11 June 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 2

Hermann and Dorothea: 4. Euterpe

by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE

MOTHER AND SON

Thus entertaining themselves, the men sat talking. The mother

Went meanwhile to look for her son in front of the dwelling,

First on the settle of stone, whereon 'twas his wont to he seated.

When she perceived him not there, she went farther to look in the stable,

If he were caring perhaps for his noble horses, the stallions,

Which he as colts had bought, and whose care he intrusted to no one.

And by the servant she there was told: He is gone to the garden.

Then with a nimble step she traversed the long, double courtyards,

Leaving the stables behind, and the well-builded barns, too, behind her;

Entered the garden, that far as the walls of the city extended;

Walked through its length, rejoiced as she went in every thing growing;

Set upright the supports on which were resting the branches

Heavily laden with apples, and burdening boughs of the pear-tree.

Next some caterpillars removed from a stout, swelling cabbage;

For an industrious woman allows no step to be wasted.

Thus was she come at last to the end of the far-reaching garden,

Where stood the arbor embowered in woodbine; nor there did she find him,

More than she had hitherto in all her search through the garden.

But the wicket was standing ajar, which out of the arbor,

Once by particular favor, had been through the walls of the city

Cut by a grandsire of hers, the worshipful burgomaster.

So the now dried-up moat she next crossed over with comfort,

Where, by the side of the road, direct the well-fenc�d vineyard,

Rose with a steep ascent, its slope exposed to the sunshine.

Up this also she went, and with pleasure as she was ascending

Marked the wealth of the clusters, that scarce by their leafage were hidden.

Shady and covered the way through the lofty middlemost alley,

Which upon steps that were made of unhewn blocks you ascended.

There were the Muscatel, and there were the Chasselas hanging

Side by side, of unusual size and colored with purple,

All set out with the purpose of decking the visitor's table;

While with single vine-stocks the rest of the hillside was covered,

Bearing inferior clusters, from which the delicate wine comes.

Thus up the slope she went, enjoying already the vintage,

And that festive clay on which the whole country, rejoicing,

Picks and tramples the grapes, and gathers the must into vessels:

Fireworks, when it is evening, from every direction and corner

Crackle and blaze, and so the fairest of harvests is honored.

But more uneasy she went, her son after twice or thrice calling,

And no answer receiving, except from the talkative echo,

That with many repeats rang back from the towers of the city.

Strange it was for her to seek him; he never had gone to a distance

That he told her not first, to spare his affectionate mother

Every anxious thought, and fear that aught ill had befallen.

Still did she constantly hope that, if further she went, she should find him;

For the two doors of the vineyard, the lower as well as the upper,

Both were alike standing open. So now she entered the cornfield,

That with its broad expanse the ridge of the hill covered over.

Still was the ground that she walked on her own; and the crops she rejoiced in,—

All of them still were hers, and hers was the proud-waving grain, too,

Over the whole broad field in golden strength that was stirring.

Keeping the ridgeway, the footpath, between the fields she went onward,

Having the lofty pear-tree in view, which stood on the summit,

And was the boundary-mark of the fields that belonged to her dwelling.

Who might have planted it, none could know, but visible was it

Far and wide through the country; the fruit of the pear-tree was famous.

'Neath it the reapers were wont to enjoy their meal at the noon-day,

And the shepherds were used to tend their flocks in its shadow.

Benches of unhewn stones and of turf they found set about it.

And she had not been mistaken, for there sat her Hermann, and rested,—

Sat with his head on his hand, and seemed to be viewing the landscape

That to the mountains lay: his back was turned to his mother.

Towards him softly she crept, and lightly touched on the shoulder;

Quick he turned himself round: there were tears in his eyes as he met her.

"Mother, how hast thou surprised me!" he said in confusion; and quickly

Wiped the high-spirited youth his tears away. But the mother,

"What! do I find thee weeping, my son?" exclaimed in amazement.

"Nay, that is not like thyself: I never before have so seen thee!

Tell me, what burdens thy heart? what drives thee here, to be sitting

Under the pear-tree alone? These tears in thine eyes, what has brought them?"

Then, collecting himself, the excellent youth made her answer:

"Truly no heart can that man have in his bosom of iron,

Who is insensible now to the needs of this emigrant people;

He has no brains in his head, who not for his personal safety,

Not for his fatherland's weal, in days like the present is anxious.

Deeply my heart had been touched by the sights and sounds of the morning;

Then I went forth and beheld the broad and glorious landscape

Spreading its fertile slopes in every direction about us,

Saw the golden grain inclining itself to the reapers,

And the promise of well-filled barns from the plentiful harvest.

But, alas, how near is the foe! The Rhine with its wa