Chapter VI: Preface: To the Fiftieth Edition (2)

Werner did as he was counselled.
An old tower was there standing
By the shore, half in the river;
And where through a secret wicket
To the strand came down the fisher,
Was a quiet hidden inlet,
Where lay boat and rudder ready.
As the boatman kept the feast-day,
So without permission Werner
Took possession of the boat there.
In the meantime evening crept on:
Here and there rang from the mountains
Clear and sharp, a shouting from some
Tipsy peasant going homeward.
O'er those distant pine-tree forests
Streamed the moonlight through the valley;
Bashfully some stars already
From the clear blue sky were peeping.
From the shore shoved off young Werner.
As a horse, when in his stable
Long imprisoned, gaily prances,
Neighs with joy, when he can carry
Through the fields again his master:
So shot boldly swiftly downward,
On the water gaily bounding,
The light boat, and speeding onward
Passed the walls of the old city.
Soon it gained the ancient Rhine bridge,
Which with timber-covered arches
Boldly spans from shore to shore.
And courageously young Werner
Steered right through below the third pier,
Laughing, when, as if to vex him,
Three times up and three times downward
Danced his boat, seized by the whirlpool
Soon he now beheld the castle
With its gable-roofs and turrets,
Shining through the lofty chestnuts,
All illumined by the moonlight.
Yonder rose up from the river
By the shore a bank of gravel,
Bare and barren; it was often
Flooded over by the river.
Out of fun the country people
Called it field of Fridolinus.
Thither now the frail boat drifted;
There it halted on the shelving
Pebbly ground. Out jumped young Werner,
And he looked with eager glances
Whether he could not descry her.
He could only see a distant
Twinkling light up in the turret;
But this wholly satisfied him.
Often doth a distant vision
More delight bestow upon us
Than the fulness of possession;
Hence our Song dwells on his pleasure,
As he stands there on the sand-bank
At that light in rapture gazing.
Spread before his dreamy eyes lay
Rosy visions of the future;
Neither sun nor stars shone in them,
Nothing but that light's faint glimmer.
From the turret, where it flickered,
Love flew forth, on rapid pinions,
Noiselessly to him descended,
And unseen stood there beside him
On the field of Fridolinus;
And he handed him the trumpet
Which from Werner's neck was hanging,
Saying: Blow your trumpet, blow it!

And he blew until his blowing
Filled with melody the night air.
In the depths the Rhine was listening,
Salmon, trout, and pike were listening,
Water-nymphs were listening also,
And the wind the ringing tones bore
To the castle tenderly.

FIFTH PART.

THE BARON AND HIS DAUGHTER.

Now, my Muse, thy powers summon!
For thy path leads to the Baron
And the lovely Margaretta.
Now be circumspect and courteous;
For, an aged trooper-colonel
Might with thee and others like thee
Not be very ceremonious;
But might throw thee down the staircase,
Which is steep and very slippery,
And might prove injurious to thee.
Now, my Muse, mount upward to the
Castle gate, behold there sculptured
The three balls upon the scutcheon.
As in the armorial bearings
Of the Medici in Florence--
Signs of ancient, noble lineage;
Now ascend the steps of sandstone,
Loudly knock at the great hall door,
Then step in and give report of
What thou there hast slyly noticed.
In the spacious, lofty knights' hall,
With its walls of panelled oak-wood.
And with rows of old ancestral
Dusty portraits decorated,
There the Baron took his comfort,
Seated in his easy arm-chair
By the cheerful blazing fire.
His mustache was gray already;
On his forehead, which a Swedish
Troopers sword had deeply scarred once,
Many wrinkles had been furrowed
Also by the hand of Time.
And a most unpleasant guest had
Taken quarters uninvited
In the left foot of the Baron.
Gout 'tis called in vulgar parlance,
But if any learned person
Rather podagra should call it,
I shall offer no objection;
Not the less will be its torments.
Just this day the pangs were milder,
Only now and then increasing,
When the Baron, smiling, spoke thus:

"Zounds! 'tis evident that in the
Long and dreadful Thirty Years' war.
E'en this plaguy gout adopted
Something of the art of tactics.
The attack begins in order;
First the skirmishers go forward,
Then the flying columns follow.
Oh, I wish the devil had them,
This whole reconnoitring party!
But not even this sufficeth.
Just as if I had a fortress
In my heart--like guns 'tis roaring.
Then it throbs like storming parties,
Piif! paif! I capitulate."

But just then there was a truce held.
So the Baron took his comfort
As he filled out of the stone jug
His large goblet brimming over.
Up by Hallau where the last spurs
Of the Hohe-Randen's ridges
To the Rhine are sloping downward,
Where the vintner, while at labour,
Hears the ceaseless mighty roaring
Of the Rhine-fall by Schaffhausen:
Had the sun with fervent glowing
Ripened well the spicy red wine
Which the Baron had selected
As his usual evening beverage.
And, to heighten his enjoyment,
He puffed out clouds of tobacco.
In his red and simple clay-pipe
Burned the weed from foreign countries,
Which he smoked through a long pipe-stem
Made of fragrant cherry-wood.

At the Baron's feet was lying
Gracefully the worthy tom-cat,
Hiddigeigei, with the coal-black
Velvet fur and mighty tail.
'Twas an heirloom from his long-lost,
Much-beloved, and stately consort,
Leonore Monfort du Plessys.
Hiddigeigei's native country
Was Hungaria, and his mother,
Who was of the race Angora,
Bore him to a Puszta tom-cat.
In his early youth to Paris
He was sent as a fond token
Of the love of an Hungarian,
Who, though far in Debreczin, still
With due reverence had remembered
The blue eyes of Leonora,
And the rats in her old palace.
With the stately Leonora
To the Rhine came Hiddigeigei.
A true house-pet, somewhat lonesome
Did he while away his life there;
For, he hated to consort with
Any of the German cat-tribe.
"They may have," thus he was thinking
In his consequential cat-pride,
"Right good hearts, and may possess too
At the bottom some good feeling,
But 'tis polish that is wanting;
A fine culture and high breeding,
I miss sorely in these vulgar
Natives of this forest-city.
And a cat who won his knight spurs
In fair Paris, and who often
In the quarter of Montfaucon
Has enjoyed a racy rat-hunt,
Misses in this little town here
All that is to him congenial,
Any intercourse with equals."
Isolated, therefore, but still
Ever dignified and solemn
Lived he in this lonely castle.
Graceful through the halls he glided,
Most melodious was his purring;
And in fits of passion even,
When he curved his back in anger,
And his hair stood bristling backward,
Never did he fail to mingle
Dignity with graceful bearing.
But when over roof and gable
Up he softly clambered, starting
On a hunting expedition.
Then mysteriously by moonlight
His green eyes like emeralds glistened;
Then, indeed, he looked imposing
This majestic Hiddigeigei.

Near his cat sat the old Baron.
In his eyes were often flashes,
Now like lightning--then more softened
Like the mellow rays of sunset,
As he thought of bygone times.
To old age belongs the solace
Of recalling days of yore.
Thus the aged ne'er are lonely.
The dear shades are floating round them,
Of the dead, in quaint old garments,
Gorgeous once, now sadly faded.
But fond memory blots decay out,
And the skulls once more with beauty
Are arrayed in youthful freshness.
Then they talk of days long vanished,
And the aged heart is beating,
And the fist oft clinches tightly.
As he passes by her turret,
Once again she smiling greets him;
Once again resound the trumpets,
And the fiery charger bears him
Neighing to the throng of battle.

So the Baron with good humour
Of the Past review was holding--
And, when oft he stretched his hand out,
Suddenly grasped at his goblet,
And a deep long draught then swallowed:
Probably a dear and lovely
Vision rose up bright before him.
Oft it seemed as if his memory
Clung to things which gave less pleasure;
For sometimes, without a reason,
Down there came on Hiddigeigei's
Back a kick with cruel rudeness.
And the cat thought it more prudent
Then his resting-place to alter.

Now into the hall stepped lightly
The old Baron's lovely daughter
Margaretta,--and her father
Nodded kindly as she entered.
Hiddigeigei's suffering face too
Showed delight as cats express it.
She had changed her festal white robe
For a garment of black velvet.
On her long and golden tresses,
A black cap sat most coquettish,
'Neath which her blue eyes were smiling
With a matron-like expression;
To the girdle was attached the
Bunch of keys and leather-pocket,
German housewife's badge of honour.
And she kissed the Baron's forehead,
Saying: "Dear papa, don't blame me,
If to-day I kept you waiting.
The old Lady Abbess yonder
In the convent did detain me,
Told me many things of import,
Wisely of old age discoursing,
And of Time, the great destroyer.
The Commander too of Beuggen
Said such sweet things, just as if they
Came right from the comfit-maker.
I was glad, when I could leave them.
For your lordship's further pleasure
Here I am, all due attention.
I am ready, from your favourite
Theuerdank to read aloud now;
For, I know, you like the rougher
Tales of hunting and adventure,
Better than the mawkish sweetness
Of our present pastoral poets.

"But, O wherefore, dearest father,
Are you ever, ever smoking
This bad poisonous tobacco?
I am frightened when I see you
Sitting there in clouds enveloped
As in times of fog the Eggberg.
And I'm sorry for the gilded
Picture-frames hung on the walls there,
And the pretty snow-white curtains.
Don't you hear their low complaining,
How the smoke from your red-clay pipe
Makes them faded, gray and rusty?
'Tis most truly a fine country,
That America which once the
Spanish admiral discovered.
I myself take great delight in
The gay plumage of the parrots,
And the pink and scarlet corals;
Dream at times also of lofty
Graceful palm-groves, lonely log-huts,
Cocoa-nuts, gigantic flowers,
And of mischievous wild monkeys.
I wish almost it were lying
In the sea still undiscovered;
All because of this tobacco
Which has been imported hither.
I can grant a man forgiveness,
Who more often than is needed
Draws his red wine from the barrel,
And could get, if necessary,
Reconciled unto his red nose;
Never to this horrid smoking."

Smiling had the Baron listened,
Smiling he puffed many smoke-clouds
From his clay-pipe, and then answered:
"Dearest child, you women always
Thoughtlessly do talk of many
Things beyond your comprehension.
It is true that soldiers often
Take up many evil habits,
Not adapted to the boudoir.
But my daughter finds with smoking
Too much fault; for through this habit
I have won my wife and household.
And because to-day so many
Old campaign tales through my head run,
Do not read to-night. Sit down here;
I will now relate thee something
Of this much-abused tobacco,
And of thy blest angel mother."

Sceptically, Margaretta
With her large blue eyes looked at him,
Took her work up to embroider,
Coloured worsted and her needle,
Moved her stool then near the Baron's
Arm-chair, and sat down beside him.
Charming picture! In the forest,
Round the knotty oak thus climbeth
The wild rose in youthful beauty.
Then the Baron at one swallow
Drank his wine, and thus related:

"When the wicked war was raging,
I once roved with some few German
Troopers yonder in fair Alsace;
Hans von Weerth was our good colonel.
Swedes and French laid siege to Breisach,
And their camp was all alive with
Stories of our daring ventures.
But who e'er can stand 'gainst numbers?
So one day the hounds attacked us,
Just as if wild beasts they hunted;
And at last, when bleeding freely
From the wounds their fangs inflicted,
We were forced to lay our arms down.
Afterwards the French transported
Us as prisoners to Paris,
Caged us in Vincennes' strong fortress.
'Damn them!' said our valiant colonel,
Hans von Weerth, 'it was much nicer,
Galloping, with shining sabres
Hostile lines to charge with fury,
Than on this hard bench to sit here,
And to battle with ennui thus.
For this foe there is no weapon,
Neither wine nor even dice-box,
Nothing but tobacco. I once
Tried it in the country of the
Dull Mynheers, and here it also
Will do service; let us smoke then!'
The commander of the fortress
Got a keg of best Varinas
For us from a Dutch retailer,
Got us also well-burnt clay-pipes.
In the prisoners' room commenced now
Such a smoking, such a puffing
Of dense clouds of strong tobacco
As no mortal eyes had seen yet
In the gallant Frenchmen's country.
Full of wonder gazed our jailors,
And the news spread to the king's ears,
And the king himself in person
Came to see this latest marvel.
Soon all Paris rang with stories
Of the wild and boorish Germans,
And of their, as yet unheard of,
Truly wondrous feats in smoking.
Coaches drove up, pages sprang down,
All came to the narrow guard-room,
Cavaliers and stately ladies;
She came also, she the noble
Leonore Montfort du Plessys.
Even now I see her slight foot
Stepping on our rough bare stone-floor,
Hear her satin train still rustling,
And my soldier's heart is beating
As if in the thick of battle.
Like the smoke from the big cannons
Came the smoke out of my clay-pipe;
And 'twas well so. On the same cloud
Which I puffed there in the presence
Of the proud one, sat god Cupid,
Gaily shooting off his arrows,
And he knew well how to hit right.
Out of wonder grew deep interest,
Then the interest fast to love changed,
And the German bear appeared soon
Finer far and nobler than the
Paris lions altogether.

"When, at last, the gates were opened
Of our dungeon, and the herald
Brought us tidings of our freedom,
I was then still more a captive
Bound in Leonora's fetters;
And remained thus, and the wedding
Which soon took us home to Rhine-land
Only made the rivets stronger.
When I think of this, I feel that
Tears on my mustache are rolling.
For what now to me remaineth
Of the past so fair, but memory,
And the black cat, Hiddigeigei,
And my Leonora's image.
Thou my child. God give her soul rest!"

Speaking thus, he knocked the ashes
From his pipe, and patted gently
Hiddigeigei; but his daughter
Roguishly knelt down before him.
Saying: "Dearest father, grant me
Your entire absolution.
Never shall you hear in future
From my lips an observation
On account of this vile smoking."

Graciously the Baron said then:
"Thou hast also been sarcastic
At my drinking oft too freely;
And I have a mind to tell thee
Still a most instructive story,
How in Rheinau in the cloister,
As the guest of the Lord Abbot
I went through a bout of drinking
In the famous wine of Hallau.
But"--the Baron stopped and listened.
"Zounds!" he said, "what's that I hear there?
Whence doth come that trumpet-blowing?"
Werner's music through the March night,
Plaintive soared up to the castle,
Begging entrance like a pet-dove,
Which, returning to its mistress,
Finds the window closed and fastened,
And begins to peck and hammer.
To the terrace went the Baron
And his daughter; Hiddigeigei
Followed both with step majestic.
Through the cat's heart then swept omens
Of a great, eventful future.
All around they looked--but vainly.
For the turret's gloomy shadow
Covered both the bank and Werner.
Like the blowing of the moot, then
Like the clanging charge of horsemen,
Up it mounted to the terrace,
Then died out;--a small boat dimly
They saw moving up the river.

Backward stepped the Baron quickly,
Pulled the bell and called his servant
Anton, who came in directly.
"Gain immediate information
Who was blowing here the trumpet
On the Rhine at this late hour.
If a spirit, sign the cross thrice;
If a mortal, greet him kindly,
And command his presence hither,
For with him I must hold converse."
Soldier-like, saluting, turned then
Right about face good old Anton:
"I'll fulfil your lordship's orders."

Meanwhile, silently descended
Midnight over vale and city;
And in Margaretta's slumbers
Came a dream most sweet and wondrous:
As she walked to the old minster
Once again in festal garments,
Fridolinus came to meet her;
By his side there walked another,
But 'twas not the dead man who once
Followed him to Glarus court-house;
'Twas a youth, fair, tall, and slender;
Like a trumpeter he looked, and
Greeted her with lowly reverence;
While Saint Fridolin was smiling.

SIXTH PART.

HOW YOUNG WERNER BECAME THE BARON'S TRUMPETER.

Master Anton started early
The next morning for the city,
To find out that trumpet blower.
By St. Fridolin's cathedral
He turned off into a side-street.
From the other side there came with
Rapid steps the boatman Martin,
And they met just at the corner,
Bumping up against each other.
"'Pon my soul," cried out the worthy
Anton, as he rubbed his forehead;
"Your thick skull is hard as iron."
"Yours is not upholstered either
With soft wool or springy sea-weed,"
Was the boatman's ready answer.
"And what business have you running
Through the city's streets thus early?"
"I can ask the same," said Anton.
"I seek someone who last evening
From the shore my boat unfastened,"
Answered him the boatman Martin.
"He may be my man," said Anton.
"When I came down to the river,
There I found my boat turned over
On the shore--the rudder broken,
And the fastening cut asunder.
If a thunderstorm would only
Sweep away these wicked people,
Who like thieves at night are roving
On the Rhine in borrowed vessels."
"And the trumpet blow," said Anton.--
"But whenever I shall find him,
To the justice I shall take him.
He must pay me; even for the
Black and blue mark which you gave me,
I shall bring a heavy reckoning.
It is shameful how this fellow
Gives me such vexation!" Thus the
Boatman scolding went on farther.

"And I do not see myself, why
I should take such extra trouble
To hunt up this mischief-maker,"
Said old Anton to himself then.
"Seems to me it is already
Just the time when honest people
For their morning draught are longing."

To the "Golden Button's" shady
Tap-room turned the worthy Anton
Now his steps, and through a side-door
In he stepped: he deemed it wiser
Thus to hide before the public
Such an early morning visit.
Many worthy folks already
Had there quietly assembled
O'er their brimming foaming bumpers.
Like red roses shone their faces,
And like radishes their noses.
"Want a big glass?" asked the waitress
Our old Anton, who assented:
"To be sure! hot is the weather,
And when I woke up, already
In my throat I felt a dryness."
So good Anton soon was drinking
From his large Bohemian bumper,
Turning over in his mind well,
How he should despatch his business.

In the private room was sitting,
Just then Werner with the landlord,
Who had served for his guest's breakfast
A fine slice of red smoked salmon,
And commenced with the young stranger
An instructive conversation:
On the vintage in the Rhine-Pfalz,
How the price of hops was standing,
How they fared in time of war there.
Now and then, to sound the stranger,
He threw slyly out some questions,
Whence he came and what his business.
Still he gained no satisfaction;
But quite shrewdly thus he reasoned:

"He's no bookworm, for he seemeth
Much too martial--nor a soldier
Either, as he looks too modest;
He may be a necromancer,
An adept in all dark witchcraft,
Alchemy, and other black arts.
Wait, I'll catch thee;" and he turned their
Talk to hidden buried treasures,
And to midnight exorcisms.
"Yes, my friend, here near the city
Lies a sandbank in the river.
At the time of Fridolinus
Heaps of gold coin there were buried.
One who knows, a clever fellow,
Could there dig and make his fortune."

"I already saw the sandbank,"
Said young Werner, "when I rowed there
On the Rhine last night by moonlight."

"What, you know it then already?"
Said the landlord much astonished.
"Have I caught thee?" he thought, keenly
Looking at young Werner's pockets,
If he could not hear a jingling
Of great lots of golden money.

"Have I caught thee?" also gladly
To himself said worthy Anton.
"It is, after all, the right thing
Thus to take an early potion."
From the spot where he was seated
He had heard their conversation;
And besides upon the table.
By the stranger's sword and cocked hat,
Also lay the sought-for trumpet.
Drawing near, then, he said gravely:

"With your leave, if you're no spirit--
And that seems to me unlikely.
As you've just enjoyed your breakfast--
Then the Baron sends you greeting,
And invites you to his castle.
I will take you there with pleasure."
Thus he spoke. Young Werner listened,
Half astonished, and went with him.

Smirking, thought the cunning landlord:
"You will get it, my young master;
You believed you had full freedom
Thus to rove about the river,
Spying out long-buried treasures.
But the Baron found you out soon,
And will stop your bold proceedings.
Now you'll get it, when he treats you,
From his amply-furnished stores, to
Some of his well-seasoned curses.
Like a top your head will spin then,
And your ears buzz like a beehive.
But this will concern you solely.
If he keep you in a dungeon
Of your horse I'll take possession;
It will well score off your reckoning."

Once more in the hall together
Were the Baron and his daughter,
And again he smoked his pipe there,
When the ponderous folding-doors were
Opened, and, with modest reverence,
Werner entered. "If you only,"
Said the faithful Anton, "only
Knew, your gracious lordship, what a
Heavy task it was to find him!"
Keenly did the Baron's eyes rest
On young Werner, passing muster;
By her father, lightly leaning
On his arm-chair, Margaretta
Bashfully looked at the stranger,
And with both the first impression
Of each other was most happy.
"It is you, then," said the Baron,
"Who last night have startled us here
With your trumpet-blowing, therefore
I should like to speak to you now."
"This commences well," thought Werner,
And, embarrassed, cast his eyes down
To the ground. But the old Baron,
Kindly smiling, thus continued:
"You believe, perhaps, I shall now
Call you to account for having
Made loud music near the castle?
You are wrong, 'tis not my business;
For no license is here needed
On the Rhine; if anybody
Wants to catch a cold by playing
Late at night there, he may do so.
No, I only wish to ask you,
Whether you would like here often
As last night to blow the trumpet?
But I fear I am mistaken.
You are not by trade a player,
May be one of those damned scribblers,
Secretary to a foreign
Embassy, as many are now
Coaching all about the country,
Just to spoil all that the soldier's
Ready sword had once accomplished?"
"Not bad either," thought young Werner;
Still he liked the Baron's manner.
"I am no professional player,"
Said he, "and still less a scribbler.
As for my part, all the inkstands
In the Holy Roman Empire
Might dry up without my caring.
I am not in any service,
But as my own lord and master
I am travelling for my pleasure,
And await whatever fortune
On my pathway may be blooming."

"Very good, then," said the Baron.
"If it stands thus, you may well hear
Everything I have to tell you;
But before we go on farther,
With old wine it must be seasoned."
Cleverly his thoughts divining,
Margaretta, from the cellar,
Now brought up two dusty bottles
Which, with spider-webs all covered,
In the sand had lain half-buried;
Brought with them two fine-cut goblets,
Which she filled and then presented.
"This wine ripened long before the
War raged in our German country,"
Said the Baron. "'Tis a famous
Choice old wine which grew at Grenzach.
Brightly in the glass it sparkles,
Like pure gold its colour shineth,
And a fragrance rises from it
Like the finest greenhouse flowers.
Master Trumpeter, ring glasses!"

Loudly then rang both their goblets.
Emptying his, the Baron spun out
Farther still the conversation.
"My young friend, you know, as long as
This world lasts, there will be people
Who are fond of hobby-horses.
Some are mystics and ascetics,
Others love old wine or brandy.
Some, antiquities are seeking,
Others are for chafers craving;
Many others make bad verses.
'Tis a curious joke that each one
Much prefers to choose a calling
Most unsuited to his nature.
I thus also ride my hobby,
And this hobby is the noble
Muse of music who regales me.
As King Saul's deep sorrow vanished
At the sound of David's harp once,
So with cheering sounds of music
Do I banish age's inroads
And the gout, my old disturber.
When sometimes in _tempo presto_
I an orchestra am leading,
Oft I think I'm once more riding
At the head of my brave squadrons.
Right wing, charge the enemy! charge!
At them now you piercing violins!
Fire away you kettle-drums now!
In the town here there are many
Skilful players--though among them
Is a want of sense artistic,
And of connoisseurship, only
Their good will doth hide their failings.
Violin, flute, also viol,
All these parts are well supported
And the contrabass is perfect.
But _one_ player still is wanting;
And, my friend, what is a general
Without orderlies, without a
Fugleman the line of battle,
And a band without the trumpet?

"Once 'twas different These old walls can
Hear him still, the valiant Rassmann,
The chief trumpeter of my squadrons.
Ha! that was a noble blowing!
Rassmann, wherefore didst thou die?

"Still as clear as on his last day,
Do I see him at the shooting
Festival at Laufenburg.
His mustache was fiercely twisted,
Bright and glistening was his trumpet,
And his riding-boots were shining
Like a mirror; I was chuckling.
''Tis a point of honour,' said he.
'I must all these Swiss astonish
With myself and with my trumpet.'

"Clear and cheerful rang out yonder
Bugle-horns and trumpets; but as
O'er the choir of forest singers
Sounds the nightingale's sweet warbling,
So above all rang out loudly
Rassmann's wondrous trumpet-blowing.
When we met, his cheeks were scarlet,
And fatigued appeared his breathing.
''Tis a point of honour,' said he;
And blew on still. Then were silenced
All the trumpeters from Frickthal,
Those from Solothurn and Aarau,
By the trumpeter great Rassmann.
Once again we met, 'twas evening.
In the 'Golden Swan' he sat then;
Like a giant 'mid the pigmies
Looked he in this crowd of players.
Many were the goblets emptied
By the trumpeters from Frickthal,
And from Solothurn and Aarau,
But the most capacious goblet
Was drank out by my brave Rassmann.
And with fiery Castelberger,
Which grows on the Aar by Schinznach,
He at last filled up his trumpet.
''Tis a point of honour,' said he;
Drank it out at one long swallow.
'To your health my worthy colleagues!
Thus drinks trumpet-blower Rassmann.'
Midnight had already passed by,
Under tables lay some snoring,
But with steady step and upright
Started Rassmann from the tavern.
On the Rhine with mocking humour
He poured forth a roguish tune yet,
Then a misstep! Poor, poor Rassmann!
Straight he fell into the river,
And the Rhine's tremendous whirlpool
Thundered foaming and engulfed him,
Him the bravest trumpet-blower.
Ha! that was a noble blowing!
Rassmann, wherefore didst thou die?"

Deeply moved the Baron told this;
Then continued after pausing:
"My young friend, and think, last evening
On the Rhine a trumpet rang out
Like a greeting from his spirit,
And a tune I heard performed there,
Such a wilderness of sounds, and
Played in Rassmann's finest manner.
If we only had that trumpet,
Then the gap would be filled up well.
And once more I'd lead a full band,
As it were to frays of music.
Therefore hear now my proposal:
Stay with us here in my castle.
Paralysed is now the music
In the forest-city, blow then
New life into her old bones."

Thoughtfully spoke then young Werner:
"Noble lord, you do me honour,
But I nourish a misgiving.
Slim and straight have I thus grown up,
Have not learnt the art of bending
My proud back in any service."

Said the Baron: "Take no trouble
On that head; because the service
Of the arts enslaves nobody.
Only want of understanding
Makes one lose one's independence.
Be assured, nought is required
Of you but some merry music.
Only, if in idle moments
You would write for me a letter,
Or with my accounts would help me,
I should thank you; for an ancient
Soldier finds the pen a burden."

Still young Werner hesitated;
But a glance at Margaretta,
And the clouds of doubt all vanished.
"Noble lord," he said, "I'll stay then,
On the Rhine shall be my home now!"
"Bravo!" said the Baron kindly.
"From the prompting of the moment
Have the best results proceeded;
Evil springs from hesitation.
Master Trumpeter ring glasses!
With the golden wine of Grenzach,
With a hearty grasp of hands thus
Let us seal our new-made contract."
Turning then to Margaretta:
"I present to you, my daughter,
This new member of our household."
Then young Werner's silent greeting
Was returned by Margaretta.

"Follow me now through the castle,
My young friend, that I may show you
Where you will abide in future.
In the tower there I have the
Very room for a musician,
O'er the Rhine and mountains looking;
And the radiant morning sun will
Wake you early from your slumber.
There you cosily can nestle.
And the trumpet will sound well there."

From the hall they both proceeded.
From the hall the Baron's daughter
Also went, and in the garden
Gathered cowslips and sweet violets,
Also other fragrant flowers,
Speaking to herself: "How lonely
Must the young man feel here, coming
Thus to dwell with utter strangers!
And, besides, the tower-room looks
With its whitewashed walls so naked,
That I think my pretty nosegay
Will do much for its adornment."

SEVENTH PART.

THE EXCURSION TO THE MOUNTAIN LAKE.

Azure heavens, glowing sunlight,
Bees' low humming, larks' gay carols,
Clear as glass the Rhine's green waters.
On the mountains snow is melting,
In the valleys blossom fruit trees,
May begins his reign at last.

In the path before the hall door
Hiddigeigei took his comfort,
Caring only that the sun's rays
On his fur should fall and warm him.
Through the garden walked the Baron
With his daughter, and with pleasure
He beheld the trees in blossom.
"If my life should be preserved still
For a hundred years or longer,
I should always be delighted
With this wonder-breathing May-time.
True, indeed, I set no value
On the May-dew, though the women
Like to wet with it their faces.
I have never seen a soul yet
Who by it improved her beauty;
Have no faith in arts of witchcraft
In the night of St. Walpurgis,
Nor in broomstick-riding squadrons.
Notwithstanding there belongs a
Magic to the month of May.
My old weary bones have suffered
Many painful gouty twinges
From the chilly winds of April.
Now these pains are quite forgotten,
And I feel as if the old strength
Of my youth were through me streaming,
And as if I were once more a
Beardless trim and gay young ensign,
In those days when at Noerdlingen
I fought fiercely, in close combat
With those brave blue Swedish horseman.
So I think, it would be pleasant
To agree, this is a feast-day,
Though no Saint has ever claimed it.
Let us saunter through the forest.
I will breathe the balmy pine air,
And the young folks may try whether
Fortune favours them at fishing.
Yes, to-day I yearn for pleasure.
Anton, get the horses ready."

So 'twas done as he had ordered.
In the court, filled with impatience,
Pawed and neighed the fiery horses.
Full of joyful expectation
For the sport were the young people.
Bent on fishing they had carried
The great net up from the river.
Worthy Anton had invited
Many friends of the old Baron,
Also had communicated
With the ladies of the convent;
And, besides, some uninvited
Guests had also here assembled.
When the landlord of the "Button"
Heard the news, he to his wife said:
"To thy care I trust entirely
All the business of the tavern;
In thy hands I lay the keys now
Of the cellar and the larder,
I must join the fishing-party."
Speaking thus he stole off quickly;
Ne'er he missed a hunt or fishing.

Strong and hearty looked the Baron,
On his charger firmly seated
Like a bronze equestrian statue.
By his side on her white palfrey
Rode the lovely Margaretta.
Gracefully to her slim figure
Clung in folds her riding-habit;
Gracefully the blue veil floated
From her riding-hat of velvet.
With a steady hand she boldly
Reined her palfrey, who was bearing
With delight so fair a burden.
Watchfully good Anton followed
His fair mistress; also Werner
After them was gaily trotting,
Though at a respectful distance.
For, behind, in solemn grandeur,
Came the big old-fashioned carriage
Of the Lady Princess Abbess,
With three ladies of the convent,
Likewise old and venerable.
They by Werner were escorted.
He made many courtly speeches
To these old and noble ladies,
And broke many flowering branches
From the trees, and most politely
Handed them into the carriage;
So that, struck with his fine manners,
They unto each other whispered:
"What a pity he's not noble!"

Up hill steep the road ascended,
And the forest of dark pine-trees
Now received the long procession.
Soon then through the dusky branches
Silver like the mountain-lake shone,
And already merry shouting
Came from thence; for the young people
Of the town had gained the lake-shore
By a shorter steeper path.
At the summit, where the main-road
Took a different direction,
Carriages and riders halted,
And the vehicles and horses
To the servants' care were left.
Full of vigour, through the forest,
Down the hill-slope walked the Baron,
And the ladies followed bravely.
Mosses like the softest velvet
Thickly covered all the ground there,
And descending was not dangerous.
On a ridge, which wide and sunny,
Far into the lake protruded,
Numerous blocks of rock lay scattered.
There the Baron rested, and the
Ladies followed his example.

Deep green lake, dense shade of fir-trees,
Many thousand times I greet you.
I who now this song am singing
Of the past, rejoice in you still.
Oh, how oft ye have refreshed me,
When escaping from the daily
Narrowness of petty town life,
Out to you I used to wander.
Often on the rock I've rested,
Which the roots of the old pine-trees
Cling to, while beneath the lake lies
With its gently rippled surface.
In deep shade the shores lie buried,
But the glittering rays of sunlight
Gaily dance across the water.
All around reigned holy silence,
Only heard there was the hammering
Of the pecker on the pine-trees.
Through the fallen leaves and mosses
Rustled softly emerald lizards,
And with clever questioning glances
Curiously they eyed the stranger.

Yes, I often lay there dreaming;
And when often still at night-fall
I sat there, I heard a rustling
Through the reeds, the water-lilies
Whispered softly to each other.
Then arose from the deep water
Mermaids, whose fair pallid faces
Brightly shone in the soft moonlight.
Heart overwhelming, mind bewildering,
Were their gliding graceful motions;
And they beckoned me to come there.
But the fir-tree held and warned me:
"Stay thou here on terra firma,
Hast no business in the water."

Deep green lake, dense shade of fir-trees,
Oft I think of you quite sadly.
Since those days I've been a wanderer:
I have climbed up many mountains,
And through many lands have travelled,
Looked upon the restless ocean,
And have heard the Sirens singing;
But yet often through my memory
Steal the lake's sweet soothing murmurs,
And soft whispers from the fir-trees,
Home, and love, and youth recalling.

Now there was a noisy thronging,
Running, shouting, laughing, joking,
Down beneath there on the shore.
Like a general, stood the cunning,
Skilful landlord of the "Button,"
'Mid the crowd of younger people,
And on every side was giving
His wise counsels, how they might now
Have a good successful fishing.
There behind the rocks a boat lay
In the reeds with brushwood covered,
And with chains securely fastened,
That no poachers should disturb it,
Who might come along at midnight,
And employ it for their fishing.
From its hiding-place they dragged it
Onward to the lake-shore, and there
Placed the heavy net within it.
Closely netted were the meshes
Of the coarsest twine, while many
Leaden weights thereon were fastened.
When they tried the boat for leakage,
Although somewhat out of order,
They pronounced it quite seaworthy.
Now the landlord and five comrades,
Gay and hopeful, took their places,
And one end of the great net threw
To some friends on shore remaining,
With the charge to hold it tightly.
From the shore they pushed away now,
Rowing stoutly as the net sank
Slowly down in a wide curve;
Then returned with speed much lessened,
Always dragging on the heavy
Bulky net, so that the fishes
Might therein become entangled.
On the shore they sprang out quickly,
And drew after them the netting,
Till they nigh approached those friends who
Still upon the shore were waiting.
Stoutly pulling back the ends, they
Raised the net out of the water,
In great hopes of lots of booty.
But within itself entangled
It came slowly to the surface
Empty: some unskilful rower
Had prevented it from sinking,
And the dwellers of the lake laughed
To have just escaped such danger.
Now the landlord cast sharp glances
Over all the meshes. Nothing
Met his anxious gaze but water;
Not the smallest fish was caught there;
Only an old boot half rotten,
And a toad half crushed and flattened,
Which with eyes protruding oddly
Looked upon the sunlit forest,
And the human faces round him,
And he thought: "It is most truly
Wonderful, how anybody
Ever can enjoy existence,
With this sky and this bright sunlight!
Well, it seems to me no one here
E'er can have the slightest notion
Of the mud and all its splendour.
Would I were in my own element!"

Those who stood upon the lake-shore
Raised a long and roaring laughter
At these first-fruits of the fishing.
But in rage broke out the landlord,
O'er their laughter rang his scolding:
"Stupid fellows, bunglers, numskulls!"
And with angry kicks he sent then
All the booty flying swiftly,
Boot and toad in peace together
To the water where they came from.
Loudly splashing they sank downward.

But the disappointed fishers
Would again now try their fortune,
Loosened all the tangled meshes,
And with greatest care they lowered
Then the net and raised it slowly.
And to do so there were needed
Many sturdy pulls and struggles.
Ringing shouts and cries of triumph
Greeted this successful fishing.
From the rock came down the Baron
To the fishers, and the ladies
Eagerly made haste to follow.
Over rocks and thorny brambles
To the shore they found a pathway.
Margaretta followed also,
Notwithstanding her long habit.
When young Werner saw her coming,
Bashfully his arm he offered,
And bewildered were his senses.
So Sir Walter Raleigh's heart once
Must have beaten, when his mantle
He made use of as a carpet
For his gracious royal mistress.
Yet with thanks fair Margaretta
Werner's arm and aid accepted.
Out there in the verdant forest
Many useless scruples vanish,
Which oft elsewhere greatly trouble
Masters of the ceremonies.
The descent there was not easy,
And no other arm was near her.

By the lake they gaily looked now
At the fishing booty struggling.
Flapping in the net's strong meshes
Were the captives. Many snapping
Sought a way still for escaping,
But on the bare sand were landed;
And thus fruitless was their trial.
Those who felt toward each other
In the depths such bitter hatred,
Now as captives were quite peaceful:
Snake-like eels, so smooth and slippery,
Well-fed carps with huge broad noses,
And the pirate-fish, the slender
Pike with jaws large and voracious.
As in war, the harmless peasants
Often to stray shots fall victims,
So the fate of being captured
Many others overtook:
Handsome barbels, spotted gudgeons;
Tiny bleaks, the river-swallow;
And through all this crowd of fishes
Sluggishly the crab was creeping;
Inwardly he sadly grumbled:
"Caught together, hung together."

Well contented said the Baron:
"After labour comes amusement.
Seems to me, that our fresh booty
Will taste better in the forest.
Therefore let us now make ready
For ourselves a rustic dinner."
To these words they all assented,
And the landlord of the "Button"
Sent out two fleet-footed fellows
To the city with the order:
"Two large pans bring quickly hither;
Bring me golden fresh-made butter,
Also bread, and salt sufficient,
And a keg of fine old wine.
Bring me lemons too, and sugar;
For I feel a premonition
As if May-drink would be wanted."
Off they started. Under shelter
Of a rock with a tall pine-tree,
Some the hearth were getting ready,
Bringing there dry boughs and fagots,
Loads of furze and moss together.
Others now prepared the fishes
For the feast, and all the ladies
Gathered herbs of spicy fragrance,
Such as thyme and leaves of strawberries;
Also gathered for the May-wine
The white-blooming fragrant woodroof.
Which rejoiced at being broken
By such tender hands, and thought thus:
"Sweet it was in these dark pine-woods,
To be blooming, 'mid the rocks here,
But still sweeter in the May-time
'Tis to die, and with the last breath
Highly then to spice the May-wine
For the joy of human beings.
Death in general is corruption,
But the woodroof's death is like that
Of the morning-dew on blossoms,
Sweetly, without sighs, exhaling."
From the town returning quickly
Came the two fleet-footed fellows,
Bringing stores, as had been ordered.
And soon crackled on the stone-hearth
Cheerfully a blazing fire.
In the pans were frying briskly
What had recently been swimming.
First a mighty pike was served up
To the ladies by the landlord,
As a show of rustic cooking;
And a solemn earnest silence
Soon gave evidence that all were
Very busy with the banquet.
Only the confused low sounds of
Gnawing fish-bones, munching crab-claws,
Now disturbed the forest quiet.

Meanwhile, farther up, delicious
Fragrant May-wine was preparing.
In a bowl of size capacious
Margaretta's taste artistic
Well had brewed it; mild and spicy,
As sweet May himself the drink was.
Every glass she filled up, kindly
Helping all with graceful bearing.
Everybody got his share, and
All were merry round the fire.

There the city-teacher also
Stretched himself upon the grass-bank.
From the school he had absconded,
Also to enjoy the fishing.
In his heart he bore a secret,
Had to-day composed a song.
May-wine, May-wine, drink of magic!
Suddenly his cheeks were glowing,
And his eyes were shining brightly.
On the rock he sprang courageous,
Saying: "I will sing you something."
Smiling now, the others listened,
And young Werner stepping forward,
On his trumpet low and softly
Blew a piece first as a prelude.
Then upon the rock the teacher
Raised his voice and sang with fervour.
Werner joined him on the trumpet
Clear and joyful, and the chorus
Also fell in--clear and joyful
Through the forest rang the

MAY SONG.

"A wondrous youth of lovely mien
Rich gifts of joy is strewing;
O'er hill and vale, where'er are seen
His footsteps, light is glowing.
The fresh young green decks hill and lea,
The birds are singing merrily,
While falls in gentle showers
A rain of snow-white flowers.
So in the woods we sing and shout,
Heigh-tralala loud ringing;
We sing, while all things bud and sprout,
To May our welcome bringing.

"Young May in humming sounds delights,
Is full of merry capers;
So through the fir-trees swarm great flights
Of golden buzzing chafers.
And from the moss white lilies rise,
Of spring the fairest sweetest prize;
Their bells in tuneful measure
Ring in the May with pleasure.
So in the woods we sing and shout,
Heigh-tralala loud ringing;
We sing, while all things bud and sprout,
To May our welcome bringing.

"Now everyone may think, who can,
Of mirth, and love that burneth;
To many an old and worthy man
His youth again returneth.
His shouts resound across the Rhine:
'O let me in, thou sweetheart mine!'
And voices loud are crying;
Love's darts in May are flying.
So in the woods we sing and shout
Heigh-tralala loud ringing;
We sing, while all things bud and sprout,
To May our welcome bringing."

Long the plaudits, loud the clapping,
When it ended. And the ladies
Also seemed delighted with it;
As, indeed, in the loud chorus
Many gentle female voices
Readily could be distinguished.
Margaret in playful humour,
Out of hazel-leaves and holly,
And of violets and crowfoot,
Wound a garland, and said archly:
"This wreath to the most deserving!
But I'm puzzled who shall get it--
Whether he who sang the May-song,
Or else he who on the trumpet
Played the fine accompaniment."

Said the Baron: "In this matter
I will give a just decision.
Ever the first prize is given
To the poet; but a garland
Or a laurel-crown, what are they?
I agree with the old Grecians
Who awarded to the singer
Just the victim's fattest portion,
As the saddle or the buttock.
And I fancy that the teacher's
Stores are not so well provided,
That he'll offer an objection.
Therefore I make him a present
Of the largest pike and carp, which
Still are left among our booty.
But as my young friend, the trumpeter,
Seems disposed less practically,
So you may, in my opinion,
Honour him with your fair garland;
For, indeed, he played not badly."

Simpering now the happy singer
Rubbed his hands and blessed the May-time,
As he saw a glowing vision
Of the pan with fishes frying.
But young Werner to the maiden
Bashfully approached, and lowly
Bending on his knee, he hardly
Dared to gaze at her blue eyes.
But with grace placed Margaretta
On his brow the blooming garland,
While a weird and lurid fire-light
Suddenly in fitful flashes
Fell upon the group assembled.
For the embers on the hearth-stone
Had ignited the old pine-tree.
Flaming fiery tongues now glided
Through the branches full of resin;
And the sparks flew crackling upward
Wildly to the evening sky.

Margaretta, Margaretta!
Were they fireworks which the pine woods
Fondly burned to do thee honour?
Or did Cupid with his flaming
Love-torch wander through the forest?
But the flames were soon extinguished.
And the Baron now gave orders
That the party should break up; and
Fishers, riders, noble ladies,
All went homeward in the twilight.
Faintly glimmering fell the last bright
Sparks from out the pine-tree branches,
Sinking in the mountain-lake.

EIGHTH PART.

THE CONCERT IN THE GARDEN PAVILION.

In the garden of the castle
Mighty chestnut trees are standing,
And a pretty gay pavilion.
In the Rhine are deeply sunken
The foundations of the terrace.
'Tis a quiet cosy corner,
Hidden by a mass of foliage.
While below the waves are murmuring.

For the last two months, mysterious
Business has been going on here.
Pots of colours, painting brushes,
Lime and mortar, masons' trowels
And high scaffoldings are rising
To the dome of the pavilion.
Is't some evil spirit's workshop?--
'Tis no evil spirit's workshop.
Frescoes here are being painted,
And the legs which there are dangling
From the lofty wooden scaffold,
Are the legs of the illustrious
Fresco-painter Fludribus,
Who returning from Italia
Had been living in the Rhine-land.
He was pleased with the fair country,
And the rosy happy faces,
And the cellars full of wine.
All the people wondered at him
As they would at an enchanter;
For he told them marvellous stories.
In his youth he had been travelling,
And by chance once in Bologna
Came upon the school of artists.
In the studio of Albini
He became a colour-mixer;
And from this most graceful master
He found out with ready cunning
How to paint both gods and heroes,
And the airy little cupids.
Yes, he even helped the master,
Making easy light gradations,
Or preparing the dead colouring.

On the Rhine, far round the country
Fludribus was the sole artist.
Painted many tavern sign-boards,
Pictures also for the chapels,
Portraits e'en of brides of peasants.
Stable was his reputation;
For if any criticisers
Would find fault with his great paintings,
That an arm or nose was crooked,
Or a cheek looked too much swollen,
Then he would overwhelm his critics
With the big high-sounding phrases
He had learnt when at Bologna.
Hearing nothing but perspective,
Colouring and soft gradation,
Modelling and bold foreshortening,
Soon they lost their wits entirely.

Margaretta, who with faithful
Love had long the matter pondered,
How she would surprise her father
With a pleasure on his birthday,
Spoke to Master Fludribus:
"I have heard it oft related
How in France in lordly castles
They adorn the walls with frescoes.
Therefore try to paint now something
Like them here in my pavilion.
From the world secluded, I know
Naught about such compositions;
Therefore to your taste I leave all,
Only you must work in secret,
As the Baron must know nothing."

Fludribus looked consequential:
"Though but trifling is the order,
Still I coincide with Caesar,
And am rather here considered
First than at great Rome the second.
And besides, there all is finished.
Even in the Pope's own palace
All those thoughts high and aesthetic,
Which I in my bosom cherished,
Has a man by name of Raphael
Painted on the walls already.
But I shall great things achieve,
And shall do like Buffamalco,
Who with rich red wine imparted
Glowing warmth to the cold colours.
Therefore, furnish me with red wine
First; of course, good eating with it.
Rich reward I do not care for,
Since the thought is my enjoyment,
That I shall be made immortal
Through the efforts of my genius.
Thus I'll paint for almost nothing,
Just the square foot seven shillings."

Since two months he had been painting
On the walls beneath the arched roof;
Imitated Buffamalco;
But he drank himself the red wine.
And his compositions truly
Were artistic, highly proper,
And of elegant conception.

To begin with: there paraded
Perseus and Andromeda;
At their feet lay deadly wounded
The great Hydra, with a handsome
Face, much like a human being,
Who in dying still coquetted
With the lovely rock-bound captive.
Then the Judgment came of Paris;
And in order that the dazzling
Beauty of those heavenly ladies
Should not quite eclipse the hero,
They looked off toward the landscape,
With their backs to the spectator.
Similar were the other pictures:
As Diana and Actaeon,
Orpheus and Eurydice.
For the man of genius chooses
From mythology his subjects;
And he thinks, in nudeness only,
Is revealed the highest beauty.
Now the work was all accomplished,
And with feeling, said the master:
"Happy can I go to Hades,
As my works are my memorial.
In the history of this Rhine-land
A new epoch of the fine arts
Will begin with Fludribus."

'Twas the wish of Margaretta
To inaugurate with music
This so beautified pavilion.
Ha! how Werner's heart was beating,
When he heard the maid's desire.
He directly went to Basel
To select the new productions
Of the musical composers;
And he brought the scores back with him
Of the great Venetian master,
Claudio di Monteverde,
Whose sweet pastoral composition
Carried off the prize in music.
Then there was a noisy bustle
'Mongst the artists of the city;
And a most increasing practice
In the frequent long rehearsals,
All unnoticed by the Baron.

Now, at last, the long-expected
Day had come, the Baron's birthday.
At the table he was chatting
With his friend and pleasant neighbour,
The good prelate of St. Blasien,
Who had driven hither early,
To express his heartfelt wishes.
Meanwhile many hands were busy
Decorating the pavilion
With fresh garlands, and were placing
Rows of music-desks in order.