The Trumpeter of Sakkingen Part 8

"They may have," thus he was thinking In his consequential cat-pride, "Right good hearts, and may possess too At the bottom some good feeling, But 'tis polish that is wanting; A fine culture and high breeding, I miss sorely in these vulgar Natives of this forest-city.

And a cat who won his knight spurs In fair Paris, and who often In the quarter of Montfaucon Has enjoyed a racy rat-hunt, Misses in this little town here All that is to him congenial, Any intercourse with equals."

Isolated, therefore, but still Ever dignified and solemn Lived he in this lonely castle.

Graceful through the halls he glided, Most melodious was his purring; And in fits of pa.s.sion even, When he curved his back in anger, And his hair stood bristling backward, Never did he fail to mingle Dignity with graceful bearing.

But when over roof and gable Up he softly clambered, starting On a hunting expedition.

Then mysteriously by moonlight His green eyes like emeralds glistened; Then, indeed, he looked imposing This majestic Hiddigeigei.

Near his cat sat the old Baron.

In his eyes were often flashes, Now like lightning--then more softened Like the mellow rays of sunset, As he thought of bygone times.

To old age belongs the solace Of recalling days of yore.

Thus the aged ne'er are lonely.

The dear shades are floating round them, Of the dead, in quaint old garments, Gorgeous once, now sadly faded.

But fond memory blots decay out, And the skulls once more with beauty Are arrayed in youthful freshness.

Then they talk of days long vanished, And the aged heart is beating, And the fist oft clinches tightly.

As he pa.s.ses by her turret, Once again she smiling greets him; Once again resound the trumpets, And the fiery charger bears him Neighing to the throng of battle.

So the Baron with good humour Of the Past review was holding-- And, when oft he stretched his hand out, Suddenly grasped at his goblet, And a deep long draught then swallowed: Probably a dear and lovely Vision rose up bright before him.

Oft it seemed as if his memory Clung to things which gave less pleasure; For sometimes, without a reason, Down there came on Hiddigeigei's Back a kick with cruel rudeness.

And the cat thought it more prudent Then his resting-place to alter.

Now into the hall stepped lightly The old Baron's lovely daughter Margaretta,--and her father Nodded kindly as she entered.

Hiddigeigei's suffering face too Showed delight as cats express it.

She had changed her festal white robe For a garment of black velvet.

On her long and golden tresses, A black cap sat most coquettish, 'Neath which her blue eyes were smiling With a matron-like expression; To the girdle was attached the Bunch of keys and leather-pocket, German housewife's badge of honour.

And she kissed the Baron's forehead, Saying: "Dear papa, don't blame me, If to-day I kept you waiting.

The old Lady Abbess yonder In the convent did detain me, Told me many things of import, Wisely of old age discoursing, And of Time, the great destroyer.

The Commander too of Beuggen Said such sweet things, just as if they Came right from the comfit-maker.

I was glad, when I could leave them.

For your lordship's further pleasure Here I am, all due attention.

I am ready, from your favourite Theuerdank to read aloud now; For, I know, you like the rougher Tales of hunting and adventure, Better than the mawkish sweetness Of our present pastoral poets.

"But, O wherefore, dearest father, Are you ever, ever smoking This bad poisonous tobacco?

I am frightened when I see you Sitting there in clouds enveloped As in times of fog the Eggberg.

And I'm sorry for the gilded Picture-frames hung on the walls there, And the pretty snow-white curtains.

Don't you hear their low complaining, How the smoke from your red-clay pipe Makes them faded, gray and rusty?

'Tis most truly a fine country, That America which once the Spanish admiral discovered.

I myself take great delight in The gay plumage of the parrots, And the pink and scarlet corals; Dream at times also of lofty Graceful palm-groves, lonely log-huts, Cocoa-nuts, gigantic flowers, And of mischievous wild monkeys.

I wish almost it were lying In the sea still undiscovered; All because of this tobacco Which has been imported hither.

I can grant a man forgiveness, Who more often than is needed Draws his red wine from the barrel, And could get, if necessary, Reconciled unto his red nose; Never to this horrid smoking."

Smiling had the Baron listened, Smiling he puffed many smoke-clouds From his clay-pipe, and then answered: "Dearest child, you women always Thoughtlessly do talk of many Things beyond your comprehension.

It is true that soldiers often Take up many evil habits, Not adapted to the boudoir.

But my daughter finds with smoking Too much fault; for through this habit I have won my wife and household.

And because to-day so many Old campaign tales through my head run, Do not read to-night. Sit down here; I will now relate thee something Of this much-abused tobacco, And of thy blest angel mother."

Sceptically, Margaretta With her large blue eyes looked at him, Took her work up to embroider, Coloured worsted and her needle, Moved her stool then near the Baron's Arm-chair, and sat down beside him.

Charming picture! In the forest, Round the knotty oak thus climbeth The wild rose in youthful beauty.

Then the Baron at one swallow Drank his wine, and thus related:

"When the wicked war was raging, I once roved with some few German Troopers yonder in fair Alsace; Hans von Weerth was our good colonel.

Swedes and French laid siege to Breisach, And their camp was all alive with Stories of our daring ventures.

But who e'er can stand 'gainst numbers?

So one day the hounds attacked us, Just as if wild beasts they hunted; And at last, when bleeding freely From the wounds their fangs inflicted, We were forced to lay our arms down.

Afterwards the French transported Us as prisoners to Paris, Caged us in Vincennes' strong fortress.

'd.a.m.n them!' said our valiant colonel, Hans von Weerth, 'it was much nicer, Galloping, with shining sabres Hostile lines to charge with fury, Than on this hard bench to sit here, And to battle with ennui thus.

For this foe there is no weapon, Neither wine nor even dice-box, Nothing but tobacco. I once Tried it in the country of the Dull Mynheers, and here it also Will do service; let us smoke then!'

The commander of the fortress Got a keg of best Varinas For us from a Dutch retailer, Got us also well-burnt clay-pipes.

In the prisoners' room commenced now Such a smoking, such a puffing Of dense clouds of strong tobacco As no mortal eyes had seen yet In the gallant Frenchmen's country.

Full of wonder gazed our jailors, And the news spread to the king's ears, And the king himself in person Came to see this latest marvel.

Soon all Paris rang with stories Of the wild and boorish Germans, And of their, as yet unheard of, Truly wondrous feats in smoking.

Coaches drove up, pages sprang down, All came to the narrow guard-room, Cavaliers and stately ladies; She came also, she the n.o.ble Leonore Montfort du Plessys.

Even now I see her slight foot Stepping on our rough bare stone-floor, Hear her satin train still rustling, And my soldier's heart is beating As if in the thick of battle.

Like the smoke from the big cannons Came the smoke out of my clay-pipe; And 'twas well so. On the same cloud Which I puffed there in the presence Of the proud one, sat G.o.d Cupid, Gaily shooting off his arrows, And he knew well how to hit right.

Out of wonder grew deep interest, Then the interest fast to love changed, And the German bear appeared soon Finer far and n.o.bler than the Paris lions altogether.

"When, at last, the gates were opened Of our dungeon, and the herald Brought us tidings of our freedom, I was then still more a captive Bound in Leonora's fetters; And remained thus, and the wedding Which soon took us home to Rhine-land Only made the rivets stronger.

When I think of this, I feel that Tears on my mustache are rolling.

For what now to me remaineth Of the past so fair, but memory, And the black cat, Hiddigeigei, And my Leonora's image.

Thou my child. G.o.d give her soul rest!"

Speaking thus, he knocked the ashes From his pipe, and patted gently Hiddigeigei; but his daughter Roguishly knelt down before him.

Saying: "Dearest father, grant me Your entire absolution.

Never shall you hear in future From my lips an observation On account of this vile smoking."

Graciously the Baron said then: "Thou hast also been sarcastic At my drinking oft too freely; And I have a mind to tell thee Still a most instructive story, How in Rheinau in the cloister, As the guest of the Lord Abbot I went through a bout of drinking In the famous wine of Hallau.

But"--the Baron stopped and listened.

"Zounds!" he said, "what's that I hear there?

Whence doth come that trumpet-blowing?"

Werner's music through the March night, Plaintive soared up to the castle, Begging entrance like a pet-dove, Which, returning to its mistress, Finds the window closed and fastened, And begins to peck and hammer.

To the terrace went the Baron And his daughter; Hiddigeigei Followed both with step majestic.

Through the cat's heart then swept omens Of a great, eventful future.

All around they looked--but vainly.

For the turret's gloomy shadow Covered both the bank and Werner.

Like the blowing of the moot, then Like the clanging charge of hors.e.m.e.n, Up it mounted to the terrace, Then died out;--a small boat dimly They saw moving up the river.

Backward stepped the Baron quickly, Pulled the bell and called his servant Anton, who came in directly.

"Gain immediate information Who was blowing here the trumpet On the Rhine at this late hour.

If a spirit, sign the cross thrice; If a mortal, greet him kindly, And command his presence hither, For with him I must hold converse."

Soldier-like, saluting, turned then Right about face good old Anton: "I'll fulfil your lordship's orders."