The Trumpeter of Sakkingen Part 4

Sad fate of the late-born races!

Must read till their brows are sweating, And must try to disentangle Knotty twisted skeins forever.

Can't we have a sword to cut them?'

"Often, nightly, by the lamp-light I sat poring o'er the Codex, Read the Glossary and Cujacius Till my weary brain was racking; But this zeal brought me no blessing.

Merrily would then my thoughts fly From my studies to that time when Old Cujacius' lovely daughter Mounted in her father's rostrum, With her voice sweet and melodious, Read for him his written lectures To the lucky youth of Paris.

Usucaption and inheritance, And Novella hundred and eighteen, Changed into a dark-haired maiden Peeping from the Corpus Juris.

From my trembling hands the pen fell, Overturned were sand and inkstand, And I caught hold of the trumpet: Usucaption and inheritance, And Novella hundred and eighteen, Wailing in adagio tempo.

Flew forth from the study window Far into the starry night.

"Yes, this zeal brought me no blessing.

I one day went from my lodging, 'Neath my arm the Corpus Juris ('Twas the Elzevir edition, Which at Rotterdam was published) To the Heuga.s.s', to the p.a.w.n-house, Where the Jew, Levi Ben Machol, With his squinting eyes rapacious, Took it in his arms paternal, Paid me then two golden ducats-- Someone else may now redeem it!

I became a saucy fellow, Wandered much o'er hill and valley Clinking spurs and serenading.

If I ever caught one sneering, Quickly grasped my hand the rapier: 'Fight a duel! draw your weapons!

Now advance!' That whistled nicely Through the air; on many smooth cheeks Wrote my sword so sharp and steady A memento everlasting.

I, however, must confess here, That I did not choose the finest Company to wander round with.

What I liked, was to sit drinking Up in the Elector's Castle, By our age's greatest marvel Which the German mind has wrought out, By the tun of Heidelberg.

A most worthy hermit dwelt there, Who was the Elector's court fool, Was my dear old friend Perkeo; Who had out of life's wild whirlpool Peacefully withdrawn himself where He could meditate while drinking, And the cellar was his refuge.

Here he lived, his care dividing 'Twixt himself and the big wine-tun; And he loved it--truer friendship Never has the world yet witnessed; 'Twas as if it were his bride.

With a broom he swept it shining, Chased away the ugly spiders, And whenever came a feast-day, Hung it o'er with wreaths of ivy; Sang to it the morning greeting, Also sang the song of evening, And he carved in wood the image Of himself as his best offering.

But when sipping his reward then From the big tun's mouth with kisses, Forth he launched in flights of fancy.

Often at his feet I listened To his odd and comic speeches: 'There above, they call me foolish, Let them gossip, my dear fellow, Gossip never doth annoy me.

Oh, the world has grown quite stupid!

How they grope, and how they stumble, Over paths, to find what Truth is; Still in fog they are enveloped.

To the first cause of all being We must needs go back, and bring the Last result of our researches In a concrete form together.

Thus we comprehend the world well; For this purpose I am drinking Truly cosmogonically.

Mundane s.p.a.ce to me is nothing But a roomy vaulted cellar, Where as first and central wine-tun, Firmly stands the sun erected!

Next to him the rank and file of Smaller casks, fixed stars and planets.

As the divers casks are holding Wines of various sorts and flavours, So comprise the heavenly bodies Various spiritual natures.

Land-wine this--that Rudesheimer; But the earth-cask holds a mixture; Fermentation has half clouded And half volatilised the spirit The antagony of matter And of spirit is, by thinking, Blended into higher union.

Thus soars my creative genius Far on high, while I am drinking.

And when through my brain are rushing Revelations from the wine-fumes, And when then my feeble body Tottering sinks down by the wine-tun, 'Tis the triumph of the spirit, 'Tis the act of self-deliverance From the narrow bounds of being.

Thus my solitude doth teach me Nature's everlasting system.

With mankind it would be better, Had the great Germanic race but Understood their high vocation, And throughout the world had carried High the standard of the wine-cask, Made of drinking a devotion-- As the Persians worship fire!'

O Perkeo! better were it Now with me, if to thy wisdom I had never, never listened!

'Twas a sharp cold winter morning, When down in the cosy cellar We were taking a potation, Talking philosophically; But when I stepped out at midday, The whole world and everybody Looked most strangely queer and funny.

Rosy hues lit up all Nature, Angel-voices I heard plainly.

On the balcony of the castle Stood surrounded by her ladies, Full of grace, of all the fairest, The Electress Leonora, Up to her start my bold glances, Up to her my daring longing; Clouded was my understanding.

Quickly I approached the terrace And began to sing the wild air Which the Palsgrave Frederic once sang, As a love-sick serenader, To his lovely English bride."

I kneel to thee as thy faithful true knight, Fair Princess, of women the pearl!

Command, and I fight the Emperor's host, Command, and I hold the most dangerous post, To atoms the world I will hurl.

I'll fetch thee from Heaven the sun and the moon.

Fair Princess, of women the crown!

I'll fetch countless stars from yon azure height, Spit them like frogs on my spear sharp and bright, And low at your feet lay them down.

Command, I will even become a fool, Fair Princess, of women the prize!

Indeed, I am one already I see, The light is far too dazzling for me, Which streams from thy sunny blue eyes.

"Do you hear the trumpets blowing?

Do you hear the cannon roaring?

There, near Prague, at Weissenberg, now For Bohemia's throne they're fighting.

Palsgrave, 'twas a short sad winter!

Palsgrave, thou wast sore defeated!

Spur thy horse and seek a refuge!

"O thou fairest of all women, From my dream what an awaking!

For there came to me the Beadle, Summoned me before the Rector.

Grimly wrinkled he his forehead, Wild with rage his locks were shaking; Sternly he p.r.o.nounced my sentence-- His Magnificence the Rector: 'For your unpermitted blowing, For your unpermitted sing-song In the Castle's sacred precincts, You must quit the town and college In three days; by special favour Of our gracious sovereign princess, Further punishment is spared.'

"Leave the town now--was I dreaming?

No, it was a fact well founded.

But before I left the city, All my debts I fully settled, In such cases quite unusual; And I rode on the third morning Out of Heidelberg; the fourth day Out of the Elector's country Unoffended; though my home had Thrust me out--the bolts drawn on me-- Yet I will not cease to love her.

And the trumpet, cause of mischief, I hung gaily on my shoulder.

And I augur it shall yet peal Joyful tunes to help me onward.

I don't know now to what haven Horse and tempest may yet bear me, Still I look not backward more.

Cheerful heart and courage daring Knows no sorrow, nor despairing, Fortune has good luck in store.

Thus I came into the Schwarzwald.-- My kind host, pray tell me frankly Whether my long tale has made you Feel a heavy sleep approaching.

But if not, I'll be most grateful If you'll give me some advice."

Smiling rang the good old Pastor Gla.s.s to gla.s.s, and smiling said he: "Your tale has a lucky ending.

I remember quite another, Of a young and handsome carpenter, And a Margravine's allurements.

But it ended on the gallows.

In this case, I am much puzzled How to give you good advice.

In my code it is not written How to counsel such a person, Who with songs insults fair ladies, Leaves his law books in the p.a.w.n-house, With his trumpet loudly bloweth To himself a rosy future.

But when human knowledge faileth, Heaven graciously doth help us.

Way down in the forest-city, There in Sakkingen is a worthy Patron saint of all young people, Is the holy Fridolinus, And to-morrow is his feast-day.

Never has he yet forsaken Him who prays for help in trouble; Therefore ask Saint Fridolinus."

THIRD PART.

ST. FRIDOLIN'S DAY.

Lo! a ship comes o'er the ocean, Near Franconia's coast approaching, Foreign sails and foreign pendant.

At the rudder sits a pale man, Clad in black and monkish robes.