THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
THE 
 
 , TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN 
 
 ^ <S0ng from the Wipptx Jlhine. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY 
 
 MRS. FRANCIS BRUNNOW. 
 
 Translation authorised by the Poet. 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 New York : Scribner, Armstrong, & Co. 
 
 1877. 
 
\Aki 
 
 CHAKLES niCKENS AND EVANS. 
 CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. 
 
 7 3 o 6- -J 
 
' V IW-l. J, J. 
 
 '£!C^I.IF0RH\^ 
 
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 O Song, at home well known to fame, ,.— -^ r-/ o /-r 
 
 That German hearts hath deeply stirred^^ ^ / ^ / 
 And long hath made of Scheffel's name 
 A dear and honoured household word. 
 
 Go forth in thy first foreign dress, 
 Go forth to Albion's noble land I 
 
 Will she not greetings kind express. 
 And warmly clasp the stranger's hand ? 
 
 The Emerald Isle will surely give 
 A welcome neither cold nor faint ; 
 
 For on thy pages still doth live 
 The name of Erin's ancient Saint. 
 
 Across the sea my country's shores 
 As Hope's bright star before me rise ; 
 
 Will she not open wide her doors 
 To one who on her heart relies ? 
 
 Farewell, oh work of vanished hours ; 
 
 When suffering rent my weary heart, 
 Thy breath of fragrant woodland flowers 
 
 Did life renew, fresh strength impart. 
 
 Oh Scheffel ! may thy years be long ! 
 
 And may'st thou live to see the time. 
 When this thy genial Schwarzwald song 
 
 Will find a home in every clime. 
 
 
 Basely June, 1877. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION 
 PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION . 
 PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION 
 PREFACE TO THE FIFTIETH EDITION 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 7 
 II 
 
 13 
 
 16 
 
 FIRST PART. 
 How YOUNG Werner rode into the Schwarzwald 19 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 Young Werner with the Schwarzwald Pastor . 33 
 
 THIRD PART. 
 St. Fridolin's Day 48 
 
 FOURTH PART. 
 Young Werner's Adventures on the Rhine ^ 
 
 FIFTH PART. 
 The Baron and his Daughter .... 78 
 
 SIXTH PART. 
 How young Werner became the Baron's Trum- 
 peter 94 
 
 SEVENTH PART. 
 The Excursion to the Mountain Lake . . . 109 
 
VIU 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 EIGHTH PART. 
 
 The Concert in the Garden Pavilion 
 
 NINTH PART. 
 Teaching and Learning . 
 
 PAGE 
 . 128 
 
 TENTH PART. 
 Young Werner in the Gnome's Cave 
 
 ELEVENTH PART. 
 The Hauenstein Riot 
 
 142 
 
 153 
 
 169 
 
 TWELFTH PART. 
 Young Werner and Margaretta . 
 
 THIRTEENTH PART. 
 
 Werner sues for Margaretta. 
 
 . 187 
 
 FOURTEENTH PART. 
 
 The Book of Songs . 
 
 Young Werner's Songs 
 Songs of the Cat Hiddigeigei 
 Songs of the Silent Man . 
 Some of Margaretta's Songs 
 Werner's Songs. Five Years later 
 
 FIFTEENTH PART. 
 The Meeting in Rome . . . . 
 
 SIXTEENTH PART. 
 Solution and End 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 201 
 
 215 
 217 
 
 232 
 
 247 
 253 
 257 
 
 273 
 
 28S 
 303 
 
VJ J.N-± V JL,±lbl. 
 
 £f C^LIFOR^^i:- 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 li 
 
 Who is yonder light-haired stranger 
 
 Who there Hke a cat is roaming 
 O'er the roof of Don Pagano ? " — 
 Thus asked many honest burghers, 
 Dwellers on the Isle of Capri, 
 When they from the market turning 
 Looked up at the palm-tree and the 
 Low-arched roof of moorish fashion. 
 
 And the worthy Don Pagano 
 Said : " That is a strange queer fellow. 
 And most strange his occupation. 
 Came here with but little luggage, 
 Lives here quite alone but happy, 
 Clambers up the steepest mountains. 
 Over cliffs, through surf is strolling, 
 Loves to steal along the sea-shore. 
 Also lately 'mid the ruins 
 
 B 
 
DEDICA TION. 
 
 Of the villa of Tiberius 
 
 With the hermits there caroused. 
 
 What's his business ? — He's a German, 
 
 And who knows what they are doing ? 
 
 But I saw upon his table 
 
 Heaps of paper written over, 
 
 Leaving very wasteful margins ; 
 
 I believe he is half crazy, 
 
 I believe he's making verses." 
 
 Thus he spoke. — And I myself was 
 This queer stranger. Solitary 
 I had on this rocky island 
 Sung this song of my dear Schwarzwald. 
 I went as a wand'ring scholar 
 To far countries, to Italia ; 
 With much art became acquainted, 
 Also with bad vetturinos, 
 And with many burning flea-bites ; 
 But the sweet fruit of the lotus, 
 Which doth banish love of country 
 And the longing to return there, 
 I have never found here growing. 
 
 'Twas in Rome. Hard lay the winter 
 On th' eternal sev'n-hilled city : 
 Hard — for even Marcus Brutus 
 Would have caught a bad catarrh then ; 
 And the rain seemed never-ending. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 Like a dream then rose the vision 
 
 Of the Schwarzwald, and the story 
 
 Of the young musician Werner 
 
 And the lovely Margaretta. 
 
 In my youth I have stood often 
 
 By their graves close to the Rhine shore ; 
 
 Many things which lie there buried 
 
 Are, however, long forgotten. 
 
 But like one to whom a sudden 
 
 Ringing in his ears betokens 
 
 That at home of him they're thinking. 
 
 So I heard young Werner's trumpet 
 
 Through the Roman Winter, through the 
 
 Carnival's gay flower-show — 
 
 Heard it from afar, then nearer, 
 
 Like the crystal which of vap'rous 
 
 Fine materials is condensing 
 
 And increases radiating ; 
 
 So the figures of this song grew — 
 
 Even followed me to Naples. 
 
 In the halls of the Museum 
 
 Who should meet me but the Baron 
 
 Shaking his big cane and smiling, 
 
 And before Pompeii's gate sat 
 
 The black tom-cat Hiddigeigei. 
 
 Purring, quoth he : " Leave all study ; 
 
 What is all this ancient rubbish, 
 
 E'en that dog there in mosaic 
 
 In the tragic Poet's dwelling, 
 
 B 2 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 In comparison with me — the 
 Epic type of all cat-nature ? " 
 
 This I could no longer stand, so 
 Now began this ghost to banish. 
 From the brother of the lovely 
 Luisella, from the crooked 
 Cunning druggist of Sorrento 
 Quantities of ink I ordered, 
 And sailed o'er the bay to Capri. 
 Here began my exorcisms. 
 Many pale-gold coloured sea-fish, 
 Many lobsters, many oysters, 
 I ate up without compassion ; 
 Drank the red wine like Tiberius, 
 Without mercy poetising ; 
 On the roof went up and down till 
 All resounded metrically, 
 And the charm was then accomplished : 
 Chained up in four-measured trochees 
 Lay those figures which so long now 
 From my couch sweet sleep had banished. 
 
 'Twas high time, too ; Spring already 
 Now gave signal of his coming — 
 Buds were sprouting on the fig-trees ; 
 Shots were cracking, for with guns and 
 Nets they were the quails pursuing, 
 Who towards home their flight were taking ; 
 
^ 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 And the minstrel was in peril 
 
 Then of seeing feathered colleagues 
 
 Set upon the table roasted. 
 
 This dread o'er him, pen and inkstand 
 
 Flew against the wall together. 
 
 Ready now and newly soled were 
 
 My strong boots which old Vesuvius 
 
 Had much damaged with his sulphur. 
 
 Farther now I journey onward. 
 
 Up, my good old Marinaro ! 
 
 Off from land ! the waves with pleasure 
 
 Bear light hearts and weightless freightage. 
 
 But the song, which with such happy 
 Spring-born feeHngs from my heart welled, 
 Bears my greetings to my country 
 And to you, my honoured parents. 
 Many faults are in it, truly : 
 Tragic pathos may be wanting, 
 And a racy tendance ; also, 
 As in Amaranth, the fragrant 
 Incense of a pious soul, its 
 Sober but pretentious colouring. 
 Take him, as he is, this ruddy. 
 Rough, uncouth son of the mountains, 
 With a pine branch on his straw hat. 
 What he's wanting in, pray, cover 
 With the veil of kind indulgence. 
 Take him not as thanks, for always 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 In your Book of Love I'm debtor, 
 But as greeting and as witness, 
 That a man whom worldly fortune 
 Has not placed 'mid smiling verdure. 
 Yet can, happy as a lark pour 
 Out his song on leafless branches. 
 
 Capri, May 1st, 1853. 
 
FORHAt 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 Five years, my merry song, have now rolled by 
 
 Since thou didst venture thy first course to run, 
 A simple strolling minstrel's chance to try, 
 
 But no great laurels so far hast thou won. 
 In circles of prosaic breathing mortals 
 
 No praise was given thee of any kind — 
 Where formal stiffness bars life's glowing portals. 
 
 Thou and thy kindred can no quarter find. 
 And in the coteries of hoops and laces 
 Few were the readers, fewer still the praises. 
 
 Not everything suits everyone : the hill 
 
 Grows different flowers than the vale and lea : 
 
 But here and there in German homes there will 
 Be found some hearts who fondly turn to thee ; 
 
8 PREFA CE. 
 
 Where merry fellows are their wine enjoying 
 
 With cheerful songs, thy praises will resound ; 
 Near landscape-painters' easels thou art lying, 
 And in a huntsman's bag thou oft art found, 
 And e'en of pastors it has been reported 
 To thee as to their prayer-books they've resorted. 
 
 And many who have taken a young bride 
 
 To spend the honeymoon 'midst rural scenes, 
 Do like to read thee, sitting side by side ; 
 
 Of happy hours thou often art the means. 
 Then Sakkingen, the fair Black Forest's treasure, 
 Which found at first in thee not much delight. 
 Has by degrees derived from thee great pleasure, 
 And to her heart with love has pressed thee tight. 
 Upon the whole, success outweighs detraction. 
 And thou canst view thy fate with satisfaction. 
 
 Now that thou wilt a second course begin, 
 
 I should for thee a better dress prepare. 
 With finer threads the verses' measure spin. 
 
 Here lengthen out, there shorten with more care. 
 I know it well, right often have I faltered, 
 
 Some of thy trochees sound a little lame ; 
 But the old humour now, alas ! is altered, 
 
 The mood which gave thee birth is not the same. 
 O rosy dreams of youth, when joy abounded, 
 Wherefore so soon by gloomy clouds surrounded ! 
 
PREFACE. 9 
 
 Once more in my dear Schwarzwald I now rest, 
 
 And near me rush the heaUng waters out, 
 On high a bird of prey soars o'er his nest, 
 And in the brook are sporting tiny trout. 
 From charcoal kilns the smoke clouds are ascending, 
 
 With iris-coloured hues the sun embrace, 
 And stately giant pines in rows unending. 
 
 Like wreaths of evergreens, the mountains grace. 
 A spicy hay-scent rises from the meadow, 
 And honest folk dwell 'neath their thatched roof's 
 shadow. 
 
 And yet — should I now try new songs to sing, 
 
 The old accustomed tone I could not find ; 
 Too often grief my soul with pangs doth wring, 
 
 Instead of mirth, scorn filleth now my mind. 
 The world serves idols now, the good ignoring, 
 
 And truth is silent, beauty hides her face ; 
 What is unnatural men are adoring, 
 
 God is forgotten. Mammon takes his place ! 
 The Poet, now, should be a prophet warning. 
 Like those of old, reproving, praying, mourning ! 
 
 'Tis not my sphere ; a mighty stirring song 
 Requires another man, a different art ; 
 
 But though so much prevails that's sad and wrong. 
 One may not quite disdain a merry heart. 
 
lo PREFACE. 
 
 Go forth, my song, then, as thou didst before, 
 
 A cheerful memory of life's fresh spring ; 
 Cheer up those hearts, which grief made sad and sore, 
 And to friends far and near my greeting bring. 
 Whenever men to nobler aims aspire. 
 Then higher too will ring the poet's lyre. 
 
 Rippoldsau, September, 1858. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE THIRD EDITION. 
 
 HiDDiGEiGEi, his opinion : 
 
 " Strange, perverse, are all mankind, 
 Who, when discord holds dominion, 
 
 In such ditties pleasure find. . . . 
 Questions which the world are shaking, 
 
 Now the thinker's mind assail, 
 And no light as yet is breaking, 
 
 Which solution shall prevail. 
 
 " Yet our song unto perdition 
 
 Has not been condemned, I hear — 
 What a marvel ! — an edition 
 
 For the third time will appear. 
 Which in new dress, not inferior 
 
 (Of the old nought has been spared),. 
 And, wdth quite unchanged interior. 
 
 For its third trip is prepared. 
 
12 PREFACE. 
 
 '' I regret that I'm declining, 
 
 And I fear I have the mange ; 
 And I show now, by my whining, 
 
 When the wind and weather change. 
 Coming storms, when brewing, ever 
 
 My keen senses do betray ; 
 And the atmosphere was never 
 
 Sultry as it is to-day. 
 
 " Doubly thus I feel this parting, 
 
 But thy course must onward lead ; 
 Take my blessing, song, on starting. 
 
 And the cat's well-meant good speed ! 
 The green Rhine, the Schwarzwald breezes. 
 
 Bring with them health, peace, and rest ; 
 Such a merry fellow pleases. 
 
 And is hailed a welcome guest. 
 
 " Golden Spring, thee still I'm praising ; 
 
 When the trumpet-notes rang out. 
 Then my bristling fur seemed blazing. 
 
 And bright sparks flew all about ; 
 And the trumpet with my growling 
 
 Then defied Fate's evil doom ; 
 Gentle is to-day my howling 
 
 O'er the hidden future's gloom." 
 
 Summer, 1862. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 The Boezberg for the Rhine I have been leaving, 
 
 A home-sick longing stirred my heart within, 
 Once more that fragrant air I would be breathing 
 
 Again would see the town of Fridolm, 
 As if at my return with joy elated, 
 
 She lay there basking in the autumn sun, 
 Her minster's towers lately renovated. 
 
 Reflected in the river, brightly shone ; 
 Far to the North, through bluish vapour breaking, 
 The Hozzenwald, a stately background making. 
 
 From the Gallus-Thurm on the Roman wall erected, 
 
 To where the ancient convent buildings lie. 
 The well-known gable roofs I all detected. 
 
 Where often my light skiff had glided by ; 
 And where the shore by gravel banks is bounded, 
 
 A sunny garden's blooming face doth smile ; 
 Half hidden by the chestnuts which surround it 
 
 Lies cosily the castle's graceful pile. 
 
 \3 R A R ^ 
 
14 PREFACE. 
 
 To it my hat in greeting I am tossing, 
 
 As o'er the ancient covered bridge I'm crossing. 
 
 Unto the dead my steps at first were tending, 
 
 Unto the graveyard where the Rhine flows by, 
 Por many had been called to rest unending, 
 
 Who once with me enjoyed this balmy sky. 
 The old stone wall I neared with deep emotion, 
 
 Inscribed with Werner Kirchhof s name and arms, 
 And of his wife a record of devotion, 
 
 Which, though long past, e'en now attracts and charms. 
 And Heaven's blessing on the pair alighted. 
 By death the same year they were re-united. 
 
 To the market then I turned. "Are ghosts here 
 wandering. 
 
 Or is it you yourself who meets mine eyes ? " 
 So said the mayor by the court-house standing, 
 
 Who slowly did the stranger recognise. . . . 
 Long years have passed since friends were often going 
 
 To hear my judgments in the dusky court ; 
 But though now many heads gray locks are showing, 
 
 Their hearts are fresh, their memo'ry is not short ; 
 And as we never shunned good cheer and drinking, 
 From foaming bumpers we'll not now be shrinking. 
 
 'Tis true the Button landlord has been moving 
 
 Out of his cosy tavern on the Square, 
 But still retains his former skill in brewing, 
 
 And in his new inn keeps the same good fare. 
 
PREFACE. 15 
 
 And as around the table we sat cheering 
 Our hearts with kindly memories of old, 
 
 From many lips I these glad news was hearing, 
 Which please the Poet more than heaps of gold : 
 
 The Trumpeter, whose story I'd been singing, 
 
 To young and old more joy was daily bringing. 
 
 As a vignette the weekly paper gracing 
 
 He's blowing politics instead of music now ; 
 And even more, somebody has been placing 
 
 My hero on the stage — but ask not how. 
 Could I but see the walls of the new tower, 
 
 Which now is rising in the old one's place, 
 Embellished by an artist of great power — 
 
 The figures of my song devised with grace ! 
 Thus might an artist's hand m.ake expiation 
 For the abuse by stage-representation. 
 
 However, let that go, I am not fearing 
 
 Whatever purpose thou mayst serve my song ; 
 Now that a new edition is appearing, 
 
 I send my greeting home with it along. 
 On thy fourth tour thou Schwarzwald-child be hieing, 
 
 Where truth and goodness dwell, there enter in, 
 And preach to those who with ennui are sighing, 
 
 How innocent amusement they may win. 
 As often as there comes a new edition, 
 "Preserve thee, God !" be ever my petition. 
 
 Seon in the Aargau, November, 1864. * 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE FIFTIETH EDITION. 
 
 The Trumpeter now, all alive and refreshed, 
 
 To the Jubilee loudly is blowing ; 
 The present year has both of us blessed, 
 
 Great favour and lustre bestowing. 
 I have my fiftieth year attained. 
 
 Through joy and through sorrow surviving. 
 And his editions — such fame has he gained — 
 
 At the fiftieth are now arriving. 
 
 It may be that I a part of my youth 
 
 And joy with him have been leaving ; 
 But still from these scenes — to tell the truth — 
 
 Great pleasure I now am receiving. 
 To the Eggberg I climbed, where on high are seen 
 
 The homes of the Hauenstein peasant ; 
 Their straw-thatched roofs with mosses still green. 
 
 But no more quaint costumes at present. 
 
PREFACE. 17 
 
 Through gaps in the forest I see shining bright 
 
 The snow-peaks of Switzerland's Giants, 
 The steep Finsteraarhorn's towering height 
 
 The Jungfrau dazzHng with diamonds ; 
 And as to the west I turn my gaze, 
 
 Blue ridge above ridge is unfolding : 
 And, in the evening's golden haze, 
 
 Fm the Vosges' great Belchen beholding. 
 
 When now to Sakkingen downward I hie, 
 
 Through the dark green forest is gleaming 
 The silvery lake, like the earth's clear eye, 
 
 Looking upward, invitingly beaming. 
 Gneiss rocks high o'er the grassy shore rise ; 
 
 And placed so as best to show it, 
 Inscribed on a rock this meets mine eyes : 
 
 " Sakkingen, the town, to her Poet ! " 
 
 And now, as by Bally's castle I stand, 
 
 There my Trumpeter also stands blowing, 
 Cast finely in bronze by a master's hand. 
 
 That they know us well here all are showing ; 
 For, when I was going to pay at the inn. 
 
 The kind hostess refused quite indignant. 
 'Tis clear, in the town of St. Fridolin, 
 
 O'er us a bright star shines benignant. 
 
1 8 PREFACE. 
 
 The Trumpeter bravely has blown his way 
 
 Through much that his patience was tasking ; 
 And the publisher also his joy doth betray : 
 
 For the author's likeness he's asking. 
 Accept then this book, my friends, as before, 
 
 With kind and growing affection ; 
 When the Schwarzwald's Poet shall be no more, 
 
 Still hold him in fond recollection. 
 
 Carlsruhe, October, 1876. 
 
THE* 
 
 TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 FIRST PART. 
 
 HOW YOUNG WERNER RODE INTO THE SCHWARZWALD. 
 
 To the Schwarzwald soars my song, up 
 To the Feldberg, where the last small 
 Cluster of its comrade mountains 
 Toward the south are boldly looking, 
 And, all mailed in fir-tree armour, 
 Keep good watch there on the Rhine. 
 
 Be thou greeted, peaceful forest ! 
 Be ye greeted, ancient pine-trees, 
 Ye, who oft beneath your shadow 
 Me, the weary one, have sheltered. 
 Oddly twisted, spread your roots down 
 
20 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Deep within the earth's vast bowels, 
 Strength from out those depths imbibing, 
 While to us is closed the entrance. 
 And you envy not a transient 
 Human being's transient doings. 
 Only smile ; — his feast at Christmas 
 You adorn with your young scions. 
 In your sturdy trunks lives also 
 Conscious life-sustaining power. 
 Resin through your veins is coursing ; 
 And your dreamy thoughts are surging 
 Slow and heavy, upward, downward. 
 Oft I saw the clear and gummy 
 Tears which from your bark were oozing, 
 When a woodman's wanton axe-stroke 
 Rudely felled some loved companion. 
 Oft I heard your topmost summits 
 Spirit-like together whisper. 
 Then there breathed throughout my soul a 
 Sweet mysterious solemn dreaming. 
 Don't find fault then, if my song now 
 Soars within the forest shades. 
 
 'Twas in March : still played the Winter 
 Masquerade ; the branches, laden 
 With fantastical ice-crystals, 
 To the ground were lowly drooping ; 
 Here and there, out of Earth's bosom 
 Tender plants their heads were thrusting — 
 
FIRST PART. 2 1 
 
 Wood-anemones and cowslips. 
 
 As the patriarch, old Noah, 
 
 At the time of the great Deluge, 
 
 Sent the dove to reconnoitre : 
 
 So with winter's ice sore burdened, 
 
 With impatience sends the Earth forth 
 
 These first flowers with a question, 
 
 Asking, whether the oppressor 
 
 Has not come to his last gasp yet. 
 
 Blustering from the Feldberg's summit 
 
 Now old Master Storm is rushing, 
 
 And rejoices, through the dark dense 
 
 Forest he again is blowing ; 
 
 Says : " I greet you, ancient comrades; 
 
 Why I come, you know the reason — 
 
 They believe, poor mortal children, 
 
 When they see me tearing, snatching 
 
 Roughly some old hat away, 
 
 I am only there to frighten. 
 
 That would be a pretty business, 
 
 Breaking chimneys, smashing windows. 
 
 Scattering through the air some thatchings, 
 
 Tearing some old woman's clothing 
 
 Till she signs the cross in praying! 
 
 But you fir-trees know me better, 
 
 Me, the fair Spring's thorough cleaner. 
 
 Who what's mouldy sweeps afar off — 
 
 Who what's rotten blows to pieces — 
 
 Who the earth's domain well cleanses, 
 
2 2 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 That his radiant Lord and Master 
 Worthily may make his entrance. • 
 And you, noble forest comrades, 
 Who so oft, with bronze-like foreheads, 
 Bravely have withstood my rudeness. 
 Ye whose trunks I have to thank for 
 Many knocks against my skull-bone. 
 Ye alone shall hear my secret : 
 Soon the Spring himself he cometh. 
 And then, when the buds are bursting, 
 Lark and blackbird sing their carols. 
 And with fervent heat the Spring sun 
 Brightl}'- on your heads is shining, 
 Then remember me, the Storm-wind, 
 Who to-day, with boisterous fury 
 As his harbinger swept past." 
 
 Speaking thus, he shook the tree-tops 
 With great roughness ; boughs are snapping^ 
 Branches falling, and a thick, fine 
 Rain of pine-leaves crackles downward. 
 But the fir-trees, quite indignant. 
 Took small notice of this homage. 
 From their summits rang the answer. 
 Rather scolding, I should call it : 
 " You unmannerly rude fellow ! 
 We will have no business with you. 
 And regret much that the finest 
 Lords have oft the rudest servants. 
 
FIRST PART. 23 
 
 To the Alps begone directly, 
 There is sport fit for your humour ; 
 There stand walls of rock all barren ; 
 Entertain yourself with them there." 
 
 Now, while thus the storm and fir-trees 
 Held such converse with each other, 
 Could be heard a horse's footfall. 
 Toiling through the snow-piled wood-path 
 Seeks his way a weary horseman ; 
 Gaily flutters in the storm-wind, 
 To and fro, his long gray mantle. 
 His fair curling locks are waving. 
 And, from out the cocked-up hat there 
 Boldly nods a heron's feather. 
 On his lips was just appearing 
 Such a downy beard as ladies 
 Much admire, because it showeth 
 That its bearer is a man, still 
 One whose kisses will not wound them. 
 But not many pretty lips had 
 Felt the soft touch of this beard yet. 
 Which, as if for fun and mischief. 
 Snow and ice now decked with crystals. 
 In his clear blue eyes were glowing 
 Warmth and mildness, earnest meaning, 
 And you could not doubt his fist would 
 Strike a valiant blow, when needed, 
 With the heavy basket-hilted 
 
24 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Sword, which, worn suspended by a 
 Black belt from his shoulder, well-nigh 
 Grazed the ground as he was riding. 
 Wound around his riding-doublet 
 Was a sash, to v\^hich was tied the 
 Richly-gilded shining trumpet, 
 Which he often with his mantle 
 Sheltered from the falling snow-flakes ; 
 But, whene'er the wind pierced through it, 
 Bringing forth tones shrill and wailing ; 
 Then around his mouth there played a 
 Sweet strange smile of melancholy. 
 
 Silent through the forest's thicket 
 On he rode, while often roving 
 Were his glances — as the case is, 
 When a wanderer for the first time 
 Over unknown roads is travelling. 
 Rough the path — the poor horse often 
 In the snow was nearly sinking. 
 And o'er gnarl'd and tangled branches 
 Of the knotted pine-roots stumbling. 
 And the rider, in ill-humour. 
 Said: "Sometimes it is quite tedious, 
 Through the world alone to travel. 
 There are times, 'mid gloomy forests. 
 When one longeth for companions. 
 Since I bade farewell this morning 
 To the good monks of St. Blasien, 
 
FIRST FART. 25 
 
 Lonely was the road and dreary. 
 Scattered here and there, a peasant, 
 Through the snow-storm running swiftly, 
 Hardly did my greeting notice. 
 Then a pair of coal-black ravens, 
 Who with hoarse discordant croakings, 
 O'er a dead mole fiercely quarrelled ; 
 For the past two hours, however, 
 I not once have had the honour 
 To behold one living being. 
 And in this lone forest district, 
 Where the lofty snow-clad pine-trees 
 Look as if in shrouds enveloped, 
 I should like to have some comrades. 
 Were they even rogues or gipsies, 
 Or those two suspicious fellows 
 Who escorted the old knight once 
 Through the forest's gloom and thicket ; 
 Then appeared as Death and Devil, 
 Grinning in his face with scorn ! 
 I should rather ride with them now — 
 Rather fight them, or play lively 
 Dances for them, than so lonely 
 Thus to trot through this dense forest." 
 
 All comes to an end, however. 
 Even riding through the forests. 
 Round the trunks it grew much lighter. 
 Storm and snow-clouds were receding. 
 
 \ B R A p^ 
 
26 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 And the blue sky smiled benignant 
 
 Through the dense shade of the pine-woods. 
 
 Thus the miner, looking upward. 
 
 Sees, far at the pit's mouth shining. 
 
 Like a star, the distant daylight, 
 
 A\'hich he 2Teets with io^'ful shoutine^. 
 
 Likewise such a cheerful feeling 
 
 Brightens up our riders face. 
 
 So he reached the foresf s border, 
 
 And his eyes, so long restricted 
 
 By dark woods to narrow prospects, 
 
 Gladly swept the wide horizon- 
 
 O how lovelv woods and fields lav ! 
 Green meads in the narrow valley, 
 Straw-thatched huts, low-roofed and mossy. 
 And the modest village steeple ; 
 Deep below, where dusky forests 
 Stretch along unto the lowlands, 
 Like a long bright streak of silver, 
 Takes the Rhine his westward course. 
 Far ofi" from the island glisten 
 Battlements and \oi\s houses, 
 And the minster's two tall spires ; 
 "While beyond, in misty distance 
 Shining, rise up unto Heaven 
 Snowy peaks of giant mountains, 
 Guardians of Helvetia's soil. 
 As the pallid ardent thinkers 
 
FIRST PART. 27 
 
 Eye doth glow and cheek doth redden, 
 When a thought, new and creative, 
 Through his brain has flashed hke h'ghtning, 
 So the golden light of evening 
 Glows upon the Alpine Giants. 
 (Do they dream of throes of labour 
 Which their mother-earth of old felt, . 
 When they from her womb were bursting ?) 
 
 From the horse got off our rider, 
 To a pine-tree stump he bound it, 
 Gazed in wonder at the landscape- 
 Spoke no word, but shouting tossed up 
 In the air his pointed cocked hat, 
 And began to blow a cheering 
 Joyous tune upon his trumpet. 
 To the Rhine it bore a greeting, 
 Over toward the Alps it floated, 
 Merr}^ now, then full of feeling, 
 Like a prayer devout and solemn. 
 Then again quite roguish, jo}^ul. 
 Nov/ trari-trara resounded, 
 Echo's voice her plaudits sending 
 From the bosom of the forest. 
 Fair it was o'er hill and valley. 
 But fair also to behold him, 
 As he in the deep snow standing 
 Lightly on his horse was leaning ; 
 Now and then a golden sunbeam 
 
2^ THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Glory shed on man and trumpet, 
 In the background gloomy fir-trees, 
 Farther down among the meadows 
 Rang his tunes out not unheeded ! 
 There was walking then the worthy 
 Pastor of the neighbouring village, 
 Who the snow-drifts was examining, 
 Which, fast melting with the surging 
 Waters rising o'er the meadows, 
 Threatened to destroy the grass there. 
 Plunged in thought, he deeply pondered 
 How to ward off this great danger. 
 Round him bounded, loudly barking, 
 His two white and shaggy dogs. 
 
 You who live in smoky cities, 
 And are separated wholly 
 From the simple life of nature. 
 Shrug your shoulders ! for my muse will 
 Joyfully now sing the praises 
 Of a pastor in the country. 
 Simple is his life, and narrow : 
 Where the village ends, end also 
 All his labours and endeavours. 
 While men slaughtered one another. 
 In the bloody Thirty Years' W^ar, 
 For God's honour, the calm grandeur 
 Of the Schwarzwald's solemn pine-woods 
 Breathed its peace into his soul. 
 
FIRST PART. 29 
 
 Spider-webs spread o'er his book-shelves ; 
 And, 'mid all the theologians' 
 Squabbles, he most likely never 
 Had read one polemic treatise. 
 With dogmatics altogether, 
 Science in her heavy armour, 
 He possessed but slight acquaintance. 
 But, whenever 'mongst his people 
 Could some discord be adjusted — 
 When the spiteful neighbours quarrelled ; 
 When the demon of dissension 
 Marriage marred and children's duty ; 
 When the daily load of sorrow 
 Heavily weighed down some poor man, 
 And the needy longing soul looked 
 Eagerly for consolation — 
 Then, as messenger from Heaven, 
 To his flock the old man hastened ; 
 From the depths of his heart's treasure 
 Gave to each advice and comfort. 
 it!ld"TfriTra distant village. 
 Someone lay upon a sick-bed. 
 With grim Death hard battle waging. 
 Then — at midnight — at each hour. 
 When a knock came at his hall-door — 
 E'en if snow the pathway covered — 
 Undismayed he went to comfort 
 And bestow the sacred blessing. 
 Solitary was his own life, 
 
30 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 For his nearest friends were only 
 His two noble dogs (St. Bernards). 
 His reward : a little child oft 
 Bashfully approached him, kissing 
 His old hand with timid reverence ; 
 Also oft a grateful smile played 
 O'er the features of the dying, 
 Which was meant for the old priest. 
 
 Unperceived the old man came now 
 By the border of the forest, 
 To the Trumpeter whose last notes 
 Rang resounding in the distance. 
 Tapped him friendly on the shoulder : 
 " My young master, may God bless you, 
 'Twas a fine tune you were playing ! 
 Since the horsemen of the emperor 
 Buried here their serjeant-major. 
 Whom a Swedish cannon-ball had 
 Wounded mortally at Rhinefeld, 
 And they blew as a farewell then 
 The Reveille for their dead comrade — 
 Though 'tis long since it has happened, 
 I have never heard such sounds here. 
 Only on the organ plays my 
 Organist, and that quite poorly ; 
 Therefore I am struck with wonder 
 To encounter such an Orpheus. 
 Will you treat to such fine music 
 
FIRST PART. 31 
 
 The wild beasts here of our forest, 
 Stag and doe, and fox and badger ? 
 Or, perhaps, was it a signal, 
 Like the call of the lost huntsman ? 
 I can see that you are strange here. 
 By your long sword and your doublet ; 
 It is far still to the town there, 
 And the road impracticable. 
 Look, the Rhine-fog mounts already 
 High up towards these upland forests. 
 And it seems to me but prudent 
 That with me you take your lodging ; 
 In the vale there stands my glebe-house, 
 Plain, 'tis true, yet horse and rider 
 Find sufficient shelter there." 
 
 Then the horseman quickly answered : 
 " Yes, I'm strange in a strange country. 
 And I have not much reflected 
 Where to-night shall be my lodging. 
 To be sure, in these free forests 
 A free heart can sleep if need be ; 
 But vour courteous invitation 
 I most gratefully accept." 
 
 Then unfastened he his horse and 
 Led it gently by the bridle, 
 And the Pastor and the rider 
 Like old friends walked to the village 
 
32 THE TRUAIPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 In the twilight of the evening. 
 By the window of the glebe-house 
 The old cook stood, looking serious ; 
 Mournfully her hands she lifted, 
 Took a pinch of snuff and cried out : 
 '' Good St. Agnes ! good St. Agnes ! 
 Stand by me in this my trouble ! 
 Thoughtlessly my kind old master 
 Brings again a guest to stay here ; 
 What a thorough devastation 
 Will he make in my good larder ! 
 Now farewell, you lovely brook-trout. 
 Which I had reserved for Sunday, 
 When the Dean of Wehr will dine here. 
 Now farewell, thou hough of bacon I 
 The old clucking hen, I fear much, 
 Also now must fall a victim, 
 And the stranger's hungry horse will 
 Revel in our store of oats." 
 
SECOND PART. 
 
 YOUNG WERNER WITH THE SCHWARZWALD PASTOR- 
 
 Snugly in the well-warmed chamber, 
 Now before the supper table, 
 Sat the Trumpeter and Pastor. 
 On the dish, right hot and steaming 
 Had a roasted fowl paraded, 
 But it had completely vanished ; 
 Only now a spicy fragrance 
 ^Floated gently through the chamber, 
 Like the songs by which the minstrel 
 Still lives on through after ages ; 
 And the empty plates bore witness 
 That a great and healthy hunger 
 Lately here had been appeased. 
 
 Now the Pastor raised a brimming 
 . Jug of wine, then filled the glasses 
 And began, his guest accosting : 
 " After supper 'tis the duty 
 
34 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Of the host, his guest to question : 
 Who he is, from whence he cometh ? 
 Where his country and his parents ? 
 In old Homer I have read oft 
 That the King of the Phaeacians 
 Thus the noble hero questioned ; 
 And I hope you can relate me 
 Just as many strange adventures 
 As Ulysses. Take your comfort, 
 Seat yourself in that warm corner. 
 Yonder by the stove, which is a 
 Hatching nest of sohd thinking ; 
 'Tis according to our custom 
 The narrator's seat of honour, 
 And I'll listen with attention. 
 Still the old man hears with pleasure 
 Of the storms of youth's wild passions." 
 
 Then the young man : "I am sorry 
 Not to be a proven hero, 
 Neither have I conquered Ilium, 
 Nor have blinded Polyphemus, 
 Neither have I ever thus far 
 Met with any Royal Princess, 
 Who when spreading out the linen 
 Felt for me a soft compassion. 
 But with pleasure I obey you." 
 On the bench he took his seat now 
 By the stove all covered over 
 
SECOND PART. 35 
 
 With glazed tiles much ornamented. 
 
 From the stove streamed out warm comfort, 
 
 And the Pastor kindly told him 
 
 To stretch out his weary legs there. 
 
 He, however, would not do so ; 
 
 Took a swallow of the red wine, 
 
 And began to tell his story : 
 
 " Know, my name is Werner Kirchhof ; 
 I was born and grew to manhood, 
 In the Pfalz, at Heidelberg." 
 
 Old Heidelberg, thou beauty. 
 With many honours crowned ; 
 
 Along the Rhine and Neckar, 
 No town like thee is found. 
 
 Thou town of merry fellows. 
 
 Of wisdom full and wine, 
 Clear flows thy placid river. 
 
 Blue eyes therein do shine. 
 
 When from the south is spreading 
 Spring's smile o'er hill and lea. 
 
 He out of blossoms weaveth 
 A bridal robe for thee. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Thee as a bride I fondly 
 
 Enshrine within my heart ; 
 Like early love's sweet echoes, 
 
 Thy name doth joy impart. 
 
 Become life's cares too burning, 
 
 And all abroad looks bare, 
 I'll spur my good horse homeward 
 
 To the Neckar vale so fair. 
 
 " On the borders of the Neckar 
 I have dreamt sweet dreams of childhood. 
 Also have a school attended, 
 Greek and Latin there have studied ; 
 And a thirsty old musician 
 Taught me how to blow the trumpet. 
 When I reached my eighteenth birthday. 
 Said my guardian : ' You, young Werner, 
 With a clever head are gifted, 
 And arc somewhat of a genius. 
 And cut out of right material ; 
 You must now become a lawyer. 
 That brings office and great honours. 
 Gathers also golden ducats. 
 And already I do see you 
 As the well-appointed bailiff 
 Of His Grace the Grand Elector ; 
 And I then must pay you homage. 
 I will venture the prediction, 
 
SECOND PART. 37 
 
 If you act quite circumspectly, 
 Then a seat may yet await you 
 In th' Imperial Court at Wetzlar.' 
 Thus I then became a lawyer ; 
 Bought myself a greatbi ^nkstand. 
 Also bought a huge portfolio, 
 And a heavy Corpus Juris, 
 And the lecture-room frequented, 
 Where, with yellow mummy visage, 
 Samuel Brunnquell, the professor, 
 Roman la w to us expounded. 
 Roman law, when I recall it7 
 On my heart it lies like nightmare, 
 Like a millstone on my stomach. 
 And my head feels dull and stupid. 
 To much nonsense did I listen. 
 How they in the Roman Forum 
 Snarling, quarrelled with each other ; 
 How Sir Gains stuck to his point. 
 And to his Sir Ulpianus ; 
 How then later comers dabbled. 
 Till the Emperor Justinianus, 
 He of all the greatest dabbler, 
 .Sent them home about their business. 
 And I often asked the question : 
 ' Must it really be our fate then 
 These dry bones to gnaw forever, 
 Which were flung to us as remnants 
 -From their banquets by the Romans ? 
 
38 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 Why should not, from soil Germanic, 
 
 Spring the flower of her own law, 
 
 Simple, full of forest fragrance — • 
 
 No luxuriant southern climber ? 
 
 Sad fate of the late-born races ! 
 
 Must read till their brows are sweating,. 
 
 And must try to disentangle 
 
 Knotty twisted skeins forever. 
 
 Can't we have a sword to cut them ? ' 
 
 " Often, nightly, by the lamp-light 
 I sat poring o'er the Codex, 
 Read the Glossary and Cujacius 
 Till my weary brain was racking ; 
 But this zeal brought me no blessing. 
 Merrily would then my thoughts fly 
 From my studies to that time when 
 Old Cujacius' lovely daughter 
 Mounted in her father's rostrum, 
 With her voice sweet and melodious, 
 Read for him his written lectures 
 To the lucky youth of Paris. 
 Usucaption and inheritance. 
 And Novella hundred and eighteen, 
 Changed into a dark-haired maiden 
 Peeping from the Corpus Juris. 
 From my trembling hands the pen fell, 
 Overturned were sand and inkstand, 
 And I caught hold of the trumpet : 
 
SECOND FART. 39 
 
 Usucaption and inheritance, 
 
 And Novella hundred and eighteen, 
 
 Wailing in adagio tempo. 
 
 Flew forth from the study window 
 
 Far into the starry night. 
 
 " Ye^th^s^zeaJ^ brought me no blessing. 
 I one day went from myjodging, 
 ^ Neath my arm the Corpus Juris 
 ('Twas the Elzevir edition, 
 AVhich at Rotterdam was published) 
 To the Heugass', to the pawn-house, 
 Where the Jew, Levi Ben Machol, 
 With his squinting eyes rapacious, 
 Took it in his arms paternal, 
 Paid me then two golden ducats — 
 .Someone else may now redeem it ! 
 I became a saucy fellow. 
 Wandered much o'er hill and valley 
 Clinking spurs and serenading. 
 If I ever caught one sneering, 
 Quickly grasped my hand the rapier : 
 ' Fight a duel ! draw your weapons ! 
 Now advance ! ' That whistled nicely 
 Through the air ; on many smooth cheeks 
 Wrote my sword so sharp and steady 
 A memento everlasting. 
 I, however, must confess here, 
 That I did not choose the finest 
 
40 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Company to wander round with. 
 
 What I Hked, was to sit drinking 
 
 Up in the Elector's Castle, 
 
 By our age's greatest marvel 
 
 Which the German mind has wrought out, 
 
 By the tun of Heidelberg. 
 
 A most worthy hermit dwelt there, 
 
 Who was the Elector's court fool. 
 
 Was my dear old friend Perke'o ; 
 
 Who had out of life's wild whirlpool 
 
 Peacefully withdrawn himself where 
 
 He could meditate while drinking. 
 
 And the cellar was his refuge. 
 
 Here he lived, his care dividing 
 
 'Twixt himself and the big wine-tun ; 
 
 And he loved it — truer friendship 
 
 Never has the world yet witnessed ; 
 
 'Twas as if it were his bride. 
 
 With a broom he swept it shining. 
 
 Chased away the ugly spiders, 
 
 And whenever came a feast-day. 
 
 Hung it o'er with wreaths of ivy ; 
 
 Sang to it the morning greeting. 
 
 Also sang the song of evening. 
 
 And he carved in wood the image 
 
 Of himself as his best offering. 
 
 But when sipping his reward then 
 
 From the big tun's mouth with kisses, 
 
 Forth he launched in flights of fancy. 
 
SECOND PART. 41 
 
 Often at his feet I listened 
 
 To his odd and comic speeches : 
 
 ' There above, they call me foolish, 
 
 Let them gossip, my dear fellow. 
 
 Gossip never doth annoy me. 
 
 Oh, the world has grown quite stupid ! 
 
 How they grope, and how they stumble, 
 
 Over paths, to find what Truth is ; 
 
 Still in fog they are enveloped. 
 
 To the first cause of all being 
 
 We must needs go back, and bring the 
 
 Last result of our researches 
 
 In a concrete form together. 
 
 Thus we comprehend the world well ; 
 
 For this purpose I am drinking 
 
 Truly cosmogonically. 
 
 Mundane space to me is nothing 
 
 But a roomy vaulted cellar. 
 
 Where as first and central wine-tun, 
 
 Firmly stands the sun erected ! 
 
 Next to him the rank and file of 
 
 Smaller casks, fixed stars and planets. 
 
 As the divers casks are holding 
 
 Wines of various sorts and flavours, 
 
 So comprise the heavenly bodies 
 
 Various spiritual natures. 
 
 Land-wine this — that Riidesheimer ; 
 
 But the earth-cask holds a mixture ; 
 
 Fermentation has half clouded 
 
42 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 And half volatilised the spirit. 
 The antagony of matter 
 And of spirit is, by thinking, 
 Blended into higher union. 
 Thus soars my creative genius 
 Far on high, while I am drinking. 
 And when through my brain are rushing 
 Revelations from the wine-fumes. 
 And when then my feeble body 
 Tottering sinks down by the wine-tun, 
 'Tis the triumph of the spirit, 
 'Tis the act of self-deliverance 
 From the narrow bounds of being. 
 Thus my solitude doth teach me 
 Nature's everlasting system. 
 With mankind it would be better, 
 Had the great Germanic race but 
 Understood their high vocation, 
 And throughout the world had carried 
 High the standard of the wine-cask. 
 Made of drinking a devotion — 
 As the Persians worship fire ! ' 
 (I .^^^O'Petkeo ! better were it 
 \ Now with me, if to thy wisdom 
 I had never, never listened ! 
 'Twas a sharp cold winter morning, 
 When down in the cosy cellar 
 We were taking a potation, 
 Talking philosophically ; 
 
SECOND PART, 45 
 
 But when I stepped out at midday, 
 
 The whole world and everybody 
 
 Looked most strangely queer and funny. 
 
 Rosy hues lit up all Nature, 
 
 Angel-voices I heard plainly. 
 
 On the balcony of the castle 
 
 Stood surrounded by her ladies, 
 
 Full of grace, of all the fairest, 
 
 The Electress Leonora. 
 
 Up to her start my bold glances, 
 
 Up to her my daring longing ; 
 
 Clouded was my understanding. 
 
 Quickly I approached the terrace 
 
 And began to sing the wild air 
 
 Which the Palsgrave Frederic once sang, 
 
 As a love-sick serenader. 
 
 To his lovely English bride." 
 
 I kneel to thee as thy faithful true knight. 
 
 Fair Princess, of women the pearl ! 
 
 Command, and I fight the Emperor's host. 
 Command, and I hold the most dangerous 
 post. 
 
 To atoms the world I will hurl. 
 
 I'll fetch thee from Heaven the sun and the- 
 
 moon, 
 Fair Princess, of women the crown ! 
 
44 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 I'll fetch countless stars from yon azure 
 
 height, 
 Spit them like frogs on my spear sharp and 
 bright, 
 And low at your feet lay them down. 
 
 Command, I will even become a fool, 
 Fair Princess, of women the prize ! 
 Indeed, I am one already I see. 
 The light is far too dazzling for me, 
 Which streams from thy sunny blue eyes. 
 
 *,M» 4{. 4I» .a. 
 
 TT TS* ^T TP 
 
 " Do you hear the trumpets blowing ? 
 Do you hear the cannon roaring ? 
 There, near Prague, at Weissenberg, now 
 For Bohemia's throne they're fighting. 
 Palsgrave, 'twas a short sad winter ! 
 Palsgrave, thou wast sore defeated ! 
 Spur thy horse and seek a refuge ! 
 
 " O thou fairest of all women. 
 From my dream what an awaking ! 
 For there came to me the Beadle, 
 Summoned me before the Rector. 
 Grimly wrinkled he his forehead, 
 Wild with rage his locks were shaking ; 
 Sternly he pronounced my sentence — 
 His Magnificence the Rector : 
 
SECOND PART. 45 
 
 ' For your unpermitted blowing, 
 For your unpermitted sing-song 
 In the Castle's sacred precincts, 
 You must quit the town and college 
 In three days \ by special favour 
 Of our gracious sovereign princess. 
 Further punishment is spared.' 
 
 " Leave the town now — was I dreaming ? 
 No, it was a fact well founded. 
 But before I left the city. 
 All my debts I fully settled, 
 In such cases quite unusual ; 
 And I rode on the third morning 
 Out of Heidelberg ; the fourth day 
 Out of the Elector's country 
 Unofifended ; though my home had 
 Thrust me out — the bolts drawn on me — 
 Yet I will not cease to love her. 
 And the trumpet, cause of mischief, 
 I hung gaily on my shoulder. 
 And I augur it shall yet peal 
 Joyful tunes to help me onward. 
 I don't know now to what haven 
 Horse and tempest may yet bear me, 
 Still I look not backward more. 
 Cheerful heart and courage daring 
 Knows no sorrow, nor despairing, 
 Fortune has good luck in store. 
 
46 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Thus I came into the Schwarzwald. — 
 My kind host, pray tell me frankly 
 Whether my long tale has made you 
 Feel a heavy sleep approaching. 
 But if not, I'll be most grateful 
 If you'll give me some advice." 
 
 Smiling rang the good old Pastor 
 Glass to glass, and smiling said he : 
 " Your tale has a lucky ending. 
 I remember quite another, 
 Of a young and handsome carpenter. 
 And a Margravine's allurements. 
 But it ended on the gallows. 
 In this case, I am much puzzled 
 How to give you good advice. 
 In my code it is not written 
 How to counsel such a person, 
 Who with songs insults fair ladies. 
 Leaves his law books in the pawn-house, 
 With his trumpet loudly bloweth 
 To himself a rosy future. 
 But when human knowledge faileth. 
 Heaven graciously doth help us. 
 Way down in the forest-cit)'-, 
 There in Sakkingen is a worthy 
 Patron saint of all young people, 
 Is the holy Fridolinus,* 
 
SECOND PART, 47 
 
 And to-morrow is his feast-day. 
 Never has he yet forsaken 
 Him who prays for help in trouble ; 
 Therefore ask Saint Fridolinus." 
 
THIRD PART. 
 
 ST. fridolin's day. 
 
 Lo ! a ship comes o'er the ocean, 
 
 Near Franconia's coast approaching, 
 
 Foreign sails and foreign pendant. 
 
 At the rudder sits a pale man, 
 
 Clad in black and monkish robes. 
 
 Hollow, like a mournful wailing. 
 
 Sounds the strange speech of the pilgrims, 
 
 Sound their prayers, and cries of sailors. 
 
 'Tis the ancient Celtic language 
 
 From the Emerald Isle of Erin ; 
 
 And the vessel bears the pious 
 
 Missionary Fridolinus. 
 
 " Cease thy grieving, dearest mother ; 
 
 Not with sword nor with the war-axe 
 
 Shall thy son gain fame and honour : 
 
 Other ages, other weapons — 
 
 Faith and Love are my sole armour. 
 
 For the love I bear my Saviour 
 
THIRD PART. 49 
 
 I go forth unto the heathen ; 
 Celtic blood impels me onward. 
 And in dreams I've seen a vision — 
 A strange land and pine-clad mountains, 
 A clear stream with a green island, 
 Most as fair as my own country ; 
 Thither points the Lord His finger, 
 Thither sails now Fridolinus." 
 
 With a few choice Irish comrades, 
 Filled with earnest, calm devotion, 
 Fridolin sailed o'er the ocean ; 
 Came into the Frankish Empire, 
 Where at Paris reigned King Clovis. 
 Smiling spake he to the pilgrims : 
 " I had never great affection 
 For the saints and monkish orders ; 
 Since, however, the accursed 
 Allemanic lances whistled 
 Nearer me than I thought pleasant 
 On the battlefield of Zulpich, 
 I have changed my mind entirely — 
 Even kings will pray in danger. 
 Where you wander I'll protect you. 
 And unto your special notice 
 Recommend the Allemanni : 
 They are stubborn and thick-headed, 
 They are still most dogged heathen ; 
 Try to make them good and pious." 
 
^ 
 
 50 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Farther on the little band went, 
 
 To the land of the Helvetians ; 
 
 There began their serious labour, 
 
 And the holy cross was planted 
 
 At the foot of snow-clad Santis, 
 
 Planted by the Bodensee. 
 
 When descending from the Jura 
 
 Fridolinus saw the ruins 
 
 Of Augusta Rauracorum — 
 
 Roman walls — there still projected 
 
 From the rubbish mighty columns 
 
 Of the Temple of Serapis. 
 
 But the Altar and the Cella 
 
 Were o'ergrown with tangled brambles ; 
 
 And the ox-head of Serapis 
 
 Had been built in o'er the stable 
 
 By an Allemanic peasant. 
 
 Whose forefathers had most likely 
 
 Killed the last priest of Serapis. 
 
 Seeing this then, Fridolinus 
 Crossed himself and travelled onward, 
 By the green banks of the river. 
 Evening came, and far already 
 Had the pious man now wandered. 
 There beheld he, how the river 
 Flowed in two divided branches ; 
 And in the green waters smiling 
 Rose before him a small island, 
 
THIRD PART. 51 
 
 Sack like lying in the river. 
 (Hence the peasants, who are never 
 Over squeamish in comparing, 
 Called the isle Sacconium.) 
 Evening came ; the larks were singing 
 Fish sprang snapping from the water ; 
 Through the heart of Fridolinus 
 Thrilled a thankful pious gladness. 
 On his knees he sank down praying, 
 For he recognised the island 
 As the vision of his dreaming — 
 And he praised the Lord in Heaven. 
 
 Oft, 'tis true, have many of us 
 Mortals in these modern ages 
 Also dreamt of tranquil islands, 
 Where we happily might nestle. 
 And the weary heart refresh with 
 Forest calm and Sabbath quiet. 
 Many also go with ardent 
 Longing on the journey, but when 
 Nearing as they hope their island. 
 Suddenly it fades before them. 
 As in southern climes the airy 
 Image of the fay Morgana. 
 
 •Full of wonder, a wild native 
 Sculled the stranger to the island, 
 On a raft made of rough pine logs. 
 
 E 2 
 
2 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Wild the island : limes and alders 
 
 In low marshes here were growing ; 
 
 On the shore with pebbles covered, 
 
 Also stood huge ancient willows ; 
 
 And some scattered huts with thatched roofs. 
 
 Here in summer, when the salmon 
 
 Are migrating up the river. 
 
 Eager fishermen stand waiting 
 
 With their long sharp pikes to spear them. 
 
 Unremitting to his labour 
 Went the saint — soon stood his log-house 
 On the solid ground erected ; 
 Near the house the cross he planted. 
 When the bell at dusk of evening 
 Rang out far, Ave Maria ! 
 And he prayed devoutly kneeling ; 
 From the Rhine vale, many people 
 Timidly looked at the island. 
 
 Fierce and stubborn were these Almains. 
 ' Once the Roman gods they hated ; 
 
 Now Franconia's God they hated, 
 Who at Zulpich, like a tempest, 
 Had overthrown their mighty host. 
 
 When the lazy master 'idly 
 Took his rest on winter evenings, 
 And, with eager zest, the women 
 Set their tongues in busy motion, 
 
THIRD PART. 53 
 
 And of this and that they gossiped — 
 How the jug of milk had curdled, 
 How the hut was struck by lightning, 
 How a youth was badly injured 
 By a boar's sharp tusk when hunting — 
 Then in warning spoke the crafty 
 Aged Allemanic grandam : 
 
 " No one else have we to blame but 
 Him who dwells on yonder island — 
 That old pallid, praying stranger. 
 Trust ye not, I pray, the new God 
 Of the Franks, nor false King Clovis ! " 
 
 And they feared the pious stranger. 
 Once, upon the summer solstice, 
 They all came unto his island, 
 Drank there — after ancient custom — 
 Mead from their enormous tankards ; 
 And they tried to seize the stranger, 
 But he had gone down the river. 
 
 '' We will leave this pallid man, then. 
 Tokens that we've held our feast here ! " 
 Soon some lighted brands were flying 
 In the hut of Fridolinus ; 
 And they sprang rejoicing through the 
 Flames in singing, " Praised be Woden 1 " 
 From the distance gazed with pleasure 
 The old grandam, and her face shone 
 'Ghastly in the lurid light. 
 
54 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Fridolinus, when returning, 
 Saw his hut laid waste in ashes ; 
 And he said, then smiHng sadly : 
 " Lord, I thank thee for these trials, 
 As they but increase my courage." 
 Then he built anew his dwelling. 
 And soon found an entrance open 
 To the rough hearts of his neighbours. 
 First the children, then the women, 
 Listened to his gentle language ; 
 And some of the stubborn fellows 
 Looked approval, when he showed them 
 How in Erin, his own country, 
 They could spear the salmon better ; 
 When he sang them ancient legends — 
 How, upon the Caledonian 
 Cliffs, had raged a mighty battle 
 With the Romans ; and how Fingal 
 Overthrew young Caracalla. 
 Then they said : "A strong and mighty- 
 God has sent this man here to us ; 
 And a good God, for this stranger 
 Bringeth blessing on our fishing." 
 And in vain the grandam warned them : 
 " Trust ye not, I pray, the new God 
 Of the Franks and false King Clovis ! " 
 
 Yes, he touched these hearts so rugged 
 Taught to them the Christian doctrine ; 
 
THIRD PART. 55 
 
 And they understood that giving 
 
 Is more blessed than receiving ; 
 
 That it was the Son of God who 
 
 On the cross for men did suffer. 
 
 Hardly had a year passed over— 
 
 'Twas Palm-Sunday — when descended, 
 
 From the slopes of all the mountains, 
 
 A great throng, who then rowed over 
 
 To the isle of Fridolinus. 
 
 Peacefully there on the island. 
 
 Sword, and shield, and axe they laid dov/n ; 
 
 And the children gaily gathered 
 
 For themselves the willow blossoms 
 
 And sweet violets by the river. 
 
 From his hut came Fridolinus, 
 
 Fully robed in priestly vestments ; 
 
 By his side walked his companions 
 
 Who had come from distant places : 
 
 Gallas from Helvetia ; also 
 
 From the Bodensee Columban. 
 
 And they led down to the shore then 
 
 The great throng of the converted, 
 
 And baptised them in the name of 
 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
 
 She alone did not come with them 
 To the isle of Fridolinus, 
 She the old and stubborn grandam \ 
 And she said : " No new gods need I, 
 
56 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 As my life is fast declining. 
 
 I'm contented with the old ones, 
 
 Who to me are kind and gracious, 
 
 Who once gave me my dear husband — 
 
 My good, noble Siegebert. 
 
 When'er Death from here should take me, 
 
 I could never hope to find him ; 
 
 And for him my heart is yearning. 
 
 In the woods I must be buried. 
 
 Where the mandrake grows 'neath fir-trees 
 
 Which with mistletoe are covered. 
 
 I don't wish a cross on my grave, 
 
 Shall not envy it to others." 
 
 On that very day, however, 
 Fridolin laid the foundations 
 Of the cloister and the city; 
 And his work waxed ever greater, 
 And afar throughout the country 
 Was the holy man revered. 
 When again he paid a visit 
 To King Clovis' court, in Paris, 
 On his right the king did place him, 
 And then solemnly donated 
 The whole island to his cloister. 
 And, besides, large tracts of country ; 
 Even a great saint became he. 
 Have ye never heard the legend 
 Of the court-day, and Count Ursus, 
 Which the statues o'er the church door 
 
V JiiJrtb 
 
 THIRD PART. 57 
 
 Have preserved e'en to the present ? 
 A great saint, indeed, became he, 
 And is still the Rhineland's patron. 
 To this day prevails the custom 
 That the peasants have their first-born 
 By the name of Fridli christened. 
 - * * * * 
 
 On the sixth of March young Werner 
 Gaily parted from the glebe-house ; 
 Gratefully he shook the hand of 
 The good pastor, who sincerely 
 Wished him a most pleasant journey. 
 And the old cook was completely 
 Reconciled unto the stranger ; 
 Bashfully she cast her eyes down 
 To the ground, while deeply blushing, 
 When young Werner, out of mischief, 
 Kissed his hand to her, when leaving. 
 Barking ran the two St. Bernards 
 A long distance with our rider. 
 
 Bright and warm the sun was shining 
 On the town of Fridolinus ; 
 Solemn peals afar resounded. 
 From the organ of the minster, 
 As young Werner through the gate rode. 
 Quickly found he first good shelter 
 For his horse, and then he walked on 
 To the crowded lively market, 
 
58 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Went up to the old Cathedral, 
 And he stood with head uncovered 
 By the portal, where was passing 
 Then the festive long procession. 
 
 Through the war the precious relics 
 Of the Saint had been well hidden 
 In old Laufenburg's strong castle. 
 They had often in the city 
 Missed their presence with much sorrow. 
 Now that peace once more was settled, 
 They were striving with fresh ardour 
 To do honour to their saint. 
 At the head of the procession 
 Came gay troops of merry children. 
 But when they too loudly prattled, 
 Then their old and gray-haired teacher 
 Pulled them by the ear and scolded : 
 f " Keep quite still, my little people ! 
 
 Take great care, for Fridolinus 
 May be listening to your gabbling. 
 He, a Saint severe and holy, 
 Will complain of you in Heaven." 
 
 Twelve young men came next, who bore the 
 Coffin, rich with gold and silver. 
 Which enclosed the Saint's remains. 
 Bearing it they chanted softly : 
 
 Thou who dwellest high in Heaven, 
 
THIRD PART. 59 
 
 Biess thy people and thy city, 
 Stretch o'er us thy arms of mercy, 
 
 Fridolinus, Fridolinus ! 
 Grant us further thy protection ; 
 From all danger mayst thou guard us, 
 War and pestilence keep from us, 
 
 Fridolinus, Fridolinus ! 
 
 Then the Dean and all the Chaplains 
 Followed after — bearing tapers 
 Came the youthful Burgomaster, 
 Came the town's wise Corporation 
 And the other dignitaries : 
 Bailiff, Revenue-receiver, 
 Syndic, Notary, Attorney, 
 And the old Chief Ranger also. 
 (He came only for decorum. 
 For with Mother Church and Saints' Days 
 He was not upon good footing. 
 Prayed much rather in the forest.) 
 E'en the Messenger and Sergeant 
 Did not then, as was their custom. 
 Take a morning draught together, 
 But joined gravely the procession. 
 Then in dusky Spanish mantles. 
 Ornamented with white crosses, 
 Came the great Teutonic Order, 
 All the Knights and their Commander. 
 Down the river stood in Beuggen 
 
6o THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 The Teutonic Order's Castle 
 
 Whence at early dawn of morning 
 
 All these knights had come on horseback. 
 
 Then came black-robed, grave and aged, 
 Noble ladies of the Convent, 
 And in front by the blue standard 
 Walked the aged Lady Abbess, 
 And her thoughts were : " Fridolinus, 
 Though thou art so full of kindness, 
 One thing thou canst ne'er restore me, 
 'Tis my youth, so fair and golden. 
 It was charming fifty years since. 
 When my cheeks were red like roses. 
 And when many knights w^ere captured 
 In the meshes of my glances ! 
 Long have I done penance for this, 
 And I hope it is forgiven. 
 Deeply wrinkled is my forehead, 
 While the cheeks and lips are faded, 
 And the sunken mouth is toothless." 
 
 Next the train of noble ladies 
 Came the burghers' comely housewives, 
 At the end the elder matrons. 
 Only one in work-day garments 
 Kept aloof from the procession, 
 'Twas the hostess from the ancient 
 Tavern of the " Golden Button ;" 
 So demanded ancient custom. 
 
THIRD PART. 6i 
 
 There — so learn we from the legend — 
 
 Stood once in those heathen ages 
 
 An old tavern ; Fridolinus, 
 
 When he first upon the island 
 
 Set his foot, had there sought shelter ; 
 
 But the landlord, a rude heathen, 
 
 Spoke unto the holy man thus : 
 
 " All you priests are good for nothing, 
 
 But to vilify our old gods ; 
 
 And you seldom carry even 
 
 One red farthing in your pocket. 
 
 So begone from off my threshold ! " 
 
 Now the purse of Fridolinus 
 
 Had indeed but little in it, 
 
 And he had to take his night's rest 
 
 Underneath the shady lindens 
 
 In the meadow. But the angels 
 
 Cared well for him, and he found out, 
 
 On awaking, that his purse was 
 
 Filled with golden Roman pieces. 
 
 Then again the Saint did visit 
 
 The inhospitable tavern, 
 
 Took a meal, and paid in shining 
 
 Money what the host demanded ; 
 
 And to shame him left moreover 
 
 Seven gold coins as a present. 
 
 Thus for an eternal warning 
 
 To all landlords void of pity. 
 
 Although ages had elapsed since. 
 
62 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 No one from the " Golden Button " 
 Could join in the Saint's procession. 
 
 As the flowers in the mown field 
 ; Gaily bloom 'mid dried up stubble, 
 So close by the elder matrons 
 Walked the lovely group of maidens, 
 Clad in snow-white festive garments. 
 Many old men, as they saw them 
 Passing by in youthful beauty, 
 Thought : " UiDon our guard we must be. 
 For these maidens are as dangerous 
 As a Swedish regiment." 
 In the front they bore a statue 
 Of Our Lady, dress'd most richly, 
 In a purple velvet garment, 
 Which they had presented to her. 
 As a grateful holy offering, 
 When the weary war was ended. 
 In that lovely file the fourth one 
 Was a slender, light-haired maiden ; 
 On her curls, a wreath of violets, 
 Over which the white veil floated, 
 And it covered half her features, 
 Like the hoar-frost in the Spring-time 
 Glistening on the early rosebud. 
 With her eyes cast down she passed by 
 Where young Werner now was standing. 
 He beheld her. Had the sun then 
 
THIRD PART. 6-^ 
 
 Blinded suddenly his eyesight, 
 
 Or the fair young maiden's beauty ? 
 
 Although others still came past him, 
 Rooted to the spot he stood there, 
 Looking only at the fourth one. 
 Gazed, and gazed ; when the procession 
 Turned the corner of a side street 
 Still he gazed, as if the fourth one 
 In the file he must discover. 
 " He is caught ! " so goes the saying 
 In that country, when one's soul is 
 By the wand of love enchanted ; 
 Love can never be our captive. 
 We are wholly conquered by him. 
 So beware, my young friend Werner ! 
 Joy and sorrow hides the saying : 
 " He is caught ! " I need not say more. 
 
FOURTH PART. 
 
 YOUNG Werner's adventures on the rhine. 
 
 Mirth now reigned within the city. 
 
 Those who early had united 
 
 In the honoured Saint's procession, 
 
 Now sat, equally united, 
 
 Drinking the good wine before them, 
 
 Or the golden foaming beer. 
 
 Corks were popping, glasses ringing ; 
 
 Many huge and mighty goblets 
 
 By the guests were emptied quickly, 
 
 In St. Fridolinus' honour. 
 
 Simpering with delight, the landlord 
 
 Counted all the empty barrels. 
 
 And, with a devout expression. 
 
 Chalked them all upon the blackboard. 
 
 From the inn outside the gate, which 
 
 By the peasants was frequented. 
 
 Came gay music ; for, with legs crossed. 
 
 There sat, playing on his fiddle. 
 
FOURTH PART. 65 
 
 Schwefelhans, the violinist ; 
 And in wild and boisterous dances 
 Were the Hauenstein young peasants 
 Twirling round their buxom partners. 
 Groaning was the floor, and shaking 
 'Neath their feet and heavy stamping, 
 From the walls the plaster falling, 
 So uproarious was their shouting. 
 From afar, with turned-up noses. 
 Many dandies looked on sneering ; 
 Yet, within themselves were thinking : 
 " Better, after all, than nothing." 
 
 The sedate and older people 
 Sat together in the tap-room. 
 As their ancestors delighted 
 To get drunk in Woden's honour, 
 So, in true historic spirit. 
 They for Fridolin got tipsy. 
 Many troubled faithful consorts 
 Pulled their husbands by the coat-tail. 
 When the second and the third piece 
 Of hard money here was squandered ; 
 But the husband said quite coolly : 
 " Dearest wife, control thy humour. 
 For to-day all must be spent here ! " 
 And he left not till the watchman 
 With the halberd came and ordered 
 That 'twas time to close the tavern. 
 
 p 
 
66 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 With uncertain steps, ill-humoured, 
 To his mountain-home he totters : 
 And the silent night is witness 
 Of some sudden headlong tumbles. 
 But she covers them with darkness — 
 Kindly — as she does the beating 
 Which, as finish to the feasting. 
 He bestows on his poor consort. 
 
 Lonely, far-off from the bustle. 
 Walked young Werner toward the Rhine-strand, 
 Without thinking where he wandered. 
 Still before his eyes there hovered 
 Those sweet features of the maiden 
 Which he had beheld that morning. 
 But now seemed a dream's fair vision. 
 Burning was his brow ; his eyes now 
 Restlessly strayed up to heaven, 
 Then he cast them meekly downward, 
 As if asking where to find her ; 
 And he did not mind the north wind, 
 Which his locks dishevelled sadly. 
 Through his heart hot glowing thoughts ran 
 Wildly chasing one another. 
 Like the mist, which in the autumn 
 Moves around the tops of mountains 
 In most oddly-changing shapes ; 
 And it rang and surged within him, 
 
FOURTH PART.- 67 
 
 Like the first germ of a poem 
 Growing in the mind's recesses. 
 
 Also, thus, in bygone ages. 
 By the Arno strolled another 
 Child of man, plunged in deep musing ; 
 And he also blew the trumpet. 
 Which, like that of the last judgment, 
 Rang aloud, in piercing notes, through 
 His benighted rotten age. 
 But when he, upon that feast-day, 
 First beheld the wondrous maiden 
 Who his leading star through life was, 
 And to Paradise did lead him ; 
 He then wandered by the river. 
 Under shady oaks and myrtles ; 
 And, for all the joyful feelings 
 Which within his heart were ringing, 
 He could only find the utterance : 
 " Beatrice ! Beatrice ! " 
 And thus, after many thousand 
 And still thousand years have rolled by^ 
 Others, who with love are stricken, 
 Dreamily will walk the same way. 
 And whenever the last scion 
 Of the Germans on the Rhine-shore 
 Has been gathered to his fathers, 
 Then will others walk and muse there, 
 
 F 2- 
 
68 THE TRUATPETER OF SAKKINGEN 
 
 And in gentle foreign language 
 
 Murmur the sweet words : " I love thee ! " 
 
 Do you know them ? They have noses 
 
 Somewhat flattened out and ugly ; 
 
 By the Aral and the Irtish, 
 
 Now their ancestors drink whisky, 
 
 But to them belongs the future. 
 
 Youthful love, thou pearl so precious, 
 To the wounded heart a balsam. 
 To life's tossing ship an anchor, 
 Oasis in sandy deserts ; 
 Never would I venture singing 
 Any new song to thy honour. 
 I'm one of the Epigoni ; 
 And great hosts of valiant people 
 Lived before King Agamemnon. 
 I know also wise King Solomon, 
 And the petty German poets. 
 Bashful only, and most grateful, 
 I recall thy gentle magic. 
 As a golden light it shineth 
 Through the mists of youth, and clearly 
 To our view unveils life's outlines ; 
 Shows us where to plant our footsteps. 
 And gives courage to the wanderer. 
 Lofty hopes and timid longing, 
 Dauntless thoughts and stubborn courage. 
 All these do we owe to Love ; 
 
FOURTH PART. 69 
 
 And the cheerful heart that helps us, 
 Like a mountain- staff, to spring o'er 
 Rocks which lie upon our pathway. 
 
 Happy, therefore, is the heart which 
 Love triumphantly has entered ! 
 But young Werner seemed unconscious 
 Why he thus to-day was strolling 
 Idly here along the river. 
 Dreamily he walked close by it, 
 Heedless of the waves which often 
 Gave his boots a thorough wetting. 
 
 From the river's depths gazed at him 
 Then the Rhine, who just the battle 
 Of two aged crabs was watching. 
 And with noisy, ringing laughter, 
 Nodded praises, when in rage they 
 Crossed their horny claws together. 
 Yes, the Rhine — he is a handsome/ 
 Youthful man, and not alone a i 
 Geographical conception — 
 For young Werner he felt pity. 
 Rustling rose he from the water, 
 In his locks a wreath of rushes. 
 And a reed-staff in his right hand. 
 Werner, like all Sunday children, \ 
 Saw much more than other mortals ; v 
 
70 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 So he quickly recognised him, 
 And made him a low obeisance. 
 
 SmiUng then to him the Rhine said : 
 " Have no fear, my dear young dreamer, 
 For I know where thy shoe pinches. 
 Ye are strange and odd, ye mortals ; 
 Ye believe ye bear a secret 
 Through the world in lonely musing. 
 And each chafer understands it ; 
 E'en the gnats and the mosquitoes 
 See it on your heated foreheads, 
 See it in your tearful glances, 
 That Love holds you in his meshes. 
 Have no fear, I know what love is ; 
 I have heard upon my journeys 
 Many false and many true vows 
 Whispered in Romansh and German, 
 Also in the Low Dutch language 
 (In the last oft most insipid). 
 Nightly likewise have I listened 
 Near the shores to much flirtation 
 And much kissing, yet kept silent. 
 Many a poor devil also, 
 In whose heart deep grief was gnawing, 
 In my waves found peace and comfort. 
 When the water-nymphs had gently 
 Lulled him there to sleep, I bore him 
 Off with care to shores far distant. 
 
FOURTH PART. 71 
 
 Under willows, under rushes, 
 Far from tongues of deadly malice. 
 Rest is sweet to false Love's victims. 
 Many thus have I so buried ; 
 I have also harboured many 
 On the river's deep cool bottom 
 In my crystal water-palace ; 
 Lodged them well so that they never 
 Longed for man, nor for returning. 
 
 Have no fear, I know what love is. 
 I myself feel something tightening 
 Round my heart, when I the Schwarzwald's 
 Mountains greet, and jump rejoicing 
 O'er Schaffhausen's precipices, 
 Force my way with courage, rushing 
 Through the straits of Laufenburg. 
 For I know that soon my lovely 
 Schwarzwald child, the youthful Wiese, 
 Comes to meet me, bashful, timid ; 
 And she prattles, in the rough speech 
 Of the Almains, of the Feldberg, 
 Of the ghosts beheld at midnight, 
 Of sweet mountain flowers, and huge 
 Caps and thirsty throats at Schopfheim. 
 Yes, I love her, I have never 
 Gazed enough at her blue eyes yet. 
 Yes, I love her, I have never 
 Kissed enough her rosy cheeks yet. 
 
72 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN,. 
 
 Oft I rush, like thee, a dreamer, 
 
 Wildly past old sober Basel, 
 
 Get quite tired of the tedious 
 
 Old town-councillors, and ruin 
 
 Now and then a wall in passing. 
 
 And they think, it was in anger, 
 
 What was only done in frolic. 
 
 Yes, I love her. Many other 
 
 Charming women much pursue me ; 
 
 None, however, — e'en the stately, 
 
 Richly vine-clad, blue-eyed Mosel — 
 
 Ever from my heart can banish 
 
 Thee, the Feldberg's lovely daughter. 
 
 When I through the sands of Holland 
 
 Weary drag my sluggish waters, 
 
 And I hear the wind-mills clapper, 
 
 Tender longings oft steal o'er me 
 
 For my early lovely sweetheart. 
 
 Then with deep dull sound my waves rolll 
 
 Onward through the tedious meadows, 
 
 Roll out far into the North Sea, 
 
 But not one there understands me. 
 
 Have no fear ; I know what love is. 
 Ye I know, ye German dreamers 
 AVho on my fair shores are dwelling. 
 I, indeed, am your true likeness, 
 Am the history of your nation ; 
 Storm and passion, bitter ending, 
 
FOURTH PART. 73 
 
 All are pictured in my course. 
 Most romantic is my birthplace, 
 And weird xVlpine spirits watched well 
 By my glittering icy cradle. 
 And conducted me to daylight. 
 Strong and wild was I in childhood ; 
 Never can the rocks be counted, 
 Which I roaring dashed to pieces, 
 And hurled up like balls at tennis. 
 Fresh and gay I then float onward, 
 Through the Swabian sea, and carry. 
 Unimpaired, my youthful powers 
 Farther to the German country. 
 And once more come up before me 
 All the fragrant recollections 
 Of romance ; my youthful dreaming 
 Sweetly then returns transfigured : 
 Foam and surging, strong-walled cities, 
 Rocks and castles, quiet cloisters, 
 Smiling vineyards on the hillside ; 
 From the tower calls the watchman, 
 And the pennon gaily flutters, 
 And from yonder cliff is ringing 
 Wondrously the Lurley's song. 
 But, alas ! the good time passes ; 
 Nought but grief is then my portion ; 
 I devote myself to drinking. 
 Pray at Coin in the Cathedral, 
 And become a beast of burden. 
 
74 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Shabby tradesmen must I serve then, 
 On my ill-used back must carry 
 All the Dutchman's clumsy tow-boats. 
 In the sand, to me so hateful, 
 Wearily my way I drag on, 
 And I've long been dead already, 
 Ere my grave, the sea, receives me. 
 So beware of such stagnation ! 
 
 Yes, I can much more relate thee ; 
 I to-day am in good humour, 
 And I love all jovial fellows. 
 Who like thee and like myself face, 
 Gaily with light hearts, the Future. 
 But I'll end this long discourse now, 
 And will give thee my best counsel. 
 I know well that thou art love-struck, 
 Know, thou lovest Margaretta, 
 The old Baron's lovely daughter. 
 Whose old castle standing yonder 
 Is in my green waves reflected. 
 Oft I see with joy the maiden 
 Standing there upon the terrace. 
 And I'll gladly take thee near her. 
 There's the boat and there's the rudder ; 
 All the rest may well be trusted 
 To thy own instinctive wisdom." 
 Saying this, he shook his locks, and 
 Dived beneath the water's surface ; 
 
FOURTH PART. 75 
 
 And the foaming surging waves then 
 Closed the whirlpool where he vanished. 
 And afar rang out his laughter, 
 For, the battle of the crab had 
 Ended now, one lay there bleeding, 
 Of the tail bereft the other. 
 
 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 
 
76 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Through the fields again his master : 
 
 So shot boldly swiftly downward, 
 
 On the w^ater 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 down\vard 
 
 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 
 
FOURTH PART. 77 
 
 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 j^ath 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. 
 
FIFTH PART. 79 
 
 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 
 
 Trooper's 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 
 
^o THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 Something of the art of tactics. 
 The attack begins in order ; 
 First the skirmishers go forward, 
 Then the flying coknnns follow. 
 Oh, I wish the devil had them. 
 This whole reconnoitring party ! 
 But not even this sufhceth. 
 Just as if I had a fortress 
 In my heart — like guns 'tis roaring. 
 Then it throbs like storming parties, 
 Piffl paff ! 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 
 
FIFTH PART. 8i 
 
 Eurned 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 
 
 G 
 
 a 
 
82 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 In his consequential cat-pride, 
 \ *' Right good hearts, and may possess too 
 
 \ At the bottom some good feeUng, 
 
 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 tq^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 ; 
 
FIFTH PART. 83 
 
 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, 
 
 G 2 
 
84 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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, 
 
FIFTH PART. 85 
 
 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. 
 
86 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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, 
 Smihng 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. 
 
FIFTH PART. 87 
 
 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 : 
 
 'J 
 
 '•' 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. 
 
88 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN^ 
 
 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 
 
FIFTH PART. 89 
 
 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. 
 
90 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 
 
FIFTH PART.   91 
 
 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. 
 
92 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 
 
V = 
 
 FIFTH PART. 93 
 
 Followed him to Glanis 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. 
 " Ton 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. 
 
SIXTH PART. 95 
 
 " 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." 
 
96 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 pubHc 
 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, 
 
SIXTH PART. 97 
 
 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. 
 
 H 
 
98 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 " 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, 
 
SIXTH PART. 
 
 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. 
 
 H 2 
 
 99 
 
loo THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 " 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. 
 
SIXTH PART. loi 
 
 *' 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, 
 
102 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 And a fragrance rises from it 
 Like the finest greenhouse flowers. 
 Master Trumpeter, ring glasses ! " 
 
 Loudly then rang both their goblets. 
 Emptying his, the Barons]yLm„jQiit 
 Farther stilLihe-cOnversation. 
 X ^' Myyoung 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 
 
SIXTH PART. 103 
 
 At the head of my brave squadrons. 
 
 Right wing, charge the enemy ! charge ! 
 
 At them now you piercing vioHns ! 
 
 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, 
 
I04 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 And his riding-boots were shining 
 Like a mirror ; I was chuckHng. 
 ' '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, 
 
SIXTH PART. 
 
 Which grows on the Aar by Schiiiznach, 
 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, 
 
 / 
 
io6 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEJS/. 
 
 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." 
 
SIXTH PART. lo: 
 
 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." 
 
io8 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
no THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 horsemen. 
 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^ I will breathe the balmy pine air, 
 And the young folks may try whether 
 Fortune favours them at fishing. 
 
SEVENTH PART. iii 
 
 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 
 
112 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 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 ! " 
 
SEVENTH PART, ii-. 
 
 o 
 
 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, w^here 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 lav 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. 
 T who now this song am singing 
 
114 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 
 Paistled 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 o'erwhelming, mind bewildering, 
 Were their gliding graceful motions ; 
 
SEVENTH PART. 115 
 
 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 midniglii, 
 
 I 2 
 
ii6 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
SEVENTH PART. 117 
 
 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 : 
 
ii8 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 " 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 
 
SE VENTH PAR T. 119 
 
 For his gracious royal mistress. 
 Yet with thanks fair Margaret ta 
 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 ; 
 
I20 THE TRUMPETER 01^ SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Tiny bleaks, the river-swallo^Y ; 
 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 
 
''' CMLIFl 
 
 SEVENTH FART. 121 
 
 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 woodroofs 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 
 
122 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 tlie rock he sprang courageous, 
 Saying : " I will sing you something." 
 Smiling now, the others listened, 
 And young Werner stepping forward. 
 
o 
 
 SEVENTH PART. 12 
 
 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-tralaia 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. 
 
124 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 I ' 
 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, 
 
SE VENTH PART. 12 
 
 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." 
 
 D 
 
126 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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, 
 
SEVENTH PART. ' 127 
 
 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, 
 
EIGHTH PART. 129 
 
 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, 
 
 K 
 
I30 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKJNGEN. 
 
 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 o'erwhelm 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 paviHon. 
 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." 
 
EIGHTH PART. 131 
 
 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 sesthetic, 
 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 
 
 K 2 
 
132 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 
 
EIGHTH PART. 133 
 
 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. 
 
134 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Meanwhile many hands were busy- 
 Decorating the pavilion 
 With fresh garlands, and were placing 
 Rows of music-desks in order. 
 
 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 spunds 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. 
 
EIGHTH PART. 135 
 
 Who by Art consoled himself for 
 What was wanting in his income, 
 And instead of wine and roast beef 
 Lived upon his_flul£!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. 
 
136 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 So she praised the shady coolness 
 And the view from the paviHon, 
 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 hghtly, 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. 
 
EIGHTH PART. 
 
 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 : 
 
 137 
 
138 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 " 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 v\^hile 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 mofe 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, 
 
EIGHTH PART. 139 
 
 When in Rome I listened to the 
 Tones of CavaHeri's Daphne, 
 And idyUic 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 
 
140 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 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 ^te of late returners ; 
 Also hide the sudden drowning 
 Which the hat of the lank teacher 
 Suffered in the Rhine that night. 
 
EIGHTH PART. 141 
 
 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 
 
NINTH PART. 143 
 
 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 ? 
 
144 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN, 
 
 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 I 
 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. 
 
NINTH PART. 
 
 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 
 
 145 
 
146 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 ot 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. 
 
NINTH PART. 147 
 
 First, however, his dear tiumpet 
 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, 
 
 L 2 
 
148 THE TRUMPETER 01^ SAKKINGEN, 
 
 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, 
 
NINTH FART. 149 
 
 Which hke 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 bootv. 
 
 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, 
 
I50 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 To his side it dropped down quickly, 
 And the stroke remained, Hke 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 
 
NINTH PART. 151 
 
 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 
 
152 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
154 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 " 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. 
 
TENTH PART. 
 
 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, 
 
 ^55 
 
156 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
!>■ 
 
 TENTH PART 157 
 
 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, 
 
158 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 
 
TENTH PART. 159 
 
 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, 
 
 W^ho 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, V 
 
 Though unseen, we*re ever working ; 
 And sweet lullabies are singing 
 i, 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, 
 
 1/ 
 
i6o THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 
 
TENTH PART i6i 
 
 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, 
 
 M 
 
1 62 THE TRUiMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 " 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. 
 
TENTH PART. 163 
 
 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 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
TENTH FART 165 
 
 Oft together have we Hstened 
 
 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 froAvns 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. 
 
i66 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 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 
 
TENTH PART. 167 
 
 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 
 
i68 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN.. 
 
 That gnomes' feet are webbed like geese-feet^ 
 
 Then, by lime-spar and rock-crystal I 
 
 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 ; 
 
I70 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 to^vn 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 
 
ELEVENTH PART. 171 
 
 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 nov\^ 
 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 : 
 
172 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 " 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 ; 
 
1- 
 
 ELEVENTH PART. 173 
 
 '' 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 1 " 
 
 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 wTath. 
 
 And in vain spoke the experienced 
 
 Villaringenelder, 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. 
 
174 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Hence of old we were commanded 
 To obey the ruling powers, 
 
 And " but now involuntary 
 
 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 I 
 No need I should now mislead you, 
 As you choose yourselves the wrong track ! " 
 
ELEVENTH PART. 175 
 
 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 I 
 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. 
 
176 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 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 liand 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, 
 
ELEVENTH PART. 177 
 
 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 
 
 N 
 
178 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Hang your heads. To work now bravely ! 
 When the Swedes the town beleagiired, 
 Then 'twas grave, but this is only 
 Child's play. Surely you have always 
 Liked to hear and make good music ; 
 So the booming gims 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. 
 
ELEVENTH PART. 179 
 
 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 gim 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, 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
ELEVENTH PART. i8i 
 
 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 paviHon 
 Which once Fludribus had painted 
 
1 82 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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, 
 
ELEVENTH PART. 183 
 
 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 vrildly : 
 
 " 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. 
 
J 84 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 '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 liim. 
 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 
 
ELEVENTH PART. 185 
 
 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 bleedings 
 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 comings 
 And with them comes Margaretta ! 
 
1 86 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 When the fight below was raging, 
 
 To the terrace she ascended, 
 
 And she blew — herself not knowincr 
 
 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 
 
1 88 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
TWELFTH PART 189 
 
 Long on him gazed Margaretta — 
 Long and longer. Thus in old times 
 In the forest of Mount Ida 
 Gazed the goddess, fair Diana, 
 On End\"mion the sleeper. 
 Pit}- 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. 
 
 #_ 
 
 -t# 
 
 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. 
 Timidlv she bent there o'er him. 
 Timidly and hardly breathing, 
 Lest her breath might wake the sleeper. 
 Lonsf she sazed at his closed evelids 
 And involuntarily stooping, 
 
 With her Hps But who interprets 
 
 All the strancre mvsterious actions 
 Of a first sweet lo\ing passion ? 
 
I90 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 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 hght 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 
 
TWELFTH PART. 191 
 
 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 ! 
 
 ■)y 
 
 Gaily gazed young Werner o'er the 
 Lovely landscape and the river ; 
 But he stopped his contemplations. 
 
192 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 liad flown to. 
 O'er me lay thick clouds of darkness ; 
 But to-day in dreams an angel 
 To my side descended, saying : 
 
TWELFTH PART. 193 
 
 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." 
 
 y A " Death and but forgive, my lady, 
 
 That well-nfgh I swore," said Werner. 
 
 o 
 
194 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 " 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 
 
TWELFTH PART 195 
 
 My young life to me now given ? " 
 In each other's arms they flew then, 
 Sought each other's Hps with ardour, 
 And transported, pressed upon them 
 Love's first kiss, so sweet and bUssful. 
 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, mstead 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 ; 
 
 o 2 
 
196 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 
 
TWELFTH PART. 197 
 
 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, uncompreh ended : 
 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, 
 
198 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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, 
 
TWELFTH PART. 199 
 
 Who is guarding us poor niortals 
 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 I 'tis thus love speaketh. 
 No more you ; tJiou, heart to heart pressed. 
 Lips to lips, that is his language j 
 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. 
 
200 THE TRUMPETER OF SAXKINGEJST. 
 
 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." 
 
SIT' 
 
 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 tiosts of doubts which 
 
 Drive away all hope and courage. 
 
202 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 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, beck'ning 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 tlie dimly-lighted chamber ; 
 And he speaks with husky voice thus : 
 
 " Oh, my lad, with love don't meddle ! 
 
THIRTEENTH PART 203 
 
 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 1 " 
 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 leer." 
 
 '&• 
 
 Thus disturbed by all this dreaming, 
 Werner sprang up of a sudden. 
 With long strides walked through his chamber ; 
 
204 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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, 
 
THIRTEENTH PART, 205 
 
 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 Wiirtemberg ; 
 Then to Tubingen 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. 
 W^ith 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 ! 
 
 "P 
 
 ostscript : Do you still remember 
 
2 o6 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 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 
 
THIRTEENTH PART. 207 
 
 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, 
 
2o8 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 I" 
 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 
 
THIRTEENTH PART 209 
 
 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, 
 
 p 
 
2IO THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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." ^^y' 
 
 ^Y' 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, 
 
THIRTEENTH FART 211 
 
 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. 
 
 p 2 
 
2\2 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 : 
 
THIRTEENTH PART 213 
 
 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 w^alnut-tree ; once more there P^-^tt^-^^ >^e« 
 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, 
 
214 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 217 
 
 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. 
 
2i8 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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, 
 
 3ut from the ruins, ivy-like, 
 
 My loved one's name was springing. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 219 
 
 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 j 
 
 Come to the terrace while I play. 
 And to my music listen. 
 
220 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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." 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 221 
 
 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, roysterious 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. 
 
22 2 THE TRUMPETER OF SAXKINGENl 
 
 Thou Muse of Music, take my thanks, 
 
 Be praise to thee forever, 
 For teaching me thy Art divine, 
 
 That Art which faileth never. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 223 
 
 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. 
 
2 24 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 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 stripHng 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." 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 225 
 
 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. 
 
 Q 
 
2 26 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Her fragrant balm the sweet May night 
 
 O'er hill and vale is breathing, 
 When througli the shrubs with footsteps light 
 
 To the castle I am stealing. 
 In the garden waves the linden-tree, 
 
 I climb to its green bower, 
 And from the leafy canopy 
 My song soars to the tower : 
 
 "Young Werner is the happiest youth 
 
 In the German Empire dwelling. 
 But who bewitched him thus, forsooth, 
 In words he won't be telling. 
 Hurrah ! is all that he will say, 
 How lovely is the month of May, 
 Dear love, I send thee greeting !" 
 
 With joyous trills the nightingale 
 
 On the topmost bough is singing, 
 While far o'er mountain and o'er vale 
 
 The thrilling notes are ringing. 
 The birds are looking all about, 
 Awaking from their slumber ; 
 From branch, and bush, and hedge burst out 
 Glad voices without number : 
 
 " Young Werner is the happiest youth 
 
 In the German Empire dwelling. 
 But who bewitched him thus, forsootli, 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 227 
 
 In words he won't be telling. 
 Hurrah ! is all that he will say, 
 How lovely is the month of May, 
 
 Dear love, I send thee greeting !" 
 
 The sounds are heard, are borne along 
 
 By the river downward flowing ; 
 And from afar echoes the song. 
 
 Fainter and fainter growing. 
 And through the air of rosy morn 
 
 I see two angels winging, 
 Like a harp's sweet tones, from Heaven borne, 
 I hear their voices sin^ina: : 
 
 " Young Werner is the happiest youth 
 
 In the German Empire dwelling. 
 But who bewitched him thus, forsooth, 
 
 In words he won't be telling. 
 Hurrah ! is all that he will say, 
 How lovely is the month of May, 
 Dear love, I send thee greeting !" • 
 
 Q 2 
 
2 28 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 X. 
 
 Who's clattering from the tower 
 To me a greeting queer ? 
 
 'Tis, in his nest so cosy, 
 My friend the stork I hear. 
 
 He's preparing for a journey, 
 O'er sea and land will hie ; 
 
 The Autumn is coming quickly, 
 So now he says good-bye. 
 
 Art right, that thou dost travel 
 Where warmer skies do smile ; 
 
 From me greet fair Italia, 
 And also Father Nile. 
 
 There in the south are waiting 
 Far better meals for thee, 
 
 Than German frogs and paddocks, 
 Poor chafers and ennui ! 
 
 Old fellow, God preserve thee, 
 My blessing take along ; 
 
 For thou, at peaceful night-time, 
 Hast often heard my song. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 229 
 
 And if perchance thou wert not 
 
 Asleep within thy nest, 
 Thou must have seen how often 
 
 With kisses I was blest. 
 
 But be not, pray, a tell-tale, 
 
 Be still, old comrade mine. 
 What business have the Moors there 
 
 With lovers on the Rhine ? 
 
230 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 XI. 
 
 A SETTLED life I did despise, 
 
 And so to wandering took ; 
 When soon I found, to my surprise,. 
 
 A comfortable nook. 
 
 But as I lay in rest's soft lap, 
   And hoped for long repose, 
 There broke o'er me a thunder-clap, 
 My stay came to a close. 
 
 Each year a different plant I see 
 Spring up, with beauty clad ; 
 
 A fool's mad dance this world would be,^ 
 If 'twere not quite so sad. 
 
FO URTEENTH PART. 23 1 
 
 XII. 
 
 To life belongs a most unpleasant feature : 
 
 That not a rose without sharp thorns doth grow, 
 Much as love's yearning stirs our human nature, 
 
 Through pangs of parting we at last must go. 
 From thy dear eyes, when I my fate was trying, 
 
 A gleam of love and joy streamed forth to me : 
 Preserve thee God I my joy seemed then undying, 
 
 Preserve thee God ! such joy was not to be. 
 
 I've suffered much from envy, hatred, sorrow, 
 
 A weather-beaten wanderer sad and worn ; 
 I dreamt of peace and of a happy morrow. 
 
 When I to thee by angel-guides was borne. 
 To thy dear arms for comfort I was flying. 
 
 In grateful thanks I vowed my life to thee : 
 Preserve thee God ! my joy seemed then undying, 
 
 Preserve thee God ! such joy was not to be. 
 
 The clouds fly fast, the wind the leaves is sweeping, 
 
 A heavy shower falls o'er woods and meads : 
 The weather with my parting is in keeping, 
 
 Gray as the sky my path before me leads. 
 Whate'er may come, joy's smile or bitter sighing. 
 
 Thou lovely maid ! I'll think of naught but thee I 
 Preserve thee God ! my joy seemed once undying. 
 
 Preserve thee God ! such joy was not for me. 
 
2:, 2 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 SONGS OF THE CAT HIDDIGEIGEI. 
 
 I. 
 
 Honest folks are turning lately 
 Their attention to the Muses, 
 
 And with ease compose their own songs 
 For their daily household uses. 
 
 • 
 
 Therefore I shall also try it, 
 
 On light pinions freely winging ; 
 
 For, who dares deny our talent. 
 
 Takes from cats the right of singing ? 
 
 If I always run to book-stores 
 I shall find it too expensive ; 
 
 And their gaudy books contain oft 
 Naught but trash, weak and offensive. 
 
FO URTEENTH PARE 233 
 
 II. 
 
 When through vales and on the mountains 
 Roars the storm at midnight drear, 
 
 Clambering over ridge and chimney 
 Hiddigeigei doth appear. 
 
 Like a spirit he stands up there, 
 
 Never looked he half so fair ; 
 Pire from his eyes is streaming, 
 
 Fire from his bristling hair. 
 
 And he howls in fierce wild measure, 
 
 An old war-cry caterwauling, 
 Which is borne off by the storm-wind. 
 
 Like the distant thunder rolling. 
 
 Not a soul then ever sees him. 
 Each is sleeping in his house ; 
 
 But far down, deep in the cellar. 
 Listens the poor trembling mouse. 
 
 For his voice she recognises, 
 
 And she knows that, when in rage. 
 
 Most ferocious is the aspect 
 Of this valiant feline sage. 
 
234 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 III. 
 
 From the tower's highest summit 
 Gaze I at the world below ; 
 
 From my lofty seat I'm able 
 To observe life's ceaseless flow. 
 
 And the cat's green eyes are staring, 
 And he laughs within his sleeve, 
 
 That those pygmies there are trying 
 Such great follies to achieve. 
 
 What's the use ? Up to my level 
 Never can I raise mankind. 
 
 Let them follow their devices, 
 Small their loss is, to my mind. 
 
 For perverted are men's actions, 
 And their work is woe and crash. 
 
 Conscious of his own great value, 
 Grins the cat down on this trash ! 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 235 
 
 IV. 
 
 O THE world does us injustice, 
 
 And for thanks I look quite vainly ; 
 
 For the finest chords of feline 
 Nature, it mistakes so plainly. 
 
 Thus, if some one falls down drunken, 
 And a throbbing like a hammer 
 
 Racks his heavy head on w^aking, 
 Germans call it Katzenjammer. 
 
 Katzenjammer, oh great insult ! 
 
 Gentle is our caterwauling ; 
 Only men I hear too often 
 
 Through the streets at night-time bawling. 
 
 Yes ! they do us great injustice, 
 
 Never can be comprehending 
 All the deep and morbid sorrow 
 
 Which a poor cat's heart is rending. 
 
12 7,6 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 V. 
 
 HiDDiGEiGEi often has raved with deh'ght, 
 The true, good, and beautiful seeking ; 
 
 Hiddigeigei often felt grief's deadly blight, 
 And with tender sad yearnings was weeping. 
 
 Hiddigeigei once has felt his heart glow, 
 When the fairest of cats he was wooing ; 
 
 And just as a troubadour's love-songs flow, 
 Rang nightly his spirited mewing. 
 
 Hiddigeigei many a valiant fight, 
 
 Like the Paladin Roland, was waging ; 
 
 But men have often belaboured his hide, 
 And with dropping hot pitch made him 
 raging. 
 
 Hiddigeigei to his sorrow found out, 
 
 That his fair one was false and deceiving 
 
 That from a poor insignificant lout 
 She was secretly visits receiving. 
 
 Hiddigeigei then did open his eyes, 
 Left off his pining and yearning ; 
 
 The world henceforth he learned to despise, 
 To his inner self earnestly turning. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 237 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lovely month of May, how hateful 
 To a cat you are, and dreary 
 
 Ne'er I thought such din of music 
 Could a cat's heart make so weary. 
 
 From the branches, from the bushes 
 Birds their warbling notes are ringing ; 
 
 Far and wide, as if for money. 
 Men I hear forever singing. 
 
 There the cook sings in the kitchen — 
 Is love also her head turning ? 
 
 In falsetto she now screameth. 
 
 That with rage my soul is burning. 
 
 Farther upward will I clamber, 
 To the terrace slowly wending. 
 
 Woe to me, for from the garden 
 
 Are my neighbour's songs ascending. 
 
 Even next the roof I cannot 
 
 Find the re^t for which I'm pining : 
 
 Near me dwells a crazy poet, 
 His own verses ever whining. 
 
238 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN, 
 
 When despairing to the cellar 
 Down I rush the noise escaping ; 
 
 Ah, above me they are dancing, 
 To the pipes, and fiddles' scraping. 
 
 Harmless tribe ! Your lyric madness 
 You'll continue, while there yonder. 
 
 In the East, the clouds are gathering, 
 Soon to burst in tragic thunder. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 239 
 
 VII. 
 
 May has come now. To the thinker. 
 Who the causes of phenomena 
 Searches, 'tis a natural sequence : 
 In the centre of creation 
 Are two aged white cats standing, 
 Who the world turn on its axis ; 
 And their labour there produces 
 The recurring change of seasons. 
 
 But why is it in the May month 
 That my eyes are ever ogling. 
 That my heart is so impassioned ? 
 And why is it that I daily 
 Must be leering sixteen hours 
 From the terrace, as if nailed there, 
 At the fair cat Apollonia, 
 At the black-haired Jewess Rachel ? 
 
240 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A STRONG bulwark 'gainst enticements 
 I have built on good foundations ; 
 
 But to the most virtuous even 
 
 Sometimes come unsought temptations. 
 
 And more ardent than in youth's time, 
 The old dream comes o'er me stealing ; 
 
 I on memory's pinions soar up, 
 
 Filled with burning amorous feeling. 
 
 Oh fair Naples, land of beauty. 
 
 With thy nectar-cup thou cheerest 1 
 
 To Sorrento I'd be flying, 
 To a roof to me the dearest. 
 
 Old Vesuvius and the white sails 
 On the bay are greeting bringing, 
 
 And the olive-woods are gladdened 
 By the spring-birds' joyous singing. 
 
 To the Loggia slinks Carmela, 
 
 Strokes my beard with soft caresses ; 
 
 Of all cats by far the fairest. 
 Lovingly my paw she ]Dresses. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 241 
 
 And she looks on me with longing, 
 But now hark ! there is a howling ; 
 
 Is the surf thus loudly roaring ? 
 Or is old Vesuvius growling? 
 
 'Tis not old Vesuvius growling, 
 
 For he holds now his vacation. 
 In the yard, destruction vowing, 
 
 Barks the worst dog in creation — 
 
 Barks the worst dog in creation — 
 Barks Francesco, loudly yelling ; 
 
 And my lovely dream's enchantment 
 He thus rudely is dispelling. 
 
 R 
 
242 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 IX. 
 
 HiDDiGEiGEi Strictly shimneth 
 
 Wliat his conscience might be hurting ; 
 But he oft connives benignly 
 
 At his fellow-cats' gay flirting. 
 
 Hiddigeigei with great ardour 
 
 Makes the mice-hunt his chief duty ; 
 
 And he frets not if another 
 
 With sweet music worships beauty. 
 
 Quoth the wise cat Hiddigeigei : 
 Ere it rots, the fruit be plucking ; 
 
 So, if years should come of famirie. 
 Memory's paws remain for sucking. 
 
FO URTEENTH FART. 243 
 
 Even a God-fearing conduct, 
 Cannot keep us from declining ; 
 
 With despair I see already 
 
 In my fur some gray hairs shining. 
 
 Yes, unpitying Time destroyeth 
 All for which we've boldly striven ; 
 
 For against the sharp-toothed tyrant 
 Nature has no weapons given. 
 
 Un admired and forgotten 
 We fall victims to this power. 
 
 Wish I could, with fury raging, 
 Eat both clock-hands of the tower. 
 
 R 2 
 
244 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Long past is the time, ere man in his might 
 O'er the earth his dominion was spreading ; 
 
 When the mammoth roamed in his ancient right 
 Through the forests which crashed 'neath his 
 treading. 
 
 In vain may'st thou search now far and near 
 For the Lion, the desert's great ruler ; 
 
 But we must remember, that we Hve here 
 In a chmate decidedly cooler. 
 
 In life and in fiction is given no praise 
 
 To the great and the highly gifted ; 
 And ever weaker is growing the race 
 
 Till genius to nothing is sifted. 
 
 '\Vhen cats disappear the mice raise their voice, 
 
 Till they like the others skedaddle ; 
 At last in mad frolic we hear them rejoice — 
 
 The infusoria rabble. 
 
w 
 
 FOURTEENTH PART 245 
 
 XII. 
 
 HiDDiGEiGEi sees with sorrow 
 To a close his days are drawing ; 
 
 Death may come at any moment, 
 So deep grief his heart is gnawing. 
 
 O how gladly I the riches 
 
 Of my wisdom would be preaching, 
 That in joy as well as sorrow 
 
 Cats might profit from my teaching. 
 
 Ah ! the road of life is rugged ; 
 
 On it rough sharp stones are lying. 
 Stumbling o'er this path so dreary, 
 
 Sprained and bruised we limp on crying. 
 
 Life oft useless wounds is giving, 
 For 'tis full of brawls and knavery ; 
 
 Vainly many cats have fallen 
 Victims to an empty bravery. 
 
 But for what this constant fretting ? 
 
 The young cats are laughing ever. 
 No advice from me accepting — 
 
 Only suffering makes them clever. 
 
 Let us see what they'll accomplish ; 
 
 History's teachings are derided : 
 His sage maxims ne'er to publish, 
 
 Hiddigeigei has decided. 
 
If 
 
 246 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Growing weaker, breathing harder, 
 Soon I'll feel Death's shadow o'er me ; 
 
 Make my grave there in the store-house, 
 In my former field of glory. 
 
 Valiantly all round me slaying 
 
 Fought I like a raging lion ; 
 In his armour clad then bury 
 
 Of his race the last brave scion. 
 
 Yes the last, because the offspring 
 Will their parents equal never ! 
 
 They are good but wooden people. 
 Not so witty nor as clever. 
 
 Wooden are they, thinking solely 
 Of the moment, hollow hearted; 
 
 Only fcAv still hold as sacred 
 The bequests of the departed. 
 
 But sometime, when years have passed by, 
 In my grave I've long been sleeping. 
 
 Then will come the angry cat's howl 
 Nightly down upon you sweeping. 
 
 Hiddigeigei's solemn warning 
 Will you from your slumber waken : 
 
 Ever fear the coils of dulness ! 
 Save yourselves, ye God-forsaken ! 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 247 
 
 SONGS OF THE SILENT MAN. 
 
 FROM THE CAVE OF THE GNOMES. 
 
 Quiet heart ! O ponder lonely, 
 Valiant, by no fears assailed ; 
 
 Only in calm meditation 
 Lofty secrets are unveiled. 
 
 While the storms of life are raging, 
 While mean souls for trifles fight, 
 
 Thou on wings of song art soaring 
 O'er the mob in purer light. 
 
 Leave the dusty road to others. 
 And thy soul unsullied keep, 
 
 A clear mirror, like the ocean. 
 Where the sun has sunk to sleep. 
 
 O'er the world's loud bustle rising, 
 Soars the eagle lone on high ; 
 
 •Cranes and storks, they flock together, 
 But close to the earth do fly. 
 
 Quiet heart ! O ponder lonely. 
 Valiant, by no fears assailed ; 
 
 Only in calm meditation 
 Lofty secrets are unveiled. 
 
2 48 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 II. 
 
 Leave all commonplace forever, 
 Digging deeply, upward soaring ; 
 
 For rich Nibelimgen-treasures 
 Lie all ready for exploring. 
 
 From the mountains we see shinins 
 
 Distant seas and shores of beauty ; 
 While beneath we hear the boomino- 
 
 O 
 
 Of the gnomes hard at their duty. 
 
 Manna-like is spread around us 
 
 Spiritual food abundant ; 
 And before our vision rises 
 
 The old truth with light redundant : 
 
 As coarse threads and fine together 
 
 In one net are intertwisting, 
 So the same laws are forever 
 
 For the small and great existing. 
 
 But a point comes, — sad confession ! — 
 Where to pause, our thoughts restraining ; 
 
 At the limit of perception 
 
 Is mysterious silence reigning. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 
 
 249 
 
 III. 
 
 Past me wander beings pallid, 
 Fill the air with words of anguish : 
 
 All our doings are invalid, 
 
 Sick and old, we slowly languish. 
 
 Have you ne'er the wondrous story 
 Found in ancient books related, 
 
 Of the spring, wherein the hoary 
 Plunged, then rose rejuvenated? 
 
 And this fountain is no fiction, 
 Within reach of all 'tis flowing ; 
 
 But you've lost the true direction, 
 Farther from its traces going. 
 
 In the forests' verdant bowers, 
 
 Where deep calm the soul entrances, 
 
 Where on graceful ferns and flowers 
 
 Elves sweep through their nightly dances 
 
 There by stones and moss well hidden. 
 Rush the waters from the mountain ; 
 
 From Earth's bosom springs unbidden, 
 Ever fresh, this magic fountain. 
 
 There with peace the soul is ^ravished ; 
 
 There the mind regains its powers ; 
 And the wealth of Spring is lavished 
 
 O'er old wounds in blossom-showers. 
 
2 50 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Wilt thou know the world more clearly, 
 See then what before thee lies ; 
 
 How from matter and from forces 
 The whole fabric doth arise. 
 
 Of the fixed forms of creation 
 
 Thou the moving cause must see \ 
 
 In the changes of phenomena 
 Find what lasts eternally. 
 
 In presumptuous opinions 
 
 Fresh pure seeds ne'er germinate ; 
 
 By deep meditation only 
 
 Human minds explore, create. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 251 
 
 V. 
 
 With the eagle's piercing sight endowed, 
 And the heart with hope o'erfiowing, 
 
 I found myself with a mounted crowd 
 To thought's fierce battle going. 
 
 The banners high, the lance in rest. 
 
 The enemy's ranks were broken. 
 On their broad backs, O what a jest, 
 
 To mark a nice blue token ! 
 
 We came at last to the end of our course. 
 O'er our failure in knowledge repining ; 
 
 Then slowly I turned my gallant horse, 
 Myself to silence resigning : 
 
 Too proud to believe — my thoughts all free, — 
 
 To the cave as a refuge flying. 
 The world is far too shallow for me, 
 
 The core is deeper lying. 
 
 I for my weapons no longer care. 
 In the corner there they lie rusting. 
 
 No priggish fool to provoke me shall dare, 
 To my valour alone I am trusting. 
 
 These owls and bats a look alone 
 
 Suffices to abolish ; 
 Still serveth well an ass's bone. 
 
 The Philistines to demolish. 
 
252 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Be proud, and thy lot nobly bear, 
 From tears and sighs desisting ; 
 
 Like thee will many others fare, 
 While thinkers are existing. 
 
 There are many problems left unsolved 
 
 By former speculations ; 
 But when thou art to dust resolved, 
 
 Come other generations. 
 
 The wrinkles on thy lofty brow 
 
 Let them go on increasing, 
 They are the scars which show us how 
 
 Thought's struggle was unceasing. 
 
 And if no laurel-crown to thee 
 To deck thy brow be given ; 
 
 Still be thou proud ; thy soul so free 
 For thought alone has striven. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 253 
 
 SOME OF MARGARETTA'S SONGS. 
 
 I. 
 
 How proud he is and stately 1 
 
 How noble is his air ! 
 A trumpeter he's only, 
 
 Yet I for him do care. 
 
 And owned he castles seven, 
 He could not look more fair. 
 
 O would to him were given 
 Another name to bear ! 
 
 Ah, were he but a noble, 
 
 A knight of the Golden Fleece ! 
 Love, thou art full of trouble, 
 
 Love, thou art full of peace. 
 
254 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 II. 
 
 Two days now have passed already, 
 Since I gave him that first kiss ; 
 
 Ever since that fatal hour 
 All with me has gone amiss. 
 
 My dear little room, so pretty. 
 Where so nice a life I led, 
 
 Is now in such dire confusion. 
 That it almost turns my head. 
 
 My sweet roses and carnations, 
 Withered now, for care ye pine ! 
 
 Oh, I think, instead of water, 
 I have deluged you with wine. 
 
 My dear lovely snow-white pigeon 
 Has no water and no bread ; 
 
 And the goldfinth in his cage there 
 Looks as if he were half dead. 
 
 I am putting blue and red yarn 
 In my white net as I knit ; 
 
 And I work in my embroidery 
 White wool where it doth not fit. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 255 
 
 Where are Parcival and Theuerdank? 
 
 If I only, only knew ! 
 I believe that I those poets 
 
 In the kitchen-pantry threw. 
 
 And the kitchen plates are standing 
 On the book-case — what a shame ! 
 
 Ah, for all these many blunders 
 I my love, my love must blame ! 
 
256 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 III. 
 
 Away he is gone in the wide wide world ; 
 
 No word of farewell has he spoken. 
 Thou fresh young player in wood and mead, 
 Thou sun whose light is my daily need, 
 
 When wilt thou send me a token ? 
 
 I hardly had time in his eyes to gaze. 
 
 When the dream already had vanished ; 
 Oh Love, why dost thou two lovers unite, 
 With thy burning torch their hearts ignite, 
 When their bhss so soon must be banished ? 
 
 And where does he go ? The world is so large, 
 
 So full of deep snares for a rover. 
 He even may go to Italia, where 
 The women, I hear, are so false and so fair ! 
 
 May Heaven protect my dear lover. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 257 
 
 FIVE YEARS LATER. 
 
 Werner's songs from italy. 
 
 I. 
 
 Too well were all things going, 
 Therefore it could not last ; 
 
 My cheeks my grief are showing, 
 Misfortune came too fast. 
 
 The violet and clover. 
 The flowers all are gone. 
 
 'Mid frost and snow, a rover 
 I wander sad alone. 
 
 Good luck will never favour 
 The man who nothing dares ; 
 
 But he who does not waver 
 The smile of fortune shares. 
 
258 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 II. 
 
 A LONELY rock juts upward 
 Just by the craggy strand ; 
 
 The angry foaming waters 
 Have torn it from the land. 
 
 Now in green waves half sunken 
 
 Defiantly it lies ; 
 The snow-white gulls are flying 
 
 Around it with shrill cries. 
 
 There on the heaving billows 
 Is dancing a light boat ; 
 
 The sounds of plaintive singing 
 Up to the lone rock float : 
 
 " O that I to my country, 
 And to my love were borne ; 
 
 O home in dear old Rhine-land, 
 For thee my heart is torn ! " 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 259 
 
 III. 
 
 Bewitched I am by the summer night, 
 
 In silent thought I am riding ; 
 Bright glow-worms through the thicket fly 
 Like happy dreams, which in times gone by 
 
 My longing heart were delighting. 
 
 Bewitched I am by the summer night. 
 
 In silent thought I am riding ; 
 The golden stars shine so far and bright, 
 In the water's fair bosom is mirrored their light, 
 
 As, in Time's deep sea, love abiding. 
 
 Bewitched I am by the summer night, 
 
 In silent thought I am riding ; 
 The nightingale sings from the myrtle tree. 
 He warbles so meltingly, tenderly. 
 
 As if Fate his heart had been blighting. 
 
 Bewitched I am by the summer night. 
 
 In silent thought I am riding ; 
 The sea rises high, the waves do frown ; 
 Wherefore these useless tears which down 
 
 The rider's wan cheeks are gliding ? 
 
 s 2 
 
2 6o THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 ly. 
 
 'Neath the waves the sun is going, 
 With bright hues the sky is glowing, 
 TwiHght o'er the earth is steaHng, 
 Far-off evening bells are pealing : 
 
 Thee I think of, Margaretta. 
 
 On the rocky crag I'm lying, 
 Stranger in a strange land sighing ; 
 Round my feet the waves are dancing, 
 Through my soul float dreams entrancing 
 Thee I think of, Margaretta. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 261 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh Roman girl, why lookest thou 
 At me with burning glances ? 
 
 Thine eye, though beautiful it be, 
 The stranger ne'er entrances. 
 
 Beyond the Alps there is a grave. 
 The Rhine watch o'er it keepeth ; 
 
 And three wild roses bloom thereon ; 
 Therein my love-dream sleepeth. 
 
 Oh Roman girl, why lookest thou 
 At me with burning glances ? 
 
 Thine eye, though beautiful it be. 
 The stranger ne'er entrances. 
 
262 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Outside the gates when walking, 
 
 I see of life no trace ; 
 There is the wide-spread graveyard 
 
 Of the ancient Roman race. 
 
 They rest from love and hatred, 
 From pleasure, strife, and guilt ; 
 
 There in the Appian Way are 
 Their tombs of marble built. 
 
 A tower greets me, gilded 
 
 By the setting sun's last rays — 
 
 Cascilia Metella, 
 
 At thy proud tomb I gaze. 
 
 My eyes are turning northward, 
 As 'mid this pile I stand ; 
 
 My thoughts are swiftly flying 
 Far from this southern land, 
 
 On to another tower. 
 
 With stones of smaller size ; 
 By the shady vine-clad window 
 
 I see my love's sweet eyes. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 263 
 
 VII. 
 
 The world lies now encircled 
 By the frosty winter night. 
 
 No use that by the hearth-stone 
 I think of love's sad flight. 
 
 The logs will soon be burnt out, 
 
 To ashes all will fall ; 
 The embers will cease glowing, 
 
 That is the end of all. 
 
 It is the same old story, 
 I think of nothing more 
 
 But silence and forgetting — 
 Forget what I adore ? 
 
2 64 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The crowd it frolics, shouts and sings, 
 Disturbs Rome's usual quiet ; 
 
 Mad folly high her banner swings, 
 And thronging masks run riot. 
 
 Now up and down the Corso pace 
 Gay coaches 'mid wild showers ; 
 
 The Carnival's great sport takes place, 
 The fight with chalk and flowers. 
 
 Confetti and fair roses fly. 
 
 Bouquets are thickly raining. 
 That hit — good luck ! how glows her eye !. 
 
 Thou art the victory gaining. 
 
 And thou, my heart, mirth also show, 
 Forget what thou hast suflered ; 
 
 Let bygone times and bygone woe 
 With flowers sweet be covered. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 265 
 
 IX. 
 
 By the clear green Lake of Nemi 
 An old maple-tree doth grow ; 
 
 Through its lofty leafy summit 
 The breezes sadly blow. 
 
 By the clear green Lake of Nemi 
 
 A young musician lies, 
 He hums a song, while many 
 
 Tears glisten in his eyes. 
 
 On the clear green Lake of Nemi 
 The waves so gently flow ; 
 
 The maple and musician 
 
 Their own minds do not know. 
 
 By the clear green Lake of Nemi 
 Is the best inn of the land ; 
 
 Praiseworthy macaroni, 
 
 And wine of famous brand. 
 
 The maple and musician 
 Are crazy both, I think ; 
 
 Else they would go there yonder,. 
 Grow sane by honest drink. 
 
266 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 X. 
 
 My heart is filled with rancour, 
 The storm howls all around ; 
 
 Thou art the man I want now, 
 Thou false Italian hound. 
 
 Thy dagger's thrust I parried ; 
 
 Now, worthy friend, beware 
 How from a German sword's stroke 
 
 Thy Italian skull will fare. 
 
 The sun's last rays had vanished 
 
 Far from the Vatican ; 
 It rose to shine next morning 
 
 Upon a lifeless man. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 267 
 
 XI. 
 
 Oh Ponte Molle, thou bridge of renown, 
 
 Near thee many draughts have I swallowed down, 
 
 From bottles in wicker-work braided. 
 Oh Ponte Molle, what is the cause 
 That I between my glasses now pause, 
 
 Can hardly to drink be persuaded ? 
 
 Oh Ponte Molle, 'tis strange in truth. 
 That the lovely days of my vanished youth 
 
 And love's old dream are recurring. 
 Through the land the hot sirocco blows, 
 And within my heart the old flame glows, 
 
 Sweet music within me is stirring. 
 
 Oh Tiber-stream, oh St. Peter's dome. 
 Oh thou all-powerful ancient Rome, 
 
 Naught care I for all thou containest. 
 Where'er in my restless wanderings I rove, 
 My gentle and lovely Schwarzwald-love, 
 
 The fairest on earth thou remainest ! 
 
 Oh Ponte Molle, how lovely was she ! 
 And if I thousands of girls should see, 
 
 To love but the one I am willing. 
 And if ever thy solid pile should bear 
 The weight of her footsteps, I will swear. 
 
 Even thy cold frame would be thrilling. 
 
268 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 But useless the longing and useless the wce> 
 The sun is too ardent so far to go, 
 
 And flying is not yet invented. 
 Padrone, another bottle of wine ! 
 This Orvieto so pearly and fine 
 
 Makes even a sad heart contented. 
 
 Oh Ponte Molle, thou bridge of renown, 
 Hast thou on my head called witchcraft down 
 
 For my love-sick and dreamy talking ? 
 A cloud of dust whirls up to the sky, 
 A herd of oxen now passing by 
 
 Blocks up the way I am walking. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART. 269 
 
 XII. 
 
 {Monte testaccio.) 
 
 I DO not know what the end will be ; 
 
 O'er the low ground spreads the gloaming, 
 The ominous bat already I see 
 
 As she starts on her nightly roaming. 
 On Ponte Molle all is still, 
 I think the good old hostess will 
 
 Very soon the inn be closing. 
 
 A little owl I hear there screech 
 In the cypress grove 'tis hiding ; 
 
 Campagna fogs up there now reach, 
 Over gate and city gliding. 
 
 They roll and float like ghostly troops 
 
 Round Cestius' Pyramid in groups ; 
 What are the dead there wanting ? 
 
 Now bursts a light around the hill, 
 
 The leaden gray clouds are fast going ; 
 
 The full moon's face rises slow and still, 
 With envy's yellow hue glowing. 
 
 She shines so pale, she shines so cold, 
 
 Right into the goblet which I hold ; _ 
 That cannot be a good omen. 
 
270 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 He who from his sweetheart is torn away, 
 Will love her more dearly than ever ; 
 
 And who doth long in the night-air stay, 
 Will catch most surely a fever. 
 
 And now the hostess the light puts out, 
 
 Felice notte ! I back to her shout ; 
 The bill I'll settle to-morrow. 
 
FOURTEENTH PART 271 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Awaking from my slumber 
 I hear the skylark sing ; 
 
 The rosy morning greets me, 
 The fresh young day of Spring. 
 
 In the garden waves the palm-tree 
 
 Mysteriously its crown, 
 And on the distant sea-shore 
 
 The surf rolls up and down ; 
 
 And azure-blue the heavens, 
 The golden sun so bright ; 
 
 My heart, what more is wanting ? 
 Chime in with all thy might ! 
 
 And now pour out thy praises 
 To God, who oft gave proof, 
 
 He never would forsake thee — 
 'Tis thou who kept aloof 
 
2 72 THE I'RUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 To serve, to serve ! an evil ring, 
 Has this word so harsh and frigid ; 
 
 My love is gone, my life's sweet Spring ; 
 My heart, become not rigid. 
 
 My trumpet looks so sad to-day. 
 With crape around it winding ; 
 
 In a cage they put the player gay, 
 Lay on him fetters binding. 
 
 Deep grief and pain infest his way. 
 His heart with arrows stinging ; 
 
 For his daily bread he has to play, 
 He can no more be singing. 
 
 Who on the Rhine sang to his lyre, 
 
 Of all save joy unheeding. 
 Is now — sad fate — the Pope's great choir 
 
 In the Sistine Chxipcl leading. 
 
FIFTEENTH PART. 
 
 THE MEETING IN ROME. 
 
 Scorching lay the heat of summer 
 Over Rome, th' Eternal City; 
 Sluggishly his yellow waters 
 Rolls the Tiber, rolls them seaward, 
 Through the sultry air ; however, 
 Not so much from choice, but rather 
 From a sense of duty, knowing 
 That it is a river's business. 
 Deep down at the river's bottom, 
 Sat old Tiber, and he muttered : 
 
 " Oh how slowly time is dragging ! 
 I am weary ! Would the end were 
 Of this dull monotonous motion ! 
 Will no storm ere raise a flood-tide, 
 To engulf this little country, 
 And drag all the brooks and rivers, 
 Also me — the river veteran — 
 
274 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 And embrace us all together 
 In the ocean's mighty bosom ? 
 E'en to wash the walls forever 
 Of old Rome I find most tedious. 
 And what matter that this region 
 And myself are held as classic ? 
 Vanished, turned to dust and ashes, 
 Are those genial Roman poets, 
 Who, their brows adorned with laurel, 
 And their hearts imbued with rhythm, 
 Formerly have sung my praises. 
 Then came others, long since vanished, 
 Others followed in their stead, like 
 Pictures in a magic lantern. 
 Well ! to me 'tis all the same, if 
 Only they would not disturb me. 
 Oh what have these busy mortals 
 Thrown into my quiet waters, 
 Quite regardless of my comfort ! 
 Where my nymphs with sacred rushes 
 Had arranged for me a pillow, 
 For my usual siesta. 
 There now lie great heaps of rubbish, 
 Roman helmets, Gaulish weapons, 
 Old utensils of Etruria, 
 And the lovely marble statues 
 Which once from the tomb of Hadrian 
 Down upon thick-headed Goths fell ; 
 And the bones all mixed together 
 
FIFTEENTH PART. 275 
 
 Of defenders and aggressors ; 
 Just as if my river-bed were 
 An historic lumber chamber. 
 Oh how sick I am and weary ! 
 Worn-out world, when wilt thou die ? " 
 
 Whilst now thus the worthy Tiber 
 Gave full vent unto his anger 
 By this discontented grumbling, 
 There above gay life was surging, 
 And arrayed in festal garments 
 Crowds went toward the Vatican. 
 On St. Angelo's Bridge was hardly 
 Room enough for all the passers. 
 Crowding came in Spanish mantles, 
 Wigs and swords, the grand Signori ; 
 Then some black Franciscan friars. 
 Also Capuchins, and common 
 Roman burghers. Here and there a 
 Sun-burnt and wild-looking shepherd 
 Of the near Campagna wore with 
 Classic grace his tattered garment ; 
 And among them, with light footsteps, 
 Walked the lovely Roman maidens, 
 With black veils, although this covering 
 Did not hide their fervent glances. 
 (O how can the glowing sunshine, 
 Even when its rays are gathered 
 By adepts in their reflectors^ 
 
 T 2 
 
276 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 E'er compare with Roman glances ? 
 Heart which felt their flames, be silent I) 
 
 From the castle of St. Angelo 
 Flutter gaily many banners, 
 Bearing all the Pope's insignia, 
 Both the mitre and the crossed keys. 
 Giving notice of the feast-day 
 Kept in honour of St. Peter. 
 
 There before the proud cathedral 
 Were the sparkling fountains playing ; 
 Through the spray the vivid rainbow 
 Glitters o'er the granite basins. 
 And the obelisk gigantic 
 Of Rameses, King of Egypt, 
 Looked upon the crowd of people. 
 In his native tongue lamenting : 
 
 " Most perplexing are these Romans ! 
 In the time of Nero hardly 
 Did I comprehend their doings ; 
 Now still less I understand them. 
 But this much I have discovered, 
 That the climate here is chilly. 
 Amun-Re, thou god of sunlight. 
 Take me home to my old friends there, 
 To the Sphinx, and let me once more 
 Hear the prayer of Memnon's column 
 Through the glowing desert ringing ! " 
 
FIFTEENTH PART. 277 
 
 On the broad steps of the Vatican 
 And beneath the marble columns 
 Tall Swiss halberdiers are walking 
 To and fro in keeping watch there. 
 Clanging through the hall the echo 
 Of their heavy tread is ringing. 
 To the gray old corporal turning 
 Speaks a youthful soldier sadly : 
 
 " Fine, indeed, and proud we Swiss are, 
 And I see no other soldiers 
 In the streets of Rome as jaunty 
 As we look with our cuirasses, 
 In the black, red, yellow doublet. 
 Many burning glances shyly 
 From the windows fall upon us ; 
 But the heart is wildly yearning 
 Homeward, homeward for the mountains, 
 As at Strasburg on the bulwarks 
 When the Alpine horn was blowing. 
 Willingly would I give up all, 
 Earnest money, silver scudi. 
 E'en the Holy Father's blessing, 
 E'en the wine of Orvieto 
 Which pearls sweetly in the goblet. 
 Could I once again be chasing 
 Boldly on their tracks the chamois 
 O'er the rocks, near avalanches, 
 On the craggy steep Pilatus ; 
 Or steal gently in the moonlight 
 
278 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Over fragrant Alpine meadows 
 To the faintly-lighted cottage, 
 To the dairy-maid, the light-haired 
 Kunigund of Appenzell ; 
 And then greet the golden sunrise 
 With a joyful heartfelt jodel. 
   Oh Saint Peter, thy fine music 
 I should miss without regretting, 
 Could I hear again the well-known 
 Sharp shrill whistle of the marmot 
 In its lonely Alpine cave !" 
 
 On the steps of the cathedral 
 Stood in crowds close packed together 
 Elegant and idle dandies, 
 Holding muster over all the 
 Carriages and great state coaches 
 Which came quickly driving up there. 
 
 " Do you see the Eminenza 
 With that round face like the full moon, 
 With the double chin, he's leaning 
 On the servant in rich livery ? 
 'Tis the Cardinal Borghese. 
 He would rather now be sitting 
 Quiet in the Sabine mountains 
 In the airy villa by the 
 Rural beauty Donna Baldi. ^ 
 
 He's a man of taste, a scholar," 
 
FIFTEENTH PART 279 
 
 Loves the classics, and especially 
 Doth he love the true Bucolic." 
 
 "Who is that?" now asked another, 
 ■"That imposing-looking person? 
 Don't you see there what a splendid 
 Chain of honour he is wearing ; 
 How he shakes his periwig now 
 Like th' Olympian Jupiter ? " 
 '"What, you do not known him?" answered 
 Then loquaciously another, 
 ■" Him, the Chevalier Bernini ? 
 Who has just restored the Pantheon, 
 Who upon St. Peter's also 
 Has bestowed such rich adornments, 
 And the golden tabernacle 
 Built o'er Peter's grave, which cost more 
 Than a hundred thousand scudi. 
 Take your hat off ! Since the world was, 
 Has she seen no greater master, 
 
 Nor " He was then interrupted 
 
 By a man with gray moustaches. 
 Who his shoulder tapped and scornful 
 Said : " You are mistaken ; never 
 Saw the world a greater bungler ! 
 I say this, Salvator Rosa." 
 
 Coaches come, in front postilions ; 
 Splendid uniforms are glittering 
 
28o THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN, 
 
 And with retinue attended 
 Steps an aged lady onward 
 To the portal of the Dome. 
 
 " How she's fading," said then someone, 
 " The illustrious Queen of Sweden ! 
 Do you still recall her lovely 
 Looks when first she made her entrance ? 
 Then the Gate del Popolo looked 
 Just as if built out of flowers ; 
 And as far as Ponte Molle 
 Came the Romans out to greet her. 
 Down the long street of the Corso 
 Unto the Venetian Palace 
 Were the shouts of joy unending. 
 Do you see that little hunchback 
 Standing there, who now is sneezing ? 
 He stands high in grace and favour 
 As one of the queen's attendants. 
 He's a scholar of deep learning, 
 The philologist Naudaeus. 
 He knows everytliing that happened. 
 And sometime ago he even. 
 Over there at Prince Corsini's, 
 Danced an ancient Saltarello 
 To instruct the royal party. 
 Whose loud laughter was heard plainly 
 Even far off by the U'iber." 
 
 In the throng now quite unnoticed 
 
FIFTEENTH FART. 281 
 
 Came a heavy lumbering carriage ; 
 
 In it were two black-robed ladies ; 
 
 On the box sat worthy Anton 
 
 As their coachman, calling loudly : 
 
 " Room ye people for the gracious 
 
 Lady Abbess and my mistress !" 
 
 Called in German, which roused laughter. 
 
 With bewildered eyes he looked round 
 
 At the foreign scene, and just then 
 
 Passing by the queen's attendants, 
 
 He beheld a gray old coachman, 
 
 And he muttered from his coach-box : 
 
 " Don't I know thee, Swedish rascal ? 
 
 Didst thou not belong once to the 
 
 Regiment of Sudermanland ? 
 
 Do you now expect my thanks here 
 
 For the cut you had the kindness 
 
 To bestow upon my arm once 
 
 In the fight at Nuremberg? 
 
 A most marvellous place is truly 
 
 This old Rome, for long-forgotten 
 
 Friends and foes meet here again 1 " 
 
 On the classic soil of Italy 
 Now my song greets Margaretta. 
 Gladly would it strew its fairest 
 Blossoms on the path to welcome 
 And to cheer this pallid maiden. 
 So that smiles might light her features ; 
 
 "^BRAf? 
 
282 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 For, since Werner left the castle, 
 Pleasure had become a stranger. 
 Only once they saw her laughing. 
 When the Suabian younker came there ; 
 But it was a bitter laughter, 
 Harsh, discordant as a string sounds 
 On a mandolin when snapping ; 
 And the younker then returned thence 
 Single, as from home he started. 
 Silently the maiden sorrowed 
 As the months and years sped onward ; 
 Till at last the Princess Abbess, 
 Filled with pity, told the Baron : 
 " On our soil your child no longer 
 Thrives, as heretofore, but slowly 
 Her poor heart from grief is withering. 
 Change of air oft worketh wonders. 
 Let me take then Margaretta 
 With me to the Holy City, 
 Where in spite of age I'm going ; 
 For, in Chur the wicked bishop 
 Threatens to deprive our convent 
 Of our fairest Swiss possessions. 
 And I shall complain of him there. 
 Saying to the Holy Father : 
 ■" Show mc mercy, justly punish 
 The harsh bishop of the Orisons." 
 Said the Baron : '' Take her with you ; 
 And may Heaven grant its blessing. 
 
FIFTEENTH PART. 283 
 
 That you may bring back my daughter 
 Rosy-cheeked and happy-hearted." 
 Thus to Italy they travelled 
 With old Anton as their coachman. 
 
 Now the carriage-door he opened, 
 And alighting, the old Abbess, 
 Followed by fair Margaretta, 
 Walked up to the church and entered. 
 Margaretta gazed in wonder 
 At the vastness of the building, 
 Where man seems reduced to nothing ; 
 At the giant marble columns, 
 And the dome with gold o'erladen. 
 In the niche of the great nave stands 
 The bronze statue of St. Peter, 
 Which this day in papal vestments 
 Was arrayed, the gold brocade robe 
 Hanging stiffly on the statue ; 
 On the head the Bishop's mitre. 
 And they saw how many people 
 Kissed the foot of this bronze statue. 
 Then a papal chamberlain led 
 Both the German ladies forward 
 To a seat close by the altar, 
 Place of honour kept for strangers. 
 
 Now was heard the sound of music ; 
 And the Holy Father coming 
 Through the side-door from the Vatican 
 
284 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEISr, 
 
 Made his entrance to St. Peter's. 
 
 Stout Swiss halberdiers were marching 
 
 At the head of the procession, 
 
 Followed by the celebrated 
 
 Singers of the papal choir. 
 
 Heavy music-books were carried 
 
 By the choristers, some hardly 
 
 Strong enough to bear the folios. 
 
 Then there came in motley order 
 
 Monsignori robed in violet ; 
 
 Abbots followed then and prelates, 
 
 And the canons of St. Peter's, 
 
 Heavy looking, their fat figures 
 
 Corresponding to their livings. 
 
 Leaning on his staff the General 
 
 Of the Capuchins walked slowly 
 
 For a load of more than ninety 
 
 Years was resting on his shoulders ; 
 
 But his brain was working out still 
 
 Many plans with youthful vigour. 
 
 With Franciscans from the cloister 
 
 Ara coeli also came the 
 
 Prior of Pallazuola. 
 
 By the shores of Lake Albano, 
 
 'Neath the shade of Monte Cavo, 
 
 Stands his little monastery. 
 
 Peaceful spot for idle dreamers. 
 
 On he walked in deep thought buried ; 
 
 And who knows wherefore his mutterings. 
 
FIFTEENTH PART 285 
 
 Did not sound like prayer, but more like 
 
 '* Fare-thee-well, Amalia." 
 
 After them the choicest portion, 
 
 All the cardinals, were walking, 
 
 Their long robes of scarlet colour 
 
 On the marble pavement trailing. 
 
 ^' Heart, be patient," so was thinking 
 
 Cardinal di Ottoboni ; 
 
 " Now I'm second to the Pope yet, 
 
 But in seven years most likely 
 
 I shall mount St. Peter's chair." 
 
 Then a train of cavaliers came 
 
 With their shining swords, and followed 
 
 In strict military order ; 
 
 'Twas the Pope's own guard of honour. 
 
 And at last the Holy Father 
 
 Made his entrance, being carried 
 
 On a throne by eight strong bearers. 
 
 O'er his head were held by pages 
 
 The great fans of peacock-feathers. 
 
 Snow-white were his festal garments ; 
 
 And his right hand, raised in blessing, 
 
 Wore the signet-ring of Peter. 
 
 Low the crowd knelt down in silence. 
 
 At the foot of the High Altar 
 The procession had arrived now, 
 And the Pope held solemn service 
 Over the Apostle's grave. 
 
286 THE TRUMPETER OE SAKKINGEN. 
 
 Solemnly and gravely sounded 
 The peculiar choral measures 
 Which old Master Palestrina 
 Had in his strict style composed. 
 And the aged Lady Abbess 
 Prayed with fervent deep devotion. 
 /But fair Margaretta's glances 
 Were directed up to heaven, 
 Whence these solemn strains of music 
 Seemed to her to be descending. 
 But her eye was then attracted 
 To the singers' box — she trembled : 
 For, amid the group of singers, 
 Though half hidden by a column, 
 Stood a stately light-haired figure. 
 And again she looked now upward ; 
 From her sight the Pope had vanished. 
 All the Cardinals had vanished. 
 Likewise all the nine-and-eighty 
 Burning lamps o'er Peter's grave. 
 " My old dream, dost thou return then ? 
 My old dream, why dost thou haunt me 
 Even in these sacred precincts ? " 
 
 The last notes had died out softly, 
 And the Holy Mass was ended. 
 " Oh how pale you look, dear lady ! " 
 Said the aged Lady Abbess. 
 Take my vial, it will help you. 
 
FIFTEENTH PART 
 
 287 
 
 It contains the finest essence 
 Which I bought myself in Florence 
 At the cloister of San Marco." 
 
 The procession of the singers 
 Passed just then before the ladies. 
 " God in heaven ! oh have mercy ! 
 Yes, 'tis he ! I know the scar there 
 On his brow — it is my Werner ! " 
 Dark before her eyes it grew now, 
 And her heart was beating wildly. 
 No more could her feet support her. 
 And the maiden sank down fainting 
 On the hard cold floor of marble. 
 
SIXTEENTH PART. 
 
 SOLUTION AND END. 
 
 Innocentius the Eleventh 
 Was kind-hearted ; and his dinner 
 He had just now greatly relished. 
 At dessert he still was sitting, 
 And while luscious fruit enjoying, 
 Said to Cardinal Albani : 
 
 " Who was that young pallid lady, 
 Who this morning in St. Peter's 
 Fell upon the floor and fainted ? " 
 Answered Cardinal Albani : 
 " On this subject just at present 
 I can give no information ; 
 But the Monsignor Venusto 
 I will ask, for he knows always 
 What in Rome is daily happening ; 
 Knows what in salons is gossiped. 
 What the senators are doing, 
 What is drunk by Flemish artists, 
 
SIXTEENTH PART. 289 
 
 What is sung by Prima Donnas, 
 Even what the puppet-sliow is 
 Playing on the Square Navona. 
 There is naught the Monsignore 
 Can't unravel and discover." 
 E'en before was served the coffee 
 (At that time this was a novel 
 Beverage and rarely taken, 
 Only on the highest feast-days) 
 Had the Cardinal already 
 Learnt the facts. He thus related : 
 
 " This pale maiden is a noble 
 Lady, who has travelled hither 
 With that German Princess Abbess ; 
 And she saw — most marvellously — 
 In the church a man this morning, 
 Whom she once had lost her heart with, 
 And whom, still more marvellously. 
 She unto this day is loving, 
 Notwithstanding and in spite of 
 Want of noble. birth and titles. 
 And her father's stern refusal. 
 And the cause of this her fainting 
 Is, again most marvellously. 
 No one else but Signor Werner, 
 Chapel-master to your Holiness. 
 This the Monsignor Venusto 
 Heard to-day, when on a visit 
 
 u 
 
290 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 t 
 
 To the Abbess who related 
 Confidentially these facts." 
 
 Then the Pope said : " This is truly 
 A most strange and touching meeting. 
 Were the subject not too modern, 
 And the actors of the drama 
 Not such semi-barbarous Germans, 
 Then some poet might win laurels 
 In the sweet groves of Arcadia, 
 Should he sing this wondrous meeting. 
 But I truly take an interest 
 In the grave young Signor Werner. 
 Greatly has improved the singing 
 Of my choir, since he leads it. 
 And the taste for solemn music ; 
 While my own Italian singers 
 Care too much for operatic 
 Tunes of lighter character. 
 Quietly he does his duty, * 
 
 Of his own accord ne'er speaking ; 
 Never begs of me a favour ; 
 Never was his hand extended 
 To receive the gifts of bribery. 
 Yet examples of corruption 
 Are more frequent with us, surely, 
 Than the fleas in sultry summer. 
 Monsignor Venusto knows this ! 
 Seems to me that this grave German 
 
SIXTEENTH PART 291 
 
 Is consumed by secret sorrow. 
 I should really like to know now, 
 If he's thinking of his love yet ? " 
 
 Said the Cardinal Albani : 
 ^' I well-nigh may answer for this. 
 In the books kept on the conduct 
 Of all high and low officials 
 In the State and Church departments, 
 It is mentioned as a wonder 
 That he strictly shuns all women. 
 First we nourished a suspicion 
 That his heart had fallen victim 
 To the charms of the fair hostess 
 Of the inn near Vale Egeria. 
 He was seen each evening strolling 
 Through the Porta Sebastiano, 
 And outside there is no dwelling 
 But the tavern just now mentioned. 
 Thus such nightly promenading 
 Of one yet in early manhood 
 Could not but arouse suspicion. 
 Therefore we once sent two persons 
 Carefully to track his footsteps, 
 But they found him 'mid the ruined 
 Tombs along the Appian Way. 
 
 There had once a great patrician 
 Built a tomb to his freed woman, 
 Whom he'd brought as a remembrance 
 
 u 2 
 
292 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 From Judaea, at the time of 
 The destruction of the Temple, 
 She was called Zatcha Achyba. 
 There he sat, the spies related ; 
 'Twas a subject for an artist : 
 The Campagna's sombre landscape ; 
 Moonlight on the marble tombstone ; 
 He his mantle wrapped around him ; > 
 Mournfully he blew his trumpet 
 Through the gloomy lonely silence. 
 This had brought upon him later 
 Many mocking jeers like this one : 
 
 " Signor Werner is composing 
 For the Jewess there a requiem." 
 
 At this smiled the Holy Father, 
 And the Cardinals did likewise ; 
 Following these high examples. 
 All the chamberlains smiled also ; 
 Even Carlo Dolci's features 
 Now relaxed their gloomy sadness. 
 And the Pope said : " We must all have 
 Great respect for this young German. 
 It were well if many others 
 Who at night away are stealing, 
 To the Appian Way were going. 
 Signor Werner, I assure you, 
 Stands most high in my good graces. 
 And to-morrow he shall see it ; 
 
SIXTEENTH FART 293 
 
 For, I recollect, I've granted 
 Then an audience to the Abbess." 
 
 On the first day of July in \ 
 Sixteen hundred seventy-nine, ther^ 
 Rose the sun with special glory. 
 Cooling blew the tramontana 
 Through the cypresses and myrtles 
 In the Vatican's fair garden ; 
 And the half-parched flowers gladly 
 Raised their heads, breathed out fresh fragrance. 
 O'er the bronze gigantic pine-cone, — 
 Which once Hadrian's museum 
 Had adorned, and now was living 
 ^Mid the jessamines and roses, 
 As a pensioner contented, — 
 Lively lizards swiftly glided, 
 Snapping at the tiny insects 
 Ever dancing in the sunshine, 
 fountains played, and birds were singing ; 
 E'en the pale old marble statues 
 With warm life became imbued. 
 And the satyr, with his reed flute, 
 Raised his foot as if intending 
 To go dancing round the garden ; 
 But Apollo's hand waved warning : 
 ■" Friend, those times have passed forever ; 
 Thou wouldst only raise a scandal." 
 Bathed in sunlight, Rome looks smiling 
 
294 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 O'er the river at the Vatican ; 
 From the sea of houses, churches, 
 And fair palaces, the Quirinal 
 Proudly rises ; in the distance 
 Towers up the Capitoliuni 
 In the violet autumn haze. 
 
 Through the Boscareccio's verdant ~ 
 Alleys swept the shining white robe 
 Of His Holiness, who kindly 
 To the Abbess and the maiden 
 Here had granted audience. 
 And the Abbess gained assurance, 
 That her lawsuit would be taken 
 Into prompt consideration. 
 Then to Margaretta turnmg. 
 Said the Pope : " None of the pilgrims 
 Ever leave Rome without comfort ; 
 So I, as the soul's physician, 
 Must prevent another fainting." 
 And he whispered to a servant : 
 " Go and fetch the chapel-master/' 
 
 Werner came : to stately manhood 
 In this southern clime he'd ripened 
 Since he left, a hopeless suitor, 
 The old castle in the Rhine-land. 
 
■' J. V ijjnc 
 
 SIXTEENTH PART. 295 " 
 
 Life's wild whirlpool, since that morning, 
 Had well tossed him hither thither. 
 Willingly I would relate here, 
 How he went to many countries ; 
 How o'er land and sea he travelled ; 
 How he with the Knights of Malta 
 Cruised against the Turkish corsairs ; 
 Till at last a fate mysterious 
 Unto Rome had duly brought him. 
 But my song becomes impatient ; 
 Like a driver who is snapping 
 At the door his whip, 'tis calling : 
 " Onward ! On to the conclusion ! " 
 Werner came ; bewildered gazed he 
 Twice, yes thrice, at Margaretta, 
 Gazed at her in utter silence ; 
 But his glances did express more 
 Than a printed folio volume. 
 'Twas the glance with which Ulysses 
 Sitting by the suitors' corpses 
 Gazed upon his consort, from whom 
 He by twenty years of wandering 
 And of suffering had been parted. 
 
 Innocentius the Eleventh 
 Was kind-hearted, a discerner • 
 Of men's hearts. Most kindly said he 
 
296 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 I " Those whom Providence united 
 / In His goodness and His wisdom, 
 I Shall no more be separated. 
 ^ Yesterday when in St. Peter's, 
 
 And to-day here in the garden, 
 
 I have come to the conviction, 
 
 That there is a case here waitins, 
 
 For my papal interference. 
 " 'Tis indeed a mighty power 
 
 Love, a power all subduing \ 
 
 Than light even more ethereal. 
 
 Doth it penetrate all barriers, 
 
 And the chair of Peter also 
 
 Is not safe from its invasion 
 
 When it asks us for our help. 
 " But it is a pleasant duty 
 
 Of the head of Christendom, 
 
 To make smooth the path of lovers, 
 
 Every obstacle removing, 
 j That true love may be victorious. 
 
 And of all the various nations, 
 
 'Tis the Germans who beyond all 
 
 Keep us busy with such matters. 
 
 So the Count of Gleichen brought here 
 
 AVith him a fair Turkish consort 
 
 From the Holy Land, though knowing 
 
 His own consort still was living. 
 
 And our annals make full mention 
 
SIXTEENTH PART 297 
 
 Of our predecessor's troubles 
 Brought about by this wild action. 
 So likewise the most unhappy 
 Of all knights came here, Tannhauser : 
 
 " ' Pope Urbano, Pope Urbano, 
 Heal the sick man held as captive 
 Seven years within the mountain 
 Of the wicked goddess Venus 1 ' 
 But to-day the case is different 
 And more pleasing ; there is nothing 
 Which conflicts with any canon. 
 There is only a slight scruple — 
 If I've heard right — with the Baron. 
 
 You, my Werner, have been faithful,—- 
 
 But I read 'neath all this quiet 
 
 Resignation to your duty, 
 
 That reluctantly you sang here. 
 
 As a caged-up bird is singing. 
 
 Oft you've asked for your dismission, 
 
 Which I ever did deny you. 
 
 And to-day would never grant you, 
 
 If it only were the custom. 
 
 That the papal chapel-master 
 
 Could like other mortals marry. 
 
 But in Rome we must keep always. 
 
 As you know, traditions sacred ; 
 
 Palestrina for this reason 
 
 Went himself to foreign lands. 
 

 298 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN. 
 
 r " Therefore go with my full favour ; 
 
 And because the lady's father 
 
 Thinks the name of Werner Kirchhof 
 
 Much too simple, so I grant you 
 
 Knighthood by my sovereign power. 
 
 You, I know, care naught about it ; 
 
 For you by your art ennobled 
 
 Think such titles of no moment. 
 
 But perhaps the gracious lady 
 
 May consider it more proper, 
 
 To bestow her hand in marriage 
 n the Marquis Camposanto 
 
 Rather than on Master Werner. 
 I And because I hold the power 
 I Both to bind as well as loosen, 
 '[I now solemnly betroth you. 
 
 E'en this loveless age rejoices 
 
 At examples of devotion. 
 
 You have shown one — be then happy, 
 
 And receive my papal blessing." 
 
 This he spoke with much emotion. 
 And o'ervvhelmed with grateful feelings 
 Werner knelt with Margaretta 
 Down before the Holy Father ; 
 And the Abbess wept so freely 
 That the grass thought it was raining. 
 
SIXTEENTH PART. 299 
 
 With the tears of the good Abbess 
 
 Closes now the touching story 
 Of th e young musician Werner 
 And the lovely Margaretta. 
 
 But who's wandering late at night-time 
 
 Through the Corso, who is stealing 
 
 Through that dark and narrow side-street ? 
 
 'Tis the faithful coachman Anton ; 
 
 Filled with joy is his whole being. 
 
 To give vent unto this feeling 
 
 He is going to the wine-house, 
 
 To the tavern del Fachino. 
 
 And to-night he is not drinking 
 
 Countr}^ wine in fogliette ; 
 
 He has ordered a straw-covered 
 
 Bottle of good Orvieto 
 
 And of Monte Porzio. 
 
 Panes are crashing, fragments flying ; 
 
 For he throws each empty bottle 
 
 In his rapture through the window. 
 
 Though indignant at the oil-drops 
 
 Which upon the wine "are floating. 
 
 Just like comets in the ether, 
 
 Still he drinks and drinks with ardour ; 
 
 Only while the tavern-keeper 
 
 Went to fetch him the sixth bottle 
 
300 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 From the cellar, thus he spoke out : 
 
 '• Thou, oh heart of an old coachman, 
 Now rejoice, for soon thou'lt harness 
 Thy good horses and drive homeward. 
 From the standpoint of a coachman 
 Italy is but a mournful 
 Land, behind in every comfort. 
 Horrid roads, and frequent toll-gates, 
 Musty stalls, and oats quite meagre, 
 Coaches rough ! I feel insulted 
 Every time I see those waggons 
 Drawn by oxen yoked together. 
 The first element is wanting 
 Of a coachman's daily comfort, 
 'Tis the handy German hostler. 
 Oh how much I miss those worthies ! 
 Oh how gladly I will welcome 
 One in pointed cap and apron ! 
 In my joy again to see him 
 I will hug and even kiss him. 
 And at home what great surprises 
 Are in store ! Oh never was I 
 So impressed with the grave duties 
 Of a coachman as at present. 
 At a proud trot, such as never 
 Has been seen in this whole country, 
 Shall I drive my lord and ladies 
 Home through Florence and Milan. 
 
SIXTEENTH PART 301 
 
 " At Schaffhausen, the last station 
 For our night's rest, I must promptly 
 Send a messenger on horseback, 
 And he must alarm the city : 
 * Put up quickly all your banners, 
 Load your cannons for saluting, 
 And erect an arch of honour ! ' 
 Then we enter the next evening 
 Through the ancient gate in triumph, 
 And my whip I'll crack so loudly 
 That the town-house windows rattle. 
 Then I hear the aged Baroi 
 Asking sharply : ' What's the meaning 
 Of these banners and this uproar ? ' 
 From afar I shout already : 
 ' Heaven's blessing rests upon us ; 
 Here a bridal pair are coming, 
 And, my lord, they are your children/ 
 This day ne'er shall be forgotten ! 
 In remembrance shall the tom-cat 
 Hiddigeigei have a genuine 
 Whole well-smoked ItaHan sausage. 
 For the sake of after ages 
 Must the good schoolmaster make me 
 A fine poem on this subject ; 
 I don't care, e'en should it cost me 
 The amount of two whole thalers. 
 And it must conclude as follows : 
 
302 THE TRUMPETER OF SAKKINGEN, 
 
 " ' From true love and trumpet-blowing 
 Many useful things are springing ; 
 For true love and trumpet-blowing 
 E'en a noble wife are winning. 
 May true love and trumpet-blowing 
 Each one find good fortune bringing, 
 As our trumpeter young Werner, 
 On the Rhine at old Sakkmgen.' " 
 
 THE END. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 The town of Sakkingen, where the scene of this poem 
 is laid, is situated amid beautiful scenery on the outskirts of the 
 Schwarzwald (Black Forest), on the right bank of the Rhine, and 
 on the road from Basel to Constance, about 30 miles above the 
 former place. The town owes its origin to the settlement of St. 
 Fridolinus (as related in the Third Part of the poem), who came 
 here from Ireland in the 6th century, and founded a monastery, 
 afterwards converted into a convent for noble ladies. The settle- 
 ment was made on an island in the Rhine. In the poem the 
 town is still considered as lying on an island, but according to 
 the legend, St. Fridolinus altered the course of the Rhine, leading 
 its waters entirely to the Avest side of the island. 
 
 The castle of Schoenau, on the site of the old castle of the 
 Baron, the father of the heroine of the story, stands close to the 
 Rhine, and is now the seat of Mr. Theodore Bally, the well- 
 known wealthy and benevolenU* proprietor of large silk manu- 
 factories. He has caused the old tower of the castle to be re- 
 stored, and intends to adorn its walls with frescoes, representing 
 scenes from the poem. 
 
 Page I. — Michele Pagano, a very popular hotel-keeper in 
 Capri, whose hotel was mostly frequented by German artists. 
 He died only very recently, universally regretted. 
 
304 NOTES. 
 
 P^S^ 3- — The cat Hiddigeigei, the old Baron's cat, with 
 which the reader will become better acquainted as a philoso- 
 phising cat in the course of the poem. 
 
 Page 5. — Amaranth, a poem by Oscar von Redwitz, pub- 
 lished a few years before "The Trumpeter of Sakkingen," and 
 at that time very popular, especially with certain classes in 
 Germany. 
 
 Page 13. — The Boezberg, a mountain in the Jura, over which 
 the old road from Basel to Zurich led. Now the railroad between 
 the two places pierces it with a tunnel. 
 
 The Hozzenwald, the Hauenstein mountains. See note 
 
 to page 15. 
 
 The Gallus Tower, an old tower at the upper extremity 
 
 of Sakkingen, properly called after St. Gallus, now used as a 
 house of refuge for homeless people. 
 
 Page 14. — The graveyard of Sakkingen contains still the 
 tombstone of the hero and heroine of the poem. Their names, 
 as given there, are Franz Werner Kirchhofer and Marie Ursula 
 von Schoenau. The first died in May, 1690, the latter in March 
 of the following year. 
 
 Page 15. — The' Eggberg is one of the mountains in the 
 Hauenstein country, to the north of Sakkingen. The inhabit- 
 ants of this country were formerly remarkable for their quaint 
 costumes coming down from the 15th century. The men wore 
 shirts with large frills around the neck, red stomachers, long 
 black jackets, and wide trousers reaching below the knee, and 
 called hozen. Hence ihe land was called Hozzenland. The 
 dress of the women was also very peculiar, and of many bright 
 colours. These old costumes are now rarely seen. 
 
 Page 17. — "The silvery lake," a romantic small lake, half 
 an hour N.W. from Sakkingen. It lies in a hollow on the 
 hills, surrounded by rocks and splendid fir-woods. The lake, 
 
NOTES. 305 
 
 which is known by the name of Berg See (mountain lake), 
 is now also called Scheffel See. It is a favourite spot for ex- 
 cursions from far and near, md abo unds in fish. 
 
 Page 19. — The Feldberg, the highest point of the Schwarz- 
 wald. 
 
 Page 20. — St. Blasien, formerly a very ancient monastery of 
 Banedictine monks, called thus after St. Blasius, Bishop of 
 Sebaste, whose relics were brought here by one of the early 
 abbots. 
 
 P^-ige 21. — "Then appeared as Death and Devil." This is 
 the subject of one of Albrecht Diirer's most celebrated engrav- 
 ings, called Ritter, Tod, and Teufel (the Knight, Death, and the 
 Devil), where the knight rides quietly and unmoved through a 
 gloomy mountain glen, smiling at Death, who holds up an hour- 
 glass before him, and taking no notice at all of the droll Devil, 
 who tries to grasp him from behind. The knight is evidently an 
 embodiment of the freer spirit which began to reign then in 
 Germany. The engraving is of the year 15 13. 
 
 Page 26. — "Far off on the island glisten." The town of 
 Sakkingen with its minster. 
 
 Page 30. — Rheinfeld, or rather Rheinfelden, a town on the 
 left bank of the Rhine, about halfway between Sakkingen and 
 Basel, where, during the Thirty Years' War, in the year 1638 
 several actions took place. 
 
 Pa^ 32. — Wehr, a village about six miles from Sakkingen, 
 on the road to Schopflieim, in the neighbourhood of a stalactite 
 cave (Hasler Hoehle) mentioned in the Tenth Part. 
 
 Page 38. — Cujacius (Jacques de Cujas), a very distinguished 
 jurist and professor of law in the university of Bourges (t 1590). 
 His only daughter, Susanna, became known by her profligate 
 life. But the stories told of her by Catherinot cannot have hap- 
 pened during her father's lifetime, as he died when she was only 
 three years old. 
 
 X 
 
3o6 NOTES. 
 
 Page 43. — Palsgrave Frederic married the Princess Eliza- 
 beth, daughter of James the First of England, in 161 3. He 
 was afterwards made king of Bohemia by the Protestant princes 
 of Germany, and moved to Prague in 1619. In the year follow- 
 ing his army was routed near Prague by the forces of the 
 Catholic League, and he had to fly with his family. 
 
 Pa^e 46. — "Of a young and handsome carpenter." The 
 pastor refers here to a popular German song, still often sung by 
 students : 
 
 War einst ein jung, jung Zimmergesell, 
 Der hatte zu bauen ein Schloss, etc. 
 
 It is the story of a young carpenter who built a castle for a Mar- 
 grave. During the absence of the latter the Margravine falls in 
 love with the carpenter. The lovers are afterwards surprised 
 by the Margrave, who has a gallows built on which the carpenter 
 is hung. 
 
 Page 49. — Clovis (465-5 1 1), king of the Franks, was married, 
 while he was still a heathen, to Clotilde, a Christian princess 
 of Burgundy. During the battle at Tolbiac (Ziilpich), near 
 Cologne, when sorely pressed by the enemy, the Allemanni, he 
 vowed to become a Christian, if he should gain the victory. 
 After routing and subjugating the Allemanni, the king and 
 many thousands of his people were baptised by the Bishop of 
 Rheims, on the 23rd of December of the same year (496). 
 
 Page 50. — "Augusta Rauracorum," Colonia Raurica, after- 
 wards called Augusta Rauracorum, a Roman colony founded in 
 the year 44 B.C., by L. Munatius Plancus. On the site of the 
 Roman town are now two villages, Basel- Augst and Kaiser- Augst, 
 the latter a station on the railroad from Basel to Ziirich. Near 
 Basel-Augst the remains of a Roman amphitheatre and of a temple 
 can still be seen. 
 
 Page 56. — Count Ursus of Glarus had been converted to 
 Christianity by St. Fridolinus, and, with the consent of his 
 brother Landolph, donated, a short time before his death, all his 
 estates to the new cloister at Sakkingen. When Landolph, after 
 
* NOTES, 307 
 
 the death of his brother refused to acknowledge his will, Frido- 
 linus was obliged to go to law in order to make good his claim, 
 and after a long litigation was at last notified by the government 
 of Glarus that he would not be able to have his claims settled, 
 unless he could bring the dead Count Ursus himself in court as 
 a witness. Then, the legend says, Fridolinus went, on the day 
 appointed for the court, to Glarus, raised Ursus from his grave, 
 and walked with him to Rank well (the seat of the court, ten 
 hours from Glarus), where the count gave testimony in regard 
 to his donation. Landolph then not only gave up his brother's 
 estates, but added also a large portion of his own. After that 
 Fridolinus walked back to Glarus with Count Ursus, and com- 
 mitted him again to his grave. The saint, on account of this 
 miracle, is usually portrayed in company with the skeleton of 
 Count Ursus. 
 
 Page 58. — Laufenburg, a town six miles above Sakkingen, 
 and situated on the beautiful rapids of the Rhine. A tower of 
 the old strong castle on the Swiss side is still standing. 
 
 Page 59. — Beuggen, a town on the Rhine below Sakkingen. 
 The ancient building of the Teutonic order is still standing, and 
 is used now by the Moravians as an institute for children. 
 
 Page 71. — The Wiese, a river coming from the Feldbergand 
 flowing into the Rhine a little below Basel. The beautiful valley 
 of the clear rapid river is now much visited, as there is a rail- 
 road as far as the town of Zell. This region has become classic 
 through the poet Hebel, who wrote in the Allemannic idiom, still 
 generally spoken in this whole region. At Hausen, the station 
 before Zell, where he was born, a monument has been erected to 
 him. There is also at Schopfheim, the station below Hausen, 
 on a hill called Hebelshoehe, a bust of the poet. The women 
 of this region are remarkable for their large singular-looking caps, 
 to wliich Scheffel alludes. 
 
 Page 76. — This gravel bank, called Field of Fridolinus, is 
 still seen in the Rhine, opposite the castle Schoenau. 
 
3o8 NOTES. * 
 
 Page 80. — Hallau, a village not far from the railroad station 
 Neuhausen, the stopping-place for visiting the falls of the Rhine. 
 The red wine grown there is still very celebrated. 
 
 The Hohe-Randen, a mountain to the north of Schapf- 
 
 hausen. 
 
 Page 85. — Theuerdank, a German poem of the beginning of 
 the 1 6th century, written by Melchior Pfinzing, the secretary of 
 the Emperor Maximilian, who had planned and sketched the 
 poem himself. 
 
 Page loi. — Grenzach, the first German vil'age going from 
 Basel, on the railroad to Sakkingen and Constanz. It is cele- 
 brated for the wine grown there. 
 
 Page 104. — The Frickthal, in the Swiss canton Aargau, 
 nearly south of Sakkingen. 
 
 Page 105. — Schinznach, a village in the canton Aargau, 
 much visited on account of its hot sulphur springs. In the 
 neighbourhood are the ruins of the castle of Hapsburg, the 
 cradle of the imperial house of Austria. 
 
 Page 109. — The mountain lake. See note to page 17. 
 
 Page 120. — May drink, or May wine, a favourite drink in 
 Germany for the spring-time, made by steeping the leaves of 
 woodroof in the light white wine of the country, and sweetening 
 it with sugar. It is an old custom j^re vailing already in the 1 6th 
 century, when the woodroof was added to the wine not only to 
 cheer the heart with its fine aroma, but also for medicinal pur- 
 poses, as acting on the liver. 
 
 Page 135. — Albbruck, a place above Laufenburg on the 
 Rhine, at the mouth of the little river Alb, the valley ol which 
 is the most beautiful in the Schwarzwald. Formerly there were 
 here quite important ironworks. 
 
 Page 151. — "E'en a common Flemish blacksmith." Quentin 
 Massys (1466-1530), a celebrated Flemish painter, said to 
 have been originally a blacksmith. While such, he fell in 
 love, and in order to gain the maiden's consent as well as her 
 
NOTES. 309 
 
 father's (who was an artist) he forsook his trade, devoted himself 
 to painting, and became a great master in his art. On the 
 tombstone which his admirers placed on his grave a hundred 
 years after his death, stands the Latin hexameter : 
 
 Connubialls amor ex mulcibre fecit Apellem ! 
 
 Page 152. — The Gnome's cave (Die Erdmannshohle), a 
 stalactite cave near the village of Hasel (whence the cave is 
 called also Haselhohle), between Wehr and Schopf heim. It can 
 be reached from the former by a walk of half an hour, and is 
 often visited with guides. The first cave, which one reaches 
 through a low passage, is 13 feet high, the next contains a 
 small lake. There is also a little river rushing along under steps, 
 over which one walks. The cave contains, like all caves of this 
 kind, most fantastic stalactite structures, which popular fancy has 
 called the organ, the chancel, the skeleton, &c. Some columns 
 when struck give out tones which sound as thirds. The most 
 interesting part of the cave is called Die Fiirstengruft (The 
 Prince's Sepulchre), a large room, 16 feet high, with a stalactite 
 structure resembling a large coffin. Popular superstition has 
 from times immemorial made this cave the haunt of gnomes. 
 
 Page 169. — The ancient county of Hauenstein lies between 
 two spurs of the Feldberg, the eastern one coming down to the 
 town of Waldshut on the Rhine, the western one to Sakkingen. 
 It is also called Hozzenland (see note to page 15). The early 
 history of the country is somewhat obscure until the time of the 
 Emperor Rudolph of Hapsburg, when it acknowledged the 
 sovereignty of Austria. In the times of the fight for the German 
 throne between Albrecht of Austria and Adolphe of Nassa\i, and 
 between Frederick the Beautiful and Ludwig of Bavaria, when 
 Suabia was without a duke and Germany without an emperor, 
 the different villages of the country founded a union (Einung) for 
 their protection. There is still in existence such a union docu- 
 ment drawn up in the year 1433. The entire union was divided 
 into eight smaller ones, each of which stood under an elected 
 leader (Einungsmeister). All these eight leaders elected one of 
 their body as speaker (Redmann), who held the leadership of the 
 
3IO NOTES. 
 
 entire union. By this the Hauenstein peasants were greatly pro- 
 tected in their ancient rights ; still the oppression of the 
 Austrian governors (Waldvoegte) often incited revolutions, the 
 most important of which occurred during the Peasants' War in 
 1525. Others lasted from 1589 to 1614, arising from an impost 
 laid on wine. The poet introduces such a rising here in the 
 course of his story. 
 
 Page 206. — The Fuggers are an Augsburg family, who, by 
 their linen-trade and weaving, and afterwards by the purchase 
 of mines in Austria, amassed an enormous fortune, and were 
 raised to the rank of nobles by the Emperor Maximilian. The 
 family attained their greatest splendour under the Emperor 
 Charles the Fifth, who, at the time of the Diet at Augsburg, 
 raised the two brothers then living to the rank of counts. 
 
 Page 235. — Katzenjammer, literally translated, cats' misery, 
 the vulgar German expression for the indisposition after a 
 drunken debauch. 
 
 Page 255. — Parcival, written by Wolfram von Eschenbach 
 about the year 1200. Theuerdank, a German poem of the i6th 
 century. See note to page 85. 
 
 Page 277. — " As at Strasburg on the bulwarks." The Swiss 
 soldier refers here to a popular song : 
 
 Zu Strasburg auf der Schanz, 
 Da ging mein Trauern an, etc. 
 
 The simple but touching story of a soldier who stands guard on 
 the bulwarks of Strasburg and hears the Alpine horn blown on 
 the other side of the Rhine. Seized with home sickness he 
 swims across the Rhine, but is taken afterwards and shot as 
 a deserter. 
 
 Page 278. — The villa of the Cardinal Borghese, Casa Baldi, 
 near Olevano, in the Sabine country, is still in existence, and is 
 now an inn much frequented by artists. It has become cele- 
 
NOTES. 311 
 
 brated by Scheffel's humorous song, " Abschied vonOlevano" 
 (Farewell to Olevano), which he wrote on the spot when leaving 
 there after a long sojourn. It is published in Scheffel's collec- 
 tion of songs, "Gaudeamus." 
 
 Page 285. — Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni of Venice, who in 1689 
 became the successor of Innocent XI. as Alexander VIII. 
 
 '■;harles dickens and evans, crystal palace press. 
 
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