The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries
Chapter 9 : So sat the three together about the highly waxed table, Gleaming and round and brown, th

So sat the three together about the highly waxed table, Gleaming and round and brown, that on mighty feet was supported.

Joyously rang at once the gla.s.ses of landlord and pastor, But his motionless held the third, and sat lost in reflection, Until with words of good-humor the landlord challenged him, saying,-- "Come, sir neighbor, empty your gla.s.s, for G.o.d in His mercy Thus far has kept us from evil, and so in the future will keep us.

For who acknowledges not, that since our dread conflagration, When He so hardly chastised us, He now is continually blessing, Constantly s.h.i.+elding, as man the apple of His eye watches over, Holding it precious and dear above all the rest of His members?

Shall He in time to come not defend us and furnish us succor?

Only when danger is nigh do we see how great is His power.

Shall He this blooming town which He once by industrious burghers Built up afresh from its ashes, and afterward blessed with abundance, Now demolish again, and bring all the labor to nothing?"

Cheerfully said in reply the excellent pastor, and kindly: "Keep thyself firm in the faith, and firm abide in this temper; For it makes steadfast and wise when fortune is fair, and when evil, Furnishes sweet consolation and animates hopes the sublimest."

Then made answer the landlord, with thoughts judicious and manly: "Often the Rhine's broad stream have I with astonishment greeted, As I have neared it again, after travelling abroad upon business.

Always majestic it seemed, and my mind and spirit exalted.

But I could never imagine its beautiful banks would so shortly Be to a rampart transformed, to keep from our borders the Frenchman, And its wide-spreading bed be a moat all pa.s.sage to hinder.

See! thus nature protects, the stout-hearted Germans protect us, And thus protects us the Lord, who then will be weakly despondent?

Weary already the combatants, all indications are peaceful.

Would it might be that when that festival, ardently longed for, Shall in our church be observed, when the sacred _Te Deum_ is rising, Swelled by the pealing of organ and bells, and the blaring of trumpets,-- Would it might be that that day should behold my Hermann, sir pastor, Standing, his choice now made, with his bride before thee at the altar, Making that festal day, that through every land shall be honored, My anniversary, too, henceforth of domestic rejoicing!

But I observe with regret, that the youth so efficient and active Ever in household affairs, when abroad is timid and backward.

Little enjoyment he finds in going about among others; Nay, he will even avoid young ladies' society wholly; Shuns the enlivening dance which all young persons delight in."

Thus he spoke and listened; for now was heard in the distance Clattering of horses' hoofs drawing near, and the roll of the wagon, Which, with furious haste, came thundering under the gateway.

TERPSICh.o.r.e

HERMANN

Now when of comely mien the son came into the chamber, Turned with a searching look the eyes of the preacher upon him, And, with the gaze of the student, who easily fathoms expression, Scrutinized well his face and form and his general bearing.

Then with a smile he spoke, and said in words of affection: "Truly a different being thou comest! I never have seen thee Cheerful as now, nor ever beheld I thy glances so beaming.

Joyous thou comest, and happy: 'tis plain that among the poor people Thou hast been sharing thy gifts, and receiving their blessings upon thee."

Quietly then, and with serious words, the son made him answer: "If I have acted as ye will commend, I know not; but I followed That which my heart bade me do, as I shall exactly relate you.

Thou wert, mother, so long in rummaging 'mong thy old pieces, Picking and choosing, that not until late was thy bundle together; Then, too, the wine and the beer took care and time in the packing.

When I came forth through the gateway at last, and out on the high-road, Backward the crowd of citizens streamed with women and children, Coming to meet me; for far was already the band of the exiles.

Quicker I kept on my way, and drove with speed to the village, Where they were meaning to rest, as I heard, and tarry till morning.

Thitherward up the new street as I hasted, a stout-timbered wagon, Drawn by two oxen, I saw, of that region the largest and strongest; While, with vigorous steps, a maiden was walking beside them, And, a long staff in her hand, the two powerful creatures was guiding, Urging them now, now holding them back; with skill did she drive them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HERMANN HANDS TO DOROTHEA THE LINEN FOR THE EMIGRANTS Ludwig Richter]

Soon as the maiden perceived me, she calmly drew near to the horses, And in these words she addressed me: 'Not thus deplorable always Has our condition been, as to-day on this journey thou seest.

I am not yet grown used to asking gifts of a stranger, Which he will often unwillingly give, to be rid of the beggar.

But necessity drives me to speak; for here, on the straw, lies Newly delivered of child, a rich land-owner's wife, whom I scarcely Have in her pregnancy, safe brought off with the oxen and wagon.

Naked, now in her arms the new-born infant is lying, And but little the help our friends will be able to furnish, If in the neighboring village, indeed, where to-day we would rest us, Still we shall find them; though much do I fear they already have pa.s.sed it.

Shouldst thou have linen to spare of any description, provided Thou of this neighborhood art, to the poor in charity give it.'

"Thus she spoke, and the pale-faced mother raised herself feebly Up from the straw, and toward me looked. Then said I in answer 'Surely unto the good, a spirit from heaven oft speaketh, Making them feel the distress that threatens a suffering brother.

For thou must know that my mother, already presaging thy sorrows, Gave me a bundle to use it straightway for the need of the naked.'

Then I untied the knots of the string, and the wrapper of father's Unto her gave, and gave her as well the s.h.i.+rts and the linen.

And she thanked me with joy, and cried: 'The happy believe not Miracles yet can be wrought: for only in need we acknowledge G.o.d's own hand and finger, that leads the good to show goodness.

What unto us He has done through thee, may He do to thee also!'

And I beheld with what pleasure the sick woman handled the linens, But with especial delight the dressing-gown's delicate flannel.

'Let us make haste,' the maid to her said, 'and come to the village, Where our people will halt for the night and already are resting.

There these clothes for the children I, one and all, straightway will portion.'

Then she saluted again, her thanks most warmly expressing, Started the oxen; the wagon went on; but there I still lingered, Still held the horses in check; for now my heart was divided Whether to drive with speed to the village, and there the provisions Share 'mong the rest of the people, or whether I here to the maiden All should deliver at once, for her discreetly to portion.

And in an instant my heart had decided, and quietly driving After the maiden, I soon overtook her, and said to her quickly: 'Hearken, good maiden;--my mother packed up not linen-stuffs only Into the carriage, that I should have clothes to furnish the naked; Wine and beer she added besides, and supply of provisions: Plenty of all these things I have in the box of the carriage.

But now I feel myself moved to deliver these offerings also Into thy hand; for so shall I best fulfil my commission.

Thou wilt divide them with judgment, while I must by chance be directed.'

Thereupon answered the maiden: 'I will with faithfulness portion These thy gifts, that all shall bring comfort to those who are needy.'

Thus she spoke, and quickly the bog of the carriage I opened, Brought forth thence the substantial hams, and brought out the breadstuffs, Bottles of wine and beer, and one and all gave to the maiden.

Willingly would I have given her more, but the carriage was empty.

All she packed at the sick woman's feet, and went on her journey.

I, with my horses and carriage, drove rapidly back to the city."

Instantly now, when Hermann had ceased, the talkative neighbor Took up the word, and cried: "Oh happy, in days like the present, Days of flight and confusion, who lives by himself in his dwelling, Having no wife nor child to be clinging about him in terror!

Happy I feel myself now, and would not for much be called father; Would not have wife and children to-day, for whom to be anxious.

Oft have I thought of this flight before; and have packed up together All my best things already, the chains and old pieces of money That were my sainted mother's, of which not one has been sold yet.

Much would be left behind, it is true, not easily gotten.

Even the roots and the herbs, that were with such industry gathered, I should be sorry to lose, though the worth of the goods is but trifling.

If my purveyor remained, I could go from my dwelling contented.

When my cash I have brought away safe, and have rescued my person, All is safe: none find it so easy to fly as the single."

"Neighbor," unto his words young Hermann with emphasis answered: "I can in no wise agree with thee here, and censure thy language.

Is he indeed a man to be prized, who, in good and in evil, Takes no thought but for self, and gladness and sorrow with others Knows not how to divide, nor feels his heart so impel him?

Rather than ever to-day would I make up my mind to be married: Many a worthy maiden is needing a husband's protection, And the man needs an inspiriting wife when ill is impending."

Thereupon smiling the father replied: "Thus love I to hear thee!

That is a sensible word such as rarely I've known thee to utter."

Straightway, however, the mother broke in with quickness, exclaiming: "Son, to be sure, thou art right! we parents have set the example; Seeing that not in our season of joy did we choose one another; Rather the saddest of hours it was that bound us together.

Monday morning--I mind it well; for the day that preceded Came that terrible fire by which our city was ravaged-- Twenty years will have gone. The day was a Sunday as this is; Hot and dry was the season; the water was almost exhausted.

All the people were strolling abroad in their holiday dresses, 'Mong the villages partly, and part in the mills and the taverns.

And at the end of the city the flames began, and went coursing Quickly along the streets, creating a draught in their pa.s.sage.

Burned were the barns where the copious harvest already was garnered; Burned were the streets as far as the market; the house of my father, Neighbor to this, was destroyed, and this one also fell with it.

Little we managed to save. I sat, that sorrowful night through, Outside the town on the common, to guard the beds and the boxes.

Sleep overtook me at last, and when I again was awakened, Feeling the chill of the morning that always descends before sunrise, There were the smoke and the glare, and the walls and chimneys in ruins.

Then fell a weight on my heart; but more majestic than ever Came up the sun again, inspiring my bosom with courage.

Then I rose hastily up, with a yearning the place to revisit Whereon our dwelling had stood, and to see if the hens had been rescued, Which I especially loved, for I still was a child in my feelings.

Thus as I over the still-smoking timbers of house and of court-yard Picked my way, and beheld the dwelling so ruined and wasted, Thou camest up to examine the place, from the other direction.

Under the ruins thy horse in his stall had been buried; the rubbish Lay on the spot and the glimmering beams; of the horse we saw nothing.

Thoughtful and grieving we stood there thus, each facing the other, Now that the wall was fallen that once had divided our court-yards.

Thereupon thou by the hand didst take me, and speak to me, saying,-- 'Lisa, how camest thou hither? Go back! thy soles must be burning; Hot the rubbish is here: it scorches my boots, which are stronger.'

And thou didst lift me up, and carry me out through thy court-yard.

There was the door of the house left standing yet with its archway, Just as 'tis standing now, the one thing only remaining.

Then thou didst set me down and kiss me; to that I objected; But thou didst answer and say with kindly significant language: 'See! my house lies in ruins: remain here and help me rebuild it; So shall my help in return be given to building thy father's.'

Yet did I not comprehend thee until thou sentest thy mother Unto my father, and quick were the happy espousals accomplished.

E'en to this day I remember with joy those half-consumed timbers, And I can see once more the sun coming up in such splendor; For 'twas the day that gave me my husband; and, ere the first season Pa.s.sed of that wild desolation, a son to my youth had been given.

Therefore I praise thee, Hermann, that thou, with an honest a.s.surance, Shouldst, in these sorrowful days, be thinking thyself of a maiden, And amid ruins and war shouldst thus have the courage to woo her."

Straightway, then, and with warmth, the father replied to her, saying: "Worthy of praise is the feeling, and truthful also the story, Mother, that thou hast related; for so indeed every thing happened.

Better, however, is better. It is not the business of all men Thus their life and estate to begin from the very foundation: Every one needs not to worry himself as we and the rest did.

Oh, how happy is he whose father and mother shall give him, Furnished and ready, a house which he can adorn with his increase.

Every beginning is hard; but most the beginning a household.

Many are human wants, and every thing daily grows dearer, So that a man must consider the means of increasing his earnings.