“A rock had chosen a pine for his bride,
In his rugged arms he bore her,
And vowed, as he cradled her early growth,
For ever he’d keep and adore her.
She was his; who should tear her away from his side?
So deep her roots had she driven;
She clasped him firmly with loving embrace,
That his stony heart was riven.
But the west wind rose, and with angry breath,
He cried ‘Let her go, she is mine!’
So the stormy blast and the love-lorn rock
Strove each with each for the pine.
Till, poised for a moment, as if in doubt,
The pine fell trembling over,
And tore herself loose from the rock’s caress,
And took the storm for her lover.
But little recked he of the pine laid low
As he blustered in mirth down the valley,
Through rocks and forests cleaving his way
With many another to dally.
She clutched with powerless arms at space,
But might not arrest her ruin;
Headlong she fell and abandoned lay
Far from the place she grew in.
And the rock, forlorn, gazed down the abyss
Where she lay at the foot of the mountain,
While, swollen with tears, from his stony side,
Burst forth a perennial fountain.
It shall pour down his side, a ceaseless flood,
In search of the pine for ages;
Time healeth not the gaping wound
Nor the depth of his woe assuages.
And a thousand trees crowd round his crest,
Waving their maiden tresses;
In vain! he careth for none of these,
Still true to his lost caresses.”
We have only been able to give a few leaves from the forest of Carmen
Sylva’s songs. We will now close the picture of the surprising creative
power of our authoress with the last verses of her poem “Carmen.” She
here addresses her readers and says--
“And all which here I have been singing
It is your very own!
From your deep heart its music bringing,
To sad chords of your sorrows ringing,
Winning for you the crown!
Yours were the thoughts for ever ranging,
You made the folk-tales true!
In this earth-day of chance and changing,
Of lives unfolding, deaths estranging,
Look, Soul! there, too, are you!
Perchance, when Death shall bring sad leisure,
And these pale lips are dumb,
Then you my words may better measure,
And in my true love take new pleasure;
Then will my meaning come!”
--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._
In the second edition “My Rest” appeared in small single volumes,
_i.e._--1. “Heights and Depths;” 2. “Worldly Wisdom;” 3. “Mother and
Child;” 4. “Ballads and Romances.”
“My Rhine” was new poetry. Under this title Carmen Sylva brought out
in 1884 a poetical description of the towns and castles of her native
Rhine. Artistic illustrations and etchings of the landscapes adorn each
poem.
“It Knocks.” “Between whiles I have written a little novel of 100
pages,” writes the Queen, “because a poor boy came to beg me to give
his father some editing to do. They were so badly off, he said, and he
wished to surprise his parents with a manuscript of mine. I think it is
the best thing I have written, all the more as it is quite true, and I
have only created the framework. If one is not too discreet, real life
offers more than the creatures of one’s imagination.
“I do not think it makes a difference in the work if the _donnée_ is
true or not. All is true which is true inwardly, for all has happened,
and the novelist has only to disentangle the thread and show why it has
happened. It is tremendously hard work for body and mind.”
“My Book.” An Egyptian picture-book with drawings from Egypt round the
borders, and facsimile poems of Carmen Sylva (1885).
“From Two Worlds.” A novel by Carmen Sylva, written in joint
authorship with Frau Mite Kemnitz, _née_ Bardeleben, and brought
out in 1885 under the pseudonym of “Ditto” and “Idem.” In the form
of letters and journals a love story is here developed between two
persons of different social standing. The young Princess Ulrike von
Grosreichenstein takes a fancy to a Professor of History in Greifswald,
whose principal work she has read. She writes to him of her passionate
admiration. The correspondence leads to a personal meeting and deep
love. Thereupon follows a scene, a love match, a terrible catastrophe,
and at last the noble family, so proud of its descent, is conciliated
to the unalterable facts. It is not the description of real life, but
the different manner of thinking and looking at things, in which the
interest of “In Two Worlds” is centred. The letters of Princess Ulrike
are by “Ditto” (Carmen Sylva), while “Idem” (Mite Kremnitz) originated
the Professor.
“Astra,” a novel by Ditto and Idem (1886). The places described in this
novel are in the immediate neighbourhood of Roumania. The habits of the
people and the country are here described with great exactness and in a
lively manner. Astra goes on a visit to her sister, who is married to a
country gentleman of the province of Bukowina. Sandor becomes enamoured
of the “Will o’ the Wisp,” his graceful sister-in-law. This leads to
a conflict which ends tragically. Here also the epistolary form is
chosen. While the _dramatis personæ_ let us see the innermost thoughts
of their hearts, the development of their characters is clearly
unfolded. Carmen Sylva gave the following answer to some ladies who had
written to inquire if the unhappy being depicted in Astra had really
lived, and whether the novel was based on truth.
“_21st July 1836._--A good novel must, according to my convictions,
never be anything but an imaginary biography. You have only to put
together the contrasts of which every life really consists. You would
hardly believe of how many thousands of prisms a human being is made
up. He is a regular kaleidoscope. As you turn him, he assumes a
different aspect. The motive power of the experience and impressions is
the principal thing. Words spring out of this of themselves.
“Astra is perhaps a vague recollection of a charming creature whom I
always called my Will o’ the Wisp, and who to my eternal sorrow had the
same fate as them all, though this is not in any way like the little
Astra. Margot is the creation of my fellow-worker, Frau Mite Kremnitz,
who had the death-scenes plainly before her mind, though every one was
against it. As to Sandor, we are afraid that he really exists, though,
of course, he is not quite the same. We may not be so indiscreet as to
paint portraits, but the brain is too good a photographic plate not to
take hold of what we have experienced and to reproduce it to a certain
extent, whilst we are thinking that we are working from imagination
alone.
“Our working together is certainly charming. What talks and what sharp
encounters we have when we separate of an evening, and during the night
a new solution has appeared to every one. This then must be the right
one! Still we surprise one another in its execution. Our first book
was called ‘From Two Worlds.’ Since ‘Astra’ we have written a novel,
‘It was a Mistake.’ It appeared in 1886, first in “Nord und Süd,” when
we often took the pen out of each other’s hands and let the other write
on.
“There is another book in print, ‘The Century,’ which is very good.
It is a novel by Ditto and Idem, describing the time of the French
War of 1870. We have already a new book on the brain which is to be
called “Brother and Sister,” and to which we look forward with the
joy of children, and whose tragical moments we dread already, before
the first word is written, for we must pay dearly for it when we dive
into the depths of the heart. We cannot do this without suffering
great pain. And with what anxiety does one ask oneself at every line,
‘Is that true?’ As if one stood before a judge and bore a tremendous
responsibility! For nothing can give authors more pleasure than that
that which comes from the heart should touch the hearts of others. A
book of 300 pages has already lain by for four years, because I have
not the courage to bear all the trials which my characters have to
suffer, and yet I cannot but write what I know to be true.”
“Mistaken”--tales of Ditto and Idem of which most of the circumstances
were taken from life. Amongst other things the story of the funeral
during the snowstorm is most touching. The pathetic and yet so simple
a story of love and death, as well as the description of the terrible
storm, are here recounted with marvellous artistic power.
“Seventeen Songs of the Artisans,” by J. E. Bowen, were translated into
English, and appeared in the Prize Number of the _Independent_ in New
York in 1887. There they will also appear as a small book.
“The Fishers of Iceland,” by Pierre Loti, translated into German by
Carmen Sylva. From a letter of the Queen, 5th September 1887:--
“I should like to do all I can to bring the two nations together, and
make use of everything and everybody for that purpose, for I have a
sort of fixed idea that the Germanic and Latin races should complete
one another. I am now doing something that is to further this object: I
am translating the most beautiful book of modern times, ‘Les Pêcheurs
d’Islande,’ by Pierre Loti, into German. This is quite a new sort of
work, which gives me infinite pleasure. It seems to flow from my pen.
I began it on the 26th of August, and hope to have finished it in
five days, for I have already translated two hundred sheets, and have
only one hundred more to do. It is so wonderfully beautiful that I
rejoice or weep during my work, and enjoy every sentence. It is an epic
poem in prose, simple, grand, and true. In translating I enjoy the
pleasure of producing something, and feel no despair, only pleasure.
How wonderfully beautiful this book is! I feel as if I had made great
progress by reading Pierre Loti. A good book is better for one than the
most severe criticisms, for one can see for oneself what is beautiful
and what is badly written.
“The fishers of Iceland are a part of the people of the coast of
Bretagne who have fished in the Arctic Seas for generations. This
dangerous but remunerative business descends from father to son. It
demands great sacrifices from the ranks of the Bretagne fishermen year
by year. The heroes of the novel, as well as the other characters,
are all types of people, strong and natural characters, which are not
spoilt by the disturbing influences of civilisation. With the eyes
of an artist Pierre Loti has observed the natural phenomena and the
changing lights of those northern regions, and has represented them to
us with the soul of an artist.”
The Queen has translated this book with the same feelings as though
it were her own creation. The descriptions of nature, the storm on
the sea, the simple life of a fisherman, each separate picture in
miniature is rendered word for word in the short and precise style of
Pierre Loti. The touching story reads like a German poem. Carmen Sylva
has artistically accomplished the task of giving the individuality of
the author with a breath of his feelings in another language.
_To Augustus Bungert._
“I am always being preached at to keep quiet and cool while I am at
work, but this is of no use--the fury is there! The next day I look
upon what is finished so coldly, and as if it were the greatest horror,
whilst I cannot take my eyes off when I am at work. If only each work
were not a piece of one’s life, as Daudet so beautifully describes it
in ‘L’homme a la cervelle d’or,’ in the ‘Lettres de mon moulin.’”
* * * * *
Two fairy tales are in preparation, “The Labours of the Pelesch,” a
sort of allegory; “The Strange Adventures of the Gipsy Didica;” and
“Songs of the Artisans.”