Love as a Landscape Painter by Johann Wolfgang von Goeth On a rocky peak once sat I early,
Gazing on the mist with eyes unmoving,
Stretched out like a pall of grayish texture,
All things round and all above it covered.
Suddenly a boy appeared beside me,
Saying,
Friend,
What meanest thou by gazing on the vacant pall with such composure?
Hast thou lost for evermore all pleasure,
Both in painting cunningly and forming?
On the child I gazed,
And thought in secret,
Would the boy pretend to be a master?
Wouldest thou be for ever dull and idle?
Said the boy.
No wisdom,
Thou attain to see.
All straightway paint for thee a figure.
How to paint a beauteous figure,
Show thee.
Then he then extended his forefinger,
Ruddy was it as a youthful rosebud,
Toward the broad and far outstretching carpet,
And began to draw there with his finger.
First on high a radiant sun he painted,
Which upon mine eyes with splendour glistened,
And he made the clouds with golden border.
Through the clouds he let the sunbeams enter,
Painted then the soft and feathery summits of the fresh and quickened trees behind them.
One by one with freedom drew the mountains.
Underneath he left no lack of water,
But the river painted so like nature,
That it seemed to glitter in the sunbeams,
That it seemed against its banks to murmur.
Ah!
There blossomed flowers beside the river,
And bright colours gleaned upon the meadow,
Gold and green and purple and enameled,
All like carbuncles and emeralds seeming.
Bright and clear he added then the heavens and the blue tinged mountains far and farther,
So that I,
As though new-born and raptured gazed on.
Now the painter,
Now the picture.
Then spake he,
Although I have convinced thee that this art I understand full surely,
Yet the heart is still is left to show thee.
Thereupon he traced with pointed finger and with anxious care upon the forest,
At the utmost verge were the strong sunbeams from the shining ground appeared reflected.
Trace the figure of a lovely maiden,
Fair in form and clad in graceful fashion,
Fresh the cheeks beneath her brown locks ambush,
And the cheeks possess the same self-colour as the finger that had served to paint them.
O thou boy!
Exclaimed I then,
What master!
In his school received thee as his pupil,
Teaching thee so truthfully and quickly,
Wisely to begin and well to finish.
Whilst I still was speaking,
Low as ever softly rose and set the tree tops moving,
Curling all the wavelets on the river,
And the perfect maiden's veil too filled it,
And to make my wonderment still greater soon the maiden set her foot in motion.
On she came,
Approaching toward the station,
Where still sat I with my arc instructor,
And now all yes all thus moved together,
Flowers,
River,
Trees,
The veil,
All moving,
And the gentle foot of that most fair one.
Can ye think that on my rock I lingered,
Like a rock,
As though fast chained and silent?
