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THE AGE
NOW when the foreign judge had been by the minister questioned | |
| As to his people’s distress, and how long their exile had lasted, | |
| Thus made answer the man: “Of no recent date are our sorrows; | |
| Since of the gathering bitter of years our people have drunken,— | |
| Bitterness all the more dreadful because such fair hope had been blighted. | 5 |
| Who will pretend to deny that his heart swelled high in his bosom, | |
| And that his freer breast with purer pulses was beating, | |
| When we beheld the new sun arise in his earliest splendor, | |
| When of the rights of men we heard, which to all should be common, | |
| Were of a righteous equality told, and inspiriting freedom? | 10 |
| Every one hoped that then he should live his own life, and the fetters, | |
| Binding the various lands, appeared their hold to be loosing,— | |
| Fetters that had in the hand of sloth been held and self-seeking | |
| Looked not the eyes of all nations, throughout that calamitous season, | |
| Towards the world’s capital city, for so it had long been considered, | 15 |
| And of that glorious title was now, more than ever, deserving? | |
| Were not the names of those men who first delivered the message, | |
| Names to compare with the highest that under the heavens are spoken? | |
| Did not, in every man, grow courage and spirit and language? | |
| And, as neighbors, we first of all, were zealously kindled. | 20 |
| Thereupon followed the war, and armed bodies of Frenchmen | |
| Pressed to us nearer; yet nothing but friendship they seemed to be bringing; | |
| Ay, and they brought it too; for exalted the spirit within them: | |
| They with rejoicing the festive trees of liberty planted, | |
| Promising every man what was his own, and to each his own ruling. | 25 |
| High beat the heart of the youths, and even the aged were joyful; | |
| Gaily the dance began about the newly raised standard. | |
| Thus had they speedily won, these overmastering Frenchmen, | |
| First the spirits of men by the fire and dash of their bearing, | |
| Then the hearts of the women with irresistible graces. | 30 |
| Even the pressure of hungry war seemed to weigh on us lightly, | |
| So before our vision did hope hang over the future, | |
| Luring our eyes abroad into newly opening pathways. | |
| Oh, how joyful the time when with her beloved the maiden | |
| Whirls in the dance, the longed-for day of their union awaiting! | 35 |
| But more glorious that day on which to our vision the highest | |
| Heart of man can conceive seemed near and attainable to us. | |
| Loosened was every tongue, and men—the aged, and stripling— | |
| Spoke aloud in words that were full of high feeling and wisdom. | |
| Soon, however, the sky was o’ercast. A corrupt generation | 40 |
| Fought for the right of dominion, unworthy the good to establish; | |
| So that they slew one another, their new-made neighbors and brothers | |
| Held in subjection, and then sent the self-seeking masses against us. | |
| Chiefs committed excesses and wholesale plunder upon us, | |
| While those lower plundered and rioted down to the lowest: | 45 |
| Every one seemed but to care that something be left for the morrow. | |
| Great past endurance the need, and daily grew the oppression: | |
| They were the lords of the day; there was none to hear our complaining. | |
| Then fell trouble and rage upon even the quietest spirit. | |
| One thought only had all, and swore for their wrongs to have vengeance, | 50 |
| And for the bitter loss of their hope thus doubly deluded. | |
| Presently Fortune turned and declared on the side of the German, | |
| And with hurried marches the French retreated before us. | |
| Ah! then as never before did we feel the sad fortunes of warfare: | |
| He that is victor is great and good,—or at least he appears so,— | 55 |
| And he, as one of his own, will spare the man he has conquered, | |
| Him whose service he daily needs, and whose property uses. | |
| But no law the fugitive knows, save of self-preservation, | |
| And, with a reckless greed, consumes all the possessions about him; | |
| Then are his passions also inflamed: the despair that is in him | 60 |
| Out of his heart breaks forth, and takes shape in criminal action. | |
| Nothing is further held sacred; but all is for plunder. His craving | |
| Turns in fury on woman, and pleasure is changed into horror. | |
| Death he sees everywhere round him, and madly enjoys his last moments, | |
| Taking delight in blood, in the shriekings of anguish exulting. | 65 |
| Thereupon fiercely arose in our men the stern resolution | |
| What had been lost to avenge, and defend whate’er was remaining. | |
| Every man sprang to his arms, by the flight of the foeman encouraged, | |
| And by his blanching cheeks, and his timorous, wavering glances. | |
| Ceaselessly now rang out the clanging peal of the tocsin. | 70 |
| Thought of no danger to come restrained their furious anger. | |
| Quick into weapons of war the husbandman’s peaceful utensils | |
| All were converted; dripped with blood the scythe and the ploughshare. | |
| Quarter was shown to none: the enemy fell without mercy. | |
| Fury everywhere raged and the cowardly cunning of weakness. | 75 |
| Ne’er may I men so carried away by injurious passion | |
| See again! the sight of the raging wild beast would be better. | |
| Let not man prattle of freedom, as if himself he could govern! | |
| Soon as the barriers are torn away, then all of the evil | |
| Seems let loose, that by law had been driven deep back into corners.” | 80 |
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| “Excellent man!” thereupon with emphasis answered the pastor: | |
| “Though thou misjudgest mankind, yet can I not censure thee for it. | |
| Evil enough, I confess, thou hast had to endure from man’s passions. | |
| Yet wouldst thou look behind over this calamitous season, | |
| Thou wouldst acknowledge thyself how much good thou also hast witnessed. | 85 |
| How many excellent things that would in the heart have lain hidden, | |
| Had not danger aroused them, and did not necessity’s pressure | |
| Bring forth the angel in man, and make him a god of deliv’rance.” | |
| |
| Thereupon answered and said the reverend magistrate, smiling: | |
| “There thou remindest me aptly of how we console the poor fellow, | 90 |
| After his house has been burned, by recounting the gold and the silver | |
| Melted and scattered abroad in the rubbish, that still is remaining. | |
| Little enough, it is true; but even that little is precious. | |
| Then will the poor wretch after it dig and rejoice if he find it. | |
| Thus I likewise with happier thoughts will gratefully turn me | 95 |
| Towards the few beautiful deeds of which I preserve the remembrance. | |
| Yes, I will not deny, I have seen old quarrels forgotten, | |
| Ill to avert from the state; I also have witnessed how friendship, | |
| Love of parent and child, can impossibilities venture; | |
| Seen how the stripling at once matured into man; how the aged | 100 |
| Grew again young; and even the child into youth was developed, | |
| Yea, and the weaker sex too, as we are accustomed to call it, | |
| Showed itself brave and strong and ready for every emergence. | |
| Foremost among them all, one beautiful deed let me mention, | |
| Bravely performed by the hand of a girl, an excellent maiden; | 105 |
| Who, with those younger than she, had been left in charge of a farmhouse, | |
| Since there, also, the men had marched against the invader. | |
| Suddenly fell on the house a fugitive band of marauders, | |
| Eager for booty, who crowded straightway to the room of the women. | |
| There they beheld the beautiful form of the fully grown maiden, | 110 |
| Looked on the charming young girls, who rather might still be called children. | |
| Savage desire possessed them; at once with merciless passion | |
| They that trembling band assailed and the high-hearted maiden. | |
| But she had snatched in an instant the sword of one from its scabbard, | |
| Felled him with might to the ground, and stretched him bleeding before her. | 115 |
| Then with vigorous strokes she bravely delivered the maidens, | |
| Smiting yet four of the robbers; who saved themselves only by flying. | |
| Then she bolted the gates, and, armed, awaited assistance.” | |
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| Now when this praise the minister heard bestowed on the maiden, | |
| Rose straightway for his friend a feeling of hope in his bosom, | 120 |
| And he had opened his lips to inquire what further befell her, | |
| If on this mournful flight she now with her people were present; | |
| When with a hasty step the village doctor approached them, | |
| Twitched the clergyman’s coat, and said in his ear in a whisper: | |
| “I have discovered the maiden at last among several hundreds; | 125 |
| By the description I knew her, so come, let thine own eyes behold her! | |
| Bring too the magistrates with thee, that so we may hear him yet further.” | |
| But as they turned to go, the justice was summoned to leave them, | |
| Sent for by some of his people by whom his counsel was needed. | |
| Straightway the preacher, however, the lead of the doctor had followed | 130 |
| Up to a gap in the fence where his finger he meaningly pointed. | |
| “Seest thou the maiden?” he said: “she has made some clothes for the baby | |
| Out of the well-known chintz,—I distinguish it plainly; and further | |
| There are the covers of blue that Hermann gave in his bundle. | |
| Well and quickly, forsooth, she has turned to advantage the presents. | 135 |
| Evident tokens are these, and all else answers well the description. | |
| Mark how the stomacher’s scarlet sets off the arch of her bosom, | |
| Prettily laced, and the bodice of black fits 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; | 140 |
| Freely and lightly rises above it the head’s dainty oval, | |
| And her luxuriant hair over silver bodkin’s is braided. | |
| Now she is sitting, yet still we behold her majestical stature, | |
| And the blue petticoat’s ample plaits, that down from her bosom | |
| Hangs in abundant folds about her neatly shaped ankles, | 145 |
| She without question it is; come, therefore, and let us discover | |
| Whether she honest and virtuous be, a housewifely maiden.” | |
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| Then, as the seated figure he studied, the pastor made answer: | |
| “Truly, I find it no wonder that she so enchanted the stripling, | |
| Since, to a man’s experienced eye, she seems lacking in nothing. | 150 |
| Happy to whom Mother Nature a shape harmonious has given! | |
| Such will always commend him, and he can be nowhere a stranger. | |
| All approach with delight, and all are delighted to linger, | |
| If to the outward shape correspond but a courteous spirit. | |
| I can assure thee, in her the youth has found him a maiden, | 155 |
| Who, in the days to come, his life shall gloriously brighten, | |
| Standing with womanly strength in every necessity by him. | |
| Surely the soul must be pure that inhabits a body so perfect, | |
| And of a happy old age such vigorous youth is the promise.” | |
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| Thereupon answered and said the doctor in language of caution: | 160 |
| “Often appearances cheat; I like not to trust to externals. | |
| For I have oft seen put to the test the truth of the proverb: | |
| Till thou a bushel of salt with a new acquaintance hast eaten, | |
| Be not too ready to trust him; for time alone renders thee certain | |
| How ye shall fare with each other, and how well your friendship shall prosper. | 165 |
| Let us then rather at first make inquiries among the good people | |
| By whom the maiden is known, and who can inform us about her.” | |
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| “Much I approve of thy caution,” the preacher replied as he followed. | |
| “Not for ourselves is the suit, and ’tis delicate wooing for others.” | |
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| Towards the good magistrate, then, the men directed their footsteps, | 170 |
| Who was again ascending the street in discharge of his duties. | |
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| Him the judicious pastor at once addressed and with caution. | |
| “Look! we a maiden have here descried in the neighboring garden, | |
| Under an apple-tree sitting, and making up garments for children | |
| Out of second-hand stuff that somebody doubtless has given; | 175 |
| And we were pleased with her aspect: she seems like a girl to be trusted. | |
| Tell us whatever thou knowest: we ask it with honest intentions.” | |
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| Soon as the magistrate nearer had come, and looked into the garden, | |
| “Her thou knowest already,” he said; “for when I was telling | |
| Of the heroic deed performed by the hand of that maiden, | 180 |
| When she snatched the man’s sword, and delivered herself and her charges, | |
| This was the one! she is vigorous born, as thou seest by her stature; | |
| Yet she is good as strong, for her aged kinsman she tended | |
| Until the day of his death, which was finally hastened by sorrow | |
| Over his city’s distress, and his own endangered possessions. | 185 |
| Also, with quiet submission, she bore the death of her lover, | |
| Who a high-spirited youth, in the earliest flush of excitement, | |
| Kindled by lofty resolve to fight for a glorious freedom, | |
| Hurried to Paris, where early a terrible death he encountered. | |
| For as at home, so there, his foes were deceit and oppression.” | 190 |
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| Thus the magistrate spoke. The others saluted and thanked him, | |
| And from his purse a gold-piece the pastor drew forth;—for the silver | |
| He had some hours before already in charity given, | |
| When he in mournful groups had seen the poor fugitives passing;— | |
| And to the magistrate handed it, saying: “Apportion the money | 195 |
| ’Mongst thy destitute people, and God vouchsafe it an increase.” | |
| But the stranger declined it, and, answering, said: “We have rescued | |
| Many a dollar among us, with clothing and other possessions, | |
| And shall return, as I hope, ere yet our stock is exhausted.” | |
| |
| Then the pastor replied, and pressed the money upon him: | 200 |
| “None should be backward in giving in days like the present, and no one | |
| Ought to refuse to accept those gifts which in kindness are offered. | |
| None can tell how long he may hold what in peace he possesses, | |
| None how much longer yet he shall roam through the land of the stranger, | |
| And of his farm be deprived, and deprived of the garden that feeds, him.” | 205 |
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| “Ay, to be sure!” in his bustling way interrupted the doctor: | |
| “If I had only some money about me, ye surely should have it, | |
| Little and big; for certainly many among you must need it. | |
| Yet I’ll not go without giving thee something to show what my will is, | |
| Even though sadly behind my good-will must lag the performance.” | 210 |
| Thus, as he spoke, by its straps his embroidered pocket of leather, | |
| Where his tobacco was kept, he drew forth,—enough was now in it | |
| Several pipes to fill,—and daintily opened, and portioned. | |
| “Small is the gift,” he added. The justice, however, made answer: | |
| “Good tobacco can ne’er to the traveller fail to be welcome.” | 215 |
| Then did the village doctor begin to praise his canister. | |
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| But the clergyman drew him away, and they quitted the justice. | |
| “Let us make haste,” said the thoughtful man: “the youth’s waiting in torture; | |
| Come! let him hear, as soon as he may, the jubilant tidings.” | |
| |
| So they hastened their steps, and came to where under the lindens | 220 |
| Hermann against the carriage was leaning. The horses were stamping | |
| Wildly the turf; he held them in check, and, buried in musing, | |
| Stood, into vacancy gazing before him; nor saw the two envoys, | |
| Till, as they came, they called out and made to him signals of triumph. | |
| E’en as far off as they then were, the doctor began to address him; | 225 |
| But they were presently nearer come and then the good pastor | |
| Grasped his hand and exclaimed, interrupting the word of his comrade: | |
| “Hail to thee, O young man! thy true eye and heart have well chosen; | |
| Joy be to thee and the wife of thy youth; for of thee she is worthy. | |
| Come then and turn us the wagon, and drive straightway to the village, | 230 |
| There the good maid to woo, and soon bring her home to thy dwelling.” | |
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| Still, however, the young man stood, without sign of rejoicing | |
| Hearing his messenger’s words, though heavenly they were and consoling. | |
| Deeply he sighed as he said: “With hurrying wheels we came hither, | |
| And shall be forced, perchance, to go mortified homeward and slowly. | 235 |
| For disquiet has fallen upon me since here I’ve been waiting, | |
| Doubt and suspicion and all that can torture the heart of a lover. | |
| Think ye we have but to come, and that then the maiden will follow | |
| Merely because we are rich, while she is poor and an exile? | |
| Poverty, too, makes proud, when it comes unmerited! Active | 240 |
| Seems she to be, and contented, and so of the world is she mistress. | |
| Think ye a maiden like her, with the manners and beauty that she has, | |
| Can into woman have grown, and no worthy man’s love have attracted? | |
| Think ye that love until now can have been shut out from her bosom? | |
| Drive not thither too rashly: we might to our mortification | 245 |
| Have to turn softly homewards our horses’ heads. For my fear is | |
| That to some youth already this heart has been given; already | |
| This brave hand has been clasped, has pledged faith to some fortunate lover. | |
| Then with my offer, alas! I should stand in confusion before her.” | |
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| Straightway the pastor had opened his lips to speak consolation, | 250 |
| When his companion broke in, and said in his voluble fashion: | |
| “Years ago, forsooth, unknown had been such a dilemma. | |
| All such affairs were then conducted in regular fashion. | |
| Soon as a bride for their son had been by the parents selected, | |
| First some family friend they into their councils would summon, | 255 |
| Whom they afterwards sent as a suitor to visit the parents | |
| Of the elected bride. Arrayed in his finest apparel, | |
| Soon after dinner on Sunday he sought the respectable burgher, | |
| When some friendly words were exchanged upon general subjects, | |
| He knowing how to direct the discourse as suited his purpose. | 260 |
| After much circumlocution he finally mentioned the daughter, | |
| Praising her highly, and praising the man and the house that had sent him. | |
| Persons of tact perceived his intent, and the politic envoy | |
| Readily saw how their minds were disposed, and explained himself further. | |
| Then were the offer declined, e’en the ‘no’ brought not mortification; | 265 |
| But did it meet with success, the suitor was ever thereafter | |
| Made the chief guest in the house on every festive occasion. | |
| For, through the rest of their lives, the couple ne’er failed to remember | |
| That ’twas by his experienced hand the first knot had been gathered. | |
| All that, however, is changed, and, with many another good custom, | 270 |
| Quite fallen out of the fashion; for every man woos for himself now. | |
| Therefore let every man hear to his face pronounced the refusal, | |
| If a refusal there be, and stand shamed in the sight of the maiden!” | |
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| “Let that be as it may!” made answer the youth, who had scarcely | |
| Unto the words paid heed; but in silence had made his decision. | 275 |
| “I will go thither myself, will myself hear my destiny spoken | |
| Out of the lips of a maiden in whom I a confidence cherish | |
| Greater than heart of man has e’er before cherished in woman. | |
| Say what she will, ’twill be good and wise; of that I am certain. | |
| Should I behold her never again, yet this once will I see her; | 280 |
| Yet this once the clear gaze of those dark eyes will encounter. | |
| If I must press her ne’er to my heart, yet that neck and that bosom | |
| Will I behold once more, that my arm so longs to encircle; | |
| Once more that mouth will see, whose kiss and whose ‘yes’ would for ever | |
| Render me happy, from which a ‘no’ will for ever destroy me. | 285 |
| But ye must leave me alone. Do not wait for me here; but return ye | |
| Back to my father and mother again, and give them the knowledge | |
| That their son has not been deceived, that the maiden is worthy. | |
| So then leave me alone! I shall follow the footpath that crosses | |
| Over the hill by the pear-tree, and thence descends through our vineyard, | 290 |
| Taking a shorter way home. And oh, may I bring to our dwelling, | |
| Joyful and quick my beloved! but perhaps I alone may come creeping | |
| Over that path to the house, and ne’er again tread it with gladness.” | |
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| Thus he spoke, and gave up the reins to the hand of the pastor, | |
| Who understandingly grasped them, the foaming horses controlling, | 295 |
| Speedily mounted the carriage, and sat in the seat of the driver. | |
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| But thou didst hesitate, provident neighbor, and say in remonstrance: | |
| “Heart and soul and spirit, my friend, I willingly trust thee; | |
| But as for life and limb, they are not in the safest of keeping, | |
| When the temporal reins are usurped by the hand of the clergy.” | 300 |
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| But thou didst laugh at his words, intelligent pastor, and answer: | |
| “Sit thee down, and contentedly trust me both body and spirit; | |
| For, in holding the reins, my hand grew long ago skilful, | |
| Long has my eye been trained in making the nicest of turnings; | |
| For we were practised well in driving the carriage in Strasburg, | 305 |
| When I the youthful baron accompanied thither; then daily | |
| Rolled the carriage, guided by me, through the echoing gateway, | |
| Out over dusty roads till we reached the meadows and lindens, | |
| Steering through groups of the town’s-folk beguiling the day there with walking.” | |
| |
| Thereupon, half-reassured, the neighbor ascended the wagon, | 310 |
| Sat like one who for a prudent leap is holding him ready, | |
| And the stallions sped rapidly homeward, desiring their stable. | |
| Clouds of dust whirled up from under their powerful hoof-beats. | |
| Long the youth stood there yet, and saw the dust in its rising, | |
| Saw the dust as it settled again: he stood there unheeding. | 315 |
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