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

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      Then broke familiarly in the housewife impatient, exclaiming:

      "Tell us of what ye have seen; for that I am longing to hear of!"

      "Hardly," with emphasis then the village doctor made answer,

      "Can I find spirits so soon after all the scenes I have witnessed.

      Oh, the manifold miseries! who shall be able to tell them?

      E'en before crossing the meadows, and while we were yet at a distance,

      Saw we the dust; but still from hill to hill the procession

      Passed away out of our sight, and we could distinguish but little.

      But when at last we were come to the street that crosses the valley,

      Great was the crowd and confusion of persons on foot and of wagons.

      There, alas! saw we enough of these poor unfortunates passing,

      And could from some of them learn how bitter the sorrowful flight was,

      Yet how joyful the feeling of life thus hastily rescued.

      Mournful it was to behold the most miscellaneous chattels,—

      All those things which are housed in every well-furnished dwelling,

      All by the house-keeper's care set up in their suitable places,

      Always ready for use; for useful is each and important.—

      Now these things to behold, piled up on all manner of wagons,

      One on the top of another, as hurriedly they had been rescued.

      Over the chest of drawers were the sieve and wool coverlet lying;

      Thrown in the kneading-trough lay the bed, and the sheets on the mirror.

      Danger, alas! as we learned ourselves in our great conflagration

      Twenty years since, will take from a man all power of reflection,

      So that he grasps things worthless and leaves what is precious behind him.

      Here, too, with unconsidering care they were carrying with them

      Pitiful trash, that only encumbered the horses and oxen;

      Such as old barrels and boards, the pen for the goose, and the bird-cage.

      Women and children, too, went toiling along with their bundles,

      Panting 'neath baskets and tubs, full of things of no manner of value:

      So unwilling is man to relinquish his meanest possession.

      Thus on the dusty road the crowded procession moved forward,

      All confused and disordered. The one whose beasts were the weaker,

      Wanted more slowly to drive, while faster would hurry another.

      Presently went up a scream from the closely squeezed women and children,

      And with the yelping of dogs was mingled the lowing of cattle,

      Cries of distress from the aged and sick, who aloft on the wagon,

      Heavy and thus overpacked, upon beds were sitting and swaying.

      Pressed at last from the rut and out to the edge of the highway,

      Slipped the creaking wheel; the cart lost its balance, and over

      Fell in the ditch. In the swing the people were flung to a distance,

      Far off into the field, with horrible screams; by good fortune

      Later the boxes were thrown and fell more near to the wagon.

      Verily all who had witnessed the fall, expected to see them

      Crushed into pieces beneath the weight of trunks and of presses.

      So lay the cart all broken to fragments, and helpless the people.

      Keeping their onward way, the others drove hastily by them,

      Each thinking only of self, and carried away by the current.

      Then we ran to the spot, and found the sick and the aged,—

      Those who at home and in bed could before their lingering ailments

      Scarcely endure,—lying bruised on the ground, complaining and groaning,

      Choked by the billowing dust and scorched by the heat of the noonday."

      Thereupon answered and said the kind-hearted landlord, with feeling:

      "Would that our Hermann might meet them and give them refreshment

      and clothing!

      Loath should I be to behold them: the looking on suffering pains me.

      Touched by the earliest tidings of their so cruel afflictions,

      Hastily sent we a mite from out of our super-abundance,

      Only that some might be strengthened, and we might ourselves be made easy.

      But let us now no longer renew these sorrowful pictures

      Knowing how readily fear steals into the heart of us mortals,

      And anxiety, worse to me than the actual evil.

      Come with me into the room behind, our cool little parlor,

      Where no sunbeam e'er shines, and no sultry breath ever enters

      Through its thickness of wall. There mother will bring us a flagon

      Of our old eighty-three, with which we may banish our fancies.

      Here 'tis not cosey to drink: the flies so buzz round the glasses."

      Thither adjourned they then, and all rejoiced in the coolness.

      Carefully brought forth the mother the clear and glorious vintage,

      Cased in a well-polished flask, on a waiter of glittering pewter,

      Set round with large green glasses, the drinking cups meet for the

      Rhine wine.

      So sat the three together about the highly waxed table,

      Gleaming and round and brown, that on mighty feet was supported.

      Joyously rang at once the glasses of landlord and pastor,

      But his motionless held the third, and sat lost in reflection,

      Until with words of good-humor the landlord challenged him, saying,—

      "Come, sir neighbor, empty your glass, for God in His mercy

      Thus far has kept us from evil, and so in the future will keep us.

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