In the court, filled with impatience,
Pawed and neighed the fiery horses.
Full of joyful expectation
For the sport were the young people.
Bent on fishing they had carried
The great net up from the river.
Worthy Anton had invited
Many friends of the old Baron,
Also had communicated
With the ladies of the convent;
And, besides, some uninvited
Guests had also here assembled.
When the landlord of the "Button"
Heard the news, he to his wife said:
"To thy care I trust entirely
All the business of the tavern;
In thy hands I lay the keys now
Of the cellar and the larder,
I must join the fishing-party."
Speaking thus he stole off quickly;
Ne'er he missed a hunt or fishing.
Strong and hearty looked the Baron,
On his charger firmly seated
Like a bronze equestrian statue.
By his side on her white palfrey
Rode the lovely Margaretta.
Gracefully to her slim figure
Clung in folds her riding-habit;
Gracefully the blue veil floated
From her riding-hat of velvet.
With a steady hand she boldly
Reined her palfrey, who was bearing
With delight so fair a burden.
Watchfully good Anton followed
His fair mistress; also Werner
After them was gaily trotting,
Though at a respectful distance.
For, behind, in solemn grandeur,
Came the big old-fashioned carriage
Of the Lady Princess Abbess,
With three ladies of the convent,
Likewise old and venerable.
They by Werner were escorted.
He made many courtly speeches
To these old and noble ladies,
And broke many flowering branches
From the trees, and most politely
Handed them into the carriage;
So that, struck with his fine manners,
They unto each other whispered:
"What a pity he's not noble!"
Up hill steep the road ascended,
And the forest of dark pine-trees
Now received the long procession.
Soon then through the dusky branches
Silver like the mountain-lake shone,
And already merry shouting
Came from thence; for the young people
Of the town had gained the lake-shore
By a shorter steeper path.
At the summit, where the main-road
Took a different direction,
Carriages and riders halted,
And the vehicles and horses
To the servants' care were left.
Full of vigour, through the forest,
Down the hill-slope walked the Baron,
And the ladies followed bravely.
Mosses like the softest velvet
Thickly covered all the ground there,
And descending was not dangerous.
On a ridge, which wide and sunny,
Far into the lake protruded,
Numerous blocks of rock lay scattered.
There the Baron rested, and the
Ladies followed his example.
Deep green lake, dense shade of fir-trees,
Many thousand times I greet you.
I who now this song am singing
Of the past, rejoice in you still.
Oh, how oft ye have refreshed me,
When escaping from the daily
Narrowness of petty town life,
Out to you I used to wander.
Often on the rock I've rested,
Which the roots of the old pine-trees
Cling to, while beneath the lake lies
With its gently rippled surface.
In deep shade the shores lie buried,
But the glittering rays of sunlight
Gaily dance across the water.
All around reigned holy silence,
Only heard there was the hammering
Of the pecker on the pine-trees.
Through the fallen leaves and mosses
Rustled softly emerald lizards,
And with clever questioning glances
Curiously they eyed the stranger.
Yes, I often lay there dreaming;
And when often still at night-fall
I sat there, I heard a rustling
Through the reeds, the water-lilies
Whispered softly to each other.
Then arose from the deep water
Mermaids, whose fair pallid faces
Brightly shone in the soft moonlight.
Heart overwhelming, mind bewildering,
Were their gliding graceful motions;
And they beckoned me to come there.
But the fir-tree held and warned me:
"Stay thou here on terra firma,
Hast no business in the water."
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 Caesar,
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 aesthetic,
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 Actaeon,
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 baton.
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?"