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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12473-0.txt b/12473-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5b49df1 --- /dev/null +++ b/12473-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19371 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12473 *** + +VOLUME VI + + + + +HEINRICH HEINE + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN + + + + + +THE GERMAN CLASSICS + +Masterpieces of German Literature + +TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH + + +Patrons' Edition + +IN TWENTY VOLUMES + +ILLUSTRATED + + +1914 + +CONTRIBUTORS AND TRANSLATORS + +VOLUME VI + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI + + +HEINRICH HEINE + + The Life of Heinrich Heine. By William Guild Howard + + Poems + + Dedication. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + Songs. Translators: Sir Theodore Martin, Charles Wharton Stork, T. + Brooksbank + + A Lyrical Intermezzo. Translators: T. Brooksbank, Sir Theodore + Martin, J.E. Wallis, Richard Garnett, Alma Strettell, Franklin Johnson, + Charles G. Leland, Charles Wharton Stork + + Sonnets. Translators: T. Brooksbank, Edgar Alfred Bowring + + Poor Peter. Translated by Alma Strettell + + The Two Grenadiers. Translated by W.H. Furness + + Belshazzar. Translated by John Todhunter + + The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + The Return Home. Translators: Sir Theodore Martin. Kate + Freiligrath-Kroeker, James Thomson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning + + Twilight. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + Hail to the Sea. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + In the Harbor. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + A New Spring. Translators: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker, Charles Wharton + Stork + + Abroad. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Sphinx. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + Germany. Translated by Margaret Armour + + Enfant Perdu. Translated by Lord Houghton + + The Battlefield of Hastings. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Asra. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Passion Flower. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + + Prose + + The Journey to the Harz. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + Boyhood Days. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + English Fragments--Dialogue on the Thames; London; Wellington. + Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + Lafayette. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + The Romantic School. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + The Rabbi of Bacharach. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + The Life of Franz Grillparzer. By William Guild Howard + + Medea. Translated by Theodore A. Miller + + The Jewess of Toledo. Translated by George Henry Danton and Annina + Periam Danton + + The Poor Musician. Translated by Alfred Remy + + My Journey to Weimar. Translated by Alfred Remy + + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN + + Beethoven as a Letter Writer. By Walter R. Spalding + + Beethoven's Letters. Translated by J.S. Shedlock + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS--VOLUME VI + + +Emperor William I at a Court Reception-Frontispiece + +Heinrich Heine. By W. Krauskopf + +Heinrich Heine. By E. Hader + +The Lorelei Fountain in New York. By Herter + +Spring's Awakening. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Flower Fantasy. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Poor Peter. By P. Grotjohann + +The Two Grenadiers. By P. Grotjohann + +Rocky Coast. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Play of the Waves. By Arnold Böcklin + +Market Place, Göttingen + +Old Imperial Palace, Goslar + +The Witches' Dancing Ground + +The Brocken Inn About 1830 + +The Falls of the Ilse + +View from St. Andreasberg + +Johann Wilhelm Monument, Düsseldorf + +The Duke of Wellington. By d'Orsay + +Bacharach on the Rhine + +House in Bacharach + +Franz Grillparzer + +Franz Grillparzer and Kaethi Fröhlich in 1823 + +Grillparzer's House in Spiegelgasse + +Grillparzer's Room in the House of the Sisters Fröhlich + +Franz Grillparzer in His Sixtieth Year + +The Grillparzer Monument at Vienna + +Medea. By Anselm Feuerbach + +Medea. From the Grillparzer Monument at Vienna + +Beethoven. By Max Klinger + + + + +THE LIFE OF HEINRICH HEINE + +BY WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD, A.M. +Assistant Professor of German, Harvard University + +I. + +The history of German literature makes mention of few men more +self-centered and at the same time more unreserved than Heinrich +Heine. It may be said that everything which Heine wrote gives us, and +was intended to give us, first of all some new impression of the +writer; so that after a perusal of his works we know him in all his +strength and weakness, as we can know only an amiable and +communicative egotist; moreover, besides losing no opportunity for +self-expression, both in and out of season, Heine published a good +deal of frankly autobiographical matter, and wrote memoirs, only +fragments of which have come down to us, but of which more than has +yet appeared will perhaps ultimately be made accessible. Heine's life, +then, is to us for the most part an open book. Nevertheless, there are +many obscure passages in it, and there remain many questions not to be +answered with certainty, the first of which is as to the date of his +birth. His own statements on this subject are contradictory, and the +original records are lost. But it seems probable that he was born on +the thirteenth of December, 1797, the eldest child of Jewish parents +recently domiciled at Düsseldorf on the Rhine. + +The parentage, the place, and the time were almost equally significant +aspects of the constellation under which young Harry Heine--for so he +was first named--began his earthly career. He was born a Jew in a +German city which, with a brief interruption, was for the first +sixteen years of his life administered by the French. The citizens of +Düsseldorf in general had little reason, except for high taxes and the +hardships incident to conscription in the French armies, to complain +of the foreign dominion. Their trade flourished, they were given +better laws, and the machinery of justice was made much less +cumbersome than it had been before. But especially the Jews hailed the +French as deliverers; for now for the first time they were relieved of +political disabilities and were placed upon a footing of equality with +the gentile population. To Jew and gentile alike the military +achievements of the French were a source of satisfaction and +admiration; and when the Emperor of the French himself came to town, +as Heine saw him do in 1810, we can easily understand how the +enthusiasm of the boy surrounded the person of Napoleon, and the idea +that he was supposed to represent, with a glamor that never lost its +fascination for the man. To Heine, Napoleon was the incarnation of the +French Revolution, the glorious new-comer who took by storm the +intrenched strongholds of hereditary privilege, the dauntless leader +in whose army every common soldier carried a field marshal's baton in +his knapsack. If later we find Heine mercilessly assailing the +repressive and reactionary aristocracy of Germany, we shall not +lightly accuse him of lack of patriotism. He could not be expected to +hold dear institutions of which he felt only the burden, without a +share in the sentiment which gives stability even to institutions that +have outlived their usefulness. Nor shall we call him a traitor for +loving the French, a people to whom his people owed so much, and to +whom he was spiritually akin. + +French influences, almost as early as Hebrew or German, were among the +formative forces brought to bear upon the quick-witted but not +precocious boy. Heine's parents were orthodox, but by no means bigoted +Jews. We read with amazement that one of the plans of the mother, +ambitious for her firstborn, was to make of him a Roman Catholic +priest. The boy's father, Samson Heine, was a rather unsuccessful +member of a family which in other representatives--particularly +Samson's brother Salomon in Hamburg--attained to wealth and prominence +in the world of finance. + +[Illustration: W. KRAUSKOPF HEINRICH HEINE After a Drawing in the +Possession of Mr. Carl Meinert in Dessau] + +Samson Heine seems to have been too easy-going, self-indulgent, and +ostentatious, to have made the most of the talents that he +unquestionably had. Among his foibles was a certain fondness for the +pageantry of war, and he was in all his glory as an officer of the +local militia. To his son Gustav he transmitted real military +capacity, which led to a distinguished career and a patent of nobility +in the Austrian service. Harry Heine inherited his father's more +amiable but less strenuous qualities. Inquisitive and alert, he was +rather impulsive than determined, and his practical mother had her +trials in directing him toward preparation for a life work, the +particular field of which neither she nor he could readily choose. +Peira, or Betty, Heine was a stronger character than her husband; and +in her family, several members of which had taken high rank as +physicians, there had prevailed a higher degree of intellectual +culture than the Heines had attained to. She not only managed the +household with prudence and energy, but also took the chief care of +the education of the children. To both parents Harry Heine paid the +homage of true filial affection; and of the happiness of the home +life, _The Book Le Grand_ and a number of poems bear unmistakable +witness. The poem "My child, we were two children" gives a true +account of Harry and his sister Charlotte at play. + +In Düsseldorf, Heine's formal education culminated in attendance in +the upper classes of a Lyceum, organized upon the model of a French +Lycée and with a corps of teachers recruited chiefly from the ranks of +the Roman Catholic clergy. The spirit of the institution was +rationalistic and the discipline wholesome. Here Heine made solid +acquisitions in history, literature, and the elements of philosophy. +Outside of school, he was an eager spectator, not merely of stirring +events in the world of politics, but also of many a picturesque +manifestation of popular life--a spectator often rather than a +participant; for as a Jew he stood beyond the pale of both the German +and the Roman Catholic traditions that gave and give to the cities of +the Rhineland their characteristic naïve gaiety and harmless +superstition. Such a poem as _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_ would be +amazing as coming from an unbeliever, did we not see in it evidence of +the poet's capacity for perfect sympathetic adoption of the spirit of +his early environment. The same is true of many another poetic +expression of simple faith, whether in Christianity or in the +mythology of German folk-lore. + +Interest in medieval Catholicism and in folk-lore is one of the most +prominent traits in the Romantic movement, which reached its +culmination during the boyhood of Heine. The history of Heine's +connection with this movement is foreshadowed by the circumstances of +his first contact with it. He tells us that the first book he ever +read was _Don Quixote_ (in the translation by Tieck). At about the +same time he read _Gulliver's Travels_, the tales of noble robbers +written by Goethe's brother-in-law, Vulpius, the wildly fantastic +stories of E.T.A. Hoffmann, Schiller's _Robbers_; but also Uhland's +ballads, and the songs collected by Arnim and Brentano in _The Boy's +Magic Horn_. That is to say: At the time when in school a critical and +skeptical mind was being developed in him by descendants of the age of +enlightenment, his private reading led him for the most part into the +region of romanticism in its most exaggerated form. At the time, +furthermore, when he took healthy romantic interest in the picturesque +Dusseldorf life, his imagination was morbidly stimulated by furtive +visits to a woman reputed to be a witch, and to her niece, the +daughter of a hangman. His earliest poems, the _Dream Pictures_, +belong in an atmosphere charged with witchery, crime, and the +irresponsibility of nightmare. This coincidence of incompatible +tendencies will later be seen to account for much of the mystery in +Heine's problematic character. + +It having been decided, perhaps because the downfall of Napoleon shut +the door of all other opportunity, that Heine should embark upon a +mercantile career, he was given a brief apprenticeship, in 1815 at +Frankfurt, in the following years at Hamburg, under the immediate +patronage of his uncle Salomon who, in 1818, even established the +young poet in a dry goods business of his own. The only result of +these experiments was the demonstration of Heine's total inaptitude +for commercial pursuits. But the uncle was magnanimous and offered his +nephew the means necessary for a university course in law, with a view +to subsequent practice in Hamburg. Accordingly, after some brushing up +of Latin at home, Heine in the fall of 1819 was matriculated as a +student at the University of Bonn. + +In spite of failure to accomplish his immediate purpose, Heine had not +sojourned in vain at Hamburg. He had gained the good will of an +opulent uncle whose bounty he continued almost uninterruptedly to +enjoy to the end of his days. But in a purpose that lay much nearer to +his heart he had failed lamentably; for, always sensitive to the +charms of the other sex, Heine had conceived an overpowering passion +for his cousin Amalie, the daughter of Salomon, only to meet with +scornful rebuffs at the hands of the coquettish and worldly-minded +heiress. There is no reason to suppose that Amalie ever took her +cousin's advances seriously. Her father certainly did not so take +them. On the other hand, there is equally little reason to doubt the +sincerity and depth of Heine's feelings, first of unfounded hope, then +of persistent despair that pursued him in the midst of other +occupations and even in the fleeting joys of other loves. The most +touching poems included among the _Youthful Sorrows_ of his first +volume were inspired by Amalie Heine. + +At Bonn Heine was a diligent student. Though never a roysterer, he +took part in various extra-academic enterprises, was a member of the +_Burschenschaft_, that democratic-patriotic organization so gravely +suspected by the reactionary governments, and made many friends. He +duly studied history and law; he heard Ernst Moritz Arndt interpret +the _Germania_ of Tacitus; but more especially did he profit by +official and personal relations with A.W. Schlegel, who taught Heine +what he himself knew best, namely, the secret of literary form and the +art of metrical expression. + +The fall of 1820 saw Heine at Göttingen, the Hanoverian university to +which, shortly before, the Americans Ticknor and Everett had repaired +and at which in that very year Bancroft had attained his degree of +doctor of philosophy. Here, however, Heine was repelled by the +aristocratic exclusiveness of the Hanoverian squires who gave the tone +to student society, as well as by the mummified dryness of the +professors. In marked contrast to the patriotic and romantic spirit of +Bonn he noted here with amazement that the distinguished Germanist +Benecke lectured on the _Nibelungenlied_ to an auditory of nine. His +own residence was destined this time to be brief; for serious quarrels +coming to the ear of the faculty, he was, on January 23, 1821, +advised to withdraw; and in April he enrolled himself as a student at +the University of Berlin. + +The next three years were filled with manifold activities. As a +student Heine was deeply impressed by the absolute philosophy +expounded by Hegel; as a Jew he lent a willing hand to the endeavors +of an association recently founded for the amelioration of the social +and political condition of the Hebrews; in the drawing room of Rahel +Levin, now the wife of Varnhagen von Ense, he came in touch with +gifted men and women who were ardent admirers of Goethe, and some of +whom, a quarter of a century before, had befriended Friedrich +Schlegel; and in the subterranean restaurant of Lutter and Wegener he +joined in the revels of Hoffmann, Grabbe, and other eccentric +geniuses. Heine now began to be known as a man of letters. After +having, from 1817 on, printed occasional poems in newspapers and +magazines, he published in December, 1821 (with the date 1822), his +first volume, entitled simply _Poems_; he wrote newspaper articles on +Berlin and on Poland, which he visited in the summer of 1822; and in +the spring of 1823 he published _Tragedies together with a Lyrical +Intermezzo_--two very romantic and undramatic plays in verse, +separated in the volume by a short series of lyrical poems. + +Meanwhile Amalie Heine had been married and Harry's parents had moved +to Lüneburg. Regret for the loss of Amalie soon gave way to a new +passion for a very young girl, whose identity remains uncertain, but +who was probably Amalie's little sister Therese. In any case, Heine +met the new love on the occasion of a visit to Lüneburg and Hamburg in +the spring of 1823, and was haunted by her image during the summer +spent at Cuxhaven. Here Heine first saw the sea. In less exalted moods +he dallied with fisher maidens; he did not forget Amalie; but the +youthful grace and purity of Therese dominate most of the poems of +this summer. The return from the watering place gave Heine the title +_The Return Home_ for this collection of pieces which, when published +in 1826, was dedicated to Frau Varnhagen von Ense. + +Uncle Salomon, to whom the _Tragedies_ had been affectionately +inscribed, was not displeased with the growing literary reputation of +his nephew. But he saw no sense in the idea that Heine already +entertained of settling in Paris. He insisted that the young man +should complete his studies; and so, in January, 1824, Heine once more +betook himself to Göttingen, where on the twenty-first of July, 1825, +he was duly promoted _Doctor utriusque Juris_. In the summer of 1824 +he made the trip through the Hartz mountains which served as the basis +of _The Journey to the Hartz_; immediately before his promotion he +submitted to baptism in the Lutheran church as Christian Johann +Heinrich Heine. + +Submission is the right word for this conversion. It was an act of +expediency such as other ambitious men found unavoidable in those +days; but Heine performed it in a spirit of bitterness caused not so +much by a sense of apostasy as by contempt for the conventional +Christianity that he now embraced. There can be no sharper contrast +than that presented by such a poem as _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_ and +sundry satirical pieces not included in this volume. + +Two vacations at Norderney, where Heine renewed and deepened +acquaintance with his beloved North Sea, not very resolute attempts to +take up the practice of law in Hamburg, a trip to London, vain hopes +of a professorship in Munich, a sojourn in Italy, vacillations between +Hamburg, Berlin, and the North Sea, complete the narrative of Heine's +movements to the end of the first period of his life. He was now Heine +the writer: poet, journalist, and novelist. _The Journey to the +Hartz_, first published in a magazine, _Der Gesellschafter_, in +January and February, 1826, was issued in May of that year by Campe in +Hamburg, as the first volume of _Pictures of Travel_, beginning with +the poems of _The Return Home_ and concluding with the first group of +hymns to the North Sea, written at Norderney in the previous year. +_Pictures of Travel II_, issued in 1827, consisted of the second cycle +of poems on the _North Sea_, an account in prose of life on the +island, entitled _Norderney, The Book Le Grand_, to which epigrams by +Immermann were appended, and extracts from _Letters from Berlin_ +published in 1822. _Pictures of Travel III_ (1830) began with +experiences in Italy, but degenerated into a provoked but ruthless +attack upon Platen. _Pictures of Travel IV_ (1831) included _English +Fragments_, the record of Heine's observations in London, and _The +City of Lucca_, a supplementary chapter on Italy. In October, 1827, +Heine collected under the title _Book of Songs_ nearly all of his +poems written up to that time. + +The first period in Heine's life closes with the year 1831. The +Parisian revolution of July, 1830, had turned the eyes of all Europe +toward the land in which political experiments are made for the +benefit of mankind. Many a German was attracted thither, and not +without reason Heine hoped to find there a more promising field for +the employment of his talents than with all his wanderings he had +discovered in Germany. Toward the end of May, 1831, he arrived in +Paris, and Paris was thenceforth his home until his death on the +seventeenth of February, 1856. + +II + +In the preface to the second edition of the _Book of Songs_, written +at Paris in 1837, Heine confessed that for some time past he had felt +a certain repugnance to versification; that the poems therewith +offered for the second time to the public were the product of a time +when, in contrast to the present, the flame of truth had rather heated +than clarified his mind; and expressed the hope that his recent +political, theological, and philosophical writings--all springing from +the same idea and intention as the poems--might atone for any weakness +in the poems. Heine wrote poetry after 1831, and he wrote prose before +1831; but in a general way what he says of his two periods is correct: +before his emigration he was primarily a poet, and afterwards +primarily a critic, journalist, and popular historian. In his first +period he wrote chiefly about his own experiences; in his second, +chiefly about affairs past and present in which he was interested. + +As to the works of the first period, we might hesitate to say whether +the _Pictures of Travel_ or the _Book of Songs_ were the more +characteristic product. In whichever way our judgment finally +inclined, we should declare that the _Pictures of Travel_ were +essentially prosified poems and that the poems were, in their +collected form, versified _Pictures of Travel_; and that both, +moreover, were dominated, as the writings after 1831 were dominated, +by a romantically tinged longing for individual liberty. + +The title _Pictures of Travel_, to which Heine gave so definite a +connotation, is not in itself a true index to the multifarious +contents of the series of traveler's notes, any more than the volumes +taken each by itself were units. Pages of verse followed pages of +prose; and in the _Journey to the Hartz_, verse interspersed in prose +emphasizes the lyrical character of the composition. Heine does indeed +give pictures of some of the scenes that he visits; but he also +narrates his passage from point to point; and at every point he sets +forth his recollections, his thoughts, his dreams, his personal +reaction upon any idea that comes into his head; so that the +substance, especially of the _Journey to the Hartz_, is less what was +to be seen in the Hartz than what was suggested to a very lively +imagination; and we admire the agility with which the writer jumps +from place to place quite as much as the suppleness with which he can +at will unconditionally subject himself to the genius of a single +locality. For Heine is capable of writing straightforward descriptive +prose, as well-ordered and as matter-of-fact as a narrative of +Kleist's. But the world of reality, where everything has an assignable +reason for its being and doing, is not the world into which he most +delights to conduct us. This world, on the contrary, is that in which +the water "murmurs and rustles so wonderfully, the birds pour forth +broken love-sick strains, the trees whisper as if with a thousand +maidens' tongues, the odd mountain flowers peep up at us as if with a +thousand maidens' eyes, stretching out to us their curious, broad, +drolly scalloped leaves; the sunrays flash here and there in sport, +the herbs, as though endowed with reason, are telling one another +their green legends, all seems enchanted"--in other words, a +wonderland disturbed by no doubts on the part of a rationalistic +Alice. And a further secret of this fascinating, though in the long +run exasperating style, is the sublime audacity with which Heine +dances now on one foot and now on the other, leaving you at every +moment in amused perplexity, whether you shall next find him standing +firmly on mother earth or bounding upward to recline on the clouds. + +"A mixture of description of nature, wit, poetry, and observation à la +Washington Irving" Heine himself called the _Journey to the Hartz_. +The novelty lay in the mixture, and in the fact that though the +ingredients are, so to speak, potentized in the highest degree, they +are brought to nearly perfect congruence and fusion by the +irresistible solvent of the second named. The _Journey to the Hartz_ +is a work of wit, in the present sense, and in the older sense of +that word. It is a product of superior intelligence--not a _Sketch +Book_, but a single canvas with an infinitude of details; not a +_Sentimental Journey_--although Heine can outdo Sterne in +sentimentality, he too persistently outdoes him also in satire--the +work, fragmentary and outwardly formless, is in essence thoroughly +informed by a two-fold purpose: to ridicule pedantry and philistinism, +and to extol nature and the life of those uncorrupted by the world. + +A similar unity is unmistakable in the _Book of Songs_. It would be +difficult to find another volume of poems so cunningly composed. If we +examine the book in its most obvious aspect, we find it beginning with +_Youthful Sorrows_ and ending with hymns to the North Sea; passing, +that is to say, from the most subjective to the most objective of +Heine's poetic expressions. The first of the _Youthful Sorrows_ are +_Dream Pictures_, crude and grotesque imitations of an inferior +romantic _genre_; the _North Sea Pictures_ are magnificent attempts in +highly original form to catch the elusive moods of a great natural +element which before Heine had played but little part in German +poetry. From the _Dream Pictures_ we proceed to _Songs_ (a very simple +love story told in forms as nearly conventional as Heine ever used), +to _Romances_ which, with the notable exception of _The Two +Grenadiers_ and _Belshazzar_, are relatively feeble attempts at the +objectivation of personal suffering; and thence to _Sonnets_, direct +communications to particular persons. Thereupon follow the _Lyrical +Intermezzo_ and the _Return Home_, each with a prologue and an +epilogue, and with several series of pieces which, like the _Songs_ +above mentioned, are printed without titles and are successive +sentences or paragraphs in the poet's own love story. This he tells +over and over again, without monotony, because the story gains in +significance as the lover gains in experience, because each time he +finds for it a new set of symbols, and because the symbols become more +and more objective as the poet's horizon broadens. Then come a few +pieces of religious content (culminating in _The Pilgrimage to +Kevlaar_), the poems in the _Journey to the Hartz_ (the most striking +of which are animated by the poetry of folk-lore)--these poems clearly +transitional to the poetry of the ocean which Heine wrote with such +vigor in the two cycles on the North Sea. The movement is a steady +climax. + +The truth of the foregoing observations can be tested only by an +examination of the entire _Book of Songs_. The total effect is one of +arrangement. The order of the sections is chronological; the order of +the poems within the sections is logical; and some poems were altered +to make them fit into the scheme. Each was originally the expression +of a moment; and the peculiarity of Heine as a lyric poet is his +disposition to fix a moment, however fleeting, and to utter a feeling, +of however slight consequence to humanity it might at first blush seem +to be. In the _Journey to the Hartz_ he never lost an opportunity to +make a point; in his lyrical confessions he suppressed no impulse to +self-revelation; and seldom did his mastery of form fail to ennoble +even the meanest substance. + +Some of Heine's most perfect products are his smallest. Whether, +however, a slight substance can be fittingly presented only in the +briefest forms, or a larger matter calls for extended treatment, the +method is the same, and the merit lies in the justness and +suggestiveness of details. Single points, or points in juxtaposition +or in succession, not the developed continuity of a line, are the +means to the effect which Heine seeks. Connecting links are left to be +supplied by the imagination of the reader. Even in such a narrative +poem as _Belshazzar_ the movement is _staccato_; we are invited to +contemplate a series of moments; and if the subject is impiety and +swift retribution, we are left to infer the fact from the evidence +presented; there is neither editorial introduction nor moralizing +conclusion. Similarly with _The Two Grenadiers_, a presentation of +character in circumstance, a translation of pictorial details into +terms of action and prophecy; and most strikingly in _The Pilgrimage +to Kevlaar_, a poem of such fundamentally pictorial quality that it +has been called a triptych, three depicted scenes in a little +religious drama. + +It is in pieces like these that we find Heine most successfully making +of himself the interpreter of objects in the outside world. The number +of such objects is greater than is everywhere believed--though +naturally his success is surest in the case of objects congenial to +him, and the variety of these is not great. Indeed, the outside world, +even when he appears to treat it most objectively, proves upon closer +examination to be in the vast majority of cases only a treasure-trove +of symbols for the expression of his inner self. Thus, _Poor Peter_ is +the narrative of a humble youth unfortunate in love, but poor Peter's +story is Heine's; otherwise, we may be sure, Heine would not have +thought it worth the telling. Nothing could seem to be less the +property of Heine than _The Lorelei_; nevertheless, he has given to +this borrowed subject so personal a turn that instead of the siren we +see a human maiden, serenely indifferent to the effect of her charms, +which so take the luckless lover that, like the boatman, he, Heine, is +probably doomed ere long to death in the waves. + +Toward the outside world, then, Heine's habitual attitude is not that +of an interpreter; it is that of an artist who seeks the means of +expression where they may be found. He does not, like Goethe and +Mörike, read out of the phenomena of nature and of life what these +phenomena in themselves contain; he reads into them what he wishes +them to say. _The Book of Songs_ is a human document, but it is no +document of the life of humanity; it is a collection of kaleidoscopic +views of one life, a life not fortified by wholesome coöperation with +men nor nourished with the strength of nature, but vivifying nature +with its own emotions. Heine has treated many a situation with +overwhelming pathos, but none from which he was himself so completely +absent as Mörike from the kitchen of The _Forsaken Maiden_. Goethe's +"Hush'd on the hill" is an apostrophe to himself; but peace which the +world cannot give and cannot take away is the atmosphere of that poem; +whereas Heine's "The shades of the summer evening lie" gets its +principal effectiveness from fantastic contributions of the poet's own +imagination. + +The length to which Heine goes in attributing human emotions to nature +is hardly to be paralleled before or since. His aim not being the +reproduction of reality, nor yet the objectivation of ideas, his +poetry is essentially a poetry of tropes-that is, the conception and +presentation of things not as they are but as they may be conceived to +be. A simple illustration of this method may be seen in _The +Herd-Boy_. Uhland wrote a poem on a very similar subject, _The Boy's +Mountain Song_. But the contrast between Uhland's hardy, active, +public-spirited youth and Heine's sleepy, amorous individualist is no +more striking than the difference between Uhland's rhetorical and +Heine's tropical method. Heine's poem is an elaboration of the single +metaphor with which it begins: "Kingly is the herd-boy's calling." The +poem _Pine and Palm_, in which Heine expresses his hopeless separation +from the maiden of whom he dreams--incidentally attributing to Amalie +a feeling of sadness and solitude to which she was a stranger--is a +bolder example of romantic self-projection into nature. But not the +boldest that Heine offers us. He transports us to India, and there-- + + The violets titter, caressing, + Peeping up as the planets appear, + And the roses, their warm love confessing, + Whisper words, soft perfumed, to each ear. + +Nor does he allow us to question the occurrence of these marvels; how +do we know what takes place on the banks of the Ganges, whither we are +borne on the wings of song? This, indeed, would be Heine's answer to +any criticism based upon Ruskin's notion as to the "pathetic fallacy." +If the setting is such as to induce in us the proper mood, we readily +enter the non-rational realm, and with credulous delight contemplate +wonders such as we too have seen in our dreams; just as we find the +romantic syntheses of sound and odor, or of sound and color, +legitimate attempts to express the inexpressible. The atmosphere of +prose, to be sure, is less favorable to Heine's habitual indulgence in +romantic tropes. + +Somewhat blunted by over-employment is another romantic instrument, +eminently characteristic of Heine, namely, irony. Nothing could be +more trenchant than his bland assumption of the point of view of the +Jew-baiter, the hypocrite, or the slave-trader. It is as perfect as +his adoption of childlike faith in _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_. Many a +time he attains an effect of ironical contrast by the juxtaposition of +incongruous poems, as when a deification of his beloved is followed by +a cynical utterance of a different kind of love. But often the +incongruity is within the poem itself, and the poet, destroying the +illusion of his created image, gets a melancholy satisfaction from +derision of his own grief. This procedure perfectly symbolizes a +distracted mind; it undoubtedly suggests a superior point of view, +from which the tribulations of an insignificant individual are seen to +be insignificant; but in a larger sense it symbolizes the very +instability and waywardness of Heine himself. His emotions were +unquestionably deep and recurrent, but they were not constant. His +devotion to ideals did not preclude indulgence in very unideal +pleasures; and his love of Amalie and Therese, hopeless from the +beginning, could not, except in especially fortunate moments, avoid +erring in the direction either of sentimentality or of bitterness. But +Heine was too keenly intellectual to be indulgent of sentimentality, +and too caustic to restrain bitterness. Hence the bitter-sweet of many +of his pieces, so agreeably stimulating and so suggestive of an +elastic temperament. + +There is, however, a still more pervasive incongruity between this +temperament and the forms in which it expressed itself. Heine's love +poems--two-thirds of the _Book of Songs_--are written in the very +simplest of verses, mostly quatrains of easy and seemingly inevitable +structure. Heine learned the art of making them from the _Magic Horn_, +from Uhland, and from Eichendorff, and he carried the art to the +highest pitch of virtuosity. They are the forms of the German +Folk-song, a fit vehicle for homely sentiments and those elemental +passions which come and go like the tide in a humble heart, because +the humble heart is single and yields unresistingly to their flow. But +Heine's heart was not single, his passion was complex, and the +greatest of his ironies was his use of the most unsophisticated of +forms for his most sophisticated substances. This, indeed, was what +made his love poetry so novel and so piquant to his contemporaries; +this is one of the qualities that keep it alive today; but it is a +highly individual device which succeeded only with this individual; +and that it was a device adopted from no lack of capacity in other +measures appears from the perfection of Heine's sonnets and the +incomparable free rhythmic verses of the _North Sea_ cycles. + +Taken all in all, _The Book of Songs_ was a unique collection, making +much of little, and making it with an amazing economy of means. + +III + +Heine's first period, to 1831, when he was primarily a literary +artist, nearly coincides with the epoch of the Restoration +(1815-1830). Politically, this time was unproductive in Germany, and +the very considerable activity in science, philosophy, poetry, +painting, and other fine arts stood in no immediate relation to +national exigencies. There was indeed plenty of agitation in the +circles of the _Burschenschaft_, and there were sporadic efforts to +obtain from reluctant princes the constitutions promised as a reward +for the rising against Napoleon; but as a whole the people of the +various states seemed passive, and whatever was accomplished was the +work of individuals, with or without royal patronage, and, in the +main, in continuation of romantic tendencies. But with the Revolution +of July, 1830, the political situation in Germany became somewhat more +acute, demands for emancipation took more tangible form, and the +so-called "Young Germans "--Wienbarg, Gutzkow, Laube, Mundt, Börne, +and others-endeavored in essays, novels, plays, and pamphlets to stir +up public interest in questions of political, social, and religious +reform. + +Many passages in Heine's _Pictures of Travel_ breathe the spirit of +the Young German propaganda--the celebrated confession of faith, for +example, in the _Journey to the Hartz_, in which he declares himself a +knight of the holy spirit of iconoclastic democracy. In Paris he +actively enlisted in the cause, and for about fifteen years continued, +as a journalist, the kind of expository and polemic writing that he +had developed in the later volumes of the _Pictures of Travel_. +Regarding himself, like many an expatriate, as a mediator between the +country of his birth and the country of his adoption, he wrote for +German papers accounts of events in the political and artistic world +of France, and for French periodicals more ambitious essays on the +history of religion, philosophy, and recent literature in Germany. +Most of the works of this time were published in both French and +German, and Heine arranged also for the appearance of the _Pictures of +Travel_ and the _Book of Songs_ in French translations. To all intents +and purposes he became a Frenchman; from 1836 or 1837 until 1848 he +was the recipient of an annual pension of 4,800 francs from the French +government; he has even been suspected of having become a French +citizen. But he in no sense curbed his tongue when speaking of French +affairs, nor was he free from longing to be once more in his native +land. + +In Germany, however, he was commonly regarded as a traitor; and at the +same time the Young Germans, with the more influential of whom he soon +quarreled, looked upon him as a renegade; so that there was a peculiar +inappropriateness in the notorious decree of the Bundesrat at +Frankfurt, voted December 10, 1835, and impotently forbidding the +circulation in Germany of the writings of the Young Germans: Heine, +Gutzkow, Laube, Wienbarg, and Mundt--in that order. But the occupants +of insecure thrones have a fine scent for the odor of sedition, and +Heine was an untiring sapper and miner in the modern army moving +against the strongholds of aristocrats and priests. A keen observer in +Hamburg who was resolved, though not in the manner of the Young +Germans, to do his part in furthering social reform, Friedrich Hebbel, +wrote to a friend in March, 1836: "Our time is one in which action +destined to be decisive for a thousand years is being prepared. What +artillery did not accomplish at Leipzig must now be done by pens in +Paris." + +During the first years of his sojourn in Paris Heine entered gleefully +into all the enjoyment and stimulation that the gay capital had to +offer. "I feel like a fish in water" is a common expression of +contentment with one's surroundings; but when one fish inquires after +the health of another, he now says, Heine told a friend, "I feel like +Heine in Paris." The well-accredited German poet quickly secured +admission to the circle of artists, journalists, politicians, and +reformers, and became a familiar figure on the boulevards. In October, +1834, be made the acquaintance of a young Frenchwoman, Crescence +Eugenie Mirat, or Mathilde, as he called her, and fell violently in +love with her. She was a woman of great personal attractiveness, but +entirely without education, frivolous, and passionate. They were soon +united; not for long, Heine thought, and he made efforts to escape +from her seductive charms, but ineffectually; and like Tannhäuser, he +was drawn back to his Frau Venus with an attachment passing all +understanding. From December, 1835, Heine regarded her as his wife, +and in 1841 they were married. But Mathilde was no good housekeeper; +Heine was frequently in financial straits; he quarreled with his +relatives, as well as with literary adversaries in Germany and +France; and only after considerable negotiation was peace declared, +and the continuation of a regular allowance arranged with Uncle +Salomon. + +[Illustration: HEINRICH HEINE E. HADER] + +Moreover, Heine's health was undermined. In the latter thirties he +suffered often from headaches and afflictions of the eyes; in the +middle of the forties paralysis of the spinal cord began to manifest +itself; and for the last ten years of his life he was a hopelessly +stricken invalid, finally doomed for five years to that "mattress +grave" which his fortitude no less than his woeful humor has +pathetically glorified. His wife cared for him dutifully, he was +visited by many distinguished men of letters, and in 1855 a +ministering angel came to him in the person of Elise von Krinitz +("Camille Selden") whom he called "_Die Mouche_" and for whom he wrote +his last poem, _The Passion Flower_, a kind of apology for his life. + +Meantime contentions, tribulations, and a wasting frame seemed only to +sharpen the wits of the indomitable warrior. _New Songs_ (1844) +contains, along with negligible cynical pieces, a number of love songs +no whit inferior to those of the _Book of Songs_, romances, and +scorching political satires. The _Romanzero_ (1851) is not unfairly +represented by such a masterpiece as _The Battlefield of Hastings_. +And from this last period we have two quasi-epic poems: _Atta Troll_ +(1847; written in 1842) and _Germany_ (1844), the fruit of the first +of Heine's two trips across the Rhine. + +Historically and poetically, _Atta Troll_ is one of the most +remarkable of Heine's works. He calls it _Das letzte freie Waldlied +der Romantik_ ("The last free forest-song of romanticism.") Having for +its principal scene the most romantic spot in Europe, the valley of +Roncesvaux, and for its principal character a dancing bear, the +impersonation of those good characters and talentless men who, in the +early forties, endeavored to translate the prose of Young Germany into +poetry, the poem flies to the merriest, maddest height of romanticism +in order by the aid of magic to kill the bear and therewith the vogue +of poetry degraded to practical purposes. Heine knew whereof he +spoke; for he had himself been a mad romanticist, a Young German, and +a political poet; and he was a true prophet; for, though he did not +himself enter the promised land, he lived to see, in the more refined +romanticism of the Munich School and the poetic realism of Hebbel and +Ludwig, the dawn of a new day in the history of German literature. + +Heine did not enter the promised land. Neither can we truthfully say +that he saw it as it was destined to be. His eye was on the present, +and in the present he more clearly discerned what ought not to be than +what gave promise of a better future. In the war for the liberation of +humanity he professed to be, and he was, a brave soldier; but he +lacked the soldier's prime requisite, discipline. He never took a +city, because he could not rule his spirit. Democracy was inscribed +upon his banner, sympathy for the disenfranchised bound him to it, but +not that charity which seeketh not her own, nor the loyalty that +abides the day when imperfection shall become perfection. Sarcasm was +his weapon, ridicule his plan of campaign, and destruction his only +accomplishment. + +We shall not say that the things destroyed by Heine deserved a better +fate. We shall not think of him either as a leader or as a follower in +a great national movement. He was not the one man of his generation +through whom the national consciousness, even national discontent, +found expression; he was the man whose self-expressions aroused the +widest interest and touched the tenderest chords. To be called perhaps +an alien, and certainly no monumental German character, Heine +nevertheless made use, with consummate artistry, of the fulness of +German culture at a time when many of the after-born staggered under +the weight of a heritage greater than they could bear. + +[Illustration: THE LORELEI FOUNTAIN In NEW YORK BY HERTER] + + + + +HEINRICH HEINE + + * * * * * + +DEDICATION[1] (1822) + + I have had dreams of wild love wildly nursed, + Of myrtles, mignonette, and silken tresses, + Of lips, whose blames belie the kiss that blesses, + Of dirge-like songs to dirge-like airs rehearsed. + + My dreams have paled and faded long ago, + Faded the very form they most adored, + Nothing is left me but what once I poured + Into pathetic verse with feverish glow. + + Thou, orphaned song, art left. Do thou, too, fade! + Go, seek that visioned form long lost in night, + And say from me--if you upon it light-- + With airy breath I greet that airy shade! + + * * * * * + +SONGS (1822) + +1 [2] + + Oh, fair cradle of my sorrow, + Oh, fair tomb of peace for me, + Oh, fair town, my last good-morrow, + Last farewell I say to thee! + + Fare thee well, thou threshold holy, + Where my lady's footsteps stir, + And that spot, still worshipped lowly, + Where mine eyes first looked on her! + + Had I but beheld thee never, + Thee, my bosom's beauteous queen, + Wretched now, and wretched ever, + Oh, I should not thus have been! + + Touch thy heart?--I would not dare that: + Ne'er did I thy love implore; + Might I only breathe the air that + Thou didst breathe, I asked no more. + + Yet I could not brook thy spurning, + Nor thy cruel words of scorn; + Madness in my brain is burning, + And my heart is sick and torn. + + So I go, downcast and dreary, + With my pilgrim staff to stray, + Till I lay my head aweary + In some cool grave far away. + + 2 [3] + + Cliff and castle quiver grayly + From the mirror of the Rhine + Where my little boat swims gaily; + Round her prow the ripples shine. + + Heart at ease I watch them thronging-- + Waves of gold with crisping crest, + Till awakes a half-lulled longing + Cherished deep within my breast. + + Temptingly the ripples greet me + Luring toward the gulf beneath, + Yet I know that should they meet me + They would drag me to my death. + + Lovely visage, treacherous bosom, + Guile beneath and smile above, + Stream, thy dimpling wavelet's blossom + Laughs as falsely as my love. + + 3[4] + + I despaired at first--believing + I should never bear it. Now + I have borne it--I have borne it. + Only never ask me How. + + * * * * * + +A LYRICAL INTERMEZZO (1822-23) + +1[5] + + 'Twas in the glorious month of May, + When all the buds were blowing, + I felt--ah me, how sweet it was!-- + Love in my heart a-growing. + + 'Twas in the glorious month of May, + When all the birds were quiring, + In burning words I told her all + My yearning, my aspiring. + +2[6] + + Where'er my bitter tear-drops fall, + The fairest flowers arise; + And into choirs of nightingales + Are turned my bosom's sighs. + + And wilt thou love me, thine shall be + The fairest flowers that spring, + And at thy window evermore + The nightingales shall sing. + +3[7] + + The rose and the lily, the moon and the dove, + Once loved I them all with a perfect love. + I love them no longer, I love alone + The Lovely, the Graceful, the Pure, the One + Who twines in one wreath all their beauty and love, + And rose is, and lily, and moon and dove. + +4[8] + + Dear, when I look into thine eyes, + My deepest sorrow straightway flies; + But when I kiss thy mouth, ah, then + No thought remains of bygone pain! + + And when I lean upon thy breast, + No dream of heaven could be more blest; + But, when thou say'st thou lovest me, + I fall to weeping bitterly. + +5[9] + + Thy face, that fair, sweet face I know, + I dreamed of it awhile ago; + It is an angel's face, so mild-- + And yet, so sadly pale, poor child! + + Only the lips are rosy bright, + But soon cold Death will kiss them white, + And quench the light of Paradise + That shines from out those earnest eyes. + +6[10] + + Lean close thy cheek against my cheek, + That our tears together may blend, love, + And press thy heart upon my heart, + That from both one flame may ascend, love! + +[Illustration: SPRING'S AWAKENING _From the Painting by Ludwig von +Hofmann._] + + And while in that flame so doubly bright + Our tears are falling and burning, + And while in my arms I clasp thee tight + I will die with love and yearning. + +7[11] + + I'll breathe my soul and its secret + In the lily's chalice white; + The lily shall thrill and reëcho + A song of my heart's delight. + + The song shall quiver and tremble, + Even as did the kiss + That her rosy lips once gave me + In a moment of wondrous bliss. + +8[12] + + The stars have stood unmoving + Upon the heavenly plains + For ages, gazing each on each, + With all a lover's pains. + + They speak a noble language, + Copious and rich and strong; + Yet none of your greatest schoolmen + Can understand that tongue. + + But I have learnt it, and never + Can forget it for my part-- + For I used as my only grammar + The face of the joy of my heart. + +9[13] + + On the wings of song far sweeping, + Heart's dearest, with me thou'lt go + Away where the Ganges is creeping; + Its loveliest garden I know-- + + A garden where roses are burning + In the moonlight all silent there; + Where the lotus-flowers are yearning + For their sister belovèd and fair. + + The violets titter, caressing, + Peeping up as the planets appear, + And the roses, their warm love confessing, + Whisper words, soft-perfumed, to each ear. + + And, gracefully lurking or leaping, + The gentle gazelles come round: + While afar, deep rushing and sweeping, + The waves of the Ganges sound. + + We'll lie there in slumber sinking + Neath the palm-trees by the stream, + Rapture and rest deep drinking, + Dreaming the happiest dream. + +10[14] + + The lotos flower is troubled + By the sun's too garish gleam, + She droops, and with folded petals + Awaiteth the night in a dream. + + 'Tis the moon has won her favor, + His light her spirit doth wake, + Her virgin bloom she unveileth + All gladly for his dear sake. + + Unfolding and glowing and shining + She yearns toward his cloudy height; + She trembles to tears and to perfume + With pain of her love's delight. + +[Illustration: FLOWER FANTASY _Train the Painting by Ludwig von +Hofmann._] + +11[15] + + The Rhine's bright wave serenely + Reflects as it passes by + Cologne that lifts her queenly + Cathedral towers on high. + + A picture hangs in the dome there, + On leather with gold bedight, + Whose beauty oft when I roam there + Sheds hope on my troubled night. + + For cherubs and flowers are wreathing + Our Lady with tender grace; + Her eyes, cheeks, and lips half-breathing + Resemble my loved one's face. + +12[16] + + I am not wroth, my own lost love, although + My heart is breaking--wroth I am not, no! + For all thou dost in diamonds blaze, no ray + Of light into thy heart's night finds its way. + + I saw thee in a dream. Oh, piteous sight! + I saw thy heart all empty, all in night; + I saw the serpent gnawing at thy heart; + I saw how wretched, O my love, thou art! + +13[17] + + When thou shalt lie, my darling, low + In the dark grave, where they hide thee, + Then down to thee I will surely go, + And nestle in beside thee. + + Wildly I'll kiss and clasp thee there, + Pale, cold, and silent lying; + Shout, shudder, weep in dumb despair, + Beside my dead love dying. + + The midnight calls, up rise the dead, + And dance in airy swarms there; + We twain quit not our earthly bed, + I lie wrapt in your arms there. + + Up rise the dead; the Judgment-day + To bliss or anguish calls them; + We twain lie on as before we lay, + And heed not what befalls them. + +14[18] + + A young man loved a maiden, + But she for another has sigh'd; + That other, he loves another, + And makes her at length his bride. + + The maiden marries, in anger, + The first adventurous wight + That chance may fling before her; + The youth is in piteous plight. + + The story is old as ages, + Yet happens again and again; + The last to whom it happen'd, + His heart is rent in twain. + +15[19] + + A lonely pine is standing + On the crest of a northern height; + He sleeps, and a snow-wrought mantle + Enshrouds him through the night. + + He's dreaming of a palm-tree + Afar in a tropic land, + That grieves alone in silence + 'Mid quivering leagues of sand. + +16[20] + + My love, we were sitting together + In a skiff, thou and I alone; + 'Twas night, very still was the weather, + Still the great sea we floated on. + + Fair isles in the moonlight were lying, + Like spirits, asleep in a trance; + Their strains of sweet music were sighing, + And the mists heaved in an eery dance. + + And ever, more sweet, the strains rose there, + The mists flitted lightly and free; + But we floated on with our woes there, + Forlorn on that wide, wide sea. + +17[21] + + I see thee nightly in dreams, my sweet, + Thine eyes the old welcome making, + And I fling me down at thy dear feet + With the cry of a heart that is breaking. + + Thou lookest at me in woful wise + With a smile so sad and holy, + And pearly tear-drops from thine eyes + Steal silently and slowly. + + Whispering a word, thou lay'st on my hair + A wreath with sad cypress shotten; + awake, the wreath is no longer there, + And the word I have forgotten. + + * * * * * + + + +SONNETS (1822) + +TO MY MOTHER + +1[22] + + I have been wont to bear my head on high, + Haughty and stern am I of mood and mien; + Yea, though a king should gaze on me, I ween, + I should not at his gaze cast down my eye. + But I will speak, dear Mother, candidly: + When most puffed up my haughty mood hath been, + At thy sweet presence, blissful and serene, + I feel the shudder of humility. + + Does thy soul all unknown my soul subdue, + Thy lofty soul that pierces all things through + And speeds on lightning wings to heaven's blue? + Or am I racked by what my memories tell + Of frequent deeds which caused thy heart to swell-- + That beauteous heart which loved me, ah! too well. + +2[23] + + With foolish fancy I deserted thee; + I fain would search the whole world through to learn + If in it I perchance could love discern, + That I might love embrace right lovingly. + I sought for love as far as eye could see, + My hands extending at each door in turn, + Begging them not my prayer for love to spurn-- + Cold hate alone they laughing gave to me. + And ever search'd I after love; yes, ever + Search'd after love, but love discover'd never, + And so I homeward went with troubled thought; + But thou wert there to welcome me again, + And, ah, what in thy dear eye floated then + That was the sweet love I so long had sought. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: POOR PETER _From the Painting by P. Grotjohann_] + + + + POOR PETER[24] (1822) + + 1 + + Grete and Hans come dancing by, + They shout for very glee; + Poor Peter stands all silently, + And white as chalk is he. + + Grete and Hans were wed this morn, + And shine in bright array; + But ah, poor Peter stands forlorn, + Dressed for a working-day. + + He mutters, as with wistful eyes + He gazes at them still: + "'Twere easy--were I not too wise-- + To do myself some ill...." + + 2 + + "An aching sorrow fills my breast, + My heart is like to break; + It leaves me neither peace nor rest, + And all for Grete's sake. + + "It drives me to her side, as though + She still could comfort me; + But in her eyes there's something now + That makes me turn and flee. + + "I climb the highest hilltop where + I am at least alone; + And standing in the stillness there + I weep and make my moan." + + 3 + + Poor Peter wanders slowly by; + So pale is he, so dull and shy, + The very neighbors in the street + Turn round to gaze, when him they meet. + + The maids speak low: "He looks, I ween, + As though the grave his bed had been." + Ah no, good maids, ye should have said + "The grave will soon become his bed." + + He lost his sweetheart--so, may be, + The grave is best for such as he; + There he may sleep the years away, + And rest until the Judgment-day. + + * * * * * + +THE TWO GRENADIERS[25] (1822) + + To France were traveling two grenadiers, + From prison in Russia returning, + And when they came to the German frontiers, + They hung down their heads in mourning. + + There came the heart-breaking news to their ears + That France was by fortune forsaken; + Scattered and slain were her brave grenadiers, + And Napoleon, Napoleon was taken. + + Then wept together those two grenadiers + O'er their country's departed glory; + "Woe's me," cried one, in the midst of his tears, + "My old wound--how it burns at the story!" + + The other said: "The end has come, + What avails any longer living + Yet have I a wife and child at home, + For an absent father grieving. + + "Who cares for wife? Who cares for child? + Dearer thoughts in my bosom awaken; + Go beg, wife and child, when with hunger wild, + For Napoleon, Napoleon is taken! + + "Oh, grant me, brother, my only prayer, + When death my eyes is closing: + Take me to France, and bury me there; + In France be my ashes reposing. + + "This cross of the Legion of Honor bright, + Let it lie near my heart, upon me; + Give me my musket in my hand, + And gird my sabre on me. + + "So will I lie, and arise no more, + My watch like a sentinel keeping, + Till I hear the cannon's thundering roar, + And the squadrons above me sweeping. + + "Then the Emperor comes! and his banners wave, + With their eagles o'er him bending, + And I will come forth, all in arms, from my grave, + Napoleon, Napoleon attending!" + +[Illustration: THE TWO GRENADIERS _From the Painting by P. Grotjohann_] + + * * * * * + +BELSHAZZAR[26] (1822) + + To midnight now the night drew on; + In slumber deep lay Babylon. + + The King's house only was all aflare, + For the King's wild crew were at revel there. + + Up there in the King's own banquet hall, + Belshazzar held royal festival. + + The satraps were marshaled in glittering line + And emptied their beakers of sparkling wine. + + The beakers they clinked, and the satraps' hurras + in the ears of the stiff-necked King rang his praise. + + The King's hot cheeks were with revel dyed, + The wine made swell his heart with pride. + + Blind madness his haughty stomach spurred, + And he slandered the Godhead with sinful word, + + And strutting in pride he blasphemed, the crowd + Of servile courtiers applauding loud. + + The King commanded with haughty stare; + The slave was gone, and again was there. + + Much wealth of gold on his head bare he; + 'Twas reft from Jehovah's sanctuary. + + And the King took hold of a sacred cup + With his impious hand, and they filled it up; + + And he drank to the bottom in one deep draught, + And loud, the foam on his lips, he laughed: + + "Jehovah! Thy glories I spit upon; + I am the King of Babylon!" + + But scarce had the awful words been said + When the King's heart withered with secret dread. + + The boisterous laughter was stifled all, + And corpselike still did wax the hall; + + Lo! lo! on the whited wall there came + The likeness of a man's hand in flame, + + And wrote, and wrote, in letters of flame, + And wrote and vanished, and no more came. + + The King stark-staring sat, a-quail, + With knees a-knocking, and face death-pale, + + The satraps' blood ran cold--none stirred; + They sat like statues, without a word. + + The Magians came; but none of them all + Could read those letters of flame on the wall. + + But in that same night of his vaunting vain + By his satraps' hand was Belshazzar slain. + + * * * * * + +THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR[27] (1823) + +1 + + The mother stood at the window; + Her son lay in bed, alas! + "Will you not get up, dear William, + To see the procession pass?" + + "O mother, I am so ailing, + I neither can hear nor see; + I think of my poor dead Gretchen, + And my heart grows faint in me." + + "Get up, we will go to Kevlaar; + Your book and your rosary take; + The Mother of God will heal you, + And cure your heart of its ache." + + The Church's banners are waving, + They are chanting a hymn divine; + 'Tis at Köln is that procession, + At Köln upon the Rhine. + + With the throng the mother follows; + Her son she leads with her; and now + They both of them sing in the chorus, + "Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!" + +2 + + The Mother of God at Kevlaar + Is drest in her richest array; + She has many a cure on hand there, + Many sick folk come to her today. + + And her, for their votive offerings, + The suffering sick folk greet + With limbs that in wax are molded, + Many waxen hands and feet. + + And whoso a wax hand offers, + His hand is healed of its sore; + And whoso a wax foot offers, + His foot it will pain him no more. + + To Kevlaar went many on crutches + Who now on the tight-rope bound, + And many play now on the fiddle + Had there not one finger sound. + + The mother she took a wax taper, + And of it a heart she makes + "Give that to the Mother of Jesus, + She will cure thee of all thy aches." + + With a sigh her son took the wax heart, + He went to the shrine with a sigh; + His words from his heart trickle sadly, + As trickle the tears from his eye. + + "Thou blest above all that are blest, + Thou virgin unspotted divine, + Thou Queen of the Heavens, before thee + I lay all my anguish and pine. + + "I lived with my mother at Köln, + At Köln in the town that is there, + The town that has hundreds many + Of chapels and churches fair. + + "And Gretchen she lived there near us, + But now she is dead, well-a-day! + O Mary! a wax heart I bring thee, + Heal thou my heart's wound, I pray! + + "Heal thou my heart of its anguish, + And early and late, I vow, + With its whole strength to pray and to sing, too, + 'Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!'" + +3 + + The suffering son and his mother + In their little bed-chamber slept; + Then the Mother of God came softly, + And close to the sleepers crept. + + She bent down over the sick one, + And softly her hand did lay + On his heart, with a smile so tender, + And presently vanished away. + + The mother sees all in her dreaming, + And other things too she marked; + Then up from her slumber she wakened, + So loudly the town dogs barked. + + There lay her son, to his full length + Stretched out, and he was dead; + And the light on his pale cheek flitted + Of the morning's dawning red. + + She folded her hands together, + She felt as she knew not how, + And softly she sang and devoutly, + "Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!" + + * * * * * + +THE RETURN HOME (1823-24) + +1[28] + + Once upon my life's dark pathway + Gleamed a phantom of delight; + Now that phantom fair has vanished, + I am wholly wrapt in night. + + Children in the dark, they suffer + At their heart a spasm of fear; + And, their inward pain to deaden, + Sing aloud, that all may hear. + + I, a madcap child, now childlike + In the dark to sing am fain; + If my song be not delightsome, + It at least has eased my pain. + +2[29] + + We sat at the fisherman's cottage, + And gazed upon the sea; + Then came the mists of evening, + And rose up silently. + + The lights within the lighthouse + Were kindled one by one, + We saw still a ship in the distance + On the dim horizon alone. + + We spoke of tempest and shipwreck, + Of sailors and of their life, + And how 'twixt clouds and billows + They're tossed, 'twixt joy and strife. + + We spoke of distant countries + From North to South that range, + Of strange fantastic nations, + And their customs quaint and strange. + + The Ganges is flooded with splendor, + And perfumes waft through the air, + And gentle people are kneeling + To Lotos flowers fair. + + In Lapland the people are dirty, + Flat-headed, large-mouthed, and small; + They squat round the fire and, frying + Their fishes, they shout and they squall. + + The girls all gravely listened, + Not a word was spoken at last; + The ship we could see no longer, + Darkness was settling so fast. + +3[30] + + You lovely fisher-maiden, + Bring now the boat to land; + Come here and sit beside me, + We'll prattle hand in hand. + + Your head lay on my bosom, + Nor be afraid of me; + Do you not trust all fearless + Daily the great wild sea? + + My heart is like the sea, dear, + Has storm, and ebb, and flow, + And many purest pearl-gems + Within its dim depth glow. + +4[31] + + My child, we were two children, + Small, merry by childhood's law; + We used to creep to the henhouse, + And hide ourselves in the straw. + + We crowed like cocks, and whenever + The passers near us drew-- + "Cock-a-doodle!" They thought + 'Twas a real cock that crew. + + The boxes about our courtyard + We carpeted to our mind, + And lived there both together-- + Kept house in a noble kind. + + The neighbor's old cat often + Came to pay us a visit; + We made her a bow and courtesy, + Each with a compliment in it. + + After her health we asked, + Our care and regard to evince-- + (We have made the very same speeches + To many an old cat since). + + We also sat and wisely + Discoursed, as old folks do, + Complaining how all went better + In those good old times we knew-- + + How love, and truth, and believing + Had left the world to itself, + And how so dear was the coffee, + And how so rare was the pelf. + + The children's games are over, + The rest is over with youth-- + The world, the good games, the good times, + The belief, and the love, and the truth. + +5[32] + + E'en as a lovely flower, + So fair, so pure thou art; + I gaze on thee, and sadness + Comes stealing o'er my heart. + + My hands I fain had folded + Upon thy soft brown hair, + Praying that God may keep thee + So lovely, pure, and fair. + +6[33] + + I would that my love and its sadness + Might a single word convey, + The joyous breezes should bear it, + And merrily waft it away. + + They should waft it to thee, beloved, + This soft and wailful word, + At every hour thou shouldst hear it, + Where'er thou art 'twould be heard. + + And when in the night's first slumber + Thine eyes scarce closing seem, + Still should my word pursue thee + Into thy deepest dream. + +7[34] + + The shades of the summer evening lie + On the forest and meadows green; + The golden moon shines in the azure sky + Through balm-breathing air serene. + + The cricket is chirping the brooklet near, + In the water a something stirs, + And the wanderer can in the stillness hear + A plash and a sigh through the furze. + + There all by herself the fairy bright + Is bathing down in the stream; + Her arms and throat, bewitching and white, + In the moonshine glance and gleam. + +8[35] + + I know not what evil is coming, + But my heart feels sad and cold; + A song in my head keeps humming, + A tale from the times of old. + + The air is fresh and it darkles, + And smoothly flows the Rhine; + The peak of the mountain sparkles + In the fading sunset-shine. + + The loveliest wonderful maiden + On high is sitting there, + With golden jewels braiden, + And she combs her golden hair. + + With a golden comb sits combing, + And ever the while sings she + A marvelous song through the gloaming + Of magical melody. + + It hath caught the boatman, and bound him + In the spell of a wild, sad love; + He sees not the rocks around him, + He sees only her above. + + The waves through the pass keep swinging, + But boatman or boat is none; + And this with her mighty singing + The Lorelei hath done. + +[Illustration: ROCKY COAST _From the Painting by Ludwig von Hofmann._] + + * * * * * + +TWILIGHT[36] (1825-26) + + By the dim sea-shore + Lonely I sat, and thought-afflicted. + The sun sank low, and sinking he shed + Rose and vermilion upon the waters, + And the white foaming waves, + Urged on by the tide, + Foamed and murmured yet nearer and nearer-- + A curious jumble of whispering and wailing, + A soft rippling laughter and sobbing and sighing, + And in between all a low lullaby singing. + Methought I heard ancient forgotten legends, + The world-old sweet stories, + Which once, as a boy, + I heard from my playmates, + When, of a summer's evening, + We crouched down to tell stories + On the stones of the doorstep, + With small listening hearts, + And bright curious eyes; + While the big grown-up girls + Were sitting opposite + At flowery and fragrant windows, + Their rosy faces + Smiling and moonshine-illumined. + + * * * * * + +HAIL TO THE SEA[37] (1825-26) + + Thalatta! Thalatta! + Hail to thee, thou eternal sea! + Hail to thee, ten thousand times, hail! + With rejoicing heart + I bid thee welcome, + As once, long ago, did welcome thee + Ten thousand Greek hearts-- + Hardship-battling, homesick-yearning, + World-renowned Greek hearts. + + The billows surged, + They foamed and murmured, + The sun poured down, as in haste, + Flickering ripples of rosy light; + Long strings of frightened sea-gulls + Flutter away shrill screaming; + War-horses trample, and shields clash loudly, + And far resounds the triumphant cry: + Thalatta! Thalatta! + + Hail to thee, thou eternal sea! + Like accents of home thy waters are whispering, + And dreams of childhood lustrous I see + Through thy limpid and crystalline wave, + Calling to mind the dear old memories + Of dear and delightful toys, + Of all the glittering Christmas presents, + Of all the red-branched forests of coral, + The pearls, the goldfish and bright-colored shells, + Which thou dost hide mysteriously + Deep down in thy clear house of crystal. + + Oh, how have I languished in dreary exile! + Like unto a withered flower + In the botanist's capsule of tin, + My heart lay dead in my breast. + Methought I was prisoned a long sad winter, + A sick man kept in a darkened chamber; + And now I suddenly leave it, + And outside meets me the dazzling Spring, + Tenderly verdant and sun-awakened; + And rustling trees shed snowy petals, + And tender young flowers gaze on me + With their bright fragrant eyes, + And the air is full of laughter and gladness, + And rich with the breath of blossoms, + And in the blue sky the birds are singing-- + Thalatta! Thalatta! + + Oh, my brave Anabasis-heart! + How often, ah! how sadly often + Wast thou pressed hard by the North's fair Barbarians! + From large and conquering eyes + They shot forth burning arrows; + With crooked words as sharp as a rapier + They threatened to pierce my bosom; + With cuneiform angular missives they battered + My poor stunned brains; + In vain I held out my shield for protection, + The arrows hissed and the blows rained down, + And hard pressed I was pushed to the sea + By the North's fair Barbarians-- + And, breathing freely, I greet the sea, + The sea my deliverer, the sea my friend-- + Thalatta! Thalatta! + +[Illustration: PLAY OF THE WAVES _From the Painting by Arnold Böcklin_] + + * * * * * + +IN THE HARBOR[38] (1825-26) + + Happy is he who hath reached the safe harbor, + Leaving behind him the stormy wild ocean, + And now sits cosy and warm + In the good old Town-Cellar of Bremen. + + How sweet and homelike the world is reflected, + In the chalice green of Rhinewine Rummer. + And how the dancing microcosm + Sunnily glides down the thirsty throat! + Everything I behold in the glass-- + History, old and new, of the nations, + Both Turks and Greeks, and Hegel and Gans, + Forests of citron and big reviews, + Berlin and Shilda, and Tunis and Hamburg; + But, above all, thy image, Beloved, + And thy dear little head on a gold-ground of Rhenish! + + Oh, how fair, how fair art thou, Dearest! + Thou art as fair as the rose! + Not like the Rose of Shiras, + That bride of the nightingale, sung by Hafis, + Not like the Rose of Sharon, + That mystic red rose, exalted by prophets-- + Thou art like the "Rose, of the Bremen Town-Cellar," + Which is the Rose of Roses; + The older it grows the sweeter it blossoms, + And its breath divine it hath all entranced me, + It hath inspired and kindled my soul; + And had not the Town-Cellar Master gripped me + With firm grip and steady, + I should have stumbled! + + That excellent man! We sat together + And drank like brothers; + We spoke of wonderful mystic things, + We sighed and sank in each other's arms, + And me to the faith of love he converted; + I drank to the health of my bitterest foes, + And I forgave all bad poets sincerely, + Even as I may one day be forgiven; + + I wept with devotion, and at length + The doors of salvation were opened unto me, + Where the sacred Vats, the twelve Apostles, + Silently preach, yet oh, so plainly, + Unto all nations. + + These be men forsooth! + Of humble exterior, in jackets of wood, + Yet within they are fairer and more enlightened + Than all the Temple's proud Levites, + Or the courtiers and followers of Herod, + Though decked out in gold and in purple; + Have I not constantly said: + Not with the herd of common low people, + But in the best and politest of circles + The King of Heaven was sure to dwell! + + Hallelujah! How lovely the whisper + Of Bethel's palm-trees! + How fragrant the myrtle-trees of Hebron! + How sings the Jordan and reels with joy! + My immortal spirit likewise is reeling, + And I reel in company, and, joyously reeling, + Leads me upstairs and into the daylight + That excellent Town-Cellar Master of Bremen. + + Thou excellent Town-Cellar Master of Bremen! + Dost see on the housetops the little angels + Sitting aloft, all tipsy and singing? + The burning sun up yonder + Is but a fiery and drunken nose-- + The Universe Spirit's red nose; + And round the Universe Spirit's red nose + Reels the whole drunken world. + + * * * * * + +A NEW SPRING (1831) + +1[39] + + Soft and gently through my soul + Sweetest bells are ringing, + Speed you forth, my little song, + Of springtime blithely singing! + + Speed you onward to a house + Where sweet flowers are fleeting! + If, perchance, a rose you see, + Say, I send her greeting! + + 2[40] + + Thy deep blue eyes enchant me, + So lovingly they glow; + My gazing soul grows dreamy, + My words come strange and slow. + + Thy deep blue eyes enchant me + Wherever I may go: + An ocean of azure fancies + O'erwhelms me with its flow. + + 3[41] + + Was once an ancient monarch, + Heavy his heart, his locks were gray, + This poor and aged monarch + Took a wife so young and gay. + + Was once a page-boy handsome, + With lightsome heart and curly hair, + The silken train he carried + Of the queen so young and fair. + + Dost know the old, old story? + It sounds so sweet, so sad to tell-- + Both were obliged to perish, + They loved each other too well. + + * * * * * + +ABROAD[42] (1834) + + Oh I had once a beauteous Fatherland! + High used to seem + The oak--so high!--the violets nodded kind-- + It was a dream. + + In German I was kissed, in German told + (You scarce would deem + How sweetly rang the words): "I love thee well!--" + It was a dream. + + * * * * * + +THE SPHINX[43] (1839) + + It is the fairy forest old, + With lime-tree blossoms scented! + The moonshine with its mystic light + My soul and sense enchanted. + + On, on I roamed, and, as I went, + Sweet music o'er me rose there; + It is the nightingale--she sings + Of love and lovers' woes there. + + She sings of love and lovers' woes, + Hearts blest, and hearts forsaken: + So sad is her mirth, so glad her sob, + Dreams long forgot awaken. + + Still on I roamed, and, as I went, + I saw before me lowering + On a great wide lawn a stately pile, + With gables peaked and towering. + + Closed were its windows, everywhere + A hush, a gloom, past telling; + It seemed as though silent Death within + These empty halls were dwelling. + + A Sphinx lay there before the door, + Half-brutish and half-human, + A lioness in trunk and claws, + In head and breasts a woman. + + A lovely woman! The pale cheek + Spoke of desires that wasted; + The hushed lips curved into a smile, + That wooed them to be tasted. + + The nightingale so sweetly sang, + I yielded to their wooing; + And as I kissed that winning face, + I sealed my own undoing. + + The marble image thrilled with life, + The stone began to quiver; + She drank my kisses' burning flame + With fierce convulsive shiver. + + She almost drank my breath away; + And, to her passion bending, + She clasped me close, with her lion claws + My hapless body rending. + + Delicious torture, rapturous pang! + The pain, the bliss, unbounded! + Her lips, their kiss was heaven to me, + Her claws, oh, how they wounded. + + The nightingale sang: "O beauteous Sphinx! + O love, love! say, why this is, + That with the anguish of death itself + Thou minglest all thy blisses? + + "Oh beauteous Sphinx, oh, answer me, + That riddle strange unloosing! + For many, many thousand years + Have I on it been musing!" + + +GERMANY[44] (1842) + + Germany's still a little child, + But he's nursed by the sun, though tender; + He is not suckled on soothing milk, + But on flames of burning splendor. + + One grows apace on such a diet; + It fires the blood from languor. + Ye neighbors' children, have a care + This urchin how ye anger! + + He is an awkward infant giant; + The oak by the roots uptearing, + He'll beat you till your backs are sore, + And crack your crowns for daring. + + He is like Siegfried, the noble child, + That song-and-saga wonder; + Who, when his fabled sword was forged, + His anvil cleft in sunder! + + To you, who will our Dragon slay, + Shall Siegfried's strength be given. + Hurrah! how joyfully your nurse + Will laugh on you from heaven! + + The Dragon's hoard of royal gems + You'll win, with none to share it. + Hurrah! how bright the golden crown + Will sparkle when you wear it! + + * * * * * + +ENFANT PERDU[45] (1851) + + In Freedom's War, of "Thirty Years" and more, + A lonely outpost have I held--in vain! + With no triumphant hope or prize in store, + Without a thought to see my home again. + + I watched both day and night; I could not sleep + Like my well-tented comrades far behind, + Though near enough to let their snoring keep + A friend awake, if e'er to doze inclined. + + And thus, when solitude my spirits shook, + Or fear--for all but fools know fear sometimes-- + To rouse myself and them, I piped and took + A gay revenge in all my wanton rhymes. + + Yes! there I stood, my musket always ready, + And when some sneaking rascal showed his head, + My eye was vigilant, my aim was steady, + And gave his brains an extra dose of lead. + + But war and justice have far different laws, + And worthless acts are often done right well; + The rascals' shots were better than their cause, + And I was hit--and hit again, and fell! + + That outpost is abandoned; while the one + Lies in the dust, the rest in troops depart; + Unconquered--I have done what could be done, + With sword unbroken, and with broken heart. + + * * * * * + +THE BATTLEFIELD OF HASTINGS[46] (1855) + + Deeply the Abbot of Waltham sighed + When he heard the news of woe: + How King Harold had come to a pitiful end, + And on Hastings field lay low. + + Asgod and Ailrik, two of his monks, + On the mission drear he sped + To search for the corse on the battle-plain + Among the bloody dead. + + The monks arose and went sadly forth, + And returned as heavy-hearted. + "O Father, the world's a bitter world, + And evil days have started. + + "For fallen, alack! is the better man; + The Bastard has won, and knaves + And scutcheoned thieves divide the land, + And make the freemen slaves. + + "The veriest rascals from Normandy, + In Britain are lords and sirs. + I saw a tailor from Bayeux ride + With a pair of golden spurs. + + "O woe to all who are Saxon born! + Ye Saxon saints, beware! + For high in heaven though ye dwell, + Shame yet may be your share. + + "Ah, now we know what the comet meant + That rode, blood-red and dire, + Across the midnight firmament + This year on a broom of fire. + + "'Twas an evil star, and Hastings' field + Has fulfilled the omen dread. + We went upon the battle-plain, + And sought among the dead. + + "While still there lingered any hope + We sought, but sought in vain; + King Harold's corse we could not find + Among the bloody slain." + + Asgod and Ailrik spake and ceased. + The Abbot wrung his hands. + Awhile he pondered, then he sighed, + "Now mark ye my commands. + + "By the stone of the bard at Grendelfield, + Just midway through the wood, + One, Edith of the Swan's Neck, dwells + In a hovel poor and rude. + + "They named her thus, because her neck + Was once as slim and white + As any swan's--when, long ago, + She was the king's delight. + + "He loved and kissed, forsook, forgot, + For such is the way of men. + Time runs his course with a rapid foot; + It is sixteen years since then. + + "To this woman, brethren, ye shall go, + And she will follow you fain + To the battle-field; the woman's eye + Will not seek the king in vain. + + "Thereafter to Waltham Abbey here + His body ye shall bring, + That Christian burial he may have, + While for his soul we sing." + + The messengers reached the hut in the wood + At the hour of midnight drear. + "Wake, Edith of the Swan's Neck, rise + And follow without fear. + + "The Duke of Normandy has won + The battle, to our bane. + On the field of Hastings, where he fought, + The king is lying slain. + + "Arise and come with us; we seek + His body among the dead. + To Waltham Abbey it shall be borne. + 'Twas thus our Abbot said." + + The woman arose and girded her gown, + And silently went behind + The hurrying monks. Her grizzly hair + Streamed wildly on the wind. + + Barefoot through bog and bush and briar + She followed and did not stay, + Till Hastings and the cliffs of chalk + They saw at dawn of day. + + The mist, that like a sheet of white + The field of battle cloaked, + Melted anon; with hideous din + The daws flew up and croaked. + + In thousands on the bloody plain + Lay strewn the piteous corses, + Wounded and torn and maimed and stripped, + Among the fallen horses. + + The woman stopped not for the blood; + She waded barefoot through, + And from her fixed and staring eyes + The arrowy glances flew. + + Long, with the panting monks behind, + And pausing but to scare + The greedy ravens from their food, + She searched with eager care. + + She searched and toiled the livelong day, + Until the night was nigh; + Then sudden from her breast there burst + A shrill and awful cry. + + For on the battle-field at last + His body she had found. + She kissed, without a tear or word, + The wan face on the ground. + + She kissed his brow, she kissed his mouth, + She clasped him close, and pressed + Her poor lips to the bloody wounds + That gaped upon his breast. + + His shoulder stark she kisses too, + When, searching, she discovers + Three little scars her teeth had made + When they were happy lovers. + + The monks had been and gotten boughs, + And of these boughs they made + A simple bier, whereon the corse + Of the fallen king was laid. + + To Waltham Abbey to his tomb + The king was thus removed; + And Edith of the Swan's Neck walked + By the body that she loved. + + She chanted litanies for his soul + With a childish, weird lament + That shuddered through the night. The monks + Prayed softly as they went. + + * * * * * + +THE ASRA[47] (1855) + + Every evening in the twilight, + To and fro beside the fountain + Where the waters whitely murmured, + Walked the Sultan's lovely daughter. + + And a youth, a slave, was standing + Every evening by the fountain + Where the waters whitely murmured; + And his cheek grew pale and paler. + + Till one eve the lovely princess + Paused and asked him on a sudden: + "I would know thy name and country; + I would know thy home and kindred." + + And the slave replied, "Mohammed + Is my name; my home is Yemen; + And my people are the Asras; + When they love, they love and die." + + * * * * * + +THE PASSION FLOWER[48] (1856) + + I dreamt that once upon a summer night + Beneath the pallid moonlight's eerie glimmer + I saw where, wrought in marble dimly bright, + A ruin of the Renaissance did shimmer. + + Yet here and there, in simple Doric form, + A pillar like some solitary giant + Rose from the mass, and, fearless of the storm, + Reared toward the firmament its head defiant. + + O'er all that place a heap of wreckage lay, + Triglyphs and pediments and carven portals, + With centaur, sphinx, chimera, satyrs gay-- + Figures of fabled monsters and of mortals. + + A marble-wrought sarcophagus reposed + Unharmed 'mid fragments of these fabled creatures; + Its lidless depth a dead man's form inclosed, + The pain-wrung face now calm with softened features. + + A group of straining caryatides + With steadfast neck the casket's weight supported, + Along both sides whereof there ran a frieze + Of chiseled figures, wondrous ill-assorted. + + First one might see where, decked in bright array, + A train of lewd Olympians proudly glided, + Then Adam and Dame Eve, not far away, + With fig-leaf aprons modestly provided. + + Next came the people of the Trojan war-- + Paris, Achilles, Helen, aged Nestor; + Moses and Aaron, too, with many more-- + As Judith, Holofernes, Haman, Esther. + + Such forms as Cupid's one could likewise see, + Phoebus Apollo, Vulcan, Lady Venus, + Pluto and Proserpine and Mercury, + God Bacchus and Priapus and Silenus. + + Among the rest of these stood Balaam's ass-- + A speaking likeness (if you will, a braying)-- + And Abraham's sacrifice, and there, alas! + Lot's daughters, too, their drunken sire betraying. + + Near by them danced the wanton Salome, + To whom John's head was carried in a charger; + Then followed Satan, writhing horribly, + And Peter with his keys--none e'er seemed larger + + Changing once more, the sculptor's cunning skill + Showed lustful Jove misusing his high power, + When as a swan he won fair Leda's will, + And conquered Danaë in a golden shower. + + Here was Diana, leading to the chase + Her kilted nymphs, her hounds with eyeballs burning; + And here was Hercules in woman's dress, + His warlike hand the peaceful distaff turning. + + Not far from them frowned Sinai, bleak and wild, + Along whose slope lay Israel's nomad nation; + Next, one might see our Savior as a child + Amid the elders holding disputation. + + Thus were these opposites absurdly blent-- + The Grecian joy of living with the godly + Judean cast of thought!--while round them bent + The ivy's tendrils, intertwining oddly. + + But--wonderful to say!--while dreamily + I gazed thereon with glance returning often, + Sudden methought that I myself was he, + The dead man in the splendid marble coffin. + + Above the coffin by my head there grew + A flower for a symbol sweet and tragic, + Violet and sulphur-yellow was its hue, + It seemed to throb with love's mysterious magic. + + Tradition says, when Christ was crucified + On Calvary, that in that very hour + These petals with the Savior's blood were dyed, + And therefore is it named the passion-flower. + + The hue of blood, they say, its blossom wears, + And all the instruments of human malice + Used at the crucifixion still it bears + In miniature within its tiny chalice. + + Whatever to the Passion's rite belongs, + Each tool of torture here is represented + The crown of thorns, cup, nails and hammer, thongs, + The cross on which our Master was tormented. + + 'Twas such a flower at my tomb did stand, + Above my lifeless form in sorrow bending, + And, like a mourning woman, kissed my hand, + My brow and eyes, with silent grief contending. + + And then--O witchery of dreams most strange!-- + By some occult and sudden transformation + This flower to a woman's shape did change-- + 'Twas she I loved with soul-deep adoration! + + 'Twas thou in truth, my dearest, only thou; + I knew thee by thy kisses warm and tender. + No flower-lips thus softly touched my brow, + Such burning tears no flower's cup might render! + Mine eyes were shut, and yet my soul could see + Thy steadfast countenance divinely beaming, + As, calm with rapture, thou didst gaze on me, + Thy features in the spectral moonlight gleaming. + + We did not speak, and yet my heart could tell + The hidden thoughts that thrilled within thy bosom. + No chaste reserve in spoken words may dwell-- + With silence Love puts forth its purest blossom. + + A voiceless dialogue! one scarce might deem, + While mute we thus communed in tender fashion, + How time slipped by like some seraphic dream + Of night, all woven of joy and fear-sweet passion. + + Ah, never ask of us what then we said; + Ask what the glow-worm glimmers to the grasses, + Or what the wavelet murmurs in its bed, + Or what the west wind whispers as it passes. + + Ask what rich lights from carbuncles outstream, + What perfumed thoughts o'er rose and violet hover-- + But never ask what, in the moonlight's beam, + The sacred flower breathed to her dead lover. + + I cannot tell how long a time I lay, + Dreaming the ecstasy of joys Elysian, + Within my marble shrine. It fled away-- + The rapture of that calm untroubled vision. + + Death, with thy grave-deep stillness, thou art best, + Delight's full cup thy hand alone can proffer; + The war of passions, pleasure without rest-- + Such boons are all that vulgar life can offer. + + Alas! a sudden clamor put to flight + My bliss, and all my comfort rudely banished; + 'Twas such a screaming, ramping, raging fight + That mid the uproar straight my flower vanished. + + Then on all sides began a savage war + Of argument, with scolding and with jangling. + Some voices surely I had heard before-- + Why, 'twas my bas-reliefs had fall'n a-wrangling! + + Do old delusions haunt these marbles here, + And urge them on to frantic disputations? + The terror-striking shout of Pan rings clear, + While Moses hurls his stern denunciations. + + Alack! the wordy strife will have no end, + Beauty and Truth will ever be at variance, + A schism still the ranks of man will rend + Into two camps, the Hellenes and Barbarians. + + Both parties thus reviled and cursed away, + And none who heard could tell the why or whether, + Till Balaam's ass at last began to bray + And soon outbawled both gods and saints together. + + With strident-sobbing hee-haw, hee-haw there-- + His unremitting discords without number-- + That beast so nearly brought me to despair + That I cried out--and wakened from my slumber. + + * * * * * + + + + +THE JOURNEY TO THE HARZ[49] (1824) + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +"Nothing is permanent but change, nothing constant but death. Every +pulsation of the heart inflicts a wound, and life would be an endless +bleeding were it not for Poetry. She secures to us what Nature would +deny--a golden age without rust, a spring which never fades, cloudless +prosperity and eternal youth."--BÖRNE. + + Black dress coats and silken stockings, + Snowy ruffles frilled with art, + Gentle speeches and embraces-- + Oh, if they but held a heart! + + Held a heart within their bosom, + Warmed by love which truly glows; + Ah! I'm wearied with their chanting + Of imagined lovers' woes! + + I will climb upon the mountains, + Where the quiet cabin stands, + Where the wind blows freely o'er us, + Where the heart at ease expands. + + I will climb upon the mountains, + Where the sombre fir-trees grow; + Brooks are rustling, birds are singing, + And the wild clouds headlong go. + + Then farewell, ye polished ladies, + Polished men and polished hall! + I will climb upon the mountains, + Smiling down upon you all. + +The town of Göttingen, celebrated for its sausages and its University, +belongs to the King of Hanover, and contains nine hundred and +ninety-nine dwellings, divers churches, a lying-in hospital, an +observatory, a prison for students, a library, and a "Ratskeller," where +the beer is excellent. The stream which flows by the town is called the +Leine, and is used in summer for bathing, its waters being very cold, +and in more than one place it is so broad that Lüder was obliged to take +quite a run ere he could leap across. The town itself is beautiful, and +pleases most when one's back is turned to it. It must be very ancient, +for I well remember that five years ago, when I matriculated there (and +shortly after received notice to quit), it had already the same gray, +prim look, and was fully furnished with catch-polls, beadles, +dissertations, _thés dansants_, washerwomen, compendiums, roasted +pigeons, Guelphic orders, graduation coaches, pipe-heads, +court-councilors, law-councilors, expelling councilors, professors +ordinary and extraordinary. Many even assert that, at the time of the +Great Migrations, every German tribe left behind in the town a loosely +bound copy of itself in the person of one of its members, and that from +these descended all the Vandals, Frisians, Suabians, Teutons, Saxons, +Thuringians,[50] and others, who at the present day still abound in +Göttingen, where, separately distinguished by the color of their caps +and pipe-tassels, they may be seen straying singly or in hordes along +the Weender Street. They still fight their battles on the bloody arena +of the _Rasenmill, Ritschenkrug_, and _Bovden_, still preserve the mode +of life peculiar to their savage ancestors, and still, as at the time of +the migrations, are governed partly by their _Duces_, whom they call +"chief cocks," and partly by their primevally ancient law-book, known as +the _Comment_, which fully deserves a place among the _leges +barbarorum_. + +The inhabitants of Göttingen are generally divided into Students, +Professors, Philistines, and Cattle, the points of difference between +these castes being by no means strictly defined. The "Cattle" class is +the most important. I might be accused of prolixity should I here +enumerate the names of all the students and of all the regular and +irregular professors; besides, I do not just at present distinctly +remember the appellations of all the former gentlemen; while among the +professors are many who as yet have no name at all. The number of the +Göttingen "Philistines" must be as numerous as the sands (or, more +correctly speaking, as the mud) of the seashore; indeed, when I beheld +them of a morning, with their dirty faces and clean bills, planted +before the gate of the collegiate court of justice, I wondered greatly +that such an innumerable pack of rascals should ever have been created +by the Almighty. + +[Illustration: MARKET PLACE GÖTTINGEN] + + * * * * * + +It was as yet very early in the morning when I left Göttingen, and the +learned ----, beyond doubt, still lay in bed, dreaming as usual that he +wandered in a fair garden, amid the beds of which grew innumerable white +papers written over with citations. On these the sun shone cheerily, and +he plucked up several here and there and laboriously planted them in new +beds, while the sweetest songs of the nightingales rejoiced his old +heart. + +Before the Weender Gate I met two small native schoolboys, one of whom +was saying to the other, "I don't intend to keep company any more with +Theodore; he is a low blackguard, for yesterday he didn't even know the +genitive of _Mensa_." Insignificant as these words may appear, I still +regard them as entitled to be recorded--nay, I would even write them as +town-motto on the gate of Göttingen, for the young birds pipe as the old +ones sing, and the expression accurately indicates the narrow, petty +academic pride so characteristic of the "highly learned" Georgia +Augusta.[51] The fresh morning air blew over the highroad, the birds +sang cheerily, and, little by little, with the breeze and the birds, my +mind also became fresh and cheerful. Such refreshment was sorely needed +by one who had long been confined in the Pandect stable. Roman casuists +had covered my soul with gray cobwebs; my heart was as though jammed +between the iron paragraphs of selfish systems of jurisprudence; there +was an endless ringing in my ears of such sounds as "Tribonian, +Justinian, Hermogenian, and Blockheadian," and a sentimental brace of +lovers seated under a tree appeared to me like an edition of the _Corpus +Juris_ with closed clasps. The road began to take on a more lively +appearance. Milkmaids occasionally passed, as did also donkey-drivers +with their gray pupils. Beyond Weende I met the "Shepherd" and "Doris." +This is not the idyllic pair sung by Gessner, but the duly and +comfortably appointed university beadles, whose duty it is to keep watch +and ward so that no students fight duels in Bovden, and, above all, that +no new ideas (such as are generally obliged to remain in quarantine for +several decades outside of Göttingen) are smuggled in by speculative +private lecturers. Shepherd greeted me as one does a colleague, for he, +too, is an author, who has frequently mentioned my name in his +semi-annual writings. In addition to this, I may mention that when, as +was frequently the case, he came to cite me before the university court +and found me "not at home," he was always kind enough to write the +citation with chalk upon my chamber door. Occasionally a one-horse +vehicle rolled along, well packed with students, who were leaving for +the vacation or forever. + +In such a university town there is an endless coming and going. Every +three years beholds a new student-generation, forming an incessant human +tide, where one semester-wave succeeds another, and only the old +professors stand fast in the midst of this perpetual-motion flood, +immovable as the pyramids of Egypt. Only in these university pyramids no +treasures of wisdom are buried. + +From out the myrtle bushes, by Rauschenwasser, I saw two hopeful youths +appear ... singing charmingly the Rossinian lay of "Drink beer, pretty, +pretty 'Liza!" These sounds I continued to hear when far in the +distance, and after I had long lost sight of the amiable vocalists, as +their horses, which appeared to be gifted with characters of extreme +German deliberation, were spurred and lashed in a most excruciating +style. In no place is the skinning alive of horses carried to such an +extent as in Göttingen; and often, when I beheld some lame and sweating +hack, which, to earn the scraps of fodder which maintained his wretched +life, was obliged to endure the torment of some roaring blade, or draw a +whole wagon-load of students, I reflected: "Unfortunate beast! Most +certainly thy first ancestors, in some horse-paradise, did eat of +forbidden oats." + + * * * * * + +Beyond Nörten the sun flashed high in heaven. His intentions toward me +were evidently good, and he warmed my brain until all the unripe +thoughts which it contained came to full growth. The pleasant Sun Tavern +in Nörten is not to be despised, either; I stopped there and found +dinner ready. All the dishes were excellent and suited me far better +than the wearisome, academical courses of saltless, leathery dried fish +and cabbage _réchauffé_, which were served to me in Göttingen. After I +had somewhat appeased my appetite, I remarked in the same room of the +tavern a gentle man and two ladies, who were about to depart. The +cavalier was clad entirely in green; he even had on a pair of green +spectacles which cast a verdigris tinge upon his copper-red nose. The +gentleman's general appearance was like what we may presume King +Nebuchadnezzar's to have been in his later years, when, according to +tradition, he ate nothing but salad, like a beast of the forest. The +Green One requested me to recommend him to a hotel in Göttingen, and I +advised him, when there, to inquire of the first convenient student for +the Hotel de Brübach. One lady was evidently his wife--an altogether +extensively constructed dame, gifted with a rubicund square mile of +countenance, with dimples in her cheeks which looked like spittoons for +cupids. A copious double chin appeared below, like an imperfect +continuation of the face, while her high-piled bosom, which was defended +by stiff points of lace and a many-cornered collar, as if by turrets and +bastions, reminded one of a fortress. Still, it is by no means certain +that this fortress would have resisted an ass laden with gold, any more +than did that of which Philip of Macedon spoke. The other lady, her +sister, seemed her extreme antitype. If the one were descended from +Pharaoh's fat kine, the other was as certainly derived from the lean. +Her face was but a mouth between two ears; her breast was as +inconsolably comfortless and dreary as the Lüneburger heath; while her +absolutely dried-up figure reminded one of a charity table for poor +theological students. Both ladies asked me, in a breath, if respectable +people lodged in the Hotel de Brübach. I assented to this question with +a clear conscience, and as the charming trio drove away I waved my hand +to them many times from the window. The landlord of The Sun laughed, +however, in his sleeve, being probably aware that the Hotel de Brübach +was a name bestowed by the students of Göttingen upon their university +prison. + +Beyond Nordheim mountain ridges begin to appear, and the traveler +occasionally meets with a picturesque eminence. The wayfarers whom I +encountered were principally peddlers, traveling to the Brunswick fair, +and among them there was a group of women, every one of whom bore on her +back an incredibly large cage nearly as high as a house, covered over +with white linen. In this cage were every variety of singing birds, +which continually chirped and sung, while their bearers merrily hopped +along and chattered together. It seemed droll thus to behold one bird +carrying others to market. + +The night was as dark as pitch when I entered Osterode. I had no +appetite for supper, and at once went to bed. I was as tired as a dog +and slept like a god. In my dreams I returned to Göttingen and found +myself in the library. I stood in a corner of the Hall of Jurisprudence, +turning over old dissertations, lost myself in reading, and, when I +finally looked up, remarked to my astonishment that it was night and +that the hall was illuminated by innumerable over-hanging crystal +chandeliers. The bell of the neighboring church struck twelve, the hall +doors slowly opened, and there entered a superb colossal female form, +reverentially accompanied by the members and hangers-on of the legal +faculty. The giantess, though advanced in years, retained in her +countenance traces of severe beauty, and her every glance indicated the +sublime Titaness, the mighty Themis. The sword and balance were +carelessly grasped in her right hand, while with the left she held a +roll of parchment. Two young _Doctores Juris_ bore the train of her +faded gray robe; by her right side the lean Court Councilor Rusticus, +the Lycurgus of Hanover, fluttered here and there like a zephyr, +declaiming extracts from his last hand-book of law, while on her left +her _cavalier servente_, the privy-councilor of Justice Cujacius, +hobbled gaily and gallantly along, constantly cracking legal jokes, +himself laughing so heartily at his own wit that even the serious +goddess often smiled and bent over him, exclaiming, as she tapped him on +the shoulder with the great parchment roll, "You little scamp, who begin +to trim the trees from the top!" All of the gentlemen who formed her +escort now drew nigh in turn, each having something to remark or jest +over, either a freshly worked-up miniature system, or a miserable little +hypothesis, or some similar abortion of their own insignificant brains. +Through the open door of the hall many strange gentlemen now entered, +who announced themselves as the remaining magnates of the illustrious +Order--mostly angular suspicious-looking fellows, who with extreme +complacency blazed away with their definitions and hair-splittings, +disputing over every scrap of a title to the title of a pandect. And +other forms continually flocked in, the forms of those who were learned +in law in the olden time--men in antiquated costume, with long +councilors' wigs and forgotten faces, who expressed themselves greatly +astonished that they, the widely famed of the previous century, should +not meet with special consideration; and these, after their manner, +joined in the general chattering and screaming, which, like ocean +breakers, became louder and madder around the mighty goddess, until she, +bursting with impatience, suddenly cried, in a tone of the most agonized +Titanic pain, "Silence! Silence! I hear the voice of the beloved +Prometheus. Mocking cunning and brute force are chaining the Innocent +One to the rock of martyrdom, and all your prattling and quarreling will +not allay his wounds or break his fetters!" So cried the goddess, and +rivulets of tears sprang from her eyes; the entire assembly howled as if +in the agonies of death, the ceiling of the hall burst asunder, the +books tumbled madly from their shelves. In vain did Münchhausen step out +of his frame to call them to order; it only crashed and raged all the +more wildly. I sought refuge from this Bedlam broken loose in the Hall +of History, near that gracious spot where the holy images of the Apollo +Belvedere and the Venus de Medici stand near each other, and I knelt at +the feet of the Goddess of Beauty. In her glance I forgot all the wild +excitement from which I had escaped, my eyes drank in with intoxication +the symmetry and immortal loveliness of her infinitely blessed form; +Hellenic calm swept through my soul, while above my head Phoebus Apollo +poured forth, like heavenly blessings, the sweetest tones of his lyre. + +Awaking, I continued to hear a pleasant, musical sound. The flocks were +on their way to pasture, and their bells were tinkling. The blessed +golden sunlight shone through the window, illuminating the pictures on +the walls of my room. They were sketches from the War of Independence, +which faithfully portrayed what heroes we all were; further, there were +scenes representing executions on the guillotine, from the time of the +revolution under Louis XIV., and other similar decapitations which no +one could behold without thanking God that he lay quietly in bed +drinking excellent coffee, and with his head comfortably adjusted upon +neck and shoulders. + +After I had drunk my coffee, dressed myself, read the inscriptions upon +the window-panes, and settled my bill at the inn, I left Osterode. + +This town contains a certain quantity of houses and a given number of +inhabitants, among whom are divers and sundry souls, as may be +ascertained in detail from Gottschalk's "Pocket Guide-Book for Harz +Travelers." Ere I struck into the highway, I ascended the ruins of the +very ancient Osteroder Burg. They consisted merely of the half of a +great, thick-walled tower, which appeared to be fairly honeycombed by +time. The road to Clausthal led me again uphill, and from one of the +first eminences I looked back once more into the dale where Osterode +with its red roofs peeps out from among the green fir-woods, like a +moss-rose from amid its leaves. The sun cast a pleasant, tender light +over the whole scene. From this spot the imposing rear of the remaining +portion of the tower may be seen to advantage. + +There are many other ruined castles in this vicinity. That of +Hardenberg, near Nörten, is the most beautiful. Even when one has, as he +should, his heart on the left--that is, the liberal side--he cannot +banish all melancholy feeling on beholding the rocky nests of those +privileged birds of prey, who left to their effete descendants only +their fierce appetites. So it happened to me this morning. My heart +thawed gradually as I departed from Göttingen; I again became romantic, +and as I went on I made up this poem: + + Rise again, ye dreams forgotten; + Heart-gate, open to the sun! + Joys of song and tears of sorrow + Sweetly strange from thee shall run. + + I will rove the fir-tree forest, + Where the merry fountain springs, + Where the free, proud stags are wandering, + Where the thrush, my darling, sings. + + I will climb upon the mountains, + On the steep and rocky height, + Where the gray old castle ruins + Stand in rosy morning light. + + I will sit awhile reflecting + On the times long passed away, + Races which of old were famous, + Glories sunk in deep decay. + + Grows the grass upon the tilt-yard, + Where the all-victorious knight + Overcame the strongest champions, + Won the guerdon of the fight. + + O'er the balcony twines ivy, + Where the fairest gave the prize, + Him who all the rest had vanquished + Overcoming with her eyes. + + Both the victors, knight and lady, + Fell long since by Death's cold hand; + So the gray and withered scytheman + Lays the mightiest in the sand. + +After proceeding a little distance, I met with a traveling journeyman +who came from Brunswick, and who related to me that it was generally +believed in that city that their young Duke had been taken prisoner by +the Turks during his tour in the Holy Land, and could be ransomed only +by an enormous sum. The extensive travels of the Duke probably +originated this tale. The people at large still preserve that +traditional fable-loving train of ideas which is so pleasantly shown in +their "Duke Ernest." The narrator of this news was a tailor, a neat +little youth, but so thin that the stars might have shone through him as +through Ossian's misty ghosts. Altogether, he was made up of that +eccentric mixture of humor and melancholy peculiar to the German people. +This was especially expressed in the droll and affecting manner in which +he sang that extraordinary popular ballad, "A beetle sat upon the hedge, +_summ, summ!_" There is one fine thing about us Germans--no one is so +crazy but that he may find a crazier comrade who will understand him. +Only a German _can_ appreciate that song, and in the same breath laugh +and cry himself to death over it. On this occasion I also remarked the +depth to which the words of Goethe have penetrated the national life. My +lean comrade trilled occasionally as he went along--"Joyful and +sorrowful, thoughts are free!" Such a corruption of text is usual among +the multitude. He also sang a song in which "Lottie by the grave of +Werther" wept. The tailor ran over with sentimentalism in the words-- + + "Sadly by the rose-beds now I weep, + Where the late moon found us oft alone! + Moaning where the silver fountains sleep, + Once which whispered joy in every tone." + + * * * * * + +The hills here became steeper, the fir-woods below were like a green +sea, and white clouds above sailed along over the blue sky. The wildness +of the region was, as it were, tamed by its uniformity and the +simplicity of its elements. Nature, like a true poet, abhors abrupt +transitions. Clouds, however fantastically formed they may at times +appear, still have a white, or at least a subdued hue, harmoniously +corresponding with the blue heaven and the green earth; so that all the +colors of a landscape blend into one another like soft music, and every +glance at such a natural picture tranquilizes and reassures the soul. +The late Hofmann would have painted the clouds spotted and chequered. +And, like a great poet, Nature knows how to produce the greatest +effects with the most limited means. She has, after all, only a sun, +trees, flowers, water, and love to work with. Of course, if the latter +be lacking in the heart of the observer, the whole will, in all +probability, present but a poor appearance; the sun is then only so many +miles in diameter, the trees are good for firewood, the flowers are +classified according to their stamens, and the water is wet. + +A little boy who was gathering brushwood in the forest for his sick +uncle pointed out to me the village of Lerrbach, whose little huts with +gray roofs lie scattered along for over a mile through the valley. +"There," said he, "live idiots with goitres, and white negroes." By +white negroes the people mean "albinos." The little fellow lived on +terms of peculiar understanding with the trees, addressing them like old +acquaintances, while they in turn seemed by their waving and rustling to +return his salutations. He chirped like a thistle-finch; many birds +around answered his call, and, ere I was aware, he had disappeared amid +the thickets with his little bare feet and his bundle of brush. +"Children," thought I, "are younger than we; they can remember when they +were once trees or birds, and are consequently still able to understand +them. We of larger growth are, alas, too old for that, and carry about +in our heads too many sorrows and bad verses and too much legal lore." +But the time when it was otherwise recurred vividly to me as I entered +Clausthal. In this pretty little mountain town, which the traveler does +not behold until he stands directly before it, I arrived just as the +clock was striking twelve and the children came tumbling merrily out of +school. The little rogues, nearly all red-cheeked, blue-eyed, +flaxen-haired, sprang and shouted and awoke in me melancholy and +cheerful memories--how I once myself, as a little boy, sat all the +forenoon long in a gloomy Catholic cloister school in Düsseldorf, +without so much as daring to stand up, enduring meanwhile a terrible +amount of Latin, whipping, and geography, and how I too hurrahed and +rejoiced, beyond all measure when the old Franciscan clock at last +struck twelve. The children saw by my knapsack that I was a stranger, +and greeted me in the most hospitable manner. One of the boys told me +that they had just had a lesson in religion, and showed me the Royal +Hanoverian Catechism, from which they were questioned on Christianity. +This little book was very badly printed, so that I greatly feared that +the doctrines of faith made thereby but an unpleasant blotting-paper +sort of impression upon the children's minds. I was also shocked at +observing that the multiplication table--which surely seriously +contradicts the Holy Trinity--was printed on the last page of the +catechism, as it at once occurred to me that by this means the minds of +the children might, even in their earliest years, be led to the most +sinful skepticism. We Prussians are more intelligent, and, in our zeal +for converting those heathen who are familiar with arithmetic, take good +care not to print the multiplication table in the back of the catechism. + +I dined at The Crown, at Clausthal. My repast consisted of spring-green +parsley-soup, violet-blue cabbage, a pile of roast veal, which resembled +Chimborazo in miniature, and a sort of smoked herring, called +"Bückings," from the inventor, William Bücking, who died in 1447, and +who, on account of the invention, was so greatly honored by Charles V. +that the great monarch in 1556 made a journey from Middleburg to +Bievlied in Zealand for the express purpose of visiting the grave of the +great man. How exquisitely such dishes taste when we are familiar with +their historical associations! + + * * * * * + +In the silver refinery, as has so frequently happened in life, I could +get no glimpse of the precious metal. In the mint I succeeded better, +and saw how money was made. Beyond this I have never been able to +advance. On such occasions mine has invariably been the spectator's +part, and I verily believe that, if it should rain dollars from heaven, +the coins would only knock holes in my head, while the children of +Israel would merrily gather up the silver manna. With feelings in which +comic reverence was blended with emotion, I beheld the new-born shining +dollars, took one in my hand as it came fresh from the stamp, and said +to it, "Young Dollar, what a destiny awaits thee! What a cause wilt thou +be of good and of evil! How thou wilt protect vice and patch up virtue! +How thou wilt be beloved and accursed! How thou wilt aid in debauchery, +pandering, lying, and murdering! How thou wilt restlessly roll along +through clean and dirty hands for centuries, until finally, laden with +tresspasses and weary with sin, thou wilt be gathered again unto thine +own, in the bosom of an Abraham, who will melt thee down, purify thee, +and form thee into a new and better being, perhaps an innocent little +tea-spoon, with which my own great-great-grandson will mash his +porridge." + +I will narrate in detail my visit to "Dorothea" and "Caroline," the two +principal Clausthaler mines, having found them very interesting. + +Half an hour away from the town are situated two large dingy buildings. +Here the traveler is transferred to the care of the miners. These men +wear dark and generally steel-blue colored jackets, of ample girth, +descending to the hips, with pantaloons of a similar hue, a leather +apron tied on behind, and a rimless green felt hat which resembles a +decapitated nine-pin. In such a garb, with the exception of the +"back-leather," the visitor is also clad, and a miner, his "leader," +after lighting his mine-lamp, conducts him to a gloomy entrance +resembling a chimney-hole, descends as far as the breast, gives him a +few directions relative to grasping the ladder, and requests him to +follow fearlessly. The affair is entirely devoid of danger, though it at +first appears quite otherwise to those unacquainted with the mysteries +of mining. Even the putting on of the dark convict-dress awakens very +peculiar sensations. Then one must clamber down on all fours, the dark +hole is so _very_ dark, and Lord only knows how long the ladder may be! +But we soon remark that this is not the only ladder descending into the +black eternity, for there are many, of from fifteen to twenty rounds +apiece, each standing upon a board capable of supporting a man, and from +which a new hole leads in turn to a new ladder. I first entered the +"Caroline," the dirtiest and most disagreeable Caroline with whom I ever +had the pleasure of becoming acquainted. The rounds of the ladders were +covered with wet mud. And from one ladder we descend to another with the +guide ever in advance, continually assuring us that there was no danger +so long as we held firmly to the rounds and did not look at our feet, +and that we must not for our lives tread on the side plank, where the +buzzing barrel-rope runs, and where two weeks ago a careless man was +knocked down, unfortunately breaking his neck by the fall. Far below is +a confused rustling and humming, and we continually bump against beams +and ropes which are in motion, winding up and raising barrels of broken +ore or of water. Occasionally we pass galleries hewn in the rock, called +"stulms," where the ore may be seen growing, and where some solitary +miner sits the livelong day, wearily hammering pieces from the walls. I +did not descend to those deepest depths where it is reported that the +people on the other side of the world, in America, may be heard crying, +"Hurrah for Lafayette!" Between ourselves, where I did go seemed to me +deep enough in all conscience; there was an endless roaring and +rattling, uncanny sounds of machinery, the rush of subterranean streams, +sickening clouds of ore-dust continually rising, water dripping on all +sides, and the miner's lamp gradually growing dimmer and dimmer. The +effect was really benumbing, I breathed with difficulty, and had trouble +in holding to the slippery rounds. It was not _fright_ which overpowered +me, but, oddly enough, down there in the depths, I remembered that a +year before, about the same time, I had been in a storm on the North +Sea, and I now felt that it would be an agreeable change could I feel +the rocking of the ship, hear the wind with its thunder-trumpet tones, +while amid its lulls sounded the hearty cry of the sailors, and all +above was freshly swept by God's own free air--yes, sir! Panting for +air, I rapidly climbed several dozens of ladders, and my guide led me +through a narrow and very long gallery toward the "Dorothea" mine. Here +it was airier and fresher, and the ladders were cleaner, though at the +same time longer and steeper, than in the "Caroline." I felt revived and +more cheerful, particularly as I again observed traces of human beings. +Far below I saw wandering, wavering lights; miners with their lamps came +upwards one by one with the greeting, "Good luck to you!" and, receiving +the same salutation from us, went onwards and upwards. Something like a +friendly and quiet, yet, at the same time, painful and enigmatical +recollection flitted across my mind as I met the deep glances and +earnest pale faces of these young and old men, mysteriously illuminated +by their lanterns, and thought how they had worked all day in lonely and +secret places in the mines, and how they now longed for the blessed +light of day and for the glances of wives and children. + +My guide himself was an absolutely honest, thoroughly loyal German +specimen. With inward joy he pointed out to me the "place" where the +Duke of Cambridge, when he visited the mines, dined with all his train, +and where the long wooden table yet stands; with the accompanying great +chair, made of ore, in which the Duke sat. "This is to remain as an +eternal memorial," said the good miner, and he related with enthusiasm +how many festivities had then taken place, how the entire "stulm" had +been adorned with lamps, flowers, and decorations of leaves; how a miner +boy had played on the cithern and sung; how the dear, delighted, fat +Duke had drained many healths, and what a number of miners (himself +especially) would cheerfully die for the dear, fat Duke, and for the +whole house of Hanover. I am moved to my very heart when I see loyalty +thus manifested in all its natural simplicity. It is such a beautiful +sentiment, and such a purely _German_ sentiment! Other people may be +wittier, more intelligent, and more agreeable, but none is so faithful +as the real German race. Did I not know that fidelity is as old as the +world, I would believe that a German heart had invented it. German +fidelity is no modern "Yours very truly," or "I remain your humble +servant." In your courts, ye German princes, ye should cause to be sung, +and sung again, the old ballad of _The Trusty Eckhart and the Base +Burgund_ who slew Eckhart's seven children, and still found him +faithful. Ye have the truest people in the world, and ye err when ye +deem that the old, intelligent, trusty hound has suddenly gone mad, and +snaps at your sacred calves! + +And, like German fidelity, the little mine-lamp has guided us +quietly and securely, without much flickering or flaring, through +the labyrinth of shafts and stulms. We ascend out of the gloomy +mountain-night--sunlight flashes around--"Good luck to you!" + +Most of the miners dwell in Clausthal, and in the adjoining small town +of Zellerfeld. I visited several of these brave fellows, observed their +little households, heard many of their songs, which they skilfully +accompany with their favorite instrument, the cithern, and listened to +old mining legends, and to their prayers which they are accustomed to +offer daily in company ere they descend the gloomy shaft; and many a +good prayer did I offer up with them! One old climber even thought that +I ought to remain among them, and become a man of the mines; but as I +took my leave notwithstanding, he gave me a message to his brother, who +dwelt near Goslar, and many kisses for his darling niece. + +Tranquil even to stagnation as the life of these people may appear, it +is, nevertheless, a real and vivid life. That ancient trembling crone +who sits behind the stove opposite the great clothes-press may have been +there for a quarter of a century, and all her thinking and feeling is, +beyond a doubt, intimately blended with every corner of the stove and +the carvings of the press. And clothes-press and stove _live_--for a +human being hath breathed into them a portion of her soul. + +It was only in such deeply contemplative life as this, in such "direct +relationship" between man and the things of the outer world, that the +German fairy tale could originate, the peculiarity of which consists in +the fact that in it not only animals and plants, but also objects +apparently inanimate, speak and act. To thoughtful harmless people in +the quiet homeliness of their lowly mountain cabins or forest huts, the +inner life of these objects was gradually revealed; they acquired a +necessary and consistent character, a sweet blending of fantastic humor +and purely human sentiment, and thus we find in the fairy tale--as +something marvelous and yet at the same time quite natural--the pin and +the needle wandering forth from the tailor's home and losing their way +in the dark; the straw and the coal seeking to cross the brook and +coming to grief; the dust-pan and broom quarreling and fighting on the +stairs. Thus the mirror, when interrogated, shows the image of the +fairest lady, and even drops of blood begin to utter obscure and fearful +words of the deepest compassion. And this is the reason why our life in +childhood is so infinitely significant, for then all things are of the +same importance, nothing escapes our attention, there is equality in +every impression; while, when more advanced in years, we must act with +design, busy ourselves more exclusively with particulars, carefully +exchange the pure gold of observation for the paper currency of book +definitions, and win in _breadth_ of life what we lost in depth. + +_Now,_ we are grown-up, respectable people, we often inhabit new +dwellings; the housemaid daily cleans them and changes at her will the +position of the furniture, which interests us but little, as it is +either new or may belong today to Jack, tomorrow to Isaac. Even our very +clothes are strange to us; we hardly know how many buttons there are on +the coat we wear--for we change our garments as often as possible, and +none of them remains deeply identified with our external or inner +history. We can hardly remember how that brown vest once looked, which +attracted so much laughter, and yet on the broad stripes of which the +dear hand of the loved one so gently rested! + +The old dame who sat behind the stove opposite the clothes-press wore a +flowered dress of some old-fashioned material, which had been the bridal +robe of her departed mother. Her great-grandson, a fair-haired boy, with +flashing eyes, clad in a miner's dress, sat at her feet and counted the +flowers on her dress. It may be that she has narrated to him many a +story connected with that dress--many serious and pretty stories, which +the boy will not readily forget, which will often recur to him when he, +a grown-up man, works alone in the midnight galleries of the "Caroline," +and which he in turn will narrate when the dear grandmother has long +been dead, and he himself, a silver-haired, tranquil old man, sits amid +the circle of _his_ grand-children behind the stove, opposite the great +clothes-press. + +I lodged that night too in The Crown, where the Court Councilor B----, +of Göttingen, had arrived meanwhile, and I had the pleasure of paying my +respects to the old gentleman. After writing my name in the book of +arrivals, I turned over the leaves of the month of July and found +therein, among others, the much loved name of Adalbert von Chamisso, the +biographer of the immortal _Schlemihl_. The landlord remarked of +Chamisso that the gentleman had arrived during one terrible storm and +departed in another. + +The next morning I had again to lighten my knapsack, and threw overboard +an extra pair of boots; then I arose and went on to Goslar, where I +arrived without knowing how. This much alone do I remember, that I +sauntered up hill and down dale, gazing upon many a lovely meadow vale; +silver waters rippled and murmured, sweet woodbirds sang, the bells of +the flocks tinkled, the many shaded green trees were gilded by the sun, +and, over all, the blue silk canopy of heaven was so transparent that +one could look through the depths even to the Holy of Holies, where +angels sit at the feet of God, studying thorough-bass in the features of +the eternal countenance. But I was all the time lost in a dream of the +previous night, which I could not banish from my thoughts. It was an +echo of the old legend--how a knight descended into a deep fountain +beneath which the fairest princess of the world lay buried in a +deathlike magic slumber. I myself was the knight, and the dark mine of +Clausthal was the fountain. Suddenly innumerable lights gleamed around +me, watchful dwarfs leapt from every cranny in the rocks, grimacing +angrily, cutting at me with their short swords, blowing shrilly on +horns, which summoned more and ever more of their comrades, and +frantically nodding their great heads. But as I hewed them down with my +sword the blood flowed, and I for the first time remarked that they were +not really dwarfs, but the red-blooming, long-bearded thistle-tops, +which I had the day before hewed down on the highway with my stick. At +last they all vanished, and I came to a splendid lighted hall, in the +midst of which stood my heart's loved one, veiled in white, and +immovable as a statue. I kissed her mouth, and then--O Heavens!--I felt +the blessed breath of her soul and the sweet tremor of her lovely lips. +It seemed that I heard the divine command, "Let there be light!" and a +dazzling flash of eternal light shot down, but at the same instant it +was again night, and all ran chaotically together into a wild turbulent +sea! A wild turbulent sea, indeed, over whose foaming waves the ghosts +of the departed madly chased one another, their white shrouds floating +in the wind, while behind all, goading them on with cracking whip, ran a +many-colored harlequin--and I was the harlequin! Suddenly from the black +waves the sea monsters raised their misshapen heads, snatched at me with +extended claws, and I awoke in terror. + +Alas, how the finest fairy tales may be spoiled! The knight, in fact, +when he has found the sleeping princess, ought to cut a piece from her +priceless veil, and when, by his bravery, she has been awakened from her +magic sleep and is again seated on her golden throne in her palace, the +knight should approach her and say, "My fairest princess, dost thou not +know me?" Then she will answer, "My bravest knight, I know thee not!" +And then he shows her the piece cut from her veil, exactly fitting the +deficiency, and she knows that he is her deliverer, and both tenderly +embrace, and the trumpets sound, and the marriage is celebrated. It is +really a very peculiar misfortune that _my_ love-dreams so seldom have +so fine a conclusion. + +[Illustration: OLD IMPERIAL PALACE, GOSLAR] + +The name of Goslar rings so pleasantly, and there are so many very +ancient and imperial associations connected therewith, that I had hoped +to find an imposing and stately town. But it is always the same old +story when we examine celebrities too closely. I found a nest of houses, +drilled in every direction with narrow streets of labyrinthine +crookedness, and amid which a miserable stream, probably the Gose, winds +its sad and muddy way. The pavement of the town is as ragged as Berlin +hexameters. Only the antiquities which are imbedded in the frame or +mounting of the city--that is to say, its remnants of walls, towers, and +battlements--give the place a piquant look. One of these towers, known as +the "Zwinger," or donjonkeep, has walls of such extraordinary thickness +that entire rooms are excavated therein. The open place before the town, +where the world-renowned shooting matches are held, is a beautiful large +plain surrounded by high mountains. The market is small, and in its +midst is a spring fountain, the waters from which pours into a great +metallic basin. When an alarm of fire is raised, they strike several +times on this cup-formed basin, which gives out a very loud vibration. +Nothing is known of the origin of this work. Some say that the devil +placed it once during the night on the spot where it stands. In those +days people were as yet fools, nor was the devil any wiser, and they +mutually exchanged gifts. + +The town hall of Goslar is a whitewashed guard-room. The Guildhall, hard +by, has a somewhat better appearance. In this building, equidistant from +roof and ceiling, stands the statues of German emperors. Blackened with +smoke and partly gilded, in one hand the sceptre, and in the other the +globe, they look like roasted college beadles. One of the emperors holds +a sword instead of a sceptre. I cannot imagine the reason of this +variation from the established order, though it has doubtless some +occult signification, as Germans have the remarkable peculiarity of +meaning something in whatever they do. + +In Gottschalk's _Handbook_ I had read much of the very ancient +cathedral, and of the far-famed imperial throne at Goslar. But when I +wished to see these curiosities, I was informed that the church had been +torn down, and that the throne had been carried to Berlin. We live in +deeply significant times, when millennial churches are destroyed and +imperial thrones are tumbled into the lumber-room. + +A few memorials of the late cathedral of happy memory are still +preserved in the church of St. Stephen. These consist of stained glass +pictures of great beauty, a few indifferent paintings, including a Lucas +Cranach, a wooden Christ crucified, and a heathen altar of some unknown +metal. The latter resembles a long square coffer, and is upheld by +caryatides, which in a bowed position hold their hands above their heads +in support, and are making the most hideous grimaces. But far more +hideous is the adjacent large wooden crucifix of which I have just +spoken. This head of Christ, with its real hair and thorns and +blood-stained countenance, represents, in the most masterly manner, the +death of a _man_--but not of a divinely-born Savior. Nothing but physical +suffering is portrayed in this image--not the sublime poetry of pain. +Such a work would be more appropriately placed in a hall of anatomy than +in a house of the Lord. + +The sacristan's wife--an artistic expert--who led me about, showed me a +special rarity. This was a many-cornered, well-planed blackboard covered +with white numerals, which hung like a lamp in the middle of the +building. Oh, how brilliantly does the spirit of invention manifest +itself in the Protestant Church! For who would think it! The numbers on +this board are those of the Psalms for the day, which are generally +chalked on a common black tablet, and have a very sobering effect on an +esthetic mind, but which, in the form above described, even ornament the +church and fully make up for the want of pictures by Raphael. Such +progress delights me infinitely, since I, as a Protestant and a +Lutheran, am ever deeply chagrined when Catholic opponents ridicule the +empty, God-forsaken appearance of Protestant churches. + + * * * * * + +The churchyard at Goslar did not appeal to me very strongly, but a +certain very pretty blonde-ringleted head which peeped smilingly from a +parterre window _did_. After dinner I again sought out this fascinating +window, but, instead of a maiden, I beheld a glass containing white +bellflowers. I clambered up, stole the flowers, put them quietly in my +cap, and descended, unheeding the gaping mouths, petrified noses, and +goggle eyes, with which the people in the street, and especially the old +women, regarded this qualified theft. As I, an hour later, passed by the +same house, the beauty stood by the window, and, as she saw the flowers +in my cap, she blushed like a ruby and started back. This time I had +seen the beautiful face to better advantage; it was a sweet, transparent +incarnation of summer-evening breeze, moonshine, nightingale notes, and +rose perfume. Later, in the twilight hour, she was standing at the door. +I came--I drew near--she slowly retreated into the dark entry. I +followed, and, seizing her hand, said, "I am a lover of beautiful +flowers and of kisses, and when they are not given to me I steal them." +Here I quickly snatched a kiss, and, as she was about to flee, whispered +soothingly, "Tomorrow I leave this town, probably never to return." Then +I perceived a faint pressure of the lovely lips and of the little hand +and I--hurried smilingly away. Yes, I must smile when I reflect that +unconsciously I uttered the magic formula by which our red-and +blue-coated cavaliers more frequently win female hearts than by their +mustachioed attractiveness--"Tomorrow I leave, probably never to +return." + + * * * * * + +During the night which I passed at Goslar, a remarkably curious +occurrence befell me. Even now I cannot think of it without terror. I am +not cowardly by nature and Heaven knows that I have never experienced +any special anguish when, for example, a naked blade has sought to make +acquaintance with my nose or when I have lost my way at night in a wood +of ill repute, or when, at a concert, a yawning lieutenant has +threatened to swallow me--but _ghosts_ I fear almost as much as the +_Austrian Observer_[52]. What is fear? Does it originate in the brain or +in the emotions? This was a point which I frequently disputed with Dr. +Saul Ascher, when we accidentally met in the Café Royal in Berlin, where +for a long time I used to take dinner. The Doctor invariably maintained +that we feared anything, because we recognized it as fearful, by a +certain process of reasoning, for reason alone is an active power--the +emotions are not. While I ate and drank my fill, the Doctor continued to +demonstrate to me the advantages of reason. Toward the end of his +demonstration, he was accustomed to look at his watch and remark +conclusively, "Reason is the highest principle!" Reason! Never do I hear +this word without recalling Dr. Saul Ascher, with his abstract legs, his +tight-fitting transcendental-grey long coat, his forbidding icy face, +which could have served as frontispiece for a textbook of geometry. This +man, deep in the fifties, was a personified straight line. In his +striving for the positive, the poor man had, by dint of philosophizing, +eliminated all the splendid things from life, such as sunshine, +religion, and flowers, so that there remained nothing for him but the +cold positive grave. The Apollo Belvedere and Christianity were the two +special objects of his malice, and he had even published a pamphlet +against the latter, in which he had demonstrated its unreasonableness +and untenableness. In addition to this, he has written a great number of +books, in all of which _Reason_ shines forth in all its peculiar +excellence, and as the poor Doctor meant what he said in all +seriousness, he was, so far, deserving of respect. But the great joke +consisted precisely in this, that the Doctor invariably cut such a +seriously absurd figure when he could not comprehend what every child +comprehends, simply because it is a child. I visited the Doctor of +Reason several times in his own house, where I found him in company with +very pretty girls; for Reason, it seems, does not prohibit the enjoyment +of the things of this world. Once, however, when I called, his servant +told me the "Herr Doctor" had just died. I experienced as much emotion +on this occasion as if I had been told that the "Herr Doctor" had just +moved. + +To return to Goslar. "The highest principle is Reason," said I +soothingly to myself, as I slid into bed. But it availed me nothing. I +had just been reading in Varnhagen von Ense's _German Tales,_ which I +had brought with me from Clausthal, that terrible story of the son who +went about to murder his father and was warned in the night by the ghost +of his mother. The wonderful truthfulness with which this story is +depicted, caused, while reading it, a shudder of horror in all my veins. +Ghost-stories invariably thrill us with additional horror when read +during a journey, and by night in a town, in a house, and in a room +where we have never been before. We involuntarily reflect, "How many +horrors may have been perpetrated on this very spot where I now lie!" +Meanwhile, the moon shone into my room in a doubtful, suspicious manner; +all kinds of uncalled-for shapes quivered on the walls, and as I raised +myself in bed and glanced fearfully toward them, I beheld-- + +There is nothing so uncanny as when a man accidentally sees his own face +by moonlight in a mirror. At the same instant there struck a +deep-booming, yawning bell, and that so slowly and wearily that after +the twelfth stroke I firmly believed that twelve full hours must have +passed and that it would begin to strike twelve all over again. Between +the last and next to the last tones, there struck in very abruptly, as +if irritated and scolding, another bell, which was apparently out of +patience with the slowness of its colleague. As the two iron tongues +were silenced, and the stillness of death sank over the whole house, I +suddenly seemed to hear, in the corridor before my chamber, something +halting and shuffling along, like the unsteady steps of an old man. At +last my door opened, and there entered slowly the late departed Dr. Saul +Ascher. A cold fever ran through me. I trembled like an ivy leaf and +scarcely dared to gaze upon the ghost. He appeared as usual, with the +same transcendental-grey long coat, the same abstract legs, and the same +mathematical face; only this latter was a little yellower than usual, +the mouth, which formerly described two angles of 22-1/2 degrees, was +pinched together, and the circles around the eyes had a somewhat greater +radius. Tottering, and supporting himself as usual upon his Malacca +cane, he approached me, and said in his usual drawling accent but in a +friendly manner, "Do not be afraid, nor believe that I am a ghost. It is +a deception of your imagination, if you believe that you see me as a +ghost. What is a ghost? Define one. Deduce for me the conditions of the +possibility of a ghost. What reasonable connection is there between such +an apparition and reason? Reason, I say, _Reason!"_ Here the ghost +proceeded to analyze reason, cited from Kant's _Critique of Pure +Reason_, part II, section I, book 2, chap. 3, the distinction between +phenomena and noumena, then went on to construct a hypothetical system +of ghosts, piled one syllogism on another, and concluded with the +logical proof that there are absolutely no ghosts. Meanwhile the cold +sweat ran down my back, my teeth clattered like castanets, and from very +agony of soul I nodded an unconditional assent to every assertion which +the phantom doctor alleged against the absurdity of being afraid of +ghosts, and which he demonstrated with such zeal that once, in a moment +of distraction, instead of his gold watch he drew a handful of +grave-worms from his vest-pocket, and remarking his error, replaced them +with a ridiculous but terrified haste. "Reason is the highest--!" Here +the clock struck _one_, but the ghost vanished. + +The next morning I left Goslar and wandered along, partly at random, and +partly with the intention of visiting the brother of the Clausthal +miner. Again we had beautiful Sunday weather. I climbed hill and +mountain, saw how the sun strove to drive away the mists, and wandered +merrily through the quivering woods, while around my dreaming head rang +the bell-flowers of Goslar. The mountains stood in their white +night-robes, the fir-trees were shaking sleep out of their branching +limbs, the fresh morning wind curled their drooping green locks, the +birds were at morning prayers, the meadow-vale flashed like a golden +surface sprinkled with diamonds, and the shepherd passed over it with +his bleating flock. + + * * * * * + +After much circuitous wandering I came to the dwelling of the brother of +my Clausthal friend. Here I stayed all night and experienced the +following beautiful poem-- + + Stands the but upon the mountain + Where the ancient woodman dwells + There the dark-green fir-trees rustle, + Casts the moon its golden spells. + + In the but there stands an arm-chair, + Richly carved and cleverly; + He who sits therein is happy, + And that happy man am I. + + On the footstool sits a maiden, + On my lap her arms repose, + With her eyes like blue stars beaming, + And her mouth a new-born rose. + + And the dear blue stars shine on me, + Wide like heaven's great arch their gaze; + And her little lily finger + Archly on the rose she lays. + + Nay, the mother cannot see us, + For she spins the whole day long; + And the father plays the cithern + As he sings a good old song. + + And the maiden softly whispers, + Softly, that none may hear; + Many a solemn little secret + Hath she murmured in my ear. + + "Since I lost my aunt who loved me, + Now we never more repair + To the shooting-lodge at Goslar, + And it is so pleasant there! + + "Here above it is so lonely, + On the rocks where cold winds blow; + And in winter we are always + Deeply buried in the snow. + + "And I'm such a timid creature, + And I'm frightened like a child + At the evil mountain spirits, + Who by night are raging wild" + + Silent falls the winsome maiden, + Frightened by her own surmise, + Little hands, so white and dimpled, + Pressing on her sweet blue eyes. + + Louder now the fir-trees rustle, + Spinning-wheel more harshly drones; + In their pauses sounds the cithern, + And the old song's simple tones: + + "Do not fear, my tender nursling, + Aught of evil spirits' might; + For good angels still are watching + Round thy pathway day and night." + + Now the fir-tree's dark-green fingers + Tap upon the window low, + And the moon, a yellow listener, + Casts within her sweetest glow. + + Father, mother, both are sleeping, + Near at hand their rest they take; + But we two, in pleasant gossip, + Keep each other long awake. + + "That thou prayest much too often, + Seems unlikely, I declare; + On thy lips there is a quiver + Which was never born of prayer. + + "Ah! that heartless, cold expression + All my being terrifies-- + Though my darkling fear is lessened + By thy frank and honest eyes. + + "Yet I doubt if thou believest + What is held for truth by most; + Hast thou faith in God the Father, + In the Son and Holy Ghost?" + + "Ah, my darling! when an infant + By my mother's knee I stood, + I believed in God the Father, + In the Ruler great and good. + + "He who made the world so lovely, + Gave man beauty, gave him force, + And to sun and moon and planets + Pre-appointed each its course. + + "As I older grew, my darling, + And my way in wisdom won, + I in reason comprehended, + And believe now in the Son-- + + "In the well-loved Son, who, loving, + Oped the gates of Love so wide; + And for thanks--as is the custom-- + By the world was crucified. + + "Now, that I in full-grown manhood + Reading, travel, wisdom boast; + Still my heart expands, and, truly + I believe the Holy Ghost, + + "Who bath worked the greatest wonders-- + Greater still he'll work again; + He bath broken tyrants' strongholds, + Broken every vassal's chain. + + "Ancient deadly wounds he healeth, + He renews man's ancient right; + All to him, born free and equal, + Are as nobles in his sight. + + "Clouds of evil flee before him, + And those cobwebs of the brain + Which forbade us love and pleasure, + Scowling grimly on our pain. + + "And a thousand knights in armor + Hath he chosen and required + To fulfil his holy bidding-- + All with noblest zeal inspired. + + "Lo! I their precious swords are gleaming, + And their banners wave in fight! + What! Thou fain would'st see, my darling, + Such a proud and noble knight? + + "Well, then, gaze on me, my dearest; + I am of that lordly host, + Kiss me! and you kiss a chosen + Champion of the Holy Ghost!" + + Silently the moon conceals her + Down behind the sombre trees, + And the lamp which lights our chamber + Flickers in the evening breeze. + + But the starry eyes are beaming + Softly o'er the dimpled cheeks, + And the purple rose is glowing, + While the gentle maiden speaks. + + "Little people--fairy goblins-- + Steal away our meat and bread; + In the chest it lies at evening, + In the morning it has fled. + + "From our milk the little people + Steal the cream and all the best; + Then they leave the dish uncovered, + And our cat drinks up the rest. + + "And the cat's a witch, I'm certain, + For by night, when storms arise, + Oft she seeks the haunted hill-top + Where the fallen tower lies. + + "There was once a splendid castle. + Home of joy and weapons bright, + Where there swept in stately pageant + Lady, page, and armèd knight. + + "But a sorceress charmed the castle, + With its lords and ladies fair; + Now it is a lonely ruin, + And the owls are nesting there. + + "But my aunt hath often told me, + Could I speak the proper word, + In the proper place up yonder, + When the proper hour occurred, + + "I should see the ruins changing + Swiftly to a castle bright, + And again in stately dances + Dame and page and gallant knight. + + "He who speaks the word of power + Wins the castle for his own, + And the knight with drum and trumpet + Loud will hail him lord alone." + + So the simple fairy pictures + From the little rose-mouth bloom, + And the gentle eyes are shedding + Star-blue lustre through the gloom. + + Round my hand the little maiden + Winds her gold locks as she will, + Gives a name to every finger, + Kisses, smiles, and then is still. + + All things in the silent chamber, + Seem at once familiar grown, + As if e'en the chairs and clothes-press, + Well of old to me were known. + + Now the clock talks kindly, gravely, + And the cithern, as 'twould seem, + Of itself is faintly chiming, + And I sit as in a dream. + + Now the proper hour is striking, + Here the charm should now be heard; + Child, how would'st thou be astonished, + Should I speak the magic word! + + If I spoke that word, then fading + Night would thrill in fearful strife; + Trees and streams would roar together + As the mountains woke to life. + + Ringing lutes and goblin ditties + From the clefted rock would sound, + Like a mad and merry spring-tide + Flowers grow forest-high around. + + Thousand startling, wondrous flowers, + Leaves of vast and fabled form, + Strangely perfumed, wildly quivering, + As if thrilled with passion's storm. + + In a crimson conflagration + Roses o'er the tumult rise; + Giant lilies, white as crystal, + Shoot like columns to the skies. + + Great as suns, the stars above us + Gaze adown with burning glow; + Fill the lilies' cups gigantic + With their lights' abundant flow. + + We ourselves, my little maiden, + Would be changed more than all; + Torchlight gleams o'er gold and satin + Round us merrily would fall. + + Thou thyself would'st be the princess, + And this hut thy castle high; + Ladies, lords, and graceful pages + Would be dancing, singing by. + + I, however, I have conquered + Thee, and all things, with the word! + Serfs and castle--lo! with trumpet + Loud they hail me as their Lord! + +The sun rose. The mists flitted away like phantoms at the third crow of +the cock. Again I wandered up hill and down dale, while above me soared +the fair sun, ever lighting up new scenes of beauty. The Spirit of the +Mountain evidently favored me, well knowing that a "poetical character" +has it in his power to say many a fine thing of him, and on this morning +he let me see his Harz as it is not, most assuredly, seen by every one. +But the Harz also saw me as I am seen by few, and there were as costly +pearls on my eyelashes as on the grass of the valley. The morning dew of +love wet my cheeks; the rustling pines understood me; their twigs parted +and waved up and down, as if, like mute mortals, they would express +their joy with gestures of their hands, and from afar I heard beautiful +and mysterious chimes, like the sound of bells belonging to some hidden +forest church. People say that these sounds are caused by the +cattle-bells, which, in the Harz ring with remarkable clearness and +purity. + +It was noon, according to the position of the sun, as I chanced upon +such a flock, and its shepherd, a friendly, light-haired young fellow, +told me that the great hill at whose base I stood was the old, +world-renowned Brocken. For many leagues around there is no house, and I +was glad enough when the young man invited me to share his meal. We sat +down to a _déjeûner dînatoire_, consisting of bread and cheese. The +sheep snatched up our crumbs, while pretty glossy heifers jumped around, +ringing their bells roguishly, and laughing at us with great merry eyes. +We made a royal meal, my host appearing to me every inch a king; and as +he is the only monarch who has ever given me bread, I will sing his +praises right royally: + + Kingly is the herd-boy's calling, + On the knoll his throne is set, + O'er his hair the sunlight falling + Gilds a living coronet. + + Red-marked sheep that bleat so loudly + Are his courtiers cross-bedight, + Calves that strut before him proudly + Seem each one a stalwart knight. + + Goats are actors nimbly springing, + And the cows and warblers gay + With their bell and flute-notes ringing + Form the royal orchestra. + + And whene'er the music hushes, + Soft the pine-tree murmurs creep; + Far away a cataract rushes-- + Look, our noble king's asleep! + + Meanwhile through the kingdom bounding + Rules the dog as minister, + Till his bark from cliffs rebounding + Echoes to the sleeper's ear. + + Yawning syllables he utters-- + "Ruling is too hard a task. + Were I but at home," he mutters, + "With my queen 'tis all I'd ask. + + "On her arm my head reposes + Free from care, how happily! + And her loving glance discloses + Kingdom wide enough for me."[53] + +We took leave of each other in a friendly manner, and with a light heart +I began to ascend the mountain. I was soon welcomed by a grove of +stately firs, for which I entertain great respect in every regard, for +these trees have not found growing to be such an easy business, and +during the days of their youth it fared hard with them. The mountain is +here sprinkled with a great number of blocks of granite, and most of the +trees were obliged either to twine their roots over the stones, or to +split them in two, and thus laboriously to search for the soil from +which to draw their nourishment. Here and there stones lie on top of one +another, forming, as it were, a gate, and over all rise the trees, +twining their naked roots down over the stone portals, and only laying +hold of the soil when they reach its base, so that they appear to be +growing in the air; and yet, as they have forced their way up to that +startling height and grown into one with the rocks, they stand more +securely than their comfortable comrades, who are rooted in the tame +forest soil of the level country. So it is in life with those great men +who have strengthened and established themselves by resolutely +overcoming the obstacles and hindrances of their early years. Squirrels +climbed amid the fir-twigs, while, beneath, yellow deer were quietly +grazing. I cannot comprehend, when I see such a noble, lovable animal, +how educated and refined people can take pleasure in hunting and killing +it. Such a creature was once more merciful than man, and suckled the +pining Schmerzenreich of the holy Genofeva. Most beautiful were the +golden sun-rays shooting through the dark-green of the firs. The roots +of the trees formed a natural stairway, and everywhere my feet +encountered swelling beds of moss, for the stones are here covered +foot-deep, as if with light-green velvet cushions. Everywhere a pleasant +freshness and the dreamy murmur of streams. Here and there we see water +rippling silver-clear amid the rocks, washing the bare roots and fibres +of trees. Bend down toward all this ceaseless activity and listen, and +you will hear, as it were, the mysterious history of the growth of the +plants, and the quiet pulsations of the heart of the mountain. In many +places the water jets strongly up amid rocks and roots, forming little +cascades. It is pleasant to sit in such places. There is such a +wonderful murmuring and rustling, the birds pour forth broken lovesick +strains, the trees whisper as if with a thousand maidens' tongues, the +odd mountain flowers peep up at us as if with a thousand maidens' eyes, +stretching out to us their curious, broad, drolly-scalloped leaves; the +sun-rays flash here and there in sport; the herbs, as though endowed +with reason, are telling one another their green legends; all seems +enchanted and it becomes more and more mysterious; an old, old dream is +realized--the loved one appears! Alas, that she so quickly vanishes! + +The higher we ascend, so much the shorter and more dwarflike do the +fir-trees become, shrinking up, as it were, within themselves, until +finally only whortleberries, bilberries, and mountain herbs remain. It +is also sensibly colder. Here, for the first time, the granite boulders, +which are frequently of enormous size, become fully visible. These may +well have been the balls which evil spirits cast at one another on the +Walpurgis night, when the witches come riding hither on brooms and +pitchforks, when the mad, unhallowed revelry begins, as our credulous +nurses have told us, and as we may see it represented in the beautiful +Faust pictures of Master Retsch. Yes, a young poet, who, while +journeying from Berlin to Gottingen passed the Brocken on the first +evening in May, even noticed how certain ladies who cultivated +_belles-lettres_, were holding their esthetic tea-circle in a rocky +corner, how they comfortably read aloud the _Evening Journal_, how they +praised as universal geniuses their poetic billy-goats which hopped +bleating around their table, and how they passed a final judgment on all +the productions of German literature. But when they at last fell upon +_Ratcliff_ and _Almansor_, utterly denying to the author aught like +piety or Christianity, the hair of the youth rose on end, terror seized +him--I spurred my steed and rode onwards! + +In fact, when we ascend the upper half of the Brocken, no one can well +help thinking of the amusing legends of the Blocksberg, and especially +of the great mystical German national tragedy of Doctor Faust. It ever +seemed to me that I could hear the cloven foot scrambling along behind, +and some one breathing humorously. And I verily believe that "Mephisto" +himself must breathe with difficulty when he climbs his favorite +mountain, for it is a road which is to the last degree exhausting, and I +was glad enough when I at last beheld the long-desired Brocken house. + +[Illustration: "THE WITCHES DANCING GROUND"] + +This house, as every one knows from numerous pictures, is situated on +the summit of the mountain, consists of a single story, and was erected +in the year 1800 by Count Stolberg-Wernigerode, in behalf of whom it is +managed as a tavern. On account of the wind and cold in winter its walls +are incredibly thick. The roof is low. From its midst rises a towerlike +observatory, and near the house lie two little out-buildings, one of +which in earlier times served as shelter to the Brocken visitors. + +On entering the Brocken house, I experienced a somewhat unusual and +unreal sensation. After a long solitary journey amid rocks and pines, +the traveler suddenly finds himself in a house amid the clouds. Far +below lie cities, hills, and forests, while above he encounters a +curiously blended circle of strangers, by whom he is received, as is +usual in such assemblies, almost like an expected companion--half +inquisitively and half indifferently. I found the house full of guests, +and, as becomes a wise man, I first thought of the night, and of the +discomfort of sleeping on straw. With the voice of one dying I called +for tea, and the Brocken landlord was reasonable enough to perceive that +the sick gentleman must be provided with a decent bed. This he gave me +in a narrow room, where a young merchant--a long emetic in a brown +overcoat--had already established himself. + +In the public room I found a full tide of bustle and animation. There +were students from different universities. Some of the newly arrived +were taking refreshments. Others, preparing for departure, buckled on +their knapsacks, wrote their names in the album, and received Brocken +bouquets from the housemaids. There was pinching of cheeks, singing, +springing, trilling; questions asked, answers given, fragments of +conversation such as--fine weather--footpath--_prosit_--luck be with +you!--Adieu! Some of those leaving were also partly drunk, and these +derived a twofold pleasure from the beautiful scenery, for a tipsy man +sees double. + +After recruiting my strength I ascended the observatory, and there found +a little gentleman with two ladies, one of whom was young and the other +elderly. The young lady was very beautiful--a superb figure, flowing +locks, surmounted by a helm-like black satin _chapeau_, amid whose white +plumes the wind played; fine limbs, so closely enwrapped by a black silk +mantle that their exquisite form was made manifest, and great free eyes, +calmly looking down into the great free world. + +When a boy I thought of naught save tales of magic and wonder, and every +fair lady who had ostrich feathers on her head I regarded as an elfin +queen. If I observed that the train of her dress was wet I believed at +once that she must be a water-fairy. Now I know better, having learned +from natural history that those symbolical feathers are found on the +most stupid of birds, and that the train of a lady's dress may become +wet in a very natural way. But if I had, with those boyish eyes, seen +the aforesaid young lady in the aforesaid position on the Brocken, I +would most assuredly have thought--"that is the fairy of the mountain, +and she has just uttered the charm which has caused every thing down +there to appear so wonderful." Yes, at the first glance from the Brocken +everything appears in a high degree marvelous. New impressions throng in +on every side, and these, varied and often contradictory, unite in our +soul in an as yet undefined uncomprehended sensation. If we succeed in +grasping the sensation in its conception we shall comprehend the +character of the mountain. This character is entirely German as regards +not only its advantages but also its defects. The Brocken is a German. +With German thoroughness he points out to us--sharply and accurately +defined as in a panorama--the hundreds of cities, towns, and villages +which are principally situated to the north, and all the mountains, +forests, rivers, and plains which extend endlessly in all directions. +But for this very reason everything appears like a sharply designed and +perfectly colored map, and nowhere is the eye gratified by really +beautiful landscapes--just as we German compilers, owing to the +honorable exactness with which we attempt to give all and everything, +never appear to think of giving the details in a beautiful manner. + +[Illustration: THE BROCKEN INN ABOUT 1830] + +The mountain, in consequence, has a certain calm, German, intelligent, +tolerant character, simply because he can see things so distant yet so +distinctly. And when such a mountain opens his giant eyes, it may be +that he sees somewhat more than we dwarfs, who with our weak eyes climb +over him. Many indeed assert that the Blocksberg is very Philistian, and +Claudius once sang "The Blocksberg is the lengthy Sir Philistine;" but +that was an error. On account of his bald head, which he occasionally +covers with a cloud-cap, the Blocksberg has indeed a somewhat Philistian +aspect, but this with him, as with many other great Germans, is the +result of pure irony; for it is notorious that he has his wild student +and fantastic periods, as, for instance, on the first night of May. Then +he casts his cloud-cap uproariously and merrily into the air, and +becomes, like the rest of us, romantic mad, in real German fashion. + +I soon sought to entrap the beauty into a conversation, for we begin to +fully enjoy the beauties of nature only when we talk about them on the +spot. + + * * * * * + +While we conversed twilight stole, the air grew colder, the sun sank +lower and lower, and the tower platform was filled with students, +traveling mechanics, and a few honest citizens with their spouses and +daughters, all of whom were desirous of witnessing the sunset. It is +truly a sublime spectacle, which tunes the soul to prayer. For a full +quarter of an hour all stood in solemn silence, gazing on the beautiful +fire-ball as it gradually sank in the west; our faces were bathed in the +rosy light; our hands were involuntarily folded; it seemed as if we, a +silent congregation, stood in the nave of a giant cathedral, that the +priest raised the body of the Lord, and the Palestrina's immortal hymns +poured forth from the organ. + +As I stood thus, lost in devotion, I heard some one near me exclaim, +"Ah, how beautiful Nature is, as a general thing!" These words came from +the sentimental heart of my room-mate, the young merchant. They brought +me back to my week-day frame of mind, and I was now able to say a few +neat things to the ladies about the sunset and to accompany them, as +calmly as if nothing had happened, to their room. They permitted me to +talk an hour longer with them. Our conversation, like the earth's +course, was about the sun. The mother declared that the sun, as it sank +in the snowy clouds, seemed like a red glowing rose, which the gallant +heaven had thrown upon the white outspreading bridal-veil of his loved +earth. The daughter smiled, and thought that a frequent observation of +such phenomena weakened their impression. The mother corrected this +error by a quotation from Goethe's _Letters of Travel_, and asked me if +I had read _Werther_. I believe that we also spoke of Angora cats, +Etruscan vases, Turkish shawls, maccaroni, and Lord Byron, from whose +poems the elder lady, daintly lisping and sighing, recited several +passages about the sunset. To the younger lady, who did not understand +English, and who wished to become familiar with those poems, I +recommended the translation of my fair and gifted countrywoman, the +Baroness Elise von Hohenhausen. On this occasion, as is my custom when +talking with young ladies, I did not fail to declaim against Byron's +godlessness, heartlessness, cheerlessness, and heaven knows what +besides. + +After this business I took a walk on the Brocken, for there it is never +quite dark. The mist was not heavy, and I could see the outlines of the +two hills known as the Witch's Altar and the Devil's Pulpit. I fired my +pistol, but there was no echo. Suddenly, however, I heard familiar +voices and found myself embraced and kissed. The newcomers were +fellow-students from my own part of Germany, and had left Göttingen four +days later than I. Great was their astonishment at finding me again, +alone on the Blocksberg. Then came a flood tide of narrative, of +astonishment, and of appointment-making, of laughing, and of +recollecting, and in the spirit we found ourselves again in our learned +Siberia, where refinement is carried to such an extent that the bears +are tied up in the taverns, and the sables wish the hunter good +evening.[54] + +In the great room we had supper. There was a long table, with two rows +of hungry students. At first we indulged in the usual topic of +university conversation--duels, duels, and once again duels. The company +consisted principally of Halle students, and Halle formed, in +consequence, the nucleus of their discourse. The window-panes of +Court-Councilor Schütz were exegetically illuminated. Then it was +mentioned that the King of Cyprus' last levee had been very brilliant; +that the monarch had chosen a natural son; that he had married with the +left hand a princess of the house of Lichtenstein; that the +State-mistress had been forced to resign, and that the entire ministry, +greatly moved, had wept according to rule. I need hardly explain that +this all referred to certain beer dignitaries in Halle. Then the two +Chinese, who two years before had been exhibited in Berlin, and who were +now appointed lecturers on Chinese esthetics in Halle, were discussed. +Then jokes were made. Some one supposed a case in which a live German +might be exhibited for money in China, and to this end a placard was +fabricated, in which the mandarins Tsching-Tschang-Tschung and Hi-Ha-Ho +certified that the man was a genuine Teuton, including a list of his +accomplishments, which consisted principally of philosophizing, smoking, +and endless patience. It concluded with the notice that visitors were +prohibited from bringing any dogs with them at twelve o'clock (the hour +for feeding the captive), as these animals would be sure to snap from +the poor German all his titbits. + +A young _Burschenschafter_, who had recently passed his period of +purification in Berlin, spoke much, but very partially, of this city. He +had frequented both Wisotzki and the theatre, but judged falsely of +both. "For youth is ever ready with a word," etc. He spoke of the +sumptuousness of the costumes, of scandals among actors and actresses, +and similar matters. The youth knew not that in Berlin, where outside +show exerts the greatest influence (as is abundantly evidenced by the +commonness of the phrase "so people do"), this ostentation must flourish +on the stage preëminently, and consequently that the special care of the +management must be for "the color of the beard with which a part is +played" and for the truthfulness of the costumes which are designed by +sworn historians and sewed by scientifically instructed tailors. And +this is indispensable. For if Maria Stuart wore an apron belonging to +the time of Queen Anne, the banker, Christian Gumpel, would with justice +complain that thereby all illusion was destroyed; and if Lord Burleigh +in a moment of forgetfulness should don the hose of Henry the Fourth, +then the War-Councilor Von Steinzopf's wife, _née_ Lilienthau, would not +get the anachronism out of her head for the whole evening.... But little +as this young man had comprehended the conditions of the Berlin drama, +still less was he aware that the Spontini Janissary opera, with its +kettledrums, elephants, trumpets, and gongs, is a heroic means of +inspiring our enervated people with warlike enthusiasm--a means once +shrewdly recommended by Plato and Cicero. Least of all did the youth +comprehend the diplomatic significance of the ballet. It was with great +trouble that I finally made him understand that there was really more +political science in Hoguet's feet than in Buchholz's head, that all his +_tours de danse_ signified diplomatic negotiations, and that his every +movement hinted at state matters; as, for instance, when he bent forward +anxiously, stretching his hands out wide and grasping at the air, he +meant our Cabinet; that a hundred pirouettes on one toe without quitting +the spot alluded to the German Diet; that he was thinking of the lesser +princes when he tripped around with his legs tied; that he described the +European balance of power when he tottered hither and thither like a +drunken man; that he hinted at a Congress when he twisted his bended +arms together like a skein; and finally, that he sets forth our +altogether too great friend in the East, when, very gradually unfolding +himself, he rises on high, stands for a long time in this elevated +position, and then all at once breaks out into the most terrifying +leaps. The scales fell from the eyes of the young man, and he now saw +how it was that dancers are better paid than great poets, and why the +ballet forms in diplomatic circles an inexhaustible subject of +conversation. By Apis! how great is the number of the esoteric, and how +small the array of the esoteric frequenters of the theatre! There sit +the stupid audience, gaping and admiring leaps and attitudes, studying +anatomy in the positions of Lemière, and applauding the _entrechats_ of +Röhnisch, prattling of "grace," "harmony," and "limbs"--no one remarking +meanwhile that he has before him in chronological ciphers the destiny of +the German Fatherland. + + * * * * * + +The company around the table gradually became better acquainted and much +noisier. Wine banished beer, punch-bowls steamed, songs were sung, and +brotherhood was drunk in true student fashion. The old "Landsfather +toast" and the beautiful songs of W. Müller, Rückert, Uhland, and others +rang out with the exquisite airs of Methfessel. Best of all sounded our +own Arndt's German words, "The Lord, who bade iron grow, wished for no +slaves." And out of doors it roared as if the old mountain sang with us, +and a few reeling friends even asserted that he merrily shook his bald +head, which caused the great unsteadiness of the floor of our room. + + * * * * * + +During this crazy scene, in which plates learned to dance and glasses to +fly, there sat opposite me two youths, beautiful and pale as statues, +one resembling Adonis, the other Apollo. The faint rosy hue which the +wine spread over their cheeks was scarcely noticeable. They gazed on +each other with infinite affection, as if the one could read in the eyes +of the other, and in those eyes there was a light as though drops of +light had fallen therein from the cup of burning love, which an angel on +high bears from one star to the other. They conversed softly with +earnest trembling voices, and narrated sad stories, through all of which +ran a tone of strange sorrow. "Lora is dead now too!" said one, and, +sighing, proceeded to tell of a maiden of Halle who had loved a student, +and who, when the latter left Halle, spoke no more to any one, ate but +little, wept day and night, gazing over on the canary-bird which her +lover had given her. "The bird died, and Lora did not long survive it," +was the conclusion, and both the youths sighed as though their hearts +would break. Finally the other said, "My soul is sorrowful; come forth +with me into the dark night! Let me inhale the breath of the clouds and +the moon-rays. Companion of my sorrow! I love thee; thy words are +musical, like the rustling of reeds and the flow of rivulets; they +reëcho in my breast, but my soul is sad!" + +Both of the young men arose. One threw his arm around the neck of the +other, and thus they left the noisy room. I followed, and saw them enter +a dark chamber, where the one by mistake, instead of the window, threw +open the door of a large wardrobe, and both, standing before it with +outstretched arms, expressing poetic rapture, spoke alternately. "Ye +breezes of darkening night," cried the first, "how ye cool and revive my +cheeks! How sweetly ye play amid my fluttering locks! I stand on the +cloudy peak of the mountain; far below me lie the sleeping cities of +men, and blue waters gleam. List! far below in the valley rustle the +fir-trees! Far above yonder hills sweep in misty forms the spirits of +our fathers. Oh, that I could hunt with ye on your cloud-steeds through +the stormy night, over the rolling sea, upwards to the stars! Alas! I am +laden with grief, and my soul is sad!" Meanwhile, the other had also +stretched out _his_ arms toward the wardrobe, while tears fell from his +eyes as he cried to a pair of yellow leather pantaloons which he mistook +for the moon, "Fair art thou, daughter of heaven! Lovely and blessed is +the calm of thy countenance. Thou walkest in loveliness! The stars +follow thy blue path in the east! At thy glance the clouds rejoice, and +their dark forms gleam with light. Who is like unto thee in heaven, thou +the night-born? The stars are ashamed before thee, and turn away their +sparkling eyes. Whither, ah, whither, when morning pales thy face, dost +thou flee from thy path? Hast thou, like me, thy Halle? Dwellest thou +amid shadows of sorrow? Have thy sisters fallen from heaven? Are they +who joyfully rolled with thee through the night now no more? Yea, they +have fallen down, oh! lovely light, and thou hidest thyself often to +bewail them! Yet the night must come at last when thou too will have +passed away, and left thy blue path above in heaven. Then the stars, +that were once ashamed in thy presence, will raise their green heads and +rejoice. But now art clothed in thy beaming splendor and gazest down +from the gate of heaven. Tear aside the clouds, oh! ye winds, that the +night-born may shine forth and the bushy hills gleam, and that the +foaming waves of the sea may roll in light!" + + * * * * * + +I can bear a tolerable quantity--modesty forbids me to say how many +bottles--and I consequently retired to my chamber in tolerably good +condition. The young merchant already lay in bed, enveloped in his +chalk-white night-cap and saffron yellow night-shirt of sanitary +flannel. He was not asleep, and sought to enter into conversation with +me. He was from Frankfurt-on-the-Main, and consequently spoke at once of +the Jews, declared that they had lost all feeling for the beautiful and +noble, and that they sold English goods twenty-five per cent. under +manufacturers' prices. A fancy to humbug him came over me, and I told +him that I was a somnambulist, and must beforehand beg his pardon should +I unwittingly disturb his slumbers. This intelligence, as he confessed +the following day, prevented him from sleeping a wink through the whole +night, especially since the idea had entered his head that I, while in a +somnambulistic state, might shoot him with the pistol which lay near my +bed. But in truth I fared no better myself, for I slept very little. +Dreary and terrifying fancies swept through my brain.... + +From this confusion I was rescued by the landlord of the Brocken, when +he awoke me to see the sun rise. On the tower I found several people +already waiting, and rubbing their freezing hands; others, with sleep +still in their eyes, stumbled up to us, until finally the whole silent +congregation of the previous evening was reassembled, and we saw how, +above the horizon, there rose a little carmine-red ball, spreading a +dim, wintry light. Far around, amid the mists, rose the mountains, as if +swimming in a white rolling sea, only their summits being visible, so +that we could imagine ourselves standing on a little hill in the midst +of an inundated plain, in which here and there rose dry clods of earth. +To retain what I saw and felt, I sketched the following poem: + + In the east 'tis ever brighter, + Though the sun gleams fitfully; + Far and wide the mountain summits + Swim above the misty sea. + + Had I seven-league boots for travel, + Like the fleeting winds I'd rove + Over valley, rock, and river, + To the home of her I love. + + From the bed where now she's sleeping + Soft the curtain I would slip; + Softly kiss her childlike forehead, + Kiss the ruby of her lip. + + Yet more softly would I whisper + In the little lily ear, + "Think in dreams we still are loving, + Think I never lost thee, dear." + +Meanwhile my longing for breakfast was also great, and, after paying a +few compliments to my ladies, I hastened down to drink coffee in the +warm public room. It was full time, for all within me was as sober and +as sombre as in the St. Stephen's Church at Goslar. But with the Arabian +beverage, the warm Orient thrilled through my limbs, Eastern roses +breathed forth their perfumes, sweet bulbul songs resounded, the +students were changed to camels, the Brocken housemaids, with their +Congreverocket-glances, became _houris_, the Philistine noses, minarets, +etc. + +But the book which lay near me, though full of nonsense, was not the +Koran. It was the so-called "Brocken-book," in which all travelers who +ascend the mountain write their names--most inscribing their thoughts, +or, in default thereof, their "feelings." Many even express themselves +in verse. In this book one may observe the horrors which result when the +great Philistine host on opportune occasions, such as this on the +Brocken, becomes poetic. The palace of the Prince of Pallagonia never +contained such absurdities as are to be found in this book. Those who +shine in it with especial splendor are Messrs. the excise collectors, +with their moldy "high inspirations;" counter-jumpers, with their +pathetic outgushings of the soul; old German revolution dilettanti with +their Turner-Union phrases, and Berlin school-masters with their +unsuccessful efforts at enthusiasm. Mr. Snobbs will also for once show +himself as author. In one page the majestic splendor of the sunrise is +described, in another complaints occur of bad weather, of disappointed +hopes, and of the mists which obstruct the view. A "Caroline" writes +that in climbing the mountain her feet got wet, to which a naïve +"Nanny," who was impressed by this, adds, "I too, got wet while doing +this thing." "Went up wet without and came down wet within," is a +standing joke, repeated in the book hundreds of times. The whole volume +smells of beer, tobacco and cheese; we might fancy it one of Clauren's +novels. + + * * * * * + +And now the students prepared to depart. Knapsacks were buckled, the +bills, which were moderate beyond all expectation, were settled, the +susceptible housemaids, upon whose countenances the traces of successful +amours were plainly visible, brought, as is their custom, their +Brocken-bouquets, and helped some to adjust their caps; for all of which +they were duly rewarded with either kisses or coppers. Thus we all went +down the mountain, albeit one party, among whom were the Swiss and +Greifswalder, took the road toward Schierke, and the others, about +twenty men, among whom were my fellow "countrymen" and myself, led by a +guide, went through the so-called "Snow Holes" down to Ilsenburg. + +Such a head-over-heels, break-neck piece of business! Halle students +travel quicker than the Austrian militia. Ere I knew where I was, the +bald summit of the mountain, with groups of stones strewed over it, was +behind us, and we went through the fir-wood which I had seen the day +before. The sun poured down a cheerful light on the merry Burschen, in +gaily colored garb, as they merrily pressed onward through the wood, +disappearing here, coming to light again there, running across marshy +places on trunks of trees, climbing over shelving steeps by grasping the +projecting tree-roots; while they thrilled all the time in the merriest +manner and received as joyous an answer from the twittering wood-birds, +the invisibly plashing rivulets, and the resounding echo. When cheerful +youth and beautiful nature meet, they mutually rejoice. + +[Illustration: THE FALLS OF THE ILSE] + +The lower we descend the more delightfully did subterranean waters +ripple around us; only here and there they peeped out amid rocks and +bushes, appearing to be reconnoitring if they might yet come to light, +until at last one little spring jumped forth boldly. Then followed the +usual show--the bravest one makes a beginning, and then to their own +astonishment the great multitude of hesitators, suddenly inspired with +courage, rush forth to join the first. Myriads of springs now leaped in +haste from their ambush, united with the leader, and finally formed +quite an important brook, which, with its innumerable waterfalls and +beautiful windings, ripples down the valley. This is now the Ilse--the +sweet, pleasant Ilse. She flows through the blest Ilse vale, on whose +sides the mountains gradually rise higher and higher, being clad even to +their base with beech-trees, oaks, and the usual shrubs, the firs and +other needle-covered evergreens having disappeared; for that variety of +trees grows preferably upon the "Lower Harz," as the east side of the +Brocken is called in contradistinction to the west side or Upper Harz. +Being in reality much higher, it is therefore better adapted to the +growth of evergreens. + +It is impossible to describe the merriment, simplicity, and charm with +which the Ilse leaps down over the fantastically shaped rocks which rise +in her path, so that the water strangely whizzes or foams in one place. +amid rifted rocks, and in another pours forth in perfect arches through +a thousand crannies, as if from a giant watering-pot, and then, lower +down, trips away again over the pebbles like a merry maiden. Yes, the +old legend is true; the Ilse is a princess, who, in the full bloom of +youth, runs laughing down the mountain side. How her white foam garment +gleams in the sunshine! How her silvered scarf flutters in the breeze! +How her diamonds flash! The high beech-trees gaze down on her like grave +fathers secretly smiling at the capricious self-will of a darling child; +the white birch-trees nod their heads like delighted aunts, who are, +however, anxious at such bold leaps; the proud oak looks on like a not +over-pleased uncle, who must pay for all the fine weather; the birds +joyfully sing their applause; the flowers on the bank whisper, "Oh, take +us with thee, take us with thee, dear sister!" But the merry maiden may +not be withheld, and she leaps onward and suddenly seizes the dreaming +poet, and there streams over me a flower-rain of ringing gleams and +flashing tones, and my senses are lost in all the beauty and splendor, +and I hear only the voice, sweet pealing as a flute-- + + I am the Princess Ilse, + And dwell in Ilsenstein; + Come with me to my castle, + Thou shalt be blest--and mine! + + With ever-flowing fountains + I'll cool thy weary brow; + Thou'lt lose amid their rippling + The cares which grieve thee now. + + In my white arms reposing, + And on my snow-white breast, + Thou'lt dream of old, old legends, + And sing in joy to rest. + + I'll kiss thee and caress thee, + As in the ancient day + I kissed the Emperor Henry, + Who long has passed away. + + The dead are dead and silent, + Only the living love; + And I am fair and blooming-- + Dost feel my wild heart move! + + And as my heart is beating, + My crystal castle rings, + Where many a knight and lady + In merry measure springs. + + Silk trains are softly rustling, + Spurs ring from night to morn, + And dwarfs are gaily drumming, + And blow the golden horn. + + As round the Emperor Henry, + My arms round thee shall fall; + I held his ears--he heard not + The trumpet's warning call. + +We feel infinite happiness when the outer world blends with the world of +our own soul, and green trees, thoughts, the songs of birds, gentle +melancholy, the blue of heaven, memory, and the perfume of herbs, run +together in sweet arabesques. Women best understand this feeling, and +this may be the cause that such a sweet incredulous smile plays around +their lips when we, with scholastic pride, boast of our logical +deeds--how we have classified everything so nicely into subjective and +objective; how our heads are provided, apothecary-like, with a thousand +drawers, one of which contains reason, another understanding, the third +wit, the fourth bad wit, and the fifth nothing at all--that is to say, +the _Idea_. + +As if wandering in dreams, I scarcely observed that we had left the +depths of the Ilsethal and were now again climbing uphill. This was +steep and difficult work, and many of us lost our breath; but, like our +late lamented cousin, who now lies buried at Moelln, we thought in +advance of the descent, and were all the merrier in consequence. Finally +we reached the Ilsenstein. + +This is an enormous granite rock, which rises boldly on high from out a +glen. On three sides it is surrounded by high woody hills, but on the +fourth, the north side, there is an open view, and we gazed past the +Ilsenburg and the Ilse lying below us, far away into the low lands. On +the towerlike summit of the rock stands a great iron cross, and in case +of need there is also room here for four human feet. And as Nature, +through picturesque position and form, has adorned the Ilsenstein with +fantastic charms, so legend likewise has shed upon it a rosy shimmer. +According to Gottschalk, "People say that there once stood here an +enchanted castle, in which dwelt the rich and fair Princess Ilse, who +still bathes every morning in the Ilse. He who is fortunate enough to +hit upon the exact time and place will be led by her into the rock where +her castle lies and receive a royal reward." Others narrate a pleasant +legend of the lovers of the Lady Ilse and of the Knight of Westenberg, +which has been romantically sung by one of our most noted poets in the +_Evening Journal_. Others again say that it was the Old Saxon Emperor +Henry who had a royal good time with the water-nymph Ilse in her +enchanted castle. + +A later author, one Niemann, Esq., who has written a _Guide to the Harz_ +in which the height of the hills, variations of the compass, town +finances, and similar matters are described with praiseworthy accuracy, +asserts, however, that "what is narrated of the Princess Ilse belongs +entirely to the realm of fable." Thus do all men speak to whom a +beautiful princess has never appeared; but we who have been especially +favored by fair ladies know better. And the Emperor Henry knew it too! +It was not without cause that the Old Saxon emperors were so attached to +their native Harz. Let any one only turn over the leaves of the fair +_Lüneburg Chronicle,_ where the good old gentlemen are represented in +wondrously true-hearted woodcuts sitting in full armor on their mailed +war-steeds, the holy imperial crown on their beloved heads, sceptre and +sword in firm hands; and then in their dear mustachiod faces he can +plainly read how they often longed for the sweet hearts of their Harz +princesses, and for the familiar rustling of the Harz forests, when they +sojourned in distant lands--yes, even when in Italy, so rich in oranges +and poisons, whither they, with their followers, were often enticed by +the desire of being called Roman emperors, a genuine German lust for +title, which finally destroyed emperor and empire. + +I, however, advise every one who may hereafter stand on the summit of +the Ilsenstein to think neither of emperor nor empire nor of the fair +Ilse, but simply of his own feet. For as I stood there, lost in thought, +I suddenly heard the subterranean music of the enchanted castle, and saw +the mountains around begin to stand on their heads, while the red-tiled +roofs of Ilsenburg were dancing, and green trees flew through the air, +until all was green and blue before my eyes, and I, overcome by +giddiness, would assuredly have fallen into the abyss, had I not, in the +dire need of my soul, clung fast to the iron cross. No one who reflects +on the critically ticklish situation in which I was then placed can +possibly find fault with me for having done this. + +[Illustration: VIEW FROM ST. ANDREASBERG] + + * * * * * + + + + +BOYHOOD DAYS[55] + +By Heinrich Heine + +Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + +The town of Düsseldorf is very beautiful, and if you think of it when +far away, and happen at the same time to have been born there, strange +feelings come over your soul. I was born there, and feel as if I must go +straight home. And when I say _home_ I mean the _Bolkerstrasse_ and the +house in which I was born. This house will some day be a great +curiosity, and I have sent word to the old lady who owns it that she +must not for her life sell it. For the whole house she would now hardly +get as much as the tips which the distinguished green-veiled English +ladies will one day give the servant girl when she shows them the room +where I was born, and the hen-house wherein my father generally +imprisoned me for stealing grapes, and also the brown door on which my +mother taught me to write with chalk--O Lord! Madame, should I ever +become a famous author, it has cost my poor mother trouble enough. + +(1823-1826) + +But my fame as yet slumbers in the marble quarries of Carrara; the +waste-paper laurel with which they have bedecked my brow has not yet +spread its perfume through the wide world, and the green-veiled English +ladies, when they come to Düsseldorf as yet leave the celebrated house +unvisited, and go directly to the market-place and there gaze on the +colossal black equestrian statue which stands in its midst. This is +supposed to represent the Prince Elector, Jan Wilhelm. He wears black +armor and a long wig hanging down his back. When a boy, I heard the +legend that the artist who made this statue became aware, to his +horror, while it was being cast, that he had not metal enough to fill +the mold, and then all the citizens of the town came running with all +their silver spoons, and threw them in to make up the deficiency; and I +often stood for hours before the statue wondering how many spoons were +concealed in it, and how many apple-tarts the silver would buy. +Apple-tarts were then my passion--now it is love, truth, liberty, and +crab-soup--and not far from the statue of the Prince Elector, at the +theatre corner, generally stood a curiously constructed bow-legged +fellow with a white apron, and a basket girt around him full of +delightfully steaming apple-tarts, whose praises he well knew how to +call out in an irresistible high treble voice, "Here you are! hot +apple-tarts! just from the oven--smelling deliciously!" Truly, whenever +in my later years the Evil One sought to get the better of me, he always +spoke in just such an enticing high treble voice, and I should certainly +have never remained twelve full hours with the Signora Giulietta, if she +had not thrilled me with her sweet perfumed apple-tart tones. And, in +fact, the apple-tarts would never have so sorely tempted me if the +crooked Hermann had not covered them up so mysteriously with his white +apron; and it is aprons, you know, which--but I wander from the subject. +I was speaking of the equestrian statue which has so many silver spoons +in it, and no soup, and which represents the Prince Elector, Jan +Wilhelm. + +He was a brave gentleman, 'tis reported, a lover of art and handy +therein himself. He founded the picture-gallery in Düsseldorf; and in +the observatory there, they still show us an extremely artistic piece of +work, consisting of one wooden cup within another which he himself had +carved in his leisure hours, of which latter he had every day +four-and-twenty. + +[Illustration: JOHANN WILHELM MONUMENT, DÃœSSELDORF] + +In those days princes were not the harassed creatures they now are. +Their crowns grew firmly on their heads, and at night they drew +nightcaps over them besides and slept in peace, and their people +slumbered calmly at their feet; and when they awoke in the morning they +said, "Good morning, father!" and the princes replied, "Good morning, +dear children!" + +But there came a sudden change over all this, for one morning when we +awoke in Düsseldorf and wanted to say, "Good morning, father!" the +father had traveled away, and in the whole town there was nothing but +dumb sorrow. Everywhere there was a sort of funereal atmosphere, and +people crept silently through the market and read the long placard +placed on the door of the City Hall. The weather was dark and lowering, +yet the lean tailor Kilian stood in the nankeen jacket, which he +generally wore only at home, and in his blue woolen stockings, so that +his little bare legs peeped out dismally, and his thin lips quivered as +he murmured the words of the placard to himself. An old invalid soldier +from the Palatine read it in a somewhat louder tone, and at certain +phrases a transparent tear ran down his white, honorable old mustache. I +stood near him, and wept with him, and then asked why we wept; and he +replied, "The Prince Elector has abdicated." Then he read further, and +at the words "for the long-manifested fidelity of my subjects," "and +hereby release you from your allegiance," he wept still more. It is a +strange sight to see, when so old a man, in faded uniform, with a +scarred veteran's face, suddenly bursts into tears. While we read, the +Princely Electoral coat-of-arms was being taken down from the City Hall, +and everything began to appear as oppressively desolate as though we +were waiting for an eclipse of the sun. The city councilors went about +at an abdicating, slow gait; even the omnipotent beadle looked as though +he had had no more commands to give, and stood calmly indifferent, +although the crazy Aloysius again stood upon one leg and chattered the +names of French generals, with foolish grimaces, while the tipsy, +crooked Gumpertz rolled around the gutter, singing, "Ça ira! Ça ira!" +But I went home, weeping and lamenting because "the Prince Elector had +abdicated!" My mother tried hard to comfort me, but I would hear +nothing. I knew what I knew, and went weeping to bed, and in the night +dreamed that the world had come to an end--that all the fair flower +gardens and green meadows were taken up from the ground and rolled away, +like carpets; that a beadle climbed up on a high ladder and took down +the sun, and that the tailor Kilian stood by and said to himself, "I +must go home and dress myself neatly, for I am dead and am to be buried +this afternoon." And it grew darker and darker--a few stars glimmered +meagrely on high, and these too, at length, fell down like yellow leaves +in autumn; one by one all men vanished, and I, poor child, wandered +around in anguish, and finally found myself before the willow fence of a +deserted farmhouse, where I saw a man digging up the earth with a spade, +and near him an ugly, spiteful-looking woman, who held something in her +apron like a human head--but it was the moon, and she laid it carefully +in the open grave--and behind me stood the Palatine invalid, sighing, +and spelling out "The Prince Elector has abdicated." + +When I awoke the sun shone as usual through the window, there was a +sound of drums in the street, and as I entered the sitting-room and said +"good morning" to my father, who was sitting in his white dressing-gown, +I heard the little light-footed barber, as he dressed his hair, narrate +very minutely that allegiance would be sworn to the Grande Duke Joachim +that morning at the City Hall. I heard, too, that the new ruler was of +excellent family, that he had married the sister of the Emperor +Napoleon, and was really a very respectable man; that he wore his +beautiful black hair in flowing locks, that he would shortly make his +entrance into the town, and, in fine, that he was sure to please all the +ladies. Meanwhile the drumming in the streets continued, and I went out +before the house-door and looked at the French troops marching in that +joyous people of glory, who, singing and playing, swept over the world, +the serious and yet merry-faced grenadiers, the bear-skin shakoes, the +tri-colored cockades, the glittering bayonets, the _voltigeurs_, full of +vivacity and _point d'honneur_, and the omnipotent giant-like +silver-laced tambour major, who could cast his _baton_ with a gilded +head as high as the first story, and his eyes even to the second, where +also there were pretty girls sitting at the windows. I was so glad that +soldiers were to be quartered in our house--in which my mother differed +from me--and I hastened to the market-place. There everything looked +changed, somewhat as though the world had been newly whitewashed. A new +coat-of-arms was placed on the City Hall, its iron balconies were hung +with embroidered velvet drapery. French grenadiers stood as sentinels; +the old city councilors had put on new faces, and donned their Sunday +coats, and looked at each other Frenchily, and said, "_Bonjour!_" Ladies +gazed from every window, curious citizens and glittering soldiers filled +the square, and I, with other boys, climbed on the great bronze horse of +the Prince Elector, and thence stared down on the motley crowd. + +Our neighbors, Pitter and the tall Kunz, nearly broke their necks in +accomplishing this feat, and it would have been better if they had been +killed outright, for the one afterwards ran away from his parents, +enlisted as a soldier, deserted, and was finally shot at Mayence; while +the other, having made geographical researches in strange pockets, was +on this account elected active member of a public treadmill institute. +But having broken the iron bands which bound him to the latter and to +his fatherland, he safely crossed the channel, and eventually died in +London through wearing an all too tight neck-tie which automatically +drew together, when a royal official removed a plank from beneath his +feet. + +Tall Kunz told us that there was no school today on account of the +ceremonies connected with taking the oath of allegiance. We had to wait +a long time ere these commenced. Finally, the balcony of the City Hall +was filled with gaily dressed gentlemen, with flags and trumpets, and +our burgomaster, in his celebrated red coat, delivered an oration, which +stretched out like Indian rubber, or like a knitted nightcap into which +one has thrown a stone--only that it was not the philosopher's +stone--and I could distinctly understand many of his phrases--for +instance, that "we are now to be made happy;" and at the last words the +trumpets sounded out, the flags were waved, the drums were beaten, the +people cried, Hurrah! and while I myself cried hurrah, I held fast to +the old Prince Elector. And it was really necessary that I should, for I +began to grow giddy. It seemed to me as if the people were standing on +their heads, because the world whizzed around, while the old Prince +Elector, with his long wig, nodded and whispered, "Hold fast to me!" and +not till the cannon reechoed along the wall did I become sobered, and +climbed slowly down from the great bronze horse. + +As I went home, I saw the crazy Aloysius again dancing on one leg, while +he chattered the names of French generals, and I also beheld crooked +Gumpertz rolling in the gutter and growling, "Ça ira, ça ira," and I +said to my mother, "We are all to be made happy; on that account there +is no school today." + +II + +The next day the world was again all in order, and we had school as +before, and things were learned by heart as before--the Roman kings, +dates, the _nomina_ in _im_, the _verba irregularia_, Greek, Hebrew, +geography, German, mental arithmetic--Lord! my head is still giddy with +it!--all had to be learned by heart. And much of it was eventually to my +advantage; for had I not learned the Roman kings by heart, it would +subsequently have been a matter of perfect indifference to me whether +Niebuhr had or had not proved that they never really existed. And had I +not learned those dates, how could I ever, in later years, have found +out any one in big Berlin, where one house is as like another as drops +of water or as grenadiers, and where it is impossible to find a friend +unless you have the number of his house in your head! At that time I +associated with every acquaintance some historical event, which had +happened in a year corresponding to the number of his house, so that the +one recalled the other, and some curious point in history always +occurred to me whenever I met any one whom I visited. For instance, when +I met my tailor, I at once thought of the battle of Marathon; when I saw +the well-groomed banker, Christian Gumpel, I immediately remembered the +destruction of Jerusalem; when I caught sight of a Portuguese friend, +deeply in debt, I thought at once of the flight of Mahomet; when I met +the university judge, a man whose probity is well known, I thought of +the death of Haman; and as soon as I laid eyes on Wadzeck, I was at once +reminded of Cleopatra. Ah, heaven! the poor creature is dead now; our +tears are dry, and we may say of her with Hamlet, "Taken all in all, she +was an old woman; we oft shall look upon her like again!" But, as I +said, dates are necessary. I know men who had nothing in their heads but +a few dates, and with their aid knew where to find the right houses in +Berlin, and are now already regular professors. But oh, the trouble I +had at school with the multitude of numbers; and as to actual +arithmetic, that was even worse! I understood best of all subtraction, +and for this there is a very practical rule: "Four can't be taken from +three, therefore I must borrow one"; but I advise all in such a case to +borrow a few extra groschen, for no one can tell what may happen. + +But oh, the Latin! Madame, you can really have no idea of how +complicated it is. The Romans would never have found time to conquer the +world if they had been obliged first to learn Latin. Lucky dogs! they +already knew in their cradles which nouns have their accusative in _im_. +I, on the contrary, had to learn them by heart, in the sweat of my brow, +but still it is well that I know them. For if I, for example, when I +publicly disputed in Latin in the College Hall of Göttingen, on the 20th +of July, 1825--Madame, it was well worth while to hear it--if I on that +occasion had said _sinapem_ instead of _sinapim_, the blunder would have +been evident to the Freshmen, and an endless shame for me. _Vis, buris, +sitis, tussis, cucumis, amussis, cannabis, sinapis_--these words, which +have attracted so much attention in the world, effected this, inasmuch +as they belonged to a distinct class, and yet withal remained an +exception; therefore I highly respect them, and the fact that I have +them ready at my fingers' ends when I perhaps need them in a hurry, +often affords me in life's darkened hours much internal tranquillity and +consolation. But, Madame, the _verba irregularia_--they are +distinguished from the _verbis regularibus_ by the fact that the boys in +learning them got more whippings--are terribly difficult. In the musty +archways of the Franciscan cloister near our schoolroom there hung a +large Christ--crucified of grey wood, a dismal image, that even yet at +times rises in my dreams and gazes sorrowfully on me with fixed bleeding +eyes. Before this image I often stood and prayed, "Oh, Thou poor and +also tormented God, I pray Thee, if it be possible, that I may get by +heart the irregular verbs!" + +I will say nothing of Greek, otherwise I should vex myself too much. The +monks of the Middle Ages were not so very much in the wrong when they +asserted that Greek was an invention of the devil. Lord knows what I +suffered through it! It went better with Hebrew, for I always had a +great predilection for the Jews, although they crucify my good name up +to the present hour, and yet I never could get as far in Hebrew as my +watch did, which had much intimate intercourse with pawnbrokers and in +consequence acquired many Jewish habits--for instance, it would not go +on Saturday, and it also learned the sacred language, subsequently even +studying it grammatically; for often when sleepless in the night I have, +to my amazement, heard it industriously ticking away to itself: _katal, +katalta, katalti, kittel, kittalta, katalti-pokat, pokadeti-pikat, pik, +pik_. + +Meanwhile I learned more of German than of any other tongue, though +German itself is not such child's play, after all. For we poor Germans, +who have already been sufficiently vexed with having soldiers quartered +on us, military duties, poll-taxes, and a thousand other exactions, must +needs, over and above all this, bag Mr. Adelung and torment one another +with accusatives and datives. I learned much German from the old Rector +Schallmeyer, a brave, clerical gentleman, whose protégé I was from +childhood. But I also learned something of the kind from Professor +Schramm, a man who had written a book on eternal peace, and in whose +class my school-fellows quarreled and fought more than in any other. + +And while I have thus been writing away without a pause and thinking +about all sorts of things, I have unexpectedly chattered myself back +among old school stories, and I avail myself of this opportunity to +mention, Madame, that it was not my fault if I learned so little of +geography that later in life I could not make my way in the world. For +in those days the French displaced all boundaries; every day the +countries were recolored on the world's map; those which were once blue +suddenly became green, many indeed were even dyed blood-red; the old +stereotyped souls of the school-books became so confused and confounded +that the devil himself would never have recognized them. The products of +the country were also changed; chickory and beets now grew where only +hares and country gentlemen pursuing them were once to be seen; even the +character of the nations changed; the Germans became pliant, the French +paid compliments no longer; the English ceased making ducks and drakes +of their money, and the Venetians were not subtle enough; there was +promotion among princes, old kings received new uniforms, new kingdoms +were cooked up and sold like hot cakes; many potentates were chased, on +the other hand, from house and home, and had to find some new way of +earning their bread, and some therefore went at once into trade, and +manufactured, for instance, sealing wax, or--Madame, this paragraph +must be brought to an end, or I shall be out of breath--in fine, in such +times it is impossible to advance far in geography. + +I succeeded better in natural history, for there we find fewer changes, +and we always have standard engravings of apes, kangaroos, zebras, +rhinoceroses, etc., etc. And having many such pictures in my memory, it +often happens that at first sight many mortals appeared to me like old +acquaintances. + +I also did well in mythology, and took a real delight in the mob of gods +and goddesses who, so jolly and naked, governed the world. I do not +believe that there was a schoolboy in ancient Rome who knew the +principal points of his catechism--that is, the loves of Venus--better +than I. To tell the plain truth, it seems to me that if we must learn +all the heathen gods by heart, we might as well have kept them from the +first; and we have not, perhaps, gained so much with our New-Roman +Trinity or still less with our Jewish unity. Perhaps the old mythology +was not in reality so immoral as we imagine, and it was, for example, a +very decent idea of Homer to give to much-loved Venus a husband. + +But I succeeded best in the French class of the Abbé d'Aulnoi, a French +_émigré_, who had written a number of grammars, and wore a red wig, and +jumped about very nervously when he lectured on his _Art poétique_ and +his _Histoire Allemande_. He was the only one in the whole gymnasium who +taught German history. Still, French has its difficulties, and to learn +it there must be much quartering of troops, much drumming, much +_apprendre par coeur_, and, above all, no one must be a _bête +allemande_. There was here, too, many a hard nut to crack; and I can +remember as plainly as though it happened but yesterday that I once got +into a bad scrape through _la religion_. I was asked at least six times +in succession, "Henry, what is French for 'the faith?'" And six times, +with an ever increasing inclination to weep, I replied, "It is called +_le crédit_." And after the seventh question the furious examinator, +purple in the face, cried, "It is called _la religion_"--and there was a +rain of blows and a thunder of laughter from all my schoolmates. Madame, +since that day I never hear the word _religion_ without having my back +turn pale with terror, and my cheeks turn red with shame. And to tell +the honest truth, _le crédit_ has during my life stood me in the better +stead than _la religion_. It occurs to me just at this instant that I +still owe the landlord of The Lion in Bologna five dollars. And I pledge +you my sacred word of honor that I would willingly owe him five dollars +more if I could only be certain that I should never again hear that +unlucky word, _la religion_, as long as I live. + +_Parbleu_, Madame! I have succeeded tolerably well in French; for I +understand not only _patois_, but even patrician, governess French. Not +long ago, when in an aristocratic circle, I understood nearly one-half +of the conversation of two German countesses, each of whom could count +at least sixty-four years, and as many ancestors. Yes, in the _Café +Royal_ in Berlin, I once heard Monsieur Hans Michel Martens talking +French, and could understand every word he spoke, though there was no +understanding in anything he said. We must know the _spirit_ of a +language, and this is best learned by drumming. _Parbleu_! how much do I +not owe to the French drummer who was so long quartered in our house, +who looked like a devil, and yet had the good heart of an angel, and +withal drummed so divinely! + +He was a little, nervous figure, with a terrible black mustache, beneath +which red lips sprang forth defiantly, while his wild eyes shot fiery +glances all round. + +I, a young shaver, stuck to him like a burr, and helped him to clean his +military buttons till they shone like mirrors, and to pipe-clay his +vest--for Monsieur Le Grand liked to look well--and I followed him to +the guard house, to the roll-call, to the parade-ground--in those times +there was nothing but the gleam of weapons and merriment--_les jours de +fête sont passés_! Monsieur Le Grand knew but a little broken German, +only the three principal words, "Bread," "Kiss," "Honor"--but he could +make himself very intelligible with his drum. For instance, if I knew +not what the word _liberté_ meant, he drummed the _Marseillaise_--and I +understood him. If I did not understand the word _égalité_, he drummed +the march-- + + "Ça ira, ça ira, ça ira, + Les aristocrats à la lanterne!" + +and I understood him. If I did not know what Bêtise meant, he drummed +the Dessauer March, which we Germans, as Goethe also declares, drummed +in Champagne--and I understood him. He once wanted to explain to me the +word _l'Allemagne_ (or Germany), and he drummed the all too _simple_ +melody which on market-days is played to dancing-dogs, namely, +_dum-dum-dum_! I was vexed, but I understood him for all that! + +In like manner he taught me modern history. I did not understand, it is +true, the words which he spoke, but as he constantly drummed while +speaking, I knew what he meant. This is, fundamentally, the best method. +The history of the storming of the Bastile, of the Tuileries, and the +like, cannot be correctly understood until we know how _the drumming_ +was done on such occasions. In our school compendiums of history we +merely read: "Their Excellencies the Barons and Counts and their noble +spouses, their Highnesses the Dukes and Princes and their most noble +spouses were beheaded. His Majesty the King, and his most illustrious +spouse, the Queen, were beheaded."--But when you hear the red march of +the guillotine drummed, you understand it correctly for the first time, +and with it the how and the why. Madame, that is really a wonderful +march! It thrilled through marrow and bone when I first heard it, and I +was glad that I forgot it. People are apt to forget things of this kind +as they grow older, and a young man has nowadays so much and such a +variety of knowledge to keep in his head--whist, Boston, genealogical +registers, decrees of the Federal Council, dramaturgy, the liturgy, +carving--and yet, I assure you that really, despite all the jogging up +of my brain, I could not for a long time recall that tremendous time! +And only to think, Madame! Not long ago I sat one day at table with a +whole menagerie of counts, princes, princesses, chamberlains, +court-marshalesses, seneschals, upper court mistresses, court keepers of +the royal plate, court hunters' wives, and whatever else these +aristocratic domestics are termed, and _their_ under-domestics ran about +behind their chairs and shoved full plates before their mouths; but I, +who was passed by and neglected, sat idle without the least occupation +for my jaws, and kneaded little bread-balls, and drummed with my +fingers, from boredom, and, to my astonishment, I found myself suddenly +drumming the red, long-forgotten guillotine march. + +"And what happened?" Madame, the good people were not in the least +disturbed, nor did they know that _other_ people, when they can get +nothing to eat, suddenly begin to drum, and that, too, very queer +marches, which people have long forgotten. + +Is drumming now an inborn talent, or was it early developed in me? +Enough, it lies in my limbs, in my hands, in my feet, and often +involuntarily manifests itself. At Berlin, I once sat in the +lecture-room of the Privy Councilor Schmaltz, a man who had saved the +state by his book on the _Red and Black Coat Danger_. You remember, +perhaps, Madame, that in Pausanias we are told that by the braying of an +ass an equally dangerous plot was once discovered, and you also know +from Livy, or from Becker's _History of the World_, that geese once +saved the Capitol, and you must certainly know from Sallust that by the +chattering of a loquacious _putaine_, the Lady Fulvia, the terrible +conspiracy of Catiline came to light. But to return to the mutton +aforesaid. I was listening to the law and rights of nations, in the +lecture-room of the Herr Privy Councilor Schmaltz, and it was a lazy +sleepy summer afternoon, and I sat on the bench, and little by little I +listened less and less--my head had gone to sleep--when all at once I +was awakened by the noise of my own feet, which had _not_ gone to sleep +and had probably heard that just the contrary of the law and rights of +nations was being taught and constitutional principles were being +reviled, and which with the little eyes of their corns had seen better +how things go in the world than the Privy Councilor with his great Juno +eyes--these poor dumb feet, incapable of expressing their immeasurable +meaning by words, strove to make themselves intelligible by drumming, +and they drummed so loudly that I thereby came near getting into a +terrible scrape. + +Cursèd, unreflecting feet! They once played me a little trick, when I, +on a time in Göttingen, was temporarily attending the lectures of +Professor Saalfeld, and as this learned gentleman, with his angular +agility, jumped about here and there in his desk, and wound himself up +to curse the Emperor Napoleon in regular set style--no, my poor feet, I +cannot blame you for drumming _then_--indeed, I would not have blamed +you if in your dumb _naïveté_ you had expressed yourselves by still more +energetic movements. How dare I, the scholar of Le Grand, hear the +Emperor cursed? The Emperor! the Emperor! the great Emperor! + +When I think of the great Emperor, all in my memory again becomes +summer-green and golden. A long avenue of lindens in bloom arises before +me, and on the leafy twigs sit nightingales, singing; the waterfall +murmurs, in full round beds flowers are growing, and dreamily nodding +their fair heads. I was on a footing of wondrous intimacy with them; the +rouged tulips, proud as beggars, condescendingly greeted me; the nervous +sick lilies nodded to me with tender melancholy, the wine-red roses +laughed at me from afar; the night-violets sighed; with the myrtle and +laurel I was not then acquainted, for they did not entice with a shining +bloom, but the mignonette, with whom I am now on such bad terms, was my +very particular friend.--I am speaking of the Court garden of +Düsseldorf, where I often lay upon the grass and piously listened there +when Monsieur Le Grand told of the martial feats of the great Emperor, +beating meanwhile the marches which were drummed while the deeds were +performed, so that I saw and heard it all vividly. I saw the passage +over the Simplon--the Emperor in advance and his brave grenadiers +climbing on behind him, while the scream of frightened birds of prey +sounded around, and the glaciers thundered in the distance; I saw the +Emperor with glove in hand on the bridge of Lodi; I saw the Emperor in +his grey cloak at Marengo; I saw the Emperor on horseback in the battle +of the Pyramids, naught around save powder, smoke, and Mamelukes; I saw +the Emperor in the battle of Austerlitz--ha! how the bullets whistled +over the smooth, icy road! I saw, I heard the battle of Jena-dum, dum, +dune; I saw, I heard the battle of Eylau, of Wagram--no, I could hardly +stand it! Monsieur Le Grand drummed so that my own eardrum nearly burst. + +III + +But what were my feelings when my very own eyes were first blessed with +the sight of him, _him_--Hosannah! the Emperor. + +It was precisely in the avenue of the Court garden at Düsseldorf. As I +pressed through the gaping crowd, thinking of the doughty deeds and +battles which Monsieur Le Grand had drummed to me, my heart beat the +"general march"--yet at the same time I thought of the police regulation +that no one should dare ride through the middle of the avenue under +penalty of five dollars fine. And the Emperor with his _cortège_ rode +directly through the middle of the avenue. The trembling trees bowed +toward him as he advanced, the sun-rays quivered, frightened, yet +curious, through the green leaves, and in the blue heaven above there +swam visibly a golden star. The Emperor wore his unpretentious-green +uniform and the little world-renowned hat. He rode a white palfrey, +which stepped with such calm pride, so confidently, so nobly--had I then +been Crown Prince of Prussia I would have envied that horse. The +Emperor sat carelessly, almost laxly, holding his rein with one hand, +and with the other good-naturedly patting the neck of the horse. It was +a sunny marble hand, a mighty hand--one of the pair which subdued the +many headed monster of anarchy, and regulated the conflict of +nations--and it good-naturedly patted the neck of the horse. Even the +face had that hue which we find in the marble Greek and Roman busts, the +traits were as nobly proportioned as those of the ancients, and on that +countenance was plainly written "Thou shalt have no gods before me!" A +smile, which warmed and tranquilized every heart, flitted over the +lips--and yet all knew that those lips needed but to whistle _et la +Prusse n'existait plus_--those lips needed but to whistle and the entire +clergy would have stopped their ringing and singing--those lips needed +but to whistle, and the entire Holy Roman Empire would have danced. And +these lips smiled, and the eye too smiled. It was an eye clear as +heaven; it could read the hearts of men; it saw at a glance all things +in the world at once, while we ordinary mortals see them only one by +one, and then only their colored shadows. The brow was not so clear, the +phantoms of future battles were nestling there, and from time to time +there was a quiver which swept over this brow, and those were the +creative thoughts, the great seven-league-boots thoughts, wherewith the +spirit of the Emperor strode invisibly over the world; and I believe +that every one of those thoughts would have furnished a German author +plentiful material to write about all the days of his life. + +The Emperor rode calmly, straight through the middle of the avenue; no +policeman stopped him; behind him proudly rode his cortège on snorting +steeds and loaded with gold and ornaments. The drums rolled, the +trumpets pealed; near me crazy Aloysius spun round, and snarled the +names of his generals; not far off bellowed the tipsy Gumpert, and the +multitude cried with a thousand voices, "Es lebe der Kaiser!"--Long live +the Emperor! + +IV + +The Emperor is dead. On a waste island in the Indian Sea lies his +lonely grave, and he for whom the world was too narrow lies silently +under a little hillock, where five weeping willows shake out their green +hair, and a gentle little brook, murmuring sorrowfully, ripples by. +There is no inscription on his tomb; but Clio, with unerring style, has +written thereon invisible words, which will resound, like ghostly tones, +through the centuries. + +Britannia, the sea is thine! But the sea hath not water enough to wash +away the shame which that mighty one hath bequeathed to thee in dying. +Not thy wind bag, Sir Hudson--no; thou thyself wert the Sicilian bravo +whom perjured kings lured that they might secretly revenge on the man of +the people that which the people had once openly inflicted on one of +themselves. And he was thy guest, and had seated himself by thy hearth. + +Until the latest times the boys of France will sing and tell of the +terrible hospitality of the _Bellerophon_, and when those songs of +mockery and tears resound across the strait, there will be a blush on +the cheek of every honorable Briton. But a day will come when this song +will ring thither, and there will be no Britannia in existence--when the +people of pride will be humbled to the earth, when Westminster's +monuments will be broken, and when the royal dust which they inclosed +will be forgotten. And St. Helena is the holy grave whither the races of +the east and of the west will make their pilgrimage in ships, with +pennons of many a hue, and their hearts will grow strong with great +memories of the deeds of the worldly savior, who suffered and died under +Sir Hudson Lowe, as it is written in the evangelists, Las Cases, +O'Meara, and Autommarchi. + +Strange! A terrible destiny has already overtaken the three greatest +enemies of the Emperor: Londonderry has cut his throat, Louis XVIII has +rotted away on his throne, and Professor Saalfeld is still, as before, +professor in Göttingen. + + * * * * * + + + + +ENGLISH FRAGMENTS[56] + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +DIALOGUE ON THE THAMES + +The sallow man stood near me on the deck, as I gazed on the green shores +of the Thames, while in every corner of my soul the nightingales awoke +to life. "Land of Freedom!" I cried, "I greet thee! Hail to thee, +Freedom, young sun of the renewed world! Those older suns, Love and +Faith, are withered and cold, and can no longer light or warm us. The +ancient myrtle woods, which were once all too full, are now deserted, +and only timid turtle-doves nestle amid the soft thickets. The old +cathedrals, once piled in towering height by an arrogantly pious race, +which fain would force its faith into heaven, are crumbling, and their +gods have ceased to believe in themselves. Those divinities are worn +out, and our age lacks the imagination to shape others. Every power of +the human breast now tends to a love of Liberty, and Liberty is, +perhaps, the religion of the modern age. It is a religion not preached +to the rich, but to the poor, and has in like manner its evangelists, +its martyrs, and its Iscariots!" + +"Young enthusiast," said the sallow man, "you will not find what you +seek. You may be in the right in believing that Liberty is a new +religion which will spread over all the world. But as every race of old, +when it received Christianity, did so according to its requirements and +its peculiar character, so, at present, every country adopts from the +new religion of liberty only that which is in accordance with its local +needs and national character. + +The English are a domestic race, living a sequestered, peaceable, family +life, and the Englishman seeks in the circle of those connected with and +pertaining to him that easy state of mind which is denied to him through +his innate social incapacity. The Englishman is, therefore, contented +with that liberty which secures his most personal rights and guards his +body, his property, and his conjugal relations, his religion, and even +his whims, in the most unconditional manner. No one is freer in his home +than an Englishman, and, to use a celebrated expression, he is king and +bishop between his four walls; and there is much truth in the common +saying, 'My house is my castle.' + +"If the Englishman has the greatest need of personal freedom, the +Frenchman, in case of necessity, can dispense with it, if we only grant +him that portion of universal liberty known as equality. The French are +not a domestic, but a social, race; they are no friends to a silent +_tête-à -tête_, which they call _une conversation anglaise;_ they run +gossiping about from the _café_ to the casino, and from the casino to +the _salons_; their light champagne-blood and inborn talent for company +drive them to social life, whose first and last principle, yes, whose +very soul, is equality. The development of the social principle in +France necessarily involved that of equality, and if the ground of the +Revolution should be sought in the Budget, it is none the less true that +its language and tone were drawn from those wits of low degree who lived +in the _salons_ of Paris, apparently on a footing of equality with the +high _noblesse_, and who were now and then reminded, it may have been by +a hardly perceptible, yet not on that account less exasperating, feudal +smile, of the great and ignominious inequality which lay between them. +And when the _canaille roturière_ took the liberty of beheading that +high _noblesse_, it was done less to inherit their property than their +ancestry, and to introduce a noble equality in place of a vulgar +inequality. And we are the better authorized to believe that this +striving for equality was the main principle of the Revolution, since +the French speedily found themselves so happy and contented under the +dominion of their great Emperor, who, fully appreciating that they were +not yet of age, kept all their _freedom_ within the limits of his +powerful guardianship, permitting them only the pleasure of a perfect +and admirable equality. + +"Far more patient than the Frenchman, the Englishman easily bears the +glances of a privileged aristocracy, consoling himself with the +reflection that he has a right which renders it impossible for others to +disturb his personal comfort or his daily requirements. Nor does the +aristocracy here make a show of its privileges, as on the Continent. In +the streets and in places of public resort in London, colored ribbons +are seen only on women's bonnets, and gold and silver signs of +distinction on the dresses of lackeys. Even that beautiful, colored +livery which indicates with us military rank is, in England, anything +but a sign of honor, and, as an actor after a play hastens to wash off +the rouge, so an English officer hastens, when the hours of active duty +are over, to strip off his red coat and again appear like a gentleman, +in the plain garb of a gentleman. Only at the theatre of St. James are +those decorations and costumes, which were raked from the off-scourings +of the Middle Ages, of any avail. There we may see the ribbons of orders +of nobility; there the stars glitter, silk knee-breeches and satin +trains rustle, golden spurs and old-fashioned French styles of +expression clatter; there the knight struts and the lady spreads +herself. But what does a free Englishman care for the Court comedy of +St. James, so long as it does not trouble him, and so long as no one +interferes when he plays comedy in like manner in his own house, making +his lackeys kneel before him, or plays with the garter of a pretty +cook-maid? _'Honi soit qui mal y pense!'_ + +"As for the Germans, they need neither freedom nor equality. They are a +speculative race, ideologists, prophets, and sages, dreamers who live +only in the past and in the future, and who have no present. Englishmen +and Frenchmen have a _present_; with them every day has its field of +action, its struggle against enemies, its history. The German has +nothing for which to battle, and when he began to realize that there +might be things worth striving for, his philosophizing wiseacres taught +him to doubt the existence of such things. It cannot be denied that the +Germans love liberty, but it is in a different manner from other people. +The Englishman loves liberty as his lawful wife, and, even if he does +not treat her with remarkable tenderness, he is still ready in case of +need to defend her like a man, and woe to the red-coated rascal who +forces his way to her bedroom--let him do so as a gallant or as a +catchpoll. The Frenchman loves liberty as his bride. He burns for her; +he is a flame; he casts himself at her feet with the most extravagant +protestations; he will fight for her to the death; he commits for her +sake a thousand follies. The German loves liberty as though she were his +old grandmother." + +Men are strange beings! We grumble in our Fatherland; every stupid +thing, every contrary trifle, vexes us there; like boys, we are always +longing to rush forth into the wide world, and, when we finally find +ourselves there, we find it too wide, and often yearn in secret for the +narrow stupidities and contrarieties of home. Yes, we would fain be +again in the old chamber, sitting behind the familiar stove, making for +ourselves, as it were, a "cubby-house" near it, and, nestling there, +read the _German General Advertiser_. So it was with me in my journey to +England. Scarcely had I lost sight of the German shore ere there awoke +in me a curious after-love for the German nightcaps and forest-like wigs +which I had just left in discontent; and when the Fatherland faded from +my eyes I found it again in my heart. And, therefore, it may be that +my voice quivered in a somewhat lower key as I replied to the sallow +man--"Dear sir, do not scold the Germans! If they are dreamers, still +many of them have conceived such beautiful dreams that I would hardly +incline to change them for the waking realities of our neighbors. Since +we all sleep and dream, we can perhaps dispense with freedom; for our +tyrants also sleep, and only dream their tyranny. We awoke only +once--when the Catholic Romans robbed us of our dream-freedom; then we +acted and conquered, and laid us down again and dreamed. O sir! do not +mock our dreamers, for now and then they speak, like somnambulists, +wondrous things in sleep, and their words become the seeds of freedom. +No one can foresee the turn which things may take. The splenetic Briton, +weary of his wife, may put a halter round her neck and sell her in +Smithfield. The flattering Frenchman may perhaps be untrue to his +beloved bride and abandon her, and, singing, dance after the Court dames +(_courtisanes_) of his royal palace (_palais royal_). But the German +will never turn his old grandmother quite out of doors; he will always +find a place for her by his fireside, where she can tell his listening +children her legends. Should Freedom ever vanish from the entire +world--which God forbid!--a German dreamer would discover her again in +his dreams." + +While the steamboat, and with it our conversation, swam thus along the +stream, the sun had set, and his last rays lit up the hospital at +Greenwich, an imposing palace-like building which in reality consists of +two wings, the space between which is empty, and a green hill crowned +with a pretty little tower from which one can behold the passers-by. On +the water the throng of vessels became denser and denser, and I wondered +at the adroitness with which they avoided collision. While passing, many +a sober and friendly face nodded greetings--faces whom we had never seen +before, and were never to see again. We sometimes came so near that it +was possible to shake hands in joint welcome and adieu. One's heart +swells at the sight of so many bellying sails, and we feel strangely +moved when the confused hum and far-off dance-music, and the deep voices +of sailors, resound from the shore. But the outlines of all things +vanished little by little behind the white veil of the evening mist, and +there remained visible only a forest of masts, rising long and bare +above it. + +The sallow man still stood near me and gazed reflectively on high, as +though he sought for the pale stars in the cloudy heaven. And, still +gazing aloft, he laid his hand on my shoulder, and said in a tone as +though secret thoughts involuntarily became words--"Freedom and +equality! they are not to be found on earth below nor in heaven above. +The stars on high are not alike, for one is greater and brighter than +another; none of them wanders free, all obey a prescribed and iron-like +law--there is slavery in heaven as on earth!" + +"There is the Tower!" suddenly cried one of our traveling companions, as +he pointed to a high building which rose like a spectral, gloomy dream +above the cloud-covered London. + + * * * * * + +LONDON + +I have seen the greatest wonder which the world can show to the +astonished spirit; I have seen it, and am still astonished; and still +there remains fixed in my memory the stone forest of houses, and amid +them the rushing stream of faces of living men with all their motley +passions, all their terrible impulses of love, of hunger, and of +hatred--I mean London. + +Send a _philosopher_ to London, but, for your life, no poet! Send a +philosopher there, and station him at a corner of Cheapside, where he +will learn more than from all the books of the last Leipzig fair; and as +the billows of human life roar around him, so will a sea of new thoughts +rise before him, and the Eternal Spirit which moves upon the face of the +waters will breathe upon him; the most hidden secrets of social harmony +will be suddenly revealed to him; he will hear the pulse of the world +beat audibly, and see it visibly; for if London is the right hand of the +world--its active, mighty right hand--then we may regard that route +which leads from the Exchange to Downing Street as the world's pyloric +artery. + +But never send a poet to London! This downright earnestness of all +things, this colossal uniformity, this machine-like movement, this +troubled spirit in pleasure itself, this exaggerated London, smothers +the imagination and rends the heart. And should you ever send a German +poet thither--a dreamer, who stares at everything, even a ragged +beggar-woman, or the shining wares of a goldsmith's shop--why, then, at +least he will find things going right badly with him, and he will be +hustled about on every side, or perhaps be knocked over with a mild "God +damn!" _God damn!_--damn the knocking about and pushing! I see at a +glance that these people have enough to do. They live on a grand scale, +and though food and clothes are dearer with them than with us, they must +still be better fed and clothed than we are--as gentility requires. +Moreover, they have enormous debts, yet occasionally, in a vainglorious +mood, they make ducks and drakes of their guineas, pay other nations to +box about for their pleasure, give their kings a handsome _douceur_ into +the bargain; and, therefore, John Bull must work to get the money for +such expenditure. By day and by night he must tax his brain to discover +new machines, and he sits and reckons in the sweat of his brow, and runs +and rushes, without much looking around, from the Docks to the Exchange, +and from the Exchange to the Strand; and therefore it is quite +pardonable if he, when a poor German poet, gazing into a print-shop +window, stands bolt in his way on the corner of Cheapside, should knock +the latter sideways with a rather rough "God damn!" + +But the picture at which I was gazing as I stood at Cheapside corner was +that of the French crossing the Beresina. + +And when I, jolted out of my gazing, looked again on the raging street, +where a parti-colored coil of men, women, and children, horses, +stagecoaches, and with them a funeral, whirled groaning and creaking +along, it seemed to me as though all London were such a Beresina Bridge, +where every one presses on in mad haste to save his scrap of life; where +the daring rider stamps down the poor pedestrian; where every one who +falls is lost forever; where the best friends rush, without feeling, +over one another's corpses; and where thousands in the weakness of +death, and bleeding, grasp in vain at the planks of the bridge, and are +shot down into the icy grave of death. + +How much more pleasant and homelike it is in our dear Germany! With what +dreaming comfort, in what Sabbath-like repose, all glides along here! +Calmly the sentinels are changed, uniforms and houses shine in the quiet +sunshine, swallows flit over the flagstones, fat Court-counciloresses +smile from the windows; while along the echoing streets there is room +enough for the dogs to sniff at each other, and for men to stand at ease +and chat about the theatre, and bow deeply--oh, how deeply!--when some +small aristocratic scamp or vice-scamp, with colored ribbons on his +shabby coat, or some Court-marshal-low-brow struts along as if in +judgment, graciously returning salutations. + +I had made up my mind in advance not to be astonished at that immensity +of London of which I had heard so much. But I had as little success as +the poor schoolboy who determined beforehand not to feel the whipping +which he was to receive. The facts of the case were that he expected to +get the usual blows with the usual stick in the usual way on the back, +whereas he received a most unusually severe licking on an unusual place +with a cutting switch. I anticipated great palaces, and saw nothing but +mere small houses. But their very uniformity and their limitless extent +impress the soul wonderfully. + +These houses of brick, owing to the damp atmosphere and coal smoke, are +all of an uniform color, that is to say, of a brown olive-green, and are +all of the same style of building, generally two or three windows wide, +three stories high, and finished above with small red tiles, which +remind one of newly extracted bleeding teeth; while the broad and +accurately squared streets which these houses form seem to be bordered +by endlessly long barracks. This has its reason in the fact that every +English family, though it consist of only two persons, must still have a +house to itself for its own castle, and rich speculators, to meet the +demand, build, wholesale, entire streets of these dwellings, which they +retail singly. In the principal streets of the city, where the business +of London is most at home, where old-fashioned buildings are mingled +with the new, and where the fronts of the houses are covered with signs, +yards in length, generally gilt, and in relief, this characteristic +uniformity is less striking--the less so, indeed, because the eye of the +stranger is incessantly caught by the new and brilliant wares exposed +for sale in the windows. And these articles do not merely produce an +effect, because the Englishman completes so perfectly everything which +he manufactures, and because every article of luxury, every astral lamp +and every boot, every teakettle and every woman's dress, shines out so +invitingly and so _finished_. There is also a peculiar charm in the art +of arrangement, in the contrast of colors, and in the variety of the +English shops; even the most commonplace necessities of life appear in a +startling magic light through this artistic power of setting forth +everything to advantage. Ordinary articles of food attract us by the new +light in which they are placed; even uncooked fish lie so delightfully +dressed that the rainbow gleam of their scales attracts us; raw meat +lies, as if painted, on neat and many-colored porcelain plates, +garlanded about with parsley--yes, everything seems painted, reminding +us of the highly polished yet modest pictures of Franz Mieris. But the +human beings whom we see are not so cheerful as in the Dutch paintings, +for they sell the jolliest wares with the most serious faces, and the +cut and color of their clothes is as uniform as that of their houses. + +On the opposite side of the town, which they call the West End--"_the +west end of the town_"--and where the more aristocratic and less +occupied world lives, the uniformity spoken of is still more dominant; +yet here there are very long and very broad streets, where all the +houses are large as palaces, though anything but remarkable as regards +their exterior, unless we except the fact that in these, as in all the +better class of houses in London, the windows of the first _étage_ (or +second story) are adorned with iron-barred balconies, and also on the +_rez de chaussée_ there is a black railing protecting the entrance to +certain subterranean apartments. In this part of the city there are also +great "squares," where rows of houses like those already described form +a quadrangle, in whose centre there is a garden, inclosed by an iron +railing and containing some statue or other. In all of these places and +streets the eye is never shocked by the dilapidated huts of misery. +Everywhere we are stared down on by wealth and respectability, while, +crammed away in retired lanes and dark, damp alleys, Poverty dwells with +her rags and her tears. + +The stranger who wanders through the great streets of London, and does +not chance right into the regular quarters of the multitude, sees little +or nothing of the fearful misery existing there. Only here and there at +the mouth of some dark alley stands a ragged woman with a suckling babe +at her weak breast, and begs with her eyes. Perhaps, if those eyes are +still beautiful, we glance into them, and are shocked at the world of +wretchedness visible within. The common beggars are old people, +generally blacks, who stand at the corners of the streets cleaning +pathways--a very necessary thing in muddy London--and ask for "coppers" +in reward. It is in the dusky twilight that Poverty and her mates, Vice +and Crime, glide forth from their lairs. They shun daylight the more +anxiously since their wretchedness there contrasts more cruelly with the +pride of wealth which glitters everywhere; only Hunger sometimes drives +them at noonday from their dens, and then they stand with silent, +speaking eyes, staring beseechingly at the rich merchant who hurries +along, busy, and jingling gold, or at the lazy lord who, like a +surfeited god, rides by on his high horse, casting now and then an +aristocratically indifferent glance at the mob below, as though they +were swarming ants, or rather a mass of baser beings, whose joys and +sorrows have nothing in common with his feelings. Yes--for over the +vulgar multitude which sticks fast to the soil there soars, like beings +of a higher nature, England's nobility, to whom their little island is +only a temporary resting-place, Italy their summer garden, Paris their +social salon, and the whole world their inheritance. They sweep along, +knowing nothing of sorrow or suffering, and their gold is a talisman +which conjures into fulfilment their wildest wish. + +Poor Poverty! how agonizing must thy hunger be, where others swell in +scornful superfluity! And when some one casts with indifferent hand a +crust into thy lap, how bitter must the tears be wherewith thou +moistenest it! Thou poisonest thyself with thine own tears. Well art +thou in the right when thou alliest thyself to Vice and Crime! Outlawed +criminals often bear more humanity in their hearts than those cool, +reproachless town burghers of virtue, in whose white hearts the power of +evil, it is true, is quenched--but with it, too, the power of good. And +even vice is not always vice. I have seen women on whose cheeks red vice +was painted, and in whose hearts dwelt heavenly purity. I have seen +women--I would that I saw them again!-- + +WELLINGTON + +The man has the bad fortune to meet with good fortune everywhere, and +wherever the greatest men in the world were unfortunate; and that +excites us, and makes him hateful. We see in him only the victory of +stupidity over genius--Arthur Wellington triumphant where Napoleon +Bonaparte is overwhelmed! Never was a man more ironically gifted by +Fortune, and it seems as though she would exhibit his empty littleness +by raising him high on the shield of victory. Fortune is a woman, and +perhaps in womanly wise she cherishes a secret grudge against the man +who overthrew her former darling, though the very overthrow came from +her own will. Now she lets him conquer again on the Catholic +Emancipation question--yes, in the very fight in which George Canning +was destroyed. It is possible that he might have been loved had the +wretched Londonderry been his predecessor in the Ministry; but it +happens that he is the successor of the noble Canning--of the much-wept, +adored, great Canning--and he conquers where Canning was overwhelmed. +Without such an adversity of prosperity, Wellington would perhaps pass +for a great man; people would not hate him, would not measure him too +accurately, at least not with the heroic measure with which a Napoleon +and a Canning are measured, and consequently it would never have been +discovered how small he is as man. + +He is a small man, and smaller than small at that. The French could say +nothing more sarcastic of Polignac than that he was a Wellington without +celebrity. In fact, what remains when we strip from a Wellington the +field-marshal's uniform of celebrity? + +I have here given the best apology for Lord Wellington--in the English +sense of the word. My readers will be astonished when I honorably +confess that I once praised this hero--and clapped on all sail in so +doing. It is a good story, and I will tell it here: + +My barber in London was a Radical, named Mr. White--poor little man in +a shabby black dress, worn until it almost shone white again; he was +so lean that even his full face looked like a profile, and the sighs in +his bosom were visible ere they rose. These sighs were caused by the +misfortunes of Old England--by the impossibility of paying the National +Debt. + +"Ah!" I generally heard him sigh, "why need the English people trouble +themselves as to who reigns in France, and what the French are a-doing +at home? But the high nobility, sir, and the High Church were afraid of +the principles of liberty of the French Revolution; and to keep down +these principles John Bull must give his gold and his blood, and make +debts into the bargain. We've got all we wanted out of the war--the +Revolution has been put down, the French eagles of liberty have had +their wings cut, and the High Church may be cock-sure that none of these +eagles will come a-flying over the Channel; and now the high nobility +and the High Church between 'em ought to pay, anyway, for the debts +which were made for their own good, and not for any good of the poor +people. Ah! the poor people!" + +Whenever Mr. White came to the "poor people" he always sighed more +deeply than ever, and the refrain then was that bread and porter were so +dear that the poor people must starve to feed fat lords, stag-hounds, +and priests, and that there was only one remedy. At these words he was +wont to whet his razor, and as he drew it murderously up and down the +strop, he murmured grimly to himself, "Lords, priests, hounds!" + +[Illustration: THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON] + +But his Radical rage boiled most fiercely against the Duke of +Wellington; he spat gall and poison whenever he alluded to him, and as +he lathered me he himself foamed with rage. Once I was fairly frightened +when he, while barbering away at my neck, burst out in wonted wise +against Wellington, murmuring all the while, "If I only had him _this_ +way under my razor, _I'd_ save him the trouble of cutting his own +throat, as his brother in office and fellow-countryman, Londonderry, +did, who killed himself that-a-way at North Cray in Kent--God damn +him!" + +I felt that the man's hand trembled and, fearing lest he might imagine, +in his excitement, that I really was the Duke of Wellington, I +endeavored to allay his violence, and, in an underhand manner to soothe +him, I called up his national pride; I represented to him that the Duke +of Wellington had advanced the glory of the English, that he had always +been an innocent tool in the hands of others, that he was fond of +beefsteak, and that he finally--but the Lord only knows what fine things +I said of Wellington as I felt that razor tickling around my throat! + +What vexes me most is the reflection that Wellington will be as immortal +as Napoleon Bonaparte. It is true that, in like manner, the name of +Pontius Pilate will be as little likely to be forgotten as that of +Christ. Wellington and Napoleon! It is a wonderful phenomenon that the +human mind can at the same time think of both these names. There can be +no greater contrast than the two, even in their external appearance. +Wellington, the dumb ghost, with an ashy-gray soul in a buckram body, a +wooden smile on his freezing face--and, by the side of _that_, think of +the figure of Napoleon, every inch a god! + +That figure never disappears from my memory. I still see him, high on +his steed, with eternal eyes in his marble-like, imperial face, glancing +calm as destiny on the Guards defiling past--he was then sending them to +Russia, and the old Grenadiers glanced up at him so terribly devoted, so +all-consciously serious, so proud in death-- + +"Te, Cæsar, morituri, salutant." + +There often steals over me a secret doubt whether I ever really saw him, +if we were ever contemporaries, and then it seems to me as if his +portrait, torn from the little frame of the present, vanished away more +proudly and imperiously in the twilight of the past. His name even now +sounds to us like a word of the early world, and as antique and as +heroic as those of Alexander and Cæsar. It has already become a +rallying word among races, and when the East and the West meet they +fraternize on that single name. + +I once felt, in the deepest manner, how significantly and magically that +name can sound. It was in the harbor of London, at the India Docks, and +on board an East India-man just arrived from Bengal. It was a giant-like +ship, fully manned with Hindoos. The grotesque forms and groups, the +singularly variegated dresses, the enigmatical expressions of +countenance, the strange gestures, the wild and foreign ring of their +language, their shouts of joy and their laughter, with the seriousness +ever rising and falling on certain soft yellow faces, their eyes like +black flowers which looked at me as with wondrous woe--all of this awoke +in me a feeling like that of enchantment; I was suddenly as if +transported into Scherezade's story, and I thought that broad-leaved +palms, and long-necked camels, and gold-covered elephants, and other +fabulous trees and animals must forthwith appear. The supercargo who was +on the vessel, and who understood as little of the language as I myself, +could not, in his truly English narrow-mindedness, narrate to me enough +of what a ridiculous race they were, nearly all pure Mohammedans +collected from every land of Asia, from the limits of China to the +Arabian Sea, there being even some jet-black, woolly-haired Africans +among them. + +To one whose whole soul was weary of the spiritless West, and who was as +sick of Europe as I then was, this fragment of the East which moved +cheerfully and changingly before my eyes was a refreshing solace; my +heart enjoyed at least a few drops of that draught which I had so often +tasted in gloomy Hanoverian or Royal Prussian winter nights, and it is +very possible that the foreigners saw in me how agreeable the sight of +them was to me, and how gladly I would have spoken a kind word to them. +It was also plain from the very depths of their eyes how much I pleased +them, and they would also have willingly said something pleasant to me, +and it was a vexation that neither understood the other's language. At +length a means occurred to me of expressing to them with a single word +my friendly feelings, and, stretching forth my hands reverentially as if +in loving greeting, I cried the name, "Mohammed!" + +Joy suddenly flashed over the dark faces of the foreigners, and, folding +their arms as reverentially in turn, as a cheerful greeting they +exclaimed, "Bonaparte!" + + * * * * * + + + + + LAFAYETTE[57] (1833) + +By HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +PARIS, January 19, 1832. + +The _Temps_ remarks today that the _Allgemeine Zeitung_ now publishes +articles which are hostile to the royal family, and that the German +censorship, which does not permit the least remark to be leveled at +absolute kings, does not show the least mercy toward a citizen-king. The +_Temps_ is really the shrewdest and cleverest journal in the world! It +attains its object with a few mild words much more readily than others +with the most blustering polemics. Its crafty hint is well understood, +and I know of at least one liberal writer who no longer considers it +honorable to use, under the permission of the censorship, such inimical +language of a citizen-king as would not be allowed when applied to an +absolute monarch. But in return for that, let Louis Philippe do us one +single favor--which is to remain a citizen-king; for it is because he is +becoming every day more and more like an absolute king that we must +complain of him. He is certainly perfectly honorable as a man, an +estimable father of a family, a tender spouse and a good economist, but +it is vexatious to see how he allows all the trees of liberty to be +felled and stripped of their beautiful foliage that they may be sawed +into beams to support the tottering house of Orleans. For that, and that +only, the Liberal press blames him, and the spirits of truth, in order +to make war on him, even condescend to lie. It is melancholy and +lamentable that through such tactics even the family of the King must +suffer, although its members are as innocent as they are amiable. As +regards this, the German Liberal press, less witty but much kinder than +its French elder sister, is guilty of no cruelties. "You should at least +have pity on the King," lately cried the good-tempered _Journal des +Débats_. "Pity on Louis Philippe!" replied the _Tribune_. "This man asks +for fifteen millions and our pity! Did he have pity on Italy, on +Poland?"--_et cetera_. + +I saw a few days ago the young orphan of Menotti, who was hanged in +Modena. Nor is it long since I saw Señora Luisa de Torrijos, a poor +deathly-pale lady, who quickly returned to Paris when she learned on the +Spanish frontier the news of the execution of her husband and of his +fifty-two companions in misfortune. Ah! I really pity Louis Philippe. + +_La Tribune_, the organ of the openly declared Republican party, is +pitiless as regards its royal enemy, and every day preaches the +Republic. The _National_, the most reckless and independent journal in +France, has recently chimed in to the same air in a most surprising +manner. And terrible as an echo from the bloodiest days of the +Convention sounded the speeches of those chiefs of the _Société des Amis +du Peuple_ who were placed last week before the court of assizes, +"accused of having conspired against the existing Government in order to +overthrow it and establish a republic." They were acquitted by the jury, +because they proved that they had in no way conspired, but had simply +uttered their convictions publicly. "Yes, we desire the overthrow of +this feeble Government, we wish for a republic." Such was the refrain of +all their speeches before the tribunal. + +While on one side the serious Republicans draw the sword and growl with +words of thunder, the _Figaro_ flashes lightning, and laughs and swings +its light lash most effectually. It is inexhaustible in clever sayings +as to "the best republic," a phrase with which poor Lafayette is mocked, +because he, as is well known, once embraced Louis Philippe before the +Hôtel de Ville and cried, "Vous êtes la meilleure république!" The _Figaro_ +recently remarked that we of course now require no republic, since we +have seen the best. And it also said as cruelly, in reference to the +debates on the civil list, that "_la meilleure république coute quinze +millions_." The Republican party will never forgive Lafayette his blunder +in advocating a king. They reproach him with this, that he had known +Louis Philippe long enough to be aware beforehand what was to be expected +of him. Lafayette is now ill--_malade de chagrin_--heart-sick. All! the +greatest heart of two worlds must feel bitterly the royal deception. It +was all in vain that he in the very beginning continually insisted on the +_Programme de l'Hôtel de Ville_, on the republican institutions with +which the monarchy should be surrounded, and on similar promises. But he +was out-cried by the _doctrinaire_ gossips and chatterers, who proved +from the English history of 1688 that people in Paris in July, 1830, had +fought simply to maintain the Charter, and that all their sacrifices and +struggles had no other object than to replace the elder line of the +Bourbons by the younger, just as all was finished in England by putting +the House of Orange in place of the Stuarts. Thiers, who does not think +with this party, though he now acts as their spokesman, has of late +given them a good push forward. This indifferentist of the deepest dye, +who knows so admirably how to preserve moderation in the clearness, +intelligence, and illustration of his style, this Goethe of politics, is +certainly at present the most powerful defender of the system of Périer, +and, in fact, with his pamphlet against Chateaubriand he well-nigh +annihilated that Don Quixote of Legitimacy, who sat so pathetically on +his winged Rosinante, whose sword was more shining than sharp, and who +shot only with costly pearls instead of good, piercing, leaden bullets. + +In their irritation at the lamentable turn which events have taken, many +of the enthusiasts for freedom go so far as to slander Lafayette. How +far a man can go astray in this direction is shown by the book of +Belmontet, which is also an attack on the well-known pamphlet by +Chateaubriand, and in which the Republic is advocated with commendable +freedom. I would here cite the bitter passages against Lafayette +contained in this work, were they not on one side too spiteful, and on +the other connected with a defense of the Republic which is not suitable +to this journal. I therefore refer the reader to the work itself, and +especially to a chapter in it entitled "The Republic." One may there see +how evil fortune may make even the noblest men unjust. + +I will not here find fault with the brilliant delusion of the +possibility of a republic in France. A royalist by inborn inclination, I +have now, in France, become one from conviction. For I am convinced that +the French could never tolerate any republic, neither according to the +constitution of Athens or of Sparta, nor, least of all, to that of the +United States. The Athenians were the student-youths of mankind; their +constitution was a species of academic freedom, and it would be mere +folly to seek to introduce it in this our matured age, to revive it in +our senile Europe. And how could we put up with that of Sparta, that +great and tiresome manufactory of patriotism, that soldiers' barrack of +republican virtue, that sublimely bad kitchen of equality, in which +black broth was so vilely cooked that Attic wits declared it made men +despise life and defy death in battle? How could such a constitution +flourish in the very _foyer_ of gourmands, in the fatherland of Véry, of +Véfour, and of Carême? This latter would certainly have thrown himself, +like Vatel, on his sword, as a Brutus of cookery and as the last +gastronome. Indeed, had Robespierre only introduced Spartan cookery, the +guillotine would have been quite superfluous, for then the last +aristocrats would have died of terror, or emigrated as soon as possible. +Poor Robespierre! you would introduce stern republicanism to Paris--to a +city in which one hundred and fifty thousand milliners and dressmakers, +and as many barbers and perfumers, exercise their smiling, curling, and +sweet-smelling industries! + +The monotony, the want of color, and the petty domestic citizens' life +of America would be even more intolerable in the home of the "love of +the spectacular," of vanity, fashion, and novelties. Indeed, the passion +for decorations flourishes nowhere so much as in France. Perhaps, with +the exception of August Wilhelm Schlegel, there is not a woman in +Germany so fond of gay ribbons as the French; even the heroes of July, +who fought for freedom and equality, afterward wore blue ribbons to +distinguish themselves from the rest of the people. Yet, if I on this +account doubt the success of a republic in Europe, it still cannot be +denied that everything is leading to one; that the republican respect +for law in place of veneration of royal personages is showing itself +among the better classes, and that the Opposition, just as it played at +comedy for fifteen years with a king, is now continuing the same game +with royalty itself, and that consequently a republic may be for a short +time, at least, the end of the song. The Carlists are aiding this +movement, since they regard it as a necessary phase which will enable +them to reëstablish the absolute monarchy of the elder branch; therefore +they now bear themselves like the most zealous republicans. Even +Chateaubriand praises the Republic, calls himself a Republican from +inclination, fraternizes with Marrast, and receives the accolade from +Béranger. The _Gazette_--the hypocritical _Gazette de France_--now +yearns for republican state forms, universal franchise, primary +meetings, _et cetera_. It is amusing to see how these disguised +priestlings now play the bully-braggart in the language of +Sans-culottism, how fiercely they coquet with the red Jacobin cap, yet +are ever and anon afflicted with the thought that they might forgetfully +have put on in its place the red cap of a prelate; they take for an +instant from their heads their borrowed covering and show the tonsure +unto all the world. Such men as these now believe that they may insult +Lafayette, and it serves as an agreeable relaxation from the sour +republicanism, the compulsory liberty, which they must assume. + +But let deluded friends and hypocritical enemies say what they will, +Lafayette is, after Robespierre, the purest character of the French +Revolution, and, next to Napoleon, its most popular hero. Napoleon and +Lafayette are the two names which now bloom most beautifully in France. +Truly their fame is each of a different kind. The latter fought for +peace, not victory; the former rather for the laurel wreath than for +that of oak leaves. It would indeed be ridiculous to measure the +greatness of the two heroes with the same metre, and put one on the +pedestal of the other, even as it would be absurd to set the statue of +Lafayette on the Vendôme column--that monument made of the cannon +conquered on so many fields of battle, the sight of which, as Barbier +sings, no French mother can endure. On this bronze column place +Napoleon, the man of iron, here, as in life, standing on his fame, +earned by cannon, rising in terrible isolation to the clouds, so that +every ambitious soldier, when he beholds him, the unattainable one, +there on high, may have his heart humbled and healed of the vain love of +celebrity, and thus this colossal column of metal, as a lightning +conductor of conquering heroism, will do much for the cause of peace in +Europe. + +Lafayette has raised for himself a better column than that of the Place +Vendôme, and a better monumental image than one of metal or marble. +Where is there marble as pure as the heart of old Lafayette, or metal as +firm as his fidelity? It is true that he was always one-sided, but +one-sided like the magnetic needle, which always points to the north, +and never once veers to south or west. So he has for forty years said +the same thing, and pointed constantly to North America. He is the one +who opened the Revolution with the declaration of the rights of man; to +this hour he perseveres in this belief, without which there is no +salvation and no health to be hoped for--the one-sided man with his +one-sided heavenly region of freedom. He is indeed no genius, as was +Napoleon, in whose head the eagles of inspiration built their nests, +while the serpents of calculation entwined in his heart; but then he was +never intimidated by eagles nor seduced by serpents. As a young man he +was wise as a graybeard, as a graybeard fiery as a youth, a protector of +the people against the wiles of the great, a protector of the great +against the rage of the people, compassionating yet combating, never +arrogant and never discouraged, equally firm and mild--the unchangeable +Lafayette! and so, in his one-sidedness and equanimity, he has remained +on the same spot from the days of Marie Antoinette to the present hour. +And, as a trusty Eckart of liberty, he still stands leaning on his sword +before the entrance to the Tuileries, warning the world against that +seductive Venusberg, whose magic tones sing so enticingly, and from +whose sweet snares the poor wretches who are once entangled in them can +never escape. + +It is certainly true that the dead Napoleon is more beloved by the +French than is the living Lafayette. This is perhaps because he is dead, +which is to me the most delightful thing connected with him; for, were +he alive, I should be obliged to fight against him. The world outside of +France has no idea of the boundless devotion of the French people to +Napoleon. Therefore the discontented, when they determine on a decided +and daring course, will begin by proclaiming the young Napoleon, in +order to secure the sympathy of the masses. Napoleon is, for the French, +a magic word which electrifies and benumbs them. There sleep a thousand +cannon in this name, even as in the column of the Place Vendôme, and the +Tuileries will tremble should these cannon once awake. As the Jews never +idly uttered the name of their God, so Napoleon is here very seldom +called by his, and people speak of him as _l'homme_, "the man." But his +picture is seen everywhere, in engravings and plaster casts, in metal +and wood. On all boulevards and carrefours are orators who praise and +popular minstrels who sing him--the Man--and his deeds. Yesterday +evening, while returning home, I came into a dark and lonely lane, in +which there stood a child some three years old, who, by a candle stuck +into the earth, lisped a song praising the Emperor. As I threw him a sou +on the handkerchief spread out, something slid up to me, begging for +another. It was an old soldier, who could also sing a song of the glory +of the great Emperor, for this glory had cost him both legs. The poor +man did not beg in the name of God, but implored with most believing +fervor, "_Au nom de Napoléon, donnez-moi un sou._" So this name is the +best word to conjure with among the people. Napoleon is its god, its +cult, its religion, and this religion will, by and by, become tiresome, +like every other. + +Lafayette, on the contrary, is venerated more as a man or as a guardian +angel. He, too, lives in picture and in song, but less heroically; +and--honorably confessed!--it had a comic effect on me when, last year, +on the 28th July, I heard in the song of _La Parisienne_ the words-- + + "Lafayette aux cheveux blancs," + +while I saw him in person standing near me in his brown wig. It was the +Place de la Bastille; the man was in his right place, but still I needs +must laugh to myself. It may be that such a comic combination brings him +humanly somewhat nearer to our hearts. His good-nature, his _bonhomie_, +acts even on children, and they perhaps understand his greatness better +than do the grown people. And here I will tell a little story about a +beggar which will show the characteristic contrast between the glory of +Lafayette and that of Napoleon. I was lately standing at a street corner +before the Pantheon, and as usual lost in thought in contemplating that +beautiful building, when a little Auvergnat came begging for a sou, and +I gave him half-a-franc to be rid of him. But he approached me all the +more familiarly with the words, "_Est-ce que vous connaissez le général +Lafayette?_" and as I assented to this strange question, the proudest +satisfaction appeared on the naïve and dirty face of the pretty boy, and +with serio-comic expression he said, _"Il est de mon pays,"_ for he +naturally believed that any man who was generous enough to give him ten +sous must be, of course, an admirer of Lafayette, and judged me worthy +that he should present himself as a compatriot of that great man. The +country folk also have for Lafayette the most affectionate respect, and +all the more because he chiefly busies himself with agriculture. From +this, result the freshness and simplicity which might be lost in +constant city life. In this he is like one of those great Republicans of +earlier days who planted their own cabbages, but who in time of need +hastened from the plough to the battle or the tribune, and after combat +and victory returned to their rural work. On the estate where Lafayette +passes the pleasant portion of the year, he is generally surrounded by +aspiring young men and pretty girls. There hospitality, be it of heart +or of table, rules supreme; there are much laughing and dancing; there +is the court of the sovereign people; there any one may be presented who +is the son of his own works and has never made mésalliance with +falsehood--and Lafayette is the master of ceremonies. The name of this +country place is Lagrange, and it is very charming when the hero of two +worlds relates to the young people his adventures; then he appears like +an epos surrounded by the garlands of an idyll. + +But it is in the real middle-class more than any other, that is, among +tradespeople and small shop-keepers, that there is the most veneration +for Lafayette. They simply worship him. Lafayette, the establisher of +order, is their idol. They adore him as a kind of Providence on +horseback, an armed tutelary patron of public peace and security, as a +genius of freedom, who also takes care in the battle for freedom that +nothing is stolen and that everybody keeps his little property. The +great army of public order, as Casimir Périer called the National Guard, +the well-fed heroes in great bearskin caps into which small shopmen's +heads are stuck, are drunk with delight when they speak of Lafayette, +their old general, their Napoleon of peace. Truly he is the Napoleon of +the small citizen, of those brave folks who always pay their +bills--those uncle tailors and cousin glove-makers who are indeed too +busy by day to think of Lafayette, but who praise him afterward in the +evening with double enthusiasm, so that one may say that it is about +eleven o'clock at night, when the shops are shut, that his fame is in +full bloom. + +I have just before used the expression "master of ceremonies." I now +recall that Wolfgang Menzel has in his witty trifling called Lafayette a +master of ceremonies of Liberty. This was when the former spoke in the +_Literaturblatt_ of the triumphal march of Lafayette across the United +States, and of the deputations, addresses, and solemn discourses which +attended such occasions. Other much less witty folk wrongly imagine that +Lafayette is only an old man who is kept for show or used as a machine. +But they need hear him speak only once in public to learn that he is not +a mere flag which is followed or sworn by, but that he is in person the +_gonfalonière_ in whose hands is the good banner, the oriflamme of the +nations. Lafayette is perhaps the most prominent and influential speaker +in the Chamber of Deputies. When he speaks, he always hits the nail, and +his nailed-up enemies, on the head. + +When it is needed, when one of the great questions of humanity is +discussed, then Lafayette ever rises, eager for strife as a youth. Only +the body is weak and tottering, broken by age and the battles of his +time, like a hacked and dented old iron armor, and it is touching when +he totters under it to the tribune and has reached his old post, to see +how he draws a deep breath and smiles. This smile, his delivery, and the +whole being of the man while speaking on the tribune, are indescribable. +There is in it all so much that is winsome and yet so much delicate +irony, that one is enchained as by a marvelous curiosity, a sweet, +strange enigma. We know not if these are the refined manners of a French +marquis or the straightforward simplicity of an American citizen. All +that is best in the _ancien régime_, the chivalresque courtesy and tact, +are here wondrously fused with what is best in the modern _bourgeoisie_, +love of equality, simplicity, and honesty. Nothing is more interesting +than when mention is made, in the Chamber, of the first days of the +Revolution, and some one in _doctrinaire_ fashion tears some historical +fact from its true connection and turns it to his own account in speech. +Then Lafayette destroys with a few words the erroneous deduction by +illustrating or correcting the true sense of such an event by citing the +circumstances relating to it. Even Thiers must in such a case strike +sail, and the great historiographer of the Revolution bows before the +outburst of its great and living monument, General Lafayette. + +There sits in the Chamber, just before the tribune a very old man, with +long silvery hair falling over his black clothing. His body is girted +with a very broad tricolored scarf; he is the old messenger who has +always filled that office in the Chamber since the beginning of the +Revolution, and who in this post has witnessed the momentous events of +the world's history from the days of the first National Assembly till +the _juste milieu_. I am told that he often speaks of Robespierre, whom +he calls _le bon Monsieur Robespierre_. During the Restoration the old +man suffered from colic, but since he has wound the tricolored scarf +round his waist he finds himself well again. His only trouble now, in +the dull and lazy times of the _juste milieu_, is drowsiness. I once +even saw him fall asleep while Mauguin was speaking. Indeed, the man +has, doubtless, in his time heard better than Mauguin, who is, however, +one of the best orators of the Opposition, though he is not found to be +very startling or effective by one _qui a beaucoup connu ce bon Monsieur +de Robespierre_. But when Lafayette speaks, then the old messenger +awakes from his twilight drowsiness, he seems to be aroused like an old +war-horse of hussars when he hears the sound of a trumpet--there rise +within him sweet memories of youth, and he nods delightedly with his +silver-white head. + + * * * * * + + + + + THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL[58] (1833-35) + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +But what was the Romantic School in Germany? It was nothing else but the +reawakening of the poetry of the Middle Ages, as it had shown itself in +its songs, images, and architecture, in art and in life. But this poetry +had risen from Christianity; it was a passion-flower which had sprung +from the blood of Christ. I do not know whether the melancholy +passion-flower of Germany is known by that name in France, or whether +popular legend attributes to it the same mystical origin. It is a +strange, unpleasantly colored blossom, in whose calyx we see set forth +the implements which were used in the crucifixion of Christ, such as the +hammer, pincers, and nails--a flower which is not so much ugly as +ghostly, and even whose sight awakens in our soul a shuddering pleasure, +like the convulsively agreeable sensations which come from pain itself. +From this view the flower was indeed the fittest symbol for Christianity +itself, whose most thrilling chain was the luxury of pain. + +Though in France only Roman Catholicism is understood by the word +Christianity, I must specially preface that I speak only of the latter. +I speak of that religion in whose first dogmas there is a damnation of +all flesh, and which not only allows to the spirit power over the flesh, +but will also kill this to glorify the spirit. I speak of that religion +by whose unnatural requisitions sin and hypocrisy really came into the +world, in that by the condemnation of the flesh the most innocent +sensuous pleasures became sins, and because the impossibility of a man's +becoming altogether spiritual naturally created hypocrisy. I speak of +that religion which, by teaching the doctrine of the casting away of all +earthly goods and of cultivating a dog-like, abject humility and angelic +patience, became the most approved support of despotism. Men have found +out the real life and meaning (_Wesen_) of this religion, and do not +now content themselves with promises of supping in Paradise; they know +that matter has also its merits, and is not all the devil's, and they +now defend the delights of this world, this beautiful garden of God, our +inalienable inheritance. And therefore, because we have grasped so +entirely all the consequences of that absolute spiritualism, we may +believe that the Christian Catholic view of the world has reached its +end. Every age is a sphinx, which casts itself into the abyss when man +has guessed its riddle. + +Yet we do in no wise deny the good results which this Christian Catholic +view of the world established in Europe. It was necessary as a wholesome +reaction against the cruelly colossal materialism which had developed +itself in the Roman realm and threatened to destroy all spiritual human +power. As the lascivious memoirs of the last century form the _pièces +justificatives_ of the French Revolution, as the terrorism of a _comité +du salut public_ seems to be necessary physic when we read the +confessions of the aristocratic world of France, so we recognize the +wholesomeness of ascetic spiritualism when we read Petronius or +Apuleius, which are to be regarded as the _piecès justificatives_ of +Christianity. The flesh had become so arrogant in this Roman world that +it required Christian discipline to chasten it. After the banquet of a +Trimalchion, such a hunger-cure as Christianity was a necessity. + +Or was it that as lascivious old men seek by being whipped to excite new +power of enjoyment, so old Rome endured monkish chastisement to find +more exquisite delight in torture and voluptuous rapture in pain? Evil +excess of stimulant! it took from the body of the state of Rome its last +strength. It was not by division into two realms that Rome perished. On +the Bosphorus, as by the Tiber, Rome was devoured by the same Jewish +spiritualism, and here, as there, Roman history was that of a long dying +agony which lasted for centuries. Did murdered Judea, in leaving to +Rome its spiritualism, wish to revenge itself on the victorious foe, as +did the dying centaur who craftily left to the son of Hercules the +deadly garment steeped in his own blood? Truly Rome, the Hercules among +races, was so thoroughly devoured by Jewish poison that helm and harness +fell from its withered limbs, and its imperial war-voice died away into +the wailing cadences of monkish prayer and the soft trilling of +castrated boys. + +But what weakens old age strengthens youth. That spiritualism had a +healthy action on the too sound and strong races of the North; the too +full-blooded barbarous bodies were spiritualized by Christianity, and +European civilization began. The Catholic Church has in this respect the +strongest claims on our regard and admiration, for it succeeded by +subduing with its great genial institutions the bestiality of Northern +barbarians and by mastering brutal matter. + +The Art-work of the Middle Ages manifests this mastery of mere material +by mind, and it is very often its only mission. The epic poems of this +period may be easily classed according to the degree of this subjection +or influence. There can be no discussion here of lyrical and dramatic +poems, for the latter did not exist, and the former are as like in every +age as are the songs of nightingales in spring. + +Although the epic poetry of the Middle Ages was divided into sacred and +profane, both were altogether Christian according to their kind; for if +sacred poesy sang of the Jewish race and its history, the only race +which was regarded as holy, or of the heroes and legends of the Old and +New Testaments, and, in brief, the Church--still all the life of the +time was reflected in profane poetry with its Christian views and +action. The flower of the religious poetic art in the German Middle Ages +is perhaps _Barlaam and Josaphat_, in which the doctrine of abnegation, +of abstinence, and the denial and contempt of all worldly glory, is set +forth most consistently. Next to this I would class the _The Eulogium of +St. Hanno (Lobgesang auf den heiligen Anno)_ as the best of the +religious kind; but this is of a far more secular character, differing +from the first as the portrait of a Byzantine saint differs from an old +German one. As in those Byzantine pictures, so we see in _Barlaam and +Josaphat_ the utmost simplicity; there is no perspective side-work, and +the long, lean, statue-like forms and the idealistic serious faces come +out strongly drawn, as if from a mellow gold ground. On the other hand, +in the song of praise of St. Hanno, the side-work or accessories are +almost the subject, and, notwithstanding the grandeur of the plan, the +details are treated in the minutest manner, so that we know not whether +to admire in it the conception of a giant or the patience of a dwarf. +But the evangel-poem of Ottfried, which is generally praised as the +masterpiece of sacred poetry, is far less admirable than the two which I +have mentioned. + +In profane poetry we find, as I have already signified, first the cycle +of sagas of the _Nibelungen_ and the _Heldenbuch_, or _Book of Heroes_. +In them prevails all the pre-Christian manner of thought and of feeling; +in them rude strength has not as yet been softened by chivalry. There +the stern Kempe-warriors of the North stand like stone images, and the +gentle gleam and the more refined breath of Christianity have not as yet +penetrated their iron armor. But little by little a light dawns in the +old Teutonic forest; the ancient idolatrous oak-trees are felled, and we +see a brighter field of battle where Christ wars with the heathen. This +appears in the saga-cycle of Charlemagne, in which what we really see is +the Crusades reflecting themselves with their religious influences. And +now from the spiritualizing power of Christianity, chivalry, the most +characteristic feature of the Middle Ages, unfolds itself, and is at +last sublimed into a spiritual knighthood. This secular knighthood +appears most attractively glorified in the sagacycle of King Arthur, in +which the sweetest gallantry, the most refined courtesy, and the most +adventurous passion for combat prevail. Among the charmingly eccentric +arabesques and fantastic flower-pictures of this poem we are greeted by +the admirable Iwain, the all-surpassing Lancelot du Lac, and the bold, +gallant, and true, but somewhat tiresome, Wigalois. Nearly allied and +interwoven with this cyclus of sagas is that of the Holy Grail, in which +the spiritual knighthood is glorified; and in this epoch we meet three +of the grandest poems of the Middle Ages, the _Titurel_, the _Parsifal_, +and the _Lohengrin_. Here indeed we find ourselves face to face with +Romantic Poetry. We look deeply into her great sorrowing eyes; she +twines around us, unsuspectingly, her fine scholastic nets, and draws us +down into the bewildering, deluding depths of medieval mysticism. + +At last, however, we come to poems of that age which are not +unconditionally devoted to Christian spiritualism; nay, it is often +indirectly reflected on, where the poet disentangles himself from the +bonds of abstract Christian virtues and plunges delighted into the world +of pleasure and of glorified sensuousness; and it is not the worst poet, +by any means, who has left us the principal work thus inspired. This is +_Tristan and Isolde_; and I must declare that Gottfried von Strassburg, +the composer of this most beautiful poem of the Middle Ages, is perhaps +also its greatest poet, towering far above all the splendor of Wolfram +von Eschenbach, whom we so admire in _Parsifal_ and the fragments of +_Titurel_. We are at last permitted to praise Gottfried unconditionally, +though in his own time his book was certainly regarded as godless, and +similar works, among them the _Lancelot_, were considered as dangerous. +And some very serious results did indeed ensue. The fair Francesca da +Polenta and her handsome friend had to pay dearly for the pleasure of +reading on a summer day in such a book; but the trouble came not from +the reading, but from their suddenly ceasing to read. + +There is in all these poems of the Middle Ages a marked character which +distinguishes them from those of Greece and Rome. We characterize this +difference by calling the first Romantic and the other Classic. Yet +these appellations are only uncertain rubrics, and have led hitherto to +the most discouraging, wearisome entanglements, which become worse since +we give to antique poetry the designation of "Plastic," instead of +"Classic." From this arose much misunderstanding; for, justly, all poets +should work their material plastically, be it Christian or heathen; they +should set it forth in clear outlines; in short, plastic form should be +the main desideratum in modern Romantic art, quite as much as in the +ancient. And are not the figures in the _Divina Commedia_ of Dante or in +the pictures of Raphael as plastic as those in Virgil? The difference +lies in this, that the plastic forms in ancient art are absolutely +identical with the subject or the idea which the artist would set forth, +as, for example, that the wanderings of Ulysses mean nothing else than +the journeyings of a man named Odysseus, who was son of Laërtes and +husband of Penelope; and further, that the Bacchus which we see in the +Louvre is nothing else than the graceful, winsome son of Semele, with +audacious melancholy in his eyes and sacred voluptuousness on his soft +and arching lips. It is quite otherwise in Romantic art, in which the +wild wanderings of a knight have ever an esoteric meaning, symbolizing +perhaps the erring course of life. The dragon whom he overcomes is sin; +the almond which from afar casts comforting perfume to the traveler is +the Trinity, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, which +are three in one, as shell, fibre, and kernel make one nut. When Homer +describes the armor of a hero, it is a good piece of work, worth such +and such a number of oxen; but when a monk of the Middle Ages describes +in his poems the garments of the Mother of God, one may be sure that by +this garb he means as many virtues, and a peculiar significance lies +hidden under this holy covering of the immaculate virginity of Maria, +who, as her son is the almond-kernel, is naturally sung as the +almond-flower. That is the character of the medieval poetry which we +call Romantic. + +Classic art had only to represent the finite or determined, and its +forms could be one and the same with the idea of the artist. Romantic +art had to set forth, or rather signify, the infinite and purely +spiritual, and it took refuge in a system of traditional, or rather of +parabolistic symbols, as Christ himself had sought to render clear his +spiritualistic ideas by all kinds of beautiful parables. Hence the +mystical, problematic, marvelous, and transcendental in the artwork of +the Middle Ages, in which fantasy makes her most desperate efforts to +depict the purely spiritual by means of sensible images, and invents +colossal follies, piling Pelion on Ossa and _Parsifal_ on _Titurel_ to +attain to heaven. + +Among other races where poetry attempted to display the infinite, and +where monstrous fancies appeared, as, for instance, among the +Scandinavians and Indians, we find poems which, being romantic, are +given that classification. + +We cannot say much as to the music of the Middle Ages, for original +documents, which might have served for our guidance, are wanting. It was +not till late in the sixteenth century that the masterpieces of Catholic +church music, which cannot be too highly praised, appeared. These +express in the most exquisite manner pure Christian spirituality. The +recitative arts, which are spiritual from their very nature, could +indeed flourish fairly in Christianity, yet it was less favorable to +those of design, for as these had to represent the victory of mind over +matter, and yet must use matter as the means wherewith to work, they had +to solve a problem against Nature. Hence we find in sculpture and +painting those revolting subjects--martyrdoms, crucifixions, dying +saints, and the flesh crushed in every form. Such themes were martyrdom +for sculpture; and when I contemplate those distorted images in which +Christian asceticism and renunciation of the senses are expressed by +distorted, pious heads, long thin arms, starveling legs, and awkwardly +fitting garments, I feel an indescribable compassion for the artists of +that time. The painters were indeed more favored, for the material for +their work, because of its susceptivity to varied play of color, did not +antagonize spirituality so obstinately as the material of the sculptors, +and yet they were obliged to load the sighing canvas with the most +repulsive forms of suffering. In truth, when we regard many galleries +which contain nothing but scenes of bloodshed, scourging, and beheading, +one might suppose that the old masters had painted for the collection of +an executioner. + +But human genius can transform and glorify even the unnatural; many +painters solved this problem of making what was revolting beautiful and +elevating--the Italians, especially, succeeding in paying tribute to +beauty at the expense of spirituality, and in rising to that ideality +which attained perfection in so many pictures of the Madonna. As regards +this subject the Catholic clergy always made some concession to the +physical. This image of immaculate beauty which is glorified by maternal +love and suffering had the privilege of being made famous by poets and +painters, and adorned with all charms of the sense, for it was a magnet +which could attract the multitude to the lap of Christianity. Madonna +Maria was the beautiful _dame du comptoir_ of the Catholic Church, who, +with her beautiful eyes, attracted and held fast its customers, +especially the barbarians of the North. + +Architecture had in the Middle Ages the same character as the other +arts, as indeed all the manifestations of life then harmonized so +marvelously with one another. The tendency to parable shows itself here, +as in poetry. When we now enter a Gothic cathedral, we hardly suspect +the esoteric sense of its stone symbolism; only a general impression +pierces our soul; we realize an elevation of feeling and mortification +of the flesh. The interior is a hollow cross, and we wander among the +instruments of martyrdom itself; the variegated windows cast on us red +and green light, like blood and corruption; funeral songs wail about +us; under our feet are mortuary tablets and decay; and the soul soars +with the colossal columns to a giddy height, tearing itself with pain +from the body, which falls like a weary, worn-out garment to the ground. +But when we behold the exteriors of these Gothic cathedrals, these +enormous buildings which are wrought so aërially, so finely, delicately, +transparently, cut as it were into such open work that one might take +them for Brabant lace in marble, then we feel truly the power of that +age which could so master stone itself that it seems spectrally +transfused with spiritual life, and thus even the hardest material +declares Christian spirituality. + +But arts are only the mirror of life, and, as Catholicism died away, so +its sounds grew fainter and its lights dimmer in art. During the +Reformation Catholic song gradually disappeared in Europe, and in its +place we see the long-slumbering poetry of Greece re-awakening to life. +But it was only an artificial spring, a work of the gardener, not of the +sun, and the trees and flowers were in close pots, and a glass canopy +protected them from cold and northern winds. + +In the world's history no event is the direct result of another; all +events rather exert a mutual influence. It was by no means due only to +the Greek scholars who emigrated to Europe after the fall of Byzantium +that a love for Grecian culture and the desire to imitate it became so +general among us; a similar Protestantism prevailed then in art as well +as in life. Leo X., that splendid Medici, was as zealous a Protestant as +Luther, and as there was a Latin prose protest in Wittenberg, so they +protested poetically in Rome in stone, color, and _ottaverime_. And do +not the mighty marble images of Michelangelo, the laughing nymphs of +Giulio Romano, and the joyous intoxication of life in the verses of +Ludovico Ariosto form a protesting opposition to the old, gloomy, +worn-out Catholicism? The painters of Italy waged a polemic against +priestdom which was perhaps more effective than that of the Saxon +theologian. The blooming rosy flesh in the pictures of Titian is all +Protestantism. The limbs of his Venus are more thorough _theses_ than +those which the German monk pasted on the church door of Wittenberg. +Then it was that men felt as if suddenly freed from the force and +pressure of a thousand years; the artists, most of all, again breathed +freely as the nightmare of Christianity seemed to spin whirling from +their breasts, and they threw themselves with enthusiasm into the sea of +Greek joyousness from whose foam rose to them goddesses of beauty. +Painters once more limned the ambrosial joys of Olympus; sculptors +carved, with the joy of yore, old heroes from the marble; poets again +sang the house of Atreus and Laius; and so the age of new classic poetry +began. + +As modern life was most perfectly developed in France under Louis XIV., +so the new classic poetry received there its most finished perfection, +and, in a measure, an independent originality. Through the political +influence of that great king this poetry spread over Europe; in Italy, +its home, it assumed a French color, and thence the heroes of French +tragedy went with the Anjous to Spain; it passed with Henrietta Maria to +England, and we Germans, as a matter of course, built our clumsy temples +to the powdered Olympus of Versailles. The most famous high-priest of +this religion was Gottsched, that wonderful long wig whom our dear +Goethe has so admirably described in his memoirs. + +Lessing was the literary Arminius who delivered our theatre from this +foreign rule. He showed us the nothingness, the laughableness, the flat +and faded folly of those imitations of the French theatre, which were in +turn imitated from the Greek. But he became the founder of modern German +literature, not only by his criticism, but by his own works of art. This +man pursued with enthusiasm and sincerity art, theology, antiquity, and +archæology, the art of poetry, history--all with the same zeal and to +the same purpose. There lives and breathes in all his works the same +great social idea, the same progressive humanity, the same religion of +reason, whose John he was, and whose Messiah we await. This religion he +always preached, but, alas! too often alone and in the desert. And there +was one art only of which he knew nothing--that of changing stones into +bread, for he consumed the greatest part of his life in poverty and +under hard pressure--a curse which clings to nearly all great German +geniuses, and will last, it may be, till ended by political freedom. +Lessing was more inspired by political feelings than men supposed, a +peculiarity which we do not find among his contemporaries, and we can +now see for the first time what he meant in sketching the duo-despotism +in _Emilia Galotti_. He was regarded then as a champion of freedom of +thought and against clerical intolerance; for his theological writings +were better understood. The fragments _On the Education of the Human +Race_, which Eugène Rodrigue has translated into French, may give an +idea of the vast comprehensiveness of Lessing's mind. The two critical +works which exercised the most influence on art are his _Hamburg +Dramatic Art (Hamburgische Dramaturgie)_, and his _Laokoon, or the +Limits of Painting and Poetry_. His most remarkable theatrical pieces +are _Emilia Galotti, Minna von Barnhelm,_ and _Nathan the Wise_. + +Gotthold Ephraim Lessing was born at Camenz in Lausitz, January 22, +1729, and died in Brunswick, February 15, 1781. He was a thorough-going +man who, when he destroyed something old in a battle, at the same time +always created something new and better. "He was," says a German author, +"like those pious Jews, who, during the second building of the Temple, +were often troubled by attacks of the enemy, and so fought with one hand +while with the other they worked at the house of God." This is not the +place where I can say more of Lessing, but I cannot refrain from +remarking that he is, of all who are recorded in the whole history of +literature, the writer whom I love best. + +I will here mention another author who worked in the same spirit, with +the same object, as Lessing, and who may be regarded as his successor. +It is true that his eulogy is here also out of place, since he occupies +an altogether peculiar position in literature, and a unique relation to +his time and to his contemporaries. It is Johann Gottfried Herder, born +in 1744 at Mohrungen, in East Prussia, and who died at Weimar in the +year 1803. + +Literary history is the great "Morgue" where every one seeks his dead, +those whom he loves or to whom he is related. When I see there, among so +many dead who were of little interest, a Lessing or a Herder, with their +noble, manly countenances, my heart throbs; I cannot pass them by +without hastily kissing their dead lips. + +Yet if Lessing did so much to destroy the habit of imitating French +second-hand Greekdom, he still, by calling attention to the true works +of art of Greek antiquity, gave an impulse to a new kind of ridiculous +imitations. By his battling with religious superstition he advanced the +sober search for clearer views which spread widely in Berlin, which had +in the late blessed Nicolai its chief organ, and in the General German +Library its arsenal. The most deplorable mediocrity began to show itself +more repulsively than ever, and flatness and insipidity blew themselves +up like the frog in the fable. + +It is a great mistake to suppose that Goethe, who had already come +before the world, was at once universally recognized as a writer of +commanding genius. His _Götz von Berlichingen_ and his _Werther_ were +received with a degree of enthusiasm, to be sure; but so, too, were the +works of common bunglers, and Goethe had but a small niche in the temple +of literature. As I have said, _Götz_ and _Werther_ had a spirited +reception, but more on account of the subject-matter than their artistic +merits, which very few appreciated in these masterworks. _Götz_ was a +dramatized romance of chivalry, and such writings were then the rage. In +_Werther_ the world saw the reproduction of a true story, that of young +Jerusalem, who shot himself dead for love, and thereby, in those +dead-calm days, made a great noise. People read with tears his touching +letters; some shrewdly observed that the manner in which Werther had +been banished from aristocratic society had increased his weariness of +life. The discussion of suicide caused the book to be still more +discussed; it occurred to several fools on this occasion to make away +with themselves, and the book, owing to its subject, went off like a +shot. The novels of August Lafontaine were just as much read, and, as +this author wrote incessantly, he was more famous than Wolfgang von +Goethe. Wieland was the great poet then, with whom perhaps might be +classed the ode-maker, Rambler of Berlin. Wieland was honored +idolatrously, far more at that time than Goethe. Iffland ruled the +theatre with his dreary _bourgeois_ dramas, and Kotzebue with his flat +and frivolously witty jests. + +It was in opposition to this literature that there sprang up in Germany, +at the end of the last century, a school which we call the Romantic, and +of which August Wilhelm and Friedrich Schlegel have presented themselves +as managing agents. Jena, where these and many other souls in like +accord found themselves "off and on," was the centre from which the new +esthetic doctrine spread. I say doctrine, for this school began with +judgments of the art-works of the past and recipes for art-works of the +future, and in both directions the Schlegel school rendered great +service to esthetic criticism. By judging of such works of art as +already existed, either their faults and failures were indicated, or +their merits and beauties brought to light. In controversy and in +indicating artistic shortcomings, the Schlegels were entirely imitators +of old Lessing; they obtained possession of his great battle-blade, but +the arm of August William Schlegel was too tenderly weak and the eyes of +his brother Friedrich too mystically clouded for the former to strike so +strongly and the latter so keenly and accurately as Lessing. True, in +descriptive criticism, where the beauties of a work of art are to be set +forth--where it came to a delicate detection of its characteristics +and bringing them home to our intelligence--then, compared to the +Schlegels, old Lessing was nowhere. But what shall I say as to their +recipes for preparing works of art? There we find in the Schlegels a +weakness which we think may also be detected in Lessing; for the latter +is as weak in affirming as he is strong in denying. He rarely succeeds +in laying down a fundamental principle, still more seldom a correct one. +He wants the firm basis of a philosophy or of a philosophical system. +And this is still more sadly the case with the brothers Schlegel. + +Much is fabled as to the influence of Fichtean Idealism and Schelling's +Philosophy of Nature on the Romantic school, which is even declared to +have sprung from it. But I see here, at the most, only the influence of +certain fragments of thoughts from Fichte and Schelling, and not at all +that of a philosophy. This may be explained on the simple ground that +Fichte's philosophy had lost its hold, and Fichte himself had made it +lose its interest by a mingling of tenets and ideas from Schelling; and +because, on the other hand, Schelling had never set forth a philosophy, +but only a vague philosophizing, an unsteady, vacillating improvisation +of poetical philosophemes. It may be that it was from the Fichtean +Idealism--that deeply ironical system, where the I is opposed to the +not--I and annihilates it--that the Romantic school took the doctrine of +irony which the late Solger especially developed, and which the +Schlegels at first regarded as the soul of art, but which they +subsequently found to be fruitless and exchanged for the more positive +axioms of the Theory of Identity of Schelling. Schelling, who then +taught in Jena, had indeed a great personal influence on the Romantic +school; he is, what is not generally known in France, also a bit of a +poet; and it is said that he was in doubt whether he should not deliver +all his philosophical doctrines in a poetic or even metrical form. This +doubt characterizes the man. + + + + + THE RABBI OF BACHARACH[59] (1840) + +With kindly greeting, the Legend of the Rabbi of Bacharach is dedicated +to his friend HENRY LAUBE by the AUTHOR + + +A FRAGMENT + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +TRANSLATION REVISED BY PAUL BERNARD THOMAS + + +CHAPTER I + +On the Lower Rhine, where its banks begin to lose their smiling aspect, +where the hills and cliffs with their romantic ruined castles rise more +defiantly, and a wilder, sterner majesty prevails, there lies, like a +strange and fearful tale of olden times, the gloomy and ancient town of +Bacharach. But these walls, with their toothless battlements and blind +turrets, in whose nooks and niches the winds whistle and the sparrows +build their nests, were not always so decayed and fallen, and in these +poverty-stricken, repulsive muddy lanes which one sees through the +ruined gate, there did not always reign that dreary silence which only +now and then is broken by the crying of children, the scolding of women, +and the lowing of cows. These walls were once proud and strong, and +these lanes were alive with fresh, free life, power and pomp, joy and +sorrow, much love and much hate. For Bacharach once belonged to those +municipalities which were founded by the Romans during their rule on the +Rhine; and its inhabitants, though the times which came after were very +stormy, and though they had to submit first to the Hohenstaufen, and +then to the Wittelsbach authority, managed, following the example of the +other cities on the Rhine, to maintain a tolerably free commonwealth. +This consisted of an alliance of separate social elements, in which the +patrician elders and those of the guilds, who were subdivided according +to their different trades, both strove for power; so that while they +were bound in union to resist and guard against outside robber-nobles, +they were, nevertheless, constantly having domestic dissensions over +disputed interests. Consequently there was but little social +intercourse, much mistrust, and not infrequently actual outbursts of +passion. The ruling governor sat in his lofty castle of Sareck, and +swooped down like his falcon, whenever he was called, and often when not +called. The clergy ruled in darkness by darkening the souls of others. +One of the most forsaken and helpless of the social elements, which had +been gradually bound down by local laws, was the little Jewish +community. This had first settled in Bacharach in the days of the +Romans, and during the later persecution of the Jews it had taken in +many a flock of fugitive co-religionists. + +The great oppression of the Jews began with the crusades, and raged most +furiously about the middle of the fourteenth century, at the end of the +great pestilence, which, like all other great public disasters, was +attributed to the Jews, because people declared they had drawn down the +wrath of God, and, with the help of the lepers, had poisoned the wells. +The enraged populace, especially the hordes of Flagellants, or +half-naked men and women, who, lashing themselves for penance and +singing a mad hymn to the Virgin, swept over South Germany and the +Rhenish provinces, murdered in those days many thousand Jews, tortured +others, or baptized them by force. There was another accusation which in +earlier times and all through the Middle Ages, even to the beginning of +the last century, cost much blood and suffering. This was the ridiculous +story, recurring with disgusting frequency in chronicle and legend, that +the Jews stole the consecrated wafer, and pierced it with knives till +blood ran from it; and to this it was added that at the feast of the +Passover the Jews slew Christian children to use their blood in the +night sacrifice. + +[Illustration: BACHARACH ON THE RHINE] + +Consequently on the day of this festival the Jews, hated for their +wealth, their religion, and the debts due to them, were entirely in the +hands of their enemies, who could easily bring about their destruction +by spreading the report of such a child-murder, and perhaps even +secretly putting a bloody infant's corpse in the house of a Jew thus +accused. Then at night they would attack the Jews at their prayers, and +murder, plunder, and baptize them; and great miracles would be wrought +by the dead child aforesaid, whom the Church would eventually canonize. +Saint Werner is one of these holy beings, and in his honor the +magnificent abbey of Oberwesel was founded. The latter is now one of the +most beautiful ruins on the Rhine, and with the Gothic grandeur of its +long ogival windows, proud and lofty pillars, and marvelous +stone-carving, it strangely enchants us when we wander by it on some +bright, green summer's day, and do not know the story of its origin. In +honor of this saint there were also three great churches built on the +Rhine, and innumerable Jews murdered and maltreated. All this happened +in the year 1287; and in Bacharach, where one of these Saint Werner's +churches stood, the Jews suffered much misery and persecution. However, +they remained there for two centuries after, protected from such +outbreaks of popular rage, though they were continually subject to spite +and threats. + +Yet the more they were oppressed by hate from without, the more +earnestly and tenderly did the Jews of Bacharach cherish their domestic +life within, and the deeper was the growth among them of piety and the +fear of God. An ideal example of a life given to God was seen in their +Rabbi Abraham, who, though still a young man, was famed far and wide for +his learning. He was born in Bacharach, and his father, who had been the +rabbi there before him, had charged him in his last will to devote his +life to that office and never to leave the place unless for fear of +life. This command, except for a cabinet full of rare books, was all +that his parent, who had lived in poverty and learning, left him. +Rabbi Abraham, however, was a very rich man, for he had married the only +daughter of his father's brother, who had been a prosperous dealer in +jewelry, and whose possessions he had inherited. A few gossips in the +community hinted now and then that the Rabbi had married for money. But +the women all denied this, declaring that the Rabbi, long ere he went to +Spain, had been in love with "Beautiful Sara," and recalling how she had +awaited his return for seven years, while, as a matter of fact, he had +already wedded her against the will of her father, and even without her +own consent, by the betrothal-ring. For every Jew can make a Jewish girl +his lawful wife, if he can succeed in putting a ring on her finger, and +say at the same time: "I take thee for my wife, according to the law of +Moses and Israel." And when Spain was mentioned, the same gossips were +wont to smile in the same significant manner, all because of a vague +rumor that Rabbi Abraham, though he had studied the holy law +industriously enough at the theological school in Toledo, had +nevertheless followed Christian customs and become imbued with habits of +free thinking, like many of the Spanish Jews who at that time had +attained a very remarkable degree of culture. + +And yet in the bottom of their hearts these gossips put no faith in such +reports; for ever since his return from Spain the daily life of the +Rabbi had been pure, pious, and earnest in every way. He performed every +detail of all religious customs and ceremonies with painstaking +conscientiousness; he fasted every Monday and Thursday--only on +Sabbaths and feast days did he indulge in meat or wine; his time was +passed in prayer and study; by day he taught the Law to students, whom +his fame had drawn to Bacharach; and by night he gazed on the stars in +heaven, or into the eyes of Beautiful Sara. His married life was +childless, yet there was no lack of life or gaiety in his home. The +great hall in his house, which stood near the synagogue, was open to the +whole community, so that people went in and out without ceremony, some +to offer short prayers, others to gather news, or to hold a consultation +when in trouble. Here the children played on Sabbath mornings while the +weekly "section" was being read; here people met for wedding and funeral +processions, and quarreled or were reconciled; here, too, those who were +cold found a warm stove, and those who were hungry, a well-spread table. +And, moreover, the Rabbi, as well as his wife, had a multitude of +relatives, brothers and sisters, with their wives and children, and an +endless array of uncles and cousins, all of whom looked up to the Rabbi +as the head of the family, and so made themselves at home in his house, +never failing to dine with him on all great festivals. + +Special among these grand gatherings in the Rabbi's house was the annual +celebration of the Passover, a very ancient and remarkable feast which +the Jews all over the world still hold every year in the month Nissen, +in eternal remembrance of their deliverance from Egyptian servitude. +This takes place as follows: + +As soon as it is dark the matron of the family lights the lamps, spreads +the table-cloth, places in its midst three flat loaves of unleavened +bread, covers them with a napkin, and places on them six little dishes +containing symbolical food, that is, an egg, lettuce, horse-radish, the +bone of a lamb, and a brown mixture of raisins, cinnamon, and nuts. At +this table the father of the family sits with all his relatives and +friends, and reads to them from a very curious book called the _Agade_, +whose contents are a strange mixture of legends of their forefathers, +wondrous tales of Egypt, disputed questions of theology, prayers, and +festival songs. During this feast there is a grand supper, and even +during the reading there is at specified times tasting of the symbolical +food and nibbling of Passover bread, while four cups of red wine are +drunk. Mournfully merry, seriously gay, and mysteriously secret as some +old dark legend, is the character of this nocturnal festival, and the +traditional singing intonation with which the _Agade_ is read by the +father, and now and then reëchoed in chorus by the hearers, first +thrills the inmost soul as with a shudder, then calms it as mother's +lullaby, and again startles it so suddenly into waking that even those +Jews who have long fallen away from the faith of their fathers and run +after strange joys and honors, are moved to their very hearts, when by +chance the old, well-known tones of the Passover songs ring in their +ears. + +And so Rabbi Abraham once sat in his great hall surrounded by relatives, +disciples, and many other guests, to celebrate the great feast of the +Passover. Everything was unusually brilliant; over the table hung the +gaily embroidered silk canopy, whose gold fringes touched the floor; the +plates of symbolic food shone invitingly, as did the tall wine goblets, +adorned with embossed pictures of scenes in holy legends. The men sat in +their black cloaks and black low hats, and white collars, the women, in +wonderful glittering garments of Lombard stuffs, wore on their heads and +necks ornaments of gold and pearls, while the silver Sabbath lamp cast +its festive light on the cheerful, devout faces of parents and children. +On the purple velvet cushions of a chair, higher than the others, +reclined, as custom requires, Rabbi Abraham, who read and sang the +_Agade_, while the gay assembly joined in, or answered in the appointed +places. The Rabbi also wore the prescribed black festival garment, his +nobly-formed, but somewhat severe features had a milder expression than +usual, his lips smiled through his dark-brown beard as if they would +fain say something kind, while in his eyes one could see happy +remembrances combined with some strange foreboding. Beautiful Sara, who +sat on the high velvet cushion with her husband, as hostess, had on none +of her jewelry--nothing but white linen enveloped her slender form and +innocent face. This face was touchingly beautiful, even as all Jewish +beauty is of a peculiarly moving kind; for the consciousness of the deep +wretchedness, the bitter ignominy, and the evil dangers amid which their +kindred and friends dwell, imparts to their lovely features an +expression of soulful sadness and watchful, loving anxiety, which +particularly charms our hearts. So on this evening Beautiful Sara sat +looking into the eyes of her husband, yet glancing ever and anon at the +beautiful parchment book of the _Agade_ which lay before her, bound in +gold and velvet. + +[Illustration: HOUSE IN BACHARACH] + +It was an old heirloom, with ancient wine stains on it, and had come +down from the days of her grandfather; and in it there were many boldly +and brightly-colored pictures, which as a little girl she had often +looked at so eagerly on Passover evenings. They represented all kinds of +Bible incidents--Abraham breaking with a hammer the idols of his father +and the angels appearing to him; Moses slaying Mizri; Pharaoh sitting in +state on his throne, and the frogs giving him no peace even at the +table; his death by drowning--the Lord be praised!--the children of +Israel cautiously crossing the Red Sea, and then standing open-mouthed, +with their sheep, cows, and oxen, before Mount Sinai; pious King David +playing the harp; and, finally, Jerusalem, with its towers and +battlements, shining in the splendor of the setting sun. + +The second wine-cup had been served, the faces and voices of the guests +were growing merrier, and the Rabbi, as he took a loaf of unleavened +bread and raised it with a cheerful smile, read these words from the +_Agade_: "Behold! This is the food which our fathers ate in Egypt! Let +every one who is hungry come and enjoy it! Let every one who is +sorrowful come and share the joy of our Passover! This year we celebrate +it here, but in years to come in the land of Israel. This year we +celebrate it as servants, but in the years to come as sons of freedom!" + +Then the hall door opened, and two tall, pale men, wrapped in very loose +cloaks, entered and said: + +"Peace be with you. We are men of your faith on a journey, and wish to +share the Passover-feast with you!" And the Rabbi replied promptly and +kindly: + +"Peace be with you! Sit ye down near me!" The two strangers immediately +sat down at the table, and the Rabbi read on. Several times while the +others were repeating a sentence after him, he said an endearing word to +his wife; once, alluding to the old humorous saying that on this evening +a Hebrew father of a family regards himself as a king, he said to her, +"Rejoice, oh my Queen!" But she replied with a sad smile, "The Prince is +wanting," meaning by that a son, who, as a passage in the _Agade_ +requires, has to ask his father, with a certain formula of words, what +the meaning of the festival is? The Rabbi said nothing, but pointed with +his finger to an opened page of the _Agade_, on which was a pretty +picture, showing how the three angels came to Abraham, announcing that +he would have a son by his wife Sara, who, meanwhile, urged by feminine +curiosity, is slyly listening to it all behind the tent-door. This +little sign caused a threefold blush to color the cheeks of Beautiful +Sara, who first looked down, and then glanced pleasantly at her husband, +who went on chanting the wonderful story how Rabbi Jesua, Rabbi Eliezer, +Rabbi Asaria, Rabbi Akiba, and Rabbi Tarphen sat reclining in Bona-Brak, +and conversed all night long of the Exodus from Egypt, till their +disciples came to tell them that it was daylight, and that the great +morning prayer was being read in the synagogue. + +While Beautiful Sara sat devoutly listening to and looking at her +husband, she saw his face suddenly assume an expression of agony or +horror, his cheeks and lips become deathly pale, and his eyes harden +like two balls of ice; but almost immediately he regained his previous +composure and cheerfulness, his cheeks and lips grew ruddy, and he +looked about him gaily--nay, it seemed as if a strange, wild humor, such +as was foreign to his nature, had seized him. Beautiful Sara was +frightened as she had never been before in all her life, and a cold +shudder went through her--due less to the momentary manifestation of +dumb horror which she had seen in her husband's face, than to the +cheerfulness which followed it, and which was now gradually developing +into jubilant hilarity. The Rabbi cocked his cap comically, first on one +ear, then on the other, pulled and twisted his beard ludicrously, and +sang the _Agade_ texts as if they were tavern-songs; and in the +enumeration of the Egyptian plagues, where it is usual to dip the +forefinger in the full wine-cup and flip off the drops that adhere, he +sprinkled the young girls near him with the red wine, so that there was +great wailing over spoiled collars, combined with loud laughter. Every +moment Beautiful Sara was becoming more amazed by this convulsive +merriment of her husband, and she was oppressed with nameless fears as +she gazed on the buzzing swarm of gaily glittering guests who were +comfortably enjoying themselves here and there, nibbling the thin +Passover cakes, drinking wine, gossiping, or joyfully singing aloud. + +Then came the time for supper. All rose to wash, and Beautiful Sara +brought the large silver basin, richly adorned with embossed gold +figures, which was held before all the guests in turn, while water was +poured over their hands. As she was doing this for the Rabbi, he gave +her a significant glance, and quietly slipped out of the door. When +Beautiful Sara walked out after him, he grasped her hand, and in the +greatest haste hurried her through the dark lanes of Bacharach, out of +the city gate to the highway which leads along the Rhine to Bingen. + +It was one of those spring nights which, to be sure, are mild and starry +enough, yet which inspire the soul with strange, uncanny feelings. There +was something funereal in the odor of the flowers, the birds chirped +spitefully and at the same time apprehensively, the moon cast malicious +yellow stripes of light over the dark murmuring stream, the lofty banks +of the Rhine looked like vague, threatening giants' heads. The watchman +on the tower of Castle Strahleck blew a melancholy blast, and with it +rang in jarring discord the funeral bell of Saint Werner's. + +Beautiful Sara still had the silver basin in her right hand, while the +Rabbi held her left, and she felt that his fingers were ice-cold, and +that his arm was trembling; but still she went on with him in silence, +perhaps because she had become accustomed to obey her husband blindly +and unquestioningly--perhaps, too, because her lips were mute with +fear and anxiety. + +Below Castle Sonneck, opposite Lorch, about the place where the hamlet +of Nieder Rheinbach now lies, there rises a cliff which arches out over +the Rhine bank. The Rabbi ascended this with his wife, looked around on +every side, and gazed on the stars. Trembling and shivering, as with the +pain of death, Beautiful Sara looked at his pale face, which seemed +ghastly in the moonlight, and seemed to express by turns pain, terror, +piety, and rage. But when the Rabbi suddenly snatched from her hands the +silver basin and threw it far out into the Rhine, she could no longer +endure the agony of uncertainty, and crying out "_Schadai_, be +merciful!" threw herself at his feet and conjured him to explain the +dark mystery. + +At first unable to speak, the Rabbi moved his lips without uttering a +sound; but finally he cried, "Dost thou see the Angel of Death? There +below he sweeps over Bacharach. But we have escaped his sword. God be +praised!" Then, in a voice still trembling with excitement, he told her +that, while he was happily and comfortably singing the _Agade_, he +happened to glance under the table, and saw at his feet the bloody +corpse of a little child. "Then I knew," continued the Rabbi, "that our +two guests were not of the community of Israel, but of the army of the +godless, who had plotted to bring that corpse into the house by stealth +so as to accuse us of child-murder, and stir up the people to plunder +and murder us. Had I given a sign that I saw through that work of +darkness I should have brought destruction on the instant down upon me +and mine, and only by craft did I save our lives. Praised be God! Grieve +not, Beautiful Sara. Our relatives and friends shall also be saved; it +was only my blood which the wretches wanted. I have escaped them, and +they will be satisfied with my silver and gold. Come with me, Beautiful +Sara, to another land. We will leave misfortune behind us, and so that +it may not follow us I have thrown to it the silver ewer, the last of my +possessions, as an offering. The God of our fathers will not forsake us. +Come down, thou art weary. There is Dumb William standing by his boat; +he will row us up the Rhine." + +Speechless, and as if every limb were broken, Beautiful Sara sank into +the arms of the Rabbi, who slowly bore her to the bank. There stood +William, a deaf and dumb but very handsome youth, who, to support his +old foster-mother, a neighbor of the Rabbi, caught and sold fish, and +kept his boat in this place. It seemed as if he had divined the +intention of Abraham, and was waiting for him, for on his silent lips +there was an expression of tender sympathy, and his large blue eyes +rested as with deep meaning on Beautiful Sara, as he lifted her +carefully into the boat. + +The glance of the silent youth roused Beautiful Sara from her lethargy, +and she realized at once that all which her husband had told her was not +a mere dream. A stream of bitter tears poured over her cheeks, which +were as white as her garment. Thus she sat in the boat, a weeping image +of white marble, and beside her sat her husband and Dumb William, who +was busily rowing. + +Whether it is due to the measured beat of the oars, or to the rocking of +the boat, or to the fresh perfume from those steep banks whereon joy +grows, it ever happens that even the most sorrowful heart is marvelously +relieved when on a night in spring it is lightly borne along in a small +boat on the dear, limpid waters of the Rhine. For, in truth, +kind-hearted, old Father Rhine cannot bear to see his children weep, and +so, drying their tears, he rocks them on his trusty arm, and tells them +his most beautiful stories, and promises them his most golden treasures, +perhaps even the old, old, long-sunk Nibelungen hoard. Gradually the +tears of Beautiful Sara ceased to flow; her extreme sorrow seemed to be +washed away by the whispering waves, while the hills about her home bade +her the tenderest farewell. But especially cordial seemed the farewell +greeting of Kedrich, her favorite mountain; and far up on its summit, in +the strange moonlight, she imagined she saw a lady with outstretched. +arms, while active little dwarfs swarmed out of their caverns in the +rocks, and a rider came rushing down the side in full gallop. Beautiful +Sara felt as if she were a child again, and were sitting once more in +the lap of her aunt from Lorch, who was telling her brave tales of the +bold knight who freed the stolen damsel from the dwarfs, and many other +true stories of the wonderful Wisperthal over there, where the birds +talk as sensibly as men, and of Gingerbread Land, where good, obedient +children go, and of enchanted princesses, singing trees, crystal +castles, golden bridges, laughing water-fairies.... But suddenly in the +midst of these pleasant tales, which began to send forth notes of music +and to gleam with lovely light, Beautiful Sara heard the voice of her +father, scolding the poor aunt for putting such nonsense into the +child's head. Then it seemed to her as if they set her on the little +stool before her father's velvet-covered chair, and that he with a soft +hand smoothed her long hair, smiling as if well pleased, while he rocked +himself comfortably in his loose, Sabbath dressing-gown of blue silk. +Yes, it must be the Sabbath, for the flowered cover was spread on the +table, all the utensils in the room were polished like looking-glasses, +the white-bearded usher sat beside her father, eating raisins and +talking in Hebrew; even little Abraham came in with a very large book, +and modestly begged leave of his uncle to expound a portion of the Holy +Scripture, that he might prove that he had learned much during the past +week, and therefore deserved much praise--and a corresponding quantity of +cakes.... Then the lad laid the book on the broad arm of the chair, and +set forth the history of Jacob and Rachel--how Jacob raised his voice +and wept when he first saw his cousin Rachel, how he talked so +confidingly with her by the well, how he had to serve seven years for +her, and how quickly the time passed, and how he at last married and +loved her for ever and ever.... Then all at once Beautiful Sara +remembered how her father cried with merry voice, "Wilt thou not also +marry thy cousin Sara like that?" To which little Abraham gravely +replied, "That I will, and she shall wait seven years too." These +memories stole like twilight shadows through the soul of the young +wife, and she recalled how she and her little cousin--now so great a man +and her husband--played together as children in the leafy tabernacle; how +delighted they were with the gay carpets, flowers, mirrors, and gilded +apples; how little Abraham caressed her more and more tenderly, till +little by little he began to grow larger and more self-interested, and +at last became a man and scarcely noticed her at all.... And now she +sits in her room alone on a Saturday evening; the moon shines in +brightly. Suddenly the door flies open, and cousin Abraham, in traveling +garb, and as pale as death, enters, grasps her hand, puts a gold ring on +her finger, and says, solemnly, "I hereby take thee to be my wife, +according to the laws of God and of Israel." "But now," he adds, with a +trembling voice, "now I must go to Spain. Farewell! For seven years thou +must wait for me." With that he hurried away, and Sara, weeping, told +the tale to her father, who roared and raged, "Cut off thy hair, for +thou art now a married woman." Then he wanted to ride after Abraham to +compel him to write a letter of divorce; but Abraham was over the hills +and far away, and the father silently returned to his house. And when +Beautiful Sara was helping him to draw off his boots, and trying to +soothe him, saying that Abraham would return in seven years, he cursed, +and cried, "Seven years shalt thou be a beggar," and shortly after he +died. + +And so old memories swept through her soul like a hurried play of +shadows, the images intermixing and blending strangely, while between +them came and went half-familiar, half-strange bearded faces, and large +flowers with marvelously spreading foliage. Then the Rhine seemed to +murmur the melodies of the _Agade_, and from its waters the pictures, as +large as life, but wild and distorted, came forth one by one. There was +Father Abraham anxiously breaking the idols into pieces which +immediately flew together again; Mizri defending himself fiercely +against the maddened Moses; Mount Sinai flashing and flaming; King +Pharaoh swimming in the Red Sea, holding his pointed gold crown tightly +in his teeth, while frogs with human faces swam along behind, in the +foaming, roaring waves, and a dark giant-hand rose up threatening from +below. + +Yonder was the Mouse Tower of Bishop Hatto, and the boat was just +shooting through the Bingen Eddy. By this time Beautiful Sara had +somewhat awakened from her dreams, and she gazed at the hills on the +shore, on the summits of which lights of castles were gleaming, and at +the foot of which the mist, shimmering in the moonlight, was beginning +to rise. Suddenly she seemed to see her friends and relatives, as they, +with corpse-like faces and flowing shrouds, passed in awful procession +along the Rhine.... The world grew dark before her eyes, an icy current +ran through her soul, and, as if in sleep, she only heard the Rabbi +repeating the night-prayer slowly and painfully, as if at a deathbed. +Dreamily she stammered the words, "Ten thousand to the right, ten +thousand to the left, to protect the king from the terrors of the +night." + +Then all at once the oppressive gloom and terror passed away, the dark +curtain was torn from heaven, and far above there appeared the holy city +Jerusalem, with its towers and gates; the Temple gleamed in golden +splendor, and in its fore-court Sara saw her father in his yellow +Sabbath dressing-gown, smiling as if well pleased. All her friends and +relatives were looking out from the round windows of the Temple, +cordially greeting her; in the Holy of Holies knelt pious King David, +with his purple mantle and golden crown; sweetly rang his song and the +tones of his harp, and smiling happily, Beautiful Sara awoke. + + +CHAPTER II + +As Beautiful Sara opened her eyes they were almost dazzled by the rays +of the sun. The high towers of a great city rose before her, and Dumb +William, with his oar upright, was standing in the boat, pushing and +guiding it through the lively confusion of many vessels, gay with their +pennons and streamers, whose crews were either gazing idly at +passers-by, or else were busily loading with chests, bales, and casks +the lighters which were to bear them to the shore. And with it all was a +deafening noise, the constant halloh cry of steersmen, the calling of +traders from the shore, and the scolding of the custom-house officials +who, in their red coats and with their white maces and white faces, +jumped from boat to boat. + +"Yes, Beautiful Sara," said the Rabbi, cheerfully smiling to his wife, +"this is the famous, free, imperial, and commercial city of +Frankfort-on-the-Main, and we are now passing along the river Main. Do +you see those pleasant-looking houses up there, surrounded by green +hills? That is Sachsenhausen, from which our lame Gumpert brings us the +fine myrrh for the Feast of the Tabernacles. Here you see the strong +Main Bridge with its thirteen arches, over which many men, wagons, and +horses can safely pass. In the middle of it stands the little house +where Aunty Täubchen says there lives a baptized Jew, who pays six +farthings, on account of the Jewish community, to every man who brings +him a dead rat; for the Jews are obliged to deliver annually to the +State council five thousand rats' tails for tribute." + +At the thought of this war, which the Frankfort Jews were obliged to +wage with the rats, Beautiful Sara burst out laughing. The bright +sunlight, and the new gay world now before her, had driven all the +terrors and horrors of the past night from her soul, and as she was +helped ashore from the boat by Dumb William and her husband, she felt +inspired as with a sense of joyful safety. Dumb William for a long time +fixed his beautiful, deep-blue eyes on hers, half sadly, half +cheerfully, and then, casting a significant glance at the Rabbi, sprang +back into his boat and was soon out of sight. + +"Dumb William much resembles my brother who died," said Beautiful Sara. +"All the angels are alike," answered the Rabbi; and, taking his wife by +the hand, led her through the dense crowd on the shore, where, as it was +the time of the Easter Fair, a great number of wooden booths had been +erected by traders. Then passing through the gloomy Main Gate, they +found themselves in quite as noisy a crowd. Here, in a narrow street, +the shops stood close beside one another, every house, as was usual in +Frankfort, being specially adapted to trade. There were no windows on +the ground floor, but broad, open arches, so that the passer-by, looking +in, could see at a glance all there was for sale. And how astonished +Beautiful Sara was at the mass of magnificent wares, and at the +splendor, such as she had never seen before! Here stood Venetians, who +offered cheaply all the luxuries of the Orient and Italy, and Beautiful +Sara was enchanted by the sight of the ornaments and jewels, the gay +caps and bodices, the gold bangles and necklaces, and the whole display +of finery which women so admire and love to wear. The richly embroidered +stuffs of velvet and silk seemed fairly to speak to Beautiful Sara, and +to flash and sparkle strange wonders back into her memory, and she +really felt as if she were a little girl again, and as if Aunty Täubchen +had kept her promise and taken her to the Frankfort Fair, and as if she +were now at last standing before the beautiful garments of which she had +heard so much. With a secret joy she reflected what she should take back +with her to Bacharach, and which of her two little cousins, Posy and +Birdy, would prefer that blue silk girdle, and whether the green +stockings would suit little Gottschalk. But all at once it flashed on +her, "Ah, Lord! they are all grown up now, and yesterday they were +slain!" She shuddered, and the pictures of the previous night filled her +soul with all their horror again. But the gold-embroidered cloths +glittered once more with a thousand roguish eyes, and drove the gloomy +thoughts from her mind, and when she looked into her husband's face she +saw that it was free from clouds, and bore its habitual, serious +gentleness. "Shut your eyes, Sara!" said the Rabbi, and he led his wife +on through the crowd. + +What a gay, active throng! Most prominent were the tradesmen, who were +loudly vying one another in offering bargains, or talking together and +summing on their fingers, or, following heavily loaded porters, who at a +dog-trot were leading the way to their lodgings. By the faces of others +one could see that they came from curiosity. The stout councilman was +recognizable by his scarlet cloak and golden chain; a black, +expensive-looking, swelling waistcoat betrayed the honorable and proud +citizen. An iron spike-helmet, a yellow leather jerkin, and rattling +spurs, weighing a pound, indicated the heavy cavalry-man. Under little +black velvet caps, which came together in a point over the brow, there +was many a rosy girl-face, and the young fellows who ran along after +them, like hunting-dogs on the scent, showed that they were finished +dandies by their saucily feathered caps, their squeaking peaked shoes, +and their colored silk garments, some of which were green on one side +and red on the other, or else striped like a rainbow on the right and +checkered with harlequin squares of many colors on the left, so that the +mad youths looked as if they were divided in the middle. + +Carried along by the crowd, the Rabbi and his wife arrived at the Römer. +This is the great market-place of the city, surrounded by houses with +high gables, and takes its name from an immense building, "the Römer," +which was bought by the magistracy and dedicated as the town-hall. In it +the German Emperor was elected, and before it tournaments were often +held. King Maximilian, who was passionately fond of this sport, was then +in Frankfort, and in his honor the day before there had been great +tilting in the Römer. Many idle men still stood on or about the +scaffolding, which was being removed by carpenters, telling how the Duke +of Brunswick and the Margrave of Brandenburg had charged one another +amid the sound of drums and of trumpets, and how Lord Walter the +Vagabond had knocked the Knight of the Bear out of his saddle so +violently that the splinters of the lances flew high into the air, while +the tall, fair-haired King Max, standing among his courtiers upon the +balcony, rubbed his hands for joy. The golden banners were still to be +seen on the balconies and in the Gothic windows of the town-hall. The +other houses of the market-place were still likewise festively bedecked +and adorned with shields, especially the Limburg house, on whose banner +was painted a maiden with a sparrow-hawk in her hand, and a monkey +holding out to her a mirror. Many knights and ladies standing on the +balcony were engaged in animated conversation, or looking at the crowd +below, which, in wild groups and processions, surged back and forth. +What a multitude of idlers of all ages and ranks were crowded together +here to gratify their curiosity! There was laughing, grumbling, +stealing, rib-poking, hurrahing, while every now and then blared the +trumpet of the mountebank, who, in a red cloak and with his clown and +monkey, stood on a high stand loudly boasting of his own skill, and +sounding the praises of his marvelous tinctures and salves, ere he +solemnly examined the glass of urine brought by some old woman, or +applied himself to pull a poor peasant's tooth. Two fencing-masters, +dancing about in gay ribbons and brandishing their rapiers, met as if by +accident and began to cut and pass with great apparent anger; but after +a long bout each declared that the other was invincible, and took up a +collection. Then the newly-organized guild of archers marched by with +drummers and pipers, and these were followed by the constable, who was +carrying a red flag at the head of a flock of traveling strumpets, +hailing from the brothel known as "The Ass," in Würzburg, and bound for +Rosendale, where the highly honorable authorities had assigned them +quarters during the fair. "Shut your eyes, Sara," said the Rabbi. For +indeed these fantastic, and altogether too scantily clad women, among +whom were a few really beautiful girls, behaved in a most immodest +manner, baring their bold, white breasts, chaffing those who went by +with shameless words, and swinging their long walking sticks; and using +the latter as hobby-horses, they rode down toward the gate of St. +Katherine, singing in shrill tones the witch-song-- + + "Where is the goat? the hellish beast; + Where is the goat? Oh bring him quick! + And if there is no goat, at least + We'll ride upon the stick." + +This wild sing-song, which rang afar, was finally drowned +out by the long-drawn, sacred tones of a church procession. +It was a solemn train of bare-headed and bare-footed monks, +who carried burning wax tapers, banners with pictures of +the saints, and large silver crucifixes. Before it ran boys +clad in red and white gowns, bearing censers of smoking +frankincense. In the middle of the procession, under a +beautiful canopy, marched priests in white robes adorned +with costly lace, or in bright-colored, silk stoles; one of +them held in his hand a sun-like, golden vessel, which, on +arriving at a shrine by the market-corner, he raised on high, +while he half-sang, half-spoke in Latin--when all at once +a little bell rang, and all the people around, becoming silent, +fell to their knees and made the sign of the cross. "Shut +your eyes, Sara!" cried the Rabbi again, and he hastily +drew her away through a labyrinth of narrow, crooked +streets, and at last over the desolate, empty place which +separated the new Jewish quarter from the rest of the city. + +Before that time the Jews dwelt between the Cathedral and the bank of +the Main, that is, from the bridge down as far as the Lumpenbrunnen, and +from the Mehlwage as far as Saint Bartholomew's. But the Catholic +priests obtained a Papal bull forbidding the Jews to live so near the +high church, for which reason the magistrates assigned them a place on +the Wollgraben, where they built their present quarter. This was +surrounded by high walls, the gate of which was held by iron chains to +keep out the rabble. For here, too, the Jews lived in misery and +anxiety, and with far more vivid memories of previous suffering than +they have at present. In 1240 the unrestrained populace had caused awful +bloodshed among them, which people called the first Jewish massacre. In +1349, when the Flagellants, in passing through the town, set fire to it, +and accused the Jews of the deed, the latter were nearly all murdered or +burned alive in their own houses; this was called the second Jewish +massacre. After this the Jews were often threatened with similar +slaughter, and during the internal dissensions of Frankfort, especially +during a dispute between the council and the guilds, the mob was often +on the point of breaking into the Jewish quarter, which, as has been +said, was surrounded by a wall. The latter had two gates in it, which on +Catholic holidays were closed from without and on Jewish holidays from +within, and before each gate was a watch-house with city soldiers. + +When the Rabbi with his wife came to the entrance to the Jewish quarter, +the soldiers, as one could see through the open windows, lay on the +wooden bench inside the watch-house, while out before the door in the +sunshine sat the drummer beating capriciously on his large drum. He was +a heavy, fat fellow, wearing a jerkin and hose of fiery yellow, greatly +puffed out at his arms and thighs, and profusely dotted with small red +tufts, sewed on, which looked as if innumerable tongues were protruding +from him. His breast and back were padded with cushions of black cloth, +against which hung his drum. He had on his head a flat, round black cap, +which in roundness and flatness was equaled by his face, and the latter +was also in keeping with his dress, being an orange-yellow, spotted with +red pimples, and distorted into a gaping grin. So the fellow sat and +drummed to the melody of a song which the Flagellants had sung at the +Jewish massacre, while he gurgled, in a coarse, beery voice-- + + "Our dear Lady true + Walked in the morning dew, + Kyrie eleison!" + +"Hans, that is a terrible tune," cried a voice from behind the closed +gate of the Jewish quarter. "Yes, Hans, and a bad song too-doesn't suit +the drum; doesn't suit it at all--by my soul--not the day of the fair +and on Easter morning--bad song--dangerous song--Jack, Jacky, little +drum--Jacky boy--I'm a lone man--and if thou lovest me, the Star, the +tall Star, the tall Nose Star--then stop it!" + +These words were uttered by the unseen speaker, now in hasty anxiety, +now in a sighing drawl, with a tone which alternated between mild +softness and harsh hoarseness, such as one hears in consumptive people. +The drummer was not moved, and went on drumming and singing-- + + "There came a little youth, + His beard had run away, in truth, + Halleluja!" + +"Jack," again cried the voice of the invisible speaker, "Jack, I'm a +lone man, and that is a dangerous song, and I don't like it; I have my +reasons for it, and if you love me, sing something else, and tomorrow we +will drink together." + +At the word "drink" Jack ceased his drumming and singing, and said in +friendly tone, "The devil take the Jews! But thou, dear Nose Star, art +my friend, I protect thee; and if we drink together often enough I shall +have thee converted. Yea, I shall be thy godfather, and when thou art +baptized thou shalt be eternally happy; and if thou hast genius and wilt +study industriously under me, thou mayest even become a drummer. Yes, +Nose Star, thou mayest yet become something great. I will drum the whole +catechism into thee when we drink together tomorrow. But now open the +gate, for here are two strangers who wish to enter." + +"Open the gate?" cried Nose Star, and his voice almost deserted him. +"That can't be done in such a hurry, my dear Jack; one can't tell--one +can never tell, you know--and I'm a lone man. Veitel Oxhead has the +key, and he is now standing in the corner mumbling his eighteen-prayer, +and he must not be interrupted. And Jäkel the Fool is here too, but he +is making water; I'm a lone man." + +"The devil take the Jews!" cried the drummer, and, laughing loudly at +this, his one and only joke, he trudged off to the guard-room and lay +down on the bench. + +While the Rabbi stood with his wife before the locked gate, there rose +from behind it a snarling, nasal, somewhat mocking voice. "Starry--don't +groan so much. Take the keys from Oxheady's coat pockets, or else go +stick your nose in the keyhole, and so unlock the gate. The people have +been standing and waiting a long time." "People!" cried the anxious +voice of the man called Nose Star, "I thought there was only one! I beg +you, Fool--dear Jäkel Fool--look out and see who is there." + +A small, well-grated window in the gate opened, and there appeared in +it a yellow cap with two horns, and the funny, wrinkled, and twisted +jest-maker's face of Jäkel the Fool. The window was immediately shut +again, and he cried angrily, "Open the gate--it is only a man and a +woman." + +"A man and a woman!" groaned Nose Star. "Yes, but when the gate's opened +the woman will take her skirt off, and become a man; and then there'll +be two men, and there are only three of us!" + +"Don't be a hare," replied Jäkel the Fool. "Be a man and show courage!" + +"Courage!" cried Nose Star, laughing with bitter vexation. "Hare! Hare +is a bad comparison. The hare is an unclean animal. Courage! I was not +put here to be courageous, but cautious. When too many come I am to give +the alarm. But I alone cannot keep them back. My arm is weak, I have a +seton, and I'm a lone man. If one were to shoot at me, I should be a +dead man. Then that rich man, Mendel Reiss, would sit on the Sabbath at +his table, and wipe the raisin-sauce from his mouth, and rub his belly, +and perhaps say, 'Tall Nose Star was a brave fellow after all; if it had +not been for him, perhaps they would have burst open the gate. He let +himself be shot for us. He was a brave fellow; too bad that he's dead!'" + +Here the voice became tender and tearful, but all at once it rose to a +hasty and almost angry tone. "Courage! and so that the rich Mendel Reiss +may wipe away the raisin-sauce from his mouth, and rub his belly, and +call me a brave fellow, I'm to let myself be shot! Courage! Be a man! +Little Strauss was a man, and yesterday went to the Römer to see the +tilting, thinking they would not know him because he wore a frock of +violet velvet--three florins a yard-covered with fox-tails and +embroidered with gold--quite magnificent; and they dusted his violet +frock for him till it lost its color, and his own back became violet and +did not look human. Courage, indeed! The crippled Leser was courageous, +and called our scoundrel of a magistrate a blackguard, and they hung him +up by the feet between two dogs, while Jack drummed. Courage! Don't be +a hare! Among many dogs the hare is helpless. I'm a lone man, and I am +really afraid." + +"That I'll swear to," cried Jäkel. + +"Yes; I _have_ fear," replied Nose Star, sighing. "I know that it runs +in my blood, and I got it from my dear mother"-- + +"Yes, yes," interrupted Jäkel, "and your mother got it from her father, +and he from his, and so all thy ancestors one from the other, back to +the forefather who marched under King Saul against the Philistines, and +was the first to take to his heels. But look! Oxheady is all ready--he +has bowed his head for the fourth time; now he is jumping like a flea at +the Holy, Holy, Holy, and feeling cautiously in his pocket." + +In fact the keys rattled, the gate grated and creaked and opened, and +the Rabbi led his wife into the empty Jews' Street. The man who opened +it was a little fellow with a good-naturedly sour face, who nodded +dreamily, like one who did not like to be disturbed in his thoughts, and +after he had carefully closed the gate again, without saying a word he +sank into a corner, constantly mumbling his prayers. Less taciturn was +Jäkel the Fool, a short, somewhat bow-legged fellow, with a large, red, +laughing face, and an enormous leg-of-mutton hand, which he now +stretched out of the wide sleeve of his gaily-chequered jacket in +welcome. Behind him a tall, lean figure showed, or rather, hid +itself--the slender neck feathered with a fine white cambric ruff, and +the thin, pale face strangely adorned with an incredibly long nose, +which peered with anxious curiosity in every direction. + +"God's welcome to a pleasant feast-day!" cried Jäkel the Fool. "Do not +be astonished that our street is so empty and quiet just now. All our +people are in the synagogue, and you have come just in time to hear the +history of the sacrifice of Isaac read. I know it--'tis an interesting +story, and if I had not already heard it thirty-three times, I would +willingly listen to it again this year. And it is an important history, +too, for if Abraham had really killed Isaac and not the goat, then there +would be more goats in the world now--and fewer Jews." And then with +mad, merry grimaces, Jäkel began to sing the following song from the +_Agade_:[60] + + "A kid, a kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + A kid! + + There came a cat which ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + + There came a dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + + There came a stick, which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the + kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came a fire, which burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit + the cat, who ate the kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. + A kid! A kid! + + There came the water, which quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, + which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came an ox, who drank the water, which quenched the fire, which + burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, + which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came the butcher, who slew the ox, who drank the water, which + quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit the + cat, that ate the kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. + A kid! A kid! + + "Then came the Angel of Death, who slew the butcher, who killed the + ox, who drank the water, which quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, + which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid!"[61] + +"Yes, beautiful lady," added the singer, "and the day will come when +the Angel of Death will slay the slayer, and all our blood come over +Edom, for God is a God of vengeance." + +But all at once, casting aside with a violent effort the seriousness +into which he had involuntarily fallen, Jäkel plunged again into his mad +buffoonery, and went on in his harsh jester tones, "Don't be afraid, +beautiful lady, Nose Star will not harm you. He is only dangerous to old +Schnapper-Elle. She has fallen in love with his nose--which, faith! +deserves it. Yea, for it is as beautiful as the tower which looketh +forth toward Damascus, and as lofty as a cedar of Lebanon. Outwardly it +gleameth like gold loaf and syrup, and inwardly it is all music and +loveliness. It bloometh in summer and in winter it is frozen up--but in +summer and winter it is petted and pulled by the white hands of +Schnapper-Elle. Yes, she is madly in love with him. She nurses him, and +feeds him, and for her age she is young enough. When he is fat enough, +she means to marry him; and whoever comes to Frankfort, three hundred +years hence, will not be able to see the heavens for Nose Stars." + +"Ah, you are Jäkel the Fool," exclaimed the Rabbi, laughing. "I mark it +by your words. I have often heard of you." + +"Yes--yes," replied Jäkel, with comical modesty. "Yes, that is what +reputation does. A man is often known far and wide as a bigger fool than +he himself has any idea of. However, I take great pains to be a fool, +and jump and shake myself to make the bells ring; others have an easier +time. But tell me, Rabbi, why do you journey on a holiday?" + +"My justification," replied the Rabbi, "is in the Talmud, where it says, +'Danger drives away the Sabbath.'" + +"Danger!" screamed the tall Nose Star, in mortal terror. "Danger! +danger! Drummer Jack!--drum, drum. Danger! danger! Drummer Jack!" From +without resounded the deep, beery voice of Drummer Jack, "Death and +destruction! The devil take the Jews. That's the third time today that +you've roused me out of a sound sleep, Nose Star! Don't make me mad! For +when I am mad I'm the very devil himself; and then as sure as I'm a +Christian, I'll up with my gun and shoot through the grated window in +your gate--and then fellow, let everybody look out for his nose!" + +"Don't shoot! don't shoot! I'm a lonely man," wailed Nose Star +piteously, pressing his face against the wall, and trembling and +murmuring prayers in this position. + +"But say, what has happened?" cried Jäkel the Fool, with all the +impatient curiosity which was even then characteristic of the Frankfort +Jews. + +But the Rabbi impatiently broke loose from them, and went his way along +the Jews' Street. "See, Sara!" he exclaimed, "how badly guarded is our +Israel. False friends guard its gates without, and within its watchers +are Folly and Fear." + +They wandered slowly through the long empty street, where only here and +there the head of some young girl showed itself in a window, against the +polished panes of which the sun was brilliantly reflected. At that time +the houses in the Jewish quarter were still neat and new, and much lower +than they now are, since it was only later on that the Jews, as their +number greatly increased, while they could not enlarge their quarter, +built one story over another, squeezed themselves together like +sardines, and were thus stunted both in body and soul. That part of the +Jewish quarter which remained standing after the great fire, and which +is called the Old Lane, those high blackened houses, where a grinning, +sweaty race of people bargains and chaffers, is a horrible relic of the +Middle Ages. The older synagogue exists no more; it was less capacious +than the present one, which was built later, after the Nuremberg exiles +were taken into the community, and lay more to the north. + +The Rabbi had no need to ask where it was. He recognized it from afar by +the buzz of many loud voices. In the court of the House of God he parted +from his wife, and after washing his hands at the fountain there, he +entered the lower part of the synagogue where the men pray, while Sara +ascended a flight of stairs and entered the place reserved for women. +The latter was a kind of gallery with three rows of seats painted a +reddish brown, whose backs were fitted with a hanging board, which held +the prayer-books, and which could be raised and lowered. Here the women +either sat gossiping or stood up in deep prayer. They often went and +peered with curiosity through the large grating on the eastern side, +through the thin, green lattice of which one could look down on the +lower floor of the synagogue. There, behind high praying-desks, stood +the men in their black cloaks, their pointed beards shooting out over +white ruffs, and their skull-capped heads more or less concealed by a +four-cornered scarf of white wool or silk, furnished with the prescribed +tassels, and in some instances also adorned with gold lace. The walls of +the synagogue were uniformly white-washed, and no ornament was to be +seen other than the gilded iron grating around the square stage, where +extracts from the Law were read, and the holy ark, a costly embossed +chest, apparently supported by marble columns with gorgeous capitals, +whose flower-and leaf-work shot up in beautiful profusion, and covered +with a curtain of purple velvet, on which a pious inscription was worked +in gold spangles, pearls, and many colored gems. Here hung the silver +memorial-lamp, and there also rose a trellised dais, on whose crossed +iron bars were all kinds of sacred utensils, among them the +seven-branched candlestick. Before the latter, his countenance toward +the ark, stood the choir-leader, whose song was accompanied, as if +instrumentally, by the voices of his two assistants, the bass and the +treble. The Jews have banished all instrumental music from their church, +maintaining that hymns in praise of God are more edifying when they +rise from the warm breast of man, than from the cold pipes of an organ. + +Beautiful Sara felt a childish delight when the choir-leader, an +admirable tenor, raised his voice and sounded forth the ancient, solemn +melodies, which she knew so well, in a fresher loveliness than she had +ever dreamed of, while the bass sang in harmony the deep, dark notes, +and, in the pauses, the treble's voice trilled sweetly and daintily. +Such singing Beautiful Sara had never heard in the synagogue of +Bacharach, where the presiding elder, David Levi, was the leader; for +when this elderly, trembling man, with his broken, bleating voice, tried +to trill like a young girl, and in his forced effort to do so, shook his +limp and drooping arm feverishly, it inspired laughter rather than +devotion. + +A sense of pious satisfaction, not unmingled with feminine curiosity, +drew Beautiful Sara to the grating, where she could look down on the +lower floor, or the so-called men's division. She had never before seen +so many of her faith together, and it cheered her heart to be in such a +multitude of those so closely allied by race, thought, and sufferings. +And her soul was still more deeply moved when three old men +reverentially approached the sacred ark, drew aside the glittering +curtain, raised the lid, and very carefully brought forth the Book which +God wrote with His own hand, and for the maintenance of which Jews have +suffered so much--so much misery and hate, disgrace and death--a +thousand years' martyrdom. This Book--a great roll of parchment--was +wrapped like a princely child in a gaily embroidered scarlet cloak of +velvet; above, on both wooden rollers, were two little silver shrines, +in which many pomegranates and small bells jingled and rang prettily, +while before, on a silver chain, hung gold shields with many colored +gems. The choir-leader took the Book, and, as if it really were a +child--a child for whom one has greatly suffered, and whom one loves all +the more on that account--he rocked it in his arms, skipped about with +it here and there, pressed it to his breast, and, thrilled by its holy +touch, broke forth into such a devout hymn of praise and thanksgiving, +that it seemed to Beautiful Sara as if the pillars under the holy ark +began to bloom; and the strange and lovely flowers and leaves on the +capitals shot ever higher, the tones of the treble were converted into +the notes of the nightingale, the vaulted ceiling of the synagogue +resounded with the tremendous tones of the bass singer, while the glory +of God shone down from the blue heavens. Yes, it was a beautiful psalm. +The congregation sang in chorus the concluding verse, and then the +choir-leader walked slowly to the raised platform in the middle of the +synagogue bearing the holy Book, while men and boys crowded about him, +eager to kiss its velvet covering, or even to touch it. On the platform, +the velvet cover, as well as the wrappings covered with illuminated +letters, were removed, and the choir-leader, in the peculiar intonation +which in the Passover service is still more peculiarly modulated, read +the edifying narrative of the temptation of Abraham. + +Beautiful Sara had modestly withdrawn from the grating, and a stout, +much ornamented woman of middle age, with a forward, but benevolent +manner, had with a nod invited her to share her prayer-book. This lady +was evidently no great scholar, for as she mumbled to herself the +prayers as the women do, not being allowed to take part in the singing, +Sara observed that she made the best she could of many words, and +skipped several good lines altogether. But after a while the watery blue +eyes of the good woman were languidly raised, an insipid smile spread +over her red and white porcelain face, and in a voice which she strove +to make as genteel as possible, she said to Beautiful Sara, "He sings +very well. But I have heard far better singing in Holland. You are a +stranger, and perhaps do not know that the choir-leader is from Worms, +and that they will keep him here if he will be content with four hundred +florins a year. He is a charming man, and his hands are as white as +alabaster. I admire beautiful hands; they make one altogether +beautiful." Having said this, the good lady laid her own hand, which +was really a fine one, on the shelf before her, and with a polite nod +which intimated that she did not like to be interrupted while speaking, +she added, "The little singer is a mere child, and looks very much worn +out. The basso is too ugly for anything; our Star once made the witty +remark: 'The bass singer is a bigger fool than even a basso is expected +to be!' All three eat in my restaurant--perhaps you don't know that I'm +Elle Schnapper?" + +Beautiful Sara expressed thanks for this information, whereupon +Schnapper-Elle proceeded to narrate in detail how she had once been in +Amsterdam, how she had been subjected to the advances of men on account +of her beauty, how she had come to Frankfort three days before +Whit-suntide and married Schnapper, how he had died, and what touching +things he had finally said on his deathbed, and how hard it was to carry +on the restaurant business and keep one's hands nice. Several times she +glanced aside with a contemptuous air, apparently at some giggling +girls, who seemed to be eyeing her clothes. And the latter were indeed +remarkable enough--a very loose skirt of white satin, on which all the +animals of Noah's Ark were embroidered in gaudy colors; a jacket of gold +cloth, like a cuirass, with sleeves of red velvet, yellow slashed; a +very high cap on her head, with a mighty ruff of stiff white linen +around her neck, which also had around it a silver chain hung with all +kinds of coins, cameos, and curiosities, among them a large picture of +the city of Amsterdam, which rested on her bosom. + +But the dresses of the other women were no less remarkable. They +consisted of a variety of fashions of different ages, and many a woman +there was so covered with gold and diamonds as to look like a wandering +jeweler's shop. It is true that there was at that time a fashion of +dress prescribed by law to the Frankfort Jews, and to distinguish them +from Christians the men had to wear yellow rings on their cloaks, and +the women very stiff, blue-striped veils on their caps. However, in the +Jewish quarter the law was little observed, and there, in the synagogue, +especially on festival days, the women put on as much magnificent +apparel as they could--partly to arouse envy of others, and partly to +advertise the wealth and credit of their husbands. + +While passages from the Books of Moses are being read on the lower floor +of the synagogue, the devotion is usually somewhat lulled. Many make +themselves comfortable and sit down, whispering perhaps business affairs +with a friend, or go out into the court to get a little fresh air. Small +boys take the liberty of visiting their mothers in the women's balcony; +and here worship is still more loosely observed, as there is gossiping, +chattering, and laughing, while, as always happens, the young quizz the +old, and the latter censure the light-headedness of the girls and the +general degeneracy of the age. + +And just as there was a choir-leader on the floor below, so was there a +gossip-leader in the balcony above. This was Puppy Reiss, a vulgar, +greenish woman, who found out about everybody's troubles, and always had +a scandal on her tongue. The usual butt of her pointed sayings was poor +Schnapper-Elle, and she could mock right well the affected genteel airs +and languishing manner with which the latter accepted the insincere +compliments of young men. + +"Do you know," cried Puppy Reiss, "Schnapper-Elle said yesterday, 'If I +were not beautiful and clever, and beloved, I had rather not be alive.'" + +Then there was loud tittering, and Schnapper-Elle, who was not far +distant, noting that this was all at her expense, lifted her nose in +scorn, and sailed away, like a proud galley, to some remote corner. Then +Birdie Ochs, a plump and somewhat awkward lady, remarked compassionately +that Schnapper-Elle might be a little vain and small of mind, but that +she was an honest, generous soul, and did much good to many folk in +need. + +"Particularly to Nose Star," snapped Puppy Reiss. And all who knew of +this tender relation laughed all the louder. + +"Don't you know," added Puppy spitefully, "that Nose Star now sleeps in +Schnapper-Elle's house! But just look at Susy Flörsheim down there, +wearing the necklace which Daniel Fläsch pawned to her husband! Fläsch's +wife is vexed about it--_that_ is plain. And now she is talking to Mrs. +Flörsheim. _How_ amiably they shake hands!--and hate each other like +Midian and Moab! How sweetly they smile on each other! Oh, you dear +souls, _don't_ eat each other up out of pure love! I'll just steal up +and listen to them!" + +And so, like a sneaking wildcat, Puppy Reiss crept up and listened to +the two women bewailing to each other how they had worked all the past +week to clean up the house and scour the kitchen things, and complaining +about all they had to do before Passover, so that not a crumb of +leavened bread should stick to anything. And such troubles as they had +baking the unleavened bread! Mrs. Fläsch had special cause for +complaint--for she had had no end of trouble over it in the public +bakery, where, according to the ticket she drew, she could not bake till +the afternoon of the very last day, just before Passover Eve; and then +old Hannah had kneaded the dough badly, and the maids had rolled it too +thin, and half of it was scorched in baking, and worst of all, rain came +pouring through the bake-house roof; and so, wet and weary, they had had +to work till late in the night. + +"And, my dear Mrs. Flörsheim," said Mrs. Fläsch, with gracious +friendliness most insincere, "you were a little to blame for that, +because you did not send your people to help me in baking." + +"Ah! pardon," replied the other. "My servants were so busy--the goods +for the fair had to be packed--my husband"-- + +"Yes, I know," interrupted Mrs. Fläsch, with cutting irony in her +speech. "I know that you have much to do--many pledges and a good +business, and necklaces"-- + +And a bitter word was just about to slip from the lips of the speaker, +and Dame Flörsheim had turned as red as a lobster, when Puppy Reiss +cried out loudly, "For God's sake!--the strange lady lies dying--water! +water!" + +Beautiful Sara lay in a faint, as pale as death, while a swarm of +excited women crowded around her, one holding her head, another her arm, +while some old women sprinkled her with the glasses of water which hung +behind their prayer desks for washing the hands in case they should by +accident touch their own bodies. Others held under her nose an old lemon +full of spices, which was left over from the last feast-day, when it had +served for smelling and strengthening the nerves. Exhausted and sighing +deeply, Beautiful Sara at last opened her eyes, and with mute glances +thanked them for their kind care. But now the eighteen-prayer, which no +one dared neglect, was being solemnly chanted below, and the busy women +hurried back to their places and offered the prayer as the rite ordains, +that is, standing up with their faces turned toward the east, which is +that part of the heavens where Jerusalem lies. Birdie Ochs, +Schnapper-Elle, and Puppy Reiss stayed to the last with Beautiful +Sara--the first two to aid her as much as possible, the other two to +find out why she had fainted so suddenly. + +Beautiful Sara had swooned from a singular cause. It is a custom in the +synagogue that any one who has escaped a great danger shall, after the +reading of the extracts from the Law, appear in public and return thanks +for his divine deliverance. As Rabbi Abraham rose to his feet to make +his prayer, and Beautiful Sara recognized her husband's voice, she +noticed that his voice gradually subsided into the mournful murmur of a +prayer for the dead. She heard the names of her dear kinsfolk, +accompanied by the words which convey the blessing on the departed; and +the last hope vanished from her soul, for it was torn by the certainty +that those dear ones had really been slain, that her little niece was +dead, that her little cousins Posy and Birdy were dead, that little +Gottschalk too was dead--all murdered and dead! And she, too, would have +succumbed to the agony of this realization, had not a kind swoon poured +forgetfulness over her senses. + + +CHAPTER III + +When Beautiful Sara, after divine service was ended, went down into the +courtyard of the synagogue, the Rabbi stood there waiting for her. He +nodded to her with a cheerful expression, and accompanied her out into +the street, where there was no longer silence but a noisy multitude. It +was like a swarm of ants--bearded men in black coats, women gleaming and +fluttering like gold-chafers, boys in new clothes carrying prayer-books +after their parents, young girls who, because they could not enter the +synagogue, now came bounding to their parents, bowing their curly heads +to receive their blessing--all gay and merry, and walking up and down +the street in the happy anticipation of a good dinner, the savory odor +of which--causing their mouths to water--rose from many black pots, +marked with chalk, and carried by smiling girls from the large community +kitchens. + +In this multitude particularly conspicuous was the form of a Spanish +cavalier, whose youthful features bore that fascinating pallor which +ladies generally attribute to an unfortunate--and men, on the contrary, +to a very fortunate--love affair. His gait, although naturally carefree, +had in it, however, a somewhat affected daintiness. The feathers in his +cap were agitated more by the aristocratic motion of his head than by +the wind; and his golden spurs, and the jeweled hilt of his sword, which +he bore on his arm, rattled rather more than was necessary. A white +cavalier's cloak enveloped his slender limbs in an apparently careless +manner, but, in reality, betrayed the most careful arrangement of the +folds. Passing and repassing, partly with curiosity, partly with an air +of a connoisseur, he approached the women walking by, looked calmly at +them, paused when he thought a face was worth the trouble, gave to many +a pretty girl a passing compliment, and went his way heedless as to its +effect. He had met Beautiful Sara more than once, but every time had +seemed to be repelled by her commanding look, or else by the enigmatical +smile of her husband. Finally, however, proudly conquering all +diffidence, he boldly faced both, and with foppish confidence made, in a +tenderly gallant tone, the following speech: "Señora!--list to me!--I +swear--by the roses of both the kingdoms of Castile, by the Aragonese +hyacinths and the pomegranate blossoms of Andalusia! by the sun which +illumines all Spain, with its flowers, onions, pea-soups, forests, +mountains, mules, he-goats, and Old Christians! by the canopy of heaven, +on which this sun is merely a golden tassel! and by the God who abides +in heaven and meditates day and night over the creation of new forms of +lovely women!--I swear that you, Señora, are the fairest dame whom I +have seen in all the German realm, and if you please to accept my +service, then I pray of you the favor, grace, and leave to call myself +your knight and bear your colors henceforth in jest or earnest!" + +A flush of pain rose in the face of Beautiful Sara, and with one of +those glances which cut the deeper when they come from gentle eyes, and +with a tone such as is bitterest coming from a beautiful voice, the lady +answered, as one deeply hurt: + +"My noble lord, if you will be my knight you must fight whole races, and +in the battle there will be little thanks to win and less honor; and if +you will wear my colors, then you must sew yellow rings on your cloak, +or bind yourself with a blue-striped scarf, for such are my colors--the +colors of my house, the House of Israel, which is wretched indeed, one +mocked in the streets by the sons of fortune." + +A sudden purple red shot into the cheeks of the Spaniard; an +inexpressible confusion seemed to have seized him as he stammered-- + +"Señora, you misunderstood me--an innocent jest--but, by God, no +mockery, no scorn of Israel. I myself am sprung from that house; my +grandfather was a Jew, perhaps even my father." + +"And it is very certain, Señor, that your uncle is one," suddenly +exclaimed the Rabbi, who had calmly witnessed this scene; and with a +merry, quizzical glance, he added, "And I myself will vouch that Don +Isaac Abarbanel, nephew of the great Rabbi, is sprung from the best +blood of Israel, if not from the royal race of David!" + +The chain of the sword rattled under the Spaniard's cloak, his cheeks +became deadly white, his upper lip twitched as with scorn in which there +was pain, and angry death grinned in his eyes, as in an utterly changed, +ice-cold, keen voice he said: + +"Señor Rabbi, you know me. Well, then, you know also who I am. And if +the fox knows that I belong to the blood of the lion, let him beware and +not bring his fox-beard into danger of death, nor provoke my anger. Only +he who feels like the lion can understand his weakness." + +"Oh, I understand it well," answered the Rabbi, and a melancholy +seriousness came over his brow. "I understand it well, how the proud +lion, out of pride, casts aside his princely coat and goes about +disguised in the scaly armor of the crocodile, because it is the fashion +to be a grinning, cunning, greedy crocodile! What can you expect the +lesser beasts to be when the lion denies his nature? But beware, Don +Isaac, _thou_ wert not made for the element of the crocodile. For +water--thou knowest well what I mean--is thy evil fortune, and thou +shalt drown. Water is not thy element; the weakest trout can live in it +better than the king of the forest. Hast thou forgotten how the current +of the Tagus was about to draw thee under--?" + +Bursting into loud laughter, Don Isaac suddenly threw his arms round the +Rabbi's neck, covered his mouth with kisses, leapt with jingling spurs +high into the air, so that the passing Jews shrank back in alarm, and in +his own natural hearty and joyous voice cried-- + +"Truly thou art Abraham of Bacharach! And it was a good joke, and more +than that, a friendly act, when thou, in Toledo, didst leap from the +Alcantara bridge into the water, and grasp by the hair thy friend, who +could drink better than he could swim, and drew him to dry land. I came +very near making a really deep investigation as to whether there is +actually gold in the bed of the Tagus, and whether the Romans were right +in calling it the golden river. I assure you that I shiver even now at +the mere thought of that water-party." + +Saying this the Spaniard made a gesture as if he were shaking water +from his garments. The countenance of the Rabbi expressed great joy as +he again and again pressed his friend's hand, saying every time-- + +"I am indeed glad." + +"And so, indeed, am I," answered the other. "It is seven years now since +we met, and when we parted I was as yet a mere greenhorn, and thou--thou +wert already a staid and serious man. But whatever became of the +beautiful Doña who in those days cost thee so many sighs, which thou +didst accompany with the lute?" + +"Hush, hush! the Doña hears us--she is my wife, and thou thyself hast +given her today proof of thy taste and poetic skill." + +It was not without some trace of his former embarrassment that the +Spaniard greeted the beautiful lady, who amiably regretted that she, by +expressing herself so plainly, had pained a friend of her husband. + +"Ah, Señora," replied Don Isaac, "he who grasps too clumsily at a rose +must not complain if the thorns scratch. When the star of evening +reflects its golden light in the azure flood"-- + +"I beg of you!" interrupted the Rabbi, "to cease! If we wait till the +star of evening reflects its golden light in the azure flood, my wife +will starve, for she has eaten nothing since yesterday, and suffered +much in the mean-while." + +"Well, then, I will take you to the best restaurant of Israel," said Don +Isaac, "to the house of my friend Schnapper-Elle, which is not far away. +I already smell the savory odors from the kitchen! Oh, didst thou but +know, O Abraham, how this odor appeals to me. This it is which, since I +have dwelt in this city, has so often lured me to the tents of Jacob. +Intercourse with God's people is not a hobby of mine, and truly it is +not to pray, but to eat, that I visit the Jews' Street." + +"Thou hast never loved us, Don Isaac." + +"Well," continued the Spaniard, "I like your food much better than your +creed--which wants the right sauce. I never could rightly digest you. +Even in your best days, under the rule of my ancestor David, who was +king over Judah and Israel, I never could have held out, and certainly I +should some fine morning have run away from Mount Zion and emigrated to +Phoenicia or Babylon, where the joys of life foamed in the temple of +the gods." + +"Thou blasphemest, Isaac, blasphemest the one God," murmured the Rabbi +grimly. "Thou art much worse than a Christian--thou art a heathen, a +servant of idols." + +"Yes, I am a heathen, and the melancholy, self-tormenting Nazarenes are +quite as little to my taste as the dry and joyless Hebrews. May our dear +Lady of Sidon, holy Astarte, forgive me, that I kneel before the many +sorrowed Mother of the Crucified and pray. Only my knee and my tongue +worship death--my heart remains true to life. But do not look so +sourly," continued the Spaniard, as he saw what little gratification his +words seemed to give the Rabbi. "Do not look at me with disdain. My nose +is not a renegade. When once by chance I came into this street at dinner +time, and the well-known savory odors of the Jewish kitchen rose to my +nose, I was seized with the same yearning which our fathers felt for the +fleshpots of Egypt--pleasant tasting memories of youth came back to me. +In imagination I saw again the carp with brown raisin sauce which my +aunt prepared so sustainingly for Friday eve; I saw once more the +steamed mutton with garlic and horseradish, which might have raised +the dead, and the soup with dreamily swimming dumplings in it--and my +soul melted like the notes of an enamored nightingale--and since then I +have been eating in the restaurant of my friend Doña Schnapper-Elle." + +Meanwhile they had arrived at this highly lauded place, where +Schnapper-Elle stood at the door cordially greeting the strangers who +had come to the fair, and who, led by hunger, were now streaming in. +Behind her, sticking his head out over her shoulder, was the tall Nose +Star, anxiously and inquisitively observing them. Don Isaac with an +exaggerated air of dignity approached the landlady, who returned his +satirical reverence with endless curtsies. Thereupon he drew the glove +from his right hand, wrapped it, the hand, in the fold of his cloak, and +grasping Schnapper-Elle's hand, slowly drew it over his moustache, +saying: + +"Señora! your eyes rival the brilliancy of the sun! But as eggs, the +longer they are boiled the harder they become, so _vice versa_ my heart +grows softer the longer it is cooked in the flaming flashes of your +eyes. From the yolk of my heart flies up the winged god Amor and seeks a +confiding nest in your bosom. And oh, Señora, wherewith shall I compare +that bosom? For in all the world there is no flower, no fruit, which is +like to it! It is the one thing of its kind! Though the wind tears away +the leaves from the tenderest rose, your bosom is still a winter rose +which defies all storms. Though the sour lemon, the older it grows the +yellower and more wrinkled it becomes, your bosom rivals in color and +softness the sweetest pineapple. Oh, Señora, if the city of Amsterdam be +as beautiful as you told me yesterday, and the day before, and every +day, the ground on which it rests is far lovelier still." + +The cavalier spoke these last words with affected earnestness, and +squinted longingly at the large medallion which hung from +Schnapper-Elle's neck. Nose Star looked down with inquisitive eyes, and +the much-bepraised bosom heaved so that the whole city of Amsterdam +rocked from side to side. + +"Ah!" sighed Schnapper-Elle, "virtue is worth more than beauty. What use +is my beauty to me? My youth is passing away, and since Schnapper is +gone--anyhow, he had handsome hands--what avails beauty?" + +With that she sighed again, and like an echo, all but inaudible, Nose +Star sighed behind her. "Of what avail is your beauty?" cried Don Isaac. +"Oh, Dona Schnapper-Elle, do not sin against the goodness of creative +Nature! Do not scorn her most charming gifts, or she will reap most +terrible revenge. Those blessed, blessing eyes will become glassy balls, +those winsome lips grow flat and unattractive, that chaste and charming +form be changed into an unwieldy barrel of tallow, and the city of +Amsterdam at last rest on a spongy bog." Thus he sketched piece by +piece the appearance of Schnapper-Elle, so that the poor woman was +bewildered, and sought to escape the uncanny compliments of the +cavalier. She was delighted to see Beautiful Sara appear at this +instant, as it gave her an opportunity to inquire whether she had quite +recovered from her swoon. Thereupon she plunged into lively chatter, in +which she fully developed her sham gentility, mingled with real kindness +of heart, and related with more prolixity than discretion the awful +story of how she herself had almost fainted with horror when she, as +innocent and inexperienced as could be, arrived in a canal boat at +Amsterdam, and the rascally porter, who carried her trunk, led her--not +to a respectable hotel, but oh, horrors!--to an infamous brothel! She +could tell what it was the moment she entered, by the brandy-drinking, +and by the immoral sights! And she would, as she said, really have +swooned, if it had not been that during the six weeks she stayed in the +disorderly house she only once ventured to close her eyes. + +"I dared not," she added, "on account of my virtue. And all that was +owing to my beauty! But virtue will stay--when good looks pass away." + +Don Isaac was on the point of throwing some critical light on the +details of this story when, fortunately, Squinting Aaron Hirschkuh from +Homburg-on-the-Lahn came with a white napkin on his arm, and bitterly +bewailed that the soup was already served, and that the boarders were +seated at table, but that the landlady was missing. + +(The conclusion and the chapters which follow are lost, not from any +fault of the author.) + + + + +THE LIFE OF FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +BY WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD, A.M. + +Assistant Professor of German, Harvard University + + +Franz Grillparzer is the greatest poet and dramatist among the +Austrians. Corresponding to the Goethe Society at Weimar, the +Grillparzer Society at Vienna holds its meetings and issues its annual; +and the edition of Goethe's works instituted by the Grand Duchess Sophie +of Weimar is paralleled by an edition of Grillparzer's works now in +process of publication by the city of Vienna. Not without a sense of +local pride and jealousy do the Viennese extol their fellow-countryman +and hold him up to their kinsmen of the north as worthy to stand beside +Goethe and Schiller. They would be ungrateful if they did not cherish +the memory of a man who during his life-time was wont to prefer them, +with all their imperfections upon their heads, to the keener and more +enterprising North Germans, and who on many occasions sang the praises +of their sociability, their wholesome naturalness, and their sound +instinct. But even from the point of view of the critical North German +or of the non-German foreigner, Grillparzer abundantly deserves his +local fame--and more than local fame; for a dozen dramas of the first +class, two eminently characteristic short stories, numerous lyrical +poems, and innumerable studies and autobiographical papers are a man's +work entitling their author to a high place in European, not merely +German, literature. + +It is, however, as an Austrian that Grillparzer is primarily to be +judged. Again and again he insisted upon his national quality as a man +and as a poet, upon the Viennese atmosphere of his plays and his poems. +He was never happy when away from his native city, and though his pieces +are now acceptably performed wherever German is spoken, they are most +successful in Vienna, and some of them are to be seen only on the +Viennese stage. + +What are, then, the distinguishing features of the Austrians, and of +Grillparzer as one of them? Grillparzer said these features are an open +heart and a single mind, good sense and reliable intuition, frankness, +naïveté, generosity, modest contentment with being while others are up +and doing. The Austrians are of mixed blood, and partake of South +European characteristics less prominent among the purer blooded Teutons +of the north. They have life on easier terms, are less intellectual, are +more sensuous, emotional, more fanciful, fonder of artistic enjoyment, +more sensitive to color and to those effects called "color," by contrast +to form, in other arts than that of painting. The art of music is most +germane to the Austrian spirit; and we have a ready key to the +peculiarities of the Austrian disposition in the difference between +Haydn, Mozart, Schubert, and Johann Strauss, on the one hand, and +Händel, Beethoven, Schumann, and Wagner on the other. Moreover, the +Austrians are in all respects conservative, in literary taste no less +than in politics and religion. The pseudo-classicism of Gottsched +maintained its authority in Austria not merely after the time of +Lessing, but also after the time of Schiller. Wieland was a favorite +long before Goethe began to be appreciated; and as to the romantic +movement, only the gentle tendencies of such a congenial spirit as +Eichendorff found a sympathetic echo on the shores of the Danube. +Romance influences, however, more particularly Spanish, were manifest +there even before the time when they became strong upon Grillparzer. + +Franz Grillparzer was born in Vienna on the fifteenth of January, 1791. +His father, Wenzel Grillparzer, a self-made man, was a lawyer of the +strictest probity, who occupied a respectable position in his +profession; but, too scrupulous to seize the opportunities for profit +that lawyers easily come upon, he lived a comparatively poor man and in +1809 died in straitened circumstances. At home he was stern and +repressive. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER] + +Both his legal habit of mind and also his true discipleship of the age +of enlightenment in which he grew up disposed him to intellectual +tyranny over everything that looked like sentimentality or foolish +fantasy in wife or children. His own hobbies, however, such as long +walks in the country and the cultivation of flowers or--strangely +enough--the reading of highly romantic novels, he indulged in as matters +of course. It is with some surprise that we find him married to a woman +of abnormal nervousness, who was given to mysticism and was feverishly +devoted to music. Marianne Grillparzer, born Sonnleithner, belonged to a +substantial middle-class family. Her father was a friend of Haydn and +Mozart and was himself a composer of music; her brothers became men of +note in the history of the Viennese operatic stage; and she herself +shared in the artistic temperament of the family, but with ominously +pathological over-development in one direction. She took her own life in +1819 and transmitted to her sons a tendency to moodiness and melancholy +which led to the suicide of one and the haunting fear of insanity in +that other who is the subject of this sketch. + +That Franz Grillparzer was destined to no happy childhood is obvious, +and it is equally clear that he needed a strong will to overcome not +merely material obstacles to progress but also inherited dispositions of +such antithetical sort. The father and the mother were at war in his +breast. Like the mother in sensitiveness and imaginativeness, he was the +son of his father in a stern censoriousness that was quick to ridicule +what appeared to be nonsense in others and in himself; but he was the +son of his father also in clearness of understanding and devotion to +duty as he saw it. + +Grillparzer once said that his works were detached fragments of his +life; and though many of their themes seem remote from him in time and +place, character and incident in them are unmistakably enriched by being +often conceived in the light of personal experience. Outwardly, +however, his life was comparatively uneventful. After irregular studies +with private tutors and at school, Grillparzer studied law from 1807 to +1811 at the University of Vienna, gave instruction from 1810 to 1813 to +the sons of various noblemen, and in 1813 began in the Austrian civil +service the humdrum career which, full of disappointments and undeserved +setbacks, culminated in his appointment in 1832 to the directorship of +the _Hofkammerarchiv,_ and lasted until his honorable retirement in +1856. He was a conscientious official; but throughout this time he was +regarded, and regarded himself, primarily as Grillparzer the poet; and +in spite of loyalty to the monarchy, he was entirely out of sympathy +with the antediluvian administration of Metternich and his successors. +Little things, magnified by pusillanimous apprehension, stood in his +way. In 1819 he expressed in a poem _The Ruins of Campo Vaccino_ +esthetic abhorrence of the cross most inappropriately placed over the +portal of the Coliseum in Rome, and was thereafter never free of the +suspicion of heresy. In 1825 membership in a social club raided by the +police subjected him to the absurd suspicion of plotting treason. Only +once do we find him, during the first half of the century, _persona +gratissima_ with the powers that be. Grillparzer firmly disapproved the +disintegrating tendencies of the revolution of 1848, and uttered his +sense of the duty of loyal coöperation under the Habsburgs in a spirited +poem, _To Field-Marshal Count Radetzky_. For the moment he became a +national hero, especially in the army. His latter years were indeed +years of honor; but the honor came too late. He was given the cross of +the order of Leopold in 1849, was made _Hofrat_ and a member of the +House of Lords in 1856, and received the grand cross of the order of +Franz Josef upon the celebration of his eightieth birthday in 1871. He +died on the twenty-first of January, 1872. + +Grillparzer led for the most part a solitary life--for the last third of +his life he was almost a hermit--and he was rather an observer than an +actor in the affairs of men; but nevertheless he saw more of the world +than a mere dreamer would have cared to see, and the circle of his +friends was not inconsiderable. Besides making the trip to Italy, +already alluded to, in 1819, he journeyed in 1826 to North Germany, +seeing Goethe in Weimar, in 1836 to Paris, in 1837 to London, in 1843 +down the Danube to Athens, and in 1847 again to Berlin and to Hamburg. +No one of these trips gave him any particular poetic impetus, except +perhaps the first, on which he found in the classical atmosphere of Rome +a refreshing antidote to the romantic miasma which he hated. Nor did he +derive much profit from the men of letters whom he visited in various +places, such as Fouqué, Chamisso, and Heine. He dined with Goethe, but +was too bashful to accept an indirect invitation to spend an evening +with Goethe alone. He paid his respects to Uhland, whom he esteemed as +the greatest German poet of that time (1837); but Uhland was then no +longer productive and was never a magnetic personality. Indeed, there +was hardly more than one man, even in Vienna, who exerted a strong +personal influence upon Grillparzer, and this was Josef Schreyvogel, +journalist, critic, playwright, from 1814 to 1831 secretary of the +_Burgtheater_. A happy chance gained for Grillparzer in 1816 the +friendship of this practical theatre manager, and under Schreyvogel's +auspices he prepared his first drama for the stage. + +On another side, Grillparzer's character is illumined for us by the +strange story of his relations with four Viennese women. He was not a +handsome man, but tall, with an abundance of blond hair, and bewitching +blue eyes that made him very attractive to the other sex. He, too, was +exceedingly sensitive to sexual attraction and in early youth suffered +torments from the pangs of unsatisfied longing. From the days when he +knew that he was in love, but did not yet know with whom, to the time of +final renunciation we find him irresolute, ardent, but apparently +selfish in the inability to hazard the discovery that the real might +prove inferior to his ideal. Thus his critical disposition invaded +even the realm of his affections and embroiled him not merely with the +object of them, but also with himself. Charlotte von Paumgarten, the +wife of a cousin of Grillparzer's, Marie Däffinger, the wife of a +painter, loved him not wisely, but too well; and a young Prussian girl, +Marie Piquot, confessed in her last will and testament to such a +devotion to him as she was sure no other woman could ever attain, +wherefore she commended "her Tasso" to the fostering care of her mother. +Grillparzer had experienced only a fleeting interest in Marie Piquot; so +much the more lasting was the attachment which bound him to her +successful rival, Katharina Fröhlich. Katharina, one of four daughters +of a Viennese manufacturer who had seen better days, and, like her +sisters, endowed with great artistic talent and practical energy, might +have proved the salvation of Grillparzer's existence as a man if he had +been more capable of manly resolution, and she had been less like him in +impetuosity and stubbornness. They became engaged, they made +preparations for a marriage which was never consummated and for years +was never definitely abandoned; mutual devotion is ever and anon +interrupted by serious or trivial quarrels, and the imperfect relation +drags on to the vexation of both, until Grillparzer as an old man of +sixty takes lodgings with the Fröhlich sisters and, finally, makes +Katharina his sole heir. + +Grillparzer's development as a poet and dramatist follows the bent of +his Austrian genius. One of the first books that he ever read was the +text to Mozart's _Magic Flute_. Music, opera, operetta, and fairy drama +gave the earliest impulse to his juvenile imagination. Even as a boy he +began the voluminous reading which, continued throughout his life, made +him one of the best informed men of his time in European literature. +History, natural history, and books of travel are followed by the plays +of Shakespeare, Lessing, Goethe, and Schiller, while Gesner's idyls +charm him, and he absorbs the stories and romances of Wieland. In 1808 +he reads the early works of Schiller and admires the ideal enthusiasm of +_Don Carlos_. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER AND KAETHI FRÖHLICH IN 1823] + +In 1810 he revolts from Schiller and swears allegiance to Goethe. In +the ensuing years he learns English, Greek, and Spanish; Shakespeare +supplants Goethe in his esteem, and he is attracted first to Calderón +and then to Lope de Vega in whom, ere long, he discovers the dramatic +spirit most closely akin to his. + +We read of Grillparzer, as of Goethe, that as a child he was fond of +improvising dramatic performances with his playmates. Occasionally he +was privileged to attend an operetta or a spectacular play at one of the +minor theatres. When he reached adolescence he experimented with a large +number of historical and fantastic subjects, and he left plans and +fragments that, unoriginal as most of them are, give earnest of a talent +for scenic manipulation and for the representation of character. These +juvenile pieces are full of reminiscences of Schiller and Shakespeare. +Grillparzer's first completed drama of any magnitude, _Blanca of +Castile_ (1807-09), is almost to be called Schiller's _Don Carlos_ over +again, both as to the plot and as to the literary style--though of +course the young man's imitation seems like a caricature. The fragments +_Spartacus_ (1810) and _Alfred the Great_ (1812), inspired by patriotic +grief for Austria humiliated by Napoleon, are Shakespearean in many +scenes, but are in their general disposition strongly influenced by +Schiller's _Robbers and Maid of Orleans_. In all three of these pieces, +the constant reference to inscrutable fate proves that Grillparzer is a +disciple of Schiller and a son of his time. + +There is, therefore, a double significance in the earliest play of +Grillparzer's to be performed on the stage, _The Ancestress_ +(1816)--first, in that, continuing in the direction foreshadowed by its +predecessors, it takes its place beside the popular dramas of fate +written by Werner and Müllner; and secondly, because at the same time +the poet, now yielding more to the congenial impulse of Spanish +influences, establishes his independence even in the treatment of a more +or less conventional theme. Furthermore, _The Ancestress_ marks the +beginning of Grillparzer's friendship with Schreyvogel. Grillparzer had +translated some scenes of Calderon's _Life is a Dream_ which, published +in 1816 by an enemy of Schreyvogel's who wished to discredit the +adaptation which Schreyvogel had made for the _Burgtheater,_ served only +to bring the two men together; for Schreyvogel was generous and +Grillparzer innocent of any hostile intention. As early as 1813 +Grillparzer had thought of _The Ancestress_. Schreyvogel encouraged him +to complete the play, and his interest once again aroused and soon +mounting to enthusiasm, he wrote in less than a month the torrent of +Spanish short trochaic verses which sweeps through the four acts of this +romantic drama. Schreyvogel was delighted; but he criticized the +dramatic structure; and in a revised version in five acts Grillparzer so +far adopted his suggestions as to knit up the plot more closely and thus +to give greater prominence to the idea of fate and retribution. The play +was performed on the thirty-first of January, 1817, and scored a +tremendous success. + +Critics, to be sure, were not slow to point out that the effectiveness +of _The Ancestress_ was due less to poetical qualities than to +theatrical--unjustly; for even though we regard the play as but the +scenic representation of the incidents of a night, the representation is +of absorbing interest and is entirely free from the crudities which make +Müllner's dramas more gruesome than dramatic. But Grillparzer +nevertheless resolved that his next play should dispense with all +adventitious aids and should take as simple a form and style as he could +give it. A friend chanced to suggest to him that the story of Sappho +would furnish a text for an opera. Grillparzer replied that the subject +would perhaps yield a tragedy. The idea took hold of him; without delay +or pause for investigation he made his plan; and in three weeks his +second play was ready for the stage. Written in July, 1817, _Sappho_ was +produced at the _Hofburgtheater_ on April 21, 1818. Grillparzer said +that in creating _Sappho_ he had plowed pretty much with Goethe's steer. +In form his play resembles _Iphigenia_ and in substance it is not unlike +_Tasso;_ but upon closer examination _Sappho_ appears to be neither a +classical play of the serene, typical quality of _Iphigenia_ nor a +_Künstlerdrama_ in the sense in which _Tasso_ is one. Grillparzer was +not inspired by the meagre tradition of the Lesbian poetess, nor yet by +anything more than the example of Goethe; he took only the outline of +the story of Sappho and Phaon; his play is almost to be called a +romantic love story, and the influence strongest upon him in the writing +of it was that of Wieland. The situation out of which the tragedy of +Sappho develops is that of a young man who deceives himself into +believing that admiration for a superior woman is love, and who is +undeceived when a _naïve_ maiden awakens in him sentiments that really +are those of love. This situation occurs again and again in the +voluminous works of Wieland--most obviously perhaps in the novelette +_Menander and Glycerion_ (1803), but also in the novel _Agathon_ +(1766-1767), and in the epistolary novel _Aristippus_ (1800-1802). +Moreover, it is the essential situation in Mme. de Staël's _Corinne_ +(1807). In the third place, this situation was Grillparzer's own, and it +is so constantly found in his dramas that it may be called the +characteristic situation for the dramatist as well as for the man. In +this drama, finally, we have a demonstration of Grillparzer's profound +conviction that the artistic temperament is ill suited to the demands of +practical life, and in the solitary sphere to which it is doomed must +fail to find that contentment which only life can afford. Sappho is not +assailed by life on all sides as Tasso is; but she makes an egregious +mistake in her search for the satisfactions of womanhood, thereby +unfitting herself for the priesthood of poetry as well as forfeiting her +life. + +_Sappho_ was as successful on the stage as _The Ancestress_ had been, +and the dramatist became the lion of the hour. He was received in +audience by Prince Metternich, was lauded in high social circles in +Vienna, and was granted an annual pension of 1000 florins for five +years, on condition that the _Hofburgtheater_ should have the right +to first production of his forthcoming plays. It was, therefore, with +great enthusiasm and confidence that he set to work upon his next +subject, _The Golden Fleece._ The story of Jason and Medea had long been +familiar to him, not only in the tragedies of Euripides and Seneca, but +also in German dramas and operas of the eighteenth century which during +his youth were frequently produced in Vienna. The immediate impulse to +treat this story came to him when, in the summer of 1818, he chanced +upon the article _Medea_ in a mythological lexicon. His plan was soon +formed and was made to embrace the whole history of the relations of +Jason and Medea. For so comprehensive a matter Grillparzer, like +Schiller in _Wallenstein,_ found the limits of a single drama too +narrow; and as Schiller said of _Wallenstein--_ + + "His camp alone explains his fault and crime," + +so Grillparzer rightly perceived that the explanation to modern minds of +so incredible a crime as Medea's must be sought and presented in the +untoward circumstances under which her relations with Jason began. +Accordingly, he showed in _The Guest Friend_ how Phryxus, obedient to +what he believed to be the will of the gods, bore the Golden Fleece to +Colchis, only to meet death at the hands of Æëtes, the king of that +land, who coveted the precious token. Medea, the king's daughter, vainly +tries to prevent the crime, but sees herself included in the dying man's +curse; for she shares her father's desire for the treasure and is +appalled only by the sense of outraged hospitality, even to a haughty +intruder. When, in _The Argonauts,_ Jason comes to recover the Fleece, +Medea, still an Amazon and an enchantress, is determined with all her +arts to aid her father in repulsing the invaders. But the sight of the +handsome stranger soon touches her with an unwonted feeling. Against her +will she saves the life and furthers the enterprise of Jason; they +become partners in the theft of the Fleece; whereupon Jason, fascinated +by the dark-eyed barbarian and gratified with the sense of subjugating +an Amazon, assures her of his love and takes her and the Fleece in +triumph away from Colchis. + +[Illustration: GRILLPARZER'S HOUSE IN THE SPIEGELGASSE] + +Four years elapse before the action of _Medea_ commences. Medea has +borne two sons to Jason; as a husband and father he returns to Greece +with the object of his quest. But he is now received rather as the +husband of a sorceress than as the winner of the Fleece. Ostracism and +banishment accentuate the humiliation of marriage to a barbarian. Medea +has sacrificed all to serve him; without her aid his expedition would +have been fruitless, but with her he cannot live in the civilized +community where she has no place. She frantically endeavors to become a +Greek, but to no purpose. Jason strives to overcome a growing repugnance +and loyally makes common cause with her; but he cannot follow her in +banishment from Corinth, nor appreciate the feelings of the wife who +sees him about to marry Creusa, and of the mother who sees her children +prefer Creusa to herself. Then the barbarian in Medea reasserts herself +and the passion of a just revenge, stifling all other feeling, moves her +to the destruction of all her enemies and a final divorce from her +heartless husband. To Jason she can give no other words of comfort than +that he may be stronger in suffering than he has been in acting. + +Such an eminently personal tragedy Grillparzer constructed on the basis +of a mythological story. The Fleece, like the hoard of the Nibelungen, +is the occasion, but the curse attached to it is not the cause, of +crimes; this cause is the cupidity of human nature and the helplessness +of the individual who allows the forces of evil to gain sway over him. +Jason, in overweening self-indulgence, attaches himself to a woman to +whom he cannot be true. Medea, in too confident self-sufficiency, is not +proof against the blandishments of an unscrupulous adventurer and +progresses from crime to crime, doing from beginning to end what it is +not her will to do. An unnatural and unholy bond cannot be severed even +to make way for a natural and holy one. And the paths of glory lead not +to the grave but to a living death in the consciousness of guilt and the +remorse for misdeeds. + +Grillparzer never again wrote with such tumultuous passion as swayed him +at the time of his work on the first half of _The Golden Fleece._ His +illicit love of Charlotte Paumgarten gave him many a tone which thrills +in the narrative of Jason and Medea; the death of his mother brought +home to him the tragedy of violence and interrupted his work in the +midst of _The Argonauts;_ his visit to Rome enabled him to regain +composure and increase his sense of the local color of ancient +civilization; so that when he completed _Medea,_ in the fall and early +winter of 1819-20, he wrote with the mastery of one who had ventured, +suffered, observed, and recovered. In his own person he had experienced +the dangers of the _vita activa_ against which _The Golden Fleece_ is a +warning. + +Mention has already been made of Grillparzer's pride in the history of +Austria. In 1809 he wrote in his diary, "I am going to write an +historical drama on Frederick the Warlike, Duke of Austria." A few +stanzas of a ballad on this hero were written, probably at this time; +dramatic fragments have survived from 1818 and 1821. In the first two +decades of the nineteenth century vigorous efforts were made, especially +by Baron von Hormayr and his collaborators, to stir up Austrian poets to +emulate their North-German colleagues in the treatment of Austrian +subjects. With these efforts Grillparzer was in hearty sympathy. The +Hanoverian A.W. Schlegel declared in a lecture delivered at Vienna in +1808 that the worthiest form of the romantic drama was the historical; +and made special mention of the house of Habsburg. In 1817 Matthäus von +Collin's play _Frederick the Warlike_ was published, as one of three +(_Leopold the Glorious, Frederick the Warlike_, and _Ottocar_) planned +as a cycle on the house of Babenberg. Collin's _Frederick_ interested +Grillparzer; Ottocar, who married Frederick's sister and whose fate +closely resembled Frederick's, appealed to him as a promising character +for dramatic treatment; a performance of Kleist's _Prince Frederick of +Homburg,_ which Grillparzer witnessed in 1821, may well have stimulated +him to do for the first of the Habsburgs, Ottocar's successful rival, +what Kleist had done for the greatest of the early Hohenzollerns; and +particularly the likeness of Ottocar's career to that of Napoleon gave +him the point of view for _King Ottocar's Fortune and Fall,_ composed in +1823. + +_Ottocar_ is remarkable for the amount of matter included in the space +of a single drama, and it gives an impressive picture of the dawn of the +Habsburg monarchy; but only in the first two acts can it be said to be +dramatic. The middle and end, though spectacular, are rather epic than +dramatic, and our interest centres more in Rudolf the triumphant than in +Ottocar the defeated and penitent. The play is essentially the tragedy +of a personality. Ottocar is a _parvenu,_ a strong man whom success +makes too sure of the adequacy of his individual strength, ruthless when +he should be politic, indulgent when stern measures are requisite, an +egotist even when he acts for the public weal. Grillparzer treated his +case with great fulness of sensuous detail, but without superabundance +of antiquarian minutiæ, in spite of careful study of historical sources +of information. "Pride goeth before destruction," is the theme, but +Grillparzer was far from wishing either to demonstrate or illustrate +that truth. _Ottocar_ is the tragedy of an individual unequal to +superhuman tasks; it does not represent an idea, but a man. + +After having been retained by the censors for two years, lest Bohemian +sensibilities should be offended, _Ottocar_ was finally freed by order +of the emperor himself, and was performed amid great enthusiasm on +February nineteenth, 1825. In September of that year the empress was to +be crowned as queen of Hungary, and the imperial court suggested to +Grillparzer that he write a play on a Hungarian subject in celebration +of this event. He did not immediately find a suitable subject; but his +attention was attracted to the story of the palatin Bancbanus, a +national hero who had found his way to the dramatic workshop of Hans +Sachs in Nuremberg, had been recommended to Schiller, and had recently +been treated in Hungarian by Joseph Katona. Grillparzer knew neither of +the plays of his predecessors. In connection with this subject he +thought rather of Shakespeare's _King Lear_ and _Othello_, of Byron's +_Marino Faliero_--he had early experimented with this hero himself--and +this was the time of his first thorough study of Lope de Vega. In +November and December, 1826, he wrote _A Faithful Servant of His +Master._ This is a drama of character triumphant in the severest test to +which the sense of duty can be put. Bancbanus, appointed regent while +his sovereign goes to war, promises to preserve peace in the kingdom, +and keeps his promise even when his own relatives rise in arms against +the queen's brother who has insulted Bancbanus' wife and, they think, +has killed her. We have to do, however, not merely with a brilliant +example of unselfish loyalty; we have a highly special case of +individualized persons. Bancbanus is a little, pedantic old man, almost +ridiculous in his personal appearance and in his over-conscientiousness. +Erny, his wife, is a childlike creature, not displeased by flattery, too +innocent to be circumspect, but faithful unto death. And Otto von Meran, +the princely profligate, is one of Grillparzer's boldest creations--not +bad by nature, but utterly irresponsible; crafty, resourceful, proud as +a peacock and, like a monkey in the forest, wishing always to be +noticed. He cannot bear disregard; contempt makes him furious; and a +sense of disgrace which would drive a moral being to insanity reduces +him to a state of stupidity in which, doing good deeds for the first +time and unconsciously, he gradually acquires consciousness of right and +wrong. It is Bancbanus who brings about this transformation in the +character of Otto, who holds rebellious nobles and populace in check, +who teaches his master how to be a servant of the State, and who, by +saving the heir to the throne and praying that he may deserve the +loyalty shown his father, points forward to the better day when +feudalism shall give way to unselfish enlightened monarchy. + +[Illustration: GRILLPARZER'S ROOM IN THE HOUSE OF THE SISTERS FRÖHLICH] + +This play, a glorification of patriotic devotion and, in spite of the +self-repressive character of the hero, as full of stirring action as any +German historical play whatever, was presented on the twenty-eighth of +February, 1828, and was received with applause by high and low. The +emperor caused a special word of appreciation to be conveyed to the +poet. How great was Grillparzer's astonishment, therefore, when, on the +following day, the president of police summoned him and informed him +that the emperor was so well pleased with the play that he wished to +have it all to himself; wherefore the dramatist would please hand over +the manuscript, at his own price! Dynastic considerations probably moved +the emperor to this preposterous demand. The very futility of it--since +a number of copies of the manuscript had already been made, and one or +the other was sure to escape seizure--is a good example of the trials to +which the patience of Austrian poets was subjected during the old +régime. Grillparzer was at this time depressed enough on his own +account, as his poems _Tristia ex Ponto_ bear witness. This new attempt +at interference almost made him despair of his fatherland. "An Austrian +poet," he said, "ought to be esteemed above all others. The man who does +not lose heart under such circumstances is really a kind of hero." + +Grillparzer was not a real hero. But in the midst of public frictions, +personal tribulations, apprehension that his powers of imagination were +declining, and petulant surrenders to discouragement, he kept pottering +along with compositions long since started, and by 1831 he had completed +two more plays, _A Dream is Life_ and _Waves of the Sea and of Love_. + +Like _The Ancestress_, _A Dream is Life_ is written in short trochaic +verses of irregular length and with occasional rhyme. The idea was +conceived early, the first act was written at the time of _The +Ancestress,_ and the title, though chosen late, being a reversal of +Calderón's _Life is a Dream_, suggests the connection with that Spanish +drama. Grillparzer's principal source for the plot, was, however, +Voltaire's narrative entitled _White and Black_. In the psychology of +dreams he had long been interested, and life in the dream state formed a +large part of the opera text _Melusina_ which, in 1821-23, he wrote for +Beethoven. A particular flavor was doubtless given to the plot by the +death of Napoleon on May fifth, 1821, and the beginning of Grillparzer's +friendship with Katharina Fröhlich shortly before; for _A Dream is Life_ +represents in the dream of a harmless but ambitious young man such a +career of conquest as Napoleon was thought to have exemplified, and the +hero, waking after a nightmare of deceits and crimes that were the +stepping stones to success, is warned of the dangers that beset +enterprise and taught to prefer the simple life in union with a rustic +maiden. There are two actions, corresponding to the waking and sleeping +states, the actors in the latter being those of real life fantastically +transformed; but there is no magic or anything else super-natural, and +the most fascinating quality in the drama is the skill with which the +transformation is made in accordance with the irrational logic of +dreams. Accompanied by the weird music of Gyrowetz and exquisitely +staged, this is the most popular of Grillparzer's plays in Vienna. But +it is by no means merely theatrical. There is profound truth in the +theory upon which it is constructed: a dream is the awakening of the +soul; dreams do not create wishes, they reveal them, and the actions of +a dreamer are the potentialities of his character. Moreover, the +quietistic note of renunciation for the sake of peace to the soul and +integrity of personality is the final note of _The Golden Fleece_ no +less than of this fantasmagoria. _Waves of the Sea and of Love_ is a +far-fetched and sentimental title for a dramatization of the story of +Hero and Leander. Grillparzer chose the title, he said, because he +wished to suggest a romantic treatment that should humanize the matter. +The play really centres in the character of Hero and might much better +be called by her name. In it Grillparzer's experiences with Charlotte +von Paumgarten and Marie Däffinger are poetically fructified, and his +capacity for tracing the incalculable course of feminine instincts +attains to the utmost of refinement and delicacy. The theme is the +conflict between duty to a solemn vow of sacerdotal chastity and the +disposition to satisfy the natural desire for love. But Grillparzer has +represented no such conflict in the breast of Hero. Her antagonist is +not her own conscience but the representative of divine law in the +temple of which she is priestess. The action of the play therefore takes +the form of an intrigue on the part of this representative to thwart the +intrigue of Hero and Leander. This external collision is, however, far +from supplying the chief interest in a drama unquestionably dramatic, +although its main action is internal. Hero is at the beginning a Greek +counterpart to the barbarian Medea. She has the same pride of station +and self-assurance. Foreordained to asceticism, she is ready to embrace +it because she thinks it superior to the worldliness of which she has no +knowledge. When worldliness presents itself to her in the attractive +form of Leander, she is first curious, then offended, apprehensive of +danger to herself and to him, only soon to apprehend nothing but +interruption of the new rapture to which she yields in oblivion of +everything else in the world. Only a poet of the unprecedented _naïveté_ +of Grillparzer could so completely obliterate the insurgency of moral +scruples against this establishment of the absolute monarchy of love. + +In spite of admirable dramatic qualities and the most exquisite poetry +even in the less dramatic passages, this play on Hero and Leander +disappointed both audience and playwright when it was put upon the stage +in April, 1831. Other disappointments were rife for Grillparzer at +this time. But he put away his desires for the unattainable, and with +the publication of _Tristia ex Ponto_ in 1835, took, as it were, formal +leave of the past and its sorrow. Indeed, he seemed on the point of +beginning a new epoch of ready production; for he now succeeded, for the +first time since 1818, in the quick conception and uninterrupted +composition of an eminently characteristic play, the most artistic of +German comedies, _Woe to the Liar_. It was the more lamentable that when +the play was enacted, on the sixth of March, 1838, the brutal behavior +of an unappreciative audience so wounded the sensitive poet that he +resolved never again to subject himself to such ignominy--and kept his +word. In 1840 he published _Waves of the Sea and of Love, A Dream is +Life_, and _Woe to the Liar_; but the plays which he wrote after that +time he kept in his desk. + +The year 1838, accordingly, sharply divides the life of Grillparzer into +two parts--the first, productive and more or less in the public eye; the +second, contemplative and in complete retirement from the stage. To be +sure, the poet became conspicuous once more with his poem to Radetzky in +1848; in 1851 Heinrich Laube, recently appointed director of the +_Hofburgtheater_, instituted a kind of Grillparzer revival; and belated +honors brought some solace to his old age. But he had become an +historical figure long before he ceased to be seen on the streets of his +beloved Vienna, and the three completed manuscripts of plays that in +1872 he bequeathed to posterity had lain untouched for nearly twenty +years. + +Two of these posthumous pieces, _Brothers' Quarrels in the House of +Habsburg_ and _Libussa_, undoubtedly reveal the advancing years of their +author, in a good and in a bad sense. They lack the theatrical +self-evidence of the earlier dramas. But on the other hand, they are +rich in the ripest wisdom of their creator, and in significance of +characterization as well as in profundity of idea they amply atone for +absence of the more superficial qualities. Kaiser Rudolf II. in +_Brothers' Quarrels_ is one of the most human of the men who in the face +of inevitable calamity have pursued a Fabian policy. Even to personal +predilections, like fondness for the dramas of Lope, he is a replica of +the mature Grillparzer himself. _Libussa_ presents in Primislaus a +somewhat colorless but nevertheless thoroughly masculine representative +of practical coöperation and progress, and in Libussa, the heroine, a +typical feminine martyr to duty. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER In his Sixtieth Year] + +The third of the posthumous pieces, however, _The Jewess of Toledo_, may +perhaps be said to mark the climax of Grillparzer's productive activity. +It is an eminently modern drama of passion in classical dignity of form. +Grillparzer noted the subject as early as 1813. In 1824 he read Lope de +Vega's play on it, and wrote in trochees two scenes of his own; in +1848-49--perhaps with Lola Montez and the king of Bavaria in mind--he +worked further on it, and about 1855 brought the work to an end. The +play is properly called _The Jewess of Toledo_; for Rachel, the Jewess, +is at the centre of the action, and is a marvelous creation--"a mere +woman, nothing but her sex"; but the king, though relatively passive, is +the most important character. He is attracted to Rachel by a charm that +he has never known in his coldly virtuous English consort, and, after an +error forgivable because made comprehensible, is taught the duty of +personal sacrifice to morality and to the state. In doctrine and in +inner form this drama is comparable to Hebbel's _Agnes Bernauer_; it is +a companion piece to _A Faithful Servant of his Master_, and the +sensuality of Rachel contrasts instructively with the spirituality of +Hero. The genuine dramatic collision of antithetical forces produces, +furthermore, a new synthesis, the effect of which is to make us wish +morality less austere and the sense of obligation stronger than they at +first are in two persons good by nature but caused to err by +circumstances. In the series of dramas thus passed in review there is +a great variety of setting and incident, and an abundance of dramatic +_motifs_ that show Grillparzer to have been one of the most opulent of +playwrights. The range of characters, too, each presented with due +regard for _milieu_, is seen to be considerable, and upon closer +examination would be seen to be more considerable still. The greatest +richness is found in the characters of women. Grillparzer himself lacked +the specifically masculine qualities of courageous enterprise and +tenacity of purpose. His men are rather affected by the world than +active creators of new conditions, and their contact with conditions as +they are leaves them with the scars of battle instead of the joy of +victory. No one, however, could attribute a feministic spirit to +Grillparzer; or, if so, it must be said that the study of reaction is no +less instructive than the study of action and that being is at least as +high an ideal as doing. Being, existence in a definite place amid the +tangible surroundings of personal life, Grillparzer gives us with +extraordinary abundance of sensuous details. The drama was for him what +Goethe said it should always be, a present reality; and for the greater +impressiveness of this reality he is fond of the use of visible +objects--whether they be symbols, like the Golden Fleece in _Medea_, the +lyre in _Sappho_, the medallion in _The Jewess of Toledo_, or +characteristic weapons, accoutrement, and apparel. Everything expressive +is welcome to him, gesture or inarticulate sound reinforces the spoken +word or replaces it. Unusually sensuous language and comparative fulness +of sententious passages go hand in hand with a laconic habit which +indulges in many ellipses and is content to leave to the actor the task +of making a single word convey the meaning of a sentence. + +Grillparzer's plays were written for the stage. He abhorred what the +Germans call a book drama, and had, on the other hand, the highest +respect for the judgment of a popular audience as to the fact whether a +play were fit for the stage or not. The popular audience was a jury +from which there was no appeal on this question of fact. A passage in +_The Poor Musician_ gives eloquent expression to Grillparzer's regard +for the sure esthetic instinct of the masses and, indirectly, to his own +poetic _naïveté._ But his plays are also poems; they are all in verse; +and like the plays of his French prototype, Racine, they reveal their +full merit only to connoisseurs. They are the work of a man who was +better able than most men of his generation to prove all things, and who +held fast to that which he found good. His art is not forward-looking, +like that of Kleist, nor backward-looking, like that, say, of Theodor +Körner. It is in the strictest sense complementary and co-ordinate to +that of Goethe and Schiller, a classicism modified by romantic +tendencies toward individuation and localization. He did not aim at the +typical. He felt, and rightly, that a work of art, being something +individual, should be created with concentrated attention upon the +attainment of its perfection as an individual; this perfection attained, +the artist would attain to typical, symbolical connotation into the +bargain. From anything like the grotesqueness of exaggerated +characterization Grillparzer was saved by his sense of form. He had as +fertile an imagination and as penetrating an intellect as Kleist, and he +excelled Kleist in the reliability of his common sense. It was no play +upon words, but the expression of conviction when he wrote, in 1836: +"Poetry is incorporation of the spirit, spiritualization of the body, +feeling of the understanding, and thought of the feeling." In its +comprehensive appeal to all of these faculties a work of art commends +itself and carries its meaning through its existence as an objective +reality, like the phenomena of nature herself. A comprehensive +sensitiveness to such an appeal, whether of art or of nature, was +Grillparzer's ideal of individual nature and culture. He thought the +North Germans had cultivated their understanding at the expense of their +feeling, and had thereby impaired their esthetic sense. He thought the +active life in general inevitably destroyed the harmony of the faculties +and substituted an extrinsic for an intrinsic good. In the mad rush of +our own time after material wealth and power we may profitably +contemplate the picture which Grillparzer drew of himself in the +following characteristic verses: + +THE ANGLER + + Below lies the lake hushed and tranquil, + And I sit here with idle hands, + And gaze at the frolicking fishes + Which glide to and fro o'er the sands. + + They come, and they go, and they tarry; + But if I now venture a cast, + Of a sudden the playground is empty, + As my basket remains to the last. + + Mayhap if I stirred up the water, + My angling might lure the shy prey. + But then I must also give over + The sight of the fishes at play. + +[Illustration: THE GRILLPARZER MONUMENT AT VIENNA.] + + + + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + * * * * * + +MEDEA + +A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + CREON, _King of Corinth + + CREUSA, _his daughter + + JASON + + MEDEA + + GORA, _Medea's aged nurse_ + + _A herald of the Amphictyons_ + + _A peasant_ + + _Medea's children_ + + _Slaves and slave-women, attendants of + the King, etc._ + + +MEDEA (1822) + + + + +TRANSLATED BY THEODORE A. MILLER, PH.D. + + + +ACT I + + +_Before the walls of Corinth. At the left, halfway up stage, a tent is +pitched; in the background lies the sea, with a point of land jutting +out into it, on which is built a part of the city. The time is early +morning, before daybreak; it is still dark. + +At the right in the foreground a slave is seen standing in a pit digging +and throwing up shovelfuls of earth; on the opposite side of the pit +stands MEDEA, before a black chest which is strangely decorated with +gold; in this chest she keeps laying various utensils during the +following dialogue. + +MEDEA. Is it, then, done? + +SLAVE. A moment yet, my mistress. + +[GORA _comes out of the tent and stands at a distance_.] + +MEDEA. Come! First the veil, and then the goddess' staff. + I shall not need them more; here let them rest. + Dark night, the time for magic, is gone by, + And what is yet to come, or good or ill, + Must happen in the beamy light of day.-- + This casket next; dire, secret flames it hides + That will consume the wretch who, knowing not, + Shall dare unlock it. And this other here, + Full-filled with sudden death, with many an herb, + And many a stone of magic power obscure, + Unto that earth they sprang from I commit. + + [_She rises_.] + + So! Rest ye here in peace for evermore. + Now for the last and mightiest thing of all! + +[Illustration: MEDEA _From the Painting by Anselm Feuerbach_] + +[_The slave, who has meanwhile climbed out of the pit and taken his +stand behind the princess awaiting the conclusion of her enterprise, +now turns to help her, and grasps at an object covered with a veil and +hanging from a lance that has been resting against a tree behind MEDEA; +the veil falls, revealing the banner, with the Golden Fleece glowing +radiantly through the darkness._] + +SLAVE (_grasping the Fleece_). 'Tis this? + +MEDEA. Nay, hold thy hand! Unveil it not. + +(_Addressing the Fleece_.) + + Once more let me behold thee, fatal gift + Of trusting guest-friend! Shine for one last time, + Thou witness of the downfall of my house, + Bespattered with my father's, brother's blood, + Sign of Medea's shame and hateful crime! + +[_She stamps upon the lance-haft and breaks it in two_.] + + So do I rend thee now, so sink thee deep + In earth's dark bosom, whence, a bane to men, + Thou sprang'st. + +[_She lays the broken standard in the chest with the other objects and +shuts down the cover_.] + +GORA (_comes down_). + + What does my mistress here? + +MEDEA. Thou seest. + +GORA. Wilt thou, then, bury in the earth that Fleece, + The symbol of thy service to the gods, + That saved thee, and shall save thee yet again? + +MEDEA (_scornfully_). + + That saved me? 'Tis because it saved me not, + That here I lay it. I am safe enough. + +GORA (_ironically_). + + Thanks to thy husband's love? + +MEDEA (_to the slave, ignoring Gora's taunt_). + + Is all prepared? + +SLAVE. Yea, mistress. + +MEDEA. Come! + +[_She grasps one handle of the chest, the slave the other, and together +they carry it to the pit._] + +GORA (_observing them from a distance_). + + Oh, what a task is this + For a proud princess, daughter of a king! + +MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not help? + +GORA. Lord Jason's handmaid am I--and not thine! + Nor is it meet one slave another serve. + +MEDEA (_to the slave_). + + Now lay it in, and heap the earth upon it. + +[_The slave lets the chest down into the pit and shovels in the earth +upon it. MEDEA kneels at one side of the pit as he works._] + + GORA (_standing in the foreground_). + + Oh, let me die, ye gods of Colchis, now, + That I may look no more on such a sight! + Yet, first hurl down your lightning-stroke of wrath + Upon this traitor who hath wrought us woe. + Let me but see him die; then slay me too! + +MEDEA (_to the slave_). + + 'Tis finished. Stamp the earth about it close, + And go.--I charge thee, guard my secret well. + Thou art a Colchian, and I know thee true. + +[_The slave departs._] + +GORA (_calling after him with grim scorn_). + + If thou shalt tell thy master, woe to you both! + +(_To MEDEA._) + + Hast finished? + +MEDEA. Ay. At last I am at peace! + +GORA. The Fleece, too, didst thou bury? + + +MEDEA. Even the Fleece. + +GORA. Thou didst not leave it in Iolcos, with + Thine husband's uncle? + +MEDEA. Nay, thou saw'st it here. + +GORA. Thou hadst it still--and now hast buried it! + Gone, gone! And naught is left; all thy past life + Vanished, like wreaths of vapor in the breeze! + And naught's to come, and naught has been, and all + Thou seest is but this present fleeting hour! + There _was_ no Colchis! All the gods are dead! + Thou hadst no father, never slew thy brother I + Thou think'st not of it; lo, it never happened!-- + Think, then, thou art not wretched. Cheat thyself + To dream Lord Jason loves thee yet. Perchance + It may come true! + +MEDEA (angrily). + + Be silent, woman! + +GORA. + Nay! + Let her who knows her guilty lock her lips, + But I _will_ speak. Forth from my peaceful home + There in far Colchis, thou hast lured me here, + To be thine haughty paramour's meek slave. + Freeborn am I, yet see! mine arms are chained!-- + Through the long, troubled nights, upon my couch + I lie and weep; each morn, as the bright sun + Returns, I curse my gray hairs and my weight + Of years. All scorn me, flout me. All I had + Is gone, save heavy heart and scalding tears.-- + Nay, I will speak, and thou shalt listen, too! + +MEDEA. Say on. + +GORA. All I foretold has come to pass. + 'Tis scarce one moon since the revolted sea + Cast you ashore, seducer and seduced; + And yet e 'en now these folk flee from thy face, + And horror follows wheresoe'er thou goest. + The people shudder at the Colchian witch + With fearful whispers of her magic dark. + Where thou dost show thyself, there all shrink back + And curse thee. May the same curse smite them all!-- + As for thy lord, the Colchian princess' spouse, + Him, too, they hate, for his sake, and for thine. + Did not his uncle drive him from his palace? + Was he not banished from his fatherland + What time that uncle perished, none knows how? + Home hath he none, nor resting-place, nor where + To lay his head. What canst thou hope from him? + +MEDEA. I am his wife! + +GORA. And hop'st--? + +MEDEA. To follow him + In need and unto death. + +GORA. Ay, need and death! + Ætes' daughter in a beggar's hut! + +MEDEA. Let us pray Heaven for a simple heart; + So shall our humble lot be easier borne. + +GORA. Ha!--And thy husband--? + +MEDEA. Day breaks. Let us go. + +GORA. Nay, thou shalt not escape my questioning!--One + comfort still is left me in my grief, + And only one: our wretched plight shows clear + That gods still rule in Heaven, and mete out + To guilty men requital, late or soon. + Weep for thy bitter lot; I'll comfort thee. + Only presume not rashly to deny + The gods are just, because thou dost deny + This punishment they send, and all this woe.-- + To cure an evil, we must see it clear. + Thy husband--tell me--is he still the same? + +MEDEA. What should he be? + +GORA. O, toy not so with words! + Is he the same impetuous lover still + Who wooed thee once; who braved a hundred swords + To win thee; who, upon that weary voyage, + Laughed at thy fears and kissed away thy grief, + Poor maid, when thou wouldst neither eat nor drink, + But only pray to die? Ay, all too soon + He won thee with his passionate, stormy love. + Is he thy lover still?--I see thee tremble. + Ay, thou hast need; thou knowest he loves thee not, + But shudders at thee, dreads thee, flees thee, _hates_ thee! + And as thou didst betray thy fatherland, + So shalt thou be betrayed--and by thy lover. + Deep in the earth the symbols of thy crime + Lie buried;--but the crime thou canst not hide. + +MEDEA. Be silent! + +GORA. Never! + +MEDEA (_grasping her fiercely by the arm _). + + Silence, dame, I say! + What is this madness? Cease these frantic cries! + 'Tis our part to await whate'er may come, + Not bid it hasten.--Thou didst say but now + There is no past, no future; when a deed + Is done, 'tis done for all time; we can know + Only this one brief present instant, Now. + Say, if this Now may cradle a dim future, + Why may it not entomb the misty past? + My past! Would God that I could change it--now! + And bitter tears I weep for it, bitterer far + Than thou dost dream of.--Yet, that is no cause + To seek destruction. Rather is there need + Clearly to know myself, face honestly + The thing I am. Here to these foreign shores + And stranger folk a god hath driven us; + And what seemed right in Colchis, here is named + Evil and wickedness; our wonted ways + Win hatred here in Corinth, and distrust. + So, it is meet we change our ways and speech; + If we may be no longer what we would, + Let us at least, then, be e'en what we can.-- + The ties that bound me to my fatherland + Here in earth's bosom I have buried deep; + The magic rites my mother taught me, all + Back to the Night that bare them I have given. + Now, but a woman, weak, alone, defenseless, + I throw me in my husband's open arms! + He shuddered at the Colchian witch! But now + I am his true, dear wife; and surely he + Will take me to his loving, shelt'ring arms.-- + Lo, the day breaks, fair sign of our new life + Together! The dark past has ceased to be, + The happy future beckons!--Thou, O Earth, + The kind and gentle mother of us all, + Guard well my trust, that in thy bosom lies. + +[_As she and_ GORA _approach the tent, it opens, and _JASON _appears, +talking with a Corinthian rustic, and followed by a slave._] + +JASON. Thou saw'st the king himself? + +RUSTIC. I did, my lord. + +JASON. How went thy tale? + +RUSTIC. I Said, "One waits without, + A guest-friend of thy house, well-known to thee, + Yet so hedged round is he with traitorous foes, + He dares not enter, ere thou promise him + Peace and protection." + +JASON. And his answer?--Speak! + +RUSTIC. He comes, my lord, to meet thee. All this folk + Make pious offering to Poseidon here + Upon the seashore. Soon in festal train + They come with garlands and fair gifts, the king + Leading his daughter by the hand. 'Tis then, + As they pass by, that he will speak with thee. + +JASON. Thou hast done well. I thank thee. + +MEDEA (_coming up to him_). + + Jason, hail! + +JASON. Hail to thee, too! + + (_To the slave._) + + Go, thou, and all the others, + And pluck green branches from the budding trees + To mark you suppliants. 'Tis the custom here. + And keep a quiet, peaceful mien. Dost hear? + Now go. + +[_They depart._] + +MEDEA. Thou'rt full of thought? + +JASON. Ay, full. + +MEDEA. Thou givest + Thyself no rest. + +JASON. A fugitive--and rest? + There is no rest for such, but only flight. + +MEDEA. Last night thou didst not close thine eyes in sleep, + But wand'redst forth in the murky night, alone. + +JASON. I love the night; the sunlight hurts my eyes. + +MEDEA. And thou hast sent a message to the king. + Will he receive us kindly? + +JASON. That I wait + To hear. + +MEDEA. He is thy friend? + +JASON. He was. + +MEDEA. Then sure + His heart will soften. + +JASON. Even the kindest men + Shun friendship with the accurst. And thou dost know + How all the world doth flee us, since the death + Of my false uncle, Pelias, whom some god + In devilish sport caused to be strangled. Thus + The people whisper that I slew him, I, + Thy husband, from that land of magic come. + Dost thou not know this? + +MEDEA. Yea. + +JASON. Here's cause enough + To wake and wander all the dark night through.-- + But what hath brought thee forth, before the sun + Is up? What seek'st thou in this darkling hour? + Calling old friends from Colchis? + +MEDEA. Nay. + +JASON. Speak truth! + +MEDEA. I say, I am not. + +JASON. And I say to thee, + Better for thee if thou forget all such. + Pluck no more herbs, brew no more poison-drinks, + Nor commune with the moon, let dead men's bones + Rot in their graves at peace! Such magic arts + This folk here love not,--and I hate them, too! + This is not Colchis dark,--but sunny Greece; + Not hideous monsters, but our fellow-men + Dwell round about us. Come, henceforth, I know, + Thou wilt give o'er these rites and magic spells; + I have thy promise, and I know thee true.-- + That crimson wimple bound about thy hair + Calls long-forgotten scenes to memory. + Why wilt not wear our country's wonted dress? + I was a Colchian on thy Colchian soil; + Be thou a Greek, now I have brought thee home. + The past is dead. Why call it back to life? + Alas! It haunts us yet, do what we will! + +[MEDEA _silently removes the veil and gives it to_ GORA.] + +GORA (_whispering_). + + Scorn'st thou thy homeland thus--and all for him? + +JASON (_catching sight of _GORA). + + What! Art thou here, thou ancient beldame? Ha! + I hate thee most of all this Colchian crew. + One glance at thy dim eyes and wrinkled brow, + And lo! before my troubled sight there swims + The dusky shore of Colchis! Why must thou + Be ever hovering close beside my wife? + Begone! + +GORA (_grumblingly_). + + Why should I? + +JASON. Go! + +MEDEA. Begone, I pray. + +GORA (_sullenly to _JASON). + + Am I thy purchased slave, that thou shouldst speak + So lordly? + +JASON. Go! My hand, of its own will, + Is on my sword! Go, while there yet is time! + Often ere this I have thought to make essay + If that stern brow be softer than it seems! + +[MEDEA _leads the reluctant_ GORA _away, whispering words of comfort as +they go._ JASON _throws himself on a grass-bank, and strikes his +breast._] + + +JASON. O, heart of mine, burst from thy prison-house, + And drink the air!-- + Ay, there they lie, fair Corinth's lofty towers, + Marshalled so richly on the ocean-strand, + The cradle of my happy, golden youth! + Unchanging, gilded by the selfsame sun + As then. 'Tis I am altered, and not they. + Ye gods! The morning of my life was bright + And sunny; wherefore is my eventide + So dark and gloomy? Would that it were night! + +[MEDEA _has brought the two children out of the tent, and now leads them +by the hand to_ JASON.] + +MEDEA. See, Jason, thy two babes, who come to greet thee. + Come, children, give your sire your little hands. + +[_The children draw back, and stand shyly at one side._] + +JASON (_stretching out his hands yearningly toward the little group._) + + Is this the end, then? Do I find myself + Husband and father of a savage brood? + +MEDEA. Go, children. + +ONE CHILD. Father, is it true thou art + A Greek? + +JASON. And why? + +CHILD. Old Gora says thou art, + And calls the Greeks bad names. + +JASON. What names, my boy? + +CHILD. Traitors she says they are, and cowards, too. + +JASON (_to_ MEDEA). + + Dost hear? + +MEDEA. 'Tis Gora's foolish tales that they + Have heard, and treasured, child-like. Mark them not. + +[_She kneels beside the two children, whispering in the ear now of one, +now of the other._] + +JASON. I will not. + +[_He rises from the grass._] + + There she kneels--unhappy fate!-- + Bearing two burdens, hers, and mine as well. + +[_He paces up and down, then addresses_ MEDEA.] + + There, leave the babes awhile, and come to me. + +MEDEA (_to the children_). + + Now go, and be good children. Go, I say. + +[_The children go._] + +JASON. Think not, Medea, I am cold and hard. + I feel thy grief as deeply as mine own. + Thou'rt a brave comrade, and dost toil as truly + As I to roll away this heavy stone + That, ever falling backwards, blocks all paths, + All roads to hope. And whether thou'rt to blame, + Or I, it matters not. What's done is done. + +[_He clasps her hands in one of his, and with the other lovingly strokes +her brow._] + + Thou lov'st me still, I know it well, Medea. + In thine own way, 'tis true; but yet thou lov'st me. + And not this fond glance only--all thy deeds + Tell the same tale of thine unending love. + +[MEDEA _hides her face on his shoulder._] + + I know how many griefs bow this dear head, + How love and pity in thy bosom sit + Enthroned.--Come, let us counsel now together + How we may 'scape this onward-pressing fate + That threatens us so near. Here Corinth lies; + Hither, long years agone, a lonely youth, + I wandered, fleeing my uncle's wrath and hate; + And Creon, king of Corinth, took me in,-- + A guest-friend was he of my father's house-- + And cherished me ev'n as a well-loved son. + Full many a year I dwelt here, safe and happy. + And now-- + +MEDEA. Thou'rt silent! + +JASON. Now, when all the world + Flouts me, avoids me, now, when each man's hand + In blind, unreasoning rage is raised to strike, + I hope to find a refuge with this king.-- + One fear I have, though, and no idle one. + +MEDEA. And what is that? + +JASON. Me he will shelter safe-- + That I hold certain--and my children, too, + For they are mine. But thee-- + +MEDEA. Nay, have no fear. + If he take them, as being thine, then me, + Who am thine as well, he will not cast away. + +JASON. Hast thou forgotten all that lately chanced + There in my home-land, in my uncle's house, + When first I brought thee from dark Colchis' shores? + Hast thou forgot the scorn, the black distrust + In each Greek visage when it looked on thee, + A dark barbarian from a stranger-land? + They cannot know thee as I do,--true wife + And mother of my babes;--homekeepers they, + Nor e'er set foot on Colchis' magic strand + As I. + +MEDEA. A bitter speech. What is the end? + +JASON. The worst misfortune of mankind is this: + Calm and serene and unconcerned to court + Fate's heaviest blows, and then, when these have fallen, + To whine and cringe, bewailing one's sad lot.-- + Such folly we will none of, thou and I. + For now I seek King Creon, to proclaim + My right as guest-friend, and to clear away + These clouds of dark distrust that threaten storm.-- + Meanwhile, take thou the babes and get thee hence + Without the city walls. There wait, until-- + +MEDEA. Till when? + +JASON. Until--Why hidest thou thy face? + +MEDEA. Ah, say no more! This is that bitter fate + Whereof my father warned me! Said he not + We should torment each other, thou and I? + But no!--My spirit is not broken yet! + All that I was, all that I had, is gone, + Save this: I am thy wife! To that I'll cling + Even to death. + +JASON. Why twist my kindly words + To a false meaning that I never dreamed of? + +MEDEA. Prove that I twist thy words! I'll thank thee for it. + Quick, quick! The king draws nigh.--Let thy heart speak! + +JASON. So, wait we here the breaking of the storm. + +[GORA _comes out of the tent with the two children_; MEDEA _places +herself between the children, and at first waits in the distance, +watching anxiously all that passes. The_ KING _enters with his daughter +and attended by youths and maidens who carry the vessels for the +sacrifice._] + + +KING. Where is this stranger?--Who he is, my heart, + By its wild beating, warns me; wanderer, + And banished from his homeland, nay, mayhap + E'en guilty of those crimes men charge him with.-- + Where is the stranger? + +JASON. Here, my lord, bowed low + Before thee, not a stranger, though estranged. + A suppliant I, and come to pray thine aid. + Thrust forth from house and home, by all men shunned, + I fly to thee, my guest-friend, and beseech + In confidence the shelter of thy roof. + +CREUSA. Ay, it is he! Look, father, 'tis Prince Jason! + +[_She takes a step toward him._] + +JASON. Yea, it is I. And is this thou, Creusa, + Crowned with a yet more gentle, radiant grace, + But still the same? O, take me by the hand + And lead me to thy father, where he stands + With thoughtful brow, fixing his steady gaze + Upon my face, and dallies with his doubt + Whether to greet me kindly. Is he wroth + At me, or at my guilt, which all men cry? + +CREUSA (_taking_ JASON's _hand and leading him to her father_). + + See, father, 'tis Prince Jason! + +KING. He is welcome. + +JASON. Thy distant greeting shows me clear what place + Now best beseems me. Here at thy feet I fall + And clasp thy knees, and stretch a timid hand + To touch thy chin. Grant me my prayer, O King! + Receive and shelter a poor suppliant wretch! + +KING. Rise, Jason. + +JASON. Never, till thou-- + +KING. Rise, I say. + +[_Jason rises to his feet._] + +KING. So, from thine Argo-quest thou art returned? + +JASON. 'Tis scarce one moon since I set foot on land. + +KING. What of the golden prize ye sought? Is't won? + +JASON. The king who set the task--he hath it now. + +KING. Why art thou banished from thy fatherland? + +JASON. They drove me forth--homeless I wander now. + +KING. Ay, but why banished? I must see this clear. + +JASON. They charged me with a foul, accursèd crime. + +KING. Truly or falsely? Answer me this first. + +JASON. A false charge! By the gods I swear, 'tis false! + +KING (_swiftly grasping_ JASON's _hand and leading him forward_). + + Thine uncle perished? + +JASON. Yea, he died. + +KING. But how? + +JASON. Not at my hands! As I do live and breathe, + I swear that bloody deed was none of mine! + +KING. Yet Rumor names thee Murderer, and the word + Through all the land is blown. + +JASON. Then Rumor lies, + And all that vile land with it! + +KING. Dream'st thou then + I can believe thy single tale, when all + The world cries, "Liar!" + +JASON. 'Tis the word of one + Thou knowest well, against the word of strangers. + +KING. Say, then, how fell the king? + +JASON. 'Twas his own blood, + The children of his flesh, that did the deed. + +KING. Horror of horrors! Surely 'tis not true? + It cannot be! + +JASON. The gods know it is truth. + Give ear, and I will tell thee how it chanced. + +KING. Nay, hold. Creusa comes. This is no tale + For gentle ears. I fain would shield the maid + From knowledge of such horror. (_Aloud._) For the moment + I know enough. We'll hear the rest anon. + I will believe thee worthy while I can. + +CREUSA (_coming up to _KING CREON). + + Hast heard his tale? He's innocent, I know. + +KING. Go, take his hand. Thou canst without disgrace. + +CREUSA. Didst doubt him, father? Nay, I never did! + My heart told me these tales were never true, + These hideous stories that men tell of him. + Gentle he was, and kind; how could he, then, + Show him so base and cruel? Couldst thou know + How they have slandered thee, heaped curse on curse! + I've wept, to think our fellow-men could be + So bitter, false. For thou hadst scarce set sail, + When, sudden, all men's talk throughout the land + Was of wild deeds and hideous midnight crimes-- + The fruit of witchcraft on far Colchis' shores-- + Which thou hadst done.--And, last, a woman, dark + And dreadful, so they said, thou took'st to wife, + Brewer of poisons, slayer of her sire. + What was her name? It had a barbarous sound-- + +MEDEA (_stepping forward with the children_). + + Medea! Here am I. + +KING. Is 't she? + +JASON (_dully_). + + It is. + +CREUSA (_pressing close to her father_). + + O, horror! + +MEDEA (_to_ CREUSA). + + Thou'rt wrong. I never slew my sire. + My brother died, 'tis true; but ask my lord + If 'twas my doing. + +[_She points to _JASON.] + + True it is, fair maid, + That I am skilled to mix such magic potions + As shall bring death or healing, as I will. + And many a secret else I know. Yet, see! + I am no monster, no, nor murderess. + +CREUSA. Oh, dreadful, horrible. + +KING. And is she thy--wife? + +JASON. My wife. + +KING. Those children there? + +JASON. They are mine own. + +KING. Unhappy man! + +JASON. Yea, sooth!--Come, children, bring + Those green boughs in your hands, and reach them out + To our lord the King, and pray him for his help, + + [_He leads them up by the hand._] + + Behold, my lord, these babes. Thou canst not spurn them! + +ONE CHILD (_holding out a bough timidly to the _KING). + + See, here it is. + +KING (_laying his hands gently on the children's heads_). + + Poor tiny birdlings, snatched from out your nest! + +CREUSA (_kneeling compassionately beside the children_). + + Come here to me, poor, homeless, little orphans! + So young, and yet misfortune bows you down + So soon! So young, and oh! so innocent!-- + And look, how this one has his father's mien! + + [_She kisses the smaller boy._] + + Stay here with me. I'll be your mother, sister. + + MEDEA (_with sudden fierceness_). + + They are not orphans, do not need thy tears + Of pity! For Prince Jason is their father; + And while Medea lives, they have no need + To seek a mother! + +(_To the children._) + + Come to me-come here. + +CREUSA (_glancing at her father_). + + Shall I let them go? + +KING. She is their mother. + +CREUSA. Run + To mother, children. + +MEDEA (to children). + + Come! Why stand ye there + And wait? + +CREUSA (_to the children, who are clasping her about the neck_). + + Your mother calls, my little ones. + Run to her quick! + +[_The children go to_ MEDEA.] + +JASON (_to the_ KING). + + My lord, what is thy will? + +KING. Thou hast my promise. + +JASON. Thou wilt keep me safe? + +KING. I have said it. + +JASON. Me and mine thou wilt receive? + +KING. Nay, _thee_ I said, not _thine_.--Now follow on, + First to the altar, to our palace then. + +JASON (_as he follows the king, to _CREUSA). + + Give me thy hand, Creusa, as of yore! + +CREUSA. Thou canst not take it as of old thou didst. + +MEDEA. They go,--and I am left, forgot! Oh, children, + Run here and clasp me close. Nay, closer, tighter! + +CREUSA (_to herself, turning as they go_). + + Where is Medea? Why does she not follow? + +[_She comes back, but stands at a distance from_ MEDEA.] + + Com'st thou not to the sacrifice, then home + With us? + +MEDEA. Unbidden guests must wait without. + +CREUSA. Nay, but my father promised shelter, help. + +MEDEA. Thy words and his betokened no such aid! + +CREUSA (_approaching nearer_). + + I've grieved thee, wounded thee! Forgive, I pray. + +MEDEA. Ah, gracious sound! Who spake that gentle word? + Ay, many a time they've stabbed me to the quick, + But none e'er paused, and, pitying, asked himself + If the wound smarted! Thanks to thee, sweet maid! + Oh, when thou art thyself in sore distress, + Then may'st thou find some tender, pitying soul + To whisper soft and gracious words to thee, + To give one gentle glance--as thou to me! + +[MEDEA _tries to grasp _CREUSA's _hand, but the princess draws back +timidly._] + + Nay, shudder not! 'Tis no plague-spotted hand.-- + Oh, I was born a princess, even as thou. + For me the path of life stretched smooth and straight + As now for thee; blindly thereon I fared, + Content, where all seemed right.--Ah, happy days! + For I was born a princess, even as thou. + And as thou stand'st before me, fair and bright + And happy, so I stood beside my father, + The idol of his heart, and of his folk. + O Colchis! O my homeland! Dark and dread + They name thee here, but to my loving eyes + Thine is a shining shore! + +CREUSA _(taking her hand)_. + + Poor, lonely soul! + +MEDEA. Gentle art thou, and mild, and gracious too; + I read it in thy face. But oh, beware! + The way _seems_ smooth.--One step may mean thy fall! + Light is the skiff that bears thee down the stream, + Advance upon the silvery, shining waves, + Past gaily-flowered banks, where thou would'st pause.-- + Ah, gentle pilot, is thy skill so sure? + Beyond thee roars the sea! Oh, venture not + To quit these flowery banks' secure embrace, + Else will the current seize thy slender craft + And sweep thee out upon the great gray sea.-- + Why that fixed gaze? Dost shudder at me still? + There was a time when I had shuddered, too, + At thought of such a thing as I'm become! + +_[She hides her face on CREUSA's neck.]_ + +CREUSA. She is no wild thing! Father, see, she weeps! + +MEDEA. I am a stranger, from a far land come, + Naught knowing of this country's ancient ways; + And so they flout me, look at me askance + As at some savage, untamed animal. + I am the lowest, meanest of mankind, + I, the proud child of Colchis' mighty king!-- + Teach me what I must do. Oh, I will learn + Gladly from thee, for thou art gentle, mild. + 'Tis patient teaching, and not angry scorn, + Will tame me.-- + Is't thy wont to be so calm + And so serene? To me that happy gift + The gods denied. But I will learn of _thee_! + Thou hast the skill to know what pleases him, + What makes him glad. Oh, teach me how I may + Once more find favor in my husband's sight, + And I will thank thee, thank thee! + +CREUSA. Look, my father! + +KING. Ay, bring her with thee. + +CREUSA. Wilt thou come, Medea? + +MEDEA. I'll follow gladly, whereso'er thou goest. + Have pity on me, lone, unfriended, sad, + And hide me from the king's stern, pitiless eyes! + + (_To the_ KING.) + + Now may'st thou gaze thy fill. My fears are fled, + E'en while I know thy musings bode me ill. + Thy child is tenderer than her father. + +CREUSA. Come! + He would not harm thee. Come, ye children, too. + +[CREUSA _leads_ MEDEA _and the children away_.] + +KING. Hast heard? + +JASON. I have. + +KING. And so, that is thy wife! + That thou wert wedded, Rumor long since cried, + But I believed not. Now, when I have seen, + Belief is still less easy. She--thy wife? + +JASON. 'Tis but the mountain's peak thou seest, and not + The toilsome climb to reach it, nor those steps + By which alone the climber guides his feet.-- + I sailed away, a hot, impetuous youth, + O'er distant seas, upon the boldest quest + That e'er within the memory of man + Was ventured. To this life I said farewell, + And, the world well forgot, I fixed my gaze + Solely upon that radiant Golden Fleece + That, through the night, a star in the storm, shone out. + And none thought on return, but one and all, + As though the hour that saw the trophy won + Should be their last, strained every nerve to win. + And so, a valorous band, we sailed away, + Boastful and thirsting deep for daring deeds, + O'er sea and land, through storm and night and rocks, + Death at our heels, Death beckoning us before. + And what at other times we had thought full + Of terror, now seemed gentle, mild, and good; + For Nature was more awful than the worst + That man could do. And, as we strove with her, + And with barbarian hordes that blocked our path, + The hearts of e'en the mildest turned to flint. + Lost were those standards whereby men at home + Judge all things calmly; each became a law + Unto himself amid these savage sights.-- + But that which all men deemed could never be + Came finally to pass, and we set foot + On Colchis' distant and mysterious strand. + Oh, hadst thou seen it, wrapped in murky clouds! + There day is night, and night a horror black, + Its folk more dreadful even than the night. + And there I found--_her_, who so hateful seems + To thee. In sooth, O king, she shone on me + Like the stray sunbeam that some prisoner sees + Pierce through the crannies of his lonely cell! + Dark though she seem to thee, in that black land + Like some lone, radiant star she gleamed on me. + +KING. Yet wrong is never right, nor evil good. + +JASON. It was some god that turned her heart to me. + Fast friend was she in many a dangerous pass. + I saw how in her bosom love was born, + Which yet her royal pride bade firm restrain; + No word she spake betrayed her--'twas her looks, + Her deeds that told the secret. Then on me + A madness came, like to a rushing wind. + Her silence but inflamed me; for a new + And warlike venture then I girded me, + For love I struggled with her--and I won! + Mine she became.--Her father cursed his child; + But mine she was, whether I would or no. + 'Twas she that won me that mysterious Fleece; + She was my guide to that dank horror-cave + Where dwelt the dragon, guardian of the prize, + The which I slew, and bore the Fleece away. + Since then I see, each time I search her eyes, + That hideous serpent blinking back at me, + And shudder when I call her wife!-- + At last + We sailed away. Her brother fell. + +KING (_quickly_). + + She slew him? + +JASON. The gods' hand smote him down. Her aged father, + With curses on his lips for her, for me, + For all our days to come, with bleeding nails + Dug his own grave, and laid him down to die, + So goes the tale--grim victim of his own + Rash passion. + +KING. Dread beginning of your life + Together! + +JASON. Ay, and, as the days wore on, + More dreadful still. + +KING. Thine uncle--what of him? + +JASON. For four long years some god made sport of us + And kept us wandering far from hearth and home + O'er land and sea. Meanwhile, pent up with her + Within the narrow confines of our bark, + Seeing her face each moment of the day, + The edge of my first shuddering fear grew blunt. + The past was past.--So she became my wife. + +KING. When home thou camest, what befell thee there? + +JASON. Time passed; the memory of those ghastly days + In Colchis dimmer grew and mistier. + I, the proud Greek, now half barbarian grown, + Companioned by my wife, barbarian too, + Sought once again my home-land. Joyfully + The people cried Godspeed! as forth I fared + Long years agone. Of joyfuller greetings now, + When I returned a victor, I had dreamed. + But lo, the busy streets grew still as death + When I approached, and whoso met me, shrank + Back in dismay! The tale, grown big with horrors, + Of all that chanced in Colchis had bred fear + And hatred in this foolish people's hearts. + They fled my face, heaped insults on my wife-- + _Mine_ she was, too; who flouted her, struck me! + This evil talk my uncle slily fed; + And when I made demand that he yield up + The kingdom of my fathers, stolen by him + And kept from me by craft, he made reply + That I must put away this foreign wife, + For she was hateful in his eyes, he feared + Her dark and dreadful deeds! If I refused, + My fatherland, his kingdom, I must flee. + +KING. And thou--? + +JASON. What could I? Was she not my wife, + That trusted to my arm to keep her safe? + Who challenged her, was he not then my foe? + Why, had he named some easier behest, + By Heaven, I had obeyed not even that! + Then how grant this? I laughed at his command. + +KING. And he--? + +JASON. Spake doom of banishment for both. + Forth from Iolcos on that selfsame day + We must depart, he said. But I would not, + And stayed. + Forthwith a grievous illness seized + The king, and through the town a murmur ran + Whisp'ring strange tidings: How the aged king, + Seated before his household shrine, whereon + They had hung the Fleece in honor of the god, + Gazed without ceasing on that golden prize, + And oft would cry that thence his brother's face + Looked down on him,--my father's, whom he slew + By guile, disputing of the Argo-quest. + Ay, that dead face peered down upon him now + From every glittering lock of that bright Fleece, + In search of which, false man! he sent me forth + To distant lands, in hope that I should perish! + At last, when all the king's house saw their need, + To me for succor his proud daughters came, + Begging my wife to heal him by her skill. + But I cried, "No! Am I to save the man + Who plotted certain death for me and mine?" + And those proud maidens turned again in tears. + I shut me up within my house, unheeding + Aught else that passed. Weeping, they came again, + And yet again; each time I said them nay. + And then one night, as I lay sleeping, came + A dreadful cry before my door! I waked + To find Acastus, my false uncle's son, + Storming my portal with loud, frenzied blows, + Calling me murderer, slayer of his sire! + That night the aged king had passed from life. + Up from my couch I sprang, and sought to speak, + But vainly, for the people's howls of rage + Drowned my weak cries. Then one among them cast + A stone, then others. But I drew my blade + And through the mob to safety cut my way. + Since then I've wandered all fair Hellas o'er, + Reviled of men, a torment to myself. + And, if thou, too, refuse to succor me, + Then am I lost indeed! + +KING. Nay, I have sworn + And I will keep my oath. But this thy wife-- + +JASON. Hear me, O king, before thou end that speech! + Needs must thou take us both, or none at all! + I were a happy man,--ay, born anew-- + Were she but gone forever. But no, no! + I must protect her--for she trusted me. + +KING. These magic arts she knows--'tis them I fear. + The power to injure, spells the will to do it. + Besides, these strange, suspicious deeds of hers-- + These are not all her guilt. + +JASON. Give her one chance. + Then, if she stay not quiet, hound her forth, + Hunt her, and slay her, me, and these my babes. + Yet, till that time, I pray thee let her try + If she can live at peace with this thy folk. + This boon I crave of thee by mightiest Zeus, + The god of strangers--ay, and call upon + The ancient bond of friendship that, long since, + Our fathers formed, mine in Iolcos, thine + In Corinth here. On that long-vanished day + They dreamed there might fall need of such a tie. + And, now that need is here, do thou thy part + And succor me, lest in like evil pass + Thou make the same request, and meet denial. + +KING. 'Tis the gods' will; I yield, against my judgment, + And she shall stay. But, look you, if she show + One sign that those wild ways are not forgot, + I drive her forth from out this city straight + And yield her up to those who seek her life! + Here in this meadow, where I found thee first, + A sacred altar shall be raised, to Zeus, + The god of strangers, consecrate and to + Thy murdered uncle Pelias' bloody shades. + Here will we kneel together and pray the gods + To send their blessing on thy coming here, + And turn to mercy that which bodes us ill.-- + Now to my royal city follow swift. + +[_He turns to his attendants, who approach._] + + See my behests are faithfully obeyed. + +[_As they turn to depart, the curtain falls._] + + + +ACT II + + +_A chamber in_ CREON'S _royal palace at Corinth_. CREUSA _is discovered +seated, while_ MEDEA _occupies a low stool before her, and holds a lyre +in her arm. She is clad in the Greek fashion._ + +CREUSA. Now pluck this string--the second--this one here. + +MEDEA. So, this way? + +CREUSA. Nay, thy fingers more relaxed. + +MEDEA. I cannot. + +CREUSA. 'Tis not hard, if thou'lt but try. + +MEDEA. I have tried, patiently; but 'tis no use! + +[_She lays the lyre aside and rises._] + + Were it a spear-haft, or the weapons fierce + Of the bloody hunt, these hands were quick enough. + +[_She raises her right hand and gazes at it reproachfully._] + + Rebellious fingers! I would punish them! + +CREUSA. Perverse one! When my heart was filled with joy + At thinking how 'twould gladden Jason's heart + To hear this song from thee! + +MEDEA. Ay, thou art right. + I had forgot that. Let me try once more. + The song will please him, think'st thou, truly + please him? + +CREUSA. Nay, never doubt it. 'Tis the song he sang + When he dwelt here with us in boyhood days. + Each time I heard it, joyfully I sprang + To greet him, for it meant he was come home. + +MEDEA (_eagerly_). + + Teach me the song again! + +CREUSA. Come, listen, then. + 'Tis but a short one, nor so passing sweet; + But then--he knew to sing it with such grace, + Such joy, such lordly pride--ay, almost scorn! + +[_She sings._] + + "Ye gods above, ye mighty gods, + Anoint my head, I pray; + Make strong my heart to bear my part + Right kingly in the fray, + To smite all foes, and steal the heart + Of all fair maids away!" + + +MEDEA. Yea, yea, all these the gods bestowed on him! + +CREUSA. All what? + +MEDEA. These gifts, of which the song doth tell. + +CREUSA. What gifts? + +MEDEA. "To smite all foes, and steal the heart + Of all fair maids away!" + +CREUSA. Is't so? I never thought on that before; + I did but sing the words I heard him sing. + +MEDEA. 'Twas so he stood on Colchis' hostile strand; + Before his burning glance our warriors cringed, + And that same glance kindled a fatal fire + In the soft breast of one unhappy maid; + She struggled, fled--until at last those flames, + So long hid deep within her heart, burst forth, + And rest and joy and peace to ashes burned + In one fierce holocaust of smoky flame. + 'Twas so he stood, all shining strength and grace, + A hero, nay, a god--and drew his victim + And drew and drew, until the victim came + To its own doom; and then he flung it down + Careless, and there was none would take it up. + +CREUSA. Art thou his wife, and speak'st such things of him? + +MEDEA. Thou know'st him not; I know his inmost soul.-- + In all the wide world there is none but he, + And all things else are naught to him but tools + To shape his deeds. He harbors no mean thoughts + Of paltry gain, not he; yet all his thoughts + Are of himself alone. He plays a game + with Fortune--now his own, and now another's. + If bright Fame beckon, he will slay a man + And do it gaily. Will he have a wife? + He goes and takes one. And though hearts should break + And lives be wasted--so he have his will, + What matters it to him? Oh, he does naught + That is not right--but right is what he wants! + Thou knowest him not; I've probed his inmost soul. + And when I think on all that he has wrought, + Oh, I could see him die, and laugh the while! + +CREUSA. Farewell! + +MEDEA. Thou goest? + +CREUSA. Can I longer stay + To list such words?--Ye gods! to hear a wife + Revile her husband thus! + +MEDEA. She should speak truth, + And mine is such an one as I have said. + +CREUSA. By Heaven, if I were wedded to a man, + E'en one so base and vile as thou hast named-- + 'Though Jason is _not_ so--and had I babes, + His gift, each bearing in his little face + His father's likeness, oh, I would love them dear, + Though they should slay me! + +MEDEA. Ay, an easy task + To set, but hard to do. + +CREUSA. And yet, methinks, + If easier, 'twere less sweet.--Have thou thy way + And say whate'er thou wilt; but I must go. + First thou dost charm my heart with noble words + And seek'st my aid to win his love again; + But now thou breakest forth in hate and scorn. + I have seen many evils among men, + But worst of all these do I count a heart + That knows not to forgive. So, fare thee well! + Learn to be better, truer! + +MEDEA. Art thou angry + +CREUSA. Almost. + +MEDEA. Alas, thou wilt not give me up, + Thou, too? Thou wilt not leave me? Be my help, + My friend, my kind protector! + +CREUSA. Now thou'rt gentle, + Yet, but a moment since, so full of hate! + +MEDEA. Hate for myself, but only love for him! + +CREUSA. Dost thou love Jason? + +MEDEA. Should I else be here? + +CREUSA. I've pondered that, but cannot understand.-- + Yet, if thou truly lov'st him, I will take thee + Back to my heart again, and show thee means + Whereby thou mayst regain his love.--I know + Those bitter moods of his, and have a charm + To scatter the dark clouds. Come, to our task! + I marked this morning how his face was sad + And gloomy. Sing that song to him; thou'lt see + How swift his brow will clear. Here is the lyre; + I will not lay it down till thou canst sing + The song all through. [_She seats herself._] + Nay, come! Why tarriest there + +MEDEA. I gaze on thee, and gaze on thee again, + And cannot have my fill of thy sweet face. + Thou gentle, virtuous maid, as fair in soul + As body, with a heart as white and pure + As are thy snowy draperies! Like a dove, + A pure, white dove with shining, outspread wings, + Thou hoverest o'er this life, nor yet so much + As dipp'st thy wing in this vile, noisome slough + Wherein we wallow, struggling to get free, + Each from himself. Send down one kindly beam + From out thy shining heaven, to fall in pity + Upon my bleeding breast, distraught with pain; + And all those ugly scars that grief and hate + And evil fortune e'er have written there, + Oh, cleanse thou these away with thy soft hands, + And leave thine own dear picture in their place! + That strength, that ever was my proudest boast + From youth, once tested, proved but craven weakness. + Oh, teach me how to make my weakness strong! + +[_She seats herself on the low stool at CREUSA's feet._] + + Here to thy feet for refuge will I fly, + And pour my tale of suffering in thine ear; + And thou shalt teach me all that I must do. + Like some meek handmaid will I follow thee, + Will pace before the loom from early morn, + Nay, set my hand to all those lowly tasks + Which maids of noble blood would scorn to touch + In Colchis, as but fit for toiling serfs, + Yet here they grace a queen. Oh, I'll forget + My sire was Colchis' king, and I'll forget + My ancestors were gods, and I'll forget + The past, and all that threatens still! + +[_She springs up and leaves _CREUSA's _side._] + + But no! + That can I not forget! + +CREUSA (_following her_). + + Why so distressed? + Men have forgotten many an evil deed + That chanced long since, ay, even the gods themselves + Remember not past sorrows. + +MEDEA (_embracing her_). + + Say'st thou so? + Oh, that I could believe it, could believe it! + +JASON _enters._ + +CREUSA (_turning to him_). + + Here is thy wife. See, Jason, we are friends! + +JASON. 'Tis well. + +MEDEA. Greetings, my lord.--She is so good, + Medea's friend and teacher she would be. + +JASON. Heaven speed her task! + +CREUSA. But why these sober looks? + We shall enjoy here many happy days! + I, sharing 'twixt my sire and you my love + And tender care, while thou and she, Medea,-- + +JASON. Medea! + +MEDEA. What are thy commands, my lord? + +JASON. Hast seen the children late? + +MEDEA. A moment since; + They are well and happy. + +JASON. Look to them again! + +MEDEA. I am just come from them. + +JASON. Go, go, I say! + +MEDEA. If 'tis thy wish-- + +JASON. It is. + +MEDEA. Then I obey. + +[_She departs._] + +CREUSA. Why dost thou bid her go? The babes are safe. + +JASON. Ah..! ho, a mighty weight is rolled away + From off my soul, and I can breathe again! + Her glance doth shrivel up my very heart, + And all that bitter hate, hid deep within + My bosom, well nigh strangles me to death! + +CREUSA. What words are these? Oh, ye all-righteous gods! + He speaks now even as she a moment since. + Who was it told me, wife and husband ever + Do love each other? + +JASON. Ay, and so they do, + When some fair, stalwart youth hath cast his glance + Upon a maid, whom straightway he doth make + The goddess of his worship. Timidly + He seeks her eyes, to learn if haply she + Seek his as well; and when their glances meet, + His soul is glad. Then to her father straight + And to her mother goes he, as is meet, + And begs their treasure, and they give consent. + Comes then the bridal day; from far and near + Their kinsmen gather; all the town has part + In their rejoicing. Richly decked with wreaths + And dainty blossoms, to the altar then + He leads his bride; and there a rosy flush, + Of maiden shyness born, plays on her cheek + The while she trembles with a holy fear + At what is none the less her dearest wish. + Upon her head her father lays his hands + And blesses her and all her seed to come. + Such happy wooing breeds undying love + 'Twixt wife and husband.--'Twas of such I dreamed. + Alas, it came not! What have I done, ye gods! + To be denied what ye are wont to give + Even to the poorest? Why have I alone + No refuge from the buffets of the world + At mine own hearth, no dear companion there, + My own, in truth, my own in plighted troth? + +CREUSA. Thou didst not woo thy wife as others, then? + Her father did not raise his hand to bless? + +JASON. He raised it, ay, but armèd with a sword; + And 'twas no blessing, but a curse he spake. + But I--I had a swift and sweet revenge! + His only son is dead, and he himself + Lies dumb in the grave. His curse alone lives still-- + Or so it seems. + +CREUSA. Alas, how strange to think + Of all the change a few brief years have wrought! + Thou wert so soft and gentle, and art now + So stern. But I am still the selfsame maid + As then, have still the selfsame hopes and fears, + And what I then thought right, I think right still, + What then I blamed, cannot think blameless now.-- + But thou art changed. + +JASON. Ay, thou hast hit the truth! + The real misfortune in a hapless lot + Is this: that man is to himself untrue. + Here one must show him master, there must cringe + And bow the knee; here Justice moves a hair, + And there a grain; and, at his journey's end, + He stands another man than he who late + Set out upon that journey. And his loss + Is twofold--for the world has passed him by + In scorn, and his own self-respect is dead. + Naught have I done that in itself was bad, + Yet have had evil hopes, bad wishes, ay, + Unholy aspirations; and have stood + And looked in silence, while another sinned; + Or here have willed no evil, yet joined hands + With sin, forgetful how one wicked deed + Begets another.--Now at last I stand, + A sea of evils breaking all about, + And cannot say, "My hand hath done no wrong!"-- + O happy Youth, couldst thou forever stay! + O joyous Fancy, blest Forgetfulness, + Time when each moment cradles some great deed + And buries it! How, in a swelling tide + Of high adventure, I disported me, + Cleaving the mighty waves with stalwart breast! + But manhood comes, with slow and sober steps; + And Fancy flees away, while naked Truth + Creeps soft to fill its place and brood upon + Full many a care. No more the present seems + A fair tree, laden down with luscious fruits, + 'Neath whose cool shadows rest and joy are found, + But is become a tiny seedling which, + When buried in the earth, will sprout and bud + And bloom, and bear a future of its own. + What shall thy task in life be? Where thy home? + What of thy wife and babes? What thine own fate, + And theirs?--Such constant musings tantalize + the soul. [_He seats himself._] + +CREUSA. What should'st thou care for such? 'Tis all decreed, + All ordered for thee. + +JASON. Ordered? Ay, as when + Over the threshold one thrusts forth a bowl + Of broken meats, to feed some begging wretch! + I am Prince Jason. Spells not that enough + Of sorrow? Must I ever henceforth sit + Meek at some stranger's board, or beg my way, + My little babes about me, praying pity + From each I meet? My sire was once a king, + And so am I; yet who would care to boast + He is like Jason? Still--[_He rises._] + I passed but now + Down through the busy market-place and through + Yon wide-wayed city. Dost remember how + I strode in my young pride through those same streets + What time I came to take farewell of thee + Long since, ere sailed the Argo? How the folk + Came thronging, surging, how each street was choked + With horses, chariots, men--a dazzling blaze + Of color? How the eager gazers climbed + Up on the house-tops, swarmed on every tower, + And fought for places as they would for gold? + The air rang with the cymbals' brazen crash + And with the shouts of all that mighty throng + Crying, "Hail, Jason!" Thick they crowded round + That gallant band attired in rich array, + Their shining armor gleaming in the sun, + The least of them a hero and a king, + And in their midst the leader they adored. + I was the man that captained them, that brought + Them safe to Greece again; and it was I + That all this folk did greet with loud acclaim.-- + I trod these selfsame streets an hour ago, + But no eye sought me, greeting heard I none; + Only, the while I stood and gazed about, + I heard one rudely grumbling that I had + No right to block the way, and stand and stare. + +CREUSA. Thou wilt regain thy proud place once again, + If thou but choose. + +JASON. Nay, all my hopes are dead; + My fight is fought, and I am down, to rise + No more. + +CREUSA. I have a charm will save thee yet. + +JASON. Ay, all that thou would'st say, I know before: + Undo the past, as though it ne'er had been. + I never left my fatherland, but stayed + With thee and thine in Corinth, never saw + The Golden Fleece, nor stepped on Colchis' strand, + Ne'er saw that woman that I now call wife! + Send thou her home to her accursed land, + Cause her to take with her all memory + That she was ever here.--Do thou but this, + And I will be a man again, and dwell + With men. + +CREUSA. Is that thy charm? I know a better; + A simple heart, I mean, a mind at peace. + +JASON. Ah, thou art good! Would I could learn this peace + Of thee! + +CREUSA. To all that choose, the gods will give it. + Thou hadst it once, and canst have yet again. + +JASON. Dost thou think often on our happy youth? + +CREUSA. Ay, many a time, and gladly. + +JASON. How we were + One heart, one soul? + +CREUSA. I made thee gentler, thou + Didst give me courage.--Dost remember how + I set thy helm upon my head? + +JASON. And how + Because it was too large, thy tiny hands + Did hold it up, the while it rested soft + Upon thy golden curls? Creusa, those + Were happy days! + +CREUSA. Dost mind thee how my father + Was filled with joy to see it, and, in jest, + Did name us bride and bridegroom? + +JASON. Ay--but that + Was not to be. + +CREUSA. Like many another hope + That disappoints us.--Still, what matters it? + We mean to be no less good friends, I trust! + +[MEDEA _reënters._] + +MEDEA. I've seen the children. They are safe. + +JASON (_absently_). + + 'Tis well. + +(_Continuing his revery._) + + All those fair spots our happy youth once knew, + Linked to my memory with slender threads, + All these I sought once more, when first I came + Again to Corinth, and I cooled my breast + And dipped my burning lips in that bright spring + Of my lost childhood. Once again, methought, + I drove my chariot through the market-place, + Guiding my fiery steeds where'er I would, + Or, wrestling with some fellow of the crowd, + Gave blow for blow, while thou didst stand to watch, + Struck dumb with terror, filled with angry fears, + Hating, for my sake, all who raised a hand + Against me. Or again I seemed to be + Within the solemn temple, where we knelt + Together, there, and there alone, forgetful + Each of the other, our soft-moving lips + Up-sending to the gods from our two breasts + A single heart, made one by bonds of love. + +CREUSA. Dost thou remember all these things so well? + +JASON. They are the cup from which, in greedy draughts, + I drink the only comfort left me now. + +MEDEA (_who has gone silently up-stage and taken up again the discarded +lyre_). + + Jason, I know a song! + +JASON (_not noticing her_). + + And then the tower! + Know'st thou that tower upon the sea-strand there, + Where by thy father thou didst stand and weep, + What time I climbed the Argo's side, to sail + On that far journey? For thy falling tears + I had no eyes, my heart but thirsted deep + For deeds of prowess. Lo, there came a breeze + That loosed the wimple bound about thy locks + And dropped it on the waves. Straightway I sprang + Into the sea, and caught it up, to keep + In memory of thee when far away. + +CREUSA. Hast thou it still? + +JASON. Nay, think how many years + Are gone since then, and with them this, thy token, + Blown far by some stray breeze. + +MEDEA. I know a song! + +JASON (_ignoring her_). + + Then didst thou cry to me, "Farewell, my brother!" + +CREUSA. And now my cry is, "Brother, welcome home!" + +MEDEA (_plaintively_). + + Jason, I know a song. + +CREUSA. She knows a song + That thou wert wont to sing. I pray thee, listen, + And she will sing it thee. + +JASON. A song? Well, well! + Where was I, then?--From childhood I was wont + To dream and dream, and babble foolishly + Of things that were not and could never be. + That habit clung to me, and mocks me now. + For, as the youth lives ever in the future, + So the grown man looks alway to the past, + And, young or old, we know not how to live + Within the present. In my dreams I was + A mighty hero, girded for great deeds, + And had a loving wife, and gold, and much + Goodly possessions, and a peaceful home + Wherein slept babes of mine. + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + What is it thou + Wouldst have with me? + +CREUSA. She asks to sing a song + That thou in youth wert wont to sing to us. + +JASON (_to_ MEDEA). + + And _thou_ hast learned it? + +MEDEA. I have done my best. + +JASON. Go to! Dost think to give me back my youth, + Or happiness to win again for me, + By singing me some paltry, childish tune? + Give o'er! We will not part, but live together; + That is our fate, it seems, as things have chanced; + But let me bear no word of foolish songs + Or suchlike nonsense! + +CREUSA. Let her sing, I pray. + She hath conned it o'er and o'er, to know it well, + Indeed she hath! + +JASON. Well, sing it, sing it then! + +CREUSA (_to _MEDEA). + + So, pluck the second string. Thou know'st it still? + +MEDEA (_drawing her hand across her brow as if in pain_). + + I have forgotten! + +JASON. Ay, said I not so? + She cannot sing it.--Other songs are hers, + Like that which, with her magic arts, she sang + Unto the dragon, that he fell asleep. + That was no pure, sweet strain, like this of thine! + +CREUSA (_whispering in _MEDEA's _ear_). + + "Ye gods above, ye mighty gods--." + +MEDEA (_repeating it after her_). + + "Ye gods above--" + O gods in heaven, O righteous, mighty gods! + +[_She lets the lyre fall to the ground, and clasps both hands before her +eyes._] + +CREUSA. She weeps! Canst be so stern and hard? + +JASON (_holding_ CREUSA _back from_ MEDEA). + + Thou art + A child, and canst not know us, what we are! + The hand she feels upon her is the gods', + That reacheth her e'en here, with bloody gripe! + Then strive not thou to balk the gods' just doom. + O, hadst thou seen her in the dragon's cave, + Seen how she leaped to meet that serpent grim, + Shot forth the poisonous arrows of her tongue, + And darted hate and death from blazing eyes, + Then were thy bosom steeled against her tears!-- + Take thou the lyre, sing thou to me that song, + And exorcise the hateful demon here + That strangles, chokes me! Thou canst sing the song, + Mayhap, though she cannot. + +CREUSA. Ay, that I will. + +[_She stoops to take up the lyre._] + +MEDEA (_gripping_ CREUSA's _arm with one hand and holding her back, +while with the other she herself picks up the lyre_). + + Let be! + +CREUSA. Right gladly, if thou'lt play. + +MEDEA. Not I! + +JASON. Thou wilt not give it her? + +MEDEA. No! + +JASON. Nor to me? + +MEDEA. No! + +JASON (_striding up to her and grasping at the lyre_). + + I will take it, then! + +MEDEA (_without moving from her place, but drawing the lyre away from +him_). + + No! + +JASON. Give it me! + +MEDEA (_crushing the lyre, so that it breaks with a loud, cracking +sound_). + + Here, take it! Broken! Thy fair lyre is broken! + +[_She flings the pieces down in front of_ CREUSA.] + +CREUSA (_starting back in horror_). + + Dead! + +MEDEA (_looking swiftly about her as in a daze_). + + Dead? Who speaks of death? I am alive! + +[_She stands there violently agitated and staring dazedly before her. A +trumpet-blast sounds without._] + +JASON. Ha, what is that? + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + Why standest silent there? + Thou'lt rue this moment, that I know full well! + +[_Another trumpet-blast without. The _KING_ appears suddenly at the +door._] + +JASON (_hurrying to meet him_). + + What means that warlike trumpet-blast without? + +KING. Unhappy man, canst ask? + +JASON. I do, my lord! + +KING. The stroke that I so feared is fall'n at last.-- + Before my palace gates a herald stands, + Sent hither from the Amphictyons' holy seat, + Seeking for news of thee and of thy wife, + Crying to Heaven the doom of banishment + On both! + +JASON. This, too? + +KING. So is it--. Peace, he comes. + +[_The palace doors swing open and a_ HERALD _enters, followed by two +trumpeters and, at a little distance, by a numerous suite._] + +HERALD. The blessing of the gods upon this house! + +KING (_solemnly_). + + Who art thou? On what errand art thou come? + +HERALD. A herald of the gods am I, sent forth + From the ancient council of the Amphictyons + That speaks its judgments in that holy town + Of freedom, Delphi. And I follow close, + With cries of vengeance, on the guilty tracks + Of those false kinsmen of King Pelias, + Who ruled Iolcos, ere he fell in death. + +KING. Thou seek'st the guilty? Seek in his own house, + 'Mongst his own children seek them--but not here! + +HERALD. Here have I found them. Here I'll speak my charge: + Thou art accursed, Jason, thou, and she, + Thy wife! With evil magic are ye charged, + Wherewith thine uncle darkly ye did slay. + +JASON. A lie! Naught know I of mine uncle's death! + +HERALD. Then ask thy wife, there; she will know, perchance. + +JASON. Was 't she that slew him? + +HERALD. Not with her own hand, + But by those magic arts ye know so well, + Which ye have brought here from that foreign land. + For, when the king fell sick--perchance e'en then + A victim, for the signs of his disease + Were strange and dreadful--to Medea then + His daughters came, and begged for healing balms + From her who knew so well to heal. And she + Gave swift consent, and followed them. + +JASON. Nay, hold! + She went not! I forbade it, and she stayed. + +HERALD. The first time, yes. But when, unknown to thee, + They came again, she companied them back, + Only demanding, if she healed the king, + The Golden Fleece in payment for her aid; + It was a hateful thing to her, she said; + And boded evil. And those foolish maids, + All joyful, promised. So she came with them + To the king's chamber, where he lay asleep. + Straightway she muttered strange and secret words + Above him, and his sleep grew ever deep + And deeper. Next, to let the bad blood out, + She bade them ope his veins. And even this + They did, whereat his panting breath grew still + And tranquil; then the gaping wounds were bound, + And those sad maids were glad to think him healed. + Forth went Medea then, as she hath said; + His daughters, too, departed, for he slept. + But, on a sudden, came a fearful cry + From out his chamber! Swift his daughters sped + To aid him, and--oh, ghastly, horrible!-- + There on the pavement lay the aged king, + His body twisted in a hideous knot, + The cloths that bound his veins all torn away + From off his gaping wounds, whence, in a black + And sluggish stream, his blood came welling forth. + He lay beside the altar, where the Fleece + For long was wont to hang--and that was gone! + But, in that selfsame hour, thy wife was seen, + The golden gaud upon her shoulder flung, + Swift hasting through the night. + +MEDEA (_dully, staring straight before her_). + + 'Twas my reward!-- + I shudder still, when'er I think upon + The old man's furious rage! + +HERALD. Now, that no longer + Such horrors bide here, poisoning this land + With their destructive breath, I here proclaim + The solemn doom of utter banishment + On Jason, the Thessalian, Aeson's son, + Spouse of a wicked witch-wife, and himself + An arrant villain; and I drive him forth + From out this land of Greece, wherein the gods + Are wont to walk with men; to exile hence, + To flight and wandering I drive him forth, + And with him, this, his wife, ay, and his babes, + The offspring of his marriage-bed. Henceforth + No rood of this, his fatherland, be his, + No share in her protection or her rights! + +[_He raises his hand and three times makes solemn proclamation, turning +to different quarters._] + + Banished are Jason and Medea! + Medea and Jason are banished! + Banished are Jason and Medea! + + And whoso harbors him, or gives him aid, + After three days and nights are come and gone, + Upon that man I here declare the doom + Of death, if he be burgher; if a king, + Or city-state, then war shall be proclaimed. + So runs the Amphictyons' reverend decree, + The which I here proclaim, as is most meet, + That each may know its terms, and so beware.-- + The blessing of the gods upon this house! + +[_He turns to depart._] + +JASON. Why stand ye there, ye walls, and crash not down + To save this king the pains of slaying me? + +KING. A moment yet, sir Herald. Hear this, too. + +[_He turns to_ JASON.] + + Think'st thou I rue the promise I have made? + If I could think thee guilty, ay, wert thou + My very son, I'd give thee up to these + That seek thee. But thou art not! Wherefore, I + Will give thee shelter. Stay thou here.--Who dares + To question Creon's friend, whose innocence + Stands pledged by mine own words? Who dares, I say, + To lay a hand upon my son to be? + Yea, Herald, on my son to be, the spouse + Of this my daughter! 'Twas my dearest wish + In happy days long past, when Fortune smiled; + Now, when he's compassed round by stormy waves + Of evil fortune, it shall come to pass. + Ay, she shall be thy wife, and thou shalt stay + Here, with thy father. And I will myself + Make answer for it to the Amphictyons. + Who now will cry him guilty, when the king + Hath sworn him free from blame, and given him + The hand of his own daughter? + +(_To the_ HERALD.) + + Take my words + To those that sent thee hither. Go in peace! + The blessing of the gods be on thy head! + +[_The_ HERALD _goes._] + +KING (_turning to_ MEDEA). + + This woman, whom the wilderness spewed up + To be a bane to thee and all good men, + Her that hath wrought the crimes men lay to thee, + Her do I banish forth from out this land + And all its borders. Death shall be her lot + And portion, if the morrow find her here! + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + Depart from out my fathers' pious town, + And make the air thou poisonest pure again! + +MEDEA. Is that thy sentence? Falls it, then, on me, + And me alone? And yet I say to thee, + O king, I did it not! + +KING. Nay, thou hast done + Enough of evil since he saw thee first. + Away with thee from out my house and town! + +MEDEA (_turning to _JASON). + + Say, must I go? So be it--but follow me! + We bear the blame together, let us bear + The punishment as well! Dost thou not know + The ancient proverb: "None shall die alone?" + One home for both, one body--and one death! + Long since, when Death stared grimly in our eyes, + We sware that oath. Now keep it! Follow me! + +JASON. Nay, touch me not! Begone from me, thou curse + Of all my days, who hast robbed me of my life + And happiness, from whom, when first mine eyes + Met thine, I shrank and shuddered, though I thought + Those fearful struggles in my very soul + Were but the signs of rash and foolish love. + Hence, to that wilderness that cradled thee! + Back to that bloody folk whose child thou art + In very thought and deed! But, ere thou go, + Give back to me what thou hast stol'n away, + Thou wanton! Give Prince Jason back to me! + +MEDEA. Is't Jason thou desirest? Take him, then! + But who shall give Medea back to me? + Was't I that in thy homeland sought thee out? + Was't I that lured thee from thy father's house? + Was't I that forced, ay, forced my love on thee? + Was't I that wrenched thee from thy fatherland, + Made thee the butt of strangers' haughty scorn, + Or dragged thee into wantonness and crime? + Thou nam'st me Wanton?--Woe is me! I am! + Yet--how have I been wanton, and for whom? + Let these pursue me with their venomous hate, + Ay, drive me forth and slay me! 'Tis their right, + Because I am in truth a dreadful thing + And hateful unto them, and to myself + A deep abyss of evil, terrible! + Let all the world heap curses on my head, + Save only thee alone! Nay, thou shalt not! + 'Twas thou inspiredst all these horrid deeds, + Yea, thou alone. Dost thou not call to mind + How I did clasp my hands about thy knees + That day thou bad'st me steal the Golden Fleece? + And, though I sooner far had slain myself, + Yet thou, with chilly scorn, commandedst me + To take it. Dost remember how I held + My brother in my bosom, faint to death + From that fierce stroke of thine that laid him low, + Until he tore him from his sister's arms + To 'scape thy frenzied vengeance, and leaped swift + Into the sea, to find a kinder death + Beneath its waves? Dost thou remember?--Nay, + Come here to me, and shrink not so away + To shelter thee behind that maiden there! + +JASON (_coming forward_). + + I hate thee,--but I fear thee not! + +MEDEA. Then come! + +[_She addresses him earnestly in low tones._] + + Dost thou remember--Nay, look not on me + So haughtily!--how, on that very day + Before thine uncle died, his daughters went + So sorrowful and hopeless forth from me, + Because I sent them back at thy behest, + And would not aid them? Then thou cam'st, alone, + Unto my chamber, looking in mine eyes + So earnestly, as though some purpose grim, + Deep hidden in thy heart, would search my soul + To find its like therein? And how thou saidst + That they were come to me for healing balms + To cure their old, sick father? 'Twas thy wish + That I should brew a cool, refreshing draught + To cure him of his ills forevermore-- + And thee as well! Hast thou forgotten that? + Nay, look at me, eye straight to eye, if thou + Dost dare! + +JASON. Thou demon! Why these frantic words, + This rage against me? Why recall to life + These shadows of my dreams and make them real, + Why hold a mirror up to me wherein + Naught but thine own vile thoughts do show, and say + 'Tis I that look therefrom? Why call my thoughts + From out the past to charge me with thy crimes? + Naught know I of thy plans and plottings, naught! + From the beginning I have hated thee, + I've cursed the day when first I saw thy face; + 'Tis pity only held me at thy side! + But now I cast thee off forevermore + With bitter curses, e'en as all the world + Doth curse thee! + +MEDEA (_throwing herself at his feet with a cry of agony_). + + No! My love, my husband! No! + +JASON (_roughly_). + + Begone! + +MEDEA. That day my old, gray father cursed + My name, thou gay'st thy promise, nevermore + To leave me, nevermore! Now keep thy word! + +JASON. Thine own rash deeds have made that promise naught, + And here I give thee to thy father's curse. + +MEDEA. I hate thee!--Come! Come, O my husband! + +JASON. Back! + +MEDEA. Come to my loving arms! 'Twas once thy wish! + +JASON. Back! See, I draw my sword. I'll strike thee dead, + Unless thou yield, and go! + +MEDEA (_approaching him fearlessly_). + + Then strike me, strike! + +CREUSA (_to_ JASON). + + Hold! Let her go in peace, and harm her not! + +MEDEA. Ha! Thou here, too, thou snow-white, silvery snake? + Oh, hiss no more, nor shoot thy forked tongue + With honied words upon it! Thou hast got + What thou didst wish--a husband at the last! + For this, then, didst thou show thyself so soft + And smooth-caressing, for this only wind + Thy snaky coils so close about my neck? + Oh, if I had a dagger, I would smite + Thee, and thy father, that so righteous king! + For this, then, hast thou sung those winsome songs, + Taught me to play the lyre, and tricked me out + In these rich garments? + +[_She suddenly rends her mantle in twain._] + + Off with you! Away + With the vile gifts of that accursed jade! + +[_She turns to _JASON.] + + See! As I tear this mantle here in twain, + Pressing one part upon my throbbing breast, + And cast the other from me at thy feet, + So do I rend my love, the common tie + That bound us each to each. What follows now + I cast on thee, thou miscreant, who hast spurned + The holy claims of an unhappy wife!-- + Give me my children now, and let me go! + +KING. The children stay with us. + +MEDEA. They may not go + With their own mother? + +KING. With a wanton, no! + +MEDEA (_to_ JASON). + + Is it thy will, too? + +JASON. Ay! + +MEDEA (_hastening to the door_). + + Come forth, my babes! + Your mother calls you! + +KING. Back! + +MEDEA. 'Tis, then, thy will + That I go forth alone?--'Tis well, so be it! + I say but this, O king: Before the gray + Of evening darken, give me back my babes! + Enough for now! + +(_Turning to_ CREUSA.) + + But thou, who standest there + In glistering raiment, cloaking thy delight, + In thy false purity disdaining me, + I tell thee, thou wilt wring those soft, white hands + In agony, and envy me my lot, + Hard though it seemeth now! + +JASON. How dar'st thou? + +KING. Hence! + +MEDEA. I go, but I will come again, to take + What is mine own, and bring what ye deserve. + +KING. Ha! Wouldst thou threaten us before our face? + If words will not suffice-- + +(_To his attendants._) + + Then teach ye her + How she should bear herself before a king! + +MEDEA. Stand back! Who dares to block Medea's path? + Mark well, O king, this hour when I depart. + Trust me, thou never saw'st a blacker one! + Make way! I go,--and take with me revenge! + +[_She goes out._] + +KING. Our punishment, at least, will follow thee! + +(_To_ CREUSA.) + + Nay, tremble not. We'll keep thee safe from her! + +CREUSA. I wonder only, whether what we do + Be right? If so, no power can work us harm! + +(_The curtain falls._) + + + +ACT III + + +_The outer court of CREON'S palace. In the background the entrance to +the royal apartments; on the right at the side a colonnade leading to_ +MEDEA's _apartments._ + +MEDEA _is standing in the foreground, behind her at a distance _GORA _is +seen speaking to a servant of the king._ + +GORA. Say to the king: + Medea takes no message from a slave. + Hath he aught to say to her, + He must e'en come himself. + Perchance she'll deign to hear him. + +[_The slave departs._] + +(GORA _comes forward and addresses _MEDEA.) + + They think that thou wilt go, + Taming thy hate, forgetting thy revenge. + The fools! + Or wilt thou go? Wilt thou? + I could almost believe thou wilt. + For thou no longer art the proud Medea, + The royal seed of Colchis' mighty king, + The wise and skilful daughter of a wise + And skilful mother. + Else hadst thou not been patient, borne their gibes + So long, even until now! + +MEDEA. Ye gods! O hear her! Borne! Been patient! + So long, even until now! + +GORA. I counseled thee to yield, to soften, + When thou didst seek to tarry yet awhile; + But thou wert blind, ensnared; + The heavy stroke had not yet fallen, + Which I foresaw, whereof I warned thee first. + But, now that it is fall'n, I bid thee stay! + They shall not laugh to scorn this Colchian wife, + Heap insult on the blood of our proud kings! + Let them give back thy babes, + The offshoots of that royal oak, now felled, + Or perish, fall themselves, + In darkness and in night! + Is all prepared for flight? + Or hast thou other plans? + +MEDEA. First I will have my children. For the rest, + My way will be made plain. + +GORA. Then thou wilt flee? + +MEDEA. I know not, yet. + +GORA. Then they will laugh at thee! + +MEDEA. Laugh at me? No! + +GORA. What is thy purpose, then? + +MEDEA. I have no heart to plan or think at all. + Over the silent abyss + Let dark night brood! + +GORA. If thou wouldst flee, then whither? + +MEDEA (_sorrowfully_). + + Whither? Ah, whither? + +GORA. Here in this stranger-land + There is no place for us. They hate thee sore, + These Greeks, and they will slay thee! + +MEDEA. Slay me? Me? + Nay, it is I will slay them! + +GORA. And at home, + There in far Colchis, danger waits us, too! + +MEDEA. O Colchis, Colchis! O my fatherland! + +GORA. Thou hast heard the tale, how thy father died + When thou wentest forth, and didst leave thy home, + And thy brother fell? He died, says the tale, + But methinks 'twas not so? Nay, he gripped his grief, + Sharper far than a sword, and, raging 'gainst Fate, + 'Gainst himself, fell on death! + +MEDEA. Dost thou, too, join my foes? + Wilt thou slay me? + +GORA. Nay, hark! I warned thee. I said: + "Flee these strangers, new-come; most of all flee this man, + Their leader smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor!" + +MEDEA. "Smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor" + --were these thy words? + +GORA. Even these. + +MEDEA. And I would not believe? + +GORA. Thou wouldst not; but into the deadly net + Didst haste, that now closes over thine head. + +MEDEA. "A smooth-tongued traitor!" Yea, that is the word! + Hadst thou said but that, I had known in time; + But thou namedst him foe to us, hateful, and dread, + While friendly he seemed and fair, and I hated him not. + +GORA. Thou lovest him, then? + +MEDEA. I? Love? + I hate and shudder at him + As at falsehood, treachery, + Black horrors--as at myself! + +GORA. Then punish him, strike him low! + Avenge thy brother, thy sire, + Our fatherland and our gods, + Our shame-yea, mine, and thine! + +MEDEA. First I will have my babes; + All else is hidden in night. + What think'st thou of this?--When he comes + Treading proud to his bridal with her, + That maid whom I hate, + If, from the roof of the palace above him, + Medea crash down at his feet and lie there, + A ghastly corpse? + +GORA. 'Twere a sweet revenge! + +MEDEA. Or if, at the bridal-chamber's door, + I lay her dead in her blood, + Beside her the children--Jason's children--dead? + +GORA. But thyself such revenge would hurt, and not him. + +MEDEA. Ah, I would that he loved me still, + That I might slay myself, and make him groan! + But what of that maid, so false, so pure? + +GORA. Ha! There thou strikest nearer to the mark! + +MEDEA. Peace, peace! Back, whence ye came, ye evil thoughts! + Back into silence, into darkest night! + +[_She covers her face with her veil._] + +GORA. Those heroes all, who made with him + The wanton Argo-voyage hence, + The gods above have recompensed + With just requital, swift revenge. + Death and disgrace have seized them all + Save one--how long shall he go free? + Each day I listen greedily, + And joy to hear how they have died, + How fell these glorious sons of Greece, + The robber-band that fought their way + Back from far Colchis. Thracian maids + Rent limb from limb sweet Orpheus' frame; + And Hylas found a watery grave; + Pirithoüs and Theseus pierced + Even to Hades' darksome realm + To rob that mighty lord of shades + Of his radiant spouse, Persephone; + But then he seized, and holds them there + For aye in chains and endless night. + +MEDEA (_swiftly snatching her veil from before her face_). + + Because they came to steal his wife? + Good! Good! 'Twas Jason's crime, nay, less! + +GORA. Great Heracles forsook his wife, + For he was snared by other charms, + And in revenge she sent to him + A linen tunic, which he took + And clad himself therewith--and sank + To earth in hideous agonies; + For she had smeared it secretly + With poison and swift death. He sank + To earth, and Oeta's wooded heights + Were witness how he died in flames! + +MEDEA. She wove it, then, that tunic dire + That slew him? + +GORA. Ay, herself. + +MEDEA. Herself! + +GORA. Althea 'twas--his mother--smote + The mighty Meleager down + Who slew the Calydonian boar; + The mother slew her child. + +MEDEA. Was she + Forsaken by her husband, too? + +GORA. Nay, he had slain her brother. + +MEDEA. Who? + The husband + +GORA. Nay, her son, I mean. + +MEDEA. And when the deed was done, she died? + +GORA. She liveth yet. + +MEDEA. To do a deed + Like that--and live! Oh, horrible! + Thus much do I know, thus much I see clear + Not unavenged shall I suffer wrong; + What that vengeance shall be, I know not,--would not know. + Whatso'er I can do, he deserves,--ay, the worst! + But--mankind are so weak, + So fain to grant time for the sinner to feel remorse! + +GORA. Remorse? Ask thy lord if he rue his deed! + For, see! He draws nigh with hasty steps. + +MEDEA. And with him the king, my bitter foe, + Whose counsel hath led my lord astray. + Him must I flee, for I cannot tame + My hatred. + +[_She goes swiftly toward the palace._] + + But if lord Jason wish + To speak with me, then bid him come in, + To my side in the innermost chambers--there + I would parley with him, not here + By the side of the man who is my foe. + They come. Away! + +[_She disappears into the palace._] + +GORA. Lo, she is gone! + And I am left to deal with the man + Who is killing my child, who hath brought it to pass + That I lay my head on a foreign soil, + And must hide my tears of bitter woe, + Lest I see a smile on the lips of these strangers here. + +_The_ KING _and _JASON _enter._ + +KING. Why hath thy mistress fled? 'Twill serve her not + +GORA. Fled? Nay, she went, because she hates thy face + +KING. Summon her forth! + +GORA. She will not come. + +KING. She shall! + +GORA. Then go thou in thyself and call her forth, + If thou dost dare. + +KING (_angrily_). + + Where am I, then, and who, + That this mad woman dares to spite me thus? + The servant mirrors forth the mistress' soul-- + Servant and mistress mirror forth that land + Of darkness that begat them! Once again + I tell thee, call her forth! + +GORA (_pointing to Jason_). + + There stands the man + That she would speak with. Let him go within-- + If he hath courage for it. + +JASON. Get thee gone, + Old witch, whom I have hated from the first! + Tell her, who is so like thee, she must come. + +GORA. Ah, if she were like me, thou wouldst not speak + In such imperious wise! I promise thee + That she shall know of it, and to thy dole! + +JASON. I would have speech with her. + +GORA. Go in! + +JASON. Not I! + 'Tis she that shall come forth. Go thou within + And tell her so! + +GORA. Well, well, I go, if but + To rid me of the sight of you, my lords; + Ay, and I'll bear your summons, but I know + Full well she will not come, for she is weak + And feels her sickness all too grievously. + +[_She goes into the palace._] + +KING. Not one day longer will I suffer her + To stay in Corinth. This old dame but now + Gave utterance to the dark and fell designs + On which yon woman secretly doth brood. + Methinks her presence is a constant threat. + Thy doubts, I hope, are laid to rest at last? + +JASON. Fulfil, O King, thy sentence on my wife! + She can no longer tarry where I am, + So, let her go; the sentence is not harsh. + Forsooth, though I am less to blame than she, + My lot is bitt'rer, harder far than hers. + She but returns to that grim wilderness + Where she was born, and, like a restive colt + From whom the galling yoke is just removed, + Will rush to freedom, and become once more + Untamed and stubborn. + But my place is here; + Here must I sit and while away the days + In meek inaction, burdened with the scorn + And scoffing of mankind, mine only task + Dully to muse upon my vanished past. + +KING. Thou wilt be great and famous yet again, + Believe me. Like the bow which, once set free + From the fierce strain, doth speed the arrow swift + And straight unto its mark, whenso the hand + Is loosed that bent it, so wilt thou spring back + And be thyself again, once she is gone. + +JASON. Naught feel I in my breast to feed such hopes! + Lost is my name, my fame; I am no more + Than Jason's shadow, not that prince himself. + +KING. The world, my son, is not so harsh as thou: + An older man's misstep is sin and crime; + The youth's, a misstep only, which he may + Retrace, and mend his error. All thy deeds + In Colchis, when thou went a hot-head boy, + Will be forgot, if thou wilt show thyself + Henceforth a man. + +JASON. O, might I trust thy words, + I could be happy once again! + +KING. Let her + But leave thy side, and thou wilt say I'm right. + Before the Amphictyons' judgment-seat I'll go + And speak for thee, defend thy righteous cause, + And prove that it was she alone, Medea, + Who did those horrid deeds wherewith thou'rt charged, + Prove her the wanton, her the darksome witch. + Lifted shall be the doom of banishment + From off thy brow. If not, then thou shalt rise + In all thy stubborn strength, and to the breeze + Unfurl the glorious banner of pure gold + Which thou didst bring from earth's most distant land, + And, like a rushing torrent, all the youth + Of Greece will stream to serve thee once again + And rally 'round thy standard to oppose + All foes that come, rally 'round thee, now purged + Of all suspicion, starting life anew, + The glorious hope of Greece, and of the Fleece + The mighty hero!--Thou hast got it still? + +JASON. The Fleece? + +KING. Ay. + +JASON. Nay, not I. + +KING. And yet thy wife + Bore it away from old King Pelias' house. + +JASON. Then she must have it still. + +KING. If so, then she + Shall straightway yield it up, perforce. It is + The pledge and symbol of thy power to come. + Ay, thou shalt yet be strong and great again, + Thou only son of my old friend! A king + Am I, and have both wealth and power, the which + With mine own daughter's spouse I'll gladly share. + +JASON. And I will go to claim the heritage + My fathers left me, of that false man's son + That keeps it from me. For I, too, am rich, + Could I but have my due. + +KING. Peace! Look, she comes + Who still doth vex us. But our task is brief. + +MEDEA _comes out of the palace, attended by_ GORA. + +MEDEA. What wouldst thou with me? + +KING. I did send thee late + Some slaves to speak my will, whom thou didst drive + With harsh words forth, and didst demand to hear + From mine own lips whate'er I had to say, + What my commands and what thou hadst to do. + +MEDEA. Say on! + +KING. Naught strange or new have I to tell. + I would but speak once more the doom I set + Upon thy head, and add thereto that thou + Must forth today. + +MEDEA. And why today? + +KING. The threats + That thou halt uttered 'gainst my daughter's life-- + For those against mine own I do not care: + The savage moods that thou of late hast shown, + All these do warn me how thy presence here + Bodes ill. Wherefore, today thou must begone! + +MEDEA. Give me my babes, and I will go--perhaps! + +KING. Nay, no "Perhaps!" Thou goest! But the babes + Stay here! + +MEDEA. How? Mine own babes? But I forget + To whom I speak. Let me have speech with him, + My husband, standing there. + +KING. Nay, hear her not! + +MEDEA (_to _JASON). + + I pray thee, let me speak with thee! + +JASON. Well, well, + So be it, then, that thou may'st see I have + No fear of any words of thine to me. + +(_To the_ KING.) + + Leave us, my lord! I'll hear what she would say. + +KING. I go, but I am fearful. She is sly + And cunning! [_He departs._] + +MEDEA. So, he's gone! No stranger now + Is here to vex us, none to come between + Husband and wife, and, what our hearts do feel, + That we can speak out clear.--Say first, my lord, + What are thy plans, thy wishes? + +JASON. Thou dost know. + +MEDEA. I guess thy will, but all thy secret thoughts + I know not. + +JASON. Be contented with the first, + For they are what decide. + +MEDEA. Then I must go? + +JASON. Go! + +MEDEA. And today? + +JASON. Today! + +MEDEA. And thou canst stand + So calm before me and speak such a word, + Nor drop thine eyes for shame, nor even blush? + +JASON. I must needs blush, if I should say aught else! + +MEDEA. Ha! Good! Well done! Speak ever words like these + When thou wouldst clear thyself in others' eyes, + But leave such idle feigning when thou speak'st + With me! + +JASON. Dost call my dread of horrid deeds + Which thou hast done, a sham, and idle, too? + Thou art condemned by men; the very gods + Have damned thee! And I give thee up to them + And to their judgment! 'Tis a fate, in sooth, + Thou richly hast deserved! + +MEDEA. Who is this man, + This pious, virtuous man with whom I speak? + Is it not Jason? Strives he to seem mild? + O, mild and gentle one, didst thou not come + To Colchis' strand, and win in bloody fight + The daughter of its king? O, gentle, mild, + Didst thou not slay my brother, was it not + At thine own hands mine aged father fell, + Thou gentle, pious man? And now thou wouldst + Desert the wife whom thou didst steal away! + Mild? No, say rather hateful, monstrous man! + +JASON. Such wild abuse I will not stay to hear. + Thou knowest now what thou must do. Farewell! + +MEDEA. Nay, nay, I know not! Stay until I learn! + Stay, and I will be quiet even as thou.-- + So, I am banished, then? But what of thee? + Methinks the Herald's sentence named thee, too. + +JASON. When it is known that I am innocent + Of all these horrid deeds, and had no hand + In murdering mine uncle, then the ban + Will be removed from me. + +MEDEA. And thou wilt live + Peaceful and happy, for long years to come? + +JASON. I shall live quietly, as doth become + Unhappy men like me. + +MEDEA. And what of me? + +JASON. Thou dost but reap the harvest thine own hands + Have sown. + +MEDEA. My hands? Hadst thou no part therein? + +JASON. Nay, none. + +MEDEA. Didst never pray thine uncle's death + Might speedily be compassed? + +JASON. No command + At least I gave. + +MEDEA. Ne'er sought to learn if I + Had heart and courage for the deed? + +JASON. Thou know'st + How, in the first mad burst of rage and hate, + A man speaks many hot, impetuous threats + Which calm reflection never would fulfil. + +MEDEA. Once thou didst blame thyself for that mad deed; + Now thou hast found a victim who can bear + The guilt in place of thee! + +JASON. 'Tis not the thought + Of such a deed that merits punishment; + It is the deed itself. + +MEDEA (_quickly_). + + I did it not! + +JASON. Who, then, is guilty? + +MEDEA. Not myself, at least! + Listen, my husband, and be thou the first + To do me justice. + As I stood at the chamber door, to enter + And steal away the Fleece, + The king lay there on his couch; + Sudden I heard a cry! I turned, + And lo! I saw the aged king + Leap from his couch with frightful shrieks, + Twisting and writhing; and he cried, + "Com'st thou, O brother, to take revenge, + Revenge on me? Ha! Thou shalt die + Again, and yet again!" And straight + He sprang at me, to grip me fast, + For in my hands I held the Fleece. + I shook with fear, and cried aloud + For help to those dark gods I know; + The Fleece before me like a shield + I held. His face was twisted swift + To maniac grins, and leered at me! + Then, with a shriek, he madly tore + At the clothes that bound his aged veins; + They rent; the blood gushed forth in streams, + And, even as I looked, aghast + And full of horror, there he lay, + The king, at my very feet, all bathed + In his own blood-lay cold and dead! + +JASON. And thou canst stand and tell me such a tale, + Thou hateful witchwife? Get thee gone from me! + Away! I shudder at thee! Would that I + Had ne'er beheld thy face! + +MEDEA. Thou knewest well + That I was skilled in witchcraft, from that day + When first thou saw'st me at my magic arts, + And still didst yearn and long to call me thine! + +JASON. I was a youth then, and an arrant fool! + What boys are pleased with, men oft cast away. + +MEDEA. O, say no word against the golden days + Of youth, when heads are hot, but hearts are pure! + O, if thou wert but now what once thou wast, + Then were I happier far! Come back with me + Only a little step to that fair time + When, in our fresh, green youth, we strayed together + By Phasis' flowery marge. How frank and clear + Thy heart was then, and mine how closely sealed + And sad! But thou with thy soft, gentle light + Didst pierce my darkness, drive away the clouds, + And make me bright and happy. Thine I was, + And thou wert mine; O, Jason, is it then + Vanished forever, that far, happy time? + Or hath the bitter struggle for a hearth + And home, for name and fame, forever killed + The blooms of fairest promise on the tree + Of thy green youth? Oh, compassed though I be + With woe and heavy sorrows all about, + Yet I think often on that springtime sweet + Whence soft and balmy breezes o'er the years + Are wafted to me! If Medea then + Seemed fair to thee and lovely, how today + Can she be dread and hateful? What I was + Thou knewest, and didst seek me none the less. + Thou took'st me as I was; O, keep me, as I am! + +JASON. Thou hast forgot the dreadful deeds that since + Have come to pass. + +MEDEA. Ay, dread they are, in sooth, + And I confess it! 'Gainst mine aged sire + I sinned most deeply, 'gainst my brother, too, + And none condemns me more than I myself. + I'll welcome punishment, and I'll repent + In joy and gladness; only thou shalt not + Pronounce the doom upon me, nay, not thou! + For all my deeds were done for love of thee.-- + Come, let us flee together, once again + Made one in heart and soul! Some distant land + Will take us to its bosom. + +JASON. What land, then? + And whither should we flee? + +MEDEA. Whither! + +JASON. Thou'rt mad, + And dost revile me, that I do not choose + To share thy raving! No! Our life together + Is done! The gods have cursed our union long, + As one with deeds of cruelty begun, + That since hath waged and found its nourishment + In horrid crimes. E'en granting thou didst not + Thyself slay Pelias, who was there to see? + Or who would trust thy tale? + +MEDEA. Thou! + +JASON. Even then, + What can I do, how clear thee?--It were vain! + Come, let us yield to Fate, not stubbornly + Defy it! Let us each repentance seek, + And suffer our just doom, thou fleeing forth + Because thou may'st not stay, I tarrying here + When I would flee. + +MEDEA. Methinks thou dost not choose + The harder lot! + +JASON. Is it so easy, then, + To live, a stranger, in a stranger's house, + Subsisting on a stranger's pitying gifts? + +MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not choose + To fly with me? + +JASON. But whither? Ay, and how? + +MEDEA. There was a time thou hadst not shown thyself + So over-prudent, when thou camest first + To Colchis from the city of thy sires, + Seeking the glitter of an empty fame + In distant lands. + +JASON. I am not what I was; + Broken my strength, the courage in my breast + A dead thing. And 'tis thou I have to thank + For such misfortune! Bitter memories + Of days long past lie like a weight of lead + Upon my anxious soul; I cannot raise + Mine eyes for heaviness of heart. And, more, + The boy of those far days is grown a man, + No longer, like a wanton, sportive child, + Gambols amid bright flow'rs, but reaches out + For ripened fruit, for what is real and sure. + Babes I have got, but have no place where they + May lay their heads; my task it is to make + An heritage for these. Shall Jason's stock + Be but a withered weed beside the road, + By all men spurned and trampled? If thou e'er + Hast truly loved me, if I e'er was dear + To thee, oh, give me proof thereof, restore + Myself to me again, and yield a grave + To me in this, my homeland! + +MEDEA. And in this + Same homeland a new marriage-bed, forsooth I + Am I not right? + +JASON. What idle talk is this? + +MEDEA. Have I not heard how Creon named thee son, + And husband of his daughter? She it is, + Creusa, that doth charm thee, hold thee fast + In Corinth! 'Tis for her that thou wouldst stay! + Confess, I have thee there! + +JASON. Thou hast me not, + And never hadst me. + +MEDEA. So, thou wilt repent, + And I, thy wife Medea, I must go + Away?--I stood beside you there and wept + As thou didst trace with her your happy days + Of youth together, tarrying at each step + In sweet remembrance, till thou didst become + Naught but an echo of that distant past.-- + I will not go, no, will not! + +JASON. Thou'rt unjust, + And hard and wild as ever! + +MEDEA. I unjust! + Thou dost not seek her, then, to wife? Say no! + +JASON. I do but seek a place to lay me down + And rest. What else will come, I do not know! + +MEDEA. Ay, but I know full well, and it shall be + My task to thwart thee, with the help of heaven! + +JASON. Thou canst not speak with calmness, so, farewell! + +[_He takes a step toward the door._] + +MEDEA. Jason! + +JASON (_turning back_). + + What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA. 'Tis, perchance, the last, + Last time that we shall speak together! + +JASON. True; + Then let us without hate or rancor part. + +MEDEA. Thou mad'st me love thee deeply. Wouldst thou now + Flee from my face? + +JASON. I must! + +MEDEA. Hast robbed me, too, + Of my dear father; and wouldst steal away + Mine husband? + +JASON. I am helpless! + +MEDEA. At thy hands + My brother met his death untimely. Him + Thou hast taken from me, too, and now wouldst fly + And leave me? + +JASON. He was innocent; he fell. + And I am blameless, too; but I must flee thee. + +MEDEA. I left my fatherland to follow thee! + +JASON. Thou didst but follow thine own will, not me. + Gladly would I, if thou hadst rued thy deed, + Have sent thee back again. + +MEDEA. I am accurst, + And damned by all the world,--and all for thee! + And, for thy sake, I even hate myself! + Wilt thou forsake me still? + +JASON. 'Tis not my will, + Nay; but a higher bidding tells me plain + That I must leave thy side. Thy fate seems hard, + But what of mine? And yet, I pity thee, + If that be any comfort! + +MEDEA (_falling upon her knees to him_). + + Jason! + +JASON. Well? + What wouldst thou further? + +MEDEA (_rising suddenly_). + + Nothing! It is past + And done with! O proud sires, O mighty gods + Of Colchis, grant forgiveness to thy child + Who hath so humbled and dishonored you, + (Ay, and herself as well)--for I was pressed + And needs must do it. Now, receive me back! + +[JASON _turns to leave her._] + + Jason! + +JASON. Hope not that thou canst soften me! + +MEDEA. Nay, never think I wished it! Give me back + My babes! + +JASON. + + Thy children? Never! + +MEDEA (_wildly_). + + They are mine! + +JASON. Men call them by their father's name; and that + Shall never grace barbarians! Here in Greece + I'll rear them, to be Greeks! + +MEDEA. To be despised + And scorned by offspring of thy later bed? + I tell thee, they are mine! + +JASON. Nay, have a care, + Lest thou shouldst turn my pity unto hate! + And keep a quiet mien, since that is all + Can soften thy hard fate. + +MEDEA. To prayers and tears + I needs must humble me! My husband!--No, + For that thou art no more! Beloved!--No, + For that, thou never wert! Man, shall I say? + He is no man who breaks his solemn oath! + Lord Jason!--Pah! It is a traitor's name! + How shall I name thee? Devil!--Gentle! Good! + Give me my babes, and let me go in peace! + +JASON. I cannot, I have told thee, cannot do it. + +MEDEA. Hard heart! Thou tak'st the husband from the wife, + And robb'st the mother of her babes as well? + +JASON. Nay, then, that thou may'st know how I have yet + Some kindness left, take with thee when thou goest + One of the babes. + +MEDEA. But one? Say, only one? + +JASON. Beware thou ask too much! The little I + Have just now granted, oversteps the right. + +MEDEA. Which shall it be? + +JASON. We'll leave the choice to them, + The babes themselves; and whichsoever will, + Him thou shalt take. + +MEDEA. O thanks a thousand times, + Thou gentle, kindly man! He lies who calls + Thee traitor! + +[_The_ KING_ appears at the door._] + +JASON. Come, my lord! + +KING. Is't settled, then? + +JASON. She goes; and I have granted her to take + One of the children with her. + +(_To one of the slaves who has accompanied the _KING.) + + Hasten swift + And bring the babes before us! + +KING. What is this? + Here they shall stay, ay, both of them! + +MEDEA. This gift + That in mine eyes so small is, seemeth it + So great a boon to thee? Hast thou no fear + Of Heaven's fell anger, harsh and violent man? + +KING. The gods deal harshly with such wanton crimes + As thou hast done! + +MEDEA. Yea, but they see the cause + That drove us to such deeds! + +KING. 'Tis wicked thoughts, + Deep in the heart, beget such crimes as thine! + +MEDEA. All causes else thou count'st for naught? + +KING. With stern + And iron justice mine own self I rule, + And so, with right, judge others. + +MEDEA. In the act + Of punishing my crimes, thou dost commit + A worse thyself! + +JASON. She shall not say of me + That I am all hard-hearted; wherefore I + One of the babes have promised her, to be + His mother's dearest comfort in her woe. + +CREUSA _enters with the children._ + +CREUSA. One told me that these babes were summoned here. + What will ye have? What deeds are now afoot? + Behold how they do love me, though they were + But now brought here to Corinth! 'Tis as if + Long years already we had seen and known + Each one the other. 'Twas my gentle words + That won them; for, poor babes, they were not used + To loving treatment; and their sore distress, + Their loneliness did straightway win my heart. + +MEDEA. One of the babes goes with me! + +CREUSA. What is this? + Leaves us? + +KING. E'en so. It is their father's will! + +(_To_ MEDEA,_ who stands in deep meditation._) + + Here are thy children. Let them make their choice! + +MEDEA (_wildly_). + + The babes! My children! Ay, 'tis they, in sooth! + The one thing left me in this bitter world! + Ye gods, forget those dark and wicked thoughts + That late I harbored; grant me both my babes, + Yea, both, and I'll go forth from out this land + Praising your mercy! Yea, I'll e'en forgive + My husband there, and her--No! Her I'll not + Forgive--nor Jason, either! Come to me, + Come here, my babes!--Why stand ye silent there + And cling upon the breast of my false foe? + Ah, could ye know how she hath humbled me, + Ye would arm your tiny hands, curve into claws + Those little, weakling fingers, rend and tear + That soft and tender form, whereto ye cling + So lovingly!--Wouldst hold my children back + From coming to me? Let them go! + +CREUSA. In sooth, + Unhappy woman, I restrain them not! + +MEDEA. Not with thy hand, I know, but with thy glance, + Thy false, deceitful face, that seems all love, + And holds my husband from me, too! Thou laugh'st? + I promise thee thou'lt weep hot tears in days + To come! + +CREUSA. Now may the gods chastise me if I had + A thought of laughing! + +KING. Woman, break not forth + In insults and in anger! Do what thou + Hast yet to do, or go! + +MEDEA. Thou'rt right, O king, + Most just of kings! Not so much kind of heart + As just! How do thy bidding? Yet will I + Strive to do both. Hark, children! List to me! + They send your mother forth, to wander wide + O'er sea and land. Who knows where she shall come? + These kindly folk, thy father, and that just + And gentle king that standeth there, have said + That I may take, to share my lonely fate, + One of my babes, but only one. Ye gods, + Hear ye this sentence? One, and one alone! + Now, whichsoever of you loves me more, + Let that one come to join me, for I may + Not have you both; the other here must stay + Beside his father, and with that false king's + Still falser daughter!--Hear ye what I say? + Why linger there? + +KING. Thou seest they will not come! + +MEDEA. Thou liest, false and wicked king! They would, + Save that thy daughter hath enchanted them + And keeps them from me!--Heard ye not, my babes?-- + Accurst and monstrous children, bane and curse + Of your poor mother, image of your sire! + +JASON. They will not come! + +MEDEA (_pointing to _CREUSA). + + Let her but go away! + They love me! Am I not their mother? Look + How she doth beckon, nod to them, and draw + Them further from me! + +CREUSA. I will go away, + Though I deserve not thy suspicious hate. + +MEDEA. Come to me, children!--Come!--O viper brood! + +[_She advances toward them threateningly; the children fly to_ CREUSA +_for protection._] + +MEDEA. They fly from me! They fly! + +KING. Thou seest, Medea, + The children will not come--so, get thee gone! + +MEDEA. They will not? These my babes do fear to come + Unto their mother?--No, it is not true, + It cannot be!--Aeson, my elder son, + My best beloved! See, thy mother calls! + Come to her! Nay, no more will I be harsh, + No more enangered with thee! Thou shalt be + Most precious in mine eyes, the one thing left + I call mine own! Hark to thy mother! Come!-- + He turns his face away, and will not! O + Thou thankless child, thou image of thy sire, + Like him in each false feature, in mine eyes + Hateful, as he is! Stay, then, where thou art! + I know thee not!--But thou, Absyrtus, child + Of my sore travail, with the merry face + Of my lost brother whom with bitter tears + I mourn, and mild and gentle as was he, + See how thy mother kneels upon the ground + And, weeping, calls thee! O let not her prayers + Be all in vain! Absyrtus, come to me, + My little son! Come to thy mother!--What? + He tarries where he is! Thou, too? Thou, too? + Give me a dagger, quick, that I may slay + These whelps, and then myself! + +[_She springs up._] + +[Illustration: MEDEA From the Grillparzer Monument at Vienna] + +JASON. Nay, thou must thank thyself that thy wild ways + Have startled them, estranged them, turned their hearts + Unto that mild and gentle maid they love. + They do but echo what the gods decree!-- + Depart now; but the babes, they tarry here. + +MEDEA. O children, hear me! + +JASON. See, they hearken not! + +MEDEA. O children, children! + +KING (_to_ CREUSA). + + Lead them back again + Into the palace! 'Tis not meet they hate + The mother that did bear them. + +[CREUSA _moves away with the children._] + +MEDEA. Woe is me! + They flee! My children flee before my face! + +KING (_to_ JASON). + + Come we away! To weep for what must be + Is fruitless! + +[_They depart._] + +MEDEA. O my babes, my little babes! + +GORA _enters quickly._ + +GORA. Come, calm thyself, nor grant to these thy foes + The joy of seeing how they've conquered thee! + +MEDEA (_flinging herself upon the ground_). + + Conquered I am, at last, made nothing worth, + Trampled beneath my foes' triumphant feet! + They flee me, flee me! Mine own children flee me! + +GORA (_bending over her_). + + Thou must not die! + +MEDEA. Nay, let me die! My babes, + My little babes! + + + +ACT IV + + +_The outer court of _CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act. It is +twilight._ MEDEA lies prone upon the steps that lead to her apartments; +_GORA_ is standing before her._ + +GORA. Up, Medea, speak! + Why liest thou there so silent, staring + Blindly before thee? Rise, and speak! + O, help our sore distress! + +MEDEA. My babes! My babes! + +GORA. Forth must we flee ere night shall fall, + And already the twilight draweth down. + Up! Rouse thee, and gird thee for flight! + Swiftly they come to slay! + +MEDEA. Alas, my children! + +GORA. Nay, up! I say, unhappy one, + Nor kill me with thy cries of woe! + Hadst thou but heeded when I warned, + Still should we be at home + In Colchis, safe; thy kinsmen yet + Were living; all were well with us. + Rise up! What use are tears? Come, rise! + +[MEDEA _drags herself half up and kneels on the steps._] + +MEDEA. 'Twas so I knelt, 'twas so I lay + And stretched my hands for pity out + To mine own children; begged and wept + And prayed for one, for only one + Of my dear children! Death itself + Were not so bitter, as to leave + One of them here!--But to have none--! + And neither came! They turned away + With terror on their baby lips, + And fled for comfort to the breast + Of her--my bitterest enemy! + +[_She springs up suddenly._] + + But he,--he laughed to see, and she + Did laugh as well! + +GORA. O, woe is me! + O, woe and heavy sorrow! + +MEDEA. O gods, is this your vengeance, then, + Your retribution? All for love + I followed him, as wife should e'er + Follow her lord. My father died, + But was it I that slew him? No! + My brother fell. Was't, then, my hand + That dealt the stroke? I've wept for them + With heavy mourning, poured hot tears + To serve as sad libation for + Their resting-place so far away! + Ye gods! These woes so measureless + That I have suffered at your hands-- + Call ye these justice,--retribution? + +GORA. Thou didst leave thine own-- + Thine own desert thee now! + +MEDEA. Then will I visit punishment + On them, as Heaven on me! + There shall no deed of wickedness + In all the wide world scathless go! + Leave vengeance to my hand, O gods above! + +GORA. Nay, think how thou mayst save thyself; + All else forget! + +MEDEA. What fear is this + That makes thy heart so craven-soft? + First thou wert grim and savage, spak'st + Fierce threats of vengeance, now art full + Of fears and trembling! + +GORA. Let me be! + That moment when I saw thy babes + Flee their own mother's yearning arms, + Flee from the arms of her that bare + And reared them, then I knew at last + 'Twas the gods' hand had struck thee down! + Then brake my heart, my courage sank! + These babes, whom it was all my joy + To tend and rear, had been the last + Of all the royal Colchian line, + On whom I still could lavish all + My love for my far fatherland. + Long since, my love for thee was dead; + But in these babes I seemed to see + Again my homeland, thy dear sire, + Thy murdered brother, all the line + Of princely Colchians,--ay, thyself, + As once thou wert,--and art no more! + So, all my thought was how to shield + And rear these babes; I guarded them + E'en as the apple of mine eye, + And now-- + +MEDEA. They have repaid thy love + As thanklessness doth e'er repay! + +GORA. Chide not the babes! They're innocent! + +MEDEA. How, innocent? And flee their mother + Innocent? They are Jason's babes, + Like him in form, in heart, and in + My bitter hate! If I could hold them here, + Their life or death depending on my hand, + E'en on this hand I reach out, so, and one + Swift stroke sufficed to slay them, bring to naught + All that they were, or are, or e'er can be,-- + Look! they should be no more! + +GORA. O, woe to thee, + Cruel mother, who canst hate those little babes + Thyself didst bear! + +MEDEA. What hopes have they, what hopes? + If here they tarry with their sire, + That sire so base and infamous, + What shall their lot be then? + The children of this latest bed + Will scorn them, do despite to them + And to their mother, that wild thing + From distant Colchis' strand! + Their lot will be to serve as slaves; + Or else their anger, gnawing deep + And ever deeper at their hearts, + Will make them bitter, hard, + Until they grow to hate themselves. + For, if misfortune often is begot + By crime, more often far are wicked deeds + The offspring of misfortune!--What have they + To live for, then? I would my sire + Had slain me long, long years agone + When I was small, and had not yet + Drunk deep of woe, as now I do-- + Thought heavy thoughts, as now! + +GORA. Thou tremblest! What dost think to do? + +MEDEA. That I must forth, is sure; what else + May chance ere that, I cannot see. + My heart leaps up, when I recall + The foul injustice I have borne, + And glows with fierce revenge! No deed + So dread or awful but I would + Put hand to it!-- + He loves these babes, + Forsooth, because he sees in them + His own self mirrored back again, + Himself--his idol!--Nay, he ne'er + Shall have them, shall not!--Nor will I! + I hate them! + +GORA. Come within! Nay, why + Wouldst tarry here? + +MEDEA. All empty is that house, + And all deserted! Desolation broods + Upon those silent walls, and all is dead + Within, save bitter memories and grief! + +GORA. Look! They are coming who would drive us hence. + Come thou within! + +MEDEA. Thou saidst the Argonauts + Found each and every one a grave unblest, + The wages of their treachery and sin? + +GORA. Ay, sooth, and such a grave shall Jason find! + +MEDEA. He shall, I promise thee, he shall, indeed! + Hylas was swallowed in a watery grave; + The gloomy King of Shades holds Theseus bound; + And how was that Greek woman called--the one + That on her own blood bloody vengeance took? + How was she called, then? Speak! + +GORA. I do not know + What thou dost mean. + +MEDEA. Althea was her name! + +GORA. She who did slay her son + +MEDEA. The very same! + How came it, then? Tell me the tale once more. + +GORA. Unwitting, in the chase, he had struck down + Her brother. + +MEDEA. Him alone? He did not slay + Her father, too? Nor fled his mother's arms, + Nor thrust her from him, spurned her scornfully? + And yet she struck him dead--that mighty man, + Grim Meleager, her own son! And she-- + She was a Greek! Althea was her name. + Well, when her son lay dead--? + +GORA. Nay, there the tale + Doth end. + +MEDEA. Doth end! Thou'rt right, for death ends all! + +GORA. Why stand we here and talk? + +MEDEA. Dost think that I + Lack courage for the venture? Hark! I swear + By the high gods, if he had giv'n me both + My babes--But no! If I could take them hence + To journey with me, at his own behest, + + If I could love them still, as deep as now + I hate them, if in all this lone, wide world + One single thing were left me that was not + Poisoned, or brought in ruin on my head-- + Perchance I might go forth e'en now in peace + And leave my vengeance in the hands of Heaven. + But no! It may not be! + They name me cruel + And wanton, but I was not ever so; + Though I can feel how one may learn to be. + For dread and awful thoughts do shape themselves + Within my soul; I shudder--yet rejoice + Thereat! When all is finished--Gora, hither! + +GORA. What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA. Come to me! + +GORA. And why? + +MEDEA. Come hither! + See! There they lay, the babes--ay, and the bride, + Bleeding, and dead! And he, the bridegroom, stood + And looked and tore his hair! A fearful sight + And ghastly! + +GORA. Heaven forfend! What mean these words? + +MEDEA. Ha, ha! Thou'rt struck with terror then, at last? + Nay, 'tis but empty words that I did speak. + My old, fierce will yet lives, but all my strength + Is vanished. Oh, were I Medea still--! + But no, I am no more! O Jason, why, + Why hast thou used me so? I sheltered thee, + Saved thee, and gave thee all my heart to keep; + All that was mine, I flung away for thee! + Why wilt thou cast me off, why spurn my love, + Why drive the kindly spirits from my heart + And set fierce thoughts of vengeance in their place? + I dream of vengeance, when I have no more + The power to wreak revenge! The charms I had + From my own mother, that grim Colchian queen, + From Hecate, that bound dark gods to me + To do my bidding, I have buried them, + Ay, and for love of thee!--have sunk them deep + In the dim bosom of our mother Earth; + The ebon wand, the veil of bloody hue, + Gone!--and I stand here helpless, to my foes + No more a thing of terror, but of scorn! + +GORA. Then speak not of them if they'll serve thee not! + +MEDEA. I know well where they lie; + For yonder on the plashy ocean-strand + I coffined them and sank them deep in earth. + 'Tis but to toss away a little mold, + And they are mine! But in my inmost soul + I shudder when I think on such a venture, + And on that blood-stained Fleece. Methinks the ghosts + Of father, brother, brood upon their grave + And will not let them go. Dost thou recall + How on the pavement lay my old, gray sire + Weeping for his dead son, and cursing loud + His daughter? But lord Jason swung the Fleece + High o'er his head, with fierce, triumphant shouts! + 'Twas then I swore revenge upon this traitor + Who first did slay my best-beloved, now + Would slay me, too! Had I my bloody charms + And secret magic here, I'd keep that vow! + But no, I dare not fetch them, for I fear + Lest, shining through the Fleece's golden blaze, + Mine eyes should see my father's ghostly face + Stare forth at me--and oh! I should go mad! + +GORA. What wilt thou do, then? + +MEDEA (_wearily_). + + Even let them come + And slay me, if they will! I can no more! + Not one step will I stir from where I stand; + My dearest wish is death! And when he sees + Me lying dead, mayhap he'll follow me, + Deep-smitten with remorse! + +GORA. The King draws nigh; + Look to thyself! + +MEDEA. Nay, all my strength is gone, + What can I do? If he would trample me + Beneath his feet--well, let him have his will! + +_The _KING_ enters._ + +KING. Night falls apace, thine hours of grace are fled! + +MEDEA. I know it. + +KING. Art thou ready to go forth? + +MEDEA. Thou tauntest me! If I were not prepared, + Must I the less go forth? + +KING. My heart is glad + To find thee minded so. 'Twill make thee think + Less bitterly upon thy sorry fate, + And for thy children it doth spell great good: + For now they may remember who she was + That bare them. + +MEDEA. May remember? If they will, + Thou meanest! + +KING. That they shall, must be my care. + I'll rear them to be mighty heroes both; + And then--who knows?--on some far-distant day + Their hero-deeds may bring them to the shores. + Of Colchis, where they'll find thee once again, + Older in years, grown soft and gentle now, + And with fond love will press thee to their hearts. + +MEDEA. Alas! + +KING. What say'st thou? + +MEDEA. Naught! I did but think + On happy days long vanished, and forgot + All that hath happened since.--Was this the cause + That brought thee here, or hast thou aught to say + Besides? + +KING. Nay, I forgot one other word, + But I will speak it now. Thy husband brought + Much treasure when he fled to Corinth here + From far Iolcos, when his uncle died. + +MEDEA. There in the house it lies, still guarded safe; + Go in and take it! + +KING. And that trinket fair + Of dazzling gold, the Fleece--the gleaming prize + The Argo brought--is that within, as well? + Why turnest thou away, and wouldst depart? + Give answer! Is it there? + +MEDEA. No! + +KING. Where, then? Where? + +MEDEA. I know not. + +KING. Yet thyself didst bear it forth + From Pelias' chamber--so the Herald said. + +MEDEA. Nay, if he said so, it must needs be true! + +KING. Where is it? + +MEDEA. Nay, I know not. + +KING. Never think + To cheat us thus! + +MEDEA. If thou wouldst give it me, + I would requite thee even with my life; + For, if I had it here, thou shouldst not stand + Before me, shouting threats! + +KING. Didst thou not seize + And bear it with thee from Iolcos? + +MEDEA. Yea! + +KING. And now--? + +MEDEA. I have it not. + +KING. Who hath it, then? + +MEDEA. The earth doth hold it. + +KING. Ha! I understand! + So it was there, in sooth? + +[_He turns to his attendants._] + + Go, fetch me here + That which I bade you. What I mean, ye know! + +[_The attendants go out._] + + Ha! Didst thou think to cheat us with thy words + Of double meaning? Earth doth hold it! Now + I understand thee! Nay, look not away! + Look here at me, and harken!--Yonder there + Upon the seashore, where last night ye lay, + I gave command to raise a sacred fane + To Pelias' shades; and, as my henchmen toiled, + They found--thou palest!--freshly buried there + An ebon casket, marked with curious signs. + +[_The attendants bring in the chest._] + + Look! Is it thine? + +MEDEA (_rushing eagerly to the chest_). + Yea, mine! + +KING. And is the Fleece + Therein? + +MEDEA. It is. + +KING. Then give it me! + +MEDEA. I will! + +KING. Almost I do regret I pitied thee, + Since thou hast sought to cozen us! + +MEDEA. Fear not! + For thou shalt have thy due! Once more I am + Medea! Thanks to thee, kind gods! + +KING. Unlock + Thy casket, quick, and give the Fleece to me! + +MEDEA. Not yet! + +KING. But when? + +MEDEA. Right soon, ay, all too soon! + +KING. Send it to where Creusa waits. + +MEDEA. To her? + This Fleece to thy fair daughter? Ay, I will! + +KING. Holdeth this casket aught besides the Fleece? + +MEDEA. Yea, many things! + +KING. Thine own? + +MEDEA. Mine own. + From these A gift I'd send her. + +KING. Nay, I would demand + Naught else of thee. Keep that which is thine own. + +MEDEA. Surely thou wilt permit me one small gift! + Thy daughter was so mild to me, so good, + And she will be a mother to my babes. + I fain would win her love! Thou dost desire + Naught but the Fleece; perchance some trinkets rare + Would please her eyes. + +KING. Do even as thou wilt; + Only, bethink thee of thy needs. Thou knowest + Already how she loves thee. But an hour + Agone she begged to send thy babes to thee + That thou might'st see them once again, and take + A last farewell before thou settest forth + Upon thy weary way. I said her nay, + For I had seen thy fury. Now thou art + Quiet again, and so shalt have that grace. + +MEDEA. Oh, thanks to thee, thou good and pious King! + +KING. Wait here. I'll send the children to thee straight. + +[_He departs._] + +MEDEA. He's gone--and to his doom! Fool! Didst thou not + Tremble and shudder when thou took'st away + Her last possession from the woman thou + Hadst robbed already? Yet, I thank thee for it, + Ay, thank thee! + Thou hast given me back myself! + --Unlock the casket! + +GORA (_fumbling at it_). + + That I cannot do. + +MEDEA. Nay, I forgot how I did lock it up! + The key is kept by friends I know full well. + +[_She turns toward the chest._] + + Up from below! + Down from o'erhead! + Open, thou secretest + Tomb of the dead! + + The lid springs open, and I am no more + A weak and powerless woman! There they lie, + My staff, my veil of crimson! Mine! Ah, mine! + +[_She takes them out of the casket._] + + I take thee in my hands, thou mighty staff + Of mine own mother, and through heart and limbs + Unfailing strength streams forth from thee to me! + And thee, beloved wimple, on my brow + I bind once more! + +[_She veils herself._] + + How warm, how soft thou art, + How dost thou pour new life through all my frame! + Now come, come all my foes in close-set ranks, + Banded against me, banded for your doom! + +GORA. Look! Yonder flares a light! + +MEDEA. Nay, let it flare! + 'Twill soon be quenched in blood!-- + Here are the presents I would send to her; + And thou shalt be the bearer of my gifts! + +GORA. I? + +MEDEA. Thou! Go quickly to the chamber where + Creusa sits, speak soft and honied words, + Bring her Medea's greetings, and her gifts! + +[_She takes the gifts out of the chest one by one._] + + This golden box, first, that doth treasure up + Most precious ointments. Ah, the bride will shine + Like blazing stars, if she will ope its lid! + But bear it heedfully, and shake it not! + +GORA. Woe's me! + +[_She has grasped the ointment-box firmly in her left hand; as she +steadies it with her right hand, she slightly jars the cover open, and a +blinding flame leaps forth._] + +MEDEA. I warned thee not to shake it, fool! + Back to thy house again, + Serpent with forked tongue! + Wait till the knell hath rung; + Thou shalt not wait in vain! + Now clasp it tightly, carry it with heed! + +GORA. I fear some dreadful thing will come of this! + +MEDEA. So! Thou wouldst warn me? 'Tis a wise old crone! + +GORA. And I must bear it? + +MEDEA. Yea! Obey, thou slave! + How darest thou presume to answer me? + Be silent! Nay, thou shalt, thou must! + And next + Here on this salver, high-embossed with gold, + I set this jeweled chalice, rich and fair + To see, and o'er it lay the best of all, + The thing her heart most craves--the Golden Fleece!-- + Go hence and do thine errand. Nay, but first + Spread o'er these gifts this mantle--fair it is + And richly broidered, made to grace a queen-- + To cover all from sight and keep them hid.-- + Now, go, and do what I commanded thee, + And take these gifts, that foe doth send to foe! + +[_A slave-woman enters with the children._] + +SLAVE. My lord the king hath sent these children hither; + And when an hour is gone I take them back. + +MEDEA. Sooth, they come early to the marriage feast! + Now to thy mistress lead my servant here; + She takes a message from me, bears rich gifts. + +(_She turns to _GORA.) + + And thou, remember what I told thee late! + Nay, not a word! It is my will! + +(_To the slave-woman._) + + Away! + And bring her to thy mistress. + +[GORA _and the slave-woman depart together._] + + Well begun, + But not yet ended! Easy is my path, + Now I see clearly what I have to do! + +[_The children, hand in hand, make as if to follow the slave-woman._] + + Where go ye? + +BOY. In the house! + +MEDEA. What seek ye there? + +BOY. Our father told us we should stay with her. + +MEDEA. Thy mother bids you tarry. Wait, I say!-- + When I bethink me how they are my blood, + My very flesh, the babes I bore so long + In my own womb, and nourished at my breast, + When I bethink me 'tis my very self + That turns against me, in my inmost soul + Fierce anger stabs me knife-like, bloody thoughts + Rise fast within me!-- + +(_To the children._) + + What hath mother done, + To make you flee her sight and run away + To hide in strangers' bosoms? + +BOY. Thou dost seek + To steal us both away, and shut us up + Within thy boat again, where we were both + So sick and dizzy. We would rather stay + Here, would we not, my brother? + +YOUNGER BOY. Yea! + +MEDEA. Thou, too, + Absyrtus? But 'tis better, better so! + Come hither! + +BOY. I'm afraid! + +MEDEA. Come here, I say! + +BOY. Nay, thou wilt hurt me! + +MEDEA. Hurt thee? Thou hast done + Naught to deserve it! + +Boy. Once thou flung'st me down + Upon the pavement, hard, because I looked + So like my father. But _he_ loves me for it! + I'd rather stay with him, and with that good + And gentle lady! + +MEDEA. Thou shalt go to her, + E'en to that gentle lady!--How his mien + Is like to his, the traitor's! How his words + Are syllabled like Jason's!--Patience! Wait! + +YOUNGER BOY. I'm sleepy! + +BOY. Let's lie down and go to sleep. + It's late. + +MEDEA. Ye'll have your fill of sleep ere long! + Go, lay you down upon those steps to rest, + While I take counsel with myself.--Ah, see + How watchfully he guides the younger one, + Takes off his little mantle, wraps it warm + And close about his shoulders, now lies down + Beside him, clasping hands!--He never was + A naughty child!--O children, children mine! + +BOY (_starting up_). + + Dost want us? + +MEDEA. Nay, lie down, and go to sleep! + What would I give, if I could sleep as sound! + +[_The boy lies down again, and both go to sleep._ MEDEA _seats herself +on a bench opposite the children. It grows darker and darker._] + +MEDEA. The night is falling, stars are climbing high, + Shedding their kindly beams on all below-- + The same that shone there yestere'en, as though + All things today were as they were before. + And yet 'twixt now and yesterday there yawns + A gulf, as wide as that which sunders joy + Made perfect and grim death! How change-less e'er + Is Nature--and man's life and happiness + How fitful, fleeting! + When I tell the tale + Of my unhappy life, it is as though + I listened, while another told it me, + And now would stop him: "Nay, that cannot be, + My friend! This woman here, that harbors dark + And murderous thoughts--how can she be the same + That once, long years agone, on Colchis' strand + Trod, free and happy, 'neath these very stars, + As pure, as mild, as free from any sin + As new-born child upon its mother's breast?" + Where goes she, then? She seeks the peasant's hut + To comfort the poor serf, whose little crops + Were trampled by her father's huntsmen late, + And brings him gold to ease his bitter heart. + Why trips she down the forest-path? She hastes + To meet her brother who is waiting there + In some green copse. Together then they wend + Homeward their way along the well-known path, + Like twin-stars shining through the forest-gloom. + Another draweth nigh; his brow is crowned + With coronet of gold; he is the King, + Their royal father, and he lays his hand + In blessing on their heads, and names them both + His joy, his dearest treasure.--Welcome, then, + Most dear and friendly faces! Are ye come + To comfort me in this my loneliness? + Draw nearer, nearer yet! I fain would look + Into your eyes! Dear brother, dost thou smile + So friendly on me? Ah, how fair thou art, + My heart's best treasure! But my father's face + Is sober, earnest; yet he loves me still, + Yea, loveth his good daughter! + +[_She springs up suddenly._] + + Good? Ha, good? + 'Tis a false lie! For know, thou old, gray man, + She will betray thee, _hath_ betrayed thee, thee, + Ay, and herself! But thou didst curse her sore + "Know thou shalt be thrust forth + Like a beast of the wilderness," thou saidst; + "Friendless and homeless, with no place + To lay thy head! And he, for whom + Thou hast betrayed me, he will be + First to take vengeance on thee, first + To leave thee, thrust thee forth, and first + To slay thee!" See, thy words were true! + For here I stand, thrust forth indeed, + By all men like a monster shunned, + Deserted by the wretch for whom + I gave thee up, and with no place + To lay me down; alas! not dead; + Black thoughts of murder in my heart!-- + Dost thou rejoice at thy revenge? + Com'st closer?--Children! O my babes! + +[_She rushes across to where the children lie sleeping, and shakes them +violently._] + + + My children, did ye hear? Awake! + +BOY (_waking_). + + What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA (_pressing them fiercely to her_). + + Clasp your arms about me close! + +BOY. I slept so soundly. + +MEDEA. Slept? How could ye sleep? + Thought ye, because your mother watched you here, + That ye were safe? Ye ne'er were in the hands + Of any foe more dangerous! Sleep? With me, + Your mother, near? How could ye?--Go within, + And there ye shall find rest, indeed! + +[_The children sleepily mount the steps and disappear down the colonnade +into the palace._] + + + They're gone, + And all is well again!--Yet, now they're gone, + How am I bettered? Must I aught the less + Flee forth, today, and leave them in the hands + Of these my bitter foes? Is Jason less + A traitor? Will the bride make aught the less + Of feasting on her bridal day, forsooth? + Tomorrow, when the sun shall rise, + Then shall I be alone, + The world a desert waste for me, + My babes, my husband--gone! + A wand'rer I, with weary feet + All torn and bleeding sore, + And bound for exile!--Whither, then + I know no more! + My foes stay here and make a joyous feast, + And laugh to think me gone; + My babes cling tightly to a stranger's breast, + Estranged from me forever, far away + From where I needs must come! + And wilt thou suffer that? + Is it not even now too late, + Too late to grant forgiveness? + Hath not Creusa even now the robes, + Ay, and the chalice, that fierce-flaming cup? + Hark! Nay, not yet!--But soon enough + Will come the shriek of agony + Ringing through all the palace halls! + Then they will come and slay me, + Nor spare the babes! + Hark! What a cry was that! Ha! Tongues of flame + Leap curling from the palace! It is done! + No more may I retreat, repent! + Let come what must! Set forward! + +[GORA _bursts out of the palace in a frenzy._] + +GORA. Oh, horror, horror! + +MEDEA (_hurrying to her_). + + So the deed is done! + +GORA. Woe, woe! Creusa dead, the palace red + With mounting flames! + +MEDEA. So, art thou gone at last, + Thou snow-white, spotless bride? Or seek'st thou still + To charm my children from me? Wouldst thou? Wouldst thou? + Wouldst take them whither thou art gone? + Nay, to the gods I give them now, + And not to thee, nay, not to thee! + +GORA. What hast thou done?--Look, look, they come! + +MEDEA. They come? Too late! Too late! + +[_She vanishes down the colonnade._] + +GORA. Alas that I, so old and gray, should aid, + Unknowing, such dark deeds! I counseled her + To take revenge: but such revenge--oh, gods! + Where are the babes? 'Twas here I left them late. + Where art thou, O Medea? And thy babes-- + Ah, where are they? + +[_She, too, disappears down the colonnade. Through the windows of the +palace in the background the rapidly mounting flames now burst forth._] + +JASON'S VOICE. + + Creusa! O Creusa! + +KING'S VOICE (_from within_). + + O my daughter! + +[GORA _bursts out of the palace and falls upon her knees in the middle +of the stage, covering her face with her hands._] + + +GORA. What have I seen?--Oh, horror! + +[MEDEA _appears at the entrance to the colonnade; in her left hand she +brandishes a dagger; she raises her right hand to command silence._] + +[_The curtain falls._] + + + +ACT V + + +_The outer court of_ CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act; the royal +apartments in the background lie in blackened ruins whence smoke is +still curling up; the court-yard is filled with various palace +attendants busied in various ways. The dawn is just breaking. + +The_ KING _appears, dragging_ GORA _out of the palace; a train of_ +CREUSA'S _slave-women follows him._ + +KING. Away with thee! It was thy wicked hand + That to my daughter brought those bloody gifts + Which were her doom! My daughter! Oh, Creusa! + My child, my child! + +[_He turns to the slave-women._] + + 'Twas she? + +GORA. Yea, it was I! + I knew not that my hands bore doom of death + Within thy dwelling. + +KING. Knew'st not. Never think + To 'scape my wrath on this wise! + +GORA. Dost thou think + I shudder at thy wrath? Mine eyes have seen-- + Woe's me!--the children weltering in their blood, + Slain by the hand of her that bore them, ay, + Medea's very hand! And after that, + All other horrors are to me but jest! + +KING. Creusa! Oh, my child, my pure, true child! + Say, did thy hand not shake, thou grisly dame, + When to her side thou broughtest death? + +GORA. I shed no tears for her! She had her due! + Why would she seek to snatch away the last + Possession of my most unhappy mistress? + I weep for these my babes, whom I did love + So tenderly, and whom I saw but now + Butchered--and by their mother! Ah, I would + Ye all were in your graves, and by your side + That traitor that doth call himself Lord Jason! + I would I were in Colchis with Medea + And these poor babes in safety! Would I ne'er + Had seen your faces, or your city here, + Whereon this grievous fate so justly falls! + +KING. These insults thou wilt soon enough put by, + When thou shalt feel my heavy hand of doom! + But is it certain that my child is dead? + So many cry her dead, though I can find + None that did see her fall! Is there no way + To 'scape the fire? And can the flames wax strong + So quickly? See how slow they lick and curl + Along the fallen rafters of my house! + Do ye not see? And yet ye say she's dead? + An hour ago she stood before mine eyes + A blooming flower, instinct with happy life-- + And now she's dead! Nay, I cannot believe, + And will not! 'Gainst my will I turn mine eyes + Now here, now there, and cannot but believe + That now, or now, or now at least, she must + Appear in all her stainless purity + And beauty, glide in safety to me here + Through those black, smoldering ruins!--Who was by? + Who saw her perish?--Thou?--Quick, speak!--Nay, then, + Roll not thine eyes in horror! Tell thy tale, + E'en though it kill me! Is she dead, indeed? + +A SLAVE-WOMAN. + + Dead! + +KING. And thou saw'st it? + +SLAVE-WOMAN. + + With my very eyes! + Saw how the flames leaped forth from out that box + Of gold, and caught her flesh-- + +KING. Hold! Hold! Enough! + This woman saw it! Creusa is no more! + Creusa! Oh, my daughter, my dear child! + Once, many years agone, she burnt her hand + Against the altar; she was but a child, + And cried aloud with pain. I rushed to her + And caught her in my arms, and to my lips. + I put her poor scorched fingers, blowing hard + To ease the burning pain. The little maid + E'en through her bitter tears smiled up at me + And, softly sobbing, whispered in my ear, + "It is not much! I do not mind the pain!" + Gods! That she should be burned to death? Oh, gods! + +[_He turns fiercely upon_ GORA.] + + And as for thee,--if I should plunge my sword + Ten, twenty times, up to the hilt, clean through + Thy body, would that bring my daughter back? + Or, could I find that hideous witch-wife--Stay! + Where went she, that hath robbed me of my child? + I'll shake an answer straight from out thy mouth, + Ay, though thy soul come with it, if thou'lt not + Declare to me this instant where she's gone! + +GORA. I know not--and I care no whit to know! + Let her go forth alone to her sure doom. + Why dost thou tarry? Slay me! For I have + No wish to live! + +KING. We'll speak of that anon; + But first I'll have thy answer! + +JASON (_behind the scenes_). + + Where's Medea? + Bring her before my face! Medea! + +[_He enters suddenly with drawn sword._] + + Nay, + They told me she was caught! Where is she, then? + +(_To_ GORA.) + + Ha! Thou here? Where's thy mistress? + +GORA. Fled away! + +JASON. Hath she the children? + +GORA. Nay! + +JASON. Then they are-- + +GORA. Dead! + Yea, dead! thou smooth-tongued traitor, dead, I say! + She sought to put them where thine eyes could never + Take joy in them again; but, knowing well + No spot on earth so sacred was but thou + To find them wouldst break in, she hid them, safe + Forever, in the grave! Ay, stand aghast, + And stare upon the pavement! Thou canst never + Recall thy babes to life! They're gone for aye! + And, for their sake, I'm glad! No, I am not, + For their sake--but because thou dost despair, + That, smooth-tongued traitor, glads my heart indeed! + Was it not thou that drove her to this crime, + And thou, false King, with thine hypocrisy? + She was a noble creature-but ye drew + Your nets of shameful treachery too close + About her, till, in wild despair, cut off + From all escape else, she o'erleaped your snares, + And made thy crown, the kingly ornament + Of royal heads, to be the awful tool + Of her unnatural crime! Ay, wring your hands, + But wring them for your own most grievous fate! + +(_Turning to the_ KING.) + + Why sought thy child another woman's bed? + +(_Turning to_ JASON.) + + Why must thou steal her, bring her here to Greece, + If thou didst never love her? If thou didst + Right truly love her, why, then, thrust her forth? + Though others cry her murderess, yea, though I + Myself must name her so, yet none the less + Ye have but met your just deserts!--For me, + I have no wish to live another day! + Two of my babes are dead, the third I needs + Must hate forever! Take me, lead me hence + And slay me, if ye will! Fair hopes I have + At last, of justice in that other world, + Now I have seen Heaven's vengeance on you hurled! + +[_She is led away by some of the _KING's _attendants._] + +(_Pause._) + +KING. Nay, if I wronged her,--by the gods in Heaven + I swear I meant it not!--Now haste we all + To search these smoking ruins for what trace + Remains of my poor girl, that we may lay + Her broken, bruised frame to rest at last + In Earth's kind bosom! + +[_He turns to _JASON.] + + But, for thee--straightway + Thou must go forth, where'er thy feet may choose + To carry thee! Pollution such as thine + Spells woe for all about thee, as I've proved. + Oh, had I never seen, never rescued thee, + Ne'er acted friendship's part and welcomed thee + Within my palace! And, for thanks, thou took'st + My daughter from me! Go, lest thou shouldst take + As well the only comfort left me now-- + To weep her memory! + +JASON. Wouldst thou thrust me forth? + +KING. I banish thee my sight. + +JASON. What shall I do? + +KING. Some god will answer that! + +JASON. Who, then, will guide + My wandering steps, who lend a helping hand? + For, see! my head is bleeding, wounded sore + By falling firebrands! How? All silent, then? + And none will guide me, none companion me, + None follow me, whom once so many joyed + To follow? Spirits of my babes, lead ye + The way, and guide your father to the grave + That waits him! + +[_He goes slowly away._] + +KING (_to his attendants_). + + Quick, to work! And after that, + Mourning that hath no end! + +[_He goes away in the other direction._] + +_The curtain falls for a moment, and, when it rises again, discloses a +wild and lonely region surrounded by forest and by lofty crags, at the +foot of which lies a mean hut. A rustic enters._ + +RUSTIC. How fair the morning dawns! Oh, kindly gods, + After the storm and fury of the night, + Your sun doth rise more glorious than before! + +[_He goes into the hut._] + +(JASON _comes stumbling out of the forest and leaning heavily on his +sword._) + +JASON. Nay, I can go no farther! How my head + Doth burn and throb, the blood how boil within! + My tongue cleaves to the roof of my parched mouth! + Is none within there? Must I die of thirst, + And all alone?--Ha! Yon's the very hut + That gave me shelter when I came this way + Before, a rich man still, a happy father, + My bosom filled with newly-wakened hopes! + +[_He knocks at the door._] + + 'Tis but a drink I crave, and then a place + To lay me down and die! + +[_The peasant comes out of the house._] + +RUSTIC. Who knocks?--Poor man, + Who art thou? Ah, poor soul, he's faint to death! + +JASON. Oh, water, water! Give me but to drink! + See, Jason is my name, famed far and wide, + The hero of the wondrous Golden Fleece! + A prince--a king--and of the Argonauts + The mighty leader, Jason! + +RUSTIC. Art thou, then, + In very sooth Lord Jason? Get thee gone + And quickly! Thou shalt not so much as set + A foot upon my threshold, to pollute + My humble dwelling! Thou didst bring but now + Death to the daughter of my lord the King! + Then seek not shelter at the meanest door + Of any of his subjects! + +[_He goes into the hut again and shuts the door behind him._] + +JASON. He is gone, + And leaves me here to lie upon the earth, + Bowed in the dust, for any that may pass + To trample on!--O Death, on thee I call! + Have pity on me! Take me to my babes! + +[_He sinks down upon the ground._] + +MEDEA _makes her way among some tumbled rocks, and stands suddenly +before him, the Golden Fleece flung over her shoulders like a mantle._ + +MEDEA. Jason! + +JASON (_half raising himself_). + + Who calls me?--Ha! What spectral form + Is this before me? Is it thou, Medea? + Ha! Dost thou dare to show thyself again + Before mine eyes? My sword! My sword! + +[_He tries to rise, but falls weakly back._] + + Woe's me! + My limbs refuse their service! Here I lie, + A broken wreck! + +MEDEA. Nay, cease thy mad attempts + Thou canst not harm me, for I am reserved + To be the victim of another's hand, + And not of thine! + +JASON. My babes!--Where has thou them? + +MEDEA. Nay, they are mine! + +JASON. Where hast thou them, I say? + +MEDEA. They're gone where they are happier far than thou + Or I shall ever be! + +JASON. Dead! Dead! My babes! + +MEDEA. Thou deemest death the worst of mortal woes? + I know a far more wretched one--to be + Alone, unloved! Hadst thou not prized mere life + Far, far above its worth, we were not now + In such a pass. But we must bear our weight + Of sorrow, for thy deeds! Yet these our babes + Are spared that grief, at least! + +JASON. And thou canst stand + So patient, quiet, there, and speak such words? + +MEDEA. Quiet, thou sayst, and patient? Were my heart + Not closed to thee e'en now, as e'er it was, + Then couldst thou see the bitter, smarting pain + Which, ever swelling like an angry sea, + Tosses, now here, now there, the laboring wreck + That is my grief, and, veiling it from sight + In awful desolation, sweeps it forth + O'er boundless ocean-wastes! I sorrow not + Because the babes are dead; my only grief + Is that they ever lived, that thou and I + Must still live on! + +JASON. Alas! + +MEDEA. Bear thou the lot + That fortune sends thee; for, to say the truth, + Thou richly hast deserved it!--Even as thou + Before me liest on the naked earth, + So lay I once in Colchis at thy feet + And craved protection--but thou wouldst not hear! + Nay, rather didst thou stretch thine eager hands + In blind unreason forth, to lay them swift + Upon the golden prize, although I cried, + "'Tis Death that thou dost grasp at!"--Take it, then, + That prize that thou so stubbornly didst seek, + Even Death! + I leave thee now, forevermore. + 'Tis the last time-for all eternity + The very last--that I shall speak with thee, + My husband! Fare thee well! Ay, after all + The joys that blessed our happy, happy youth, + 'Mid all the bitter woes that hem us in + On every side, in face of all the grief + That threatens for the future, still I say, + "Farewell, my husband!" Now there dawns for thee + A life of heavy sorrows; but, let come + What may, abide it firmly, show thyself + Stronger in suffering than in doing deeds + Men named heroic! If thy bitter woe + Shall make thee yearn for death, then think on me, + And it shall comfort thee to know how mine + Is bitterer far, because I set my hand + To deeds, to which thou only gav'st assent. + I go my way, and take my heavy weight + Of sorrow with me through the wide, wide world. + A dagger-stroke were blest release indeed; + But no! it may not be! It were not meet + Medea perish at Medea's hands. + My earlier life, before I stooped to sin, + Doth make me worthy of a better judge + Than I could be--I go to Delphi's shrine, + And there, before the altar of the god, + The very spot whence Phrixus long ago + Did steal the prize, I'll hang it up again, + Restore to that dark god what is his own-- + The Golden Fleece--the only thing the flames + Have left unharmed, the only thing that 'scaped + Safe from the bloody, fiery death that slew + That fair Corinthian princess.--To the priests + I'll go, and I'll submit me to their will, + Ay, though they take my life to expiate + My grievous sins, or though they send me forth + To wander still through some far desert-waste, + My very life, prolonged, a heavier weight + Of sorrow than I ever yet have known! + +_[She holds up the gleaming Fleece before his eyes.]_ + + Know'st thou the golden prize which thou didst strive + So eagerly to win, which seemed to thee + The shining crown of all thy famous deeds? + What is the happiness the world can give?-- + A shadow! What the fame it can bestow?-- + An empty dream! Poor man! Thy dreams were all + Of shadows! And the dreams are ended now, + But not the long, black Night!--Farewell to thee, + My husband, for I go! That was a day + Of heavy sorrows when we first did meet; + Today, 'mid heavier sorrows, we must part! + Farewell! + +JASON. Deserted! All alone! My babes! + +MEDEA. Endure! + +JASON. Lost! Lost! + +MEDEA. Be patient! + +JASON. Let me die! + +MEDEA. I go, and nevermore thine eyes shall see + My face again! + +_[As she departs, winding her way among the tumbled rocks, the curtain +falls.]_ + + * * * * * + + + + +THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO + +AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS + +By FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + + DRAMATIS PERSONÆ + + ALFONSO VIII., _the Noble, King of Castile._ + + ELEANOR OF ENGLAND, _Daughter of Henry II., his Wife._ + + THE PRINCE, _their Son._ + + MANRIQUE, _Count of Lara, Governor of Castile._ + + DON GARCERAN, _his Son._ + + DOÑA CLARA, _Lady in Waiting to the Queen. + + The Queen's Waiting Maid._ + + ISAAC, _the Jew._ + + ESTHER, } + } _his Daughters._ + RACHEL, } + + REINERO, _the King's Page. + + Nobles, Court Ladies, Petitioners, Servants, and Other People. + + Place, Toledo and Vicinity. + + Time, about 1195 A.D._ + + +THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO (1873) + +TRANSLATED BY GEORGE HENRY DANTON AND ANNINA PERIAM DANTON + + + +ACT I + + +_In the Royal Garden at Toledo._ + +_Enter_ ISAAC, RACHEL, _and_ ESTHER. + +ISAAC. Back, go back, and leave the garden! + Know ye not it is forbidden? + When the King here takes his pleasure + Dares no Jew--ah, God will damn them! + Dares no Jew to tread the earth here! + +RACHEL (_singing_). + + La-la-la-la. + +ISAAC. Don't you hear me? + +RACHEL. Yes, I hear thee. + +ISAAC. Hear, and linger + +RACHEL. Hear, yet linger! + +ISAAC. Oh, Oh, Oh! Why doth God try me? + To the poor I've given my portion, + I have prayed and I have fasted, + Unclean things I've never tasted + Nay! And yet God tries me thus. + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER). + + Ow! Why dost thou pull my arm so? + I will stay, I am not going. + I just wish to see the King and + All the court and all their doings, + All their gold and all their jewels. + He is young, they say, and handsome, + White and red, I want to see him. + +ISAAC. And suppose the servants catch thee + +RACHEL. Then I'll beg until they free me! + +ISAAC. Yes, just like thy mother, eh? + She, too, looked at handsome Christians, + Sighed, too, for Egyptian flesh-pots; + Had I not so closely watched her + I should deem-well, God forgive me!-- + That thy madness came that way, + Heritage of mean, base Christians; + Ah! I praise my first wife, noble! + + (_To_ ESTHER.) + + Praise thy mother, good like thee, + Though not wealthy. Of the second + Did the riches aught avail me? + Nay, she spent them as she pleasured, + Now for feasts and now for banquets, + Now for finery and jewels. + Look! This is indeed her daughter! + Has she not bedeckt herself, + Shines she not in fine apparel + Like a Babel in her pride? + +RACHEL (_singing_). + + Am I not lovely, + Am I not rich? + See their vexation, + And I don't care-la, la, la, la. + +ISAAC. There she goes with handsome shoes on; + Wears them out--what does it matter? + Every step costs me a farthing! + Richest jewels are her earrings, + If a thief comes, he will take them, + If they're lost, who'll find them ever? + +RACHEL (_taking off an earring_). + + Lo! I take them off and hold them, + How they shine and how they shimmer! + Yet how little I regard them, + Haply, I to thee present them + +(_to_ ESTHER.) + + Or I throw them in the bushes. + +[_She makes a motion as if throwing it away._] + +ISAAC (_running in the direction of the throw_). + + Woe, ah woe! Where did they go to? + Woe, ah woe! How find them ever? + +ESTHER. These fine jewels? What can ail thee? + +RACHEL. Dost believe me, then, so foolish + As to throw away possessions? + See, I have it in my hand here, + Hang it in my ear again and + On my cheek it rests in contrast. + +ISAAC. Woe! Lost! + +RACHEL. Father come, I prithee! + See! the jewel is recovered. + I was jesting. + +ISAAC. Then may God-- + Thus to tease me! And now, come! + +RACHEL. Anything but this I'll grant thee. + I must see his Royal Highness, + And he me, too, yes, yes, me, too. + If he comes and if he asks them, + "Who is she, that lovely Jewess?" + "Say, how hight you?"--"Rachel, sire! + Isaac's Rachel!" I shall answer. + Then he'll pinch my cheek so softly. + Beauteous Rachel then they'll call me. + What if envy bursts to hear it, + Shall I worry if it vexes? + +ESTHER. Father! + +ISAAC. What + +ESTHER. The court approaches. + +ISAAC. Lord of life, what's going to happen? + 'Tis the tribe of Rehoboam. + Wilt thou go? + +RACHEL. Oh, father, listen! + +ISAAC. Well then stay! But come thou, Esther, + Leave the fool here to her folly. + Let the unclean-handed see her, + Let him touch her, let him kill her, + She herself hath idly willed it. + Esther, come! + +RACHEL. Oh, father, tarry! + +ISAAC. Hasten, hasten; come, then, Esther! + +[_Exit with_ ESTHER.] + +RACHEL. Not alone will I remain here! + Listen! Stay! Alas, they leave me. + Not alone will I remain here. + Ah! they come--Oh, sister, father! + +[_She hastens after them._] + +_Enter the_ KING, _the_ QUEEN, MANTRIQUE DE LARA _and suite_. + +KING (_entering_). + + Allow the folk to stay! It harms me not; + For he who calleth me a King denotes + As highest among many me, and so + The people is a part of my own self. + +(_Turning to the_ QUEEN.) + + And thou, no meager portion of myself, + Art welcome here in this my ancient home, + Art welcome in Toledo's faithful walls. + Gaze all about thee, let thy heart beat high, + For, know! thou standest at my spirit's fount. + There is no square, no house, no stone, no tree, + That is not witness of my childhood lot. + An orphan child, I fled my uncle's wrath, + Bereft of mother first, then fatherless, + Through hostile land--it was my own--I fled. + The brave Castilians me from place to place, + Like shelterers of villainy did lead, + And hid me from my uncle of Leon, + Since death did threaten host as well as guest. + But everywhere they tracked me up and down. + Then Estevan Illan, a don who long + Hath slept beneath the greensward of the grave, + And this man here, Manrique Lara, led me + To this, the stronghold of the enemy, + And hid me in the tower of St. Roman, + Which there you see high o'er Toledo's roofs. + There lay I still, but they began to strew + The seed of rumor in the civic ear, + And on Ascension Day, when all the folk + Was gathered at the gate of yonder fane, + They led me to the tower-balcony + And showed me to the people, calling down, + "Here in your midst, among you, is your King, + The heir of ancient princes; of their rights + And of your rights the willing guardian." + I was a child and wept then, as they said. + But still I hear it--ever that wild cry, + A single word from thousand bearded throats, + A thousand swords as in a single hand, + The people's hand. But God the vict'ry gave, + The Leonese did flee; and on and on, + A standard rather than a warrior, + I with my army compassed all the land, + And won my vict'ries with my baby smile. + These taught and nurtured me with loving care, + And mother's milk flowed from their wounds for me. + And so, while other princes call themselves + The fathers of their people, I am son, + For what I am, I owe their loyalty. + +MANRIQUE. If all that now thou art, most noble Sire, + Should really, as thou sayest, spring from thence, + Then gladly we accept the thanks, rejoice + If these our teachings and our nurture, thus + Are mirrored in thy fame and in thy deeds, + Then we and thou are equally in debt. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Pray gaze on him with these thy gracious eyes; + Howe'er so many kings have ruled in Spain, + Not one compares with him in nobleness. + Old age, in truth, is all too wont to blame, + And I am old and cavil much and oft; + And when confuted in the council-hall + I secret wrath have ofttimes nursed--not long, + Forsooth--that royal word should weigh so much; + And sought some evil witness 'gainst my King, + And gladly had I harmed his good repute. + But always I returned in deepest shame-- + The envy mine, and his the spotlessness. + +KING. A teacher, Lara, and a flatt'rer, too? + But we will not dispute you this and that; + If I'm not evil, better, then, for you, + Although the man, I fear me, void of wrong, + Were also void of excellence as well; + For as the tree with sun-despising roots, + Sucks up its murky nurture from the earth, + So draws the trunk called wisdom, which indeed + Belongs to heaven itself in towering branch, + Its strength and being from the murky soil + Of our mortality-allied to sin. + Was ever a just man who ne'er was hard? + And who is mild, is oft not strong enough. + The brave become too venturesome in war. + What we call virtue is but conquered sin, + And where no struggle was, there is no power. + But as for me, no time was given to err, + A child--the helm upon my puny head, + A youth--with lance, high on my steed I sat, + My eye turned ever to some threat'ning foe, + Unmindful of the joys and sweets of life, + And far and strange lay all that charms and lures. + That there are women, first I learned to know + When in the church my wife was given me, + She, truly faultless if a human is, + And whom, I frankly say, I'd warmer love + If sometimes need to pardon were, not praise. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Nay, nay, fear not, I said it but in jest! + The outcome we must all await-nor paint + The devil on the wall, lest he appear. + But now, what little respite we may have, + Let us not waste in idle argument. + The feuds within our land are stilled, although + They say the Moor will soon renew the fight, + And hopes from Africa his kinsman's aid, + Ben Jussuf and his army, bred in strife. + And war renewed will bring distress anew. + Till then we'll open this our breast to peace, + And take deep breath of unaccustomed joy. + Is there no news?--But did I then forget? + You do not look about you, Leonore, + To see what we have done to please you here. + +QUEEN. What ought I see? + +KING. Alas, O Almirante! + We have not hit upon it, though we tried. + For days, for weeks, we dig and dig and dig, + And hope that we could so transform this spot, + This orange-bearing, shaded garden grove, + To have it seem like such as England loves, + The austere country of my austere wife. + And she but smiles and smiling says me nay! + Thus are they all, Britannia's children, all; + If any custom is not quite their own, + They stare, and smile, and will have none of it. + Th' intention, Leonore, was good, at least, + So give these worthy men a word of thanks; + God knows how long they may have toiled for us. + +QUEEN. I thank you, noble sirs. + +KING. To something else! + The day has started wrong. I hoped to show + You houses, meadows, in the English taste, + Through which we tried to make this garden please; + We missed our aim. Dissemble not, O love! + 'Tis so, and let us think of it no more. + To duty we devote what time remains, + Ere Spanish wine spice high our Spanish fare. + What, from the boundary still no messenger? + Toledo did we choose, with wise intent, + To be at hand for tidings of the foe. + And still there are none? + +MANRIQUE. Sire-- + +KING. What is it, pray? + +MANRIQUE. A messenger-- + +KING. Has come? What then? + +MANRIQUE (_pointing to the Queen_). + + Not now. + +KING. My wife is used to council and to war, + The Queen in everything shares with the King. + +MANRIQUE. The messenger himself, perhaps, more than + The message-- + +KING. Well, who is't? + +MANRIQUE. It is my son. + +KING. Ah, Garceran! Pray let him come. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Stay thou! + The youth, indeed, most grossly erred, when he + Disguised, slipped in the kemenate to spy + Upon the darling of his heart--Do not, + O Doña Clara, bow your head in shame, + The man is brave, although both young and rash, + My comrade from my early boyhood days; + And now implacability were worse + Than frivolous condoning of the fault. + And penance, too, methinks, he's done enough + For months an exile on our kingdom's bounds. + +[_At a nod from the_ QUEEN, _one of the ladies of her suite withdraws._] + + And yet she goes: O Modesty + More chaste than chastity itself! + +_Enter_ GARCERAN. + + My friend, + What of the border? Are they all out there + So shy with maiden-modesty as you? + Then poorly guarded is our realm indeed! + +GARCERAN. A doughty soldier, Sire, ne'er fears a foe, + But noble women's righteous wrath is hard. + +KING. 'Tis true of righteous wrath! And do not think + That I with custom and propriety + Am less severe and serious than my wife, + Yet anger has its limits, like all else. + And so, once more, my Garceran, what cheer? + Gives you the foe concern in spite of peace? + +GARCERAN. With bloody wounds, O Sire, as if in play, + On this side of the boundary and that + We fought, yet ever peace resembled war + So to a hair, that perfidy alone + Made all the difference. But now the foe + A short time holdeth peace. + +KING. 'Tis bad! + +GARCERAN. We think + So too, and that he plans a mightier blow. + And rumor hath it that his ships convey + From Africa to Cadiz men and food, + Where secretly a mighty army forms, + Which Jussuf, ruler of Morocco, soon + Will join with forces gathered over seas; + And then the threat'ning blow will fall on us. + +KING. Well, if they strike, we must return the blow. + A king leads them, and so a king leads you. + If there's a God, such as we know there is, + And justice be the utt'rance of his tongue, + I hope to win, God with us, and the right I + I grieve but for the peasants' bitter need, + Myself, as highest, should the heaviest bear. + Let all the people to the churches come + And pray unto the God of victory. + Let all the sacred relics be exposed, + And let each pray, who goeth to the fight. + +GARCERAN. Without thy proclamation, this is done, + The bells sound far through all the borderland, + And in the temples gathereth the folk; + Only, alas, its zeal, erring as oft, + Expends itself on those of other faith, + Whom trade and gain have scattered through the land. + Mistreated have they here and there a Jew. + +KING. And ye, ye suffer this? Now, by the Lord, + I will protect each one who trusts in me. + Their faith is their affair, their conduct mine. + +GARCERAN. 'Tis said they're spies and hirelings of the Moors. + + KING. Be sure, no one betrays more than he knows, + And since I always have despised their gold, + I never yet have asked for their advice. + Not Christian and not Jew knows what shall be, + But I alone. Hence, by your heads, I urge-- + +[_A woman's voice without._] + + Woe, woe! + +KING. What is't? + +GARCERAN. An old man, Sire, is there, + A Jew, methinks, pursued by garden churls, + Two maidens with him, one of them, behold, + Is fleeing hither. + +KING. Good! Protection's here, + And thunder strike who harms one hair of hers. + +(_Calling behind the scenes._) + + Hither, here I say! + + RACHEL _comes in flight_ + +RACHEL. They're killing me! + My father, too! Oh! is there none to help? + +[_She sees the QUEEN and kneels before her._] + + Sublime one, shelter me from these. Stretch out + Thy hand and hold it over me, thy maid, + Not Jewess I to serve thee then, but slave. + +[_She tries to take the hand of the _QUEEN _who turns away._] + +RACHEL (_rising_). + + Here, too, no safety? Terror everywhere? + Where shall I flee to? + Here there stands a man + Whose moonbeam glances flood the soul with peace, + And everything about him proves him King. + Thou canst protect me, Sire, and oh, thou wilt! + I _will_ not die, I _will_ not, no, no, no! + +[_She throws herself on the ground before the_ KING _and seizes his +right foot, bending her head to the ground._] + +KING (_to several who approach_). + + Let be! Her senses have ta'en flight through fear, + And as she shudders, makes me tremble, too. + +RACHEL (_sits up_). + + And everything I have, + +(_taking off her bracelet_) + + this bracelet here, + This necklace and this costly piece of cloth, + +(_taking a shawl-like cloth from her neck_) + + It cost my father well-nigh forty pounds, + Real Indian stuff, I'll give that too--if you + Will leave me but my life: I will not die! + +[_She sinks back to her former position._] + +_ISAAC and ESTHER are led in._ + +KING. What crime has he committed? + +MANRIQUE. Sire, thou know'st, + The entrance to the royal gardens is + Denied this people when the court is here. + +KING. And I permit it, if it is forbidden. + +ESTHER. He is no spy, O Sire, a merchant he, + In Hebrew are the letters that he bears, + Not in the Moorish tongue, not Arabic. + +KING. 'Tis well, I doubt it not. + +(_Pointing to_ RACHEL.) + And she? + +ESTHER. My sister! + +KING. Take her and carry her away. + +RACHEL (_as_ ESTHER _approaches her_). + + No, no! + They're seizing me, they're leading me away + To kill me! + +(_Pointing to her discarded finery._) + + See, my ransom. Here will I + Remain a while and take a little sleep. + +(_Laying her cheek against the_ KING's _knee._) + + Here safety is; and here 'tis good to rest. + +QUEEN. Will you not go? + +KING. You see that I am caught. + +QUEEN. If you are caught, I still am free, I go! + + [_Exit with her women._] + +KING. And now that, too! That which they would prevent + They bring to pass with their false chastity. + +(_Sternly to_ RACHEL.) + + Arise, I tell thee--Give her back her shawl, + And let her go. + +RACHEL. O, Sire, a little while. + + My limbs are lamed,--I cannot, cannot walk. + +[_She props her elbow on her knee and rests her head in her hand._] + +KING (_stepping back_). + + And is she ever thus, so timorous? + +ESTHER. Nay, for, a while ago, presumptuous, + In spite of us, she wished to see thee, Sire. + +KING. Me? She has paid it dear. + +ESTHER. At home, as well, + She plays her pranks, and jokes with man or dog, + And makes us laugh, however grave we be. + +KING. I would, indeed, she were a Christian, then, + And here at court, where things are dull enough; + A little fun might stand us in good stead. + Ho, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. Illustrious Sire and King! + +ESTHER (_busy with_ RACHEL). + + Stand up! Stand up! + +RACHEL (_rising and taking off_ ESTHER's _necklace, which she adds to +the other jewels_). + + And give, too, what _thou_ hast, + It is my ransom. + +ESTHER. Well, so be it then. + +KING. What think you of all this? + +GARCERAN. What _I_ think, Sire? + +KING. Dissemble not! You are a connoisseur, + Myself have never looked at women much + But _she_ seems beautiful. + +GARCERAN. She is, O Sire! + +KING. Be strong then, for you shall accomp'ny her. + +RACHEL (_who stands in the middle of the stage with trembling knees and +bent head, pushing up her sleeve_). + + Put on my bracelet. Oh you hurt me so. + The necklace, too-indeed, that still hangs here. + The kerchief keep, I feel so hot and choked. + +KING. Convey her home! + +GARCERAN. But, Sire, I fear-- + +KING. Well, what? + +GARCERAN. The people are aroused. + +KING. Ay, you are right. + Although a royal word protection is, + 'Tis better that we give no cause to wrong. + +ESTHER (_fixing_ RACHEL's _dress at the neck_). + + Thy dress is all disturbed and all awry. + +KING. Take her at first to one of those kiosks + There scattered through the garden, and at eve-- + +GARCERAN. I hear, my liege! + +KING. What was I saying? Oh! Are you not ready yet? + +ESTHER. We are, my lord. + +KING. At evening when the people all have gone, + Then lead her home and that will make an end. + +GARCERAN. Come, lovely heathen! + +KING. Heathen? Stuff and nonsense! + +ESTHER (_to_ RACHEL,_ who prepares to go_). + + And thankst thou not the King for so much grace? + + +RACHEL (_still exhausted, turning to the _KING). + + My thanks, O Sire, for all thy mighty care! + O were I not a poor and wretched thing-- + +(_with a motion of her hand across her neck_) + + That this my neck, made short by hangman's hand, + That this my breast, a shield against thy foe-- + But that thou wishest not! + +KING. A charming shield! + Now go, and God be with you.--Garceran, + +(_more softly_) + + I do not wish that she, whom I protect + Should be insulted by improper jests, + Or any way disturbed-- + +RACHEL (_with her hand on her brow_). + + I cannot walk. + +KING (_as Garceran is about to offer his arm_). + + And why your arm? The woman can assist. + And do thou, gaffer, watch thy daughter well, + The world is ill! Do thou protect thy hoard. + +[_Exeunt_ RACHEL _and her kin, led by_ GARCERAN.] + +KING (_watching them_). + She totters still in walking. All her soul + A sea of fear in e'er-renewing waves. + + (_Putting down his foot_) + + She held my foot so tightly in her grasp, + It almost pains me. Strange it is, a man + When cowardly, with justice is despised-- + A woman shows her strength when she is weak. + Ah, Almirante, what say _you_ to this? +MANRIQUE. I think, the punishment you gave my son, + Is, noble Sire, both subtle and severe. +KING. The punishment? +MANRIQUE. To guard this common trash. +KING. Methinks the punishment is not so hard. + Myself have never toyed with women much, + + (_Pointing to his suite._) + + But these, perchance, think otherwise than you. + But now, avaunt all pictures so confused! + And dine we, for my body needs new strength, + And with the first glad draught this festal day, + Let each one think--of what he wants to think. + No ceremony! Forward! Hasten! On! + +[_As the court arranges itself on both sides and the KING goes through +the centre, the curtain falls._] + + + +ACT II + + +_A drop scene showing part of the garden. At the right, a garden-house +with a balcony and a door, to which several steps lead up._ + +GARCERAN _enters through the door._ + +GARCERAN. And so before I'm caught, I'll save myself! + The girl is beautiful, and is a fool; + But love is folly; wherefore such a fool + Is more to fear than e'er the slyest was. + Besides, 'tis necessary that I bring, + While still there's time, my good repute again + To honor,--and my love for Dona Clara, + Most silent she of all that never talk; + The wise man counts escape a victory. + + _A page of the_ KING _enters._ + +PAGE. Sir Garceran-- + +GARCERAN. Ah, Robert, what's a-foot? + +PAGE. The King, my lord, commanded me to see + If still you were with her entrusted you-- + +GARCERAN. If I am here? Why, he commanded--friend! + You were to see were I, perhaps, upstairs? + Just tell him that the girl is in the house, + And I outside. That answer will suffice. + +PAGE. The King himself! + +GARCERAN. Your majesty! + +[_The_ KING _comes wrapped in a cloak. Exit PAGE._] + +KING. Well, friend! + Still here? + +GARCERAN. Why, did you not yourself command + That only with the evening's first approach-- + +KING. Yes, yes, but now on second thought it seems + Far better that you travel while 'tis day-- + They say thou'rt brave. + +GARCERAN. So you believe, O Sire-- + +KING. Methinks thou honorest the royal word + Which would unharmèd know what it protects. + But custom is the master of mankind; + Our wills will often only what they must. + And so, depart. But tell me, what doth she? + +GARCERAN. At first, there was a weeping without end, + But time brings comfort, as the saying is; + And so 'twas here. Soon cheerfulness, yea jest, + Had banished all her former abject fear; + Then there was pleasure in the shining toys, + And wonder at the satin tapestries. + We measured every curtained stuff by yards, + Till now we've settled down and feel at home. + +KING. And does she seem desirous to return? + +GARCERAN. It sometimes seems she does, and then does not. + A shallow mind ne'er worries for the morrow. + +KING. Of course thou didst not hesitate to throw + To her the bait of words, as is thy wont? + How did she take it, pray? + +GARCERAN. Not badly, Sire. + +KING. Thou liest! But in truth thou'rt lucky, boy! + And hover'st like a bird in cheerful skies, + And swoopest down wherever berries lure, + And canst adjust thyself at the first glance. + I am a King; my very word brings fear. + Yet I, were I the first time in my life + To stand in woman's presence, fear should know! + How dost begin? Pray, teach me what to do; + I am a novice in such arts as these, + And nothing better than a grown-up child. + Dost sigh? + +GARCERAN. Oh, Sire, how sadly out of date! + +KING. Well then, dost gaze? Does then Squire Gander gawk + Till Lady Goose-quill gawks again? Is't so? + And next, I ween, thou takest up thy lute, + And turning towards the balcony, as here, + Thou singst a croaking song, to which the moon, + A yellow pander, sparkles through the trees; + The flowers sweet intoxicate the sense, + Till now the proper opportunity + Arrives--the father, brother--spouse, perhaps-- + Has left the house on similar errand bent. + And now the handmaid calls you gently: "Pst!" + You enter in, and then a soft, warm hand + Takes hold of yours and leads you through the halls, + Which, endless as the gloomy grave, spur on + The heightened wish, until, at last, the musk, + The softened lights that come through curtains' folds, + Do tell you that your charming goal is reached. + The door is ope'd, and bright, in candle gleam, + On velvet dark, with limbs all loosed in love, + Her snow-white arm enwrapped in ropes of pearls, + Your darling leans with gently drooping head, + The golden locks--no, no, I say they're black-- + Her raven locks--and so on to the end! + Thou seest, Garceran, I learn right well, + And Christian, Mooress, Jewess, 'tis the same. + +GARCERAN. We frontier warriors prize, for lack of choice, + Fair Moorish women, but the Jewess, Sire,-- + +KING. Pretend thou not to pick and choose thy fare! + I wager, if the maiden there above + Had given thee but a glance, thou'dst be aflame. + I love it not, this folk, and yet I know + That what disfigures it, is our own work; + We lame them, and are angry when they limp, + And yet, withal, this wandering shepherd race + Has something great about it, Garceran. + We are today's, we others; but their line + Runs from Creation's cradle, where our God, + In human form, still walked in Paradise, + And cherubim were guests of patriarchs, + And God alone was judge, and was the law. + Within this fairy world there is the truth + Of Cain and Abel, of Rebecca's craft, + Of Rachel, who by Jacob's service wooed-- + How hight this maiden? + +GARCERAN. Sire, I know not. +KING. Oh! + Of great King Ahasuerus, who his hand + Stretched out o'er Esther; she, though Jewess, was + His wife, and, like a god, preserved her race. + Christian and Moslem both their lineage trace + Back to this folk, as oldest and as first; + Thus they have doubts of us, not we of them. + And though, like Esau, it has sold its right, + We ten times daily crucify our God + By grievous sins and by our vile misdeeds-- + The Jews have crucified him only once! + Now let us go! Or, rather, stay thou here; + Conduct her hence, and mark well where she lives. + Perhaps some time, when worn by weary cares, + I'll visit her, and there enjoy her thanks. + +(_About to go, he hears a noise in the house and stops._) + + What is't? + +GARCERAN. Confusion in the house; it seems + Almost as if they bring thy praise to naught; + Among themselves they quarrel-- + +KING (_going to the house_). + + What about? + + _ISAAC comes from the garden-house._ + +ISAAC (_speaking back into the house_). + + Stay then, and risk your heads, if so ye will, + You've nearly lost them once. I'll save myself. + +KING. Ask what he means. + +GARCERAN. My good man, tell, how now? + +ISAAC (_to_ GARCERAN). + + Ah, Sir, it is then you, our guardian! + My little Rachel speaks of you so oft; + She likes you. + +KING. To the point. What babbling this-- + +ISAAC. Who is this lord? + +GARCERAN. It makes no difference. Speak! + What is the cause of all that noise above? + +ISAAC (_speaking up to the window_). + + Look out, you're going to catch it--now look out! + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Yourself have seen my little Rachel-girl, + And how she wept and groaned and beat her breasts, + As if half crazed. Of course you have, my life!-- + She hardly knew the danger had been passed + When back again her old high spirits came; + She laughed, and danced, and sang; half mad again + She shoved awry the sacred furniture + By dead men watched, and raves--as now you hear. + Hangs from her girdle not a chatelaine? + Her keys she tries in every closet lock, + And opens all the doors along the wall. + There hang within all sorts of things to wear, + And angels, devils, beggars vie with kings + In gay attire-- + +KING (_aside to_ GARCERAN). + Our carnival costumes. + +ISAAC. She chose, herself, a plumèd crown from these,-- + It was not gold, but only gilded tin-- + One tells it by the weight, worth twenty pence; + About her shoulders throws a trained robe + And says she is the queen-- + +(_Speaking back._) + + Oh yes, thou fool! + Then in the ante-chamber next, there hangs + A picture of the King, whom God preserve! + She takes it from the wall, bears it about, + Calling it husband with endearing words, + And holds it to her breast. + +[KING _goes hastily toward the garden house._] + +GARCERAN. Oh, mighty Sire! + +ISAAC (_stepping back_). + + Alas! + +KING (_standing on the steps, quietly_). + + That game is worth a nearer look. + What's more, 'twill soon be time for you to go; + You should not miss the favorable hour. + But you, old man, must come. For not alone, + Nor unobserved would I approach your children. + +[_Goes into the house._] + +ISAAC. Was that the King? Oh, woe! + +GARCERAN. Proceed within. + +ISAAC. If he should draw his sword, we all are doomed! + +GARCERAN. Go in. And as for being afraid, 'tis not + For you nor for your daughter that I fear. + +[_He pushes the hesitating_ ISAAC _into the garden house and follows +him._] + + * * * * * + +_Room in the pavilion. In the background to the left a door; in the +foreground to the right, another door. _RACHEL,_ with a plumed crown on +her head and gold embroidered mantle about her shoulders, is trying to +drag an armchair from the neighboring room, on the right._ ESTHER _has +come in through the principal entrance._ + +RACHEL. The armchair should stand here, here in the middle. + +ESTHER. For Heaven's sake, O Rachel, pray look out; + Your madness else will bring us all to grief. + +RACHEL. The King has given this vacant house to us; + As long as we inhabit it, it's ours. + +[_They have dragged the chair to the centre._] + +RACHEL (_looking at herself_). + Now don't you think my train becomes me well? + And when I nod, these feathers also nod. + I need just one thing more--I'll get it--wait! + +[_Goes back through the side door._] + +ESTHER. Oh, were we only far from here, at home! + My father, too, comes not, whom she drove off. + +RACHEL (_comes back with an unframed picture_). + + The royal image taken from its frame + I'll bear it with me. + +ESTHER. Art thou mad again? + How often I have warned thee! + +RACHEL. Did I heed? + +ESTHER. By Heaven, no! + +RACHEL. Nor will I heed you now. + The picture pleases me. Just see how fine! + I'll hang it in my room, close by my bed. + At morn and eventide I'll gaze at it, + And think such thoughts as one may think when one + Has shaken off the burden of one's clothes + And feels quite free from every onerous weight. + But lest they think that I have stolen it-- + I who am rich--what need have I to steal?-- + My portrait which you wear about your neck + We'll hang up where the other used to be. + Thus he may look at mine, as I at his, + And think of me, if he perchance forgot. + The footstool bring me hither; I am Queen, + And I shall fasten to the chair this King. + They say that witches who compel to love + Stick needles, thus, in images of wax, + And every prick goes to a human heart + To hinder or to quicken life that's real. + +[_She fastens the picture by the four corners to the back of the +chair._] + + Oh, would that blood could flow with every prick, + That I could drink it with my thirsty lips, + And take my pleasure in the ill I'd done! + It hangs there, no less beautiful than dumb. + But I will speak to it as were I Queen, + With crown and mantle which become me well. + + +[_She has seated herself on the footstool before the picture._] + + Oh, hypocrite, pretending piety, + Full well I know your each and every wile! + The Jewess struck your fancy--don't deny! + And, by my mighty word, she's beautiful, + And only with myself to be compared. + +[_The_ KING, _followed by _GARCERAN _and_ ISAAC, _has entered and +placed himself behind the chair, and leans upon the back of the chair, +watching her._] + +(RACHEL, _continues_) + + But I, your Queen, I will not suffer it, + For know that I am jealous as a cat. + Your silence only makes your guilt seem more. + Confess! You liked her? Answer, Yes! + +KING. Well, Yes! + +[RACHEL, _starts, looks at the picture, then up, recognizes the_ KING,_ +and remains transfixed on the footstool._] + +KING (_stepping forward_). + + Art frightened? Thou hast willed it, and I say 't. + Compose thyself, thou art in friendly hands! + +[_He stretches his hand toward her, she leaps from the stool and flees +to the door at the right where she stands panting and with bowed head._] + +KING. Is she so shy? + +ESTHER. Not always, gracious Sire! + Not shy, but timid. + +KING. Do I seem so grim? + +(_Approaching her._ RACHEL, _shakes her head violently._) + + Well then, my dearest child, I pray be calm! + Yes, I repeat it, thou hast pleased me well; + When from this Holy War I home return + To which my honor and my duty call, + Then in Toledo I may ask for thee-- + Where dwell you in this city? + +ISAAC (_quickly_). + + Jew Street, Sire-- + Ben Mathes' house. + +ESTHER. If not, before you come, + We're driven out. + +KING. My word! That shall not be. + And I can keep a promise to protect. + So if at home you are as talkative + And cheerful as I hear you erstwhile were-- + Not shy, as now, I'll pass the time away, + And draw a breath far from the fogs of court. + But now depart; the time has long since come. + Go with them, Garceran; but, ere you go, + My picture now return to where it was. + +RACHEL (_rushing to the chair_). + + The picture's mine! + +KING. What ails thee, child? It must + Go back into the frame where it belongs. + +RACHEL (_to_ GARCERAN). + + The picture touch not, nor the pins therein, + Or I shall fix it with a deeper thrust + +(_Making a motion toward the picture with a pin._) + + Behold, right in the heart! + +KING. By Heaven, stop! + Thou almost frightenedst me. Who art thou, + girl? + Art mistress of the black and criminal arts, + That I should feel in my own breast the thrust + Thou aimèdst at the picture? + +ESTHER. Noble Sire, + She's but a spoiled child, and a wanton girl, + And has no knowledge of forbidden arts! + +KING. One ought not boldly play with things like these. + It drove my blood up to my very eyes, + And still I see the world all in a haze. + + (_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Is she not beautiful? + +GARCERAN. She is, my lord. + +KING. See how the waves of light glow o'er her form! + +[RACHEL _has meanwhile taken of the picture and rolled it up._] + +KING. Thou absolutely wilt not give it up? + +RACHEL (_to _ESTHER). + + I'll take it. + +KING. Well, then, in the name of God! + He will prevent that any ill befall. + But only go! Take, Garceran, + The road that down behind the garden leads. + The folk's aroused; it loves, because it's weak, + To test that weakness on some weaker one. + +GARCERAN (_at the window_). + + Behold, O Sire, where comes th' entire court,-- + The Queen herself leads on her retinue. + +KING. Comes here? Accursed! Is here no other door? + Let not the prying crew find here false cause + To prattle! + +GARCERAN (_pointing to the side door_). + + Sire, this chamber + +KING. Think you, then, + Before my servants I should hide myself? + And yet I fear the pain 'twould give the Queen; + She might believe--what I myself believe, + And so I save my troubled majesty. + See to it that she very soon depart. + +[_Exit into the side room._] + +ESTHER. I told you so! It is misfortune's road. + +_Enter the_ QUEEN _accompanied by_ MANRIQUE DE LARA _and several +others._ + +QUEEN. They told me that the King was in this place. + +GARCERAN. He was, but went away. + +QUEEN. The Jewess here. + +MANRIQUE. Arrayed like madness freed from every bond, + With all the tinsel-state of puppet-play! + Lay off the crown, for it befits thee not, + Even in jest; the mantle also doff! + +[ESTHER _has taken both off._] + + What has she in her hand? + +RACHEL. It is my own. + +MANRIQUE. But first we'll see! + +ESTHER. Nay, we are not so poor + That we should stretch our hands for others' goods! + +MANRIQUE (_going toward the side door_). + + And, too, in yonder chamber let us look, + If nothing missing, or perhaps if greed + With impudence itself as here, has joined. + +GARCERAN (_barring the way_). + + Here, father, call I halt! + +MANRIQUE. Know'st thou me not? + +GARCERAN. Yes, and myself as well. But there be duties + Which even a father's rights do not outweigh. + +MANRIQUE. Look in my eye! He cannot bear to do it! + Two sons I lose on this unhappy day. + +(_To the _QUEEN.) + + Will you not go? + +QUEEN. I would, but cannot. Yes, + I surely can, by Heaven, for I must. + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Although your office an unknightly one, + I thank you that you do it faithfully; + 'Twere death to see--but I can go and suffer-- + If you should meet your master ere the eve, + Say, to Toledo I returned--alone. + +[_The QUEEN and her suite go out._] + +GARCERAN. Woe worth the chance that chose this day of all, + To bring me home--from war to worse than war! + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER, _who is busied with her_). + + And had my life been forfeit, I'd have stayed. + +ESTHER (_to_ GARCERAN). + + I pray you now to bring us quickly home. + +GARCERAN. First, let me ask the King his royal will. + +(_Knocking at the side door._) + + Sire! What? No sign of life within? Perchance + An accident? Whate'er it be--I'll ope! + +[_The_ KING _steps out and remains standing in the foreground as the +others withdraw to the back of the stage._] + +KING. So honor and repute in this our world + Are not an even path on which the pace, + Simple and forward, shows the tendency, + The goal, our worth. They're like a juggler's rope, + On which a misstep plunges from the heights, + And every stumbling makes a butt for jest. + Must I, but yesterday all virtues' model, + Today shun every slave's inquiring glance? + Begone then, eager wish to please the mob, + Henceforth determine we ourselves our path! + +(_Turning to the others._) + + What, you still here? + +GARCERAN. We wait your high command. + +KING. If you had only always waited it, + And had remained upon the boundary! + Examples are contagious, Garceran. + +GARCERAN. A righteous prince will punish every fault, + His own as well as others'; but, immune, + He's prone to vent his wrath on others' heads. + +KING. Not such a one am I, my friend. Be calm! + We are as ever much inclined to thee; + And now, take these away, forever, too. + What's whim in others, is, in princes, sin. + +(_As he sees _RACHEL _approaching._) + + Let be! But first this picture lay aside, + And put it in the place from whence you took 't. + It is my will! Delay not! + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER). + Come thou, too. + +(_As both approach the side door_). + + Hast thou, as is thy wont, my picture on? + +ESTHER. What wilt + +RACHEL. My will--and should the worst betide-- + +[_They go to the side door._] + +KING. Then to the border, straight I'll follow thee; + And there we'll wash in Moorish blood away + The equal shame that we have shared this day, + That we may bear once more the gaze of men. + +[_The girls return._] + +RACHEL. I did it. + +KING. Now away, without farewell! + +ESTHER. Our thanks to thee, O Sire! + +RACHEL. Not mine, I say. + +KING. So be it; thankless go! + +RACHEL. I'll save it up. + +KING. That is, for never! + +RACHEL. I know better. + +(_To_ ESTHER.) + Come. + +[_They go, accompanied by_ GARCERAN, ISAAC _bowing deeply._] + +KING. And high time was it that she went; in sooth, + The boredom of a royal court at times + Makes recreation a necessity. + Although this girl has beauty and has charm + Yet seems she overbold and violent, + And one does well to watch what one begins. + Alonzo! + +[_Enter a servant._] + +SERVANT. Mighty Sire? + +KING. The horses fetch. + +SERVANT. Toledo, Sire? + +KING. Nay, to Alarcos, friend. + We're for the border, for the war, and so + Make ready only what we need the most. + For in Toledo four eyes threaten me; + Two full of tears, the other two, of fire. + She would not leave my picture here behind, + And bade defiance unto death itself. + And yet there needed but my stern command + To make her put it back where it belonged. + She tried her actress arts on me, that's all; + But did she put it in the frame again? + Since I am leaving here for many moons + Let all be undisturbed as 'twas before; + Of this affair let every trace be gone. + +[_He goes into the ante-chamber. A pause as one of the servants takes up +from the chair the clothes which_ RACHEL _had worn, but holds the crown +in his hand. The_ KING _comes back holding_ RACHEL'S _picture._] + +KING. My picture gone--and this one in its place! + It is her own, and burns within my hand-- + +(_Throwing the picture on the floor._) + + Avaunt! Avaunt! Can boldness go so far? + This may not be, for while I think of her + With just repugnance, this her painted image + Stirs up the burning passion in my breast. + Then, too, within her hands my picture rests! + They talk of magic, unallowèd arts, + Which this folk practises with such-like things + And something as of magic o'er me comes-- + +(_To the servant._) + + Here, pick this up and spur thee on until + Thou overtake them. + +SERVANT. Whom, my liege? + +KING. Whom? Whom? + The girls of course, I mean, and Garceran; + Return this picture to the girls and ask-- + +SERVANT. What, Sire? + +KING. Shall my own servants then become + The sharers in the knowledge of my shame? + I'll force th' exchange myself, if it must be! + Take up the picture--I will touch it not! + +[_The servant has picked up the picture._] + +KING. How clumsy! Hide it in your breast; but nay, + If there, it would be warmed by other's glow! + Give 't here, myself will take it; follow me--We'll + overtake them yet! But I surmise, + Since now suspicion's rife, there may some harm, + Some accident befall them unawares. + My royal escort were the safest guide. + Thou, follow me! + +[_He has looked at the picture, then has put it in his bosom._] + + Stands there not, at the side, + The Castle Retiro, where, all concealed, + My forebear, Sancho, with a Moorish maid--! + +SERVANT. Your Majesty, 'tis true! + +KING. We'll imitate + Our forebears in their bravery, their worth, + Not when they stumble in their weaker hours. + The task is, first of all to conquer self--And + then against the foreign conqueror! + Retiro hight the castle?--Let me see! + Oh yes, away! And be discreet! But then--Thou + knowest nothing! All the better. Come! + +[_Exit with servant._] + + + +ACT III + + +_Garden in the royal villa. In the background flows the Tagus. A roomy +arbor toward the front at the right. At the left, several suppliants in +a row, with petitions in their hands._ ISAAC _stands near them._ + + +ISAAC. You were already told to linger not. + My daughter soon will come to take the air. + And _he_ is with her--_he_; I say not who. + So tremble and depart, and your requests + Take to the King's advisers in Toledo. + +[_He takes the petition from one of them._] + + Let's see! 'Twon't do. + +PETITIONER. You hold it upside down. + +ISAAC. Because the whole request is topsy-turvy turvy--And + you are, too. Disturb no more--depart. + +2D PETIT. Sir Isaac, in Toledo me you knew. + +ISAAC. I know you not. In these last days my eyes + Have suddenly grown very, very weak. + +2D PETIT. But I know you! Here is the purse of gold + You lost, which I herewith restore to you. + +ISAAC. The purse I lost? I recognize it! Yea, + 'Twas greenish silk--with ten piasters in't! + +2D PETIT. Nay, twenty. + +ISAAC. Twenty? Well, my eye is good; + My mem'ry fails me, though, from time to time! + This sheet, no doubt, explains the circumstance--Just + where you found the purse, perhaps, and how. + There is no further need that this report + Should go on file. And yet, just let me have't! + We will convey it to the proper place, + That every one may know your honesty! + +[_The petitioners present their petitions; he takes one in each hand and +throws them to the ground._] + + No matter what it be, your answer's there. + +(_To a third._) + + + I see you have a ring upon your hand. + The stone is good, let's see! + +[_The suppliant hands over the ring._] + + That flaw, of course, + Destroys its perfect water! Take it back. + +[_He puts the ring on his own finger._] + +3D PETIT. You've put it on your own hand! + +ISAAC. What, on mine? + Why so I have! I thought I'd given it back. + It is so tight I cannot get it off. + +3D PETIT. Keep it, but, pray, take my petition too. + +ISAAC (_busy with the ring_). + + I'll take them both in memory of you. + The King shall weigh the ring--I mean, of course, + Your words--although the flaw is evident--The + flaw that's in the stone--you understand. + Begone now, all of you! Have I no club? + Must I be bothered with this Christian pack? + +[GARCERAN _has meanwhile entered._] + +GARCERAN. Good luck! I see you sitting in the reeds, + But find you're pitching high the pipes you cut. + +ISAAC. The royal privacy's entrusted me; + The King's not here, he does not wish to be. + And who disturbs him--even you, my lord, + I must bid you begone! Those his commands. + +GARCERAN. You sought a while ago to find a club; + And when you find it, bring it me. I think + Your back could use it better than your hand. + +ISAAC. How you flare up! That is the way with Christians? + They're so direct of speech--but patient waiting, + And foresight, humble cleverness, they lack. + The King is pleased much to converse with me. + +GARCERAN. When he is bored and flees his inner self, + E'en such a bore as you were less a bore. + +ISAAC. He speaks to me of State and of finance. + +GARCERAN. Are you, perhaps, the father of the new + Decree that makes a threepence worth but two? + +ISAAC. Money, my friend, 's the root of everything. + The enemy is threat'ning--buy you arms! + The soldier, sure, is sold, and that for cash. + You eat and drink your money; what you eat + Is bought, and buying's money--nothing else. + The time will come when every human soul + Will be a sight-draft and a short one, too; + I'm councilor to the King, and if yourself + Would keep in harmony with Isaac's luck-- + +GARCERAN. In harmony with you? It is my curse + That chance and the accursed seeming so + Have mixed me in this wretched piece of folly, + Which to the utmost strains my loyalty. + +ISAAC. My little Rachel daily mounts in grace! + +GARCERAN. Would that the King, like many another one, + In jest and play had worn youth's wildness off! + But he, from childhood, knowing only men, + Brought up by men and tended but by men, + Nourished with wisdom's fruits before his time, + Taking his marriage as a thing of course, + The King now meets, the first time in his life, + A woman, female, nothing but her sex, + And she avenges on this prodigy + The folly of too staid, ascetic youth. + A noble woman's half, yes all, a man-- + It is their faults that make them woman-kind. + And that resistance, which the oft deceived + Gains through experience, the King has not; + A light disport he takes for bitter earn'st. + But this shall not endure, I warrant thee! + The foe is at the borders, and the King + Shall hie him where long since he ought to be; + Myself shall lead him hence. And so an end. + +ISAAC. Try what you can! And if not with us, then + You are against us, and will break your neck + In vain attempt to clear the wide abyss. + +(_The sound of flutes._) + + But hark! With cymbals and with horns they come, + As Esther with King Ahasuerus came, + Who raised the Jews to fame and high estate. + +GARCERAN. Must I, then, see in this my King's debauch + A picture of myself from early days, + And be ashamed for both of us at once? + +[_A boat upon which are the_ KING, RACHEL _and suite, appears on the +river._] + +KING. Lay to! Here is the place--the arbor here. + +RACHEL. The skiff is rocking--hold me, lest I fall. + +[_The_ KING _has jumped to the shore._] + +RACHEL. And must I walk to shore upon this board + So thin and weak? + +KING. Here, take my hand, I pray! + +RACHEL. No, no, I'm dizzy. + +GARCERAN (_to himself_). + + Dizzy are you? Humph! + +KING (_who has conducted her to the shore_). + + It is accomplished now--this mighty task! + +RACHEL. No, never will I enter more a ship. + +(_Taking the_ KING's _arm._) + + Permit me, noble Sire, I am so weak! + Pray feel my heart, how fev'rishly it beats! + +KING. To fear, is woman's right; but you abuse it. + +RACHEL. You now, hard-hearted, take away your aid! + And, oh, these garden walks, how hard they are! + With stones, and not with sand, they're roughly strewn + For men to walk on, not for women's feet. + +KING. Put down a carpet, ye, that we have peace. + +RACHEL. I feel it well--I merely burden you! + Oh, were my sister only here with me, + For I am sick and tired unto death! + Naught but these pillows here? + +(_Throwing the pillows in the arbor violently about._) + + No, no, no, no! + +KING (_laughing_). + + I see your weakness happily abates. + +(_Catching sight of _GARCERAN.) + + Ah, Garceran! Behold, she's but a child! + +GARCERAN. A spoiled child, surely! + +KING. Yes, they all are that. + It suits her well! + +GARCERAN. According to one's tastes! + +KING. See, Garceran! I feel how wrong I am; + And yet I know there needeth but a nod, + A simple word, to make it all dissolve--This + dream--into the nothing that it is. + And so I suffer it because I've need, + In this confusion which myself have caused. + How is the army? + +GARCERAN. As you long have known, + The enemy is arming. + +KING. So shall we. + A few days more, and I shall put away + This toying from me, and forevermore; + Then time and counsel shall be found again. + +GARCERAN. Mayhap the counsel, but the time slips by! + +KING. With deeds we shall regain the ground that's lost. + +RACHEL. I hear them speaking; and I know of what--Of + And not be lonesome in this concourse loud. + I see you come not. No, they hold you back. + +[_Weeping._] + + Not any comfort give they me, nor joy. + They hold me here, apart, in slavery. + Would I were home again in father's house, + Where every one is at my beck and call, + Instead of here,--the outcast of contempt. + +KING. Go thou to her! + +GARCERAN. What? Shall I? + +KING. Go, I say! + +RACHEL. Sit down by me, but nearer, nearer--so! + Once more I say, I love you, Garceran. + You are, indeed, a knight without a flaw, + Not merely knight in name, as they it learn-- + Those iron, proud Castilians--from their foes, + The Moors.--But these Castilians imitate + In manner borrowed, therefore rough and crude, + What those, with delicate and clever art, + Are wont to practise as a native gift. + Give me your hand. Just see, how soft it is! + And yet you wield a sword as well as they. + But you're at home in boudoirs, too, and know + The pleasing manners of a gentler life. + From Dona Clara cometh not this ring? + She's far too pale for rosy-cheekèd love, + Were not the color which her face doth lack + Replaced by e'er renewing blush of shame. + But many other rings I see you have-- + How many sweethearts have you? Come, confess! + +GARCERAN. Suppose I ask the question now of you? + +RACHEL. I've never loved. But I could love, if e'er + In any breast _that_ madness I should find + Which could enthrall me, were my own heart touched. + Till then I follow custom's empty show, + Traditional in love's idolatry, + As in the fanes of stranger-creeds one kneels. + +KING (_who meanwhile has been pacing up and down, now stands in the +foreground at the left and speaks in an aside to a servant_). + + Bring me my arms, and full accoutrements, + And wait for me beside the garden-house. + I will to camp where they have need of me. + +[_Exit servant._] + +RACHEL. I beg you, see your King! He thinks he loves; + Yet when I speak to you and press your hand, + He worries not. With good economy, + He fills his garish day with business, + And posts his ledger, satisfied, at ev'n. + Out on you! You are all alike--you, too. + O were my sister here! She's wise--than I + Far cleverer! Yet, too, when in her breast + The spark of will and resolution falls, + She flashes out in flames, like unto mine. + Were she a man, she'd be a hero. Ye + Before her courage and her gaze should flinch. + Now let me sleep until she comes, for I + Myself am but the dreaming of a night. + +[_She lays her head on her arm and her arm on her pillows._] + +GARCERAN (_steps to the_ KING _who stands watching the reclining +RACHEL_). + + Most noble Sire-- + +KING (_still gazing_). Well? + +GARCERAN. May I now go back + Once more unto the army and the camp? + +KING (_as above_). + + The army left the camp? Pray tell me why. + +GARCERAN. You hear me not--myself, _I_ wish to go. + +KING. And there you'll talk, with innuendo, prate-- + +GARCERAN. Of what? + +KING. Of me, of that which here took place. + +GARCERAN. For that I'd need to understand it more. + +KING. I see! Believest thou in sorcery? + +GARCERAN. Since recently I almost do, my lord! + +KING. And why is it but recently, I pray? + +GARCERAN. Respect, I thought the wonted mate of love; + But love together with contempt, my lord-- + +KING. "Contempt" were far too hard a word; perhaps + An "unregard"--yet, nathless--marvelous! + +GARCERAN. In sooth, the marvel is a little old, + For it began that day in Paradise + When God from Adam's rib created Eve. + +KING. And yet he closed the breast when it was done, + And placed the will to guard the entering in. + Thou may'st to camp, but not alone:--with me. + +RACHEL (_sitting up_). + + The sun is creeping into my retreat. + Who props for me the curtain on yon side? + +(_Looking off stage at the right._) + + There go two men, both bearing heavy arms; + The lance would serve my purpose very well. + +(_Calling off stage._) + + Come here! This way! What, are ye deaf? + Come quick! + +[_The servant, returning with the lance and helmet, accompanied by a +second servant bearing the King's shield and cuirass, enters._] + + RACHEL. Give me your lance, good man, and stick the point + Here in the ground, and then the roof will be + Held up in that direction. Thus it throws + A broader shadow. Quickly, now! That's right! + You other fellow, like a snail, you bear + Your house upon your back, unless, perhaps, + A house for some one else. Show me the shield! + A mirror 'tis, in sooth! 'Tis crude, of course, + As all is, here, but in a pinch 'twill do. + +(_They hold the shield before her._) + + One brings one's hair in order, pushes back + Whatever may have ventured all too far, + And praises God who made one passing fair. + This mirror's curve distorts me! Heaven help! + What puffy cheeks are these? No, no, my friend, + What roundness nature gives us, satisfies.-- + And now the helmet--useless in a fight, + For it conceals what oft'nest wins--the eyes; + But quite adapted to the strife of love. + Put me the helm upon my head.--You hurt!-- + And if one's love rebels and shows his pride, + Down with the visor! + +(_Letting it down._) + + He in darkness stands! + But should he dare, mayhap, to go from us, + And send for arms, to leave us here alone, + Then up the visor goes. + +(_She does it._) + + Let there be light! + The sun, victorious, drives away the fog. + +KING (_going to her_). + + Thou silly, playing, wisely-foolish child! + +RACHEL. Back, back! Give me the shield, give me the lance! + I am attacked, but can defend myself. + +KING. Lay down thy arms! No ill approacheth thee! + +(_Taking both of her hands._) + +_Enter ESTHER from the left rear._ + +RACHEL. Ah thou, my little sister! Welcome, here! + Away with all this mummery, but quick! + Don't take my head off, too! How clumsy, ye! + +(_Running to her._) + + Once more be welcome, O thou sister mine! + How I have long'd to have thee here with me! + And hast thou brought my bracelets and my jewels, + My ointments and my perfumes, with thee now, + As from Toledo's shops I ordered them? + +ESTHER. I bring them and more weighty things besides-- + Unwelcome news, a bitter ornament. + Most mighty Sire and Prince! The Queen has from + Toledo's walls withdrawn, and now remains + In yonder castle where ill-fortune first + Decreed that you and we should meet. + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + With her, + Your noble father, Don Manrique Lara, + Who summons all the kingdom's high grandees + From everywhere, in open letters, to + Discuss the common good, as if the land + Were masterless and you had died, O King. + +KING. I think you dream! + +ESTHER. I am awake, indeed, + And must keep watch to save my sister's life. + They threaten her. She'll be the sacrifice! + +RACHEL. O woe is me! Did I not long ago + Adjure you to return unto the court + And bring to naught the plotting of my foes!-- + But you remain'd. Behold here are your arms, + The helm, the shield, and there the mighty spear + I'll gather them--but Oh, I cannot do 't. + +KING (_to _ESTHER). + + Now tend the little girl. With every breath + She ten times contradicts what she has said. + I will to court; but there I need no arms; + With open breast, my hand without a sword, + I in my subjects' midst will boldly step + And ask: "Who is there here that dares rebel?" + They soon shall know their King is still alive + And that the sun dies not when evening comes, + But that the morning brings its rays anew. + Thou follow'st, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. I'm ready. + +ESTHER. What + Becomes of us? + +RACHEL. O stay, I beg you, stay! + +KING. The castle's safe, the keeper faithful, too; + And he will guard you with his very life. + For though I feel that I have sinned full sore, + Let no one suffer who has trusted me + And who with me has shared my guilt and sin. + Come, Garceran! Or, rather, take the lead; + For if the estates were in assembly still, + Not called by me, nor rightfully convened, + I then must punish--much against my will. + Command them to disperse--and quickly, too! + Thy father tell: Although protector he + And regent for me in my boyhood days, + I now know how to guard my right myself-- + Against him, too, against no matter whom. + Come on! And ye, farewell! + +RACHEL (_approaching_). O mighty Prince! + +KING. No more! I need my strength and steadfast will, + No parting words shall cripple my resolve. + Ye'll hear from me when I have done my work; + But how, and what the future brings, is still + Enwrapt in night and gloom. But come what may, + I give my princely word ye shall be safe. + Come, Garceran! With God! He be with you! + +[_Exeunt KING and GARCERAN at the left._] + +RACHEL. He loves me not--O, I have known it long! + +ESTHER. O sister, useless is too tardy knowledge, + When injury has made us sadly wise. + I warned thee, but thou wouldst not ever heed. + +RACHEL. He was so hot and ardent at the first! + +ESTHER. And now makes up in coolness for his haste. + +RACHEL. But I who trusted, what shall be my fate? + Come, let us flee! + +ESTHER. The streets are occupied; + Against us all the land is in revolt. + +RACHEL. And so I then must die and am so young? + And I should like to live! Not live, indeed-- + But die, unwarned, an unexpected death! + 'Tis but the moment of our death that shocks! + +(_At_ ESTHER's _neck._) + + Unhappy am I, sister, hopeless, lost! + +(_After a pause, with a voice broken by sobs._) + + And is the necklace set with amethysts, + Thou broughtst? + +ESTHER. It is. And pearls it has as bright + And many, too, as are thy tears. + +RACHEL. I would + Not look at it at all--at least not now. + But only if our prison lasts too long, + I'll try divert eternal wretchedness, + And shall adorn myself unto my death. + But see, who nears? Ha, ha, ha, ha, it is, + In sooth, our father, armèd cap-a-pie! + +[ISAAC, _a helmet on his head, under his long coat a cuirass, enters +from the left._] + +ISAAC. 'Tis I, the father of a wayward brood, + Who ere my time are shortening my days. + In harness, yes! When murder stalks abroad, + Will one's bare body save one from the steel? + A blow by chance, and then the skull is split! + This harness hides, what's more, my notes of 'change, + And in my pockets carry I my gold; + I'll bury that and curse and soul will save + From poverty and death. And if ye mock, + I'll curse you with a patriarchal curse-- + With Isaac's curse! O ye, with voices like + The voice of Jacob, but with Esau's hands, + Invert the law of primogeniture! + Myself, my care! What care I more for you! + Hark! + +RACHEL. What noise? + +ESTHER. The drawbridge has been raised-- + And now our refuge is a prison too.-- + +RACHEL. A token that the King has left these walls. + So hastes he forth.--Will he return again? + I fear me no--I fear the very worst! + +(_Sinking on_ ESTHER's _breast_.) + + And yet I loved him truly, loved him well! + + + +ACT IV + + +_A large room with a throne in the foreground to the right. Next to the +throne, and running in a straight row to the left, several chairs upon +which eight or ten Castilian grandees are sitting. Close to the throne_, +MANRIQUE DE LARA, _who has arisen._ + +MANRIQUE. In sadness we are now assembled here, + But few of us, whom close proximity + Allowed to gather in so short a time. + There will be more to join us presently. + Stern, universal need, delaying not, + Commands us count ourselves as competent. + Before all others, in our earnest group, + Is missing he to whom belongs the right + To call this parliament and here preside; + We then are half illegal at the start. + And so, my noble lords, I took the care + To ask her royal majesty, the Queen, + Although our business much concerns herself, + Here to convene with us and take her place, + That we may know we are not masterless, + Nor feel 'tis usurpation brought us here. + The subject of our council at this time + I hope--I fear--is known to all too well. + The King, our mighty sov'reign--not alone + In rank, estate, and dignity he's high, + But, too, in natural gifts, that when we gaze + Behind us in the past's wide-open book, + We scarce again can find his equal there-- + Except that strength, the lever of all good, + When wandered from her wonted path of good, + Wills e'er to do her will with equal strength-- + The King, I say, withdraws himself from court, + Lured by a woman's too lascivious charm, + A thing in no wise seeming us to judge-- + The Queen! + +_The_ QUEEN, _accompanied by_ DOÑA CLARA _and several ladies, enters +from the right, and seats herself on the throne, after she has indicated +to the grandees who have arisen that they are to resume their seats._ + +MANRIQUE. Have I permission, Majesty? + +QUEEN. Proceed. + +MANRIQUE. What I just said, I shall repeat + "A thing in no wise seeming us to judge." + But at the bound'ries arms him now the Moor, + And threats with war the hard-oppressed land; + So now the right and duty of the King + Is straight to ward this danger from us all, + With forces he has called and raised himself. + But see, the King is missing! He will come, + I know, if only angry that we called + Of our own power and will this parliament. + But if the cause remains that keeps him hence, + Unto his former bonds he will return, + And, first as last, we be an orphan land. + Your pardon? + +[_The_ QUEEN _signs him to continue._] + + First of all, the girl must go. + Full many propositions are at hand. + Some are there here who wish to buy her off, + And others wish to send her from the land, + A prisoner in some far distant clime. + The King has money, too, and though she's far, + You know that power can find whate'er it seeks. + A third proposal-- + +[_The_ QUEEN, _at these words, has arisen._] + + Pardon, noble Queen! + You are too mild for this our business drear! + Your very kindness, lacking vigorous will + From which to draw renewal of its strength, + Has most of all, perhaps, estranged our King. + I blame you not, I say but what is true. + I pray you, then, to waive your own desire, + But if it please you otherwise, then speak! + What flow'ry fate, what flatt'ring punishment, + Is suited to the sin this drab has done? + +QUEEN (_softly_). + Death. + +MANRIQUE. In truth? + +QUEEN (_more firmly_). + + Yes, death. + +MANRIQUE. Ye hear, my lords! + This was the third proposal, which, although + A man, I did not earlier dare to speak. + +QUEEN. Is marriage not the very holiest, + Since it makes right what else forbidden is, + And that, which horrible to all the chaste, + Exalts to duty, pleasing unto God? + Other commandments of our God most high + Give added strength to our regard for right, + But what so strong that it ennobles sin + Must be the strongest of commandments all. + Against that law this woman now has sinned. + But if my husband's wrong continueth, + Then I myself, in all my married years, + A sinner was and not a wife, our son + Is but a misborn bastard-spawn, a shame + Unto himself, and sore disgrace to us. + If ye in me see guilt, then kill me, pray! + I will not live if I be flecked with sin. + Then may he from the princesses about + A spouse him choose, since only his caprice, + And not what is allowed, can govern him. + But if she is the vilest of this earth, + Then purify your King and all his land. + I am ashamed to speak like this to men, + It scarce becomes me, but I needs must speak. + +MANRIQUE. But will the King endure this? If so, how? + +QUEEN. He will, indeed, because he ought and must. + Then on the murd'rers he can take revenge, + And first of all strike me and this, my breast. + +[_She sits down._] + +MANRIQUE. There is no hope of any other way. + The noblest in the battle meet their doom-- + To die a bitter, yea, a cruel death-- + Tortured with thirst, and under horses' hoofs, + A doubler, sharper, bitt'rer meed of pain + Than ever, sinner on the gallows-tree, + And sickness daily takes our best away; + For God is prodigal with human life; + Should we be timid, then, where his command, + His holy law, which he himself has giv'n, + Demands, as here, that he who sins shall die? + Together then, we will request the King + To move from out his path this stumbling-block + Which keeps him from his own, his own from him. + If he refuse, blood's law be on the land, + Until the law and prince be one again, + And we may serve them both by serving one. + +_A servant comes._ + +SERVANT. Don Garceran! + +MANRIQUE. And does the traitor dare? + Tell him-- + +SERVANT. The message is his Majesty's. + +MANRIQUE. That's diff'rent. An' he were my deadly foe, + He has my ear, when speaks he for the King. + +_Enter _GARCERAN. + +MANRIQUE. At once your message give us; then, farewell. + +GARCERAN. O Queen, sublime, and thou my father, too, + And ye besides, the best of all the land! + I feel today, as ne'er before I felt, + That to be trusted is the highest good, + And that frivolity, though free of guilt, + Destroys and paralyzes more than sin + Itself. _One_ error is condoned at last, + Frivolity is ever prone to err. + And so, today, though conscious of no fault, + I stand before you sullied, and atone + For youthful heedlessness that passed for wrong. + +MANRIQUE. Of that, another time! Your message now! + +GARCERAN. The King through me dissolves this parliament. + + MANRIQUE. And since he sent frivolity itself + He surely gave some token from his hand, + Some written word as pledge and surety? + +GARCERAN. Hot-foot he followeth. + +MANRIQUE. That is enough! + So in the royal name I now dissolve + This parliament. Ye are dismissed. But list + Ye to my wish and my advice: Return + Ye not at once unto your homes, but wait + Ye rather, round about, till it appears + Whether the King will take the task we leave, + Or we must still perform it in his name. + + (_To_ GARCERAN.) + + However, you, in princely service skilled, + If spying be your office 'mongst us here, + I beg you tell your King what I advised, + And that th' estates in truth have been dissolved, + But yet are ready to unite for deeds. + +GARCERAN. Then once again, before you all, I say + No tort have I in this mad escapade. + As it was chance that brought me from the camp, + So chanced it that the King selected me + To guard this maiden from the people's rage; + And what with warning, reason, argument, + A man may do to ward off ill, although + 'Twas fruitless, I admit,--that have I tried. + I should deserve your scorn were this not so. + And Doña Clara, doubly destined mine, + By parents both and by my wish as well, + You need not hang your noble head, for though + Unworthy of you--never worthy,--I + Not less am worthy now than e'er before. + I stand before you here and swear: 'Tis so. + +MANRIQUE. If this is so, and thou art still a man, + Be a Castilian now and join with us + To serve thy country's cause as we it serve. + Thou art acquainted in the castle there; + The captain opes the gates if thou demand. + Perhaps we soon shall need to enter thus, + If deaf the King, our noble lord. + +GARCERAN. No word + Against the King, my master! + +MANRIQUE. Thine the choice! + But follow for the nonce these other lords, + The outcome may be better than we think. + +[_Servant entering from the left._] + +SERVANT. His Majesty, the King! + +MANRIQUE (_to the estates, pointing to the middle door_). + + This way--withdraw! + +(_To the servants._) + + And ye, arrange these chairs along the wall. + Naught shall remind him that we gathered here + +QUEEN (_who has stepped down from the throne_). + + My knees are trembling, yet there's none to aid. + +MANRIQUE. Virtue abode with strength in days of yore, + But latterly, estranged, they separate. + Strength stayed with youth--where she was wont to be-- + And virtue fled to gray and ancient heads. + Here, take my arm! Though tottering the step, + And strength be lacking,--virtue still abides. + +[_He leads the _QUEEN _off at the right. The estates, with _GARCERAN,_ +have gone out through the centre door. The_ KING _comes from the left, +behind him his page._] + +KING. The sorrel, say you, limps? The pace was fast, + But I no further need shall have of him. + So to Toledo, pray you, have him led, + Where rest will soon restore him. I, myself, + Will at my spouse's side, in her own coach + Return from here, in sight of all the folk, + That what they see they may believe, and know + That discord and dissension are removed. + + [_The page goes._] + + I am alone. Does no one come to meet? + Naught but bare walls and silent furniture! + It is but recently that they have met. + And oh, these empty chairs much louder speak + Than those who sat upon them e'er have done! + What use to chew the bitter cud of thought? + I must begin to remedy the ill. + Here goes the way to where my wife doth dwell.-- + I'll enter on this most unwelcome path. + +[_He approaches the side door at the right._] + + What, barred the door? Hallo, in there! The King + It is, who's master in this house! For me + There is no lock, no door to shut me out. + +[_A waiting-woman enters through the door._] + +KING. Ye bar yourselves? + +WAITING WOMAN. The Queen, your Majesty-- + +(_As the _KING _is about to enter rapidly._) + + The inner door she, too, herself, has locked. + +KING. I will not force my way. Announce to her + That I am back, and this my summons is-- + Say, rather, my request--as now I say. + + [_Exit waiting-woman._] + +KING (_standing opposite the throne_). + + Thou lofty seat, o'ertopping others all, + Grant that we may no lower be than thou, + And even unexalted by these steps + We yet may hold just measure of the good. + +_Enter the _QUEEN. + +KING (_going toward her with outstretched hands_). + + I greet thee, Leonore! + +QUEEN. Be welcome, thou! + +KING. And not thy hand? + +QUEEN. I'm glad to see thee here. + +KING. And not thy hand? + +QUEEN (_bursting into tears_). + + O help me, gracious God! + +KING. This hand is not pest-stricken, Leonore, + Go I to battle, as I ought and must, + It will be smeared and drenched with hostile blood; + Pure water will remove the noisome slime, + And for thy "welcome" I shall bring it pure. + Like water for the gross and earthly stain + There is a cleanser for our sullied souls. + Thou art, as Christian, strong enough in faith + To know repentance hath a such-like might. + We others, wont to live a life of deeds, + Are not inclined to modest means like this, + Which takes the guilt away, but not the harm-- + Yes, half but is the fear of some new sin. + If wishing better things, if glad resolve + Are any hostage-bond for now and then, + Take it--as I do give it--true and whole! + +QUEEN (_holding out both hands_). + + O God, how gladly! + +KING. No, not both thy hands! + The right alone, though farther from the heart, + Is giv'n as pledge of contract and of bond, + Perhaps to indicate that not alone + Emotion, which is rooted in our hearts, + But reason, too, the person's whole intent, + Must give endurance to the plighted word. + Emotion's tide is swift of change as time; + That which is pondered, has abiding strength. + +QUEEN (_offering him her right hand_). + + That too! Myself entire! + +KING. Trembleth thy hand! + +(_Dropping her hand._) + + O noble wife, I would not treat thee ill. + Believe not that, because I speak less mild, + I know less well how great has been my fault, + Nor honor less the kindness of thy heart. + +QUEEN. 'Tis easy to forgive; to comprehend + Is much more difficult. How it _could_ be, + I understand it not! + +KING. My wife and queen, + We lived as children till but recently. + As such our hands were joined in marriage vows, + And then as guileless children lived we on. + But children grow, with the increase of years, + And ev'ry stage of our development + By some discomfort doth proclaim itself. + Often it is a sickness, warning us + That we are diff'rent--other, though the same, + And other things are fitting in the same. + So is it with our inmost soul as well-- + It stretches out, a wider orbit gains, + Described about the selfsame centre still. + Such sickness have we, then, but now passed through; + And saying we, I mean that thou as well + Art not a stranger to such inner growth. + Let's not, unheeding, pass the warning by! + In future let us live as kings should live-- + For kings we are. Nor let us shut ourselves + From out this world, and all that's good and great; + And like the bees which, at each close of day, + Return unto their hives with lading sweet, + So much the richer by their daily gain, + We'll find within the circle of our home, + Through hours of deprivation, added sweets. + +QUEEN. If thou desirest, yes; for me, I miss them not. + +KING. But thou wilt miss them then in retrospect, + When thou hast that whereby one judges worth. + But let us now forget what's past and gone! + I like it not, when starting on a course, + By any hindrance thus to bar the way + With rubbish from an earlier estate. + I do absolve myself from all my sins. + Thou hast no need--thou, in thy purity! + +QUEEN. Not so! Not so! My husband, if thou knew'st + What black and mischief-bringing thoughts have found + Their way into my sad and trembling heart! + +KING. Perhaps of vengeance? Why, so much the better! + Thou feel'st the human duty to forgive, + And know'st that e'en the best of us may err. + We will not punish, nor avenge ourselves; + For _she_, believe me, _she_ is guiltless quite, + As common grossness or vain weakness is, + Which merely struggles not, but limply yields. + I only bear the guilt, myself alone. + +QUEEN. Let me believe what keeps and comforts me + The Moorish folk, and all that like them are, + Do practise secret and nefarious arts, + With pictures, signs and sayings, evil draughts, + Which turn a mortal's heart within his breast, + And make his will obedient to their own. + +KING. Magic devices round about us are, + But we are the magicians, we ourselves. + That which is far removed, a thought brings near; + What we have scorned, another time seems fair; + And in this world so full of miracles, + We are the greatest miracle ourselves! + +QUEEN. She has thy picture! + +KING. And she shall return 't, + In full view I shall nail it to the wall, + And for my children's children write beneath: + A King, who, not so evil in himself, + Hath once forgot his office and his duty. + Thank God that he did find himself again. + +QUEEN. But thou, thyself, dost wear about thy neck-- + +KING. Oh yes! Her picture? So you knew that, too? + +[_He takes the picture with the chain from his neck, and lays it on the +table in the foreground to the right._] + + So then I lay it down, and may it lie-- + A bolt not harmful, now the thunder's past. + The girl herself--let her be ta'en away! + She then may have a man from out her race-- + +[_Walking fitfully back and forth from the rear to the front of the +stage, and stopping short now and then._] + + But no, not that!--The women of this race + Are passable, good even, but the men + With dirty hands and narrow greed of gain-- + This girl shall not be touched by such a one. + Indeed, she has to better ones belonged. + But then, what's that to me?--If thus or thus, + If near or far--they may look after that! + +QUEEN. Wilt thou, then, Don Alfonso, stay thus strong? + +KING (_standing still_). + + Forsooth, thou ne'er hast known or seen this girl! + Take all the faults that on this broad earth dwell, + Folly and vanity, and weakness, too, + Cunning and boldness, coquetry and greed-- + Put them together and thou hast this woman; + And if, enigma thou, not magic art, + Shouldst call her power to charm me, I'll agree, + And were ashamed, were't not but natural, too! + +QUEEN (_walks up and down_). + + Believe me, husband, 'twas not natural! + +KING (_standing still_). + + Magic there is, in truth. Its name is custom, + Which first not potent, later holds us fast; + So that which at the outset shocked, appalled, + Sloughs off the first impression of disgust, + And grows, a thing continued, to a need-- + Is this not of our very bodies true? + This chain I wore--which now here idly lies, + Ta'en off forever--breast and neck alike, + To this impression have become so used-- + +(_Shaking himself._) + + The empty spaces make me shake with cold. + I'll choose myself another chain forthwith; + The body jests not when it warning sends. + And now enough of this! + But that you could + Avenge yourselves in blood on this poor fool-- + That was not well! + +(_Stepping to the table._) + + For do but see these eyes-- + Yes, see the eyes, the body, neck, and form! + God made them verily with master hand; + 'Twas she _herself_ the image did distort. + Let us revere in her, then, God's own work, + And not destroy what he so wisely built. + +QUEEN. Oh, touch it not! + +KING. This nonsense now again! + And if I really take it in my hand, + +(_He has taken the picture in his hand_) + + Am I another, then? I wind the chain + In jest, to mock you, thus about my neck, + +(_Doing it._) + + The face that 'frights you in my bosom hide-- + Am I the less Alfonso, who doth see + That he has err'd, and who the fault condemns? + Then of your nonsense let this be enough! + +[_He draws away from the table._] + +QUEEN. Only-- + +KING (_wildly looking at her_). + + What is 't? + +QUEEN. O God in heav'n! + + KING. Be frighted not, good wife! Be sensible! + Repeat not evermore the selfsame thing! + It doth remind me of the difference. + +(_Pointing to the table, then to his breast._) + + This girl there--no, of course now she is here-- + If she was foolish, foolish she would be, + Nor claimed that she was pious, chaste, and wise. + And this is ever virtuous women's way-- + They reckon always with their virtue thus; + If you are sad, with virtue comfort they, + If joyous is your mood, virtue again, + To take your cheerfulness at last away, + And show you as your sole salvation, sin. + Virtue's a name for virtues manifold, + And diff'rent, as occasion doth demand-- + It is no empty image without fault, + And therefore, too, without all excellence. + I will just doff the chain now from my neck, + For it reminds me-- + And, then, Leonore, + That with the vassals thou didst join thyself-- + That was not well, was neither wise nor just. + If thou art angry with me, thou art right; + But these men, my dependents, subjects all-- + What want they, then? Am I a child, a boy, + Who not yet knows the compass of his place? + They share with me the kingdom's care and toil, + And equal care is duty, too, for me. + But I the _man_ Alfonso, not the King, + Within my house, my person, and my life-- + Must I accounting render to these men? + Not so! And gave I ear but to my wrath, + I quickly would return from whence I came, + To show that they with neither blame nor praise + Shall dare to sit in judgment over me. + +[_Stepping forward and stamping on the floor._] + + And finally this dotard, Don Manrique, + If he was once my guardian, is he still? + +[_DON MANRIQUE appears at the centre door. The QUEEN points to the KING, +and wrings her hand. MANRIQUE withdraws with a reassuring gesture._] + +KING. Presumes he to his sov'reign to prescribe + The rustic precepts of senility? + Would he with secret, rash, and desp'rate deed-- + +(_Walking back and forth diagonally across the stage_) + + I will investigate this case as judge; + And if there be a trace here of offense, + Of insolent intent or wrongful act, + The nearer that the guilty stand to me, + The more shall boldness pay the penalty. + Not thou, Leonore, no, thou art excused! + +[_During the last speech, the QUEEN has quietly withdrawn through the +door at the right._] + + Whither, then, went she? Leave they me alone? + Am I a fool within mine own abode? + +[_He approaches the door at the right._] + + I'll go to her--What, is it bolted, barred? + +[_Bursting open the door with a kick._] + + I'll take by storm, then, my domestic bliss. + + [_He goes in._] + +[_DON MANRIQUE and GARCERAN appear at the centre door. The latter takes +a step across the threshold._] + +MANRIQUE. Wilt thou with, us? + +GARCERAN. My father! + +MANRIQUE. Wilt thou not? + The rest are gone--wilt follow them? + +GARCERAN. I will. + +[_They withdraw, the door closes. Pause. The_ KING _returns. In the +attitude of one listening intently._] + +KING. Listen again!--'Tis nothing, quiet all!-- + Empty, forlorn, the chambers of the Queen. + But, on returning, in the turret room, + I heard the noise of carriages and steeds, + In rushing gallop, hurrying away. + Am I alone? Ramiro! Garceran! + +[_The page, comes from the door at the right._] + +KING. Report! What goes on here? + +PAGE. Illustrious Sire, + The castle is deserted; you and I + Are at this hour its sole inhabitants. + +KING. The Queen? + +PAGE. The castle in her carriage left. + +KING. Back to Toledo then? + +PAGE. I know not, Sire. + The lords, howe'er-- + +KING. What lords? + +PAGE. Sire, the estates, + Who all upon their horses swung themselves; + They did not to Toledo take their way-- + Rather the way which you yourself did come. + +KING. What! To Retiro? Ah, now fall the scales + From these my seeing and yet blinded eyes! + Murder this is. They go to slay her there! + My horse! My horse! + +PAGE. Your horse, illustrious Sire, + Was lame, and, as you know, at your command-- + +KING. Well, then, another--Garceran's, or yours! + +PAGE. They've taken every horse from here away, + Perhaps with them, perhaps but driv'n afar; + As empty as the castle are the stalls. + +KING. They think they will outstrip me. But away! + Get me a horse, were't only some old nag; + Revenge shall lend him wings, that he may fly. + And if 'tis done? Then, God above, then grant + That as a man, not as a tyrant, I + May punish both the guilty and the guilt. + Get me a horse! Else art thou in their league, + And payest with thy head, as all shall-- + +(_Standing at the door, with a gesture of violence._) + + All! + + [_He hastens away._] + + + +ACT V + + +_A large room in the castle at Retiro, with one door in the centre and +one at each side. Everywhere signs of destruction. In the foreground, at +the left, an overturned toilet table with scattered utensils. In the +background, at the left, another overturned table; above it a picture +half torn from its frame. In the centre of the room, a chair. It is +dark. From without, behind the middle wall, the sound of voices, +footsteps, and the clatter of weapons, finally, from without--"It is +enough! The signal sounds! To horse!" Sounds of voices and footsteps die +out. Pause. Then Isaac comes from the door at the right, dragging along +a carpet, which is pulled over his head, and which he later drops._ + +ISAAC. Are they then gone?--I hear no sound. + +(_Stepping back._) + + But yes-- + No, no, 'tis naught! When they, a robber band, + Searched all the castle through, I hid myself, + And on the ground all doubled up I lay. + This cover here was roof and shield alike. + But whither now? Long since I hid full well + Here in the garden what I saved and gained; + I'll fetch it later when this noise is past.-- + Where is the door? How shall I save my soul? + +ESTHER _enters from the door at the left._ + +ISAAC. Who's there? Woe's me! + +ESTHER. Is't thou? + +ISAAC. Is't thou, then, Rachel? + +ESTHER. What mean'st thou? Rachel? Only Esther, I! + + ISAAC. Only, thou say'st? Thou art my only child-- + Only, because the best. + +ESTHER. Nay, rather say, + The best because the only. Aged man, + Dost thou, then, nothing know of this attack, + Nor upon whom they meant to vent their wrath? + +ISAAC. I do not know, nor do I wish to know, + For has not Rachel flown, to safety gone? + Oh, she is clever, she!--God of my fathers! + Why dost thou try me--me, a poor old man, + And speak to me from out my children's mouths? + But I believe it not! 'Tis false! No, no! + +[_He sinks down beside the chair in the centre, leaning his head against +it._] + +ESTHER. So then be strong through coward fearsomeness. + Yet call I others what I was myself. + For when their coming roused me from my sleep, + And I went hurrying to my sister's aid, + Into the last, remote, and inmost room, + One of them seizes me with powerful hand, + And hurls me to the ground. And coward, I, + I fall a-swooning, when I should have stood + And offered up my life to save my sister, + Or, at the very least, have died with her! + When I awoke, the deed was done, and vain + My wild attempt to bring her back to life. + Then could I weep, then could I tear my hair; + That is, indeed, true cowardice, a woman's. + +ISAAC. They tell me this and that. But 'tis not true! + +ESTHER. Lend me thy chair to sit upon, old man! + +[_She pulls the chair forward._] + + My limbs grow weak and tremble under me. + Here will I sit and here will I keep watch. + +[_She sits down._] + + Mayhap that one will think it worth his while + To burn the stubble, now the harvest's o'er, + And will return and kill what still is left. + +ISAAC (_from the floor_). + + Not me! Not me!--Some one is coming. Hark! + No, many come!--Save me--I flee to thee! + +[_He runs to her chair, and cowers on the floor._] + +ESTHER. I like a mother will protect thee now, + The second childhood of the gray old man. + And, if death comes, then childless shalt thou die-- + I following Rachel in advance of thee! + +_The KING appears at the centre door, with his page, who carries a torch._ + +KING. Shall I go farther, or content myself + With what I know, though still it is unseen? + This castle all a-wreck, laid bare and waste, + Shrieking from ev'ry corner cries to me + It is too late, the horror has been done! + And thou the blame must bear, cursed dallier, + If not, forsooth, a party to the deed! + But no, thou weepst, and tears no lies can tell. + Behold, I also weep, I weep for rage, + From hot and unslaked passion for revenge! + Come, here's a ring to set your torch within. + Go to the town, assemble all the folk, + And bid them straight unto this castle come + With arms, as chance may put within their reach; + And I, when morning comes, with written word, + Will bring the people here, at my command-- + Children of toil and hard endeavor, they, + As an avenger at their head I'll go, + And break down all the strongholds of the great, + Who, half as servants, half again as lords, + Serve but themselves and overrule their master. + Ruler and ruled, thus shall it be, and I, + Avenging, will wipe out that hybrid throng, + So proud of blood, or flowing in their veins, + Or dripping on their swords from others' wounds. + Thy light here leave and go! I'll stay alone + And hatch the progeny of my revenge. + +[_The servant puts his torch into the ring beside the door and +withdraws._] + +KING (_taking a step forward_). + + What moves there? Can it be there still is life? + Give answer! + +ISAAC. Gracious Lord ill-doer, O, + O, spare us, good assassin! + +KING. You, old man? + Remind me not that Rachel was your child; + It would deface her image in my soul. + And thou--art thou not Esther? + +ESTHER. Sire, I am. + +KING. And is it done? + +ESTHER. It is. + +KING. I knew it well, + Since I the castle entered. So, no plaints! + For know, the cup is full; an added drop + Would overflow, make weak the poisonous draught. + While she still lived I was resolved to leave her, + Now dead, she ne'er shall leave my side again; + And this her picture, here upon my breast, + Will 'grave its image there, strike root within-- + For was not mine the hand that murdered her? + Had she not come to me, she still would play, + A happy child, a joy to look upon. + Perhaps--but no, not that! No, no, I say! + No other man should ever touch her hand, + No other lips approach her rosy mouth, + No shameless arm--she to the King belonged, + Though now unseen, she still would be my own. + To royal might belongs such might of charms! + +ISAAC. Speaks he of Rachel? + +ESTHER. Of thy daughter, yes. + Though grief increase the value of the loss, + Yet must I say: Too high you rate her worth. + +KING. Think'st thou? I tell thee, naught but shadows we-- + I, thou, and others of the common crowd; + For if thou'rt good, why then, thou'rt learned it so; + If I am honest, I but saw naught else; + Those others, if they murder,--as they do-- + Well, so their fathers did, came time and need! + The world is but one great reëchoing, + And all its harvest is but seed from seed. + But she was truth itself, ev'n though deformed, + And all she did proceeded from herself, + A-sudden, unexpected, and unlearned. + Since her I saw I felt myself alive, + And to the dreary sameness of my life + 'Twas only she gave character and form. + They tell that in Arab desert wastes + The wand'rer, long tormented in the sands, + Long tortured with the sun's relentless glare, + Some time may find a blooming island's green, + Surrounded by the surge of arid waves; + There flowers bloom, there trees bestow their shade, + The breath of herbs mounts soothing in the breeze + And forms a second heav'n, arched 'neath the first. + Forsooth the serpent coils among the brush; + A famished beast, tormented by like thirst, + Perchance comes, too, to slake it at this spring; + Yet, tired and worn, the wand'rer doth rejoice, + Sucks in with greedy lips the cooling draught, + And sinks down in the rank luxuriant growth. + Luxuriant growth! In faith! I'll see her now-- + See once again that proud and beauteous form, + That mouth which drew in breath and breathed out life, + And which, now silenced ever, evermore, + Accuses me of guarding her so ill. + +ESTHER. Go not, O Sire! Now that the deed is done, + Let it be done. The mourning be for us! + Estrange thyself not from thy people, Sire. + +KING. Think'st thou? The King I am--thou know'st full well. + She suffered outrage, but myself no less. + Justice, and punishment of ev'ry wrong + I swore upon my coronation day, + And I will keep my oath until the death. + To do this, I must make me strong and hard, + For to my anger they will sure oppose + All that the human breast holds high and dear-- + Mem'ries from out my boyhood's early days, + My manhood's first sweet taste of woman's love, + Friendship and gratitude and mercy, too; + My whole life, roughly bundled into one, + Will stand, as 'twere against me, fully armed, + And challenge me to combat with myself. + I, therefore, from myself must first take leave. + Her image, as I see it here and there, + On every wall, in this and every corner + Shows her to me but in her early bloom, + With all her weaknesses, with all her charm. + I'll see her now, mistreated, wounded, torn; + Will lose myself in horror at the sight, + Compare each bloody mark upon her form + With this, her image, here upon my breast. + And learn to deal with monsters, like to like. + +(_As ESTHER has risen._) + + Speak not a word to me! I will! This torch + Shall, like myself, inflamed, illume the way; + Gleaming, because destructive and destroyed. + She is in yonder last and inmost room, + Where I so oft-- + +ESTHER. She was, and there remains. + +KING (_has seized the torch_). + + Methinks 'tis blood I see upon my way. + It is the way to blood. O fearful night! + +[_He goes out at the side door to the left._] + +ISAAC. We're in the dark. + +ESTHER. Yes, dark is round about, + And round about the horror's horrid night. + But daylight comes apace. So let me try + If I can thither bear my weary limbs. + +[_She goes to the window, and draws the curtain._] + + The day already dawns, its pallid gleam + Shudders to see the terrors wrought this night-- + The difference 'twixt yesterday and now. + +(_Pointing to the scattered jewels on the floor._) + + There, there it lies, our fortune's scattered ruin-- + The tawdry baubles, for the sake of which + We, we--not he who takes the blame--but we + A sister sacrificed, thy foolish child! + Yea, all that comes is right. Whoe'er complains, + Accuses his own folly and himself. + +ISAAC (_who has seated himself on the chair_). + + Here will I sit. Now that the King is here + I fear them not, nor all that yet may come. + +_The centre door opens. Enter MANRIQUE, and GARCERAN, behind them the +QUEEN, leading her child by the hand, and other nobles._ + +MANRIQUE. Come, enter here, arrange yourselves the while. + We have offended 'gainst his Majesty, + Seeking the good, but not within the law. + We will not try now to evade the law. + +ESTHER (_on the other side, raising the overturned table with a quick +movement_). + + Order thyself, disorder! Lest they think + That we are terrified, or cowards prove. + +QUEEN. Here are those others, here. + +MANRIQUE. Nay, let them be! + What mayhap threatens us, struck them ere now. + I beg you, stand you here, in rank and file. + +QUEEN. Let me come first, I am the guiltiest! + +MANRIQUE. Not so. O Queen. Thou spak'st the word, 'tis true, + But when it came to action thou didst quake, + Oppose the deed, and mercy urge instead, + Although in vain; for need became our law. + Nor would I wish the King's first burst of rage + To strike the mighty heads we most revere + As being next to him, the Kingdom's hope. + I did the deed, not with this hand, forsooth-- + With counsel, and with pity, deep and dread! + The first place, then, is mine. And thou, my son-- + Hast thou the heart to answer like a man + For that which at the least thou hinder'dst not, + So that thy earnest wish to make amends + And thy return have tangled thee in guilt? + +GARCERAN. Behold me ready! To your side I come! + And may the King's first fury fall on me! + +ESTHER (_calling across_). + + You there, although all murderers alike, + Deserving every punishment and death-- + Enough of mischief is already done, + Nor would I wish the horrors yet increased! + Within, beside my sister, is the King; + Enraged before he went, the sight of her + Will but inflame his passionate ire anew. + I pity, too, that woman and her child, + Half innocent, half guilty--only half. + So go while yet there's time, and do not meet + Th' avenger still too hot to act as judge. + +MANRIQUE. Woman, we're Christians! + +ESTHER. You have shown you are. + Commend me to the Jewess, O my God! + +MANRIQUE. Prepared as Christians, too, to expiate + In meek submission all of our misdeeds. + Lay off your swords. Here now is first my own! + To be in armor augurs of defense. + Our very number makes submission less. + Divide we up the guilt each bears entire. + +[_All have laid their swords on the floor before _MANRIQUE.] + + So let us wait. Or rather, let one go + To urge upon the King most speedily, + The country's need demands, this way or that, + That he compose himself; and though it were + Repenting a rash deed against ourselves! + Go thou, my son! + +GARCERAN (_turning around after having taken several steps_). + + Behold, the King himself! + +[_The_ KING _rushes out of the apartment at the side. After taking a few +steps, he turns about and stares fixedly at the door._] + +QUEEN. O God in Heaven! + +MANRIQUE. Queen, I pray be calm! + +[_The_ KING _goes toward the front. He stops, with arms folded, before +old_ ISAAC, _who lies back as if asleep, in the armchair. Then he goes +forward._] + +ESTHER (_to her father_). + + Behold thy foes are trembling! Art thou glad? + Not I. For Rachel wakes not from the dead. + +[_The_ KING, _in the front, gazes at his hands, and rubs them, as though +washing them, one over the other. Then the same motion over his body. At +last he feels his throat, moving his hands around it. In this last +position, with his hands at his throat, he remains motionless, staring +fixedly before him._] + +MANRIQUE. Most noble Prince and King. Most gracious Sire! + +KING (_starting violently_). + + Ye here? 'Tis good ye come! I sought for you-- + And all of you. Ye spare me further search. + +[_He steps before them, measuring them with angry glances._] + +MANRIQUE (_pointing to the weapons lying on the floor_). + + We have disarmed ourselves, laid down our swords. + +KING. I see the swords. Come ye to slay me, then? + I pray, complete your work. Here is my breast! + + [_He opens his robe._] + +QUEEN. He has't no more! + +KING. How mean you, lady fair? + +QUEEN. Gone is the evil picture from his neck. + +KING. I'll fetch it, then. + +[_He takes a few steps toward the door at the side, and then stands +still._] + +QUEEN. O God, this madness still! + +MANRIQUE. We know full well, how much we, Sire, have erred-- + Most greatly, that we did not leave to thee + And thine own honor thy return to self! + But, Sire, the time more pressing was than we. + The country trembled, and at all frontiers + The foemen challenged us to ward our land. + +KING. And foemen must be punished--is't not so? + Ye warn me rightly; I am in their midst. + Ho, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. Thou meanest me, O Sire? + +KING. Yea, I mean thee! Though me thou hast betrayed, + Thou wert my friend. Come to me then, I say, + And tell me what thou think'st of her within! + Her--whom thou help'dst to slay--of that anon. + What thoughtst thou of her while she still did live? + +GARCERAN. O Sire, I thought her fair. + +KING. What more was she? + +GARCERAN. But wanton, too, and light, with evil wiles. + +KING. And that thou hidst from me while still was time? + +GARCERAN. I said it, Sire! + +KING. And I believed it not? + How came that? Pray, say on! + +GARCERAN. My Sire--the Queen, + She thinks 'twas magic. + +KING. Superstition, bah! + Which fools itself with idle make-believe. + +GARCERAN. In part, again, it was but natural. + +KING. That only which is right is natural. + And was I not a king, both just and mild-- + The people's idol and the nobles', too? + Not empty-minded, no, and, sure, not blind! + I say, she was not fair! + +GARCERAN. How meanest, Sire? + +KING. An evil line on cheek and chin and mouth. + A lurking something in that fiery glance + Envenom'd and disfigured all her charm. + But erst I've gazed upon it and compared. + When there I entered in to fire my rage, + Half fearsome of the mounting of my ire, + It happened otherwise than I had thought. + Instead of wanton pictures from the past, + Before my eyes came people, wife, and child. + With that her face seemed to distort itself, + The arms to rise, to grasp me, and to hold. + I cast her likeness from me in the tomb + And now am here, and shudder, as thou seest. + + But go thou now! For, hast thou not betrayed me? + Almost I rue that I must punish you. + Go thither to thy father and those others-- + Make no distinction, ye are guilty, all. + +MANRIQUE (_with a strong voice_). + + And thou? + +KING (_after a pause_). + + The man is right; I'm guilty, too. + But what is my poor land, and what the world, + If none are pure, if malefactors all! + Nay, here's my son. Step thou within our midst! + Thou shalt be guardian spirit of this land; + Perhaps a higher judge may then forgive. + Come, Doña Clara, lead him by the hand! + Benignant fortune hath vouchsafed to thee + In native freedom to pursue thy course + Until this hour; thou, then, dost well deserve + To guide the steps of innocence to us. + But hold! Here is the mother. What she did, + She did it for her child. She is forgiv'n! + +[_As the_ QUEEN _steps forward and bends her knee._] + + Madonna, wouldst thou punish me? Wouldst show + The attitude most seeming me toward thee? + Castilians all, behold! Here is your King, + And here is she, the regent in his stead! + I am a mere lieutenant for my son. + For as the pilgrims, wearing, all, the cross + For penance journey to Jerusalem, + So will I, conscious of my grievous stain, + Lead you against these foes of other faith + Who at the bound'ry line, from Africa, + My people threaten and my peaceful land. + If I return, and victor, with God's grace, + Then shall ye say if I am worthy still + To guard the law offended by myself. + This punishment be _yours_ as well as mine, + For all of you shall follow me, and first, + Into the thickest squadrons of the foe. + And he who falls does penance for us all. + Thus do I punish you and me! My son + Here place upon a shield, like to a throne, + For he today is King of this our land. + So banded, then, let's go before the folk. + + [_A shield has been brought._] + + You women, each do give the child a hand. + Slipp'ry his first throne, and the second too! + Thou, Garceran, do thou stay at my side, + For equal wantonness we must atone-- + So let us fight as though our strength were one. + And hast thou purged thyself of guilt, as I, + Perhaps that quiet, chaste, and modest maid + Will hold thee not unworthy of her hand! + Thou shalt improve him, Doña Clara, but + Let not thy virtue win his mere respect, + But lend it charm, as well. That shields from much. + + [_Trumpets in the distance._] + + Hear yet They call us. Those whom I did bid + To help against you, they are ready all + To help against the common enemy, + The dreaded Moor who threats our boundaries, + And whom I will send back with shame and wounds + Into the and desert he calls home, + So that our native land be free from ill, + Well-guarded from within and from without. + On, on! Away! God grant, to victory! + +[_The procession has already formed. First, some vassals, then the +shield with the child, whom the women hold by both hands, then the rest +of the men. Lastly, the _KING,_ leaning in a trustful manner on +_GARCERAN.] + +ESTHER (_turning to her father_). + + + Seest thou, they are already glad and gay; + Already plan for future marriages! + They are the great ones, for th' atonement feast + They've slain as sacrifice a little one, + And give each other now their bloody hands. + + [_Stepping to the centre._] + + But this I say to thee, thou haughty King, + Go, go, in all thy grand forgetfulness! + Thou deem'st thou'rt free now from my sister's power, + Because the prick of its impression's dulled, + And thou didst from thee cast what once enticed. + But in the battle, when thy wavering ranks + Are shaken by thy en'mies' greater might, + And but a pure, and strong, and guiltless heart + Is equal to the danger and its threat; + When thou dost gaze upon deaf heav'n above, + Then will the victim, sacrificed to thee, + Appear before thy quailing, trembling soul-- + Not in luxuriant fairness that enticed, + But changed, distorted, as she pleased thee not-- + Then, pentinent, perchance, thou'lt beat thy breast, + And think upon the Jewess of Toledo! + + (_Seizing her father by the shoulder._) + + Come, father, come! A task awaits us there. + + [_Pointing to the side door._] + + +ISAAC (_as though waking from sleep_). + But first I'll seek my gold! + +ESTHER. Think'st still of that + In sight of all this misery and woe! + Then I unsay the curse which I have spoke, + Then thou art guilty, too, and I--and she! + We stand like them within the sinners' row; + Pardon we, then, that God may pardon us! + + [_With arms outstretched toward the side door._] + +CURTAIN + + + + + + +THE POOR MUSICIAN (1848) BY FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +TRANSLATED BY ALFRED REMY, A.M. + +Professor of Modern Languages, Brooklyn Commercial High School + + +In Vienna the Sunday after the full moon in the month of July of every +year is, together with the following day, a real festival of the people, +if ever a festival deserved the name. The people themselves attend and +arrange it; and if representatives of the upper classes appear on this +occasion, they may do so only in their capacity as members of the +populace. There is no possibility of class discrimination; at least +there was none some years ago. + +On this day the Brigittenau,[62] which with the Augarten, the +Leopoldstadt and the Prater, forms one uninterrupted popular +pleasure-ground, celebrates its kermis. The working people reckon their +good times from one St. Bridget's kermis to the next. Anticipated with +eager expectation, the Saturnalian festival at last arrives. Then there +is great excitement in the good-natured, quiet town. A surging crowd +fills the streets. There is the clatter of footsteps and the buzz of +conversation, above which rises now and then some loud exclamation. All +class distinctions have disappeared; civilian and soldier share in the +commotion. At the gates of the city the crowd increases. Gained, lost, +and regained, the exit is forced at last. But the bridge across the +Danube presents new difficulties. Victorious here also, two streams +finally roll along: the old river Danube and the swollen tide of people +crossing each other, one below, the other above, the former following +its old bed, the latter, freed from the narrow confines of the bridge, +resembling a wide, turbulent lake, overflowing and inundating +everything. A stranger might consider the symptoms alarming. But it is a +riot of joy, a revelry of pleasure. + +Even in the space between the city and the bridge wicker-carriages are +lined up for the real celebrants of this festival, the children of +servitude and toil. Although overloaded, these carriages race at a +gallop through the mass of humanity, which in the nick of time opens a +passage for them and immediately closes in again behind them. No one is +alarmed, no one is injured, for in Vienna a silent agreement exists +between vehicles and people, the former promising not to run anybody +over, even when going at full speed; the latter resolving not to be run +over, even though neglecting all precaution. + +Every second the distance between the carriages diminishes. Occasionally +more fashionable equipages mingle in the oft-interrupted procession. The +carriages no longer dash along. Finally, about five or six hours before +dark, the individual horses and carriages condense into a compact line, +which, arresting itself and arrested by new vehicles from every side +street, obviously belies the truth of the old proverb: "It is better to +ride in a poor carriage than to go on foot." Stared at, pitied, mocked, +the richly dressed ladies sit in their carriages, which are apparently +standing still. Unaccustomed to constant stopping, the black Holstein +steed rears, as if intending to jump straight up over the +wicker-carriage blocking its way, a thing the screaming women and +children in the plebeian vehicle evidently seem to fear. The cabby, so +accustomed to rapid driving and now balked for the first time, angrily +counts up the loss he suffers in being obliged to spend three hours +traversing a distance which under ordinary conditions he could cover in +five minutes. Quarreling and shouting are heard, insults pass back and +forth between the drivers, and now and then blows with the whip are +exchanged. + +Finally, since in this world all standing still, however persistent, is +after all merely an imperceptible advancing, a ray of hope appears even +in this _status quo_. The first trees of the Augarten and the +Brigittenau come into view. The country! The country! All troubles are +forgotten. Those who have come in vehicles alight and mingle with the +pedestrians; strains of distant dance-music are wafted across the +intervening space and are answered by the joyous shouts of the new +arrivals. And thus it goes on and on, until at last the broad haven of +pleasure opens up and grove and meadow, music and dancing, drinking and +eating, magic lantern shows and tight-rope dancing, illumination and +fireworks, combine to produce a _pays de cocagne_, an El Dorado, a +veritable paradise, which fortunately or unfortunately--take it as you +will--lasts only this day and the next, to vanish like the dream of a +summer night, remaining only as a memory, or, possibly, as a hope. + +I never miss this festival if I can help it. To me, as a passionate +lover of mankind, especially of the common people, and more especially +so when, united into a mass, the individuals forget for a time their own +private ends and consider themselves part of a whole, in which there is, +after all, the spirit of divinity, nay, God Himself--to me every popular +festival is a real soul-festival, a pilgrimage, an act of devotion. Even +in my capacity as dramatic poet, I always find the spontaneous outburst +of an overcrowded theatre ten times more interesting, even more +instructive, than the sophisticated judgment of some literary matador, +who is crippled in body and soul and swollen up, spider-like, with the +blood of authors whom he has sucked dry. As from a huge open volume of +Plutarch, which has escaped from the covers of the printed page, I read +the biographies of these obscure beings in their merry or secretly +troubled faces, in their elastic or weary step, in the attitude shown by +members of the same family toward one another, in detached, half +involuntary remarks. And, indeed, one can not understand famous men +unless one has sympathized with the obscure! From the quarrels of +drunken pushcart-men to the discords of the sons of the gods there runs +an invisible, yet unbroken, thread, just as the young servant-girl, who, +half against her will, follows her insistent lover away from the crowd +of dancers, may be an embryo Juliet, Dido, or Medea. + +Two years ago, as usual, I had mingled as a pedestrian with the +pleasure-seeking visitors of the kermis. The chief difficulties of the +trip had been overcome, and I found myself at the end of the Augarten +with the longed-for Brigittenau lying directly before me. Only one more +difficulty remained to be overcome. A narrow causeway running between +impenetrable hedges forms the only connection between the two pleasure +resorts, the joint boundary of which is indicated by a wooden trellised +gate in the centre. On ordinary days and for ordinary pedestrians this +connecting passage affords more than ample space. But on kermis-day its +width, even if quadrupled, would still be too narrow for the endless +crowd which, in surging forward impetuously, is jostled by those bound +in the opposite direction and manages to get along only by reason of the +general good nature displayed by the merry-makers. + +I was drifting with the current and found myself in the centre of the +causeway upon classical ground, although I was constantly obliged to +stand still, turn aside, and wait. Thus I had abundant time for +observing what was going on at the sides of the road. In order that the +pleasure-seeking multitude might not lack a foretaste of the happiness +in store for them, several musicians had taken up their positions on the +left-hand slope of the raised causeway. Probably fearing the intense +competition, these musicians intended to garner at the propylaea the +first fruits of the liberality which had here not yet spent itself. +There were a girl harpist with repulsive, staring eyes; an old invalid +with a wooden leg, who, on a dreadful, evidently home-made instrument, +half dulcimer, half barrel-organ, was endeavoring by means of analogy to +arouse the pity of the public for his painful injury; a lame, deformed +boy, forming with his violin one single, indistinguishable mass, was +playing endless waltzes with all the hectic violence of his misshapen +breast; and finally an old man, easily seventy years of age, in a +threadbare but clean woolen overcoat, who wore a smiling, self-satisfied +expression. This old man attracted my entire attention. He stood there +bareheaded and baldheaded, his hat as a collection-box before him on the +ground, after the manner of these people. He was belaboring an old, +much-cracked violin, beating time not only by raising and lowering his +foot, but also by a corresponding movement of his entire bent body. But +all his efforts to bring uniformity into his performance were fruitless, +for what he was playing seemed to be an incoherent succession of tones +without time or melody. Yet he was completely absorbed in his work; his +lips quivered, and his eyes were fixed upon the sheet of music before +him, for he actually had notes! While all the other musicians, whose +playing pleased the crowd infinitely better, were relying on their +memories, the old man had placed before him in the midst of the surging +crowd a small, easily portable music-stand, with dirty, tattered notes, +which probably contained in perfect order what he was playing so +incoherently. It was precisely the novelty of this equipment that had +attracted my attention to him, just as it excited the merriment of the +passing throng, who jeered him and left the hat of the old man empty, +while the rest of the orchestra pocketed whole copper mines. In order to +observe this odd character at my leisure, I had stepped, at some +distance from him, upon the slope at the side of the causeway. For a +while he continued playing. Finally he stopped, and, as if recovering +himself after a long spell of absent-mindedness, he gazed at the +firmament, which already began to show traces of approaching evening. +Then he looked down into his hat, found it empty, put it on with +undisturbed cheerfulness, and placed his bow between the strings. "_Sunt +certi denique fines_" (there is a limit to everything), he said, took +his music-stand, and, as though homeward bound, fought his way with +difficulty through the crowd streaming in the opposite direction toward +the festival. + +The whole personality of the old man was specially calculated to whet my +anthropological appetite to the utmost--his poorly clad, yet noble +figure, his unfailing cheerfulness, so much artistic zeal combined with +such awkwardness, the fact that he returned home just at the time when +for others of his ilk the real harvest was only beginning, and, finally, +the few Latin words, spoken, however, with the most correct accent and +with absolute fluency. The man had evidently received a good education +and had acquired some knowledge, and here he was--a street-musician! I +was burning with curiosity to learn his history. + +But a compact wall of humanity already separated us. Small as he was, +and getting in everybody's way with the music-stand in his hand, he was +shoved from one to another and had passed through the exit-gate while I +was still struggling in the centre of the causeway against the opposing +crowd. Thus I lost track of him; and when at last I had reached the +quiet, open space, there was no musician to be seen far or near. + +This fruitless adventure had spoiled all my enjoyment of the popular +festival. I wandered through the Augarten in all directions, and finally +decided to go home. As I neared the little gate that leads out of the +Augarten into Tabor Street, I suddenly heard the familiar sound of the +old violin. I accelerated my steps, and, behold! there stood the object +of my curiosity, playing with all his might, surrounded by several boys +who impatiently demanded a waltz from him. "Play a waltz," they cried; +"a waltz, don't you hear?" The old man kept on fiddling, apparently +paying no attention to them, until his small audience, reviling and +mocking him, left him and gathered around an organ-grinder who had taken +up his position near by. + +"They don't want to dance," said the old man sadly, and gathered up his +musical outfit. I had stepped up quite close to him. "The children do +not know any dance but the waltz," I said. + +"I was playing a waltz," he replied, indicating with his bow the notes +of the piece he had just been playing. "You have to play things like +that for the crowd. But the children have no ear for music," he said, +shaking his head mournfully. + +"At least permit me to atone for their ingratitude," I said, taking a +silver coin out of my pocket and offering it to him. + +"Please, don't," cried the old man, at the same time warding me off +anxiously with both hands--"into the hat, into the hat." I dropped the +coin into his hat, which was lying in front of him. The old man +immediately took it out and put it into his pocket, quite satisfied. +"That's what I call going home for once with a rich harvest," he said +chuckling. + +"You just remind me of a circumstance," I said, "which excited my +curiosity before. It seems your earnings today have not been +particularly satisfactory, and yet you retire at the very moment when +the real harvest is beginning. The festival, as you no doubt know, lasts +the whole night, and you might easily earn more in this one night than +in an entire week ordinarily. How am I to account for this?" + +"How are you to account for this?" replied the old man. "Pardon me, I do +not know who you are, but you must be a generous man and a lover of +music." With these words he took the silver coin out of his pocket once +more and pressed it between his hands, which he raised to his heart. + +"I shall therefore tell you the reasons, although I have often been +ridiculed for them. In the first place, I have never been a +night-reveler, and I do not consider it right to incite others to such a +disgusting procedure by means of playing and singing. Secondly, a man +ought to establish for himself a certain order in all things, otherwise +he'll run wild and there's no stopping him. Thirdly, and finally, sir, I +play for the noisy throng all day long and scarcely earn a bare living. +But the evening belongs to me and to my poor art. In the evening I stay +at home, and"--at these words he lowered his voice, a blush overspread +his countenance and his eyes sought the ground--"then I play to myself +as fancy dictates, without notes. I believe the text-books on music call +it improvising." + +We had both grown silent, he from confusion, because he had betrayed +the innermost secret of his heart, I from astonishment at hearing a man +speak of the highest spheres of art who was not capable of rendering +even the simplest waltz in intelligible fashion. Meanwhile he was +preparing to depart. "Where do you live?" I inquired. "I should like to +attend your solitary practising some day." + +"Oh," he replied, almost imploringly, "you must know that prayers should +be said in private!" + +"Then I'll visit you in the daytime," I said. + +"In the daytime," he replied, "I earn my living among the people." + +"Well, then, some morning early." + +"It almost looks," the old man said smiling, "as though you, my dear +sir, were the recipient, and I, if I may be permitted to say so, the +benefactor; you are so kind, and I reject your advances so ungraciously. +Your distinguished visit will always confer honor on my dwelling. Only I +should like to ask you to be so very kind as to notify me beforehand of +the day of your coming, in order that you may not be unduly delayed nor +I be compelled to interrupt unceremoniously some business in which I may +be engaged at the time. For my mornings are also devoted to a definite +purpose. At any rate, I consider it my duty to my patrons and +benefactors to offer something not entirely unworthy in return for their +gifts. I have no desire to be a beggar, sir; I am very well aware of the +fact that the other street musicians are satisfied to reel off a few +street ditties, German waltzes, even melodies of indecent songs, all of +which they have memorized. These they repeat incessantly, so that the +public pays them either in order to get rid of them, or because their +playing revives the memory of former joys of dancing or of other +disorderly amusements. For this reason such musicians play from memory, +and sometimes, in fact quite frequently, strike the wrong note. But far +be it from me to deceive. Partly, therefore, because my memory is not of +the best, partly because it might be difficult for any one to retain in +his memory, note for note, complicated compositions of esteemed +composers, I have made a clear copy for myself in these note-books." +With these words he showed me the pages of his music-book. To my +amazement I saw in a careful, but awkward and stiff handwriting, +extremely difficult compositions by famous old masters, quite black with +passage-work and double-stopping. And these selections the old man +played with his clumsy fingers! "In playing these pieces," he continued, +"I show my veneration for these esteemed, long since departed masters +and composers, satisfy my own artistic instincts, and live in the +pleasant hope that, in return for the alms so generously bestowed upon +me, I may succeed in improving the taste and hearts of an audience +distracted and misled on many sides. But since music of this +character--to return to my subject"--and at these words a self-satisfied +smile lighted up his features--"since music of this kind requires +practice, my morning hours are devoted exclusively to this exercise. The +first three hours of the day for practice, the middle of the day for +earning my living, the evening for myself and God; that is not an unfair +division," he said, and at the same time something moist glistened in +his eyes; but he was smiling. + +"Very well, then," I said, "I shall surprise you some morning. Where do +you live?" He mentioned Gardener's Lane. + +"What number? + +"Number 34, one flight up." + +"Well, well," I cried, "on the fashionable floor." + +"The house," he said, "consists in reality only of a ground floor. But +upstairs, next to the garret, there is a small room which I occupy in +company with two journeymen." + +"A single room for three people?" + +"It is divided into two parts," he +answered, "and I have my own bed." + +"It is getting late," I said, "and you must be anxious to get home. _Auf +Wiedersehen!_" + +At the same time I put my hand in my pocket with the intention of +doubling the trifling amount I had given him before. But he had already +taken up his music-stand with one hand and his violin with the other, +and cried hurriedly, "I humbly ask you to refrain. I have already +received ample remuneration for my playing, and I am not aware of having +earned any other reward." Saying this he made me a rather awkward bow +with an approach to elegant ease, and departed as quickly as his old +legs could carry him. + +As I said before, I had lost for this day all desire of participating +further in the festival. Consequently I turned homeward, taking the road +leading to the Leopoldstadt. Tired out from the dust and heat, I entered +one of the many beer-gardens, which, while overcrowded on ordinary days, +had today given up all their customers to the Brigittenau. The stillness +of the place, in contradistinction to the noisy crowd, did me good. I +gave myself up to my thoughts, in which the old musician had a +considerable share. Night had come before I thought at last of going +home. I laid the amount of my bill upon the table and walked toward the +city. + +The old man had said that he lived in Gardener's Lane. "Is Gardener's +Lane near-by?" I asked a smell boy who was running across the road. +"Over there, sir," he replied, pointing to a side street that ran from +the mass of houses of the suburb out into the open fields. I followed +the direction indicated. The street consisted of some scattered houses, +which, separated by large vegetable gardens, plainly indicated the +occupation of the inhabitants and the origin of the name Gardener's +Lane. I was wondering in which of these miserable huts my odd friend +might live. I had completely forgotten the number; moreover it was +impossible to make out any signs in the darkness. At that moment a man +carrying a heavy load of vegetables passed me. "The old fellow is +scraping his fiddle again," he grumbled, "and disturbing decent people +in their night's rest." At the same time, as I went on, the soft, +sustained tone of a violin struck my ear. It seemed to come from the +open attic window of a hovel a short distance away, which, being low and +without an upper story like the rest of the houses, attracted attention +on account of this attic window in the gabled roof. I stood still. A +soft distinct note increased to loudness, diminished, died out, only to +rise again immediately to penetrating shrillness. It was always the same +tone repeated as if the player dwelt upon it with pleasure. At last an +interval followed; it was the chord of the fourth. While the player had +before reveled in the sound of the single note, now his voluptuous +enjoyment of this harmonic relation was very much more susceptible. His +fingers moved by fits and starts, as did his bow. Through the +intervening intervals he passed most unevenly, emphasizing and repeating +the third. Then he added the fifth, now with a trembling sound like +silent weeping, sustained, vanishing; now constantly repeated with dizzy +speed; always the same intervals, the same tones. And that was what the +old man called improvising. It _was_ improvising after all, but from the +viewpoint of the player, not from that of the listener. + +I do not know how long this may have lasted and how frightful the +performance had become, when suddenly the door of the house was opened, +and a man, clad only in a shirt and partly buttoned trousers stepped +from the threshold into the middle of the street and called up to the +attic window--"Are you going to keep on all night again?" The tone of +his voice was impatient, but not harsh or insulting. The violin became +silent even before the speaker had finished. The man went back into the +house, the attic window was closed, and soon perfect and uninterrupted +silence reigned. I started for home, experiencing some difficulty in +finding my way through the unknown lanes, and, as I walked along, I +also improvised mentally, without, however, disturbing any one. + +The morning hours have always been of peculiar value to me. It is as +though I felt the need of occupying myself with something ennobling, +something worth while, in the first hours of the day, thus consecrating +the remainder of it, as it were. It is, therefore, only with difficulty +that I can make up my mind to leave my room early in the morning, and if +ever I force myself to do so without sufficient cause, nothing remains +to me for the rest of the day but the choice between idle distraction +and morbid introspection. Thus it happened that I put off for several +days my visit to the old man, which I had agreed to pay in the morning. +At last I could not master my impatience any longer, and went. I had no +difficulty in finding Gardener's Lane, nor the house. This time also I +heard the tones of the violin, but owing to the closed window they were +muffled and scarcely recognizable. I entered the house. A gardener's +wife, half speechless with amazement, showed me the steps leading up to +the attic. I stood before a low, badly fitting door, knocked, received +no answer, finally raised the latch and entered. I found myself in a +quite large, but otherwise extremely wretched chamber, the wall of which +on all sides followed the outlines of the pointed roof. Close by the +door was a dirty bed in loathsome disorder, surrounded by all signs of +neglect; opposite me, close beside the narrow window, was a second bed, +shabby but clean and most carefully made and covered. Before the window +stood a small table with music-paper and writing material, on the +windowsill a few flower-pots. The middle of the room from wall to wall +was designated along the floor by a heavy chalk line, and it is almost +impossible to imagine a more violent contrast between dirt and +cleanliness than existed on the two sides of the line, the equator of +this little world. The old man had placed his music-stand close to the +boundary line and was standing before it practising, completely and +carefully dressed. I have already said so much that is jarring about the +discords of my favorite--and I almost fear he is mine alone--that I +shall spare the reader a description of this infernal concert. As the +practice consisted chiefly of passage-work, there was no possibility of +recognizing the pieces he was playing, but this might not have been an +easy matter even under ordinary circumstances. After listening a while, +I finally discovered the thread leading out of this labyrinth--the +method in his madness, as it were. The old man enjoyed the music while +he was playing. His conception, however, distinguished between only two +kinds of effect, euphony and cacophony. Of these the former delighted, +even enraptured him, while he avoided the latter, even when harmonically +justified, as much as possible. Instead of accenting a composition in +accordance with sense and rhythm, he exaggerated and prolonged the notes +and intervals that were pleasing to his ear; he did not even hesitate to +repeat them arbitrarily, when an expression of ecstasy frequently passed +over his face. Since he disposed of the dissonances as rapidly as +possible and played the passages that were too difficult for him in a +tempo that was too slow compared with the rest of the piece, his +conscientiousness not permitting him to omit even a single note, one may +easily form an idea of the resulting confusion. After some time, even I +couldn't endure it any longer. In order to recall him to the world of +reality, I purposely dropped my hat, after I had vainly tried several +other means of attracting his attention. The old man started, his knees +shook, and he was scarcely able to hold the violin he had lowered to the +ground. I stepped up to him. "Oh, it is you, sir," he said, as if coming +to himself; "I had not counted on the fulfilment of your kind promise." +He forced me to sit down, straightened things up, laid down his violin, +looked around the room a few times in embarrassment, then suddenly took +up a plate from a table that was standing near the door and went out. I +heard him speak with the gardener's wife outside. Soon he came back +again rather abashed, concealing the plate behind his back and returning +it to its place stealthily. Evidently he had asked for some fruit to +offer me, but had not been able to obtain it. + +"You live quite comfortably here," I said, in order to put an end to his +embarrassment. "Untidiness is not permitted to dwell here. It will +retreat through the door, even though at the present moment it hasn't +quite passed the threshold." + +"My abode reaches only to that line," said the old man, pointing to the +chalk-line in the middle of the room. "Beyond it the two journeymen +live." + +"And do these respect your boundary?" + +"They don't, but I do," said he. "Only the door is common property." + +"And are you not disturbed by your neighbors?" + +"Hardly. They come home late at night, and even if they startle me a +little when I'm in bed, the pleasure of going to sleep again is all the +greater. But in the morning I awaken them, when I put my room in order. +Then they scold a little and go." I had been observing him in the mean +time. His clothes were scrupulously clean, his figure was good enough +for his years, only his legs were a little too short. His hands and feet +were remarkably delicate. "You are looking at me," he said, "and +thinking, too." + +"I confess that I have some curiosity concerning your past," I replied. + +"My past?" he repeated. "I have no past. Today is like yesterday, and +tomorrow like today. But the day after tomorrow and beyond--who can know +about that? But God will look after me; He knows best." + +"Your present mode of life is probably monotonous enough," I continued, +"but your past! How did it happen--" + +"That I became a street-musician?" he asked, filling in the pause that I +had voluntarily made. I now told him how he had attracted my attention +the moment I caught sight of him; what an impression he had made upon me +by the Latin words he had uttered. "Latin!" he echoed. "Latin! I did +learn it once upon a time, or rather, I was to have learned it and might +have done so. _Loqueris latine?"_--he turned to me; "but I couldn't +continue; it is too long ago. So that is what you call my past? How it +all came about? Well then, all sorts of things have happened, nothing +special, but all sorts of things. I should like to hear the story myself +again. I wonder whether I haven't forgotten it all. It is still early in +the morning," he continued, putting his hand into his vest-pocket, in +which, however, there was no watch. I drew out mine; it was barely nine +o'clock. "We have time, and I almost feel like talking." Meanwhile he +had grown visibly more at ease. His figure became more erect. Without +further ceremony he took my hat out of my hand and laid it upon the bed. +Then he seated himself, crossed one leg over the other, and assumed the +attitude of one who is going to tell a story in comfort. + +"No doubt," he began, "you have heard of Court Councilor X?" Here he +mentioned the name of a statesman who, in the middle of the last +century, had under the modest title of a Chief of Department exerted an +enormous influence, almost equal to that of a minister. I admitted that +I knew of him. "He was my father," he continued.--His father! The father +of the old musician, of the beggar. This influential, powerful man--his +father! The old man did not seem to notice my astonishment, but with +evident pleasure continued the thread of his narrative. "I was the +second of three brothers. Both the others rose to high positions in the +government service, but they are now dead. Only I am still alive," he +said, pulling at his threadbare trousers and picking off some little +feathers with downcast eyes. "My father was ambitious and a man of +violent temper. My brothers satisfied him. I was considered a slow +coach, and I _was_ slow. If I remember rightly," he continued, turning +aside as though looking far away, with his head resting upon his left +hand, "I might have been capable of learning various things, if only I +had been given time and a systematic training. My brothers leaped from +one subject to another with the agility of gazelles, but I could make +absolutely no headway, and whenever only a single word escaped me, I was +obliged to begin again from the very beginning. Thus I was constantly +driven. New material was to occupy the place which had not yet been +vacated by the old, and I began to grow obstinate. Thus they even drove +me into hating music, which is now the delight and at the same time the +support of my life. When I used to improvise on my violin at twilight in +order to enjoy myself in my own way, they would take the instrument away +from me, asserting that this ruined my fingering. They would also +complain of the torture inflicted upon their ears and made me wait for +the lesson, when the torture began for me. In all my life I have never +hated anything or any one so much as I hated the violin at that time. + +"My father, who was extremely dissatisfied, scolded me frequently and +threatened to make a mechanic of me. I didn't dare say how happy that +would have made me. I should have liked nothing better than to become a +turner or a compositor. But my father was much too proud ever to have +permitted such a thing. Finally a public examination at school, which +they had persuaded him to attend in order to appease him, brought +matters to a climax. A dishonest teacher arranged in advance what he was +going to ask me, and so everything went swimmingly. But toward the end I +had to recite some verses of Horace from memory and I missed a word. My +teacher, who had been nodding his head in approval and smiling at my +father, came to my assistance when I broke down, and whispered the word +to me, but I was so engrossed trying to locate the word in my memory and +to establish its connection with the context, that I failed to hear him. +He repeated it several times--all in vain. Finally my father lost his +patience, _'cachinnum'_ (laughter)--that was the word--he roared at me +in a voice of thunder. That was the end. Although I now knew the missing +word, I had forgotten all the rest. All attempts to bring me back on the +right track were in vain. I was obliged to rise in disgrace and when I +went over as usual to kiss my father's hand, he pushed me back, rose, +bowed hastily to the audience, and went away. 'That shabby beggar,' he +called me; I wasn't one at the time, but I am now. Parents prophesy when +they speak. At the same time my father was a good man, only hot tempered +and ambitious. + +"From that day on he never spoke to me again. His orders were conveyed +to me by the servants. On the very next day I was informed that my +studies were at an end. I was quite dismayed, for I realized what a blow +it must have been to my father. All day long I did nothing but weep, and +between my crying spells I recited the Latin verses, in which I was now +letter-perfect, together with the preceding and following ones. I +promised to make up in diligence what I lacked in talent, if I were only +permitted to continue in school, but my father never revoked a decision. + +"For some time I remained at home without an occupation. At last I was +placed in an accountant's office on probation; but arithmetic had never +been my forte. An offer to enter the military service I refused with +abhorrence. Even now I cannot see a uniform without an inward shudder. +That one should protect those near and dear, even at the risk's of one's +life, is quite proper, and I can understand it; but bloodshed and +mutilation as a vocation, as an occupation--never!" And with that he +felt his arms with his hands, as if experiencing pain from wounds +inflicted upon himself and others. + +"Next I was employed in the chancery office as a copyist. There I was in +my element. I had always practised penmanship with enthusiasm; and even +now I know of no more agreeable pastime than joining stroke to stroke +with good ink on good paper to form words or merely letters. But musical +notes are beautiful above everything, only at that time I didn't think +of music. + +"I was industrious, but too conscientious. An incorrect punctuation +mark, an illegible or missing word in a first draft, even if it could be +supplied from the context, would cause me many an unhappy hour. While +trying to make up my mind whether to follow the original closely or to +supply missing material, the time slipped by, and I gained a reputation +for being negligent, although I worked harder than any one else. In this +manner I spent several years, without receiving any salary. When my turn +for promotion came, my father voted for another candidate at the meeting +of the board, and the other members voted with him out of deference. + +"About this time--well, well," he interrupted himself, "this is turning +out to be a story after all. I shall continue the story. About this time +two events occurred, the saddest and the happiest of my life, namely my +leaving home and my return to the gentle art of music, to my violin, +which has remained faithful to me to this day. + +"In my father's house, where I was ignored by the other members of the +family, I occupied a rear room looking out upon our neighbor's yard. At +first I took my meals with the family, though no one spoke a word to me. +But when my brothers received appointments in other cities and my father +was invited out to dinner almost daily--my mother had been dead for many +years--it was found inconvenient to keep house for me. The servants were +given money for their meals. So was I; only I didn't receive mine in +cash: it was paid monthly to the restaurant. Consequently I spent little +time in my room, with the exception of the evening hours; for my father +insisted that I should be at home within half an hour after the closing +of the office, at the latest. Then I sat there in the darkness on +account of my eyes, which were weak even at that time. I used to think +of one thing and another, and was neither happy nor unhappy. + +"When I sat thus I used to hear some one in the neighbor's yard singing +a song--really several songs, one of which, however, pleased me +particularly. It was so simple, so touching, and the musical expression +was so perfect, that it was not necessary to hear the words. Personally +I believe that words spoil the music anyway." Now he opened his lips and +uttered a few hoarse, rough tones. "I have no voice," he said, and took +up his violin. He played, and this time with proper expression, the +melody of a pleasing, but by no means remarkable song, his fingers +trembling on the strings and some tears finally rolling down his cheeks. + +"That was the song," he said, laying down his violin. "I heard it with +ever-growing pleasure. However vivid it was in my memory, I never +succeeded in getting even two notes right with my voice, and I became +almost impatient from listening. Then my eyes fell upon my violin which, +like an old armor, had been hanging unused on the wall since my boyhood. +I took it down and found it in tune, the servant probably having used it +during my absence. As I drew the bow over the strings it seemed to me, +sir, as though God's finger had touched me. The tone penetrated into my +heart, and from my heart it found its way out again. The air about me +was pregnant with intoxicating madness. The song in the courtyard below +and the tones produced by my fingers had become sharers of my solitude. +I fell upon my knees and prayed aloud, and could not understand that I +had ever held this exquisite, divine instrument in small esteem, that I +had even hated it in my childhood, and I kissed the violin and pressed +it to my heart and played on and on. + +"The song in the yard--it was a woman who was singing--continued in the +meantime uninterruptedly. But it was not so easy to play it after her, +for I didn't have a copy of the notes. I also noticed that I had pretty +nearly forgotten whatever I had once acquired of the art of playing the +violin; consequently I couldn't play anything in particular, but could +play only in a general way. With the exception of that song the musical +compositions themselves have always been a matter of indifference to me, +an attitude in which I have persisted to this day. The musicians play +Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Sebastian Bach, but not one plays God +Himself. No one can play the eternal comfort and blessing of tone and +sound, its magic correlation with the eager, straining ear; so that"--he +continued in a lower voice and blushing with confusion--"so that the +third tone forms a harmonic interval with the first, as does the fifth, +and the leading tone rises like a fulfilled hope, while the dissonance +is bowed down like conscious wickedness or arrogant pride. + +"And then there are the mysteries of suspension and inversion, by means +of which even the second is received into favor in the bosom of harmony. +A musician once explained all these things to me, but that was later. +And then there are still other marvels which I do not understand, as the +fugue, counterpoint, the canon for two and three voices, and so on--an +entire heavenly structure, one part joined to the other without mortar +and all held together by God's own hand. With a few exceptions, nobody +wants to know anything about these things. They would rather disturb +this breathing of souls by the addition of words to be spoken to the +music, just as the children of God united with the daughters of the +Earth. And by means of this combination of word and music they imagine +they can affect and impress a calloused mind. Sir," he concluded at +last, half exhausted, "speech is as necessary to man as food, but we +should also preserve undefiled the nectar meted out by God." + +I could scarcely believe it was the same man, so animated had he become. +He paused for a moment. "Where did I stop in my story?" he asked +finally. "Oh yes, at the song and my attempt to imitate it. But I didn't +succeed. I stepped to the open window in order to hear better. The +singer was just crossing the court. She had her back turned to me, yet +she seemed familiar to me. She was carrying a basket with what looked +like pieces of cake dough. She entered a little gate in the corner of +the court, where there probably was an oven, for while she continued her +song, I heard her rattling some wooden utensils, her voice sounding +sometimes muffled, sometimes clear, like the voice of one who bends down +and sings into a hollow space and then rises again and stands in an +upright position. After a while she came back, and only now I discovered +why she had seemed familiar to me before. I had actually known her for +some time, for I had seen her in the chancery office. + +"My acquaintance with her was made like this: The office hours began +early and extended beyond noon. Several of the younger employees, who +either actually had an appetite or else wanted to kill a half hour, were +in the habit of taking a light lunch about eleven o'clock. The +tradespeople, who know how to turn everything to their advantage, saved +the gourmands a walk and brought their wares into the office building, +where they took up their position on the stairs and in the corridors. A +baker sold rolls, a costermonger vended cherries. Certain cakes, +however, which were baked by the daughter of a grocer in the vicinity +and sold while still hot, were especially popular. + +"Her customers stepped out into the corridor to her; and only rarely, +when bidden, did she venture into the office itself, which she was asked +to leave the moment the rather peevish director caught sight of her--a +command that she obeyed only with reluctance and mumbling angry words. + +"Among my colleagues the girl did not pass for a beauty. They considered +her too small, and were not able to determine the color of her hair. +Some there were who denied that she had cat's eyes, but all agreed that +she was pock-marked. Of her buxom figure all spoke with enthusiasm, but +they considered her rough, and one of them had a long story to tell +about a box on the ear, the effects of which he claimed to have felt for +a week afterwards. + +"I was not one of her customers. In the first place I had no money; in +the second, I have always been obliged to look upon eating and drinking +as a necessity, sometimes too much so, so that it has never entered my +head to take pleasure and delight in it. And so we took no notice of +each other. Only once, in order to tease me, my colleagues made her +believe that I wanted some of her cakes. She stepped up to my desk and +held her basket out to me. 'I don't want anything, my dear young woman,' +I said. 'Well, why do you send for me then?' she cried angrily. I +excused myself, and as I saw at once that a practical joke had been +played, I explained the situation as best I could. 'Well then, at least +give me a sheet of paper to put my cakes on,' she said. I tried to make +her understand that it was chancery paper and didn't belong to me, but +that I had some paper at home which was mine and that I would bring her +some of it. 'I have enough myself at home,' she said mockingly, and +broke into a little laugh as she went away. + +"That had happened only a few days before and I was thinking of turning +the acquaintance to immediate account for the fulfilment of my wish. The +next morning, therefore, I buttoned a whole ream of paper--of which +there was never a scarcity in our home--under my coat, and went to the +office. In order not to betray myself, I kept my armor with great +personal inconvenience upon my body until, toward noon, I knew from the +going and coming of my colleagues and from the sound of the munching +jaws that the cake-vender had arrived. I waited until I had reason to +believe that the rush of business was over, then I went out, pulled out +my paper, mustered up sufficient courage, and stepped up to the girl. +With her basket before her on the ground and her right foot resting on a +low stool, on which she usually sat, she stood there humming a soft +melody, beating time with her right foot. As I approached she measured +me from head to foot, which only added to my confusion. 'My dear young +woman,' I finally began, 'the other day you asked me for paper and I had +none that belonged to me. Now I have brought some from home, and'--with +that I held out the paper. 'I told you the other day,' she replied, +'that I have plenty of paper at home. However, I can make use of +everything.' Saying this, she accepted my present with a slight nod +and put it into her basket. 'Perhaps you'll take some cake?' she asked, +sorting her wares, 'although the best have been sold.' I declined, but +told her that I had another wish. 'And what may that be?' she asked, +putting her arm through the handle of her basket, drawing herself up to +her full height, and flashing her eyes angrily at me. I lost no time +telling her that I was a lover of music, although only a recent convert, +and that I had heard her singing such beautiful songs, especially one. +'You--heard me--singing?' she flared up. 'Where?' I then told her that I +lived near her, and that I had been listening to her while she was at +work in the courtyard; that one of her songs had pleased me +particularly, and that I had tried to play it after her on my violin. +'Can you be the man,' she exclaimed, 'who scrapes so on the fiddle?' As +I mentioned before, I was only a beginner at that time and not until +later, by dint of much hard work, did I acquire the necessary +dexterity;" the old man interrupted himself, while with the fingers of +his left hand he made movements in the air, as though he were playing +the violin. "I blushed violently," he continued the narrative, "and I +could see by the expression of her face that she repented her harsh +words. 'My dear young woman,' I said, 'the scraping arises from the fact +that I do not possess the music of the song, and for this reason I +should like to ask you most respectfully for a copy of it.' 'For a +copy?' she exclaimed. 'The song is printed and is sold at every +street-corner.' 'The song?' I replied. 'You probably mean only the +words!' 'Why, yes; the words, the song.' 'But the melody to which it is +sung--' 'Are such things written down?' she asked. 'Surely,' was my +reply, 'that is the most important part.' 'And how did you learn it, my +dear young woman?' 'I heard some one singing it, and then I sang it +after her.' I was astonished at this natural gift. And I may add in +passing that uneducated people often possess the greatest natural +talent. But, after all, this is not the proper thing, not real art. I +was again plunged into despair. 'But which song do you want?' she asked. +'I know so many.' 'All without the notes?' 'Why, of course. Now which +was it?' 'It is so very beautiful,' I explained. 'Right at the beginning +the melody rises, then it becomes fervent, and finally it ends very +softly. You sing it more frequently than the others.' 'Oh, I suppose +it's this one,' she said, setting down her basket, and placing her foot +on the stool. Then, keeping time by nodding her head, she sang the song +in a very low, yet clear voice, so beautifully and so charmingly that, +before she had quite finished, I tried to grasp her hand, which was +hanging at her side. 'What do you mean!' she cried, drawing back her +arm, for she probably thought I intended to take her hand immodestly. I +wanted to kiss it, although she was only a poor girl.--Well, after all, +I too am poor now! + +"I ran my fingers through my hair in my eagerness to secure the song and +when she observed my anxiety, she consoled me and said that the organist +of St. Peter's visited her father's store frequently to buy nutmeg, that +she would ask him to write out the music of the song, and that I might +call for it in a few days. Thereupon she took up her basket and went, +while I accompanied her as far as the staircase. As I was making a final +bow on the top step, I was surprised by the director, who bade me go to +my work and railed against the girl, in whom, he asserted, there wasn't +a vestige of good. I was very angry at this and was about to retort that +I begged to differ with him, when I realized that he had returned to his +office. Therefore I calmed myself and also went back to my desk. But +from that time on he was firmly convinced that I was a careless employee +and a dissipated fellow. + +"As a matter of fact, I was unable to do any decent work on that day or +on the following days, for the song kept running through my head. I +seemed to be in a trance. Several days passed and I was in doubt whether +to call for the music or not. The girl had said that the organist came +to her father's store to buy nutmeg; this he could use only for his +beer. Now the weather had been cold for some time, and therefore it was +probable that the good organist would rather drink wine and thus not be +in need of nutmeg so soon. A too hasty inquiry might seem impolite and +obtrusive, while, on the other hand, a delay might be interpreted as +indifference. I didn't dare address the girl in the corridor, since our +first meeting had been noised broad among my colleagues, and they were +thirsting for an opportunity to play a practical joke on me. + +"In the meantime I had again taken up my violin eagerly and devoted +myself to a thorough study of the fundamental principles. Occasionally I +permitted myself to improvise, but always closed my window carefully in +advance, knowing that my playing had found disfavor. But even when I did +open the window, I never heard my song again. Either my neighbor did not +sing at all, or else she sang softly and behind closed doors, so that I +could not distinguish one note from another. + +"At last, about three weeks having passed, I could wait no longer. Two +evenings in succession I had even stolen out upon the street, without a +hat, so that the servants might think I was looking for something in the +house, but whenever I came near the grocery store such a violent +trembling seized me that I was obliged to turn back whether I wanted to +or not. At last, however, as I said, I couldn't wait any longer. I took +courage, and one evening left my room, this time also without a hat, +went downstairs and walked with a firm step through the street to the +grocery store, in front of which I stopped for a moment, deliberating +what was to be done next. The store was lighted and I heard voices +within. After some hesitation I leaned forward and peered in from the +side. I saw the girl sitting close before the counter by the light, +picking over some peas or beans in a wooden bowl. Before her stood a +coarse, powerful man, who looked like a butcher; his jacket was thrown +over his shoulders and he held a sort of club in his hand. The two were +talking, evidently in good humor, for the girl laughed aloud several +times, but without interrupting her work or even looking up. Whether it +was my unnatural, strained position, or whatever else it may have been, +I began to tremble again, when I suddenly felt myself seized by a rough +hand from the back and dragged forward. In a twinkling I was in the +store, and when I was released and looked about me, I saw that it was +the proprietor himself, who, returning home, had caught me peering +through his window and seized me as a suspicious character. 'Confound +it!' he cried, 'now I understand what becomes of my prunes and the +handfuls of peas and barley which are taken from my baskets in the dark. +Damn it all!' With that he made for me, as though he meant to strike me. + +"I felt utterly crushed, but the thought that my honesty was being +questioned soon brought me back to my senses. I therefore made a curt +bow and told the uncivil man that my visit was not intended for his +prunes or his barley, but for his daughter. At these words the butcher, +who was standing in the middle of the store, set up a loud laugh and +turned as if to go, having first whispered a few words to the girl, to +which she laughingly replied with a resounding slap of her flat hand +upon his back. The grocer accompanied him to the door. Meanwhile all my +courage had again deserted me, and I stood facing the girl, who was +indifferently picking her peas and beans as though the whole affair +didn't concern her in the least. 'Sir,' he said, 'what business have you +with my daughter?' I tried to explain the circumstance and the cause of +my visit. 'Song! I'll sing you a song!' he exclaimed, moving his right +arm up and down in rather threatening fashion. 'There it is,' said the +girl, tilting her chair sideways and pointing with her hand to the +counter without setting down the bowl. I rushed over and saw a sheet of +music lying there. It was the song. But the old man got there first, and +crumpled the beautiful paper in his hand. 'What does this mean?' he +said. 'Who is this fellow?' 'He is one of the gentlemen from the +chancery,' she replied, throwing a worm-eaten pea a little farther away +than the rest. 'A gentleman from the chancery,' he cried, 'in the dark, +without a hat?' I accounted for the absence of a hat by explaining that +I lived close by; at the same time I designated the house. 'I know the +house,' he cried. 'Nobody lives there but the Court Councilor'--here he +mentioned the name of my father--'and I know all the servants.' 'I am +the son of the Councilor,' I said in a low voice, as though I were +telling a lie. I have seen many changes during my life, but none so +sudden as that which came over the man at these words. His mouth, which +he had opened to heap abuse upon me, remained open, his eyes still +looked threatening, but about the lower part of his face a smile began +to play which spread more and more. The girl remained indifferent and +continued in her stooping posture. Without interrupting her work, she +pushed her loose hair back behind her ears. 'The son of the Court +Councilor!' finally exclaimed the old man, from whose face the clouds +had entirely disappeared. 'Won't you make yourself comfortable, sir? +Barbara, bring a chair!' The girl stirred reluctantly on hers. 'Never +mind, you sneak!' he said, taking a basket from a stool and wiping the +dust from the latter with his handkerchief. 'This is a great honor,' he +continued. 'Has His Honor, the Councilor--I mean His Honor's son, also +taken up music? Perhaps you sing like my daughter, or rather quite +differently, from notes and according to rule?' I told him that nature +had not gifted me with a voice. 'Oh, perhaps you play the piano, as +fashionable people do?' I told him I played the violin. 'I used to +scratch on the fiddle myself when I was a boy,' he said. At the word +'scratch' I involuntarily looked at the girl and saw a mocking smile on +her lips, which annoyed me greatly. + +"'You ought to take an interest in the girl, that is, in her music,' he +continued. 'She has a good voice, and possesses other good qualities; +but refinement--good heavens, where should she get it?' So saying, he +repeatedly rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together. I +was quite confused at being undeservedly credited with such a +considerable knowledge of music, and was just on the point of explaining +the true state of affairs, when some one passing the store called in +'Good evening, all!' I started, for it was the voice of one of our +servants. The grocer had also recognized it. Putting out the tip of his +tongue and raising his shoulders, he whispered: 'It was one of the +servants of His Honor, your father, but he couldn't recognize you, +because you were standing with your back to the door.' This was so, to +be sure, but nevertheless the feeling of doing something on the sly, +something wrong, affected me painfully. I managed to mumble a few words +of parting, and went out. I should even have left the song behind had +not the old man run into the street after me and pressed it into my +hand. + +"I reached my room and awaited developments. And I didn't have to wait +long. The servant had recognized me after all. A few days later my +father's private secretary looked me up in my room and announced that I +was to leave my home. All my remonstrances were in vain. A little room +had been rented for me in a distant suburb and thus I was completely +banished from my family. Nor did I see my singer again. She had been +forbidden to vend her cakes in the chancery, and I couldn't make up my +mind to visit her father's store, since I knew that this would displease +mine. Once, when accidentally I met the old grocer on the street, he +even turned away from me with an angry expression, and I was stunned. +And so I got out my violin and played and practised, being frequently +alone half the day. + +"But even worse things were in store for me. The fortunes of our house +were declining. My youngest brother, a headstrong, impetuous fellow, was +an officer in a regiment of dragoons. As the result of a reckless wager, +he foolishly swam the Danube, mounted and in full armor, while heated +from the exertion of a ride. This escapade, which occurred while he was +far away in Hungary, cost him his life. My older brother, my father's +favorite, held an appointment as a member of provincial council. In +constant opposition to the governor of the province, he even went so +far as to promulgate untruthful statements in order to injure his +opponent, being secretly incited thereto, as rumor had it, by our +father. An investigation followed, and my brother took French leave of +the country. Our father's enemies, of whom there were many, utilized +this circumstance to bring about his downfall. Attacked on all sides, +and at the same time enraged at the waning of his influence, he +delivered daily the most bitter speeches at the meetings of the council, +and it was in the middle of a speech that he suffered a stroke of +apoplexy. They brought him home, bereft of the power of speech. I myself +heard nothing of all this. The next day in the chancery I noticed that +the men were whispering secretly and pointing at me with their fingers. +But I was accustomed to such treatment and paid no further attention to +it. On the following Friday--the sad event had occurred on a +Wednesday--a black suit of clothes with crepe was suddenly brought to my +room. I was naturally astonished, asked for the reason, and was informed +of what had taken place. Ordinarily my body is strong and capable of +resistance, but then I was completely overcome. I fell to the floor in a +swoon. They carried me to bed, where I lay in a fever and was delirious +throughout the day and the entire night. The next morning my strong +constitution had conquered, but my father was dead and buried. + +"I had not been able to speak to him again, to ask his forgiveness for +all the sorrow I had brought upon him, or to thank him for all the +undeserved favors--yes, favors, for his intentions had been good; and +some time I hope to meet him again where we are judged by our intentions +and not by our acts. + +"For several days I kept my room and scarcely touched any food. At last +I went out, but came home again immediately after dinner. Only in the +evening I wandered about the dark streets like Cain, the murderer of his +brother. My father's house appeared to me a dreadful phantom, and I +avoided it most carefully. But once, staring vacantly before me, I found +myself unexpectedly in the vicinity of the dreaded house. My knees +trembled so that I was obliged to seek support. Leaning against the wall +behind me, I recognized the door of the grocery store. Barbara was +sitting inside, a letter in her hand, the light upon the counter beside +her, and standing up straight close by was her father, who seemed to be +urging something upon her. I should have entered, even though my life +had been at stake. You have no idea how awful it is to have no one to +pour out one's heart to, no one to look to for sympathy. The old man, I +knew very well, was angry with me, but I thought the girl would say a +kind word to me. But it turned out just the other way. Barbara rose as I +entered, looked at me haughtily, and went into the adjoining room, +locking the door behind her. The old man, however, shook hands with me, +bade me sit down and consoled me, at the same time intimating that I was +now a rich man and my own master. He wanted to know how much I had +inherited. I couldn't tell him. He urged me to go to court about it, +which I promised to do. He was of the opinion that no fortune could be +made in a chancery. He then advised me to invest my inheritance in a +business, assured me that gallnuts and fruit would yield a good profit +and that a partner who understood this particular business could turn +dimes into dollars, and said that he himself had at one time done well +in that line. + +"While he was telling me all this, he repeatedly called for the girl, +who gave no sign of life, however, although it seemed to me as though I +sometimes heard a rustling near the door. But since she did not put in +an appearance, and since the old man talked of nothing but money, I +finally took my leave, the grocer regretting that he could not accompany +me, as he was alone in the store. I was grievously disappointed that my +hopes had not been fulfilled, and yet I felt strangely consoled. As I +stopped in the street and looked over toward my father's house, I +suddenly heard a voice behind me saying in a subdued and indignant +tone: 'Don't be too ready to trust everybody; they're after your money.' +Although I turned quickly, I saw no one. Only the rattling of a window +on the ground floor of the grocer's house told me, even if I had not +recognized the voice, that the secret warning had come from Barbara. So +she had overheard what had been said in the store! Did she intend to +warn me against her father? Or had it come to her knowledge that +immediately after my father's death colleagues of the chancery as well +as utter strangers had approached me with requests for support and aid, +and that I had promised to help them as soon as I should be in +possession of the money? My promises I was obliged to keep, but I +resolved to be more careful in future. I applied for my inheritance. It +was less than had been expected, but still a considerable sum, nearly +eleven thousand gulden. The whole day my room was besieged by people +demanding financial assistance. I had almost become hardened, however, +and granted a request only when the distress was really great. Barbara's +father also came. He scolded me for not having been around for three +days, whereupon I truthfully replied that I feared I was unwelcome to +his daughter. But he told me with a malicious laugh that alarmed me, not +to worry on that score; that he had brought her to her senses. Thus +reminded of Barbara's warning, I concealed the amount of the inheritance +when the subject came up in the course of the conversation and also +skilfully evaded his business proposals. + +"As a matter of fact, I was already turning other prospects over in my +mind. In the chancery, where I had been tolerated only on account of my +father, my place had already been filled by another, which troubled me +little, since no salary was attached to the position. But my father's +secretary, whom recent events had deprived of his livelihood, informed +me of a plan for the establishment of a bureau of information, copying, +and translation. For this undertaking I was to advance the initial cost +of equipment, he being prepared to undertake the management. At my +request the field of copying was extended so as to include music, and +now I was perfectly happy. I advanced the necessary sum, but, having +grown cautious, demanded a written receipt. The rather large bond for +the establishment, which I likewise furnished, caused me no worry, since +it had to be deposited with the court, where it was as safe as though it +were locked up in my strong-box. + +"The affair was settled, and I felt relieved, exalted; for the first +time in my life I was independent--I was a man at last. I scarcely gave +my father another thought. I moved into a better apartment, procured +better clothes, and when it had become dark, I went through familiar +streets to the grocery store, with a swinging step and humming my song, +although not quite correctly. I never have been able to strike the B +flat in the second half. I arrived in the best of spirits, but an icy +look from Barbara immediately threw me back into my former state of +timidity. Her father received me most cordially; but she acted as if no +one were present, continued making paper bags, and took no part whatever +in our conversation. Only when we touched upon the subject of my +inheritance, she rose in her seat and exclaimed in an almost threatening +tone, 'Father!' Thereupon the old man immediately changed the subject. +Aside from that, she said nothing during the whole evening, didn't give +me a second look, and, when I finally took my leave, her 'good-night' +sounded almost like a 'thank heaven.' + +"But I came again and again, and gradually she yielded--not that I ever +did anything that pleased her. She scolded me and found fault with me +incessantly. Everything I did she considered clumsy; God had given me +two left hands; my coat fitted so badly, it made me look like a +scarecrow; my walk was a cross between that of a duck and cock. What she +disliked especially was my politeness toward the customers. As I had +nothing to do until the opening of the copying bureau, where I should +have direct dealings with the public, I considered it a good preliminary +training to take an active part in the retail business of the grocery +store. This often kept me there half the day. I weighed spices, counted +out nuts and prunes for the children, and acted as cashier. In this +latter capacity I was frequently guilty of errors, in which event +Barbara would interfere by forcibly taking away whatever money I had in +my hand, and ridiculing and mocking me before the customers. If I bowed +to a customer or recommended myself to his kind consideration, she would +say brusquely, even before he had left the store, 'The goods carry their +own recommendation,' and turn her back upon me. At other times, however, +she was all kindness; she listened to me when I told her what was going +on in the city, or when I spoke of my early years, or of the business of +the chancery, where we had first met. But at such times she let me do +all the talking and expressed her approval or--as happened more +frequently--her disapproval only by casual words. + +"We never spoke of music or singing. In the first place, she believed +one should either sing or keep quiet, that there was no sense in talking +about it. But it was not possible to do any singing--the store was not +the proper place for it, and the rear room, which she occupied with her +father, I was not allowed to enter. Once, however, when I entered +unnoticed, she was standing on tip-toe, her back turned toward me, with +her hands raised above her head, groping along one of the upper shelves +as if looking for something. At the same time she was singing softly to +herself--it was the song, my song! She was warbling like a hedge-sparrow +when it bathes its breast in the brook, tosses its head, ruffles its +feathers, and smoothes them again with its little beak. I seemed to be +walking in a green meadow. I crept nearer and nearer, and was so close +that the melody seemed no longer to come from without, but out of my own +breast--a song of souls. I was unable to contain myself any longer, and +as she stood there straining forward, her shoulders thrown slightly back +towards me, I threw both arms around her body. But then the storm broke. +She whirled around like a top. Her face livid with rage, she stood +before me; her hand twitched, and before I could utter a word of +apology, the blow came. + +"As I have said before, my colleagues in the chancery used to tell a +story of a box on the ear, which Barbara, when she was still vending +cakes, had dealt out to an impertinent fellow. What they then said of +the strength of this rather small girl and of the power of her hand, +seemed greatly and humorously exaggerated. But it was a fact; her +strength was tremendous. I stood as though I had been struck by a +thunderbolt. The lights were dancing before my eyes, but they were the +lights of heaven. It seemed like sun, moon and stars, like angels +playing hide-and-seek and singing at the same time. I had visions; I was +entranced. She, however, scarcely less astonished than I, passed her +hand gently over the place she had struck. 'I'm afraid I struck more +violently than I intended,' she said, and, like a second thunderbolt, I +suddenly felt her warm breath and her lips upon my cheeks. She kissed +me--only gently, but it was a kiss, a kiss upon this very cheek." As he +said this, the old man put his hand to his cheek, and tears came to his +eyes. "What happened after that I do not know," he continued. "I only +remember that I rushed toward her and that she ran into the sitting room +and threw herself against the glass door, while I pushed against it from +the other side. As she pressed forward with all her might against the +glass panel, I took courage, dear sir, and returned her kiss with great +fervor--through the glass! + +"'Well, this is a jolly party,' I heard some one call out behind me. It +was the grocer, just returning home. 'People who love each other are +fond of teasing each other,' he said. 'Come out, Barbara, don't be +foolish. There's naught amiss in an honest kiss.' But she didn't come +out. I took my leave after having stammered a few words of apology, +scarcely knowing what I was saying. In my confusion I took the grocer's +hat instead of my own, and he laughingly corrected the mistake. This +was, as I called it before, the happiest day of my life--I had almost +said, the only happy day. But that wouldn't be true, for man receives +many favors from God. + +"I didn't know exactly what the girl's feelings toward me were. Was she +angry or had I conciliated her? The next visit cost me a great effort. +But I found her amiable. She sat over her work, humble and quiet, not +irritable as usual, and motioned with her head toward a stool standing +near, intimating that I should sit down and help her. Thus we sat and +worked. The old man prepared to go out. 'You needn't go, Father,' she +said, 'what you want to do has already been attended to.' He stamped his +foot on the floor and remained. Walking up and down he talked of +different things, but I didn't dare take part in the conversation. +Suddenly the girl uttered a low scream. She had cut her finger slightly +and, although she didn't usually pay any attention to such trifles, she +shook her hand back and forth. I wanted to examine the cut, but she +beckoned to me to continue my work. 'There is no end to your +tomfoolery,' the old man grumbled; and, stepping before the girl, he +said in a loud voice, 'What I was going to do hasn't been attended to at +all,' and with a heavy tread he went out of the door. Then I started to +make apologies for the day before, but she interrupted me and said, 'Let +us forget that, and talk of more sensible things.' + +"She raised her head, looked at me from head to foot, and continued in a +calm tone of voice, 'I scarcely remember the beginning of our +acquaintance, but for some time you have been calling more and more +frequently, and we have become accustomed to you. Nobody will deny that +you have an honest heart, but you are weak and always interested in +matters of secondary importance, so that you are hardly capable of +managing your own affairs. It is therefore the duty of your friends and +acquaintances to look out for you, in order that people may not take +advantage of you. Frequently you sit here in the store half the day, +counting and weighing, measuring and bargaining, but what good does +that do you? How do you expect to make your living in future?' I +mentioned the inheritance from my father. 'I suppose it's quite large,' +she said. I named the amount. 'That's much and little,' she replied. +'Much to invest, little to live upon. My father made you a proposition, +but I dissuaded you. For, on the one hand, he has lost money himself in +similar ventures, and on the other hand,' she added with lowered voice, +'he is so accustomed to take advantage of strangers that it's quite +possible he wouldn't treat friends any better. You must have somebody at +your side who has your interests at heart.' I pointed to her. 'I am +honest,' she said, laying her hand upon her heart. Her eyes, which were +ordinarily of a greyish hue, shone bright blue, the blue of the sky. +'But I'm in a peculiar position. Our business yields little profit, and +so my father intends to set himself up as an innkeeper. Now that's no +place for me, and nothing remains for me, therefore, but needlework, for +I will not go out as a servant.' As she said this she looked like a +queen. 'As a matter of fact I've had another offer,' she continued, +drawing a letter from her apron and throwing it half reluctantly upon +the counter. 'But in that case I should be obliged to leave the city.' +'Would you have to go far away?' I asked. 'Why? What difference would +that make to you?' I told her I should move to the same place. 'You're a +child,' she said. 'That wouldn't do at all, and there are quite +different matters to be considered. But if you have confidence in me and +like to be near me, buy the millinery store next door, which is for +sale. I understand the business, and you can count on a reasonable +profit on your investment. Besides, keeping the books and attending to +the correspondence would supply you with a proper occupation. What might +develop later on, we'll not discuss at present. But you would have to +change, for I hate effeminate men.' I had jumped up and seized my hat. +'What's the matter? Where are you going?' she asked. 'To countermand +everything!' I said breathlessly. 'Countermand what?' I then told her of +my plan for the establishment of a copying and information bureau. +'There isn't much in that,' she suggested. 'Information anybody can get +for himself, and everybody has learned to write in school.' I remarked +that music was also to be copied, which was something that not everybody +could do. 'So you're back at your old nonsense?' she burst out. 'Let +your music go, and think of more important matters. Besides, you're not +able to manage a business yourself.' I explained that I had found a +partner. 'A partner?' she exclaimed. 'You'll surely be cheated. I hope +you haven't advanced any money?' I was trembling without knowing why. +'Did you advance any money?' she asked once more. I admitted that I had +advanced the three thousand gulden for the initial equipment. 'Three +thousand gulden!' she exclaimed; 'as much as that?' 'The rest,' I +continued, 'is deposited with the court, and that's safe at all events.' +'What, still more?' she screamed. I mentioned the amount of the bond. +'And did you pay it over to the court personally?' 'My partner paid it.' +'But you have a receipt for it.' 'I haven't.' 'And what is the name of +your fine partner?' she asked. It was a relief to be able to mention my +father's secretary. + +"'Good heavens!' she cried, starting up and wringing her hands. 'Father! +Father!' The old man entered. 'What was that you read in the papers +today?' 'About the secretary?' he asked. 'Yes, yes!' 'Oh, he absconded, +left nothing but debts, and swindled everybody. A warrant for his arrest +has been issued.' 'Father,' she cried, 'here's one of his victims. He +intrusted his money to him. He is ruined!' + +"'Oh, you blockhead! The fools aren't all dead yet,' cried the old man. +'Didn't I tell her so? But she always found an excuse for him. At one +time she ridiculed him, at another time he was honesty itself. But I'll +take a hand in this business! I'll show you who's master in this house. +You, Barbara, go to your room, and quickly. And you, sir, get out, and +spare us your visits in future. We're not in the charity business +here.' 'Father,' said the girl, 'don't be harsh with him; he's unhappy +enough as it is!' 'That's the very reason I don't want to become unhappy +too,' cried the old man. 'There, sir,' he continued, pointing to the +letter Barbara had thrown upon the table a short time before, 'there's a +man for you! He's got brains in his head and money in his purse. He +doesn't swindle any one, but he takes good care at the same time not to +let any one swindle him. And that's the main thing in being honest!' I +stammered something about the loss of the bond not being certain. 'Ha, +ha,' he cried, 'that secretary was no fool, the sly rascal! And now +you'd better run after him, perhaps you can still catch him.' As he said +this, he laid the palm of his hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward +the door. I moved to one side and turned toward the girl, who was +standing with her hands resting on the counter and her eyes fixed on the +ground. She was breathing heavily. I wanted to approach her, but she +angrily stamped her foot upon the floor; and when I held out my hand, +hers twitched as though she were going to strike me again. Then I went, +and the old man locked the door behind me. + +"I tottered through the streets out of the city gate into the open +fields. Sometimes despair gripped me, but then hope returned. I +recollected having accompanied the secretary to the commercial court to +deposit the bond. There I had waited in the gateway while he had gone +upstairs alone. When he came down he told me that everything was in +order and that the receipt would be sent to my residence. As a matter of +fact I had received none, but there was still a possibility. At daybreak +I returned to the city, and made straightway for the residence of the +secretary. But the people there laughed and asked whether I hadn't read +the papers? The commercial court was only a few doors away. I had the +clerks examine the records, but neither his name nor mine could be +found. There was no indication that the sum had ever been paid, and thus +the disaster was certain. But that wasn't all, for inasmuch as a +partnership contract had been drawn up, several of his creditors +insisted upon seizing my person, which the court, however, would not +permit. For this decision I was profoundly grateful, although it +wouldn't have made much difference in the end. + +"I may as well confess that the grocer and his daughter had, in the +course of these disagreeable developments, quite receded into the +background. Now that things had calmed down and I was considering what +steps to take next, the remembrance of that last evening came vividly +back to my mind. The old man, selfish as he was, I could understand very +well; but the girl! Once in a while it occurred to me that if I had +taken care of my money and been able to offer her a comfortable +existence, she might have even--but she wouldn't have accepted me." With +that he surveyed his wretched figure with hands outstretched. "Besides, +she disliked my courteous behavior toward everybody." + +"Thus I spent entire days thinking and planning. One evening at +twilight--it was the time I had usually spent in the store--I had +transported myself in spirit to the accustomed place. I could hear them +speaking, hear them abusing me; it even seemed as though they were +ridiculing me. Suddenly I heard a rustling at the door; it opened, and a +woman entered. It was Barbara. I sat riveted to my chair, as though I +beheld a ghost. She was pale, and carried a bundle under her arm. When +she had reached the middle of the room she remained standing, looked at +the bare walls and the wretched furniture, and heaved a deep sigh. Then +she went to the wardrobe which stood on one side against the wall, +opened her bundle containing some shirts and handkerchiefs--she had been +attending to my laundry during the past few weeks--and pulled out the +drawer. When she beheld the meagre contents she lifted her hands in +astonishment, but immediately began to arrange the linen and put away +the pieces she had brought, whereupon she stepped back from the bureau. +Then she looked straight at me and, pointing with her finger to the open +drawer, she said, 'Five shirts and three handkerchiefs. I'm bringing +back what I took away.' So saying she slowly closed the drawer, leaned +against the wardrobe, and began to cry aloud. It almost seemed as though +she were going to faint, for she sat down on a chair beside the wardrobe +and covered her face with her shawl. By her convulsive breathing I could +see that she was still weeping. I had approached her softly and took her +hand, which she willingly left in mine. But when, in order to make her +look up, I moved my hand up to the elbow of her limp arm, she rose +quickly, withdrew her hand, and said in a calm voice, 'Oh, what's the +use of it all? You've made yourself and us unhappy; but yourself most of +all, and you really don't deserve any pity'--here she became more +agitated--'since you're so weak that you can't manage your own affairs +and so credulous that you trust everybody, a rogue as soon as an honest +man--and yet I'm sorry for you! I've come to bid you farewell. You may +well look alarmed. And it's all your doing. I've got to go out among +common people, something that I've always dreaded; but there's no help +for it. I've shaken hands with you, so farewell, and forever!' I saw the +tears coming to her eyes again, but she shook her head impatiently and +went out. I felt rooted to the spot. When she had reached the door she +turned once more and said, 'Your laundry is now in order. Take good care +of it, for hard times are coming!' And then she raised her hand, crossed +herself, and cried, 'God be with you, James! Forever and ever, Amen!' +she added in a lower voice, and was gone. + +"Not until then did I regain the use of my limbs. I hurried after her +and called to her from the landing, whereupon she stopped on the +stairway, but when I went down a step she called up, 'Stay where you +are,' descended the rest of the way, and passed out of the door. + +"I've known hard days since then, but none to equal this one. The +following was scarcely less hard to bear, for I wasn't quite clear as to +how things stood with me. The next morning, therefore, I stole over to +the grocery store in the hope of possibly receiving some explanation. No +one seemed to be stirring, and so I walked past and looked into the +store. There I saw a strange woman weighing goods and counting out +change. I made bold to enter, and asked whether she had bought the +store. 'Not yet,' she said. 'And where are the owners?' 'They left this +morning for Langenlebarn.' [63] 'The daughter, too?' I stammered. 'Why, +of course,' she said, 'she went there to be married.' + +"In all probability the woman told me then what I learned subsequently +from others. The Langenlebarn butcher, the same one I had met in the +store on my first visit, had been pursuing the girl for some time with +offers of marriage, which she had always rejected until finally, a few +days before, pressed by her father and in utter despair, she had given +her consent. Father and daughter had departed that very morning, and +while we were talking, Barbara was already the butcher's wife. + +"As I said, the woman no doubt told me all this, but I heard nothing and +stood motionless, till finally customers came, who pushed me aside. The +woman asked me gruffly whether there was anything else I wanted, +whereupon I took my departure. + +"You'll believe me, my dear sir," he continued, "when I tell you that I +now considered myself the most wretched of mortals, but it wasn't for +long, for as I left the store and looked back at the small windows at +which Barbara no doubt had often stood and looked out, a blissful +sensation came over me. I felt that she was now free of all care, +mistress of her own home, that she did not have to bear the sorrow and +misery that would have been hers had she cast in her lot with a homeless +wanderer--and this thought acted like a soothing balm, and I blessed her +and her destiny. + +"As my affairs went from bad to worse, I decided to earn my living by +means of music. As long as my money lasted, I practised and studied the +works of the great masters, especially the old ones, copying all of the +music. But when the last penny had been spent, I made ready to turn my +knowledge to account. I made a beginning in private circles, a gathering +at the house of my landlady furnishing the first opportunity. But as the +compositions I rendered didn't meet with approval, I visited the +courtyards of houses, believing that among so many tenants there must be +a few who value serious music. Finally, I even stood on public +promenades, where I really had the satisfaction of having persons stop +and listen, question me and pass on, not without a display of sympathy. +The fact that they left was the very object of my playing, and then I +saw that famous artists, whom I didn't flatter myself I equaled, +accepted money for their performances, sometimes very large sums. In +this way I have managed to make a scanty, but honest, living to this +day. + +"After many years another piece of good fortune was granted to me. +Barbara returned. Her husband had prospered and acquired a butcher shop +in one of the suburbs. She was the mother of two children, the elder +being called James, like myself. My profession and the remembrance of +old times didn't permit me to intrude; but at last they sent for me to +give the elder boy lessons on the violin. He hasn't much talent to be +sure, and can play only on Sundays, since his father needs him in his +business during the week. But Barbara's song, which I have taught him, +goes very well, and when we practise and play in this way, the mother +sometimes joins in with her voice. She has, to be sure, changed greatly +in these many years; she has grown stout, and no longer cares much for +music; but the melody still sounds as sweet as of old." + +With these words the old man took up his violin and began to play the +song, and kept on playing and playing without paying any further +attention to me. At last I had enough. I rose, laid a few pieces of +silver upon the table near me, and departed, while the old man continued +fiddling eagerly. + +Soon after this incident I set out on a journey, from which I did not +return until the beginning of winter. New impressions had crowded out +the old, and I had almost forgotten my musician. It wasn't until the +ice broke up in the following spring and the low-lying suburbs were +flooded in consequence, that I was again reminded of him. The vicinity +of Gardener's Lane had become a lake. There seemed to be no need of +entertaining fears for the old man's life, for he lived high up under +the roof, whereas death had claimed its numerous victims among the +residents of the ground floor. But cut off from all help, how great +might not his distress be! As long as the flood lasted, nothing could be +done. Moreover, the authorities had done what they could to send food +and aid in boats to those cut off by the water. But when the waters had +subsided and the streets had become passable, I decided to deliver at +the address that concerned me most my share of the fund that had been +started for the benefit of the sufferers and that had assumed incredible +proportions. + +The Leopoldstadt was in frightful condition. Wrecked boats and broken +tools were lying in the streets, while the cellars of some houses were +still filled with water covered with floating furniture. In order to +avoid the crowd I stepped aside toward a gate that stood ajar; as I +brushed by it yielded, and in the passageway I beheld a row of dead +bodies, which had evidently been picked up and laid out there for +official inspection. Here and there I could even see unfortunate victims +inside the rooms, still clinging to the iron window bars. For lack of +time and men it was absolutely impossible to take an official census of +so many fatalities. + +Thus I went on and on. On all sides weeping and tolling of funeral +bells, anxious mothers searching for their children and children looking +for their parents. At last I reached Gardener's Lane. There also the +mourners of a funeral procession were drawn up, seemingly at some +distance, however, from the house I was bound for. But as I came nearer +I noticed by the preparations and the movements of the people that there +was some connection between the funeral procession and the gardener's +house. At the gate stood a respectable looking man, somewhat advanced in +years, but still vigorous. In his high top-boots, yellow leather +breeches, and long coat, he looked like a country butcher. He was giving +orders, but in the intervals conversed rather indifferently with the +bystanders. I passed him and entered the court. The old gardener's wife +came toward me, recognized me at once, and greeted me with tears in her +eyes. "Are you also honoring us?" she said, "Alas, our poor old man! +He's playing with the angels, who can't be much better than he was here +below. The good man was sitting up there safe in his room; but when the +water came and he heard the children scream, he jumped down and helped; +he dragged and carried them to safety, until his breathing sounded like +a blacksmith's bellows. And when toward the very last--you can't have +your eyes everywhere--it was found that my husband had forgotten his +tax-books and a few paper gulden in his wardrobe, the old man took an +axe, entered the water which by that time reached up to his chest, broke +open the wardrobe and fetched everything like the faithful creature he +was. In this way he caught a cold, and as we couldn't summon aid at +once, he became delirious and went from bad to worse, although we did +what we could and suffered more than he did himself. For he sang +incessantly, beating time and imagining that he was giving lessons. When +the water had subsided somewhat and we were able to call the doctor and +the priest, he suddenly raised himself in bed, turned his head to one +side as though he heard something very beautiful in the distance, +smiled, fell back, and was dead. Go right up stairs; he often spoke of +you. The lady is also up there. We wanted to have him buried at our +expense, but the butcher's wife would not allow it." + +She urged me to go up the steep staircase to the attic-room. The door +stood open, and the room itself had been cleared of everything except +the coffin in the centre, which, already closed, was waiting for the +pall-bearers. At the head sat a rather stout woman no longer in the +prime of life, in a colored cotton dress, but with a black shawl and a +black ribbon in her bonnet. It seemed almost as though she could never +have been beautiful. Before her stood two almost grown-up children, a +boy and a girl, whom she was evidently instructing how to behave at the +funeral. Just as I entered she was pushing the boy's arm away from the +coffin, on which he had been leaning in rather awkward fashion; then she +carefully smoothed the projecting corners of the shroud. The gardener's +wife led me up to the coffin, but at that moment the trombones began to +play, and at the same time the butcher's voice was heard from the +street, "Barbara, it's time." The pall-bearers appeared and I withdrew +to make room for them. The coffin was lifted and carried down, and the +procession began to move. First came the school children with cross and +banner, then the priest and the sexton. Directly behind the coffin +marched the two children of the butcher, and behind them came the +parents. The man moved his lips incessantly, as if in devout prayer, yet +looked constantly about him in both directions. The woman was eagerly +reading in her prayer-book, but the two children caused her some +trouble. At one time she pushed them ahead, at another she held them +back; in fact the general order of the funeral procession seemed to +worry her considerably. But she always returned to her prayer-book. In +this way the procession arrived at the cemetery. The grave was open. The +children threw down the first handful of earth, being followed by their +father, who remained standing while their mother knelt, holding her book +close to her eyes. The grave-diggers completed their business, and the +procession, half disbanded, returned. At the door there was a slight +altercation, as the wife evidently considered some charge of the +undertaker too high. The mourners scattered in all directions. The old +musician was buried. + +A few days later--it was a Sunday--I was impelled by psychological +curiosity and went to the house of the butcher, under the pretext that I +wished to secure the violin of the old man as a keepsake. I found the +family together, showing no token of recent distress. But the violin was +hanging beside the mirror and a crucifix on the opposite wall, the +objects being arranged symmetrically. When I explained the object of my +visit and offered a comparatively high price for the instrument, the man +didn't seem averse to concluding a profitable bargain. The woman, +however, jumped up from her chair and said, "Well, I should say not. The +violin belongs to James, and a few gulden more or less make no +difference to us." With that she took the instrument from the wall, +looked at it from all sides, blew off the dust, and laid it in the +drawer, which she thereupon closed violently, looking as though she +feared some one would steal it. Her face was turned away from me, so +that I couldn't see what emotions were passing over it. At this moment +the maid brought in the soup, and as the butcher, who didn't allow my +visit to disturb him, began in a loud voice to say grace, in which the +children joined with their shrill voices, I wished them a good appetite +and left the room. My last glance fell upon the wife. She had turned +around and the tears were streaming down her cheeks. + + * * * * * + + + + +MY JOURNEY TO WEIMAR[64] + +TRANSLATED BY ALFRED REMY, A.M. + +Professor of Modern Languages. Brooklyn Commercial High School. + + +A journey is an excellent remedy for a perplexed state of mind. This +time the goal of my journey was to be Germany. The German geniuses had, +indeed, almost all departed from this life, but there was still one +living, Goethe, and the idea of speaking with him or even of merely +seeing him made me happy in anticipation. I never was, as was the +fashion at that time, a blind worshipper of Goethe, any more than I was +of any other one poet. True poetry seemed to me to lie where they met on +common ground; their individual characteristics lent them, on the one +hand, the charm of individuality, while, on the other hand, they shared +the general propensity of mankind to err. Goethe, in particular, had, +since the death of Schiller, turned his attention from poetry to +science. By distributing his talents over too many fields, he +deteriorated in each; his latest poetic productions were tepid or cool, +and when, for the sake of pose, he turned to the classical, his poetry +became affected. The impassiveness which he imparted to that period +contributed perhaps more than anything else to the decadence of poetry, +inasmuch as it opened the door to the subsequent coarseness of Young +Germany, of popular poetry, and of the Middle-high German trash. The +public was only too glad to have once again something substantial to +feed upon. Nevertheless, Goethe is one of the greatest poets of all +time, and the father of our poetry. Klopstock gave the first impulse, +Lessing blazed the trail, Goethe followed it. Perhaps Schiller means +more to the German nation, for a people needs strong, sweeping +impressions; Goethe, however, appears to be the greater poet. He fills +an entire page in the development of the human mind, while Schiller +stands midway between Racine and Shakespeare. Little as I sympathized +with Goethe's most recent activity, and little as I could expect him to +consider the author of _The Ancestress_ and _The Golden Fleece_ worthy +of any consideration, in view of the dispassionate quietism which he +affected at the time, I nevertheless felt that the mere sight of him +would be sufficient to inspire me with new courage. _Dormit puer, non +mortuus est_. (The boy sleeps, he is not dead.) + + * * * * * + +At last I arrived in Weimar and took quarters in "The Elephant," a +hostelry at that time famous throughout Germany and the ante-room, as it +were, to the living Valhalla of Weimar. From there I dispatched the +waiter with my card to Goethe, inquiring whether he would receive me. +The waiter returned with the answer that His Excellency, the +Privy-councilor, was entertaining some guests and could not, therefore, +receive me at the moment. He would expect me in the evening for tea. + +I dined at the hotel. My name had become known through my card and the +report of my presence spread through the town, so that I made many +acquaintances. + +Toward evening I called on Goethe. In the reception-room I found quite a +large assemblage waiting for His Excellency, the Privy-councilor, who +had not yet made his appearance. Among these there was a court +councilor, Jacob or Jacobs, with his daughter, whom Goethe had +entertained at dinner. The daughter, who later won a literary reputation +under the pseudonym of Talvj, was as young as she was beautiful, and as +beautiful as she was cultured, and so I soon lost my timidity and in my +conversation with the charming young lady almost forgot that I was in +Goethe's house. At last a side door opened, and he himself entered. +Dressed in black, the star[65] on his breast, with erect, almost stiff +bearing, he stepped among us with the air of a monarch granting an +audience. He exchanged a few words with one and another of his guests, +and finally crossed the room and addressed me. He inquired whether +Italian literature was cultivated to any great extent in our country. I +told him, which was a fact, that the Italian language was, indeed, +widely known, since all officials were required to learn it; Italian +literature, on the other hand, was completely neglected; the fashion was +rather to turn to English literature, which, despite its excellence, had +an admixture of coarseness that seemed to me to be anything but +advantageous to the present state of German culture, especially of +poetry. Whether my opinion pleased him or not, I have no means of +knowing; I am almost inclined to believe it did not, inasmuch as he was +at that very time in correspondence with Lord Byron. He left me, talked +with others, returned, conversed I no longer remember on what subjects, +finally withdrew, and we were dismissed. + +I confess that I returned to the hostelry in a most unpleasant frame of +mind. It was not that my vanity had been offended--on the contrary, +Goethe had treated me more kindly and more attentively than I had +anticipated--but to see the ideal of my youth, the author of _Faust_, +_Clavigo_, and _Egmont_, in the rôle of a formal minister presiding at +tea brought me down from my celestial heights. Had his manner been rude +or had he shown me the door, it would have pleased me better. I almost +repented having gone to Weimar. + +Consequently I determined to devote the following day to sightseeing, +and ordered horses at the inn for the day following. On the morning of +the next day visitors of all sorts put in an appearance, among them the +amiable and respected Chancellor Müller, and, above all, my +fellow-countryman Hummel, who for many years had been occupying the +position of musical director in Weimar. He had left Vienna before my +poetry had attracted attention, so that we had not become acquainted +with each other. It was almost touching to witness the joy with which +this ordinarily unsociable man greeted me and took possession of me. In +the first place I probably revived in him memories of his native city, +which he had left with reluctance; then, too, it probably gave him +satisfaction to find his literary countryman honored and respected in +Weimar, where he heard nothing but disparaging opinions regarding the +intellectual standing of Austria. And, finally, he had an opportunity of +conversing with a Viennese in his home dialect, which he had preserved +pure and unadulterated while living among people who spoke quite +differently. I do not know whether it was the contrast, or whether this +really was the worst German I had ever heard in my life. While we were +planning to visit some points of interest in Weimar, and while +Chancellor Müller, who had probably noticed my depression, was assuring +me that Goethe's formality was nothing but the embarrassment always +displayed by him on meeting a stranger for the first time, the waiter +entered and handed me a card containing an invitation from Goethe to +dine with him the next day. I therefore had to prolong my stay and to +countermand the order for the horses. The morning was passed in visiting +the places that had become famous through their literary associations. +Schiller's house interested me most of all, and I was especially +delighted to find in the poet's study, really an attic-room in the +second story, an old man who is said to have acted as prompter at the +theatre in Schiller's time, teaching his grandson to read. The little +boy's open and intelligently animated expression prompted the illusion +that out of Schiller's study a new Schiller might some day emerge--an +illusion which, to be sure, has not been realized. + +The exact order of events is now confused in my mind. I believe it was +on this first day that I dined with Hummel _en famille_. There I found +his wife, formerly the pretty singer, Miss Röckel, whom I could well +remember in page's attire and close-fitting silk tights. Now she was an +efficient, respected housewife, who vied with her husband in amiability. +I felt myself strongly drawn to the whole family and, in spite of his +rather mechanical disposition, I honored and venerated Hummel as the +last genuine pupil of Mozart. + +In the evening I attended the theatre with Chancellor Müller, where an +unimportant play was being given, in which, however, Graff, Schiller's +first Wallenstein, had a rôle. I saw nothing particularly remarkable in +him, and when I was told that, after the first performance, Schiller had +rushed upon the stage, embraced Graff, and exclaimed that now for the +first time did he understand his Wallenstein, I thought to myself--how +much greater might the great poet have become had he ever known a public +and real actors! It is remarkable, by the way, that Schiller, who is not +at bottom very objective, lends himself so perfectly to an objective +representation. He became figurative, while believing himself to be only +eloquent--one more proof of his incomparable genius. In Goethe we find +the exact opposite. While he is ordinarily called objective and is so to +a great extent, his characters lose in the actual representation. His +figurativeness is only for the imagination; in the representation the +delicate, poetic tinge is necessarily lost. However, these are +reflections for another time; they do not belong here. + +At last the momentous day with its dinner-hour arrived, and I went to +Goethe. The other guests, all of them men, were already assembled, the +charming Talvj having departed with her father the morning after the +tea-party and Goethe's daughter-in-law being absent from Weimar at the +time. To the latter and to her daughter, who died when quite young, I +later became very much attached. As I advanced into the room Goethe came +toward me, and was now as amiable and cordial as he had recently been +formal and cold. I was deeply moved. When we went in to dinner, and +Goethe, who had become for me the embodiment of German Poetry and, +because of the immeasurable distance between us, almost a mythological +being, took my hand to lead me into the dining-room, the boy in me +manifested itself once again and I burst into tears. Goethe took great +pains to conceal my foolish emotion. I sat next to him at dinner and he +was more cheerful and talkative than he had been for a long time, as the +guests asserted later. The conversation, enlivened by him, became +general, but Goethe frequently turned to me individually. However, I +cannot recall what he said, except a good joke regarding Müllner's +_Midnight Journal_. Unfortunately I made no notes concerning this +journey, or, rather, I did begin a diary, but as the accident I had in +Berlin made it at first impossible for me to write and later difficult, +a great gap ensued. This deterred me from continuing it, and, besides, +the difficulty of writing remained, even in Weimar. I therefore +determined to fill in what was lacking immediately after my return to +Vienna, while the events were still fresh in my memory. But when I +arrived there some other work demanded immediate attention, and the +matter soon escaped my mind; and therefore I retained in my memory +nothing but general impressions of what I had almost called the most +important moment of my life. Only one occurrence at dinner stands out in +my memory--namely, in the ardor of the conversation I yielded to an old +habit of breaking up the piece of bread beside me into unsightly crumbs. +Goethe lightly touched each individual crumb with his finger and +arranged them in a little symmetrical heap. Only after the lapse of some +time did I notice this, and then I discontinued my handiwork. + +As I was taking my leave, Goethe requested me to come the next morning +and have myself sketched, for he was in the habit of having drawings +made of those of his visitors who interested him. They were done in +black crayon by an artist especially engaged for the work, and the +pictures were then put into a frame which hung in the reception-room for +this purpose, being changed in regular rotation every week. This honor +was also bestowed upon me. + +When I arrived the next morning the artist had not yet appeared; I was +therefore directed to Goethe, who was walking up and down in his little +garden. The cause of his stiff bearing before strangers now became clear +to me. The years had not passed without leaving some traces. As he +walked about in the garden, one could see that the upper part of his +body, his head and shoulders, were bent slightly forward. This he wished +to hide from strangers, and hence that forced straightening-up which +produced an unpleasant impression. The sight of him in this unaffected +carriage, wearing a long dressing-gown, a small skull-cap on his white +hair, had something infinitely touching about it. He looked like a king, +and again like a father. We walked up and down, engaged in conversation. +He mentioned my _Sappho_ and seemed to think well of it, thus in a way +praising himself, for I had followed fairly closely in his footsteps. +When I complained of my isolated position in Vienna he remarked what we +have since read in his printed works, that man can do efficient work +only in the company of likeminded or congenial spirits. If he and +Schiller had attained universal recognition, they owed it largely to +this stimulating and supplementing reciprocal influence. + +In the meantime the artist had arrived. We entered the house and I was +sketched. Goethe had gone into his room, whence he emerged from time to +time to satisfy himself as to the progress of the picture, which pleased +him when completed. When the artist had departed Goethe had his son +bring in some of his choicest treasures. There was his correspondence +with Lord Byron; everything relating to his acquaintance with the +Empress and the Emperor of Austria at Karlsbad; and finally the imperial +Austrian copyright of his collected works. This latter he seemed to +value very highly, either because he liked the conservative attitude of +Austria, or because he regarded it as an oddity in contradistinction to +the usual policy pursued in literary matters by this country. These +treasures were wrapped separately in half-oriental fashion in pieces of +silk, Goethe handling them with reverence. At last I was most graciously +dismissed. + +In the course of the day Chancellor Müller suggested my visiting Goethe +toward evening; he would be alone, and my visit would by no means be +unwelcome to him. Not until later did it occur to me that Müller could +not have made the suggestion without Goethe's knowledge. + +Now I committed my second blunder in Weimar. I was afraid to be alone +with Goethe for an entire evening, and after considerable vacillation +decided not to go. Several elements combined to produce this fear. In +the first place, it seemed to me that there was nothing within the whole +range of my intellect worthy of being displayed before Goethe. Secondly, +it was not until later that I learned to place the proper value upon my +own works by comparing them with those of my contemporaries, the former +appearing exceedingly crude and insignificant in contrast with the works +of my predecessors, especially here in the home of German poetry. +Finally, as I stated before, I had left Vienna with the feeling that my +poetic talent had completely exhausted itself, a feeling which was +intensified in Weimar to the point of actual depression. It seemed to me +an utterly unworthy proceeding to fill Goethe's ears with lamentations +and to listen to words of encouragement for which there seemed to be no +guarantee of fulfilment. + +Yet there was some method in this madness after all. Goethe's aversion +at that time for anything violent and forced was well known to me. Now I +was of the opinion that calmness and deliberation are appropriate only +to one who is capable of introducing such a wealth of thought into his +works as Goethe has done in his _Iphigenia_ and _Tasso_. At the same +time I held the opinion that every one must emphasize those qualities +with which he is most strongly endowed, and these in my case were at +that time warmth of feeling and vividness of imagination. Occupying, as +I then did, the viewpoint of impartial observation, I felt that I was +far too weak to defend against Goethe the causes of such divergence from +his own views, and I had far too much reverence for him to accept his +exposition with pretended approval or in hypocritical silence. + +At all events I did not go, and that displeased Goethe. He had good +cause to feel astonished that I should display such indifference to the +proffered opportunity of enlightening him concerning my works and +myself; or else he came nearer to the truth, and imagined that _The +Ancestress_ and my predilection for similar effusions, which were +repugnant to him, were not entirely quenched within me; or perhaps he +divined my entire mood, and concluded that an unmanly character was +bound to ruin even a great talent. From that time on he was much colder +toward me. + +But as far as this unmanliness is concerned, I confess, as I have +previously done, to falling a prey to this weakness whenever I find +myself confronted with a confused mass of sensations of lesser +importance, especially with goodwill, reverence, and gratitude. Whenever +I was able to define the opposing factors sharply to myself in the +rejection of the bad as well as in the perseverance in a conviction, I +displayed both before and after this period a firmness which, indeed, +might even be called obstinacy. But in general it may safely be +asserted: Only the union of character and talent produces what is called +genius. + +On one of these days I was also commanded to appear before the grand +duke, whom I met in all his simplicity and unaffectedness in the +so-called Roman House. He conversed with me for over an hour, and my +description of Austrian conditions seemed to interest him. Not he, but +most of the others, hinted at the desire of acquiring my services for +the Weimar theatre--a desire that did not coincide with my own +inclination. + +When on the fourth day of my stay I paid my farewell visit to Goethe, he +was friendly, but somewhat reserved. He expressed astonishment at my +leaving Weimar so soon, and added that they would all be glad to hear +from me occasionally. "They," then, would be glad, not he. Even in later +years he did not do me justice, for I do consider myself the best poet +that has appeared after him and Schiller, in spite of the gulf that +separates me from them. That all this did not lessen my love and +reverence for him, I need scarcely say. + + * * * * * + + + + +BEETHOVEN AS A LETTER WRITER + +BY WALTER R. SPALDING, A.M. + +Associate Professor of Music, Harvard University + + +The first musician to whom a place among the representative masters of +German literature may justly be assigned is Beethoven, and this fact is +so significant and so closely connected with the subsequent development +both of music and literature that the reasons for such a statement +should be set forth in detail. Although Haydn kept a note-book, still +extant, during his two visits to London, and although Mozart wrote the +average number of letters, from no one of the musicians prior to +Beethoven have we received, in writings which can be classed as +literature, any expression of their personalities. Their intellectual +and imaginative activity was manifested almost exclusively in music, and +their interest in whatever lay outside the musical horizon was very +slight. In the written words of neither Haydn nor Mozart do we find any +reference to the poetical and prose works of Germany or of other +nations, nor is there any evidence that their imaginations were +influenced by suggestions drawn from literature. Famous though they were +as musicians by reason of their sincere and masterful handling of the +raw material of music, there is so little depth of thought in their +compositions that many of them have failed to live. Neither Haydn nor +Mozart can be considered as a great character and we miss the note of +sublimity in their music, although it often has great vitality and +charm. Beethoven, however, was a thinker in tones and often in words. + +[Illustration: BEETHOVEN] + +His symphonies are human documents, and even had he not written a single +note of music we have sufficient evidence in verbal form to convince us +that his personality was one of remarkable power and that music was only +one way, though, to be sure, the foremost, of expressing the depth of +his feeling and the range of his mental activity. In distinction from +his predecessors, who were merely musicians, Beethoven was a man first +and a musician second, and the lasting vitality in his works is due to +their broad human import; they evidently came from a character endowed +with a rich and fertile imagination, from one who looked at life from +many sides. Several of his most famous compositions were founded on +works of Shakespeare, Goethe, and Schiller, and the Heroic Symphony +bears witness to his keen interest in the momentous political changes of +his time and in the growth of untrammeled human individuality. No mere +manipulator of sounds and rhythms could have impressed the fastidious +nobility of Vienna to the high degree chronicled by contemporary +testimony. Beethoven wished to be known as a _Tondichter_, i.e., a +first-hand creator, and his whole work was radically different from the +rather cautious and imitative methods which had characterized former +composers. It was through the cultivated von Breuning family of Bonn +that the young Beethoven became acquainted with English literature, and +his growing familiarity with it exerted a strong influence upon his +whole life and undoubtedly increased the natural vigor of his +imagination, for the literature of England surpassed anything which had +so far been produced by Germany. Later, in 1823, when the slavery +debates were going on in Parliament, he used to read with keen interest +the speeches of Lord Brougham. + +In estimating the products of human imagination during the last century, +a fact of great significance is the relationship of the arts of +literature and of music. Numerous examples might be cited of men who +were almost equally gifted in expressing themselves in either words or +musical sounds--notably von Weber, E.T.A. Hoffmann, Spohr, Schumann, and +Mendelssohn, this dual activity reaching a remarkable climax in Richard +Wagner, who was both a great dramatic poet and an equally supreme +musician. The same tendency is manifested by leaders of thought in other +nations. Thus the French Berlioz and St. Saëns are equally noted as +composers and men of letters; the Italian Boito is an able dramatist as +well as composer; and, among modern instances, Debussy, d'Indy, and +Strauss have shown high literary as well as musical ability. To turn to +the other side of this duality, allusions to music in works of both +prose and poetry have become increasingly frequent during the nineteenth +century, and the musical art is no longer considered a mysterious +abstraction entirely divorced from the outward world of men and events. +It is a long step from Goethe, who was entirely unable to grasp the +meaning of Beethoven's symphonies, to such men as Heine, who has made +some very illuminating comments on various composers and their music; +Max Müller, a highly cultivated musical amateur; Schopenhauer, whose +esthetic principles so deeply influenced Wagner; and Nietzsche, a +musician of considerable technical ability. To these names should be +added that of Robert Browning who, together with Shakespeare, has shown +a truer insight into the real nature of music than any other English +writers have manifested. + +With Beethoven, then, music ceases to be an opportunity for the display +of mere abstract skill and takes its place on an equality with the arts +of poetry and painting as a means of intense personal expression. If the +basis of all worth in literature is that the writer shall have something +genuine to say, Beethoven's letters are certainly literature, for they +are the direct revelation of a great and many-sided personality and +furnish invaluable testimony as to just what manner of man he was--too +great indeed for music wholly to contain him. The Letters are not to be +read for their felicity of expression, as one might approach the letters +of Stevenson or Lamb; for Beethoven, even in his music, always valued +substance more than style, or, at any rate, kept style subservient to +vitality of utterance. In fact, one modern French musician claims that +he had no taste! He was not gifted with the literary charm and subtlety +of his great follower, Hector Berlioz, and had no practise as a +journalist or a critic. As his deafness increased after the year 1800 +and he was therefore forced to live a life of retirement, he committed +his thoughts more and more to writing, and undoubtedly left to the world +a larger number of letters than if he had been taking a normal part in +the activities of his fellowmen. + +Particular attention is called to the variety of Beethoven's +correspondents and to their influential position in the artistic and +social life of that period. In the Will, number 55, a most impassioned +expression of feeling, Beethoven lays bare his inmost soul, and with an +eloquence seldom surpassed has transformed cold words into living +symbols of emotion. The immortal power contained in his music finds its +parallel in this document. He who appeals to our deepest emotions +commands for all time our reverent allegiance. In addition to the +letters there is an extensive diary and also numerous conversation +books. All these writings are valuable, not only for themselves, but +because they confirm in an unmistakable way certain of the salient +characteristics of his musical compositions. With Beethoven we find in +instrumental music, practically for the first time, a prevailing note of +sublimity. He must have been a religious man in the truest sense of the +term, with the capacity to realize the mystery and grandeur of human +destiny, and numerous passages from the letters give eloquent expression +to an analogous train of serious thought. (See letters 1017 and 1129.) +One of his favorite books was Sturm's _Betrachtungen über die Werke +Gottes in der Natur_ ("Contemplations upon the Works of God in Nature"), +and from his diary of 1816 we have the quotation which was the basis of +his creed--"God is immaterial, and for this reason transcends every +conception. Since he is invisible He can have no form. But from what we +observe in His work we may conclude that He is eternal, omnipotent, +omniscient, and omnipresent." + +Although some modern critics have doubted whether music without the +association of words can express humor, the introduction of this element +into symphonic music is generally considered one of Beethoven's greatest +achievements. While it is true that if any one listening to the scherzos +of the Third and Eighth symphonies asserts that they mean nothing +humorous to him no one can gainsay him, we know that Beethoven intended +these movements to be expressions of his overflowing humorous spirits +and the suggestive term "scherzo" is his own invention. In music, as in +literature, much hinges upon the definition of humor, and there is the +same distinction in each art between wit--light and playful, and +humor--broad, serious, and, at times, even grim. A genuine humorist is +always a deep thinker, one who sees all sides of human nature--the great +traits and the petty ones. The poet Lowell has defined humor as +consisting in the contrast of two ideas, and in a Beethoven scherzo the +gay and the pathetic are so intermingled that we are in constant +suspense between laughter and tears. A humorist, furthermore, is a +person of warm heart, who looks with sympathetic affection upon the +incongruities of human nature. In fact, both the expression and the +perception of humor are social acts, as may be seen from the development +of this subject by the philosopher Bergson in his brilliant essay _On +Laughter_. That Beethoven the humorist was closely related to Beethoven +the humanist, and that the expression of humor in his music--something +quite different from the facile wit and cleverness of the Haydn +minuet--was inevitable with him, is clearly proved by the presence of +the same spirit in so many of the letters. Too much stress has been laid +by Beethoven's biographers upon his buffoonery and fondness for +practical jokes. At bottom he was most tender-hearted and sympathetic; +his nature, of volcanic impetuosity, a puzzling mixture of contradictory +emotions. In but very few of his great works is the element of humor +omitted, and its expression ranges all the way from the uproariously +comic to the grimly tragic. Some of his scherzos reveal the same +fantastic caprice which is found in the medieval gargoyles of Gothic +architecture. + +Beethoven's letters, then, are to be considered as the first distinct +evidence we have of that change in the musical sense which has brought +about such important developments in the trend of modern music. Just as +in Beethoven's works we generally feel that there is something behind +the notes, and as he is said always to have composed with some poetical +picture in his mind, so the music of our time has become programmistic +in the wide sense of the term, no longer a mere embodiment of the laws +of its own being but charged with vital and dramatic import, closely +related to all artistic expression and to the currents of daily life. +Familiarity with the selection of letters here published cannot fail to +contribute to a deeper enjoyment of Beethoven's music, for through them +we realize that the universality of the artist was the direct +consequence of the emotional breadth of the man. All art is a union of +emotion and intellect, and their perfect balance is the paramount +characteristic of this master. + + * * * * * + + + +BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS[66] + +TRANSLATED BY J.S. SHEDLOCK + + + +NO. 8 + +TO DR. FRANZ WEGELER IN VIENNA + +(Between 1794-1796) + + +My dearest, my best one! + +What a horrid picture you have drawn to me of myself. I recognize it; I +do not deserve your friendship. You are so noble, so kindly disposed, +and now for the first time I do not dare to compare myself with you; I +have fallen far below you. Alas! for weeks I have given pain to my best, +my noblest friends. You believe I have ceased to be kind-hearted, but, +thank heaven, 'tis not so! It was not intentional, thought-out malice on +my part, which caused me to act thus; but my unpardonable +thoughtlessness, which prevented me from seeing the matter in the right +light. I am thoroughly ashamed for your sake, also for mine. I scarcely +venture to beg you to restore your friendship. Ah, Wegeler! _My only +consolation is that you knew me almost from my childhood_, and--oh! let +me say it myself--I was really always of good disposition, and in my +dealings always strove to be upright and honest; how, otherwise, could +you have loved me! Could I, then, in so short a time have suddenly +changed so terribly, so greatly to my disadvantage? Impossible that +these feelings for what is great and good should all of a sudden become +extinct! My Wegeler, dear and best one, venture once again to come to +the arms of your B. Trust to the good qualities which you formerly found +in him. I will vouch for it that the pure temple of holy friendship +which you will erect on them will forever stand firm; no chance event, +no storm will be able to shake its foundations--firm--eternal--our +friendship--forgiveness--forgetting--revival of dying, sinking +friendship. Oh, Wegeler! do not cast off this hand of reconciliation; +place your hand in mine--O God!--but no more! I myself come to you and +throw myself in your arms, and sue for the lost friend, and you will +give yourself to me full of contrition, who loves and ever will be +mindful of you. + +BEETHOVEN. + +I have just received your letter on my return home. + + + +NO. 27 + +TO THE COMPOSER J.N. HUMMEL + +(Vienna, circa 1799) + + +Do not come any more to me. You are a false fellow, and the hangman take +all such! + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 28 + +TO THE SAME + +(The next day) + + +Good Friend Nazerl: + +You are an honorable fellow, and I see you were right. So come this +afternoon to me. You will also find Schuppanzigh, and both of us will +blow you up, thump you, and shake you; so you will have a fine time of +it. + +Your Beethoven, also named Mehlschoeberl, embraces you. + + + +NO. 35 + +TO CARL AMENDA AT WIRBEN IN COURLAND + + +Vienna, June 1, 1800. + +My Dear, My Good Amenda, My Heartily Beloved Friend: + +With deep emotion, with mixed pain and pleasure, did I receive and read +your last letter. To what can I compare your fidelity, your attachment +to me. Oh! how pleasant it is that you have always remained so kind to +me; yes, I also know that you, of all men, are the most trustworthy. You +are no Viennese friend; no, you are one of those such as my native +country produces. How often do I wish you were with me, for your +Beethoven is most unhappy and at strife with nature and the Creator. The +latter I have often cursed for exposing His creatures to the smallest +chance, so that frequently the richest buds are thereby crushed and +destroyed. Only think that the noblest part of me, my sense of hearing, +has become very weak. Already when you were with me I noted traces of +it, and I said nothing. Now it has become worse, and it remains to be +seen whether it can ever be healed. * * * What a sad life I am now +compelled to lead! I must avoid all that is near and dear to me, and +then to be among such wretched egotistical beings as ----, etc.! I can +say that among all Lichnowski has best stood the test. Since last year +he has settled on me 600 florins, which, together with the good sale of +my works, enables me to live without anxiety. Everything I write, I can +sell immediately five times over, and also be well paid. * * * Oh! how +happy should I now be if I had my perfect hearing, for I should then +hasten to you. As it is, I must in all things be behindhand; my best +years will slip away without bringing forth what, with my talent and my +strength, I ought to have accomplished. I must now have recourse to sad +resignation. I have, it is true, resolved not to worry about all this, +but how is it possible? Yes, Amenda, if, six months hence, my malady is +beyond cure, then I lay claim to your help. You must leave everything +and come to me. I will travel (my malady interferes least with my +playing and composition, most only in conversation), and you must be my +companion. I am convinced good fortune will not fail me. With whom need +I be afraid of measuring my strength? Since you went away I have written +music of all kinds except operas and sacred works. + +Yes, do not refuse; help your friend to bear with his troubles, his +infirmity. I have also greatly improved my piano-forte playing. I hope +this journey may also turn to your advantage; afterwards you will always +remain with me. I have duly received all your letters, and although I +have answered only a few, you have been always in my mind; and my +heart, as always, beats tenderly for you. _Please keep as a great secret +what I have told you about my hearing; trust no one, whoever it may be, +with it_. + +Do write frequently; your letters, however short they may be, console +me, do me good. I expect soon to get another one from you, my dear +friend. Don't lend out my _Quartet_ any more, because I have made many +changes in it. I have only just learnt how to write quartets properly, +as you will see when you receive them. + +Now, my dear good friend, farewell! If perchance you believe that I can +show you any kindness here, I need not, of course, remind you to address +yourself first to + +Your faithful, truly loving, + +L. v. BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 45 + +TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI + + +On the 6th July, 1801, in the morning + +My Angel, My All, My Very Self: + +Just a few words today, and indeed in pencil--with thine--only till +tomorrow is my room definitely engaged; what an unworthy waste of time +in such matters--why this deep sorrow where necessity speaks! Can our +love endure otherwise than through sacrifices, through restraint in +longing? Canst thou help not being wholly mine, can I, not being wholly +thine? Oh! gaze at nature in all its beauty, and calmly accept the +inevitable--love demands everything, and rightly so. _Thus is it for me +with thee, for thee with me_, only thou so easily forgettest that I must +live for myself and for thee--were we wholly united thou wouldst feel +this painful fact as little as I should--my journey was terrible. I +arrived here only yesterday morning at four o'clock, and as they were +short of horses the mail-coach selected another route--but what an awful +road! At the last stage but one I was warned against traveling by night; +they frightened me with a wood, but that only spurred me on--and I was +wrong, the coach must needs break down, the road being dreadful, a +swamp, a mere country road; without the postillions I had with me I +should have stuck on the way. Esterhazi, by the ordinary road, met with +the same fate with eight horses as I with four--yet it gave me some +pleasure, as successfully overcoming any difficulty always does. Now for +a quick change from without to within--we shall probably soon see each +other, besides, today I cannot tell thee what has been passing through +my mind during the past few days concerning my life--were our hearts +closely united I should not do things of this kind. My heart is full of +many things I have to say to thee--ah, there are moments in which I feel +that speech is powerless! Cheer up--remain my true, my only treasure, my +all!!! as I to thee. The gods must send the rest--what for us must be +and ought to be. + +Thy faithful + +LUDWIG. + + +Monday Evening, July 6. + +Thou sufferest, thou my dearest love! I have just found out that the +letters must be posted very early Mondays, Thursdays--the only days when +the post goes from here to K. Thou sufferest--ah, where I am, art thou +also with me! I will arrange for myself and Thee; I will manage so that +I can live with thee; and what a life!!! But as it is--without thee!!! +Persecuted here and there by the kindness of men, which I little +deserve, and as little care to deserve. Humility of man toward man--it +pains me--and when I think of myself in connection with the universe, +what am I and what is He who is named the Greatest--and still this again +shows the divine in man. I weep when I think that probably thou wilt get +the first news from me only on Saturday evening. However much thou +lovest me, my love for thee is stronger; but never conceal thy thoughts +from me. Good-night! As I am taking the baths I must go to bed [two +words scratched through]. O God--so near! so far! Our love--is it not a +true heavenly edifice, firm as heaven's vault! + + +Good morning, on July 7. + +While still in bed, my thoughts press to thee, my Beloved One, at moments +with joy, and then again with sorrow, waiting to see whether fate will +take pity on us. Either I must live wholly with thee, or not at all. Yes, +I have resolved to wander in distant lands, until I can fly to thy arms +and feel that with thee I have a real home; with thee encircling me +about, I can send my soul into the kingdom of spirits. Yes, unfortunately, +it must be so. Calm thyself, and all the more since thou knowest my +faithfulness toward thee! Never can another possess my heart, +never--never--O God! why must one part from what one so loves--and yet +my life in V. at present is a wretched life! Thy love has made me one of +the happiest and, at the same time, one of the unhappiest of men; at my +age I need a quiet, steady life--but is that possible in our situation? +My Angel, I have just heard that the post goes every day, and I must +therefore stop, so that you may receive the letter without delay. Be +calm--only by calm consideration of our existence can we attain our aim +to live together; be calm--love me--today--yesterday--what tearful +longing after thee--thee--thee--my life--my all--farewell! Oh, continue +to love me--never, never misjudge the faithful heart + +Of Thy Beloved + +L. + +Ever thine, ever thine, ever each other's. + + + +NO. 55 + +TO HIS BROTHERS CARL AND ---- BEETHOVEN + + +O ye men who regard or declare me to be malignant, stubborn, or cynical, +how unjust are ye towards me! You do not know the secret cause of my +seeming so. From childhood onward, my heart and mind prompted me to be +kind and tender, and I was ever inclined to accomplish great deeds. But +only think that, during the last six years, I have been in a wretched +condition, rendered worse by unintelligent physicians, deceived from +year to year with hopes of improvement, and then finally forced to the +prospect of _lasting infirmity_ (which may last for years, or even be +totally incurable). Born with a fiery, active temperament, even +susceptive of the diversions of society, I had soon to retire from the +world, to live a solitary life. At times, even, I endeavored to forget +all this, but how harshly was I driven back by the redoubled experience +of my bad hearing! Yet it was not possible for me to say to men: Speak +louder, shout, for I am deaf. Alas! how could I declare the weakness of +a _sense_ which in me _ought_ to be more acute than in others--a sense +which _formerly_ I possessed in highest perfection, a perfection such as +few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed; no, I cannot do it. +Forgive, therefore, if you see me withdraw, when I would willingly mix +with you. My misfortune pains me doubly in that I am certain to be +misunderstood. For me there can be no recreation in the society of my +fellow creatures, no refined conversations, no interchange of thought. +Almost alone, and mixing in society only when absolutely necessary, I am +compelled to live as an exile. If I approach near to people, a feeling +of hot anxiety comes over me lest my condition should be noticed--for so +it was during these past six months which I spent in the country. +Ordered by my intelligent physician to spare my hearing as much as +possible, he almost fell in with my present frame of mind, although many +a time I was carried away by my sociable inclinations. But how +humiliating was it, when some one standing close to me heard a distant +flute, and I heard _nothing_, or a _shepherd singing_, and again I heard +nothing. Such incidents almost drove me to despair; at times I was on +the point of putting an end to my life--_art_ alone restrained my hand. +Oh! it seemed as if I could not quit this earth until I had produced all +I felt within me, and so I continued this wretched life--wretched, +indeed, and with so sensitive a body that a somewhat sudden change can +throw me from the best into the worst state. _Patience_, I am told, I +must choose as my guide. I have done so--lasting, I hope, will be my +resolution to bear up until it pleases the inexorable Parcæ to break the +thread. Forced already, in my 28th year, to become a philosopher, it +is not easy--for an artist more difficult than for any one else. O +Divine Being, Thou who lookest down into my inmost soul, Thou +understandest; Thou knowest that love for mankind and a desire to do +good dwell therein! Oh, my fellow men, when one day you read this, +remember that you were unjust to me and let the unfortunate one console +himself if he can find one like himself, who, in spite of all obstacles +which nature has thrown in his way, has still done everything in his +power to be received into the ranks of worthy artists and men. You, my +brothers Carl and ----, as soon as I am dead, beg Professor Schmidt, +if he be still living, to describe my malady; and annex this written +account to that of my illness, so that at least the world, so far as is +possible, may become reconciled to me after my death. And now I declare +you both heirs to my small fortune (if such it may be called). Divide it +honorably and dwell in peace, and help each other. What you have done +against me has, as you know, long been forgiven. And you, brother Carl, +I especially thank you for the attachment you have shown toward me of +late. My prayer is that your life may be better, less troubled by cares, +than mine. Recommend to your children _virtue_; it alone can bring +happiness, not money. I speak from experience. It was virtue which bore +me up in time of trouble; to her, next to my art, I owe thanks for my +not having laid violent hands on myself. Farewell, and love one another. +My thanks to all friends, especially _Prince Lichnowski_ and _Professor +Schmidt_. I should much like one of you to keep as an heirloom the +instruments given to me by Prince L., but let no strife arise between +you concerning them; if money should be of more service to you, just +sell them. How happy I feel, that, even when lying in my grave, I may be +useful to you! + +So let it be. I joyfully hasten to meet death. If it come before I have +had opportunity to develop all my artistic faculties, it will come, my +hard fate notwithstanding, too soon, and I should probably wish it +later--yet even then I shall be happy, for will it not deliver me from a +state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt, I shall face thee +courageously. Farewell, and when I am dead do not entirely forget me. +This I deserve from you, for during my lifetime I often thought of you, +and how to make you happy. Be ye so. + +LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN. + +Heiligenstadt, October 6, 1802. + + + +NO. 136 + +TO THERESE VON MALFATTI + +(1807) + + +You receive herewith, honored Therese, what I promised, and had it not +been for serious hindrances you would have received more, in order to +show you that I always _offer more to my friends than I actually +promise_. I hope and have every reason to believe that you are nicely +occupied and as pleasantly entertained--but I hope not too much, so that +you may also think of us. It would probably be expecting too much of +you, or overrating my own importance, if I ascribed to you: "Men are not +only together when they are together; even he who is far away, who has +departed, is still in our thoughts." Who would ascribe anything of the +kind to the lively T., who takes life so easily? + +Pray do not forget the pianoforte among your occupations, or, indeed, +music generally. You have such fine talent for it. Why not devote +yourself entirely to it--you who have such feeling for all that is +beautiful and good? Why will you not make use of this, in order that you +may recognize in so beautiful an art the higher perfection which casts +down its rays even on us. I am very solitary and quiet, although lights +now and again might awaken me; but since you all went away from here, I +feel in me a void which cannot be filled; my art, even otherwise so +faithful to me, has not been able to gain any triumph. Your piano is +ordered, and you will soon receive it. What a difference you will have +found between the treatment of the theme I improvised one evening, and +the way in which I recently wrote it down for you! Explain that to +yourself, but don't take too much punch to help you. How lucky you are, +to be able to go so soon to the country! I cannot enjoy that happiness +until the 8th. I am happy as a child at the thought of wandering among +clusters of bushes, in the woods, among trees, herbs, rocks. No man +loves the country more than I; for do not forests, trees, rocks reëcho +that for which mankind longs? Soon you will receive other compositions +of mine, in which you will not have to complain much about difficulties. +Have you read Goethe's _Wilhelm Meister_, the _Schlegel translation of +Shakespeare_? One has much leisure in the country, and it will perhaps +be agreeable to you if I send you these works. I happen to have an +acquaintance in your neighborhood, so perhaps I shall come early some +morning and spend half an hour at your house, and be off again; notice +that I shall inflict on you the shortest _ennui_. + +Commend me to the good wishes of your father, your mother, although I +can claim no right for so doing--and the same, likewise, to cousin MM. +Farewell, honored T. I wish you all that is good and beautiful in life. +Keep me, and willingly, in remembrance--forget my wild behavior. Be +convinced that no one more than myself can desire to know that your life +is joyous, prosperous, even though you take no interest in + +Your most devoted servant and friend, + +BEETHOVEN. + +N.B.--It would really be very nice on your part to send me a few lines +to say in what way I can be of service here. + + + +NO. 151 + +TO THE BIGOTS + +(Probably Summer, 1808) + + +Dear Marie, Dear Bigot: + +Only with the deepest regret am I forced to perceive that the purest, +most innocent, feelings can often be misconstrued. As you have received +me so kindly, it never occurred to me to explain it otherwise than that +you bestow on me your friendship. You must think me very vain or +small-minded, if you suppose that the civility itself of such excellent +persons as you are could lead me to believe that--I had at once won your +affection. Besides, it is one of my first principles never to stand in +other than friendly relationship with the wife of another man. Never by +such a relationship (as you suggest) would I fill my breast with +distrust against her who may one day share my fate with me--and so taint +for myself the most beautiful, the purest life. + +It is perhaps possible that sometimes I have not joked with Bigot in a +sufficiently refined way; I have indeed told both of you that +occasionally I am very free in speech. I am perfectly natural with all +my friends, and hate all restraint. I now also count Bigot among them, +and if anything I do displeases him, friendship demands from him and you +to tell me so--and I will certainly take care not to offend him again; +but how can good Marie put such bad meaning on my actions! + +With regard to my invitation to take a drive with you and Caroline, it +was natural that, as Bigot, the day before, was opposed to your going +out alone with me, I was forced to conclude that you both probably found +it unbecoming or objectionable--and when I wrote to you, I only wished +to make you understand that I saw no harm in it. And so, when I further +declared that I attached great value to your not declining, this was +only that I might induce you to enjoy the splendid, beautiful day; I was +thinking more of your and Caroline's pleasure than of mine, and I +thought, _if I declared that mistrust on your part or a refusal would be +a real offense to me_, by this means almost to compel you to yield to my +wish. The matter really deserves careful reflection on your part as to +how you can make amends for having spoilt this day so bright for me, +owing as much to my frame of mind as to the cheerful weather. When I +said that you misunderstand me, your present judgment of me shows that I +was quite right--not to speak of what you thought to yourself about it. +When I said that something bad would come of it if I came to you, this +was more as a joke. The object was to show you how much everything +connected with you attracts me, so that I have no greater wish than to +be able always to live with you; and that is the truth. Even supposing +there was a hidden meaning in it, the most holy friendship can often +have secrets, but on that account to misinterpret the secret of a friend +because one cannot at once fathom it--that you ought not to do. Dear +Bigot, dear Marie, never, never will you find me ignoble. From childhood +onwards I learnt to love virtue--and all that is beautiful and good. You +have deeply pained me; but it shall only serve to render our friendship +ever firmer. Today I am really not well, and it would be difficult for +me to see you. Since yesterday, after the quartet, my sensitiveness and +my imagination pictured to me the thought that I had caused you +suffering. I went at night to the ball for distraction, but in vain. +Everywhere the picture of you all pursued me; it kept saying to me--they +are so good and perhaps through you they are suffering; thoroughly +depressed, I hastened away. Write to me a few lines. + +Your true friend BEETHOVEN embraces you all. + + + +NO. 198 + +TO BREITKOPF AND HAERTEL + + +Vienna, August 8, 1809. + +I have handed over to Kind and Co. a _sextet_ for 2 clarinets, 2 +bassoons, 2 horns, and 2 German lieder or songs, so that they may reach +you as soon as possible--they are presents to you in return for all +those things which I asked you for _as presents_; the _Musik Zeitung_ +which I had also forgotten--I remind you in a friendly way about it. +Perhaps you could let me have editions of Goethe's and Schiller's +complete works--from their literary abundance something _comes in to +you_, and I then send to you many things, i.e., _something which goes +out into all the world_. Those two poets are my favorite poets, also +Ossian, Homer, the latter whom I can, unfortunately, read only in +translation. So these (Goethe and Schiller) you have only to shoot out +from your literary store-house, and if you send them to me soon you +will make me perfectly happy, and all the more so, seeing that I hope to +pass the remainder of the summer in some cozy country corner. The sextet +is one of my early things, and, moreover, was written in one night; the +best one can say of it is that it was composed by an author who, at any +rate, has produced better works--and yet, for many, such works are the +best. + +Farewell, and send very soon news to your most devoted + +BEETHOVEN. + +Of the 'cello Sonata I should like to have a few copies; I would indeed +beg you always to send me half a dozen copies; I never sell any--there +are, however, here and there poor _Musici_, to whom one cannot refuse a +thing of that sort. + + + +NO. 220 + +TO BETTINA BRENTANO + + +Vienna, August 11, 1810. + +Dearest Bettina (Friend!): + +No finer Spring than the present one--I say that and also feel it, +because I have made your acquaintance. You yourself have probably seen +that in society I am like a frog (fish) on the sand, which turns round +and round, and cannot get away until a well-wishing Galatea puts him +again into the mighty sea. Yes, I was quite out of my element, dearest +Bettina; I was surprised by you at a moment when ill-humor was quite +master of me, but it actually disappeared at sight of you. I at once +perceived that you belonged to a different world from this absurd one, +to which, with the best will, one cannot open one's ears. I myself am a +wretched man and yet complain of others!--You will surely forgive me, +with your good heart, which is seen in your eyes, and with your +intelligence, which lies in your ears--at least our ears know how to +flatter when they listen. My ears, unfortunately, are a barrier-wall +through which I cannot easily hold friendly communication with men, +else--perhaps!--I should have had more confidence in you. So I could +only understand the great, intelligent look of your eyes, which so +impressed me that I can never forget it. Dear Bettina (friend), beloved +Maiden!--Art!--Who understands it, with whom can one speak concerning +this great goddess! How dear to me were the few days when we gossiped or +rather corresponded together! I have kept all the little notes on which +stand your clever, dear, very dear, answers; so I have, at any rate, to +thank my bad hearing that the best part of these fleeting conversations +has been noted down. Since you went away I have had vexatious hours, +hours of darkness, in which one can do nothing; after your departure I +roamed about for full three hours in the Schoenbrunner Alley, also on +the ramparts; but no angel met me who could take such hold on me as you, +angel!--Forgive, dearest Bettina (friend), this digression from the key; +I must have such intervals in order to give vent to my feelings. Then +you have written, have you not, to Goethe about me? I would willingly +hide my head in a sack, so as to hear and see nothing of what is going +on in the world, because you, dearest angel, will not meet me. But I +shall surely receive a letter from you? Hope nourishes me--it nourishes, +indeed, half the world; I have had it as my neighbor all my life--what +otherwise would have become of me? I here send, written with my own +hand, "Kennst du das Land"--in remembrance of the hour in which I made +your acquaintance. I also send the other which I have composed since I +parted from you dear, dearest heart!-- + + Heart, my heart, what bodes the crisis, + What oppresseth thee so sore? + What a strange, untoward life this! + I can fathom thee no more. + +Yes, dearest Bettina (friend), send me an answer, write to me what will +happen to me since my heart has become such a rebel. Write to your most +faithful friend, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 295 + +TO EMILIE M. AT H. + + +Teplitz, July 17, 1812. + +My Dear Good Emilie, My Dear Friend! + +I am sending a late answer to your letter; a mass of business and +constant illness must be my excuse. That I am here for the restoration +of my health proves the truth of my excuse. Do not snatch the laurel +wreaths from Handel, Haydn, Mozart; they are entitled to them; as yet I +am not. + +Your pocket-book shall be preserved among other tokens of the esteem of +many men, which I do not deserve. + +Continue, do not only practise art, but get at the very heart of it; +this it deserves, for only art and science raise men to the Godhead. If, +my dear Emilie, you at any time wish to know something, write without +hesitation to me. The true artist is not proud, for he unfortunately +sees that art has no limits; he feels darkly how far he is from the +goal; and, though he may be admired by others, he is sad not to have +reached that point to which his better genius appears only as a distant, +guiding sun. I would, perhaps, rather come to you and your people than +to many rich folk who display inward poverty. If one day I should come +to H., I will come to you, to your house; I know no other excellencies +in man than those which cause him to rank among better men; where I find +this, there is my home. + +If you wish, dear Emilie, to write to me, only address straight here +where I shall remain for the next four weeks, or to Vienna; it is all +one. Look upon me as your friend, and as the friend of your family. + +LUDWIG V. BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 300 + +TO BETTINA VON ARNIM + + +Teplitz, August 15, 1812. + +Dearest, good Bettina! + +Kings and princes can certainly create professors, privy councilors, and +titles, and hang on ribbons of various orders, but they cannot create +great men, master-minds which tower above the rabble; this is beyond +them. Such men must therefore be held in respect. When two such as I and +Goethe meet, these grand gentlemen are forced to note what greatness, in +such as we are, means. Yesterday on the way home we met the whole +Imperial family. We saw them from afar approaching, and Goethe slipped +away from me and stood to one side. Say what I would, I could not induce +him to advance another step, so I pushed my hat on my head, buttoned up +my overcoat, and went, arms folded, into the thickest of the crowd. +Princes and sycophants drew up in a line; Duke Rudolph took off my hat, +after the Empress had first greeted me. Persons of rank _know_ me. To my +great amusement I saw the procession defile past Goethe. Hat in hand, he +stood at the side, deeply bowing. Then I mercilessly reprimanded him, +cast his sins in his teeth, especially those of which he was guilty +toward you, dearest Bettina, of whom we had just been speaking. Good +heavens! Had I been in your company, as he has, I should have produced +works of greater, far greater, importance. A musician is also a poet, +and the magic of a pair of eyes can suddenly cause him to feel +transported into a more beautiful world, where great spirits make sport +of him and set him mighty tasks. I cannot tell what ideas came into my +head when I made your acquaintance. In the little observatory during the +splendid May rain--that was a fertile moment for me; the most beautiful +themes then glided from your eyes into my heart, which one day will +enchant the world when Beethoven has ceased to conduct. If God grant me +yet a few years, then I must see you again, dear, dear Bettina; so calls +the voice within me which never errs. Even minds can love each other. I +shall always court yours; your approval is dearer to me than anything in +the whole world. I gave my opinion to Goethe, that approval affects such +men as ourselves and that we wish to be listened to with the intellect +by those who are our equals. Emotion is only for women (excuse this); +the flame of music must burst forth from the mind of a man. Ah! my +dearest child, we have now for a long time been in perfect agreement +about everything! The only good thing is a beautiful, good soul, which +is recognized in everything, and in presence of which there need be no +concealment. _One must be somebody if one wishes to appear so_. The +world is bound to recognize one; it is not always unjust. To me, +however, that is a matter of no importance, for I have a higher aim. I +hope when I get back to Vienna to receive a letter from you. Write soon, +soon, and a very long one; in 8 days from now I shall be there; the +court goes tomorrow; there will be no more performance today. The +Empress rehearsed her part with him. His duke and he both wished to play +some of my music, but to both I made refusal. They are mad on Chinese +porcelain, hence there is need for indulgence; for the intellect has +lost the whip-hand. I will not play to these silly folk, who never get +over that mania, nor will I write at public cost any stupid stuff for +princes. Adieu, adieu, dearest; your last letter lay on my heart for a +whole night, and comforted me. _Everything_ is allowed to musicians. +Great heavens, how I love you! + +Your sincerest friend and deaf brother, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 615 + +TO HERR VON GOETHE + + +Vienna, April 12, 1811. + +Your Excellency: + +The pressing business of a friend of mine, one of your great admirers +(as I also am), who is leaving here in a great hurry, gives me only a +moment to offer my thanks for the long time I have known you (for I know +you from the days of my childhood)--that is very little for so much. +Bettina Brentano has assured me that you would receive me in a +kindly--yes, indeed friendly, spirit. But how could I think of such a +reception, seeing that I am only in a position to approach you with the +deepest reverence, with an inexpressibly deep feeling for your noble +creations? You will shortly receive from Leipzig, through Breitkopf and +Haertel, the music to _Egmont_, this glorious _Egmont_, with which I, +with the same warmth with which I read it, was again through you +impressed by it and set it to music. I should much like to know your +opinion of it; even blame will be profitable for me and for my art, and +will be as willingly received as the greatest praise. + +Your Excellency's great admirer, + +LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 1017 + +TO B. SCHOTT & SON, MAINZ + + +(Summer, 1824). + +Dear Sirs: + +I only tell you that next week the works will certainly be sent off. You +will easily understand, if you only imagine to yourself, that with +uncertain copying I have to look through each part separately--for this +branch has already decreased here in proportion as tuning has been taken +up. Everywhere poverty of spirit--and of purse! Your _Cecilia_ I have +not yet received. + +The _Overture_ which you had from my brother was performed here a few +days ago, and I received high praise for it, etc.--but what is all that +in comparison with the great Tone-Master above--above--above--and with +right the greatest of all, while here below everything is a mockery--_we +the little dwarfs are the highest_!!!?? You will receive the quartet at +the same time as the other works. You are so open and frank--qualities +which I have never yet noticed in publishers--and this pleases me. Let +us shake hands over it; who knows whether I shall not do that in person +and soon! I should be glad if you would now at once forward the +honorarium for the quartet to Friess, for I just now want a great deal +of money; everything must come to me from abroad, and here and there a +delay arises--through my own fault. My brother adds what is necessary +about the works offered to, and accepted by, you. I greet you heartily. +Junker, as I see from your newspaper, is still living; he was one of the +first who _noticed_ me, an innocent and nothing more. Greet him. + +In greatest haste, and yet not of shortest standing, + +Yours, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 1117 + +TO HIS NEPHEW CARL + + +Baden, October 5, 1825. + +For God's sake, do come home again today! Who knows what danger might be +threatening you! Hasten, hasten! My Dear Son! + +Only nothing further--only come to my arms; you shall hear no harsh +word. For Heaven's sake, do not rush to destruction! You will be +received as ever with affection. As to considering what is to be done in +future, we will talk this over in a friendly way--no reproaches, on my +word of honor, for it would be of no use. You need expect from me only +the most loving help and care. + +Only come--come to the faithful heart of your father, + +BEETHOVEN. + +Come at once on receipt of this. + +Si vous ne viendrez pas vous me tuerez surement. + +VOLTI SUB. + + + +NO. 1129 + +TO THE COPYIST RAMPEL + +(1825) + + +Best Rampel, come tomorrow morning, but go to hell with your calling me +gracious. _God alone can be called gracious_. The servant I have already +engaged--only impress on her to be honest and attached to me, as well as +orderly and punctual in her small services. + +Your devoted BEETHOVEN. + + * * * * * + + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 2: Translator: Sir Theodore Mart Permission William Blackwood +& Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 3: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 4: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 5: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 6: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 7: Translator: Richard Garnett. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 8: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 9: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 10: Translator: Franklin Johnson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 11: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 12: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 13: Translator: Charles G. Leland. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 14: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 15: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 16: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 17: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 18: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 19: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 20: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 21: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 22: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 23: Translator: Edgar Alfred Bowring. Permission The Walter +Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 24: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 25: Translator: W.H. Furness. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 26: Translator: John Todhunter. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 27: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission The Walter +Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 28: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 29: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 30: Translator: James Thomson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 31: Translator: Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 32: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 33: Translator: "Stratheir." Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 34: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons.] + +[Footnote 35: Translator: James Thomson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 36: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 37: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 38: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 39: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 40: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 41: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 42: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 43: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 44: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 45: Translator: Lord Houghton. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 46: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 47: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 48: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 49: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 50: Names of Student's Corps.] + +[Footnote 51: Name of the University of Göttingen.] + +[Footnote 52: Name of an Austrian periodical.] + +[Footnote 53: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 54: According to that dignified and erudite work, the +_Burschikoses Woerterbuch_, or Student-Slang Dictionary, "to bind a +bear" signifies to contract a debt. The definition of a "sable," as +given in the dictionary above cited is, "A young lady anxious to +please."] + +[Footnote 55: From _Ideen: Das Buch Le Grand_ (Chaps. VI-IX). Permission +E.P. Dutton & Co., New York, and William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 56: From _Pictures of Travel_, permission W. Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 57: From _French. Affairs_; permission of William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 58: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 59: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 60: This prototype of "The House that Jack Built" is presumed +to be a hymn in Seder Hagadah, fol. 23. The historical interpretation, +says Mrs. Valentine, who has reproduced it in her Nursery Rhymes, was +first given by P.N. Leberecht at Leipzig in 1731, and is printed in the +Christian Reformer, vol. xvii, p. 28. The original is in Chaldee. It is +throughout an allegory. The kid, one of the pure animals, denotes +Israel. The Father by whom it was purchased is Jehovah; the two pieces +of money signify Moses and Aaron. The cat means the Assyrians, the dog +the Babylonians, the staff the Persians, the fire the Grecian Empire +under Alexander the Great. The water betokens the Roman or the fourth of +the great monarchies to whose dominion the Jews were subjected. The ox +is a symbol of the Saracens, who subdued Palestine; the butcher that +killed the ox denotes the crusaders by whom the Holy Land was taken from +the Saracens; the Angel of Death the Turkish power to which Palestine is +still subject. The tenth stanza is designed to show that God will take +signal vengeance on the Turks, and restore the Jews to their own land.] + +[Footnote 61: There is a concluding verse which Heine has omitted. "Then +came the Holy One of Israel--blessed be he--and slew the Angel of Death, +who," etc.--TRAN.] + +[Footnote 62: A suburb of Vienna.] + +[Footnote 63: In Lower Austria, on the railroad from Vienna to Eger.] + +[Footnote 64: From Grillparzer's _Autobiography_ (1855).] + +[Footnote 65: A decoration.] + +[Footnote 66: A Critical Edition by Dr. A.C. Kalischer. Permission J.M. +Dent & Co., London, and E.P. Dutton & Co., New York.] + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The German Classics of The Nineteenth +and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VI., by Editor-in-Chief: Kuno Francke + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12473 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0195995 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12473 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12473) diff --git a/old/12473-8.txt b/old/12473-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d4e050 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12473-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19797 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The German Classics of The Nineteenth and +Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VI., by Editor-in-Chief: Kuno Francke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VI. + Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English. In Twenty + Volumes + + +Author: Editor-in-Chief: Kuno Francke + +Release Date: May 29, 2004 [EBook #12473] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GERMAN CLASSICS, VOL. 6 *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +VOLUME VI + + + + +HEINRICH HEINE + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN + + + + + +THE GERMAN CLASSICS + +Masterpieces of German Literature + +TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH + + +Patrons' Edition + +IN TWENTY VOLUMES + +ILLUSTRATED + + +1914 + +CONTRIBUTORS AND TRANSLATORS + +VOLUME VI + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI + + +HEINRICH HEINE + + The Life of Heinrich Heine. By William Guild Howard + + Poems + + Dedication. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + Songs. Translators: Sir Theodore Martin, Charles Wharton Stork, T. + Brooksbank + + A Lyrical Intermezzo. Translators: T. Brooksbank, Sir Theodore + Martin, J.E. Wallis, Richard Garnett, Alma Strettell, Franklin Johnson, + Charles G. Leland, Charles Wharton Stork + + Sonnets. Translators: T. Brooksbank, Edgar Alfred Bowring + + Poor Peter. Translated by Alma Strettell + + The Two Grenadiers. Translated by W.H. Furness + + Belshazzar. Translated by John Todhunter + + The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + The Return Home. Translators: Sir Theodore Martin. Kate + Freiligrath-Kroeker, James Thomson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning + + Twilight. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + Hail to the Sea. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + In the Harbor. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + A New Spring. Translators: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker, Charles Wharton + Stork + + Abroad. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Sphinx. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + Germany. Translated by Margaret Armour + + Enfant Perdu. Translated by Lord Houghton + + The Battlefield of Hastings. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Asra. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Passion Flower. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + + Prose + + The Journey to the Harz. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + Boyhood Days. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + English Fragments--Dialogue on the Thames; London; Wellington. + Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + Lafayette. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + The Romantic School. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + The Rabbi of Bacharach. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + The Life of Franz Grillparzer. By William Guild Howard + + Medea. Translated by Theodore A. Miller + + The Jewess of Toledo. Translated by George Henry Danton and Annina + Periam Danton + + The Poor Musician. Translated by Alfred Remy + + My Journey to Weimar. Translated by Alfred Remy + + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN + + Beethoven as a Letter Writer. By Walter R. Spalding + + Beethoven's Letters. Translated by J.S. Shedlock + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS--VOLUME VI + + +Emperor William I at a Court Reception-Frontispiece + +Heinrich Heine. By W. Krauskopf + +Heinrich Heine. By E. Hader + +The Lorelei Fountain in New York. By Herter + +Spring's Awakening. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Flower Fantasy. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Poor Peter. By P. Grotjohann + +The Two Grenadiers. By P. Grotjohann + +Rocky Coast. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Play of the Waves. By Arnold Böcklin + +Market Place, Göttingen + +Old Imperial Palace, Goslar + +The Witches' Dancing Ground + +The Brocken Inn About 1830 + +The Falls of the Ilse + +View from St. Andreasberg + +Johann Wilhelm Monument, Düsseldorf + +The Duke of Wellington. By d'Orsay + +Bacharach on the Rhine + +House in Bacharach + +Franz Grillparzer + +Franz Grillparzer and Kaethi Fröhlich in 1823 + +Grillparzer's House in Spiegelgasse + +Grillparzer's Room in the House of the Sisters Fröhlich + +Franz Grillparzer in His Sixtieth Year + +The Grillparzer Monument at Vienna + +Medea. By Anselm Feuerbach + +Medea. From the Grillparzer Monument at Vienna + +Beethoven. By Max Klinger + + + + +THE LIFE OF HEINRICH HEINE + +BY WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD, A.M. +Assistant Professor of German, Harvard University + +I. + +The history of German literature makes mention of few men more +self-centered and at the same time more unreserved than Heinrich +Heine. It may be said that everything which Heine wrote gives us, and +was intended to give us, first of all some new impression of the +writer; so that after a perusal of his works we know him in all his +strength and weakness, as we can know only an amiable and +communicative egotist; moreover, besides losing no opportunity for +self-expression, both in and out of season, Heine published a good +deal of frankly autobiographical matter, and wrote memoirs, only +fragments of which have come down to us, but of which more than has +yet appeared will perhaps ultimately be made accessible. Heine's life, +then, is to us for the most part an open book. Nevertheless, there are +many obscure passages in it, and there remain many questions not to be +answered with certainty, the first of which is as to the date of his +birth. His own statements on this subject are contradictory, and the +original records are lost. But it seems probable that he was born on +the thirteenth of December, 1797, the eldest child of Jewish parents +recently domiciled at Düsseldorf on the Rhine. + +The parentage, the place, and the time were almost equally significant +aspects of the constellation under which young Harry Heine--for so he +was first named--began his earthly career. He was born a Jew in a +German city which, with a brief interruption, was for the first +sixteen years of his life administered by the French. The citizens of +Düsseldorf in general had little reason, except for high taxes and the +hardships incident to conscription in the French armies, to complain +of the foreign dominion. Their trade flourished, they were given +better laws, and the machinery of justice was made much less +cumbersome than it had been before. But especially the Jews hailed the +French as deliverers; for now for the first time they were relieved of +political disabilities and were placed upon a footing of equality with +the gentile population. To Jew and gentile alike the military +achievements of the French were a source of satisfaction and +admiration; and when the Emperor of the French himself came to town, +as Heine saw him do in 1810, we can easily understand how the +enthusiasm of the boy surrounded the person of Napoleon, and the idea +that he was supposed to represent, with a glamor that never lost its +fascination for the man. To Heine, Napoleon was the incarnation of the +French Revolution, the glorious new-comer who took by storm the +intrenched strongholds of hereditary privilege, the dauntless leader +in whose army every common soldier carried a field marshal's baton in +his knapsack. If later we find Heine mercilessly assailing the +repressive and reactionary aristocracy of Germany, we shall not +lightly accuse him of lack of patriotism. He could not be expected to +hold dear institutions of which he felt only the burden, without a +share in the sentiment which gives stability even to institutions that +have outlived their usefulness. Nor shall we call him a traitor for +loving the French, a people to whom his people owed so much, and to +whom he was spiritually akin. + +French influences, almost as early as Hebrew or German, were among the +formative forces brought to bear upon the quick-witted but not +precocious boy. Heine's parents were orthodox, but by no means bigoted +Jews. We read with amazement that one of the plans of the mother, +ambitious for her firstborn, was to make of him a Roman Catholic +priest. The boy's father, Samson Heine, was a rather unsuccessful +member of a family which in other representatives--particularly +Samson's brother Salomon in Hamburg--attained to wealth and prominence +in the world of finance. + +[Illustration: W. KRAUSKOPF HEINRICH HEINE After a Drawing in the +Possession of Mr. Carl Meinert in Dessau] + +Samson Heine seems to have been too easy-going, self-indulgent, and +ostentatious, to have made the most of the talents that he +unquestionably had. Among his foibles was a certain fondness for the +pageantry of war, and he was in all his glory as an officer of the +local militia. To his son Gustav he transmitted real military +capacity, which led to a distinguished career and a patent of nobility +in the Austrian service. Harry Heine inherited his father's more +amiable but less strenuous qualities. Inquisitive and alert, he was +rather impulsive than determined, and his practical mother had her +trials in directing him toward preparation for a life work, the +particular field of which neither she nor he could readily choose. +Peira, or Betty, Heine was a stronger character than her husband; and +in her family, several members of which had taken high rank as +physicians, there had prevailed a higher degree of intellectual +culture than the Heines had attained to. She not only managed the +household with prudence and energy, but also took the chief care of +the education of the children. To both parents Harry Heine paid the +homage of true filial affection; and of the happiness of the home +life, _The Book Le Grand_ and a number of poems bear unmistakable +witness. The poem "My child, we were two children" gives a true +account of Harry and his sister Charlotte at play. + +In Düsseldorf, Heine's formal education culminated in attendance in +the upper classes of a Lyceum, organized upon the model of a French +Lycée and with a corps of teachers recruited chiefly from the ranks of +the Roman Catholic clergy. The spirit of the institution was +rationalistic and the discipline wholesome. Here Heine made solid +acquisitions in history, literature, and the elements of philosophy. +Outside of school, he was an eager spectator, not merely of stirring +events in the world of politics, but also of many a picturesque +manifestation of popular life--a spectator often rather than a +participant; for as a Jew he stood beyond the pale of both the German +and the Roman Catholic traditions that gave and give to the cities of +the Rhineland their characteristic naïve gaiety and harmless +superstition. Such a poem as _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_ would be +amazing as coming from an unbeliever, did we not see in it evidence of +the poet's capacity for perfect sympathetic adoption of the spirit of +his early environment. The same is true of many another poetic +expression of simple faith, whether in Christianity or in the +mythology of German folk-lore. + +Interest in medieval Catholicism and in folk-lore is one of the most +prominent traits in the Romantic movement, which reached its +culmination during the boyhood of Heine. The history of Heine's +connection with this movement is foreshadowed by the circumstances of +his first contact with it. He tells us that the first book he ever +read was _Don Quixote_ (in the translation by Tieck). At about the +same time he read _Gulliver's Travels_, the tales of noble robbers +written by Goethe's brother-in-law, Vulpius, the wildly fantastic +stories of E.T.A. Hoffmann, Schiller's _Robbers_; but also Uhland's +ballads, and the songs collected by Arnim and Brentano in _The Boy's +Magic Horn_. That is to say: At the time when in school a critical and +skeptical mind was being developed in him by descendants of the age of +enlightenment, his private reading led him for the most part into the +region of romanticism in its most exaggerated form. At the time, +furthermore, when he took healthy romantic interest in the picturesque +Dusseldorf life, his imagination was morbidly stimulated by furtive +visits to a woman reputed to be a witch, and to her niece, the +daughter of a hangman. His earliest poems, the _Dream Pictures_, +belong in an atmosphere charged with witchery, crime, and the +irresponsibility of nightmare. This coincidence of incompatible +tendencies will later be seen to account for much of the mystery in +Heine's problematic character. + +It having been decided, perhaps because the downfall of Napoleon shut +the door of all other opportunity, that Heine should embark upon a +mercantile career, he was given a brief apprenticeship, in 1815 at +Frankfurt, in the following years at Hamburg, under the immediate +patronage of his uncle Salomon who, in 1818, even established the +young poet in a dry goods business of his own. The only result of +these experiments was the demonstration of Heine's total inaptitude +for commercial pursuits. But the uncle was magnanimous and offered his +nephew the means necessary for a university course in law, with a view +to subsequent practice in Hamburg. Accordingly, after some brushing up +of Latin at home, Heine in the fall of 1819 was matriculated as a +student at the University of Bonn. + +In spite of failure to accomplish his immediate purpose, Heine had not +sojourned in vain at Hamburg. He had gained the good will of an +opulent uncle whose bounty he continued almost uninterruptedly to +enjoy to the end of his days. But in a purpose that lay much nearer to +his heart he had failed lamentably; for, always sensitive to the +charms of the other sex, Heine had conceived an overpowering passion +for his cousin Amalie, the daughter of Salomon, only to meet with +scornful rebuffs at the hands of the coquettish and worldly-minded +heiress. There is no reason to suppose that Amalie ever took her +cousin's advances seriously. Her father certainly did not so take +them. On the other hand, there is equally little reason to doubt the +sincerity and depth of Heine's feelings, first of unfounded hope, then +of persistent despair that pursued him in the midst of other +occupations and even in the fleeting joys of other loves. The most +touching poems included among the _Youthful Sorrows_ of his first +volume were inspired by Amalie Heine. + +At Bonn Heine was a diligent student. Though never a roysterer, he +took part in various extra-academic enterprises, was a member of the +_Burschenschaft_, that democratic-patriotic organization so gravely +suspected by the reactionary governments, and made many friends. He +duly studied history and law; he heard Ernst Moritz Arndt interpret +the _Germania_ of Tacitus; but more especially did he profit by +official and personal relations with A.W. Schlegel, who taught Heine +what he himself knew best, namely, the secret of literary form and the +art of metrical expression. + +The fall of 1820 saw Heine at Göttingen, the Hanoverian university to +which, shortly before, the Americans Ticknor and Everett had repaired +and at which in that very year Bancroft had attained his degree of +doctor of philosophy. Here, however, Heine was repelled by the +aristocratic exclusiveness of the Hanoverian squires who gave the tone +to student society, as well as by the mummified dryness of the +professors. In marked contrast to the patriotic and romantic spirit of +Bonn he noted here with amazement that the distinguished Germanist +Benecke lectured on the _Nibelungenlied_ to an auditory of nine. His +own residence was destined this time to be brief; for serious quarrels +coming to the ear of the faculty, he was, on January 23, 1821, +advised to withdraw; and in April he enrolled himself as a student at +the University of Berlin. + +The next three years were filled with manifold activities. As a +student Heine was deeply impressed by the absolute philosophy +expounded by Hegel; as a Jew he lent a willing hand to the endeavors +of an association recently founded for the amelioration of the social +and political condition of the Hebrews; in the drawing room of Rahel +Levin, now the wife of Varnhagen von Ense, he came in touch with +gifted men and women who were ardent admirers of Goethe, and some of +whom, a quarter of a century before, had befriended Friedrich +Schlegel; and in the subterranean restaurant of Lutter and Wegener he +joined in the revels of Hoffmann, Grabbe, and other eccentric +geniuses. Heine now began to be known as a man of letters. After +having, from 1817 on, printed occasional poems in newspapers and +magazines, he published in December, 1821 (with the date 1822), his +first volume, entitled simply _Poems_; he wrote newspaper articles on +Berlin and on Poland, which he visited in the summer of 1822; and in +the spring of 1823 he published _Tragedies together with a Lyrical +Intermezzo_--two very romantic and undramatic plays in verse, +separated in the volume by a short series of lyrical poems. + +Meanwhile Amalie Heine had been married and Harry's parents had moved +to Lüneburg. Regret for the loss of Amalie soon gave way to a new +passion for a very young girl, whose identity remains uncertain, but +who was probably Amalie's little sister Therese. In any case, Heine +met the new love on the occasion of a visit to Lüneburg and Hamburg in +the spring of 1823, and was haunted by her image during the summer +spent at Cuxhaven. Here Heine first saw the sea. In less exalted moods +he dallied with fisher maidens; he did not forget Amalie; but the +youthful grace and purity of Therese dominate most of the poems of +this summer. The return from the watering place gave Heine the title +_The Return Home_ for this collection of pieces which, when published +in 1826, was dedicated to Frau Varnhagen von Ense. + +Uncle Salomon, to whom the _Tragedies_ had been affectionately +inscribed, was not displeased with the growing literary reputation of +his nephew. But he saw no sense in the idea that Heine already +entertained of settling in Paris. He insisted that the young man +should complete his studies; and so, in January, 1824, Heine once more +betook himself to Göttingen, where on the twenty-first of July, 1825, +he was duly promoted _Doctor utriusque Juris_. In the summer of 1824 +he made the trip through the Hartz mountains which served as the basis +of _The Journey to the Hartz_; immediately before his promotion he +submitted to baptism in the Lutheran church as Christian Johann +Heinrich Heine. + +Submission is the right word for this conversion. It was an act of +expediency such as other ambitious men found unavoidable in those +days; but Heine performed it in a spirit of bitterness caused not so +much by a sense of apostasy as by contempt for the conventional +Christianity that he now embraced. There can be no sharper contrast +than that presented by such a poem as _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_ and +sundry satirical pieces not included in this volume. + +Two vacations at Norderney, where Heine renewed and deepened +acquaintance with his beloved North Sea, not very resolute attempts to +take up the practice of law in Hamburg, a trip to London, vain hopes +of a professorship in Munich, a sojourn in Italy, vacillations between +Hamburg, Berlin, and the North Sea, complete the narrative of Heine's +movements to the end of the first period of his life. He was now Heine +the writer: poet, journalist, and novelist. _The Journey to the +Hartz_, first published in a magazine, _Der Gesellschafter_, in +January and February, 1826, was issued in May of that year by Campe in +Hamburg, as the first volume of _Pictures of Travel_, beginning with +the poems of _The Return Home_ and concluding with the first group of +hymns to the North Sea, written at Norderney in the previous year. +_Pictures of Travel II_, issued in 1827, consisted of the second cycle +of poems on the _North Sea_, an account in prose of life on the +island, entitled _Norderney, The Book Le Grand_, to which epigrams by +Immermann were appended, and extracts from _Letters from Berlin_ +published in 1822. _Pictures of Travel III_ (1830) began with +experiences in Italy, but degenerated into a provoked but ruthless +attack upon Platen. _Pictures of Travel IV_ (1831) included _English +Fragments_, the record of Heine's observations in London, and _The +City of Lucca_, a supplementary chapter on Italy. In October, 1827, +Heine collected under the title _Book of Songs_ nearly all of his +poems written up to that time. + +The first period in Heine's life closes with the year 1831. The +Parisian revolution of July, 1830, had turned the eyes of all Europe +toward the land in which political experiments are made for the +benefit of mankind. Many a German was attracted thither, and not +without reason Heine hoped to find there a more promising field for +the employment of his talents than with all his wanderings he had +discovered in Germany. Toward the end of May, 1831, he arrived in +Paris, and Paris was thenceforth his home until his death on the +seventeenth of February, 1856. + +II + +In the preface to the second edition of the _Book of Songs_, written +at Paris in 1837, Heine confessed that for some time past he had felt +a certain repugnance to versification; that the poems therewith +offered for the second time to the public were the product of a time +when, in contrast to the present, the flame of truth had rather heated +than clarified his mind; and expressed the hope that his recent +political, theological, and philosophical writings--all springing from +the same idea and intention as the poems--might atone for any weakness +in the poems. Heine wrote poetry after 1831, and he wrote prose before +1831; but in a general way what he says of his two periods is correct: +before his emigration he was primarily a poet, and afterwards +primarily a critic, journalist, and popular historian. In his first +period he wrote chiefly about his own experiences; in his second, +chiefly about affairs past and present in which he was interested. + +As to the works of the first period, we might hesitate to say whether +the _Pictures of Travel_ or the _Book of Songs_ were the more +characteristic product. In whichever way our judgment finally +inclined, we should declare that the _Pictures of Travel_ were +essentially prosified poems and that the poems were, in their +collected form, versified _Pictures of Travel_; and that both, +moreover, were dominated, as the writings after 1831 were dominated, +by a romantically tinged longing for individual liberty. + +The title _Pictures of Travel_, to which Heine gave so definite a +connotation, is not in itself a true index to the multifarious +contents of the series of traveler's notes, any more than the volumes +taken each by itself were units. Pages of verse followed pages of +prose; and in the _Journey to the Hartz_, verse interspersed in prose +emphasizes the lyrical character of the composition. Heine does indeed +give pictures of some of the scenes that he visits; but he also +narrates his passage from point to point; and at every point he sets +forth his recollections, his thoughts, his dreams, his personal +reaction upon any idea that comes into his head; so that the +substance, especially of the _Journey to the Hartz_, is less what was +to be seen in the Hartz than what was suggested to a very lively +imagination; and we admire the agility with which the writer jumps +from place to place quite as much as the suppleness with which he can +at will unconditionally subject himself to the genius of a single +locality. For Heine is capable of writing straightforward descriptive +prose, as well-ordered and as matter-of-fact as a narrative of +Kleist's. But the world of reality, where everything has an assignable +reason for its being and doing, is not the world into which he most +delights to conduct us. This world, on the contrary, is that in which +the water "murmurs and rustles so wonderfully, the birds pour forth +broken love-sick strains, the trees whisper as if with a thousand +maidens' tongues, the odd mountain flowers peep up at us as if with a +thousand maidens' eyes, stretching out to us their curious, broad, +drolly scalloped leaves; the sunrays flash here and there in sport, +the herbs, as though endowed with reason, are telling one another +their green legends, all seems enchanted"--in other words, a +wonderland disturbed by no doubts on the part of a rationalistic +Alice. And a further secret of this fascinating, though in the long +run exasperating style, is the sublime audacity with which Heine +dances now on one foot and now on the other, leaving you at every +moment in amused perplexity, whether you shall next find him standing +firmly on mother earth or bounding upward to recline on the clouds. + +"A mixture of description of nature, wit, poetry, and observation à la +Washington Irving" Heine himself called the _Journey to the Hartz_. +The novelty lay in the mixture, and in the fact that though the +ingredients are, so to speak, potentized in the highest degree, they +are brought to nearly perfect congruence and fusion by the +irresistible solvent of the second named. The _Journey to the Hartz_ +is a work of wit, in the present sense, and in the older sense of +that word. It is a product of superior intelligence--not a _Sketch +Book_, but a single canvas with an infinitude of details; not a +_Sentimental Journey_--although Heine can outdo Sterne in +sentimentality, he too persistently outdoes him also in satire--the +work, fragmentary and outwardly formless, is in essence thoroughly +informed by a two-fold purpose: to ridicule pedantry and philistinism, +and to extol nature and the life of those uncorrupted by the world. + +A similar unity is unmistakable in the _Book of Songs_. It would be +difficult to find another volume of poems so cunningly composed. If we +examine the book in its most obvious aspect, we find it beginning with +_Youthful Sorrows_ and ending with hymns to the North Sea; passing, +that is to say, from the most subjective to the most objective of +Heine's poetic expressions. The first of the _Youthful Sorrows_ are +_Dream Pictures_, crude and grotesque imitations of an inferior +romantic _genre_; the _North Sea Pictures_ are magnificent attempts in +highly original form to catch the elusive moods of a great natural +element which before Heine had played but little part in German +poetry. From the _Dream Pictures_ we proceed to _Songs_ (a very simple +love story told in forms as nearly conventional as Heine ever used), +to _Romances_ which, with the notable exception of _The Two +Grenadiers_ and _Belshazzar_, are relatively feeble attempts at the +objectivation of personal suffering; and thence to _Sonnets_, direct +communications to particular persons. Thereupon follow the _Lyrical +Intermezzo_ and the _Return Home_, each with a prologue and an +epilogue, and with several series of pieces which, like the _Songs_ +above mentioned, are printed without titles and are successive +sentences or paragraphs in the poet's own love story. This he tells +over and over again, without monotony, because the story gains in +significance as the lover gains in experience, because each time he +finds for it a new set of symbols, and because the symbols become more +and more objective as the poet's horizon broadens. Then come a few +pieces of religious content (culminating in _The Pilgrimage to +Kevlaar_), the poems in the _Journey to the Hartz_ (the most striking +of which are animated by the poetry of folk-lore)--these poems clearly +transitional to the poetry of the ocean which Heine wrote with such +vigor in the two cycles on the North Sea. The movement is a steady +climax. + +The truth of the foregoing observations can be tested only by an +examination of the entire _Book of Songs_. The total effect is one of +arrangement. The order of the sections is chronological; the order of +the poems within the sections is logical; and some poems were altered +to make them fit into the scheme. Each was originally the expression +of a moment; and the peculiarity of Heine as a lyric poet is his +disposition to fix a moment, however fleeting, and to utter a feeling, +of however slight consequence to humanity it might at first blush seem +to be. In the _Journey to the Hartz_ he never lost an opportunity to +make a point; in his lyrical confessions he suppressed no impulse to +self-revelation; and seldom did his mastery of form fail to ennoble +even the meanest substance. + +Some of Heine's most perfect products are his smallest. Whether, +however, a slight substance can be fittingly presented only in the +briefest forms, or a larger matter calls for extended treatment, the +method is the same, and the merit lies in the justness and +suggestiveness of details. Single points, or points in juxtaposition +or in succession, not the developed continuity of a line, are the +means to the effect which Heine seeks. Connecting links are left to be +supplied by the imagination of the reader. Even in such a narrative +poem as _Belshazzar_ the movement is _staccato_; we are invited to +contemplate a series of moments; and if the subject is impiety and +swift retribution, we are left to infer the fact from the evidence +presented; there is neither editorial introduction nor moralizing +conclusion. Similarly with _The Two Grenadiers_, a presentation of +character in circumstance, a translation of pictorial details into +terms of action and prophecy; and most strikingly in _The Pilgrimage +to Kevlaar_, a poem of such fundamentally pictorial quality that it +has been called a triptych, three depicted scenes in a little +religious drama. + +It is in pieces like these that we find Heine most successfully making +of himself the interpreter of objects in the outside world. The number +of such objects is greater than is everywhere believed--though +naturally his success is surest in the case of objects congenial to +him, and the variety of these is not great. Indeed, the outside world, +even when he appears to treat it most objectively, proves upon closer +examination to be in the vast majority of cases only a treasure-trove +of symbols for the expression of his inner self. Thus, _Poor Peter_ is +the narrative of a humble youth unfortunate in love, but poor Peter's +story is Heine's; otherwise, we may be sure, Heine would not have +thought it worth the telling. Nothing could seem to be less the +property of Heine than _The Lorelei_; nevertheless, he has given to +this borrowed subject so personal a turn that instead of the siren we +see a human maiden, serenely indifferent to the effect of her charms, +which so take the luckless lover that, like the boatman, he, Heine, is +probably doomed ere long to death in the waves. + +Toward the outside world, then, Heine's habitual attitude is not that +of an interpreter; it is that of an artist who seeks the means of +expression where they may be found. He does not, like Goethe and +Mörike, read out of the phenomena of nature and of life what these +phenomena in themselves contain; he reads into them what he wishes +them to say. _The Book of Songs_ is a human document, but it is no +document of the life of humanity; it is a collection of kaleidoscopic +views of one life, a life not fortified by wholesome coöperation with +men nor nourished with the strength of nature, but vivifying nature +with its own emotions. Heine has treated many a situation with +overwhelming pathos, but none from which he was himself so completely +absent as Mörike from the kitchen of The _Forsaken Maiden_. Goethe's +"Hush'd on the hill" is an apostrophe to himself; but peace which the +world cannot give and cannot take away is the atmosphere of that poem; +whereas Heine's "The shades of the summer evening lie" gets its +principal effectiveness from fantastic contributions of the poet's own +imagination. + +The length to which Heine goes in attributing human emotions to nature +is hardly to be paralleled before or since. His aim not being the +reproduction of reality, nor yet the objectivation of ideas, his +poetry is essentially a poetry of tropes-that is, the conception and +presentation of things not as they are but as they may be conceived to +be. A simple illustration of this method may be seen in _The +Herd-Boy_. Uhland wrote a poem on a very similar subject, _The Boy's +Mountain Song_. But the contrast between Uhland's hardy, active, +public-spirited youth and Heine's sleepy, amorous individualist is no +more striking than the difference between Uhland's rhetorical and +Heine's tropical method. Heine's poem is an elaboration of the single +metaphor with which it begins: "Kingly is the herd-boy's calling." The +poem _Pine and Palm_, in which Heine expresses his hopeless separation +from the maiden of whom he dreams--incidentally attributing to Amalie +a feeling of sadness and solitude to which she was a stranger--is a +bolder example of romantic self-projection into nature. But not the +boldest that Heine offers us. He transports us to India, and there-- + + The violets titter, caressing, + Peeping up as the planets appear, + And the roses, their warm love confessing, + Whisper words, soft perfumed, to each ear. + +Nor does he allow us to question the occurrence of these marvels; how +do we know what takes place on the banks of the Ganges, whither we are +borne on the wings of song? This, indeed, would be Heine's answer to +any criticism based upon Ruskin's notion as to the "pathetic fallacy." +If the setting is such as to induce in us the proper mood, we readily +enter the non-rational realm, and with credulous delight contemplate +wonders such as we too have seen in our dreams; just as we find the +romantic syntheses of sound and odor, or of sound and color, +legitimate attempts to express the inexpressible. The atmosphere of +prose, to be sure, is less favorable to Heine's habitual indulgence in +romantic tropes. + +Somewhat blunted by over-employment is another romantic instrument, +eminently characteristic of Heine, namely, irony. Nothing could be +more trenchant than his bland assumption of the point of view of the +Jew-baiter, the hypocrite, or the slave-trader. It is as perfect as +his adoption of childlike faith in _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_. Many a +time he attains an effect of ironical contrast by the juxtaposition of +incongruous poems, as when a deification of his beloved is followed by +a cynical utterance of a different kind of love. But often the +incongruity is within the poem itself, and the poet, destroying the +illusion of his created image, gets a melancholy satisfaction from +derision of his own grief. This procedure perfectly symbolizes a +distracted mind; it undoubtedly suggests a superior point of view, +from which the tribulations of an insignificant individual are seen to +be insignificant; but in a larger sense it symbolizes the very +instability and waywardness of Heine himself. His emotions were +unquestionably deep and recurrent, but they were not constant. His +devotion to ideals did not preclude indulgence in very unideal +pleasures; and his love of Amalie and Therese, hopeless from the +beginning, could not, except in especially fortunate moments, avoid +erring in the direction either of sentimentality or of bitterness. But +Heine was too keenly intellectual to be indulgent of sentimentality, +and too caustic to restrain bitterness. Hence the bitter-sweet of many +of his pieces, so agreeably stimulating and so suggestive of an +elastic temperament. + +There is, however, a still more pervasive incongruity between this +temperament and the forms in which it expressed itself. Heine's love +poems--two-thirds of the _Book of Songs_--are written in the very +simplest of verses, mostly quatrains of easy and seemingly inevitable +structure. Heine learned the art of making them from the _Magic Horn_, +from Uhland, and from Eichendorff, and he carried the art to the +highest pitch of virtuosity. They are the forms of the German +Folk-song, a fit vehicle for homely sentiments and those elemental +passions which come and go like the tide in a humble heart, because +the humble heart is single and yields unresistingly to their flow. But +Heine's heart was not single, his passion was complex, and the +greatest of his ironies was his use of the most unsophisticated of +forms for his most sophisticated substances. This, indeed, was what +made his love poetry so novel and so piquant to his contemporaries; +this is one of the qualities that keep it alive today; but it is a +highly individual device which succeeded only with this individual; +and that it was a device adopted from no lack of capacity in other +measures appears from the perfection of Heine's sonnets and the +incomparable free rhythmic verses of the _North Sea_ cycles. + +Taken all in all, _The Book of Songs_ was a unique collection, making +much of little, and making it with an amazing economy of means. + +III + +Heine's first period, to 1831, when he was primarily a literary +artist, nearly coincides with the epoch of the Restoration +(1815-1830). Politically, this time was unproductive in Germany, and +the very considerable activity in science, philosophy, poetry, +painting, and other fine arts stood in no immediate relation to +national exigencies. There was indeed plenty of agitation in the +circles of the _Burschenschaft_, and there were sporadic efforts to +obtain from reluctant princes the constitutions promised as a reward +for the rising against Napoleon; but as a whole the people of the +various states seemed passive, and whatever was accomplished was the +work of individuals, with or without royal patronage, and, in the +main, in continuation of romantic tendencies. But with the Revolution +of July, 1830, the political situation in Germany became somewhat more +acute, demands for emancipation took more tangible form, and the +so-called "Young Germans "--Wienbarg, Gutzkow, Laube, Mundt, Börne, +and others-endeavored in essays, novels, plays, and pamphlets to stir +up public interest in questions of political, social, and religious +reform. + +Many passages in Heine's _Pictures of Travel_ breathe the spirit of +the Young German propaganda--the celebrated confession of faith, for +example, in the _Journey to the Hartz_, in which he declares himself a +knight of the holy spirit of iconoclastic democracy. In Paris he +actively enlisted in the cause, and for about fifteen years continued, +as a journalist, the kind of expository and polemic writing that he +had developed in the later volumes of the _Pictures of Travel_. +Regarding himself, like many an expatriate, as a mediator between the +country of his birth and the country of his adoption, he wrote for +German papers accounts of events in the political and artistic world +of France, and for French periodicals more ambitious essays on the +history of religion, philosophy, and recent literature in Germany. +Most of the works of this time were published in both French and +German, and Heine arranged also for the appearance of the _Pictures of +Travel_ and the _Book of Songs_ in French translations. To all intents +and purposes he became a Frenchman; from 1836 or 1837 until 1848 he +was the recipient of an annual pension of 4,800 francs from the French +government; he has even been suspected of having become a French +citizen. But he in no sense curbed his tongue when speaking of French +affairs, nor was he free from longing to be once more in his native +land. + +In Germany, however, he was commonly regarded as a traitor; and at the +same time the Young Germans, with the more influential of whom he soon +quarreled, looked upon him as a renegade; so that there was a peculiar +inappropriateness in the notorious decree of the Bundesrat at +Frankfurt, voted December 10, 1835, and impotently forbidding the +circulation in Germany of the writings of the Young Germans: Heine, +Gutzkow, Laube, Wienbarg, and Mundt--in that order. But the occupants +of insecure thrones have a fine scent for the odor of sedition, and +Heine was an untiring sapper and miner in the modern army moving +against the strongholds of aristocrats and priests. A keen observer in +Hamburg who was resolved, though not in the manner of the Young +Germans, to do his part in furthering social reform, Friedrich Hebbel, +wrote to a friend in March, 1836: "Our time is one in which action +destined to be decisive for a thousand years is being prepared. What +artillery did not accomplish at Leipzig must now be done by pens in +Paris." + +During the first years of his sojourn in Paris Heine entered gleefully +into all the enjoyment and stimulation that the gay capital had to +offer. "I feel like a fish in water" is a common expression of +contentment with one's surroundings; but when one fish inquires after +the health of another, he now says, Heine told a friend, "I feel like +Heine in Paris." The well-accredited German poet quickly secured +admission to the circle of artists, journalists, politicians, and +reformers, and became a familiar figure on the boulevards. In October, +1834, be made the acquaintance of a young Frenchwoman, Crescence +Eugenie Mirat, or Mathilde, as he called her, and fell violently in +love with her. She was a woman of great personal attractiveness, but +entirely without education, frivolous, and passionate. They were soon +united; not for long, Heine thought, and he made efforts to escape +from her seductive charms, but ineffectually; and like Tannhäuser, he +was drawn back to his Frau Venus with an attachment passing all +understanding. From December, 1835, Heine regarded her as his wife, +and in 1841 they were married. But Mathilde was no good housekeeper; +Heine was frequently in financial straits; he quarreled with his +relatives, as well as with literary adversaries in Germany and +France; and only after considerable negotiation was peace declared, +and the continuation of a regular allowance arranged with Uncle +Salomon. + +[Illustration: HEINRICH HEINE E. HADER] + +Moreover, Heine's health was undermined. In the latter thirties he +suffered often from headaches and afflictions of the eyes; in the +middle of the forties paralysis of the spinal cord began to manifest +itself; and for the last ten years of his life he was a hopelessly +stricken invalid, finally doomed for five years to that "mattress +grave" which his fortitude no less than his woeful humor has +pathetically glorified. His wife cared for him dutifully, he was +visited by many distinguished men of letters, and in 1855 a +ministering angel came to him in the person of Elise von Krinitz +("Camille Selden") whom he called "_Die Mouche_" and for whom he wrote +his last poem, _The Passion Flower_, a kind of apology for his life. + +Meantime contentions, tribulations, and a wasting frame seemed only to +sharpen the wits of the indomitable warrior. _New Songs_ (1844) +contains, along with negligible cynical pieces, a number of love songs +no whit inferior to those of the _Book of Songs_, romances, and +scorching political satires. The _Romanzero_ (1851) is not unfairly +represented by such a masterpiece as _The Battlefield of Hastings_. +And from this last period we have two quasi-epic poems: _Atta Troll_ +(1847; written in 1842) and _Germany_ (1844), the fruit of the first +of Heine's two trips across the Rhine. + +Historically and poetically, _Atta Troll_ is one of the most +remarkable of Heine's works. He calls it _Das letzte freie Waldlied +der Romantik_ ("The last free forest-song of romanticism.") Having for +its principal scene the most romantic spot in Europe, the valley of +Roncesvaux, and for its principal character a dancing bear, the +impersonation of those good characters and talentless men who, in the +early forties, endeavored to translate the prose of Young Germany into +poetry, the poem flies to the merriest, maddest height of romanticism +in order by the aid of magic to kill the bear and therewith the vogue +of poetry degraded to practical purposes. Heine knew whereof he +spoke; for he had himself been a mad romanticist, a Young German, and +a political poet; and he was a true prophet; for, though he did not +himself enter the promised land, he lived to see, in the more refined +romanticism of the Munich School and the poetic realism of Hebbel and +Ludwig, the dawn of a new day in the history of German literature. + +Heine did not enter the promised land. Neither can we truthfully say +that he saw it as it was destined to be. His eye was on the present, +and in the present he more clearly discerned what ought not to be than +what gave promise of a better future. In the war for the liberation of +humanity he professed to be, and he was, a brave soldier; but he +lacked the soldier's prime requisite, discipline. He never took a +city, because he could not rule his spirit. Democracy was inscribed +upon his banner, sympathy for the disenfranchised bound him to it, but +not that charity which seeketh not her own, nor the loyalty that +abides the day when imperfection shall become perfection. Sarcasm was +his weapon, ridicule his plan of campaign, and destruction his only +accomplishment. + +We shall not say that the things destroyed by Heine deserved a better +fate. We shall not think of him either as a leader or as a follower in +a great national movement. He was not the one man of his generation +through whom the national consciousness, even national discontent, +found expression; he was the man whose self-expressions aroused the +widest interest and touched the tenderest chords. To be called perhaps +an alien, and certainly no monumental German character, Heine +nevertheless made use, with consummate artistry, of the fulness of +German culture at a time when many of the after-born staggered under +the weight of a heritage greater than they could bear. + +[Illustration: THE LORELEI FOUNTAIN In NEW YORK BY HERTER] + + + + +HEINRICH HEINE + + * * * * * + +DEDICATION[1] (1822) + + I have had dreams of wild love wildly nursed, + Of myrtles, mignonette, and silken tresses, + Of lips, whose blames belie the kiss that blesses, + Of dirge-like songs to dirge-like airs rehearsed. + + My dreams have paled and faded long ago, + Faded the very form they most adored, + Nothing is left me but what once I poured + Into pathetic verse with feverish glow. + + Thou, orphaned song, art left. Do thou, too, fade! + Go, seek that visioned form long lost in night, + And say from me--if you upon it light-- + With airy breath I greet that airy shade! + + * * * * * + +SONGS (1822) + +1 [2] + + Oh, fair cradle of my sorrow, + Oh, fair tomb of peace for me, + Oh, fair town, my last good-morrow, + Last farewell I say to thee! + + Fare thee well, thou threshold holy, + Where my lady's footsteps stir, + And that spot, still worshipped lowly, + Where mine eyes first looked on her! + + Had I but beheld thee never, + Thee, my bosom's beauteous queen, + Wretched now, and wretched ever, + Oh, I should not thus have been! + + Touch thy heart?--I would not dare that: + Ne'er did I thy love implore; + Might I only breathe the air that + Thou didst breathe, I asked no more. + + Yet I could not brook thy spurning, + Nor thy cruel words of scorn; + Madness in my brain is burning, + And my heart is sick and torn. + + So I go, downcast and dreary, + With my pilgrim staff to stray, + Till I lay my head aweary + In some cool grave far away. + + 2 [3] + + Cliff and castle quiver grayly + From the mirror of the Rhine + Where my little boat swims gaily; + Round her prow the ripples shine. + + Heart at ease I watch them thronging-- + Waves of gold with crisping crest, + Till awakes a half-lulled longing + Cherished deep within my breast. + + Temptingly the ripples greet me + Luring toward the gulf beneath, + Yet I know that should they meet me + They would drag me to my death. + + Lovely visage, treacherous bosom, + Guile beneath and smile above, + Stream, thy dimpling wavelet's blossom + Laughs as falsely as my love. + + 3[4] + + I despaired at first--believing + I should never bear it. Now + I have borne it--I have borne it. + Only never ask me How. + + * * * * * + +A LYRICAL INTERMEZZO (1822-23) + +1[5] + + 'Twas in the glorious month of May, + When all the buds were blowing, + I felt--ah me, how sweet it was!-- + Love in my heart a-growing. + + 'Twas in the glorious month of May, + When all the birds were quiring, + In burning words I told her all + My yearning, my aspiring. + +2[6] + + Where'er my bitter tear-drops fall, + The fairest flowers arise; + And into choirs of nightingales + Are turned my bosom's sighs. + + And wilt thou love me, thine shall be + The fairest flowers that spring, + And at thy window evermore + The nightingales shall sing. + +3[7] + + The rose and the lily, the moon and the dove, + Once loved I them all with a perfect love. + I love them no longer, I love alone + The Lovely, the Graceful, the Pure, the One + Who twines in one wreath all their beauty and love, + And rose is, and lily, and moon and dove. + +4[8] + + Dear, when I look into thine eyes, + My deepest sorrow straightway flies; + But when I kiss thy mouth, ah, then + No thought remains of bygone pain! + + And when I lean upon thy breast, + No dream of heaven could be more blest; + But, when thou say'st thou lovest me, + I fall to weeping bitterly. + +5[9] + + Thy face, that fair, sweet face I know, + I dreamed of it awhile ago; + It is an angel's face, so mild-- + And yet, so sadly pale, poor child! + + Only the lips are rosy bright, + But soon cold Death will kiss them white, + And quench the light of Paradise + That shines from out those earnest eyes. + +6[10] + + Lean close thy cheek against my cheek, + That our tears together may blend, love, + And press thy heart upon my heart, + That from both one flame may ascend, love! + +[Illustration: SPRING'S AWAKENING _From the Painting by Ludwig von +Hofmann._] + + And while in that flame so doubly bright + Our tears are falling and burning, + And while in my arms I clasp thee tight + I will die with love and yearning. + +7[11] + + I'll breathe my soul and its secret + In the lily's chalice white; + The lily shall thrill and reëcho + A song of my heart's delight. + + The song shall quiver and tremble, + Even as did the kiss + That her rosy lips once gave me + In a moment of wondrous bliss. + +8[12] + + The stars have stood unmoving + Upon the heavenly plains + For ages, gazing each on each, + With all a lover's pains. + + They speak a noble language, + Copious and rich and strong; + Yet none of your greatest schoolmen + Can understand that tongue. + + But I have learnt it, and never + Can forget it for my part-- + For I used as my only grammar + The face of the joy of my heart. + +9[13] + + On the wings of song far sweeping, + Heart's dearest, with me thou'lt go + Away where the Ganges is creeping; + Its loveliest garden I know-- + + A garden where roses are burning + In the moonlight all silent there; + Where the lotus-flowers are yearning + For their sister belovèd and fair. + + The violets titter, caressing, + Peeping up as the planets appear, + And the roses, their warm love confessing, + Whisper words, soft-perfumed, to each ear. + + And, gracefully lurking or leaping, + The gentle gazelles come round: + While afar, deep rushing and sweeping, + The waves of the Ganges sound. + + We'll lie there in slumber sinking + Neath the palm-trees by the stream, + Rapture and rest deep drinking, + Dreaming the happiest dream. + +10[14] + + The lotos flower is troubled + By the sun's too garish gleam, + She droops, and with folded petals + Awaiteth the night in a dream. + + 'Tis the moon has won her favor, + His light her spirit doth wake, + Her virgin bloom she unveileth + All gladly for his dear sake. + + Unfolding and glowing and shining + She yearns toward his cloudy height; + She trembles to tears and to perfume + With pain of her love's delight. + +[Illustration: FLOWER FANTASY _Train the Painting by Ludwig von +Hofmann._] + +11[15] + + The Rhine's bright wave serenely + Reflects as it passes by + Cologne that lifts her queenly + Cathedral towers on high. + + A picture hangs in the dome there, + On leather with gold bedight, + Whose beauty oft when I roam there + Sheds hope on my troubled night. + + For cherubs and flowers are wreathing + Our Lady with tender grace; + Her eyes, cheeks, and lips half-breathing + Resemble my loved one's face. + +12[16] + + I am not wroth, my own lost love, although + My heart is breaking--wroth I am not, no! + For all thou dost in diamonds blaze, no ray + Of light into thy heart's night finds its way. + + I saw thee in a dream. Oh, piteous sight! + I saw thy heart all empty, all in night; + I saw the serpent gnawing at thy heart; + I saw how wretched, O my love, thou art! + +13[17] + + When thou shalt lie, my darling, low + In the dark grave, where they hide thee, + Then down to thee I will surely go, + And nestle in beside thee. + + Wildly I'll kiss and clasp thee there, + Pale, cold, and silent lying; + Shout, shudder, weep in dumb despair, + Beside my dead love dying. + + The midnight calls, up rise the dead, + And dance in airy swarms there; + We twain quit not our earthly bed, + I lie wrapt in your arms there. + + Up rise the dead; the Judgment-day + To bliss or anguish calls them; + We twain lie on as before we lay, + And heed not what befalls them. + +14[18] + + A young man loved a maiden, + But she for another has sigh'd; + That other, he loves another, + And makes her at length his bride. + + The maiden marries, in anger, + The first adventurous wight + That chance may fling before her; + The youth is in piteous plight. + + The story is old as ages, + Yet happens again and again; + The last to whom it happen'd, + His heart is rent in twain. + +15[19] + + A lonely pine is standing + On the crest of a northern height; + He sleeps, and a snow-wrought mantle + Enshrouds him through the night. + + He's dreaming of a palm-tree + Afar in a tropic land, + That grieves alone in silence + 'Mid quivering leagues of sand. + +16[20] + + My love, we were sitting together + In a skiff, thou and I alone; + 'Twas night, very still was the weather, + Still the great sea we floated on. + + Fair isles in the moonlight were lying, + Like spirits, asleep in a trance; + Their strains of sweet music were sighing, + And the mists heaved in an eery dance. + + And ever, more sweet, the strains rose there, + The mists flitted lightly and free; + But we floated on with our woes there, + Forlorn on that wide, wide sea. + +17[21] + + I see thee nightly in dreams, my sweet, + Thine eyes the old welcome making, + And I fling me down at thy dear feet + With the cry of a heart that is breaking. + + Thou lookest at me in woful wise + With a smile so sad and holy, + And pearly tear-drops from thine eyes + Steal silently and slowly. + + Whispering a word, thou lay'st on my hair + A wreath with sad cypress shotten; + awake, the wreath is no longer there, + And the word I have forgotten. + + * * * * * + + + +SONNETS (1822) + +TO MY MOTHER + +1[22] + + I have been wont to bear my head on high, + Haughty and stern am I of mood and mien; + Yea, though a king should gaze on me, I ween, + I should not at his gaze cast down my eye. + But I will speak, dear Mother, candidly: + When most puffed up my haughty mood hath been, + At thy sweet presence, blissful and serene, + I feel the shudder of humility. + + Does thy soul all unknown my soul subdue, + Thy lofty soul that pierces all things through + And speeds on lightning wings to heaven's blue? + Or am I racked by what my memories tell + Of frequent deeds which caused thy heart to swell-- + That beauteous heart which loved me, ah! too well. + +2[23] + + With foolish fancy I deserted thee; + I fain would search the whole world through to learn + If in it I perchance could love discern, + That I might love embrace right lovingly. + I sought for love as far as eye could see, + My hands extending at each door in turn, + Begging them not my prayer for love to spurn-- + Cold hate alone they laughing gave to me. + And ever search'd I after love; yes, ever + Search'd after love, but love discover'd never, + And so I homeward went with troubled thought; + But thou wert there to welcome me again, + And, ah, what in thy dear eye floated then + That was the sweet love I so long had sought. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: POOR PETER _From the Painting by P. Grotjohann_] + + + + POOR PETER[24] (1822) + + 1 + + Grete and Hans come dancing by, + They shout for very glee; + Poor Peter stands all silently, + And white as chalk is he. + + Grete and Hans were wed this morn, + And shine in bright array; + But ah, poor Peter stands forlorn, + Dressed for a working-day. + + He mutters, as with wistful eyes + He gazes at them still: + "'Twere easy--were I not too wise-- + To do myself some ill...." + + 2 + + "An aching sorrow fills my breast, + My heart is like to break; + It leaves me neither peace nor rest, + And all for Grete's sake. + + "It drives me to her side, as though + She still could comfort me; + But in her eyes there's something now + That makes me turn and flee. + + "I climb the highest hilltop where + I am at least alone; + And standing in the stillness there + I weep and make my moan." + + 3 + + Poor Peter wanders slowly by; + So pale is he, so dull and shy, + The very neighbors in the street + Turn round to gaze, when him they meet. + + The maids speak low: "He looks, I ween, + As though the grave his bed had been." + Ah no, good maids, ye should have said + "The grave will soon become his bed." + + He lost his sweetheart--so, may be, + The grave is best for such as he; + There he may sleep the years away, + And rest until the Judgment-day. + + * * * * * + +THE TWO GRENADIERS[25] (1822) + + To France were traveling two grenadiers, + From prison in Russia returning, + And when they came to the German frontiers, + They hung down their heads in mourning. + + There came the heart-breaking news to their ears + That France was by fortune forsaken; + Scattered and slain were her brave grenadiers, + And Napoleon, Napoleon was taken. + + Then wept together those two grenadiers + O'er their country's departed glory; + "Woe's me," cried one, in the midst of his tears, + "My old wound--how it burns at the story!" + + The other said: "The end has come, + What avails any longer living + Yet have I a wife and child at home, + For an absent father grieving. + + "Who cares for wife? Who cares for child? + Dearer thoughts in my bosom awaken; + Go beg, wife and child, when with hunger wild, + For Napoleon, Napoleon is taken! + + "Oh, grant me, brother, my only prayer, + When death my eyes is closing: + Take me to France, and bury me there; + In France be my ashes reposing. + + "This cross of the Legion of Honor bright, + Let it lie near my heart, upon me; + Give me my musket in my hand, + And gird my sabre on me. + + "So will I lie, and arise no more, + My watch like a sentinel keeping, + Till I hear the cannon's thundering roar, + And the squadrons above me sweeping. + + "Then the Emperor comes! and his banners wave, + With their eagles o'er him bending, + And I will come forth, all in arms, from my grave, + Napoleon, Napoleon attending!" + +[Illustration: THE TWO GRENADIERS _From the Painting by P. Grotjohann_] + + * * * * * + +BELSHAZZAR[26] (1822) + + To midnight now the night drew on; + In slumber deep lay Babylon. + + The King's house only was all aflare, + For the King's wild crew were at revel there. + + Up there in the King's own banquet hall, + Belshazzar held royal festival. + + The satraps were marshaled in glittering line + And emptied their beakers of sparkling wine. + + The beakers they clinked, and the satraps' hurras + in the ears of the stiff-necked King rang his praise. + + The King's hot cheeks were with revel dyed, + The wine made swell his heart with pride. + + Blind madness his haughty stomach spurred, + And he slandered the Godhead with sinful word, + + And strutting in pride he blasphemed, the crowd + Of servile courtiers applauding loud. + + The King commanded with haughty stare; + The slave was gone, and again was there. + + Much wealth of gold on his head bare he; + 'Twas reft from Jehovah's sanctuary. + + And the King took hold of a sacred cup + With his impious hand, and they filled it up; + + And he drank to the bottom in one deep draught, + And loud, the foam on his lips, he laughed: + + "Jehovah! Thy glories I spit upon; + I am the King of Babylon!" + + But scarce had the awful words been said + When the King's heart withered with secret dread. + + The boisterous laughter was stifled all, + And corpselike still did wax the hall; + + Lo! lo! on the whited wall there came + The likeness of a man's hand in flame, + + And wrote, and wrote, in letters of flame, + And wrote and vanished, and no more came. + + The King stark-staring sat, a-quail, + With knees a-knocking, and face death-pale, + + The satraps' blood ran cold--none stirred; + They sat like statues, without a word. + + The Magians came; but none of them all + Could read those letters of flame on the wall. + + But in that same night of his vaunting vain + By his satraps' hand was Belshazzar slain. + + * * * * * + +THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR[27] (1823) + +1 + + The mother stood at the window; + Her son lay in bed, alas! + "Will you not get up, dear William, + To see the procession pass?" + + "O mother, I am so ailing, + I neither can hear nor see; + I think of my poor dead Gretchen, + And my heart grows faint in me." + + "Get up, we will go to Kevlaar; + Your book and your rosary take; + The Mother of God will heal you, + And cure your heart of its ache." + + The Church's banners are waving, + They are chanting a hymn divine; + 'Tis at Köln is that procession, + At Köln upon the Rhine. + + With the throng the mother follows; + Her son she leads with her; and now + They both of them sing in the chorus, + "Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!" + +2 + + The Mother of God at Kevlaar + Is drest in her richest array; + She has many a cure on hand there, + Many sick folk come to her today. + + And her, for their votive offerings, + The suffering sick folk greet + With limbs that in wax are molded, + Many waxen hands and feet. + + And whoso a wax hand offers, + His hand is healed of its sore; + And whoso a wax foot offers, + His foot it will pain him no more. + + To Kevlaar went many on crutches + Who now on the tight-rope bound, + And many play now on the fiddle + Had there not one finger sound. + + The mother she took a wax taper, + And of it a heart she makes + "Give that to the Mother of Jesus, + She will cure thee of all thy aches." + + With a sigh her son took the wax heart, + He went to the shrine with a sigh; + His words from his heart trickle sadly, + As trickle the tears from his eye. + + "Thou blest above all that are blest, + Thou virgin unspotted divine, + Thou Queen of the Heavens, before thee + I lay all my anguish and pine. + + "I lived with my mother at Köln, + At Köln in the town that is there, + The town that has hundreds many + Of chapels and churches fair. + + "And Gretchen she lived there near us, + But now she is dead, well-a-day! + O Mary! a wax heart I bring thee, + Heal thou my heart's wound, I pray! + + "Heal thou my heart of its anguish, + And early and late, I vow, + With its whole strength to pray and to sing, too, + 'Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!'" + +3 + + The suffering son and his mother + In their little bed-chamber slept; + Then the Mother of God came softly, + And close to the sleepers crept. + + She bent down over the sick one, + And softly her hand did lay + On his heart, with a smile so tender, + And presently vanished away. + + The mother sees all in her dreaming, + And other things too she marked; + Then up from her slumber she wakened, + So loudly the town dogs barked. + + There lay her son, to his full length + Stretched out, and he was dead; + And the light on his pale cheek flitted + Of the morning's dawning red. + + She folded her hands together, + She felt as she knew not how, + And softly she sang and devoutly, + "Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!" + + * * * * * + +THE RETURN HOME (1823-24) + +1[28] + + Once upon my life's dark pathway + Gleamed a phantom of delight; + Now that phantom fair has vanished, + I am wholly wrapt in night. + + Children in the dark, they suffer + At their heart a spasm of fear; + And, their inward pain to deaden, + Sing aloud, that all may hear. + + I, a madcap child, now childlike + In the dark to sing am fain; + If my song be not delightsome, + It at least has eased my pain. + +2[29] + + We sat at the fisherman's cottage, + And gazed upon the sea; + Then came the mists of evening, + And rose up silently. + + The lights within the lighthouse + Were kindled one by one, + We saw still a ship in the distance + On the dim horizon alone. + + We spoke of tempest and shipwreck, + Of sailors and of their life, + And how 'twixt clouds and billows + They're tossed, 'twixt joy and strife. + + We spoke of distant countries + From North to South that range, + Of strange fantastic nations, + And their customs quaint and strange. + + The Ganges is flooded with splendor, + And perfumes waft through the air, + And gentle people are kneeling + To Lotos flowers fair. + + In Lapland the people are dirty, + Flat-headed, large-mouthed, and small; + They squat round the fire and, frying + Their fishes, they shout and they squall. + + The girls all gravely listened, + Not a word was spoken at last; + The ship we could see no longer, + Darkness was settling so fast. + +3[30] + + You lovely fisher-maiden, + Bring now the boat to land; + Come here and sit beside me, + We'll prattle hand in hand. + + Your head lay on my bosom, + Nor be afraid of me; + Do you not trust all fearless + Daily the great wild sea? + + My heart is like the sea, dear, + Has storm, and ebb, and flow, + And many purest pearl-gems + Within its dim depth glow. + +4[31] + + My child, we were two children, + Small, merry by childhood's law; + We used to creep to the henhouse, + And hide ourselves in the straw. + + We crowed like cocks, and whenever + The passers near us drew-- + "Cock-a-doodle!" They thought + 'Twas a real cock that crew. + + The boxes about our courtyard + We carpeted to our mind, + And lived there both together-- + Kept house in a noble kind. + + The neighbor's old cat often + Came to pay us a visit; + We made her a bow and courtesy, + Each with a compliment in it. + + After her health we asked, + Our care and regard to evince-- + (We have made the very same speeches + To many an old cat since). + + We also sat and wisely + Discoursed, as old folks do, + Complaining how all went better + In those good old times we knew-- + + How love, and truth, and believing + Had left the world to itself, + And how so dear was the coffee, + And how so rare was the pelf. + + The children's games are over, + The rest is over with youth-- + The world, the good games, the good times, + The belief, and the love, and the truth. + +5[32] + + E'en as a lovely flower, + So fair, so pure thou art; + I gaze on thee, and sadness + Comes stealing o'er my heart. + + My hands I fain had folded + Upon thy soft brown hair, + Praying that God may keep thee + So lovely, pure, and fair. + +6[33] + + I would that my love and its sadness + Might a single word convey, + The joyous breezes should bear it, + And merrily waft it away. + + They should waft it to thee, beloved, + This soft and wailful word, + At every hour thou shouldst hear it, + Where'er thou art 'twould be heard. + + And when in the night's first slumber + Thine eyes scarce closing seem, + Still should my word pursue thee + Into thy deepest dream. + +7[34] + + The shades of the summer evening lie + On the forest and meadows green; + The golden moon shines in the azure sky + Through balm-breathing air serene. + + The cricket is chirping the brooklet near, + In the water a something stirs, + And the wanderer can in the stillness hear + A plash and a sigh through the furze. + + There all by herself the fairy bright + Is bathing down in the stream; + Her arms and throat, bewitching and white, + In the moonshine glance and gleam. + +8[35] + + I know not what evil is coming, + But my heart feels sad and cold; + A song in my head keeps humming, + A tale from the times of old. + + The air is fresh and it darkles, + And smoothly flows the Rhine; + The peak of the mountain sparkles + In the fading sunset-shine. + + The loveliest wonderful maiden + On high is sitting there, + With golden jewels braiden, + And she combs her golden hair. + + With a golden comb sits combing, + And ever the while sings she + A marvelous song through the gloaming + Of magical melody. + + It hath caught the boatman, and bound him + In the spell of a wild, sad love; + He sees not the rocks around him, + He sees only her above. + + The waves through the pass keep swinging, + But boatman or boat is none; + And this with her mighty singing + The Lorelei hath done. + +[Illustration: ROCKY COAST _From the Painting by Ludwig von Hofmann._] + + * * * * * + +TWILIGHT[36] (1825-26) + + By the dim sea-shore + Lonely I sat, and thought-afflicted. + The sun sank low, and sinking he shed + Rose and vermilion upon the waters, + And the white foaming waves, + Urged on by the tide, + Foamed and murmured yet nearer and nearer-- + A curious jumble of whispering and wailing, + A soft rippling laughter and sobbing and sighing, + And in between all a low lullaby singing. + Methought I heard ancient forgotten legends, + The world-old sweet stories, + Which once, as a boy, + I heard from my playmates, + When, of a summer's evening, + We crouched down to tell stories + On the stones of the doorstep, + With small listening hearts, + And bright curious eyes; + While the big grown-up girls + Were sitting opposite + At flowery and fragrant windows, + Their rosy faces + Smiling and moonshine-illumined. + + * * * * * + +HAIL TO THE SEA[37] (1825-26) + + Thalatta! Thalatta! + Hail to thee, thou eternal sea! + Hail to thee, ten thousand times, hail! + With rejoicing heart + I bid thee welcome, + As once, long ago, did welcome thee + Ten thousand Greek hearts-- + Hardship-battling, homesick-yearning, + World-renowned Greek hearts. + + The billows surged, + They foamed and murmured, + The sun poured down, as in haste, + Flickering ripples of rosy light; + Long strings of frightened sea-gulls + Flutter away shrill screaming; + War-horses trample, and shields clash loudly, + And far resounds the triumphant cry: + Thalatta! Thalatta! + + Hail to thee, thou eternal sea! + Like accents of home thy waters are whispering, + And dreams of childhood lustrous I see + Through thy limpid and crystalline wave, + Calling to mind the dear old memories + Of dear and delightful toys, + Of all the glittering Christmas presents, + Of all the red-branched forests of coral, + The pearls, the goldfish and bright-colored shells, + Which thou dost hide mysteriously + Deep down in thy clear house of crystal. + + Oh, how have I languished in dreary exile! + Like unto a withered flower + In the botanist's capsule of tin, + My heart lay dead in my breast. + Methought I was prisoned a long sad winter, + A sick man kept in a darkened chamber; + And now I suddenly leave it, + And outside meets me the dazzling Spring, + Tenderly verdant and sun-awakened; + And rustling trees shed snowy petals, + And tender young flowers gaze on me + With their bright fragrant eyes, + And the air is full of laughter and gladness, + And rich with the breath of blossoms, + And in the blue sky the birds are singing-- + Thalatta! Thalatta! + + Oh, my brave Anabasis-heart! + How often, ah! how sadly often + Wast thou pressed hard by the North's fair Barbarians! + From large and conquering eyes + They shot forth burning arrows; + With crooked words as sharp as a rapier + They threatened to pierce my bosom; + With cuneiform angular missives they battered + My poor stunned brains; + In vain I held out my shield for protection, + The arrows hissed and the blows rained down, + And hard pressed I was pushed to the sea + By the North's fair Barbarians-- + And, breathing freely, I greet the sea, + The sea my deliverer, the sea my friend-- + Thalatta! Thalatta! + +[Illustration: PLAY OF THE WAVES _From the Painting by Arnold Böcklin_] + + * * * * * + +IN THE HARBOR[38] (1825-26) + + Happy is he who hath reached the safe harbor, + Leaving behind him the stormy wild ocean, + And now sits cosy and warm + In the good old Town-Cellar of Bremen. + + How sweet and homelike the world is reflected, + In the chalice green of Rhinewine Rummer. + And how the dancing microcosm + Sunnily glides down the thirsty throat! + Everything I behold in the glass-- + History, old and new, of the nations, + Both Turks and Greeks, and Hegel and Gans, + Forests of citron and big reviews, + Berlin and Shilda, and Tunis and Hamburg; + But, above all, thy image, Beloved, + And thy dear little head on a gold-ground of Rhenish! + + Oh, how fair, how fair art thou, Dearest! + Thou art as fair as the rose! + Not like the Rose of Shiras, + That bride of the nightingale, sung by Hafis, + Not like the Rose of Sharon, + That mystic red rose, exalted by prophets-- + Thou art like the "Rose, of the Bremen Town-Cellar," + Which is the Rose of Roses; + The older it grows the sweeter it blossoms, + And its breath divine it hath all entranced me, + It hath inspired and kindled my soul; + And had not the Town-Cellar Master gripped me + With firm grip and steady, + I should have stumbled! + + That excellent man! We sat together + And drank like brothers; + We spoke of wonderful mystic things, + We sighed and sank in each other's arms, + And me to the faith of love he converted; + I drank to the health of my bitterest foes, + And I forgave all bad poets sincerely, + Even as I may one day be forgiven; + + I wept with devotion, and at length + The doors of salvation were opened unto me, + Where the sacred Vats, the twelve Apostles, + Silently preach, yet oh, so plainly, + Unto all nations. + + These be men forsooth! + Of humble exterior, in jackets of wood, + Yet within they are fairer and more enlightened + Than all the Temple's proud Levites, + Or the courtiers and followers of Herod, + Though decked out in gold and in purple; + Have I not constantly said: + Not with the herd of common low people, + But in the best and politest of circles + The King of Heaven was sure to dwell! + + Hallelujah! How lovely the whisper + Of Bethel's palm-trees! + How fragrant the myrtle-trees of Hebron! + How sings the Jordan and reels with joy! + My immortal spirit likewise is reeling, + And I reel in company, and, joyously reeling, + Leads me upstairs and into the daylight + That excellent Town-Cellar Master of Bremen. + + Thou excellent Town-Cellar Master of Bremen! + Dost see on the housetops the little angels + Sitting aloft, all tipsy and singing? + The burning sun up yonder + Is but a fiery and drunken nose-- + The Universe Spirit's red nose; + And round the Universe Spirit's red nose + Reels the whole drunken world. + + * * * * * + +A NEW SPRING (1831) + +1[39] + + Soft and gently through my soul + Sweetest bells are ringing, + Speed you forth, my little song, + Of springtime blithely singing! + + Speed you onward to a house + Where sweet flowers are fleeting! + If, perchance, a rose you see, + Say, I send her greeting! + + 2[40] + + Thy deep blue eyes enchant me, + So lovingly they glow; + My gazing soul grows dreamy, + My words come strange and slow. + + Thy deep blue eyes enchant me + Wherever I may go: + An ocean of azure fancies + O'erwhelms me with its flow. + + 3[41] + + Was once an ancient monarch, + Heavy his heart, his locks were gray, + This poor and aged monarch + Took a wife so young and gay. + + Was once a page-boy handsome, + With lightsome heart and curly hair, + The silken train he carried + Of the queen so young and fair. + + Dost know the old, old story? + It sounds so sweet, so sad to tell-- + Both were obliged to perish, + They loved each other too well. + + * * * * * + +ABROAD[42] (1834) + + Oh I had once a beauteous Fatherland! + High used to seem + The oak--so high!--the violets nodded kind-- + It was a dream. + + In German I was kissed, in German told + (You scarce would deem + How sweetly rang the words): "I love thee well!--" + It was a dream. + + * * * * * + +THE SPHINX[43] (1839) + + It is the fairy forest old, + With lime-tree blossoms scented! + The moonshine with its mystic light + My soul and sense enchanted. + + On, on I roamed, and, as I went, + Sweet music o'er me rose there; + It is the nightingale--she sings + Of love and lovers' woes there. + + She sings of love and lovers' woes, + Hearts blest, and hearts forsaken: + So sad is her mirth, so glad her sob, + Dreams long forgot awaken. + + Still on I roamed, and, as I went, + I saw before me lowering + On a great wide lawn a stately pile, + With gables peaked and towering. + + Closed were its windows, everywhere + A hush, a gloom, past telling; + It seemed as though silent Death within + These empty halls were dwelling. + + A Sphinx lay there before the door, + Half-brutish and half-human, + A lioness in trunk and claws, + In head and breasts a woman. + + A lovely woman! The pale cheek + Spoke of desires that wasted; + The hushed lips curved into a smile, + That wooed them to be tasted. + + The nightingale so sweetly sang, + I yielded to their wooing; + And as I kissed that winning face, + I sealed my own undoing. + + The marble image thrilled with life, + The stone began to quiver; + She drank my kisses' burning flame + With fierce convulsive shiver. + + She almost drank my breath away; + And, to her passion bending, + She clasped me close, with her lion claws + My hapless body rending. + + Delicious torture, rapturous pang! + The pain, the bliss, unbounded! + Her lips, their kiss was heaven to me, + Her claws, oh, how they wounded. + + The nightingale sang: "O beauteous Sphinx! + O love, love! say, why this is, + That with the anguish of death itself + Thou minglest all thy blisses? + + "Oh beauteous Sphinx, oh, answer me, + That riddle strange unloosing! + For many, many thousand years + Have I on it been musing!" + + +GERMANY[44] (1842) + + Germany's still a little child, + But he's nursed by the sun, though tender; + He is not suckled on soothing milk, + But on flames of burning splendor. + + One grows apace on such a diet; + It fires the blood from languor. + Ye neighbors' children, have a care + This urchin how ye anger! + + He is an awkward infant giant; + The oak by the roots uptearing, + He'll beat you till your backs are sore, + And crack your crowns for daring. + + He is like Siegfried, the noble child, + That song-and-saga wonder; + Who, when his fabled sword was forged, + His anvil cleft in sunder! + + To you, who will our Dragon slay, + Shall Siegfried's strength be given. + Hurrah! how joyfully your nurse + Will laugh on you from heaven! + + The Dragon's hoard of royal gems + You'll win, with none to share it. + Hurrah! how bright the golden crown + Will sparkle when you wear it! + + * * * * * + +ENFANT PERDU[45] (1851) + + In Freedom's War, of "Thirty Years" and more, + A lonely outpost have I held--in vain! + With no triumphant hope or prize in store, + Without a thought to see my home again. + + I watched both day and night; I could not sleep + Like my well-tented comrades far behind, + Though near enough to let their snoring keep + A friend awake, if e'er to doze inclined. + + And thus, when solitude my spirits shook, + Or fear--for all but fools know fear sometimes-- + To rouse myself and them, I piped and took + A gay revenge in all my wanton rhymes. + + Yes! there I stood, my musket always ready, + And when some sneaking rascal showed his head, + My eye was vigilant, my aim was steady, + And gave his brains an extra dose of lead. + + But war and justice have far different laws, + And worthless acts are often done right well; + The rascals' shots were better than their cause, + And I was hit--and hit again, and fell! + + That outpost is abandoned; while the one + Lies in the dust, the rest in troops depart; + Unconquered--I have done what could be done, + With sword unbroken, and with broken heart. + + * * * * * + +THE BATTLEFIELD OF HASTINGS[46] (1855) + + Deeply the Abbot of Waltham sighed + When he heard the news of woe: + How King Harold had come to a pitiful end, + And on Hastings field lay low. + + Asgod and Ailrik, two of his monks, + On the mission drear he sped + To search for the corse on the battle-plain + Among the bloody dead. + + The monks arose and went sadly forth, + And returned as heavy-hearted. + "O Father, the world's a bitter world, + And evil days have started. + + "For fallen, alack! is the better man; + The Bastard has won, and knaves + And scutcheoned thieves divide the land, + And make the freemen slaves. + + "The veriest rascals from Normandy, + In Britain are lords and sirs. + I saw a tailor from Bayeux ride + With a pair of golden spurs. + + "O woe to all who are Saxon born! + Ye Saxon saints, beware! + For high in heaven though ye dwell, + Shame yet may be your share. + + "Ah, now we know what the comet meant + That rode, blood-red and dire, + Across the midnight firmament + This year on a broom of fire. + + "'Twas an evil star, and Hastings' field + Has fulfilled the omen dread. + We went upon the battle-plain, + And sought among the dead. + + "While still there lingered any hope + We sought, but sought in vain; + King Harold's corse we could not find + Among the bloody slain." + + Asgod and Ailrik spake and ceased. + The Abbot wrung his hands. + Awhile he pondered, then he sighed, + "Now mark ye my commands. + + "By the stone of the bard at Grendelfield, + Just midway through the wood, + One, Edith of the Swan's Neck, dwells + In a hovel poor and rude. + + "They named her thus, because her neck + Was once as slim and white + As any swan's--when, long ago, + She was the king's delight. + + "He loved and kissed, forsook, forgot, + For such is the way of men. + Time runs his course with a rapid foot; + It is sixteen years since then. + + "To this woman, brethren, ye shall go, + And she will follow you fain + To the battle-field; the woman's eye + Will not seek the king in vain. + + "Thereafter to Waltham Abbey here + His body ye shall bring, + That Christian burial he may have, + While for his soul we sing." + + The messengers reached the hut in the wood + At the hour of midnight drear. + "Wake, Edith of the Swan's Neck, rise + And follow without fear. + + "The Duke of Normandy has won + The battle, to our bane. + On the field of Hastings, where he fought, + The king is lying slain. + + "Arise and come with us; we seek + His body among the dead. + To Waltham Abbey it shall be borne. + 'Twas thus our Abbot said." + + The woman arose and girded her gown, + And silently went behind + The hurrying monks. Her grizzly hair + Streamed wildly on the wind. + + Barefoot through bog and bush and briar + She followed and did not stay, + Till Hastings and the cliffs of chalk + They saw at dawn of day. + + The mist, that like a sheet of white + The field of battle cloaked, + Melted anon; with hideous din + The daws flew up and croaked. + + In thousands on the bloody plain + Lay strewn the piteous corses, + Wounded and torn and maimed and stripped, + Among the fallen horses. + + The woman stopped not for the blood; + She waded barefoot through, + And from her fixed and staring eyes + The arrowy glances flew. + + Long, with the panting monks behind, + And pausing but to scare + The greedy ravens from their food, + She searched with eager care. + + She searched and toiled the livelong day, + Until the night was nigh; + Then sudden from her breast there burst + A shrill and awful cry. + + For on the battle-field at last + His body she had found. + She kissed, without a tear or word, + The wan face on the ground. + + She kissed his brow, she kissed his mouth, + She clasped him close, and pressed + Her poor lips to the bloody wounds + That gaped upon his breast. + + His shoulder stark she kisses too, + When, searching, she discovers + Three little scars her teeth had made + When they were happy lovers. + + The monks had been and gotten boughs, + And of these boughs they made + A simple bier, whereon the corse + Of the fallen king was laid. + + To Waltham Abbey to his tomb + The king was thus removed; + And Edith of the Swan's Neck walked + By the body that she loved. + + She chanted litanies for his soul + With a childish, weird lament + That shuddered through the night. The monks + Prayed softly as they went. + + * * * * * + +THE ASRA[47] (1855) + + Every evening in the twilight, + To and fro beside the fountain + Where the waters whitely murmured, + Walked the Sultan's lovely daughter. + + And a youth, a slave, was standing + Every evening by the fountain + Where the waters whitely murmured; + And his cheek grew pale and paler. + + Till one eve the lovely princess + Paused and asked him on a sudden: + "I would know thy name and country; + I would know thy home and kindred." + + And the slave replied, "Mohammed + Is my name; my home is Yemen; + And my people are the Asras; + When they love, they love and die." + + * * * * * + +THE PASSION FLOWER[48] (1856) + + I dreamt that once upon a summer night + Beneath the pallid moonlight's eerie glimmer + I saw where, wrought in marble dimly bright, + A ruin of the Renaissance did shimmer. + + Yet here and there, in simple Doric form, + A pillar like some solitary giant + Rose from the mass, and, fearless of the storm, + Reared toward the firmament its head defiant. + + O'er all that place a heap of wreckage lay, + Triglyphs and pediments and carven portals, + With centaur, sphinx, chimera, satyrs gay-- + Figures of fabled monsters and of mortals. + + A marble-wrought sarcophagus reposed + Unharmed 'mid fragments of these fabled creatures; + Its lidless depth a dead man's form inclosed, + The pain-wrung face now calm with softened features. + + A group of straining caryatides + With steadfast neck the casket's weight supported, + Along both sides whereof there ran a frieze + Of chiseled figures, wondrous ill-assorted. + + First one might see where, decked in bright array, + A train of lewd Olympians proudly glided, + Then Adam and Dame Eve, not far away, + With fig-leaf aprons modestly provided. + + Next came the people of the Trojan war-- + Paris, Achilles, Helen, aged Nestor; + Moses and Aaron, too, with many more-- + As Judith, Holofernes, Haman, Esther. + + Such forms as Cupid's one could likewise see, + Phoebus Apollo, Vulcan, Lady Venus, + Pluto and Proserpine and Mercury, + God Bacchus and Priapus and Silenus. + + Among the rest of these stood Balaam's ass-- + A speaking likeness (if you will, a braying)-- + And Abraham's sacrifice, and there, alas! + Lot's daughters, too, their drunken sire betraying. + + Near by them danced the wanton Salome, + To whom John's head was carried in a charger; + Then followed Satan, writhing horribly, + And Peter with his keys--none e'er seemed larger + + Changing once more, the sculptor's cunning skill + Showed lustful Jove misusing his high power, + When as a swan he won fair Leda's will, + And conquered Danaë in a golden shower. + + Here was Diana, leading to the chase + Her kilted nymphs, her hounds with eyeballs burning; + And here was Hercules in woman's dress, + His warlike hand the peaceful distaff turning. + + Not far from them frowned Sinai, bleak and wild, + Along whose slope lay Israel's nomad nation; + Next, one might see our Savior as a child + Amid the elders holding disputation. + + Thus were these opposites absurdly blent-- + The Grecian joy of living with the godly + Judean cast of thought!--while round them bent + The ivy's tendrils, intertwining oddly. + + But--wonderful to say!--while dreamily + I gazed thereon with glance returning often, + Sudden methought that I myself was he, + The dead man in the splendid marble coffin. + + Above the coffin by my head there grew + A flower for a symbol sweet and tragic, + Violet and sulphur-yellow was its hue, + It seemed to throb with love's mysterious magic. + + Tradition says, when Christ was crucified + On Calvary, that in that very hour + These petals with the Savior's blood were dyed, + And therefore is it named the passion-flower. + + The hue of blood, they say, its blossom wears, + And all the instruments of human malice + Used at the crucifixion still it bears + In miniature within its tiny chalice. + + Whatever to the Passion's rite belongs, + Each tool of torture here is represented + The crown of thorns, cup, nails and hammer, thongs, + The cross on which our Master was tormented. + + 'Twas such a flower at my tomb did stand, + Above my lifeless form in sorrow bending, + And, like a mourning woman, kissed my hand, + My brow and eyes, with silent grief contending. + + And then--O witchery of dreams most strange!-- + By some occult and sudden transformation + This flower to a woman's shape did change-- + 'Twas she I loved with soul-deep adoration! + + 'Twas thou in truth, my dearest, only thou; + I knew thee by thy kisses warm and tender. + No flower-lips thus softly touched my brow, + Such burning tears no flower's cup might render! + Mine eyes were shut, and yet my soul could see + Thy steadfast countenance divinely beaming, + As, calm with rapture, thou didst gaze on me, + Thy features in the spectral moonlight gleaming. + + We did not speak, and yet my heart could tell + The hidden thoughts that thrilled within thy bosom. + No chaste reserve in spoken words may dwell-- + With silence Love puts forth its purest blossom. + + A voiceless dialogue! one scarce might deem, + While mute we thus communed in tender fashion, + How time slipped by like some seraphic dream + Of night, all woven of joy and fear-sweet passion. + + Ah, never ask of us what then we said; + Ask what the glow-worm glimmers to the grasses, + Or what the wavelet murmurs in its bed, + Or what the west wind whispers as it passes. + + Ask what rich lights from carbuncles outstream, + What perfumed thoughts o'er rose and violet hover-- + But never ask what, in the moonlight's beam, + The sacred flower breathed to her dead lover. + + I cannot tell how long a time I lay, + Dreaming the ecstasy of joys Elysian, + Within my marble shrine. It fled away-- + The rapture of that calm untroubled vision. + + Death, with thy grave-deep stillness, thou art best, + Delight's full cup thy hand alone can proffer; + The war of passions, pleasure without rest-- + Such boons are all that vulgar life can offer. + + Alas! a sudden clamor put to flight + My bliss, and all my comfort rudely banished; + 'Twas such a screaming, ramping, raging fight + That mid the uproar straight my flower vanished. + + Then on all sides began a savage war + Of argument, with scolding and with jangling. + Some voices surely I had heard before-- + Why, 'twas my bas-reliefs had fall'n a-wrangling! + + Do old delusions haunt these marbles here, + And urge them on to frantic disputations? + The terror-striking shout of Pan rings clear, + While Moses hurls his stern denunciations. + + Alack! the wordy strife will have no end, + Beauty and Truth will ever be at variance, + A schism still the ranks of man will rend + Into two camps, the Hellenes and Barbarians. + + Both parties thus reviled and cursed away, + And none who heard could tell the why or whether, + Till Balaam's ass at last began to bray + And soon outbawled both gods and saints together. + + With strident-sobbing hee-haw, hee-haw there-- + His unremitting discords without number-- + That beast so nearly brought me to despair + That I cried out--and wakened from my slumber. + + * * * * * + + + + +THE JOURNEY TO THE HARZ[49] (1824) + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +"Nothing is permanent but change, nothing constant but death. Every +pulsation of the heart inflicts a wound, and life would be an endless +bleeding were it not for Poetry. She secures to us what Nature would +deny--a golden age without rust, a spring which never fades, cloudless +prosperity and eternal youth."--BÖRNE. + + Black dress coats and silken stockings, + Snowy ruffles frilled with art, + Gentle speeches and embraces-- + Oh, if they but held a heart! + + Held a heart within their bosom, + Warmed by love which truly glows; + Ah! I'm wearied with their chanting + Of imagined lovers' woes! + + I will climb upon the mountains, + Where the quiet cabin stands, + Where the wind blows freely o'er us, + Where the heart at ease expands. + + I will climb upon the mountains, + Where the sombre fir-trees grow; + Brooks are rustling, birds are singing, + And the wild clouds headlong go. + + Then farewell, ye polished ladies, + Polished men and polished hall! + I will climb upon the mountains, + Smiling down upon you all. + +The town of Göttingen, celebrated for its sausages and its University, +belongs to the King of Hanover, and contains nine hundred and +ninety-nine dwellings, divers churches, a lying-in hospital, an +observatory, a prison for students, a library, and a "Ratskeller," where +the beer is excellent. The stream which flows by the town is called the +Leine, and is used in summer for bathing, its waters being very cold, +and in more than one place it is so broad that Lüder was obliged to take +quite a run ere he could leap across. The town itself is beautiful, and +pleases most when one's back is turned to it. It must be very ancient, +for I well remember that five years ago, when I matriculated there (and +shortly after received notice to quit), it had already the same gray, +prim look, and was fully furnished with catch-polls, beadles, +dissertations, _thés dansants_, washerwomen, compendiums, roasted +pigeons, Guelphic orders, graduation coaches, pipe-heads, +court-councilors, law-councilors, expelling councilors, professors +ordinary and extraordinary. Many even assert that, at the time of the +Great Migrations, every German tribe left behind in the town a loosely +bound copy of itself in the person of one of its members, and that from +these descended all the Vandals, Frisians, Suabians, Teutons, Saxons, +Thuringians,[50] and others, who at the present day still abound in +Göttingen, where, separately distinguished by the color of their caps +and pipe-tassels, they may be seen straying singly or in hordes along +the Weender Street. They still fight their battles on the bloody arena +of the _Rasenmill, Ritschenkrug_, and _Bovden_, still preserve the mode +of life peculiar to their savage ancestors, and still, as at the time of +the migrations, are governed partly by their _Duces_, whom they call +"chief cocks," and partly by their primevally ancient law-book, known as +the _Comment_, which fully deserves a place among the _leges +barbarorum_. + +The inhabitants of Göttingen are generally divided into Students, +Professors, Philistines, and Cattle, the points of difference between +these castes being by no means strictly defined. The "Cattle" class is +the most important. I might be accused of prolixity should I here +enumerate the names of all the students and of all the regular and +irregular professors; besides, I do not just at present distinctly +remember the appellations of all the former gentlemen; while among the +professors are many who as yet have no name at all. The number of the +Göttingen "Philistines" must be as numerous as the sands (or, more +correctly speaking, as the mud) of the seashore; indeed, when I beheld +them of a morning, with their dirty faces and clean bills, planted +before the gate of the collegiate court of justice, I wondered greatly +that such an innumerable pack of rascals should ever have been created +by the Almighty. + +[Illustration: MARKET PLACE GÖTTINGEN] + + * * * * * + +It was as yet very early in the morning when I left Göttingen, and the +learned ----, beyond doubt, still lay in bed, dreaming as usual that he +wandered in a fair garden, amid the beds of which grew innumerable white +papers written over with citations. On these the sun shone cheerily, and +he plucked up several here and there and laboriously planted them in new +beds, while the sweetest songs of the nightingales rejoiced his old +heart. + +Before the Weender Gate I met two small native schoolboys, one of whom +was saying to the other, "I don't intend to keep company any more with +Theodore; he is a low blackguard, for yesterday he didn't even know the +genitive of _Mensa_." Insignificant as these words may appear, I still +regard them as entitled to be recorded--nay, I would even write them as +town-motto on the gate of Göttingen, for the young birds pipe as the old +ones sing, and the expression accurately indicates the narrow, petty +academic pride so characteristic of the "highly learned" Georgia +Augusta.[51] The fresh morning air blew over the highroad, the birds +sang cheerily, and, little by little, with the breeze and the birds, my +mind also became fresh and cheerful. Such refreshment was sorely needed +by one who had long been confined in the Pandect stable. Roman casuists +had covered my soul with gray cobwebs; my heart was as though jammed +between the iron paragraphs of selfish systems of jurisprudence; there +was an endless ringing in my ears of such sounds as "Tribonian, +Justinian, Hermogenian, and Blockheadian," and a sentimental brace of +lovers seated under a tree appeared to me like an edition of the _Corpus +Juris_ with closed clasps. The road began to take on a more lively +appearance. Milkmaids occasionally passed, as did also donkey-drivers +with their gray pupils. Beyond Weende I met the "Shepherd" and "Doris." +This is not the idyllic pair sung by Gessner, but the duly and +comfortably appointed university beadles, whose duty it is to keep watch +and ward so that no students fight duels in Bovden, and, above all, that +no new ideas (such as are generally obliged to remain in quarantine for +several decades outside of Göttingen) are smuggled in by speculative +private lecturers. Shepherd greeted me as one does a colleague, for he, +too, is an author, who has frequently mentioned my name in his +semi-annual writings. In addition to this, I may mention that when, as +was frequently the case, he came to cite me before the university court +and found me "not at home," he was always kind enough to write the +citation with chalk upon my chamber door. Occasionally a one-horse +vehicle rolled along, well packed with students, who were leaving for +the vacation or forever. + +In such a university town there is an endless coming and going. Every +three years beholds a new student-generation, forming an incessant human +tide, where one semester-wave succeeds another, and only the old +professors stand fast in the midst of this perpetual-motion flood, +immovable as the pyramids of Egypt. Only in these university pyramids no +treasures of wisdom are buried. + +From out the myrtle bushes, by Rauschenwasser, I saw two hopeful youths +appear ... singing charmingly the Rossinian lay of "Drink beer, pretty, +pretty 'Liza!" These sounds I continued to hear when far in the +distance, and after I had long lost sight of the amiable vocalists, as +their horses, which appeared to be gifted with characters of extreme +German deliberation, were spurred and lashed in a most excruciating +style. In no place is the skinning alive of horses carried to such an +extent as in Göttingen; and often, when I beheld some lame and sweating +hack, which, to earn the scraps of fodder which maintained his wretched +life, was obliged to endure the torment of some roaring blade, or draw a +whole wagon-load of students, I reflected: "Unfortunate beast! Most +certainly thy first ancestors, in some horse-paradise, did eat of +forbidden oats." + + * * * * * + +Beyond Nörten the sun flashed high in heaven. His intentions toward me +were evidently good, and he warmed my brain until all the unripe +thoughts which it contained came to full growth. The pleasant Sun Tavern +in Nörten is not to be despised, either; I stopped there and found +dinner ready. All the dishes were excellent and suited me far better +than the wearisome, academical courses of saltless, leathery dried fish +and cabbage _réchauffé_, which were served to me in Göttingen. After I +had somewhat appeased my appetite, I remarked in the same room of the +tavern a gentle man and two ladies, who were about to depart. The +cavalier was clad entirely in green; he even had on a pair of green +spectacles which cast a verdigris tinge upon his copper-red nose. The +gentleman's general appearance was like what we may presume King +Nebuchadnezzar's to have been in his later years, when, according to +tradition, he ate nothing but salad, like a beast of the forest. The +Green One requested me to recommend him to a hotel in Göttingen, and I +advised him, when there, to inquire of the first convenient student for +the Hotel de Brübach. One lady was evidently his wife--an altogether +extensively constructed dame, gifted with a rubicund square mile of +countenance, with dimples in her cheeks which looked like spittoons for +cupids. A copious double chin appeared below, like an imperfect +continuation of the face, while her high-piled bosom, which was defended +by stiff points of lace and a many-cornered collar, as if by turrets and +bastions, reminded one of a fortress. Still, it is by no means certain +that this fortress would have resisted an ass laden with gold, any more +than did that of which Philip of Macedon spoke. The other lady, her +sister, seemed her extreme antitype. If the one were descended from +Pharaoh's fat kine, the other was as certainly derived from the lean. +Her face was but a mouth between two ears; her breast was as +inconsolably comfortless and dreary as the Lüneburger heath; while her +absolutely dried-up figure reminded one of a charity table for poor +theological students. Both ladies asked me, in a breath, if respectable +people lodged in the Hotel de Brübach. I assented to this question with +a clear conscience, and as the charming trio drove away I waved my hand +to them many times from the window. The landlord of The Sun laughed, +however, in his sleeve, being probably aware that the Hotel de Brübach +was a name bestowed by the students of Göttingen upon their university +prison. + +Beyond Nordheim mountain ridges begin to appear, and the traveler +occasionally meets with a picturesque eminence. The wayfarers whom I +encountered were principally peddlers, traveling to the Brunswick fair, +and among them there was a group of women, every one of whom bore on her +back an incredibly large cage nearly as high as a house, covered over +with white linen. In this cage were every variety of singing birds, +which continually chirped and sung, while their bearers merrily hopped +along and chattered together. It seemed droll thus to behold one bird +carrying others to market. + +The night was as dark as pitch when I entered Osterode. I had no +appetite for supper, and at once went to bed. I was as tired as a dog +and slept like a god. In my dreams I returned to Göttingen and found +myself in the library. I stood in a corner of the Hall of Jurisprudence, +turning over old dissertations, lost myself in reading, and, when I +finally looked up, remarked to my astonishment that it was night and +that the hall was illuminated by innumerable over-hanging crystal +chandeliers. The bell of the neighboring church struck twelve, the hall +doors slowly opened, and there entered a superb colossal female form, +reverentially accompanied by the members and hangers-on of the legal +faculty. The giantess, though advanced in years, retained in her +countenance traces of severe beauty, and her every glance indicated the +sublime Titaness, the mighty Themis. The sword and balance were +carelessly grasped in her right hand, while with the left she held a +roll of parchment. Two young _Doctores Juris_ bore the train of her +faded gray robe; by her right side the lean Court Councilor Rusticus, +the Lycurgus of Hanover, fluttered here and there like a zephyr, +declaiming extracts from his last hand-book of law, while on her left +her _cavalier servente_, the privy-councilor of Justice Cujacius, +hobbled gaily and gallantly along, constantly cracking legal jokes, +himself laughing so heartily at his own wit that even the serious +goddess often smiled and bent over him, exclaiming, as she tapped him on +the shoulder with the great parchment roll, "You little scamp, who begin +to trim the trees from the top!" All of the gentlemen who formed her +escort now drew nigh in turn, each having something to remark or jest +over, either a freshly worked-up miniature system, or a miserable little +hypothesis, or some similar abortion of their own insignificant brains. +Through the open door of the hall many strange gentlemen now entered, +who announced themselves as the remaining magnates of the illustrious +Order--mostly angular suspicious-looking fellows, who with extreme +complacency blazed away with their definitions and hair-splittings, +disputing over every scrap of a title to the title of a pandect. And +other forms continually flocked in, the forms of those who were learned +in law in the olden time--men in antiquated costume, with long +councilors' wigs and forgotten faces, who expressed themselves greatly +astonished that they, the widely famed of the previous century, should +not meet with special consideration; and these, after their manner, +joined in the general chattering and screaming, which, like ocean +breakers, became louder and madder around the mighty goddess, until she, +bursting with impatience, suddenly cried, in a tone of the most agonized +Titanic pain, "Silence! Silence! I hear the voice of the beloved +Prometheus. Mocking cunning and brute force are chaining the Innocent +One to the rock of martyrdom, and all your prattling and quarreling will +not allay his wounds or break his fetters!" So cried the goddess, and +rivulets of tears sprang from her eyes; the entire assembly howled as if +in the agonies of death, the ceiling of the hall burst asunder, the +books tumbled madly from their shelves. In vain did Münchhausen step out +of his frame to call them to order; it only crashed and raged all the +more wildly. I sought refuge from this Bedlam broken loose in the Hall +of History, near that gracious spot where the holy images of the Apollo +Belvedere and the Venus de Medici stand near each other, and I knelt at +the feet of the Goddess of Beauty. In her glance I forgot all the wild +excitement from which I had escaped, my eyes drank in with intoxication +the symmetry and immortal loveliness of her infinitely blessed form; +Hellenic calm swept through my soul, while above my head Phoebus Apollo +poured forth, like heavenly blessings, the sweetest tones of his lyre. + +Awaking, I continued to hear a pleasant, musical sound. The flocks were +on their way to pasture, and their bells were tinkling. The blessed +golden sunlight shone through the window, illuminating the pictures on +the walls of my room. They were sketches from the War of Independence, +which faithfully portrayed what heroes we all were; further, there were +scenes representing executions on the guillotine, from the time of the +revolution under Louis XIV., and other similar decapitations which no +one could behold without thanking God that he lay quietly in bed +drinking excellent coffee, and with his head comfortably adjusted upon +neck and shoulders. + +After I had drunk my coffee, dressed myself, read the inscriptions upon +the window-panes, and settled my bill at the inn, I left Osterode. + +This town contains a certain quantity of houses and a given number of +inhabitants, among whom are divers and sundry souls, as may be +ascertained in detail from Gottschalk's "Pocket Guide-Book for Harz +Travelers." Ere I struck into the highway, I ascended the ruins of the +very ancient Osteroder Burg. They consisted merely of the half of a +great, thick-walled tower, which appeared to be fairly honeycombed by +time. The road to Clausthal led me again uphill, and from one of the +first eminences I looked back once more into the dale where Osterode +with its red roofs peeps out from among the green fir-woods, like a +moss-rose from amid its leaves. The sun cast a pleasant, tender light +over the whole scene. From this spot the imposing rear of the remaining +portion of the tower may be seen to advantage. + +There are many other ruined castles in this vicinity. That of +Hardenberg, near Nörten, is the most beautiful. Even when one has, as he +should, his heart on the left--that is, the liberal side--he cannot +banish all melancholy feeling on beholding the rocky nests of those +privileged birds of prey, who left to their effete descendants only +their fierce appetites. So it happened to me this morning. My heart +thawed gradually as I departed from Göttingen; I again became romantic, +and as I went on I made up this poem: + + Rise again, ye dreams forgotten; + Heart-gate, open to the sun! + Joys of song and tears of sorrow + Sweetly strange from thee shall run. + + I will rove the fir-tree forest, + Where the merry fountain springs, + Where the free, proud stags are wandering, + Where the thrush, my darling, sings. + + I will climb upon the mountains, + On the steep and rocky height, + Where the gray old castle ruins + Stand in rosy morning light. + + I will sit awhile reflecting + On the times long passed away, + Races which of old were famous, + Glories sunk in deep decay. + + Grows the grass upon the tilt-yard, + Where the all-victorious knight + Overcame the strongest champions, + Won the guerdon of the fight. + + O'er the balcony twines ivy, + Where the fairest gave the prize, + Him who all the rest had vanquished + Overcoming with her eyes. + + Both the victors, knight and lady, + Fell long since by Death's cold hand; + So the gray and withered scytheman + Lays the mightiest in the sand. + +After proceeding a little distance, I met with a traveling journeyman +who came from Brunswick, and who related to me that it was generally +believed in that city that their young Duke had been taken prisoner by +the Turks during his tour in the Holy Land, and could be ransomed only +by an enormous sum. The extensive travels of the Duke probably +originated this tale. The people at large still preserve that +traditional fable-loving train of ideas which is so pleasantly shown in +their "Duke Ernest." The narrator of this news was a tailor, a neat +little youth, but so thin that the stars might have shone through him as +through Ossian's misty ghosts. Altogether, he was made up of that +eccentric mixture of humor and melancholy peculiar to the German people. +This was especially expressed in the droll and affecting manner in which +he sang that extraordinary popular ballad, "A beetle sat upon the hedge, +_summ, summ!_" There is one fine thing about us Germans--no one is so +crazy but that he may find a crazier comrade who will understand him. +Only a German _can_ appreciate that song, and in the same breath laugh +and cry himself to death over it. On this occasion I also remarked the +depth to which the words of Goethe have penetrated the national life. My +lean comrade trilled occasionally as he went along--"Joyful and +sorrowful, thoughts are free!" Such a corruption of text is usual among +the multitude. He also sang a song in which "Lottie by the grave of +Werther" wept. The tailor ran over with sentimentalism in the words-- + + "Sadly by the rose-beds now I weep, + Where the late moon found us oft alone! + Moaning where the silver fountains sleep, + Once which whispered joy in every tone." + + * * * * * + +The hills here became steeper, the fir-woods below were like a green +sea, and white clouds above sailed along over the blue sky. The wildness +of the region was, as it were, tamed by its uniformity and the +simplicity of its elements. Nature, like a true poet, abhors abrupt +transitions. Clouds, however fantastically formed they may at times +appear, still have a white, or at least a subdued hue, harmoniously +corresponding with the blue heaven and the green earth; so that all the +colors of a landscape blend into one another like soft music, and every +glance at such a natural picture tranquilizes and reassures the soul. +The late Hofmann would have painted the clouds spotted and chequered. +And, like a great poet, Nature knows how to produce the greatest +effects with the most limited means. She has, after all, only a sun, +trees, flowers, water, and love to work with. Of course, if the latter +be lacking in the heart of the observer, the whole will, in all +probability, present but a poor appearance; the sun is then only so many +miles in diameter, the trees are good for firewood, the flowers are +classified according to their stamens, and the water is wet. + +A little boy who was gathering brushwood in the forest for his sick +uncle pointed out to me the village of Lerrbach, whose little huts with +gray roofs lie scattered along for over a mile through the valley. +"There," said he, "live idiots with goitres, and white negroes." By +white negroes the people mean "albinos." The little fellow lived on +terms of peculiar understanding with the trees, addressing them like old +acquaintances, while they in turn seemed by their waving and rustling to +return his salutations. He chirped like a thistle-finch; many birds +around answered his call, and, ere I was aware, he had disappeared amid +the thickets with his little bare feet and his bundle of brush. +"Children," thought I, "are younger than we; they can remember when they +were once trees or birds, and are consequently still able to understand +them. We of larger growth are, alas, too old for that, and carry about +in our heads too many sorrows and bad verses and too much legal lore." +But the time when it was otherwise recurred vividly to me as I entered +Clausthal. In this pretty little mountain town, which the traveler does +not behold until he stands directly before it, I arrived just as the +clock was striking twelve and the children came tumbling merrily out of +school. The little rogues, nearly all red-cheeked, blue-eyed, +flaxen-haired, sprang and shouted and awoke in me melancholy and +cheerful memories--how I once myself, as a little boy, sat all the +forenoon long in a gloomy Catholic cloister school in Düsseldorf, +without so much as daring to stand up, enduring meanwhile a terrible +amount of Latin, whipping, and geography, and how I too hurrahed and +rejoiced, beyond all measure when the old Franciscan clock at last +struck twelve. The children saw by my knapsack that I was a stranger, +and greeted me in the most hospitable manner. One of the boys told me +that they had just had a lesson in religion, and showed me the Royal +Hanoverian Catechism, from which they were questioned on Christianity. +This little book was very badly printed, so that I greatly feared that +the doctrines of faith made thereby but an unpleasant blotting-paper +sort of impression upon the children's minds. I was also shocked at +observing that the multiplication table--which surely seriously +contradicts the Holy Trinity--was printed on the last page of the +catechism, as it at once occurred to me that by this means the minds of +the children might, even in their earliest years, be led to the most +sinful skepticism. We Prussians are more intelligent, and, in our zeal +for converting those heathen who are familiar with arithmetic, take good +care not to print the multiplication table in the back of the catechism. + +I dined at The Crown, at Clausthal. My repast consisted of spring-green +parsley-soup, violet-blue cabbage, a pile of roast veal, which resembled +Chimborazo in miniature, and a sort of smoked herring, called +"Bückings," from the inventor, William Bücking, who died in 1447, and +who, on account of the invention, was so greatly honored by Charles V. +that the great monarch in 1556 made a journey from Middleburg to +Bievlied in Zealand for the express purpose of visiting the grave of the +great man. How exquisitely such dishes taste when we are familiar with +their historical associations! + + * * * * * + +In the silver refinery, as has so frequently happened in life, I could +get no glimpse of the precious metal. In the mint I succeeded better, +and saw how money was made. Beyond this I have never been able to +advance. On such occasions mine has invariably been the spectator's +part, and I verily believe that, if it should rain dollars from heaven, +the coins would only knock holes in my head, while the children of +Israel would merrily gather up the silver manna. With feelings in which +comic reverence was blended with emotion, I beheld the new-born shining +dollars, took one in my hand as it came fresh from the stamp, and said +to it, "Young Dollar, what a destiny awaits thee! What a cause wilt thou +be of good and of evil! How thou wilt protect vice and patch up virtue! +How thou wilt be beloved and accursed! How thou wilt aid in debauchery, +pandering, lying, and murdering! How thou wilt restlessly roll along +through clean and dirty hands for centuries, until finally, laden with +tresspasses and weary with sin, thou wilt be gathered again unto thine +own, in the bosom of an Abraham, who will melt thee down, purify thee, +and form thee into a new and better being, perhaps an innocent little +tea-spoon, with which my own great-great-grandson will mash his +porridge." + +I will narrate in detail my visit to "Dorothea" and "Caroline," the two +principal Clausthaler mines, having found them very interesting. + +Half an hour away from the town are situated two large dingy buildings. +Here the traveler is transferred to the care of the miners. These men +wear dark and generally steel-blue colored jackets, of ample girth, +descending to the hips, with pantaloons of a similar hue, a leather +apron tied on behind, and a rimless green felt hat which resembles a +decapitated nine-pin. In such a garb, with the exception of the +"back-leather," the visitor is also clad, and a miner, his "leader," +after lighting his mine-lamp, conducts him to a gloomy entrance +resembling a chimney-hole, descends as far as the breast, gives him a +few directions relative to grasping the ladder, and requests him to +follow fearlessly. The affair is entirely devoid of danger, though it at +first appears quite otherwise to those unacquainted with the mysteries +of mining. Even the putting on of the dark convict-dress awakens very +peculiar sensations. Then one must clamber down on all fours, the dark +hole is so _very_ dark, and Lord only knows how long the ladder may be! +But we soon remark that this is not the only ladder descending into the +black eternity, for there are many, of from fifteen to twenty rounds +apiece, each standing upon a board capable of supporting a man, and from +which a new hole leads in turn to a new ladder. I first entered the +"Caroline," the dirtiest and most disagreeable Caroline with whom I ever +had the pleasure of becoming acquainted. The rounds of the ladders were +covered with wet mud. And from one ladder we descend to another with the +guide ever in advance, continually assuring us that there was no danger +so long as we held firmly to the rounds and did not look at our feet, +and that we must not for our lives tread on the side plank, where the +buzzing barrel-rope runs, and where two weeks ago a careless man was +knocked down, unfortunately breaking his neck by the fall. Far below is +a confused rustling and humming, and we continually bump against beams +and ropes which are in motion, winding up and raising barrels of broken +ore or of water. Occasionally we pass galleries hewn in the rock, called +"stulms," where the ore may be seen growing, and where some solitary +miner sits the livelong day, wearily hammering pieces from the walls. I +did not descend to those deepest depths where it is reported that the +people on the other side of the world, in America, may be heard crying, +"Hurrah for Lafayette!" Between ourselves, where I did go seemed to me +deep enough in all conscience; there was an endless roaring and +rattling, uncanny sounds of machinery, the rush of subterranean streams, +sickening clouds of ore-dust continually rising, water dripping on all +sides, and the miner's lamp gradually growing dimmer and dimmer. The +effect was really benumbing, I breathed with difficulty, and had trouble +in holding to the slippery rounds. It was not _fright_ which overpowered +me, but, oddly enough, down there in the depths, I remembered that a +year before, about the same time, I had been in a storm on the North +Sea, and I now felt that it would be an agreeable change could I feel +the rocking of the ship, hear the wind with its thunder-trumpet tones, +while amid its lulls sounded the hearty cry of the sailors, and all +above was freshly swept by God's own free air--yes, sir! Panting for +air, I rapidly climbed several dozens of ladders, and my guide led me +through a narrow and very long gallery toward the "Dorothea" mine. Here +it was airier and fresher, and the ladders were cleaner, though at the +same time longer and steeper, than in the "Caroline." I felt revived and +more cheerful, particularly as I again observed traces of human beings. +Far below I saw wandering, wavering lights; miners with their lamps came +upwards one by one with the greeting, "Good luck to you!" and, receiving +the same salutation from us, went onwards and upwards. Something like a +friendly and quiet, yet, at the same time, painful and enigmatical +recollection flitted across my mind as I met the deep glances and +earnest pale faces of these young and old men, mysteriously illuminated +by their lanterns, and thought how they had worked all day in lonely and +secret places in the mines, and how they now longed for the blessed +light of day and for the glances of wives and children. + +My guide himself was an absolutely honest, thoroughly loyal German +specimen. With inward joy he pointed out to me the "place" where the +Duke of Cambridge, when he visited the mines, dined with all his train, +and where the long wooden table yet stands; with the accompanying great +chair, made of ore, in which the Duke sat. "This is to remain as an +eternal memorial," said the good miner, and he related with enthusiasm +how many festivities had then taken place, how the entire "stulm" had +been adorned with lamps, flowers, and decorations of leaves; how a miner +boy had played on the cithern and sung; how the dear, delighted, fat +Duke had drained many healths, and what a number of miners (himself +especially) would cheerfully die for the dear, fat Duke, and for the +whole house of Hanover. I am moved to my very heart when I see loyalty +thus manifested in all its natural simplicity. It is such a beautiful +sentiment, and such a purely _German_ sentiment! Other people may be +wittier, more intelligent, and more agreeable, but none is so faithful +as the real German race. Did I not know that fidelity is as old as the +world, I would believe that a German heart had invented it. German +fidelity is no modern "Yours very truly," or "I remain your humble +servant." In your courts, ye German princes, ye should cause to be sung, +and sung again, the old ballad of _The Trusty Eckhart and the Base +Burgund_ who slew Eckhart's seven children, and still found him +faithful. Ye have the truest people in the world, and ye err when ye +deem that the old, intelligent, trusty hound has suddenly gone mad, and +snaps at your sacred calves! + +And, like German fidelity, the little mine-lamp has guided us +quietly and securely, without much flickering or flaring, through +the labyrinth of shafts and stulms. We ascend out of the gloomy +mountain-night--sunlight flashes around--"Good luck to you!" + +Most of the miners dwell in Clausthal, and in the adjoining small town +of Zellerfeld. I visited several of these brave fellows, observed their +little households, heard many of their songs, which they skilfully +accompany with their favorite instrument, the cithern, and listened to +old mining legends, and to their prayers which they are accustomed to +offer daily in company ere they descend the gloomy shaft; and many a +good prayer did I offer up with them! One old climber even thought that +I ought to remain among them, and become a man of the mines; but as I +took my leave notwithstanding, he gave me a message to his brother, who +dwelt near Goslar, and many kisses for his darling niece. + +Tranquil even to stagnation as the life of these people may appear, it +is, nevertheless, a real and vivid life. That ancient trembling crone +who sits behind the stove opposite the great clothes-press may have been +there for a quarter of a century, and all her thinking and feeling is, +beyond a doubt, intimately blended with every corner of the stove and +the carvings of the press. And clothes-press and stove _live_--for a +human being hath breathed into them a portion of her soul. + +It was only in such deeply contemplative life as this, in such "direct +relationship" between man and the things of the outer world, that the +German fairy tale could originate, the peculiarity of which consists in +the fact that in it not only animals and plants, but also objects +apparently inanimate, speak and act. To thoughtful harmless people in +the quiet homeliness of their lowly mountain cabins or forest huts, the +inner life of these objects was gradually revealed; they acquired a +necessary and consistent character, a sweet blending of fantastic humor +and purely human sentiment, and thus we find in the fairy tale--as +something marvelous and yet at the same time quite natural--the pin and +the needle wandering forth from the tailor's home and losing their way +in the dark; the straw and the coal seeking to cross the brook and +coming to grief; the dust-pan and broom quarreling and fighting on the +stairs. Thus the mirror, when interrogated, shows the image of the +fairest lady, and even drops of blood begin to utter obscure and fearful +words of the deepest compassion. And this is the reason why our life in +childhood is so infinitely significant, for then all things are of the +same importance, nothing escapes our attention, there is equality in +every impression; while, when more advanced in years, we must act with +design, busy ourselves more exclusively with particulars, carefully +exchange the pure gold of observation for the paper currency of book +definitions, and win in _breadth_ of life what we lost in depth. + +_Now,_ we are grown-up, respectable people, we often inhabit new +dwellings; the housemaid daily cleans them and changes at her will the +position of the furniture, which interests us but little, as it is +either new or may belong today to Jack, tomorrow to Isaac. Even our very +clothes are strange to us; we hardly know how many buttons there are on +the coat we wear--for we change our garments as often as possible, and +none of them remains deeply identified with our external or inner +history. We can hardly remember how that brown vest once looked, which +attracted so much laughter, and yet on the broad stripes of which the +dear hand of the loved one so gently rested! + +The old dame who sat behind the stove opposite the clothes-press wore a +flowered dress of some old-fashioned material, which had been the bridal +robe of her departed mother. Her great-grandson, a fair-haired boy, with +flashing eyes, clad in a miner's dress, sat at her feet and counted the +flowers on her dress. It may be that she has narrated to him many a +story connected with that dress--many serious and pretty stories, which +the boy will not readily forget, which will often recur to him when he, +a grown-up man, works alone in the midnight galleries of the "Caroline," +and which he in turn will narrate when the dear grandmother has long +been dead, and he himself, a silver-haired, tranquil old man, sits amid +the circle of _his_ grand-children behind the stove, opposite the great +clothes-press. + +I lodged that night too in The Crown, where the Court Councilor B----, +of Göttingen, had arrived meanwhile, and I had the pleasure of paying my +respects to the old gentleman. After writing my name in the book of +arrivals, I turned over the leaves of the month of July and found +therein, among others, the much loved name of Adalbert von Chamisso, the +biographer of the immortal _Schlemihl_. The landlord remarked of +Chamisso that the gentleman had arrived during one terrible storm and +departed in another. + +The next morning I had again to lighten my knapsack, and threw overboard +an extra pair of boots; then I arose and went on to Goslar, where I +arrived without knowing how. This much alone do I remember, that I +sauntered up hill and down dale, gazing upon many a lovely meadow vale; +silver waters rippled and murmured, sweet woodbirds sang, the bells of +the flocks tinkled, the many shaded green trees were gilded by the sun, +and, over all, the blue silk canopy of heaven was so transparent that +one could look through the depths even to the Holy of Holies, where +angels sit at the feet of God, studying thorough-bass in the features of +the eternal countenance. But I was all the time lost in a dream of the +previous night, which I could not banish from my thoughts. It was an +echo of the old legend--how a knight descended into a deep fountain +beneath which the fairest princess of the world lay buried in a +deathlike magic slumber. I myself was the knight, and the dark mine of +Clausthal was the fountain. Suddenly innumerable lights gleamed around +me, watchful dwarfs leapt from every cranny in the rocks, grimacing +angrily, cutting at me with their short swords, blowing shrilly on +horns, which summoned more and ever more of their comrades, and +frantically nodding their great heads. But as I hewed them down with my +sword the blood flowed, and I for the first time remarked that they were +not really dwarfs, but the red-blooming, long-bearded thistle-tops, +which I had the day before hewed down on the highway with my stick. At +last they all vanished, and I came to a splendid lighted hall, in the +midst of which stood my heart's loved one, veiled in white, and +immovable as a statue. I kissed her mouth, and then--O Heavens!--I felt +the blessed breath of her soul and the sweet tremor of her lovely lips. +It seemed that I heard the divine command, "Let there be light!" and a +dazzling flash of eternal light shot down, but at the same instant it +was again night, and all ran chaotically together into a wild turbulent +sea! A wild turbulent sea, indeed, over whose foaming waves the ghosts +of the departed madly chased one another, their white shrouds floating +in the wind, while behind all, goading them on with cracking whip, ran a +many-colored harlequin--and I was the harlequin! Suddenly from the black +waves the sea monsters raised their misshapen heads, snatched at me with +extended claws, and I awoke in terror. + +Alas, how the finest fairy tales may be spoiled! The knight, in fact, +when he has found the sleeping princess, ought to cut a piece from her +priceless veil, and when, by his bravery, she has been awakened from her +magic sleep and is again seated on her golden throne in her palace, the +knight should approach her and say, "My fairest princess, dost thou not +know me?" Then she will answer, "My bravest knight, I know thee not!" +And then he shows her the piece cut from her veil, exactly fitting the +deficiency, and she knows that he is her deliverer, and both tenderly +embrace, and the trumpets sound, and the marriage is celebrated. It is +really a very peculiar misfortune that _my_ love-dreams so seldom have +so fine a conclusion. + +[Illustration: OLD IMPERIAL PALACE, GOSLAR] + +The name of Goslar rings so pleasantly, and there are so many very +ancient and imperial associations connected therewith, that I had hoped +to find an imposing and stately town. But it is always the same old +story when we examine celebrities too closely. I found a nest of houses, +drilled in every direction with narrow streets of labyrinthine +crookedness, and amid which a miserable stream, probably the Gose, winds +its sad and muddy way. The pavement of the town is as ragged as Berlin +hexameters. Only the antiquities which are imbedded in the frame or +mounting of the city--that is to say, its remnants of walls, towers, and +battlements--give the place a piquant look. One of these towers, known as +the "Zwinger," or donjonkeep, has walls of such extraordinary thickness +that entire rooms are excavated therein. The open place before the town, +where the world-renowned shooting matches are held, is a beautiful large +plain surrounded by high mountains. The market is small, and in its +midst is a spring fountain, the waters from which pours into a great +metallic basin. When an alarm of fire is raised, they strike several +times on this cup-formed basin, which gives out a very loud vibration. +Nothing is known of the origin of this work. Some say that the devil +placed it once during the night on the spot where it stands. In those +days people were as yet fools, nor was the devil any wiser, and they +mutually exchanged gifts. + +The town hall of Goslar is a whitewashed guard-room. The Guildhall, hard +by, has a somewhat better appearance. In this building, equidistant from +roof and ceiling, stands the statues of German emperors. Blackened with +smoke and partly gilded, in one hand the sceptre, and in the other the +globe, they look like roasted college beadles. One of the emperors holds +a sword instead of a sceptre. I cannot imagine the reason of this +variation from the established order, though it has doubtless some +occult signification, as Germans have the remarkable peculiarity of +meaning something in whatever they do. + +In Gottschalk's _Handbook_ I had read much of the very ancient +cathedral, and of the far-famed imperial throne at Goslar. But when I +wished to see these curiosities, I was informed that the church had been +torn down, and that the throne had been carried to Berlin. We live in +deeply significant times, when millennial churches are destroyed and +imperial thrones are tumbled into the lumber-room. + +A few memorials of the late cathedral of happy memory are still +preserved in the church of St. Stephen. These consist of stained glass +pictures of great beauty, a few indifferent paintings, including a Lucas +Cranach, a wooden Christ crucified, and a heathen altar of some unknown +metal. The latter resembles a long square coffer, and is upheld by +caryatides, which in a bowed position hold their hands above their heads +in support, and are making the most hideous grimaces. But far more +hideous is the adjacent large wooden crucifix of which I have just +spoken. This head of Christ, with its real hair and thorns and +blood-stained countenance, represents, in the most masterly manner, the +death of a _man_--but not of a divinely-born Savior. Nothing but physical +suffering is portrayed in this image--not the sublime poetry of pain. +Such a work would be more appropriately placed in a hall of anatomy than +in a house of the Lord. + +The sacristan's wife--an artistic expert--who led me about, showed me a +special rarity. This was a many-cornered, well-planed blackboard covered +with white numerals, which hung like a lamp in the middle of the +building. Oh, how brilliantly does the spirit of invention manifest +itself in the Protestant Church! For who would think it! The numbers on +this board are those of the Psalms for the day, which are generally +chalked on a common black tablet, and have a very sobering effect on an +esthetic mind, but which, in the form above described, even ornament the +church and fully make up for the want of pictures by Raphael. Such +progress delights me infinitely, since I, as a Protestant and a +Lutheran, am ever deeply chagrined when Catholic opponents ridicule the +empty, God-forsaken appearance of Protestant churches. + + * * * * * + +The churchyard at Goslar did not appeal to me very strongly, but a +certain very pretty blonde-ringleted head which peeped smilingly from a +parterre window _did_. After dinner I again sought out this fascinating +window, but, instead of a maiden, I beheld a glass containing white +bellflowers. I clambered up, stole the flowers, put them quietly in my +cap, and descended, unheeding the gaping mouths, petrified noses, and +goggle eyes, with which the people in the street, and especially the old +women, regarded this qualified theft. As I, an hour later, passed by the +same house, the beauty stood by the window, and, as she saw the flowers +in my cap, she blushed like a ruby and started back. This time I had +seen the beautiful face to better advantage; it was a sweet, transparent +incarnation of summer-evening breeze, moonshine, nightingale notes, and +rose perfume. Later, in the twilight hour, she was standing at the door. +I came--I drew near--she slowly retreated into the dark entry. I +followed, and, seizing her hand, said, "I am a lover of beautiful +flowers and of kisses, and when they are not given to me I steal them." +Here I quickly snatched a kiss, and, as she was about to flee, whispered +soothingly, "Tomorrow I leave this town, probably never to return." Then +I perceived a faint pressure of the lovely lips and of the little hand +and I--hurried smilingly away. Yes, I must smile when I reflect that +unconsciously I uttered the magic formula by which our red-and +blue-coated cavaliers more frequently win female hearts than by their +mustachioed attractiveness--"Tomorrow I leave, probably never to +return." + + * * * * * + +During the night which I passed at Goslar, a remarkably curious +occurrence befell me. Even now I cannot think of it without terror. I am +not cowardly by nature and Heaven knows that I have never experienced +any special anguish when, for example, a naked blade has sought to make +acquaintance with my nose or when I have lost my way at night in a wood +of ill repute, or when, at a concert, a yawning lieutenant has +threatened to swallow me--but _ghosts_ I fear almost as much as the +_Austrian Observer_[52]. What is fear? Does it originate in the brain or +in the emotions? This was a point which I frequently disputed with Dr. +Saul Ascher, when we accidentally met in the Café Royal in Berlin, where +for a long time I used to take dinner. The Doctor invariably maintained +that we feared anything, because we recognized it as fearful, by a +certain process of reasoning, for reason alone is an active power--the +emotions are not. While I ate and drank my fill, the Doctor continued to +demonstrate to me the advantages of reason. Toward the end of his +demonstration, he was accustomed to look at his watch and remark +conclusively, "Reason is the highest principle!" Reason! Never do I hear +this word without recalling Dr. Saul Ascher, with his abstract legs, his +tight-fitting transcendental-grey long coat, his forbidding icy face, +which could have served as frontispiece for a textbook of geometry. This +man, deep in the fifties, was a personified straight line. In his +striving for the positive, the poor man had, by dint of philosophizing, +eliminated all the splendid things from life, such as sunshine, +religion, and flowers, so that there remained nothing for him but the +cold positive grave. The Apollo Belvedere and Christianity were the two +special objects of his malice, and he had even published a pamphlet +against the latter, in which he had demonstrated its unreasonableness +and untenableness. In addition to this, he has written a great number of +books, in all of which _Reason_ shines forth in all its peculiar +excellence, and as the poor Doctor meant what he said in all +seriousness, he was, so far, deserving of respect. But the great joke +consisted precisely in this, that the Doctor invariably cut such a +seriously absurd figure when he could not comprehend what every child +comprehends, simply because it is a child. I visited the Doctor of +Reason several times in his own house, where I found him in company with +very pretty girls; for Reason, it seems, does not prohibit the enjoyment +of the things of this world. Once, however, when I called, his servant +told me the "Herr Doctor" had just died. I experienced as much emotion +on this occasion as if I had been told that the "Herr Doctor" had just +moved. + +To return to Goslar. "The highest principle is Reason," said I +soothingly to myself, as I slid into bed. But it availed me nothing. I +had just been reading in Varnhagen von Ense's _German Tales,_ which I +had brought with me from Clausthal, that terrible story of the son who +went about to murder his father and was warned in the night by the ghost +of his mother. The wonderful truthfulness with which this story is +depicted, caused, while reading it, a shudder of horror in all my veins. +Ghost-stories invariably thrill us with additional horror when read +during a journey, and by night in a town, in a house, and in a room +where we have never been before. We involuntarily reflect, "How many +horrors may have been perpetrated on this very spot where I now lie!" +Meanwhile, the moon shone into my room in a doubtful, suspicious manner; +all kinds of uncalled-for shapes quivered on the walls, and as I raised +myself in bed and glanced fearfully toward them, I beheld-- + +There is nothing so uncanny as when a man accidentally sees his own face +by moonlight in a mirror. At the same instant there struck a +deep-booming, yawning bell, and that so slowly and wearily that after +the twelfth stroke I firmly believed that twelve full hours must have +passed and that it would begin to strike twelve all over again. Between +the last and next to the last tones, there struck in very abruptly, as +if irritated and scolding, another bell, which was apparently out of +patience with the slowness of its colleague. As the two iron tongues +were silenced, and the stillness of death sank over the whole house, I +suddenly seemed to hear, in the corridor before my chamber, something +halting and shuffling along, like the unsteady steps of an old man. At +last my door opened, and there entered slowly the late departed Dr. Saul +Ascher. A cold fever ran through me. I trembled like an ivy leaf and +scarcely dared to gaze upon the ghost. He appeared as usual, with the +same transcendental-grey long coat, the same abstract legs, and the same +mathematical face; only this latter was a little yellower than usual, +the mouth, which formerly described two angles of 22-1/2 degrees, was +pinched together, and the circles around the eyes had a somewhat greater +radius. Tottering, and supporting himself as usual upon his Malacca +cane, he approached me, and said in his usual drawling accent but in a +friendly manner, "Do not be afraid, nor believe that I am a ghost. It is +a deception of your imagination, if you believe that you see me as a +ghost. What is a ghost? Define one. Deduce for me the conditions of the +possibility of a ghost. What reasonable connection is there between such +an apparition and reason? Reason, I say, _Reason!"_ Here the ghost +proceeded to analyze reason, cited from Kant's _Critique of Pure +Reason_, part II, section I, book 2, chap. 3, the distinction between +phenomena and noumena, then went on to construct a hypothetical system +of ghosts, piled one syllogism on another, and concluded with the +logical proof that there are absolutely no ghosts. Meanwhile the cold +sweat ran down my back, my teeth clattered like castanets, and from very +agony of soul I nodded an unconditional assent to every assertion which +the phantom doctor alleged against the absurdity of being afraid of +ghosts, and which he demonstrated with such zeal that once, in a moment +of distraction, instead of his gold watch he drew a handful of +grave-worms from his vest-pocket, and remarking his error, replaced them +with a ridiculous but terrified haste. "Reason is the highest--!" Here +the clock struck _one_, but the ghost vanished. + +The next morning I left Goslar and wandered along, partly at random, and +partly with the intention of visiting the brother of the Clausthal +miner. Again we had beautiful Sunday weather. I climbed hill and +mountain, saw how the sun strove to drive away the mists, and wandered +merrily through the quivering woods, while around my dreaming head rang +the bell-flowers of Goslar. The mountains stood in their white +night-robes, the fir-trees were shaking sleep out of their branching +limbs, the fresh morning wind curled their drooping green locks, the +birds were at morning prayers, the meadow-vale flashed like a golden +surface sprinkled with diamonds, and the shepherd passed over it with +his bleating flock. + + * * * * * + +After much circuitous wandering I came to the dwelling of the brother of +my Clausthal friend. Here I stayed all night and experienced the +following beautiful poem-- + + Stands the but upon the mountain + Where the ancient woodman dwells + There the dark-green fir-trees rustle, + Casts the moon its golden spells. + + In the but there stands an arm-chair, + Richly carved and cleverly; + He who sits therein is happy, + And that happy man am I. + + On the footstool sits a maiden, + On my lap her arms repose, + With her eyes like blue stars beaming, + And her mouth a new-born rose. + + And the dear blue stars shine on me, + Wide like heaven's great arch their gaze; + And her little lily finger + Archly on the rose she lays. + + Nay, the mother cannot see us, + For she spins the whole day long; + And the father plays the cithern + As he sings a good old song. + + And the maiden softly whispers, + Softly, that none may hear; + Many a solemn little secret + Hath she murmured in my ear. + + "Since I lost my aunt who loved me, + Now we never more repair + To the shooting-lodge at Goslar, + And it is so pleasant there! + + "Here above it is so lonely, + On the rocks where cold winds blow; + And in winter we are always + Deeply buried in the snow. + + "And I'm such a timid creature, + And I'm frightened like a child + At the evil mountain spirits, + Who by night are raging wild" + + Silent falls the winsome maiden, + Frightened by her own surmise, + Little hands, so white and dimpled, + Pressing on her sweet blue eyes. + + Louder now the fir-trees rustle, + Spinning-wheel more harshly drones; + In their pauses sounds the cithern, + And the old song's simple tones: + + "Do not fear, my tender nursling, + Aught of evil spirits' might; + For good angels still are watching + Round thy pathway day and night." + + Now the fir-tree's dark-green fingers + Tap upon the window low, + And the moon, a yellow listener, + Casts within her sweetest glow. + + Father, mother, both are sleeping, + Near at hand their rest they take; + But we two, in pleasant gossip, + Keep each other long awake. + + "That thou prayest much too often, + Seems unlikely, I declare; + On thy lips there is a quiver + Which was never born of prayer. + + "Ah! that heartless, cold expression + All my being terrifies-- + Though my darkling fear is lessened + By thy frank and honest eyes. + + "Yet I doubt if thou believest + What is held for truth by most; + Hast thou faith in God the Father, + In the Son and Holy Ghost?" + + "Ah, my darling! when an infant + By my mother's knee I stood, + I believed in God the Father, + In the Ruler great and good. + + "He who made the world so lovely, + Gave man beauty, gave him force, + And to sun and moon and planets + Pre-appointed each its course. + + "As I older grew, my darling, + And my way in wisdom won, + I in reason comprehended, + And believe now in the Son-- + + "In the well-loved Son, who, loving, + Oped the gates of Love so wide; + And for thanks--as is the custom-- + By the world was crucified. + + "Now, that I in full-grown manhood + Reading, travel, wisdom boast; + Still my heart expands, and, truly + I believe the Holy Ghost, + + "Who bath worked the greatest wonders-- + Greater still he'll work again; + He bath broken tyrants' strongholds, + Broken every vassal's chain. + + "Ancient deadly wounds he healeth, + He renews man's ancient right; + All to him, born free and equal, + Are as nobles in his sight. + + "Clouds of evil flee before him, + And those cobwebs of the brain + Which forbade us love and pleasure, + Scowling grimly on our pain. + + "And a thousand knights in armor + Hath he chosen and required + To fulfil his holy bidding-- + All with noblest zeal inspired. + + "Lo! I their precious swords are gleaming, + And their banners wave in fight! + What! Thou fain would'st see, my darling, + Such a proud and noble knight? + + "Well, then, gaze on me, my dearest; + I am of that lordly host, + Kiss me! and you kiss a chosen + Champion of the Holy Ghost!" + + Silently the moon conceals her + Down behind the sombre trees, + And the lamp which lights our chamber + Flickers in the evening breeze. + + But the starry eyes are beaming + Softly o'er the dimpled cheeks, + And the purple rose is glowing, + While the gentle maiden speaks. + + "Little people--fairy goblins-- + Steal away our meat and bread; + In the chest it lies at evening, + In the morning it has fled. + + "From our milk the little people + Steal the cream and all the best; + Then they leave the dish uncovered, + And our cat drinks up the rest. + + "And the cat's a witch, I'm certain, + For by night, when storms arise, + Oft she seeks the haunted hill-top + Where the fallen tower lies. + + "There was once a splendid castle. + Home of joy and weapons bright, + Where there swept in stately pageant + Lady, page, and armèd knight. + + "But a sorceress charmed the castle, + With its lords and ladies fair; + Now it is a lonely ruin, + And the owls are nesting there. + + "But my aunt hath often told me, + Could I speak the proper word, + In the proper place up yonder, + When the proper hour occurred, + + "I should see the ruins changing + Swiftly to a castle bright, + And again in stately dances + Dame and page and gallant knight. + + "He who speaks the word of power + Wins the castle for his own, + And the knight with drum and trumpet + Loud will hail him lord alone." + + So the simple fairy pictures + From the little rose-mouth bloom, + And the gentle eyes are shedding + Star-blue lustre through the gloom. + + Round my hand the little maiden + Winds her gold locks as she will, + Gives a name to every finger, + Kisses, smiles, and then is still. + + All things in the silent chamber, + Seem at once familiar grown, + As if e'en the chairs and clothes-press, + Well of old to me were known. + + Now the clock talks kindly, gravely, + And the cithern, as 'twould seem, + Of itself is faintly chiming, + And I sit as in a dream. + + Now the proper hour is striking, + Here the charm should now be heard; + Child, how would'st thou be astonished, + Should I speak the magic word! + + If I spoke that word, then fading + Night would thrill in fearful strife; + Trees and streams would roar together + As the mountains woke to life. + + Ringing lutes and goblin ditties + From the clefted rock would sound, + Like a mad and merry spring-tide + Flowers grow forest-high around. + + Thousand startling, wondrous flowers, + Leaves of vast and fabled form, + Strangely perfumed, wildly quivering, + As if thrilled with passion's storm. + + In a crimson conflagration + Roses o'er the tumult rise; + Giant lilies, white as crystal, + Shoot like columns to the skies. + + Great as suns, the stars above us + Gaze adown with burning glow; + Fill the lilies' cups gigantic + With their lights' abundant flow. + + We ourselves, my little maiden, + Would be changed more than all; + Torchlight gleams o'er gold and satin + Round us merrily would fall. + + Thou thyself would'st be the princess, + And this hut thy castle high; + Ladies, lords, and graceful pages + Would be dancing, singing by. + + I, however, I have conquered + Thee, and all things, with the word! + Serfs and castle--lo! with trumpet + Loud they hail me as their Lord! + +The sun rose. The mists flitted away like phantoms at the third crow of +the cock. Again I wandered up hill and down dale, while above me soared +the fair sun, ever lighting up new scenes of beauty. The Spirit of the +Mountain evidently favored me, well knowing that a "poetical character" +has it in his power to say many a fine thing of him, and on this morning +he let me see his Harz as it is not, most assuredly, seen by every one. +But the Harz also saw me as I am seen by few, and there were as costly +pearls on my eyelashes as on the grass of the valley. The morning dew of +love wet my cheeks; the rustling pines understood me; their twigs parted +and waved up and down, as if, like mute mortals, they would express +their joy with gestures of their hands, and from afar I heard beautiful +and mysterious chimes, like the sound of bells belonging to some hidden +forest church. People say that these sounds are caused by the +cattle-bells, which, in the Harz ring with remarkable clearness and +purity. + +It was noon, according to the position of the sun, as I chanced upon +such a flock, and its shepherd, a friendly, light-haired young fellow, +told me that the great hill at whose base I stood was the old, +world-renowned Brocken. For many leagues around there is no house, and I +was glad enough when the young man invited me to share his meal. We sat +down to a _déjeûner dînatoire_, consisting of bread and cheese. The +sheep snatched up our crumbs, while pretty glossy heifers jumped around, +ringing their bells roguishly, and laughing at us with great merry eyes. +We made a royal meal, my host appearing to me every inch a king; and as +he is the only monarch who has ever given me bread, I will sing his +praises right royally: + + Kingly is the herd-boy's calling, + On the knoll his throne is set, + O'er his hair the sunlight falling + Gilds a living coronet. + + Red-marked sheep that bleat so loudly + Are his courtiers cross-bedight, + Calves that strut before him proudly + Seem each one a stalwart knight. + + Goats are actors nimbly springing, + And the cows and warblers gay + With their bell and flute-notes ringing + Form the royal orchestra. + + And whene'er the music hushes, + Soft the pine-tree murmurs creep; + Far away a cataract rushes-- + Look, our noble king's asleep! + + Meanwhile through the kingdom bounding + Rules the dog as minister, + Till his bark from cliffs rebounding + Echoes to the sleeper's ear. + + Yawning syllables he utters-- + "Ruling is too hard a task. + Were I but at home," he mutters, + "With my queen 'tis all I'd ask. + + "On her arm my head reposes + Free from care, how happily! + And her loving glance discloses + Kingdom wide enough for me."[53] + +We took leave of each other in a friendly manner, and with a light heart +I began to ascend the mountain. I was soon welcomed by a grove of +stately firs, for which I entertain great respect in every regard, for +these trees have not found growing to be such an easy business, and +during the days of their youth it fared hard with them. The mountain is +here sprinkled with a great number of blocks of granite, and most of the +trees were obliged either to twine their roots over the stones, or to +split them in two, and thus laboriously to search for the soil from +which to draw their nourishment. Here and there stones lie on top of one +another, forming, as it were, a gate, and over all rise the trees, +twining their naked roots down over the stone portals, and only laying +hold of the soil when they reach its base, so that they appear to be +growing in the air; and yet, as they have forced their way up to that +startling height and grown into one with the rocks, they stand more +securely than their comfortable comrades, who are rooted in the tame +forest soil of the level country. So it is in life with those great men +who have strengthened and established themselves by resolutely +overcoming the obstacles and hindrances of their early years. Squirrels +climbed amid the fir-twigs, while, beneath, yellow deer were quietly +grazing. I cannot comprehend, when I see such a noble, lovable animal, +how educated and refined people can take pleasure in hunting and killing +it. Such a creature was once more merciful than man, and suckled the +pining Schmerzenreich of the holy Genofeva. Most beautiful were the +golden sun-rays shooting through the dark-green of the firs. The roots +of the trees formed a natural stairway, and everywhere my feet +encountered swelling beds of moss, for the stones are here covered +foot-deep, as if with light-green velvet cushions. Everywhere a pleasant +freshness and the dreamy murmur of streams. Here and there we see water +rippling silver-clear amid the rocks, washing the bare roots and fibres +of trees. Bend down toward all this ceaseless activity and listen, and +you will hear, as it were, the mysterious history of the growth of the +plants, and the quiet pulsations of the heart of the mountain. In many +places the water jets strongly up amid rocks and roots, forming little +cascades. It is pleasant to sit in such places. There is such a +wonderful murmuring and rustling, the birds pour forth broken lovesick +strains, the trees whisper as if with a thousand maidens' tongues, the +odd mountain flowers peep up at us as if with a thousand maidens' eyes, +stretching out to us their curious, broad, drolly-scalloped leaves; the +sun-rays flash here and there in sport; the herbs, as though endowed +with reason, are telling one another their green legends; all seems +enchanted and it becomes more and more mysterious; an old, old dream is +realized--the loved one appears! Alas, that she so quickly vanishes! + +The higher we ascend, so much the shorter and more dwarflike do the +fir-trees become, shrinking up, as it were, within themselves, until +finally only whortleberries, bilberries, and mountain herbs remain. It +is also sensibly colder. Here, for the first time, the granite boulders, +which are frequently of enormous size, become fully visible. These may +well have been the balls which evil spirits cast at one another on the +Walpurgis night, when the witches come riding hither on brooms and +pitchforks, when the mad, unhallowed revelry begins, as our credulous +nurses have told us, and as we may see it represented in the beautiful +Faust pictures of Master Retsch. Yes, a young poet, who, while +journeying from Berlin to Gottingen passed the Brocken on the first +evening in May, even noticed how certain ladies who cultivated +_belles-lettres_, were holding their esthetic tea-circle in a rocky +corner, how they comfortably read aloud the _Evening Journal_, how they +praised as universal geniuses their poetic billy-goats which hopped +bleating around their table, and how they passed a final judgment on all +the productions of German literature. But when they at last fell upon +_Ratcliff_ and _Almansor_, utterly denying to the author aught like +piety or Christianity, the hair of the youth rose on end, terror seized +him--I spurred my steed and rode onwards! + +In fact, when we ascend the upper half of the Brocken, no one can well +help thinking of the amusing legends of the Blocksberg, and especially +of the great mystical German national tragedy of Doctor Faust. It ever +seemed to me that I could hear the cloven foot scrambling along behind, +and some one breathing humorously. And I verily believe that "Mephisto" +himself must breathe with difficulty when he climbs his favorite +mountain, for it is a road which is to the last degree exhausting, and I +was glad enough when I at last beheld the long-desired Brocken house. + +[Illustration: "THE WITCHES DANCING GROUND"] + +This house, as every one knows from numerous pictures, is situated on +the summit of the mountain, consists of a single story, and was erected +in the year 1800 by Count Stolberg-Wernigerode, in behalf of whom it is +managed as a tavern. On account of the wind and cold in winter its walls +are incredibly thick. The roof is low. From its midst rises a towerlike +observatory, and near the house lie two little out-buildings, one of +which in earlier times served as shelter to the Brocken visitors. + +On entering the Brocken house, I experienced a somewhat unusual and +unreal sensation. After a long solitary journey amid rocks and pines, +the traveler suddenly finds himself in a house amid the clouds. Far +below lie cities, hills, and forests, while above he encounters a +curiously blended circle of strangers, by whom he is received, as is +usual in such assemblies, almost like an expected companion--half +inquisitively and half indifferently. I found the house full of guests, +and, as becomes a wise man, I first thought of the night, and of the +discomfort of sleeping on straw. With the voice of one dying I called +for tea, and the Brocken landlord was reasonable enough to perceive that +the sick gentleman must be provided with a decent bed. This he gave me +in a narrow room, where a young merchant--a long emetic in a brown +overcoat--had already established himself. + +In the public room I found a full tide of bustle and animation. There +were students from different universities. Some of the newly arrived +were taking refreshments. Others, preparing for departure, buckled on +their knapsacks, wrote their names in the album, and received Brocken +bouquets from the housemaids. There was pinching of cheeks, singing, +springing, trilling; questions asked, answers given, fragments of +conversation such as--fine weather--footpath--_prosit_--luck be with +you!--Adieu! Some of those leaving were also partly drunk, and these +derived a twofold pleasure from the beautiful scenery, for a tipsy man +sees double. + +After recruiting my strength I ascended the observatory, and there found +a little gentleman with two ladies, one of whom was young and the other +elderly. The young lady was very beautiful--a superb figure, flowing +locks, surmounted by a helm-like black satin _chapeau_, amid whose white +plumes the wind played; fine limbs, so closely enwrapped by a black silk +mantle that their exquisite form was made manifest, and great free eyes, +calmly looking down into the great free world. + +When a boy I thought of naught save tales of magic and wonder, and every +fair lady who had ostrich feathers on her head I regarded as an elfin +queen. If I observed that the train of her dress was wet I believed at +once that she must be a water-fairy. Now I know better, having learned +from natural history that those symbolical feathers are found on the +most stupid of birds, and that the train of a lady's dress may become +wet in a very natural way. But if I had, with those boyish eyes, seen +the aforesaid young lady in the aforesaid position on the Brocken, I +would most assuredly have thought--"that is the fairy of the mountain, +and she has just uttered the charm which has caused every thing down +there to appear so wonderful." Yes, at the first glance from the Brocken +everything appears in a high degree marvelous. New impressions throng in +on every side, and these, varied and often contradictory, unite in our +soul in an as yet undefined uncomprehended sensation. If we succeed in +grasping the sensation in its conception we shall comprehend the +character of the mountain. This character is entirely German as regards +not only its advantages but also its defects. The Brocken is a German. +With German thoroughness he points out to us--sharply and accurately +defined as in a panorama--the hundreds of cities, towns, and villages +which are principally situated to the north, and all the mountains, +forests, rivers, and plains which extend endlessly in all directions. +But for this very reason everything appears like a sharply designed and +perfectly colored map, and nowhere is the eye gratified by really +beautiful landscapes--just as we German compilers, owing to the +honorable exactness with which we attempt to give all and everything, +never appear to think of giving the details in a beautiful manner. + +[Illustration: THE BROCKEN INN ABOUT 1830] + +The mountain, in consequence, has a certain calm, German, intelligent, +tolerant character, simply because he can see things so distant yet so +distinctly. And when such a mountain opens his giant eyes, it may be +that he sees somewhat more than we dwarfs, who with our weak eyes climb +over him. Many indeed assert that the Blocksberg is very Philistian, and +Claudius once sang "The Blocksberg is the lengthy Sir Philistine;" but +that was an error. On account of his bald head, which he occasionally +covers with a cloud-cap, the Blocksberg has indeed a somewhat Philistian +aspect, but this with him, as with many other great Germans, is the +result of pure irony; for it is notorious that he has his wild student +and fantastic periods, as, for instance, on the first night of May. Then +he casts his cloud-cap uproariously and merrily into the air, and +becomes, like the rest of us, romantic mad, in real German fashion. + +I soon sought to entrap the beauty into a conversation, for we begin to +fully enjoy the beauties of nature only when we talk about them on the +spot. + + * * * * * + +While we conversed twilight stole, the air grew colder, the sun sank +lower and lower, and the tower platform was filled with students, +traveling mechanics, and a few honest citizens with their spouses and +daughters, all of whom were desirous of witnessing the sunset. It is +truly a sublime spectacle, which tunes the soul to prayer. For a full +quarter of an hour all stood in solemn silence, gazing on the beautiful +fire-ball as it gradually sank in the west; our faces were bathed in the +rosy light; our hands were involuntarily folded; it seemed as if we, a +silent congregation, stood in the nave of a giant cathedral, that the +priest raised the body of the Lord, and the Palestrina's immortal hymns +poured forth from the organ. + +As I stood thus, lost in devotion, I heard some one near me exclaim, +"Ah, how beautiful Nature is, as a general thing!" These words came from +the sentimental heart of my room-mate, the young merchant. They brought +me back to my week-day frame of mind, and I was now able to say a few +neat things to the ladies about the sunset and to accompany them, as +calmly as if nothing had happened, to their room. They permitted me to +talk an hour longer with them. Our conversation, like the earth's +course, was about the sun. The mother declared that the sun, as it sank +in the snowy clouds, seemed like a red glowing rose, which the gallant +heaven had thrown upon the white outspreading bridal-veil of his loved +earth. The daughter smiled, and thought that a frequent observation of +such phenomena weakened their impression. The mother corrected this +error by a quotation from Goethe's _Letters of Travel_, and asked me if +I had read _Werther_. I believe that we also spoke of Angora cats, +Etruscan vases, Turkish shawls, maccaroni, and Lord Byron, from whose +poems the elder lady, daintly lisping and sighing, recited several +passages about the sunset. To the younger lady, who did not understand +English, and who wished to become familiar with those poems, I +recommended the translation of my fair and gifted countrywoman, the +Baroness Elise von Hohenhausen. On this occasion, as is my custom when +talking with young ladies, I did not fail to declaim against Byron's +godlessness, heartlessness, cheerlessness, and heaven knows what +besides. + +After this business I took a walk on the Brocken, for there it is never +quite dark. The mist was not heavy, and I could see the outlines of the +two hills known as the Witch's Altar and the Devil's Pulpit. I fired my +pistol, but there was no echo. Suddenly, however, I heard familiar +voices and found myself embraced and kissed. The newcomers were +fellow-students from my own part of Germany, and had left Göttingen four +days later than I. Great was their astonishment at finding me again, +alone on the Blocksberg. Then came a flood tide of narrative, of +astonishment, and of appointment-making, of laughing, and of +recollecting, and in the spirit we found ourselves again in our learned +Siberia, where refinement is carried to such an extent that the bears +are tied up in the taverns, and the sables wish the hunter good +evening.[54] + +In the great room we had supper. There was a long table, with two rows +of hungry students. At first we indulged in the usual topic of +university conversation--duels, duels, and once again duels. The company +consisted principally of Halle students, and Halle formed, in +consequence, the nucleus of their discourse. The window-panes of +Court-Councilor Schütz were exegetically illuminated. Then it was +mentioned that the King of Cyprus' last levee had been very brilliant; +that the monarch had chosen a natural son; that he had married with the +left hand a princess of the house of Lichtenstein; that the +State-mistress had been forced to resign, and that the entire ministry, +greatly moved, had wept according to rule. I need hardly explain that +this all referred to certain beer dignitaries in Halle. Then the two +Chinese, who two years before had been exhibited in Berlin, and who were +now appointed lecturers on Chinese esthetics in Halle, were discussed. +Then jokes were made. Some one supposed a case in which a live German +might be exhibited for money in China, and to this end a placard was +fabricated, in which the mandarins Tsching-Tschang-Tschung and Hi-Ha-Ho +certified that the man was a genuine Teuton, including a list of his +accomplishments, which consisted principally of philosophizing, smoking, +and endless patience. It concluded with the notice that visitors were +prohibited from bringing any dogs with them at twelve o'clock (the hour +for feeding the captive), as these animals would be sure to snap from +the poor German all his titbits. + +A young _Burschenschafter_, who had recently passed his period of +purification in Berlin, spoke much, but very partially, of this city. He +had frequented both Wisotzki and the theatre, but judged falsely of +both. "For youth is ever ready with a word," etc. He spoke of the +sumptuousness of the costumes, of scandals among actors and actresses, +and similar matters. The youth knew not that in Berlin, where outside +show exerts the greatest influence (as is abundantly evidenced by the +commonness of the phrase "so people do"), this ostentation must flourish +on the stage preëminently, and consequently that the special care of the +management must be for "the color of the beard with which a part is +played" and for the truthfulness of the costumes which are designed by +sworn historians and sewed by scientifically instructed tailors. And +this is indispensable. For if Maria Stuart wore an apron belonging to +the time of Queen Anne, the banker, Christian Gumpel, would with justice +complain that thereby all illusion was destroyed; and if Lord Burleigh +in a moment of forgetfulness should don the hose of Henry the Fourth, +then the War-Councilor Von Steinzopf's wife, _née_ Lilienthau, would not +get the anachronism out of her head for the whole evening.... But little +as this young man had comprehended the conditions of the Berlin drama, +still less was he aware that the Spontini Janissary opera, with its +kettledrums, elephants, trumpets, and gongs, is a heroic means of +inspiring our enervated people with warlike enthusiasm--a means once +shrewdly recommended by Plato and Cicero. Least of all did the youth +comprehend the diplomatic significance of the ballet. It was with great +trouble that I finally made him understand that there was really more +political science in Hoguet's feet than in Buchholz's head, that all his +_tours de danse_ signified diplomatic negotiations, and that his every +movement hinted at state matters; as, for instance, when he bent forward +anxiously, stretching his hands out wide and grasping at the air, he +meant our Cabinet; that a hundred pirouettes on one toe without quitting +the spot alluded to the German Diet; that he was thinking of the lesser +princes when he tripped around with his legs tied; that he described the +European balance of power when he tottered hither and thither like a +drunken man; that he hinted at a Congress when he twisted his bended +arms together like a skein; and finally, that he sets forth our +altogether too great friend in the East, when, very gradually unfolding +himself, he rises on high, stands for a long time in this elevated +position, and then all at once breaks out into the most terrifying +leaps. The scales fell from the eyes of the young man, and he now saw +how it was that dancers are better paid than great poets, and why the +ballet forms in diplomatic circles an inexhaustible subject of +conversation. By Apis! how great is the number of the esoteric, and how +small the array of the esoteric frequenters of the theatre! There sit +the stupid audience, gaping and admiring leaps and attitudes, studying +anatomy in the positions of Lemière, and applauding the _entrechats_ of +Röhnisch, prattling of "grace," "harmony," and "limbs"--no one remarking +meanwhile that he has before him in chronological ciphers the destiny of +the German Fatherland. + + * * * * * + +The company around the table gradually became better acquainted and much +noisier. Wine banished beer, punch-bowls steamed, songs were sung, and +brotherhood was drunk in true student fashion. The old "Landsfather +toast" and the beautiful songs of W. Müller, Rückert, Uhland, and others +rang out with the exquisite airs of Methfessel. Best of all sounded our +own Arndt's German words, "The Lord, who bade iron grow, wished for no +slaves." And out of doors it roared as if the old mountain sang with us, +and a few reeling friends even asserted that he merrily shook his bald +head, which caused the great unsteadiness of the floor of our room. + + * * * * * + +During this crazy scene, in which plates learned to dance and glasses to +fly, there sat opposite me two youths, beautiful and pale as statues, +one resembling Adonis, the other Apollo. The faint rosy hue which the +wine spread over their cheeks was scarcely noticeable. They gazed on +each other with infinite affection, as if the one could read in the eyes +of the other, and in those eyes there was a light as though drops of +light had fallen therein from the cup of burning love, which an angel on +high bears from one star to the other. They conversed softly with +earnest trembling voices, and narrated sad stories, through all of which +ran a tone of strange sorrow. "Lora is dead now too!" said one, and, +sighing, proceeded to tell of a maiden of Halle who had loved a student, +and who, when the latter left Halle, spoke no more to any one, ate but +little, wept day and night, gazing over on the canary-bird which her +lover had given her. "The bird died, and Lora did not long survive it," +was the conclusion, and both the youths sighed as though their hearts +would break. Finally the other said, "My soul is sorrowful; come forth +with me into the dark night! Let me inhale the breath of the clouds and +the moon-rays. Companion of my sorrow! I love thee; thy words are +musical, like the rustling of reeds and the flow of rivulets; they +reëcho in my breast, but my soul is sad!" + +Both of the young men arose. One threw his arm around the neck of the +other, and thus they left the noisy room. I followed, and saw them enter +a dark chamber, where the one by mistake, instead of the window, threw +open the door of a large wardrobe, and both, standing before it with +outstretched arms, expressing poetic rapture, spoke alternately. "Ye +breezes of darkening night," cried the first, "how ye cool and revive my +cheeks! How sweetly ye play amid my fluttering locks! I stand on the +cloudy peak of the mountain; far below me lie the sleeping cities of +men, and blue waters gleam. List! far below in the valley rustle the +fir-trees! Far above yonder hills sweep in misty forms the spirits of +our fathers. Oh, that I could hunt with ye on your cloud-steeds through +the stormy night, over the rolling sea, upwards to the stars! Alas! I am +laden with grief, and my soul is sad!" Meanwhile, the other had also +stretched out _his_ arms toward the wardrobe, while tears fell from his +eyes as he cried to a pair of yellow leather pantaloons which he mistook +for the moon, "Fair art thou, daughter of heaven! Lovely and blessed is +the calm of thy countenance. Thou walkest in loveliness! The stars +follow thy blue path in the east! At thy glance the clouds rejoice, and +their dark forms gleam with light. Who is like unto thee in heaven, thou +the night-born? The stars are ashamed before thee, and turn away their +sparkling eyes. Whither, ah, whither, when morning pales thy face, dost +thou flee from thy path? Hast thou, like me, thy Halle? Dwellest thou +amid shadows of sorrow? Have thy sisters fallen from heaven? Are they +who joyfully rolled with thee through the night now no more? Yea, they +have fallen down, oh! lovely light, and thou hidest thyself often to +bewail them! Yet the night must come at last when thou too will have +passed away, and left thy blue path above in heaven. Then the stars, +that were once ashamed in thy presence, will raise their green heads and +rejoice. But now art clothed in thy beaming splendor and gazest down +from the gate of heaven. Tear aside the clouds, oh! ye winds, that the +night-born may shine forth and the bushy hills gleam, and that the +foaming waves of the sea may roll in light!" + + * * * * * + +I can bear a tolerable quantity--modesty forbids me to say how many +bottles--and I consequently retired to my chamber in tolerably good +condition. The young merchant already lay in bed, enveloped in his +chalk-white night-cap and saffron yellow night-shirt of sanitary +flannel. He was not asleep, and sought to enter into conversation with +me. He was from Frankfurt-on-the-Main, and consequently spoke at once of +the Jews, declared that they had lost all feeling for the beautiful and +noble, and that they sold English goods twenty-five per cent. under +manufacturers' prices. A fancy to humbug him came over me, and I told +him that I was a somnambulist, and must beforehand beg his pardon should +I unwittingly disturb his slumbers. This intelligence, as he confessed +the following day, prevented him from sleeping a wink through the whole +night, especially since the idea had entered his head that I, while in a +somnambulistic state, might shoot him with the pistol which lay near my +bed. But in truth I fared no better myself, for I slept very little. +Dreary and terrifying fancies swept through my brain.... + +From this confusion I was rescued by the landlord of the Brocken, when +he awoke me to see the sun rise. On the tower I found several people +already waiting, and rubbing their freezing hands; others, with sleep +still in their eyes, stumbled up to us, until finally the whole silent +congregation of the previous evening was reassembled, and we saw how, +above the horizon, there rose a little carmine-red ball, spreading a +dim, wintry light. Far around, amid the mists, rose the mountains, as if +swimming in a white rolling sea, only their summits being visible, so +that we could imagine ourselves standing on a little hill in the midst +of an inundated plain, in which here and there rose dry clods of earth. +To retain what I saw and felt, I sketched the following poem: + + In the east 'tis ever brighter, + Though the sun gleams fitfully; + Far and wide the mountain summits + Swim above the misty sea. + + Had I seven-league boots for travel, + Like the fleeting winds I'd rove + Over valley, rock, and river, + To the home of her I love. + + From the bed where now she's sleeping + Soft the curtain I would slip; + Softly kiss her childlike forehead, + Kiss the ruby of her lip. + + Yet more softly would I whisper + In the little lily ear, + "Think in dreams we still are loving, + Think I never lost thee, dear." + +Meanwhile my longing for breakfast was also great, and, after paying a +few compliments to my ladies, I hastened down to drink coffee in the +warm public room. It was full time, for all within me was as sober and +as sombre as in the St. Stephen's Church at Goslar. But with the Arabian +beverage, the warm Orient thrilled through my limbs, Eastern roses +breathed forth their perfumes, sweet bulbul songs resounded, the +students were changed to camels, the Brocken housemaids, with their +Congreverocket-glances, became _houris_, the Philistine noses, minarets, +etc. + +But the book which lay near me, though full of nonsense, was not the +Koran. It was the so-called "Brocken-book," in which all travelers who +ascend the mountain write their names--most inscribing their thoughts, +or, in default thereof, their "feelings." Many even express themselves +in verse. In this book one may observe the horrors which result when the +great Philistine host on opportune occasions, such as this on the +Brocken, becomes poetic. The palace of the Prince of Pallagonia never +contained such absurdities as are to be found in this book. Those who +shine in it with especial splendor are Messrs. the excise collectors, +with their moldy "high inspirations;" counter-jumpers, with their +pathetic outgushings of the soul; old German revolution dilettanti with +their Turner-Union phrases, and Berlin school-masters with their +unsuccessful efforts at enthusiasm. Mr. Snobbs will also for once show +himself as author. In one page the majestic splendor of the sunrise is +described, in another complaints occur of bad weather, of disappointed +hopes, and of the mists which obstruct the view. A "Caroline" writes +that in climbing the mountain her feet got wet, to which a naïve +"Nanny," who was impressed by this, adds, "I too, got wet while doing +this thing." "Went up wet without and came down wet within," is a +standing joke, repeated in the book hundreds of times. The whole volume +smells of beer, tobacco and cheese; we might fancy it one of Clauren's +novels. + + * * * * * + +And now the students prepared to depart. Knapsacks were buckled, the +bills, which were moderate beyond all expectation, were settled, the +susceptible housemaids, upon whose countenances the traces of successful +amours were plainly visible, brought, as is their custom, their +Brocken-bouquets, and helped some to adjust their caps; for all of which +they were duly rewarded with either kisses or coppers. Thus we all went +down the mountain, albeit one party, among whom were the Swiss and +Greifswalder, took the road toward Schierke, and the others, about +twenty men, among whom were my fellow "countrymen" and myself, led by a +guide, went through the so-called "Snow Holes" down to Ilsenburg. + +Such a head-over-heels, break-neck piece of business! Halle students +travel quicker than the Austrian militia. Ere I knew where I was, the +bald summit of the mountain, with groups of stones strewed over it, was +behind us, and we went through the fir-wood which I had seen the day +before. The sun poured down a cheerful light on the merry Burschen, in +gaily colored garb, as they merrily pressed onward through the wood, +disappearing here, coming to light again there, running across marshy +places on trunks of trees, climbing over shelving steeps by grasping the +projecting tree-roots; while they thrilled all the time in the merriest +manner and received as joyous an answer from the twittering wood-birds, +the invisibly plashing rivulets, and the resounding echo. When cheerful +youth and beautiful nature meet, they mutually rejoice. + +[Illustration: THE FALLS OF THE ILSE] + +The lower we descend the more delightfully did subterranean waters +ripple around us; only here and there they peeped out amid rocks and +bushes, appearing to be reconnoitring if they might yet come to light, +until at last one little spring jumped forth boldly. Then followed the +usual show--the bravest one makes a beginning, and then to their own +astonishment the great multitude of hesitators, suddenly inspired with +courage, rush forth to join the first. Myriads of springs now leaped in +haste from their ambush, united with the leader, and finally formed +quite an important brook, which, with its innumerable waterfalls and +beautiful windings, ripples down the valley. This is now the Ilse--the +sweet, pleasant Ilse. She flows through the blest Ilse vale, on whose +sides the mountains gradually rise higher and higher, being clad even to +their base with beech-trees, oaks, and the usual shrubs, the firs and +other needle-covered evergreens having disappeared; for that variety of +trees grows preferably upon the "Lower Harz," as the east side of the +Brocken is called in contradistinction to the west side or Upper Harz. +Being in reality much higher, it is therefore better adapted to the +growth of evergreens. + +It is impossible to describe the merriment, simplicity, and charm with +which the Ilse leaps down over the fantastically shaped rocks which rise +in her path, so that the water strangely whizzes or foams in one place. +amid rifted rocks, and in another pours forth in perfect arches through +a thousand crannies, as if from a giant watering-pot, and then, lower +down, trips away again over the pebbles like a merry maiden. Yes, the +old legend is true; the Ilse is a princess, who, in the full bloom of +youth, runs laughing down the mountain side. How her white foam garment +gleams in the sunshine! How her silvered scarf flutters in the breeze! +How her diamonds flash! The high beech-trees gaze down on her like grave +fathers secretly smiling at the capricious self-will of a darling child; +the white birch-trees nod their heads like delighted aunts, who are, +however, anxious at such bold leaps; the proud oak looks on like a not +over-pleased uncle, who must pay for all the fine weather; the birds +joyfully sing their applause; the flowers on the bank whisper, "Oh, take +us with thee, take us with thee, dear sister!" But the merry maiden may +not be withheld, and she leaps onward and suddenly seizes the dreaming +poet, and there streams over me a flower-rain of ringing gleams and +flashing tones, and my senses are lost in all the beauty and splendor, +and I hear only the voice, sweet pealing as a flute-- + + I am the Princess Ilse, + And dwell in Ilsenstein; + Come with me to my castle, + Thou shalt be blest--and mine! + + With ever-flowing fountains + I'll cool thy weary brow; + Thou'lt lose amid their rippling + The cares which grieve thee now. + + In my white arms reposing, + And on my snow-white breast, + Thou'lt dream of old, old legends, + And sing in joy to rest. + + I'll kiss thee and caress thee, + As in the ancient day + I kissed the Emperor Henry, + Who long has passed away. + + The dead are dead and silent, + Only the living love; + And I am fair and blooming-- + Dost feel my wild heart move! + + And as my heart is beating, + My crystal castle rings, + Where many a knight and lady + In merry measure springs. + + Silk trains are softly rustling, + Spurs ring from night to morn, + And dwarfs are gaily drumming, + And blow the golden horn. + + As round the Emperor Henry, + My arms round thee shall fall; + I held his ears--he heard not + The trumpet's warning call. + +We feel infinite happiness when the outer world blends with the world of +our own soul, and green trees, thoughts, the songs of birds, gentle +melancholy, the blue of heaven, memory, and the perfume of herbs, run +together in sweet arabesques. Women best understand this feeling, and +this may be the cause that such a sweet incredulous smile plays around +their lips when we, with scholastic pride, boast of our logical +deeds--how we have classified everything so nicely into subjective and +objective; how our heads are provided, apothecary-like, with a thousand +drawers, one of which contains reason, another understanding, the third +wit, the fourth bad wit, and the fifth nothing at all--that is to say, +the _Idea_. + +As if wandering in dreams, I scarcely observed that we had left the +depths of the Ilsethal and were now again climbing uphill. This was +steep and difficult work, and many of us lost our breath; but, like our +late lamented cousin, who now lies buried at Moelln, we thought in +advance of the descent, and were all the merrier in consequence. Finally +we reached the Ilsenstein. + +This is an enormous granite rock, which rises boldly on high from out a +glen. On three sides it is surrounded by high woody hills, but on the +fourth, the north side, there is an open view, and we gazed past the +Ilsenburg and the Ilse lying below us, far away into the low lands. On +the towerlike summit of the rock stands a great iron cross, and in case +of need there is also room here for four human feet. And as Nature, +through picturesque position and form, has adorned the Ilsenstein with +fantastic charms, so legend likewise has shed upon it a rosy shimmer. +According to Gottschalk, "People say that there once stood here an +enchanted castle, in which dwelt the rich and fair Princess Ilse, who +still bathes every morning in the Ilse. He who is fortunate enough to +hit upon the exact time and place will be led by her into the rock where +her castle lies and receive a royal reward." Others narrate a pleasant +legend of the lovers of the Lady Ilse and of the Knight of Westenberg, +which has been romantically sung by one of our most noted poets in the +_Evening Journal_. Others again say that it was the Old Saxon Emperor +Henry who had a royal good time with the water-nymph Ilse in her +enchanted castle. + +A later author, one Niemann, Esq., who has written a _Guide to the Harz_ +in which the height of the hills, variations of the compass, town +finances, and similar matters are described with praiseworthy accuracy, +asserts, however, that "what is narrated of the Princess Ilse belongs +entirely to the realm of fable." Thus do all men speak to whom a +beautiful princess has never appeared; but we who have been especially +favored by fair ladies know better. And the Emperor Henry knew it too! +It was not without cause that the Old Saxon emperors were so attached to +their native Harz. Let any one only turn over the leaves of the fair +_Lüneburg Chronicle,_ where the good old gentlemen are represented in +wondrously true-hearted woodcuts sitting in full armor on their mailed +war-steeds, the holy imperial crown on their beloved heads, sceptre and +sword in firm hands; and then in their dear mustachiod faces he can +plainly read how they often longed for the sweet hearts of their Harz +princesses, and for the familiar rustling of the Harz forests, when they +sojourned in distant lands--yes, even when in Italy, so rich in oranges +and poisons, whither they, with their followers, were often enticed by +the desire of being called Roman emperors, a genuine German lust for +title, which finally destroyed emperor and empire. + +I, however, advise every one who may hereafter stand on the summit of +the Ilsenstein to think neither of emperor nor empire nor of the fair +Ilse, but simply of his own feet. For as I stood there, lost in thought, +I suddenly heard the subterranean music of the enchanted castle, and saw +the mountains around begin to stand on their heads, while the red-tiled +roofs of Ilsenburg were dancing, and green trees flew through the air, +until all was green and blue before my eyes, and I, overcome by +giddiness, would assuredly have fallen into the abyss, had I not, in the +dire need of my soul, clung fast to the iron cross. No one who reflects +on the critically ticklish situation in which I was then placed can +possibly find fault with me for having done this. + +[Illustration: VIEW FROM ST. ANDREASBERG] + + * * * * * + + + + +BOYHOOD DAYS[55] + +By Heinrich Heine + +Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + +The town of Düsseldorf is very beautiful, and if you think of it when +far away, and happen at the same time to have been born there, strange +feelings come over your soul. I was born there, and feel as if I must go +straight home. And when I say _home_ I mean the _Bolkerstrasse_ and the +house in which I was born. This house will some day be a great +curiosity, and I have sent word to the old lady who owns it that she +must not for her life sell it. For the whole house she would now hardly +get as much as the tips which the distinguished green-veiled English +ladies will one day give the servant girl when she shows them the room +where I was born, and the hen-house wherein my father generally +imprisoned me for stealing grapes, and also the brown door on which my +mother taught me to write with chalk--O Lord! Madame, should I ever +become a famous author, it has cost my poor mother trouble enough. + +(1823-1826) + +But my fame as yet slumbers in the marble quarries of Carrara; the +waste-paper laurel with which they have bedecked my brow has not yet +spread its perfume through the wide world, and the green-veiled English +ladies, when they come to Düsseldorf as yet leave the celebrated house +unvisited, and go directly to the market-place and there gaze on the +colossal black equestrian statue which stands in its midst. This is +supposed to represent the Prince Elector, Jan Wilhelm. He wears black +armor and a long wig hanging down his back. When a boy, I heard the +legend that the artist who made this statue became aware, to his +horror, while it was being cast, that he had not metal enough to fill +the mold, and then all the citizens of the town came running with all +their silver spoons, and threw them in to make up the deficiency; and I +often stood for hours before the statue wondering how many spoons were +concealed in it, and how many apple-tarts the silver would buy. +Apple-tarts were then my passion--now it is love, truth, liberty, and +crab-soup--and not far from the statue of the Prince Elector, at the +theatre corner, generally stood a curiously constructed bow-legged +fellow with a white apron, and a basket girt around him full of +delightfully steaming apple-tarts, whose praises he well knew how to +call out in an irresistible high treble voice, "Here you are! hot +apple-tarts! just from the oven--smelling deliciously!" Truly, whenever +in my later years the Evil One sought to get the better of me, he always +spoke in just such an enticing high treble voice, and I should certainly +have never remained twelve full hours with the Signora Giulietta, if she +had not thrilled me with her sweet perfumed apple-tart tones. And, in +fact, the apple-tarts would never have so sorely tempted me if the +crooked Hermann had not covered them up so mysteriously with his white +apron; and it is aprons, you know, which--but I wander from the subject. +I was speaking of the equestrian statue which has so many silver spoons +in it, and no soup, and which represents the Prince Elector, Jan +Wilhelm. + +He was a brave gentleman, 'tis reported, a lover of art and handy +therein himself. He founded the picture-gallery in Düsseldorf; and in +the observatory there, they still show us an extremely artistic piece of +work, consisting of one wooden cup within another which he himself had +carved in his leisure hours, of which latter he had every day +four-and-twenty. + +[Illustration: JOHANN WILHELM MONUMENT, DÜSSELDORF] + +In those days princes were not the harassed creatures they now are. +Their crowns grew firmly on their heads, and at night they drew +nightcaps over them besides and slept in peace, and their people +slumbered calmly at their feet; and when they awoke in the morning they +said, "Good morning, father!" and the princes replied, "Good morning, +dear children!" + +But there came a sudden change over all this, for one morning when we +awoke in Düsseldorf and wanted to say, "Good morning, father!" the +father had traveled away, and in the whole town there was nothing but +dumb sorrow. Everywhere there was a sort of funereal atmosphere, and +people crept silently through the market and read the long placard +placed on the door of the City Hall. The weather was dark and lowering, +yet the lean tailor Kilian stood in the nankeen jacket, which he +generally wore only at home, and in his blue woolen stockings, so that +his little bare legs peeped out dismally, and his thin lips quivered as +he murmured the words of the placard to himself. An old invalid soldier +from the Palatine read it in a somewhat louder tone, and at certain +phrases a transparent tear ran down his white, honorable old mustache. I +stood near him, and wept with him, and then asked why we wept; and he +replied, "The Prince Elector has abdicated." Then he read further, and +at the words "for the long-manifested fidelity of my subjects," "and +hereby release you from your allegiance," he wept still more. It is a +strange sight to see, when so old a man, in faded uniform, with a +scarred veteran's face, suddenly bursts into tears. While we read, the +Princely Electoral coat-of-arms was being taken down from the City Hall, +and everything began to appear as oppressively desolate as though we +were waiting for an eclipse of the sun. The city councilors went about +at an abdicating, slow gait; even the omnipotent beadle looked as though +he had had no more commands to give, and stood calmly indifferent, +although the crazy Aloysius again stood upon one leg and chattered the +names of French generals, with foolish grimaces, while the tipsy, +crooked Gumpertz rolled around the gutter, singing, "Ça ira! Ça ira!" +But I went home, weeping and lamenting because "the Prince Elector had +abdicated!" My mother tried hard to comfort me, but I would hear +nothing. I knew what I knew, and went weeping to bed, and in the night +dreamed that the world had come to an end--that all the fair flower +gardens and green meadows were taken up from the ground and rolled away, +like carpets; that a beadle climbed up on a high ladder and took down +the sun, and that the tailor Kilian stood by and said to himself, "I +must go home and dress myself neatly, for I am dead and am to be buried +this afternoon." And it grew darker and darker--a few stars glimmered +meagrely on high, and these too, at length, fell down like yellow leaves +in autumn; one by one all men vanished, and I, poor child, wandered +around in anguish, and finally found myself before the willow fence of a +deserted farmhouse, where I saw a man digging up the earth with a spade, +and near him an ugly, spiteful-looking woman, who held something in her +apron like a human head--but it was the moon, and she laid it carefully +in the open grave--and behind me stood the Palatine invalid, sighing, +and spelling out "The Prince Elector has abdicated." + +When I awoke the sun shone as usual through the window, there was a +sound of drums in the street, and as I entered the sitting-room and said +"good morning" to my father, who was sitting in his white dressing-gown, +I heard the little light-footed barber, as he dressed his hair, narrate +very minutely that allegiance would be sworn to the Grande Duke Joachim +that morning at the City Hall. I heard, too, that the new ruler was of +excellent family, that he had married the sister of the Emperor +Napoleon, and was really a very respectable man; that he wore his +beautiful black hair in flowing locks, that he would shortly make his +entrance into the town, and, in fine, that he was sure to please all the +ladies. Meanwhile the drumming in the streets continued, and I went out +before the house-door and looked at the French troops marching in that +joyous people of glory, who, singing and playing, swept over the world, +the serious and yet merry-faced grenadiers, the bear-skin shakoes, the +tri-colored cockades, the glittering bayonets, the _voltigeurs_, full of +vivacity and _point d'honneur_, and the omnipotent giant-like +silver-laced tambour major, who could cast his _baton_ with a gilded +head as high as the first story, and his eyes even to the second, where +also there were pretty girls sitting at the windows. I was so glad that +soldiers were to be quartered in our house--in which my mother differed +from me--and I hastened to the market-place. There everything looked +changed, somewhat as though the world had been newly whitewashed. A new +coat-of-arms was placed on the City Hall, its iron balconies were hung +with embroidered velvet drapery. French grenadiers stood as sentinels; +the old city councilors had put on new faces, and donned their Sunday +coats, and looked at each other Frenchily, and said, "_Bonjour!_" Ladies +gazed from every window, curious citizens and glittering soldiers filled +the square, and I, with other boys, climbed on the great bronze horse of +the Prince Elector, and thence stared down on the motley crowd. + +Our neighbors, Pitter and the tall Kunz, nearly broke their necks in +accomplishing this feat, and it would have been better if they had been +killed outright, for the one afterwards ran away from his parents, +enlisted as a soldier, deserted, and was finally shot at Mayence; while +the other, having made geographical researches in strange pockets, was +on this account elected active member of a public treadmill institute. +But having broken the iron bands which bound him to the latter and to +his fatherland, he safely crossed the channel, and eventually died in +London through wearing an all too tight neck-tie which automatically +drew together, when a royal official removed a plank from beneath his +feet. + +Tall Kunz told us that there was no school today on account of the +ceremonies connected with taking the oath of allegiance. We had to wait +a long time ere these commenced. Finally, the balcony of the City Hall +was filled with gaily dressed gentlemen, with flags and trumpets, and +our burgomaster, in his celebrated red coat, delivered an oration, which +stretched out like Indian rubber, or like a knitted nightcap into which +one has thrown a stone--only that it was not the philosopher's +stone--and I could distinctly understand many of his phrases--for +instance, that "we are now to be made happy;" and at the last words the +trumpets sounded out, the flags were waved, the drums were beaten, the +people cried, Hurrah! and while I myself cried hurrah, I held fast to +the old Prince Elector. And it was really necessary that I should, for I +began to grow giddy. It seemed to me as if the people were standing on +their heads, because the world whizzed around, while the old Prince +Elector, with his long wig, nodded and whispered, "Hold fast to me!" and +not till the cannon reechoed along the wall did I become sobered, and +climbed slowly down from the great bronze horse. + +As I went home, I saw the crazy Aloysius again dancing on one leg, while +he chattered the names of French generals, and I also beheld crooked +Gumpertz rolling in the gutter and growling, "Ça ira, ça ira," and I +said to my mother, "We are all to be made happy; on that account there +is no school today." + +II + +The next day the world was again all in order, and we had school as +before, and things were learned by heart as before--the Roman kings, +dates, the _nomina_ in _im_, the _verba irregularia_, Greek, Hebrew, +geography, German, mental arithmetic--Lord! my head is still giddy with +it!--all had to be learned by heart. And much of it was eventually to my +advantage; for had I not learned the Roman kings by heart, it would +subsequently have been a matter of perfect indifference to me whether +Niebuhr had or had not proved that they never really existed. And had I +not learned those dates, how could I ever, in later years, have found +out any one in big Berlin, where one house is as like another as drops +of water or as grenadiers, and where it is impossible to find a friend +unless you have the number of his house in your head! At that time I +associated with every acquaintance some historical event, which had +happened in a year corresponding to the number of his house, so that the +one recalled the other, and some curious point in history always +occurred to me whenever I met any one whom I visited. For instance, when +I met my tailor, I at once thought of the battle of Marathon; when I saw +the well-groomed banker, Christian Gumpel, I immediately remembered the +destruction of Jerusalem; when I caught sight of a Portuguese friend, +deeply in debt, I thought at once of the flight of Mahomet; when I met +the university judge, a man whose probity is well known, I thought of +the death of Haman; and as soon as I laid eyes on Wadzeck, I was at once +reminded of Cleopatra. Ah, heaven! the poor creature is dead now; our +tears are dry, and we may say of her with Hamlet, "Taken all in all, she +was an old woman; we oft shall look upon her like again!" But, as I +said, dates are necessary. I know men who had nothing in their heads but +a few dates, and with their aid knew where to find the right houses in +Berlin, and are now already regular professors. But oh, the trouble I +had at school with the multitude of numbers; and as to actual +arithmetic, that was even worse! I understood best of all subtraction, +and for this there is a very practical rule: "Four can't be taken from +three, therefore I must borrow one"; but I advise all in such a case to +borrow a few extra groschen, for no one can tell what may happen. + +But oh, the Latin! Madame, you can really have no idea of how +complicated it is. The Romans would never have found time to conquer the +world if they had been obliged first to learn Latin. Lucky dogs! they +already knew in their cradles which nouns have their accusative in _im_. +I, on the contrary, had to learn them by heart, in the sweat of my brow, +but still it is well that I know them. For if I, for example, when I +publicly disputed in Latin in the College Hall of Göttingen, on the 20th +of July, 1825--Madame, it was well worth while to hear it--if I on that +occasion had said _sinapem_ instead of _sinapim_, the blunder would have +been evident to the Freshmen, and an endless shame for me. _Vis, buris, +sitis, tussis, cucumis, amussis, cannabis, sinapis_--these words, which +have attracted so much attention in the world, effected this, inasmuch +as they belonged to a distinct class, and yet withal remained an +exception; therefore I highly respect them, and the fact that I have +them ready at my fingers' ends when I perhaps need them in a hurry, +often affords me in life's darkened hours much internal tranquillity and +consolation. But, Madame, the _verba irregularia_--they are +distinguished from the _verbis regularibus_ by the fact that the boys in +learning them got more whippings--are terribly difficult. In the musty +archways of the Franciscan cloister near our schoolroom there hung a +large Christ--crucified of grey wood, a dismal image, that even yet at +times rises in my dreams and gazes sorrowfully on me with fixed bleeding +eyes. Before this image I often stood and prayed, "Oh, Thou poor and +also tormented God, I pray Thee, if it be possible, that I may get by +heart the irregular verbs!" + +I will say nothing of Greek, otherwise I should vex myself too much. The +monks of the Middle Ages were not so very much in the wrong when they +asserted that Greek was an invention of the devil. Lord knows what I +suffered through it! It went better with Hebrew, for I always had a +great predilection for the Jews, although they crucify my good name up +to the present hour, and yet I never could get as far in Hebrew as my +watch did, which had much intimate intercourse with pawnbrokers and in +consequence acquired many Jewish habits--for instance, it would not go +on Saturday, and it also learned the sacred language, subsequently even +studying it grammatically; for often when sleepless in the night I have, +to my amazement, heard it industriously ticking away to itself: _katal, +katalta, katalti, kittel, kittalta, katalti-pokat, pokadeti-pikat, pik, +pik_. + +Meanwhile I learned more of German than of any other tongue, though +German itself is not such child's play, after all. For we poor Germans, +who have already been sufficiently vexed with having soldiers quartered +on us, military duties, poll-taxes, and a thousand other exactions, must +needs, over and above all this, bag Mr. Adelung and torment one another +with accusatives and datives. I learned much German from the old Rector +Schallmeyer, a brave, clerical gentleman, whose protégé I was from +childhood. But I also learned something of the kind from Professor +Schramm, a man who had written a book on eternal peace, and in whose +class my school-fellows quarreled and fought more than in any other. + +And while I have thus been writing away without a pause and thinking +about all sorts of things, I have unexpectedly chattered myself back +among old school stories, and I avail myself of this opportunity to +mention, Madame, that it was not my fault if I learned so little of +geography that later in life I could not make my way in the world. For +in those days the French displaced all boundaries; every day the +countries were recolored on the world's map; those which were once blue +suddenly became green, many indeed were even dyed blood-red; the old +stereotyped souls of the school-books became so confused and confounded +that the devil himself would never have recognized them. The products of +the country were also changed; chickory and beets now grew where only +hares and country gentlemen pursuing them were once to be seen; even the +character of the nations changed; the Germans became pliant, the French +paid compliments no longer; the English ceased making ducks and drakes +of their money, and the Venetians were not subtle enough; there was +promotion among princes, old kings received new uniforms, new kingdoms +were cooked up and sold like hot cakes; many potentates were chased, on +the other hand, from house and home, and had to find some new way of +earning their bread, and some therefore went at once into trade, and +manufactured, for instance, sealing wax, or--Madame, this paragraph +must be brought to an end, or I shall be out of breath--in fine, in such +times it is impossible to advance far in geography. + +I succeeded better in natural history, for there we find fewer changes, +and we always have standard engravings of apes, kangaroos, zebras, +rhinoceroses, etc., etc. And having many such pictures in my memory, it +often happens that at first sight many mortals appeared to me like old +acquaintances. + +I also did well in mythology, and took a real delight in the mob of gods +and goddesses who, so jolly and naked, governed the world. I do not +believe that there was a schoolboy in ancient Rome who knew the +principal points of his catechism--that is, the loves of Venus--better +than I. To tell the plain truth, it seems to me that if we must learn +all the heathen gods by heart, we might as well have kept them from the +first; and we have not, perhaps, gained so much with our New-Roman +Trinity or still less with our Jewish unity. Perhaps the old mythology +was not in reality so immoral as we imagine, and it was, for example, a +very decent idea of Homer to give to much-loved Venus a husband. + +But I succeeded best in the French class of the Abbé d'Aulnoi, a French +_émigré_, who had written a number of grammars, and wore a red wig, and +jumped about very nervously when he lectured on his _Art poétique_ and +his _Histoire Allemande_. He was the only one in the whole gymnasium who +taught German history. Still, French has its difficulties, and to learn +it there must be much quartering of troops, much drumming, much +_apprendre par coeur_, and, above all, no one must be a _bête +allemande_. There was here, too, many a hard nut to crack; and I can +remember as plainly as though it happened but yesterday that I once got +into a bad scrape through _la religion_. I was asked at least six times +in succession, "Henry, what is French for 'the faith?'" And six times, +with an ever increasing inclination to weep, I replied, "It is called +_le crédit_." And after the seventh question the furious examinator, +purple in the face, cried, "It is called _la religion_"--and there was a +rain of blows and a thunder of laughter from all my schoolmates. Madame, +since that day I never hear the word _religion_ without having my back +turn pale with terror, and my cheeks turn red with shame. And to tell +the honest truth, _le crédit_ has during my life stood me in the better +stead than _la religion_. It occurs to me just at this instant that I +still owe the landlord of The Lion in Bologna five dollars. And I pledge +you my sacred word of honor that I would willingly owe him five dollars +more if I could only be certain that I should never again hear that +unlucky word, _la religion_, as long as I live. + +_Parbleu_, Madame! I have succeeded tolerably well in French; for I +understand not only _patois_, but even patrician, governess French. Not +long ago, when in an aristocratic circle, I understood nearly one-half +of the conversation of two German countesses, each of whom could count +at least sixty-four years, and as many ancestors. Yes, in the _Café +Royal_ in Berlin, I once heard Monsieur Hans Michel Martens talking +French, and could understand every word he spoke, though there was no +understanding in anything he said. We must know the _spirit_ of a +language, and this is best learned by drumming. _Parbleu_! how much do I +not owe to the French drummer who was so long quartered in our house, +who looked like a devil, and yet had the good heart of an angel, and +withal drummed so divinely! + +He was a little, nervous figure, with a terrible black mustache, beneath +which red lips sprang forth defiantly, while his wild eyes shot fiery +glances all round. + +I, a young shaver, stuck to him like a burr, and helped him to clean his +military buttons till they shone like mirrors, and to pipe-clay his +vest--for Monsieur Le Grand liked to look well--and I followed him to +the guard house, to the roll-call, to the parade-ground--in those times +there was nothing but the gleam of weapons and merriment--_les jours de +fête sont passés_! Monsieur Le Grand knew but a little broken German, +only the three principal words, "Bread," "Kiss," "Honor"--but he could +make himself very intelligible with his drum. For instance, if I knew +not what the word _liberté_ meant, he drummed the _Marseillaise_--and I +understood him. If I did not understand the word _égalité_, he drummed +the march-- + + "Ça ira, ça ira, ça ira, + Les aristocrats à la lanterne!" + +and I understood him. If I did not know what Bêtise meant, he drummed +the Dessauer March, which we Germans, as Goethe also declares, drummed +in Champagne--and I understood him. He once wanted to explain to me the +word _l'Allemagne_ (or Germany), and he drummed the all too _simple_ +melody which on market-days is played to dancing-dogs, namely, +_dum-dum-dum_! I was vexed, but I understood him for all that! + +In like manner he taught me modern history. I did not understand, it is +true, the words which he spoke, but as he constantly drummed while +speaking, I knew what he meant. This is, fundamentally, the best method. +The history of the storming of the Bastile, of the Tuileries, and the +like, cannot be correctly understood until we know how _the drumming_ +was done on such occasions. In our school compendiums of history we +merely read: "Their Excellencies the Barons and Counts and their noble +spouses, their Highnesses the Dukes and Princes and their most noble +spouses were beheaded. His Majesty the King, and his most illustrious +spouse, the Queen, were beheaded."--But when you hear the red march of +the guillotine drummed, you understand it correctly for the first time, +and with it the how and the why. Madame, that is really a wonderful +march! It thrilled through marrow and bone when I first heard it, and I +was glad that I forgot it. People are apt to forget things of this kind +as they grow older, and a young man has nowadays so much and such a +variety of knowledge to keep in his head--whist, Boston, genealogical +registers, decrees of the Federal Council, dramaturgy, the liturgy, +carving--and yet, I assure you that really, despite all the jogging up +of my brain, I could not for a long time recall that tremendous time! +And only to think, Madame! Not long ago I sat one day at table with a +whole menagerie of counts, princes, princesses, chamberlains, +court-marshalesses, seneschals, upper court mistresses, court keepers of +the royal plate, court hunters' wives, and whatever else these +aristocratic domestics are termed, and _their_ under-domestics ran about +behind their chairs and shoved full plates before their mouths; but I, +who was passed by and neglected, sat idle without the least occupation +for my jaws, and kneaded little bread-balls, and drummed with my +fingers, from boredom, and, to my astonishment, I found myself suddenly +drumming the red, long-forgotten guillotine march. + +"And what happened?" Madame, the good people were not in the least +disturbed, nor did they know that _other_ people, when they can get +nothing to eat, suddenly begin to drum, and that, too, very queer +marches, which people have long forgotten. + +Is drumming now an inborn talent, or was it early developed in me? +Enough, it lies in my limbs, in my hands, in my feet, and often +involuntarily manifests itself. At Berlin, I once sat in the +lecture-room of the Privy Councilor Schmaltz, a man who had saved the +state by his book on the _Red and Black Coat Danger_. You remember, +perhaps, Madame, that in Pausanias we are told that by the braying of an +ass an equally dangerous plot was once discovered, and you also know +from Livy, or from Becker's _History of the World_, that geese once +saved the Capitol, and you must certainly know from Sallust that by the +chattering of a loquacious _putaine_, the Lady Fulvia, the terrible +conspiracy of Catiline came to light. But to return to the mutton +aforesaid. I was listening to the law and rights of nations, in the +lecture-room of the Herr Privy Councilor Schmaltz, and it was a lazy +sleepy summer afternoon, and I sat on the bench, and little by little I +listened less and less--my head had gone to sleep--when all at once I +was awakened by the noise of my own feet, which had _not_ gone to sleep +and had probably heard that just the contrary of the law and rights of +nations was being taught and constitutional principles were being +reviled, and which with the little eyes of their corns had seen better +how things go in the world than the Privy Councilor with his great Juno +eyes--these poor dumb feet, incapable of expressing their immeasurable +meaning by words, strove to make themselves intelligible by drumming, +and they drummed so loudly that I thereby came near getting into a +terrible scrape. + +Cursèd, unreflecting feet! They once played me a little trick, when I, +on a time in Göttingen, was temporarily attending the lectures of +Professor Saalfeld, and as this learned gentleman, with his angular +agility, jumped about here and there in his desk, and wound himself up +to curse the Emperor Napoleon in regular set style--no, my poor feet, I +cannot blame you for drumming _then_--indeed, I would not have blamed +you if in your dumb _naïveté_ you had expressed yourselves by still more +energetic movements. How dare I, the scholar of Le Grand, hear the +Emperor cursed? The Emperor! the Emperor! the great Emperor! + +When I think of the great Emperor, all in my memory again becomes +summer-green and golden. A long avenue of lindens in bloom arises before +me, and on the leafy twigs sit nightingales, singing; the waterfall +murmurs, in full round beds flowers are growing, and dreamily nodding +their fair heads. I was on a footing of wondrous intimacy with them; the +rouged tulips, proud as beggars, condescendingly greeted me; the nervous +sick lilies nodded to me with tender melancholy, the wine-red roses +laughed at me from afar; the night-violets sighed; with the myrtle and +laurel I was not then acquainted, for they did not entice with a shining +bloom, but the mignonette, with whom I am now on such bad terms, was my +very particular friend.--I am speaking of the Court garden of +Düsseldorf, where I often lay upon the grass and piously listened there +when Monsieur Le Grand told of the martial feats of the great Emperor, +beating meanwhile the marches which were drummed while the deeds were +performed, so that I saw and heard it all vividly. I saw the passage +over the Simplon--the Emperor in advance and his brave grenadiers +climbing on behind him, while the scream of frightened birds of prey +sounded around, and the glaciers thundered in the distance; I saw the +Emperor with glove in hand on the bridge of Lodi; I saw the Emperor in +his grey cloak at Marengo; I saw the Emperor on horseback in the battle +of the Pyramids, naught around save powder, smoke, and Mamelukes; I saw +the Emperor in the battle of Austerlitz--ha! how the bullets whistled +over the smooth, icy road! I saw, I heard the battle of Jena-dum, dum, +dune; I saw, I heard the battle of Eylau, of Wagram--no, I could hardly +stand it! Monsieur Le Grand drummed so that my own eardrum nearly burst. + +III + +But what were my feelings when my very own eyes were first blessed with +the sight of him, _him_--Hosannah! the Emperor. + +It was precisely in the avenue of the Court garden at Düsseldorf. As I +pressed through the gaping crowd, thinking of the doughty deeds and +battles which Monsieur Le Grand had drummed to me, my heart beat the +"general march"--yet at the same time I thought of the police regulation +that no one should dare ride through the middle of the avenue under +penalty of five dollars fine. And the Emperor with his _cortège_ rode +directly through the middle of the avenue. The trembling trees bowed +toward him as he advanced, the sun-rays quivered, frightened, yet +curious, through the green leaves, and in the blue heaven above there +swam visibly a golden star. The Emperor wore his unpretentious-green +uniform and the little world-renowned hat. He rode a white palfrey, +which stepped with such calm pride, so confidently, so nobly--had I then +been Crown Prince of Prussia I would have envied that horse. The +Emperor sat carelessly, almost laxly, holding his rein with one hand, +and with the other good-naturedly patting the neck of the horse. It was +a sunny marble hand, a mighty hand--one of the pair which subdued the +many headed monster of anarchy, and regulated the conflict of +nations--and it good-naturedly patted the neck of the horse. Even the +face had that hue which we find in the marble Greek and Roman busts, the +traits were as nobly proportioned as those of the ancients, and on that +countenance was plainly written "Thou shalt have no gods before me!" A +smile, which warmed and tranquilized every heart, flitted over the +lips--and yet all knew that those lips needed but to whistle _et la +Prusse n'existait plus_--those lips needed but to whistle and the entire +clergy would have stopped their ringing and singing--those lips needed +but to whistle, and the entire Holy Roman Empire would have danced. And +these lips smiled, and the eye too smiled. It was an eye clear as +heaven; it could read the hearts of men; it saw at a glance all things +in the world at once, while we ordinary mortals see them only one by +one, and then only their colored shadows. The brow was not so clear, the +phantoms of future battles were nestling there, and from time to time +there was a quiver which swept over this brow, and those were the +creative thoughts, the great seven-league-boots thoughts, wherewith the +spirit of the Emperor strode invisibly over the world; and I believe +that every one of those thoughts would have furnished a German author +plentiful material to write about all the days of his life. + +The Emperor rode calmly, straight through the middle of the avenue; no +policeman stopped him; behind him proudly rode his cortège on snorting +steeds and loaded with gold and ornaments. The drums rolled, the +trumpets pealed; near me crazy Aloysius spun round, and snarled the +names of his generals; not far off bellowed the tipsy Gumpert, and the +multitude cried with a thousand voices, "Es lebe der Kaiser!"--Long live +the Emperor! + +IV + +The Emperor is dead. On a waste island in the Indian Sea lies his +lonely grave, and he for whom the world was too narrow lies silently +under a little hillock, where five weeping willows shake out their green +hair, and a gentle little brook, murmuring sorrowfully, ripples by. +There is no inscription on his tomb; but Clio, with unerring style, has +written thereon invisible words, which will resound, like ghostly tones, +through the centuries. + +Britannia, the sea is thine! But the sea hath not water enough to wash +away the shame which that mighty one hath bequeathed to thee in dying. +Not thy wind bag, Sir Hudson--no; thou thyself wert the Sicilian bravo +whom perjured kings lured that they might secretly revenge on the man of +the people that which the people had once openly inflicted on one of +themselves. And he was thy guest, and had seated himself by thy hearth. + +Until the latest times the boys of France will sing and tell of the +terrible hospitality of the _Bellerophon_, and when those songs of +mockery and tears resound across the strait, there will be a blush on +the cheek of every honorable Briton. But a day will come when this song +will ring thither, and there will be no Britannia in existence--when the +people of pride will be humbled to the earth, when Westminster's +monuments will be broken, and when the royal dust which they inclosed +will be forgotten. And St. Helena is the holy grave whither the races of +the east and of the west will make their pilgrimage in ships, with +pennons of many a hue, and their hearts will grow strong with great +memories of the deeds of the worldly savior, who suffered and died under +Sir Hudson Lowe, as it is written in the evangelists, Las Cases, +O'Meara, and Autommarchi. + +Strange! A terrible destiny has already overtaken the three greatest +enemies of the Emperor: Londonderry has cut his throat, Louis XVIII has +rotted away on his throne, and Professor Saalfeld is still, as before, +professor in Göttingen. + + * * * * * + + + + +ENGLISH FRAGMENTS[56] + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +DIALOGUE ON THE THAMES + +The sallow man stood near me on the deck, as I gazed on the green shores +of the Thames, while in every corner of my soul the nightingales awoke +to life. "Land of Freedom!" I cried, "I greet thee! Hail to thee, +Freedom, young sun of the renewed world! Those older suns, Love and +Faith, are withered and cold, and can no longer light or warm us. The +ancient myrtle woods, which were once all too full, are now deserted, +and only timid turtle-doves nestle amid the soft thickets. The old +cathedrals, once piled in towering height by an arrogantly pious race, +which fain would force its faith into heaven, are crumbling, and their +gods have ceased to believe in themselves. Those divinities are worn +out, and our age lacks the imagination to shape others. Every power of +the human breast now tends to a love of Liberty, and Liberty is, +perhaps, the religion of the modern age. It is a religion not preached +to the rich, but to the poor, and has in like manner its evangelists, +its martyrs, and its Iscariots!" + +"Young enthusiast," said the sallow man, "you will not find what you +seek. You may be in the right in believing that Liberty is a new +religion which will spread over all the world. But as every race of old, +when it received Christianity, did so according to its requirements and +its peculiar character, so, at present, every country adopts from the +new religion of liberty only that which is in accordance with its local +needs and national character. + +The English are a domestic race, living a sequestered, peaceable, family +life, and the Englishman seeks in the circle of those connected with and +pertaining to him that easy state of mind which is denied to him through +his innate social incapacity. The Englishman is, therefore, contented +with that liberty which secures his most personal rights and guards his +body, his property, and his conjugal relations, his religion, and even +his whims, in the most unconditional manner. No one is freer in his home +than an Englishman, and, to use a celebrated expression, he is king and +bishop between his four walls; and there is much truth in the common +saying, 'My house is my castle.' + +"If the Englishman has the greatest need of personal freedom, the +Frenchman, in case of necessity, can dispense with it, if we only grant +him that portion of universal liberty known as equality. The French are +not a domestic, but a social, race; they are no friends to a silent +_tête-à-tête_, which they call _une conversation anglaise;_ they run +gossiping about from the _café_ to the casino, and from the casino to +the _salons_; their light champagne-blood and inborn talent for company +drive them to social life, whose first and last principle, yes, whose +very soul, is equality. The development of the social principle in +France necessarily involved that of equality, and if the ground of the +Revolution should be sought in the Budget, it is none the less true that +its language and tone were drawn from those wits of low degree who lived +in the _salons_ of Paris, apparently on a footing of equality with the +high _noblesse_, and who were now and then reminded, it may have been by +a hardly perceptible, yet not on that account less exasperating, feudal +smile, of the great and ignominious inequality which lay between them. +And when the _canaille roturière_ took the liberty of beheading that +high _noblesse_, it was done less to inherit their property than their +ancestry, and to introduce a noble equality in place of a vulgar +inequality. And we are the better authorized to believe that this +striving for equality was the main principle of the Revolution, since +the French speedily found themselves so happy and contented under the +dominion of their great Emperor, who, fully appreciating that they were +not yet of age, kept all their _freedom_ within the limits of his +powerful guardianship, permitting them only the pleasure of a perfect +and admirable equality. + +"Far more patient than the Frenchman, the Englishman easily bears the +glances of a privileged aristocracy, consoling himself with the +reflection that he has a right which renders it impossible for others to +disturb his personal comfort or his daily requirements. Nor does the +aristocracy here make a show of its privileges, as on the Continent. In +the streets and in places of public resort in London, colored ribbons +are seen only on women's bonnets, and gold and silver signs of +distinction on the dresses of lackeys. Even that beautiful, colored +livery which indicates with us military rank is, in England, anything +but a sign of honor, and, as an actor after a play hastens to wash off +the rouge, so an English officer hastens, when the hours of active duty +are over, to strip off his red coat and again appear like a gentleman, +in the plain garb of a gentleman. Only at the theatre of St. James are +those decorations and costumes, which were raked from the off-scourings +of the Middle Ages, of any avail. There we may see the ribbons of orders +of nobility; there the stars glitter, silk knee-breeches and satin +trains rustle, golden spurs and old-fashioned French styles of +expression clatter; there the knight struts and the lady spreads +herself. But what does a free Englishman care for the Court comedy of +St. James, so long as it does not trouble him, and so long as no one +interferes when he plays comedy in like manner in his own house, making +his lackeys kneel before him, or plays with the garter of a pretty +cook-maid? _'Honi soit qui mal y pense!'_ + +"As for the Germans, they need neither freedom nor equality. They are a +speculative race, ideologists, prophets, and sages, dreamers who live +only in the past and in the future, and who have no present. Englishmen +and Frenchmen have a _present_; with them every day has its field of +action, its struggle against enemies, its history. The German has +nothing for which to battle, and when he began to realize that there +might be things worth striving for, his philosophizing wiseacres taught +him to doubt the existence of such things. It cannot be denied that the +Germans love liberty, but it is in a different manner from other people. +The Englishman loves liberty as his lawful wife, and, even if he does +not treat her with remarkable tenderness, he is still ready in case of +need to defend her like a man, and woe to the red-coated rascal who +forces his way to her bedroom--let him do so as a gallant or as a +catchpoll. The Frenchman loves liberty as his bride. He burns for her; +he is a flame; he casts himself at her feet with the most extravagant +protestations; he will fight for her to the death; he commits for her +sake a thousand follies. The German loves liberty as though she were his +old grandmother." + +Men are strange beings! We grumble in our Fatherland; every stupid +thing, every contrary trifle, vexes us there; like boys, we are always +longing to rush forth into the wide world, and, when we finally find +ourselves there, we find it too wide, and often yearn in secret for the +narrow stupidities and contrarieties of home. Yes, we would fain be +again in the old chamber, sitting behind the familiar stove, making for +ourselves, as it were, a "cubby-house" near it, and, nestling there, +read the _German General Advertiser_. So it was with me in my journey to +England. Scarcely had I lost sight of the German shore ere there awoke +in me a curious after-love for the German nightcaps and forest-like wigs +which I had just left in discontent; and when the Fatherland faded from +my eyes I found it again in my heart. And, therefore, it may be that +my voice quivered in a somewhat lower key as I replied to the sallow +man--"Dear sir, do not scold the Germans! If they are dreamers, still +many of them have conceived such beautiful dreams that I would hardly +incline to change them for the waking realities of our neighbors. Since +we all sleep and dream, we can perhaps dispense with freedom; for our +tyrants also sleep, and only dream their tyranny. We awoke only +once--when the Catholic Romans robbed us of our dream-freedom; then we +acted and conquered, and laid us down again and dreamed. O sir! do not +mock our dreamers, for now and then they speak, like somnambulists, +wondrous things in sleep, and their words become the seeds of freedom. +No one can foresee the turn which things may take. The splenetic Briton, +weary of his wife, may put a halter round her neck and sell her in +Smithfield. The flattering Frenchman may perhaps be untrue to his +beloved bride and abandon her, and, singing, dance after the Court dames +(_courtisanes_) of his royal palace (_palais royal_). But the German +will never turn his old grandmother quite out of doors; he will always +find a place for her by his fireside, where she can tell his listening +children her legends. Should Freedom ever vanish from the entire +world--which God forbid!--a German dreamer would discover her again in +his dreams." + +While the steamboat, and with it our conversation, swam thus along the +stream, the sun had set, and his last rays lit up the hospital at +Greenwich, an imposing palace-like building which in reality consists of +two wings, the space between which is empty, and a green hill crowned +with a pretty little tower from which one can behold the passers-by. On +the water the throng of vessels became denser and denser, and I wondered +at the adroitness with which they avoided collision. While passing, many +a sober and friendly face nodded greetings--faces whom we had never seen +before, and were never to see again. We sometimes came so near that it +was possible to shake hands in joint welcome and adieu. One's heart +swells at the sight of so many bellying sails, and we feel strangely +moved when the confused hum and far-off dance-music, and the deep voices +of sailors, resound from the shore. But the outlines of all things +vanished little by little behind the white veil of the evening mist, and +there remained visible only a forest of masts, rising long and bare +above it. + +The sallow man still stood near me and gazed reflectively on high, as +though he sought for the pale stars in the cloudy heaven. And, still +gazing aloft, he laid his hand on my shoulder, and said in a tone as +though secret thoughts involuntarily became words--"Freedom and +equality! they are not to be found on earth below nor in heaven above. +The stars on high are not alike, for one is greater and brighter than +another; none of them wanders free, all obey a prescribed and iron-like +law--there is slavery in heaven as on earth!" + +"There is the Tower!" suddenly cried one of our traveling companions, as +he pointed to a high building which rose like a spectral, gloomy dream +above the cloud-covered London. + + * * * * * + +LONDON + +I have seen the greatest wonder which the world can show to the +astonished spirit; I have seen it, and am still astonished; and still +there remains fixed in my memory the stone forest of houses, and amid +them the rushing stream of faces of living men with all their motley +passions, all their terrible impulses of love, of hunger, and of +hatred--I mean London. + +Send a _philosopher_ to London, but, for your life, no poet! Send a +philosopher there, and station him at a corner of Cheapside, where he +will learn more than from all the books of the last Leipzig fair; and as +the billows of human life roar around him, so will a sea of new thoughts +rise before him, and the Eternal Spirit which moves upon the face of the +waters will breathe upon him; the most hidden secrets of social harmony +will be suddenly revealed to him; he will hear the pulse of the world +beat audibly, and see it visibly; for if London is the right hand of the +world--its active, mighty right hand--then we may regard that route +which leads from the Exchange to Downing Street as the world's pyloric +artery. + +But never send a poet to London! This downright earnestness of all +things, this colossal uniformity, this machine-like movement, this +troubled spirit in pleasure itself, this exaggerated London, smothers +the imagination and rends the heart. And should you ever send a German +poet thither--a dreamer, who stares at everything, even a ragged +beggar-woman, or the shining wares of a goldsmith's shop--why, then, at +least he will find things going right badly with him, and he will be +hustled about on every side, or perhaps be knocked over with a mild "God +damn!" _God damn!_--damn the knocking about and pushing! I see at a +glance that these people have enough to do. They live on a grand scale, +and though food and clothes are dearer with them than with us, they must +still be better fed and clothed than we are--as gentility requires. +Moreover, they have enormous debts, yet occasionally, in a vainglorious +mood, they make ducks and drakes of their guineas, pay other nations to +box about for their pleasure, give their kings a handsome _douceur_ into +the bargain; and, therefore, John Bull must work to get the money for +such expenditure. By day and by night he must tax his brain to discover +new machines, and he sits and reckons in the sweat of his brow, and runs +and rushes, without much looking around, from the Docks to the Exchange, +and from the Exchange to the Strand; and therefore it is quite +pardonable if he, when a poor German poet, gazing into a print-shop +window, stands bolt in his way on the corner of Cheapside, should knock +the latter sideways with a rather rough "God damn!" + +But the picture at which I was gazing as I stood at Cheapside corner was +that of the French crossing the Beresina. + +And when I, jolted out of my gazing, looked again on the raging street, +where a parti-colored coil of men, women, and children, horses, +stagecoaches, and with them a funeral, whirled groaning and creaking +along, it seemed to me as though all London were such a Beresina Bridge, +where every one presses on in mad haste to save his scrap of life; where +the daring rider stamps down the poor pedestrian; where every one who +falls is lost forever; where the best friends rush, without feeling, +over one another's corpses; and where thousands in the weakness of +death, and bleeding, grasp in vain at the planks of the bridge, and are +shot down into the icy grave of death. + +How much more pleasant and homelike it is in our dear Germany! With what +dreaming comfort, in what Sabbath-like repose, all glides along here! +Calmly the sentinels are changed, uniforms and houses shine in the quiet +sunshine, swallows flit over the flagstones, fat Court-counciloresses +smile from the windows; while along the echoing streets there is room +enough for the dogs to sniff at each other, and for men to stand at ease +and chat about the theatre, and bow deeply--oh, how deeply!--when some +small aristocratic scamp or vice-scamp, with colored ribbons on his +shabby coat, or some Court-marshal-low-brow struts along as if in +judgment, graciously returning salutations. + +I had made up my mind in advance not to be astonished at that immensity +of London of which I had heard so much. But I had as little success as +the poor schoolboy who determined beforehand not to feel the whipping +which he was to receive. The facts of the case were that he expected to +get the usual blows with the usual stick in the usual way on the back, +whereas he received a most unusually severe licking on an unusual place +with a cutting switch. I anticipated great palaces, and saw nothing but +mere small houses. But their very uniformity and their limitless extent +impress the soul wonderfully. + +These houses of brick, owing to the damp atmosphere and coal smoke, are +all of an uniform color, that is to say, of a brown olive-green, and are +all of the same style of building, generally two or three windows wide, +three stories high, and finished above with small red tiles, which +remind one of newly extracted bleeding teeth; while the broad and +accurately squared streets which these houses form seem to be bordered +by endlessly long barracks. This has its reason in the fact that every +English family, though it consist of only two persons, must still have a +house to itself for its own castle, and rich speculators, to meet the +demand, build, wholesale, entire streets of these dwellings, which they +retail singly. In the principal streets of the city, where the business +of London is most at home, where old-fashioned buildings are mingled +with the new, and where the fronts of the houses are covered with signs, +yards in length, generally gilt, and in relief, this characteristic +uniformity is less striking--the less so, indeed, because the eye of the +stranger is incessantly caught by the new and brilliant wares exposed +for sale in the windows. And these articles do not merely produce an +effect, because the Englishman completes so perfectly everything which +he manufactures, and because every article of luxury, every astral lamp +and every boot, every teakettle and every woman's dress, shines out so +invitingly and so _finished_. There is also a peculiar charm in the art +of arrangement, in the contrast of colors, and in the variety of the +English shops; even the most commonplace necessities of life appear in a +startling magic light through this artistic power of setting forth +everything to advantage. Ordinary articles of food attract us by the new +light in which they are placed; even uncooked fish lie so delightfully +dressed that the rainbow gleam of their scales attracts us; raw meat +lies, as if painted, on neat and many-colored porcelain plates, +garlanded about with parsley--yes, everything seems painted, reminding +us of the highly polished yet modest pictures of Franz Mieris. But the +human beings whom we see are not so cheerful as in the Dutch paintings, +for they sell the jolliest wares with the most serious faces, and the +cut and color of their clothes is as uniform as that of their houses. + +On the opposite side of the town, which they call the West End--"_the +west end of the town_"--and where the more aristocratic and less +occupied world lives, the uniformity spoken of is still more dominant; +yet here there are very long and very broad streets, where all the +houses are large as palaces, though anything but remarkable as regards +their exterior, unless we except the fact that in these, as in all the +better class of houses in London, the windows of the first _étage_ (or +second story) are adorned with iron-barred balconies, and also on the +_rez de chaussée_ there is a black railing protecting the entrance to +certain subterranean apartments. In this part of the city there are also +great "squares," where rows of houses like those already described form +a quadrangle, in whose centre there is a garden, inclosed by an iron +railing and containing some statue or other. In all of these places and +streets the eye is never shocked by the dilapidated huts of misery. +Everywhere we are stared down on by wealth and respectability, while, +crammed away in retired lanes and dark, damp alleys, Poverty dwells with +her rags and her tears. + +The stranger who wanders through the great streets of London, and does +not chance right into the regular quarters of the multitude, sees little +or nothing of the fearful misery existing there. Only here and there at +the mouth of some dark alley stands a ragged woman with a suckling babe +at her weak breast, and begs with her eyes. Perhaps, if those eyes are +still beautiful, we glance into them, and are shocked at the world of +wretchedness visible within. The common beggars are old people, +generally blacks, who stand at the corners of the streets cleaning +pathways--a very necessary thing in muddy London--and ask for "coppers" +in reward. It is in the dusky twilight that Poverty and her mates, Vice +and Crime, glide forth from their lairs. They shun daylight the more +anxiously since their wretchedness there contrasts more cruelly with the +pride of wealth which glitters everywhere; only Hunger sometimes drives +them at noonday from their dens, and then they stand with silent, +speaking eyes, staring beseechingly at the rich merchant who hurries +along, busy, and jingling gold, or at the lazy lord who, like a +surfeited god, rides by on his high horse, casting now and then an +aristocratically indifferent glance at the mob below, as though they +were swarming ants, or rather a mass of baser beings, whose joys and +sorrows have nothing in common with his feelings. Yes--for over the +vulgar multitude which sticks fast to the soil there soars, like beings +of a higher nature, England's nobility, to whom their little island is +only a temporary resting-place, Italy their summer garden, Paris their +social salon, and the whole world their inheritance. They sweep along, +knowing nothing of sorrow or suffering, and their gold is a talisman +which conjures into fulfilment their wildest wish. + +Poor Poverty! how agonizing must thy hunger be, where others swell in +scornful superfluity! And when some one casts with indifferent hand a +crust into thy lap, how bitter must the tears be wherewith thou +moistenest it! Thou poisonest thyself with thine own tears. Well art +thou in the right when thou alliest thyself to Vice and Crime! Outlawed +criminals often bear more humanity in their hearts than those cool, +reproachless town burghers of virtue, in whose white hearts the power of +evil, it is true, is quenched--but with it, too, the power of good. And +even vice is not always vice. I have seen women on whose cheeks red vice +was painted, and in whose hearts dwelt heavenly purity. I have seen +women--I would that I saw them again!-- + +WELLINGTON + +The man has the bad fortune to meet with good fortune everywhere, and +wherever the greatest men in the world were unfortunate; and that +excites us, and makes him hateful. We see in him only the victory of +stupidity over genius--Arthur Wellington triumphant where Napoleon +Bonaparte is overwhelmed! Never was a man more ironically gifted by +Fortune, and it seems as though she would exhibit his empty littleness +by raising him high on the shield of victory. Fortune is a woman, and +perhaps in womanly wise she cherishes a secret grudge against the man +who overthrew her former darling, though the very overthrow came from +her own will. Now she lets him conquer again on the Catholic +Emancipation question--yes, in the very fight in which George Canning +was destroyed. It is possible that he might have been loved had the +wretched Londonderry been his predecessor in the Ministry; but it +happens that he is the successor of the noble Canning--of the much-wept, +adored, great Canning--and he conquers where Canning was overwhelmed. +Without such an adversity of prosperity, Wellington would perhaps pass +for a great man; people would not hate him, would not measure him too +accurately, at least not with the heroic measure with which a Napoleon +and a Canning are measured, and consequently it would never have been +discovered how small he is as man. + +He is a small man, and smaller than small at that. The French could say +nothing more sarcastic of Polignac than that he was a Wellington without +celebrity. In fact, what remains when we strip from a Wellington the +field-marshal's uniform of celebrity? + +I have here given the best apology for Lord Wellington--in the English +sense of the word. My readers will be astonished when I honorably +confess that I once praised this hero--and clapped on all sail in so +doing. It is a good story, and I will tell it here: + +My barber in London was a Radical, named Mr. White--poor little man in +a shabby black dress, worn until it almost shone white again; he was +so lean that even his full face looked like a profile, and the sighs in +his bosom were visible ere they rose. These sighs were caused by the +misfortunes of Old England--by the impossibility of paying the National +Debt. + +"Ah!" I generally heard him sigh, "why need the English people trouble +themselves as to who reigns in France, and what the French are a-doing +at home? But the high nobility, sir, and the High Church were afraid of +the principles of liberty of the French Revolution; and to keep down +these principles John Bull must give his gold and his blood, and make +debts into the bargain. We've got all we wanted out of the war--the +Revolution has been put down, the French eagles of liberty have had +their wings cut, and the High Church may be cock-sure that none of these +eagles will come a-flying over the Channel; and now the high nobility +and the High Church between 'em ought to pay, anyway, for the debts +which were made for their own good, and not for any good of the poor +people. Ah! the poor people!" + +Whenever Mr. White came to the "poor people" he always sighed more +deeply than ever, and the refrain then was that bread and porter were so +dear that the poor people must starve to feed fat lords, stag-hounds, +and priests, and that there was only one remedy. At these words he was +wont to whet his razor, and as he drew it murderously up and down the +strop, he murmured grimly to himself, "Lords, priests, hounds!" + +[Illustration: THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON] + +But his Radical rage boiled most fiercely against the Duke of +Wellington; he spat gall and poison whenever he alluded to him, and as +he lathered me he himself foamed with rage. Once I was fairly frightened +when he, while barbering away at my neck, burst out in wonted wise +against Wellington, murmuring all the while, "If I only had him _this_ +way under my razor, _I'd_ save him the trouble of cutting his own +throat, as his brother in office and fellow-countryman, Londonderry, +did, who killed himself that-a-way at North Cray in Kent--God damn +him!" + +I felt that the man's hand trembled and, fearing lest he might imagine, +in his excitement, that I really was the Duke of Wellington, I +endeavored to allay his violence, and, in an underhand manner to soothe +him, I called up his national pride; I represented to him that the Duke +of Wellington had advanced the glory of the English, that he had always +been an innocent tool in the hands of others, that he was fond of +beefsteak, and that he finally--but the Lord only knows what fine things +I said of Wellington as I felt that razor tickling around my throat! + +What vexes me most is the reflection that Wellington will be as immortal +as Napoleon Bonaparte. It is true that, in like manner, the name of +Pontius Pilate will be as little likely to be forgotten as that of +Christ. Wellington and Napoleon! It is a wonderful phenomenon that the +human mind can at the same time think of both these names. There can be +no greater contrast than the two, even in their external appearance. +Wellington, the dumb ghost, with an ashy-gray soul in a buckram body, a +wooden smile on his freezing face--and, by the side of _that_, think of +the figure of Napoleon, every inch a god! + +That figure never disappears from my memory. I still see him, high on +his steed, with eternal eyes in his marble-like, imperial face, glancing +calm as destiny on the Guards defiling past--he was then sending them to +Russia, and the old Grenadiers glanced up at him so terribly devoted, so +all-consciously serious, so proud in death-- + +"Te, Cæsar, morituri, salutant." + +There often steals over me a secret doubt whether I ever really saw him, +if we were ever contemporaries, and then it seems to me as if his +portrait, torn from the little frame of the present, vanished away more +proudly and imperiously in the twilight of the past. His name even now +sounds to us like a word of the early world, and as antique and as +heroic as those of Alexander and Cæsar. It has already become a +rallying word among races, and when the East and the West meet they +fraternize on that single name. + +I once felt, in the deepest manner, how significantly and magically that +name can sound. It was in the harbor of London, at the India Docks, and +on board an East India-man just arrived from Bengal. It was a giant-like +ship, fully manned with Hindoos. The grotesque forms and groups, the +singularly variegated dresses, the enigmatical expressions of +countenance, the strange gestures, the wild and foreign ring of their +language, their shouts of joy and their laughter, with the seriousness +ever rising and falling on certain soft yellow faces, their eyes like +black flowers which looked at me as with wondrous woe--all of this awoke +in me a feeling like that of enchantment; I was suddenly as if +transported into Scherezade's story, and I thought that broad-leaved +palms, and long-necked camels, and gold-covered elephants, and other +fabulous trees and animals must forthwith appear. The supercargo who was +on the vessel, and who understood as little of the language as I myself, +could not, in his truly English narrow-mindedness, narrate to me enough +of what a ridiculous race they were, nearly all pure Mohammedans +collected from every land of Asia, from the limits of China to the +Arabian Sea, there being even some jet-black, woolly-haired Africans +among them. + +To one whose whole soul was weary of the spiritless West, and who was as +sick of Europe as I then was, this fragment of the East which moved +cheerfully and changingly before my eyes was a refreshing solace; my +heart enjoyed at least a few drops of that draught which I had so often +tasted in gloomy Hanoverian or Royal Prussian winter nights, and it is +very possible that the foreigners saw in me how agreeable the sight of +them was to me, and how gladly I would have spoken a kind word to them. +It was also plain from the very depths of their eyes how much I pleased +them, and they would also have willingly said something pleasant to me, +and it was a vexation that neither understood the other's language. At +length a means occurred to me of expressing to them with a single word +my friendly feelings, and, stretching forth my hands reverentially as if +in loving greeting, I cried the name, "Mohammed!" + +Joy suddenly flashed over the dark faces of the foreigners, and, folding +their arms as reverentially in turn, as a cheerful greeting they +exclaimed, "Bonaparte!" + + * * * * * + + + + + LAFAYETTE[57] (1833) + +By HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +PARIS, January 19, 1832. + +The _Temps_ remarks today that the _Allgemeine Zeitung_ now publishes +articles which are hostile to the royal family, and that the German +censorship, which does not permit the least remark to be leveled at +absolute kings, does not show the least mercy toward a citizen-king. The +_Temps_ is really the shrewdest and cleverest journal in the world! It +attains its object with a few mild words much more readily than others +with the most blustering polemics. Its crafty hint is well understood, +and I know of at least one liberal writer who no longer considers it +honorable to use, under the permission of the censorship, such inimical +language of a citizen-king as would not be allowed when applied to an +absolute monarch. But in return for that, let Louis Philippe do us one +single favor--which is to remain a citizen-king; for it is because he is +becoming every day more and more like an absolute king that we must +complain of him. He is certainly perfectly honorable as a man, an +estimable father of a family, a tender spouse and a good economist, but +it is vexatious to see how he allows all the trees of liberty to be +felled and stripped of their beautiful foliage that they may be sawed +into beams to support the tottering house of Orleans. For that, and that +only, the Liberal press blames him, and the spirits of truth, in order +to make war on him, even condescend to lie. It is melancholy and +lamentable that through such tactics even the family of the King must +suffer, although its members are as innocent as they are amiable. As +regards this, the German Liberal press, less witty but much kinder than +its French elder sister, is guilty of no cruelties. "You should at least +have pity on the King," lately cried the good-tempered _Journal des +Débats_. "Pity on Louis Philippe!" replied the _Tribune_. "This man asks +for fifteen millions and our pity! Did he have pity on Italy, on +Poland?"--_et cetera_. + +I saw a few days ago the young orphan of Menotti, who was hanged in +Modena. Nor is it long since I saw Señora Luisa de Torrijos, a poor +deathly-pale lady, who quickly returned to Paris when she learned on the +Spanish frontier the news of the execution of her husband and of his +fifty-two companions in misfortune. Ah! I really pity Louis Philippe. + +_La Tribune_, the organ of the openly declared Republican party, is +pitiless as regards its royal enemy, and every day preaches the +Republic. The _National_, the most reckless and independent journal in +France, has recently chimed in to the same air in a most surprising +manner. And terrible as an echo from the bloodiest days of the +Convention sounded the speeches of those chiefs of the _Société des Amis +du Peuple_ who were placed last week before the court of assizes, +"accused of having conspired against the existing Government in order to +overthrow it and establish a republic." They were acquitted by the jury, +because they proved that they had in no way conspired, but had simply +uttered their convictions publicly. "Yes, we desire the overthrow of +this feeble Government, we wish for a republic." Such was the refrain of +all their speeches before the tribunal. + +While on one side the serious Republicans draw the sword and growl with +words of thunder, the _Figaro_ flashes lightning, and laughs and swings +its light lash most effectually. It is inexhaustible in clever sayings +as to "the best republic," a phrase with which poor Lafayette is mocked, +because he, as is well known, once embraced Louis Philippe before the +Hôtel de Ville and cried, "Vous êtes la meilleure république!" The _Figaro_ +recently remarked that we of course now require no republic, since we +have seen the best. And it also said as cruelly, in reference to the +debates on the civil list, that "_la meilleure république coute quinze +millions_." The Republican party will never forgive Lafayette his blunder +in advocating a king. They reproach him with this, that he had known +Louis Philippe long enough to be aware beforehand what was to be expected +of him. Lafayette is now ill--_malade de chagrin_--heart-sick. All! the +greatest heart of two worlds must feel bitterly the royal deception. It +was all in vain that he in the very beginning continually insisted on the +_Programme de l'Hôtel de Ville_, on the republican institutions with +which the monarchy should be surrounded, and on similar promises. But he +was out-cried by the _doctrinaire_ gossips and chatterers, who proved +from the English history of 1688 that people in Paris in July, 1830, had +fought simply to maintain the Charter, and that all their sacrifices and +struggles had no other object than to replace the elder line of the +Bourbons by the younger, just as all was finished in England by putting +the House of Orange in place of the Stuarts. Thiers, who does not think +with this party, though he now acts as their spokesman, has of late +given them a good push forward. This indifferentist of the deepest dye, +who knows so admirably how to preserve moderation in the clearness, +intelligence, and illustration of his style, this Goethe of politics, is +certainly at present the most powerful defender of the system of Périer, +and, in fact, with his pamphlet against Chateaubriand he well-nigh +annihilated that Don Quixote of Legitimacy, who sat so pathetically on +his winged Rosinante, whose sword was more shining than sharp, and who +shot only with costly pearls instead of good, piercing, leaden bullets. + +In their irritation at the lamentable turn which events have taken, many +of the enthusiasts for freedom go so far as to slander Lafayette. How +far a man can go astray in this direction is shown by the book of +Belmontet, which is also an attack on the well-known pamphlet by +Chateaubriand, and in which the Republic is advocated with commendable +freedom. I would here cite the bitter passages against Lafayette +contained in this work, were they not on one side too spiteful, and on +the other connected with a defense of the Republic which is not suitable +to this journal. I therefore refer the reader to the work itself, and +especially to a chapter in it entitled "The Republic." One may there see +how evil fortune may make even the noblest men unjust. + +I will not here find fault with the brilliant delusion of the +possibility of a republic in France. A royalist by inborn inclination, I +have now, in France, become one from conviction. For I am convinced that +the French could never tolerate any republic, neither according to the +constitution of Athens or of Sparta, nor, least of all, to that of the +United States. The Athenians were the student-youths of mankind; their +constitution was a species of academic freedom, and it would be mere +folly to seek to introduce it in this our matured age, to revive it in +our senile Europe. And how could we put up with that of Sparta, that +great and tiresome manufactory of patriotism, that soldiers' barrack of +republican virtue, that sublimely bad kitchen of equality, in which +black broth was so vilely cooked that Attic wits declared it made men +despise life and defy death in battle? How could such a constitution +flourish in the very _foyer_ of gourmands, in the fatherland of Véry, of +Véfour, and of Carême? This latter would certainly have thrown himself, +like Vatel, on his sword, as a Brutus of cookery and as the last +gastronome. Indeed, had Robespierre only introduced Spartan cookery, the +guillotine would have been quite superfluous, for then the last +aristocrats would have died of terror, or emigrated as soon as possible. +Poor Robespierre! you would introduce stern republicanism to Paris--to a +city in which one hundred and fifty thousand milliners and dressmakers, +and as many barbers and perfumers, exercise their smiling, curling, and +sweet-smelling industries! + +The monotony, the want of color, and the petty domestic citizens' life +of America would be even more intolerable in the home of the "love of +the spectacular," of vanity, fashion, and novelties. Indeed, the passion +for decorations flourishes nowhere so much as in France. Perhaps, with +the exception of August Wilhelm Schlegel, there is not a woman in +Germany so fond of gay ribbons as the French; even the heroes of July, +who fought for freedom and equality, afterward wore blue ribbons to +distinguish themselves from the rest of the people. Yet, if I on this +account doubt the success of a republic in Europe, it still cannot be +denied that everything is leading to one; that the republican respect +for law in place of veneration of royal personages is showing itself +among the better classes, and that the Opposition, just as it played at +comedy for fifteen years with a king, is now continuing the same game +with royalty itself, and that consequently a republic may be for a short +time, at least, the end of the song. The Carlists are aiding this +movement, since they regard it as a necessary phase which will enable +them to reëstablish the absolute monarchy of the elder branch; therefore +they now bear themselves like the most zealous republicans. Even +Chateaubriand praises the Republic, calls himself a Republican from +inclination, fraternizes with Marrast, and receives the accolade from +Béranger. The _Gazette_--the hypocritical _Gazette de France_--now +yearns for republican state forms, universal franchise, primary +meetings, _et cetera_. It is amusing to see how these disguised +priestlings now play the bully-braggart in the language of +Sans-culottism, how fiercely they coquet with the red Jacobin cap, yet +are ever and anon afflicted with the thought that they might forgetfully +have put on in its place the red cap of a prelate; they take for an +instant from their heads their borrowed covering and show the tonsure +unto all the world. Such men as these now believe that they may insult +Lafayette, and it serves as an agreeable relaxation from the sour +republicanism, the compulsory liberty, which they must assume. + +But let deluded friends and hypocritical enemies say what they will, +Lafayette is, after Robespierre, the purest character of the French +Revolution, and, next to Napoleon, its most popular hero. Napoleon and +Lafayette are the two names which now bloom most beautifully in France. +Truly their fame is each of a different kind. The latter fought for +peace, not victory; the former rather for the laurel wreath than for +that of oak leaves. It would indeed be ridiculous to measure the +greatness of the two heroes with the same metre, and put one on the +pedestal of the other, even as it would be absurd to set the statue of +Lafayette on the Vendôme column--that monument made of the cannon +conquered on so many fields of battle, the sight of which, as Barbier +sings, no French mother can endure. On this bronze column place +Napoleon, the man of iron, here, as in life, standing on his fame, +earned by cannon, rising in terrible isolation to the clouds, so that +every ambitious soldier, when he beholds him, the unattainable one, +there on high, may have his heart humbled and healed of the vain love of +celebrity, and thus this colossal column of metal, as a lightning +conductor of conquering heroism, will do much for the cause of peace in +Europe. + +Lafayette has raised for himself a better column than that of the Place +Vendôme, and a better monumental image than one of metal or marble. +Where is there marble as pure as the heart of old Lafayette, or metal as +firm as his fidelity? It is true that he was always one-sided, but +one-sided like the magnetic needle, which always points to the north, +and never once veers to south or west. So he has for forty years said +the same thing, and pointed constantly to North America. He is the one +who opened the Revolution with the declaration of the rights of man; to +this hour he perseveres in this belief, without which there is no +salvation and no health to be hoped for--the one-sided man with his +one-sided heavenly region of freedom. He is indeed no genius, as was +Napoleon, in whose head the eagles of inspiration built their nests, +while the serpents of calculation entwined in his heart; but then he was +never intimidated by eagles nor seduced by serpents. As a young man he +was wise as a graybeard, as a graybeard fiery as a youth, a protector of +the people against the wiles of the great, a protector of the great +against the rage of the people, compassionating yet combating, never +arrogant and never discouraged, equally firm and mild--the unchangeable +Lafayette! and so, in his one-sidedness and equanimity, he has remained +on the same spot from the days of Marie Antoinette to the present hour. +And, as a trusty Eckart of liberty, he still stands leaning on his sword +before the entrance to the Tuileries, warning the world against that +seductive Venusberg, whose magic tones sing so enticingly, and from +whose sweet snares the poor wretches who are once entangled in them can +never escape. + +It is certainly true that the dead Napoleon is more beloved by the +French than is the living Lafayette. This is perhaps because he is dead, +which is to me the most delightful thing connected with him; for, were +he alive, I should be obliged to fight against him. The world outside of +France has no idea of the boundless devotion of the French people to +Napoleon. Therefore the discontented, when they determine on a decided +and daring course, will begin by proclaiming the young Napoleon, in +order to secure the sympathy of the masses. Napoleon is, for the French, +a magic word which electrifies and benumbs them. There sleep a thousand +cannon in this name, even as in the column of the Place Vendôme, and the +Tuileries will tremble should these cannon once awake. As the Jews never +idly uttered the name of their God, so Napoleon is here very seldom +called by his, and people speak of him as _l'homme_, "the man." But his +picture is seen everywhere, in engravings and plaster casts, in metal +and wood. On all boulevards and carrefours are orators who praise and +popular minstrels who sing him--the Man--and his deeds. Yesterday +evening, while returning home, I came into a dark and lonely lane, in +which there stood a child some three years old, who, by a candle stuck +into the earth, lisped a song praising the Emperor. As I threw him a sou +on the handkerchief spread out, something slid up to me, begging for +another. It was an old soldier, who could also sing a song of the glory +of the great Emperor, for this glory had cost him both legs. The poor +man did not beg in the name of God, but implored with most believing +fervor, "_Au nom de Napoléon, donnez-moi un sou._" So this name is the +best word to conjure with among the people. Napoleon is its god, its +cult, its religion, and this religion will, by and by, become tiresome, +like every other. + +Lafayette, on the contrary, is venerated more as a man or as a guardian +angel. He, too, lives in picture and in song, but less heroically; +and--honorably confessed!--it had a comic effect on me when, last year, +on the 28th July, I heard in the song of _La Parisienne_ the words-- + + "Lafayette aux cheveux blancs," + +while I saw him in person standing near me in his brown wig. It was the +Place de la Bastille; the man was in his right place, but still I needs +must laugh to myself. It may be that such a comic combination brings him +humanly somewhat nearer to our hearts. His good-nature, his _bonhomie_, +acts even on children, and they perhaps understand his greatness better +than do the grown people. And here I will tell a little story about a +beggar which will show the characteristic contrast between the glory of +Lafayette and that of Napoleon. I was lately standing at a street corner +before the Pantheon, and as usual lost in thought in contemplating that +beautiful building, when a little Auvergnat came begging for a sou, and +I gave him half-a-franc to be rid of him. But he approached me all the +more familiarly with the words, "_Est-ce que vous connaissez le général +Lafayette?_" and as I assented to this strange question, the proudest +satisfaction appeared on the naïve and dirty face of the pretty boy, and +with serio-comic expression he said, _"Il est de mon pays,"_ for he +naturally believed that any man who was generous enough to give him ten +sous must be, of course, an admirer of Lafayette, and judged me worthy +that he should present himself as a compatriot of that great man. The +country folk also have for Lafayette the most affectionate respect, and +all the more because he chiefly busies himself with agriculture. From +this, result the freshness and simplicity which might be lost in +constant city life. In this he is like one of those great Republicans of +earlier days who planted their own cabbages, but who in time of need +hastened from the plough to the battle or the tribune, and after combat +and victory returned to their rural work. On the estate where Lafayette +passes the pleasant portion of the year, he is generally surrounded by +aspiring young men and pretty girls. There hospitality, be it of heart +or of table, rules supreme; there are much laughing and dancing; there +is the court of the sovereign people; there any one may be presented who +is the son of his own works and has never made mésalliance with +falsehood--and Lafayette is the master of ceremonies. The name of this +country place is Lagrange, and it is very charming when the hero of two +worlds relates to the young people his adventures; then he appears like +an epos surrounded by the garlands of an idyll. + +But it is in the real middle-class more than any other, that is, among +tradespeople and small shop-keepers, that there is the most veneration +for Lafayette. They simply worship him. Lafayette, the establisher of +order, is their idol. They adore him as a kind of Providence on +horseback, an armed tutelary patron of public peace and security, as a +genius of freedom, who also takes care in the battle for freedom that +nothing is stolen and that everybody keeps his little property. The +great army of public order, as Casimir Périer called the National Guard, +the well-fed heroes in great bearskin caps into which small shopmen's +heads are stuck, are drunk with delight when they speak of Lafayette, +their old general, their Napoleon of peace. Truly he is the Napoleon of +the small citizen, of those brave folks who always pay their +bills--those uncle tailors and cousin glove-makers who are indeed too +busy by day to think of Lafayette, but who praise him afterward in the +evening with double enthusiasm, so that one may say that it is about +eleven o'clock at night, when the shops are shut, that his fame is in +full bloom. + +I have just before used the expression "master of ceremonies." I now +recall that Wolfgang Menzel has in his witty trifling called Lafayette a +master of ceremonies of Liberty. This was when the former spoke in the +_Literaturblatt_ of the triumphal march of Lafayette across the United +States, and of the deputations, addresses, and solemn discourses which +attended such occasions. Other much less witty folk wrongly imagine that +Lafayette is only an old man who is kept for show or used as a machine. +But they need hear him speak only once in public to learn that he is not +a mere flag which is followed or sworn by, but that he is in person the +_gonfalonière_ in whose hands is the good banner, the oriflamme of the +nations. Lafayette is perhaps the most prominent and influential speaker +in the Chamber of Deputies. When he speaks, he always hits the nail, and +his nailed-up enemies, on the head. + +When it is needed, when one of the great questions of humanity is +discussed, then Lafayette ever rises, eager for strife as a youth. Only +the body is weak and tottering, broken by age and the battles of his +time, like a hacked and dented old iron armor, and it is touching when +he totters under it to the tribune and has reached his old post, to see +how he draws a deep breath and smiles. This smile, his delivery, and the +whole being of the man while speaking on the tribune, are indescribable. +There is in it all so much that is winsome and yet so much delicate +irony, that one is enchained as by a marvelous curiosity, a sweet, +strange enigma. We know not if these are the refined manners of a French +marquis or the straightforward simplicity of an American citizen. All +that is best in the _ancien régime_, the chivalresque courtesy and tact, +are here wondrously fused with what is best in the modern _bourgeoisie_, +love of equality, simplicity, and honesty. Nothing is more interesting +than when mention is made, in the Chamber, of the first days of the +Revolution, and some one in _doctrinaire_ fashion tears some historical +fact from its true connection and turns it to his own account in speech. +Then Lafayette destroys with a few words the erroneous deduction by +illustrating or correcting the true sense of such an event by citing the +circumstances relating to it. Even Thiers must in such a case strike +sail, and the great historiographer of the Revolution bows before the +outburst of its great and living monument, General Lafayette. + +There sits in the Chamber, just before the tribune a very old man, with +long silvery hair falling over his black clothing. His body is girted +with a very broad tricolored scarf; he is the old messenger who has +always filled that office in the Chamber since the beginning of the +Revolution, and who in this post has witnessed the momentous events of +the world's history from the days of the first National Assembly till +the _juste milieu_. I am told that he often speaks of Robespierre, whom +he calls _le bon Monsieur Robespierre_. During the Restoration the old +man suffered from colic, but since he has wound the tricolored scarf +round his waist he finds himself well again. His only trouble now, in +the dull and lazy times of the _juste milieu_, is drowsiness. I once +even saw him fall asleep while Mauguin was speaking. Indeed, the man +has, doubtless, in his time heard better than Mauguin, who is, however, +one of the best orators of the Opposition, though he is not found to be +very startling or effective by one _qui a beaucoup connu ce bon Monsieur +de Robespierre_. But when Lafayette speaks, then the old messenger +awakes from his twilight drowsiness, he seems to be aroused like an old +war-horse of hussars when he hears the sound of a trumpet--there rise +within him sweet memories of youth, and he nods delightedly with his +silver-white head. + + * * * * * + + + + + THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL[58] (1833-35) + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +But what was the Romantic School in Germany? It was nothing else but the +reawakening of the poetry of the Middle Ages, as it had shown itself in +its songs, images, and architecture, in art and in life. But this poetry +had risen from Christianity; it was a passion-flower which had sprung +from the blood of Christ. I do not know whether the melancholy +passion-flower of Germany is known by that name in France, or whether +popular legend attributes to it the same mystical origin. It is a +strange, unpleasantly colored blossom, in whose calyx we see set forth +the implements which were used in the crucifixion of Christ, such as the +hammer, pincers, and nails--a flower which is not so much ugly as +ghostly, and even whose sight awakens in our soul a shuddering pleasure, +like the convulsively agreeable sensations which come from pain itself. +From this view the flower was indeed the fittest symbol for Christianity +itself, whose most thrilling chain was the luxury of pain. + +Though in France only Roman Catholicism is understood by the word +Christianity, I must specially preface that I speak only of the latter. +I speak of that religion in whose first dogmas there is a damnation of +all flesh, and which not only allows to the spirit power over the flesh, +but will also kill this to glorify the spirit. I speak of that religion +by whose unnatural requisitions sin and hypocrisy really came into the +world, in that by the condemnation of the flesh the most innocent +sensuous pleasures became sins, and because the impossibility of a man's +becoming altogether spiritual naturally created hypocrisy. I speak of +that religion which, by teaching the doctrine of the casting away of all +earthly goods and of cultivating a dog-like, abject humility and angelic +patience, became the most approved support of despotism. Men have found +out the real life and meaning (_Wesen_) of this religion, and do not +now content themselves with promises of supping in Paradise; they know +that matter has also its merits, and is not all the devil's, and they +now defend the delights of this world, this beautiful garden of God, our +inalienable inheritance. And therefore, because we have grasped so +entirely all the consequences of that absolute spiritualism, we may +believe that the Christian Catholic view of the world has reached its +end. Every age is a sphinx, which casts itself into the abyss when man +has guessed its riddle. + +Yet we do in no wise deny the good results which this Christian Catholic +view of the world established in Europe. It was necessary as a wholesome +reaction against the cruelly colossal materialism which had developed +itself in the Roman realm and threatened to destroy all spiritual human +power. As the lascivious memoirs of the last century form the _pièces +justificatives_ of the French Revolution, as the terrorism of a _comité +du salut public_ seems to be necessary physic when we read the +confessions of the aristocratic world of France, so we recognize the +wholesomeness of ascetic spiritualism when we read Petronius or +Apuleius, which are to be regarded as the _piecès justificatives_ of +Christianity. The flesh had become so arrogant in this Roman world that +it required Christian discipline to chasten it. After the banquet of a +Trimalchion, such a hunger-cure as Christianity was a necessity. + +Or was it that as lascivious old men seek by being whipped to excite new +power of enjoyment, so old Rome endured monkish chastisement to find +more exquisite delight in torture and voluptuous rapture in pain? Evil +excess of stimulant! it took from the body of the state of Rome its last +strength. It was not by division into two realms that Rome perished. On +the Bosphorus, as by the Tiber, Rome was devoured by the same Jewish +spiritualism, and here, as there, Roman history was that of a long dying +agony which lasted for centuries. Did murdered Judea, in leaving to +Rome its spiritualism, wish to revenge itself on the victorious foe, as +did the dying centaur who craftily left to the son of Hercules the +deadly garment steeped in his own blood? Truly Rome, the Hercules among +races, was so thoroughly devoured by Jewish poison that helm and harness +fell from its withered limbs, and its imperial war-voice died away into +the wailing cadences of monkish prayer and the soft trilling of +castrated boys. + +But what weakens old age strengthens youth. That spiritualism had a +healthy action on the too sound and strong races of the North; the too +full-blooded barbarous bodies were spiritualized by Christianity, and +European civilization began. The Catholic Church has in this respect the +strongest claims on our regard and admiration, for it succeeded by +subduing with its great genial institutions the bestiality of Northern +barbarians and by mastering brutal matter. + +The Art-work of the Middle Ages manifests this mastery of mere material +by mind, and it is very often its only mission. The epic poems of this +period may be easily classed according to the degree of this subjection +or influence. There can be no discussion here of lyrical and dramatic +poems, for the latter did not exist, and the former are as like in every +age as are the songs of nightingales in spring. + +Although the epic poetry of the Middle Ages was divided into sacred and +profane, both were altogether Christian according to their kind; for if +sacred poesy sang of the Jewish race and its history, the only race +which was regarded as holy, or of the heroes and legends of the Old and +New Testaments, and, in brief, the Church--still all the life of the +time was reflected in profane poetry with its Christian views and +action. The flower of the religious poetic art in the German Middle Ages +is perhaps _Barlaam and Josaphat_, in which the doctrine of abnegation, +of abstinence, and the denial and contempt of all worldly glory, is set +forth most consistently. Next to this I would class the _The Eulogium of +St. Hanno (Lobgesang auf den heiligen Anno)_ as the best of the +religious kind; but this is of a far more secular character, differing +from the first as the portrait of a Byzantine saint differs from an old +German one. As in those Byzantine pictures, so we see in _Barlaam and +Josaphat_ the utmost simplicity; there is no perspective side-work, and +the long, lean, statue-like forms and the idealistic serious faces come +out strongly drawn, as if from a mellow gold ground. On the other hand, +in the song of praise of St. Hanno, the side-work or accessories are +almost the subject, and, notwithstanding the grandeur of the plan, the +details are treated in the minutest manner, so that we know not whether +to admire in it the conception of a giant or the patience of a dwarf. +But the evangel-poem of Ottfried, which is generally praised as the +masterpiece of sacred poetry, is far less admirable than the two which I +have mentioned. + +In profane poetry we find, as I have already signified, first the cycle +of sagas of the _Nibelungen_ and the _Heldenbuch_, or _Book of Heroes_. +In them prevails all the pre-Christian manner of thought and of feeling; +in them rude strength has not as yet been softened by chivalry. There +the stern Kempe-warriors of the North stand like stone images, and the +gentle gleam and the more refined breath of Christianity have not as yet +penetrated their iron armor. But little by little a light dawns in the +old Teutonic forest; the ancient idolatrous oak-trees are felled, and we +see a brighter field of battle where Christ wars with the heathen. This +appears in the saga-cycle of Charlemagne, in which what we really see is +the Crusades reflecting themselves with their religious influences. And +now from the spiritualizing power of Christianity, chivalry, the most +characteristic feature of the Middle Ages, unfolds itself, and is at +last sublimed into a spiritual knighthood. This secular knighthood +appears most attractively glorified in the sagacycle of King Arthur, in +which the sweetest gallantry, the most refined courtesy, and the most +adventurous passion for combat prevail. Among the charmingly eccentric +arabesques and fantastic flower-pictures of this poem we are greeted by +the admirable Iwain, the all-surpassing Lancelot du Lac, and the bold, +gallant, and true, but somewhat tiresome, Wigalois. Nearly allied and +interwoven with this cyclus of sagas is that of the Holy Grail, in which +the spiritual knighthood is glorified; and in this epoch we meet three +of the grandest poems of the Middle Ages, the _Titurel_, the _Parsifal_, +and the _Lohengrin_. Here indeed we find ourselves face to face with +Romantic Poetry. We look deeply into her great sorrowing eyes; she +twines around us, unsuspectingly, her fine scholastic nets, and draws us +down into the bewildering, deluding depths of medieval mysticism. + +At last, however, we come to poems of that age which are not +unconditionally devoted to Christian spiritualism; nay, it is often +indirectly reflected on, where the poet disentangles himself from the +bonds of abstract Christian virtues and plunges delighted into the world +of pleasure and of glorified sensuousness; and it is not the worst poet, +by any means, who has left us the principal work thus inspired. This is +_Tristan and Isolde_; and I must declare that Gottfried von Strassburg, +the composer of this most beautiful poem of the Middle Ages, is perhaps +also its greatest poet, towering far above all the splendor of Wolfram +von Eschenbach, whom we so admire in _Parsifal_ and the fragments of +_Titurel_. We are at last permitted to praise Gottfried unconditionally, +though in his own time his book was certainly regarded as godless, and +similar works, among them the _Lancelot_, were considered as dangerous. +And some very serious results did indeed ensue. The fair Francesca da +Polenta and her handsome friend had to pay dearly for the pleasure of +reading on a summer day in such a book; but the trouble came not from +the reading, but from their suddenly ceasing to read. + +There is in all these poems of the Middle Ages a marked character which +distinguishes them from those of Greece and Rome. We characterize this +difference by calling the first Romantic and the other Classic. Yet +these appellations are only uncertain rubrics, and have led hitherto to +the most discouraging, wearisome entanglements, which become worse since +we give to antique poetry the designation of "Plastic," instead of +"Classic." From this arose much misunderstanding; for, justly, all poets +should work their material plastically, be it Christian or heathen; they +should set it forth in clear outlines; in short, plastic form should be +the main desideratum in modern Romantic art, quite as much as in the +ancient. And are not the figures in the _Divina Commedia_ of Dante or in +the pictures of Raphael as plastic as those in Virgil? The difference +lies in this, that the plastic forms in ancient art are absolutely +identical with the subject or the idea which the artist would set forth, +as, for example, that the wanderings of Ulysses mean nothing else than +the journeyings of a man named Odysseus, who was son of Laërtes and +husband of Penelope; and further, that the Bacchus which we see in the +Louvre is nothing else than the graceful, winsome son of Semele, with +audacious melancholy in his eyes and sacred voluptuousness on his soft +and arching lips. It is quite otherwise in Romantic art, in which the +wild wanderings of a knight have ever an esoteric meaning, symbolizing +perhaps the erring course of life. The dragon whom he overcomes is sin; +the almond which from afar casts comforting perfume to the traveler is +the Trinity, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, which +are three in one, as shell, fibre, and kernel make one nut. When Homer +describes the armor of a hero, it is a good piece of work, worth such +and such a number of oxen; but when a monk of the Middle Ages describes +in his poems the garments of the Mother of God, one may be sure that by +this garb he means as many virtues, and a peculiar significance lies +hidden under this holy covering of the immaculate virginity of Maria, +who, as her son is the almond-kernel, is naturally sung as the +almond-flower. That is the character of the medieval poetry which we +call Romantic. + +Classic art had only to represent the finite or determined, and its +forms could be one and the same with the idea of the artist. Romantic +art had to set forth, or rather signify, the infinite and purely +spiritual, and it took refuge in a system of traditional, or rather of +parabolistic symbols, as Christ himself had sought to render clear his +spiritualistic ideas by all kinds of beautiful parables. Hence the +mystical, problematic, marvelous, and transcendental in the artwork of +the Middle Ages, in which fantasy makes her most desperate efforts to +depict the purely spiritual by means of sensible images, and invents +colossal follies, piling Pelion on Ossa and _Parsifal_ on _Titurel_ to +attain to heaven. + +Among other races where poetry attempted to display the infinite, and +where monstrous fancies appeared, as, for instance, among the +Scandinavians and Indians, we find poems which, being romantic, are +given that classification. + +We cannot say much as to the music of the Middle Ages, for original +documents, which might have served for our guidance, are wanting. It was +not till late in the sixteenth century that the masterpieces of Catholic +church music, which cannot be too highly praised, appeared. These +express in the most exquisite manner pure Christian spirituality. The +recitative arts, which are spiritual from their very nature, could +indeed flourish fairly in Christianity, yet it was less favorable to +those of design, for as these had to represent the victory of mind over +matter, and yet must use matter as the means wherewith to work, they had +to solve a problem against Nature. Hence we find in sculpture and +painting those revolting subjects--martyrdoms, crucifixions, dying +saints, and the flesh crushed in every form. Such themes were martyrdom +for sculpture; and when I contemplate those distorted images in which +Christian asceticism and renunciation of the senses are expressed by +distorted, pious heads, long thin arms, starveling legs, and awkwardly +fitting garments, I feel an indescribable compassion for the artists of +that time. The painters were indeed more favored, for the material for +their work, because of its susceptivity to varied play of color, did not +antagonize spirituality so obstinately as the material of the sculptors, +and yet they were obliged to load the sighing canvas with the most +repulsive forms of suffering. In truth, when we regard many galleries +which contain nothing but scenes of bloodshed, scourging, and beheading, +one might suppose that the old masters had painted for the collection of +an executioner. + +But human genius can transform and glorify even the unnatural; many +painters solved this problem of making what was revolting beautiful and +elevating--the Italians, especially, succeeding in paying tribute to +beauty at the expense of spirituality, and in rising to that ideality +which attained perfection in so many pictures of the Madonna. As regards +this subject the Catholic clergy always made some concession to the +physical. This image of immaculate beauty which is glorified by maternal +love and suffering had the privilege of being made famous by poets and +painters, and adorned with all charms of the sense, for it was a magnet +which could attract the multitude to the lap of Christianity. Madonna +Maria was the beautiful _dame du comptoir_ of the Catholic Church, who, +with her beautiful eyes, attracted and held fast its customers, +especially the barbarians of the North. + +Architecture had in the Middle Ages the same character as the other +arts, as indeed all the manifestations of life then harmonized so +marvelously with one another. The tendency to parable shows itself here, +as in poetry. When we now enter a Gothic cathedral, we hardly suspect +the esoteric sense of its stone symbolism; only a general impression +pierces our soul; we realize an elevation of feeling and mortification +of the flesh. The interior is a hollow cross, and we wander among the +instruments of martyrdom itself; the variegated windows cast on us red +and green light, like blood and corruption; funeral songs wail about +us; under our feet are mortuary tablets and decay; and the soul soars +with the colossal columns to a giddy height, tearing itself with pain +from the body, which falls like a weary, worn-out garment to the ground. +But when we behold the exteriors of these Gothic cathedrals, these +enormous buildings which are wrought so aërially, so finely, delicately, +transparently, cut as it were into such open work that one might take +them for Brabant lace in marble, then we feel truly the power of that +age which could so master stone itself that it seems spectrally +transfused with spiritual life, and thus even the hardest material +declares Christian spirituality. + +But arts are only the mirror of life, and, as Catholicism died away, so +its sounds grew fainter and its lights dimmer in art. During the +Reformation Catholic song gradually disappeared in Europe, and in its +place we see the long-slumbering poetry of Greece re-awakening to life. +But it was only an artificial spring, a work of the gardener, not of the +sun, and the trees and flowers were in close pots, and a glass canopy +protected them from cold and northern winds. + +In the world's history no event is the direct result of another; all +events rather exert a mutual influence. It was by no means due only to +the Greek scholars who emigrated to Europe after the fall of Byzantium +that a love for Grecian culture and the desire to imitate it became so +general among us; a similar Protestantism prevailed then in art as well +as in life. Leo X., that splendid Medici, was as zealous a Protestant as +Luther, and as there was a Latin prose protest in Wittenberg, so they +protested poetically in Rome in stone, color, and _ottaverime_. And do +not the mighty marble images of Michelangelo, the laughing nymphs of +Giulio Romano, and the joyous intoxication of life in the verses of +Ludovico Ariosto form a protesting opposition to the old, gloomy, +worn-out Catholicism? The painters of Italy waged a polemic against +priestdom which was perhaps more effective than that of the Saxon +theologian. The blooming rosy flesh in the pictures of Titian is all +Protestantism. The limbs of his Venus are more thorough _theses_ than +those which the German monk pasted on the church door of Wittenberg. +Then it was that men felt as if suddenly freed from the force and +pressure of a thousand years; the artists, most of all, again breathed +freely as the nightmare of Christianity seemed to spin whirling from +their breasts, and they threw themselves with enthusiasm into the sea of +Greek joyousness from whose foam rose to them goddesses of beauty. +Painters once more limned the ambrosial joys of Olympus; sculptors +carved, with the joy of yore, old heroes from the marble; poets again +sang the house of Atreus and Laius; and so the age of new classic poetry +began. + +As modern life was most perfectly developed in France under Louis XIV., +so the new classic poetry received there its most finished perfection, +and, in a measure, an independent originality. Through the political +influence of that great king this poetry spread over Europe; in Italy, +its home, it assumed a French color, and thence the heroes of French +tragedy went with the Anjous to Spain; it passed with Henrietta Maria to +England, and we Germans, as a matter of course, built our clumsy temples +to the powdered Olympus of Versailles. The most famous high-priest of +this religion was Gottsched, that wonderful long wig whom our dear +Goethe has so admirably described in his memoirs. + +Lessing was the literary Arminius who delivered our theatre from this +foreign rule. He showed us the nothingness, the laughableness, the flat +and faded folly of those imitations of the French theatre, which were in +turn imitated from the Greek. But he became the founder of modern German +literature, not only by his criticism, but by his own works of art. This +man pursued with enthusiasm and sincerity art, theology, antiquity, and +archæology, the art of poetry, history--all with the same zeal and to +the same purpose. There lives and breathes in all his works the same +great social idea, the same progressive humanity, the same religion of +reason, whose John he was, and whose Messiah we await. This religion he +always preached, but, alas! too often alone and in the desert. And there +was one art only of which he knew nothing--that of changing stones into +bread, for he consumed the greatest part of his life in poverty and +under hard pressure--a curse which clings to nearly all great German +geniuses, and will last, it may be, till ended by political freedom. +Lessing was more inspired by political feelings than men supposed, a +peculiarity which we do not find among his contemporaries, and we can +now see for the first time what he meant in sketching the duo-despotism +in _Emilia Galotti_. He was regarded then as a champion of freedom of +thought and against clerical intolerance; for his theological writings +were better understood. The fragments _On the Education of the Human +Race_, which Eugène Rodrigue has translated into French, may give an +idea of the vast comprehensiveness of Lessing's mind. The two critical +works which exercised the most influence on art are his _Hamburg +Dramatic Art (Hamburgische Dramaturgie)_, and his _Laokoon, or the +Limits of Painting and Poetry_. His most remarkable theatrical pieces +are _Emilia Galotti, Minna von Barnhelm,_ and _Nathan the Wise_. + +Gotthold Ephraim Lessing was born at Camenz in Lausitz, January 22, +1729, and died in Brunswick, February 15, 1781. He was a thorough-going +man who, when he destroyed something old in a battle, at the same time +always created something new and better. "He was," says a German author, +"like those pious Jews, who, during the second building of the Temple, +were often troubled by attacks of the enemy, and so fought with one hand +while with the other they worked at the house of God." This is not the +place where I can say more of Lessing, but I cannot refrain from +remarking that he is, of all who are recorded in the whole history of +literature, the writer whom I love best. + +I will here mention another author who worked in the same spirit, with +the same object, as Lessing, and who may be regarded as his successor. +It is true that his eulogy is here also out of place, since he occupies +an altogether peculiar position in literature, and a unique relation to +his time and to his contemporaries. It is Johann Gottfried Herder, born +in 1744 at Mohrungen, in East Prussia, and who died at Weimar in the +year 1803. + +Literary history is the great "Morgue" where every one seeks his dead, +those whom he loves or to whom he is related. When I see there, among so +many dead who were of little interest, a Lessing or a Herder, with their +noble, manly countenances, my heart throbs; I cannot pass them by +without hastily kissing their dead lips. + +Yet if Lessing did so much to destroy the habit of imitating French +second-hand Greekdom, he still, by calling attention to the true works +of art of Greek antiquity, gave an impulse to a new kind of ridiculous +imitations. By his battling with religious superstition he advanced the +sober search for clearer views which spread widely in Berlin, which had +in the late blessed Nicolai its chief organ, and in the General German +Library its arsenal. The most deplorable mediocrity began to show itself +more repulsively than ever, and flatness and insipidity blew themselves +up like the frog in the fable. + +It is a great mistake to suppose that Goethe, who had already come +before the world, was at once universally recognized as a writer of +commanding genius. His _Götz von Berlichingen_ and his _Werther_ were +received with a degree of enthusiasm, to be sure; but so, too, were the +works of common bunglers, and Goethe had but a small niche in the temple +of literature. As I have said, _Götz_ and _Werther_ had a spirited +reception, but more on account of the subject-matter than their artistic +merits, which very few appreciated in these masterworks. _Götz_ was a +dramatized romance of chivalry, and such writings were then the rage. In +_Werther_ the world saw the reproduction of a true story, that of young +Jerusalem, who shot himself dead for love, and thereby, in those +dead-calm days, made a great noise. People read with tears his touching +letters; some shrewdly observed that the manner in which Werther had +been banished from aristocratic society had increased his weariness of +life. The discussion of suicide caused the book to be still more +discussed; it occurred to several fools on this occasion to make away +with themselves, and the book, owing to its subject, went off like a +shot. The novels of August Lafontaine were just as much read, and, as +this author wrote incessantly, he was more famous than Wolfgang von +Goethe. Wieland was the great poet then, with whom perhaps might be +classed the ode-maker, Rambler of Berlin. Wieland was honored +idolatrously, far more at that time than Goethe. Iffland ruled the +theatre with his dreary _bourgeois_ dramas, and Kotzebue with his flat +and frivolously witty jests. + +It was in opposition to this literature that there sprang up in Germany, +at the end of the last century, a school which we call the Romantic, and +of which August Wilhelm and Friedrich Schlegel have presented themselves +as managing agents. Jena, where these and many other souls in like +accord found themselves "off and on," was the centre from which the new +esthetic doctrine spread. I say doctrine, for this school began with +judgments of the art-works of the past and recipes for art-works of the +future, and in both directions the Schlegel school rendered great +service to esthetic criticism. By judging of such works of art as +already existed, either their faults and failures were indicated, or +their merits and beauties brought to light. In controversy and in +indicating artistic shortcomings, the Schlegels were entirely imitators +of old Lessing; they obtained possession of his great battle-blade, but +the arm of August William Schlegel was too tenderly weak and the eyes of +his brother Friedrich too mystically clouded for the former to strike so +strongly and the latter so keenly and accurately as Lessing. True, in +descriptive criticism, where the beauties of a work of art are to be set +forth--where it came to a delicate detection of its characteristics +and bringing them home to our intelligence--then, compared to the +Schlegels, old Lessing was nowhere. But what shall I say as to their +recipes for preparing works of art? There we find in the Schlegels a +weakness which we think may also be detected in Lessing; for the latter +is as weak in affirming as he is strong in denying. He rarely succeeds +in laying down a fundamental principle, still more seldom a correct one. +He wants the firm basis of a philosophy or of a philosophical system. +And this is still more sadly the case with the brothers Schlegel. + +Much is fabled as to the influence of Fichtean Idealism and Schelling's +Philosophy of Nature on the Romantic school, which is even declared to +have sprung from it. But I see here, at the most, only the influence of +certain fragments of thoughts from Fichte and Schelling, and not at all +that of a philosophy. This may be explained on the simple ground that +Fichte's philosophy had lost its hold, and Fichte himself had made it +lose its interest by a mingling of tenets and ideas from Schelling; and +because, on the other hand, Schelling had never set forth a philosophy, +but only a vague philosophizing, an unsteady, vacillating improvisation +of poetical philosophemes. It may be that it was from the Fichtean +Idealism--that deeply ironical system, where the I is opposed to the +not--I and annihilates it--that the Romantic school took the doctrine of +irony which the late Solger especially developed, and which the +Schlegels at first regarded as the soul of art, but which they +subsequently found to be fruitless and exchanged for the more positive +axioms of the Theory of Identity of Schelling. Schelling, who then +taught in Jena, had indeed a great personal influence on the Romantic +school; he is, what is not generally known in France, also a bit of a +poet; and it is said that he was in doubt whether he should not deliver +all his philosophical doctrines in a poetic or even metrical form. This +doubt characterizes the man. + + + + + THE RABBI OF BACHARACH[59] (1840) + +With kindly greeting, the Legend of the Rabbi of Bacharach is dedicated +to his friend HENRY LAUBE by the AUTHOR + + +A FRAGMENT + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +TRANSLATION REVISED BY PAUL BERNARD THOMAS + + +CHAPTER I + +On the Lower Rhine, where its banks begin to lose their smiling aspect, +where the hills and cliffs with their romantic ruined castles rise more +defiantly, and a wilder, sterner majesty prevails, there lies, like a +strange and fearful tale of olden times, the gloomy and ancient town of +Bacharach. But these walls, with their toothless battlements and blind +turrets, in whose nooks and niches the winds whistle and the sparrows +build their nests, were not always so decayed and fallen, and in these +poverty-stricken, repulsive muddy lanes which one sees through the +ruined gate, there did not always reign that dreary silence which only +now and then is broken by the crying of children, the scolding of women, +and the lowing of cows. These walls were once proud and strong, and +these lanes were alive with fresh, free life, power and pomp, joy and +sorrow, much love and much hate. For Bacharach once belonged to those +municipalities which were founded by the Romans during their rule on the +Rhine; and its inhabitants, though the times which came after were very +stormy, and though they had to submit first to the Hohenstaufen, and +then to the Wittelsbach authority, managed, following the example of the +other cities on the Rhine, to maintain a tolerably free commonwealth. +This consisted of an alliance of separate social elements, in which the +patrician elders and those of the guilds, who were subdivided according +to their different trades, both strove for power; so that while they +were bound in union to resist and guard against outside robber-nobles, +they were, nevertheless, constantly having domestic dissensions over +disputed interests. Consequently there was but little social +intercourse, much mistrust, and not infrequently actual outbursts of +passion. The ruling governor sat in his lofty castle of Sareck, and +swooped down like his falcon, whenever he was called, and often when not +called. The clergy ruled in darkness by darkening the souls of others. +One of the most forsaken and helpless of the social elements, which had +been gradually bound down by local laws, was the little Jewish +community. This had first settled in Bacharach in the days of the +Romans, and during the later persecution of the Jews it had taken in +many a flock of fugitive co-religionists. + +The great oppression of the Jews began with the crusades, and raged most +furiously about the middle of the fourteenth century, at the end of the +great pestilence, which, like all other great public disasters, was +attributed to the Jews, because people declared they had drawn down the +wrath of God, and, with the help of the lepers, had poisoned the wells. +The enraged populace, especially the hordes of Flagellants, or +half-naked men and women, who, lashing themselves for penance and +singing a mad hymn to the Virgin, swept over South Germany and the +Rhenish provinces, murdered in those days many thousand Jews, tortured +others, or baptized them by force. There was another accusation which in +earlier times and all through the Middle Ages, even to the beginning of +the last century, cost much blood and suffering. This was the ridiculous +story, recurring with disgusting frequency in chronicle and legend, that +the Jews stole the consecrated wafer, and pierced it with knives till +blood ran from it; and to this it was added that at the feast of the +Passover the Jews slew Christian children to use their blood in the +night sacrifice. + +[Illustration: BACHARACH ON THE RHINE] + +Consequently on the day of this festival the Jews, hated for their +wealth, their religion, and the debts due to them, were entirely in the +hands of their enemies, who could easily bring about their destruction +by spreading the report of such a child-murder, and perhaps even +secretly putting a bloody infant's corpse in the house of a Jew thus +accused. Then at night they would attack the Jews at their prayers, and +murder, plunder, and baptize them; and great miracles would be wrought +by the dead child aforesaid, whom the Church would eventually canonize. +Saint Werner is one of these holy beings, and in his honor the +magnificent abbey of Oberwesel was founded. The latter is now one of the +most beautiful ruins on the Rhine, and with the Gothic grandeur of its +long ogival windows, proud and lofty pillars, and marvelous +stone-carving, it strangely enchants us when we wander by it on some +bright, green summer's day, and do not know the story of its origin. In +honor of this saint there were also three great churches built on the +Rhine, and innumerable Jews murdered and maltreated. All this happened +in the year 1287; and in Bacharach, where one of these Saint Werner's +churches stood, the Jews suffered much misery and persecution. However, +they remained there for two centuries after, protected from such +outbreaks of popular rage, though they were continually subject to spite +and threats. + +Yet the more they were oppressed by hate from without, the more +earnestly and tenderly did the Jews of Bacharach cherish their domestic +life within, and the deeper was the growth among them of piety and the +fear of God. An ideal example of a life given to God was seen in their +Rabbi Abraham, who, though still a young man, was famed far and wide for +his learning. He was born in Bacharach, and his father, who had been the +rabbi there before him, had charged him in his last will to devote his +life to that office and never to leave the place unless for fear of +life. This command, except for a cabinet full of rare books, was all +that his parent, who had lived in poverty and learning, left him. +Rabbi Abraham, however, was a very rich man, for he had married the only +daughter of his father's brother, who had been a prosperous dealer in +jewelry, and whose possessions he had inherited. A few gossips in the +community hinted now and then that the Rabbi had married for money. But +the women all denied this, declaring that the Rabbi, long ere he went to +Spain, had been in love with "Beautiful Sara," and recalling how she had +awaited his return for seven years, while, as a matter of fact, he had +already wedded her against the will of her father, and even without her +own consent, by the betrothal-ring. For every Jew can make a Jewish girl +his lawful wife, if he can succeed in putting a ring on her finger, and +say at the same time: "I take thee for my wife, according to the law of +Moses and Israel." And when Spain was mentioned, the same gossips were +wont to smile in the same significant manner, all because of a vague +rumor that Rabbi Abraham, though he had studied the holy law +industriously enough at the theological school in Toledo, had +nevertheless followed Christian customs and become imbued with habits of +free thinking, like many of the Spanish Jews who at that time had +attained a very remarkable degree of culture. + +And yet in the bottom of their hearts these gossips put no faith in such +reports; for ever since his return from Spain the daily life of the +Rabbi had been pure, pious, and earnest in every way. He performed every +detail of all religious customs and ceremonies with painstaking +conscientiousness; he fasted every Monday and Thursday--only on +Sabbaths and feast days did he indulge in meat or wine; his time was +passed in prayer and study; by day he taught the Law to students, whom +his fame had drawn to Bacharach; and by night he gazed on the stars in +heaven, or into the eyes of Beautiful Sara. His married life was +childless, yet there was no lack of life or gaiety in his home. The +great hall in his house, which stood near the synagogue, was open to the +whole community, so that people went in and out without ceremony, some +to offer short prayers, others to gather news, or to hold a consultation +when in trouble. Here the children played on Sabbath mornings while the +weekly "section" was being read; here people met for wedding and funeral +processions, and quarreled or were reconciled; here, too, those who were +cold found a warm stove, and those who were hungry, a well-spread table. +And, moreover, the Rabbi, as well as his wife, had a multitude of +relatives, brothers and sisters, with their wives and children, and an +endless array of uncles and cousins, all of whom looked up to the Rabbi +as the head of the family, and so made themselves at home in his house, +never failing to dine with him on all great festivals. + +Special among these grand gatherings in the Rabbi's house was the annual +celebration of the Passover, a very ancient and remarkable feast which +the Jews all over the world still hold every year in the month Nissen, +in eternal remembrance of their deliverance from Egyptian servitude. +This takes place as follows: + +As soon as it is dark the matron of the family lights the lamps, spreads +the table-cloth, places in its midst three flat loaves of unleavened +bread, covers them with a napkin, and places on them six little dishes +containing symbolical food, that is, an egg, lettuce, horse-radish, the +bone of a lamb, and a brown mixture of raisins, cinnamon, and nuts. At +this table the father of the family sits with all his relatives and +friends, and reads to them from a very curious book called the _Agade_, +whose contents are a strange mixture of legends of their forefathers, +wondrous tales of Egypt, disputed questions of theology, prayers, and +festival songs. During this feast there is a grand supper, and even +during the reading there is at specified times tasting of the symbolical +food and nibbling of Passover bread, while four cups of red wine are +drunk. Mournfully merry, seriously gay, and mysteriously secret as some +old dark legend, is the character of this nocturnal festival, and the +traditional singing intonation with which the _Agade_ is read by the +father, and now and then reëchoed in chorus by the hearers, first +thrills the inmost soul as with a shudder, then calms it as mother's +lullaby, and again startles it so suddenly into waking that even those +Jews who have long fallen away from the faith of their fathers and run +after strange joys and honors, are moved to their very hearts, when by +chance the old, well-known tones of the Passover songs ring in their +ears. + +And so Rabbi Abraham once sat in his great hall surrounded by relatives, +disciples, and many other guests, to celebrate the great feast of the +Passover. Everything was unusually brilliant; over the table hung the +gaily embroidered silk canopy, whose gold fringes touched the floor; the +plates of symbolic food shone invitingly, as did the tall wine goblets, +adorned with embossed pictures of scenes in holy legends. The men sat in +their black cloaks and black low hats, and white collars, the women, in +wonderful glittering garments of Lombard stuffs, wore on their heads and +necks ornaments of gold and pearls, while the silver Sabbath lamp cast +its festive light on the cheerful, devout faces of parents and children. +On the purple velvet cushions of a chair, higher than the others, +reclined, as custom requires, Rabbi Abraham, who read and sang the +_Agade_, while the gay assembly joined in, or answered in the appointed +places. The Rabbi also wore the prescribed black festival garment, his +nobly-formed, but somewhat severe features had a milder expression than +usual, his lips smiled through his dark-brown beard as if they would +fain say something kind, while in his eyes one could see happy +remembrances combined with some strange foreboding. Beautiful Sara, who +sat on the high velvet cushion with her husband, as hostess, had on none +of her jewelry--nothing but white linen enveloped her slender form and +innocent face. This face was touchingly beautiful, even as all Jewish +beauty is of a peculiarly moving kind; for the consciousness of the deep +wretchedness, the bitter ignominy, and the evil dangers amid which their +kindred and friends dwell, imparts to their lovely features an +expression of soulful sadness and watchful, loving anxiety, which +particularly charms our hearts. So on this evening Beautiful Sara sat +looking into the eyes of her husband, yet glancing ever and anon at the +beautiful parchment book of the _Agade_ which lay before her, bound in +gold and velvet. + +[Illustration: HOUSE IN BACHARACH] + +It was an old heirloom, with ancient wine stains on it, and had come +down from the days of her grandfather; and in it there were many boldly +and brightly-colored pictures, which as a little girl she had often +looked at so eagerly on Passover evenings. They represented all kinds of +Bible incidents--Abraham breaking with a hammer the idols of his father +and the angels appearing to him; Moses slaying Mizri; Pharaoh sitting in +state on his throne, and the frogs giving him no peace even at the +table; his death by drowning--the Lord be praised!--the children of +Israel cautiously crossing the Red Sea, and then standing open-mouthed, +with their sheep, cows, and oxen, before Mount Sinai; pious King David +playing the harp; and, finally, Jerusalem, with its towers and +battlements, shining in the splendor of the setting sun. + +The second wine-cup had been served, the faces and voices of the guests +were growing merrier, and the Rabbi, as he took a loaf of unleavened +bread and raised it with a cheerful smile, read these words from the +_Agade_: "Behold! This is the food which our fathers ate in Egypt! Let +every one who is hungry come and enjoy it! Let every one who is +sorrowful come and share the joy of our Passover! This year we celebrate +it here, but in years to come in the land of Israel. This year we +celebrate it as servants, but in the years to come as sons of freedom!" + +Then the hall door opened, and two tall, pale men, wrapped in very loose +cloaks, entered and said: + +"Peace be with you. We are men of your faith on a journey, and wish to +share the Passover-feast with you!" And the Rabbi replied promptly and +kindly: + +"Peace be with you! Sit ye down near me!" The two strangers immediately +sat down at the table, and the Rabbi read on. Several times while the +others were repeating a sentence after him, he said an endearing word to +his wife; once, alluding to the old humorous saying that on this evening +a Hebrew father of a family regards himself as a king, he said to her, +"Rejoice, oh my Queen!" But she replied with a sad smile, "The Prince is +wanting," meaning by that a son, who, as a passage in the _Agade_ +requires, has to ask his father, with a certain formula of words, what +the meaning of the festival is? The Rabbi said nothing, but pointed with +his finger to an opened page of the _Agade_, on which was a pretty +picture, showing how the three angels came to Abraham, announcing that +he would have a son by his wife Sara, who, meanwhile, urged by feminine +curiosity, is slyly listening to it all behind the tent-door. This +little sign caused a threefold blush to color the cheeks of Beautiful +Sara, who first looked down, and then glanced pleasantly at her husband, +who went on chanting the wonderful story how Rabbi Jesua, Rabbi Eliezer, +Rabbi Asaria, Rabbi Akiba, and Rabbi Tarphen sat reclining in Bona-Brak, +and conversed all night long of the Exodus from Egypt, till their +disciples came to tell them that it was daylight, and that the great +morning prayer was being read in the synagogue. + +While Beautiful Sara sat devoutly listening to and looking at her +husband, she saw his face suddenly assume an expression of agony or +horror, his cheeks and lips become deathly pale, and his eyes harden +like two balls of ice; but almost immediately he regained his previous +composure and cheerfulness, his cheeks and lips grew ruddy, and he +looked about him gaily--nay, it seemed as if a strange, wild humor, such +as was foreign to his nature, had seized him. Beautiful Sara was +frightened as she had never been before in all her life, and a cold +shudder went through her--due less to the momentary manifestation of +dumb horror which she had seen in her husband's face, than to the +cheerfulness which followed it, and which was now gradually developing +into jubilant hilarity. The Rabbi cocked his cap comically, first on one +ear, then on the other, pulled and twisted his beard ludicrously, and +sang the _Agade_ texts as if they were tavern-songs; and in the +enumeration of the Egyptian plagues, where it is usual to dip the +forefinger in the full wine-cup and flip off the drops that adhere, he +sprinkled the young girls near him with the red wine, so that there was +great wailing over spoiled collars, combined with loud laughter. Every +moment Beautiful Sara was becoming more amazed by this convulsive +merriment of her husband, and she was oppressed with nameless fears as +she gazed on the buzzing swarm of gaily glittering guests who were +comfortably enjoying themselves here and there, nibbling the thin +Passover cakes, drinking wine, gossiping, or joyfully singing aloud. + +Then came the time for supper. All rose to wash, and Beautiful Sara +brought the large silver basin, richly adorned with embossed gold +figures, which was held before all the guests in turn, while water was +poured over their hands. As she was doing this for the Rabbi, he gave +her a significant glance, and quietly slipped out of the door. When +Beautiful Sara walked out after him, he grasped her hand, and in the +greatest haste hurried her through the dark lanes of Bacharach, out of +the city gate to the highway which leads along the Rhine to Bingen. + +It was one of those spring nights which, to be sure, are mild and starry +enough, yet which inspire the soul with strange, uncanny feelings. There +was something funereal in the odor of the flowers, the birds chirped +spitefully and at the same time apprehensively, the moon cast malicious +yellow stripes of light over the dark murmuring stream, the lofty banks +of the Rhine looked like vague, threatening giants' heads. The watchman +on the tower of Castle Strahleck blew a melancholy blast, and with it +rang in jarring discord the funeral bell of Saint Werner's. + +Beautiful Sara still had the silver basin in her right hand, while the +Rabbi held her left, and she felt that his fingers were ice-cold, and +that his arm was trembling; but still she went on with him in silence, +perhaps because she had become accustomed to obey her husband blindly +and unquestioningly--perhaps, too, because her lips were mute with +fear and anxiety. + +Below Castle Sonneck, opposite Lorch, about the place where the hamlet +of Nieder Rheinbach now lies, there rises a cliff which arches out over +the Rhine bank. The Rabbi ascended this with his wife, looked around on +every side, and gazed on the stars. Trembling and shivering, as with the +pain of death, Beautiful Sara looked at his pale face, which seemed +ghastly in the moonlight, and seemed to express by turns pain, terror, +piety, and rage. But when the Rabbi suddenly snatched from her hands the +silver basin and threw it far out into the Rhine, she could no longer +endure the agony of uncertainty, and crying out "_Schadai_, be +merciful!" threw herself at his feet and conjured him to explain the +dark mystery. + +At first unable to speak, the Rabbi moved his lips without uttering a +sound; but finally he cried, "Dost thou see the Angel of Death? There +below he sweeps over Bacharach. But we have escaped his sword. God be +praised!" Then, in a voice still trembling with excitement, he told her +that, while he was happily and comfortably singing the _Agade_, he +happened to glance under the table, and saw at his feet the bloody +corpse of a little child. "Then I knew," continued the Rabbi, "that our +two guests were not of the community of Israel, but of the army of the +godless, who had plotted to bring that corpse into the house by stealth +so as to accuse us of child-murder, and stir up the people to plunder +and murder us. Had I given a sign that I saw through that work of +darkness I should have brought destruction on the instant down upon me +and mine, and only by craft did I save our lives. Praised be God! Grieve +not, Beautiful Sara. Our relatives and friends shall also be saved; it +was only my blood which the wretches wanted. I have escaped them, and +they will be satisfied with my silver and gold. Come with me, Beautiful +Sara, to another land. We will leave misfortune behind us, and so that +it may not follow us I have thrown to it the silver ewer, the last of my +possessions, as an offering. The God of our fathers will not forsake us. +Come down, thou art weary. There is Dumb William standing by his boat; +he will row us up the Rhine." + +Speechless, and as if every limb were broken, Beautiful Sara sank into +the arms of the Rabbi, who slowly bore her to the bank. There stood +William, a deaf and dumb but very handsome youth, who, to support his +old foster-mother, a neighbor of the Rabbi, caught and sold fish, and +kept his boat in this place. It seemed as if he had divined the +intention of Abraham, and was waiting for him, for on his silent lips +there was an expression of tender sympathy, and his large blue eyes +rested as with deep meaning on Beautiful Sara, as he lifted her +carefully into the boat. + +The glance of the silent youth roused Beautiful Sara from her lethargy, +and she realized at once that all which her husband had told her was not +a mere dream. A stream of bitter tears poured over her cheeks, which +were as white as her garment. Thus she sat in the boat, a weeping image +of white marble, and beside her sat her husband and Dumb William, who +was busily rowing. + +Whether it is due to the measured beat of the oars, or to the rocking of +the boat, or to the fresh perfume from those steep banks whereon joy +grows, it ever happens that even the most sorrowful heart is marvelously +relieved when on a night in spring it is lightly borne along in a small +boat on the dear, limpid waters of the Rhine. For, in truth, +kind-hearted, old Father Rhine cannot bear to see his children weep, and +so, drying their tears, he rocks them on his trusty arm, and tells them +his most beautiful stories, and promises them his most golden treasures, +perhaps even the old, old, long-sunk Nibelungen hoard. Gradually the +tears of Beautiful Sara ceased to flow; her extreme sorrow seemed to be +washed away by the whispering waves, while the hills about her home bade +her the tenderest farewell. But especially cordial seemed the farewell +greeting of Kedrich, her favorite mountain; and far up on its summit, in +the strange moonlight, she imagined she saw a lady with outstretched. +arms, while active little dwarfs swarmed out of their caverns in the +rocks, and a rider came rushing down the side in full gallop. Beautiful +Sara felt as if she were a child again, and were sitting once more in +the lap of her aunt from Lorch, who was telling her brave tales of the +bold knight who freed the stolen damsel from the dwarfs, and many other +true stories of the wonderful Wisperthal over there, where the birds +talk as sensibly as men, and of Gingerbread Land, where good, obedient +children go, and of enchanted princesses, singing trees, crystal +castles, golden bridges, laughing water-fairies.... But suddenly in the +midst of these pleasant tales, which began to send forth notes of music +and to gleam with lovely light, Beautiful Sara heard the voice of her +father, scolding the poor aunt for putting such nonsense into the +child's head. Then it seemed to her as if they set her on the little +stool before her father's velvet-covered chair, and that he with a soft +hand smoothed her long hair, smiling as if well pleased, while he rocked +himself comfortably in his loose, Sabbath dressing-gown of blue silk. +Yes, it must be the Sabbath, for the flowered cover was spread on the +table, all the utensils in the room were polished like looking-glasses, +the white-bearded usher sat beside her father, eating raisins and +talking in Hebrew; even little Abraham came in with a very large book, +and modestly begged leave of his uncle to expound a portion of the Holy +Scripture, that he might prove that he had learned much during the past +week, and therefore deserved much praise--and a corresponding quantity of +cakes.... Then the lad laid the book on the broad arm of the chair, and +set forth the history of Jacob and Rachel--how Jacob raised his voice +and wept when he first saw his cousin Rachel, how he talked so +confidingly with her by the well, how he had to serve seven years for +her, and how quickly the time passed, and how he at last married and +loved her for ever and ever.... Then all at once Beautiful Sara +remembered how her father cried with merry voice, "Wilt thou not also +marry thy cousin Sara like that?" To which little Abraham gravely +replied, "That I will, and she shall wait seven years too." These +memories stole like twilight shadows through the soul of the young +wife, and she recalled how she and her little cousin--now so great a man +and her husband--played together as children in the leafy tabernacle; how +delighted they were with the gay carpets, flowers, mirrors, and gilded +apples; how little Abraham caressed her more and more tenderly, till +little by little he began to grow larger and more self-interested, and +at last became a man and scarcely noticed her at all.... And now she +sits in her room alone on a Saturday evening; the moon shines in +brightly. Suddenly the door flies open, and cousin Abraham, in traveling +garb, and as pale as death, enters, grasps her hand, puts a gold ring on +her finger, and says, solemnly, "I hereby take thee to be my wife, +according to the laws of God and of Israel." "But now," he adds, with a +trembling voice, "now I must go to Spain. Farewell! For seven years thou +must wait for me." With that he hurried away, and Sara, weeping, told +the tale to her father, who roared and raged, "Cut off thy hair, for +thou art now a married woman." Then he wanted to ride after Abraham to +compel him to write a letter of divorce; but Abraham was over the hills +and far away, and the father silently returned to his house. And when +Beautiful Sara was helping him to draw off his boots, and trying to +soothe him, saying that Abraham would return in seven years, he cursed, +and cried, "Seven years shalt thou be a beggar," and shortly after he +died. + +And so old memories swept through her soul like a hurried play of +shadows, the images intermixing and blending strangely, while between +them came and went half-familiar, half-strange bearded faces, and large +flowers with marvelously spreading foliage. Then the Rhine seemed to +murmur the melodies of the _Agade_, and from its waters the pictures, as +large as life, but wild and distorted, came forth one by one. There was +Father Abraham anxiously breaking the idols into pieces which +immediately flew together again; Mizri defending himself fiercely +against the maddened Moses; Mount Sinai flashing and flaming; King +Pharaoh swimming in the Red Sea, holding his pointed gold crown tightly +in his teeth, while frogs with human faces swam along behind, in the +foaming, roaring waves, and a dark giant-hand rose up threatening from +below. + +Yonder was the Mouse Tower of Bishop Hatto, and the boat was just +shooting through the Bingen Eddy. By this time Beautiful Sara had +somewhat awakened from her dreams, and she gazed at the hills on the +shore, on the summits of which lights of castles were gleaming, and at +the foot of which the mist, shimmering in the moonlight, was beginning +to rise. Suddenly she seemed to see her friends and relatives, as they, +with corpse-like faces and flowing shrouds, passed in awful procession +along the Rhine.... The world grew dark before her eyes, an icy current +ran through her soul, and, as if in sleep, she only heard the Rabbi +repeating the night-prayer slowly and painfully, as if at a deathbed. +Dreamily she stammered the words, "Ten thousand to the right, ten +thousand to the left, to protect the king from the terrors of the +night." + +Then all at once the oppressive gloom and terror passed away, the dark +curtain was torn from heaven, and far above there appeared the holy city +Jerusalem, with its towers and gates; the Temple gleamed in golden +splendor, and in its fore-court Sara saw her father in his yellow +Sabbath dressing-gown, smiling as if well pleased. All her friends and +relatives were looking out from the round windows of the Temple, +cordially greeting her; in the Holy of Holies knelt pious King David, +with his purple mantle and golden crown; sweetly rang his song and the +tones of his harp, and smiling happily, Beautiful Sara awoke. + + +CHAPTER II + +As Beautiful Sara opened her eyes they were almost dazzled by the rays +of the sun. The high towers of a great city rose before her, and Dumb +William, with his oar upright, was standing in the boat, pushing and +guiding it through the lively confusion of many vessels, gay with their +pennons and streamers, whose crews were either gazing idly at +passers-by, or else were busily loading with chests, bales, and casks +the lighters which were to bear them to the shore. And with it all was a +deafening noise, the constant halloh cry of steersmen, the calling of +traders from the shore, and the scolding of the custom-house officials +who, in their red coats and with their white maces and white faces, +jumped from boat to boat. + +"Yes, Beautiful Sara," said the Rabbi, cheerfully smiling to his wife, +"this is the famous, free, imperial, and commercial city of +Frankfort-on-the-Main, and we are now passing along the river Main. Do +you see those pleasant-looking houses up there, surrounded by green +hills? That is Sachsenhausen, from which our lame Gumpert brings us the +fine myrrh for the Feast of the Tabernacles. Here you see the strong +Main Bridge with its thirteen arches, over which many men, wagons, and +horses can safely pass. In the middle of it stands the little house +where Aunty Täubchen says there lives a baptized Jew, who pays six +farthings, on account of the Jewish community, to every man who brings +him a dead rat; for the Jews are obliged to deliver annually to the +State council five thousand rats' tails for tribute." + +At the thought of this war, which the Frankfort Jews were obliged to +wage with the rats, Beautiful Sara burst out laughing. The bright +sunlight, and the new gay world now before her, had driven all the +terrors and horrors of the past night from her soul, and as she was +helped ashore from the boat by Dumb William and her husband, she felt +inspired as with a sense of joyful safety. Dumb William for a long time +fixed his beautiful, deep-blue eyes on hers, half sadly, half +cheerfully, and then, casting a significant glance at the Rabbi, sprang +back into his boat and was soon out of sight. + +"Dumb William much resembles my brother who died," said Beautiful Sara. +"All the angels are alike," answered the Rabbi; and, taking his wife by +the hand, led her through the dense crowd on the shore, where, as it was +the time of the Easter Fair, a great number of wooden booths had been +erected by traders. Then passing through the gloomy Main Gate, they +found themselves in quite as noisy a crowd. Here, in a narrow street, +the shops stood close beside one another, every house, as was usual in +Frankfort, being specially adapted to trade. There were no windows on +the ground floor, but broad, open arches, so that the passer-by, looking +in, could see at a glance all there was for sale. And how astonished +Beautiful Sara was at the mass of magnificent wares, and at the +splendor, such as she had never seen before! Here stood Venetians, who +offered cheaply all the luxuries of the Orient and Italy, and Beautiful +Sara was enchanted by the sight of the ornaments and jewels, the gay +caps and bodices, the gold bangles and necklaces, and the whole display +of finery which women so admire and love to wear. The richly embroidered +stuffs of velvet and silk seemed fairly to speak to Beautiful Sara, and +to flash and sparkle strange wonders back into her memory, and she +really felt as if she were a little girl again, and as if Aunty Täubchen +had kept her promise and taken her to the Frankfort Fair, and as if she +were now at last standing before the beautiful garments of which she had +heard so much. With a secret joy she reflected what she should take back +with her to Bacharach, and which of her two little cousins, Posy and +Birdy, would prefer that blue silk girdle, and whether the green +stockings would suit little Gottschalk. But all at once it flashed on +her, "Ah, Lord! they are all grown up now, and yesterday they were +slain!" She shuddered, and the pictures of the previous night filled her +soul with all their horror again. But the gold-embroidered cloths +glittered once more with a thousand roguish eyes, and drove the gloomy +thoughts from her mind, and when she looked into her husband's face she +saw that it was free from clouds, and bore its habitual, serious +gentleness. "Shut your eyes, Sara!" said the Rabbi, and he led his wife +on through the crowd. + +What a gay, active throng! Most prominent were the tradesmen, who were +loudly vying one another in offering bargains, or talking together and +summing on their fingers, or, following heavily loaded porters, who at a +dog-trot were leading the way to their lodgings. By the faces of others +one could see that they came from curiosity. The stout councilman was +recognizable by his scarlet cloak and golden chain; a black, +expensive-looking, swelling waistcoat betrayed the honorable and proud +citizen. An iron spike-helmet, a yellow leather jerkin, and rattling +spurs, weighing a pound, indicated the heavy cavalry-man. Under little +black velvet caps, which came together in a point over the brow, there +was many a rosy girl-face, and the young fellows who ran along after +them, like hunting-dogs on the scent, showed that they were finished +dandies by their saucily feathered caps, their squeaking peaked shoes, +and their colored silk garments, some of which were green on one side +and red on the other, or else striped like a rainbow on the right and +checkered with harlequin squares of many colors on the left, so that the +mad youths looked as if they were divided in the middle. + +Carried along by the crowd, the Rabbi and his wife arrived at the Römer. +This is the great market-place of the city, surrounded by houses with +high gables, and takes its name from an immense building, "the Römer," +which was bought by the magistracy and dedicated as the town-hall. In it +the German Emperor was elected, and before it tournaments were often +held. King Maximilian, who was passionately fond of this sport, was then +in Frankfort, and in his honor the day before there had been great +tilting in the Römer. Many idle men still stood on or about the +scaffolding, which was being removed by carpenters, telling how the Duke +of Brunswick and the Margrave of Brandenburg had charged one another +amid the sound of drums and of trumpets, and how Lord Walter the +Vagabond had knocked the Knight of the Bear out of his saddle so +violently that the splinters of the lances flew high into the air, while +the tall, fair-haired King Max, standing among his courtiers upon the +balcony, rubbed his hands for joy. The golden banners were still to be +seen on the balconies and in the Gothic windows of the town-hall. The +other houses of the market-place were still likewise festively bedecked +and adorned with shields, especially the Limburg house, on whose banner +was painted a maiden with a sparrow-hawk in her hand, and a monkey +holding out to her a mirror. Many knights and ladies standing on the +balcony were engaged in animated conversation, or looking at the crowd +below, which, in wild groups and processions, surged back and forth. +What a multitude of idlers of all ages and ranks were crowded together +here to gratify their curiosity! There was laughing, grumbling, +stealing, rib-poking, hurrahing, while every now and then blared the +trumpet of the mountebank, who, in a red cloak and with his clown and +monkey, stood on a high stand loudly boasting of his own skill, and +sounding the praises of his marvelous tinctures and salves, ere he +solemnly examined the glass of urine brought by some old woman, or +applied himself to pull a poor peasant's tooth. Two fencing-masters, +dancing about in gay ribbons and brandishing their rapiers, met as if by +accident and began to cut and pass with great apparent anger; but after +a long bout each declared that the other was invincible, and took up a +collection. Then the newly-organized guild of archers marched by with +drummers and pipers, and these were followed by the constable, who was +carrying a red flag at the head of a flock of traveling strumpets, +hailing from the brothel known as "The Ass," in Würzburg, and bound for +Rosendale, where the highly honorable authorities had assigned them +quarters during the fair. "Shut your eyes, Sara," said the Rabbi. For +indeed these fantastic, and altogether too scantily clad women, among +whom were a few really beautiful girls, behaved in a most immodest +manner, baring their bold, white breasts, chaffing those who went by +with shameless words, and swinging their long walking sticks; and using +the latter as hobby-horses, they rode down toward the gate of St. +Katherine, singing in shrill tones the witch-song-- + + "Where is the goat? the hellish beast; + Where is the goat? Oh bring him quick! + And if there is no goat, at least + We'll ride upon the stick." + +This wild sing-song, which rang afar, was finally drowned +out by the long-drawn, sacred tones of a church procession. +It was a solemn train of bare-headed and bare-footed monks, +who carried burning wax tapers, banners with pictures of +the saints, and large silver crucifixes. Before it ran boys +clad in red and white gowns, bearing censers of smoking +frankincense. In the middle of the procession, under a +beautiful canopy, marched priests in white robes adorned +with costly lace, or in bright-colored, silk stoles; one of +them held in his hand a sun-like, golden vessel, which, on +arriving at a shrine by the market-corner, he raised on high, +while he half-sang, half-spoke in Latin--when all at once +a little bell rang, and all the people around, becoming silent, +fell to their knees and made the sign of the cross. "Shut +your eyes, Sara!" cried the Rabbi again, and he hastily +drew her away through a labyrinth of narrow, crooked +streets, and at last over the desolate, empty place which +separated the new Jewish quarter from the rest of the city. + +Before that time the Jews dwelt between the Cathedral and the bank of +the Main, that is, from the bridge down as far as the Lumpenbrunnen, and +from the Mehlwage as far as Saint Bartholomew's. But the Catholic +priests obtained a Papal bull forbidding the Jews to live so near the +high church, for which reason the magistrates assigned them a place on +the Wollgraben, where they built their present quarter. This was +surrounded by high walls, the gate of which was held by iron chains to +keep out the rabble. For here, too, the Jews lived in misery and +anxiety, and with far more vivid memories of previous suffering than +they have at present. In 1240 the unrestrained populace had caused awful +bloodshed among them, which people called the first Jewish massacre. In +1349, when the Flagellants, in passing through the town, set fire to it, +and accused the Jews of the deed, the latter were nearly all murdered or +burned alive in their own houses; this was called the second Jewish +massacre. After this the Jews were often threatened with similar +slaughter, and during the internal dissensions of Frankfort, especially +during a dispute between the council and the guilds, the mob was often +on the point of breaking into the Jewish quarter, which, as has been +said, was surrounded by a wall. The latter had two gates in it, which on +Catholic holidays were closed from without and on Jewish holidays from +within, and before each gate was a watch-house with city soldiers. + +When the Rabbi with his wife came to the entrance to the Jewish quarter, +the soldiers, as one could see through the open windows, lay on the +wooden bench inside the watch-house, while out before the door in the +sunshine sat the drummer beating capriciously on his large drum. He was +a heavy, fat fellow, wearing a jerkin and hose of fiery yellow, greatly +puffed out at his arms and thighs, and profusely dotted with small red +tufts, sewed on, which looked as if innumerable tongues were protruding +from him. His breast and back were padded with cushions of black cloth, +against which hung his drum. He had on his head a flat, round black cap, +which in roundness and flatness was equaled by his face, and the latter +was also in keeping with his dress, being an orange-yellow, spotted with +red pimples, and distorted into a gaping grin. So the fellow sat and +drummed to the melody of a song which the Flagellants had sung at the +Jewish massacre, while he gurgled, in a coarse, beery voice-- + + "Our dear Lady true + Walked in the morning dew, + Kyrie eleison!" + +"Hans, that is a terrible tune," cried a voice from behind the closed +gate of the Jewish quarter. "Yes, Hans, and a bad song too-doesn't suit +the drum; doesn't suit it at all--by my soul--not the day of the fair +and on Easter morning--bad song--dangerous song--Jack, Jacky, little +drum--Jacky boy--I'm a lone man--and if thou lovest me, the Star, the +tall Star, the tall Nose Star--then stop it!" + +These words were uttered by the unseen speaker, now in hasty anxiety, +now in a sighing drawl, with a tone which alternated between mild +softness and harsh hoarseness, such as one hears in consumptive people. +The drummer was not moved, and went on drumming and singing-- + + "There came a little youth, + His beard had run away, in truth, + Halleluja!" + +"Jack," again cried the voice of the invisible speaker, "Jack, I'm a +lone man, and that is a dangerous song, and I don't like it; I have my +reasons for it, and if you love me, sing something else, and tomorrow we +will drink together." + +At the word "drink" Jack ceased his drumming and singing, and said in +friendly tone, "The devil take the Jews! But thou, dear Nose Star, art +my friend, I protect thee; and if we drink together often enough I shall +have thee converted. Yea, I shall be thy godfather, and when thou art +baptized thou shalt be eternally happy; and if thou hast genius and wilt +study industriously under me, thou mayest even become a drummer. Yes, +Nose Star, thou mayest yet become something great. I will drum the whole +catechism into thee when we drink together tomorrow. But now open the +gate, for here are two strangers who wish to enter." + +"Open the gate?" cried Nose Star, and his voice almost deserted him. +"That can't be done in such a hurry, my dear Jack; one can't tell--one +can never tell, you know--and I'm a lone man. Veitel Oxhead has the +key, and he is now standing in the corner mumbling his eighteen-prayer, +and he must not be interrupted. And Jäkel the Fool is here too, but he +is making water; I'm a lone man." + +"The devil take the Jews!" cried the drummer, and, laughing loudly at +this, his one and only joke, he trudged off to the guard-room and lay +down on the bench. + +While the Rabbi stood with his wife before the locked gate, there rose +from behind it a snarling, nasal, somewhat mocking voice. "Starry--don't +groan so much. Take the keys from Oxheady's coat pockets, or else go +stick your nose in the keyhole, and so unlock the gate. The people have +been standing and waiting a long time." "People!" cried the anxious +voice of the man called Nose Star, "I thought there was only one! I beg +you, Fool--dear Jäkel Fool--look out and see who is there." + +A small, well-grated window in the gate opened, and there appeared in +it a yellow cap with two horns, and the funny, wrinkled, and twisted +jest-maker's face of Jäkel the Fool. The window was immediately shut +again, and he cried angrily, "Open the gate--it is only a man and a +woman." + +"A man and a woman!" groaned Nose Star. "Yes, but when the gate's opened +the woman will take her skirt off, and become a man; and then there'll +be two men, and there are only three of us!" + +"Don't be a hare," replied Jäkel the Fool. "Be a man and show courage!" + +"Courage!" cried Nose Star, laughing with bitter vexation. "Hare! Hare +is a bad comparison. The hare is an unclean animal. Courage! I was not +put here to be courageous, but cautious. When too many come I am to give +the alarm. But I alone cannot keep them back. My arm is weak, I have a +seton, and I'm a lone man. If one were to shoot at me, I should be a +dead man. Then that rich man, Mendel Reiss, would sit on the Sabbath at +his table, and wipe the raisin-sauce from his mouth, and rub his belly, +and perhaps say, 'Tall Nose Star was a brave fellow after all; if it had +not been for him, perhaps they would have burst open the gate. He let +himself be shot for us. He was a brave fellow; too bad that he's dead!'" + +Here the voice became tender and tearful, but all at once it rose to a +hasty and almost angry tone. "Courage! and so that the rich Mendel Reiss +may wipe away the raisin-sauce from his mouth, and rub his belly, and +call me a brave fellow, I'm to let myself be shot! Courage! Be a man! +Little Strauss was a man, and yesterday went to the Römer to see the +tilting, thinking they would not know him because he wore a frock of +violet velvet--three florins a yard-covered with fox-tails and +embroidered with gold--quite magnificent; and they dusted his violet +frock for him till it lost its color, and his own back became violet and +did not look human. Courage, indeed! The crippled Leser was courageous, +and called our scoundrel of a magistrate a blackguard, and they hung him +up by the feet between two dogs, while Jack drummed. Courage! Don't be +a hare! Among many dogs the hare is helpless. I'm a lone man, and I am +really afraid." + +"That I'll swear to," cried Jäkel. + +"Yes; I _have_ fear," replied Nose Star, sighing. "I know that it runs +in my blood, and I got it from my dear mother"-- + +"Yes, yes," interrupted Jäkel, "and your mother got it from her father, +and he from his, and so all thy ancestors one from the other, back to +the forefather who marched under King Saul against the Philistines, and +was the first to take to his heels. But look! Oxheady is all ready--he +has bowed his head for the fourth time; now he is jumping like a flea at +the Holy, Holy, Holy, and feeling cautiously in his pocket." + +In fact the keys rattled, the gate grated and creaked and opened, and +the Rabbi led his wife into the empty Jews' Street. The man who opened +it was a little fellow with a good-naturedly sour face, who nodded +dreamily, like one who did not like to be disturbed in his thoughts, and +after he had carefully closed the gate again, without saying a word he +sank into a corner, constantly mumbling his prayers. Less taciturn was +Jäkel the Fool, a short, somewhat bow-legged fellow, with a large, red, +laughing face, and an enormous leg-of-mutton hand, which he now +stretched out of the wide sleeve of his gaily-chequered jacket in +welcome. Behind him a tall, lean figure showed, or rather, hid +itself--the slender neck feathered with a fine white cambric ruff, and +the thin, pale face strangely adorned with an incredibly long nose, +which peered with anxious curiosity in every direction. + +"God's welcome to a pleasant feast-day!" cried Jäkel the Fool. "Do not +be astonished that our street is so empty and quiet just now. All our +people are in the synagogue, and you have come just in time to hear the +history of the sacrifice of Isaac read. I know it--'tis an interesting +story, and if I had not already heard it thirty-three times, I would +willingly listen to it again this year. And it is an important history, +too, for if Abraham had really killed Isaac and not the goat, then there +would be more goats in the world now--and fewer Jews." And then with +mad, merry grimaces, Jäkel began to sing the following song from the +_Agade_:[60] + + "A kid, a kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + A kid! + + There came a cat which ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + + There came a dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + + There came a stick, which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the + kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came a fire, which burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit + the cat, who ate the kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. + A kid! A kid! + + There came the water, which quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, + which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came an ox, who drank the water, which quenched the fire, which + burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, + which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came the butcher, who slew the ox, who drank the water, which + quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit the + cat, that ate the kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. + A kid! A kid! + + "Then came the Angel of Death, who slew the butcher, who killed the + ox, who drank the water, which quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, + which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid!"[61] + +"Yes, beautiful lady," added the singer, "and the day will come when +the Angel of Death will slay the slayer, and all our blood come over +Edom, for God is a God of vengeance." + +But all at once, casting aside with a violent effort the seriousness +into which he had involuntarily fallen, Jäkel plunged again into his mad +buffoonery, and went on in his harsh jester tones, "Don't be afraid, +beautiful lady, Nose Star will not harm you. He is only dangerous to old +Schnapper-Elle. She has fallen in love with his nose--which, faith! +deserves it. Yea, for it is as beautiful as the tower which looketh +forth toward Damascus, and as lofty as a cedar of Lebanon. Outwardly it +gleameth like gold loaf and syrup, and inwardly it is all music and +loveliness. It bloometh in summer and in winter it is frozen up--but in +summer and winter it is petted and pulled by the white hands of +Schnapper-Elle. Yes, she is madly in love with him. She nurses him, and +feeds him, and for her age she is young enough. When he is fat enough, +she means to marry him; and whoever comes to Frankfort, three hundred +years hence, will not be able to see the heavens for Nose Stars." + +"Ah, you are Jäkel the Fool," exclaimed the Rabbi, laughing. "I mark it +by your words. I have often heard of you." + +"Yes--yes," replied Jäkel, with comical modesty. "Yes, that is what +reputation does. A man is often known far and wide as a bigger fool than +he himself has any idea of. However, I take great pains to be a fool, +and jump and shake myself to make the bells ring; others have an easier +time. But tell me, Rabbi, why do you journey on a holiday?" + +"My justification," replied the Rabbi, "is in the Talmud, where it says, +'Danger drives away the Sabbath.'" + +"Danger!" screamed the tall Nose Star, in mortal terror. "Danger! +danger! Drummer Jack!--drum, drum. Danger! danger! Drummer Jack!" From +without resounded the deep, beery voice of Drummer Jack, "Death and +destruction! The devil take the Jews. That's the third time today that +you've roused me out of a sound sleep, Nose Star! Don't make me mad! For +when I am mad I'm the very devil himself; and then as sure as I'm a +Christian, I'll up with my gun and shoot through the grated window in +your gate--and then fellow, let everybody look out for his nose!" + +"Don't shoot! don't shoot! I'm a lonely man," wailed Nose Star +piteously, pressing his face against the wall, and trembling and +murmuring prayers in this position. + +"But say, what has happened?" cried Jäkel the Fool, with all the +impatient curiosity which was even then characteristic of the Frankfort +Jews. + +But the Rabbi impatiently broke loose from them, and went his way along +the Jews' Street. "See, Sara!" he exclaimed, "how badly guarded is our +Israel. False friends guard its gates without, and within its watchers +are Folly and Fear." + +They wandered slowly through the long empty street, where only here and +there the head of some young girl showed itself in a window, against the +polished panes of which the sun was brilliantly reflected. At that time +the houses in the Jewish quarter were still neat and new, and much lower +than they now are, since it was only later on that the Jews, as their +number greatly increased, while they could not enlarge their quarter, +built one story over another, squeezed themselves together like +sardines, and were thus stunted both in body and soul. That part of the +Jewish quarter which remained standing after the great fire, and which +is called the Old Lane, those high blackened houses, where a grinning, +sweaty race of people bargains and chaffers, is a horrible relic of the +Middle Ages. The older synagogue exists no more; it was less capacious +than the present one, which was built later, after the Nuremberg exiles +were taken into the community, and lay more to the north. + +The Rabbi had no need to ask where it was. He recognized it from afar by +the buzz of many loud voices. In the court of the House of God he parted +from his wife, and after washing his hands at the fountain there, he +entered the lower part of the synagogue where the men pray, while Sara +ascended a flight of stairs and entered the place reserved for women. +The latter was a kind of gallery with three rows of seats painted a +reddish brown, whose backs were fitted with a hanging board, which held +the prayer-books, and which could be raised and lowered. Here the women +either sat gossiping or stood up in deep prayer. They often went and +peered with curiosity through the large grating on the eastern side, +through the thin, green lattice of which one could look down on the +lower floor of the synagogue. There, behind high praying-desks, stood +the men in their black cloaks, their pointed beards shooting out over +white ruffs, and their skull-capped heads more or less concealed by a +four-cornered scarf of white wool or silk, furnished with the prescribed +tassels, and in some instances also adorned with gold lace. The walls of +the synagogue were uniformly white-washed, and no ornament was to be +seen other than the gilded iron grating around the square stage, where +extracts from the Law were read, and the holy ark, a costly embossed +chest, apparently supported by marble columns with gorgeous capitals, +whose flower-and leaf-work shot up in beautiful profusion, and covered +with a curtain of purple velvet, on which a pious inscription was worked +in gold spangles, pearls, and many colored gems. Here hung the silver +memorial-lamp, and there also rose a trellised dais, on whose crossed +iron bars were all kinds of sacred utensils, among them the +seven-branched candlestick. Before the latter, his countenance toward +the ark, stood the choir-leader, whose song was accompanied, as if +instrumentally, by the voices of his two assistants, the bass and the +treble. The Jews have banished all instrumental music from their church, +maintaining that hymns in praise of God are more edifying when they +rise from the warm breast of man, than from the cold pipes of an organ. + +Beautiful Sara felt a childish delight when the choir-leader, an +admirable tenor, raised his voice and sounded forth the ancient, solemn +melodies, which she knew so well, in a fresher loveliness than she had +ever dreamed of, while the bass sang in harmony the deep, dark notes, +and, in the pauses, the treble's voice trilled sweetly and daintily. +Such singing Beautiful Sara had never heard in the synagogue of +Bacharach, where the presiding elder, David Levi, was the leader; for +when this elderly, trembling man, with his broken, bleating voice, tried +to trill like a young girl, and in his forced effort to do so, shook his +limp and drooping arm feverishly, it inspired laughter rather than +devotion. + +A sense of pious satisfaction, not unmingled with feminine curiosity, +drew Beautiful Sara to the grating, where she could look down on the +lower floor, or the so-called men's division. She had never before seen +so many of her faith together, and it cheered her heart to be in such a +multitude of those so closely allied by race, thought, and sufferings. +And her soul was still more deeply moved when three old men +reverentially approached the sacred ark, drew aside the glittering +curtain, raised the lid, and very carefully brought forth the Book which +God wrote with His own hand, and for the maintenance of which Jews have +suffered so much--so much misery and hate, disgrace and death--a +thousand years' martyrdom. This Book--a great roll of parchment--was +wrapped like a princely child in a gaily embroidered scarlet cloak of +velvet; above, on both wooden rollers, were two little silver shrines, +in which many pomegranates and small bells jingled and rang prettily, +while before, on a silver chain, hung gold shields with many colored +gems. The choir-leader took the Book, and, as if it really were a +child--a child for whom one has greatly suffered, and whom one loves all +the more on that account--he rocked it in his arms, skipped about with +it here and there, pressed it to his breast, and, thrilled by its holy +touch, broke forth into such a devout hymn of praise and thanksgiving, +that it seemed to Beautiful Sara as if the pillars under the holy ark +began to bloom; and the strange and lovely flowers and leaves on the +capitals shot ever higher, the tones of the treble were converted into +the notes of the nightingale, the vaulted ceiling of the synagogue +resounded with the tremendous tones of the bass singer, while the glory +of God shone down from the blue heavens. Yes, it was a beautiful psalm. +The congregation sang in chorus the concluding verse, and then the +choir-leader walked slowly to the raised platform in the middle of the +synagogue bearing the holy Book, while men and boys crowded about him, +eager to kiss its velvet covering, or even to touch it. On the platform, +the velvet cover, as well as the wrappings covered with illuminated +letters, were removed, and the choir-leader, in the peculiar intonation +which in the Passover service is still more peculiarly modulated, read +the edifying narrative of the temptation of Abraham. + +Beautiful Sara had modestly withdrawn from the grating, and a stout, +much ornamented woman of middle age, with a forward, but benevolent +manner, had with a nod invited her to share her prayer-book. This lady +was evidently no great scholar, for as she mumbled to herself the +prayers as the women do, not being allowed to take part in the singing, +Sara observed that she made the best she could of many words, and +skipped several good lines altogether. But after a while the watery blue +eyes of the good woman were languidly raised, an insipid smile spread +over her red and white porcelain face, and in a voice which she strove +to make as genteel as possible, she said to Beautiful Sara, "He sings +very well. But I have heard far better singing in Holland. You are a +stranger, and perhaps do not know that the choir-leader is from Worms, +and that they will keep him here if he will be content with four hundred +florins a year. He is a charming man, and his hands are as white as +alabaster. I admire beautiful hands; they make one altogether +beautiful." Having said this, the good lady laid her own hand, which +was really a fine one, on the shelf before her, and with a polite nod +which intimated that she did not like to be interrupted while speaking, +she added, "The little singer is a mere child, and looks very much worn +out. The basso is too ugly for anything; our Star once made the witty +remark: 'The bass singer is a bigger fool than even a basso is expected +to be!' All three eat in my restaurant--perhaps you don't know that I'm +Elle Schnapper?" + +Beautiful Sara expressed thanks for this information, whereupon +Schnapper-Elle proceeded to narrate in detail how she had once been in +Amsterdam, how she had been subjected to the advances of men on account +of her beauty, how she had come to Frankfort three days before +Whit-suntide and married Schnapper, how he had died, and what touching +things he had finally said on his deathbed, and how hard it was to carry +on the restaurant business and keep one's hands nice. Several times she +glanced aside with a contemptuous air, apparently at some giggling +girls, who seemed to be eyeing her clothes. And the latter were indeed +remarkable enough--a very loose skirt of white satin, on which all the +animals of Noah's Ark were embroidered in gaudy colors; a jacket of gold +cloth, like a cuirass, with sleeves of red velvet, yellow slashed; a +very high cap on her head, with a mighty ruff of stiff white linen +around her neck, which also had around it a silver chain hung with all +kinds of coins, cameos, and curiosities, among them a large picture of +the city of Amsterdam, which rested on her bosom. + +But the dresses of the other women were no less remarkable. They +consisted of a variety of fashions of different ages, and many a woman +there was so covered with gold and diamonds as to look like a wandering +jeweler's shop. It is true that there was at that time a fashion of +dress prescribed by law to the Frankfort Jews, and to distinguish them +from Christians the men had to wear yellow rings on their cloaks, and +the women very stiff, blue-striped veils on their caps. However, in the +Jewish quarter the law was little observed, and there, in the synagogue, +especially on festival days, the women put on as much magnificent +apparel as they could--partly to arouse envy of others, and partly to +advertise the wealth and credit of their husbands. + +While passages from the Books of Moses are being read on the lower floor +of the synagogue, the devotion is usually somewhat lulled. Many make +themselves comfortable and sit down, whispering perhaps business affairs +with a friend, or go out into the court to get a little fresh air. Small +boys take the liberty of visiting their mothers in the women's balcony; +and here worship is still more loosely observed, as there is gossiping, +chattering, and laughing, while, as always happens, the young quizz the +old, and the latter censure the light-headedness of the girls and the +general degeneracy of the age. + +And just as there was a choir-leader on the floor below, so was there a +gossip-leader in the balcony above. This was Puppy Reiss, a vulgar, +greenish woman, who found out about everybody's troubles, and always had +a scandal on her tongue. The usual butt of her pointed sayings was poor +Schnapper-Elle, and she could mock right well the affected genteel airs +and languishing manner with which the latter accepted the insincere +compliments of young men. + +"Do you know," cried Puppy Reiss, "Schnapper-Elle said yesterday, 'If I +were not beautiful and clever, and beloved, I had rather not be alive.'" + +Then there was loud tittering, and Schnapper-Elle, who was not far +distant, noting that this was all at her expense, lifted her nose in +scorn, and sailed away, like a proud galley, to some remote corner. Then +Birdie Ochs, a plump and somewhat awkward lady, remarked compassionately +that Schnapper-Elle might be a little vain and small of mind, but that +she was an honest, generous soul, and did much good to many folk in +need. + +"Particularly to Nose Star," snapped Puppy Reiss. And all who knew of +this tender relation laughed all the louder. + +"Don't you know," added Puppy spitefully, "that Nose Star now sleeps in +Schnapper-Elle's house! But just look at Susy Flörsheim down there, +wearing the necklace which Daniel Fläsch pawned to her husband! Fläsch's +wife is vexed about it--_that_ is plain. And now she is talking to Mrs. +Flörsheim. _How_ amiably they shake hands!--and hate each other like +Midian and Moab! How sweetly they smile on each other! Oh, you dear +souls, _don't_ eat each other up out of pure love! I'll just steal up +and listen to them!" + +And so, like a sneaking wildcat, Puppy Reiss crept up and listened to +the two women bewailing to each other how they had worked all the past +week to clean up the house and scour the kitchen things, and complaining +about all they had to do before Passover, so that not a crumb of +leavened bread should stick to anything. And such troubles as they had +baking the unleavened bread! Mrs. Fläsch had special cause for +complaint--for she had had no end of trouble over it in the public +bakery, where, according to the ticket she drew, she could not bake till +the afternoon of the very last day, just before Passover Eve; and then +old Hannah had kneaded the dough badly, and the maids had rolled it too +thin, and half of it was scorched in baking, and worst of all, rain came +pouring through the bake-house roof; and so, wet and weary, they had had +to work till late in the night. + +"And, my dear Mrs. Flörsheim," said Mrs. Fläsch, with gracious +friendliness most insincere, "you were a little to blame for that, +because you did not send your people to help me in baking." + +"Ah! pardon," replied the other. "My servants were so busy--the goods +for the fair had to be packed--my husband"-- + +"Yes, I know," interrupted Mrs. Fläsch, with cutting irony in her +speech. "I know that you have much to do--many pledges and a good +business, and necklaces"-- + +And a bitter word was just about to slip from the lips of the speaker, +and Dame Flörsheim had turned as red as a lobster, when Puppy Reiss +cried out loudly, "For God's sake!--the strange lady lies dying--water! +water!" + +Beautiful Sara lay in a faint, as pale as death, while a swarm of +excited women crowded around her, one holding her head, another her arm, +while some old women sprinkled her with the glasses of water which hung +behind their prayer desks for washing the hands in case they should by +accident touch their own bodies. Others held under her nose an old lemon +full of spices, which was left over from the last feast-day, when it had +served for smelling and strengthening the nerves. Exhausted and sighing +deeply, Beautiful Sara at last opened her eyes, and with mute glances +thanked them for their kind care. But now the eighteen-prayer, which no +one dared neglect, was being solemnly chanted below, and the busy women +hurried back to their places and offered the prayer as the rite ordains, +that is, standing up with their faces turned toward the east, which is +that part of the heavens where Jerusalem lies. Birdie Ochs, +Schnapper-Elle, and Puppy Reiss stayed to the last with Beautiful +Sara--the first two to aid her as much as possible, the other two to +find out why she had fainted so suddenly. + +Beautiful Sara had swooned from a singular cause. It is a custom in the +synagogue that any one who has escaped a great danger shall, after the +reading of the extracts from the Law, appear in public and return thanks +for his divine deliverance. As Rabbi Abraham rose to his feet to make +his prayer, and Beautiful Sara recognized her husband's voice, she +noticed that his voice gradually subsided into the mournful murmur of a +prayer for the dead. She heard the names of her dear kinsfolk, +accompanied by the words which convey the blessing on the departed; and +the last hope vanished from her soul, for it was torn by the certainty +that those dear ones had really been slain, that her little niece was +dead, that her little cousins Posy and Birdy were dead, that little +Gottschalk too was dead--all murdered and dead! And she, too, would have +succumbed to the agony of this realization, had not a kind swoon poured +forgetfulness over her senses. + + +CHAPTER III + +When Beautiful Sara, after divine service was ended, went down into the +courtyard of the synagogue, the Rabbi stood there waiting for her. He +nodded to her with a cheerful expression, and accompanied her out into +the street, where there was no longer silence but a noisy multitude. It +was like a swarm of ants--bearded men in black coats, women gleaming and +fluttering like gold-chafers, boys in new clothes carrying prayer-books +after their parents, young girls who, because they could not enter the +synagogue, now came bounding to their parents, bowing their curly heads +to receive their blessing--all gay and merry, and walking up and down +the street in the happy anticipation of a good dinner, the savory odor +of which--causing their mouths to water--rose from many black pots, +marked with chalk, and carried by smiling girls from the large community +kitchens. + +In this multitude particularly conspicuous was the form of a Spanish +cavalier, whose youthful features bore that fascinating pallor which +ladies generally attribute to an unfortunate--and men, on the contrary, +to a very fortunate--love affair. His gait, although naturally carefree, +had in it, however, a somewhat affected daintiness. The feathers in his +cap were agitated more by the aristocratic motion of his head than by +the wind; and his golden spurs, and the jeweled hilt of his sword, which +he bore on his arm, rattled rather more than was necessary. A white +cavalier's cloak enveloped his slender limbs in an apparently careless +manner, but, in reality, betrayed the most careful arrangement of the +folds. Passing and repassing, partly with curiosity, partly with an air +of a connoisseur, he approached the women walking by, looked calmly at +them, paused when he thought a face was worth the trouble, gave to many +a pretty girl a passing compliment, and went his way heedless as to its +effect. He had met Beautiful Sara more than once, but every time had +seemed to be repelled by her commanding look, or else by the enigmatical +smile of her husband. Finally, however, proudly conquering all +diffidence, he boldly faced both, and with foppish confidence made, in a +tenderly gallant tone, the following speech: "Señora!--list to me!--I +swear--by the roses of both the kingdoms of Castile, by the Aragonese +hyacinths and the pomegranate blossoms of Andalusia! by the sun which +illumines all Spain, with its flowers, onions, pea-soups, forests, +mountains, mules, he-goats, and Old Christians! by the canopy of heaven, +on which this sun is merely a golden tassel! and by the God who abides +in heaven and meditates day and night over the creation of new forms of +lovely women!--I swear that you, Señora, are the fairest dame whom I +have seen in all the German realm, and if you please to accept my +service, then I pray of you the favor, grace, and leave to call myself +your knight and bear your colors henceforth in jest or earnest!" + +A flush of pain rose in the face of Beautiful Sara, and with one of +those glances which cut the deeper when they come from gentle eyes, and +with a tone such as is bitterest coming from a beautiful voice, the lady +answered, as one deeply hurt: + +"My noble lord, if you will be my knight you must fight whole races, and +in the battle there will be little thanks to win and less honor; and if +you will wear my colors, then you must sew yellow rings on your cloak, +or bind yourself with a blue-striped scarf, for such are my colors--the +colors of my house, the House of Israel, which is wretched indeed, one +mocked in the streets by the sons of fortune." + +A sudden purple red shot into the cheeks of the Spaniard; an +inexpressible confusion seemed to have seized him as he stammered-- + +"Señora, you misunderstood me--an innocent jest--but, by God, no +mockery, no scorn of Israel. I myself am sprung from that house; my +grandfather was a Jew, perhaps even my father." + +"And it is very certain, Señor, that your uncle is one," suddenly +exclaimed the Rabbi, who had calmly witnessed this scene; and with a +merry, quizzical glance, he added, "And I myself will vouch that Don +Isaac Abarbanel, nephew of the great Rabbi, is sprung from the best +blood of Israel, if not from the royal race of David!" + +The chain of the sword rattled under the Spaniard's cloak, his cheeks +became deadly white, his upper lip twitched as with scorn in which there +was pain, and angry death grinned in his eyes, as in an utterly changed, +ice-cold, keen voice he said: + +"Señor Rabbi, you know me. Well, then, you know also who I am. And if +the fox knows that I belong to the blood of the lion, let him beware and +not bring his fox-beard into danger of death, nor provoke my anger. Only +he who feels like the lion can understand his weakness." + +"Oh, I understand it well," answered the Rabbi, and a melancholy +seriousness came over his brow. "I understand it well, how the proud +lion, out of pride, casts aside his princely coat and goes about +disguised in the scaly armor of the crocodile, because it is the fashion +to be a grinning, cunning, greedy crocodile! What can you expect the +lesser beasts to be when the lion denies his nature? But beware, Don +Isaac, _thou_ wert not made for the element of the crocodile. For +water--thou knowest well what I mean--is thy evil fortune, and thou +shalt drown. Water is not thy element; the weakest trout can live in it +better than the king of the forest. Hast thou forgotten how the current +of the Tagus was about to draw thee under--?" + +Bursting into loud laughter, Don Isaac suddenly threw his arms round the +Rabbi's neck, covered his mouth with kisses, leapt with jingling spurs +high into the air, so that the passing Jews shrank back in alarm, and in +his own natural hearty and joyous voice cried-- + +"Truly thou art Abraham of Bacharach! And it was a good joke, and more +than that, a friendly act, when thou, in Toledo, didst leap from the +Alcantara bridge into the water, and grasp by the hair thy friend, who +could drink better than he could swim, and drew him to dry land. I came +very near making a really deep investigation as to whether there is +actually gold in the bed of the Tagus, and whether the Romans were right +in calling it the golden river. I assure you that I shiver even now at +the mere thought of that water-party." + +Saying this the Spaniard made a gesture as if he were shaking water +from his garments. The countenance of the Rabbi expressed great joy as +he again and again pressed his friend's hand, saying every time-- + +"I am indeed glad." + +"And so, indeed, am I," answered the other. "It is seven years now since +we met, and when we parted I was as yet a mere greenhorn, and thou--thou +wert already a staid and serious man. But whatever became of the +beautiful Doña who in those days cost thee so many sighs, which thou +didst accompany with the lute?" + +"Hush, hush! the Doña hears us--she is my wife, and thou thyself hast +given her today proof of thy taste and poetic skill." + +It was not without some trace of his former embarrassment that the +Spaniard greeted the beautiful lady, who amiably regretted that she, by +expressing herself so plainly, had pained a friend of her husband. + +"Ah, Señora," replied Don Isaac, "he who grasps too clumsily at a rose +must not complain if the thorns scratch. When the star of evening +reflects its golden light in the azure flood"-- + +"I beg of you!" interrupted the Rabbi, "to cease! If we wait till the +star of evening reflects its golden light in the azure flood, my wife +will starve, for she has eaten nothing since yesterday, and suffered +much in the mean-while." + +"Well, then, I will take you to the best restaurant of Israel," said Don +Isaac, "to the house of my friend Schnapper-Elle, which is not far away. +I already smell the savory odors from the kitchen! Oh, didst thou but +know, O Abraham, how this odor appeals to me. This it is which, since I +have dwelt in this city, has so often lured me to the tents of Jacob. +Intercourse with God's people is not a hobby of mine, and truly it is +not to pray, but to eat, that I visit the Jews' Street." + +"Thou hast never loved us, Don Isaac." + +"Well," continued the Spaniard, "I like your food much better than your +creed--which wants the right sauce. I never could rightly digest you. +Even in your best days, under the rule of my ancestor David, who was +king over Judah and Israel, I never could have held out, and certainly I +should some fine morning have run away from Mount Zion and emigrated to +Phoenicia or Babylon, where the joys of life foamed in the temple of +the gods." + +"Thou blasphemest, Isaac, blasphemest the one God," murmured the Rabbi +grimly. "Thou art much worse than a Christian--thou art a heathen, a +servant of idols." + +"Yes, I am a heathen, and the melancholy, self-tormenting Nazarenes are +quite as little to my taste as the dry and joyless Hebrews. May our dear +Lady of Sidon, holy Astarte, forgive me, that I kneel before the many +sorrowed Mother of the Crucified and pray. Only my knee and my tongue +worship death--my heart remains true to life. But do not look so +sourly," continued the Spaniard, as he saw what little gratification his +words seemed to give the Rabbi. "Do not look at me with disdain. My nose +is not a renegade. When once by chance I came into this street at dinner +time, and the well-known savory odors of the Jewish kitchen rose to my +nose, I was seized with the same yearning which our fathers felt for the +fleshpots of Egypt--pleasant tasting memories of youth came back to me. +In imagination I saw again the carp with brown raisin sauce which my +aunt prepared so sustainingly for Friday eve; I saw once more the +steamed mutton with garlic and horseradish, which might have raised +the dead, and the soup with dreamily swimming dumplings in it--and my +soul melted like the notes of an enamored nightingale--and since then I +have been eating in the restaurant of my friend Doña Schnapper-Elle." + +Meanwhile they had arrived at this highly lauded place, where +Schnapper-Elle stood at the door cordially greeting the strangers who +had come to the fair, and who, led by hunger, were now streaming in. +Behind her, sticking his head out over her shoulder, was the tall Nose +Star, anxiously and inquisitively observing them. Don Isaac with an +exaggerated air of dignity approached the landlady, who returned his +satirical reverence with endless curtsies. Thereupon he drew the glove +from his right hand, wrapped it, the hand, in the fold of his cloak, and +grasping Schnapper-Elle's hand, slowly drew it over his moustache, +saying: + +"Señora! your eyes rival the brilliancy of the sun! But as eggs, the +longer they are boiled the harder they become, so _vice versa_ my heart +grows softer the longer it is cooked in the flaming flashes of your +eyes. From the yolk of my heart flies up the winged god Amor and seeks a +confiding nest in your bosom. And oh, Señora, wherewith shall I compare +that bosom? For in all the world there is no flower, no fruit, which is +like to it! It is the one thing of its kind! Though the wind tears away +the leaves from the tenderest rose, your bosom is still a winter rose +which defies all storms. Though the sour lemon, the older it grows the +yellower and more wrinkled it becomes, your bosom rivals in color and +softness the sweetest pineapple. Oh, Señora, if the city of Amsterdam be +as beautiful as you told me yesterday, and the day before, and every +day, the ground on which it rests is far lovelier still." + +The cavalier spoke these last words with affected earnestness, and +squinted longingly at the large medallion which hung from +Schnapper-Elle's neck. Nose Star looked down with inquisitive eyes, and +the much-bepraised bosom heaved so that the whole city of Amsterdam +rocked from side to side. + +"Ah!" sighed Schnapper-Elle, "virtue is worth more than beauty. What use +is my beauty to me? My youth is passing away, and since Schnapper is +gone--anyhow, he had handsome hands--what avails beauty?" + +With that she sighed again, and like an echo, all but inaudible, Nose +Star sighed behind her. "Of what avail is your beauty?" cried Don Isaac. +"Oh, Dona Schnapper-Elle, do not sin against the goodness of creative +Nature! Do not scorn her most charming gifts, or she will reap most +terrible revenge. Those blessed, blessing eyes will become glassy balls, +those winsome lips grow flat and unattractive, that chaste and charming +form be changed into an unwieldy barrel of tallow, and the city of +Amsterdam at last rest on a spongy bog." Thus he sketched piece by +piece the appearance of Schnapper-Elle, so that the poor woman was +bewildered, and sought to escape the uncanny compliments of the +cavalier. She was delighted to see Beautiful Sara appear at this +instant, as it gave her an opportunity to inquire whether she had quite +recovered from her swoon. Thereupon she plunged into lively chatter, in +which she fully developed her sham gentility, mingled with real kindness +of heart, and related with more prolixity than discretion the awful +story of how she herself had almost fainted with horror when she, as +innocent and inexperienced as could be, arrived in a canal boat at +Amsterdam, and the rascally porter, who carried her trunk, led her--not +to a respectable hotel, but oh, horrors!--to an infamous brothel! She +could tell what it was the moment she entered, by the brandy-drinking, +and by the immoral sights! And she would, as she said, really have +swooned, if it had not been that during the six weeks she stayed in the +disorderly house she only once ventured to close her eyes. + +"I dared not," she added, "on account of my virtue. And all that was +owing to my beauty! But virtue will stay--when good looks pass away." + +Don Isaac was on the point of throwing some critical light on the +details of this story when, fortunately, Squinting Aaron Hirschkuh from +Homburg-on-the-Lahn came with a white napkin on his arm, and bitterly +bewailed that the soup was already served, and that the boarders were +seated at table, but that the landlady was missing. + +(The conclusion and the chapters which follow are lost, not from any +fault of the author.) + + + + +THE LIFE OF FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +BY WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD, A.M. + +Assistant Professor of German, Harvard University + + +Franz Grillparzer is the greatest poet and dramatist among the +Austrians. Corresponding to the Goethe Society at Weimar, the +Grillparzer Society at Vienna holds its meetings and issues its annual; +and the edition of Goethe's works instituted by the Grand Duchess Sophie +of Weimar is paralleled by an edition of Grillparzer's works now in +process of publication by the city of Vienna. Not without a sense of +local pride and jealousy do the Viennese extol their fellow-countryman +and hold him up to their kinsmen of the north as worthy to stand beside +Goethe and Schiller. They would be ungrateful if they did not cherish +the memory of a man who during his life-time was wont to prefer them, +with all their imperfections upon their heads, to the keener and more +enterprising North Germans, and who on many occasions sang the praises +of their sociability, their wholesome naturalness, and their sound +instinct. But even from the point of view of the critical North German +or of the non-German foreigner, Grillparzer abundantly deserves his +local fame--and more than local fame; for a dozen dramas of the first +class, two eminently characteristic short stories, numerous lyrical +poems, and innumerable studies and autobiographical papers are a man's +work entitling their author to a high place in European, not merely +German, literature. + +It is, however, as an Austrian that Grillparzer is primarily to be +judged. Again and again he insisted upon his national quality as a man +and as a poet, upon the Viennese atmosphere of his plays and his poems. +He was never happy when away from his native city, and though his pieces +are now acceptably performed wherever German is spoken, they are most +successful in Vienna, and some of them are to be seen only on the +Viennese stage. + +What are, then, the distinguishing features of the Austrians, and of +Grillparzer as one of them? Grillparzer said these features are an open +heart and a single mind, good sense and reliable intuition, frankness, +naïveté, generosity, modest contentment with being while others are up +and doing. The Austrians are of mixed blood, and partake of South +European characteristics less prominent among the purer blooded Teutons +of the north. They have life on easier terms, are less intellectual, are +more sensuous, emotional, more fanciful, fonder of artistic enjoyment, +more sensitive to color and to those effects called "color," by contrast +to form, in other arts than that of painting. The art of music is most +germane to the Austrian spirit; and we have a ready key to the +peculiarities of the Austrian disposition in the difference between +Haydn, Mozart, Schubert, and Johann Strauss, on the one hand, and +Händel, Beethoven, Schumann, and Wagner on the other. Moreover, the +Austrians are in all respects conservative, in literary taste no less +than in politics and religion. The pseudo-classicism of Gottsched +maintained its authority in Austria not merely after the time of +Lessing, but also after the time of Schiller. Wieland was a favorite +long before Goethe began to be appreciated; and as to the romantic +movement, only the gentle tendencies of such a congenial spirit as +Eichendorff found a sympathetic echo on the shores of the Danube. +Romance influences, however, more particularly Spanish, were manifest +there even before the time when they became strong upon Grillparzer. + +Franz Grillparzer was born in Vienna on the fifteenth of January, 1791. +His father, Wenzel Grillparzer, a self-made man, was a lawyer of the +strictest probity, who occupied a respectable position in his +profession; but, too scrupulous to seize the opportunities for profit +that lawyers easily come upon, he lived a comparatively poor man and in +1809 died in straitened circumstances. At home he was stern and +repressive. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER] + +Both his legal habit of mind and also his true discipleship of the age +of enlightenment in which he grew up disposed him to intellectual +tyranny over everything that looked like sentimentality or foolish +fantasy in wife or children. His own hobbies, however, such as long +walks in the country and the cultivation of flowers or--strangely +enough--the reading of highly romantic novels, he indulged in as matters +of course. It is with some surprise that we find him married to a woman +of abnormal nervousness, who was given to mysticism and was feverishly +devoted to music. Marianne Grillparzer, born Sonnleithner, belonged to a +substantial middle-class family. Her father was a friend of Haydn and +Mozart and was himself a composer of music; her brothers became men of +note in the history of the Viennese operatic stage; and she herself +shared in the artistic temperament of the family, but with ominously +pathological over-development in one direction. She took her own life in +1819 and transmitted to her sons a tendency to moodiness and melancholy +which led to the suicide of one and the haunting fear of insanity in +that other who is the subject of this sketch. + +That Franz Grillparzer was destined to no happy childhood is obvious, +and it is equally clear that he needed a strong will to overcome not +merely material obstacles to progress but also inherited dispositions of +such antithetical sort. The father and the mother were at war in his +breast. Like the mother in sensitiveness and imaginativeness, he was the +son of his father in a stern censoriousness that was quick to ridicule +what appeared to be nonsense in others and in himself; but he was the +son of his father also in clearness of understanding and devotion to +duty as he saw it. + +Grillparzer once said that his works were detached fragments of his +life; and though many of their themes seem remote from him in time and +place, character and incident in them are unmistakably enriched by being +often conceived in the light of personal experience. Outwardly, +however, his life was comparatively uneventful. After irregular studies +with private tutors and at school, Grillparzer studied law from 1807 to +1811 at the University of Vienna, gave instruction from 1810 to 1813 to +the sons of various noblemen, and in 1813 began in the Austrian civil +service the humdrum career which, full of disappointments and undeserved +setbacks, culminated in his appointment in 1832 to the directorship of +the _Hofkammerarchiv,_ and lasted until his honorable retirement in +1856. He was a conscientious official; but throughout this time he was +regarded, and regarded himself, primarily as Grillparzer the poet; and +in spite of loyalty to the monarchy, he was entirely out of sympathy +with the antediluvian administration of Metternich and his successors. +Little things, magnified by pusillanimous apprehension, stood in his +way. In 1819 he expressed in a poem _The Ruins of Campo Vaccino_ +esthetic abhorrence of the cross most inappropriately placed over the +portal of the Coliseum in Rome, and was thereafter never free of the +suspicion of heresy. In 1825 membership in a social club raided by the +police subjected him to the absurd suspicion of plotting treason. Only +once do we find him, during the first half of the century, _persona +gratissima_ with the powers that be. Grillparzer firmly disapproved the +disintegrating tendencies of the revolution of 1848, and uttered his +sense of the duty of loyal coöperation under the Habsburgs in a spirited +poem, _To Field-Marshal Count Radetzky_. For the moment he became a +national hero, especially in the army. His latter years were indeed +years of honor; but the honor came too late. He was given the cross of +the order of Leopold in 1849, was made _Hofrat_ and a member of the +House of Lords in 1856, and received the grand cross of the order of +Franz Josef upon the celebration of his eightieth birthday in 1871. He +died on the twenty-first of January, 1872. + +Grillparzer led for the most part a solitary life--for the last third of +his life he was almost a hermit--and he was rather an observer than an +actor in the affairs of men; but nevertheless he saw more of the world +than a mere dreamer would have cared to see, and the circle of his +friends was not inconsiderable. Besides making the trip to Italy, +already alluded to, in 1819, he journeyed in 1826 to North Germany, +seeing Goethe in Weimar, in 1836 to Paris, in 1837 to London, in 1843 +down the Danube to Athens, and in 1847 again to Berlin and to Hamburg. +No one of these trips gave him any particular poetic impetus, except +perhaps the first, on which he found in the classical atmosphere of Rome +a refreshing antidote to the romantic miasma which he hated. Nor did he +derive much profit from the men of letters whom he visited in various +places, such as Fouqué, Chamisso, and Heine. He dined with Goethe, but +was too bashful to accept an indirect invitation to spend an evening +with Goethe alone. He paid his respects to Uhland, whom he esteemed as +the greatest German poet of that time (1837); but Uhland was then no +longer productive and was never a magnetic personality. Indeed, there +was hardly more than one man, even in Vienna, who exerted a strong +personal influence upon Grillparzer, and this was Josef Schreyvogel, +journalist, critic, playwright, from 1814 to 1831 secretary of the +_Burgtheater_. A happy chance gained for Grillparzer in 1816 the +friendship of this practical theatre manager, and under Schreyvogel's +auspices he prepared his first drama for the stage. + +On another side, Grillparzer's character is illumined for us by the +strange story of his relations with four Viennese women. He was not a +handsome man, but tall, with an abundance of blond hair, and bewitching +blue eyes that made him very attractive to the other sex. He, too, was +exceedingly sensitive to sexual attraction and in early youth suffered +torments from the pangs of unsatisfied longing. From the days when he +knew that he was in love, but did not yet know with whom, to the time of +final renunciation we find him irresolute, ardent, but apparently +selfish in the inability to hazard the discovery that the real might +prove inferior to his ideal. Thus his critical disposition invaded +even the realm of his affections and embroiled him not merely with the +object of them, but also with himself. Charlotte von Paumgarten, the +wife of a cousin of Grillparzer's, Marie Däffinger, the wife of a +painter, loved him not wisely, but too well; and a young Prussian girl, +Marie Piquot, confessed in her last will and testament to such a +devotion to him as she was sure no other woman could ever attain, +wherefore she commended "her Tasso" to the fostering care of her mother. +Grillparzer had experienced only a fleeting interest in Marie Piquot; so +much the more lasting was the attachment which bound him to her +successful rival, Katharina Fröhlich. Katharina, one of four daughters +of a Viennese manufacturer who had seen better days, and, like her +sisters, endowed with great artistic talent and practical energy, might +have proved the salvation of Grillparzer's existence as a man if he had +been more capable of manly resolution, and she had been less like him in +impetuosity and stubbornness. They became engaged, they made +preparations for a marriage which was never consummated and for years +was never definitely abandoned; mutual devotion is ever and anon +interrupted by serious or trivial quarrels, and the imperfect relation +drags on to the vexation of both, until Grillparzer as an old man of +sixty takes lodgings with the Fröhlich sisters and, finally, makes +Katharina his sole heir. + +Grillparzer's development as a poet and dramatist follows the bent of +his Austrian genius. One of the first books that he ever read was the +text to Mozart's _Magic Flute_. Music, opera, operetta, and fairy drama +gave the earliest impulse to his juvenile imagination. Even as a boy he +began the voluminous reading which, continued throughout his life, made +him one of the best informed men of his time in European literature. +History, natural history, and books of travel are followed by the plays +of Shakespeare, Lessing, Goethe, and Schiller, while Gesner's idyls +charm him, and he absorbs the stories and romances of Wieland. In 1808 +he reads the early works of Schiller and admires the ideal enthusiasm of +_Don Carlos_. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER AND KAETHI FRÖHLICH IN 1823] + +In 1810 he revolts from Schiller and swears allegiance to Goethe. In +the ensuing years he learns English, Greek, and Spanish; Shakespeare +supplants Goethe in his esteem, and he is attracted first to Calderón +and then to Lope de Vega in whom, ere long, he discovers the dramatic +spirit most closely akin to his. + +We read of Grillparzer, as of Goethe, that as a child he was fond of +improvising dramatic performances with his playmates. Occasionally he +was privileged to attend an operetta or a spectacular play at one of the +minor theatres. When he reached adolescence he experimented with a large +number of historical and fantastic subjects, and he left plans and +fragments that, unoriginal as most of them are, give earnest of a talent +for scenic manipulation and for the representation of character. These +juvenile pieces are full of reminiscences of Schiller and Shakespeare. +Grillparzer's first completed drama of any magnitude, _Blanca of +Castile_ (1807-09), is almost to be called Schiller's _Don Carlos_ over +again, both as to the plot and as to the literary style--though of +course the young man's imitation seems like a caricature. The fragments +_Spartacus_ (1810) and _Alfred the Great_ (1812), inspired by patriotic +grief for Austria humiliated by Napoleon, are Shakespearean in many +scenes, but are in their general disposition strongly influenced by +Schiller's _Robbers and Maid of Orleans_. In all three of these pieces, +the constant reference to inscrutable fate proves that Grillparzer is a +disciple of Schiller and a son of his time. + +There is, therefore, a double significance in the earliest play of +Grillparzer's to be performed on the stage, _The Ancestress_ +(1816)--first, in that, continuing in the direction foreshadowed by its +predecessors, it takes its place beside the popular dramas of fate +written by Werner and Müllner; and secondly, because at the same time +the poet, now yielding more to the congenial impulse of Spanish +influences, establishes his independence even in the treatment of a more +or less conventional theme. Furthermore, _The Ancestress_ marks the +beginning of Grillparzer's friendship with Schreyvogel. Grillparzer had +translated some scenes of Calderon's _Life is a Dream_ which, published +in 1816 by an enemy of Schreyvogel's who wished to discredit the +adaptation which Schreyvogel had made for the _Burgtheater,_ served only +to bring the two men together; for Schreyvogel was generous and +Grillparzer innocent of any hostile intention. As early as 1813 +Grillparzer had thought of _The Ancestress_. Schreyvogel encouraged him +to complete the play, and his interest once again aroused and soon +mounting to enthusiasm, he wrote in less than a month the torrent of +Spanish short trochaic verses which sweeps through the four acts of this +romantic drama. Schreyvogel was delighted; but he criticized the +dramatic structure; and in a revised version in five acts Grillparzer so +far adopted his suggestions as to knit up the plot more closely and thus +to give greater prominence to the idea of fate and retribution. The play +was performed on the thirty-first of January, 1817, and scored a +tremendous success. + +Critics, to be sure, were not slow to point out that the effectiveness +of _The Ancestress_ was due less to poetical qualities than to +theatrical--unjustly; for even though we regard the play as but the +scenic representation of the incidents of a night, the representation is +of absorbing interest and is entirely free from the crudities which make +Müllner's dramas more gruesome than dramatic. But Grillparzer +nevertheless resolved that his next play should dispense with all +adventitious aids and should take as simple a form and style as he could +give it. A friend chanced to suggest to him that the story of Sappho +would furnish a text for an opera. Grillparzer replied that the subject +would perhaps yield a tragedy. The idea took hold of him; without delay +or pause for investigation he made his plan; and in three weeks his +second play was ready for the stage. Written in July, 1817, _Sappho_ was +produced at the _Hofburgtheater_ on April 21, 1818. Grillparzer said +that in creating _Sappho_ he had plowed pretty much with Goethe's steer. +In form his play resembles _Iphigenia_ and in substance it is not unlike +_Tasso;_ but upon closer examination _Sappho_ appears to be neither a +classical play of the serene, typical quality of _Iphigenia_ nor a +_Künstlerdrama_ in the sense in which _Tasso_ is one. Grillparzer was +not inspired by the meagre tradition of the Lesbian poetess, nor yet by +anything more than the example of Goethe; he took only the outline of +the story of Sappho and Phaon; his play is almost to be called a +romantic love story, and the influence strongest upon him in the writing +of it was that of Wieland. The situation out of which the tragedy of +Sappho develops is that of a young man who deceives himself into +believing that admiration for a superior woman is love, and who is +undeceived when a _naïve_ maiden awakens in him sentiments that really +are those of love. This situation occurs again and again in the +voluminous works of Wieland--most obviously perhaps in the novelette +_Menander and Glycerion_ (1803), but also in the novel _Agathon_ +(1766-1767), and in the epistolary novel _Aristippus_ (1800-1802). +Moreover, it is the essential situation in Mme. de Staël's _Corinne_ +(1807). In the third place, this situation was Grillparzer's own, and it +is so constantly found in his dramas that it may be called the +characteristic situation for the dramatist as well as for the man. In +this drama, finally, we have a demonstration of Grillparzer's profound +conviction that the artistic temperament is ill suited to the demands of +practical life, and in the solitary sphere to which it is doomed must +fail to find that contentment which only life can afford. Sappho is not +assailed by life on all sides as Tasso is; but she makes an egregious +mistake in her search for the satisfactions of womanhood, thereby +unfitting herself for the priesthood of poetry as well as forfeiting her +life. + +_Sappho_ was as successful on the stage as _The Ancestress_ had been, +and the dramatist became the lion of the hour. He was received in +audience by Prince Metternich, was lauded in high social circles in +Vienna, and was granted an annual pension of 1000 florins for five +years, on condition that the _Hofburgtheater_ should have the right +to first production of his forthcoming plays. It was, therefore, with +great enthusiasm and confidence that he set to work upon his next +subject, _The Golden Fleece._ The story of Jason and Medea had long been +familiar to him, not only in the tragedies of Euripides and Seneca, but +also in German dramas and operas of the eighteenth century which during +his youth were frequently produced in Vienna. The immediate impulse to +treat this story came to him when, in the summer of 1818, he chanced +upon the article _Medea_ in a mythological lexicon. His plan was soon +formed and was made to embrace the whole history of the relations of +Jason and Medea. For so comprehensive a matter Grillparzer, like +Schiller in _Wallenstein,_ found the limits of a single drama too +narrow; and as Schiller said of _Wallenstein--_ + + "His camp alone explains his fault and crime," + +so Grillparzer rightly perceived that the explanation to modern minds of +so incredible a crime as Medea's must be sought and presented in the +untoward circumstances under which her relations with Jason began. +Accordingly, he showed in _The Guest Friend_ how Phryxus, obedient to +what he believed to be the will of the gods, bore the Golden Fleece to +Colchis, only to meet death at the hands of Æëtes, the king of that +land, who coveted the precious token. Medea, the king's daughter, vainly +tries to prevent the crime, but sees herself included in the dying man's +curse; for she shares her father's desire for the treasure and is +appalled only by the sense of outraged hospitality, even to a haughty +intruder. When, in _The Argonauts,_ Jason comes to recover the Fleece, +Medea, still an Amazon and an enchantress, is determined with all her +arts to aid her father in repulsing the invaders. But the sight of the +handsome stranger soon touches her with an unwonted feeling. Against her +will she saves the life and furthers the enterprise of Jason; they +become partners in the theft of the Fleece; whereupon Jason, fascinated +by the dark-eyed barbarian and gratified with the sense of subjugating +an Amazon, assures her of his love and takes her and the Fleece in +triumph away from Colchis. + +[Illustration: GRILLPARZER'S HOUSE IN THE SPIEGELGASSE] + +Four years elapse before the action of _Medea_ commences. Medea has +borne two sons to Jason; as a husband and father he returns to Greece +with the object of his quest. But he is now received rather as the +husband of a sorceress than as the winner of the Fleece. Ostracism and +banishment accentuate the humiliation of marriage to a barbarian. Medea +has sacrificed all to serve him; without her aid his expedition would +have been fruitless, but with her he cannot live in the civilized +community where she has no place. She frantically endeavors to become a +Greek, but to no purpose. Jason strives to overcome a growing repugnance +and loyally makes common cause with her; but he cannot follow her in +banishment from Corinth, nor appreciate the feelings of the wife who +sees him about to marry Creusa, and of the mother who sees her children +prefer Creusa to herself. Then the barbarian in Medea reasserts herself +and the passion of a just revenge, stifling all other feeling, moves her +to the destruction of all her enemies and a final divorce from her +heartless husband. To Jason she can give no other words of comfort than +that he may be stronger in suffering than he has been in acting. + +Such an eminently personal tragedy Grillparzer constructed on the basis +of a mythological story. The Fleece, like the hoard of the Nibelungen, +is the occasion, but the curse attached to it is not the cause, of +crimes; this cause is the cupidity of human nature and the helplessness +of the individual who allows the forces of evil to gain sway over him. +Jason, in overweening self-indulgence, attaches himself to a woman to +whom he cannot be true. Medea, in too confident self-sufficiency, is not +proof against the blandishments of an unscrupulous adventurer and +progresses from crime to crime, doing from beginning to end what it is +not her will to do. An unnatural and unholy bond cannot be severed even +to make way for a natural and holy one. And the paths of glory lead not +to the grave but to a living death in the consciousness of guilt and the +remorse for misdeeds. + +Grillparzer never again wrote with such tumultuous passion as swayed him +at the time of his work on the first half of _The Golden Fleece._ His +illicit love of Charlotte Paumgarten gave him many a tone which thrills +in the narrative of Jason and Medea; the death of his mother brought +home to him the tragedy of violence and interrupted his work in the +midst of _The Argonauts;_ his visit to Rome enabled him to regain +composure and increase his sense of the local color of ancient +civilization; so that when he completed _Medea,_ in the fall and early +winter of 1819-20, he wrote with the mastery of one who had ventured, +suffered, observed, and recovered. In his own person he had experienced +the dangers of the _vita activa_ against which _The Golden Fleece_ is a +warning. + +Mention has already been made of Grillparzer's pride in the history of +Austria. In 1809 he wrote in his diary, "I am going to write an +historical drama on Frederick the Warlike, Duke of Austria." A few +stanzas of a ballad on this hero were written, probably at this time; +dramatic fragments have survived from 1818 and 1821. In the first two +decades of the nineteenth century vigorous efforts were made, especially +by Baron von Hormayr and his collaborators, to stir up Austrian poets to +emulate their North-German colleagues in the treatment of Austrian +subjects. With these efforts Grillparzer was in hearty sympathy. The +Hanoverian A.W. Schlegel declared in a lecture delivered at Vienna in +1808 that the worthiest form of the romantic drama was the historical; +and made special mention of the house of Habsburg. In 1817 Matthäus von +Collin's play _Frederick the Warlike_ was published, as one of three +(_Leopold the Glorious, Frederick the Warlike_, and _Ottocar_) planned +as a cycle on the house of Babenberg. Collin's _Frederick_ interested +Grillparzer; Ottocar, who married Frederick's sister and whose fate +closely resembled Frederick's, appealed to him as a promising character +for dramatic treatment; a performance of Kleist's _Prince Frederick of +Homburg,_ which Grillparzer witnessed in 1821, may well have stimulated +him to do for the first of the Habsburgs, Ottocar's successful rival, +what Kleist had done for the greatest of the early Hohenzollerns; and +particularly the likeness of Ottocar's career to that of Napoleon gave +him the point of view for _King Ottocar's Fortune and Fall,_ composed in +1823. + +_Ottocar_ is remarkable for the amount of matter included in the space +of a single drama, and it gives an impressive picture of the dawn of the +Habsburg monarchy; but only in the first two acts can it be said to be +dramatic. The middle and end, though spectacular, are rather epic than +dramatic, and our interest centres more in Rudolf the triumphant than in +Ottocar the defeated and penitent. The play is essentially the tragedy +of a personality. Ottocar is a _parvenu,_ a strong man whom success +makes too sure of the adequacy of his individual strength, ruthless when +he should be politic, indulgent when stern measures are requisite, an +egotist even when he acts for the public weal. Grillparzer treated his +case with great fulness of sensuous detail, but without superabundance +of antiquarian minutiæ, in spite of careful study of historical sources +of information. "Pride goeth before destruction," is the theme, but +Grillparzer was far from wishing either to demonstrate or illustrate +that truth. _Ottocar_ is the tragedy of an individual unequal to +superhuman tasks; it does not represent an idea, but a man. + +After having been retained by the censors for two years, lest Bohemian +sensibilities should be offended, _Ottocar_ was finally freed by order +of the emperor himself, and was performed amid great enthusiasm on +February nineteenth, 1825. In September of that year the empress was to +be crowned as queen of Hungary, and the imperial court suggested to +Grillparzer that he write a play on a Hungarian subject in celebration +of this event. He did not immediately find a suitable subject; but his +attention was attracted to the story of the palatin Bancbanus, a +national hero who had found his way to the dramatic workshop of Hans +Sachs in Nuremberg, had been recommended to Schiller, and had recently +been treated in Hungarian by Joseph Katona. Grillparzer knew neither of +the plays of his predecessors. In connection with this subject he +thought rather of Shakespeare's _King Lear_ and _Othello_, of Byron's +_Marino Faliero_--he had early experimented with this hero himself--and +this was the time of his first thorough study of Lope de Vega. In +November and December, 1826, he wrote _A Faithful Servant of His +Master._ This is a drama of character triumphant in the severest test to +which the sense of duty can be put. Bancbanus, appointed regent while +his sovereign goes to war, promises to preserve peace in the kingdom, +and keeps his promise even when his own relatives rise in arms against +the queen's brother who has insulted Bancbanus' wife and, they think, +has killed her. We have to do, however, not merely with a brilliant +example of unselfish loyalty; we have a highly special case of +individualized persons. Bancbanus is a little, pedantic old man, almost +ridiculous in his personal appearance and in his over-conscientiousness. +Erny, his wife, is a childlike creature, not displeased by flattery, too +innocent to be circumspect, but faithful unto death. And Otto von Meran, +the princely profligate, is one of Grillparzer's boldest creations--not +bad by nature, but utterly irresponsible; crafty, resourceful, proud as +a peacock and, like a monkey in the forest, wishing always to be +noticed. He cannot bear disregard; contempt makes him furious; and a +sense of disgrace which would drive a moral being to insanity reduces +him to a state of stupidity in which, doing good deeds for the first +time and unconsciously, he gradually acquires consciousness of right and +wrong. It is Bancbanus who brings about this transformation in the +character of Otto, who holds rebellious nobles and populace in check, +who teaches his master how to be a servant of the State, and who, by +saving the heir to the throne and praying that he may deserve the +loyalty shown his father, points forward to the better day when +feudalism shall give way to unselfish enlightened monarchy. + +[Illustration: GRILLPARZER'S ROOM IN THE HOUSE OF THE SISTERS FRÖHLICH] + +This play, a glorification of patriotic devotion and, in spite of the +self-repressive character of the hero, as full of stirring action as any +German historical play whatever, was presented on the twenty-eighth of +February, 1828, and was received with applause by high and low. The +emperor caused a special word of appreciation to be conveyed to the +poet. How great was Grillparzer's astonishment, therefore, when, on the +following day, the president of police summoned him and informed him +that the emperor was so well pleased with the play that he wished to +have it all to himself; wherefore the dramatist would please hand over +the manuscript, at his own price! Dynastic considerations probably moved +the emperor to this preposterous demand. The very futility of it--since +a number of copies of the manuscript had already been made, and one or +the other was sure to escape seizure--is a good example of the trials to +which the patience of Austrian poets was subjected during the old +régime. Grillparzer was at this time depressed enough on his own +account, as his poems _Tristia ex Ponto_ bear witness. This new attempt +at interference almost made him despair of his fatherland. "An Austrian +poet," he said, "ought to be esteemed above all others. The man who does +not lose heart under such circumstances is really a kind of hero." + +Grillparzer was not a real hero. But in the midst of public frictions, +personal tribulations, apprehension that his powers of imagination were +declining, and petulant surrenders to discouragement, he kept pottering +along with compositions long since started, and by 1831 he had completed +two more plays, _A Dream is Life_ and _Waves of the Sea and of Love_. + +Like _The Ancestress_, _A Dream is Life_ is written in short trochaic +verses of irregular length and with occasional rhyme. The idea was +conceived early, the first act was written at the time of _The +Ancestress,_ and the title, though chosen late, being a reversal of +Calderón's _Life is a Dream_, suggests the connection with that Spanish +drama. Grillparzer's principal source for the plot, was, however, +Voltaire's narrative entitled _White and Black_. In the psychology of +dreams he had long been interested, and life in the dream state formed a +large part of the opera text _Melusina_ which, in 1821-23, he wrote for +Beethoven. A particular flavor was doubtless given to the plot by the +death of Napoleon on May fifth, 1821, and the beginning of Grillparzer's +friendship with Katharina Fröhlich shortly before; for _A Dream is Life_ +represents in the dream of a harmless but ambitious young man such a +career of conquest as Napoleon was thought to have exemplified, and the +hero, waking after a nightmare of deceits and crimes that were the +stepping stones to success, is warned of the dangers that beset +enterprise and taught to prefer the simple life in union with a rustic +maiden. There are two actions, corresponding to the waking and sleeping +states, the actors in the latter being those of real life fantastically +transformed; but there is no magic or anything else super-natural, and +the most fascinating quality in the drama is the skill with which the +transformation is made in accordance with the irrational logic of +dreams. Accompanied by the weird music of Gyrowetz and exquisitely +staged, this is the most popular of Grillparzer's plays in Vienna. But +it is by no means merely theatrical. There is profound truth in the +theory upon which it is constructed: a dream is the awakening of the +soul; dreams do not create wishes, they reveal them, and the actions of +a dreamer are the potentialities of his character. Moreover, the +quietistic note of renunciation for the sake of peace to the soul and +integrity of personality is the final note of _The Golden Fleece_ no +less than of this fantasmagoria. _Waves of the Sea and of Love_ is a +far-fetched and sentimental title for a dramatization of the story of +Hero and Leander. Grillparzer chose the title, he said, because he +wished to suggest a romantic treatment that should humanize the matter. +The play really centres in the character of Hero and might much better +be called by her name. In it Grillparzer's experiences with Charlotte +von Paumgarten and Marie Däffinger are poetically fructified, and his +capacity for tracing the incalculable course of feminine instincts +attains to the utmost of refinement and delicacy. The theme is the +conflict between duty to a solemn vow of sacerdotal chastity and the +disposition to satisfy the natural desire for love. But Grillparzer has +represented no such conflict in the breast of Hero. Her antagonist is +not her own conscience but the representative of divine law in the +temple of which she is priestess. The action of the play therefore takes +the form of an intrigue on the part of this representative to thwart the +intrigue of Hero and Leander. This external collision is, however, far +from supplying the chief interest in a drama unquestionably dramatic, +although its main action is internal. Hero is at the beginning a Greek +counterpart to the barbarian Medea. She has the same pride of station +and self-assurance. Foreordained to asceticism, she is ready to embrace +it because she thinks it superior to the worldliness of which she has no +knowledge. When worldliness presents itself to her in the attractive +form of Leander, she is first curious, then offended, apprehensive of +danger to herself and to him, only soon to apprehend nothing but +interruption of the new rapture to which she yields in oblivion of +everything else in the world. Only a poet of the unprecedented _naïveté_ +of Grillparzer could so completely obliterate the insurgency of moral +scruples against this establishment of the absolute monarchy of love. + +In spite of admirable dramatic qualities and the most exquisite poetry +even in the less dramatic passages, this play on Hero and Leander +disappointed both audience and playwright when it was put upon the stage +in April, 1831. Other disappointments were rife for Grillparzer at +this time. But he put away his desires for the unattainable, and with +the publication of _Tristia ex Ponto_ in 1835, took, as it were, formal +leave of the past and its sorrow. Indeed, he seemed on the point of +beginning a new epoch of ready production; for he now succeeded, for the +first time since 1818, in the quick conception and uninterrupted +composition of an eminently characteristic play, the most artistic of +German comedies, _Woe to the Liar_. It was the more lamentable that when +the play was enacted, on the sixth of March, 1838, the brutal behavior +of an unappreciative audience so wounded the sensitive poet that he +resolved never again to subject himself to such ignominy--and kept his +word. In 1840 he published _Waves of the Sea and of Love, A Dream is +Life_, and _Woe to the Liar_; but the plays which he wrote after that +time he kept in his desk. + +The year 1838, accordingly, sharply divides the life of Grillparzer into +two parts--the first, productive and more or less in the public eye; the +second, contemplative and in complete retirement from the stage. To be +sure, the poet became conspicuous once more with his poem to Radetzky in +1848; in 1851 Heinrich Laube, recently appointed director of the +_Hofburgtheater_, instituted a kind of Grillparzer revival; and belated +honors brought some solace to his old age. But he had become an +historical figure long before he ceased to be seen on the streets of his +beloved Vienna, and the three completed manuscripts of plays that in +1872 he bequeathed to posterity had lain untouched for nearly twenty +years. + +Two of these posthumous pieces, _Brothers' Quarrels in the House of +Habsburg_ and _Libussa_, undoubtedly reveal the advancing years of their +author, in a good and in a bad sense. They lack the theatrical +self-evidence of the earlier dramas. But on the other hand, they are +rich in the ripest wisdom of their creator, and in significance of +characterization as well as in profundity of idea they amply atone for +absence of the more superficial qualities. Kaiser Rudolf II. in +_Brothers' Quarrels_ is one of the most human of the men who in the face +of inevitable calamity have pursued a Fabian policy. Even to personal +predilections, like fondness for the dramas of Lope, he is a replica of +the mature Grillparzer himself. _Libussa_ presents in Primislaus a +somewhat colorless but nevertheless thoroughly masculine representative +of practical coöperation and progress, and in Libussa, the heroine, a +typical feminine martyr to duty. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER In his Sixtieth Year] + +The third of the posthumous pieces, however, _The Jewess of Toledo_, may +perhaps be said to mark the climax of Grillparzer's productive activity. +It is an eminently modern drama of passion in classical dignity of form. +Grillparzer noted the subject as early as 1813. In 1824 he read Lope de +Vega's play on it, and wrote in trochees two scenes of his own; in +1848-49--perhaps with Lola Montez and the king of Bavaria in mind--he +worked further on it, and about 1855 brought the work to an end. The +play is properly called _The Jewess of Toledo_; for Rachel, the Jewess, +is at the centre of the action, and is a marvelous creation--"a mere +woman, nothing but her sex"; but the king, though relatively passive, is +the most important character. He is attracted to Rachel by a charm that +he has never known in his coldly virtuous English consort, and, after an +error forgivable because made comprehensible, is taught the duty of +personal sacrifice to morality and to the state. In doctrine and in +inner form this drama is comparable to Hebbel's _Agnes Bernauer_; it is +a companion piece to _A Faithful Servant of his Master_, and the +sensuality of Rachel contrasts instructively with the spirituality of +Hero. The genuine dramatic collision of antithetical forces produces, +furthermore, a new synthesis, the effect of which is to make us wish +morality less austere and the sense of obligation stronger than they at +first are in two persons good by nature but caused to err by +circumstances. In the series of dramas thus passed in review there is +a great variety of setting and incident, and an abundance of dramatic +_motifs_ that show Grillparzer to have been one of the most opulent of +playwrights. The range of characters, too, each presented with due +regard for _milieu_, is seen to be considerable, and upon closer +examination would be seen to be more considerable still. The greatest +richness is found in the characters of women. Grillparzer himself lacked +the specifically masculine qualities of courageous enterprise and +tenacity of purpose. His men are rather affected by the world than +active creators of new conditions, and their contact with conditions as +they are leaves them with the scars of battle instead of the joy of +victory. No one, however, could attribute a feministic spirit to +Grillparzer; or, if so, it must be said that the study of reaction is no +less instructive than the study of action and that being is at least as +high an ideal as doing. Being, existence in a definite place amid the +tangible surroundings of personal life, Grillparzer gives us with +extraordinary abundance of sensuous details. The drama was for him what +Goethe said it should always be, a present reality; and for the greater +impressiveness of this reality he is fond of the use of visible +objects--whether they be symbols, like the Golden Fleece in _Medea_, the +lyre in _Sappho_, the medallion in _The Jewess of Toledo_, or +characteristic weapons, accoutrement, and apparel. Everything expressive +is welcome to him, gesture or inarticulate sound reinforces the spoken +word or replaces it. Unusually sensuous language and comparative fulness +of sententious passages go hand in hand with a laconic habit which +indulges in many ellipses and is content to leave to the actor the task +of making a single word convey the meaning of a sentence. + +Grillparzer's plays were written for the stage. He abhorred what the +Germans call a book drama, and had, on the other hand, the highest +respect for the judgment of a popular audience as to the fact whether a +play were fit for the stage or not. The popular audience was a jury +from which there was no appeal on this question of fact. A passage in +_The Poor Musician_ gives eloquent expression to Grillparzer's regard +for the sure esthetic instinct of the masses and, indirectly, to his own +poetic _naïveté._ But his plays are also poems; they are all in verse; +and like the plays of his French prototype, Racine, they reveal their +full merit only to connoisseurs. They are the work of a man who was +better able than most men of his generation to prove all things, and who +held fast to that which he found good. His art is not forward-looking, +like that of Kleist, nor backward-looking, like that, say, of Theodor +Körner. It is in the strictest sense complementary and co-ordinate to +that of Goethe and Schiller, a classicism modified by romantic +tendencies toward individuation and localization. He did not aim at the +typical. He felt, and rightly, that a work of art, being something +individual, should be created with concentrated attention upon the +attainment of its perfection as an individual; this perfection attained, +the artist would attain to typical, symbolical connotation into the +bargain. From anything like the grotesqueness of exaggerated +characterization Grillparzer was saved by his sense of form. He had as +fertile an imagination and as penetrating an intellect as Kleist, and he +excelled Kleist in the reliability of his common sense. It was no play +upon words, but the expression of conviction when he wrote, in 1836: +"Poetry is incorporation of the spirit, spiritualization of the body, +feeling of the understanding, and thought of the feeling." In its +comprehensive appeal to all of these faculties a work of art commends +itself and carries its meaning through its existence as an objective +reality, like the phenomena of nature herself. A comprehensive +sensitiveness to such an appeal, whether of art or of nature, was +Grillparzer's ideal of individual nature and culture. He thought the +North Germans had cultivated their understanding at the expense of their +feeling, and had thereby impaired their esthetic sense. He thought the +active life in general inevitably destroyed the harmony of the faculties +and substituted an extrinsic for an intrinsic good. In the mad rush of +our own time after material wealth and power we may profitably +contemplate the picture which Grillparzer drew of himself in the +following characteristic verses: + +THE ANGLER + + Below lies the lake hushed and tranquil, + And I sit here with idle hands, + And gaze at the frolicking fishes + Which glide to and fro o'er the sands. + + They come, and they go, and they tarry; + But if I now venture a cast, + Of a sudden the playground is empty, + As my basket remains to the last. + + Mayhap if I stirred up the water, + My angling might lure the shy prey. + But then I must also give over + The sight of the fishes at play. + +[Illustration: THE GRILLPARZER MONUMENT AT VIENNA.] + + + + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + * * * * * + +MEDEA + +A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + CREON, _King of Corinth + + CREUSA, _his daughter + + JASON + + MEDEA + + GORA, _Medea's aged nurse_ + + _A herald of the Amphictyons_ + + _A peasant_ + + _Medea's children_ + + _Slaves and slave-women, attendants of + the King, etc._ + + +MEDEA (1822) + + + + +TRANSLATED BY THEODORE A. MILLER, PH.D. + + + +ACT I + + +_Before the walls of Corinth. At the left, halfway up stage, a tent is +pitched; in the background lies the sea, with a point of land jutting +out into it, on which is built a part of the city. The time is early +morning, before daybreak; it is still dark. + +At the right in the foreground a slave is seen standing in a pit digging +and throwing up shovelfuls of earth; on the opposite side of the pit +stands MEDEA, before a black chest which is strangely decorated with +gold; in this chest she keeps laying various utensils during the +following dialogue. + +MEDEA. Is it, then, done? + +SLAVE. A moment yet, my mistress. + +[GORA _comes out of the tent and stands at a distance_.] + +MEDEA. Come! First the veil, and then the goddess' staff. + I shall not need them more; here let them rest. + Dark night, the time for magic, is gone by, + And what is yet to come, or good or ill, + Must happen in the beamy light of day.-- + This casket next; dire, secret flames it hides + That will consume the wretch who, knowing not, + Shall dare unlock it. And this other here, + Full-filled with sudden death, with many an herb, + And many a stone of magic power obscure, + Unto that earth they sprang from I commit. + + [_She rises_.] + + So! Rest ye here in peace for evermore. + Now for the last and mightiest thing of all! + +[Illustration: MEDEA _From the Painting by Anselm Feuerbach_] + +[_The slave, who has meanwhile climbed out of the pit and taken his +stand behind the princess awaiting the conclusion of her enterprise, +now turns to help her, and grasps at an object covered with a veil and +hanging from a lance that has been resting against a tree behind MEDEA; +the veil falls, revealing the banner, with the Golden Fleece glowing +radiantly through the darkness._] + +SLAVE (_grasping the Fleece_). 'Tis this? + +MEDEA. Nay, hold thy hand! Unveil it not. + +(_Addressing the Fleece_.) + + Once more let me behold thee, fatal gift + Of trusting guest-friend! Shine for one last time, + Thou witness of the downfall of my house, + Bespattered with my father's, brother's blood, + Sign of Medea's shame and hateful crime! + +[_She stamps upon the lance-haft and breaks it in two_.] + + So do I rend thee now, so sink thee deep + In earth's dark bosom, whence, a bane to men, + Thou sprang'st. + +[_She lays the broken standard in the chest with the other objects and +shuts down the cover_.] + +GORA (_comes down_). + + What does my mistress here? + +MEDEA. Thou seest. + +GORA. Wilt thou, then, bury in the earth that Fleece, + The symbol of thy service to the gods, + That saved thee, and shall save thee yet again? + +MEDEA (_scornfully_). + + That saved me? 'Tis because it saved me not, + That here I lay it. I am safe enough. + +GORA (_ironically_). + + Thanks to thy husband's love? + +MEDEA (_to the slave, ignoring Gora's taunt_). + + Is all prepared? + +SLAVE. Yea, mistress. + +MEDEA. Come! + +[_She grasps one handle of the chest, the slave the other, and together +they carry it to the pit._] + +GORA (_observing them from a distance_). + + Oh, what a task is this + For a proud princess, daughter of a king! + +MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not help? + +GORA. Lord Jason's handmaid am I--and not thine! + Nor is it meet one slave another serve. + +MEDEA (_to the slave_). + + Now lay it in, and heap the earth upon it. + +[_The slave lets the chest down into the pit and shovels in the earth +upon it. MEDEA kneels at one side of the pit as he works._] + + GORA (_standing in the foreground_). + + Oh, let me die, ye gods of Colchis, now, + That I may look no more on such a sight! + Yet, first hurl down your lightning-stroke of wrath + Upon this traitor who hath wrought us woe. + Let me but see him die; then slay me too! + +MEDEA (_to the slave_). + + 'Tis finished. Stamp the earth about it close, + And go.--I charge thee, guard my secret well. + Thou art a Colchian, and I know thee true. + +[_The slave departs._] + +GORA (_calling after him with grim scorn_). + + If thou shalt tell thy master, woe to you both! + +(_To MEDEA._) + + Hast finished? + +MEDEA. Ay. At last I am at peace! + +GORA. The Fleece, too, didst thou bury? + + +MEDEA. Even the Fleece. + +GORA. Thou didst not leave it in Iolcos, with + Thine husband's uncle? + +MEDEA. Nay, thou saw'st it here. + +GORA. Thou hadst it still--and now hast buried it! + Gone, gone! And naught is left; all thy past life + Vanished, like wreaths of vapor in the breeze! + And naught's to come, and naught has been, and all + Thou seest is but this present fleeting hour! + There _was_ no Colchis! All the gods are dead! + Thou hadst no father, never slew thy brother I + Thou think'st not of it; lo, it never happened!-- + Think, then, thou art not wretched. Cheat thyself + To dream Lord Jason loves thee yet. Perchance + It may come true! + +MEDEA (angrily). + + Be silent, woman! + +GORA. + Nay! + Let her who knows her guilty lock her lips, + But I _will_ speak. Forth from my peaceful home + There in far Colchis, thou hast lured me here, + To be thine haughty paramour's meek slave. + Freeborn am I, yet see! mine arms are chained!-- + Through the long, troubled nights, upon my couch + I lie and weep; each morn, as the bright sun + Returns, I curse my gray hairs and my weight + Of years. All scorn me, flout me. All I had + Is gone, save heavy heart and scalding tears.-- + Nay, I will speak, and thou shalt listen, too! + +MEDEA. Say on. + +GORA. All I foretold has come to pass. + 'Tis scarce one moon since the revolted sea + Cast you ashore, seducer and seduced; + And yet e 'en now these folk flee from thy face, + And horror follows wheresoe'er thou goest. + The people shudder at the Colchian witch + With fearful whispers of her magic dark. + Where thou dost show thyself, there all shrink back + And curse thee. May the same curse smite them all!-- + As for thy lord, the Colchian princess' spouse, + Him, too, they hate, for his sake, and for thine. + Did not his uncle drive him from his palace? + Was he not banished from his fatherland + What time that uncle perished, none knows how? + Home hath he none, nor resting-place, nor where + To lay his head. What canst thou hope from him? + +MEDEA. I am his wife! + +GORA. And hop'st--? + +MEDEA. To follow him + In need and unto death. + +GORA. Ay, need and death! + Ætes' daughter in a beggar's hut! + +MEDEA. Let us pray Heaven for a simple heart; + So shall our humble lot be easier borne. + +GORA. Ha!--And thy husband--? + +MEDEA. Day breaks. Let us go. + +GORA. Nay, thou shalt not escape my questioning!--One + comfort still is left me in my grief, + And only one: our wretched plight shows clear + That gods still rule in Heaven, and mete out + To guilty men requital, late or soon. + Weep for thy bitter lot; I'll comfort thee. + Only presume not rashly to deny + The gods are just, because thou dost deny + This punishment they send, and all this woe.-- + To cure an evil, we must see it clear. + Thy husband--tell me--is he still the same? + +MEDEA. What should he be? + +GORA. O, toy not so with words! + Is he the same impetuous lover still + Who wooed thee once; who braved a hundred swords + To win thee; who, upon that weary voyage, + Laughed at thy fears and kissed away thy grief, + Poor maid, when thou wouldst neither eat nor drink, + But only pray to die? Ay, all too soon + He won thee with his passionate, stormy love. + Is he thy lover still?--I see thee tremble. + Ay, thou hast need; thou knowest he loves thee not, + But shudders at thee, dreads thee, flees thee, _hates_ thee! + And as thou didst betray thy fatherland, + So shalt thou be betrayed--and by thy lover. + Deep in the earth the symbols of thy crime + Lie buried;--but the crime thou canst not hide. + +MEDEA. Be silent! + +GORA. Never! + +MEDEA (_grasping her fiercely by the arm _). + + Silence, dame, I say! + What is this madness? Cease these frantic cries! + 'Tis our part to await whate'er may come, + Not bid it hasten.--Thou didst say but now + There is no past, no future; when a deed + Is done, 'tis done for all time; we can know + Only this one brief present instant, Now. + Say, if this Now may cradle a dim future, + Why may it not entomb the misty past? + My past! Would God that I could change it--now! + And bitter tears I weep for it, bitterer far + Than thou dost dream of.--Yet, that is no cause + To seek destruction. Rather is there need + Clearly to know myself, face honestly + The thing I am. Here to these foreign shores + And stranger folk a god hath driven us; + And what seemed right in Colchis, here is named + Evil and wickedness; our wonted ways + Win hatred here in Corinth, and distrust. + So, it is meet we change our ways and speech; + If we may be no longer what we would, + Let us at least, then, be e'en what we can.-- + The ties that bound me to my fatherland + Here in earth's bosom I have buried deep; + The magic rites my mother taught me, all + Back to the Night that bare them I have given. + Now, but a woman, weak, alone, defenseless, + I throw me in my husband's open arms! + He shuddered at the Colchian witch! But now + I am his true, dear wife; and surely he + Will take me to his loving, shelt'ring arms.-- + Lo, the day breaks, fair sign of our new life + Together! The dark past has ceased to be, + The happy future beckons!--Thou, O Earth, + The kind and gentle mother of us all, + Guard well my trust, that in thy bosom lies. + +[_As she and_ GORA _approach the tent, it opens, and _JASON _appears, +talking with a Corinthian rustic, and followed by a slave._] + +JASON. Thou saw'st the king himself? + +RUSTIC. I did, my lord. + +JASON. How went thy tale? + +RUSTIC. I Said, "One waits without, + A guest-friend of thy house, well-known to thee, + Yet so hedged round is he with traitorous foes, + He dares not enter, ere thou promise him + Peace and protection." + +JASON. And his answer?--Speak! + +RUSTIC. He comes, my lord, to meet thee. All this folk + Make pious offering to Poseidon here + Upon the seashore. Soon in festal train + They come with garlands and fair gifts, the king + Leading his daughter by the hand. 'Tis then, + As they pass by, that he will speak with thee. + +JASON. Thou hast done well. I thank thee. + +MEDEA (_coming up to him_). + + Jason, hail! + +JASON. Hail to thee, too! + + (_To the slave._) + + Go, thou, and all the others, + And pluck green branches from the budding trees + To mark you suppliants. 'Tis the custom here. + And keep a quiet, peaceful mien. Dost hear? + Now go. + +[_They depart._] + +MEDEA. Thou'rt full of thought? + +JASON. Ay, full. + +MEDEA. Thou givest + Thyself no rest. + +JASON. A fugitive--and rest? + There is no rest for such, but only flight. + +MEDEA. Last night thou didst not close thine eyes in sleep, + But wand'redst forth in the murky night, alone. + +JASON. I love the night; the sunlight hurts my eyes. + +MEDEA. And thou hast sent a message to the king. + Will he receive us kindly? + +JASON. That I wait + To hear. + +MEDEA. He is thy friend? + +JASON. He was. + +MEDEA. Then sure + His heart will soften. + +JASON. Even the kindest men + Shun friendship with the accurst. And thou dost know + How all the world doth flee us, since the death + Of my false uncle, Pelias, whom some god + In devilish sport caused to be strangled. Thus + The people whisper that I slew him, I, + Thy husband, from that land of magic come. + Dost thou not know this? + +MEDEA. Yea. + +JASON. Here's cause enough + To wake and wander all the dark night through.-- + But what hath brought thee forth, before the sun + Is up? What seek'st thou in this darkling hour? + Calling old friends from Colchis? + +MEDEA. Nay. + +JASON. Speak truth! + +MEDEA. I say, I am not. + +JASON. And I say to thee, + Better for thee if thou forget all such. + Pluck no more herbs, brew no more poison-drinks, + Nor commune with the moon, let dead men's bones + Rot in their graves at peace! Such magic arts + This folk here love not,--and I hate them, too! + This is not Colchis dark,--but sunny Greece; + Not hideous monsters, but our fellow-men + Dwell round about us. Come, henceforth, I know, + Thou wilt give o'er these rites and magic spells; + I have thy promise, and I know thee true.-- + That crimson wimple bound about thy hair + Calls long-forgotten scenes to memory. + Why wilt not wear our country's wonted dress? + I was a Colchian on thy Colchian soil; + Be thou a Greek, now I have brought thee home. + The past is dead. Why call it back to life? + Alas! It haunts us yet, do what we will! + +[MEDEA _silently removes the veil and gives it to_ GORA.] + +GORA (_whispering_). + + Scorn'st thou thy homeland thus--and all for him? + +JASON (_catching sight of _GORA). + + What! Art thou here, thou ancient beldame? Ha! + I hate thee most of all this Colchian crew. + One glance at thy dim eyes and wrinkled brow, + And lo! before my troubled sight there swims + The dusky shore of Colchis! Why must thou + Be ever hovering close beside my wife? + Begone! + +GORA (_grumblingly_). + + Why should I? + +JASON. Go! + +MEDEA. Begone, I pray. + +GORA (_sullenly to _JASON). + + Am I thy purchased slave, that thou shouldst speak + So lordly? + +JASON. Go! My hand, of its own will, + Is on my sword! Go, while there yet is time! + Often ere this I have thought to make essay + If that stern brow be softer than it seems! + +[MEDEA _leads the reluctant_ GORA _away, whispering words of comfort as +they go._ JASON _throws himself on a grass-bank, and strikes his +breast._] + + +JASON. O, heart of mine, burst from thy prison-house, + And drink the air!-- + Ay, there they lie, fair Corinth's lofty towers, + Marshalled so richly on the ocean-strand, + The cradle of my happy, golden youth! + Unchanging, gilded by the selfsame sun + As then. 'Tis I am altered, and not they. + Ye gods! The morning of my life was bright + And sunny; wherefore is my eventide + So dark and gloomy? Would that it were night! + +[MEDEA _has brought the two children out of the tent, and now leads them +by the hand to_ JASON.] + +MEDEA. See, Jason, thy two babes, who come to greet thee. + Come, children, give your sire your little hands. + +[_The children draw back, and stand shyly at one side._] + +JASON (_stretching out his hands yearningly toward the little group._) + + Is this the end, then? Do I find myself + Husband and father of a savage brood? + +MEDEA. Go, children. + +ONE CHILD. Father, is it true thou art + A Greek? + +JASON. And why? + +CHILD. Old Gora says thou art, + And calls the Greeks bad names. + +JASON. What names, my boy? + +CHILD. Traitors she says they are, and cowards, too. + +JASON (_to_ MEDEA). + + Dost hear? + +MEDEA. 'Tis Gora's foolish tales that they + Have heard, and treasured, child-like. Mark them not. + +[_She kneels beside the two children, whispering in the ear now of one, +now of the other._] + +JASON. I will not. + +[_He rises from the grass._] + + There she kneels--unhappy fate!-- + Bearing two burdens, hers, and mine as well. + +[_He paces up and down, then addresses_ MEDEA.] + + There, leave the babes awhile, and come to me. + +MEDEA (_to the children_). + + Now go, and be good children. Go, I say. + +[_The children go._] + +JASON. Think not, Medea, I am cold and hard. + I feel thy grief as deeply as mine own. + Thou'rt a brave comrade, and dost toil as truly + As I to roll away this heavy stone + That, ever falling backwards, blocks all paths, + All roads to hope. And whether thou'rt to blame, + Or I, it matters not. What's done is done. + +[_He clasps her hands in one of his, and with the other lovingly strokes +her brow._] + + Thou lov'st me still, I know it well, Medea. + In thine own way, 'tis true; but yet thou lov'st me. + And not this fond glance only--all thy deeds + Tell the same tale of thine unending love. + +[MEDEA _hides her face on his shoulder._] + + I know how many griefs bow this dear head, + How love and pity in thy bosom sit + Enthroned.--Come, let us counsel now together + How we may 'scape this onward-pressing fate + That threatens us so near. Here Corinth lies; + Hither, long years agone, a lonely youth, + I wandered, fleeing my uncle's wrath and hate; + And Creon, king of Corinth, took me in,-- + A guest-friend was he of my father's house-- + And cherished me ev'n as a well-loved son. + Full many a year I dwelt here, safe and happy. + And now-- + +MEDEA. Thou'rt silent! + +JASON. Now, when all the world + Flouts me, avoids me, now, when each man's hand + In blind, unreasoning rage is raised to strike, + I hope to find a refuge with this king.-- + One fear I have, though, and no idle one. + +MEDEA. And what is that? + +JASON. Me he will shelter safe-- + That I hold certain--and my children, too, + For they are mine. But thee-- + +MEDEA. Nay, have no fear. + If he take them, as being thine, then me, + Who am thine as well, he will not cast away. + +JASON. Hast thou forgotten all that lately chanced + There in my home-land, in my uncle's house, + When first I brought thee from dark Colchis' shores? + Hast thou forgot the scorn, the black distrust + In each Greek visage when it looked on thee, + A dark barbarian from a stranger-land? + They cannot know thee as I do,--true wife + And mother of my babes;--homekeepers they, + Nor e'er set foot on Colchis' magic strand + As I. + +MEDEA. A bitter speech. What is the end? + +JASON. The worst misfortune of mankind is this: + Calm and serene and unconcerned to court + Fate's heaviest blows, and then, when these have fallen, + To whine and cringe, bewailing one's sad lot.-- + Such folly we will none of, thou and I. + For now I seek King Creon, to proclaim + My right as guest-friend, and to clear away + These clouds of dark distrust that threaten storm.-- + Meanwhile, take thou the babes and get thee hence + Without the city walls. There wait, until-- + +MEDEA. Till when? + +JASON. Until--Why hidest thou thy face? + +MEDEA. Ah, say no more! This is that bitter fate + Whereof my father warned me! Said he not + We should torment each other, thou and I? + But no!--My spirit is not broken yet! + All that I was, all that I had, is gone, + Save this: I am thy wife! To that I'll cling + Even to death. + +JASON. Why twist my kindly words + To a false meaning that I never dreamed of? + +MEDEA. Prove that I twist thy words! I'll thank thee for it. + Quick, quick! The king draws nigh.--Let thy heart speak! + +JASON. So, wait we here the breaking of the storm. + +[GORA _comes out of the tent with the two children_; MEDEA _places +herself between the children, and at first waits in the distance, +watching anxiously all that passes. The_ KING _enters with his daughter +and attended by youths and maidens who carry the vessels for the +sacrifice._] + + +KING. Where is this stranger?--Who he is, my heart, + By its wild beating, warns me; wanderer, + And banished from his homeland, nay, mayhap + E'en guilty of those crimes men charge him with.-- + Where is the stranger? + +JASON. Here, my lord, bowed low + Before thee, not a stranger, though estranged. + A suppliant I, and come to pray thine aid. + Thrust forth from house and home, by all men shunned, + I fly to thee, my guest-friend, and beseech + In confidence the shelter of thy roof. + +CREUSA. Ay, it is he! Look, father, 'tis Prince Jason! + +[_She takes a step toward him._] + +JASON. Yea, it is I. And is this thou, Creusa, + Crowned with a yet more gentle, radiant grace, + But still the same? O, take me by the hand + And lead me to thy father, where he stands + With thoughtful brow, fixing his steady gaze + Upon my face, and dallies with his doubt + Whether to greet me kindly. Is he wroth + At me, or at my guilt, which all men cry? + +CREUSA (_taking_ JASON's _hand and leading him to her father_). + + See, father, 'tis Prince Jason! + +KING. He is welcome. + +JASON. Thy distant greeting shows me clear what place + Now best beseems me. Here at thy feet I fall + And clasp thy knees, and stretch a timid hand + To touch thy chin. Grant me my prayer, O King! + Receive and shelter a poor suppliant wretch! + +KING. Rise, Jason. + +JASON. Never, till thou-- + +KING. Rise, I say. + +[_Jason rises to his feet._] + +KING. So, from thine Argo-quest thou art returned? + +JASON. 'Tis scarce one moon since I set foot on land. + +KING. What of the golden prize ye sought? Is't won? + +JASON. The king who set the task--he hath it now. + +KING. Why art thou banished from thy fatherland? + +JASON. They drove me forth--homeless I wander now. + +KING. Ay, but why banished? I must see this clear. + +JASON. They charged me with a foul, accursèd crime. + +KING. Truly or falsely? Answer me this first. + +JASON. A false charge! By the gods I swear, 'tis false! + +KING (_swiftly grasping_ JASON's _hand and leading him forward_). + + Thine uncle perished? + +JASON. Yea, he died. + +KING. But how? + +JASON. Not at my hands! As I do live and breathe, + I swear that bloody deed was none of mine! + +KING. Yet Rumor names thee Murderer, and the word + Through all the land is blown. + +JASON. Then Rumor lies, + And all that vile land with it! + +KING. Dream'st thou then + I can believe thy single tale, when all + The world cries, "Liar!" + +JASON. 'Tis the word of one + Thou knowest well, against the word of strangers. + +KING. Say, then, how fell the king? + +JASON. 'Twas his own blood, + The children of his flesh, that did the deed. + +KING. Horror of horrors! Surely 'tis not true? + It cannot be! + +JASON. The gods know it is truth. + Give ear, and I will tell thee how it chanced. + +KING. Nay, hold. Creusa comes. This is no tale + For gentle ears. I fain would shield the maid + From knowledge of such horror. (_Aloud._) For the moment + I know enough. We'll hear the rest anon. + I will believe thee worthy while I can. + +CREUSA (_coming up to _KING CREON). + + Hast heard his tale? He's innocent, I know. + +KING. Go, take his hand. Thou canst without disgrace. + +CREUSA. Didst doubt him, father? Nay, I never did! + My heart told me these tales were never true, + These hideous stories that men tell of him. + Gentle he was, and kind; how could he, then, + Show him so base and cruel? Couldst thou know + How they have slandered thee, heaped curse on curse! + I've wept, to think our fellow-men could be + So bitter, false. For thou hadst scarce set sail, + When, sudden, all men's talk throughout the land + Was of wild deeds and hideous midnight crimes-- + The fruit of witchcraft on far Colchis' shores-- + Which thou hadst done.--And, last, a woman, dark + And dreadful, so they said, thou took'st to wife, + Brewer of poisons, slayer of her sire. + What was her name? It had a barbarous sound-- + +MEDEA (_stepping forward with the children_). + + Medea! Here am I. + +KING. Is 't she? + +JASON (_dully_). + + It is. + +CREUSA (_pressing close to her father_). + + O, horror! + +MEDEA (_to_ CREUSA). + + Thou'rt wrong. I never slew my sire. + My brother died, 'tis true; but ask my lord + If 'twas my doing. + +[_She points to _JASON.] + + True it is, fair maid, + That I am skilled to mix such magic potions + As shall bring death or healing, as I will. + And many a secret else I know. Yet, see! + I am no monster, no, nor murderess. + +CREUSA. Oh, dreadful, horrible. + +KING. And is she thy--wife? + +JASON. My wife. + +KING. Those children there? + +JASON. They are mine own. + +KING. Unhappy man! + +JASON. Yea, sooth!--Come, children, bring + Those green boughs in your hands, and reach them out + To our lord the King, and pray him for his help, + + [_He leads them up by the hand._] + + Behold, my lord, these babes. Thou canst not spurn them! + +ONE CHILD (_holding out a bough timidly to the _KING). + + See, here it is. + +KING (_laying his hands gently on the children's heads_). + + Poor tiny birdlings, snatched from out your nest! + +CREUSA (_kneeling compassionately beside the children_). + + Come here to me, poor, homeless, little orphans! + So young, and yet misfortune bows you down + So soon! So young, and oh! so innocent!-- + And look, how this one has his father's mien! + + [_She kisses the smaller boy._] + + Stay here with me. I'll be your mother, sister. + + MEDEA (_with sudden fierceness_). + + They are not orphans, do not need thy tears + Of pity! For Prince Jason is their father; + And while Medea lives, they have no need + To seek a mother! + +(_To the children._) + + Come to me-come here. + +CREUSA (_glancing at her father_). + + Shall I let them go? + +KING. She is their mother. + +CREUSA. Run + To mother, children. + +MEDEA (to children). + + Come! Why stand ye there + And wait? + +CREUSA (_to the children, who are clasping her about the neck_). + + Your mother calls, my little ones. + Run to her quick! + +[_The children go to_ MEDEA.] + +JASON (_to the_ KING). + + My lord, what is thy will? + +KING. Thou hast my promise. + +JASON. Thou wilt keep me safe? + +KING. I have said it. + +JASON. Me and mine thou wilt receive? + +KING. Nay, _thee_ I said, not _thine_.--Now follow on, + First to the altar, to our palace then. + +JASON (_as he follows the king, to _CREUSA). + + Give me thy hand, Creusa, as of yore! + +CREUSA. Thou canst not take it as of old thou didst. + +MEDEA. They go,--and I am left, forgot! Oh, children, + Run here and clasp me close. Nay, closer, tighter! + +CREUSA (_to herself, turning as they go_). + + Where is Medea? Why does she not follow? + +[_She comes back, but stands at a distance from_ MEDEA.] + + Com'st thou not to the sacrifice, then home + With us? + +MEDEA. Unbidden guests must wait without. + +CREUSA. Nay, but my father promised shelter, help. + +MEDEA. Thy words and his betokened no such aid! + +CREUSA (_approaching nearer_). + + I've grieved thee, wounded thee! Forgive, I pray. + +MEDEA. Ah, gracious sound! Who spake that gentle word? + Ay, many a time they've stabbed me to the quick, + But none e'er paused, and, pitying, asked himself + If the wound smarted! Thanks to thee, sweet maid! + Oh, when thou art thyself in sore distress, + Then may'st thou find some tender, pitying soul + To whisper soft and gracious words to thee, + To give one gentle glance--as thou to me! + +[MEDEA _tries to grasp _CREUSA's _hand, but the princess draws back +timidly._] + + Nay, shudder not! 'Tis no plague-spotted hand.-- + Oh, I was born a princess, even as thou. + For me the path of life stretched smooth and straight + As now for thee; blindly thereon I fared, + Content, where all seemed right.--Ah, happy days! + For I was born a princess, even as thou. + And as thou stand'st before me, fair and bright + And happy, so I stood beside my father, + The idol of his heart, and of his folk. + O Colchis! O my homeland! Dark and dread + They name thee here, but to my loving eyes + Thine is a shining shore! + +CREUSA _(taking her hand)_. + + Poor, lonely soul! + +MEDEA. Gentle art thou, and mild, and gracious too; + I read it in thy face. But oh, beware! + The way _seems_ smooth.--One step may mean thy fall! + Light is the skiff that bears thee down the stream, + Advance upon the silvery, shining waves, + Past gaily-flowered banks, where thou would'st pause.-- + Ah, gentle pilot, is thy skill so sure? + Beyond thee roars the sea! Oh, venture not + To quit these flowery banks' secure embrace, + Else will the current seize thy slender craft + And sweep thee out upon the great gray sea.-- + Why that fixed gaze? Dost shudder at me still? + There was a time when I had shuddered, too, + At thought of such a thing as I'm become! + +_[She hides her face on CREUSA's neck.]_ + +CREUSA. She is no wild thing! Father, see, she weeps! + +MEDEA. I am a stranger, from a far land come, + Naught knowing of this country's ancient ways; + And so they flout me, look at me askance + As at some savage, untamed animal. + I am the lowest, meanest of mankind, + I, the proud child of Colchis' mighty king!-- + Teach me what I must do. Oh, I will learn + Gladly from thee, for thou art gentle, mild. + 'Tis patient teaching, and not angry scorn, + Will tame me.-- + Is't thy wont to be so calm + And so serene? To me that happy gift + The gods denied. But I will learn of _thee_! + Thou hast the skill to know what pleases him, + What makes him glad. Oh, teach me how I may + Once more find favor in my husband's sight, + And I will thank thee, thank thee! + +CREUSA. Look, my father! + +KING. Ay, bring her with thee. + +CREUSA. Wilt thou come, Medea? + +MEDEA. I'll follow gladly, whereso'er thou goest. + Have pity on me, lone, unfriended, sad, + And hide me from the king's stern, pitiless eyes! + + (_To the_ KING.) + + Now may'st thou gaze thy fill. My fears are fled, + E'en while I know thy musings bode me ill. + Thy child is tenderer than her father. + +CREUSA. Come! + He would not harm thee. Come, ye children, too. + +[CREUSA _leads_ MEDEA _and the children away_.] + +KING. Hast heard? + +JASON. I have. + +KING. And so, that is thy wife! + That thou wert wedded, Rumor long since cried, + But I believed not. Now, when I have seen, + Belief is still less easy. She--thy wife? + +JASON. 'Tis but the mountain's peak thou seest, and not + The toilsome climb to reach it, nor those steps + By which alone the climber guides his feet.-- + I sailed away, a hot, impetuous youth, + O'er distant seas, upon the boldest quest + That e'er within the memory of man + Was ventured. To this life I said farewell, + And, the world well forgot, I fixed my gaze + Solely upon that radiant Golden Fleece + That, through the night, a star in the storm, shone out. + And none thought on return, but one and all, + As though the hour that saw the trophy won + Should be their last, strained every nerve to win. + And so, a valorous band, we sailed away, + Boastful and thirsting deep for daring deeds, + O'er sea and land, through storm and night and rocks, + Death at our heels, Death beckoning us before. + And what at other times we had thought full + Of terror, now seemed gentle, mild, and good; + For Nature was more awful than the worst + That man could do. And, as we strove with her, + And with barbarian hordes that blocked our path, + The hearts of e'en the mildest turned to flint. + Lost were those standards whereby men at home + Judge all things calmly; each became a law + Unto himself amid these savage sights.-- + But that which all men deemed could never be + Came finally to pass, and we set foot + On Colchis' distant and mysterious strand. + Oh, hadst thou seen it, wrapped in murky clouds! + There day is night, and night a horror black, + Its folk more dreadful even than the night. + And there I found--_her_, who so hateful seems + To thee. In sooth, O king, she shone on me + Like the stray sunbeam that some prisoner sees + Pierce through the crannies of his lonely cell! + Dark though she seem to thee, in that black land + Like some lone, radiant star she gleamed on me. + +KING. Yet wrong is never right, nor evil good. + +JASON. It was some god that turned her heart to me. + Fast friend was she in many a dangerous pass. + I saw how in her bosom love was born, + Which yet her royal pride bade firm restrain; + No word she spake betrayed her--'twas her looks, + Her deeds that told the secret. Then on me + A madness came, like to a rushing wind. + Her silence but inflamed me; for a new + And warlike venture then I girded me, + For love I struggled with her--and I won! + Mine she became.--Her father cursed his child; + But mine she was, whether I would or no. + 'Twas she that won me that mysterious Fleece; + She was my guide to that dank horror-cave + Where dwelt the dragon, guardian of the prize, + The which I slew, and bore the Fleece away. + Since then I see, each time I search her eyes, + That hideous serpent blinking back at me, + And shudder when I call her wife!-- + At last + We sailed away. Her brother fell. + +KING (_quickly_). + + She slew him? + +JASON. The gods' hand smote him down. Her aged father, + With curses on his lips for her, for me, + For all our days to come, with bleeding nails + Dug his own grave, and laid him down to die, + So goes the tale--grim victim of his own + Rash passion. + +KING. Dread beginning of your life + Together! + +JASON. Ay, and, as the days wore on, + More dreadful still. + +KING. Thine uncle--what of him? + +JASON. For four long years some god made sport of us + And kept us wandering far from hearth and home + O'er land and sea. Meanwhile, pent up with her + Within the narrow confines of our bark, + Seeing her face each moment of the day, + The edge of my first shuddering fear grew blunt. + The past was past.--So she became my wife. + +KING. When home thou camest, what befell thee there? + +JASON. Time passed; the memory of those ghastly days + In Colchis dimmer grew and mistier. + I, the proud Greek, now half barbarian grown, + Companioned by my wife, barbarian too, + Sought once again my home-land. Joyfully + The people cried Godspeed! as forth I fared + Long years agone. Of joyfuller greetings now, + When I returned a victor, I had dreamed. + But lo, the busy streets grew still as death + When I approached, and whoso met me, shrank + Back in dismay! The tale, grown big with horrors, + Of all that chanced in Colchis had bred fear + And hatred in this foolish people's hearts. + They fled my face, heaped insults on my wife-- + _Mine_ she was, too; who flouted her, struck me! + This evil talk my uncle slily fed; + And when I made demand that he yield up + The kingdom of my fathers, stolen by him + And kept from me by craft, he made reply + That I must put away this foreign wife, + For she was hateful in his eyes, he feared + Her dark and dreadful deeds! If I refused, + My fatherland, his kingdom, I must flee. + +KING. And thou--? + +JASON. What could I? Was she not my wife, + That trusted to my arm to keep her safe? + Who challenged her, was he not then my foe? + Why, had he named some easier behest, + By Heaven, I had obeyed not even that! + Then how grant this? I laughed at his command. + +KING. And he--? + +JASON. Spake doom of banishment for both. + Forth from Iolcos on that selfsame day + We must depart, he said. But I would not, + And stayed. + Forthwith a grievous illness seized + The king, and through the town a murmur ran + Whisp'ring strange tidings: How the aged king, + Seated before his household shrine, whereon + They had hung the Fleece in honor of the god, + Gazed without ceasing on that golden prize, + And oft would cry that thence his brother's face + Looked down on him,--my father's, whom he slew + By guile, disputing of the Argo-quest. + Ay, that dead face peered down upon him now + From every glittering lock of that bright Fleece, + In search of which, false man! he sent me forth + To distant lands, in hope that I should perish! + At last, when all the king's house saw their need, + To me for succor his proud daughters came, + Begging my wife to heal him by her skill. + But I cried, "No! Am I to save the man + Who plotted certain death for me and mine?" + And those proud maidens turned again in tears. + I shut me up within my house, unheeding + Aught else that passed. Weeping, they came again, + And yet again; each time I said them nay. + And then one night, as I lay sleeping, came + A dreadful cry before my door! I waked + To find Acastus, my false uncle's son, + Storming my portal with loud, frenzied blows, + Calling me murderer, slayer of his sire! + That night the aged king had passed from life. + Up from my couch I sprang, and sought to speak, + But vainly, for the people's howls of rage + Drowned my weak cries. Then one among them cast + A stone, then others. But I drew my blade + And through the mob to safety cut my way. + Since then I've wandered all fair Hellas o'er, + Reviled of men, a torment to myself. + And, if thou, too, refuse to succor me, + Then am I lost indeed! + +KING. Nay, I have sworn + And I will keep my oath. But this thy wife-- + +JASON. Hear me, O king, before thou end that speech! + Needs must thou take us both, or none at all! + I were a happy man,--ay, born anew-- + Were she but gone forever. But no, no! + I must protect her--for she trusted me. + +KING. These magic arts she knows--'tis them I fear. + The power to injure, spells the will to do it. + Besides, these strange, suspicious deeds of hers-- + These are not all her guilt. + +JASON. Give her one chance. + Then, if she stay not quiet, hound her forth, + Hunt her, and slay her, me, and these my babes. + Yet, till that time, I pray thee let her try + If she can live at peace with this thy folk. + This boon I crave of thee by mightiest Zeus, + The god of strangers--ay, and call upon + The ancient bond of friendship that, long since, + Our fathers formed, mine in Iolcos, thine + In Corinth here. On that long-vanished day + They dreamed there might fall need of such a tie. + And, now that need is here, do thou thy part + And succor me, lest in like evil pass + Thou make the same request, and meet denial. + +KING. 'Tis the gods' will; I yield, against my judgment, + And she shall stay. But, look you, if she show + One sign that those wild ways are not forgot, + I drive her forth from out this city straight + And yield her up to those who seek her life! + Here in this meadow, where I found thee first, + A sacred altar shall be raised, to Zeus, + The god of strangers, consecrate and to + Thy murdered uncle Pelias' bloody shades. + Here will we kneel together and pray the gods + To send their blessing on thy coming here, + And turn to mercy that which bodes us ill.-- + Now to my royal city follow swift. + +[_He turns to his attendants, who approach._] + + See my behests are faithfully obeyed. + +[_As they turn to depart, the curtain falls._] + + + +ACT II + + +_A chamber in_ CREON'S _royal palace at Corinth_. CREUSA _is discovered +seated, while_ MEDEA _occupies a low stool before her, and holds a lyre +in her arm. She is clad in the Greek fashion._ + +CREUSA. Now pluck this string--the second--this one here. + +MEDEA. So, this way? + +CREUSA. Nay, thy fingers more relaxed. + +MEDEA. I cannot. + +CREUSA. 'Tis not hard, if thou'lt but try. + +MEDEA. I have tried, patiently; but 'tis no use! + +[_She lays the lyre aside and rises._] + + Were it a spear-haft, or the weapons fierce + Of the bloody hunt, these hands were quick enough. + +[_She raises her right hand and gazes at it reproachfully._] + + Rebellious fingers! I would punish them! + +CREUSA. Perverse one! When my heart was filled with joy + At thinking how 'twould gladden Jason's heart + To hear this song from thee! + +MEDEA. Ay, thou art right. + I had forgot that. Let me try once more. + The song will please him, think'st thou, truly + please him? + +CREUSA. Nay, never doubt it. 'Tis the song he sang + When he dwelt here with us in boyhood days. + Each time I heard it, joyfully I sprang + To greet him, for it meant he was come home. + +MEDEA (_eagerly_). + + Teach me the song again! + +CREUSA. Come, listen, then. + 'Tis but a short one, nor so passing sweet; + But then--he knew to sing it with such grace, + Such joy, such lordly pride--ay, almost scorn! + +[_She sings._] + + "Ye gods above, ye mighty gods, + Anoint my head, I pray; + Make strong my heart to bear my part + Right kingly in the fray, + To smite all foes, and steal the heart + Of all fair maids away!" + + +MEDEA. Yea, yea, all these the gods bestowed on him! + +CREUSA. All what? + +MEDEA. These gifts, of which the song doth tell. + +CREUSA. What gifts? + +MEDEA. "To smite all foes, and steal the heart + Of all fair maids away!" + +CREUSA. Is't so? I never thought on that before; + I did but sing the words I heard him sing. + +MEDEA. 'Twas so he stood on Colchis' hostile strand; + Before his burning glance our warriors cringed, + And that same glance kindled a fatal fire + In the soft breast of one unhappy maid; + She struggled, fled--until at last those flames, + So long hid deep within her heart, burst forth, + And rest and joy and peace to ashes burned + In one fierce holocaust of smoky flame. + 'Twas so he stood, all shining strength and grace, + A hero, nay, a god--and drew his victim + And drew and drew, until the victim came + To its own doom; and then he flung it down + Careless, and there was none would take it up. + +CREUSA. Art thou his wife, and speak'st such things of him? + +MEDEA. Thou know'st him not; I know his inmost soul.-- + In all the wide world there is none but he, + And all things else are naught to him but tools + To shape his deeds. He harbors no mean thoughts + Of paltry gain, not he; yet all his thoughts + Are of himself alone. He plays a game + with Fortune--now his own, and now another's. + If bright Fame beckon, he will slay a man + And do it gaily. Will he have a wife? + He goes and takes one. And though hearts should break + And lives be wasted--so he have his will, + What matters it to him? Oh, he does naught + That is not right--but right is what he wants! + Thou knowest him not; I've probed his inmost soul. + And when I think on all that he has wrought, + Oh, I could see him die, and laugh the while! + +CREUSA. Farewell! + +MEDEA. Thou goest? + +CREUSA. Can I longer stay + To list such words?--Ye gods! to hear a wife + Revile her husband thus! + +MEDEA. She should speak truth, + And mine is such an one as I have said. + +CREUSA. By Heaven, if I were wedded to a man, + E'en one so base and vile as thou hast named-- + 'Though Jason is _not_ so--and had I babes, + His gift, each bearing in his little face + His father's likeness, oh, I would love them dear, + Though they should slay me! + +MEDEA. Ay, an easy task + To set, but hard to do. + +CREUSA. And yet, methinks, + If easier, 'twere less sweet.--Have thou thy way + And say whate'er thou wilt; but I must go. + First thou dost charm my heart with noble words + And seek'st my aid to win his love again; + But now thou breakest forth in hate and scorn. + I have seen many evils among men, + But worst of all these do I count a heart + That knows not to forgive. So, fare thee well! + Learn to be better, truer! + +MEDEA. Art thou angry + +CREUSA. Almost. + +MEDEA. Alas, thou wilt not give me up, + Thou, too? Thou wilt not leave me? Be my help, + My friend, my kind protector! + +CREUSA. Now thou'rt gentle, + Yet, but a moment since, so full of hate! + +MEDEA. Hate for myself, but only love for him! + +CREUSA. Dost thou love Jason? + +MEDEA. Should I else be here? + +CREUSA. I've pondered that, but cannot understand.-- + Yet, if thou truly lov'st him, I will take thee + Back to my heart again, and show thee means + Whereby thou mayst regain his love.--I know + Those bitter moods of his, and have a charm + To scatter the dark clouds. Come, to our task! + I marked this morning how his face was sad + And gloomy. Sing that song to him; thou'lt see + How swift his brow will clear. Here is the lyre; + I will not lay it down till thou canst sing + The song all through. [_She seats herself._] + Nay, come! Why tarriest there + +MEDEA. I gaze on thee, and gaze on thee again, + And cannot have my fill of thy sweet face. + Thou gentle, virtuous maid, as fair in soul + As body, with a heart as white and pure + As are thy snowy draperies! Like a dove, + A pure, white dove with shining, outspread wings, + Thou hoverest o'er this life, nor yet so much + As dipp'st thy wing in this vile, noisome slough + Wherein we wallow, struggling to get free, + Each from himself. Send down one kindly beam + From out thy shining heaven, to fall in pity + Upon my bleeding breast, distraught with pain; + And all those ugly scars that grief and hate + And evil fortune e'er have written there, + Oh, cleanse thou these away with thy soft hands, + And leave thine own dear picture in their place! + That strength, that ever was my proudest boast + From youth, once tested, proved but craven weakness. + Oh, teach me how to make my weakness strong! + +[_She seats herself on the low stool at CREUSA's feet._] + + Here to thy feet for refuge will I fly, + And pour my tale of suffering in thine ear; + And thou shalt teach me all that I must do. + Like some meek handmaid will I follow thee, + Will pace before the loom from early morn, + Nay, set my hand to all those lowly tasks + Which maids of noble blood would scorn to touch + In Colchis, as but fit for toiling serfs, + Yet here they grace a queen. Oh, I'll forget + My sire was Colchis' king, and I'll forget + My ancestors were gods, and I'll forget + The past, and all that threatens still! + +[_She springs up and leaves _CREUSA's _side._] + + But no! + That can I not forget! + +CREUSA (_following her_). + + Why so distressed? + Men have forgotten many an evil deed + That chanced long since, ay, even the gods themselves + Remember not past sorrows. + +MEDEA (_embracing her_). + + Say'st thou so? + Oh, that I could believe it, could believe it! + +JASON _enters._ + +CREUSA (_turning to him_). + + Here is thy wife. See, Jason, we are friends! + +JASON. 'Tis well. + +MEDEA. Greetings, my lord.--She is so good, + Medea's friend and teacher she would be. + +JASON. Heaven speed her task! + +CREUSA. But why these sober looks? + We shall enjoy here many happy days! + I, sharing 'twixt my sire and you my love + And tender care, while thou and she, Medea,-- + +JASON. Medea! + +MEDEA. What are thy commands, my lord? + +JASON. Hast seen the children late? + +MEDEA. A moment since; + They are well and happy. + +JASON. Look to them again! + +MEDEA. I am just come from them. + +JASON. Go, go, I say! + +MEDEA. If 'tis thy wish-- + +JASON. It is. + +MEDEA. Then I obey. + +[_She departs._] + +CREUSA. Why dost thou bid her go? The babes are safe. + +JASON. Ah..! ho, a mighty weight is rolled away + From off my soul, and I can breathe again! + Her glance doth shrivel up my very heart, + And all that bitter hate, hid deep within + My bosom, well nigh strangles me to death! + +CREUSA. What words are these? Oh, ye all-righteous gods! + He speaks now even as she a moment since. + Who was it told me, wife and husband ever + Do love each other? + +JASON. Ay, and so they do, + When some fair, stalwart youth hath cast his glance + Upon a maid, whom straightway he doth make + The goddess of his worship. Timidly + He seeks her eyes, to learn if haply she + Seek his as well; and when their glances meet, + His soul is glad. Then to her father straight + And to her mother goes he, as is meet, + And begs their treasure, and they give consent. + Comes then the bridal day; from far and near + Their kinsmen gather; all the town has part + In their rejoicing. Richly decked with wreaths + And dainty blossoms, to the altar then + He leads his bride; and there a rosy flush, + Of maiden shyness born, plays on her cheek + The while she trembles with a holy fear + At what is none the less her dearest wish. + Upon her head her father lays his hands + And blesses her and all her seed to come. + Such happy wooing breeds undying love + 'Twixt wife and husband.--'Twas of such I dreamed. + Alas, it came not! What have I done, ye gods! + To be denied what ye are wont to give + Even to the poorest? Why have I alone + No refuge from the buffets of the world + At mine own hearth, no dear companion there, + My own, in truth, my own in plighted troth? + +CREUSA. Thou didst not woo thy wife as others, then? + Her father did not raise his hand to bless? + +JASON. He raised it, ay, but armèd with a sword; + And 'twas no blessing, but a curse he spake. + But I--I had a swift and sweet revenge! + His only son is dead, and he himself + Lies dumb in the grave. His curse alone lives still-- + Or so it seems. + +CREUSA. Alas, how strange to think + Of all the change a few brief years have wrought! + Thou wert so soft and gentle, and art now + So stern. But I am still the selfsame maid + As then, have still the selfsame hopes and fears, + And what I then thought right, I think right still, + What then I blamed, cannot think blameless now.-- + But thou art changed. + +JASON. Ay, thou hast hit the truth! + The real misfortune in a hapless lot + Is this: that man is to himself untrue. + Here one must show him master, there must cringe + And bow the knee; here Justice moves a hair, + And there a grain; and, at his journey's end, + He stands another man than he who late + Set out upon that journey. And his loss + Is twofold--for the world has passed him by + In scorn, and his own self-respect is dead. + Naught have I done that in itself was bad, + Yet have had evil hopes, bad wishes, ay, + Unholy aspirations; and have stood + And looked in silence, while another sinned; + Or here have willed no evil, yet joined hands + With sin, forgetful how one wicked deed + Begets another.--Now at last I stand, + A sea of evils breaking all about, + And cannot say, "My hand hath done no wrong!"-- + O happy Youth, couldst thou forever stay! + O joyous Fancy, blest Forgetfulness, + Time when each moment cradles some great deed + And buries it! How, in a swelling tide + Of high adventure, I disported me, + Cleaving the mighty waves with stalwart breast! + But manhood comes, with slow and sober steps; + And Fancy flees away, while naked Truth + Creeps soft to fill its place and brood upon + Full many a care. No more the present seems + A fair tree, laden down with luscious fruits, + 'Neath whose cool shadows rest and joy are found, + But is become a tiny seedling which, + When buried in the earth, will sprout and bud + And bloom, and bear a future of its own. + What shall thy task in life be? Where thy home? + What of thy wife and babes? What thine own fate, + And theirs?--Such constant musings tantalize + the soul. [_He seats himself._] + +CREUSA. What should'st thou care for such? 'Tis all decreed, + All ordered for thee. + +JASON. Ordered? Ay, as when + Over the threshold one thrusts forth a bowl + Of broken meats, to feed some begging wretch! + I am Prince Jason. Spells not that enough + Of sorrow? Must I ever henceforth sit + Meek at some stranger's board, or beg my way, + My little babes about me, praying pity + From each I meet? My sire was once a king, + And so am I; yet who would care to boast + He is like Jason? Still--[_He rises._] + I passed but now + Down through the busy market-place and through + Yon wide-wayed city. Dost remember how + I strode in my young pride through those same streets + What time I came to take farewell of thee + Long since, ere sailed the Argo? How the folk + Came thronging, surging, how each street was choked + With horses, chariots, men--a dazzling blaze + Of color? How the eager gazers climbed + Up on the house-tops, swarmed on every tower, + And fought for places as they would for gold? + The air rang with the cymbals' brazen crash + And with the shouts of all that mighty throng + Crying, "Hail, Jason!" Thick they crowded round + That gallant band attired in rich array, + Their shining armor gleaming in the sun, + The least of them a hero and a king, + And in their midst the leader they adored. + I was the man that captained them, that brought + Them safe to Greece again; and it was I + That all this folk did greet with loud acclaim.-- + I trod these selfsame streets an hour ago, + But no eye sought me, greeting heard I none; + Only, the while I stood and gazed about, + I heard one rudely grumbling that I had + No right to block the way, and stand and stare. + +CREUSA. Thou wilt regain thy proud place once again, + If thou but choose. + +JASON. Nay, all my hopes are dead; + My fight is fought, and I am down, to rise + No more. + +CREUSA. I have a charm will save thee yet. + +JASON. Ay, all that thou would'st say, I know before: + Undo the past, as though it ne'er had been. + I never left my fatherland, but stayed + With thee and thine in Corinth, never saw + The Golden Fleece, nor stepped on Colchis' strand, + Ne'er saw that woman that I now call wife! + Send thou her home to her accursed land, + Cause her to take with her all memory + That she was ever here.--Do thou but this, + And I will be a man again, and dwell + With men. + +CREUSA. Is that thy charm? I know a better; + A simple heart, I mean, a mind at peace. + +JASON. Ah, thou art good! Would I could learn this peace + Of thee! + +CREUSA. To all that choose, the gods will give it. + Thou hadst it once, and canst have yet again. + +JASON. Dost thou think often on our happy youth? + +CREUSA. Ay, many a time, and gladly. + +JASON. How we were + One heart, one soul? + +CREUSA. I made thee gentler, thou + Didst give me courage.--Dost remember how + I set thy helm upon my head? + +JASON. And how + Because it was too large, thy tiny hands + Did hold it up, the while it rested soft + Upon thy golden curls? Creusa, those + Were happy days! + +CREUSA. Dost mind thee how my father + Was filled with joy to see it, and, in jest, + Did name us bride and bridegroom? + +JASON. Ay--but that + Was not to be. + +CREUSA. Like many another hope + That disappoints us.--Still, what matters it? + We mean to be no less good friends, I trust! + +[MEDEA _reënters._] + +MEDEA. I've seen the children. They are safe. + +JASON (_absently_). + + 'Tis well. + +(_Continuing his revery._) + + All those fair spots our happy youth once knew, + Linked to my memory with slender threads, + All these I sought once more, when first I came + Again to Corinth, and I cooled my breast + And dipped my burning lips in that bright spring + Of my lost childhood. Once again, methought, + I drove my chariot through the market-place, + Guiding my fiery steeds where'er I would, + Or, wrestling with some fellow of the crowd, + Gave blow for blow, while thou didst stand to watch, + Struck dumb with terror, filled with angry fears, + Hating, for my sake, all who raised a hand + Against me. Or again I seemed to be + Within the solemn temple, where we knelt + Together, there, and there alone, forgetful + Each of the other, our soft-moving lips + Up-sending to the gods from our two breasts + A single heart, made one by bonds of love. + +CREUSA. Dost thou remember all these things so well? + +JASON. They are the cup from which, in greedy draughts, + I drink the only comfort left me now. + +MEDEA (_who has gone silently up-stage and taken up again the discarded +lyre_). + + Jason, I know a song! + +JASON (_not noticing her_). + + And then the tower! + Know'st thou that tower upon the sea-strand there, + Where by thy father thou didst stand and weep, + What time I climbed the Argo's side, to sail + On that far journey? For thy falling tears + I had no eyes, my heart but thirsted deep + For deeds of prowess. Lo, there came a breeze + That loosed the wimple bound about thy locks + And dropped it on the waves. Straightway I sprang + Into the sea, and caught it up, to keep + In memory of thee when far away. + +CREUSA. Hast thou it still? + +JASON. Nay, think how many years + Are gone since then, and with them this, thy token, + Blown far by some stray breeze. + +MEDEA. I know a song! + +JASON (_ignoring her_). + + Then didst thou cry to me, "Farewell, my brother!" + +CREUSA. And now my cry is, "Brother, welcome home!" + +MEDEA (_plaintively_). + + Jason, I know a song. + +CREUSA. She knows a song + That thou wert wont to sing. I pray thee, listen, + And she will sing it thee. + +JASON. A song? Well, well! + Where was I, then?--From childhood I was wont + To dream and dream, and babble foolishly + Of things that were not and could never be. + That habit clung to me, and mocks me now. + For, as the youth lives ever in the future, + So the grown man looks alway to the past, + And, young or old, we know not how to live + Within the present. In my dreams I was + A mighty hero, girded for great deeds, + And had a loving wife, and gold, and much + Goodly possessions, and a peaceful home + Wherein slept babes of mine. + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + What is it thou + Wouldst have with me? + +CREUSA. She asks to sing a song + That thou in youth wert wont to sing to us. + +JASON (_to_ MEDEA). + + And _thou_ hast learned it? + +MEDEA. I have done my best. + +JASON. Go to! Dost think to give me back my youth, + Or happiness to win again for me, + By singing me some paltry, childish tune? + Give o'er! We will not part, but live together; + That is our fate, it seems, as things have chanced; + But let me bear no word of foolish songs + Or suchlike nonsense! + +CREUSA. Let her sing, I pray. + She hath conned it o'er and o'er, to know it well, + Indeed she hath! + +JASON. Well, sing it, sing it then! + +CREUSA (_to _MEDEA). + + So, pluck the second string. Thou know'st it still? + +MEDEA (_drawing her hand across her brow as if in pain_). + + I have forgotten! + +JASON. Ay, said I not so? + She cannot sing it.--Other songs are hers, + Like that which, with her magic arts, she sang + Unto the dragon, that he fell asleep. + That was no pure, sweet strain, like this of thine! + +CREUSA (_whispering in _MEDEA's _ear_). + + "Ye gods above, ye mighty gods--." + +MEDEA (_repeating it after her_). + + "Ye gods above--" + O gods in heaven, O righteous, mighty gods! + +[_She lets the lyre fall to the ground, and clasps both hands before her +eyes._] + +CREUSA. She weeps! Canst be so stern and hard? + +JASON (_holding_ CREUSA _back from_ MEDEA). + + Thou art + A child, and canst not know us, what we are! + The hand she feels upon her is the gods', + That reacheth her e'en here, with bloody gripe! + Then strive not thou to balk the gods' just doom. + O, hadst thou seen her in the dragon's cave, + Seen how she leaped to meet that serpent grim, + Shot forth the poisonous arrows of her tongue, + And darted hate and death from blazing eyes, + Then were thy bosom steeled against her tears!-- + Take thou the lyre, sing thou to me that song, + And exorcise the hateful demon here + That strangles, chokes me! Thou canst sing the song, + Mayhap, though she cannot. + +CREUSA. Ay, that I will. + +[_She stoops to take up the lyre._] + +MEDEA (_gripping_ CREUSA's _arm with one hand and holding her back, +while with the other she herself picks up the lyre_). + + Let be! + +CREUSA. Right gladly, if thou'lt play. + +MEDEA. Not I! + +JASON. Thou wilt not give it her? + +MEDEA. No! + +JASON. Nor to me? + +MEDEA. No! + +JASON (_striding up to her and grasping at the lyre_). + + I will take it, then! + +MEDEA (_without moving from her place, but drawing the lyre away from +him_). + + No! + +JASON. Give it me! + +MEDEA (_crushing the lyre, so that it breaks with a loud, cracking +sound_). + + Here, take it! Broken! Thy fair lyre is broken! + +[_She flings the pieces down in front of_ CREUSA.] + +CREUSA (_starting back in horror_). + + Dead! + +MEDEA (_looking swiftly about her as in a daze_). + + Dead? Who speaks of death? I am alive! + +[_She stands there violently agitated and staring dazedly before her. A +trumpet-blast sounds without._] + +JASON. Ha, what is that? + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + Why standest silent there? + Thou'lt rue this moment, that I know full well! + +[_Another trumpet-blast without. The _KING_ appears suddenly at the +door._] + +JASON (_hurrying to meet him_). + + What means that warlike trumpet-blast without? + +KING. Unhappy man, canst ask? + +JASON. I do, my lord! + +KING. The stroke that I so feared is fall'n at last.-- + Before my palace gates a herald stands, + Sent hither from the Amphictyons' holy seat, + Seeking for news of thee and of thy wife, + Crying to Heaven the doom of banishment + On both! + +JASON. This, too? + +KING. So is it--. Peace, he comes. + +[_The palace doors swing open and a_ HERALD _enters, followed by two +trumpeters and, at a little distance, by a numerous suite._] + +HERALD. The blessing of the gods upon this house! + +KING (_solemnly_). + + Who art thou? On what errand art thou come? + +HERALD. A herald of the gods am I, sent forth + From the ancient council of the Amphictyons + That speaks its judgments in that holy town + Of freedom, Delphi. And I follow close, + With cries of vengeance, on the guilty tracks + Of those false kinsmen of King Pelias, + Who ruled Iolcos, ere he fell in death. + +KING. Thou seek'st the guilty? Seek in his own house, + 'Mongst his own children seek them--but not here! + +HERALD. Here have I found them. Here I'll speak my charge: + Thou art accursed, Jason, thou, and she, + Thy wife! With evil magic are ye charged, + Wherewith thine uncle darkly ye did slay. + +JASON. A lie! Naught know I of mine uncle's death! + +HERALD. Then ask thy wife, there; she will know, perchance. + +JASON. Was 't she that slew him? + +HERALD. Not with her own hand, + But by those magic arts ye know so well, + Which ye have brought here from that foreign land. + For, when the king fell sick--perchance e'en then + A victim, for the signs of his disease + Were strange and dreadful--to Medea then + His daughters came, and begged for healing balms + From her who knew so well to heal. And she + Gave swift consent, and followed them. + +JASON. Nay, hold! + She went not! I forbade it, and she stayed. + +HERALD. The first time, yes. But when, unknown to thee, + They came again, she companied them back, + Only demanding, if she healed the king, + The Golden Fleece in payment for her aid; + It was a hateful thing to her, she said; + And boded evil. And those foolish maids, + All joyful, promised. So she came with them + To the king's chamber, where he lay asleep. + Straightway she muttered strange and secret words + Above him, and his sleep grew ever deep + And deeper. Next, to let the bad blood out, + She bade them ope his veins. And even this + They did, whereat his panting breath grew still + And tranquil; then the gaping wounds were bound, + And those sad maids were glad to think him healed. + Forth went Medea then, as she hath said; + His daughters, too, departed, for he slept. + But, on a sudden, came a fearful cry + From out his chamber! Swift his daughters sped + To aid him, and--oh, ghastly, horrible!-- + There on the pavement lay the aged king, + His body twisted in a hideous knot, + The cloths that bound his veins all torn away + From off his gaping wounds, whence, in a black + And sluggish stream, his blood came welling forth. + He lay beside the altar, where the Fleece + For long was wont to hang--and that was gone! + But, in that selfsame hour, thy wife was seen, + The golden gaud upon her shoulder flung, + Swift hasting through the night. + +MEDEA (_dully, staring straight before her_). + + 'Twas my reward!-- + I shudder still, when'er I think upon + The old man's furious rage! + +HERALD. Now, that no longer + Such horrors bide here, poisoning this land + With their destructive breath, I here proclaim + The solemn doom of utter banishment + On Jason, the Thessalian, Aeson's son, + Spouse of a wicked witch-wife, and himself + An arrant villain; and I drive him forth + From out this land of Greece, wherein the gods + Are wont to walk with men; to exile hence, + To flight and wandering I drive him forth, + And with him, this, his wife, ay, and his babes, + The offspring of his marriage-bed. Henceforth + No rood of this, his fatherland, be his, + No share in her protection or her rights! + +[_He raises his hand and three times makes solemn proclamation, turning +to different quarters._] + + Banished are Jason and Medea! + Medea and Jason are banished! + Banished are Jason and Medea! + + And whoso harbors him, or gives him aid, + After three days and nights are come and gone, + Upon that man I here declare the doom + Of death, if he be burgher; if a king, + Or city-state, then war shall be proclaimed. + So runs the Amphictyons' reverend decree, + The which I here proclaim, as is most meet, + That each may know its terms, and so beware.-- + The blessing of the gods upon this house! + +[_He turns to depart._] + +JASON. Why stand ye there, ye walls, and crash not down + To save this king the pains of slaying me? + +KING. A moment yet, sir Herald. Hear this, too. + +[_He turns to_ JASON.] + + Think'st thou I rue the promise I have made? + If I could think thee guilty, ay, wert thou + My very son, I'd give thee up to these + That seek thee. But thou art not! Wherefore, I + Will give thee shelter. Stay thou here.--Who dares + To question Creon's friend, whose innocence + Stands pledged by mine own words? Who dares, I say, + To lay a hand upon my son to be? + Yea, Herald, on my son to be, the spouse + Of this my daughter! 'Twas my dearest wish + In happy days long past, when Fortune smiled; + Now, when he's compassed round by stormy waves + Of evil fortune, it shall come to pass. + Ay, she shall be thy wife, and thou shalt stay + Here, with thy father. And I will myself + Make answer for it to the Amphictyons. + Who now will cry him guilty, when the king + Hath sworn him free from blame, and given him + The hand of his own daughter? + +(_To the_ HERALD.) + + Take my words + To those that sent thee hither. Go in peace! + The blessing of the gods be on thy head! + +[_The_ HERALD _goes._] + +KING (_turning to_ MEDEA). + + This woman, whom the wilderness spewed up + To be a bane to thee and all good men, + Her that hath wrought the crimes men lay to thee, + Her do I banish forth from out this land + And all its borders. Death shall be her lot + And portion, if the morrow find her here! + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + Depart from out my fathers' pious town, + And make the air thou poisonest pure again! + +MEDEA. Is that thy sentence? Falls it, then, on me, + And me alone? And yet I say to thee, + O king, I did it not! + +KING. Nay, thou hast done + Enough of evil since he saw thee first. + Away with thee from out my house and town! + +MEDEA (_turning to _JASON). + + Say, must I go? So be it--but follow me! + We bear the blame together, let us bear + The punishment as well! Dost thou not know + The ancient proverb: "None shall die alone?" + One home for both, one body--and one death! + Long since, when Death stared grimly in our eyes, + We sware that oath. Now keep it! Follow me! + +JASON. Nay, touch me not! Begone from me, thou curse + Of all my days, who hast robbed me of my life + And happiness, from whom, when first mine eyes + Met thine, I shrank and shuddered, though I thought + Those fearful struggles in my very soul + Were but the signs of rash and foolish love. + Hence, to that wilderness that cradled thee! + Back to that bloody folk whose child thou art + In very thought and deed! But, ere thou go, + Give back to me what thou hast stol'n away, + Thou wanton! Give Prince Jason back to me! + +MEDEA. Is't Jason thou desirest? Take him, then! + But who shall give Medea back to me? + Was't I that in thy homeland sought thee out? + Was't I that lured thee from thy father's house? + Was't I that forced, ay, forced my love on thee? + Was't I that wrenched thee from thy fatherland, + Made thee the butt of strangers' haughty scorn, + Or dragged thee into wantonness and crime? + Thou nam'st me Wanton?--Woe is me! I am! + Yet--how have I been wanton, and for whom? + Let these pursue me with their venomous hate, + Ay, drive me forth and slay me! 'Tis their right, + Because I am in truth a dreadful thing + And hateful unto them, and to myself + A deep abyss of evil, terrible! + Let all the world heap curses on my head, + Save only thee alone! Nay, thou shalt not! + 'Twas thou inspiredst all these horrid deeds, + Yea, thou alone. Dost thou not call to mind + How I did clasp my hands about thy knees + That day thou bad'st me steal the Golden Fleece? + And, though I sooner far had slain myself, + Yet thou, with chilly scorn, commandedst me + To take it. Dost remember how I held + My brother in my bosom, faint to death + From that fierce stroke of thine that laid him low, + Until he tore him from his sister's arms + To 'scape thy frenzied vengeance, and leaped swift + Into the sea, to find a kinder death + Beneath its waves? Dost thou remember?--Nay, + Come here to me, and shrink not so away + To shelter thee behind that maiden there! + +JASON (_coming forward_). + + I hate thee,--but I fear thee not! + +MEDEA. Then come! + +[_She addresses him earnestly in low tones._] + + Dost thou remember--Nay, look not on me + So haughtily!--how, on that very day + Before thine uncle died, his daughters went + So sorrowful and hopeless forth from me, + Because I sent them back at thy behest, + And would not aid them? Then thou cam'st, alone, + Unto my chamber, looking in mine eyes + So earnestly, as though some purpose grim, + Deep hidden in thy heart, would search my soul + To find its like therein? And how thou saidst + That they were come to me for healing balms + To cure their old, sick father? 'Twas thy wish + That I should brew a cool, refreshing draught + To cure him of his ills forevermore-- + And thee as well! Hast thou forgotten that? + Nay, look at me, eye straight to eye, if thou + Dost dare! + +JASON. Thou demon! Why these frantic words, + This rage against me? Why recall to life + These shadows of my dreams and make them real, + Why hold a mirror up to me wherein + Naught but thine own vile thoughts do show, and say + 'Tis I that look therefrom? Why call my thoughts + From out the past to charge me with thy crimes? + Naught know I of thy plans and plottings, naught! + From the beginning I have hated thee, + I've cursed the day when first I saw thy face; + 'Tis pity only held me at thy side! + But now I cast thee off forevermore + With bitter curses, e'en as all the world + Doth curse thee! + +MEDEA (_throwing herself at his feet with a cry of agony_). + + No! My love, my husband! No! + +JASON (_roughly_). + + Begone! + +MEDEA. That day my old, gray father cursed + My name, thou gay'st thy promise, nevermore + To leave me, nevermore! Now keep thy word! + +JASON. Thine own rash deeds have made that promise naught, + And here I give thee to thy father's curse. + +MEDEA. I hate thee!--Come! Come, O my husband! + +JASON. Back! + +MEDEA. Come to my loving arms! 'Twas once thy wish! + +JASON. Back! See, I draw my sword. I'll strike thee dead, + Unless thou yield, and go! + +MEDEA (_approaching him fearlessly_). + + Then strike me, strike! + +CREUSA (_to_ JASON). + + Hold! Let her go in peace, and harm her not! + +MEDEA. Ha! Thou here, too, thou snow-white, silvery snake? + Oh, hiss no more, nor shoot thy forked tongue + With honied words upon it! Thou hast got + What thou didst wish--a husband at the last! + For this, then, didst thou show thyself so soft + And smooth-caressing, for this only wind + Thy snaky coils so close about my neck? + Oh, if I had a dagger, I would smite + Thee, and thy father, that so righteous king! + For this, then, hast thou sung those winsome songs, + Taught me to play the lyre, and tricked me out + In these rich garments? + +[_She suddenly rends her mantle in twain._] + + Off with you! Away + With the vile gifts of that accursed jade! + +[_She turns to _JASON.] + + See! As I tear this mantle here in twain, + Pressing one part upon my throbbing breast, + And cast the other from me at thy feet, + So do I rend my love, the common tie + That bound us each to each. What follows now + I cast on thee, thou miscreant, who hast spurned + The holy claims of an unhappy wife!-- + Give me my children now, and let me go! + +KING. The children stay with us. + +MEDEA. They may not go + With their own mother? + +KING. With a wanton, no! + +MEDEA (_to_ JASON). + + Is it thy will, too? + +JASON. Ay! + +MEDEA (_hastening to the door_). + + Come forth, my babes! + Your mother calls you! + +KING. Back! + +MEDEA. 'Tis, then, thy will + That I go forth alone?--'Tis well, so be it! + I say but this, O king: Before the gray + Of evening darken, give me back my babes! + Enough for now! + +(_Turning to_ CREUSA.) + + But thou, who standest there + In glistering raiment, cloaking thy delight, + In thy false purity disdaining me, + I tell thee, thou wilt wring those soft, white hands + In agony, and envy me my lot, + Hard though it seemeth now! + +JASON. How dar'st thou? + +KING. Hence! + +MEDEA. I go, but I will come again, to take + What is mine own, and bring what ye deserve. + +KING. Ha! Wouldst thou threaten us before our face? + If words will not suffice-- + +(_To his attendants._) + + Then teach ye her + How she should bear herself before a king! + +MEDEA. Stand back! Who dares to block Medea's path? + Mark well, O king, this hour when I depart. + Trust me, thou never saw'st a blacker one! + Make way! I go,--and take with me revenge! + +[_She goes out._] + +KING. Our punishment, at least, will follow thee! + +(_To_ CREUSA.) + + Nay, tremble not. We'll keep thee safe from her! + +CREUSA. I wonder only, whether what we do + Be right? If so, no power can work us harm! + +(_The curtain falls._) + + + +ACT III + + +_The outer court of CREON'S palace. In the background the entrance to +the royal apartments; on the right at the side a colonnade leading to_ +MEDEA's _apartments._ + +MEDEA _is standing in the foreground, behind her at a distance _GORA _is +seen speaking to a servant of the king._ + +GORA. Say to the king: + Medea takes no message from a slave. + Hath he aught to say to her, + He must e'en come himself. + Perchance she'll deign to hear him. + +[_The slave departs._] + +(GORA _comes forward and addresses _MEDEA.) + + They think that thou wilt go, + Taming thy hate, forgetting thy revenge. + The fools! + Or wilt thou go? Wilt thou? + I could almost believe thou wilt. + For thou no longer art the proud Medea, + The royal seed of Colchis' mighty king, + The wise and skilful daughter of a wise + And skilful mother. + Else hadst thou not been patient, borne their gibes + So long, even until now! + +MEDEA. Ye gods! O hear her! Borne! Been patient! + So long, even until now! + +GORA. I counseled thee to yield, to soften, + When thou didst seek to tarry yet awhile; + But thou wert blind, ensnared; + The heavy stroke had not yet fallen, + Which I foresaw, whereof I warned thee first. + But, now that it is fall'n, I bid thee stay! + They shall not laugh to scorn this Colchian wife, + Heap insult on the blood of our proud kings! + Let them give back thy babes, + The offshoots of that royal oak, now felled, + Or perish, fall themselves, + In darkness and in night! + Is all prepared for flight? + Or hast thou other plans? + +MEDEA. First I will have my children. For the rest, + My way will be made plain. + +GORA. Then thou wilt flee? + +MEDEA. I know not, yet. + +GORA. Then they will laugh at thee! + +MEDEA. Laugh at me? No! + +GORA. What is thy purpose, then? + +MEDEA. I have no heart to plan or think at all. + Over the silent abyss + Let dark night brood! + +GORA. If thou wouldst flee, then whither? + +MEDEA (_sorrowfully_). + + Whither? Ah, whither? + +GORA. Here in this stranger-land + There is no place for us. They hate thee sore, + These Greeks, and they will slay thee! + +MEDEA. Slay me? Me? + Nay, it is I will slay them! + +GORA. And at home, + There in far Colchis, danger waits us, too! + +MEDEA. O Colchis, Colchis! O my fatherland! + +GORA. Thou hast heard the tale, how thy father died + When thou wentest forth, and didst leave thy home, + And thy brother fell? He died, says the tale, + But methinks 'twas not so? Nay, he gripped his grief, + Sharper far than a sword, and, raging 'gainst Fate, + 'Gainst himself, fell on death! + +MEDEA. Dost thou, too, join my foes? + Wilt thou slay me? + +GORA. Nay, hark! I warned thee. I said: + "Flee these strangers, new-come; most of all flee this man, + Their leader smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor!" + +MEDEA. "Smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor" + --were these thy words? + +GORA. Even these. + +MEDEA. And I would not believe? + +GORA. Thou wouldst not; but into the deadly net + Didst haste, that now closes over thine head. + +MEDEA. "A smooth-tongued traitor!" Yea, that is the word! + Hadst thou said but that, I had known in time; + But thou namedst him foe to us, hateful, and dread, + While friendly he seemed and fair, and I hated him not. + +GORA. Thou lovest him, then? + +MEDEA. I? Love? + I hate and shudder at him + As at falsehood, treachery, + Black horrors--as at myself! + +GORA. Then punish him, strike him low! + Avenge thy brother, thy sire, + Our fatherland and our gods, + Our shame-yea, mine, and thine! + +MEDEA. First I will have my babes; + All else is hidden in night. + What think'st thou of this?--When he comes + Treading proud to his bridal with her, + That maid whom I hate, + If, from the roof of the palace above him, + Medea crash down at his feet and lie there, + A ghastly corpse? + +GORA. 'Twere a sweet revenge! + +MEDEA. Or if, at the bridal-chamber's door, + I lay her dead in her blood, + Beside her the children--Jason's children--dead? + +GORA. But thyself such revenge would hurt, and not him. + +MEDEA. Ah, I would that he loved me still, + That I might slay myself, and make him groan! + But what of that maid, so false, so pure? + +GORA. Ha! There thou strikest nearer to the mark! + +MEDEA. Peace, peace! Back, whence ye came, ye evil thoughts! + Back into silence, into darkest night! + +[_She covers her face with her veil._] + +GORA. Those heroes all, who made with him + The wanton Argo-voyage hence, + The gods above have recompensed + With just requital, swift revenge. + Death and disgrace have seized them all + Save one--how long shall he go free? + Each day I listen greedily, + And joy to hear how they have died, + How fell these glorious sons of Greece, + The robber-band that fought their way + Back from far Colchis. Thracian maids + Rent limb from limb sweet Orpheus' frame; + And Hylas found a watery grave; + Pirithoüs and Theseus pierced + Even to Hades' darksome realm + To rob that mighty lord of shades + Of his radiant spouse, Persephone; + But then he seized, and holds them there + For aye in chains and endless night. + +MEDEA (_swiftly snatching her veil from before her face_). + + Because they came to steal his wife? + Good! Good! 'Twas Jason's crime, nay, less! + +GORA. Great Heracles forsook his wife, + For he was snared by other charms, + And in revenge she sent to him + A linen tunic, which he took + And clad himself therewith--and sank + To earth in hideous agonies; + For she had smeared it secretly + With poison and swift death. He sank + To earth, and Oeta's wooded heights + Were witness how he died in flames! + +MEDEA. She wove it, then, that tunic dire + That slew him? + +GORA. Ay, herself. + +MEDEA. Herself! + +GORA. Althea 'twas--his mother--smote + The mighty Meleager down + Who slew the Calydonian boar; + The mother slew her child. + +MEDEA. Was she + Forsaken by her husband, too? + +GORA. Nay, he had slain her brother. + +MEDEA. Who? + The husband + +GORA. Nay, her son, I mean. + +MEDEA. And when the deed was done, she died? + +GORA. She liveth yet. + +MEDEA. To do a deed + Like that--and live! Oh, horrible! + Thus much do I know, thus much I see clear + Not unavenged shall I suffer wrong; + What that vengeance shall be, I know not,--would not know. + Whatso'er I can do, he deserves,--ay, the worst! + But--mankind are so weak, + So fain to grant time for the sinner to feel remorse! + +GORA. Remorse? Ask thy lord if he rue his deed! + For, see! He draws nigh with hasty steps. + +MEDEA. And with him the king, my bitter foe, + Whose counsel hath led my lord astray. + Him must I flee, for I cannot tame + My hatred. + +[_She goes swiftly toward the palace._] + + But if lord Jason wish + To speak with me, then bid him come in, + To my side in the innermost chambers--there + I would parley with him, not here + By the side of the man who is my foe. + They come. Away! + +[_She disappears into the palace._] + +GORA. Lo, she is gone! + And I am left to deal with the man + Who is killing my child, who hath brought it to pass + That I lay my head on a foreign soil, + And must hide my tears of bitter woe, + Lest I see a smile on the lips of these strangers here. + +_The_ KING _and _JASON _enter._ + +KING. Why hath thy mistress fled? 'Twill serve her not + +GORA. Fled? Nay, she went, because she hates thy face + +KING. Summon her forth! + +GORA. She will not come. + +KING. She shall! + +GORA. Then go thou in thyself and call her forth, + If thou dost dare. + +KING (_angrily_). + + Where am I, then, and who, + That this mad woman dares to spite me thus? + The servant mirrors forth the mistress' soul-- + Servant and mistress mirror forth that land + Of darkness that begat them! Once again + I tell thee, call her forth! + +GORA (_pointing to Jason_). + + There stands the man + That she would speak with. Let him go within-- + If he hath courage for it. + +JASON. Get thee gone, + Old witch, whom I have hated from the first! + Tell her, who is so like thee, she must come. + +GORA. Ah, if she were like me, thou wouldst not speak + In such imperious wise! I promise thee + That she shall know of it, and to thy dole! + +JASON. I would have speech with her. + +GORA. Go in! + +JASON. Not I! + 'Tis she that shall come forth. Go thou within + And tell her so! + +GORA. Well, well, I go, if but + To rid me of the sight of you, my lords; + Ay, and I'll bear your summons, but I know + Full well she will not come, for she is weak + And feels her sickness all too grievously. + +[_She goes into the palace._] + +KING. Not one day longer will I suffer her + To stay in Corinth. This old dame but now + Gave utterance to the dark and fell designs + On which yon woman secretly doth brood. + Methinks her presence is a constant threat. + Thy doubts, I hope, are laid to rest at last? + +JASON. Fulfil, O King, thy sentence on my wife! + She can no longer tarry where I am, + So, let her go; the sentence is not harsh. + Forsooth, though I am less to blame than she, + My lot is bitt'rer, harder far than hers. + She but returns to that grim wilderness + Where she was born, and, like a restive colt + From whom the galling yoke is just removed, + Will rush to freedom, and become once more + Untamed and stubborn. + But my place is here; + Here must I sit and while away the days + In meek inaction, burdened with the scorn + And scoffing of mankind, mine only task + Dully to muse upon my vanished past. + +KING. Thou wilt be great and famous yet again, + Believe me. Like the bow which, once set free + From the fierce strain, doth speed the arrow swift + And straight unto its mark, whenso the hand + Is loosed that bent it, so wilt thou spring back + And be thyself again, once she is gone. + +JASON. Naught feel I in my breast to feed such hopes! + Lost is my name, my fame; I am no more + Than Jason's shadow, not that prince himself. + +KING. The world, my son, is not so harsh as thou: + An older man's misstep is sin and crime; + The youth's, a misstep only, which he may + Retrace, and mend his error. All thy deeds + In Colchis, when thou went a hot-head boy, + Will be forgot, if thou wilt show thyself + Henceforth a man. + +JASON. O, might I trust thy words, + I could be happy once again! + +KING. Let her + But leave thy side, and thou wilt say I'm right. + Before the Amphictyons' judgment-seat I'll go + And speak for thee, defend thy righteous cause, + And prove that it was she alone, Medea, + Who did those horrid deeds wherewith thou'rt charged, + Prove her the wanton, her the darksome witch. + Lifted shall be the doom of banishment + From off thy brow. If not, then thou shalt rise + In all thy stubborn strength, and to the breeze + Unfurl the glorious banner of pure gold + Which thou didst bring from earth's most distant land, + And, like a rushing torrent, all the youth + Of Greece will stream to serve thee once again + And rally 'round thy standard to oppose + All foes that come, rally 'round thee, now purged + Of all suspicion, starting life anew, + The glorious hope of Greece, and of the Fleece + The mighty hero!--Thou hast got it still? + +JASON. The Fleece? + +KING. Ay. + +JASON. Nay, not I. + +KING. And yet thy wife + Bore it away from old King Pelias' house. + +JASON. Then she must have it still. + +KING. If so, then she + Shall straightway yield it up, perforce. It is + The pledge and symbol of thy power to come. + Ay, thou shalt yet be strong and great again, + Thou only son of my old friend! A king + Am I, and have both wealth and power, the which + With mine own daughter's spouse I'll gladly share. + +JASON. And I will go to claim the heritage + My fathers left me, of that false man's son + That keeps it from me. For I, too, am rich, + Could I but have my due. + +KING. Peace! Look, she comes + Who still doth vex us. But our task is brief. + +MEDEA _comes out of the palace, attended by_ GORA. + +MEDEA. What wouldst thou with me? + +KING. I did send thee late + Some slaves to speak my will, whom thou didst drive + With harsh words forth, and didst demand to hear + From mine own lips whate'er I had to say, + What my commands and what thou hadst to do. + +MEDEA. Say on! + +KING. Naught strange or new have I to tell. + I would but speak once more the doom I set + Upon thy head, and add thereto that thou + Must forth today. + +MEDEA. And why today? + +KING. The threats + That thou halt uttered 'gainst my daughter's life-- + For those against mine own I do not care: + The savage moods that thou of late hast shown, + All these do warn me how thy presence here + Bodes ill. Wherefore, today thou must begone! + +MEDEA. Give me my babes, and I will go--perhaps! + +KING. Nay, no "Perhaps!" Thou goest! But the babes + Stay here! + +MEDEA. How? Mine own babes? But I forget + To whom I speak. Let me have speech with him, + My husband, standing there. + +KING. Nay, hear her not! + +MEDEA (_to _JASON). + + I pray thee, let me speak with thee! + +JASON. Well, well, + So be it, then, that thou may'st see I have + No fear of any words of thine to me. + +(_To the_ KING.) + + Leave us, my lord! I'll hear what she would say. + +KING. I go, but I am fearful. She is sly + And cunning! [_He departs._] + +MEDEA. So, he's gone! No stranger now + Is here to vex us, none to come between + Husband and wife, and, what our hearts do feel, + That we can speak out clear.--Say first, my lord, + What are thy plans, thy wishes? + +JASON. Thou dost know. + +MEDEA. I guess thy will, but all thy secret thoughts + I know not. + +JASON. Be contented with the first, + For they are what decide. + +MEDEA. Then I must go? + +JASON. Go! + +MEDEA. And today? + +JASON. Today! + +MEDEA. And thou canst stand + So calm before me and speak such a word, + Nor drop thine eyes for shame, nor even blush? + +JASON. I must needs blush, if I should say aught else! + +MEDEA. Ha! Good! Well done! Speak ever words like these + When thou wouldst clear thyself in others' eyes, + But leave such idle feigning when thou speak'st + With me! + +JASON. Dost call my dread of horrid deeds + Which thou hast done, a sham, and idle, too? + Thou art condemned by men; the very gods + Have damned thee! And I give thee up to them + And to their judgment! 'Tis a fate, in sooth, + Thou richly hast deserved! + +MEDEA. Who is this man, + This pious, virtuous man with whom I speak? + Is it not Jason? Strives he to seem mild? + O, mild and gentle one, didst thou not come + To Colchis' strand, and win in bloody fight + The daughter of its king? O, gentle, mild, + Didst thou not slay my brother, was it not + At thine own hands mine aged father fell, + Thou gentle, pious man? And now thou wouldst + Desert the wife whom thou didst steal away! + Mild? No, say rather hateful, monstrous man! + +JASON. Such wild abuse I will not stay to hear. + Thou knowest now what thou must do. Farewell! + +MEDEA. Nay, nay, I know not! Stay until I learn! + Stay, and I will be quiet even as thou.-- + So, I am banished, then? But what of thee? + Methinks the Herald's sentence named thee, too. + +JASON. When it is known that I am innocent + Of all these horrid deeds, and had no hand + In murdering mine uncle, then the ban + Will be removed from me. + +MEDEA. And thou wilt live + Peaceful and happy, for long years to come? + +JASON. I shall live quietly, as doth become + Unhappy men like me. + +MEDEA. And what of me? + +JASON. Thou dost but reap the harvest thine own hands + Have sown. + +MEDEA. My hands? Hadst thou no part therein? + +JASON. Nay, none. + +MEDEA. Didst never pray thine uncle's death + Might speedily be compassed? + +JASON. No command + At least I gave. + +MEDEA. Ne'er sought to learn if I + Had heart and courage for the deed? + +JASON. Thou know'st + How, in the first mad burst of rage and hate, + A man speaks many hot, impetuous threats + Which calm reflection never would fulfil. + +MEDEA. Once thou didst blame thyself for that mad deed; + Now thou hast found a victim who can bear + The guilt in place of thee! + +JASON. 'Tis not the thought + Of such a deed that merits punishment; + It is the deed itself. + +MEDEA (_quickly_). + + I did it not! + +JASON. Who, then, is guilty? + +MEDEA. Not myself, at least! + Listen, my husband, and be thou the first + To do me justice. + As I stood at the chamber door, to enter + And steal away the Fleece, + The king lay there on his couch; + Sudden I heard a cry! I turned, + And lo! I saw the aged king + Leap from his couch with frightful shrieks, + Twisting and writhing; and he cried, + "Com'st thou, O brother, to take revenge, + Revenge on me? Ha! Thou shalt die + Again, and yet again!" And straight + He sprang at me, to grip me fast, + For in my hands I held the Fleece. + I shook with fear, and cried aloud + For help to those dark gods I know; + The Fleece before me like a shield + I held. His face was twisted swift + To maniac grins, and leered at me! + Then, with a shriek, he madly tore + At the clothes that bound his aged veins; + They rent; the blood gushed forth in streams, + And, even as I looked, aghast + And full of horror, there he lay, + The king, at my very feet, all bathed + In his own blood-lay cold and dead! + +JASON. And thou canst stand and tell me such a tale, + Thou hateful witchwife? Get thee gone from me! + Away! I shudder at thee! Would that I + Had ne'er beheld thy face! + +MEDEA. Thou knewest well + That I was skilled in witchcraft, from that day + When first thou saw'st me at my magic arts, + And still didst yearn and long to call me thine! + +JASON. I was a youth then, and an arrant fool! + What boys are pleased with, men oft cast away. + +MEDEA. O, say no word against the golden days + Of youth, when heads are hot, but hearts are pure! + O, if thou wert but now what once thou wast, + Then were I happier far! Come back with me + Only a little step to that fair time + When, in our fresh, green youth, we strayed together + By Phasis' flowery marge. How frank and clear + Thy heart was then, and mine how closely sealed + And sad! But thou with thy soft, gentle light + Didst pierce my darkness, drive away the clouds, + And make me bright and happy. Thine I was, + And thou wert mine; O, Jason, is it then + Vanished forever, that far, happy time? + Or hath the bitter struggle for a hearth + And home, for name and fame, forever killed + The blooms of fairest promise on the tree + Of thy green youth? Oh, compassed though I be + With woe and heavy sorrows all about, + Yet I think often on that springtime sweet + Whence soft and balmy breezes o'er the years + Are wafted to me! If Medea then + Seemed fair to thee and lovely, how today + Can she be dread and hateful? What I was + Thou knewest, and didst seek me none the less. + Thou took'st me as I was; O, keep me, as I am! + +JASON. Thou hast forgot the dreadful deeds that since + Have come to pass. + +MEDEA. Ay, dread they are, in sooth, + And I confess it! 'Gainst mine aged sire + I sinned most deeply, 'gainst my brother, too, + And none condemns me more than I myself. + I'll welcome punishment, and I'll repent + In joy and gladness; only thou shalt not + Pronounce the doom upon me, nay, not thou! + For all my deeds were done for love of thee.-- + Come, let us flee together, once again + Made one in heart and soul! Some distant land + Will take us to its bosom. + +JASON. What land, then? + And whither should we flee? + +MEDEA. Whither! + +JASON. Thou'rt mad, + And dost revile me, that I do not choose + To share thy raving! No! Our life together + Is done! The gods have cursed our union long, + As one with deeds of cruelty begun, + That since hath waged and found its nourishment + In horrid crimes. E'en granting thou didst not + Thyself slay Pelias, who was there to see? + Or who would trust thy tale? + +MEDEA. Thou! + +JASON. Even then, + What can I do, how clear thee?--It were vain! + Come, let us yield to Fate, not stubbornly + Defy it! Let us each repentance seek, + And suffer our just doom, thou fleeing forth + Because thou may'st not stay, I tarrying here + When I would flee. + +MEDEA. Methinks thou dost not choose + The harder lot! + +JASON. Is it so easy, then, + To live, a stranger, in a stranger's house, + Subsisting on a stranger's pitying gifts? + +MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not choose + To fly with me? + +JASON. But whither? Ay, and how? + +MEDEA. There was a time thou hadst not shown thyself + So over-prudent, when thou camest first + To Colchis from the city of thy sires, + Seeking the glitter of an empty fame + In distant lands. + +JASON. I am not what I was; + Broken my strength, the courage in my breast + A dead thing. And 'tis thou I have to thank + For such misfortune! Bitter memories + Of days long past lie like a weight of lead + Upon my anxious soul; I cannot raise + Mine eyes for heaviness of heart. And, more, + The boy of those far days is grown a man, + No longer, like a wanton, sportive child, + Gambols amid bright flow'rs, but reaches out + For ripened fruit, for what is real and sure. + Babes I have got, but have no place where they + May lay their heads; my task it is to make + An heritage for these. Shall Jason's stock + Be but a withered weed beside the road, + By all men spurned and trampled? If thou e'er + Hast truly loved me, if I e'er was dear + To thee, oh, give me proof thereof, restore + Myself to me again, and yield a grave + To me in this, my homeland! + +MEDEA. And in this + Same homeland a new marriage-bed, forsooth I + Am I not right? + +JASON. What idle talk is this? + +MEDEA. Have I not heard how Creon named thee son, + And husband of his daughter? She it is, + Creusa, that doth charm thee, hold thee fast + In Corinth! 'Tis for her that thou wouldst stay! + Confess, I have thee there! + +JASON. Thou hast me not, + And never hadst me. + +MEDEA. So, thou wilt repent, + And I, thy wife Medea, I must go + Away?--I stood beside you there and wept + As thou didst trace with her your happy days + Of youth together, tarrying at each step + In sweet remembrance, till thou didst become + Naught but an echo of that distant past.-- + I will not go, no, will not! + +JASON. Thou'rt unjust, + And hard and wild as ever! + +MEDEA. I unjust! + Thou dost not seek her, then, to wife? Say no! + +JASON. I do but seek a place to lay me down + And rest. What else will come, I do not know! + +MEDEA. Ay, but I know full well, and it shall be + My task to thwart thee, with the help of heaven! + +JASON. Thou canst not speak with calmness, so, farewell! + +[_He takes a step toward the door._] + +MEDEA. Jason! + +JASON (_turning back_). + + What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA. 'Tis, perchance, the last, + Last time that we shall speak together! + +JASON. True; + Then let us without hate or rancor part. + +MEDEA. Thou mad'st me love thee deeply. Wouldst thou now + Flee from my face? + +JASON. I must! + +MEDEA. Hast robbed me, too, + Of my dear father; and wouldst steal away + Mine husband? + +JASON. I am helpless! + +MEDEA. At thy hands + My brother met his death untimely. Him + Thou hast taken from me, too, and now wouldst fly + And leave me? + +JASON. He was innocent; he fell. + And I am blameless, too; but I must flee thee. + +MEDEA. I left my fatherland to follow thee! + +JASON. Thou didst but follow thine own will, not me. + Gladly would I, if thou hadst rued thy deed, + Have sent thee back again. + +MEDEA. I am accurst, + And damned by all the world,--and all for thee! + And, for thy sake, I even hate myself! + Wilt thou forsake me still? + +JASON. 'Tis not my will, + Nay; but a higher bidding tells me plain + That I must leave thy side. Thy fate seems hard, + But what of mine? And yet, I pity thee, + If that be any comfort! + +MEDEA (_falling upon her knees to him_). + + Jason! + +JASON. Well? + What wouldst thou further? + +MEDEA (_rising suddenly_). + + Nothing! It is past + And done with! O proud sires, O mighty gods + Of Colchis, grant forgiveness to thy child + Who hath so humbled and dishonored you, + (Ay, and herself as well)--for I was pressed + And needs must do it. Now, receive me back! + +[JASON _turns to leave her._] + + Jason! + +JASON. Hope not that thou canst soften me! + +MEDEA. Nay, never think I wished it! Give me back + My babes! + +JASON. + + Thy children? Never! + +MEDEA (_wildly_). + + They are mine! + +JASON. Men call them by their father's name; and that + Shall never grace barbarians! Here in Greece + I'll rear them, to be Greeks! + +MEDEA. To be despised + And scorned by offspring of thy later bed? + I tell thee, they are mine! + +JASON. Nay, have a care, + Lest thou shouldst turn my pity unto hate! + And keep a quiet mien, since that is all + Can soften thy hard fate. + +MEDEA. To prayers and tears + I needs must humble me! My husband!--No, + For that thou art no more! Beloved!--No, + For that, thou never wert! Man, shall I say? + He is no man who breaks his solemn oath! + Lord Jason!--Pah! It is a traitor's name! + How shall I name thee? Devil!--Gentle! Good! + Give me my babes, and let me go in peace! + +JASON. I cannot, I have told thee, cannot do it. + +MEDEA. Hard heart! Thou tak'st the husband from the wife, + And robb'st the mother of her babes as well? + +JASON. Nay, then, that thou may'st know how I have yet + Some kindness left, take with thee when thou goest + One of the babes. + +MEDEA. But one? Say, only one? + +JASON. Beware thou ask too much! The little I + Have just now granted, oversteps the right. + +MEDEA. Which shall it be? + +JASON. We'll leave the choice to them, + The babes themselves; and whichsoever will, + Him thou shalt take. + +MEDEA. O thanks a thousand times, + Thou gentle, kindly man! He lies who calls + Thee traitor! + +[_The_ KING_ appears at the door._] + +JASON. Come, my lord! + +KING. Is't settled, then? + +JASON. She goes; and I have granted her to take + One of the children with her. + +(_To one of the slaves who has accompanied the _KING.) + + Hasten swift + And bring the babes before us! + +KING. What is this? + Here they shall stay, ay, both of them! + +MEDEA. This gift + That in mine eyes so small is, seemeth it + So great a boon to thee? Hast thou no fear + Of Heaven's fell anger, harsh and violent man? + +KING. The gods deal harshly with such wanton crimes + As thou hast done! + +MEDEA. Yea, but they see the cause + That drove us to such deeds! + +KING. 'Tis wicked thoughts, + Deep in the heart, beget such crimes as thine! + +MEDEA. All causes else thou count'st for naught? + +KING. With stern + And iron justice mine own self I rule, + And so, with right, judge others. + +MEDEA. In the act + Of punishing my crimes, thou dost commit + A worse thyself! + +JASON. She shall not say of me + That I am all hard-hearted; wherefore I + One of the babes have promised her, to be + His mother's dearest comfort in her woe. + +CREUSA _enters with the children._ + +CREUSA. One told me that these babes were summoned here. + What will ye have? What deeds are now afoot? + Behold how they do love me, though they were + But now brought here to Corinth! 'Tis as if + Long years already we had seen and known + Each one the other. 'Twas my gentle words + That won them; for, poor babes, they were not used + To loving treatment; and their sore distress, + Their loneliness did straightway win my heart. + +MEDEA. One of the babes goes with me! + +CREUSA. What is this? + Leaves us? + +KING. E'en so. It is their father's will! + +(_To_ MEDEA,_ who stands in deep meditation._) + + Here are thy children. Let them make their choice! + +MEDEA (_wildly_). + + The babes! My children! Ay, 'tis they, in sooth! + The one thing left me in this bitter world! + Ye gods, forget those dark and wicked thoughts + That late I harbored; grant me both my babes, + Yea, both, and I'll go forth from out this land + Praising your mercy! Yea, I'll e'en forgive + My husband there, and her--No! Her I'll not + Forgive--nor Jason, either! Come to me, + Come here, my babes!--Why stand ye silent there + And cling upon the breast of my false foe? + Ah, could ye know how she hath humbled me, + Ye would arm your tiny hands, curve into claws + Those little, weakling fingers, rend and tear + That soft and tender form, whereto ye cling + So lovingly!--Wouldst hold my children back + From coming to me? Let them go! + +CREUSA. In sooth, + Unhappy woman, I restrain them not! + +MEDEA. Not with thy hand, I know, but with thy glance, + Thy false, deceitful face, that seems all love, + And holds my husband from me, too! Thou laugh'st? + I promise thee thou'lt weep hot tears in days + To come! + +CREUSA. Now may the gods chastise me if I had + A thought of laughing! + +KING. Woman, break not forth + In insults and in anger! Do what thou + Hast yet to do, or go! + +MEDEA. Thou'rt right, O king, + Most just of kings! Not so much kind of heart + As just! How do thy bidding? Yet will I + Strive to do both. Hark, children! List to me! + They send your mother forth, to wander wide + O'er sea and land. Who knows where she shall come? + These kindly folk, thy father, and that just + And gentle king that standeth there, have said + That I may take, to share my lonely fate, + One of my babes, but only one. Ye gods, + Hear ye this sentence? One, and one alone! + Now, whichsoever of you loves me more, + Let that one come to join me, for I may + Not have you both; the other here must stay + Beside his father, and with that false king's + Still falser daughter!--Hear ye what I say? + Why linger there? + +KING. Thou seest they will not come! + +MEDEA. Thou liest, false and wicked king! They would, + Save that thy daughter hath enchanted them + And keeps them from me!--Heard ye not, my babes?-- + Accurst and monstrous children, bane and curse + Of your poor mother, image of your sire! + +JASON. They will not come! + +MEDEA (_pointing to _CREUSA). + + Let her but go away! + They love me! Am I not their mother? Look + How she doth beckon, nod to them, and draw + Them further from me! + +CREUSA. I will go away, + Though I deserve not thy suspicious hate. + +MEDEA. Come to me, children!--Come!--O viper brood! + +[_She advances toward them threateningly; the children fly to_ CREUSA +_for protection._] + +MEDEA. They fly from me! They fly! + +KING. Thou seest, Medea, + The children will not come--so, get thee gone! + +MEDEA. They will not? These my babes do fear to come + Unto their mother?--No, it is not true, + It cannot be!--Aeson, my elder son, + My best beloved! See, thy mother calls! + Come to her! Nay, no more will I be harsh, + No more enangered with thee! Thou shalt be + Most precious in mine eyes, the one thing left + I call mine own! Hark to thy mother! Come!-- + He turns his face away, and will not! O + Thou thankless child, thou image of thy sire, + Like him in each false feature, in mine eyes + Hateful, as he is! Stay, then, where thou art! + I know thee not!--But thou, Absyrtus, child + Of my sore travail, with the merry face + Of my lost brother whom with bitter tears + I mourn, and mild and gentle as was he, + See how thy mother kneels upon the ground + And, weeping, calls thee! O let not her prayers + Be all in vain! Absyrtus, come to me, + My little son! Come to thy mother!--What? + He tarries where he is! Thou, too? Thou, too? + Give me a dagger, quick, that I may slay + These whelps, and then myself! + +[_She springs up._] + +[Illustration: MEDEA From the Grillparzer Monument at Vienna] + +JASON. Nay, thou must thank thyself that thy wild ways + Have startled them, estranged them, turned their hearts + Unto that mild and gentle maid they love. + They do but echo what the gods decree!-- + Depart now; but the babes, they tarry here. + +MEDEA. O children, hear me! + +JASON. See, they hearken not! + +MEDEA. O children, children! + +KING (_to_ CREUSA). + + Lead them back again + Into the palace! 'Tis not meet they hate + The mother that did bear them. + +[CREUSA _moves away with the children._] + +MEDEA. Woe is me! + They flee! My children flee before my face! + +KING (_to_ JASON). + + Come we away! To weep for what must be + Is fruitless! + +[_They depart._] + +MEDEA. O my babes, my little babes! + +GORA _enters quickly._ + +GORA. Come, calm thyself, nor grant to these thy foes + The joy of seeing how they've conquered thee! + +MEDEA (_flinging herself upon the ground_). + + Conquered I am, at last, made nothing worth, + Trampled beneath my foes' triumphant feet! + They flee me, flee me! Mine own children flee me! + +GORA (_bending over her_). + + Thou must not die! + +MEDEA. Nay, let me die! My babes, + My little babes! + + + +ACT IV + + +_The outer court of _CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act. It is +twilight._ MEDEA lies prone upon the steps that lead to her apartments; +_GORA_ is standing before her._ + +GORA. Up, Medea, speak! + Why liest thou there so silent, staring + Blindly before thee? Rise, and speak! + O, help our sore distress! + +MEDEA. My babes! My babes! + +GORA. Forth must we flee ere night shall fall, + And already the twilight draweth down. + Up! Rouse thee, and gird thee for flight! + Swiftly they come to slay! + +MEDEA. Alas, my children! + +GORA. Nay, up! I say, unhappy one, + Nor kill me with thy cries of woe! + Hadst thou but heeded when I warned, + Still should we be at home + In Colchis, safe; thy kinsmen yet + Were living; all were well with us. + Rise up! What use are tears? Come, rise! + +[MEDEA _drags herself half up and kneels on the steps._] + +MEDEA. 'Twas so I knelt, 'twas so I lay + And stretched my hands for pity out + To mine own children; begged and wept + And prayed for one, for only one + Of my dear children! Death itself + Were not so bitter, as to leave + One of them here!--But to have none--! + And neither came! They turned away + With terror on their baby lips, + And fled for comfort to the breast + Of her--my bitterest enemy! + +[_She springs up suddenly._] + + But he,--he laughed to see, and she + Did laugh as well! + +GORA. O, woe is me! + O, woe and heavy sorrow! + +MEDEA. O gods, is this your vengeance, then, + Your retribution? All for love + I followed him, as wife should e'er + Follow her lord. My father died, + But was it I that slew him? No! + My brother fell. Was't, then, my hand + That dealt the stroke? I've wept for them + With heavy mourning, poured hot tears + To serve as sad libation for + Their resting-place so far away! + Ye gods! These woes so measureless + That I have suffered at your hands-- + Call ye these justice,--retribution? + +GORA. Thou didst leave thine own-- + Thine own desert thee now! + +MEDEA. Then will I visit punishment + On them, as Heaven on me! + There shall no deed of wickedness + In all the wide world scathless go! + Leave vengeance to my hand, O gods above! + +GORA. Nay, think how thou mayst save thyself; + All else forget! + +MEDEA. What fear is this + That makes thy heart so craven-soft? + First thou wert grim and savage, spak'st + Fierce threats of vengeance, now art full + Of fears and trembling! + +GORA. Let me be! + That moment when I saw thy babes + Flee their own mother's yearning arms, + Flee from the arms of her that bare + And reared them, then I knew at last + 'Twas the gods' hand had struck thee down! + Then brake my heart, my courage sank! + These babes, whom it was all my joy + To tend and rear, had been the last + Of all the royal Colchian line, + On whom I still could lavish all + My love for my far fatherland. + Long since, my love for thee was dead; + But in these babes I seemed to see + Again my homeland, thy dear sire, + Thy murdered brother, all the line + Of princely Colchians,--ay, thyself, + As once thou wert,--and art no more! + So, all my thought was how to shield + And rear these babes; I guarded them + E'en as the apple of mine eye, + And now-- + +MEDEA. They have repaid thy love + As thanklessness doth e'er repay! + +GORA. Chide not the babes! They're innocent! + +MEDEA. How, innocent? And flee their mother + Innocent? They are Jason's babes, + Like him in form, in heart, and in + My bitter hate! If I could hold them here, + Their life or death depending on my hand, + E'en on this hand I reach out, so, and one + Swift stroke sufficed to slay them, bring to naught + All that they were, or are, or e'er can be,-- + Look! they should be no more! + +GORA. O, woe to thee, + Cruel mother, who canst hate those little babes + Thyself didst bear! + +MEDEA. What hopes have they, what hopes? + If here they tarry with their sire, + That sire so base and infamous, + What shall their lot be then? + The children of this latest bed + Will scorn them, do despite to them + And to their mother, that wild thing + From distant Colchis' strand! + Their lot will be to serve as slaves; + Or else their anger, gnawing deep + And ever deeper at their hearts, + Will make them bitter, hard, + Until they grow to hate themselves. + For, if misfortune often is begot + By crime, more often far are wicked deeds + The offspring of misfortune!--What have they + To live for, then? I would my sire + Had slain me long, long years agone + When I was small, and had not yet + Drunk deep of woe, as now I do-- + Thought heavy thoughts, as now! + +GORA. Thou tremblest! What dost think to do? + +MEDEA. That I must forth, is sure; what else + May chance ere that, I cannot see. + My heart leaps up, when I recall + The foul injustice I have borne, + And glows with fierce revenge! No deed + So dread or awful but I would + Put hand to it!-- + He loves these babes, + Forsooth, because he sees in them + His own self mirrored back again, + Himself--his idol!--Nay, he ne'er + Shall have them, shall not!--Nor will I! + I hate them! + +GORA. Come within! Nay, why + Wouldst tarry here? + +MEDEA. All empty is that house, + And all deserted! Desolation broods + Upon those silent walls, and all is dead + Within, save bitter memories and grief! + +GORA. Look! They are coming who would drive us hence. + Come thou within! + +MEDEA. Thou saidst the Argonauts + Found each and every one a grave unblest, + The wages of their treachery and sin? + +GORA. Ay, sooth, and such a grave shall Jason find! + +MEDEA. He shall, I promise thee, he shall, indeed! + Hylas was swallowed in a watery grave; + The gloomy King of Shades holds Theseus bound; + And how was that Greek woman called--the one + That on her own blood bloody vengeance took? + How was she called, then? Speak! + +GORA. I do not know + What thou dost mean. + +MEDEA. Althea was her name! + +GORA. She who did slay her son + +MEDEA. The very same! + How came it, then? Tell me the tale once more. + +GORA. Unwitting, in the chase, he had struck down + Her brother. + +MEDEA. Him alone? He did not slay + Her father, too? Nor fled his mother's arms, + Nor thrust her from him, spurned her scornfully? + And yet she struck him dead--that mighty man, + Grim Meleager, her own son! And she-- + She was a Greek! Althea was her name. + Well, when her son lay dead--? + +GORA. Nay, there the tale + Doth end. + +MEDEA. Doth end! Thou'rt right, for death ends all! + +GORA. Why stand we here and talk? + +MEDEA. Dost think that I + Lack courage for the venture? Hark! I swear + By the high gods, if he had giv'n me both + My babes--But no! If I could take them hence + To journey with me, at his own behest, + + If I could love them still, as deep as now + I hate them, if in all this lone, wide world + One single thing were left me that was not + Poisoned, or brought in ruin on my head-- + Perchance I might go forth e'en now in peace + And leave my vengeance in the hands of Heaven. + But no! It may not be! + They name me cruel + And wanton, but I was not ever so; + Though I can feel how one may learn to be. + For dread and awful thoughts do shape themselves + Within my soul; I shudder--yet rejoice + Thereat! When all is finished--Gora, hither! + +GORA. What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA. Come to me! + +GORA. And why? + +MEDEA. Come hither! + See! There they lay, the babes--ay, and the bride, + Bleeding, and dead! And he, the bridegroom, stood + And looked and tore his hair! A fearful sight + And ghastly! + +GORA. Heaven forfend! What mean these words? + +MEDEA. Ha, ha! Thou'rt struck with terror then, at last? + Nay, 'tis but empty words that I did speak. + My old, fierce will yet lives, but all my strength + Is vanished. Oh, were I Medea still--! + But no, I am no more! O Jason, why, + Why hast thou used me so? I sheltered thee, + Saved thee, and gave thee all my heart to keep; + All that was mine, I flung away for thee! + Why wilt thou cast me off, why spurn my love, + Why drive the kindly spirits from my heart + And set fierce thoughts of vengeance in their place? + I dream of vengeance, when I have no more + The power to wreak revenge! The charms I had + From my own mother, that grim Colchian queen, + From Hecate, that bound dark gods to me + To do my bidding, I have buried them, + Ay, and for love of thee!--have sunk them deep + In the dim bosom of our mother Earth; + The ebon wand, the veil of bloody hue, + Gone!--and I stand here helpless, to my foes + No more a thing of terror, but of scorn! + +GORA. Then speak not of them if they'll serve thee not! + +MEDEA. I know well where they lie; + For yonder on the plashy ocean-strand + I coffined them and sank them deep in earth. + 'Tis but to toss away a little mold, + And they are mine! But in my inmost soul + I shudder when I think on such a venture, + And on that blood-stained Fleece. Methinks the ghosts + Of father, brother, brood upon their grave + And will not let them go. Dost thou recall + How on the pavement lay my old, gray sire + Weeping for his dead son, and cursing loud + His daughter? But lord Jason swung the Fleece + High o'er his head, with fierce, triumphant shouts! + 'Twas then I swore revenge upon this traitor + Who first did slay my best-beloved, now + Would slay me, too! Had I my bloody charms + And secret magic here, I'd keep that vow! + But no, I dare not fetch them, for I fear + Lest, shining through the Fleece's golden blaze, + Mine eyes should see my father's ghostly face + Stare forth at me--and oh! I should go mad! + +GORA. What wilt thou do, then? + +MEDEA (_wearily_). + + Even let them come + And slay me, if they will! I can no more! + Not one step will I stir from where I stand; + My dearest wish is death! And when he sees + Me lying dead, mayhap he'll follow me, + Deep-smitten with remorse! + +GORA. The King draws nigh; + Look to thyself! + +MEDEA. Nay, all my strength is gone, + What can I do? If he would trample me + Beneath his feet--well, let him have his will! + +_The _KING_ enters._ + +KING. Night falls apace, thine hours of grace are fled! + +MEDEA. I know it. + +KING. Art thou ready to go forth? + +MEDEA. Thou tauntest me! If I were not prepared, + Must I the less go forth? + +KING. My heart is glad + To find thee minded so. 'Twill make thee think + Less bitterly upon thy sorry fate, + And for thy children it doth spell great good: + For now they may remember who she was + That bare them. + +MEDEA. May remember? If they will, + Thou meanest! + +KING. That they shall, must be my care. + I'll rear them to be mighty heroes both; + And then--who knows?--on some far-distant day + Their hero-deeds may bring them to the shores. + Of Colchis, where they'll find thee once again, + Older in years, grown soft and gentle now, + And with fond love will press thee to their hearts. + +MEDEA. Alas! + +KING. What say'st thou? + +MEDEA. Naught! I did but think + On happy days long vanished, and forgot + All that hath happened since.--Was this the cause + That brought thee here, or hast thou aught to say + Besides? + +KING. Nay, I forgot one other word, + But I will speak it now. Thy husband brought + Much treasure when he fled to Corinth here + From far Iolcos, when his uncle died. + +MEDEA. There in the house it lies, still guarded safe; + Go in and take it! + +KING. And that trinket fair + Of dazzling gold, the Fleece--the gleaming prize + The Argo brought--is that within, as well? + Why turnest thou away, and wouldst depart? + Give answer! Is it there? + +MEDEA. No! + +KING. Where, then? Where? + +MEDEA. I know not. + +KING. Yet thyself didst bear it forth + From Pelias' chamber--so the Herald said. + +MEDEA. Nay, if he said so, it must needs be true! + +KING. Where is it? + +MEDEA. Nay, I know not. + +KING. Never think + To cheat us thus! + +MEDEA. If thou wouldst give it me, + I would requite thee even with my life; + For, if I had it here, thou shouldst not stand + Before me, shouting threats! + +KING. Didst thou not seize + And bear it with thee from Iolcos? + +MEDEA. Yea! + +KING. And now--? + +MEDEA. I have it not. + +KING. Who hath it, then? + +MEDEA. The earth doth hold it. + +KING. Ha! I understand! + So it was there, in sooth? + +[_He turns to his attendants._] + + Go, fetch me here + That which I bade you. What I mean, ye know! + +[_The attendants go out._] + + Ha! Didst thou think to cheat us with thy words + Of double meaning? Earth doth hold it! Now + I understand thee! Nay, look not away! + Look here at me, and harken!--Yonder there + Upon the seashore, where last night ye lay, + I gave command to raise a sacred fane + To Pelias' shades; and, as my henchmen toiled, + They found--thou palest!--freshly buried there + An ebon casket, marked with curious signs. + +[_The attendants bring in the chest._] + + Look! Is it thine? + +MEDEA (_rushing eagerly to the chest_). + Yea, mine! + +KING. And is the Fleece + Therein? + +MEDEA. It is. + +KING. Then give it me! + +MEDEA. I will! + +KING. Almost I do regret I pitied thee, + Since thou hast sought to cozen us! + +MEDEA. Fear not! + For thou shalt have thy due! Once more I am + Medea! Thanks to thee, kind gods! + +KING. Unlock + Thy casket, quick, and give the Fleece to me! + +MEDEA. Not yet! + +KING. But when? + +MEDEA. Right soon, ay, all too soon! + +KING. Send it to where Creusa waits. + +MEDEA. To her? + This Fleece to thy fair daughter? Ay, I will! + +KING. Holdeth this casket aught besides the Fleece? + +MEDEA. Yea, many things! + +KING. Thine own? + +MEDEA. Mine own. + From these A gift I'd send her. + +KING. Nay, I would demand + Naught else of thee. Keep that which is thine own. + +MEDEA. Surely thou wilt permit me one small gift! + Thy daughter was so mild to me, so good, + And she will be a mother to my babes. + I fain would win her love! Thou dost desire + Naught but the Fleece; perchance some trinkets rare + Would please her eyes. + +KING. Do even as thou wilt; + Only, bethink thee of thy needs. Thou knowest + Already how she loves thee. But an hour + Agone she begged to send thy babes to thee + That thou might'st see them once again, and take + A last farewell before thou settest forth + Upon thy weary way. I said her nay, + For I had seen thy fury. Now thou art + Quiet again, and so shalt have that grace. + +MEDEA. Oh, thanks to thee, thou good and pious King! + +KING. Wait here. I'll send the children to thee straight. + +[_He departs._] + +MEDEA. He's gone--and to his doom! Fool! Didst thou not + Tremble and shudder when thou took'st away + Her last possession from the woman thou + Hadst robbed already? Yet, I thank thee for it, + Ay, thank thee! + Thou hast given me back myself! + --Unlock the casket! + +GORA (_fumbling at it_). + + That I cannot do. + +MEDEA. Nay, I forgot how I did lock it up! + The key is kept by friends I know full well. + +[_She turns toward the chest._] + + Up from below! + Down from o'erhead! + Open, thou secretest + Tomb of the dead! + + The lid springs open, and I am no more + A weak and powerless woman! There they lie, + My staff, my veil of crimson! Mine! Ah, mine! + +[_She takes them out of the casket._] + + I take thee in my hands, thou mighty staff + Of mine own mother, and through heart and limbs + Unfailing strength streams forth from thee to me! + And thee, beloved wimple, on my brow + I bind once more! + +[_She veils herself._] + + How warm, how soft thou art, + How dost thou pour new life through all my frame! + Now come, come all my foes in close-set ranks, + Banded against me, banded for your doom! + +GORA. Look! Yonder flares a light! + +MEDEA. Nay, let it flare! + 'Twill soon be quenched in blood!-- + Here are the presents I would send to her; + And thou shalt be the bearer of my gifts! + +GORA. I? + +MEDEA. Thou! Go quickly to the chamber where + Creusa sits, speak soft and honied words, + Bring her Medea's greetings, and her gifts! + +[_She takes the gifts out of the chest one by one._] + + This golden box, first, that doth treasure up + Most precious ointments. Ah, the bride will shine + Like blazing stars, if she will ope its lid! + But bear it heedfully, and shake it not! + +GORA. Woe's me! + +[_She has grasped the ointment-box firmly in her left hand; as she +steadies it with her right hand, she slightly jars the cover open, and a +blinding flame leaps forth._] + +MEDEA. I warned thee not to shake it, fool! + Back to thy house again, + Serpent with forked tongue! + Wait till the knell hath rung; + Thou shalt not wait in vain! + Now clasp it tightly, carry it with heed! + +GORA. I fear some dreadful thing will come of this! + +MEDEA. So! Thou wouldst warn me? 'Tis a wise old crone! + +GORA. And I must bear it? + +MEDEA. Yea! Obey, thou slave! + How darest thou presume to answer me? + Be silent! Nay, thou shalt, thou must! + And next + Here on this salver, high-embossed with gold, + I set this jeweled chalice, rich and fair + To see, and o'er it lay the best of all, + The thing her heart most craves--the Golden Fleece!-- + Go hence and do thine errand. Nay, but first + Spread o'er these gifts this mantle--fair it is + And richly broidered, made to grace a queen-- + To cover all from sight and keep them hid.-- + Now, go, and do what I commanded thee, + And take these gifts, that foe doth send to foe! + +[_A slave-woman enters with the children._] + +SLAVE. My lord the king hath sent these children hither; + And when an hour is gone I take them back. + +MEDEA. Sooth, they come early to the marriage feast! + Now to thy mistress lead my servant here; + She takes a message from me, bears rich gifts. + +(_She turns to _GORA.) + + And thou, remember what I told thee late! + Nay, not a word! It is my will! + +(_To the slave-woman._) + + Away! + And bring her to thy mistress. + +[GORA _and the slave-woman depart together._] + + Well begun, + But not yet ended! Easy is my path, + Now I see clearly what I have to do! + +[_The children, hand in hand, make as if to follow the slave-woman._] + + Where go ye? + +BOY. In the house! + +MEDEA. What seek ye there? + +BOY. Our father told us we should stay with her. + +MEDEA. Thy mother bids you tarry. Wait, I say!-- + When I bethink me how they are my blood, + My very flesh, the babes I bore so long + In my own womb, and nourished at my breast, + When I bethink me 'tis my very self + That turns against me, in my inmost soul + Fierce anger stabs me knife-like, bloody thoughts + Rise fast within me!-- + +(_To the children._) + + What hath mother done, + To make you flee her sight and run away + To hide in strangers' bosoms? + +BOY. Thou dost seek + To steal us both away, and shut us up + Within thy boat again, where we were both + So sick and dizzy. We would rather stay + Here, would we not, my brother? + +YOUNGER BOY. Yea! + +MEDEA. Thou, too, + Absyrtus? But 'tis better, better so! + Come hither! + +BOY. I'm afraid! + +MEDEA. Come here, I say! + +BOY. Nay, thou wilt hurt me! + +MEDEA. Hurt thee? Thou hast done + Naught to deserve it! + +Boy. Once thou flung'st me down + Upon the pavement, hard, because I looked + So like my father. But _he_ loves me for it! + I'd rather stay with him, and with that good + And gentle lady! + +MEDEA. Thou shalt go to her, + E'en to that gentle lady!--How his mien + Is like to his, the traitor's! How his words + Are syllabled like Jason's!--Patience! Wait! + +YOUNGER BOY. I'm sleepy! + +BOY. Let's lie down and go to sleep. + It's late. + +MEDEA. Ye'll have your fill of sleep ere long! + Go, lay you down upon those steps to rest, + While I take counsel with myself.--Ah, see + How watchfully he guides the younger one, + Takes off his little mantle, wraps it warm + And close about his shoulders, now lies down + Beside him, clasping hands!--He never was + A naughty child!--O children, children mine! + +BOY (_starting up_). + + Dost want us? + +MEDEA. Nay, lie down, and go to sleep! + What would I give, if I could sleep as sound! + +[_The boy lies down again, and both go to sleep._ MEDEA _seats herself +on a bench opposite the children. It grows darker and darker._] + +MEDEA. The night is falling, stars are climbing high, + Shedding their kindly beams on all below-- + The same that shone there yestere'en, as though + All things today were as they were before. + And yet 'twixt now and yesterday there yawns + A gulf, as wide as that which sunders joy + Made perfect and grim death! How change-less e'er + Is Nature--and man's life and happiness + How fitful, fleeting! + When I tell the tale + Of my unhappy life, it is as though + I listened, while another told it me, + And now would stop him: "Nay, that cannot be, + My friend! This woman here, that harbors dark + And murderous thoughts--how can she be the same + That once, long years agone, on Colchis' strand + Trod, free and happy, 'neath these very stars, + As pure, as mild, as free from any sin + As new-born child upon its mother's breast?" + Where goes she, then? She seeks the peasant's hut + To comfort the poor serf, whose little crops + Were trampled by her father's huntsmen late, + And brings him gold to ease his bitter heart. + Why trips she down the forest-path? She hastes + To meet her brother who is waiting there + In some green copse. Together then they wend + Homeward their way along the well-known path, + Like twin-stars shining through the forest-gloom. + Another draweth nigh; his brow is crowned + With coronet of gold; he is the King, + Their royal father, and he lays his hand + In blessing on their heads, and names them both + His joy, his dearest treasure.--Welcome, then, + Most dear and friendly faces! Are ye come + To comfort me in this my loneliness? + Draw nearer, nearer yet! I fain would look + Into your eyes! Dear brother, dost thou smile + So friendly on me? Ah, how fair thou art, + My heart's best treasure! But my father's face + Is sober, earnest; yet he loves me still, + Yea, loveth his good daughter! + +[_She springs up suddenly._] + + Good? Ha, good? + 'Tis a false lie! For know, thou old, gray man, + She will betray thee, _hath_ betrayed thee, thee, + Ay, and herself! But thou didst curse her sore + "Know thou shalt be thrust forth + Like a beast of the wilderness," thou saidst; + "Friendless and homeless, with no place + To lay thy head! And he, for whom + Thou hast betrayed me, he will be + First to take vengeance on thee, first + To leave thee, thrust thee forth, and first + To slay thee!" See, thy words were true! + For here I stand, thrust forth indeed, + By all men like a monster shunned, + Deserted by the wretch for whom + I gave thee up, and with no place + To lay me down; alas! not dead; + Black thoughts of murder in my heart!-- + Dost thou rejoice at thy revenge? + Com'st closer?--Children! O my babes! + +[_She rushes across to where the children lie sleeping, and shakes them +violently._] + + + My children, did ye hear? Awake! + +BOY (_waking_). + + What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA (_pressing them fiercely to her_). + + Clasp your arms about me close! + +BOY. I slept so soundly. + +MEDEA. Slept? How could ye sleep? + Thought ye, because your mother watched you here, + That ye were safe? Ye ne'er were in the hands + Of any foe more dangerous! Sleep? With me, + Your mother, near? How could ye?--Go within, + And there ye shall find rest, indeed! + +[_The children sleepily mount the steps and disappear down the colonnade +into the palace._] + + + They're gone, + And all is well again!--Yet, now they're gone, + How am I bettered? Must I aught the less + Flee forth, today, and leave them in the hands + Of these my bitter foes? Is Jason less + A traitor? Will the bride make aught the less + Of feasting on her bridal day, forsooth? + Tomorrow, when the sun shall rise, + Then shall I be alone, + The world a desert waste for me, + My babes, my husband--gone! + A wand'rer I, with weary feet + All torn and bleeding sore, + And bound for exile!--Whither, then + I know no more! + My foes stay here and make a joyous feast, + And laugh to think me gone; + My babes cling tightly to a stranger's breast, + Estranged from me forever, far away + From where I needs must come! + And wilt thou suffer that? + Is it not even now too late, + Too late to grant forgiveness? + Hath not Creusa even now the robes, + Ay, and the chalice, that fierce-flaming cup? + Hark! Nay, not yet!--But soon enough + Will come the shriek of agony + Ringing through all the palace halls! + Then they will come and slay me, + Nor spare the babes! + Hark! What a cry was that! Ha! Tongues of flame + Leap curling from the palace! It is done! + No more may I retreat, repent! + Let come what must! Set forward! + +[GORA _bursts out of the palace in a frenzy._] + +GORA. Oh, horror, horror! + +MEDEA (_hurrying to her_). + + So the deed is done! + +GORA. Woe, woe! Creusa dead, the palace red + With mounting flames! + +MEDEA. So, art thou gone at last, + Thou snow-white, spotless bride? Or seek'st thou still + To charm my children from me? Wouldst thou? Wouldst thou? + Wouldst take them whither thou art gone? + Nay, to the gods I give them now, + And not to thee, nay, not to thee! + +GORA. What hast thou done?--Look, look, they come! + +MEDEA. They come? Too late! Too late! + +[_She vanishes down the colonnade._] + +GORA. Alas that I, so old and gray, should aid, + Unknowing, such dark deeds! I counseled her + To take revenge: but such revenge--oh, gods! + Where are the babes? 'Twas here I left them late. + Where art thou, O Medea? And thy babes-- + Ah, where are they? + +[_She, too, disappears down the colonnade. Through the windows of the +palace in the background the rapidly mounting flames now burst forth._] + +JASON'S VOICE. + + Creusa! O Creusa! + +KING'S VOICE (_from within_). + + O my daughter! + +[GORA _bursts out of the palace and falls upon her knees in the middle +of the stage, covering her face with her hands._] + + +GORA. What have I seen?--Oh, horror! + +[MEDEA _appears at the entrance to the colonnade; in her left hand she +brandishes a dagger; she raises her right hand to command silence._] + +[_The curtain falls._] + + + +ACT V + + +_The outer court of_ CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act; the royal +apartments in the background lie in blackened ruins whence smoke is +still curling up; the court-yard is filled with various palace +attendants busied in various ways. The dawn is just breaking. + +The_ KING _appears, dragging_ GORA _out of the palace; a train of_ +CREUSA'S _slave-women follows him._ + +KING. Away with thee! It was thy wicked hand + That to my daughter brought those bloody gifts + Which were her doom! My daughter! Oh, Creusa! + My child, my child! + +[_He turns to the slave-women._] + + 'Twas she? + +GORA. Yea, it was I! + I knew not that my hands bore doom of death + Within thy dwelling. + +KING. Knew'st not. Never think + To 'scape my wrath on this wise! + +GORA. Dost thou think + I shudder at thy wrath? Mine eyes have seen-- + Woe's me!--the children weltering in their blood, + Slain by the hand of her that bore them, ay, + Medea's very hand! And after that, + All other horrors are to me but jest! + +KING. Creusa! Oh, my child, my pure, true child! + Say, did thy hand not shake, thou grisly dame, + When to her side thou broughtest death? + +GORA. I shed no tears for her! She had her due! + Why would she seek to snatch away the last + Possession of my most unhappy mistress? + I weep for these my babes, whom I did love + So tenderly, and whom I saw but now + Butchered--and by their mother! Ah, I would + Ye all were in your graves, and by your side + That traitor that doth call himself Lord Jason! + I would I were in Colchis with Medea + And these poor babes in safety! Would I ne'er + Had seen your faces, or your city here, + Whereon this grievous fate so justly falls! + +KING. These insults thou wilt soon enough put by, + When thou shalt feel my heavy hand of doom! + But is it certain that my child is dead? + So many cry her dead, though I can find + None that did see her fall! Is there no way + To 'scape the fire? And can the flames wax strong + So quickly? See how slow they lick and curl + Along the fallen rafters of my house! + Do ye not see? And yet ye say she's dead? + An hour ago she stood before mine eyes + A blooming flower, instinct with happy life-- + And now she's dead! Nay, I cannot believe, + And will not! 'Gainst my will I turn mine eyes + Now here, now there, and cannot but believe + That now, or now, or now at least, she must + Appear in all her stainless purity + And beauty, glide in safety to me here + Through those black, smoldering ruins!--Who was by? + Who saw her perish?--Thou?--Quick, speak!--Nay, then, + Roll not thine eyes in horror! Tell thy tale, + E'en though it kill me! Is she dead, indeed? + +A SLAVE-WOMAN. + + Dead! + +KING. And thou saw'st it? + +SLAVE-WOMAN. + + With my very eyes! + Saw how the flames leaped forth from out that box + Of gold, and caught her flesh-- + +KING. Hold! Hold! Enough! + This woman saw it! Creusa is no more! + Creusa! Oh, my daughter, my dear child! + Once, many years agone, she burnt her hand + Against the altar; she was but a child, + And cried aloud with pain. I rushed to her + And caught her in my arms, and to my lips. + I put her poor scorched fingers, blowing hard + To ease the burning pain. The little maid + E'en through her bitter tears smiled up at me + And, softly sobbing, whispered in my ear, + "It is not much! I do not mind the pain!" + Gods! That she should be burned to death? Oh, gods! + +[_He turns fiercely upon_ GORA.] + + And as for thee,--if I should plunge my sword + Ten, twenty times, up to the hilt, clean through + Thy body, would that bring my daughter back? + Or, could I find that hideous witch-wife--Stay! + Where went she, that hath robbed me of my child? + I'll shake an answer straight from out thy mouth, + Ay, though thy soul come with it, if thou'lt not + Declare to me this instant where she's gone! + +GORA. I know not--and I care no whit to know! + Let her go forth alone to her sure doom. + Why dost thou tarry? Slay me! For I have + No wish to live! + +KING. We'll speak of that anon; + But first I'll have thy answer! + +JASON (_behind the scenes_). + + Where's Medea? + Bring her before my face! Medea! + +[_He enters suddenly with drawn sword._] + + Nay, + They told me she was caught! Where is she, then? + +(_To_ GORA.) + + Ha! Thou here? Where's thy mistress? + +GORA. Fled away! + +JASON. Hath she the children? + +GORA. Nay! + +JASON. Then they are-- + +GORA. Dead! + Yea, dead! thou smooth-tongued traitor, dead, I say! + She sought to put them where thine eyes could never + Take joy in them again; but, knowing well + No spot on earth so sacred was but thou + To find them wouldst break in, she hid them, safe + Forever, in the grave! Ay, stand aghast, + And stare upon the pavement! Thou canst never + Recall thy babes to life! They're gone for aye! + And, for their sake, I'm glad! No, I am not, + For their sake--but because thou dost despair, + That, smooth-tongued traitor, glads my heart indeed! + Was it not thou that drove her to this crime, + And thou, false King, with thine hypocrisy? + She was a noble creature-but ye drew + Your nets of shameful treachery too close + About her, till, in wild despair, cut off + From all escape else, she o'erleaped your snares, + And made thy crown, the kingly ornament + Of royal heads, to be the awful tool + Of her unnatural crime! Ay, wring your hands, + But wring them for your own most grievous fate! + +(_Turning to the_ KING.) + + Why sought thy child another woman's bed? + +(_Turning to_ JASON.) + + Why must thou steal her, bring her here to Greece, + If thou didst never love her? If thou didst + Right truly love her, why, then, thrust her forth? + Though others cry her murderess, yea, though I + Myself must name her so, yet none the less + Ye have but met your just deserts!--For me, + I have no wish to live another day! + Two of my babes are dead, the third I needs + Must hate forever! Take me, lead me hence + And slay me, if ye will! Fair hopes I have + At last, of justice in that other world, + Now I have seen Heaven's vengeance on you hurled! + +[_She is led away by some of the _KING's _attendants._] + +(_Pause._) + +KING. Nay, if I wronged her,--by the gods in Heaven + I swear I meant it not!--Now haste we all + To search these smoking ruins for what trace + Remains of my poor girl, that we may lay + Her broken, bruised frame to rest at last + In Earth's kind bosom! + +[_He turns to _JASON.] + + But, for thee--straightway + Thou must go forth, where'er thy feet may choose + To carry thee! Pollution such as thine + Spells woe for all about thee, as I've proved. + Oh, had I never seen, never rescued thee, + Ne'er acted friendship's part and welcomed thee + Within my palace! And, for thanks, thou took'st + My daughter from me! Go, lest thou shouldst take + As well the only comfort left me now-- + To weep her memory! + +JASON. Wouldst thou thrust me forth? + +KING. I banish thee my sight. + +JASON. What shall I do? + +KING. Some god will answer that! + +JASON. Who, then, will guide + My wandering steps, who lend a helping hand? + For, see! my head is bleeding, wounded sore + By falling firebrands! How? All silent, then? + And none will guide me, none companion me, + None follow me, whom once so many joyed + To follow? Spirits of my babes, lead ye + The way, and guide your father to the grave + That waits him! + +[_He goes slowly away._] + +KING (_to his attendants_). + + Quick, to work! And after that, + Mourning that hath no end! + +[_He goes away in the other direction._] + +_The curtain falls for a moment, and, when it rises again, discloses a +wild and lonely region surrounded by forest and by lofty crags, at the +foot of which lies a mean hut. A rustic enters._ + +RUSTIC. How fair the morning dawns! Oh, kindly gods, + After the storm and fury of the night, + Your sun doth rise more glorious than before! + +[_He goes into the hut._] + +(JASON _comes stumbling out of the forest and leaning heavily on his +sword._) + +JASON. Nay, I can go no farther! How my head + Doth burn and throb, the blood how boil within! + My tongue cleaves to the roof of my parched mouth! + Is none within there? Must I die of thirst, + And all alone?--Ha! Yon's the very hut + That gave me shelter when I came this way + Before, a rich man still, a happy father, + My bosom filled with newly-wakened hopes! + +[_He knocks at the door._] + + 'Tis but a drink I crave, and then a place + To lay me down and die! + +[_The peasant comes out of the house._] + +RUSTIC. Who knocks?--Poor man, + Who art thou? Ah, poor soul, he's faint to death! + +JASON. Oh, water, water! Give me but to drink! + See, Jason is my name, famed far and wide, + The hero of the wondrous Golden Fleece! + A prince--a king--and of the Argonauts + The mighty leader, Jason! + +RUSTIC. Art thou, then, + In very sooth Lord Jason? Get thee gone + And quickly! Thou shalt not so much as set + A foot upon my threshold, to pollute + My humble dwelling! Thou didst bring but now + Death to the daughter of my lord the King! + Then seek not shelter at the meanest door + Of any of his subjects! + +[_He goes into the hut again and shuts the door behind him._] + +JASON. He is gone, + And leaves me here to lie upon the earth, + Bowed in the dust, for any that may pass + To trample on!--O Death, on thee I call! + Have pity on me! Take me to my babes! + +[_He sinks down upon the ground._] + +MEDEA _makes her way among some tumbled rocks, and stands suddenly +before him, the Golden Fleece flung over her shoulders like a mantle._ + +MEDEA. Jason! + +JASON (_half raising himself_). + + Who calls me?--Ha! What spectral form + Is this before me? Is it thou, Medea? + Ha! Dost thou dare to show thyself again + Before mine eyes? My sword! My sword! + +[_He tries to rise, but falls weakly back._] + + Woe's me! + My limbs refuse their service! Here I lie, + A broken wreck! + +MEDEA. Nay, cease thy mad attempts + Thou canst not harm me, for I am reserved + To be the victim of another's hand, + And not of thine! + +JASON. My babes!--Where has thou them? + +MEDEA. Nay, they are mine! + +JASON. Where hast thou them, I say? + +MEDEA. They're gone where they are happier far than thou + Or I shall ever be! + +JASON. Dead! Dead! My babes! + +MEDEA. Thou deemest death the worst of mortal woes? + I know a far more wretched one--to be + Alone, unloved! Hadst thou not prized mere life + Far, far above its worth, we were not now + In such a pass. But we must bear our weight + Of sorrow, for thy deeds! Yet these our babes + Are spared that grief, at least! + +JASON. And thou canst stand + So patient, quiet, there, and speak such words? + +MEDEA. Quiet, thou sayst, and patient? Were my heart + Not closed to thee e'en now, as e'er it was, + Then couldst thou see the bitter, smarting pain + Which, ever swelling like an angry sea, + Tosses, now here, now there, the laboring wreck + That is my grief, and, veiling it from sight + In awful desolation, sweeps it forth + O'er boundless ocean-wastes! I sorrow not + Because the babes are dead; my only grief + Is that they ever lived, that thou and I + Must still live on! + +JASON. Alas! + +MEDEA. Bear thou the lot + That fortune sends thee; for, to say the truth, + Thou richly hast deserved it!--Even as thou + Before me liest on the naked earth, + So lay I once in Colchis at thy feet + And craved protection--but thou wouldst not hear! + Nay, rather didst thou stretch thine eager hands + In blind unreason forth, to lay them swift + Upon the golden prize, although I cried, + "'Tis Death that thou dost grasp at!"--Take it, then, + That prize that thou so stubbornly didst seek, + Even Death! + I leave thee now, forevermore. + 'Tis the last time-for all eternity + The very last--that I shall speak with thee, + My husband! Fare thee well! Ay, after all + The joys that blessed our happy, happy youth, + 'Mid all the bitter woes that hem us in + On every side, in face of all the grief + That threatens for the future, still I say, + "Farewell, my husband!" Now there dawns for thee + A life of heavy sorrows; but, let come + What may, abide it firmly, show thyself + Stronger in suffering than in doing deeds + Men named heroic! If thy bitter woe + Shall make thee yearn for death, then think on me, + And it shall comfort thee to know how mine + Is bitterer far, because I set my hand + To deeds, to which thou only gav'st assent. + I go my way, and take my heavy weight + Of sorrow with me through the wide, wide world. + A dagger-stroke were blest release indeed; + But no! it may not be! It were not meet + Medea perish at Medea's hands. + My earlier life, before I stooped to sin, + Doth make me worthy of a better judge + Than I could be--I go to Delphi's shrine, + And there, before the altar of the god, + The very spot whence Phrixus long ago + Did steal the prize, I'll hang it up again, + Restore to that dark god what is his own-- + The Golden Fleece--the only thing the flames + Have left unharmed, the only thing that 'scaped + Safe from the bloody, fiery death that slew + That fair Corinthian princess.--To the priests + I'll go, and I'll submit me to their will, + Ay, though they take my life to expiate + My grievous sins, or though they send me forth + To wander still through some far desert-waste, + My very life, prolonged, a heavier weight + Of sorrow than I ever yet have known! + +_[She holds up the gleaming Fleece before his eyes.]_ + + Know'st thou the golden prize which thou didst strive + So eagerly to win, which seemed to thee + The shining crown of all thy famous deeds? + What is the happiness the world can give?-- + A shadow! What the fame it can bestow?-- + An empty dream! Poor man! Thy dreams were all + Of shadows! And the dreams are ended now, + But not the long, black Night!--Farewell to thee, + My husband, for I go! That was a day + Of heavy sorrows when we first did meet; + Today, 'mid heavier sorrows, we must part! + Farewell! + +JASON. Deserted! All alone! My babes! + +MEDEA. Endure! + +JASON. Lost! Lost! + +MEDEA. Be patient! + +JASON. Let me die! + +MEDEA. I go, and nevermore thine eyes shall see + My face again! + +_[As she departs, winding her way among the tumbled rocks, the curtain +falls.]_ + + * * * * * + + + + +THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO + +AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS + +By FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + + DRAMATIS PERSONÆ + + ALFONSO VIII., _the Noble, King of Castile._ + + ELEANOR OF ENGLAND, _Daughter of Henry II., his Wife._ + + THE PRINCE, _their Son._ + + MANRIQUE, _Count of Lara, Governor of Castile._ + + DON GARCERAN, _his Son._ + + DOÑA CLARA, _Lady in Waiting to the Queen. + + The Queen's Waiting Maid._ + + ISAAC, _the Jew._ + + ESTHER, } + } _his Daughters._ + RACHEL, } + + REINERO, _the King's Page. + + Nobles, Court Ladies, Petitioners, Servants, and Other People. + + Place, Toledo and Vicinity. + + Time, about 1195 A.D._ + + +THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO (1873) + +TRANSLATED BY GEORGE HENRY DANTON AND ANNINA PERIAM DANTON + + + +ACT I + + +_In the Royal Garden at Toledo._ + +_Enter_ ISAAC, RACHEL, _and_ ESTHER. + +ISAAC. Back, go back, and leave the garden! + Know ye not it is forbidden? + When the King here takes his pleasure + Dares no Jew--ah, God will damn them! + Dares no Jew to tread the earth here! + +RACHEL (_singing_). + + La-la-la-la. + +ISAAC. Don't you hear me? + +RACHEL. Yes, I hear thee. + +ISAAC. Hear, and linger + +RACHEL. Hear, yet linger! + +ISAAC. Oh, Oh, Oh! Why doth God try me? + To the poor I've given my portion, + I have prayed and I have fasted, + Unclean things I've never tasted + Nay! And yet God tries me thus. + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER). + + Ow! Why dost thou pull my arm so? + I will stay, I am not going. + I just wish to see the King and + All the court and all their doings, + All their gold and all their jewels. + He is young, they say, and handsome, + White and red, I want to see him. + +ISAAC. And suppose the servants catch thee + +RACHEL. Then I'll beg until they free me! + +ISAAC. Yes, just like thy mother, eh? + She, too, looked at handsome Christians, + Sighed, too, for Egyptian flesh-pots; + Had I not so closely watched her + I should deem-well, God forgive me!-- + That thy madness came that way, + Heritage of mean, base Christians; + Ah! I praise my first wife, noble! + + (_To_ ESTHER.) + + Praise thy mother, good like thee, + Though not wealthy. Of the second + Did the riches aught avail me? + Nay, she spent them as she pleasured, + Now for feasts and now for banquets, + Now for finery and jewels. + Look! This is indeed her daughter! + Has she not bedeckt herself, + Shines she not in fine apparel + Like a Babel in her pride? + +RACHEL (_singing_). + + Am I not lovely, + Am I not rich? + See their vexation, + And I don't care-la, la, la, la. + +ISAAC. There she goes with handsome shoes on; + Wears them out--what does it matter? + Every step costs me a farthing! + Richest jewels are her earrings, + If a thief comes, he will take them, + If they're lost, who'll find them ever? + +RACHEL (_taking off an earring_). + + Lo! I take them off and hold them, + How they shine and how they shimmer! + Yet how little I regard them, + Haply, I to thee present them + +(_to_ ESTHER.) + + Or I throw them in the bushes. + +[_She makes a motion as if throwing it away._] + +ISAAC (_running in the direction of the throw_). + + Woe, ah woe! Where did they go to? + Woe, ah woe! How find them ever? + +ESTHER. These fine jewels? What can ail thee? + +RACHEL. Dost believe me, then, so foolish + As to throw away possessions? + See, I have it in my hand here, + Hang it in my ear again and + On my cheek it rests in contrast. + +ISAAC. Woe! Lost! + +RACHEL. Father come, I prithee! + See! the jewel is recovered. + I was jesting. + +ISAAC. Then may God-- + Thus to tease me! And now, come! + +RACHEL. Anything but this I'll grant thee. + I must see his Royal Highness, + And he me, too, yes, yes, me, too. + If he comes and if he asks them, + "Who is she, that lovely Jewess?" + "Say, how hight you?"--"Rachel, sire! + Isaac's Rachel!" I shall answer. + Then he'll pinch my cheek so softly. + Beauteous Rachel then they'll call me. + What if envy bursts to hear it, + Shall I worry if it vexes? + +ESTHER. Father! + +ISAAC. What + +ESTHER. The court approaches. + +ISAAC. Lord of life, what's going to happen? + 'Tis the tribe of Rehoboam. + Wilt thou go? + +RACHEL. Oh, father, listen! + +ISAAC. Well then stay! But come thou, Esther, + Leave the fool here to her folly. + Let the unclean-handed see her, + Let him touch her, let him kill her, + She herself hath idly willed it. + Esther, come! + +RACHEL. Oh, father, tarry! + +ISAAC. Hasten, hasten; come, then, Esther! + +[_Exit with_ ESTHER.] + +RACHEL. Not alone will I remain here! + Listen! Stay! Alas, they leave me. + Not alone will I remain here. + Ah! they come--Oh, sister, father! + +[_She hastens after them._] + +_Enter the_ KING, _the_ QUEEN, MANTRIQUE DE LARA _and suite_. + +KING (_entering_). + + Allow the folk to stay! It harms me not; + For he who calleth me a King denotes + As highest among many me, and so + The people is a part of my own self. + +(_Turning to the_ QUEEN.) + + And thou, no meager portion of myself, + Art welcome here in this my ancient home, + Art welcome in Toledo's faithful walls. + Gaze all about thee, let thy heart beat high, + For, know! thou standest at my spirit's fount. + There is no square, no house, no stone, no tree, + That is not witness of my childhood lot. + An orphan child, I fled my uncle's wrath, + Bereft of mother first, then fatherless, + Through hostile land--it was my own--I fled. + The brave Castilians me from place to place, + Like shelterers of villainy did lead, + And hid me from my uncle of Leon, + Since death did threaten host as well as guest. + But everywhere they tracked me up and down. + Then Estevan Illan, a don who long + Hath slept beneath the greensward of the grave, + And this man here, Manrique Lara, led me + To this, the stronghold of the enemy, + And hid me in the tower of St. Roman, + Which there you see high o'er Toledo's roofs. + There lay I still, but they began to strew + The seed of rumor in the civic ear, + And on Ascension Day, when all the folk + Was gathered at the gate of yonder fane, + They led me to the tower-balcony + And showed me to the people, calling down, + "Here in your midst, among you, is your King, + The heir of ancient princes; of their rights + And of your rights the willing guardian." + I was a child and wept then, as they said. + But still I hear it--ever that wild cry, + A single word from thousand bearded throats, + A thousand swords as in a single hand, + The people's hand. But God the vict'ry gave, + The Leonese did flee; and on and on, + A standard rather than a warrior, + I with my army compassed all the land, + And won my vict'ries with my baby smile. + These taught and nurtured me with loving care, + And mother's milk flowed from their wounds for me. + And so, while other princes call themselves + The fathers of their people, I am son, + For what I am, I owe their loyalty. + +MANRIQUE. If all that now thou art, most noble Sire, + Should really, as thou sayest, spring from thence, + Then gladly we accept the thanks, rejoice + If these our teachings and our nurture, thus + Are mirrored in thy fame and in thy deeds, + Then we and thou are equally in debt. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Pray gaze on him with these thy gracious eyes; + Howe'er so many kings have ruled in Spain, + Not one compares with him in nobleness. + Old age, in truth, is all too wont to blame, + And I am old and cavil much and oft; + And when confuted in the council-hall + I secret wrath have ofttimes nursed--not long, + Forsooth--that royal word should weigh so much; + And sought some evil witness 'gainst my King, + And gladly had I harmed his good repute. + But always I returned in deepest shame-- + The envy mine, and his the spotlessness. + +KING. A teacher, Lara, and a flatt'rer, too? + But we will not dispute you this and that; + If I'm not evil, better, then, for you, + Although the man, I fear me, void of wrong, + Were also void of excellence as well; + For as the tree with sun-despising roots, + Sucks up its murky nurture from the earth, + So draws the trunk called wisdom, which indeed + Belongs to heaven itself in towering branch, + Its strength and being from the murky soil + Of our mortality-allied to sin. + Was ever a just man who ne'er was hard? + And who is mild, is oft not strong enough. + The brave become too venturesome in war. + What we call virtue is but conquered sin, + And where no struggle was, there is no power. + But as for me, no time was given to err, + A child--the helm upon my puny head, + A youth--with lance, high on my steed I sat, + My eye turned ever to some threat'ning foe, + Unmindful of the joys and sweets of life, + And far and strange lay all that charms and lures. + That there are women, first I learned to know + When in the church my wife was given me, + She, truly faultless if a human is, + And whom, I frankly say, I'd warmer love + If sometimes need to pardon were, not praise. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Nay, nay, fear not, I said it but in jest! + The outcome we must all await-nor paint + The devil on the wall, lest he appear. + But now, what little respite we may have, + Let us not waste in idle argument. + The feuds within our land are stilled, although + They say the Moor will soon renew the fight, + And hopes from Africa his kinsman's aid, + Ben Jussuf and his army, bred in strife. + And war renewed will bring distress anew. + Till then we'll open this our breast to peace, + And take deep breath of unaccustomed joy. + Is there no news?--But did I then forget? + You do not look about you, Leonore, + To see what we have done to please you here. + +QUEEN. What ought I see? + +KING. Alas, O Almirante! + We have not hit upon it, though we tried. + For days, for weeks, we dig and dig and dig, + And hope that we could so transform this spot, + This orange-bearing, shaded garden grove, + To have it seem like such as England loves, + The austere country of my austere wife. + And she but smiles and smiling says me nay! + Thus are they all, Britannia's children, all; + If any custom is not quite their own, + They stare, and smile, and will have none of it. + Th' intention, Leonore, was good, at least, + So give these worthy men a word of thanks; + God knows how long they may have toiled for us. + +QUEEN. I thank you, noble sirs. + +KING. To something else! + The day has started wrong. I hoped to show + You houses, meadows, in the English taste, + Through which we tried to make this garden please; + We missed our aim. Dissemble not, O love! + 'Tis so, and let us think of it no more. + To duty we devote what time remains, + Ere Spanish wine spice high our Spanish fare. + What, from the boundary still no messenger? + Toledo did we choose, with wise intent, + To be at hand for tidings of the foe. + And still there are none? + +MANRIQUE. Sire-- + +KING. What is it, pray? + +MANRIQUE. A messenger-- + +KING. Has come? What then? + +MANRIQUE (_pointing to the Queen_). + + Not now. + +KING. My wife is used to council and to war, + The Queen in everything shares with the King. + +MANRIQUE. The messenger himself, perhaps, more than + The message-- + +KING. Well, who is't? + +MANRIQUE. It is my son. + +KING. Ah, Garceran! Pray let him come. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Stay thou! + The youth, indeed, most grossly erred, when he + Disguised, slipped in the kemenate to spy + Upon the darling of his heart--Do not, + O Doña Clara, bow your head in shame, + The man is brave, although both young and rash, + My comrade from my early boyhood days; + And now implacability were worse + Than frivolous condoning of the fault. + And penance, too, methinks, he's done enough + For months an exile on our kingdom's bounds. + +[_At a nod from the_ QUEEN, _one of the ladies of her suite withdraws._] + + And yet she goes: O Modesty + More chaste than chastity itself! + +_Enter_ GARCERAN. + + My friend, + What of the border? Are they all out there + So shy with maiden-modesty as you? + Then poorly guarded is our realm indeed! + +GARCERAN. A doughty soldier, Sire, ne'er fears a foe, + But noble women's righteous wrath is hard. + +KING. 'Tis true of righteous wrath! And do not think + That I with custom and propriety + Am less severe and serious than my wife, + Yet anger has its limits, like all else. + And so, once more, my Garceran, what cheer? + Gives you the foe concern in spite of peace? + +GARCERAN. With bloody wounds, O Sire, as if in play, + On this side of the boundary and that + We fought, yet ever peace resembled war + So to a hair, that perfidy alone + Made all the difference. But now the foe + A short time holdeth peace. + +KING. 'Tis bad! + +GARCERAN. We think + So too, and that he plans a mightier blow. + And rumor hath it that his ships convey + From Africa to Cadiz men and food, + Where secretly a mighty army forms, + Which Jussuf, ruler of Morocco, soon + Will join with forces gathered over seas; + And then the threat'ning blow will fall on us. + +KING. Well, if they strike, we must return the blow. + A king leads them, and so a king leads you. + If there's a God, such as we know there is, + And justice be the utt'rance of his tongue, + I hope to win, God with us, and the right I + I grieve but for the peasants' bitter need, + Myself, as highest, should the heaviest bear. + Let all the people to the churches come + And pray unto the God of victory. + Let all the sacred relics be exposed, + And let each pray, who goeth to the fight. + +GARCERAN. Without thy proclamation, this is done, + The bells sound far through all the borderland, + And in the temples gathereth the folk; + Only, alas, its zeal, erring as oft, + Expends itself on those of other faith, + Whom trade and gain have scattered through the land. + Mistreated have they here and there a Jew. + +KING. And ye, ye suffer this? Now, by the Lord, + I will protect each one who trusts in me. + Their faith is their affair, their conduct mine. + +GARCERAN. 'Tis said they're spies and hirelings of the Moors. + + KING. Be sure, no one betrays more than he knows, + And since I always have despised their gold, + I never yet have asked for their advice. + Not Christian and not Jew knows what shall be, + But I alone. Hence, by your heads, I urge-- + +[_A woman's voice without._] + + Woe, woe! + +KING. What is't? + +GARCERAN. An old man, Sire, is there, + A Jew, methinks, pursued by garden churls, + Two maidens with him, one of them, behold, + Is fleeing hither. + +KING. Good! Protection's here, + And thunder strike who harms one hair of hers. + +(_Calling behind the scenes._) + + Hither, here I say! + + RACHEL _comes in flight_ + +RACHEL. They're killing me! + My father, too! Oh! is there none to help? + +[_She sees the QUEEN and kneels before her._] + + Sublime one, shelter me from these. Stretch out + Thy hand and hold it over me, thy maid, + Not Jewess I to serve thee then, but slave. + +[_She tries to take the hand of the _QUEEN _who turns away._] + +RACHEL (_rising_). + + Here, too, no safety? Terror everywhere? + Where shall I flee to? + Here there stands a man + Whose moonbeam glances flood the soul with peace, + And everything about him proves him King. + Thou canst protect me, Sire, and oh, thou wilt! + I _will_ not die, I _will_ not, no, no, no! + +[_She throws herself on the ground before the_ KING _and seizes his +right foot, bending her head to the ground._] + +KING (_to several who approach_). + + Let be! Her senses have ta'en flight through fear, + And as she shudders, makes me tremble, too. + +RACHEL (_sits up_). + + And everything I have, + +(_taking off her bracelet_) + + this bracelet here, + This necklace and this costly piece of cloth, + +(_taking a shawl-like cloth from her neck_) + + It cost my father well-nigh forty pounds, + Real Indian stuff, I'll give that too--if you + Will leave me but my life: I will not die! + +[_She sinks back to her former position._] + +_ISAAC and ESTHER are led in._ + +KING. What crime has he committed? + +MANRIQUE. Sire, thou know'st, + The entrance to the royal gardens is + Denied this people when the court is here. + +KING. And I permit it, if it is forbidden. + +ESTHER. He is no spy, O Sire, a merchant he, + In Hebrew are the letters that he bears, + Not in the Moorish tongue, not Arabic. + +KING. 'Tis well, I doubt it not. + +(_Pointing to_ RACHEL.) + And she? + +ESTHER. My sister! + +KING. Take her and carry her away. + +RACHEL (_as_ ESTHER _approaches her_). + + No, no! + They're seizing me, they're leading me away + To kill me! + +(_Pointing to her discarded finery._) + + See, my ransom. Here will I + Remain a while and take a little sleep. + +(_Laying her cheek against the_ KING's _knee._) + + Here safety is; and here 'tis good to rest. + +QUEEN. Will you not go? + +KING. You see that I am caught. + +QUEEN. If you are caught, I still am free, I go! + + [_Exit with her women._] + +KING. And now that, too! That which they would prevent + They bring to pass with their false chastity. + +(_Sternly to_ RACHEL.) + + Arise, I tell thee--Give her back her shawl, + And let her go. + +RACHEL. O, Sire, a little while. + + My limbs are lamed,--I cannot, cannot walk. + +[_She props her elbow on her knee and rests her head in her hand._] + +KING (_stepping back_). + + And is she ever thus, so timorous? + +ESTHER. Nay, for, a while ago, presumptuous, + In spite of us, she wished to see thee, Sire. + +KING. Me? She has paid it dear. + +ESTHER. At home, as well, + She plays her pranks, and jokes with man or dog, + And makes us laugh, however grave we be. + +KING. I would, indeed, she were a Christian, then, + And here at court, where things are dull enough; + A little fun might stand us in good stead. + Ho, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. Illustrious Sire and King! + +ESTHER (_busy with_ RACHEL). + + Stand up! Stand up! + +RACHEL (_rising and taking off_ ESTHER's _necklace, which she adds to +the other jewels_). + + And give, too, what _thou_ hast, + It is my ransom. + +ESTHER. Well, so be it then. + +KING. What think you of all this? + +GARCERAN. What _I_ think, Sire? + +KING. Dissemble not! You are a connoisseur, + Myself have never looked at women much + But _she_ seems beautiful. + +GARCERAN. She is, O Sire! + +KING. Be strong then, for you shall accomp'ny her. + +RACHEL (_who stands in the middle of the stage with trembling knees and +bent head, pushing up her sleeve_). + + Put on my bracelet. Oh you hurt me so. + The necklace, too-indeed, that still hangs here. + The kerchief keep, I feel so hot and choked. + +KING. Convey her home! + +GARCERAN. But, Sire, I fear-- + +KING. Well, what? + +GARCERAN. The people are aroused. + +KING. Ay, you are right. + Although a royal word protection is, + 'Tis better that we give no cause to wrong. + +ESTHER (_fixing_ RACHEL's _dress at the neck_). + + Thy dress is all disturbed and all awry. + +KING. Take her at first to one of those kiosks + There scattered through the garden, and at eve-- + +GARCERAN. I hear, my liege! + +KING. What was I saying? Oh! Are you not ready yet? + +ESTHER. We are, my lord. + +KING. At evening when the people all have gone, + Then lead her home and that will make an end. + +GARCERAN. Come, lovely heathen! + +KING. Heathen? Stuff and nonsense! + +ESTHER (_to_ RACHEL,_ who prepares to go_). + + And thankst thou not the King for so much grace? + + +RACHEL (_still exhausted, turning to the _KING). + + My thanks, O Sire, for all thy mighty care! + O were I not a poor and wretched thing-- + +(_with a motion of her hand across her neck_) + + That this my neck, made short by hangman's hand, + That this my breast, a shield against thy foe-- + But that thou wishest not! + +KING. A charming shield! + Now go, and God be with you.--Garceran, + +(_more softly_) + + I do not wish that she, whom I protect + Should be insulted by improper jests, + Or any way disturbed-- + +RACHEL (_with her hand on her brow_). + + I cannot walk. + +KING (_as Garceran is about to offer his arm_). + + And why your arm? The woman can assist. + And do thou, gaffer, watch thy daughter well, + The world is ill! Do thou protect thy hoard. + +[_Exeunt_ RACHEL _and her kin, led by_ GARCERAN.] + +KING (_watching them_). + She totters still in walking. All her soul + A sea of fear in e'er-renewing waves. + + (_Putting down his foot_) + + She held my foot so tightly in her grasp, + It almost pains me. Strange it is, a man + When cowardly, with justice is despised-- + A woman shows her strength when she is weak. + Ah, Almirante, what say _you_ to this? +MANRIQUE. I think, the punishment you gave my son, + Is, noble Sire, both subtle and severe. +KING. The punishment? +MANRIQUE. To guard this common trash. +KING. Methinks the punishment is not so hard. + Myself have never toyed with women much, + + (_Pointing to his suite._) + + But these, perchance, think otherwise than you. + But now, avaunt all pictures so confused! + And dine we, for my body needs new strength, + And with the first glad draught this festal day, + Let each one think--of what he wants to think. + No ceremony! Forward! Hasten! On! + +[_As the court arranges itself on both sides and the KING goes through +the centre, the curtain falls._] + + + +ACT II + + +_A drop scene showing part of the garden. At the right, a garden-house +with a balcony and a door, to which several steps lead up._ + +GARCERAN _enters through the door._ + +GARCERAN. And so before I'm caught, I'll save myself! + The girl is beautiful, and is a fool; + But love is folly; wherefore such a fool + Is more to fear than e'er the slyest was. + Besides, 'tis necessary that I bring, + While still there's time, my good repute again + To honor,--and my love for Dona Clara, + Most silent she of all that never talk; + The wise man counts escape a victory. + + _A page of the_ KING _enters._ + +PAGE. Sir Garceran-- + +GARCERAN. Ah, Robert, what's a-foot? + +PAGE. The King, my lord, commanded me to see + If still you were with her entrusted you-- + +GARCERAN. If I am here? Why, he commanded--friend! + You were to see were I, perhaps, upstairs? + Just tell him that the girl is in the house, + And I outside. That answer will suffice. + +PAGE. The King himself! + +GARCERAN. Your majesty! + +[_The_ KING _comes wrapped in a cloak. Exit PAGE._] + +KING. Well, friend! + Still here? + +GARCERAN. Why, did you not yourself command + That only with the evening's first approach-- + +KING. Yes, yes, but now on second thought it seems + Far better that you travel while 'tis day-- + They say thou'rt brave. + +GARCERAN. So you believe, O Sire-- + +KING. Methinks thou honorest the royal word + Which would unharmèd know what it protects. + But custom is the master of mankind; + Our wills will often only what they must. + And so, depart. But tell me, what doth she? + +GARCERAN. At first, there was a weeping without end, + But time brings comfort, as the saying is; + And so 'twas here. Soon cheerfulness, yea jest, + Had banished all her former abject fear; + Then there was pleasure in the shining toys, + And wonder at the satin tapestries. + We measured every curtained stuff by yards, + Till now we've settled down and feel at home. + +KING. And does she seem desirous to return? + +GARCERAN. It sometimes seems she does, and then does not. + A shallow mind ne'er worries for the morrow. + +KING. Of course thou didst not hesitate to throw + To her the bait of words, as is thy wont? + How did she take it, pray? + +GARCERAN. Not badly, Sire. + +KING. Thou liest! But in truth thou'rt lucky, boy! + And hover'st like a bird in cheerful skies, + And swoopest down wherever berries lure, + And canst adjust thyself at the first glance. + I am a King; my very word brings fear. + Yet I, were I the first time in my life + To stand in woman's presence, fear should know! + How dost begin? Pray, teach me what to do; + I am a novice in such arts as these, + And nothing better than a grown-up child. + Dost sigh? + +GARCERAN. Oh, Sire, how sadly out of date! + +KING. Well then, dost gaze? Does then Squire Gander gawk + Till Lady Goose-quill gawks again? Is't so? + And next, I ween, thou takest up thy lute, + And turning towards the balcony, as here, + Thou singst a croaking song, to which the moon, + A yellow pander, sparkles through the trees; + The flowers sweet intoxicate the sense, + Till now the proper opportunity + Arrives--the father, brother--spouse, perhaps-- + Has left the house on similar errand bent. + And now the handmaid calls you gently: "Pst!" + You enter in, and then a soft, warm hand + Takes hold of yours and leads you through the halls, + Which, endless as the gloomy grave, spur on + The heightened wish, until, at last, the musk, + The softened lights that come through curtains' folds, + Do tell you that your charming goal is reached. + The door is ope'd, and bright, in candle gleam, + On velvet dark, with limbs all loosed in love, + Her snow-white arm enwrapped in ropes of pearls, + Your darling leans with gently drooping head, + The golden locks--no, no, I say they're black-- + Her raven locks--and so on to the end! + Thou seest, Garceran, I learn right well, + And Christian, Mooress, Jewess, 'tis the same. + +GARCERAN. We frontier warriors prize, for lack of choice, + Fair Moorish women, but the Jewess, Sire,-- + +KING. Pretend thou not to pick and choose thy fare! + I wager, if the maiden there above + Had given thee but a glance, thou'dst be aflame. + I love it not, this folk, and yet I know + That what disfigures it, is our own work; + We lame them, and are angry when they limp, + And yet, withal, this wandering shepherd race + Has something great about it, Garceran. + We are today's, we others; but their line + Runs from Creation's cradle, where our God, + In human form, still walked in Paradise, + And cherubim were guests of patriarchs, + And God alone was judge, and was the law. + Within this fairy world there is the truth + Of Cain and Abel, of Rebecca's craft, + Of Rachel, who by Jacob's service wooed-- + How hight this maiden? + +GARCERAN. Sire, I know not. +KING. Oh! + Of great King Ahasuerus, who his hand + Stretched out o'er Esther; she, though Jewess, was + His wife, and, like a god, preserved her race. + Christian and Moslem both their lineage trace + Back to this folk, as oldest and as first; + Thus they have doubts of us, not we of them. + And though, like Esau, it has sold its right, + We ten times daily crucify our God + By grievous sins and by our vile misdeeds-- + The Jews have crucified him only once! + Now let us go! Or, rather, stay thou here; + Conduct her hence, and mark well where she lives. + Perhaps some time, when worn by weary cares, + I'll visit her, and there enjoy her thanks. + +(_About to go, he hears a noise in the house and stops._) + + What is't? + +GARCERAN. Confusion in the house; it seems + Almost as if they bring thy praise to naught; + Among themselves they quarrel-- + +KING (_going to the house_). + + What about? + + _ISAAC comes from the garden-house._ + +ISAAC (_speaking back into the house_). + + Stay then, and risk your heads, if so ye will, + You've nearly lost them once. I'll save myself. + +KING. Ask what he means. + +GARCERAN. My good man, tell, how now? + +ISAAC (_to_ GARCERAN). + + Ah, Sir, it is then you, our guardian! + My little Rachel speaks of you so oft; + She likes you. + +KING. To the point. What babbling this-- + +ISAAC. Who is this lord? + +GARCERAN. It makes no difference. Speak! + What is the cause of all that noise above? + +ISAAC (_speaking up to the window_). + + Look out, you're going to catch it--now look out! + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Yourself have seen my little Rachel-girl, + And how she wept and groaned and beat her breasts, + As if half crazed. Of course you have, my life!-- + She hardly knew the danger had been passed + When back again her old high spirits came; + She laughed, and danced, and sang; half mad again + She shoved awry the sacred furniture + By dead men watched, and raves--as now you hear. + Hangs from her girdle not a chatelaine? + Her keys she tries in every closet lock, + And opens all the doors along the wall. + There hang within all sorts of things to wear, + And angels, devils, beggars vie with kings + In gay attire-- + +KING (_aside to_ GARCERAN). + Our carnival costumes. + +ISAAC. She chose, herself, a plumèd crown from these,-- + It was not gold, but only gilded tin-- + One tells it by the weight, worth twenty pence; + About her shoulders throws a trained robe + And says she is the queen-- + +(_Speaking back._) + + Oh yes, thou fool! + Then in the ante-chamber next, there hangs + A picture of the King, whom God preserve! + She takes it from the wall, bears it about, + Calling it husband with endearing words, + And holds it to her breast. + +[KING _goes hastily toward the garden house._] + +GARCERAN. Oh, mighty Sire! + +ISAAC (_stepping back_). + + Alas! + +KING (_standing on the steps, quietly_). + + That game is worth a nearer look. + What's more, 'twill soon be time for you to go; + You should not miss the favorable hour. + But you, old man, must come. For not alone, + Nor unobserved would I approach your children. + +[_Goes into the house._] + +ISAAC. Was that the King? Oh, woe! + +GARCERAN. Proceed within. + +ISAAC. If he should draw his sword, we all are doomed! + +GARCERAN. Go in. And as for being afraid, 'tis not + For you nor for your daughter that I fear. + +[_He pushes the hesitating_ ISAAC _into the garden house and follows +him._] + + * * * * * + +_Room in the pavilion. In the background to the left a door; in the +foreground to the right, another door. _RACHEL,_ with a plumed crown on +her head and gold embroidered mantle about her shoulders, is trying to +drag an armchair from the neighboring room, on the right._ ESTHER _has +come in through the principal entrance._ + +RACHEL. The armchair should stand here, here in the middle. + +ESTHER. For Heaven's sake, O Rachel, pray look out; + Your madness else will bring us all to grief. + +RACHEL. The King has given this vacant house to us; + As long as we inhabit it, it's ours. + +[_They have dragged the chair to the centre._] + +RACHEL (_looking at herself_). + Now don't you think my train becomes me well? + And when I nod, these feathers also nod. + I need just one thing more--I'll get it--wait! + +[_Goes back through the side door._] + +ESTHER. Oh, were we only far from here, at home! + My father, too, comes not, whom she drove off. + +RACHEL (_comes back with an unframed picture_). + + The royal image taken from its frame + I'll bear it with me. + +ESTHER. Art thou mad again? + How often I have warned thee! + +RACHEL. Did I heed? + +ESTHER. By Heaven, no! + +RACHEL. Nor will I heed you now. + The picture pleases me. Just see how fine! + I'll hang it in my room, close by my bed. + At morn and eventide I'll gaze at it, + And think such thoughts as one may think when one + Has shaken off the burden of one's clothes + And feels quite free from every onerous weight. + But lest they think that I have stolen it-- + I who am rich--what need have I to steal?-- + My portrait which you wear about your neck + We'll hang up where the other used to be. + Thus he may look at mine, as I at his, + And think of me, if he perchance forgot. + The footstool bring me hither; I am Queen, + And I shall fasten to the chair this King. + They say that witches who compel to love + Stick needles, thus, in images of wax, + And every prick goes to a human heart + To hinder or to quicken life that's real. + +[_She fastens the picture by the four corners to the back of the +chair._] + + Oh, would that blood could flow with every prick, + That I could drink it with my thirsty lips, + And take my pleasure in the ill I'd done! + It hangs there, no less beautiful than dumb. + But I will speak to it as were I Queen, + With crown and mantle which become me well. + + +[_She has seated herself on the footstool before the picture._] + + Oh, hypocrite, pretending piety, + Full well I know your each and every wile! + The Jewess struck your fancy--don't deny! + And, by my mighty word, she's beautiful, + And only with myself to be compared. + +[_The_ KING, _followed by _GARCERAN _and_ ISAAC, _has entered and +placed himself behind the chair, and leans upon the back of the chair, +watching her._] + +(RACHEL, _continues_) + + But I, your Queen, I will not suffer it, + For know that I am jealous as a cat. + Your silence only makes your guilt seem more. + Confess! You liked her? Answer, Yes! + +KING. Well, Yes! + +[RACHEL, _starts, looks at the picture, then up, recognizes the_ KING,_ +and remains transfixed on the footstool._] + +KING (_stepping forward_). + + Art frightened? Thou hast willed it, and I say 't. + Compose thyself, thou art in friendly hands! + +[_He stretches his hand toward her, she leaps from the stool and flees +to the door at the right where she stands panting and with bowed head._] + +KING. Is she so shy? + +ESTHER. Not always, gracious Sire! + Not shy, but timid. + +KING. Do I seem so grim? + +(_Approaching her._ RACHEL, _shakes her head violently._) + + Well then, my dearest child, I pray be calm! + Yes, I repeat it, thou hast pleased me well; + When from this Holy War I home return + To which my honor and my duty call, + Then in Toledo I may ask for thee-- + Where dwell you in this city? + +ISAAC (_quickly_). + + Jew Street, Sire-- + Ben Mathes' house. + +ESTHER. If not, before you come, + We're driven out. + +KING. My word! That shall not be. + And I can keep a promise to protect. + So if at home you are as talkative + And cheerful as I hear you erstwhile were-- + Not shy, as now, I'll pass the time away, + And draw a breath far from the fogs of court. + But now depart; the time has long since come. + Go with them, Garceran; but, ere you go, + My picture now return to where it was. + +RACHEL (_rushing to the chair_). + + The picture's mine! + +KING. What ails thee, child? It must + Go back into the frame where it belongs. + +RACHEL (_to_ GARCERAN). + + The picture touch not, nor the pins therein, + Or I shall fix it with a deeper thrust + +(_Making a motion toward the picture with a pin._) + + Behold, right in the heart! + +KING. By Heaven, stop! + Thou almost frightenedst me. Who art thou, + girl? + Art mistress of the black and criminal arts, + That I should feel in my own breast the thrust + Thou aimèdst at the picture? + +ESTHER. Noble Sire, + She's but a spoiled child, and a wanton girl, + And has no knowledge of forbidden arts! + +KING. One ought not boldly play with things like these. + It drove my blood up to my very eyes, + And still I see the world all in a haze. + + (_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Is she not beautiful? + +GARCERAN. She is, my lord. + +KING. See how the waves of light glow o'er her form! + +[RACHEL _has meanwhile taken of the picture and rolled it up._] + +KING. Thou absolutely wilt not give it up? + +RACHEL (_to _ESTHER). + + I'll take it. + +KING. Well, then, in the name of God! + He will prevent that any ill befall. + But only go! Take, Garceran, + The road that down behind the garden leads. + The folk's aroused; it loves, because it's weak, + To test that weakness on some weaker one. + +GARCERAN (_at the window_). + + Behold, O Sire, where comes th' entire court,-- + The Queen herself leads on her retinue. + +KING. Comes here? Accursed! Is here no other door? + Let not the prying crew find here false cause + To prattle! + +GARCERAN (_pointing to the side door_). + + Sire, this chamber + +KING. Think you, then, + Before my servants I should hide myself? + And yet I fear the pain 'twould give the Queen; + She might believe--what I myself believe, + And so I save my troubled majesty. + See to it that she very soon depart. + +[_Exit into the side room._] + +ESTHER. I told you so! It is misfortune's road. + +_Enter the_ QUEEN _accompanied by_ MANRIQUE DE LARA _and several +others._ + +QUEEN. They told me that the King was in this place. + +GARCERAN. He was, but went away. + +QUEEN. The Jewess here. + +MANRIQUE. Arrayed like madness freed from every bond, + With all the tinsel-state of puppet-play! + Lay off the crown, for it befits thee not, + Even in jest; the mantle also doff! + +[ESTHER _has taken both off._] + + What has she in her hand? + +RACHEL. It is my own. + +MANRIQUE. But first we'll see! + +ESTHER. Nay, we are not so poor + That we should stretch our hands for others' goods! + +MANRIQUE (_going toward the side door_). + + And, too, in yonder chamber let us look, + If nothing missing, or perhaps if greed + With impudence itself as here, has joined. + +GARCERAN (_barring the way_). + + Here, father, call I halt! + +MANRIQUE. Know'st thou me not? + +GARCERAN. Yes, and myself as well. But there be duties + Which even a father's rights do not outweigh. + +MANRIQUE. Look in my eye! He cannot bear to do it! + Two sons I lose on this unhappy day. + +(_To the _QUEEN.) + + Will you not go? + +QUEEN. I would, but cannot. Yes, + I surely can, by Heaven, for I must. + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Although your office an unknightly one, + I thank you that you do it faithfully; + 'Twere death to see--but I can go and suffer-- + If you should meet your master ere the eve, + Say, to Toledo I returned--alone. + +[_The QUEEN and her suite go out._] + +GARCERAN. Woe worth the chance that chose this day of all, + To bring me home--from war to worse than war! + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER, _who is busied with her_). + + And had my life been forfeit, I'd have stayed. + +ESTHER (_to_ GARCERAN). + + I pray you now to bring us quickly home. + +GARCERAN. First, let me ask the King his royal will. + +(_Knocking at the side door._) + + Sire! What? No sign of life within? Perchance + An accident? Whate'er it be--I'll ope! + +[_The_ KING _steps out and remains standing in the foreground as the +others withdraw to the back of the stage._] + +KING. So honor and repute in this our world + Are not an even path on which the pace, + Simple and forward, shows the tendency, + The goal, our worth. They're like a juggler's rope, + On which a misstep plunges from the heights, + And every stumbling makes a butt for jest. + Must I, but yesterday all virtues' model, + Today shun every slave's inquiring glance? + Begone then, eager wish to please the mob, + Henceforth determine we ourselves our path! + +(_Turning to the others._) + + What, you still here? + +GARCERAN. We wait your high command. + +KING. If you had only always waited it, + And had remained upon the boundary! + Examples are contagious, Garceran. + +GARCERAN. A righteous prince will punish every fault, + His own as well as others'; but, immune, + He's prone to vent his wrath on others' heads. + +KING. Not such a one am I, my friend. Be calm! + We are as ever much inclined to thee; + And now, take these away, forever, too. + What's whim in others, is, in princes, sin. + +(_As he sees _RACHEL _approaching._) + + Let be! But first this picture lay aside, + And put it in the place from whence you took 't. + It is my will! Delay not! + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER). + Come thou, too. + +(_As both approach the side door_). + + Hast thou, as is thy wont, my picture on? + +ESTHER. What wilt + +RACHEL. My will--and should the worst betide-- + +[_They go to the side door._] + +KING. Then to the border, straight I'll follow thee; + And there we'll wash in Moorish blood away + The equal shame that we have shared this day, + That we may bear once more the gaze of men. + +[_The girls return._] + +RACHEL. I did it. + +KING. Now away, without farewell! + +ESTHER. Our thanks to thee, O Sire! + +RACHEL. Not mine, I say. + +KING. So be it; thankless go! + +RACHEL. I'll save it up. + +KING. That is, for never! + +RACHEL. I know better. + +(_To_ ESTHER.) + Come. + +[_They go, accompanied by_ GARCERAN, ISAAC _bowing deeply._] + +KING. And high time was it that she went; in sooth, + The boredom of a royal court at times + Makes recreation a necessity. + Although this girl has beauty and has charm + Yet seems she overbold and violent, + And one does well to watch what one begins. + Alonzo! + +[_Enter a servant._] + +SERVANT. Mighty Sire? + +KING. The horses fetch. + +SERVANT. Toledo, Sire? + +KING. Nay, to Alarcos, friend. + We're for the border, for the war, and so + Make ready only what we need the most. + For in Toledo four eyes threaten me; + Two full of tears, the other two, of fire. + She would not leave my picture here behind, + And bade defiance unto death itself. + And yet there needed but my stern command + To make her put it back where it belonged. + She tried her actress arts on me, that's all; + But did she put it in the frame again? + Since I am leaving here for many moons + Let all be undisturbed as 'twas before; + Of this affair let every trace be gone. + +[_He goes into the ante-chamber. A pause as one of the servants takes up +from the chair the clothes which_ RACHEL _had worn, but holds the crown +in his hand. The_ KING _comes back holding_ RACHEL'S _picture._] + +KING. My picture gone--and this one in its place! + It is her own, and burns within my hand-- + +(_Throwing the picture on the floor._) + + Avaunt! Avaunt! Can boldness go so far? + This may not be, for while I think of her + With just repugnance, this her painted image + Stirs up the burning passion in my breast. + Then, too, within her hands my picture rests! + They talk of magic, unallowèd arts, + Which this folk practises with such-like things + And something as of magic o'er me comes-- + +(_To the servant._) + + Here, pick this up and spur thee on until + Thou overtake them. + +SERVANT. Whom, my liege? + +KING. Whom? Whom? + The girls of course, I mean, and Garceran; + Return this picture to the girls and ask-- + +SERVANT. What, Sire? + +KING. Shall my own servants then become + The sharers in the knowledge of my shame? + I'll force th' exchange myself, if it must be! + Take up the picture--I will touch it not! + +[_The servant has picked up the picture._] + +KING. How clumsy! Hide it in your breast; but nay, + If there, it would be warmed by other's glow! + Give 't here, myself will take it; follow me--We'll + overtake them yet! But I surmise, + Since now suspicion's rife, there may some harm, + Some accident befall them unawares. + My royal escort were the safest guide. + Thou, follow me! + +[_He has looked at the picture, then has put it in his bosom._] + + Stands there not, at the side, + The Castle Retiro, where, all concealed, + My forebear, Sancho, with a Moorish maid--! + +SERVANT. Your Majesty, 'tis true! + +KING. We'll imitate + Our forebears in their bravery, their worth, + Not when they stumble in their weaker hours. + The task is, first of all to conquer self--And + then against the foreign conqueror! + Retiro hight the castle?--Let me see! + Oh yes, away! And be discreet! But then--Thou + knowest nothing! All the better. Come! + +[_Exit with servant._] + + + +ACT III + + +_Garden in the royal villa. In the background flows the Tagus. A roomy +arbor toward the front at the right. At the left, several suppliants in +a row, with petitions in their hands._ ISAAC _stands near them._ + + +ISAAC. You were already told to linger not. + My daughter soon will come to take the air. + And _he_ is with her--_he_; I say not who. + So tremble and depart, and your requests + Take to the King's advisers in Toledo. + +[_He takes the petition from one of them._] + + Let's see! 'Twon't do. + +PETITIONER. You hold it upside down. + +ISAAC. Because the whole request is topsy-turvy turvy--And + you are, too. Disturb no more--depart. + +2D PETIT. Sir Isaac, in Toledo me you knew. + +ISAAC. I know you not. In these last days my eyes + Have suddenly grown very, very weak. + +2D PETIT. But I know you! Here is the purse of gold + You lost, which I herewith restore to you. + +ISAAC. The purse I lost? I recognize it! Yea, + 'Twas greenish silk--with ten piasters in't! + +2D PETIT. Nay, twenty. + +ISAAC. Twenty? Well, my eye is good; + My mem'ry fails me, though, from time to time! + This sheet, no doubt, explains the circumstance--Just + where you found the purse, perhaps, and how. + There is no further need that this report + Should go on file. And yet, just let me have't! + We will convey it to the proper place, + That every one may know your honesty! + +[_The petitioners present their petitions; he takes one in each hand and +throws them to the ground._] + + No matter what it be, your answer's there. + +(_To a third._) + + + I see you have a ring upon your hand. + The stone is good, let's see! + +[_The suppliant hands over the ring._] + + That flaw, of course, + Destroys its perfect water! Take it back. + +[_He puts the ring on his own finger._] + +3D PETIT. You've put it on your own hand! + +ISAAC. What, on mine? + Why so I have! I thought I'd given it back. + It is so tight I cannot get it off. + +3D PETIT. Keep it, but, pray, take my petition too. + +ISAAC (_busy with the ring_). + + I'll take them both in memory of you. + The King shall weigh the ring--I mean, of course, + Your words--although the flaw is evident--The + flaw that's in the stone--you understand. + Begone now, all of you! Have I no club? + Must I be bothered with this Christian pack? + +[GARCERAN _has meanwhile entered._] + +GARCERAN. Good luck! I see you sitting in the reeds, + But find you're pitching high the pipes you cut. + +ISAAC. The royal privacy's entrusted me; + The King's not here, he does not wish to be. + And who disturbs him--even you, my lord, + I must bid you begone! Those his commands. + +GARCERAN. You sought a while ago to find a club; + And when you find it, bring it me. I think + Your back could use it better than your hand. + +ISAAC. How you flare up! That is the way with Christians? + They're so direct of speech--but patient waiting, + And foresight, humble cleverness, they lack. + The King is pleased much to converse with me. + +GARCERAN. When he is bored and flees his inner self, + E'en such a bore as you were less a bore. + +ISAAC. He speaks to me of State and of finance. + +GARCERAN. Are you, perhaps, the father of the new + Decree that makes a threepence worth but two? + +ISAAC. Money, my friend, 's the root of everything. + The enemy is threat'ning--buy you arms! + The soldier, sure, is sold, and that for cash. + You eat and drink your money; what you eat + Is bought, and buying's money--nothing else. + The time will come when every human soul + Will be a sight-draft and a short one, too; + I'm councilor to the King, and if yourself + Would keep in harmony with Isaac's luck-- + +GARCERAN. In harmony with you? It is my curse + That chance and the accursed seeming so + Have mixed me in this wretched piece of folly, + Which to the utmost strains my loyalty. + +ISAAC. My little Rachel daily mounts in grace! + +GARCERAN. Would that the King, like many another one, + In jest and play had worn youth's wildness off! + But he, from childhood, knowing only men, + Brought up by men and tended but by men, + Nourished with wisdom's fruits before his time, + Taking his marriage as a thing of course, + The King now meets, the first time in his life, + A woman, female, nothing but her sex, + And she avenges on this prodigy + The folly of too staid, ascetic youth. + A noble woman's half, yes all, a man-- + It is their faults that make them woman-kind. + And that resistance, which the oft deceived + Gains through experience, the King has not; + A light disport he takes for bitter earn'st. + But this shall not endure, I warrant thee! + The foe is at the borders, and the King + Shall hie him where long since he ought to be; + Myself shall lead him hence. And so an end. + +ISAAC. Try what you can! And if not with us, then + You are against us, and will break your neck + In vain attempt to clear the wide abyss. + +(_The sound of flutes._) + + But hark! With cymbals and with horns they come, + As Esther with King Ahasuerus came, + Who raised the Jews to fame and high estate. + +GARCERAN. Must I, then, see in this my King's debauch + A picture of myself from early days, + And be ashamed for both of us at once? + +[_A boat upon which are the_ KING, RACHEL _and suite, appears on the +river._] + +KING. Lay to! Here is the place--the arbor here. + +RACHEL. The skiff is rocking--hold me, lest I fall. + +[_The_ KING _has jumped to the shore._] + +RACHEL. And must I walk to shore upon this board + So thin and weak? + +KING. Here, take my hand, I pray! + +RACHEL. No, no, I'm dizzy. + +GARCERAN (_to himself_). + + Dizzy are you? Humph! + +KING (_who has conducted her to the shore_). + + It is accomplished now--this mighty task! + +RACHEL. No, never will I enter more a ship. + +(_Taking the_ KING's _arm._) + + Permit me, noble Sire, I am so weak! + Pray feel my heart, how fev'rishly it beats! + +KING. To fear, is woman's right; but you abuse it. + +RACHEL. You now, hard-hearted, take away your aid! + And, oh, these garden walks, how hard they are! + With stones, and not with sand, they're roughly strewn + For men to walk on, not for women's feet. + +KING. Put down a carpet, ye, that we have peace. + +RACHEL. I feel it well--I merely burden you! + Oh, were my sister only here with me, + For I am sick and tired unto death! + Naught but these pillows here? + +(_Throwing the pillows in the arbor violently about._) + + No, no, no, no! + +KING (_laughing_). + + I see your weakness happily abates. + +(_Catching sight of _GARCERAN.) + + Ah, Garceran! Behold, she's but a child! + +GARCERAN. A spoiled child, surely! + +KING. Yes, they all are that. + It suits her well! + +GARCERAN. According to one's tastes! + +KING. See, Garceran! I feel how wrong I am; + And yet I know there needeth but a nod, + A simple word, to make it all dissolve--This + dream--into the nothing that it is. + And so I suffer it because I've need, + In this confusion which myself have caused. + How is the army? + +GARCERAN. As you long have known, + The enemy is arming. + +KING. So shall we. + A few days more, and I shall put away + This toying from me, and forevermore; + Then time and counsel shall be found again. + +GARCERAN. Mayhap the counsel, but the time slips by! + +KING. With deeds we shall regain the ground that's lost. + +RACHEL. I hear them speaking; and I know of what--Of + And not be lonesome in this concourse loud. + I see you come not. No, they hold you back. + +[_Weeping._] + + Not any comfort give they me, nor joy. + They hold me here, apart, in slavery. + Would I were home again in father's house, + Where every one is at my beck and call, + Instead of here,--the outcast of contempt. + +KING. Go thou to her! + +GARCERAN. What? Shall I? + +KING. Go, I say! + +RACHEL. Sit down by me, but nearer, nearer--so! + Once more I say, I love you, Garceran. + You are, indeed, a knight without a flaw, + Not merely knight in name, as they it learn-- + Those iron, proud Castilians--from their foes, + The Moors.--But these Castilians imitate + In manner borrowed, therefore rough and crude, + What those, with delicate and clever art, + Are wont to practise as a native gift. + Give me your hand. Just see, how soft it is! + And yet you wield a sword as well as they. + But you're at home in boudoirs, too, and know + The pleasing manners of a gentler life. + From Dona Clara cometh not this ring? + She's far too pale for rosy-cheekèd love, + Were not the color which her face doth lack + Replaced by e'er renewing blush of shame. + But many other rings I see you have-- + How many sweethearts have you? Come, confess! + +GARCERAN. Suppose I ask the question now of you? + +RACHEL. I've never loved. But I could love, if e'er + In any breast _that_ madness I should find + Which could enthrall me, were my own heart touched. + Till then I follow custom's empty show, + Traditional in love's idolatry, + As in the fanes of stranger-creeds one kneels. + +KING (_who meanwhile has been pacing up and down, now stands in the +foreground at the left and speaks in an aside to a servant_). + + Bring me my arms, and full accoutrements, + And wait for me beside the garden-house. + I will to camp where they have need of me. + +[_Exit servant._] + +RACHEL. I beg you, see your King! He thinks he loves; + Yet when I speak to you and press your hand, + He worries not. With good economy, + He fills his garish day with business, + And posts his ledger, satisfied, at ev'n. + Out on you! You are all alike--you, too. + O were my sister here! She's wise--than I + Far cleverer! Yet, too, when in her breast + The spark of will and resolution falls, + She flashes out in flames, like unto mine. + Were she a man, she'd be a hero. Ye + Before her courage and her gaze should flinch. + Now let me sleep until she comes, for I + Myself am but the dreaming of a night. + +[_She lays her head on her arm and her arm on her pillows._] + +GARCERAN (_steps to the_ KING _who stands watching the reclining +RACHEL_). + + Most noble Sire-- + +KING (_still gazing_). Well? + +GARCERAN. May I now go back + Once more unto the army and the camp? + +KING (_as above_). + + The army left the camp? Pray tell me why. + +GARCERAN. You hear me not--myself, _I_ wish to go. + +KING. And there you'll talk, with innuendo, prate-- + +GARCERAN. Of what? + +KING. Of me, of that which here took place. + +GARCERAN. For that I'd need to understand it more. + +KING. I see! Believest thou in sorcery? + +GARCERAN. Since recently I almost do, my lord! + +KING. And why is it but recently, I pray? + +GARCERAN. Respect, I thought the wonted mate of love; + But love together with contempt, my lord-- + +KING. "Contempt" were far too hard a word; perhaps + An "unregard"--yet, nathless--marvelous! + +GARCERAN. In sooth, the marvel is a little old, + For it began that day in Paradise + When God from Adam's rib created Eve. + +KING. And yet he closed the breast when it was done, + And placed the will to guard the entering in. + Thou may'st to camp, but not alone:--with me. + +RACHEL (_sitting up_). + + The sun is creeping into my retreat. + Who props for me the curtain on yon side? + +(_Looking off stage at the right._) + + There go two men, both bearing heavy arms; + The lance would serve my purpose very well. + +(_Calling off stage._) + + Come here! This way! What, are ye deaf? + Come quick! + +[_The servant, returning with the lance and helmet, accompanied by a +second servant bearing the King's shield and cuirass, enters._] + + RACHEL. Give me your lance, good man, and stick the point + Here in the ground, and then the roof will be + Held up in that direction. Thus it throws + A broader shadow. Quickly, now! That's right! + You other fellow, like a snail, you bear + Your house upon your back, unless, perhaps, + A house for some one else. Show me the shield! + A mirror 'tis, in sooth! 'Tis crude, of course, + As all is, here, but in a pinch 'twill do. + +(_They hold the shield before her._) + + One brings one's hair in order, pushes back + Whatever may have ventured all too far, + And praises God who made one passing fair. + This mirror's curve distorts me! Heaven help! + What puffy cheeks are these? No, no, my friend, + What roundness nature gives us, satisfies.-- + And now the helmet--useless in a fight, + For it conceals what oft'nest wins--the eyes; + But quite adapted to the strife of love. + Put me the helm upon my head.--You hurt!-- + And if one's love rebels and shows his pride, + Down with the visor! + +(_Letting it down._) + + He in darkness stands! + But should he dare, mayhap, to go from us, + And send for arms, to leave us here alone, + Then up the visor goes. + +(_She does it._) + + Let there be light! + The sun, victorious, drives away the fog. + +KING (_going to her_). + + Thou silly, playing, wisely-foolish child! + +RACHEL. Back, back! Give me the shield, give me the lance! + I am attacked, but can defend myself. + +KING. Lay down thy arms! No ill approacheth thee! + +(_Taking both of her hands._) + +_Enter ESTHER from the left rear._ + +RACHEL. Ah thou, my little sister! Welcome, here! + Away with all this mummery, but quick! + Don't take my head off, too! How clumsy, ye! + +(_Running to her._) + + Once more be welcome, O thou sister mine! + How I have long'd to have thee here with me! + And hast thou brought my bracelets and my jewels, + My ointments and my perfumes, with thee now, + As from Toledo's shops I ordered them? + +ESTHER. I bring them and more weighty things besides-- + Unwelcome news, a bitter ornament. + Most mighty Sire and Prince! The Queen has from + Toledo's walls withdrawn, and now remains + In yonder castle where ill-fortune first + Decreed that you and we should meet. + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + With her, + Your noble father, Don Manrique Lara, + Who summons all the kingdom's high grandees + From everywhere, in open letters, to + Discuss the common good, as if the land + Were masterless and you had died, O King. + +KING. I think you dream! + +ESTHER. I am awake, indeed, + And must keep watch to save my sister's life. + They threaten her. She'll be the sacrifice! + +RACHEL. O woe is me! Did I not long ago + Adjure you to return unto the court + And bring to naught the plotting of my foes!-- + But you remain'd. Behold here are your arms, + The helm, the shield, and there the mighty spear + I'll gather them--but Oh, I cannot do 't. + +KING (_to _ESTHER). + + Now tend the little girl. With every breath + She ten times contradicts what she has said. + I will to court; but there I need no arms; + With open breast, my hand without a sword, + I in my subjects' midst will boldly step + And ask: "Who is there here that dares rebel?" + They soon shall know their King is still alive + And that the sun dies not when evening comes, + But that the morning brings its rays anew. + Thou follow'st, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. I'm ready. + +ESTHER. What + Becomes of us? + +RACHEL. O stay, I beg you, stay! + +KING. The castle's safe, the keeper faithful, too; + And he will guard you with his very life. + For though I feel that I have sinned full sore, + Let no one suffer who has trusted me + And who with me has shared my guilt and sin. + Come, Garceran! Or, rather, take the lead; + For if the estates were in assembly still, + Not called by me, nor rightfully convened, + I then must punish--much against my will. + Command them to disperse--and quickly, too! + Thy father tell: Although protector he + And regent for me in my boyhood days, + I now know how to guard my right myself-- + Against him, too, against no matter whom. + Come on! And ye, farewell! + +RACHEL (_approaching_). O mighty Prince! + +KING. No more! I need my strength and steadfast will, + No parting words shall cripple my resolve. + Ye'll hear from me when I have done my work; + But how, and what the future brings, is still + Enwrapt in night and gloom. But come what may, + I give my princely word ye shall be safe. + Come, Garceran! With God! He be with you! + +[_Exeunt KING and GARCERAN at the left._] + +RACHEL. He loves me not--O, I have known it long! + +ESTHER. O sister, useless is too tardy knowledge, + When injury has made us sadly wise. + I warned thee, but thou wouldst not ever heed. + +RACHEL. He was so hot and ardent at the first! + +ESTHER. And now makes up in coolness for his haste. + +RACHEL. But I who trusted, what shall be my fate? + Come, let us flee! + +ESTHER. The streets are occupied; + Against us all the land is in revolt. + +RACHEL. And so I then must die and am so young? + And I should like to live! Not live, indeed-- + But die, unwarned, an unexpected death! + 'Tis but the moment of our death that shocks! + +(_At_ ESTHER's _neck._) + + Unhappy am I, sister, hopeless, lost! + +(_After a pause, with a voice broken by sobs._) + + And is the necklace set with amethysts, + Thou broughtst? + +ESTHER. It is. And pearls it has as bright + And many, too, as are thy tears. + +RACHEL. I would + Not look at it at all--at least not now. + But only if our prison lasts too long, + I'll try divert eternal wretchedness, + And shall adorn myself unto my death. + But see, who nears? Ha, ha, ha, ha, it is, + In sooth, our father, armèd cap-a-pie! + +[ISAAC, _a helmet on his head, under his long coat a cuirass, enters +from the left._] + +ISAAC. 'Tis I, the father of a wayward brood, + Who ere my time are shortening my days. + In harness, yes! When murder stalks abroad, + Will one's bare body save one from the steel? + A blow by chance, and then the skull is split! + This harness hides, what's more, my notes of 'change, + And in my pockets carry I my gold; + I'll bury that and curse and soul will save + From poverty and death. And if ye mock, + I'll curse you with a patriarchal curse-- + With Isaac's curse! O ye, with voices like + The voice of Jacob, but with Esau's hands, + Invert the law of primogeniture! + Myself, my care! What care I more for you! + Hark! + +RACHEL. What noise? + +ESTHER. The drawbridge has been raised-- + And now our refuge is a prison too.-- + +RACHEL. A token that the King has left these walls. + So hastes he forth.--Will he return again? + I fear me no--I fear the very worst! + +(_Sinking on_ ESTHER's _breast_.) + + And yet I loved him truly, loved him well! + + + +ACT IV + + +_A large room with a throne in the foreground to the right. Next to the +throne, and running in a straight row to the left, several chairs upon +which eight or ten Castilian grandees are sitting. Close to the throne_, +MANRIQUE DE LARA, _who has arisen._ + +MANRIQUE. In sadness we are now assembled here, + But few of us, whom close proximity + Allowed to gather in so short a time. + There will be more to join us presently. + Stern, universal need, delaying not, + Commands us count ourselves as competent. + Before all others, in our earnest group, + Is missing he to whom belongs the right + To call this parliament and here preside; + We then are half illegal at the start. + And so, my noble lords, I took the care + To ask her royal majesty, the Queen, + Although our business much concerns herself, + Here to convene with us and take her place, + That we may know we are not masterless, + Nor feel 'tis usurpation brought us here. + The subject of our council at this time + I hope--I fear--is known to all too well. + The King, our mighty sov'reign--not alone + In rank, estate, and dignity he's high, + But, too, in natural gifts, that when we gaze + Behind us in the past's wide-open book, + We scarce again can find his equal there-- + Except that strength, the lever of all good, + When wandered from her wonted path of good, + Wills e'er to do her will with equal strength-- + The King, I say, withdraws himself from court, + Lured by a woman's too lascivious charm, + A thing in no wise seeming us to judge-- + The Queen! + +_The_ QUEEN, _accompanied by_ DOÑA CLARA _and several ladies, enters +from the right, and seats herself on the throne, after she has indicated +to the grandees who have arisen that they are to resume their seats._ + +MANRIQUE. Have I permission, Majesty? + +QUEEN. Proceed. + +MANRIQUE. What I just said, I shall repeat + "A thing in no wise seeming us to judge." + But at the bound'ries arms him now the Moor, + And threats with war the hard-oppressed land; + So now the right and duty of the King + Is straight to ward this danger from us all, + With forces he has called and raised himself. + But see, the King is missing! He will come, + I know, if only angry that we called + Of our own power and will this parliament. + But if the cause remains that keeps him hence, + Unto his former bonds he will return, + And, first as last, we be an orphan land. + Your pardon? + +[_The_ QUEEN _signs him to continue._] + + First of all, the girl must go. + Full many propositions are at hand. + Some are there here who wish to buy her off, + And others wish to send her from the land, + A prisoner in some far distant clime. + The King has money, too, and though she's far, + You know that power can find whate'er it seeks. + A third proposal-- + +[_The_ QUEEN, _at these words, has arisen._] + + Pardon, noble Queen! + You are too mild for this our business drear! + Your very kindness, lacking vigorous will + From which to draw renewal of its strength, + Has most of all, perhaps, estranged our King. + I blame you not, I say but what is true. + I pray you, then, to waive your own desire, + But if it please you otherwise, then speak! + What flow'ry fate, what flatt'ring punishment, + Is suited to the sin this drab has done? + +QUEEN (_softly_). + Death. + +MANRIQUE. In truth? + +QUEEN (_more firmly_). + + Yes, death. + +MANRIQUE. Ye hear, my lords! + This was the third proposal, which, although + A man, I did not earlier dare to speak. + +QUEEN. Is marriage not the very holiest, + Since it makes right what else forbidden is, + And that, which horrible to all the chaste, + Exalts to duty, pleasing unto God? + Other commandments of our God most high + Give added strength to our regard for right, + But what so strong that it ennobles sin + Must be the strongest of commandments all. + Against that law this woman now has sinned. + But if my husband's wrong continueth, + Then I myself, in all my married years, + A sinner was and not a wife, our son + Is but a misborn bastard-spawn, a shame + Unto himself, and sore disgrace to us. + If ye in me see guilt, then kill me, pray! + I will not live if I be flecked with sin. + Then may he from the princesses about + A spouse him choose, since only his caprice, + And not what is allowed, can govern him. + But if she is the vilest of this earth, + Then purify your King and all his land. + I am ashamed to speak like this to men, + It scarce becomes me, but I needs must speak. + +MANRIQUE. But will the King endure this? If so, how? + +QUEEN. He will, indeed, because he ought and must. + Then on the murd'rers he can take revenge, + And first of all strike me and this, my breast. + +[_She sits down._] + +MANRIQUE. There is no hope of any other way. + The noblest in the battle meet their doom-- + To die a bitter, yea, a cruel death-- + Tortured with thirst, and under horses' hoofs, + A doubler, sharper, bitt'rer meed of pain + Than ever, sinner on the gallows-tree, + And sickness daily takes our best away; + For God is prodigal with human life; + Should we be timid, then, where his command, + His holy law, which he himself has giv'n, + Demands, as here, that he who sins shall die? + Together then, we will request the King + To move from out his path this stumbling-block + Which keeps him from his own, his own from him. + If he refuse, blood's law be on the land, + Until the law and prince be one again, + And we may serve them both by serving one. + +_A servant comes._ + +SERVANT. Don Garceran! + +MANRIQUE. And does the traitor dare? + Tell him-- + +SERVANT. The message is his Majesty's. + +MANRIQUE. That's diff'rent. An' he were my deadly foe, + He has my ear, when speaks he for the King. + +_Enter _GARCERAN. + +MANRIQUE. At once your message give us; then, farewell. + +GARCERAN. O Queen, sublime, and thou my father, too, + And ye besides, the best of all the land! + I feel today, as ne'er before I felt, + That to be trusted is the highest good, + And that frivolity, though free of guilt, + Destroys and paralyzes more than sin + Itself. _One_ error is condoned at last, + Frivolity is ever prone to err. + And so, today, though conscious of no fault, + I stand before you sullied, and atone + For youthful heedlessness that passed for wrong. + +MANRIQUE. Of that, another time! Your message now! + +GARCERAN. The King through me dissolves this parliament. + + MANRIQUE. And since he sent frivolity itself + He surely gave some token from his hand, + Some written word as pledge and surety? + +GARCERAN. Hot-foot he followeth. + +MANRIQUE. That is enough! + So in the royal name I now dissolve + This parliament. Ye are dismissed. But list + Ye to my wish and my advice: Return + Ye not at once unto your homes, but wait + Ye rather, round about, till it appears + Whether the King will take the task we leave, + Or we must still perform it in his name. + + (_To_ GARCERAN.) + + However, you, in princely service skilled, + If spying be your office 'mongst us here, + I beg you tell your King what I advised, + And that th' estates in truth have been dissolved, + But yet are ready to unite for deeds. + +GARCERAN. Then once again, before you all, I say + No tort have I in this mad escapade. + As it was chance that brought me from the camp, + So chanced it that the King selected me + To guard this maiden from the people's rage; + And what with warning, reason, argument, + A man may do to ward off ill, although + 'Twas fruitless, I admit,--that have I tried. + I should deserve your scorn were this not so. + And Doña Clara, doubly destined mine, + By parents both and by my wish as well, + You need not hang your noble head, for though + Unworthy of you--never worthy,--I + Not less am worthy now than e'er before. + I stand before you here and swear: 'Tis so. + +MANRIQUE. If this is so, and thou art still a man, + Be a Castilian now and join with us + To serve thy country's cause as we it serve. + Thou art acquainted in the castle there; + The captain opes the gates if thou demand. + Perhaps we soon shall need to enter thus, + If deaf the King, our noble lord. + +GARCERAN. No word + Against the King, my master! + +MANRIQUE. Thine the choice! + But follow for the nonce these other lords, + The outcome may be better than we think. + +[_Servant entering from the left._] + +SERVANT. His Majesty, the King! + +MANRIQUE (_to the estates, pointing to the middle door_). + + This way--withdraw! + +(_To the servants._) + + And ye, arrange these chairs along the wall. + Naught shall remind him that we gathered here + +QUEEN (_who has stepped down from the throne_). + + My knees are trembling, yet there's none to aid. + +MANRIQUE. Virtue abode with strength in days of yore, + But latterly, estranged, they separate. + Strength stayed with youth--where she was wont to be-- + And virtue fled to gray and ancient heads. + Here, take my arm! Though tottering the step, + And strength be lacking,--virtue still abides. + +[_He leads the _QUEEN _off at the right. The estates, with _GARCERAN,_ +have gone out through the centre door. The_ KING _comes from the left, +behind him his page._] + +KING. The sorrel, say you, limps? The pace was fast, + But I no further need shall have of him. + So to Toledo, pray you, have him led, + Where rest will soon restore him. I, myself, + Will at my spouse's side, in her own coach + Return from here, in sight of all the folk, + That what they see they may believe, and know + That discord and dissension are removed. + + [_The page goes._] + + I am alone. Does no one come to meet? + Naught but bare walls and silent furniture! + It is but recently that they have met. + And oh, these empty chairs much louder speak + Than those who sat upon them e'er have done! + What use to chew the bitter cud of thought? + I must begin to remedy the ill. + Here goes the way to where my wife doth dwell.-- + I'll enter on this most unwelcome path. + +[_He approaches the side door at the right._] + + What, barred the door? Hallo, in there! The King + It is, who's master in this house! For me + There is no lock, no door to shut me out. + +[_A waiting-woman enters through the door._] + +KING. Ye bar yourselves? + +WAITING WOMAN. The Queen, your Majesty-- + +(_As the _KING _is about to enter rapidly._) + + The inner door she, too, herself, has locked. + +KING. I will not force my way. Announce to her + That I am back, and this my summons is-- + Say, rather, my request--as now I say. + + [_Exit waiting-woman._] + +KING (_standing opposite the throne_). + + Thou lofty seat, o'ertopping others all, + Grant that we may no lower be than thou, + And even unexalted by these steps + We yet may hold just measure of the good. + +_Enter the _QUEEN. + +KING (_going toward her with outstretched hands_). + + I greet thee, Leonore! + +QUEEN. Be welcome, thou! + +KING. And not thy hand? + +QUEEN. I'm glad to see thee here. + +KING. And not thy hand? + +QUEEN (_bursting into tears_). + + O help me, gracious God! + +KING. This hand is not pest-stricken, Leonore, + Go I to battle, as I ought and must, + It will be smeared and drenched with hostile blood; + Pure water will remove the noisome slime, + And for thy "welcome" I shall bring it pure. + Like water for the gross and earthly stain + There is a cleanser for our sullied souls. + Thou art, as Christian, strong enough in faith + To know repentance hath a such-like might. + We others, wont to live a life of deeds, + Are not inclined to modest means like this, + Which takes the guilt away, but not the harm-- + Yes, half but is the fear of some new sin. + If wishing better things, if glad resolve + Are any hostage-bond for now and then, + Take it--as I do give it--true and whole! + +QUEEN (_holding out both hands_). + + O God, how gladly! + +KING. No, not both thy hands! + The right alone, though farther from the heart, + Is giv'n as pledge of contract and of bond, + Perhaps to indicate that not alone + Emotion, which is rooted in our hearts, + But reason, too, the person's whole intent, + Must give endurance to the plighted word. + Emotion's tide is swift of change as time; + That which is pondered, has abiding strength. + +QUEEN (_offering him her right hand_). + + That too! Myself entire! + +KING. Trembleth thy hand! + +(_Dropping her hand._) + + O noble wife, I would not treat thee ill. + Believe not that, because I speak less mild, + I know less well how great has been my fault, + Nor honor less the kindness of thy heart. + +QUEEN. 'Tis easy to forgive; to comprehend + Is much more difficult. How it _could_ be, + I understand it not! + +KING. My wife and queen, + We lived as children till but recently. + As such our hands were joined in marriage vows, + And then as guileless children lived we on. + But children grow, with the increase of years, + And ev'ry stage of our development + By some discomfort doth proclaim itself. + Often it is a sickness, warning us + That we are diff'rent--other, though the same, + And other things are fitting in the same. + So is it with our inmost soul as well-- + It stretches out, a wider orbit gains, + Described about the selfsame centre still. + Such sickness have we, then, but now passed through; + And saying we, I mean that thou as well + Art not a stranger to such inner growth. + Let's not, unheeding, pass the warning by! + In future let us live as kings should live-- + For kings we are. Nor let us shut ourselves + From out this world, and all that's good and great; + And like the bees which, at each close of day, + Return unto their hives with lading sweet, + So much the richer by their daily gain, + We'll find within the circle of our home, + Through hours of deprivation, added sweets. + +QUEEN. If thou desirest, yes; for me, I miss them not. + +KING. But thou wilt miss them then in retrospect, + When thou hast that whereby one judges worth. + But let us now forget what's past and gone! + I like it not, when starting on a course, + By any hindrance thus to bar the way + With rubbish from an earlier estate. + I do absolve myself from all my sins. + Thou hast no need--thou, in thy purity! + +QUEEN. Not so! Not so! My husband, if thou knew'st + What black and mischief-bringing thoughts have found + Their way into my sad and trembling heart! + +KING. Perhaps of vengeance? Why, so much the better! + Thou feel'st the human duty to forgive, + And know'st that e'en the best of us may err. + We will not punish, nor avenge ourselves; + For _she_, believe me, _she_ is guiltless quite, + As common grossness or vain weakness is, + Which merely struggles not, but limply yields. + I only bear the guilt, myself alone. + +QUEEN. Let me believe what keeps and comforts me + The Moorish folk, and all that like them are, + Do practise secret and nefarious arts, + With pictures, signs and sayings, evil draughts, + Which turn a mortal's heart within his breast, + And make his will obedient to their own. + +KING. Magic devices round about us are, + But we are the magicians, we ourselves. + That which is far removed, a thought brings near; + What we have scorned, another time seems fair; + And in this world so full of miracles, + We are the greatest miracle ourselves! + +QUEEN. She has thy picture! + +KING. And she shall return 't, + In full view I shall nail it to the wall, + And for my children's children write beneath: + A King, who, not so evil in himself, + Hath once forgot his office and his duty. + Thank God that he did find himself again. + +QUEEN. But thou, thyself, dost wear about thy neck-- + +KING. Oh yes! Her picture? So you knew that, too? + +[_He takes the picture with the chain from his neck, and lays it on the +table in the foreground to the right._] + + So then I lay it down, and may it lie-- + A bolt not harmful, now the thunder's past. + The girl herself--let her be ta'en away! + She then may have a man from out her race-- + +[_Walking fitfully back and forth from the rear to the front of the +stage, and stopping short now and then._] + + But no, not that!--The women of this race + Are passable, good even, but the men + With dirty hands and narrow greed of gain-- + This girl shall not be touched by such a one. + Indeed, she has to better ones belonged. + But then, what's that to me?--If thus or thus, + If near or far--they may look after that! + +QUEEN. Wilt thou, then, Don Alfonso, stay thus strong? + +KING (_standing still_). + + Forsooth, thou ne'er hast known or seen this girl! + Take all the faults that on this broad earth dwell, + Folly and vanity, and weakness, too, + Cunning and boldness, coquetry and greed-- + Put them together and thou hast this woman; + And if, enigma thou, not magic art, + Shouldst call her power to charm me, I'll agree, + And were ashamed, were't not but natural, too! + +QUEEN (_walks up and down_). + + Believe me, husband, 'twas not natural! + +KING (_standing still_). + + Magic there is, in truth. Its name is custom, + Which first not potent, later holds us fast; + So that which at the outset shocked, appalled, + Sloughs off the first impression of disgust, + And grows, a thing continued, to a need-- + Is this not of our very bodies true? + This chain I wore--which now here idly lies, + Ta'en off forever--breast and neck alike, + To this impression have become so used-- + +(_Shaking himself._) + + The empty spaces make me shake with cold. + I'll choose myself another chain forthwith; + The body jests not when it warning sends. + And now enough of this! + But that you could + Avenge yourselves in blood on this poor fool-- + That was not well! + +(_Stepping to the table._) + + For do but see these eyes-- + Yes, see the eyes, the body, neck, and form! + God made them verily with master hand; + 'Twas she _herself_ the image did distort. + Let us revere in her, then, God's own work, + And not destroy what he so wisely built. + +QUEEN. Oh, touch it not! + +KING. This nonsense now again! + And if I really take it in my hand, + +(_He has taken the picture in his hand_) + + Am I another, then? I wind the chain + In jest, to mock you, thus about my neck, + +(_Doing it._) + + The face that 'frights you in my bosom hide-- + Am I the less Alfonso, who doth see + That he has err'd, and who the fault condemns? + Then of your nonsense let this be enough! + +[_He draws away from the table._] + +QUEEN. Only-- + +KING (_wildly looking at her_). + + What is 't? + +QUEEN. O God in heav'n! + + KING. Be frighted not, good wife! Be sensible! + Repeat not evermore the selfsame thing! + It doth remind me of the difference. + +(_Pointing to the table, then to his breast._) + + This girl there--no, of course now she is here-- + If she was foolish, foolish she would be, + Nor claimed that she was pious, chaste, and wise. + And this is ever virtuous women's way-- + They reckon always with their virtue thus; + If you are sad, with virtue comfort they, + If joyous is your mood, virtue again, + To take your cheerfulness at last away, + And show you as your sole salvation, sin. + Virtue's a name for virtues manifold, + And diff'rent, as occasion doth demand-- + It is no empty image without fault, + And therefore, too, without all excellence. + I will just doff the chain now from my neck, + For it reminds me-- + And, then, Leonore, + That with the vassals thou didst join thyself-- + That was not well, was neither wise nor just. + If thou art angry with me, thou art right; + But these men, my dependents, subjects all-- + What want they, then? Am I a child, a boy, + Who not yet knows the compass of his place? + They share with me the kingdom's care and toil, + And equal care is duty, too, for me. + But I the _man_ Alfonso, not the King, + Within my house, my person, and my life-- + Must I accounting render to these men? + Not so! And gave I ear but to my wrath, + I quickly would return from whence I came, + To show that they with neither blame nor praise + Shall dare to sit in judgment over me. + +[_Stepping forward and stamping on the floor._] + + And finally this dotard, Don Manrique, + If he was once my guardian, is he still? + +[_DON MANRIQUE appears at the centre door. The QUEEN points to the KING, +and wrings her hand. MANRIQUE withdraws with a reassuring gesture._] + +KING. Presumes he to his sov'reign to prescribe + The rustic precepts of senility? + Would he with secret, rash, and desp'rate deed-- + +(_Walking back and forth diagonally across the stage_) + + I will investigate this case as judge; + And if there be a trace here of offense, + Of insolent intent or wrongful act, + The nearer that the guilty stand to me, + The more shall boldness pay the penalty. + Not thou, Leonore, no, thou art excused! + +[_During the last speech, the QUEEN has quietly withdrawn through the +door at the right._] + + Whither, then, went she? Leave they me alone? + Am I a fool within mine own abode? + +[_He approaches the door at the right._] + + I'll go to her--What, is it bolted, barred? + +[_Bursting open the door with a kick._] + + I'll take by storm, then, my domestic bliss. + + [_He goes in._] + +[_DON MANRIQUE and GARCERAN appear at the centre door. The latter takes +a step across the threshold._] + +MANRIQUE. Wilt thou with, us? + +GARCERAN. My father! + +MANRIQUE. Wilt thou not? + The rest are gone--wilt follow them? + +GARCERAN. I will. + +[_They withdraw, the door closes. Pause. The_ KING _returns. In the +attitude of one listening intently._] + +KING. Listen again!--'Tis nothing, quiet all!-- + Empty, forlorn, the chambers of the Queen. + But, on returning, in the turret room, + I heard the noise of carriages and steeds, + In rushing gallop, hurrying away. + Am I alone? Ramiro! Garceran! + +[_The page, comes from the door at the right._] + +KING. Report! What goes on here? + +PAGE. Illustrious Sire, + The castle is deserted; you and I + Are at this hour its sole inhabitants. + +KING. The Queen? + +PAGE. The castle in her carriage left. + +KING. Back to Toledo then? + +PAGE. I know not, Sire. + The lords, howe'er-- + +KING. What lords? + +PAGE. Sire, the estates, + Who all upon their horses swung themselves; + They did not to Toledo take their way-- + Rather the way which you yourself did come. + +KING. What! To Retiro? Ah, now fall the scales + From these my seeing and yet blinded eyes! + Murder this is. They go to slay her there! + My horse! My horse! + +PAGE. Your horse, illustrious Sire, + Was lame, and, as you know, at your command-- + +KING. Well, then, another--Garceran's, or yours! + +PAGE. They've taken every horse from here away, + Perhaps with them, perhaps but driv'n afar; + As empty as the castle are the stalls. + +KING. They think they will outstrip me. But away! + Get me a horse, were't only some old nag; + Revenge shall lend him wings, that he may fly. + And if 'tis done? Then, God above, then grant + That as a man, not as a tyrant, I + May punish both the guilty and the guilt. + Get me a horse! Else art thou in their league, + And payest with thy head, as all shall-- + +(_Standing at the door, with a gesture of violence._) + + All! + + [_He hastens away._] + + + +ACT V + + +_A large room in the castle at Retiro, with one door in the centre and +one at each side. Everywhere signs of destruction. In the foreground, at +the left, an overturned toilet table with scattered utensils. In the +background, at the left, another overturned table; above it a picture +half torn from its frame. In the centre of the room, a chair. It is +dark. From without, behind the middle wall, the sound of voices, +footsteps, and the clatter of weapons, finally, from without--"It is +enough! The signal sounds! To horse!" Sounds of voices and footsteps die +out. Pause. Then Isaac comes from the door at the right, dragging along +a carpet, which is pulled over his head, and which he later drops._ + +ISAAC. Are they then gone?--I hear no sound. + +(_Stepping back._) + + But yes-- + No, no, 'tis naught! When they, a robber band, + Searched all the castle through, I hid myself, + And on the ground all doubled up I lay. + This cover here was roof and shield alike. + But whither now? Long since I hid full well + Here in the garden what I saved and gained; + I'll fetch it later when this noise is past.-- + Where is the door? How shall I save my soul? + +ESTHER _enters from the door at the left._ + +ISAAC. Who's there? Woe's me! + +ESTHER. Is't thou? + +ISAAC. Is't thou, then, Rachel? + +ESTHER. What mean'st thou? Rachel? Only Esther, I! + + ISAAC. Only, thou say'st? Thou art my only child-- + Only, because the best. + +ESTHER. Nay, rather say, + The best because the only. Aged man, + Dost thou, then, nothing know of this attack, + Nor upon whom they meant to vent their wrath? + +ISAAC. I do not know, nor do I wish to know, + For has not Rachel flown, to safety gone? + Oh, she is clever, she!--God of my fathers! + Why dost thou try me--me, a poor old man, + And speak to me from out my children's mouths? + But I believe it not! 'Tis false! No, no! + +[_He sinks down beside the chair in the centre, leaning his head against +it._] + +ESTHER. So then be strong through coward fearsomeness. + Yet call I others what I was myself. + For when their coming roused me from my sleep, + And I went hurrying to my sister's aid, + Into the last, remote, and inmost room, + One of them seizes me with powerful hand, + And hurls me to the ground. And coward, I, + I fall a-swooning, when I should have stood + And offered up my life to save my sister, + Or, at the very least, have died with her! + When I awoke, the deed was done, and vain + My wild attempt to bring her back to life. + Then could I weep, then could I tear my hair; + That is, indeed, true cowardice, a woman's. + +ISAAC. They tell me this and that. But 'tis not true! + +ESTHER. Lend me thy chair to sit upon, old man! + +[_She pulls the chair forward._] + + My limbs grow weak and tremble under me. + Here will I sit and here will I keep watch. + +[_She sits down._] + + Mayhap that one will think it worth his while + To burn the stubble, now the harvest's o'er, + And will return and kill what still is left. + +ISAAC (_from the floor_). + + Not me! Not me!--Some one is coming. Hark! + No, many come!--Save me--I flee to thee! + +[_He runs to her chair, and cowers on the floor._] + +ESTHER. I like a mother will protect thee now, + The second childhood of the gray old man. + And, if death comes, then childless shalt thou die-- + I following Rachel in advance of thee! + +_The KING appears at the centre door, with his page, who carries a torch._ + +KING. Shall I go farther, or content myself + With what I know, though still it is unseen? + This castle all a-wreck, laid bare and waste, + Shrieking from ev'ry corner cries to me + It is too late, the horror has been done! + And thou the blame must bear, cursed dallier, + If not, forsooth, a party to the deed! + But no, thou weepst, and tears no lies can tell. + Behold, I also weep, I weep for rage, + From hot and unslaked passion for revenge! + Come, here's a ring to set your torch within. + Go to the town, assemble all the folk, + And bid them straight unto this castle come + With arms, as chance may put within their reach; + And I, when morning comes, with written word, + Will bring the people here, at my command-- + Children of toil and hard endeavor, they, + As an avenger at their head I'll go, + And break down all the strongholds of the great, + Who, half as servants, half again as lords, + Serve but themselves and overrule their master. + Ruler and ruled, thus shall it be, and I, + Avenging, will wipe out that hybrid throng, + So proud of blood, or flowing in their veins, + Or dripping on their swords from others' wounds. + Thy light here leave and go! I'll stay alone + And hatch the progeny of my revenge. + +[_The servant puts his torch into the ring beside the door and +withdraws._] + +KING (_taking a step forward_). + + What moves there? Can it be there still is life? + Give answer! + +ISAAC. Gracious Lord ill-doer, O, + O, spare us, good assassin! + +KING. You, old man? + Remind me not that Rachel was your child; + It would deface her image in my soul. + And thou--art thou not Esther? + +ESTHER. Sire, I am. + +KING. And is it done? + +ESTHER. It is. + +KING. I knew it well, + Since I the castle entered. So, no plaints! + For know, the cup is full; an added drop + Would overflow, make weak the poisonous draught. + While she still lived I was resolved to leave her, + Now dead, she ne'er shall leave my side again; + And this her picture, here upon my breast, + Will 'grave its image there, strike root within-- + For was not mine the hand that murdered her? + Had she not come to me, she still would play, + A happy child, a joy to look upon. + Perhaps--but no, not that! No, no, I say! + No other man should ever touch her hand, + No other lips approach her rosy mouth, + No shameless arm--she to the King belonged, + Though now unseen, she still would be my own. + To royal might belongs such might of charms! + +ISAAC. Speaks he of Rachel? + +ESTHER. Of thy daughter, yes. + Though grief increase the value of the loss, + Yet must I say: Too high you rate her worth. + +KING. Think'st thou? I tell thee, naught but shadows we-- + I, thou, and others of the common crowd; + For if thou'rt good, why then, thou'rt learned it so; + If I am honest, I but saw naught else; + Those others, if they murder,--as they do-- + Well, so their fathers did, came time and need! + The world is but one great reëchoing, + And all its harvest is but seed from seed. + But she was truth itself, ev'n though deformed, + And all she did proceeded from herself, + A-sudden, unexpected, and unlearned. + Since her I saw I felt myself alive, + And to the dreary sameness of my life + 'Twas only she gave character and form. + They tell that in Arab desert wastes + The wand'rer, long tormented in the sands, + Long tortured with the sun's relentless glare, + Some time may find a blooming island's green, + Surrounded by the surge of arid waves; + There flowers bloom, there trees bestow their shade, + The breath of herbs mounts soothing in the breeze + And forms a second heav'n, arched 'neath the first. + Forsooth the serpent coils among the brush; + A famished beast, tormented by like thirst, + Perchance comes, too, to slake it at this spring; + Yet, tired and worn, the wand'rer doth rejoice, + Sucks in with greedy lips the cooling draught, + And sinks down in the rank luxuriant growth. + Luxuriant growth! In faith! I'll see her now-- + See once again that proud and beauteous form, + That mouth which drew in breath and breathed out life, + And which, now silenced ever, evermore, + Accuses me of guarding her so ill. + +ESTHER. Go not, O Sire! Now that the deed is done, + Let it be done. The mourning be for us! + Estrange thyself not from thy people, Sire. + +KING. Think'st thou? The King I am--thou know'st full well. + She suffered outrage, but myself no less. + Justice, and punishment of ev'ry wrong + I swore upon my coronation day, + And I will keep my oath until the death. + To do this, I must make me strong and hard, + For to my anger they will sure oppose + All that the human breast holds high and dear-- + Mem'ries from out my boyhood's early days, + My manhood's first sweet taste of woman's love, + Friendship and gratitude and mercy, too; + My whole life, roughly bundled into one, + Will stand, as 'twere against me, fully armed, + And challenge me to combat with myself. + I, therefore, from myself must first take leave. + Her image, as I see it here and there, + On every wall, in this and every corner + Shows her to me but in her early bloom, + With all her weaknesses, with all her charm. + I'll see her now, mistreated, wounded, torn; + Will lose myself in horror at the sight, + Compare each bloody mark upon her form + With this, her image, here upon my breast. + And learn to deal with monsters, like to like. + +(_As ESTHER has risen._) + + Speak not a word to me! I will! This torch + Shall, like myself, inflamed, illume the way; + Gleaming, because destructive and destroyed. + She is in yonder last and inmost room, + Where I so oft-- + +ESTHER. She was, and there remains. + +KING (_has seized the torch_). + + Methinks 'tis blood I see upon my way. + It is the way to blood. O fearful night! + +[_He goes out at the side door to the left._] + +ISAAC. We're in the dark. + +ESTHER. Yes, dark is round about, + And round about the horror's horrid night. + But daylight comes apace. So let me try + If I can thither bear my weary limbs. + +[_She goes to the window, and draws the curtain._] + + The day already dawns, its pallid gleam + Shudders to see the terrors wrought this night-- + The difference 'twixt yesterday and now. + +(_Pointing to the scattered jewels on the floor._) + + There, there it lies, our fortune's scattered ruin-- + The tawdry baubles, for the sake of which + We, we--not he who takes the blame--but we + A sister sacrificed, thy foolish child! + Yea, all that comes is right. Whoe'er complains, + Accuses his own folly and himself. + +ISAAC (_who has seated himself on the chair_). + + Here will I sit. Now that the King is here + I fear them not, nor all that yet may come. + +_The centre door opens. Enter MANRIQUE, and GARCERAN, behind them the +QUEEN, leading her child by the hand, and other nobles._ + +MANRIQUE. Come, enter here, arrange yourselves the while. + We have offended 'gainst his Majesty, + Seeking the good, but not within the law. + We will not try now to evade the law. + +ESTHER (_on the other side, raising the overturned table with a quick +movement_). + + Order thyself, disorder! Lest they think + That we are terrified, or cowards prove. + +QUEEN. Here are those others, here. + +MANRIQUE. Nay, let them be! + What mayhap threatens us, struck them ere now. + I beg you, stand you here, in rank and file. + +QUEEN. Let me come first, I am the guiltiest! + +MANRIQUE. Not so. O Queen. Thou spak'st the word, 'tis true, + But when it came to action thou didst quake, + Oppose the deed, and mercy urge instead, + Although in vain; for need became our law. + Nor would I wish the King's first burst of rage + To strike the mighty heads we most revere + As being next to him, the Kingdom's hope. + I did the deed, not with this hand, forsooth-- + With counsel, and with pity, deep and dread! + The first place, then, is mine. And thou, my son-- + Hast thou the heart to answer like a man + For that which at the least thou hinder'dst not, + So that thy earnest wish to make amends + And thy return have tangled thee in guilt? + +GARCERAN. Behold me ready! To your side I come! + And may the King's first fury fall on me! + +ESTHER (_calling across_). + + You there, although all murderers alike, + Deserving every punishment and death-- + Enough of mischief is already done, + Nor would I wish the horrors yet increased! + Within, beside my sister, is the King; + Enraged before he went, the sight of her + Will but inflame his passionate ire anew. + I pity, too, that woman and her child, + Half innocent, half guilty--only half. + So go while yet there's time, and do not meet + Th' avenger still too hot to act as judge. + +MANRIQUE. Woman, we're Christians! + +ESTHER. You have shown you are. + Commend me to the Jewess, O my God! + +MANRIQUE. Prepared as Christians, too, to expiate + In meek submission all of our misdeeds. + Lay off your swords. Here now is first my own! + To be in armor augurs of defense. + Our very number makes submission less. + Divide we up the guilt each bears entire. + +[_All have laid their swords on the floor before _MANRIQUE.] + + So let us wait. Or rather, let one go + To urge upon the King most speedily, + The country's need demands, this way or that, + That he compose himself; and though it were + Repenting a rash deed against ourselves! + Go thou, my son! + +GARCERAN (_turning around after having taken several steps_). + + Behold, the King himself! + +[_The_ KING _rushes out of the apartment at the side. After taking a few +steps, he turns about and stares fixedly at the door._] + +QUEEN. O God in Heaven! + +MANRIQUE. Queen, I pray be calm! + +[_The_ KING _goes toward the front. He stops, with arms folded, before +old_ ISAAC, _who lies back as if asleep, in the armchair. Then he goes +forward._] + +ESTHER (_to her father_). + + Behold thy foes are trembling! Art thou glad? + Not I. For Rachel wakes not from the dead. + +[_The_ KING, _in the front, gazes at his hands, and rubs them, as though +washing them, one over the other. Then the same motion over his body. At +last he feels his throat, moving his hands around it. In this last +position, with his hands at his throat, he remains motionless, staring +fixedly before him._] + +MANRIQUE. Most noble Prince and King. Most gracious Sire! + +KING (_starting violently_). + + Ye here? 'Tis good ye come! I sought for you-- + And all of you. Ye spare me further search. + +[_He steps before them, measuring them with angry glances._] + +MANRIQUE (_pointing to the weapons lying on the floor_). + + We have disarmed ourselves, laid down our swords. + +KING. I see the swords. Come ye to slay me, then? + I pray, complete your work. Here is my breast! + + [_He opens his robe._] + +QUEEN. He has't no more! + +KING. How mean you, lady fair? + +QUEEN. Gone is the evil picture from his neck. + +KING. I'll fetch it, then. + +[_He takes a few steps toward the door at the side, and then stands +still._] + +QUEEN. O God, this madness still! + +MANRIQUE. We know full well, how much we, Sire, have erred-- + Most greatly, that we did not leave to thee + And thine own honor thy return to self! + But, Sire, the time more pressing was than we. + The country trembled, and at all frontiers + The foemen challenged us to ward our land. + +KING. And foemen must be punished--is't not so? + Ye warn me rightly; I am in their midst. + Ho, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. Thou meanest me, O Sire? + +KING. Yea, I mean thee! Though me thou hast betrayed, + Thou wert my friend. Come to me then, I say, + And tell me what thou think'st of her within! + Her--whom thou help'dst to slay--of that anon. + What thoughtst thou of her while she still did live? + +GARCERAN. O Sire, I thought her fair. + +KING. What more was she? + +GARCERAN. But wanton, too, and light, with evil wiles. + +KING. And that thou hidst from me while still was time? + +GARCERAN. I said it, Sire! + +KING. And I believed it not? + How came that? Pray, say on! + +GARCERAN. My Sire--the Queen, + She thinks 'twas magic. + +KING. Superstition, bah! + Which fools itself with idle make-believe. + +GARCERAN. In part, again, it was but natural. + +KING. That only which is right is natural. + And was I not a king, both just and mild-- + The people's idol and the nobles', too? + Not empty-minded, no, and, sure, not blind! + I say, she was not fair! + +GARCERAN. How meanest, Sire? + +KING. An evil line on cheek and chin and mouth. + A lurking something in that fiery glance + Envenom'd and disfigured all her charm. + But erst I've gazed upon it and compared. + When there I entered in to fire my rage, + Half fearsome of the mounting of my ire, + It happened otherwise than I had thought. + Instead of wanton pictures from the past, + Before my eyes came people, wife, and child. + With that her face seemed to distort itself, + The arms to rise, to grasp me, and to hold. + I cast her likeness from me in the tomb + And now am here, and shudder, as thou seest. + + But go thou now! For, hast thou not betrayed me? + Almost I rue that I must punish you. + Go thither to thy father and those others-- + Make no distinction, ye are guilty, all. + +MANRIQUE (_with a strong voice_). + + And thou? + +KING (_after a pause_). + + The man is right; I'm guilty, too. + But what is my poor land, and what the world, + If none are pure, if malefactors all! + Nay, here's my son. Step thou within our midst! + Thou shalt be guardian spirit of this land; + Perhaps a higher judge may then forgive. + Come, Doña Clara, lead him by the hand! + Benignant fortune hath vouchsafed to thee + In native freedom to pursue thy course + Until this hour; thou, then, dost well deserve + To guide the steps of innocence to us. + But hold! Here is the mother. What she did, + She did it for her child. She is forgiv'n! + +[_As the_ QUEEN _steps forward and bends her knee._] + + Madonna, wouldst thou punish me? Wouldst show + The attitude most seeming me toward thee? + Castilians all, behold! Here is your King, + And here is she, the regent in his stead! + I am a mere lieutenant for my son. + For as the pilgrims, wearing, all, the cross + For penance journey to Jerusalem, + So will I, conscious of my grievous stain, + Lead you against these foes of other faith + Who at the bound'ry line, from Africa, + My people threaten and my peaceful land. + If I return, and victor, with God's grace, + Then shall ye say if I am worthy still + To guard the law offended by myself. + This punishment be _yours_ as well as mine, + For all of you shall follow me, and first, + Into the thickest squadrons of the foe. + And he who falls does penance for us all. + Thus do I punish you and me! My son + Here place upon a shield, like to a throne, + For he today is King of this our land. + So banded, then, let's go before the folk. + + [_A shield has been brought._] + + You women, each do give the child a hand. + Slipp'ry his first throne, and the second too! + Thou, Garceran, do thou stay at my side, + For equal wantonness we must atone-- + So let us fight as though our strength were one. + And hast thou purged thyself of guilt, as I, + Perhaps that quiet, chaste, and modest maid + Will hold thee not unworthy of her hand! + Thou shalt improve him, Doña Clara, but + Let not thy virtue win his mere respect, + But lend it charm, as well. That shields from much. + + [_Trumpets in the distance._] + + Hear yet They call us. Those whom I did bid + To help against you, they are ready all + To help against the common enemy, + The dreaded Moor who threats our boundaries, + And whom I will send back with shame and wounds + Into the and desert he calls home, + So that our native land be free from ill, + Well-guarded from within and from without. + On, on! Away! God grant, to victory! + +[_The procession has already formed. First, some vassals, then the +shield with the child, whom the women hold by both hands, then the rest +of the men. Lastly, the _KING,_ leaning in a trustful manner on +_GARCERAN.] + +ESTHER (_turning to her father_). + + + Seest thou, they are already glad and gay; + Already plan for future marriages! + They are the great ones, for th' atonement feast + They've slain as sacrifice a little one, + And give each other now their bloody hands. + + [_Stepping to the centre._] + + But this I say to thee, thou haughty King, + Go, go, in all thy grand forgetfulness! + Thou deem'st thou'rt free now from my sister's power, + Because the prick of its impression's dulled, + And thou didst from thee cast what once enticed. + But in the battle, when thy wavering ranks + Are shaken by thy en'mies' greater might, + And but a pure, and strong, and guiltless heart + Is equal to the danger and its threat; + When thou dost gaze upon deaf heav'n above, + Then will the victim, sacrificed to thee, + Appear before thy quailing, trembling soul-- + Not in luxuriant fairness that enticed, + But changed, distorted, as she pleased thee not-- + Then, pentinent, perchance, thou'lt beat thy breast, + And think upon the Jewess of Toledo! + + (_Seizing her father by the shoulder._) + + Come, father, come! A task awaits us there. + + [_Pointing to the side door._] + + +ISAAC (_as though waking from sleep_). + But first I'll seek my gold! + +ESTHER. Think'st still of that + In sight of all this misery and woe! + Then I unsay the curse which I have spoke, + Then thou art guilty, too, and I--and she! + We stand like them within the sinners' row; + Pardon we, then, that God may pardon us! + + [_With arms outstretched toward the side door._] + +CURTAIN + + + + + + +THE POOR MUSICIAN (1848) BY FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +TRANSLATED BY ALFRED REMY, A.M. + +Professor of Modern Languages, Brooklyn Commercial High School + + +In Vienna the Sunday after the full moon in the month of July of every +year is, together with the following day, a real festival of the people, +if ever a festival deserved the name. The people themselves attend and +arrange it; and if representatives of the upper classes appear on this +occasion, they may do so only in their capacity as members of the +populace. There is no possibility of class discrimination; at least +there was none some years ago. + +On this day the Brigittenau,[62] which with the Augarten, the +Leopoldstadt and the Prater, forms one uninterrupted popular +pleasure-ground, celebrates its kermis. The working people reckon their +good times from one St. Bridget's kermis to the next. Anticipated with +eager expectation, the Saturnalian festival at last arrives. Then there +is great excitement in the good-natured, quiet town. A surging crowd +fills the streets. There is the clatter of footsteps and the buzz of +conversation, above which rises now and then some loud exclamation. All +class distinctions have disappeared; civilian and soldier share in the +commotion. At the gates of the city the crowd increases. Gained, lost, +and regained, the exit is forced at last. But the bridge across the +Danube presents new difficulties. Victorious here also, two streams +finally roll along: the old river Danube and the swollen tide of people +crossing each other, one below, the other above, the former following +its old bed, the latter, freed from the narrow confines of the bridge, +resembling a wide, turbulent lake, overflowing and inundating +everything. A stranger might consider the symptoms alarming. But it is a +riot of joy, a revelry of pleasure. + +Even in the space between the city and the bridge wicker-carriages are +lined up for the real celebrants of this festival, the children of +servitude and toil. Although overloaded, these carriages race at a +gallop through the mass of humanity, which in the nick of time opens a +passage for them and immediately closes in again behind them. No one is +alarmed, no one is injured, for in Vienna a silent agreement exists +between vehicles and people, the former promising not to run anybody +over, even when going at full speed; the latter resolving not to be run +over, even though neglecting all precaution. + +Every second the distance between the carriages diminishes. Occasionally +more fashionable equipages mingle in the oft-interrupted procession. The +carriages no longer dash along. Finally, about five or six hours before +dark, the individual horses and carriages condense into a compact line, +which, arresting itself and arrested by new vehicles from every side +street, obviously belies the truth of the old proverb: "It is better to +ride in a poor carriage than to go on foot." Stared at, pitied, mocked, +the richly dressed ladies sit in their carriages, which are apparently +standing still. Unaccustomed to constant stopping, the black Holstein +steed rears, as if intending to jump straight up over the +wicker-carriage blocking its way, a thing the screaming women and +children in the plebeian vehicle evidently seem to fear. The cabby, so +accustomed to rapid driving and now balked for the first time, angrily +counts up the loss he suffers in being obliged to spend three hours +traversing a distance which under ordinary conditions he could cover in +five minutes. Quarreling and shouting are heard, insults pass back and +forth between the drivers, and now and then blows with the whip are +exchanged. + +Finally, since in this world all standing still, however persistent, is +after all merely an imperceptible advancing, a ray of hope appears even +in this _status quo_. The first trees of the Augarten and the +Brigittenau come into view. The country! The country! All troubles are +forgotten. Those who have come in vehicles alight and mingle with the +pedestrians; strains of distant dance-music are wafted across the +intervening space and are answered by the joyous shouts of the new +arrivals. And thus it goes on and on, until at last the broad haven of +pleasure opens up and grove and meadow, music and dancing, drinking and +eating, magic lantern shows and tight-rope dancing, illumination and +fireworks, combine to produce a _pays de cocagne_, an El Dorado, a +veritable paradise, which fortunately or unfortunately--take it as you +will--lasts only this day and the next, to vanish like the dream of a +summer night, remaining only as a memory, or, possibly, as a hope. + +I never miss this festival if I can help it. To me, as a passionate +lover of mankind, especially of the common people, and more especially +so when, united into a mass, the individuals forget for a time their own +private ends and consider themselves part of a whole, in which there is, +after all, the spirit of divinity, nay, God Himself--to me every popular +festival is a real soul-festival, a pilgrimage, an act of devotion. Even +in my capacity as dramatic poet, I always find the spontaneous outburst +of an overcrowded theatre ten times more interesting, even more +instructive, than the sophisticated judgment of some literary matador, +who is crippled in body and soul and swollen up, spider-like, with the +blood of authors whom he has sucked dry. As from a huge open volume of +Plutarch, which has escaped from the covers of the printed page, I read +the biographies of these obscure beings in their merry or secretly +troubled faces, in their elastic or weary step, in the attitude shown by +members of the same family toward one another, in detached, half +involuntary remarks. And, indeed, one can not understand famous men +unless one has sympathized with the obscure! From the quarrels of +drunken pushcart-men to the discords of the sons of the gods there runs +an invisible, yet unbroken, thread, just as the young servant-girl, who, +half against her will, follows her insistent lover away from the crowd +of dancers, may be an embryo Juliet, Dido, or Medea. + +Two years ago, as usual, I had mingled as a pedestrian with the +pleasure-seeking visitors of the kermis. The chief difficulties of the +trip had been overcome, and I found myself at the end of the Augarten +with the longed-for Brigittenau lying directly before me. Only one more +difficulty remained to be overcome. A narrow causeway running between +impenetrable hedges forms the only connection between the two pleasure +resorts, the joint boundary of which is indicated by a wooden trellised +gate in the centre. On ordinary days and for ordinary pedestrians this +connecting passage affords more than ample space. But on kermis-day its +width, even if quadrupled, would still be too narrow for the endless +crowd which, in surging forward impetuously, is jostled by those bound +in the opposite direction and manages to get along only by reason of the +general good nature displayed by the merry-makers. + +I was drifting with the current and found myself in the centre of the +causeway upon classical ground, although I was constantly obliged to +stand still, turn aside, and wait. Thus I had abundant time for +observing what was going on at the sides of the road. In order that the +pleasure-seeking multitude might not lack a foretaste of the happiness +in store for them, several musicians had taken up their positions on the +left-hand slope of the raised causeway. Probably fearing the intense +competition, these musicians intended to garner at the propylaea the +first fruits of the liberality which had here not yet spent itself. +There were a girl harpist with repulsive, staring eyes; an old invalid +with a wooden leg, who, on a dreadful, evidently home-made instrument, +half dulcimer, half barrel-organ, was endeavoring by means of analogy to +arouse the pity of the public for his painful injury; a lame, deformed +boy, forming with his violin one single, indistinguishable mass, was +playing endless waltzes with all the hectic violence of his misshapen +breast; and finally an old man, easily seventy years of age, in a +threadbare but clean woolen overcoat, who wore a smiling, self-satisfied +expression. This old man attracted my entire attention. He stood there +bareheaded and baldheaded, his hat as a collection-box before him on the +ground, after the manner of these people. He was belaboring an old, +much-cracked violin, beating time not only by raising and lowering his +foot, but also by a corresponding movement of his entire bent body. But +all his efforts to bring uniformity into his performance were fruitless, +for what he was playing seemed to be an incoherent succession of tones +without time or melody. Yet he was completely absorbed in his work; his +lips quivered, and his eyes were fixed upon the sheet of music before +him, for he actually had notes! While all the other musicians, whose +playing pleased the crowd infinitely better, were relying on their +memories, the old man had placed before him in the midst of the surging +crowd a small, easily portable music-stand, with dirty, tattered notes, +which probably contained in perfect order what he was playing so +incoherently. It was precisely the novelty of this equipment that had +attracted my attention to him, just as it excited the merriment of the +passing throng, who jeered him and left the hat of the old man empty, +while the rest of the orchestra pocketed whole copper mines. In order to +observe this odd character at my leisure, I had stepped, at some +distance from him, upon the slope at the side of the causeway. For a +while he continued playing. Finally he stopped, and, as if recovering +himself after a long spell of absent-mindedness, he gazed at the +firmament, which already began to show traces of approaching evening. +Then he looked down into his hat, found it empty, put it on with +undisturbed cheerfulness, and placed his bow between the strings. "_Sunt +certi denique fines_" (there is a limit to everything), he said, took +his music-stand, and, as though homeward bound, fought his way with +difficulty through the crowd streaming in the opposite direction toward +the festival. + +The whole personality of the old man was specially calculated to whet my +anthropological appetite to the utmost--his poorly clad, yet noble +figure, his unfailing cheerfulness, so much artistic zeal combined with +such awkwardness, the fact that he returned home just at the time when +for others of his ilk the real harvest was only beginning, and, finally, +the few Latin words, spoken, however, with the most correct accent and +with absolute fluency. The man had evidently received a good education +and had acquired some knowledge, and here he was--a street-musician! I +was burning with curiosity to learn his history. + +But a compact wall of humanity already separated us. Small as he was, +and getting in everybody's way with the music-stand in his hand, he was +shoved from one to another and had passed through the exit-gate while I +was still struggling in the centre of the causeway against the opposing +crowd. Thus I lost track of him; and when at last I had reached the +quiet, open space, there was no musician to be seen far or near. + +This fruitless adventure had spoiled all my enjoyment of the popular +festival. I wandered through the Augarten in all directions, and finally +decided to go home. As I neared the little gate that leads out of the +Augarten into Tabor Street, I suddenly heard the familiar sound of the +old violin. I accelerated my steps, and, behold! there stood the object +of my curiosity, playing with all his might, surrounded by several boys +who impatiently demanded a waltz from him. "Play a waltz," they cried; +"a waltz, don't you hear?" The old man kept on fiddling, apparently +paying no attention to them, until his small audience, reviling and +mocking him, left him and gathered around an organ-grinder who had taken +up his position near by. + +"They don't want to dance," said the old man sadly, and gathered up his +musical outfit. I had stepped up quite close to him. "The children do +not know any dance but the waltz," I said. + +"I was playing a waltz," he replied, indicating with his bow the notes +of the piece he had just been playing. "You have to play things like +that for the crowd. But the children have no ear for music," he said, +shaking his head mournfully. + +"At least permit me to atone for their ingratitude," I said, taking a +silver coin out of my pocket and offering it to him. + +"Please, don't," cried the old man, at the same time warding me off +anxiously with both hands--"into the hat, into the hat." I dropped the +coin into his hat, which was lying in front of him. The old man +immediately took it out and put it into his pocket, quite satisfied. +"That's what I call going home for once with a rich harvest," he said +chuckling. + +"You just remind me of a circumstance," I said, "which excited my +curiosity before. It seems your earnings today have not been +particularly satisfactory, and yet you retire at the very moment when +the real harvest is beginning. The festival, as you no doubt know, lasts +the whole night, and you might easily earn more in this one night than +in an entire week ordinarily. How am I to account for this?" + +"How are you to account for this?" replied the old man. "Pardon me, I do +not know who you are, but you must be a generous man and a lover of +music." With these words he took the silver coin out of his pocket once +more and pressed it between his hands, which he raised to his heart. + +"I shall therefore tell you the reasons, although I have often been +ridiculed for them. In the first place, I have never been a +night-reveler, and I do not consider it right to incite others to such a +disgusting procedure by means of playing and singing. Secondly, a man +ought to establish for himself a certain order in all things, otherwise +he'll run wild and there's no stopping him. Thirdly, and finally, sir, I +play for the noisy throng all day long and scarcely earn a bare living. +But the evening belongs to me and to my poor art. In the evening I stay +at home, and"--at these words he lowered his voice, a blush overspread +his countenance and his eyes sought the ground--"then I play to myself +as fancy dictates, without notes. I believe the text-books on music call +it improvising." + +We had both grown silent, he from confusion, because he had betrayed +the innermost secret of his heart, I from astonishment at hearing a man +speak of the highest spheres of art who was not capable of rendering +even the simplest waltz in intelligible fashion. Meanwhile he was +preparing to depart. "Where do you live?" I inquired. "I should like to +attend your solitary practising some day." + +"Oh," he replied, almost imploringly, "you must know that prayers should +be said in private!" + +"Then I'll visit you in the daytime," I said. + +"In the daytime," he replied, "I earn my living among the people." + +"Well, then, some morning early." + +"It almost looks," the old man said smiling, "as though you, my dear +sir, were the recipient, and I, if I may be permitted to say so, the +benefactor; you are so kind, and I reject your advances so ungraciously. +Your distinguished visit will always confer honor on my dwelling. Only I +should like to ask you to be so very kind as to notify me beforehand of +the day of your coming, in order that you may not be unduly delayed nor +I be compelled to interrupt unceremoniously some business in which I may +be engaged at the time. For my mornings are also devoted to a definite +purpose. At any rate, I consider it my duty to my patrons and +benefactors to offer something not entirely unworthy in return for their +gifts. I have no desire to be a beggar, sir; I am very well aware of the +fact that the other street musicians are satisfied to reel off a few +street ditties, German waltzes, even melodies of indecent songs, all of +which they have memorized. These they repeat incessantly, so that the +public pays them either in order to get rid of them, or because their +playing revives the memory of former joys of dancing or of other +disorderly amusements. For this reason such musicians play from memory, +and sometimes, in fact quite frequently, strike the wrong note. But far +be it from me to deceive. Partly, therefore, because my memory is not of +the best, partly because it might be difficult for any one to retain in +his memory, note for note, complicated compositions of esteemed +composers, I have made a clear copy for myself in these note-books." +With these words he showed me the pages of his music-book. To my +amazement I saw in a careful, but awkward and stiff handwriting, +extremely difficult compositions by famous old masters, quite black with +passage-work and double-stopping. And these selections the old man +played with his clumsy fingers! "In playing these pieces," he continued, +"I show my veneration for these esteemed, long since departed masters +and composers, satisfy my own artistic instincts, and live in the +pleasant hope that, in return for the alms so generously bestowed upon +me, I may succeed in improving the taste and hearts of an audience +distracted and misled on many sides. But since music of this +character--to return to my subject"--and at these words a self-satisfied +smile lighted up his features--"since music of this kind requires +practice, my morning hours are devoted exclusively to this exercise. The +first three hours of the day for practice, the middle of the day for +earning my living, the evening for myself and God; that is not an unfair +division," he said, and at the same time something moist glistened in +his eyes; but he was smiling. + +"Very well, then," I said, "I shall surprise you some morning. Where do +you live?" He mentioned Gardener's Lane. + +"What number? + +"Number 34, one flight up." + +"Well, well," I cried, "on the fashionable floor." + +"The house," he said, "consists in reality only of a ground floor. But +upstairs, next to the garret, there is a small room which I occupy in +company with two journeymen." + +"A single room for three people?" + +"It is divided into two parts," he +answered, "and I have my own bed." + +"It is getting late," I said, "and you must be anxious to get home. _Auf +Wiedersehen!_" + +At the same time I put my hand in my pocket with the intention of +doubling the trifling amount I had given him before. But he had already +taken up his music-stand with one hand and his violin with the other, +and cried hurriedly, "I humbly ask you to refrain. I have already +received ample remuneration for my playing, and I am not aware of having +earned any other reward." Saying this he made me a rather awkward bow +with an approach to elegant ease, and departed as quickly as his old +legs could carry him. + +As I said before, I had lost for this day all desire of participating +further in the festival. Consequently I turned homeward, taking the road +leading to the Leopoldstadt. Tired out from the dust and heat, I entered +one of the many beer-gardens, which, while overcrowded on ordinary days, +had today given up all their customers to the Brigittenau. The stillness +of the place, in contradistinction to the noisy crowd, did me good. I +gave myself up to my thoughts, in which the old musician had a +considerable share. Night had come before I thought at last of going +home. I laid the amount of my bill upon the table and walked toward the +city. + +The old man had said that he lived in Gardener's Lane. "Is Gardener's +Lane near-by?" I asked a smell boy who was running across the road. +"Over there, sir," he replied, pointing to a side street that ran from +the mass of houses of the suburb out into the open fields. I followed +the direction indicated. The street consisted of some scattered houses, +which, separated by large vegetable gardens, plainly indicated the +occupation of the inhabitants and the origin of the name Gardener's +Lane. I was wondering in which of these miserable huts my odd friend +might live. I had completely forgotten the number; moreover it was +impossible to make out any signs in the darkness. At that moment a man +carrying a heavy load of vegetables passed me. "The old fellow is +scraping his fiddle again," he grumbled, "and disturbing decent people +in their night's rest." At the same time, as I went on, the soft, +sustained tone of a violin struck my ear. It seemed to come from the +open attic window of a hovel a short distance away, which, being low and +without an upper story like the rest of the houses, attracted attention +on account of this attic window in the gabled roof. I stood still. A +soft distinct note increased to loudness, diminished, died out, only to +rise again immediately to penetrating shrillness. It was always the same +tone repeated as if the player dwelt upon it with pleasure. At last an +interval followed; it was the chord of the fourth. While the player had +before reveled in the sound of the single note, now his voluptuous +enjoyment of this harmonic relation was very much more susceptible. His +fingers moved by fits and starts, as did his bow. Through the +intervening intervals he passed most unevenly, emphasizing and repeating +the third. Then he added the fifth, now with a trembling sound like +silent weeping, sustained, vanishing; now constantly repeated with dizzy +speed; always the same intervals, the same tones. And that was what the +old man called improvising. It _was_ improvising after all, but from the +viewpoint of the player, not from that of the listener. + +I do not know how long this may have lasted and how frightful the +performance had become, when suddenly the door of the house was opened, +and a man, clad only in a shirt and partly buttoned trousers stepped +from the threshold into the middle of the street and called up to the +attic window--"Are you going to keep on all night again?" The tone of +his voice was impatient, but not harsh or insulting. The violin became +silent even before the speaker had finished. The man went back into the +house, the attic window was closed, and soon perfect and uninterrupted +silence reigned. I started for home, experiencing some difficulty in +finding my way through the unknown lanes, and, as I walked along, I +also improvised mentally, without, however, disturbing any one. + +The morning hours have always been of peculiar value to me. It is as +though I felt the need of occupying myself with something ennobling, +something worth while, in the first hours of the day, thus consecrating +the remainder of it, as it were. It is, therefore, only with difficulty +that I can make up my mind to leave my room early in the morning, and if +ever I force myself to do so without sufficient cause, nothing remains +to me for the rest of the day but the choice between idle distraction +and morbid introspection. Thus it happened that I put off for several +days my visit to the old man, which I had agreed to pay in the morning. +At last I could not master my impatience any longer, and went. I had no +difficulty in finding Gardener's Lane, nor the house. This time also I +heard the tones of the violin, but owing to the closed window they were +muffled and scarcely recognizable. I entered the house. A gardener's +wife, half speechless with amazement, showed me the steps leading up to +the attic. I stood before a low, badly fitting door, knocked, received +no answer, finally raised the latch and entered. I found myself in a +quite large, but otherwise extremely wretched chamber, the wall of which +on all sides followed the outlines of the pointed roof. Close by the +door was a dirty bed in loathsome disorder, surrounded by all signs of +neglect; opposite me, close beside the narrow window, was a second bed, +shabby but clean and most carefully made and covered. Before the window +stood a small table with music-paper and writing material, on the +windowsill a few flower-pots. The middle of the room from wall to wall +was designated along the floor by a heavy chalk line, and it is almost +impossible to imagine a more violent contrast between dirt and +cleanliness than existed on the two sides of the line, the equator of +this little world. The old man had placed his music-stand close to the +boundary line and was standing before it practising, completely and +carefully dressed. I have already said so much that is jarring about the +discords of my favorite--and I almost fear he is mine alone--that I +shall spare the reader a description of this infernal concert. As the +practice consisted chiefly of passage-work, there was no possibility of +recognizing the pieces he was playing, but this might not have been an +easy matter even under ordinary circumstances. After listening a while, +I finally discovered the thread leading out of this labyrinth--the +method in his madness, as it were. The old man enjoyed the music while +he was playing. His conception, however, distinguished between only two +kinds of effect, euphony and cacophony. Of these the former delighted, +even enraptured him, while he avoided the latter, even when harmonically +justified, as much as possible. Instead of accenting a composition in +accordance with sense and rhythm, he exaggerated and prolonged the notes +and intervals that were pleasing to his ear; he did not even hesitate to +repeat them arbitrarily, when an expression of ecstasy frequently passed +over his face. Since he disposed of the dissonances as rapidly as +possible and played the passages that were too difficult for him in a +tempo that was too slow compared with the rest of the piece, his +conscientiousness not permitting him to omit even a single note, one may +easily form an idea of the resulting confusion. After some time, even I +couldn't endure it any longer. In order to recall him to the world of +reality, I purposely dropped my hat, after I had vainly tried several +other means of attracting his attention. The old man started, his knees +shook, and he was scarcely able to hold the violin he had lowered to the +ground. I stepped up to him. "Oh, it is you, sir," he said, as if coming +to himself; "I had not counted on the fulfilment of your kind promise." +He forced me to sit down, straightened things up, laid down his violin, +looked around the room a few times in embarrassment, then suddenly took +up a plate from a table that was standing near the door and went out. I +heard him speak with the gardener's wife outside. Soon he came back +again rather abashed, concealing the plate behind his back and returning +it to its place stealthily. Evidently he had asked for some fruit to +offer me, but had not been able to obtain it. + +"You live quite comfortably here," I said, in order to put an end to his +embarrassment. "Untidiness is not permitted to dwell here. It will +retreat through the door, even though at the present moment it hasn't +quite passed the threshold." + +"My abode reaches only to that line," said the old man, pointing to the +chalk-line in the middle of the room. "Beyond it the two journeymen +live." + +"And do these respect your boundary?" + +"They don't, but I do," said he. "Only the door is common property." + +"And are you not disturbed by your neighbors?" + +"Hardly. They come home late at night, and even if they startle me a +little when I'm in bed, the pleasure of going to sleep again is all the +greater. But in the morning I awaken them, when I put my room in order. +Then they scold a little and go." I had been observing him in the mean +time. His clothes were scrupulously clean, his figure was good enough +for his years, only his legs were a little too short. His hands and feet +were remarkably delicate. "You are looking at me," he said, "and +thinking, too." + +"I confess that I have some curiosity concerning your past," I replied. + +"My past?" he repeated. "I have no past. Today is like yesterday, and +tomorrow like today. But the day after tomorrow and beyond--who can know +about that? But God will look after me; He knows best." + +"Your present mode of life is probably monotonous enough," I continued, +"but your past! How did it happen--" + +"That I became a street-musician?" he asked, filling in the pause that I +had voluntarily made. I now told him how he had attracted my attention +the moment I caught sight of him; what an impression he had made upon me +by the Latin words he had uttered. "Latin!" he echoed. "Latin! I did +learn it once upon a time, or rather, I was to have learned it and might +have done so. _Loqueris latine?"_--he turned to me; "but I couldn't +continue; it is too long ago. So that is what you call my past? How it +all came about? Well then, all sorts of things have happened, nothing +special, but all sorts of things. I should like to hear the story myself +again. I wonder whether I haven't forgotten it all. It is still early in +the morning," he continued, putting his hand into his vest-pocket, in +which, however, there was no watch. I drew out mine; it was barely nine +o'clock. "We have time, and I almost feel like talking." Meanwhile he +had grown visibly more at ease. His figure became more erect. Without +further ceremony he took my hat out of my hand and laid it upon the bed. +Then he seated himself, crossed one leg over the other, and assumed the +attitude of one who is going to tell a story in comfort. + +"No doubt," he began, "you have heard of Court Councilor X?" Here he +mentioned the name of a statesman who, in the middle of the last +century, had under the modest title of a Chief of Department exerted an +enormous influence, almost equal to that of a minister. I admitted that +I knew of him. "He was my father," he continued.--His father! The father +of the old musician, of the beggar. This influential, powerful man--his +father! The old man did not seem to notice my astonishment, but with +evident pleasure continued the thread of his narrative. "I was the +second of three brothers. Both the others rose to high positions in the +government service, but they are now dead. Only I am still alive," he +said, pulling at his threadbare trousers and picking off some little +feathers with downcast eyes. "My father was ambitious and a man of +violent temper. My brothers satisfied him. I was considered a slow +coach, and I _was_ slow. If I remember rightly," he continued, turning +aside as though looking far away, with his head resting upon his left +hand, "I might have been capable of learning various things, if only I +had been given time and a systematic training. My brothers leaped from +one subject to another with the agility of gazelles, but I could make +absolutely no headway, and whenever only a single word escaped me, I was +obliged to begin again from the very beginning. Thus I was constantly +driven. New material was to occupy the place which had not yet been +vacated by the old, and I began to grow obstinate. Thus they even drove +me into hating music, which is now the delight and at the same time the +support of my life. When I used to improvise on my violin at twilight in +order to enjoy myself in my own way, they would take the instrument away +from me, asserting that this ruined my fingering. They would also +complain of the torture inflicted upon their ears and made me wait for +the lesson, when the torture began for me. In all my life I have never +hated anything or any one so much as I hated the violin at that time. + +"My father, who was extremely dissatisfied, scolded me frequently and +threatened to make a mechanic of me. I didn't dare say how happy that +would have made me. I should have liked nothing better than to become a +turner or a compositor. But my father was much too proud ever to have +permitted such a thing. Finally a public examination at school, which +they had persuaded him to attend in order to appease him, brought +matters to a climax. A dishonest teacher arranged in advance what he was +going to ask me, and so everything went swimmingly. But toward the end I +had to recite some verses of Horace from memory and I missed a word. My +teacher, who had been nodding his head in approval and smiling at my +father, came to my assistance when I broke down, and whispered the word +to me, but I was so engrossed trying to locate the word in my memory and +to establish its connection with the context, that I failed to hear him. +He repeated it several times--all in vain. Finally my father lost his +patience, _'cachinnum'_ (laughter)--that was the word--he roared at me +in a voice of thunder. That was the end. Although I now knew the missing +word, I had forgotten all the rest. All attempts to bring me back on the +right track were in vain. I was obliged to rise in disgrace and when I +went over as usual to kiss my father's hand, he pushed me back, rose, +bowed hastily to the audience, and went away. 'That shabby beggar,' he +called me; I wasn't one at the time, but I am now. Parents prophesy when +they speak. At the same time my father was a good man, only hot tempered +and ambitious. + +"From that day on he never spoke to me again. His orders were conveyed +to me by the servants. On the very next day I was informed that my +studies were at an end. I was quite dismayed, for I realized what a blow +it must have been to my father. All day long I did nothing but weep, and +between my crying spells I recited the Latin verses, in which I was now +letter-perfect, together with the preceding and following ones. I +promised to make up in diligence what I lacked in talent, if I were only +permitted to continue in school, but my father never revoked a decision. + +"For some time I remained at home without an occupation. At last I was +placed in an accountant's office on probation; but arithmetic had never +been my forte. An offer to enter the military service I refused with +abhorrence. Even now I cannot see a uniform without an inward shudder. +That one should protect those near and dear, even at the risk's of one's +life, is quite proper, and I can understand it; but bloodshed and +mutilation as a vocation, as an occupation--never!" And with that he +felt his arms with his hands, as if experiencing pain from wounds +inflicted upon himself and others. + +"Next I was employed in the chancery office as a copyist. There I was in +my element. I had always practised penmanship with enthusiasm; and even +now I know of no more agreeable pastime than joining stroke to stroke +with good ink on good paper to form words or merely letters. But musical +notes are beautiful above everything, only at that time I didn't think +of music. + +"I was industrious, but too conscientious. An incorrect punctuation +mark, an illegible or missing word in a first draft, even if it could be +supplied from the context, would cause me many an unhappy hour. While +trying to make up my mind whether to follow the original closely or to +supply missing material, the time slipped by, and I gained a reputation +for being negligent, although I worked harder than any one else. In this +manner I spent several years, without receiving any salary. When my turn +for promotion came, my father voted for another candidate at the meeting +of the board, and the other members voted with him out of deference. + +"About this time--well, well," he interrupted himself, "this is turning +out to be a story after all. I shall continue the story. About this time +two events occurred, the saddest and the happiest of my life, namely my +leaving home and my return to the gentle art of music, to my violin, +which has remained faithful to me to this day. + +"In my father's house, where I was ignored by the other members of the +family, I occupied a rear room looking out upon our neighbor's yard. At +first I took my meals with the family, though no one spoke a word to me. +But when my brothers received appointments in other cities and my father +was invited out to dinner almost daily--my mother had been dead for many +years--it was found inconvenient to keep house for me. The servants were +given money for their meals. So was I; only I didn't receive mine in +cash: it was paid monthly to the restaurant. Consequently I spent little +time in my room, with the exception of the evening hours; for my father +insisted that I should be at home within half an hour after the closing +of the office, at the latest. Then I sat there in the darkness on +account of my eyes, which were weak even at that time. I used to think +of one thing and another, and was neither happy nor unhappy. + +"When I sat thus I used to hear some one in the neighbor's yard singing +a song--really several songs, one of which, however, pleased me +particularly. It was so simple, so touching, and the musical expression +was so perfect, that it was not necessary to hear the words. Personally +I believe that words spoil the music anyway." Now he opened his lips and +uttered a few hoarse, rough tones. "I have no voice," he said, and took +up his violin. He played, and this time with proper expression, the +melody of a pleasing, but by no means remarkable song, his fingers +trembling on the strings and some tears finally rolling down his cheeks. + +"That was the song," he said, laying down his violin. "I heard it with +ever-growing pleasure. However vivid it was in my memory, I never +succeeded in getting even two notes right with my voice, and I became +almost impatient from listening. Then my eyes fell upon my violin which, +like an old armor, had been hanging unused on the wall since my boyhood. +I took it down and found it in tune, the servant probably having used it +during my absence. As I drew the bow over the strings it seemed to me, +sir, as though God's finger had touched me. The tone penetrated into my +heart, and from my heart it found its way out again. The air about me +was pregnant with intoxicating madness. The song in the courtyard below +and the tones produced by my fingers had become sharers of my solitude. +I fell upon my knees and prayed aloud, and could not understand that I +had ever held this exquisite, divine instrument in small esteem, that I +had even hated it in my childhood, and I kissed the violin and pressed +it to my heart and played on and on. + +"The song in the yard--it was a woman who was singing--continued in the +meantime uninterruptedly. But it was not so easy to play it after her, +for I didn't have a copy of the notes. I also noticed that I had pretty +nearly forgotten whatever I had once acquired of the art of playing the +violin; consequently I couldn't play anything in particular, but could +play only in a general way. With the exception of that song the musical +compositions themselves have always been a matter of indifference to me, +an attitude in which I have persisted to this day. The musicians play +Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Sebastian Bach, but not one plays God +Himself. No one can play the eternal comfort and blessing of tone and +sound, its magic correlation with the eager, straining ear; so that"--he +continued in a lower voice and blushing with confusion--"so that the +third tone forms a harmonic interval with the first, as does the fifth, +and the leading tone rises like a fulfilled hope, while the dissonance +is bowed down like conscious wickedness or arrogant pride. + +"And then there are the mysteries of suspension and inversion, by means +of which even the second is received into favor in the bosom of harmony. +A musician once explained all these things to me, but that was later. +And then there are still other marvels which I do not understand, as the +fugue, counterpoint, the canon for two and three voices, and so on--an +entire heavenly structure, one part joined to the other without mortar +and all held together by God's own hand. With a few exceptions, nobody +wants to know anything about these things. They would rather disturb +this breathing of souls by the addition of words to be spoken to the +music, just as the children of God united with the daughters of the +Earth. And by means of this combination of word and music they imagine +they can affect and impress a calloused mind. Sir," he concluded at +last, half exhausted, "speech is as necessary to man as food, but we +should also preserve undefiled the nectar meted out by God." + +I could scarcely believe it was the same man, so animated had he become. +He paused for a moment. "Where did I stop in my story?" he asked +finally. "Oh yes, at the song and my attempt to imitate it. But I didn't +succeed. I stepped to the open window in order to hear better. The +singer was just crossing the court. She had her back turned to me, yet +she seemed familiar to me. She was carrying a basket with what looked +like pieces of cake dough. She entered a little gate in the corner of +the court, where there probably was an oven, for while she continued her +song, I heard her rattling some wooden utensils, her voice sounding +sometimes muffled, sometimes clear, like the voice of one who bends down +and sings into a hollow space and then rises again and stands in an +upright position. After a while she came back, and only now I discovered +why she had seemed familiar to me before. I had actually known her for +some time, for I had seen her in the chancery office. + +"My acquaintance with her was made like this: The office hours began +early and extended beyond noon. Several of the younger employees, who +either actually had an appetite or else wanted to kill a half hour, were +in the habit of taking a light lunch about eleven o'clock. The +tradespeople, who know how to turn everything to their advantage, saved +the gourmands a walk and brought their wares into the office building, +where they took up their position on the stairs and in the corridors. A +baker sold rolls, a costermonger vended cherries. Certain cakes, +however, which were baked by the daughter of a grocer in the vicinity +and sold while still hot, were especially popular. + +"Her customers stepped out into the corridor to her; and only rarely, +when bidden, did she venture into the office itself, which she was asked +to leave the moment the rather peevish director caught sight of her--a +command that she obeyed only with reluctance and mumbling angry words. + +"Among my colleagues the girl did not pass for a beauty. They considered +her too small, and were not able to determine the color of her hair. +Some there were who denied that she had cat's eyes, but all agreed that +she was pock-marked. Of her buxom figure all spoke with enthusiasm, but +they considered her rough, and one of them had a long story to tell +about a box on the ear, the effects of which he claimed to have felt for +a week afterwards. + +"I was not one of her customers. In the first place I had no money; in +the second, I have always been obliged to look upon eating and drinking +as a necessity, sometimes too much so, so that it has never entered my +head to take pleasure and delight in it. And so we took no notice of +each other. Only once, in order to tease me, my colleagues made her +believe that I wanted some of her cakes. She stepped up to my desk and +held her basket out to me. 'I don't want anything, my dear young woman,' +I said. 'Well, why do you send for me then?' she cried angrily. I +excused myself, and as I saw at once that a practical joke had been +played, I explained the situation as best I could. 'Well then, at least +give me a sheet of paper to put my cakes on,' she said. I tried to make +her understand that it was chancery paper and didn't belong to me, but +that I had some paper at home which was mine and that I would bring her +some of it. 'I have enough myself at home,' she said mockingly, and +broke into a little laugh as she went away. + +"That had happened only a few days before and I was thinking of turning +the acquaintance to immediate account for the fulfilment of my wish. The +next morning, therefore, I buttoned a whole ream of paper--of which +there was never a scarcity in our home--under my coat, and went to the +office. In order not to betray myself, I kept my armor with great +personal inconvenience upon my body until, toward noon, I knew from the +going and coming of my colleagues and from the sound of the munching +jaws that the cake-vender had arrived. I waited until I had reason to +believe that the rush of business was over, then I went out, pulled out +my paper, mustered up sufficient courage, and stepped up to the girl. +With her basket before her on the ground and her right foot resting on a +low stool, on which she usually sat, she stood there humming a soft +melody, beating time with her right foot. As I approached she measured +me from head to foot, which only added to my confusion. 'My dear young +woman,' I finally began, 'the other day you asked me for paper and I had +none that belonged to me. Now I have brought some from home, and'--with +that I held out the paper. 'I told you the other day,' she replied, +'that I have plenty of paper at home. However, I can make use of +everything.' Saying this, she accepted my present with a slight nod +and put it into her basket. 'Perhaps you'll take some cake?' she asked, +sorting her wares, 'although the best have been sold.' I declined, but +told her that I had another wish. 'And what may that be?' she asked, +putting her arm through the handle of her basket, drawing herself up to +her full height, and flashing her eyes angrily at me. I lost no time +telling her that I was a lover of music, although only a recent convert, +and that I had heard her singing such beautiful songs, especially one. +'You--heard me--singing?' she flared up. 'Where?' I then told her that I +lived near her, and that I had been listening to her while she was at +work in the courtyard; that one of her songs had pleased me +particularly, and that I had tried to play it after her on my violin. +'Can you be the man,' she exclaimed, 'who scrapes so on the fiddle?' As +I mentioned before, I was only a beginner at that time and not until +later, by dint of much hard work, did I acquire the necessary +dexterity;" the old man interrupted himself, while with the fingers of +his left hand he made movements in the air, as though he were playing +the violin. "I blushed violently," he continued the narrative, "and I +could see by the expression of her face that she repented her harsh +words. 'My dear young woman,' I said, 'the scraping arises from the fact +that I do not possess the music of the song, and for this reason I +should like to ask you most respectfully for a copy of it.' 'For a +copy?' she exclaimed. 'The song is printed and is sold at every +street-corner.' 'The song?' I replied. 'You probably mean only the +words!' 'Why, yes; the words, the song.' 'But the melody to which it is +sung--' 'Are such things written down?' she asked. 'Surely,' was my +reply, 'that is the most important part.' 'And how did you learn it, my +dear young woman?' 'I heard some one singing it, and then I sang it +after her.' I was astonished at this natural gift. And I may add in +passing that uneducated people often possess the greatest natural +talent. But, after all, this is not the proper thing, not real art. I +was again plunged into despair. 'But which song do you want?' she asked. +'I know so many.' 'All without the notes?' 'Why, of course. Now which +was it?' 'It is so very beautiful,' I explained. 'Right at the beginning +the melody rises, then it becomes fervent, and finally it ends very +softly. You sing it more frequently than the others.' 'Oh, I suppose +it's this one,' she said, setting down her basket, and placing her foot +on the stool. Then, keeping time by nodding her head, she sang the song +in a very low, yet clear voice, so beautifully and so charmingly that, +before she had quite finished, I tried to grasp her hand, which was +hanging at her side. 'What do you mean!' she cried, drawing back her +arm, for she probably thought I intended to take her hand immodestly. I +wanted to kiss it, although she was only a poor girl.--Well, after all, +I too am poor now! + +"I ran my fingers through my hair in my eagerness to secure the song and +when she observed my anxiety, she consoled me and said that the organist +of St. Peter's visited her father's store frequently to buy nutmeg, that +she would ask him to write out the music of the song, and that I might +call for it in a few days. Thereupon she took up her basket and went, +while I accompanied her as far as the staircase. As I was making a final +bow on the top step, I was surprised by the director, who bade me go to +my work and railed against the girl, in whom, he asserted, there wasn't +a vestige of good. I was very angry at this and was about to retort that +I begged to differ with him, when I realized that he had returned to his +office. Therefore I calmed myself and also went back to my desk. But +from that time on he was firmly convinced that I was a careless employee +and a dissipated fellow. + +"As a matter of fact, I was unable to do any decent work on that day or +on the following days, for the song kept running through my head. I +seemed to be in a trance. Several days passed and I was in doubt whether +to call for the music or not. The girl had said that the organist came +to her father's store to buy nutmeg; this he could use only for his +beer. Now the weather had been cold for some time, and therefore it was +probable that the good organist would rather drink wine and thus not be +in need of nutmeg so soon. A too hasty inquiry might seem impolite and +obtrusive, while, on the other hand, a delay might be interpreted as +indifference. I didn't dare address the girl in the corridor, since our +first meeting had been noised broad among my colleagues, and they were +thirsting for an opportunity to play a practical joke on me. + +"In the meantime I had again taken up my violin eagerly and devoted +myself to a thorough study of the fundamental principles. Occasionally I +permitted myself to improvise, but always closed my window carefully in +advance, knowing that my playing had found disfavor. But even when I did +open the window, I never heard my song again. Either my neighbor did not +sing at all, or else she sang softly and behind closed doors, so that I +could not distinguish one note from another. + +"At last, about three weeks having passed, I could wait no longer. Two +evenings in succession I had even stolen out upon the street, without a +hat, so that the servants might think I was looking for something in the +house, but whenever I came near the grocery store such a violent +trembling seized me that I was obliged to turn back whether I wanted to +or not. At last, however, as I said, I couldn't wait any longer. I took +courage, and one evening left my room, this time also without a hat, +went downstairs and walked with a firm step through the street to the +grocery store, in front of which I stopped for a moment, deliberating +what was to be done next. The store was lighted and I heard voices +within. After some hesitation I leaned forward and peered in from the +side. I saw the girl sitting close before the counter by the light, +picking over some peas or beans in a wooden bowl. Before her stood a +coarse, powerful man, who looked like a butcher; his jacket was thrown +over his shoulders and he held a sort of club in his hand. The two were +talking, evidently in good humor, for the girl laughed aloud several +times, but without interrupting her work or even looking up. Whether it +was my unnatural, strained position, or whatever else it may have been, +I began to tremble again, when I suddenly felt myself seized by a rough +hand from the back and dragged forward. In a twinkling I was in the +store, and when I was released and looked about me, I saw that it was +the proprietor himself, who, returning home, had caught me peering +through his window and seized me as a suspicious character. 'Confound +it!' he cried, 'now I understand what becomes of my prunes and the +handfuls of peas and barley which are taken from my baskets in the dark. +Damn it all!' With that he made for me, as though he meant to strike me. + +"I felt utterly crushed, but the thought that my honesty was being +questioned soon brought me back to my senses. I therefore made a curt +bow and told the uncivil man that my visit was not intended for his +prunes or his barley, but for his daughter. At these words the butcher, +who was standing in the middle of the store, set up a loud laugh and +turned as if to go, having first whispered a few words to the girl, to +which she laughingly replied with a resounding slap of her flat hand +upon his back. The grocer accompanied him to the door. Meanwhile all my +courage had again deserted me, and I stood facing the girl, who was +indifferently picking her peas and beans as though the whole affair +didn't concern her in the least. 'Sir,' he said, 'what business have you +with my daughter?' I tried to explain the circumstance and the cause of +my visit. 'Song! I'll sing you a song!' he exclaimed, moving his right +arm up and down in rather threatening fashion. 'There it is,' said the +girl, tilting her chair sideways and pointing with her hand to the +counter without setting down the bowl. I rushed over and saw a sheet of +music lying there. It was the song. But the old man got there first, and +crumpled the beautiful paper in his hand. 'What does this mean?' he +said. 'Who is this fellow?' 'He is one of the gentlemen from the +chancery,' she replied, throwing a worm-eaten pea a little farther away +than the rest. 'A gentleman from the chancery,' he cried, 'in the dark, +without a hat?' I accounted for the absence of a hat by explaining that +I lived close by; at the same time I designated the house. 'I know the +house,' he cried. 'Nobody lives there but the Court Councilor'--here he +mentioned the name of my father--'and I know all the servants.' 'I am +the son of the Councilor,' I said in a low voice, as though I were +telling a lie. I have seen many changes during my life, but none so +sudden as that which came over the man at these words. His mouth, which +he had opened to heap abuse upon me, remained open, his eyes still +looked threatening, but about the lower part of his face a smile began +to play which spread more and more. The girl remained indifferent and +continued in her stooping posture. Without interrupting her work, she +pushed her loose hair back behind her ears. 'The son of the Court +Councilor!' finally exclaimed the old man, from whose face the clouds +had entirely disappeared. 'Won't you make yourself comfortable, sir? +Barbara, bring a chair!' The girl stirred reluctantly on hers. 'Never +mind, you sneak!' he said, taking a basket from a stool and wiping the +dust from the latter with his handkerchief. 'This is a great honor,' he +continued. 'Has His Honor, the Councilor--I mean His Honor's son, also +taken up music? Perhaps you sing like my daughter, or rather quite +differently, from notes and according to rule?' I told him that nature +had not gifted me with a voice. 'Oh, perhaps you play the piano, as +fashionable people do?' I told him I played the violin. 'I used to +scratch on the fiddle myself when I was a boy,' he said. At the word +'scratch' I involuntarily looked at the girl and saw a mocking smile on +her lips, which annoyed me greatly. + +"'You ought to take an interest in the girl, that is, in her music,' he +continued. 'She has a good voice, and possesses other good qualities; +but refinement--good heavens, where should she get it?' So saying, he +repeatedly rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together. I +was quite confused at being undeservedly credited with such a +considerable knowledge of music, and was just on the point of explaining +the true state of affairs, when some one passing the store called in +'Good evening, all!' I started, for it was the voice of one of our +servants. The grocer had also recognized it. Putting out the tip of his +tongue and raising his shoulders, he whispered: 'It was one of the +servants of His Honor, your father, but he couldn't recognize you, +because you were standing with your back to the door.' This was so, to +be sure, but nevertheless the feeling of doing something on the sly, +something wrong, affected me painfully. I managed to mumble a few words +of parting, and went out. I should even have left the song behind had +not the old man run into the street after me and pressed it into my +hand. + +"I reached my room and awaited developments. And I didn't have to wait +long. The servant had recognized me after all. A few days later my +father's private secretary looked me up in my room and announced that I +was to leave my home. All my remonstrances were in vain. A little room +had been rented for me in a distant suburb and thus I was completely +banished from my family. Nor did I see my singer again. She had been +forbidden to vend her cakes in the chancery, and I couldn't make up my +mind to visit her father's store, since I knew that this would displease +mine. Once, when accidentally I met the old grocer on the street, he +even turned away from me with an angry expression, and I was stunned. +And so I got out my violin and played and practised, being frequently +alone half the day. + +"But even worse things were in store for me. The fortunes of our house +were declining. My youngest brother, a headstrong, impetuous fellow, was +an officer in a regiment of dragoons. As the result of a reckless wager, +he foolishly swam the Danube, mounted and in full armor, while heated +from the exertion of a ride. This escapade, which occurred while he was +far away in Hungary, cost him his life. My older brother, my father's +favorite, held an appointment as a member of provincial council. In +constant opposition to the governor of the province, he even went so +far as to promulgate untruthful statements in order to injure his +opponent, being secretly incited thereto, as rumor had it, by our +father. An investigation followed, and my brother took French leave of +the country. Our father's enemies, of whom there were many, utilized +this circumstance to bring about his downfall. Attacked on all sides, +and at the same time enraged at the waning of his influence, he +delivered daily the most bitter speeches at the meetings of the council, +and it was in the middle of a speech that he suffered a stroke of +apoplexy. They brought him home, bereft of the power of speech. I myself +heard nothing of all this. The next day in the chancery I noticed that +the men were whispering secretly and pointing at me with their fingers. +But I was accustomed to such treatment and paid no further attention to +it. On the following Friday--the sad event had occurred on a +Wednesday--a black suit of clothes with crepe was suddenly brought to my +room. I was naturally astonished, asked for the reason, and was informed +of what had taken place. Ordinarily my body is strong and capable of +resistance, but then I was completely overcome. I fell to the floor in a +swoon. They carried me to bed, where I lay in a fever and was delirious +throughout the day and the entire night. The next morning my strong +constitution had conquered, but my father was dead and buried. + +"I had not been able to speak to him again, to ask his forgiveness for +all the sorrow I had brought upon him, or to thank him for all the +undeserved favors--yes, favors, for his intentions had been good; and +some time I hope to meet him again where we are judged by our intentions +and not by our acts. + +"For several days I kept my room and scarcely touched any food. At last +I went out, but came home again immediately after dinner. Only in the +evening I wandered about the dark streets like Cain, the murderer of his +brother. My father's house appeared to me a dreadful phantom, and I +avoided it most carefully. But once, staring vacantly before me, I found +myself unexpectedly in the vicinity of the dreaded house. My knees +trembled so that I was obliged to seek support. Leaning against the wall +behind me, I recognized the door of the grocery store. Barbara was +sitting inside, a letter in her hand, the light upon the counter beside +her, and standing up straight close by was her father, who seemed to be +urging something upon her. I should have entered, even though my life +had been at stake. You have no idea how awful it is to have no one to +pour out one's heart to, no one to look to for sympathy. The old man, I +knew very well, was angry with me, but I thought the girl would say a +kind word to me. But it turned out just the other way. Barbara rose as I +entered, looked at me haughtily, and went into the adjoining room, +locking the door behind her. The old man, however, shook hands with me, +bade me sit down and consoled me, at the same time intimating that I was +now a rich man and my own master. He wanted to know how much I had +inherited. I couldn't tell him. He urged me to go to court about it, +which I promised to do. He was of the opinion that no fortune could be +made in a chancery. He then advised me to invest my inheritance in a +business, assured me that gallnuts and fruit would yield a good profit +and that a partner who understood this particular business could turn +dimes into dollars, and said that he himself had at one time done well +in that line. + +"While he was telling me all this, he repeatedly called for the girl, +who gave no sign of life, however, although it seemed to me as though I +sometimes heard a rustling near the door. But since she did not put in +an appearance, and since the old man talked of nothing but money, I +finally took my leave, the grocer regretting that he could not accompany +me, as he was alone in the store. I was grievously disappointed that my +hopes had not been fulfilled, and yet I felt strangely consoled. As I +stopped in the street and looked over toward my father's house, I +suddenly heard a voice behind me saying in a subdued and indignant +tone: 'Don't be too ready to trust everybody; they're after your money.' +Although I turned quickly, I saw no one. Only the rattling of a window +on the ground floor of the grocer's house told me, even if I had not +recognized the voice, that the secret warning had come from Barbara. So +she had overheard what had been said in the store! Did she intend to +warn me against her father? Or had it come to her knowledge that +immediately after my father's death colleagues of the chancery as well +as utter strangers had approached me with requests for support and aid, +and that I had promised to help them as soon as I should be in +possession of the money? My promises I was obliged to keep, but I +resolved to be more careful in future. I applied for my inheritance. It +was less than had been expected, but still a considerable sum, nearly +eleven thousand gulden. The whole day my room was besieged by people +demanding financial assistance. I had almost become hardened, however, +and granted a request only when the distress was really great. Barbara's +father also came. He scolded me for not having been around for three +days, whereupon I truthfully replied that I feared I was unwelcome to +his daughter. But he told me with a malicious laugh that alarmed me, not +to worry on that score; that he had brought her to her senses. Thus +reminded of Barbara's warning, I concealed the amount of the inheritance +when the subject came up in the course of the conversation and also +skilfully evaded his business proposals. + +"As a matter of fact, I was already turning other prospects over in my +mind. In the chancery, where I had been tolerated only on account of my +father, my place had already been filled by another, which troubled me +little, since no salary was attached to the position. But my father's +secretary, whom recent events had deprived of his livelihood, informed +me of a plan for the establishment of a bureau of information, copying, +and translation. For this undertaking I was to advance the initial cost +of equipment, he being prepared to undertake the management. At my +request the field of copying was extended so as to include music, and +now I was perfectly happy. I advanced the necessary sum, but, having +grown cautious, demanded a written receipt. The rather large bond for +the establishment, which I likewise furnished, caused me no worry, since +it had to be deposited with the court, where it was as safe as though it +were locked up in my strong-box. + +"The affair was settled, and I felt relieved, exalted; for the first +time in my life I was independent--I was a man at last. I scarcely gave +my father another thought. I moved into a better apartment, procured +better clothes, and when it had become dark, I went through familiar +streets to the grocery store, with a swinging step and humming my song, +although not quite correctly. I never have been able to strike the B +flat in the second half. I arrived in the best of spirits, but an icy +look from Barbara immediately threw me back into my former state of +timidity. Her father received me most cordially; but she acted as if no +one were present, continued making paper bags, and took no part whatever +in our conversation. Only when we touched upon the subject of my +inheritance, she rose in her seat and exclaimed in an almost threatening +tone, 'Father!' Thereupon the old man immediately changed the subject. +Aside from that, she said nothing during the whole evening, didn't give +me a second look, and, when I finally took my leave, her 'good-night' +sounded almost like a 'thank heaven.' + +"But I came again and again, and gradually she yielded--not that I ever +did anything that pleased her. She scolded me and found fault with me +incessantly. Everything I did she considered clumsy; God had given me +two left hands; my coat fitted so badly, it made me look like a +scarecrow; my walk was a cross between that of a duck and cock. What she +disliked especially was my politeness toward the customers. As I had +nothing to do until the opening of the copying bureau, where I should +have direct dealings with the public, I considered it a good preliminary +training to take an active part in the retail business of the grocery +store. This often kept me there half the day. I weighed spices, counted +out nuts and prunes for the children, and acted as cashier. In this +latter capacity I was frequently guilty of errors, in which event +Barbara would interfere by forcibly taking away whatever money I had in +my hand, and ridiculing and mocking me before the customers. If I bowed +to a customer or recommended myself to his kind consideration, she would +say brusquely, even before he had left the store, 'The goods carry their +own recommendation,' and turn her back upon me. At other times, however, +she was all kindness; she listened to me when I told her what was going +on in the city, or when I spoke of my early years, or of the business of +the chancery, where we had first met. But at such times she let me do +all the talking and expressed her approval or--as happened more +frequently--her disapproval only by casual words. + +"We never spoke of music or singing. In the first place, she believed +one should either sing or keep quiet, that there was no sense in talking +about it. But it was not possible to do any singing--the store was not +the proper place for it, and the rear room, which she occupied with her +father, I was not allowed to enter. Once, however, when I entered +unnoticed, she was standing on tip-toe, her back turned toward me, with +her hands raised above her head, groping along one of the upper shelves +as if looking for something. At the same time she was singing softly to +herself--it was the song, my song! She was warbling like a hedge-sparrow +when it bathes its breast in the brook, tosses its head, ruffles its +feathers, and smoothes them again with its little beak. I seemed to be +walking in a green meadow. I crept nearer and nearer, and was so close +that the melody seemed no longer to come from without, but out of my own +breast--a song of souls. I was unable to contain myself any longer, and +as she stood there straining forward, her shoulders thrown slightly back +towards me, I threw both arms around her body. But then the storm broke. +She whirled around like a top. Her face livid with rage, she stood +before me; her hand twitched, and before I could utter a word of +apology, the blow came. + +"As I have said before, my colleagues in the chancery used to tell a +story of a box on the ear, which Barbara, when she was still vending +cakes, had dealt out to an impertinent fellow. What they then said of +the strength of this rather small girl and of the power of her hand, +seemed greatly and humorously exaggerated. But it was a fact; her +strength was tremendous. I stood as though I had been struck by a +thunderbolt. The lights were dancing before my eyes, but they were the +lights of heaven. It seemed like sun, moon and stars, like angels +playing hide-and-seek and singing at the same time. I had visions; I was +entranced. She, however, scarcely less astonished than I, passed her +hand gently over the place she had struck. 'I'm afraid I struck more +violently than I intended,' she said, and, like a second thunderbolt, I +suddenly felt her warm breath and her lips upon my cheeks. She kissed +me--only gently, but it was a kiss, a kiss upon this very cheek." As he +said this, the old man put his hand to his cheek, and tears came to his +eyes. "What happened after that I do not know," he continued. "I only +remember that I rushed toward her and that she ran into the sitting room +and threw herself against the glass door, while I pushed against it from +the other side. As she pressed forward with all her might against the +glass panel, I took courage, dear sir, and returned her kiss with great +fervor--through the glass! + +"'Well, this is a jolly party,' I heard some one call out behind me. It +was the grocer, just returning home. 'People who love each other are +fond of teasing each other,' he said. 'Come out, Barbara, don't be +foolish. There's naught amiss in an honest kiss.' But she didn't come +out. I took my leave after having stammered a few words of apology, +scarcely knowing what I was saying. In my confusion I took the grocer's +hat instead of my own, and he laughingly corrected the mistake. This +was, as I called it before, the happiest day of my life--I had almost +said, the only happy day. But that wouldn't be true, for man receives +many favors from God. + +"I didn't know exactly what the girl's feelings toward me were. Was she +angry or had I conciliated her? The next visit cost me a great effort. +But I found her amiable. She sat over her work, humble and quiet, not +irritable as usual, and motioned with her head toward a stool standing +near, intimating that I should sit down and help her. Thus we sat and +worked. The old man prepared to go out. 'You needn't go, Father,' she +said, 'what you want to do has already been attended to.' He stamped his +foot on the floor and remained. Walking up and down he talked of +different things, but I didn't dare take part in the conversation. +Suddenly the girl uttered a low scream. She had cut her finger slightly +and, although she didn't usually pay any attention to such trifles, she +shook her hand back and forth. I wanted to examine the cut, but she +beckoned to me to continue my work. 'There is no end to your +tomfoolery,' the old man grumbled; and, stepping before the girl, he +said in a loud voice, 'What I was going to do hasn't been attended to at +all,' and with a heavy tread he went out of the door. Then I started to +make apologies for the day before, but she interrupted me and said, 'Let +us forget that, and talk of more sensible things.' + +"She raised her head, looked at me from head to foot, and continued in a +calm tone of voice, 'I scarcely remember the beginning of our +acquaintance, but for some time you have been calling more and more +frequently, and we have become accustomed to you. Nobody will deny that +you have an honest heart, but you are weak and always interested in +matters of secondary importance, so that you are hardly capable of +managing your own affairs. It is therefore the duty of your friends and +acquaintances to look out for you, in order that people may not take +advantage of you. Frequently you sit here in the store half the day, +counting and weighing, measuring and bargaining, but what good does +that do you? How do you expect to make your living in future?' I +mentioned the inheritance from my father. 'I suppose it's quite large,' +she said. I named the amount. 'That's much and little,' she replied. +'Much to invest, little to live upon. My father made you a proposition, +but I dissuaded you. For, on the one hand, he has lost money himself in +similar ventures, and on the other hand,' she added with lowered voice, +'he is so accustomed to take advantage of strangers that it's quite +possible he wouldn't treat friends any better. You must have somebody at +your side who has your interests at heart.' I pointed to her. 'I am +honest,' she said, laying her hand upon her heart. Her eyes, which were +ordinarily of a greyish hue, shone bright blue, the blue of the sky. +'But I'm in a peculiar position. Our business yields little profit, and +so my father intends to set himself up as an innkeeper. Now that's no +place for me, and nothing remains for me, therefore, but needlework, for +I will not go out as a servant.' As she said this she looked like a +queen. 'As a matter of fact I've had another offer,' she continued, +drawing a letter from her apron and throwing it half reluctantly upon +the counter. 'But in that case I should be obliged to leave the city.' +'Would you have to go far away?' I asked. 'Why? What difference would +that make to you?' I told her I should move to the same place. 'You're a +child,' she said. 'That wouldn't do at all, and there are quite +different matters to be considered. But if you have confidence in me and +like to be near me, buy the millinery store next door, which is for +sale. I understand the business, and you can count on a reasonable +profit on your investment. Besides, keeping the books and attending to +the correspondence would supply you with a proper occupation. What might +develop later on, we'll not discuss at present. But you would have to +change, for I hate effeminate men.' I had jumped up and seized my hat. +'What's the matter? Where are you going?' she asked. 'To countermand +everything!' I said breathlessly. 'Countermand what?' I then told her of +my plan for the establishment of a copying and information bureau. +'There isn't much in that,' she suggested. 'Information anybody can get +for himself, and everybody has learned to write in school.' I remarked +that music was also to be copied, which was something that not everybody +could do. 'So you're back at your old nonsense?' she burst out. 'Let +your music go, and think of more important matters. Besides, you're not +able to manage a business yourself.' I explained that I had found a +partner. 'A partner?' she exclaimed. 'You'll surely be cheated. I hope +you haven't advanced any money?' I was trembling without knowing why. +'Did you advance any money?' she asked once more. I admitted that I had +advanced the three thousand gulden for the initial equipment. 'Three +thousand gulden!' she exclaimed; 'as much as that?' 'The rest,' I +continued, 'is deposited with the court, and that's safe at all events.' +'What, still more?' she screamed. I mentioned the amount of the bond. +'And did you pay it over to the court personally?' 'My partner paid it.' +'But you have a receipt for it.' 'I haven't.' 'And what is the name of +your fine partner?' she asked. It was a relief to be able to mention my +father's secretary. + +"'Good heavens!' she cried, starting up and wringing her hands. 'Father! +Father!' The old man entered. 'What was that you read in the papers +today?' 'About the secretary?' he asked. 'Yes, yes!' 'Oh, he absconded, +left nothing but debts, and swindled everybody. A warrant for his arrest +has been issued.' 'Father,' she cried, 'here's one of his victims. He +intrusted his money to him. He is ruined!' + +"'Oh, you blockhead! The fools aren't all dead yet,' cried the old man. +'Didn't I tell her so? But she always found an excuse for him. At one +time she ridiculed him, at another time he was honesty itself. But I'll +take a hand in this business! I'll show you who's master in this house. +You, Barbara, go to your room, and quickly. And you, sir, get out, and +spare us your visits in future. We're not in the charity business +here.' 'Father,' said the girl, 'don't be harsh with him; he's unhappy +enough as it is!' 'That's the very reason I don't want to become unhappy +too,' cried the old man. 'There, sir,' he continued, pointing to the +letter Barbara had thrown upon the table a short time before, 'there's a +man for you! He's got brains in his head and money in his purse. He +doesn't swindle any one, but he takes good care at the same time not to +let any one swindle him. And that's the main thing in being honest!' I +stammered something about the loss of the bond not being certain. 'Ha, +ha,' he cried, 'that secretary was no fool, the sly rascal! And now +you'd better run after him, perhaps you can still catch him.' As he said +this, he laid the palm of his hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward +the door. I moved to one side and turned toward the girl, who was +standing with her hands resting on the counter and her eyes fixed on the +ground. She was breathing heavily. I wanted to approach her, but she +angrily stamped her foot upon the floor; and when I held out my hand, +hers twitched as though she were going to strike me again. Then I went, +and the old man locked the door behind me. + +"I tottered through the streets out of the city gate into the open +fields. Sometimes despair gripped me, but then hope returned. I +recollected having accompanied the secretary to the commercial court to +deposit the bond. There I had waited in the gateway while he had gone +upstairs alone. When he came down he told me that everything was in +order and that the receipt would be sent to my residence. As a matter of +fact I had received none, but there was still a possibility. At daybreak +I returned to the city, and made straightway for the residence of the +secretary. But the people there laughed and asked whether I hadn't read +the papers? The commercial court was only a few doors away. I had the +clerks examine the records, but neither his name nor mine could be +found. There was no indication that the sum had ever been paid, and thus +the disaster was certain. But that wasn't all, for inasmuch as a +partnership contract had been drawn up, several of his creditors +insisted upon seizing my person, which the court, however, would not +permit. For this decision I was profoundly grateful, although it +wouldn't have made much difference in the end. + +"I may as well confess that the grocer and his daughter had, in the +course of these disagreeable developments, quite receded into the +background. Now that things had calmed down and I was considering what +steps to take next, the remembrance of that last evening came vividly +back to my mind. The old man, selfish as he was, I could understand very +well; but the girl! Once in a while it occurred to me that if I had +taken care of my money and been able to offer her a comfortable +existence, she might have even--but she wouldn't have accepted me." With +that he surveyed his wretched figure with hands outstretched. "Besides, +she disliked my courteous behavior toward everybody." + +"Thus I spent entire days thinking and planning. One evening at +twilight--it was the time I had usually spent in the store--I had +transported myself in spirit to the accustomed place. I could hear them +speaking, hear them abusing me; it even seemed as though they were +ridiculing me. Suddenly I heard a rustling at the door; it opened, and a +woman entered. It was Barbara. I sat riveted to my chair, as though I +beheld a ghost. She was pale, and carried a bundle under her arm. When +she had reached the middle of the room she remained standing, looked at +the bare walls and the wretched furniture, and heaved a deep sigh. Then +she went to the wardrobe which stood on one side against the wall, +opened her bundle containing some shirts and handkerchiefs--she had been +attending to my laundry during the past few weeks--and pulled out the +drawer. When she beheld the meagre contents she lifted her hands in +astonishment, but immediately began to arrange the linen and put away +the pieces she had brought, whereupon she stepped back from the bureau. +Then she looked straight at me and, pointing with her finger to the open +drawer, she said, 'Five shirts and three handkerchiefs. I'm bringing +back what I took away.' So saying she slowly closed the drawer, leaned +against the wardrobe, and began to cry aloud. It almost seemed as though +she were going to faint, for she sat down on a chair beside the wardrobe +and covered her face with her shawl. By her convulsive breathing I could +see that she was still weeping. I had approached her softly and took her +hand, which she willingly left in mine. But when, in order to make her +look up, I moved my hand up to the elbow of her limp arm, she rose +quickly, withdrew her hand, and said in a calm voice, 'Oh, what's the +use of it all? You've made yourself and us unhappy; but yourself most of +all, and you really don't deserve any pity'--here she became more +agitated--'since you're so weak that you can't manage your own affairs +and so credulous that you trust everybody, a rogue as soon as an honest +man--and yet I'm sorry for you! I've come to bid you farewell. You may +well look alarmed. And it's all your doing. I've got to go out among +common people, something that I've always dreaded; but there's no help +for it. I've shaken hands with you, so farewell, and forever!' I saw the +tears coming to her eyes again, but she shook her head impatiently and +went out. I felt rooted to the spot. When she had reached the door she +turned once more and said, 'Your laundry is now in order. Take good care +of it, for hard times are coming!' And then she raised her hand, crossed +herself, and cried, 'God be with you, James! Forever and ever, Amen!' +she added in a lower voice, and was gone. + +"Not until then did I regain the use of my limbs. I hurried after her +and called to her from the landing, whereupon she stopped on the +stairway, but when I went down a step she called up, 'Stay where you +are,' descended the rest of the way, and passed out of the door. + +"I've known hard days since then, but none to equal this one. The +following was scarcely less hard to bear, for I wasn't quite clear as to +how things stood with me. The next morning, therefore, I stole over to +the grocery store in the hope of possibly receiving some explanation. No +one seemed to be stirring, and so I walked past and looked into the +store. There I saw a strange woman weighing goods and counting out +change. I made bold to enter, and asked whether she had bought the +store. 'Not yet,' she said. 'And where are the owners?' 'They left this +morning for Langenlebarn.' [63] 'The daughter, too?' I stammered. 'Why, +of course,' she said, 'she went there to be married.' + +"In all probability the woman told me then what I learned subsequently +from others. The Langenlebarn butcher, the same one I had met in the +store on my first visit, had been pursuing the girl for some time with +offers of marriage, which she had always rejected until finally, a few +days before, pressed by her father and in utter despair, she had given +her consent. Father and daughter had departed that very morning, and +while we were talking, Barbara was already the butcher's wife. + +"As I said, the woman no doubt told me all this, but I heard nothing and +stood motionless, till finally customers came, who pushed me aside. The +woman asked me gruffly whether there was anything else I wanted, +whereupon I took my departure. + +"You'll believe me, my dear sir," he continued, "when I tell you that I +now considered myself the most wretched of mortals, but it wasn't for +long, for as I left the store and looked back at the small windows at +which Barbara no doubt had often stood and looked out, a blissful +sensation came over me. I felt that she was now free of all care, +mistress of her own home, that she did not have to bear the sorrow and +misery that would have been hers had she cast in her lot with a homeless +wanderer--and this thought acted like a soothing balm, and I blessed her +and her destiny. + +"As my affairs went from bad to worse, I decided to earn my living by +means of music. As long as my money lasted, I practised and studied the +works of the great masters, especially the old ones, copying all of the +music. But when the last penny had been spent, I made ready to turn my +knowledge to account. I made a beginning in private circles, a gathering +at the house of my landlady furnishing the first opportunity. But as the +compositions I rendered didn't meet with approval, I visited the +courtyards of houses, believing that among so many tenants there must be +a few who value serious music. Finally, I even stood on public +promenades, where I really had the satisfaction of having persons stop +and listen, question me and pass on, not without a display of sympathy. +The fact that they left was the very object of my playing, and then I +saw that famous artists, whom I didn't flatter myself I equaled, +accepted money for their performances, sometimes very large sums. In +this way I have managed to make a scanty, but honest, living to this +day. + +"After many years another piece of good fortune was granted to me. +Barbara returned. Her husband had prospered and acquired a butcher shop +in one of the suburbs. She was the mother of two children, the elder +being called James, like myself. My profession and the remembrance of +old times didn't permit me to intrude; but at last they sent for me to +give the elder boy lessons on the violin. He hasn't much talent to be +sure, and can play only on Sundays, since his father needs him in his +business during the week. But Barbara's song, which I have taught him, +goes very well, and when we practise and play in this way, the mother +sometimes joins in with her voice. She has, to be sure, changed greatly +in these many years; she has grown stout, and no longer cares much for +music; but the melody still sounds as sweet as of old." + +With these words the old man took up his violin and began to play the +song, and kept on playing and playing without paying any further +attention to me. At last I had enough. I rose, laid a few pieces of +silver upon the table near me, and departed, while the old man continued +fiddling eagerly. + +Soon after this incident I set out on a journey, from which I did not +return until the beginning of winter. New impressions had crowded out +the old, and I had almost forgotten my musician. It wasn't until the +ice broke up in the following spring and the low-lying suburbs were +flooded in consequence, that I was again reminded of him. The vicinity +of Gardener's Lane had become a lake. There seemed to be no need of +entertaining fears for the old man's life, for he lived high up under +the roof, whereas death had claimed its numerous victims among the +residents of the ground floor. But cut off from all help, how great +might not his distress be! As long as the flood lasted, nothing could be +done. Moreover, the authorities had done what they could to send food +and aid in boats to those cut off by the water. But when the waters had +subsided and the streets had become passable, I decided to deliver at +the address that concerned me most my share of the fund that had been +started for the benefit of the sufferers and that had assumed incredible +proportions. + +The Leopoldstadt was in frightful condition. Wrecked boats and broken +tools were lying in the streets, while the cellars of some houses were +still filled with water covered with floating furniture. In order to +avoid the crowd I stepped aside toward a gate that stood ajar; as I +brushed by it yielded, and in the passageway I beheld a row of dead +bodies, which had evidently been picked up and laid out there for +official inspection. Here and there I could even see unfortunate victims +inside the rooms, still clinging to the iron window bars. For lack of +time and men it was absolutely impossible to take an official census of +so many fatalities. + +Thus I went on and on. On all sides weeping and tolling of funeral +bells, anxious mothers searching for their children and children looking +for their parents. At last I reached Gardener's Lane. There also the +mourners of a funeral procession were drawn up, seemingly at some +distance, however, from the house I was bound for. But as I came nearer +I noticed by the preparations and the movements of the people that there +was some connection between the funeral procession and the gardener's +house. At the gate stood a respectable looking man, somewhat advanced in +years, but still vigorous. In his high top-boots, yellow leather +breeches, and long coat, he looked like a country butcher. He was giving +orders, but in the intervals conversed rather indifferently with the +bystanders. I passed him and entered the court. The old gardener's wife +came toward me, recognized me at once, and greeted me with tears in her +eyes. "Are you also honoring us?" she said, "Alas, our poor old man! +He's playing with the angels, who can't be much better than he was here +below. The good man was sitting up there safe in his room; but when the +water came and he heard the children scream, he jumped down and helped; +he dragged and carried them to safety, until his breathing sounded like +a blacksmith's bellows. And when toward the very last--you can't have +your eyes everywhere--it was found that my husband had forgotten his +tax-books and a few paper gulden in his wardrobe, the old man took an +axe, entered the water which by that time reached up to his chest, broke +open the wardrobe and fetched everything like the faithful creature he +was. In this way he caught a cold, and as we couldn't summon aid at +once, he became delirious and went from bad to worse, although we did +what we could and suffered more than he did himself. For he sang +incessantly, beating time and imagining that he was giving lessons. When +the water had subsided somewhat and we were able to call the doctor and +the priest, he suddenly raised himself in bed, turned his head to one +side as though he heard something very beautiful in the distance, +smiled, fell back, and was dead. Go right up stairs; he often spoke of +you. The lady is also up there. We wanted to have him buried at our +expense, but the butcher's wife would not allow it." + +She urged me to go up the steep staircase to the attic-room. The door +stood open, and the room itself had been cleared of everything except +the coffin in the centre, which, already closed, was waiting for the +pall-bearers. At the head sat a rather stout woman no longer in the +prime of life, in a colored cotton dress, but with a black shawl and a +black ribbon in her bonnet. It seemed almost as though she could never +have been beautiful. Before her stood two almost grown-up children, a +boy and a girl, whom she was evidently instructing how to behave at the +funeral. Just as I entered she was pushing the boy's arm away from the +coffin, on which he had been leaning in rather awkward fashion; then she +carefully smoothed the projecting corners of the shroud. The gardener's +wife led me up to the coffin, but at that moment the trombones began to +play, and at the same time the butcher's voice was heard from the +street, "Barbara, it's time." The pall-bearers appeared and I withdrew +to make room for them. The coffin was lifted and carried down, and the +procession began to move. First came the school children with cross and +banner, then the priest and the sexton. Directly behind the coffin +marched the two children of the butcher, and behind them came the +parents. The man moved his lips incessantly, as if in devout prayer, yet +looked constantly about him in both directions. The woman was eagerly +reading in her prayer-book, but the two children caused her some +trouble. At one time she pushed them ahead, at another she held them +back; in fact the general order of the funeral procession seemed to +worry her considerably. But she always returned to her prayer-book. In +this way the procession arrived at the cemetery. The grave was open. The +children threw down the first handful of earth, being followed by their +father, who remained standing while their mother knelt, holding her book +close to her eyes. The grave-diggers completed their business, and the +procession, half disbanded, returned. At the door there was a slight +altercation, as the wife evidently considered some charge of the +undertaker too high. The mourners scattered in all directions. The old +musician was buried. + +A few days later--it was a Sunday--I was impelled by psychological +curiosity and went to the house of the butcher, under the pretext that I +wished to secure the violin of the old man as a keepsake. I found the +family together, showing no token of recent distress. But the violin was +hanging beside the mirror and a crucifix on the opposite wall, the +objects being arranged symmetrically. When I explained the object of my +visit and offered a comparatively high price for the instrument, the man +didn't seem averse to concluding a profitable bargain. The woman, +however, jumped up from her chair and said, "Well, I should say not. The +violin belongs to James, and a few gulden more or less make no +difference to us." With that she took the instrument from the wall, +looked at it from all sides, blew off the dust, and laid it in the +drawer, which she thereupon closed violently, looking as though she +feared some one would steal it. Her face was turned away from me, so +that I couldn't see what emotions were passing over it. At this moment +the maid brought in the soup, and as the butcher, who didn't allow my +visit to disturb him, began in a loud voice to say grace, in which the +children joined with their shrill voices, I wished them a good appetite +and left the room. My last glance fell upon the wife. She had turned +around and the tears were streaming down her cheeks. + + * * * * * + + + + +MY JOURNEY TO WEIMAR[64] + +TRANSLATED BY ALFRED REMY, A.M. + +Professor of Modern Languages. Brooklyn Commercial High School. + + +A journey is an excellent remedy for a perplexed state of mind. This +time the goal of my journey was to be Germany. The German geniuses had, +indeed, almost all departed from this life, but there was still one +living, Goethe, and the idea of speaking with him or even of merely +seeing him made me happy in anticipation. I never was, as was the +fashion at that time, a blind worshipper of Goethe, any more than I was +of any other one poet. True poetry seemed to me to lie where they met on +common ground; their individual characteristics lent them, on the one +hand, the charm of individuality, while, on the other hand, they shared +the general propensity of mankind to err. Goethe, in particular, had, +since the death of Schiller, turned his attention from poetry to +science. By distributing his talents over too many fields, he +deteriorated in each; his latest poetic productions were tepid or cool, +and when, for the sake of pose, he turned to the classical, his poetry +became affected. The impassiveness which he imparted to that period +contributed perhaps more than anything else to the decadence of poetry, +inasmuch as it opened the door to the subsequent coarseness of Young +Germany, of popular poetry, and of the Middle-high German trash. The +public was only too glad to have once again something substantial to +feed upon. Nevertheless, Goethe is one of the greatest poets of all +time, and the father of our poetry. Klopstock gave the first impulse, +Lessing blazed the trail, Goethe followed it. Perhaps Schiller means +more to the German nation, for a people needs strong, sweeping +impressions; Goethe, however, appears to be the greater poet. He fills +an entire page in the development of the human mind, while Schiller +stands midway between Racine and Shakespeare. Little as I sympathized +with Goethe's most recent activity, and little as I could expect him to +consider the author of _The Ancestress_ and _The Golden Fleece_ worthy +of any consideration, in view of the dispassionate quietism which he +affected at the time, I nevertheless felt that the mere sight of him +would be sufficient to inspire me with new courage. _Dormit puer, non +mortuus est_. (The boy sleeps, he is not dead.) + + * * * * * + +At last I arrived in Weimar and took quarters in "The Elephant," a +hostelry at that time famous throughout Germany and the ante-room, as it +were, to the living Valhalla of Weimar. From there I dispatched the +waiter with my card to Goethe, inquiring whether he would receive me. +The waiter returned with the answer that His Excellency, the +Privy-councilor, was entertaining some guests and could not, therefore, +receive me at the moment. He would expect me in the evening for tea. + +I dined at the hotel. My name had become known through my card and the +report of my presence spread through the town, so that I made many +acquaintances. + +Toward evening I called on Goethe. In the reception-room I found quite a +large assemblage waiting for His Excellency, the Privy-councilor, who +had not yet made his appearance. Among these there was a court +councilor, Jacob or Jacobs, with his daughter, whom Goethe had +entertained at dinner. The daughter, who later won a literary reputation +under the pseudonym of Talvj, was as young as she was beautiful, and as +beautiful as she was cultured, and so I soon lost my timidity and in my +conversation with the charming young lady almost forgot that I was in +Goethe's house. At last a side door opened, and he himself entered. +Dressed in black, the star[65] on his breast, with erect, almost stiff +bearing, he stepped among us with the air of a monarch granting an +audience. He exchanged a few words with one and another of his guests, +and finally crossed the room and addressed me. He inquired whether +Italian literature was cultivated to any great extent in our country. I +told him, which was a fact, that the Italian language was, indeed, +widely known, since all officials were required to learn it; Italian +literature, on the other hand, was completely neglected; the fashion was +rather to turn to English literature, which, despite its excellence, had +an admixture of coarseness that seemed to me to be anything but +advantageous to the present state of German culture, especially of +poetry. Whether my opinion pleased him or not, I have no means of +knowing; I am almost inclined to believe it did not, inasmuch as he was +at that very time in correspondence with Lord Byron. He left me, talked +with others, returned, conversed I no longer remember on what subjects, +finally withdrew, and we were dismissed. + +I confess that I returned to the hostelry in a most unpleasant frame of +mind. It was not that my vanity had been offended--on the contrary, +Goethe had treated me more kindly and more attentively than I had +anticipated--but to see the ideal of my youth, the author of _Faust_, +_Clavigo_, and _Egmont_, in the rôle of a formal minister presiding at +tea brought me down from my celestial heights. Had his manner been rude +or had he shown me the door, it would have pleased me better. I almost +repented having gone to Weimar. + +Consequently I determined to devote the following day to sightseeing, +and ordered horses at the inn for the day following. On the morning of +the next day visitors of all sorts put in an appearance, among them the +amiable and respected Chancellor Müller, and, above all, my +fellow-countryman Hummel, who for many years had been occupying the +position of musical director in Weimar. He had left Vienna before my +poetry had attracted attention, so that we had not become acquainted +with each other. It was almost touching to witness the joy with which +this ordinarily unsociable man greeted me and took possession of me. In +the first place I probably revived in him memories of his native city, +which he had left with reluctance; then, too, it probably gave him +satisfaction to find his literary countryman honored and respected in +Weimar, where he heard nothing but disparaging opinions regarding the +intellectual standing of Austria. And, finally, he had an opportunity of +conversing with a Viennese in his home dialect, which he had preserved +pure and unadulterated while living among people who spoke quite +differently. I do not know whether it was the contrast, or whether this +really was the worst German I had ever heard in my life. While we were +planning to visit some points of interest in Weimar, and while +Chancellor Müller, who had probably noticed my depression, was assuring +me that Goethe's formality was nothing but the embarrassment always +displayed by him on meeting a stranger for the first time, the waiter +entered and handed me a card containing an invitation from Goethe to +dine with him the next day. I therefore had to prolong my stay and to +countermand the order for the horses. The morning was passed in visiting +the places that had become famous through their literary associations. +Schiller's house interested me most of all, and I was especially +delighted to find in the poet's study, really an attic-room in the +second story, an old man who is said to have acted as prompter at the +theatre in Schiller's time, teaching his grandson to read. The little +boy's open and intelligently animated expression prompted the illusion +that out of Schiller's study a new Schiller might some day emerge--an +illusion which, to be sure, has not been realized. + +The exact order of events is now confused in my mind. I believe it was +on this first day that I dined with Hummel _en famille_. There I found +his wife, formerly the pretty singer, Miss Röckel, whom I could well +remember in page's attire and close-fitting silk tights. Now she was an +efficient, respected housewife, who vied with her husband in amiability. +I felt myself strongly drawn to the whole family and, in spite of his +rather mechanical disposition, I honored and venerated Hummel as the +last genuine pupil of Mozart. + +In the evening I attended the theatre with Chancellor Müller, where an +unimportant play was being given, in which, however, Graff, Schiller's +first Wallenstein, had a rôle. I saw nothing particularly remarkable in +him, and when I was told that, after the first performance, Schiller had +rushed upon the stage, embraced Graff, and exclaimed that now for the +first time did he understand his Wallenstein, I thought to myself--how +much greater might the great poet have become had he ever known a public +and real actors! It is remarkable, by the way, that Schiller, who is not +at bottom very objective, lends himself so perfectly to an objective +representation. He became figurative, while believing himself to be only +eloquent--one more proof of his incomparable genius. In Goethe we find +the exact opposite. While he is ordinarily called objective and is so to +a great extent, his characters lose in the actual representation. His +figurativeness is only for the imagination; in the representation the +delicate, poetic tinge is necessarily lost. However, these are +reflections for another time; they do not belong here. + +At last the momentous day with its dinner-hour arrived, and I went to +Goethe. The other guests, all of them men, were already assembled, the +charming Talvj having departed with her father the morning after the +tea-party and Goethe's daughter-in-law being absent from Weimar at the +time. To the latter and to her daughter, who died when quite young, I +later became very much attached. As I advanced into the room Goethe came +toward me, and was now as amiable and cordial as he had recently been +formal and cold. I was deeply moved. When we went in to dinner, and +Goethe, who had become for me the embodiment of German Poetry and, +because of the immeasurable distance between us, almost a mythological +being, took my hand to lead me into the dining-room, the boy in me +manifested itself once again and I burst into tears. Goethe took great +pains to conceal my foolish emotion. I sat next to him at dinner and he +was more cheerful and talkative than he had been for a long time, as the +guests asserted later. The conversation, enlivened by him, became +general, but Goethe frequently turned to me individually. However, I +cannot recall what he said, except a good joke regarding Müllner's +_Midnight Journal_. Unfortunately I made no notes concerning this +journey, or, rather, I did begin a diary, but as the accident I had in +Berlin made it at first impossible for me to write and later difficult, +a great gap ensued. This deterred me from continuing it, and, besides, +the difficulty of writing remained, even in Weimar. I therefore +determined to fill in what was lacking immediately after my return to +Vienna, while the events were still fresh in my memory. But when I +arrived there some other work demanded immediate attention, and the +matter soon escaped my mind; and therefore I retained in my memory +nothing but general impressions of what I had almost called the most +important moment of my life. Only one occurrence at dinner stands out in +my memory--namely, in the ardor of the conversation I yielded to an old +habit of breaking up the piece of bread beside me into unsightly crumbs. +Goethe lightly touched each individual crumb with his finger and +arranged them in a little symmetrical heap. Only after the lapse of some +time did I notice this, and then I discontinued my handiwork. + +As I was taking my leave, Goethe requested me to come the next morning +and have myself sketched, for he was in the habit of having drawings +made of those of his visitors who interested him. They were done in +black crayon by an artist especially engaged for the work, and the +pictures were then put into a frame which hung in the reception-room for +this purpose, being changed in regular rotation every week. This honor +was also bestowed upon me. + +When I arrived the next morning the artist had not yet appeared; I was +therefore directed to Goethe, who was walking up and down in his little +garden. The cause of his stiff bearing before strangers now became clear +to me. The years had not passed without leaving some traces. As he +walked about in the garden, one could see that the upper part of his +body, his head and shoulders, were bent slightly forward. This he wished +to hide from strangers, and hence that forced straightening-up which +produced an unpleasant impression. The sight of him in this unaffected +carriage, wearing a long dressing-gown, a small skull-cap on his white +hair, had something infinitely touching about it. He looked like a king, +and again like a father. We walked up and down, engaged in conversation. +He mentioned my _Sappho_ and seemed to think well of it, thus in a way +praising himself, for I had followed fairly closely in his footsteps. +When I complained of my isolated position in Vienna he remarked what we +have since read in his printed works, that man can do efficient work +only in the company of likeminded or congenial spirits. If he and +Schiller had attained universal recognition, they owed it largely to +this stimulating and supplementing reciprocal influence. + +In the meantime the artist had arrived. We entered the house and I was +sketched. Goethe had gone into his room, whence he emerged from time to +time to satisfy himself as to the progress of the picture, which pleased +him when completed. When the artist had departed Goethe had his son +bring in some of his choicest treasures. There was his correspondence +with Lord Byron; everything relating to his acquaintance with the +Empress and the Emperor of Austria at Karlsbad; and finally the imperial +Austrian copyright of his collected works. This latter he seemed to +value very highly, either because he liked the conservative attitude of +Austria, or because he regarded it as an oddity in contradistinction to +the usual policy pursued in literary matters by this country. These +treasures were wrapped separately in half-oriental fashion in pieces of +silk, Goethe handling them with reverence. At last I was most graciously +dismissed. + +In the course of the day Chancellor Müller suggested my visiting Goethe +toward evening; he would be alone, and my visit would by no means be +unwelcome to him. Not until later did it occur to me that Müller could +not have made the suggestion without Goethe's knowledge. + +Now I committed my second blunder in Weimar. I was afraid to be alone +with Goethe for an entire evening, and after considerable vacillation +decided not to go. Several elements combined to produce this fear. In +the first place, it seemed to me that there was nothing within the whole +range of my intellect worthy of being displayed before Goethe. Secondly, +it was not until later that I learned to place the proper value upon my +own works by comparing them with those of my contemporaries, the former +appearing exceedingly crude and insignificant in contrast with the works +of my predecessors, especially here in the home of German poetry. +Finally, as I stated before, I had left Vienna with the feeling that my +poetic talent had completely exhausted itself, a feeling which was +intensified in Weimar to the point of actual depression. It seemed to me +an utterly unworthy proceeding to fill Goethe's ears with lamentations +and to listen to words of encouragement for which there seemed to be no +guarantee of fulfilment. + +Yet there was some method in this madness after all. Goethe's aversion +at that time for anything violent and forced was well known to me. Now I +was of the opinion that calmness and deliberation are appropriate only +to one who is capable of introducing such a wealth of thought into his +works as Goethe has done in his _Iphigenia_ and _Tasso_. At the same +time I held the opinion that every one must emphasize those qualities +with which he is most strongly endowed, and these in my case were at +that time warmth of feeling and vividness of imagination. Occupying, as +I then did, the viewpoint of impartial observation, I felt that I was +far too weak to defend against Goethe the causes of such divergence from +his own views, and I had far too much reverence for him to accept his +exposition with pretended approval or in hypocritical silence. + +At all events I did not go, and that displeased Goethe. He had good +cause to feel astonished that I should display such indifference to the +proffered opportunity of enlightening him concerning my works and +myself; or else he came nearer to the truth, and imagined that _The +Ancestress_ and my predilection for similar effusions, which were +repugnant to him, were not entirely quenched within me; or perhaps he +divined my entire mood, and concluded that an unmanly character was +bound to ruin even a great talent. From that time on he was much colder +toward me. + +But as far as this unmanliness is concerned, I confess, as I have +previously done, to falling a prey to this weakness whenever I find +myself confronted with a confused mass of sensations of lesser +importance, especially with goodwill, reverence, and gratitude. Whenever +I was able to define the opposing factors sharply to myself in the +rejection of the bad as well as in the perseverance in a conviction, I +displayed both before and after this period a firmness which, indeed, +might even be called obstinacy. But in general it may safely be +asserted: Only the union of character and talent produces what is called +genius. + +On one of these days I was also commanded to appear before the grand +duke, whom I met in all his simplicity and unaffectedness in the +so-called Roman House. He conversed with me for over an hour, and my +description of Austrian conditions seemed to interest him. Not he, but +most of the others, hinted at the desire of acquiring my services for +the Weimar theatre--a desire that did not coincide with my own +inclination. + +When on the fourth day of my stay I paid my farewell visit to Goethe, he +was friendly, but somewhat reserved. He expressed astonishment at my +leaving Weimar so soon, and added that they would all be glad to hear +from me occasionally. "They," then, would be glad, not he. Even in later +years he did not do me justice, for I do consider myself the best poet +that has appeared after him and Schiller, in spite of the gulf that +separates me from them. That all this did not lessen my love and +reverence for him, I need scarcely say. + + * * * * * + + + + +BEETHOVEN AS A LETTER WRITER + +BY WALTER R. SPALDING, A.M. + +Associate Professor of Music, Harvard University + + +The first musician to whom a place among the representative masters of +German literature may justly be assigned is Beethoven, and this fact is +so significant and so closely connected with the subsequent development +both of music and literature that the reasons for such a statement +should be set forth in detail. Although Haydn kept a note-book, still +extant, during his two visits to London, and although Mozart wrote the +average number of letters, from no one of the musicians prior to +Beethoven have we received, in writings which can be classed as +literature, any expression of their personalities. Their intellectual +and imaginative activity was manifested almost exclusively in music, and +their interest in whatever lay outside the musical horizon was very +slight. In the written words of neither Haydn nor Mozart do we find any +reference to the poetical and prose works of Germany or of other +nations, nor is there any evidence that their imaginations were +influenced by suggestions drawn from literature. Famous though they were +as musicians by reason of their sincere and masterful handling of the +raw material of music, there is so little depth of thought in their +compositions that many of them have failed to live. Neither Haydn nor +Mozart can be considered as a great character and we miss the note of +sublimity in their music, although it often has great vitality and +charm. Beethoven, however, was a thinker in tones and often in words. + +[Illustration: BEETHOVEN] + +His symphonies are human documents, and even had he not written a single +note of music we have sufficient evidence in verbal form to convince us +that his personality was one of remarkable power and that music was only +one way, though, to be sure, the foremost, of expressing the depth of +his feeling and the range of his mental activity. In distinction from +his predecessors, who were merely musicians, Beethoven was a man first +and a musician second, and the lasting vitality in his works is due to +their broad human import; they evidently came from a character endowed +with a rich and fertile imagination, from one who looked at life from +many sides. Several of his most famous compositions were founded on +works of Shakespeare, Goethe, and Schiller, and the Heroic Symphony +bears witness to his keen interest in the momentous political changes of +his time and in the growth of untrammeled human individuality. No mere +manipulator of sounds and rhythms could have impressed the fastidious +nobility of Vienna to the high degree chronicled by contemporary +testimony. Beethoven wished to be known as a _Tondichter_, i.e., a +first-hand creator, and his whole work was radically different from the +rather cautious and imitative methods which had characterized former +composers. It was through the cultivated von Breuning family of Bonn +that the young Beethoven became acquainted with English literature, and +his growing familiarity with it exerted a strong influence upon his +whole life and undoubtedly increased the natural vigor of his +imagination, for the literature of England surpassed anything which had +so far been produced by Germany. Later, in 1823, when the slavery +debates were going on in Parliament, he used to read with keen interest +the speeches of Lord Brougham. + +In estimating the products of human imagination during the last century, +a fact of great significance is the relationship of the arts of +literature and of music. Numerous examples might be cited of men who +were almost equally gifted in expressing themselves in either words or +musical sounds--notably von Weber, E.T.A. Hoffmann, Spohr, Schumann, and +Mendelssohn, this dual activity reaching a remarkable climax in Richard +Wagner, who was both a great dramatic poet and an equally supreme +musician. The same tendency is manifested by leaders of thought in other +nations. Thus the French Berlioz and St. Saëns are equally noted as +composers and men of letters; the Italian Boito is an able dramatist as +well as composer; and, among modern instances, Debussy, d'Indy, and +Strauss have shown high literary as well as musical ability. To turn to +the other side of this duality, allusions to music in works of both +prose and poetry have become increasingly frequent during the nineteenth +century, and the musical art is no longer considered a mysterious +abstraction entirely divorced from the outward world of men and events. +It is a long step from Goethe, who was entirely unable to grasp the +meaning of Beethoven's symphonies, to such men as Heine, who has made +some very illuminating comments on various composers and their music; +Max Müller, a highly cultivated musical amateur; Schopenhauer, whose +esthetic principles so deeply influenced Wagner; and Nietzsche, a +musician of considerable technical ability. To these names should be +added that of Robert Browning who, together with Shakespeare, has shown +a truer insight into the real nature of music than any other English +writers have manifested. + +With Beethoven, then, music ceases to be an opportunity for the display +of mere abstract skill and takes its place on an equality with the arts +of poetry and painting as a means of intense personal expression. If the +basis of all worth in literature is that the writer shall have something +genuine to say, Beethoven's letters are certainly literature, for they +are the direct revelation of a great and many-sided personality and +furnish invaluable testimony as to just what manner of man he was--too +great indeed for music wholly to contain him. The Letters are not to be +read for their felicity of expression, as one might approach the letters +of Stevenson or Lamb; for Beethoven, even in his music, always valued +substance more than style, or, at any rate, kept style subservient to +vitality of utterance. In fact, one modern French musician claims that +he had no taste! He was not gifted with the literary charm and subtlety +of his great follower, Hector Berlioz, and had no practise as a +journalist or a critic. As his deafness increased after the year 1800 +and he was therefore forced to live a life of retirement, he committed +his thoughts more and more to writing, and undoubtedly left to the world +a larger number of letters than if he had been taking a normal part in +the activities of his fellowmen. + +Particular attention is called to the variety of Beethoven's +correspondents and to their influential position in the artistic and +social life of that period. In the Will, number 55, a most impassioned +expression of feeling, Beethoven lays bare his inmost soul, and with an +eloquence seldom surpassed has transformed cold words into living +symbols of emotion. The immortal power contained in his music finds its +parallel in this document. He who appeals to our deepest emotions +commands for all time our reverent allegiance. In addition to the +letters there is an extensive diary and also numerous conversation +books. All these writings are valuable, not only for themselves, but +because they confirm in an unmistakable way certain of the salient +characteristics of his musical compositions. With Beethoven we find in +instrumental music, practically for the first time, a prevailing note of +sublimity. He must have been a religious man in the truest sense of the +term, with the capacity to realize the mystery and grandeur of human +destiny, and numerous passages from the letters give eloquent expression +to an analogous train of serious thought. (See letters 1017 and 1129.) +One of his favorite books was Sturm's _Betrachtungen über die Werke +Gottes in der Natur_ ("Contemplations upon the Works of God in Nature"), +and from his diary of 1816 we have the quotation which was the basis of +his creed--"God is immaterial, and for this reason transcends every +conception. Since he is invisible He can have no form. But from what we +observe in His work we may conclude that He is eternal, omnipotent, +omniscient, and omnipresent." + +Although some modern critics have doubted whether music without the +association of words can express humor, the introduction of this element +into symphonic music is generally considered one of Beethoven's greatest +achievements. While it is true that if any one listening to the scherzos +of the Third and Eighth symphonies asserts that they mean nothing +humorous to him no one can gainsay him, we know that Beethoven intended +these movements to be expressions of his overflowing humorous spirits +and the suggestive term "scherzo" is his own invention. In music, as in +literature, much hinges upon the definition of humor, and there is the +same distinction in each art between wit--light and playful, and +humor--broad, serious, and, at times, even grim. A genuine humorist is +always a deep thinker, one who sees all sides of human nature--the great +traits and the petty ones. The poet Lowell has defined humor as +consisting in the contrast of two ideas, and in a Beethoven scherzo the +gay and the pathetic are so intermingled that we are in constant +suspense between laughter and tears. A humorist, furthermore, is a +person of warm heart, who looks with sympathetic affection upon the +incongruities of human nature. In fact, both the expression and the +perception of humor are social acts, as may be seen from the development +of this subject by the philosopher Bergson in his brilliant essay _On +Laughter_. That Beethoven the humorist was closely related to Beethoven +the humanist, and that the expression of humor in his music--something +quite different from the facile wit and cleverness of the Haydn +minuet--was inevitable with him, is clearly proved by the presence of +the same spirit in so many of the letters. Too much stress has been laid +by Beethoven's biographers upon his buffoonery and fondness for +practical jokes. At bottom he was most tender-hearted and sympathetic; +his nature, of volcanic impetuosity, a puzzling mixture of contradictory +emotions. In but very few of his great works is the element of humor +omitted, and its expression ranges all the way from the uproariously +comic to the grimly tragic. Some of his scherzos reveal the same +fantastic caprice which is found in the medieval gargoyles of Gothic +architecture. + +Beethoven's letters, then, are to be considered as the first distinct +evidence we have of that change in the musical sense which has brought +about such important developments in the trend of modern music. Just as +in Beethoven's works we generally feel that there is something behind +the notes, and as he is said always to have composed with some poetical +picture in his mind, so the music of our time has become programmistic +in the wide sense of the term, no longer a mere embodiment of the laws +of its own being but charged with vital and dramatic import, closely +related to all artistic expression and to the currents of daily life. +Familiarity with the selection of letters here published cannot fail to +contribute to a deeper enjoyment of Beethoven's music, for through them +we realize that the universality of the artist was the direct +consequence of the emotional breadth of the man. All art is a union of +emotion and intellect, and their perfect balance is the paramount +characteristic of this master. + + * * * * * + + + +BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS[66] + +TRANSLATED BY J.S. SHEDLOCK + + + +NO. 8 + +TO DR. FRANZ WEGELER IN VIENNA + +(Between 1794-1796) + + +My dearest, my best one! + +What a horrid picture you have drawn to me of myself. I recognize it; I +do not deserve your friendship. You are so noble, so kindly disposed, +and now for the first time I do not dare to compare myself with you; I +have fallen far below you. Alas! for weeks I have given pain to my best, +my noblest friends. You believe I have ceased to be kind-hearted, but, +thank heaven, 'tis not so! It was not intentional, thought-out malice on +my part, which caused me to act thus; but my unpardonable +thoughtlessness, which prevented me from seeing the matter in the right +light. I am thoroughly ashamed for your sake, also for mine. I scarcely +venture to beg you to restore your friendship. Ah, Wegeler! _My only +consolation is that you knew me almost from my childhood_, and--oh! let +me say it myself--I was really always of good disposition, and in my +dealings always strove to be upright and honest; how, otherwise, could +you have loved me! Could I, then, in so short a time have suddenly +changed so terribly, so greatly to my disadvantage? Impossible that +these feelings for what is great and good should all of a sudden become +extinct! My Wegeler, dear and best one, venture once again to come to +the arms of your B. Trust to the good qualities which you formerly found +in him. I will vouch for it that the pure temple of holy friendship +which you will erect on them will forever stand firm; no chance event, +no storm will be able to shake its foundations--firm--eternal--our +friendship--forgiveness--forgetting--revival of dying, sinking +friendship. Oh, Wegeler! do not cast off this hand of reconciliation; +place your hand in mine--O God!--but no more! I myself come to you and +throw myself in your arms, and sue for the lost friend, and you will +give yourself to me full of contrition, who loves and ever will be +mindful of you. + +BEETHOVEN. + +I have just received your letter on my return home. + + + +NO. 27 + +TO THE COMPOSER J.N. HUMMEL + +(Vienna, circa 1799) + + +Do not come any more to me. You are a false fellow, and the hangman take +all such! + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 28 + +TO THE SAME + +(The next day) + + +Good Friend Nazerl: + +You are an honorable fellow, and I see you were right. So come this +afternoon to me. You will also find Schuppanzigh, and both of us will +blow you up, thump you, and shake you; so you will have a fine time of +it. + +Your Beethoven, also named Mehlschoeberl, embraces you. + + + +NO. 35 + +TO CARL AMENDA AT WIRBEN IN COURLAND + + +Vienna, June 1, 1800. + +My Dear, My Good Amenda, My Heartily Beloved Friend: + +With deep emotion, with mixed pain and pleasure, did I receive and read +your last letter. To what can I compare your fidelity, your attachment +to me. Oh! how pleasant it is that you have always remained so kind to +me; yes, I also know that you, of all men, are the most trustworthy. You +are no Viennese friend; no, you are one of those such as my native +country produces. How often do I wish you were with me, for your +Beethoven is most unhappy and at strife with nature and the Creator. The +latter I have often cursed for exposing His creatures to the smallest +chance, so that frequently the richest buds are thereby crushed and +destroyed. Only think that the noblest part of me, my sense of hearing, +has become very weak. Already when you were with me I noted traces of +it, and I said nothing. Now it has become worse, and it remains to be +seen whether it can ever be healed. * * * What a sad life I am now +compelled to lead! I must avoid all that is near and dear to me, and +then to be among such wretched egotistical beings as ----, etc.! I can +say that among all Lichnowski has best stood the test. Since last year +he has settled on me 600 florins, which, together with the good sale of +my works, enables me to live without anxiety. Everything I write, I can +sell immediately five times over, and also be well paid. * * * Oh! how +happy should I now be if I had my perfect hearing, for I should then +hasten to you. As it is, I must in all things be behindhand; my best +years will slip away without bringing forth what, with my talent and my +strength, I ought to have accomplished. I must now have recourse to sad +resignation. I have, it is true, resolved not to worry about all this, +but how is it possible? Yes, Amenda, if, six months hence, my malady is +beyond cure, then I lay claim to your help. You must leave everything +and come to me. I will travel (my malady interferes least with my +playing and composition, most only in conversation), and you must be my +companion. I am convinced good fortune will not fail me. With whom need +I be afraid of measuring my strength? Since you went away I have written +music of all kinds except operas and sacred works. + +Yes, do not refuse; help your friend to bear with his troubles, his +infirmity. I have also greatly improved my piano-forte playing. I hope +this journey may also turn to your advantage; afterwards you will always +remain with me. I have duly received all your letters, and although I +have answered only a few, you have been always in my mind; and my +heart, as always, beats tenderly for you. _Please keep as a great secret +what I have told you about my hearing; trust no one, whoever it may be, +with it_. + +Do write frequently; your letters, however short they may be, console +me, do me good. I expect soon to get another one from you, my dear +friend. Don't lend out my _Quartet_ any more, because I have made many +changes in it. I have only just learnt how to write quartets properly, +as you will see when you receive them. + +Now, my dear good friend, farewell! If perchance you believe that I can +show you any kindness here, I need not, of course, remind you to address +yourself first to + +Your faithful, truly loving, + +L. v. BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 45 + +TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI + + +On the 6th July, 1801, in the morning + +My Angel, My All, My Very Self: + +Just a few words today, and indeed in pencil--with thine--only till +tomorrow is my room definitely engaged; what an unworthy waste of time +in such matters--why this deep sorrow where necessity speaks! Can our +love endure otherwise than through sacrifices, through restraint in +longing? Canst thou help not being wholly mine, can I, not being wholly +thine? Oh! gaze at nature in all its beauty, and calmly accept the +inevitable--love demands everything, and rightly so. _Thus is it for me +with thee, for thee with me_, only thou so easily forgettest that I must +live for myself and for thee--were we wholly united thou wouldst feel +this painful fact as little as I should--my journey was terrible. I +arrived here only yesterday morning at four o'clock, and as they were +short of horses the mail-coach selected another route--but what an awful +road! At the last stage but one I was warned against traveling by night; +they frightened me with a wood, but that only spurred me on--and I was +wrong, the coach must needs break down, the road being dreadful, a +swamp, a mere country road; without the postillions I had with me I +should have stuck on the way. Esterhazi, by the ordinary road, met with +the same fate with eight horses as I with four--yet it gave me some +pleasure, as successfully overcoming any difficulty always does. Now for +a quick change from without to within--we shall probably soon see each +other, besides, today I cannot tell thee what has been passing through +my mind during the past few days concerning my life--were our hearts +closely united I should not do things of this kind. My heart is full of +many things I have to say to thee--ah, there are moments in which I feel +that speech is powerless! Cheer up--remain my true, my only treasure, my +all!!! as I to thee. The gods must send the rest--what for us must be +and ought to be. + +Thy faithful + +LUDWIG. + + +Monday Evening, July 6. + +Thou sufferest, thou my dearest love! I have just found out that the +letters must be posted very early Mondays, Thursdays--the only days when +the post goes from here to K. Thou sufferest--ah, where I am, art thou +also with me! I will arrange for myself and Thee; I will manage so that +I can live with thee; and what a life!!! But as it is--without thee!!! +Persecuted here and there by the kindness of men, which I little +deserve, and as little care to deserve. Humility of man toward man--it +pains me--and when I think of myself in connection with the universe, +what am I and what is He who is named the Greatest--and still this again +shows the divine in man. I weep when I think that probably thou wilt get +the first news from me only on Saturday evening. However much thou +lovest me, my love for thee is stronger; but never conceal thy thoughts +from me. Good-night! As I am taking the baths I must go to bed [two +words scratched through]. O God--so near! so far! Our love--is it not a +true heavenly edifice, firm as heaven's vault! + + +Good morning, on July 7. + +While still in bed, my thoughts press to thee, my Beloved One, at moments +with joy, and then again with sorrow, waiting to see whether fate will +take pity on us. Either I must live wholly with thee, or not at all. Yes, +I have resolved to wander in distant lands, until I can fly to thy arms +and feel that with thee I have a real home; with thee encircling me +about, I can send my soul into the kingdom of spirits. Yes, unfortunately, +it must be so. Calm thyself, and all the more since thou knowest my +faithfulness toward thee! Never can another possess my heart, +never--never--O God! why must one part from what one so loves--and yet +my life in V. at present is a wretched life! Thy love has made me one of +the happiest and, at the same time, one of the unhappiest of men; at my +age I need a quiet, steady life--but is that possible in our situation? +My Angel, I have just heard that the post goes every day, and I must +therefore stop, so that you may receive the letter without delay. Be +calm--only by calm consideration of our existence can we attain our aim +to live together; be calm--love me--today--yesterday--what tearful +longing after thee--thee--thee--my life--my all--farewell! Oh, continue +to love me--never, never misjudge the faithful heart + +Of Thy Beloved + +L. + +Ever thine, ever thine, ever each other's. + + + +NO. 55 + +TO HIS BROTHERS CARL AND ---- BEETHOVEN + + +O ye men who regard or declare me to be malignant, stubborn, or cynical, +how unjust are ye towards me! You do not know the secret cause of my +seeming so. From childhood onward, my heart and mind prompted me to be +kind and tender, and I was ever inclined to accomplish great deeds. But +only think that, during the last six years, I have been in a wretched +condition, rendered worse by unintelligent physicians, deceived from +year to year with hopes of improvement, and then finally forced to the +prospect of _lasting infirmity_ (which may last for years, or even be +totally incurable). Born with a fiery, active temperament, even +susceptive of the diversions of society, I had soon to retire from the +world, to live a solitary life. At times, even, I endeavored to forget +all this, but how harshly was I driven back by the redoubled experience +of my bad hearing! Yet it was not possible for me to say to men: Speak +louder, shout, for I am deaf. Alas! how could I declare the weakness of +a _sense_ which in me _ought_ to be more acute than in others--a sense +which _formerly_ I possessed in highest perfection, a perfection such as +few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed; no, I cannot do it. +Forgive, therefore, if you see me withdraw, when I would willingly mix +with you. My misfortune pains me doubly in that I am certain to be +misunderstood. For me there can be no recreation in the society of my +fellow creatures, no refined conversations, no interchange of thought. +Almost alone, and mixing in society only when absolutely necessary, I am +compelled to live as an exile. If I approach near to people, a feeling +of hot anxiety comes over me lest my condition should be noticed--for so +it was during these past six months which I spent in the country. +Ordered by my intelligent physician to spare my hearing as much as +possible, he almost fell in with my present frame of mind, although many +a time I was carried away by my sociable inclinations. But how +humiliating was it, when some one standing close to me heard a distant +flute, and I heard _nothing_, or a _shepherd singing_, and again I heard +nothing. Such incidents almost drove me to despair; at times I was on +the point of putting an end to my life--_art_ alone restrained my hand. +Oh! it seemed as if I could not quit this earth until I had produced all +I felt within me, and so I continued this wretched life--wretched, +indeed, and with so sensitive a body that a somewhat sudden change can +throw me from the best into the worst state. _Patience_, I am told, I +must choose as my guide. I have done so--lasting, I hope, will be my +resolution to bear up until it pleases the inexorable Parcæ to break the +thread. Forced already, in my 28th year, to become a philosopher, it +is not easy--for an artist more difficult than for any one else. O +Divine Being, Thou who lookest down into my inmost soul, Thou +understandest; Thou knowest that love for mankind and a desire to do +good dwell therein! Oh, my fellow men, when one day you read this, +remember that you were unjust to me and let the unfortunate one console +himself if he can find one like himself, who, in spite of all obstacles +which nature has thrown in his way, has still done everything in his +power to be received into the ranks of worthy artists and men. You, my +brothers Carl and ----, as soon as I am dead, beg Professor Schmidt, +if he be still living, to describe my malady; and annex this written +account to that of my illness, so that at least the world, so far as is +possible, may become reconciled to me after my death. And now I declare +you both heirs to my small fortune (if such it may be called). Divide it +honorably and dwell in peace, and help each other. What you have done +against me has, as you know, long been forgiven. And you, brother Carl, +I especially thank you for the attachment you have shown toward me of +late. My prayer is that your life may be better, less troubled by cares, +than mine. Recommend to your children _virtue_; it alone can bring +happiness, not money. I speak from experience. It was virtue which bore +me up in time of trouble; to her, next to my art, I owe thanks for my +not having laid violent hands on myself. Farewell, and love one another. +My thanks to all friends, especially _Prince Lichnowski_ and _Professor +Schmidt_. I should much like one of you to keep as an heirloom the +instruments given to me by Prince L., but let no strife arise between +you concerning them; if money should be of more service to you, just +sell them. How happy I feel, that, even when lying in my grave, I may be +useful to you! + +So let it be. I joyfully hasten to meet death. If it come before I have +had opportunity to develop all my artistic faculties, it will come, my +hard fate notwithstanding, too soon, and I should probably wish it +later--yet even then I shall be happy, for will it not deliver me from a +state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt, I shall face thee +courageously. Farewell, and when I am dead do not entirely forget me. +This I deserve from you, for during my lifetime I often thought of you, +and how to make you happy. Be ye so. + +LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN. + +Heiligenstadt, October 6, 1802. + + + +NO. 136 + +TO THERESE VON MALFATTI + +(1807) + + +You receive herewith, honored Therese, what I promised, and had it not +been for serious hindrances you would have received more, in order to +show you that I always _offer more to my friends than I actually +promise_. I hope and have every reason to believe that you are nicely +occupied and as pleasantly entertained--but I hope not too much, so that +you may also think of us. It would probably be expecting too much of +you, or overrating my own importance, if I ascribed to you: "Men are not +only together when they are together; even he who is far away, who has +departed, is still in our thoughts." Who would ascribe anything of the +kind to the lively T., who takes life so easily? + +Pray do not forget the pianoforte among your occupations, or, indeed, +music generally. You have such fine talent for it. Why not devote +yourself entirely to it--you who have such feeling for all that is +beautiful and good? Why will you not make use of this, in order that you +may recognize in so beautiful an art the higher perfection which casts +down its rays even on us. I am very solitary and quiet, although lights +now and again might awaken me; but since you all went away from here, I +feel in me a void which cannot be filled; my art, even otherwise so +faithful to me, has not been able to gain any triumph. Your piano is +ordered, and you will soon receive it. What a difference you will have +found between the treatment of the theme I improvised one evening, and +the way in which I recently wrote it down for you! Explain that to +yourself, but don't take too much punch to help you. How lucky you are, +to be able to go so soon to the country! I cannot enjoy that happiness +until the 8th. I am happy as a child at the thought of wandering among +clusters of bushes, in the woods, among trees, herbs, rocks. No man +loves the country more than I; for do not forests, trees, rocks reëcho +that for which mankind longs? Soon you will receive other compositions +of mine, in which you will not have to complain much about difficulties. +Have you read Goethe's _Wilhelm Meister_, the _Schlegel translation of +Shakespeare_? One has much leisure in the country, and it will perhaps +be agreeable to you if I send you these works. I happen to have an +acquaintance in your neighborhood, so perhaps I shall come early some +morning and spend half an hour at your house, and be off again; notice +that I shall inflict on you the shortest _ennui_. + +Commend me to the good wishes of your father, your mother, although I +can claim no right for so doing--and the same, likewise, to cousin MM. +Farewell, honored T. I wish you all that is good and beautiful in life. +Keep me, and willingly, in remembrance--forget my wild behavior. Be +convinced that no one more than myself can desire to know that your life +is joyous, prosperous, even though you take no interest in + +Your most devoted servant and friend, + +BEETHOVEN. + +N.B.--It would really be very nice on your part to send me a few lines +to say in what way I can be of service here. + + + +NO. 151 + +TO THE BIGOTS + +(Probably Summer, 1808) + + +Dear Marie, Dear Bigot: + +Only with the deepest regret am I forced to perceive that the purest, +most innocent, feelings can often be misconstrued. As you have received +me so kindly, it never occurred to me to explain it otherwise than that +you bestow on me your friendship. You must think me very vain or +small-minded, if you suppose that the civility itself of such excellent +persons as you are could lead me to believe that--I had at once won your +affection. Besides, it is one of my first principles never to stand in +other than friendly relationship with the wife of another man. Never by +such a relationship (as you suggest) would I fill my breast with +distrust against her who may one day share my fate with me--and so taint +for myself the most beautiful, the purest life. + +It is perhaps possible that sometimes I have not joked with Bigot in a +sufficiently refined way; I have indeed told both of you that +occasionally I am very free in speech. I am perfectly natural with all +my friends, and hate all restraint. I now also count Bigot among them, +and if anything I do displeases him, friendship demands from him and you +to tell me so--and I will certainly take care not to offend him again; +but how can good Marie put such bad meaning on my actions! + +With regard to my invitation to take a drive with you and Caroline, it +was natural that, as Bigot, the day before, was opposed to your going +out alone with me, I was forced to conclude that you both probably found +it unbecoming or objectionable--and when I wrote to you, I only wished +to make you understand that I saw no harm in it. And so, when I further +declared that I attached great value to your not declining, this was +only that I might induce you to enjoy the splendid, beautiful day; I was +thinking more of your and Caroline's pleasure than of mine, and I +thought, _if I declared that mistrust on your part or a refusal would be +a real offense to me_, by this means almost to compel you to yield to my +wish. The matter really deserves careful reflection on your part as to +how you can make amends for having spoilt this day so bright for me, +owing as much to my frame of mind as to the cheerful weather. When I +said that you misunderstand me, your present judgment of me shows that I +was quite right--not to speak of what you thought to yourself about it. +When I said that something bad would come of it if I came to you, this +was more as a joke. The object was to show you how much everything +connected with you attracts me, so that I have no greater wish than to +be able always to live with you; and that is the truth. Even supposing +there was a hidden meaning in it, the most holy friendship can often +have secrets, but on that account to misinterpret the secret of a friend +because one cannot at once fathom it--that you ought not to do. Dear +Bigot, dear Marie, never, never will you find me ignoble. From childhood +onwards I learnt to love virtue--and all that is beautiful and good. You +have deeply pained me; but it shall only serve to render our friendship +ever firmer. Today I am really not well, and it would be difficult for +me to see you. Since yesterday, after the quartet, my sensitiveness and +my imagination pictured to me the thought that I had caused you +suffering. I went at night to the ball for distraction, but in vain. +Everywhere the picture of you all pursued me; it kept saying to me--they +are so good and perhaps through you they are suffering; thoroughly +depressed, I hastened away. Write to me a few lines. + +Your true friend BEETHOVEN embraces you all. + + + +NO. 198 + +TO BREITKOPF AND HAERTEL + + +Vienna, August 8, 1809. + +I have handed over to Kind and Co. a _sextet_ for 2 clarinets, 2 +bassoons, 2 horns, and 2 German lieder or songs, so that they may reach +you as soon as possible--they are presents to you in return for all +those things which I asked you for _as presents_; the _Musik Zeitung_ +which I had also forgotten--I remind you in a friendly way about it. +Perhaps you could let me have editions of Goethe's and Schiller's +complete works--from their literary abundance something _comes in to +you_, and I then send to you many things, i.e., _something which goes +out into all the world_. Those two poets are my favorite poets, also +Ossian, Homer, the latter whom I can, unfortunately, read only in +translation. So these (Goethe and Schiller) you have only to shoot out +from your literary store-house, and if you send them to me soon you +will make me perfectly happy, and all the more so, seeing that I hope to +pass the remainder of the summer in some cozy country corner. The sextet +is one of my early things, and, moreover, was written in one night; the +best one can say of it is that it was composed by an author who, at any +rate, has produced better works--and yet, for many, such works are the +best. + +Farewell, and send very soon news to your most devoted + +BEETHOVEN. + +Of the 'cello Sonata I should like to have a few copies; I would indeed +beg you always to send me half a dozen copies; I never sell any--there +are, however, here and there poor _Musici_, to whom one cannot refuse a +thing of that sort. + + + +NO. 220 + +TO BETTINA BRENTANO + + +Vienna, August 11, 1810. + +Dearest Bettina (Friend!): + +No finer Spring than the present one--I say that and also feel it, +because I have made your acquaintance. You yourself have probably seen +that in society I am like a frog (fish) on the sand, which turns round +and round, and cannot get away until a well-wishing Galatea puts him +again into the mighty sea. Yes, I was quite out of my element, dearest +Bettina; I was surprised by you at a moment when ill-humor was quite +master of me, but it actually disappeared at sight of you. I at once +perceived that you belonged to a different world from this absurd one, +to which, with the best will, one cannot open one's ears. I myself am a +wretched man and yet complain of others!--You will surely forgive me, +with your good heart, which is seen in your eyes, and with your +intelligence, which lies in your ears--at least our ears know how to +flatter when they listen. My ears, unfortunately, are a barrier-wall +through which I cannot easily hold friendly communication with men, +else--perhaps!--I should have had more confidence in you. So I could +only understand the great, intelligent look of your eyes, which so +impressed me that I can never forget it. Dear Bettina (friend), beloved +Maiden!--Art!--Who understands it, with whom can one speak concerning +this great goddess! How dear to me were the few days when we gossiped or +rather corresponded together! I have kept all the little notes on which +stand your clever, dear, very dear, answers; so I have, at any rate, to +thank my bad hearing that the best part of these fleeting conversations +has been noted down. Since you went away I have had vexatious hours, +hours of darkness, in which one can do nothing; after your departure I +roamed about for full three hours in the Schoenbrunner Alley, also on +the ramparts; but no angel met me who could take such hold on me as you, +angel!--Forgive, dearest Bettina (friend), this digression from the key; +I must have such intervals in order to give vent to my feelings. Then +you have written, have you not, to Goethe about me? I would willingly +hide my head in a sack, so as to hear and see nothing of what is going +on in the world, because you, dearest angel, will not meet me. But I +shall surely receive a letter from you? Hope nourishes me--it nourishes, +indeed, half the world; I have had it as my neighbor all my life--what +otherwise would have become of me? I here send, written with my own +hand, "Kennst du das Land"--in remembrance of the hour in which I made +your acquaintance. I also send the other which I have composed since I +parted from you dear, dearest heart!-- + + Heart, my heart, what bodes the crisis, + What oppresseth thee so sore? + What a strange, untoward life this! + I can fathom thee no more. + +Yes, dearest Bettina (friend), send me an answer, write to me what will +happen to me since my heart has become such a rebel. Write to your most +faithful friend, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 295 + +TO EMILIE M. AT H. + + +Teplitz, July 17, 1812. + +My Dear Good Emilie, My Dear Friend! + +I am sending a late answer to your letter; a mass of business and +constant illness must be my excuse. That I am here for the restoration +of my health proves the truth of my excuse. Do not snatch the laurel +wreaths from Handel, Haydn, Mozart; they are entitled to them; as yet I +am not. + +Your pocket-book shall be preserved among other tokens of the esteem of +many men, which I do not deserve. + +Continue, do not only practise art, but get at the very heart of it; +this it deserves, for only art and science raise men to the Godhead. If, +my dear Emilie, you at any time wish to know something, write without +hesitation to me. The true artist is not proud, for he unfortunately +sees that art has no limits; he feels darkly how far he is from the +goal; and, though he may be admired by others, he is sad not to have +reached that point to which his better genius appears only as a distant, +guiding sun. I would, perhaps, rather come to you and your people than +to many rich folk who display inward poverty. If one day I should come +to H., I will come to you, to your house; I know no other excellencies +in man than those which cause him to rank among better men; where I find +this, there is my home. + +If you wish, dear Emilie, to write to me, only address straight here +where I shall remain for the next four weeks, or to Vienna; it is all +one. Look upon me as your friend, and as the friend of your family. + +LUDWIG V. BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 300 + +TO BETTINA VON ARNIM + + +Teplitz, August 15, 1812. + +Dearest, good Bettina! + +Kings and princes can certainly create professors, privy councilors, and +titles, and hang on ribbons of various orders, but they cannot create +great men, master-minds which tower above the rabble; this is beyond +them. Such men must therefore be held in respect. When two such as I and +Goethe meet, these grand gentlemen are forced to note what greatness, in +such as we are, means. Yesterday on the way home we met the whole +Imperial family. We saw them from afar approaching, and Goethe slipped +away from me and stood to one side. Say what I would, I could not induce +him to advance another step, so I pushed my hat on my head, buttoned up +my overcoat, and went, arms folded, into the thickest of the crowd. +Princes and sycophants drew up in a line; Duke Rudolph took off my hat, +after the Empress had first greeted me. Persons of rank _know_ me. To my +great amusement I saw the procession defile past Goethe. Hat in hand, he +stood at the side, deeply bowing. Then I mercilessly reprimanded him, +cast his sins in his teeth, especially those of which he was guilty +toward you, dearest Bettina, of whom we had just been speaking. Good +heavens! Had I been in your company, as he has, I should have produced +works of greater, far greater, importance. A musician is also a poet, +and the magic of a pair of eyes can suddenly cause him to feel +transported into a more beautiful world, where great spirits make sport +of him and set him mighty tasks. I cannot tell what ideas came into my +head when I made your acquaintance. In the little observatory during the +splendid May rain--that was a fertile moment for me; the most beautiful +themes then glided from your eyes into my heart, which one day will +enchant the world when Beethoven has ceased to conduct. If God grant me +yet a few years, then I must see you again, dear, dear Bettina; so calls +the voice within me which never errs. Even minds can love each other. I +shall always court yours; your approval is dearer to me than anything in +the whole world. I gave my opinion to Goethe, that approval affects such +men as ourselves and that we wish to be listened to with the intellect +by those who are our equals. Emotion is only for women (excuse this); +the flame of music must burst forth from the mind of a man. Ah! my +dearest child, we have now for a long time been in perfect agreement +about everything! The only good thing is a beautiful, good soul, which +is recognized in everything, and in presence of which there need be no +concealment. _One must be somebody if one wishes to appear so_. The +world is bound to recognize one; it is not always unjust. To me, +however, that is a matter of no importance, for I have a higher aim. I +hope when I get back to Vienna to receive a letter from you. Write soon, +soon, and a very long one; in 8 days from now I shall be there; the +court goes tomorrow; there will be no more performance today. The +Empress rehearsed her part with him. His duke and he both wished to play +some of my music, but to both I made refusal. They are mad on Chinese +porcelain, hence there is need for indulgence; for the intellect has +lost the whip-hand. I will not play to these silly folk, who never get +over that mania, nor will I write at public cost any stupid stuff for +princes. Adieu, adieu, dearest; your last letter lay on my heart for a +whole night, and comforted me. _Everything_ is allowed to musicians. +Great heavens, how I love you! + +Your sincerest friend and deaf brother, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 615 + +TO HERR VON GOETHE + + +Vienna, April 12, 1811. + +Your Excellency: + +The pressing business of a friend of mine, one of your great admirers +(as I also am), who is leaving here in a great hurry, gives me only a +moment to offer my thanks for the long time I have known you (for I know +you from the days of my childhood)--that is very little for so much. +Bettina Brentano has assured me that you would receive me in a +kindly--yes, indeed friendly, spirit. But how could I think of such a +reception, seeing that I am only in a position to approach you with the +deepest reverence, with an inexpressibly deep feeling for your noble +creations? You will shortly receive from Leipzig, through Breitkopf and +Haertel, the music to _Egmont_, this glorious _Egmont_, with which I, +with the same warmth with which I read it, was again through you +impressed by it and set it to music. I should much like to know your +opinion of it; even blame will be profitable for me and for my art, and +will be as willingly received as the greatest praise. + +Your Excellency's great admirer, + +LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 1017 + +TO B. SCHOTT & SON, MAINZ + + +(Summer, 1824). + +Dear Sirs: + +I only tell you that next week the works will certainly be sent off. You +will easily understand, if you only imagine to yourself, that with +uncertain copying I have to look through each part separately--for this +branch has already decreased here in proportion as tuning has been taken +up. Everywhere poverty of spirit--and of purse! Your _Cecilia_ I have +not yet received. + +The _Overture_ which you had from my brother was performed here a few +days ago, and I received high praise for it, etc.--but what is all that +in comparison with the great Tone-Master above--above--above--and with +right the greatest of all, while here below everything is a mockery--_we +the little dwarfs are the highest_!!!?? You will receive the quartet at +the same time as the other works. You are so open and frank--qualities +which I have never yet noticed in publishers--and this pleases me. Let +us shake hands over it; who knows whether I shall not do that in person +and soon! I should be glad if you would now at once forward the +honorarium for the quartet to Friess, for I just now want a great deal +of money; everything must come to me from abroad, and here and there a +delay arises--through my own fault. My brother adds what is necessary +about the works offered to, and accepted by, you. I greet you heartily. +Junker, as I see from your newspaper, is still living; he was one of the +first who _noticed_ me, an innocent and nothing more. Greet him. + +In greatest haste, and yet not of shortest standing, + +Yours, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 1117 + +TO HIS NEPHEW CARL + + +Baden, October 5, 1825. + +For God's sake, do come home again today! Who knows what danger might be +threatening you! Hasten, hasten! My Dear Son! + +Only nothing further--only come to my arms; you shall hear no harsh +word. For Heaven's sake, do not rush to destruction! You will be +received as ever with affection. As to considering what is to be done in +future, we will talk this over in a friendly way--no reproaches, on my +word of honor, for it would be of no use. You need expect from me only +the most loving help and care. + +Only come--come to the faithful heart of your father, + +BEETHOVEN. + +Come at once on receipt of this. + +Si vous ne viendrez pas vous me tuerez surement. + +VOLTI SUB. + + + +NO. 1129 + +TO THE COPYIST RAMPEL + +(1825) + + +Best Rampel, come tomorrow morning, but go to hell with your calling me +gracious. _God alone can be called gracious_. The servant I have already +engaged--only impress on her to be honest and attached to me, as well as +orderly and punctual in her small services. + +Your devoted BEETHOVEN. + + * * * * * + + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 2: Translator: Sir Theodore Mart Permission William Blackwood +& Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 3: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 4: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 5: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 6: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 7: Translator: Richard Garnett. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 8: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 9: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 10: Translator: Franklin Johnson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 11: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 12: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 13: Translator: Charles G. Leland. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 14: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 15: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 16: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 17: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 18: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 19: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 20: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 21: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 22: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 23: Translator: Edgar Alfred Bowring. Permission The Walter +Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 24: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 25: Translator: W.H. Furness. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 26: Translator: John Todhunter. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 27: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission The Walter +Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 28: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 29: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 30: Translator: James Thomson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 31: Translator: Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 32: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 33: Translator: "Stratheir." Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 34: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons.] + +[Footnote 35: Translator: James Thomson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 36: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 37: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 38: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 39: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 40: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 41: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 42: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 43: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 44: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 45: Translator: Lord Houghton. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 46: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 47: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 48: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 49: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 50: Names of Student's Corps.] + +[Footnote 51: Name of the University of Göttingen.] + +[Footnote 52: Name of an Austrian periodical.] + +[Footnote 53: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 54: According to that dignified and erudite work, the +_Burschikoses Woerterbuch_, or Student-Slang Dictionary, "to bind a +bear" signifies to contract a debt. The definition of a "sable," as +given in the dictionary above cited is, "A young lady anxious to +please."] + +[Footnote 55: From _Ideen: Das Buch Le Grand_ (Chaps. VI-IX). Permission +E.P. Dutton & Co., New York, and William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 56: From _Pictures of Travel_, permission W. Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 57: From _French. Affairs_; permission of William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 58: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 59: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 60: This prototype of "The House that Jack Built" is presumed +to be a hymn in Seder Hagadah, fol. 23. The historical interpretation, +says Mrs. Valentine, who has reproduced it in her Nursery Rhymes, was +first given by P.N. Leberecht at Leipzig in 1731, and is printed in the +Christian Reformer, vol. xvii, p. 28. The original is in Chaldee. It is +throughout an allegory. The kid, one of the pure animals, denotes +Israel. The Father by whom it was purchased is Jehovah; the two pieces +of money signify Moses and Aaron. The cat means the Assyrians, the dog +the Babylonians, the staff the Persians, the fire the Grecian Empire +under Alexander the Great. The water betokens the Roman or the fourth of +the great monarchies to whose dominion the Jews were subjected. The ox +is a symbol of the Saracens, who subdued Palestine; the butcher that +killed the ox denotes the crusaders by whom the Holy Land was taken from +the Saracens; the Angel of Death the Turkish power to which Palestine is +still subject. The tenth stanza is designed to show that God will take +signal vengeance on the Turks, and restore the Jews to their own land.] + +[Footnote 61: There is a concluding verse which Heine has omitted. "Then +came the Holy One of Israel--blessed be he--and slew the Angel of Death, +who," etc.--TRAN.] + +[Footnote 62: A suburb of Vienna.] + +[Footnote 63: In Lower Austria, on the railroad from Vienna to Eger.] + +[Footnote 64: From Grillparzer's _Autobiography_ (1855).] + +[Footnote 65: A decoration.] + +[Footnote 66: A Critical Edition by Dr. A.C. Kalischer. Permission J.M. +Dent & Co., London, and E.P. Dutton & Co., New York.] + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The German Classics of The Nineteenth +and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VI., by Editor-in-Chief: Kuno Francke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GERMAN CLASSICS, VOL. 6 *** + +***** This file should be named 12473-8.txt or 12473-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/4/7/12473/ + +Produced by Stan Goodman, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/12473-8.zip b/old/12473-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..14e91fe --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12473-8.zip diff --git a/old/12473.txt b/old/12473.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eea03fe --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12473.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19797 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The German Classics of The Nineteenth and +Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VI., by Editor-in-Chief: Kuno Francke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VI. + Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English. In Twenty + Volumes + + +Author: Editor-in-Chief: Kuno Francke + +Release Date: May 29, 2004 [EBook #12473] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GERMAN CLASSICS, VOL. 6 *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +VOLUME VI + + + + +HEINRICH HEINE + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN + + + + + +THE GERMAN CLASSICS + +Masterpieces of German Literature + +TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH + + +Patrons' Edition + +IN TWENTY VOLUMES + +ILLUSTRATED + + +1914 + +CONTRIBUTORS AND TRANSLATORS + +VOLUME VI + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI + + +HEINRICH HEINE + + The Life of Heinrich Heine. By William Guild Howard + + Poems + + Dedication. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + Songs. Translators: Sir Theodore Martin, Charles Wharton Stork, T. + Brooksbank + + A Lyrical Intermezzo. Translators: T. Brooksbank, Sir Theodore + Martin, J.E. Wallis, Richard Garnett, Alma Strettell, Franklin Johnson, + Charles G. Leland, Charles Wharton Stork + + Sonnets. Translators: T. Brooksbank, Edgar Alfred Bowring + + Poor Peter. Translated by Alma Strettell + + The Two Grenadiers. Translated by W.H. Furness + + Belshazzar. Translated by John Todhunter + + The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + The Return Home. Translators: Sir Theodore Martin. Kate + Freiligrath-Kroeker, James Thomson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning + + Twilight. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + Hail to the Sea. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + In the Harbor. Translated by Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker + + A New Spring. Translators: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker, Charles Wharton + Stork + + Abroad. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Sphinx. Translated by Sir Theodore Martin + + Germany. Translated by Margaret Armour + + Enfant Perdu. Translated by Lord Houghton + + The Battlefield of Hastings. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Asra. Translated by Margaret Armour + + The Passion Flower. Translated by Charles Wharton Stork + + + Prose + + The Journey to the Harz. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + Boyhood Days. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + English Fragments--Dialogue on the Thames; London; Wellington. + Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + Lafayette. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + The Romantic School. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + The Rabbi of Bacharach. Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + The Life of Franz Grillparzer. By William Guild Howard + + Medea. Translated by Theodore A. Miller + + The Jewess of Toledo. Translated by George Henry Danton and Annina + Periam Danton + + The Poor Musician. Translated by Alfred Remy + + My Journey to Weimar. Translated by Alfred Remy + + +LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN + + Beethoven as a Letter Writer. By Walter R. Spalding + + Beethoven's Letters. Translated by J.S. Shedlock + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS--VOLUME VI + + +Emperor William I at a Court Reception-Frontispiece + +Heinrich Heine. By W. Krauskopf + +Heinrich Heine. By E. Hader + +The Lorelei Fountain in New York. By Herter + +Spring's Awakening. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Flower Fantasy. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Poor Peter. By P. Grotjohann + +The Two Grenadiers. By P. Grotjohann + +Rocky Coast. By Ludwig von Hofmann + +Play of the Waves. By Arnold Boecklin + +Market Place, Goettingen + +Old Imperial Palace, Goslar + +The Witches' Dancing Ground + +The Brocken Inn About 1830 + +The Falls of the Ilse + +View from St. Andreasberg + +Johann Wilhelm Monument, Duesseldorf + +The Duke of Wellington. By d'Orsay + +Bacharach on the Rhine + +House in Bacharach + +Franz Grillparzer + +Franz Grillparzer and Kaethi Froehlich in 1823 + +Grillparzer's House in Spiegelgasse + +Grillparzer's Room in the House of the Sisters Froehlich + +Franz Grillparzer in His Sixtieth Year + +The Grillparzer Monument at Vienna + +Medea. By Anselm Feuerbach + +Medea. From the Grillparzer Monument at Vienna + +Beethoven. By Max Klinger + + + + +THE LIFE OF HEINRICH HEINE + +BY WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD, A.M. +Assistant Professor of German, Harvard University + +I. + +The history of German literature makes mention of few men more +self-centered and at the same time more unreserved than Heinrich +Heine. It may be said that everything which Heine wrote gives us, and +was intended to give us, first of all some new impression of the +writer; so that after a perusal of his works we know him in all his +strength and weakness, as we can know only an amiable and +communicative egotist; moreover, besides losing no opportunity for +self-expression, both in and out of season, Heine published a good +deal of frankly autobiographical matter, and wrote memoirs, only +fragments of which have come down to us, but of which more than has +yet appeared will perhaps ultimately be made accessible. Heine's life, +then, is to us for the most part an open book. Nevertheless, there are +many obscure passages in it, and there remain many questions not to be +answered with certainty, the first of which is as to the date of his +birth. His own statements on this subject are contradictory, and the +original records are lost. But it seems probable that he was born on +the thirteenth of December, 1797, the eldest child of Jewish parents +recently domiciled at Duesseldorf on the Rhine. + +The parentage, the place, and the time were almost equally significant +aspects of the constellation under which young Harry Heine--for so he +was first named--began his earthly career. He was born a Jew in a +German city which, with a brief interruption, was for the first +sixteen years of his life administered by the French. The citizens of +Duesseldorf in general had little reason, except for high taxes and the +hardships incident to conscription in the French armies, to complain +of the foreign dominion. Their trade flourished, they were given +better laws, and the machinery of justice was made much less +cumbersome than it had been before. But especially the Jews hailed the +French as deliverers; for now for the first time they were relieved of +political disabilities and were placed upon a footing of equality with +the gentile population. To Jew and gentile alike the military +achievements of the French were a source of satisfaction and +admiration; and when the Emperor of the French himself came to town, +as Heine saw him do in 1810, we can easily understand how the +enthusiasm of the boy surrounded the person of Napoleon, and the idea +that he was supposed to represent, with a glamor that never lost its +fascination for the man. To Heine, Napoleon was the incarnation of the +French Revolution, the glorious new-comer who took by storm the +intrenched strongholds of hereditary privilege, the dauntless leader +in whose army every common soldier carried a field marshal's baton in +his knapsack. If later we find Heine mercilessly assailing the +repressive and reactionary aristocracy of Germany, we shall not +lightly accuse him of lack of patriotism. He could not be expected to +hold dear institutions of which he felt only the burden, without a +share in the sentiment which gives stability even to institutions that +have outlived their usefulness. Nor shall we call him a traitor for +loving the French, a people to whom his people owed so much, and to +whom he was spiritually akin. + +French influences, almost as early as Hebrew or German, were among the +formative forces brought to bear upon the quick-witted but not +precocious boy. Heine's parents were orthodox, but by no means bigoted +Jews. We read with amazement that one of the plans of the mother, +ambitious for her firstborn, was to make of him a Roman Catholic +priest. The boy's father, Samson Heine, was a rather unsuccessful +member of a family which in other representatives--particularly +Samson's brother Salomon in Hamburg--attained to wealth and prominence +in the world of finance. + +[Illustration: W. KRAUSKOPF HEINRICH HEINE After a Drawing in the +Possession of Mr. Carl Meinert in Dessau] + +Samson Heine seems to have been too easy-going, self-indulgent, and +ostentatious, to have made the most of the talents that he +unquestionably had. Among his foibles was a certain fondness for the +pageantry of war, and he was in all his glory as an officer of the +local militia. To his son Gustav he transmitted real military +capacity, which led to a distinguished career and a patent of nobility +in the Austrian service. Harry Heine inherited his father's more +amiable but less strenuous qualities. Inquisitive and alert, he was +rather impulsive than determined, and his practical mother had her +trials in directing him toward preparation for a life work, the +particular field of which neither she nor he could readily choose. +Peira, or Betty, Heine was a stronger character than her husband; and +in her family, several members of which had taken high rank as +physicians, there had prevailed a higher degree of intellectual +culture than the Heines had attained to. She not only managed the +household with prudence and energy, but also took the chief care of +the education of the children. To both parents Harry Heine paid the +homage of true filial affection; and of the happiness of the home +life, _The Book Le Grand_ and a number of poems bear unmistakable +witness. The poem "My child, we were two children" gives a true +account of Harry and his sister Charlotte at play. + +In Duesseldorf, Heine's formal education culminated in attendance in +the upper classes of a Lyceum, organized upon the model of a French +Lycee and with a corps of teachers recruited chiefly from the ranks of +the Roman Catholic clergy. The spirit of the institution was +rationalistic and the discipline wholesome. Here Heine made solid +acquisitions in history, literature, and the elements of philosophy. +Outside of school, he was an eager spectator, not merely of stirring +events in the world of politics, but also of many a picturesque +manifestation of popular life--a spectator often rather than a +participant; for as a Jew he stood beyond the pale of both the German +and the Roman Catholic traditions that gave and give to the cities of +the Rhineland their characteristic naive gaiety and harmless +superstition. Such a poem as _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_ would be +amazing as coming from an unbeliever, did we not see in it evidence of +the poet's capacity for perfect sympathetic adoption of the spirit of +his early environment. The same is true of many another poetic +expression of simple faith, whether in Christianity or in the +mythology of German folk-lore. + +Interest in medieval Catholicism and in folk-lore is one of the most +prominent traits in the Romantic movement, which reached its +culmination during the boyhood of Heine. The history of Heine's +connection with this movement is foreshadowed by the circumstances of +his first contact with it. He tells us that the first book he ever +read was _Don Quixote_ (in the translation by Tieck). At about the +same time he read _Gulliver's Travels_, the tales of noble robbers +written by Goethe's brother-in-law, Vulpius, the wildly fantastic +stories of E.T.A. Hoffmann, Schiller's _Robbers_; but also Uhland's +ballads, and the songs collected by Arnim and Brentano in _The Boy's +Magic Horn_. That is to say: At the time when in school a critical and +skeptical mind was being developed in him by descendants of the age of +enlightenment, his private reading led him for the most part into the +region of romanticism in its most exaggerated form. At the time, +furthermore, when he took healthy romantic interest in the picturesque +Dusseldorf life, his imagination was morbidly stimulated by furtive +visits to a woman reputed to be a witch, and to her niece, the +daughter of a hangman. His earliest poems, the _Dream Pictures_, +belong in an atmosphere charged with witchery, crime, and the +irresponsibility of nightmare. This coincidence of incompatible +tendencies will later be seen to account for much of the mystery in +Heine's problematic character. + +It having been decided, perhaps because the downfall of Napoleon shut +the door of all other opportunity, that Heine should embark upon a +mercantile career, he was given a brief apprenticeship, in 1815 at +Frankfurt, in the following years at Hamburg, under the immediate +patronage of his uncle Salomon who, in 1818, even established the +young poet in a dry goods business of his own. The only result of +these experiments was the demonstration of Heine's total inaptitude +for commercial pursuits. But the uncle was magnanimous and offered his +nephew the means necessary for a university course in law, with a view +to subsequent practice in Hamburg. Accordingly, after some brushing up +of Latin at home, Heine in the fall of 1819 was matriculated as a +student at the University of Bonn. + +In spite of failure to accomplish his immediate purpose, Heine had not +sojourned in vain at Hamburg. He had gained the good will of an +opulent uncle whose bounty he continued almost uninterruptedly to +enjoy to the end of his days. But in a purpose that lay much nearer to +his heart he had failed lamentably; for, always sensitive to the +charms of the other sex, Heine had conceived an overpowering passion +for his cousin Amalie, the daughter of Salomon, only to meet with +scornful rebuffs at the hands of the coquettish and worldly-minded +heiress. There is no reason to suppose that Amalie ever took her +cousin's advances seriously. Her father certainly did not so take +them. On the other hand, there is equally little reason to doubt the +sincerity and depth of Heine's feelings, first of unfounded hope, then +of persistent despair that pursued him in the midst of other +occupations and even in the fleeting joys of other loves. The most +touching poems included among the _Youthful Sorrows_ of his first +volume were inspired by Amalie Heine. + +At Bonn Heine was a diligent student. Though never a roysterer, he +took part in various extra-academic enterprises, was a member of the +_Burschenschaft_, that democratic-patriotic organization so gravely +suspected by the reactionary governments, and made many friends. He +duly studied history and law; he heard Ernst Moritz Arndt interpret +the _Germania_ of Tacitus; but more especially did he profit by +official and personal relations with A.W. Schlegel, who taught Heine +what he himself knew best, namely, the secret of literary form and the +art of metrical expression. + +The fall of 1820 saw Heine at Goettingen, the Hanoverian university to +which, shortly before, the Americans Ticknor and Everett had repaired +and at which in that very year Bancroft had attained his degree of +doctor of philosophy. Here, however, Heine was repelled by the +aristocratic exclusiveness of the Hanoverian squires who gave the tone +to student society, as well as by the mummified dryness of the +professors. In marked contrast to the patriotic and romantic spirit of +Bonn he noted here with amazement that the distinguished Germanist +Benecke lectured on the _Nibelungenlied_ to an auditory of nine. His +own residence was destined this time to be brief; for serious quarrels +coming to the ear of the faculty, he was, on January 23, 1821, +advised to withdraw; and in April he enrolled himself as a student at +the University of Berlin. + +The next three years were filled with manifold activities. As a +student Heine was deeply impressed by the absolute philosophy +expounded by Hegel; as a Jew he lent a willing hand to the endeavors +of an association recently founded for the amelioration of the social +and political condition of the Hebrews; in the drawing room of Rahel +Levin, now the wife of Varnhagen von Ense, he came in touch with +gifted men and women who were ardent admirers of Goethe, and some of +whom, a quarter of a century before, had befriended Friedrich +Schlegel; and in the subterranean restaurant of Lutter and Wegener he +joined in the revels of Hoffmann, Grabbe, and other eccentric +geniuses. Heine now began to be known as a man of letters. After +having, from 1817 on, printed occasional poems in newspapers and +magazines, he published in December, 1821 (with the date 1822), his +first volume, entitled simply _Poems_; he wrote newspaper articles on +Berlin and on Poland, which he visited in the summer of 1822; and in +the spring of 1823 he published _Tragedies together with a Lyrical +Intermezzo_--two very romantic and undramatic plays in verse, +separated in the volume by a short series of lyrical poems. + +Meanwhile Amalie Heine had been married and Harry's parents had moved +to Lueneburg. Regret for the loss of Amalie soon gave way to a new +passion for a very young girl, whose identity remains uncertain, but +who was probably Amalie's little sister Therese. In any case, Heine +met the new love on the occasion of a visit to Lueneburg and Hamburg in +the spring of 1823, and was haunted by her image during the summer +spent at Cuxhaven. Here Heine first saw the sea. In less exalted moods +he dallied with fisher maidens; he did not forget Amalie; but the +youthful grace and purity of Therese dominate most of the poems of +this summer. The return from the watering place gave Heine the title +_The Return Home_ for this collection of pieces which, when published +in 1826, was dedicated to Frau Varnhagen von Ense. + +Uncle Salomon, to whom the _Tragedies_ had been affectionately +inscribed, was not displeased with the growing literary reputation of +his nephew. But he saw no sense in the idea that Heine already +entertained of settling in Paris. He insisted that the young man +should complete his studies; and so, in January, 1824, Heine once more +betook himself to Goettingen, where on the twenty-first of July, 1825, +he was duly promoted _Doctor utriusque Juris_. In the summer of 1824 +he made the trip through the Hartz mountains which served as the basis +of _The Journey to the Hartz_; immediately before his promotion he +submitted to baptism in the Lutheran church as Christian Johann +Heinrich Heine. + +Submission is the right word for this conversion. It was an act of +expediency such as other ambitious men found unavoidable in those +days; but Heine performed it in a spirit of bitterness caused not so +much by a sense of apostasy as by contempt for the conventional +Christianity that he now embraced. There can be no sharper contrast +than that presented by such a poem as _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_ and +sundry satirical pieces not included in this volume. + +Two vacations at Norderney, where Heine renewed and deepened +acquaintance with his beloved North Sea, not very resolute attempts to +take up the practice of law in Hamburg, a trip to London, vain hopes +of a professorship in Munich, a sojourn in Italy, vacillations between +Hamburg, Berlin, and the North Sea, complete the narrative of Heine's +movements to the end of the first period of his life. He was now Heine +the writer: poet, journalist, and novelist. _The Journey to the +Hartz_, first published in a magazine, _Der Gesellschafter_, in +January and February, 1826, was issued in May of that year by Campe in +Hamburg, as the first volume of _Pictures of Travel_, beginning with +the poems of _The Return Home_ and concluding with the first group of +hymns to the North Sea, written at Norderney in the previous year. +_Pictures of Travel II_, issued in 1827, consisted of the second cycle +of poems on the _North Sea_, an account in prose of life on the +island, entitled _Norderney, The Book Le Grand_, to which epigrams by +Immermann were appended, and extracts from _Letters from Berlin_ +published in 1822. _Pictures of Travel III_ (1830) began with +experiences in Italy, but degenerated into a provoked but ruthless +attack upon Platen. _Pictures of Travel IV_ (1831) included _English +Fragments_, the record of Heine's observations in London, and _The +City of Lucca_, a supplementary chapter on Italy. In October, 1827, +Heine collected under the title _Book of Songs_ nearly all of his +poems written up to that time. + +The first period in Heine's life closes with the year 1831. The +Parisian revolution of July, 1830, had turned the eyes of all Europe +toward the land in which political experiments are made for the +benefit of mankind. Many a German was attracted thither, and not +without reason Heine hoped to find there a more promising field for +the employment of his talents than with all his wanderings he had +discovered in Germany. Toward the end of May, 1831, he arrived in +Paris, and Paris was thenceforth his home until his death on the +seventeenth of February, 1856. + +II + +In the preface to the second edition of the _Book of Songs_, written +at Paris in 1837, Heine confessed that for some time past he had felt +a certain repugnance to versification; that the poems therewith +offered for the second time to the public were the product of a time +when, in contrast to the present, the flame of truth had rather heated +than clarified his mind; and expressed the hope that his recent +political, theological, and philosophical writings--all springing from +the same idea and intention as the poems--might atone for any weakness +in the poems. Heine wrote poetry after 1831, and he wrote prose before +1831; but in a general way what he says of his two periods is correct: +before his emigration he was primarily a poet, and afterwards +primarily a critic, journalist, and popular historian. In his first +period he wrote chiefly about his own experiences; in his second, +chiefly about affairs past and present in which he was interested. + +As to the works of the first period, we might hesitate to say whether +the _Pictures of Travel_ or the _Book of Songs_ were the more +characteristic product. In whichever way our judgment finally +inclined, we should declare that the _Pictures of Travel_ were +essentially prosified poems and that the poems were, in their +collected form, versified _Pictures of Travel_; and that both, +moreover, were dominated, as the writings after 1831 were dominated, +by a romantically tinged longing for individual liberty. + +The title _Pictures of Travel_, to which Heine gave so definite a +connotation, is not in itself a true index to the multifarious +contents of the series of traveler's notes, any more than the volumes +taken each by itself were units. Pages of verse followed pages of +prose; and in the _Journey to the Hartz_, verse interspersed in prose +emphasizes the lyrical character of the composition. Heine does indeed +give pictures of some of the scenes that he visits; but he also +narrates his passage from point to point; and at every point he sets +forth his recollections, his thoughts, his dreams, his personal +reaction upon any idea that comes into his head; so that the +substance, especially of the _Journey to the Hartz_, is less what was +to be seen in the Hartz than what was suggested to a very lively +imagination; and we admire the agility with which the writer jumps +from place to place quite as much as the suppleness with which he can +at will unconditionally subject himself to the genius of a single +locality. For Heine is capable of writing straightforward descriptive +prose, as well-ordered and as matter-of-fact as a narrative of +Kleist's. But the world of reality, where everything has an assignable +reason for its being and doing, is not the world into which he most +delights to conduct us. This world, on the contrary, is that in which +the water "murmurs and rustles so wonderfully, the birds pour forth +broken love-sick strains, the trees whisper as if with a thousand +maidens' tongues, the odd mountain flowers peep up at us as if with a +thousand maidens' eyes, stretching out to us their curious, broad, +drolly scalloped leaves; the sunrays flash here and there in sport, +the herbs, as though endowed with reason, are telling one another +their green legends, all seems enchanted"--in other words, a +wonderland disturbed by no doubts on the part of a rationalistic +Alice. And a further secret of this fascinating, though in the long +run exasperating style, is the sublime audacity with which Heine +dances now on one foot and now on the other, leaving you at every +moment in amused perplexity, whether you shall next find him standing +firmly on mother earth or bounding upward to recline on the clouds. + +"A mixture of description of nature, wit, poetry, and observation a la +Washington Irving" Heine himself called the _Journey to the Hartz_. +The novelty lay in the mixture, and in the fact that though the +ingredients are, so to speak, potentized in the highest degree, they +are brought to nearly perfect congruence and fusion by the +irresistible solvent of the second named. The _Journey to the Hartz_ +is a work of wit, in the present sense, and in the older sense of +that word. It is a product of superior intelligence--not a _Sketch +Book_, but a single canvas with an infinitude of details; not a +_Sentimental Journey_--although Heine can outdo Sterne in +sentimentality, he too persistently outdoes him also in satire--the +work, fragmentary and outwardly formless, is in essence thoroughly +informed by a two-fold purpose: to ridicule pedantry and philistinism, +and to extol nature and the life of those uncorrupted by the world. + +A similar unity is unmistakable in the _Book of Songs_. It would be +difficult to find another volume of poems so cunningly composed. If we +examine the book in its most obvious aspect, we find it beginning with +_Youthful Sorrows_ and ending with hymns to the North Sea; passing, +that is to say, from the most subjective to the most objective of +Heine's poetic expressions. The first of the _Youthful Sorrows_ are +_Dream Pictures_, crude and grotesque imitations of an inferior +romantic _genre_; the _North Sea Pictures_ are magnificent attempts in +highly original form to catch the elusive moods of a great natural +element which before Heine had played but little part in German +poetry. From the _Dream Pictures_ we proceed to _Songs_ (a very simple +love story told in forms as nearly conventional as Heine ever used), +to _Romances_ which, with the notable exception of _The Two +Grenadiers_ and _Belshazzar_, are relatively feeble attempts at the +objectivation of personal suffering; and thence to _Sonnets_, direct +communications to particular persons. Thereupon follow the _Lyrical +Intermezzo_ and the _Return Home_, each with a prologue and an +epilogue, and with several series of pieces which, like the _Songs_ +above mentioned, are printed without titles and are successive +sentences or paragraphs in the poet's own love story. This he tells +over and over again, without monotony, because the story gains in +significance as the lover gains in experience, because each time he +finds for it a new set of symbols, and because the symbols become more +and more objective as the poet's horizon broadens. Then come a few +pieces of religious content (culminating in _The Pilgrimage to +Kevlaar_), the poems in the _Journey to the Hartz_ (the most striking +of which are animated by the poetry of folk-lore)--these poems clearly +transitional to the poetry of the ocean which Heine wrote with such +vigor in the two cycles on the North Sea. The movement is a steady +climax. + +The truth of the foregoing observations can be tested only by an +examination of the entire _Book of Songs_. The total effect is one of +arrangement. The order of the sections is chronological; the order of +the poems within the sections is logical; and some poems were altered +to make them fit into the scheme. Each was originally the expression +of a moment; and the peculiarity of Heine as a lyric poet is his +disposition to fix a moment, however fleeting, and to utter a feeling, +of however slight consequence to humanity it might at first blush seem +to be. In the _Journey to the Hartz_ he never lost an opportunity to +make a point; in his lyrical confessions he suppressed no impulse to +self-revelation; and seldom did his mastery of form fail to ennoble +even the meanest substance. + +Some of Heine's most perfect products are his smallest. Whether, +however, a slight substance can be fittingly presented only in the +briefest forms, or a larger matter calls for extended treatment, the +method is the same, and the merit lies in the justness and +suggestiveness of details. Single points, or points in juxtaposition +or in succession, not the developed continuity of a line, are the +means to the effect which Heine seeks. Connecting links are left to be +supplied by the imagination of the reader. Even in such a narrative +poem as _Belshazzar_ the movement is _staccato_; we are invited to +contemplate a series of moments; and if the subject is impiety and +swift retribution, we are left to infer the fact from the evidence +presented; there is neither editorial introduction nor moralizing +conclusion. Similarly with _The Two Grenadiers_, a presentation of +character in circumstance, a translation of pictorial details into +terms of action and prophecy; and most strikingly in _The Pilgrimage +to Kevlaar_, a poem of such fundamentally pictorial quality that it +has been called a triptych, three depicted scenes in a little +religious drama. + +It is in pieces like these that we find Heine most successfully making +of himself the interpreter of objects in the outside world. The number +of such objects is greater than is everywhere believed--though +naturally his success is surest in the case of objects congenial to +him, and the variety of these is not great. Indeed, the outside world, +even when he appears to treat it most objectively, proves upon closer +examination to be in the vast majority of cases only a treasure-trove +of symbols for the expression of his inner self. Thus, _Poor Peter_ is +the narrative of a humble youth unfortunate in love, but poor Peter's +story is Heine's; otherwise, we may be sure, Heine would not have +thought it worth the telling. Nothing could seem to be less the +property of Heine than _The Lorelei_; nevertheless, he has given to +this borrowed subject so personal a turn that instead of the siren we +see a human maiden, serenely indifferent to the effect of her charms, +which so take the luckless lover that, like the boatman, he, Heine, is +probably doomed ere long to death in the waves. + +Toward the outside world, then, Heine's habitual attitude is not that +of an interpreter; it is that of an artist who seeks the means of +expression where they may be found. He does not, like Goethe and +Moerike, read out of the phenomena of nature and of life what these +phenomena in themselves contain; he reads into them what he wishes +them to say. _The Book of Songs_ is a human document, but it is no +document of the life of humanity; it is a collection of kaleidoscopic +views of one life, a life not fortified by wholesome cooeperation with +men nor nourished with the strength of nature, but vivifying nature +with its own emotions. Heine has treated many a situation with +overwhelming pathos, but none from which he was himself so completely +absent as Moerike from the kitchen of The _Forsaken Maiden_. Goethe's +"Hush'd on the hill" is an apostrophe to himself; but peace which the +world cannot give and cannot take away is the atmosphere of that poem; +whereas Heine's "The shades of the summer evening lie" gets its +principal effectiveness from fantastic contributions of the poet's own +imagination. + +The length to which Heine goes in attributing human emotions to nature +is hardly to be paralleled before or since. His aim not being the +reproduction of reality, nor yet the objectivation of ideas, his +poetry is essentially a poetry of tropes-that is, the conception and +presentation of things not as they are but as they may be conceived to +be. A simple illustration of this method may be seen in _The +Herd-Boy_. Uhland wrote a poem on a very similar subject, _The Boy's +Mountain Song_. But the contrast between Uhland's hardy, active, +public-spirited youth and Heine's sleepy, amorous individualist is no +more striking than the difference between Uhland's rhetorical and +Heine's tropical method. Heine's poem is an elaboration of the single +metaphor with which it begins: "Kingly is the herd-boy's calling." The +poem _Pine and Palm_, in which Heine expresses his hopeless separation +from the maiden of whom he dreams--incidentally attributing to Amalie +a feeling of sadness and solitude to which she was a stranger--is a +bolder example of romantic self-projection into nature. But not the +boldest that Heine offers us. He transports us to India, and there-- + + The violets titter, caressing, + Peeping up as the planets appear, + And the roses, their warm love confessing, + Whisper words, soft perfumed, to each ear. + +Nor does he allow us to question the occurrence of these marvels; how +do we know what takes place on the banks of the Ganges, whither we are +borne on the wings of song? This, indeed, would be Heine's answer to +any criticism based upon Ruskin's notion as to the "pathetic fallacy." +If the setting is such as to induce in us the proper mood, we readily +enter the non-rational realm, and with credulous delight contemplate +wonders such as we too have seen in our dreams; just as we find the +romantic syntheses of sound and odor, or of sound and color, +legitimate attempts to express the inexpressible. The atmosphere of +prose, to be sure, is less favorable to Heine's habitual indulgence in +romantic tropes. + +Somewhat blunted by over-employment is another romantic instrument, +eminently characteristic of Heine, namely, irony. Nothing could be +more trenchant than his bland assumption of the point of view of the +Jew-baiter, the hypocrite, or the slave-trader. It is as perfect as +his adoption of childlike faith in _The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar_. Many a +time he attains an effect of ironical contrast by the juxtaposition of +incongruous poems, as when a deification of his beloved is followed by +a cynical utterance of a different kind of love. But often the +incongruity is within the poem itself, and the poet, destroying the +illusion of his created image, gets a melancholy satisfaction from +derision of his own grief. This procedure perfectly symbolizes a +distracted mind; it undoubtedly suggests a superior point of view, +from which the tribulations of an insignificant individual are seen to +be insignificant; but in a larger sense it symbolizes the very +instability and waywardness of Heine himself. His emotions were +unquestionably deep and recurrent, but they were not constant. His +devotion to ideals did not preclude indulgence in very unideal +pleasures; and his love of Amalie and Therese, hopeless from the +beginning, could not, except in especially fortunate moments, avoid +erring in the direction either of sentimentality or of bitterness. But +Heine was too keenly intellectual to be indulgent of sentimentality, +and too caustic to restrain bitterness. Hence the bitter-sweet of many +of his pieces, so agreeably stimulating and so suggestive of an +elastic temperament. + +There is, however, a still more pervasive incongruity between this +temperament and the forms in which it expressed itself. Heine's love +poems--two-thirds of the _Book of Songs_--are written in the very +simplest of verses, mostly quatrains of easy and seemingly inevitable +structure. Heine learned the art of making them from the _Magic Horn_, +from Uhland, and from Eichendorff, and he carried the art to the +highest pitch of virtuosity. They are the forms of the German +Folk-song, a fit vehicle for homely sentiments and those elemental +passions which come and go like the tide in a humble heart, because +the humble heart is single and yields unresistingly to their flow. But +Heine's heart was not single, his passion was complex, and the +greatest of his ironies was his use of the most unsophisticated of +forms for his most sophisticated substances. This, indeed, was what +made his love poetry so novel and so piquant to his contemporaries; +this is one of the qualities that keep it alive today; but it is a +highly individual device which succeeded only with this individual; +and that it was a device adopted from no lack of capacity in other +measures appears from the perfection of Heine's sonnets and the +incomparable free rhythmic verses of the _North Sea_ cycles. + +Taken all in all, _The Book of Songs_ was a unique collection, making +much of little, and making it with an amazing economy of means. + +III + +Heine's first period, to 1831, when he was primarily a literary +artist, nearly coincides with the epoch of the Restoration +(1815-1830). Politically, this time was unproductive in Germany, and +the very considerable activity in science, philosophy, poetry, +painting, and other fine arts stood in no immediate relation to +national exigencies. There was indeed plenty of agitation in the +circles of the _Burschenschaft_, and there were sporadic efforts to +obtain from reluctant princes the constitutions promised as a reward +for the rising against Napoleon; but as a whole the people of the +various states seemed passive, and whatever was accomplished was the +work of individuals, with or without royal patronage, and, in the +main, in continuation of romantic tendencies. But with the Revolution +of July, 1830, the political situation in Germany became somewhat more +acute, demands for emancipation took more tangible form, and the +so-called "Young Germans "--Wienbarg, Gutzkow, Laube, Mundt, Boerne, +and others-endeavored in essays, novels, plays, and pamphlets to stir +up public interest in questions of political, social, and religious +reform. + +Many passages in Heine's _Pictures of Travel_ breathe the spirit of +the Young German propaganda--the celebrated confession of faith, for +example, in the _Journey to the Hartz_, in which he declares himself a +knight of the holy spirit of iconoclastic democracy. In Paris he +actively enlisted in the cause, and for about fifteen years continued, +as a journalist, the kind of expository and polemic writing that he +had developed in the later volumes of the _Pictures of Travel_. +Regarding himself, like many an expatriate, as a mediator between the +country of his birth and the country of his adoption, he wrote for +German papers accounts of events in the political and artistic world +of France, and for French periodicals more ambitious essays on the +history of religion, philosophy, and recent literature in Germany. +Most of the works of this time were published in both French and +German, and Heine arranged also for the appearance of the _Pictures of +Travel_ and the _Book of Songs_ in French translations. To all intents +and purposes he became a Frenchman; from 1836 or 1837 until 1848 he +was the recipient of an annual pension of 4,800 francs from the French +government; he has even been suspected of having become a French +citizen. But he in no sense curbed his tongue when speaking of French +affairs, nor was he free from longing to be once more in his native +land. + +In Germany, however, he was commonly regarded as a traitor; and at the +same time the Young Germans, with the more influential of whom he soon +quarreled, looked upon him as a renegade; so that there was a peculiar +inappropriateness in the notorious decree of the Bundesrat at +Frankfurt, voted December 10, 1835, and impotently forbidding the +circulation in Germany of the writings of the Young Germans: Heine, +Gutzkow, Laube, Wienbarg, and Mundt--in that order. But the occupants +of insecure thrones have a fine scent for the odor of sedition, and +Heine was an untiring sapper and miner in the modern army moving +against the strongholds of aristocrats and priests. A keen observer in +Hamburg who was resolved, though not in the manner of the Young +Germans, to do his part in furthering social reform, Friedrich Hebbel, +wrote to a friend in March, 1836: "Our time is one in which action +destined to be decisive for a thousand years is being prepared. What +artillery did not accomplish at Leipzig must now be done by pens in +Paris." + +During the first years of his sojourn in Paris Heine entered gleefully +into all the enjoyment and stimulation that the gay capital had to +offer. "I feel like a fish in water" is a common expression of +contentment with one's surroundings; but when one fish inquires after +the health of another, he now says, Heine told a friend, "I feel like +Heine in Paris." The well-accredited German poet quickly secured +admission to the circle of artists, journalists, politicians, and +reformers, and became a familiar figure on the boulevards. In October, +1834, be made the acquaintance of a young Frenchwoman, Crescence +Eugenie Mirat, or Mathilde, as he called her, and fell violently in +love with her. She was a woman of great personal attractiveness, but +entirely without education, frivolous, and passionate. They were soon +united; not for long, Heine thought, and he made efforts to escape +from her seductive charms, but ineffectually; and like Tannhaeuser, he +was drawn back to his Frau Venus with an attachment passing all +understanding. From December, 1835, Heine regarded her as his wife, +and in 1841 they were married. But Mathilde was no good housekeeper; +Heine was frequently in financial straits; he quarreled with his +relatives, as well as with literary adversaries in Germany and +France; and only after considerable negotiation was peace declared, +and the continuation of a regular allowance arranged with Uncle +Salomon. + +[Illustration: HEINRICH HEINE E. HADER] + +Moreover, Heine's health was undermined. In the latter thirties he +suffered often from headaches and afflictions of the eyes; in the +middle of the forties paralysis of the spinal cord began to manifest +itself; and for the last ten years of his life he was a hopelessly +stricken invalid, finally doomed for five years to that "mattress +grave" which his fortitude no less than his woeful humor has +pathetically glorified. His wife cared for him dutifully, he was +visited by many distinguished men of letters, and in 1855 a +ministering angel came to him in the person of Elise von Krinitz +("Camille Selden") whom he called "_Die Mouche_" and for whom he wrote +his last poem, _The Passion Flower_, a kind of apology for his life. + +Meantime contentions, tribulations, and a wasting frame seemed only to +sharpen the wits of the indomitable warrior. _New Songs_ (1844) +contains, along with negligible cynical pieces, a number of love songs +no whit inferior to those of the _Book of Songs_, romances, and +scorching political satires. The _Romanzero_ (1851) is not unfairly +represented by such a masterpiece as _The Battlefield of Hastings_. +And from this last period we have two quasi-epic poems: _Atta Troll_ +(1847; written in 1842) and _Germany_ (1844), the fruit of the first +of Heine's two trips across the Rhine. + +Historically and poetically, _Atta Troll_ is one of the most +remarkable of Heine's works. He calls it _Das letzte freie Waldlied +der Romantik_ ("The last free forest-song of romanticism.") Having for +its principal scene the most romantic spot in Europe, the valley of +Roncesvaux, and for its principal character a dancing bear, the +impersonation of those good characters and talentless men who, in the +early forties, endeavored to translate the prose of Young Germany into +poetry, the poem flies to the merriest, maddest height of romanticism +in order by the aid of magic to kill the bear and therewith the vogue +of poetry degraded to practical purposes. Heine knew whereof he +spoke; for he had himself been a mad romanticist, a Young German, and +a political poet; and he was a true prophet; for, though he did not +himself enter the promised land, he lived to see, in the more refined +romanticism of the Munich School and the poetic realism of Hebbel and +Ludwig, the dawn of a new day in the history of German literature. + +Heine did not enter the promised land. Neither can we truthfully say +that he saw it as it was destined to be. His eye was on the present, +and in the present he more clearly discerned what ought not to be than +what gave promise of a better future. In the war for the liberation of +humanity he professed to be, and he was, a brave soldier; but he +lacked the soldier's prime requisite, discipline. He never took a +city, because he could not rule his spirit. Democracy was inscribed +upon his banner, sympathy for the disenfranchised bound him to it, but +not that charity which seeketh not her own, nor the loyalty that +abides the day when imperfection shall become perfection. Sarcasm was +his weapon, ridicule his plan of campaign, and destruction his only +accomplishment. + +We shall not say that the things destroyed by Heine deserved a better +fate. We shall not think of him either as a leader or as a follower in +a great national movement. He was not the one man of his generation +through whom the national consciousness, even national discontent, +found expression; he was the man whose self-expressions aroused the +widest interest and touched the tenderest chords. To be called perhaps +an alien, and certainly no monumental German character, Heine +nevertheless made use, with consummate artistry, of the fulness of +German culture at a time when many of the after-born staggered under +the weight of a heritage greater than they could bear. + +[Illustration: THE LORELEI FOUNTAIN In NEW YORK BY HERTER] + + + + +HEINRICH HEINE + + * * * * * + +DEDICATION[1] (1822) + + I have had dreams of wild love wildly nursed, + Of myrtles, mignonette, and silken tresses, + Of lips, whose blames belie the kiss that blesses, + Of dirge-like songs to dirge-like airs rehearsed. + + My dreams have paled and faded long ago, + Faded the very form they most adored, + Nothing is left me but what once I poured + Into pathetic verse with feverish glow. + + Thou, orphaned song, art left. Do thou, too, fade! + Go, seek that visioned form long lost in night, + And say from me--if you upon it light-- + With airy breath I greet that airy shade! + + * * * * * + +SONGS (1822) + +1 [2] + + Oh, fair cradle of my sorrow, + Oh, fair tomb of peace for me, + Oh, fair town, my last good-morrow, + Last farewell I say to thee! + + Fare thee well, thou threshold holy, + Where my lady's footsteps stir, + And that spot, still worshipped lowly, + Where mine eyes first looked on her! + + Had I but beheld thee never, + Thee, my bosom's beauteous queen, + Wretched now, and wretched ever, + Oh, I should not thus have been! + + Touch thy heart?--I would not dare that: + Ne'er did I thy love implore; + Might I only breathe the air that + Thou didst breathe, I asked no more. + + Yet I could not brook thy spurning, + Nor thy cruel words of scorn; + Madness in my brain is burning, + And my heart is sick and torn. + + So I go, downcast and dreary, + With my pilgrim staff to stray, + Till I lay my head aweary + In some cool grave far away. + + 2 [3] + + Cliff and castle quiver grayly + From the mirror of the Rhine + Where my little boat swims gaily; + Round her prow the ripples shine. + + Heart at ease I watch them thronging-- + Waves of gold with crisping crest, + Till awakes a half-lulled longing + Cherished deep within my breast. + + Temptingly the ripples greet me + Luring toward the gulf beneath, + Yet I know that should they meet me + They would drag me to my death. + + Lovely visage, treacherous bosom, + Guile beneath and smile above, + Stream, thy dimpling wavelet's blossom + Laughs as falsely as my love. + + 3[4] + + I despaired at first--believing + I should never bear it. Now + I have borne it--I have borne it. + Only never ask me How. + + * * * * * + +A LYRICAL INTERMEZZO (1822-23) + +1[5] + + 'Twas in the glorious month of May, + When all the buds were blowing, + I felt--ah me, how sweet it was!-- + Love in my heart a-growing. + + 'Twas in the glorious month of May, + When all the birds were quiring, + In burning words I told her all + My yearning, my aspiring. + +2[6] + + Where'er my bitter tear-drops fall, + The fairest flowers arise; + And into choirs of nightingales + Are turned my bosom's sighs. + + And wilt thou love me, thine shall be + The fairest flowers that spring, + And at thy window evermore + The nightingales shall sing. + +3[7] + + The rose and the lily, the moon and the dove, + Once loved I them all with a perfect love. + I love them no longer, I love alone + The Lovely, the Graceful, the Pure, the One + Who twines in one wreath all their beauty and love, + And rose is, and lily, and moon and dove. + +4[8] + + Dear, when I look into thine eyes, + My deepest sorrow straightway flies; + But when I kiss thy mouth, ah, then + No thought remains of bygone pain! + + And when I lean upon thy breast, + No dream of heaven could be more blest; + But, when thou say'st thou lovest me, + I fall to weeping bitterly. + +5[9] + + Thy face, that fair, sweet face I know, + I dreamed of it awhile ago; + It is an angel's face, so mild-- + And yet, so sadly pale, poor child! + + Only the lips are rosy bright, + But soon cold Death will kiss them white, + And quench the light of Paradise + That shines from out those earnest eyes. + +6[10] + + Lean close thy cheek against my cheek, + That our tears together may blend, love, + And press thy heart upon my heart, + That from both one flame may ascend, love! + +[Illustration: SPRING'S AWAKENING _From the Painting by Ludwig von +Hofmann._] + + And while in that flame so doubly bright + Our tears are falling and burning, + And while in my arms I clasp thee tight + I will die with love and yearning. + +7[11] + + I'll breathe my soul and its secret + In the lily's chalice white; + The lily shall thrill and reecho + A song of my heart's delight. + + The song shall quiver and tremble, + Even as did the kiss + That her rosy lips once gave me + In a moment of wondrous bliss. + +8[12] + + The stars have stood unmoving + Upon the heavenly plains + For ages, gazing each on each, + With all a lover's pains. + + They speak a noble language, + Copious and rich and strong; + Yet none of your greatest schoolmen + Can understand that tongue. + + But I have learnt it, and never + Can forget it for my part-- + For I used as my only grammar + The face of the joy of my heart. + +9[13] + + On the wings of song far sweeping, + Heart's dearest, with me thou'lt go + Away where the Ganges is creeping; + Its loveliest garden I know-- + + A garden where roses are burning + In the moonlight all silent there; + Where the lotus-flowers are yearning + For their sister beloved and fair. + + The violets titter, caressing, + Peeping up as the planets appear, + And the roses, their warm love confessing, + Whisper words, soft-perfumed, to each ear. + + And, gracefully lurking or leaping, + The gentle gazelles come round: + While afar, deep rushing and sweeping, + The waves of the Ganges sound. + + We'll lie there in slumber sinking + Neath the palm-trees by the stream, + Rapture and rest deep drinking, + Dreaming the happiest dream. + +10[14] + + The lotos flower is troubled + By the sun's too garish gleam, + She droops, and with folded petals + Awaiteth the night in a dream. + + 'Tis the moon has won her favor, + His light her spirit doth wake, + Her virgin bloom she unveileth + All gladly for his dear sake. + + Unfolding and glowing and shining + She yearns toward his cloudy height; + She trembles to tears and to perfume + With pain of her love's delight. + +[Illustration: FLOWER FANTASY _Train the Painting by Ludwig von +Hofmann._] + +11[15] + + The Rhine's bright wave serenely + Reflects as it passes by + Cologne that lifts her queenly + Cathedral towers on high. + + A picture hangs in the dome there, + On leather with gold bedight, + Whose beauty oft when I roam there + Sheds hope on my troubled night. + + For cherubs and flowers are wreathing + Our Lady with tender grace; + Her eyes, cheeks, and lips half-breathing + Resemble my loved one's face. + +12[16] + + I am not wroth, my own lost love, although + My heart is breaking--wroth I am not, no! + For all thou dost in diamonds blaze, no ray + Of light into thy heart's night finds its way. + + I saw thee in a dream. Oh, piteous sight! + I saw thy heart all empty, all in night; + I saw the serpent gnawing at thy heart; + I saw how wretched, O my love, thou art! + +13[17] + + When thou shalt lie, my darling, low + In the dark grave, where they hide thee, + Then down to thee I will surely go, + And nestle in beside thee. + + Wildly I'll kiss and clasp thee there, + Pale, cold, and silent lying; + Shout, shudder, weep in dumb despair, + Beside my dead love dying. + + The midnight calls, up rise the dead, + And dance in airy swarms there; + We twain quit not our earthly bed, + I lie wrapt in your arms there. + + Up rise the dead; the Judgment-day + To bliss or anguish calls them; + We twain lie on as before we lay, + And heed not what befalls them. + +14[18] + + A young man loved a maiden, + But she for another has sigh'd; + That other, he loves another, + And makes her at length his bride. + + The maiden marries, in anger, + The first adventurous wight + That chance may fling before her; + The youth is in piteous plight. + + The story is old as ages, + Yet happens again and again; + The last to whom it happen'd, + His heart is rent in twain. + +15[19] + + A lonely pine is standing + On the crest of a northern height; + He sleeps, and a snow-wrought mantle + Enshrouds him through the night. + + He's dreaming of a palm-tree + Afar in a tropic land, + That grieves alone in silence + 'Mid quivering leagues of sand. + +16[20] + + My love, we were sitting together + In a skiff, thou and I alone; + 'Twas night, very still was the weather, + Still the great sea we floated on. + + Fair isles in the moonlight were lying, + Like spirits, asleep in a trance; + Their strains of sweet music were sighing, + And the mists heaved in an eery dance. + + And ever, more sweet, the strains rose there, + The mists flitted lightly and free; + But we floated on with our woes there, + Forlorn on that wide, wide sea. + +17[21] + + I see thee nightly in dreams, my sweet, + Thine eyes the old welcome making, + And I fling me down at thy dear feet + With the cry of a heart that is breaking. + + Thou lookest at me in woful wise + With a smile so sad and holy, + And pearly tear-drops from thine eyes + Steal silently and slowly. + + Whispering a word, thou lay'st on my hair + A wreath with sad cypress shotten; + awake, the wreath is no longer there, + And the word I have forgotten. + + * * * * * + + + +SONNETS (1822) + +TO MY MOTHER + +1[22] + + I have been wont to bear my head on high, + Haughty and stern am I of mood and mien; + Yea, though a king should gaze on me, I ween, + I should not at his gaze cast down my eye. + But I will speak, dear Mother, candidly: + When most puffed up my haughty mood hath been, + At thy sweet presence, blissful and serene, + I feel the shudder of humility. + + Does thy soul all unknown my soul subdue, + Thy lofty soul that pierces all things through + And speeds on lightning wings to heaven's blue? + Or am I racked by what my memories tell + Of frequent deeds which caused thy heart to swell-- + That beauteous heart which loved me, ah! too well. + +2[23] + + With foolish fancy I deserted thee; + I fain would search the whole world through to learn + If in it I perchance could love discern, + That I might love embrace right lovingly. + I sought for love as far as eye could see, + My hands extending at each door in turn, + Begging them not my prayer for love to spurn-- + Cold hate alone they laughing gave to me. + And ever search'd I after love; yes, ever + Search'd after love, but love discover'd never, + And so I homeward went with troubled thought; + But thou wert there to welcome me again, + And, ah, what in thy dear eye floated then + That was the sweet love I so long had sought. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: POOR PETER _From the Painting by P. Grotjohann_] + + + + POOR PETER[24] (1822) + + 1 + + Grete and Hans come dancing by, + They shout for very glee; + Poor Peter stands all silently, + And white as chalk is he. + + Grete and Hans were wed this morn, + And shine in bright array; + But ah, poor Peter stands forlorn, + Dressed for a working-day. + + He mutters, as with wistful eyes + He gazes at them still: + "'Twere easy--were I not too wise-- + To do myself some ill...." + + 2 + + "An aching sorrow fills my breast, + My heart is like to break; + It leaves me neither peace nor rest, + And all for Grete's sake. + + "It drives me to her side, as though + She still could comfort me; + But in her eyes there's something now + That makes me turn and flee. + + "I climb the highest hilltop where + I am at least alone; + And standing in the stillness there + I weep and make my moan." + + 3 + + Poor Peter wanders slowly by; + So pale is he, so dull and shy, + The very neighbors in the street + Turn round to gaze, when him they meet. + + The maids speak low: "He looks, I ween, + As though the grave his bed had been." + Ah no, good maids, ye should have said + "The grave will soon become his bed." + + He lost his sweetheart--so, may be, + The grave is best for such as he; + There he may sleep the years away, + And rest until the Judgment-day. + + * * * * * + +THE TWO GRENADIERS[25] (1822) + + To France were traveling two grenadiers, + From prison in Russia returning, + And when they came to the German frontiers, + They hung down their heads in mourning. + + There came the heart-breaking news to their ears + That France was by fortune forsaken; + Scattered and slain were her brave grenadiers, + And Napoleon, Napoleon was taken. + + Then wept together those two grenadiers + O'er their country's departed glory; + "Woe's me," cried one, in the midst of his tears, + "My old wound--how it burns at the story!" + + The other said: "The end has come, + What avails any longer living + Yet have I a wife and child at home, + For an absent father grieving. + + "Who cares for wife? Who cares for child? + Dearer thoughts in my bosom awaken; + Go beg, wife and child, when with hunger wild, + For Napoleon, Napoleon is taken! + + "Oh, grant me, brother, my only prayer, + When death my eyes is closing: + Take me to France, and bury me there; + In France be my ashes reposing. + + "This cross of the Legion of Honor bright, + Let it lie near my heart, upon me; + Give me my musket in my hand, + And gird my sabre on me. + + "So will I lie, and arise no more, + My watch like a sentinel keeping, + Till I hear the cannon's thundering roar, + And the squadrons above me sweeping. + + "Then the Emperor comes! and his banners wave, + With their eagles o'er him bending, + And I will come forth, all in arms, from my grave, + Napoleon, Napoleon attending!" + +[Illustration: THE TWO GRENADIERS _From the Painting by P. Grotjohann_] + + * * * * * + +BELSHAZZAR[26] (1822) + + To midnight now the night drew on; + In slumber deep lay Babylon. + + The King's house only was all aflare, + For the King's wild crew were at revel there. + + Up there in the King's own banquet hall, + Belshazzar held royal festival. + + The satraps were marshaled in glittering line + And emptied their beakers of sparkling wine. + + The beakers they clinked, and the satraps' hurras + in the ears of the stiff-necked King rang his praise. + + The King's hot cheeks were with revel dyed, + The wine made swell his heart with pride. + + Blind madness his haughty stomach spurred, + And he slandered the Godhead with sinful word, + + And strutting in pride he blasphemed, the crowd + Of servile courtiers applauding loud. + + The King commanded with haughty stare; + The slave was gone, and again was there. + + Much wealth of gold on his head bare he; + 'Twas reft from Jehovah's sanctuary. + + And the King took hold of a sacred cup + With his impious hand, and they filled it up; + + And he drank to the bottom in one deep draught, + And loud, the foam on his lips, he laughed: + + "Jehovah! Thy glories I spit upon; + I am the King of Babylon!" + + But scarce had the awful words been said + When the King's heart withered with secret dread. + + The boisterous laughter was stifled all, + And corpselike still did wax the hall; + + Lo! lo! on the whited wall there came + The likeness of a man's hand in flame, + + And wrote, and wrote, in letters of flame, + And wrote and vanished, and no more came. + + The King stark-staring sat, a-quail, + With knees a-knocking, and face death-pale, + + The satraps' blood ran cold--none stirred; + They sat like statues, without a word. + + The Magians came; but none of them all + Could read those letters of flame on the wall. + + But in that same night of his vaunting vain + By his satraps' hand was Belshazzar slain. + + * * * * * + +THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR[27] (1823) + +1 + + The mother stood at the window; + Her son lay in bed, alas! + "Will you not get up, dear William, + To see the procession pass?" + + "O mother, I am so ailing, + I neither can hear nor see; + I think of my poor dead Gretchen, + And my heart grows faint in me." + + "Get up, we will go to Kevlaar; + Your book and your rosary take; + The Mother of God will heal you, + And cure your heart of its ache." + + The Church's banners are waving, + They are chanting a hymn divine; + 'Tis at Koeln is that procession, + At Koeln upon the Rhine. + + With the throng the mother follows; + Her son she leads with her; and now + They both of them sing in the chorus, + "Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!" + +2 + + The Mother of God at Kevlaar + Is drest in her richest array; + She has many a cure on hand there, + Many sick folk come to her today. + + And her, for their votive offerings, + The suffering sick folk greet + With limbs that in wax are molded, + Many waxen hands and feet. + + And whoso a wax hand offers, + His hand is healed of its sore; + And whoso a wax foot offers, + His foot it will pain him no more. + + To Kevlaar went many on crutches + Who now on the tight-rope bound, + And many play now on the fiddle + Had there not one finger sound. + + The mother she took a wax taper, + And of it a heart she makes + "Give that to the Mother of Jesus, + She will cure thee of all thy aches." + + With a sigh her son took the wax heart, + He went to the shrine with a sigh; + His words from his heart trickle sadly, + As trickle the tears from his eye. + + "Thou blest above all that are blest, + Thou virgin unspotted divine, + Thou Queen of the Heavens, before thee + I lay all my anguish and pine. + + "I lived with my mother at Koeln, + At Koeln in the town that is there, + The town that has hundreds many + Of chapels and churches fair. + + "And Gretchen she lived there near us, + But now she is dead, well-a-day! + O Mary! a wax heart I bring thee, + Heal thou my heart's wound, I pray! + + "Heal thou my heart of its anguish, + And early and late, I vow, + With its whole strength to pray and to sing, too, + 'Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!'" + +3 + + The suffering son and his mother + In their little bed-chamber slept; + Then the Mother of God came softly, + And close to the sleepers crept. + + She bent down over the sick one, + And softly her hand did lay + On his heart, with a smile so tender, + And presently vanished away. + + The mother sees all in her dreaming, + And other things too she marked; + Then up from her slumber she wakened, + So loudly the town dogs barked. + + There lay her son, to his full length + Stretched out, and he was dead; + And the light on his pale cheek flitted + Of the morning's dawning red. + + She folded her hands together, + She felt as she knew not how, + And softly she sang and devoutly, + "Ever honored, O Mary, be thou!" + + * * * * * + +THE RETURN HOME (1823-24) + +1[28] + + Once upon my life's dark pathway + Gleamed a phantom of delight; + Now that phantom fair has vanished, + I am wholly wrapt in night. + + Children in the dark, they suffer + At their heart a spasm of fear; + And, their inward pain to deaden, + Sing aloud, that all may hear. + + I, a madcap child, now childlike + In the dark to sing am fain; + If my song be not delightsome, + It at least has eased my pain. + +2[29] + + We sat at the fisherman's cottage, + And gazed upon the sea; + Then came the mists of evening, + And rose up silently. + + The lights within the lighthouse + Were kindled one by one, + We saw still a ship in the distance + On the dim horizon alone. + + We spoke of tempest and shipwreck, + Of sailors and of their life, + And how 'twixt clouds and billows + They're tossed, 'twixt joy and strife. + + We spoke of distant countries + From North to South that range, + Of strange fantastic nations, + And their customs quaint and strange. + + The Ganges is flooded with splendor, + And perfumes waft through the air, + And gentle people are kneeling + To Lotos flowers fair. + + In Lapland the people are dirty, + Flat-headed, large-mouthed, and small; + They squat round the fire and, frying + Their fishes, they shout and they squall. + + The girls all gravely listened, + Not a word was spoken at last; + The ship we could see no longer, + Darkness was settling so fast. + +3[30] + + You lovely fisher-maiden, + Bring now the boat to land; + Come here and sit beside me, + We'll prattle hand in hand. + + Your head lay on my bosom, + Nor be afraid of me; + Do you not trust all fearless + Daily the great wild sea? + + My heart is like the sea, dear, + Has storm, and ebb, and flow, + And many purest pearl-gems + Within its dim depth glow. + +4[31] + + My child, we were two children, + Small, merry by childhood's law; + We used to creep to the henhouse, + And hide ourselves in the straw. + + We crowed like cocks, and whenever + The passers near us drew-- + "Cock-a-doodle!" They thought + 'Twas a real cock that crew. + + The boxes about our courtyard + We carpeted to our mind, + And lived there both together-- + Kept house in a noble kind. + + The neighbor's old cat often + Came to pay us a visit; + We made her a bow and courtesy, + Each with a compliment in it. + + After her health we asked, + Our care and regard to evince-- + (We have made the very same speeches + To many an old cat since). + + We also sat and wisely + Discoursed, as old folks do, + Complaining how all went better + In those good old times we knew-- + + How love, and truth, and believing + Had left the world to itself, + And how so dear was the coffee, + And how so rare was the pelf. + + The children's games are over, + The rest is over with youth-- + The world, the good games, the good times, + The belief, and the love, and the truth. + +5[32] + + E'en as a lovely flower, + So fair, so pure thou art; + I gaze on thee, and sadness + Comes stealing o'er my heart. + + My hands I fain had folded + Upon thy soft brown hair, + Praying that God may keep thee + So lovely, pure, and fair. + +6[33] + + I would that my love and its sadness + Might a single word convey, + The joyous breezes should bear it, + And merrily waft it away. + + They should waft it to thee, beloved, + This soft and wailful word, + At every hour thou shouldst hear it, + Where'er thou art 'twould be heard. + + And when in the night's first slumber + Thine eyes scarce closing seem, + Still should my word pursue thee + Into thy deepest dream. + +7[34] + + The shades of the summer evening lie + On the forest and meadows green; + The golden moon shines in the azure sky + Through balm-breathing air serene. + + The cricket is chirping the brooklet near, + In the water a something stirs, + And the wanderer can in the stillness hear + A plash and a sigh through the furze. + + There all by herself the fairy bright + Is bathing down in the stream; + Her arms and throat, bewitching and white, + In the moonshine glance and gleam. + +8[35] + + I know not what evil is coming, + But my heart feels sad and cold; + A song in my head keeps humming, + A tale from the times of old. + + The air is fresh and it darkles, + And smoothly flows the Rhine; + The peak of the mountain sparkles + In the fading sunset-shine. + + The loveliest wonderful maiden + On high is sitting there, + With golden jewels braiden, + And she combs her golden hair. + + With a golden comb sits combing, + And ever the while sings she + A marvelous song through the gloaming + Of magical melody. + + It hath caught the boatman, and bound him + In the spell of a wild, sad love; + He sees not the rocks around him, + He sees only her above. + + The waves through the pass keep swinging, + But boatman or boat is none; + And this with her mighty singing + The Lorelei hath done. + +[Illustration: ROCKY COAST _From the Painting by Ludwig von Hofmann._] + + * * * * * + +TWILIGHT[36] (1825-26) + + By the dim sea-shore + Lonely I sat, and thought-afflicted. + The sun sank low, and sinking he shed + Rose and vermilion upon the waters, + And the white foaming waves, + Urged on by the tide, + Foamed and murmured yet nearer and nearer-- + A curious jumble of whispering and wailing, + A soft rippling laughter and sobbing and sighing, + And in between all a low lullaby singing. + Methought I heard ancient forgotten legends, + The world-old sweet stories, + Which once, as a boy, + I heard from my playmates, + When, of a summer's evening, + We crouched down to tell stories + On the stones of the doorstep, + With small listening hearts, + And bright curious eyes; + While the big grown-up girls + Were sitting opposite + At flowery and fragrant windows, + Their rosy faces + Smiling and moonshine-illumined. + + * * * * * + +HAIL TO THE SEA[37] (1825-26) + + Thalatta! Thalatta! + Hail to thee, thou eternal sea! + Hail to thee, ten thousand times, hail! + With rejoicing heart + I bid thee welcome, + As once, long ago, did welcome thee + Ten thousand Greek hearts-- + Hardship-battling, homesick-yearning, + World-renowned Greek hearts. + + The billows surged, + They foamed and murmured, + The sun poured down, as in haste, + Flickering ripples of rosy light; + Long strings of frightened sea-gulls + Flutter away shrill screaming; + War-horses trample, and shields clash loudly, + And far resounds the triumphant cry: + Thalatta! Thalatta! + + Hail to thee, thou eternal sea! + Like accents of home thy waters are whispering, + And dreams of childhood lustrous I see + Through thy limpid and crystalline wave, + Calling to mind the dear old memories + Of dear and delightful toys, + Of all the glittering Christmas presents, + Of all the red-branched forests of coral, + The pearls, the goldfish and bright-colored shells, + Which thou dost hide mysteriously + Deep down in thy clear house of crystal. + + Oh, how have I languished in dreary exile! + Like unto a withered flower + In the botanist's capsule of tin, + My heart lay dead in my breast. + Methought I was prisoned a long sad winter, + A sick man kept in a darkened chamber; + And now I suddenly leave it, + And outside meets me the dazzling Spring, + Tenderly verdant and sun-awakened; + And rustling trees shed snowy petals, + And tender young flowers gaze on me + With their bright fragrant eyes, + And the air is full of laughter and gladness, + And rich with the breath of blossoms, + And in the blue sky the birds are singing-- + Thalatta! Thalatta! + + Oh, my brave Anabasis-heart! + How often, ah! how sadly often + Wast thou pressed hard by the North's fair Barbarians! + From large and conquering eyes + They shot forth burning arrows; + With crooked words as sharp as a rapier + They threatened to pierce my bosom; + With cuneiform angular missives they battered + My poor stunned brains; + In vain I held out my shield for protection, + The arrows hissed and the blows rained down, + And hard pressed I was pushed to the sea + By the North's fair Barbarians-- + And, breathing freely, I greet the sea, + The sea my deliverer, the sea my friend-- + Thalatta! Thalatta! + +[Illustration: PLAY OF THE WAVES _From the Painting by Arnold Boecklin_] + + * * * * * + +IN THE HARBOR[38] (1825-26) + + Happy is he who hath reached the safe harbor, + Leaving behind him the stormy wild ocean, + And now sits cosy and warm + In the good old Town-Cellar of Bremen. + + How sweet and homelike the world is reflected, + In the chalice green of Rhinewine Rummer. + And how the dancing microcosm + Sunnily glides down the thirsty throat! + Everything I behold in the glass-- + History, old and new, of the nations, + Both Turks and Greeks, and Hegel and Gans, + Forests of citron and big reviews, + Berlin and Shilda, and Tunis and Hamburg; + But, above all, thy image, Beloved, + And thy dear little head on a gold-ground of Rhenish! + + Oh, how fair, how fair art thou, Dearest! + Thou art as fair as the rose! + Not like the Rose of Shiras, + That bride of the nightingale, sung by Hafis, + Not like the Rose of Sharon, + That mystic red rose, exalted by prophets-- + Thou art like the "Rose, of the Bremen Town-Cellar," + Which is the Rose of Roses; + The older it grows the sweeter it blossoms, + And its breath divine it hath all entranced me, + It hath inspired and kindled my soul; + And had not the Town-Cellar Master gripped me + With firm grip and steady, + I should have stumbled! + + That excellent man! We sat together + And drank like brothers; + We spoke of wonderful mystic things, + We sighed and sank in each other's arms, + And me to the faith of love he converted; + I drank to the health of my bitterest foes, + And I forgave all bad poets sincerely, + Even as I may one day be forgiven; + + I wept with devotion, and at length + The doors of salvation were opened unto me, + Where the sacred Vats, the twelve Apostles, + Silently preach, yet oh, so plainly, + Unto all nations. + + These be men forsooth! + Of humble exterior, in jackets of wood, + Yet within they are fairer and more enlightened + Than all the Temple's proud Levites, + Or the courtiers and followers of Herod, + Though decked out in gold and in purple; + Have I not constantly said: + Not with the herd of common low people, + But in the best and politest of circles + The King of Heaven was sure to dwell! + + Hallelujah! How lovely the whisper + Of Bethel's palm-trees! + How fragrant the myrtle-trees of Hebron! + How sings the Jordan and reels with joy! + My immortal spirit likewise is reeling, + And I reel in company, and, joyously reeling, + Leads me upstairs and into the daylight + That excellent Town-Cellar Master of Bremen. + + Thou excellent Town-Cellar Master of Bremen! + Dost see on the housetops the little angels + Sitting aloft, all tipsy and singing? + The burning sun up yonder + Is but a fiery and drunken nose-- + The Universe Spirit's red nose; + And round the Universe Spirit's red nose + Reels the whole drunken world. + + * * * * * + +A NEW SPRING (1831) + +1[39] + + Soft and gently through my soul + Sweetest bells are ringing, + Speed you forth, my little song, + Of springtime blithely singing! + + Speed you onward to a house + Where sweet flowers are fleeting! + If, perchance, a rose you see, + Say, I send her greeting! + + 2[40] + + Thy deep blue eyes enchant me, + So lovingly they glow; + My gazing soul grows dreamy, + My words come strange and slow. + + Thy deep blue eyes enchant me + Wherever I may go: + An ocean of azure fancies + O'erwhelms me with its flow. + + 3[41] + + Was once an ancient monarch, + Heavy his heart, his locks were gray, + This poor and aged monarch + Took a wife so young and gay. + + Was once a page-boy handsome, + With lightsome heart and curly hair, + The silken train he carried + Of the queen so young and fair. + + Dost know the old, old story? + It sounds so sweet, so sad to tell-- + Both were obliged to perish, + They loved each other too well. + + * * * * * + +ABROAD[42] (1834) + + Oh I had once a beauteous Fatherland! + High used to seem + The oak--so high!--the violets nodded kind-- + It was a dream. + + In German I was kissed, in German told + (You scarce would deem + How sweetly rang the words): "I love thee well!--" + It was a dream. + + * * * * * + +THE SPHINX[43] (1839) + + It is the fairy forest old, + With lime-tree blossoms scented! + The moonshine with its mystic light + My soul and sense enchanted. + + On, on I roamed, and, as I went, + Sweet music o'er me rose there; + It is the nightingale--she sings + Of love and lovers' woes there. + + She sings of love and lovers' woes, + Hearts blest, and hearts forsaken: + So sad is her mirth, so glad her sob, + Dreams long forgot awaken. + + Still on I roamed, and, as I went, + I saw before me lowering + On a great wide lawn a stately pile, + With gables peaked and towering. + + Closed were its windows, everywhere + A hush, a gloom, past telling; + It seemed as though silent Death within + These empty halls were dwelling. + + A Sphinx lay there before the door, + Half-brutish and half-human, + A lioness in trunk and claws, + In head and breasts a woman. + + A lovely woman! The pale cheek + Spoke of desires that wasted; + The hushed lips curved into a smile, + That wooed them to be tasted. + + The nightingale so sweetly sang, + I yielded to their wooing; + And as I kissed that winning face, + I sealed my own undoing. + + The marble image thrilled with life, + The stone began to quiver; + She drank my kisses' burning flame + With fierce convulsive shiver. + + She almost drank my breath away; + And, to her passion bending, + She clasped me close, with her lion claws + My hapless body rending. + + Delicious torture, rapturous pang! + The pain, the bliss, unbounded! + Her lips, their kiss was heaven to me, + Her claws, oh, how they wounded. + + The nightingale sang: "O beauteous Sphinx! + O love, love! say, why this is, + That with the anguish of death itself + Thou minglest all thy blisses? + + "Oh beauteous Sphinx, oh, answer me, + That riddle strange unloosing! + For many, many thousand years + Have I on it been musing!" + + +GERMANY[44] (1842) + + Germany's still a little child, + But he's nursed by the sun, though tender; + He is not suckled on soothing milk, + But on flames of burning splendor. + + One grows apace on such a diet; + It fires the blood from languor. + Ye neighbors' children, have a care + This urchin how ye anger! + + He is an awkward infant giant; + The oak by the roots uptearing, + He'll beat you till your backs are sore, + And crack your crowns for daring. + + He is like Siegfried, the noble child, + That song-and-saga wonder; + Who, when his fabled sword was forged, + His anvil cleft in sunder! + + To you, who will our Dragon slay, + Shall Siegfried's strength be given. + Hurrah! how joyfully your nurse + Will laugh on you from heaven! + + The Dragon's hoard of royal gems + You'll win, with none to share it. + Hurrah! how bright the golden crown + Will sparkle when you wear it! + + * * * * * + +ENFANT PERDU[45] (1851) + + In Freedom's War, of "Thirty Years" and more, + A lonely outpost have I held--in vain! + With no triumphant hope or prize in store, + Without a thought to see my home again. + + I watched both day and night; I could not sleep + Like my well-tented comrades far behind, + Though near enough to let their snoring keep + A friend awake, if e'er to doze inclined. + + And thus, when solitude my spirits shook, + Or fear--for all but fools know fear sometimes-- + To rouse myself and them, I piped and took + A gay revenge in all my wanton rhymes. + + Yes! there I stood, my musket always ready, + And when some sneaking rascal showed his head, + My eye was vigilant, my aim was steady, + And gave his brains an extra dose of lead. + + But war and justice have far different laws, + And worthless acts are often done right well; + The rascals' shots were better than their cause, + And I was hit--and hit again, and fell! + + That outpost is abandoned; while the one + Lies in the dust, the rest in troops depart; + Unconquered--I have done what could be done, + With sword unbroken, and with broken heart. + + * * * * * + +THE BATTLEFIELD OF HASTINGS[46] (1855) + + Deeply the Abbot of Waltham sighed + When he heard the news of woe: + How King Harold had come to a pitiful end, + And on Hastings field lay low. + + Asgod and Ailrik, two of his monks, + On the mission drear he sped + To search for the corse on the battle-plain + Among the bloody dead. + + The monks arose and went sadly forth, + And returned as heavy-hearted. + "O Father, the world's a bitter world, + And evil days have started. + + "For fallen, alack! is the better man; + The Bastard has won, and knaves + And scutcheoned thieves divide the land, + And make the freemen slaves. + + "The veriest rascals from Normandy, + In Britain are lords and sirs. + I saw a tailor from Bayeux ride + With a pair of golden spurs. + + "O woe to all who are Saxon born! + Ye Saxon saints, beware! + For high in heaven though ye dwell, + Shame yet may be your share. + + "Ah, now we know what the comet meant + That rode, blood-red and dire, + Across the midnight firmament + This year on a broom of fire. + + "'Twas an evil star, and Hastings' field + Has fulfilled the omen dread. + We went upon the battle-plain, + And sought among the dead. + + "While still there lingered any hope + We sought, but sought in vain; + King Harold's corse we could not find + Among the bloody slain." + + Asgod and Ailrik spake and ceased. + The Abbot wrung his hands. + Awhile he pondered, then he sighed, + "Now mark ye my commands. + + "By the stone of the bard at Grendelfield, + Just midway through the wood, + One, Edith of the Swan's Neck, dwells + In a hovel poor and rude. + + "They named her thus, because her neck + Was once as slim and white + As any swan's--when, long ago, + She was the king's delight. + + "He loved and kissed, forsook, forgot, + For such is the way of men. + Time runs his course with a rapid foot; + It is sixteen years since then. + + "To this woman, brethren, ye shall go, + And she will follow you fain + To the battle-field; the woman's eye + Will not seek the king in vain. + + "Thereafter to Waltham Abbey here + His body ye shall bring, + That Christian burial he may have, + While for his soul we sing." + + The messengers reached the hut in the wood + At the hour of midnight drear. + "Wake, Edith of the Swan's Neck, rise + And follow without fear. + + "The Duke of Normandy has won + The battle, to our bane. + On the field of Hastings, where he fought, + The king is lying slain. + + "Arise and come with us; we seek + His body among the dead. + To Waltham Abbey it shall be borne. + 'Twas thus our Abbot said." + + The woman arose and girded her gown, + And silently went behind + The hurrying monks. Her grizzly hair + Streamed wildly on the wind. + + Barefoot through bog and bush and briar + She followed and did not stay, + Till Hastings and the cliffs of chalk + They saw at dawn of day. + + The mist, that like a sheet of white + The field of battle cloaked, + Melted anon; with hideous din + The daws flew up and croaked. + + In thousands on the bloody plain + Lay strewn the piteous corses, + Wounded and torn and maimed and stripped, + Among the fallen horses. + + The woman stopped not for the blood; + She waded barefoot through, + And from her fixed and staring eyes + The arrowy glances flew. + + Long, with the panting monks behind, + And pausing but to scare + The greedy ravens from their food, + She searched with eager care. + + She searched and toiled the livelong day, + Until the night was nigh; + Then sudden from her breast there burst + A shrill and awful cry. + + For on the battle-field at last + His body she had found. + She kissed, without a tear or word, + The wan face on the ground. + + She kissed his brow, she kissed his mouth, + She clasped him close, and pressed + Her poor lips to the bloody wounds + That gaped upon his breast. + + His shoulder stark she kisses too, + When, searching, she discovers + Three little scars her teeth had made + When they were happy lovers. + + The monks had been and gotten boughs, + And of these boughs they made + A simple bier, whereon the corse + Of the fallen king was laid. + + To Waltham Abbey to his tomb + The king was thus removed; + And Edith of the Swan's Neck walked + By the body that she loved. + + She chanted litanies for his soul + With a childish, weird lament + That shuddered through the night. The monks + Prayed softly as they went. + + * * * * * + +THE ASRA[47] (1855) + + Every evening in the twilight, + To and fro beside the fountain + Where the waters whitely murmured, + Walked the Sultan's lovely daughter. + + And a youth, a slave, was standing + Every evening by the fountain + Where the waters whitely murmured; + And his cheek grew pale and paler. + + Till one eve the lovely princess + Paused and asked him on a sudden: + "I would know thy name and country; + I would know thy home and kindred." + + And the slave replied, "Mohammed + Is my name; my home is Yemen; + And my people are the Asras; + When they love, they love and die." + + * * * * * + +THE PASSION FLOWER[48] (1856) + + I dreamt that once upon a summer night + Beneath the pallid moonlight's eerie glimmer + I saw where, wrought in marble dimly bright, + A ruin of the Renaissance did shimmer. + + Yet here and there, in simple Doric form, + A pillar like some solitary giant + Rose from the mass, and, fearless of the storm, + Reared toward the firmament its head defiant. + + O'er all that place a heap of wreckage lay, + Triglyphs and pediments and carven portals, + With centaur, sphinx, chimera, satyrs gay-- + Figures of fabled monsters and of mortals. + + A marble-wrought sarcophagus reposed + Unharmed 'mid fragments of these fabled creatures; + Its lidless depth a dead man's form inclosed, + The pain-wrung face now calm with softened features. + + A group of straining caryatides + With steadfast neck the casket's weight supported, + Along both sides whereof there ran a frieze + Of chiseled figures, wondrous ill-assorted. + + First one might see where, decked in bright array, + A train of lewd Olympians proudly glided, + Then Adam and Dame Eve, not far away, + With fig-leaf aprons modestly provided. + + Next came the people of the Trojan war-- + Paris, Achilles, Helen, aged Nestor; + Moses and Aaron, too, with many more-- + As Judith, Holofernes, Haman, Esther. + + Such forms as Cupid's one could likewise see, + Phoebus Apollo, Vulcan, Lady Venus, + Pluto and Proserpine and Mercury, + God Bacchus and Priapus and Silenus. + + Among the rest of these stood Balaam's ass-- + A speaking likeness (if you will, a braying)-- + And Abraham's sacrifice, and there, alas! + Lot's daughters, too, their drunken sire betraying. + + Near by them danced the wanton Salome, + To whom John's head was carried in a charger; + Then followed Satan, writhing horribly, + And Peter with his keys--none e'er seemed larger + + Changing once more, the sculptor's cunning skill + Showed lustful Jove misusing his high power, + When as a swan he won fair Leda's will, + And conquered Danae in a golden shower. + + Here was Diana, leading to the chase + Her kilted nymphs, her hounds with eyeballs burning; + And here was Hercules in woman's dress, + His warlike hand the peaceful distaff turning. + + Not far from them frowned Sinai, bleak and wild, + Along whose slope lay Israel's nomad nation; + Next, one might see our Savior as a child + Amid the elders holding disputation. + + Thus were these opposites absurdly blent-- + The Grecian joy of living with the godly + Judean cast of thought!--while round them bent + The ivy's tendrils, intertwining oddly. + + But--wonderful to say!--while dreamily + I gazed thereon with glance returning often, + Sudden methought that I myself was he, + The dead man in the splendid marble coffin. + + Above the coffin by my head there grew + A flower for a symbol sweet and tragic, + Violet and sulphur-yellow was its hue, + It seemed to throb with love's mysterious magic. + + Tradition says, when Christ was crucified + On Calvary, that in that very hour + These petals with the Savior's blood were dyed, + And therefore is it named the passion-flower. + + The hue of blood, they say, its blossom wears, + And all the instruments of human malice + Used at the crucifixion still it bears + In miniature within its tiny chalice. + + Whatever to the Passion's rite belongs, + Each tool of torture here is represented + The crown of thorns, cup, nails and hammer, thongs, + The cross on which our Master was tormented. + + 'Twas such a flower at my tomb did stand, + Above my lifeless form in sorrow bending, + And, like a mourning woman, kissed my hand, + My brow and eyes, with silent grief contending. + + And then--O witchery of dreams most strange!-- + By some occult and sudden transformation + This flower to a woman's shape did change-- + 'Twas she I loved with soul-deep adoration! + + 'Twas thou in truth, my dearest, only thou; + I knew thee by thy kisses warm and tender. + No flower-lips thus softly touched my brow, + Such burning tears no flower's cup might render! + Mine eyes were shut, and yet my soul could see + Thy steadfast countenance divinely beaming, + As, calm with rapture, thou didst gaze on me, + Thy features in the spectral moonlight gleaming. + + We did not speak, and yet my heart could tell + The hidden thoughts that thrilled within thy bosom. + No chaste reserve in spoken words may dwell-- + With silence Love puts forth its purest blossom. + + A voiceless dialogue! one scarce might deem, + While mute we thus communed in tender fashion, + How time slipped by like some seraphic dream + Of night, all woven of joy and fear-sweet passion. + + Ah, never ask of us what then we said; + Ask what the glow-worm glimmers to the grasses, + Or what the wavelet murmurs in its bed, + Or what the west wind whispers as it passes. + + Ask what rich lights from carbuncles outstream, + What perfumed thoughts o'er rose and violet hover-- + But never ask what, in the moonlight's beam, + The sacred flower breathed to her dead lover. + + I cannot tell how long a time I lay, + Dreaming the ecstasy of joys Elysian, + Within my marble shrine. It fled away-- + The rapture of that calm untroubled vision. + + Death, with thy grave-deep stillness, thou art best, + Delight's full cup thy hand alone can proffer; + The war of passions, pleasure without rest-- + Such boons are all that vulgar life can offer. + + Alas! a sudden clamor put to flight + My bliss, and all my comfort rudely banished; + 'Twas such a screaming, ramping, raging fight + That mid the uproar straight my flower vanished. + + Then on all sides began a savage war + Of argument, with scolding and with jangling. + Some voices surely I had heard before-- + Why, 'twas my bas-reliefs had fall'n a-wrangling! + + Do old delusions haunt these marbles here, + And urge them on to frantic disputations? + The terror-striking shout of Pan rings clear, + While Moses hurls his stern denunciations. + + Alack! the wordy strife will have no end, + Beauty and Truth will ever be at variance, + A schism still the ranks of man will rend + Into two camps, the Hellenes and Barbarians. + + Both parties thus reviled and cursed away, + And none who heard could tell the why or whether, + Till Balaam's ass at last began to bray + And soon outbawled both gods and saints together. + + With strident-sobbing hee-haw, hee-haw there-- + His unremitting discords without number-- + That beast so nearly brought me to despair + That I cried out--and wakened from my slumber. + + * * * * * + + + + +THE JOURNEY TO THE HARZ[49] (1824) + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +"Nothing is permanent but change, nothing constant but death. Every +pulsation of the heart inflicts a wound, and life would be an endless +bleeding were it not for Poetry. She secures to us what Nature would +deny--a golden age without rust, a spring which never fades, cloudless +prosperity and eternal youth."--BOeRNE. + + Black dress coats and silken stockings, + Snowy ruffles frilled with art, + Gentle speeches and embraces-- + Oh, if they but held a heart! + + Held a heart within their bosom, + Warmed by love which truly glows; + Ah! I'm wearied with their chanting + Of imagined lovers' woes! + + I will climb upon the mountains, + Where the quiet cabin stands, + Where the wind blows freely o'er us, + Where the heart at ease expands. + + I will climb upon the mountains, + Where the sombre fir-trees grow; + Brooks are rustling, birds are singing, + And the wild clouds headlong go. + + Then farewell, ye polished ladies, + Polished men and polished hall! + I will climb upon the mountains, + Smiling down upon you all. + +The town of Goettingen, celebrated for its sausages and its University, +belongs to the King of Hanover, and contains nine hundred and +ninety-nine dwellings, divers churches, a lying-in hospital, an +observatory, a prison for students, a library, and a "Ratskeller," where +the beer is excellent. The stream which flows by the town is called the +Leine, and is used in summer for bathing, its waters being very cold, +and in more than one place it is so broad that Lueder was obliged to take +quite a run ere he could leap across. The town itself is beautiful, and +pleases most when one's back is turned to it. It must be very ancient, +for I well remember that five years ago, when I matriculated there (and +shortly after received notice to quit), it had already the same gray, +prim look, and was fully furnished with catch-polls, beadles, +dissertations, _thes dansants_, washerwomen, compendiums, roasted +pigeons, Guelphic orders, graduation coaches, pipe-heads, +court-councilors, law-councilors, expelling councilors, professors +ordinary and extraordinary. Many even assert that, at the time of the +Great Migrations, every German tribe left behind in the town a loosely +bound copy of itself in the person of one of its members, and that from +these descended all the Vandals, Frisians, Suabians, Teutons, Saxons, +Thuringians,[50] and others, who at the present day still abound in +Goettingen, where, separately distinguished by the color of their caps +and pipe-tassels, they may be seen straying singly or in hordes along +the Weender Street. They still fight their battles on the bloody arena +of the _Rasenmill, Ritschenkrug_, and _Bovden_, still preserve the mode +of life peculiar to their savage ancestors, and still, as at the time of +the migrations, are governed partly by their _Duces_, whom they call +"chief cocks," and partly by their primevally ancient law-book, known as +the _Comment_, which fully deserves a place among the _leges +barbarorum_. + +The inhabitants of Goettingen are generally divided into Students, +Professors, Philistines, and Cattle, the points of difference between +these castes being by no means strictly defined. The "Cattle" class is +the most important. I might be accused of prolixity should I here +enumerate the names of all the students and of all the regular and +irregular professors; besides, I do not just at present distinctly +remember the appellations of all the former gentlemen; while among the +professors are many who as yet have no name at all. The number of the +Goettingen "Philistines" must be as numerous as the sands (or, more +correctly speaking, as the mud) of the seashore; indeed, when I beheld +them of a morning, with their dirty faces and clean bills, planted +before the gate of the collegiate court of justice, I wondered greatly +that such an innumerable pack of rascals should ever have been created +by the Almighty. + +[Illustration: MARKET PLACE GOeTTINGEN] + + * * * * * + +It was as yet very early in the morning when I left Goettingen, and the +learned ----, beyond doubt, still lay in bed, dreaming as usual that he +wandered in a fair garden, amid the beds of which grew innumerable white +papers written over with citations. On these the sun shone cheerily, and +he plucked up several here and there and laboriously planted them in new +beds, while the sweetest songs of the nightingales rejoiced his old +heart. + +Before the Weender Gate I met two small native schoolboys, one of whom +was saying to the other, "I don't intend to keep company any more with +Theodore; he is a low blackguard, for yesterday he didn't even know the +genitive of _Mensa_." Insignificant as these words may appear, I still +regard them as entitled to be recorded--nay, I would even write them as +town-motto on the gate of Goettingen, for the young birds pipe as the old +ones sing, and the expression accurately indicates the narrow, petty +academic pride so characteristic of the "highly learned" Georgia +Augusta.[51] The fresh morning air blew over the highroad, the birds +sang cheerily, and, little by little, with the breeze and the birds, my +mind also became fresh and cheerful. Such refreshment was sorely needed +by one who had long been confined in the Pandect stable. Roman casuists +had covered my soul with gray cobwebs; my heart was as though jammed +between the iron paragraphs of selfish systems of jurisprudence; there +was an endless ringing in my ears of such sounds as "Tribonian, +Justinian, Hermogenian, and Blockheadian," and a sentimental brace of +lovers seated under a tree appeared to me like an edition of the _Corpus +Juris_ with closed clasps. The road began to take on a more lively +appearance. Milkmaids occasionally passed, as did also donkey-drivers +with their gray pupils. Beyond Weende I met the "Shepherd" and "Doris." +This is not the idyllic pair sung by Gessner, but the duly and +comfortably appointed university beadles, whose duty it is to keep watch +and ward so that no students fight duels in Bovden, and, above all, that +no new ideas (such as are generally obliged to remain in quarantine for +several decades outside of Goettingen) are smuggled in by speculative +private lecturers. Shepherd greeted me as one does a colleague, for he, +too, is an author, who has frequently mentioned my name in his +semi-annual writings. In addition to this, I may mention that when, as +was frequently the case, he came to cite me before the university court +and found me "not at home," he was always kind enough to write the +citation with chalk upon my chamber door. Occasionally a one-horse +vehicle rolled along, well packed with students, who were leaving for +the vacation or forever. + +In such a university town there is an endless coming and going. Every +three years beholds a new student-generation, forming an incessant human +tide, where one semester-wave succeeds another, and only the old +professors stand fast in the midst of this perpetual-motion flood, +immovable as the pyramids of Egypt. Only in these university pyramids no +treasures of wisdom are buried. + +From out the myrtle bushes, by Rauschenwasser, I saw two hopeful youths +appear ... singing charmingly the Rossinian lay of "Drink beer, pretty, +pretty 'Liza!" These sounds I continued to hear when far in the +distance, and after I had long lost sight of the amiable vocalists, as +their horses, which appeared to be gifted with characters of extreme +German deliberation, were spurred and lashed in a most excruciating +style. In no place is the skinning alive of horses carried to such an +extent as in Goettingen; and often, when I beheld some lame and sweating +hack, which, to earn the scraps of fodder which maintained his wretched +life, was obliged to endure the torment of some roaring blade, or draw a +whole wagon-load of students, I reflected: "Unfortunate beast! Most +certainly thy first ancestors, in some horse-paradise, did eat of +forbidden oats." + + * * * * * + +Beyond Noerten the sun flashed high in heaven. His intentions toward me +were evidently good, and he warmed my brain until all the unripe +thoughts which it contained came to full growth. The pleasant Sun Tavern +in Noerten is not to be despised, either; I stopped there and found +dinner ready. All the dishes were excellent and suited me far better +than the wearisome, academical courses of saltless, leathery dried fish +and cabbage _rechauffe_, which were served to me in Goettingen. After I +had somewhat appeased my appetite, I remarked in the same room of the +tavern a gentle man and two ladies, who were about to depart. The +cavalier was clad entirely in green; he even had on a pair of green +spectacles which cast a verdigris tinge upon his copper-red nose. The +gentleman's general appearance was like what we may presume King +Nebuchadnezzar's to have been in his later years, when, according to +tradition, he ate nothing but salad, like a beast of the forest. The +Green One requested me to recommend him to a hotel in Goettingen, and I +advised him, when there, to inquire of the first convenient student for +the Hotel de Bruebach. One lady was evidently his wife--an altogether +extensively constructed dame, gifted with a rubicund square mile of +countenance, with dimples in her cheeks which looked like spittoons for +cupids. A copious double chin appeared below, like an imperfect +continuation of the face, while her high-piled bosom, which was defended +by stiff points of lace and a many-cornered collar, as if by turrets and +bastions, reminded one of a fortress. Still, it is by no means certain +that this fortress would have resisted an ass laden with gold, any more +than did that of which Philip of Macedon spoke. The other lady, her +sister, seemed her extreme antitype. If the one were descended from +Pharaoh's fat kine, the other was as certainly derived from the lean. +Her face was but a mouth between two ears; her breast was as +inconsolably comfortless and dreary as the Lueneburger heath; while her +absolutely dried-up figure reminded one of a charity table for poor +theological students. Both ladies asked me, in a breath, if respectable +people lodged in the Hotel de Bruebach. I assented to this question with +a clear conscience, and as the charming trio drove away I waved my hand +to them many times from the window. The landlord of The Sun laughed, +however, in his sleeve, being probably aware that the Hotel de Bruebach +was a name bestowed by the students of Goettingen upon their university +prison. + +Beyond Nordheim mountain ridges begin to appear, and the traveler +occasionally meets with a picturesque eminence. The wayfarers whom I +encountered were principally peddlers, traveling to the Brunswick fair, +and among them there was a group of women, every one of whom bore on her +back an incredibly large cage nearly as high as a house, covered over +with white linen. In this cage were every variety of singing birds, +which continually chirped and sung, while their bearers merrily hopped +along and chattered together. It seemed droll thus to behold one bird +carrying others to market. + +The night was as dark as pitch when I entered Osterode. I had no +appetite for supper, and at once went to bed. I was as tired as a dog +and slept like a god. In my dreams I returned to Goettingen and found +myself in the library. I stood in a corner of the Hall of Jurisprudence, +turning over old dissertations, lost myself in reading, and, when I +finally looked up, remarked to my astonishment that it was night and +that the hall was illuminated by innumerable over-hanging crystal +chandeliers. The bell of the neighboring church struck twelve, the hall +doors slowly opened, and there entered a superb colossal female form, +reverentially accompanied by the members and hangers-on of the legal +faculty. The giantess, though advanced in years, retained in her +countenance traces of severe beauty, and her every glance indicated the +sublime Titaness, the mighty Themis. The sword and balance were +carelessly grasped in her right hand, while with the left she held a +roll of parchment. Two young _Doctores Juris_ bore the train of her +faded gray robe; by her right side the lean Court Councilor Rusticus, +the Lycurgus of Hanover, fluttered here and there like a zephyr, +declaiming extracts from his last hand-book of law, while on her left +her _cavalier servente_, the privy-councilor of Justice Cujacius, +hobbled gaily and gallantly along, constantly cracking legal jokes, +himself laughing so heartily at his own wit that even the serious +goddess often smiled and bent over him, exclaiming, as she tapped him on +the shoulder with the great parchment roll, "You little scamp, who begin +to trim the trees from the top!" All of the gentlemen who formed her +escort now drew nigh in turn, each having something to remark or jest +over, either a freshly worked-up miniature system, or a miserable little +hypothesis, or some similar abortion of their own insignificant brains. +Through the open door of the hall many strange gentlemen now entered, +who announced themselves as the remaining magnates of the illustrious +Order--mostly angular suspicious-looking fellows, who with extreme +complacency blazed away with their definitions and hair-splittings, +disputing over every scrap of a title to the title of a pandect. And +other forms continually flocked in, the forms of those who were learned +in law in the olden time--men in antiquated costume, with long +councilors' wigs and forgotten faces, who expressed themselves greatly +astonished that they, the widely famed of the previous century, should +not meet with special consideration; and these, after their manner, +joined in the general chattering and screaming, which, like ocean +breakers, became louder and madder around the mighty goddess, until she, +bursting with impatience, suddenly cried, in a tone of the most agonized +Titanic pain, "Silence! Silence! I hear the voice of the beloved +Prometheus. Mocking cunning and brute force are chaining the Innocent +One to the rock of martyrdom, and all your prattling and quarreling will +not allay his wounds or break his fetters!" So cried the goddess, and +rivulets of tears sprang from her eyes; the entire assembly howled as if +in the agonies of death, the ceiling of the hall burst asunder, the +books tumbled madly from their shelves. In vain did Muenchhausen step out +of his frame to call them to order; it only crashed and raged all the +more wildly. I sought refuge from this Bedlam broken loose in the Hall +of History, near that gracious spot where the holy images of the Apollo +Belvedere and the Venus de Medici stand near each other, and I knelt at +the feet of the Goddess of Beauty. In her glance I forgot all the wild +excitement from which I had escaped, my eyes drank in with intoxication +the symmetry and immortal loveliness of her infinitely blessed form; +Hellenic calm swept through my soul, while above my head Phoebus Apollo +poured forth, like heavenly blessings, the sweetest tones of his lyre. + +Awaking, I continued to hear a pleasant, musical sound. The flocks were +on their way to pasture, and their bells were tinkling. The blessed +golden sunlight shone through the window, illuminating the pictures on +the walls of my room. They were sketches from the War of Independence, +which faithfully portrayed what heroes we all were; further, there were +scenes representing executions on the guillotine, from the time of the +revolution under Louis XIV., and other similar decapitations which no +one could behold without thanking God that he lay quietly in bed +drinking excellent coffee, and with his head comfortably adjusted upon +neck and shoulders. + +After I had drunk my coffee, dressed myself, read the inscriptions upon +the window-panes, and settled my bill at the inn, I left Osterode. + +This town contains a certain quantity of houses and a given number of +inhabitants, among whom are divers and sundry souls, as may be +ascertained in detail from Gottschalk's "Pocket Guide-Book for Harz +Travelers." Ere I struck into the highway, I ascended the ruins of the +very ancient Osteroder Burg. They consisted merely of the half of a +great, thick-walled tower, which appeared to be fairly honeycombed by +time. The road to Clausthal led me again uphill, and from one of the +first eminences I looked back once more into the dale where Osterode +with its red roofs peeps out from among the green fir-woods, like a +moss-rose from amid its leaves. The sun cast a pleasant, tender light +over the whole scene. From this spot the imposing rear of the remaining +portion of the tower may be seen to advantage. + +There are many other ruined castles in this vicinity. That of +Hardenberg, near Noerten, is the most beautiful. Even when one has, as he +should, his heart on the left--that is, the liberal side--he cannot +banish all melancholy feeling on beholding the rocky nests of those +privileged birds of prey, who left to their effete descendants only +their fierce appetites. So it happened to me this morning. My heart +thawed gradually as I departed from Goettingen; I again became romantic, +and as I went on I made up this poem: + + Rise again, ye dreams forgotten; + Heart-gate, open to the sun! + Joys of song and tears of sorrow + Sweetly strange from thee shall run. + + I will rove the fir-tree forest, + Where the merry fountain springs, + Where the free, proud stags are wandering, + Where the thrush, my darling, sings. + + I will climb upon the mountains, + On the steep and rocky height, + Where the gray old castle ruins + Stand in rosy morning light. + + I will sit awhile reflecting + On the times long passed away, + Races which of old were famous, + Glories sunk in deep decay. + + Grows the grass upon the tilt-yard, + Where the all-victorious knight + Overcame the strongest champions, + Won the guerdon of the fight. + + O'er the balcony twines ivy, + Where the fairest gave the prize, + Him who all the rest had vanquished + Overcoming with her eyes. + + Both the victors, knight and lady, + Fell long since by Death's cold hand; + So the gray and withered scytheman + Lays the mightiest in the sand. + +After proceeding a little distance, I met with a traveling journeyman +who came from Brunswick, and who related to me that it was generally +believed in that city that their young Duke had been taken prisoner by +the Turks during his tour in the Holy Land, and could be ransomed only +by an enormous sum. The extensive travels of the Duke probably +originated this tale. The people at large still preserve that +traditional fable-loving train of ideas which is so pleasantly shown in +their "Duke Ernest." The narrator of this news was a tailor, a neat +little youth, but so thin that the stars might have shone through him as +through Ossian's misty ghosts. Altogether, he was made up of that +eccentric mixture of humor and melancholy peculiar to the German people. +This was especially expressed in the droll and affecting manner in which +he sang that extraordinary popular ballad, "A beetle sat upon the hedge, +_summ, summ!_" There is one fine thing about us Germans--no one is so +crazy but that he may find a crazier comrade who will understand him. +Only a German _can_ appreciate that song, and in the same breath laugh +and cry himself to death over it. On this occasion I also remarked the +depth to which the words of Goethe have penetrated the national life. My +lean comrade trilled occasionally as he went along--"Joyful and +sorrowful, thoughts are free!" Such a corruption of text is usual among +the multitude. He also sang a song in which "Lottie by the grave of +Werther" wept. The tailor ran over with sentimentalism in the words-- + + "Sadly by the rose-beds now I weep, + Where the late moon found us oft alone! + Moaning where the silver fountains sleep, + Once which whispered joy in every tone." + + * * * * * + +The hills here became steeper, the fir-woods below were like a green +sea, and white clouds above sailed along over the blue sky. The wildness +of the region was, as it were, tamed by its uniformity and the +simplicity of its elements. Nature, like a true poet, abhors abrupt +transitions. Clouds, however fantastically formed they may at times +appear, still have a white, or at least a subdued hue, harmoniously +corresponding with the blue heaven and the green earth; so that all the +colors of a landscape blend into one another like soft music, and every +glance at such a natural picture tranquilizes and reassures the soul. +The late Hofmann would have painted the clouds spotted and chequered. +And, like a great poet, Nature knows how to produce the greatest +effects with the most limited means. She has, after all, only a sun, +trees, flowers, water, and love to work with. Of course, if the latter +be lacking in the heart of the observer, the whole will, in all +probability, present but a poor appearance; the sun is then only so many +miles in diameter, the trees are good for firewood, the flowers are +classified according to their stamens, and the water is wet. + +A little boy who was gathering brushwood in the forest for his sick +uncle pointed out to me the village of Lerrbach, whose little huts with +gray roofs lie scattered along for over a mile through the valley. +"There," said he, "live idiots with goitres, and white negroes." By +white negroes the people mean "albinos." The little fellow lived on +terms of peculiar understanding with the trees, addressing them like old +acquaintances, while they in turn seemed by their waving and rustling to +return his salutations. He chirped like a thistle-finch; many birds +around answered his call, and, ere I was aware, he had disappeared amid +the thickets with his little bare feet and his bundle of brush. +"Children," thought I, "are younger than we; they can remember when they +were once trees or birds, and are consequently still able to understand +them. We of larger growth are, alas, too old for that, and carry about +in our heads too many sorrows and bad verses and too much legal lore." +But the time when it was otherwise recurred vividly to me as I entered +Clausthal. In this pretty little mountain town, which the traveler does +not behold until he stands directly before it, I arrived just as the +clock was striking twelve and the children came tumbling merrily out of +school. The little rogues, nearly all red-cheeked, blue-eyed, +flaxen-haired, sprang and shouted and awoke in me melancholy and +cheerful memories--how I once myself, as a little boy, sat all the +forenoon long in a gloomy Catholic cloister school in Duesseldorf, +without so much as daring to stand up, enduring meanwhile a terrible +amount of Latin, whipping, and geography, and how I too hurrahed and +rejoiced, beyond all measure when the old Franciscan clock at last +struck twelve. The children saw by my knapsack that I was a stranger, +and greeted me in the most hospitable manner. One of the boys told me +that they had just had a lesson in religion, and showed me the Royal +Hanoverian Catechism, from which they were questioned on Christianity. +This little book was very badly printed, so that I greatly feared that +the doctrines of faith made thereby but an unpleasant blotting-paper +sort of impression upon the children's minds. I was also shocked at +observing that the multiplication table--which surely seriously +contradicts the Holy Trinity--was printed on the last page of the +catechism, as it at once occurred to me that by this means the minds of +the children might, even in their earliest years, be led to the most +sinful skepticism. We Prussians are more intelligent, and, in our zeal +for converting those heathen who are familiar with arithmetic, take good +care not to print the multiplication table in the back of the catechism. + +I dined at The Crown, at Clausthal. My repast consisted of spring-green +parsley-soup, violet-blue cabbage, a pile of roast veal, which resembled +Chimborazo in miniature, and a sort of smoked herring, called +"Bueckings," from the inventor, William Buecking, who died in 1447, and +who, on account of the invention, was so greatly honored by Charles V. +that the great monarch in 1556 made a journey from Middleburg to +Bievlied in Zealand for the express purpose of visiting the grave of the +great man. How exquisitely such dishes taste when we are familiar with +their historical associations! + + * * * * * + +In the silver refinery, as has so frequently happened in life, I could +get no glimpse of the precious metal. In the mint I succeeded better, +and saw how money was made. Beyond this I have never been able to +advance. On such occasions mine has invariably been the spectator's +part, and I verily believe that, if it should rain dollars from heaven, +the coins would only knock holes in my head, while the children of +Israel would merrily gather up the silver manna. With feelings in which +comic reverence was blended with emotion, I beheld the new-born shining +dollars, took one in my hand as it came fresh from the stamp, and said +to it, "Young Dollar, what a destiny awaits thee! What a cause wilt thou +be of good and of evil! How thou wilt protect vice and patch up virtue! +How thou wilt be beloved and accursed! How thou wilt aid in debauchery, +pandering, lying, and murdering! How thou wilt restlessly roll along +through clean and dirty hands for centuries, until finally, laden with +tresspasses and weary with sin, thou wilt be gathered again unto thine +own, in the bosom of an Abraham, who will melt thee down, purify thee, +and form thee into a new and better being, perhaps an innocent little +tea-spoon, with which my own great-great-grandson will mash his +porridge." + +I will narrate in detail my visit to "Dorothea" and "Caroline," the two +principal Clausthaler mines, having found them very interesting. + +Half an hour away from the town are situated two large dingy buildings. +Here the traveler is transferred to the care of the miners. These men +wear dark and generally steel-blue colored jackets, of ample girth, +descending to the hips, with pantaloons of a similar hue, a leather +apron tied on behind, and a rimless green felt hat which resembles a +decapitated nine-pin. In such a garb, with the exception of the +"back-leather," the visitor is also clad, and a miner, his "leader," +after lighting his mine-lamp, conducts him to a gloomy entrance +resembling a chimney-hole, descends as far as the breast, gives him a +few directions relative to grasping the ladder, and requests him to +follow fearlessly. The affair is entirely devoid of danger, though it at +first appears quite otherwise to those unacquainted with the mysteries +of mining. Even the putting on of the dark convict-dress awakens very +peculiar sensations. Then one must clamber down on all fours, the dark +hole is so _very_ dark, and Lord only knows how long the ladder may be! +But we soon remark that this is not the only ladder descending into the +black eternity, for there are many, of from fifteen to twenty rounds +apiece, each standing upon a board capable of supporting a man, and from +which a new hole leads in turn to a new ladder. I first entered the +"Caroline," the dirtiest and most disagreeable Caroline with whom I ever +had the pleasure of becoming acquainted. The rounds of the ladders were +covered with wet mud. And from one ladder we descend to another with the +guide ever in advance, continually assuring us that there was no danger +so long as we held firmly to the rounds and did not look at our feet, +and that we must not for our lives tread on the side plank, where the +buzzing barrel-rope runs, and where two weeks ago a careless man was +knocked down, unfortunately breaking his neck by the fall. Far below is +a confused rustling and humming, and we continually bump against beams +and ropes which are in motion, winding up and raising barrels of broken +ore or of water. Occasionally we pass galleries hewn in the rock, called +"stulms," where the ore may be seen growing, and where some solitary +miner sits the livelong day, wearily hammering pieces from the walls. I +did not descend to those deepest depths where it is reported that the +people on the other side of the world, in America, may be heard crying, +"Hurrah for Lafayette!" Between ourselves, where I did go seemed to me +deep enough in all conscience; there was an endless roaring and +rattling, uncanny sounds of machinery, the rush of subterranean streams, +sickening clouds of ore-dust continually rising, water dripping on all +sides, and the miner's lamp gradually growing dimmer and dimmer. The +effect was really benumbing, I breathed with difficulty, and had trouble +in holding to the slippery rounds. It was not _fright_ which overpowered +me, but, oddly enough, down there in the depths, I remembered that a +year before, about the same time, I had been in a storm on the North +Sea, and I now felt that it would be an agreeable change could I feel +the rocking of the ship, hear the wind with its thunder-trumpet tones, +while amid its lulls sounded the hearty cry of the sailors, and all +above was freshly swept by God's own free air--yes, sir! Panting for +air, I rapidly climbed several dozens of ladders, and my guide led me +through a narrow and very long gallery toward the "Dorothea" mine. Here +it was airier and fresher, and the ladders were cleaner, though at the +same time longer and steeper, than in the "Caroline." I felt revived and +more cheerful, particularly as I again observed traces of human beings. +Far below I saw wandering, wavering lights; miners with their lamps came +upwards one by one with the greeting, "Good luck to you!" and, receiving +the same salutation from us, went onwards and upwards. Something like a +friendly and quiet, yet, at the same time, painful and enigmatical +recollection flitted across my mind as I met the deep glances and +earnest pale faces of these young and old men, mysteriously illuminated +by their lanterns, and thought how they had worked all day in lonely and +secret places in the mines, and how they now longed for the blessed +light of day and for the glances of wives and children. + +My guide himself was an absolutely honest, thoroughly loyal German +specimen. With inward joy he pointed out to me the "place" where the +Duke of Cambridge, when he visited the mines, dined with all his train, +and where the long wooden table yet stands; with the accompanying great +chair, made of ore, in which the Duke sat. "This is to remain as an +eternal memorial," said the good miner, and he related with enthusiasm +how many festivities had then taken place, how the entire "stulm" had +been adorned with lamps, flowers, and decorations of leaves; how a miner +boy had played on the cithern and sung; how the dear, delighted, fat +Duke had drained many healths, and what a number of miners (himself +especially) would cheerfully die for the dear, fat Duke, and for the +whole house of Hanover. I am moved to my very heart when I see loyalty +thus manifested in all its natural simplicity. It is such a beautiful +sentiment, and such a purely _German_ sentiment! Other people may be +wittier, more intelligent, and more agreeable, but none is so faithful +as the real German race. Did I not know that fidelity is as old as the +world, I would believe that a German heart had invented it. German +fidelity is no modern "Yours very truly," or "I remain your humble +servant." In your courts, ye German princes, ye should cause to be sung, +and sung again, the old ballad of _The Trusty Eckhart and the Base +Burgund_ who slew Eckhart's seven children, and still found him +faithful. Ye have the truest people in the world, and ye err when ye +deem that the old, intelligent, trusty hound has suddenly gone mad, and +snaps at your sacred calves! + +And, like German fidelity, the little mine-lamp has guided us +quietly and securely, without much flickering or flaring, through +the labyrinth of shafts and stulms. We ascend out of the gloomy +mountain-night--sunlight flashes around--"Good luck to you!" + +Most of the miners dwell in Clausthal, and in the adjoining small town +of Zellerfeld. I visited several of these brave fellows, observed their +little households, heard many of their songs, which they skilfully +accompany with their favorite instrument, the cithern, and listened to +old mining legends, and to their prayers which they are accustomed to +offer daily in company ere they descend the gloomy shaft; and many a +good prayer did I offer up with them! One old climber even thought that +I ought to remain among them, and become a man of the mines; but as I +took my leave notwithstanding, he gave me a message to his brother, who +dwelt near Goslar, and many kisses for his darling niece. + +Tranquil even to stagnation as the life of these people may appear, it +is, nevertheless, a real and vivid life. That ancient trembling crone +who sits behind the stove opposite the great clothes-press may have been +there for a quarter of a century, and all her thinking and feeling is, +beyond a doubt, intimately blended with every corner of the stove and +the carvings of the press. And clothes-press and stove _live_--for a +human being hath breathed into them a portion of her soul. + +It was only in such deeply contemplative life as this, in such "direct +relationship" between man and the things of the outer world, that the +German fairy tale could originate, the peculiarity of which consists in +the fact that in it not only animals and plants, but also objects +apparently inanimate, speak and act. To thoughtful harmless people in +the quiet homeliness of their lowly mountain cabins or forest huts, the +inner life of these objects was gradually revealed; they acquired a +necessary and consistent character, a sweet blending of fantastic humor +and purely human sentiment, and thus we find in the fairy tale--as +something marvelous and yet at the same time quite natural--the pin and +the needle wandering forth from the tailor's home and losing their way +in the dark; the straw and the coal seeking to cross the brook and +coming to grief; the dust-pan and broom quarreling and fighting on the +stairs. Thus the mirror, when interrogated, shows the image of the +fairest lady, and even drops of blood begin to utter obscure and fearful +words of the deepest compassion. And this is the reason why our life in +childhood is so infinitely significant, for then all things are of the +same importance, nothing escapes our attention, there is equality in +every impression; while, when more advanced in years, we must act with +design, busy ourselves more exclusively with particulars, carefully +exchange the pure gold of observation for the paper currency of book +definitions, and win in _breadth_ of life what we lost in depth. + +_Now,_ we are grown-up, respectable people, we often inhabit new +dwellings; the housemaid daily cleans them and changes at her will the +position of the furniture, which interests us but little, as it is +either new or may belong today to Jack, tomorrow to Isaac. Even our very +clothes are strange to us; we hardly know how many buttons there are on +the coat we wear--for we change our garments as often as possible, and +none of them remains deeply identified with our external or inner +history. We can hardly remember how that brown vest once looked, which +attracted so much laughter, and yet on the broad stripes of which the +dear hand of the loved one so gently rested! + +The old dame who sat behind the stove opposite the clothes-press wore a +flowered dress of some old-fashioned material, which had been the bridal +robe of her departed mother. Her great-grandson, a fair-haired boy, with +flashing eyes, clad in a miner's dress, sat at her feet and counted the +flowers on her dress. It may be that she has narrated to him many a +story connected with that dress--many serious and pretty stories, which +the boy will not readily forget, which will often recur to him when he, +a grown-up man, works alone in the midnight galleries of the "Caroline," +and which he in turn will narrate when the dear grandmother has long +been dead, and he himself, a silver-haired, tranquil old man, sits amid +the circle of _his_ grand-children behind the stove, opposite the great +clothes-press. + +I lodged that night too in The Crown, where the Court Councilor B----, +of Goettingen, had arrived meanwhile, and I had the pleasure of paying my +respects to the old gentleman. After writing my name in the book of +arrivals, I turned over the leaves of the month of July and found +therein, among others, the much loved name of Adalbert von Chamisso, the +biographer of the immortal _Schlemihl_. The landlord remarked of +Chamisso that the gentleman had arrived during one terrible storm and +departed in another. + +The next morning I had again to lighten my knapsack, and threw overboard +an extra pair of boots; then I arose and went on to Goslar, where I +arrived without knowing how. This much alone do I remember, that I +sauntered up hill and down dale, gazing upon many a lovely meadow vale; +silver waters rippled and murmured, sweet woodbirds sang, the bells of +the flocks tinkled, the many shaded green trees were gilded by the sun, +and, over all, the blue silk canopy of heaven was so transparent that +one could look through the depths even to the Holy of Holies, where +angels sit at the feet of God, studying thorough-bass in the features of +the eternal countenance. But I was all the time lost in a dream of the +previous night, which I could not banish from my thoughts. It was an +echo of the old legend--how a knight descended into a deep fountain +beneath which the fairest princess of the world lay buried in a +deathlike magic slumber. I myself was the knight, and the dark mine of +Clausthal was the fountain. Suddenly innumerable lights gleamed around +me, watchful dwarfs leapt from every cranny in the rocks, grimacing +angrily, cutting at me with their short swords, blowing shrilly on +horns, which summoned more and ever more of their comrades, and +frantically nodding their great heads. But as I hewed them down with my +sword the blood flowed, and I for the first time remarked that they were +not really dwarfs, but the red-blooming, long-bearded thistle-tops, +which I had the day before hewed down on the highway with my stick. At +last they all vanished, and I came to a splendid lighted hall, in the +midst of which stood my heart's loved one, veiled in white, and +immovable as a statue. I kissed her mouth, and then--O Heavens!--I felt +the blessed breath of her soul and the sweet tremor of her lovely lips. +It seemed that I heard the divine command, "Let there be light!" and a +dazzling flash of eternal light shot down, but at the same instant it +was again night, and all ran chaotically together into a wild turbulent +sea! A wild turbulent sea, indeed, over whose foaming waves the ghosts +of the departed madly chased one another, their white shrouds floating +in the wind, while behind all, goading them on with cracking whip, ran a +many-colored harlequin--and I was the harlequin! Suddenly from the black +waves the sea monsters raised their misshapen heads, snatched at me with +extended claws, and I awoke in terror. + +Alas, how the finest fairy tales may be spoiled! The knight, in fact, +when he has found the sleeping princess, ought to cut a piece from her +priceless veil, and when, by his bravery, she has been awakened from her +magic sleep and is again seated on her golden throne in her palace, the +knight should approach her and say, "My fairest princess, dost thou not +know me?" Then she will answer, "My bravest knight, I know thee not!" +And then he shows her the piece cut from her veil, exactly fitting the +deficiency, and she knows that he is her deliverer, and both tenderly +embrace, and the trumpets sound, and the marriage is celebrated. It is +really a very peculiar misfortune that _my_ love-dreams so seldom have +so fine a conclusion. + +[Illustration: OLD IMPERIAL PALACE, GOSLAR] + +The name of Goslar rings so pleasantly, and there are so many very +ancient and imperial associations connected therewith, that I had hoped +to find an imposing and stately town. But it is always the same old +story when we examine celebrities too closely. I found a nest of houses, +drilled in every direction with narrow streets of labyrinthine +crookedness, and amid which a miserable stream, probably the Gose, winds +its sad and muddy way. The pavement of the town is as ragged as Berlin +hexameters. Only the antiquities which are imbedded in the frame or +mounting of the city--that is to say, its remnants of walls, towers, and +battlements--give the place a piquant look. One of these towers, known as +the "Zwinger," or donjonkeep, has walls of such extraordinary thickness +that entire rooms are excavated therein. The open place before the town, +where the world-renowned shooting matches are held, is a beautiful large +plain surrounded by high mountains. The market is small, and in its +midst is a spring fountain, the waters from which pours into a great +metallic basin. When an alarm of fire is raised, they strike several +times on this cup-formed basin, which gives out a very loud vibration. +Nothing is known of the origin of this work. Some say that the devil +placed it once during the night on the spot where it stands. In those +days people were as yet fools, nor was the devil any wiser, and they +mutually exchanged gifts. + +The town hall of Goslar is a whitewashed guard-room. The Guildhall, hard +by, has a somewhat better appearance. In this building, equidistant from +roof and ceiling, stands the statues of German emperors. Blackened with +smoke and partly gilded, in one hand the sceptre, and in the other the +globe, they look like roasted college beadles. One of the emperors holds +a sword instead of a sceptre. I cannot imagine the reason of this +variation from the established order, though it has doubtless some +occult signification, as Germans have the remarkable peculiarity of +meaning something in whatever they do. + +In Gottschalk's _Handbook_ I had read much of the very ancient +cathedral, and of the far-famed imperial throne at Goslar. But when I +wished to see these curiosities, I was informed that the church had been +torn down, and that the throne had been carried to Berlin. We live in +deeply significant times, when millennial churches are destroyed and +imperial thrones are tumbled into the lumber-room. + +A few memorials of the late cathedral of happy memory are still +preserved in the church of St. Stephen. These consist of stained glass +pictures of great beauty, a few indifferent paintings, including a Lucas +Cranach, a wooden Christ crucified, and a heathen altar of some unknown +metal. The latter resembles a long square coffer, and is upheld by +caryatides, which in a bowed position hold their hands above their heads +in support, and are making the most hideous grimaces. But far more +hideous is the adjacent large wooden crucifix of which I have just +spoken. This head of Christ, with its real hair and thorns and +blood-stained countenance, represents, in the most masterly manner, the +death of a _man_--but not of a divinely-born Savior. Nothing but physical +suffering is portrayed in this image--not the sublime poetry of pain. +Such a work would be more appropriately placed in a hall of anatomy than +in a house of the Lord. + +The sacristan's wife--an artistic expert--who led me about, showed me a +special rarity. This was a many-cornered, well-planed blackboard covered +with white numerals, which hung like a lamp in the middle of the +building. Oh, how brilliantly does the spirit of invention manifest +itself in the Protestant Church! For who would think it! The numbers on +this board are those of the Psalms for the day, which are generally +chalked on a common black tablet, and have a very sobering effect on an +esthetic mind, but which, in the form above described, even ornament the +church and fully make up for the want of pictures by Raphael. Such +progress delights me infinitely, since I, as a Protestant and a +Lutheran, am ever deeply chagrined when Catholic opponents ridicule the +empty, God-forsaken appearance of Protestant churches. + + * * * * * + +The churchyard at Goslar did not appeal to me very strongly, but a +certain very pretty blonde-ringleted head which peeped smilingly from a +parterre window _did_. After dinner I again sought out this fascinating +window, but, instead of a maiden, I beheld a glass containing white +bellflowers. I clambered up, stole the flowers, put them quietly in my +cap, and descended, unheeding the gaping mouths, petrified noses, and +goggle eyes, with which the people in the street, and especially the old +women, regarded this qualified theft. As I, an hour later, passed by the +same house, the beauty stood by the window, and, as she saw the flowers +in my cap, she blushed like a ruby and started back. This time I had +seen the beautiful face to better advantage; it was a sweet, transparent +incarnation of summer-evening breeze, moonshine, nightingale notes, and +rose perfume. Later, in the twilight hour, she was standing at the door. +I came--I drew near--she slowly retreated into the dark entry. I +followed, and, seizing her hand, said, "I am a lover of beautiful +flowers and of kisses, and when they are not given to me I steal them." +Here I quickly snatched a kiss, and, as she was about to flee, whispered +soothingly, "Tomorrow I leave this town, probably never to return." Then +I perceived a faint pressure of the lovely lips and of the little hand +and I--hurried smilingly away. Yes, I must smile when I reflect that +unconsciously I uttered the magic formula by which our red-and +blue-coated cavaliers more frequently win female hearts than by their +mustachioed attractiveness--"Tomorrow I leave, probably never to +return." + + * * * * * + +During the night which I passed at Goslar, a remarkably curious +occurrence befell me. Even now I cannot think of it without terror. I am +not cowardly by nature and Heaven knows that I have never experienced +any special anguish when, for example, a naked blade has sought to make +acquaintance with my nose or when I have lost my way at night in a wood +of ill repute, or when, at a concert, a yawning lieutenant has +threatened to swallow me--but _ghosts_ I fear almost as much as the +_Austrian Observer_[52]. What is fear? Does it originate in the brain or +in the emotions? This was a point which I frequently disputed with Dr. +Saul Ascher, when we accidentally met in the Cafe Royal in Berlin, where +for a long time I used to take dinner. The Doctor invariably maintained +that we feared anything, because we recognized it as fearful, by a +certain process of reasoning, for reason alone is an active power--the +emotions are not. While I ate and drank my fill, the Doctor continued to +demonstrate to me the advantages of reason. Toward the end of his +demonstration, he was accustomed to look at his watch and remark +conclusively, "Reason is the highest principle!" Reason! Never do I hear +this word without recalling Dr. Saul Ascher, with his abstract legs, his +tight-fitting transcendental-grey long coat, his forbidding icy face, +which could have served as frontispiece for a textbook of geometry. This +man, deep in the fifties, was a personified straight line. In his +striving for the positive, the poor man had, by dint of philosophizing, +eliminated all the splendid things from life, such as sunshine, +religion, and flowers, so that there remained nothing for him but the +cold positive grave. The Apollo Belvedere and Christianity were the two +special objects of his malice, and he had even published a pamphlet +against the latter, in which he had demonstrated its unreasonableness +and untenableness. In addition to this, he has written a great number of +books, in all of which _Reason_ shines forth in all its peculiar +excellence, and as the poor Doctor meant what he said in all +seriousness, he was, so far, deserving of respect. But the great joke +consisted precisely in this, that the Doctor invariably cut such a +seriously absurd figure when he could not comprehend what every child +comprehends, simply because it is a child. I visited the Doctor of +Reason several times in his own house, where I found him in company with +very pretty girls; for Reason, it seems, does not prohibit the enjoyment +of the things of this world. Once, however, when I called, his servant +told me the "Herr Doctor" had just died. I experienced as much emotion +on this occasion as if I had been told that the "Herr Doctor" had just +moved. + +To return to Goslar. "The highest principle is Reason," said I +soothingly to myself, as I slid into bed. But it availed me nothing. I +had just been reading in Varnhagen von Ense's _German Tales,_ which I +had brought with me from Clausthal, that terrible story of the son who +went about to murder his father and was warned in the night by the ghost +of his mother. The wonderful truthfulness with which this story is +depicted, caused, while reading it, a shudder of horror in all my veins. +Ghost-stories invariably thrill us with additional horror when read +during a journey, and by night in a town, in a house, and in a room +where we have never been before. We involuntarily reflect, "How many +horrors may have been perpetrated on this very spot where I now lie!" +Meanwhile, the moon shone into my room in a doubtful, suspicious manner; +all kinds of uncalled-for shapes quivered on the walls, and as I raised +myself in bed and glanced fearfully toward them, I beheld-- + +There is nothing so uncanny as when a man accidentally sees his own face +by moonlight in a mirror. At the same instant there struck a +deep-booming, yawning bell, and that so slowly and wearily that after +the twelfth stroke I firmly believed that twelve full hours must have +passed and that it would begin to strike twelve all over again. Between +the last and next to the last tones, there struck in very abruptly, as +if irritated and scolding, another bell, which was apparently out of +patience with the slowness of its colleague. As the two iron tongues +were silenced, and the stillness of death sank over the whole house, I +suddenly seemed to hear, in the corridor before my chamber, something +halting and shuffling along, like the unsteady steps of an old man. At +last my door opened, and there entered slowly the late departed Dr. Saul +Ascher. A cold fever ran through me. I trembled like an ivy leaf and +scarcely dared to gaze upon the ghost. He appeared as usual, with the +same transcendental-grey long coat, the same abstract legs, and the same +mathematical face; only this latter was a little yellower than usual, +the mouth, which formerly described two angles of 22-1/2 degrees, was +pinched together, and the circles around the eyes had a somewhat greater +radius. Tottering, and supporting himself as usual upon his Malacca +cane, he approached me, and said in his usual drawling accent but in a +friendly manner, "Do not be afraid, nor believe that I am a ghost. It is +a deception of your imagination, if you believe that you see me as a +ghost. What is a ghost? Define one. Deduce for me the conditions of the +possibility of a ghost. What reasonable connection is there between such +an apparition and reason? Reason, I say, _Reason!"_ Here the ghost +proceeded to analyze reason, cited from Kant's _Critique of Pure +Reason_, part II, section I, book 2, chap. 3, the distinction between +phenomena and noumena, then went on to construct a hypothetical system +of ghosts, piled one syllogism on another, and concluded with the +logical proof that there are absolutely no ghosts. Meanwhile the cold +sweat ran down my back, my teeth clattered like castanets, and from very +agony of soul I nodded an unconditional assent to every assertion which +the phantom doctor alleged against the absurdity of being afraid of +ghosts, and which he demonstrated with such zeal that once, in a moment +of distraction, instead of his gold watch he drew a handful of +grave-worms from his vest-pocket, and remarking his error, replaced them +with a ridiculous but terrified haste. "Reason is the highest--!" Here +the clock struck _one_, but the ghost vanished. + +The next morning I left Goslar and wandered along, partly at random, and +partly with the intention of visiting the brother of the Clausthal +miner. Again we had beautiful Sunday weather. I climbed hill and +mountain, saw how the sun strove to drive away the mists, and wandered +merrily through the quivering woods, while around my dreaming head rang +the bell-flowers of Goslar. The mountains stood in their white +night-robes, the fir-trees were shaking sleep out of their branching +limbs, the fresh morning wind curled their drooping green locks, the +birds were at morning prayers, the meadow-vale flashed like a golden +surface sprinkled with diamonds, and the shepherd passed over it with +his bleating flock. + + * * * * * + +After much circuitous wandering I came to the dwelling of the brother of +my Clausthal friend. Here I stayed all night and experienced the +following beautiful poem-- + + Stands the but upon the mountain + Where the ancient woodman dwells + There the dark-green fir-trees rustle, + Casts the moon its golden spells. + + In the but there stands an arm-chair, + Richly carved and cleverly; + He who sits therein is happy, + And that happy man am I. + + On the footstool sits a maiden, + On my lap her arms repose, + With her eyes like blue stars beaming, + And her mouth a new-born rose. + + And the dear blue stars shine on me, + Wide like heaven's great arch their gaze; + And her little lily finger + Archly on the rose she lays. + + Nay, the mother cannot see us, + For she spins the whole day long; + And the father plays the cithern + As he sings a good old song. + + And the maiden softly whispers, + Softly, that none may hear; + Many a solemn little secret + Hath she murmured in my ear. + + "Since I lost my aunt who loved me, + Now we never more repair + To the shooting-lodge at Goslar, + And it is so pleasant there! + + "Here above it is so lonely, + On the rocks where cold winds blow; + And in winter we are always + Deeply buried in the snow. + + "And I'm such a timid creature, + And I'm frightened like a child + At the evil mountain spirits, + Who by night are raging wild" + + Silent falls the winsome maiden, + Frightened by her own surmise, + Little hands, so white and dimpled, + Pressing on her sweet blue eyes. + + Louder now the fir-trees rustle, + Spinning-wheel more harshly drones; + In their pauses sounds the cithern, + And the old song's simple tones: + + "Do not fear, my tender nursling, + Aught of evil spirits' might; + For good angels still are watching + Round thy pathway day and night." + + Now the fir-tree's dark-green fingers + Tap upon the window low, + And the moon, a yellow listener, + Casts within her sweetest glow. + + Father, mother, both are sleeping, + Near at hand their rest they take; + But we two, in pleasant gossip, + Keep each other long awake. + + "That thou prayest much too often, + Seems unlikely, I declare; + On thy lips there is a quiver + Which was never born of prayer. + + "Ah! that heartless, cold expression + All my being terrifies-- + Though my darkling fear is lessened + By thy frank and honest eyes. + + "Yet I doubt if thou believest + What is held for truth by most; + Hast thou faith in God the Father, + In the Son and Holy Ghost?" + + "Ah, my darling! when an infant + By my mother's knee I stood, + I believed in God the Father, + In the Ruler great and good. + + "He who made the world so lovely, + Gave man beauty, gave him force, + And to sun and moon and planets + Pre-appointed each its course. + + "As I older grew, my darling, + And my way in wisdom won, + I in reason comprehended, + And believe now in the Son-- + + "In the well-loved Son, who, loving, + Oped the gates of Love so wide; + And for thanks--as is the custom-- + By the world was crucified. + + "Now, that I in full-grown manhood + Reading, travel, wisdom boast; + Still my heart expands, and, truly + I believe the Holy Ghost, + + "Who bath worked the greatest wonders-- + Greater still he'll work again; + He bath broken tyrants' strongholds, + Broken every vassal's chain. + + "Ancient deadly wounds he healeth, + He renews man's ancient right; + All to him, born free and equal, + Are as nobles in his sight. + + "Clouds of evil flee before him, + And those cobwebs of the brain + Which forbade us love and pleasure, + Scowling grimly on our pain. + + "And a thousand knights in armor + Hath he chosen and required + To fulfil his holy bidding-- + All with noblest zeal inspired. + + "Lo! I their precious swords are gleaming, + And their banners wave in fight! + What! Thou fain would'st see, my darling, + Such a proud and noble knight? + + "Well, then, gaze on me, my dearest; + I am of that lordly host, + Kiss me! and you kiss a chosen + Champion of the Holy Ghost!" + + Silently the moon conceals her + Down behind the sombre trees, + And the lamp which lights our chamber + Flickers in the evening breeze. + + But the starry eyes are beaming + Softly o'er the dimpled cheeks, + And the purple rose is glowing, + While the gentle maiden speaks. + + "Little people--fairy goblins-- + Steal away our meat and bread; + In the chest it lies at evening, + In the morning it has fled. + + "From our milk the little people + Steal the cream and all the best; + Then they leave the dish uncovered, + And our cat drinks up the rest. + + "And the cat's a witch, I'm certain, + For by night, when storms arise, + Oft she seeks the haunted hill-top + Where the fallen tower lies. + + "There was once a splendid castle. + Home of joy and weapons bright, + Where there swept in stately pageant + Lady, page, and armed knight. + + "But a sorceress charmed the castle, + With its lords and ladies fair; + Now it is a lonely ruin, + And the owls are nesting there. + + "But my aunt hath often told me, + Could I speak the proper word, + In the proper place up yonder, + When the proper hour occurred, + + "I should see the ruins changing + Swiftly to a castle bright, + And again in stately dances + Dame and page and gallant knight. + + "He who speaks the word of power + Wins the castle for his own, + And the knight with drum and trumpet + Loud will hail him lord alone." + + So the simple fairy pictures + From the little rose-mouth bloom, + And the gentle eyes are shedding + Star-blue lustre through the gloom. + + Round my hand the little maiden + Winds her gold locks as she will, + Gives a name to every finger, + Kisses, smiles, and then is still. + + All things in the silent chamber, + Seem at once familiar grown, + As if e'en the chairs and clothes-press, + Well of old to me were known. + + Now the clock talks kindly, gravely, + And the cithern, as 'twould seem, + Of itself is faintly chiming, + And I sit as in a dream. + + Now the proper hour is striking, + Here the charm should now be heard; + Child, how would'st thou be astonished, + Should I speak the magic word! + + If I spoke that word, then fading + Night would thrill in fearful strife; + Trees and streams would roar together + As the mountains woke to life. + + Ringing lutes and goblin ditties + From the clefted rock would sound, + Like a mad and merry spring-tide + Flowers grow forest-high around. + + Thousand startling, wondrous flowers, + Leaves of vast and fabled form, + Strangely perfumed, wildly quivering, + As if thrilled with passion's storm. + + In a crimson conflagration + Roses o'er the tumult rise; + Giant lilies, white as crystal, + Shoot like columns to the skies. + + Great as suns, the stars above us + Gaze adown with burning glow; + Fill the lilies' cups gigantic + With their lights' abundant flow. + + We ourselves, my little maiden, + Would be changed more than all; + Torchlight gleams o'er gold and satin + Round us merrily would fall. + + Thou thyself would'st be the princess, + And this hut thy castle high; + Ladies, lords, and graceful pages + Would be dancing, singing by. + + I, however, I have conquered + Thee, and all things, with the word! + Serfs and castle--lo! with trumpet + Loud they hail me as their Lord! + +The sun rose. The mists flitted away like phantoms at the third crow of +the cock. Again I wandered up hill and down dale, while above me soared +the fair sun, ever lighting up new scenes of beauty. The Spirit of the +Mountain evidently favored me, well knowing that a "poetical character" +has it in his power to say many a fine thing of him, and on this morning +he let me see his Harz as it is not, most assuredly, seen by every one. +But the Harz also saw me as I am seen by few, and there were as costly +pearls on my eyelashes as on the grass of the valley. The morning dew of +love wet my cheeks; the rustling pines understood me; their twigs parted +and waved up and down, as if, like mute mortals, they would express +their joy with gestures of their hands, and from afar I heard beautiful +and mysterious chimes, like the sound of bells belonging to some hidden +forest church. People say that these sounds are caused by the +cattle-bells, which, in the Harz ring with remarkable clearness and +purity. + +It was noon, according to the position of the sun, as I chanced upon +such a flock, and its shepherd, a friendly, light-haired young fellow, +told me that the great hill at whose base I stood was the old, +world-renowned Brocken. For many leagues around there is no house, and I +was glad enough when the young man invited me to share his meal. We sat +down to a _dejeuner dinatoire_, consisting of bread and cheese. The +sheep snatched up our crumbs, while pretty glossy heifers jumped around, +ringing their bells roguishly, and laughing at us with great merry eyes. +We made a royal meal, my host appearing to me every inch a king; and as +he is the only monarch who has ever given me bread, I will sing his +praises right royally: + + Kingly is the herd-boy's calling, + On the knoll his throne is set, + O'er his hair the sunlight falling + Gilds a living coronet. + + Red-marked sheep that bleat so loudly + Are his courtiers cross-bedight, + Calves that strut before him proudly + Seem each one a stalwart knight. + + Goats are actors nimbly springing, + And the cows and warblers gay + With their bell and flute-notes ringing + Form the royal orchestra. + + And whene'er the music hushes, + Soft the pine-tree murmurs creep; + Far away a cataract rushes-- + Look, our noble king's asleep! + + Meanwhile through the kingdom bounding + Rules the dog as minister, + Till his bark from cliffs rebounding + Echoes to the sleeper's ear. + + Yawning syllables he utters-- + "Ruling is too hard a task. + Were I but at home," he mutters, + "With my queen 'tis all I'd ask. + + "On her arm my head reposes + Free from care, how happily! + And her loving glance discloses + Kingdom wide enough for me."[53] + +We took leave of each other in a friendly manner, and with a light heart +I began to ascend the mountain. I was soon welcomed by a grove of +stately firs, for which I entertain great respect in every regard, for +these trees have not found growing to be such an easy business, and +during the days of their youth it fared hard with them. The mountain is +here sprinkled with a great number of blocks of granite, and most of the +trees were obliged either to twine their roots over the stones, or to +split them in two, and thus laboriously to search for the soil from +which to draw their nourishment. Here and there stones lie on top of one +another, forming, as it were, a gate, and over all rise the trees, +twining their naked roots down over the stone portals, and only laying +hold of the soil when they reach its base, so that they appear to be +growing in the air; and yet, as they have forced their way up to that +startling height and grown into one with the rocks, they stand more +securely than their comfortable comrades, who are rooted in the tame +forest soil of the level country. So it is in life with those great men +who have strengthened and established themselves by resolutely +overcoming the obstacles and hindrances of their early years. Squirrels +climbed amid the fir-twigs, while, beneath, yellow deer were quietly +grazing. I cannot comprehend, when I see such a noble, lovable animal, +how educated and refined people can take pleasure in hunting and killing +it. Such a creature was once more merciful than man, and suckled the +pining Schmerzenreich of the holy Genofeva. Most beautiful were the +golden sun-rays shooting through the dark-green of the firs. The roots +of the trees formed a natural stairway, and everywhere my feet +encountered swelling beds of moss, for the stones are here covered +foot-deep, as if with light-green velvet cushions. Everywhere a pleasant +freshness and the dreamy murmur of streams. Here and there we see water +rippling silver-clear amid the rocks, washing the bare roots and fibres +of trees. Bend down toward all this ceaseless activity and listen, and +you will hear, as it were, the mysterious history of the growth of the +plants, and the quiet pulsations of the heart of the mountain. In many +places the water jets strongly up amid rocks and roots, forming little +cascades. It is pleasant to sit in such places. There is such a +wonderful murmuring and rustling, the birds pour forth broken lovesick +strains, the trees whisper as if with a thousand maidens' tongues, the +odd mountain flowers peep up at us as if with a thousand maidens' eyes, +stretching out to us their curious, broad, drolly-scalloped leaves; the +sun-rays flash here and there in sport; the herbs, as though endowed +with reason, are telling one another their green legends; all seems +enchanted and it becomes more and more mysterious; an old, old dream is +realized--the loved one appears! Alas, that she so quickly vanishes! + +The higher we ascend, so much the shorter and more dwarflike do the +fir-trees become, shrinking up, as it were, within themselves, until +finally only whortleberries, bilberries, and mountain herbs remain. It +is also sensibly colder. Here, for the first time, the granite boulders, +which are frequently of enormous size, become fully visible. These may +well have been the balls which evil spirits cast at one another on the +Walpurgis night, when the witches come riding hither on brooms and +pitchforks, when the mad, unhallowed revelry begins, as our credulous +nurses have told us, and as we may see it represented in the beautiful +Faust pictures of Master Retsch. Yes, a young poet, who, while +journeying from Berlin to Gottingen passed the Brocken on the first +evening in May, even noticed how certain ladies who cultivated +_belles-lettres_, were holding their esthetic tea-circle in a rocky +corner, how they comfortably read aloud the _Evening Journal_, how they +praised as universal geniuses their poetic billy-goats which hopped +bleating around their table, and how they passed a final judgment on all +the productions of German literature. But when they at last fell upon +_Ratcliff_ and _Almansor_, utterly denying to the author aught like +piety or Christianity, the hair of the youth rose on end, terror seized +him--I spurred my steed and rode onwards! + +In fact, when we ascend the upper half of the Brocken, no one can well +help thinking of the amusing legends of the Blocksberg, and especially +of the great mystical German national tragedy of Doctor Faust. It ever +seemed to me that I could hear the cloven foot scrambling along behind, +and some one breathing humorously. And I verily believe that "Mephisto" +himself must breathe with difficulty when he climbs his favorite +mountain, for it is a road which is to the last degree exhausting, and I +was glad enough when I at last beheld the long-desired Brocken house. + +[Illustration: "THE WITCHES DANCING GROUND"] + +This house, as every one knows from numerous pictures, is situated on +the summit of the mountain, consists of a single story, and was erected +in the year 1800 by Count Stolberg-Wernigerode, in behalf of whom it is +managed as a tavern. On account of the wind and cold in winter its walls +are incredibly thick. The roof is low. From its midst rises a towerlike +observatory, and near the house lie two little out-buildings, one of +which in earlier times served as shelter to the Brocken visitors. + +On entering the Brocken house, I experienced a somewhat unusual and +unreal sensation. After a long solitary journey amid rocks and pines, +the traveler suddenly finds himself in a house amid the clouds. Far +below lie cities, hills, and forests, while above he encounters a +curiously blended circle of strangers, by whom he is received, as is +usual in such assemblies, almost like an expected companion--half +inquisitively and half indifferently. I found the house full of guests, +and, as becomes a wise man, I first thought of the night, and of the +discomfort of sleeping on straw. With the voice of one dying I called +for tea, and the Brocken landlord was reasonable enough to perceive that +the sick gentleman must be provided with a decent bed. This he gave me +in a narrow room, where a young merchant--a long emetic in a brown +overcoat--had already established himself. + +In the public room I found a full tide of bustle and animation. There +were students from different universities. Some of the newly arrived +were taking refreshments. Others, preparing for departure, buckled on +their knapsacks, wrote their names in the album, and received Brocken +bouquets from the housemaids. There was pinching of cheeks, singing, +springing, trilling; questions asked, answers given, fragments of +conversation such as--fine weather--footpath--_prosit_--luck be with +you!--Adieu! Some of those leaving were also partly drunk, and these +derived a twofold pleasure from the beautiful scenery, for a tipsy man +sees double. + +After recruiting my strength I ascended the observatory, and there found +a little gentleman with two ladies, one of whom was young and the other +elderly. The young lady was very beautiful--a superb figure, flowing +locks, surmounted by a helm-like black satin _chapeau_, amid whose white +plumes the wind played; fine limbs, so closely enwrapped by a black silk +mantle that their exquisite form was made manifest, and great free eyes, +calmly looking down into the great free world. + +When a boy I thought of naught save tales of magic and wonder, and every +fair lady who had ostrich feathers on her head I regarded as an elfin +queen. If I observed that the train of her dress was wet I believed at +once that she must be a water-fairy. Now I know better, having learned +from natural history that those symbolical feathers are found on the +most stupid of birds, and that the train of a lady's dress may become +wet in a very natural way. But if I had, with those boyish eyes, seen +the aforesaid young lady in the aforesaid position on the Brocken, I +would most assuredly have thought--"that is the fairy of the mountain, +and she has just uttered the charm which has caused every thing down +there to appear so wonderful." Yes, at the first glance from the Brocken +everything appears in a high degree marvelous. New impressions throng in +on every side, and these, varied and often contradictory, unite in our +soul in an as yet undefined uncomprehended sensation. If we succeed in +grasping the sensation in its conception we shall comprehend the +character of the mountain. This character is entirely German as regards +not only its advantages but also its defects. The Brocken is a German. +With German thoroughness he points out to us--sharply and accurately +defined as in a panorama--the hundreds of cities, towns, and villages +which are principally situated to the north, and all the mountains, +forests, rivers, and plains which extend endlessly in all directions. +But for this very reason everything appears like a sharply designed and +perfectly colored map, and nowhere is the eye gratified by really +beautiful landscapes--just as we German compilers, owing to the +honorable exactness with which we attempt to give all and everything, +never appear to think of giving the details in a beautiful manner. + +[Illustration: THE BROCKEN INN ABOUT 1830] + +The mountain, in consequence, has a certain calm, German, intelligent, +tolerant character, simply because he can see things so distant yet so +distinctly. And when such a mountain opens his giant eyes, it may be +that he sees somewhat more than we dwarfs, who with our weak eyes climb +over him. Many indeed assert that the Blocksberg is very Philistian, and +Claudius once sang "The Blocksberg is the lengthy Sir Philistine;" but +that was an error. On account of his bald head, which he occasionally +covers with a cloud-cap, the Blocksberg has indeed a somewhat Philistian +aspect, but this with him, as with many other great Germans, is the +result of pure irony; for it is notorious that he has his wild student +and fantastic periods, as, for instance, on the first night of May. Then +he casts his cloud-cap uproariously and merrily into the air, and +becomes, like the rest of us, romantic mad, in real German fashion. + +I soon sought to entrap the beauty into a conversation, for we begin to +fully enjoy the beauties of nature only when we talk about them on the +spot. + + * * * * * + +While we conversed twilight stole, the air grew colder, the sun sank +lower and lower, and the tower platform was filled with students, +traveling mechanics, and a few honest citizens with their spouses and +daughters, all of whom were desirous of witnessing the sunset. It is +truly a sublime spectacle, which tunes the soul to prayer. For a full +quarter of an hour all stood in solemn silence, gazing on the beautiful +fire-ball as it gradually sank in the west; our faces were bathed in the +rosy light; our hands were involuntarily folded; it seemed as if we, a +silent congregation, stood in the nave of a giant cathedral, that the +priest raised the body of the Lord, and the Palestrina's immortal hymns +poured forth from the organ. + +As I stood thus, lost in devotion, I heard some one near me exclaim, +"Ah, how beautiful Nature is, as a general thing!" These words came from +the sentimental heart of my room-mate, the young merchant. They brought +me back to my week-day frame of mind, and I was now able to say a few +neat things to the ladies about the sunset and to accompany them, as +calmly as if nothing had happened, to their room. They permitted me to +talk an hour longer with them. Our conversation, like the earth's +course, was about the sun. The mother declared that the sun, as it sank +in the snowy clouds, seemed like a red glowing rose, which the gallant +heaven had thrown upon the white outspreading bridal-veil of his loved +earth. The daughter smiled, and thought that a frequent observation of +such phenomena weakened their impression. The mother corrected this +error by a quotation from Goethe's _Letters of Travel_, and asked me if +I had read _Werther_. I believe that we also spoke of Angora cats, +Etruscan vases, Turkish shawls, maccaroni, and Lord Byron, from whose +poems the elder lady, daintly lisping and sighing, recited several +passages about the sunset. To the younger lady, who did not understand +English, and who wished to become familiar with those poems, I +recommended the translation of my fair and gifted countrywoman, the +Baroness Elise von Hohenhausen. On this occasion, as is my custom when +talking with young ladies, I did not fail to declaim against Byron's +godlessness, heartlessness, cheerlessness, and heaven knows what +besides. + +After this business I took a walk on the Brocken, for there it is never +quite dark. The mist was not heavy, and I could see the outlines of the +two hills known as the Witch's Altar and the Devil's Pulpit. I fired my +pistol, but there was no echo. Suddenly, however, I heard familiar +voices and found myself embraced and kissed. The newcomers were +fellow-students from my own part of Germany, and had left Goettingen four +days later than I. Great was their astonishment at finding me again, +alone on the Blocksberg. Then came a flood tide of narrative, of +astonishment, and of appointment-making, of laughing, and of +recollecting, and in the spirit we found ourselves again in our learned +Siberia, where refinement is carried to such an extent that the bears +are tied up in the taverns, and the sables wish the hunter good +evening.[54] + +In the great room we had supper. There was a long table, with two rows +of hungry students. At first we indulged in the usual topic of +university conversation--duels, duels, and once again duels. The company +consisted principally of Halle students, and Halle formed, in +consequence, the nucleus of their discourse. The window-panes of +Court-Councilor Schuetz were exegetically illuminated. Then it was +mentioned that the King of Cyprus' last levee had been very brilliant; +that the monarch had chosen a natural son; that he had married with the +left hand a princess of the house of Lichtenstein; that the +State-mistress had been forced to resign, and that the entire ministry, +greatly moved, had wept according to rule. I need hardly explain that +this all referred to certain beer dignitaries in Halle. Then the two +Chinese, who two years before had been exhibited in Berlin, and who were +now appointed lecturers on Chinese esthetics in Halle, were discussed. +Then jokes were made. Some one supposed a case in which a live German +might be exhibited for money in China, and to this end a placard was +fabricated, in which the mandarins Tsching-Tschang-Tschung and Hi-Ha-Ho +certified that the man was a genuine Teuton, including a list of his +accomplishments, which consisted principally of philosophizing, smoking, +and endless patience. It concluded with the notice that visitors were +prohibited from bringing any dogs with them at twelve o'clock (the hour +for feeding the captive), as these animals would be sure to snap from +the poor German all his titbits. + +A young _Burschenschafter_, who had recently passed his period of +purification in Berlin, spoke much, but very partially, of this city. He +had frequented both Wisotzki and the theatre, but judged falsely of +both. "For youth is ever ready with a word," etc. He spoke of the +sumptuousness of the costumes, of scandals among actors and actresses, +and similar matters. The youth knew not that in Berlin, where outside +show exerts the greatest influence (as is abundantly evidenced by the +commonness of the phrase "so people do"), this ostentation must flourish +on the stage preeminently, and consequently that the special care of the +management must be for "the color of the beard with which a part is +played" and for the truthfulness of the costumes which are designed by +sworn historians and sewed by scientifically instructed tailors. And +this is indispensable. For if Maria Stuart wore an apron belonging to +the time of Queen Anne, the banker, Christian Gumpel, would with justice +complain that thereby all illusion was destroyed; and if Lord Burleigh +in a moment of forgetfulness should don the hose of Henry the Fourth, +then the War-Councilor Von Steinzopf's wife, _nee_ Lilienthau, would not +get the anachronism out of her head for the whole evening.... But little +as this young man had comprehended the conditions of the Berlin drama, +still less was he aware that the Spontini Janissary opera, with its +kettledrums, elephants, trumpets, and gongs, is a heroic means of +inspiring our enervated people with warlike enthusiasm--a means once +shrewdly recommended by Plato and Cicero. Least of all did the youth +comprehend the diplomatic significance of the ballet. It was with great +trouble that I finally made him understand that there was really more +political science in Hoguet's feet than in Buchholz's head, that all his +_tours de danse_ signified diplomatic negotiations, and that his every +movement hinted at state matters; as, for instance, when he bent forward +anxiously, stretching his hands out wide and grasping at the air, he +meant our Cabinet; that a hundred pirouettes on one toe without quitting +the spot alluded to the German Diet; that he was thinking of the lesser +princes when he tripped around with his legs tied; that he described the +European balance of power when he tottered hither and thither like a +drunken man; that he hinted at a Congress when he twisted his bended +arms together like a skein; and finally, that he sets forth our +altogether too great friend in the East, when, very gradually unfolding +himself, he rises on high, stands for a long time in this elevated +position, and then all at once breaks out into the most terrifying +leaps. The scales fell from the eyes of the young man, and he now saw +how it was that dancers are better paid than great poets, and why the +ballet forms in diplomatic circles an inexhaustible subject of +conversation. By Apis! how great is the number of the esoteric, and how +small the array of the esoteric frequenters of the theatre! There sit +the stupid audience, gaping and admiring leaps and attitudes, studying +anatomy in the positions of Lemiere, and applauding the _entrechats_ of +Roehnisch, prattling of "grace," "harmony," and "limbs"--no one remarking +meanwhile that he has before him in chronological ciphers the destiny of +the German Fatherland. + + * * * * * + +The company around the table gradually became better acquainted and much +noisier. Wine banished beer, punch-bowls steamed, songs were sung, and +brotherhood was drunk in true student fashion. The old "Landsfather +toast" and the beautiful songs of W. Mueller, Rueckert, Uhland, and others +rang out with the exquisite airs of Methfessel. Best of all sounded our +own Arndt's German words, "The Lord, who bade iron grow, wished for no +slaves." And out of doors it roared as if the old mountain sang with us, +and a few reeling friends even asserted that he merrily shook his bald +head, which caused the great unsteadiness of the floor of our room. + + * * * * * + +During this crazy scene, in which plates learned to dance and glasses to +fly, there sat opposite me two youths, beautiful and pale as statues, +one resembling Adonis, the other Apollo. The faint rosy hue which the +wine spread over their cheeks was scarcely noticeable. They gazed on +each other with infinite affection, as if the one could read in the eyes +of the other, and in those eyes there was a light as though drops of +light had fallen therein from the cup of burning love, which an angel on +high bears from one star to the other. They conversed softly with +earnest trembling voices, and narrated sad stories, through all of which +ran a tone of strange sorrow. "Lora is dead now too!" said one, and, +sighing, proceeded to tell of a maiden of Halle who had loved a student, +and who, when the latter left Halle, spoke no more to any one, ate but +little, wept day and night, gazing over on the canary-bird which her +lover had given her. "The bird died, and Lora did not long survive it," +was the conclusion, and both the youths sighed as though their hearts +would break. Finally the other said, "My soul is sorrowful; come forth +with me into the dark night! Let me inhale the breath of the clouds and +the moon-rays. Companion of my sorrow! I love thee; thy words are +musical, like the rustling of reeds and the flow of rivulets; they +reecho in my breast, but my soul is sad!" + +Both of the young men arose. One threw his arm around the neck of the +other, and thus they left the noisy room. I followed, and saw them enter +a dark chamber, where the one by mistake, instead of the window, threw +open the door of a large wardrobe, and both, standing before it with +outstretched arms, expressing poetic rapture, spoke alternately. "Ye +breezes of darkening night," cried the first, "how ye cool and revive my +cheeks! How sweetly ye play amid my fluttering locks! I stand on the +cloudy peak of the mountain; far below me lie the sleeping cities of +men, and blue waters gleam. List! far below in the valley rustle the +fir-trees! Far above yonder hills sweep in misty forms the spirits of +our fathers. Oh, that I could hunt with ye on your cloud-steeds through +the stormy night, over the rolling sea, upwards to the stars! Alas! I am +laden with grief, and my soul is sad!" Meanwhile, the other had also +stretched out _his_ arms toward the wardrobe, while tears fell from his +eyes as he cried to a pair of yellow leather pantaloons which he mistook +for the moon, "Fair art thou, daughter of heaven! Lovely and blessed is +the calm of thy countenance. Thou walkest in loveliness! The stars +follow thy blue path in the east! At thy glance the clouds rejoice, and +their dark forms gleam with light. Who is like unto thee in heaven, thou +the night-born? The stars are ashamed before thee, and turn away their +sparkling eyes. Whither, ah, whither, when morning pales thy face, dost +thou flee from thy path? Hast thou, like me, thy Halle? Dwellest thou +amid shadows of sorrow? Have thy sisters fallen from heaven? Are they +who joyfully rolled with thee through the night now no more? Yea, they +have fallen down, oh! lovely light, and thou hidest thyself often to +bewail them! Yet the night must come at last when thou too will have +passed away, and left thy blue path above in heaven. Then the stars, +that were once ashamed in thy presence, will raise their green heads and +rejoice. But now art clothed in thy beaming splendor and gazest down +from the gate of heaven. Tear aside the clouds, oh! ye winds, that the +night-born may shine forth and the bushy hills gleam, and that the +foaming waves of the sea may roll in light!" + + * * * * * + +I can bear a tolerable quantity--modesty forbids me to say how many +bottles--and I consequently retired to my chamber in tolerably good +condition. The young merchant already lay in bed, enveloped in his +chalk-white night-cap and saffron yellow night-shirt of sanitary +flannel. He was not asleep, and sought to enter into conversation with +me. He was from Frankfurt-on-the-Main, and consequently spoke at once of +the Jews, declared that they had lost all feeling for the beautiful and +noble, and that they sold English goods twenty-five per cent. under +manufacturers' prices. A fancy to humbug him came over me, and I told +him that I was a somnambulist, and must beforehand beg his pardon should +I unwittingly disturb his slumbers. This intelligence, as he confessed +the following day, prevented him from sleeping a wink through the whole +night, especially since the idea had entered his head that I, while in a +somnambulistic state, might shoot him with the pistol which lay near my +bed. But in truth I fared no better myself, for I slept very little. +Dreary and terrifying fancies swept through my brain.... + +From this confusion I was rescued by the landlord of the Brocken, when +he awoke me to see the sun rise. On the tower I found several people +already waiting, and rubbing their freezing hands; others, with sleep +still in their eyes, stumbled up to us, until finally the whole silent +congregation of the previous evening was reassembled, and we saw how, +above the horizon, there rose a little carmine-red ball, spreading a +dim, wintry light. Far around, amid the mists, rose the mountains, as if +swimming in a white rolling sea, only their summits being visible, so +that we could imagine ourselves standing on a little hill in the midst +of an inundated plain, in which here and there rose dry clods of earth. +To retain what I saw and felt, I sketched the following poem: + + In the east 'tis ever brighter, + Though the sun gleams fitfully; + Far and wide the mountain summits + Swim above the misty sea. + + Had I seven-league boots for travel, + Like the fleeting winds I'd rove + Over valley, rock, and river, + To the home of her I love. + + From the bed where now she's sleeping + Soft the curtain I would slip; + Softly kiss her childlike forehead, + Kiss the ruby of her lip. + + Yet more softly would I whisper + In the little lily ear, + "Think in dreams we still are loving, + Think I never lost thee, dear." + +Meanwhile my longing for breakfast was also great, and, after paying a +few compliments to my ladies, I hastened down to drink coffee in the +warm public room. It was full time, for all within me was as sober and +as sombre as in the St. Stephen's Church at Goslar. But with the Arabian +beverage, the warm Orient thrilled through my limbs, Eastern roses +breathed forth their perfumes, sweet bulbul songs resounded, the +students were changed to camels, the Brocken housemaids, with their +Congreverocket-glances, became _houris_, the Philistine noses, minarets, +etc. + +But the book which lay near me, though full of nonsense, was not the +Koran. It was the so-called "Brocken-book," in which all travelers who +ascend the mountain write their names--most inscribing their thoughts, +or, in default thereof, their "feelings." Many even express themselves +in verse. In this book one may observe the horrors which result when the +great Philistine host on opportune occasions, such as this on the +Brocken, becomes poetic. The palace of the Prince of Pallagonia never +contained such absurdities as are to be found in this book. Those who +shine in it with especial splendor are Messrs. the excise collectors, +with their moldy "high inspirations;" counter-jumpers, with their +pathetic outgushings of the soul; old German revolution dilettanti with +their Turner-Union phrases, and Berlin school-masters with their +unsuccessful efforts at enthusiasm. Mr. Snobbs will also for once show +himself as author. In one page the majestic splendor of the sunrise is +described, in another complaints occur of bad weather, of disappointed +hopes, and of the mists which obstruct the view. A "Caroline" writes +that in climbing the mountain her feet got wet, to which a naive +"Nanny," who was impressed by this, adds, "I too, got wet while doing +this thing." "Went up wet without and came down wet within," is a +standing joke, repeated in the book hundreds of times. The whole volume +smells of beer, tobacco and cheese; we might fancy it one of Clauren's +novels. + + * * * * * + +And now the students prepared to depart. Knapsacks were buckled, the +bills, which were moderate beyond all expectation, were settled, the +susceptible housemaids, upon whose countenances the traces of successful +amours were plainly visible, brought, as is their custom, their +Brocken-bouquets, and helped some to adjust their caps; for all of which +they were duly rewarded with either kisses or coppers. Thus we all went +down the mountain, albeit one party, among whom were the Swiss and +Greifswalder, took the road toward Schierke, and the others, about +twenty men, among whom were my fellow "countrymen" and myself, led by a +guide, went through the so-called "Snow Holes" down to Ilsenburg. + +Such a head-over-heels, break-neck piece of business! Halle students +travel quicker than the Austrian militia. Ere I knew where I was, the +bald summit of the mountain, with groups of stones strewed over it, was +behind us, and we went through the fir-wood which I had seen the day +before. The sun poured down a cheerful light on the merry Burschen, in +gaily colored garb, as they merrily pressed onward through the wood, +disappearing here, coming to light again there, running across marshy +places on trunks of trees, climbing over shelving steeps by grasping the +projecting tree-roots; while they thrilled all the time in the merriest +manner and received as joyous an answer from the twittering wood-birds, +the invisibly plashing rivulets, and the resounding echo. When cheerful +youth and beautiful nature meet, they mutually rejoice. + +[Illustration: THE FALLS OF THE ILSE] + +The lower we descend the more delightfully did subterranean waters +ripple around us; only here and there they peeped out amid rocks and +bushes, appearing to be reconnoitring if they might yet come to light, +until at last one little spring jumped forth boldly. Then followed the +usual show--the bravest one makes a beginning, and then to their own +astonishment the great multitude of hesitators, suddenly inspired with +courage, rush forth to join the first. Myriads of springs now leaped in +haste from their ambush, united with the leader, and finally formed +quite an important brook, which, with its innumerable waterfalls and +beautiful windings, ripples down the valley. This is now the Ilse--the +sweet, pleasant Ilse. She flows through the blest Ilse vale, on whose +sides the mountains gradually rise higher and higher, being clad even to +their base with beech-trees, oaks, and the usual shrubs, the firs and +other needle-covered evergreens having disappeared; for that variety of +trees grows preferably upon the "Lower Harz," as the east side of the +Brocken is called in contradistinction to the west side or Upper Harz. +Being in reality much higher, it is therefore better adapted to the +growth of evergreens. + +It is impossible to describe the merriment, simplicity, and charm with +which the Ilse leaps down over the fantastically shaped rocks which rise +in her path, so that the water strangely whizzes or foams in one place. +amid rifted rocks, and in another pours forth in perfect arches through +a thousand crannies, as if from a giant watering-pot, and then, lower +down, trips away again over the pebbles like a merry maiden. Yes, the +old legend is true; the Ilse is a princess, who, in the full bloom of +youth, runs laughing down the mountain side. How her white foam garment +gleams in the sunshine! How her silvered scarf flutters in the breeze! +How her diamonds flash! The high beech-trees gaze down on her like grave +fathers secretly smiling at the capricious self-will of a darling child; +the white birch-trees nod their heads like delighted aunts, who are, +however, anxious at such bold leaps; the proud oak looks on like a not +over-pleased uncle, who must pay for all the fine weather; the birds +joyfully sing their applause; the flowers on the bank whisper, "Oh, take +us with thee, take us with thee, dear sister!" But the merry maiden may +not be withheld, and she leaps onward and suddenly seizes the dreaming +poet, and there streams over me a flower-rain of ringing gleams and +flashing tones, and my senses are lost in all the beauty and splendor, +and I hear only the voice, sweet pealing as a flute-- + + I am the Princess Ilse, + And dwell in Ilsenstein; + Come with me to my castle, + Thou shalt be blest--and mine! + + With ever-flowing fountains + I'll cool thy weary brow; + Thou'lt lose amid their rippling + The cares which grieve thee now. + + In my white arms reposing, + And on my snow-white breast, + Thou'lt dream of old, old legends, + And sing in joy to rest. + + I'll kiss thee and caress thee, + As in the ancient day + I kissed the Emperor Henry, + Who long has passed away. + + The dead are dead and silent, + Only the living love; + And I am fair and blooming-- + Dost feel my wild heart move! + + And as my heart is beating, + My crystal castle rings, + Where many a knight and lady + In merry measure springs. + + Silk trains are softly rustling, + Spurs ring from night to morn, + And dwarfs are gaily drumming, + And blow the golden horn. + + As round the Emperor Henry, + My arms round thee shall fall; + I held his ears--he heard not + The trumpet's warning call. + +We feel infinite happiness when the outer world blends with the world of +our own soul, and green trees, thoughts, the songs of birds, gentle +melancholy, the blue of heaven, memory, and the perfume of herbs, run +together in sweet arabesques. Women best understand this feeling, and +this may be the cause that such a sweet incredulous smile plays around +their lips when we, with scholastic pride, boast of our logical +deeds--how we have classified everything so nicely into subjective and +objective; how our heads are provided, apothecary-like, with a thousand +drawers, one of which contains reason, another understanding, the third +wit, the fourth bad wit, and the fifth nothing at all--that is to say, +the _Idea_. + +As if wandering in dreams, I scarcely observed that we had left the +depths of the Ilsethal and were now again climbing uphill. This was +steep and difficult work, and many of us lost our breath; but, like our +late lamented cousin, who now lies buried at Moelln, we thought in +advance of the descent, and were all the merrier in consequence. Finally +we reached the Ilsenstein. + +This is an enormous granite rock, which rises boldly on high from out a +glen. On three sides it is surrounded by high woody hills, but on the +fourth, the north side, there is an open view, and we gazed past the +Ilsenburg and the Ilse lying below us, far away into the low lands. On +the towerlike summit of the rock stands a great iron cross, and in case +of need there is also room here for four human feet. And as Nature, +through picturesque position and form, has adorned the Ilsenstein with +fantastic charms, so legend likewise has shed upon it a rosy shimmer. +According to Gottschalk, "People say that there once stood here an +enchanted castle, in which dwelt the rich and fair Princess Ilse, who +still bathes every morning in the Ilse. He who is fortunate enough to +hit upon the exact time and place will be led by her into the rock where +her castle lies and receive a royal reward." Others narrate a pleasant +legend of the lovers of the Lady Ilse and of the Knight of Westenberg, +which has been romantically sung by one of our most noted poets in the +_Evening Journal_. Others again say that it was the Old Saxon Emperor +Henry who had a royal good time with the water-nymph Ilse in her +enchanted castle. + +A later author, one Niemann, Esq., who has written a _Guide to the Harz_ +in which the height of the hills, variations of the compass, town +finances, and similar matters are described with praiseworthy accuracy, +asserts, however, that "what is narrated of the Princess Ilse belongs +entirely to the realm of fable." Thus do all men speak to whom a +beautiful princess has never appeared; but we who have been especially +favored by fair ladies know better. And the Emperor Henry knew it too! +It was not without cause that the Old Saxon emperors were so attached to +their native Harz. Let any one only turn over the leaves of the fair +_Lueneburg Chronicle,_ where the good old gentlemen are represented in +wondrously true-hearted woodcuts sitting in full armor on their mailed +war-steeds, the holy imperial crown on their beloved heads, sceptre and +sword in firm hands; and then in their dear mustachiod faces he can +plainly read how they often longed for the sweet hearts of their Harz +princesses, and for the familiar rustling of the Harz forests, when they +sojourned in distant lands--yes, even when in Italy, so rich in oranges +and poisons, whither they, with their followers, were often enticed by +the desire of being called Roman emperors, a genuine German lust for +title, which finally destroyed emperor and empire. + +I, however, advise every one who may hereafter stand on the summit of +the Ilsenstein to think neither of emperor nor empire nor of the fair +Ilse, but simply of his own feet. For as I stood there, lost in thought, +I suddenly heard the subterranean music of the enchanted castle, and saw +the mountains around begin to stand on their heads, while the red-tiled +roofs of Ilsenburg were dancing, and green trees flew through the air, +until all was green and blue before my eyes, and I, overcome by +giddiness, would assuredly have fallen into the abyss, had I not, in the +dire need of my soul, clung fast to the iron cross. No one who reflects +on the critically ticklish situation in which I was then placed can +possibly find fault with me for having done this. + +[Illustration: VIEW FROM ST. ANDREASBERG] + + * * * * * + + + + +BOYHOOD DAYS[55] + +By Heinrich Heine + +Translated by Charles Godfrey Leland + +The town of Duesseldorf is very beautiful, and if you think of it when +far away, and happen at the same time to have been born there, strange +feelings come over your soul. I was born there, and feel as if I must go +straight home. And when I say _home_ I mean the _Bolkerstrasse_ and the +house in which I was born. This house will some day be a great +curiosity, and I have sent word to the old lady who owns it that she +must not for her life sell it. For the whole house she would now hardly +get as much as the tips which the distinguished green-veiled English +ladies will one day give the servant girl when she shows them the room +where I was born, and the hen-house wherein my father generally +imprisoned me for stealing grapes, and also the brown door on which my +mother taught me to write with chalk--O Lord! Madame, should I ever +become a famous author, it has cost my poor mother trouble enough. + +(1823-1826) + +But my fame as yet slumbers in the marble quarries of Carrara; the +waste-paper laurel with which they have bedecked my brow has not yet +spread its perfume through the wide world, and the green-veiled English +ladies, when they come to Duesseldorf as yet leave the celebrated house +unvisited, and go directly to the market-place and there gaze on the +colossal black equestrian statue which stands in its midst. This is +supposed to represent the Prince Elector, Jan Wilhelm. He wears black +armor and a long wig hanging down his back. When a boy, I heard the +legend that the artist who made this statue became aware, to his +horror, while it was being cast, that he had not metal enough to fill +the mold, and then all the citizens of the town came running with all +their silver spoons, and threw them in to make up the deficiency; and I +often stood for hours before the statue wondering how many spoons were +concealed in it, and how many apple-tarts the silver would buy. +Apple-tarts were then my passion--now it is love, truth, liberty, and +crab-soup--and not far from the statue of the Prince Elector, at the +theatre corner, generally stood a curiously constructed bow-legged +fellow with a white apron, and a basket girt around him full of +delightfully steaming apple-tarts, whose praises he well knew how to +call out in an irresistible high treble voice, "Here you are! hot +apple-tarts! just from the oven--smelling deliciously!" Truly, whenever +in my later years the Evil One sought to get the better of me, he always +spoke in just such an enticing high treble voice, and I should certainly +have never remained twelve full hours with the Signora Giulietta, if she +had not thrilled me with her sweet perfumed apple-tart tones. And, in +fact, the apple-tarts would never have so sorely tempted me if the +crooked Hermann had not covered them up so mysteriously with his white +apron; and it is aprons, you know, which--but I wander from the subject. +I was speaking of the equestrian statue which has so many silver spoons +in it, and no soup, and which represents the Prince Elector, Jan +Wilhelm. + +He was a brave gentleman, 'tis reported, a lover of art and handy +therein himself. He founded the picture-gallery in Duesseldorf; and in +the observatory there, they still show us an extremely artistic piece of +work, consisting of one wooden cup within another which he himself had +carved in his leisure hours, of which latter he had every day +four-and-twenty. + +[Illustration: JOHANN WILHELM MONUMENT, DUeSSELDORF] + +In those days princes were not the harassed creatures they now are. +Their crowns grew firmly on their heads, and at night they drew +nightcaps over them besides and slept in peace, and their people +slumbered calmly at their feet; and when they awoke in the morning they +said, "Good morning, father!" and the princes replied, "Good morning, +dear children!" + +But there came a sudden change over all this, for one morning when we +awoke in Duesseldorf and wanted to say, "Good morning, father!" the +father had traveled away, and in the whole town there was nothing but +dumb sorrow. Everywhere there was a sort of funereal atmosphere, and +people crept silently through the market and read the long placard +placed on the door of the City Hall. The weather was dark and lowering, +yet the lean tailor Kilian stood in the nankeen jacket, which he +generally wore only at home, and in his blue woolen stockings, so that +his little bare legs peeped out dismally, and his thin lips quivered as +he murmured the words of the placard to himself. An old invalid soldier +from the Palatine read it in a somewhat louder tone, and at certain +phrases a transparent tear ran down his white, honorable old mustache. I +stood near him, and wept with him, and then asked why we wept; and he +replied, "The Prince Elector has abdicated." Then he read further, and +at the words "for the long-manifested fidelity of my subjects," "and +hereby release you from your allegiance," he wept still more. It is a +strange sight to see, when so old a man, in faded uniform, with a +scarred veteran's face, suddenly bursts into tears. While we read, the +Princely Electoral coat-of-arms was being taken down from the City Hall, +and everything began to appear as oppressively desolate as though we +were waiting for an eclipse of the sun. The city councilors went about +at an abdicating, slow gait; even the omnipotent beadle looked as though +he had had no more commands to give, and stood calmly indifferent, +although the crazy Aloysius again stood upon one leg and chattered the +names of French generals, with foolish grimaces, while the tipsy, +crooked Gumpertz rolled around the gutter, singing, "Ca ira! Ca ira!" +But I went home, weeping and lamenting because "the Prince Elector had +abdicated!" My mother tried hard to comfort me, but I would hear +nothing. I knew what I knew, and went weeping to bed, and in the night +dreamed that the world had come to an end--that all the fair flower +gardens and green meadows were taken up from the ground and rolled away, +like carpets; that a beadle climbed up on a high ladder and took down +the sun, and that the tailor Kilian stood by and said to himself, "I +must go home and dress myself neatly, for I am dead and am to be buried +this afternoon." And it grew darker and darker--a few stars glimmered +meagrely on high, and these too, at length, fell down like yellow leaves +in autumn; one by one all men vanished, and I, poor child, wandered +around in anguish, and finally found myself before the willow fence of a +deserted farmhouse, where I saw a man digging up the earth with a spade, +and near him an ugly, spiteful-looking woman, who held something in her +apron like a human head--but it was the moon, and she laid it carefully +in the open grave--and behind me stood the Palatine invalid, sighing, +and spelling out "The Prince Elector has abdicated." + +When I awoke the sun shone as usual through the window, there was a +sound of drums in the street, and as I entered the sitting-room and said +"good morning" to my father, who was sitting in his white dressing-gown, +I heard the little light-footed barber, as he dressed his hair, narrate +very minutely that allegiance would be sworn to the Grande Duke Joachim +that morning at the City Hall. I heard, too, that the new ruler was of +excellent family, that he had married the sister of the Emperor +Napoleon, and was really a very respectable man; that he wore his +beautiful black hair in flowing locks, that he would shortly make his +entrance into the town, and, in fine, that he was sure to please all the +ladies. Meanwhile the drumming in the streets continued, and I went out +before the house-door and looked at the French troops marching in that +joyous people of glory, who, singing and playing, swept over the world, +the serious and yet merry-faced grenadiers, the bear-skin shakoes, the +tri-colored cockades, the glittering bayonets, the _voltigeurs_, full of +vivacity and _point d'honneur_, and the omnipotent giant-like +silver-laced tambour major, who could cast his _baton_ with a gilded +head as high as the first story, and his eyes even to the second, where +also there were pretty girls sitting at the windows. I was so glad that +soldiers were to be quartered in our house--in which my mother differed +from me--and I hastened to the market-place. There everything looked +changed, somewhat as though the world had been newly whitewashed. A new +coat-of-arms was placed on the City Hall, its iron balconies were hung +with embroidered velvet drapery. French grenadiers stood as sentinels; +the old city councilors had put on new faces, and donned their Sunday +coats, and looked at each other Frenchily, and said, "_Bonjour!_" Ladies +gazed from every window, curious citizens and glittering soldiers filled +the square, and I, with other boys, climbed on the great bronze horse of +the Prince Elector, and thence stared down on the motley crowd. + +Our neighbors, Pitter and the tall Kunz, nearly broke their necks in +accomplishing this feat, and it would have been better if they had been +killed outright, for the one afterwards ran away from his parents, +enlisted as a soldier, deserted, and was finally shot at Mayence; while +the other, having made geographical researches in strange pockets, was +on this account elected active member of a public treadmill institute. +But having broken the iron bands which bound him to the latter and to +his fatherland, he safely crossed the channel, and eventually died in +London through wearing an all too tight neck-tie which automatically +drew together, when a royal official removed a plank from beneath his +feet. + +Tall Kunz told us that there was no school today on account of the +ceremonies connected with taking the oath of allegiance. We had to wait +a long time ere these commenced. Finally, the balcony of the City Hall +was filled with gaily dressed gentlemen, with flags and trumpets, and +our burgomaster, in his celebrated red coat, delivered an oration, which +stretched out like Indian rubber, or like a knitted nightcap into which +one has thrown a stone--only that it was not the philosopher's +stone--and I could distinctly understand many of his phrases--for +instance, that "we are now to be made happy;" and at the last words the +trumpets sounded out, the flags were waved, the drums were beaten, the +people cried, Hurrah! and while I myself cried hurrah, I held fast to +the old Prince Elector. And it was really necessary that I should, for I +began to grow giddy. It seemed to me as if the people were standing on +their heads, because the world whizzed around, while the old Prince +Elector, with his long wig, nodded and whispered, "Hold fast to me!" and +not till the cannon reechoed along the wall did I become sobered, and +climbed slowly down from the great bronze horse. + +As I went home, I saw the crazy Aloysius again dancing on one leg, while +he chattered the names of French generals, and I also beheld crooked +Gumpertz rolling in the gutter and growling, "Ca ira, ca ira," and I +said to my mother, "We are all to be made happy; on that account there +is no school today." + +II + +The next day the world was again all in order, and we had school as +before, and things were learned by heart as before--the Roman kings, +dates, the _nomina_ in _im_, the _verba irregularia_, Greek, Hebrew, +geography, German, mental arithmetic--Lord! my head is still giddy with +it!--all had to be learned by heart. And much of it was eventually to my +advantage; for had I not learned the Roman kings by heart, it would +subsequently have been a matter of perfect indifference to me whether +Niebuhr had or had not proved that they never really existed. And had I +not learned those dates, how could I ever, in later years, have found +out any one in big Berlin, where one house is as like another as drops +of water or as grenadiers, and where it is impossible to find a friend +unless you have the number of his house in your head! At that time I +associated with every acquaintance some historical event, which had +happened in a year corresponding to the number of his house, so that the +one recalled the other, and some curious point in history always +occurred to me whenever I met any one whom I visited. For instance, when +I met my tailor, I at once thought of the battle of Marathon; when I saw +the well-groomed banker, Christian Gumpel, I immediately remembered the +destruction of Jerusalem; when I caught sight of a Portuguese friend, +deeply in debt, I thought at once of the flight of Mahomet; when I met +the university judge, a man whose probity is well known, I thought of +the death of Haman; and as soon as I laid eyes on Wadzeck, I was at once +reminded of Cleopatra. Ah, heaven! the poor creature is dead now; our +tears are dry, and we may say of her with Hamlet, "Taken all in all, she +was an old woman; we oft shall look upon her like again!" But, as I +said, dates are necessary. I know men who had nothing in their heads but +a few dates, and with their aid knew where to find the right houses in +Berlin, and are now already regular professors. But oh, the trouble I +had at school with the multitude of numbers; and as to actual +arithmetic, that was even worse! I understood best of all subtraction, +and for this there is a very practical rule: "Four can't be taken from +three, therefore I must borrow one"; but I advise all in such a case to +borrow a few extra groschen, for no one can tell what may happen. + +But oh, the Latin! Madame, you can really have no idea of how +complicated it is. The Romans would never have found time to conquer the +world if they had been obliged first to learn Latin. Lucky dogs! they +already knew in their cradles which nouns have their accusative in _im_. +I, on the contrary, had to learn them by heart, in the sweat of my brow, +but still it is well that I know them. For if I, for example, when I +publicly disputed in Latin in the College Hall of Goettingen, on the 20th +of July, 1825--Madame, it was well worth while to hear it--if I on that +occasion had said _sinapem_ instead of _sinapim_, the blunder would have +been evident to the Freshmen, and an endless shame for me. _Vis, buris, +sitis, tussis, cucumis, amussis, cannabis, sinapis_--these words, which +have attracted so much attention in the world, effected this, inasmuch +as they belonged to a distinct class, and yet withal remained an +exception; therefore I highly respect them, and the fact that I have +them ready at my fingers' ends when I perhaps need them in a hurry, +often affords me in life's darkened hours much internal tranquillity and +consolation. But, Madame, the _verba irregularia_--they are +distinguished from the _verbis regularibus_ by the fact that the boys in +learning them got more whippings--are terribly difficult. In the musty +archways of the Franciscan cloister near our schoolroom there hung a +large Christ--crucified of grey wood, a dismal image, that even yet at +times rises in my dreams and gazes sorrowfully on me with fixed bleeding +eyes. Before this image I often stood and prayed, "Oh, Thou poor and +also tormented God, I pray Thee, if it be possible, that I may get by +heart the irregular verbs!" + +I will say nothing of Greek, otherwise I should vex myself too much. The +monks of the Middle Ages were not so very much in the wrong when they +asserted that Greek was an invention of the devil. Lord knows what I +suffered through it! It went better with Hebrew, for I always had a +great predilection for the Jews, although they crucify my good name up +to the present hour, and yet I never could get as far in Hebrew as my +watch did, which had much intimate intercourse with pawnbrokers and in +consequence acquired many Jewish habits--for instance, it would not go +on Saturday, and it also learned the sacred language, subsequently even +studying it grammatically; for often when sleepless in the night I have, +to my amazement, heard it industriously ticking away to itself: _katal, +katalta, katalti, kittel, kittalta, katalti-pokat, pokadeti-pikat, pik, +pik_. + +Meanwhile I learned more of German than of any other tongue, though +German itself is not such child's play, after all. For we poor Germans, +who have already been sufficiently vexed with having soldiers quartered +on us, military duties, poll-taxes, and a thousand other exactions, must +needs, over and above all this, bag Mr. Adelung and torment one another +with accusatives and datives. I learned much German from the old Rector +Schallmeyer, a brave, clerical gentleman, whose protege I was from +childhood. But I also learned something of the kind from Professor +Schramm, a man who had written a book on eternal peace, and in whose +class my school-fellows quarreled and fought more than in any other. + +And while I have thus been writing away without a pause and thinking +about all sorts of things, I have unexpectedly chattered myself back +among old school stories, and I avail myself of this opportunity to +mention, Madame, that it was not my fault if I learned so little of +geography that later in life I could not make my way in the world. For +in those days the French displaced all boundaries; every day the +countries were recolored on the world's map; those which were once blue +suddenly became green, many indeed were even dyed blood-red; the old +stereotyped souls of the school-books became so confused and confounded +that the devil himself would never have recognized them. The products of +the country were also changed; chickory and beets now grew where only +hares and country gentlemen pursuing them were once to be seen; even the +character of the nations changed; the Germans became pliant, the French +paid compliments no longer; the English ceased making ducks and drakes +of their money, and the Venetians were not subtle enough; there was +promotion among princes, old kings received new uniforms, new kingdoms +were cooked up and sold like hot cakes; many potentates were chased, on +the other hand, from house and home, and had to find some new way of +earning their bread, and some therefore went at once into trade, and +manufactured, for instance, sealing wax, or--Madame, this paragraph +must be brought to an end, or I shall be out of breath--in fine, in such +times it is impossible to advance far in geography. + +I succeeded better in natural history, for there we find fewer changes, +and we always have standard engravings of apes, kangaroos, zebras, +rhinoceroses, etc., etc. And having many such pictures in my memory, it +often happens that at first sight many mortals appeared to me like old +acquaintances. + +I also did well in mythology, and took a real delight in the mob of gods +and goddesses who, so jolly and naked, governed the world. I do not +believe that there was a schoolboy in ancient Rome who knew the +principal points of his catechism--that is, the loves of Venus--better +than I. To tell the plain truth, it seems to me that if we must learn +all the heathen gods by heart, we might as well have kept them from the +first; and we have not, perhaps, gained so much with our New-Roman +Trinity or still less with our Jewish unity. Perhaps the old mythology +was not in reality so immoral as we imagine, and it was, for example, a +very decent idea of Homer to give to much-loved Venus a husband. + +But I succeeded best in the French class of the Abbe d'Aulnoi, a French +_emigre_, who had written a number of grammars, and wore a red wig, and +jumped about very nervously when he lectured on his _Art poetique_ and +his _Histoire Allemande_. He was the only one in the whole gymnasium who +taught German history. Still, French has its difficulties, and to learn +it there must be much quartering of troops, much drumming, much +_apprendre par coeur_, and, above all, no one must be a _bete +allemande_. There was here, too, many a hard nut to crack; and I can +remember as plainly as though it happened but yesterday that I once got +into a bad scrape through _la religion_. I was asked at least six times +in succession, "Henry, what is French for 'the faith?'" And six times, +with an ever increasing inclination to weep, I replied, "It is called +_le credit_." And after the seventh question the furious examinator, +purple in the face, cried, "It is called _la religion_"--and there was a +rain of blows and a thunder of laughter from all my schoolmates. Madame, +since that day I never hear the word _religion_ without having my back +turn pale with terror, and my cheeks turn red with shame. And to tell +the honest truth, _le credit_ has during my life stood me in the better +stead than _la religion_. It occurs to me just at this instant that I +still owe the landlord of The Lion in Bologna five dollars. And I pledge +you my sacred word of honor that I would willingly owe him five dollars +more if I could only be certain that I should never again hear that +unlucky word, _la religion_, as long as I live. + +_Parbleu_, Madame! I have succeeded tolerably well in French; for I +understand not only _patois_, but even patrician, governess French. Not +long ago, when in an aristocratic circle, I understood nearly one-half +of the conversation of two German countesses, each of whom could count +at least sixty-four years, and as many ancestors. Yes, in the _Cafe +Royal_ in Berlin, I once heard Monsieur Hans Michel Martens talking +French, and could understand every word he spoke, though there was no +understanding in anything he said. We must know the _spirit_ of a +language, and this is best learned by drumming. _Parbleu_! how much do I +not owe to the French drummer who was so long quartered in our house, +who looked like a devil, and yet had the good heart of an angel, and +withal drummed so divinely! + +He was a little, nervous figure, with a terrible black mustache, beneath +which red lips sprang forth defiantly, while his wild eyes shot fiery +glances all round. + +I, a young shaver, stuck to him like a burr, and helped him to clean his +military buttons till they shone like mirrors, and to pipe-clay his +vest--for Monsieur Le Grand liked to look well--and I followed him to +the guard house, to the roll-call, to the parade-ground--in those times +there was nothing but the gleam of weapons and merriment--_les jours de +fete sont passes_! Monsieur Le Grand knew but a little broken German, +only the three principal words, "Bread," "Kiss," "Honor"--but he could +make himself very intelligible with his drum. For instance, if I knew +not what the word _liberte_ meant, he drummed the _Marseillaise_--and I +understood him. If I did not understand the word _egalite_, he drummed +the march-- + + "Ca ira, ca ira, ca ira, + Les aristocrats a la lanterne!" + +and I understood him. If I did not know what Betise meant, he drummed +the Dessauer March, which we Germans, as Goethe also declares, drummed +in Champagne--and I understood him. He once wanted to explain to me the +word _l'Allemagne_ (or Germany), and he drummed the all too _simple_ +melody which on market-days is played to dancing-dogs, namely, +_dum-dum-dum_! I was vexed, but I understood him for all that! + +In like manner he taught me modern history. I did not understand, it is +true, the words which he spoke, but as he constantly drummed while +speaking, I knew what he meant. This is, fundamentally, the best method. +The history of the storming of the Bastile, of the Tuileries, and the +like, cannot be correctly understood until we know how _the drumming_ +was done on such occasions. In our school compendiums of history we +merely read: "Their Excellencies the Barons and Counts and their noble +spouses, their Highnesses the Dukes and Princes and their most noble +spouses were beheaded. His Majesty the King, and his most illustrious +spouse, the Queen, were beheaded."--But when you hear the red march of +the guillotine drummed, you understand it correctly for the first time, +and with it the how and the why. Madame, that is really a wonderful +march! It thrilled through marrow and bone when I first heard it, and I +was glad that I forgot it. People are apt to forget things of this kind +as they grow older, and a young man has nowadays so much and such a +variety of knowledge to keep in his head--whist, Boston, genealogical +registers, decrees of the Federal Council, dramaturgy, the liturgy, +carving--and yet, I assure you that really, despite all the jogging up +of my brain, I could not for a long time recall that tremendous time! +And only to think, Madame! Not long ago I sat one day at table with a +whole menagerie of counts, princes, princesses, chamberlains, +court-marshalesses, seneschals, upper court mistresses, court keepers of +the royal plate, court hunters' wives, and whatever else these +aristocratic domestics are termed, and _their_ under-domestics ran about +behind their chairs and shoved full plates before their mouths; but I, +who was passed by and neglected, sat idle without the least occupation +for my jaws, and kneaded little bread-balls, and drummed with my +fingers, from boredom, and, to my astonishment, I found myself suddenly +drumming the red, long-forgotten guillotine march. + +"And what happened?" Madame, the good people were not in the least +disturbed, nor did they know that _other_ people, when they can get +nothing to eat, suddenly begin to drum, and that, too, very queer +marches, which people have long forgotten. + +Is drumming now an inborn talent, or was it early developed in me? +Enough, it lies in my limbs, in my hands, in my feet, and often +involuntarily manifests itself. At Berlin, I once sat in the +lecture-room of the Privy Councilor Schmaltz, a man who had saved the +state by his book on the _Red and Black Coat Danger_. You remember, +perhaps, Madame, that in Pausanias we are told that by the braying of an +ass an equally dangerous plot was once discovered, and you also know +from Livy, or from Becker's _History of the World_, that geese once +saved the Capitol, and you must certainly know from Sallust that by the +chattering of a loquacious _putaine_, the Lady Fulvia, the terrible +conspiracy of Catiline came to light. But to return to the mutton +aforesaid. I was listening to the law and rights of nations, in the +lecture-room of the Herr Privy Councilor Schmaltz, and it was a lazy +sleepy summer afternoon, and I sat on the bench, and little by little I +listened less and less--my head had gone to sleep--when all at once I +was awakened by the noise of my own feet, which had _not_ gone to sleep +and had probably heard that just the contrary of the law and rights of +nations was being taught and constitutional principles were being +reviled, and which with the little eyes of their corns had seen better +how things go in the world than the Privy Councilor with his great Juno +eyes--these poor dumb feet, incapable of expressing their immeasurable +meaning by words, strove to make themselves intelligible by drumming, +and they drummed so loudly that I thereby came near getting into a +terrible scrape. + +Cursed, unreflecting feet! They once played me a little trick, when I, +on a time in Goettingen, was temporarily attending the lectures of +Professor Saalfeld, and as this learned gentleman, with his angular +agility, jumped about here and there in his desk, and wound himself up +to curse the Emperor Napoleon in regular set style--no, my poor feet, I +cannot blame you for drumming _then_--indeed, I would not have blamed +you if in your dumb _naivete_ you had expressed yourselves by still more +energetic movements. How dare I, the scholar of Le Grand, hear the +Emperor cursed? The Emperor! the Emperor! the great Emperor! + +When I think of the great Emperor, all in my memory again becomes +summer-green and golden. A long avenue of lindens in bloom arises before +me, and on the leafy twigs sit nightingales, singing; the waterfall +murmurs, in full round beds flowers are growing, and dreamily nodding +their fair heads. I was on a footing of wondrous intimacy with them; the +rouged tulips, proud as beggars, condescendingly greeted me; the nervous +sick lilies nodded to me with tender melancholy, the wine-red roses +laughed at me from afar; the night-violets sighed; with the myrtle and +laurel I was not then acquainted, for they did not entice with a shining +bloom, but the mignonette, with whom I am now on such bad terms, was my +very particular friend.--I am speaking of the Court garden of +Duesseldorf, where I often lay upon the grass and piously listened there +when Monsieur Le Grand told of the martial feats of the great Emperor, +beating meanwhile the marches which were drummed while the deeds were +performed, so that I saw and heard it all vividly. I saw the passage +over the Simplon--the Emperor in advance and his brave grenadiers +climbing on behind him, while the scream of frightened birds of prey +sounded around, and the glaciers thundered in the distance; I saw the +Emperor with glove in hand on the bridge of Lodi; I saw the Emperor in +his grey cloak at Marengo; I saw the Emperor on horseback in the battle +of the Pyramids, naught around save powder, smoke, and Mamelukes; I saw +the Emperor in the battle of Austerlitz--ha! how the bullets whistled +over the smooth, icy road! I saw, I heard the battle of Jena-dum, dum, +dune; I saw, I heard the battle of Eylau, of Wagram--no, I could hardly +stand it! Monsieur Le Grand drummed so that my own eardrum nearly burst. + +III + +But what were my feelings when my very own eyes were first blessed with +the sight of him, _him_--Hosannah! the Emperor. + +It was precisely in the avenue of the Court garden at Duesseldorf. As I +pressed through the gaping crowd, thinking of the doughty deeds and +battles which Monsieur Le Grand had drummed to me, my heart beat the +"general march"--yet at the same time I thought of the police regulation +that no one should dare ride through the middle of the avenue under +penalty of five dollars fine. And the Emperor with his _cortege_ rode +directly through the middle of the avenue. The trembling trees bowed +toward him as he advanced, the sun-rays quivered, frightened, yet +curious, through the green leaves, and in the blue heaven above there +swam visibly a golden star. The Emperor wore his unpretentious-green +uniform and the little world-renowned hat. He rode a white palfrey, +which stepped with such calm pride, so confidently, so nobly--had I then +been Crown Prince of Prussia I would have envied that horse. The +Emperor sat carelessly, almost laxly, holding his rein with one hand, +and with the other good-naturedly patting the neck of the horse. It was +a sunny marble hand, a mighty hand--one of the pair which subdued the +many headed monster of anarchy, and regulated the conflict of +nations--and it good-naturedly patted the neck of the horse. Even the +face had that hue which we find in the marble Greek and Roman busts, the +traits were as nobly proportioned as those of the ancients, and on that +countenance was plainly written "Thou shalt have no gods before me!" A +smile, which warmed and tranquilized every heart, flitted over the +lips--and yet all knew that those lips needed but to whistle _et la +Prusse n'existait plus_--those lips needed but to whistle and the entire +clergy would have stopped their ringing and singing--those lips needed +but to whistle, and the entire Holy Roman Empire would have danced. And +these lips smiled, and the eye too smiled. It was an eye clear as +heaven; it could read the hearts of men; it saw at a glance all things +in the world at once, while we ordinary mortals see them only one by +one, and then only their colored shadows. The brow was not so clear, the +phantoms of future battles were nestling there, and from time to time +there was a quiver which swept over this brow, and those were the +creative thoughts, the great seven-league-boots thoughts, wherewith the +spirit of the Emperor strode invisibly over the world; and I believe +that every one of those thoughts would have furnished a German author +plentiful material to write about all the days of his life. + +The Emperor rode calmly, straight through the middle of the avenue; no +policeman stopped him; behind him proudly rode his cortege on snorting +steeds and loaded with gold and ornaments. The drums rolled, the +trumpets pealed; near me crazy Aloysius spun round, and snarled the +names of his generals; not far off bellowed the tipsy Gumpert, and the +multitude cried with a thousand voices, "Es lebe der Kaiser!"--Long live +the Emperor! + +IV + +The Emperor is dead. On a waste island in the Indian Sea lies his +lonely grave, and he for whom the world was too narrow lies silently +under a little hillock, where five weeping willows shake out their green +hair, and a gentle little brook, murmuring sorrowfully, ripples by. +There is no inscription on his tomb; but Clio, with unerring style, has +written thereon invisible words, which will resound, like ghostly tones, +through the centuries. + +Britannia, the sea is thine! But the sea hath not water enough to wash +away the shame which that mighty one hath bequeathed to thee in dying. +Not thy wind bag, Sir Hudson--no; thou thyself wert the Sicilian bravo +whom perjured kings lured that they might secretly revenge on the man of +the people that which the people had once openly inflicted on one of +themselves. And he was thy guest, and had seated himself by thy hearth. + +Until the latest times the boys of France will sing and tell of the +terrible hospitality of the _Bellerophon_, and when those songs of +mockery and tears resound across the strait, there will be a blush on +the cheek of every honorable Briton. But a day will come when this song +will ring thither, and there will be no Britannia in existence--when the +people of pride will be humbled to the earth, when Westminster's +monuments will be broken, and when the royal dust which they inclosed +will be forgotten. And St. Helena is the holy grave whither the races of +the east and of the west will make their pilgrimage in ships, with +pennons of many a hue, and their hearts will grow strong with great +memories of the deeds of the worldly savior, who suffered and died under +Sir Hudson Lowe, as it is written in the evangelists, Las Cases, +O'Meara, and Autommarchi. + +Strange! A terrible destiny has already overtaken the three greatest +enemies of the Emperor: Londonderry has cut his throat, Louis XVIII has +rotted away on his throne, and Professor Saalfeld is still, as before, +professor in Goettingen. + + * * * * * + + + + +ENGLISH FRAGMENTS[56] + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +DIALOGUE ON THE THAMES + +The sallow man stood near me on the deck, as I gazed on the green shores +of the Thames, while in every corner of my soul the nightingales awoke +to life. "Land of Freedom!" I cried, "I greet thee! Hail to thee, +Freedom, young sun of the renewed world! Those older suns, Love and +Faith, are withered and cold, and can no longer light or warm us. The +ancient myrtle woods, which were once all too full, are now deserted, +and only timid turtle-doves nestle amid the soft thickets. The old +cathedrals, once piled in towering height by an arrogantly pious race, +which fain would force its faith into heaven, are crumbling, and their +gods have ceased to believe in themselves. Those divinities are worn +out, and our age lacks the imagination to shape others. Every power of +the human breast now tends to a love of Liberty, and Liberty is, +perhaps, the religion of the modern age. It is a religion not preached +to the rich, but to the poor, and has in like manner its evangelists, +its martyrs, and its Iscariots!" + +"Young enthusiast," said the sallow man, "you will not find what you +seek. You may be in the right in believing that Liberty is a new +religion which will spread over all the world. But as every race of old, +when it received Christianity, did so according to its requirements and +its peculiar character, so, at present, every country adopts from the +new religion of liberty only that which is in accordance with its local +needs and national character. + +The English are a domestic race, living a sequestered, peaceable, family +life, and the Englishman seeks in the circle of those connected with and +pertaining to him that easy state of mind which is denied to him through +his innate social incapacity. The Englishman is, therefore, contented +with that liberty which secures his most personal rights and guards his +body, his property, and his conjugal relations, his religion, and even +his whims, in the most unconditional manner. No one is freer in his home +than an Englishman, and, to use a celebrated expression, he is king and +bishop between his four walls; and there is much truth in the common +saying, 'My house is my castle.' + +"If the Englishman has the greatest need of personal freedom, the +Frenchman, in case of necessity, can dispense with it, if we only grant +him that portion of universal liberty known as equality. The French are +not a domestic, but a social, race; they are no friends to a silent +_tete-a-tete_, which they call _une conversation anglaise;_ they run +gossiping about from the _cafe_ to the casino, and from the casino to +the _salons_; their light champagne-blood and inborn talent for company +drive them to social life, whose first and last principle, yes, whose +very soul, is equality. The development of the social principle in +France necessarily involved that of equality, and if the ground of the +Revolution should be sought in the Budget, it is none the less true that +its language and tone were drawn from those wits of low degree who lived +in the _salons_ of Paris, apparently on a footing of equality with the +high _noblesse_, and who were now and then reminded, it may have been by +a hardly perceptible, yet not on that account less exasperating, feudal +smile, of the great and ignominious inequality which lay between them. +And when the _canaille roturiere_ took the liberty of beheading that +high _noblesse_, it was done less to inherit their property than their +ancestry, and to introduce a noble equality in place of a vulgar +inequality. And we are the better authorized to believe that this +striving for equality was the main principle of the Revolution, since +the French speedily found themselves so happy and contented under the +dominion of their great Emperor, who, fully appreciating that they were +not yet of age, kept all their _freedom_ within the limits of his +powerful guardianship, permitting them only the pleasure of a perfect +and admirable equality. + +"Far more patient than the Frenchman, the Englishman easily bears the +glances of a privileged aristocracy, consoling himself with the +reflection that he has a right which renders it impossible for others to +disturb his personal comfort or his daily requirements. Nor does the +aristocracy here make a show of its privileges, as on the Continent. In +the streets and in places of public resort in London, colored ribbons +are seen only on women's bonnets, and gold and silver signs of +distinction on the dresses of lackeys. Even that beautiful, colored +livery which indicates with us military rank is, in England, anything +but a sign of honor, and, as an actor after a play hastens to wash off +the rouge, so an English officer hastens, when the hours of active duty +are over, to strip off his red coat and again appear like a gentleman, +in the plain garb of a gentleman. Only at the theatre of St. James are +those decorations and costumes, which were raked from the off-scourings +of the Middle Ages, of any avail. There we may see the ribbons of orders +of nobility; there the stars glitter, silk knee-breeches and satin +trains rustle, golden spurs and old-fashioned French styles of +expression clatter; there the knight struts and the lady spreads +herself. But what does a free Englishman care for the Court comedy of +St. James, so long as it does not trouble him, and so long as no one +interferes when he plays comedy in like manner in his own house, making +his lackeys kneel before him, or plays with the garter of a pretty +cook-maid? _'Honi soit qui mal y pense!'_ + +"As for the Germans, they need neither freedom nor equality. They are a +speculative race, ideologists, prophets, and sages, dreamers who live +only in the past and in the future, and who have no present. Englishmen +and Frenchmen have a _present_; with them every day has its field of +action, its struggle against enemies, its history. The German has +nothing for which to battle, and when he began to realize that there +might be things worth striving for, his philosophizing wiseacres taught +him to doubt the existence of such things. It cannot be denied that the +Germans love liberty, but it is in a different manner from other people. +The Englishman loves liberty as his lawful wife, and, even if he does +not treat her with remarkable tenderness, he is still ready in case of +need to defend her like a man, and woe to the red-coated rascal who +forces his way to her bedroom--let him do so as a gallant or as a +catchpoll. The Frenchman loves liberty as his bride. He burns for her; +he is a flame; he casts himself at her feet with the most extravagant +protestations; he will fight for her to the death; he commits for her +sake a thousand follies. The German loves liberty as though she were his +old grandmother." + +Men are strange beings! We grumble in our Fatherland; every stupid +thing, every contrary trifle, vexes us there; like boys, we are always +longing to rush forth into the wide world, and, when we finally find +ourselves there, we find it too wide, and often yearn in secret for the +narrow stupidities and contrarieties of home. Yes, we would fain be +again in the old chamber, sitting behind the familiar stove, making for +ourselves, as it were, a "cubby-house" near it, and, nestling there, +read the _German General Advertiser_. So it was with me in my journey to +England. Scarcely had I lost sight of the German shore ere there awoke +in me a curious after-love for the German nightcaps and forest-like wigs +which I had just left in discontent; and when the Fatherland faded from +my eyes I found it again in my heart. And, therefore, it may be that +my voice quivered in a somewhat lower key as I replied to the sallow +man--"Dear sir, do not scold the Germans! If they are dreamers, still +many of them have conceived such beautiful dreams that I would hardly +incline to change them for the waking realities of our neighbors. Since +we all sleep and dream, we can perhaps dispense with freedom; for our +tyrants also sleep, and only dream their tyranny. We awoke only +once--when the Catholic Romans robbed us of our dream-freedom; then we +acted and conquered, and laid us down again and dreamed. O sir! do not +mock our dreamers, for now and then they speak, like somnambulists, +wondrous things in sleep, and their words become the seeds of freedom. +No one can foresee the turn which things may take. The splenetic Briton, +weary of his wife, may put a halter round her neck and sell her in +Smithfield. The flattering Frenchman may perhaps be untrue to his +beloved bride and abandon her, and, singing, dance after the Court dames +(_courtisanes_) of his royal palace (_palais royal_). But the German +will never turn his old grandmother quite out of doors; he will always +find a place for her by his fireside, where she can tell his listening +children her legends. Should Freedom ever vanish from the entire +world--which God forbid!--a German dreamer would discover her again in +his dreams." + +While the steamboat, and with it our conversation, swam thus along the +stream, the sun had set, and his last rays lit up the hospital at +Greenwich, an imposing palace-like building which in reality consists of +two wings, the space between which is empty, and a green hill crowned +with a pretty little tower from which one can behold the passers-by. On +the water the throng of vessels became denser and denser, and I wondered +at the adroitness with which they avoided collision. While passing, many +a sober and friendly face nodded greetings--faces whom we had never seen +before, and were never to see again. We sometimes came so near that it +was possible to shake hands in joint welcome and adieu. One's heart +swells at the sight of so many bellying sails, and we feel strangely +moved when the confused hum and far-off dance-music, and the deep voices +of sailors, resound from the shore. But the outlines of all things +vanished little by little behind the white veil of the evening mist, and +there remained visible only a forest of masts, rising long and bare +above it. + +The sallow man still stood near me and gazed reflectively on high, as +though he sought for the pale stars in the cloudy heaven. And, still +gazing aloft, he laid his hand on my shoulder, and said in a tone as +though secret thoughts involuntarily became words--"Freedom and +equality! they are not to be found on earth below nor in heaven above. +The stars on high are not alike, for one is greater and brighter than +another; none of them wanders free, all obey a prescribed and iron-like +law--there is slavery in heaven as on earth!" + +"There is the Tower!" suddenly cried one of our traveling companions, as +he pointed to a high building which rose like a spectral, gloomy dream +above the cloud-covered London. + + * * * * * + +LONDON + +I have seen the greatest wonder which the world can show to the +astonished spirit; I have seen it, and am still astonished; and still +there remains fixed in my memory the stone forest of houses, and amid +them the rushing stream of faces of living men with all their motley +passions, all their terrible impulses of love, of hunger, and of +hatred--I mean London. + +Send a _philosopher_ to London, but, for your life, no poet! Send a +philosopher there, and station him at a corner of Cheapside, where he +will learn more than from all the books of the last Leipzig fair; and as +the billows of human life roar around him, so will a sea of new thoughts +rise before him, and the Eternal Spirit which moves upon the face of the +waters will breathe upon him; the most hidden secrets of social harmony +will be suddenly revealed to him; he will hear the pulse of the world +beat audibly, and see it visibly; for if London is the right hand of the +world--its active, mighty right hand--then we may regard that route +which leads from the Exchange to Downing Street as the world's pyloric +artery. + +But never send a poet to London! This downright earnestness of all +things, this colossal uniformity, this machine-like movement, this +troubled spirit in pleasure itself, this exaggerated London, smothers +the imagination and rends the heart. And should you ever send a German +poet thither--a dreamer, who stares at everything, even a ragged +beggar-woman, or the shining wares of a goldsmith's shop--why, then, at +least he will find things going right badly with him, and he will be +hustled about on every side, or perhaps be knocked over with a mild "God +damn!" _God damn!_--damn the knocking about and pushing! I see at a +glance that these people have enough to do. They live on a grand scale, +and though food and clothes are dearer with them than with us, they must +still be better fed and clothed than we are--as gentility requires. +Moreover, they have enormous debts, yet occasionally, in a vainglorious +mood, they make ducks and drakes of their guineas, pay other nations to +box about for their pleasure, give their kings a handsome _douceur_ into +the bargain; and, therefore, John Bull must work to get the money for +such expenditure. By day and by night he must tax his brain to discover +new machines, and he sits and reckons in the sweat of his brow, and runs +and rushes, without much looking around, from the Docks to the Exchange, +and from the Exchange to the Strand; and therefore it is quite +pardonable if he, when a poor German poet, gazing into a print-shop +window, stands bolt in his way on the corner of Cheapside, should knock +the latter sideways with a rather rough "God damn!" + +But the picture at which I was gazing as I stood at Cheapside corner was +that of the French crossing the Beresina. + +And when I, jolted out of my gazing, looked again on the raging street, +where a parti-colored coil of men, women, and children, horses, +stagecoaches, and with them a funeral, whirled groaning and creaking +along, it seemed to me as though all London were such a Beresina Bridge, +where every one presses on in mad haste to save his scrap of life; where +the daring rider stamps down the poor pedestrian; where every one who +falls is lost forever; where the best friends rush, without feeling, +over one another's corpses; and where thousands in the weakness of +death, and bleeding, grasp in vain at the planks of the bridge, and are +shot down into the icy grave of death. + +How much more pleasant and homelike it is in our dear Germany! With what +dreaming comfort, in what Sabbath-like repose, all glides along here! +Calmly the sentinels are changed, uniforms and houses shine in the quiet +sunshine, swallows flit over the flagstones, fat Court-counciloresses +smile from the windows; while along the echoing streets there is room +enough for the dogs to sniff at each other, and for men to stand at ease +and chat about the theatre, and bow deeply--oh, how deeply!--when some +small aristocratic scamp or vice-scamp, with colored ribbons on his +shabby coat, or some Court-marshal-low-brow struts along as if in +judgment, graciously returning salutations. + +I had made up my mind in advance not to be astonished at that immensity +of London of which I had heard so much. But I had as little success as +the poor schoolboy who determined beforehand not to feel the whipping +which he was to receive. The facts of the case were that he expected to +get the usual blows with the usual stick in the usual way on the back, +whereas he received a most unusually severe licking on an unusual place +with a cutting switch. I anticipated great palaces, and saw nothing but +mere small houses. But their very uniformity and their limitless extent +impress the soul wonderfully. + +These houses of brick, owing to the damp atmosphere and coal smoke, are +all of an uniform color, that is to say, of a brown olive-green, and are +all of the same style of building, generally two or three windows wide, +three stories high, and finished above with small red tiles, which +remind one of newly extracted bleeding teeth; while the broad and +accurately squared streets which these houses form seem to be bordered +by endlessly long barracks. This has its reason in the fact that every +English family, though it consist of only two persons, must still have a +house to itself for its own castle, and rich speculators, to meet the +demand, build, wholesale, entire streets of these dwellings, which they +retail singly. In the principal streets of the city, where the business +of London is most at home, where old-fashioned buildings are mingled +with the new, and where the fronts of the houses are covered with signs, +yards in length, generally gilt, and in relief, this characteristic +uniformity is less striking--the less so, indeed, because the eye of the +stranger is incessantly caught by the new and brilliant wares exposed +for sale in the windows. And these articles do not merely produce an +effect, because the Englishman completes so perfectly everything which +he manufactures, and because every article of luxury, every astral lamp +and every boot, every teakettle and every woman's dress, shines out so +invitingly and so _finished_. There is also a peculiar charm in the art +of arrangement, in the contrast of colors, and in the variety of the +English shops; even the most commonplace necessities of life appear in a +startling magic light through this artistic power of setting forth +everything to advantage. Ordinary articles of food attract us by the new +light in which they are placed; even uncooked fish lie so delightfully +dressed that the rainbow gleam of their scales attracts us; raw meat +lies, as if painted, on neat and many-colored porcelain plates, +garlanded about with parsley--yes, everything seems painted, reminding +us of the highly polished yet modest pictures of Franz Mieris. But the +human beings whom we see are not so cheerful as in the Dutch paintings, +for they sell the jolliest wares with the most serious faces, and the +cut and color of their clothes is as uniform as that of their houses. + +On the opposite side of the town, which they call the West End--"_the +west end of the town_"--and where the more aristocratic and less +occupied world lives, the uniformity spoken of is still more dominant; +yet here there are very long and very broad streets, where all the +houses are large as palaces, though anything but remarkable as regards +their exterior, unless we except the fact that in these, as in all the +better class of houses in London, the windows of the first _etage_ (or +second story) are adorned with iron-barred balconies, and also on the +_rez de chaussee_ there is a black railing protecting the entrance to +certain subterranean apartments. In this part of the city there are also +great "squares," where rows of houses like those already described form +a quadrangle, in whose centre there is a garden, inclosed by an iron +railing and containing some statue or other. In all of these places and +streets the eye is never shocked by the dilapidated huts of misery. +Everywhere we are stared down on by wealth and respectability, while, +crammed away in retired lanes and dark, damp alleys, Poverty dwells with +her rags and her tears. + +The stranger who wanders through the great streets of London, and does +not chance right into the regular quarters of the multitude, sees little +or nothing of the fearful misery existing there. Only here and there at +the mouth of some dark alley stands a ragged woman with a suckling babe +at her weak breast, and begs with her eyes. Perhaps, if those eyes are +still beautiful, we glance into them, and are shocked at the world of +wretchedness visible within. The common beggars are old people, +generally blacks, who stand at the corners of the streets cleaning +pathways--a very necessary thing in muddy London--and ask for "coppers" +in reward. It is in the dusky twilight that Poverty and her mates, Vice +and Crime, glide forth from their lairs. They shun daylight the more +anxiously since their wretchedness there contrasts more cruelly with the +pride of wealth which glitters everywhere; only Hunger sometimes drives +them at noonday from their dens, and then they stand with silent, +speaking eyes, staring beseechingly at the rich merchant who hurries +along, busy, and jingling gold, or at the lazy lord who, like a +surfeited god, rides by on his high horse, casting now and then an +aristocratically indifferent glance at the mob below, as though they +were swarming ants, or rather a mass of baser beings, whose joys and +sorrows have nothing in common with his feelings. Yes--for over the +vulgar multitude which sticks fast to the soil there soars, like beings +of a higher nature, England's nobility, to whom their little island is +only a temporary resting-place, Italy their summer garden, Paris their +social salon, and the whole world their inheritance. They sweep along, +knowing nothing of sorrow or suffering, and their gold is a talisman +which conjures into fulfilment their wildest wish. + +Poor Poverty! how agonizing must thy hunger be, where others swell in +scornful superfluity! And when some one casts with indifferent hand a +crust into thy lap, how bitter must the tears be wherewith thou +moistenest it! Thou poisonest thyself with thine own tears. Well art +thou in the right when thou alliest thyself to Vice and Crime! Outlawed +criminals often bear more humanity in their hearts than those cool, +reproachless town burghers of virtue, in whose white hearts the power of +evil, it is true, is quenched--but with it, too, the power of good. And +even vice is not always vice. I have seen women on whose cheeks red vice +was painted, and in whose hearts dwelt heavenly purity. I have seen +women--I would that I saw them again!-- + +WELLINGTON + +The man has the bad fortune to meet with good fortune everywhere, and +wherever the greatest men in the world were unfortunate; and that +excites us, and makes him hateful. We see in him only the victory of +stupidity over genius--Arthur Wellington triumphant where Napoleon +Bonaparte is overwhelmed! Never was a man more ironically gifted by +Fortune, and it seems as though she would exhibit his empty littleness +by raising him high on the shield of victory. Fortune is a woman, and +perhaps in womanly wise she cherishes a secret grudge against the man +who overthrew her former darling, though the very overthrow came from +her own will. Now she lets him conquer again on the Catholic +Emancipation question--yes, in the very fight in which George Canning +was destroyed. It is possible that he might have been loved had the +wretched Londonderry been his predecessor in the Ministry; but it +happens that he is the successor of the noble Canning--of the much-wept, +adored, great Canning--and he conquers where Canning was overwhelmed. +Without such an adversity of prosperity, Wellington would perhaps pass +for a great man; people would not hate him, would not measure him too +accurately, at least not with the heroic measure with which a Napoleon +and a Canning are measured, and consequently it would never have been +discovered how small he is as man. + +He is a small man, and smaller than small at that. The French could say +nothing more sarcastic of Polignac than that he was a Wellington without +celebrity. In fact, what remains when we strip from a Wellington the +field-marshal's uniform of celebrity? + +I have here given the best apology for Lord Wellington--in the English +sense of the word. My readers will be astonished when I honorably +confess that I once praised this hero--and clapped on all sail in so +doing. It is a good story, and I will tell it here: + +My barber in London was a Radical, named Mr. White--poor little man in +a shabby black dress, worn until it almost shone white again; he was +so lean that even his full face looked like a profile, and the sighs in +his bosom were visible ere they rose. These sighs were caused by the +misfortunes of Old England--by the impossibility of paying the National +Debt. + +"Ah!" I generally heard him sigh, "why need the English people trouble +themselves as to who reigns in France, and what the French are a-doing +at home? But the high nobility, sir, and the High Church were afraid of +the principles of liberty of the French Revolution; and to keep down +these principles John Bull must give his gold and his blood, and make +debts into the bargain. We've got all we wanted out of the war--the +Revolution has been put down, the French eagles of liberty have had +their wings cut, and the High Church may be cock-sure that none of these +eagles will come a-flying over the Channel; and now the high nobility +and the High Church between 'em ought to pay, anyway, for the debts +which were made for their own good, and not for any good of the poor +people. Ah! the poor people!" + +Whenever Mr. White came to the "poor people" he always sighed more +deeply than ever, and the refrain then was that bread and porter were so +dear that the poor people must starve to feed fat lords, stag-hounds, +and priests, and that there was only one remedy. At these words he was +wont to whet his razor, and as he drew it murderously up and down the +strop, he murmured grimly to himself, "Lords, priests, hounds!" + +[Illustration: THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON] + +But his Radical rage boiled most fiercely against the Duke of +Wellington; he spat gall and poison whenever he alluded to him, and as +he lathered me he himself foamed with rage. Once I was fairly frightened +when he, while barbering away at my neck, burst out in wonted wise +against Wellington, murmuring all the while, "If I only had him _this_ +way under my razor, _I'd_ save him the trouble of cutting his own +throat, as his brother in office and fellow-countryman, Londonderry, +did, who killed himself that-a-way at North Cray in Kent--God damn +him!" + +I felt that the man's hand trembled and, fearing lest he might imagine, +in his excitement, that I really was the Duke of Wellington, I +endeavored to allay his violence, and, in an underhand manner to soothe +him, I called up his national pride; I represented to him that the Duke +of Wellington had advanced the glory of the English, that he had always +been an innocent tool in the hands of others, that he was fond of +beefsteak, and that he finally--but the Lord only knows what fine things +I said of Wellington as I felt that razor tickling around my throat! + +What vexes me most is the reflection that Wellington will be as immortal +as Napoleon Bonaparte. It is true that, in like manner, the name of +Pontius Pilate will be as little likely to be forgotten as that of +Christ. Wellington and Napoleon! It is a wonderful phenomenon that the +human mind can at the same time think of both these names. There can be +no greater contrast than the two, even in their external appearance. +Wellington, the dumb ghost, with an ashy-gray soul in a buckram body, a +wooden smile on his freezing face--and, by the side of _that_, think of +the figure of Napoleon, every inch a god! + +That figure never disappears from my memory. I still see him, high on +his steed, with eternal eyes in his marble-like, imperial face, glancing +calm as destiny on the Guards defiling past--he was then sending them to +Russia, and the old Grenadiers glanced up at him so terribly devoted, so +all-consciously serious, so proud in death-- + +"Te, Caesar, morituri, salutant." + +There often steals over me a secret doubt whether I ever really saw him, +if we were ever contemporaries, and then it seems to me as if his +portrait, torn from the little frame of the present, vanished away more +proudly and imperiously in the twilight of the past. His name even now +sounds to us like a word of the early world, and as antique and as +heroic as those of Alexander and Caesar. It has already become a +rallying word among races, and when the East and the West meet they +fraternize on that single name. + +I once felt, in the deepest manner, how significantly and magically that +name can sound. It was in the harbor of London, at the India Docks, and +on board an East India-man just arrived from Bengal. It was a giant-like +ship, fully manned with Hindoos. The grotesque forms and groups, the +singularly variegated dresses, the enigmatical expressions of +countenance, the strange gestures, the wild and foreign ring of their +language, their shouts of joy and their laughter, with the seriousness +ever rising and falling on certain soft yellow faces, their eyes like +black flowers which looked at me as with wondrous woe--all of this awoke +in me a feeling like that of enchantment; I was suddenly as if +transported into Scherezade's story, and I thought that broad-leaved +palms, and long-necked camels, and gold-covered elephants, and other +fabulous trees and animals must forthwith appear. The supercargo who was +on the vessel, and who understood as little of the language as I myself, +could not, in his truly English narrow-mindedness, narrate to me enough +of what a ridiculous race they were, nearly all pure Mohammedans +collected from every land of Asia, from the limits of China to the +Arabian Sea, there being even some jet-black, woolly-haired Africans +among them. + +To one whose whole soul was weary of the spiritless West, and who was as +sick of Europe as I then was, this fragment of the East which moved +cheerfully and changingly before my eyes was a refreshing solace; my +heart enjoyed at least a few drops of that draught which I had so often +tasted in gloomy Hanoverian or Royal Prussian winter nights, and it is +very possible that the foreigners saw in me how agreeable the sight of +them was to me, and how gladly I would have spoken a kind word to them. +It was also plain from the very depths of their eyes how much I pleased +them, and they would also have willingly said something pleasant to me, +and it was a vexation that neither understood the other's language. At +length a means occurred to me of expressing to them with a single word +my friendly feelings, and, stretching forth my hands reverentially as if +in loving greeting, I cried the name, "Mohammed!" + +Joy suddenly flashed over the dark faces of the foreigners, and, folding +their arms as reverentially in turn, as a cheerful greeting they +exclaimed, "Bonaparte!" + + * * * * * + + + + + LAFAYETTE[57] (1833) + +By HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +PARIS, January 19, 1832. + +The _Temps_ remarks today that the _Allgemeine Zeitung_ now publishes +articles which are hostile to the royal family, and that the German +censorship, which does not permit the least remark to be leveled at +absolute kings, does not show the least mercy toward a citizen-king. The +_Temps_ is really the shrewdest and cleverest journal in the world! It +attains its object with a few mild words much more readily than others +with the most blustering polemics. Its crafty hint is well understood, +and I know of at least one liberal writer who no longer considers it +honorable to use, under the permission of the censorship, such inimical +language of a citizen-king as would not be allowed when applied to an +absolute monarch. But in return for that, let Louis Philippe do us one +single favor--which is to remain a citizen-king; for it is because he is +becoming every day more and more like an absolute king that we must +complain of him. He is certainly perfectly honorable as a man, an +estimable father of a family, a tender spouse and a good economist, but +it is vexatious to see how he allows all the trees of liberty to be +felled and stripped of their beautiful foliage that they may be sawed +into beams to support the tottering house of Orleans. For that, and that +only, the Liberal press blames him, and the spirits of truth, in order +to make war on him, even condescend to lie. It is melancholy and +lamentable that through such tactics even the family of the King must +suffer, although its members are as innocent as they are amiable. As +regards this, the German Liberal press, less witty but much kinder than +its French elder sister, is guilty of no cruelties. "You should at least +have pity on the King," lately cried the good-tempered _Journal des +Debats_. "Pity on Louis Philippe!" replied the _Tribune_. "This man asks +for fifteen millions and our pity! Did he have pity on Italy, on +Poland?"--_et cetera_. + +I saw a few days ago the young orphan of Menotti, who was hanged in +Modena. Nor is it long since I saw Senora Luisa de Torrijos, a poor +deathly-pale lady, who quickly returned to Paris when she learned on the +Spanish frontier the news of the execution of her husband and of his +fifty-two companions in misfortune. Ah! I really pity Louis Philippe. + +_La Tribune_, the organ of the openly declared Republican party, is +pitiless as regards its royal enemy, and every day preaches the +Republic. The _National_, the most reckless and independent journal in +France, has recently chimed in to the same air in a most surprising +manner. And terrible as an echo from the bloodiest days of the +Convention sounded the speeches of those chiefs of the _Societe des Amis +du Peuple_ who were placed last week before the court of assizes, +"accused of having conspired against the existing Government in order to +overthrow it and establish a republic." They were acquitted by the jury, +because they proved that they had in no way conspired, but had simply +uttered their convictions publicly. "Yes, we desire the overthrow of +this feeble Government, we wish for a republic." Such was the refrain of +all their speeches before the tribunal. + +While on one side the serious Republicans draw the sword and growl with +words of thunder, the _Figaro_ flashes lightning, and laughs and swings +its light lash most effectually. It is inexhaustible in clever sayings +as to "the best republic," a phrase with which poor Lafayette is mocked, +because he, as is well known, once embraced Louis Philippe before the +Hotel de Ville and cried, "Vous etes la meilleure republique!" The _Figaro_ +recently remarked that we of course now require no republic, since we +have seen the best. And it also said as cruelly, in reference to the +debates on the civil list, that "_la meilleure republique coute quinze +millions_." The Republican party will never forgive Lafayette his blunder +in advocating a king. They reproach him with this, that he had known +Louis Philippe long enough to be aware beforehand what was to be expected +of him. Lafayette is now ill--_malade de chagrin_--heart-sick. All! the +greatest heart of two worlds must feel bitterly the royal deception. It +was all in vain that he in the very beginning continually insisted on the +_Programme de l'Hotel de Ville_, on the republican institutions with +which the monarchy should be surrounded, and on similar promises. But he +was out-cried by the _doctrinaire_ gossips and chatterers, who proved +from the English history of 1688 that people in Paris in July, 1830, had +fought simply to maintain the Charter, and that all their sacrifices and +struggles had no other object than to replace the elder line of the +Bourbons by the younger, just as all was finished in England by putting +the House of Orange in place of the Stuarts. Thiers, who does not think +with this party, though he now acts as their spokesman, has of late +given them a good push forward. This indifferentist of the deepest dye, +who knows so admirably how to preserve moderation in the clearness, +intelligence, and illustration of his style, this Goethe of politics, is +certainly at present the most powerful defender of the system of Perier, +and, in fact, with his pamphlet against Chateaubriand he well-nigh +annihilated that Don Quixote of Legitimacy, who sat so pathetically on +his winged Rosinante, whose sword was more shining than sharp, and who +shot only with costly pearls instead of good, piercing, leaden bullets. + +In their irritation at the lamentable turn which events have taken, many +of the enthusiasts for freedom go so far as to slander Lafayette. How +far a man can go astray in this direction is shown by the book of +Belmontet, which is also an attack on the well-known pamphlet by +Chateaubriand, and in which the Republic is advocated with commendable +freedom. I would here cite the bitter passages against Lafayette +contained in this work, were they not on one side too spiteful, and on +the other connected with a defense of the Republic which is not suitable +to this journal. I therefore refer the reader to the work itself, and +especially to a chapter in it entitled "The Republic." One may there see +how evil fortune may make even the noblest men unjust. + +I will not here find fault with the brilliant delusion of the +possibility of a republic in France. A royalist by inborn inclination, I +have now, in France, become one from conviction. For I am convinced that +the French could never tolerate any republic, neither according to the +constitution of Athens or of Sparta, nor, least of all, to that of the +United States. The Athenians were the student-youths of mankind; their +constitution was a species of academic freedom, and it would be mere +folly to seek to introduce it in this our matured age, to revive it in +our senile Europe. And how could we put up with that of Sparta, that +great and tiresome manufactory of patriotism, that soldiers' barrack of +republican virtue, that sublimely bad kitchen of equality, in which +black broth was so vilely cooked that Attic wits declared it made men +despise life and defy death in battle? How could such a constitution +flourish in the very _foyer_ of gourmands, in the fatherland of Very, of +Vefour, and of Careme? This latter would certainly have thrown himself, +like Vatel, on his sword, as a Brutus of cookery and as the last +gastronome. Indeed, had Robespierre only introduced Spartan cookery, the +guillotine would have been quite superfluous, for then the last +aristocrats would have died of terror, or emigrated as soon as possible. +Poor Robespierre! you would introduce stern republicanism to Paris--to a +city in which one hundred and fifty thousand milliners and dressmakers, +and as many barbers and perfumers, exercise their smiling, curling, and +sweet-smelling industries! + +The monotony, the want of color, and the petty domestic citizens' life +of America would be even more intolerable in the home of the "love of +the spectacular," of vanity, fashion, and novelties. Indeed, the passion +for decorations flourishes nowhere so much as in France. Perhaps, with +the exception of August Wilhelm Schlegel, there is not a woman in +Germany so fond of gay ribbons as the French; even the heroes of July, +who fought for freedom and equality, afterward wore blue ribbons to +distinguish themselves from the rest of the people. Yet, if I on this +account doubt the success of a republic in Europe, it still cannot be +denied that everything is leading to one; that the republican respect +for law in place of veneration of royal personages is showing itself +among the better classes, and that the Opposition, just as it played at +comedy for fifteen years with a king, is now continuing the same game +with royalty itself, and that consequently a republic may be for a short +time, at least, the end of the song. The Carlists are aiding this +movement, since they regard it as a necessary phase which will enable +them to reestablish the absolute monarchy of the elder branch; therefore +they now bear themselves like the most zealous republicans. Even +Chateaubriand praises the Republic, calls himself a Republican from +inclination, fraternizes with Marrast, and receives the accolade from +Beranger. The _Gazette_--the hypocritical _Gazette de France_--now +yearns for republican state forms, universal franchise, primary +meetings, _et cetera_. It is amusing to see how these disguised +priestlings now play the bully-braggart in the language of +Sans-culottism, how fiercely they coquet with the red Jacobin cap, yet +are ever and anon afflicted with the thought that they might forgetfully +have put on in its place the red cap of a prelate; they take for an +instant from their heads their borrowed covering and show the tonsure +unto all the world. Such men as these now believe that they may insult +Lafayette, and it serves as an agreeable relaxation from the sour +republicanism, the compulsory liberty, which they must assume. + +But let deluded friends and hypocritical enemies say what they will, +Lafayette is, after Robespierre, the purest character of the French +Revolution, and, next to Napoleon, its most popular hero. Napoleon and +Lafayette are the two names which now bloom most beautifully in France. +Truly their fame is each of a different kind. The latter fought for +peace, not victory; the former rather for the laurel wreath than for +that of oak leaves. It would indeed be ridiculous to measure the +greatness of the two heroes with the same metre, and put one on the +pedestal of the other, even as it would be absurd to set the statue of +Lafayette on the Vendome column--that monument made of the cannon +conquered on so many fields of battle, the sight of which, as Barbier +sings, no French mother can endure. On this bronze column place +Napoleon, the man of iron, here, as in life, standing on his fame, +earned by cannon, rising in terrible isolation to the clouds, so that +every ambitious soldier, when he beholds him, the unattainable one, +there on high, may have his heart humbled and healed of the vain love of +celebrity, and thus this colossal column of metal, as a lightning +conductor of conquering heroism, will do much for the cause of peace in +Europe. + +Lafayette has raised for himself a better column than that of the Place +Vendome, and a better monumental image than one of metal or marble. +Where is there marble as pure as the heart of old Lafayette, or metal as +firm as his fidelity? It is true that he was always one-sided, but +one-sided like the magnetic needle, which always points to the north, +and never once veers to south or west. So he has for forty years said +the same thing, and pointed constantly to North America. He is the one +who opened the Revolution with the declaration of the rights of man; to +this hour he perseveres in this belief, without which there is no +salvation and no health to be hoped for--the one-sided man with his +one-sided heavenly region of freedom. He is indeed no genius, as was +Napoleon, in whose head the eagles of inspiration built their nests, +while the serpents of calculation entwined in his heart; but then he was +never intimidated by eagles nor seduced by serpents. As a young man he +was wise as a graybeard, as a graybeard fiery as a youth, a protector of +the people against the wiles of the great, a protector of the great +against the rage of the people, compassionating yet combating, never +arrogant and never discouraged, equally firm and mild--the unchangeable +Lafayette! and so, in his one-sidedness and equanimity, he has remained +on the same spot from the days of Marie Antoinette to the present hour. +And, as a trusty Eckart of liberty, he still stands leaning on his sword +before the entrance to the Tuileries, warning the world against that +seductive Venusberg, whose magic tones sing so enticingly, and from +whose sweet snares the poor wretches who are once entangled in them can +never escape. + +It is certainly true that the dead Napoleon is more beloved by the +French than is the living Lafayette. This is perhaps because he is dead, +which is to me the most delightful thing connected with him; for, were +he alive, I should be obliged to fight against him. The world outside of +France has no idea of the boundless devotion of the French people to +Napoleon. Therefore the discontented, when they determine on a decided +and daring course, will begin by proclaiming the young Napoleon, in +order to secure the sympathy of the masses. Napoleon is, for the French, +a magic word which electrifies and benumbs them. There sleep a thousand +cannon in this name, even as in the column of the Place Vendome, and the +Tuileries will tremble should these cannon once awake. As the Jews never +idly uttered the name of their God, so Napoleon is here very seldom +called by his, and people speak of him as _l'homme_, "the man." But his +picture is seen everywhere, in engravings and plaster casts, in metal +and wood. On all boulevards and carrefours are orators who praise and +popular minstrels who sing him--the Man--and his deeds. Yesterday +evening, while returning home, I came into a dark and lonely lane, in +which there stood a child some three years old, who, by a candle stuck +into the earth, lisped a song praising the Emperor. As I threw him a sou +on the handkerchief spread out, something slid up to me, begging for +another. It was an old soldier, who could also sing a song of the glory +of the great Emperor, for this glory had cost him both legs. The poor +man did not beg in the name of God, but implored with most believing +fervor, "_Au nom de Napoleon, donnez-moi un sou._" So this name is the +best word to conjure with among the people. Napoleon is its god, its +cult, its religion, and this religion will, by and by, become tiresome, +like every other. + +Lafayette, on the contrary, is venerated more as a man or as a guardian +angel. He, too, lives in picture and in song, but less heroically; +and--honorably confessed!--it had a comic effect on me when, last year, +on the 28th July, I heard in the song of _La Parisienne_ the words-- + + "Lafayette aux cheveux blancs," + +while I saw him in person standing near me in his brown wig. It was the +Place de la Bastille; the man was in his right place, but still I needs +must laugh to myself. It may be that such a comic combination brings him +humanly somewhat nearer to our hearts. His good-nature, his _bonhomie_, +acts even on children, and they perhaps understand his greatness better +than do the grown people. And here I will tell a little story about a +beggar which will show the characteristic contrast between the glory of +Lafayette and that of Napoleon. I was lately standing at a street corner +before the Pantheon, and as usual lost in thought in contemplating that +beautiful building, when a little Auvergnat came begging for a sou, and +I gave him half-a-franc to be rid of him. But he approached me all the +more familiarly with the words, "_Est-ce que vous connaissez le general +Lafayette?_" and as I assented to this strange question, the proudest +satisfaction appeared on the naive and dirty face of the pretty boy, and +with serio-comic expression he said, _"Il est de mon pays,"_ for he +naturally believed that any man who was generous enough to give him ten +sous must be, of course, an admirer of Lafayette, and judged me worthy +that he should present himself as a compatriot of that great man. The +country folk also have for Lafayette the most affectionate respect, and +all the more because he chiefly busies himself with agriculture. From +this, result the freshness and simplicity which might be lost in +constant city life. In this he is like one of those great Republicans of +earlier days who planted their own cabbages, but who in time of need +hastened from the plough to the battle or the tribune, and after combat +and victory returned to their rural work. On the estate where Lafayette +passes the pleasant portion of the year, he is generally surrounded by +aspiring young men and pretty girls. There hospitality, be it of heart +or of table, rules supreme; there are much laughing and dancing; there +is the court of the sovereign people; there any one may be presented who +is the son of his own works and has never made mesalliance with +falsehood--and Lafayette is the master of ceremonies. The name of this +country place is Lagrange, and it is very charming when the hero of two +worlds relates to the young people his adventures; then he appears like +an epos surrounded by the garlands of an idyll. + +But it is in the real middle-class more than any other, that is, among +tradespeople and small shop-keepers, that there is the most veneration +for Lafayette. They simply worship him. Lafayette, the establisher of +order, is their idol. They adore him as a kind of Providence on +horseback, an armed tutelary patron of public peace and security, as a +genius of freedom, who also takes care in the battle for freedom that +nothing is stolen and that everybody keeps his little property. The +great army of public order, as Casimir Perier called the National Guard, +the well-fed heroes in great bearskin caps into which small shopmen's +heads are stuck, are drunk with delight when they speak of Lafayette, +their old general, their Napoleon of peace. Truly he is the Napoleon of +the small citizen, of those brave folks who always pay their +bills--those uncle tailors and cousin glove-makers who are indeed too +busy by day to think of Lafayette, but who praise him afterward in the +evening with double enthusiasm, so that one may say that it is about +eleven o'clock at night, when the shops are shut, that his fame is in +full bloom. + +I have just before used the expression "master of ceremonies." I now +recall that Wolfgang Menzel has in his witty trifling called Lafayette a +master of ceremonies of Liberty. This was when the former spoke in the +_Literaturblatt_ of the triumphal march of Lafayette across the United +States, and of the deputations, addresses, and solemn discourses which +attended such occasions. Other much less witty folk wrongly imagine that +Lafayette is only an old man who is kept for show or used as a machine. +But they need hear him speak only once in public to learn that he is not +a mere flag which is followed or sworn by, but that he is in person the +_gonfaloniere_ in whose hands is the good banner, the oriflamme of the +nations. Lafayette is perhaps the most prominent and influential speaker +in the Chamber of Deputies. When he speaks, he always hits the nail, and +his nailed-up enemies, on the head. + +When it is needed, when one of the great questions of humanity is +discussed, then Lafayette ever rises, eager for strife as a youth. Only +the body is weak and tottering, broken by age and the battles of his +time, like a hacked and dented old iron armor, and it is touching when +he totters under it to the tribune and has reached his old post, to see +how he draws a deep breath and smiles. This smile, his delivery, and the +whole being of the man while speaking on the tribune, are indescribable. +There is in it all so much that is winsome and yet so much delicate +irony, that one is enchained as by a marvelous curiosity, a sweet, +strange enigma. We know not if these are the refined manners of a French +marquis or the straightforward simplicity of an American citizen. All +that is best in the _ancien regime_, the chivalresque courtesy and tact, +are here wondrously fused with what is best in the modern _bourgeoisie_, +love of equality, simplicity, and honesty. Nothing is more interesting +than when mention is made, in the Chamber, of the first days of the +Revolution, and some one in _doctrinaire_ fashion tears some historical +fact from its true connection and turns it to his own account in speech. +Then Lafayette destroys with a few words the erroneous deduction by +illustrating or correcting the true sense of such an event by citing the +circumstances relating to it. Even Thiers must in such a case strike +sail, and the great historiographer of the Revolution bows before the +outburst of its great and living monument, General Lafayette. + +There sits in the Chamber, just before the tribune a very old man, with +long silvery hair falling over his black clothing. His body is girted +with a very broad tricolored scarf; he is the old messenger who has +always filled that office in the Chamber since the beginning of the +Revolution, and who in this post has witnessed the momentous events of +the world's history from the days of the first National Assembly till +the _juste milieu_. I am told that he often speaks of Robespierre, whom +he calls _le bon Monsieur Robespierre_. During the Restoration the old +man suffered from colic, but since he has wound the tricolored scarf +round his waist he finds himself well again. His only trouble now, in +the dull and lazy times of the _juste milieu_, is drowsiness. I once +even saw him fall asleep while Mauguin was speaking. Indeed, the man +has, doubtless, in his time heard better than Mauguin, who is, however, +one of the best orators of the Opposition, though he is not found to be +very startling or effective by one _qui a beaucoup connu ce bon Monsieur +de Robespierre_. But when Lafayette speaks, then the old messenger +awakes from his twilight drowsiness, he seems to be aroused like an old +war-horse of hussars when he hears the sound of a trumpet--there rise +within him sweet memories of youth, and he nods delightedly with his +silver-white head. + + * * * * * + + + + + THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL[58] (1833-35) + +BY HEINRICH HEINE + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +But what was the Romantic School in Germany? It was nothing else but the +reawakening of the poetry of the Middle Ages, as it had shown itself in +its songs, images, and architecture, in art and in life. But this poetry +had risen from Christianity; it was a passion-flower which had sprung +from the blood of Christ. I do not know whether the melancholy +passion-flower of Germany is known by that name in France, or whether +popular legend attributes to it the same mystical origin. It is a +strange, unpleasantly colored blossom, in whose calyx we see set forth +the implements which were used in the crucifixion of Christ, such as the +hammer, pincers, and nails--a flower which is not so much ugly as +ghostly, and even whose sight awakens in our soul a shuddering pleasure, +like the convulsively agreeable sensations which come from pain itself. +From this view the flower was indeed the fittest symbol for Christianity +itself, whose most thrilling chain was the luxury of pain. + +Though in France only Roman Catholicism is understood by the word +Christianity, I must specially preface that I speak only of the latter. +I speak of that religion in whose first dogmas there is a damnation of +all flesh, and which not only allows to the spirit power over the flesh, +but will also kill this to glorify the spirit. I speak of that religion +by whose unnatural requisitions sin and hypocrisy really came into the +world, in that by the condemnation of the flesh the most innocent +sensuous pleasures became sins, and because the impossibility of a man's +becoming altogether spiritual naturally created hypocrisy. I speak of +that religion which, by teaching the doctrine of the casting away of all +earthly goods and of cultivating a dog-like, abject humility and angelic +patience, became the most approved support of despotism. Men have found +out the real life and meaning (_Wesen_) of this religion, and do not +now content themselves with promises of supping in Paradise; they know +that matter has also its merits, and is not all the devil's, and they +now defend the delights of this world, this beautiful garden of God, our +inalienable inheritance. And therefore, because we have grasped so +entirely all the consequences of that absolute spiritualism, we may +believe that the Christian Catholic view of the world has reached its +end. Every age is a sphinx, which casts itself into the abyss when man +has guessed its riddle. + +Yet we do in no wise deny the good results which this Christian Catholic +view of the world established in Europe. It was necessary as a wholesome +reaction against the cruelly colossal materialism which had developed +itself in the Roman realm and threatened to destroy all spiritual human +power. As the lascivious memoirs of the last century form the _pieces +justificatives_ of the French Revolution, as the terrorism of a _comite +du salut public_ seems to be necessary physic when we read the +confessions of the aristocratic world of France, so we recognize the +wholesomeness of ascetic spiritualism when we read Petronius or +Apuleius, which are to be regarded as the _pieces justificatives_ of +Christianity. The flesh had become so arrogant in this Roman world that +it required Christian discipline to chasten it. After the banquet of a +Trimalchion, such a hunger-cure as Christianity was a necessity. + +Or was it that as lascivious old men seek by being whipped to excite new +power of enjoyment, so old Rome endured monkish chastisement to find +more exquisite delight in torture and voluptuous rapture in pain? Evil +excess of stimulant! it took from the body of the state of Rome its last +strength. It was not by division into two realms that Rome perished. On +the Bosphorus, as by the Tiber, Rome was devoured by the same Jewish +spiritualism, and here, as there, Roman history was that of a long dying +agony which lasted for centuries. Did murdered Judea, in leaving to +Rome its spiritualism, wish to revenge itself on the victorious foe, as +did the dying centaur who craftily left to the son of Hercules the +deadly garment steeped in his own blood? Truly Rome, the Hercules among +races, was so thoroughly devoured by Jewish poison that helm and harness +fell from its withered limbs, and its imperial war-voice died away into +the wailing cadences of monkish prayer and the soft trilling of +castrated boys. + +But what weakens old age strengthens youth. That spiritualism had a +healthy action on the too sound and strong races of the North; the too +full-blooded barbarous bodies were spiritualized by Christianity, and +European civilization began. The Catholic Church has in this respect the +strongest claims on our regard and admiration, for it succeeded by +subduing with its great genial institutions the bestiality of Northern +barbarians and by mastering brutal matter. + +The Art-work of the Middle Ages manifests this mastery of mere material +by mind, and it is very often its only mission. The epic poems of this +period may be easily classed according to the degree of this subjection +or influence. There can be no discussion here of lyrical and dramatic +poems, for the latter did not exist, and the former are as like in every +age as are the songs of nightingales in spring. + +Although the epic poetry of the Middle Ages was divided into sacred and +profane, both were altogether Christian according to their kind; for if +sacred poesy sang of the Jewish race and its history, the only race +which was regarded as holy, or of the heroes and legends of the Old and +New Testaments, and, in brief, the Church--still all the life of the +time was reflected in profane poetry with its Christian views and +action. The flower of the religious poetic art in the German Middle Ages +is perhaps _Barlaam and Josaphat_, in which the doctrine of abnegation, +of abstinence, and the denial and contempt of all worldly glory, is set +forth most consistently. Next to this I would class the _The Eulogium of +St. Hanno (Lobgesang auf den heiligen Anno)_ as the best of the +religious kind; but this is of a far more secular character, differing +from the first as the portrait of a Byzantine saint differs from an old +German one. As in those Byzantine pictures, so we see in _Barlaam and +Josaphat_ the utmost simplicity; there is no perspective side-work, and +the long, lean, statue-like forms and the idealistic serious faces come +out strongly drawn, as if from a mellow gold ground. On the other hand, +in the song of praise of St. Hanno, the side-work or accessories are +almost the subject, and, notwithstanding the grandeur of the plan, the +details are treated in the minutest manner, so that we know not whether +to admire in it the conception of a giant or the patience of a dwarf. +But the evangel-poem of Ottfried, which is generally praised as the +masterpiece of sacred poetry, is far less admirable than the two which I +have mentioned. + +In profane poetry we find, as I have already signified, first the cycle +of sagas of the _Nibelungen_ and the _Heldenbuch_, or _Book of Heroes_. +In them prevails all the pre-Christian manner of thought and of feeling; +in them rude strength has not as yet been softened by chivalry. There +the stern Kempe-warriors of the North stand like stone images, and the +gentle gleam and the more refined breath of Christianity have not as yet +penetrated their iron armor. But little by little a light dawns in the +old Teutonic forest; the ancient idolatrous oak-trees are felled, and we +see a brighter field of battle where Christ wars with the heathen. This +appears in the saga-cycle of Charlemagne, in which what we really see is +the Crusades reflecting themselves with their religious influences. And +now from the spiritualizing power of Christianity, chivalry, the most +characteristic feature of the Middle Ages, unfolds itself, and is at +last sublimed into a spiritual knighthood. This secular knighthood +appears most attractively glorified in the sagacycle of King Arthur, in +which the sweetest gallantry, the most refined courtesy, and the most +adventurous passion for combat prevail. Among the charmingly eccentric +arabesques and fantastic flower-pictures of this poem we are greeted by +the admirable Iwain, the all-surpassing Lancelot du Lac, and the bold, +gallant, and true, but somewhat tiresome, Wigalois. Nearly allied and +interwoven with this cyclus of sagas is that of the Holy Grail, in which +the spiritual knighthood is glorified; and in this epoch we meet three +of the grandest poems of the Middle Ages, the _Titurel_, the _Parsifal_, +and the _Lohengrin_. Here indeed we find ourselves face to face with +Romantic Poetry. We look deeply into her great sorrowing eyes; she +twines around us, unsuspectingly, her fine scholastic nets, and draws us +down into the bewildering, deluding depths of medieval mysticism. + +At last, however, we come to poems of that age which are not +unconditionally devoted to Christian spiritualism; nay, it is often +indirectly reflected on, where the poet disentangles himself from the +bonds of abstract Christian virtues and plunges delighted into the world +of pleasure and of glorified sensuousness; and it is not the worst poet, +by any means, who has left us the principal work thus inspired. This is +_Tristan and Isolde_; and I must declare that Gottfried von Strassburg, +the composer of this most beautiful poem of the Middle Ages, is perhaps +also its greatest poet, towering far above all the splendor of Wolfram +von Eschenbach, whom we so admire in _Parsifal_ and the fragments of +_Titurel_. We are at last permitted to praise Gottfried unconditionally, +though in his own time his book was certainly regarded as godless, and +similar works, among them the _Lancelot_, were considered as dangerous. +And some very serious results did indeed ensue. The fair Francesca da +Polenta and her handsome friend had to pay dearly for the pleasure of +reading on a summer day in such a book; but the trouble came not from +the reading, but from their suddenly ceasing to read. + +There is in all these poems of the Middle Ages a marked character which +distinguishes them from those of Greece and Rome. We characterize this +difference by calling the first Romantic and the other Classic. Yet +these appellations are only uncertain rubrics, and have led hitherto to +the most discouraging, wearisome entanglements, which become worse since +we give to antique poetry the designation of "Plastic," instead of +"Classic." From this arose much misunderstanding; for, justly, all poets +should work their material plastically, be it Christian or heathen; they +should set it forth in clear outlines; in short, plastic form should be +the main desideratum in modern Romantic art, quite as much as in the +ancient. And are not the figures in the _Divina Commedia_ of Dante or in +the pictures of Raphael as plastic as those in Virgil? The difference +lies in this, that the plastic forms in ancient art are absolutely +identical with the subject or the idea which the artist would set forth, +as, for example, that the wanderings of Ulysses mean nothing else than +the journeyings of a man named Odysseus, who was son of Laertes and +husband of Penelope; and further, that the Bacchus which we see in the +Louvre is nothing else than the graceful, winsome son of Semele, with +audacious melancholy in his eyes and sacred voluptuousness on his soft +and arching lips. It is quite otherwise in Romantic art, in which the +wild wanderings of a knight have ever an esoteric meaning, symbolizing +perhaps the erring course of life. The dragon whom he overcomes is sin; +the almond which from afar casts comforting perfume to the traveler is +the Trinity, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, which +are three in one, as shell, fibre, and kernel make one nut. When Homer +describes the armor of a hero, it is a good piece of work, worth such +and such a number of oxen; but when a monk of the Middle Ages describes +in his poems the garments of the Mother of God, one may be sure that by +this garb he means as many virtues, and a peculiar significance lies +hidden under this holy covering of the immaculate virginity of Maria, +who, as her son is the almond-kernel, is naturally sung as the +almond-flower. That is the character of the medieval poetry which we +call Romantic. + +Classic art had only to represent the finite or determined, and its +forms could be one and the same with the idea of the artist. Romantic +art had to set forth, or rather signify, the infinite and purely +spiritual, and it took refuge in a system of traditional, or rather of +parabolistic symbols, as Christ himself had sought to render clear his +spiritualistic ideas by all kinds of beautiful parables. Hence the +mystical, problematic, marvelous, and transcendental in the artwork of +the Middle Ages, in which fantasy makes her most desperate efforts to +depict the purely spiritual by means of sensible images, and invents +colossal follies, piling Pelion on Ossa and _Parsifal_ on _Titurel_ to +attain to heaven. + +Among other races where poetry attempted to display the infinite, and +where monstrous fancies appeared, as, for instance, among the +Scandinavians and Indians, we find poems which, being romantic, are +given that classification. + +We cannot say much as to the music of the Middle Ages, for original +documents, which might have served for our guidance, are wanting. It was +not till late in the sixteenth century that the masterpieces of Catholic +church music, which cannot be too highly praised, appeared. These +express in the most exquisite manner pure Christian spirituality. The +recitative arts, which are spiritual from their very nature, could +indeed flourish fairly in Christianity, yet it was less favorable to +those of design, for as these had to represent the victory of mind over +matter, and yet must use matter as the means wherewith to work, they had +to solve a problem against Nature. Hence we find in sculpture and +painting those revolting subjects--martyrdoms, crucifixions, dying +saints, and the flesh crushed in every form. Such themes were martyrdom +for sculpture; and when I contemplate those distorted images in which +Christian asceticism and renunciation of the senses are expressed by +distorted, pious heads, long thin arms, starveling legs, and awkwardly +fitting garments, I feel an indescribable compassion for the artists of +that time. The painters were indeed more favored, for the material for +their work, because of its susceptivity to varied play of color, did not +antagonize spirituality so obstinately as the material of the sculptors, +and yet they were obliged to load the sighing canvas with the most +repulsive forms of suffering. In truth, when we regard many galleries +which contain nothing but scenes of bloodshed, scourging, and beheading, +one might suppose that the old masters had painted for the collection of +an executioner. + +But human genius can transform and glorify even the unnatural; many +painters solved this problem of making what was revolting beautiful and +elevating--the Italians, especially, succeeding in paying tribute to +beauty at the expense of spirituality, and in rising to that ideality +which attained perfection in so many pictures of the Madonna. As regards +this subject the Catholic clergy always made some concession to the +physical. This image of immaculate beauty which is glorified by maternal +love and suffering had the privilege of being made famous by poets and +painters, and adorned with all charms of the sense, for it was a magnet +which could attract the multitude to the lap of Christianity. Madonna +Maria was the beautiful _dame du comptoir_ of the Catholic Church, who, +with her beautiful eyes, attracted and held fast its customers, +especially the barbarians of the North. + +Architecture had in the Middle Ages the same character as the other +arts, as indeed all the manifestations of life then harmonized so +marvelously with one another. The tendency to parable shows itself here, +as in poetry. When we now enter a Gothic cathedral, we hardly suspect +the esoteric sense of its stone symbolism; only a general impression +pierces our soul; we realize an elevation of feeling and mortification +of the flesh. The interior is a hollow cross, and we wander among the +instruments of martyrdom itself; the variegated windows cast on us red +and green light, like blood and corruption; funeral songs wail about +us; under our feet are mortuary tablets and decay; and the soul soars +with the colossal columns to a giddy height, tearing itself with pain +from the body, which falls like a weary, worn-out garment to the ground. +But when we behold the exteriors of these Gothic cathedrals, these +enormous buildings which are wrought so aerially, so finely, delicately, +transparently, cut as it were into such open work that one might take +them for Brabant lace in marble, then we feel truly the power of that +age which could so master stone itself that it seems spectrally +transfused with spiritual life, and thus even the hardest material +declares Christian spirituality. + +But arts are only the mirror of life, and, as Catholicism died away, so +its sounds grew fainter and its lights dimmer in art. During the +Reformation Catholic song gradually disappeared in Europe, and in its +place we see the long-slumbering poetry of Greece re-awakening to life. +But it was only an artificial spring, a work of the gardener, not of the +sun, and the trees and flowers were in close pots, and a glass canopy +protected them from cold and northern winds. + +In the world's history no event is the direct result of another; all +events rather exert a mutual influence. It was by no means due only to +the Greek scholars who emigrated to Europe after the fall of Byzantium +that a love for Grecian culture and the desire to imitate it became so +general among us; a similar Protestantism prevailed then in art as well +as in life. Leo X., that splendid Medici, was as zealous a Protestant as +Luther, and as there was a Latin prose protest in Wittenberg, so they +protested poetically in Rome in stone, color, and _ottaverime_. And do +not the mighty marble images of Michelangelo, the laughing nymphs of +Giulio Romano, and the joyous intoxication of life in the verses of +Ludovico Ariosto form a protesting opposition to the old, gloomy, +worn-out Catholicism? The painters of Italy waged a polemic against +priestdom which was perhaps more effective than that of the Saxon +theologian. The blooming rosy flesh in the pictures of Titian is all +Protestantism. The limbs of his Venus are more thorough _theses_ than +those which the German monk pasted on the church door of Wittenberg. +Then it was that men felt as if suddenly freed from the force and +pressure of a thousand years; the artists, most of all, again breathed +freely as the nightmare of Christianity seemed to spin whirling from +their breasts, and they threw themselves with enthusiasm into the sea of +Greek joyousness from whose foam rose to them goddesses of beauty. +Painters once more limned the ambrosial joys of Olympus; sculptors +carved, with the joy of yore, old heroes from the marble; poets again +sang the house of Atreus and Laius; and so the age of new classic poetry +began. + +As modern life was most perfectly developed in France under Louis XIV., +so the new classic poetry received there its most finished perfection, +and, in a measure, an independent originality. Through the political +influence of that great king this poetry spread over Europe; in Italy, +its home, it assumed a French color, and thence the heroes of French +tragedy went with the Anjous to Spain; it passed with Henrietta Maria to +England, and we Germans, as a matter of course, built our clumsy temples +to the powdered Olympus of Versailles. The most famous high-priest of +this religion was Gottsched, that wonderful long wig whom our dear +Goethe has so admirably described in his memoirs. + +Lessing was the literary Arminius who delivered our theatre from this +foreign rule. He showed us the nothingness, the laughableness, the flat +and faded folly of those imitations of the French theatre, which were in +turn imitated from the Greek. But he became the founder of modern German +literature, not only by his criticism, but by his own works of art. This +man pursued with enthusiasm and sincerity art, theology, antiquity, and +archaeology, the art of poetry, history--all with the same zeal and to +the same purpose. There lives and breathes in all his works the same +great social idea, the same progressive humanity, the same religion of +reason, whose John he was, and whose Messiah we await. This religion he +always preached, but, alas! too often alone and in the desert. And there +was one art only of which he knew nothing--that of changing stones into +bread, for he consumed the greatest part of his life in poverty and +under hard pressure--a curse which clings to nearly all great German +geniuses, and will last, it may be, till ended by political freedom. +Lessing was more inspired by political feelings than men supposed, a +peculiarity which we do not find among his contemporaries, and we can +now see for the first time what he meant in sketching the duo-despotism +in _Emilia Galotti_. He was regarded then as a champion of freedom of +thought and against clerical intolerance; for his theological writings +were better understood. The fragments _On the Education of the Human +Race_, which Eugene Rodrigue has translated into French, may give an +idea of the vast comprehensiveness of Lessing's mind. The two critical +works which exercised the most influence on art are his _Hamburg +Dramatic Art (Hamburgische Dramaturgie)_, and his _Laokoon, or the +Limits of Painting and Poetry_. His most remarkable theatrical pieces +are _Emilia Galotti, Minna von Barnhelm,_ and _Nathan the Wise_. + +Gotthold Ephraim Lessing was born at Camenz in Lausitz, January 22, +1729, and died in Brunswick, February 15, 1781. He was a thorough-going +man who, when he destroyed something old in a battle, at the same time +always created something new and better. "He was," says a German author, +"like those pious Jews, who, during the second building of the Temple, +were often troubled by attacks of the enemy, and so fought with one hand +while with the other they worked at the house of God." This is not the +place where I can say more of Lessing, but I cannot refrain from +remarking that he is, of all who are recorded in the whole history of +literature, the writer whom I love best. + +I will here mention another author who worked in the same spirit, with +the same object, as Lessing, and who may be regarded as his successor. +It is true that his eulogy is here also out of place, since he occupies +an altogether peculiar position in literature, and a unique relation to +his time and to his contemporaries. It is Johann Gottfried Herder, born +in 1744 at Mohrungen, in East Prussia, and who died at Weimar in the +year 1803. + +Literary history is the great "Morgue" where every one seeks his dead, +those whom he loves or to whom he is related. When I see there, among so +many dead who were of little interest, a Lessing or a Herder, with their +noble, manly countenances, my heart throbs; I cannot pass them by +without hastily kissing their dead lips. + +Yet if Lessing did so much to destroy the habit of imitating French +second-hand Greekdom, he still, by calling attention to the true works +of art of Greek antiquity, gave an impulse to a new kind of ridiculous +imitations. By his battling with religious superstition he advanced the +sober search for clearer views which spread widely in Berlin, which had +in the late blessed Nicolai its chief organ, and in the General German +Library its arsenal. The most deplorable mediocrity began to show itself +more repulsively than ever, and flatness and insipidity blew themselves +up like the frog in the fable. + +It is a great mistake to suppose that Goethe, who had already come +before the world, was at once universally recognized as a writer of +commanding genius. His _Goetz von Berlichingen_ and his _Werther_ were +received with a degree of enthusiasm, to be sure; but so, too, were the +works of common bunglers, and Goethe had but a small niche in the temple +of literature. As I have said, _Goetz_ and _Werther_ had a spirited +reception, but more on account of the subject-matter than their artistic +merits, which very few appreciated in these masterworks. _Goetz_ was a +dramatized romance of chivalry, and such writings were then the rage. In +_Werther_ the world saw the reproduction of a true story, that of young +Jerusalem, who shot himself dead for love, and thereby, in those +dead-calm days, made a great noise. People read with tears his touching +letters; some shrewdly observed that the manner in which Werther had +been banished from aristocratic society had increased his weariness of +life. The discussion of suicide caused the book to be still more +discussed; it occurred to several fools on this occasion to make away +with themselves, and the book, owing to its subject, went off like a +shot. The novels of August Lafontaine were just as much read, and, as +this author wrote incessantly, he was more famous than Wolfgang von +Goethe. Wieland was the great poet then, with whom perhaps might be +classed the ode-maker, Rambler of Berlin. Wieland was honored +idolatrously, far more at that time than Goethe. Iffland ruled the +theatre with his dreary _bourgeois_ dramas, and Kotzebue with his flat +and frivolously witty jests. + +It was in opposition to this literature that there sprang up in Germany, +at the end of the last century, a school which we call the Romantic, and +of which August Wilhelm and Friedrich Schlegel have presented themselves +as managing agents. Jena, where these and many other souls in like +accord found themselves "off and on," was the centre from which the new +esthetic doctrine spread. I say doctrine, for this school began with +judgments of the art-works of the past and recipes for art-works of the +future, and in both directions the Schlegel school rendered great +service to esthetic criticism. By judging of such works of art as +already existed, either their faults and failures were indicated, or +their merits and beauties brought to light. In controversy and in +indicating artistic shortcomings, the Schlegels were entirely imitators +of old Lessing; they obtained possession of his great battle-blade, but +the arm of August William Schlegel was too tenderly weak and the eyes of +his brother Friedrich too mystically clouded for the former to strike so +strongly and the latter so keenly and accurately as Lessing. True, in +descriptive criticism, where the beauties of a work of art are to be set +forth--where it came to a delicate detection of its characteristics +and bringing them home to our intelligence--then, compared to the +Schlegels, old Lessing was nowhere. But what shall I say as to their +recipes for preparing works of art? There we find in the Schlegels a +weakness which we think may also be detected in Lessing; for the latter +is as weak in affirming as he is strong in denying. He rarely succeeds +in laying down a fundamental principle, still more seldom a correct one. +He wants the firm basis of a philosophy or of a philosophical system. +And this is still more sadly the case with the brothers Schlegel. + +Much is fabled as to the influence of Fichtean Idealism and Schelling's +Philosophy of Nature on the Romantic school, which is even declared to +have sprung from it. But I see here, at the most, only the influence of +certain fragments of thoughts from Fichte and Schelling, and not at all +that of a philosophy. This may be explained on the simple ground that +Fichte's philosophy had lost its hold, and Fichte himself had made it +lose its interest by a mingling of tenets and ideas from Schelling; and +because, on the other hand, Schelling had never set forth a philosophy, +but only a vague philosophizing, an unsteady, vacillating improvisation +of poetical philosophemes. It may be that it was from the Fichtean +Idealism--that deeply ironical system, where the I is opposed to the +not--I and annihilates it--that the Romantic school took the doctrine of +irony which the late Solger especially developed, and which the +Schlegels at first regarded as the soul of art, but which they +subsequently found to be fruitless and exchanged for the more positive +axioms of the Theory of Identity of Schelling. Schelling, who then +taught in Jena, had indeed a great personal influence on the Romantic +school; he is, what is not generally known in France, also a bit of a +poet; and it is said that he was in doubt whether he should not deliver +all his philosophical doctrines in a poetic or even metrical form. This +doubt characterizes the man. + + + + + THE RABBI OF BACHARACH[59] (1840) + +With kindly greeting, the Legend of the Rabbi of Bacharach is dedicated +to his friend HENRY LAUBE by the AUTHOR + + +A FRAGMENT + +TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND + +TRANSLATION REVISED BY PAUL BERNARD THOMAS + + +CHAPTER I + +On the Lower Rhine, where its banks begin to lose their smiling aspect, +where the hills and cliffs with their romantic ruined castles rise more +defiantly, and a wilder, sterner majesty prevails, there lies, like a +strange and fearful tale of olden times, the gloomy and ancient town of +Bacharach. But these walls, with their toothless battlements and blind +turrets, in whose nooks and niches the winds whistle and the sparrows +build their nests, were not always so decayed and fallen, and in these +poverty-stricken, repulsive muddy lanes which one sees through the +ruined gate, there did not always reign that dreary silence which only +now and then is broken by the crying of children, the scolding of women, +and the lowing of cows. These walls were once proud and strong, and +these lanes were alive with fresh, free life, power and pomp, joy and +sorrow, much love and much hate. For Bacharach once belonged to those +municipalities which were founded by the Romans during their rule on the +Rhine; and its inhabitants, though the times which came after were very +stormy, and though they had to submit first to the Hohenstaufen, and +then to the Wittelsbach authority, managed, following the example of the +other cities on the Rhine, to maintain a tolerably free commonwealth. +This consisted of an alliance of separate social elements, in which the +patrician elders and those of the guilds, who were subdivided according +to their different trades, both strove for power; so that while they +were bound in union to resist and guard against outside robber-nobles, +they were, nevertheless, constantly having domestic dissensions over +disputed interests. Consequently there was but little social +intercourse, much mistrust, and not infrequently actual outbursts of +passion. The ruling governor sat in his lofty castle of Sareck, and +swooped down like his falcon, whenever he was called, and often when not +called. The clergy ruled in darkness by darkening the souls of others. +One of the most forsaken and helpless of the social elements, which had +been gradually bound down by local laws, was the little Jewish +community. This had first settled in Bacharach in the days of the +Romans, and during the later persecution of the Jews it had taken in +many a flock of fugitive co-religionists. + +The great oppression of the Jews began with the crusades, and raged most +furiously about the middle of the fourteenth century, at the end of the +great pestilence, which, like all other great public disasters, was +attributed to the Jews, because people declared they had drawn down the +wrath of God, and, with the help of the lepers, had poisoned the wells. +The enraged populace, especially the hordes of Flagellants, or +half-naked men and women, who, lashing themselves for penance and +singing a mad hymn to the Virgin, swept over South Germany and the +Rhenish provinces, murdered in those days many thousand Jews, tortured +others, or baptized them by force. There was another accusation which in +earlier times and all through the Middle Ages, even to the beginning of +the last century, cost much blood and suffering. This was the ridiculous +story, recurring with disgusting frequency in chronicle and legend, that +the Jews stole the consecrated wafer, and pierced it with knives till +blood ran from it; and to this it was added that at the feast of the +Passover the Jews slew Christian children to use their blood in the +night sacrifice. + +[Illustration: BACHARACH ON THE RHINE] + +Consequently on the day of this festival the Jews, hated for their +wealth, their religion, and the debts due to them, were entirely in the +hands of their enemies, who could easily bring about their destruction +by spreading the report of such a child-murder, and perhaps even +secretly putting a bloody infant's corpse in the house of a Jew thus +accused. Then at night they would attack the Jews at their prayers, and +murder, plunder, and baptize them; and great miracles would be wrought +by the dead child aforesaid, whom the Church would eventually canonize. +Saint Werner is one of these holy beings, and in his honor the +magnificent abbey of Oberwesel was founded. The latter is now one of the +most beautiful ruins on the Rhine, and with the Gothic grandeur of its +long ogival windows, proud and lofty pillars, and marvelous +stone-carving, it strangely enchants us when we wander by it on some +bright, green summer's day, and do not know the story of its origin. In +honor of this saint there were also three great churches built on the +Rhine, and innumerable Jews murdered and maltreated. All this happened +in the year 1287; and in Bacharach, where one of these Saint Werner's +churches stood, the Jews suffered much misery and persecution. However, +they remained there for two centuries after, protected from such +outbreaks of popular rage, though they were continually subject to spite +and threats. + +Yet the more they were oppressed by hate from without, the more +earnestly and tenderly did the Jews of Bacharach cherish their domestic +life within, and the deeper was the growth among them of piety and the +fear of God. An ideal example of a life given to God was seen in their +Rabbi Abraham, who, though still a young man, was famed far and wide for +his learning. He was born in Bacharach, and his father, who had been the +rabbi there before him, had charged him in his last will to devote his +life to that office and never to leave the place unless for fear of +life. This command, except for a cabinet full of rare books, was all +that his parent, who had lived in poverty and learning, left him. +Rabbi Abraham, however, was a very rich man, for he had married the only +daughter of his father's brother, who had been a prosperous dealer in +jewelry, and whose possessions he had inherited. A few gossips in the +community hinted now and then that the Rabbi had married for money. But +the women all denied this, declaring that the Rabbi, long ere he went to +Spain, had been in love with "Beautiful Sara," and recalling how she had +awaited his return for seven years, while, as a matter of fact, he had +already wedded her against the will of her father, and even without her +own consent, by the betrothal-ring. For every Jew can make a Jewish girl +his lawful wife, if he can succeed in putting a ring on her finger, and +say at the same time: "I take thee for my wife, according to the law of +Moses and Israel." And when Spain was mentioned, the same gossips were +wont to smile in the same significant manner, all because of a vague +rumor that Rabbi Abraham, though he had studied the holy law +industriously enough at the theological school in Toledo, had +nevertheless followed Christian customs and become imbued with habits of +free thinking, like many of the Spanish Jews who at that time had +attained a very remarkable degree of culture. + +And yet in the bottom of their hearts these gossips put no faith in such +reports; for ever since his return from Spain the daily life of the +Rabbi had been pure, pious, and earnest in every way. He performed every +detail of all religious customs and ceremonies with painstaking +conscientiousness; he fasted every Monday and Thursday--only on +Sabbaths and feast days did he indulge in meat or wine; his time was +passed in prayer and study; by day he taught the Law to students, whom +his fame had drawn to Bacharach; and by night he gazed on the stars in +heaven, or into the eyes of Beautiful Sara. His married life was +childless, yet there was no lack of life or gaiety in his home. The +great hall in his house, which stood near the synagogue, was open to the +whole community, so that people went in and out without ceremony, some +to offer short prayers, others to gather news, or to hold a consultation +when in trouble. Here the children played on Sabbath mornings while the +weekly "section" was being read; here people met for wedding and funeral +processions, and quarreled or were reconciled; here, too, those who were +cold found a warm stove, and those who were hungry, a well-spread table. +And, moreover, the Rabbi, as well as his wife, had a multitude of +relatives, brothers and sisters, with their wives and children, and an +endless array of uncles and cousins, all of whom looked up to the Rabbi +as the head of the family, and so made themselves at home in his house, +never failing to dine with him on all great festivals. + +Special among these grand gatherings in the Rabbi's house was the annual +celebration of the Passover, a very ancient and remarkable feast which +the Jews all over the world still hold every year in the month Nissen, +in eternal remembrance of their deliverance from Egyptian servitude. +This takes place as follows: + +As soon as it is dark the matron of the family lights the lamps, spreads +the table-cloth, places in its midst three flat loaves of unleavened +bread, covers them with a napkin, and places on them six little dishes +containing symbolical food, that is, an egg, lettuce, horse-radish, the +bone of a lamb, and a brown mixture of raisins, cinnamon, and nuts. At +this table the father of the family sits with all his relatives and +friends, and reads to them from a very curious book called the _Agade_, +whose contents are a strange mixture of legends of their forefathers, +wondrous tales of Egypt, disputed questions of theology, prayers, and +festival songs. During this feast there is a grand supper, and even +during the reading there is at specified times tasting of the symbolical +food and nibbling of Passover bread, while four cups of red wine are +drunk. Mournfully merry, seriously gay, and mysteriously secret as some +old dark legend, is the character of this nocturnal festival, and the +traditional singing intonation with which the _Agade_ is read by the +father, and now and then reechoed in chorus by the hearers, first +thrills the inmost soul as with a shudder, then calms it as mother's +lullaby, and again startles it so suddenly into waking that even those +Jews who have long fallen away from the faith of their fathers and run +after strange joys and honors, are moved to their very hearts, when by +chance the old, well-known tones of the Passover songs ring in their +ears. + +And so Rabbi Abraham once sat in his great hall surrounded by relatives, +disciples, and many other guests, to celebrate the great feast of the +Passover. Everything was unusually brilliant; over the table hung the +gaily embroidered silk canopy, whose gold fringes touched the floor; the +plates of symbolic food shone invitingly, as did the tall wine goblets, +adorned with embossed pictures of scenes in holy legends. The men sat in +their black cloaks and black low hats, and white collars, the women, in +wonderful glittering garments of Lombard stuffs, wore on their heads and +necks ornaments of gold and pearls, while the silver Sabbath lamp cast +its festive light on the cheerful, devout faces of parents and children. +On the purple velvet cushions of a chair, higher than the others, +reclined, as custom requires, Rabbi Abraham, who read and sang the +_Agade_, while the gay assembly joined in, or answered in the appointed +places. The Rabbi also wore the prescribed black festival garment, his +nobly-formed, but somewhat severe features had a milder expression than +usual, his lips smiled through his dark-brown beard as if they would +fain say something kind, while in his eyes one could see happy +remembrances combined with some strange foreboding. Beautiful Sara, who +sat on the high velvet cushion with her husband, as hostess, had on none +of her jewelry--nothing but white linen enveloped her slender form and +innocent face. This face was touchingly beautiful, even as all Jewish +beauty is of a peculiarly moving kind; for the consciousness of the deep +wretchedness, the bitter ignominy, and the evil dangers amid which their +kindred and friends dwell, imparts to their lovely features an +expression of soulful sadness and watchful, loving anxiety, which +particularly charms our hearts. So on this evening Beautiful Sara sat +looking into the eyes of her husband, yet glancing ever and anon at the +beautiful parchment book of the _Agade_ which lay before her, bound in +gold and velvet. + +[Illustration: HOUSE IN BACHARACH] + +It was an old heirloom, with ancient wine stains on it, and had come +down from the days of her grandfather; and in it there were many boldly +and brightly-colored pictures, which as a little girl she had often +looked at so eagerly on Passover evenings. They represented all kinds of +Bible incidents--Abraham breaking with a hammer the idols of his father +and the angels appearing to him; Moses slaying Mizri; Pharaoh sitting in +state on his throne, and the frogs giving him no peace even at the +table; his death by drowning--the Lord be praised!--the children of +Israel cautiously crossing the Red Sea, and then standing open-mouthed, +with their sheep, cows, and oxen, before Mount Sinai; pious King David +playing the harp; and, finally, Jerusalem, with its towers and +battlements, shining in the splendor of the setting sun. + +The second wine-cup had been served, the faces and voices of the guests +were growing merrier, and the Rabbi, as he took a loaf of unleavened +bread and raised it with a cheerful smile, read these words from the +_Agade_: "Behold! This is the food which our fathers ate in Egypt! Let +every one who is hungry come and enjoy it! Let every one who is +sorrowful come and share the joy of our Passover! This year we celebrate +it here, but in years to come in the land of Israel. This year we +celebrate it as servants, but in the years to come as sons of freedom!" + +Then the hall door opened, and two tall, pale men, wrapped in very loose +cloaks, entered and said: + +"Peace be with you. We are men of your faith on a journey, and wish to +share the Passover-feast with you!" And the Rabbi replied promptly and +kindly: + +"Peace be with you! Sit ye down near me!" The two strangers immediately +sat down at the table, and the Rabbi read on. Several times while the +others were repeating a sentence after him, he said an endearing word to +his wife; once, alluding to the old humorous saying that on this evening +a Hebrew father of a family regards himself as a king, he said to her, +"Rejoice, oh my Queen!" But she replied with a sad smile, "The Prince is +wanting," meaning by that a son, who, as a passage in the _Agade_ +requires, has to ask his father, with a certain formula of words, what +the meaning of the festival is? The Rabbi said nothing, but pointed with +his finger to an opened page of the _Agade_, on which was a pretty +picture, showing how the three angels came to Abraham, announcing that +he would have a son by his wife Sara, who, meanwhile, urged by feminine +curiosity, is slyly listening to it all behind the tent-door. This +little sign caused a threefold blush to color the cheeks of Beautiful +Sara, who first looked down, and then glanced pleasantly at her husband, +who went on chanting the wonderful story how Rabbi Jesua, Rabbi Eliezer, +Rabbi Asaria, Rabbi Akiba, and Rabbi Tarphen sat reclining in Bona-Brak, +and conversed all night long of the Exodus from Egypt, till their +disciples came to tell them that it was daylight, and that the great +morning prayer was being read in the synagogue. + +While Beautiful Sara sat devoutly listening to and looking at her +husband, she saw his face suddenly assume an expression of agony or +horror, his cheeks and lips become deathly pale, and his eyes harden +like two balls of ice; but almost immediately he regained his previous +composure and cheerfulness, his cheeks and lips grew ruddy, and he +looked about him gaily--nay, it seemed as if a strange, wild humor, such +as was foreign to his nature, had seized him. Beautiful Sara was +frightened as she had never been before in all her life, and a cold +shudder went through her--due less to the momentary manifestation of +dumb horror which she had seen in her husband's face, than to the +cheerfulness which followed it, and which was now gradually developing +into jubilant hilarity. The Rabbi cocked his cap comically, first on one +ear, then on the other, pulled and twisted his beard ludicrously, and +sang the _Agade_ texts as if they were tavern-songs; and in the +enumeration of the Egyptian plagues, where it is usual to dip the +forefinger in the full wine-cup and flip off the drops that adhere, he +sprinkled the young girls near him with the red wine, so that there was +great wailing over spoiled collars, combined with loud laughter. Every +moment Beautiful Sara was becoming more amazed by this convulsive +merriment of her husband, and she was oppressed with nameless fears as +she gazed on the buzzing swarm of gaily glittering guests who were +comfortably enjoying themselves here and there, nibbling the thin +Passover cakes, drinking wine, gossiping, or joyfully singing aloud. + +Then came the time for supper. All rose to wash, and Beautiful Sara +brought the large silver basin, richly adorned with embossed gold +figures, which was held before all the guests in turn, while water was +poured over their hands. As she was doing this for the Rabbi, he gave +her a significant glance, and quietly slipped out of the door. When +Beautiful Sara walked out after him, he grasped her hand, and in the +greatest haste hurried her through the dark lanes of Bacharach, out of +the city gate to the highway which leads along the Rhine to Bingen. + +It was one of those spring nights which, to be sure, are mild and starry +enough, yet which inspire the soul with strange, uncanny feelings. There +was something funereal in the odor of the flowers, the birds chirped +spitefully and at the same time apprehensively, the moon cast malicious +yellow stripes of light over the dark murmuring stream, the lofty banks +of the Rhine looked like vague, threatening giants' heads. The watchman +on the tower of Castle Strahleck blew a melancholy blast, and with it +rang in jarring discord the funeral bell of Saint Werner's. + +Beautiful Sara still had the silver basin in her right hand, while the +Rabbi held her left, and she felt that his fingers were ice-cold, and +that his arm was trembling; but still she went on with him in silence, +perhaps because she had become accustomed to obey her husband blindly +and unquestioningly--perhaps, too, because her lips were mute with +fear and anxiety. + +Below Castle Sonneck, opposite Lorch, about the place where the hamlet +of Nieder Rheinbach now lies, there rises a cliff which arches out over +the Rhine bank. The Rabbi ascended this with his wife, looked around on +every side, and gazed on the stars. Trembling and shivering, as with the +pain of death, Beautiful Sara looked at his pale face, which seemed +ghastly in the moonlight, and seemed to express by turns pain, terror, +piety, and rage. But when the Rabbi suddenly snatched from her hands the +silver basin and threw it far out into the Rhine, she could no longer +endure the agony of uncertainty, and crying out "_Schadai_, be +merciful!" threw herself at his feet and conjured him to explain the +dark mystery. + +At first unable to speak, the Rabbi moved his lips without uttering a +sound; but finally he cried, "Dost thou see the Angel of Death? There +below he sweeps over Bacharach. But we have escaped his sword. God be +praised!" Then, in a voice still trembling with excitement, he told her +that, while he was happily and comfortably singing the _Agade_, he +happened to glance under the table, and saw at his feet the bloody +corpse of a little child. "Then I knew," continued the Rabbi, "that our +two guests were not of the community of Israel, but of the army of the +godless, who had plotted to bring that corpse into the house by stealth +so as to accuse us of child-murder, and stir up the people to plunder +and murder us. Had I given a sign that I saw through that work of +darkness I should have brought destruction on the instant down upon me +and mine, and only by craft did I save our lives. Praised be God! Grieve +not, Beautiful Sara. Our relatives and friends shall also be saved; it +was only my blood which the wretches wanted. I have escaped them, and +they will be satisfied with my silver and gold. Come with me, Beautiful +Sara, to another land. We will leave misfortune behind us, and so that +it may not follow us I have thrown to it the silver ewer, the last of my +possessions, as an offering. The God of our fathers will not forsake us. +Come down, thou art weary. There is Dumb William standing by his boat; +he will row us up the Rhine." + +Speechless, and as if every limb were broken, Beautiful Sara sank into +the arms of the Rabbi, who slowly bore her to the bank. There stood +William, a deaf and dumb but very handsome youth, who, to support his +old foster-mother, a neighbor of the Rabbi, caught and sold fish, and +kept his boat in this place. It seemed as if he had divined the +intention of Abraham, and was waiting for him, for on his silent lips +there was an expression of tender sympathy, and his large blue eyes +rested as with deep meaning on Beautiful Sara, as he lifted her +carefully into the boat. + +The glance of the silent youth roused Beautiful Sara from her lethargy, +and she realized at once that all which her husband had told her was not +a mere dream. A stream of bitter tears poured over her cheeks, which +were as white as her garment. Thus she sat in the boat, a weeping image +of white marble, and beside her sat her husband and Dumb William, who +was busily rowing. + +Whether it is due to the measured beat of the oars, or to the rocking of +the boat, or to the fresh perfume from those steep banks whereon joy +grows, it ever happens that even the most sorrowful heart is marvelously +relieved when on a night in spring it is lightly borne along in a small +boat on the dear, limpid waters of the Rhine. For, in truth, +kind-hearted, old Father Rhine cannot bear to see his children weep, and +so, drying their tears, he rocks them on his trusty arm, and tells them +his most beautiful stories, and promises them his most golden treasures, +perhaps even the old, old, long-sunk Nibelungen hoard. Gradually the +tears of Beautiful Sara ceased to flow; her extreme sorrow seemed to be +washed away by the whispering waves, while the hills about her home bade +her the tenderest farewell. But especially cordial seemed the farewell +greeting of Kedrich, her favorite mountain; and far up on its summit, in +the strange moonlight, she imagined she saw a lady with outstretched. +arms, while active little dwarfs swarmed out of their caverns in the +rocks, and a rider came rushing down the side in full gallop. Beautiful +Sara felt as if she were a child again, and were sitting once more in +the lap of her aunt from Lorch, who was telling her brave tales of the +bold knight who freed the stolen damsel from the dwarfs, and many other +true stories of the wonderful Wisperthal over there, where the birds +talk as sensibly as men, and of Gingerbread Land, where good, obedient +children go, and of enchanted princesses, singing trees, crystal +castles, golden bridges, laughing water-fairies.... But suddenly in the +midst of these pleasant tales, which began to send forth notes of music +and to gleam with lovely light, Beautiful Sara heard the voice of her +father, scolding the poor aunt for putting such nonsense into the +child's head. Then it seemed to her as if they set her on the little +stool before her father's velvet-covered chair, and that he with a soft +hand smoothed her long hair, smiling as if well pleased, while he rocked +himself comfortably in his loose, Sabbath dressing-gown of blue silk. +Yes, it must be the Sabbath, for the flowered cover was spread on the +table, all the utensils in the room were polished like looking-glasses, +the white-bearded usher sat beside her father, eating raisins and +talking in Hebrew; even little Abraham came in with a very large book, +and modestly begged leave of his uncle to expound a portion of the Holy +Scripture, that he might prove that he had learned much during the past +week, and therefore deserved much praise--and a corresponding quantity of +cakes.... Then the lad laid the book on the broad arm of the chair, and +set forth the history of Jacob and Rachel--how Jacob raised his voice +and wept when he first saw his cousin Rachel, how he talked so +confidingly with her by the well, how he had to serve seven years for +her, and how quickly the time passed, and how he at last married and +loved her for ever and ever.... Then all at once Beautiful Sara +remembered how her father cried with merry voice, "Wilt thou not also +marry thy cousin Sara like that?" To which little Abraham gravely +replied, "That I will, and she shall wait seven years too." These +memories stole like twilight shadows through the soul of the young +wife, and she recalled how she and her little cousin--now so great a man +and her husband--played together as children in the leafy tabernacle; how +delighted they were with the gay carpets, flowers, mirrors, and gilded +apples; how little Abraham caressed her more and more tenderly, till +little by little he began to grow larger and more self-interested, and +at last became a man and scarcely noticed her at all.... And now she +sits in her room alone on a Saturday evening; the moon shines in +brightly. Suddenly the door flies open, and cousin Abraham, in traveling +garb, and as pale as death, enters, grasps her hand, puts a gold ring on +her finger, and says, solemnly, "I hereby take thee to be my wife, +according to the laws of God and of Israel." "But now," he adds, with a +trembling voice, "now I must go to Spain. Farewell! For seven years thou +must wait for me." With that he hurried away, and Sara, weeping, told +the tale to her father, who roared and raged, "Cut off thy hair, for +thou art now a married woman." Then he wanted to ride after Abraham to +compel him to write a letter of divorce; but Abraham was over the hills +and far away, and the father silently returned to his house. And when +Beautiful Sara was helping him to draw off his boots, and trying to +soothe him, saying that Abraham would return in seven years, he cursed, +and cried, "Seven years shalt thou be a beggar," and shortly after he +died. + +And so old memories swept through her soul like a hurried play of +shadows, the images intermixing and blending strangely, while between +them came and went half-familiar, half-strange bearded faces, and large +flowers with marvelously spreading foliage. Then the Rhine seemed to +murmur the melodies of the _Agade_, and from its waters the pictures, as +large as life, but wild and distorted, came forth one by one. There was +Father Abraham anxiously breaking the idols into pieces which +immediately flew together again; Mizri defending himself fiercely +against the maddened Moses; Mount Sinai flashing and flaming; King +Pharaoh swimming in the Red Sea, holding his pointed gold crown tightly +in his teeth, while frogs with human faces swam along behind, in the +foaming, roaring waves, and a dark giant-hand rose up threatening from +below. + +Yonder was the Mouse Tower of Bishop Hatto, and the boat was just +shooting through the Bingen Eddy. By this time Beautiful Sara had +somewhat awakened from her dreams, and she gazed at the hills on the +shore, on the summits of which lights of castles were gleaming, and at +the foot of which the mist, shimmering in the moonlight, was beginning +to rise. Suddenly she seemed to see her friends and relatives, as they, +with corpse-like faces and flowing shrouds, passed in awful procession +along the Rhine.... The world grew dark before her eyes, an icy current +ran through her soul, and, as if in sleep, she only heard the Rabbi +repeating the night-prayer slowly and painfully, as if at a deathbed. +Dreamily she stammered the words, "Ten thousand to the right, ten +thousand to the left, to protect the king from the terrors of the +night." + +Then all at once the oppressive gloom and terror passed away, the dark +curtain was torn from heaven, and far above there appeared the holy city +Jerusalem, with its towers and gates; the Temple gleamed in golden +splendor, and in its fore-court Sara saw her father in his yellow +Sabbath dressing-gown, smiling as if well pleased. All her friends and +relatives were looking out from the round windows of the Temple, +cordially greeting her; in the Holy of Holies knelt pious King David, +with his purple mantle and golden crown; sweetly rang his song and the +tones of his harp, and smiling happily, Beautiful Sara awoke. + + +CHAPTER II + +As Beautiful Sara opened her eyes they were almost dazzled by the rays +of the sun. The high towers of a great city rose before her, and Dumb +William, with his oar upright, was standing in the boat, pushing and +guiding it through the lively confusion of many vessels, gay with their +pennons and streamers, whose crews were either gazing idly at +passers-by, or else were busily loading with chests, bales, and casks +the lighters which were to bear them to the shore. And with it all was a +deafening noise, the constant halloh cry of steersmen, the calling of +traders from the shore, and the scolding of the custom-house officials +who, in their red coats and with their white maces and white faces, +jumped from boat to boat. + +"Yes, Beautiful Sara," said the Rabbi, cheerfully smiling to his wife, +"this is the famous, free, imperial, and commercial city of +Frankfort-on-the-Main, and we are now passing along the river Main. Do +you see those pleasant-looking houses up there, surrounded by green +hills? That is Sachsenhausen, from which our lame Gumpert brings us the +fine myrrh for the Feast of the Tabernacles. Here you see the strong +Main Bridge with its thirteen arches, over which many men, wagons, and +horses can safely pass. In the middle of it stands the little house +where Aunty Taeubchen says there lives a baptized Jew, who pays six +farthings, on account of the Jewish community, to every man who brings +him a dead rat; for the Jews are obliged to deliver annually to the +State council five thousand rats' tails for tribute." + +At the thought of this war, which the Frankfort Jews were obliged to +wage with the rats, Beautiful Sara burst out laughing. The bright +sunlight, and the new gay world now before her, had driven all the +terrors and horrors of the past night from her soul, and as she was +helped ashore from the boat by Dumb William and her husband, she felt +inspired as with a sense of joyful safety. Dumb William for a long time +fixed his beautiful, deep-blue eyes on hers, half sadly, half +cheerfully, and then, casting a significant glance at the Rabbi, sprang +back into his boat and was soon out of sight. + +"Dumb William much resembles my brother who died," said Beautiful Sara. +"All the angels are alike," answered the Rabbi; and, taking his wife by +the hand, led her through the dense crowd on the shore, where, as it was +the time of the Easter Fair, a great number of wooden booths had been +erected by traders. Then passing through the gloomy Main Gate, they +found themselves in quite as noisy a crowd. Here, in a narrow street, +the shops stood close beside one another, every house, as was usual in +Frankfort, being specially adapted to trade. There were no windows on +the ground floor, but broad, open arches, so that the passer-by, looking +in, could see at a glance all there was for sale. And how astonished +Beautiful Sara was at the mass of magnificent wares, and at the +splendor, such as she had never seen before! Here stood Venetians, who +offered cheaply all the luxuries of the Orient and Italy, and Beautiful +Sara was enchanted by the sight of the ornaments and jewels, the gay +caps and bodices, the gold bangles and necklaces, and the whole display +of finery which women so admire and love to wear. The richly embroidered +stuffs of velvet and silk seemed fairly to speak to Beautiful Sara, and +to flash and sparkle strange wonders back into her memory, and she +really felt as if she were a little girl again, and as if Aunty Taeubchen +had kept her promise and taken her to the Frankfort Fair, and as if she +were now at last standing before the beautiful garments of which she had +heard so much. With a secret joy she reflected what she should take back +with her to Bacharach, and which of her two little cousins, Posy and +Birdy, would prefer that blue silk girdle, and whether the green +stockings would suit little Gottschalk. But all at once it flashed on +her, "Ah, Lord! they are all grown up now, and yesterday they were +slain!" She shuddered, and the pictures of the previous night filled her +soul with all their horror again. But the gold-embroidered cloths +glittered once more with a thousand roguish eyes, and drove the gloomy +thoughts from her mind, and when she looked into her husband's face she +saw that it was free from clouds, and bore its habitual, serious +gentleness. "Shut your eyes, Sara!" said the Rabbi, and he led his wife +on through the crowd. + +What a gay, active throng! Most prominent were the tradesmen, who were +loudly vying one another in offering bargains, or talking together and +summing on their fingers, or, following heavily loaded porters, who at a +dog-trot were leading the way to their lodgings. By the faces of others +one could see that they came from curiosity. The stout councilman was +recognizable by his scarlet cloak and golden chain; a black, +expensive-looking, swelling waistcoat betrayed the honorable and proud +citizen. An iron spike-helmet, a yellow leather jerkin, and rattling +spurs, weighing a pound, indicated the heavy cavalry-man. Under little +black velvet caps, which came together in a point over the brow, there +was many a rosy girl-face, and the young fellows who ran along after +them, like hunting-dogs on the scent, showed that they were finished +dandies by their saucily feathered caps, their squeaking peaked shoes, +and their colored silk garments, some of which were green on one side +and red on the other, or else striped like a rainbow on the right and +checkered with harlequin squares of many colors on the left, so that the +mad youths looked as if they were divided in the middle. + +Carried along by the crowd, the Rabbi and his wife arrived at the Roemer. +This is the great market-place of the city, surrounded by houses with +high gables, and takes its name from an immense building, "the Roemer," +which was bought by the magistracy and dedicated as the town-hall. In it +the German Emperor was elected, and before it tournaments were often +held. King Maximilian, who was passionately fond of this sport, was then +in Frankfort, and in his honor the day before there had been great +tilting in the Roemer. Many idle men still stood on or about the +scaffolding, which was being removed by carpenters, telling how the Duke +of Brunswick and the Margrave of Brandenburg had charged one another +amid the sound of drums and of trumpets, and how Lord Walter the +Vagabond had knocked the Knight of the Bear out of his saddle so +violently that the splinters of the lances flew high into the air, while +the tall, fair-haired King Max, standing among his courtiers upon the +balcony, rubbed his hands for joy. The golden banners were still to be +seen on the balconies and in the Gothic windows of the town-hall. The +other houses of the market-place were still likewise festively bedecked +and adorned with shields, especially the Limburg house, on whose banner +was painted a maiden with a sparrow-hawk in her hand, and a monkey +holding out to her a mirror. Many knights and ladies standing on the +balcony were engaged in animated conversation, or looking at the crowd +below, which, in wild groups and processions, surged back and forth. +What a multitude of idlers of all ages and ranks were crowded together +here to gratify their curiosity! There was laughing, grumbling, +stealing, rib-poking, hurrahing, while every now and then blared the +trumpet of the mountebank, who, in a red cloak and with his clown and +monkey, stood on a high stand loudly boasting of his own skill, and +sounding the praises of his marvelous tinctures and salves, ere he +solemnly examined the glass of urine brought by some old woman, or +applied himself to pull a poor peasant's tooth. Two fencing-masters, +dancing about in gay ribbons and brandishing their rapiers, met as if by +accident and began to cut and pass with great apparent anger; but after +a long bout each declared that the other was invincible, and took up a +collection. Then the newly-organized guild of archers marched by with +drummers and pipers, and these were followed by the constable, who was +carrying a red flag at the head of a flock of traveling strumpets, +hailing from the brothel known as "The Ass," in Wuerzburg, and bound for +Rosendale, where the highly honorable authorities had assigned them +quarters during the fair. "Shut your eyes, Sara," said the Rabbi. For +indeed these fantastic, and altogether too scantily clad women, among +whom were a few really beautiful girls, behaved in a most immodest +manner, baring their bold, white breasts, chaffing those who went by +with shameless words, and swinging their long walking sticks; and using +the latter as hobby-horses, they rode down toward the gate of St. +Katherine, singing in shrill tones the witch-song-- + + "Where is the goat? the hellish beast; + Where is the goat? Oh bring him quick! + And if there is no goat, at least + We'll ride upon the stick." + +This wild sing-song, which rang afar, was finally drowned +out by the long-drawn, sacred tones of a church procession. +It was a solemn train of bare-headed and bare-footed monks, +who carried burning wax tapers, banners with pictures of +the saints, and large silver crucifixes. Before it ran boys +clad in red and white gowns, bearing censers of smoking +frankincense. In the middle of the procession, under a +beautiful canopy, marched priests in white robes adorned +with costly lace, or in bright-colored, silk stoles; one of +them held in his hand a sun-like, golden vessel, which, on +arriving at a shrine by the market-corner, he raised on high, +while he half-sang, half-spoke in Latin--when all at once +a little bell rang, and all the people around, becoming silent, +fell to their knees and made the sign of the cross. "Shut +your eyes, Sara!" cried the Rabbi again, and he hastily +drew her away through a labyrinth of narrow, crooked +streets, and at last over the desolate, empty place which +separated the new Jewish quarter from the rest of the city. + +Before that time the Jews dwelt between the Cathedral and the bank of +the Main, that is, from the bridge down as far as the Lumpenbrunnen, and +from the Mehlwage as far as Saint Bartholomew's. But the Catholic +priests obtained a Papal bull forbidding the Jews to live so near the +high church, for which reason the magistrates assigned them a place on +the Wollgraben, where they built their present quarter. This was +surrounded by high walls, the gate of which was held by iron chains to +keep out the rabble. For here, too, the Jews lived in misery and +anxiety, and with far more vivid memories of previous suffering than +they have at present. In 1240 the unrestrained populace had caused awful +bloodshed among them, which people called the first Jewish massacre. In +1349, when the Flagellants, in passing through the town, set fire to it, +and accused the Jews of the deed, the latter were nearly all murdered or +burned alive in their own houses; this was called the second Jewish +massacre. After this the Jews were often threatened with similar +slaughter, and during the internal dissensions of Frankfort, especially +during a dispute between the council and the guilds, the mob was often +on the point of breaking into the Jewish quarter, which, as has been +said, was surrounded by a wall. The latter had two gates in it, which on +Catholic holidays were closed from without and on Jewish holidays from +within, and before each gate was a watch-house with city soldiers. + +When the Rabbi with his wife came to the entrance to the Jewish quarter, +the soldiers, as one could see through the open windows, lay on the +wooden bench inside the watch-house, while out before the door in the +sunshine sat the drummer beating capriciously on his large drum. He was +a heavy, fat fellow, wearing a jerkin and hose of fiery yellow, greatly +puffed out at his arms and thighs, and profusely dotted with small red +tufts, sewed on, which looked as if innumerable tongues were protruding +from him. His breast and back were padded with cushions of black cloth, +against which hung his drum. He had on his head a flat, round black cap, +which in roundness and flatness was equaled by his face, and the latter +was also in keeping with his dress, being an orange-yellow, spotted with +red pimples, and distorted into a gaping grin. So the fellow sat and +drummed to the melody of a song which the Flagellants had sung at the +Jewish massacre, while he gurgled, in a coarse, beery voice-- + + "Our dear Lady true + Walked in the morning dew, + Kyrie eleison!" + +"Hans, that is a terrible tune," cried a voice from behind the closed +gate of the Jewish quarter. "Yes, Hans, and a bad song too-doesn't suit +the drum; doesn't suit it at all--by my soul--not the day of the fair +and on Easter morning--bad song--dangerous song--Jack, Jacky, little +drum--Jacky boy--I'm a lone man--and if thou lovest me, the Star, the +tall Star, the tall Nose Star--then stop it!" + +These words were uttered by the unseen speaker, now in hasty anxiety, +now in a sighing drawl, with a tone which alternated between mild +softness and harsh hoarseness, such as one hears in consumptive people. +The drummer was not moved, and went on drumming and singing-- + + "There came a little youth, + His beard had run away, in truth, + Halleluja!" + +"Jack," again cried the voice of the invisible speaker, "Jack, I'm a +lone man, and that is a dangerous song, and I don't like it; I have my +reasons for it, and if you love me, sing something else, and tomorrow we +will drink together." + +At the word "drink" Jack ceased his drumming and singing, and said in +friendly tone, "The devil take the Jews! But thou, dear Nose Star, art +my friend, I protect thee; and if we drink together often enough I shall +have thee converted. Yea, I shall be thy godfather, and when thou art +baptized thou shalt be eternally happy; and if thou hast genius and wilt +study industriously under me, thou mayest even become a drummer. Yes, +Nose Star, thou mayest yet become something great. I will drum the whole +catechism into thee when we drink together tomorrow. But now open the +gate, for here are two strangers who wish to enter." + +"Open the gate?" cried Nose Star, and his voice almost deserted him. +"That can't be done in such a hurry, my dear Jack; one can't tell--one +can never tell, you know--and I'm a lone man. Veitel Oxhead has the +key, and he is now standing in the corner mumbling his eighteen-prayer, +and he must not be interrupted. And Jaekel the Fool is here too, but he +is making water; I'm a lone man." + +"The devil take the Jews!" cried the drummer, and, laughing loudly at +this, his one and only joke, he trudged off to the guard-room and lay +down on the bench. + +While the Rabbi stood with his wife before the locked gate, there rose +from behind it a snarling, nasal, somewhat mocking voice. "Starry--don't +groan so much. Take the keys from Oxheady's coat pockets, or else go +stick your nose in the keyhole, and so unlock the gate. The people have +been standing and waiting a long time." "People!" cried the anxious +voice of the man called Nose Star, "I thought there was only one! I beg +you, Fool--dear Jaekel Fool--look out and see who is there." + +A small, well-grated window in the gate opened, and there appeared in +it a yellow cap with two horns, and the funny, wrinkled, and twisted +jest-maker's face of Jaekel the Fool. The window was immediately shut +again, and he cried angrily, "Open the gate--it is only a man and a +woman." + +"A man and a woman!" groaned Nose Star. "Yes, but when the gate's opened +the woman will take her skirt off, and become a man; and then there'll +be two men, and there are only three of us!" + +"Don't be a hare," replied Jaekel the Fool. "Be a man and show courage!" + +"Courage!" cried Nose Star, laughing with bitter vexation. "Hare! Hare +is a bad comparison. The hare is an unclean animal. Courage! I was not +put here to be courageous, but cautious. When too many come I am to give +the alarm. But I alone cannot keep them back. My arm is weak, I have a +seton, and I'm a lone man. If one were to shoot at me, I should be a +dead man. Then that rich man, Mendel Reiss, would sit on the Sabbath at +his table, and wipe the raisin-sauce from his mouth, and rub his belly, +and perhaps say, 'Tall Nose Star was a brave fellow after all; if it had +not been for him, perhaps they would have burst open the gate. He let +himself be shot for us. He was a brave fellow; too bad that he's dead!'" + +Here the voice became tender and tearful, but all at once it rose to a +hasty and almost angry tone. "Courage! and so that the rich Mendel Reiss +may wipe away the raisin-sauce from his mouth, and rub his belly, and +call me a brave fellow, I'm to let myself be shot! Courage! Be a man! +Little Strauss was a man, and yesterday went to the Roemer to see the +tilting, thinking they would not know him because he wore a frock of +violet velvet--three florins a yard-covered with fox-tails and +embroidered with gold--quite magnificent; and they dusted his violet +frock for him till it lost its color, and his own back became violet and +did not look human. Courage, indeed! The crippled Leser was courageous, +and called our scoundrel of a magistrate a blackguard, and they hung him +up by the feet between two dogs, while Jack drummed. Courage! Don't be +a hare! Among many dogs the hare is helpless. I'm a lone man, and I am +really afraid." + +"That I'll swear to," cried Jaekel. + +"Yes; I _have_ fear," replied Nose Star, sighing. "I know that it runs +in my blood, and I got it from my dear mother"-- + +"Yes, yes," interrupted Jaekel, "and your mother got it from her father, +and he from his, and so all thy ancestors one from the other, back to +the forefather who marched under King Saul against the Philistines, and +was the first to take to his heels. But look! Oxheady is all ready--he +has bowed his head for the fourth time; now he is jumping like a flea at +the Holy, Holy, Holy, and feeling cautiously in his pocket." + +In fact the keys rattled, the gate grated and creaked and opened, and +the Rabbi led his wife into the empty Jews' Street. The man who opened +it was a little fellow with a good-naturedly sour face, who nodded +dreamily, like one who did not like to be disturbed in his thoughts, and +after he had carefully closed the gate again, without saying a word he +sank into a corner, constantly mumbling his prayers. Less taciturn was +Jaekel the Fool, a short, somewhat bow-legged fellow, with a large, red, +laughing face, and an enormous leg-of-mutton hand, which he now +stretched out of the wide sleeve of his gaily-chequered jacket in +welcome. Behind him a tall, lean figure showed, or rather, hid +itself--the slender neck feathered with a fine white cambric ruff, and +the thin, pale face strangely adorned with an incredibly long nose, +which peered with anxious curiosity in every direction. + +"God's welcome to a pleasant feast-day!" cried Jaekel the Fool. "Do not +be astonished that our street is so empty and quiet just now. All our +people are in the synagogue, and you have come just in time to hear the +history of the sacrifice of Isaac read. I know it--'tis an interesting +story, and if I had not already heard it thirty-three times, I would +willingly listen to it again this year. And it is an important history, +too, for if Abraham had really killed Isaac and not the goat, then there +would be more goats in the world now--and fewer Jews." And then with +mad, merry grimaces, Jaekel began to sing the following song from the +_Agade_:[60] + + "A kid, a kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + A kid! + + There came a cat which ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + + There came a dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! + + There came a stick, which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the + kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came a fire, which burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit + the cat, who ate the kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. + A kid! A kid! + + There came the water, which quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, + which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came an ox, who drank the water, which quenched the fire, which + burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, + which my father bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid! + + There came the butcher, who slew the ox, who drank the water, which + quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, which beat the dog, who bit the + cat, that ate the kid, which my father bought for two pieces of money. + A kid! A kid! + + "Then came the Angel of Death, who slew the butcher, who killed the + ox, who drank the water, which quenched the fire, which burnt the stick, + which beat the dog, who bit the cat, who ate the kid, which my father + bought for two pieces of money. A kid! A kid!"[61] + +"Yes, beautiful lady," added the singer, "and the day will come when +the Angel of Death will slay the slayer, and all our blood come over +Edom, for God is a God of vengeance." + +But all at once, casting aside with a violent effort the seriousness +into which he had involuntarily fallen, Jaekel plunged again into his mad +buffoonery, and went on in his harsh jester tones, "Don't be afraid, +beautiful lady, Nose Star will not harm you. He is only dangerous to old +Schnapper-Elle. She has fallen in love with his nose--which, faith! +deserves it. Yea, for it is as beautiful as the tower which looketh +forth toward Damascus, and as lofty as a cedar of Lebanon. Outwardly it +gleameth like gold loaf and syrup, and inwardly it is all music and +loveliness. It bloometh in summer and in winter it is frozen up--but in +summer and winter it is petted and pulled by the white hands of +Schnapper-Elle. Yes, she is madly in love with him. She nurses him, and +feeds him, and for her age she is young enough. When he is fat enough, +she means to marry him; and whoever comes to Frankfort, three hundred +years hence, will not be able to see the heavens for Nose Stars." + +"Ah, you are Jaekel the Fool," exclaimed the Rabbi, laughing. "I mark it +by your words. I have often heard of you." + +"Yes--yes," replied Jaekel, with comical modesty. "Yes, that is what +reputation does. A man is often known far and wide as a bigger fool than +he himself has any idea of. However, I take great pains to be a fool, +and jump and shake myself to make the bells ring; others have an easier +time. But tell me, Rabbi, why do you journey on a holiday?" + +"My justification," replied the Rabbi, "is in the Talmud, where it says, +'Danger drives away the Sabbath.'" + +"Danger!" screamed the tall Nose Star, in mortal terror. "Danger! +danger! Drummer Jack!--drum, drum. Danger! danger! Drummer Jack!" From +without resounded the deep, beery voice of Drummer Jack, "Death and +destruction! The devil take the Jews. That's the third time today that +you've roused me out of a sound sleep, Nose Star! Don't make me mad! For +when I am mad I'm the very devil himself; and then as sure as I'm a +Christian, I'll up with my gun and shoot through the grated window in +your gate--and then fellow, let everybody look out for his nose!" + +"Don't shoot! don't shoot! I'm a lonely man," wailed Nose Star +piteously, pressing his face against the wall, and trembling and +murmuring prayers in this position. + +"But say, what has happened?" cried Jaekel the Fool, with all the +impatient curiosity which was even then characteristic of the Frankfort +Jews. + +But the Rabbi impatiently broke loose from them, and went his way along +the Jews' Street. "See, Sara!" he exclaimed, "how badly guarded is our +Israel. False friends guard its gates without, and within its watchers +are Folly and Fear." + +They wandered slowly through the long empty street, where only here and +there the head of some young girl showed itself in a window, against the +polished panes of which the sun was brilliantly reflected. At that time +the houses in the Jewish quarter were still neat and new, and much lower +than they now are, since it was only later on that the Jews, as their +number greatly increased, while they could not enlarge their quarter, +built one story over another, squeezed themselves together like +sardines, and were thus stunted both in body and soul. That part of the +Jewish quarter which remained standing after the great fire, and which +is called the Old Lane, those high blackened houses, where a grinning, +sweaty race of people bargains and chaffers, is a horrible relic of the +Middle Ages. The older synagogue exists no more; it was less capacious +than the present one, which was built later, after the Nuremberg exiles +were taken into the community, and lay more to the north. + +The Rabbi had no need to ask where it was. He recognized it from afar by +the buzz of many loud voices. In the court of the House of God he parted +from his wife, and after washing his hands at the fountain there, he +entered the lower part of the synagogue where the men pray, while Sara +ascended a flight of stairs and entered the place reserved for women. +The latter was a kind of gallery with three rows of seats painted a +reddish brown, whose backs were fitted with a hanging board, which held +the prayer-books, and which could be raised and lowered. Here the women +either sat gossiping or stood up in deep prayer. They often went and +peered with curiosity through the large grating on the eastern side, +through the thin, green lattice of which one could look down on the +lower floor of the synagogue. There, behind high praying-desks, stood +the men in their black cloaks, their pointed beards shooting out over +white ruffs, and their skull-capped heads more or less concealed by a +four-cornered scarf of white wool or silk, furnished with the prescribed +tassels, and in some instances also adorned with gold lace. The walls of +the synagogue were uniformly white-washed, and no ornament was to be +seen other than the gilded iron grating around the square stage, where +extracts from the Law were read, and the holy ark, a costly embossed +chest, apparently supported by marble columns with gorgeous capitals, +whose flower-and leaf-work shot up in beautiful profusion, and covered +with a curtain of purple velvet, on which a pious inscription was worked +in gold spangles, pearls, and many colored gems. Here hung the silver +memorial-lamp, and there also rose a trellised dais, on whose crossed +iron bars were all kinds of sacred utensils, among them the +seven-branched candlestick. Before the latter, his countenance toward +the ark, stood the choir-leader, whose song was accompanied, as if +instrumentally, by the voices of his two assistants, the bass and the +treble. The Jews have banished all instrumental music from their church, +maintaining that hymns in praise of God are more edifying when they +rise from the warm breast of man, than from the cold pipes of an organ. + +Beautiful Sara felt a childish delight when the choir-leader, an +admirable tenor, raised his voice and sounded forth the ancient, solemn +melodies, which she knew so well, in a fresher loveliness than she had +ever dreamed of, while the bass sang in harmony the deep, dark notes, +and, in the pauses, the treble's voice trilled sweetly and daintily. +Such singing Beautiful Sara had never heard in the synagogue of +Bacharach, where the presiding elder, David Levi, was the leader; for +when this elderly, trembling man, with his broken, bleating voice, tried +to trill like a young girl, and in his forced effort to do so, shook his +limp and drooping arm feverishly, it inspired laughter rather than +devotion. + +A sense of pious satisfaction, not unmingled with feminine curiosity, +drew Beautiful Sara to the grating, where she could look down on the +lower floor, or the so-called men's division. She had never before seen +so many of her faith together, and it cheered her heart to be in such a +multitude of those so closely allied by race, thought, and sufferings. +And her soul was still more deeply moved when three old men +reverentially approached the sacred ark, drew aside the glittering +curtain, raised the lid, and very carefully brought forth the Book which +God wrote with His own hand, and for the maintenance of which Jews have +suffered so much--so much misery and hate, disgrace and death--a +thousand years' martyrdom. This Book--a great roll of parchment--was +wrapped like a princely child in a gaily embroidered scarlet cloak of +velvet; above, on both wooden rollers, were two little silver shrines, +in which many pomegranates and small bells jingled and rang prettily, +while before, on a silver chain, hung gold shields with many colored +gems. The choir-leader took the Book, and, as if it really were a +child--a child for whom one has greatly suffered, and whom one loves all +the more on that account--he rocked it in his arms, skipped about with +it here and there, pressed it to his breast, and, thrilled by its holy +touch, broke forth into such a devout hymn of praise and thanksgiving, +that it seemed to Beautiful Sara as if the pillars under the holy ark +began to bloom; and the strange and lovely flowers and leaves on the +capitals shot ever higher, the tones of the treble were converted into +the notes of the nightingale, the vaulted ceiling of the synagogue +resounded with the tremendous tones of the bass singer, while the glory +of God shone down from the blue heavens. Yes, it was a beautiful psalm. +The congregation sang in chorus the concluding verse, and then the +choir-leader walked slowly to the raised platform in the middle of the +synagogue bearing the holy Book, while men and boys crowded about him, +eager to kiss its velvet covering, or even to touch it. On the platform, +the velvet cover, as well as the wrappings covered with illuminated +letters, were removed, and the choir-leader, in the peculiar intonation +which in the Passover service is still more peculiarly modulated, read +the edifying narrative of the temptation of Abraham. + +Beautiful Sara had modestly withdrawn from the grating, and a stout, +much ornamented woman of middle age, with a forward, but benevolent +manner, had with a nod invited her to share her prayer-book. This lady +was evidently no great scholar, for as she mumbled to herself the +prayers as the women do, not being allowed to take part in the singing, +Sara observed that she made the best she could of many words, and +skipped several good lines altogether. But after a while the watery blue +eyes of the good woman were languidly raised, an insipid smile spread +over her red and white porcelain face, and in a voice which she strove +to make as genteel as possible, she said to Beautiful Sara, "He sings +very well. But I have heard far better singing in Holland. You are a +stranger, and perhaps do not know that the choir-leader is from Worms, +and that they will keep him here if he will be content with four hundred +florins a year. He is a charming man, and his hands are as white as +alabaster. I admire beautiful hands; they make one altogether +beautiful." Having said this, the good lady laid her own hand, which +was really a fine one, on the shelf before her, and with a polite nod +which intimated that she did not like to be interrupted while speaking, +she added, "The little singer is a mere child, and looks very much worn +out. The basso is too ugly for anything; our Star once made the witty +remark: 'The bass singer is a bigger fool than even a basso is expected +to be!' All three eat in my restaurant--perhaps you don't know that I'm +Elle Schnapper?" + +Beautiful Sara expressed thanks for this information, whereupon +Schnapper-Elle proceeded to narrate in detail how she had once been in +Amsterdam, how she had been subjected to the advances of men on account +of her beauty, how she had come to Frankfort three days before +Whit-suntide and married Schnapper, how he had died, and what touching +things he had finally said on his deathbed, and how hard it was to carry +on the restaurant business and keep one's hands nice. Several times she +glanced aside with a contemptuous air, apparently at some giggling +girls, who seemed to be eyeing her clothes. And the latter were indeed +remarkable enough--a very loose skirt of white satin, on which all the +animals of Noah's Ark were embroidered in gaudy colors; a jacket of gold +cloth, like a cuirass, with sleeves of red velvet, yellow slashed; a +very high cap on her head, with a mighty ruff of stiff white linen +around her neck, which also had around it a silver chain hung with all +kinds of coins, cameos, and curiosities, among them a large picture of +the city of Amsterdam, which rested on her bosom. + +But the dresses of the other women were no less remarkable. They +consisted of a variety of fashions of different ages, and many a woman +there was so covered with gold and diamonds as to look like a wandering +jeweler's shop. It is true that there was at that time a fashion of +dress prescribed by law to the Frankfort Jews, and to distinguish them +from Christians the men had to wear yellow rings on their cloaks, and +the women very stiff, blue-striped veils on their caps. However, in the +Jewish quarter the law was little observed, and there, in the synagogue, +especially on festival days, the women put on as much magnificent +apparel as they could--partly to arouse envy of others, and partly to +advertise the wealth and credit of their husbands. + +While passages from the Books of Moses are being read on the lower floor +of the synagogue, the devotion is usually somewhat lulled. Many make +themselves comfortable and sit down, whispering perhaps business affairs +with a friend, or go out into the court to get a little fresh air. Small +boys take the liberty of visiting their mothers in the women's balcony; +and here worship is still more loosely observed, as there is gossiping, +chattering, and laughing, while, as always happens, the young quizz the +old, and the latter censure the light-headedness of the girls and the +general degeneracy of the age. + +And just as there was a choir-leader on the floor below, so was there a +gossip-leader in the balcony above. This was Puppy Reiss, a vulgar, +greenish woman, who found out about everybody's troubles, and always had +a scandal on her tongue. The usual butt of her pointed sayings was poor +Schnapper-Elle, and she could mock right well the affected genteel airs +and languishing manner with which the latter accepted the insincere +compliments of young men. + +"Do you know," cried Puppy Reiss, "Schnapper-Elle said yesterday, 'If I +were not beautiful and clever, and beloved, I had rather not be alive.'" + +Then there was loud tittering, and Schnapper-Elle, who was not far +distant, noting that this was all at her expense, lifted her nose in +scorn, and sailed away, like a proud galley, to some remote corner. Then +Birdie Ochs, a plump and somewhat awkward lady, remarked compassionately +that Schnapper-Elle might be a little vain and small of mind, but that +she was an honest, generous soul, and did much good to many folk in +need. + +"Particularly to Nose Star," snapped Puppy Reiss. And all who knew of +this tender relation laughed all the louder. + +"Don't you know," added Puppy spitefully, "that Nose Star now sleeps in +Schnapper-Elle's house! But just look at Susy Floersheim down there, +wearing the necklace which Daniel Flaesch pawned to her husband! Flaesch's +wife is vexed about it--_that_ is plain. And now she is talking to Mrs. +Floersheim. _How_ amiably they shake hands!--and hate each other like +Midian and Moab! How sweetly they smile on each other! Oh, you dear +souls, _don't_ eat each other up out of pure love! I'll just steal up +and listen to them!" + +And so, like a sneaking wildcat, Puppy Reiss crept up and listened to +the two women bewailing to each other how they had worked all the past +week to clean up the house and scour the kitchen things, and complaining +about all they had to do before Passover, so that not a crumb of +leavened bread should stick to anything. And such troubles as they had +baking the unleavened bread! Mrs. Flaesch had special cause for +complaint--for she had had no end of trouble over it in the public +bakery, where, according to the ticket she drew, she could not bake till +the afternoon of the very last day, just before Passover Eve; and then +old Hannah had kneaded the dough badly, and the maids had rolled it too +thin, and half of it was scorched in baking, and worst of all, rain came +pouring through the bake-house roof; and so, wet and weary, they had had +to work till late in the night. + +"And, my dear Mrs. Floersheim," said Mrs. Flaesch, with gracious +friendliness most insincere, "you were a little to blame for that, +because you did not send your people to help me in baking." + +"Ah! pardon," replied the other. "My servants were so busy--the goods +for the fair had to be packed--my husband"-- + +"Yes, I know," interrupted Mrs. Flaesch, with cutting irony in her +speech. "I know that you have much to do--many pledges and a good +business, and necklaces"-- + +And a bitter word was just about to slip from the lips of the speaker, +and Dame Floersheim had turned as red as a lobster, when Puppy Reiss +cried out loudly, "For God's sake!--the strange lady lies dying--water! +water!" + +Beautiful Sara lay in a faint, as pale as death, while a swarm of +excited women crowded around her, one holding her head, another her arm, +while some old women sprinkled her with the glasses of water which hung +behind their prayer desks for washing the hands in case they should by +accident touch their own bodies. Others held under her nose an old lemon +full of spices, which was left over from the last feast-day, when it had +served for smelling and strengthening the nerves. Exhausted and sighing +deeply, Beautiful Sara at last opened her eyes, and with mute glances +thanked them for their kind care. But now the eighteen-prayer, which no +one dared neglect, was being solemnly chanted below, and the busy women +hurried back to their places and offered the prayer as the rite ordains, +that is, standing up with their faces turned toward the east, which is +that part of the heavens where Jerusalem lies. Birdie Ochs, +Schnapper-Elle, and Puppy Reiss stayed to the last with Beautiful +Sara--the first two to aid her as much as possible, the other two to +find out why she had fainted so suddenly. + +Beautiful Sara had swooned from a singular cause. It is a custom in the +synagogue that any one who has escaped a great danger shall, after the +reading of the extracts from the Law, appear in public and return thanks +for his divine deliverance. As Rabbi Abraham rose to his feet to make +his prayer, and Beautiful Sara recognized her husband's voice, she +noticed that his voice gradually subsided into the mournful murmur of a +prayer for the dead. She heard the names of her dear kinsfolk, +accompanied by the words which convey the blessing on the departed; and +the last hope vanished from her soul, for it was torn by the certainty +that those dear ones had really been slain, that her little niece was +dead, that her little cousins Posy and Birdy were dead, that little +Gottschalk too was dead--all murdered and dead! And she, too, would have +succumbed to the agony of this realization, had not a kind swoon poured +forgetfulness over her senses. + + +CHAPTER III + +When Beautiful Sara, after divine service was ended, went down into the +courtyard of the synagogue, the Rabbi stood there waiting for her. He +nodded to her with a cheerful expression, and accompanied her out into +the street, where there was no longer silence but a noisy multitude. It +was like a swarm of ants--bearded men in black coats, women gleaming and +fluttering like gold-chafers, boys in new clothes carrying prayer-books +after their parents, young girls who, because they could not enter the +synagogue, now came bounding to their parents, bowing their curly heads +to receive their blessing--all gay and merry, and walking up and down +the street in the happy anticipation of a good dinner, the savory odor +of which--causing their mouths to water--rose from many black pots, +marked with chalk, and carried by smiling girls from the large community +kitchens. + +In this multitude particularly conspicuous was the form of a Spanish +cavalier, whose youthful features bore that fascinating pallor which +ladies generally attribute to an unfortunate--and men, on the contrary, +to a very fortunate--love affair. His gait, although naturally carefree, +had in it, however, a somewhat affected daintiness. The feathers in his +cap were agitated more by the aristocratic motion of his head than by +the wind; and his golden spurs, and the jeweled hilt of his sword, which +he bore on his arm, rattled rather more than was necessary. A white +cavalier's cloak enveloped his slender limbs in an apparently careless +manner, but, in reality, betrayed the most careful arrangement of the +folds. Passing and repassing, partly with curiosity, partly with an air +of a connoisseur, he approached the women walking by, looked calmly at +them, paused when he thought a face was worth the trouble, gave to many +a pretty girl a passing compliment, and went his way heedless as to its +effect. He had met Beautiful Sara more than once, but every time had +seemed to be repelled by her commanding look, or else by the enigmatical +smile of her husband. Finally, however, proudly conquering all +diffidence, he boldly faced both, and with foppish confidence made, in a +tenderly gallant tone, the following speech: "Senora!--list to me!--I +swear--by the roses of both the kingdoms of Castile, by the Aragonese +hyacinths and the pomegranate blossoms of Andalusia! by the sun which +illumines all Spain, with its flowers, onions, pea-soups, forests, +mountains, mules, he-goats, and Old Christians! by the canopy of heaven, +on which this sun is merely a golden tassel! and by the God who abides +in heaven and meditates day and night over the creation of new forms of +lovely women!--I swear that you, Senora, are the fairest dame whom I +have seen in all the German realm, and if you please to accept my +service, then I pray of you the favor, grace, and leave to call myself +your knight and bear your colors henceforth in jest or earnest!" + +A flush of pain rose in the face of Beautiful Sara, and with one of +those glances which cut the deeper when they come from gentle eyes, and +with a tone such as is bitterest coming from a beautiful voice, the lady +answered, as one deeply hurt: + +"My noble lord, if you will be my knight you must fight whole races, and +in the battle there will be little thanks to win and less honor; and if +you will wear my colors, then you must sew yellow rings on your cloak, +or bind yourself with a blue-striped scarf, for such are my colors--the +colors of my house, the House of Israel, which is wretched indeed, one +mocked in the streets by the sons of fortune." + +A sudden purple red shot into the cheeks of the Spaniard; an +inexpressible confusion seemed to have seized him as he stammered-- + +"Senora, you misunderstood me--an innocent jest--but, by God, no +mockery, no scorn of Israel. I myself am sprung from that house; my +grandfather was a Jew, perhaps even my father." + +"And it is very certain, Senor, that your uncle is one," suddenly +exclaimed the Rabbi, who had calmly witnessed this scene; and with a +merry, quizzical glance, he added, "And I myself will vouch that Don +Isaac Abarbanel, nephew of the great Rabbi, is sprung from the best +blood of Israel, if not from the royal race of David!" + +The chain of the sword rattled under the Spaniard's cloak, his cheeks +became deadly white, his upper lip twitched as with scorn in which there +was pain, and angry death grinned in his eyes, as in an utterly changed, +ice-cold, keen voice he said: + +"Senor Rabbi, you know me. Well, then, you know also who I am. And if +the fox knows that I belong to the blood of the lion, let him beware and +not bring his fox-beard into danger of death, nor provoke my anger. Only +he who feels like the lion can understand his weakness." + +"Oh, I understand it well," answered the Rabbi, and a melancholy +seriousness came over his brow. "I understand it well, how the proud +lion, out of pride, casts aside his princely coat and goes about +disguised in the scaly armor of the crocodile, because it is the fashion +to be a grinning, cunning, greedy crocodile! What can you expect the +lesser beasts to be when the lion denies his nature? But beware, Don +Isaac, _thou_ wert not made for the element of the crocodile. For +water--thou knowest well what I mean--is thy evil fortune, and thou +shalt drown. Water is not thy element; the weakest trout can live in it +better than the king of the forest. Hast thou forgotten how the current +of the Tagus was about to draw thee under--?" + +Bursting into loud laughter, Don Isaac suddenly threw his arms round the +Rabbi's neck, covered his mouth with kisses, leapt with jingling spurs +high into the air, so that the passing Jews shrank back in alarm, and in +his own natural hearty and joyous voice cried-- + +"Truly thou art Abraham of Bacharach! And it was a good joke, and more +than that, a friendly act, when thou, in Toledo, didst leap from the +Alcantara bridge into the water, and grasp by the hair thy friend, who +could drink better than he could swim, and drew him to dry land. I came +very near making a really deep investigation as to whether there is +actually gold in the bed of the Tagus, and whether the Romans were right +in calling it the golden river. I assure you that I shiver even now at +the mere thought of that water-party." + +Saying this the Spaniard made a gesture as if he were shaking water +from his garments. The countenance of the Rabbi expressed great joy as +he again and again pressed his friend's hand, saying every time-- + +"I am indeed glad." + +"And so, indeed, am I," answered the other. "It is seven years now since +we met, and when we parted I was as yet a mere greenhorn, and thou--thou +wert already a staid and serious man. But whatever became of the +beautiful Dona who in those days cost thee so many sighs, which thou +didst accompany with the lute?" + +"Hush, hush! the Dona hears us--she is my wife, and thou thyself hast +given her today proof of thy taste and poetic skill." + +It was not without some trace of his former embarrassment that the +Spaniard greeted the beautiful lady, who amiably regretted that she, by +expressing herself so plainly, had pained a friend of her husband. + +"Ah, Senora," replied Don Isaac, "he who grasps too clumsily at a rose +must not complain if the thorns scratch. When the star of evening +reflects its golden light in the azure flood"-- + +"I beg of you!" interrupted the Rabbi, "to cease! If we wait till the +star of evening reflects its golden light in the azure flood, my wife +will starve, for she has eaten nothing since yesterday, and suffered +much in the mean-while." + +"Well, then, I will take you to the best restaurant of Israel," said Don +Isaac, "to the house of my friend Schnapper-Elle, which is not far away. +I already smell the savory odors from the kitchen! Oh, didst thou but +know, O Abraham, how this odor appeals to me. This it is which, since I +have dwelt in this city, has so often lured me to the tents of Jacob. +Intercourse with God's people is not a hobby of mine, and truly it is +not to pray, but to eat, that I visit the Jews' Street." + +"Thou hast never loved us, Don Isaac." + +"Well," continued the Spaniard, "I like your food much better than your +creed--which wants the right sauce. I never could rightly digest you. +Even in your best days, under the rule of my ancestor David, who was +king over Judah and Israel, I never could have held out, and certainly I +should some fine morning have run away from Mount Zion and emigrated to +Phoenicia or Babylon, where the joys of life foamed in the temple of +the gods." + +"Thou blasphemest, Isaac, blasphemest the one God," murmured the Rabbi +grimly. "Thou art much worse than a Christian--thou art a heathen, a +servant of idols." + +"Yes, I am a heathen, and the melancholy, self-tormenting Nazarenes are +quite as little to my taste as the dry and joyless Hebrews. May our dear +Lady of Sidon, holy Astarte, forgive me, that I kneel before the many +sorrowed Mother of the Crucified and pray. Only my knee and my tongue +worship death--my heart remains true to life. But do not look so +sourly," continued the Spaniard, as he saw what little gratification his +words seemed to give the Rabbi. "Do not look at me with disdain. My nose +is not a renegade. When once by chance I came into this street at dinner +time, and the well-known savory odors of the Jewish kitchen rose to my +nose, I was seized with the same yearning which our fathers felt for the +fleshpots of Egypt--pleasant tasting memories of youth came back to me. +In imagination I saw again the carp with brown raisin sauce which my +aunt prepared so sustainingly for Friday eve; I saw once more the +steamed mutton with garlic and horseradish, which might have raised +the dead, and the soup with dreamily swimming dumplings in it--and my +soul melted like the notes of an enamored nightingale--and since then I +have been eating in the restaurant of my friend Dona Schnapper-Elle." + +Meanwhile they had arrived at this highly lauded place, where +Schnapper-Elle stood at the door cordially greeting the strangers who +had come to the fair, and who, led by hunger, were now streaming in. +Behind her, sticking his head out over her shoulder, was the tall Nose +Star, anxiously and inquisitively observing them. Don Isaac with an +exaggerated air of dignity approached the landlady, who returned his +satirical reverence with endless curtsies. Thereupon he drew the glove +from his right hand, wrapped it, the hand, in the fold of his cloak, and +grasping Schnapper-Elle's hand, slowly drew it over his moustache, +saying: + +"Senora! your eyes rival the brilliancy of the sun! But as eggs, the +longer they are boiled the harder they become, so _vice versa_ my heart +grows softer the longer it is cooked in the flaming flashes of your +eyes. From the yolk of my heart flies up the winged god Amor and seeks a +confiding nest in your bosom. And oh, Senora, wherewith shall I compare +that bosom? For in all the world there is no flower, no fruit, which is +like to it! It is the one thing of its kind! Though the wind tears away +the leaves from the tenderest rose, your bosom is still a winter rose +which defies all storms. Though the sour lemon, the older it grows the +yellower and more wrinkled it becomes, your bosom rivals in color and +softness the sweetest pineapple. Oh, Senora, if the city of Amsterdam be +as beautiful as you told me yesterday, and the day before, and every +day, the ground on which it rests is far lovelier still." + +The cavalier spoke these last words with affected earnestness, and +squinted longingly at the large medallion which hung from +Schnapper-Elle's neck. Nose Star looked down with inquisitive eyes, and +the much-bepraised bosom heaved so that the whole city of Amsterdam +rocked from side to side. + +"Ah!" sighed Schnapper-Elle, "virtue is worth more than beauty. What use +is my beauty to me? My youth is passing away, and since Schnapper is +gone--anyhow, he had handsome hands--what avails beauty?" + +With that she sighed again, and like an echo, all but inaudible, Nose +Star sighed behind her. "Of what avail is your beauty?" cried Don Isaac. +"Oh, Dona Schnapper-Elle, do not sin against the goodness of creative +Nature! Do not scorn her most charming gifts, or she will reap most +terrible revenge. Those blessed, blessing eyes will become glassy balls, +those winsome lips grow flat and unattractive, that chaste and charming +form be changed into an unwieldy barrel of tallow, and the city of +Amsterdam at last rest on a spongy bog." Thus he sketched piece by +piece the appearance of Schnapper-Elle, so that the poor woman was +bewildered, and sought to escape the uncanny compliments of the +cavalier. She was delighted to see Beautiful Sara appear at this +instant, as it gave her an opportunity to inquire whether she had quite +recovered from her swoon. Thereupon she plunged into lively chatter, in +which she fully developed her sham gentility, mingled with real kindness +of heart, and related with more prolixity than discretion the awful +story of how she herself had almost fainted with horror when she, as +innocent and inexperienced as could be, arrived in a canal boat at +Amsterdam, and the rascally porter, who carried her trunk, led her--not +to a respectable hotel, but oh, horrors!--to an infamous brothel! She +could tell what it was the moment she entered, by the brandy-drinking, +and by the immoral sights! And she would, as she said, really have +swooned, if it had not been that during the six weeks she stayed in the +disorderly house she only once ventured to close her eyes. + +"I dared not," she added, "on account of my virtue. And all that was +owing to my beauty! But virtue will stay--when good looks pass away." + +Don Isaac was on the point of throwing some critical light on the +details of this story when, fortunately, Squinting Aaron Hirschkuh from +Homburg-on-the-Lahn came with a white napkin on his arm, and bitterly +bewailed that the soup was already served, and that the boarders were +seated at table, but that the landlady was missing. + +(The conclusion and the chapters which follow are lost, not from any +fault of the author.) + + + + +THE LIFE OF FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +BY WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD, A.M. + +Assistant Professor of German, Harvard University + + +Franz Grillparzer is the greatest poet and dramatist among the +Austrians. Corresponding to the Goethe Society at Weimar, the +Grillparzer Society at Vienna holds its meetings and issues its annual; +and the edition of Goethe's works instituted by the Grand Duchess Sophie +of Weimar is paralleled by an edition of Grillparzer's works now in +process of publication by the city of Vienna. Not without a sense of +local pride and jealousy do the Viennese extol their fellow-countryman +and hold him up to their kinsmen of the north as worthy to stand beside +Goethe and Schiller. They would be ungrateful if they did not cherish +the memory of a man who during his life-time was wont to prefer them, +with all their imperfections upon their heads, to the keener and more +enterprising North Germans, and who on many occasions sang the praises +of their sociability, their wholesome naturalness, and their sound +instinct. But even from the point of view of the critical North German +or of the non-German foreigner, Grillparzer abundantly deserves his +local fame--and more than local fame; for a dozen dramas of the first +class, two eminently characteristic short stories, numerous lyrical +poems, and innumerable studies and autobiographical papers are a man's +work entitling their author to a high place in European, not merely +German, literature. + +It is, however, as an Austrian that Grillparzer is primarily to be +judged. Again and again he insisted upon his national quality as a man +and as a poet, upon the Viennese atmosphere of his plays and his poems. +He was never happy when away from his native city, and though his pieces +are now acceptably performed wherever German is spoken, they are most +successful in Vienna, and some of them are to be seen only on the +Viennese stage. + +What are, then, the distinguishing features of the Austrians, and of +Grillparzer as one of them? Grillparzer said these features are an open +heart and a single mind, good sense and reliable intuition, frankness, +naivete, generosity, modest contentment with being while others are up +and doing. The Austrians are of mixed blood, and partake of South +European characteristics less prominent among the purer blooded Teutons +of the north. They have life on easier terms, are less intellectual, are +more sensuous, emotional, more fanciful, fonder of artistic enjoyment, +more sensitive to color and to those effects called "color," by contrast +to form, in other arts than that of painting. The art of music is most +germane to the Austrian spirit; and we have a ready key to the +peculiarities of the Austrian disposition in the difference between +Haydn, Mozart, Schubert, and Johann Strauss, on the one hand, and +Haendel, Beethoven, Schumann, and Wagner on the other. Moreover, the +Austrians are in all respects conservative, in literary taste no less +than in politics and religion. The pseudo-classicism of Gottsched +maintained its authority in Austria not merely after the time of +Lessing, but also after the time of Schiller. Wieland was a favorite +long before Goethe began to be appreciated; and as to the romantic +movement, only the gentle tendencies of such a congenial spirit as +Eichendorff found a sympathetic echo on the shores of the Danube. +Romance influences, however, more particularly Spanish, were manifest +there even before the time when they became strong upon Grillparzer. + +Franz Grillparzer was born in Vienna on the fifteenth of January, 1791. +His father, Wenzel Grillparzer, a self-made man, was a lawyer of the +strictest probity, who occupied a respectable position in his +profession; but, too scrupulous to seize the opportunities for profit +that lawyers easily come upon, he lived a comparatively poor man and in +1809 died in straitened circumstances. At home he was stern and +repressive. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER] + +Both his legal habit of mind and also his true discipleship of the age +of enlightenment in which he grew up disposed him to intellectual +tyranny over everything that looked like sentimentality or foolish +fantasy in wife or children. His own hobbies, however, such as long +walks in the country and the cultivation of flowers or--strangely +enough--the reading of highly romantic novels, he indulged in as matters +of course. It is with some surprise that we find him married to a woman +of abnormal nervousness, who was given to mysticism and was feverishly +devoted to music. Marianne Grillparzer, born Sonnleithner, belonged to a +substantial middle-class family. Her father was a friend of Haydn and +Mozart and was himself a composer of music; her brothers became men of +note in the history of the Viennese operatic stage; and she herself +shared in the artistic temperament of the family, but with ominously +pathological over-development in one direction. She took her own life in +1819 and transmitted to her sons a tendency to moodiness and melancholy +which led to the suicide of one and the haunting fear of insanity in +that other who is the subject of this sketch. + +That Franz Grillparzer was destined to no happy childhood is obvious, +and it is equally clear that he needed a strong will to overcome not +merely material obstacles to progress but also inherited dispositions of +such antithetical sort. The father and the mother were at war in his +breast. Like the mother in sensitiveness and imaginativeness, he was the +son of his father in a stern censoriousness that was quick to ridicule +what appeared to be nonsense in others and in himself; but he was the +son of his father also in clearness of understanding and devotion to +duty as he saw it. + +Grillparzer once said that his works were detached fragments of his +life; and though many of their themes seem remote from him in time and +place, character and incident in them are unmistakably enriched by being +often conceived in the light of personal experience. Outwardly, +however, his life was comparatively uneventful. After irregular studies +with private tutors and at school, Grillparzer studied law from 1807 to +1811 at the University of Vienna, gave instruction from 1810 to 1813 to +the sons of various noblemen, and in 1813 began in the Austrian civil +service the humdrum career which, full of disappointments and undeserved +setbacks, culminated in his appointment in 1832 to the directorship of +the _Hofkammerarchiv,_ and lasted until his honorable retirement in +1856. He was a conscientious official; but throughout this time he was +regarded, and regarded himself, primarily as Grillparzer the poet; and +in spite of loyalty to the monarchy, he was entirely out of sympathy +with the antediluvian administration of Metternich and his successors. +Little things, magnified by pusillanimous apprehension, stood in his +way. In 1819 he expressed in a poem _The Ruins of Campo Vaccino_ +esthetic abhorrence of the cross most inappropriately placed over the +portal of the Coliseum in Rome, and was thereafter never free of the +suspicion of heresy. In 1825 membership in a social club raided by the +police subjected him to the absurd suspicion of plotting treason. Only +once do we find him, during the first half of the century, _persona +gratissima_ with the powers that be. Grillparzer firmly disapproved the +disintegrating tendencies of the revolution of 1848, and uttered his +sense of the duty of loyal cooeperation under the Habsburgs in a spirited +poem, _To Field-Marshal Count Radetzky_. For the moment he became a +national hero, especially in the army. His latter years were indeed +years of honor; but the honor came too late. He was given the cross of +the order of Leopold in 1849, was made _Hofrat_ and a member of the +House of Lords in 1856, and received the grand cross of the order of +Franz Josef upon the celebration of his eightieth birthday in 1871. He +died on the twenty-first of January, 1872. + +Grillparzer led for the most part a solitary life--for the last third of +his life he was almost a hermit--and he was rather an observer than an +actor in the affairs of men; but nevertheless he saw more of the world +than a mere dreamer would have cared to see, and the circle of his +friends was not inconsiderable. Besides making the trip to Italy, +already alluded to, in 1819, he journeyed in 1826 to North Germany, +seeing Goethe in Weimar, in 1836 to Paris, in 1837 to London, in 1843 +down the Danube to Athens, and in 1847 again to Berlin and to Hamburg. +No one of these trips gave him any particular poetic impetus, except +perhaps the first, on which he found in the classical atmosphere of Rome +a refreshing antidote to the romantic miasma which he hated. Nor did he +derive much profit from the men of letters whom he visited in various +places, such as Fouque, Chamisso, and Heine. He dined with Goethe, but +was too bashful to accept an indirect invitation to spend an evening +with Goethe alone. He paid his respects to Uhland, whom he esteemed as +the greatest German poet of that time (1837); but Uhland was then no +longer productive and was never a magnetic personality. Indeed, there +was hardly more than one man, even in Vienna, who exerted a strong +personal influence upon Grillparzer, and this was Josef Schreyvogel, +journalist, critic, playwright, from 1814 to 1831 secretary of the +_Burgtheater_. A happy chance gained for Grillparzer in 1816 the +friendship of this practical theatre manager, and under Schreyvogel's +auspices he prepared his first drama for the stage. + +On another side, Grillparzer's character is illumined for us by the +strange story of his relations with four Viennese women. He was not a +handsome man, but tall, with an abundance of blond hair, and bewitching +blue eyes that made him very attractive to the other sex. He, too, was +exceedingly sensitive to sexual attraction and in early youth suffered +torments from the pangs of unsatisfied longing. From the days when he +knew that he was in love, but did not yet know with whom, to the time of +final renunciation we find him irresolute, ardent, but apparently +selfish in the inability to hazard the discovery that the real might +prove inferior to his ideal. Thus his critical disposition invaded +even the realm of his affections and embroiled him not merely with the +object of them, but also with himself. Charlotte von Paumgarten, the +wife of a cousin of Grillparzer's, Marie Daeffinger, the wife of a +painter, loved him not wisely, but too well; and a young Prussian girl, +Marie Piquot, confessed in her last will and testament to such a +devotion to him as she was sure no other woman could ever attain, +wherefore she commended "her Tasso" to the fostering care of her mother. +Grillparzer had experienced only a fleeting interest in Marie Piquot; so +much the more lasting was the attachment which bound him to her +successful rival, Katharina Froehlich. Katharina, one of four daughters +of a Viennese manufacturer who had seen better days, and, like her +sisters, endowed with great artistic talent and practical energy, might +have proved the salvation of Grillparzer's existence as a man if he had +been more capable of manly resolution, and she had been less like him in +impetuosity and stubbornness. They became engaged, they made +preparations for a marriage which was never consummated and for years +was never definitely abandoned; mutual devotion is ever and anon +interrupted by serious or trivial quarrels, and the imperfect relation +drags on to the vexation of both, until Grillparzer as an old man of +sixty takes lodgings with the Froehlich sisters and, finally, makes +Katharina his sole heir. + +Grillparzer's development as a poet and dramatist follows the bent of +his Austrian genius. One of the first books that he ever read was the +text to Mozart's _Magic Flute_. Music, opera, operetta, and fairy drama +gave the earliest impulse to his juvenile imagination. Even as a boy he +began the voluminous reading which, continued throughout his life, made +him one of the best informed men of his time in European literature. +History, natural history, and books of travel are followed by the plays +of Shakespeare, Lessing, Goethe, and Schiller, while Gesner's idyls +charm him, and he absorbs the stories and romances of Wieland. In 1808 +he reads the early works of Schiller and admires the ideal enthusiasm of +_Don Carlos_. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER AND KAETHI FROeHLICH IN 1823] + +In 1810 he revolts from Schiller and swears allegiance to Goethe. In +the ensuing years he learns English, Greek, and Spanish; Shakespeare +supplants Goethe in his esteem, and he is attracted first to Calderon +and then to Lope de Vega in whom, ere long, he discovers the dramatic +spirit most closely akin to his. + +We read of Grillparzer, as of Goethe, that as a child he was fond of +improvising dramatic performances with his playmates. Occasionally he +was privileged to attend an operetta or a spectacular play at one of the +minor theatres. When he reached adolescence he experimented with a large +number of historical and fantastic subjects, and he left plans and +fragments that, unoriginal as most of them are, give earnest of a talent +for scenic manipulation and for the representation of character. These +juvenile pieces are full of reminiscences of Schiller and Shakespeare. +Grillparzer's first completed drama of any magnitude, _Blanca of +Castile_ (1807-09), is almost to be called Schiller's _Don Carlos_ over +again, both as to the plot and as to the literary style--though of +course the young man's imitation seems like a caricature. The fragments +_Spartacus_ (1810) and _Alfred the Great_ (1812), inspired by patriotic +grief for Austria humiliated by Napoleon, are Shakespearean in many +scenes, but are in their general disposition strongly influenced by +Schiller's _Robbers and Maid of Orleans_. In all three of these pieces, +the constant reference to inscrutable fate proves that Grillparzer is a +disciple of Schiller and a son of his time. + +There is, therefore, a double significance in the earliest play of +Grillparzer's to be performed on the stage, _The Ancestress_ +(1816)--first, in that, continuing in the direction foreshadowed by its +predecessors, it takes its place beside the popular dramas of fate +written by Werner and Muellner; and secondly, because at the same time +the poet, now yielding more to the congenial impulse of Spanish +influences, establishes his independence even in the treatment of a more +or less conventional theme. Furthermore, _The Ancestress_ marks the +beginning of Grillparzer's friendship with Schreyvogel. Grillparzer had +translated some scenes of Calderon's _Life is a Dream_ which, published +in 1816 by an enemy of Schreyvogel's who wished to discredit the +adaptation which Schreyvogel had made for the _Burgtheater,_ served only +to bring the two men together; for Schreyvogel was generous and +Grillparzer innocent of any hostile intention. As early as 1813 +Grillparzer had thought of _The Ancestress_. Schreyvogel encouraged him +to complete the play, and his interest once again aroused and soon +mounting to enthusiasm, he wrote in less than a month the torrent of +Spanish short trochaic verses which sweeps through the four acts of this +romantic drama. Schreyvogel was delighted; but he criticized the +dramatic structure; and in a revised version in five acts Grillparzer so +far adopted his suggestions as to knit up the plot more closely and thus +to give greater prominence to the idea of fate and retribution. The play +was performed on the thirty-first of January, 1817, and scored a +tremendous success. + +Critics, to be sure, were not slow to point out that the effectiveness +of _The Ancestress_ was due less to poetical qualities than to +theatrical--unjustly; for even though we regard the play as but the +scenic representation of the incidents of a night, the representation is +of absorbing interest and is entirely free from the crudities which make +Muellner's dramas more gruesome than dramatic. But Grillparzer +nevertheless resolved that his next play should dispense with all +adventitious aids and should take as simple a form and style as he could +give it. A friend chanced to suggest to him that the story of Sappho +would furnish a text for an opera. Grillparzer replied that the subject +would perhaps yield a tragedy. The idea took hold of him; without delay +or pause for investigation he made his plan; and in three weeks his +second play was ready for the stage. Written in July, 1817, _Sappho_ was +produced at the _Hofburgtheater_ on April 21, 1818. Grillparzer said +that in creating _Sappho_ he had plowed pretty much with Goethe's steer. +In form his play resembles _Iphigenia_ and in substance it is not unlike +_Tasso;_ but upon closer examination _Sappho_ appears to be neither a +classical play of the serene, typical quality of _Iphigenia_ nor a +_Kuenstlerdrama_ in the sense in which _Tasso_ is one. Grillparzer was +not inspired by the meagre tradition of the Lesbian poetess, nor yet by +anything more than the example of Goethe; he took only the outline of +the story of Sappho and Phaon; his play is almost to be called a +romantic love story, and the influence strongest upon him in the writing +of it was that of Wieland. The situation out of which the tragedy of +Sappho develops is that of a young man who deceives himself into +believing that admiration for a superior woman is love, and who is +undeceived when a _naive_ maiden awakens in him sentiments that really +are those of love. This situation occurs again and again in the +voluminous works of Wieland--most obviously perhaps in the novelette +_Menander and Glycerion_ (1803), but also in the novel _Agathon_ +(1766-1767), and in the epistolary novel _Aristippus_ (1800-1802). +Moreover, it is the essential situation in Mme. de Stael's _Corinne_ +(1807). In the third place, this situation was Grillparzer's own, and it +is so constantly found in his dramas that it may be called the +characteristic situation for the dramatist as well as for the man. In +this drama, finally, we have a demonstration of Grillparzer's profound +conviction that the artistic temperament is ill suited to the demands of +practical life, and in the solitary sphere to which it is doomed must +fail to find that contentment which only life can afford. Sappho is not +assailed by life on all sides as Tasso is; but she makes an egregious +mistake in her search for the satisfactions of womanhood, thereby +unfitting herself for the priesthood of poetry as well as forfeiting her +life. + +_Sappho_ was as successful on the stage as _The Ancestress_ had been, +and the dramatist became the lion of the hour. He was received in +audience by Prince Metternich, was lauded in high social circles in +Vienna, and was granted an annual pension of 1000 florins for five +years, on condition that the _Hofburgtheater_ should have the right +to first production of his forthcoming plays. It was, therefore, with +great enthusiasm and confidence that he set to work upon his next +subject, _The Golden Fleece._ The story of Jason and Medea had long been +familiar to him, not only in the tragedies of Euripides and Seneca, but +also in German dramas and operas of the eighteenth century which during +his youth were frequently produced in Vienna. The immediate impulse to +treat this story came to him when, in the summer of 1818, he chanced +upon the article _Medea_ in a mythological lexicon. His plan was soon +formed and was made to embrace the whole history of the relations of +Jason and Medea. For so comprehensive a matter Grillparzer, like +Schiller in _Wallenstein,_ found the limits of a single drama too +narrow; and as Schiller said of _Wallenstein--_ + + "His camp alone explains his fault and crime," + +so Grillparzer rightly perceived that the explanation to modern minds of +so incredible a crime as Medea's must be sought and presented in the +untoward circumstances under which her relations with Jason began. +Accordingly, he showed in _The Guest Friend_ how Phryxus, obedient to +what he believed to be the will of the gods, bore the Golden Fleece to +Colchis, only to meet death at the hands of AEetes, the king of that +land, who coveted the precious token. Medea, the king's daughter, vainly +tries to prevent the crime, but sees herself included in the dying man's +curse; for she shares her father's desire for the treasure and is +appalled only by the sense of outraged hospitality, even to a haughty +intruder. When, in _The Argonauts,_ Jason comes to recover the Fleece, +Medea, still an Amazon and an enchantress, is determined with all her +arts to aid her father in repulsing the invaders. But the sight of the +handsome stranger soon touches her with an unwonted feeling. Against her +will she saves the life and furthers the enterprise of Jason; they +become partners in the theft of the Fleece; whereupon Jason, fascinated +by the dark-eyed barbarian and gratified with the sense of subjugating +an Amazon, assures her of his love and takes her and the Fleece in +triumph away from Colchis. + +[Illustration: GRILLPARZER'S HOUSE IN THE SPIEGELGASSE] + +Four years elapse before the action of _Medea_ commences. Medea has +borne two sons to Jason; as a husband and father he returns to Greece +with the object of his quest. But he is now received rather as the +husband of a sorceress than as the winner of the Fleece. Ostracism and +banishment accentuate the humiliation of marriage to a barbarian. Medea +has sacrificed all to serve him; without her aid his expedition would +have been fruitless, but with her he cannot live in the civilized +community where she has no place. She frantically endeavors to become a +Greek, but to no purpose. Jason strives to overcome a growing repugnance +and loyally makes common cause with her; but he cannot follow her in +banishment from Corinth, nor appreciate the feelings of the wife who +sees him about to marry Creusa, and of the mother who sees her children +prefer Creusa to herself. Then the barbarian in Medea reasserts herself +and the passion of a just revenge, stifling all other feeling, moves her +to the destruction of all her enemies and a final divorce from her +heartless husband. To Jason she can give no other words of comfort than +that he may be stronger in suffering than he has been in acting. + +Such an eminently personal tragedy Grillparzer constructed on the basis +of a mythological story. The Fleece, like the hoard of the Nibelungen, +is the occasion, but the curse attached to it is not the cause, of +crimes; this cause is the cupidity of human nature and the helplessness +of the individual who allows the forces of evil to gain sway over him. +Jason, in overweening self-indulgence, attaches himself to a woman to +whom he cannot be true. Medea, in too confident self-sufficiency, is not +proof against the blandishments of an unscrupulous adventurer and +progresses from crime to crime, doing from beginning to end what it is +not her will to do. An unnatural and unholy bond cannot be severed even +to make way for a natural and holy one. And the paths of glory lead not +to the grave but to a living death in the consciousness of guilt and the +remorse for misdeeds. + +Grillparzer never again wrote with such tumultuous passion as swayed him +at the time of his work on the first half of _The Golden Fleece._ His +illicit love of Charlotte Paumgarten gave him many a tone which thrills +in the narrative of Jason and Medea; the death of his mother brought +home to him the tragedy of violence and interrupted his work in the +midst of _The Argonauts;_ his visit to Rome enabled him to regain +composure and increase his sense of the local color of ancient +civilization; so that when he completed _Medea,_ in the fall and early +winter of 1819-20, he wrote with the mastery of one who had ventured, +suffered, observed, and recovered. In his own person he had experienced +the dangers of the _vita activa_ against which _The Golden Fleece_ is a +warning. + +Mention has already been made of Grillparzer's pride in the history of +Austria. In 1809 he wrote in his diary, "I am going to write an +historical drama on Frederick the Warlike, Duke of Austria." A few +stanzas of a ballad on this hero were written, probably at this time; +dramatic fragments have survived from 1818 and 1821. In the first two +decades of the nineteenth century vigorous efforts were made, especially +by Baron von Hormayr and his collaborators, to stir up Austrian poets to +emulate their North-German colleagues in the treatment of Austrian +subjects. With these efforts Grillparzer was in hearty sympathy. The +Hanoverian A.W. Schlegel declared in a lecture delivered at Vienna in +1808 that the worthiest form of the romantic drama was the historical; +and made special mention of the house of Habsburg. In 1817 Matthaeus von +Collin's play _Frederick the Warlike_ was published, as one of three +(_Leopold the Glorious, Frederick the Warlike_, and _Ottocar_) planned +as a cycle on the house of Babenberg. Collin's _Frederick_ interested +Grillparzer; Ottocar, who married Frederick's sister and whose fate +closely resembled Frederick's, appealed to him as a promising character +for dramatic treatment; a performance of Kleist's _Prince Frederick of +Homburg,_ which Grillparzer witnessed in 1821, may well have stimulated +him to do for the first of the Habsburgs, Ottocar's successful rival, +what Kleist had done for the greatest of the early Hohenzollerns; and +particularly the likeness of Ottocar's career to that of Napoleon gave +him the point of view for _King Ottocar's Fortune and Fall,_ composed in +1823. + +_Ottocar_ is remarkable for the amount of matter included in the space +of a single drama, and it gives an impressive picture of the dawn of the +Habsburg monarchy; but only in the first two acts can it be said to be +dramatic. The middle and end, though spectacular, are rather epic than +dramatic, and our interest centres more in Rudolf the triumphant than in +Ottocar the defeated and penitent. The play is essentially the tragedy +of a personality. Ottocar is a _parvenu,_ a strong man whom success +makes too sure of the adequacy of his individual strength, ruthless when +he should be politic, indulgent when stern measures are requisite, an +egotist even when he acts for the public weal. Grillparzer treated his +case with great fulness of sensuous detail, but without superabundance +of antiquarian minutiae, in spite of careful study of historical sources +of information. "Pride goeth before destruction," is the theme, but +Grillparzer was far from wishing either to demonstrate or illustrate +that truth. _Ottocar_ is the tragedy of an individual unequal to +superhuman tasks; it does not represent an idea, but a man. + +After having been retained by the censors for two years, lest Bohemian +sensibilities should be offended, _Ottocar_ was finally freed by order +of the emperor himself, and was performed amid great enthusiasm on +February nineteenth, 1825. In September of that year the empress was to +be crowned as queen of Hungary, and the imperial court suggested to +Grillparzer that he write a play on a Hungarian subject in celebration +of this event. He did not immediately find a suitable subject; but his +attention was attracted to the story of the palatin Bancbanus, a +national hero who had found his way to the dramatic workshop of Hans +Sachs in Nuremberg, had been recommended to Schiller, and had recently +been treated in Hungarian by Joseph Katona. Grillparzer knew neither of +the plays of his predecessors. In connection with this subject he +thought rather of Shakespeare's _King Lear_ and _Othello_, of Byron's +_Marino Faliero_--he had early experimented with this hero himself--and +this was the time of his first thorough study of Lope de Vega. In +November and December, 1826, he wrote _A Faithful Servant of His +Master._ This is a drama of character triumphant in the severest test to +which the sense of duty can be put. Bancbanus, appointed regent while +his sovereign goes to war, promises to preserve peace in the kingdom, +and keeps his promise even when his own relatives rise in arms against +the queen's brother who has insulted Bancbanus' wife and, they think, +has killed her. We have to do, however, not merely with a brilliant +example of unselfish loyalty; we have a highly special case of +individualized persons. Bancbanus is a little, pedantic old man, almost +ridiculous in his personal appearance and in his over-conscientiousness. +Erny, his wife, is a childlike creature, not displeased by flattery, too +innocent to be circumspect, but faithful unto death. And Otto von Meran, +the princely profligate, is one of Grillparzer's boldest creations--not +bad by nature, but utterly irresponsible; crafty, resourceful, proud as +a peacock and, like a monkey in the forest, wishing always to be +noticed. He cannot bear disregard; contempt makes him furious; and a +sense of disgrace which would drive a moral being to insanity reduces +him to a state of stupidity in which, doing good deeds for the first +time and unconsciously, he gradually acquires consciousness of right and +wrong. It is Bancbanus who brings about this transformation in the +character of Otto, who holds rebellious nobles and populace in check, +who teaches his master how to be a servant of the State, and who, by +saving the heir to the throne and praying that he may deserve the +loyalty shown his father, points forward to the better day when +feudalism shall give way to unselfish enlightened monarchy. + +[Illustration: GRILLPARZER'S ROOM IN THE HOUSE OF THE SISTERS FROeHLICH] + +This play, a glorification of patriotic devotion and, in spite of the +self-repressive character of the hero, as full of stirring action as any +German historical play whatever, was presented on the twenty-eighth of +February, 1828, and was received with applause by high and low. The +emperor caused a special word of appreciation to be conveyed to the +poet. How great was Grillparzer's astonishment, therefore, when, on the +following day, the president of police summoned him and informed him +that the emperor was so well pleased with the play that he wished to +have it all to himself; wherefore the dramatist would please hand over +the manuscript, at his own price! Dynastic considerations probably moved +the emperor to this preposterous demand. The very futility of it--since +a number of copies of the manuscript had already been made, and one or +the other was sure to escape seizure--is a good example of the trials to +which the patience of Austrian poets was subjected during the old +regime. Grillparzer was at this time depressed enough on his own +account, as his poems _Tristia ex Ponto_ bear witness. This new attempt +at interference almost made him despair of his fatherland. "An Austrian +poet," he said, "ought to be esteemed above all others. The man who does +not lose heart under such circumstances is really a kind of hero." + +Grillparzer was not a real hero. But in the midst of public frictions, +personal tribulations, apprehension that his powers of imagination were +declining, and petulant surrenders to discouragement, he kept pottering +along with compositions long since started, and by 1831 he had completed +two more plays, _A Dream is Life_ and _Waves of the Sea and of Love_. + +Like _The Ancestress_, _A Dream is Life_ is written in short trochaic +verses of irregular length and with occasional rhyme. The idea was +conceived early, the first act was written at the time of _The +Ancestress,_ and the title, though chosen late, being a reversal of +Calderon's _Life is a Dream_, suggests the connection with that Spanish +drama. Grillparzer's principal source for the plot, was, however, +Voltaire's narrative entitled _White and Black_. In the psychology of +dreams he had long been interested, and life in the dream state formed a +large part of the opera text _Melusina_ which, in 1821-23, he wrote for +Beethoven. A particular flavor was doubtless given to the plot by the +death of Napoleon on May fifth, 1821, and the beginning of Grillparzer's +friendship with Katharina Froehlich shortly before; for _A Dream is Life_ +represents in the dream of a harmless but ambitious young man such a +career of conquest as Napoleon was thought to have exemplified, and the +hero, waking after a nightmare of deceits and crimes that were the +stepping stones to success, is warned of the dangers that beset +enterprise and taught to prefer the simple life in union with a rustic +maiden. There are two actions, corresponding to the waking and sleeping +states, the actors in the latter being those of real life fantastically +transformed; but there is no magic or anything else super-natural, and +the most fascinating quality in the drama is the skill with which the +transformation is made in accordance with the irrational logic of +dreams. Accompanied by the weird music of Gyrowetz and exquisitely +staged, this is the most popular of Grillparzer's plays in Vienna. But +it is by no means merely theatrical. There is profound truth in the +theory upon which it is constructed: a dream is the awakening of the +soul; dreams do not create wishes, they reveal them, and the actions of +a dreamer are the potentialities of his character. Moreover, the +quietistic note of renunciation for the sake of peace to the soul and +integrity of personality is the final note of _The Golden Fleece_ no +less than of this fantasmagoria. _Waves of the Sea and of Love_ is a +far-fetched and sentimental title for a dramatization of the story of +Hero and Leander. Grillparzer chose the title, he said, because he +wished to suggest a romantic treatment that should humanize the matter. +The play really centres in the character of Hero and might much better +be called by her name. In it Grillparzer's experiences with Charlotte +von Paumgarten and Marie Daeffinger are poetically fructified, and his +capacity for tracing the incalculable course of feminine instincts +attains to the utmost of refinement and delicacy. The theme is the +conflict between duty to a solemn vow of sacerdotal chastity and the +disposition to satisfy the natural desire for love. But Grillparzer has +represented no such conflict in the breast of Hero. Her antagonist is +not her own conscience but the representative of divine law in the +temple of which she is priestess. The action of the play therefore takes +the form of an intrigue on the part of this representative to thwart the +intrigue of Hero and Leander. This external collision is, however, far +from supplying the chief interest in a drama unquestionably dramatic, +although its main action is internal. Hero is at the beginning a Greek +counterpart to the barbarian Medea. She has the same pride of station +and self-assurance. Foreordained to asceticism, she is ready to embrace +it because she thinks it superior to the worldliness of which she has no +knowledge. When worldliness presents itself to her in the attractive +form of Leander, she is first curious, then offended, apprehensive of +danger to herself and to him, only soon to apprehend nothing but +interruption of the new rapture to which she yields in oblivion of +everything else in the world. Only a poet of the unprecedented _naivete_ +of Grillparzer could so completely obliterate the insurgency of moral +scruples against this establishment of the absolute monarchy of love. + +In spite of admirable dramatic qualities and the most exquisite poetry +even in the less dramatic passages, this play on Hero and Leander +disappointed both audience and playwright when it was put upon the stage +in April, 1831. Other disappointments were rife for Grillparzer at +this time. But he put away his desires for the unattainable, and with +the publication of _Tristia ex Ponto_ in 1835, took, as it were, formal +leave of the past and its sorrow. Indeed, he seemed on the point of +beginning a new epoch of ready production; for he now succeeded, for the +first time since 1818, in the quick conception and uninterrupted +composition of an eminently characteristic play, the most artistic of +German comedies, _Woe to the Liar_. It was the more lamentable that when +the play was enacted, on the sixth of March, 1838, the brutal behavior +of an unappreciative audience so wounded the sensitive poet that he +resolved never again to subject himself to such ignominy--and kept his +word. In 1840 he published _Waves of the Sea and of Love, A Dream is +Life_, and _Woe to the Liar_; but the plays which he wrote after that +time he kept in his desk. + +The year 1838, accordingly, sharply divides the life of Grillparzer into +two parts--the first, productive and more or less in the public eye; the +second, contemplative and in complete retirement from the stage. To be +sure, the poet became conspicuous once more with his poem to Radetzky in +1848; in 1851 Heinrich Laube, recently appointed director of the +_Hofburgtheater_, instituted a kind of Grillparzer revival; and belated +honors brought some solace to his old age. But he had become an +historical figure long before he ceased to be seen on the streets of his +beloved Vienna, and the three completed manuscripts of plays that in +1872 he bequeathed to posterity had lain untouched for nearly twenty +years. + +Two of these posthumous pieces, _Brothers' Quarrels in the House of +Habsburg_ and _Libussa_, undoubtedly reveal the advancing years of their +author, in a good and in a bad sense. They lack the theatrical +self-evidence of the earlier dramas. But on the other hand, they are +rich in the ripest wisdom of their creator, and in significance of +characterization as well as in profundity of idea they amply atone for +absence of the more superficial qualities. Kaiser Rudolf II. in +_Brothers' Quarrels_ is one of the most human of the men who in the face +of inevitable calamity have pursued a Fabian policy. Even to personal +predilections, like fondness for the dramas of Lope, he is a replica of +the mature Grillparzer himself. _Libussa_ presents in Primislaus a +somewhat colorless but nevertheless thoroughly masculine representative +of practical cooeperation and progress, and in Libussa, the heroine, a +typical feminine martyr to duty. + +[Illustration: FRANZ GRILLPARZER In his Sixtieth Year] + +The third of the posthumous pieces, however, _The Jewess of Toledo_, may +perhaps be said to mark the climax of Grillparzer's productive activity. +It is an eminently modern drama of passion in classical dignity of form. +Grillparzer noted the subject as early as 1813. In 1824 he read Lope de +Vega's play on it, and wrote in trochees two scenes of his own; in +1848-49--perhaps with Lola Montez and the king of Bavaria in mind--he +worked further on it, and about 1855 brought the work to an end. The +play is properly called _The Jewess of Toledo_; for Rachel, the Jewess, +is at the centre of the action, and is a marvelous creation--"a mere +woman, nothing but her sex"; but the king, though relatively passive, is +the most important character. He is attracted to Rachel by a charm that +he has never known in his coldly virtuous English consort, and, after an +error forgivable because made comprehensible, is taught the duty of +personal sacrifice to morality and to the state. In doctrine and in +inner form this drama is comparable to Hebbel's _Agnes Bernauer_; it is +a companion piece to _A Faithful Servant of his Master_, and the +sensuality of Rachel contrasts instructively with the spirituality of +Hero. The genuine dramatic collision of antithetical forces produces, +furthermore, a new synthesis, the effect of which is to make us wish +morality less austere and the sense of obligation stronger than they at +first are in two persons good by nature but caused to err by +circumstances. In the series of dramas thus passed in review there is +a great variety of setting and incident, and an abundance of dramatic +_motifs_ that show Grillparzer to have been one of the most opulent of +playwrights. The range of characters, too, each presented with due +regard for _milieu_, is seen to be considerable, and upon closer +examination would be seen to be more considerable still. The greatest +richness is found in the characters of women. Grillparzer himself lacked +the specifically masculine qualities of courageous enterprise and +tenacity of purpose. His men are rather affected by the world than +active creators of new conditions, and their contact with conditions as +they are leaves them with the scars of battle instead of the joy of +victory. No one, however, could attribute a feministic spirit to +Grillparzer; or, if so, it must be said that the study of reaction is no +less instructive than the study of action and that being is at least as +high an ideal as doing. Being, existence in a definite place amid the +tangible surroundings of personal life, Grillparzer gives us with +extraordinary abundance of sensuous details. The drama was for him what +Goethe said it should always be, a present reality; and for the greater +impressiveness of this reality he is fond of the use of visible +objects--whether they be symbols, like the Golden Fleece in _Medea_, the +lyre in _Sappho_, the medallion in _The Jewess of Toledo_, or +characteristic weapons, accoutrement, and apparel. Everything expressive +is welcome to him, gesture or inarticulate sound reinforces the spoken +word or replaces it. Unusually sensuous language and comparative fulness +of sententious passages go hand in hand with a laconic habit which +indulges in many ellipses and is content to leave to the actor the task +of making a single word convey the meaning of a sentence. + +Grillparzer's plays were written for the stage. He abhorred what the +Germans call a book drama, and had, on the other hand, the highest +respect for the judgment of a popular audience as to the fact whether a +play were fit for the stage or not. The popular audience was a jury +from which there was no appeal on this question of fact. A passage in +_The Poor Musician_ gives eloquent expression to Grillparzer's regard +for the sure esthetic instinct of the masses and, indirectly, to his own +poetic _naivete._ But his plays are also poems; they are all in verse; +and like the plays of his French prototype, Racine, they reveal their +full merit only to connoisseurs. They are the work of a man who was +better able than most men of his generation to prove all things, and who +held fast to that which he found good. His art is not forward-looking, +like that of Kleist, nor backward-looking, like that, say, of Theodor +Koerner. It is in the strictest sense complementary and co-ordinate to +that of Goethe and Schiller, a classicism modified by romantic +tendencies toward individuation and localization. He did not aim at the +typical. He felt, and rightly, that a work of art, being something +individual, should be created with concentrated attention upon the +attainment of its perfection as an individual; this perfection attained, +the artist would attain to typical, symbolical connotation into the +bargain. From anything like the grotesqueness of exaggerated +characterization Grillparzer was saved by his sense of form. He had as +fertile an imagination and as penetrating an intellect as Kleist, and he +excelled Kleist in the reliability of his common sense. It was no play +upon words, but the expression of conviction when he wrote, in 1836: +"Poetry is incorporation of the spirit, spiritualization of the body, +feeling of the understanding, and thought of the feeling." In its +comprehensive appeal to all of these faculties a work of art commends +itself and carries its meaning through its existence as an objective +reality, like the phenomena of nature herself. A comprehensive +sensitiveness to such an appeal, whether of art or of nature, was +Grillparzer's ideal of individual nature and culture. He thought the +North Germans had cultivated their understanding at the expense of their +feeling, and had thereby impaired their esthetic sense. He thought the +active life in general inevitably destroyed the harmony of the faculties +and substituted an extrinsic for an intrinsic good. In the mad rush of +our own time after material wealth and power we may profitably +contemplate the picture which Grillparzer drew of himself in the +following characteristic verses: + +THE ANGLER + + Below lies the lake hushed and tranquil, + And I sit here with idle hands, + And gaze at the frolicking fishes + Which glide to and fro o'er the sands. + + They come, and they go, and they tarry; + But if I now venture a cast, + Of a sudden the playground is empty, + As my basket remains to the last. + + Mayhap if I stirred up the water, + My angling might lure the shy prey. + But then I must also give over + The sight of the fishes at play. + +[Illustration: THE GRILLPARZER MONUMENT AT VIENNA.] + + + + +FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + * * * * * + +MEDEA + +A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + CREON, _King of Corinth + + CREUSA, _his daughter + + JASON + + MEDEA + + GORA, _Medea's aged nurse_ + + _A herald of the Amphictyons_ + + _A peasant_ + + _Medea's children_ + + _Slaves and slave-women, attendants of + the King, etc._ + + +MEDEA (1822) + + + + +TRANSLATED BY THEODORE A. MILLER, PH.D. + + + +ACT I + + +_Before the walls of Corinth. At the left, halfway up stage, a tent is +pitched; in the background lies the sea, with a point of land jutting +out into it, on which is built a part of the city. The time is early +morning, before daybreak; it is still dark. + +At the right in the foreground a slave is seen standing in a pit digging +and throwing up shovelfuls of earth; on the opposite side of the pit +stands MEDEA, before a black chest which is strangely decorated with +gold; in this chest she keeps laying various utensils during the +following dialogue. + +MEDEA. Is it, then, done? + +SLAVE. A moment yet, my mistress. + +[GORA _comes out of the tent and stands at a distance_.] + +MEDEA. Come! First the veil, and then the goddess' staff. + I shall not need them more; here let them rest. + Dark night, the time for magic, is gone by, + And what is yet to come, or good or ill, + Must happen in the beamy light of day.-- + This casket next; dire, secret flames it hides + That will consume the wretch who, knowing not, + Shall dare unlock it. And this other here, + Full-filled with sudden death, with many an herb, + And many a stone of magic power obscure, + Unto that earth they sprang from I commit. + + [_She rises_.] + + So! Rest ye here in peace for evermore. + Now for the last and mightiest thing of all! + +[Illustration: MEDEA _From the Painting by Anselm Feuerbach_] + +[_The slave, who has meanwhile climbed out of the pit and taken his +stand behind the princess awaiting the conclusion of her enterprise, +now turns to help her, and grasps at an object covered with a veil and +hanging from a lance that has been resting against a tree behind MEDEA; +the veil falls, revealing the banner, with the Golden Fleece glowing +radiantly through the darkness._] + +SLAVE (_grasping the Fleece_). 'Tis this? + +MEDEA. Nay, hold thy hand! Unveil it not. + +(_Addressing the Fleece_.) + + Once more let me behold thee, fatal gift + Of trusting guest-friend! Shine for one last time, + Thou witness of the downfall of my house, + Bespattered with my father's, brother's blood, + Sign of Medea's shame and hateful crime! + +[_She stamps upon the lance-haft and breaks it in two_.] + + So do I rend thee now, so sink thee deep + In earth's dark bosom, whence, a bane to men, + Thou sprang'st. + +[_She lays the broken standard in the chest with the other objects and +shuts down the cover_.] + +GORA (_comes down_). + + What does my mistress here? + +MEDEA. Thou seest. + +GORA. Wilt thou, then, bury in the earth that Fleece, + The symbol of thy service to the gods, + That saved thee, and shall save thee yet again? + +MEDEA (_scornfully_). + + That saved me? 'Tis because it saved me not, + That here I lay it. I am safe enough. + +GORA (_ironically_). + + Thanks to thy husband's love? + +MEDEA (_to the slave, ignoring Gora's taunt_). + + Is all prepared? + +SLAVE. Yea, mistress. + +MEDEA. Come! + +[_She grasps one handle of the chest, the slave the other, and together +they carry it to the pit._] + +GORA (_observing them from a distance_). + + Oh, what a task is this + For a proud princess, daughter of a king! + +MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not help? + +GORA. Lord Jason's handmaid am I--and not thine! + Nor is it meet one slave another serve. + +MEDEA (_to the slave_). + + Now lay it in, and heap the earth upon it. + +[_The slave lets the chest down into the pit and shovels in the earth +upon it. MEDEA kneels at one side of the pit as he works._] + + GORA (_standing in the foreground_). + + Oh, let me die, ye gods of Colchis, now, + That I may look no more on such a sight! + Yet, first hurl down your lightning-stroke of wrath + Upon this traitor who hath wrought us woe. + Let me but see him die; then slay me too! + +MEDEA (_to the slave_). + + 'Tis finished. Stamp the earth about it close, + And go.--I charge thee, guard my secret well. + Thou art a Colchian, and I know thee true. + +[_The slave departs._] + +GORA (_calling after him with grim scorn_). + + If thou shalt tell thy master, woe to you both! + +(_To MEDEA._) + + Hast finished? + +MEDEA. Ay. At last I am at peace! + +GORA. The Fleece, too, didst thou bury? + + +MEDEA. Even the Fleece. + +GORA. Thou didst not leave it in Iolcos, with + Thine husband's uncle? + +MEDEA. Nay, thou saw'st it here. + +GORA. Thou hadst it still--and now hast buried it! + Gone, gone! And naught is left; all thy past life + Vanished, like wreaths of vapor in the breeze! + And naught's to come, and naught has been, and all + Thou seest is but this present fleeting hour! + There _was_ no Colchis! All the gods are dead! + Thou hadst no father, never slew thy brother I + Thou think'st not of it; lo, it never happened!-- + Think, then, thou art not wretched. Cheat thyself + To dream Lord Jason loves thee yet. Perchance + It may come true! + +MEDEA (angrily). + + Be silent, woman! + +GORA. + Nay! + Let her who knows her guilty lock her lips, + But I _will_ speak. Forth from my peaceful home + There in far Colchis, thou hast lured me here, + To be thine haughty paramour's meek slave. + Freeborn am I, yet see! mine arms are chained!-- + Through the long, troubled nights, upon my couch + I lie and weep; each morn, as the bright sun + Returns, I curse my gray hairs and my weight + Of years. All scorn me, flout me. All I had + Is gone, save heavy heart and scalding tears.-- + Nay, I will speak, and thou shalt listen, too! + +MEDEA. Say on. + +GORA. All I foretold has come to pass. + 'Tis scarce one moon since the revolted sea + Cast you ashore, seducer and seduced; + And yet e 'en now these folk flee from thy face, + And horror follows wheresoe'er thou goest. + The people shudder at the Colchian witch + With fearful whispers of her magic dark. + Where thou dost show thyself, there all shrink back + And curse thee. May the same curse smite them all!-- + As for thy lord, the Colchian princess' spouse, + Him, too, they hate, for his sake, and for thine. + Did not his uncle drive him from his palace? + Was he not banished from his fatherland + What time that uncle perished, none knows how? + Home hath he none, nor resting-place, nor where + To lay his head. What canst thou hope from him? + +MEDEA. I am his wife! + +GORA. And hop'st--? + +MEDEA. To follow him + In need and unto death. + +GORA. Ay, need and death! + AEtes' daughter in a beggar's hut! + +MEDEA. Let us pray Heaven for a simple heart; + So shall our humble lot be easier borne. + +GORA. Ha!--And thy husband--? + +MEDEA. Day breaks. Let us go. + +GORA. Nay, thou shalt not escape my questioning!--One + comfort still is left me in my grief, + And only one: our wretched plight shows clear + That gods still rule in Heaven, and mete out + To guilty men requital, late or soon. + Weep for thy bitter lot; I'll comfort thee. + Only presume not rashly to deny + The gods are just, because thou dost deny + This punishment they send, and all this woe.-- + To cure an evil, we must see it clear. + Thy husband--tell me--is he still the same? + +MEDEA. What should he be? + +GORA. O, toy not so with words! + Is he the same impetuous lover still + Who wooed thee once; who braved a hundred swords + To win thee; who, upon that weary voyage, + Laughed at thy fears and kissed away thy grief, + Poor maid, when thou wouldst neither eat nor drink, + But only pray to die? Ay, all too soon + He won thee with his passionate, stormy love. + Is he thy lover still?--I see thee tremble. + Ay, thou hast need; thou knowest he loves thee not, + But shudders at thee, dreads thee, flees thee, _hates_ thee! + And as thou didst betray thy fatherland, + So shalt thou be betrayed--and by thy lover. + Deep in the earth the symbols of thy crime + Lie buried;--but the crime thou canst not hide. + +MEDEA. Be silent! + +GORA. Never! + +MEDEA (_grasping her fiercely by the arm _). + + Silence, dame, I say! + What is this madness? Cease these frantic cries! + 'Tis our part to await whate'er may come, + Not bid it hasten.--Thou didst say but now + There is no past, no future; when a deed + Is done, 'tis done for all time; we can know + Only this one brief present instant, Now. + Say, if this Now may cradle a dim future, + Why may it not entomb the misty past? + My past! Would God that I could change it--now! + And bitter tears I weep for it, bitterer far + Than thou dost dream of.--Yet, that is no cause + To seek destruction. Rather is there need + Clearly to know myself, face honestly + The thing I am. Here to these foreign shores + And stranger folk a god hath driven us; + And what seemed right in Colchis, here is named + Evil and wickedness; our wonted ways + Win hatred here in Corinth, and distrust. + So, it is meet we change our ways and speech; + If we may be no longer what we would, + Let us at least, then, be e'en what we can.-- + The ties that bound me to my fatherland + Here in earth's bosom I have buried deep; + The magic rites my mother taught me, all + Back to the Night that bare them I have given. + Now, but a woman, weak, alone, defenseless, + I throw me in my husband's open arms! + He shuddered at the Colchian witch! But now + I am his true, dear wife; and surely he + Will take me to his loving, shelt'ring arms.-- + Lo, the day breaks, fair sign of our new life + Together! The dark past has ceased to be, + The happy future beckons!--Thou, O Earth, + The kind and gentle mother of us all, + Guard well my trust, that in thy bosom lies. + +[_As she and_ GORA _approach the tent, it opens, and _JASON _appears, +talking with a Corinthian rustic, and followed by a slave._] + +JASON. Thou saw'st the king himself? + +RUSTIC. I did, my lord. + +JASON. How went thy tale? + +RUSTIC. I Said, "One waits without, + A guest-friend of thy house, well-known to thee, + Yet so hedged round is he with traitorous foes, + He dares not enter, ere thou promise him + Peace and protection." + +JASON. And his answer?--Speak! + +RUSTIC. He comes, my lord, to meet thee. All this folk + Make pious offering to Poseidon here + Upon the seashore. Soon in festal train + They come with garlands and fair gifts, the king + Leading his daughter by the hand. 'Tis then, + As they pass by, that he will speak with thee. + +JASON. Thou hast done well. I thank thee. + +MEDEA (_coming up to him_). + + Jason, hail! + +JASON. Hail to thee, too! + + (_To the slave._) + + Go, thou, and all the others, + And pluck green branches from the budding trees + To mark you suppliants. 'Tis the custom here. + And keep a quiet, peaceful mien. Dost hear? + Now go. + +[_They depart._] + +MEDEA. Thou'rt full of thought? + +JASON. Ay, full. + +MEDEA. Thou givest + Thyself no rest. + +JASON. A fugitive--and rest? + There is no rest for such, but only flight. + +MEDEA. Last night thou didst not close thine eyes in sleep, + But wand'redst forth in the murky night, alone. + +JASON. I love the night; the sunlight hurts my eyes. + +MEDEA. And thou hast sent a message to the king. + Will he receive us kindly? + +JASON. That I wait + To hear. + +MEDEA. He is thy friend? + +JASON. He was. + +MEDEA. Then sure + His heart will soften. + +JASON. Even the kindest men + Shun friendship with the accurst. And thou dost know + How all the world doth flee us, since the death + Of my false uncle, Pelias, whom some god + In devilish sport caused to be strangled. Thus + The people whisper that I slew him, I, + Thy husband, from that land of magic come. + Dost thou not know this? + +MEDEA. Yea. + +JASON. Here's cause enough + To wake and wander all the dark night through.-- + But what hath brought thee forth, before the sun + Is up? What seek'st thou in this darkling hour? + Calling old friends from Colchis? + +MEDEA. Nay. + +JASON. Speak truth! + +MEDEA. I say, I am not. + +JASON. And I say to thee, + Better for thee if thou forget all such. + Pluck no more herbs, brew no more poison-drinks, + Nor commune with the moon, let dead men's bones + Rot in their graves at peace! Such magic arts + This folk here love not,--and I hate them, too! + This is not Colchis dark,--but sunny Greece; + Not hideous monsters, but our fellow-men + Dwell round about us. Come, henceforth, I know, + Thou wilt give o'er these rites and magic spells; + I have thy promise, and I know thee true.-- + That crimson wimple bound about thy hair + Calls long-forgotten scenes to memory. + Why wilt not wear our country's wonted dress? + I was a Colchian on thy Colchian soil; + Be thou a Greek, now I have brought thee home. + The past is dead. Why call it back to life? + Alas! It haunts us yet, do what we will! + +[MEDEA _silently removes the veil and gives it to_ GORA.] + +GORA (_whispering_). + + Scorn'st thou thy homeland thus--and all for him? + +JASON (_catching sight of _GORA). + + What! Art thou here, thou ancient beldame? Ha! + I hate thee most of all this Colchian crew. + One glance at thy dim eyes and wrinkled brow, + And lo! before my troubled sight there swims + The dusky shore of Colchis! Why must thou + Be ever hovering close beside my wife? + Begone! + +GORA (_grumblingly_). + + Why should I? + +JASON. Go! + +MEDEA. Begone, I pray. + +GORA (_sullenly to _JASON). + + Am I thy purchased slave, that thou shouldst speak + So lordly? + +JASON. Go! My hand, of its own will, + Is on my sword! Go, while there yet is time! + Often ere this I have thought to make essay + If that stern brow be softer than it seems! + +[MEDEA _leads the reluctant_ GORA _away, whispering words of comfort as +they go._ JASON _throws himself on a grass-bank, and strikes his +breast._] + + +JASON. O, heart of mine, burst from thy prison-house, + And drink the air!-- + Ay, there they lie, fair Corinth's lofty towers, + Marshalled so richly on the ocean-strand, + The cradle of my happy, golden youth! + Unchanging, gilded by the selfsame sun + As then. 'Tis I am altered, and not they. + Ye gods! The morning of my life was bright + And sunny; wherefore is my eventide + So dark and gloomy? Would that it were night! + +[MEDEA _has brought the two children out of the tent, and now leads them +by the hand to_ JASON.] + +MEDEA. See, Jason, thy two babes, who come to greet thee. + Come, children, give your sire your little hands. + +[_The children draw back, and stand shyly at one side._] + +JASON (_stretching out his hands yearningly toward the little group._) + + Is this the end, then? Do I find myself + Husband and father of a savage brood? + +MEDEA. Go, children. + +ONE CHILD. Father, is it true thou art + A Greek? + +JASON. And why? + +CHILD. Old Gora says thou art, + And calls the Greeks bad names. + +JASON. What names, my boy? + +CHILD. Traitors she says they are, and cowards, too. + +JASON (_to_ MEDEA). + + Dost hear? + +MEDEA. 'Tis Gora's foolish tales that they + Have heard, and treasured, child-like. Mark them not. + +[_She kneels beside the two children, whispering in the ear now of one, +now of the other._] + +JASON. I will not. + +[_He rises from the grass._] + + There she kneels--unhappy fate!-- + Bearing two burdens, hers, and mine as well. + +[_He paces up and down, then addresses_ MEDEA.] + + There, leave the babes awhile, and come to me. + +MEDEA (_to the children_). + + Now go, and be good children. Go, I say. + +[_The children go._] + +JASON. Think not, Medea, I am cold and hard. + I feel thy grief as deeply as mine own. + Thou'rt a brave comrade, and dost toil as truly + As I to roll away this heavy stone + That, ever falling backwards, blocks all paths, + All roads to hope. And whether thou'rt to blame, + Or I, it matters not. What's done is done. + +[_He clasps her hands in one of his, and with the other lovingly strokes +her brow._] + + Thou lov'st me still, I know it well, Medea. + In thine own way, 'tis true; but yet thou lov'st me. + And not this fond glance only--all thy deeds + Tell the same tale of thine unending love. + +[MEDEA _hides her face on his shoulder._] + + I know how many griefs bow this dear head, + How love and pity in thy bosom sit + Enthroned.--Come, let us counsel now together + How we may 'scape this onward-pressing fate + That threatens us so near. Here Corinth lies; + Hither, long years agone, a lonely youth, + I wandered, fleeing my uncle's wrath and hate; + And Creon, king of Corinth, took me in,-- + A guest-friend was he of my father's house-- + And cherished me ev'n as a well-loved son. + Full many a year I dwelt here, safe and happy. + And now-- + +MEDEA. Thou'rt silent! + +JASON. Now, when all the world + Flouts me, avoids me, now, when each man's hand + In blind, unreasoning rage is raised to strike, + I hope to find a refuge with this king.-- + One fear I have, though, and no idle one. + +MEDEA. And what is that? + +JASON. Me he will shelter safe-- + That I hold certain--and my children, too, + For they are mine. But thee-- + +MEDEA. Nay, have no fear. + If he take them, as being thine, then me, + Who am thine as well, he will not cast away. + +JASON. Hast thou forgotten all that lately chanced + There in my home-land, in my uncle's house, + When first I brought thee from dark Colchis' shores? + Hast thou forgot the scorn, the black distrust + In each Greek visage when it looked on thee, + A dark barbarian from a stranger-land? + They cannot know thee as I do,--true wife + And mother of my babes;--homekeepers they, + Nor e'er set foot on Colchis' magic strand + As I. + +MEDEA. A bitter speech. What is the end? + +JASON. The worst misfortune of mankind is this: + Calm and serene and unconcerned to court + Fate's heaviest blows, and then, when these have fallen, + To whine and cringe, bewailing one's sad lot.-- + Such folly we will none of, thou and I. + For now I seek King Creon, to proclaim + My right as guest-friend, and to clear away + These clouds of dark distrust that threaten storm.-- + Meanwhile, take thou the babes and get thee hence + Without the city walls. There wait, until-- + +MEDEA. Till when? + +JASON. Until--Why hidest thou thy face? + +MEDEA. Ah, say no more! This is that bitter fate + Whereof my father warned me! Said he not + We should torment each other, thou and I? + But no!--My spirit is not broken yet! + All that I was, all that I had, is gone, + Save this: I am thy wife! To that I'll cling + Even to death. + +JASON. Why twist my kindly words + To a false meaning that I never dreamed of? + +MEDEA. Prove that I twist thy words! I'll thank thee for it. + Quick, quick! The king draws nigh.--Let thy heart speak! + +JASON. So, wait we here the breaking of the storm. + +[GORA _comes out of the tent with the two children_; MEDEA _places +herself between the children, and at first waits in the distance, +watching anxiously all that passes. The_ KING _enters with his daughter +and attended by youths and maidens who carry the vessels for the +sacrifice._] + + +KING. Where is this stranger?--Who he is, my heart, + By its wild beating, warns me; wanderer, + And banished from his homeland, nay, mayhap + E'en guilty of those crimes men charge him with.-- + Where is the stranger? + +JASON. Here, my lord, bowed low + Before thee, not a stranger, though estranged. + A suppliant I, and come to pray thine aid. + Thrust forth from house and home, by all men shunned, + I fly to thee, my guest-friend, and beseech + In confidence the shelter of thy roof. + +CREUSA. Ay, it is he! Look, father, 'tis Prince Jason! + +[_She takes a step toward him._] + +JASON. Yea, it is I. And is this thou, Creusa, + Crowned with a yet more gentle, radiant grace, + But still the same? O, take me by the hand + And lead me to thy father, where he stands + With thoughtful brow, fixing his steady gaze + Upon my face, and dallies with his doubt + Whether to greet me kindly. Is he wroth + At me, or at my guilt, which all men cry? + +CREUSA (_taking_ JASON's _hand and leading him to her father_). + + See, father, 'tis Prince Jason! + +KING. He is welcome. + +JASON. Thy distant greeting shows me clear what place + Now best beseems me. Here at thy feet I fall + And clasp thy knees, and stretch a timid hand + To touch thy chin. Grant me my prayer, O King! + Receive and shelter a poor suppliant wretch! + +KING. Rise, Jason. + +JASON. Never, till thou-- + +KING. Rise, I say. + +[_Jason rises to his feet._] + +KING. So, from thine Argo-quest thou art returned? + +JASON. 'Tis scarce one moon since I set foot on land. + +KING. What of the golden prize ye sought? Is't won? + +JASON. The king who set the task--he hath it now. + +KING. Why art thou banished from thy fatherland? + +JASON. They drove me forth--homeless I wander now. + +KING. Ay, but why banished? I must see this clear. + +JASON. They charged me with a foul, accursed crime. + +KING. Truly or falsely? Answer me this first. + +JASON. A false charge! By the gods I swear, 'tis false! + +KING (_swiftly grasping_ JASON's _hand and leading him forward_). + + Thine uncle perished? + +JASON. Yea, he died. + +KING. But how? + +JASON. Not at my hands! As I do live and breathe, + I swear that bloody deed was none of mine! + +KING. Yet Rumor names thee Murderer, and the word + Through all the land is blown. + +JASON. Then Rumor lies, + And all that vile land with it! + +KING. Dream'st thou then + I can believe thy single tale, when all + The world cries, "Liar!" + +JASON. 'Tis the word of one + Thou knowest well, against the word of strangers. + +KING. Say, then, how fell the king? + +JASON. 'Twas his own blood, + The children of his flesh, that did the deed. + +KING. Horror of horrors! Surely 'tis not true? + It cannot be! + +JASON. The gods know it is truth. + Give ear, and I will tell thee how it chanced. + +KING. Nay, hold. Creusa comes. This is no tale + For gentle ears. I fain would shield the maid + From knowledge of such horror. (_Aloud._) For the moment + I know enough. We'll hear the rest anon. + I will believe thee worthy while I can. + +CREUSA (_coming up to _KING CREON). + + Hast heard his tale? He's innocent, I know. + +KING. Go, take his hand. Thou canst without disgrace. + +CREUSA. Didst doubt him, father? Nay, I never did! + My heart told me these tales were never true, + These hideous stories that men tell of him. + Gentle he was, and kind; how could he, then, + Show him so base and cruel? Couldst thou know + How they have slandered thee, heaped curse on curse! + I've wept, to think our fellow-men could be + So bitter, false. For thou hadst scarce set sail, + When, sudden, all men's talk throughout the land + Was of wild deeds and hideous midnight crimes-- + The fruit of witchcraft on far Colchis' shores-- + Which thou hadst done.--And, last, a woman, dark + And dreadful, so they said, thou took'st to wife, + Brewer of poisons, slayer of her sire. + What was her name? It had a barbarous sound-- + +MEDEA (_stepping forward with the children_). + + Medea! Here am I. + +KING. Is 't she? + +JASON (_dully_). + + It is. + +CREUSA (_pressing close to her father_). + + O, horror! + +MEDEA (_to_ CREUSA). + + Thou'rt wrong. I never slew my sire. + My brother died, 'tis true; but ask my lord + If 'twas my doing. + +[_She points to _JASON.] + + True it is, fair maid, + That I am skilled to mix such magic potions + As shall bring death or healing, as I will. + And many a secret else I know. Yet, see! + I am no monster, no, nor murderess. + +CREUSA. Oh, dreadful, horrible. + +KING. And is she thy--wife? + +JASON. My wife. + +KING. Those children there? + +JASON. They are mine own. + +KING. Unhappy man! + +JASON. Yea, sooth!--Come, children, bring + Those green boughs in your hands, and reach them out + To our lord the King, and pray him for his help, + + [_He leads them up by the hand._] + + Behold, my lord, these babes. Thou canst not spurn them! + +ONE CHILD (_holding out a bough timidly to the _KING). + + See, here it is. + +KING (_laying his hands gently on the children's heads_). + + Poor tiny birdlings, snatched from out your nest! + +CREUSA (_kneeling compassionately beside the children_). + + Come here to me, poor, homeless, little orphans! + So young, and yet misfortune bows you down + So soon! So young, and oh! so innocent!-- + And look, how this one has his father's mien! + + [_She kisses the smaller boy._] + + Stay here with me. I'll be your mother, sister. + + MEDEA (_with sudden fierceness_). + + They are not orphans, do not need thy tears + Of pity! For Prince Jason is their father; + And while Medea lives, they have no need + To seek a mother! + +(_To the children._) + + Come to me-come here. + +CREUSA (_glancing at her father_). + + Shall I let them go? + +KING. She is their mother. + +CREUSA. Run + To mother, children. + +MEDEA (to children). + + Come! Why stand ye there + And wait? + +CREUSA (_to the children, who are clasping her about the neck_). + + Your mother calls, my little ones. + Run to her quick! + +[_The children go to_ MEDEA.] + +JASON (_to the_ KING). + + My lord, what is thy will? + +KING. Thou hast my promise. + +JASON. Thou wilt keep me safe? + +KING. I have said it. + +JASON. Me and mine thou wilt receive? + +KING. Nay, _thee_ I said, not _thine_.--Now follow on, + First to the altar, to our palace then. + +JASON (_as he follows the king, to _CREUSA). + + Give me thy hand, Creusa, as of yore! + +CREUSA. Thou canst not take it as of old thou didst. + +MEDEA. They go,--and I am left, forgot! Oh, children, + Run here and clasp me close. Nay, closer, tighter! + +CREUSA (_to herself, turning as they go_). + + Where is Medea? Why does she not follow? + +[_She comes back, but stands at a distance from_ MEDEA.] + + Com'st thou not to the sacrifice, then home + With us? + +MEDEA. Unbidden guests must wait without. + +CREUSA. Nay, but my father promised shelter, help. + +MEDEA. Thy words and his betokened no such aid! + +CREUSA (_approaching nearer_). + + I've grieved thee, wounded thee! Forgive, I pray. + +MEDEA. Ah, gracious sound! Who spake that gentle word? + Ay, many a time they've stabbed me to the quick, + But none e'er paused, and, pitying, asked himself + If the wound smarted! Thanks to thee, sweet maid! + Oh, when thou art thyself in sore distress, + Then may'st thou find some tender, pitying soul + To whisper soft and gracious words to thee, + To give one gentle glance--as thou to me! + +[MEDEA _tries to grasp _CREUSA's _hand, but the princess draws back +timidly._] + + Nay, shudder not! 'Tis no plague-spotted hand.-- + Oh, I was born a princess, even as thou. + For me the path of life stretched smooth and straight + As now for thee; blindly thereon I fared, + Content, where all seemed right.--Ah, happy days! + For I was born a princess, even as thou. + And as thou stand'st before me, fair and bright + And happy, so I stood beside my father, + The idol of his heart, and of his folk. + O Colchis! O my homeland! Dark and dread + They name thee here, but to my loving eyes + Thine is a shining shore! + +CREUSA _(taking her hand)_. + + Poor, lonely soul! + +MEDEA. Gentle art thou, and mild, and gracious too; + I read it in thy face. But oh, beware! + The way _seems_ smooth.--One step may mean thy fall! + Light is the skiff that bears thee down the stream, + Advance upon the silvery, shining waves, + Past gaily-flowered banks, where thou would'st pause.-- + Ah, gentle pilot, is thy skill so sure? + Beyond thee roars the sea! Oh, venture not + To quit these flowery banks' secure embrace, + Else will the current seize thy slender craft + And sweep thee out upon the great gray sea.-- + Why that fixed gaze? Dost shudder at me still? + There was a time when I had shuddered, too, + At thought of such a thing as I'm become! + +_[She hides her face on CREUSA's neck.]_ + +CREUSA. She is no wild thing! Father, see, she weeps! + +MEDEA. I am a stranger, from a far land come, + Naught knowing of this country's ancient ways; + And so they flout me, look at me askance + As at some savage, untamed animal. + I am the lowest, meanest of mankind, + I, the proud child of Colchis' mighty king!-- + Teach me what I must do. Oh, I will learn + Gladly from thee, for thou art gentle, mild. + 'Tis patient teaching, and not angry scorn, + Will tame me.-- + Is't thy wont to be so calm + And so serene? To me that happy gift + The gods denied. But I will learn of _thee_! + Thou hast the skill to know what pleases him, + What makes him glad. Oh, teach me how I may + Once more find favor in my husband's sight, + And I will thank thee, thank thee! + +CREUSA. Look, my father! + +KING. Ay, bring her with thee. + +CREUSA. Wilt thou come, Medea? + +MEDEA. I'll follow gladly, whereso'er thou goest. + Have pity on me, lone, unfriended, sad, + And hide me from the king's stern, pitiless eyes! + + (_To the_ KING.) + + Now may'st thou gaze thy fill. My fears are fled, + E'en while I know thy musings bode me ill. + Thy child is tenderer than her father. + +CREUSA. Come! + He would not harm thee. Come, ye children, too. + +[CREUSA _leads_ MEDEA _and the children away_.] + +KING. Hast heard? + +JASON. I have. + +KING. And so, that is thy wife! + That thou wert wedded, Rumor long since cried, + But I believed not. Now, when I have seen, + Belief is still less easy. She--thy wife? + +JASON. 'Tis but the mountain's peak thou seest, and not + The toilsome climb to reach it, nor those steps + By which alone the climber guides his feet.-- + I sailed away, a hot, impetuous youth, + O'er distant seas, upon the boldest quest + That e'er within the memory of man + Was ventured. To this life I said farewell, + And, the world well forgot, I fixed my gaze + Solely upon that radiant Golden Fleece + That, through the night, a star in the storm, shone out. + And none thought on return, but one and all, + As though the hour that saw the trophy won + Should be their last, strained every nerve to win. + And so, a valorous band, we sailed away, + Boastful and thirsting deep for daring deeds, + O'er sea and land, through storm and night and rocks, + Death at our heels, Death beckoning us before. + And what at other times we had thought full + Of terror, now seemed gentle, mild, and good; + For Nature was more awful than the worst + That man could do. And, as we strove with her, + And with barbarian hordes that blocked our path, + The hearts of e'en the mildest turned to flint. + Lost were those standards whereby men at home + Judge all things calmly; each became a law + Unto himself amid these savage sights.-- + But that which all men deemed could never be + Came finally to pass, and we set foot + On Colchis' distant and mysterious strand. + Oh, hadst thou seen it, wrapped in murky clouds! + There day is night, and night a horror black, + Its folk more dreadful even than the night. + And there I found--_her_, who so hateful seems + To thee. In sooth, O king, she shone on me + Like the stray sunbeam that some prisoner sees + Pierce through the crannies of his lonely cell! + Dark though she seem to thee, in that black land + Like some lone, radiant star she gleamed on me. + +KING. Yet wrong is never right, nor evil good. + +JASON. It was some god that turned her heart to me. + Fast friend was she in many a dangerous pass. + I saw how in her bosom love was born, + Which yet her royal pride bade firm restrain; + No word she spake betrayed her--'twas her looks, + Her deeds that told the secret. Then on me + A madness came, like to a rushing wind. + Her silence but inflamed me; for a new + And warlike venture then I girded me, + For love I struggled with her--and I won! + Mine she became.--Her father cursed his child; + But mine she was, whether I would or no. + 'Twas she that won me that mysterious Fleece; + She was my guide to that dank horror-cave + Where dwelt the dragon, guardian of the prize, + The which I slew, and bore the Fleece away. + Since then I see, each time I search her eyes, + That hideous serpent blinking back at me, + And shudder when I call her wife!-- + At last + We sailed away. Her brother fell. + +KING (_quickly_). + + She slew him? + +JASON. The gods' hand smote him down. Her aged father, + With curses on his lips for her, for me, + For all our days to come, with bleeding nails + Dug his own grave, and laid him down to die, + So goes the tale--grim victim of his own + Rash passion. + +KING. Dread beginning of your life + Together! + +JASON. Ay, and, as the days wore on, + More dreadful still. + +KING. Thine uncle--what of him? + +JASON. For four long years some god made sport of us + And kept us wandering far from hearth and home + O'er land and sea. Meanwhile, pent up with her + Within the narrow confines of our bark, + Seeing her face each moment of the day, + The edge of my first shuddering fear grew blunt. + The past was past.--So she became my wife. + +KING. When home thou camest, what befell thee there? + +JASON. Time passed; the memory of those ghastly days + In Colchis dimmer grew and mistier. + I, the proud Greek, now half barbarian grown, + Companioned by my wife, barbarian too, + Sought once again my home-land. Joyfully + The people cried Godspeed! as forth I fared + Long years agone. Of joyfuller greetings now, + When I returned a victor, I had dreamed. + But lo, the busy streets grew still as death + When I approached, and whoso met me, shrank + Back in dismay! The tale, grown big with horrors, + Of all that chanced in Colchis had bred fear + And hatred in this foolish people's hearts. + They fled my face, heaped insults on my wife-- + _Mine_ she was, too; who flouted her, struck me! + This evil talk my uncle slily fed; + And when I made demand that he yield up + The kingdom of my fathers, stolen by him + And kept from me by craft, he made reply + That I must put away this foreign wife, + For she was hateful in his eyes, he feared + Her dark and dreadful deeds! If I refused, + My fatherland, his kingdom, I must flee. + +KING. And thou--? + +JASON. What could I? Was she not my wife, + That trusted to my arm to keep her safe? + Who challenged her, was he not then my foe? + Why, had he named some easier behest, + By Heaven, I had obeyed not even that! + Then how grant this? I laughed at his command. + +KING. And he--? + +JASON. Spake doom of banishment for both. + Forth from Iolcos on that selfsame day + We must depart, he said. But I would not, + And stayed. + Forthwith a grievous illness seized + The king, and through the town a murmur ran + Whisp'ring strange tidings: How the aged king, + Seated before his household shrine, whereon + They had hung the Fleece in honor of the god, + Gazed without ceasing on that golden prize, + And oft would cry that thence his brother's face + Looked down on him,--my father's, whom he slew + By guile, disputing of the Argo-quest. + Ay, that dead face peered down upon him now + From every glittering lock of that bright Fleece, + In search of which, false man! he sent me forth + To distant lands, in hope that I should perish! + At last, when all the king's house saw their need, + To me for succor his proud daughters came, + Begging my wife to heal him by her skill. + But I cried, "No! Am I to save the man + Who plotted certain death for me and mine?" + And those proud maidens turned again in tears. + I shut me up within my house, unheeding + Aught else that passed. Weeping, they came again, + And yet again; each time I said them nay. + And then one night, as I lay sleeping, came + A dreadful cry before my door! I waked + To find Acastus, my false uncle's son, + Storming my portal with loud, frenzied blows, + Calling me murderer, slayer of his sire! + That night the aged king had passed from life. + Up from my couch I sprang, and sought to speak, + But vainly, for the people's howls of rage + Drowned my weak cries. Then one among them cast + A stone, then others. But I drew my blade + And through the mob to safety cut my way. + Since then I've wandered all fair Hellas o'er, + Reviled of men, a torment to myself. + And, if thou, too, refuse to succor me, + Then am I lost indeed! + +KING. Nay, I have sworn + And I will keep my oath. But this thy wife-- + +JASON. Hear me, O king, before thou end that speech! + Needs must thou take us both, or none at all! + I were a happy man,--ay, born anew-- + Were she but gone forever. But no, no! + I must protect her--for she trusted me. + +KING. These magic arts she knows--'tis them I fear. + The power to injure, spells the will to do it. + Besides, these strange, suspicious deeds of hers-- + These are not all her guilt. + +JASON. Give her one chance. + Then, if she stay not quiet, hound her forth, + Hunt her, and slay her, me, and these my babes. + Yet, till that time, I pray thee let her try + If she can live at peace with this thy folk. + This boon I crave of thee by mightiest Zeus, + The god of strangers--ay, and call upon + The ancient bond of friendship that, long since, + Our fathers formed, mine in Iolcos, thine + In Corinth here. On that long-vanished day + They dreamed there might fall need of such a tie. + And, now that need is here, do thou thy part + And succor me, lest in like evil pass + Thou make the same request, and meet denial. + +KING. 'Tis the gods' will; I yield, against my judgment, + And she shall stay. But, look you, if she show + One sign that those wild ways are not forgot, + I drive her forth from out this city straight + And yield her up to those who seek her life! + Here in this meadow, where I found thee first, + A sacred altar shall be raised, to Zeus, + The god of strangers, consecrate and to + Thy murdered uncle Pelias' bloody shades. + Here will we kneel together and pray the gods + To send their blessing on thy coming here, + And turn to mercy that which bodes us ill.-- + Now to my royal city follow swift. + +[_He turns to his attendants, who approach._] + + See my behests are faithfully obeyed. + +[_As they turn to depart, the curtain falls._] + + + +ACT II + + +_A chamber in_ CREON'S _royal palace at Corinth_. CREUSA _is discovered +seated, while_ MEDEA _occupies a low stool before her, and holds a lyre +in her arm. She is clad in the Greek fashion._ + +CREUSA. Now pluck this string--the second--this one here. + +MEDEA. So, this way? + +CREUSA. Nay, thy fingers more relaxed. + +MEDEA. I cannot. + +CREUSA. 'Tis not hard, if thou'lt but try. + +MEDEA. I have tried, patiently; but 'tis no use! + +[_She lays the lyre aside and rises._] + + Were it a spear-haft, or the weapons fierce + Of the bloody hunt, these hands were quick enough. + +[_She raises her right hand and gazes at it reproachfully._] + + Rebellious fingers! I would punish them! + +CREUSA. Perverse one! When my heart was filled with joy + At thinking how 'twould gladden Jason's heart + To hear this song from thee! + +MEDEA. Ay, thou art right. + I had forgot that. Let me try once more. + The song will please him, think'st thou, truly + please him? + +CREUSA. Nay, never doubt it. 'Tis the song he sang + When he dwelt here with us in boyhood days. + Each time I heard it, joyfully I sprang + To greet him, for it meant he was come home. + +MEDEA (_eagerly_). + + Teach me the song again! + +CREUSA. Come, listen, then. + 'Tis but a short one, nor so passing sweet; + But then--he knew to sing it with such grace, + Such joy, such lordly pride--ay, almost scorn! + +[_She sings._] + + "Ye gods above, ye mighty gods, + Anoint my head, I pray; + Make strong my heart to bear my part + Right kingly in the fray, + To smite all foes, and steal the heart + Of all fair maids away!" + + +MEDEA. Yea, yea, all these the gods bestowed on him! + +CREUSA. All what? + +MEDEA. These gifts, of which the song doth tell. + +CREUSA. What gifts? + +MEDEA. "To smite all foes, and steal the heart + Of all fair maids away!" + +CREUSA. Is't so? I never thought on that before; + I did but sing the words I heard him sing. + +MEDEA. 'Twas so he stood on Colchis' hostile strand; + Before his burning glance our warriors cringed, + And that same glance kindled a fatal fire + In the soft breast of one unhappy maid; + She struggled, fled--until at last those flames, + So long hid deep within her heart, burst forth, + And rest and joy and peace to ashes burned + In one fierce holocaust of smoky flame. + 'Twas so he stood, all shining strength and grace, + A hero, nay, a god--and drew his victim + And drew and drew, until the victim came + To its own doom; and then he flung it down + Careless, and there was none would take it up. + +CREUSA. Art thou his wife, and speak'st such things of him? + +MEDEA. Thou know'st him not; I know his inmost soul.-- + In all the wide world there is none but he, + And all things else are naught to him but tools + To shape his deeds. He harbors no mean thoughts + Of paltry gain, not he; yet all his thoughts + Are of himself alone. He plays a game + with Fortune--now his own, and now another's. + If bright Fame beckon, he will slay a man + And do it gaily. Will he have a wife? + He goes and takes one. And though hearts should break + And lives be wasted--so he have his will, + What matters it to him? Oh, he does naught + That is not right--but right is what he wants! + Thou knowest him not; I've probed his inmost soul. + And when I think on all that he has wrought, + Oh, I could see him die, and laugh the while! + +CREUSA. Farewell! + +MEDEA. Thou goest? + +CREUSA. Can I longer stay + To list such words?--Ye gods! to hear a wife + Revile her husband thus! + +MEDEA. She should speak truth, + And mine is such an one as I have said. + +CREUSA. By Heaven, if I were wedded to a man, + E'en one so base and vile as thou hast named-- + 'Though Jason is _not_ so--and had I babes, + His gift, each bearing in his little face + His father's likeness, oh, I would love them dear, + Though they should slay me! + +MEDEA. Ay, an easy task + To set, but hard to do. + +CREUSA. And yet, methinks, + If easier, 'twere less sweet.--Have thou thy way + And say whate'er thou wilt; but I must go. + First thou dost charm my heart with noble words + And seek'st my aid to win his love again; + But now thou breakest forth in hate and scorn. + I have seen many evils among men, + But worst of all these do I count a heart + That knows not to forgive. So, fare thee well! + Learn to be better, truer! + +MEDEA. Art thou angry + +CREUSA. Almost. + +MEDEA. Alas, thou wilt not give me up, + Thou, too? Thou wilt not leave me? Be my help, + My friend, my kind protector! + +CREUSA. Now thou'rt gentle, + Yet, but a moment since, so full of hate! + +MEDEA. Hate for myself, but only love for him! + +CREUSA. Dost thou love Jason? + +MEDEA. Should I else be here? + +CREUSA. I've pondered that, but cannot understand.-- + Yet, if thou truly lov'st him, I will take thee + Back to my heart again, and show thee means + Whereby thou mayst regain his love.--I know + Those bitter moods of his, and have a charm + To scatter the dark clouds. Come, to our task! + I marked this morning how his face was sad + And gloomy. Sing that song to him; thou'lt see + How swift his brow will clear. Here is the lyre; + I will not lay it down till thou canst sing + The song all through. [_She seats herself._] + Nay, come! Why tarriest there + +MEDEA. I gaze on thee, and gaze on thee again, + And cannot have my fill of thy sweet face. + Thou gentle, virtuous maid, as fair in soul + As body, with a heart as white and pure + As are thy snowy draperies! Like a dove, + A pure, white dove with shining, outspread wings, + Thou hoverest o'er this life, nor yet so much + As dipp'st thy wing in this vile, noisome slough + Wherein we wallow, struggling to get free, + Each from himself. Send down one kindly beam + From out thy shining heaven, to fall in pity + Upon my bleeding breast, distraught with pain; + And all those ugly scars that grief and hate + And evil fortune e'er have written there, + Oh, cleanse thou these away with thy soft hands, + And leave thine own dear picture in their place! + That strength, that ever was my proudest boast + From youth, once tested, proved but craven weakness. + Oh, teach me how to make my weakness strong! + +[_She seats herself on the low stool at CREUSA's feet._] + + Here to thy feet for refuge will I fly, + And pour my tale of suffering in thine ear; + And thou shalt teach me all that I must do. + Like some meek handmaid will I follow thee, + Will pace before the loom from early morn, + Nay, set my hand to all those lowly tasks + Which maids of noble blood would scorn to touch + In Colchis, as but fit for toiling serfs, + Yet here they grace a queen. Oh, I'll forget + My sire was Colchis' king, and I'll forget + My ancestors were gods, and I'll forget + The past, and all that threatens still! + +[_She springs up and leaves _CREUSA's _side._] + + But no! + That can I not forget! + +CREUSA (_following her_). + + Why so distressed? + Men have forgotten many an evil deed + That chanced long since, ay, even the gods themselves + Remember not past sorrows. + +MEDEA (_embracing her_). + + Say'st thou so? + Oh, that I could believe it, could believe it! + +JASON _enters._ + +CREUSA (_turning to him_). + + Here is thy wife. See, Jason, we are friends! + +JASON. 'Tis well. + +MEDEA. Greetings, my lord.--She is so good, + Medea's friend and teacher she would be. + +JASON. Heaven speed her task! + +CREUSA. But why these sober looks? + We shall enjoy here many happy days! + I, sharing 'twixt my sire and you my love + And tender care, while thou and she, Medea,-- + +JASON. Medea! + +MEDEA. What are thy commands, my lord? + +JASON. Hast seen the children late? + +MEDEA. A moment since; + They are well and happy. + +JASON. Look to them again! + +MEDEA. I am just come from them. + +JASON. Go, go, I say! + +MEDEA. If 'tis thy wish-- + +JASON. It is. + +MEDEA. Then I obey. + +[_She departs._] + +CREUSA. Why dost thou bid her go? The babes are safe. + +JASON. Ah..! ho, a mighty weight is rolled away + From off my soul, and I can breathe again! + Her glance doth shrivel up my very heart, + And all that bitter hate, hid deep within + My bosom, well nigh strangles me to death! + +CREUSA. What words are these? Oh, ye all-righteous gods! + He speaks now even as she a moment since. + Who was it told me, wife and husband ever + Do love each other? + +JASON. Ay, and so they do, + When some fair, stalwart youth hath cast his glance + Upon a maid, whom straightway he doth make + The goddess of his worship. Timidly + He seeks her eyes, to learn if haply she + Seek his as well; and when their glances meet, + His soul is glad. Then to her father straight + And to her mother goes he, as is meet, + And begs their treasure, and they give consent. + Comes then the bridal day; from far and near + Their kinsmen gather; all the town has part + In their rejoicing. Richly decked with wreaths + And dainty blossoms, to the altar then + He leads his bride; and there a rosy flush, + Of maiden shyness born, plays on her cheek + The while she trembles with a holy fear + At what is none the less her dearest wish. + Upon her head her father lays his hands + And blesses her and all her seed to come. + Such happy wooing breeds undying love + 'Twixt wife and husband.--'Twas of such I dreamed. + Alas, it came not! What have I done, ye gods! + To be denied what ye are wont to give + Even to the poorest? Why have I alone + No refuge from the buffets of the world + At mine own hearth, no dear companion there, + My own, in truth, my own in plighted troth? + +CREUSA. Thou didst not woo thy wife as others, then? + Her father did not raise his hand to bless? + +JASON. He raised it, ay, but armed with a sword; + And 'twas no blessing, but a curse he spake. + But I--I had a swift and sweet revenge! + His only son is dead, and he himself + Lies dumb in the grave. His curse alone lives still-- + Or so it seems. + +CREUSA. Alas, how strange to think + Of all the change a few brief years have wrought! + Thou wert so soft and gentle, and art now + So stern. But I am still the selfsame maid + As then, have still the selfsame hopes and fears, + And what I then thought right, I think right still, + What then I blamed, cannot think blameless now.-- + But thou art changed. + +JASON. Ay, thou hast hit the truth! + The real misfortune in a hapless lot + Is this: that man is to himself untrue. + Here one must show him master, there must cringe + And bow the knee; here Justice moves a hair, + And there a grain; and, at his journey's end, + He stands another man than he who late + Set out upon that journey. And his loss + Is twofold--for the world has passed him by + In scorn, and his own self-respect is dead. + Naught have I done that in itself was bad, + Yet have had evil hopes, bad wishes, ay, + Unholy aspirations; and have stood + And looked in silence, while another sinned; + Or here have willed no evil, yet joined hands + With sin, forgetful how one wicked deed + Begets another.--Now at last I stand, + A sea of evils breaking all about, + And cannot say, "My hand hath done no wrong!"-- + O happy Youth, couldst thou forever stay! + O joyous Fancy, blest Forgetfulness, + Time when each moment cradles some great deed + And buries it! How, in a swelling tide + Of high adventure, I disported me, + Cleaving the mighty waves with stalwart breast! + But manhood comes, with slow and sober steps; + And Fancy flees away, while naked Truth + Creeps soft to fill its place and brood upon + Full many a care. No more the present seems + A fair tree, laden down with luscious fruits, + 'Neath whose cool shadows rest and joy are found, + But is become a tiny seedling which, + When buried in the earth, will sprout and bud + And bloom, and bear a future of its own. + What shall thy task in life be? Where thy home? + What of thy wife and babes? What thine own fate, + And theirs?--Such constant musings tantalize + the soul. [_He seats himself._] + +CREUSA. What should'st thou care for such? 'Tis all decreed, + All ordered for thee. + +JASON. Ordered? Ay, as when + Over the threshold one thrusts forth a bowl + Of broken meats, to feed some begging wretch! + I am Prince Jason. Spells not that enough + Of sorrow? Must I ever henceforth sit + Meek at some stranger's board, or beg my way, + My little babes about me, praying pity + From each I meet? My sire was once a king, + And so am I; yet who would care to boast + He is like Jason? Still--[_He rises._] + I passed but now + Down through the busy market-place and through + Yon wide-wayed city. Dost remember how + I strode in my young pride through those same streets + What time I came to take farewell of thee + Long since, ere sailed the Argo? How the folk + Came thronging, surging, how each street was choked + With horses, chariots, men--a dazzling blaze + Of color? How the eager gazers climbed + Up on the house-tops, swarmed on every tower, + And fought for places as they would for gold? + The air rang with the cymbals' brazen crash + And with the shouts of all that mighty throng + Crying, "Hail, Jason!" Thick they crowded round + That gallant band attired in rich array, + Their shining armor gleaming in the sun, + The least of them a hero and a king, + And in their midst the leader they adored. + I was the man that captained them, that brought + Them safe to Greece again; and it was I + That all this folk did greet with loud acclaim.-- + I trod these selfsame streets an hour ago, + But no eye sought me, greeting heard I none; + Only, the while I stood and gazed about, + I heard one rudely grumbling that I had + No right to block the way, and stand and stare. + +CREUSA. Thou wilt regain thy proud place once again, + If thou but choose. + +JASON. Nay, all my hopes are dead; + My fight is fought, and I am down, to rise + No more. + +CREUSA. I have a charm will save thee yet. + +JASON. Ay, all that thou would'st say, I know before: + Undo the past, as though it ne'er had been. + I never left my fatherland, but stayed + With thee and thine in Corinth, never saw + The Golden Fleece, nor stepped on Colchis' strand, + Ne'er saw that woman that I now call wife! + Send thou her home to her accursed land, + Cause her to take with her all memory + That she was ever here.--Do thou but this, + And I will be a man again, and dwell + With men. + +CREUSA. Is that thy charm? I know a better; + A simple heart, I mean, a mind at peace. + +JASON. Ah, thou art good! Would I could learn this peace + Of thee! + +CREUSA. To all that choose, the gods will give it. + Thou hadst it once, and canst have yet again. + +JASON. Dost thou think often on our happy youth? + +CREUSA. Ay, many a time, and gladly. + +JASON. How we were + One heart, one soul? + +CREUSA. I made thee gentler, thou + Didst give me courage.--Dost remember how + I set thy helm upon my head? + +JASON. And how + Because it was too large, thy tiny hands + Did hold it up, the while it rested soft + Upon thy golden curls? Creusa, those + Were happy days! + +CREUSA. Dost mind thee how my father + Was filled with joy to see it, and, in jest, + Did name us bride and bridegroom? + +JASON. Ay--but that + Was not to be. + +CREUSA. Like many another hope + That disappoints us.--Still, what matters it? + We mean to be no less good friends, I trust! + +[MEDEA _reenters._] + +MEDEA. I've seen the children. They are safe. + +JASON (_absently_). + + 'Tis well. + +(_Continuing his revery._) + + All those fair spots our happy youth once knew, + Linked to my memory with slender threads, + All these I sought once more, when first I came + Again to Corinth, and I cooled my breast + And dipped my burning lips in that bright spring + Of my lost childhood. Once again, methought, + I drove my chariot through the market-place, + Guiding my fiery steeds where'er I would, + Or, wrestling with some fellow of the crowd, + Gave blow for blow, while thou didst stand to watch, + Struck dumb with terror, filled with angry fears, + Hating, for my sake, all who raised a hand + Against me. Or again I seemed to be + Within the solemn temple, where we knelt + Together, there, and there alone, forgetful + Each of the other, our soft-moving lips + Up-sending to the gods from our two breasts + A single heart, made one by bonds of love. + +CREUSA. Dost thou remember all these things so well? + +JASON. They are the cup from which, in greedy draughts, + I drink the only comfort left me now. + +MEDEA (_who has gone silently up-stage and taken up again the discarded +lyre_). + + Jason, I know a song! + +JASON (_not noticing her_). + + And then the tower! + Know'st thou that tower upon the sea-strand there, + Where by thy father thou didst stand and weep, + What time I climbed the Argo's side, to sail + On that far journey? For thy falling tears + I had no eyes, my heart but thirsted deep + For deeds of prowess. Lo, there came a breeze + That loosed the wimple bound about thy locks + And dropped it on the waves. Straightway I sprang + Into the sea, and caught it up, to keep + In memory of thee when far away. + +CREUSA. Hast thou it still? + +JASON. Nay, think how many years + Are gone since then, and with them this, thy token, + Blown far by some stray breeze. + +MEDEA. I know a song! + +JASON (_ignoring her_). + + Then didst thou cry to me, "Farewell, my brother!" + +CREUSA. And now my cry is, "Brother, welcome home!" + +MEDEA (_plaintively_). + + Jason, I know a song. + +CREUSA. She knows a song + That thou wert wont to sing. I pray thee, listen, + And she will sing it thee. + +JASON. A song? Well, well! + Where was I, then?--From childhood I was wont + To dream and dream, and babble foolishly + Of things that were not and could never be. + That habit clung to me, and mocks me now. + For, as the youth lives ever in the future, + So the grown man looks alway to the past, + And, young or old, we know not how to live + Within the present. In my dreams I was + A mighty hero, girded for great deeds, + And had a loving wife, and gold, and much + Goodly possessions, and a peaceful home + Wherein slept babes of mine. + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + What is it thou + Wouldst have with me? + +CREUSA. She asks to sing a song + That thou in youth wert wont to sing to us. + +JASON (_to_ MEDEA). + + And _thou_ hast learned it? + +MEDEA. I have done my best. + +JASON. Go to! Dost think to give me back my youth, + Or happiness to win again for me, + By singing me some paltry, childish tune? + Give o'er! We will not part, but live together; + That is our fate, it seems, as things have chanced; + But let me bear no word of foolish songs + Or suchlike nonsense! + +CREUSA. Let her sing, I pray. + She hath conned it o'er and o'er, to know it well, + Indeed she hath! + +JASON. Well, sing it, sing it then! + +CREUSA (_to _MEDEA). + + So, pluck the second string. Thou know'st it still? + +MEDEA (_drawing her hand across her brow as if in pain_). + + I have forgotten! + +JASON. Ay, said I not so? + She cannot sing it.--Other songs are hers, + Like that which, with her magic arts, she sang + Unto the dragon, that he fell asleep. + That was no pure, sweet strain, like this of thine! + +CREUSA (_whispering in _MEDEA's _ear_). + + "Ye gods above, ye mighty gods--." + +MEDEA (_repeating it after her_). + + "Ye gods above--" + O gods in heaven, O righteous, mighty gods! + +[_She lets the lyre fall to the ground, and clasps both hands before her +eyes._] + +CREUSA. She weeps! Canst be so stern and hard? + +JASON (_holding_ CREUSA _back from_ MEDEA). + + Thou art + A child, and canst not know us, what we are! + The hand she feels upon her is the gods', + That reacheth her e'en here, with bloody gripe! + Then strive not thou to balk the gods' just doom. + O, hadst thou seen her in the dragon's cave, + Seen how she leaped to meet that serpent grim, + Shot forth the poisonous arrows of her tongue, + And darted hate and death from blazing eyes, + Then were thy bosom steeled against her tears!-- + Take thou the lyre, sing thou to me that song, + And exorcise the hateful demon here + That strangles, chokes me! Thou canst sing the song, + Mayhap, though she cannot. + +CREUSA. Ay, that I will. + +[_She stoops to take up the lyre._] + +MEDEA (_gripping_ CREUSA's _arm with one hand and holding her back, +while with the other she herself picks up the lyre_). + + Let be! + +CREUSA. Right gladly, if thou'lt play. + +MEDEA. Not I! + +JASON. Thou wilt not give it her? + +MEDEA. No! + +JASON. Nor to me? + +MEDEA. No! + +JASON (_striding up to her and grasping at the lyre_). + + I will take it, then! + +MEDEA (_without moving from her place, but drawing the lyre away from +him_). + + No! + +JASON. Give it me! + +MEDEA (_crushing the lyre, so that it breaks with a loud, cracking +sound_). + + Here, take it! Broken! Thy fair lyre is broken! + +[_She flings the pieces down in front of_ CREUSA.] + +CREUSA (_starting back in horror_). + + Dead! + +MEDEA (_looking swiftly about her as in a daze_). + + Dead? Who speaks of death? I am alive! + +[_She stands there violently agitated and staring dazedly before her. A +trumpet-blast sounds without._] + +JASON. Ha, what is that? + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + Why standest silent there? + Thou'lt rue this moment, that I know full well! + +[_Another trumpet-blast without. The _KING_ appears suddenly at the +door._] + +JASON (_hurrying to meet him_). + + What means that warlike trumpet-blast without? + +KING. Unhappy man, canst ask? + +JASON. I do, my lord! + +KING. The stroke that I so feared is fall'n at last.-- + Before my palace gates a herald stands, + Sent hither from the Amphictyons' holy seat, + Seeking for news of thee and of thy wife, + Crying to Heaven the doom of banishment + On both! + +JASON. This, too? + +KING. So is it--. Peace, he comes. + +[_The palace doors swing open and a_ HERALD _enters, followed by two +trumpeters and, at a little distance, by a numerous suite._] + +HERALD. The blessing of the gods upon this house! + +KING (_solemnly_). + + Who art thou? On what errand art thou come? + +HERALD. A herald of the gods am I, sent forth + From the ancient council of the Amphictyons + That speaks its judgments in that holy town + Of freedom, Delphi. And I follow close, + With cries of vengeance, on the guilty tracks + Of those false kinsmen of King Pelias, + Who ruled Iolcos, ere he fell in death. + +KING. Thou seek'st the guilty? Seek in his own house, + 'Mongst his own children seek them--but not here! + +HERALD. Here have I found them. Here I'll speak my charge: + Thou art accursed, Jason, thou, and she, + Thy wife! With evil magic are ye charged, + Wherewith thine uncle darkly ye did slay. + +JASON. A lie! Naught know I of mine uncle's death! + +HERALD. Then ask thy wife, there; she will know, perchance. + +JASON. Was 't she that slew him? + +HERALD. Not with her own hand, + But by those magic arts ye know so well, + Which ye have brought here from that foreign land. + For, when the king fell sick--perchance e'en then + A victim, for the signs of his disease + Were strange and dreadful--to Medea then + His daughters came, and begged for healing balms + From her who knew so well to heal. And she + Gave swift consent, and followed them. + +JASON. Nay, hold! + She went not! I forbade it, and she stayed. + +HERALD. The first time, yes. But when, unknown to thee, + They came again, she companied them back, + Only demanding, if she healed the king, + The Golden Fleece in payment for her aid; + It was a hateful thing to her, she said; + And boded evil. And those foolish maids, + All joyful, promised. So she came with them + To the king's chamber, where he lay asleep. + Straightway she muttered strange and secret words + Above him, and his sleep grew ever deep + And deeper. Next, to let the bad blood out, + She bade them ope his veins. And even this + They did, whereat his panting breath grew still + And tranquil; then the gaping wounds were bound, + And those sad maids were glad to think him healed. + Forth went Medea then, as she hath said; + His daughters, too, departed, for he slept. + But, on a sudden, came a fearful cry + From out his chamber! Swift his daughters sped + To aid him, and--oh, ghastly, horrible!-- + There on the pavement lay the aged king, + His body twisted in a hideous knot, + The cloths that bound his veins all torn away + From off his gaping wounds, whence, in a black + And sluggish stream, his blood came welling forth. + He lay beside the altar, where the Fleece + For long was wont to hang--and that was gone! + But, in that selfsame hour, thy wife was seen, + The golden gaud upon her shoulder flung, + Swift hasting through the night. + +MEDEA (_dully, staring straight before her_). + + 'Twas my reward!-- + I shudder still, when'er I think upon + The old man's furious rage! + +HERALD. Now, that no longer + Such horrors bide here, poisoning this land + With their destructive breath, I here proclaim + The solemn doom of utter banishment + On Jason, the Thessalian, Aeson's son, + Spouse of a wicked witch-wife, and himself + An arrant villain; and I drive him forth + From out this land of Greece, wherein the gods + Are wont to walk with men; to exile hence, + To flight and wandering I drive him forth, + And with him, this, his wife, ay, and his babes, + The offspring of his marriage-bed. Henceforth + No rood of this, his fatherland, be his, + No share in her protection or her rights! + +[_He raises his hand and three times makes solemn proclamation, turning +to different quarters._] + + Banished are Jason and Medea! + Medea and Jason are banished! + Banished are Jason and Medea! + + And whoso harbors him, or gives him aid, + After three days and nights are come and gone, + Upon that man I here declare the doom + Of death, if he be burgher; if a king, + Or city-state, then war shall be proclaimed. + So runs the Amphictyons' reverend decree, + The which I here proclaim, as is most meet, + That each may know its terms, and so beware.-- + The blessing of the gods upon this house! + +[_He turns to depart._] + +JASON. Why stand ye there, ye walls, and crash not down + To save this king the pains of slaying me? + +KING. A moment yet, sir Herald. Hear this, too. + +[_He turns to_ JASON.] + + Think'st thou I rue the promise I have made? + If I could think thee guilty, ay, wert thou + My very son, I'd give thee up to these + That seek thee. But thou art not! Wherefore, I + Will give thee shelter. Stay thou here.--Who dares + To question Creon's friend, whose innocence + Stands pledged by mine own words? Who dares, I say, + To lay a hand upon my son to be? + Yea, Herald, on my son to be, the spouse + Of this my daughter! 'Twas my dearest wish + In happy days long past, when Fortune smiled; + Now, when he's compassed round by stormy waves + Of evil fortune, it shall come to pass. + Ay, she shall be thy wife, and thou shalt stay + Here, with thy father. And I will myself + Make answer for it to the Amphictyons. + Who now will cry him guilty, when the king + Hath sworn him free from blame, and given him + The hand of his own daughter? + +(_To the_ HERALD.) + + Take my words + To those that sent thee hither. Go in peace! + The blessing of the gods be on thy head! + +[_The_ HERALD _goes._] + +KING (_turning to_ MEDEA). + + This woman, whom the wilderness spewed up + To be a bane to thee and all good men, + Her that hath wrought the crimes men lay to thee, + Her do I banish forth from out this land + And all its borders. Death shall be her lot + And portion, if the morrow find her here! + +(_To_ MEDEA.) + + Depart from out my fathers' pious town, + And make the air thou poisonest pure again! + +MEDEA. Is that thy sentence? Falls it, then, on me, + And me alone? And yet I say to thee, + O king, I did it not! + +KING. Nay, thou hast done + Enough of evil since he saw thee first. + Away with thee from out my house and town! + +MEDEA (_turning to _JASON). + + Say, must I go? So be it--but follow me! + We bear the blame together, let us bear + The punishment as well! Dost thou not know + The ancient proverb: "None shall die alone?" + One home for both, one body--and one death! + Long since, when Death stared grimly in our eyes, + We sware that oath. Now keep it! Follow me! + +JASON. Nay, touch me not! Begone from me, thou curse + Of all my days, who hast robbed me of my life + And happiness, from whom, when first mine eyes + Met thine, I shrank and shuddered, though I thought + Those fearful struggles in my very soul + Were but the signs of rash and foolish love. + Hence, to that wilderness that cradled thee! + Back to that bloody folk whose child thou art + In very thought and deed! But, ere thou go, + Give back to me what thou hast stol'n away, + Thou wanton! Give Prince Jason back to me! + +MEDEA. Is't Jason thou desirest? Take him, then! + But who shall give Medea back to me? + Was't I that in thy homeland sought thee out? + Was't I that lured thee from thy father's house? + Was't I that forced, ay, forced my love on thee? + Was't I that wrenched thee from thy fatherland, + Made thee the butt of strangers' haughty scorn, + Or dragged thee into wantonness and crime? + Thou nam'st me Wanton?--Woe is me! I am! + Yet--how have I been wanton, and for whom? + Let these pursue me with their venomous hate, + Ay, drive me forth and slay me! 'Tis their right, + Because I am in truth a dreadful thing + And hateful unto them, and to myself + A deep abyss of evil, terrible! + Let all the world heap curses on my head, + Save only thee alone! Nay, thou shalt not! + 'Twas thou inspiredst all these horrid deeds, + Yea, thou alone. Dost thou not call to mind + How I did clasp my hands about thy knees + That day thou bad'st me steal the Golden Fleece? + And, though I sooner far had slain myself, + Yet thou, with chilly scorn, commandedst me + To take it. Dost remember how I held + My brother in my bosom, faint to death + From that fierce stroke of thine that laid him low, + Until he tore him from his sister's arms + To 'scape thy frenzied vengeance, and leaped swift + Into the sea, to find a kinder death + Beneath its waves? Dost thou remember?--Nay, + Come here to me, and shrink not so away + To shelter thee behind that maiden there! + +JASON (_coming forward_). + + I hate thee,--but I fear thee not! + +MEDEA. Then come! + +[_She addresses him earnestly in low tones._] + + Dost thou remember--Nay, look not on me + So haughtily!--how, on that very day + Before thine uncle died, his daughters went + So sorrowful and hopeless forth from me, + Because I sent them back at thy behest, + And would not aid them? Then thou cam'st, alone, + Unto my chamber, looking in mine eyes + So earnestly, as though some purpose grim, + Deep hidden in thy heart, would search my soul + To find its like therein? And how thou saidst + That they were come to me for healing balms + To cure their old, sick father? 'Twas thy wish + That I should brew a cool, refreshing draught + To cure him of his ills forevermore-- + And thee as well! Hast thou forgotten that? + Nay, look at me, eye straight to eye, if thou + Dost dare! + +JASON. Thou demon! Why these frantic words, + This rage against me? Why recall to life + These shadows of my dreams and make them real, + Why hold a mirror up to me wherein + Naught but thine own vile thoughts do show, and say + 'Tis I that look therefrom? Why call my thoughts + From out the past to charge me with thy crimes? + Naught know I of thy plans and plottings, naught! + From the beginning I have hated thee, + I've cursed the day when first I saw thy face; + 'Tis pity only held me at thy side! + But now I cast thee off forevermore + With bitter curses, e'en as all the world + Doth curse thee! + +MEDEA (_throwing herself at his feet with a cry of agony_). + + No! My love, my husband! No! + +JASON (_roughly_). + + Begone! + +MEDEA. That day my old, gray father cursed + My name, thou gay'st thy promise, nevermore + To leave me, nevermore! Now keep thy word! + +JASON. Thine own rash deeds have made that promise naught, + And here I give thee to thy father's curse. + +MEDEA. I hate thee!--Come! Come, O my husband! + +JASON. Back! + +MEDEA. Come to my loving arms! 'Twas once thy wish! + +JASON. Back! See, I draw my sword. I'll strike thee dead, + Unless thou yield, and go! + +MEDEA (_approaching him fearlessly_). + + Then strike me, strike! + +CREUSA (_to_ JASON). + + Hold! Let her go in peace, and harm her not! + +MEDEA. Ha! Thou here, too, thou snow-white, silvery snake? + Oh, hiss no more, nor shoot thy forked tongue + With honied words upon it! Thou hast got + What thou didst wish--a husband at the last! + For this, then, didst thou show thyself so soft + And smooth-caressing, for this only wind + Thy snaky coils so close about my neck? + Oh, if I had a dagger, I would smite + Thee, and thy father, that so righteous king! + For this, then, hast thou sung those winsome songs, + Taught me to play the lyre, and tricked me out + In these rich garments? + +[_She suddenly rends her mantle in twain._] + + Off with you! Away + With the vile gifts of that accursed jade! + +[_She turns to _JASON.] + + See! As I tear this mantle here in twain, + Pressing one part upon my throbbing breast, + And cast the other from me at thy feet, + So do I rend my love, the common tie + That bound us each to each. What follows now + I cast on thee, thou miscreant, who hast spurned + The holy claims of an unhappy wife!-- + Give me my children now, and let me go! + +KING. The children stay with us. + +MEDEA. They may not go + With their own mother? + +KING. With a wanton, no! + +MEDEA (_to_ JASON). + + Is it thy will, too? + +JASON. Ay! + +MEDEA (_hastening to the door_). + + Come forth, my babes! + Your mother calls you! + +KING. Back! + +MEDEA. 'Tis, then, thy will + That I go forth alone?--'Tis well, so be it! + I say but this, O king: Before the gray + Of evening darken, give me back my babes! + Enough for now! + +(_Turning to_ CREUSA.) + + But thou, who standest there + In glistering raiment, cloaking thy delight, + In thy false purity disdaining me, + I tell thee, thou wilt wring those soft, white hands + In agony, and envy me my lot, + Hard though it seemeth now! + +JASON. How dar'st thou? + +KING. Hence! + +MEDEA. I go, but I will come again, to take + What is mine own, and bring what ye deserve. + +KING. Ha! Wouldst thou threaten us before our face? + If words will not suffice-- + +(_To his attendants._) + + Then teach ye her + How she should bear herself before a king! + +MEDEA. Stand back! Who dares to block Medea's path? + Mark well, O king, this hour when I depart. + Trust me, thou never saw'st a blacker one! + Make way! I go,--and take with me revenge! + +[_She goes out._] + +KING. Our punishment, at least, will follow thee! + +(_To_ CREUSA.) + + Nay, tremble not. We'll keep thee safe from her! + +CREUSA. I wonder only, whether what we do + Be right? If so, no power can work us harm! + +(_The curtain falls._) + + + +ACT III + + +_The outer court of CREON'S palace. In the background the entrance to +the royal apartments; on the right at the side a colonnade leading to_ +MEDEA's _apartments._ + +MEDEA _is standing in the foreground, behind her at a distance _GORA _is +seen speaking to a servant of the king._ + +GORA. Say to the king: + Medea takes no message from a slave. + Hath he aught to say to her, + He must e'en come himself. + Perchance she'll deign to hear him. + +[_The slave departs._] + +(GORA _comes forward and addresses _MEDEA.) + + They think that thou wilt go, + Taming thy hate, forgetting thy revenge. + The fools! + Or wilt thou go? Wilt thou? + I could almost believe thou wilt. + For thou no longer art the proud Medea, + The royal seed of Colchis' mighty king, + The wise and skilful daughter of a wise + And skilful mother. + Else hadst thou not been patient, borne their gibes + So long, even until now! + +MEDEA. Ye gods! O hear her! Borne! Been patient! + So long, even until now! + +GORA. I counseled thee to yield, to soften, + When thou didst seek to tarry yet awhile; + But thou wert blind, ensnared; + The heavy stroke had not yet fallen, + Which I foresaw, whereof I warned thee first. + But, now that it is fall'n, I bid thee stay! + They shall not laugh to scorn this Colchian wife, + Heap insult on the blood of our proud kings! + Let them give back thy babes, + The offshoots of that royal oak, now felled, + Or perish, fall themselves, + In darkness and in night! + Is all prepared for flight? + Or hast thou other plans? + +MEDEA. First I will have my children. For the rest, + My way will be made plain. + +GORA. Then thou wilt flee? + +MEDEA. I know not, yet. + +GORA. Then they will laugh at thee! + +MEDEA. Laugh at me? No! + +GORA. What is thy purpose, then? + +MEDEA. I have no heart to plan or think at all. + Over the silent abyss + Let dark night brood! + +GORA. If thou wouldst flee, then whither? + +MEDEA (_sorrowfully_). + + Whither? Ah, whither? + +GORA. Here in this stranger-land + There is no place for us. They hate thee sore, + These Greeks, and they will slay thee! + +MEDEA. Slay me? Me? + Nay, it is I will slay them! + +GORA. And at home, + There in far Colchis, danger waits us, too! + +MEDEA. O Colchis, Colchis! O my fatherland! + +GORA. Thou hast heard the tale, how thy father died + When thou wentest forth, and didst leave thy home, + And thy brother fell? He died, says the tale, + But methinks 'twas not so? Nay, he gripped his grief, + Sharper far than a sword, and, raging 'gainst Fate, + 'Gainst himself, fell on death! + +MEDEA. Dost thou, too, join my foes? + Wilt thou slay me? + +GORA. Nay, hark! I warned thee. I said: + "Flee these strangers, new-come; most of all flee this man, + Their leader smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor!" + +MEDEA. "Smooth-tongued, the dissembler, the traitor" + --were these thy words? + +GORA. Even these. + +MEDEA. And I would not believe? + +GORA. Thou wouldst not; but into the deadly net + Didst haste, that now closes over thine head. + +MEDEA. "A smooth-tongued traitor!" Yea, that is the word! + Hadst thou said but that, I had known in time; + But thou namedst him foe to us, hateful, and dread, + While friendly he seemed and fair, and I hated him not. + +GORA. Thou lovest him, then? + +MEDEA. I? Love? + I hate and shudder at him + As at falsehood, treachery, + Black horrors--as at myself! + +GORA. Then punish him, strike him low! + Avenge thy brother, thy sire, + Our fatherland and our gods, + Our shame-yea, mine, and thine! + +MEDEA. First I will have my babes; + All else is hidden in night. + What think'st thou of this?--When he comes + Treading proud to his bridal with her, + That maid whom I hate, + If, from the roof of the palace above him, + Medea crash down at his feet and lie there, + A ghastly corpse? + +GORA. 'Twere a sweet revenge! + +MEDEA. Or if, at the bridal-chamber's door, + I lay her dead in her blood, + Beside her the children--Jason's children--dead? + +GORA. But thyself such revenge would hurt, and not him. + +MEDEA. Ah, I would that he loved me still, + That I might slay myself, and make him groan! + But what of that maid, so false, so pure? + +GORA. Ha! There thou strikest nearer to the mark! + +MEDEA. Peace, peace! Back, whence ye came, ye evil thoughts! + Back into silence, into darkest night! + +[_She covers her face with her veil._] + +GORA. Those heroes all, who made with him + The wanton Argo-voyage hence, + The gods above have recompensed + With just requital, swift revenge. + Death and disgrace have seized them all + Save one--how long shall he go free? + Each day I listen greedily, + And joy to hear how they have died, + How fell these glorious sons of Greece, + The robber-band that fought their way + Back from far Colchis. Thracian maids + Rent limb from limb sweet Orpheus' frame; + And Hylas found a watery grave; + Pirithoues and Theseus pierced + Even to Hades' darksome realm + To rob that mighty lord of shades + Of his radiant spouse, Persephone; + But then he seized, and holds them there + For aye in chains and endless night. + +MEDEA (_swiftly snatching her veil from before her face_). + + Because they came to steal his wife? + Good! Good! 'Twas Jason's crime, nay, less! + +GORA. Great Heracles forsook his wife, + For he was snared by other charms, + And in revenge she sent to him + A linen tunic, which he took + And clad himself therewith--and sank + To earth in hideous agonies; + For she had smeared it secretly + With poison and swift death. He sank + To earth, and Oeta's wooded heights + Were witness how he died in flames! + +MEDEA. She wove it, then, that tunic dire + That slew him? + +GORA. Ay, herself. + +MEDEA. Herself! + +GORA. Althea 'twas--his mother--smote + The mighty Meleager down + Who slew the Calydonian boar; + The mother slew her child. + +MEDEA. Was she + Forsaken by her husband, too? + +GORA. Nay, he had slain her brother. + +MEDEA. Who? + The husband + +GORA. Nay, her son, I mean. + +MEDEA. And when the deed was done, she died? + +GORA. She liveth yet. + +MEDEA. To do a deed + Like that--and live! Oh, horrible! + Thus much do I know, thus much I see clear + Not unavenged shall I suffer wrong; + What that vengeance shall be, I know not,--would not know. + Whatso'er I can do, he deserves,--ay, the worst! + But--mankind are so weak, + So fain to grant time for the sinner to feel remorse! + +GORA. Remorse? Ask thy lord if he rue his deed! + For, see! He draws nigh with hasty steps. + +MEDEA. And with him the king, my bitter foe, + Whose counsel hath led my lord astray. + Him must I flee, for I cannot tame + My hatred. + +[_She goes swiftly toward the palace._] + + But if lord Jason wish + To speak with me, then bid him come in, + To my side in the innermost chambers--there + I would parley with him, not here + By the side of the man who is my foe. + They come. Away! + +[_She disappears into the palace._] + +GORA. Lo, she is gone! + And I am left to deal with the man + Who is killing my child, who hath brought it to pass + That I lay my head on a foreign soil, + And must hide my tears of bitter woe, + Lest I see a smile on the lips of these strangers here. + +_The_ KING _and _JASON _enter._ + +KING. Why hath thy mistress fled? 'Twill serve her not + +GORA. Fled? Nay, she went, because she hates thy face + +KING. Summon her forth! + +GORA. She will not come. + +KING. She shall! + +GORA. Then go thou in thyself and call her forth, + If thou dost dare. + +KING (_angrily_). + + Where am I, then, and who, + That this mad woman dares to spite me thus? + The servant mirrors forth the mistress' soul-- + Servant and mistress mirror forth that land + Of darkness that begat them! Once again + I tell thee, call her forth! + +GORA (_pointing to Jason_). + + There stands the man + That she would speak with. Let him go within-- + If he hath courage for it. + +JASON. Get thee gone, + Old witch, whom I have hated from the first! + Tell her, who is so like thee, she must come. + +GORA. Ah, if she were like me, thou wouldst not speak + In such imperious wise! I promise thee + That she shall know of it, and to thy dole! + +JASON. I would have speech with her. + +GORA. Go in! + +JASON. Not I! + 'Tis she that shall come forth. Go thou within + And tell her so! + +GORA. Well, well, I go, if but + To rid me of the sight of you, my lords; + Ay, and I'll bear your summons, but I know + Full well she will not come, for she is weak + And feels her sickness all too grievously. + +[_She goes into the palace._] + +KING. Not one day longer will I suffer her + To stay in Corinth. This old dame but now + Gave utterance to the dark and fell designs + On which yon woman secretly doth brood. + Methinks her presence is a constant threat. + Thy doubts, I hope, are laid to rest at last? + +JASON. Fulfil, O King, thy sentence on my wife! + She can no longer tarry where I am, + So, let her go; the sentence is not harsh. + Forsooth, though I am less to blame than she, + My lot is bitt'rer, harder far than hers. + She but returns to that grim wilderness + Where she was born, and, like a restive colt + From whom the galling yoke is just removed, + Will rush to freedom, and become once more + Untamed and stubborn. + But my place is here; + Here must I sit and while away the days + In meek inaction, burdened with the scorn + And scoffing of mankind, mine only task + Dully to muse upon my vanished past. + +KING. Thou wilt be great and famous yet again, + Believe me. Like the bow which, once set free + From the fierce strain, doth speed the arrow swift + And straight unto its mark, whenso the hand + Is loosed that bent it, so wilt thou spring back + And be thyself again, once she is gone. + +JASON. Naught feel I in my breast to feed such hopes! + Lost is my name, my fame; I am no more + Than Jason's shadow, not that prince himself. + +KING. The world, my son, is not so harsh as thou: + An older man's misstep is sin and crime; + The youth's, a misstep only, which he may + Retrace, and mend his error. All thy deeds + In Colchis, when thou went a hot-head boy, + Will be forgot, if thou wilt show thyself + Henceforth a man. + +JASON. O, might I trust thy words, + I could be happy once again! + +KING. Let her + But leave thy side, and thou wilt say I'm right. + Before the Amphictyons' judgment-seat I'll go + And speak for thee, defend thy righteous cause, + And prove that it was she alone, Medea, + Who did those horrid deeds wherewith thou'rt charged, + Prove her the wanton, her the darksome witch. + Lifted shall be the doom of banishment + From off thy brow. If not, then thou shalt rise + In all thy stubborn strength, and to the breeze + Unfurl the glorious banner of pure gold + Which thou didst bring from earth's most distant land, + And, like a rushing torrent, all the youth + Of Greece will stream to serve thee once again + And rally 'round thy standard to oppose + All foes that come, rally 'round thee, now purged + Of all suspicion, starting life anew, + The glorious hope of Greece, and of the Fleece + The mighty hero!--Thou hast got it still? + +JASON. The Fleece? + +KING. Ay. + +JASON. Nay, not I. + +KING. And yet thy wife + Bore it away from old King Pelias' house. + +JASON. Then she must have it still. + +KING. If so, then she + Shall straightway yield it up, perforce. It is + The pledge and symbol of thy power to come. + Ay, thou shalt yet be strong and great again, + Thou only son of my old friend! A king + Am I, and have both wealth and power, the which + With mine own daughter's spouse I'll gladly share. + +JASON. And I will go to claim the heritage + My fathers left me, of that false man's son + That keeps it from me. For I, too, am rich, + Could I but have my due. + +KING. Peace! Look, she comes + Who still doth vex us. But our task is brief. + +MEDEA _comes out of the palace, attended by_ GORA. + +MEDEA. What wouldst thou with me? + +KING. I did send thee late + Some slaves to speak my will, whom thou didst drive + With harsh words forth, and didst demand to hear + From mine own lips whate'er I had to say, + What my commands and what thou hadst to do. + +MEDEA. Say on! + +KING. Naught strange or new have I to tell. + I would but speak once more the doom I set + Upon thy head, and add thereto that thou + Must forth today. + +MEDEA. And why today? + +KING. The threats + That thou halt uttered 'gainst my daughter's life-- + For those against mine own I do not care: + The savage moods that thou of late hast shown, + All these do warn me how thy presence here + Bodes ill. Wherefore, today thou must begone! + +MEDEA. Give me my babes, and I will go--perhaps! + +KING. Nay, no "Perhaps!" Thou goest! But the babes + Stay here! + +MEDEA. How? Mine own babes? But I forget + To whom I speak. Let me have speech with him, + My husband, standing there. + +KING. Nay, hear her not! + +MEDEA (_to _JASON). + + I pray thee, let me speak with thee! + +JASON. Well, well, + So be it, then, that thou may'st see I have + No fear of any words of thine to me. + +(_To the_ KING.) + + Leave us, my lord! I'll hear what she would say. + +KING. I go, but I am fearful. She is sly + And cunning! [_He departs._] + +MEDEA. So, he's gone! No stranger now + Is here to vex us, none to come between + Husband and wife, and, what our hearts do feel, + That we can speak out clear.--Say first, my lord, + What are thy plans, thy wishes? + +JASON. Thou dost know. + +MEDEA. I guess thy will, but all thy secret thoughts + I know not. + +JASON. Be contented with the first, + For they are what decide. + +MEDEA. Then I must go? + +JASON. Go! + +MEDEA. And today? + +JASON. Today! + +MEDEA. And thou canst stand + So calm before me and speak such a word, + Nor drop thine eyes for shame, nor even blush? + +JASON. I must needs blush, if I should say aught else! + +MEDEA. Ha! Good! Well done! Speak ever words like these + When thou wouldst clear thyself in others' eyes, + But leave such idle feigning when thou speak'st + With me! + +JASON. Dost call my dread of horrid deeds + Which thou hast done, a sham, and idle, too? + Thou art condemned by men; the very gods + Have damned thee! And I give thee up to them + And to their judgment! 'Tis a fate, in sooth, + Thou richly hast deserved! + +MEDEA. Who is this man, + This pious, virtuous man with whom I speak? + Is it not Jason? Strives he to seem mild? + O, mild and gentle one, didst thou not come + To Colchis' strand, and win in bloody fight + The daughter of its king? O, gentle, mild, + Didst thou not slay my brother, was it not + At thine own hands mine aged father fell, + Thou gentle, pious man? And now thou wouldst + Desert the wife whom thou didst steal away! + Mild? No, say rather hateful, monstrous man! + +JASON. Such wild abuse I will not stay to hear. + Thou knowest now what thou must do. Farewell! + +MEDEA. Nay, nay, I know not! Stay until I learn! + Stay, and I will be quiet even as thou.-- + So, I am banished, then? But what of thee? + Methinks the Herald's sentence named thee, too. + +JASON. When it is known that I am innocent + Of all these horrid deeds, and had no hand + In murdering mine uncle, then the ban + Will be removed from me. + +MEDEA. And thou wilt live + Peaceful and happy, for long years to come? + +JASON. I shall live quietly, as doth become + Unhappy men like me. + +MEDEA. And what of me? + +JASON. Thou dost but reap the harvest thine own hands + Have sown. + +MEDEA. My hands? Hadst thou no part therein? + +JASON. Nay, none. + +MEDEA. Didst never pray thine uncle's death + Might speedily be compassed? + +JASON. No command + At least I gave. + +MEDEA. Ne'er sought to learn if I + Had heart and courage for the deed? + +JASON. Thou know'st + How, in the first mad burst of rage and hate, + A man speaks many hot, impetuous threats + Which calm reflection never would fulfil. + +MEDEA. Once thou didst blame thyself for that mad deed; + Now thou hast found a victim who can bear + The guilt in place of thee! + +JASON. 'Tis not the thought + Of such a deed that merits punishment; + It is the deed itself. + +MEDEA (_quickly_). + + I did it not! + +JASON. Who, then, is guilty? + +MEDEA. Not myself, at least! + Listen, my husband, and be thou the first + To do me justice. + As I stood at the chamber door, to enter + And steal away the Fleece, + The king lay there on his couch; + Sudden I heard a cry! I turned, + And lo! I saw the aged king + Leap from his couch with frightful shrieks, + Twisting and writhing; and he cried, + "Com'st thou, O brother, to take revenge, + Revenge on me? Ha! Thou shalt die + Again, and yet again!" And straight + He sprang at me, to grip me fast, + For in my hands I held the Fleece. + I shook with fear, and cried aloud + For help to those dark gods I know; + The Fleece before me like a shield + I held. His face was twisted swift + To maniac grins, and leered at me! + Then, with a shriek, he madly tore + At the clothes that bound his aged veins; + They rent; the blood gushed forth in streams, + And, even as I looked, aghast + And full of horror, there he lay, + The king, at my very feet, all bathed + In his own blood-lay cold and dead! + +JASON. And thou canst stand and tell me such a tale, + Thou hateful witchwife? Get thee gone from me! + Away! I shudder at thee! Would that I + Had ne'er beheld thy face! + +MEDEA. Thou knewest well + That I was skilled in witchcraft, from that day + When first thou saw'st me at my magic arts, + And still didst yearn and long to call me thine! + +JASON. I was a youth then, and an arrant fool! + What boys are pleased with, men oft cast away. + +MEDEA. O, say no word against the golden days + Of youth, when heads are hot, but hearts are pure! + O, if thou wert but now what once thou wast, + Then were I happier far! Come back with me + Only a little step to that fair time + When, in our fresh, green youth, we strayed together + By Phasis' flowery marge. How frank and clear + Thy heart was then, and mine how closely sealed + And sad! But thou with thy soft, gentle light + Didst pierce my darkness, drive away the clouds, + And make me bright and happy. Thine I was, + And thou wert mine; O, Jason, is it then + Vanished forever, that far, happy time? + Or hath the bitter struggle for a hearth + And home, for name and fame, forever killed + The blooms of fairest promise on the tree + Of thy green youth? Oh, compassed though I be + With woe and heavy sorrows all about, + Yet I think often on that springtime sweet + Whence soft and balmy breezes o'er the years + Are wafted to me! If Medea then + Seemed fair to thee and lovely, how today + Can she be dread and hateful? What I was + Thou knewest, and didst seek me none the less. + Thou took'st me as I was; O, keep me, as I am! + +JASON. Thou hast forgot the dreadful deeds that since + Have come to pass. + +MEDEA. Ay, dread they are, in sooth, + And I confess it! 'Gainst mine aged sire + I sinned most deeply, 'gainst my brother, too, + And none condemns me more than I myself. + I'll welcome punishment, and I'll repent + In joy and gladness; only thou shalt not + Pronounce the doom upon me, nay, not thou! + For all my deeds were done for love of thee.-- + Come, let us flee together, once again + Made one in heart and soul! Some distant land + Will take us to its bosom. + +JASON. What land, then? + And whither should we flee? + +MEDEA. Whither! + +JASON. Thou'rt mad, + And dost revile me, that I do not choose + To share thy raving! No! Our life together + Is done! The gods have cursed our union long, + As one with deeds of cruelty begun, + That since hath waged and found its nourishment + In horrid crimes. E'en granting thou didst not + Thyself slay Pelias, who was there to see? + Or who would trust thy tale? + +MEDEA. Thou! + +JASON. Even then, + What can I do, how clear thee?--It were vain! + Come, let us yield to Fate, not stubbornly + Defy it! Let us each repentance seek, + And suffer our just doom, thou fleeing forth + Because thou may'st not stay, I tarrying here + When I would flee. + +MEDEA. Methinks thou dost not choose + The harder lot! + +JASON. Is it so easy, then, + To live, a stranger, in a stranger's house, + Subsisting on a stranger's pitying gifts? + +MEDEA. Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not choose + To fly with me? + +JASON. But whither? Ay, and how? + +MEDEA. There was a time thou hadst not shown thyself + So over-prudent, when thou camest first + To Colchis from the city of thy sires, + Seeking the glitter of an empty fame + In distant lands. + +JASON. I am not what I was; + Broken my strength, the courage in my breast + A dead thing. And 'tis thou I have to thank + For such misfortune! Bitter memories + Of days long past lie like a weight of lead + Upon my anxious soul; I cannot raise + Mine eyes for heaviness of heart. And, more, + The boy of those far days is grown a man, + No longer, like a wanton, sportive child, + Gambols amid bright flow'rs, but reaches out + For ripened fruit, for what is real and sure. + Babes I have got, but have no place where they + May lay their heads; my task it is to make + An heritage for these. Shall Jason's stock + Be but a withered weed beside the road, + By all men spurned and trampled? If thou e'er + Hast truly loved me, if I e'er was dear + To thee, oh, give me proof thereof, restore + Myself to me again, and yield a grave + To me in this, my homeland! + +MEDEA. And in this + Same homeland a new marriage-bed, forsooth I + Am I not right? + +JASON. What idle talk is this? + +MEDEA. Have I not heard how Creon named thee son, + And husband of his daughter? She it is, + Creusa, that doth charm thee, hold thee fast + In Corinth! 'Tis for her that thou wouldst stay! + Confess, I have thee there! + +JASON. Thou hast me not, + And never hadst me. + +MEDEA. So, thou wilt repent, + And I, thy wife Medea, I must go + Away?--I stood beside you there and wept + As thou didst trace with her your happy days + Of youth together, tarrying at each step + In sweet remembrance, till thou didst become + Naught but an echo of that distant past.-- + I will not go, no, will not! + +JASON. Thou'rt unjust, + And hard and wild as ever! + +MEDEA. I unjust! + Thou dost not seek her, then, to wife? Say no! + +JASON. I do but seek a place to lay me down + And rest. What else will come, I do not know! + +MEDEA. Ay, but I know full well, and it shall be + My task to thwart thee, with the help of heaven! + +JASON. Thou canst not speak with calmness, so, farewell! + +[_He takes a step toward the door._] + +MEDEA. Jason! + +JASON (_turning back_). + + What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA. 'Tis, perchance, the last, + Last time that we shall speak together! + +JASON. True; + Then let us without hate or rancor part. + +MEDEA. Thou mad'st me love thee deeply. Wouldst thou now + Flee from my face? + +JASON. I must! + +MEDEA. Hast robbed me, too, + Of my dear father; and wouldst steal away + Mine husband? + +JASON. I am helpless! + +MEDEA. At thy hands + My brother met his death untimely. Him + Thou hast taken from me, too, and now wouldst fly + And leave me? + +JASON. He was innocent; he fell. + And I am blameless, too; but I must flee thee. + +MEDEA. I left my fatherland to follow thee! + +JASON. Thou didst but follow thine own will, not me. + Gladly would I, if thou hadst rued thy deed, + Have sent thee back again. + +MEDEA. I am accurst, + And damned by all the world,--and all for thee! + And, for thy sake, I even hate myself! + Wilt thou forsake me still? + +JASON. 'Tis not my will, + Nay; but a higher bidding tells me plain + That I must leave thy side. Thy fate seems hard, + But what of mine? And yet, I pity thee, + If that be any comfort! + +MEDEA (_falling upon her knees to him_). + + Jason! + +JASON. Well? + What wouldst thou further? + +MEDEA (_rising suddenly_). + + Nothing! It is past + And done with! O proud sires, O mighty gods + Of Colchis, grant forgiveness to thy child + Who hath so humbled and dishonored you, + (Ay, and herself as well)--for I was pressed + And needs must do it. Now, receive me back! + +[JASON _turns to leave her._] + + Jason! + +JASON. Hope not that thou canst soften me! + +MEDEA. Nay, never think I wished it! Give me back + My babes! + +JASON. + + Thy children? Never! + +MEDEA (_wildly_). + + They are mine! + +JASON. Men call them by their father's name; and that + Shall never grace barbarians! Here in Greece + I'll rear them, to be Greeks! + +MEDEA. To be despised + And scorned by offspring of thy later bed? + I tell thee, they are mine! + +JASON. Nay, have a care, + Lest thou shouldst turn my pity unto hate! + And keep a quiet mien, since that is all + Can soften thy hard fate. + +MEDEA. To prayers and tears + I needs must humble me! My husband!--No, + For that thou art no more! Beloved!--No, + For that, thou never wert! Man, shall I say? + He is no man who breaks his solemn oath! + Lord Jason!--Pah! It is a traitor's name! + How shall I name thee? Devil!--Gentle! Good! + Give me my babes, and let me go in peace! + +JASON. I cannot, I have told thee, cannot do it. + +MEDEA. Hard heart! Thou tak'st the husband from the wife, + And robb'st the mother of her babes as well? + +JASON. Nay, then, that thou may'st know how I have yet + Some kindness left, take with thee when thou goest + One of the babes. + +MEDEA. But one? Say, only one? + +JASON. Beware thou ask too much! The little I + Have just now granted, oversteps the right. + +MEDEA. Which shall it be? + +JASON. We'll leave the choice to them, + The babes themselves; and whichsoever will, + Him thou shalt take. + +MEDEA. O thanks a thousand times, + Thou gentle, kindly man! He lies who calls + Thee traitor! + +[_The_ KING_ appears at the door._] + +JASON. Come, my lord! + +KING. Is't settled, then? + +JASON. She goes; and I have granted her to take + One of the children with her. + +(_To one of the slaves who has accompanied the _KING.) + + Hasten swift + And bring the babes before us! + +KING. What is this? + Here they shall stay, ay, both of them! + +MEDEA. This gift + That in mine eyes so small is, seemeth it + So great a boon to thee? Hast thou no fear + Of Heaven's fell anger, harsh and violent man? + +KING. The gods deal harshly with such wanton crimes + As thou hast done! + +MEDEA. Yea, but they see the cause + That drove us to such deeds! + +KING. 'Tis wicked thoughts, + Deep in the heart, beget such crimes as thine! + +MEDEA. All causes else thou count'st for naught? + +KING. With stern + And iron justice mine own self I rule, + And so, with right, judge others. + +MEDEA. In the act + Of punishing my crimes, thou dost commit + A worse thyself! + +JASON. She shall not say of me + That I am all hard-hearted; wherefore I + One of the babes have promised her, to be + His mother's dearest comfort in her woe. + +CREUSA _enters with the children._ + +CREUSA. One told me that these babes were summoned here. + What will ye have? What deeds are now afoot? + Behold how they do love me, though they were + But now brought here to Corinth! 'Tis as if + Long years already we had seen and known + Each one the other. 'Twas my gentle words + That won them; for, poor babes, they were not used + To loving treatment; and their sore distress, + Their loneliness did straightway win my heart. + +MEDEA. One of the babes goes with me! + +CREUSA. What is this? + Leaves us? + +KING. E'en so. It is their father's will! + +(_To_ MEDEA,_ who stands in deep meditation._) + + Here are thy children. Let them make their choice! + +MEDEA (_wildly_). + + The babes! My children! Ay, 'tis they, in sooth! + The one thing left me in this bitter world! + Ye gods, forget those dark and wicked thoughts + That late I harbored; grant me both my babes, + Yea, both, and I'll go forth from out this land + Praising your mercy! Yea, I'll e'en forgive + My husband there, and her--No! Her I'll not + Forgive--nor Jason, either! Come to me, + Come here, my babes!--Why stand ye silent there + And cling upon the breast of my false foe? + Ah, could ye know how she hath humbled me, + Ye would arm your tiny hands, curve into claws + Those little, weakling fingers, rend and tear + That soft and tender form, whereto ye cling + So lovingly!--Wouldst hold my children back + From coming to me? Let them go! + +CREUSA. In sooth, + Unhappy woman, I restrain them not! + +MEDEA. Not with thy hand, I know, but with thy glance, + Thy false, deceitful face, that seems all love, + And holds my husband from me, too! Thou laugh'st? + I promise thee thou'lt weep hot tears in days + To come! + +CREUSA. Now may the gods chastise me if I had + A thought of laughing! + +KING. Woman, break not forth + In insults and in anger! Do what thou + Hast yet to do, or go! + +MEDEA. Thou'rt right, O king, + Most just of kings! Not so much kind of heart + As just! How do thy bidding? Yet will I + Strive to do both. Hark, children! List to me! + They send your mother forth, to wander wide + O'er sea and land. Who knows where she shall come? + These kindly folk, thy father, and that just + And gentle king that standeth there, have said + That I may take, to share my lonely fate, + One of my babes, but only one. Ye gods, + Hear ye this sentence? One, and one alone! + Now, whichsoever of you loves me more, + Let that one come to join me, for I may + Not have you both; the other here must stay + Beside his father, and with that false king's + Still falser daughter!--Hear ye what I say? + Why linger there? + +KING. Thou seest they will not come! + +MEDEA. Thou liest, false and wicked king! They would, + Save that thy daughter hath enchanted them + And keeps them from me!--Heard ye not, my babes?-- + Accurst and monstrous children, bane and curse + Of your poor mother, image of your sire! + +JASON. They will not come! + +MEDEA (_pointing to _CREUSA). + + Let her but go away! + They love me! Am I not their mother? Look + How she doth beckon, nod to them, and draw + Them further from me! + +CREUSA. I will go away, + Though I deserve not thy suspicious hate. + +MEDEA. Come to me, children!--Come!--O viper brood! + +[_She advances toward them threateningly; the children fly to_ CREUSA +_for protection._] + +MEDEA. They fly from me! They fly! + +KING. Thou seest, Medea, + The children will not come--so, get thee gone! + +MEDEA. They will not? These my babes do fear to come + Unto their mother?--No, it is not true, + It cannot be!--Aeson, my elder son, + My best beloved! See, thy mother calls! + Come to her! Nay, no more will I be harsh, + No more enangered with thee! Thou shalt be + Most precious in mine eyes, the one thing left + I call mine own! Hark to thy mother! Come!-- + He turns his face away, and will not! O + Thou thankless child, thou image of thy sire, + Like him in each false feature, in mine eyes + Hateful, as he is! Stay, then, where thou art! + I know thee not!--But thou, Absyrtus, child + Of my sore travail, with the merry face + Of my lost brother whom with bitter tears + I mourn, and mild and gentle as was he, + See how thy mother kneels upon the ground + And, weeping, calls thee! O let not her prayers + Be all in vain! Absyrtus, come to me, + My little son! Come to thy mother!--What? + He tarries where he is! Thou, too? Thou, too? + Give me a dagger, quick, that I may slay + These whelps, and then myself! + +[_She springs up._] + +[Illustration: MEDEA From the Grillparzer Monument at Vienna] + +JASON. Nay, thou must thank thyself that thy wild ways + Have startled them, estranged them, turned their hearts + Unto that mild and gentle maid they love. + They do but echo what the gods decree!-- + Depart now; but the babes, they tarry here. + +MEDEA. O children, hear me! + +JASON. See, they hearken not! + +MEDEA. O children, children! + +KING (_to_ CREUSA). + + Lead them back again + Into the palace! 'Tis not meet they hate + The mother that did bear them. + +[CREUSA _moves away with the children._] + +MEDEA. Woe is me! + They flee! My children flee before my face! + +KING (_to_ JASON). + + Come we away! To weep for what must be + Is fruitless! + +[_They depart._] + +MEDEA. O my babes, my little babes! + +GORA _enters quickly._ + +GORA. Come, calm thyself, nor grant to these thy foes + The joy of seeing how they've conquered thee! + +MEDEA (_flinging herself upon the ground_). + + Conquered I am, at last, made nothing worth, + Trampled beneath my foes' triumphant feet! + They flee me, flee me! Mine own children flee me! + +GORA (_bending over her_). + + Thou must not die! + +MEDEA. Nay, let me die! My babes, + My little babes! + + + +ACT IV + + +_The outer court of _CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act. It is +twilight._ MEDEA lies prone upon the steps that lead to her apartments; +_GORA_ is standing before her._ + +GORA. Up, Medea, speak! + Why liest thou there so silent, staring + Blindly before thee? Rise, and speak! + O, help our sore distress! + +MEDEA. My babes! My babes! + +GORA. Forth must we flee ere night shall fall, + And already the twilight draweth down. + Up! Rouse thee, and gird thee for flight! + Swiftly they come to slay! + +MEDEA. Alas, my children! + +GORA. Nay, up! I say, unhappy one, + Nor kill me with thy cries of woe! + Hadst thou but heeded when I warned, + Still should we be at home + In Colchis, safe; thy kinsmen yet + Were living; all were well with us. + Rise up! What use are tears? Come, rise! + +[MEDEA _drags herself half up and kneels on the steps._] + +MEDEA. 'Twas so I knelt, 'twas so I lay + And stretched my hands for pity out + To mine own children; begged and wept + And prayed for one, for only one + Of my dear children! Death itself + Were not so bitter, as to leave + One of them here!--But to have none--! + And neither came! They turned away + With terror on their baby lips, + And fled for comfort to the breast + Of her--my bitterest enemy! + +[_She springs up suddenly._] + + But he,--he laughed to see, and she + Did laugh as well! + +GORA. O, woe is me! + O, woe and heavy sorrow! + +MEDEA. O gods, is this your vengeance, then, + Your retribution? All for love + I followed him, as wife should e'er + Follow her lord. My father died, + But was it I that slew him? No! + My brother fell. Was't, then, my hand + That dealt the stroke? I've wept for them + With heavy mourning, poured hot tears + To serve as sad libation for + Their resting-place so far away! + Ye gods! These woes so measureless + That I have suffered at your hands-- + Call ye these justice,--retribution? + +GORA. Thou didst leave thine own-- + Thine own desert thee now! + +MEDEA. Then will I visit punishment + On them, as Heaven on me! + There shall no deed of wickedness + In all the wide world scathless go! + Leave vengeance to my hand, O gods above! + +GORA. Nay, think how thou mayst save thyself; + All else forget! + +MEDEA. What fear is this + That makes thy heart so craven-soft? + First thou wert grim and savage, spak'st + Fierce threats of vengeance, now art full + Of fears and trembling! + +GORA. Let me be! + That moment when I saw thy babes + Flee their own mother's yearning arms, + Flee from the arms of her that bare + And reared them, then I knew at last + 'Twas the gods' hand had struck thee down! + Then brake my heart, my courage sank! + These babes, whom it was all my joy + To tend and rear, had been the last + Of all the royal Colchian line, + On whom I still could lavish all + My love for my far fatherland. + Long since, my love for thee was dead; + But in these babes I seemed to see + Again my homeland, thy dear sire, + Thy murdered brother, all the line + Of princely Colchians,--ay, thyself, + As once thou wert,--and art no more! + So, all my thought was how to shield + And rear these babes; I guarded them + E'en as the apple of mine eye, + And now-- + +MEDEA. They have repaid thy love + As thanklessness doth e'er repay! + +GORA. Chide not the babes! They're innocent! + +MEDEA. How, innocent? And flee their mother + Innocent? They are Jason's babes, + Like him in form, in heart, and in + My bitter hate! If I could hold them here, + Their life or death depending on my hand, + E'en on this hand I reach out, so, and one + Swift stroke sufficed to slay them, bring to naught + All that they were, or are, or e'er can be,-- + Look! they should be no more! + +GORA. O, woe to thee, + Cruel mother, who canst hate those little babes + Thyself didst bear! + +MEDEA. What hopes have they, what hopes? + If here they tarry with their sire, + That sire so base and infamous, + What shall their lot be then? + The children of this latest bed + Will scorn them, do despite to them + And to their mother, that wild thing + From distant Colchis' strand! + Their lot will be to serve as slaves; + Or else their anger, gnawing deep + And ever deeper at their hearts, + Will make them bitter, hard, + Until they grow to hate themselves. + For, if misfortune often is begot + By crime, more often far are wicked deeds + The offspring of misfortune!--What have they + To live for, then? I would my sire + Had slain me long, long years agone + When I was small, and had not yet + Drunk deep of woe, as now I do-- + Thought heavy thoughts, as now! + +GORA. Thou tremblest! What dost think to do? + +MEDEA. That I must forth, is sure; what else + May chance ere that, I cannot see. + My heart leaps up, when I recall + The foul injustice I have borne, + And glows with fierce revenge! No deed + So dread or awful but I would + Put hand to it!-- + He loves these babes, + Forsooth, because he sees in them + His own self mirrored back again, + Himself--his idol!--Nay, he ne'er + Shall have them, shall not!--Nor will I! + I hate them! + +GORA. Come within! Nay, why + Wouldst tarry here? + +MEDEA. All empty is that house, + And all deserted! Desolation broods + Upon those silent walls, and all is dead + Within, save bitter memories and grief! + +GORA. Look! They are coming who would drive us hence. + Come thou within! + +MEDEA. Thou saidst the Argonauts + Found each and every one a grave unblest, + The wages of their treachery and sin? + +GORA. Ay, sooth, and such a grave shall Jason find! + +MEDEA. He shall, I promise thee, he shall, indeed! + Hylas was swallowed in a watery grave; + The gloomy King of Shades holds Theseus bound; + And how was that Greek woman called--the one + That on her own blood bloody vengeance took? + How was she called, then? Speak! + +GORA. I do not know + What thou dost mean. + +MEDEA. Althea was her name! + +GORA. She who did slay her son + +MEDEA. The very same! + How came it, then? Tell me the tale once more. + +GORA. Unwitting, in the chase, he had struck down + Her brother. + +MEDEA. Him alone? He did not slay + Her father, too? Nor fled his mother's arms, + Nor thrust her from him, spurned her scornfully? + And yet she struck him dead--that mighty man, + Grim Meleager, her own son! And she-- + She was a Greek! Althea was her name. + Well, when her son lay dead--? + +GORA. Nay, there the tale + Doth end. + +MEDEA. Doth end! Thou'rt right, for death ends all! + +GORA. Why stand we here and talk? + +MEDEA. Dost think that I + Lack courage for the venture? Hark! I swear + By the high gods, if he had giv'n me both + My babes--But no! If I could take them hence + To journey with me, at his own behest, + + If I could love them still, as deep as now + I hate them, if in all this lone, wide world + One single thing were left me that was not + Poisoned, or brought in ruin on my head-- + Perchance I might go forth e'en now in peace + And leave my vengeance in the hands of Heaven. + But no! It may not be! + They name me cruel + And wanton, but I was not ever so; + Though I can feel how one may learn to be. + For dread and awful thoughts do shape themselves + Within my soul; I shudder--yet rejoice + Thereat! When all is finished--Gora, hither! + +GORA. What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA. Come to me! + +GORA. And why? + +MEDEA. Come hither! + See! There they lay, the babes--ay, and the bride, + Bleeding, and dead! And he, the bridegroom, stood + And looked and tore his hair! A fearful sight + And ghastly! + +GORA. Heaven forfend! What mean these words? + +MEDEA. Ha, ha! Thou'rt struck with terror then, at last? + Nay, 'tis but empty words that I did speak. + My old, fierce will yet lives, but all my strength + Is vanished. Oh, were I Medea still--! + But no, I am no more! O Jason, why, + Why hast thou used me so? I sheltered thee, + Saved thee, and gave thee all my heart to keep; + All that was mine, I flung away for thee! + Why wilt thou cast me off, why spurn my love, + Why drive the kindly spirits from my heart + And set fierce thoughts of vengeance in their place? + I dream of vengeance, when I have no more + The power to wreak revenge! The charms I had + From my own mother, that grim Colchian queen, + From Hecate, that bound dark gods to me + To do my bidding, I have buried them, + Ay, and for love of thee!--have sunk them deep + In the dim bosom of our mother Earth; + The ebon wand, the veil of bloody hue, + Gone!--and I stand here helpless, to my foes + No more a thing of terror, but of scorn! + +GORA. Then speak not of them if they'll serve thee not! + +MEDEA. I know well where they lie; + For yonder on the plashy ocean-strand + I coffined them and sank them deep in earth. + 'Tis but to toss away a little mold, + And they are mine! But in my inmost soul + I shudder when I think on such a venture, + And on that blood-stained Fleece. Methinks the ghosts + Of father, brother, brood upon their grave + And will not let them go. Dost thou recall + How on the pavement lay my old, gray sire + Weeping for his dead son, and cursing loud + His daughter? But lord Jason swung the Fleece + High o'er his head, with fierce, triumphant shouts! + 'Twas then I swore revenge upon this traitor + Who first did slay my best-beloved, now + Would slay me, too! Had I my bloody charms + And secret magic here, I'd keep that vow! + But no, I dare not fetch them, for I fear + Lest, shining through the Fleece's golden blaze, + Mine eyes should see my father's ghostly face + Stare forth at me--and oh! I should go mad! + +GORA. What wilt thou do, then? + +MEDEA (_wearily_). + + Even let them come + And slay me, if they will! I can no more! + Not one step will I stir from where I stand; + My dearest wish is death! And when he sees + Me lying dead, mayhap he'll follow me, + Deep-smitten with remorse! + +GORA. The King draws nigh; + Look to thyself! + +MEDEA. Nay, all my strength is gone, + What can I do? If he would trample me + Beneath his feet--well, let him have his will! + +_The _KING_ enters._ + +KING. Night falls apace, thine hours of grace are fled! + +MEDEA. I know it. + +KING. Art thou ready to go forth? + +MEDEA. Thou tauntest me! If I were not prepared, + Must I the less go forth? + +KING. My heart is glad + To find thee minded so. 'Twill make thee think + Less bitterly upon thy sorry fate, + And for thy children it doth spell great good: + For now they may remember who she was + That bare them. + +MEDEA. May remember? If they will, + Thou meanest! + +KING. That they shall, must be my care. + I'll rear them to be mighty heroes both; + And then--who knows?--on some far-distant day + Their hero-deeds may bring them to the shores. + Of Colchis, where they'll find thee once again, + Older in years, grown soft and gentle now, + And with fond love will press thee to their hearts. + +MEDEA. Alas! + +KING. What say'st thou? + +MEDEA. Naught! I did but think + On happy days long vanished, and forgot + All that hath happened since.--Was this the cause + That brought thee here, or hast thou aught to say + Besides? + +KING. Nay, I forgot one other word, + But I will speak it now. Thy husband brought + Much treasure when he fled to Corinth here + From far Iolcos, when his uncle died. + +MEDEA. There in the house it lies, still guarded safe; + Go in and take it! + +KING. And that trinket fair + Of dazzling gold, the Fleece--the gleaming prize + The Argo brought--is that within, as well? + Why turnest thou away, and wouldst depart? + Give answer! Is it there? + +MEDEA. No! + +KING. Where, then? Where? + +MEDEA. I know not. + +KING. Yet thyself didst bear it forth + From Pelias' chamber--so the Herald said. + +MEDEA. Nay, if he said so, it must needs be true! + +KING. Where is it? + +MEDEA. Nay, I know not. + +KING. Never think + To cheat us thus! + +MEDEA. If thou wouldst give it me, + I would requite thee even with my life; + For, if I had it here, thou shouldst not stand + Before me, shouting threats! + +KING. Didst thou not seize + And bear it with thee from Iolcos? + +MEDEA. Yea! + +KING. And now--? + +MEDEA. I have it not. + +KING. Who hath it, then? + +MEDEA. The earth doth hold it. + +KING. Ha! I understand! + So it was there, in sooth? + +[_He turns to his attendants._] + + Go, fetch me here + That which I bade you. What I mean, ye know! + +[_The attendants go out._] + + Ha! Didst thou think to cheat us with thy words + Of double meaning? Earth doth hold it! Now + I understand thee! Nay, look not away! + Look here at me, and harken!--Yonder there + Upon the seashore, where last night ye lay, + I gave command to raise a sacred fane + To Pelias' shades; and, as my henchmen toiled, + They found--thou palest!--freshly buried there + An ebon casket, marked with curious signs. + +[_The attendants bring in the chest._] + + Look! Is it thine? + +MEDEA (_rushing eagerly to the chest_). + Yea, mine! + +KING. And is the Fleece + Therein? + +MEDEA. It is. + +KING. Then give it me! + +MEDEA. I will! + +KING. Almost I do regret I pitied thee, + Since thou hast sought to cozen us! + +MEDEA. Fear not! + For thou shalt have thy due! Once more I am + Medea! Thanks to thee, kind gods! + +KING. Unlock + Thy casket, quick, and give the Fleece to me! + +MEDEA. Not yet! + +KING. But when? + +MEDEA. Right soon, ay, all too soon! + +KING. Send it to where Creusa waits. + +MEDEA. To her? + This Fleece to thy fair daughter? Ay, I will! + +KING. Holdeth this casket aught besides the Fleece? + +MEDEA. Yea, many things! + +KING. Thine own? + +MEDEA. Mine own. + From these A gift I'd send her. + +KING. Nay, I would demand + Naught else of thee. Keep that which is thine own. + +MEDEA. Surely thou wilt permit me one small gift! + Thy daughter was so mild to me, so good, + And she will be a mother to my babes. + I fain would win her love! Thou dost desire + Naught but the Fleece; perchance some trinkets rare + Would please her eyes. + +KING. Do even as thou wilt; + Only, bethink thee of thy needs. Thou knowest + Already how she loves thee. But an hour + Agone she begged to send thy babes to thee + That thou might'st see them once again, and take + A last farewell before thou settest forth + Upon thy weary way. I said her nay, + For I had seen thy fury. Now thou art + Quiet again, and so shalt have that grace. + +MEDEA. Oh, thanks to thee, thou good and pious King! + +KING. Wait here. I'll send the children to thee straight. + +[_He departs._] + +MEDEA. He's gone--and to his doom! Fool! Didst thou not + Tremble and shudder when thou took'st away + Her last possession from the woman thou + Hadst robbed already? Yet, I thank thee for it, + Ay, thank thee! + Thou hast given me back myself! + --Unlock the casket! + +GORA (_fumbling at it_). + + That I cannot do. + +MEDEA. Nay, I forgot how I did lock it up! + The key is kept by friends I know full well. + +[_She turns toward the chest._] + + Up from below! + Down from o'erhead! + Open, thou secretest + Tomb of the dead! + + The lid springs open, and I am no more + A weak and powerless woman! There they lie, + My staff, my veil of crimson! Mine! Ah, mine! + +[_She takes them out of the casket._] + + I take thee in my hands, thou mighty staff + Of mine own mother, and through heart and limbs + Unfailing strength streams forth from thee to me! + And thee, beloved wimple, on my brow + I bind once more! + +[_She veils herself._] + + How warm, how soft thou art, + How dost thou pour new life through all my frame! + Now come, come all my foes in close-set ranks, + Banded against me, banded for your doom! + +GORA. Look! Yonder flares a light! + +MEDEA. Nay, let it flare! + 'Twill soon be quenched in blood!-- + Here are the presents I would send to her; + And thou shalt be the bearer of my gifts! + +GORA. I? + +MEDEA. Thou! Go quickly to the chamber where + Creusa sits, speak soft and honied words, + Bring her Medea's greetings, and her gifts! + +[_She takes the gifts out of the chest one by one._] + + This golden box, first, that doth treasure up + Most precious ointments. Ah, the bride will shine + Like blazing stars, if she will ope its lid! + But bear it heedfully, and shake it not! + +GORA. Woe's me! + +[_She has grasped the ointment-box firmly in her left hand; as she +steadies it with her right hand, she slightly jars the cover open, and a +blinding flame leaps forth._] + +MEDEA. I warned thee not to shake it, fool! + Back to thy house again, + Serpent with forked tongue! + Wait till the knell hath rung; + Thou shalt not wait in vain! + Now clasp it tightly, carry it with heed! + +GORA. I fear some dreadful thing will come of this! + +MEDEA. So! Thou wouldst warn me? 'Tis a wise old crone! + +GORA. And I must bear it? + +MEDEA. Yea! Obey, thou slave! + How darest thou presume to answer me? + Be silent! Nay, thou shalt, thou must! + And next + Here on this salver, high-embossed with gold, + I set this jeweled chalice, rich and fair + To see, and o'er it lay the best of all, + The thing her heart most craves--the Golden Fleece!-- + Go hence and do thine errand. Nay, but first + Spread o'er these gifts this mantle--fair it is + And richly broidered, made to grace a queen-- + To cover all from sight and keep them hid.-- + Now, go, and do what I commanded thee, + And take these gifts, that foe doth send to foe! + +[_A slave-woman enters with the children._] + +SLAVE. My lord the king hath sent these children hither; + And when an hour is gone I take them back. + +MEDEA. Sooth, they come early to the marriage feast! + Now to thy mistress lead my servant here; + She takes a message from me, bears rich gifts. + +(_She turns to _GORA.) + + And thou, remember what I told thee late! + Nay, not a word! It is my will! + +(_To the slave-woman._) + + Away! + And bring her to thy mistress. + +[GORA _and the slave-woman depart together._] + + Well begun, + But not yet ended! Easy is my path, + Now I see clearly what I have to do! + +[_The children, hand in hand, make as if to follow the slave-woman._] + + Where go ye? + +BOY. In the house! + +MEDEA. What seek ye there? + +BOY. Our father told us we should stay with her. + +MEDEA. Thy mother bids you tarry. Wait, I say!-- + When I bethink me how they are my blood, + My very flesh, the babes I bore so long + In my own womb, and nourished at my breast, + When I bethink me 'tis my very self + That turns against me, in my inmost soul + Fierce anger stabs me knife-like, bloody thoughts + Rise fast within me!-- + +(_To the children._) + + What hath mother done, + To make you flee her sight and run away + To hide in strangers' bosoms? + +BOY. Thou dost seek + To steal us both away, and shut us up + Within thy boat again, where we were both + So sick and dizzy. We would rather stay + Here, would we not, my brother? + +YOUNGER BOY. Yea! + +MEDEA. Thou, too, + Absyrtus? But 'tis better, better so! + Come hither! + +BOY. I'm afraid! + +MEDEA. Come here, I say! + +BOY. Nay, thou wilt hurt me! + +MEDEA. Hurt thee? Thou hast done + Naught to deserve it! + +Boy. Once thou flung'st me down + Upon the pavement, hard, because I looked + So like my father. But _he_ loves me for it! + I'd rather stay with him, and with that good + And gentle lady! + +MEDEA. Thou shalt go to her, + E'en to that gentle lady!--How his mien + Is like to his, the traitor's! How his words + Are syllabled like Jason's!--Patience! Wait! + +YOUNGER BOY. I'm sleepy! + +BOY. Let's lie down and go to sleep. + It's late. + +MEDEA. Ye'll have your fill of sleep ere long! + Go, lay you down upon those steps to rest, + While I take counsel with myself.--Ah, see + How watchfully he guides the younger one, + Takes off his little mantle, wraps it warm + And close about his shoulders, now lies down + Beside him, clasping hands!--He never was + A naughty child!--O children, children mine! + +BOY (_starting up_). + + Dost want us? + +MEDEA. Nay, lie down, and go to sleep! + What would I give, if I could sleep as sound! + +[_The boy lies down again, and both go to sleep._ MEDEA _seats herself +on a bench opposite the children. It grows darker and darker._] + +MEDEA. The night is falling, stars are climbing high, + Shedding their kindly beams on all below-- + The same that shone there yestere'en, as though + All things today were as they were before. + And yet 'twixt now and yesterday there yawns + A gulf, as wide as that which sunders joy + Made perfect and grim death! How change-less e'er + Is Nature--and man's life and happiness + How fitful, fleeting! + When I tell the tale + Of my unhappy life, it is as though + I listened, while another told it me, + And now would stop him: "Nay, that cannot be, + My friend! This woman here, that harbors dark + And murderous thoughts--how can she be the same + That once, long years agone, on Colchis' strand + Trod, free and happy, 'neath these very stars, + As pure, as mild, as free from any sin + As new-born child upon its mother's breast?" + Where goes she, then? She seeks the peasant's hut + To comfort the poor serf, whose little crops + Were trampled by her father's huntsmen late, + And brings him gold to ease his bitter heart. + Why trips she down the forest-path? She hastes + To meet her brother who is waiting there + In some green copse. Together then they wend + Homeward their way along the well-known path, + Like twin-stars shining through the forest-gloom. + Another draweth nigh; his brow is crowned + With coronet of gold; he is the King, + Their royal father, and he lays his hand + In blessing on their heads, and names them both + His joy, his dearest treasure.--Welcome, then, + Most dear and friendly faces! Are ye come + To comfort me in this my loneliness? + Draw nearer, nearer yet! I fain would look + Into your eyes! Dear brother, dost thou smile + So friendly on me? Ah, how fair thou art, + My heart's best treasure! But my father's face + Is sober, earnest; yet he loves me still, + Yea, loveth his good daughter! + +[_She springs up suddenly._] + + Good? Ha, good? + 'Tis a false lie! For know, thou old, gray man, + She will betray thee, _hath_ betrayed thee, thee, + Ay, and herself! But thou didst curse her sore + "Know thou shalt be thrust forth + Like a beast of the wilderness," thou saidst; + "Friendless and homeless, with no place + To lay thy head! And he, for whom + Thou hast betrayed me, he will be + First to take vengeance on thee, first + To leave thee, thrust thee forth, and first + To slay thee!" See, thy words were true! + For here I stand, thrust forth indeed, + By all men like a monster shunned, + Deserted by the wretch for whom + I gave thee up, and with no place + To lay me down; alas! not dead; + Black thoughts of murder in my heart!-- + Dost thou rejoice at thy revenge? + Com'st closer?--Children! O my babes! + +[_She rushes across to where the children lie sleeping, and shakes them +violently._] + + + My children, did ye hear? Awake! + +BOY (_waking_). + + What wouldst thou? + +MEDEA (_pressing them fiercely to her_). + + Clasp your arms about me close! + +BOY. I slept so soundly. + +MEDEA. Slept? How could ye sleep? + Thought ye, because your mother watched you here, + That ye were safe? Ye ne'er were in the hands + Of any foe more dangerous! Sleep? With me, + Your mother, near? How could ye?--Go within, + And there ye shall find rest, indeed! + +[_The children sleepily mount the steps and disappear down the colonnade +into the palace._] + + + They're gone, + And all is well again!--Yet, now they're gone, + How am I bettered? Must I aught the less + Flee forth, today, and leave them in the hands + Of these my bitter foes? Is Jason less + A traitor? Will the bride make aught the less + Of feasting on her bridal day, forsooth? + Tomorrow, when the sun shall rise, + Then shall I be alone, + The world a desert waste for me, + My babes, my husband--gone! + A wand'rer I, with weary feet + All torn and bleeding sore, + And bound for exile!--Whither, then + I know no more! + My foes stay here and make a joyous feast, + And laugh to think me gone; + My babes cling tightly to a stranger's breast, + Estranged from me forever, far away + From where I needs must come! + And wilt thou suffer that? + Is it not even now too late, + Too late to grant forgiveness? + Hath not Creusa even now the robes, + Ay, and the chalice, that fierce-flaming cup? + Hark! Nay, not yet!--But soon enough + Will come the shriek of agony + Ringing through all the palace halls! + Then they will come and slay me, + Nor spare the babes! + Hark! What a cry was that! Ha! Tongues of flame + Leap curling from the palace! It is done! + No more may I retreat, repent! + Let come what must! Set forward! + +[GORA _bursts out of the palace in a frenzy._] + +GORA. Oh, horror, horror! + +MEDEA (_hurrying to her_). + + So the deed is done! + +GORA. Woe, woe! Creusa dead, the palace red + With mounting flames! + +MEDEA. So, art thou gone at last, + Thou snow-white, spotless bride? Or seek'st thou still + To charm my children from me? Wouldst thou? Wouldst thou? + Wouldst take them whither thou art gone? + Nay, to the gods I give them now, + And not to thee, nay, not to thee! + +GORA. What hast thou done?--Look, look, they come! + +MEDEA. They come? Too late! Too late! + +[_She vanishes down the colonnade._] + +GORA. Alas that I, so old and gray, should aid, + Unknowing, such dark deeds! I counseled her + To take revenge: but such revenge--oh, gods! + Where are the babes? 'Twas here I left them late. + Where art thou, O Medea? And thy babes-- + Ah, where are they? + +[_She, too, disappears down the colonnade. Through the windows of the +palace in the background the rapidly mounting flames now burst forth._] + +JASON'S VOICE. + + Creusa! O Creusa! + +KING'S VOICE (_from within_). + + O my daughter! + +[GORA _bursts out of the palace and falls upon her knees in the middle +of the stage, covering her face with her hands._] + + +GORA. What have I seen?--Oh, horror! + +[MEDEA _appears at the entrance to the colonnade; in her left hand she +brandishes a dagger; she raises her right hand to command silence._] + +[_The curtain falls._] + + + +ACT V + + +_The outer court of_ CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act; the royal +apartments in the background lie in blackened ruins whence smoke is +still curling up; the court-yard is filled with various palace +attendants busied in various ways. The dawn is just breaking. + +The_ KING _appears, dragging_ GORA _out of the palace; a train of_ +CREUSA'S _slave-women follows him._ + +KING. Away with thee! It was thy wicked hand + That to my daughter brought those bloody gifts + Which were her doom! My daughter! Oh, Creusa! + My child, my child! + +[_He turns to the slave-women._] + + 'Twas she? + +GORA. Yea, it was I! + I knew not that my hands bore doom of death + Within thy dwelling. + +KING. Knew'st not. Never think + To 'scape my wrath on this wise! + +GORA. Dost thou think + I shudder at thy wrath? Mine eyes have seen-- + Woe's me!--the children weltering in their blood, + Slain by the hand of her that bore them, ay, + Medea's very hand! And after that, + All other horrors are to me but jest! + +KING. Creusa! Oh, my child, my pure, true child! + Say, did thy hand not shake, thou grisly dame, + When to her side thou broughtest death? + +GORA. I shed no tears for her! She had her due! + Why would she seek to snatch away the last + Possession of my most unhappy mistress? + I weep for these my babes, whom I did love + So tenderly, and whom I saw but now + Butchered--and by their mother! Ah, I would + Ye all were in your graves, and by your side + That traitor that doth call himself Lord Jason! + I would I were in Colchis with Medea + And these poor babes in safety! Would I ne'er + Had seen your faces, or your city here, + Whereon this grievous fate so justly falls! + +KING. These insults thou wilt soon enough put by, + When thou shalt feel my heavy hand of doom! + But is it certain that my child is dead? + So many cry her dead, though I can find + None that did see her fall! Is there no way + To 'scape the fire? And can the flames wax strong + So quickly? See how slow they lick and curl + Along the fallen rafters of my house! + Do ye not see? And yet ye say she's dead? + An hour ago she stood before mine eyes + A blooming flower, instinct with happy life-- + And now she's dead! Nay, I cannot believe, + And will not! 'Gainst my will I turn mine eyes + Now here, now there, and cannot but believe + That now, or now, or now at least, she must + Appear in all her stainless purity + And beauty, glide in safety to me here + Through those black, smoldering ruins!--Who was by? + Who saw her perish?--Thou?--Quick, speak!--Nay, then, + Roll not thine eyes in horror! Tell thy tale, + E'en though it kill me! Is she dead, indeed? + +A SLAVE-WOMAN. + + Dead! + +KING. And thou saw'st it? + +SLAVE-WOMAN. + + With my very eyes! + Saw how the flames leaped forth from out that box + Of gold, and caught her flesh-- + +KING. Hold! Hold! Enough! + This woman saw it! Creusa is no more! + Creusa! Oh, my daughter, my dear child! + Once, many years agone, she burnt her hand + Against the altar; she was but a child, + And cried aloud with pain. I rushed to her + And caught her in my arms, and to my lips. + I put her poor scorched fingers, blowing hard + To ease the burning pain. The little maid + E'en through her bitter tears smiled up at me + And, softly sobbing, whispered in my ear, + "It is not much! I do not mind the pain!" + Gods! That she should be burned to death? Oh, gods! + +[_He turns fiercely upon_ GORA.] + + And as for thee,--if I should plunge my sword + Ten, twenty times, up to the hilt, clean through + Thy body, would that bring my daughter back? + Or, could I find that hideous witch-wife--Stay! + Where went she, that hath robbed me of my child? + I'll shake an answer straight from out thy mouth, + Ay, though thy soul come with it, if thou'lt not + Declare to me this instant where she's gone! + +GORA. I know not--and I care no whit to know! + Let her go forth alone to her sure doom. + Why dost thou tarry? Slay me! For I have + No wish to live! + +KING. We'll speak of that anon; + But first I'll have thy answer! + +JASON (_behind the scenes_). + + Where's Medea? + Bring her before my face! Medea! + +[_He enters suddenly with drawn sword._] + + Nay, + They told me she was caught! Where is she, then? + +(_To_ GORA.) + + Ha! Thou here? Where's thy mistress? + +GORA. Fled away! + +JASON. Hath she the children? + +GORA. Nay! + +JASON. Then they are-- + +GORA. Dead! + Yea, dead! thou smooth-tongued traitor, dead, I say! + She sought to put them where thine eyes could never + Take joy in them again; but, knowing well + No spot on earth so sacred was but thou + To find them wouldst break in, she hid them, safe + Forever, in the grave! Ay, stand aghast, + And stare upon the pavement! Thou canst never + Recall thy babes to life! They're gone for aye! + And, for their sake, I'm glad! No, I am not, + For their sake--but because thou dost despair, + That, smooth-tongued traitor, glads my heart indeed! + Was it not thou that drove her to this crime, + And thou, false King, with thine hypocrisy? + She was a noble creature-but ye drew + Your nets of shameful treachery too close + About her, till, in wild despair, cut off + From all escape else, she o'erleaped your snares, + And made thy crown, the kingly ornament + Of royal heads, to be the awful tool + Of her unnatural crime! Ay, wring your hands, + But wring them for your own most grievous fate! + +(_Turning to the_ KING.) + + Why sought thy child another woman's bed? + +(_Turning to_ JASON.) + + Why must thou steal her, bring her here to Greece, + If thou didst never love her? If thou didst + Right truly love her, why, then, thrust her forth? + Though others cry her murderess, yea, though I + Myself must name her so, yet none the less + Ye have but met your just deserts!--For me, + I have no wish to live another day! + Two of my babes are dead, the third I needs + Must hate forever! Take me, lead me hence + And slay me, if ye will! Fair hopes I have + At last, of justice in that other world, + Now I have seen Heaven's vengeance on you hurled! + +[_She is led away by some of the _KING's _attendants._] + +(_Pause._) + +KING. Nay, if I wronged her,--by the gods in Heaven + I swear I meant it not!--Now haste we all + To search these smoking ruins for what trace + Remains of my poor girl, that we may lay + Her broken, bruised frame to rest at last + In Earth's kind bosom! + +[_He turns to _JASON.] + + But, for thee--straightway + Thou must go forth, where'er thy feet may choose + To carry thee! Pollution such as thine + Spells woe for all about thee, as I've proved. + Oh, had I never seen, never rescued thee, + Ne'er acted friendship's part and welcomed thee + Within my palace! And, for thanks, thou took'st + My daughter from me! Go, lest thou shouldst take + As well the only comfort left me now-- + To weep her memory! + +JASON. Wouldst thou thrust me forth? + +KING. I banish thee my sight. + +JASON. What shall I do? + +KING. Some god will answer that! + +JASON. Who, then, will guide + My wandering steps, who lend a helping hand? + For, see! my head is bleeding, wounded sore + By falling firebrands! How? All silent, then? + And none will guide me, none companion me, + None follow me, whom once so many joyed + To follow? Spirits of my babes, lead ye + The way, and guide your father to the grave + That waits him! + +[_He goes slowly away._] + +KING (_to his attendants_). + + Quick, to work! And after that, + Mourning that hath no end! + +[_He goes away in the other direction._] + +_The curtain falls for a moment, and, when it rises again, discloses a +wild and lonely region surrounded by forest and by lofty crags, at the +foot of which lies a mean hut. A rustic enters._ + +RUSTIC. How fair the morning dawns! Oh, kindly gods, + After the storm and fury of the night, + Your sun doth rise more glorious than before! + +[_He goes into the hut._] + +(JASON _comes stumbling out of the forest and leaning heavily on his +sword._) + +JASON. Nay, I can go no farther! How my head + Doth burn and throb, the blood how boil within! + My tongue cleaves to the roof of my parched mouth! + Is none within there? Must I die of thirst, + And all alone?--Ha! Yon's the very hut + That gave me shelter when I came this way + Before, a rich man still, a happy father, + My bosom filled with newly-wakened hopes! + +[_He knocks at the door._] + + 'Tis but a drink I crave, and then a place + To lay me down and die! + +[_The peasant comes out of the house._] + +RUSTIC. Who knocks?--Poor man, + Who art thou? Ah, poor soul, he's faint to death! + +JASON. Oh, water, water! Give me but to drink! + See, Jason is my name, famed far and wide, + The hero of the wondrous Golden Fleece! + A prince--a king--and of the Argonauts + The mighty leader, Jason! + +RUSTIC. Art thou, then, + In very sooth Lord Jason? Get thee gone + And quickly! Thou shalt not so much as set + A foot upon my threshold, to pollute + My humble dwelling! Thou didst bring but now + Death to the daughter of my lord the King! + Then seek not shelter at the meanest door + Of any of his subjects! + +[_He goes into the hut again and shuts the door behind him._] + +JASON. He is gone, + And leaves me here to lie upon the earth, + Bowed in the dust, for any that may pass + To trample on!--O Death, on thee I call! + Have pity on me! Take me to my babes! + +[_He sinks down upon the ground._] + +MEDEA _makes her way among some tumbled rocks, and stands suddenly +before him, the Golden Fleece flung over her shoulders like a mantle._ + +MEDEA. Jason! + +JASON (_half raising himself_). + + Who calls me?--Ha! What spectral form + Is this before me? Is it thou, Medea? + Ha! Dost thou dare to show thyself again + Before mine eyes? My sword! My sword! + +[_He tries to rise, but falls weakly back._] + + Woe's me! + My limbs refuse their service! Here I lie, + A broken wreck! + +MEDEA. Nay, cease thy mad attempts + Thou canst not harm me, for I am reserved + To be the victim of another's hand, + And not of thine! + +JASON. My babes!--Where has thou them? + +MEDEA. Nay, they are mine! + +JASON. Where hast thou them, I say? + +MEDEA. They're gone where they are happier far than thou + Or I shall ever be! + +JASON. Dead! Dead! My babes! + +MEDEA. Thou deemest death the worst of mortal woes? + I know a far more wretched one--to be + Alone, unloved! Hadst thou not prized mere life + Far, far above its worth, we were not now + In such a pass. But we must bear our weight + Of sorrow, for thy deeds! Yet these our babes + Are spared that grief, at least! + +JASON. And thou canst stand + So patient, quiet, there, and speak such words? + +MEDEA. Quiet, thou sayst, and patient? Were my heart + Not closed to thee e'en now, as e'er it was, + Then couldst thou see the bitter, smarting pain + Which, ever swelling like an angry sea, + Tosses, now here, now there, the laboring wreck + That is my grief, and, veiling it from sight + In awful desolation, sweeps it forth + O'er boundless ocean-wastes! I sorrow not + Because the babes are dead; my only grief + Is that they ever lived, that thou and I + Must still live on! + +JASON. Alas! + +MEDEA. Bear thou the lot + That fortune sends thee; for, to say the truth, + Thou richly hast deserved it!--Even as thou + Before me liest on the naked earth, + So lay I once in Colchis at thy feet + And craved protection--but thou wouldst not hear! + Nay, rather didst thou stretch thine eager hands + In blind unreason forth, to lay them swift + Upon the golden prize, although I cried, + "'Tis Death that thou dost grasp at!"--Take it, then, + That prize that thou so stubbornly didst seek, + Even Death! + I leave thee now, forevermore. + 'Tis the last time-for all eternity + The very last--that I shall speak with thee, + My husband! Fare thee well! Ay, after all + The joys that blessed our happy, happy youth, + 'Mid all the bitter woes that hem us in + On every side, in face of all the grief + That threatens for the future, still I say, + "Farewell, my husband!" Now there dawns for thee + A life of heavy sorrows; but, let come + What may, abide it firmly, show thyself + Stronger in suffering than in doing deeds + Men named heroic! If thy bitter woe + Shall make thee yearn for death, then think on me, + And it shall comfort thee to know how mine + Is bitterer far, because I set my hand + To deeds, to which thou only gav'st assent. + I go my way, and take my heavy weight + Of sorrow with me through the wide, wide world. + A dagger-stroke were blest release indeed; + But no! it may not be! It were not meet + Medea perish at Medea's hands. + My earlier life, before I stooped to sin, + Doth make me worthy of a better judge + Than I could be--I go to Delphi's shrine, + And there, before the altar of the god, + The very spot whence Phrixus long ago + Did steal the prize, I'll hang it up again, + Restore to that dark god what is his own-- + The Golden Fleece--the only thing the flames + Have left unharmed, the only thing that 'scaped + Safe from the bloody, fiery death that slew + That fair Corinthian princess.--To the priests + I'll go, and I'll submit me to their will, + Ay, though they take my life to expiate + My grievous sins, or though they send me forth + To wander still through some far desert-waste, + My very life, prolonged, a heavier weight + Of sorrow than I ever yet have known! + +_[She holds up the gleaming Fleece before his eyes.]_ + + Know'st thou the golden prize which thou didst strive + So eagerly to win, which seemed to thee + The shining crown of all thy famous deeds? + What is the happiness the world can give?-- + A shadow! What the fame it can bestow?-- + An empty dream! Poor man! Thy dreams were all + Of shadows! And the dreams are ended now, + But not the long, black Night!--Farewell to thee, + My husband, for I go! That was a day + Of heavy sorrows when we first did meet; + Today, 'mid heavier sorrows, we must part! + Farewell! + +JASON. Deserted! All alone! My babes! + +MEDEA. Endure! + +JASON. Lost! Lost! + +MEDEA. Be patient! + +JASON. Let me die! + +MEDEA. I go, and nevermore thine eyes shall see + My face again! + +_[As she departs, winding her way among the tumbled rocks, the curtain +falls.]_ + + * * * * * + + + + +THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO + +AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS + +By FRANZ GRILLPARZER + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + ALFONSO VIII., _the Noble, King of Castile._ + + ELEANOR OF ENGLAND, _Daughter of Henry II., his Wife._ + + THE PRINCE, _their Son._ + + MANRIQUE, _Count of Lara, Governor of Castile._ + + DON GARCERAN, _his Son._ + + DONA CLARA, _Lady in Waiting to the Queen. + + The Queen's Waiting Maid._ + + ISAAC, _the Jew._ + + ESTHER, } + } _his Daughters._ + RACHEL, } + + REINERO, _the King's Page. + + Nobles, Court Ladies, Petitioners, Servants, and Other People. + + Place, Toledo and Vicinity. + + Time, about 1195 A.D._ + + +THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO (1873) + +TRANSLATED BY GEORGE HENRY DANTON AND ANNINA PERIAM DANTON + + + +ACT I + + +_In the Royal Garden at Toledo._ + +_Enter_ ISAAC, RACHEL, _and_ ESTHER. + +ISAAC. Back, go back, and leave the garden! + Know ye not it is forbidden? + When the King here takes his pleasure + Dares no Jew--ah, God will damn them! + Dares no Jew to tread the earth here! + +RACHEL (_singing_). + + La-la-la-la. + +ISAAC. Don't you hear me? + +RACHEL. Yes, I hear thee. + +ISAAC. Hear, and linger + +RACHEL. Hear, yet linger! + +ISAAC. Oh, Oh, Oh! Why doth God try me? + To the poor I've given my portion, + I have prayed and I have fasted, + Unclean things I've never tasted + Nay! And yet God tries me thus. + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER). + + Ow! Why dost thou pull my arm so? + I will stay, I am not going. + I just wish to see the King and + All the court and all their doings, + All their gold and all their jewels. + He is young, they say, and handsome, + White and red, I want to see him. + +ISAAC. And suppose the servants catch thee + +RACHEL. Then I'll beg until they free me! + +ISAAC. Yes, just like thy mother, eh? + She, too, looked at handsome Christians, + Sighed, too, for Egyptian flesh-pots; + Had I not so closely watched her + I should deem-well, God forgive me!-- + That thy madness came that way, + Heritage of mean, base Christians; + Ah! I praise my first wife, noble! + + (_To_ ESTHER.) + + Praise thy mother, good like thee, + Though not wealthy. Of the second + Did the riches aught avail me? + Nay, she spent them as she pleasured, + Now for feasts and now for banquets, + Now for finery and jewels. + Look! This is indeed her daughter! + Has she not bedeckt herself, + Shines she not in fine apparel + Like a Babel in her pride? + +RACHEL (_singing_). + + Am I not lovely, + Am I not rich? + See their vexation, + And I don't care-la, la, la, la. + +ISAAC. There she goes with handsome shoes on; + Wears them out--what does it matter? + Every step costs me a farthing! + Richest jewels are her earrings, + If a thief comes, he will take them, + If they're lost, who'll find them ever? + +RACHEL (_taking off an earring_). + + Lo! I take them off and hold them, + How they shine and how they shimmer! + Yet how little I regard them, + Haply, I to thee present them + +(_to_ ESTHER.) + + Or I throw them in the bushes. + +[_She makes a motion as if throwing it away._] + +ISAAC (_running in the direction of the throw_). + + Woe, ah woe! Where did they go to? + Woe, ah woe! How find them ever? + +ESTHER. These fine jewels? What can ail thee? + +RACHEL. Dost believe me, then, so foolish + As to throw away possessions? + See, I have it in my hand here, + Hang it in my ear again and + On my cheek it rests in contrast. + +ISAAC. Woe! Lost! + +RACHEL. Father come, I prithee! + See! the jewel is recovered. + I was jesting. + +ISAAC. Then may God-- + Thus to tease me! And now, come! + +RACHEL. Anything but this I'll grant thee. + I must see his Royal Highness, + And he me, too, yes, yes, me, too. + If he comes and if he asks them, + "Who is she, that lovely Jewess?" + "Say, how hight you?"--"Rachel, sire! + Isaac's Rachel!" I shall answer. + Then he'll pinch my cheek so softly. + Beauteous Rachel then they'll call me. + What if envy bursts to hear it, + Shall I worry if it vexes? + +ESTHER. Father! + +ISAAC. What + +ESTHER. The court approaches. + +ISAAC. Lord of life, what's going to happen? + 'Tis the tribe of Rehoboam. + Wilt thou go? + +RACHEL. Oh, father, listen! + +ISAAC. Well then stay! But come thou, Esther, + Leave the fool here to her folly. + Let the unclean-handed see her, + Let him touch her, let him kill her, + She herself hath idly willed it. + Esther, come! + +RACHEL. Oh, father, tarry! + +ISAAC. Hasten, hasten; come, then, Esther! + +[_Exit with_ ESTHER.] + +RACHEL. Not alone will I remain here! + Listen! Stay! Alas, they leave me. + Not alone will I remain here. + Ah! they come--Oh, sister, father! + +[_She hastens after them._] + +_Enter the_ KING, _the_ QUEEN, MANTRIQUE DE LARA _and suite_. + +KING (_entering_). + + Allow the folk to stay! It harms me not; + For he who calleth me a King denotes + As highest among many me, and so + The people is a part of my own self. + +(_Turning to the_ QUEEN.) + + And thou, no meager portion of myself, + Art welcome here in this my ancient home, + Art welcome in Toledo's faithful walls. + Gaze all about thee, let thy heart beat high, + For, know! thou standest at my spirit's fount. + There is no square, no house, no stone, no tree, + That is not witness of my childhood lot. + An orphan child, I fled my uncle's wrath, + Bereft of mother first, then fatherless, + Through hostile land--it was my own--I fled. + The brave Castilians me from place to place, + Like shelterers of villainy did lead, + And hid me from my uncle of Leon, + Since death did threaten host as well as guest. + But everywhere they tracked me up and down. + Then Estevan Illan, a don who long + Hath slept beneath the greensward of the grave, + And this man here, Manrique Lara, led me + To this, the stronghold of the enemy, + And hid me in the tower of St. Roman, + Which there you see high o'er Toledo's roofs. + There lay I still, but they began to strew + The seed of rumor in the civic ear, + And on Ascension Day, when all the folk + Was gathered at the gate of yonder fane, + They led me to the tower-balcony + And showed me to the people, calling down, + "Here in your midst, among you, is your King, + The heir of ancient princes; of their rights + And of your rights the willing guardian." + I was a child and wept then, as they said. + But still I hear it--ever that wild cry, + A single word from thousand bearded throats, + A thousand swords as in a single hand, + The people's hand. But God the vict'ry gave, + The Leonese did flee; and on and on, + A standard rather than a warrior, + I with my army compassed all the land, + And won my vict'ries with my baby smile. + These taught and nurtured me with loving care, + And mother's milk flowed from their wounds for me. + And so, while other princes call themselves + The fathers of their people, I am son, + For what I am, I owe their loyalty. + +MANRIQUE. If all that now thou art, most noble Sire, + Should really, as thou sayest, spring from thence, + Then gladly we accept the thanks, rejoice + If these our teachings and our nurture, thus + Are mirrored in thy fame and in thy deeds, + Then we and thou are equally in debt. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Pray gaze on him with these thy gracious eyes; + Howe'er so many kings have ruled in Spain, + Not one compares with him in nobleness. + Old age, in truth, is all too wont to blame, + And I am old and cavil much and oft; + And when confuted in the council-hall + I secret wrath have ofttimes nursed--not long, + Forsooth--that royal word should weigh so much; + And sought some evil witness 'gainst my King, + And gladly had I harmed his good repute. + But always I returned in deepest shame-- + The envy mine, and his the spotlessness. + +KING. A teacher, Lara, and a flatt'rer, too? + But we will not dispute you this and that; + If I'm not evil, better, then, for you, + Although the man, I fear me, void of wrong, + Were also void of excellence as well; + For as the tree with sun-despising roots, + Sucks up its murky nurture from the earth, + So draws the trunk called wisdom, which indeed + Belongs to heaven itself in towering branch, + Its strength and being from the murky soil + Of our mortality-allied to sin. + Was ever a just man who ne'er was hard? + And who is mild, is oft not strong enough. + The brave become too venturesome in war. + What we call virtue is but conquered sin, + And where no struggle was, there is no power. + But as for me, no time was given to err, + A child--the helm upon my puny head, + A youth--with lance, high on my steed I sat, + My eye turned ever to some threat'ning foe, + Unmindful of the joys and sweets of life, + And far and strange lay all that charms and lures. + That there are women, first I learned to know + When in the church my wife was given me, + She, truly faultless if a human is, + And whom, I frankly say, I'd warmer love + If sometimes need to pardon were, not praise. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Nay, nay, fear not, I said it but in jest! + The outcome we must all await-nor paint + The devil on the wall, lest he appear. + But now, what little respite we may have, + Let us not waste in idle argument. + The feuds within our land are stilled, although + They say the Moor will soon renew the fight, + And hopes from Africa his kinsman's aid, + Ben Jussuf and his army, bred in strife. + And war renewed will bring distress anew. + Till then we'll open this our breast to peace, + And take deep breath of unaccustomed joy. + Is there no news?--But did I then forget? + You do not look about you, Leonore, + To see what we have done to please you here. + +QUEEN. What ought I see? + +KING. Alas, O Almirante! + We have not hit upon it, though we tried. + For days, for weeks, we dig and dig and dig, + And hope that we could so transform this spot, + This orange-bearing, shaded garden grove, + To have it seem like such as England loves, + The austere country of my austere wife. + And she but smiles and smiling says me nay! + Thus are they all, Britannia's children, all; + If any custom is not quite their own, + They stare, and smile, and will have none of it. + Th' intention, Leonore, was good, at least, + So give these worthy men a word of thanks; + God knows how long they may have toiled for us. + +QUEEN. I thank you, noble sirs. + +KING. To something else! + The day has started wrong. I hoped to show + You houses, meadows, in the English taste, + Through which we tried to make this garden please; + We missed our aim. Dissemble not, O love! + 'Tis so, and let us think of it no more. + To duty we devote what time remains, + Ere Spanish wine spice high our Spanish fare. + What, from the boundary still no messenger? + Toledo did we choose, with wise intent, + To be at hand for tidings of the foe. + And still there are none? + +MANRIQUE. Sire-- + +KING. What is it, pray? + +MANRIQUE. A messenger-- + +KING. Has come? What then? + +MANRIQUE (_pointing to the Queen_). + + Not now. + +KING. My wife is used to council and to war, + The Queen in everything shares with the King. + +MANRIQUE. The messenger himself, perhaps, more than + The message-- + +KING. Well, who is't? + +MANRIQUE. It is my son. + +KING. Ah, Garceran! Pray let him come. + +(_To the_ QUEEN.) + + Stay thou! + The youth, indeed, most grossly erred, when he + Disguised, slipped in the kemenate to spy + Upon the darling of his heart--Do not, + O Dona Clara, bow your head in shame, + The man is brave, although both young and rash, + My comrade from my early boyhood days; + And now implacability were worse + Than frivolous condoning of the fault. + And penance, too, methinks, he's done enough + For months an exile on our kingdom's bounds. + +[_At a nod from the_ QUEEN, _one of the ladies of her suite withdraws._] + + And yet she goes: O Modesty + More chaste than chastity itself! + +_Enter_ GARCERAN. + + My friend, + What of the border? Are they all out there + So shy with maiden-modesty as you? + Then poorly guarded is our realm indeed! + +GARCERAN. A doughty soldier, Sire, ne'er fears a foe, + But noble women's righteous wrath is hard. + +KING. 'Tis true of righteous wrath! And do not think + That I with custom and propriety + Am less severe and serious than my wife, + Yet anger has its limits, like all else. + And so, once more, my Garceran, what cheer? + Gives you the foe concern in spite of peace? + +GARCERAN. With bloody wounds, O Sire, as if in play, + On this side of the boundary and that + We fought, yet ever peace resembled war + So to a hair, that perfidy alone + Made all the difference. But now the foe + A short time holdeth peace. + +KING. 'Tis bad! + +GARCERAN. We think + So too, and that he plans a mightier blow. + And rumor hath it that his ships convey + From Africa to Cadiz men and food, + Where secretly a mighty army forms, + Which Jussuf, ruler of Morocco, soon + Will join with forces gathered over seas; + And then the threat'ning blow will fall on us. + +KING. Well, if they strike, we must return the blow. + A king leads them, and so a king leads you. + If there's a God, such as we know there is, + And justice be the utt'rance of his tongue, + I hope to win, God with us, and the right I + I grieve but for the peasants' bitter need, + Myself, as highest, should the heaviest bear. + Let all the people to the churches come + And pray unto the God of victory. + Let all the sacred relics be exposed, + And let each pray, who goeth to the fight. + +GARCERAN. Without thy proclamation, this is done, + The bells sound far through all the borderland, + And in the temples gathereth the folk; + Only, alas, its zeal, erring as oft, + Expends itself on those of other faith, + Whom trade and gain have scattered through the land. + Mistreated have they here and there a Jew. + +KING. And ye, ye suffer this? Now, by the Lord, + I will protect each one who trusts in me. + Their faith is their affair, their conduct mine. + +GARCERAN. 'Tis said they're spies and hirelings of the Moors. + + KING. Be sure, no one betrays more than he knows, + And since I always have despised their gold, + I never yet have asked for their advice. + Not Christian and not Jew knows what shall be, + But I alone. Hence, by your heads, I urge-- + +[_A woman's voice without._] + + Woe, woe! + +KING. What is't? + +GARCERAN. An old man, Sire, is there, + A Jew, methinks, pursued by garden churls, + Two maidens with him, one of them, behold, + Is fleeing hither. + +KING. Good! Protection's here, + And thunder strike who harms one hair of hers. + +(_Calling behind the scenes._) + + Hither, here I say! + + RACHEL _comes in flight_ + +RACHEL. They're killing me! + My father, too! Oh! is there none to help? + +[_She sees the QUEEN and kneels before her._] + + Sublime one, shelter me from these. Stretch out + Thy hand and hold it over me, thy maid, + Not Jewess I to serve thee then, but slave. + +[_She tries to take the hand of the _QUEEN _who turns away._] + +RACHEL (_rising_). + + Here, too, no safety? Terror everywhere? + Where shall I flee to? + Here there stands a man + Whose moonbeam glances flood the soul with peace, + And everything about him proves him King. + Thou canst protect me, Sire, and oh, thou wilt! + I _will_ not die, I _will_ not, no, no, no! + +[_She throws herself on the ground before the_ KING _and seizes his +right foot, bending her head to the ground._] + +KING (_to several who approach_). + + Let be! Her senses have ta'en flight through fear, + And as she shudders, makes me tremble, too. + +RACHEL (_sits up_). + + And everything I have, + +(_taking off her bracelet_) + + this bracelet here, + This necklace and this costly piece of cloth, + +(_taking a shawl-like cloth from her neck_) + + It cost my father well-nigh forty pounds, + Real Indian stuff, I'll give that too--if you + Will leave me but my life: I will not die! + +[_She sinks back to her former position._] + +_ISAAC and ESTHER are led in._ + +KING. What crime has he committed? + +MANRIQUE. Sire, thou know'st, + The entrance to the royal gardens is + Denied this people when the court is here. + +KING. And I permit it, if it is forbidden. + +ESTHER. He is no spy, O Sire, a merchant he, + In Hebrew are the letters that he bears, + Not in the Moorish tongue, not Arabic. + +KING. 'Tis well, I doubt it not. + +(_Pointing to_ RACHEL.) + And she? + +ESTHER. My sister! + +KING. Take her and carry her away. + +RACHEL (_as_ ESTHER _approaches her_). + + No, no! + They're seizing me, they're leading me away + To kill me! + +(_Pointing to her discarded finery._) + + See, my ransom. Here will I + Remain a while and take a little sleep. + +(_Laying her cheek against the_ KING's _knee._) + + Here safety is; and here 'tis good to rest. + +QUEEN. Will you not go? + +KING. You see that I am caught. + +QUEEN. If you are caught, I still am free, I go! + + [_Exit with her women._] + +KING. And now that, too! That which they would prevent + They bring to pass with their false chastity. + +(_Sternly to_ RACHEL.) + + Arise, I tell thee--Give her back her shawl, + And let her go. + +RACHEL. O, Sire, a little while. + + My limbs are lamed,--I cannot, cannot walk. + +[_She props her elbow on her knee and rests her head in her hand._] + +KING (_stepping back_). + + And is she ever thus, so timorous? + +ESTHER. Nay, for, a while ago, presumptuous, + In spite of us, she wished to see thee, Sire. + +KING. Me? She has paid it dear. + +ESTHER. At home, as well, + She plays her pranks, and jokes with man or dog, + And makes us laugh, however grave we be. + +KING. I would, indeed, she were a Christian, then, + And here at court, where things are dull enough; + A little fun might stand us in good stead. + Ho, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. Illustrious Sire and King! + +ESTHER (_busy with_ RACHEL). + + Stand up! Stand up! + +RACHEL (_rising and taking off_ ESTHER's _necklace, which she adds to +the other jewels_). + + And give, too, what _thou_ hast, + It is my ransom. + +ESTHER. Well, so be it then. + +KING. What think you of all this? + +GARCERAN. What _I_ think, Sire? + +KING. Dissemble not! You are a connoisseur, + Myself have never looked at women much + But _she_ seems beautiful. + +GARCERAN. She is, O Sire! + +KING. Be strong then, for you shall accomp'ny her. + +RACHEL (_who stands in the middle of the stage with trembling knees and +bent head, pushing up her sleeve_). + + Put on my bracelet. Oh you hurt me so. + The necklace, too-indeed, that still hangs here. + The kerchief keep, I feel so hot and choked. + +KING. Convey her home! + +GARCERAN. But, Sire, I fear-- + +KING. Well, what? + +GARCERAN. The people are aroused. + +KING. Ay, you are right. + Although a royal word protection is, + 'Tis better that we give no cause to wrong. + +ESTHER (_fixing_ RACHEL's _dress at the neck_). + + Thy dress is all disturbed and all awry. + +KING. Take her at first to one of those kiosks + There scattered through the garden, and at eve-- + +GARCERAN. I hear, my liege! + +KING. What was I saying? Oh! Are you not ready yet? + +ESTHER. We are, my lord. + +KING. At evening when the people all have gone, + Then lead her home and that will make an end. + +GARCERAN. Come, lovely heathen! + +KING. Heathen? Stuff and nonsense! + +ESTHER (_to_ RACHEL,_ who prepares to go_). + + And thankst thou not the King for so much grace? + + +RACHEL (_still exhausted, turning to the _KING). + + My thanks, O Sire, for all thy mighty care! + O were I not a poor and wretched thing-- + +(_with a motion of her hand across her neck_) + + That this my neck, made short by hangman's hand, + That this my breast, a shield against thy foe-- + But that thou wishest not! + +KING. A charming shield! + Now go, and God be with you.--Garceran, + +(_more softly_) + + I do not wish that she, whom I protect + Should be insulted by improper jests, + Or any way disturbed-- + +RACHEL (_with her hand on her brow_). + + I cannot walk. + +KING (_as Garceran is about to offer his arm_). + + And why your arm? The woman can assist. + And do thou, gaffer, watch thy daughter well, + The world is ill! Do thou protect thy hoard. + +[_Exeunt_ RACHEL _and her kin, led by_ GARCERAN.] + +KING (_watching them_). + She totters still in walking. All her soul + A sea of fear in e'er-renewing waves. + + (_Putting down his foot_) + + She held my foot so tightly in her grasp, + It almost pains me. Strange it is, a man + When cowardly, with justice is despised-- + A woman shows her strength when she is weak. + Ah, Almirante, what say _you_ to this? +MANRIQUE. I think, the punishment you gave my son, + Is, noble Sire, both subtle and severe. +KING. The punishment? +MANRIQUE. To guard this common trash. +KING. Methinks the punishment is not so hard. + Myself have never toyed with women much, + + (_Pointing to his suite._) + + But these, perchance, think otherwise than you. + But now, avaunt all pictures so confused! + And dine we, for my body needs new strength, + And with the first glad draught this festal day, + Let each one think--of what he wants to think. + No ceremony! Forward! Hasten! On! + +[_As the court arranges itself on both sides and the KING goes through +the centre, the curtain falls._] + + + +ACT II + + +_A drop scene showing part of the garden. At the right, a garden-house +with a balcony and a door, to which several steps lead up._ + +GARCERAN _enters through the door._ + +GARCERAN. And so before I'm caught, I'll save myself! + The girl is beautiful, and is a fool; + But love is folly; wherefore such a fool + Is more to fear than e'er the slyest was. + Besides, 'tis necessary that I bring, + While still there's time, my good repute again + To honor,--and my love for Dona Clara, + Most silent she of all that never talk; + The wise man counts escape a victory. + + _A page of the_ KING _enters._ + +PAGE. Sir Garceran-- + +GARCERAN. Ah, Robert, what's a-foot? + +PAGE. The King, my lord, commanded me to see + If still you were with her entrusted you-- + +GARCERAN. If I am here? Why, he commanded--friend! + You were to see were I, perhaps, upstairs? + Just tell him that the girl is in the house, + And I outside. That answer will suffice. + +PAGE. The King himself! + +GARCERAN. Your majesty! + +[_The_ KING _comes wrapped in a cloak. Exit PAGE._] + +KING. Well, friend! + Still here? + +GARCERAN. Why, did you not yourself command + That only with the evening's first approach-- + +KING. Yes, yes, but now on second thought it seems + Far better that you travel while 'tis day-- + They say thou'rt brave. + +GARCERAN. So you believe, O Sire-- + +KING. Methinks thou honorest the royal word + Which would unharmed know what it protects. + But custom is the master of mankind; + Our wills will often only what they must. + And so, depart. But tell me, what doth she? + +GARCERAN. At first, there was a weeping without end, + But time brings comfort, as the saying is; + And so 'twas here. Soon cheerfulness, yea jest, + Had banished all her former abject fear; + Then there was pleasure in the shining toys, + And wonder at the satin tapestries. + We measured every curtained stuff by yards, + Till now we've settled down and feel at home. + +KING. And does she seem desirous to return? + +GARCERAN. It sometimes seems she does, and then does not. + A shallow mind ne'er worries for the morrow. + +KING. Of course thou didst not hesitate to throw + To her the bait of words, as is thy wont? + How did she take it, pray? + +GARCERAN. Not badly, Sire. + +KING. Thou liest! But in truth thou'rt lucky, boy! + And hover'st like a bird in cheerful skies, + And swoopest down wherever berries lure, + And canst adjust thyself at the first glance. + I am a King; my very word brings fear. + Yet I, were I the first time in my life + To stand in woman's presence, fear should know! + How dost begin? Pray, teach me what to do; + I am a novice in such arts as these, + And nothing better than a grown-up child. + Dost sigh? + +GARCERAN. Oh, Sire, how sadly out of date! + +KING. Well then, dost gaze? Does then Squire Gander gawk + Till Lady Goose-quill gawks again? Is't so? + And next, I ween, thou takest up thy lute, + And turning towards the balcony, as here, + Thou singst a croaking song, to which the moon, + A yellow pander, sparkles through the trees; + The flowers sweet intoxicate the sense, + Till now the proper opportunity + Arrives--the father, brother--spouse, perhaps-- + Has left the house on similar errand bent. + And now the handmaid calls you gently: "Pst!" + You enter in, and then a soft, warm hand + Takes hold of yours and leads you through the halls, + Which, endless as the gloomy grave, spur on + The heightened wish, until, at last, the musk, + The softened lights that come through curtains' folds, + Do tell you that your charming goal is reached. + The door is ope'd, and bright, in candle gleam, + On velvet dark, with limbs all loosed in love, + Her snow-white arm enwrapped in ropes of pearls, + Your darling leans with gently drooping head, + The golden locks--no, no, I say they're black-- + Her raven locks--and so on to the end! + Thou seest, Garceran, I learn right well, + And Christian, Mooress, Jewess, 'tis the same. + +GARCERAN. We frontier warriors prize, for lack of choice, + Fair Moorish women, but the Jewess, Sire,-- + +KING. Pretend thou not to pick and choose thy fare! + I wager, if the maiden there above + Had given thee but a glance, thou'dst be aflame. + I love it not, this folk, and yet I know + That what disfigures it, is our own work; + We lame them, and are angry when they limp, + And yet, withal, this wandering shepherd race + Has something great about it, Garceran. + We are today's, we others; but their line + Runs from Creation's cradle, where our God, + In human form, still walked in Paradise, + And cherubim were guests of patriarchs, + And God alone was judge, and was the law. + Within this fairy world there is the truth + Of Cain and Abel, of Rebecca's craft, + Of Rachel, who by Jacob's service wooed-- + How hight this maiden? + +GARCERAN. Sire, I know not. +KING. Oh! + Of great King Ahasuerus, who his hand + Stretched out o'er Esther; she, though Jewess, was + His wife, and, like a god, preserved her race. + Christian and Moslem both their lineage trace + Back to this folk, as oldest and as first; + Thus they have doubts of us, not we of them. + And though, like Esau, it has sold its right, + We ten times daily crucify our God + By grievous sins and by our vile misdeeds-- + The Jews have crucified him only once! + Now let us go! Or, rather, stay thou here; + Conduct her hence, and mark well where she lives. + Perhaps some time, when worn by weary cares, + I'll visit her, and there enjoy her thanks. + +(_About to go, he hears a noise in the house and stops._) + + What is't? + +GARCERAN. Confusion in the house; it seems + Almost as if they bring thy praise to naught; + Among themselves they quarrel-- + +KING (_going to the house_). + + What about? + + _ISAAC comes from the garden-house._ + +ISAAC (_speaking back into the house_). + + Stay then, and risk your heads, if so ye will, + You've nearly lost them once. I'll save myself. + +KING. Ask what he means. + +GARCERAN. My good man, tell, how now? + +ISAAC (_to_ GARCERAN). + + Ah, Sir, it is then you, our guardian! + My little Rachel speaks of you so oft; + She likes you. + +KING. To the point. What babbling this-- + +ISAAC. Who is this lord? + +GARCERAN. It makes no difference. Speak! + What is the cause of all that noise above? + +ISAAC (_speaking up to the window_). + + Look out, you're going to catch it--now look out! + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Yourself have seen my little Rachel-girl, + And how she wept and groaned and beat her breasts, + As if half crazed. Of course you have, my life!-- + She hardly knew the danger had been passed + When back again her old high spirits came; + She laughed, and danced, and sang; half mad again + She shoved awry the sacred furniture + By dead men watched, and raves--as now you hear. + Hangs from her girdle not a chatelaine? + Her keys she tries in every closet lock, + And opens all the doors along the wall. + There hang within all sorts of things to wear, + And angels, devils, beggars vie with kings + In gay attire-- + +KING (_aside to_ GARCERAN). + Our carnival costumes. + +ISAAC. She chose, herself, a plumed crown from these,-- + It was not gold, but only gilded tin-- + One tells it by the weight, worth twenty pence; + About her shoulders throws a trained robe + And says she is the queen-- + +(_Speaking back._) + + Oh yes, thou fool! + Then in the ante-chamber next, there hangs + A picture of the King, whom God preserve! + She takes it from the wall, bears it about, + Calling it husband with endearing words, + And holds it to her breast. + +[KING _goes hastily toward the garden house._] + +GARCERAN. Oh, mighty Sire! + +ISAAC (_stepping back_). + + Alas! + +KING (_standing on the steps, quietly_). + + That game is worth a nearer look. + What's more, 'twill soon be time for you to go; + You should not miss the favorable hour. + But you, old man, must come. For not alone, + Nor unobserved would I approach your children. + +[_Goes into the house._] + +ISAAC. Was that the King? Oh, woe! + +GARCERAN. Proceed within. + +ISAAC. If he should draw his sword, we all are doomed! + +GARCERAN. Go in. And as for being afraid, 'tis not + For you nor for your daughter that I fear. + +[_He pushes the hesitating_ ISAAC _into the garden house and follows +him._] + + * * * * * + +_Room in the pavilion. In the background to the left a door; in the +foreground to the right, another door. _RACHEL,_ with a plumed crown on +her head and gold embroidered mantle about her shoulders, is trying to +drag an armchair from the neighboring room, on the right._ ESTHER _has +come in through the principal entrance._ + +RACHEL. The armchair should stand here, here in the middle. + +ESTHER. For Heaven's sake, O Rachel, pray look out; + Your madness else will bring us all to grief. + +RACHEL. The King has given this vacant house to us; + As long as we inhabit it, it's ours. + +[_They have dragged the chair to the centre._] + +RACHEL (_looking at herself_). + Now don't you think my train becomes me well? + And when I nod, these feathers also nod. + I need just one thing more--I'll get it--wait! + +[_Goes back through the side door._] + +ESTHER. Oh, were we only far from here, at home! + My father, too, comes not, whom she drove off. + +RACHEL (_comes back with an unframed picture_). + + The royal image taken from its frame + I'll bear it with me. + +ESTHER. Art thou mad again? + How often I have warned thee! + +RACHEL. Did I heed? + +ESTHER. By Heaven, no! + +RACHEL. Nor will I heed you now. + The picture pleases me. Just see how fine! + I'll hang it in my room, close by my bed. + At morn and eventide I'll gaze at it, + And think such thoughts as one may think when one + Has shaken off the burden of one's clothes + And feels quite free from every onerous weight. + But lest they think that I have stolen it-- + I who am rich--what need have I to steal?-- + My portrait which you wear about your neck + We'll hang up where the other used to be. + Thus he may look at mine, as I at his, + And think of me, if he perchance forgot. + The footstool bring me hither; I am Queen, + And I shall fasten to the chair this King. + They say that witches who compel to love + Stick needles, thus, in images of wax, + And every prick goes to a human heart + To hinder or to quicken life that's real. + +[_She fastens the picture by the four corners to the back of the +chair._] + + Oh, would that blood could flow with every prick, + That I could drink it with my thirsty lips, + And take my pleasure in the ill I'd done! + It hangs there, no less beautiful than dumb. + But I will speak to it as were I Queen, + With crown and mantle which become me well. + + +[_She has seated herself on the footstool before the picture._] + + Oh, hypocrite, pretending piety, + Full well I know your each and every wile! + The Jewess struck your fancy--don't deny! + And, by my mighty word, she's beautiful, + And only with myself to be compared. + +[_The_ KING, _followed by _GARCERAN _and_ ISAAC, _has entered and +placed himself behind the chair, and leans upon the back of the chair, +watching her._] + +(RACHEL, _continues_) + + But I, your Queen, I will not suffer it, + For know that I am jealous as a cat. + Your silence only makes your guilt seem more. + Confess! You liked her? Answer, Yes! + +KING. Well, Yes! + +[RACHEL, _starts, looks at the picture, then up, recognizes the_ KING,_ +and remains transfixed on the footstool._] + +KING (_stepping forward_). + + Art frightened? Thou hast willed it, and I say 't. + Compose thyself, thou art in friendly hands! + +[_He stretches his hand toward her, she leaps from the stool and flees +to the door at the right where she stands panting and with bowed head._] + +KING. Is she so shy? + +ESTHER. Not always, gracious Sire! + Not shy, but timid. + +KING. Do I seem so grim? + +(_Approaching her._ RACHEL, _shakes her head violently._) + + Well then, my dearest child, I pray be calm! + Yes, I repeat it, thou hast pleased me well; + When from this Holy War I home return + To which my honor and my duty call, + Then in Toledo I may ask for thee-- + Where dwell you in this city? + +ISAAC (_quickly_). + + Jew Street, Sire-- + Ben Mathes' house. + +ESTHER. If not, before you come, + We're driven out. + +KING. My word! That shall not be. + And I can keep a promise to protect. + So if at home you are as talkative + And cheerful as I hear you erstwhile were-- + Not shy, as now, I'll pass the time away, + And draw a breath far from the fogs of court. + But now depart; the time has long since come. + Go with them, Garceran; but, ere you go, + My picture now return to where it was. + +RACHEL (_rushing to the chair_). + + The picture's mine! + +KING. What ails thee, child? It must + Go back into the frame where it belongs. + +RACHEL (_to_ GARCERAN). + + The picture touch not, nor the pins therein, + Or I shall fix it with a deeper thrust + +(_Making a motion toward the picture with a pin._) + + Behold, right in the heart! + +KING. By Heaven, stop! + Thou almost frightenedst me. Who art thou, + girl? + Art mistress of the black and criminal arts, + That I should feel in my own breast the thrust + Thou aimedst at the picture? + +ESTHER. Noble Sire, + She's but a spoiled child, and a wanton girl, + And has no knowledge of forbidden arts! + +KING. One ought not boldly play with things like these. + It drove my blood up to my very eyes, + And still I see the world all in a haze. + + (_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Is she not beautiful? + +GARCERAN. She is, my lord. + +KING. See how the waves of light glow o'er her form! + +[RACHEL _has meanwhile taken of the picture and rolled it up._] + +KING. Thou absolutely wilt not give it up? + +RACHEL (_to _ESTHER). + + I'll take it. + +KING. Well, then, in the name of God! + He will prevent that any ill befall. + But only go! Take, Garceran, + The road that down behind the garden leads. + The folk's aroused; it loves, because it's weak, + To test that weakness on some weaker one. + +GARCERAN (_at the window_). + + Behold, O Sire, where comes th' entire court,-- + The Queen herself leads on her retinue. + +KING. Comes here? Accursed! Is here no other door? + Let not the prying crew find here false cause + To prattle! + +GARCERAN (_pointing to the side door_). + + Sire, this chamber + +KING. Think you, then, + Before my servants I should hide myself? + And yet I fear the pain 'twould give the Queen; + She might believe--what I myself believe, + And so I save my troubled majesty. + See to it that she very soon depart. + +[_Exit into the side room._] + +ESTHER. I told you so! It is misfortune's road. + +_Enter the_ QUEEN _accompanied by_ MANRIQUE DE LARA _and several +others._ + +QUEEN. They told me that the King was in this place. + +GARCERAN. He was, but went away. + +QUEEN. The Jewess here. + +MANRIQUE. Arrayed like madness freed from every bond, + With all the tinsel-state of puppet-play! + Lay off the crown, for it befits thee not, + Even in jest; the mantle also doff! + +[ESTHER _has taken both off._] + + What has she in her hand? + +RACHEL. It is my own. + +MANRIQUE. But first we'll see! + +ESTHER. Nay, we are not so poor + That we should stretch our hands for others' goods! + +MANRIQUE (_going toward the side door_). + + And, too, in yonder chamber let us look, + If nothing missing, or perhaps if greed + With impudence itself as here, has joined. + +GARCERAN (_barring the way_). + + Here, father, call I halt! + +MANRIQUE. Know'st thou me not? + +GARCERAN. Yes, and myself as well. But there be duties + Which even a father's rights do not outweigh. + +MANRIQUE. Look in my eye! He cannot bear to do it! + Two sons I lose on this unhappy day. + +(_To the _QUEEN.) + + Will you not go? + +QUEEN. I would, but cannot. Yes, + I surely can, by Heaven, for I must. + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + Although your office an unknightly one, + I thank you that you do it faithfully; + 'Twere death to see--but I can go and suffer-- + If you should meet your master ere the eve, + Say, to Toledo I returned--alone. + +[_The QUEEN and her suite go out._] + +GARCERAN. Woe worth the chance that chose this day of all, + To bring me home--from war to worse than war! + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER, _who is busied with her_). + + And had my life been forfeit, I'd have stayed. + +ESTHER (_to_ GARCERAN). + + I pray you now to bring us quickly home. + +GARCERAN. First, let me ask the King his royal will. + +(_Knocking at the side door._) + + Sire! What? No sign of life within? Perchance + An accident? Whate'er it be--I'll ope! + +[_The_ KING _steps out and remains standing in the foreground as the +others withdraw to the back of the stage._] + +KING. So honor and repute in this our world + Are not an even path on which the pace, + Simple and forward, shows the tendency, + The goal, our worth. They're like a juggler's rope, + On which a misstep plunges from the heights, + And every stumbling makes a butt for jest. + Must I, but yesterday all virtues' model, + Today shun every slave's inquiring glance? + Begone then, eager wish to please the mob, + Henceforth determine we ourselves our path! + +(_Turning to the others._) + + What, you still here? + +GARCERAN. We wait your high command. + +KING. If you had only always waited it, + And had remained upon the boundary! + Examples are contagious, Garceran. + +GARCERAN. A righteous prince will punish every fault, + His own as well as others'; but, immune, + He's prone to vent his wrath on others' heads. + +KING. Not such a one am I, my friend. Be calm! + We are as ever much inclined to thee; + And now, take these away, forever, too. + What's whim in others, is, in princes, sin. + +(_As he sees _RACHEL _approaching._) + + Let be! But first this picture lay aside, + And put it in the place from whence you took 't. + It is my will! Delay not! + +RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER). + Come thou, too. + +(_As both approach the side door_). + + Hast thou, as is thy wont, my picture on? + +ESTHER. What wilt + +RACHEL. My will--and should the worst betide-- + +[_They go to the side door._] + +KING. Then to the border, straight I'll follow thee; + And there we'll wash in Moorish blood away + The equal shame that we have shared this day, + That we may bear once more the gaze of men. + +[_The girls return._] + +RACHEL. I did it. + +KING. Now away, without farewell! + +ESTHER. Our thanks to thee, O Sire! + +RACHEL. Not mine, I say. + +KING. So be it; thankless go! + +RACHEL. I'll save it up. + +KING. That is, for never! + +RACHEL. I know better. + +(_To_ ESTHER.) + Come. + +[_They go, accompanied by_ GARCERAN, ISAAC _bowing deeply._] + +KING. And high time was it that she went; in sooth, + The boredom of a royal court at times + Makes recreation a necessity. + Although this girl has beauty and has charm + Yet seems she overbold and violent, + And one does well to watch what one begins. + Alonzo! + +[_Enter a servant._] + +SERVANT. Mighty Sire? + +KING. The horses fetch. + +SERVANT. Toledo, Sire? + +KING. Nay, to Alarcos, friend. + We're for the border, for the war, and so + Make ready only what we need the most. + For in Toledo four eyes threaten me; + Two full of tears, the other two, of fire. + She would not leave my picture here behind, + And bade defiance unto death itself. + And yet there needed but my stern command + To make her put it back where it belonged. + She tried her actress arts on me, that's all; + But did she put it in the frame again? + Since I am leaving here for many moons + Let all be undisturbed as 'twas before; + Of this affair let every trace be gone. + +[_He goes into the ante-chamber. A pause as one of the servants takes up +from the chair the clothes which_ RACHEL _had worn, but holds the crown +in his hand. The_ KING _comes back holding_ RACHEL'S _picture._] + +KING. My picture gone--and this one in its place! + It is her own, and burns within my hand-- + +(_Throwing the picture on the floor._) + + Avaunt! Avaunt! Can boldness go so far? + This may not be, for while I think of her + With just repugnance, this her painted image + Stirs up the burning passion in my breast. + Then, too, within her hands my picture rests! + They talk of magic, unallowed arts, + Which this folk practises with such-like things + And something as of magic o'er me comes-- + +(_To the servant._) + + Here, pick this up and spur thee on until + Thou overtake them. + +SERVANT. Whom, my liege? + +KING. Whom? Whom? + The girls of course, I mean, and Garceran; + Return this picture to the girls and ask-- + +SERVANT. What, Sire? + +KING. Shall my own servants then become + The sharers in the knowledge of my shame? + I'll force th' exchange myself, if it must be! + Take up the picture--I will touch it not! + +[_The servant has picked up the picture._] + +KING. How clumsy! Hide it in your breast; but nay, + If there, it would be warmed by other's glow! + Give 't here, myself will take it; follow me--We'll + overtake them yet! But I surmise, + Since now suspicion's rife, there may some harm, + Some accident befall them unawares. + My royal escort were the safest guide. + Thou, follow me! + +[_He has looked at the picture, then has put it in his bosom._] + + Stands there not, at the side, + The Castle Retiro, where, all concealed, + My forebear, Sancho, with a Moorish maid--! + +SERVANT. Your Majesty, 'tis true! + +KING. We'll imitate + Our forebears in their bravery, their worth, + Not when they stumble in their weaker hours. + The task is, first of all to conquer self--And + then against the foreign conqueror! + Retiro hight the castle?--Let me see! + Oh yes, away! And be discreet! But then--Thou + knowest nothing! All the better. Come! + +[_Exit with servant._] + + + +ACT III + + +_Garden in the royal villa. In the background flows the Tagus. A roomy +arbor toward the front at the right. At the left, several suppliants in +a row, with petitions in their hands._ ISAAC _stands near them._ + + +ISAAC. You were already told to linger not. + My daughter soon will come to take the air. + And _he_ is with her--_he_; I say not who. + So tremble and depart, and your requests + Take to the King's advisers in Toledo. + +[_He takes the petition from one of them._] + + Let's see! 'Twon't do. + +PETITIONER. You hold it upside down. + +ISAAC. Because the whole request is topsy-turvy turvy--And + you are, too. Disturb no more--depart. + +2D PETIT. Sir Isaac, in Toledo me you knew. + +ISAAC. I know you not. In these last days my eyes + Have suddenly grown very, very weak. + +2D PETIT. But I know you! Here is the purse of gold + You lost, which I herewith restore to you. + +ISAAC. The purse I lost? I recognize it! Yea, + 'Twas greenish silk--with ten piasters in't! + +2D PETIT. Nay, twenty. + +ISAAC. Twenty? Well, my eye is good; + My mem'ry fails me, though, from time to time! + This sheet, no doubt, explains the circumstance--Just + where you found the purse, perhaps, and how. + There is no further need that this report + Should go on file. And yet, just let me have't! + We will convey it to the proper place, + That every one may know your honesty! + +[_The petitioners present their petitions; he takes one in each hand and +throws them to the ground._] + + No matter what it be, your answer's there. + +(_To a third._) + + + I see you have a ring upon your hand. + The stone is good, let's see! + +[_The suppliant hands over the ring._] + + That flaw, of course, + Destroys its perfect water! Take it back. + +[_He puts the ring on his own finger._] + +3D PETIT. You've put it on your own hand! + +ISAAC. What, on mine? + Why so I have! I thought I'd given it back. + It is so tight I cannot get it off. + +3D PETIT. Keep it, but, pray, take my petition too. + +ISAAC (_busy with the ring_). + + I'll take them both in memory of you. + The King shall weigh the ring--I mean, of course, + Your words--although the flaw is evident--The + flaw that's in the stone--you understand. + Begone now, all of you! Have I no club? + Must I be bothered with this Christian pack? + +[GARCERAN _has meanwhile entered._] + +GARCERAN. Good luck! I see you sitting in the reeds, + But find you're pitching high the pipes you cut. + +ISAAC. The royal privacy's entrusted me; + The King's not here, he does not wish to be. + And who disturbs him--even you, my lord, + I must bid you begone! Those his commands. + +GARCERAN. You sought a while ago to find a club; + And when you find it, bring it me. I think + Your back could use it better than your hand. + +ISAAC. How you flare up! That is the way with Christians? + They're so direct of speech--but patient waiting, + And foresight, humble cleverness, they lack. + The King is pleased much to converse with me. + +GARCERAN. When he is bored and flees his inner self, + E'en such a bore as you were less a bore. + +ISAAC. He speaks to me of State and of finance. + +GARCERAN. Are you, perhaps, the father of the new + Decree that makes a threepence worth but two? + +ISAAC. Money, my friend, 's the root of everything. + The enemy is threat'ning--buy you arms! + The soldier, sure, is sold, and that for cash. + You eat and drink your money; what you eat + Is bought, and buying's money--nothing else. + The time will come when every human soul + Will be a sight-draft and a short one, too; + I'm councilor to the King, and if yourself + Would keep in harmony with Isaac's luck-- + +GARCERAN. In harmony with you? It is my curse + That chance and the accursed seeming so + Have mixed me in this wretched piece of folly, + Which to the utmost strains my loyalty. + +ISAAC. My little Rachel daily mounts in grace! + +GARCERAN. Would that the King, like many another one, + In jest and play had worn youth's wildness off! + But he, from childhood, knowing only men, + Brought up by men and tended but by men, + Nourished with wisdom's fruits before his time, + Taking his marriage as a thing of course, + The King now meets, the first time in his life, + A woman, female, nothing but her sex, + And she avenges on this prodigy + The folly of too staid, ascetic youth. + A noble woman's half, yes all, a man-- + It is their faults that make them woman-kind. + And that resistance, which the oft deceived + Gains through experience, the King has not; + A light disport he takes for bitter earn'st. + But this shall not endure, I warrant thee! + The foe is at the borders, and the King + Shall hie him where long since he ought to be; + Myself shall lead him hence. And so an end. + +ISAAC. Try what you can! And if not with us, then + You are against us, and will break your neck + In vain attempt to clear the wide abyss. + +(_The sound of flutes._) + + But hark! With cymbals and with horns they come, + As Esther with King Ahasuerus came, + Who raised the Jews to fame and high estate. + +GARCERAN. Must I, then, see in this my King's debauch + A picture of myself from early days, + And be ashamed for both of us at once? + +[_A boat upon which are the_ KING, RACHEL _and suite, appears on the +river._] + +KING. Lay to! Here is the place--the arbor here. + +RACHEL. The skiff is rocking--hold me, lest I fall. + +[_The_ KING _has jumped to the shore._] + +RACHEL. And must I walk to shore upon this board + So thin and weak? + +KING. Here, take my hand, I pray! + +RACHEL. No, no, I'm dizzy. + +GARCERAN (_to himself_). + + Dizzy are you? Humph! + +KING (_who has conducted her to the shore_). + + It is accomplished now--this mighty task! + +RACHEL. No, never will I enter more a ship. + +(_Taking the_ KING's _arm._) + + Permit me, noble Sire, I am so weak! + Pray feel my heart, how fev'rishly it beats! + +KING. To fear, is woman's right; but you abuse it. + +RACHEL. You now, hard-hearted, take away your aid! + And, oh, these garden walks, how hard they are! + With stones, and not with sand, they're roughly strewn + For men to walk on, not for women's feet. + +KING. Put down a carpet, ye, that we have peace. + +RACHEL. I feel it well--I merely burden you! + Oh, were my sister only here with me, + For I am sick and tired unto death! + Naught but these pillows here? + +(_Throwing the pillows in the arbor violently about._) + + No, no, no, no! + +KING (_laughing_). + + I see your weakness happily abates. + +(_Catching sight of _GARCERAN.) + + Ah, Garceran! Behold, she's but a child! + +GARCERAN. A spoiled child, surely! + +KING. Yes, they all are that. + It suits her well! + +GARCERAN. According to one's tastes! + +KING. See, Garceran! I feel how wrong I am; + And yet I know there needeth but a nod, + A simple word, to make it all dissolve--This + dream--into the nothing that it is. + And so I suffer it because I've need, + In this confusion which myself have caused. + How is the army? + +GARCERAN. As you long have known, + The enemy is arming. + +KING. So shall we. + A few days more, and I shall put away + This toying from me, and forevermore; + Then time and counsel shall be found again. + +GARCERAN. Mayhap the counsel, but the time slips by! + +KING. With deeds we shall regain the ground that's lost. + +RACHEL. I hear them speaking; and I know of what--Of + And not be lonesome in this concourse loud. + I see you come not. No, they hold you back. + +[_Weeping._] + + Not any comfort give they me, nor joy. + They hold me here, apart, in slavery. + Would I were home again in father's house, + Where every one is at my beck and call, + Instead of here,--the outcast of contempt. + +KING. Go thou to her! + +GARCERAN. What? Shall I? + +KING. Go, I say! + +RACHEL. Sit down by me, but nearer, nearer--so! + Once more I say, I love you, Garceran. + You are, indeed, a knight without a flaw, + Not merely knight in name, as they it learn-- + Those iron, proud Castilians--from their foes, + The Moors.--But these Castilians imitate + In manner borrowed, therefore rough and crude, + What those, with delicate and clever art, + Are wont to practise as a native gift. + Give me your hand. Just see, how soft it is! + And yet you wield a sword as well as they. + But you're at home in boudoirs, too, and know + The pleasing manners of a gentler life. + From Dona Clara cometh not this ring? + She's far too pale for rosy-cheeked love, + Were not the color which her face doth lack + Replaced by e'er renewing blush of shame. + But many other rings I see you have-- + How many sweethearts have you? Come, confess! + +GARCERAN. Suppose I ask the question now of you? + +RACHEL. I've never loved. But I could love, if e'er + In any breast _that_ madness I should find + Which could enthrall me, were my own heart touched. + Till then I follow custom's empty show, + Traditional in love's idolatry, + As in the fanes of stranger-creeds one kneels. + +KING (_who meanwhile has been pacing up and down, now stands in the +foreground at the left and speaks in an aside to a servant_). + + Bring me my arms, and full accoutrements, + And wait for me beside the garden-house. + I will to camp where they have need of me. + +[_Exit servant._] + +RACHEL. I beg you, see your King! He thinks he loves; + Yet when I speak to you and press your hand, + He worries not. With good economy, + He fills his garish day with business, + And posts his ledger, satisfied, at ev'n. + Out on you! You are all alike--you, too. + O were my sister here! She's wise--than I + Far cleverer! Yet, too, when in her breast + The spark of will and resolution falls, + She flashes out in flames, like unto mine. + Were she a man, she'd be a hero. Ye + Before her courage and her gaze should flinch. + Now let me sleep until she comes, for I + Myself am but the dreaming of a night. + +[_She lays her head on her arm and her arm on her pillows._] + +GARCERAN (_steps to the_ KING _who stands watching the reclining +RACHEL_). + + Most noble Sire-- + +KING (_still gazing_). Well? + +GARCERAN. May I now go back + Once more unto the army and the camp? + +KING (_as above_). + + The army left the camp? Pray tell me why. + +GARCERAN. You hear me not--myself, _I_ wish to go. + +KING. And there you'll talk, with innuendo, prate-- + +GARCERAN. Of what? + +KING. Of me, of that which here took place. + +GARCERAN. For that I'd need to understand it more. + +KING. I see! Believest thou in sorcery? + +GARCERAN. Since recently I almost do, my lord! + +KING. And why is it but recently, I pray? + +GARCERAN. Respect, I thought the wonted mate of love; + But love together with contempt, my lord-- + +KING. "Contempt" were far too hard a word; perhaps + An "unregard"--yet, nathless--marvelous! + +GARCERAN. In sooth, the marvel is a little old, + For it began that day in Paradise + When God from Adam's rib created Eve. + +KING. And yet he closed the breast when it was done, + And placed the will to guard the entering in. + Thou may'st to camp, but not alone:--with me. + +RACHEL (_sitting up_). + + The sun is creeping into my retreat. + Who props for me the curtain on yon side? + +(_Looking off stage at the right._) + + There go two men, both bearing heavy arms; + The lance would serve my purpose very well. + +(_Calling off stage._) + + Come here! This way! What, are ye deaf? + Come quick! + +[_The servant, returning with the lance and helmet, accompanied by a +second servant bearing the King's shield and cuirass, enters._] + + RACHEL. Give me your lance, good man, and stick the point + Here in the ground, and then the roof will be + Held up in that direction. Thus it throws + A broader shadow. Quickly, now! That's right! + You other fellow, like a snail, you bear + Your house upon your back, unless, perhaps, + A house for some one else. Show me the shield! + A mirror 'tis, in sooth! 'Tis crude, of course, + As all is, here, but in a pinch 'twill do. + +(_They hold the shield before her._) + + One brings one's hair in order, pushes back + Whatever may have ventured all too far, + And praises God who made one passing fair. + This mirror's curve distorts me! Heaven help! + What puffy cheeks are these? No, no, my friend, + What roundness nature gives us, satisfies.-- + And now the helmet--useless in a fight, + For it conceals what oft'nest wins--the eyes; + But quite adapted to the strife of love. + Put me the helm upon my head.--You hurt!-- + And if one's love rebels and shows his pride, + Down with the visor! + +(_Letting it down._) + + He in darkness stands! + But should he dare, mayhap, to go from us, + And send for arms, to leave us here alone, + Then up the visor goes. + +(_She does it._) + + Let there be light! + The sun, victorious, drives away the fog. + +KING (_going to her_). + + Thou silly, playing, wisely-foolish child! + +RACHEL. Back, back! Give me the shield, give me the lance! + I am attacked, but can defend myself. + +KING. Lay down thy arms! No ill approacheth thee! + +(_Taking both of her hands._) + +_Enter ESTHER from the left rear._ + +RACHEL. Ah thou, my little sister! Welcome, here! + Away with all this mummery, but quick! + Don't take my head off, too! How clumsy, ye! + +(_Running to her._) + + Once more be welcome, O thou sister mine! + How I have long'd to have thee here with me! + And hast thou brought my bracelets and my jewels, + My ointments and my perfumes, with thee now, + As from Toledo's shops I ordered them? + +ESTHER. I bring them and more weighty things besides-- + Unwelcome news, a bitter ornament. + Most mighty Sire and Prince! The Queen has from + Toledo's walls withdrawn, and now remains + In yonder castle where ill-fortune first + Decreed that you and we should meet. + +(_To_ GARCERAN.) + + With her, + Your noble father, Don Manrique Lara, + Who summons all the kingdom's high grandees + From everywhere, in open letters, to + Discuss the common good, as if the land + Were masterless and you had died, O King. + +KING. I think you dream! + +ESTHER. I am awake, indeed, + And must keep watch to save my sister's life. + They threaten her. She'll be the sacrifice! + +RACHEL. O woe is me! Did I not long ago + Adjure you to return unto the court + And bring to naught the plotting of my foes!-- + But you remain'd. Behold here are your arms, + The helm, the shield, and there the mighty spear + I'll gather them--but Oh, I cannot do 't. + +KING (_to _ESTHER). + + Now tend the little girl. With every breath + She ten times contradicts what she has said. + I will to court; but there I need no arms; + With open breast, my hand without a sword, + I in my subjects' midst will boldly step + And ask: "Who is there here that dares rebel?" + They soon shall know their King is still alive + And that the sun dies not when evening comes, + But that the morning brings its rays anew. + Thou follow'st, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. I'm ready. + +ESTHER. What + Becomes of us? + +RACHEL. O stay, I beg you, stay! + +KING. The castle's safe, the keeper faithful, too; + And he will guard you with his very life. + For though I feel that I have sinned full sore, + Let no one suffer who has trusted me + And who with me has shared my guilt and sin. + Come, Garceran! Or, rather, take the lead; + For if the estates were in assembly still, + Not called by me, nor rightfully convened, + I then must punish--much against my will. + Command them to disperse--and quickly, too! + Thy father tell: Although protector he + And regent for me in my boyhood days, + I now know how to guard my right myself-- + Against him, too, against no matter whom. + Come on! And ye, farewell! + +RACHEL (_approaching_). O mighty Prince! + +KING. No more! I need my strength and steadfast will, + No parting words shall cripple my resolve. + Ye'll hear from me when I have done my work; + But how, and what the future brings, is still + Enwrapt in night and gloom. But come what may, + I give my princely word ye shall be safe. + Come, Garceran! With God! He be with you! + +[_Exeunt KING and GARCERAN at the left._] + +RACHEL. He loves me not--O, I have known it long! + +ESTHER. O sister, useless is too tardy knowledge, + When injury has made us sadly wise. + I warned thee, but thou wouldst not ever heed. + +RACHEL. He was so hot and ardent at the first! + +ESTHER. And now makes up in coolness for his haste. + +RACHEL. But I who trusted, what shall be my fate? + Come, let us flee! + +ESTHER. The streets are occupied; + Against us all the land is in revolt. + +RACHEL. And so I then must die and am so young? + And I should like to live! Not live, indeed-- + But die, unwarned, an unexpected death! + 'Tis but the moment of our death that shocks! + +(_At_ ESTHER's _neck._) + + Unhappy am I, sister, hopeless, lost! + +(_After a pause, with a voice broken by sobs._) + + And is the necklace set with amethysts, + Thou broughtst? + +ESTHER. It is. And pearls it has as bright + And many, too, as are thy tears. + +RACHEL. I would + Not look at it at all--at least not now. + But only if our prison lasts too long, + I'll try divert eternal wretchedness, + And shall adorn myself unto my death. + But see, who nears? Ha, ha, ha, ha, it is, + In sooth, our father, armed cap-a-pie! + +[ISAAC, _a helmet on his head, under his long coat a cuirass, enters +from the left._] + +ISAAC. 'Tis I, the father of a wayward brood, + Who ere my time are shortening my days. + In harness, yes! When murder stalks abroad, + Will one's bare body save one from the steel? + A blow by chance, and then the skull is split! + This harness hides, what's more, my notes of 'change, + And in my pockets carry I my gold; + I'll bury that and curse and soul will save + From poverty and death. And if ye mock, + I'll curse you with a patriarchal curse-- + With Isaac's curse! O ye, with voices like + The voice of Jacob, but with Esau's hands, + Invert the law of primogeniture! + Myself, my care! What care I more for you! + Hark! + +RACHEL. What noise? + +ESTHER. The drawbridge has been raised-- + And now our refuge is a prison too.-- + +RACHEL. A token that the King has left these walls. + So hastes he forth.--Will he return again? + I fear me no--I fear the very worst! + +(_Sinking on_ ESTHER's _breast_.) + + And yet I loved him truly, loved him well! + + + +ACT IV + + +_A large room with a throne in the foreground to the right. Next to the +throne, and running in a straight row to the left, several chairs upon +which eight or ten Castilian grandees are sitting. Close to the throne_, +MANRIQUE DE LARA, _who has arisen._ + +MANRIQUE. In sadness we are now assembled here, + But few of us, whom close proximity + Allowed to gather in so short a time. + There will be more to join us presently. + Stern, universal need, delaying not, + Commands us count ourselves as competent. + Before all others, in our earnest group, + Is missing he to whom belongs the right + To call this parliament and here preside; + We then are half illegal at the start. + And so, my noble lords, I took the care + To ask her royal majesty, the Queen, + Although our business much concerns herself, + Here to convene with us and take her place, + That we may know we are not masterless, + Nor feel 'tis usurpation brought us here. + The subject of our council at this time + I hope--I fear--is known to all too well. + The King, our mighty sov'reign--not alone + In rank, estate, and dignity he's high, + But, too, in natural gifts, that when we gaze + Behind us in the past's wide-open book, + We scarce again can find his equal there-- + Except that strength, the lever of all good, + When wandered from her wonted path of good, + Wills e'er to do her will with equal strength-- + The King, I say, withdraws himself from court, + Lured by a woman's too lascivious charm, + A thing in no wise seeming us to judge-- + The Queen! + +_The_ QUEEN, _accompanied by_ DONA CLARA _and several ladies, enters +from the right, and seats herself on the throne, after she has indicated +to the grandees who have arisen that they are to resume their seats._ + +MANRIQUE. Have I permission, Majesty? + +QUEEN. Proceed. + +MANRIQUE. What I just said, I shall repeat + "A thing in no wise seeming us to judge." + But at the bound'ries arms him now the Moor, + And threats with war the hard-oppressed land; + So now the right and duty of the King + Is straight to ward this danger from us all, + With forces he has called and raised himself. + But see, the King is missing! He will come, + I know, if only angry that we called + Of our own power and will this parliament. + But if the cause remains that keeps him hence, + Unto his former bonds he will return, + And, first as last, we be an orphan land. + Your pardon? + +[_The_ QUEEN _signs him to continue._] + + First of all, the girl must go. + Full many propositions are at hand. + Some are there here who wish to buy her off, + And others wish to send her from the land, + A prisoner in some far distant clime. + The King has money, too, and though she's far, + You know that power can find whate'er it seeks. + A third proposal-- + +[_The_ QUEEN, _at these words, has arisen._] + + Pardon, noble Queen! + You are too mild for this our business drear! + Your very kindness, lacking vigorous will + From which to draw renewal of its strength, + Has most of all, perhaps, estranged our King. + I blame you not, I say but what is true. + I pray you, then, to waive your own desire, + But if it please you otherwise, then speak! + What flow'ry fate, what flatt'ring punishment, + Is suited to the sin this drab has done? + +QUEEN (_softly_). + Death. + +MANRIQUE. In truth? + +QUEEN (_more firmly_). + + Yes, death. + +MANRIQUE. Ye hear, my lords! + This was the third proposal, which, although + A man, I did not earlier dare to speak. + +QUEEN. Is marriage not the very holiest, + Since it makes right what else forbidden is, + And that, which horrible to all the chaste, + Exalts to duty, pleasing unto God? + Other commandments of our God most high + Give added strength to our regard for right, + But what so strong that it ennobles sin + Must be the strongest of commandments all. + Against that law this woman now has sinned. + But if my husband's wrong continueth, + Then I myself, in all my married years, + A sinner was and not a wife, our son + Is but a misborn bastard-spawn, a shame + Unto himself, and sore disgrace to us. + If ye in me see guilt, then kill me, pray! + I will not live if I be flecked with sin. + Then may he from the princesses about + A spouse him choose, since only his caprice, + And not what is allowed, can govern him. + But if she is the vilest of this earth, + Then purify your King and all his land. + I am ashamed to speak like this to men, + It scarce becomes me, but I needs must speak. + +MANRIQUE. But will the King endure this? If so, how? + +QUEEN. He will, indeed, because he ought and must. + Then on the murd'rers he can take revenge, + And first of all strike me and this, my breast. + +[_She sits down._] + +MANRIQUE. There is no hope of any other way. + The noblest in the battle meet their doom-- + To die a bitter, yea, a cruel death-- + Tortured with thirst, and under horses' hoofs, + A doubler, sharper, bitt'rer meed of pain + Than ever, sinner on the gallows-tree, + And sickness daily takes our best away; + For God is prodigal with human life; + Should we be timid, then, where his command, + His holy law, which he himself has giv'n, + Demands, as here, that he who sins shall die? + Together then, we will request the King + To move from out his path this stumbling-block + Which keeps him from his own, his own from him. + If he refuse, blood's law be on the land, + Until the law and prince be one again, + And we may serve them both by serving one. + +_A servant comes._ + +SERVANT. Don Garceran! + +MANRIQUE. And does the traitor dare? + Tell him-- + +SERVANT. The message is his Majesty's. + +MANRIQUE. That's diff'rent. An' he were my deadly foe, + He has my ear, when speaks he for the King. + +_Enter _GARCERAN. + +MANRIQUE. At once your message give us; then, farewell. + +GARCERAN. O Queen, sublime, and thou my father, too, + And ye besides, the best of all the land! + I feel today, as ne'er before I felt, + That to be trusted is the highest good, + And that frivolity, though free of guilt, + Destroys and paralyzes more than sin + Itself. _One_ error is condoned at last, + Frivolity is ever prone to err. + And so, today, though conscious of no fault, + I stand before you sullied, and atone + For youthful heedlessness that passed for wrong. + +MANRIQUE. Of that, another time! Your message now! + +GARCERAN. The King through me dissolves this parliament. + + MANRIQUE. And since he sent frivolity itself + He surely gave some token from his hand, + Some written word as pledge and surety? + +GARCERAN. Hot-foot he followeth. + +MANRIQUE. That is enough! + So in the royal name I now dissolve + This parliament. Ye are dismissed. But list + Ye to my wish and my advice: Return + Ye not at once unto your homes, but wait + Ye rather, round about, till it appears + Whether the King will take the task we leave, + Or we must still perform it in his name. + + (_To_ GARCERAN.) + + However, you, in princely service skilled, + If spying be your office 'mongst us here, + I beg you tell your King what I advised, + And that th' estates in truth have been dissolved, + But yet are ready to unite for deeds. + +GARCERAN. Then once again, before you all, I say + No tort have I in this mad escapade. + As it was chance that brought me from the camp, + So chanced it that the King selected me + To guard this maiden from the people's rage; + And what with warning, reason, argument, + A man may do to ward off ill, although + 'Twas fruitless, I admit,--that have I tried. + I should deserve your scorn were this not so. + And Dona Clara, doubly destined mine, + By parents both and by my wish as well, + You need not hang your noble head, for though + Unworthy of you--never worthy,--I + Not less am worthy now than e'er before. + I stand before you here and swear: 'Tis so. + +MANRIQUE. If this is so, and thou art still a man, + Be a Castilian now and join with us + To serve thy country's cause as we it serve. + Thou art acquainted in the castle there; + The captain opes the gates if thou demand. + Perhaps we soon shall need to enter thus, + If deaf the King, our noble lord. + +GARCERAN. No word + Against the King, my master! + +MANRIQUE. Thine the choice! + But follow for the nonce these other lords, + The outcome may be better than we think. + +[_Servant entering from the left._] + +SERVANT. His Majesty, the King! + +MANRIQUE (_to the estates, pointing to the middle door_). + + This way--withdraw! + +(_To the servants._) + + And ye, arrange these chairs along the wall. + Naught shall remind him that we gathered here + +QUEEN (_who has stepped down from the throne_). + + My knees are trembling, yet there's none to aid. + +MANRIQUE. Virtue abode with strength in days of yore, + But latterly, estranged, they separate. + Strength stayed with youth--where she was wont to be-- + And virtue fled to gray and ancient heads. + Here, take my arm! Though tottering the step, + And strength be lacking,--virtue still abides. + +[_He leads the _QUEEN _off at the right. The estates, with _GARCERAN,_ +have gone out through the centre door. The_ KING _comes from the left, +behind him his page._] + +KING. The sorrel, say you, limps? The pace was fast, + But I no further need shall have of him. + So to Toledo, pray you, have him led, + Where rest will soon restore him. I, myself, + Will at my spouse's side, in her own coach + Return from here, in sight of all the folk, + That what they see they may believe, and know + That discord and dissension are removed. + + [_The page goes._] + + I am alone. Does no one come to meet? + Naught but bare walls and silent furniture! + It is but recently that they have met. + And oh, these empty chairs much louder speak + Than those who sat upon them e'er have done! + What use to chew the bitter cud of thought? + I must begin to remedy the ill. + Here goes the way to where my wife doth dwell.-- + I'll enter on this most unwelcome path. + +[_He approaches the side door at the right._] + + What, barred the door? Hallo, in there! The King + It is, who's master in this house! For me + There is no lock, no door to shut me out. + +[_A waiting-woman enters through the door._] + +KING. Ye bar yourselves? + +WAITING WOMAN. The Queen, your Majesty-- + +(_As the _KING _is about to enter rapidly._) + + The inner door she, too, herself, has locked. + +KING. I will not force my way. Announce to her + That I am back, and this my summons is-- + Say, rather, my request--as now I say. + + [_Exit waiting-woman._] + +KING (_standing opposite the throne_). + + Thou lofty seat, o'ertopping others all, + Grant that we may no lower be than thou, + And even unexalted by these steps + We yet may hold just measure of the good. + +_Enter the _QUEEN. + +KING (_going toward her with outstretched hands_). + + I greet thee, Leonore! + +QUEEN. Be welcome, thou! + +KING. And not thy hand? + +QUEEN. I'm glad to see thee here. + +KING. And not thy hand? + +QUEEN (_bursting into tears_). + + O help me, gracious God! + +KING. This hand is not pest-stricken, Leonore, + Go I to battle, as I ought and must, + It will be smeared and drenched with hostile blood; + Pure water will remove the noisome slime, + And for thy "welcome" I shall bring it pure. + Like water for the gross and earthly stain + There is a cleanser for our sullied souls. + Thou art, as Christian, strong enough in faith + To know repentance hath a such-like might. + We others, wont to live a life of deeds, + Are not inclined to modest means like this, + Which takes the guilt away, but not the harm-- + Yes, half but is the fear of some new sin. + If wishing better things, if glad resolve + Are any hostage-bond for now and then, + Take it--as I do give it--true and whole! + +QUEEN (_holding out both hands_). + + O God, how gladly! + +KING. No, not both thy hands! + The right alone, though farther from the heart, + Is giv'n as pledge of contract and of bond, + Perhaps to indicate that not alone + Emotion, which is rooted in our hearts, + But reason, too, the person's whole intent, + Must give endurance to the plighted word. + Emotion's tide is swift of change as time; + That which is pondered, has abiding strength. + +QUEEN (_offering him her right hand_). + + That too! Myself entire! + +KING. Trembleth thy hand! + +(_Dropping her hand._) + + O noble wife, I would not treat thee ill. + Believe not that, because I speak less mild, + I know less well how great has been my fault, + Nor honor less the kindness of thy heart. + +QUEEN. 'Tis easy to forgive; to comprehend + Is much more difficult. How it _could_ be, + I understand it not! + +KING. My wife and queen, + We lived as children till but recently. + As such our hands were joined in marriage vows, + And then as guileless children lived we on. + But children grow, with the increase of years, + And ev'ry stage of our development + By some discomfort doth proclaim itself. + Often it is a sickness, warning us + That we are diff'rent--other, though the same, + And other things are fitting in the same. + So is it with our inmost soul as well-- + It stretches out, a wider orbit gains, + Described about the selfsame centre still. + Such sickness have we, then, but now passed through; + And saying we, I mean that thou as well + Art not a stranger to such inner growth. + Let's not, unheeding, pass the warning by! + In future let us live as kings should live-- + For kings we are. Nor let us shut ourselves + From out this world, and all that's good and great; + And like the bees which, at each close of day, + Return unto their hives with lading sweet, + So much the richer by their daily gain, + We'll find within the circle of our home, + Through hours of deprivation, added sweets. + +QUEEN. If thou desirest, yes; for me, I miss them not. + +KING. But thou wilt miss them then in retrospect, + When thou hast that whereby one judges worth. + But let us now forget what's past and gone! + I like it not, when starting on a course, + By any hindrance thus to bar the way + With rubbish from an earlier estate. + I do absolve myself from all my sins. + Thou hast no need--thou, in thy purity! + +QUEEN. Not so! Not so! My husband, if thou knew'st + What black and mischief-bringing thoughts have found + Their way into my sad and trembling heart! + +KING. Perhaps of vengeance? Why, so much the better! + Thou feel'st the human duty to forgive, + And know'st that e'en the best of us may err. + We will not punish, nor avenge ourselves; + For _she_, believe me, _she_ is guiltless quite, + As common grossness or vain weakness is, + Which merely struggles not, but limply yields. + I only bear the guilt, myself alone. + +QUEEN. Let me believe what keeps and comforts me + The Moorish folk, and all that like them are, + Do practise secret and nefarious arts, + With pictures, signs and sayings, evil draughts, + Which turn a mortal's heart within his breast, + And make his will obedient to their own. + +KING. Magic devices round about us are, + But we are the magicians, we ourselves. + That which is far removed, a thought brings near; + What we have scorned, another time seems fair; + And in this world so full of miracles, + We are the greatest miracle ourselves! + +QUEEN. She has thy picture! + +KING. And she shall return 't, + In full view I shall nail it to the wall, + And for my children's children write beneath: + A King, who, not so evil in himself, + Hath once forgot his office and his duty. + Thank God that he did find himself again. + +QUEEN. But thou, thyself, dost wear about thy neck-- + +KING. Oh yes! Her picture? So you knew that, too? + +[_He takes the picture with the chain from his neck, and lays it on the +table in the foreground to the right._] + + So then I lay it down, and may it lie-- + A bolt not harmful, now the thunder's past. + The girl herself--let her be ta'en away! + She then may have a man from out her race-- + +[_Walking fitfully back and forth from the rear to the front of the +stage, and stopping short now and then._] + + But no, not that!--The women of this race + Are passable, good even, but the men + With dirty hands and narrow greed of gain-- + This girl shall not be touched by such a one. + Indeed, she has to better ones belonged. + But then, what's that to me?--If thus or thus, + If near or far--they may look after that! + +QUEEN. Wilt thou, then, Don Alfonso, stay thus strong? + +KING (_standing still_). + + Forsooth, thou ne'er hast known or seen this girl! + Take all the faults that on this broad earth dwell, + Folly and vanity, and weakness, too, + Cunning and boldness, coquetry and greed-- + Put them together and thou hast this woman; + And if, enigma thou, not magic art, + Shouldst call her power to charm me, I'll agree, + And were ashamed, were't not but natural, too! + +QUEEN (_walks up and down_). + + Believe me, husband, 'twas not natural! + +KING (_standing still_). + + Magic there is, in truth. Its name is custom, + Which first not potent, later holds us fast; + So that which at the outset shocked, appalled, + Sloughs off the first impression of disgust, + And grows, a thing continued, to a need-- + Is this not of our very bodies true? + This chain I wore--which now here idly lies, + Ta'en off forever--breast and neck alike, + To this impression have become so used-- + +(_Shaking himself._) + + The empty spaces make me shake with cold. + I'll choose myself another chain forthwith; + The body jests not when it warning sends. + And now enough of this! + But that you could + Avenge yourselves in blood on this poor fool-- + That was not well! + +(_Stepping to the table._) + + For do but see these eyes-- + Yes, see the eyes, the body, neck, and form! + God made them verily with master hand; + 'Twas she _herself_ the image did distort. + Let us revere in her, then, God's own work, + And not destroy what he so wisely built. + +QUEEN. Oh, touch it not! + +KING. This nonsense now again! + And if I really take it in my hand, + +(_He has taken the picture in his hand_) + + Am I another, then? I wind the chain + In jest, to mock you, thus about my neck, + +(_Doing it._) + + The face that 'frights you in my bosom hide-- + Am I the less Alfonso, who doth see + That he has err'd, and who the fault condemns? + Then of your nonsense let this be enough! + +[_He draws away from the table._] + +QUEEN. Only-- + +KING (_wildly looking at her_). + + What is 't? + +QUEEN. O God in heav'n! + + KING. Be frighted not, good wife! Be sensible! + Repeat not evermore the selfsame thing! + It doth remind me of the difference. + +(_Pointing to the table, then to his breast._) + + This girl there--no, of course now she is here-- + If she was foolish, foolish she would be, + Nor claimed that she was pious, chaste, and wise. + And this is ever virtuous women's way-- + They reckon always with their virtue thus; + If you are sad, with virtue comfort they, + If joyous is your mood, virtue again, + To take your cheerfulness at last away, + And show you as your sole salvation, sin. + Virtue's a name for virtues manifold, + And diff'rent, as occasion doth demand-- + It is no empty image without fault, + And therefore, too, without all excellence. + I will just doff the chain now from my neck, + For it reminds me-- + And, then, Leonore, + That with the vassals thou didst join thyself-- + That was not well, was neither wise nor just. + If thou art angry with me, thou art right; + But these men, my dependents, subjects all-- + What want they, then? Am I a child, a boy, + Who not yet knows the compass of his place? + They share with me the kingdom's care and toil, + And equal care is duty, too, for me. + But I the _man_ Alfonso, not the King, + Within my house, my person, and my life-- + Must I accounting render to these men? + Not so! And gave I ear but to my wrath, + I quickly would return from whence I came, + To show that they with neither blame nor praise + Shall dare to sit in judgment over me. + +[_Stepping forward and stamping on the floor._] + + And finally this dotard, Don Manrique, + If he was once my guardian, is he still? + +[_DON MANRIQUE appears at the centre door. The QUEEN points to the KING, +and wrings her hand. MANRIQUE withdraws with a reassuring gesture._] + +KING. Presumes he to his sov'reign to prescribe + The rustic precepts of senility? + Would he with secret, rash, and desp'rate deed-- + +(_Walking back and forth diagonally across the stage_) + + I will investigate this case as judge; + And if there be a trace here of offense, + Of insolent intent or wrongful act, + The nearer that the guilty stand to me, + The more shall boldness pay the penalty. + Not thou, Leonore, no, thou art excused! + +[_During the last speech, the QUEEN has quietly withdrawn through the +door at the right._] + + Whither, then, went she? Leave they me alone? + Am I a fool within mine own abode? + +[_He approaches the door at the right._] + + I'll go to her--What, is it bolted, barred? + +[_Bursting open the door with a kick._] + + I'll take by storm, then, my domestic bliss. + + [_He goes in._] + +[_DON MANRIQUE and GARCERAN appear at the centre door. The latter takes +a step across the threshold._] + +MANRIQUE. Wilt thou with, us? + +GARCERAN. My father! + +MANRIQUE. Wilt thou not? + The rest are gone--wilt follow them? + +GARCERAN. I will. + +[_They withdraw, the door closes. Pause. The_ KING _returns. In the +attitude of one listening intently._] + +KING. Listen again!--'Tis nothing, quiet all!-- + Empty, forlorn, the chambers of the Queen. + But, on returning, in the turret room, + I heard the noise of carriages and steeds, + In rushing gallop, hurrying away. + Am I alone? Ramiro! Garceran! + +[_The page, comes from the door at the right._] + +KING. Report! What goes on here? + +PAGE. Illustrious Sire, + The castle is deserted; you and I + Are at this hour its sole inhabitants. + +KING. The Queen? + +PAGE. The castle in her carriage left. + +KING. Back to Toledo then? + +PAGE. I know not, Sire. + The lords, howe'er-- + +KING. What lords? + +PAGE. Sire, the estates, + Who all upon their horses swung themselves; + They did not to Toledo take their way-- + Rather the way which you yourself did come. + +KING. What! To Retiro? Ah, now fall the scales + From these my seeing and yet blinded eyes! + Murder this is. They go to slay her there! + My horse! My horse! + +PAGE. Your horse, illustrious Sire, + Was lame, and, as you know, at your command-- + +KING. Well, then, another--Garceran's, or yours! + +PAGE. They've taken every horse from here away, + Perhaps with them, perhaps but driv'n afar; + As empty as the castle are the stalls. + +KING. They think they will outstrip me. But away! + Get me a horse, were't only some old nag; + Revenge shall lend him wings, that he may fly. + And if 'tis done? Then, God above, then grant + That as a man, not as a tyrant, I + May punish both the guilty and the guilt. + Get me a horse! Else art thou in their league, + And payest with thy head, as all shall-- + +(_Standing at the door, with a gesture of violence._) + + All! + + [_He hastens away._] + + + +ACT V + + +_A large room in the castle at Retiro, with one door in the centre and +one at each side. Everywhere signs of destruction. In the foreground, at +the left, an overturned toilet table with scattered utensils. In the +background, at the left, another overturned table; above it a picture +half torn from its frame. In the centre of the room, a chair. It is +dark. From without, behind the middle wall, the sound of voices, +footsteps, and the clatter of weapons, finally, from without--"It is +enough! The signal sounds! To horse!" Sounds of voices and footsteps die +out. Pause. Then Isaac comes from the door at the right, dragging along +a carpet, which is pulled over his head, and which he later drops._ + +ISAAC. Are they then gone?--I hear no sound. + +(_Stepping back._) + + But yes-- + No, no, 'tis naught! When they, a robber band, + Searched all the castle through, I hid myself, + And on the ground all doubled up I lay. + This cover here was roof and shield alike. + But whither now? Long since I hid full well + Here in the garden what I saved and gained; + I'll fetch it later when this noise is past.-- + Where is the door? How shall I save my soul? + +ESTHER _enters from the door at the left._ + +ISAAC. Who's there? Woe's me! + +ESTHER. Is't thou? + +ISAAC. Is't thou, then, Rachel? + +ESTHER. What mean'st thou? Rachel? Only Esther, I! + + ISAAC. Only, thou say'st? Thou art my only child-- + Only, because the best. + +ESTHER. Nay, rather say, + The best because the only. Aged man, + Dost thou, then, nothing know of this attack, + Nor upon whom they meant to vent their wrath? + +ISAAC. I do not know, nor do I wish to know, + For has not Rachel flown, to safety gone? + Oh, she is clever, she!--God of my fathers! + Why dost thou try me--me, a poor old man, + And speak to me from out my children's mouths? + But I believe it not! 'Tis false! No, no! + +[_He sinks down beside the chair in the centre, leaning his head against +it._] + +ESTHER. So then be strong through coward fearsomeness. + Yet call I others what I was myself. + For when their coming roused me from my sleep, + And I went hurrying to my sister's aid, + Into the last, remote, and inmost room, + One of them seizes me with powerful hand, + And hurls me to the ground. And coward, I, + I fall a-swooning, when I should have stood + And offered up my life to save my sister, + Or, at the very least, have died with her! + When I awoke, the deed was done, and vain + My wild attempt to bring her back to life. + Then could I weep, then could I tear my hair; + That is, indeed, true cowardice, a woman's. + +ISAAC. They tell me this and that. But 'tis not true! + +ESTHER. Lend me thy chair to sit upon, old man! + +[_She pulls the chair forward._] + + My limbs grow weak and tremble under me. + Here will I sit and here will I keep watch. + +[_She sits down._] + + Mayhap that one will think it worth his while + To burn the stubble, now the harvest's o'er, + And will return and kill what still is left. + +ISAAC (_from the floor_). + + Not me! Not me!--Some one is coming. Hark! + No, many come!--Save me--I flee to thee! + +[_He runs to her chair, and cowers on the floor._] + +ESTHER. I like a mother will protect thee now, + The second childhood of the gray old man. + And, if death comes, then childless shalt thou die-- + I following Rachel in advance of thee! + +_The KING appears at the centre door, with his page, who carries a torch._ + +KING. Shall I go farther, or content myself + With what I know, though still it is unseen? + This castle all a-wreck, laid bare and waste, + Shrieking from ev'ry corner cries to me + It is too late, the horror has been done! + And thou the blame must bear, cursed dallier, + If not, forsooth, a party to the deed! + But no, thou weepst, and tears no lies can tell. + Behold, I also weep, I weep for rage, + From hot and unslaked passion for revenge! + Come, here's a ring to set your torch within. + Go to the town, assemble all the folk, + And bid them straight unto this castle come + With arms, as chance may put within their reach; + And I, when morning comes, with written word, + Will bring the people here, at my command-- + Children of toil and hard endeavor, they, + As an avenger at their head I'll go, + And break down all the strongholds of the great, + Who, half as servants, half again as lords, + Serve but themselves and overrule their master. + Ruler and ruled, thus shall it be, and I, + Avenging, will wipe out that hybrid throng, + So proud of blood, or flowing in their veins, + Or dripping on their swords from others' wounds. + Thy light here leave and go! I'll stay alone + And hatch the progeny of my revenge. + +[_The servant puts his torch into the ring beside the door and +withdraws._] + +KING (_taking a step forward_). + + What moves there? Can it be there still is life? + Give answer! + +ISAAC. Gracious Lord ill-doer, O, + O, spare us, good assassin! + +KING. You, old man? + Remind me not that Rachel was your child; + It would deface her image in my soul. + And thou--art thou not Esther? + +ESTHER. Sire, I am. + +KING. And is it done? + +ESTHER. It is. + +KING. I knew it well, + Since I the castle entered. So, no plaints! + For know, the cup is full; an added drop + Would overflow, make weak the poisonous draught. + While she still lived I was resolved to leave her, + Now dead, she ne'er shall leave my side again; + And this her picture, here upon my breast, + Will 'grave its image there, strike root within-- + For was not mine the hand that murdered her? + Had she not come to me, she still would play, + A happy child, a joy to look upon. + Perhaps--but no, not that! No, no, I say! + No other man should ever touch her hand, + No other lips approach her rosy mouth, + No shameless arm--she to the King belonged, + Though now unseen, she still would be my own. + To royal might belongs such might of charms! + +ISAAC. Speaks he of Rachel? + +ESTHER. Of thy daughter, yes. + Though grief increase the value of the loss, + Yet must I say: Too high you rate her worth. + +KING. Think'st thou? I tell thee, naught but shadows we-- + I, thou, and others of the common crowd; + For if thou'rt good, why then, thou'rt learned it so; + If I am honest, I but saw naught else; + Those others, if they murder,--as they do-- + Well, so their fathers did, came time and need! + The world is but one great reechoing, + And all its harvest is but seed from seed. + But she was truth itself, ev'n though deformed, + And all she did proceeded from herself, + A-sudden, unexpected, and unlearned. + Since her I saw I felt myself alive, + And to the dreary sameness of my life + 'Twas only she gave character and form. + They tell that in Arab desert wastes + The wand'rer, long tormented in the sands, + Long tortured with the sun's relentless glare, + Some time may find a blooming island's green, + Surrounded by the surge of arid waves; + There flowers bloom, there trees bestow their shade, + The breath of herbs mounts soothing in the breeze + And forms a second heav'n, arched 'neath the first. + Forsooth the serpent coils among the brush; + A famished beast, tormented by like thirst, + Perchance comes, too, to slake it at this spring; + Yet, tired and worn, the wand'rer doth rejoice, + Sucks in with greedy lips the cooling draught, + And sinks down in the rank luxuriant growth. + Luxuriant growth! In faith! I'll see her now-- + See once again that proud and beauteous form, + That mouth which drew in breath and breathed out life, + And which, now silenced ever, evermore, + Accuses me of guarding her so ill. + +ESTHER. Go not, O Sire! Now that the deed is done, + Let it be done. The mourning be for us! + Estrange thyself not from thy people, Sire. + +KING. Think'st thou? The King I am--thou know'st full well. + She suffered outrage, but myself no less. + Justice, and punishment of ev'ry wrong + I swore upon my coronation day, + And I will keep my oath until the death. + To do this, I must make me strong and hard, + For to my anger they will sure oppose + All that the human breast holds high and dear-- + Mem'ries from out my boyhood's early days, + My manhood's first sweet taste of woman's love, + Friendship and gratitude and mercy, too; + My whole life, roughly bundled into one, + Will stand, as 'twere against me, fully armed, + And challenge me to combat with myself. + I, therefore, from myself must first take leave. + Her image, as I see it here and there, + On every wall, in this and every corner + Shows her to me but in her early bloom, + With all her weaknesses, with all her charm. + I'll see her now, mistreated, wounded, torn; + Will lose myself in horror at the sight, + Compare each bloody mark upon her form + With this, her image, here upon my breast. + And learn to deal with monsters, like to like. + +(_As ESTHER has risen._) + + Speak not a word to me! I will! This torch + Shall, like myself, inflamed, illume the way; + Gleaming, because destructive and destroyed. + She is in yonder last and inmost room, + Where I so oft-- + +ESTHER. She was, and there remains. + +KING (_has seized the torch_). + + Methinks 'tis blood I see upon my way. + It is the way to blood. O fearful night! + +[_He goes out at the side door to the left._] + +ISAAC. We're in the dark. + +ESTHER. Yes, dark is round about, + And round about the horror's horrid night. + But daylight comes apace. So let me try + If I can thither bear my weary limbs. + +[_She goes to the window, and draws the curtain._] + + The day already dawns, its pallid gleam + Shudders to see the terrors wrought this night-- + The difference 'twixt yesterday and now. + +(_Pointing to the scattered jewels on the floor._) + + There, there it lies, our fortune's scattered ruin-- + The tawdry baubles, for the sake of which + We, we--not he who takes the blame--but we + A sister sacrificed, thy foolish child! + Yea, all that comes is right. Whoe'er complains, + Accuses his own folly and himself. + +ISAAC (_who has seated himself on the chair_). + + Here will I sit. Now that the King is here + I fear them not, nor all that yet may come. + +_The centre door opens. Enter MANRIQUE, and GARCERAN, behind them the +QUEEN, leading her child by the hand, and other nobles._ + +MANRIQUE. Come, enter here, arrange yourselves the while. + We have offended 'gainst his Majesty, + Seeking the good, but not within the law. + We will not try now to evade the law. + +ESTHER (_on the other side, raising the overturned table with a quick +movement_). + + Order thyself, disorder! Lest they think + That we are terrified, or cowards prove. + +QUEEN. Here are those others, here. + +MANRIQUE. Nay, let them be! + What mayhap threatens us, struck them ere now. + I beg you, stand you here, in rank and file. + +QUEEN. Let me come first, I am the guiltiest! + +MANRIQUE. Not so. O Queen. Thou spak'st the word, 'tis true, + But when it came to action thou didst quake, + Oppose the deed, and mercy urge instead, + Although in vain; for need became our law. + Nor would I wish the King's first burst of rage + To strike the mighty heads we most revere + As being next to him, the Kingdom's hope. + I did the deed, not with this hand, forsooth-- + With counsel, and with pity, deep and dread! + The first place, then, is mine. And thou, my son-- + Hast thou the heart to answer like a man + For that which at the least thou hinder'dst not, + So that thy earnest wish to make amends + And thy return have tangled thee in guilt? + +GARCERAN. Behold me ready! To your side I come! + And may the King's first fury fall on me! + +ESTHER (_calling across_). + + You there, although all murderers alike, + Deserving every punishment and death-- + Enough of mischief is already done, + Nor would I wish the horrors yet increased! + Within, beside my sister, is the King; + Enraged before he went, the sight of her + Will but inflame his passionate ire anew. + I pity, too, that woman and her child, + Half innocent, half guilty--only half. + So go while yet there's time, and do not meet + Th' avenger still too hot to act as judge. + +MANRIQUE. Woman, we're Christians! + +ESTHER. You have shown you are. + Commend me to the Jewess, O my God! + +MANRIQUE. Prepared as Christians, too, to expiate + In meek submission all of our misdeeds. + Lay off your swords. Here now is first my own! + To be in armor augurs of defense. + Our very number makes submission less. + Divide we up the guilt each bears entire. + +[_All have laid their swords on the floor before _MANRIQUE.] + + So let us wait. Or rather, let one go + To urge upon the King most speedily, + The country's need demands, this way or that, + That he compose himself; and though it were + Repenting a rash deed against ourselves! + Go thou, my son! + +GARCERAN (_turning around after having taken several steps_). + + Behold, the King himself! + +[_The_ KING _rushes out of the apartment at the side. After taking a few +steps, he turns about and stares fixedly at the door._] + +QUEEN. O God in Heaven! + +MANRIQUE. Queen, I pray be calm! + +[_The_ KING _goes toward the front. He stops, with arms folded, before +old_ ISAAC, _who lies back as if asleep, in the armchair. Then he goes +forward._] + +ESTHER (_to her father_). + + Behold thy foes are trembling! Art thou glad? + Not I. For Rachel wakes not from the dead. + +[_The_ KING, _in the front, gazes at his hands, and rubs them, as though +washing them, one over the other. Then the same motion over his body. At +last he feels his throat, moving his hands around it. In this last +position, with his hands at his throat, he remains motionless, staring +fixedly before him._] + +MANRIQUE. Most noble Prince and King. Most gracious Sire! + +KING (_starting violently_). + + Ye here? 'Tis good ye come! I sought for you-- + And all of you. Ye spare me further search. + +[_He steps before them, measuring them with angry glances._] + +MANRIQUE (_pointing to the weapons lying on the floor_). + + We have disarmed ourselves, laid down our swords. + +KING. I see the swords. Come ye to slay me, then? + I pray, complete your work. Here is my breast! + + [_He opens his robe._] + +QUEEN. He has't no more! + +KING. How mean you, lady fair? + +QUEEN. Gone is the evil picture from his neck. + +KING. I'll fetch it, then. + +[_He takes a few steps toward the door at the side, and then stands +still._] + +QUEEN. O God, this madness still! + +MANRIQUE. We know full well, how much we, Sire, have erred-- + Most greatly, that we did not leave to thee + And thine own honor thy return to self! + But, Sire, the time more pressing was than we. + The country trembled, and at all frontiers + The foemen challenged us to ward our land. + +KING. And foemen must be punished--is't not so? + Ye warn me rightly; I am in their midst. + Ho, Garceran! + +GARCERAN. Thou meanest me, O Sire? + +KING. Yea, I mean thee! Though me thou hast betrayed, + Thou wert my friend. Come to me then, I say, + And tell me what thou think'st of her within! + Her--whom thou help'dst to slay--of that anon. + What thoughtst thou of her while she still did live? + +GARCERAN. O Sire, I thought her fair. + +KING. What more was she? + +GARCERAN. But wanton, too, and light, with evil wiles. + +KING. And that thou hidst from me while still was time? + +GARCERAN. I said it, Sire! + +KING. And I believed it not? + How came that? Pray, say on! + +GARCERAN. My Sire--the Queen, + She thinks 'twas magic. + +KING. Superstition, bah! + Which fools itself with idle make-believe. + +GARCERAN. In part, again, it was but natural. + +KING. That only which is right is natural. + And was I not a king, both just and mild-- + The people's idol and the nobles', too? + Not empty-minded, no, and, sure, not blind! + I say, she was not fair! + +GARCERAN. How meanest, Sire? + +KING. An evil line on cheek and chin and mouth. + A lurking something in that fiery glance + Envenom'd and disfigured all her charm. + But erst I've gazed upon it and compared. + When there I entered in to fire my rage, + Half fearsome of the mounting of my ire, + It happened otherwise than I had thought. + Instead of wanton pictures from the past, + Before my eyes came people, wife, and child. + With that her face seemed to distort itself, + The arms to rise, to grasp me, and to hold. + I cast her likeness from me in the tomb + And now am here, and shudder, as thou seest. + + But go thou now! For, hast thou not betrayed me? + Almost I rue that I must punish you. + Go thither to thy father and those others-- + Make no distinction, ye are guilty, all. + +MANRIQUE (_with a strong voice_). + + And thou? + +KING (_after a pause_). + + The man is right; I'm guilty, too. + But what is my poor land, and what the world, + If none are pure, if malefactors all! + Nay, here's my son. Step thou within our midst! + Thou shalt be guardian spirit of this land; + Perhaps a higher judge may then forgive. + Come, Dona Clara, lead him by the hand! + Benignant fortune hath vouchsafed to thee + In native freedom to pursue thy course + Until this hour; thou, then, dost well deserve + To guide the steps of innocence to us. + But hold! Here is the mother. What she did, + She did it for her child. She is forgiv'n! + +[_As the_ QUEEN _steps forward and bends her knee._] + + Madonna, wouldst thou punish me? Wouldst show + The attitude most seeming me toward thee? + Castilians all, behold! Here is your King, + And here is she, the regent in his stead! + I am a mere lieutenant for my son. + For as the pilgrims, wearing, all, the cross + For penance journey to Jerusalem, + So will I, conscious of my grievous stain, + Lead you against these foes of other faith + Who at the bound'ry line, from Africa, + My people threaten and my peaceful land. + If I return, and victor, with God's grace, + Then shall ye say if I am worthy still + To guard the law offended by myself. + This punishment be _yours_ as well as mine, + For all of you shall follow me, and first, + Into the thickest squadrons of the foe. + And he who falls does penance for us all. + Thus do I punish you and me! My son + Here place upon a shield, like to a throne, + For he today is King of this our land. + So banded, then, let's go before the folk. + + [_A shield has been brought._] + + You women, each do give the child a hand. + Slipp'ry his first throne, and the second too! + Thou, Garceran, do thou stay at my side, + For equal wantonness we must atone-- + So let us fight as though our strength were one. + And hast thou purged thyself of guilt, as I, + Perhaps that quiet, chaste, and modest maid + Will hold thee not unworthy of her hand! + Thou shalt improve him, Dona Clara, but + Let not thy virtue win his mere respect, + But lend it charm, as well. That shields from much. + + [_Trumpets in the distance._] + + Hear yet They call us. Those whom I did bid + To help against you, they are ready all + To help against the common enemy, + The dreaded Moor who threats our boundaries, + And whom I will send back with shame and wounds + Into the and desert he calls home, + So that our native land be free from ill, + Well-guarded from within and from without. + On, on! Away! God grant, to victory! + +[_The procession has already formed. First, some vassals, then the +shield with the child, whom the women hold by both hands, then the rest +of the men. Lastly, the _KING,_ leaning in a trustful manner on +_GARCERAN.] + +ESTHER (_turning to her father_). + + + Seest thou, they are already glad and gay; + Already plan for future marriages! + They are the great ones, for th' atonement feast + They've slain as sacrifice a little one, + And give each other now their bloody hands. + + [_Stepping to the centre._] + + But this I say to thee, thou haughty King, + Go, go, in all thy grand forgetfulness! + Thou deem'st thou'rt free now from my sister's power, + Because the prick of its impression's dulled, + And thou didst from thee cast what once enticed. + But in the battle, when thy wavering ranks + Are shaken by thy en'mies' greater might, + And but a pure, and strong, and guiltless heart + Is equal to the danger and its threat; + When thou dost gaze upon deaf heav'n above, + Then will the victim, sacrificed to thee, + Appear before thy quailing, trembling soul-- + Not in luxuriant fairness that enticed, + But changed, distorted, as she pleased thee not-- + Then, pentinent, perchance, thou'lt beat thy breast, + And think upon the Jewess of Toledo! + + (_Seizing her father by the shoulder._) + + Come, father, come! A task awaits us there. + + [_Pointing to the side door._] + + +ISAAC (_as though waking from sleep_). + But first I'll seek my gold! + +ESTHER. Think'st still of that + In sight of all this misery and woe! + Then I unsay the curse which I have spoke, + Then thou art guilty, too, and I--and she! + We stand like them within the sinners' row; + Pardon we, then, that God may pardon us! + + [_With arms outstretched toward the side door._] + +CURTAIN + + + + + + +THE POOR MUSICIAN (1848) BY FRANZ GRILLPARZER + +TRANSLATED BY ALFRED REMY, A.M. + +Professor of Modern Languages, Brooklyn Commercial High School + + +In Vienna the Sunday after the full moon in the month of July of every +year is, together with the following day, a real festival of the people, +if ever a festival deserved the name. The people themselves attend and +arrange it; and if representatives of the upper classes appear on this +occasion, they may do so only in their capacity as members of the +populace. There is no possibility of class discrimination; at least +there was none some years ago. + +On this day the Brigittenau,[62] which with the Augarten, the +Leopoldstadt and the Prater, forms one uninterrupted popular +pleasure-ground, celebrates its kermis. The working people reckon their +good times from one St. Bridget's kermis to the next. Anticipated with +eager expectation, the Saturnalian festival at last arrives. Then there +is great excitement in the good-natured, quiet town. A surging crowd +fills the streets. There is the clatter of footsteps and the buzz of +conversation, above which rises now and then some loud exclamation. All +class distinctions have disappeared; civilian and soldier share in the +commotion. At the gates of the city the crowd increases. Gained, lost, +and regained, the exit is forced at last. But the bridge across the +Danube presents new difficulties. Victorious here also, two streams +finally roll along: the old river Danube and the swollen tide of people +crossing each other, one below, the other above, the former following +its old bed, the latter, freed from the narrow confines of the bridge, +resembling a wide, turbulent lake, overflowing and inundating +everything. A stranger might consider the symptoms alarming. But it is a +riot of joy, a revelry of pleasure. + +Even in the space between the city and the bridge wicker-carriages are +lined up for the real celebrants of this festival, the children of +servitude and toil. Although overloaded, these carriages race at a +gallop through the mass of humanity, which in the nick of time opens a +passage for them and immediately closes in again behind them. No one is +alarmed, no one is injured, for in Vienna a silent agreement exists +between vehicles and people, the former promising not to run anybody +over, even when going at full speed; the latter resolving not to be run +over, even though neglecting all precaution. + +Every second the distance between the carriages diminishes. Occasionally +more fashionable equipages mingle in the oft-interrupted procession. The +carriages no longer dash along. Finally, about five or six hours before +dark, the individual horses and carriages condense into a compact line, +which, arresting itself and arrested by new vehicles from every side +street, obviously belies the truth of the old proverb: "It is better to +ride in a poor carriage than to go on foot." Stared at, pitied, mocked, +the richly dressed ladies sit in their carriages, which are apparently +standing still. Unaccustomed to constant stopping, the black Holstein +steed rears, as if intending to jump straight up over the +wicker-carriage blocking its way, a thing the screaming women and +children in the plebeian vehicle evidently seem to fear. The cabby, so +accustomed to rapid driving and now balked for the first time, angrily +counts up the loss he suffers in being obliged to spend three hours +traversing a distance which under ordinary conditions he could cover in +five minutes. Quarreling and shouting are heard, insults pass back and +forth between the drivers, and now and then blows with the whip are +exchanged. + +Finally, since in this world all standing still, however persistent, is +after all merely an imperceptible advancing, a ray of hope appears even +in this _status quo_. The first trees of the Augarten and the +Brigittenau come into view. The country! The country! All troubles are +forgotten. Those who have come in vehicles alight and mingle with the +pedestrians; strains of distant dance-music are wafted across the +intervening space and are answered by the joyous shouts of the new +arrivals. And thus it goes on and on, until at last the broad haven of +pleasure opens up and grove and meadow, music and dancing, drinking and +eating, magic lantern shows and tight-rope dancing, illumination and +fireworks, combine to produce a _pays de cocagne_, an El Dorado, a +veritable paradise, which fortunately or unfortunately--take it as you +will--lasts only this day and the next, to vanish like the dream of a +summer night, remaining only as a memory, or, possibly, as a hope. + +I never miss this festival if I can help it. To me, as a passionate +lover of mankind, especially of the common people, and more especially +so when, united into a mass, the individuals forget for a time their own +private ends and consider themselves part of a whole, in which there is, +after all, the spirit of divinity, nay, God Himself--to me every popular +festival is a real soul-festival, a pilgrimage, an act of devotion. Even +in my capacity as dramatic poet, I always find the spontaneous outburst +of an overcrowded theatre ten times more interesting, even more +instructive, than the sophisticated judgment of some literary matador, +who is crippled in body and soul and swollen up, spider-like, with the +blood of authors whom he has sucked dry. As from a huge open volume of +Plutarch, which has escaped from the covers of the printed page, I read +the biographies of these obscure beings in their merry or secretly +troubled faces, in their elastic or weary step, in the attitude shown by +members of the same family toward one another, in detached, half +involuntary remarks. And, indeed, one can not understand famous men +unless one has sympathized with the obscure! From the quarrels of +drunken pushcart-men to the discords of the sons of the gods there runs +an invisible, yet unbroken, thread, just as the young servant-girl, who, +half against her will, follows her insistent lover away from the crowd +of dancers, may be an embryo Juliet, Dido, or Medea. + +Two years ago, as usual, I had mingled as a pedestrian with the +pleasure-seeking visitors of the kermis. The chief difficulties of the +trip had been overcome, and I found myself at the end of the Augarten +with the longed-for Brigittenau lying directly before me. Only one more +difficulty remained to be overcome. A narrow causeway running between +impenetrable hedges forms the only connection between the two pleasure +resorts, the joint boundary of which is indicated by a wooden trellised +gate in the centre. On ordinary days and for ordinary pedestrians this +connecting passage affords more than ample space. But on kermis-day its +width, even if quadrupled, would still be too narrow for the endless +crowd which, in surging forward impetuously, is jostled by those bound +in the opposite direction and manages to get along only by reason of the +general good nature displayed by the merry-makers. + +I was drifting with the current and found myself in the centre of the +causeway upon classical ground, although I was constantly obliged to +stand still, turn aside, and wait. Thus I had abundant time for +observing what was going on at the sides of the road. In order that the +pleasure-seeking multitude might not lack a foretaste of the happiness +in store for them, several musicians had taken up their positions on the +left-hand slope of the raised causeway. Probably fearing the intense +competition, these musicians intended to garner at the propylaea the +first fruits of the liberality which had here not yet spent itself. +There were a girl harpist with repulsive, staring eyes; an old invalid +with a wooden leg, who, on a dreadful, evidently home-made instrument, +half dulcimer, half barrel-organ, was endeavoring by means of analogy to +arouse the pity of the public for his painful injury; a lame, deformed +boy, forming with his violin one single, indistinguishable mass, was +playing endless waltzes with all the hectic violence of his misshapen +breast; and finally an old man, easily seventy years of age, in a +threadbare but clean woolen overcoat, who wore a smiling, self-satisfied +expression. This old man attracted my entire attention. He stood there +bareheaded and baldheaded, his hat as a collection-box before him on the +ground, after the manner of these people. He was belaboring an old, +much-cracked violin, beating time not only by raising and lowering his +foot, but also by a corresponding movement of his entire bent body. But +all his efforts to bring uniformity into his performance were fruitless, +for what he was playing seemed to be an incoherent succession of tones +without time or melody. Yet he was completely absorbed in his work; his +lips quivered, and his eyes were fixed upon the sheet of music before +him, for he actually had notes! While all the other musicians, whose +playing pleased the crowd infinitely better, were relying on their +memories, the old man had placed before him in the midst of the surging +crowd a small, easily portable music-stand, with dirty, tattered notes, +which probably contained in perfect order what he was playing so +incoherently. It was precisely the novelty of this equipment that had +attracted my attention to him, just as it excited the merriment of the +passing throng, who jeered him and left the hat of the old man empty, +while the rest of the orchestra pocketed whole copper mines. In order to +observe this odd character at my leisure, I had stepped, at some +distance from him, upon the slope at the side of the causeway. For a +while he continued playing. Finally he stopped, and, as if recovering +himself after a long spell of absent-mindedness, he gazed at the +firmament, which already began to show traces of approaching evening. +Then he looked down into his hat, found it empty, put it on with +undisturbed cheerfulness, and placed his bow between the strings. "_Sunt +certi denique fines_" (there is a limit to everything), he said, took +his music-stand, and, as though homeward bound, fought his way with +difficulty through the crowd streaming in the opposite direction toward +the festival. + +The whole personality of the old man was specially calculated to whet my +anthropological appetite to the utmost--his poorly clad, yet noble +figure, his unfailing cheerfulness, so much artistic zeal combined with +such awkwardness, the fact that he returned home just at the time when +for others of his ilk the real harvest was only beginning, and, finally, +the few Latin words, spoken, however, with the most correct accent and +with absolute fluency. The man had evidently received a good education +and had acquired some knowledge, and here he was--a street-musician! I +was burning with curiosity to learn his history. + +But a compact wall of humanity already separated us. Small as he was, +and getting in everybody's way with the music-stand in his hand, he was +shoved from one to another and had passed through the exit-gate while I +was still struggling in the centre of the causeway against the opposing +crowd. Thus I lost track of him; and when at last I had reached the +quiet, open space, there was no musician to be seen far or near. + +This fruitless adventure had spoiled all my enjoyment of the popular +festival. I wandered through the Augarten in all directions, and finally +decided to go home. As I neared the little gate that leads out of the +Augarten into Tabor Street, I suddenly heard the familiar sound of the +old violin. I accelerated my steps, and, behold! there stood the object +of my curiosity, playing with all his might, surrounded by several boys +who impatiently demanded a waltz from him. "Play a waltz," they cried; +"a waltz, don't you hear?" The old man kept on fiddling, apparently +paying no attention to them, until his small audience, reviling and +mocking him, left him and gathered around an organ-grinder who had taken +up his position near by. + +"They don't want to dance," said the old man sadly, and gathered up his +musical outfit. I had stepped up quite close to him. "The children do +not know any dance but the waltz," I said. + +"I was playing a waltz," he replied, indicating with his bow the notes +of the piece he had just been playing. "You have to play things like +that for the crowd. But the children have no ear for music," he said, +shaking his head mournfully. + +"At least permit me to atone for their ingratitude," I said, taking a +silver coin out of my pocket and offering it to him. + +"Please, don't," cried the old man, at the same time warding me off +anxiously with both hands--"into the hat, into the hat." I dropped the +coin into his hat, which was lying in front of him. The old man +immediately took it out and put it into his pocket, quite satisfied. +"That's what I call going home for once with a rich harvest," he said +chuckling. + +"You just remind me of a circumstance," I said, "which excited my +curiosity before. It seems your earnings today have not been +particularly satisfactory, and yet you retire at the very moment when +the real harvest is beginning. The festival, as you no doubt know, lasts +the whole night, and you might easily earn more in this one night than +in an entire week ordinarily. How am I to account for this?" + +"How are you to account for this?" replied the old man. "Pardon me, I do +not know who you are, but you must be a generous man and a lover of +music." With these words he took the silver coin out of his pocket once +more and pressed it between his hands, which he raised to his heart. + +"I shall therefore tell you the reasons, although I have often been +ridiculed for them. In the first place, I have never been a +night-reveler, and I do not consider it right to incite others to such a +disgusting procedure by means of playing and singing. Secondly, a man +ought to establish for himself a certain order in all things, otherwise +he'll run wild and there's no stopping him. Thirdly, and finally, sir, I +play for the noisy throng all day long and scarcely earn a bare living. +But the evening belongs to me and to my poor art. In the evening I stay +at home, and"--at these words he lowered his voice, a blush overspread +his countenance and his eyes sought the ground--"then I play to myself +as fancy dictates, without notes. I believe the text-books on music call +it improvising." + +We had both grown silent, he from confusion, because he had betrayed +the innermost secret of his heart, I from astonishment at hearing a man +speak of the highest spheres of art who was not capable of rendering +even the simplest waltz in intelligible fashion. Meanwhile he was +preparing to depart. "Where do you live?" I inquired. "I should like to +attend your solitary practising some day." + +"Oh," he replied, almost imploringly, "you must know that prayers should +be said in private!" + +"Then I'll visit you in the daytime," I said. + +"In the daytime," he replied, "I earn my living among the people." + +"Well, then, some morning early." + +"It almost looks," the old man said smiling, "as though you, my dear +sir, were the recipient, and I, if I may be permitted to say so, the +benefactor; you are so kind, and I reject your advances so ungraciously. +Your distinguished visit will always confer honor on my dwelling. Only I +should like to ask you to be so very kind as to notify me beforehand of +the day of your coming, in order that you may not be unduly delayed nor +I be compelled to interrupt unceremoniously some business in which I may +be engaged at the time. For my mornings are also devoted to a definite +purpose. At any rate, I consider it my duty to my patrons and +benefactors to offer something not entirely unworthy in return for their +gifts. I have no desire to be a beggar, sir; I am very well aware of the +fact that the other street musicians are satisfied to reel off a few +street ditties, German waltzes, even melodies of indecent songs, all of +which they have memorized. These they repeat incessantly, so that the +public pays them either in order to get rid of them, or because their +playing revives the memory of former joys of dancing or of other +disorderly amusements. For this reason such musicians play from memory, +and sometimes, in fact quite frequently, strike the wrong note. But far +be it from me to deceive. Partly, therefore, because my memory is not of +the best, partly because it might be difficult for any one to retain in +his memory, note for note, complicated compositions of esteemed +composers, I have made a clear copy for myself in these note-books." +With these words he showed me the pages of his music-book. To my +amazement I saw in a careful, but awkward and stiff handwriting, +extremely difficult compositions by famous old masters, quite black with +passage-work and double-stopping. And these selections the old man +played with his clumsy fingers! "In playing these pieces," he continued, +"I show my veneration for these esteemed, long since departed masters +and composers, satisfy my own artistic instincts, and live in the +pleasant hope that, in return for the alms so generously bestowed upon +me, I may succeed in improving the taste and hearts of an audience +distracted and misled on many sides. But since music of this +character--to return to my subject"--and at these words a self-satisfied +smile lighted up his features--"since music of this kind requires +practice, my morning hours are devoted exclusively to this exercise. The +first three hours of the day for practice, the middle of the day for +earning my living, the evening for myself and God; that is not an unfair +division," he said, and at the same time something moist glistened in +his eyes; but he was smiling. + +"Very well, then," I said, "I shall surprise you some morning. Where do +you live?" He mentioned Gardener's Lane. + +"What number? + +"Number 34, one flight up." + +"Well, well," I cried, "on the fashionable floor." + +"The house," he said, "consists in reality only of a ground floor. But +upstairs, next to the garret, there is a small room which I occupy in +company with two journeymen." + +"A single room for three people?" + +"It is divided into two parts," he +answered, "and I have my own bed." + +"It is getting late," I said, "and you must be anxious to get home. _Auf +Wiedersehen!_" + +At the same time I put my hand in my pocket with the intention of +doubling the trifling amount I had given him before. But he had already +taken up his music-stand with one hand and his violin with the other, +and cried hurriedly, "I humbly ask you to refrain. I have already +received ample remuneration for my playing, and I am not aware of having +earned any other reward." Saying this he made me a rather awkward bow +with an approach to elegant ease, and departed as quickly as his old +legs could carry him. + +As I said before, I had lost for this day all desire of participating +further in the festival. Consequently I turned homeward, taking the road +leading to the Leopoldstadt. Tired out from the dust and heat, I entered +one of the many beer-gardens, which, while overcrowded on ordinary days, +had today given up all their customers to the Brigittenau. The stillness +of the place, in contradistinction to the noisy crowd, did me good. I +gave myself up to my thoughts, in which the old musician had a +considerable share. Night had come before I thought at last of going +home. I laid the amount of my bill upon the table and walked toward the +city. + +The old man had said that he lived in Gardener's Lane. "Is Gardener's +Lane near-by?" I asked a smell boy who was running across the road. +"Over there, sir," he replied, pointing to a side street that ran from +the mass of houses of the suburb out into the open fields. I followed +the direction indicated. The street consisted of some scattered houses, +which, separated by large vegetable gardens, plainly indicated the +occupation of the inhabitants and the origin of the name Gardener's +Lane. I was wondering in which of these miserable huts my odd friend +might live. I had completely forgotten the number; moreover it was +impossible to make out any signs in the darkness. At that moment a man +carrying a heavy load of vegetables passed me. "The old fellow is +scraping his fiddle again," he grumbled, "and disturbing decent people +in their night's rest." At the same time, as I went on, the soft, +sustained tone of a violin struck my ear. It seemed to come from the +open attic window of a hovel a short distance away, which, being low and +without an upper story like the rest of the houses, attracted attention +on account of this attic window in the gabled roof. I stood still. A +soft distinct note increased to loudness, diminished, died out, only to +rise again immediately to penetrating shrillness. It was always the same +tone repeated as if the player dwelt upon it with pleasure. At last an +interval followed; it was the chord of the fourth. While the player had +before reveled in the sound of the single note, now his voluptuous +enjoyment of this harmonic relation was very much more susceptible. His +fingers moved by fits and starts, as did his bow. Through the +intervening intervals he passed most unevenly, emphasizing and repeating +the third. Then he added the fifth, now with a trembling sound like +silent weeping, sustained, vanishing; now constantly repeated with dizzy +speed; always the same intervals, the same tones. And that was what the +old man called improvising. It _was_ improvising after all, but from the +viewpoint of the player, not from that of the listener. + +I do not know how long this may have lasted and how frightful the +performance had become, when suddenly the door of the house was opened, +and a man, clad only in a shirt and partly buttoned trousers stepped +from the threshold into the middle of the street and called up to the +attic window--"Are you going to keep on all night again?" The tone of +his voice was impatient, but not harsh or insulting. The violin became +silent even before the speaker had finished. The man went back into the +house, the attic window was closed, and soon perfect and uninterrupted +silence reigned. I started for home, experiencing some difficulty in +finding my way through the unknown lanes, and, as I walked along, I +also improvised mentally, without, however, disturbing any one. + +The morning hours have always been of peculiar value to me. It is as +though I felt the need of occupying myself with something ennobling, +something worth while, in the first hours of the day, thus consecrating +the remainder of it, as it were. It is, therefore, only with difficulty +that I can make up my mind to leave my room early in the morning, and if +ever I force myself to do so without sufficient cause, nothing remains +to me for the rest of the day but the choice between idle distraction +and morbid introspection. Thus it happened that I put off for several +days my visit to the old man, which I had agreed to pay in the morning. +At last I could not master my impatience any longer, and went. I had no +difficulty in finding Gardener's Lane, nor the house. This time also I +heard the tones of the violin, but owing to the closed window they were +muffled and scarcely recognizable. I entered the house. A gardener's +wife, half speechless with amazement, showed me the steps leading up to +the attic. I stood before a low, badly fitting door, knocked, received +no answer, finally raised the latch and entered. I found myself in a +quite large, but otherwise extremely wretched chamber, the wall of which +on all sides followed the outlines of the pointed roof. Close by the +door was a dirty bed in loathsome disorder, surrounded by all signs of +neglect; opposite me, close beside the narrow window, was a second bed, +shabby but clean and most carefully made and covered. Before the window +stood a small table with music-paper and writing material, on the +windowsill a few flower-pots. The middle of the room from wall to wall +was designated along the floor by a heavy chalk line, and it is almost +impossible to imagine a more violent contrast between dirt and +cleanliness than existed on the two sides of the line, the equator of +this little world. The old man had placed his music-stand close to the +boundary line and was standing before it practising, completely and +carefully dressed. I have already said so much that is jarring about the +discords of my favorite--and I almost fear he is mine alone--that I +shall spare the reader a description of this infernal concert. As the +practice consisted chiefly of passage-work, there was no possibility of +recognizing the pieces he was playing, but this might not have been an +easy matter even under ordinary circumstances. After listening a while, +I finally discovered the thread leading out of this labyrinth--the +method in his madness, as it were. The old man enjoyed the music while +he was playing. His conception, however, distinguished between only two +kinds of effect, euphony and cacophony. Of these the former delighted, +even enraptured him, while he avoided the latter, even when harmonically +justified, as much as possible. Instead of accenting a composition in +accordance with sense and rhythm, he exaggerated and prolonged the notes +and intervals that were pleasing to his ear; he did not even hesitate to +repeat them arbitrarily, when an expression of ecstasy frequently passed +over his face. Since he disposed of the dissonances as rapidly as +possible and played the passages that were too difficult for him in a +tempo that was too slow compared with the rest of the piece, his +conscientiousness not permitting him to omit even a single note, one may +easily form an idea of the resulting confusion. After some time, even I +couldn't endure it any longer. In order to recall him to the world of +reality, I purposely dropped my hat, after I had vainly tried several +other means of attracting his attention. The old man started, his knees +shook, and he was scarcely able to hold the violin he had lowered to the +ground. I stepped up to him. "Oh, it is you, sir," he said, as if coming +to himself; "I had not counted on the fulfilment of your kind promise." +He forced me to sit down, straightened things up, laid down his violin, +looked around the room a few times in embarrassment, then suddenly took +up a plate from a table that was standing near the door and went out. I +heard him speak with the gardener's wife outside. Soon he came back +again rather abashed, concealing the plate behind his back and returning +it to its place stealthily. Evidently he had asked for some fruit to +offer me, but had not been able to obtain it. + +"You live quite comfortably here," I said, in order to put an end to his +embarrassment. "Untidiness is not permitted to dwell here. It will +retreat through the door, even though at the present moment it hasn't +quite passed the threshold." + +"My abode reaches only to that line," said the old man, pointing to the +chalk-line in the middle of the room. "Beyond it the two journeymen +live." + +"And do these respect your boundary?" + +"They don't, but I do," said he. "Only the door is common property." + +"And are you not disturbed by your neighbors?" + +"Hardly. They come home late at night, and even if they startle me a +little when I'm in bed, the pleasure of going to sleep again is all the +greater. But in the morning I awaken them, when I put my room in order. +Then they scold a little and go." I had been observing him in the mean +time. His clothes were scrupulously clean, his figure was good enough +for his years, only his legs were a little too short. His hands and feet +were remarkably delicate. "You are looking at me," he said, "and +thinking, too." + +"I confess that I have some curiosity concerning your past," I replied. + +"My past?" he repeated. "I have no past. Today is like yesterday, and +tomorrow like today. But the day after tomorrow and beyond--who can know +about that? But God will look after me; He knows best." + +"Your present mode of life is probably monotonous enough," I continued, +"but your past! How did it happen--" + +"That I became a street-musician?" he asked, filling in the pause that I +had voluntarily made. I now told him how he had attracted my attention +the moment I caught sight of him; what an impression he had made upon me +by the Latin words he had uttered. "Latin!" he echoed. "Latin! I did +learn it once upon a time, or rather, I was to have learned it and might +have done so. _Loqueris latine?"_--he turned to me; "but I couldn't +continue; it is too long ago. So that is what you call my past? How it +all came about? Well then, all sorts of things have happened, nothing +special, but all sorts of things. I should like to hear the story myself +again. I wonder whether I haven't forgotten it all. It is still early in +the morning," he continued, putting his hand into his vest-pocket, in +which, however, there was no watch. I drew out mine; it was barely nine +o'clock. "We have time, and I almost feel like talking." Meanwhile he +had grown visibly more at ease. His figure became more erect. Without +further ceremony he took my hat out of my hand and laid it upon the bed. +Then he seated himself, crossed one leg over the other, and assumed the +attitude of one who is going to tell a story in comfort. + +"No doubt," he began, "you have heard of Court Councilor X?" Here he +mentioned the name of a statesman who, in the middle of the last +century, had under the modest title of a Chief of Department exerted an +enormous influence, almost equal to that of a minister. I admitted that +I knew of him. "He was my father," he continued.--His father! The father +of the old musician, of the beggar. This influential, powerful man--his +father! The old man did not seem to notice my astonishment, but with +evident pleasure continued the thread of his narrative. "I was the +second of three brothers. Both the others rose to high positions in the +government service, but they are now dead. Only I am still alive," he +said, pulling at his threadbare trousers and picking off some little +feathers with downcast eyes. "My father was ambitious and a man of +violent temper. My brothers satisfied him. I was considered a slow +coach, and I _was_ slow. If I remember rightly," he continued, turning +aside as though looking far away, with his head resting upon his left +hand, "I might have been capable of learning various things, if only I +had been given time and a systematic training. My brothers leaped from +one subject to another with the agility of gazelles, but I could make +absolutely no headway, and whenever only a single word escaped me, I was +obliged to begin again from the very beginning. Thus I was constantly +driven. New material was to occupy the place which had not yet been +vacated by the old, and I began to grow obstinate. Thus they even drove +me into hating music, which is now the delight and at the same time the +support of my life. When I used to improvise on my violin at twilight in +order to enjoy myself in my own way, they would take the instrument away +from me, asserting that this ruined my fingering. They would also +complain of the torture inflicted upon their ears and made me wait for +the lesson, when the torture began for me. In all my life I have never +hated anything or any one so much as I hated the violin at that time. + +"My father, who was extremely dissatisfied, scolded me frequently and +threatened to make a mechanic of me. I didn't dare say how happy that +would have made me. I should have liked nothing better than to become a +turner or a compositor. But my father was much too proud ever to have +permitted such a thing. Finally a public examination at school, which +they had persuaded him to attend in order to appease him, brought +matters to a climax. A dishonest teacher arranged in advance what he was +going to ask me, and so everything went swimmingly. But toward the end I +had to recite some verses of Horace from memory and I missed a word. My +teacher, who had been nodding his head in approval and smiling at my +father, came to my assistance when I broke down, and whispered the word +to me, but I was so engrossed trying to locate the word in my memory and +to establish its connection with the context, that I failed to hear him. +He repeated it several times--all in vain. Finally my father lost his +patience, _'cachinnum'_ (laughter)--that was the word--he roared at me +in a voice of thunder. That was the end. Although I now knew the missing +word, I had forgotten all the rest. All attempts to bring me back on the +right track were in vain. I was obliged to rise in disgrace and when I +went over as usual to kiss my father's hand, he pushed me back, rose, +bowed hastily to the audience, and went away. 'That shabby beggar,' he +called me; I wasn't one at the time, but I am now. Parents prophesy when +they speak. At the same time my father was a good man, only hot tempered +and ambitious. + +"From that day on he never spoke to me again. His orders were conveyed +to me by the servants. On the very next day I was informed that my +studies were at an end. I was quite dismayed, for I realized what a blow +it must have been to my father. All day long I did nothing but weep, and +between my crying spells I recited the Latin verses, in which I was now +letter-perfect, together with the preceding and following ones. I +promised to make up in diligence what I lacked in talent, if I were only +permitted to continue in school, but my father never revoked a decision. + +"For some time I remained at home without an occupation. At last I was +placed in an accountant's office on probation; but arithmetic had never +been my forte. An offer to enter the military service I refused with +abhorrence. Even now I cannot see a uniform without an inward shudder. +That one should protect those near and dear, even at the risk's of one's +life, is quite proper, and I can understand it; but bloodshed and +mutilation as a vocation, as an occupation--never!" And with that he +felt his arms with his hands, as if experiencing pain from wounds +inflicted upon himself and others. + +"Next I was employed in the chancery office as a copyist. There I was in +my element. I had always practised penmanship with enthusiasm; and even +now I know of no more agreeable pastime than joining stroke to stroke +with good ink on good paper to form words or merely letters. But musical +notes are beautiful above everything, only at that time I didn't think +of music. + +"I was industrious, but too conscientious. An incorrect punctuation +mark, an illegible or missing word in a first draft, even if it could be +supplied from the context, would cause me many an unhappy hour. While +trying to make up my mind whether to follow the original closely or to +supply missing material, the time slipped by, and I gained a reputation +for being negligent, although I worked harder than any one else. In this +manner I spent several years, without receiving any salary. When my turn +for promotion came, my father voted for another candidate at the meeting +of the board, and the other members voted with him out of deference. + +"About this time--well, well," he interrupted himself, "this is turning +out to be a story after all. I shall continue the story. About this time +two events occurred, the saddest and the happiest of my life, namely my +leaving home and my return to the gentle art of music, to my violin, +which has remained faithful to me to this day. + +"In my father's house, where I was ignored by the other members of the +family, I occupied a rear room looking out upon our neighbor's yard. At +first I took my meals with the family, though no one spoke a word to me. +But when my brothers received appointments in other cities and my father +was invited out to dinner almost daily--my mother had been dead for many +years--it was found inconvenient to keep house for me. The servants were +given money for their meals. So was I; only I didn't receive mine in +cash: it was paid monthly to the restaurant. Consequently I spent little +time in my room, with the exception of the evening hours; for my father +insisted that I should be at home within half an hour after the closing +of the office, at the latest. Then I sat there in the darkness on +account of my eyes, which were weak even at that time. I used to think +of one thing and another, and was neither happy nor unhappy. + +"When I sat thus I used to hear some one in the neighbor's yard singing +a song--really several songs, one of which, however, pleased me +particularly. It was so simple, so touching, and the musical expression +was so perfect, that it was not necessary to hear the words. Personally +I believe that words spoil the music anyway." Now he opened his lips and +uttered a few hoarse, rough tones. "I have no voice," he said, and took +up his violin. He played, and this time with proper expression, the +melody of a pleasing, but by no means remarkable song, his fingers +trembling on the strings and some tears finally rolling down his cheeks. + +"That was the song," he said, laying down his violin. "I heard it with +ever-growing pleasure. However vivid it was in my memory, I never +succeeded in getting even two notes right with my voice, and I became +almost impatient from listening. Then my eyes fell upon my violin which, +like an old armor, had been hanging unused on the wall since my boyhood. +I took it down and found it in tune, the servant probably having used it +during my absence. As I drew the bow over the strings it seemed to me, +sir, as though God's finger had touched me. The tone penetrated into my +heart, and from my heart it found its way out again. The air about me +was pregnant with intoxicating madness. The song in the courtyard below +and the tones produced by my fingers had become sharers of my solitude. +I fell upon my knees and prayed aloud, and could not understand that I +had ever held this exquisite, divine instrument in small esteem, that I +had even hated it in my childhood, and I kissed the violin and pressed +it to my heart and played on and on. + +"The song in the yard--it was a woman who was singing--continued in the +meantime uninterruptedly. But it was not so easy to play it after her, +for I didn't have a copy of the notes. I also noticed that I had pretty +nearly forgotten whatever I had once acquired of the art of playing the +violin; consequently I couldn't play anything in particular, but could +play only in a general way. With the exception of that song the musical +compositions themselves have always been a matter of indifference to me, +an attitude in which I have persisted to this day. The musicians play +Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Sebastian Bach, but not one plays God +Himself. No one can play the eternal comfort and blessing of tone and +sound, its magic correlation with the eager, straining ear; so that"--he +continued in a lower voice and blushing with confusion--"so that the +third tone forms a harmonic interval with the first, as does the fifth, +and the leading tone rises like a fulfilled hope, while the dissonance +is bowed down like conscious wickedness or arrogant pride. + +"And then there are the mysteries of suspension and inversion, by means +of which even the second is received into favor in the bosom of harmony. +A musician once explained all these things to me, but that was later. +And then there are still other marvels which I do not understand, as the +fugue, counterpoint, the canon for two and three voices, and so on--an +entire heavenly structure, one part joined to the other without mortar +and all held together by God's own hand. With a few exceptions, nobody +wants to know anything about these things. They would rather disturb +this breathing of souls by the addition of words to be spoken to the +music, just as the children of God united with the daughters of the +Earth. And by means of this combination of word and music they imagine +they can affect and impress a calloused mind. Sir," he concluded at +last, half exhausted, "speech is as necessary to man as food, but we +should also preserve undefiled the nectar meted out by God." + +I could scarcely believe it was the same man, so animated had he become. +He paused for a moment. "Where did I stop in my story?" he asked +finally. "Oh yes, at the song and my attempt to imitate it. But I didn't +succeed. I stepped to the open window in order to hear better. The +singer was just crossing the court. She had her back turned to me, yet +she seemed familiar to me. She was carrying a basket with what looked +like pieces of cake dough. She entered a little gate in the corner of +the court, where there probably was an oven, for while she continued her +song, I heard her rattling some wooden utensils, her voice sounding +sometimes muffled, sometimes clear, like the voice of one who bends down +and sings into a hollow space and then rises again and stands in an +upright position. After a while she came back, and only now I discovered +why she had seemed familiar to me before. I had actually known her for +some time, for I had seen her in the chancery office. + +"My acquaintance with her was made like this: The office hours began +early and extended beyond noon. Several of the younger employees, who +either actually had an appetite or else wanted to kill a half hour, were +in the habit of taking a light lunch about eleven o'clock. The +tradespeople, who know how to turn everything to their advantage, saved +the gourmands a walk and brought their wares into the office building, +where they took up their position on the stairs and in the corridors. A +baker sold rolls, a costermonger vended cherries. Certain cakes, +however, which were baked by the daughter of a grocer in the vicinity +and sold while still hot, were especially popular. + +"Her customers stepped out into the corridor to her; and only rarely, +when bidden, did she venture into the office itself, which she was asked +to leave the moment the rather peevish director caught sight of her--a +command that she obeyed only with reluctance and mumbling angry words. + +"Among my colleagues the girl did not pass for a beauty. They considered +her too small, and were not able to determine the color of her hair. +Some there were who denied that she had cat's eyes, but all agreed that +she was pock-marked. Of her buxom figure all spoke with enthusiasm, but +they considered her rough, and one of them had a long story to tell +about a box on the ear, the effects of which he claimed to have felt for +a week afterwards. + +"I was not one of her customers. In the first place I had no money; in +the second, I have always been obliged to look upon eating and drinking +as a necessity, sometimes too much so, so that it has never entered my +head to take pleasure and delight in it. And so we took no notice of +each other. Only once, in order to tease me, my colleagues made her +believe that I wanted some of her cakes. She stepped up to my desk and +held her basket out to me. 'I don't want anything, my dear young woman,' +I said. 'Well, why do you send for me then?' she cried angrily. I +excused myself, and as I saw at once that a practical joke had been +played, I explained the situation as best I could. 'Well then, at least +give me a sheet of paper to put my cakes on,' she said. I tried to make +her understand that it was chancery paper and didn't belong to me, but +that I had some paper at home which was mine and that I would bring her +some of it. 'I have enough myself at home,' she said mockingly, and +broke into a little laugh as she went away. + +"That had happened only a few days before and I was thinking of turning +the acquaintance to immediate account for the fulfilment of my wish. The +next morning, therefore, I buttoned a whole ream of paper--of which +there was never a scarcity in our home--under my coat, and went to the +office. In order not to betray myself, I kept my armor with great +personal inconvenience upon my body until, toward noon, I knew from the +going and coming of my colleagues and from the sound of the munching +jaws that the cake-vender had arrived. I waited until I had reason to +believe that the rush of business was over, then I went out, pulled out +my paper, mustered up sufficient courage, and stepped up to the girl. +With her basket before her on the ground and her right foot resting on a +low stool, on which she usually sat, she stood there humming a soft +melody, beating time with her right foot. As I approached she measured +me from head to foot, which only added to my confusion. 'My dear young +woman,' I finally began, 'the other day you asked me for paper and I had +none that belonged to me. Now I have brought some from home, and'--with +that I held out the paper. 'I told you the other day,' she replied, +'that I have plenty of paper at home. However, I can make use of +everything.' Saying this, she accepted my present with a slight nod +and put it into her basket. 'Perhaps you'll take some cake?' she asked, +sorting her wares, 'although the best have been sold.' I declined, but +told her that I had another wish. 'And what may that be?' she asked, +putting her arm through the handle of her basket, drawing herself up to +her full height, and flashing her eyes angrily at me. I lost no time +telling her that I was a lover of music, although only a recent convert, +and that I had heard her singing such beautiful songs, especially one. +'You--heard me--singing?' she flared up. 'Where?' I then told her that I +lived near her, and that I had been listening to her while she was at +work in the courtyard; that one of her songs had pleased me +particularly, and that I had tried to play it after her on my violin. +'Can you be the man,' she exclaimed, 'who scrapes so on the fiddle?' As +I mentioned before, I was only a beginner at that time and not until +later, by dint of much hard work, did I acquire the necessary +dexterity;" the old man interrupted himself, while with the fingers of +his left hand he made movements in the air, as though he were playing +the violin. "I blushed violently," he continued the narrative, "and I +could see by the expression of her face that she repented her harsh +words. 'My dear young woman,' I said, 'the scraping arises from the fact +that I do not possess the music of the song, and for this reason I +should like to ask you most respectfully for a copy of it.' 'For a +copy?' she exclaimed. 'The song is printed and is sold at every +street-corner.' 'The song?' I replied. 'You probably mean only the +words!' 'Why, yes; the words, the song.' 'But the melody to which it is +sung--' 'Are such things written down?' she asked. 'Surely,' was my +reply, 'that is the most important part.' 'And how did you learn it, my +dear young woman?' 'I heard some one singing it, and then I sang it +after her.' I was astonished at this natural gift. And I may add in +passing that uneducated people often possess the greatest natural +talent. But, after all, this is not the proper thing, not real art. I +was again plunged into despair. 'But which song do you want?' she asked. +'I know so many.' 'All without the notes?' 'Why, of course. Now which +was it?' 'It is so very beautiful,' I explained. 'Right at the beginning +the melody rises, then it becomes fervent, and finally it ends very +softly. You sing it more frequently than the others.' 'Oh, I suppose +it's this one,' she said, setting down her basket, and placing her foot +on the stool. Then, keeping time by nodding her head, she sang the song +in a very low, yet clear voice, so beautifully and so charmingly that, +before she had quite finished, I tried to grasp her hand, which was +hanging at her side. 'What do you mean!' she cried, drawing back her +arm, for she probably thought I intended to take her hand immodestly. I +wanted to kiss it, although she was only a poor girl.--Well, after all, +I too am poor now! + +"I ran my fingers through my hair in my eagerness to secure the song and +when she observed my anxiety, she consoled me and said that the organist +of St. Peter's visited her father's store frequently to buy nutmeg, that +she would ask him to write out the music of the song, and that I might +call for it in a few days. Thereupon she took up her basket and went, +while I accompanied her as far as the staircase. As I was making a final +bow on the top step, I was surprised by the director, who bade me go to +my work and railed against the girl, in whom, he asserted, there wasn't +a vestige of good. I was very angry at this and was about to retort that +I begged to differ with him, when I realized that he had returned to his +office. Therefore I calmed myself and also went back to my desk. But +from that time on he was firmly convinced that I was a careless employee +and a dissipated fellow. + +"As a matter of fact, I was unable to do any decent work on that day or +on the following days, for the song kept running through my head. I +seemed to be in a trance. Several days passed and I was in doubt whether +to call for the music or not. The girl had said that the organist came +to her father's store to buy nutmeg; this he could use only for his +beer. Now the weather had been cold for some time, and therefore it was +probable that the good organist would rather drink wine and thus not be +in need of nutmeg so soon. A too hasty inquiry might seem impolite and +obtrusive, while, on the other hand, a delay might be interpreted as +indifference. I didn't dare address the girl in the corridor, since our +first meeting had been noised broad among my colleagues, and they were +thirsting for an opportunity to play a practical joke on me. + +"In the meantime I had again taken up my violin eagerly and devoted +myself to a thorough study of the fundamental principles. Occasionally I +permitted myself to improvise, but always closed my window carefully in +advance, knowing that my playing had found disfavor. But even when I did +open the window, I never heard my song again. Either my neighbor did not +sing at all, or else she sang softly and behind closed doors, so that I +could not distinguish one note from another. + +"At last, about three weeks having passed, I could wait no longer. Two +evenings in succession I had even stolen out upon the street, without a +hat, so that the servants might think I was looking for something in the +house, but whenever I came near the grocery store such a violent +trembling seized me that I was obliged to turn back whether I wanted to +or not. At last, however, as I said, I couldn't wait any longer. I took +courage, and one evening left my room, this time also without a hat, +went downstairs and walked with a firm step through the street to the +grocery store, in front of which I stopped for a moment, deliberating +what was to be done next. The store was lighted and I heard voices +within. After some hesitation I leaned forward and peered in from the +side. I saw the girl sitting close before the counter by the light, +picking over some peas or beans in a wooden bowl. Before her stood a +coarse, powerful man, who looked like a butcher; his jacket was thrown +over his shoulders and he held a sort of club in his hand. The two were +talking, evidently in good humor, for the girl laughed aloud several +times, but without interrupting her work or even looking up. Whether it +was my unnatural, strained position, or whatever else it may have been, +I began to tremble again, when I suddenly felt myself seized by a rough +hand from the back and dragged forward. In a twinkling I was in the +store, and when I was released and looked about me, I saw that it was +the proprietor himself, who, returning home, had caught me peering +through his window and seized me as a suspicious character. 'Confound +it!' he cried, 'now I understand what becomes of my prunes and the +handfuls of peas and barley which are taken from my baskets in the dark. +Damn it all!' With that he made for me, as though he meant to strike me. + +"I felt utterly crushed, but the thought that my honesty was being +questioned soon brought me back to my senses. I therefore made a curt +bow and told the uncivil man that my visit was not intended for his +prunes or his barley, but for his daughter. At these words the butcher, +who was standing in the middle of the store, set up a loud laugh and +turned as if to go, having first whispered a few words to the girl, to +which she laughingly replied with a resounding slap of her flat hand +upon his back. The grocer accompanied him to the door. Meanwhile all my +courage had again deserted me, and I stood facing the girl, who was +indifferently picking her peas and beans as though the whole affair +didn't concern her in the least. 'Sir,' he said, 'what business have you +with my daughter?' I tried to explain the circumstance and the cause of +my visit. 'Song! I'll sing you a song!' he exclaimed, moving his right +arm up and down in rather threatening fashion. 'There it is,' said the +girl, tilting her chair sideways and pointing with her hand to the +counter without setting down the bowl. I rushed over and saw a sheet of +music lying there. It was the song. But the old man got there first, and +crumpled the beautiful paper in his hand. 'What does this mean?' he +said. 'Who is this fellow?' 'He is one of the gentlemen from the +chancery,' she replied, throwing a worm-eaten pea a little farther away +than the rest. 'A gentleman from the chancery,' he cried, 'in the dark, +without a hat?' I accounted for the absence of a hat by explaining that +I lived close by; at the same time I designated the house. 'I know the +house,' he cried. 'Nobody lives there but the Court Councilor'--here he +mentioned the name of my father--'and I know all the servants.' 'I am +the son of the Councilor,' I said in a low voice, as though I were +telling a lie. I have seen many changes during my life, but none so +sudden as that which came over the man at these words. His mouth, which +he had opened to heap abuse upon me, remained open, his eyes still +looked threatening, but about the lower part of his face a smile began +to play which spread more and more. The girl remained indifferent and +continued in her stooping posture. Without interrupting her work, she +pushed her loose hair back behind her ears. 'The son of the Court +Councilor!' finally exclaimed the old man, from whose face the clouds +had entirely disappeared. 'Won't you make yourself comfortable, sir? +Barbara, bring a chair!' The girl stirred reluctantly on hers. 'Never +mind, you sneak!' he said, taking a basket from a stool and wiping the +dust from the latter with his handkerchief. 'This is a great honor,' he +continued. 'Has His Honor, the Councilor--I mean His Honor's son, also +taken up music? Perhaps you sing like my daughter, or rather quite +differently, from notes and according to rule?' I told him that nature +had not gifted me with a voice. 'Oh, perhaps you play the piano, as +fashionable people do?' I told him I played the violin. 'I used to +scratch on the fiddle myself when I was a boy,' he said. At the word +'scratch' I involuntarily looked at the girl and saw a mocking smile on +her lips, which annoyed me greatly. + +"'You ought to take an interest in the girl, that is, in her music,' he +continued. 'She has a good voice, and possesses other good qualities; +but refinement--good heavens, where should she get it?' So saying, he +repeatedly rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together. I +was quite confused at being undeservedly credited with such a +considerable knowledge of music, and was just on the point of explaining +the true state of affairs, when some one passing the store called in +'Good evening, all!' I started, for it was the voice of one of our +servants. The grocer had also recognized it. Putting out the tip of his +tongue and raising his shoulders, he whispered: 'It was one of the +servants of His Honor, your father, but he couldn't recognize you, +because you were standing with your back to the door.' This was so, to +be sure, but nevertheless the feeling of doing something on the sly, +something wrong, affected me painfully. I managed to mumble a few words +of parting, and went out. I should even have left the song behind had +not the old man run into the street after me and pressed it into my +hand. + +"I reached my room and awaited developments. And I didn't have to wait +long. The servant had recognized me after all. A few days later my +father's private secretary looked me up in my room and announced that I +was to leave my home. All my remonstrances were in vain. A little room +had been rented for me in a distant suburb and thus I was completely +banished from my family. Nor did I see my singer again. She had been +forbidden to vend her cakes in the chancery, and I couldn't make up my +mind to visit her father's store, since I knew that this would displease +mine. Once, when accidentally I met the old grocer on the street, he +even turned away from me with an angry expression, and I was stunned. +And so I got out my violin and played and practised, being frequently +alone half the day. + +"But even worse things were in store for me. The fortunes of our house +were declining. My youngest brother, a headstrong, impetuous fellow, was +an officer in a regiment of dragoons. As the result of a reckless wager, +he foolishly swam the Danube, mounted and in full armor, while heated +from the exertion of a ride. This escapade, which occurred while he was +far away in Hungary, cost him his life. My older brother, my father's +favorite, held an appointment as a member of provincial council. In +constant opposition to the governor of the province, he even went so +far as to promulgate untruthful statements in order to injure his +opponent, being secretly incited thereto, as rumor had it, by our +father. An investigation followed, and my brother took French leave of +the country. Our father's enemies, of whom there were many, utilized +this circumstance to bring about his downfall. Attacked on all sides, +and at the same time enraged at the waning of his influence, he +delivered daily the most bitter speeches at the meetings of the council, +and it was in the middle of a speech that he suffered a stroke of +apoplexy. They brought him home, bereft of the power of speech. I myself +heard nothing of all this. The next day in the chancery I noticed that +the men were whispering secretly and pointing at me with their fingers. +But I was accustomed to such treatment and paid no further attention to +it. On the following Friday--the sad event had occurred on a +Wednesday--a black suit of clothes with crepe was suddenly brought to my +room. I was naturally astonished, asked for the reason, and was informed +of what had taken place. Ordinarily my body is strong and capable of +resistance, but then I was completely overcome. I fell to the floor in a +swoon. They carried me to bed, where I lay in a fever and was delirious +throughout the day and the entire night. The next morning my strong +constitution had conquered, but my father was dead and buried. + +"I had not been able to speak to him again, to ask his forgiveness for +all the sorrow I had brought upon him, or to thank him for all the +undeserved favors--yes, favors, for his intentions had been good; and +some time I hope to meet him again where we are judged by our intentions +and not by our acts. + +"For several days I kept my room and scarcely touched any food. At last +I went out, but came home again immediately after dinner. Only in the +evening I wandered about the dark streets like Cain, the murderer of his +brother. My father's house appeared to me a dreadful phantom, and I +avoided it most carefully. But once, staring vacantly before me, I found +myself unexpectedly in the vicinity of the dreaded house. My knees +trembled so that I was obliged to seek support. Leaning against the wall +behind me, I recognized the door of the grocery store. Barbara was +sitting inside, a letter in her hand, the light upon the counter beside +her, and standing up straight close by was her father, who seemed to be +urging something upon her. I should have entered, even though my life +had been at stake. You have no idea how awful it is to have no one to +pour out one's heart to, no one to look to for sympathy. The old man, I +knew very well, was angry with me, but I thought the girl would say a +kind word to me. But it turned out just the other way. Barbara rose as I +entered, looked at me haughtily, and went into the adjoining room, +locking the door behind her. The old man, however, shook hands with me, +bade me sit down and consoled me, at the same time intimating that I was +now a rich man and my own master. He wanted to know how much I had +inherited. I couldn't tell him. He urged me to go to court about it, +which I promised to do. He was of the opinion that no fortune could be +made in a chancery. He then advised me to invest my inheritance in a +business, assured me that gallnuts and fruit would yield a good profit +and that a partner who understood this particular business could turn +dimes into dollars, and said that he himself had at one time done well +in that line. + +"While he was telling me all this, he repeatedly called for the girl, +who gave no sign of life, however, although it seemed to me as though I +sometimes heard a rustling near the door. But since she did not put in +an appearance, and since the old man talked of nothing but money, I +finally took my leave, the grocer regretting that he could not accompany +me, as he was alone in the store. I was grievously disappointed that my +hopes had not been fulfilled, and yet I felt strangely consoled. As I +stopped in the street and looked over toward my father's house, I +suddenly heard a voice behind me saying in a subdued and indignant +tone: 'Don't be too ready to trust everybody; they're after your money.' +Although I turned quickly, I saw no one. Only the rattling of a window +on the ground floor of the grocer's house told me, even if I had not +recognized the voice, that the secret warning had come from Barbara. So +she had overheard what had been said in the store! Did she intend to +warn me against her father? Or had it come to her knowledge that +immediately after my father's death colleagues of the chancery as well +as utter strangers had approached me with requests for support and aid, +and that I had promised to help them as soon as I should be in +possession of the money? My promises I was obliged to keep, but I +resolved to be more careful in future. I applied for my inheritance. It +was less than had been expected, but still a considerable sum, nearly +eleven thousand gulden. The whole day my room was besieged by people +demanding financial assistance. I had almost become hardened, however, +and granted a request only when the distress was really great. Barbara's +father also came. He scolded me for not having been around for three +days, whereupon I truthfully replied that I feared I was unwelcome to +his daughter. But he told me with a malicious laugh that alarmed me, not +to worry on that score; that he had brought her to her senses. Thus +reminded of Barbara's warning, I concealed the amount of the inheritance +when the subject came up in the course of the conversation and also +skilfully evaded his business proposals. + +"As a matter of fact, I was already turning other prospects over in my +mind. In the chancery, where I had been tolerated only on account of my +father, my place had already been filled by another, which troubled me +little, since no salary was attached to the position. But my father's +secretary, whom recent events had deprived of his livelihood, informed +me of a plan for the establishment of a bureau of information, copying, +and translation. For this undertaking I was to advance the initial cost +of equipment, he being prepared to undertake the management. At my +request the field of copying was extended so as to include music, and +now I was perfectly happy. I advanced the necessary sum, but, having +grown cautious, demanded a written receipt. The rather large bond for +the establishment, which I likewise furnished, caused me no worry, since +it had to be deposited with the court, where it was as safe as though it +were locked up in my strong-box. + +"The affair was settled, and I felt relieved, exalted; for the first +time in my life I was independent--I was a man at last. I scarcely gave +my father another thought. I moved into a better apartment, procured +better clothes, and when it had become dark, I went through familiar +streets to the grocery store, with a swinging step and humming my song, +although not quite correctly. I never have been able to strike the B +flat in the second half. I arrived in the best of spirits, but an icy +look from Barbara immediately threw me back into my former state of +timidity. Her father received me most cordially; but she acted as if no +one were present, continued making paper bags, and took no part whatever +in our conversation. Only when we touched upon the subject of my +inheritance, she rose in her seat and exclaimed in an almost threatening +tone, 'Father!' Thereupon the old man immediately changed the subject. +Aside from that, she said nothing during the whole evening, didn't give +me a second look, and, when I finally took my leave, her 'good-night' +sounded almost like a 'thank heaven.' + +"But I came again and again, and gradually she yielded--not that I ever +did anything that pleased her. She scolded me and found fault with me +incessantly. Everything I did she considered clumsy; God had given me +two left hands; my coat fitted so badly, it made me look like a +scarecrow; my walk was a cross between that of a duck and cock. What she +disliked especially was my politeness toward the customers. As I had +nothing to do until the opening of the copying bureau, where I should +have direct dealings with the public, I considered it a good preliminary +training to take an active part in the retail business of the grocery +store. This often kept me there half the day. I weighed spices, counted +out nuts and prunes for the children, and acted as cashier. In this +latter capacity I was frequently guilty of errors, in which event +Barbara would interfere by forcibly taking away whatever money I had in +my hand, and ridiculing and mocking me before the customers. If I bowed +to a customer or recommended myself to his kind consideration, she would +say brusquely, even before he had left the store, 'The goods carry their +own recommendation,' and turn her back upon me. At other times, however, +she was all kindness; she listened to me when I told her what was going +on in the city, or when I spoke of my early years, or of the business of +the chancery, where we had first met. But at such times she let me do +all the talking and expressed her approval or--as happened more +frequently--her disapproval only by casual words. + +"We never spoke of music or singing. In the first place, she believed +one should either sing or keep quiet, that there was no sense in talking +about it. But it was not possible to do any singing--the store was not +the proper place for it, and the rear room, which she occupied with her +father, I was not allowed to enter. Once, however, when I entered +unnoticed, she was standing on tip-toe, her back turned toward me, with +her hands raised above her head, groping along one of the upper shelves +as if looking for something. At the same time she was singing softly to +herself--it was the song, my song! She was warbling like a hedge-sparrow +when it bathes its breast in the brook, tosses its head, ruffles its +feathers, and smoothes them again with its little beak. I seemed to be +walking in a green meadow. I crept nearer and nearer, and was so close +that the melody seemed no longer to come from without, but out of my own +breast--a song of souls. I was unable to contain myself any longer, and +as she stood there straining forward, her shoulders thrown slightly back +towards me, I threw both arms around her body. But then the storm broke. +She whirled around like a top. Her face livid with rage, she stood +before me; her hand twitched, and before I could utter a word of +apology, the blow came. + +"As I have said before, my colleagues in the chancery used to tell a +story of a box on the ear, which Barbara, when she was still vending +cakes, had dealt out to an impertinent fellow. What they then said of +the strength of this rather small girl and of the power of her hand, +seemed greatly and humorously exaggerated. But it was a fact; her +strength was tremendous. I stood as though I had been struck by a +thunderbolt. The lights were dancing before my eyes, but they were the +lights of heaven. It seemed like sun, moon and stars, like angels +playing hide-and-seek and singing at the same time. I had visions; I was +entranced. She, however, scarcely less astonished than I, passed her +hand gently over the place she had struck. 'I'm afraid I struck more +violently than I intended,' she said, and, like a second thunderbolt, I +suddenly felt her warm breath and her lips upon my cheeks. She kissed +me--only gently, but it was a kiss, a kiss upon this very cheek." As he +said this, the old man put his hand to his cheek, and tears came to his +eyes. "What happened after that I do not know," he continued. "I only +remember that I rushed toward her and that she ran into the sitting room +and threw herself against the glass door, while I pushed against it from +the other side. As she pressed forward with all her might against the +glass panel, I took courage, dear sir, and returned her kiss with great +fervor--through the glass! + +"'Well, this is a jolly party,' I heard some one call out behind me. It +was the grocer, just returning home. 'People who love each other are +fond of teasing each other,' he said. 'Come out, Barbara, don't be +foolish. There's naught amiss in an honest kiss.' But she didn't come +out. I took my leave after having stammered a few words of apology, +scarcely knowing what I was saying. In my confusion I took the grocer's +hat instead of my own, and he laughingly corrected the mistake. This +was, as I called it before, the happiest day of my life--I had almost +said, the only happy day. But that wouldn't be true, for man receives +many favors from God. + +"I didn't know exactly what the girl's feelings toward me were. Was she +angry or had I conciliated her? The next visit cost me a great effort. +But I found her amiable. She sat over her work, humble and quiet, not +irritable as usual, and motioned with her head toward a stool standing +near, intimating that I should sit down and help her. Thus we sat and +worked. The old man prepared to go out. 'You needn't go, Father,' she +said, 'what you want to do has already been attended to.' He stamped his +foot on the floor and remained. Walking up and down he talked of +different things, but I didn't dare take part in the conversation. +Suddenly the girl uttered a low scream. She had cut her finger slightly +and, although she didn't usually pay any attention to such trifles, she +shook her hand back and forth. I wanted to examine the cut, but she +beckoned to me to continue my work. 'There is no end to your +tomfoolery,' the old man grumbled; and, stepping before the girl, he +said in a loud voice, 'What I was going to do hasn't been attended to at +all,' and with a heavy tread he went out of the door. Then I started to +make apologies for the day before, but she interrupted me and said, 'Let +us forget that, and talk of more sensible things.' + +"She raised her head, looked at me from head to foot, and continued in a +calm tone of voice, 'I scarcely remember the beginning of our +acquaintance, but for some time you have been calling more and more +frequently, and we have become accustomed to you. Nobody will deny that +you have an honest heart, but you are weak and always interested in +matters of secondary importance, so that you are hardly capable of +managing your own affairs. It is therefore the duty of your friends and +acquaintances to look out for you, in order that people may not take +advantage of you. Frequently you sit here in the store half the day, +counting and weighing, measuring and bargaining, but what good does +that do you? How do you expect to make your living in future?' I +mentioned the inheritance from my father. 'I suppose it's quite large,' +she said. I named the amount. 'That's much and little,' she replied. +'Much to invest, little to live upon. My father made you a proposition, +but I dissuaded you. For, on the one hand, he has lost money himself in +similar ventures, and on the other hand,' she added with lowered voice, +'he is so accustomed to take advantage of strangers that it's quite +possible he wouldn't treat friends any better. You must have somebody at +your side who has your interests at heart.' I pointed to her. 'I am +honest,' she said, laying her hand upon her heart. Her eyes, which were +ordinarily of a greyish hue, shone bright blue, the blue of the sky. +'But I'm in a peculiar position. Our business yields little profit, and +so my father intends to set himself up as an innkeeper. Now that's no +place for me, and nothing remains for me, therefore, but needlework, for +I will not go out as a servant.' As she said this she looked like a +queen. 'As a matter of fact I've had another offer,' she continued, +drawing a letter from her apron and throwing it half reluctantly upon +the counter. 'But in that case I should be obliged to leave the city.' +'Would you have to go far away?' I asked. 'Why? What difference would +that make to you?' I told her I should move to the same place. 'You're a +child,' she said. 'That wouldn't do at all, and there are quite +different matters to be considered. But if you have confidence in me and +like to be near me, buy the millinery store next door, which is for +sale. I understand the business, and you can count on a reasonable +profit on your investment. Besides, keeping the books and attending to +the correspondence would supply you with a proper occupation. What might +develop later on, we'll not discuss at present. But you would have to +change, for I hate effeminate men.' I had jumped up and seized my hat. +'What's the matter? Where are you going?' she asked. 'To countermand +everything!' I said breathlessly. 'Countermand what?' I then told her of +my plan for the establishment of a copying and information bureau. +'There isn't much in that,' she suggested. 'Information anybody can get +for himself, and everybody has learned to write in school.' I remarked +that music was also to be copied, which was something that not everybody +could do. 'So you're back at your old nonsense?' she burst out. 'Let +your music go, and think of more important matters. Besides, you're not +able to manage a business yourself.' I explained that I had found a +partner. 'A partner?' she exclaimed. 'You'll surely be cheated. I hope +you haven't advanced any money?' I was trembling without knowing why. +'Did you advance any money?' she asked once more. I admitted that I had +advanced the three thousand gulden for the initial equipment. 'Three +thousand gulden!' she exclaimed; 'as much as that?' 'The rest,' I +continued, 'is deposited with the court, and that's safe at all events.' +'What, still more?' she screamed. I mentioned the amount of the bond. +'And did you pay it over to the court personally?' 'My partner paid it.' +'But you have a receipt for it.' 'I haven't.' 'And what is the name of +your fine partner?' she asked. It was a relief to be able to mention my +father's secretary. + +"'Good heavens!' she cried, starting up and wringing her hands. 'Father! +Father!' The old man entered. 'What was that you read in the papers +today?' 'About the secretary?' he asked. 'Yes, yes!' 'Oh, he absconded, +left nothing but debts, and swindled everybody. A warrant for his arrest +has been issued.' 'Father,' she cried, 'here's one of his victims. He +intrusted his money to him. He is ruined!' + +"'Oh, you blockhead! The fools aren't all dead yet,' cried the old man. +'Didn't I tell her so? But she always found an excuse for him. At one +time she ridiculed him, at another time he was honesty itself. But I'll +take a hand in this business! I'll show you who's master in this house. +You, Barbara, go to your room, and quickly. And you, sir, get out, and +spare us your visits in future. We're not in the charity business +here.' 'Father,' said the girl, 'don't be harsh with him; he's unhappy +enough as it is!' 'That's the very reason I don't want to become unhappy +too,' cried the old man. 'There, sir,' he continued, pointing to the +letter Barbara had thrown upon the table a short time before, 'there's a +man for you! He's got brains in his head and money in his purse. He +doesn't swindle any one, but he takes good care at the same time not to +let any one swindle him. And that's the main thing in being honest!' I +stammered something about the loss of the bond not being certain. 'Ha, +ha,' he cried, 'that secretary was no fool, the sly rascal! And now +you'd better run after him, perhaps you can still catch him.' As he said +this, he laid the palm of his hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward +the door. I moved to one side and turned toward the girl, who was +standing with her hands resting on the counter and her eyes fixed on the +ground. She was breathing heavily. I wanted to approach her, but she +angrily stamped her foot upon the floor; and when I held out my hand, +hers twitched as though she were going to strike me again. Then I went, +and the old man locked the door behind me. + +"I tottered through the streets out of the city gate into the open +fields. Sometimes despair gripped me, but then hope returned. I +recollected having accompanied the secretary to the commercial court to +deposit the bond. There I had waited in the gateway while he had gone +upstairs alone. When he came down he told me that everything was in +order and that the receipt would be sent to my residence. As a matter of +fact I had received none, but there was still a possibility. At daybreak +I returned to the city, and made straightway for the residence of the +secretary. But the people there laughed and asked whether I hadn't read +the papers? The commercial court was only a few doors away. I had the +clerks examine the records, but neither his name nor mine could be +found. There was no indication that the sum had ever been paid, and thus +the disaster was certain. But that wasn't all, for inasmuch as a +partnership contract had been drawn up, several of his creditors +insisted upon seizing my person, which the court, however, would not +permit. For this decision I was profoundly grateful, although it +wouldn't have made much difference in the end. + +"I may as well confess that the grocer and his daughter had, in the +course of these disagreeable developments, quite receded into the +background. Now that things had calmed down and I was considering what +steps to take next, the remembrance of that last evening came vividly +back to my mind. The old man, selfish as he was, I could understand very +well; but the girl! Once in a while it occurred to me that if I had +taken care of my money and been able to offer her a comfortable +existence, she might have even--but she wouldn't have accepted me." With +that he surveyed his wretched figure with hands outstretched. "Besides, +she disliked my courteous behavior toward everybody." + +"Thus I spent entire days thinking and planning. One evening at +twilight--it was the time I had usually spent in the store--I had +transported myself in spirit to the accustomed place. I could hear them +speaking, hear them abusing me; it even seemed as though they were +ridiculing me. Suddenly I heard a rustling at the door; it opened, and a +woman entered. It was Barbara. I sat riveted to my chair, as though I +beheld a ghost. She was pale, and carried a bundle under her arm. When +she had reached the middle of the room she remained standing, looked at +the bare walls and the wretched furniture, and heaved a deep sigh. Then +she went to the wardrobe which stood on one side against the wall, +opened her bundle containing some shirts and handkerchiefs--she had been +attending to my laundry during the past few weeks--and pulled out the +drawer. When she beheld the meagre contents she lifted her hands in +astonishment, but immediately began to arrange the linen and put away +the pieces she had brought, whereupon she stepped back from the bureau. +Then she looked straight at me and, pointing with her finger to the open +drawer, she said, 'Five shirts and three handkerchiefs. I'm bringing +back what I took away.' So saying she slowly closed the drawer, leaned +against the wardrobe, and began to cry aloud. It almost seemed as though +she were going to faint, for she sat down on a chair beside the wardrobe +and covered her face with her shawl. By her convulsive breathing I could +see that she was still weeping. I had approached her softly and took her +hand, which she willingly left in mine. But when, in order to make her +look up, I moved my hand up to the elbow of her limp arm, she rose +quickly, withdrew her hand, and said in a calm voice, 'Oh, what's the +use of it all? You've made yourself and us unhappy; but yourself most of +all, and you really don't deserve any pity'--here she became more +agitated--'since you're so weak that you can't manage your own affairs +and so credulous that you trust everybody, a rogue as soon as an honest +man--and yet I'm sorry for you! I've come to bid you farewell. You may +well look alarmed. And it's all your doing. I've got to go out among +common people, something that I've always dreaded; but there's no help +for it. I've shaken hands with you, so farewell, and forever!' I saw the +tears coming to her eyes again, but she shook her head impatiently and +went out. I felt rooted to the spot. When she had reached the door she +turned once more and said, 'Your laundry is now in order. Take good care +of it, for hard times are coming!' And then she raised her hand, crossed +herself, and cried, 'God be with you, James! Forever and ever, Amen!' +she added in a lower voice, and was gone. + +"Not until then did I regain the use of my limbs. I hurried after her +and called to her from the landing, whereupon she stopped on the +stairway, but when I went down a step she called up, 'Stay where you +are,' descended the rest of the way, and passed out of the door. + +"I've known hard days since then, but none to equal this one. The +following was scarcely less hard to bear, for I wasn't quite clear as to +how things stood with me. The next morning, therefore, I stole over to +the grocery store in the hope of possibly receiving some explanation. No +one seemed to be stirring, and so I walked past and looked into the +store. There I saw a strange woman weighing goods and counting out +change. I made bold to enter, and asked whether she had bought the +store. 'Not yet,' she said. 'And where are the owners?' 'They left this +morning for Langenlebarn.' [63] 'The daughter, too?' I stammered. 'Why, +of course,' she said, 'she went there to be married.' + +"In all probability the woman told me then what I learned subsequently +from others. The Langenlebarn butcher, the same one I had met in the +store on my first visit, had been pursuing the girl for some time with +offers of marriage, which she had always rejected until finally, a few +days before, pressed by her father and in utter despair, she had given +her consent. Father and daughter had departed that very morning, and +while we were talking, Barbara was already the butcher's wife. + +"As I said, the woman no doubt told me all this, but I heard nothing and +stood motionless, till finally customers came, who pushed me aside. The +woman asked me gruffly whether there was anything else I wanted, +whereupon I took my departure. + +"You'll believe me, my dear sir," he continued, "when I tell you that I +now considered myself the most wretched of mortals, but it wasn't for +long, for as I left the store and looked back at the small windows at +which Barbara no doubt had often stood and looked out, a blissful +sensation came over me. I felt that she was now free of all care, +mistress of her own home, that she did not have to bear the sorrow and +misery that would have been hers had she cast in her lot with a homeless +wanderer--and this thought acted like a soothing balm, and I blessed her +and her destiny. + +"As my affairs went from bad to worse, I decided to earn my living by +means of music. As long as my money lasted, I practised and studied the +works of the great masters, especially the old ones, copying all of the +music. But when the last penny had been spent, I made ready to turn my +knowledge to account. I made a beginning in private circles, a gathering +at the house of my landlady furnishing the first opportunity. But as the +compositions I rendered didn't meet with approval, I visited the +courtyards of houses, believing that among so many tenants there must be +a few who value serious music. Finally, I even stood on public +promenades, where I really had the satisfaction of having persons stop +and listen, question me and pass on, not without a display of sympathy. +The fact that they left was the very object of my playing, and then I +saw that famous artists, whom I didn't flatter myself I equaled, +accepted money for their performances, sometimes very large sums. In +this way I have managed to make a scanty, but honest, living to this +day. + +"After many years another piece of good fortune was granted to me. +Barbara returned. Her husband had prospered and acquired a butcher shop +in one of the suburbs. She was the mother of two children, the elder +being called James, like myself. My profession and the remembrance of +old times didn't permit me to intrude; but at last they sent for me to +give the elder boy lessons on the violin. He hasn't much talent to be +sure, and can play only on Sundays, since his father needs him in his +business during the week. But Barbara's song, which I have taught him, +goes very well, and when we practise and play in this way, the mother +sometimes joins in with her voice. She has, to be sure, changed greatly +in these many years; she has grown stout, and no longer cares much for +music; but the melody still sounds as sweet as of old." + +With these words the old man took up his violin and began to play the +song, and kept on playing and playing without paying any further +attention to me. At last I had enough. I rose, laid a few pieces of +silver upon the table near me, and departed, while the old man continued +fiddling eagerly. + +Soon after this incident I set out on a journey, from which I did not +return until the beginning of winter. New impressions had crowded out +the old, and I had almost forgotten my musician. It wasn't until the +ice broke up in the following spring and the low-lying suburbs were +flooded in consequence, that I was again reminded of him. The vicinity +of Gardener's Lane had become a lake. There seemed to be no need of +entertaining fears for the old man's life, for he lived high up under +the roof, whereas death had claimed its numerous victims among the +residents of the ground floor. But cut off from all help, how great +might not his distress be! As long as the flood lasted, nothing could be +done. Moreover, the authorities had done what they could to send food +and aid in boats to those cut off by the water. But when the waters had +subsided and the streets had become passable, I decided to deliver at +the address that concerned me most my share of the fund that had been +started for the benefit of the sufferers and that had assumed incredible +proportions. + +The Leopoldstadt was in frightful condition. Wrecked boats and broken +tools were lying in the streets, while the cellars of some houses were +still filled with water covered with floating furniture. In order to +avoid the crowd I stepped aside toward a gate that stood ajar; as I +brushed by it yielded, and in the passageway I beheld a row of dead +bodies, which had evidently been picked up and laid out there for +official inspection. Here and there I could even see unfortunate victims +inside the rooms, still clinging to the iron window bars. For lack of +time and men it was absolutely impossible to take an official census of +so many fatalities. + +Thus I went on and on. On all sides weeping and tolling of funeral +bells, anxious mothers searching for their children and children looking +for their parents. At last I reached Gardener's Lane. There also the +mourners of a funeral procession were drawn up, seemingly at some +distance, however, from the house I was bound for. But as I came nearer +I noticed by the preparations and the movements of the people that there +was some connection between the funeral procession and the gardener's +house. At the gate stood a respectable looking man, somewhat advanced in +years, but still vigorous. In his high top-boots, yellow leather +breeches, and long coat, he looked like a country butcher. He was giving +orders, but in the intervals conversed rather indifferently with the +bystanders. I passed him and entered the court. The old gardener's wife +came toward me, recognized me at once, and greeted me with tears in her +eyes. "Are you also honoring us?" she said, "Alas, our poor old man! +He's playing with the angels, who can't be much better than he was here +below. The good man was sitting up there safe in his room; but when the +water came and he heard the children scream, he jumped down and helped; +he dragged and carried them to safety, until his breathing sounded like +a blacksmith's bellows. And when toward the very last--you can't have +your eyes everywhere--it was found that my husband had forgotten his +tax-books and a few paper gulden in his wardrobe, the old man took an +axe, entered the water which by that time reached up to his chest, broke +open the wardrobe and fetched everything like the faithful creature he +was. In this way he caught a cold, and as we couldn't summon aid at +once, he became delirious and went from bad to worse, although we did +what we could and suffered more than he did himself. For he sang +incessantly, beating time and imagining that he was giving lessons. When +the water had subsided somewhat and we were able to call the doctor and +the priest, he suddenly raised himself in bed, turned his head to one +side as though he heard something very beautiful in the distance, +smiled, fell back, and was dead. Go right up stairs; he often spoke of +you. The lady is also up there. We wanted to have him buried at our +expense, but the butcher's wife would not allow it." + +She urged me to go up the steep staircase to the attic-room. The door +stood open, and the room itself had been cleared of everything except +the coffin in the centre, which, already closed, was waiting for the +pall-bearers. At the head sat a rather stout woman no longer in the +prime of life, in a colored cotton dress, but with a black shawl and a +black ribbon in her bonnet. It seemed almost as though she could never +have been beautiful. Before her stood two almost grown-up children, a +boy and a girl, whom she was evidently instructing how to behave at the +funeral. Just as I entered she was pushing the boy's arm away from the +coffin, on which he had been leaning in rather awkward fashion; then she +carefully smoothed the projecting corners of the shroud. The gardener's +wife led me up to the coffin, but at that moment the trombones began to +play, and at the same time the butcher's voice was heard from the +street, "Barbara, it's time." The pall-bearers appeared and I withdrew +to make room for them. The coffin was lifted and carried down, and the +procession began to move. First came the school children with cross and +banner, then the priest and the sexton. Directly behind the coffin +marched the two children of the butcher, and behind them came the +parents. The man moved his lips incessantly, as if in devout prayer, yet +looked constantly about him in both directions. The woman was eagerly +reading in her prayer-book, but the two children caused her some +trouble. At one time she pushed them ahead, at another she held them +back; in fact the general order of the funeral procession seemed to +worry her considerably. But she always returned to her prayer-book. In +this way the procession arrived at the cemetery. The grave was open. The +children threw down the first handful of earth, being followed by their +father, who remained standing while their mother knelt, holding her book +close to her eyes. The grave-diggers completed their business, and the +procession, half disbanded, returned. At the door there was a slight +altercation, as the wife evidently considered some charge of the +undertaker too high. The mourners scattered in all directions. The old +musician was buried. + +A few days later--it was a Sunday--I was impelled by psychological +curiosity and went to the house of the butcher, under the pretext that I +wished to secure the violin of the old man as a keepsake. I found the +family together, showing no token of recent distress. But the violin was +hanging beside the mirror and a crucifix on the opposite wall, the +objects being arranged symmetrically. When I explained the object of my +visit and offered a comparatively high price for the instrument, the man +didn't seem averse to concluding a profitable bargain. The woman, +however, jumped up from her chair and said, "Well, I should say not. The +violin belongs to James, and a few gulden more or less make no +difference to us." With that she took the instrument from the wall, +looked at it from all sides, blew off the dust, and laid it in the +drawer, which she thereupon closed violently, looking as though she +feared some one would steal it. Her face was turned away from me, so +that I couldn't see what emotions were passing over it. At this moment +the maid brought in the soup, and as the butcher, who didn't allow my +visit to disturb him, began in a loud voice to say grace, in which the +children joined with their shrill voices, I wished them a good appetite +and left the room. My last glance fell upon the wife. She had turned +around and the tears were streaming down her cheeks. + + * * * * * + + + + +MY JOURNEY TO WEIMAR[64] + +TRANSLATED BY ALFRED REMY, A.M. + +Professor of Modern Languages. Brooklyn Commercial High School. + + +A journey is an excellent remedy for a perplexed state of mind. This +time the goal of my journey was to be Germany. The German geniuses had, +indeed, almost all departed from this life, but there was still one +living, Goethe, and the idea of speaking with him or even of merely +seeing him made me happy in anticipation. I never was, as was the +fashion at that time, a blind worshipper of Goethe, any more than I was +of any other one poet. True poetry seemed to me to lie where they met on +common ground; their individual characteristics lent them, on the one +hand, the charm of individuality, while, on the other hand, they shared +the general propensity of mankind to err. Goethe, in particular, had, +since the death of Schiller, turned his attention from poetry to +science. By distributing his talents over too many fields, he +deteriorated in each; his latest poetic productions were tepid or cool, +and when, for the sake of pose, he turned to the classical, his poetry +became affected. The impassiveness which he imparted to that period +contributed perhaps more than anything else to the decadence of poetry, +inasmuch as it opened the door to the subsequent coarseness of Young +Germany, of popular poetry, and of the Middle-high German trash. The +public was only too glad to have once again something substantial to +feed upon. Nevertheless, Goethe is one of the greatest poets of all +time, and the father of our poetry. Klopstock gave the first impulse, +Lessing blazed the trail, Goethe followed it. Perhaps Schiller means +more to the German nation, for a people needs strong, sweeping +impressions; Goethe, however, appears to be the greater poet. He fills +an entire page in the development of the human mind, while Schiller +stands midway between Racine and Shakespeare. Little as I sympathized +with Goethe's most recent activity, and little as I could expect him to +consider the author of _The Ancestress_ and _The Golden Fleece_ worthy +of any consideration, in view of the dispassionate quietism which he +affected at the time, I nevertheless felt that the mere sight of him +would be sufficient to inspire me with new courage. _Dormit puer, non +mortuus est_. (The boy sleeps, he is not dead.) + + * * * * * + +At last I arrived in Weimar and took quarters in "The Elephant," a +hostelry at that time famous throughout Germany and the ante-room, as it +were, to the living Valhalla of Weimar. From there I dispatched the +waiter with my card to Goethe, inquiring whether he would receive me. +The waiter returned with the answer that His Excellency, the +Privy-councilor, was entertaining some guests and could not, therefore, +receive me at the moment. He would expect me in the evening for tea. + +I dined at the hotel. My name had become known through my card and the +report of my presence spread through the town, so that I made many +acquaintances. + +Toward evening I called on Goethe. In the reception-room I found quite a +large assemblage waiting for His Excellency, the Privy-councilor, who +had not yet made his appearance. Among these there was a court +councilor, Jacob or Jacobs, with his daughter, whom Goethe had +entertained at dinner. The daughter, who later won a literary reputation +under the pseudonym of Talvj, was as young as she was beautiful, and as +beautiful as she was cultured, and so I soon lost my timidity and in my +conversation with the charming young lady almost forgot that I was in +Goethe's house. At last a side door opened, and he himself entered. +Dressed in black, the star[65] on his breast, with erect, almost stiff +bearing, he stepped among us with the air of a monarch granting an +audience. He exchanged a few words with one and another of his guests, +and finally crossed the room and addressed me. He inquired whether +Italian literature was cultivated to any great extent in our country. I +told him, which was a fact, that the Italian language was, indeed, +widely known, since all officials were required to learn it; Italian +literature, on the other hand, was completely neglected; the fashion was +rather to turn to English literature, which, despite its excellence, had +an admixture of coarseness that seemed to me to be anything but +advantageous to the present state of German culture, especially of +poetry. Whether my opinion pleased him or not, I have no means of +knowing; I am almost inclined to believe it did not, inasmuch as he was +at that very time in correspondence with Lord Byron. He left me, talked +with others, returned, conversed I no longer remember on what subjects, +finally withdrew, and we were dismissed. + +I confess that I returned to the hostelry in a most unpleasant frame of +mind. It was not that my vanity had been offended--on the contrary, +Goethe had treated me more kindly and more attentively than I had +anticipated--but to see the ideal of my youth, the author of _Faust_, +_Clavigo_, and _Egmont_, in the role of a formal minister presiding at +tea brought me down from my celestial heights. Had his manner been rude +or had he shown me the door, it would have pleased me better. I almost +repented having gone to Weimar. + +Consequently I determined to devote the following day to sightseeing, +and ordered horses at the inn for the day following. On the morning of +the next day visitors of all sorts put in an appearance, among them the +amiable and respected Chancellor Mueller, and, above all, my +fellow-countryman Hummel, who for many years had been occupying the +position of musical director in Weimar. He had left Vienna before my +poetry had attracted attention, so that we had not become acquainted +with each other. It was almost touching to witness the joy with which +this ordinarily unsociable man greeted me and took possession of me. In +the first place I probably revived in him memories of his native city, +which he had left with reluctance; then, too, it probably gave him +satisfaction to find his literary countryman honored and respected in +Weimar, where he heard nothing but disparaging opinions regarding the +intellectual standing of Austria. And, finally, he had an opportunity of +conversing with a Viennese in his home dialect, which he had preserved +pure and unadulterated while living among people who spoke quite +differently. I do not know whether it was the contrast, or whether this +really was the worst German I had ever heard in my life. While we were +planning to visit some points of interest in Weimar, and while +Chancellor Mueller, who had probably noticed my depression, was assuring +me that Goethe's formality was nothing but the embarrassment always +displayed by him on meeting a stranger for the first time, the waiter +entered and handed me a card containing an invitation from Goethe to +dine with him the next day. I therefore had to prolong my stay and to +countermand the order for the horses. The morning was passed in visiting +the places that had become famous through their literary associations. +Schiller's house interested me most of all, and I was especially +delighted to find in the poet's study, really an attic-room in the +second story, an old man who is said to have acted as prompter at the +theatre in Schiller's time, teaching his grandson to read. The little +boy's open and intelligently animated expression prompted the illusion +that out of Schiller's study a new Schiller might some day emerge--an +illusion which, to be sure, has not been realized. + +The exact order of events is now confused in my mind. I believe it was +on this first day that I dined with Hummel _en famille_. There I found +his wife, formerly the pretty singer, Miss Roeckel, whom I could well +remember in page's attire and close-fitting silk tights. Now she was an +efficient, respected housewife, who vied with her husband in amiability. +I felt myself strongly drawn to the whole family and, in spite of his +rather mechanical disposition, I honored and venerated Hummel as the +last genuine pupil of Mozart. + +In the evening I attended the theatre with Chancellor Mueller, where an +unimportant play was being given, in which, however, Graff, Schiller's +first Wallenstein, had a role. I saw nothing particularly remarkable in +him, and when I was told that, after the first performance, Schiller had +rushed upon the stage, embraced Graff, and exclaimed that now for the +first time did he understand his Wallenstein, I thought to myself--how +much greater might the great poet have become had he ever known a public +and real actors! It is remarkable, by the way, that Schiller, who is not +at bottom very objective, lends himself so perfectly to an objective +representation. He became figurative, while believing himself to be only +eloquent--one more proof of his incomparable genius. In Goethe we find +the exact opposite. While he is ordinarily called objective and is so to +a great extent, his characters lose in the actual representation. His +figurativeness is only for the imagination; in the representation the +delicate, poetic tinge is necessarily lost. However, these are +reflections for another time; they do not belong here. + +At last the momentous day with its dinner-hour arrived, and I went to +Goethe. The other guests, all of them men, were already assembled, the +charming Talvj having departed with her father the morning after the +tea-party and Goethe's daughter-in-law being absent from Weimar at the +time. To the latter and to her daughter, who died when quite young, I +later became very much attached. As I advanced into the room Goethe came +toward me, and was now as amiable and cordial as he had recently been +formal and cold. I was deeply moved. When we went in to dinner, and +Goethe, who had become for me the embodiment of German Poetry and, +because of the immeasurable distance between us, almost a mythological +being, took my hand to lead me into the dining-room, the boy in me +manifested itself once again and I burst into tears. Goethe took great +pains to conceal my foolish emotion. I sat next to him at dinner and he +was more cheerful and talkative than he had been for a long time, as the +guests asserted later. The conversation, enlivened by him, became +general, but Goethe frequently turned to me individually. However, I +cannot recall what he said, except a good joke regarding Muellner's +_Midnight Journal_. Unfortunately I made no notes concerning this +journey, or, rather, I did begin a diary, but as the accident I had in +Berlin made it at first impossible for me to write and later difficult, +a great gap ensued. This deterred me from continuing it, and, besides, +the difficulty of writing remained, even in Weimar. I therefore +determined to fill in what was lacking immediately after my return to +Vienna, while the events were still fresh in my memory. But when I +arrived there some other work demanded immediate attention, and the +matter soon escaped my mind; and therefore I retained in my memory +nothing but general impressions of what I had almost called the most +important moment of my life. Only one occurrence at dinner stands out in +my memory--namely, in the ardor of the conversation I yielded to an old +habit of breaking up the piece of bread beside me into unsightly crumbs. +Goethe lightly touched each individual crumb with his finger and +arranged them in a little symmetrical heap. Only after the lapse of some +time did I notice this, and then I discontinued my handiwork. + +As I was taking my leave, Goethe requested me to come the next morning +and have myself sketched, for he was in the habit of having drawings +made of those of his visitors who interested him. They were done in +black crayon by an artist especially engaged for the work, and the +pictures were then put into a frame which hung in the reception-room for +this purpose, being changed in regular rotation every week. This honor +was also bestowed upon me. + +When I arrived the next morning the artist had not yet appeared; I was +therefore directed to Goethe, who was walking up and down in his little +garden. The cause of his stiff bearing before strangers now became clear +to me. The years had not passed without leaving some traces. As he +walked about in the garden, one could see that the upper part of his +body, his head and shoulders, were bent slightly forward. This he wished +to hide from strangers, and hence that forced straightening-up which +produced an unpleasant impression. The sight of him in this unaffected +carriage, wearing a long dressing-gown, a small skull-cap on his white +hair, had something infinitely touching about it. He looked like a king, +and again like a father. We walked up and down, engaged in conversation. +He mentioned my _Sappho_ and seemed to think well of it, thus in a way +praising himself, for I had followed fairly closely in his footsteps. +When I complained of my isolated position in Vienna he remarked what we +have since read in his printed works, that man can do efficient work +only in the company of likeminded or congenial spirits. If he and +Schiller had attained universal recognition, they owed it largely to +this stimulating and supplementing reciprocal influence. + +In the meantime the artist had arrived. We entered the house and I was +sketched. Goethe had gone into his room, whence he emerged from time to +time to satisfy himself as to the progress of the picture, which pleased +him when completed. When the artist had departed Goethe had his son +bring in some of his choicest treasures. There was his correspondence +with Lord Byron; everything relating to his acquaintance with the +Empress and the Emperor of Austria at Karlsbad; and finally the imperial +Austrian copyright of his collected works. This latter he seemed to +value very highly, either because he liked the conservative attitude of +Austria, or because he regarded it as an oddity in contradistinction to +the usual policy pursued in literary matters by this country. These +treasures were wrapped separately in half-oriental fashion in pieces of +silk, Goethe handling them with reverence. At last I was most graciously +dismissed. + +In the course of the day Chancellor Mueller suggested my visiting Goethe +toward evening; he would be alone, and my visit would by no means be +unwelcome to him. Not until later did it occur to me that Mueller could +not have made the suggestion without Goethe's knowledge. + +Now I committed my second blunder in Weimar. I was afraid to be alone +with Goethe for an entire evening, and after considerable vacillation +decided not to go. Several elements combined to produce this fear. In +the first place, it seemed to me that there was nothing within the whole +range of my intellect worthy of being displayed before Goethe. Secondly, +it was not until later that I learned to place the proper value upon my +own works by comparing them with those of my contemporaries, the former +appearing exceedingly crude and insignificant in contrast with the works +of my predecessors, especially here in the home of German poetry. +Finally, as I stated before, I had left Vienna with the feeling that my +poetic talent had completely exhausted itself, a feeling which was +intensified in Weimar to the point of actual depression. It seemed to me +an utterly unworthy proceeding to fill Goethe's ears with lamentations +and to listen to words of encouragement for which there seemed to be no +guarantee of fulfilment. + +Yet there was some method in this madness after all. Goethe's aversion +at that time for anything violent and forced was well known to me. Now I +was of the opinion that calmness and deliberation are appropriate only +to one who is capable of introducing such a wealth of thought into his +works as Goethe has done in his _Iphigenia_ and _Tasso_. At the same +time I held the opinion that every one must emphasize those qualities +with which he is most strongly endowed, and these in my case were at +that time warmth of feeling and vividness of imagination. Occupying, as +I then did, the viewpoint of impartial observation, I felt that I was +far too weak to defend against Goethe the causes of such divergence from +his own views, and I had far too much reverence for him to accept his +exposition with pretended approval or in hypocritical silence. + +At all events I did not go, and that displeased Goethe. He had good +cause to feel astonished that I should display such indifference to the +proffered opportunity of enlightening him concerning my works and +myself; or else he came nearer to the truth, and imagined that _The +Ancestress_ and my predilection for similar effusions, which were +repugnant to him, were not entirely quenched within me; or perhaps he +divined my entire mood, and concluded that an unmanly character was +bound to ruin even a great talent. From that time on he was much colder +toward me. + +But as far as this unmanliness is concerned, I confess, as I have +previously done, to falling a prey to this weakness whenever I find +myself confronted with a confused mass of sensations of lesser +importance, especially with goodwill, reverence, and gratitude. Whenever +I was able to define the opposing factors sharply to myself in the +rejection of the bad as well as in the perseverance in a conviction, I +displayed both before and after this period a firmness which, indeed, +might even be called obstinacy. But in general it may safely be +asserted: Only the union of character and talent produces what is called +genius. + +On one of these days I was also commanded to appear before the grand +duke, whom I met in all his simplicity and unaffectedness in the +so-called Roman House. He conversed with me for over an hour, and my +description of Austrian conditions seemed to interest him. Not he, but +most of the others, hinted at the desire of acquiring my services for +the Weimar theatre--a desire that did not coincide with my own +inclination. + +When on the fourth day of my stay I paid my farewell visit to Goethe, he +was friendly, but somewhat reserved. He expressed astonishment at my +leaving Weimar so soon, and added that they would all be glad to hear +from me occasionally. "They," then, would be glad, not he. Even in later +years he did not do me justice, for I do consider myself the best poet +that has appeared after him and Schiller, in spite of the gulf that +separates me from them. That all this did not lessen my love and +reverence for him, I need scarcely say. + + * * * * * + + + + +BEETHOVEN AS A LETTER WRITER + +BY WALTER R. SPALDING, A.M. + +Associate Professor of Music, Harvard University + + +The first musician to whom a place among the representative masters of +German literature may justly be assigned is Beethoven, and this fact is +so significant and so closely connected with the subsequent development +both of music and literature that the reasons for such a statement +should be set forth in detail. Although Haydn kept a note-book, still +extant, during his two visits to London, and although Mozart wrote the +average number of letters, from no one of the musicians prior to +Beethoven have we received, in writings which can be classed as +literature, any expression of their personalities. Their intellectual +and imaginative activity was manifested almost exclusively in music, and +their interest in whatever lay outside the musical horizon was very +slight. In the written words of neither Haydn nor Mozart do we find any +reference to the poetical and prose works of Germany or of other +nations, nor is there any evidence that their imaginations were +influenced by suggestions drawn from literature. Famous though they were +as musicians by reason of their sincere and masterful handling of the +raw material of music, there is so little depth of thought in their +compositions that many of them have failed to live. Neither Haydn nor +Mozart can be considered as a great character and we miss the note of +sublimity in their music, although it often has great vitality and +charm. Beethoven, however, was a thinker in tones and often in words. + +[Illustration: BEETHOVEN] + +His symphonies are human documents, and even had he not written a single +note of music we have sufficient evidence in verbal form to convince us +that his personality was one of remarkable power and that music was only +one way, though, to be sure, the foremost, of expressing the depth of +his feeling and the range of his mental activity. In distinction from +his predecessors, who were merely musicians, Beethoven was a man first +and a musician second, and the lasting vitality in his works is due to +their broad human import; they evidently came from a character endowed +with a rich and fertile imagination, from one who looked at life from +many sides. Several of his most famous compositions were founded on +works of Shakespeare, Goethe, and Schiller, and the Heroic Symphony +bears witness to his keen interest in the momentous political changes of +his time and in the growth of untrammeled human individuality. No mere +manipulator of sounds and rhythms could have impressed the fastidious +nobility of Vienna to the high degree chronicled by contemporary +testimony. Beethoven wished to be known as a _Tondichter_, i.e., a +first-hand creator, and his whole work was radically different from the +rather cautious and imitative methods which had characterized former +composers. It was through the cultivated von Breuning family of Bonn +that the young Beethoven became acquainted with English literature, and +his growing familiarity with it exerted a strong influence upon his +whole life and undoubtedly increased the natural vigor of his +imagination, for the literature of England surpassed anything which had +so far been produced by Germany. Later, in 1823, when the slavery +debates were going on in Parliament, he used to read with keen interest +the speeches of Lord Brougham. + +In estimating the products of human imagination during the last century, +a fact of great significance is the relationship of the arts of +literature and of music. Numerous examples might be cited of men who +were almost equally gifted in expressing themselves in either words or +musical sounds--notably von Weber, E.T.A. Hoffmann, Spohr, Schumann, and +Mendelssohn, this dual activity reaching a remarkable climax in Richard +Wagner, who was both a great dramatic poet and an equally supreme +musician. The same tendency is manifested by leaders of thought in other +nations. Thus the French Berlioz and St. Saens are equally noted as +composers and men of letters; the Italian Boito is an able dramatist as +well as composer; and, among modern instances, Debussy, d'Indy, and +Strauss have shown high literary as well as musical ability. To turn to +the other side of this duality, allusions to music in works of both +prose and poetry have become increasingly frequent during the nineteenth +century, and the musical art is no longer considered a mysterious +abstraction entirely divorced from the outward world of men and events. +It is a long step from Goethe, who was entirely unable to grasp the +meaning of Beethoven's symphonies, to such men as Heine, who has made +some very illuminating comments on various composers and their music; +Max Mueller, a highly cultivated musical amateur; Schopenhauer, whose +esthetic principles so deeply influenced Wagner; and Nietzsche, a +musician of considerable technical ability. To these names should be +added that of Robert Browning who, together with Shakespeare, has shown +a truer insight into the real nature of music than any other English +writers have manifested. + +With Beethoven, then, music ceases to be an opportunity for the display +of mere abstract skill and takes its place on an equality with the arts +of poetry and painting as a means of intense personal expression. If the +basis of all worth in literature is that the writer shall have something +genuine to say, Beethoven's letters are certainly literature, for they +are the direct revelation of a great and many-sided personality and +furnish invaluable testimony as to just what manner of man he was--too +great indeed for music wholly to contain him. The Letters are not to be +read for their felicity of expression, as one might approach the letters +of Stevenson or Lamb; for Beethoven, even in his music, always valued +substance more than style, or, at any rate, kept style subservient to +vitality of utterance. In fact, one modern French musician claims that +he had no taste! He was not gifted with the literary charm and subtlety +of his great follower, Hector Berlioz, and had no practise as a +journalist or a critic. As his deafness increased after the year 1800 +and he was therefore forced to live a life of retirement, he committed +his thoughts more and more to writing, and undoubtedly left to the world +a larger number of letters than if he had been taking a normal part in +the activities of his fellowmen. + +Particular attention is called to the variety of Beethoven's +correspondents and to their influential position in the artistic and +social life of that period. In the Will, number 55, a most impassioned +expression of feeling, Beethoven lays bare his inmost soul, and with an +eloquence seldom surpassed has transformed cold words into living +symbols of emotion. The immortal power contained in his music finds its +parallel in this document. He who appeals to our deepest emotions +commands for all time our reverent allegiance. In addition to the +letters there is an extensive diary and also numerous conversation +books. All these writings are valuable, not only for themselves, but +because they confirm in an unmistakable way certain of the salient +characteristics of his musical compositions. With Beethoven we find in +instrumental music, practically for the first time, a prevailing note of +sublimity. He must have been a religious man in the truest sense of the +term, with the capacity to realize the mystery and grandeur of human +destiny, and numerous passages from the letters give eloquent expression +to an analogous train of serious thought. (See letters 1017 and 1129.) +One of his favorite books was Sturm's _Betrachtungen ueber die Werke +Gottes in der Natur_ ("Contemplations upon the Works of God in Nature"), +and from his diary of 1816 we have the quotation which was the basis of +his creed--"God is immaterial, and for this reason transcends every +conception. Since he is invisible He can have no form. But from what we +observe in His work we may conclude that He is eternal, omnipotent, +omniscient, and omnipresent." + +Although some modern critics have doubted whether music without the +association of words can express humor, the introduction of this element +into symphonic music is generally considered one of Beethoven's greatest +achievements. While it is true that if any one listening to the scherzos +of the Third and Eighth symphonies asserts that they mean nothing +humorous to him no one can gainsay him, we know that Beethoven intended +these movements to be expressions of his overflowing humorous spirits +and the suggestive term "scherzo" is his own invention. In music, as in +literature, much hinges upon the definition of humor, and there is the +same distinction in each art between wit--light and playful, and +humor--broad, serious, and, at times, even grim. A genuine humorist is +always a deep thinker, one who sees all sides of human nature--the great +traits and the petty ones. The poet Lowell has defined humor as +consisting in the contrast of two ideas, and in a Beethoven scherzo the +gay and the pathetic are so intermingled that we are in constant +suspense between laughter and tears. A humorist, furthermore, is a +person of warm heart, who looks with sympathetic affection upon the +incongruities of human nature. In fact, both the expression and the +perception of humor are social acts, as may be seen from the development +of this subject by the philosopher Bergson in his brilliant essay _On +Laughter_. That Beethoven the humorist was closely related to Beethoven +the humanist, and that the expression of humor in his music--something +quite different from the facile wit and cleverness of the Haydn +minuet--was inevitable with him, is clearly proved by the presence of +the same spirit in so many of the letters. Too much stress has been laid +by Beethoven's biographers upon his buffoonery and fondness for +practical jokes. At bottom he was most tender-hearted and sympathetic; +his nature, of volcanic impetuosity, a puzzling mixture of contradictory +emotions. In but very few of his great works is the element of humor +omitted, and its expression ranges all the way from the uproariously +comic to the grimly tragic. Some of his scherzos reveal the same +fantastic caprice which is found in the medieval gargoyles of Gothic +architecture. + +Beethoven's letters, then, are to be considered as the first distinct +evidence we have of that change in the musical sense which has brought +about such important developments in the trend of modern music. Just as +in Beethoven's works we generally feel that there is something behind +the notes, and as he is said always to have composed with some poetical +picture in his mind, so the music of our time has become programmistic +in the wide sense of the term, no longer a mere embodiment of the laws +of its own being but charged with vital and dramatic import, closely +related to all artistic expression and to the currents of daily life. +Familiarity with the selection of letters here published cannot fail to +contribute to a deeper enjoyment of Beethoven's music, for through them +we realize that the universality of the artist was the direct +consequence of the emotional breadth of the man. All art is a union of +emotion and intellect, and their perfect balance is the paramount +characteristic of this master. + + * * * * * + + + +BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS[66] + +TRANSLATED BY J.S. SHEDLOCK + + + +NO. 8 + +TO DR. FRANZ WEGELER IN VIENNA + +(Between 1794-1796) + + +My dearest, my best one! + +What a horrid picture you have drawn to me of myself. I recognize it; I +do not deserve your friendship. You are so noble, so kindly disposed, +and now for the first time I do not dare to compare myself with you; I +have fallen far below you. Alas! for weeks I have given pain to my best, +my noblest friends. You believe I have ceased to be kind-hearted, but, +thank heaven, 'tis not so! It was not intentional, thought-out malice on +my part, which caused me to act thus; but my unpardonable +thoughtlessness, which prevented me from seeing the matter in the right +light. I am thoroughly ashamed for your sake, also for mine. I scarcely +venture to beg you to restore your friendship. Ah, Wegeler! _My only +consolation is that you knew me almost from my childhood_, and--oh! let +me say it myself--I was really always of good disposition, and in my +dealings always strove to be upright and honest; how, otherwise, could +you have loved me! Could I, then, in so short a time have suddenly +changed so terribly, so greatly to my disadvantage? Impossible that +these feelings for what is great and good should all of a sudden become +extinct! My Wegeler, dear and best one, venture once again to come to +the arms of your B. Trust to the good qualities which you formerly found +in him. I will vouch for it that the pure temple of holy friendship +which you will erect on them will forever stand firm; no chance event, +no storm will be able to shake its foundations--firm--eternal--our +friendship--forgiveness--forgetting--revival of dying, sinking +friendship. Oh, Wegeler! do not cast off this hand of reconciliation; +place your hand in mine--O God!--but no more! I myself come to you and +throw myself in your arms, and sue for the lost friend, and you will +give yourself to me full of contrition, who loves and ever will be +mindful of you. + +BEETHOVEN. + +I have just received your letter on my return home. + + + +NO. 27 + +TO THE COMPOSER J.N. HUMMEL + +(Vienna, circa 1799) + + +Do not come any more to me. You are a false fellow, and the hangman take +all such! + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 28 + +TO THE SAME + +(The next day) + + +Good Friend Nazerl: + +You are an honorable fellow, and I see you were right. So come this +afternoon to me. You will also find Schuppanzigh, and both of us will +blow you up, thump you, and shake you; so you will have a fine time of +it. + +Your Beethoven, also named Mehlschoeberl, embraces you. + + + +NO. 35 + +TO CARL AMENDA AT WIRBEN IN COURLAND + + +Vienna, June 1, 1800. + +My Dear, My Good Amenda, My Heartily Beloved Friend: + +With deep emotion, with mixed pain and pleasure, did I receive and read +your last letter. To what can I compare your fidelity, your attachment +to me. Oh! how pleasant it is that you have always remained so kind to +me; yes, I also know that you, of all men, are the most trustworthy. You +are no Viennese friend; no, you are one of those such as my native +country produces. How often do I wish you were with me, for your +Beethoven is most unhappy and at strife with nature and the Creator. The +latter I have often cursed for exposing His creatures to the smallest +chance, so that frequently the richest buds are thereby crushed and +destroyed. Only think that the noblest part of me, my sense of hearing, +has become very weak. Already when you were with me I noted traces of +it, and I said nothing. Now it has become worse, and it remains to be +seen whether it can ever be healed. * * * What a sad life I am now +compelled to lead! I must avoid all that is near and dear to me, and +then to be among such wretched egotistical beings as ----, etc.! I can +say that among all Lichnowski has best stood the test. Since last year +he has settled on me 600 florins, which, together with the good sale of +my works, enables me to live without anxiety. Everything I write, I can +sell immediately five times over, and also be well paid. * * * Oh! how +happy should I now be if I had my perfect hearing, for I should then +hasten to you. As it is, I must in all things be behindhand; my best +years will slip away without bringing forth what, with my talent and my +strength, I ought to have accomplished. I must now have recourse to sad +resignation. I have, it is true, resolved not to worry about all this, +but how is it possible? Yes, Amenda, if, six months hence, my malady is +beyond cure, then I lay claim to your help. You must leave everything +and come to me. I will travel (my malady interferes least with my +playing and composition, most only in conversation), and you must be my +companion. I am convinced good fortune will not fail me. With whom need +I be afraid of measuring my strength? Since you went away I have written +music of all kinds except operas and sacred works. + +Yes, do not refuse; help your friend to bear with his troubles, his +infirmity. I have also greatly improved my piano-forte playing. I hope +this journey may also turn to your advantage; afterwards you will always +remain with me. I have duly received all your letters, and although I +have answered only a few, you have been always in my mind; and my +heart, as always, beats tenderly for you. _Please keep as a great secret +what I have told you about my hearing; trust no one, whoever it may be, +with it_. + +Do write frequently; your letters, however short they may be, console +me, do me good. I expect soon to get another one from you, my dear +friend. Don't lend out my _Quartet_ any more, because I have made many +changes in it. I have only just learnt how to write quartets properly, +as you will see when you receive them. + +Now, my dear good friend, farewell! If perchance you believe that I can +show you any kindness here, I need not, of course, remind you to address +yourself first to + +Your faithful, truly loving, + +L. v. BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 45 + +TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI + + +On the 6th July, 1801, in the morning + +My Angel, My All, My Very Self: + +Just a few words today, and indeed in pencil--with thine--only till +tomorrow is my room definitely engaged; what an unworthy waste of time +in such matters--why this deep sorrow where necessity speaks! Can our +love endure otherwise than through sacrifices, through restraint in +longing? Canst thou help not being wholly mine, can I, not being wholly +thine? Oh! gaze at nature in all its beauty, and calmly accept the +inevitable--love demands everything, and rightly so. _Thus is it for me +with thee, for thee with me_, only thou so easily forgettest that I must +live for myself and for thee--were we wholly united thou wouldst feel +this painful fact as little as I should--my journey was terrible. I +arrived here only yesterday morning at four o'clock, and as they were +short of horses the mail-coach selected another route--but what an awful +road! At the last stage but one I was warned against traveling by night; +they frightened me with a wood, but that only spurred me on--and I was +wrong, the coach must needs break down, the road being dreadful, a +swamp, a mere country road; without the postillions I had with me I +should have stuck on the way. Esterhazi, by the ordinary road, met with +the same fate with eight horses as I with four--yet it gave me some +pleasure, as successfully overcoming any difficulty always does. Now for +a quick change from without to within--we shall probably soon see each +other, besides, today I cannot tell thee what has been passing through +my mind during the past few days concerning my life--were our hearts +closely united I should not do things of this kind. My heart is full of +many things I have to say to thee--ah, there are moments in which I feel +that speech is powerless! Cheer up--remain my true, my only treasure, my +all!!! as I to thee. The gods must send the rest--what for us must be +and ought to be. + +Thy faithful + +LUDWIG. + + +Monday Evening, July 6. + +Thou sufferest, thou my dearest love! I have just found out that the +letters must be posted very early Mondays, Thursdays--the only days when +the post goes from here to K. Thou sufferest--ah, where I am, art thou +also with me! I will arrange for myself and Thee; I will manage so that +I can live with thee; and what a life!!! But as it is--without thee!!! +Persecuted here and there by the kindness of men, which I little +deserve, and as little care to deserve. Humility of man toward man--it +pains me--and when I think of myself in connection with the universe, +what am I and what is He who is named the Greatest--and still this again +shows the divine in man. I weep when I think that probably thou wilt get +the first news from me only on Saturday evening. However much thou +lovest me, my love for thee is stronger; but never conceal thy thoughts +from me. Good-night! As I am taking the baths I must go to bed [two +words scratched through]. O God--so near! so far! Our love--is it not a +true heavenly edifice, firm as heaven's vault! + + +Good morning, on July 7. + +While still in bed, my thoughts press to thee, my Beloved One, at moments +with joy, and then again with sorrow, waiting to see whether fate will +take pity on us. Either I must live wholly with thee, or not at all. Yes, +I have resolved to wander in distant lands, until I can fly to thy arms +and feel that with thee I have a real home; with thee encircling me +about, I can send my soul into the kingdom of spirits. Yes, unfortunately, +it must be so. Calm thyself, and all the more since thou knowest my +faithfulness toward thee! Never can another possess my heart, +never--never--O God! why must one part from what one so loves--and yet +my life in V. at present is a wretched life! Thy love has made me one of +the happiest and, at the same time, one of the unhappiest of men; at my +age I need a quiet, steady life--but is that possible in our situation? +My Angel, I have just heard that the post goes every day, and I must +therefore stop, so that you may receive the letter without delay. Be +calm--only by calm consideration of our existence can we attain our aim +to live together; be calm--love me--today--yesterday--what tearful +longing after thee--thee--thee--my life--my all--farewell! Oh, continue +to love me--never, never misjudge the faithful heart + +Of Thy Beloved + +L. + +Ever thine, ever thine, ever each other's. + + + +NO. 55 + +TO HIS BROTHERS CARL AND ---- BEETHOVEN + + +O ye men who regard or declare me to be malignant, stubborn, or cynical, +how unjust are ye towards me! You do not know the secret cause of my +seeming so. From childhood onward, my heart and mind prompted me to be +kind and tender, and I was ever inclined to accomplish great deeds. But +only think that, during the last six years, I have been in a wretched +condition, rendered worse by unintelligent physicians, deceived from +year to year with hopes of improvement, and then finally forced to the +prospect of _lasting infirmity_ (which may last for years, or even be +totally incurable). Born with a fiery, active temperament, even +susceptive of the diversions of society, I had soon to retire from the +world, to live a solitary life. At times, even, I endeavored to forget +all this, but how harshly was I driven back by the redoubled experience +of my bad hearing! Yet it was not possible for me to say to men: Speak +louder, shout, for I am deaf. Alas! how could I declare the weakness of +a _sense_ which in me _ought_ to be more acute than in others--a sense +which _formerly_ I possessed in highest perfection, a perfection such as +few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed; no, I cannot do it. +Forgive, therefore, if you see me withdraw, when I would willingly mix +with you. My misfortune pains me doubly in that I am certain to be +misunderstood. For me there can be no recreation in the society of my +fellow creatures, no refined conversations, no interchange of thought. +Almost alone, and mixing in society only when absolutely necessary, I am +compelled to live as an exile. If I approach near to people, a feeling +of hot anxiety comes over me lest my condition should be noticed--for so +it was during these past six months which I spent in the country. +Ordered by my intelligent physician to spare my hearing as much as +possible, he almost fell in with my present frame of mind, although many +a time I was carried away by my sociable inclinations. But how +humiliating was it, when some one standing close to me heard a distant +flute, and I heard _nothing_, or a _shepherd singing_, and again I heard +nothing. Such incidents almost drove me to despair; at times I was on +the point of putting an end to my life--_art_ alone restrained my hand. +Oh! it seemed as if I could not quit this earth until I had produced all +I felt within me, and so I continued this wretched life--wretched, +indeed, and with so sensitive a body that a somewhat sudden change can +throw me from the best into the worst state. _Patience_, I am told, I +must choose as my guide. I have done so--lasting, I hope, will be my +resolution to bear up until it pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the +thread. Forced already, in my 28th year, to become a philosopher, it +is not easy--for an artist more difficult than for any one else. O +Divine Being, Thou who lookest down into my inmost soul, Thou +understandest; Thou knowest that love for mankind and a desire to do +good dwell therein! Oh, my fellow men, when one day you read this, +remember that you were unjust to me and let the unfortunate one console +himself if he can find one like himself, who, in spite of all obstacles +which nature has thrown in his way, has still done everything in his +power to be received into the ranks of worthy artists and men. You, my +brothers Carl and ----, as soon as I am dead, beg Professor Schmidt, +if he be still living, to describe my malady; and annex this written +account to that of my illness, so that at least the world, so far as is +possible, may become reconciled to me after my death. And now I declare +you both heirs to my small fortune (if such it may be called). Divide it +honorably and dwell in peace, and help each other. What you have done +against me has, as you know, long been forgiven. And you, brother Carl, +I especially thank you for the attachment you have shown toward me of +late. My prayer is that your life may be better, less troubled by cares, +than mine. Recommend to your children _virtue_; it alone can bring +happiness, not money. I speak from experience. It was virtue which bore +me up in time of trouble; to her, next to my art, I owe thanks for my +not having laid violent hands on myself. Farewell, and love one another. +My thanks to all friends, especially _Prince Lichnowski_ and _Professor +Schmidt_. I should much like one of you to keep as an heirloom the +instruments given to me by Prince L., but let no strife arise between +you concerning them; if money should be of more service to you, just +sell them. How happy I feel, that, even when lying in my grave, I may be +useful to you! + +So let it be. I joyfully hasten to meet death. If it come before I have +had opportunity to develop all my artistic faculties, it will come, my +hard fate notwithstanding, too soon, and I should probably wish it +later--yet even then I shall be happy, for will it not deliver me from a +state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt, I shall face thee +courageously. Farewell, and when I am dead do not entirely forget me. +This I deserve from you, for during my lifetime I often thought of you, +and how to make you happy. Be ye so. + +LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN. + +Heiligenstadt, October 6, 1802. + + + +NO. 136 + +TO THERESE VON MALFATTI + +(1807) + + +You receive herewith, honored Therese, what I promised, and had it not +been for serious hindrances you would have received more, in order to +show you that I always _offer more to my friends than I actually +promise_. I hope and have every reason to believe that you are nicely +occupied and as pleasantly entertained--but I hope not too much, so that +you may also think of us. It would probably be expecting too much of +you, or overrating my own importance, if I ascribed to you: "Men are not +only together when they are together; even he who is far away, who has +departed, is still in our thoughts." Who would ascribe anything of the +kind to the lively T., who takes life so easily? + +Pray do not forget the pianoforte among your occupations, or, indeed, +music generally. You have such fine talent for it. Why not devote +yourself entirely to it--you who have such feeling for all that is +beautiful and good? Why will you not make use of this, in order that you +may recognize in so beautiful an art the higher perfection which casts +down its rays even on us. I am very solitary and quiet, although lights +now and again might awaken me; but since you all went away from here, I +feel in me a void which cannot be filled; my art, even otherwise so +faithful to me, has not been able to gain any triumph. Your piano is +ordered, and you will soon receive it. What a difference you will have +found between the treatment of the theme I improvised one evening, and +the way in which I recently wrote it down for you! Explain that to +yourself, but don't take too much punch to help you. How lucky you are, +to be able to go so soon to the country! I cannot enjoy that happiness +until the 8th. I am happy as a child at the thought of wandering among +clusters of bushes, in the woods, among trees, herbs, rocks. No man +loves the country more than I; for do not forests, trees, rocks reecho +that for which mankind longs? Soon you will receive other compositions +of mine, in which you will not have to complain much about difficulties. +Have you read Goethe's _Wilhelm Meister_, the _Schlegel translation of +Shakespeare_? One has much leisure in the country, and it will perhaps +be agreeable to you if I send you these works. I happen to have an +acquaintance in your neighborhood, so perhaps I shall come early some +morning and spend half an hour at your house, and be off again; notice +that I shall inflict on you the shortest _ennui_. + +Commend me to the good wishes of your father, your mother, although I +can claim no right for so doing--and the same, likewise, to cousin MM. +Farewell, honored T. I wish you all that is good and beautiful in life. +Keep me, and willingly, in remembrance--forget my wild behavior. Be +convinced that no one more than myself can desire to know that your life +is joyous, prosperous, even though you take no interest in + +Your most devoted servant and friend, + +BEETHOVEN. + +N.B.--It would really be very nice on your part to send me a few lines +to say in what way I can be of service here. + + + +NO. 151 + +TO THE BIGOTS + +(Probably Summer, 1808) + + +Dear Marie, Dear Bigot: + +Only with the deepest regret am I forced to perceive that the purest, +most innocent, feelings can often be misconstrued. As you have received +me so kindly, it never occurred to me to explain it otherwise than that +you bestow on me your friendship. You must think me very vain or +small-minded, if you suppose that the civility itself of such excellent +persons as you are could lead me to believe that--I had at once won your +affection. Besides, it is one of my first principles never to stand in +other than friendly relationship with the wife of another man. Never by +such a relationship (as you suggest) would I fill my breast with +distrust against her who may one day share my fate with me--and so taint +for myself the most beautiful, the purest life. + +It is perhaps possible that sometimes I have not joked with Bigot in a +sufficiently refined way; I have indeed told both of you that +occasionally I am very free in speech. I am perfectly natural with all +my friends, and hate all restraint. I now also count Bigot among them, +and if anything I do displeases him, friendship demands from him and you +to tell me so--and I will certainly take care not to offend him again; +but how can good Marie put such bad meaning on my actions! + +With regard to my invitation to take a drive with you and Caroline, it +was natural that, as Bigot, the day before, was opposed to your going +out alone with me, I was forced to conclude that you both probably found +it unbecoming or objectionable--and when I wrote to you, I only wished +to make you understand that I saw no harm in it. And so, when I further +declared that I attached great value to your not declining, this was +only that I might induce you to enjoy the splendid, beautiful day; I was +thinking more of your and Caroline's pleasure than of mine, and I +thought, _if I declared that mistrust on your part or a refusal would be +a real offense to me_, by this means almost to compel you to yield to my +wish. The matter really deserves careful reflection on your part as to +how you can make amends for having spoilt this day so bright for me, +owing as much to my frame of mind as to the cheerful weather. When I +said that you misunderstand me, your present judgment of me shows that I +was quite right--not to speak of what you thought to yourself about it. +When I said that something bad would come of it if I came to you, this +was more as a joke. The object was to show you how much everything +connected with you attracts me, so that I have no greater wish than to +be able always to live with you; and that is the truth. Even supposing +there was a hidden meaning in it, the most holy friendship can often +have secrets, but on that account to misinterpret the secret of a friend +because one cannot at once fathom it--that you ought not to do. Dear +Bigot, dear Marie, never, never will you find me ignoble. From childhood +onwards I learnt to love virtue--and all that is beautiful and good. You +have deeply pained me; but it shall only serve to render our friendship +ever firmer. Today I am really not well, and it would be difficult for +me to see you. Since yesterday, after the quartet, my sensitiveness and +my imagination pictured to me the thought that I had caused you +suffering. I went at night to the ball for distraction, but in vain. +Everywhere the picture of you all pursued me; it kept saying to me--they +are so good and perhaps through you they are suffering; thoroughly +depressed, I hastened away. Write to me a few lines. + +Your true friend BEETHOVEN embraces you all. + + + +NO. 198 + +TO BREITKOPF AND HAERTEL + + +Vienna, August 8, 1809. + +I have handed over to Kind and Co. a _sextet_ for 2 clarinets, 2 +bassoons, 2 horns, and 2 German lieder or songs, so that they may reach +you as soon as possible--they are presents to you in return for all +those things which I asked you for _as presents_; the _Musik Zeitung_ +which I had also forgotten--I remind you in a friendly way about it. +Perhaps you could let me have editions of Goethe's and Schiller's +complete works--from their literary abundance something _comes in to +you_, and I then send to you many things, i.e., _something which goes +out into all the world_. Those two poets are my favorite poets, also +Ossian, Homer, the latter whom I can, unfortunately, read only in +translation. So these (Goethe and Schiller) you have only to shoot out +from your literary store-house, and if you send them to me soon you +will make me perfectly happy, and all the more so, seeing that I hope to +pass the remainder of the summer in some cozy country corner. The sextet +is one of my early things, and, moreover, was written in one night; the +best one can say of it is that it was composed by an author who, at any +rate, has produced better works--and yet, for many, such works are the +best. + +Farewell, and send very soon news to your most devoted + +BEETHOVEN. + +Of the 'cello Sonata I should like to have a few copies; I would indeed +beg you always to send me half a dozen copies; I never sell any--there +are, however, here and there poor _Musici_, to whom one cannot refuse a +thing of that sort. + + + +NO. 220 + +TO BETTINA BRENTANO + + +Vienna, August 11, 1810. + +Dearest Bettina (Friend!): + +No finer Spring than the present one--I say that and also feel it, +because I have made your acquaintance. You yourself have probably seen +that in society I am like a frog (fish) on the sand, which turns round +and round, and cannot get away until a well-wishing Galatea puts him +again into the mighty sea. Yes, I was quite out of my element, dearest +Bettina; I was surprised by you at a moment when ill-humor was quite +master of me, but it actually disappeared at sight of you. I at once +perceived that you belonged to a different world from this absurd one, +to which, with the best will, one cannot open one's ears. I myself am a +wretched man and yet complain of others!--You will surely forgive me, +with your good heart, which is seen in your eyes, and with your +intelligence, which lies in your ears--at least our ears know how to +flatter when they listen. My ears, unfortunately, are a barrier-wall +through which I cannot easily hold friendly communication with men, +else--perhaps!--I should have had more confidence in you. So I could +only understand the great, intelligent look of your eyes, which so +impressed me that I can never forget it. Dear Bettina (friend), beloved +Maiden!--Art!--Who understands it, with whom can one speak concerning +this great goddess! How dear to me were the few days when we gossiped or +rather corresponded together! I have kept all the little notes on which +stand your clever, dear, very dear, answers; so I have, at any rate, to +thank my bad hearing that the best part of these fleeting conversations +has been noted down. Since you went away I have had vexatious hours, +hours of darkness, in which one can do nothing; after your departure I +roamed about for full three hours in the Schoenbrunner Alley, also on +the ramparts; but no angel met me who could take such hold on me as you, +angel!--Forgive, dearest Bettina (friend), this digression from the key; +I must have such intervals in order to give vent to my feelings. Then +you have written, have you not, to Goethe about me? I would willingly +hide my head in a sack, so as to hear and see nothing of what is going +on in the world, because you, dearest angel, will not meet me. But I +shall surely receive a letter from you? Hope nourishes me--it nourishes, +indeed, half the world; I have had it as my neighbor all my life--what +otherwise would have become of me? I here send, written with my own +hand, "Kennst du das Land"--in remembrance of the hour in which I made +your acquaintance. I also send the other which I have composed since I +parted from you dear, dearest heart!-- + + Heart, my heart, what bodes the crisis, + What oppresseth thee so sore? + What a strange, untoward life this! + I can fathom thee no more. + +Yes, dearest Bettina (friend), send me an answer, write to me what will +happen to me since my heart has become such a rebel. Write to your most +faithful friend, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 295 + +TO EMILIE M. AT H. + + +Teplitz, July 17, 1812. + +My Dear Good Emilie, My Dear Friend! + +I am sending a late answer to your letter; a mass of business and +constant illness must be my excuse. That I am here for the restoration +of my health proves the truth of my excuse. Do not snatch the laurel +wreaths from Handel, Haydn, Mozart; they are entitled to them; as yet I +am not. + +Your pocket-book shall be preserved among other tokens of the esteem of +many men, which I do not deserve. + +Continue, do not only practise art, but get at the very heart of it; +this it deserves, for only art and science raise men to the Godhead. If, +my dear Emilie, you at any time wish to know something, write without +hesitation to me. The true artist is not proud, for he unfortunately +sees that art has no limits; he feels darkly how far he is from the +goal; and, though he may be admired by others, he is sad not to have +reached that point to which his better genius appears only as a distant, +guiding sun. I would, perhaps, rather come to you and your people than +to many rich folk who display inward poverty. If one day I should come +to H., I will come to you, to your house; I know no other excellencies +in man than those which cause him to rank among better men; where I find +this, there is my home. + +If you wish, dear Emilie, to write to me, only address straight here +where I shall remain for the next four weeks, or to Vienna; it is all +one. Look upon me as your friend, and as the friend of your family. + +LUDWIG V. BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 300 + +TO BETTINA VON ARNIM + + +Teplitz, August 15, 1812. + +Dearest, good Bettina! + +Kings and princes can certainly create professors, privy councilors, and +titles, and hang on ribbons of various orders, but they cannot create +great men, master-minds which tower above the rabble; this is beyond +them. Such men must therefore be held in respect. When two such as I and +Goethe meet, these grand gentlemen are forced to note what greatness, in +such as we are, means. Yesterday on the way home we met the whole +Imperial family. We saw them from afar approaching, and Goethe slipped +away from me and stood to one side. Say what I would, I could not induce +him to advance another step, so I pushed my hat on my head, buttoned up +my overcoat, and went, arms folded, into the thickest of the crowd. +Princes and sycophants drew up in a line; Duke Rudolph took off my hat, +after the Empress had first greeted me. Persons of rank _know_ me. To my +great amusement I saw the procession defile past Goethe. Hat in hand, he +stood at the side, deeply bowing. Then I mercilessly reprimanded him, +cast his sins in his teeth, especially those of which he was guilty +toward you, dearest Bettina, of whom we had just been speaking. Good +heavens! Had I been in your company, as he has, I should have produced +works of greater, far greater, importance. A musician is also a poet, +and the magic of a pair of eyes can suddenly cause him to feel +transported into a more beautiful world, where great spirits make sport +of him and set him mighty tasks. I cannot tell what ideas came into my +head when I made your acquaintance. In the little observatory during the +splendid May rain--that was a fertile moment for me; the most beautiful +themes then glided from your eyes into my heart, which one day will +enchant the world when Beethoven has ceased to conduct. If God grant me +yet a few years, then I must see you again, dear, dear Bettina; so calls +the voice within me which never errs. Even minds can love each other. I +shall always court yours; your approval is dearer to me than anything in +the whole world. I gave my opinion to Goethe, that approval affects such +men as ourselves and that we wish to be listened to with the intellect +by those who are our equals. Emotion is only for women (excuse this); +the flame of music must burst forth from the mind of a man. Ah! my +dearest child, we have now for a long time been in perfect agreement +about everything! The only good thing is a beautiful, good soul, which +is recognized in everything, and in presence of which there need be no +concealment. _One must be somebody if one wishes to appear so_. The +world is bound to recognize one; it is not always unjust. To me, +however, that is a matter of no importance, for I have a higher aim. I +hope when I get back to Vienna to receive a letter from you. Write soon, +soon, and a very long one; in 8 days from now I shall be there; the +court goes tomorrow; there will be no more performance today. The +Empress rehearsed her part with him. His duke and he both wished to play +some of my music, but to both I made refusal. They are mad on Chinese +porcelain, hence there is need for indulgence; for the intellect has +lost the whip-hand. I will not play to these silly folk, who never get +over that mania, nor will I write at public cost any stupid stuff for +princes. Adieu, adieu, dearest; your last letter lay on my heart for a +whole night, and comforted me. _Everything_ is allowed to musicians. +Great heavens, how I love you! + +Your sincerest friend and deaf brother, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 615 + +TO HERR VON GOETHE + + +Vienna, April 12, 1811. + +Your Excellency: + +The pressing business of a friend of mine, one of your great admirers +(as I also am), who is leaving here in a great hurry, gives me only a +moment to offer my thanks for the long time I have known you (for I know +you from the days of my childhood)--that is very little for so much. +Bettina Brentano has assured me that you would receive me in a +kindly--yes, indeed friendly, spirit. But how could I think of such a +reception, seeing that I am only in a position to approach you with the +deepest reverence, with an inexpressibly deep feeling for your noble +creations? You will shortly receive from Leipzig, through Breitkopf and +Haertel, the music to _Egmont_, this glorious _Egmont_, with which I, +with the same warmth with which I read it, was again through you +impressed by it and set it to music. I should much like to know your +opinion of it; even blame will be profitable for me and for my art, and +will be as willingly received as the greatest praise. + +Your Excellency's great admirer, + +LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 1017 + +TO B. SCHOTT & SON, MAINZ + + +(Summer, 1824). + +Dear Sirs: + +I only tell you that next week the works will certainly be sent off. You +will easily understand, if you only imagine to yourself, that with +uncertain copying I have to look through each part separately--for this +branch has already decreased here in proportion as tuning has been taken +up. Everywhere poverty of spirit--and of purse! Your _Cecilia_ I have +not yet received. + +The _Overture_ which you had from my brother was performed here a few +days ago, and I received high praise for it, etc.--but what is all that +in comparison with the great Tone-Master above--above--above--and with +right the greatest of all, while here below everything is a mockery--_we +the little dwarfs are the highest_!!!?? You will receive the quartet at +the same time as the other works. You are so open and frank--qualities +which I have never yet noticed in publishers--and this pleases me. Let +us shake hands over it; who knows whether I shall not do that in person +and soon! I should be glad if you would now at once forward the +honorarium for the quartet to Friess, for I just now want a great deal +of money; everything must come to me from abroad, and here and there a +delay arises--through my own fault. My brother adds what is necessary +about the works offered to, and accepted by, you. I greet you heartily. +Junker, as I see from your newspaper, is still living; he was one of the +first who _noticed_ me, an innocent and nothing more. Greet him. + +In greatest haste, and yet not of shortest standing, + +Yours, + +BEETHOVEN. + + + +NO. 1117 + +TO HIS NEPHEW CARL + + +Baden, October 5, 1825. + +For God's sake, do come home again today! Who knows what danger might be +threatening you! Hasten, hasten! My Dear Son! + +Only nothing further--only come to my arms; you shall hear no harsh +word. For Heaven's sake, do not rush to destruction! You will be +received as ever with affection. As to considering what is to be done in +future, we will talk this over in a friendly way--no reproaches, on my +word of honor, for it would be of no use. You need expect from me only +the most loving help and care. + +Only come--come to the faithful heart of your father, + +BEETHOVEN. + +Come at once on receipt of this. + +Si vous ne viendrez pas vous me tuerez surement. + +VOLTI SUB. + + + +NO. 1129 + +TO THE COPYIST RAMPEL + +(1825) + + +Best Rampel, come tomorrow morning, but go to hell with your calling me +gracious. _God alone can be called gracious_. The servant I have already +engaged--only impress on her to be honest and attached to me, as well as +orderly and punctual in her small services. + +Your devoted BEETHOVEN. + + * * * * * + + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 2: Translator: Sir Theodore Mart Permission William Blackwood +& Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 3: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 4: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 5: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 6: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 7: Translator: Richard Garnett. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 8: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 9: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 10: Translator: Franklin Johnson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 11: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 12: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 13: Translator: Charles G. Leland. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 14: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 15: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 16: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 17: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 18: Translator: J.E. Wallis. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 19: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 20: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 21: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 22: Translator: T. Brooksbank. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 23: Translator: Edgar Alfred Bowring. Permission The Walter +Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 24: Translator: Alma Strettell. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 25: Translator: W.H. Furness. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 26: Translator: John Todhunter. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 27: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission The Walter +Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 28: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 29: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 30: Translator: James Thomson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 31: Translator: Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 32: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 33: Translator: "Stratheir." Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 34: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons.] + +[Footnote 35: Translator: James Thomson. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 36: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 37: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 38: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 39: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 40: Translator: Kate Freiligrath-Kroeker. Permission The +Walter Scott Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 41: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 42: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 43: Translator: Sir Theodore Martin. Permission William +Blackwood & Sons, London.] + +[Footnote 44: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 45: Translator: Lord Houghton. Permission The Walter Scott +Publishing Co., Ltd., London.] + +[Footnote 46: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 47: Translator: Margaret Armour. Permission William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 48: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 49: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 50: Names of Student's Corps.] + +[Footnote 51: Name of the University of Goettingen.] + +[Footnote 52: Name of an Austrian periodical.] + +[Footnote 53: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.] + +[Footnote 54: According to that dignified and erudite work, the +_Burschikoses Woerterbuch_, or Student-Slang Dictionary, "to bind a +bear" signifies to contract a debt. The definition of a "sable," as +given in the dictionary above cited is, "A young lady anxious to +please."] + +[Footnote 55: From _Ideen: Das Buch Le Grand_ (Chaps. VI-IX). Permission +E.P. Dutton & Co., New York, and William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 56: From _Pictures of Travel_, permission W. Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 57: From _French. Affairs_; permission of William Heinemann, +London.] + +[Footnote 58: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 59: Permission William Heinemann, London.] + +[Footnote 60: This prototype of "The House that Jack Built" is presumed +to be a hymn in Seder Hagadah, fol. 23. The historical interpretation, +says Mrs. Valentine, who has reproduced it in her Nursery Rhymes, was +first given by P.N. Leberecht at Leipzig in 1731, and is printed in the +Christian Reformer, vol. xvii, p. 28. The original is in Chaldee. It is +throughout an allegory. The kid, one of the pure animals, denotes +Israel. The Father by whom it was purchased is Jehovah; the two pieces +of money signify Moses and Aaron. The cat means the Assyrians, the dog +the Babylonians, the staff the Persians, the fire the Grecian Empire +under Alexander the Great. The water betokens the Roman or the fourth of +the great monarchies to whose dominion the Jews were subjected. The ox +is a symbol of the Saracens, who subdued Palestine; the butcher that +killed the ox denotes the crusaders by whom the Holy Land was taken from +the Saracens; the Angel of Death the Turkish power to which Palestine is +still subject. The tenth stanza is designed to show that God will take +signal vengeance on the Turks, and restore the Jews to their own land.] + +[Footnote 61: There is a concluding verse which Heine has omitted. "Then +came the Holy One of Israel--blessed be he--and slew the Angel of Death, +who," etc.--TRAN.] + +[Footnote 62: A suburb of Vienna.] + +[Footnote 63: In Lower Austria, on the railroad from Vienna to Eger.] + +[Footnote 64: From Grillparzer's _Autobiography_ (1855).] + +[Footnote 65: A decoration.] + +[Footnote 66: A Critical Edition by Dr. A.C. Kalischer. Permission J.M. +Dent & Co., London, and E.P. Dutton & Co., New York.] + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The German Classics of The Nineteenth +and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VI., by Editor-in-Chief: Kuno Francke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GERMAN CLASSICS, VOL. 6 *** + +***** This file should be named 12473.txt or 12473.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/4/7/12473/ + +Produced by Stan Goodman, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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