TENTH PART.

YOUNG WERNER IN THE GNOME'S CAVE. From the Feldberg tears a raging Foaming torrent through the forests To the Rhine--its name is Wehra. In the narrow valley standeth 'Midst the rocks a single fir-tree; In the branches sat the haggard Wicked wood-sprite Meysenhartus, Who to-day behaved quite badly: Showing his sharp teeth and grinning, Tore a branch off from the fir-tree, And kept gnawing at a pine-cone; Clambered often quite indignant Up and down just like a squirrel; From the wings of a poor night-owl Roughly plucked out several feathers; And while mocking the old fir-tree Rocked himself upon its summit. "High old fir-tree, green old fir-tree! I with thee would ne'er my lot change. Firmly rooted must thou stand there, And take everything that happens; Never canst thou quit thy station. And if ever Fate ordaineth. Thou to far-off lands shalt wander, Men have first to come with axes; With hard strokes they hack and cut thee, Deep into thy flesh, till falling; And then strip unmercifully All thy skin from off thy body; Throw thee next into the Rhine, and Make thee swim as far as Holland. And if e'er they pay the honour On a frigate to erect thee As a proud and stately mast, still Thou art but a smooth-skinned fir-tree, Without roots there lonely standing; And thou yearnest on the ocean For thy old home in the forest, Till at last a flash of lightning Mast and ship and all destroyeth. High old fir-tree, green old fir-tree! I with thee would ne'er my lot change!" Said the fir-tree: "Everybody Must accept the sphere he's born in, And fulfil his duties fully. So we think here in the forest; And 'tis well so, at least better Than to hop will-o'-the-wisp like, Playing pranks and doing mischief, Men and cattle oft misleading, And the stupid wanderer's curses As reward home with thee taking. Anyhow, no one cares for thee. For, at best, a peasant sayeth, Devil take this Meysenhartus! But they're others who write volumes Proving thou hast no existence; That to lose one's way at night-time Comes from fogs and drunken frolics. Oh the spirit-shares stand badly! On the highway I would rather As a paving-stone be lying, Than to be a third-class spirit, Like the wood-sprite Meysenhartus." Said the spirit: "Thou knowest nothing Of all this, my noble fir-tree. Meysenhartus and his brothers O'er the globe rule powerfully; Everywhere throughout creation Are wrong tracks, and also people Who upon these same paths wander. And whenever, gay or mournful, Someone goes upon a wrong track, He has been by us deluded. Let them doubt if there are spirits; Still they are in our dominion. And to-day you'll see me leading Someone far astray to show him That the spirits are in numbers." From the hill came Master Werner. Deeply musing o'er his love-dream He had wandered through the forest, And as far as man is happy Here below, he was; and buoyant Hope and joy his heart were filling. Many burning thoughts were passing Through his brain, as if they shortly Into love-songs might be growing, Just as caterpillars later Into butterflies develop. Homeward now he would be turning; But the wood-sprite Meysenhartus Hid with dust the right path from him, And young Werner, absent-minded, 'Stead of river-ward went inland. Now again the wood-sprite grinning Clambered to the fir-tree's summit, Rocking gaily in the branches. "He is caught!" so said he, mocking. Werner paying no attention, Went up through the Hasel valley, Till he came to a steep mountain, To a corner cool and shady. Holly, sloe, and climbing ivy Grew around the rocks luxuriant, While near by a clear spring rippled. Through the bushes stepped young Werner To refresh himself by drinking. Strongly tangled was the brushwood, And upon it he trod firmly. Then upon his ear broke squeaking Wailing tones, as from a mole which At his subterranean labour Caught in traps and now detected, Roughly is jerked up to daylight. From the grass rose something crackling; Lo, there stood a gray-clad pygmy, Hardly three feet high, and hunchbacked; But his face was clear and gentle, And his odd small eyes looked clever. Gracefully he let the long ends Of his garment on the ground trail, And said, limping: "Sir, you have been Treading on my foot most rudely." Said young Werner: "I am sorry." Now the pygmy: "And what business Have you in our vale at all?" Said young Werner: "I by no means Wish to seek for the acquaintance Of such injudicious pygmies, Who like grasshoppers are skipping, And are asking silly questions." Said the pygmy: "Thus ye all speak, All ye rude and clumsy mortals; Ever with your big feet tramping Till the ground beneath you trembles. And yet you are only clinging To the surface like the chafers Which are nestling in the tree-bark; Thinking that you rule creation, But entirely ignoring All those spirits which, though silent, On the heights, in depths, are working. Oh ye rude and clumsy mortals! Shut up proudly in your houses, You are groaning with hard labour. In the hot-house of your noddles Are some plants called art and science, And you even brag of such weeds. By the lime-spar and rock-crystal! You have much to learn, I tell you, Ere the truth you will see dawning!" Said young Werner: "It is lucky That to-day I feel so peaceful, Else I should have taken pleasure By your long gray beard to hang you On the holly bushes yonder! But my heart to-day is glowing With the sunshine of my love-dreams, Which you with your spars and crystals Never can be comprehending. Oh, to-day I could embrace all, And be kind to everybody. Say then who you are, and whether I can be of any service." Then the dwarf said: "This sounds better. To your questions I will answer. To the race of gnomes belong I, Who in crevices are living; Down in subterranean caverns, Watch there gold and silver treasures, Grind and polish bright the crystals, Carry coals to the eternal Fire in the earth's deep centre; And we heat there well. Without us You here would have long since frozen. From Vesuvius and Mount Etna You can see our furnace smoking. E'en for you ungrateful mortals, Though unseen, we're ever working; And sweet lullabies are singing In the mountains to your rivers, That no harm they may be doing; Keep the crumbling rocks from falling, Chain the ice up in the glaciers; Boil for you the pungent rock-salt, Also mix much healing matter With the springs from which you're drinking. Never ceasing, and enormous Is the gray gnomes' daily labour In the bowels of the earth. Formerly they used to know us; Wise and clever men and women, Grave old priests descended to us In the depths, where to our labour They oft listened, and they spoke thus: "In the caves the gods are dwelling." But you have become estranged since; Still, we willingly will open To your gaze our hidden treasures; And we hold in great affection All the travelling German scholars; For their hearts are kind and generous, And they see much more than others. You seem also one, so follow! Here my cave is, in this valley; If you can but stoop a little, I will show you where to enter." Said young Werner: "I am ready." Thereupon the little pygmy From the rock pushed back some brushwood, When appeared a small low passage. "Light is needed here for mortals," Said the gnome, who now was rubbing Two hard flints, and soon had lighted By the sparks a piece of pine-wood. With this torch he went ahead then; Werner followed, often stooping, Often even well-nigh creeping, For the rocks were nearly meeting. Soon, however, widely opened At the passage end a cavern Of gigantic height and grandeur. Slender columns there supported Lofty arches of the ceiling; From the walls the gray stalactites Hung in various patterns twining, Marvellous, yet graceful textures; Some like tears which from the walls dropped, Others like the richly twisted Branches of gigantic corals. An unearthly bluish colour All throughout the space was glowing, Mingled with the glaring torch-light From the sharp-edged stones reflected. From the depths a rushing sound rose As from distant mountain-streams. Werner gazed at all this splendour, Felt as in a dream transported To some strange and lofty temple, And his heart was filled with awe. "My young friend," now said the pygmy, "Tell me, pray, what are you thinking Of the gnome's secluded dwelling? This is but a place for work-days. Fairer ones far in the North lie, Also in the Alpine caverns; But Italia owns the fairest, On the rocky shore of Capri, In the Mediterranean Sea. O'er the sea's blue waters rise up The stalactites' lofty arches, And the waves in the dark cavern With blue magic light are gleaming, And the tide protects the entrance. The Italian gnomes there often Bathe and frolic with the daughters Of old Nereus, the sea-god, And the sailor shuns the grotto. But perhaps in later ages May a sunday-child look in there, Like thyself a travelling minstrel, Or a merry-hearted artist. But now, come, we must go farther!" Downward stepped he with the torch-light Ever farther, Werner saw how Huge chaotic rocky masses Lay in heaps of wild confusion, Over which was rushing foaming, To the bottomless abyss, a river. Over steep and high rocks clambering, They now entered a new passage. It looked home-like, a large square-room, Of high rocky walls constructed, Fitted for a hermitage; Round about stood slender columns. Ever dropping from the ceiling And through centuries increasing Had stalactites slowly formed them; And some others stood half finished In the process of formation. Now the gnome knocked on the columns, And mysterious solemn tones rang Out in deep harmonious rhythm. "They are tuned," he said, "according To the harmony of the spheres." In this room a rock was lying. Smooth and round, just like a table; And there motionless and silent Sat a man--looked as if sleeping, Leaned his head upon his right hand. Stony were his lordly features, And the flame of life no longer Played o'er them; and doubtless many Tears had his sad eyes been shedding. Petrified they now were hanging In his beard and from his robes. Werner gazed at him with terror And he asked: "Is this a statue, Or a man of flesh and blood?" Said the gnome: "This is my guest here, 'Tis the silent man, whom many Years I've comfortably sheltered. Once he was a proud old mortal, And I found him in the valley, And I offered then to show him Where to find the nearest village. But he shook his head and broke out In a mocking scornful laughter. Marvellously grand his words were, Now like prayers devout and pious, Like a psalm, such as we gnomes sing Often in the earth's vast bowels; Then like curses unto heaven. Much I could not understand. But it woke the recollections Of the days of time primeval, When the wild ferocious Titans Rocks and mountains tore up o'er us From their firm and deep foundations, And we fled to greater depths. For the man I felt great pity, And I took him to my cavern; And he liked it, when I showed him All the gnomes' incessant labours; And directly felt at home here. Oft together have we listened To the growing of stalactites, Chatted also many evenings Of the things below us hidden; Only when my conversation Turned to men, he grew quite angry; Dark his frowns were, and he broke once Seven columns in his fury. When I wished to praise the sunlight And the skies, he stopped me, saying: 'Speak not of the sky or sunlight! In the sunlight there above us Snakes are creeping, and they sting one; Men are living and they hate one; Up there in the starry heavens We see questions which are waiting For an answer; who can give it?' So he stayed here in the cavern, And the grief which overwhelmed him Was dissolved in tender sadness. Oft I saw him gently weeping; Oft, when a melodious wailing Through the columns' hollow shafts rang, He sat there, his sweet songs singing. But he gradually grew silent. Did I ask him what he wanted, Then he smiling took my hand: 'Gnome, I many songs can sing thee, But the best I have not sung yet. Will you know its name? 'Tis silence. Silence--silence! oh how well one Learns it here in thy deep cavern; Depth creates true modesty. But the cold is o'er me creeping; Gnome! 'tis true, my poor heart freezes. Gnome! dost thou know what true love is? If for diamonds thou art digging, And dost find them, take them with thee, Guard them safely in thy cavern. Gnome, thy heart will never freeze then!' "These the last words he has spoken. Now for years he has been silent In this spot. He has not died yet Nor is living, but his body Slowly into stone is changing; And I nurse him; heartfelt pity For my silent guest I cherish, Often try to cheer his spirit With the columns' solemn music, And I know it pleases him. Without taking any freedom, I think you too are a minstrel; And the service you can do me Is to play before my guest here." Then young Werner took his trumpet And began to play; his mournful Strains were ringing through the cavern As if breathing forth deep pity. Then in thinking of his own love, Through the sadness now there mingled Strains of joy--first faint and distant, Then came nearer--fresher, fuller, And the last notes sounded like a Glorious hymn on Easter morning. And the silent man then listened, Nodded gently with his head. Fare-thee-well, dream on in peace, thou Silent man, in thy still cavern, Till the fulness comes of knowledge And of love, to wake the sleeper. Through the winding cave young Werner With the gnome was now returning. As the spacious dome they entered A great rock the gnome uplifted. Underneath a shrine was hidden, And within were sparkling jewels, Also writings and old parchments. One pale amethyst, and papers Which by age had turned quite yellow, Gave the gnome now to young Werner, Saying: "Take these as mementoes! If the world above doth vex thee, Here thou e'er wilt find a refuge. But when wicked men are saying That gnomes' feet are webbed like geese-feet, Then, by lime-spar and rock-crystal! Say that they are dreadful liars. True, our soles are somewhat flattened; But 'tis only a rude peasant Who so cruelly maligns us. Now good-bye, there is the outlet; Take the pine-torch, light thyself now, I have other things to do."-- Spoke and crept into a crevice. Musing through the narrow passage Went young Werner, and his head struck Oft against the rocky ceiling Ere he reached again the daylight. Peacefully the evening-bell rang Through the vale as he went homeward.