The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01

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 shirts 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
God'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 passage.
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,