The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 05

So the man went, and when he got there the whole palace was made of polished marble with alabaster figures and golden ornaments, and soldiers were marching before the door blowing trumpets, and beating cymbals and drums; and in the house, barons, and counts, and dukes were going about as servants. Then they opened the doors to him, which were of pure gold. And when he entered, there sat his wife on a throne, which was made of one piece of gold, and was quite two miles high; and she wore a great golden crown that was three yards high, and set with diamonds and carbuncles, and in one hand she had the sceptre, and in the other the imperial orb; and on both sides of her stood the yeomen of the guard in two rows, each being smaller than the one before him, from the biggest giant, who was two miles high, to the very smallest dwarf, just as big as my little finger. And before it stood a number of princes and dukes.

Then the man went and stood among them, and said, "Wife, are you Emperor now?" "Yes," said she, "now I am Emperor." Then he stood and looked at her well; and when he had looked at her thus for some time, be said, "Ah, wife, be content, now that you are Emperor." "Husband," said she, "why are you standing there? Now, I am Emperor, but I will be Pope too; go to the Flounder."

"Alas, wife," said the man, "what will you not wish for? You cannot be Pope; there is but one in Christendom; he cannot make you Pope." "Husband," said she, "I will be Pope; go immediately, I must be Pope this very day." "No, wife," said the man, "I do not like to say that to him; that would not do; it is too much; the Flounder can't make you Pope." "Husband," said she, "what nonsense! If he can make an emperor he can make a pope. Go to him directly. I am Emperor and you are nothing but my husband; will you go at once?"

Then he was afraid, and went; but he was quite faint, and shivered and shook, and his knees and legs trembled. And a high wind blew over the land, and the clouds flew, and toward evening all grew dark, and the leaves fell from the trees, and the water rose and roared as if it were boiling, and splashed upon the shore; and in the distance he saw ships which were firing guns in their sore need, pitching and tossing on the waves. And yet in the midst of the sky there was still a small bit of blue, though on every side it was as red as in a heavy storm. So, full of despair, he went and stood in much fear and said—

  "Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,  Come, I pray thee, here to me;  For my wife, good Ilsabil,  Wills not as I'd have her will."

"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas," said the man, "she wants to be Pope." "Go to her then," said the Flounder; "she is Pope already."

So he went, and when he got there, he saw what seemed to be a large church surrounded by palaces. Inside, however, everything was lighted up with thousands and thousands of candles, and his wife was clad in gold, and she was sitting on a much higher throne, and had three great golden crowns on, and around about her there was much ecclesiastical splendor; and on both sides of her was a row of candles the largest of which was as tall as the very tallest tower, down to the very smallest kitchen candle, and all the emperors and kings were on their knees before her, kissing her shoe. He pushed his way through the crowd. "Wife," said the man, and looked attentively at her, "are you now Pope?" "Yes," said she, "I am Pope." So he stood and looked at her, and it was just as if he was looking at the bright sun. When he had stood looking at her thus for a short time, he said, "Ah, wife, if you are Pope, do let well alone!" But she looked as stiff as a post, and did not move or show any signs of life. Then said he, "Wife, now that you are Pope, be satisfied; you cannot become anything greater now." "I will consider about that," said the woman. Thereupon they both went to bed, but she was not satisfied, and greediness let her have no sleep, for she was continually thinking what there was left for her to be.

The man slept well and soundly, for he had run about a great deal during the day; but the woman could not fall asleep at all, and flung herself from one side to the other the whole night through, thinking always what more was left for her to be, but unable to call to mind anything else. At length the sun began to rise, and when the woman saw the red of dawn, she sat up in bed and looked at it. And when, through the window, she saw the sun thus rising, she said, "Cannot I, too, order the sun and moon to rise?" "Husband," said she, poking him in the ribs with her elbow, "wake up! go to the Flounder, for I wish to be even as God is." The man was still half asleep, but he was so horrified that he fell out of bed. He thought he must have heard amiss, and rubbed his eyes, and said, "Alas, wife, what are you saying?" "Husband," said she, "if I can't order the sun and moon to rise, and have to look on and see the sun and moon rising, I can't bear it. I shall not know what it is to have another happy hour, unless I can make them rise myself."

Then she looked at him so terribly that a shudder ran over him, and said, "Go at once; I wish to be like unto God." "Alas, wife," said the man, falling on his knees before her, "the Flounder cannot do that; he can make an emperor and a pope; I beseech you, go on as you are, and be Pope." Then she fell into a rage, and her hair flew wildly about her head, and she cried, "I will not endure this, I'll not bear it any longer; wilt thou go?" Then he put on his trousers and ran away like a madman. But outside a great storm was raging and blowing so hard that he could scarcely keep his feet; houses and trees toppled over, the mountains trembled, rocks rolled into the sea, the sky was pitch black, and it thundered and lightened, and the sea came in with black waves as high as church-towers and mountains, and all with crests of white foam at the top. Then he cried, but could not hear his own words—

  "Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,  Come, I pray thee, here to me;  For my wife, good Ilsabil,  Wills not as I'd have her will"

"Well, what does she want, then?" asked the Flounder. "Alas," said he, "she wants to be like unto God." "Go to her, and you will find her back again in the dirty hovel." And there they are living still at this very time.

ERNST MORITZ ARNDT

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SONG OF THE FATHERLAND9 (1813)

  God, who gave iron, purposed ne'er    That man should be a slave;  Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear    In his right hand He gave.  Therefore He gave him fiery mood,    Fierce speech, and free-born breath,  That he might fearlessly the feud    Maintain through blood and death.  Therefore will we what God did say,    With honest truth, maintain—  And ne'er a fellow-creature slay,    A tyrant's pay to gain!  But he shall perish by stroke of brand    Who fighteth for sin and shame,  And not inherit the German land    With men of the German name.  O Germany! bright Fatherland!    O German love so true!  Thou sacred land—thou beauteous land—    We swear to thee anew!  Outlawed, each knave and coward shall    The crow and raven feed;  But we will to the battle all—    Revenge shall be our meed.  Flash forth, flash forth, whatever can,    To bright and flaming life!  Now, all ye Germans, man for man,    Forth to the holy strife!  Your hands lift upward to the sky—    Your hearts shall upward soar—  And man for man let each one cry,    Our slavery is o'er!  Let sound, let sound, whatever can    Trumpet and fife and drum!  This day our sabres, man for man,    To stain with blood, we come;  With hangman's and with coward's blood,    O glorious day of ire  That to all Germans soundeth good!—    Day of our great desire!  Let wave, let wave, whatever can—    Standard and banner wave!  Here will we purpose, man for man,    To grace a hero's grave.  Advance, ye brave ranks, hardily—    Your banners wave on high;  We'll gain us freedom's victory,    Or freedom's death we'll die!* * * * *

UNION SONG10 (1814)

  This blessed hour we are united,    Of German men a mighty choir,  And from the lips of each, delighted,    Our praying souls to heaven aspire;  With high and sacred awe abounding    We join in solemn thoughts today,  And so our hearts should be resounding    In clear harmonic song and play.  To whom shall foremost thanks be given?    To God, the great, so long concealed,  Who, when the cloud of shame was riven,    Himself in flames to us revealed,  Who, stubborn foes with lightning felling,    Restored to us our strength of yore,  Who, on the stars in power dwelling,    Reigns ever and forevermore.  Who should our second wish be hearing?    The majesty of Fatherland—  Destroyed be those who still are sneering!    Hail them who with it fall and stand!  By virtue winning admiration,    Beloved for honesty and might,  Long live through centuries our nation    As strong in honor and in might!  The third is German manhood's treasure—    Ring out it shall, with clearness mete!  For Freedom is the German pleasure,    And Germans step to Freedom's beat.  Be life and death by her inspirèd—    Of German hearts, oh, longing bright!  And death for Freedom's sake desirèd    Is German honor and delight.  The fourth—for noble consecration    Now lift on high both heart and hand!  Old loyalty within our nation    And German faith forever stand!—  These virtues shall, our weal assuring,    Remain our union's shield and stay;  Our manly word will be enduring    Until the world shall pass away.  Now let the final chord be ringing    In jubilee—stand not apart!  Let sound our mighty, joyful singing    From lip to lip, from heart to heart!  The weal from which no devils bar us,    The word that doth our league infold—  The bliss which tyrants cannot mar us    We must believe in, we must hold!

THEODOR KÖRNER

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MEN AND KNAVES11 (1813)

  The storm is out; the land is roused;  Where is the coward who sits well-housed?  Fie, on thee, boy, disguised in curls,  Behind the stove, 'mong gluttons and girls!    A graceless, worthless wight thou must be;    No German maid desires thee,    No German song inspires thee,    No German Rhine-wine fires thee.        Forth in the van,        Man by man,    Swing the battle-sword who can!  When we stand watching, the livelong night,  Through piping storms, till morning light,  Thou to thy downy bed canst creep,  And there in dreams of rapture sleep.Chorus  When, hoarse and shrill, the trumpet's blast,  Like the thunder of God, makes our hearts beat fast,  Thou in the theatre lov'st to appear,  Where trills and quavers tickle the ear.Chorus  When the glare of noonday scorches the brain,  When our parched lips seek water in vain,  Thou canst make the champagne corks fly,  At the groaning tables of luxury.Chorus  When we, as we rush to the strangling fight,  Send home to our true loves a long "Good night,"  Thou canst hie thee where love is sold,  And buy thy pleasure with paltry gold.Chorus  When lance and bullet come whistling by,  And death in a thousand shapes draws nigh,  Thou canst sit at thy cards, and kill  King, queen, and knave, with thy spadille.Chorus  If on the red field our bell should toll,  Then welcome be death to the patriot's soul.  Thy pampered flesh shall quake at its doom,  And crawl in silk to a hopeless tomb.    A pitiful exit thine shall be;    No German maid shall weep for thee,    No German song shall they sing for thee,    No German goblets shall ring for thee.        Forth in the van,        Man for man,    Swing the battle-sword who can!* * * * *

LÜTZOW'S WILD BAND12 (1813)

  What gleams through the woods in the morning sun?    Hear it nearer and nearer draw!  It winds in and out in columns dun,  And the trumpet-notes on the roused winds run,    And they startle the soul with awe.  Should you of the comrades black demand—  That is Lützow's wild and untamed band.  What passes swift through the darksome glade,    And roves o'er the mountains all?  It crouches in nightly ambuscade;  The hurrah breaks round the foe dismayed,    And the Frankish sergeants fall.  Should you of the rangers black demand—  That is Lützow's wild and audacious band.  Where the vineyards flourish, there roars the Rhine;    There the tyrant thought him secure;  Then by thunder-crash and lightning-shine  In the waters plunges the fighting line;    Of the hostile bank makes sure.  Should you of the swimmers black demand—  That is Lützow's wild and foolhardy band.  There down in the valley what clamorous fight!    What clangor of bloody swords!  Fierce-hearted horsemen wage the fight,  And the spark of freedom's at last alight,    Flaming red the heavens towards.  Should you of the horsemen black demand—  That is Lützow's wild and intrepid band.  Who with death-rattle there bid the day farewell    'Mid the moans of prostrate foes?  Of the hand of death the drawn features tell,  Yet the dauntless hearts triumphant swell,    For his Fatherland's safe each knows!  Should you of the black-clad fallen demand—  That is Lützow's wild and invincible band.  The wild, fierce band and the Teuton band,    For all tyrants' blood athirst!—  So you who would mourn us, be not unmanned;  For the morning dawns, and we freed our land,    Though to free it we won death first!  Then tell, at your grandsons' rapt demand:  That was Lützow's wild and unconquered band!* * * * *

PRAYER DURING BATTLE13 (1813)

        Father, I call to thee.  The roaring artillery's clouds thicken round me,  The hiss and the glare of the loud bolts confound me.        Ruler of battles, I call on thee        O Father, lead thou me!        O Father, lead thou me;  To victory, to death, dread Commander, O guide me;  The dark valley brightens when thou art beside me;        Lord, as thou wilt, so lead thou me.        God, I acknowledge thee.        God, I acknowledge thee;  When the breeze through the dry leaves of autumn is moaning,  When the thunder-storm of battle is groaning,        Fount of mercy, in each I acknowledge thee.        O Father, bless thou me!        O Father, bless thou me;  I trust in thy mercy, whate'er may befall me;  'Tis thy word that hath sent me; that word can recall me.        Living or dying, O bless thou me!        Father, I honor thee.        Father, I honor thee;  Not for earth's hoards or honors we here are contending;  All that is holy our swords are defending;        Then falling, and conquering, I honor thee.        God, I repose in thee.        God, I repose in thee;  When the thunders of death my soul are greeting,  When the gashed veins bleed, and the life is fleeting,        In thee, my God, I repose in thee.        Father, I call on thee.

MAXIMILIAN GOTTFRIED VON SCHENKENDORF

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THE MOTHER TONGUE14 (1814)

  Mother tongue, oh, tongue most dear,  Sweet and gladsome to mine ear!    Word that first I heard, endearing  Word of love, first timid sound    That I stammered—still I'm hearing  Thee within my soul profound.  Oh, my heart will ever grieve  When my Fatherland I leave,    For in foreign tongues repeating  Words of strangers, I lose cheer.    Oh, they seem not like a greeting,  And I'll never hold them dear.  Speech so wonderful to hear—  How thou ringest pure and clear!    Though thy beauty hath enthralled me,  Still I'll deepen my delight,    Awed, as if my fathers called me  From the grave's eternal night.  Ring on ever, tongue of old,  Tongue of lovers, heroes bold!    Rise, old song, though lost for ages,  From thy secret tomb, and go    Live again in sacred pages,  Set all hearts once more aglow.  Breath of God is everywhere,  Custom sacred here as there.    Yet when I give thanks, am praying,  A beloved heart would seek,    When my highest thoughts I'm saying—  Then my mother tongue I speak.* * * * *

SPRING GREETING TO THE FATHERLAND15 (1814)

  Fatherland, thy pleasures greet me    After bondage, war's distress!  I must steep my soul completely    Here in all thy gorgeousness.  Where the oak-trees murmur mildly    With their crowns to heaven raised,  Mighty streams are roaring wildly—    There the German land be praised.  From the Rhinefall, all delighted,    I have walked, from Danube's spring;  Mildly, in my soul benighted    Love-stars rose, illumining;  Now I would descend, and brightly    Radiate a joyous shine  Into Neckar's valleys sprightly,    O'er the blue and silver Main.  Onward fly, my message, bringing    Freedom's greeting evermore,  Far away thou shalt be ringing    By my home on Memel's shore.  Where the German tongue is spoken,    Hearts have fought to make her free—  Fought right gladly—there unbroken    Stays our sacred Germany.  All with sunlight seems a-blazing,    All things seem adorned with green—  Pastures where the herds are grazing,    Hills where ripening grapes are seen.  Such a spring time has not graced thee,    Fatherland, for thousand years;  Glory of thy fathers faced thee    Once in dreams, and now appears.  Once more weapons must be wielded;    Go, a spirit-fray begin,  Till the latest foe has yielded—    He who threatens you within.  Passions vile ye should be blighting,    Hate, suspicion, envy, greed—  Then take, after heavy fighting,    German hearts, the rest ye need.  Then shall all men be possessing    Honor, humbleness, and might,  And thus only can the blessing    Sent our monarch shine with right.  All the ancient sins must perish—    In the God-sent deluge all,  And the heritage we cherish    To a worthy heir must fall.  God has blessed the grain that's growing    And the vineyard's fruit no less;  Men with hunter's joy are glowing;    In the homes reigns happiness.  And our freedom's sure foundation,    Pious longing, fills the breast;  Love that charms in every nation    In our German land is best.  Ye that are in castles dwelling,    Or in towns that grace our soil,  Farmers that in harvests swelling    Reap the fruits of German toil—  German brothers dear, united,    Mark my words both old and new!  That our land may stay unblighted,    Keep this concord, and be true!* * * * *

FREEDOM16 (1815)

  Freedom that I love,    Shining in my heart,  Come now from above,    Angel that thou art.  Wilt thou ne'er appear    To the world oppressed?  With thy grace and cheer    Only stars are blessed?  In the forest gay    When the trees are green,  'Neath the blooming spray,    Freedom, thou art seen.  Oh, what dear delight!    Music fills the air,  And thy secret might    Thrills us everywhere,  When the rustling boughs    Friendly greetings send,  When we lovers' vows    Looks and kisses spend.  But the heart aspires    Upward evermore,  And our high desires    Ever sky-ward soar.  From his simple kind    Comes my rustic child,  Shows his heart and mind    To the world beguiled;  For him gardens bloom,    For him fields have grown,  Even in, the gloom    Of a world of stone.  Where in that man's breast    Glows a God-sent flame  Who with loyal zest    Loves the ancient name,  Where the men unite    Valiantly to face  Foes of honor's right—    There dwells freedom's race.  Ramparts, brazen doors    Still may bar the light,  Yet the spirit soars    Into regions bright;  For the fathers' grave,    For the church to fall,  And for dear ones—brave,    True at freedom's call—  That indeed is light,    Glowing rosy-red;  Heroes' cheeks grow bright    And more fair when dead.  Down to us, oh, guide    Heaven's grace, we pray!  In our hearts reside—    German hearts—to stay!  Freedom sweet and fair,    Trusting, void of fear,  German nature e'er    Was to thee most clear.

LUDWIG UHLAND

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THE CHAPEL17 (1805)

  Yonder chapel, on the mountain,    Looks upon a vale of joy;  There, below, by moss and fountain,    Gaily sings the herdsman's boy.  Hark! Upon the breeze descending,    Sound of dirge and funeral bell;  And the boy, his song suspending,    Listens, gazing from the dell.  Homeward to the grave they're bringing    Forms that graced the peaceful vale;  Youthful herdsman, gaily singing!    Thus they'll chant thy funeral wail.* * * * *

THE SHEPHERD'S SONG ON THE LORD'S DAY18 (1805)

    The Lord's own day is here!  Alone I kneel on this broad plain;  A matin bell just sounds; again    'Tis silence, far and near.    Here kneel I on the sod;  O deep amazement, strangely felt!  As though, unseen, vast numbers knelt    And prayed with me to God!    Yon heav'n afar and near—  So bright, so glorious seems its cope  As though e'en now its gates would ope—    The Lord's own day is here!* * * * *

THE CASTLE BY THE SEA19 (1805)

  Hast thou seen that lordly castle,    That castle by the sea?  Golden and red above it    The clouds float gorgeously.  And fain it would stoop downward    To the mirrored lake below;  And fain it would soar upward    In the evening's crimson glow.  Well have I seen that castle,    That castle by the sea,  And the moon above it standing,    And the mist rise solemnly.  The winds and the waves of ocean—    Had they a merry chime?  Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,    The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?  The winds and the waves of ocean,    They rested quietly;  But I heard in the gale a sound of wail,    And tears came to mine eye.  And sawest thou on the turrets    The king and his royal bride,  And the wave of their crimson mantles,    And the golden crown of pride?  Led they not forth, in rapture,    A beauteous maiden there,  Resplendent as the morning sun,    Beaming with golden hair!  Well saw I the ancient parents,    Without the crown of pride;  They were moving slow, in weeds of woe—    No maiden was by their side!* * * * *

SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN BOY20 (1806)

  The mountain shepherd-boy am I;  The castles all below me spy.  The sun sends me his earliest beam,  Leaves me his latest, lingering gleam.    I am the boy of the mountain!  The mountain torrent's home is here,  Fresh from the rock I drink it clear;  As out it leaps with furious force,  I stretch my arms and stop its course.    I am the boy of the mountain!  I claim the mountain for my own;  In vain the winds around me moan;  From north to south let tempests brawl—  My song shall swell above them all.    I am the boy of the mountain!  Thunder and lightning below me lie,  Yet here I stand in upper sky;  I know them well, and cry, "Harm not  My father's lowly, peaceful cot."    I am the boy of the mountain!  But when I hear the alarm-bell sound,  When watch-fires gleam from the mountains round,  Then down I go and march along,  And swing my sword, and sing my song.    I am the boy of the mountain!* * * * *

DEPARTURE21 (1806)

  What jingles and carols along the street!  Fling open your casements, damsels sweet!  The prentice' friends, they are bearing  The boy on his far wayfaring.  'Mid fluttering ribbons and tossing caps,  Full merry the rabble huzzas and claps;  But the boy regards not the token—  He walks like one heartbroken.  Full clear clinks the wine-can, full red gleams the wine  "Drink deep and drink deeper, dear brother mine!"  "Oh, have done with the red wine of parting  That burns me within with its smarting!"  And outside from the cottage, last of all,  A maiden peeps out and her tear-drops fall,  Yet her tear-drops to none she discloses  But forget-me-nots and roses.  And outside by the cottage, last of all,  The boy glances up at a casement small,  And glances down without greeting.  'Neath his hand his heart is beating.  "What, brother! Art lacking a bright nosegay?  See yonder—the beckoning, blossomy spray!  God save thee, thou prettiest sweeting!  Drop down now a nosegay for greeting!"  "Nay, brothers, pass yonder casement by.  No prettiest sweeting like her have I.  In the sun those blossoms would wither;  The wind it would blow them thither."  So farther and farther with shout and song!  And the maiden listens and harkens long  "Ah, me! he is flown now beyond me—  The boy I have loved so fondly!  And here I stay, with my lonely lot,  With roses, ah!—and forget-me-not,  And he whose heart I'd be sharing—  He is gone on his far wayfaring!"* * * * *

FAREWELL22 (1807)

  Farewell, farewell! From thee    Today, love, must I sever.  One kiss, one kiss give me,    Ere I quit thee forever!  One blossom from yon tree    O give to me, I pray!  No fruit, no fruit for me!    So long I may not stay.* * * * *

THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER23 (1809)

  Three students had cross'd o'er the Rhine's dark tide;  At the door of a hostel they turned aside.  "Hast thou, Dame hostess, good ale and wine  And where is thy daughter, so sweet and fine?"  "My ale and wine are cool and clear;  On her death-bed lieth my daughter dear."  And when to the chamber they made their way,  In a sable coffin the damsel lay.  The first—the veil from her face he took,  And gazed upon her with mournful look:  "Alas! fair maiden—didst thou still live,  To thee my love would I henceforth give!"  The second—he lightly replaced the shroud,  Then round he turned him, and wept aloud:  "Thou liest, alas I on thy death-bed here;  I loved thee fondly for many a year!"  The third—he lifted again the veil,  And gently he kissed those lips so pale:  "I love thee now, as I loved of yore,  And thus will I love thee forevermore!"* * * * *