Chapter VII: Preface: To the Fiftieth Edition (3)

By degrees there came now gliding
Through the side-gate by the river
All the musical performers.
First, the youthful burgomaster
Bending under the unwieldy
Contra-bass, whose sounds sonorous
Often from his thoughts did banish
All the cares of his high office,
And the council's stupid blunders.
Next there came the bloated chaplain
Who played finely on the violin,
Drawing from it such shrill wailings,
As if wishing to give utterance
To his lonely bachelor's heart.
With his horn beneath his arm came
The receiver's clerk, who often,
A great bore to his superior,
With his playing did enliven
All the dry accounts he summed up,
And the dulness of subtraction.
There came also stepping slowly,
Dressed in black, but shabby looking,
With a hat the worse for usage,
He the lank assistant-teacher,
Who by Art consoled himself for
What was wanting in his income,
And instead of wine and roast beef
Lived upon his flute's sweet music.
Then came--Who can count, however,
All these instrumental players?
All the talent of the city
For this concert had united.
From the ironworks of Albbruck
Even came the superintendent;
He alone played the viola.

Like a troop of mounted warriors
Who the enemy expecting,
Lurk in safe and hidden ambush,
So they waited for the Baron
To arrive. And like good marksmen
Who with care before the battle
Try their weapons, if their powder
By the dew has not been damaged,
If the flint is good for striking;
So by blowing, scraping, tuning,
They their instruments were trying.

Margaretta led the Baron
And his guest now to the garden.
Women never are in want of
A good pretext, when some fun or
Some surprise they are preparing.
So she praised the shady coolness
And the view from the pavilion,
Till the two old friends were turning
Toward that spot without suspicion.
Like a volley then resounded
At their entrance a loud flourish,
Every instrument saluting;
And like roaring torrents bursting
Wildly through the gaping sluice-gate,
So the overture let loose now
Its loud storming floods of music
On the much astonished hearers.
With the greatest skill young Werner
Led the orchestra, whose chorus
Gladly yielded to his baton.
Ha! that was a splendid bowing,
Such a fiddling, such a pealing!
Hopping lightly, like a locust,
Through the din the clarinet flew,
And the contra-bass kept groaning,
As if wailing for its soul,
While the player's brow was sweating
From his arduous performance.

There behind in the orchestra
Fludribus the drum was beating;
As a many-sided genius,
During pauses, he was also
To the triangle attending.
But his heart o'erflowed with sadness;
And the drum's dull sound re-echoed
His complaints, as dull and grumbling:
"Dilettanti, happy people!
Merrily they suck the honey
From the flowers which with heavy
Throes the Master's mind created;
And they spice well their enjoyment
With their mutual frequent blunders.
Genuine Art is a titanic
Heaven-storming strife and struggle
For a Beauty still receding,
While the soul is gnawed with longing
For the unattained Ideal.
But these bunglers are quite happy."

Now the din of sound subsided.
As oft after heavy tempests,
When the thunder ceases pealing,
Mildly shineth forth the rainbow
'Gainst the canopy of heaven;
So now the full band is followed
By the trumpet's dulcet solo.
Werner blew it: low and melting
Rang the tunes forth from the trumpet.
Full of wonder some were staring
At the score, in wonder also
The fat chaplain nudged the teacher
On the arm, and whispered softly:
"Hear'st thou what he's playing? Nothing
Like it in the score is written.
Has he read perhaps his music
In the fair young lady's eyes?"

Splendidly the concert came thus
To an end, and the musicians
Sat exhausted and yet happy
That they had so well succeeded.
Now the prelate of St. Blasien
Stepped forth bowing quite politely
To the band, and as a clever
Connoisseur and statesman spoke thus:
"Heavy wounds have been inflicted
On our land while war was raging,
And throughout our German country
Rudeness was predominating.
Therefore it deserves great praise, thus
With the Muses to take refuge.
This refreshes and ennobles,
Civilises human beings,
So that war and strife are silenced.
All these frescoes on the walls here
Show no ordinary talent;
And still more this feast of music
Makes me think well of the players
Who my ears have thus delighted,
Brought my happy youth before me,
Took me back to fair Italia,
When in Rome I listened to the
Tones of Cavalieri's Daphne,
And idyllic pastoral longing
Filled my heart to overflowing.
Therefore, my dear friends, continue
Thus to worship at Art's altar.
Let the harmony of sound keep
Far from you all strife and discord.
Oh how pleasant it would be, if
Such a spirit were but common!"

Deeply moved by these high praises
From a man of such rich knowledge,
The whole orchestra, delighted,
Bowed to him when he had finished.
Highly pleased, the Baron also
Walked around, gave hearty greetings;
And to testify his thanks--for
Words alone don't suit a Baron--
Ordered from his well-stocked cellars
A huge cask of beer brought up there.
"'Twas well done, my good musicians,
Most efficient chapel-master!
Where the devil have you picked up
All these pretty compositions?
And you, Fludribus, have also
Painted well; suits me exactly.
Other times, 'tis true, may come yet
When our goddesses must wear more
Draperies than you have painted;
But a gray old soldier does not
Blame you for a little nudeness.
Therefore, let us ring our glasses
To our noble guest's good health, and
To the excellent musicians.
Yes, for aught I care, we'll drink to
The fair shivering painted deities,
That the winter in the Rhine-land
May not prove too rigorous for them."

Margaretta thought it wiser
Now to leave the room, well knowing
That the party might get noisy.
On the threshold she gave Werner
Her fair hand with grateful feeling.
'Tis most likely that the pressure
Of the hand was full of meaning;
But no chronicle doth tell us:
Was it homage to the artist,
Or a sign of deeper interest?

Glasses rang and foaming bumpers,
And there was some heavy drinking;
But my song must keep the secret
Of the fate of late returners;
Also hide the sudden drowning
Which the hat of the lank teacher
Suffered in the Rhine that night.

But at midnight, when the last guest
For his home long since had started,
Low the chestnut trees were whispering.
Said the one: "Oh fresco paintings!"
Said the other: "Oh thou ding dong!"
Then the first: "I see the future--
See there two remorseless workmen,
See two monstrous painting-brushes,
See two buckets full of whitewash.
And they quietly daub over,
With a heavy coating, heroes,
Deities, and Fludribus.
Other ages--other pictures!"

Said the other: "In the far-off
Future I hear from the same place
Glees resounding from male voices.
Rising to our lofty summits,
Simple touching German music.
Other ages--other music!"
Both together added: "True love
Will endure throughout all ages!"

NINTH PART.

TEACHING AND LEARNING.

Winds and the swift river's current
Hardly had swept off the dulcet
Melodies of Monteverde,
When the people in the city
Held no other conversation
Than of this great feast of music.
Not, however, of the spirit
Of the melodies they'd heard then,
Neither of the deep emotion
Which was in their souls awakened,
Were they speaking; they disputed
Who received the Baron's thanks first
At the end of the performance;
Whom the Abbot had distinguished
Most that evening by his praises;
And what finally was served up
From the kitchen and the cellar.
As the tail of a dead lizard
Still, when life has long departed,
With spasmodic jerks is writhing:
So the memory of great actions
Still lives on in daily gossip.
But with thoughts above such nonsense
Margaretta took an early
Solitary walk next morning
To the honeysuckle arbour,
There to dream of last night's music,
Specially of Werner's solo,
Which still through her soul was thrilling
Like a message of sweet love.
But what saw she? In the arbour
On the little rustic table
She beheld the very trumpet.
Like the magic horn of Huon,
Wondrous mysteries containing;
Dumb, but full of deep expression,
Like a star it sparkled there.

Margaretta stood confounded
At the arbour's shady entrance:
"Came he here? And now, where is he?
Wherefore has he left his trumpet
Here so wholly unprotected?
Easily a worm might crawl in,
Or a thief might come and steal it.
Shall I take it to the castle,
Take it in my careful keeping?
No, I'll go, do nothing with it,
Should indeed have gone before."

But she tarried, for her eyes were
Held in durance by the trumpet,
Like a shad caught by the fish-hook.
"Oh, I wonder," she was thinking,
"Whether my breath would be able
From its depths a tone to waken.
Oh I much should like to know this!
No one sees what I am doing,
All around no living being.
Only my old Hiddigeigei
Licks the dew from off the box-tree;
Only insects in the sand here
Follow out their digging instinct,
And the caterpillars gently
Up and down the arbour crawl."

So the maiden shyly entered,
Shyly she took up the trumpet,
To her rosy lips she pressed it;
But with fright she well-nigh trembled
At her breath to sound transforming
In the trumpet's golden calyx.
Which the air was bearing farther,
Farther--ah, who knoweth where?
But she cannot stop the fun now,
And with sounds discordant, horrid,
Fit to rend the ears to pieces,
So disturbed the morning stillness,
That the poor cat Hiddigeigei's
Long black hair stood up like bristles,
Like the sharp quills of a hedgehog.
Raising then his paw to cover
His offended ear, he spoke thus:
"Suffer on, my valiant cat-heart,
Which so much has borne already,
Also bear this maiden's music!
We, we understand the laws well,
Which do regulate and govern
Sound, enigma of creation.
And we know the charm mysterious
Which invisibly through space floats,
And, intangible a phantom,
Penetrates our hearing organs,
And in beasts' as well as men's hearts
Wakes up love, delight and longing,
Raving madness and wild frenzy.
And yet, we must bear this insult,
That when nightly in sweet mewing
We our love-pangs are outpouring,
Men will only laugh and mock us,
And our finest compositions
Rudely brand as caterwauling.
And in spite of this we witness
That these same fault-finding beings
Can produce such horrid sounds as
Those which I have just now heard.
Are such tones not like a nosegay
Made of straw, and thorns, and nettles,
In the midst a prickly thistle?
And in presence of this maiden
Who the trumpet there is blowing,
Can a man then without blushing
E'er sneer at our caterwauling?
But, thou valiant heart, be patient!
Suffer now, the time will yet come
When this self-sufficient monster,
Man, will steal from us the true art
Of expressing all his feelings;
When the whole world in its struggle
For the highest form of culture
Will adopt our style of music.
For in history, there is justice.
She redresses every wrong."

But besides old Hiddigeigei,
Standing far down by the river
There was still another listener
To these first attempts at blowing,
Who felt anger more than pleasure.

It was Werner. He came early
With his trumpet to the garden,
Wanted to compose a song there
In that quiet morning-hour.
First, however, his dear trumpet
He laid on the rustic table.
Then stood musing by the stone-wall
Gazing at the rapid river.
"Yes, I see, your waves preserve still
Their old course and disposition,
Ever toward the ocean rushing,
As my heart for my love striveth.
Who now from the goal is farthest,
Clear green river, thou or I?"
All this train of thought was broken
By the stork from the old tower,
Who, full of a father's pride, had
Taken his young brood to ramble
On the Rhine-shore for the first time.
'Twas amusing to young Werner
How just then the old stork gravely,
On the sand with stealthy cunning,
Closely a poor eel was watching,
Who of various worms was making
There a comfortable meal.
He, however, who was wielding
O'er the little worms the strand-law,
Soon himself will serve as breakfast.
For the greater eats the lesser,
And the greatest eats the great ones.
In this simple manner nature
Solves the knotty social question.
No more did his smoothness help him,
No more his sleek body's wriggling,
No more his spasmodic beating
With his tail so strong and supple.
Tightly held in the indented
Beak of the determined parent,
He was given to the hopeful
Stork-brood, now to be divided;
And they held with noisy clatter
Solemnly their morning-feast.
Nearer to observe this, Werner
Had descended to the Rhine-bank,
And he seemed in no great hurry
To commence his composition.
There he sat himself down gently
On the insect-covered moss-bank.
Shaded by a silvery willow,
And it gave him much amusement
Thus to be a silent witness
Of this banquet of the storks.

Pleasures, yet, of all descriptions
Are but fleeting on our planet.
Even to the most contented
Doth it happen that fate often
Like a meteor bursts upon them.
Only a short time had Werner
Viewed this scene when he was startled
By the tones of his own trumpet,
Which like keen-edged Pandour daggers
Deep into his soul were cutting.

"'Tis the gardener's saucy youngster
Who my trumpet thus is blowing,"
Said young Werner, in his anger
Starting from his seat so quickly
That the storks thereby much frightened,
Fluttering upward sought the tower;
And so quickly that they even
Had no time to take the eel off.
Like a poor old torso lay he
On the sand so pitifully;
And the chronicles are silent
Whether the old father stork came
Ever back to take his booty.

Werner meanwhile to the garden
Climbed up; to the shady arbour
On the soft green sward he's walking,
That the pebbly footpath may not
By the noise betray his coming.
In the very act of sinning
Doth he wish to catch the rascal,
And to beat time to his music
On his back without relenting.
Thus he comes up to the arbour,
With his hand raised high in anger.
But, as if 'twere struck by lightning,
To his side it dropped down quickly,
And the stroke remained, like German
Unity and other projects,
Only an ideal dream.
Then beheld he Margaretta
Pressing to her lips the trumpet,
And her rosy cheeks are puffed out
Like those trumpet-blowing angels'
In the church of Fridolinus.
Up she starts now as a thief would
In the neighbour's yard detected,
And the trumpet drops abruptly
From the touch of her soft lips.
Werner covered her confusion
Through a clever maze of language;
And with ardour he commences
On the spot to teach the maiden
The first steps in trumpet-blowing
In strict order, with due method;
Shows the instrument's construction,
How to use the lips in blowing,
That true tones may be forthcoming.
Margaretta listened docile.
And before she is aware, new
Tones she finds she is awaking
From the trumpet which young Werner
With low bows had handed to her.
Easily from him she learneth
What her father's cuirassiers blew
As the call to charge in battle;
Only a few notes and simple,
But most pithy and inspiring.

Love is, there can be no question,
Of all teachers the most skilful;
And what years of earnest study
Do not conquer, he is winning
With the charm of an entreaty,
With the magic of a look.
E'en a common Flemish blacksmith
Once became through love's sweet passion
In advanced age a great painter.
Happy teacher, happy scholar,
In the honeysuckle arbour!
'Twas as if the only safety
Of the German empire rested
On this trumpet-call's performance.
But within their souls was stirring
Quite a different melody:
That sweet song, old as creation,
Of the bliss of youthful lovers;
True, a song without the words yet,
But they had divined its meaning,
And beneath a playful manner
Hid the blissful consciousness,
Startled by this trumpet-blowing
Came the Baron reconnoitring,
Tried to frown, but soon his anger
Was converted into pleasure,
When he heard his child there blowing
The old fanfar of his horsemen.
Friendly spoke he to young Werner:
"You are truly in your office
A most ardent zeal unfolding.
If you go on in this manner,
We shall see most wondrous things yet.
The old stable-door which harshly
Creaks and groans upon its hinges,
Even in the pond the bull-frogs
May perhaps change for the better,
Through your trumpet's magic charm."

Werner held, however, henceforth
His dear trumpet as a jewel,
Which the richest Basel merchant,
With the fullest bag of money,
Could not ever purchase from him;
For the lips of Margaretta
Made it sacred by their touch.

TENTH PART.

YOUNG WERNER IN THE GNOME'S CAVE.

From the Feldberg tears a raging
Foaming torrent through the forests
To the Rhine--its name is Wehra.
In the narrow valley standeth
'Midst the rocks a single fir-tree;
In the branches sat the haggard
Wicked wood-sprite Meysenhartus,
Who to-day behaved quite badly:
Showing his sharp teeth and grinning,
Tore a branch off from the fir-tree,
And kept gnawing at a pine-cone;
Clambered often quite indignant
Up and down just like a squirrel;
From the wings of a poor night-owl
Roughly plucked out several feathers;
And while mocking the old fir-tree
Rocked himself upon its summit.

"High old fir-tree, green old fir-tree!
I with thee would ne'er my lot change.
Firmly rooted must thou stand there,
And take everything that happens;
Never canst thou quit thy station.
And if ever Fate ordaineth.
Thou to far-off lands shalt wander,
Men have first to come with axes;
With hard strokes they hack and cut thee,
Deep into thy flesh, till falling;
And then strip unmercifully
All thy skin from off thy body;
Throw thee next into the Rhine, and
Make thee swim as far as Holland.
And if e'er they pay the honour
On a frigate to erect thee
As a proud and stately mast, still
Thou art but a smooth-skinned fir-tree,
Without roots there lonely standing;
And thou yearnest on the ocean
For thy old home in the forest,
Till at last a flash of lightning
Mast and ship and all destroyeth.
High old fir-tree, green old fir-tree!
I with thee would ne'er my lot change!"

Said the fir-tree: "Everybody
Must accept the sphere he's born in,
And fulfil his duties fully.
So we think here in the forest;
And 'tis well so, at least better
Than to hop will-o'-the-wisp like,
Playing pranks and doing mischief,
Men and cattle oft misleading,
And the stupid wanderer's curses
As reward home with thee taking.
Anyhow, no one cares for thee.
For, at best, a peasant sayeth,
Devil take this Meysenhartus!
But they're others who write volumes
Proving thou hast no existence;
That to lose one's way at night-time
Comes from fogs and drunken frolics.
Oh the spirit-shares stand badly!
On the highway I would rather
As a paving-stone be lying,
Than to be a third-class spirit,
Like the wood-sprite Meysenhartus."

Said the spirit: "Thou knowest nothing
Of all this, my noble fir-tree.
Meysenhartus and his brothers
O'er the globe rule powerfully;
Everywhere throughout creation
Are wrong tracks, and also people
Who upon these same paths wander.
And whenever, gay or mournful,
Someone goes upon a wrong track,
He has been by us deluded.
Let them doubt if there are spirits;
Still they are in our dominion.
And to-day you'll see me leading
Someone far astray to show him
That the spirits are in numbers."
From the hill came Master Werner.
Deeply musing o'er his love-dream
He had wandered through the forest,
And as far as man is happy
Here below, he was; and buoyant
Hope and joy his heart were filling.
Many burning thoughts were passing
Through his brain, as if they shortly
Into love-songs might be growing,
Just as caterpillars later
Into butterflies develop.
Homeward now he would be turning;
But the wood-sprite Meysenhartus
Hid with dust the right path from him,
And young Werner, absent-minded,
'Stead of river-ward went inland.
Now again the wood-sprite grinning
Clambered to the fir-tree's summit,
Rocking gaily in the branches.
"He is caught!" so said he, mocking.
Werner paying no attention,
Went up through the Hasel valley,
Till he came to a steep mountain,
To a corner cool and shady.
Holly, sloe, and climbing ivy
Grew around the rocks luxuriant,
While near by a clear spring rippled.

Through the bushes stepped young Werner
To refresh himself by drinking.
Strongly tangled was the brushwood,
And upon it he trod firmly.
Then upon his ear broke squeaking
Wailing tones, as from a mole which
At his subterranean labour
Caught in traps and now detected,
Roughly is jerked up to daylight.
From the grass rose something crackling;
Lo, there stood a gray-clad pygmy,
Hardly three feet high, and hunchbacked;
But his face was clear and gentle,
And his odd small eyes looked clever.
Gracefully he let the long ends
Of his garment on the ground trail,
And said, limping: "Sir, you have been
Treading on my foot most rudely."
Said young Werner: "I am sorry."
Now the pygmy: "And what business
Have you in our vale at all?"
Said young Werner: "I by no means
Wish to seek for the acquaintance
Of such injudicious pygmies,
Who like grasshoppers are skipping,
And are asking silly questions."
Said the pygmy: "Thus ye all speak,
All ye rude and clumsy mortals;
Ever with your big feet tramping
Till the ground beneath you trembles.
And yet you are only clinging
To the surface like the chafers
Which are nestling in the tree-bark;
Thinking that you rule creation,
But entirely ignoring
All those spirits which, though silent,
On the heights, in depths, are working.
Oh ye rude and clumsy mortals!
Shut up proudly in your houses,
You are groaning with hard labour.
In the hot-house of your noddles
Are some plants called art and science,
And you even brag of such weeds.
By the lime-spar and rock-crystal!
You have much to learn, I tell you,
Ere the truth you will see dawning!"

Said young Werner: "It is lucky
That to-day I feel so peaceful,
Else I should have taken pleasure
By your long gray beard to hang you
On the holly bushes yonder!
But my heart to-day is glowing
With the sunshine of my love-dreams,
Which you with your spars and crystals
Never can be comprehending.
Oh, to-day I could embrace all,
And be kind to everybody.
Say then who you are, and whether
I can be of any service."

Then the dwarf said: "This sounds better.
To your questions I will answer.
To the race of gnomes belong I,
Who in crevices are living;
Down in subterranean caverns,
Watch there gold and silver treasures,
Grind and polish bright the crystals,
Carry coals to the eternal
Fire in the earth's deep centre;
And we heat there well. Without us
You here would have long since frozen.
From Vesuvius and Mount Etna
You can see our furnace smoking.
E'en for you ungrateful mortals,
Though unseen, we're ever working;
And sweet lullabies are singing
In the mountains to your rivers,
That no harm they may be doing;
Keep the crumbling rocks from falling,
Chain the ice up in the glaciers;
Boil for you the pungent rock-salt,
Also mix much healing matter
With the springs from which you're drinking.
Never ceasing, and enormous
Is the gray gnomes' daily labour
In the bowels of the earth.
Formerly they used to know us;
Wise and clever men and women,
Grave old priests descended to us
In the depths, where to our labour
They oft listened, and they spoke thus:
"In the caves the gods are dwelling."
But you have become estranged since;
Still, we willingly will open
To your gaze our hidden treasures;
And we hold in great affection
All the travelling German scholars;
For their hearts are kind and generous,
And they see much more than others.
You seem also one, so follow!
Here my cave is, in this valley;
If you can but stoop a little,
I will show you where to enter."

Said young Werner: "I am ready."
Thereupon the little pygmy
From the rock pushed back some brushwood,
When appeared a small low passage.
"Light is needed here for mortals,"
Said the gnome, who now was rubbing
Two hard flints, and soon had lighted
By the sparks a piece of pine-wood.
With this torch he went ahead then;
Werner followed, often stooping,
Often even well-nigh creeping,
For the rocks were nearly meeting.
Soon, however, widely opened
At the passage end a cavern
Of gigantic height and grandeur.
Slender columns there supported
Lofty arches of the ceiling;
From the walls the gray stalactites
Hung in various patterns twining,
Marvellous, yet graceful textures;
Some like tears which from the walls dropped,
Others like the richly twisted
Branches of gigantic corals.
An unearthly bluish colour
All throughout the space was glowing,
Mingled with the glaring torch-light
From the sharp-edged stones reflected.
From the depths a rushing sound rose
As from distant mountain-streams.
Werner gazed at all this splendour,
Felt as in a dream transported
To some strange and lofty temple,
And his heart was filled with awe.

"My young friend," now said the pygmy,
"Tell me, pray, what are you thinking
Of the gnome's secluded dwelling?
This is but a place for work-days.
Fairer ones far in the North lie,
Also in the Alpine caverns;
But Italia owns the fairest,
On the rocky shore of Capri,
In the Mediterranean Sea.
O'er the sea's blue waters rise up
The stalactites' lofty arches,
And the waves in the dark cavern
With blue magic light are gleaming,
And the tide protects the entrance.
The Italian gnomes there often
Bathe and frolic with the daughters
Of old Nereus, the sea-god,
And the sailor shuns the grotto.
But perhaps in later ages
May a sunday-child look in there,
Like thyself a travelling minstrel,
Or a merry-hearted artist.
But now, come, we must go farther!"

Downward stepped he with the torch-light
Ever farther, Werner saw how
Huge chaotic rocky masses
Lay in heaps of wild confusion,
Over which was rushing foaming,
To the bottomless abyss, a river.
Over steep and high rocks clambering,
They now entered a new passage.
It looked home-like, a large square-room,
Of high rocky walls constructed,
Fitted for a hermitage;
Round about stood slender columns.
Ever dropping from the ceiling
And through centuries increasing
Had stalactites slowly formed them;
And some others stood half finished
In the process of formation.
Now the gnome knocked on the columns,
And mysterious solemn tones rang
Out in deep harmonious rhythm.
"They are tuned," he said, "according
To the harmony of the spheres."

In this room a rock was lying.
Smooth and round, just like a table;
And there motionless and silent
Sat a man--looked as if sleeping,
Leaned his head upon his right hand.
Stony were his lordly features,
And the flame of life no longer
Played o'er them; and doubtless many
Tears had his sad eyes been shedding.
Petrified they now were hanging
In his beard and from his robes.
Werner gazed at him with terror
And he asked: "Is this a statue,
Or a man of flesh and blood?"

Said the gnome: "This is my guest here,
'Tis the _silent man_, whom many
Years I've comfortably sheltered.
Once he was a proud old mortal,
And I found him in the valley,
And I offered then to show him
Where to find the nearest village.
But he shook his head and broke out
In a mocking scornful laughter.
Marvellously grand his words were,
Now like prayers devout and pious,
Like a psalm, such as we gnomes sing
Often in the earth's vast bowels;
Then like curses unto heaven.
Much I could not understand.
But it woke the recollections
Of the days of time primeval,
When the wild ferocious Titans
Rocks and mountains tore up o'er us
From their firm and deep foundations,
And we fled to greater depths.
For the man I felt great pity,
And I took him to my cavern;
And he liked it, when I showed him
All the gnomes' incessant labours;
And directly felt at home here.
Oft together have we listened
To the growing of stalactites,
Chatted also many evenings
Of the things below us hidden;
Only when my conversation
Turned to men, he grew quite angry;
Dark his frowns were, and he broke once
Seven columns in his fury.
When I wished to praise the sunlight
And the skies, he stopped me, saying:
'Speak not of the sky or sunlight!
In the sunlight there above us
Snakes are creeping, and they sting one;
Men are living and they hate one;
Up there in the starry heavens
We see questions which are waiting
For an answer; who can give it?'
So he stayed here in the cavern,
And the grief which overwhelmed him
Was dissolved in tender sadness.
Oft I saw him gently weeping;
Oft, when a melodious wailing
Through the columns' hollow shafts rang,
He sat there, his sweet songs singing.
But he gradually grew silent.
Did I ask him what he wanted,
Then he smiling took my hand:
'Gnome, I many songs can sing thee,
But the best I have not sung yet.
Will you know its name? 'Tis silence.
Silence--silence! oh how well one
Learns it here in thy deep cavern;
Depth creates true modesty.
But the cold is o'er me creeping;
Gnome! 'tis true, my poor heart freezes.
Gnome! dost thou know what true love is?
If for diamonds thou art digging,
And dost find them, take them with thee,
Guard them safely in thy cavern.
Gnome, thy heart will never freeze then!'

"These the last words he has spoken.
Now for years he has been silent
In this spot. He has not died yet
Nor is living, but his body
Slowly into stone is changing;
And I nurse him; heartfelt pity
For my silent guest I cherish,
Often try to cheer his spirit
With the columns' solemn music,
And I know it pleases him.
Without taking any freedom,
I think you too are a minstrel;
And the service you can do me
Is to play before my guest here."

Then young Werner took his trumpet
And began to play; his mournful
Strains were ringing through the cavern
As if breathing forth deep pity.
Then in thinking of his own love,
Through the sadness now there mingled
Strains of joy--first faint and distant,
Then came nearer--fresher, fuller,
And the last notes sounded like a
Glorious hymn on Easter morning.
And the silent man then listened,
Nodded gently with his head.
Fare-thee-well, dream on in peace, thou
Silent man, in thy still cavern,
Till the fulness comes of knowledge
And of love, to wake the sleeper.

Through the winding cave young Werner
With the gnome was now returning.
As the spacious dome they entered
A great rock the gnome uplifted.
Underneath a shrine was hidden,
And within were sparkling jewels,
Also writings and old parchments.
One pale amethyst, and papers
Which by age had turned quite yellow,
Gave the gnome now to young Werner,
Saying: "Take these as mementoes!
If the world above doth vex thee,
Here thou e'er wilt find a refuge.
But when wicked men are saying
That gnomes' feet are webbed like geese-feet,
Then, by lime-spar and rock-crystal!
Say that they are dreadful liars.
True, our soles are somewhat flattened;
But 'tis only a rude peasant
Who so cruelly maligns us.
Now good-bye, there is the outlet;
Take the pine-torch, light thyself now,
I have other things to do."--
Spoke and crept into a crevice.

Musing through the narrow passage
Went young Werner, and his head struck
Oft against the rocky ceiling
Ere he reached again the daylight.
Peacefully the evening-bell rang
Through the vale as he went homeward.

ELEVENTH PART.

THE HAUENSTEIN RIOT.

Through the Schwarzwald spreads a buzzing.
Buzzing as of bees when swarming,
As of the approaching storm-wind.
In the tavern savage fellows
Meet: their heavy fists are striking
On the table: "Bring me wine here!
Better times are now approaching
For this land of Hauenstein."
From the corn-loft brings the peasant
His old-fashioned rusty musket,
Which below the floor was hidden;
Fetches also the long halberd.
On the walnut-tree the raven
Harshly croaks: "Long have I fasted;
Soon I'll have meat for my dinner,
I shall relish thee, poor peasant!"

Now the people from the mountains.
Throng at Herrischried the market;
There the seat is of their union,
There they hold their union-meeting.
But to-day the Hauenstein peasants
Came not in black velvet doublets,
With red stomachers and white frills,
As was usually their custom.
Some had buckled on cuirasses,
Others wore their leather doublets;
In the breeze the flag was waving,
And the morning sun was shining
On their spears and thick spiked clubs.
Near the old church in the market
Stood the village elders, with the
Union-leader and mace-bearer.
"Silence, men!" the beadle shouted.
Silence reigned, and on the church-steps
Mounted then the peasants' speaker,
Holding an official paper,
Stroked his long gray beard, and said:

"Inasmuch as the hard war-time
Has much injured town and country,
And the debt is much augmented;
So to meet increased expenses
Our most gracious rulers hereby
Do exact new contributions;
Seven florins from each household,
And from all the bachelors two.
And next week the tax-collector
Comes to gather these new taxes.
So 'tis written in this paper."
--"Death upon the tax-collector!
May God damn him!" cried the people.--
"Now as we ourselves have suffered
Quite enough by this sad war, and
Many lost their goods and chattels;
And because 'tis pledged in writing
As one of our privileges,
That there shall be no new taxes
E'er imposed upon this country,
Many this demand consider
As a most unjust extortion,
Think we should stand up most firmly
For our ancient rights by charter,
And should never pay a farthing."
--"Not a farthing!" cried the people.--
"So we summoned you together
For your final resolution."

Like the distant surf their voices
Loudly roared in wild confusion:
"Come! stand up! speak out! We must now
Hear the Bergalingen Fridli.
He knows best--and all we others
Always are of his opinion."
Then stepped out the man thus called for,
And upon a big log mounting,
Spoke thus with a shrewd expression:

"Do you see at last, dull peasants,
What the end will be? Your fathers
Once gave up their little finger;
Now they want to seize the whole hand.
Only give it, and you'll soon see,
How they'll flay your very skin off!
Who can really thus compel us?
In his woods free lives the peasant,
Nothing but the sun above him.
So it stands in our old records,
In the statutes of our union:
Nothing there of rent and socage,
Nothing of a bondman's service!
But there's danger we shall have them.
Do you know what will protect us?
Yonder there the Swiss can tell you,
And the valiant Appenzellers.
This here!"--and he brandished fiercely
O'er his head his thick spiked club.--
"On the fir-tree I heard piping
Lately a white bird at midnight:
Good old time, that bygone time,
Peasants, freemen in their forests;
If with spears and guns you seek it,
You will see it soon returning.
Now, Amen! my speech is ended."

Then wild cries rose from the people--
"He is right" were many saying;
"To the devil with our rulers!
Burn these damned taxation-papers!
All these scribblers may look out soon
If this flame can be extinguished
With the fluid in their inkstands."
Said another: "Thou, oh governor,
Didst consign me to a dungeon;
Poor my fare, with only water!
Thou hast wine within thy cellar,
And I hope we now shall try it.
Yes, with thee I'll square accounts soon!"
Said a third one: "Thee my musket,
Which has brought down many woodcocks,
I shall use for nobler sport soon.
Then hit well! For we'll be shooting
At the great black double eagle."
Thus a murmur through the crowd went.
Just as when the plague is raging,
Everywhere infection spreadeth,
So were all the peasants' hearts now
Filled with passion and blind wrath.
And in vain spoke the experienced
Villaringen elder, Balthes:

"If a horse's tail is bridled,
Not his mouth, no one can drive him.
If the peasant seeks for justice
By revolt, all will go badly;
In the end he gets a thrashing.
Hence of old we were commanded
To obey the ruling powers,
And--" but now in voluntary
Was he stopped in his sage counsels:
"Turn him out, this old fool Balthes!
May God damn him! He is faithless;
He's a traitor to his country!"
Thus they howled out, stones were flying,
Spears were threatening, and his friends could
Hardly get him off in safety.

"To be short, what use of speaking?"
Fridli said, of Bergalingen.
"Who are faithful to our old rights
And will go for them to battle,
Raise their hands high!" And they raised them
All, while loud hurrahs they shouted.
Arms are clanking, flags are waving,
Battle-cries--the drums are beating.
And that day large bands were marching
From the hills toward the river
To attack the forest-cities.

In the forest from the fir-tree
Looked the wood-sprite Meysenhartus,
Mocking at the peasants' army,
Said: "A lucky journey to you!
No need I should now mislead you,
As you choose yourselves the wrong track!"

Scouts are riding, watchmen blowing,
Women wailing, children crying;
Through the vale rings the alarm-bell.
Burghers through the streets are running:
"Close the gates! Defend the town-walls!
Bring the guns up to the tower!"
From the terrace saw the Baron
This commotion in the forest,
How the mountain-paths were darkened
By the peasant-bands descending.
"Am I dreaming," said he, "or have
All these men indeed forgotten,
How a hundred and fifty years since
Such mad peasants' jokes were punished?
Yes, indeed, the forest glitters
With their helmets and their halberds.
Well devised, you cunning peasants!
While below there on the Danube
The proud eagle of the emperor
Lets the Turks feel his sharp talons,
You think that it will be easy,
On the Rhine to pluck his feathers!
Look out well that this your reckoning
Won't deceive you; and I swear here,
The old Baron will not fail to
Greet you with a warm reception."

Turned and went into the castle,
And he donned his leathern doublet,
Buckled on the heavy broadsword,
And gave orders to the household:
"Quickly get your weapons ready,
Keep good watch upon the towers,
Raise the drawbridge, and let no one,
While I am away, here enter!
Master Werner, you may order
All the rest. Protect my castle,
And my daughter, my chief treasure!
Have no fear, dear Margaretta;
Brave must be a soldier's child.
Only some few coal-black ravens
Come there flying from the forest,
Want to get their skulls well battered
'Gainst the walls of this good city.
God preserve you! I myself go
To my post, up to the town-hall."

Margaretta threw herself now
In the Baron's arms, who kindly
Pressed upon her brow fond kisses.
Shaking Werner's hand then warmly
He walked off unto the square.

There the ladies of the convent
Wailing went up to the minster:
"Show us mercy, Fridolinus!"
By his door the "Button" landlord
Asked the Baron: "Is it time now,
That we put our gold and silver
In the cellar's deepest places?"
Said the Baron: "Shame upon you!
It is time to take your weapons
And to help defend the city.
Show the same zeal as when fishing!"

In the town-hall were assembled
Councillors and burgomaster.
Many of the city-fathers
Made wry faces, as though fearing
The last judgment-day was coming.
On their hearts their sins were pressing
Like a hundredweight; they cried out:
"Save us, God, from this great evil,
And we'll promise all our lifetime
Ne'er to take unlawful interest,
Never to defraud the orphan,
Ne'er to mix sand with our spices."
Even one proposed this motion:
"Let us send out to these peasants
Meat and wine in great abundance,
Also of doubloons some dozens,
That from hence they may depart;
They in Waldshut may look out then,
How they drive away these fellows."

Now the Baron came among them:
"My good sirs! I do believe you
Hang your heads. To work now bravely!
When the Swedes the town beleagured,
Then 'twas grave, but this is only
Child's play. Surely you have always
Liked to hear and make good music;
So the booming guns will please you.
Let the orchestra strike up now!
And these fellows, when they hear you,
Homeward soon will all go dancing,
E'er the emperor's own detachment
Plays for them the grand finale."

Thus he spoke. In times of terror
Oft a brave word at the right time
Can work wonders; many cowards
From example drink in courage;
And one single iron will leads
Oft along the wavering masses.
Thus the council looked up strengthened
To the Baron's gray moustaches.
"Yes, this is just our opinion,
We'll defend our city bravely,
And the Baron shall command us;
For he knows well how to do it.
Death to all these cursed peasants!"
Through the streets th' alarm is sounded
To the town-gate, where a narrow
Dam leads on to terra firma,
Ran well armed the younger people.
On the bastion stood commanding
Fludribus, the fresco-painter,
Who had there assembled round him
Some young lads who with great effort
An old gun were hauling up there.
Smiling looked at them the Baron,
But great Fludribus said gravely:
"Devotees of art can boast of
Stores of universal knowledge.
Let them have a chance, and they will
Rule the state as well as armies.
My keen eye sees well there's danger
In this spot; and as Cellini
From the Castle of St Angelo
Shot the constable of France once.
So--alas at foes inferior--
Cannonades here Fludribus."

"Only do not kill them all off!"
Said the Baron; "and be sure first
To get balls enough and powder;
For, the gun you there are dragging
Will not be of use without them!"

To the Rhine-bank came the peasants
In great crowds, and looked up growling
At the high walls of the city
And the well-closed city-gate.
"In his den the fox is hiding,
He has barred his hole most firmly,
But the peasants will unearth him,"
Fridli said, of Bergalingen.
"Forward! I will be your leader!"
Drums were beating the assault now,
Heavy muskets cracking loudly;
Through the powder-smoke ran shouting
All these hordes against the town-gate.
On the walls to best advantage
Had the Baron placed his forces;
And was tranquilly then looking
At the crowd of wild assaulters.
"'Tis to be regretted," thought he,
"That such strength is idly wasted.
Out of these strong country lubbers
One might form a splendid regiment."
His command is heard: "Now fire!"
The assaulters then were welcomed
With a well-aimed thundering volley,
And they fled in all directions;
Like a swarm of crows dispersing,
When the hail-shot flies among them.

And not few of them had fallen.
'Neath an apple-tree was lying
By the shore one who spoke feebly
To a comrade passing by him:
"Greet from me my poor old mother,
Also my Verena Frommherz.
Say, she can with a good conscience
Marry the tall Uickerhans now.
For, poor Seppli here is staining
The white sand with his true heart's blood!"

Whilst this happened by the town-gate,
Some were trying if the city
Could be entered by a back-way.
On the Rhine below were lying
Fishing-boats beside a cabin,
Where in traps they caught the salmon.
There another crowd streamed onward.
An audacious lad from Karsau
Led them; for, he knew each byway
Near the river, and had often
Many fish at night-time stolen
From the nets of other people.
In three fishing-boats, well manned, thence
Were they rowing up the river.
Willow-trees and heavy brushwood,
And a bend there in the river
Saved them from discovery.
Where the garden of the castle
On arched walls is far projecting
O'er the Rhine, they stopped their barges,
And quite easy was the landing.

On the roof of the pavilion
Which once Fludribus had painted
Sat the black cat Hiddigeigei.
With surprise the worthy cat saw
Spear-heads far below him glistening;
Saw a man, too, upward climbing
On the stone wall, tightly holding
With his teeth a shining sabre;
And how others followed after.
Growling said then Hiddigeigei:
"Best for a wise cat it would be
Ever to remain quite neutral
To man's foolish acts of daring;
But I hate these boorish peasants,
Hate the smell of cows and stables.
If they triumph, woe to Europe;
For, it would destroy completely
The fine atmosphere of culture.
Now look out below, you fellows!
Since the geese by cries of warning
Saved the Capitol of Rome once,
Animals are taking interest
In the history of the world."

Up he sprang in furious anger,
Curved his back, his hair all bristling,
And commenced a caterwauling
Fit to take away one's hearing.

On the jutting turret standing.
Faithful Anton heard this wauling,
And involuntarily looking
Toward that way: "Good heaven!" said he,
"In the garden is the enemy."
Quick his signal-shot brought other
Men-at-arms, along with Werner,
Who placed quickly his few fighters:
"Stand thou here--thou there--don't hurry
With your fire!" His heart beat wildly:
"Ha, my sword, maintain thy valour!"
Shallow was the castle's moat then,
Well-nigh dry, and 'mid the rushes
Glisten many swords and spear-heads.
Daring men are climbing upward
O'er the tower's crumbling stone-work.
Muskets cracking, arrows flying.
Axe-strokes 'gainst the gate are ringing,
Everywhere attack, and shouting:
"Castle thou wilt soon be taken!"
And between, the fall of bodies
In the moat is heard--much blood flows.
By the gate cries out young Werner:
"Well done, Anton! Now take aim at
That dark fellow on thy left hand;
I'll attend unto the other.
Steady now! They are retreating!"

Thus the first attack proved fruitless,
And with bloody heads drew back now
The assaulters, seeking shelter,
'Midst the chestnut-trees' dense thicket.
Scornful words now reach the castle:
"Coward knights, faint-hearted servants,
Keep behind the walls, protected.
Just come out to honest combat
If you've courage." "Death and Devil!"
Werner shouted. "Let the bridge down!
Spears at rest! Now onward!--Mock us?
In the Rhine with these damned scoundrels!"

Down the bridge fell rattling loudly;
Far ahead went Werner rushing,
Right into the crowd; ran over
Just the fellow who did guide them.
"When the sword gets dull, thou rascal,
With my fist alone I'll kill thee."
In the crowd he sees a sturdy
Soldier, with a weather-beaten
Face, bold and defiant-looking.
He had served with Wallenstein once,
And now fought for these mean peasants
From mere love of strife and bloodshed.
"Taste my steel now, gray old warrior,"
Cried young Werner, as his sword swung
Whizzing through the air to strike him.
But the soldier's halberd parried
Werner's stroke: "Not badly done, lad!
Here my answer!" Blood was dripping
From young Werner's locks; his forehead
Showed a deep wound from the halberd.
But the one who swung it, never
Gave a second stroke; his own throat,
Where by armour not protected,
Being cut by Werner's weapon.
Three steps backward then he staggered
Sinking: "Devil, stir thy fire!
Hast me now!" Dead lay the soldier.

Werner, thy young life guard well now!
Raging were the peasants, thronging
In great crowds around this handful.
'Gainst a chestnut-tree now leaning
Weak, but still his life defending,
Stood young Werner; round him rallied,
Brave and faithful, all the servants.
Save him, God! The wound is bleeding,
From his hand the sword falls slowly,
Dimmed his eyes are, and the enemy
At his gory breast is aiming.
Then--all may go well yet--
From the castle rings distinctly,
As if for a charge, the trumpet;
Then a shot--one falls; a volley
Follows. "Onward!" so the Baron
Now commands, and wildly flying
Tear the peasants to the Rhine.
Cheer up, Werner, friends are coming,
And with them comes Margaretta!
When the fight below was raging,
To the terrace she ascended,
And she blew--herself not knowing
Why she did it--in the anguish
Of her soul, the battle signal
Used in the Imperial army.
Which she'd learned in happy moments
In the honeysuckle-arbour.
It was heard by those returning
With the Baron from the town-gate;
And the maiden's war-cry made them
Hurry quickly to the rescue
Of those fighting in the garden.
Woman's heart, so gentle, timid,
What gave thee such courage then?

"God, he lives!" she bent now softly
Over him who 'neath the chestnuts
There on the green sward was lying,
Stroked the fair locks, lank and bloody,
From his brow: "Hast fought right bravely!"
Half unconscious gazed young Werner;
Did he then behold a vision?
Closed his eyes, and on two muskets
To the castle he was borne.

TWELFTH PART.

YOUNG WERNER AND MARGARETTA.

In the castle's chapel dimly
Was a flickering lamp-light burning,
Shining on the altar-picture,
Whence the Queen of Heaven looked down
With a gracious pitying smile,
'Neath the picture hung fresh gathered
Roses and geranium-garlands.
Kneeling there prayed Margaretta:
"Sorely tried one, full of mercy!
Thou who givest us protection,
Care for him who badly wounded
Lies now on a bed of anguish;
And bestow on me forgiveness
If thou thinkst it very sinful
That he fills my thoughts alone."

Hope and trust their light were shedding
In her heart as thus she prayed.
And more cheerful Margaretta
Now ascended up the staircase.
On the threshold of the sick-room
Was the gray old doctor standing,
And he beckoned her to come there.
Judging what most likely would be
The first question she would ask him,
He then said with voice half muffled:
"Fear no more, my gracious lady;
Fresh young blood and youthful vigour
From such wounds not long can suffer,
And already gentle slumber,
Messenger of health, doth soothe him.
He to-day can take an airing."
Spoke and left; for, his attention
Many wounded men were craving,
And he hated useless gossip.

Softly entered Margaretta
Now the sick-room of young Werner,
Bashful and yet curious whether
All was true the doctor told her.
Gently slumbering lay young Werner,
Pale in youthful beauty, looking
Like a statue. As if dreaming,
He lay holding, o'er his forehead
And his healing wound, his right hand,
As one who from glaring sunlight
Wishes to protect his eyes;
Round his lips a smile was playing.

Long on him gazed Margaretta--
Long and longer. Thus in old times
In the forest of Mount Ida
Gazed the goddess, fair Diana,
On Endymion the sleeper.
Pity held her eye a captive;
Ah, and pity is a fruitful
Soil for love's sweet plant to grow in.
From a tiny seed 'tis spreading
In this ground so rich and fertile,
Which it permeates completely
With its thousand fibrous rootlets.

Thrice already Margaretta
To the door her way had wended,
But as many times returning
She at last approached the bedside.
On the table stood a cooling
Potion, medicines in bottles;
But she neither touched the cooling
Potion nor the other bottles.
Timidly she bent there o'er him,
Timidly and hardly breathing,
Lest her breath might wake the sleeper.
Long she gazed at his closed eyelids
And involuntarily stooping,
With her lips--But who interprets
All the strange mysterious actions
Of a first sweet loving passion?
Well-nigh can my song conjecture
That she really wished to kiss him;
But she did not; startled sighing,
Turned abruptly--like a timid
Fawn she hurried from the chamber.

Like a man who, long accustomed
To the gloom and damp of dungeons,
Seems bewildered when beholding,
For the first time free fair Nature:
"Hast thou not, O sun, grown brighter?
Has the sky not deeper colours?"
And his eyes are nearly dazzled
By the light so long denied him:
Thus returns the convalescent
Once again to life and vigour.
Fresher, warmer, rosier visions
Rise before his raptured glances,
Which he greets with fond rejoicing.
"World, how fair thou art!" was also
Dropping from the lips of Werner,
As on the broad steps he slowly
Now descended to the garden.
Leaning on his staff, he stood long
Quiet, basking in the sunbeams
Playing o'er the fragrant flowers,
Drew a long breath, and then slowly
Stepped upon the garden-terrace.
On the stone-seat in the sunshine
He sat down now. Bees were humming,
Butterflies were lightly flying
'Mid the verdant chestnut-branches,
Out and in, like tavern-goers.
Green, pellucid, gently rushing,
Bore the Rhine its waters onward;
And a pine-raft filled with people,
Snake-like, swiftly sped toward Basel.
Near the shore, up to his knees stood
In the river there a fisher,
Singing gently to himself thus:

"Peasant comes with spears and muskets,
Peasant storms the forest-city,
Peasant will now fight with Austria:
Peasant! you will find that will
Make much heavier the bill;
Take your purse and pay the joke!
Seven florins seemed too much then,
One-and-twenty must thou pay now.
Soldiers quartered are dear guests too;
Then the plaisters from the surgeons:
Peasant! you will find that will
Make much heavier the bill;
Take your purse and pay the joke!"