Kitabı oku: «The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 05», sayfa 34

CHAPTER XV

The Journey to Vienna

After this last adventure they lived quietly and happily at the castle. The knight more and more clearly perceived the heavenly goodness of his wife, which had been so nobly exhibited by her pursuit and her rescue in the Black Valley, where Kühleborn's power again commenced; Undine herself felt that peace and security which is never lacking to a mind so long as it is distinctly conscious of being on the right path, and, besides, in the newly-awakened love and esteem of her husband many a gleam of hope and joy shone upon her. Bertalda, on the other hand, showed herself grateful, humble, and timid, without regarding her conduct as anything meritorious. Whenever Huldbrand or Undine were about to give her any explanation regarding the covering of the fountain or the adventure in the Black Valley, she would earnestly entreat them to spare her the recital, as she felt too much shame at the recollection of the fountain and too much fear at the remembrance of the Black Valley. She learned therefore nothing further of either; and for what end was such knowledge necessary? Peace and joy had visibly taken up their abode at Castle Ringstetten. They felt secure on this point, and imagined that life could now produce nothing but pleasant flowers and fruits.

In this happy condition of things winter had come and passed away, and spring with its fresh green shoots and its blue sky was gladdening the joyous inmates of the castle. Spring was in harmony with them, and they with spring; what wonder then that its storks and swallows inspired them also with a desire to travel? One day when they were taking a pleasant walk to one of the sources of the Danube, Huldbrand spoke of the magnificence of the noble river, how it widened as it flowed through countries fertilized by its waters, how the charming city of Vienna shone forth on its banks, and how with every step of its course it increased in power and loveliness. "It must be glorious to go down the river as far as Vienna!" exclaimed Bertalda, but immediately relapsing into her present modesty and humility she paused and blushed deeply.

This touched Undine deeply, and with the liveliest desire to give pleasure to her friend she asked, "What hinders us from starting on the little voyage?" Bertalda exhibited the greatest delight, and both she and Undine began at once to picture in the brightest colors the tour of the Danube. Huldbrand also gladly agreed to the prospect; only he once whispered anxiously in Undine's ear, "But Kühleborn becomes possessed of his power again out there!"

"Let him come," she replied with a smile; "I shall be there, and he ventures upon none of his mischief before me." The last impediment was thus removed; they prepared for the journey, and soon after set out upon it with fresh spirits and the brightest hopes.

But wonder not, O man, if events always turn out different from what we have intended! That malicious power, lurking for our destruction, gladly lulls its chosen victim to sleep with sweet songs and golden fairy tales; while on the other hand the rescuing messenger from Heaven often knocks sharply and alarmingly at our door.

During the first few days of their voyage down the Danube they were extremely happy. Everything grew more and more beautiful, as they sailed further and further down the proudly flowing stream. But in a region, otherwise so pleasant, and in the enjoyment of which they had promised themselves the purest delight, the ungovernable Kühleborn began, undisguisedly, to exhibit his power, which started again at this point. This was indeed manifested in mere teasing tricks, for Undine often rebuked the agitated waves or the contrary winds, and then the violence of the enemy would be immediately submissive; but again the attacks would be renewed, and again Undine's reproofs would become necessary, so that the pleasure of the little party was completely destroyed. The boatmen too were continually whispering to one another in dismay and looking with distrust at the three strangers whose servants even began more and more to forebode something uncanny and to watch their masters with suspicious glances. Huldbrand often said to himself, "This comes from like not being linked with like, from a man uniting himself with a mermaid!" Excusing himself, as we all love to do, he would often think indeed as he said this, "I did not really know that she was a sea-maiden. Mine is the misfortune that every step I take is disturbed and haunted by the wild caprices of her race; but mine is not the guilt." By such thoughts as these he felt himself in some measure strengthened, but, on the other hand, he felt increasing ill-humor and almost animosity toward Undine. He would look at her with an expression of anger, the meaning of which the poor wife understood well. Wearied with this exhibition of displeasure and exhausted by the constant effort to frustrate Kühleborn's artifices, she sank one evening into a deep slumber, rocked soothingly by the softly gliding bark.

Scarcely, however, had she closed her eyes when every one in the vessel imagined he saw, in whatever direction he turned, a most horrible human head; it rose out of the waves, not like that of a person swimming, but perfectly perpendicular as if invisibly supported upright on the watery surface and floating along in the same course with the bark. Each wanted to point out to the other the cause of his alarm, but each found the same expression of horror depicted on the face of his neighbor, only that his hands and eyes were directed to a different point where the monster, half laughing and half threatening, rose before him. When, however, they all wished to make one another understand what each saw, and all were crying out, "Look there—! No—there!" the horrible heads all appeared simultaneously to their view, and the whole river around the vessel swarmed with the most hideous apparitions. The universal cry raised at the sight awoke Undine. As she opened her eyes the wild crowd of distorted visages disappeared. But Huldbrand was indignant at such unsightly jugglery. He would have burst forth in uncontrolled imprecations had not Undine said to him with a humble manner and a softly imploring tone, "For God's sake, my husband, we are on the water; do not be angry with me now." The knight was silent, and sat down absorbed in reverie. Undine whispered in his ear, "Would it not be better, my love, if we gave up this foolish journey and returned to Castle Ringstetten in peace?"

But Huldbrand murmured moodily, "So I must be a prisoner in my own castle and be able to breathe only so long as the fountain is closed! I would your mad kindred—" Undine lovingly pressed her fair hand upon his lips. He paused, pondering in silence over much that Undine had before said to him.

Bertalda had meanwhile given herself up to a variety of strange thoughts. She knew a good deal of Undine's origin, and yet not the whole, and the fearful Kühleborn especially had remained to her a terrible but wholly unrevealed mystery. She had indeed never even heard his name. Musing on these strange things, she unclasped, scarcely conscious of the act; a gold necklace, which Huldbrand had lately purchased for her of a traveling trader; half dreamingly she drew it along the surface of the water, enjoying the light glimmer it cast upon the evening-tinted stream. Suddenly a huge hand was stretched out of the Danube, seizing the necklace and vanishing with it beneath the waters. Bertalda screamed aloud, and a scornful laugh resounded from the depths of the stream. The knight could now restrain his anger no longer. Starting up, he inveighed against the river; he cursed all who ventured to intrude upon his family and his life, and challenged them, be they spirits or sirens, to show themselves before his avenging sword.

Bertalda wept meanwhile for her lost ornament, which was so precious to her, and her tears added fuel to the flame of the knight's anger, while Undine held her hand over the side of the vessel, dipping it into the water, softly murmuring to herself, and only now and then interrupting her strange mysterious whisper, as she entreated her husband, "My dearly loved one, do not scold me here; reprove others if you will, but not me here. You know why!" And indeed, he restrained the words of anger that were trembling on his tongue.

Presently in her wet hand which she had been holding under the waves she brought up a beautiful coral necklace of so much brilliancy that the eyes of all were dazzled by it. "Take this," said she, holding it out kindly to Bertalda; "I have ordered this to be brought for you as a compensation, and don't be grieved any more, my poor child."

But the knight sprang between them. He tore the beautiful ornament from Undine's hand, hurled it again into the river, exclaiming in passionate rage, "Have you then still a connection with them? In the name of all the witches, remain among them with your presents and leave us mortals in peace, you sorceress!" Poor Undine gazed at him with fixed but tearful eyes, her hand still stretched out as when she had offered her beautiful present so lovingly to Bertalda. She then began to weep more and more violently, like a dear innocent child, bitterly afflicted. At last, wearied out, she said: "Alas, sweet friend, alas! farewell! They shall do you no harm; only remain true, so that I may be able to keep them from you. I must, alas, go away; I must go hence at this early stage of life. Oh woe, woe! What have you done! Oh woe, woe!"

She vanished over the side of the vessel. Whether she plunged into the stream or flowed away with it, they knew not; her disappearance was like both and neither. Soon, however, she was completely lost sight of in the Danube; only a few little waves kept whispering, as if sobbing, round the boat, and they almost seemed to be saying: "Oh woe, woe! Oh, remain true! Oh, woe!"

Huldbrand lay on the deck of the vessel, bathed in hot tears, and a deep swoon presently cast its veil of forgetfulness over the unhappy man.

WILHELM HAUFF

* * * * *

CAVALRYMAN'S MORNING SONG⁴⁷ (1826)

 
    Crimson morn,
  Shalt thou light me o'er Death's bourn?
  Soon will ring the trumpet's call;
  Then may I be marked to fall,
  I and many a comrade brave!
    Scarce enjoyed,
  Pleasure drops into the void.
  Yesterday on champing stallion;
  Picked today for Death's battalion;
  Couched tomorrow in the grave!
 
 
    Ah! how soon
  Fleeth grace and beauty's noon!
  Hast thou pride in cheeks aglow,
  Whereon cream and carmine flow?
  Ah! the loveliest rose turns sere!
    Therefore still
  I respond to God's high will.
  To the last stern fight I'll fit me;
  If to Death I must submit me,
  Dies a dauntless cavalier!
 

* * * * *

THE SENTINEL⁴⁸ (1827)

 
  Lonely at night my watch I keep,
  While all the world is hush'd in sleep.
  Then tow'rd my home my thoughts will rove;
  I think upon my distant love.
 
 
  When to the wars I march'd away,
  My hat she deck'd with ribbons gay;
  She fondly press'd me to her heart,
  And wept to think that we must part.
 
 
  Truly she loves me, I am sure,
  So ev'ry hardship I endure;
  My heart beats warm, though cold's the night;
  Her image makes the darkness bright.
 
 
  Now by the twinkling taper's gleam,
  Her bed she seeks, of me to dream,
  But ere she sleeps she kneels to pray
  For one who loves her far away.
 
 
  For me those tears thou needst not shed;
  No danger fills my heart with dread;
  The pow'rs who dwell in heav'n above
  Are ever watchful o'er thy love.
 
 
  The bell peals forth from yon watch-tower;
  The guard it changes at this hour.
  Sleep well! sleep well! my heart's with thee;
  And in your dreams remember me.
 

FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT

* * * * *

BARBAROSSA⁴⁹ (Between 1814 and 1817)

 
  The ancient Barbarossa,
    Friedrich, the Kaiser great,
  Within the castle-cavern
    Sits in enchanted state.
 
 
  He did not die; but ever
    Waits in the chamber deep,
  Where hidden under the castle
    He sat himself to sleep.
 
 
  The splendor of the Empire
    He took with him away,
  And back to earth will bring it
    When dawns the promised day.
 
 
  The chair is ivory purest
    Whereof he makes his bed;
  The table is of marble
    Whereon he props his head.
 
 
  His beard, not flax, but burning
    With fierce and fiery glow,
  Right through the marble table
    Beneath his chair does grow.
 
 
  He nods in dreams and winketh
    With dull, half-open eyes,
  And once a page he beckons beckons—
    A page that standeth by.
 
 
  He bids the boy in slumber
    "O dwarf, go up this hour,
  And see if still the ravens
    Are flying round the tower;
 
 
  And if the ancient ravens
    Still wheel above us here,
  Then must I sleep enchanted
    For many a hundred year."
 

* * * * *

FROM MY CHILDHOOD DAYS⁵⁰ (1817, 1818)

 
  From my childhood days, from my childhood days,
    Rings an old song's plaintive tone—
  Oh, how long the ways, oh, how long the ways
    I since have gone!
 
 
  What the swallow sang, what the swallow sang,
    In spring or in autumn warm—
  Do its echoes hang, do its echoes hang
    About the farm?
 
 
  "When I went away, when I went away,
    Full coffers and chests were there;
  When I came today, when I came today,
    All, all was bare!"
 
 
  Childish lips so wise, childish lips so wise,
    With a lore as rich as gold,
  Knowing all birds' cries, knowing all birds' cries,
    Like the sage of old!
 
 
  Ah, the dear old place—ah, the dear old place * * *
    May its sweet consoling gleam
  Shine upon my face, shine upon my face,
    Once in a dream!
 
 
  When I went away, when I went away,
    Full of joy the world lay there;
  When I came today, when I came today,
    All, all was bare.
 
 
  Still the swallows come, still the swallows come,
    And the empty chest is filled—
  But this longing dumb, but this longing dumb
    Shall ne'er be stilled.
 
 
  Nay, no swallow brings, nay, no swallow brings
    Thee again where thou wast before—
  Though the swallow sings, though the swallow sings,
    Still as of yore.
 
 
  "When I went away, when I went away,
    Full coffers and chests were there;
  When I came today, when I came today,
    All, all was bare!"
 

* * * * *

THE SPRING OF LOVE⁵¹ (1821)

 
  Dearest, thy discourses steal
    From my bosom's deep, my heart
  How can I from thee conceal
    My delight, my sorrow's smart?
 
 
  Dearest, when I hear thy lyre
    From its chains my soul is free.
  To the holy angel quire
    From the earth, O let us flee!
 
 
  Dearest, how thy music's charms
    Waft me dancing through the sky!
  Let me round thee clasp my arms,
    Lest in glory I should die!
 
 
  Dearest, sunny wreaths I wear,
    Twined around me by thy lay.
  For thy garlands, rich and rare,
    O how can I thank thee? Say!
 
 
  Like the angels I would be
    Without mortal frame,
  Whose sweet converse is like thought,
    Sounding with acclaim;
 
 
  Or like flowers in the dale;
    Like the stars that glow,
  Whose love-song's a beam, whose words
    Like sweet odors flow;
 
 
  Or like to the breeze of morn,
    Waving round its rose,
  In love's dallying caress
    Melting as it blows.
 
 
  But the love-lorn nightingale
    Melteth not away;
  She doth but with longing tones
    Chant her plaintive lay.
 
 
  I am, too, a nightingale,
    Songless though I sing;
  'Tis my pen that speaks, though ne'er
    In the ear it ring.
 
 
  Beaming images of thought
    Doth the pen portray;
  But without thy gentle smile
    Lifeless e'er are they.
 
 
  As thy look falls on the leaf,
    It begins to sing,
  And the prize that's due to love
    In her ear doth ring.
 
 
  Like a Memmon's statue now
    Every letter seems,
  Which in music wakes, when kissed
    By the morning's beams.
 

* * * * *

"HE CAME TO MEET ME"⁵² (1821)

 
  He came to meet me
    In rain and thunder;
  My heart 'gan beating
    In timid wonder.
  Could I guess whither
  Thenceforth together
    Our path should run, so long asunder?
 
 
  He came to meet me
    In rain and thunder,
  With guile to cheat me—
    My heart to plunder.
  Was't mine he captured?
  Or his I raptured?
    Half-way both met, in bliss and wonder!
 
 
  He came to meet me
    In rain and thunder;
  Spring-blessings greet me
    Spring-blossoms under.
  What though he leave me?
  No partings grieve me—
    No path can lead our hearts asunder.
 

* * * * *

THE INVITATION⁵³ (1821)

 
  Thou, thou art rest
    And peace of soul—
  Thou woundst the breast
    And makst it whole.
 
 
  To thee I vow
    'Mid joy or pain
  My heart, where thou
    Mayst aye remain.
 
 
  Then enter free,
    And bar the door
  To all but thee
    Forevermore.
 
 
  All other woes
    Thy charms shall lull;
  Of sweet repose
    This heart be full.
 
 
  My worshipping eyes
    Thy presence bright
  Shall still suffice,
    Their only light.
 

* * * * *

MURMUR NOT⁵⁴

 
  Murmur not and say thou art in fetters holden,
    Murmur not that thou earth's heavy yoke must bear.
  Say not that a prison is this world so golden—
    'Tis thy murmurs only set its harsh walls there.
 
 
  Question not how shall this riddle find its reading;
    It will solve itself full soon without thine aid.
  Say not love hath turned his back, and left thee bleeding—
    Whom hath love deserted, hast thou heard it said?
 
 
  If death tries to fright thee, fear not beyond measure;
    He will flee from those who boldly face his frown.
  Hunt not thou the fleeting deer of worldly pleasure—
    Lion it will turn, and hunt the hunter down.
  Chain thyself no longer, heart, to any treasure;
    Then thou shalt not say thou art into fetters thrown.
 

* * * * *

A PARABLE⁵⁵ (1822)

 
  In Syria walked a man one day
  And led a camel on the way.
  A sudden wildness seized the beast,
  And as they strove its rage increased.
  So fearsome grew its savagery
  That for his life the man must flee.
  And as he ran, he spied a cave
  That one last chance of safety gave.
  He heard the snorting beast behind
  Come nearer—with distracted mind
  Leaped where the cooling fountain sprang,
  Yet not to fall, but catch and hang;
  By lucky hap a bramble wild
  Grew where the o'erhanging rocks were piled.
  He saved himself by this alone,
  And did his hapless state bemoan.
  He looked above, and there was yet
  Too close the furious camel's threat
  That still of fearful rage was full.
  He dropped his eyes toward the pool,
  And saw within the shadows dim
  A dragon's jaws agape for him—
  A still more fierce and dangerous foe
  If he should slip and fall below.
  So, hanging midway of the two,
  He spied a cause of terror new:
  Where to the rock's deep crevice clung
  The slender root on which he swung,
  A little pair of mice he spied,
  A black and white one side by side—
  First one and then the other saw
  The slender stem alternate gnaw.
  They gnawed and bit with ceaseless toil,
  And from the roots they tossed the soil.
  As down it ran in trickling stream,
  The dragon's eyes shot forth a gleam
  Of hungry expectation, gazed
  Where o'er him still the man was raised,
  To see how soon the bush would fall,
  The burden that it bore, and all.
  That man in utmost fear and dread
  Surrounded, threatened, hard bested,
  In such a state of dire suspense
  Looked vainly round for some defense.
  And as he cast his bloodshot eye
  First here, then there, saw hanging nigh
  A branch with berries ripe and red;
  Then longing mastered all his dread;
  No more the camel's rage he saw,
  Nor yet the lurking dragon's maw,
  Nor malice of the gnawing mice,
  When once the berries caught his eyes.
  The furious beast might rage above,
  The dragon watch his every move,
  The mice gnaw on—naught heeded he,
  But seized the berries greedily—
  In pleasing of his appetite
  The furious beast forgotten quite.
 
 
  You ask, "What man could ever yet,
  So foolish, all his fears forget?"
  Then know, my friend, that man are you—
  And see the meaning plain to view.
  The dragon in the pool beneath
  Sets forth the yawning jaws of death;
  The beast from which you helpless flee
  Is life and all its misery.
  There you must hang 'twixt life and death
  While in this world you draw your breath.
  The mice, whose pitiless gnawing teeth
  Will let you to the pool beneath
  Fall down, a hopeless castaway,
  Are but the change of night and day.
  The black one gnaws concealed from sight
  Till comes again the morning light;
  From dawn until the eve is gray,
  Ceaseless the white one gnaws away.
  And, 'midst this dreadful choice of ills,
  Pleasure of sense your spirit fills
  Till you forget the terrors grim
  That wait to tear you limb from limb,
  The gnawing mice of day and night,
  And pay no heed to aught in sight
  Except to fill your mouth with fruit
  That in the grave-clefts has its root.
 

* * * * *