Chapter XII: Part II: Alexis and Dora (2)

THUS the men discoursed together; and meanwhile the mother Went in search of her son,--at first in front of the dwelling On the bench of stone, for he was accustom'd to sit there. When she found him not there, she went to look in the stable, Thinking perchance he was feeding his splendid horses, the stallions Which he had bought when foals, and which he entrusted to no one. But the servant inform'd her that he had gone to the garden. Then she nimbly strode across the long double courtyard, Left the stables behind, and the barns all made of good timber, Enter'd the garden which stretch'd far away to the walls of the borough, Walk'd across it, rejoicing to see how all things were growing, Carefully straighten'd the props, on which the apple-tree's branches, Heavily loaded, reposed, and the weighty boughs of the pear-tree, Took a few caterpillars from off the strong-sprouting cabbage; For a bustling woman is never idle one moment. In this manner she came to the end of the long-reaching garden, Where was the arbour all cover'd with woodbine: she found not her son there, Nor was he to be seen in any part of the garden. But she found on the latch the door which out of the arbour Through the wall of the town had been made by special permission During their ancestor's time, the worthy old burgomaster. So she easily stepp'd across the dry ditch at the spot where On the highway abutted their well-inclosed excellent vineyard. Rising steeply upwards, its face tow'rd the sun turn'd directly. Up the hill she proceeded, rejoicing, as farther she mounted, At the size of the grapes, which scarcely were hid by the foliage. Shady and well-cover'd in, the middle walk at the top was, Which was ascended by steps of rough flat pieces constructed. And within it were hanging fine chasselas and muscatels also, And a reddish-blue grape, of quite an exceptional bigness, All with carefulness planted, to give to their guests after dinner. But with separate stems the rest of the vineyard was planted, Smaller grapes producing, from which the finest wine made is. So she constantly mounted, enjoying in prospect the autumn. And the festal day, when the neighbourhood met with rejoicing, Picking and treading the grapes, and putting the must in the wine-vats, Every corner and nook resounding at night with the fireworks, Blazing and cracking away, due honour to pay to the harvest. But she uneasy became, when she in vain had been calling Twice and three times her son, and when the sole answer that reach'd her Came from the garrulous echo which out of the town towers issued. Strange it appear'd to have to seek him; he never went far off, (As he before had told her) in order to ward off all sorrow From his dear mother, and her forebodings of coming disaster. But she still was expecting upon the highway to find him, For the doors at the bottom, like those at the top, of the vineyard Stood wide open; and so at length she enter'd the broad field Which, with its spreading expanse, o'er the whole of the hill's back extended. On their own property still she proceeded, greatly rejoicing At their own crops, and at the corn which nodded so bravely, Over the whole field in golden majesty waving. Then on the border between the fields she follow'd the footpath, Keeping her eye on the pear-tree fix'd, the big one, which standing Perch'd by itself on the top of the hill, their property bounded. Who had planted it, no one knew; throughout the whole country Far and wide was it visible; noted also its fruit was. Under its shadow the reaper ate his dinner at noonday, And the herdsman was wont to lie, when tending his cattle. Benches made of rough stones and of turf were placed all about it. And she was not mistaken; there sat her Hermann and rested On his arm he was leaning, and seem'd to be looking cross country Tow'rds the mountains beyond; his back was turn'd to his mother. Softly creeping up, she lightly tapp'd on his shoulder; And he hastily turn'd; she saw that his eyes full of tears were.

"Mother," he said in confusion:--"You greatly surprise me!" and quickly Wiped he away his tears, the noble and sensitive youngster. "What! You are weeping, my son?" the startled mother continued "That is indeed unlike you! I never before saw you crying! Say, what has sadden'd your heart? What drives you to sit here all lonely Under the shade of the pear-tree? What is it that makes you unhappy?"

Then the excellent youth collected himself, and made answer "Truly that man can have no heart, but a bosom of iron, Who no sympathy feels for the wants of unfortunate exiles; He has no sense in his head who, in times of such deep tribulation, Has no concern for himself or for his country's well-being. What I to-day have seen and heard, has stirr'd up my feelings; Well, I have come up here, and seen the beautiful, spreading Landscape, which in fruitful hills to our sight is presented, Seen the golden fruit of the sheaves all nodding together, And a plentiful crop of fruit, full garners foreboding. But, alas, how near is the foe! By the Rhine's flowing waters We are protected indeed; but what are rivers and mountains To such a terrible nation, which hurries along like a tempest! For they summon together the young and the old from all quarters, Rushing wildly along, while the multitude little is caring Even for death; when one falls, his place is straight fill'd by another, Ah! and can Germans dare to remain at home in their dwellings, Thinking perchance to escape from the widely-threat'ning disaster? Dearest mother, I tell you that I to-day am quite sorry That I was lately excused, when they selected the fighters Out of the townfolk. 'Tis true I'm an only son, and more-over Large is our inn, and our business also is very important; Were it not better however for me to fight in the vanguard On the frontier, than here to await disaster and bondage? Yes, my spirit has told me, and in my innermost bosom Feel I courage and longing to live and die for my country, And to others to set an example worthy to follow. Oh, of a truth, if the strength of the German youths was collected On the frontier, all bound by a vow not to yield to the stranger, He on our noble soil should never set foot, or be able Under our eyes to consume the fruits of the land, or to issue Orders unto our men, or despoil our women and maidens! See, good mother, within my inmost heart I've determined Soon and straightway to do what seems to me right and becoming; For the man who thinks long, not always chooses what best is. See, I will not return to the house, but will go from here straightway Into the town, and there will place at the fighters' disposal This stout arm and this heart, to serve, as I best can, my country. Then let my father say whether feelings of honour are stirring In my bosom or not, and whether I yearn to mount upwards."

Then with significance answer'd his good and sensible mother, Shedding tears in silence, which easily rose in her eyelids:-- "Son, what has wrought so strange a change in your temper and feelings, That you freely and openly speak to your mother no longer, As you till yesterday did, nor tell her truly your wishes? If another had heard you speaking, he doubtless would praise you Highly, and deem your new resolution as worthy of honour, Being deceived by your words, and by your manner of speaking. I however can only blame you. I know you much better. You are concealing your heart, and very diff'rent your thoughts are; For I am sure you care not at all for drum and for trumpet, Nor, to please the maidens, care you to wear regimentals. For, though brave you may be, and gallant, your proper vocation Is to remain at home, the property quietly watching. Therefore tell me truly: What means this sudden decision?"

Earnestly answer'd the son:--"You are wrong, dear-mother, one day is Unlike another. The youth soon ripens into his manhood. Ofttimes he ripens better to action in silence than living That tumultuous noisy life which ruins so many. And though silent I have been, and am, a heart has been fashion'd Inside my bosom, which hates whatever unfair and unjust is, And I am able right well to discriminate secular matters. Work moreover my arms and my feet has mightily strengthen'd. All that I tell you is true; I boldly venture to say so. And yet, mother, you blame me with reason; you've caught me employing Words that are only half true, and that serve to conceal my true feelings. For I must need confess, it is not the advent of danger Calls me away from my father's house, nor a resolute purpose Useful to be to my country, and dreaded to be by the foeman. Words alone it was that I utter'd,--words only intended Those deep feelings to hide, which within my breast are contending. And now leave me, my mother! For as in my bosom I cherish Wishes that are but vain, my life will be to no purpose. For I know that the Unit who makes a self-sacrifice, only Injures himself, unless all endeavour the Whole to accomplish."

"Now continue," replied forthwith his sensible mother:-- "Tell me all that has happen'd, the least as w'ell as the greatest Men are always hasty, and only remember the last thing, And the hasty are easily forced from the road by obstructions. But a woman is skillful, and full of resources, and scorns not Bye-roads to traverse when needed, well-skill'd to accomplish her purpose. Tell me then all, and why you are stirr'd by such violent feelings More than I ever have seen, while the blood is boiling within you, And from your eyes the tears against your will fain would fall now."

Then the youth gave way to his sorrow, and burst into weeping, Weeping aloud on the breast of his mother, and softly replying "Truly, my father's words to-day have wounded me sadly, Never have I deserved at his hands such treatment,--no, never! For to honour my parents was always my wish from my childhood, No one ever appear'd so prudent and wise as my parents, Who in the darker days of childhood carefully watch'd me. Much indeed it has been my lot to endure from my playmates, When with their knavish pranks they used to embitter my temper. Often I little suspected the tricks they were playing upon me: But if they happen'd to ridicule Father, whenever on Sundays Out of church he came with his slow deliberate footsteps, If they laugh'd at the strings of his cap, and his dressing-gown's flowers, Which he in stately wise wore, and to-day at length has discarded, Then in a fury I clench'd my fist, and, storming and raging, Fell upon them and hit and struck with terrible onslaught, Heedless where my blows fell. With bleeding noses they halloed, And could scarcely escape from the force of my blows and my kicking. Then, as in years I advanced, I had much to endure from my father, Who, in default of others to blame, would often abuse me, When at the Council's last sitting his anger perchance was excited, And I the penalty paid of the squabbles and strife of his colleagues. You yourself have oft pitied me; I endured it with patience, Always rememb'ring the much-to-be-honour'd kindness of parents, Whose only thought is to swell for our sakes their goods and possessions, And who deprive themselves of much, to save for their children. But, alas, not saving alone, for enjoyment hereafter, Constitutes happiness, no, not heaps of gold or of silver, Neither field upon field, however compact the estate be. For the father grows old, and his son at the same time grows older, Feeling no joy in To-day, and full of care for To-morrow. Now look down from this height, and see how beauteous before us Lies the fair rich expanse, with vineyard and gardens at bottom; There are the stables and barns, and the rest of the property likewise; There I also descry the back of our house, in the gables Of the roof may be seen the window of my small apartment. When I remember the time when I used to look out for the moon there Half through the night, or perchance at morning awaited the sunrise, When with but few hours of healthy sleep I was fully contented, Ah, how lonely do all things appear! My chamber, the court, and Garden, the beautiful field which spreads itself over the hillside; All appears but a desert to me: I still am unmarried!" Then his good mother answer'd his speech in a sensible manner "Son, your wish to be able to lead your bride to her chamber, Turning the night to the dearest and happiest half of your lifetime, Making your work by day more truly free and unfetter'd, Cannot be greater than that of your father and mother. We always Urged you,--commanded, I even might say,--to choose some fair maiden. But I know full well, and my heart has told me already If the right hour arrives not, or if the right maiden appears not Instantly when they are sought for, man's choice is thrown in confusion, And he is driven by fear to seize what is counterfeit only. If I may tell you, my son, your choice already is taken, For your heart is smitten, and sensitive more than is usual. Answer me plainly, then, for my spirit already has told me: She whom now you have chosen is that poor emigrant maiden!"

"Yes, dear mother, you're right!" the son with vivacity answer'd Yes, it is she! And unless this very day I conduct her Home as my bride, she will go on her way and escape me for ever, In the confusion of war, and in moving backwards and forwards. Mother, then before my eyes will in vain he unfolded All our rich estate, and each year henceforward be fruitful. Yes, the familiar house and the garden will be my aversion. Ah, and the love of my mother no comfort will give to my sorrow, For I feel that by Love each former bond must be loosen'd, When her own bonds she knits; 'tis not the maiden alone who Leaves her father and mother behind, when she follows her husband. So it is with the youth; no more he knows mother and father. When he beholds the maiden, the only beloved one, approaching. Therefore let me go hence, to where desperation may lead me, For my father already has spoken in words of decision, And his house no longer is mine, if he shuts out the maiden Whom alone I would fain take home as my bride from henceforward."

Then the excellent sensible mother answer'd with quickness "Men are precisely like rocks when they stand opposed to each other! Proud and unyielding, the one will never draw near to the other. Neither will suffer his tongue to utter the first friendly accent. Therefore I tell you, my son, a hope still exists in my bosom, If she is worthy and good, he will give his consent to your marriage, Poor though she be, and although with disdain he refused you the poor thing. For in his hot-beaded fashion he utters many expressions Which he never intends; and so will accept the Refused One. But he requires kind words, and has a right to require them, For your father he is; his anger is all after dinner, When he more eagerly speaks, and questions the reasons of others, Meaning but little thereby; the wine then excites all the vigour Of his impetuous will, and prevents him from giving due weight to Other people's opinions; he hears and he feels his own only. But when evening arrives, the tone of the many discourses Which his friends and himself hold together, is very much alter'd. Milder becomes he, as soon as his liquor's effects have passed over And he feels the injustice his eagerness did unto others. Come, we will venture at once! Success the reward is of boldness, And we have need of the friends who now have assembled around him.-- Most of all we shall want the help of our excellent pastor." Thus she eagerly spoke, and leaving the stone that she sat on, Also lifted her son from his seat. He willingly follow'd, And they descended in silence, revolving the weighty proposal. ----- V. POLYHYMNIA.

THE COSMOPOLITE.

BUT the Three, as before, were still sitting and talking together, With the landlord, the worthy divine, and also the druggist, And the conversation still concern'd the same subject, Which in every form they had long been discussing together. Full of noble thoughts, the excellent pastor continued "I can't contradict you. I know 'tis the duty of mortals Ever to strive for improvement; and, as we may see, they strive also Ever for that which is higher, at least what is new they seek after, But don't hurry too fast! For combined with these feelings, kind Nature Also has given us pleasure in dwelling on that which is ancient, And in clinging to that to which we have long been accustom'd. Each situation is good that's accordant to nature and reason. Many things man desires, and yet he has need of but little; For but short are the days, and confined is the lot of a mortal. I can never blame the man who, active and restless, Hurries along, and explores each corner of earth and the ocean Boldly and carefully, while he rejoices at seeing the profits Which round him and his family gather themselves in abundance. But I also duly esteem the peaceable burgher, Who with silent steps his paternal inheritance paces, And watches over the earth, the seasons carefully noting. 'Tis not every year that he finds his property alter'd; Newly-planted trees cannot stretch out their arms tow'rds the heavens All in a moment, adorn'd with beautiful buds in abundance. No, a man has need of patience, he also has need of Pure unruffled tranquil thoughts and an intellect honest; For to the nourishing earth few seeds at a time he entrusteth, Few are the creatures he keeps at a time, with a view to their breeding, For what is Useful alone remains the first thought of his lifetime. Happy the man to whom Nature a mind thus attuned may have given! 'Tis by him that we all are fed. And happy the townsman Of the small town who unites the vocations of town and of country. He is exempt from the pressure by which the poor farmer is worried, Is not perplex'd by the citizens' cares and soaring ambition, Who, with limited means,--especially women and maidens,-- Think of nothing but aping the ways of the great and the wealthy, You should therefore bless your son's disposition so peaceful, And the like-minded wife whom we soon may expect him to marry.

Thus he spoke. At that moment the mother and son stood before them. By the hand she led him and placed him in front of her husband "Father," she said, "how often have we, when talking together, Thought of that joyful day in the future, when Hermann, selecting After long waiting his bride at length would make us both happy! All kinds of projects we form'd. designing first one, then another Girl as his wife, as we talk'd in the manner that parents delight in. Now the day has arrived; and now has his bride been conducted Hither and shown him by Heaven; his heart at length has decided. Were we not always saying that he should choose for himself, and Were you not lately wishing that he might feel for a maiden Warm and heart-felt emotions? And now has arrived the right moment! Yes, he has felt and has chosen, and like a man has decided. That fair maiden it is, the Stranger whom he encounter'd. Give her him; else he'll remain--he has sworn it--unmarried for ever."

And the son added himself:--"My father, O give her! My heart has Chosen purely and truly: she'll make you an excellent daughter."

But the father was silent. Then suddenly rose the good pastor, And address'd him as follows:--" One single moment's decisive Both of the life of a man, and of the whole of his Future. After lengthen'd reflection, each resolution made by him Is but the work of a moment; the prudent alone seize the right one. Nothing more dangerous is, in making a choice, than revolving First this point and then that, and so confusing the feelings. Pure is Hermann's mind; from his youth I have known him; he never, Even in boyhood, was wont to extend his hand hither and thither. What he desired, was suitable to him; he held to it firmly. Be not astonish'd and scared, because there appears on a sudden What you so long have desired. 'Tis true the appearance at present Bears not the shape of the wish, as you in your mind had conceived it. For our wishes conceal the thing that we wish for; our gifts too Come from above upon us, each clad in its own proper figure. Do not now mistake the maiden who has succeeded First in touching the heart of your good wise son, whom you love so. Happy is he who is able to clasp the hand of his first love, And whose dearest wish is not doom'd to pine in his bosom! Yes, I can see by his face, already his fate is decided; True affection converts the youth to a man in a moment. He little changeable is; I fear me, if this you deny him, All the fairest years of his life will be changed into sorrow."

Then in prudent fashion the druggist, who long had been wanting His opinion to give, rejoin'd in the following manner "This is Just a case when the middle course is the wisest! 'Hasten slowly,' you know, was the motto of Caesar Augustus. I am always ready to be of use to my neighbours, And to turn to their profit what little wits I can boast of. Youth especially needs the guidance of those who are older. Let me then depart; I fain would prove her, that maiden, And will examine the people 'mongst whom she lives, and who know her. I am not soon deceived; I know how to rate their opinions."

Then forthwith replied the son, with eagerness speaking:-- "Do so, neighbour, and go, make your inquiries. However, I should greatly prefer that our friend, the pastor, went with you; Two such excellent men are witnesses none can find fault with. O, my father! the maiden no vagabond is, I assure you, No mere adventurer, wand'ring about all over the country, And deceiving the inexperienced youths with her cunning; No! the harsh destiny link'd with this war, so destructive of all things, Which is destroying the world, and already has wholly uprooted Many a time-honour'd fabric, has driven the poor thing to exile. Are not brave men of noble birth now wand'ring in mis'ry? Princes are fleeing disguised, and monarchs in banishment living. Ah, and she also herself, the best of her sisters, is driven Out of her native land; but her own misfortunes forgetting, Others she seeks to console, and, though helpless, is also most helpful. Great are the woes and distress which over the earth's face are brooding, But may happiness not be evoked from out of this sorrow? May not I, in the arms of my bride, the wife I have chosen, Even rejoice at the war, as you at the great conflagration?"

Then replied the father, and open'd his mouth with importance:-- "Strangely indeed, my son, has your tongue been suddenly loosen'd, Which for years has stuck in your mouth, and moved there but rarely I to-day must experience that which threatens each father: How the ardent will of a son a too-gentle mother Willingly favours, whilst each neighbour is ready to back him, Only provided it be at the cost of a father or husband! But what use would it be to resist so many together? For I see that defiance and tears will otherwise greet me. Go and prove her, and in God's name then hasten to bring her Home as my daughter; if not, he must think no more of the maiden."

Thus spake the father. The son exclaim'd with jubilant gesture "Ere the ev'ning arrives, you shall have the dearest of daughters, Such as the man desires whose bosom is govern'd by prudence And I venture to think the good creature is fortunate also. Yes, she will ever be grateful that I her father and mother Have restored her in you, as sensible children would wish it. But I will loiter no longer; I'll straightway harness the horses, And conduct our friends on the traces of her whom I love so, Leave the men to themselves and their own intuitive wisdom, And be guided alone by their decision--I swear it,-- And not see the maiden again, until she my own is." Then he left the house; meanwhile the others were eagerly Settling many a point, and the weighty matter debating.

Hermann sped to the stable forthwith, where the spirited stallions Tranquilly stood and with eagerness swallow'd the pure oats before them, And the well-dried hay, which was cut from the best of their meadows. Then in eager haste in their mouths the shining bits placed he, Quickly drew the harness through the well-plated buckles, And then fastend the long broad reins in proper position, Led the horses out in the yard, where already the carriage, Easily moved along by its pole, had been push'd by the servant. Then they restrain'd the impetuous strength of the fast-moving horses, Fastening both with neat-looking ropes to the bar of the carriage. Hermann seized his whip, took his seat, and drove to the gateway. When in the roomy carriage his friends had taken their places, Swiftly he drove away, and left the pavement behind them, Left behind the walls of the town and the clean-looking towers, Thus sped Hermann along, till he reach'd the familiar highway, Not delaying a moment, and galloping uphill and downhill. When however at length the village steeple descried he, And not far away lay the houses surrounded by gardens, He began to think it was time to hold in the horses.

By the time-honour'd gloom of noble lime-trees o'er shadow'd, Which for many a century past on the spot had been rooted, Stood there a green and spreading grass-plot in front of the village, Cover'd with turf, for the peasants and neighbouring townsmen a playground. Scooped out under the trees, to no great depth, stood a fountain. On descending the steps, some benches of stone might be seen there, Ranged all around the spring, which ceaselessly well'd forth its waters, Cleanly, enclosed by a low wall all round, and convenient to draw from. Hermann then determined beneath the shadow his horses With the carriage to stop. He did so, and spoke then as follows "Now, my friends, get down, and go by yourselves to discover Whether the maiden is worthy to have the hand which I offer. I am convinced that she is; and you'll bring me no new or strange story: Had I to manage alone, I would straightway go off to the village, And in few words should my fate by the charming creature be settled.

Her you will easily recognize 'mongst all the rest of the people, For her appearance is altogether unlike that of others. But I will now describe the modest dress she is wearing:-- First a bodice red her well-arch'd bosom upraises, Prettily tied, while black are the stays fitting closely around her. Then the seams of the ruff she has carefully plaited and folded, Which with modest grace, her chin so round is encircling. Free and joyously rises her head with its elegant oval, Strongly round bodkins of silver her back-hair is many times twisted Her blue well-plaited gown begins from under her bodice. And as she walks envelopes her well-turn'd ankles completely. But I have one thing to say, and this must expressly entreat you: Do not speak to the maiden, and let not your scheme be discover'd. But inquire of others, and hearken to all that they tell you, When you have learnt enough to satisfy father and mother, Then return to me straight, and we'll settle future proceedings. This is the plan which I have matured, while driving you hither."

Thus he spoke, and the friends forthwith went on to the village, Where, in gardens and barns and houses, the multitude crowded; All along the broad road the numberless carts were collected, Men were feeding the lowing cattle and feeding the horses. Women on every hedge the linen were carefully drying, Whilst the children in glee were splashing about in the streamlet. Forcing their way through the waggons, and past the men and the cattle, Walk'd the ambassador spies, looking well to the righthand and lefthand, Hoping somewhere to see the form of the well-described maiden; But wherever they look'd, no trace of the girl they discover'd.

Presently denser became the crowd. Round some of the waggons. Men in a passion were quarrelling, women also were screaming. Then of a sudden approach'd an aged man with firm footstep Marching straight up to the fighters; and forthwith was hush'd the contention, When he bade them be still, and with fatherly earnestness threaten'd. "Are we not yet," he exclaim'd, "by misfortune so knitted together, As to have learnt at length the art of reciprocal patience And toleration, though each cannot measure the actions of others? Prosperous men indeed may quarrel! Will sorrow not teach you How no longer as formerly you should quarrel with brethren? Each should give way to each other, when treading the soil of the stranger, And, as you hope for mercy yourselves, you should share your possessions."

Thus the man address'd them, and all were silent. In peaceful Humour the reconciled men look'd after their cattle and waggons. When the pastor heard the man discourse in this fashion, And the foreign magistrate's peaceful nature discovered, He approach'd him in turn, and used this significant language "Truly, Father, when nations are living in days of good fortune, Drawing their food from the earth, which gladly opens its treasures, And its wish'd-for gifts each year and each month is renewing, Then all matters go smoothly; each thinks himself far the wisest, And the best, and so they exist by the side of each other, And the most sensible man no better than others is reckon'd For the world moves on, as if by itself and in silence. But when distress unsettles our usual manner of living, Pulls down each time-honour'd fabric, and roots up the seed in our gardens, Drives the man and his wife far away from the home they delight in, Hurries them off in confusion through days and nights full of anguish, Ah! then look we around in search of the man who is wisest, And no longer in vain he utters his words full of wisdom. Tell me whether you be these fugitives' magistrate, Father, Over whose minds you appear to possess such an influence soothing? Aye, to-day I could deem you one of the leaders of old time, Who through wastes and through deserts conducted the wandering people; I could imagine 'twas Joshua I am addressing, or Moses."

Then with solemn looks the magistrate answer'd as follows "Truly the present times resemble the strangest of old times, Which are preserved in the pages of history, sacred or common. He in these days who has lived to-day and yesterday only, Many a year has lived, events so crowd on each other. When I reflect back a little, a grey old age I could fancy On my head to be lying, and yet my strength is still active. Yes, we people in truth may liken ourselves to those others Unto whom in a fiery bush appear'd, in a solemn Moment, the Lord our God; in fire and clouds we behold him."

When the pastor would fain continue to speak on this subject, And was anxious to learn the fate of the man and his party, Quickly into his ear his companion secretly whisper'd "Speak for a time with the magistrate, turning your talk on the maiden, Whilst I wander about, endeav'ring to find her. Directly I am successful, I'll join you again." Then nodded the pastor, And the spy went to seek her, in barns and through hedges and gardens. ----- VI. KLIO.

THE AGE.

WHEN the pastor ask'd the foreign magistrate questions, What the people had suffer'd, how long from their homes they had wander'd, Then the man replied:--"By no means short are our sorrows, For we have drunk the bitters of many a long year together, All the more dreadful, because our fairest hopes have been blighted. Who can deny that his heart beat wildly and high in his bosom And that with purer pulses his breast more freely was throbbing, When the newborn sun first rose in the whole of its glory, When we heard of the right of man, to have all things in common, Heard of noble Equality, and of inspiriting Freedom! Each man then hoped to attain new life for himself, and the fetters Which had encircled many a land appear'd to be broken, Fetters held by the hands of sloth and selfish indulgence. Did not all nations turn their gaze, in those days of emotion, Tow'rds the world's capital, which so many a long year had been so, And then more than ever deserved a name so distinguish'd? Were not the men, who first proclaim'd so noble a message, Names that are worthy to rank with the highest the sun ever shone on, Did not each give to mankind his courage and genius and language?

"And we also, as neighbours, at first were warmly excited. Presently after began the war, and the train of arm'd Frenchmen Nearer approach'd; at first they appear'd to bring with them friendship, And they brought it in fact; for all their souls were exalted. And the gay trees of liberty ev'rywhere gladly they planted, Promising unto each his own, and the government long'd for. Greatly at this was youth, and greatly old age was delighted, And the joyous dance began round the newly-raised standards. In this manner the overpowering Frenchmen soon conquer'd First the minds of the men, with their fiery lively proceedings, Then the hearts of the women, with irresistible graces. Even the strain of the war, with its many demands, seem'd but trifling, For before our eyes the distance by hope was illumined, Luring our gaze far ahead into paths now first open'd before us. "O how joyful the time, when with his bride the glad bridegroom Whirls in the dance, awaiting the day that will join them for ever But more glorious far was the time when the Highest of all things Which man's mind can conceive, close by and attainable seemed. Then were the tongues of all loosen'd, and words of wisdom and feeling Not by greybeards alone, but by men and by striplings were utter'd.

"But the heavens soon clouded became. For the sake of the mast'ry Strove a contemptible crew, unfit to accomplish good actions. Then they murder'd each other, and took to oppressing their new-found Neighbours and brothers, and sent on missions whole herds of self─seekers And the superiors took to carousing and robbing by wholesale, And the inferiors down to the lowest caroused and robb'd also. Nobody thought of aught else than having enough for tomorrow. Terrible was the distress, and daily increased the oppression. None the cry understood, that they of the day were the masters. Then even temperate minds were attack'd by sorrow and fury; Each one reflected, and swore to avenge all the injuries suffer'd, And to atone for the hitter loss of hopes twice defrauded. Presently Fortune declared herself on the side of the Germans, And the French were compell'd to retreat by forced marches before them. Ah! the sad fate of the war we then for the first time experienced. For the victor is kind and humane, at least he appears so, And he spares the man he has vanquish'd, as if he his own were, When he employs him daily, and with his property helps him. But the fugitive knows no law; he wards off death only, And both quickly and recklessly all that he meets with, consumes he. Then his mind becomes heated apace; and soon desperation Fills his heart, and impels him to all kinds of criminal actions. Nothing then holds he respected, he steals It. With furious longing On the woman he rushes; his lust becomes awful to think of. Death all around him he sees, his last minutes in cruelty spends he, Wildly exulting in blood, and exulting in howls and in anguish.

"Then in the minds of our men arose a terrible yearning That which was lost to avenge, and that which remain'd to defend still. All of them seized upon arms, lured on by the fugitives' hurry, By their pale faces, and by their shy, uncertain demeanour. There was heard the sound of alarm-bells unceasingly ringing, And the approach of danger restrain'd not their violent fury. Soon into weapons were turn'd the implements peaceful of tillage, And with dripping blood the scythe and the pitchfork were cover'd. Every foeman without distinction was ruthlessly slaughter'd, Fury was ev'rywhere raging, and artful, cowardly weakness. May I never again see men in such wretched confusion! Even the raging wild beast is a better object to gaze on. Ne'er let them speak of freedom, as if themselves they could govern! All the evil which Law has driven farback in the corner Seems to escape, as soon as the fetters which bound it are loosen'd."

"Excellent man," replied the pastor, with emphasis speaking "If you're mistaken in man, 'tis not for me to reprove you. Evil enough have you suffer'd indeed from his cruel proceedings! Would you but look back, however, on days so laden with sorrow, You would yourself confess how much that is good you have witness'd, Much that is excellent, which remains conceald in the bossom Till by danger 'tis stirr'd, and till necessity makes man Show himself as an angel, a tutelar God unto others."

Then with a smile replied the worthy old magistrate, saying "Your reminder is wise, like that which they give to the suff'rer Who has had his dwelling burnt down, that under the ruins, Gold and silver are lying, though melted and cover'd with ashes. Little, indeed, it may be, and yet that little is precious, And the poor man digs it up, and rejoices at finding the treasure. Gladly, therefore, I turn my thoughts to those few worthy actions Which my memory still is able to dwell on with pleasure. Yes, I will not deny it, I saw late foemen uniting So as to save the town from harm; I saw with devotion Parents, children and friends impossible actions attempting, Saw how the youth of a sudden became a man, how the greybeard Once more was young, how the child as a stripling appear'd in a moment. Aye, and the weaker sex, as people commonly call it, Show'd itself brave and daring, with presence of mind all-unwonted. Let me now, in the first place, describe a deed of rare merit By a high-spirited girl accomplish'd, an excellent maiden, Who in the great farmhouse remain'd behind with the servants, When the whole of the men had departed, to fight with the strangers. Well, there fell on the court a troop of vagabond scoundrels, Plund'ring and forcing their way inside the rooms of the women. Soon they cast their eyes on the forms of the grown-up fair maiden And of the other dear girls, in age little more than mere children. Hurried away by raging desire, unfeelingly rush'd they On the trembling band, and on the high-spirited maiden. But she instantly seized the sword from the side of a ruffian, Hew'd him down to the ground; at her feet straight fell he, all bleeding, Then with doughty strokes the maidens she bravely deliver'd. Wounded four more of the robbers; with life, however, escaped they. Then she lock'd up the court, and, arm'd still, waited for succour.

When the pastor heard the praise of the maiden thus utter'd Feelings of hope for his friend forthwith arose in his bosom, And he prepared to ask what had been the fate of the damsel, Whether she, in the sorrowful flight, form'd one of the people? At this moment, however, the druggist nimbly approach'd them, Pull'd the sleeve of the pastor, and whisper'd to him as follows "I have at last pick'd out the maiden from many a hundred By her description! Pray come and judge for yourself with your own eyes; Bring the magistrate with you, that we may learn the whole story."

So they turn'd themselves round; but the magistrate found himself summon'd By his own followers, who had need of his presence and counsel. But the pastor forthwith the druggist accompanied, till they Came to a gap in the hedge, when the latter pointed with slyness, "See you," exclaim'd he, "the maiden? The child's clothes she has been changing. And I recognise well the old calico--also the cushion-- Cover of blue, which Hermann took in the bundle and gave her. Quickly and well, of a truth, she has used the presents left with her. These are evident proofs; and all the rest coincide too; For a bodice red her well-arch'd bosom upraises, Prettily tied, while black are the stays fitting close around her. Then the seams of the ruff she has carefully plaited and folded, Which, with modest grace, her chin so round is encircling; Free and joyously rises her head, with its elegant oval, Strongly round bodkins of silver her back-hair is many times twisted. When she is sitting, we plainly see her noble proportions, And the blue well-plaited gown which begins from close to her bosom, And in rich folds descending, her well-turn'd ankles envelops. 'Tis she, beyond all doubt. So come, that we may examine Whether she be both a good and a frugal and virtuous maiden." Then the pastor rejoin'd, the sitting damsel inspecting "That she enchanted the youth, I confess is no matter of wonder, For she stands the test of the gaze of a man of experience. Happy the person to whom Mother Nature the right face has given! She recommends him at all times, he never appears as a stranger, Each one gladly approaches, and each one beside him would linger, If with his face is combined a pleasant and courteous demeanour. Yes, I assure you the youth has indeed discover'd a maiden Who the whole of the days of his life will enliven with gladness, And with her womanly strength assist him at all times and truly. Thus a perfect body preserves the soul also in pureness, And a vigorous youth of a happy old age gives assurance.

After reflecting a little, the druggist made answer as follows:-- "Yet appearances oft are deceitful. I trust not the outside. Often, indeed, have I found the truth of the proverb which tells us Ere you share a bushel of salt with a new-found acquaintance, Do not trust him too readily; time will make you more certain How you and he will get on, and whether your friendship is lasting. Let us then, in the first place, inquire amongst the good people Unto whom the maiden is known, who can tell us about her."

"Well, of a truth I commend your prudence," the pastor continued "Not for ourselves are we wooing! To woo for others is serious." So they started to meet the worthy magistrate seeing How in the course of his business he was ascending the main street. And the wise pastor straightway address'd him with foresight as follows "We, by-the-bye, have just seen a girl in the neighbouring garden Under an apple-tree sitting, and clothes for the children preparing, Made of worn calico, which for the purpose was doubtless presented. We were pleased by her face; she appears to be one of the right sort. Tell us, what know you about her? We ask from a laudable motive."

When the magistrate came to the garden and peep'd in, exclaimed he "Well do I know her, in truth; for when I told you the story Of that noble deed which was done by the maiden I spoke of, How she seized on the sword, and defended herself, and the servants, She the heroine was! You can see how active her nature. But she's as good as she's strong; for her aged kinsman she tended Until the time of his death, for he died overwhelm'd by affliction At the distress of his town, and the danger his goods were exposed to. Also with mute resignation she bore the grievous affliction Of her betroth'd's sad death, a noble young man who, incited By the first fire of noble thoughts to struggle for freedom, Went himself to Paris, and soon found a terrible death there. For, as at home, so there, he fought 'gainst intrigue and oppression."

Thus the magistrate spoke. The others departed and thanked him, And the pastor produced a gold piece (the silver his purse held He some hours before had with genuine kindness expended When he saw the fugitives passing in sorrowful masses).

And to the magistrate handed it, saying:--" Divide it, I pray you, 'Mongst those who need it the most. May God give it prosperous increase."

But the man refused to accept it, and said:--"I assure you, Many a dollar we've saved, and plenty of clothing and such things, And I trust we may reach our homes before they are finish'd."

Then continued the pastor, the gold in his hand once more placing "None should delay to give in days like the present, and no one Ought to refuse to receive what is offer'd with liberal kindness. No one can tell how long he will keep what in peace he possesses, No one, how long he is doom'd in foreign countries to wander, While he's deprived of the field and the garden by which he is nurtured."

"Bravo!" added in turn the druggist, with eagerness speaking "Had I but money to spare in my pocket, you surely should have it, Silver and gold alike; for your followers certainly need it. Yet I'll not leave you without a present, if only to show you My good will, and I hope you will take the will for the action." Thus he spoke, and pull'd out by the strings the leather embroider'd Pouch, in which he was wont his stock of tobacco to carry, Daintily open'd and shared its contents--some two or three pipes' full. "Small in truth is the gift," he added. The magistrate answered: "Good tobacco is always a welcome present to trav'llers." Then the druggist began his canister to praise very highly. But the pastor drew him away, and the magistrate left them. "Come, let us hasten!" exclaimed the sensible man, "for our young friend Anxiously waits; without further delay let him hear the good tidings."

So they hasten'd and came, and found that the youngster was leaning 'Gainst his carriage under the lime-trees. The horses were pawing Wildly the turf; he held them in check and stood there all pensive, Silently gazing in front, and saw not his friends coming near him, Till, as they came, they called him and gave him signals of triumph. Some way off the druggist already began to address him, But they approach'd the youth still nearer, and then the good pastor Seized his hand and spoke and took the word from his comrade "Friend, I wish you joy! Your eye so true and your true heart Rightly have chosen! May you and the wife of your young days be happy! She is full worthy of you; so come and turn around the carriage, That we may reach without delay the end of the village, So as to woo her, and shortly escort the dear creature home with us." But the youth stood still, and without any token of pleasure Heard the words of the envoy, though sounding consoling and heav'nly, Deeply sigh'd and said:--"We came full speed in the carriage And shall probably go back home ashamed and but slowly; For, since I have been waiting care has fallen upon me, Doubt and suspicion and all that a heart full of love is exposed to. Do you suppose we have only to come, for the maiden to follow, Just because we are rich, and she poor and wandering in exile? Poverty, when undeserved, itself makes proud. The fair maiden Seems to be active and frugal; the world she may claim as her portion. Do you suppose that a woman of such great beauty and manners Can have grown up without exciting love in man's bosom? Do you suppose that her heart until now has to love been fast closed? Do not drive thither in haste, for perchance to our shame and confusion We shall have slowly to turn towards home the heads of our horses. Yes, some youth, I fear me, possesses her heart, and already She has doubtless promised her hand and her solemn troth plighted, And I shall stand all ashamed before her, When making my offer."

Then the pastor proceeded to cheer him with words of good comfort, But his companion broke in, in his usual talkative manner "As things used to be, this embarrassment would not have happened, When each matter was brought to a close in an orthodox fashion. Then for their son themselves the bride the parents selected, And a friend of the house was secretly call'd in the first place. He was then quietly sent as a suitor to visit the parents Of the selected bride; and, dress'd in his gayest apparel, Went after dinner some Sunday to visit the excellent burgher, And began by exchanging polite remarks on all subjects, Cleverly turning and bending the talk in the proper direction. After long beating about the bush, he flatter'd the daughter, And spoke well of the man and the house that gave his commission. Sensible people soon saw his drift, and the sensible envoy Watch'd how the notion was taken, and then could explain himself farther. If they declined the proposal, why then the refusal cost nothing, But if all prosper'd, why then the suitor for ever thereafter Play'd the first fiddle at every family feast and rejoicing. For the married couple remember'd the whole of their lifetime Whose was the skilful hand by which the marriage knot tied was. All this now is chang'd, and with many an excellent custom Has gone quite out of fashion. Each person woos for himself now. Everyone now must bear the weight of a maiden's refusal On his own shoulders, and stand all ashamed before her, if needs be."

"Let that be as it may," then answered the young man who scarcely Heard what was said, and his mind had made up already in silence "I will go myself, and out of the mouth of the maiden Learn my own fate, for towards her I cherish the most trustful feelings That any man ever cherish'd towards any woman whatever. That which she says will be good and sensible,--this I am sure of. If I am never to see her again, I must once more behold her, And the ingenuous gaze of her black eyes must meet for the last time. If to my heart I may clasp her never, her bosom and shoulders I would once more see, which my arm so longs to encircle: Once more the mouth I would see, from which one kiss and a Yes will Make me happy for ever, a No for ever undo me. But now leave me alone! Wait here no longer. Return you Straight to my father and mother, in order to tell them in person That their son was right, and that the maiden is worthy. And so leave me alone! I myself shall return by the footpath Over the hill by the pear-tree and then descend through the vineyard, Which is the shortest way back. Oh may I soon with rejoicing Take the beloved one home! But perchance all alone I must slink back By that path to our house and tread it no more with a light heart." Thus he spoke, and then placed the reins in the hands of the pastor, Who, in a knowing way both the foaming horses restraining, Nimbly mounted the carriage, and took the seat of the driver.

But you still delay'd, good cautious neighbour, and spoke thus Friend, I will gladly entrust to you soul, and spirit, and mind too, But my body and bones are not preserved in the best way When the hand of a parson such worldly matters as reins grasps!"