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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: | 5 |
| “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; | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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 towards heaven and decked with plenteous blossoms. | |
| No: man has need of patience, and needful to him are also | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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.” | |
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| 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. | 40 |
| “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. | 45 |
| 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. | 50 |
| 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.” | |
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| “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.” | 55 |
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| 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. | 60 |
| 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. | 65 |
| 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. | 70 |
| 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. | 75 |
| 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.” | |
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| Straightway then in a thoughtful tone the doctor made answer, | |
| On whose tongue for a long time past the words had been trembling: | 80 |
| “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. | 85 |
| 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.” | |
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| Straightway the son broke in, and with winged words made he answer: | |
| “Do so, neighbor, and go and make thine inquiries; but with thee | 90 |
| 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. | 95 |
| 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. | 100 |
| 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, | 105 |
| 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?” | |
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| 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! | 110 |
| 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? | 115 |
| For I already perceive here tears and defiance beforehand. | |
| 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.” | |
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| Thus the father. The son cried out with joyful demeanor, | |
| “Ere it is evening the noblest of daughters shall hither be brought you, | 120 |
| 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, | 125 |
| 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, | 130 |
| Rapid and earnest, considering deeply their great undertaking. | |
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| 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, | 135 |
| 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 | 140 |
| 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. | 145 |
| 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. | 150 |
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| 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 towns-folk. | |
| Here, at the foot of the trees, sunk deep in the ground was a wellspring; | 155 |
| 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: | 160 |
| “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. | 165 |
| 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; | 170 |
| 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, | 175 |
| 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, | 180 |
| 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.” | |
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| 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. | 185 |
| 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, | 190 |
| 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, | 195 |
| 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? | 200 |
| 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.” | |
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| Thus spoke the man and all became silent: restored to good humor, | 205 |
| 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, | 210 |
| 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; | 215 |
| 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 or privation,— | 220 |
| 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, | 225 |
| Who through deserts and wanderings guided the emigrant nations. | |
| Yea, I could even believe I were speaking with Joshua or Moses.” | |
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| 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; | 230 |
| 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 | 235 |
| 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.” | |
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| 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: | 240 |
| “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. | |
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