The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 08: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English
General
The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 08: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
"I should like to give you some good advice."
"Yes, yes, let me have it--I'll listen to it gladly."
The mother then took her son's hand, and began:
"You must stand still--I can't talk while I am walking. Look; that she
should please you is, of course, the first thing--there's no happiness
without love. Well, I am an old woman, and so I may say what I think to
you, may I not?"
"Yes, surely."
"Well, if it doesn't make you happy, if it doesn't make you feel as if
it were a boon from heaven to kiss her, then it's not the right kind of
love. But--why don't you stand still--but that kind of love is not
enough; there may be something else concealed beneath it, believe me."
Here the old woman blushed crimson and hesitated. "Look you," she went
on, "where there is not the right feeling of respect, when a man does
not feel rejoiced that a woman takes a thing in hand in just one way,
and not in another, and does it just in this way, and not in that--it's
a bad sign. And above all things, notice how she treats her servants."
"I'll take what you have to say, and change it into small coin for you;
for talking is hard for you. What you have just said, I understand; she
must not be too proud, and not too familiar."
"That, certainly. But I can tell by looking at a girl's mouth, if that
mouth has used bad words and scolded and stormed, and is fond of doing
it. Yes, if you could see her weeping with vexation, or come upon her
unawares, when she is angry, that would be the best way of knowing what
she is. For then the inward self that we conceal springs out, and often
that self is armed with claws, like a devil. Oh, child, I have had much
experience, and have seen many things. I can tell by the way a woman
puts out a candle what she is, and what kind of a temper she has; she
who puts it out hurriedly as she goes by, regardless of whether it blows
sparks or sputters or not, she is one who prides herself upon her
bustling industry, and who does things only by halves, and has no peace
of mind."
"But, mother, you're making it too hard for me; after all, it's a
lottery, and always will be one."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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