Chapter 6

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 midnight, 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. 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: "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 For his gracious royal mistress. Yet with thanks fair Margaretta 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; Tiny bleaks, the river-swallow; 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 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 woodroof's 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 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 the rock he sprang courageous, Saying: "I will sing you something." Smiling now, the others listened, And young Werner stepping forward, 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-tralala 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. 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!' 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, 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."

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, 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, 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, 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 overwhelm 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 pavilion. 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."

Fludribus looked consequential: "Though but trifling is the order, Still I coincide with Cæsar, 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 æsthetic, 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 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 Actæon, 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 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. 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 sounds 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, Who by Art consoled himself for What was wanting in his income, And instead of wine and roast beef Lived upon his flute'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. So she praised the shady coolness And the view from the pavilion, 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 bâton. Ha! that was a splendid bowing, Such a fiddling, such a pealing! Hopping lightly, 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. 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: "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?"