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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hermann And Dorothea - IV. Euterpe</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">MOTHER AND SON.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THUS the men discoursed together; and meanwhile the mother<br>Went in search of her son,--at first in front of the dwelling<br>On the bench of stone, for he was accustom'd to sit there.<br>When she found him not there, she went to look in the stable,<br>Thinking perchance he was feeding his splendid horses, the stallions<br>Which he had bought when foals, and which he entrusted to no one.<br>But the servant inform'd her that he had gone to the garden.<br>Then she nimbly strode across the long double courtyard,<br>Left the stables behind, and the barns all made of good timber,<br>Enter'd the garden which stretch'd far away to the walls of the borough,<br>Walk'd across it, rejoicing to see how all things were growing,<br>Carefully straighten'd the props, on which the apple-tree's branches,<br>Heavily loaded, reposed, and the weighty boughs of the pear-tree,<br>Took a few caterpillars from off the strong-sprouting cabbage;<br>For a bustling woman is never idle one moment.<br>In this manner she came to the end of the long-reaching garden,<br>Where was the arbour all cover'd with woodbine: she found not her son there,<br>Nor was he to be seen in any part of the garden.<br>But she found on the latch the door which out of the arbour<br>Through the wall of the town had been made by special permission<br>During their ancestor's time, the worthy old burgomaster.<br>So she easily stepp'd across the dry ditch at the spot where<br>On the highway abutted their well-inclosed excellent vineyard.<br>Rising steeply upwards, its face tow'rd the sun turn'd directly.<br>Up the hill she proceeded, rejoicing, as farther she mounted,<br>At the size of the grapes, which scarcely were hid by the foliage.<br>Shady and well-cover'd in, the middle walk at the top was,<br>Which was ascended by steps of rough flat pieces constructed.<br>And within it were hanging fine chasselas and muscatels also,<br>And a reddish-blue grape, of quite an exceptional bigness,<br>All with carefulness planted, to give to their guests after dinner.<br>But with separate stems the rest of the vineyard was planted,<br>Smaller grapes producing, from which the finest wine made is.<br>So she constantly mounted, enjoying in prospect the autumn.<br>And the festal day, when the neighbourhood met with rejoicing,<br>Picking and treading the grapes, and putting the must in the wine-vats,<br>Every corner and nook resounding at night with the fireworks,<br>Blazing and cracking away, due honour to pay to the harvest.<br>But she uneasy became, when she in vain had been calling<br>Twice and three times her son, and when the sole answer that reach'd her<br>Came from the garrulous echo which out of the town towers issued.<br>Strange it appear'd to have to seek him; he never went far off,<br>(As he before had told her) in order to ward off all sorrow<br>From his dear mother, and her forebodings of coming disaster.<br>But she still was expecting upon the highway to find him,<br>For the doors at the bottom, like those at the top, of the vineyard<br>Stood wide open; and so at length she enter'd the broad field<br>Which, with its spreading expanse, o'er the whole of the hill's back extended.<br>On their own property still she proceeded, greatly rejoicing<br>At their own crops, and at the corn which nodded so bravely,<br>Over the whole field in golden majesty waving.<br>Then on the border between the fields she follow'd the footpath,<br>Keeping her eye on the pear-tree fix'd, the big one, which standing<br>Perch'd by itself on the top of the hill, their property bounded.<br>Who had planted it, no one knew; throughout the whole country<br>Far and wide was it visible; noted also its fruit was.<br>Under its shadow the reaper ate his dinner at noonday,<br>And the herdsman was wont to lie, when tending his cattle.<br>Benches made of rough stones and of turf were placed all about it.<br>And she was not mistaken; there sat her Hermann and rested<br>On his arm he was leaning, and seem'd to be looking cross country<br>Tow'rds the mountains beyond; his back was turn'd to his mother.<br>Softly creeping up, she lightly tapp'd on his shoulder;<br>And he hastily turn'd; she saw that his eyes full of tears were.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Mother,' he said in confusion:--'You greatly surprise me!' and quickly<br>Wiped he away his tears, the noble and sensitive youngster.<br>'What! You are weeping, my son?' the startled mother continued<br>'That is indeed unlike you! I never before saw you crying!<br>Say, what has sadden'd your heart? What drives you to sit here all lonely<br>Under the shade of the pear-tree? What is it that makes you unhappy?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the excellent youth collected himself, and made answer<br>'Truly that man can have no heart, but a bosom of iron,<br>Who no sympathy feels for the wants of unfortunate exiles;<br>He has no sense in his head who, in times of such deep tribulation,<br>Has no concern for himself or for his country's well-being.<br>What I to-day have seen and heard, has stirr'd up my feelings;<br>Well, I have come up here, and seen the beautiful, spreading<br>Landscape, which in fruitful hills to our sight is presented,<br>Seen the golden fruit of the sheaves all nodding together,<br>And a plentiful crop of fruit, full garners foreboding.<br>But, alas, how near is the foe! By the Rhine's flowing waters<br>We are protected indeed; but what are rivers and mountains<br>To such a terrible nation, which hurries along like a tempest!<br>For they summon together the young and the old from all quarters,<br>Rushing wildly along, while the multitude little is caring<br>Even for death; when one falls, his place is straight fill'd by another,<br>Ah! and can Germans dare to remain at home in their dwellings,<br>Thinking perchance to escape from the widely-threat'ning disaster?<br>Dearest mother, I tell you that I to-day am quite sorry<br>That I was lately excused, when they selected the fighters<br>Out of the townfolk. 'Tis true I'm an only son, and more-over<br>Large is our inn, and our business also is very important;<br>Were it not better however for me to fight in the vanguard<br>On the frontier, than here to await disaster and bondage?<br>Yes, my spirit has told me, and in my innermost bosom<br>Feel I courage and longing to live and die for my country,<br>And to others to set an example worthy to follow.<br>Oh, of a truth, if the strength of the German youths was collected<br>On the frontier, all bound by a vow not to yield to the stranger,<br>He on our noble soil should never set foot, or be able<br>Under our eyes to consume the fruits of the land, or to issue<br>Orders unto our men, or despoil our women and maidens!<br>See, good mother, within my inmost heart I've determined<br>Soon and straightway to do what seems to me right and becoming;<br>For the man who thinks long, not always chooses what best is.<br>See, I will not return to the house, but will go from here straightway<br>Into the town, and there will place at the fighters' disposal<br>This stout arm and this heart, to serve, as I best can, my country.<br>Then let my father say whether feelings of honour are stirring<br>In my bosom or not, and whether I yearn to mount upwards.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then with significance answer'd his good and sensible mother,<br>Shedding tears in silence, which easily rose in her eyelids:--<br>'Son, what has wrought so strange a change in your temper and feelings,<br>That you freely and openly speak to your mother no longer,<br>As you till yesterday did, nor tell her truly your wishes?<br>If another had heard you speaking, he doubtless would praise you<br>Highly, and deem your new resolution as worthy of honour,<br>Being deceived by your words, and by your manner of speaking.<br>I however can only blame you. I know you much better.<br>You are concealing your heart, and very diff'rent your thoughts are;<br>For I am sure you care not at all for drum and for trumpet,<br>Nor, to please the maidens, care you to wear regimentals.<br>For, though brave you may be, and gallant, your proper vocation<br>Is to remain at home, the property quietly watching.<br>Therefore tell me truly: What means this sudden decision?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Earnestly answer'd the son:--'You are wrong, dear-mother, one day is<br>Unlike another. The youth soon ripens into his manhood.<br>Ofttimes he ripens better to action in silence than living<br>That tumultuous noisy life which ruins so many.<br>And though silent I have been, and am, a heart has been fashion'd<br>Inside my bosom, which hates whatever unfair and unjust is,<br>And I am able right well to discriminate secular matters.<br>Work moreover my arms and my feet has mightily strengthen'd.<br>All that I tell you is true; I boldly venture to say so.<br>And yet, mother, you blame me with reason; you've caught me employing<br>Words that are only half true, and that serve to conceal my true feelings.<br>For I must need confess, it is not the advent of danger<br>Calls me away from my father's house, nor a resolute purpose<br>Useful to be to my country, and dreaded to be by the foeman.<br>Words alone it was that I utter'd,--words only intended<br>Those deep feelings to hide, which within my breast are contending.<br>And now leave me, my mother! For as in my bosom I cherish<br>Wishes that are but vain, my life will be to no purpose.<br>For I know that the Unit who makes a self-sacrifice, only<br>Injures himself, unless all endeavour the Whole to accomplish.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Now continue,' replied forthwith his sensible mother:--<br>'Tell me all that has happen'd, the least as w'ell as the greatest<br>Men are always hasty, and only remember the last thing,<br>And the hasty are easily forced from the road by obstructions.<br>But a woman is skillful, and full of resources, and scorns not<br>Bye-roads to traverse when needed, well-skill'd to accomplish her purpose.<br>Tell me then all, and why you are stirr'd by such violent feelings<br>More than I ever have seen, while the blood is boiling within you,<br>And from your eyes the tears against your will fain would fall now.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the youth gave way to his sorrow, and burst into weeping,<br>Weeping aloud on the breast of his mother, and softly replying<br>'Truly, my father's words to-day have wounded me sadly,<br>Never have I deserved at his hands such treatment,--no, never!<br>For to honour my parents was always my wish from my childhood,<br>No one ever appear'd so prudent and wise as my parents,<br>Who in the darker days of childhood carefully watch'd me.<br>Much indeed it has been my lot to endure from my playmates,<br>When with their knavish pranks they used to embitter my temper.<br>Often I little suspected the tricks they were playing upon me:<br>But if they happen'd to ridicule Father, whenever on Sundays<br>Out of church he came with his slow deliberate footsteps,<br>If they laugh'd at the strings of his cap, and his dressing-gown's flowers,<br>Which he in stately wise wore, and to-day at length has discarded,<br>Then in a fury I clench'd my fist, and, storming and raging,<br>Fell upon them and hit and struck with terrible onslaught,<br>Heedless where my blows fell. With bleeding noses they halloed,<br>And could scarcely escape from the force of my blows and my kicking.<br>Then, as in years I advanced, I had much to endure from my father,<br>Who, in default of others to blame, would often abuse me,<br>When at the Council's last sitting his anger perchance was excited,<br>And I the penalty paid of the squabbles and strife of his colleagues.<br>You yourself have oft pitied me; I endured it with patience,<br>Always rememb'ring the much-to-be-honour'd kindness of parents,<br>Whose only thought is to swell for our sakes their goods and possessions,<br>And who deprive themselves of much, to save for their children.<br>But, alas, not saving alone, for enjoyment hereafter,<br>Constitutes happiness, no, not heaps of gold or of silver,<br>Neither field upon field, however compact the estate be.<br>For the father grows old, and his son at the same time grows older,<br>Feeling no joy in To-day, and full of care for To-morrow.<br>Now look down from this height, and see how beauteous before us<br>Lies the fair rich expanse, with vineyard and gardens at bottom;<br>There are the stables and barns, and the rest of the property likewise;<br>There I also descry the back of our house, in the gables<br>Of the roof may be seen the window of my small apartment.<br>When I remember the time when I used to look out for the moon there<br>Half through the night, or perchance at morning awaited the sunrise,<br>When with but few hours of healthy sleep I was fully contented,<br>Ah, how lonely do all things appear! My chamber, the court, and<br>Garden, the beautiful field which spreads itself over the hillside;<br>All appears but a desert to me: I still am unmarried!'<br>Then his good mother answer'd his speech in a sensible manner<br>'Son, your wish to be able to lead your bride to her chamber,<br>Turning the night to the dearest and happiest half of your lifetime,<br>Making your work by day more truly free and unfetter'd,<br>Cannot be greater than that of your father and mother. We always<br>Urged you,--commanded, I even might say,--to choose some fair maiden.<br>But I know full well, and my heart has told me already<br>If the right hour arrives not, or if the right maiden appears not<br>Instantly when they are sought for, man's choice is thrown in confusion,<br>And he is driven by fear to seize what is counterfeit only.<br>If I may tell you, my son, your choice already is taken,<br>For your heart is smitten, and sensitive more than is usual.<br>Answer me plainly, then, for my spirit already has told me:<br>She whom now you have chosen is that poor emigrant maiden!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Yes, dear mother, you're right!' the son with vivacity answer'd<br>Yes, it is she! And unless this very day I conduct her<br>Home as my bride, she will go on her way and escape me for ever,<br>In the confusion of war, and in moving backwards and forwards.<br>Mother, then before my eyes will in vain he unfolded<br>All our rich estate, and each year henceforward be fruitful.<br>Yes, the familiar house and the garden will be my aversion.<br>Ah, and the love of my mother no comfort will give to my sorrow,<br>For I feel that by Love each former bond must be loosen'd,<br>When her own bonds she knits; 'tis not the maiden alone who<br>Leaves her father and mother behind, when she follows her husband.<br>So it is with the youth; no more he knows mother and father.<br>When he beholds the maiden, the only beloved one, approaching.<br>Therefore let me go hence, to where desperation may lead me,<br>For my father already has spoken in words of decision,<br>And his house no longer is mine, if he shuts out the maiden<br>Whom alone I would fain take home as my bride from henceforward.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the excellent sensible mother answer'd with quickness<br>'Men are precisely like rocks when they stand opposed to each other!<br>Proud and unyielding, the one will never draw near to the other.<br>Neither will suffer his tongue to utter the first friendly accent.<br>Therefore I tell you, my son, a hope still exists in my bosom,<br>If she is worthy and good, he will give his consent to your marriage,<br>Poor though she be, and although with disdain he refused you the poor thing.<br>For in his hot-beaded fashion he utters many expressions<br>Which he never intends; and so will accept the Refused One.<br>But he requires kind words, and has a right to require them,<br>For your father he is; his anger is all after dinner,<br>When he more eagerly speaks, and questions the reasons of others,<br>Meaning but little thereby; the wine then excites all the vigour<br>Of his impetuous will, and prevents him from giving due weight to<br>Other people's opinions; he hears and he feels his own only.<br>But when evening arrives, the tone of the many discourses<br>Which his friends and himself hold together, is very much alter'd.<br>Milder becomes he, as soon as his liquor's effects have passed over<br>And he feels the injustice his eagerness did unto others.<br>Come, we will venture at once! Success the reward is of boldness,<br>And we have need of the friends who now have assembled around him.--<br>Most of all we shall want the help of our excellent pastor.'<br>Thus she eagerly spoke, and leaving the stone that she sat on,<br>Also lifted her son from his seat. He willingly follow'd,<br>And they descended in silence, revolving the weighty proposal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Johann+Wolfgang+von+Goethe">Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</a><div class=q>
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THUS the men discoursed together; and meanwhile the mother
Went in search of her son,--at first in front of the dwelling
On the bench of stone, for he was accustom'd to sit there.
When she found him not there, she went to look in ..."></div>
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