, the druggist made answer as follows "What you say, good neighbour, is certainly true, and my plan is Always to think of improvement, provided tho' new, 'tis not costly. But what avails it in truth, unless one has plenty of money, Active and fussy to he, improving both inside and outside? Sadly confined are the means of a burgher; e'en when he knows it, Little that's good he is able to do, his purse is too narrow, And the sum wanted too great; and so he is always prevented. I have had plenty of schemes! but then I was terribly frighten'd At the expense, especially during a time of such danger. Long had my house smiled upon me, decked out in modish exterior, Long had my windows with large panes of glass resplendently glitterd. Who can compete with a merchant, however, who, rolling in riches, Also knows the manner in which what is best can be purchased? Only look at the house up yonder, the new one: how handsome Looks the stucco of those white scrolls on the green-colour'd panels! Large are the plates of the windows--how shining and brilliant the panes are, Quite eclipsing the rest of the houses that stand in the market! Yet at the time of the fire, our two were by far the most handsome, Mine at the sign of the Angel, and yours at the old Golden Lion. Then my garden was famous throughout the whole country, and strangers Used to stop as they pass'd and peep through my red-colourd palings At my beggars of stone, and at my dwarfs, which were painted, He to whom I gave coffee inside my beautiful grotto, Which, alas! is now cover'd with dust and tumbling to pieces, Used to rejoice in the colour'd glimmering light of the mussels, Ranged in natural order around it, and connoisseurs even Used with dazzled eyes to gaze at the spars and the coral. Then, in the drawing-room, people look'd with delight on the painting, Where the prim ladies and gentlemen walked in the garden demurely, And with pointed fingers presented the flowers, and held them. Ah, if only such things were now to be seen! Little care I Now to go out; for everything needs to be alter'd and tasteful, As it is call'd; and white are the benches of wood and the palings; All things are simple and plain; and neither carving not gilding Now are employ'd, and foreign timber is now all the fashion. I should be only too pleased to possess some novelty also, So as to march with the times, and my household furniture alter. But we all are afraid to make the least alteration, For who is able to pay the present charges of workmen? Lately a fancy possess'd me, the angel Michael, whose figure Hangs up over my shop, to treat to a new coat of gilding, And the terrible Dragon, who round his feet is entwining; But I have left him all brown; as he is; for the cost quite alarm'd me." ----- IV. EUTERPE.

MOTHER AND SON.