The Breitmann Ballads Part 17

BREITMANN AND BOUILLI.

"Tres estime ami, - Ick seyn nock nit verdorb, Vielleickt Sie denck wohl kar, das ick sey tod ges...o...b.. Ock ne Kott loben Danck, ick leb nock kanss wohl auf.

Naturlich wie Kespenst die off die Ka.s.se keh."

- Deutsch-Franzos, Leipzig, 1736.

Vot roombles down de Bergstra.s.s?

Vot a grash ish in de air!

Mit a desberate gonfusion, Und a gry of wild tespair, Das sind gethrasht Franzosen,[44]

Und dose who after flee Are de terror of Champagner, Die Uhlan cavallrie.

So liddle say die hoonted, De hoonters lesser shdill; Der Frank is ride for's leben, Der Deutscher rides to kill.

Ofer d.i.c.kly-doosty faces Deir eyes like wild-katzs glare; De blut und iron ridin Of furie und despair.

Boot of all de wild Uhlanen, Der Breitmann ride de pest; For he mark de Frantsch gommanter Ish most elegandtly tresst.

Und ash he coom down on him, Dere's a deat' look in his eye: "Gotts! if I carfe dat toorkey, How I'll make de stoofin vly!"

Mit a clotter und a flotter Like a h.e.l.l-sturm dey are on: Mit a rottle to de pattle Coom de Deutschers, knockin' down, Down de moundain to a brucke- Vhy die Frantschmen toorn ad bay?

Oder Deutsch were dere pefore dem, Und die pridge ish coot avay!

Von second der Franzose Look down mit blitzen eye; Von second at de brucke, Den toorn him round to die.

Vhile mit out-ge-poke-te lanze, Like ter teufel shot from h.e.l.l, Rode der ploonder-shtarvin Breitmann On der grau-bart Colonel.

Vot for der Coptain Breitmann Ish shdop in his career?

Vot for he pool his pridle?

Vot for let down his speer?

Vot for his eyes like saucers Grow pigger, rimmed mit staub?

Vot for his hair, a pristlin, Lift oop his pickel-haub?[45]

So awfool - so oneart'ly, So treadful was his glare, So unbeschreiblich gastly, Dat der Colonel self was shkare.

Oop come der Breitmann ridin, Und mit gratin force he said: "Bist - du - wirkelich - lebendig?[46]

Can de grafe gife oop its tead?

"Dou livest yet - dou breaf'st yet, Dough oldter now you pe Since I mordered you in Strasburg, Mein freund - mon Jean Bouilli.

We lofed de selfe maiden Wohl forty years agone:- She died to hear I kilt you:- Jean - how weiss your beard ish grown!

"I would gife my Hab' und Guter,[47]

Dereto mein bit of life Couldt I pring dat shild to leben, Und make her, Jean, dy wife!"

Here der Breitmann boorst out gryin, Like a liddle prook vept he; Und dey hugged and gissed einander, Der Breitmann und Bouilli.

"Ach, de efils dat from efil Troo a life ish efer grow!

Had I nefer d.i.n.k I killed you, Many a man were livin now- Many a man dat shleeps in cane-brakes, Many a man py pillow-sh.o.r.e; For dy morder mate me reckelos, Und von tead man gries for more!

"O Madchen! schon im Himmel![48]

(Warst schon on eart' difine)- Can'st d.i.n.k among de Engeln Of soosh as me und mine?

Den look on soosh a Reue, Ash eart' has nefer known:- Whereto hast dou a sabre?

Wherefore not kill me, Jean?"

"O, ne pleurez pas, mon Breitmann!

Je trouve cela trop fort,"

Gry der Colonel sehr politely; "How! - you crois dat I was mort!

Mon Dieu! 'Tis but one minute, As we galloped to this plain, I thought your spear, mon gaillard, Would kill me o'er again.

Je vous fais mon compliment, Your tendresse becomes you well; Et ne pleurez pas, mon brave, Pour la pet.i.te demoiselle.

I have had a thousand since; One can always find such game; Et pour dire la verite, I have quite forgot her name."

Der Breitmann lok so earnest, Long and earnest at his foe, Ash if seein troo his augen To de forty years ago.

Mit vot a shmile der Breitmann Toorned roundt und rode away: Dat was all his parting greetin To der Colonel Francais.

IV.

BREITMANN TAKES THE TOWN OF NANCY.

O HEAR a wondrous shdory Vot soundet like romance, How Breitmann mit four Uhlans Vas dake de town of Nantz.

De Frantschmen call it Nancy,[49]

Und dey say its fery hard Dat Nancy mit her soldiers Vas getook py gorpral's guard.

Dey d.i.n.k id vas King Wilhelm Ash Hans ride in de down, Und like Odin in his glorie Gazed derriply aroun'.

Denn mit awfool condesenchen He at de Frantschmen shtare, Und say, "Ye wretsched shildren?

Abbortez mir vodre mere!"

Hans mean de city Syndic, Whom maire de Frantschmen call; So mit a tousand soldiers Dey 'scort him to de Hall; In de shair of shtade dey sot him, Der maire coom to pe heard, Und Hans glare at him fife minutes Pefore he shbeak a word.

Den in iron dones he ootered: "Ich temand que rentez fous: Shai dreisig mille soldaten Bas loin l'ici, barploo!

Aber tonnez-moi Champagner; Shai an soif exdrortinaire- Apout one douzaine cart-loads; Und dann je fous laisse faire."[50]

Denn he say to Schwackenhammer, His segretaire - "Read A liddle exdra liste Of dings de army need, Und dell dem in Franzosisch Dey moost sh.e.l.l de neetfool down In less dan dwendy minudes, Or, py Gott, I'll purn de town."

"Item - one tousand vatches Of purest gold so fair; Dazu funf tousand silbern, For de gommon soldiers' wear; Und tree dousand diamant ringe Dey moost make tirectly come, We need dem for our schweethearts Ven we write to em at home!

"Von million cigarren Ve'll accept ash extra boons For not squeezin dem seferely, Dazu dwelf tousand shboons."

Here der maire fell down in schwoonin, Denn all dat he could say Vas ,"O mon dieu, de dieu, dieu!

Nous voila ruinees!"[51]

No wort der Breitmann ootered, He only make a sgratch, Calm and silend on de daple, Mit a liddle friction match.

De maire versteh de motion, So went him to de task Of raisin mong de peoples Vot it vas der Breitmann ask.

So kam he mit de ringe, Dey vind dem pooty soon; So kam he mit de vatches, Und avery silber spoon.

Boot ash for de champagner, He wept and loudly call Dat par dieu! he hadn't any, For de Deutsch hafe troonk it all.

Ja! - de gorporal's guart have trinket Efery pottle in de down, Vhile dese negotiations Oop-stairs vere written down.

Boot der Breitmann sooplimely, Like von who nodings felt, Said, "Instet of le champagner Nous brentirons du gelt."[52]

Ja wohl! Donnes cent mille franken, C'est mir egal, you know;[53]

Pid dem pring id in a horry, For 'tis dime for oos to go."

Der maire he pring de money, Und der Breitmann squeeze his hand,- "Leb wohl, dou nople brickbat, Herzbruder in Frankenland!

"Boot it griefes my soul to larmen, Und I sympathize mit dein, To pense of you, mon ami, Sans le champagner wein.

Dere will oder Deutsch pe gomin, Und it preak mine heart to d.i.n.k De vay dey'll bang and slang you If dere's no champagne to trink!