The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 17

Let me go back! for here in this house I can tarry no longer.

I will away, and wander in search of my hapless companions, Whom I forsook in their need; for myself alone choosing the better.

This is my firm resolve, and I therefore may make a confession Which might for years perhaps have else lain hid in my bosom.

Deeply indeed was I hurt by the father's words of derision; Not that I'm sensitive, proud beyond what is fitting a servant; But that my heart in truth had felt itself stirred with affection Toward the youth who to-day had appeared to my eyes as a savior.

When he first left me there on the road, he still remained present, Haunting my every thought; I fancied the fortunate maiden Whom as a bride, perhaps, his heart had already elected.

When at the fountain I met him again, the sight of him wakened Pleasure as great as if there had met me an angel from heaven; And with what gladness I followed, when asked to come as his servant.

True, that I flattered myself in my heart,--I will not deny it,-- While we were hitherward coming, I might peradventure deserve him, Should I become at last the important stay of the household.

Now I, alas! for the first time see what risk I was running, When I would make my home so near to the secretly loved one; Now for the first time feel how far removed a poor maiden Is from an opulent youth, no matter how great her deserving.

All this I now confess, that my heart ye may not misinterpret, In that 'twas hurt by a chance to which I owe my awaking.

Hiding my secret desires, this dread had been ever before me, That at some early day he would bring him a bride to his dwelling; And ah, how could I then my inward anguish have suffered!

Happily I have been warned, and happily now has my bosom Been of its secret relieved, while yet there is cure for the evil.

But no more; I have spoken; and now shall nothing detain me Longer here in a house where I stay but in shame and confusion, Freely confessing my love and that foolish hope that I cherished.

Not the night which abroad is covered with lowering storm clouds; Not the roll of the thunder--I hear its peal--shall deter me; Not the pelt of the rain which without is beating in fury; Neither the bl.u.s.tering tempest; for all these things have I suffered During our sorrowful flight, and while the near foe was pursuing.

Now I again go forth, as I have so long been accustomed, Carried away by the whirl of the times, and from every thing parted.

Fare ye well! I tarry no longer; all now is over."

Thus she spoke and back to the door she hastily turned her, Still bearing under her arm, as she with her had brought it, her bundle.

But with both of her arms the mother seized hold of the maiden, Clasping her round the waist, and exclaiming, amazed and bewildered: "Tell me, what means all this? and these idle tears, say, what mean they?

I will not let thee depart: thou art the betrothed of my Hermann."

But still the father stood, observing the scene with displeasure, Looked on the weeping girl, and said in a tone of vexation: "This then must be the return that I get for all my indulgence, That at the close of the day this most irksome of all things should happen!

For there is naught I can tolerate less than womanish weeping, Violent outcries, which only involve in disorder and pa.s.sion, What with a little of sense had been more smoothly adjusted.

Settle the thing for yourselves: I'm going to bed; I've no patience Longer to be a spectator of these your marvelous doings."

Quickly he turned as he spoke, and hastened to go to the chamber Where he was wonted to rest, and his marriage bed was kept standing, But he was held by his son, who said in a tone of entreaty: "Father, hasten not from us, and be thou not wroth with the maiden.

I, only I, am to blame as the cause of all this confusion, Which by his dissimulation our friend unexpectedly heightened.

Speak, O worthy sir; for to thee my cause I intrusted.

Heap not up sorrow and anger, but rather let all this be ended; For I could hold thee never again in such high estimation, If thou shouldst show but delight in pain, not superior wisdom."

Thereupon answered and said the excellent clergyman, smiling: "Tell me, what other device could have drawn this charming confession Out of the good maiden's lips, and thus have revealed her affection?

Has not thy trouble been straightway transformed into gladness and rapture?

Therefore speak up for thyself; what need of the tongue of another?"

Thereupon Hermann came forward, and spoke in these words of affection: "Do not repent of thy tears, nor repent of these pa.s.sing distresses; For they complete my joy, and--may I not hope it--thine also?

Not to engage the stranger, the excellent maid, as a servant, Unto the fountain I came; but to sue for thy love I came thither.

Only, alas! my timorous look could thy heart's inclination Nowise perceive; I read in thine eyes of nothing but kindness, As from the fountain's tranquil mirror thou gavest me greeting.

Might I but bring thee home, the half of my joy was accomplished.

But thou completest it unto me now; oh, blest be thou for it!"

Then with a deep emotion the maiden gazed on the stripling; Neither forbade she embrace and kiss, the summit of rapture, When to a loving pair they come as the longed for a.s.surance, Pledge of a lifetime of bliss, that appears to them now never-ending.

Unto the others, meanwhile, the pastor had made explanation.

But with feeling and grace the maid now advanced to the father, Bent her before him, and kissing the hand he would fain have withholden, Said: "Thou wilt surely be just and forgive one so startled as I was, First for my tears of distress, and now for the tears of my gladness.

That emotion forgive me, and oh! forgive me this also.

For I can scarce comprehend the happiness newly vouchsafed me.

Yes, let that first vexation of which I, bewildered, was guilty Be, too, the last. Whatever the maid of affectionate service Faithfully promised, shall be to thee now performed by the daughter."

Straightway then, concealing his tears, the father embraced her, Cordially, too, the mother came forward and kissed her with fervor, Pressing her hands in her own: the weeping women were silent.

Thereupon quickly he seized, the good and intelligent pastor, First the father's hand, and the wedding-ring drew from his finger,-- Not so easily either: the finger was plump and detained it,-- Next took the mother's ring also, and with them betrothed he the children, Saying: "These golden circlets once more their office performing Firmly a tie shall unite, which in all things shall equal the old one, Deeply is this young man imbued with love of the maiden, And, as the maiden confesses, her heart is gone out to him also.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BETROTHAL Ludwig Richter]

Here do I therefore betroth you and bless for the years that are coming, With the consent of the parents, and having this friend as a witness."

Then the neighbor saluted at once, and expressed his good wishes; But when the clergyman now the golden circlet was drawing Over the maiden's hand, he observed with amazement the other, Which had already by Hermann been anxiously marked at the fountain.

And with a kindly raillery thus thereupon he addressed her: "So, then thy second betrothal is this? Let us hope the first bridegroom May not appear at the altar, and so prohibit the marriage."

But she, answering, said: "Oh, let me to this recollection Yet one moment devote; for so much is due the good giver, Him who bestowed it at parting, and never came back to his kindred.

All that should come he foresaw, when in haste the pa.s.sion for freedom, When a desire in the newly changed order of things to be working, Urged him onward to Paris, where chains and death he encountered.

'Fare thee well,' were his words; 'I go, for all is in motion Now for a time on the earth, and every thing seems to be parting.

E'en in the firmest states fundamental laws are dissolving; Property falls away from the hand of the ancient possessor; Friend is parted from friend; and so parts lover from lover.

Here I leave thee, and where I shall find thee again, or if ever, Who can tell? Perhaps these words are our last ones together.

Man's but a stranger here on the earth, we are told and with reason; And we are each of us now become more of strangers than ever.

Ours no more is the soil, and our treasures are all of them changing: Silver and gold are melting away from their time-honored patterns.

All is in motion as though the already-shaped world into chaos Meant to resolve itself backward into night, and to shape itself over.

Mine thou wilt keep thine heart, and should we be ever united Over the ruins of earth, it will be as newly made creatures, Beings transformed and free, no longer dependent on fortune; For can aught fetter the man who has lived through days such as these are!

But if it is not to be, that, these dangers happily over, Ever again we be granted the bliss of mutual embraces, Oh, then before thy thoughts so keep my hovering image That with unshaken mind thou be ready for good or for evil!

Should new ties allure thee again, and a new habitation, Enter with grat.i.tude into the joys that fate shall prepare thee; Love those purely who love thee; be grateful to them who show kindness.

But thine uncertain foot should yet be planted but lightly, For there is lurking the twofold pain of a new separation.

Blessings attend thy life; but value existence no higher Than thine other possessions, and all possessions are cheating!'

Thus spoke the n.o.ble youth, and never again I beheld him.

Meanwhile I lost my all, and a thousand times thought of his warning.

Here, too, I think of his words, when love is sweetly preparing Happiness for me anew, and glorious hopes are reviving.

Oh, forgive me, excellent friend, that e'en while I hold thee Close to my side I tremble! So unto the late-landed sailor Seem the most solid foundations of firmest earth to be rocking."

Thus she spoke, and placed the two rings on her finger together.

But her lover replied with a n.o.ble and manly emotion: "So much the firmer then, amid these universal convulsions, Be, Dorothea, our union! We two will hold fast and continue, Firmly maintaining ourselves, and the right to our ample possessions.

For that man, who, when times are uncertain, is faltering in spirit, Only increases the evil, and further and further transmits it; While he refas.h.i.+ons the world, who keeps himself steadfastly minded.

Poorly becomes it the German to give to these fearful excitements Aught of continuance, or to be this way and that way inclining.

This is our own! let that be our word, and let us maintain it!

For to those resolute peoples respect will be ever accorded, Who for G.o.d and the laws, for parents, women and children, Fought and died, as together they stood with their front to the foeman.

Thou art mine own; and now what is mine, is mine more than ever.

Not with anxiety will I preserve it, and trembling enjoyment; Rather with courage and strength. To-day should the enemy threaten, Or in the future, equip me thyself and hand me my weapons.

Let me but know that under thy care are my house and dear parents, Oh! I can then with a.s.surance expose my breast to the foeman.

And were but every man minded like me, there would be an upspring Might against might, and peace should revisit us all with its gladness."

INTRODUCTION TO IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS

BY ARTHUR H. PALMER, A.M., LL.D.

Professor of German Language and Literature, Yale University

To what literary genus does Goethe's _Iphigenia_ belongs? Dramatic in form, is it a drama? For A. W. Schlegel "an echo of Greek song," and for many German critics the best modern reproduction of Greek tragedy, it is for others a thoroughly German work in its subst.i.tution of profound moral struggles for the older pa.s.sionate, more external conflicts. Schiller said: "It is, however, so astonis.h.i.+ngly modern and un-Greek, that I cannot understand how it was ever thought to resemble a Greek play. It is purely moral; but the sensuous power, the life, the agitation, and everything which specifically belongs to a dramatic work is wanting." He adds, however, that it is a marvelous production which must forever remain the delight and wonderment of mankind. This is the view of G. H. Lewes, whose characterization is so apt also in other respects: "A drama it is not; it is a marvelous dramatic poem.

The grand and solemn movement responds to the large and simple ideas which it unfolds. It has the calmness of majesty. In the limpid clearness of its language the involved mental processes of the characters are as transparent as the operations of bees within a crystal hive; while a constant strain of high and lofty music makes the reader feel as if in a holy temple. And above all witcheries of detail there is one capital witchery, belonging to Greek statues more than to other works of human cunning--the perfect unity of impression produced by the whole, so that nothing in it seems _made_, but all to _grow_; nothing is superfluous, but all is in organic dependence; nothing is there for detached effect, but the whole is effect. The poem fills the mind; beautiful as the separate pa.s.sages are, admirers seldom think of pa.s.sages, they think of the wondrous whole."

But may we not deepen and spiritualize our conception of the drama and say that in _Iphigenia_, Goethe created a new dramatic genus, the soul-drama--the first psychological drama of modern literature, the result of ethical and artistic development through two milleniums?