Kitabı oku: «The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01», sayfa 8

EUTERPE

MOTHER AND SON

 
Thus entertaining themselves, the men sat talking. The mother
Went meanwhile to look for her son in front of the dwelling,
First on the settle of stone, whereon 'twas his wont to be seated.
When she perceived him not there, she went farther to look in the stable,
If he were caring perhaps for his noble horses, the stallions,
Which he as colts had bought, and whose care he intrusted to no one.
And by the servant she there was told: He is gone to the garden.
Then with a nimble step she traversed the long, double court-yards,
Leaving the stables behind, and the well-builded barns, too, behind her;
Entered the garden, that far as the walls of the city extended;
Walked through its length, rejoiced as she went in every thing growing;
Set upright the supports on which were resting the branches
Heavily laden with apples, and burdening boughs of the pear-tree.
Next some caterpillars removed from a stout, swelling cabbage;
For an industrious woman allows no step to be wasted.
Thus was she come at last to the end of the far-reaching garden,
Where stood the arbor embowered in woodbine; nor there did she find him,
More than she had hitherto in all her search through the garden.
But the wicket was standing ajar, which out of the arbor,
Once by particular favor, had been through the walls of the city
Cut by a grandsire of hers, the worshipful burgomaster.
So the now dried-up moat she next crossed over with comfort,
Where, by the side of the road, direct the well-fenced vine-yard,
Rose with a steep ascent, its slope exposed to the sunshine.
Up this also she went, and with pleasure as she was ascending
Marked the wealth of the clusters, that scarce by their leafage
were hidden.
Shady and covered the way through the lofty middlemost alley,
Which upon steps that were made of unhewn blocks you ascended.
There were the Muscatel, and there were the Chasselas hanging
Side by side, of unusual size and colored with purple,
All set out with the purpose of decking the visitor's table;
While with single vine-stocks the rest of the hillside was covered,
Bearing inferior clusters, from which the delicate wine comes.
Thus up the slopes she went, enjoying already the vintage,
And that festive day on which the whole country, rejoicing,
Picks and tramples the grapes, and gathers the must into vessels:
Fireworks, when it is evening, from every direction and corner
Crackle and blaze, and so the fairest of harvests is honored.
But more uneasy she went, her son after twice or thrice calling,
And no answer receiving, except from the talkative echo,
That with many repeats rang back from the towers of the city.
Strange it was for her to seek him; he never had gone to a distance
That he told her not first, to spare his affectionate mother
Every anxious thought, and fear that aught ill had befallen.
Still did she constantly hope that, if further she went, she should
find him;
For the two doors of the vineyard, the lower as well as the upper,
Both were alike standing open. So now she entered the corn-field,
That with its broad expanse the ridge of the hill covered over.
Still was the ground that she walked on her own; and the crops she
rejoiced in,—
All of them still were hers, and hers was the proud-waving grain, too,
Over the whole broad field in golden strength that was stirring.
Keeping the ridgeway, the footpath, between the fields she went onward,
Having the lofty pear-tree in view, which stood on the summit,
And was the boundary-mark of the fields that belonged to her dwelling.
Who might have planted it, none could know, but visible was it
Far and wide through the country; the fruit of the pear-tree was famous.
'Neath it the reapers were wont to enjoy their meal at the noon-day,
And the shepherds were used to tend their flocks in its shadow.
Benches of unhewn stones and of turf they found set about it.
And she had not been mistaken, for there sat her Hermann, and rested,—
Sat with his head on his hand, and seemed to be viewing the landscape
That to the mountains lay: his back was turned to his mother.
Toward him softly she crept, and lightly touched on the shoulder;
Quick he turned himself round; there were tears in his eyes as he met her.
 
 
"Mother, how hast thou surprised me!" he said in confusion; and quickly
Wiped the high-spirited youth his tears away. But the mother,
"What! do I find thee weeping, my son?" exclaimed in amazement.
"Nay, that is not like thyself: I never before have so seen thee!
Tell me, what burdens thy heart? what drives thee here, to be sitting
Under the pear-tree alone? These tears in thine eyes, what has
brought them?"
 
 
Then, collecting himself, the excellent youth made her answer:
"Truly no heart can that man have in his bosom of iron,
Who is insensible now to the needs of this emigrant people;
He has no brains in his head, who not for his personal safety,
Not for his fatherland's weal, in days like the present is anxious.
Deeply my heart had been touched by the sights and sounds of the morning;
Then I went forth and beheld the broad and glorious landscape
Spreading its fertile slopes in every direction about us,
Saw the golden grain inclining itself to the reapers,
And the promise of well-filled barns from the plentiful harvest.
 
 
But, alas, how near is the foe! The Rhine with its waters
Guards us, indeed; but, ah, what now are rivers and mountains
'Gainst that terrible people that onward bears like a tempest!
For they summon their youths from every quarter together,
Call up their old men too, and press with violence forward.
Death cannot frighten the crowd: one multitude follows another.
And shall a German dare to linger behind in his homestead?
Hopes he perhaps to escape the everywhere threatened evil?
Nay, dear mother, I tell thee, today has made me regretful
That I was lately exempt, when out of our townsmen were chosen
Those who should serve in the army. An only son I am truly,
Also our business is great, and the charge of our household is weighty.
Yet were it better, I deem, in the front to offer resistance
There on the border, than here to await disaster and bondage.
So has my spirit declared, and deep in my innermost bosom
Courage and longing have now been aroused to live for my country,
Yea, and to die, presenting to others a worthy example.
If but the strength of Germany's youth were banded together
There on the frontier, resolved that it never would yield to the stranger,
Ah, he should not on our glorious soil be setting his footsteps,
Neither consuming before our eyes the fruit of our labor,
Ruling our men, and making his prey of our wives and our daughters.
Hark to me, mother: for I in the depths of my heart am determined
Quickly to do, and at once, what appears to me right and in reason;
For he chooses not always the best who longest considers.
Hearken, I shall not again return to the house; but directly
Go from this spot to the city, and there present to the soldiers
This right arm and this heart, to be spent in the fatherland's service.
Then let my father say if there be no feeling of honor
Dwelling within my breast, nor a wish to raise myself higher."
 
 
Then with significant words spoke the good and intelligent mother,
While from her eyes the quick-starting tears were silently falling:
"Son, what change has come o'er thee today, and over thy temper,
That thou speakest no more, as thou yesterday didst, and hast always,
Open and free, to thy mother, and tellest exactly thy wishes?
Any one else, had he heard thee thus speak, would in sooth have commended,
And this decision of thine would have highly approved as most noble,
Being misled by thy tone and by thy significant language.
Yet have I nothing but censure to speak; for better I know thee.
Thou concealest thy heart, and thy thoughts are not such as thou tellest.
Well do I know that it is not the drum, not the trumpet that calls thee:
Neither in uniform wouldst thou figure in sight of the maidens;
Since, for all thou art honest and brave, it is thy vocation
Here in quiet to care for the farm and provide for the household.
Tell me honestly, therefore, what goads thee to such a decision?"
 
 
Earnestly answered the son: "Nay, thou art mistaken, dear mother:
One day is not like another. The youth matures into manhood:
Better in stillness oft ripening to deeds than when in the tumult
Wildering and wild of existence, that many a youth has corrupted.
And, for as still as I am and was always, there yet in my bosom
Has such a heart been shaped as abhors all wrong and injustice;
And I have learned aright between worldly things to distinguish.
Arm and foot, besides, have been mightily strengthened by labor.
All this, I feel, is true: I dare with boldness maintain it.
Yet dost thou blame me with reason, O mother! for thou hast surprised me
Using a language half truthful and half that of dissimulation.
For, let me honestly own,—it is not the near danger that calls me
Forth from my father's house; nor is it the lofty ambition
Helpful to be to my country, and terrible unto the foeman.
They were but words that I spoke: they only were meant for concealing
Those emotions from thee with which my heart is distracted;
And so leave me, O mother! for, since the wishes are fruitless
Which in my bosom I cherish, my life must go fruitlessly over.
For, as I know, he injures himself who is singly devoted,
When for the common cause the whole are not working together."
 
 
"Hesitate not," replied thereupon the intelligent mother,
"Every thing to relate me, the smallest as well as the greatest.
Men will always be hasty, their thoughts to extremes ever running:
Easily out of their course the hasty are turned by a hindrance.
Whereas a woman is clever in thinking of means, and will venture
E'en on a roundabout way, adroitly to compass her object.
Let me know every thing, then; say wherefore so greatly excited
As I ne'er saw thee before, why thy blood is coursing so hotly,
Wherefore, against thy will, tears are filling thine eyes to o'erflowing."
 
 
Then he abandoned himself, the poor boy, to his sorrow, and weeping,
Weeping aloud on his kind mother's breast, he brokenly answered:
"Truly my father's words today have wounded me sorely,—
Words which I have not deserved; not today, nor at any time have I:
For it was early my greatest delight to honor my parents.
No one knew more, so I deemed, or was wiser than those who begot me,
And had with strictness ruled throughout the dark season of childhood.
Many the things, in truth, I with patience endured from my playmates,
When the good-will that I bore them they often requited with malice.
Often I suffered their flings and their blows to pass unresented;
But if they ventured to ridicule father, when he of a Sunday
Home from Church would come, with his solemn and dignified bearing;
If they made fun of his cap-string, or laughed at the flowers of
the wrapper
He with such stateliness wore, which was given away but this morning—
Threateningly doubled my fist in an instant; with furious passion
Fell I upon them, and struck out and hit, assailing them blindly,
Seeing not where. They howled as the blood gushed out from their noses:
Scarcely they made their escape from my passionate kicking and beating.
Then, as I older grew, I had much to endure from my father;
Violent words he oft vented on me, instead of on others,
When, at the board's last session, the council had roused his displeasure,
And I was made to atone for the quarrels and wiles of his colleagues.
Thou has pitied me often thyself; for much did I suffer,
Ever remembering with cordial respect the kindness of parents,
Solely intent on increasing for us their goods and possessions,
Much denying themselves in order to save for their children.
But, alas! saving alone, for the sake of a tardy enjoyment,—
That is not happiness: pile upon pile, and acre on acre,
Make us not happy, no matter how fair our estates may be rounded.
For the father grows old, and with him will grow old the children,
Losing the joy of the day, and bearing the care of tomorrow.
Look thou below, and see how before us in glory are lying,
Fair and abundant, the corn-fields; beneath them, the vineyard and garden;
Yonder the stables and barns; our beautiful line of possessions.
But when I look at the dwelling behind, where up in the gable
We can distinguish the window that marks my room in the attic;
When I look back, and remember how many a night from that window
I for the moon have watched; for the sun, how many a morning!
When the healthful sleep of a few short hours sufficed me,—
Ah, so lonely they seem to me then, the chamber and courtyard,
Garden and glorious field, away o'er the hill that is stretching;
All so desert before me lie: 'tis the wife that is wanting."
 
 
Thereupon spoke the good mother, and thus with intelligence answered:
"Son, not greater thy wish to bring thee a bride to thy chamber,
That thou mayst find thy nights a beautiful part of existence,
And that the work of the day may gain independence and freedom,
Than is thy father's wish too, and thy mother's. We always have
counselled,—
Yea, we have even insisted,—that thou shouldst elect thee a maiden.
But I was ever aware, and now my heart gives me assurance,
That till the hour appointed is come, and the maiden appointed
Shall with the hour appear, the choice will be left for the future,
While more strong than all else will be fear of grasping the wrong one.
If I may say it, my son, I believe thou already hast chosen;
For thy heart has been touched, and been made more than wontedly tender.
Speak it out honestly, then; for my soul has told me before-hand:
That same maiden it is, the exile, whom thou hast elected."
 
 
"Thou hast said, mother!" the son thereupon with eagerness answered.
"Yes, it is she; and if I today as my bride do not bring her
Home to our dwelling, she from me will go, perhaps vanish for ever,
Lost in the war's confusion and sad movings hither and thither.
Mother, forever in vain would then our abundant possessions
Prosper before me, and seasons to come be in vain to me fruitful.
Yea, I should hold in aversion the wonted house and the garden:
Even my mother's love, alas! would not comfort my sorrow.
Every tie, so I feel in my heart, by love is unloosened
Soon as she fastens her own; and not the maid is it only
Leaves behind father and mother, to follow the man she has chosen.
He too, the youth, no longer knows aught of mother and father,
When he the maiden, his only beloved, sees vanishing from him.
Suffer me, then, to go hence wherever despair shall impel me:
Since by my father himself the decisive words have been spoken;
Since his house can no longer be mine if he shut out the maiden,
Her whom alone as my bride I desire to bring to our dwelling."
 
 
Thereupon quickly made answer the good and intelligent mother:
"How like to rocks, forsooth, two men will stand facing each other!
Proud and not to be moved, will neither draw near to his fellow;
Neither will stir his tongue to utter the first word of kindness.
Therefore I tell thee, my son, a hope yet lives in my bosom,
So she be honest and good, thy father will let thee espouse her,
Even though poor, and against a poor girl so decisive his sentence.
Many a thing he is wont to speak out in his violent fashion
Which he yet never performs; and so what he denies will consent to.
Yet he requires a kindly word, and is right to require it:
He is the father! Besides, we know that his wrath after dinner,—
When he most hastily speaks, and questions all others' opinions,—
Signifies naught; the full force of his violent will is excited
Then by the wine, which lets him not heed the language of others;
None but himself does he see and feel. But now is come evening,
Talk upon various subjects has passed between him and his neighbors.
Gentle, he is; I am sure, now his little excitement is over,
And he can feel how unjust his passion has made him to others.
Come, let us venture at once: success is alone to the valiant!
Further we need the friends, still sitting together there with him;
And in especial the worthy pastor will give us assistance."
 
 
Thus she hastily spoke, and up from the stone then arising,
Drew from his seat her son, who willingly followed. In silence
Both descended the hill, their important purpose revolving.
 

POLYHYMNIA

THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD

 
There the three men, however, still sat conversing together,
With mine host of the Lion, the village doctor, and pastor;
And their talk was still on the same unvarying subject,
Turning it this way and that, and viewing from every direction.
But with his sober judgment the excellent pastor made answer:
"Here will I not contradict you. I know that man should be always
Striving for that which is better; indeed, as we see, he is reaching
Always after the higher, at least some novelty craving.
But be careful ye go not too far, for with this disposition
Nature has given us pleasure in holding to what is familiar;
Taught us in that to delight to which we have long been accustomed.
Every condition is good that is founded on reason and nature.
Many are man's desires, yet little it is that he needeth;
Seeing the days are short and mortal destiny bounded.
Ne'er would I censure the man whom a restless activity urges,
Bold and industrious, over all pathways of land and of ocean,
Ever untiring to roam; who takes delight in the riches,
Heaping in generous abundance about himself and his children.
Yet not unprized by me is the quiet citizen also,
Making the noiseless round of his own inherited acres,
Tilling the ground as the ever-returning seasons command him.
Not with every year is the soil transfigured about him;
Not in haste does the tree stretch forth, as soon as 'tis planted,
Full-grown arms toward heaven and decked with plenteous blossoms.
No: man has need of patience, and needful to him are also
Calmness and clearness of mind, and a pure and right understanding.
Few are the seeds he intrusts to earth's all-nourishing bosom;
Few are the creatures he knows how to raise and bring to perfection.
Centred are all his thoughts alone on that which is useful.
Happy to whom by nature a mind of such temper is given,
For he supports us all! And hail, to the man whose abode is
Where in a town the country pursuits with the city are blended.
On him lies not the pressure that painfully hampers the farmer,
Nor is he carried away by the greedy ambition of cities;
Where they of scanty possessions too often are given to aping,
Wives and daughters especially, those who are higher and richer.
Blessed be therefore thy son in his life of quiet employment;
Blessed the wife, of like mind with himself, whom he one day shall
choose him."
 
 
Thus he spoke; and scarce had he ended when entered the mother,
Holding her son by the hand, and so led him up to her husband.
"Father," she said, "how oft when we two have been chatting together,
Have we rejoiced in the thought of Hermann's future espousal,
When he should bring his bride to be the light of our dwelling!
Over and over again the matter we pondered: this maiden
Fixing upon for him first, and then that, with the gossip of parents.
But that day is now come; and Heaven at last has the maiden
Brought to him hither, and shown him; and now his heart has decided.
Said we not always then he should have his own choice in the matter?
Was it not just now thy wish that he might with lively affection
Feel himself drawn to some maiden? The hour is come that we hoped for.
Yes; he has felt and has chosen and come to a manly decision.
That same maiden it is that met him this morning, the stranger:
Say he may have her, or else, as he swears, his life shall be single."
 
 
"Give her me, father," so added the son: "my heart has elected
Clear and sure; she will be to you both the noblest of daughters."
 
 
But the father was silent. Then hastily rose the good pastor,
Took up the word and said: "The moment alone is decisive;
Fixes the life of man, and his future destiny settles.
After long taking of counsel, yet only the work of a moment
Every decision must be; and the wise alone seizes the right one.
Dangerous always it is comparing the one with the other
When we are making our choice, and so confusing our feelings.
Hermann is pure. From childhood up I have known him, and never
E'en as a boy was he wont to be reaching for this and the other:
What he desired was best for him too, and he held to it firmly.
Be not surprised and alarmed that now has appeared of a sudden,
What thou hast wished for so long. It is true that the present appearance
Bears not the form of the wish, exactly as thou hadst conceived it:
For our wishes oft hide from ourselves the object we wish for;
Gifts come down from above in the shapes appointed by Heaven.
Therefore misjudge not the maiden who now of thy dearly beloved,
Good and intelligent son has been first to touch the affections:
Happy to whom at once his first love's hand shall be given,
And in whose heart no tenderest wish must secretly languish.
Yes: his whole bearing assures me that now his fate is decided.
Genuine love matures in a moment the youth into manhood;
He is not easily moved; and I fear that if this be refused him,
Sadly his years will go by, those years that should be the fairest."
 
 
Straightway then in a thoughtful tone the doctor made answer,
On whose tongue for a long time past the words had been trembling:
"Pray let us here as before pursue the safe middle course only.
Make haste slowly: that was Augustus the emperor's motto.
Willingly I myself place at my well-beloved neighbor's disposal,
Ready to do him what service I can with my poor understanding.
Youth most especially stands in need of some one to guide it.
Let me therefore go forth that I may examine the maiden,
And may question the people among whom she lives and who know her.
Me 'tis not easy to cheat: I know how words should be valued."
 
 
Straightway the son broke in, and with wingèd words made he answer:
"Do so, neighbor, and go and make thine inquiries; but with thee
I should be glad if our minister here were joined in the errand:
Two such excellent men would be irreproachable judges.
O my father! believe me, she's none of those wandering maidens,
Not one of those who stroll through the land in search of adventure,
And who seek to ensnare inexperienced youth in their meshes.
No: the hard fortunes of war, that universal destroyer,
Which is convulsing the earth and has hurled from its deep foundations
Many a structure already, have sent the poor girl into exile.
Are not now men of high birth, the most noble, in misery roaming?
Princes fly in disguise and kings are in banishment living.
So alas! also is she, the best among all of her sisters,
Driven an exile from home; yet, her personal sorrows forgetting,
She is devoted to others; herself without help, she is helpful.
Great is the want and the suffering over the earth that are spreading:
Shall not some happiness, too, be begotten of all this affliction,
And shall not I in the arms of my wife, my trusted companion,
Look back with joy to the war, as do ye to the great conflagration?"
 
 
Outspoke the father then in a tone of decision, and answered:
"Strangely thy tongue has been loosened, my son, which many a year past
Seemed to have stuck in thy mouth, and only to move on compulsion!
I must experience to-day, it would seem, what threatens all fathers,
That the son's headstrong will the mother with readiness favors,
Showing too easy indulgence; and every neighbor sides with them
When there is aught to be carried against the father and husband.
But I will not oppose you, thus banded together: how could I?
For I already perceive here tears and defiance before-hand.
Go ye therefore, inquire, in God's name, bring me the daughter.
But if not so, then the boy is to think no more of the maiden."
 
 
Thus the father. The son cried out with joyful demeanor,
"Ere it is evening the noblest of daughters shall hither be brought you,
Such as no man with sound sense in his breast can fail to be pleased with.
Happy, I venture to hope, will be also the excellent maiden.
Yes; she will ever be grateful for having had father and mother
Given once more in you, and such as a child most delights in.
Now I will tarry no longer, but straightway harness the horses,
Drive forth our friends at once on the footsteps of my beloved,
Leaving them then to act for themselves, as their wisdom shall dictate,
Guide myself wholly, I promise, according to what they determine,
And, until I may call her my own, ne'er look on the maiden."
Thus he went forth: the others meanwhile remained in discussion,
Rapid and earnest, considering deeply their great undertaking.
 
 
Hermann hasted straightway to the stable, where quietly standing
Found he the spirited stallions, the clean oats quickly devouring,
And the well-dried hay that was cut from the richest of meadows.
On them without delay the shining bits he adjusted,
Hastily drew the straps through the buckles of beautiful plating,
Firmly fastened then the long broad reins, and the horses
Led without to the court-yard, whither the willing assistant
Had with ease, by the pole, already drawn forward the carriage.
Next to the whipple-tree they with care by the neatly kept traces
Joined the impetuous strength of the freely travelling horses.
Whip in hand took Hermann his seat and drove under the doorway.
Soon as the friends straightway their commodious places had taken,
Quickly the carriage rolled off, and left the pavement behind it,
Left behind it the walls of the town and the fresh-whitened towers.
Thus drove Hermann on till he came to the well-known causeway.
Rapidly, loitering nowhere, but hastening up hill and down hill.
But as he now before him perceived the spire of the village,
And no longer remote the garden-girt houses were lying,
Then in himself he thought that here he would rein up the horses.
 
 
Under the solemn shade of lofty linden-trees lying,
Which for centuries past upon this spot had been rooted,
Spread in front of the village a broad and grass-covered common,
Favorite place of resort for the peasants and neighboring townsfolk.
Here, at the foot of the trees, sunk deep in the ground was a well-spring;
When you descended the steps, stone benches you found at the bottom,
Stationed about the spring, whose pure, living waters were bubbling
Ceaselessly forth, hemmed in by low walls for convenience of drawing.
Hermann resolved that here he would halt, with his horses and carriage,
Under the shade of the trees. He did so, and said to the others:
"Here alight, my friends, and go your ways to discover
Whether the maiden in truth be worthy the hand that I offer.
That she is so, I believe; naught new or strange will ye tell me.
Had I to act for myself, I should go with speed to the village,
Where a few words from the maiden's own lips should determine my fortune.
Ye will with readiness single her out from all of the others,
For there can scarcely be one that to her may be likened in bearing.
But I will give you, besides, her modest attire for a token:
Mark, then, the stomacher's scarlet, that sets off the arch of her bosom,
Prettily laced, and the bodice of black fitting close to her figure;
Neatly the edge of her kerchief is plaited into a ruffle,
Which with a simple grace her chin's rounded outline encircles;
Freely and lightly rises above it the head's dainty oval;
And her luxuriant hair over silver bodkins is braided;
Down from under her bodice, the full, blue petticoat falling,
Wraps itself, when she is walking, about her neatly shaped ankles.
Yet one thing will I say, and would make it my earnest petition,—
Speak not yourselves with the maiden, nor let your intent be discovered;
Rather inquire of others, and hearken to what they may tell you.
When ye have tidings enough to satisfy father and mother,
Then return to me here, and we will consider what further.
So did I plan it all out in my mind while driving you hither."
 
 
Thus he spoke. The friends thereupon went their way to the village,
Where, in the houses and gardens and barns, the people were swarming;
Wagons on wagons stood crowded together along the broad highway.
Men for the harnessed horses and lowing cattle were caring,
While the women were busy in drying their clothes on the hedges,
And in the running brook the children were merrily splashing.
Making their way through the pressure of wagons, of people and cattle,
Went the commissioned spies, and to right and to left looked about them,
If they a figure might see that answered the maiden's description;
But not one of them all appeared the beautiful damsel.
Denser soon grew the press. A contest arose round the wagons
'Mongst the threatening men, wherein blended the cries of the women.
Rapidly then to the spot, and with dignified step, came an elder,
Joined the clamoring group, and straightway the uproar was silenced,
As he commanded peace, and rebuked with a fatherly sternness.
"Has, then, misfortune," he cried, "not yet so bound us together,
That we have finally learned to bear and forbear one another,
Though each one, it may be, do not measure his share of the labor?
He that is happy, forsooth, is contentious! Will sufferings never
Teach you to cease from your brawls of old between brother and brother?
Grudge not one to another a place on the soil of the stranger;
Rather divide what ye have, as yourselves ye would hope to find mercy."
 
 
Thus spoke the man and all became silent: restored to good humor,
Peaceably then the people arranged their cattle and wagons.
But when the clergyman now had heard what was said by the stranger,
And had the steadfast mind of the foreign justice discovered,
He to the man drew near and with words of meaning addressed him:
"True it is, father, that when in prosperity people are living,
Feeding themselves from the earth, which far and wide opens her bosom,
And in the years and months renews the coveted blessings,—
All goes on of itself, and each himself deems the wisest,
Deems the best, and so they continue abiding together,
He of greatest intelligence ranking no higher than others;
All that occurs, as if of itself, going quietly forward.
But let disaster unsettle the usual course of existence,
Tear down the buildings about us, lay waste the crops and the garden,
Banish the husband and wife from their old, familiar-grown dwelling,
Drive them to wander abroad through nights and days of privation,—
Then, ah then! we look round us to see what man is the wisest,
And no longer in vain his glorious words will be spoken.
Tell me, art thou not judge among this fugitive people,
Father, who thus in an instant canst bid their passions be quiet?
Thou dost appear to-day as one of those earliest leaders,
Who through deserts and wanderings guided the emigrant nations.
Yea, I could even believe I were speaking with Joshua or Moses."
 
 
Then with serious look the magistrate answered him, saying:
"Truly our times might well be compared with all others in strangeness,
Which are in history mentioned, profane or sacred tradition;
For who has yesterday lived and to-day in times like the present,
He has already lived years, events are so crowded together.
If I look back but a little, it seems that my head must be hoary
Under the burden of years, and yet my strength is still active.
Well may we of this day compare ourselves unto that people
Who, from the burning bush, beheld in the hour of their danger
God the Lord: we also in cloud and in fire have beheld Him."
 
 
Seeing the priest was inclined to speak yet more with the stranger,
And was desirous of learning his story and that of his people,
Privately into his ear his companion hastily whispered:
"Talk with the magistrate further, and lead him to speak of the maiden.
I, however, will wander in search, and as soon as I find her,
Come and report to thee here." The minister nodded, assenting;
And through the gardens, hedges, and barns, went the spy on his errand.