Chapter VIII: Preface: To the Fiftieth Edition (4)

Gaily gazed young Werner o'er the
Lovely landscape and the river;
But he stopped his contemplations.
On the wall with sunlight flooded
He beheld a shadow gliding,
As of curls and flowing garments--
Well did Werner know this shadow.
Through the shrubbery came smiling
Margaretta; she was watching
Hiddigeigei's graceful gambols,
Who then in the garden-arbour
With a wee white mouse was playing.
With his velvet paws he held it
Tight, and like a gracious sovereign
Looked down on his trembling captive.

From his seat rose up young Werner
Bowing lowly and with reverence.
Over Margaretta's cheeks spread
Ever-changing rosy blushes.
"Master Werner, may God bless you,
And how are you? You were silent
Such a long time, so with pleasure
Shall I hear your voice once more."

"Since my forehead made acquaintance
Lately with the enemy's halberd,
Hardly knew I," answered Werner,
"Where my life and thoughts had flown to.
O'er me lay thick clouds of darkness;
But to-day in dreams an angel
To my side descended, saying:
Thou art well, arise, be happy
That thou hast thy health recovered
And it was so. With a firm step
Thus far have I come already."
Now again fair Margaretta's
Cheeks were like the blush of morning.
When the dream young Werner mentioned,
Bashfully she turned her head; then
Playfully she interrupted:
"I suppose you are now looking
At the battle-field; indeed it
Proved a hot day, and I fancy
Still I hear the roar of battle:
Do you still recall, you stood there
By yon tree, and there a dead man
Lay beneath those blooming elders?
Where the gossamer so lightly
Through the air in threads is flying,
Spears and halberds then were glittering.
There, where still you see the traces
Of fresh plaster on the stone-wall,
Broke those peasants through when flying.
And, my good sir, over yonder
Then my father loudly scolded,
That a certain person headlong
Had into such danger plunged."

"Death and--but forgive, my lady.
That well-nigh I swore," said Werner.
"They were mocking us; and others,
If they please, may keep their temper.
When I hear such stinging speeches,
Then my heart burns, my fist clenches:
Fight! no other means I know of;
Fight I must, e'en should the whole world
Go to atoms with a crash.
Through my veins there flows no fish-blood;
And to-day, though somewhat feeble,
In the same case, I should stand there
By the chestnut-tree again."

"Wicked man," said Margaretta,
"That a fresh stroke from a halberd
Should be crossing your old scar, and
That--but do you know who suffered
Keenly for your daring conduct?
Do you know whose tears were flowing?
Would you once more give the order:
Lower drawbridge! if I begged you:
Werner stay and do remember
The poor suffering Margaretta?
If I--," but she was not able
Further to spin out her sentence.
What the mouth spoke not, the eyes said;
What the eyes said not, the heart did.
Dreamily young Werner lifted
Unto her his raptured gaze:
"Am I dying, or is doubly
My young life to me now given?"
In each other's arms they flew then,
Sought each other's lips with ardour,
And transported, pressed upon them
Love's first kiss, so sweet and blissful.
Golden-purple streamed the sunlight
Through the shady trees' high summits,
Down upon two happy beings--
On young Werner's pallid features,
On the lovely blushing maiden.

Love's first kiss so sweet and blissful!
Thinking of thee, joy and sorrow
Both steal o'er me; joy, that also
I have once thy nectar tasted,
Sorrow, that but once we taste it!
For thy sake I wished to cull from
Language, all the fairest flowers,
For a wreath unto thine honour;
But, instead of words rose visions
Clear before me, and they led me
Far to float o'er time and space.
First I soared to Eden's garden,
When the new-born world was lying
In its pristine youthful freshness,
When its age by days was reckoned.
Evening came, a rosy light spread
O'er the sky, while in the river's
Waves the sun to rest sank slowly;
On the shore, in merry frolic,
Graceful animals were playing.
Through the shady paths 'neath palm-trees
The first human couple walked.
Wide through space they gazed in silence,
'Mid the holy peace of evening;
In each other's eyes they looked then,
And their lips did meet.
Then I saw before me rising.
Visions of quite different aspect;
Dark the sky, rain-storm and lightning,
Mountains bursting, from the dark depths
Foaming waters rushing upward.
Flooded over is the ancient
Mother Earth, and she is dying.
To the cliffs the waves are rolling,
To the old man and his consort,
To the two last living mortals.
Now a flash--I saw them smiling,
Then embracing, without speaking,
Ever kissing. Night then--roaring,
Did the flood engulf these beings.
This I saw, and well I know now,
That a kiss outweighs all language,
Is, though mute, love's song of songs.
And when words fail, then the singer
Should be silent; therefore silent
He returns now to the garden.
On the stone steps of the terrace
Lay the worthy Hiddigeigei;
And with great amazement saw he,
How his mistress and young Werner
Were each other fondly kissing.
Grumbling said he to himself then:
"Often have I meditated
On great problems hard to settle,
Which my cat-heart fully fathomed;
But there's one which yet remaineth
Quite unsolved, uncomprehended:
Why do people kiss each other?
Not from hatred, not from hunger,
Else they'd bite and eat each other;
Neither can it be an aimless
Nonsense, for they are in general
Wise, and know well what they're doing.
Why then is it, I ask vainly,
Why do people kiss each other?
Why do mostly so the youthful?
And why mostly so in Spring-time?
Over all these knotty questions,
I intend to ponder further,
On the gable-roof to-morrow."

Margaretta plucked some roses,
Took then Werner's hat, and gaily
With the fairest ones adorned it.
"Poor pale man, till there are blooming
On your own cheeks just such roses,
On your hat you'll have to wear them.
But now tell me, wherefore is it
That I do so dearly love you?
Not a word you ere have spoken,
That could show me that you loved me.
Sometimes only shy and bashful
Did you raise at me your glances,
And sometimes you played before me.
Is it, then, your country's custom,
That a woman's love is won there,
Without words by trumpet-blowing?"

"Margaretta, sweetest darling,"
Said young Werner, "could I venture?
You appeared to me so saint-like,
In your flowing, snow-white garments.
At the feast of Fridolinus.
'Twas your glance which made me enter
In your noble father's service;
And your favour was the sunshine
Which my daily life illumined.
Ah! there by the mountain-lake once,
On my head was placed a garland.
'Twas love's crown of thorns you gave me,
And in silence I have worn it.
Could I speak, O could the homeless
Trumpeter his yearnings utter
Boldly to fair Margaretta?
Unto you as to an angel,
Who is guarding us poor mortals
Did I look in silent worship,
And I wished in your dear service
Here to die beneath the chestnuts.
From that fate you have preserved me,
Unto life and health restored me,
Made my life now doubly precious,
As I know your love adorns it.
Take me then! Since you did give me
That first burning kiss, I only
Live through you, belong to you now,
Margaretta--ever thine!"

"Thine, yes, thine," said Margaretta;
"What stiff barriers are erected
By our words! Belong to you now--
What a solemn cold expression.
Ever thine! 'tis thus love speaketh.
No more you; _thou_, heart to heart pressed,
Lips to lips, that is his language;
Therefore, Werner, let another
Kiss now seal it"--and their lips met.
In the sky the moon first shineth,
Then by countless stars is followed;
So the first kiss, when once given,
Is by hosts of others followed.
But how many were by stealth robbed
And paid duly back with interest,
All this doth my song keep secret.
Poetry and dry statistics
Are, alas, not on good terms.
Also Anton came now hurrying
Through the garden with a message:
"The three ladies from the convent,
Who the first of May went with us
To the fishing, send their greeting
To your gracious ladyship, and
Also make most kind inquiries
For the health of Master Werner,
Who, they trust, will soon amend."

THIRTEENTH PART.

WERNER SUES FOR MARGARETTA.

Night, how long and full of terror!
When thou bring'st not to the weary
With thy shades refreshing slumber,
And sweet dreams to comfort him.
Restlessly his thoughts are delving
In the past's great heaps of rubbish,
Where they rake up many fragments
Of his former life, and nowhere
Can his eyes abide with pleasure;
Only gloomy spectres rise up,
Which the sunlight soon would banish.
Unrefreshed, next to the future
Roves the mind from which sweet sleep flies;
Forges plans, takes resolutions,
Builds up proud and airy castles;
But like owls and bats are flying
All around them hosts of doubts which
Drive away all hope and courage.

From the tower-clock struck midnight.
On his couch was lying sleepless
Werner in the turret-chamber;
Through the window beaming faintly
Fell a narrow ray of moonlight,
While beneath the Rhine did rush.
And the sleepless brain of Werner
Is by dream-like visions haunted.
Once it seemed to him like Sunday;
Bells are pealing, horses neighing,
Toward the Schwarzwald goes a wedding,
He walks at the head as bridegroom,
By his side is Margaretta;
And she wears a wreath of myrtle.
In the village loud rejoicings,
And the roads and village street are
All with flowers overstrewn.
In his priestly robes is standing
By the church-door the old Pastor
Blessing, beckoning him to enter--
But the vision's thread broke off here
For a new one: He imagined
At the door there was a knocking;
And now enters the odd figure
Of his dear old friend Perkeo,
With his red nose shining brightly
In the dimly-lighted chamber;
And he speaks with husky voice thus:
"Oh, my lad, with love don't meddle!
Love's a fire which consumeth
Him who kindles it, completely;
And thou art no charcoal-burner!
Come then home to the clear Neckar,
Come with me to my old wine-tun,
Which contains good stuff sufficient
All thy love-flames to put out."

Next he seems to be transported
To an Eastern field of battle.
Cries of Allah, sabres whirring;
And he soon strikes down a Pashaw
From his horse, and brings the crescent
To the general, Prince Eugene,
Who then claps him on the shoulder:
"Well done, my Imperial captain!"
From the battle-field his dreaming
Flies back to the days of childhood,
And his nurse sings in the garden:
"Squirrel climbs up on the blackthorn,
Squirrel goes up to the tree-top,
Squirrel falls into his grave.
Had he not so high ascended,
Then his fall had been less heavy,
Had not broken then his leg."

Thus disturbed by all this dreaming,
Werner sprang up of a sudden,
With long strides walked through his chamber;
And his mind was troubled always
By the same portentous question:
"Shall I ask the Baron for her?"
Love well-nigh appeared to him now
Just like stolen fruit; he felt that,
Like a thief, before the day broke,
He had better leave the castle.
But just then the sun was rising,
With the beauty of a bridegroom
In the blush of early morning.
"Be ashamed, my heart, great coward!
Yes, I'll ask him," cried young Werner.

At his breakfast sat the Baron
Poring deeply o'er a letter
Which the day before was brought him
By a messenger from Suabia,
From the Danube; where through narrow
Valleys the young stream is flowing,
And steep limestone rocks are rising
From the water which reflects them
With their verdant crowns of beech-trees;
Thence the man had come on horseback.
And the letter read as follows:

"Does my comrade still remember
His old Hans von Wildenstein?
Down the Rhine and Danube many
Drops of water have been flowing,
Since we in that war together
Lay before the bivouac-fire;
And I see it by my son's growth,
Who is now a strapping fellow--
Four-and-twenty years he reckons.
First a page unto his highness
The Grand Duke of Wuertemberg;
Then to Tuebingen I sent him.
If I by his debts can judge well,
Which I had to pay for him there,
He must have vast stores of knowledge.
Now he stays with me at home, at
Wildenstein; is hunting stags here,
Hunting foxes, hares and rabbits;
But sometimes the rascal even
Hunts the peasants' pretty daughters.
So 'tis time to think of taming
Him beneath the yoke of marriage.
If I err not, you, my friend, have
Just a daughter suited for him.
With old comrades 'tis the custom
Not to beat around the bush, but
Go straight forward to the business.
So I ask you, shall my Damian
Start upon a tour of courtship
To your castle on the Rhine?
Answer soon. Receive the greetings
Of thy Hans von Wildenstein!
"Postscript: Do you still remember
That great brawl we had at Augsburg,
And the rage of wealthy Fugger,
The ill-humour of his ladies,
Two-and-thirty years ago?"

With great effort tried the Baron
His friend's writing to decipher.
Spent a good half-hour upon it
Ere he came to its conclusion.
Smiling said he then: "A Suabian
Is a devil of a fellow.
One and all they are unpolished.
And coarse-grained is their whole nature;
But within their square-built noddles
Lie rich stores of clever cunning.
Many stupid brainless fellows
Might from them obtain supplies.
Truly my old Hans now even
In old age is calculating
Like the best diplomatist.
For, his much encumbered, rotten
Owl's-nest out there on the Danube,
Would be well propped up and rescued
By a good rich marriage-portion.
Still his plan is worth considering;
For, the name of Wildenstein is
Well known all throughout the Empire,
Since they followed as crusaders
In the train of Barbarossa.
Let the younker try his chance then!"

Werner with most solemn aspect,
Dressed in black, the room now entered;
Sadness lay on his pale features.
In good humour spoke the Baron:
"I was wishing just to see you,
For I want you to be ready
With your pen, and as my faithful
Secretary write a letter,
And a letter of importance.
There's a knight who lives in Suabia
Questioning me about my daughter;
Asks her hand from me in marriage
For his son, the younker Damian.
Write him then, how Margaretta
Daily grows in grace and beauty;
How she--but I need not tell you.
Think you are an artist--sketch then
With your pen a life-like, faithful
Portrait, not a jot forgetting.
Also write, to his proposal
I do offer no objection,
And the younker, if he pleases,
May come here and try his fortune."

"May come here and try his fortune,"
Said young Werner, as if dreaming,
Mumbling to himself--when grimly
Said the Baron: "What's the matter?
You have now as long a visage
As a protestant old preacher
On Good Friday. Is the fever
Coming once again to plague you?"
Gravely answered him young Werner:
"I, my lord, can't write that letter,
You must find another penman;
For, I come myself as suitor,
Come to ask you for your daughter."

"Come--to ask you--for your daughter!"
In his turn now said the Baron
To himself--he made a wry mouth
As one playing on the Jew's-harp,
And he felt a sudden twitching
In his foot from his old enemy
Podagra, and gravely said:
"My young friend, your brain is truly
Still affected with the fever.
Hurry quickly to the garden;
There stands in the shade a fountain,
There is flowing clear cool water;
If you dip your head thrice in it
Then your fever soon will cool."

"Noble lord," now answered Werner,
"Spare your jokes, for you may better
Use them, when the noble younker
Comes here from the land of Suabia.
Calm and free from any fever
Have I on this step decided,
And to Margaretta's father
I repeat the same petition."

Darkly frowning said the Baron:
"Do you want to hear from me then
What your own good sense should tell you?
Most unwillingly I hurt you
With harsh words; I've not forgotten
That the wound upon your forehead,
Hardly healed yet, you received here
By your ardour in my service.
He who ventures as a suitor
For my daughter first must show me
That he comes of noble lineage.
Nature has set up strict barriers
Round us all with prescient wisdom,
To us all our sphere assigning,
Wherein we the best may prosper.
In the Holy Roman Empire
Is each rank defined most clearly--
Nobles, commoners, and peasants.
If they keep within their circle,
From themselves their race renewing,
They'll remain then strong and healthy.
Each is then just like a column,
Which supports the whole; but never
Should these classes mix together.
Do you know the consequences?
Our descendants would have something
Of each class, and yet be nothing--
Shallow, good-for-nothing mongrels,
Tossed about, because uprooted
From the soil of old tradition.
Firm, exclusive must a man be;
And his course of life already
Must be inborn, an inheritance
Coming down through generations.
Hence our custom does require
Equal rank when people marry;
And I hold as law this custom;
I shall not allow a stranger
To o'erleap this solid barrier,
And no trumpeter shall therefore
Ever woo a noble lady."

Thus the Baron. With great labour
Had he put the words together
Of this solemn and unusual
Theoretical discourse.
Meanwhile Hiddigeigei lying
There, behind the stove, was listening.
At the end assent he nodded,
But in thoughtful meditation
Raised his paw up to his forehead,
Reasoning to himself as follows:
"Why do people kiss each other?
Never shall I solve this question!
I did think at last I'd solved it,
Thought that kisses might be useful
As a means to stop one's talking,
And prevent one from declaiming
Bitter stinging words of truth.
But, alas, now this solution
Seems, I must confess, erroneous;
Else young Werner long before this
Would have kissed my good old master."

To the Baron said young Werner,
And his voice was growing hollow:
"Much I thank you for this lesson.
'Midst the fir-trees of the mountains,
By the green waves of the river,
In the sunlight of the May-time,
Has my eye been overlooking
All these barriers of custom.
Thanks, that you have thus recalled them.
Also, thanks for all your kindness,
Shown to me while on the Rhine.
Now my time is up, the meaning
Of your words I thus interpret:
'Right about face!' I go gladly.
As a suitor fully equal
I shall here return, or never.
Be not angry then--farewell!"
Spoke, and from the room departed,
And he knew what must be done now.
At the door with troubled glances
Still a long while gazed the Baron:
"I am really sad," he muttered,
"Wherefore is this brave youth's name not
Damian von Wildenstein?"

Parting, parting, dismal moment!
Who first ever did invent it?
Surely 'twas a wicked man, far
In the Polar Sea, and freezing
Round his nose the polar wind blew;
And his shaggy, jealous consort,
Plagued him, so he no more relished
The sweet comfort of the train-oil.
O'er his head he drew a yellow,
Furry sealskin, and then waving
With his fur-protected right hand,
To his Ylaleyka spoke he
First this harsh and mournful sentence:
"Fare-thee-well, from thee I'm parting!"

Parting, parting, dismal moment!
In his turret-chamber Werner,
Was now tying bag and baggage.
Fastening up his travelling knapsack:
Greets the walls of his snug chamber
For the last time, for they seemed then
Just like good old friends and comrades.

Only these he took farewell of;
Margaretta's eyes he could not
For the world then have encountered.
To the court-yard he descended,
Quickly his good horse he saddled.
Hoofs then clatter; a sad rider
Rode forth from the castle's precincts.

In the low ground by the river
Stood a walnut-tree; once more there
Now he halted with his horse,
And once more took up his trumpet;
From his overburdened soul then
His farewell rang to the castle--
Rang out; don't you know the swan's song,
When with death's foreboding o'er him
Out into the lake he's swimming?
Through the rushes, through the snow-white
Water-lilies, rings his death-song:
"Lovely world, I now must leave thee;
Lovely world I die reluctant!"

Thus he blew there. Were those tears which
Glistened brightly on his trumpet,
Or some rain-drops which had fallen?
Onward now; the sharp spurs quickly
In the horse's flanks he presses,
And is flying at full gallop
Round the forest's farthest edge.

FOURTEENTH PART.

THE BOOK OF SONGS.

Werner went to distant countries,
Margaretta's heart was blighted;
Some few years will now pass over
Ere the two are reunited.

But, meanwhile, abrupt transitions
Are not to my taste, I own;
So with songs, like wreaths of flowers,
Shall this gap be overstrewn.

YOUNG WERNER'S SONGS.

I.

The moment when I saw thee first,
Struck dumb, I stood there dreaming,
My thoughts ran into harmonies,
Which through my heart were streaming.

So here I stand, poor trumpeter,
And on the sward am blowing;
In words I cannot tell my love,
In music it is flowing.

II.

The moment when I saw thee first,
The sixth of March, like lightning,
Came quickly from the azure sky
A flash, my heart igniting.

It burn'd up all that dwelt therein,
A dire destruction bringing,
But from the ruins, ivy-like,
My loved one's name was springing.

III.

Turn not thy timid glance away,
To hide what there doth glisten;
Come to the terrace, while I play,
And to my music listen.

In vain your efforts to escape,
I still continue blowing;
With magic speed my tunes take shape
Into a ladder growing.

On these sweet tones' melodious rounds
Love gently is ascending;
Through bolt and lock still pierce the sounds
Which I to thee am sending.

Turn not thy timid glance away,
To hide what there doth glisten;
Come to the terrace while I play,
And to my music listen.

IV.

A merry piece I blew on the shore,
How clear my trumpet was pealing!
Above the storm the tones did soar
Up to the castle stealing.

The water-nymph on her crystal couch
Hears music through the wild roaring;
She rises up to listen well
To a human heart's outpouring.

And when she dives to her home below,
With laughter the fishes she's telling,
"O River-children, one doth see
Strange things where mortals are dwelling.

"There stands someone on shore, in the storm:
What do you think he's doing?
Blows evermore the same old tune--
The tune of Love's soft wooing."

V.

Thou Muse of Music, take my thanks,
Be praise to thee forever,
For teaching me thy Art divine,
That Art which faileth never.

Though language is a noble thing,
There are limits to what it expresses;
No speech has uttered yet what lives
In the soul's most hidden recesses.

It matters not that there are times,
When words to us are wanting;
For then, within, mysterious sounds
Our spell-bound hearts are haunting.

It murmurs, hums, it swells and rings,
Our hearts seem well-nigh breaking,
Till music's glorious hosts burst forth,
To forms of life awaking.

Oft I should stand before my love
A stupid bashful fellow,
Were not my trumpet there at hand,
And love-songs sweet and mellow.

Thou Muse of Music, take my thanks,
Be praise to thee forever,
For teaching me thy Art divine,
That Art which faileth never.

VI.

The skylark and the raven
Are of a different tribe;
I feel as if in heaven!
That I am not a scribe.

The world is not so prosy,
The woods with mirth o'erflow,
To me life seems all rosy,
My trumpet rings hallo.

And merry tunes 'tis sending
Forth in a constant flow;
Who finds these sounds offending
May to the cloister go.

When ink it shall be raining,
Sand fall instead of snow,
Then, from my sin abstaining,
I nevermore will blow.

VII.

Where 'neath the bridge the waters foam,
Dame Trout was swimming downward,
And met her cousin Salmon there:
"How are you, river-comrade?"

"I'm well," quoth he, "but thought just now:
If only lightning flashing,
Down there, would strike that stripling dead,
Him and his trumpet smashing!

The live-long day my fine young sir
On shore is promenading;
Rhine up, Rhine down, and never stops
His hateful serenading."

Dame Trout, then smiling, answered him;
"Dear cousin, you are spiteful,
I, on the contrary, do find
The Trumpeter delightful.

"If you, like him, could but enjoy
Fair Margaretta's favour,
To learn the trumpet even now,
You would not deem much labour."

VIII.

I pray that no fair rose for me,
By thy dear hands, be broken;
A slip of holly evergreen,
Be of our love the token.

The chaplet green with glossy sheen
O'er the fruit good watch is keeping;
And all will prick who try to pick
What's for another's reaping.

The gaudy rose, when Autumn comes,
Finds that her beauty waneth;
The holly leaf her modest green
Through cold and snow retaineth.