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."
Graciously the Baron said then:
"Thou hast also been sarcastic
At my drinking oft too freely;
And I have a mind to tell thee
Still a most instructive story,
How in Rheinau in the cloister,
As the guest of the Lord Abbot
I went through a bout of drinking
In the famous wine of Hallau.
But"--the Baron stopped and listened.
"Zounds!" he said, "what's that I hear there?
Whence doth come that trumpet-blowing?"
Werner's music through the March night,
Plaintive soared up to the castle,
Begging entrance like a pet-dove,
Which, returning to its mistress,
Finds the window closed and fastened,
And begins to peck and hammer.
To the terrace went the Baron
And his daughter; Hiddigeigei
Followed both with step majestic.
Through the cat's heart then swept omens
Of a great, eventful future.
All around they looked--but vainly.
For the turret's gloomy shadow
Covered both the bank and Werner.
Like the blowing of the moot, then
Like the clanging charge of horsemen,
Up it mounted to the terrace,
Then died out;--a small boat dimly
They saw moving up the river.
Backward stepped the Baron quickly,
Pulled the bell and called his servant
Anton, who came in directly.
"Gain immediate information
Who was blowing here the trumpet
On the Rhine at this late hour.
If a spirit, sign the cross thrice;
If a mortal, greet him kindly,
And command his presence hither,
For with him I must hold converse."
Soldier-like, saluting, turned then
Right about face good old Anton:
"I'll fulfil your lordship's orders."
Meanwhile, silently descended
Midnight over vale and city;
And in Margaretta's slumbers
Came a dream most sweet and wondrous:
As she walked to the old minster
Once again in festal garments,
Fridolinus came to meet her;
By his side there walked another,
But 'twas not the dead man who once
Followed him to Glarus court-house;
'Twas a youth, fair, tall, and slender;
Like a trumpeter he looked, and
Greeted her with lowly reverence;
While Saint Fridolin was smiling.
SIXTH PART.
HOW YOUNG WERNER BECAME THE BARON'S TRUMPETER.
Master Anton started early
The next morning for the city,
To find out that trumpet blower.
By St. Fridolin's cathedral
He turned off into a side-street.
From the other side there came with
Rapid steps the boatman Martin,
And they met just at the corner,
Bumping up against each other.
"'Pon my soul," cried out the worthy
Anton, as he rubbed his forehead;
"Your thick skull is hard as iron."
"Yours is not upholstered either
With soft wool or springy sea-weed,"
Was the boatman's ready answer.
"And what business have you running
Through the city's streets thus early?"
"I can ask the same," said Anton.
"I seek someone who last evening
From the shore my boat unfastened,"
Answered him the boatman Martin.
"He may be my man," said Anton.
"When I came down to the river,
There I found my boat turned over
On the shore--the rudder broken,
And the fastening cut asunder.
If a thunderstorm would only
Sweep away these wicked people,
Who like thieves at night are roving
On the Rhine in borrowed vessels."
"And the trumpet blow," said Anton.--
"But whenever I shall find him,
To the justice I shall take him.
He must pay me; even for the
Black and blue mark which you gave me,
I shall bring a heavy reckoning.
It is shameful how this fellow
Gives me such vexation!" Thus the
Boatman scolding went on farther.
"And I do not see myself, why
I should take such extra trouble
To hunt up this mischief-maker,"
Said old Anton to himself then.
"Seems to me it is already
Just the time when honest people
For their morning draught are longing."
To the "Golden Button's" shady
Tap-room turned the worthy Anton
Now his steps, and through a side-door
In he stepped: he deemed it wiser
Thus to hide before the public
Such an early morning visit.
Many worthy folks already
Had there quietly assembled
O'er their brimming foaming bumpers.
Like red roses shone their faces,
And like radishes their noses.
"Want a big glass?" asked the waitress
Our old Anton, who assented:
"To be sure! hot is the weather,
And when I woke up, already
In my throat I felt a dryness."
So good Anton soon was drinking
From his large Bohemian bumper,
Turning over in his mind well,
How he should despatch his business.
In the private room was sitting,
Just then Werner with the landlord,
Who had served for his guest's breakfast
A fine slice of red smoked salmon,
And commenced with the young stranger
An instructive conversation:
On the vintage in the Rhine-Pfalz,
How the price of hops was standing,
How they fared in time of war there.
Now and then, to sound the stranger,
He threw slyly out some questions,
Whence he came and what his business.
Still he gained no satisfaction;
But quite shrewdly thus he reasoned:
"He's no bookworm, for he seemeth
Much too martial--nor a soldier
Either, as he looks too modest;
He may be a necromancer,
An adept in all dark witchcraft,
Alchemy, and other black arts.
Wait, I'll catch thee;" and he turned their
Talk to hidden buried treasures,
And to midnight exorcisms.
"Yes, my friend, here near the city
Lies a sandbank in the river.
At the time of Fridolinus
Heaps of gold coin there were buried.
One who knows, a clever fellow,
Could there dig and make his fortune."
"I already saw the sandbank,"
Said young Werner, "when I rowed there
On the Rhine last night by moonlight."
"What, you know it then already?"
Said the landlord much astonished.
"Have I caught thee?" he thought, keenly
Looking at young Werner's pockets,
If he could not hear a jingling
Of great lots of golden money.
"Have I caught thee?" also gladly
To himself said worthy Anton.
"It is, after all, the right thing
Thus to take an early potion."
From the spot where he was seated
He had heard their conversation;
And besides upon the table.
By the stranger's sword and cocked hat,
Also lay the sought-for trumpet.
Drawing near, then, he said gravely:
"With your leave, if you're no spirit--
And that seems to me unlikely.
As you've just enjoyed your breakfast--
Then the Baron sends you greeting,
And invites you to his castle.
I will take you there with pleasure."
Thus he spoke. Young Werner listened,
Half astonished, and went with him.
Smirking, thought the cunning landlord:
"You will get it, my young master;
You believed you had full freedom
Thus to rove about the river,
Spying out long-buried treasures.
But the Baron found you out soon,
And will stop your bold proceedings.
Now you'll get it, when he treats you,
From his amply-furnished stores, to
Some of his well-seasoned curses.
Like a top your head will spin then,
And your ears buzz like a beehive.
But this will concern you solely.
If he keep you in a dungeon
Of your horse I'll take possession;
It will well score off your reckoning."
Once more in the hall together
Were the Baron and his daughter,
And again he smoked his pipe there,
When the ponderous folding-doors were
Opened, and, with modest reverence,
Werner entered. "If you only,"
Said the faithful Anton, "only
Knew, your gracious lordship, what a
Heavy task it was to find him!"
Keenly did the Baron's eyes rest
On young Werner, passing muster;
By her father, lightly leaning
On his arm-chair, Margaretta
Bashfully looked at the stranger,
And with both the first impression
Of each other was most happy.
"It is you, then," said the Baron,
"Who last night have startled us here
With your trumpet-blowing, therefore
I should like to speak to you now."
"This commences well," thought Werner,
And, embarrassed, cast his eyes down
To the ground. But the old Baron,
Kindly smiling, thus continued:
"You believe, perhaps, I shall now
Call you to account for having
Made loud music near the castle?
You are wrong, 'tis not my business;
For no license is here needed
On the Rhine; if anybody
Wants to catch a cold by playing
Late at night there, he may do so.
No, I only wish to ask you,
Whether you would like here often
As last night to blow the trumpet?
But I fear I am mistaken.
You are not by trade a player,
May be one of those damned scribblers,
Secretary to a foreign
Embassy, as many are now
Coaching all about the country,
Just to spoil all that the soldier's
Ready sword had once accomplished?"
"Not bad either," thought young Werner;
Still he liked the Baron's manner.
"I am no professional player,"
Said he, "and still less a scribbler.
As for my part, all the inkstands
In the Holy Roman Empire
Might dry up without my caring.
I am not in any service,
But as my own lord and master
I am travelling for my pleasure,
And await whatever fortune
On my pathway may be blooming."
"Very good, then," said the Baron.
"If it stands thus, you may well hear
Everything I have to tell you;
But before we go on farther,
With old wine it must be seasoned."
Cleverly his thoughts divining,
Margaretta, from the cellar,
Now brought up two dusty bottles
Which, with spider-webs all covered,
In the sand had lain half-buried;
Brought with them two fine-cut goblets,
Which she filled and then presented.
"This wine ripened long before the
War raged in our German country,"
Said the Baron. "'Tis a famous
Choice old wine which grew at Grenzach.
Brightly in the glass it sparkles,
Like pure gold its colour shineth,
And a fragrance rises from it
Like the finest greenhouse flowers.
Master Trumpeter, ring glasses!"
Loudly then rang both their goblets.
Emptying his, the Baron spun out
Farther still the conversation.
"My young friend, you know, as long as
This world lasts, there will be people
Who are fond of hobby-horses.
Some are mystics and ascetics,
Others love old wine or brandy.
Some, antiquities are seeking,
Others are for chafers craving;
Many others make bad verses.
'Tis a curious joke that each one
Much prefers to choose a calling
Most unsuited to his nature.
I thus also ride my hobby,
And this hobby is the noble
Muse of music who regales me.
As King Saul's deep sorrow vanished
At the sound of David's harp once,
So with cheering sounds of music
Do I banish age's inroads
And the gout, my old disturber.
When sometimes in _tempo presto_
I an orchestra am leading,
Oft I think I'm once more riding
At the head of my brave squadrons.
Right wing, charge the enemy! charge!
At them now you piercing violins!
Fire away you kettle-drums now!
In the town here there are many
Skilful players--though among them
Is a want of sense artistic,
And of connoisseurship, only
Their good will doth hide their failings.
Violin, flute, also viol,
All these parts are well supported
And the contrabass is perfect.
But _one_ player still is wanting;
And, my friend, what is a general
Without orderlies, without a
Fugleman the line of battle,
And a band without the trumpet?
"Once 'twas different These old walls can
Hear him still, the valiant Rassmann,
The chief trumpeter of my squadrons.
Ha! that was a noble blowing!
Rassmann, wherefore didst thou die?
"Still as clear as on his last day,
Do I see him at the shooting
Festival at Laufenburg.
His mustache was fiercely twisted,
Bright and glistening was his trumpet,
And his riding-boots were shining
Like a mirror; I was chuckling.
''Tis a point of honour,' said he.
'I must all these Swiss astonish
With myself and with my trumpet.'
"Clear and cheerful rang out yonder
Bugle-horns and trumpets; but as
O'er the choir of forest singers
Sounds the nightingale's sweet warbling,
So above all rang out loudly
Rassmann's wondrous trumpet-blowing.
When we met, his cheeks were scarlet,
And fatigued appeared his breathing.
''Tis a point of honour,' said he;
And blew on still. Then were silenced
All the trumpeters from Frickthal,
Those from Solothurn and Aarau,
By the trumpeter great Rassmann.
Once again we met, 'twas evening.
In the 'Golden Swan' he sat then;
Like a giant 'mid the pigmies
Looked he in this crowd of players.
Many were the goblets emptied
By the trumpeters from Frickthal,
And from Solothurn and Aarau,
But the most capacious goblet
Was drank out by my brave Rassmann.
And with fiery Castelberger,
Which grows on the Aar by Schinznach,
He at last filled up his trumpet.
''Tis a point of honour,' said he;
Drank it out at one long swallow.
'To your health my worthy colleagues!
Thus drinks trumpet-blower Rassmann.'
Midnight had already passed by,
Under tables lay some snoring,
But with steady step and upright
Started Rassmann from the tavern.
On the Rhine with mocking humour
He poured forth a roguish tune yet,
Then a misstep! Poor, poor Rassmann!
Straight he fell into the river,
And the Rhine's tremendous whirlpool
Thundered foaming and engulfed him,
Him the bravest trumpet-blower.
Ha! that was a noble blowing!
Rassmann, wherefore didst thou die?"
Deeply moved the Baron told this;
Then continued after pausing:
"My young friend, and think, last evening
On the Rhine a trumpet rang out
Like a greeting from his spirit,
And a tune I heard performed there,
Such a wilderness of sounds, and
Played in Rassmann's finest manner.
If we only had that trumpet,
Then the gap would be filled up well.
And once more I'd lead a full band,
As it were to frays of music.
Therefore hear now my proposal:
Stay with us here in my castle.
Paralysed is now the music
In the forest-city, blow then
New life into her old bones."
Thoughtfully spoke then young Werner:
"Noble lord, you do me honour,
But I nourish a misgiving.
Slim and straight have I thus grown up,
Have not learnt the art of bending
My proud back in any service."
Said the Baron: "Take no trouble
On that head; because the service
Of the arts enslaves nobody.
Only want of understanding
Makes one lose one's independence.
Be assured, nought is required
Of you but some merry music.
Only, if in idle moments
You would write for me a letter,
Or with my accounts would help me,
I should thank you; for an ancient
Soldier finds the pen a burden."
Still young Werner hesitated;
But a glance at Margaretta,
And the clouds of doubt all vanished.
"Noble lord," he said, "I'll stay then,
On the Rhine shall be my home now!"
"Bravo!" said the Baron kindly.
"From the prompting of the moment
Have the best results proceeded;
Evil springs from hesitation.
Master Trumpeter ring glasses!
With the golden wine of Grenzach,
With a hearty grasp of hands thus
Let us seal our new-made contract."
Turning then to Margaretta:
"I present to you, my daughter,
This new member of our household."
Then young Werner's silent greeting
Was returned by Margaretta.
"Follow me now through the castle,
My young friend, that I may show you
Where you will abide in future.
In the tower there I have the
Very room for a musician,
O'er the Rhine and mountains looking;
And the radiant morning sun will
Wake you early from your slumber.
There you cosily can nestle.
And the trumpet will sound well there."
From the hall they both proceeded.
From the hall the Baron's daughter
Also went, and in the garden
Gathered cowslips and sweet violets,
Also other fragrant flowers,
Speaking to herself: "How lonely
Must the young man feel here, coming
Thus to dwell with utter strangers!
And, besides, the tower-room looks
With its whitewashed walls so naked,
That I think my pretty nosegay
Will do much for its adornment."
SEVENTH PART.
THE EXCURSION TO THE MOUNTAIN LAKE.
Azure heavens, glowing sunlight,
Bees' low humming, larks' gay carols,
Clear as glass the Rhine's green waters.
On the mountains snow is melting,
In the valleys blossom fruit trees,
May begins his reign at last.
In the path before the hall door
Hiddigeigei took his comfort,
Caring only that the sun's rays
On his fur should fall and warm him.
Through the garden walked the Baron
With his daughter, and with pleasure
He beheld the trees in blossom.
"If my life should be preserved still
For a hundred years or longer,
I should always be delighted
With this wonder-breathing May-time.
True, indeed, I set no value
On the May-dew, though the women
Like to wet with it their faces.
I have never seen a soul yet
Who by it improved her beauty;
Have no faith in arts of witchcraft
In the night of St. Walpurgis,
Nor in broomstick-riding squadrons.
Notwithstanding there belongs a
Magic to the month of May.
My old weary bones have suffered
Many painful gouty twinges
From the chilly winds of April.
Now these pains are quite forgotten,
And I feel as if the old strength
Of my youth were through me streaming,
And as if I were once more a
Beardless trim and gay young ensign,
In those days when at Noerdlingen
I fought fiercely, in close combat
With those brave blue Swedish horseman.
So I think, it would be pleasant
To agree, this is a feast-day,
Though no Saint has ever claimed it.
Let us saunter through the forest.
I will breathe the balmy pine air,
And the young folks may try whether
Fortune favours them at fishing.
Yes, to-day I yearn for pleasure.
Anton, get the horses ready."