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

Scarcely, however, had she closed her eyes when every one in the vessel imagined he saw, in whatever direction he turned, a most horrible human head; it rose out of the waves, not like that of a person swimming, but perfectly perpendicular as if invisibly supported upright on the watery surface and floating along in the same course with the bark. Each wanted to point out to the other the cause of his alarm, but each found the same expression of horror depicted on the face of his neighbor, only that his hands and eyes were directed to a different point where the monster, half laughing and half threatening, rose before him. When, however, they all wished to make one another understand what each saw, and all were crying out, "Look there—! No—there!" the horrible heads all appeared simultaneously to their view, and the whole river around the vessel swarmed with the most hideous apparitions. The universal cry raised at the sight awoke Undine. As she opened her eyes the wild crowd of distorted visages disappeared. But Huldbrand was indignant at such unsightly jugglery. He would have burst forth in uncontrolled imprecations had not Undine said to him with a humble manner and a softly imploring tone, "For God's sake, my husband, we are on the water; do not be angry with me now." The knight was silent, and sat down absorbed in reverie. Undine whispered in his ear, "Would it not be better, my love, if we gave up this foolish journey and returned to Castle Ringstetten in peace?"

But Huldbrand murmured moodily, "So I must be a prisoner in my own castle and be able to breathe only so long as the fountain is closed! I would your mad kindred—" Undine lovingly pressed her fair hand upon his lips. He paused, pondering in silence over much that Undine had before said to him.

Bertalda had meanwhile given herself up to a variety of strange thoughts. She knew a good deal of Undine's origin, and yet not the whole, and the fearful Kühleborn especially had remained to her a terrible but wholly unrevealed mystery. She had indeed never even heard his name. Musing on these strange things, she unclasped, scarcely conscious of the act; a gold necklace, which Huldbrand had lately purchased for her of a traveling trader; half dreamingly she drew it along the surface of the water, enjoying the light glimmer it cast upon the evening-tinted stream. Suddenly a huge hand was stretched out of the Danube, seizing the necklace and vanishing with it beneath the waters. Bertalda screamed aloud, and a scornful laugh resounded from the depths of the stream. The knight could now restrain his anger no longer. Starting up, he inveighed against the river; he cursed all who ventured to intrude upon his family and his life, and challenged them, be they spirits or sirens, to show themselves before his avenging sword.

Bertalda wept meanwhile for her lost ornament, which was so precious to her, and her tears added fuel to the flame of the knight's anger, while Undine held her hand over the side of the vessel, dipping it into the water, softly murmuring to herself, and only now and then interrupting her strange mysterious whisper, as she entreated her husband, "My dearly loved one, do not scold me here; reprove others if you will, but not me here. You know why!" And indeed, he restrained the words of anger that were trembling on his tongue.

Presently in her wet hand which she had been holding under the waves she brought up a beautiful coral necklace of so much brilliancy that the eyes of all were dazzled by it. "Take this," said she, holding it out kindly to Bertalda; "I have ordered this to be brought for you as a compensation, and don't be grieved any more, my poor child."

But the knight sprang between them. He tore the beautiful ornament from Undine's hand, hurled it again into the river, exclaiming in passionate rage, "Have you then still a connection with them? In the name of all the witches, remain among them with your presents and leave us mortals in peace, you sorceress!" Poor Undine gazed at him with fixed but tearful eyes, her hand still stretched out as when she had offered her beautiful present so lovingly to Bertalda. She then began to weep more and more violently, like a dear innocent child, bitterly afflicted. At last, wearied out, she said: "Alas, sweet friend, alas! farewell! They shall do you no harm; only remain true, so that I may be able to keep them from you. I must, alas, go away; I must go hence at this early stage of life. Oh woe, woe! What have you done! Oh woe, woe!"

She vanished over the side of the vessel. Whether she plunged into the stream or flowed away with it, they knew not; her disappearance was like both and neither. Soon, however, she was completely lost sight of in the Danube; only a few little waves kept whispering, as if sobbing, round the boat, and they almost seemed to be saying: "Oh woe, woe! Oh, remain true! Oh, woe!"

Huldbrand lay on the deck of the vessel, bathed in hot tears, and a deep swoon presently cast its veil of forgetfulness over the unhappy man.

WILHELM HAUFF

* * * * *

CAVALRYMAN'S MORNING SONG47 (1826)

    Crimson morn,  Shalt thou light me o'er Death's bourn?  Soon will ring the trumpet's call;  Then may I be marked to fall,  I and many a comrade brave!    Scarce enjoyed,  Pleasure drops into the void.  Yesterday on champing stallion;  Picked today for Death's battalion;  Couched tomorrow in the grave!    Ah! how soon  Fleeth grace and beauty's noon!  Hast thou pride in cheeks aglow,  Whereon cream and carmine flow?  Ah! the loveliest rose turns sere!    Therefore still  I respond to God's high will.  To the last stern fight I'll fit me;  If to Death I must submit me,  Dies a dauntless cavalier!* * * * *

THE SENTINEL48 (1827)

  Lonely at night my watch I keep,  While all the world is hush'd in sleep.  Then tow'rd my home my thoughts will rove;  I think upon my distant love.  When to the wars I march'd away,  My hat she deck'd with ribbons gay;  She fondly press'd me to her heart,  And wept to think that we must part.  Truly she loves me, I am sure,  So ev'ry hardship I endure;  My heart beats warm, though cold's the night;  Her image makes the darkness bright.  Now by the twinkling taper's gleam,  Her bed she seeks, of me to dream,  But ere she sleeps she kneels to pray  For one who loves her far away.  For me those tears thou needst not shed;  No danger fills my heart with dread;  The pow'rs who dwell in heav'n above  Are ever watchful o'er thy love.  The bell peals forth from yon watch-tower;  The guard it changes at this hour.  Sleep well! sleep well! my heart's with thee;  And in your dreams remember me.

FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT

* * * * *

BARBAROSSA49 (Between 1814 and 1817)

  The ancient Barbarossa,    Friedrich, the Kaiser great,  Within the castle-cavern    Sits in enchanted state.  He did not die; but ever    Waits in the chamber deep,  Where hidden under the castle    He sat himself to sleep.  The splendor of the Empire    He took with him away,  And back to earth will bring it    When dawns the promised day.  The chair is ivory purest    Whereof he makes his bed;  The table is of marble    Whereon he props his head.  His beard, not flax, but burning    With fierce and fiery glow,  Right through the marble table    Beneath his chair does grow.  He nods in dreams and winketh    With dull, half-open eyes,  And once a page he beckons beckons—    A page that standeth by.  He bids the boy in slumber    "O dwarf, go up this hour,  And see if still the ravens    Are flying round the tower;  And if the ancient ravens    Still wheel above us here,  Then must I sleep enchanted    For many a hundred year."* * * * *

FROM MY CHILDHOOD DAYS50 (1817, 1818)

  From my childhood days, from my childhood days,    Rings an old song's plaintive tone—  Oh, how long the ways, oh, how long the ways    I since have gone!  What the swallow sang, what the swallow sang,    In spring or in autumn warm—  Do its echoes hang, do its echoes hang    About the farm?  "When I went away, when I went away,    Full coffers and chests were there;  When I came today, when I came today,    All, all was bare!"  Childish lips so wise, childish lips so wise,    With a lore as rich as gold,  Knowing all birds' cries, knowing all birds' cries,    Like the sage of old!  Ah, the dear old place—ah, the dear old place * * *    May its sweet consoling gleam  Shine upon my face, shine upon my face,    Once in a dream!  When I went away, when I went away,    Full of joy the world lay there;  When I came today, when I came today,    All, all was bare.  Still the swallows come, still the swallows come,    And the empty chest is filled—  But this longing dumb, but this longing dumb    Shall ne'er be stilled.  Nay, no swallow brings, nay, no swallow brings    Thee again where thou wast before—  Though the swallow sings, though the swallow sings,    Still as of yore.  "When I went away, when I went away,    Full coffers and chests were there;  When I came today, when I came today,    All, all was bare!"* * * * *

THE SPRING OF LOVE51 (1821)

  Dearest, thy discourses steal    From my bosom's deep, my heart  How can I from thee conceal    My delight, my sorrow's smart?  Dearest, when I hear thy lyre    From its chains my soul is free.  To the holy angel quire    From the earth, O let us flee!  Dearest, how thy music's charms    Waft me dancing through the sky!  Let me round thee clasp my arms,    Lest in glory I should die!  Dearest, sunny wreaths I wear,    Twined around me by thy lay.  For thy garlands, rich and rare,    O how can I thank thee? Say!  Like the angels I would be    Without mortal frame,  Whose sweet converse is like thought,    Sounding with acclaim;  Or like flowers in the dale;    Like the stars that glow,  Whose love-song's a beam, whose words    Like sweet odors flow;  Or like to the breeze of morn,    Waving round its rose,  In love's dallying caress    Melting as it blows.  But the love-lorn nightingale    Melteth not away;  She doth but with longing tones    Chant her plaintive lay.  I am, too, a nightingale,    Songless though I sing;  'Tis my pen that speaks, though ne'er    In the ear it ring.  Beaming images of thought    Doth the pen portray;  But without thy gentle smile    Lifeless e'er are they.  As thy look falls on the leaf,    It begins to sing,  And the prize that's due to love    In her ear doth ring.  Like a Memmon's statue now    Every letter seems,  Which in music wakes, when kissed    By the morning's beams.* * * * *

"HE CAME TO MEET ME"52 (1821)

  He came to meet me    In rain and thunder;  My heart 'gan beating    In timid wonder.  Could I guess whither  Thenceforth together    Our path should run, so long asunder?  He came to meet me    In rain and thunder,  With guile to cheat me—    My heart to plunder.  Was't mine he captured?  Or his I raptured?    Half-way both met, in bliss and wonder!  He came to meet me    In rain and thunder;  Spring-blessings greet me    Spring-blossoms under.  What though he leave me?  No partings grieve me—    No path can lead our hearts asunder.* * * * *

THE INVITATION53 (1821)

  Thou, thou art rest    And peace of soul—  Thou woundst the breast    And makst it whole.  To thee I vow    'Mid joy or pain  My heart, where thou    Mayst aye remain.  Then enter free,    And bar the door  To all but thee    Forevermore.  All other woes    Thy charms shall lull;  Of sweet repose    This heart be full.  My worshipping eyes    Thy presence bright  Shall still suffice,    Their only light.* * * * *

MURMUR NOT54

  Murmur not and say thou art in fetters holden,    Murmur not that thou earth's heavy yoke must bear.  Say not that a prison is this world so golden—    'Tis thy murmurs only set its harsh walls there.  Question not how shall this riddle find its reading;    It will solve itself full soon without thine aid.  Say not love hath turned his back, and left thee bleeding—    Whom hath love deserted, hast thou heard it said?  If death tries to fright thee, fear not beyond measure;    He will flee from those who boldly face his frown.  Hunt not thou the fleeting deer of worldly pleasure—    Lion it will turn, and hunt the hunter down.  Chain thyself no longer, heart, to any treasure;    Then thou shalt not say thou art into fetters thrown.* * * * *

A PARABLE55 (1822)

  In Syria walked a man one day  And led a camel on the way.  A sudden wildness seized the beast,  And as they strove its rage increased.  So fearsome grew its savagery  That for his life the man must flee.  And as he ran, he spied a cave  That one last chance of safety gave.  He heard the snorting beast behind  Come nearer—with distracted mind  Leaped where the cooling fountain sprang,  Yet not to fall, but catch and hang;  By lucky hap a bramble wild  Grew where the o'erhanging rocks were piled.  He saved himself by this alone,  And did his hapless state bemoan.  He looked above, and there was yet  Too close the furious camel's threat  That still of fearful rage was full.  He dropped his eyes toward the pool,  And saw within the shadows dim  A dragon's jaws agape for him—  A still more fierce and dangerous foe  If he should slip and fall below.  So, hanging midway of the two,  He spied a cause of terror new:  Where to the rock's deep crevice clung  The slender root on which he swung,  A little pair of mice he spied,  A black and white one side by side—  First one and then the other saw  The slender stem alternate gnaw.  They gnawed and bit with ceaseless toil,  And from the roots they tossed the soil.  As down it ran in trickling stream,  The dragon's eyes shot forth a gleam  Of hungry expectation, gazed  Where o'er him still the man was raised,  To see how soon the bush would fall,  The burden that it bore, and all.  That man in utmost fear and dread  Surrounded, threatened, hard bested,  In such a state of dire suspense  Looked vainly round for some defense.  And as he cast his bloodshot eye  First here, then there, saw hanging nigh  A branch with berries ripe and red;  Then longing mastered all his dread;  No more the camel's rage he saw,  Nor yet the lurking dragon's maw,  Nor malice of the gnawing mice,  When once the berries caught his eyes.  The furious beast might rage above,  The dragon watch his every move,  The mice gnaw on—naught heeded he,  But seized the berries greedily—  In pleasing of his appetite  The furious beast forgotten quite.  You ask, "What man could ever yet,  So foolish, all his fears forget?"  Then know, my friend, that man are you—  And see the meaning plain to view.  The dragon in the pool beneath  Sets forth the yawning jaws of death;  The beast from which you helpless flee  Is life and all its misery.  There you must hang 'twixt life and death  While in this world you draw your breath.  The mice, whose pitiless gnawing teeth  Will let you to the pool beneath  Fall down, a hopeless castaway,  Are but the change of night and day.  The black one gnaws concealed from sight  Till comes again the morning light;  From dawn until the eve is gray,  Ceaseless the white one gnaws away.  And, 'midst this dreadful choice of ills,  Pleasure of sense your spirit fills  Till you forget the terrors grim  That wait to tear you limb from limb,  The gnawing mice of day and night,  And pay no heed to aught in sight  Except to fill your mouth with fruit  That in the grave-clefts has its root.* * * * *

EVENING SONG56 (1823)

  I stood on the mountain summit,    At the hour when the sun did set;  I mark'd how it hung o'er the woodland    The evening's golden net.  And, with the dew descending,    A peace on the earth there fell—  And nature lay hushed in quiet,    At the voice of the evening bell.  I said, "O heart, consider    What silence all things keep,  And with each child of the meadow    Prepare thyself to sleep!  "For every flower is closing    In silence its little eye;  And every wave in the brooklet    More softly murmureth by.  "The weary caterpillar    Hath nestled beneath the weeds;  All wet with dew now slumbers    The dragon-fly in the reeds.  "The golden beetle hath laid him    In a rose-leaf cradle to rock;  Now went to their nightly shelter    The shepherd and his flock.  "The lark from on high is seeking    In the moistened grass her nest;  The hart and the hind have laid them    In their woodland haunt to rest.  "And whoso owneth a cottage    To slumber hath laid him down;  And he that roams among strangers    In dreams shall behold his own."  And now doth a yearning seize me,    At this hour of peace and love,  That I cannot reach the dwelling,    The home that is mine, above.* * * * *

CHIDHER57 (1824)

  Chidher, the ever youthful, told:    I passed a city, bright to see;  A man was culling fruits of gold,    I asked him how old this town might be.  He answered, culling as before  "This town stood ever in days of yore,  And will stand on forevermore!"    Five hundred years from yonder day    I passed again the selfsame way,  And of the town I found no trace;    A shepherd blew on a reed instead;  His herd was grazing on the place.    "How long," I asked, "is the city dead?"  He answered, blowing as before  "The new crop grows the old one o'er,  This was my pasture evermore!"    Five hundred years from yonder day    I passed again the selfsame way.  A sea I found, the tide was full,    A sailor emptied nets with cheer;  And when he rested from his pull,    I asked how long that sea was here.  Then laughed he with a hearty roar  "As long as waves have washed this shore  They fished here ever in days of yore."    Five hundred years from yonder day    I passed again the selfsame way.  I found a forest settlement,    And o'er his axe, a tree to fell,  I saw a man in labor bent.    How old this wood I bade him tell.  "'Tis everlasting, long before  I lived it stood in days of yore,"  He quoth; "and shall grow evermore."    Five hundred years from yonder day    I passed again the selfsame way.  I saw a town; the market-square    Was swarming with a noisy throng.  "How long," I asked, "has this town been there?    Where are wood and sea and shepherd's song?"  They cried, nor heard among the roar  "This town was ever so before,  And so will live forevermore!"    "Five hundred years from yonder day    I want to pass the selfsame way."* * * * *

AT FORTY YEARS58 (1832)

  When for forty years we've climbed the rugged mountain,    We stop and backward gaze;  Yonder still we see our childhood's peaceful fountain,    And youth exulting strays.  One more glance behind, and then, new strength acquiring,    Staff grasped, no longer stay;  See, a further slope, a long one, still aspiring    Ere downward turns the way!  Take a brave long breath and toward the summit hie thee—    The goal shall draw thee on;  When thou think'st it least, the destined end is nigh thee—    Sudden, the journey's done!* * * * *

BEFORE THE DOORS59

  I went to knock at Riches' door;  They threw me a farthing the threshold o'er.  To the door of Love did I then repair—  But fifteen others already were there.  To Honor's castle I took my flight—  They opened to none but to belted knight.  The house of Labor I sought to win—  But I heard a wailing sound within.  To the house of Content I sought the way—  But none could tell me where it lay.  One quiet house I yet could name,  Where last of all, I'll admittance claim;  Many the guests that have knocked before,  But still—in the grave—there's room for more.

AUGUST VON PLATEN-HALLERMUND

* * * * *

THE PILGRIM BEFORE ST. JUST'S60 (1819)

  'Tis night, and tempests whistle o'er the moor;  Oh, Spanish father, ope the door!  Deny me not the little boon I crave,  Thine order's vesture, and a grave!  Grant me a cell within thy convent-shrine—  Half of this world, and more, was mine;  The head that to the tonsure now stoops down  Was circled once by many a crown;  The shoulders fretted now with shirt of hair  Did once the imperial ermine wear.  Now am I as the dead, e'er death is come,  And sink in ruins like old Rome.* * * * *

THE GRAVE OF ALARIC61 (1820)

  On Busento's grassy banks a muffled chorus echoes nightly,  While the swirling eddies answer and the wavelets ripple lightly.  Up and down the river, shades of Gothic warriors watch are keeping,  For they mourn their people's hero, Alaric, with sobs of weeping.  All too soon and far from home and kindred here to rest they laid him,  While in youthful beauty still his flowing golden curls arrayed him.  And along the river's bank a thousand hands with eager striving  Labored long, another channel for Busento's tide contriving.  Then a cavern deep they hollowed in the river-bed depleted,  Placed therein the dead king, clad in proof, upon his charger seated.  O'er him and his proud array the earth they filled, and covered loosely,  So that on their hero's grave the water-plants would grow profusely.  And again the course they altered of Busento's waters troubled;  In its ancient channel rushed the current—foamed, and hissed, and bubbled.  And the Goths in chorus chanted: "Hero, sleep! Tiny fame immortal  Roman greed shall ne'er insult, nor break thy tomb's most sacred portal!"  Thus they sang, and paeans sounded high above the fight's commotion;  Onward roll, Busento's waves, and bear them to the farthest ocean!* * * * *

REMORSE62 (1820)

  How I started up in the night, in the night,    Drawn on without rest or reprieval!  The streets with their watchmen were lost to my sight,        As I wandered so light        In the night, in the night,    Through the gate with the arch medieval.  The mill-brook rushed from its rocky height;    I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning;  Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight,        As they glided so light        In the night, in the night,    Yet backward not one was returning.  O'erhead were revolving, so countless and bright,    The stars in melodious existence;  And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;        They sparkled so light        In the night, in the night,    Through the magical, measureless distance.  And upward I gazed in the night, in the night,    And again on the waves in their fleeting;  Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight;        Now silence, thou light,        In the night, in the night,    The remorse in thy heart that is beating.* * * * *

WOULD I WERE FREE AS ARE MY DREAMS63 (1822)

  Would I were free as are my dreams,    Sequestered from the garish crowd  To glide by banks of quiet streams    Cooled by the shadow-drifting cloud!  Free to shake off this weary weight    Of human sin, and rest instead  On nature's heart inviolate—    All summer singing o'er my head!  There would I never disembark,    Nay, only graze the flowery shore  To pluck a rose beneath the lark,    Then go my liquid way once more,  And watch, far off, the drowsy lines    Of herded cattle crop and pass,  The vintagers among the vines,    The mowers in the dewy grass;  And nothing would I drink or eat    Save heaven's clear sunlight and the spring  Of earth's own welling waters sweet,    That never make the pulses sting.* * * * *

SONNET64 (1822)

  Oh, he whose pain means life, whose life means pain,    May feel again what I have felt before;    Who has beheld his bliss above him soar  And, when he sought it, fly away again;  Who in a labyrinth has tried in vain,    When he has lost his way, to find a door;    Whom love has singled out for nothing more  Than with despondency his soul to bane;  Who begs each lightning for a deadly stroke,    Each stream to drown the heart that cannot heal  From all the cruel stabs by which it broke;    Who does begrudge the dead their beds like steel  Where they are safe from love's beguiling yoke—    He knows me quite, and feels what I must feel.

1

From Addresses on Religion (Discourse IV).

2

This refers to the second book, which takes the form of a dialogue between the inquirer and a Spirit.

3

An allusion to the second book.

4

The audience gathered in the building of the Royal Academy at Berlin.—ED.

5

J.G. Hamann. Hellenistische Briefe I, 189.

6

Goethe. Werke (1840) xxx., 352. Mr. Ward's translation of Goethe's "Essays on Art," p. 76.

7