THIRTEENTH PART.

WERNER SUES FOR MARGARETTA. Night, how long and full of terror! When thou bring'st not to the weary With thy shades refreshing slumber, And sweet dreams to comfort him. Restlessly his thoughts are delving In the past's great heaps of rubbish, Where they rake up many fragments Of his former life, and nowhere Can his eyes abide with pleasure; Only gloomy spectres rise up, Which the sunlight soon would banish. Unrefreshed, next to the future Roves the mind from which sweet sleep flies; Forges plans, takes resolutions, Builds up proud and airy castles; But like owls and bats are flying All around them hosts of doubts which Drive away all hope and courage. From the tower-clock struck midnight. On his couch was lying sleepless Werner in the turret-chamber; Through the window beaming faintly Fell a narrow ray of moonlight, While beneath the Rhine did rush. And the sleepless brain of Werner Is by dream-like visions haunted. Once it seemed to him like Sunday; Bells are pealing, horses neighing, Toward the Schwarzwald goes a wedding, He walks at the head as bridegroom, By his side is Margaretta; And she wears a wreath of myrtle. In the village loud rejoicings, And the roads and village street are All with flowers overstrewn. In his priestly robes is standing By the church-door the old Pastor Blessing, beckoning him to enter-- But the vision's thread broke off here For a new one: He imagined At the door there was a knocking; And now enters the odd figure Of his dear old friend Perkéo, With his red nose shining brightly In the dimly-lighted chamber; And he speaks with husky voice thus: "Oh, my lad, with love don't meddle! Love's a fire which consumeth Him who kindles it, completely; And thou art no charcoal-burner! Come then home to the clear Neckar, Come with me to my old wine-tun, Which contains good stuff sufficient All thy love-flames to put out." Next he seems to be transported To an Eastern field of battle. Cries of Allah, sabres whirring; And he soon strikes down a Pashaw From his horse, and brings the crescent To the general, Prince Eugene, Who then claps him on the shoulder: "Well done, my Imperial captain!" From the battle-field his dreaming Flies back to the days of childhood, And his nurse sings in the garden: "Squirrel climbs up on the blackthorn, Squirrel goes up to the tree-top, Squirrel falls into his grave. Had he not so high ascended, Then his fall had been less heavy, Had not broken then his leg." Thus disturbed by all this dreaming, Werner sprang up of a sudden, With long strides walked through his chamber; And his mind was troubled always By the same portentous question: "Shall I ask the Baron for her?" Love well-nigh appeared to him now Just like stolen fruit; he felt that, Like a thief, before the day broke, He had better leave the castle. But just then the sun was rising, With the beauty of a bridegroom In the blush of early morning. "Be ashamed, my heart, great coward! Yes, I'll ask him," cried young Werner. At his breakfast sat the Baron Poring deeply o'er a letter Which the day before was brought him By a messenger from Suabia, From the Danube; where through narrow Valleys the young stream is flowing, And steep limestone rocks are rising From the water which reflects them With their verdant crowns of beech-trees; Thence the man had come on horseback. And the letter read as follows: "Does my comrade still remember His old Hans von Wildenstein? Down the Rhine and Danube many Drops of water have been flowing, Since we in that war together Lay before the bivouac-fire; And I see it by my son's growth, Who is now a strapping fellow-- Four-and-twenty years he reckons. First a page unto his highness The Grand Duke of Würtemberg; Then to Tübingen I sent him. If I by his debts can judge well, Which I had to pay for him there, He must have vast stores of knowledge. Now he stays with me at home, at Wildenstein; is hunting stags here, Hunting foxes, hares and rabbits; But sometimes the rascal even Hunts the peasants' pretty daughters. So 'tis time to think of taming Him beneath the yoke of marriage. If I err not, you, my friend, have Just a daughter suited for him. With old comrades 'tis the custom Not to beat around the bush, but Go straight forward to the business. So I ask you, shall my Damian Start upon a tour of courtship To your castle on the Rhine? Answer soon. Receive the greetings Of thy Hans von Wildenstein! "Postscript: Do you still remember That great brawl we had at Augsburg, And the rage of wealthy Fugger, The ill-humour of his ladies, Two-and-thirty years ago?" With great effort tried the Baron His friend's writing to decipher. Spent a good half-hour upon it Ere he came to its conclusion. Smiling said he then: "A Suabian Is a devil of a fellow. One and all they are unpolished. And coarse-grained is their whole nature; But within their square-built noddles Lie rich stores of clever cunning. Many stupid brainless fellows Might from them obtain supplies. Truly my old Hans now even In old age is calculating Like the best diplomatist. For, his much encumbered, rotten Owl's-nest out there on the Danube, Would be well propped up and rescued By a good rich marriage-portion. Still his plan is worth considering; For, the name of Wildenstein is Well known all throughout the Empire, Since they followed as crusaders In the train of Barbarossa. Let the younker try his chance then!" Werner with most solemn aspect, Dressed in black, the room now entered; Sadness lay on his pale features. In good humour spoke the Baron: "I was wishing just to see you, For I want you to be ready With your pen, and as my faithful Secretary write a letter, And a letter of importance. There's a knight who lives in Suabia Questioning me about my daughter; Asks her hand from me in marriage For his son, the younker Damian. Write him then, how Margaretta Daily grows in grace and beauty; How she--but I need not tell you. Think you are an artist--sketch then With your pen a life-like, faithful Portrait, not a jot forgetting. Also write, to his proposal I do offer no objection, And the younker, if he pleases, May come here and try his fortune." "May come here and try his fortune," Said young Werner, as if dreaming, Mumbling to himself--when grimly Said the Baron: "What's the matter? You have now as long a visage As a protestant old preacher On Good Friday. Is the fever Coming once again to plague you?" Gravely answered him young Werner: "I, my lord, can't write that letter, You must find another penman; For, I come myself as suitor, Come to ask you for your daughter." "Come--to ask you--for your daughter!" In his turn now said the Baron To himself--he made a wry mouth As one playing on the Jew's-harp, And he felt a sudden twitching In his foot from his old enemy Podagra, and gravely said: "My young friend, your brain is truly Still affected with the fever. Hurry quickly to the garden; There stands in the shade a fountain, There is flowing clear cool water; If you dip your head thrice in it Then your fever soon will cool." "Noble lord," now answered Werner, "Spare your jokes, for you may better Use them, when the noble younker Comes here from the land of Suabia. Calm and free from any fever Have I on this step decided, And to Margaretta's father I repeat the same petition." Darkly frowning said the Baron: "Do you want to hear from me then What your own good sense should tell you? Most unwillingly I hurt you With harsh words; I've not forgotten That the wound upon your forehead, Hardly healed yet, you received here By your ardour in my service. He who ventures as a suitor For my daughter first must show me That he comes of noble lineage. Nature has set up strict barriers Round us all with prescient wisdom, To us all our sphere assigning, Wherein we the best may prosper. In the Holy Roman Empire Is each rank defined most clearly-- Nobles, commoners, and peasants. If they keep within their circle, From themselves their race renewing, They'll remain then strong and healthy. Each is then just like a column, Which supports the whole; but never Should these classes mix together. Do you know the consequences? Our descendants would have something Of each class, and yet be nothing-- Shallow, good-for-nothing mongrels, Tossed about, because uprooted From the soil of old tradition. Firm, exclusive must a man be; And his course of life already Must be inborn, an inheritance Coming down through generations. Hence our custom does require Equal rank when people marry; And I hold as law this custom; I shall not allow a stranger To o'erleap this solid barrier, And no trumpeter shall therefore Ever woo a noble lady." Thus the Baron. With great labour Had he put the words together Of this solemn and unusual Theoretical discourse. Meanwhile Hiddigeigei lying There, behind the stove, was listening. At the end assent he nodded, But in thoughtful meditation Raised his paw up to his forehead, Reasoning to himself as follows: "Why do people kiss each other? Never shall I solve this question! I did think at last I'd solved it, Thought that kisses might be useful As a means to stop one's talking, And prevent one from declaiming Bitter stinging words of truth. But, alas, now this solution Seems, I must confess, erroneous; Else young Werner long before this Would have kissed my good old master." To the Baron said young Werner, And his voice was growing hollow: "Much I thank you for this lesson. 'Midst the fir-trees of the mountains, By the green waves of the river, In the sunlight of the May-time, Has my eye been overlooking All these barriers of custom. Thanks, that you have thus recalled them. Also, thanks for all your kindness, Shown to me while on the Rhine. Now my time is up, the meaning Of your words I thus interpret: 'Right about face!' I go gladly. As a suitor fully equal I shall here return, or never. Be not angry then--farewell!" Spoke, and from the room departed, And he knew what must be done now. At the door with troubled glances Still a long while gazed the Baron: "I am really sad," he muttered, "Wherefore is this brave youth's name not Damian von Wildenstein?" Parting, parting, dismal moment! Who first ever did invent it? Surely 'twas a wicked man, far In the Polar Sea, and freezing Round his nose the polar wind blew; And his shaggy, jealous consort, Plagued him, so he no more relished The sweet comfort of the train-oil. O'er his head he drew a yellow, Furry sealskin, and then waving With his fur-protected right hand, To his Ylaleyka spoke he First this harsh and mournful sentence: "Fare-thee-well, from thee I'm parting!" Parting, parting, dismal moment! In his turret-chamber Werner, Was now tying bag and baggage. Fastening up his travelling knapsack: Greets the walls of his snug chamber For the last time, for they seemed then Just like good old friends and comrades. Only these he took farewell of; Margaretta's eyes he could not For the world then have encountered. To the court-yard he descended, Quickly his good horse he saddled. Hoofs then clatter; a sad rider Rode forth from the castle's precincts. In the low ground by the river Stood a walnut-tree; once more there Now he halted with his horse, And once more took up his trumpet; From his overburdened soul then His farewell rang to the castle-- Rang out; don't you know the swan's song, When with death's foreboding o'er him Out into the lake he's swimming? Through the rushes, through the snow-white Water-lilies, rings his death-song: "Lovely world, I now must leave thee; Lovely world I die reluctant!" Thus he blew there. Were those tears which Glistened brightly on his trumpet, Or some rain-drops which had fallen? Onward now; the sharp spurs quickly In the horse's flanks he presses, And is flying at full gallop Round the forest's farthest edge.