Chapter 5

Doubtless German literature owes less to Bürger than English owes to Burns, but it owes much. Bürger revived the ballad form in which so much of the finest German poetry has since been cast. With his lyric gifts and his dramatic power, he infused a life into these splendid poems that has made them a part of the folk-lore of his native land. 'Lenardo und Blandine,' his own favorite, 'Des Pfarrers Tochter von Taubenhain' (The Pastor's Daughter of Taubenhain), 'Das Lied vom braven Mann' (The Song of the Brave Man), 'Die Weiber von Weinsberg' (The Women of Weinsberg), 'Der Kaiser und der Abt' (The Emperor and the Abbot), 'Der Wilde Jäger' (The Wild Huntsman), all belong, like 'Lenore,' to the literary inheritance of the German people. Bürger attempted a translation of the Iliad in iambic blank verse, and a prose translation of 'Macbeth.' To him belongs also the credit of having restored to German literature the long-disused sonnet. His sonnets are among the best in the language, and elicited warm praise from Schiller as "models of their kind." Schiller had written a severe criticism of Bürger's poems, which had inflamed party strife and embittered the last years of Bürger himself; but even Schiller admits that Bürger is as much superior to all his rivals as he is inferior to the ideal he should have striven to attain.

The debt which Bürger owed to English letters was amply repaid. In 'Lenore' he showed Percy's 'Reliques' the compliment of quoting from the ballad of 'Sweet William,' which had supplied him with his theme, the lines:--"Is there any room at your head, Willie, or any room at your feet?" The first literary work of Walter Scott was the translation which he made in 1775 of 'Lenore,' under the title of 'William and Helen'; this was quickly followed by a translation of 'The Wild Huntsman.' Scott's romantic mind received in Bürger's ballads and in Goethe's 'Götz,' which he translated four years later, just the nourishment it craved. It is a curious coincidence that another great romantic writer, Alexandre Dumas, should also have begun his literary career with a translation of 'Lenore.' Bürger was not, however, a man of one poem. He filled two goodly volumes, but the oft-quoted words of his friend Schlegel contain the essential truth:--"'Lenore' will always be Bürger's jewel, the precious ring with which, like the Doge of Venice espousing the sea, he married himself to the folk-song forever."

WILLIAM AND HELEN

Walter Scott's Translation of 'Lenore'

From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, And eyed the dawning red:-- "Alas, my love, thou tarriest long! O art thou false or dead?"

With gallant Frederick's princely power He sought the bold crusade; But not a word from Judah's wars Told Helen how he sped.

With Paynim and with Saracen At length a truce was made, And every knight returned to dry The tears his love had shed.

Our gallant host was homeward bound With many a song of joy; Green waved the laurel in each plume, The badge of victory.

And old and young, and sire and son, To meet them crowd the way, With shouts, and mirth, and melody, The debt of love to pay.

Full many a maid her true-love met, And sobbed in his embrace, And fluttering joy in tears and smiles Arrayed full many a face.

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad; She sought the host in vain; For none could tell her William's fate, If faithless or if slain.

The martial band is past and gone; She rends her raven hair, And in distraction's bitter mood She weeps with wild despair.

"O rise, my child," her mother said, "Nor sorrow thus in vain: A perjured lover's fleeting heart No tears recall again."

"O mother, what is gone, is gone, What's lost forever lorn; Death, death alone can comfort me; O had I ne'er been born!

"O break, my heart, O break at once! Drink my life-blood, Despair! No joy remains on earth for me, For me in heaven no share."

"O enter not in judgment, Lord!" The pious mother prays; Impute not guilt to thy frail child! She knows not what she says.

"O say thy paternoster, child! O turn to God and grace! His will, that turned thy bliss to bale, Can change thy bale to bliss."

"O mother, mother, what is bliss? O mother, what is bale? My William's love was heaven on earth; Without it earth is hell.

"Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, Since my loved William's slain? I only prayed for William's sake, And all my prayers were vain."

"O take the sacrament, my child, And check these tears that flow; By resignation's humble prayer, O hallowed be thy woe!"

"No sacrament can quench this fire, Or slake this scorching pain; No sacrament can bid the dead Arise and live again.

"O break, my heart, O break at once! Be thou my god, Despair! Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me. And vain each fruitless prayer."

"O enter not in judgment, Lord, With thy frail child of clay! She knows not what her tongue has spoke; Impute it not, I pray!

"Forbear, my child, this desperate woe, And turn to God and grace; Well can devotion's heavenly glow Convert thy bale to bliss."

"O mother, mother, what is bliss? O mother, what is bale? Without my William what were heaven, Or with him what were hell?"

Wild she arraigns the eternal doom, Upbraids each sacred Power, Till, spent, she sought her silent room, All in the lonely tower.

She beat her breast, she wrung her hands Till sun and day were o'er, And through the glimmering lattice shone The twinkling of the star.

Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell That o'er the moat was hung; And, clatter, clatter, on its boards The hoof of courser rung.

The clank of echoing steel was heard As off the rider bounded; And slowly on the winding stair A heavy footstep sounded.

And hark! and hark! a knock--Tap! tap A rustling stifled noise; Door-latch and tinkling staples ring; At length a whispering voice:

"Awake, awake, arise, my love! How, Helen, dost thou fare? Wak'st thou, or sleep'st? laugh'st thou, or weep'st? Hast thought on me, my fair?"

"My love! my love! so late at night! I waked, I wept for thee. Much have I borne since dawn of morn; Where, William, couldst thou be?"

"We saddle late--from Hungary I rode since darkness fell; And to its bourne we both return Before the matin bell."

"O rest this night within my arms, And warm thee in their fold! Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind;-- My love is deadly cold."

"Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush! This night we must away; The steed is wight, the spur is bright; I cannot stay till day.

"Busk, busk, and boune! Thou mount'st behind Upon my black barb steed: O'er stock and stile, a hundred mile, We haste to bridal bed."

"To-night--to-night a hundred miles! O dearest William, stay! The bell strikes twelve--dark, dismal hour! O wait, my love, till day!"

"Look here, look here--the moon shines clear-- Full fast I ween we ride; Mount and away! for ere the day We reach our bridal bed.

"The black barb snorts, the bridle rings, Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee! The feast is made, the chamber spread, The bridal guests await thee."

Strong love prevailed: she busks, she bounes, She mounts the barb behind, And round her darling William's waist Her lily arms she twined.

And, hurry! hurry! off they rode, And fast as fast might be; Spurned from the courser's thundering heels The flashing pebbles flee.

And on the right, and on the left, Ere they could snatch a view, Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain, And cot and castle flew.

"Sit fast--dost fear?--The moon shines clear!-- Fleet goes my barb--keep hold! Fear'st thou?"--"O no!" she faintly said; "But why so stern and cold?

"What yonder rings, what yonder sings? Why shrieks the owlet gray?"-- "'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song, The body to the clay.

"With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, Ye may inter the dead; To-night I ride, with my young bride, To deck our bridal bed.

"Come with thy choir, thou coffined guest, To swell our nuptial song! Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast! Come all, come all along!"

Ceased clang and song; down sunk the bier; The shrouded corpse arose: And hurry! hurry! all the train The thundering steed pursues.

And forward, forward, on they go; High snorts the straining steed; Thick pants the rider's laboring breath As headlong on they speed.

"O William, why this savage haste? And where thy bridal bed?" "'Tis distant far,--low, damp, and chill, And narrow,--trustless maid!"

"No room for me?"--"Enough for both; Speed, speed, my barb, thy course!" O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge, He drove the furious horse.

Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, Splash! splash! along the sea; The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, The flashing pebbles flee.

Fled past on right and left how fast Each forest, grove, and bower! On right and left fled past how fast Each city, town, and tower!

"Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear, Dost fear to ride with me? Hurrah! hurrah! the dead can ride!"-- "O William, let them be!--

"See there, see there! What yonder swings And creaks 'mid whistling rain?" "Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel, A murderer in his chain.

"Hollo! thou felon, follow here: To bridal bed we ride; And thou shalt prance a fetter dance Before me and my bride."

And hurry! hurry! clash, clash, clash! The wasted form descends; And fleet as wind through hazel bush The wild career attends.

Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, Splash! splash! along the sea; The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee.

How fled what moonshine faintly showed! How fled what darkness hid! How fled the earth beneath their feet, The heaven above their head!

"Dost fear? dost fear? the moon shines clear And well the dead can ride; Dost, faithful Helen, fear for them?"-- "O leave in peace the dead!"

"Barb! barb! methinks I hear the cock; The sand will soon be run; Barb! barb! I smell the morning air; The race is well-nigh done."

Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, Splash! splash! along the sea; The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee.

"Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead; The bride, the bride is come; And soon we reach the bridal bed, For, Helen, here's my home."

Reluctant on its rusty hinge Revolved an iron door, And by the pale moon's setting beam Were seen a church and tower.

With many a shriek and cry whiz round The birds of midnight, scared; And rustling like autumnal leaves Unhallowed ghosts were heard.

O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale He spurred the fiery horse, Till sudden at an open grave He checked the wondrous course.

The falling gauntlet quits the rein, Down drops the casque of steel, The cuirass leaves his shrinking side, The spur his gory heel.

The eyes desert the naked skull, The mold'ring flesh the bone, Till Helen's lily arms entwine A ghastly skeleton.

The furious barb snorts fire and foam, And with a fearful bound, Dissolves at once in empty air, And leaves her on the ground.

Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, Pale spectres flit along, Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, And howl the funeral song:--

"E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft, Revere the doom of heaven. Her soul is from her body reft; Her spirit be forgiven!"

THE WIVES OF WEINSBERG

Which way to Weinsberg? neighbor, say! 'Tis sure a famous city: It must have cradled, in its day, Full many a maid of noble clay. And matrons wise and witty; And if ever marriage should happen to me, A Weinsberg dame my wife shall be.

King Conrad once, historians say, Fell out with this good city; So down he came, one luckless day,-- Horse, foot, dragoons,--in stern array,-- And cannon,--more's the pity! Around the walls the artillery roared, And bursting bombs their fury poured.

But naught the little town could scare; Then, red with indignation, He bade the herald straight repair Up to the gates, and thunder there The following proclamation:-- "Rascals! when I your town do take, No living thing shall save its neck!"

Now, when the herald's trumpet sent These tidings through the city, To every house a death knell went; Such murder-cries the hot air rent Might move the stones to pity. Then bread grew dear, but good advice Could not be had for any price.

Then, "Woe is me!" "O misery!" What shrieks of lamentation! And "Kyrie Eleison!" cried The pastors, and the flock replied, "Lord! save us from starvation!" "Oh, woe is me, poor Corydon-- My neck,--my neck! I'm gone,--I'm gone!"

Yet oft, when counsel, deed, and prayer Had all proved unavailing, When hope hung trembling on a hair, How oft has woman's wit been there!-- A refuge never failing; For woman's wit and Papal fraud, Of olden time, were famed abroad.

A youthful dame, praised be her name!-- Last night had seen her plighted,-- Whether in waking hour or dream, Conceived a rare and novel scheme, Which all the town delighted; Which you, if you think otherwise, Have leave to laugh at and despise.

At midnight hour, when culverin And gun and bomb were sleeping, Before the camp with mournful mien, The loveliest embassy were seen, All kneeling low and weeping. So sweetly, plaintively they prayed, But no reply save this was made:--

"The women have free leave to go, Each with her choicest treasure; But let the knaves their husbands know That unto them the King will show The weight of his displeasure." With these sad terms the lovely train Stole weeping from the camp again.

But when the morning gilt the sky. What happened? Give attention:-- The city gates wide open fly, And all the wives come trudging by, Each bearing--need I mention?-- Her own dear husband on her back, All snugly seated in a sack!

Full many a sprig of court, the joke Not relishing, protested, And urged the King; but Conrad spoke:-- "A monarch's word must not be broke!" And here the matter rested. "Bravo!" he cried, "Ha, ha! Bravo! Our lady guessed it would be so."

He pardoned all, and gave a ball That night at royal quarters. The fiddles squeaked, the trumpets blew, And up and down the dancers flew, Court sprigs with city daughters. The mayor's wife--O rarest sight!-- Danced with the shoemaker that night!

Ah, where is Weinsberg, sir, I pray? 'Tis sure a famous city: It must have cradled in its day Full many a maid of noble clay, And matrons wise and witty; And if ever marriage should happen to me, A Weinsberg dame my wife shall be.

Translated by C. T. Brooks: Reprinted from 'Representative German Poems' by the courtesy of Mrs. Charles T. Brooks.

EDMUND BURKE

(1729-1797)

BY E. L. GODKIN

Edmund Burke, born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1729, was the son of a successful attorney, who gave him as good an education as the times and the country afforded. He went to school to an excellent Quaker, and graduated at Trinity College in 1748. He appears to have then gone to London in 1750 to "keep terms," as it was called, at the Middle Temple, with the view of being admitted to the bar, in obedience to his father's desire and ambition. But the desultory habit of mind, the preference for literature and philosophical speculation to connected study, which had marked his career in college, followed him and prevented any serious application to the law. His father's patience was after a while exhausted, and he withdrew Burke's allowance and left him to his own resources.

This was in 1755, but in 1756 he married, and made his first appearance in the literary world by the publication of a book. About these years from 1750 to 1759 little is known. He published two works, one a treatise on the 'Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful,' and the other a 'Vindication of Natural Society,' a satire on Bolingbroke. Stray allusions and anecdotes about other men in the diaries and correspondence of the time show that he frequented the literary coffee-houses, and was gradually making an impression on the authors and wits whom he met there. Besides the two books we have mentioned, he produced some smaller things, such as an 'Essay on the Drama,' and part of an 'Abridgment of the History of England.' But although these helped to secure him admission to the literary set, they did not raise him out of the rank of obscure literary adventurers, who from the Revolution of 1688, and especially after the union with Scotland, began to swarm to London from all parts of the three kingdoms. The first recognition of him as a serious writer was his employment by Dodsley the bookseller, at a salary of $100 a year, to edit the Annual Register, which Dodsley founded in 1769. Considered as a biographical episode, this may fairly be treated as a business man's certificate that Burke was industrious and accurate. As his income from his father was withdrawn or reduced in 1755, there remain four years during which his way of supporting himself is unknown. His published works were certainly not "pot-boilers." He was probably to some extent dependent on his wife's father, Dr. Nugent, an Irish physician who when Burke made his acquaintance lived in Bath, but after his daughter's marriage settled in London, and seems to have frequented and have been acceptable in the same coffee-houses as Burke, and for the same reasons. But Burke was not a man to remain long dependent on any one. These nine years were evidently not spent fruitlessly. They had made him known and brought him to the threshold of public life.

In 1759, political discussion as we understand it--that is, those explorations of the foundations of political society and analyses of social relations which now form our daily intellectual food--was hardly known. The interest in religion as the chief human concern was rapidly declining. The interest in human society as an organism to be studied, and if need be, taken to pieces and put together again, was only just beginning. Montesquieu's great work, 'The Spirit of the Laws,' which demanded for expediency and convenience in legislation the place which modern Europe had long assigned to authority, had only appeared in 1748. Swift's satires had made serious breaches in the wall of convention by which the State, in spite of the convulsions of the seventeenth century, was still surrounded. But the writer whose speculations excited most attention in England was Bolingbroke. The charm of his style and the variety of his interests made him the chief intellectual topic of the London world in Burke's early youth. To write like Bolingbroke was a legitimate ambition for a young man. It is not surprising that Burke felt it, and that his earliest political effort was a satire on Bolingbroke. It attracted the attention of a politician, Gerard Hamilton, and he quickly picked up Burke as his secretary, treated him badly, and was abandoned by him in disgust at the end of six years.

The peculiar condition of the English governmental machine made possible for men of Burke's kind at this period what would not be possible now. The population had vanished from a good many old boroughs, although their representation in Parliament remained, and the selection of the members fell to the lords of the soil. About one hundred and fifty members of the House of Commons were in this way chosen by great landed proprietors, and it is to be said to their credit that they used their power freely to introduce unknown young men of talent into public life. Moreover in many cases, if not in most, small boroughs, however well peopled, were expected to elect the proprietor's nominee. Burke after leaving Hamilton's service was for a short time private secretary to Lord Rockingham, when the latter succeeded Grenville in the Ministry in 1766; but when he went out, Burke obtained a seat in Parliament in 1765 in the manner we have described, for the borough of Wendover, from Lord Verney, who owned it. He made his first successful speech the same year, and was complimented by Pitt. He was already recognized as a man of enormous information, as any one who edited the Annual Register had to be.

A man of such powers and tastes in that day naturally became a pamphleteer. Outside of Parliament there was no other mode of discussing public affairs. The periodical press for purposes of discussion did not exist. During and after the Great Rebellion, the pamphlet had made its appearance as the chief instrument of controversy. Defoe used it freely after the Restoration. Swift made a great hit with it, and probably achieved the first sensational sale with his pamphlet on 'The Conduct of the Allies.' Bolingbroke's 'Patriot King' was a work of the same class. As a rule the pamphlet exposed or refuted somebody, even if it also freely expounded. It was inevitable that Burke should early begin to wield this most powerful of existing weapons. His antagonist was ready for him in the person of George Grenville, the minister who had made way for Burke's friend and patron Lord Rockingham. Grenville showed, as easily as any party newspaper in our own day, that Rockingham and his friends had ruined the country by mismanagement of the war and of the finances. Burke refuted him with a mastery of facts and figures, and a familiarity with the operations of trade and commerce, and a power of exposition and illustration, and a comprehension of the fundamental conditions of national economy, which at once made him famous and a necessary man for the Whigs in the great struggle with the Crown on which they were entering.

The nature of this struggle cannot be better described in brief space than by saying that the King, from his accession to the throne down to the close of the American War, was engaged in a persistent effort to govern through ministers chosen and dismissed, as the German ministers are now, by himself; while the subservience of Parliament was secured by the profuse use of pensions and places. To this attempt, and all the abuses which inevitably grew out of it, the Whigs with Burke as their intellectual head offered a determined resistance, and the conflict was one extraordinarily well calculated to bring his peculiar powers into play.

The leading events in this long struggle were the attempt of the House of Commons to disqualify Wilkes for a seat in the House, to punish reporting their debates as a breach of privilege, and the prosecution of the war against the American colonies. It may be said to have begun at the accession of the King, and to have lasted until the resignation of Lord North after the surrender of Cornwallis, or from 1770 to 1783.