To the isle of Fridolinus,
She the old and stubborn grandam;
And she said: "No new gods need I,
As my life is fast declining.
I'm contented with the old ones,
Who to me are kind and gracious,
Who once gave me my dear husband--
My good, noble Siegebert.
When'er Death from here should take me,
I could never hope to find him;
And for him my heart is yearning.
In the woods I must be buried,
Where the mandrake grows 'neath fir-trees
Which with mistletoe are covered.
I don't wish a cross on my grave,
Shall not envy it to others."
On that very day, however,
Fridolin laid the foundations
Of the cloister and the city;
And his work waxed ever greater,
And afar throughout the country
Was the holy man revered.
When again he paid a visit
To King Clovis' court, in Paris,
On his right the king did place him,
And then solemnly donated
The whole island to his cloister,
And, besides, large tracts of country;
Even a great saint became he.
Have ye never heard the legend
Of the court-day, and Count Ursus,
Which the statues o'er the church door
Have preserved e'en to the present?
A great saint, indeed, became he,
And is still the Rhineland's patron.
To this day prevails the custom
That the peasants have their first-born
By the name of Fridli christened.
* * * *
On the sixth of March young Werner
Gaily parted from the glebe-house;
Gratefully he shook the hand of
The good pastor, who sincerely
Wished him a most pleasant journey.
And the old cook was completely
Reconciled unto the stranger;
Bashfully she cast her eyes down
To the ground, while deeply blushing,
When young Werner, out of mischief,
Kissed his hand to her, when leaving.
Barking ran the two St. Bernards
A long distance with our rider.
Bright and warm the sun was shining
On the town of Fridolinus;
Solemn peals afar resounded,
From the organ of the minster,
As young Werner through the gate rode.
Quickly found he first good shelter
For his horse, and then he walked on
To the crowded lively market,
Went up to the old Cathedral,
And he stood with head uncovered
By the portal, where was passing
Then the festive long procession.
Through the war the precious relics
Of the Saint had been well hidden
In old Laufenburg's strong castle.
They had often in the city
Missed their presence with much sorrow.
Now that peace once more was settled,
They were striving with fresh ardour
To do honour to their saint.
At the head of the procession
Came gay troops of merry children.
But when they too loudly prattled,
Then their old and gray-haired teacher
Pulled them by the ear and scolded:
"Keep quite still, my little people!
Take great care, for Fridolinus
May be listening to your gabbling.
He, a Saint severe and holy,
Will complain of you in Heaven."
Twelve young men came next, who bore the
Coffin, rich with gold and silver,
Which enclosed the Saint's remains.
Bearing it they chanted softly:
Thou who dwellest high in Heaven,
Bless thy people and thy city,
Stretch o'er us thy arms of mercy,
Fridolinus, Fridolinus!
Grant us further thy protection;
From all danger mayst thou guard us,
War and pestilence keep from us,
Fridolinus, Fridolinus!
Then the Dean and all the Chaplains
Followed after--bearing tapers
Came the youthful Burgomaster,
Came the town's wise Corporation
And the other dignitaries:
Bailiff, Revenue-receiver,
Syndic, Notary, Attorney,
And the old Chief Ranger also.
(He came only for decorum,
For with Mother Church and Saints' Days
He was not upon good footing,
Prayed much rather in the forest.)
E'en the Messenger and Sergeant
Did not then, as was their custom,
Take a morning draught together,
But joined gravely the procession.
Then in dusky Spanish mantles,
Ornamented with white crosses,
Came the great Teutonic Order,
All the Knights and their Commander.
Down the river stood in Beuggen
The Teutonic Order's Castle
Whence at early dawn of morning
All these knights had come on horseback.
Then came black-robed, grave and aged,
Noble ladies of the Convent,
And in front by the blue standard
Walked the aged Lady Abbess,
And her thoughts were: "Fridolinus,
Though thou art so full of kindness,
One thing thou canst ne'er restore me,
'Tis my youth, so fair and golden.
It was charming fifty years since,
When my cheeks were red like roses,
And when many knights were captured
In the meshes of my glances!
Long have I done penance for this,
And I hope it is forgiven.
Deeply wrinkled is my forehead,
While the cheeks and lips are faded.
And the sunken mouth is toothless."
Next the train of noble ladies
Came the burghers' comely housewives,
At the end the elder matrons.
Only one in work-day garments
Kept aloof from the procession,
'Twas the hostess from the ancient
Tavern of the "Golden Button;"
So demanded ancient custom.
There--so learn we from the legend--
Stood once in those heathen ages
An old tavern; Fridolinus,
When he first upon the island
Set his foot, had there sought shelter;
But the landlord, a rude heathen,
Spoke unto the holy man thus:
"All you priests are good for nothing,
But to vilify our old gods;
And you seldom carry even
One red farthing in your pocket.
So begone from off my threshold!"
Now the purse of Fridolinus
Had indeed but little in it,
And he had to take his night's rest
Underneath the shady lindens
In the meadow. But the angels
Cared well for him, and he found out,
On awaking, that his purse was
Filled with golden Roman pieces.
Then again the Saint did visit
The inhospitable tavern,
Took a meal, and paid in shining
Money what the host demanded;
And to shame him left moreover
Seven gold coins as a present.
Thus for an eternal warning
To all landlords void of pity,
Although ages had elapsed since,
No one from the "Golden Button"
Could join in the Saint's procession.
As the flowers in the mown field
Gaily bloom 'mid dried up stubble,
So close by the elder matrons
Walked the lovely group of maidens,
Clad in snow-white festive garments.
Many old men, as they saw them
Passing by in youthful beauty,
Thought: "Upon our guard we must be,
For these maidens are as dangerous
As a Swedish regiment."
In the front they bore a statue
Of Our Lady, dress'd most richly,
In a purple velvet garment,
Which they had presented to her,
As a grateful holy offering,
When the weary war was ended.
In that lovely file the fourth one
Was a slender, light-haired maiden;
On her curls, a wreath of violets,
Over which the white veil floated,
And it covered half her features,
Like the hoar-frost in the Spring-time
Glistening on the early rosebud.
With her eyes cast down she passed by
Where young Werner now was standing.
He beheld her. Had the sun then
Blinded suddenly his eyesight,
Or the fair young maiden's beauty?
Although others still came past him,
Rooted to the spot he stood there,
Looking only at the fourth one,
Gazed, and gazed; when the procession
Turned the corner of a side street
Still he gazed, as if the fourth one
In the file he must discover.
"He is caught!" so goes the saying
In that country, when one's soul is
By the wand of love enchanted;
Love can never be our captive,
We are wholly conquered by him.
So beware, my young friend Werner!
Joy and sorrow hides the saying:
"He is caught!" I need not say more.
FOURTH PART.
YOUNG WERNER'S ADVENTURES ON THE RHINE.
Mirth now reigned within the city.
Those who early had united
In the honoured Saint's procession,
Now sat, equally united,
Drinking the good wine before them,
Or the golden foaming beer.
Corks were popping, glasses ringing;
Many huge and mighty goblets
By the guests were emptied quickly,
In St Fridolinus' honour.
Simpering with delight, the landlord
Counted all the empty barrels,
And, with a devout expression,
Chalked them all upon the blackboard.
From the inn outside the gate, which
By the peasants was frequented,
Came gay music; for, with legs crossed,
There sat, playing on his fiddle,
Schwefelhans, the violinist;
And in wild and boisterous dances
Were the Hauenstein young peasants
Twirling round their buxom partners.
Groaning was the floor, and shaking
'Neath their feet and heavy stamping,
From the walls the plaster falling,
So uproarious was their shouting.
From afar, with turned-up noses,
Many dandies looked on sneering;
Yet, within themselves were thinking:
"Better, after all, than nothing."
The sedate and older people
Sat together in the tap-room.
As their ancestors delighted
To get drunk in Woden's honour,
So, in true historic spirit.
They for Fridolin got tipsy.
Many troubled faithful consorts
Pulled their husbands by the coat-tail,
When the second and the third piece
Of hard money here was squandered;
But the husband said quite coolly:
"Dearest wife, control thy humour,
For to-day all must be spent here!"
And he left not till the watchman
With the halberd came and ordered
That 'twas time to close the tavern.
With uncertain steps, ill-humoured,
To his mountain-home he totters:
And the silent night is witness
Of some sudden headlong tumbles.
But she covers them with darkness--
Kindly--as she does the beating
Which, as finish to the feasting,
He bestows on his poor consort.
Lonely, far-off from the bustle,
Walked young Werner toward the Rhine-strand,
Without thinking where he wandered.
Still before his eyes there hovered
Those sweet features of the maiden
Which he had beheld that morning,
But now seemed a dream's fair vision.
Burning was his brow; his eyes now
Restlessly strayed up to heaven,
Then he cast them meekly downward,
As if asking where to find her;
And he did not mind the north wind,
Which his locks dishevelled sadly.
Through his heart hot glowing thoughts ran
Wildly chasing one another,
Like the mist, which in the autumn
Moves around the tops of mountains
In most oddly-changing shapes;
And it rang and surged within him,
Like the first germ of a poem
Growing in the mind's recesses.
Also, thus, in bygone ages,
By the Arno strolled another
Child of man, plunged in deep musing;
And he also blew the trumpet,
Which, like that of the last judgment,
Rang aloud, in piercing notes, through
His benighted rotten age.
But when he, upon that feast-day,
First beheld the wondrous maiden
Who his leading star through life was,
And to Paradise did lead him;
He then wandered by the river,
Under shady oaks and myrtles;
And, for all the joyful feelings
Which within his heart were ringing,
He could only find the utterance:
"Beatrice! Beatrice!"
And thus, after many thousand
And still thousand years have rolled by,
Others, who with love are stricken,
Dreamily will walk the same way.
And whenever the last scion
Of the Germans on the Rhine-shore
Has been gathered to his fathers,
Then will others walk and muse there,
And in gentle foreign language
Murmur the sweet words: "I love thee!"
Do you know them? They have noses
Somewhat flattened out and ugly;
By the Aral and the Irtish,
Now their ancestors drink whisky,
But to them belongs the future.
Youthful love, thou pearl so precious,
To the wounded heart a balsam,
To life's tossing ship an anchor,
Oasis in sandy deserts;
Never would I venture singing
Any new song to thy honour.
I'm one of the Epigoni;
And great hosts of valiant people
Lived before King Agamemnon.
I know also wise King Solomon,
And the petty German poets.
Bashful only, and most grateful,
I recall thy gentle magic.
As a golden light it shineth
Through the mists of youth, and clearly
To our view unveils life's outlines;
Shows us where to plant our footsteps,
And gives courage to the wanderer.
Lofty hopes and timid longing,
Dauntless thoughts and stubborn courage,
All these do we owe to Love;
And the cheerful heart that helps us,
Like a mountain-staff, to spring o'er
Rocks which lie upon our pathway.
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 Coeln 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 learned 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.