No More Learning

"I had forgotten," said he scornfully, "that he who stands
there is one of those to whom wise men have applied the
words of St. Hieronymus, when he says: "Their manners
more befitting dandies and bridegrooms than the elect of the
Lord. '"
are
Ekkehard stood leaning against a pillar, with arms stretched
out in the air, like Odysseus when he wanted to embrace his
mother's shade. Rudimann's words roused him from his dreams.
"Who comes between her and me? " he cried threateningly.
But Rudimann, patting him on the shoulder with an insolent
familiarity, said:-
"Calm yourself, my good friend: we have only come to de-
liver a note into your hands. St. Gallus can no longer allow
the wisest of all his disciples to remain out in the capricious,
malicious world. You are summoned home! And don't forget
-
the stick with which you are wont to ill-treat your confraters
who like to snatch a kiss at vintage-time, you chaste moralist,"
he added in a low whisper.
Ekkehard stepped back. Wild longings, the pang of separa-
tion, burning passionate love, and the added insults,- all these
stormed up in him. He hastily advanced toward Frau Hadwig;
but the chapel was already filling.
The abbot of Reichenau himself had come to have the pleas-
ure of witnessing Ekkehard's departure. "It will be a difficult
task to get him away," he had said to the cellarer.
It was easy
enough now. Monks and lay brothers came in after him.
"Sacrilege! " Rudimann called out to them. "He has laid his
wanton hand on his mistress even before the altar! "
―
Then Ekkehard boiled over. To have the most sacred secret
of his heart profaned by insolent coarseness, a pearl thrown before
swine! He tore down the everlasting lamp, and swung the heavy
vessel like a sling.
The light went out; a hollow groan was heard, the cellarer
lay with bleeding head on the stone flags. The lamp fell clat-
tering beside him. A blow, fierce struggle, wild confusion — all
was at an end with Ekkehard.
They had overpowered him; tearing off the girdle of his cowl,
they bound him.
-


## p. 12847 (#269) ##########################################

JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12847
There he stood, the handsome youthful figure, now the very
picture of woe, like the broken-winged eagle. ' He gave one
mournful, troubled, appealing look at the duchess. She turned
away.
"Do what you think right," she said to the abbot, and swept
through the throng.
IT WAS a dreary, depressing evening. The duchess had locked.
herself up in her bow-windowed room, and refused admittance to
every one.
Ekkehard had been hurried away into a dungeon by the
abbot's men. In the same tower, in the airy upper story of which
his chamber was situated, there was a damp, dark, vault; frag-
ments of old tombstones-deposited there long before when the
castle chamber had been renovated were scattered about in un-
sightly heaps. A bundle of straw had been thrown in for him,
and a monk was sitting outside to guard the entrance.
Burkhard, the monastery pupil, ran up and down, wailing and
wringing his hands. He could not understand the fate which had
befallen his uncle. The servants were all putting their heads
together, eagerly whispering and gossiping, as if the hundred-
tongued Rumor had been sitting on the roof of the castle,
spreading her falsehoods about.
"He tried to murder the duchess," said one.
-
"He has been practicing the Devil's own arts with that big
book of his," said another. "To-day is St. John's day, when the
Devil has no power, and so he could not help him. "
At the well in the court-yard stood Rudimann the cellarer, let-
ting the clear water flow over his head. Ekkehard had given
nim a sharp cut; the blood obstinately and angrily trickled down
into the water.
She was the only
Praxedis came down looking pale and sad.
soul who felt sincere pity for the prisoner. On seeing the cel-
larer, she ran into the garden, tore up a blue corn-flower with the
roots, and brought it to him.
•
"Take that," said she, "and hold it in your right hand till it
gets warm: that will stop the bleeding. Or shall I fetch you
some linen to bind up the wound? "
He shook his head.
«<
"It will stop of itself when the time comes," said he. 'Tis
not the first time that I have been bled. Keep your corn-flowers
for yourself. "


## p. 12848 (#270) ##########################################

12848
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
But Praxedis was anxious to conciliate Ekkehard's enemy.
She brought some linen: he allowed his wound to be dressed.
Not a word of thanks did he proffer.
"Are you not going to let Ekkehard out to-day? " she asked.
"To-day! " Rudimann repeated sneeringly. "Do you feel in-
clined to weave a garland for the standard-bearer of Antichrist,
-the leading horse of Satan's car, whom you have petted and
spoiled up here as if he were the darling son Benjamin ?
day! In a month ask again over there! "
He pointed toward the Helvetian mountains.
Praxedis was frightened. "What are you going to do with
him? "
"What is right," replied Rudimann with a dark look. "Wan-
tonness, deeds of violence, disobedience, haughtiness, sacrilege,
blasphemy-there are scarcely names enough for all his nefarious
acts; but thank God, there are yet means for their expiation! "
He made a gesture with his hand like that of flogging. "Ah,
yes, plenty of means of expiation, gentle mistress! We will write
the catalogue of his sins on his skin. "
"Have pity! " said Praxedis: "he is a sick man. ”
"For that very reason we are going to cure him. When
he has been tied to the pillar, and half a dozen rods have been
flogged to pieces on his bent back, then all his spleen and his
devilries will vanish! "
"For God's sake! " exclaimed the Greek girl.
"Calm yourself: there are better things yet. A stray lamb
must be delivered up to the fold it belongs to. There he will
find good shepherds who will look after the rest. Sheep-shearing,
little girl, sheep-shearing! There they will cut off his hair,
which will make his head cooler; and if you feel inclined to
make a pilgrimage to St. Gall a year hence, you will see on
Sundays and holidays some one standing barefooted before the
church door, and his head will be as bare as a stubble-field,
and the penitential garb will become him very nicely. What do
you think? The heathenish practices with Virgil are at an end
now. "
"He is innocent! " said Praxedis.
«< Oh," said the cellarer sneeringly, we shall never harm a
single hair of innocence! He need only prove himself so by
God's ordeal. If he takes the gold ring out of the kettle of boil-
ing water with unburnt arm, our abbot himself will give him the
blessing; and I will say that it was all a delusion of the Devil's


## p. 12849 (#271) ##########################################

JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12849
own making when my eyes beheld his Holiness, Brother Ekke-
hard, clasping your mistress in his arms. "
Praxedis wept.
•
•
·
"Cellarmaster, you are a wicked man! " she cried; and turned
her back on him.
"Have you any further commands? " she asked, once more
looking back.
"Yes, thou Greek insect! A jug of vinegar, if you please. I
want to lay my rods in it: the writing is clearer then, and does
not fade away so soon. Never before have I flogged an inter-
preter of Virgil. He deserves particular attention. "
Burkhard, the monastery pupil, was sitting under the linden-
tree, still sobbing. Praxedis, as she passed, gave him a kiss. It
was done to spite the cellarer.
She went up to the duchess, intending to prostrate herself
and intercede for Ekkehard; but the door remained locked against
her. Frau Hadwig was deeply irritated. If the monks of the
Reichenau had not come in upon them, she might have pardoned
Ekkehard's audacity, for she herself had indeed sowed the seeds
of all that had grown to such portentous results; but now it had
become a public scandal, it demanded punishment. The fear of
evil tongues influences many an action.
The abbot had caused to be put into her hands the summons
from St. Gall. St. Benedict's rules, said the letter, exacted not
only the outward forms of a monastic life, but also the actual
conformity of body and soul to its discipline. Ekkehard was to
return. Passages from Gunzo's diatribe were quoted against him.
It was all the same to her. What his fate would be in the
hands of his antagonists, she knew quite well. Yet she was
determined to do nothing for him.
Praxedis knocked at her door a second time, but it was not
opened.
"O thou poor moth," said she sadly.
Ekkehard lay in his dungeon like one who had dreamt some
wild dream. Four bare walls surrounded him; above there was
a faint gleam of light. Often he trembled as if shivering with
cold. After a while a melancholy smile of resignation began to
hover round his lips, but it did not settle there; now and again
he would clench his fists in a fit of fierce anger.
It is the same with the human mind as with the sea: though
the tempest may have blown over for a long time, the billowing
surge is even stronger and more impetuous than before; and
XXII-804


## p. 12850 (#272) ##########################################

12850
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
some mighty chaotic breaker dashes wildly up and drives the
sea-gulls away from the rocks.
But Ekkehard's heart was not yet broken. It was still too
young for that. He began to reflect on his position. The view
into the future was not very cheering. He knew the rules of
his order, and monastic customs, and he knew that the men from
Reichenau were his enemies.
With big strides he paced up and down the narrow room.
"Great God, whom we may invoke in the hour of affliction,
how will all this end? "
He shut his eyes and threw himself on the bundle of straw.
Confused visions passed before his soul, and he saw with his
inward eye of the spirit how they would drag him out in the
early morning. The abbot would be sitting on his high stone.
chair, holding the crosier as a sign that it was a court of judg
ment; and then they would read out a long bill of complaints
against him. All this in the same court-yard in which he had
once sprung out of the litter with such a jubilant heart, and in
which he had preached his sermon against the Huns on that sol-
emn Good Friday; and the men of the court would be gnashing
their teeth against him!
"What shall I do? " thought he. "With my hand on my
heart and my eyes raised toward heaven, I shall say,
is not guilty! ' But the judges will say, 'Prove it! ' The big
copper kettle will be brought; the fire lighted beneath; the water
will hiss and bubble up. The abbot draws off the golden ring
from his finger. They push up the right sleeve of his habit;
solemn penitential psalms resound. I conjure thee, spirit of the
water, that the Devil quit thee, and that thou serve the Lord
to make known the truth, like to the fiery furnace of the King.
of Babylon when he had the three men thrown into it! ' — Thus
the abbot addresses the boiling water; and 'Dip thy arm and
fetch forth the ring,' says he to the accused. - Righteous God,
what judgment will thy ordeal give? "
Wild doubts beset Ekkehard's soul. He believed in himself
and his good cause, but his faith was less strong in the dreadful
means by which priestcraft and church laws sought to arrive at
God's decision.
In the library of his monastery there was a little book bear-
ing the title, 'Against the Inveterate Error of the Belief that
through Fire, Water, or Single Combat, the Truth of God's Judg
ment can be Revealed. '


## p. 12851 (#273) ##########################################

JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12851
This book he had once read; and he remembered it well. It
was to prove that with these ordeals, which were an inheritance
from the ancient heathen time, it was as the excellent Gottfried
of Strassburg has expressed it in later days:
"Der heilig Christ
Windschaffen wie ein Ärmel ist. ” *
"And if no miracle is performed? »
His thoughts were inclined to despondency and despair.
"With burnt arm and proclaimed guilty, condemned to be
flogged, while she perhaps would stand on the balcony looking
on, as if it were done to an entire stranger! - Lord of heaven
and earth, send down thy lightning! "
-
Yet hope does not entirely forsake even the most miserable.
Then again he imagined how, through all this shame and
misery, a piercing "Stop! " would be heard: she comes rushing.
down with disheveled locks and in her rustling ducal mantle,
and drives his tormentors away, as the Savior drove out the usur-
ers from the temple. And she presents him her hand and lips
for the kiss of reconciliation.
Long and ardently his fantasy dwelt on that beautiful possi-
bility; a breath of consolation came to him; he spoke in the
words of the Preacher: "As gold is purified from dross in the
fire, so the heart of man is purified by sorrow. ' We will wait
and see what will happen. "
He heard a slight noise in the antechamber of his dungeon.
A stone jug was put down.
"You are to drink like a man," said a voice to the lay brother
on guard; "for on St. John's night all sorts of unearthly vis-
itors people the air and pass over our castle. So you must take
care to keep your courage up.
There's another jug for you
too. "
It was Praxedis who had brought the wine.
Ekkehard did not understand what she wanted. "Then she also
is false," thought he. "God protect me! "
He closed his eyes and fell asleep. After a good while he
was awakened. The wine had evidently been to the lay brother's
taste: he was singing a song in praise of the four goldsmiths
who once on a time had refused to make heathenish idols at
Rome, and suffered martyrdom. With his heavy sandal-clad foot
he was beating time on the stone flags. Ekkehard heard another
*«The good Lord is as much the sport of the wind as a sleeve. "


## p. 12852 (#274) ##########################################

12852
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
jug of wine brought to the man. The singing became loud and
uproarious. Then he held a soliloquy, in which he had much
to say about Italy and good fare, and "Santa Agnese fuori le
mura. " Then he ceased talking. The prisoner could distinctly
hear his snoring through the stone walls.
·
The castle was silent. It was about midnight. Ekkehard
lay in a doze, when it seemed to him as if the bolts were softly
drawn. He remained lying on his straw. A figure came in; a
soft hand was laid on the slumberer's forehead. He jumped up.
"Hush! " whispered his visitor.
« The
When all had gone to rest, Praxedis had kept awake.
wicked cellarer shall not have the satisfaction of punishing our
poor melancholy teacher," was her thought; and woman's cun-
ning always finds ways and means to accomplish her schemes.
Wrapping herself up in a gray cloak, she had stolen down. No
special artifices were necessary: the lay brother was sleeping the
sleep of the just. If he had been awake, the Greek girl would
have frightened him by some ghost trickery. That was her plan.
"You must escape! " said she to Ekkehard. "They mean to
>>
do their worst to you. "
"I know it," he replied sadly.
"Come, then. "
He shook his head. "I prefer to endure it," said he.
"Don't be a fool," whispered Praxedis. "First you built your
castle on the glittering rainbow; and now that it has all tumbled
down, you will allow them to ill-treat you into the bargain? As
if they had a right to flog you and drag you away!
And you
will let them have the pleasure of witnessing your humiliation?
It would be a nice spectacle they would make of you! 'One
does not see an honest man put to death every day,' said a man
to me once in Constantinople, when I asked him why he was in
such a hurry. "
"Where should I go to ? " asked Ekkehard.
"Neither to the Reichenau nor to your monastery," said Praxe-
"There is many a hiding-place left in the world. "
dis.
She was getting impatient; and seizing Ekkehard by the hand,
she dragged him on. "Come! " whispered she. He allowed him-
self to be led by her.
They glided past the sleeping watchman: now they stood in
the court-yard; the fountain was splashing merrily. Ekkehard
bent over the spout, and took a long draught of the cool water.
"All is over," said he. "And now away. "


## p. 12853 (#275) ##########################################

JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12853
It was a stormy night. "You cannot go out by the doorway,
the bridge is drawn up," said Praxedis; "but you can get down
between the rocks on the eastern side. Our shepherd boy has
tried that path before. "
They entered the little garden. A gust of wind went roaring
through the branches of the maple-tree. Ekkehard scarcely knew
what was happening to him.
He mounted the battlement. Steep and rugged fell the klink-
stone precipices; a dark abyss yawned before him; black clouds.
were chasing each other across the dusky sky,- weird, uncouth
shapes, as if two bears were pursuing a winged dragon. Soon
the fantastic forms melted together; the wind whipped them on-
ward toward the Bodensee, that glittered faintly in the distance.
Indistinctly outlined lay the landscape.
"Blessings on your way! " said Praxedis.
Ekkehard sat motionless on the battlement; he still held the
Greek girl's hand clasped in his. A mingled feeling of gratitude
and melancholy surged through his storm-tossed brain. Then her
cheek pressed against his, and a kiss trembled on his lips; he felt
a pearly tear. Gently Praxedis drew away her hand.
"Don't forget," said she, "that you still owe us a story. May
God lead your steps back again to this place some day, so that
we may hear it from your own lips. "
――――――――
Ekkehard now let himself down. He waved his hand once
more, then disappeared from her sight. The stillness of night
was interrupted by a rattling and clattering down the cliff. The
Greek girl peered down into the depths. A piece of rock had
become loosened, and fell noisily down into the valley. Another
followed somewhat slower; and on this Ekkehard was sitting,
guiding it as a rider does his horse. So he went down the steep
precipice into the blackness of the night.
Farewell!
She crossed herself and went back, smiling in spite of all her
sadness. The lay brother was still fast asleep. As she crossed
the court-yard, Praxedis spied a basket filled with ashes, which
she seized; and softly stealing back into Ekkehard's dungeon, she
poured out its contents in the middle of the room, as if this were
all that was left of the prisoner's earthly remains.
"Why dost thou snore so heavily, most reverend brother? "
she asked; and hurried away.


## p. 12854 (#276) ##########################################

12854
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
SONG OF THE ICHTHYOSAURUS
From Gaudeamus. ' By permission of the Translator
HERE'S a rustling in the rushes,
There's a flashing in the sea;
There's a tearful Ichthyosaurus
Swims hither mournfully!
TH
He weeps o'er the modern corruption,
Compared with the good old times,
And don't know what is the matter
With the Upper Jura limes!
The hoary old Plesiosaurus
Does naught but quaff and roar;
And the Pterodactylus lately
Flew drunk to his own front door!
The Iguanodon of the Period
Grows worse with every stratum
He kisses the Ichthyosauresses
Whenever he can get at 'em!
I feel a catastrophe coming;
This epoch will soon be done :
And what will become of the Jura
If such goings-on go on?
The groaning Ichthyosaurus
Turns suddenly chalky pale;
He sighs from his steaming nostrils,
He writhes with his dying tail!
In that selfsame hour and minute
Died the whole Saurian stem:
The fossil-oil in their liquor
Soon put an end to them!
And the poet found their story
Which here he doth indite,
In the form of a petrified album-leaf
Upon a coprolite!
Translation of Rossiter W. Raymond.


## p. 12855 (#277) ##########################################

JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12855
DECLARATION AND DEPARTURE
From The Trumpeter of Säkkingen'
Α
THIS morning meal the baron
Sat, deep poring o'er a letter
Which the day before had reached him.
From afar a post had ridden,
From the Danube, deep in Suabia,
Where the baby river ripples
Gleeful through a narrow valley.
Lofty crags jut sharply o'er it,
And its limpid waters mirror
Clear and bright their rugged outlines,
And the tender green of beech-woods.
Thence the messenger had ridden.
This the purport of the letter:
-
"My old comrade, do you ever
Think of Hans von Wildenstein?
Down the Rhine and down the Danube
Many drops of clearest water
Must have run to reach the ocean,
Since we lay beside our watch-fires,
In our last campaign together.
And I mark it by my youngster,
Who has grown a lusty fellow,
And his years count four-and-twenty.
First, as page, he went to Stuttgart,
To the duke; and then to college
To old Tübingen I sent him.
If I reckon by the money
He has squandered, it is certain
He must be a mighty scholar.
Now by me at home he tarries,
Chasing deer and hares and foxes;
And when other sport is lacking,
Chasing pretty peasant-maidens:
And 'tis time that he were broken
To the wholesome yoke of marriage.
Now, methinks, you have a daughter
Who a fitting bride would make him.
'Twixt old comrades, such as we are,
Many words are surely needless;
So, Sir Baron, I would ask you


## p. 12856 (#278) ##########################################

12856
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
Would it please you if my Damian
To your castle rode a-wooing,
Rode a-wooing to the Rhineland?
Send me speedy answer. -Greetings
From old Hans von Wildenstein.
Postscript. -Do you still remember
That great fray we fought at Augsburg
With the horsemen of Bavaria ?
And the rage of yon rich miser
And his most ungracious lady?
Why, 'tis two-and-thirty years since! "
Toilsomely the baron labored
At his comrade's crabbed writing,
And a full half-hour he puzzled,
Ere he mastered all its import.
Laughing then he spake :-"These Suabians
Are in sooth most knowing devils!
They are lacking in refinement,
Somewhat coarse in grain and fibre,
Yet of wit and prudence plenty
In their rugged pates is garnered.
Many a brainless coxcomb's noddle
They could stock and never miss it.
And my valiant Hans manœuvres
Rarely, like a veteran statesman.
His poor, mortgaged, moldering owl's-nest
By the Danube would be bolstered
Bravely by a handsome dowry.
Yet the scheme deserves a hearing.
Far and wide throughout the kingdom.
Are the Wildensteins respected,
Since with Kaiser Barbarossa
To the Holy Land they journeyed.
Let the varlet try his fortune! "
To the baron entered Werner.
Slow his gait and black his jerkin,
As on feast-days. Melancholy
Sat upon his pallid features.
Jestingly the other hailed him:
"I was in the act of sending
Honest Anton out to seek you.
Pray you, mend your pen and write me,
As my trusty scribe, a letter,
Letter of most weighty import.
---


## p. 12857 (#279) ##########################################

JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12857
For a knight has written asking.
Tidings of my lady daughter,
And he seeks her hand in marriage
For his son, the young Sir Damian.
Tell him, then, how Margaretha
Has grown tall and fair and stately.
Tell him but you need no prompting:
- -
Fancy you a painter-paint him,
Black on white, her living image,
Fairly, and forget no detail.
Say, if 'tis the youngster's pleasure,
I shall make no opposition
If he saddle and ride hither. "
"If he saddle and ride hither- »
Spake young Werner, as if dreaming.
To himself; and somewhat sharply
Quoth the baron, "But what ails you
That you wear a face as lengthy
As a Calvinistic preacher's
On Good Friday? Has the fever.
Once more taken hold upon you? "
Gravely made reply young Werner:-
"Sire, I cannot write the letter;
You must seek another penman,
Since I come myself to ask you
For your daughter's hand in marriage. "
:-
"For my daughter's hand in marriage ? »
Gasped the baron, sore bewildered
In his turn; and wryly twitching
Worked his mouth, as his who playeth
-
On a Jew's-harp. Through his left foot.
Shot a bitter throb of anguish.
"My young friend, the fever blazes
In your brain-pan like a furnace.
Go, I rede you, to the garden,
Where there plays a shady fountain.
If you dip your head beneath it
Thrice, the fever straight will vanish. "
"Noble sir," rejoined young Werner,
"Spare your gibes. You may require them,
Peradventure, when the wooer
Out of Suabia rideth hither.


## p. 12858 (#280) ##########################################

12858
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
Sober come I, free from fever,
On a very sober errand;
And of Margaretha's father
Ask, once more, her hand in marriage. ”
Darkly frowning spake the baron:-
"Do you force me, then, to tell you
What your own wit should have taught you?
Sore averse am I to meet you
With harsh earnest; for the pike-thrust,
That so late your forehead suffered,
Have I not forgotten; neither
In whose service you received it.
Yet he only may look upward
To my child, whose noble lineage
Makes such union meet and fitting.
For each one of us has nature
Limits strait and wise appointed,
Where, within our proper circle,
We may fitly thrive and prosper.
From the Holy Roman Empire
Has come down the social order
Threefold,- Noble, Burgess, Peasant:
Each, within itself included,
From itself itself renewing,
Full of health abides and hearty.
Each is thus a sturdy pillar
Which the whole supports, but never
Prospers any intermixture.
Wot ye what that has for issue?
Grandsons who of all have something
Yet are altogether nothing;
Shallow, empty, feeble mongrels,
Tottering, unloosed and shaken
From tradition's steadfast foothold.
Sharp-edged, perfect, must each man be;
And within his veins, as heirloom
From the foregone generations,
He should bear his life's direction.
Therefore equal rank in marriage
Is demanded by our usage,
Which, by me, as law is honored,
And across its fast-fixed ramparts
I will have no stranger scramble.


## p. 12859 (#281) ##########################################

JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12859
Item: Shall no trumpet-blower
Dare to court a noble maiden! "
Thus the baron. Sorely troubled
By such serious and unwonted
Theoretic disquisition,
Had he pieced his words together.
By the stove the cat was lying,
Hiddigeigei, listening heedful,
With his head approval nodding
At the close. Yet, musing, pressed he
With his paw upon his forehead,
Deep within himself reflecting:-
"Why do people kiss each other?
Ancient question, new misgiving!
For I thought that I had solved it,—
Thought a kiss was an expedient
Swift another's lips to padlock,
That no word of cruel candor
Issue forth. But this solution
Is, I fear me, quite fallacious;
Else my youthful friend most surely
Would long since have kissed my master. "
-
To the baron spake young Werner,
And his voice was low and muffled:-
"Sire, I thank you for your lesson.
In the glamour of the pine-woods,
In the May month's radiant sunshine,
By the river's crystal billows,
Did mine eyes o'erlook the ramparts
Raised by men, which lay between us.
Thanks for this reminder timely.
Thanks, too, for the hours so joyous
I have spent beneath your roof-tree.
But my span is run: the order
'Right about! ' your words have given me.
And in sooth, I make no murmur.
As a suitor worthy of her
One day I return, or never.
Fare you well! Think kindly of me. "
So he said, and left the chamber,
Knowing well what lay before him.
Long, with troubled mien, the baron
Scanned the door through which he vanished.
"Sooth, it grieves me sore," he muttered.


## p. 12860 (#282) ##########################################

12860
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
"If the brave lad's name were only
Damian von Wildenstein! "
Parting, bitter hour of parting!
Ah, who was it first conceived thee?
Sure, some chilly-hearted mortal
By the distant Arctic Ocean.
Freezing blew the North Pole zephyrs
Round his nose; sore pestered was he
By his wife, unkempt and jealous.
E'en the whale's delicious blubber
Tickled not his jaded palate.
O'er his ears a yellow sealskin
Drew he; in his fur-gloved right hand
Grasped his staff, and nodding curtly
To his stolid Ylaleyka,
Uttered first those words ill-omened,—
"Fare thee well, for I must leave thee. "
Parting, bitter hour of parting!
In his turret chamber, Werner
Girded up his few belongings,
Girded up his slender knapsack,
Threw a last regretful greeting
To the whitewashed walls familiar-
Loth to part, as from old comrades.
Farewell spake he to none other.
Margaretha's eyes of azure
Dared he never more encounter.
To the castle court descending,
Saddled swift his faithful palfrey;
Then there rang an iron hoof-fall,
And a drooping, joyless rider
Left the castle's peace behind him.
In the lowland by the river
Grows a walnut-tree. Beneath it
Once again he reined his palfrey,—
Once again he grasped his trumpet.
From his sorrow-laden spirit
Upward soared his farewell greeting,
Winged with saddest love and longing.
Soared-ah, dost thou know the fable
Of the song the swan sang dying?
At her heart was chill foreboding,
But she soug the lake's clear waters


## p. 12861 (#283) ##########################################

JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12861
Yet once more, and through the roses,
Through the glistening water-lilies,
Rose her plaintive song regretful:—
"Fairest world, 'tis mine to leave thee;
Fairest world, I die unwilling! "
Thus he blew. Was that a tear-drop
Falling, glancing, on the trumpet?
Was it but a summer rain-drop?
Onward now! His spurs relentless
In his palfrey's flanks he buried,
And was borne in rousing gallop
To the outskirts of the forest.
SONG: FAREWELL
From The Trumpeter of Säkkingen >
THIS
HIS is the bitterness of life's long story,—
That ever near the rose the thorns are set;
Poor heart, that dwells at first in dreams of glory,
The parting comes, and eyes with tears are wet.
Ah, once I read thine eyes, thy spirit's prison,
And love and joy in their clear depths could see:
May God protect thee! 'twas too fair a vision;
May God protect thee! it was not to be.
Long had I borne with envy, hate, and sorrow,
Weary and worn, by many a tempest tried;
I dreamed of peace and of a bright to-morrow,
And lo! my pathway led me to thy side.
I longed within thine arms to rest; then, risen
In strength and gladness, give my life to thee:
May God protect thee! 'twas too fair a vision;
May God protect thee! it was not to be.
Winds whirl the leaves, the clouds are driven together,
Through wood and meadow beats a storm of rain:
To say farewell 'tis just the fitting weather,
For like the sky, the world seems gray with pain.
Yet good nor ill shall shake my heart's decision;
Thou slender maid, I still must dream of thee!
May God protect thee! 'twas too fair a vision;
May God protect thee!