Part 16

The barons now felt themselves taken in a snare. They were in nearly the same case as the king against whom they were called on to march. They had indeed promised; they had commissioned William Fitz-Osbern to speak in their names. But their commission had been stretched beyond all reasonable construction; their spokesman had pledged them to engagements which had never entered into their minds. Loud shouts of dissent rose through the hall. The mention of serving with double the regular contingent awakened special indignation. With a true parliamentary instinct, the Norman barons feared lest a consent to this demand should be drawn into a precedent, and lest their fiefs should be forever burthened with this double service. The shouts grew louder; the whole hall was in confusion; no speaker could be heard; no man would hearken to reason or render a reason for himself.

The rash speech of William Fitz-Osbern had thus destroyed all hope of a regular parliamentary consent on the part of the Assembly. But it is possible that the duke gained in the end by the hazardous experiment of his seneschal. It is even possible that the manoeuvre may have been concerted beforehand between him and his master. It was not likely that any persuasion could have brought the Assembly as a body to agree to the lavish offer of volunteer service which was put into its mouth by William Fitz-Osbern. There was no hope of carrying any such vote on a formal division. But the confusion which followed the speech of the seneschal hindered any formal division from being taken. The Assembly, in short, as an assembly, was broken up. The fagot was unloosed, and the sticks could now be broken one by one. The baronage of Normandy had lost all the strength of union; they were brought, one by one, within the reach of the personal fascinations of their sovereign. William conferred with each man apart; he employed all his arts on minds which, when no longer strengthened by the sympathy of a crowd, could not refuse anything that he asked. He pledged himself that the doubling of their services should not become a precedent; no man's fief should be burthened with any charge beyond what it had borne from time immemorial. Men thus personally appealed to, brought in this way within the magic sphere of princely influence, were no longer slack to promise; and having once promised, they were not slack to fulfill. William had more than gained his point. If he had not gained the formal sanction of the Norman baronage to his expedition, he had won over each individual Norman baron to serve him as a volunteer. And wary as ever, William took heed that no man who had promised should draw back from his promise. His scribes and clerks were at hand, and the number of ships and soldiers promised by each baron was at once set down in a book. A Domesday of the conquerors was in short drawn up in the ducal hall at Lillebonne, a forerunner of the greater Domesday of the conquered, which twenty years later was brought to King William of England in his royal palace at Winchester.

FERDINAND FREILIGRATH

(1810-1876)

In times of political degradation the poets of Germany, turning from their own surroundings, have sought poetical material either in the glories of a dim past or in the exotic splendors of remote lands. Goethe, disquieted by the French Revolution, took up Chinese and Persian studies; the romantic poets revivified the picturesqueness of the Middle Ages; and during the second quarter of this century the Orient began to exercise a potent charm. Platen wrote his beautiful 'Gaselen,' Rueckert sang in Persian measure and translated the Indian 'Sakuntala,' and Bodenstedt fashioned the dainty songs of "Mirza-Schaffy." Freiligrath too, a child of his time, entered upon his literary career with poems which took their themes from distant climes. Among his earliest verses after 'Moosthee' (Iceland-Moss Tea), written at the age of sixteen, were 'Africa,' 'Der Scheik am Sinai' (The Sheik on Sinai), and 'Der Loewenritt' (The Lion's Ride). Even in these early poems, we find all that brilliancy of Oriental imagery to which he tells us he had been inspired by much poring over an illustrated Bible in his childhood.

But Freiligrath, like Uhland and Herwegh, was a man of action and a patriot. The revolution of 1848 had brought fresh breezes into the stagnation of political life; and though they soon were stilled again, the men who had breathed that air ceased to be the dreamers of dreams that the romantic poets had been. They were conscious of a mission, and became the robust heralds of a larger and a freer time.

Freiligrath was a schoolmaster's son; he was born at Detmold on June 17th, 1810, and much against his private inclinations, he was sent in his sixteenth year to an uncle in Soest to prepare himself for a mercantile career. The death of his father threw him upon his own resources, and he took a position in an Amsterdam bank. Here the inspiration of the sea widened the range of his poetic fancy. To Chamisso is due the credit of introducing the poet to the general public through the pages of the Musenalmanach. This was in 1835. In 1838 appeared the first volume of his poems, and it won instant and unusual favor; Gutzkow called him the German Hugo. With this encouragement Freiligrath definitely abandoned mercantile life. In 1841 he married. At the suggestion of Alexander von Humboldt, the King of Prussia granted him a royal pension; and as no conditions were attached, it was accepted. This was a bitter disappointment to the ardent revolutionary poets, who had counted Freiligrath as one of themselves; but the turbulent times which preceded the revolution soon forced him into an open declaration of principles, and although he had said in one of his poems that the poet was above all party, in 1844, influenced by Hoffmann von Fallersleben, he resigned his pension, announced his position, and in May published a volume of revolutionary poems entitled 'Mein Glaubensbekenntniss' (My Confession of Faith). This book created the wildest enthusiasm, and placed its author at once in the front rank of the people's partisans. He fled to Brussels, and in 1846 published under the title of 'Ca Ira' six new songs, which were a trumpet-call to revolution. The poet deemed it prudent to retire to London, and he was about to accept an invitation from Longfellow to cross the ocean when the revolution broke out, and he returned to Duesseldorf to put himself at the head of the democratic party on the Rhine. But he was a poet and not a leader, and he indiscreetly exposed himself to arrest by an inflammatory poem, 'Die Todten an die Lebenden' (The Dead to the Living). The jury however acquitted him, and he at once assumed the management of the New Rhenish Gazette at Cologne.

It is a curious fact that during this agitated time Freiligrath wrote some of his tenderest poetry. In the collection which appeared in 1849 with the title 'Zwischen den Garben' (Between the Sheaves), was included that exquisite hymn to love: 'Oh, Love So Long as Love Thou Canst,' perhaps the most perfect of all his lyrical productions, and certainly evidence that the poet could touch the strings to deep emotions. In the following year both volumes of his 'New Political and Social Poems' were ready. Once more he prudently retired to London; his fears were confirmed by the immediate confiscation of these new volumes, and by the publication of a letter of apprehension. By way of reprisal he wrote his poem 'The Revolution,' which was published in London.

In 1867 the Swiss bank with which Freiligrath was connected closed its London branch, and the poet again faced an uncertain future. His friends on the Rhine, hearing of his difficulties, raised a generous subscription, and taking advantage of a general amnesty, he returned to the fatherland and became associated with the Stuttgart Illustrated Magazine. In 1870 appeared a complete collection of his poems; in 1876, 'New Poems'; and in the latter year, on March 18th, he died at Cannstatt in Wuertemburg.

The question which Freiligrath asks the emigrants in his early poem of that name,--'O say, why seek ye other lands?'--was destined to find frequent and bitter answer in his own checkered career; but he never swerved from the liberal principles which he had publicly announced. His political poems were among the most powerful influences of his time, and they have a permanent value as the expression of the spirit of freedom. His translations are marvels of fidelity and beauty. His 'Hiawatha' and 'The Ancient Mariner,' together with his versions of Victor Hugo, are perhaps the best examples of his surpassing skill. His own works have been for the most part excellently translated into English. His daughter published during her father's lifetime a volume of his poems, in which were collected all the best English translations then available. The exotic subjects of his early poems make them seem the most original, as for example 'Der Mohrenfuerst' (The Moorish Prince) and 'Der Blumen Rache' (The Revenge of the Flowers); the unusual rhymes hold the attention, and the sonorous melody of the verse delights the ear: but it is in a few of his superb love lyrics that he touches the highest point of his genius, although his fame continues to rest upon his impassioned songs of freedom and his name to be associated with the rich imagery of the Orient.

THE EMIGRANTS

I cannot take my eyes away From you, ye busy, bustling band, Your little all to see you lay Each in the waiting boatman's hand.

Ye men, that from your necks set down Your heavy baskets on the earth, Of bread, from German corn baked brown By German wives on German hearth,--

And you, with braided tresses neat, Black-Forest maidens, slim and brown, How careful on the sloop's green seat You set your pails and pitchers down!

Ah! oft have home's cool shady tanks Those pails and pitchers filled for you; By far Missouri's silent banks Shall these the scenes of home renew,--

The stone-rimmed fount in village street Where oft ye stooped to chat and draw,-- The hearth, and each familiar seat,-- The pictured tiles your childhood saw.

Soon, in the far and wooded West Shall log-house walls therewith be graced; Soon many a tired tawny guest Shall sweet refreshment from them taste.

From them shall drink the Cherokee, Faint with the hot and dusty chase; No more from German vintage, ye Shall bear them home, in leaf-crowned grace.

O say, why seek ye other lands? The Neckar's vale hath wine and corn; Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands; In Spessart rings the Alp-herd's horn.

Ah, in strange forests you will yearn For the green mountains of your home,-- To Deutschland's yellow wheat-fields turn,-- In spirit o'er her vine-hills roam.

How will the form of days grown pale In golden dreams float softly by, Like some old legendary tale, Before fond memory's moistened eye!

The boatman calls,--go hence in peace! God bless you,--wife, and child, and sire! Bless all your fields with rich increase, And crown each faithful heart's desire!

Translation of C.T. Brooks.

THE LION'S RIDE

What! wilt thou bind him fast with a chain? Wilt bind the king of the cloudy sands? Idiot fool! he has burst from thy hands and bands, And speeds like Storm through his far domain. See! he crouches down in the sedge, By the water's edge, Making the startled sycamore boughs to quiver! Gazelle and giraffe, I think, will shun that river.

Not so! The curtain of evening falls, And the Caffre, mooring his light canoe To the shore, glides down through the hushed karroo, And the watch-fires burn in the Hottentot kraals, And the antelope seeks a bed in the bush Till dawn shall blush, And the zebra stretches his limbs by the tinkling fountain, And the changeful signals fade from the Table Mountain.

Now look through the dusk! What seest thou now? Seest such a tall giraffe! She stalks, All majesty, through the desert walks,-- In search of water to cool her tongue and brow. From tract to tract of the limitless waste Behold her haste! Till, bowing her long neck down, she buries her face in The reeds, and kneeling, drinks from the river's basin.

But look again! look! see once more Those globe-eyes glare! The gigantic reeds Lie cloven and trampled like puniest weeds,-- The lion leaps on the drinker's neck with a roar! Oh, what a racer! Can any behold, 'Mid the housings of gold In the stables of kings, dyes half so splendid As those on the brindled hide of yon wild animal blended?

Greedily fleshes the lion his teeth In the breast of his writhing prey; around Her neck his loose brown mane is wound. Hark, that hollow cry! She springs up from beneath And in agony flies over plains and heights. See, how she unites, Even under such monstrous and torturing trammel, With the grace of the leopard, the speed of the camel!

She reaches the central moon-lighted plain, That spreadeth around all bare and wide; Meanwhile, adown her spotted side The dusky blood-gouts rush like rain-- And her woeful eyeballs, how they stare On the void of air! Yet on she flies--on, on; for her there is no retreating; And the desert can hear the heart of the doomed one beating!

And lo! A stupendous column of sand, A sand-spout out of that sandy ocean, upcurls Behind the pair in eddies and whirls; Most like some colossal brand, Or wandering spirit of wrath On his blasted path, Or the dreadful pillar that lighted the warriors and women Of Israel's land through the wilderness of Yemen.

And the vulture, scenting a coming carouse, Sails, hoarsely screaming, down the sky; The bloody hyena, be sure, is nigh,-- Fierce pillager, he, of the charnel-house! The panther, too, who strangles the Cape-Town sheep As they lie asleep, Athirst for his share in the slaughter, follows; While the gore of their victim spreads like a pool in the sandy hollows!

She reels,--but the king of the brutes bestrides His tottering throne to the last: with might He plunges his terrible claws in the bright And delicate cushions of her sides. Yet hold!--fair play!--she rallies again! In vain, in vain! Her struggles but help to drain her life-blood faster; She staggers, gasps, and sinks at the feet of her slayer and master!

She staggers, she falls; she shall struggle no more! The death-rattle slightly convulses her throat; Mayest look thy last on that mangled coat, Besprent with sand, and foam, and gore! Adieu! The orient glimmers afar, And the morning-star Anon will rise over Madagascar brightly.-- So rides the lion in Afric's deserts nightly.

REST IN THE BELOVED

(RUHE IN DER GELIEBTEN)

From 'Lyrics and Ballads of Heine and Other German Poets.' Copyright 1892, by Frances Hellman. Reprinted by permission of G.P. Putnam's Sons, publishers, New York.

Oh, here forever let me stay, love! Here let my resting-place e'er be; And both thy tender palms then lay, love, Upon my hot brow soothingly. Here at thy feet, before thee kneeling, In heavenly rapture let me rest, And close my eyes, bliss o'er me stealing, Within thine arms, upon thy breast.

I'll open them but to the glances That from thine own in radiance fall; The look that my whole soul entrances, O thou who art my life, my all! I'll open them but at the flowing Of burning tears that upward swell, And joyously, without my knowing, From under drooping lashes well.

Thus am I meek, and kind, and lowly, And good and gentle evermore; I have thee--now I'm blessed wholly; I have thee--now my yearning's o'er. By thy sweet love intoxicated, Within thine arms I'm lulled to rest, And every breath of thine is freighted With slumber songs that soothe my breast.

A life renewed each seems bestowing; Oh, thus to lie day after day, And hearken with a blissful glowing To what each other's heart-beats say! Lost in our love, entranced, enraptured, We disappear from time and space; We rest and dream; our souls lie captured Within oblivion's sweet embrace.

OH, LOVE SO LONG AS LOVE THOU CANST

Oh, love so long as love thou canst! Oh, love so long thy soul have need! The hour will come, the hour will come, When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

And let thy heart forever glow And throb with love, and hold love's heat, So long on earth another heart Shall echo to its yearning beat.

And who to thee his heart shall show, Oh raise it up and make it glad! Oh make his every moment blithe, And not a moment make him sad!

Guard well thy tongue; a bitter word Soon from the mouth of anger leaps. O God! it was not meant to wound,-- But ah! the other goes and weeps.

Oh, love so long as love thou canst! Oh, love so long thy soul have need! The hour will come, the hour will come, When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

Thou kneelest down upon the grave, And sink'st in agony thine eyes,-- They never more the dead shall see,-- The silent church-yard hears thy sighs.

Thou mourn'st:--"Oh, look upon this heart, That here doth weep upon this mound! Forgive me if I caused thee pain,-- O God, it was not meant to wound!"

But he, he sees and hears thee not; He comes not, he can never know: The mouth that kissed thee once says not, "Friend, I forgave thee long ago!"

He did forgive thee long ago, Though many a hot tear bitter fell For thee and for thy angry word; But still he slumbers soft and well!

Oh, love so long as love thou canst! Oh, love so long thy soul have need! The hour will come, the hour will come, When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

Translation of Dr. Edward Breck.

GUSTAV FREYTAG

(1816-1895)

Gustav Freytag, one of the foremost of German novelists, was born July 13th, 1816, in Kreuzburg, Silesia, where his father was a physician. He studied alternately at Breslau and Berlin, at which latter university he was given the degree of a doctor of philosophy in 1838. In 1839 he settled as a _privatdocent_ at the University of Breslau, where he lectured on the German language and literature until 1844, when he resigned his position to devote himself to literature. He removed to Leipzig in 1846, and the following year to Dresden, where he married. In 1848 he returned to Leipzig to edit with Julian Schmidt the weekly journal Die Grenzboten, which he conducted until 1861, and again from 1869 to 1870. In 1867 he became Liberal member for Erfurt in the North German Reichstag. In 1870, on the breaking out of the Franco-Prussian war, he was attached to the staff of the Crown Prince, later the German Emperor Frederick III., and remained in service until after the battle of Sedan. Subsequently to 1870 his journalistic work was chiefly for the newly established weekly periodical Im Neuen Reich. In 1879 he retired from public life and afterward lived in Wiesbaden, except for the summer months, which he spent on his estate Siebleben near Gotha. He died at Wiesbaden, April 30th, 1895.

All of Freytag's earliest work, with the single exception of a volume of poems published in 1845 under the title 'In Breslau,' is dramatic. His first production was a comedy, 'Die Brautfahrt' (The Wedding Journey), published in 1844, which although it was awarded a prize offered by the Royal Theatre in Berlin, found but indifferent popular favor, as did its successor, the one-act tragedy 'Die Gelehrte' (The Scholar). With his next play, 'Die Valentine' (1846), Freytag however was signally successful. This was followed the year after by 'Graf Waldemar.' He attained his highest dramatic success with the comedy 'Die Journalisten' (The Journalists), which appeared in 1853, and since its first production in 1854 has maintained its place as one of the most popular plays on the German stage. But one other play followed, the tragedy 'Die Fabier' (The Fabii), which appeared in 1859.

He had begun in the mean time his career as a novelist with his most famous novel, 'Soll und Haben' (Debit and Credit), which was published in 1855 and met with an immediate and unbounded success. The appearance of this first novel, furthermore, was most significant, for it marked at the same time an era both in German literature and in its author's own career, in that it introduced into the one in its most recent phase one of the profoundest problems of modern life in Germany, and unmistakably pointed out, in the other, the direction which he was subsequently to follow. This latter statement has a twofold bearing. It is not only that as a writer of novels Freytag did his most important and lasting work, but that the whole of this work was in a manner the development of a similar tendency. Although as different as need be in environment, all of his subsequent novels embody inherently the characteristics of 'Debit and Credit,' for like it, they are all well-defined attempts to depict the typical social conditions of the period in which they move, and their characters are the carefully considered types of their time. Freytag, with a philosophic seriousness of purpose perhaps characteristically German, is writing not only novels but the history of civilization, in his early work. Later on, the didactic purpose to a certain extent overshadows the rest; and although he never loses his power of telling a story, it is the history in the end that is paramount.