Chapter 4

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 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; So he quickly recognised him, And made him a low obeisance.

Smiling 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. 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. 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 roll 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 Who on my fair shores are dwelling. I, indeed, am your true likeness, Am the history of your nation; Storm and passion, bitter ending, All are pictured in my course. Most romantic is my birthplace, And weird Alpine 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 Cöln in the Cathedral, And become a beast of burden. 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; 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 Through the fields again his master: So shot boldly swiftly downward, On the water 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 downward 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 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 path 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, 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 Troopers 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 learnèd 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 Something of the art of tactics. The attack begins in order; First the skirmishers go forward, Then the flying columns follow. Oh, I wish the devil had them, This whole reconnoitring party! But not even this sufficeth. Just as if I had a fortress In my heart--like guns 'tis roaring. Then it throbs like storming parties, Piif! paif! 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 Burned 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 In his consequential cat-pride, "Right good hearts, and may possess too At the bottom some good feeling, 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 to 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; 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, 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, 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, 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, Smiling 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. 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:

"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. 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 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. 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 From my lips an observation On account of this vile smoking."