Chapter 2

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 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 which 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, 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, 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, Which he greets with joyful shouting. Likewise such a cheerful feeling Brightens up our riders face. So he reached the forest's border, And his eyes, so long restricted By dark woods to narrow prospects, Gladly swept the wide horizon.

O how lovely woods and fields lay! 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 off from the island glisten Battlements and lofty 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 thinker's Eye doth glow and cheek doth redden, When a thought, new and creative, Through his brain has flashed like lightning, 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, Merry now, then full of feeling, Like a prayer devout and solemn, Then again quite roguish, joyful. Now 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 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' War, For God's honour, the calm grandeur Of the Schwarzwald's solemn pine-woods Breathed its peace into his soul. 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. And if, in a 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, 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 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 your 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 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! 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 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 Phæacians 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 solid 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 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.

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 are 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, 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 great big inkstand, 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 law to us expounded. Roman law, when I recall it, 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 Gaius 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? 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: Usucaption and inheritance, And Novella hundred and eighteen, Wailing in adagio tempo. Flew forth from the study window Far into the starry night.

"Yes, this zeal brought me no blessing. I one day went from my lodging, 'Neath my arm the Corpus Juris ('Twas the Elzevir edition, Which 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 Company to wander round with. What I liked, 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 Perkéo; 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. 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 Rüdesheimer; But the earth-cask holds a mixture; Fermentation has half clouded 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!' O Perkéo! 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; 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! 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.

* * * * * * *

"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: '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.'