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The Poems of Goethe-Part64_JOHANN W. GOETHE (1749-1832)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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Hermann but partially heard the words; the whole of his members



Inwardly quivered, and all the circle were suddenly silent.

But the excellent maiden, by words of such irony wounded,



(As she esteem'd them to be) and deeply distress'd in her spirit,

Stood, while a passing flush from her cheeks as far as her neck was



Spreading, but she restrain'd herself, and collected her thoughts soon;

Then to the old man she said, not fully concealing her sorrow



"Truly I was not prepared by your son for such a reception,

When he described his father's nature,--that excellent burgher,



And I know I am standing before you, a person of culture,

Who behaves himself wisely to all, in a suitable manner.



But it would seem that you feel not pity enough for the poor thing

Who has just cross'd your threshold, prepared to enter your service



Else you would not seek to point out, with ridicule bitter,

How far removed my lot from your son's and that of yourself is.



True, with a little bundle, and poor, I have enter'd your dwelling,

Which it is the owner's delight to furnish with all things.



But I know myself well, and feel the whole situation.

Is it generous thus to greet me with language so jeering,



Which was well nigh expelled me the house, when just on the threshold?"

Hermann uneasily moved about, and signed to the pastor



To interpose without delay, and clear up the error.

Quickly the wise man advanced to the spot, and witness'd the maiden's



Silent vexation and tearful eyes and scarce-restrain'd sorrow.

Then his spirit advised him to solve not at once the confusion,



But, on the contrary, prove the excited mind of the maiden.

So, in words framed to try her, the pastor address'd her as follows:--



"Surely, my foreign maiden, you did not fully consider,

When you made up your mind to serve a stranger so quickly,



What it really is to enter the house of a master;

For a shake of the hand decides your fate for a twelvemonth,



And a single word Yes to much endurance will bind you.

But the worst part of the service is not the wearisome habits,



Nor the bitter toil of the work, which seems never-ending;

For the active freeman works hard as well as the servant.



But to suffer the whims of the master, who blames you unjustly,

Or who calls for this and for that, not knowing his own mind,



And the mistress's violence, always so easily kindled,

With the children's rough and supercilious bad manners,--



This is indeed hard to bear, whilst still fulfilling your duties

Promptly and actively, never becoming morose or ill-natured;



Yet for such work you appear little fit, for already the father's

Jokes have offended you deeply; yet nothing more commonly happens



Than to tease a maiden about her liking a youngster."

Thus he spoke, and the maiden felt the weight of his language,



And no more restrain'd herself; mightily all her emotions

Show'd themselves, her bosom heaved, and a deep sigh escaped her,



And whilst shedding burning tears, she answer'd as follows:--

"Ne'er does the clever man, who seeks to advise us in sorrow,



Think how little his chilling words our hearts can deliver

From the pangs which an unseendestiny fastens upon us.



You are happy and merry. How then should a jest ever wound you?

But the slightest touch gives torture to those who are suff'ring.



Even dissimulation would nothing avail me at present.

Let me at once disclose what later would deepen my sorrow,



And consign me perchance to agony mute and consuming.

Let me depart forthwith! No more in this house dare I linger;



I must hence and away, and look once more for my poor friends

Whom I left in distress, when seeking to better my fortunes.



This is my firm resolve; and now I may properly tell you

That which had else been buried for many a year in my bosom.



Yes, the father's jest has wounded me deeply, I own it,

Not that I'm proud and touchy, as ill becometh a servant,



But because in truth in my heart a feeling has risen

For the youth, who to-day has fill'd the part of my Saviour.



For when first in the road he left me, his image remain'd still

Firmly fix'd in my mind; and I thought of the fortunatemaiden



Whom, as his betroth'd one, he cherish'd perchance in his bosom.




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