No More Learning

He tired right soon
Of facing King Harfagr;
To an island fled he,
The thick-throated ruler.
Under the row-seat
The wounded they huddled,
With backs stuck up
And faces bent down.
In the storm of stones,
As they fled, they cast
On their backs their shields,
Bright roof of Valhalla.
Wild with fear, they fled home
Around Jadar's shores,
On their mead-bowls intent,
From Hafrsfjord.
The Hornklofi mentioned above, whose name signifies “horn-
cleaver,” was really a poet named Thorbjorn. In the Fagrskinna
there are some lines of great interest by him, describing the court of
the King, the famous Harold Fairhair, a contemporary of Alfred the
Great.
The skald relates an imaginary conversation between a Valkyr
and some ravens, who, being the constant companions of Harold in
his expeditions, were able to gratify the lady's curiosity about him.
In literal prose it runs:


## p. 7882 (#74) ############################################

7832
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
L
ISTEN, ye ring-bearers [i. e. , nobles),
While I recount the accomplishments
Of King Harold,
The immensely rich;
I must tell of the colloquy
Which I heard between
A white fair-haired maid
And a raven.
Wise was the Valkyr;
She knew the voice of birds.
The white-throated one,
The sharp-sighted one,
Spoke to the air-cleaver,
Who sat on a point of the rocks:
«Why here, ye ravens ?
Whence are ye come,
With gory beak,
At the approach of day?
Flesh sticks to your claws,
The reek of carrion comes from your mouth:
Surely you set off by night,
For ye knew that corpses lay on the plain. ”
He of the plumed skull shook his feathers;
The eagle's sworn brother
Dried his beak,
And bethought him of an answer :-
« We've followed Harold,
Halfdan's son,
The young noble,
Ever since the egg we left.
"I thought you'd know the King,
He who abides at Hvin,
The lord of the Northmen,
Who owns the deep galleys,
The ruddy-rimmed shields,
The tarred oars,
The weather-stained awnings.
«He'll drink his Yule feast at sea,
If he alone shall decide,
This courageous chief,


## p. 7883 (#75) ############################################

ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7883
And play Frey's game.
The youth loathes the fireside
And sitting at home;
The warm ladies' bower,
And cushions stuffed with down. ”
The Valkyr then asks whether Harold is munificent to his men :-
“Many a present
His warriors get,
Who in Harold's court
Throw with the dice;
They're with money endowed,
And handsome swords,
With German armor,
And Eastern slaves.
« Then are they glad,
The skillful men-at-arms,
Agile to jump
And swing the oars,
Till they break the loops
And snap the thole-pins;
Splash goes the water
At the word of the King. ”
The condition of the court skalds is next described:-
«You may see by their trappings
And their gold rings
That they're familiar with the King;
They're possessed of red cloaks,
And fair-riinmed shields,
And silver-strapped swords,
And gilt belts,
And chased helmets,
And armlets good store,
These servants of Harold. ”
His Berserker champions are next described :
« Wolf-skins they're hight,
They who in battle
Bear the bloody shields,
Who redden the spears
When they gather to the fray,
When they rush to the onset. ”


## p. 7884 (#76) ############################################

7884
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
1
16
1
The poem concludes with a description of the players and jug-
glers at Harold's court. Some of them indulge in unheard-of pranks,
to the great amusement of the King.
Allusion has already been made to an Icelandic poet named Eyvind
Skalda-spiller. His Háconamál' is considered one of the best samples
of skaldic poetry extant. The Hacon referred to in the title was
Hacon the Good (925-961), one of the two sons of Harold Fairhair
and the foster-son of the Anglo-Saxon King Athelstan.
HÁCONAMÁL
G
ONDUL and Skögul
The gods of the Goths sent
To choose 'mong the kings
Of Yngvi's race which
With Odin should fare
And live in Valhalla.
Bjorn's brother found they
Faring in mail-coat,
Marching 'neath gonfalon
Scared were the foe,
The shafts shook,
The battle began.
« On, Halogalanders!
On, ye West-Islanders! ”
Cried the earl-slayer,
Rushed to the fray.
Well did his Northmen
Follow their noble lord,
Dread of the Isle Danes,
Helmed in gold.
i
Flung off his armor
Down on the plain,
The chief of the body-guard,
Ere he set on.
Joked with his men-at-arms,
“We'll keep the land safe;"
Laughed the King gayly,
Helmed in gold.
So sliced his sharp sword
In the chief's hand


## p. 7885 (#77) ############################################

ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7885
Right through the mail-coats
As they were water.
Crash went the arrows,
Split were the shields;
Rattled the blades
On the foemen's skulls.
Through targets tough,
Through plates of iron,
Smashed irresistible
The Norse King's brand.
Th' isle pealed with battle-din,
Crimsoned the kings
Their glistening shields
In the blood of the throng.
Quivered the flashing swords
In the wounds gory;
Louted the halberds,
Greedy of life:
Soused the red wound-stream
'Gainst the splashed bucklers;
Fell crimson arrow-rain
On Stord's shore.
All blood-bedabbled
Surged the fierce fray;
Thundered the shield-rims
'Mid storm of war;
Pattered down point-stream
Odin's red shower.
Many fell fainting
In their life's blood.
Sat were the princes,
Drawn were their swords,
Battered their bucklers,
Armor all gashed;
Ill at ease felt the
Monarch, for he was
Bound to Valhalla.
Gondul she spoke,
Leaning on spear-shaft:-
«Grows the gods' company;
They have bid Hacon,


## p. 7886 (#78) ############################################

7886
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
With a great retinue,
Home to their hall! »
Heard the fey chieftain
What said the Valkyr —
Maids from their steeds;
Thoughtful their faces looked
As they sat helmed,
Sheltered with shields.
HACON
Why so the contest
Deal'st thou, Geirskögul?
Worthy of victory
We from the gods! ”
SKÖGUL
« We were the cause
The battle you won
And the foes fled.
Now will we speed,”
Quoth mighty Skögul,
« To heaven's green glades,
King Odin to tell
A great lord is coming,
Who longs him to see! »
«Hermod and Bragi,”
Quoth aloud Odin,
« Go meet the chieftain;
Hither is faring
A king, and a valiant one,
Lo! to my hall. ”
The captain he cried,
Just fresh from the fray,
All dripping with gore:-
“Very hard-hearted
Truly meseemeth
Odin to be. ”
ODIN
“All of my warriors
Welcome thee in!
Drink of our ale-cups,
Bane of the Jarls. ”


## p. 7887 (#79) ############################################

ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7887
«Already you've here
Eight brothers," quoth Bragi.
HACON
“All our war-gear,”
Quoth the good King,
«Ourselves will we hold;
Our helmet and mail,
We'll guard them full well;
'Tis pleasant to handle the spear. ”
Then straight it appeared
How the good King had
Protected the temples,
For Hacon they bade
Be heartily welcome,
The assembly of gods.
On fortunate day
Was that monarch born,
With such a mind gifted;
His age and day
Must ever be held
In kindly remembrance.
Ere will break his chain
And rush on mankind
Fell Fenris wolf,
Ere a man so good
In his footsteps tread,
One of royal birth
Riches depart,
And likewise friends,
The land is laid waste:
Since Hacon fared
To the heathen gods,
Sunk have many to slaves.
After the death of Hacon the Good, all the Norwegian court
skalds named in the chronicles were Icelanders; so that from about
the year 950 to the death of King Eric Magnusson in 1299, Icelandic
skalds only were the court poets of Norway. The first Danish king
mentioned as having been commemorated by an Icelandic poet (Ottar
the Black) was Sweyn Forkbeard, who died in 1014; and the last, it
may be added, was Waldemar II. , who died in 1241. Nor should we
forget that two of our English kings, Athelstan and Ethelred, were
commemorated in the tenth or beginning of the eleventh century by


## p. 7888 (#80) ############################################

!
1
7888
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
two famous Northmen, Egil Skalagrim and Gunnlaug Serpent-tongue.
“In England,” says Dr. Metcalfe, basing his remarks on those of Jon
Sigurdson, “the age of Northern poetry may be said to have lasted
down to the Norman conquest, or about the middle of the eleventh
century; in Denmark and Sweden, to the middle of the thirteenth; in
Norway, till a little over the end of that century. ”
Finally, I may quote one interesting poem of the nature common
to all the Northern races. It occurs in the Hervorar Saga, which has
been attributed to the thirteenth century; but the poem in question
bears so strong an old Norse impress that the German critic Müller
places its composition as certainly not later than the tenth or at
least the eleventh century. The story is interesting as setting forth
the record of one of those Amazonian heroines who occur in every
popular literature. This heroine was named Hervor. She was the
daughter of a famous knight, Angantyr, who for love's sake fought
a duel with the famous Hjalmar on Samsö, an island off Jutland.
Though Angantyr fought with the sword Tyrfing, forged by the trolls
Dvalin and Dulin, which never missed its aim, he perhaps forgot
the other quality of the sword, that it always brought death to its
The result was that he and all his Berserkers were slain on
this remote island. His daughter Hervor, when she grew up, really
turned viking; daubing her lily-white hands with pitch and tar,”
as the skald wrote. She became a viking in fact, and assumed the
name of Herward. So in the course of time she came to the haven
of Munarvoe in Samsö, where her father Angantyr lay buried in the
green mound. At sunset she goes alone on shore, and there she
meets a shepherd. The dialogue between them, and the weird scene
of the cairns flaming into life, are graphically told, as also the appear-
ance of Angantyr himself.
owner.
i
SHEPHERD
Ho art all alone
To this island come ?
Haste and seek some cot
For to shelter in.
W"
1
HERWARD
I will never go
Shelter for to seek,
For I none do know
Of the island beards.
Tell me speedily,
'Fore you go from hence,


## p. 7889 (#81) ############################################

ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7889
Whereabout's the spot
Known as Herward's cairn ?
SHEPHERD
Don't about it speer,
If thou’rt truly wise.
Thou, the viking's friend,
In great peril art.
Let us speed away,
Haste with might and main:
All abroad are horrors
For the sons of men.
HERWARD
Here a brooch I'll give you
If you'll tell me true.
Vain to try to hinder
Thus the viking's friend.
No! the brightest treasure,
All the rings on earth,
Would not let or hinder
Me from my intent.
SHEPHERD
Foolish is, methinks,
He who hither fares,
All alone and friendless
In the murky night.
Flames are flickering,
Cairns are opening,
Burning earth and fen;
Let us hurry on.
HERWARD
I am not afeard
At such snorting sounds,
E'en though all the island
Bursts out in a blaze.
Do not let us two
By the champions dead
Thus be made to shiver;
Let us have discourse!
XIV-494


## p. 7890 (#82) ############################################

7890
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
- Then the herdsman filed
To the forest near,
Frightened by the speech
Of this manly maid.
Of undaunted mettle
Fashioned, Hervor's breast
Swelled within her fiercely
At the shepherd's fright.
She now sees the cairns all alight and the howe-dwellers standing
outside, but is not afraid; passes through the me as if it were
only reek, till she gets to the Berserker's howe. Then she speaks :-
HERWARD
Wake thee, Angantyr;
Hervor waketh thee.
I'm the only daughter
Of Tofa and of thee:
Give me from the howe
That sword whetted sharp,
Which for Swarfurlam
Was forged by the dwarves.
Hervard and Hjorvard,
Hran and Angantyr!
I wake you, ye buried
Under the forest roots,
With your helm and mail-sark,
With your whetted sword,
With your polished shields,
And your bloody darts.
1
Ye are turned indeed,
Arngrim's sons so bold,
Such redoubted champions,
To poor bits of mold,
If of Eyfur's sons,
Not one dares with me
To come and hold discourse
Here in Munarvoe.
1
Hervard and Hjorvard,
Hran and Angantyr!
May it be to all
Of you within your hearts


## p. 7891 (#83) ############################################

ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7891
As if you were in ant-hills,
With torments dire bested,
Unless to me the sword
Ye give that Dvalin forged.
It not beseemeth Draugies
Such weapons choice to hide.
ANGANTYR
Hervor, my daughter, why
Dost thou cry out so loud ?
Thou’rt hastening to destruction,
Past all redemption, maid!
'Tis mad you are become,
Bereft of sober sense;
You must be wandering, surely,
To wake up men long dead.
HERWARD
One thing tell me true,
So may Odin shield thee:
In thy ancient cairn,
Tell me, hast thou there
The sword Tyrfing hight?
Oh, you're very slow
A small boon to grant
To your single heir.
[The cairn opens, and it seems all ablaze. )
ANGANTYR
Hell gates have sunk down,
Opened is the cairn;
See, the island's shore
Is all bathed in flame;
All abroad are sights
Fearful to behold.
Haste thee, while there's time,
Maiden, to thy ships.
HERWARD
Were you burning bright,
Like bale-fire at night,
I'd not fear a jot;
Your fierce burning flame


## p. 7892 (#84) ############################################

7892
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
Quakes not maiden's heart:
'Tis of sterner stuff,
Gibbering ghosts though she
In the doorway see.
ANGANTYR
1
į
Listen, Hervor mine!
I'll a tale unfold;
Listen, daughter wise!
I'll thy fate foretell.
Trow my words or not,
Tyrfing's fate is this:
'Twill to all thy kin
Naught but mishap bring.
HERWARD
I will sure bewitch
All these champions slain;
Ye shall fated be
Ever and aye to lie
With the Draugies dead,
Rotting in your graves.
Give me, Angantyr,
Out your cairn straightway
Sword to harness dangerous,
Young Hjalmar's bane.
|
ANGANTYR
Maiden, I aver you're
Not of human mold,
Roaming 'mong the cairns
In the dead of night,
With engraved spear,
With a sword beside,
With helmet and with hauberk
My hell-door before.
1
1
1
HERWARD
:
Meseemed I altogether
Was framed in human mold
'Fore I visit paid
To your halls of death.
Hand me from the cairn


## p. 7893 (#85) ############################################

ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7893
Straight the Byrnie's foe,
Smithied by the dwarves;
To hide it won't avail.
ANGANTYR
I have 'neath my shoulder
Young Hjalmar's bane;
It is all enwrapped
In a sheet of flame.
On the earth I know not
Any maid so bold
That shall dare the sword
By the hand to take.
HERWARD
Gladly I will take it,
Gladly keep it too,
That sharp-edged sword,
If I have it may.
I've no fear at all
Of the burning flame;
Straight abates the fire
When thereon I gaze.
ANGANTYR
Foolish art thou, Hervor,
Though so stout of heart,
If with open eyes
In the fire you dart.
Rather will I hand thee
Out the cairn the sword.
Maiden young, I will not
Thy request refuse.
[The sword is cast out of the cairn. )
HERWARD
Well and bravely done,
Say I, viking's son!
Thou hast me the sword
Handed out the tomb.
Better far, methinks,
King, this precious boon,


## p. 7894 (#86) ############################################

7894
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
Than the whole of Norway
Were I to possess.
ANGANTYR
Ah! you do not know,
All too rash of speech,
Maiden void of counsel,
What is good or ill.
This sword Tyrfing will —
If you me can trow-
Will thy race hereafter
Utterly destroy.
HERWARD
Off to my sea-horses,
Off, off, and away!
Now the prince's daughter
Is all blithe of mood.
Little do I fear,
Sire of lordly strain,
What my race hereafter
Haply shall befall.
ANGANTYR
Long thou shalt possess it,
And enjoy it long;
Only keep it hidden,
Young Hjalmar's bane.
Touch not e'en its edges,
They are poisoned both;
Naught exists more baneful
Than this sword to man.
HERWARD
Dwellers in the cairns!
Dwell unscathed on.
I'm longing to be gone,
Fast I haste away.
I myself, methought,
Hung 'twixt life and death
When the roaring flame
Girt me all around.


## p. 7895 (#87) ############################################

ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7895
(
I may refer readers who would like to go more thoroughly into
the subject of Icelandic literature to study the volumes of Dr. Gud-
brand Vigfusson and Mr. York Powell, — in particular the Corpus
Poeticum Boreale; or, the Poetry of the Old Northern Tongue from
the Earliest Times to the Thirteenth Century,' edited, classified, and
translated, with Introduction, Excursuses, and Notes. The first of
these two volumes deals with the Eddic poems and with the early
Western and early historic epics, with interesting excursuses on the
beliefs and worships of the ancient Northmen, and on the Northern
and old Teutonic metres. The second volume is less interesting per-
haps to the ordinary reader, but should certainly also be read; and
also its interesting excursus on the figures and metres of the old
Northern poetry, with some reference to the ancient life, thought, and
belief as embodied therein. Again, the student should turn to Vig-
fusson's three or four volumes of Icelandic sagas, to E. Mogk's (Chap-
ters on Northern Literature, and to Hermann Paul's "Grundriss der
Germanischen Philologie. Again, there is one invaluable work of its
kind, -- Dr. Vigfusson's rendering of the Sturlunga Saga,' including
the Islendiga Saga' (untranslated) and other works; though it is for
the Prolegomena, Appendices, etc. , that this recommendation is given
to the non-Icelandic student. The general reader should consult Dr.
Metcalfe's (The Scandinavian and the Englishman,' with its delight-
ful chapters on Icelandic history and literature. Among the many
important and interesting articles in periodicals, I may specify in
particular Mr. York Powell's account of recent research on Teutonic
Mythology in the journal Folk Lore, Mr. J. H. Wisley's paper on
Saga Literature in Poet Lore, Mr. W. A. Craigie's important article
in Folk Lore on the oldest Icelandic folk-lore (with translations of
old sagas, etc. ), and Mr. York Powell's interesting account in Folk
Lore of (Saga Growth. '
Waaien Sharya


## p. 7896 (#88) ############################################

7896
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
(1796-1840)
(
>
OETHE, as early as 1823, speaking of Immermann, praised his
talents highly. “We shall see,” he said, “how he develops:
if he be willing to take the trouble to purify his taste and
to follow as regards form those models which are recognized as the
best. His originality has its value, but all too easily it may lead him
astray. ”
When Goethe passed this cautious judgment, Immermann was in
his twenty-seventh year; he had published only a few youthful dra-
mas and a volume of poems, which had
enrolled him among the Romanticists; many
years of ideal striving still lay before him
ere his versatile talents found their proper
sphere. He spent his life in writing dramas,
now for the most part forgotten; and at last
won his permanent place in literature by
two novels: Die Epigonen' (The Epigoni).
and the more widely known Münchhausen. '
The year following the publication of the
latter, he died.
Immermann was born at Magdeburg on
April 24th, 1796. He took up the study of
IMMERMANN law at the University of Halle; but when
all Germany rose in the wars for freedom
he abandoned his books and enlisted in the army. Illness prevented
him at first from taking an active part in the campaign; but after
the return of Napoleon from Elba, Immermann fought at the battles
of Ligny and Waterloo, and under the command of Blücher entered
Paris with the allied troops. He left the army with an officer's
rank, and for the next two years diligently pursued his law studies
at Halle. In 1817 he entered the service of the Prussian State. It
was during these two years that he attended the theatrical perform-
ances of the Weimar troupe, and received those impressions which
shaped his career as dramatist and dramaturgist. In his profession
he distinguished himself, and in a few years became a judge on the
bench of the criminal court at Magdeburg. In 1826 he was trans-
ferred to Düsseldorf, where he brought a literary element into the
circle of eminent artists already gathered there. Here for the first



## p. 7897 (#89) ############################################

KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7897
(
(
time his aspirations as a dramatist began to conflict with his profes-
sional duties. He obtained a release for one year, with permission to
undertake the direction of the City Theatre.
In spite of the enthusi-
asm with which he devoted himself to this task, and the excellent
artistic results he secured, the enterprise failed through lack of pub-
lic support; but as a theatre director he had proven himself a worthy
follower in the footsteps of Goethe.
Goethe's influence is frequently observable in Immermann's works.
His Merlin,' which he has himself called "a tragedy of negation,”
has strong traces of the Faustspirit; but it is more purely alle-
gorical, treads the earth less firmly, and as Kuno Francke says, its
keynote is one of “discord and destruction, whereas that of Faust)
is one of hope and endeavor. ” In Immermann's first romance, “The
Epigoni, published in 1835, we have an echo of Goethe's Wilhelm
Meister. ) It portrays certain aspects of the age, with its vices and
its aspirations. It is designed to show the disastrous effects of mod-
ern civilization, with its changes in the methods of industrial produc-
tion. The author declares that with storm-like rapidity the present
age is moving on towards a dry mechanism. ” He calls the time
an age of the afterborn” (hence the title), and adds: “Of misfortune
there has been enough at all times. The curse of the present gen-
eration is to be miserable without any particular misfortune. ” There
is a pessimistic coloring in his portrait of the time, and he never
found the solution as Goethe did.
Of Immermann's numerous dramas, the most important after (Mer-
lin' is Das Trauerspiel in Tyrol' (The Tragedy in the Tyrol), pub-
lished in 1828. It is the story of the heroic patriot Andreas Hofer.
But the work with which in the public mind Immermann's name is
most intimately associated is his second and last romance, Münch-
hausen, eine Geschichte in Arabesken? (Münchhausen, a Story in
Arabesques), published in 1839. It consists of two loosely connected
stories, of which the love idyl of peasant life in Westphalia with its
survivals of patriarchal traditions - sometimes separately published
with the title of “The Oberhof — is full of genuine poetic feeling
and fineness of character-drawing. Here, as in “The Epigoni,' there
are master strokes of satire, and a wealth of grotesque humor which
sometimes suggests the incredible tales of the hero's grandfather.
This book is the author's ripest work.
Immermann married in 1839 the daughter of Chancellor Niemeyer,
and it was under the inspiration of this new happiness that he under-
took to give a form of his own to the love epic of Tristan and
Isolde. At the same time he began writing his memorabilia. Both
works remained unfinished. Immermann died on August 25th, 1840,
at Düsseldorf. He was not a seer, and so fell short of being a great
(


## p. 7898 (#90) ############################################

7898
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
poet. The features of the age were plain to him, and he depicted
them with the pen of a keen satirist; but he could not see what lay
behind, nor point out the ailment which caused them to be distorted.
He stood in opposition to his time; he sought his themes in remote
realms. Merlin is not a modern like Faust; and Immermann was
not, like Goethe, able to point the way humanity should go. But
although the remote mediaval traditions which still obtain at the
Oberhof lie far from the pathway of modern progress, there are a
strange beauty and pathos in this delightful Westphalian idyl which
render it a classic of the world's literature.
A WEDDING AND A BETROTHAL
From (Oberhof)
D
URING the singing the deacon ascended the pulpit, and when
he happened to let his eye sweep over the congregation
he had an unexpected sight. A fine gentleman from the
court was standing among the peasants, whose attention he ab-
sorbed; they were continually looking up from their hymn-books
and casting side glances at his decorations. The nobleman
wanted to look over the hymn-book with some one or other of
the peasants, that he might join in the singing; but as every one
stepped aside respectfully as soon as the gentleman approached,
he did not succeed, and merely caused an almost general disturb-
ance. For no sooner did he sit down on a bench than all the
peasants who were already seated slid over into the farthest cor-
ner, and fled the bench entirely when the noble gentleman slid
after them. This sliding and sliding was continued to the third
and even fourth bench; so that the gentleman from court, who
had come to the village service with the best intentions, finally
had to give up the hope of taking any part in it. He had busi-
ness in the neighborhood, and would not neglect the opportunity
of letting his graciousness win the hearts of these country people
for the throne to which he stood so near. As soon as he heard
of the peasant wedding, he therefore made up his mind to lend
it his amiable presence from beginning to end.
To the deacon the sight of the nobleman, whom he knew to
be from the brilliant circles of the capital, was not a weicome
He knew to what strange customs the sermon had to con-
form, and he dreaded the nobleman's ridicule. His thoughts lost
one.


## p. 7899 (#91) ############################################

KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7899
thereby their natural clearness, his expressions became somewhat
veiled, and the more he said the further he got away from the
point. His preoccupation increased when he noticed that the
nobleman sent him understanding glances, and nodded his head
approvingly in some places, generally where the speaker was the
least satisfied with himself. He therefore cut short the separate
parts of the address and hastened to get to the ceremony.
The bridal couple knelt down, and the fateful questions were
put to them. But then something happened which threw the
noble stranger into the most abject fear. To the right and to the
left of him, in front and behind him, he saw men and women,
girls and boys, drawing out stout ropes twisted of sackcloth. All
had risen and were whispering to each other, and looking about,
so it seemed to him, with wild malicious eyes. As it was impos-
sible for him to guess the meaning of this preparation, he lost
all self-control; and as the lashes were undoubtedly intended for
some one who was to be beaten, the thought came to him that
he would be the object of this general abuse. He remembered
how shyly everybody had got out of his way, and he considered
how rough was the character of the country people, and that the
peasants, ignorant of his gracious frame of mind, had decided to
get rid of the stranger who was in their way. All this passed
through his mind with lightning quickness, and he did not know
how to save his dignity and his body from the awful attack.
While he was still helplessly trying to make up his mind, the
deacon finished the ceremony, and immediately the wildest tumult
ensued. All the men and women, carrying rope lashes, rushed
forward swinging their weapons, screaming in a perfect frenzy;
the courtly gentleman scaled several benches with three strides
and reached the pulpit, which he at once ascended, and from this
elevated position he called down to the frenzied crowd below:
“I advise you not to attack me! I have the kindest and most
gracious feelings towards you; but every insult shown me, the
King will requite as if it had been shown to himself. ”
But the peasants, carried away with their purpose, did not
listen to this speech. They ran toward the altar, and on the
way one and another got a chance beating before they reached
the object for whom it was intended. This was the bridegroom.
Raising his hands above his head, he did his best to break a way
through the crowd, which let their lashes dance about his head
and shoulders, and for that matter anywhere where there was


## p. 7900 (#92) ############################################

7900
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
)
room to hit. Forcing a way for himself, he ran toward the church
door; but before he reached it he had received at least a hundred
strokes, and thus beaten black and blue he left the sanctuary on
his wedding day. Everybody pursued him; the bride's father and
the bride followed; the sexten immediately shut the door when
the last one had departed, and went into the vestry, from which
there was a special exit. The church had been emptied in a few
seconds.
But the nobleman was still standing in the pulpit, and the
deacon was standing at the altar bowing to the noble gentleman
with a friendly smile. When the former on his Ararat had seen
that the beating was not intended for him, he had let his arms
sink reassured; and now that everything had become still, he
asked the deacon: “But tell me for heaven's sake, sir, what meant
this furious scene, and what had the poor man done to his assail-
ants ? »
“Nothing, your Excellency,” answered the deacon, who in spite
of the holiness of the place could scarcely keep from laughing
at the sight of the little courtier in the pulpit. “This beating of
the bridegroom after the ceremony is a very old custom, which
the people will not abandon. The meaning, they say, is that the
bridegroom shall feel how a beating hurts, that he may not abuse
his wife. ”
“Well, well, these are indeed strange customs! murmured
his Excellency, as he descended from the pulpit. The deacon re-
ceived him most courteously below, and was honored with three
kisses on his flat cheek. Then the clergyman led his noble
acquaintance into the vestry, that he might let him out into
the open air that way. The still intimidated man said he would
have to consider whether he could take part in the rest of the fes-
tivities. And on the way to the vestry the clergyman expressed
his deep regret that he had not known earlier of his Excellen-
cy's intentions, as he would then have been able to tell him of
the beating custom, and thus have saved him the terror and
alarm.
When they had both gone, the church was still and silent. It
was a pretty little chapel, clean and not too brilliantly colored: a
rich protector had done a great deal for it. The ceiling was
painted blue, with golden stars; on the pulpit was ingenious
wood carving; and among the tombstones of the old clergymen
which covered the floor, there were even three or four made of
»


## p. 7901 (#93) ############################################

KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7901
brass. The benches were kept clean and neat. A beautiful
cloth covered the altar, above which rose a set of twisted col-
umns painted to look like marble.
The light fell bright into the little church, the trees rustled
outside, and once in a while a little draught of air making its
way through a broken pane stirred the white scarf of the angel
over the baptismal font, or the tinsel of the crowns which had
been taken from the coffins of young girls, and which were now
decorating the columns.
Bride and bridegroom were gone, the bridal procession was
gone, and yet the little church was not entirely forsaken. Two
young people were still there, and did not know of each other's
presence; and it had happened in this way: The hunter had left
the bridal couple when they entered the church, and had gone
quietly up-stairs. There he sat down on a footstool unseen by
the others, with his back to them and to the altar, alone with
himself. He buried his face in his hands, but he could not
stand this long; his face, forehead, and cheeks burned too hotly.
The deep serious tones of the church hymn fell like a cooling
dew upon his passion, and he thanked God that at last the high-
est happiness had been vouchsafed him; and with the pious
words which came up to him from below he mixed his worldly
lines:-
« Whether laughing or in earnest,
By a sweet right thou art mine. »
A little child who had slipped up out of curiosity he took
softly by the hand and patted. Then he thought of giving the
child money, and did not do it, but took the little one in his
arms and kissed its forehead. And when the child, frightened by
his passionate caress, wanted to go down-stairs, he led it down
gently that it should not fall. Then he returned to his seat, and
heard nothing of the speech and the noise that followed; but
was lost in a deep blissful dream, in which he saw his mother
and his castle on the green mountain, and in the castle he saw
another too.
Lisbeth had followed the bride, feeling awkward and shy in
her strange costume. "Oh,” she thought, "at the very time
when he says of me that I am always so natural, I must go
about in borrowed clothes ! » She longed for her own. She
heard the peasants and the townspeople whisper her name behind
(


## p. 7902 (#94) ############################################

7902
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
ex-
her; the nobleman who met the procession at the church door
looked long and critically at her through his lorgnette. She had
to stand all this now, when her beauty had just been praised in
song, when her heart was overflowing with joy and happiness.
She entered the church half dazed, and made up her mind to
stay behind when the procession went out, that she might not
again be the object of the talking and the joking of which she
had been conscious for the last quarter of an hour. She too
heard but little of the address, although she tried to follow the
words of her honored friend. And when the rings were
changed, the indifferent faces of the bride and bridegroom gave
her a peculiar feeling of mixed sadness, envy, and vexation that
so heavenly a moment should pass over unfeeling souls.
Then came the tumult, and she instinctively fled behind the
altar. When all was still again she took a deep breath, smoothed
out her apron, pushed back a curl which had fallen over her
forehead, and took new heart. She would try to get back to the
Oberhof by a side path, and get rid of these tiresome clothes.
She walked with short steps and lowered eyes through a side
aisle to the door,
The hunter, at last awakened from his dreams, came down
the stairs. He too wished to get out of the church, although he
did not know whither he should then go. His heart beat high
when he saw Lisbeth; she raised her eyes and stood still, shy
and demure. Then silently, without looking at each other, they
went toward the door and he laid his hand on the latch to
“It is locked! ” he cried in a tone of delight, as if the
greatest happiness had come to him. “We are locked into the
church!
«Locked in ? ” she asked, full of sweet alarm. —“Why does
that frighten you: where can one be safer than in church ? ” he
said blissfully. He laid his arm around her waist; with the other
hand he took her hand, and so he led her to a seat, made her
sit down, and seated himself beside her. She looked down into
her lap, and let the ribbons of the many-colored bodice she wore
glide through her fingers. He had leaned his head on the prayer-
book rest; he looked at her askance, and touched the cap she
wore as if to try the material. He heard her heart beat and saw
her neck blush. “Yes, isn't it a hideous costume ? ” she asked,
hardly audibly after a long pause. “Oh! ” he cried, and tore his
vest open, “I did not look at the costume! ”
((
open it.


## p. 7903 (#95) ############################################

KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7903
He took both her hands, pressed them violently to his breast,
and drew her up from the bench.
“I cannot endure to sit so still! Let us look about the church,”
he cried. “There is not much worth seeing, I'm afraid,” she
answered trembling.
He walked with her over to the font, in which were still
some drops of the holy water; before the wedding there had
been a baptism in the church. He made her bend over it with
him, and look at the water in the bottom of the font. Then he
dipped his finger in and touched first her forehead, then his
own.
« For Heaven's sake, what are you doing! ” she exclaimed anx-
iously, quickly wiping off what she considered a blasphemous
touch. « 'Tis a second baptism I am giving,” he said with a won-
derful smile. « This water blesses the birth into life, and then
life goes on and on — for a long, long while; that is what is called
life and is no life — and then true life suddenly comes, and one
ought then to be baptized anew. ” She felt frightened in his
presence, and said falteringly, Come, we must find a way out
through the vestry. ” “No,” he cried, we will first look at the
crown of the dead: between birth and death our life finds its
light and beauty. ” He led her to the stateliest crown hanging on
the opposite column, and on the way he murmured with a dazed
look, as if intoxicated by his happiness, a sentence from Gray
which had no connection with his other thoughts, and which the
surroundings only suggested:-
((
«Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. »
Did he think of the girl from whose coffin the glittering crown
was taken ? I know not. Tinsel and shining rings were hanging
down in thin silk ribbons. He tore off two rings and whispered,
“ You are only poor rings, but I will raise you and consecrate you
to costly gold. ” He put one on Lisbeth's hand before she could
prevent him, and the other on his own. And he looked angry,
his lips curled as if in exalted scorn; he laid his clutched hand
on the back of her head as if he meant to revenge himself upon
her for having captured his soul. In this young heart, love made
as deep marks and furrows as a forest stream rushing down a
mountain.


## p. 7904 (#96) ############################################

7904
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
“Oswald ! ” she cried, and stepped back from him. It was the
first time she had called him by his first name. “We can do that
as well as the stupid peasants,” he said, "and if no other rings
are at hand, then we will take those that decorated the coffins,
for life is stronger than death. ” “Now I am going,” she whis-
pered, tottering. Her breath came quickly, so that her bodice
rose and fell.
But his strong arms had already enfolded her, and lifted her
and carried her up before the altar. There he put her down;
she lay half unconscious in his arms, and he murmured, sobbing
with the suffering and passion of his love: "Lisbeth! love! my
only one! Cruel one! You little thief and robber! Forgive me!
Will you be mine? mine for always ? ”
She did not answer. Her heart beat against his; she clung
close to him as if now they were but one. Her tears fell upon
his breast. Then she lifted her head, and their lips met. United
in this kiss, they stood a long, long time.
Then he pulled her gently down upon her knees beside
him, and both of them lifted their hands to the altar in prayer.
But they could only repeat, “Father, dear Father in Heaven;" and
they did not tire of repeating this in voices trembling with joy.
They said it as confidently as if the Father they were addressing
were holding out his hand to them.
Finally they ceased their praying, and laid their faces silently
against the altar cloth. Each had put an arm around the neck
of the other; their cheeks glowed side by side, and their fingers
played gently with each other's locks.
Thus they both knelt for a long while silently in the sanctu-
ary. Suddenly they felt some one touch their heads; they looked
up. The deacon was standing before them with radiant face, and
held his hand on their heads in blessing. He had happened
to step into the church from the vestry, and with great emotion
had witnessed the betrothal which had taken place here after the
wedding and in the very sight of God. He too was silent, but
his eyes spoke. He drew the young man and the girl to his
breast, and held his favorites close.
Then he led the couple into the vestry to let them out that
way. And thus all three went out of the little, bright, and quiet
.
village church.
»
1
1
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature) by Olga Flinch.


## p. 7905 (#97) ############################################

7905
INDIAN LITERATURE
BY EDWARD W. HOPKINS
he literature of India resembles all other literature of remote
antiquity, in that its beginnings, both in respect of age and
authorship, are hidden. But though the individual authors
of the Vedic Hymns, the earliest form of Indian literature, will never
be known, yet the date to which may be referred this first poetic
work of the Indo-Europeans can be established approximately, by
means of internal evidence, as from 1500 to 1000 B. C. Some schol-
ars incline to think that the Hymns were composed a few centuries
before this; some have even imagined that 3000 B. C. is not too early
a date to give to this venerable Collection,' which, however, as its
name and nature imply, can be assigned to no one specific time, but
is the gleaning of centuries. Neither the philological data nor the
changes in style render probable so great an antiquity as 3000 B. C.
The consensus of opinion of competent scholars fails to uphold this
extreme view, and inclines rather to believe that the Vedic Hymns
were composed between 1500 and 1000 B. C.
We may think, then, of the first Indian literature as originating
about this time in the northwest of India; the poets of the Hymns
living for the most part on either side of the river Indus, whence
they and their descendants immigrated slowly into the Punjab. Later
still, following the course of the Ganges, they planted one settlement
after another along the banks of the Holy River, as they extended
themselves to the southeast by means of successive victories over the
wild tribes of hostile natives. It is important to bear in mind from
the outset this southern trend of immigration, for it is reflected in the
literature of the Aryan invaders, whose first songs sing the glory of
Aryan gods and of the Aryan “white » race, as opposed to the black”
race of natives and their conquered deities. The poets that give us
the first Indian literature represent a people akin to Greek, Roman,
and Teuton; and like their cousins in the West, they are intensely
conscious of their Aryan (that is, “noble”) blood, and profoundly con-
temptuous of every other race. This factor must also be remembered;
for it explains some very interesting features in the later literature,
when Aryan blood began to be mixed with native blood and the
consciousness of racial superiority became vaguer.
XIV-495


## p. 7906 (#98) ############################################

7906
INDIAN LITERATURE
The extension of the warlike Aryans from the extreme northwest
to about the vicinity of the modern Benares in the southeast is con-
terminous with the First Period of Indian literature. This period
of literature – in contradistinction to the Sectarian (Buddhistic, etc. )
literature on the one hand, and to Sanskrit literature in the strict
sense of the term on the other — comprises the so-called Veda' or
Vedic literature, which consists in turn of four fairly well demar-
cated sub-periods: first, the creative period of the Vedic Hymns;
second, the ritual period of the prose Brāhmanas, which elucidate
the Hymns; third, that of the Upanishads or philosophical writings,
in both prose and poetry; and fourth, that of the Sūtras or manuals,
which explain religious rites, and lead up to some branches of San-
skrit literature through the extension of the Sūtras' subject-matter to
legal themes and to religious meditative poetry.
As might be expected from a view of the contents, the literary
products of these sub-periods are of very unequal value. While the
Hymns are of extraordinary interest, the Brāhmanas, composed by
later generations, when the intellectual activity of the people was
concerned not with productive but with explanatory work, are dull,
inane, and childishly superstitious. But at the very end of this sub-
period comes a revolt, and then are composed the Upanishads; com-
positions of great ability, and of lasting value for every student of
religion and of literature. The Sūtra period, again, is an intermedi-
ate one and of only passing interest. As said above, these four sub-
periods constitute the Vedic period. All that and only that which is
composed in this whole period is Vedic.