SIXTEENTH PART.

SOLUTION AND END. Innocentius the Eleventh Was kind-hearted; and his dinner He had just now greatly relished. At dessert he still was sitting, And while luscious fruit enjoying, Said to Cardinal Albani: "Who was that young pallid lady, Who this morning in St. Peter's Fell upon the floor and fainted?" Answered Cardinal Albani: "On this subject just at present I can give no information; But the Monsignor Venusto I will ask, for he knows always What in Rome is daily happening; Knows what in salons is gossiped, What the senators are doing, What is drunk by Flemish artists, What is sung by Prima Donnas, Even what the puppet-show is Playing on the Square Navona. There is naught the Monsignore Can't unravel and discover." E'en before was served the coffee (At that time this was a novel Beverage and rarely taken, Only on the highest feast-days) Had the Cardinal already Learnt the facts. He thus related: "This pale maiden is a noble Lady, who has travelled hither With that German Princess Abbess; And she saw--most marvellously-- In the church a man this morning, Whom she once had lost her heart with, And whom, still more marvellously, She unto this day is loving, Notwithstanding and in spite of Want of noble birth and titles, And her father's stem refusal. And the cause of this her fainting Is, again most marvellously, No one else but Signor Werner, Chapel-master to your Holiness. This the Monsignor Venusto Heard to-day, when on a visit To the Abbess who related Confidentially these facts." Then the Pope said: "This is truly A most strange and touching meeting. Were the subject not too modern, And the actors of the drama Not such semi-barbarous Germans, Then some poet might win laurels In the sweet groves of Arcadia, Should he sing this wondrous meeting. But I truly take an interest In the grave young Signor Werner. Greatly has improved the singing Of my choir, since he leads it, And the taste for solemn music; While my own Italian singers Care too much for operatic Tunes of lighter character. Quietly he does his duty, Of his own accord ne'er speaking; Never begs of me a favour; Never was his hand extended To receive the gifts of bribery. Yet examples of corruption Are more frequent with us, surely, Than the fleas in sultry summer. Monsignor Venusto knows this! Seems to me that this grave German Is consumed by secret sorrow. I should really like to know now, If he's thinking of his love yet?" Said the Cardinal Albani: "I well-nigh may answer for this. In the books kept on the conduct Of all high and low officials In the State and Church departments, It is mentioned as a wonder That he strictly shuns all women. First we nourished a suspicion That his heart had fallen victim To the charms of the fair hostess Of the inn near Vale Egeria. He was seen each evening strolling Through the Porta Sebastiano, And outside there is no dwelling But the tavern just now mentioned. Thus such nightly promenading Of one yet in early manhood Could not but arouse suspicion. Therefore we once sent two persons Carefully to track his footsteps, But they found him 'mid the ruined Tombs along the Appian Way. There had once a great patrician Built a tomb to his freed woman, Whom he'd brought as a remembrance From Judæa, at the time of The destruction of the Temple. She was called Zatcha Achyba. There he sat, the spies related; 'Twas a subject for an artist: The Campagna's sombre landscape; Moonlight on the marble tombstone; He his mantle wrapped around him; Mournfully he blew his trumpet Through the gloomy lonely silence. This had brought upon him later Many mocking jeers like this one: 'Signor Werner is composing For the Jewess there a requiem.'" At this smiled the Holy Father, And the Cardinals did likewise; Following these high examples, All the chamberlains smiled also; Even Carlo Dolci's features Now relaxed their gloomy sadness. And the Pope said: "We must all have Great respect for this young German. It were well if many others Who at night away are stealing, To the Appian Way were going. Signor Werner, I assure you, Stands most high in my good graces, And to-morrow he shall see it; For, I recollect, I've granted Then an audience to the Abbess." On the first day of July in Sixteen hundred seventy-nine, there Rose the sun with special glory. Cooling blew the tramontana Through the cypresses and myrtles In the Vatican's fair garden; And the half-parched flowers gladly Raised their heads, breathed out fresh fragrance, O'er the bronze gigantic pine-cone,-- Which once Hadrian's museum Had adorned, and now was living 'Mid the jessamines and roses, As a pensioner contented,-- Lively lizards swiftly glided, Snapping at the tiny insects Ever dancing in the sunshine. Fountains played, and birds were singing; E'en the pale old marble statues With warm life became imbued. And the satyr, with his reed flute, Raised his foot as if intending To go dancing round the garden; But Apollo's hand waved warning: "Friend, those times have passed forever; Thou wouldst only raise a scandal." Bathed in sunlight, Rome looks smiling O'er the river at the Vatican; From the sea of houses, churches, And fair palaces, the Quirinal Proudly rises; in the distance Towers up the Capitolium In the violet autumn haze. Through the Boscareccio's verdant Alleys swept the shining white robe Of His Holiness, who kindly To the Abbess and the maiden Here had granted audience. And the Abbess gained assurance, That her lawsuit would be taken Into prompt consideration. Then to Margaretta turning. Said the Pope: "None of the pilgrims Ever leave Rome without comfort; So I, as the soul's physician, Must prevent another fainting." And he whispered to a servant: "Go and fetch the chapel-master." Werner came: to stately manhood In this southern clime he'd ripened Since he left, a hopeless suitor, The old castle in the Rhine-land. Life's wild whirlpool, since that morning, Had well tossed him hither thither. Willingly I would relate here, How he went to many countries; How o'er land and sea he travelled; How he with the Knights of Malta Cruised against the Turkish corsairs; Till at last a fate mysterious Unto Rome had duly brought him. But my song becomes impatient; Like a driver who is snapping At the door his whip, 'tis calling: "Onward! On to the conclusion!" Werner came; bewildered gazed he Twice, yes thrice, at Margaretta, Gazed at her in utter silence; But his glances did express more Than a printed folio volume. 'Twas the glance with which Ulysses Sitting by the suitors' corpses Gazed upon his consort, from whom He by twenty years of wandering And of suffering had been parted. Innocentius the Eleventh Was kind-hearted, a discerner Of men's hearts. Most kindly said he: "Those whom Providence united In His goodness and His wisdom, Shall no more be separated. Yesterday when in St. Peter's, And to-day here in the garden, I have come to the conviction, That there is a case here waiting For my papal interference. "'Tis indeed a mighty power Love, a power all subduing; Than light even more ethereal, Doth it penetrate all barriers, And the chair of Peter also Is not safe from its invasion When it asks us for our help. "But it is a pleasant duty Of the head of Christendom, To make smooth the path of lovers, Every obstacle removing, That true love may be victorious. And of all the various nations, 'Tis the Germans who beyond all Keep us busy with such matters. So the Count of Gleichen brought here With him a fair Turkish consort From the Holy Land, though knowing His own consort still was living. And our annals make full mention Of our predecessor's troubles Brought about by this wild action. So likewise the most unhappy Of all knights came here, Tannhauser: "'Pope Urbano, Pope Urbano, Heal the sick man held as captive Seven years within the mountain Of the wicked goddess Venus!' But to-day the case is different And more pleasing; there is nothing Which conflicts with any canon. There is only a slight scruple-- If I've heard right--with the Baron. You, my Werner, have been faithful, But I read 'neath all this quiet Resignation to your duty, That reluctantly you sang here, As a caged-up bird is singing. Oft you've asked for your dismission, Which I ever did deny you, And to-day would never grant you, If it only were the custom, That the papal chapel-master Could like other mortals marry. But in Rome we must keep always, As you know, traditions sacred; Palestrina for this reason Went himself to foreign lands. "Therefore go with my full favour; And because the lady's father Thinks the name of Werner Kirchhof Much too simple, so I grant you Knighthood by my sovereign power. You, I know, care naught about it; For you by your art ennobled Think such titles of no moment. But perhaps the gracious lady May consider it more proper, To bestow her hand in marriage On the Marquis Camposanto Rather than on Master Werner. And because I hold the power Both to bind as well as loosen, I now solemnly betroth you. E'en this loveless age rejoices At examples of devotion. You have shown one--be then happy, And receive my papal blessing." This he spoke with much emotion. And overwhelmed with grateful feelings Werner knelt with Margaretta Down before the Holy Father; And the Abbess wept so freely That the grass thought it was raining. With the tears of the good Abbess Closes now the touching story Of the young musician Werner And the lovely Margaretta. But who's wandering late at night-time Through the Corso, who is stealing Through that dark and narrow side-street? 'Tis the faithful coachman Anton; Filled with joy is his whole being. To give vent unto this feeling He is going to the wine-house, To the tavern del Fachino. And to-night he is not drinking Country wine in fogliette; He has ordered a straw-covered Bottle of good Orvieto And of Monte Porzio. Panes are crashing, fragments flying; For he throws each empty bottle In his rapture through the window. Though indignant at the oil-drops Which upon the wine are floating, Just like comets in the ether, Still he drinks and drinks with ardour; Only while the tavern-keeper Went to fetch him the sixth bottle From the cellar, thus he spoke out: "Thou, oh heart of an old coachman, Now rejoice, for soon thou'lt harness Thy good horses and drive homeward. From the standpoint of a coachman Italy is but a mournful Land, behind in every comfort. Horrid roads, and frequent toll-gates, Musty stalls, and oats quite meagre, Coaches rough! I feel insulted Every time I see those waggons Drawn by oxen yoked together. The first element is wanting Of a coachman's daily comfort, 'Tis the handy German hostler. Oh how much I miss those worthies! Oh how gladly I will welcome One in pointed cap and apron! In my joy again to see him I will hug and even kiss him. And at home what great surprises Are in store! Oh never was I So impressed with the grave duties Of a coachman as at present At a proud trot, such as never Has been seen in this whole country, Shall I drive my lord and ladies Home through Florence and Milan. "At Schaffhausen, the last station For our night's rest, I must promptly Send a messenger on horseback, And he must alarm the city: 'Put up quickly all your banners, Load your cannons for saluting, And erect an arch of honour!' Then we enter the next evening Through the ancient gate in triumph, And my whip I'll crack so loudly That the town-house windows rattle. Then I hear the aged Baron Asking sharply: 'What's the meaning Of these banners and this uproar?' From afar I shout already: 'Heaven's blessing rests upon us; Here a bridal pair are coming, And, my lord, they are your children.' This day ne'er shall be forgotten! In remembrance shall the tom-cat Hiddigeigei have a genuine Whole well-smoked Italian sausage. For the sake of after ages Must the good schoolmaster make me A fine poem on this subject; I don't care, e'en should it cost me The amount of two whole thalers, And it must conclude as follows: 'From true love and trumpet-blowing Many useful things are springing; For true love and trumpet-blowing E'en a noble wife are winning. May true love and trumpet-blowing Each one find good fortune bringing, As our trumpeter young Werner, On the Rhine at old Säkkingen.'"