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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Atta Troll
+
+Author: Heinrich Heine
+
+Contributor: Oscar Levy
+
+Illustrator: Willy Pogány
+
+Translator: Herman Scheffauer
+
+Release Date: February 17, 2010 [EBook #31305]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATTA TROLL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Meredith Bach, Chuck Greif and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ATTA TROLL
+
+_From the German of
+Heinrich Heine_
+
+by
+
+_Herman Scheffauer_
+with an introduction
+
+by
+
+_Dr Oscar Levy_
+and some Pen-and-Ink
+sketches by
+_Willy Pogány_
+
+Sidgwick & Jackson London 1913
+
+[Illustration: Frontispiece]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ATTA TROLL
+
+From the German of
+_Heinrich Heine_
+
+by
+
+_Herman Scheffauer_
+with some Pen-and-Ink
+sketches by
+_Willy Pogány _
+
+Sidgwick & Jackson London 1913]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                page
+
+INTRODUCTION
+  An Interpretation of Heinrich
+  Heine's "Atta Troll," by Dr.
+  Oscar Levy                       3
+
+PREFACE
+  By Heine                        25
+
+ATTA TROLL                        35
+
+NOTES
+  By Dr. Oscar Levy              165
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+                              page
+
+FRONTISPIECE                    ii
+
+TITLE-PAGE                     iii
+
+ATTA TROLL                      iv
+
+INTRODUCTION (Half-Title)        1
+
+ATTA TROLL (Half-Title)         33
+
+
+_The headings and tail-pieces to the Cantos are by Horace Taylor_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: INTRODUCTION]
+
+
+
+
+AN INTERPRETATION OF HEINRICH HEINE'S "ATTA TROLL"
+
+
+_HE who has visited the idyllic isle of Corfu must have seen, gleaming
+white amidst its surroundings of dark green under a sky of the deepest
+blue, the Greek villa which was erected there by Elizabeth, Empress of
+Austria. It is called the Achilleion. In its garden there is a small
+classic temple in which the Empress caused to be placed a marble statue
+of her most beloved of poets, Heinrich Heine. The statue represented the
+poet seated, his head bowed in profound melancholy, his cheeks thin and
+drawn and bearded, as in his last illness._
+
+_Elizabeth, Empress of Austria, felt a sentimental affinity with the
+poet; his unhappiness, his_ Weltschmerz, _touched a responsive chord in
+her own unhappy heart. Intellectual sympathy with Heine's thought or
+tendencies there could have been little, for no woman has ever quite
+understood Heinrich Heine, who is still a riddle to most of the men of
+this age._
+
+_After the assassination of the hapless Empress, the beautiful villa was
+bought by the German Emperor. He at once ordered Heine's statue to be
+removed--whither no one knows. Royal (as well as popular) spite has
+before this been vented on dead or inanimate things--one need only ask
+Englishmen to remember what happened to the body of Oliver Cromwell. The
+Kaiser's action, by the way, did not pass unchallenged. Not only in
+Germany but in several other countries indignant voices were raised at
+the time, protesting against an act so insulting to the memory of the
+great singer, upholding the fame of Heine as a poet and denouncing the
+new master of the Achilleion for his narrow and prejudiced views on art
+and literature._
+
+_There was, however, a sound reason for the Imperial interference.
+Heinrich Heine was in his day an outspoken enemy of Prussia, a severe
+critic of the House of Hohenzollern and of other Royal houses of
+Germany. He was one who held in scorn the principles of State and
+government that are honoured in Germany, and elsewhere, to this very
+day. He was one of those poets--of whom the nineteenth century produced
+only a few, but those amongst the greatest--who had begun to distrust
+the capacity of the reigning aristocracy, who knew what to expect from
+the rising bourgeoisie, and who were nevertheless not romantic enough to
+believe in the people and the wonderful possibilities hidden in them.
+These poets--one and all--have taken up a very negative attitude towards
+their contemporaries and have given voice to their anger and
+disappointment over the pettiness of the society and government of their
+time in words full of satire and contempt._
+
+_Of course, the echo on the part of their audiences has not been
+wanting. All these poets have experienced a fate surprisingly similar,
+and their relationship to their respective countries reminds one of
+those unhappy matrimonial alliances which--for social or religious
+reasons--no divorce can ever dissolve. And, worse than that, no
+separation either, for a poet is--through his mother tongue--so
+intimately wedded to his country that not even a separation can effect
+any sort of relief in such a desperate case. All of them have tried
+separation, all of them have lived in estrangement from their
+country--we might almost say that only the local and lesser poets of the
+last century have stayed at home--and yet in spite of this separation
+the mutual recriminations of these passionate poetical husbands and
+their obstinate national wives have never ceased. Again and again we
+hear the male partner making proposals to win his spouse to better and
+nobler ways, again and again he tries to "educate her up to himself" and
+endeavours to direct her anew, pointing out to her the danger of her
+unruly and stupid behaviour; again and again his loving approaches are
+thwarted by the well-known waywardness of the feminine character, and so
+all his friendly admonitions habitually turn into torrents of abuse and
+vilification. There have been many unhappy unions in the world, but the
+compulsory_ mésalliances _of such great nineteenth-century writers as
+Heine, Byron, Stendhal, Gobineau, and Nietzsche with Mesdames
+Britannia, Gallia, and Germania, those otherwise highly respectable
+ladies, easily surpass in grotesqueness anything that has come to us
+through divorce court proceedings in England and America. That, as every
+one will agree, is saying a good deal._
+
+_The German Emperor, as I have said, had some justification for his
+action, some motives that do credit, if not to his intellect, at least
+to what in our days best takes the place of intellect; that is to say
+his character and his principles of government. The German Emperor
+appears at least to realize how offensive and, from his point of view,
+dangerous, the spirit of Heinrich Heine is to this very day, how deeply
+his satire cuts into questions of religion and State, how impatient he
+is of everything which the German Emperor esteems and venerates in his
+innermost heart. But the German people, on the whole, and certainly all
+foreigners, have long ago forgiven the poet, not because they have
+understood the dead bard better than the Emperor, but because they
+understood him less well. It is always easier to forgive an offender if
+you do not understand him too well, it is likewise easier to forgive
+him if your memory be short. And the peoples likewise resemble our
+womenfolk in this respect, that as soon as they are widowed of their
+poets, they easily forget all the unpleasantness that had ever existed
+between them and their dead husbands. It is then and only then that they
+discover the good qualities of their dead consorts and go about telling
+everybody "what a wonderful man he was." Their behaviour reminds me of a
+picture I once saw in a French comic paper. It represented a widow who,
+in order to hear her deceased husband's voice, had a gramophone put at
+his empty place at the breakfast table. And every morning she sat
+opposite that gramophone weeping quietly into her handkerchief, gazing
+mournfully at the instrument--decorated with her dead hubby's tasselled
+cap--and listening to the voice of the dear departed. But the only words
+which came out of the gramophone every morning were:_ Mais fiche-moi
+donc la paix--tu m'empêches de lire mon journal! _(For goodness' sake,
+leave me alone and let me read my paper.) This, however, did not appear
+to disturb the sentimental widow at all, as little indeed as a good
+sentimental people resents being abused by its dead poet._
+
+_And how our poet did abuse them during his life! And not only during
+his life, for Heine would not have been a great poet if his loves and
+hatreds, his censure and his praise had not outlasted his life, nay, had
+not come to real life only after his death. Thus the shafts of wit and
+satire which Heine levelled at his age and his country will seem
+singularly modern to the reader of to-day. It is this peculiar modern
+significance and application that has been one of the two reasons for
+presenting to the English public the first popular edition of Heine's
+lyrico-satiric masterpiece "Atta Troll." The other reason is the fine
+quality of the translation, made by one who is himself well known as a
+poet, my friend Herman Scheffauer. I venture to say that it renders in a
+remarkable degree the elusive brilliance, wit, and tenderness of the
+German original._
+
+_The poem begins in a sprightly fashion full of airy mockery and
+romantic lyricism. The reader is beguiled as with music and led on as in
+a dance. Heine himself called it_ das letzte freie Waldlied der Romantik
+_("The last free woodland-song of Romanticism"); and so we hear the
+alluring sound of flutes and harps, we listen to the bells ringing from
+lonely chapels in the forest, and many beautiful flowers nod to us, the
+mysterious blue flower amongst them. Then our eyes rejoice at the sight
+of fair maidens, whose nude and slender bodies gleam from under their
+floods of golden hair, who ride on white horses and throw us provocative
+glances, that warm and quicken our innermost hearts. But just as we are
+on the point of responding to their fond entreaties we are startled by
+the cracking of the wild hunter's whip, and we hear the loud hallo and
+huzza of his band, and see them galloping across our path in the eerie
+mysterious moonlight. Yes, in "Atta Troll" there is plenty of that
+moonshine, of that tender sentimentality, which used to be the principal
+stock-in-trade of the German Romanticist._
+
+_But this moonshine and all the other paraphernalia of the Romantic
+School Heine handled with all the greater skill, inasmuch as he was no
+longer a real Romanticist when he wrote "Atta Troll." He had left the
+Romantic School long ago, not without (as he himself tells us) "having
+given a good thrashing to his schoolmaster." He was now a Greek, a
+follower of Spinoza and Goethe. He was a_ Romantique défroqué--_one who
+had risen above his neurotic fellow-poets and their hazy ideas and wild
+endeavours. But for this very reason he is able to use their mode of
+expression with so much the greater skill, and, knowing all their
+shortcomings, he could give to his Dreamland a semblance of reality
+which they could never achieve. Only after having left a town are we in
+a position to judge the height of its church steeple, only as exiles do
+we begin to see the right relation in which our country stands to the
+rest of the world, and only a poet who had bidden farewell to his party
+and school, who had freed himself from Romanticism, could give us the
+last, the truest, the most beautiful poem of Romanticism._
+
+_It is possible, even probable, that "Atta Troll" will appeal to a
+majority of readers, not through its satire, but through its wonderful
+lyrical and romantic qualities--our age being inclined to look askance
+at satire, at least at true satire, at satire that, as the current
+phrase goes, "means business." Weak satire, aimless satire, humour,
+caricature--that is to say satire which uses blank cartridges--this age
+of ours will readily endure, nay heartily welcome; but of true satire,
+of satire that goes in for powder and shot, that does not only crack,
+but kill, it is mortally, and, if one comes to think of it rightly,
+afraid. But let even those who object to powder and shot approach "Atta
+Troll" without fear or misgiving. They will not be disappointed. They
+will find in this work proof of the old truth that a satirist is always
+and originally a man of high ideals and imagination. They will gain an
+insight into his much slandered soul, which is always that of a great
+poet. They will readily understand that this poet only became a satirist
+through the vivacity of his imagination, through the strength of his
+poetic vision, through his optimistic belief in humanity and its
+possibilities; and that it was precisely this great faith which forced
+him to become a satirist, because he could not endure to see all his
+pure ideals and the possibilities of perfection soiled and trampled upon
+by thoughtless mechanics, aimless mockers and babbling reformers. The
+humorist may be--and very often is--a sceptic, a pessimist, a nihilist;
+the satirist is invariably a believer, an optimist, an idealist. For let
+this dangerous man only come face to face, not with his enemies, but
+with his ideals, and you will see--as in "Atta Troll"--what a generous
+friend, what an ardent lover, what a great poet he is. Thus no one will
+be in the least disturbed by Heine's satire: on the contrary, those who
+object to it on principle will hardly be aware of it, so delighted will
+they be with the wonderful imagination, the glowing descriptions, and
+the passionate lyrics in which the poetry of "Atta Troll" abounds. The
+poem may be and will be read by them as "Gulliver's Travels" is read
+to-day by young and old, by poet and politician alike, not for its
+original satire, but for its picturesque, dramatic, and enthralling
+tale._
+
+_But let those who still believe that writing is fighting, and not
+sham-fighting only, those who hold that a poet is a soldier of the pen
+and therefore the most dangerous of all soldiers, those who feel that
+our age needs a hailstorm of satire, let these, I say, look closer at
+the wonderfully ideal figures that pass before them in the pale
+mysterious light. Let them listen more intently to the flutes and harps
+and they will discover quite a different melody beneath--a melody by no
+means bewitching or soothing, nor inviting us to dreams, sweet
+forgetfulness, soft couches, and tender embraces, but a shrill and
+mocking tune that is at times insolently discordant and that strikes us
+as decidedly modern, realistic, and threatening. As the poet himself
+expressed it in his dedication to Varnhagen von Ense:_
+
+    "_Aye, my friend, such strains arise_
+      _From the dream-time that is dead_
+    Though some modern trills may oft
+      Caper through the ancient theme.
+
+    "Spite of waywardness thou'lt find
+      Here and there a note of pain...."
+
+_Let their ears seek to catch these painful notes. Let their eyes
+accustom themselves to the deceitful light of the moon; let them
+endeavour to pierce through the romanticism on the surface to the
+underlying meaning of the poem.... A little patience and we shall see
+clearly...._
+
+_Atta Troll, the dancing bear, is the representative of the people. He
+has--by means of the French Revolution, of course--broken his fetters
+and escaped to the freedom of the mountains. Here he indulges in that
+familiar ranting of a_ sansculotte, _his heart and mouth brimming over
+with what Heine calls_ frecher Gleichheitsschwindel _("the barefaced
+swindle of equality"). His hatred is above all directed against the
+masters from whose bondage he has just escaped, that is to say against
+all mankind as a race. As a "true and noble bear" he simply detests
+these human beings with their superior airs and impudent smiles, those
+arrogant wretches, who fancy themselves something lofty, because they
+eat cooked meat and know a few tricks and sciences. Animals, if properly
+trained, if only equality of opportunity were given to them, could
+learn these tricks just as well--there is therefore no earthly reason
+why_
+
+          _"these men,_
+    _Cursèd arch-aristocrats,_
+    _Should with haughty insolence_
+    _Look upon the world of beasts."_
+
+_The beasts, so Atta Troll declares, ought not to allow themselves to be
+treated in this wise. They ought to combine amongst themselves, for it
+is only by means of proper union that the requisite degree of strength
+can ever be attained. After the establishment of this powerful union
+they should try to enforce their programme and demand the abolition of
+private property and of human privileges:_
+
+    _"And its first great law shall be_
+    _For God's creatures one and all_
+    _Equal rights--no matter what_
+    _Be their faith, or hide, or smell,_
+
+    _"Strict equality! Each ass_
+    _May become Prime Minister,_
+    _On the other hand the lion_
+    _Shall bear corn unto the mill."_
+
+_This outrageous diatribe of the freed slave cuts deeply into the poet's
+heart. He, the poet, does not believe in equal, but in the "holy inborn"
+rights of men, the rights of valid birth, the rights of the man of
+[Greek: harethê]. He, the poet, the admirer of Napoleon, believes
+in the latter's_ la carrière ouverte aux talents, _but not in
+opportunity given to every dunce or dancing bear. He holds Atta Troll's
+opinion to be "high treason against the majesty of humanity," and since
+he can endure this no longer, he sets out one fine morning to hunt the
+insolent bear in his mountain fastnesses._
+
+_A strange being, however, accompanies him. This is a man of the name of
+Lascaro, a somewhat abnormal fellow, who is very thin, very pale, and
+apparently in very poor health. He is consequently not exactly a
+pleasant comrade for the chase: he does not seem to enjoy the sport at
+all, and his one endeavour is to get through with his task without
+losing more of his strength and health. Even now he is more of an
+automaton than a human being, more dead than alive, and yet--greatest of
+all miseries!--he is not allowed to die. For he has a mother, the witch
+Uraka, who keeps him artificially alive by anointing him every night
+with magic salve and giving him such diabolic advice as will be useful
+to him during the day. By means of the sham health she gives to her son,
+the magic bullets she casts for him, the tricks and wiles she teaches
+him, Lascaro is enabled to find the track of Atta Troll, to lure him out
+of his lair and to lay him low with a treacherous shot._
+
+_Who is this silent Lascaro and his mysterious mother, whom the poet
+seems to hold in as slight regard as the noisy Atta Troll? Who is this
+Lascaro, whose methods he deprecates, whose health he doubts, whose cold
+ways and icy smiles make him shudder? Who is this chilliest of all
+monsters? The chilliest of all monsters--we may find the answer in
+"Zarathustra"--is the State: and our Lascaro is nothing else than the
+spirit of reactionary government, kept artificially alive by his old
+witch-mother, the spirit of Feudalism. The nightly anointing of Lascaro
+is a parody on the revival of mediæval customs, by means of which the
+frightened aristocracy of Europe in the middle of the last century tried
+to stem the tide of the French Revolution--the anointed of the Lord
+becoming in Heine's poem the anointed of the witch. But in spite of his
+nightly massage, our Lascaro does not gain much strength or spirit: no
+mediæval salves, no feudal pills, no witch's spell, will ever cure him.
+Not even a wizard's experiments (we may add, with that greater insight
+bestowed upon us by history) could do him any good, not even the astute
+magic tricks that were lavished upon the patient in Heine's time by that
+arch wizard, the Austrian Minister Metternich. For we must not forget
+the time in which "Atta Troll" was written, the time of the omnipotent
+Metternich! Let us recall to our memories this cool, clever, callous
+statesman, who founded and set the Holy Alliance against the Revolution,
+who calmly shot down the German Atta Troll, who skilfully strangled and
+stifled that promising poetical school, "Young Germany," to which Heine
+belonged. Let us recall this man, who likewise artificially revived the
+old religion and the old feudalism, who repolished and regilded the
+scutcheons of the decadent aristocracy, and who, despite all his energy,
+had at heart no belief in his work, no joy in his task, no faith in the
+anointed dummies he brought to life again in Europe--and those puzzling
+personalities of Uraka and Lascaro will be elucidated to us by a real
+historical example._
+
+_Metternich is now part of history. But, alas! we cannot likewise banish
+into that limbo of the past those two superfluous individuals, the
+revolutionary Atta Troll and the reactionary Lascaro. Alas! we cannot
+join the joyful, but inwardly so hopeless, band of those who sing the
+pæan of eternal progress, who pretend to believe that the times are
+always "changing for the better." Let these good people open their eyes,
+and they will see that Atta Troll was not shot down in the valley of
+Roncesvalles, but that he is still alive, very much alive, and making a
+dreadful noise, and that not in the Pyrenees, but just outside our
+doors, where he still keeps haranguing about equality and liberty and
+occasionally breaks his fetters and escapes from his masters. And when
+this occurs, then that icy monster Lascaro is likewise seen, with his
+hard, pallid face and his joyless mouth, and his disgust with his own
+task and his doubts and disbeliefs in himself. He still carries his gun
+and he still possesses some of that craftiness which his mother the
+witch has taught him, and he still knows how to entrap that poor, stupid
+Atta Troll, and to shoot him down when the spirit of "order and
+government," the spirit of a soulless capitalism, requires it._
+
+_No, there is very little feeling in the man as yet, and he seems as
+difficult to move as ever. There is apparently only one thing that can
+rouse him into action, and that is when a poet appears, one who knows
+the truth and who dares to speak the truth not only about Atta Troll,
+the people, but also about its Lascaros, its leaders, its emperors, and
+kings. Then and then only his hard features change, and his affected
+self-possession leaves him, then and then only his mask of calmness is
+thrown off, and he waxes very angry with the poet, and has his name
+banished from his court and his statues turned out of his cities and
+villas--nay, he would even level his gun to slay the truth-telling poet
+as he slew Atta Troll._
+
+_From which we may see that the modern Lascaro has become a sort of Don
+Quixote--for, truly is it not the height of folly for a mortal emperor
+to shoot at an immortal poet?_
+
+OSCAR LEVY
+
+London, 1913
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE BY HEINE
+
+
+_"ATTA TROLL" was composed in the late autumn of 1841, and appeared as a
+fragment in_ The Elegant World, _of which my friend Laube had at that
+time resumed the editorship. The shape and contents of the poem were
+forced to conform to the narrow necessities of that periodical. I wrote
+at first only those cantos which might be printed and even these
+suffered many variations. It was my intention to issue the work later in
+its full completeness, but this commendable resolve remained
+unfulfilled--like all the mighty works of the Germans--such as the
+cathedral of Cologne, the God of Schelling, the Prussian Constitution,
+and the like. This also happened to "Atta Troll"--he was never finished.
+In such imperfect form, indifferently bolstered up and rounded only from
+without, do I now set him before the public, obedient to an impulse
+which certainly does not proceed from within._
+
+_"Atta Troll," as I have said, originated in the late autumn of 1841, at
+the time when the great mob which my enemies of various complexions,
+had drummed together against me, had not quite ceased its noise. It was
+a very large mob and indeed I would never have believed that Germany
+could produce so many rotten apples as then flew about my head! Our
+Fatherland is a blessed country! Citrons and oranges certainly do not
+grow here, and the laurel ekes out but a miserable existence, but rotten
+apples thrive in the happiest abundance, and never a great poet of ours
+but could write feelingly of them! On the occasion of that hue and cry
+in which I was to lose both my head and my laurels it happened that I
+lost neither. All the absurd accusations which were used to incite the
+mob against me have since then been miserably annihilated, even without
+my condescending to refute them. Time justified me, and the various
+German States have even, as I must most gratefully acknowledge, done me
+good service in this respect. The warrants of arrest which at every
+German station past the frontier await the return of this poet, are
+thoroughly renovated every year during the holy Christmastide, when the
+little candles glow merrily on the Christmas trees. It is this
+insecurity of the roads which has almost destroyed my pleasure in
+travelling through the German meads. I am therefore celebrating my
+Christmas in an alien land, and it will be as an exile in a foreign
+country that I shall end my days._
+
+_But those valiant champions of Light and Truth who accuse me of
+fickleness and servility, are able to go about quite securely in the
+Fatherland--as well-stalled servants of the State, as dignitaries of a
+Guild, or as regular guests of a club where of evenings they may regale
+themselves with the vinous juices of Father Rhine and with
+"sea-surrounded Schleswig-Holstein" oysters._
+
+_It was my express intention to indicate in the foregoing at what period
+"Atta Troll" was written. At that time the so-called art of political
+poetry was in full flower. The opposition, as Ruge says, sold its
+leather and became poetry. The Muses were given strict orders that they
+were thenceforth no longer to gad about in a wanton, easy-going fashion,
+but would be compelled to enter into national service, possibly as_
+vivandières _of liberty or as washerwomen of Christian-Germanic
+nationalism. Especially were the bowers of the German bards afflicted by
+that vague and sterile pathos, that useless fever of enthusiasm which,
+with absolute disregard for death, plunges itself into an ocean of
+generalities. This always reminds me of the American sailor who was so
+madly enthusiastic over General Jackson that he sprang from the
+mast-head into the sea, crying out: "I die for General Jackson!" Yes,
+even though we Germans as yet possessed no fleet, still we had plenty of
+sailors who were willing to die for General Jackson, in prose or verse.
+In those days talent was a rather questionable gift, for it brought one
+under suspicion of being a loose character. After thousands of years of
+grubbing deliberation, Impotence, sick and limping Impotence, at last
+discovered its greatest weapon against the over-encouragement of
+genius--it discovered, in fact, the antithesis between Talent and
+Character. It was almost personally flattering to the great masses when
+they heard it said that good, average people were certainly poor
+musicians as a rule, but that, on the other hand, fine musicians were
+not usually good people--that goodness was the important thing in this
+world and not music. Empty-Head now beat resolutely upon his full Heart,
+and Sentiment was trumps. I recall an author of that day who accounted
+his inability to write as a peculiar merit in himself, and who, because
+of his wooden style, was given a silver cup of honour._
+
+_By the eternal gods! at that time it became necessary to defend the
+inalienable rights of the spirit, above all in poetry. Inasmuch as I
+have made this defence the chief business of my life, I have kept it
+constantly before me in this poem whose tone and theme are both a
+protest against the plebiscite of the tribunes of the times. And verily,
+even the first fragments of "Atta Troll" which saw the light, aroused
+the wrath of my heroic worthies, my dear Romans, who accused me not only
+of a literary but also of a social reaction, and even of mocking the
+loftiest human ideals. As to the esthetic worth of my poem--of that I
+thought but little, as I still do to-day--I wrote it solely for my own
+joy and pleasure, in the fanciful dreamy manner of that romantic school
+in which I whiled away my happiest years of youth, and then wound up by
+thrashing the schoolmaster. Possibly in this regard my poem is to be
+condemned. But thou liest, Brutus, thou too, Cassius, and even thou,
+Asinius, when ye declare that my mockery is levelled against those
+ideals which constitute the noble achievements of man, for which I too
+have wrought and suffered so much. No, it is just because the poet
+constantly sees these ideas before him in all their clarity and
+greatness that he is forced into irresistible laughter when he beholds
+how raw, awkward, and clumsy these ideas may appear when interpreted by
+a narrow circle of contemporary spirits. Then perforce must he jest
+about their thick temporal hides--bear hides. There are mirrors which
+are ground in so irregular a way that even an Apollo would behold
+himself as a caricature in them, and invite laughter. But we do not
+laugh at the god but merely at his distorted image._
+
+_Another word. Need I lay any special emphasis upon the fact that the
+parodying of one of Freiligrath's poems, which here and there somewhat
+saucily titters from the lines of "Atta Troll," in no wise constitutes a
+disparagement of that poet? I value him highly, especially at present,
+and account him one of the most important poets who have arisen in
+Germany since the Revolution of 1830. His first collection of poems came
+to my notice rather late, namely just at the time when I was composing
+"Atta Troll." The fact that the Moorish Prince affected me so comically
+was no doubt due to my particular mood at that time. Moreover, this work
+of his is usually vaunted as his best. To such readers as may not be
+acquainted with this production--and I doubt not such may be found in
+China and Japan, and even along the banks of the Niger and Senegal--I
+would call attention to the fact that the Blackamoor King, who at the
+beginning of the poem steps from his white tent like an eclipsed moon,
+is beloved by a black beauty over whose dusky features nod white ostrich
+plumes. But, eager for war, he leaves her, and enters into the battles
+of the blacks, "where rattles the drum decorated with skulls," but,
+alas! here he finds his black Waterloo, and is sold by the victors unto
+the whites. They take the noble African to Europe and here we find him
+in a company of itinerant circus folk who intrust him with the care of
+the Turkish drum at their performances. There he stands, dark and
+solemn, at the entrance to the ring, and drums. But as he drums he
+thinks of his erstwhile greatness, remembers, too, that he was once an
+absolute monarch on the far, far banks of the Niger, that he hunted
+lions and tigers:_
+
+    _"His eye grew moist; with hollow thunder_
+    _He beat the drum, till it sprang in sunder."_
+
+HEINRICH HEINE
+
+Written at Paris, 1846
+
+[Illustration: ATTA TROLL]
+
+    _Out of the gleaming, shimmering tents of white_
+    _Steps the Prince of the Moors in his armour bright--_
+    _So out of the slumbering clouds of night,_
+    _The moon in its dark eclipse takes flight._
+
+     "The Prince of Blackamoors,"
+      by Ferdinand Freiligrath.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO I
+
+
+    Ringed about by mountains dark,
+      Rising peak on sullen peak,
+    And by furious waterfalls
+      Lulled to slumber, like a dream
+
+    White within the valley lies
+      Cauterets. Each villa neat
+    Sports a balcony whereon
+      Lovely ladies stand and laugh.
+
+    Heartily they laugh and look
+      Down upon the crowded square
+    Where unto a bag-pipe's drone
+      He- and she-bear strut and dance.
+
+    Atta Troll is dancing there
+      With his Mumma, dusky mate,
+    While in wonderment the Basques
+      Shout aloud and clap their hands.
+
+    Stiff with pride and gravity
+      Dances noble Atta Troll,
+    Though his shaggy partner knows
+      Neither dignity nor shame.
+
+    I am even fain to think
+      She is verging on the can-can,
+    For her shameless wagging hints
+      Of the gay _Grande Chaumière_
+
+    Even he, the showman brave,
+      Holding her with loosened chain,
+    Marks the immorality
+      Of her most immodest dance.
+
+    So at times he lays the lash
+      Straight across her inky back,
+    Till the mountains wake and shout
+      Echoes to her frenzied howls.
+
+    On the showman's pointed hat
+      Six Madonnas made of lead
+    Shield him from the foeman's balls
+      Or invasions of the louse.
+
+    And a gaudy altar-cloth
+      From his shoulders hanging down,
+    Makes a proper sort of cloak,
+      Hiding pistol and a knife.
+
+    In his youth a monk was he,
+      Then became a robber chief;
+    Later, in Don Carlos' ranks,
+      He combined the other two.
+
+    When Don Carlos, forced to flee,
+      Bade his Table Round farewell,
+    All his Paladins resolved
+      Straight to learn an honest trade.
+
+    Herr Schnapphahnski turned a scribe,
+      And our staunch Crusader here
+    Just a showman, with his bears
+      Trudging up and down the land.
+
+    And in every market-place
+      For the people's pence they dance--
+    In the square at Cauterets
+      Atta Troll is dancing now!
+
+    Atta Troll, the Forest King,
+      He who ruled on mountain-heights,
+    Now to please the village mob,
+      Dances in his doleful chains.
+
+    Worse and worse! for money vile
+      He must dance who, clad in might,
+    Once in majesty of terror
+      Held the world a sorry thing!
+
+    When the memories of his youth
+      And his lost dominions green,
+    Smite the soul of Atta Troll,
+      Mournful sobs escape his breast.
+
+    And he scowls as scowled the black
+      Monarch famed of Freiligrath;
+    In his rage he dances badly,
+      As the darkey badly drummed.
+
+    Yet compassion none he wins,--
+      Only laughter! Juliet
+    From her balcony is laughing
+      At his wild, despairing bounds.
+
+    Juliet, you see, is French,
+      And was born without a soul--
+    Lives for mere externals--but
+      Her externals are so fair!
+
+    Like a net of tender gleams
+      Are the glances of her eye,
+    And our hearts like little fishes,
+      Fall and struggle in that net.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO II
+
+
+    When the dusky Moorish Prince
+      Sung by poet Freiligrath
+    Beat upon his mighty drum
+      Till the drumskin crashed and broke--
+
+    Thrilling must that crash have been--
+      Likewise hard upon the ear--
+    But just fancy when a bear
+      Breaks away from captive chains!
+
+    Swift the laughter and the pipes
+      Cease. What yells of fear arise!
+    From the square the people rush
+      And the gentle dames grow pale.
+
+    Yea, from all his slavish bonds
+      Atta Troll has torn him free.
+    Suddenly! With mighty leaps
+      Through the narrow streets he runs.
+
+    Room enough is his, I trow!
+      Up the jagged cliffs he climbs,
+    Flings down one contemptuous look,
+      Then is lost within the hills.
+
+    Lone within the market-place
+      Mumma and her master stand--
+    Raging, now he grasps his hat,
+      Cursing, casts it on the earth,
+
+    Tramples on it, kicks and flouts
+      The Madonnas, tears the cloak
+    Off his foul and naked back,
+      Yells and blasphemes horribly
+
+    'Gainst the base ingratitude
+      Of the race of sable bears.
+    Had he not been kind to Troll?
+      Taught him dancing free of charge?
+
+    Everything this monster owed him,
+      Even life. For some had bid,
+    All in vain! three hundred marks
+      For the hide of Atta Troll.
+
+    Like some carven form of grief
+      There the poor black Mumma stands
+    On her hind feet, with her paws
+      Pleading with the raging clown.
+
+    But on her the raging clown
+      Looses now his twofold wrath;
+    Beats her; calls her Queen Christine,
+      Dame Muñoz--Putana too....
+
+    All this happened on a fair
+      Sunny summer afternoon.
+    And the night which followed, ah!
+      Was superb and wonderful.
+
+    Of that night a part I spent
+      On a small white balcony;
+    Juliet was at my side
+      And we viewed the passing stars.
+
+    "Fairer far," she sighed, "the stars
+      Which in Paris I have seen,
+    When upon a winter's night
+      In the muddy streets they shine."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO III
+
+
+    Dream of summer nights! How vain
+      Is my fond fantastic song.
+    Quite as vain as Love and Life,
+      And Creator and Creation.
+
+    Subject to his own sweet will,
+      Now in gallop, now in flight,
+    So my Pegasus, my darling,
+      Revels through the realms of myth.
+
+    Ah, no plodding cart-horse he!
+      Harnessed up for citizens,
+    Nor a ramping party-hack
+      Full of showy kicks and neighs.
+
+    For my little wingèd steed's
+      Hoofs are shod with solid gold
+    And his bridle, dragging free,
+      Is a rope of gleaming pearls.
+
+    Bear me wheresoe'er thou wouldst--
+      To some lofty mountain-trail
+    Where the torrents toss and shriek
+      Warnings over folly's gulf.
+
+    Bear me through the silent vales
+      Where the solemn oaks arise
+    From whose twisted roots there well
+      Ancient springs of fairy lore.
+
+    There, oh, let me drink--mine eyes
+      Let me lave--Oh, how I thirst
+    For that flashing wonder-spring,
+      Full of wisdom and of light.
+
+    All my blindness flees. My glance
+      Pierces to the dimmest cave,
+    To the lair of Atta Troll,
+      And his speech I understand!
+
+    Strange it is--this bearish speech
+      Hath a most familiar ring!
+    Once, methinks, I heard such tones
+      In my own dear native land.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO IV
+
+
+    Roncesvalles, thou noble vale!
+      When thy golden name I hear,
+    Then the lost blue flower blooms
+      Once again within my heart!
+
+    All the glittering world of dreams
+      Rises from its hoary gulf,
+    And with great and ghostly eyes
+      Stares upon me till I quake!
+
+    What a stir and clang! The Franks
+      Battle with the Saracens,
+    While a thin, despairing wail
+      Pours like blood from Roland's horn.
+
+    In the Vale of Roncesvalles,
+      Close beside great Roland's Gap--
+    So 'twas named because the Knight
+      Once to clear himself a path.
+
+    Now this youngest was the pet
+      Of his mother. Once in play
+    Chewing off his tiny ear--
+      She devoured it for love.
+
+    A most genial youth is he,
+      Clever in gymnastic tricks,
+    Throwing somersaults as clever
+      As dear Massmann's somersaults.
+
+    Blossom of the pristine cult,
+      For the mother-tongue he raves,
+    Scorning all the senseless jargon
+      Of the Romans and the Greeks.
+
+    "Fresh and pious, gay and free,"
+      Hating all that smacks of soap
+    Or the modern craze for baths--
+      Verily like Massmann too!
+
+    Most inspired is this youth
+      When he clambers up the tree
+    Which from out the hollow gorge
+      Rears itself along the cliff,
+
+    Rears and lifts unto the crest
+      Where at night this jolly band
+    Squat and loll about their sire
+      In the twilight dim and cool.
+
+    Gladly there the father bear
+      Tells them stories of the world,
+    Of strange cities and their folk,
+      And of all he suffered too,
+
+    Suffered like Ulysses great--
+      Differing slightly from this brave
+    Since his black Penelope
+      Never parted from his side.
+
+    Loudly too prates Atta Troll
+      Of the mighty meed of praise
+    Which by practice of his art
+      He had wrung from humankind.
+
+    Young and old, so runs his tale,
+      Cheered in wonder and in joy,
+    When in market-squares he danced
+      To the bag-pipe's pleasant skirl.
+
+    And the ladies most of all--
+      Ah, what gentle connoisseurs!--
+    Rendered him their mad applause
+      And full many a tender glance.
+
+    Artists' vanity! Alas,
+      Pensively the dancing-bear
+    Thinks upon those happy hours
+      When his talents pleased the crowd.
+
+    Seized with rapture self-inspired,
+      He would prove his words by deeds,
+    Prove himself no boaster vain
+      But a master in the art.
+
+    Swiftly from the ground he springs,
+      Stands on hinder paws erect,
+    Dances then his favourite dance
+      As of old--the great Gavotte.
+
+    Dumb, with open jaws the cubs
+      Gaze upon their father there
+    As he makes his wondrous leaps
+      In the moonshine to and fro.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO V
+
+
+    In his cavern by his young,
+      Atta Troll in moody wise
+    Lies upon his back and sucks
+      Fiercely at his paws, and growls:
+
+    "Mumma, Mumma, dusky pearl
+      That from out the sea of life
+    I had gathered, in that sea
+      I have lost thee once again!
+
+    "Shall I never see thee more?
+      Shall it be beyond the grave
+    Where from earthly travail free
+      Thy bright spirit spreads its wings?
+
+    "Ah, if I might once again
+      Lick my darling Mumma's snout--
+    Lovely snout as dear to me
+      As if smeared with honey-dew.
+
+    "Might I only sniff once more
+      That aroma sweet and rare
+    Of my dear and dusky mate--
+      Scent as sweet as roses' breath!
+
+    "But, alas! my Mumma lies
+      In the bondage of that tribe
+    Which believes itself Creation's
+      Lords and bears the name of Man!
+
+    "Death! Damnation! that these men--
+      Cursèd arch-aristocrats!
+    Should with haughty insolence
+      Look upon the world of beasts!
+
+    "They who steal our wives and young,
+      Chain us, beat us, slaughter us!--
+    Yea, they slaughter us and trade
+      In our corpses and our pelts!
+
+    "More, they deem these hideous deeds
+      Justified--particularly
+    Towards the noble race of bears--
+      This they call the Rights of Man!
+
+    "Rights of Man? The Rights of Man!
+      Who bestowed these rights on you?
+    Surely 'twas not Mother Nature--
+      She is ne'er unnatural!
+
+    "Rights of Man! Who gave to you
+      All these privileges rare?
+    Verily it was not Reason--
+      Ne'er unreasonable she!
+
+    "Is it, men, because you roast,
+      Stew or fry or boil your meat,
+    Whilst our own is eaten raw,
+      That you deem yourselves so grand?
+
+    "In the end 'tis all the same.
+      Food alone can ne'er impart
+    Any worth;--none noble is
+      Save who nobly acts and feels!
+
+    "Are you better, human things,
+      Just because success attends
+    All your arts and sciences?
+      No mere wooden-heads are we!
+
+    "Are there not most learnèd dogs!
+      Horses, too, that calculate
+    Quite as well as bankers?--Hares
+      Who have skill in beating drums?
+
+    "Are not beavers most adroit
+      In the craft of waterworks?
+    Were not clyster-pipes invented
+      Through the cleverness of storks?
+
+    "Do not asses write critiques?
+      Do not apes play comedy?
+    Could there be a greater actress
+      Than Batavia the ape?
+
+    "Do the nightingales not sing?
+      Is not Freiligrath a bard?
+    Who e'er sang the lion's praise
+      Better than his brother mule?
+
+    "In the art of dance have I
+      Gone as far as Raumer quite
+    In the art of letters--can he
+      Scribble better than I dance?
+
+    "Why should mortal men be placed
+      O'er us animals? Though high
+    You may lift your heads, yet low
+      In those heads your thoughts do crawl.
+
+    "Human wights, why better, pray,
+      Than ourselves? Is it because
+    Smooth and slippery is your skin?
+      Snakes have that advantage too!
+
+    "Human hordes! two-legged snakes!
+      Well indeed I understand
+    That those flapping pantaloons
+      Must conceal your serpent hides!
+
+    "Children, Oh, beware of these
+      Vile and hairless miscreants!
+    O my daughters, never trust
+      Monsters that wear pantaloons!"
+
+    But no further will I tell
+      How this bear with arrogant
+    Fallacies of equal rights
+      Raved against the human race
+
+    For I too am man, and never
+      As a man will I repeat
+    All this vile disparagement,
+      Bound to give most grave offence.
+
+    Yes, I too am man, am placed
+      O'er the other mammals all!
+    Shall I sell my birthright?--No!
+      Nor my interest betray.
+
+    Ever faithful unto man,
+      I will fight all other beasts.
+    I will battle for the high
+      Holy inborn rights of man!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VI
+
+
+    Yet for man who forms the higher
+      Class of animals 'twere well
+    That betimes he should discover
+      What the lower thinks of him.
+
+    Verily within those drear
+      Strata of the world of brutes,
+    In those lower social layers
+      There is misery, pride and wrath.
+
+    Laws which Nature hath decreed,
+      Customs sanctioned long by Time,
+    And for centuries established,
+      They deny with pertest tongue.
+
+    Grumbling, there the old instil
+      Evil doctrines in the young,
+    Doctrines which endanger all
+      Human culture on the Earth.
+
+    "Children!" grunts our Atta Troll,
+      As he tosses to and fro
+    On his hard and stony couch,
+      "Future time we hold in fee!
+
+    "If each bear, each quadruped,
+      Held with me a like ideal,
+    With our whole united force
+      We the tyrant might engage.
+
+    "Compact then the boar should make
+      With the horse--the elephant
+    Curve his trunk in comradeship
+      Round the valiant ox's horns.
+
+    "Bear and wolf of every shade,
+      Goat and ape, the rabbit, too.
+    Let them for the common cause
+      Labour--and the world is ours!
+
+    "Union! union! is the need
+      Of our times! For singly we
+    Fall as slaves, but joined as one
+      We shall overcome our lords.
+
+    "Union! union! Victory!
+      We shall overthrow the reign
+    Of such tyranny and found
+      One great Kingdom of the Brutes.
+
+    "And its first great law shall be
+      For God's creatures one and all
+    Equal rights--no matter what
+      Be their faith, or hide or smell.
+
+    "Strict equality! Each ass
+      May become Prime Minister;
+    On the other hand the lion
+      Shall bear corn unto the mill.
+
+    "And the dog? Alas, 'tis true
+      He's a very servile cur,
+    Just because for ages man
+      Like a dog has treated him.
+
+    "Yet in our Free State shall he
+      Once again enjoy his rights--
+    Rights most unassailable--
+      Thus ennobled be the dog.
+
+    "Yea, the very Jews shall win
+      All the rights of citizens,
+    By the law made equal with
+      Every other mammal free.
+
+    "One thing only be denied them!
+      Dancing in the market-place;
+    This amendment I shall make
+      In the interests of my art.
+
+    "For they lack all sense of style;
+      All plasticity of limb
+    Lacks that race. Full surely they
+      Would debauch the public taste."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VII
+
+
+    Gloomy in his gloomy cave,
+      In the circle of his home,
+    Crouches Troll, the Foe of Man,
+      As he growls and champs his jaws.
+
+    "Men, O crafty, pert _canaille_!
+      Smile away! That mighty hour
+    Dawns wherein we shall be freed
+      From your bondage and your smiles!
+
+    "Most offensive was to me
+      That same twitching bitter-sweet
+    Of the lips--the smiles of men
+      I found unendurable!
+
+    "When in every visage white
+      I beheld that fatal spasm,
+    Then did anger seize my bowels
+      And I felt a hideous qualm.
+
+    "For the smiling lips of men
+      More insultingly declare,
+    Even than their lips avouch,
+      All their insolence of soul.
+
+    "And they smile forever! Even
+      When all decency demands
+    Gravity--as in the moments
+      Of love's solemn mysteries.
+
+    "Yea, they smile forever. Even
+      In their dances!--desecrate
+    Thus this high and noble art
+      Which a sacred cult should be.
+
+    "Ah, the dance in olden days
+      Was a pious act of faith,
+    When the priests in solemn round
+      Turned about their holy shrines.
+
+    "Thus before the Covenant's
+      Sacred Ark King David danced.
+    Dancing then was worship too,--
+      It was praying with the legs!
+
+    "So did I regard my dance
+      When before the people all
+    In the market-place I danced
+      And was cheered by every soul.
+
+    "This applause, I grant you, oft
+      Made me feel content at heart;
+    Sweet it is from grudging foes
+      Admiration thus to win!
+
+    "Yet despite their rapture they
+      Still would smile and smile! My art--
+    Even that proved vain to save
+      Them from base frivolity!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VIII
+
+
+    Many a virtuous citizen
+      Smells unpleasantly the while
+    Ducal knaves are lavendered
+      Or a-reek with ambergris.
+
+    There are many virgin souls
+      Redolent of greenest soap;
+    Vice will often lave herself
+      In rose attar top to toe.
+
+    Therefore, gentle reader, pray,
+      Do not lift your nose in air
+    Should Troll's cavern fail to rouse
+      Memories of Arabia's spice.
+
+    Bide with me within this reek,
+      'Mid these turbid odours foul,
+    Whence unto his son our hero
+      Speaks, as from a misty cloud:
+
+    "Child, my child, the last begot
+      Of my loins, thy single ear
+    Snuggle close against the snout
+      Of thy father, and give heed!
+
+    "Oh, beware man's mode of thought;
+      It destroys both flesh and soul,
+    For amongst all mankind never
+      Shalt thou find one worthy man.
+
+    "E'en the Germans, once the best,
+      Even Tuiskion's sons,
+    Our dear cousins primitive,
+      Even they have grown effete.
+
+    "Godless, faithless have they grown;
+      Atheism now they preach.
+    Child, my child, oh, guard thee 'gainst
+      Feuerbach and Bauer too!
+
+    "Never be an atheist!
+      Monster void of reverence!
+    For a great Creator reared
+      All the mighty Universe!
+
+    "And the sun and moon on high,
+      And the stars--the stars with tails
+    Even as the tailless ones--
+      Are reflections of His power.
+
+    "In the depths of sea and land
+      Ring the echoes of His fame,
+    And each creature yields Him praise
+      For His glory and His might.
+
+    "E'en the tiny silver louse
+      Which within some pilgrim's beard
+    Shares his earthly pilgrimage,
+      Sings to Him a song of praise!
+
+    "High upon his golden throne
+      In yon splendid tent of stars,
+    Clad in cosmic majesty,
+      Sits a titan polar bear.
+
+    "Spotless, gleaming white as snow
+      Is his fur; his head is decked
+    With a crown of diamonds
+      Blazing through the central vault.
+
+    "In his face bide harmony
+      And the silent deeds of thought,
+    And obedient to his sceptre
+      All the planets chime and sing.
+
+    "At his feet sit holy bears,
+      Saints who suffered on the Earth,
+    Meekly. In their paws they hold
+      Splendid palms of martyrdom.
+
+    "Ever and anon they leap
+      To their feet as though aroused
+    By the Holy Ghost, and lo!
+      In a festal dance they join!
+
+    "'Tis a dance where saintly gifts
+      Cover up defects of style,--
+    Dance in which the very soul
+      Seeks to leap from out its skin!
+
+    "I, unworthy Troll, shall I
+      Ever such salvation share?
+    Shall I ever from this drear
+      Vale of tears ascend to joy?
+
+    "Shall I, drunk with Heaven's draught,
+      In that tent of stars above,
+    Dance before the Master's throne
+      With a halo and a palm?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO IX
+
+
+    As the noble negro king
+      Of our Freiligrath protrudes
+    From his dusky mouth his long
+      Scarlet tongue in scorn and rage,--
+
+    Even so the moon now peers
+      Out of darkling clouds. The sad,
+    Sleepless waterfalls forever
+      Roar into the brooding night.
+
+    Atta Troll upon the crest
+      Of his well-beloved cliff
+    Stands alone, and now he howls
+      Down the wind and the abyss:
+
+    "Yea, a bear am I--even he,
+      Even he whom you have named
+    Bruin, growler, shag-coat too,
+      And such other titles vile.
+
+    "Yea, a bear am I--that same
+      Boorish animal you know;
+    That gross, trampling brute am I
+      Of your sly and crafty smiles!
+
+    "Of your wit am I the mark;
+      I'm the bugbear--him with whom
+    Every wicked child you frighten
+      In the silence of the night.
+
+    "Yea, I am that clumsy butt
+      Of your nursery tales--aloud
+    Will I shout that name forever
+      Through the scurvy world of men.
+
+    "Oyez! Oyez! I'm a bear
+      Unashamed of my descent,
+    Just as proud as if my forbear
+      Had been Moses Mendelsohn."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO X
+
+
+    Lo, two figures, wild and sullen,
+      Gliding, sliding on all fours,
+    Break a path at dead of night
+      Through a wood of gloomy pines.
+
+    It is Atta Troll the Sire,
+      One-Ear too, his youngest son,
+    And they halt within a clearing
+      By a stone of bloody rites.
+
+    "This same stone," growled Atta Troll,
+      "Is a shrine where Druids once
+    Slaughtered wretched human wights
+      In dark Superstition's days.
+
+    "Oh! what frightful horrors these!
+      When I think of them, my fur
+    Lifts along my back! To praise
+      God they drenched the soil in blood!
+
+    "Certes, men have now become
+      More enlightened. Now no more
+    Do they slaughter in their zeal
+      For celestial interests.
+
+    "'Tis no longer holy rage,
+      Ecstasy nor madness sheer,
+    But self-love alone that urges
+      Them to slaughter and to crime.
+
+    "Now for worldly goods they strive,
+      Day by day and year by year.
+    It is one eternal war;
+      Each goes robbing for himself.
+
+    "When the common goods of all
+      Fall into the hands of one,
+    Straight of Rights of Property
+      He will prate and Ownership.
+
+    "Property! Just Ownership?
+      Property is theft! O lies!
+    Craft and folly!--such a mixture
+      Man alone would dare invent.
+
+    "Never yet did Nature make
+      Properties, for pocketless
+    We are born into the world--
+      Who hath pockets in his pelt?
+
+    "None of us was ever born
+      With such little sacks devised
+    In our outer hides and skins
+      To enable us to steal!
+
+    "Only man, that creature smooth
+      Who in alien wool is garbed
+    Artfully, in artful wise
+      Made himself such pockets too.
+
+    "Pockets! as unnatural
+      As is property itself,
+    Or that law of have-and-hold.
+      Men are only pocket-thieves!
+
+    "Flamingly I hate them! Thee
+      All my hatred I bequeath.
+    Oh, my son, upon this shrine
+      Shalt thou swear eternal hate!
+
+    "Be the mortal foeman thou
+      Of th' oppressor, unforgiving
+    To thy very end of days!
+      Swear it--swear it here, my son!"
+
+    And the youngster swore as once
+      Hannibal. The moonbeams bleak
+    Yellowed on the bloodstone hoary
+      And that brace of misanthropes.
+
+    Later shall our harp record
+      How the young bear kept his faith
+    And his plighted oath,--for him
+      Shall our epic strings be strung.
+
+    With regard to Atta Troll,
+      Let us leave him for a space,
+    So we may the surer smite
+      Him with our unerring ball.
+
+    Traitor to Humanity!
+      Thou art judged, the sentence writ.
+    Of _lèse-majesté_ thou'rt guilty,
+      And to-morrow sees the chase.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XI
+
+
+    Like to sleepy dancing-girls
+      Lift the mountains white and cold,
+    Standing in their skirts of mist
+      Flaunted by the winds of morn.
+
+    Yet full soon their breasts shall glow
+      To the sun-god's burning kiss,
+    He shall tear the clinging veils
+      And illume their beauty nude.
+
+    In the early dawn had I
+      With Lascaro sallied forth
+    On a bear-hunt and the noon
+      Saw us at the Pont d'Espagne.
+
+    Thus is named the bridge that leads
+      From the land of France to Spain,
+    To barbarians of the West,
+      Centuries behind the times.
+
+    Full ten centuries they lie
+      From all modern thought removed,
+    And my own barbarians
+      Of the East--not more than two.
+
+    Lingering and loth I left
+      The all-hallowed soil of France,
+    Left great Freedom's motherland
+      And the women that I love.
+
+    Midmost of the Pont d'Espagne
+      Sat a Spaniard. Misery
+    Lurked within his tattered cape;
+      Misery lurked within his eyes.
+
+    With his bony fingers he
+      Plucked an ancient mandolin
+    Full of discord shrill which echoed
+      Mockingly from out the gulch.
+
+    Then betimes he leaned aslant
+      O'er the depths and laughed aloud,
+    Tinkled then in maddest wise
+      As he sang his little song:
+
+    "In my very heart of heart
+      There's a tiny golden table,
+    And about this golden table
+      Four small golden chairs are set.
+
+    "Seated on these golden chairs,
+      Little dames with darts of gold
+    In their hair are playing cards--
+      Clara wins at every game.
+
+    "Yes, she wins and smiles in glee.
+      Clara, oh, within my heart,
+    Thou can'st never fail to win,
+      For thou holdest all the trumps!"
+
+    On I wandered and I spoke
+      Thus unto myself. How strange!
+    Lunacy itself sits there
+      Singing on the road to Spain.
+
+    Is this madman not a sign
+      Of how nations trade in thought?
+    Or is he his native land's
+      Wild and crazy title-page?
+
+    Twilight sank before we came
+      To a wretched old _posada_
+    Where _podrida_--favourite dish!
+      Steamed within a dirty pot.
+
+    There _garbanzos_ did I eat
+      Huge and hard as musket-balls,
+    Which not e'en a native Teuton,
+      Bred on dumplings, could digest.
+
+    And my bed was of a piece,
+      With the cooking. Insects vile
+    Dotted it. Oh, surely these
+      Are the grimmest foes of man!
+
+    Far more fearful than the wrath
+      Of a thousand elephants,
+    Is one small and angry bug
+      Crawling o'er thy lowly couch.
+
+    Helpless thou against its bite--
+      That is bad enough!--but worse
+    Evil comes if it be crushed
+      And its horrid smell released.
+
+    All Life's terrors we may taste
+      In the war with vermin waged,
+    Vermin well-equipped with stinks,
+      And in duels with a bug.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XII
+
+
+    How they rave, the blessèd bards--
+      Even the tamest! how they sing,--
+    How they do protest that Nature
+      Is a mighty fane of God!
+
+    One great fane whose splendours all
+      Of the Maker's glory tell;
+    Sun and moon and stars they vow
+      Hang as lamps within the dome.
+
+    Yet concede, most worthy folk,
+      That this mighty temple hath
+    Most uncomfortable stairs,
+      Stairs most villainously bad!
+
+    All this climbing up and down,
+      Escalading, jumping o'er
+    Boulders--how it tires me
+      Both in spirit and in legs!
+
+    By my side Lascaro strode,
+      Like a taper long and pale--
+    Never speaks he, never laughs--
+      He the witch's lifeless son.
+
+    For they say Lascaro died
+      Many years ago--his mother's,--
+    Old Uraka's,--magic draughts
+      Gave to him a seeming life.
+
+    These confounded temple steps!
+      How it chanced that I escaped
+    With whole vertebræ will puzzle
+      Me until my dying day.
+
+    How the torrents foamed and roared!
+      Through the pines how lashed the wind
+    Till they groaned! Then suddenly
+      Burst the clouds! O weather vile!
+
+    In a fisherman's poor hut
+      Close by Lac de Gaube we gained
+    Shelter and a mess of trout--
+      Dish divine and glorious!
+
+    In his padded arm-chair there
+      Sat the ancient ferryman,
+    Ill and grey. His nieces sweet
+      Like two angels tended him.
+
+    Plumpest angels, Flemish quite,
+      As if out of Rubens' frame
+    They had leaped, with golden locks,
+      Sparkling eyes of limpid blue,
+
+    Dimples in each ruddy cheek
+      Where bright mischief peered and hid,
+    And with limbs robust and lithe,
+      Waking both desire and fear.
+
+    Sweet and bonny creatures they
+      Who disputed prettily
+    Which might prove the sweetest draught
+      To their ancient, ailing charge.
+
+    If one proffers him a brew
+      Made of linden-flower tea,
+    Then the other tempts him with
+      Possets made of elder-blooms.
+
+    "I will swallow none of this!"
+      Cried the greyhead, sorely tried,
+    "Bring me wine so that my guest
+      May have worthy drink with me!"
+
+    If this stuff was really wine
+      Which I drank at Lac de Gaube--
+    Who can tell? My countrymen
+      Would have dubbed it sweetish beer.
+
+    Vilely smelled the wine-skin too,
+      Fashioned from a black goat's hide.
+    But the old man drank and drank
+      And grew jubilant and gay.
+
+    Of banditti tales he told
+      And of smugglers, merry men
+    Who still ply their goodly trades
+      Freely in the Pyrenees.
+
+    Many ancient stories, too,
+      He recited, as of wars
+    'Twixt the giants and the bears
+      In the grey primeval days.
+
+    For it seems the bears and ogres
+      Waged a war for mastery
+    Of these ranges and these vales
+      Long ere man came wandering in.
+
+    Startled then at sight of men
+      All the giants fled the land;--
+    Only tiny brains were housed
+      In their huge, unwieldy heads!
+
+    It is also said these dolts,
+      When they reached the ocean-shore
+    Where the azure skies lay glassed
+      In the watery plains below,
+
+    Fondly fancied that the sea
+      Must be Heaven. In they plunged
+    All in reckless confidence,
+      And in watery graves were gulfed.
+
+    Now the bears are slain by man,
+      And each year their number grows
+    Smaller, smaller, till at last
+      None shall roam within the hills.
+
+    "And," the old man cackled, "thus
+      On this Earth must one yield room
+    To the other--after man
+      We shall have a reign of dwarfs.
+
+    "Tiny and most clever wights
+      Toiling in the bowels of Earth,
+    Busy little folk that gather
+      Riches from Earth's golden veins.
+
+    "I have seen their rounded heads
+      Peering out of rabbit-holes
+    In the moonlight--and I shook
+      As I thought of coming days.
+
+    "Yes, I dread the golden power
+      Of these mites. Our sons, I fear,
+    Will like stupid giants plunge
+      Straight into some watery heaven."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XIII
+
+
+    In the cauldron of the cliffs
+      Lies the deep and inky lake.
+    And from heaven the solemn stars
+      Peer upon us. Night and stillness.
+
+    Night and stillness. Beat of oars.
+      Like a rippling mystery
+    Swims our boat. The nieces twain
+      Serve in place of ferrymen.
+
+    Swift and blithe they row. Their arms
+      Sometimes shine from out the night,
+    And on their white skins the stars
+      Gleam and on large eyes of blue.
+
+    At my side Lascaro sits
+      Pale and mute as is his wont,
+    And I shudder at the thought:
+      Is Lascaro really dead?
+
+    Or perchance 'tis I am dead?
+      I, perchance, am drifting down
+    With these spectral passengers
+      To the icy realm of shades?
+
+    Can this lake be Styx's dark,
+      Sullen flood? Hath Proserpine,
+    In the absence of her Charon
+      Sent her maids to fetch me down?
+
+    Nay, not yet my days are done!
+      Unextinguished in my soul
+    Still the living flame of life,
+      Leaps and blazes, glows and sings.
+
+    And these girls who swing their oars
+      Merrily, and splash me too,
+    Laugh and grin with mischief rare
+      As the drops upon me flash.
+
+    Ah, these wenches fresh and strong,
+      Surely they could never be
+    Ghostly hell-cats, nor the maids
+      Of the dark queen Proserpine.
+
+    So that I might be assured
+      Of the girls' reality,
+    And unto myself might prove
+      My own honest flesh and blood,--
+
+    On their rosy dimples I
+      Swiftly pressed my eager lips,
+    And to this conclusion came:
+      Lo, I kiss; therefore I live!
+
+    When we reached the shore, again
+      Did I kiss these bonny maids,--
+    Kisses were the only coin
+      Which in payment they would take.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XIV
+
+
+    Joyous in the golden air
+      Lift the purple mountain heights
+    Where a daring hamlet clings
+      Like a nest against the steep.
+
+    Wearily I climbed and climbed.
+      When at last I stood aloft,
+    Then I found the old birds flown
+      And the fledglings left behind.
+
+    Pretty lads and lassies small
+      With their little heads half hid
+    In their white and scarlet caps,
+      Played at bridals in the mart.
+
+    Neither stay nor halt they brooked,
+      And the little love-lorn Prince
+    Of the Mice knelt down at once
+      To the Cat-King's daughter fair.
+
+    Hapless Prince! At last he's wed
+      To the Princess. How she scolds!
+    Bites him and devours him--
+      Hapless mouse!--thus ends the play.
+
+    That entire day I spent
+      With the children, and we talked
+    Cosily. They longed to know
+      Who I was? and what my trade?
+
+    "Germany, my dears," I spoke,
+      "Is my native country's name--
+    Bears are all too common there,
+      So I took to hunting bears!
+
+    "Many a bear-pelt have I pulled
+      Over many a bearish head,
+    Though, 'tis true, I sometimes got
+      Damage from their bearish paws.
+
+    "But at last I felt disgust
+      Of this strife with ill-licked boors
+    In my blessèd land--I grew
+      Weary of these daily moils.
+
+    "So in quest of nobler game,
+      I at last have come to you;
+    I shall try my little strength
+      'Gainst the mighty Atta Troll.
+
+    "Worthy of me is this noble
+      Foe. In Germany, alas!
+    Many a battle did I win,
+      Most ashamed of victory."
+
+    When I left, the little folk
+      Danced about me in a ring,
+    And in sweetest wise they sang:
+      "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+    And the youngest of them all
+      Stepped before me quick and pert,
+    And four times she curtsied low
+      As she sang in silver tones:
+
+    "Curtsies two I give the King,
+      Should I meet him. And the Queen,
+    Should I meet her, then I give
+      Curtsies three unto the Queen.
+
+    "But should I the devil meet
+      With his fiery eyes and horns,
+    I will make him curtsies four--
+      Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+    "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+      Shouts once more the mocking band,
+    And around me swings the gay
+      Ring-o'-roses with its song.
+
+    As I scrambled down the slopes,
+      After me in echoes sweet,
+    Came these words in bird-like strains:
+      "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XV
+
+
+    Hulking and enormous cliffs
+      Of deformed and twisted shapes
+    Look on me like petrified
+      Monsters of primeval times.
+
+    Strange! the dingy clouds above
+      Drift like doubles bred of mist,
+    Like some silly counterfeit
+      Of these savage shapes of stone.
+
+    In the distance roars the fall;
+      Through the fir trees howls the wind!
+    'Tis a sound implacable
+      And as fatal as despair.
+
+    Lone and dreadful lies the waste
+      And the black daws sit in swarms
+    On the bleached and rotten pines,
+      Flapping with their weary wings.
+
+    At my side Lascaro strides
+      Pale and silent--I myself
+    Must like sorry madness look
+      By dire Death accompanied.
+
+    'Tis a wild and desert place.
+      Curst perchance? I seem to see
+    On the crippled roots of yonder
+      Tree a crimson smear of blood.
+
+    This tree shades a little hut
+      Cowering humbly in the earth,
+    And the wretched roof of thatch
+      Pleads for pity in your sight.
+
+    Cagots are the denizens
+      Of this hut--the last remains
+    Of a tribe which sunk in darkness
+      Bides its bitter destiny.
+
+    In the heart of every Basque
+      You will find a rooted hate
+    Of the Cagots. 'Tis a foul
+      Relic of the days of faith.
+
+    In the minster at Bagnères
+      You may see a narrow grille,
+    Once the door, the sexton told me,
+      Which the herded Cagots used.
+
+    In that day all other gates
+      Were forbidden them. They crawled
+    Like to thieves into the blest
+      House of God to worship there.
+
+    There these wretched beings sat
+      On their lowly stools and prayed,
+    Parted as by leprosy,
+      From all other worshippers.
+
+    But the hallowed lamps of this
+      Later century burn bright,
+    And their light destroys the black
+      Shadows of that cruel age!
+
+    While Lascaro waited there,
+      Entered I the lonely hut
+    Of the Cagot, and I clasped
+      Straight his hand in brotherhood.
+
+    Likewise did I kiss his child
+      Which unto the shrivelled breast
+    Of his wife clung fast and sucked
+      Like some spider sick and starved.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XVI
+
+
+    Shouldst thou see these mountain peaks
+      From the distance thou wouldst think
+    That with gold and purple they
+      Flamed in splendour to the sun.
+
+    But at closer hand their pomp
+      Vanishes. Earth's glories thus
+    With their myriad light-effects
+      Still beguile us artfully.
+
+    What to thee seemed blue and gold
+      Is, alas, but idle snow,
+    Idle snow which, lone and drear,
+      Bores itself in solitude.
+
+    There upon the heights I heard
+      How the hapless crackling snow
+    Cried aloud its pallid grief
+      To the cold and heartless wind:
+
+    "Ah," it sobbed, "how slow the hours
+      Crawl within this awful waste!
+    All these many endless hours,
+      Like eternities of ice!
+
+    "Woe is me, poor snow! I would
+      I had never seen these peaks--
+    Might I but in vales have fallen
+      Where a myriad flowers bloom!
+
+    "To some little brook would I
+      Then have melted, and some maid--
+    Fairest of the land! with smiles
+      Would in me have laved her face.
+
+    "Yea, perchance, I might have fared
+      To the sea and changed betimes
+    To a pearl and gleamed at last
+      In some royal coronet!"
+
+    When I heard this plaint, I spake:
+      "Dearest Snow, indeed I doubt
+    Whether such a brilliant fate
+      Had been thine within the world.
+
+    "Comfort take. Few, few, indeed,
+       Ever grow to pearls. No doubt
+    Thou hadst fallen in the mire
+      And become a clod of mud."
+
+    As in kindly wise I spoke
+      Thus unto the joyless snow,
+    Came a shot--and from the skies
+      Plunged a hawk of brownish wing.
+
+    It was just a hunter's joke
+      Of Lascaro's. But his face
+    Was as ever stark and grim,
+      And his rifle barrel smoked.
+
+    Silently he tore a plume
+      From the hawk's erected tail,
+    Stuck it in his pointed hat
+      And resumed his silent way.
+
+    'Twas an eerie sight to see
+      How his shadow black and thin
+    With the nodding feather moved
+      O'er the slopes of drifted snow.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XVII
+
+
+    Lo, a valley like a street!
+      'Tis the Hollow Way of Ghosts:
+    Dizzily the cloven crags
+      Tower up on every side.
+
+    There upon the sheerest slope
+      Hangs Uraka's little shack
+    Like some outpost over chaos--
+      Thither fared her son and I.
+
+    In a secret dumb-show speech
+      He took counsel with his dam,
+    How great Atta Troll might best
+      Be ensnared and safely slain.
+
+    We had found his mighty spoor.
+      Never more canst thou escape
+    From our hands! thine earthly days
+      All are numbered--Atta Troll!
+
+    Never could I well determine
+      If Uraka, ancient hag,
+    Was in truth a potent witch,
+      As within these Pyrenees
+
+    It was rumoured. But I know
+      That in truth her very looks
+    Were suspicious. Most suspicious
+      Were her red and running eyes.
+
+    Evil is her look and slant.
+      It is said whene'er she stares
+    At some hapless cow, its milk
+      Dries, its udder withers straight.
+
+    It is said that stroking with
+      Her thin fingers, many a kid
+    She had slaughtered, many a huge
+      Ox had stricken unto death.
+
+    Oft within the local court
+      For such crimes arraigned she stood,
+    But the Justice of the Peace
+      Was a true Voltairean.
+
+    Quite a modern worldling he,
+      Shallow and devoid of faith,--
+    So the plaintiffs he dismissed
+      Both in mockery and scorn.
+
+    The alleged official trade
+      Of Uraka's honest quite,
+    For she deals in mountain-herbs
+      And in birds that she has stuffed.
+
+    Her entire hut was crammed
+      With such relics. Horrible
+    Was the smell of cuckoo-flowers,
+      Fungi, henbane, elder-blooms.
+
+    There a fine array of hawks
+      To advantage was displayed,
+    All with pinions stretching wide
+      And with grim enormous bills.
+
+    Was it but the breath of these
+      Maddening plants that turned my brain?
+    Still the vision of these birds
+      Filled me with the strangest thoughts.
+
+    These perchance are mortal wights,
+      Bound by sorcery in this
+    Miserable state as birds
+      Stuffed and most disconsolate.
+
+    Sad, pathetic is their stare,
+      Yet it hath impatience too,
+    And, methinks at times they cast
+      Sidelong glances at the witch.
+
+    She, Uraka, ancient, grim,
+      Crouches low beside her son,
+    Mute Lascaro near the fire
+      Where the twain are casting slugs.
+
+    Casting that same fateful ball
+      Whereby Atta Troll was slain.
+    How the lurching firelight flares
+      O'er the witch's features gaunt!
+
+    Ceaselessly, yet silently
+      Move her thin and quivering lips.
+    Are those magic spells she murmurs
+      That the balls may travel true?
+
+    Now and then she nods and titters
+      To her son. But he is deep
+    In the business of the casts
+      And sits silently as Death.
+
+    Overcome by fevered fears,
+      Yearning for the cooler air,
+    To the window then I strode
+      And looked down the gulches dim.
+
+    All that in that midnight hour
+      I beheld, all that will I
+    Faithfully and featly tell
+      In the canto that shall follow.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XVIII
+
+
+    'Twas the night before Saint John's,
+      In the fullness of the moon,
+    When that wild and spectral hunt
+      Fills the Hollow Way of Ghosts.
+
+    From the window of Uraka's
+      Little cabin I could see
+    All that mighty host of wraiths
+      As it drifted through the gorge.
+
+    Yea, a goodly place was mine
+      Wherefrom I might well behold
+    The tremendous spectacle
+      Of the raised, carousing dead.
+
+    Cracking whips, hallo! hurrah!
+      Neigh of horses, bark of dogs,
+    Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns--
+      How the tumult echoed there!
+
+    Dashing in advance there came
+      Stags and boars adventurous
+    In a solid pack; behind
+      Charged a wild and merry rout.
+
+    Huntsmen come from many zones
+      And from many ages too.
+    Charles the Tenth rode close beside
+      Nimrod the Assyrian.
+
+    High upon their snowy steeds
+      They charged onward. Then on foot
+    Came the whips with hounds in leash
+      And the pages with the links.
+
+    Many in that maddened horde
+      Seemed familiar--yon knight
+    Gleaming all in golden mail,--
+      Surely was King Arthur's self!
+
+    And Lord Ogier the Dane
+      In chain-armour shining green,
+    Truly close resemblance bore
+      To some mighty frog forsooth!
+
+    Many a hero I beheld
+      Of the gleaming world of thought;
+    Wolfgang Goethe straight I knew
+      By the sparkling of his eyes.
+
+    Being damned by Hengstenberg,
+      In his grave no peace he finds,
+    So with pagan blazonry
+      Gallops down the chase of Life.
+
+    By the glamour of his smile
+      Did I know the mighty Will
+    Whom the Puritans once cursed
+      Like our Goethe,--yet must he,
+
+    Luckless sinner, in this host
+      Ride a charger black as coal.
+    Close beside him on an ass
+      Rode a mortal and--great heavens!
+
+    By the weary mien of prayer
+      And the snowy night-cap too,
+    And the terror of his soul,
+      Francis Horn I recognized.
+
+    Commentaries he composed
+      On that great and cosmic child,
+    Shakespeare--therefore at his side
+      He must ride through thick and thin.
+
+    Lo, poor silent Francis rides,
+      He who scarcely dared to walk,
+    He who only stirred himself
+      At tea-tables and at prayers.
+
+    Surely all the oldish maids
+      Who indulged him in his ease,
+    Will be startled when they hear
+      Of his riding rough and free.
+
+    When the gallop faster grows,
+      Then great William glances down
+    On his commentator meek
+      Jogging onward on his ass.
+
+    To the saddle clinging tight,
+      Fainting in his terror sheer,
+    Yet unto his author loyal
+      In his death as in his life.
+
+    Many ladies there I saw,
+      In that crazy train of ghosts,
+    Many lovely nymphs with forms
+      Slender with the grace of youth.
+
+    On their steeds they sat astride
+      Mythologically nude!
+    Though their tresses thick and long
+      Fell like cloaks of stranded gold.
+
+    Garlands rustled on their heads
+      And they swung their laurelled staves,
+    Bending back in reckless ways,
+      Full of joyous insolence.
+
+    Mediæval maids I saw
+      Buttoned high unto the chin,
+    On their saddles seated slant,
+      Poising falcons on their wrists.
+
+    Like a burlesque, from behind
+      On their hacks and skinny nags
+    Came a rout of merry wenches,
+      Most extravagantly garbed.
+
+    And each face, though lovely quite,
+      Bore a trace of impudence;
+    Madly would they shriek and yell,
+      Puffing up their painted cheeks.
+
+    How this tumult echoed there!
+      Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns;
+    Neigh of horses, bark of dogs,
+      Crack of whips! hallo! hurrah!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XIX
+
+
+    But like Beauty's clover-leaf,
+      In the very midst arose
+    Three fair women. I shall never
+      Their majestic forms forget!
+
+    Well I knew the first! Her head
+      Glittered with the crescent moon.
+    Haughty, like some ivory statue
+      Sat the goddess on her steed.
+
+    And her fluttering tunic fell
+      Loose about her hips and breasts,
+    And the torchlight and the moon
+      Laved with love her snowy limbs.
+
+    Marble seemed her very face
+      And like marble cold. How dread
+    Was the pallor and the chill
+      Of that stern and noble front!
+
+    But within her dusky eye
+      Smouldered a mysterious,
+    Cruel and enticing fire
+      Which devoured my poor soul.
+
+    What a change has come o'er Dian
+      Since in outraged chastity
+    She smote Actæon to a stag
+      As a quarry for his hounds!
+
+    Doth she now requite this crime
+      In this gallant company,
+    Riding like some ghostly mortal
+      Through the bleak, nocturnal air?
+
+    Late did passion wake in her
+      But for that the stronger burns,
+    And within her eyes its flames
+      Gleam like fiercest brands of hell.
+
+    For those vanished times she grieves
+      When the men were beautiful;
+    Now in quantity perchance,
+      She forgets their quality.
+
+    At her side a fair one rode--
+      Fair, but not by Grecian lines
+    Was she fair; for all her features
+      Shone with wondrous Celtic glow.
+
+    'Twas Abunda, fairy queen,
+      Whom to know I could not fail
+    By the sweetness of her smile
+      And the madness of her laugh!
+
+    Full and rosy was her face,
+      Like the faces limned by Greuze;
+    And from out her heart-shaped mouth
+      Flashed the splendour of her teeth!
+
+    All the winds made dalliance
+      With her robe of azure blue,
+    And such shoulders never I
+      In my wildest dreams beheld.
+
+    I was almost moved to leap
+      From the window for a kiss;
+    This had been sheer folly, true,
+      Ending in a broken neck!
+
+    Ah, and she, she would have laughed
+      If within that awful gulf
+    I had fallen at her feet;--
+      Laughter such as this I know!
+
+    And the third fair phantom, she
+      Who so moved my errant heart,--
+    Was this but some female fiend
+      Like the other figures twain?
+
+    Whether devil this or saint
+      Know I not. With women, ah,
+    None can ever know where saint
+      Ends nor where the fiend begins.
+
+    All the magic of the East
+      Lay within her glowing face,
+    And her dress brought memories
+      Of Scheherazadê's tales.
+
+    Lips as red as pomegranates
+      And a curved nose lily white,
+    Limbs as slender and as cool
+      As some green oasis-palm.
+
+    From her palfrey white she leaned,
+      Flanked by giant Moors who trod
+    Close beside the queenly dame
+      Holding up the golden reins.
+
+    Of most royal blood was she,
+      She the Queen of old Judea,
+    She great Herod's lovely wife,
+      She who craved the Baptist's head.
+
+    For this crimson crime was she
+      Banned and cursed. Now in this chase
+    Must she ride, a wandering spook,
+      Till the dawn of Judgment Day.
+
+    Still within her hands she bears
+      That deep charger with the head
+    Of the Prophet, still she kisses--
+      Kisses it with fiery lips.
+
+    For she loved the Prophet once,
+      Though the Bible naught reveals,
+    Yet her blood-stained love lives on
+      Storied in her people's hearts.
+
+    How might else a man declare
+      All the longing of this lady?
+    Would a woman crave the head
+      Of a man she did not love?
+
+    She perchance was slightly vexed
+      With her darling, and was moved
+    To behead him, but when she
+      On the trencher saw his head,
+
+    Then she wept and lost her wits,
+      Dying in love's madness straight.
+    (What! Love's madness? pleonasm!
+      Love itself is madness still!)
+
+    Rising nightly from her grave,
+      To this frenzied hunt she hies,
+    In her hands the gory head
+      Which with feline joy she flings
+
+    High into the air betimes,
+      Laughing like a wanton child,
+    Cleverly she catches it
+      Like some idle rubber ball.
+
+    As she swept past me she bowed
+      Most coquettishly and looked
+    On me with her melting eyes,
+      So that all my heart was stirred.
+
+    Thrice that rout raged up and down
+      Past my window, then did she,
+    Ah, most beautiful of shades!
+      Greet me with her precious smile.
+
+    Even when the pageant dimmed
+      And the tumult silent grew
+    In my brain, that smiling face
+      Shone and beckoned on and on.
+
+    All that night I tossed and turned
+      My o'erwearied limbs on straw,
+    Musty straw. No feather-beds
+      In Uraka's hut I found!
+
+    And I mused: what might this mean,
+      This mysterious beckoning?
+    Why, Oh, why, Herodias,
+      Held thy look such tenderness?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XX
+
+
+    Sunrise. Golden arrows dart
+      Through the pallid ranks of mist
+    Till they redden as with wounds
+      And dissolve in shining light.
+
+    Now hath triumph come to Day
+      And the gleaming conqueror
+    In his blinding glory treads
+      O'er the ridges and the peaks.
+
+    All the merry bands of birds
+      Twitter in their hidden nests,
+    And the scent of plants arises
+      Like a psalm of odours rare.
+
+    At the early glint of day
+      Down the valley we had gone.
+    While Lascaro dumb and dour
+      Followed up the bear-tracks dim,
+
+    I with musings sought to slay
+      Time, but tired soon I grew
+    Of my musings,--drear, ah, drear!
+      Were my thoughts and void of joy.
+
+    Weary, joyless, down I sank
+      On a bank of softest moss
+    'Neath a great and kingly ash
+      Where a little spring gushed forth.
+
+    This with wondrous voice beguiled
+      All my wayward mood until
+    Thought and thinking vanished both
+      In the music of the spring.
+
+    Mighty longings seized me then,
+      Madness, dreams and death-desires,
+    Longings for those splendid queens
+      Riding in that ghostly throng.
+
+    Oh, ye lovely shapes of night,
+      Banished by the rose of dawn,
+    Whither, tell me, have ye fled,
+      Whither have ye flown by day?
+
+    Somewhere 'neath old temple-ruins
+      In the wide Romagna hid,
+    It is said Diana flees
+      The dominion of the Christ.
+
+    Only in the midnight gloom,
+      Dare she venture forth, but then
+    How she joys the merry chase
+      And the pagan sports of old!
+
+    Fay Abunda also fears
+      All these sallow Nazarenes,
+    So by day she hides herself
+      Deep in secret Avalon.
+
+    For this sacred island lies
+      In the still and silent sea
+    Of Romanticism, whither
+      None save wingèd steeds may go.
+
+    There no anchor Care may drop,
+      Never there do steamships touch,
+    Bringing loads of Philistines
+      With tobacco-pipes, to stare.
+
+    Never does that dismal, dull
+      Ring of bells this stillness break--
+    That atrocious bumm-bamm sound
+      Which all gentle fairies hate.
+
+    There, abloom with lasting youth
+      In unbroken joyfulness,
+    Lives that merry-hearted dame,
+      Golden-locked Abunda fair.
+
+    Laughing there she strolls between
+      Huge sun-flowers drenched with light,
+    Followed by her retinue
+      Of unworldly Paladins.
+
+    Ah, but thou, Herodias,
+      Say, where art thou? Ah, I know!
+    Thou art dead and buried deep
+      By Jerusholayim's walls!
+
+    Corpse-like is thy sleep by day
+      In thy marble coffin laid,
+    But at midnight dost thou wake
+      To the crack of whips! hurrah!
+
+    With Abunda, Dian, too,
+      Dost thou join the headlong plunge
+    And the blithesome hunter rout
+      Fleeing from all cross and care.
+
+    What companions rare and blithe!
+      Might but I, Herodias,
+    Ride at night through forests dark,
+      I would gallop at thy side!
+
+    For of all I love thee most!
+      More than any goddess Grecian,
+    More than any northern fay,
+      Do I love thee, Jewess dead!
+
+    Yea, I love thee most! 'Tis true,
+      By the trembling of my soul!
+    Love me too and be my sweet,--
+      Loveliest Herodias!
+
+    Love me too and be my love!
+      Fling that gory block-head far
+    With its trencher. Sweeter dishes
+      I shall give thee to enjoy.
+
+    Am not I thy proper knight
+      Whom thou seekest? What care I
+    If perchance thou'rt dead and damned--
+      Prejudices I have none!
+
+    Is my own salvation not
+      In a parlous state? And oft
+    Do I question if my life
+      Still be linked with human lives.
+
+    Take me, take me as thy knight,
+      Thine own _cavalier servente_;
+    I will bear thy silken robe
+      And each wayward mood of thine.
+
+    Every night beside thee, love,
+      With this crazy horde I'll ride,
+    And we'll kiss and thou shalt laugh
+      At my quips and merry pranks.
+
+    I will help thee speed the hours
+      Of the night. And yet by day
+    All my joy shall pass;--in tears
+      I shall sit upon thy grave.
+
+    Aye, by day will I sit down
+      In the dust of kingly vaults,
+    At the grave of my belovèd
+      By Jerusholayim's walls!
+
+    Then the grey Jews passing by
+      Will imagine that I mourn
+    The destruction of thy temple
+      And thy gates, Jerusholayim.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXI
+
+
+    Shipless Argonauts are we,
+      Foot loose in the mighty hills,
+    But instead of golden fleece
+      We seek Bruin's shaggy hide.
+
+    Naught but sorry devils twain,
+      Heroes of a modern cut,
+    And no classic bard will ever
+      Make us live within his song!
+
+    Even though we suffered dire
+      Hardships! What torrential rains
+    Fell upon us at the peak
+      Where was neither tree nor cab!
+
+    Cloudbursts! Heaven's dykes were down!
+      And in bucketsful it poured--
+    Jason, lost on Colchis bleak,
+      Suffered no such shower-bath!
+
+    "Six-and-thirty kings I'll give
+      Just for one umbrella now!"
+    So I cried. Umbrella none
+      Was I offered in that flood.
+
+    Weary unto death and glum,
+      Wet as drownèd rats, we came
+    Back unto the witch's hut
+      In the middle of the night.
+
+    There beside the glowing hearth
+      Sat Uraka with a comb,
+    Toiling o'er her swollen pug;--
+      Him she quickly flung aside
+
+    As we entered. First my couch
+      She prepared, then bent to loose
+    From my feet the _espardillos_,--
+      Footgear comfortless and rude!
+
+    Helped me to disrobe,--she drew
+      Off my pantaloons which clung
+    To my legs as close and tight
+      As the friendship of a fool.
+
+    "Oh, a dressing-gown! I'd give
+      Six-and-thirty kings," I cried,
+    "For a dry one!"--as my shirt,
+      Wringing wet, began to steam.
+
+    Shivering, with chattering teeth,
+      There I stood beside the hearth,
+    Till the fire drowsed me quite,
+      Then upon the straw I sank.
+
+    Sleepless but with blinking eyes
+      Peered I at the witch who crouched
+    By the fire with her son's
+      Body spread upon her lap.
+
+    Upright at her side the pug
+      Stood, and in his clumsy paws,
+    Very cleverly and tight,
+      Held aloft a little jar.
+
+    From this did Uraka take
+      Reddish fat and salved therewith
+    Swift Lascaro's ribs and breast
+      With her thin and trembling hands.
+
+    And she hummed a lullaby
+      In a high and nasal tone
+    As she rubbed him with the salve
+      'Midst the crackling of the fire.
+
+    Sere and bony like a corpse
+      Lay the son upon the lap
+    Of his mother; opened wide
+      Stared his pale and tragic eyes.
+
+    Is he really dead, this man?
+      Kept alive by mother-love?
+    Nightly by the witch-fat potent
+      Salved into a magic life?
+
+    Oh, that strange, strange fever-sleep!
+      In which all my limbs grew stiff
+    As if fettered, yet each sense,
+      Overwrought, waked horribly!
+
+    How that smell of hellish herbs
+      Plagued me! Musing in my woe,
+    Long I thought where had I once
+      Smelled such odours?--but in vain.
+
+    How the wind within the flue
+      Wrought me terror! Like the sobs
+    Of some parchèd soul it rang--
+      Or some well-remembered voice!
+
+    But these stuffed birds standing guard
+      On a board above my head,
+    These grim birds tormented me
+      Far beyond all other things!
+
+    Slowly, gruesomely they moved
+      Their accursèd wings and bent
+    Low to me with monstrous bills,
+      Bills like human noses huge.
+
+    Where had I such noses seen?
+      Well, mayhap in Hamburg once,
+    Or in Frankfort's ghetto dim;
+      Memory smote me harshly then.
+
+    But at last did slumber quite
+      Overcome me and in place
+    Of such waking phantoms crept
+      Wholesome and unbroken dreams.
+
+    And within my dream the hut
+      Quickly to a ball-room changed,
+    High on lofty pillars borne
+      And illumed by chandeliers.
+
+    There invisible musicians
+      Played from "Robert le Diable"
+    That atrocious dance of nuns
+      As I promenaded there.
+
+    But at last the portals wide
+      Open and with stately step
+    Slowly in the hall appear
+      Guests most wonderful and strange.
+
+    Every one a bear or spectre!
+      Striding upright every bear
+    Leads an apparition wrapped
+      In a white and gleaming shroud.
+
+    Coupled in this wise, each pair
+      Up and down began to waltz
+    Through the hall. O strangest sight!
+      Fit for laughter and for fear!
+
+    How those plump old animals
+      Panted in the paces set
+    By those filmy shapes of air
+      Whirling gracefully and light!
+
+    Pitiless, the harried beasts
+      Thus were borne along until
+    Their deep panting overdroned
+      Even the orchestral bass!
+
+    When betimes the couples crashed
+      In collision, then each bear
+    Gave the pushing spectre straight
+      Hearty kicks upon the rump.
+
+    Sometimes in the tumult too
+      When the cerements fell away
+    From each white and muffled head,--
+      Lo! a grinning skull appeared!
+
+    But at last with shattering blare
+      Yelled the horns, the cymbals clashed
+    And the thunder of the drums
+      Brought about the gallopade.
+
+    But the end of this, alas,
+      Came not to my dreams. For, lo,
+    One most clumsy bear trod full
+      On my corns--I shrieked and woke!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXII
+
+
+    Phoebus in his solar coach,
+      Whipping up his steeds of flame,
+    Had traversed the middle part
+      Of his journey through the skies,
+
+    Whilst in sleep I lay a-dream
+      With the goblins and the bears
+    Winding like mad arabesques
+      Through my slack and heated brain.
+
+    When I wakened it was noon,
+      And I found myself alone,
+    Since my hostess and Lascaro
+      For the chase had left at dawn.
+
+    There was no one save the pug
+      In the hovel. There he stood
+    By the hearth beside the pot
+      Holding in his paws a spoon.
+
+    Clever pug! well disciplined!
+      Lest the steaming soup boil over,
+    Swift he stirred it round and round,
+      Skimming off the foam and scum.
+
+    But--am I bewitchèd too?
+      Or does fever smoulder still
+    In my brain? For scarce can I
+      Trust my ears. The pug-dog speaks!
+
+    Aye, he speaks in homely strains
+      Of the Swabian dialect,
+    Deeply sunk in thought, he cries,
+      As it were within a dream:
+
+    "Woe is me--a Swabian bard,
+      Banned in exile must I grieve
+    In a pug-dog's cursèd shape
+      Guardian of a witch's pot.
+
+    "What a base and hideous crime
+      Is this sorcery! My fate
+    Ah, how tragic! I, a man,
+      In the body of a dog!
+
+    "Had I but remained at home
+      With my jolly comrades true--
+    No vile sorcerers are they!
+      And their spells no man need fear.
+
+    "Had I but remained at home
+      At Karl Meyer's--with the sweet
+    Noodles of the Vaterland
+      And good honest metzel-soup!
+
+    "Of homesickness I shall die!
+      Might I only spy the smoke
+    Rising from old Stuttgart's flues
+      When the precious dumplings seethe."
+
+    Pity seized me when I heard
+      This sad story, and I sprang
+    From my couch and took a seat
+      By the fireplace and spake:
+
+    "Noble poet, tell what chance
+      Brought thee to this beldam's hut.
+    Why, oh why, in cruel wise,
+      Wast thou changed into a dog?"
+
+    But the pug exclaimed in joy:
+      "What! You are no Frenchman then?
+    But a German, and you've heard
+      All my hapless monologue?
+
+    "Ah, dear countryman, 'twas ill
+      That old Köllè, Councillor,
+    When at eve we sat and argued
+      At the inn o'er pipe and mug,
+
+    "Should have harped on the idea
+      That by travel only might
+    One attain such culture broad,
+      As by travel he attained!
+
+    "Now, so I might shed the rude
+      Husk that on my manners lay,
+    Even as Köllè, and attain
+      Polish from the world at large,
+
+    "To my home I bade farewell,
+      And in quest of culture came
+    To the Pyrenees at last,
+      And Uraka's little hut.
+
+    "And a reference I brought
+      From Justinus Kerner too!
+    Never did I dream my friend
+      Stood in league with such a witch!
+
+    "Friendly was Uraka's mood,
+      Till at last with horrid shock,
+    Lo, I found her friendliness
+      Had to fiery passion grown.
+
+    "Yes, within that withered breast
+      Lust blazed up in monstrous wise,
+    And at once this vicious crone
+      Sought to drag me down to sin.
+
+    "Yet I prayed: 'Oh, pardon, ma'am!
+      Do not fancy I am one
+    Of those wanton Goethe Bards,--
+      I belong to Swabia's school.
+
+    "'Sweet Morality's our Muse
+      And the drawers she wears are made
+    Of the stoutest leather--Oh!
+      Do not wrong my virtue, pray!
+
+    "'Other bards may boast of soul,
+      Others phantasy--and some
+    Of their passion--Swabians have
+      Nothing but their innocence.
+
+    "'Nothing else do we possess!
+      Do not rob me of my pure,
+    Most religious beggar's cloak,--
+      Naked else my soul must go!'
+
+    "Thus I spoke, whereat the hag
+      Smiled with hideous irony,
+    Seized a switch of mistletoe,
+      Smote me over brow and cheek.
+
+    "Chilly spasms seized me then
+      Just as if a goose's skin
+    Crept across my limbs--but oh!
+      This was worse than goose's-skin!
+
+    "It was nothing more nor less
+      Than a dog-pelt! Since that hour,
+    That accursèd hour, I've lived
+      Changed into a lumpy pug!"
+
+    Luckless wight! his piteous sobs
+      Now denied him further speech,
+    And so bitterly he wept
+      That he half dissolved in tears.
+
+    "Hark!" I spoke in pity then,
+      "Tell me how you might be freed
+    From this dog-skin. How may I
+      Give you back to muse and man?"
+
+    In despair, disconsolate,
+      Then he raised his paws in air,
+    And with sobs and groans at length
+      Thus his mournful plaint he made:
+
+    "Not before the Judgment Day
+      Shall I shed this horrid form,
+    If no noble virgin come
+      To absolve me of the curse.
+
+    "None can free me save a maid,
+      Pure, untouched by any man,
+    And she must fulfil a pact
+      Most inexorable--thus:
+
+    "Such unspotted maiden must
+      In Sylvester's holy night
+    Read the verse of Gustav Pfizer,
+      Read it and not fall asleep!
+
+    "If her chaste eyes do not close
+      At the reading--then, O bliss!
+    I shall disenchanted be,
+      Breathe as man--unpugged at last!"
+
+    "In that case, alas," said I,
+      "Never may I undertake
+    Your salvation, for you see,
+      First I am no spotless maid,
+
+    "And, still more impossible,
+      Secondly, I ne'er could read
+    Any one of Pfizer's poems
+      And not fall asleep at once."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXIII
+
+
+    From this eerie witch-menage
+      To the valley down we went,
+    And once more our feet took hold
+      On the good and solid Earth.
+
+    Spectres hence! Hence, gibbering masks!
+      Shapes of air and fever-dreams!--
+    Once again, most sensibly
+      Let us deal with Atta Troll.
+
+    In the cavern with his young
+      Bruin lies in slumber wrapt,
+    Snoring like an honest soul,
+      Then he stretches, yawns and wakes.
+
+    And young One-Ear crouches down
+      At his side, his head he rakes
+    Like a poet seeking rhymes,
+      And upon his paws he scans.
+
+    Close beside the father lie
+      Atta Troll's belovèd girls,
+    Pure, four-footed lilies they,
+      Stretched in dreams upon their backs.
+
+    Ah, what tender thoughts must glow
+      In the budding souls of these
+    Snow-white virgin bearesses
+      With their soft and dewy eyes?
+
+    And the youngest of them all
+      Seems most deeply stirred. Her heart,
+    Smitten by Dan Cupid's shaft,
+      Quivers with a blissful throe.
+
+    Yea, this godling's arrow pierced
+      Through and through her furry pelt
+    When she saw him first--Oh, heavens!
+      'Tis a mortal man she loves!
+
+    Man it is--Schnapphahnski named,
+      Who one day in mad retreat
+    Passed her as she wandered through
+      The dim passes of the hills.
+
+    Woes of heroes move the fair,
+      And within our hero's face,
+    Quite as usual, sorrow lowered,
+      Pallid care and money-need.
+
+    Spent were all his funds of war!
+      Two-and-twenty silver groats
+    Taken unto Spain by him
+      Espartero seized as spoil.
+
+    Aye, his very watch was gone!
+      This in Pampeluna's pawnshop
+    Lay in bondage. 'Twas a rich
+      Heirloom all of silver made.
+
+    Little thought he as he ran
+      On his long legs through the woods,
+    He had won a greater thing
+      Than a fight--a loving heart!
+
+    Yes, she loves him--him the born
+      Enemy of bears she loves!
+    Hapless maid! If but your sire
+      Knew it--oh! what rage were his!
+
+    Just like Odoardo old
+      Who in honest burgess-pride
+    Stabbed Emilia Galotti--
+      Even so would Atta Troll
+
+    Rather slay his darling lass,
+      Slay her with his proper paws,
+    Than that she should ever sink
+      Even into princely arms!
+
+    Yet in this same moment he
+      Is as softly moved--"no rose
+    Would he pluck before the storm
+      Reft it of its petals fair."
+
+    Atta Troll in saddest mood
+      Lies within his rocky cave.
+    Like Death's warning o'er him creeps
+      Hunger for infinity.
+
+    "Children!" then he sobs, the tears
+      Burst from out his mournful eyes,--
+    "Children! soon my earthly days
+      Shall be ended--we must part.
+
+    "Unto me this very noon
+      Came a dream of import vast,
+    And my soul drank in the sweet
+      Sense of early death-to-be.
+
+    "Superstitious am I not,
+      Nor fantastic--ah, and yet
+    More things lie 'twixt Earth and Heaven
+      Than philosophy may dream.
+
+    "Pondering on the world and fate,
+      Yawning I had dropped asleep,
+    And I dreamed that I was lying
+      Stretched beneath a mighty tree.
+
+    "From the branches of this tree
+      White celestial honey dripped
+    Straight into my open jaws,
+      Filling me with wondrous bliss.
+
+    "Peering happily aloft
+      Soon I spied within the leaves
+    Seven pretty little bears
+      Gliding up and down the boughs.
+
+    "Delicate and dainty things,
+      All with pelts of rosy hue,
+    And their heavenly voices rang
+      Like a melody of flutes!
+
+    "As they sang an icy chill
+      Seized my flesh, although my soul
+    Like a flame went soaring straight
+      Gleaming into highest Heaven."
+
+    Thus with soft and quivering grunts,
+      Spake our Atta Troll, then grew
+    Silent in his wistful grief.
+      Suddenly his ears he raised,
+
+    And in strangest wise they twitched!
+      Then from up his couch he sprang
+    Trembling, bellowing with joy:
+      "Children! do you hear that voice!
+
+    "Are not those the dulcet tones
+      Of your mother? Do I not
+    My dear Mumma's grumbles know?--
+      Mumma! Mumma! precious mate!"
+
+    Like a madman with these words
+      From the cave rushed Atta Troll
+    Swift to his destruction--oh!
+      To his ruin straight he plunged.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXIV
+
+
+    In the Vale of Roncesvalles,
+      On that very spot where erst
+    Charlemagne's great nephew fell,
+      Gasping forth his warrior soul,
+
+    Fell and perished Atta Troll,
+      Fell through ambush, even as he
+    Whom that Judas of the Knights,
+      Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed.
+
+    Oh! that noblest trait in bears--
+      Conjugal affection--love--
+    Formed a pitfall which Uraka
+      In her evil craft prepared.
+
+    For so truly mimicked she
+      Coal-black Mumma's tender growls,
+    That poor Atta Troll was lured
+      From the safety of his lair.
+
+    On desire's wings he ran
+      Through the valley, halting oft
+    By a rock with tender sniff,
+      Thinking Mumma there lay hid.
+
+    There Lascaro lay, alas,
+      With his rifle. Swift he shot
+    Through that gladsome heart a ball,
+      And a crimson stream welled forth.
+
+    Twice or thrice he shakes his head
+      To and fro, at last he sinks
+    Groaning, seized with ghastly shudders;--
+      "Mumma!" is his final sob!
+
+    Thus our noble hero fell--
+      Perished thus. Immortal he
+    Yet shall live in strains of bards,
+      Resurrected after death.
+
+    He shall rise again in song,
+      And his wide renown shall stalk
+    In this blunt trochaic verse
+      O'er the round and living Earth.
+
+    In Valhalla's Hall a shaft
+      Shall King Ludwig build for him,--
+    In Bavarian lapidary
+      Style these words be there inscribed:
+
+    ATTA TROLL, REFORMER, PURE,
+      PIOUS: HUSBAND WARM AND TRUE,
+    BY THE ZEIT-GEIST LED ASTRAY--
+      WOOD-ENGENDERED SANS-CULOTTE:
+
+    DANCING BADLY: YET IDEALS
+      BEARING IN HIS SHAGGY BREAST:
+    OFTTIMES STINKING VERY STRONGLY,
+      TALENT NONE: BUT CHARACTER.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXV
+
+
+    Three-and-thirty wrinkled dames,
+      Wearing on their heads their Basque
+    Scarlet hoods of ancient style,
+      Stood beside the village gate.
+
+    One of them, like Deborah,
+      Beat the tambourine and danced
+    While she sang a hymn in praise
+      Of the slayer of the bear.
+
+    Four strong men in triumph bore
+      Slaughtered Atta, who erect
+    In his wicker litter sat
+      Like some patient at a spa.
+
+    To the rear, like relatives
+      Of the dead, Lascaro came
+    With Uraka, who abashed,
+      Nodded to the right and left.
+
+    Then the town-clerk at the hall
+      Spoke as the procession came
+    To a halt. Of many things
+      Spoke that dapper little man.
+
+    As, for instance, of the rise
+      Of the navy, of the Press,
+    Of the sugar-beet debates,
+      And that hydra, party strife.
+
+    All the feats of Louis Philippe
+      Vaunted he unto the skies,--
+    Of Lascaro then he spoke
+      And his great heroic deed.
+
+    "Thou Lascaro!" cried the clerk,
+      As he mopped his streaming brow
+    With his bright tri-coloured sash--
+      "Thou Lascaro! thou that hast
+
+    "Freed Hispania and France
+      From that monster Atta Troll,
+    By both lands shalt be acclaimed the
+      Pyreneean Lafayette!"
+
+    When Lascaro in official
+      Wise thus heard himself announced
+    As a hero, then he smiled
+      In his beard and blushed for joy.
+
+    And in stammering syllables
+      And in broken phrases he
+    Stuttered forth his gratitude
+      For the honour shown to him.
+
+    Wonder-smitten then stood all
+      At the unexpected sight,
+    And in low and timid tones
+      Thus the ancient women spoke:
+
+    "Did you hear Lascaro laugh?
+      Did you see Lascaro blush?
+    Did you hear Lascaro speak?
+      He the witch's perished son!"
+
+    On that very day they flayed
+      Atta Troll. At auction they
+    Sold his hide. A furrier bid
+      Just an even hundred francs.
+
+    And the furrier decked the skin
+      Handsomely, and mounted it
+    All on scarlet. For this work
+      He demanded twice the cost.
+
+    From a third hand Juliet
+      Then received it. Now it lies
+    As a rug before her bed
+      In the city by the Seine.
+
+    Oh, how many nights I've stood
+      Barefoot on the earthly husk
+    Of my hero great and true,
+      On the hide of Atta Troll!
+
+    Then by sorrow deeply touched
+      Would I think of Schiller's words:
+    "That which song would make eternal
+      First must perish from the Earth."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXVI
+
+
+    What of Mumma? Mumma, ah!
+      Is a woman. Frailty
+    Is her name! Alas, that women
+      Should be frail as porcelain!
+
+    Now when Fate had parted her
+      From her great and noble mate,
+    Did she perish of her woe,
+      Sinking into hopeless gloom?
+
+    Nay, contrarywise, she lived
+      Merrily as ever--danced
+    For the public as before,
+      Eager for their plaudits too.
+
+    And at last a splendid place
+      And support for all her days
+    Was procured for her in Paris
+      At the old Jardin-des-Plantes.
+
+    There, last Sunday as I strolled
+      Through that place with Juliet,
+    Baring Nature's realms to her--
+      Animal and vegetable,--
+
+    Tall giraffes, and cedars brought
+      Out of Lebanon, the huge
+    Dromedary, golden pheasants,
+      And the zebra;--chatting thus,--
+
+    We at last stood still and leaned
+      O'er the rampart of that pit
+    Where the bears are safely penned--
+      Heavens! what a sight we saw!
+
+    There a huge bear from the wastes
+      Of Siberia, snowy-white,
+    Dallied in a love-feast sweet
+      With a she-bear small and dark.
+
+    This was Mumma! This, alas,
+      Was the mate of Atta Troll!
+    Well I knew her by the soft
+      Glances of her dewy eye.
+
+    It was she! the daughter dark
+      Of the Southland! Mumma lives
+    With a Russian now; she lives
+      With this savage of the North!
+
+    Smirking spake a negro then,
+      Coming up with stealthy pace:
+    "Could there be a fairer sight
+      Than a pair of lovers, say?"
+
+    Then I answered him: "Pray, who
+      Honours me by this address?"
+    Whereupon he cried amazed:
+      "Have you quite forgotten me?
+
+    "Why I am that Moorish prince
+      Who beat drums in Freiligrath--
+    Times were bad--in Germany
+      I was lonely and forlorn.
+
+    "Now as keeper I'm employed
+      In this garden,--here I find
+    All the flowers of my native
+      Tropics,--lions, tigers, too.
+
+    "Here I feel content and gay,
+      Better than at German fairs,
+    Where each day I beat the drum
+      And was fed but scantily.
+
+    "Late in wedlock was I bound
+      To a blonde Alsatian cook,
+    And within her arms I feel
+      All my native joys again!
+
+    "And her feet remind me ever
+      Of my blessèd elephants,
+    And her French has quite the ring
+      Of my sable mother-tongue.
+
+    "When she coughs, the rattle fierce
+      Moves me of that famous drum
+    Which, bedecked with human skulls,
+      Drove the snakes and lions far.
+
+    "But when moonlight charms her mood,
+      Like a crocodile she weeps,
+    Which from out some luke-warm stream
+      Lifts to gape in cooler air.
+
+    "And she cooks me dainty bits.
+      See, I thrive! I feed again
+    As upon the Niger I
+      Fed with gusto African!
+
+    "Mark the nicely rounded paunch
+      I possess! Behold it peeps
+    From my shirt like some black moon
+      Stealing forth from whitest clouds."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXVII
+
+    (To August Varnhagen von Ense)
+
+
+      "Heavens! where, dear Ludoviso,
+    Did you steal this crazy stuff?"
+    With these words did Cardinal
+      D'Este Ariosto greet
+
+    When that poet read his work
+      On Orlando's madness. This
+    He unto His Eminence
+      Humbly sought to dedicate.
+
+    Yes, Varnhagen, dear old friend,
+      Yes, I see these very words
+    Tremble on thy lips, that same
+      Faint and devastating smile.
+
+    Sometimes o'er a book thou laughest,
+      Then again in earnestness
+    Thy high forehead wrinkles o'er
+      As old memories come to thee.
+
+    Hark unto the dreams of youth!
+      Such Chamisso dreamed with me,
+    And Brentano, Fouqué, too,
+      In blue nights beneath the moon.
+
+    Comes no sound of saintly chimes
+      From that vanished forest fane,
+    And no tinkling of the gay
+      Unforgotten cap-and-bells?
+
+    Through the choir of nightingales
+      Rumbles now the growl of bears,
+    Low and fierce, and changes then
+      To the gibbering of ghosts!
+
+    Madness in the guise of sense,
+      Wisdom with a broken spine!
+    Dying sobs which suddenly
+      Into hollow laughter pass!
+
+    Aye, my friend, such strains arise
+      From the dream-time that is dead,
+    Though some modern trills may oft
+      Caper through the ancient theme.
+
+    Spite of waywardness thou'lt find
+      Here and there a note of pain;--
+    To thy well-proved mildness now
+      Do I recommend my song!
+
+    'Tis, perchance, the final strain
+      Of the pure and free Romance:--
+    In to-day's wild battle-clash,
+      Miserably it must end.
+
+    Other times and other birds!
+      Other birds and other songs!
+    What a chattering as of geese
+      That had saved a capitol!
+
+    What a chirping!--sparrows these
+      Penny tapers in their claws,
+    Yet have they assumed the ways
+      Of Jove's eagle with the bolt.
+
+    What a cooing! Turtle-doves,
+      Cloyed with love, now long to hate,
+    And thenceforth in place of Venus'
+      They would drag Bellona's car!
+
+    What a buzz that shakes the skies!--
+      These must be the great May-beetles
+    Of the nation's dawning Spring,
+      With a Viking fury seized!
+
+    Other times and other birds!
+      Other birds and other songs;--
+    These, perchance, might yield delight
+      Were I blest with other ears!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+NOTES TO "ATTA TROLL"
+
+BY DR. OSCAR LEVY
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+THE GOD OF SCHELLING. The German philosopher Schelling (1775-1854) was
+at first a follower of Spinoza, and had published in his youth a
+pantheistic philosophy which had made him famous. In later life he began
+to doubt his former beliefs, and promised to the world another and more
+Christian explanation of God and the universe. The promised book,
+however, never appeared.
+
+The gap, thus left by Schelling, has since been filled up by a host of
+more courageous, if less conscientious, investigators.
+
+"SEA-SURROUNDED SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN" OYSTERS. "Schleswig-Holstein
+Meerumschlungen (sea-surrounded)" was the German Marseillaise after 1846
+and again in 1863-64.
+
+ARNOLD RUGE (1802-1880) was the leader of the New Hegelian school, and
+published certain famous annuals for art and science at Halle. In 1848
+he was elected to the Parliament at Frankfort, but was forced to flee to
+London, where he struck up a fast friendship with Mazzini. In the
+Revolutionary Committee of London he represented Germany, as
+Ledru-Rollin represented France and Mazzini Italy.
+
+CHRISTIAN-GERMANIC. One of the favourite phrases and shibboleths of the
+Romantic School, which may still be heard in the Germany of to-day.
+
+FERDINAND FREILIGRATH (1810-1876). A well-known poet and skilful
+translator of French and English poets, such as Burns, Byron, Thomas
+Moore, and Victor Hugo. His own poems betray his dependence upon Hugo.
+Frederick William IV, King of Prussia, bestowed a pension upon him in
+1842. When his friends, however, charged him with having sold himself to
+the Government, the poet refused the pension. Thereafter he devoted
+himself more and more to the democratic party and wrote many political
+poems. In 1848 he went abroad, living in London the greater part of the
+time. He returned to Germany in 1868, and in 1870 published several
+patriotic poems which met with great acclaim.
+
+The sudden conversion from international Democracy to Nationalism is
+easily explained. Modern states have become democratic, and
+democrats--but they alone--find it easy to feel comfortable and
+patriotic in such a milieu.
+
+
+CANTO I
+
+DON CARLOS. After the death of Ferdinand VII of Spain (1833) a lengthy
+civil war broke out between his younger brother, Don Carlos, and the
+Queen-widow Christina, who had assumed the regency for her daughter
+Isabella.
+
+SCHNAPPHAHNSKI. A comic word composed of the German word "schnappen,"
+to snap, and "hahn," cock. It has also been incorporated into French in
+the form "chenapan." It is applied here to Prince Felix Lichnowski
+(1814-1848), who left the Prussian Army in 1838 and entered the service
+of Don Carlos, who appointed him a brigadier-general. After his return
+from Spain, Lichnowski wrote his "Reminiscences," the publication of
+which involved him in a duel in which he was badly wounded. The
+"Reminiscences" are couched in Heine's own style, and their hero is
+called Schnapphahnski.
+
+JULIET. Juliet is to be understood as referring to Heine's mistress and
+subsequent wife, Mathilde.
+
+
+CANTO II
+
+QUEEN MARIA CHRISTINA. She was the wife of Ferdinand VII and assumed the
+regency after his death. Soon after the king's demise, she married a
+member of her bodyguard, one Don Ferdinand Muñoz, who was afterwards
+given the title of Duke of Rianzares. She bore him several children.
+
+PUTANA. Italian for strumpet.
+
+
+CANTO IV
+
+MASSMANN. A German philologist and one of Heine's favourite butts. He
+was one of the most enthusiastic advocates of German gymnastics.
+Athletics was one of the pet ideas of the German patriots; the
+Government, however, held it in suspicion, inasmuch as the so-called
+"Turner" (gymnasts) cherished political ambitions. In time, however, the
+exercise of the muscles cured the revolutionary brain-fag, and the
+Government was enabled to assume a sort of protectorship over
+gymnastics. Though enthusiastically carried on to this very day in
+Germany, the movement no longer has any political significance.
+
+FRESH, PIOUS, GAY, AND FREE. FRISCH, FROMM, FRÖHLICH, FREI--the four
+F's--formed the motto of the German "Turner."
+
+
+CANTO V
+
+BATAVIA. Apparently a well-known female ape in Heine's day, trained in
+theatrical feats of skill.
+
+FREILIGRATH (see above). As a refuge from the crassness of his times,
+Freiligrath usually chose exotic themes for his poems, frequently
+African in nature, as, for instance, in his "Löwenritt." The allusion to
+the mule (in German "camel," which bears the same opprobrious meaning as
+"ass") gives us reason to believe that Heine's preface must not be taken
+too seriously and that his opinion of the poet Freiligrath was by no
+means a high one.
+
+FRIEDRICH LUDWIG GEORG VON RAUMER (1781-1873). A well-known German
+historian, author of the "History of the Hohenstaufens."
+
+
+CANTO VIII
+
+TUISKION. The god whom the Germans, according to Tacitus (vide
+"Germania," cap. II) regard as the original father of their race.
+
+LUDWIG FEUERBACH (1804-1872). An honest thinker, who recognised that
+there was an unbridgable gulf between philosophy and theology. He left
+the Hegelian school, which can be so well adapted to the need of
+theologians, and considered as the only source of religion--the human
+brain. "The Gods are only the personified wishes of men," he used to
+say. He brought German philosophy down from the clouds to cookery by
+declaring: "Der Mensch ist, was er isst" ("Man is what he eats"). He was
+a believer in what he called "Healthy sensuality," which made him the
+philosopher of artists in the 'thirties and 'forties of the last
+century, amongst others of Richard Wagner. The latter, however,
+afterwards repented, and, by way of Schopenhauer, turned Christian.
+
+Feuerbach came from a family that would have been the delight of Sir
+Francis Galton, author of "Hereditary Genius." Feuerbach's father was a
+famous jurist, who had five sons, all of whom attained the honour of
+appearing in the German Encyclopædias. The philosopher was the fourth
+son. Again: the famous painter Anselm Feuerbach was his nephew, the son
+of his eldest brother.
+
+BRUNO BAUER (1809-1882). A destructive commentator of the New Testament.
+He belonged to the school of "higher" criticism which has done so much
+to "lower" Christianity in the eyes of savants and professors and so
+little in those of mankind at large. His "Critique of the Evangelistic
+History of Saint John" (1840) and his "Critique of the Evangelistic
+Synoptists" (1841-42) had just been published when Heine wrote "Atta
+Troll."
+
+
+CANTO IX
+
+MOSES MENDELSOHN (1729-1786). Grandfather of the famous composer. He was
+a Jewish philosopher and a friend of Lessing's, who, it is supposed,
+took him as his model for "Nathan the Wise." He freed his German
+co-religionaries from the oppressive influence of the Talmud.
+
+
+CANTO X
+
+PROPERTY IS THEFT. A dictum of Prudhon.
+
+
+CANTO XII
+
+REIGN OF DWARFS. The approaching rule of clever little trades-people,
+whose turn it will soon be if democracy progresses as at present.
+Compare Nietzsche's "Zarathustra," Part III, 49, "The Bedwarfing
+Virtue": "I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they have
+become _smaller_, and ever become _smaller: the reason thereof is their
+doctrine of happiness and virtue_."
+
+THIS CONCLUSION. "Lo, I kiss, therefore I live"--a witty travesty of
+Descartes' "Cogito, ergo sum."
+
+
+CANTO XIV
+
+SO I TOOK TO HUNTING BEARS. Heine considers Atta Troll, the bear bred by
+the French Revolution, as a much greater and more dangerous foe, and
+therefore a worthier opponent of his than the sorry German bears--or
+patriots--with whom he was forced to contend in his native country and
+who incessantly worried (and still worry) him.
+
+
+CANTO XV
+
+CAGOTS. The remnant of an ancient tribe, driven out of human society as
+unclean--Cagot from _Canis gothicus_. The Cagots may still be found in
+obscure parts of the French Pyrenees; they have their own language and
+are distinguished by their yellow skins from the peoples of Western
+Europe. In the Middle Ages they were persecuted as heretics and were
+excluded from all contact with their neighbours. They were forced to
+bear a tag upon their clothes so that they might be known as inferiors.
+Even to-day, despite the fact that they possess the same rights as other
+Frenchmen, they are considered as somewhat debased and unclean.
+
+
+CANTO XVIII
+
+THE WILD HUNT which Heine describes in this canto is an old German
+legend which poets and painters have found to be a fertile source of
+inspiration. The wild huntsman must ride through the world every night,
+followed by all evil-doers, and wherever he appears, thither, according
+to old folk-belief, does misfortune come. Tradition herds all the foes
+of Christianity among this rout of evil-doers; for this reason does
+Heine include Goethe--the "great pagan," as the Germans call him--in
+that crew. There have been other foes of Christianity since, and some
+very great figures amongst them, so that in time the Wild Huntsman's
+Company may become quite presentable.
+
+HENGSTENBERG (1802-1869). A fanatical theologian professor at Berlin who
+made an attack upon Goethe's "Elective Affinities," which then had not
+yet become a classic, and was thus still liable to the attacks of the
+"learned."
+
+FRANZ HORN. A contemporary of Heine's of no particular importance, a
+poet of the Romantic School and a verbose literary historian. He wrote a
+work in five volumes upon Shakespeare's plays. In this he interprets the
+poet in a wholly romantic sense and winds up by presenting him as an
+enthusiastic Christian.
+
+
+CANTO XIX
+
+ABUNDA--in the Celtic (Breton) folk-lore Dame Abonde and even Dame
+Habonde. The Celtic element (as, for instance, the legend of King
+Arthur's Round Table) played a great part in the romantic poetry of
+Germany, and later in the music dramas of Wagner. Romanticism is
+therefore represented in Heine's poem by the fairy Abunda, in
+contradistinction to the Greek and Semitic inspiration--represented by
+Diana and Herodias. Heine's conception of Herodias as being in love with
+the Baptist and taking her revenge on him for his Josephian attitude
+towards her, has, no doubt, influenced later writers on the subject,
+especially Flaubert and Oscar Wilde, save that these had not the courage
+(nor perhaps the insight) to regard the hero in question as a
+"block-head."
+
+
+CANTO XX
+
+SIX-AND-THIRTY KINGS. At once an allusion to Shakespeare's "A kingdom
+for a horse!" ("Richard III") and a side-stroke glancing at the various
+kings and princes of Germany--some thirty-six in Heine's time.
+
+
+CANTO XXI
+
+HELLISH HERBS. The foul and mouldy herbs and medicines in Uraka's hut
+represent a collection of remedies for the cure and preservation of
+decaying feudalism and Christian mediævalism, which, however, no remedy
+can restore to health. The smell in Uraka's hut is the smell of the
+"rotting past," that, in spite of all nostrums and artificial revivals,
+goes on decomposing. The stuffed birds which glare so fixedly and
+forlorn, and have long bills like human noses, are members of Heine's
+own race. These stuffed birds are the symbols of Judaism which according
+to our Hellenistic poet, possesses, as religion, as little life as the
+Christianity that is based upon it.
+
+
+CANTO XXII
+
+A SWABIAN BARD. The Swabian school of poetry, of which Uhland was the
+leader, was the chief representative of German Chauvinism in Heine's
+day. W. Menzel, the critic who denounced "Young Germany" to the
+Government, belonged to this school. Börne answered him in his "Menzel
+der Franzosenfresser" ("The Gallophobe"), and Heine mocked at him in his
+paper "The Denunciator." Gustav Pfizer (who had provoked Heine) and Karl
+Meyer were members of the Swabian school, and prided themselves
+particularly upon their morality and religiosity, for which reason they
+set themselves in antagonism to the "heathen" Goethe. Goethe, on his
+part, estimated this school as little as did Heine. In a letter to
+Zelter dated October 5, 1831, Goethe writes thus of Pfizer: "...I read a
+poem lately by Gustav Pfizer ... the poet appears to have real talent
+and is evidently a very good man. But as I read I was oppressed by a
+certain poverty of spirit in the piece and put the little book away at
+once, for with the advance of the cholera it is well to shield oneself
+against all debilitating influences. The work is dedicated to Uhland,
+and one might well doubt if anything exciting, thorough, or humanly
+compelling could be produced from those regions in which he is master. I
+will therefore not rail at the work, but simply leave it alone. _It is
+really marvellous how these little men are able to throw their
+goody-religious-poetic beggar's cloak so cleverly about their shoulders
+that, whenever an elbow happens to stick out, one is tempted to consider
+this as a deliberate poetic intention_."
+
+METZEL-SOUP. A Swabian soup of the country districts, glorified in the
+poetry of Uhland. It is usually prepared from the "insides" of pigs.
+
+CHRISTOPHER FRIEDRICH K. VON KÖLLE (1781-1848). A Privy Councillor of
+the Legation of Würtemberg--composer of many poems and political
+pamphlets.
+
+JUSTINUS KERNER (1786-1862) was also a poet of the Swabian school. He
+believed in spirits, and made many observations and experiments in his
+house at Weinsburg in order to obtain some knowledge of the
+supernatural world. Thousands of those who believed, or wished to
+believe, came to his "séances." He worked in conjunction with a
+celebrated medium of his time, and later published a very successful
+book about this lady. Heine, no doubt, had this medium in mind when he
+mentioned Kerner.
+
+
+CANTO XXIII
+
+BALDOMERO ESPARTERO (1792-1879). A celebrated Spanish general who fought
+against Don Carlos on the side of Maria Christina. He was later given
+the title of Duke of Vittoria.
+
+EMILIA GALOTTI. This refers to the heroine of Lessing's drama of the
+same name, in which old Odoardo Galotti slays his daughter in order to
+protect her from dishonour. The theme is derived from the story of
+Virginia and Tarquin.
+
+"NO ROSE WOULD HE PLUCK, ETC." Lessing's drama closes thus: "_Odoardo_:
+'God! what have I done!' _Emilia_: 'Thou hast merely plucked a rose ere
+the storm reft it of its petals.'"
+
+
+CANTO XXIV
+
+GANELON OF MAINZ was the stepfather of Roland, against whom he bore a
+grudge. He contrived to bring about his destruction by betraying him to
+the Saracens, who over-powered and killed him in the Valley of
+Roncesvalles, as related in the well-known "Chanson de Roland."
+
+VALHALLA'S HALL. King Ludwig I of Bavaria ordered a Greek temple to be
+built on the banks of the Danube near Regensburg, to which he gave the
+name of Valhalla. In this the busts of all great Germans are placed--as,
+for instance, with great ceremony, that of Bismarck some years ago, and
+recently that of Wagner. Atta Troll's epitaph is a satirical imitation
+of the poetic effusions of Ludwig I, who considered himself a poet but
+was nothing more than an affected versifier. His mania for compression
+and for participial forms (not to be tolerated in German) more than once
+drew the arrows of Heine's wit. The last line: "Talent none, but
+character," has become a familiar phrase in Germany.
+
+
+CANTO XXV
+
+PYRENEEAN LAFAYETTE. Lafayette fought for the Revolution in France as
+well as in America.
+
+"THAT WHICH SONG WOULD MAKE ETERNAL," &c. A quotation in a semi-satiric
+vein from Schiller's "The Gods of Greece."
+
+
+CANTO XXVI
+
+DROVE THE SNAKES AND LIONS FAR. A burlesque quotation from
+Freiligrath's poem "Der Löwenritt," from which also the reference later
+on to the crocodile is taken.
+
+
+CANTO XXVII
+
+VARNHAGEN VON ENSE (1785-1858). After abandoning his career as a
+diplomat, von Ense married the celebrated Rahel. He lived in Berlin,
+where the salon of his wife became the meeting-ground for artists and
+writers. In his youth he associated closely with the romantics--de la
+Motte Fouqué, Chamisso, and Clemens Brentano, the brother of Bettina von
+Arnim. Though imitating the heavy and cautious style of the later Goethe
+he was a good writer, and his biographies of celebrated men belong to
+the best in German literature. He endeavoured, but without success, to
+win over the all-powerful Austrian Minister Metternich to the cause of
+"Young Germany."
+
+OTHER TIMES AND OTHER BIRDS! These words refer to the new generation of
+poets--Georg Herwegh, Friedrich Freiligrath, Dingelstedt, Hoffmann von
+Fallersleben, and Anastasius Grün--who came upon the scene about 1840,
+cherished mechanic-democratic ideals and brought about the Revolution of
+1848. Heine, by nature an aristocratic poet, who instinctively dreaded
+the competition of "noble bears," saw all his loftiest principles
+trodden into the mire by these Utopian hot-heads and the crew of
+politicians that came storming after them. This doctrinaire and
+numerical interpretation of the rights of man--for which rights in their
+proper application the poet himself had fought so valiantly--caused him
+great unhappiness. He now saw his fairest concepts (as is made clear in
+his own introduction) distorted as in some crooked mirror, and so,
+filled with anger, grief and disgust, he conceived and wrote his
+lyrico-satiric masterpiece, "Atta Troll." The poem has been
+misunderstood to this very day, for the mechanics and theorists have
+practically won. _The day it is understood, their reign will be over_.
+
+PRINTED AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS LONDON
+
+
+NOTES OF THE TRANSCRIBER
+
+Three instances of "Willy Pogàny" were corrected to "Willy Pogány."
+
+"ond entreaties" was changed to "fond entreaties."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Atta Troll
+
+Author: Heinrich Heine
+
+Contributor: Oscar Levy
+
+Illustrator: Willy Pogány
+
+Translator: Herman Scheffauer
+
+Release Date: February 17, 2010 [EBook #31305]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATTA TROLL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Meredith Bach, Chuck Greif and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ATTA TROLL
+
+_From the German of
+Heinrich Heine_
+
+by
+
+_Herman Scheffauer_
+with an introduction
+
+by
+
+_Dr Oscar Levy_
+and some Pen-and-Ink
+sketches by
+_Willy Pogány_
+
+Sidgwick & Jackson London 1913
+
+[Illustration: Frontispiece]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ATTA TROLL
+
+From the German of
+_Heinrich Heine_
+
+by
+
+_Herman Scheffauer_
+with some Pen-and-Ink
+sketches by
+_Willy Pogány _
+
+Sidgwick & Jackson London 1913]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                page
+
+INTRODUCTION
+  An Interpretation of Heinrich
+  Heine's "Atta Troll," by Dr.
+  Oscar Levy                       3
+
+PREFACE
+  By Heine                        25
+
+ATTA TROLL                        35
+
+NOTES
+  By Dr. Oscar Levy              165
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+                              page
+
+FRONTISPIECE                    ii
+
+TITLE-PAGE                     iii
+
+ATTA TROLL                      iv
+
+INTRODUCTION (Half-Title)        1
+
+ATTA TROLL (Half-Title)         33
+
+
+_The headings and tail-pieces to the Cantos are by Horace Taylor_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: INTRODUCTION]
+
+
+
+
+AN INTERPRETATION OF HEINRICH HEINE'S "ATTA TROLL"
+
+
+_HE who has visited the idyllic isle of Corfu must have seen, gleaming
+white amidst its surroundings of dark green under a sky of the deepest
+blue, the Greek villa which was erected there by Elizabeth, Empress of
+Austria. It is called the Achilleion. In its garden there is a small
+classic temple in which the Empress caused to be placed a marble statue
+of her most beloved of poets, Heinrich Heine. The statue represented the
+poet seated, his head bowed in profound melancholy, his cheeks thin and
+drawn and bearded, as in his last illness._
+
+_Elizabeth, Empress of Austria, felt a sentimental affinity with the
+poet; his unhappiness, his_ Weltschmerz, _touched a responsive chord in
+her own unhappy heart. Intellectual sympathy with Heine's thought or
+tendencies there could have been little, for no woman has ever quite
+understood Heinrich Heine, who is still a riddle to most of the men of
+this age._
+
+_After the assassination of the hapless Empress, the beautiful villa was
+bought by the German Emperor. He at once ordered Heine's statue to be
+removed--whither no one knows. Royal (as well as popular) spite has
+before this been vented on dead or inanimate things--one need only ask
+Englishmen to remember what happened to the body of Oliver Cromwell. The
+Kaiser's action, by the way, did not pass unchallenged. Not only in
+Germany but in several other countries indignant voices were raised at
+the time, protesting against an act so insulting to the memory of the
+great singer, upholding the fame of Heine as a poet and denouncing the
+new master of the Achilleion for his narrow and prejudiced views on art
+and literature._
+
+_There was, however, a sound reason for the Imperial interference.
+Heinrich Heine was in his day an outspoken enemy of Prussia, a severe
+critic of the House of Hohenzollern and of other Royal houses of
+Germany. He was one who held in scorn the principles of State and
+government that are honoured in Germany, and elsewhere, to this very
+day. He was one of those poets--of whom the nineteenth century produced
+only a few, but those amongst the greatest--who had begun to distrust
+the capacity of the reigning aristocracy, who knew what to expect from
+the rising bourgeoisie, and who were nevertheless not romantic enough to
+believe in the people and the wonderful possibilities hidden in them.
+These poets--one and all--have taken up a very negative attitude towards
+their contemporaries and have given voice to their anger and
+disappointment over the pettiness of the society and government of their
+time in words full of satire and contempt._
+
+_Of course, the echo on the part of their audiences has not been
+wanting. All these poets have experienced a fate surprisingly similar,
+and their relationship to their respective countries reminds one of
+those unhappy matrimonial alliances which--for social or religious
+reasons--no divorce can ever dissolve. And, worse than that, no
+separation either, for a poet is--through his mother tongue--so
+intimately wedded to his country that not even a separation can effect
+any sort of relief in such a desperate case. All of them have tried
+separation, all of them have lived in estrangement from their
+country--we might almost say that only the local and lesser poets of the
+last century have stayed at home--and yet in spite of this separation
+the mutual recriminations of these passionate poetical husbands and
+their obstinate national wives have never ceased. Again and again we
+hear the male partner making proposals to win his spouse to better and
+nobler ways, again and again he tries to "educate her up to himself" and
+endeavours to direct her anew, pointing out to her the danger of her
+unruly and stupid behaviour; again and again his loving approaches are
+thwarted by the well-known waywardness of the feminine character, and so
+all his friendly admonitions habitually turn into torrents of abuse and
+vilification. There have been many unhappy unions in the world, but the
+compulsory_ mésalliances _of such great nineteenth-century writers as
+Heine, Byron, Stendhal, Gobineau, and Nietzsche with Mesdames
+Britannia, Gallia, and Germania, those otherwise highly respectable
+ladies, easily surpass in grotesqueness anything that has come to us
+through divorce court proceedings in England and America. That, as every
+one will agree, is saying a good deal._
+
+_The German Emperor, as I have said, had some justification for his
+action, some motives that do credit, if not to his intellect, at least
+to what in our days best takes the place of intellect; that is to say
+his character and his principles of government. The German Emperor
+appears at least to realize how offensive and, from his point of view,
+dangerous, the spirit of Heinrich Heine is to this very day, how deeply
+his satire cuts into questions of religion and State, how impatient he
+is of everything which the German Emperor esteems and venerates in his
+innermost heart. But the German people, on the whole, and certainly all
+foreigners, have long ago forgiven the poet, not because they have
+understood the dead bard better than the Emperor, but because they
+understood him less well. It is always easier to forgive an offender if
+you do not understand him too well, it is likewise easier to forgive
+him if your memory be short. And the peoples likewise resemble our
+womenfolk in this respect, that as soon as they are widowed of their
+poets, they easily forget all the unpleasantness that had ever existed
+between them and their dead husbands. It is then and only then that they
+discover the good qualities of their dead consorts and go about telling
+everybody "what a wonderful man he was." Their behaviour reminds me of a
+picture I once saw in a French comic paper. It represented a widow who,
+in order to hear her deceased husband's voice, had a gramophone put at
+his empty place at the breakfast table. And every morning she sat
+opposite that gramophone weeping quietly into her handkerchief, gazing
+mournfully at the instrument--decorated with her dead hubby's tasselled
+cap--and listening to the voice of the dear departed. But the only words
+which came out of the gramophone every morning were:_ Mais fiche-moi
+donc la paix--tu m'empêches de lire mon journal! _(For goodness' sake,
+leave me alone and let me read my paper.) This, however, did not appear
+to disturb the sentimental widow at all, as little indeed as a good
+sentimental people resents being abused by its dead poet._
+
+_And how our poet did abuse them during his life! And not only during
+his life, for Heine would not have been a great poet if his loves and
+hatreds, his censure and his praise had not outlasted his life, nay, had
+not come to real life only after his death. Thus the shafts of wit and
+satire which Heine levelled at his age and his country will seem
+singularly modern to the reader of to-day. It is this peculiar modern
+significance and application that has been one of the two reasons for
+presenting to the English public the first popular edition of Heine's
+lyrico-satiric masterpiece "Atta Troll." The other reason is the fine
+quality of the translation, made by one who is himself well known as a
+poet, my friend Herman Scheffauer. I venture to say that it renders in a
+remarkable degree the elusive brilliance, wit, and tenderness of the
+German original._
+
+_The poem begins in a sprightly fashion full of airy mockery and
+romantic lyricism. The reader is beguiled as with music and led on as in
+a dance. Heine himself called it_ das letzte freie Waldlied der Romantik
+_("The last free woodland-song of Romanticism"); and so we hear the
+alluring sound of flutes and harps, we listen to the bells ringing from
+lonely chapels in the forest, and many beautiful flowers nod to us, the
+mysterious blue flower amongst them. Then our eyes rejoice at the sight
+of fair maidens, whose nude and slender bodies gleam from under their
+floods of golden hair, who ride on white horses and throw us provocative
+glances, that warm and quicken our innermost hearts. But just as we are
+on the point of responding to their fond entreaties we are startled by
+the cracking of the wild hunter's whip, and we hear the loud hallo and
+huzza of his band, and see them galloping across our path in the eerie
+mysterious moonlight. Yes, in "Atta Troll" there is plenty of that
+moonshine, of that tender sentimentality, which used to be the principal
+stock-in-trade of the German Romanticist._
+
+_But this moonshine and all the other paraphernalia of the Romantic
+School Heine handled with all the greater skill, inasmuch as he was no
+longer a real Romanticist when he wrote "Atta Troll." He had left the
+Romantic School long ago, not without (as he himself tells us) "having
+given a good thrashing to his schoolmaster." He was now a Greek, a
+follower of Spinoza and Goethe. He was a_ Romantique défroqué--_one who
+had risen above his neurotic fellow-poets and their hazy ideas and wild
+endeavours. But for this very reason he is able to use their mode of
+expression with so much the greater skill, and, knowing all their
+shortcomings, he could give to his Dreamland a semblance of reality
+which they could never achieve. Only after having left a town are we in
+a position to judge the height of its church steeple, only as exiles do
+we begin to see the right relation in which our country stands to the
+rest of the world, and only a poet who had bidden farewell to his party
+and school, who had freed himself from Romanticism, could give us the
+last, the truest, the most beautiful poem of Romanticism._
+
+_It is possible, even probable, that "Atta Troll" will appeal to a
+majority of readers, not through its satire, but through its wonderful
+lyrical and romantic qualities--our age being inclined to look askance
+at satire, at least at true satire, at satire that, as the current
+phrase goes, "means business." Weak satire, aimless satire, humour,
+caricature--that is to say satire which uses blank cartridges--this age
+of ours will readily endure, nay heartily welcome; but of true satire,
+of satire that goes in for powder and shot, that does not only crack,
+but kill, it is mortally, and, if one comes to think of it rightly,
+afraid. But let even those who object to powder and shot approach "Atta
+Troll" without fear or misgiving. They will not be disappointed. They
+will find in this work proof of the old truth that a satirist is always
+and originally a man of high ideals and imagination. They will gain an
+insight into his much slandered soul, which is always that of a great
+poet. They will readily understand that this poet only became a satirist
+through the vivacity of his imagination, through the strength of his
+poetic vision, through his optimistic belief in humanity and its
+possibilities; and that it was precisely this great faith which forced
+him to become a satirist, because he could not endure to see all his
+pure ideals and the possibilities of perfection soiled and trampled upon
+by thoughtless mechanics, aimless mockers and babbling reformers. The
+humorist may be--and very often is--a sceptic, a pessimist, a nihilist;
+the satirist is invariably a believer, an optimist, an idealist. For let
+this dangerous man only come face to face, not with his enemies, but
+with his ideals, and you will see--as in "Atta Troll"--what a generous
+friend, what an ardent lover, what a great poet he is. Thus no one will
+be in the least disturbed by Heine's satire: on the contrary, those who
+object to it on principle will hardly be aware of it, so delighted will
+they be with the wonderful imagination, the glowing descriptions, and
+the passionate lyrics in which the poetry of "Atta Troll" abounds. The
+poem may be and will be read by them as "Gulliver's Travels" is read
+to-day by young and old, by poet and politician alike, not for its
+original satire, but for its picturesque, dramatic, and enthralling
+tale._
+
+_But let those who still believe that writing is fighting, and not
+sham-fighting only, those who hold that a poet is a soldier of the pen
+and therefore the most dangerous of all soldiers, those who feel that
+our age needs a hailstorm of satire, let these, I say, look closer at
+the wonderfully ideal figures that pass before them in the pale
+mysterious light. Let them listen more intently to the flutes and harps
+and they will discover quite a different melody beneath--a melody by no
+means bewitching or soothing, nor inviting us to dreams, sweet
+forgetfulness, soft couches, and tender embraces, but a shrill and
+mocking tune that is at times insolently discordant and that strikes us
+as decidedly modern, realistic, and threatening. As the poet himself
+expressed it in his dedication to Varnhagen von Ense:_
+
+    "_Aye, my friend, such strains arise_
+      _From the dream-time that is dead_
+    Though some modern trills may oft
+      Caper through the ancient theme.
+
+    "Spite of waywardness thou'lt find
+      Here and there a note of pain...."
+
+_Let their ears seek to catch these painful notes. Let their eyes
+accustom themselves to the deceitful light of the moon; let them
+endeavour to pierce through the romanticism on the surface to the
+underlying meaning of the poem.... A little patience and we shall see
+clearly...._
+
+_Atta Troll, the dancing bear, is the representative of the people. He
+has--by means of the French Revolution, of course--broken his fetters
+and escaped to the freedom of the mountains. Here he indulges in that
+familiar ranting of a_ sansculotte, _his heart and mouth brimming over
+with what Heine calls_ frecher Gleichheitsschwindel _("the barefaced
+swindle of equality"). His hatred is above all directed against the
+masters from whose bondage he has just escaped, that is to say against
+all mankind as a race. As a "true and noble bear" he simply detests
+these human beings with their superior airs and impudent smiles, those
+arrogant wretches, who fancy themselves something lofty, because they
+eat cooked meat and know a few tricks and sciences. Animals, if properly
+trained, if only equality of opportunity were given to them, could
+learn these tricks just as well--there is therefore no earthly reason
+why_
+
+          _"these men,_
+    _Cursèd arch-aristocrats,_
+    _Should with haughty insolence_
+    _Look upon the world of beasts."_
+
+_The beasts, so Atta Troll declares, ought not to allow themselves to be
+treated in this wise. They ought to combine amongst themselves, for it
+is only by means of proper union that the requisite degree of strength
+can ever be attained. After the establishment of this powerful union
+they should try to enforce their programme and demand the abolition of
+private property and of human privileges:_
+
+    _"And its first great law shall be_
+    _For God's creatures one and all_
+    _Equal rights--no matter what_
+    _Be their faith, or hide, or smell,_
+
+    _"Strict equality! Each ass_
+    _May become Prime Minister,_
+    _On the other hand the lion_
+    _Shall bear corn unto the mill."_
+
+_This outrageous diatribe of the freed slave cuts deeply into the poet's
+heart. He, the poet, does not believe in equal, but in the "holy inborn"
+rights of men, the rights of valid birth, the rights of the man of
+[Greek: harethê]. He, the poet, the admirer of Napoleon, believes
+in the latter's_ la carrière ouverte aux talents, _but not in
+opportunity given to every dunce or dancing bear. He holds Atta Troll's
+opinion to be "high treason against the majesty of humanity," and since
+he can endure this no longer, he sets out one fine morning to hunt the
+insolent bear in his mountain fastnesses._
+
+_A strange being, however, accompanies him. This is a man of the name of
+Lascaro, a somewhat abnormal fellow, who is very thin, very pale, and
+apparently in very poor health. He is consequently not exactly a
+pleasant comrade for the chase: he does not seem to enjoy the sport at
+all, and his one endeavour is to get through with his task without
+losing more of his strength and health. Even now he is more of an
+automaton than a human being, more dead than alive, and yet--greatest of
+all miseries!--he is not allowed to die. For he has a mother, the witch
+Uraka, who keeps him artificially alive by anointing him every night
+with magic salve and giving him such diabolic advice as will be useful
+to him during the day. By means of the sham health she gives to her son,
+the magic bullets she casts for him, the tricks and wiles she teaches
+him, Lascaro is enabled to find the track of Atta Troll, to lure him out
+of his lair and to lay him low with a treacherous shot._
+
+_Who is this silent Lascaro and his mysterious mother, whom the poet
+seems to hold in as slight regard as the noisy Atta Troll? Who is this
+Lascaro, whose methods he deprecates, whose health he doubts, whose cold
+ways and icy smiles make him shudder? Who is this chilliest of all
+monsters? The chilliest of all monsters--we may find the answer in
+"Zarathustra"--is the State: and our Lascaro is nothing else than the
+spirit of reactionary government, kept artificially alive by his old
+witch-mother, the spirit of Feudalism. The nightly anointing of Lascaro
+is a parody on the revival of mediæval customs, by means of which the
+frightened aristocracy of Europe in the middle of the last century tried
+to stem the tide of the French Revolution--the anointed of the Lord
+becoming in Heine's poem the anointed of the witch. But in spite of his
+nightly massage, our Lascaro does not gain much strength or spirit: no
+mediæval salves, no feudal pills, no witch's spell, will ever cure him.
+Not even a wizard's experiments (we may add, with that greater insight
+bestowed upon us by history) could do him any good, not even the astute
+magic tricks that were lavished upon the patient in Heine's time by that
+arch wizard, the Austrian Minister Metternich. For we must not forget
+the time in which "Atta Troll" was written, the time of the omnipotent
+Metternich! Let us recall to our memories this cool, clever, callous
+statesman, who founded and set the Holy Alliance against the Revolution,
+who calmly shot down the German Atta Troll, who skilfully strangled and
+stifled that promising poetical school, "Young Germany," to which Heine
+belonged. Let us recall this man, who likewise artificially revived the
+old religion and the old feudalism, who repolished and regilded the
+scutcheons of the decadent aristocracy, and who, despite all his energy,
+had at heart no belief in his work, no joy in his task, no faith in the
+anointed dummies he brought to life again in Europe--and those puzzling
+personalities of Uraka and Lascaro will be elucidated to us by a real
+historical example._
+
+_Metternich is now part of history. But, alas! we cannot likewise banish
+into that limbo of the past those two superfluous individuals, the
+revolutionary Atta Troll and the reactionary Lascaro. Alas! we cannot
+join the joyful, but inwardly so hopeless, band of those who sing the
+pæan of eternal progress, who pretend to believe that the times are
+always "changing for the better." Let these good people open their eyes,
+and they will see that Atta Troll was not shot down in the valley of
+Roncesvalles, but that he is still alive, very much alive, and making a
+dreadful noise, and that not in the Pyrenees, but just outside our
+doors, where he still keeps haranguing about equality and liberty and
+occasionally breaks his fetters and escapes from his masters. And when
+this occurs, then that icy monster Lascaro is likewise seen, with his
+hard, pallid face and his joyless mouth, and his disgust with his own
+task and his doubts and disbeliefs in himself. He still carries his gun
+and he still possesses some of that craftiness which his mother the
+witch has taught him, and he still knows how to entrap that poor, stupid
+Atta Troll, and to shoot him down when the spirit of "order and
+government," the spirit of a soulless capitalism, requires it._
+
+_No, there is very little feeling in the man as yet, and he seems as
+difficult to move as ever. There is apparently only one thing that can
+rouse him into action, and that is when a poet appears, one who knows
+the truth and who dares to speak the truth not only about Atta Troll,
+the people, but also about its Lascaros, its leaders, its emperors, and
+kings. Then and then only his hard features change, and his affected
+self-possession leaves him, then and then only his mask of calmness is
+thrown off, and he waxes very angry with the poet, and has his name
+banished from his court and his statues turned out of his cities and
+villas--nay, he would even level his gun to slay the truth-telling poet
+as he slew Atta Troll._
+
+_From which we may see that the modern Lascaro has become a sort of Don
+Quixote--for, truly is it not the height of folly for a mortal emperor
+to shoot at an immortal poet?_
+
+OSCAR LEVY
+
+London, 1913
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE BY HEINE
+
+
+_"ATTA TROLL" was composed in the late autumn of 1841, and appeared as a
+fragment in_ The Elegant World, _of which my friend Laube had at that
+time resumed the editorship. The shape and contents of the poem were
+forced to conform to the narrow necessities of that periodical. I wrote
+at first only those cantos which might be printed and even these
+suffered many variations. It was my intention to issue the work later in
+its full completeness, but this commendable resolve remained
+unfulfilled--like all the mighty works of the Germans--such as the
+cathedral of Cologne, the God of Schelling, the Prussian Constitution,
+and the like. This also happened to "Atta Troll"--he was never finished.
+In such imperfect form, indifferently bolstered up and rounded only from
+without, do I now set him before the public, obedient to an impulse
+which certainly does not proceed from within._
+
+_"Atta Troll," as I have said, originated in the late autumn of 1841, at
+the time when the great mob which my enemies of various complexions,
+had drummed together against me, had not quite ceased its noise. It was
+a very large mob and indeed I would never have believed that Germany
+could produce so many rotten apples as then flew about my head! Our
+Fatherland is a blessed country! Citrons and oranges certainly do not
+grow here, and the laurel ekes out but a miserable existence, but rotten
+apples thrive in the happiest abundance, and never a great poet of ours
+but could write feelingly of them! On the occasion of that hue and cry
+in which I was to lose both my head and my laurels it happened that I
+lost neither. All the absurd accusations which were used to incite the
+mob against me have since then been miserably annihilated, even without
+my condescending to refute them. Time justified me, and the various
+German States have even, as I must most gratefully acknowledge, done me
+good service in this respect. The warrants of arrest which at every
+German station past the frontier await the return of this poet, are
+thoroughly renovated every year during the holy Christmastide, when the
+little candles glow merrily on the Christmas trees. It is this
+insecurity of the roads which has almost destroyed my pleasure in
+travelling through the German meads. I am therefore celebrating my
+Christmas in an alien land, and it will be as an exile in a foreign
+country that I shall end my days._
+
+_But those valiant champions of Light and Truth who accuse me of
+fickleness and servility, are able to go about quite securely in the
+Fatherland--as well-stalled servants of the State, as dignitaries of a
+Guild, or as regular guests of a club where of evenings they may regale
+themselves with the vinous juices of Father Rhine and with
+"sea-surrounded Schleswig-Holstein" oysters._
+
+_It was my express intention to indicate in the foregoing at what period
+"Atta Troll" was written. At that time the so-called art of political
+poetry was in full flower. The opposition, as Ruge says, sold its
+leather and became poetry. The Muses were given strict orders that they
+were thenceforth no longer to gad about in a wanton, easy-going fashion,
+but would be compelled to enter into national service, possibly as_
+vivandières _of liberty or as washerwomen of Christian-Germanic
+nationalism. Especially were the bowers of the German bards afflicted by
+that vague and sterile pathos, that useless fever of enthusiasm which,
+with absolute disregard for death, plunges itself into an ocean of
+generalities. This always reminds me of the American sailor who was so
+madly enthusiastic over General Jackson that he sprang from the
+mast-head into the sea, crying out: "I die for General Jackson!" Yes,
+even though we Germans as yet possessed no fleet, still we had plenty of
+sailors who were willing to die for General Jackson, in prose or verse.
+In those days talent was a rather questionable gift, for it brought one
+under suspicion of being a loose character. After thousands of years of
+grubbing deliberation, Impotence, sick and limping Impotence, at last
+discovered its greatest weapon against the over-encouragement of
+genius--it discovered, in fact, the antithesis between Talent and
+Character. It was almost personally flattering to the great masses when
+they heard it said that good, average people were certainly poor
+musicians as a rule, but that, on the other hand, fine musicians were
+not usually good people--that goodness was the important thing in this
+world and not music. Empty-Head now beat resolutely upon his full Heart,
+and Sentiment was trumps. I recall an author of that day who accounted
+his inability to write as a peculiar merit in himself, and who, because
+of his wooden style, was given a silver cup of honour._
+
+_By the eternal gods! at that time it became necessary to defend the
+inalienable rights of the spirit, above all in poetry. Inasmuch as I
+have made this defence the chief business of my life, I have kept it
+constantly before me in this poem whose tone and theme are both a
+protest against the plebiscite of the tribunes of the times. And verily,
+even the first fragments of "Atta Troll" which saw the light, aroused
+the wrath of my heroic worthies, my dear Romans, who accused me not only
+of a literary but also of a social reaction, and even of mocking the
+loftiest human ideals. As to the esthetic worth of my poem--of that I
+thought but little, as I still do to-day--I wrote it solely for my own
+joy and pleasure, in the fanciful dreamy manner of that romantic school
+in which I whiled away my happiest years of youth, and then wound up by
+thrashing the schoolmaster. Possibly in this regard my poem is to be
+condemned. But thou liest, Brutus, thou too, Cassius, and even thou,
+Asinius, when ye declare that my mockery is levelled against those
+ideals which constitute the noble achievements of man, for which I too
+have wrought and suffered so much. No, it is just because the poet
+constantly sees these ideas before him in all their clarity and
+greatness that he is forced into irresistible laughter when he beholds
+how raw, awkward, and clumsy these ideas may appear when interpreted by
+a narrow circle of contemporary spirits. Then perforce must he jest
+about their thick temporal hides--bear hides. There are mirrors which
+are ground in so irregular a way that even an Apollo would behold
+himself as a caricature in them, and invite laughter. But we do not
+laugh at the god but merely at his distorted image._
+
+_Another word. Need I lay any special emphasis upon the fact that the
+parodying of one of Freiligrath's poems, which here and there somewhat
+saucily titters from the lines of "Atta Troll," in no wise constitutes a
+disparagement of that poet? I value him highly, especially at present,
+and account him one of the most important poets who have arisen in
+Germany since the Revolution of 1830. His first collection of poems came
+to my notice rather late, namely just at the time when I was composing
+"Atta Troll." The fact that the Moorish Prince affected me so comically
+was no doubt due to my particular mood at that time. Moreover, this work
+of his is usually vaunted as his best. To such readers as may not be
+acquainted with this production--and I doubt not such may be found in
+China and Japan, and even along the banks of the Niger and Senegal--I
+would call attention to the fact that the Blackamoor King, who at the
+beginning of the poem steps from his white tent like an eclipsed moon,
+is beloved by a black beauty over whose dusky features nod white ostrich
+plumes. But, eager for war, he leaves her, and enters into the battles
+of the blacks, "where rattles the drum decorated with skulls," but,
+alas! here he finds his black Waterloo, and is sold by the victors unto
+the whites. They take the noble African to Europe and here we find him
+in a company of itinerant circus folk who intrust him with the care of
+the Turkish drum at their performances. There he stands, dark and
+solemn, at the entrance to the ring, and drums. But as he drums he
+thinks of his erstwhile greatness, remembers, too, that he was once an
+absolute monarch on the far, far banks of the Niger, that he hunted
+lions and tigers:_
+
+    _"His eye grew moist; with hollow thunder_
+    _He beat the drum, till it sprang in sunder."_
+
+HEINRICH HEINE
+
+Written at Paris, 1846
+
+[Illustration: ATTA TROLL]
+
+    _Out of the gleaming, shimmering tents of white_
+    _Steps the Prince of the Moors in his armour bright--_
+    _So out of the slumbering clouds of night,_
+    _The moon in its dark eclipse takes flight._
+
+     "The Prince of Blackamoors,"
+      by Ferdinand Freiligrath.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO I
+
+
+    Ringed about by mountains dark,
+      Rising peak on sullen peak,
+    And by furious waterfalls
+      Lulled to slumber, like a dream
+
+    White within the valley lies
+      Cauterets. Each villa neat
+    Sports a balcony whereon
+      Lovely ladies stand and laugh.
+
+    Heartily they laugh and look
+      Down upon the crowded square
+    Where unto a bag-pipe's drone
+      He- and she-bear strut and dance.
+
+    Atta Troll is dancing there
+      With his Mumma, dusky mate,
+    While in wonderment the Basques
+      Shout aloud and clap their hands.
+
+    Stiff with pride and gravity
+      Dances noble Atta Troll,
+    Though his shaggy partner knows
+      Neither dignity nor shame.
+
+    I am even fain to think
+      She is verging on the can-can,
+    For her shameless wagging hints
+      Of the gay _Grande Chaumière_
+
+    Even he, the showman brave,
+      Holding her with loosened chain,
+    Marks the immorality
+      Of her most immodest dance.
+
+    So at times he lays the lash
+      Straight across her inky back,
+    Till the mountains wake and shout
+      Echoes to her frenzied howls.
+
+    On the showman's pointed hat
+      Six Madonnas made of lead
+    Shield him from the foeman's balls
+      Or invasions of the louse.
+
+    And a gaudy altar-cloth
+      From his shoulders hanging down,
+    Makes a proper sort of cloak,
+      Hiding pistol and a knife.
+
+    In his youth a monk was he,
+      Then became a robber chief;
+    Later, in Don Carlos' ranks,
+      He combined the other two.
+
+    When Don Carlos, forced to flee,
+      Bade his Table Round farewell,
+    All his Paladins resolved
+      Straight to learn an honest trade.
+
+    Herr Schnapphahnski turned a scribe,
+      And our staunch Crusader here
+    Just a showman, with his bears
+      Trudging up and down the land.
+
+    And in every market-place
+      For the people's pence they dance--
+    In the square at Cauterets
+      Atta Troll is dancing now!
+
+    Atta Troll, the Forest King,
+      He who ruled on mountain-heights,
+    Now to please the village mob,
+      Dances in his doleful chains.
+
+    Worse and worse! for money vile
+      He must dance who, clad in might,
+    Once in majesty of terror
+      Held the world a sorry thing!
+
+    When the memories of his youth
+      And his lost dominions green,
+    Smite the soul of Atta Troll,
+      Mournful sobs escape his breast.
+
+    And he scowls as scowled the black
+      Monarch famed of Freiligrath;
+    In his rage he dances badly,
+      As the darkey badly drummed.
+
+    Yet compassion none he wins,--
+      Only laughter! Juliet
+    From her balcony is laughing
+      At his wild, despairing bounds.
+
+    Juliet, you see, is French,
+      And was born without a soul--
+    Lives for mere externals--but
+      Her externals are so fair!
+
+    Like a net of tender gleams
+      Are the glances of her eye,
+    And our hearts like little fishes,
+      Fall and struggle in that net.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO II
+
+
+    When the dusky Moorish Prince
+      Sung by poet Freiligrath
+    Beat upon his mighty drum
+      Till the drumskin crashed and broke--
+
+    Thrilling must that crash have been--
+      Likewise hard upon the ear--
+    But just fancy when a bear
+      Breaks away from captive chains!
+
+    Swift the laughter and the pipes
+      Cease. What yells of fear arise!
+    From the square the people rush
+      And the gentle dames grow pale.
+
+    Yea, from all his slavish bonds
+      Atta Troll has torn him free.
+    Suddenly! With mighty leaps
+      Through the narrow streets he runs.
+
+    Room enough is his, I trow!
+      Up the jagged cliffs he climbs,
+    Flings down one contemptuous look,
+      Then is lost within the hills.
+
+    Lone within the market-place
+      Mumma and her master stand--
+    Raging, now he grasps his hat,
+      Cursing, casts it on the earth,
+
+    Tramples on it, kicks and flouts
+      The Madonnas, tears the cloak
+    Off his foul and naked back,
+      Yells and blasphemes horribly
+
+    'Gainst the base ingratitude
+      Of the race of sable bears.
+    Had he not been kind to Troll?
+      Taught him dancing free of charge?
+
+    Everything this monster owed him,
+      Even life. For some had bid,
+    All in vain! three hundred marks
+      For the hide of Atta Troll.
+
+    Like some carven form of grief
+      There the poor black Mumma stands
+    On her hind feet, with her paws
+      Pleading with the raging clown.
+
+    But on her the raging clown
+      Looses now his twofold wrath;
+    Beats her; calls her Queen Christine,
+      Dame Muñoz--Putana too....
+
+    All this happened on a fair
+      Sunny summer afternoon.
+    And the night which followed, ah!
+      Was superb and wonderful.
+
+    Of that night a part I spent
+      On a small white balcony;
+    Juliet was at my side
+      And we viewed the passing stars.
+
+    "Fairer far," she sighed, "the stars
+      Which in Paris I have seen,
+    When upon a winter's night
+      In the muddy streets they shine."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO III
+
+
+    Dream of summer nights! How vain
+      Is my fond fantastic song.
+    Quite as vain as Love and Life,
+      And Creator and Creation.
+
+    Subject to his own sweet will,
+      Now in gallop, now in flight,
+    So my Pegasus, my darling,
+      Revels through the realms of myth.
+
+    Ah, no plodding cart-horse he!
+      Harnessed up for citizens,
+    Nor a ramping party-hack
+      Full of showy kicks and neighs.
+
+    For my little wingèd steed's
+      Hoofs are shod with solid gold
+    And his bridle, dragging free,
+      Is a rope of gleaming pearls.
+
+    Bear me wheresoe'er thou wouldst--
+      To some lofty mountain-trail
+    Where the torrents toss and shriek
+      Warnings over folly's gulf.
+
+    Bear me through the silent vales
+      Where the solemn oaks arise
+    From whose twisted roots there well
+      Ancient springs of fairy lore.
+
+    There, oh, let me drink--mine eyes
+      Let me lave--Oh, how I thirst
+    For that flashing wonder-spring,
+      Full of wisdom and of light.
+
+    All my blindness flees. My glance
+      Pierces to the dimmest cave,
+    To the lair of Atta Troll,
+      And his speech I understand!
+
+    Strange it is--this bearish speech
+      Hath a most familiar ring!
+    Once, methinks, I heard such tones
+      In my own dear native land.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO IV
+
+
+    Roncesvalles, thou noble vale!
+      When thy golden name I hear,
+    Then the lost blue flower blooms
+      Once again within my heart!
+
+    All the glittering world of dreams
+      Rises from its hoary gulf,
+    And with great and ghostly eyes
+      Stares upon me till I quake!
+
+    What a stir and clang! The Franks
+      Battle with the Saracens,
+    While a thin, despairing wail
+      Pours like blood from Roland's horn.
+
+    In the Vale of Roncesvalles,
+      Close beside great Roland's Gap--
+    So 'twas named because the Knight
+      Once to clear himself a path.
+
+    Now this youngest was the pet
+      Of his mother. Once in play
+    Chewing off his tiny ear--
+      She devoured it for love.
+
+    A most genial youth is he,
+      Clever in gymnastic tricks,
+    Throwing somersaults as clever
+      As dear Massmann's somersaults.
+
+    Blossom of the pristine cult,
+      For the mother-tongue he raves,
+    Scorning all the senseless jargon
+      Of the Romans and the Greeks.
+
+    "Fresh and pious, gay and free,"
+      Hating all that smacks of soap
+    Or the modern craze for baths--
+      Verily like Massmann too!
+
+    Most inspired is this youth
+      When he clambers up the tree
+    Which from out the hollow gorge
+      Rears itself along the cliff,
+
+    Rears and lifts unto the crest
+      Where at night this jolly band
+    Squat and loll about their sire
+      In the twilight dim and cool.
+
+    Gladly there the father bear
+      Tells them stories of the world,
+    Of strange cities and their folk,
+      And of all he suffered too,
+
+    Suffered like Ulysses great--
+      Differing slightly from this brave
+    Since his black Penelope
+      Never parted from his side.
+
+    Loudly too prates Atta Troll
+      Of the mighty meed of praise
+    Which by practice of his art
+      He had wrung from humankind.
+
+    Young and old, so runs his tale,
+      Cheered in wonder and in joy,
+    When in market-squares he danced
+      To the bag-pipe's pleasant skirl.
+
+    And the ladies most of all--
+      Ah, what gentle connoisseurs!--
+    Rendered him their mad applause
+      And full many a tender glance.
+
+    Artists' vanity! Alas,
+      Pensively the dancing-bear
+    Thinks upon those happy hours
+      When his talents pleased the crowd.
+
+    Seized with rapture self-inspired,
+      He would prove his words by deeds,
+    Prove himself no boaster vain
+      But a master in the art.
+
+    Swiftly from the ground he springs,
+      Stands on hinder paws erect,
+    Dances then his favourite dance
+      As of old--the great Gavotte.
+
+    Dumb, with open jaws the cubs
+      Gaze upon their father there
+    As he makes his wondrous leaps
+      In the moonshine to and fro.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO V
+
+
+    In his cavern by his young,
+      Atta Troll in moody wise
+    Lies upon his back and sucks
+      Fiercely at his paws, and growls:
+
+    "Mumma, Mumma, dusky pearl
+      That from out the sea of life
+    I had gathered, in that sea
+      I have lost thee once again!
+
+    "Shall I never see thee more?
+      Shall it be beyond the grave
+    Where from earthly travail free
+      Thy bright spirit spreads its wings?
+
+    "Ah, if I might once again
+      Lick my darling Mumma's snout--
+    Lovely snout as dear to me
+      As if smeared with honey-dew.
+
+    "Might I only sniff once more
+      That aroma sweet and rare
+    Of my dear and dusky mate--
+      Scent as sweet as roses' breath!
+
+    "But, alas! my Mumma lies
+      In the bondage of that tribe
+    Which believes itself Creation's
+      Lords and bears the name of Man!
+
+    "Death! Damnation! that these men--
+      Cursèd arch-aristocrats!
+    Should with haughty insolence
+      Look upon the world of beasts!
+
+    "They who steal our wives and young,
+      Chain us, beat us, slaughter us!--
+    Yea, they slaughter us and trade
+      In our corpses and our pelts!
+
+    "More, they deem these hideous deeds
+      Justified--particularly
+    Towards the noble race of bears--
+      This they call the Rights of Man!
+
+    "Rights of Man? The Rights of Man!
+      Who bestowed these rights on you?
+    Surely 'twas not Mother Nature--
+      She is ne'er unnatural!
+
+    "Rights of Man! Who gave to you
+      All these privileges rare?
+    Verily it was not Reason--
+      Ne'er unreasonable she!
+
+    "Is it, men, because you roast,
+      Stew or fry or boil your meat,
+    Whilst our own is eaten raw,
+      That you deem yourselves so grand?
+
+    "In the end 'tis all the same.
+      Food alone can ne'er impart
+    Any worth;--none noble is
+      Save who nobly acts and feels!
+
+    "Are you better, human things,
+      Just because success attends
+    All your arts and sciences?
+      No mere wooden-heads are we!
+
+    "Are there not most learnèd dogs!
+      Horses, too, that calculate
+    Quite as well as bankers?--Hares
+      Who have skill in beating drums?
+
+    "Are not beavers most adroit
+      In the craft of waterworks?
+    Were not clyster-pipes invented
+      Through the cleverness of storks?
+
+    "Do not asses write critiques?
+      Do not apes play comedy?
+    Could there be a greater actress
+      Than Batavia the ape?
+
+    "Do the nightingales not sing?
+      Is not Freiligrath a bard?
+    Who e'er sang the lion's praise
+      Better than his brother mule?
+
+    "In the art of dance have I
+      Gone as far as Raumer quite
+    In the art of letters--can he
+      Scribble better than I dance?
+
+    "Why should mortal men be placed
+      O'er us animals? Though high
+    You may lift your heads, yet low
+      In those heads your thoughts do crawl.
+
+    "Human wights, why better, pray,
+      Than ourselves? Is it because
+    Smooth and slippery is your skin?
+      Snakes have that advantage too!
+
+    "Human hordes! two-legged snakes!
+      Well indeed I understand
+    That those flapping pantaloons
+      Must conceal your serpent hides!
+
+    "Children, Oh, beware of these
+      Vile and hairless miscreants!
+    O my daughters, never trust
+      Monsters that wear pantaloons!"
+
+    But no further will I tell
+      How this bear with arrogant
+    Fallacies of equal rights
+      Raved against the human race
+
+    For I too am man, and never
+      As a man will I repeat
+    All this vile disparagement,
+      Bound to give most grave offence.
+
+    Yes, I too am man, am placed
+      O'er the other mammals all!
+    Shall I sell my birthright?--No!
+      Nor my interest betray.
+
+    Ever faithful unto man,
+      I will fight all other beasts.
+    I will battle for the high
+      Holy inborn rights of man!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VI
+
+
+    Yet for man who forms the higher
+      Class of animals 'twere well
+    That betimes he should discover
+      What the lower thinks of him.
+
+    Verily within those drear
+      Strata of the world of brutes,
+    In those lower social layers
+      There is misery, pride and wrath.
+
+    Laws which Nature hath decreed,
+      Customs sanctioned long by Time,
+    And for centuries established,
+      They deny with pertest tongue.
+
+    Grumbling, there the old instil
+      Evil doctrines in the young,
+    Doctrines which endanger all
+      Human culture on the Earth.
+
+    "Children!" grunts our Atta Troll,
+      As he tosses to and fro
+    On his hard and stony couch,
+      "Future time we hold in fee!
+
+    "If each bear, each quadruped,
+      Held with me a like ideal,
+    With our whole united force
+      We the tyrant might engage.
+
+    "Compact then the boar should make
+      With the horse--the elephant
+    Curve his trunk in comradeship
+      Round the valiant ox's horns.
+
+    "Bear and wolf of every shade,
+      Goat and ape, the rabbit, too.
+    Let them for the common cause
+      Labour--and the world is ours!
+
+    "Union! union! is the need
+      Of our times! For singly we
+    Fall as slaves, but joined as one
+      We shall overcome our lords.
+
+    "Union! union! Victory!
+      We shall overthrow the reign
+    Of such tyranny and found
+      One great Kingdom of the Brutes.
+
+    "And its first great law shall be
+      For God's creatures one and all
+    Equal rights--no matter what
+      Be their faith, or hide or smell.
+
+    "Strict equality! Each ass
+      May become Prime Minister;
+    On the other hand the lion
+      Shall bear corn unto the mill.
+
+    "And the dog? Alas, 'tis true
+      He's a very servile cur,
+    Just because for ages man
+      Like a dog has treated him.
+
+    "Yet in our Free State shall he
+      Once again enjoy his rights--
+    Rights most unassailable--
+      Thus ennobled be the dog.
+
+    "Yea, the very Jews shall win
+      All the rights of citizens,
+    By the law made equal with
+      Every other mammal free.
+
+    "One thing only be denied them!
+      Dancing in the market-place;
+    This amendment I shall make
+      In the interests of my art.
+
+    "For they lack all sense of style;
+      All plasticity of limb
+    Lacks that race. Full surely they
+      Would debauch the public taste."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VII
+
+
+    Gloomy in his gloomy cave,
+      In the circle of his home,
+    Crouches Troll, the Foe of Man,
+      As he growls and champs his jaws.
+
+    "Men, O crafty, pert _canaille_!
+      Smile away! That mighty hour
+    Dawns wherein we shall be freed
+      From your bondage and your smiles!
+
+    "Most offensive was to me
+      That same twitching bitter-sweet
+    Of the lips--the smiles of men
+      I found unendurable!
+
+    "When in every visage white
+      I beheld that fatal spasm,
+    Then did anger seize my bowels
+      And I felt a hideous qualm.
+
+    "For the smiling lips of men
+      More insultingly declare,
+    Even than their lips avouch,
+      All their insolence of soul.
+
+    "And they smile forever! Even
+      When all decency demands
+    Gravity--as in the moments
+      Of love's solemn mysteries.
+
+    "Yea, they smile forever. Even
+      In their dances!--desecrate
+    Thus this high and noble art
+      Which a sacred cult should be.
+
+    "Ah, the dance in olden days
+      Was a pious act of faith,
+    When the priests in solemn round
+      Turned about their holy shrines.
+
+    "Thus before the Covenant's
+      Sacred Ark King David danced.
+    Dancing then was worship too,--
+      It was praying with the legs!
+
+    "So did I regard my dance
+      When before the people all
+    In the market-place I danced
+      And was cheered by every soul.
+
+    "This applause, I grant you, oft
+      Made me feel content at heart;
+    Sweet it is from grudging foes
+      Admiration thus to win!
+
+    "Yet despite their rapture they
+      Still would smile and smile! My art--
+    Even that proved vain to save
+      Them from base frivolity!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VIII
+
+
+    Many a virtuous citizen
+      Smells unpleasantly the while
+    Ducal knaves are lavendered
+      Or a-reek with ambergris.
+
+    There are many virgin souls
+      Redolent of greenest soap;
+    Vice will often lave herself
+      In rose attar top to toe.
+
+    Therefore, gentle reader, pray,
+      Do not lift your nose in air
+    Should Troll's cavern fail to rouse
+      Memories of Arabia's spice.
+
+    Bide with me within this reek,
+      'Mid these turbid odours foul,
+    Whence unto his son our hero
+      Speaks, as from a misty cloud:
+
+    "Child, my child, the last begot
+      Of my loins, thy single ear
+    Snuggle close against the snout
+      Of thy father, and give heed!
+
+    "Oh, beware man's mode of thought;
+      It destroys both flesh and soul,
+    For amongst all mankind never
+      Shalt thou find one worthy man.
+
+    "E'en the Germans, once the best,
+      Even Tuiskion's sons,
+    Our dear cousins primitive,
+      Even they have grown effete.
+
+    "Godless, faithless have they grown;
+      Atheism now they preach.
+    Child, my child, oh, guard thee 'gainst
+      Feuerbach and Bauer too!
+
+    "Never be an atheist!
+      Monster void of reverence!
+    For a great Creator reared
+      All the mighty Universe!
+
+    "And the sun and moon on high,
+      And the stars--the stars with tails
+    Even as the tailless ones--
+      Are reflections of His power.
+
+    "In the depths of sea and land
+      Ring the echoes of His fame,
+    And each creature yields Him praise
+      For His glory and His might.
+
+    "E'en the tiny silver louse
+      Which within some pilgrim's beard
+    Shares his earthly pilgrimage,
+      Sings to Him a song of praise!
+
+    "High upon his golden throne
+      In yon splendid tent of stars,
+    Clad in cosmic majesty,
+      Sits a titan polar bear.
+
+    "Spotless, gleaming white as snow
+      Is his fur; his head is decked
+    With a crown of diamonds
+      Blazing through the central vault.
+
+    "In his face bide harmony
+      And the silent deeds of thought,
+    And obedient to his sceptre
+      All the planets chime and sing.
+
+    "At his feet sit holy bears,
+      Saints who suffered on the Earth,
+    Meekly. In their paws they hold
+      Splendid palms of martyrdom.
+
+    "Ever and anon they leap
+      To their feet as though aroused
+    By the Holy Ghost, and lo!
+      In a festal dance they join!
+
+    "'Tis a dance where saintly gifts
+      Cover up defects of style,--
+    Dance in which the very soul
+      Seeks to leap from out its skin!
+
+    "I, unworthy Troll, shall I
+      Ever such salvation share?
+    Shall I ever from this drear
+      Vale of tears ascend to joy?
+
+    "Shall I, drunk with Heaven's draught,
+      In that tent of stars above,
+    Dance before the Master's throne
+      With a halo and a palm?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO IX
+
+
+    As the noble negro king
+      Of our Freiligrath protrudes
+    From his dusky mouth his long
+      Scarlet tongue in scorn and rage,--
+
+    Even so the moon now peers
+      Out of darkling clouds. The sad,
+    Sleepless waterfalls forever
+      Roar into the brooding night.
+
+    Atta Troll upon the crest
+      Of his well-beloved cliff
+    Stands alone, and now he howls
+      Down the wind and the abyss:
+
+    "Yea, a bear am I--even he,
+      Even he whom you have named
+    Bruin, growler, shag-coat too,
+      And such other titles vile.
+
+    "Yea, a bear am I--that same
+      Boorish animal you know;
+    That gross, trampling brute am I
+      Of your sly and crafty smiles!
+
+    "Of your wit am I the mark;
+      I'm the bugbear--him with whom
+    Every wicked child you frighten
+      In the silence of the night.
+
+    "Yea, I am that clumsy butt
+      Of your nursery tales--aloud
+    Will I shout that name forever
+      Through the scurvy world of men.
+
+    "Oyez! Oyez! I'm a bear
+      Unashamed of my descent,
+    Just as proud as if my forbear
+      Had been Moses Mendelsohn."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO X
+
+
+    Lo, two figures, wild and sullen,
+      Gliding, sliding on all fours,
+    Break a path at dead of night
+      Through a wood of gloomy pines.
+
+    It is Atta Troll the Sire,
+      One-Ear too, his youngest son,
+    And they halt within a clearing
+      By a stone of bloody rites.
+
+    "This same stone," growled Atta Troll,
+      "Is a shrine where Druids once
+    Slaughtered wretched human wights
+      In dark Superstition's days.
+
+    "Oh! what frightful horrors these!
+      When I think of them, my fur
+    Lifts along my back! To praise
+      God they drenched the soil in blood!
+
+    "Certes, men have now become
+      More enlightened. Now no more
+    Do they slaughter in their zeal
+      For celestial interests.
+
+    "'Tis no longer holy rage,
+      Ecstasy nor madness sheer,
+    But self-love alone that urges
+      Them to slaughter and to crime.
+
+    "Now for worldly goods they strive,
+      Day by day and year by year.
+    It is one eternal war;
+      Each goes robbing for himself.
+
+    "When the common goods of all
+      Fall into the hands of one,
+    Straight of Rights of Property
+      He will prate and Ownership.
+
+    "Property! Just Ownership?
+      Property is theft! O lies!
+    Craft and folly!--such a mixture
+      Man alone would dare invent.
+
+    "Never yet did Nature make
+      Properties, for pocketless
+    We are born into the world--
+      Who hath pockets in his pelt?
+
+    "None of us was ever born
+      With such little sacks devised
+    In our outer hides and skins
+      To enable us to steal!
+
+    "Only man, that creature smooth
+      Who in alien wool is garbed
+    Artfully, in artful wise
+      Made himself such pockets too.
+
+    "Pockets! as unnatural
+      As is property itself,
+    Or that law of have-and-hold.
+      Men are only pocket-thieves!
+
+    "Flamingly I hate them! Thee
+      All my hatred I bequeath.
+    Oh, my son, upon this shrine
+      Shalt thou swear eternal hate!
+
+    "Be the mortal foeman thou
+      Of th' oppressor, unforgiving
+    To thy very end of days!
+      Swear it--swear it here, my son!"
+
+    And the youngster swore as once
+      Hannibal. The moonbeams bleak
+    Yellowed on the bloodstone hoary
+      And that brace of misanthropes.
+
+    Later shall our harp record
+      How the young bear kept his faith
+    And his plighted oath,--for him
+      Shall our epic strings be strung.
+
+    With regard to Atta Troll,
+      Let us leave him for a space,
+    So we may the surer smite
+      Him with our unerring ball.
+
+    Traitor to Humanity!
+      Thou art judged, the sentence writ.
+    Of _lèse-majesté_ thou'rt guilty,
+      And to-morrow sees the chase.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XI
+
+
+    Like to sleepy dancing-girls
+      Lift the mountains white and cold,
+    Standing in their skirts of mist
+      Flaunted by the winds of morn.
+
+    Yet full soon their breasts shall glow
+      To the sun-god's burning kiss,
+    He shall tear the clinging veils
+      And illume their beauty nude.
+
+    In the early dawn had I
+      With Lascaro sallied forth
+    On a bear-hunt and the noon
+      Saw us at the Pont d'Espagne.
+
+    Thus is named the bridge that leads
+      From the land of France to Spain,
+    To barbarians of the West,
+      Centuries behind the times.
+
+    Full ten centuries they lie
+      From all modern thought removed,
+    And my own barbarians
+      Of the East--not more than two.
+
+    Lingering and loth I left
+      The all-hallowed soil of France,
+    Left great Freedom's motherland
+      And the women that I love.
+
+    Midmost of the Pont d'Espagne
+      Sat a Spaniard. Misery
+    Lurked within his tattered cape;
+      Misery lurked within his eyes.
+
+    With his bony fingers he
+      Plucked an ancient mandolin
+    Full of discord shrill which echoed
+      Mockingly from out the gulch.
+
+    Then betimes he leaned aslant
+      O'er the depths and laughed aloud,
+    Tinkled then in maddest wise
+      As he sang his little song:
+
+    "In my very heart of heart
+      There's a tiny golden table,
+    And about this golden table
+      Four small golden chairs are set.
+
+    "Seated on these golden chairs,
+      Little dames with darts of gold
+    In their hair are playing cards--
+      Clara wins at every game.
+
+    "Yes, she wins and smiles in glee.
+      Clara, oh, within my heart,
+    Thou can'st never fail to win,
+      For thou holdest all the trumps!"
+
+    On I wandered and I spoke
+      Thus unto myself. How strange!
+    Lunacy itself sits there
+      Singing on the road to Spain.
+
+    Is this madman not a sign
+      Of how nations trade in thought?
+    Or is he his native land's
+      Wild and crazy title-page?
+
+    Twilight sank before we came
+      To a wretched old _posada_
+    Where _podrida_--favourite dish!
+      Steamed within a dirty pot.
+
+    There _garbanzos_ did I eat
+      Huge and hard as musket-balls,
+    Which not e'en a native Teuton,
+      Bred on dumplings, could digest.
+
+    And my bed was of a piece,
+      With the cooking. Insects vile
+    Dotted it. Oh, surely these
+      Are the grimmest foes of man!
+
+    Far more fearful than the wrath
+      Of a thousand elephants,
+    Is one small and angry bug
+      Crawling o'er thy lowly couch.
+
+    Helpless thou against its bite--
+      That is bad enough!--but worse
+    Evil comes if it be crushed
+      And its horrid smell released.
+
+    All Life's terrors we may taste
+      In the war with vermin waged,
+    Vermin well-equipped with stinks,
+      And in duels with a bug.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XII
+
+
+    How they rave, the blessèd bards--
+      Even the tamest! how they sing,--
+    How they do protest that Nature
+      Is a mighty fane of God!
+
+    One great fane whose splendours all
+      Of the Maker's glory tell;
+    Sun and moon and stars they vow
+      Hang as lamps within the dome.
+
+    Yet concede, most worthy folk,
+      That this mighty temple hath
+    Most uncomfortable stairs,
+      Stairs most villainously bad!
+
+    All this climbing up and down,
+      Escalading, jumping o'er
+    Boulders--how it tires me
+      Both in spirit and in legs!
+
+    By my side Lascaro strode,
+      Like a taper long and pale--
+    Never speaks he, never laughs--
+      He the witch's lifeless son.
+
+    For they say Lascaro died
+      Many years ago--his mother's,--
+    Old Uraka's,--magic draughts
+      Gave to him a seeming life.
+
+    These confounded temple steps!
+      How it chanced that I escaped
+    With whole vertebræ will puzzle
+      Me until my dying day.
+
+    How the torrents foamed and roared!
+      Through the pines how lashed the wind
+    Till they groaned! Then suddenly
+      Burst the clouds! O weather vile!
+
+    In a fisherman's poor hut
+      Close by Lac de Gaube we gained
+    Shelter and a mess of trout--
+      Dish divine and glorious!
+
+    In his padded arm-chair there
+      Sat the ancient ferryman,
+    Ill and grey. His nieces sweet
+      Like two angels tended him.
+
+    Plumpest angels, Flemish quite,
+      As if out of Rubens' frame
+    They had leaped, with golden locks,
+      Sparkling eyes of limpid blue,
+
+    Dimples in each ruddy cheek
+      Where bright mischief peered and hid,
+    And with limbs robust and lithe,
+      Waking both desire and fear.
+
+    Sweet and bonny creatures they
+      Who disputed prettily
+    Which might prove the sweetest draught
+      To their ancient, ailing charge.
+
+    If one proffers him a brew
+      Made of linden-flower tea,
+    Then the other tempts him with
+      Possets made of elder-blooms.
+
+    "I will swallow none of this!"
+      Cried the greyhead, sorely tried,
+    "Bring me wine so that my guest
+      May have worthy drink with me!"
+
+    If this stuff was really wine
+      Which I drank at Lac de Gaube--
+    Who can tell? My countrymen
+      Would have dubbed it sweetish beer.
+
+    Vilely smelled the wine-skin too,
+      Fashioned from a black goat's hide.
+    But the old man drank and drank
+      And grew jubilant and gay.
+
+    Of banditti tales he told
+      And of smugglers, merry men
+    Who still ply their goodly trades
+      Freely in the Pyrenees.
+
+    Many ancient stories, too,
+      He recited, as of wars
+    'Twixt the giants and the bears
+      In the grey primeval days.
+
+    For it seems the bears and ogres
+      Waged a war for mastery
+    Of these ranges and these vales
+      Long ere man came wandering in.
+
+    Startled then at sight of men
+      All the giants fled the land;--
+    Only tiny brains were housed
+      In their huge, unwieldy heads!
+
+    It is also said these dolts,
+      When they reached the ocean-shore
+    Where the azure skies lay glassed
+      In the watery plains below,
+
+    Fondly fancied that the sea
+      Must be Heaven. In they plunged
+    All in reckless confidence,
+      And in watery graves were gulfed.
+
+    Now the bears are slain by man,
+      And each year their number grows
+    Smaller, smaller, till at last
+      None shall roam within the hills.
+
+    "And," the old man cackled, "thus
+      On this Earth must one yield room
+    To the other--after man
+      We shall have a reign of dwarfs.
+
+    "Tiny and most clever wights
+      Toiling in the bowels of Earth,
+    Busy little folk that gather
+      Riches from Earth's golden veins.
+
+    "I have seen their rounded heads
+      Peering out of rabbit-holes
+    In the moonlight--and I shook
+      As I thought of coming days.
+
+    "Yes, I dread the golden power
+      Of these mites. Our sons, I fear,
+    Will like stupid giants plunge
+      Straight into some watery heaven."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XIII
+
+
+    In the cauldron of the cliffs
+      Lies the deep and inky lake.
+    And from heaven the solemn stars
+      Peer upon us. Night and stillness.
+
+    Night and stillness. Beat of oars.
+      Like a rippling mystery
+    Swims our boat. The nieces twain
+      Serve in place of ferrymen.
+
+    Swift and blithe they row. Their arms
+      Sometimes shine from out the night,
+    And on their white skins the stars
+      Gleam and on large eyes of blue.
+
+    At my side Lascaro sits
+      Pale and mute as is his wont,
+    And I shudder at the thought:
+      Is Lascaro really dead?
+
+    Or perchance 'tis I am dead?
+      I, perchance, am drifting down
+    With these spectral passengers
+      To the icy realm of shades?
+
+    Can this lake be Styx's dark,
+      Sullen flood? Hath Proserpine,
+    In the absence of her Charon
+      Sent her maids to fetch me down?
+
+    Nay, not yet my days are done!
+      Unextinguished in my soul
+    Still the living flame of life,
+      Leaps and blazes, glows and sings.
+
+    And these girls who swing their oars
+      Merrily, and splash me too,
+    Laugh and grin with mischief rare
+      As the drops upon me flash.
+
+    Ah, these wenches fresh and strong,
+      Surely they could never be
+    Ghostly hell-cats, nor the maids
+      Of the dark queen Proserpine.
+
+    So that I might be assured
+      Of the girls' reality,
+    And unto myself might prove
+      My own honest flesh and blood,--
+
+    On their rosy dimples I
+      Swiftly pressed my eager lips,
+    And to this conclusion came:
+      Lo, I kiss; therefore I live!
+
+    When we reached the shore, again
+      Did I kiss these bonny maids,--
+    Kisses were the only coin
+      Which in payment they would take.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XIV
+
+
+    Joyous in the golden air
+      Lift the purple mountain heights
+    Where a daring hamlet clings
+      Like a nest against the steep.
+
+    Wearily I climbed and climbed.
+      When at last I stood aloft,
+    Then I found the old birds flown
+      And the fledglings left behind.
+
+    Pretty lads and lassies small
+      With their little heads half hid
+    In their white and scarlet caps,
+      Played at bridals in the mart.
+
+    Neither stay nor halt they brooked,
+      And the little love-lorn Prince
+    Of the Mice knelt down at once
+      To the Cat-King's daughter fair.
+
+    Hapless Prince! At last he's wed
+      To the Princess. How she scolds!
+    Bites him and devours him--
+      Hapless mouse!--thus ends the play.
+
+    That entire day I spent
+      With the children, and we talked
+    Cosily. They longed to know
+      Who I was? and what my trade?
+
+    "Germany, my dears," I spoke,
+      "Is my native country's name--
+    Bears are all too common there,
+      So I took to hunting bears!
+
+    "Many a bear-pelt have I pulled
+      Over many a bearish head,
+    Though, 'tis true, I sometimes got
+      Damage from their bearish paws.
+
+    "But at last I felt disgust
+      Of this strife with ill-licked boors
+    In my blessèd land--I grew
+      Weary of these daily moils.
+
+    "So in quest of nobler game,
+      I at last have come to you;
+    I shall try my little strength
+      'Gainst the mighty Atta Troll.
+
+    "Worthy of me is this noble
+      Foe. In Germany, alas!
+    Many a battle did I win,
+      Most ashamed of victory."
+
+    When I left, the little folk
+      Danced about me in a ring,
+    And in sweetest wise they sang:
+      "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+    And the youngest of them all
+      Stepped before me quick and pert,
+    And four times she curtsied low
+      As she sang in silver tones:
+
+    "Curtsies two I give the King,
+      Should I meet him. And the Queen,
+    Should I meet her, then I give
+      Curtsies three unto the Queen.
+
+    "But should I the devil meet
+      With his fiery eyes and horns,
+    I will make him curtsies four--
+      Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+    "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+      Shouts once more the mocking band,
+    And around me swings the gay
+      Ring-o'-roses with its song.
+
+    As I scrambled down the slopes,
+      After me in echoes sweet,
+    Came these words in bird-like strains:
+      "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XV
+
+
+    Hulking and enormous cliffs
+      Of deformed and twisted shapes
+    Look on me like petrified
+      Monsters of primeval times.
+
+    Strange! the dingy clouds above
+      Drift like doubles bred of mist,
+    Like some silly counterfeit
+      Of these savage shapes of stone.
+
+    In the distance roars the fall;
+      Through the fir trees howls the wind!
+    'Tis a sound implacable
+      And as fatal as despair.
+
+    Lone and dreadful lies the waste
+      And the black daws sit in swarms
+    On the bleached and rotten pines,
+      Flapping with their weary wings.
+
+    At my side Lascaro strides
+      Pale and silent--I myself
+    Must like sorry madness look
+      By dire Death accompanied.
+
+    'Tis a wild and desert place.
+      Curst perchance? I seem to see
+    On the crippled roots of yonder
+      Tree a crimson smear of blood.
+
+    This tree shades a little hut
+      Cowering humbly in the earth,
+    And the wretched roof of thatch
+      Pleads for pity in your sight.
+
+    Cagots are the denizens
+      Of this hut--the last remains
+    Of a tribe which sunk in darkness
+      Bides its bitter destiny.
+
+    In the heart of every Basque
+      You will find a rooted hate
+    Of the Cagots. 'Tis a foul
+      Relic of the days of faith.
+
+    In the minster at Bagnères
+      You may see a narrow grille,
+    Once the door, the sexton told me,
+      Which the herded Cagots used.
+
+    In that day all other gates
+      Were forbidden them. They crawled
+    Like to thieves into the blest
+      House of God to worship there.
+
+    There these wretched beings sat
+      On their lowly stools and prayed,
+    Parted as by leprosy,
+      From all other worshippers.
+
+    But the hallowed lamps of this
+      Later century burn bright,
+    And their light destroys the black
+      Shadows of that cruel age!
+
+    While Lascaro waited there,
+      Entered I the lonely hut
+    Of the Cagot, and I clasped
+      Straight his hand in brotherhood.
+
+    Likewise did I kiss his child
+      Which unto the shrivelled breast
+    Of his wife clung fast and sucked
+      Like some spider sick and starved.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XVI
+
+
+    Shouldst thou see these mountain peaks
+      From the distance thou wouldst think
+    That with gold and purple they
+      Flamed in splendour to the sun.
+
+    But at closer hand their pomp
+      Vanishes. Earth's glories thus
+    With their myriad light-effects
+      Still beguile us artfully.
+
+    What to thee seemed blue and gold
+      Is, alas, but idle snow,
+    Idle snow which, lone and drear,
+      Bores itself in solitude.
+
+    There upon the heights I heard
+      How the hapless crackling snow
+    Cried aloud its pallid grief
+      To the cold and heartless wind:
+
+    "Ah," it sobbed, "how slow the hours
+      Crawl within this awful waste!
+    All these many endless hours,
+      Like eternities of ice!
+
+    "Woe is me, poor snow! I would
+      I had never seen these peaks--
+    Might I but in vales have fallen
+      Where a myriad flowers bloom!
+
+    "To some little brook would I
+      Then have melted, and some maid--
+    Fairest of the land! with smiles
+      Would in me have laved her face.
+
+    "Yea, perchance, I might have fared
+      To the sea and changed betimes
+    To a pearl and gleamed at last
+      In some royal coronet!"
+
+    When I heard this plaint, I spake:
+      "Dearest Snow, indeed I doubt
+    Whether such a brilliant fate
+      Had been thine within the world.
+
+    "Comfort take. Few, few, indeed,
+       Ever grow to pearls. No doubt
+    Thou hadst fallen in the mire
+      And become a clod of mud."
+
+    As in kindly wise I spoke
+      Thus unto the joyless snow,
+    Came a shot--and from the skies
+      Plunged a hawk of brownish wing.
+
+    It was just a hunter's joke
+      Of Lascaro's. But his face
+    Was as ever stark and grim,
+      And his rifle barrel smoked.
+
+    Silently he tore a plume
+      From the hawk's erected tail,
+    Stuck it in his pointed hat
+      And resumed his silent way.
+
+    'Twas an eerie sight to see
+      How his shadow black and thin
+    With the nodding feather moved
+      O'er the slopes of drifted snow.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XVII
+
+
+    Lo, a valley like a street!
+      'Tis the Hollow Way of Ghosts:
+    Dizzily the cloven crags
+      Tower up on every side.
+
+    There upon the sheerest slope
+      Hangs Uraka's little shack
+    Like some outpost over chaos--
+      Thither fared her son and I.
+
+    In a secret dumb-show speech
+      He took counsel with his dam,
+    How great Atta Troll might best
+      Be ensnared and safely slain.
+
+    We had found his mighty spoor.
+      Never more canst thou escape
+    From our hands! thine earthly days
+      All are numbered--Atta Troll!
+
+    Never could I well determine
+      If Uraka, ancient hag,
+    Was in truth a potent witch,
+      As within these Pyrenees
+
+    It was rumoured. But I know
+      That in truth her very looks
+    Were suspicious. Most suspicious
+      Were her red and running eyes.
+
+    Evil is her look and slant.
+      It is said whene'er she stares
+    At some hapless cow, its milk
+      Dries, its udder withers straight.
+
+    It is said that stroking with
+      Her thin fingers, many a kid
+    She had slaughtered, many a huge
+      Ox had stricken unto death.
+
+    Oft within the local court
+      For such crimes arraigned she stood,
+    But the Justice of the Peace
+      Was a true Voltairean.
+
+    Quite a modern worldling he,
+      Shallow and devoid of faith,--
+    So the plaintiffs he dismissed
+      Both in mockery and scorn.
+
+    The alleged official trade
+      Of Uraka's honest quite,
+    For she deals in mountain-herbs
+      And in birds that she has stuffed.
+
+    Her entire hut was crammed
+      With such relics. Horrible
+    Was the smell of cuckoo-flowers,
+      Fungi, henbane, elder-blooms.
+
+    There a fine array of hawks
+      To advantage was displayed,
+    All with pinions stretching wide
+      And with grim enormous bills.
+
+    Was it but the breath of these
+      Maddening plants that turned my brain?
+    Still the vision of these birds
+      Filled me with the strangest thoughts.
+
+    These perchance are mortal wights,
+      Bound by sorcery in this
+    Miserable state as birds
+      Stuffed and most disconsolate.
+
+    Sad, pathetic is their stare,
+      Yet it hath impatience too,
+    And, methinks at times they cast
+      Sidelong glances at the witch.
+
+    She, Uraka, ancient, grim,
+      Crouches low beside her son,
+    Mute Lascaro near the fire
+      Where the twain are casting slugs.
+
+    Casting that same fateful ball
+      Whereby Atta Troll was slain.
+    How the lurching firelight flares
+      O'er the witch's features gaunt!
+
+    Ceaselessly, yet silently
+      Move her thin and quivering lips.
+    Are those magic spells she murmurs
+      That the balls may travel true?
+
+    Now and then she nods and titters
+      To her son. But he is deep
+    In the business of the casts
+      And sits silently as Death.
+
+    Overcome by fevered fears,
+      Yearning for the cooler air,
+    To the window then I strode
+      And looked down the gulches dim.
+
+    All that in that midnight hour
+      I beheld, all that will I
+    Faithfully and featly tell
+      In the canto that shall follow.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XVIII
+
+
+    'Twas the night before Saint John's,
+      In the fullness of the moon,
+    When that wild and spectral hunt
+      Fills the Hollow Way of Ghosts.
+
+    From the window of Uraka's
+      Little cabin I could see
+    All that mighty host of wraiths
+      As it drifted through the gorge.
+
+    Yea, a goodly place was mine
+      Wherefrom I might well behold
+    The tremendous spectacle
+      Of the raised, carousing dead.
+
+    Cracking whips, hallo! hurrah!
+      Neigh of horses, bark of dogs,
+    Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns--
+      How the tumult echoed there!
+
+    Dashing in advance there came
+      Stags and boars adventurous
+    In a solid pack; behind
+      Charged a wild and merry rout.
+
+    Huntsmen come from many zones
+      And from many ages too.
+    Charles the Tenth rode close beside
+      Nimrod the Assyrian.
+
+    High upon their snowy steeds
+      They charged onward. Then on foot
+    Came the whips with hounds in leash
+      And the pages with the links.
+
+    Many in that maddened horde
+      Seemed familiar--yon knight
+    Gleaming all in golden mail,--
+      Surely was King Arthur's self!
+
+    And Lord Ogier the Dane
+      In chain-armour shining green,
+    Truly close resemblance bore
+      To some mighty frog forsooth!
+
+    Many a hero I beheld
+      Of the gleaming world of thought;
+    Wolfgang Goethe straight I knew
+      By the sparkling of his eyes.
+
+    Being damned by Hengstenberg,
+      In his grave no peace he finds,
+    So with pagan blazonry
+      Gallops down the chase of Life.
+
+    By the glamour of his smile
+      Did I know the mighty Will
+    Whom the Puritans once cursed
+      Like our Goethe,--yet must he,
+
+    Luckless sinner, in this host
+      Ride a charger black as coal.
+    Close beside him on an ass
+      Rode a mortal and--great heavens!
+
+    By the weary mien of prayer
+      And the snowy night-cap too,
+    And the terror of his soul,
+      Francis Horn I recognized.
+
+    Commentaries he composed
+      On that great and cosmic child,
+    Shakespeare--therefore at his side
+      He must ride through thick and thin.
+
+    Lo, poor silent Francis rides,
+      He who scarcely dared to walk,
+    He who only stirred himself
+      At tea-tables and at prayers.
+
+    Surely all the oldish maids
+      Who indulged him in his ease,
+    Will be startled when they hear
+      Of his riding rough and free.
+
+    When the gallop faster grows,
+      Then great William glances down
+    On his commentator meek
+      Jogging onward on his ass.
+
+    To the saddle clinging tight,
+      Fainting in his terror sheer,
+    Yet unto his author loyal
+      In his death as in his life.
+
+    Many ladies there I saw,
+      In that crazy train of ghosts,
+    Many lovely nymphs with forms
+      Slender with the grace of youth.
+
+    On their steeds they sat astride
+      Mythologically nude!
+    Though their tresses thick and long
+      Fell like cloaks of stranded gold.
+
+    Garlands rustled on their heads
+      And they swung their laurelled staves,
+    Bending back in reckless ways,
+      Full of joyous insolence.
+
+    Mediæval maids I saw
+      Buttoned high unto the chin,
+    On their saddles seated slant,
+      Poising falcons on their wrists.
+
+    Like a burlesque, from behind
+      On their hacks and skinny nags
+    Came a rout of merry wenches,
+      Most extravagantly garbed.
+
+    And each face, though lovely quite,
+      Bore a trace of impudence;
+    Madly would they shriek and yell,
+      Puffing up their painted cheeks.
+
+    How this tumult echoed there!
+      Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns;
+    Neigh of horses, bark of dogs,
+      Crack of whips! hallo! hurrah!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XIX
+
+
+    But like Beauty's clover-leaf,
+      In the very midst arose
+    Three fair women. I shall never
+      Their majestic forms forget!
+
+    Well I knew the first! Her head
+      Glittered with the crescent moon.
+    Haughty, like some ivory statue
+      Sat the goddess on her steed.
+
+    And her fluttering tunic fell
+      Loose about her hips and breasts,
+    And the torchlight and the moon
+      Laved with love her snowy limbs.
+
+    Marble seemed her very face
+      And like marble cold. How dread
+    Was the pallor and the chill
+      Of that stern and noble front!
+
+    But within her dusky eye
+      Smouldered a mysterious,
+    Cruel and enticing fire
+      Which devoured my poor soul.
+
+    What a change has come o'er Dian
+      Since in outraged chastity
+    She smote Actæon to a stag
+      As a quarry for his hounds!
+
+    Doth she now requite this crime
+      In this gallant company,
+    Riding like some ghostly mortal
+      Through the bleak, nocturnal air?
+
+    Late did passion wake in her
+      But for that the stronger burns,
+    And within her eyes its flames
+      Gleam like fiercest brands of hell.
+
+    For those vanished times she grieves
+      When the men were beautiful;
+    Now in quantity perchance,
+      She forgets their quality.
+
+    At her side a fair one rode--
+      Fair, but not by Grecian lines
+    Was she fair; for all her features
+      Shone with wondrous Celtic glow.
+
+    'Twas Abunda, fairy queen,
+      Whom to know I could not fail
+    By the sweetness of her smile
+      And the madness of her laugh!
+
+    Full and rosy was her face,
+      Like the faces limned by Greuze;
+    And from out her heart-shaped mouth
+      Flashed the splendour of her teeth!
+
+    All the winds made dalliance
+      With her robe of azure blue,
+    And such shoulders never I
+      In my wildest dreams beheld.
+
+    I was almost moved to leap
+      From the window for a kiss;
+    This had been sheer folly, true,
+      Ending in a broken neck!
+
+    Ah, and she, she would have laughed
+      If within that awful gulf
+    I had fallen at her feet;--
+      Laughter such as this I know!
+
+    And the third fair phantom, she
+      Who so moved my errant heart,--
+    Was this but some female fiend
+      Like the other figures twain?
+
+    Whether devil this or saint
+      Know I not. With women, ah,
+    None can ever know where saint
+      Ends nor where the fiend begins.
+
+    All the magic of the East
+      Lay within her glowing face,
+    And her dress brought memories
+      Of Scheherazadê's tales.
+
+    Lips as red as pomegranates
+      And a curved nose lily white,
+    Limbs as slender and as cool
+      As some green oasis-palm.
+
+    From her palfrey white she leaned,
+      Flanked by giant Moors who trod
+    Close beside the queenly dame
+      Holding up the golden reins.
+
+    Of most royal blood was she,
+      She the Queen of old Judea,
+    She great Herod's lovely wife,
+      She who craved the Baptist's head.
+
+    For this crimson crime was she
+      Banned and cursed. Now in this chase
+    Must she ride, a wandering spook,
+      Till the dawn of Judgment Day.
+
+    Still within her hands she bears
+      That deep charger with the head
+    Of the Prophet, still she kisses--
+      Kisses it with fiery lips.
+
+    For she loved the Prophet once,
+      Though the Bible naught reveals,
+    Yet her blood-stained love lives on
+      Storied in her people's hearts.
+
+    How might else a man declare
+      All the longing of this lady?
+    Would a woman crave the head
+      Of a man she did not love?
+
+    She perchance was slightly vexed
+      With her darling, and was moved
+    To behead him, but when she
+      On the trencher saw his head,
+
+    Then she wept and lost her wits,
+      Dying in love's madness straight.
+    (What! Love's madness? pleonasm!
+      Love itself is madness still!)
+
+    Rising nightly from her grave,
+      To this frenzied hunt she hies,
+    In her hands the gory head
+      Which with feline joy she flings
+
+    High into the air betimes,
+      Laughing like a wanton child,
+    Cleverly she catches it
+      Like some idle rubber ball.
+
+    As she swept past me she bowed
+      Most coquettishly and looked
+    On me with her melting eyes,
+      So that all my heart was stirred.
+
+    Thrice that rout raged up and down
+      Past my window, then did she,
+    Ah, most beautiful of shades!
+      Greet me with her precious smile.
+
+    Even when the pageant dimmed
+      And the tumult silent grew
+    In my brain, that smiling face
+      Shone and beckoned on and on.
+
+    All that night I tossed and turned
+      My o'erwearied limbs on straw,
+    Musty straw. No feather-beds
+      In Uraka's hut I found!
+
+    And I mused: what might this mean,
+      This mysterious beckoning?
+    Why, Oh, why, Herodias,
+      Held thy look such tenderness?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XX
+
+
+    Sunrise. Golden arrows dart
+      Through the pallid ranks of mist
+    Till they redden as with wounds
+      And dissolve in shining light.
+
+    Now hath triumph come to Day
+      And the gleaming conqueror
+    In his blinding glory treads
+      O'er the ridges and the peaks.
+
+    All the merry bands of birds
+      Twitter in their hidden nests,
+    And the scent of plants arises
+      Like a psalm of odours rare.
+
+    At the early glint of day
+      Down the valley we had gone.
+    While Lascaro dumb and dour
+      Followed up the bear-tracks dim,
+
+    I with musings sought to slay
+      Time, but tired soon I grew
+    Of my musings,--drear, ah, drear!
+      Were my thoughts and void of joy.
+
+    Weary, joyless, down I sank
+      On a bank of softest moss
+    'Neath a great and kingly ash
+      Where a little spring gushed forth.
+
+    This with wondrous voice beguiled
+      All my wayward mood until
+    Thought and thinking vanished both
+      In the music of the spring.
+
+    Mighty longings seized me then,
+      Madness, dreams and death-desires,
+    Longings for those splendid queens
+      Riding in that ghostly throng.
+
+    Oh, ye lovely shapes of night,
+      Banished by the rose of dawn,
+    Whither, tell me, have ye fled,
+      Whither have ye flown by day?
+
+    Somewhere 'neath old temple-ruins
+      In the wide Romagna hid,
+    It is said Diana flees
+      The dominion of the Christ.
+
+    Only in the midnight gloom,
+      Dare she venture forth, but then
+    How she joys the merry chase
+      And the pagan sports of old!
+
+    Fay Abunda also fears
+      All these sallow Nazarenes,
+    So by day she hides herself
+      Deep in secret Avalon.
+
+    For this sacred island lies
+      In the still and silent sea
+    Of Romanticism, whither
+      None save wingèd steeds may go.
+
+    There no anchor Care may drop,
+      Never there do steamships touch,
+    Bringing loads of Philistines
+      With tobacco-pipes, to stare.
+
+    Never does that dismal, dull
+      Ring of bells this stillness break--
+    That atrocious bumm-bamm sound
+      Which all gentle fairies hate.
+
+    There, abloom with lasting youth
+      In unbroken joyfulness,
+    Lives that merry-hearted dame,
+      Golden-locked Abunda fair.
+
+    Laughing there she strolls between
+      Huge sun-flowers drenched with light,
+    Followed by her retinue
+      Of unworldly Paladins.
+
+    Ah, but thou, Herodias,
+      Say, where art thou? Ah, I know!
+    Thou art dead and buried deep
+      By Jerusholayim's walls!
+
+    Corpse-like is thy sleep by day
+      In thy marble coffin laid,
+    But at midnight dost thou wake
+      To the crack of whips! hurrah!
+
+    With Abunda, Dian, too,
+      Dost thou join the headlong plunge
+    And the blithesome hunter rout
+      Fleeing from all cross and care.
+
+    What companions rare and blithe!
+      Might but I, Herodias,
+    Ride at night through forests dark,
+      I would gallop at thy side!
+
+    For of all I love thee most!
+      More than any goddess Grecian,
+    More than any northern fay,
+      Do I love thee, Jewess dead!
+
+    Yea, I love thee most! 'Tis true,
+      By the trembling of my soul!
+    Love me too and be my sweet,--
+      Loveliest Herodias!
+
+    Love me too and be my love!
+      Fling that gory block-head far
+    With its trencher. Sweeter dishes
+      I shall give thee to enjoy.
+
+    Am not I thy proper knight
+      Whom thou seekest? What care I
+    If perchance thou'rt dead and damned--
+      Prejudices I have none!
+
+    Is my own salvation not
+      In a parlous state? And oft
+    Do I question if my life
+      Still be linked with human lives.
+
+    Take me, take me as thy knight,
+      Thine own _cavalier servente_;
+    I will bear thy silken robe
+      And each wayward mood of thine.
+
+    Every night beside thee, love,
+      With this crazy horde I'll ride,
+    And we'll kiss and thou shalt laugh
+      At my quips and merry pranks.
+
+    I will help thee speed the hours
+      Of the night. And yet by day
+    All my joy shall pass;--in tears
+      I shall sit upon thy grave.
+
+    Aye, by day will I sit down
+      In the dust of kingly vaults,
+    At the grave of my belovèd
+      By Jerusholayim's walls!
+
+    Then the grey Jews passing by
+      Will imagine that I mourn
+    The destruction of thy temple
+      And thy gates, Jerusholayim.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXI
+
+
+    Shipless Argonauts are we,
+      Foot loose in the mighty hills,
+    But instead of golden fleece
+      We seek Bruin's shaggy hide.
+
+    Naught but sorry devils twain,
+      Heroes of a modern cut,
+    And no classic bard will ever
+      Make us live within his song!
+
+    Even though we suffered dire
+      Hardships! What torrential rains
+    Fell upon us at the peak
+      Where was neither tree nor cab!
+
+    Cloudbursts! Heaven's dykes were down!
+      And in bucketsful it poured--
+    Jason, lost on Colchis bleak,
+      Suffered no such shower-bath!
+
+    "Six-and-thirty kings I'll give
+      Just for one umbrella now!"
+    So I cried. Umbrella none
+      Was I offered in that flood.
+
+    Weary unto death and glum,
+      Wet as drownèd rats, we came
+    Back unto the witch's hut
+      In the middle of the night.
+
+    There beside the glowing hearth
+      Sat Uraka with a comb,
+    Toiling o'er her swollen pug;--
+      Him she quickly flung aside
+
+    As we entered. First my couch
+      She prepared, then bent to loose
+    From my feet the _espardillos_,--
+      Footgear comfortless and rude!
+
+    Helped me to disrobe,--she drew
+      Off my pantaloons which clung
+    To my legs as close and tight
+      As the friendship of a fool.
+
+    "Oh, a dressing-gown! I'd give
+      Six-and-thirty kings," I cried,
+    "For a dry one!"--as my shirt,
+      Wringing wet, began to steam.
+
+    Shivering, with chattering teeth,
+      There I stood beside the hearth,
+    Till the fire drowsed me quite,
+      Then upon the straw I sank.
+
+    Sleepless but with blinking eyes
+      Peered I at the witch who crouched
+    By the fire with her son's
+      Body spread upon her lap.
+
+    Upright at her side the pug
+      Stood, and in his clumsy paws,
+    Very cleverly and tight,
+      Held aloft a little jar.
+
+    From this did Uraka take
+      Reddish fat and salved therewith
+    Swift Lascaro's ribs and breast
+      With her thin and trembling hands.
+
+    And she hummed a lullaby
+      In a high and nasal tone
+    As she rubbed him with the salve
+      'Midst the crackling of the fire.
+
+    Sere and bony like a corpse
+      Lay the son upon the lap
+    Of his mother; opened wide
+      Stared his pale and tragic eyes.
+
+    Is he really dead, this man?
+      Kept alive by mother-love?
+    Nightly by the witch-fat potent
+      Salved into a magic life?
+
+    Oh, that strange, strange fever-sleep!
+      In which all my limbs grew stiff
+    As if fettered, yet each sense,
+      Overwrought, waked horribly!
+
+    How that smell of hellish herbs
+      Plagued me! Musing in my woe,
+    Long I thought where had I once
+      Smelled such odours?--but in vain.
+
+    How the wind within the flue
+      Wrought me terror! Like the sobs
+    Of some parchèd soul it rang--
+      Or some well-remembered voice!
+
+    But these stuffed birds standing guard
+      On a board above my head,
+    These grim birds tormented me
+      Far beyond all other things!
+
+    Slowly, gruesomely they moved
+      Their accursèd wings and bent
+    Low to me with monstrous bills,
+      Bills like human noses huge.
+
+    Where had I such noses seen?
+      Well, mayhap in Hamburg once,
+    Or in Frankfort's ghetto dim;
+      Memory smote me harshly then.
+
+    But at last did slumber quite
+      Overcome me and in place
+    Of such waking phantoms crept
+      Wholesome and unbroken dreams.
+
+    And within my dream the hut
+      Quickly to a ball-room changed,
+    High on lofty pillars borne
+      And illumed by chandeliers.
+
+    There invisible musicians
+      Played from "Robert le Diable"
+    That atrocious dance of nuns
+      As I promenaded there.
+
+    But at last the portals wide
+      Open and with stately step
+    Slowly in the hall appear
+      Guests most wonderful and strange.
+
+    Every one a bear or spectre!
+      Striding upright every bear
+    Leads an apparition wrapped
+      In a white and gleaming shroud.
+
+    Coupled in this wise, each pair
+      Up and down began to waltz
+    Through the hall. O strangest sight!
+      Fit for laughter and for fear!
+
+    How those plump old animals
+      Panted in the paces set
+    By those filmy shapes of air
+      Whirling gracefully and light!
+
+    Pitiless, the harried beasts
+      Thus were borne along until
+    Their deep panting overdroned
+      Even the orchestral bass!
+
+    When betimes the couples crashed
+      In collision, then each bear
+    Gave the pushing spectre straight
+      Hearty kicks upon the rump.
+
+    Sometimes in the tumult too
+      When the cerements fell away
+    From each white and muffled head,--
+      Lo! a grinning skull appeared!
+
+    But at last with shattering blare
+      Yelled the horns, the cymbals clashed
+    And the thunder of the drums
+      Brought about the gallopade.
+
+    But the end of this, alas,
+      Came not to my dreams. For, lo,
+    One most clumsy bear trod full
+      On my corns--I shrieked and woke!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXII
+
+
+    Phoebus in his solar coach,
+      Whipping up his steeds of flame,
+    Had traversed the middle part
+      Of his journey through the skies,
+
+    Whilst in sleep I lay a-dream
+      With the goblins and the bears
+    Winding like mad arabesques
+      Through my slack and heated brain.
+
+    When I wakened it was noon,
+      And I found myself alone,
+    Since my hostess and Lascaro
+      For the chase had left at dawn.
+
+    There was no one save the pug
+      In the hovel. There he stood
+    By the hearth beside the pot
+      Holding in his paws a spoon.
+
+    Clever pug! well disciplined!
+      Lest the steaming soup boil over,
+    Swift he stirred it round and round,
+      Skimming off the foam and scum.
+
+    But--am I bewitchèd too?
+      Or does fever smoulder still
+    In my brain? For scarce can I
+      Trust my ears. The pug-dog speaks!
+
+    Aye, he speaks in homely strains
+      Of the Swabian dialect,
+    Deeply sunk in thought, he cries,
+      As it were within a dream:
+
+    "Woe is me--a Swabian bard,
+      Banned in exile must I grieve
+    In a pug-dog's cursèd shape
+      Guardian of a witch's pot.
+
+    "What a base and hideous crime
+      Is this sorcery! My fate
+    Ah, how tragic! I, a man,
+      In the body of a dog!
+
+    "Had I but remained at home
+      With my jolly comrades true--
+    No vile sorcerers are they!
+      And their spells no man need fear.
+
+    "Had I but remained at home
+      At Karl Meyer's--with the sweet
+    Noodles of the Vaterland
+      And good honest metzel-soup!
+
+    "Of homesickness I shall die!
+      Might I only spy the smoke
+    Rising from old Stuttgart's flues
+      When the precious dumplings seethe."
+
+    Pity seized me when I heard
+      This sad story, and I sprang
+    From my couch and took a seat
+      By the fireplace and spake:
+
+    "Noble poet, tell what chance
+      Brought thee to this beldam's hut.
+    Why, oh why, in cruel wise,
+      Wast thou changed into a dog?"
+
+    But the pug exclaimed in joy:
+      "What! You are no Frenchman then?
+    But a German, and you've heard
+      All my hapless monologue?
+
+    "Ah, dear countryman, 'twas ill
+      That old Köllè, Councillor,
+    When at eve we sat and argued
+      At the inn o'er pipe and mug,
+
+    "Should have harped on the idea
+      That by travel only might
+    One attain such culture broad,
+      As by travel he attained!
+
+    "Now, so I might shed the rude
+      Husk that on my manners lay,
+    Even as Köllè, and attain
+      Polish from the world at large,
+
+    "To my home I bade farewell,
+      And in quest of culture came
+    To the Pyrenees at last,
+      And Uraka's little hut.
+
+    "And a reference I brought
+      From Justinus Kerner too!
+    Never did I dream my friend
+      Stood in league with such a witch!
+
+    "Friendly was Uraka's mood,
+      Till at last with horrid shock,
+    Lo, I found her friendliness
+      Had to fiery passion grown.
+
+    "Yes, within that withered breast
+      Lust blazed up in monstrous wise,
+    And at once this vicious crone
+      Sought to drag me down to sin.
+
+    "Yet I prayed: 'Oh, pardon, ma'am!
+      Do not fancy I am one
+    Of those wanton Goethe Bards,--
+      I belong to Swabia's school.
+
+    "'Sweet Morality's our Muse
+      And the drawers she wears are made
+    Of the stoutest leather--Oh!
+      Do not wrong my virtue, pray!
+
+    "'Other bards may boast of soul,
+      Others phantasy--and some
+    Of their passion--Swabians have
+      Nothing but their innocence.
+
+    "'Nothing else do we possess!
+      Do not rob me of my pure,
+    Most religious beggar's cloak,--
+      Naked else my soul must go!'
+
+    "Thus I spoke, whereat the hag
+      Smiled with hideous irony,
+    Seized a switch of mistletoe,
+      Smote me over brow and cheek.
+
+    "Chilly spasms seized me then
+      Just as if a goose's skin
+    Crept across my limbs--but oh!
+      This was worse than goose's-skin!
+
+    "It was nothing more nor less
+      Than a dog-pelt! Since that hour,
+    That accursèd hour, I've lived
+      Changed into a lumpy pug!"
+
+    Luckless wight! his piteous sobs
+      Now denied him further speech,
+    And so bitterly he wept
+      That he half dissolved in tears.
+
+    "Hark!" I spoke in pity then,
+      "Tell me how you might be freed
+    From this dog-skin. How may I
+      Give you back to muse and man?"
+
+    In despair, disconsolate,
+      Then he raised his paws in air,
+    And with sobs and groans at length
+      Thus his mournful plaint he made:
+
+    "Not before the Judgment Day
+      Shall I shed this horrid form,
+    If no noble virgin come
+      To absolve me of the curse.
+
+    "None can free me save a maid,
+      Pure, untouched by any man,
+    And she must fulfil a pact
+      Most inexorable--thus:
+
+    "Such unspotted maiden must
+      In Sylvester's holy night
+    Read the verse of Gustav Pfizer,
+      Read it and not fall asleep!
+
+    "If her chaste eyes do not close
+      At the reading--then, O bliss!
+    I shall disenchanted be,
+      Breathe as man--unpugged at last!"
+
+    "In that case, alas," said I,
+      "Never may I undertake
+    Your salvation, for you see,
+      First I am no spotless maid,
+
+    "And, still more impossible,
+      Secondly, I ne'er could read
+    Any one of Pfizer's poems
+      And not fall asleep at once."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXIII
+
+
+    From this eerie witch-menage
+      To the valley down we went,
+    And once more our feet took hold
+      On the good and solid Earth.
+
+    Spectres hence! Hence, gibbering masks!
+      Shapes of air and fever-dreams!--
+    Once again, most sensibly
+      Let us deal with Atta Troll.
+
+    In the cavern with his young
+      Bruin lies in slumber wrapt,
+    Snoring like an honest soul,
+      Then he stretches, yawns and wakes.
+
+    And young One-Ear crouches down
+      At his side, his head he rakes
+    Like a poet seeking rhymes,
+      And upon his paws he scans.
+
+    Close beside the father lie
+      Atta Troll's belovèd girls,
+    Pure, four-footed lilies they,
+      Stretched in dreams upon their backs.
+
+    Ah, what tender thoughts must glow
+      In the budding souls of these
+    Snow-white virgin bearesses
+      With their soft and dewy eyes?
+
+    And the youngest of them all
+      Seems most deeply stirred. Her heart,
+    Smitten by Dan Cupid's shaft,
+      Quivers with a blissful throe.
+
+    Yea, this godling's arrow pierced
+      Through and through her furry pelt
+    When she saw him first--Oh, heavens!
+      'Tis a mortal man she loves!
+
+    Man it is--Schnapphahnski named,
+      Who one day in mad retreat
+    Passed her as she wandered through
+      The dim passes of the hills.
+
+    Woes of heroes move the fair,
+      And within our hero's face,
+    Quite as usual, sorrow lowered,
+      Pallid care and money-need.
+
+    Spent were all his funds of war!
+      Two-and-twenty silver groats
+    Taken unto Spain by him
+      Espartero seized as spoil.
+
+    Aye, his very watch was gone!
+      This in Pampeluna's pawnshop
+    Lay in bondage. 'Twas a rich
+      Heirloom all of silver made.
+
+    Little thought he as he ran
+      On his long legs through the woods,
+    He had won a greater thing
+      Than a fight--a loving heart!
+
+    Yes, she loves him--him the born
+      Enemy of bears she loves!
+    Hapless maid! If but your sire
+      Knew it--oh! what rage were his!
+
+    Just like Odoardo old
+      Who in honest burgess-pride
+    Stabbed Emilia Galotti--
+      Even so would Atta Troll
+
+    Rather slay his darling lass,
+      Slay her with his proper paws,
+    Than that she should ever sink
+      Even into princely arms!
+
+    Yet in this same moment he
+      Is as softly moved--"no rose
+    Would he pluck before the storm
+      Reft it of its petals fair."
+
+    Atta Troll in saddest mood
+      Lies within his rocky cave.
+    Like Death's warning o'er him creeps
+      Hunger for infinity.
+
+    "Children!" then he sobs, the tears
+      Burst from out his mournful eyes,--
+    "Children! soon my earthly days
+      Shall be ended--we must part.
+
+    "Unto me this very noon
+      Came a dream of import vast,
+    And my soul drank in the sweet
+      Sense of early death-to-be.
+
+    "Superstitious am I not,
+      Nor fantastic--ah, and yet
+    More things lie 'twixt Earth and Heaven
+      Than philosophy may dream.
+
+    "Pondering on the world and fate,
+      Yawning I had dropped asleep,
+    And I dreamed that I was lying
+      Stretched beneath a mighty tree.
+
+    "From the branches of this tree
+      White celestial honey dripped
+    Straight into my open jaws,
+      Filling me with wondrous bliss.
+
+    "Peering happily aloft
+      Soon I spied within the leaves
+    Seven pretty little bears
+      Gliding up and down the boughs.
+
+    "Delicate and dainty things,
+      All with pelts of rosy hue,
+    And their heavenly voices rang
+      Like a melody of flutes!
+
+    "As they sang an icy chill
+      Seized my flesh, although my soul
+    Like a flame went soaring straight
+      Gleaming into highest Heaven."
+
+    Thus with soft and quivering grunts,
+      Spake our Atta Troll, then grew
+    Silent in his wistful grief.
+      Suddenly his ears he raised,
+
+    And in strangest wise they twitched!
+      Then from up his couch he sprang
+    Trembling, bellowing with joy:
+      "Children! do you hear that voice!
+
+    "Are not those the dulcet tones
+      Of your mother? Do I not
+    My dear Mumma's grumbles know?--
+      Mumma! Mumma! precious mate!"
+
+    Like a madman with these words
+      From the cave rushed Atta Troll
+    Swift to his destruction--oh!
+      To his ruin straight he plunged.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXIV
+
+
+    In the Vale of Roncesvalles,
+      On that very spot where erst
+    Charlemagne's great nephew fell,
+      Gasping forth his warrior soul,
+
+    Fell and perished Atta Troll,
+      Fell through ambush, even as he
+    Whom that Judas of the Knights,
+      Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed.
+
+    Oh! that noblest trait in bears--
+      Conjugal affection--love--
+    Formed a pitfall which Uraka
+      In her evil craft prepared.
+
+    For so truly mimicked she
+      Coal-black Mumma's tender growls,
+    That poor Atta Troll was lured
+      From the safety of his lair.
+
+    On desire's wings he ran
+      Through the valley, halting oft
+    By a rock with tender sniff,
+      Thinking Mumma there lay hid.
+
+    There Lascaro lay, alas,
+      With his rifle. Swift he shot
+    Through that gladsome heart a ball,
+      And a crimson stream welled forth.
+
+    Twice or thrice he shakes his head
+      To and fro, at last he sinks
+    Groaning, seized with ghastly shudders;--
+      "Mumma!" is his final sob!
+
+    Thus our noble hero fell--
+      Perished thus. Immortal he
+    Yet shall live in strains of bards,
+      Resurrected after death.
+
+    He shall rise again in song,
+      And his wide renown shall stalk
+    In this blunt trochaic verse
+      O'er the round and living Earth.
+
+    In Valhalla's Hall a shaft
+      Shall King Ludwig build for him,--
+    In Bavarian lapidary
+      Style these words be there inscribed:
+
+    ATTA TROLL, REFORMER, PURE,
+      PIOUS: HUSBAND WARM AND TRUE,
+    BY THE ZEIT-GEIST LED ASTRAY--
+      WOOD-ENGENDERED SANS-CULOTTE:
+
+    DANCING BADLY: YET IDEALS
+      BEARING IN HIS SHAGGY BREAST:
+    OFTTIMES STINKING VERY STRONGLY,
+      TALENT NONE: BUT CHARACTER.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXV
+
+
+    Three-and-thirty wrinkled dames,
+      Wearing on their heads their Basque
+    Scarlet hoods of ancient style,
+      Stood beside the village gate.
+
+    One of them, like Deborah,
+      Beat the tambourine and danced
+    While she sang a hymn in praise
+      Of the slayer of the bear.
+
+    Four strong men in triumph bore
+      Slaughtered Atta, who erect
+    In his wicker litter sat
+      Like some patient at a spa.
+
+    To the rear, like relatives
+      Of the dead, Lascaro came
+    With Uraka, who abashed,
+      Nodded to the right and left.
+
+    Then the town-clerk at the hall
+      Spoke as the procession came
+    To a halt. Of many things
+      Spoke that dapper little man.
+
+    As, for instance, of the rise
+      Of the navy, of the Press,
+    Of the sugar-beet debates,
+      And that hydra, party strife.
+
+    All the feats of Louis Philippe
+      Vaunted he unto the skies,--
+    Of Lascaro then he spoke
+      And his great heroic deed.
+
+    "Thou Lascaro!" cried the clerk,
+      As he mopped his streaming brow
+    With his bright tri-coloured sash--
+      "Thou Lascaro! thou that hast
+
+    "Freed Hispania and France
+      From that monster Atta Troll,
+    By both lands shalt be acclaimed the
+      Pyreneean Lafayette!"
+
+    When Lascaro in official
+      Wise thus heard himself announced
+    As a hero, then he smiled
+      In his beard and blushed for joy.
+
+    And in stammering syllables
+      And in broken phrases he
+    Stuttered forth his gratitude
+      For the honour shown to him.
+
+    Wonder-smitten then stood all
+      At the unexpected sight,
+    And in low and timid tones
+      Thus the ancient women spoke:
+
+    "Did you hear Lascaro laugh?
+      Did you see Lascaro blush?
+    Did you hear Lascaro speak?
+      He the witch's perished son!"
+
+    On that very day they flayed
+      Atta Troll. At auction they
+    Sold his hide. A furrier bid
+      Just an even hundred francs.
+
+    And the furrier decked the skin
+      Handsomely, and mounted it
+    All on scarlet. For this work
+      He demanded twice the cost.
+
+    From a third hand Juliet
+      Then received it. Now it lies
+    As a rug before her bed
+      In the city by the Seine.
+
+    Oh, how many nights I've stood
+      Barefoot on the earthly husk
+    Of my hero great and true,
+      On the hide of Atta Troll!
+
+    Then by sorrow deeply touched
+      Would I think of Schiller's words:
+    "That which song would make eternal
+      First must perish from the Earth."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXVI
+
+
+    What of Mumma? Mumma, ah!
+      Is a woman. Frailty
+    Is her name! Alas, that women
+      Should be frail as porcelain!
+
+    Now when Fate had parted her
+      From her great and noble mate,
+    Did she perish of her woe,
+      Sinking into hopeless gloom?
+
+    Nay, contrarywise, she lived
+      Merrily as ever--danced
+    For the public as before,
+      Eager for their plaudits too.
+
+    And at last a splendid place
+      And support for all her days
+    Was procured for her in Paris
+      At the old Jardin-des-Plantes.
+
+    There, last Sunday as I strolled
+      Through that place with Juliet,
+    Baring Nature's realms to her--
+      Animal and vegetable,--
+
+    Tall giraffes, and cedars brought
+      Out of Lebanon, the huge
+    Dromedary, golden pheasants,
+      And the zebra;--chatting thus,--
+
+    We at last stood still and leaned
+      O'er the rampart of that pit
+    Where the bears are safely penned--
+      Heavens! what a sight we saw!
+
+    There a huge bear from the wastes
+      Of Siberia, snowy-white,
+    Dallied in a love-feast sweet
+      With a she-bear small and dark.
+
+    This was Mumma! This, alas,
+      Was the mate of Atta Troll!
+    Well I knew her by the soft
+      Glances of her dewy eye.
+
+    It was she! the daughter dark
+      Of the Southland! Mumma lives
+    With a Russian now; she lives
+      With this savage of the North!
+
+    Smirking spake a negro then,
+      Coming up with stealthy pace:
+    "Could there be a fairer sight
+      Than a pair of lovers, say?"
+
+    Then I answered him: "Pray, who
+      Honours me by this address?"
+    Whereupon he cried amazed:
+      "Have you quite forgotten me?
+
+    "Why I am that Moorish prince
+      Who beat drums in Freiligrath--
+    Times were bad--in Germany
+      I was lonely and forlorn.
+
+    "Now as keeper I'm employed
+      In this garden,--here I find
+    All the flowers of my native
+      Tropics,--lions, tigers, too.
+
+    "Here I feel content and gay,
+      Better than at German fairs,
+    Where each day I beat the drum
+      And was fed but scantily.
+
+    "Late in wedlock was I bound
+      To a blonde Alsatian cook,
+    And within her arms I feel
+      All my native joys again!
+
+    "And her feet remind me ever
+      Of my blessèd elephants,
+    And her French has quite the ring
+      Of my sable mother-tongue.
+
+    "When she coughs, the rattle fierce
+      Moves me of that famous drum
+    Which, bedecked with human skulls,
+      Drove the snakes and lions far.
+
+    "But when moonlight charms her mood,
+      Like a crocodile she weeps,
+    Which from out some luke-warm stream
+      Lifts to gape in cooler air.
+
+    "And she cooks me dainty bits.
+      See, I thrive! I feed again
+    As upon the Niger I
+      Fed with gusto African!
+
+    "Mark the nicely rounded paunch
+      I possess! Behold it peeps
+    From my shirt like some black moon
+      Stealing forth from whitest clouds."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXVII
+
+    (To August Varnhagen von Ense)
+
+
+      "Heavens! where, dear Ludoviso,
+    Did you steal this crazy stuff?"
+    With these words did Cardinal
+      D'Este Ariosto greet
+
+    When that poet read his work
+      On Orlando's madness. This
+    He unto His Eminence
+      Humbly sought to dedicate.
+
+    Yes, Varnhagen, dear old friend,
+      Yes, I see these very words
+    Tremble on thy lips, that same
+      Faint and devastating smile.
+
+    Sometimes o'er a book thou laughest,
+      Then again in earnestness
+    Thy high forehead wrinkles o'er
+      As old memories come to thee.
+
+    Hark unto the dreams of youth!
+      Such Chamisso dreamed with me,
+    And Brentano, Fouqué, too,
+      In blue nights beneath the moon.
+
+    Comes no sound of saintly chimes
+      From that vanished forest fane,
+    And no tinkling of the gay
+      Unforgotten cap-and-bells?
+
+    Through the choir of nightingales
+      Rumbles now the growl of bears,
+    Low and fierce, and changes then
+      To the gibbering of ghosts!
+
+    Madness in the guise of sense,
+      Wisdom with a broken spine!
+    Dying sobs which suddenly
+      Into hollow laughter pass!
+
+    Aye, my friend, such strains arise
+      From the dream-time that is dead,
+    Though some modern trills may oft
+      Caper through the ancient theme.
+
+    Spite of waywardness thou'lt find
+      Here and there a note of pain;--
+    To thy well-proved mildness now
+      Do I recommend my song!
+
+    'Tis, perchance, the final strain
+      Of the pure and free Romance:--
+    In to-day's wild battle-clash,
+      Miserably it must end.
+
+    Other times and other birds!
+      Other birds and other songs!
+    What a chattering as of geese
+      That had saved a capitol!
+
+    What a chirping!--sparrows these
+      Penny tapers in their claws,
+    Yet have they assumed the ways
+      Of Jove's eagle with the bolt.
+
+    What a cooing! Turtle-doves,
+      Cloyed with love, now long to hate,
+    And thenceforth in place of Venus'
+      They would drag Bellona's car!
+
+    What a buzz that shakes the skies!--
+      These must be the great May-beetles
+    Of the nation's dawning Spring,
+      With a Viking fury seized!
+
+    Other times and other birds!
+      Other birds and other songs;--
+    These, perchance, might yield delight
+      Were I blest with other ears!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+NOTES TO "ATTA TROLL"
+
+BY DR. OSCAR LEVY
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+THE GOD OF SCHELLING. The German philosopher Schelling (1775-1854) was
+at first a follower of Spinoza, and had published in his youth a
+pantheistic philosophy which had made him famous. In later life he began
+to doubt his former beliefs, and promised to the world another and more
+Christian explanation of God and the universe. The promised book,
+however, never appeared.
+
+The gap, thus left by Schelling, has since been filled up by a host of
+more courageous, if less conscientious, investigators.
+
+"SEA-SURROUNDED SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN" OYSTERS. "Schleswig-Holstein
+Meerumschlungen (sea-surrounded)" was the German Marseillaise after 1846
+and again in 1863-64.
+
+ARNOLD RUGE (1802-1880) was the leader of the New Hegelian school, and
+published certain famous annuals for art and science at Halle. In 1848
+he was elected to the Parliament at Frankfort, but was forced to flee to
+London, where he struck up a fast friendship with Mazzini. In the
+Revolutionary Committee of London he represented Germany, as
+Ledru-Rollin represented France and Mazzini Italy.
+
+CHRISTIAN-GERMANIC. One of the favourite phrases and shibboleths of the
+Romantic School, which may still be heard in the Germany of to-day.
+
+FERDINAND FREILIGRATH (1810-1876). A well-known poet and skilful
+translator of French and English poets, such as Burns, Byron, Thomas
+Moore, and Victor Hugo. His own poems betray his dependence upon Hugo.
+Frederick William IV, King of Prussia, bestowed a pension upon him in
+1842. When his friends, however, charged him with having sold himself to
+the Government, the poet refused the pension. Thereafter he devoted
+himself more and more to the democratic party and wrote many political
+poems. In 1848 he went abroad, living in London the greater part of the
+time. He returned to Germany in 1868, and in 1870 published several
+patriotic poems which met with great acclaim.
+
+The sudden conversion from international Democracy to Nationalism is
+easily explained. Modern states have become democratic, and
+democrats--but they alone--find it easy to feel comfortable and
+patriotic in such a milieu.
+
+
+CANTO I
+
+DON CARLOS. After the death of Ferdinand VII of Spain (1833) a lengthy
+civil war broke out between his younger brother, Don Carlos, and the
+Queen-widow Christina, who had assumed the regency for her daughter
+Isabella.
+
+SCHNAPPHAHNSKI. A comic word composed of the German word "schnappen,"
+to snap, and "hahn," cock. It has also been incorporated into French in
+the form "chenapan." It is applied here to Prince Felix Lichnowski
+(1814-1848), who left the Prussian Army in 1838 and entered the service
+of Don Carlos, who appointed him a brigadier-general. After his return
+from Spain, Lichnowski wrote his "Reminiscences," the publication of
+which involved him in a duel in which he was badly wounded. The
+"Reminiscences" are couched in Heine's own style, and their hero is
+called Schnapphahnski.
+
+JULIET. Juliet is to be understood as referring to Heine's mistress and
+subsequent wife, Mathilde.
+
+
+CANTO II
+
+QUEEN MARIA CHRISTINA. She was the wife of Ferdinand VII and assumed the
+regency after his death. Soon after the king's demise, she married a
+member of her bodyguard, one Don Ferdinand Muñoz, who was afterwards
+given the title of Duke of Rianzares. She bore him several children.
+
+PUTANA. Italian for strumpet.
+
+
+CANTO IV
+
+MASSMANN. A German philologist and one of Heine's favourite butts. He
+was one of the most enthusiastic advocates of German gymnastics.
+Athletics was one of the pet ideas of the German patriots; the
+Government, however, held it in suspicion, inasmuch as the so-called
+"Turner" (gymnasts) cherished political ambitions. In time, however, the
+exercise of the muscles cured the revolutionary brain-fag, and the
+Government was enabled to assume a sort of protectorship over
+gymnastics. Though enthusiastically carried on to this very day in
+Germany, the movement no longer has any political significance.
+
+FRESH, PIOUS, GAY, AND FREE. FRISCH, FROMM, FRÖHLICH, FREI--the four
+F's--formed the motto of the German "Turner."
+
+
+CANTO V
+
+BATAVIA. Apparently a well-known female ape in Heine's day, trained in
+theatrical feats of skill.
+
+FREILIGRATH (see above). As a refuge from the crassness of his times,
+Freiligrath usually chose exotic themes for his poems, frequently
+African in nature, as, for instance, in his "Löwenritt." The allusion to
+the mule (in German "camel," which bears the same opprobrious meaning as
+"ass") gives us reason to believe that Heine's preface must not be taken
+too seriously and that his opinion of the poet Freiligrath was by no
+means a high one.
+
+FRIEDRICH LUDWIG GEORG VON RAUMER (1781-1873). A well-known German
+historian, author of the "History of the Hohenstaufens."
+
+
+CANTO VIII
+
+TUISKION. The god whom the Germans, according to Tacitus (vide
+"Germania," cap. II) regard as the original father of their race.
+
+LUDWIG FEUERBACH (1804-1872). An honest thinker, who recognised that
+there was an unbridgable gulf between philosophy and theology. He left
+the Hegelian school, which can be so well adapted to the need of
+theologians, and considered as the only source of religion--the human
+brain. "The Gods are only the personified wishes of men," he used to
+say. He brought German philosophy down from the clouds to cookery by
+declaring: "Der Mensch ist, was er isst" ("Man is what he eats"). He was
+a believer in what he called "Healthy sensuality," which made him the
+philosopher of artists in the 'thirties and 'forties of the last
+century, amongst others of Richard Wagner. The latter, however,
+afterwards repented, and, by way of Schopenhauer, turned Christian.
+
+Feuerbach came from a family that would have been the delight of Sir
+Francis Galton, author of "Hereditary Genius." Feuerbach's father was a
+famous jurist, who had five sons, all of whom attained the honour of
+appearing in the German Encyclopædias. The philosopher was the fourth
+son. Again: the famous painter Anselm Feuerbach was his nephew, the son
+of his eldest brother.
+
+BRUNO BAUER (1809-1882). A destructive commentator of the New Testament.
+He belonged to the school of "higher" criticism which has done so much
+to "lower" Christianity in the eyes of savants and professors and so
+little in those of mankind at large. His "Critique of the Evangelistic
+History of Saint John" (1840) and his "Critique of the Evangelistic
+Synoptists" (1841-42) had just been published when Heine wrote "Atta
+Troll."
+
+
+CANTO IX
+
+MOSES MENDELSOHN (1729-1786). Grandfather of the famous composer. He was
+a Jewish philosopher and a friend of Lessing's, who, it is supposed,
+took him as his model for "Nathan the Wise." He freed his German
+co-religionaries from the oppressive influence of the Talmud.
+
+
+CANTO X
+
+PROPERTY IS THEFT. A dictum of Prudhon.
+
+
+CANTO XII
+
+REIGN OF DWARFS. The approaching rule of clever little trades-people,
+whose turn it will soon be if democracy progresses as at present.
+Compare Nietzsche's "Zarathustra," Part III, 49, "The Bedwarfing
+Virtue": "I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they have
+become _smaller_, and ever become _smaller: the reason thereof is their
+doctrine of happiness and virtue_."
+
+THIS CONCLUSION. "Lo, I kiss, therefore I live"--a witty travesty of
+Descartes' "Cogito, ergo sum."
+
+
+CANTO XIV
+
+SO I TOOK TO HUNTING BEARS. Heine considers Atta Troll, the bear bred by
+the French Revolution, as a much greater and more dangerous foe, and
+therefore a worthier opponent of his than the sorry German bears--or
+patriots--with whom he was forced to contend in his native country and
+who incessantly worried (and still worry) him.
+
+
+CANTO XV
+
+CAGOTS. The remnant of an ancient tribe, driven out of human society as
+unclean--Cagot from _Canis gothicus_. The Cagots may still be found in
+obscure parts of the French Pyrenees; they have their own language and
+are distinguished by their yellow skins from the peoples of Western
+Europe. In the Middle Ages they were persecuted as heretics and were
+excluded from all contact with their neighbours. They were forced to
+bear a tag upon their clothes so that they might be known as inferiors.
+Even to-day, despite the fact that they possess the same rights as other
+Frenchmen, they are considered as somewhat debased and unclean.
+
+
+CANTO XVIII
+
+THE WILD HUNT which Heine describes in this canto is an old German
+legend which poets and painters have found to be a fertile source of
+inspiration. The wild huntsman must ride through the world every night,
+followed by all evil-doers, and wherever he appears, thither, according
+to old folk-belief, does misfortune come. Tradition herds all the foes
+of Christianity among this rout of evil-doers; for this reason does
+Heine include Goethe--the "great pagan," as the Germans call him--in
+that crew. There have been other foes of Christianity since, and some
+very great figures amongst them, so that in time the Wild Huntsman's
+Company may become quite presentable.
+
+HENGSTENBERG (1802-1869). A fanatical theologian professor at Berlin who
+made an attack upon Goethe's "Elective Affinities," which then had not
+yet become a classic, and was thus still liable to the attacks of the
+"learned."
+
+FRANZ HORN. A contemporary of Heine's of no particular importance, a
+poet of the Romantic School and a verbose literary historian. He wrote a
+work in five volumes upon Shakespeare's plays. In this he interprets the
+poet in a wholly romantic sense and winds up by presenting him as an
+enthusiastic Christian.
+
+
+CANTO XIX
+
+ABUNDA--in the Celtic (Breton) folk-lore Dame Abonde and even Dame
+Habonde. The Celtic element (as, for instance, the legend of King
+Arthur's Round Table) played a great part in the romantic poetry of
+Germany, and later in the music dramas of Wagner. Romanticism is
+therefore represented in Heine's poem by the fairy Abunda, in
+contradistinction to the Greek and Semitic inspiration--represented by
+Diana and Herodias. Heine's conception of Herodias as being in love with
+the Baptist and taking her revenge on him for his Josephian attitude
+towards her, has, no doubt, influenced later writers on the subject,
+especially Flaubert and Oscar Wilde, save that these had not the courage
+(nor perhaps the insight) to regard the hero in question as a
+"block-head."
+
+
+CANTO XX
+
+SIX-AND-THIRTY KINGS. At once an allusion to Shakespeare's "A kingdom
+for a horse!" ("Richard III") and a side-stroke glancing at the various
+kings and princes of Germany--some thirty-six in Heine's time.
+
+
+CANTO XXI
+
+HELLISH HERBS. The foul and mouldy herbs and medicines in Uraka's hut
+represent a collection of remedies for the cure and preservation of
+decaying feudalism and Christian mediævalism, which, however, no remedy
+can restore to health. The smell in Uraka's hut is the smell of the
+"rotting past," that, in spite of all nostrums and artificial revivals,
+goes on decomposing. The stuffed birds which glare so fixedly and
+forlorn, and have long bills like human noses, are members of Heine's
+own race. These stuffed birds are the symbols of Judaism which according
+to our Hellenistic poet, possesses, as religion, as little life as the
+Christianity that is based upon it.
+
+
+CANTO XXII
+
+A SWABIAN BARD. The Swabian school of poetry, of which Uhland was the
+leader, was the chief representative of German Chauvinism in Heine's
+day. W. Menzel, the critic who denounced "Young Germany" to the
+Government, belonged to this school. Börne answered him in his "Menzel
+der Franzosenfresser" ("The Gallophobe"), and Heine mocked at him in his
+paper "The Denunciator." Gustav Pfizer (who had provoked Heine) and Karl
+Meyer were members of the Swabian school, and prided themselves
+particularly upon their morality and religiosity, for which reason they
+set themselves in antagonism to the "heathen" Goethe. Goethe, on his
+part, estimated this school as little as did Heine. In a letter to
+Zelter dated October 5, 1831, Goethe writes thus of Pfizer: "...I read a
+poem lately by Gustav Pfizer ... the poet appears to have real talent
+and is evidently a very good man. But as I read I was oppressed by a
+certain poverty of spirit in the piece and put the little book away at
+once, for with the advance of the cholera it is well to shield oneself
+against all debilitating influences. The work is dedicated to Uhland,
+and one might well doubt if anything exciting, thorough, or humanly
+compelling could be produced from those regions in which he is master. I
+will therefore not rail at the work, but simply leave it alone. _It is
+really marvellous how these little men are able to throw their
+goody-religious-poetic beggar's cloak so cleverly about their shoulders
+that, whenever an elbow happens to stick out, one is tempted to consider
+this as a deliberate poetic intention_."
+
+METZEL-SOUP. A Swabian soup of the country districts, glorified in the
+poetry of Uhland. It is usually prepared from the "insides" of pigs.
+
+CHRISTOPHER FRIEDRICH K. VON KÖLLE (1781-1848). A Privy Councillor of
+the Legation of Würtemberg--composer of many poems and political
+pamphlets.
+
+JUSTINUS KERNER (1786-1862) was also a poet of the Swabian school. He
+believed in spirits, and made many observations and experiments in his
+house at Weinsburg in order to obtain some knowledge of the
+supernatural world. Thousands of those who believed, or wished to
+believe, came to his "séances." He worked in conjunction with a
+celebrated medium of his time, and later published a very successful
+book about this lady. Heine, no doubt, had this medium in mind when he
+mentioned Kerner.
+
+
+CANTO XXIII
+
+BALDOMERO ESPARTERO (1792-1879). A celebrated Spanish general who fought
+against Don Carlos on the side of Maria Christina. He was later given
+the title of Duke of Vittoria.
+
+EMILIA GALOTTI. This refers to the heroine of Lessing's drama of the
+same name, in which old Odoardo Galotti slays his daughter in order to
+protect her from dishonour. The theme is derived from the story of
+Virginia and Tarquin.
+
+"NO ROSE WOULD HE PLUCK, ETC." Lessing's drama closes thus: "_Odoardo_:
+'God! what have I done!' _Emilia_: 'Thou hast merely plucked a rose ere
+the storm reft it of its petals.'"
+
+
+CANTO XXIV
+
+GANELON OF MAINZ was the stepfather of Roland, against whom he bore a
+grudge. He contrived to bring about his destruction by betraying him to
+the Saracens, who over-powered and killed him in the Valley of
+Roncesvalles, as related in the well-known "Chanson de Roland."
+
+VALHALLA'S HALL. King Ludwig I of Bavaria ordered a Greek temple to be
+built on the banks of the Danube near Regensburg, to which he gave the
+name of Valhalla. In this the busts of all great Germans are placed--as,
+for instance, with great ceremony, that of Bismarck some years ago, and
+recently that of Wagner. Atta Troll's epitaph is a satirical imitation
+of the poetic effusions of Ludwig I, who considered himself a poet but
+was nothing more than an affected versifier. His mania for compression
+and for participial forms (not to be tolerated in German) more than once
+drew the arrows of Heine's wit. The last line: "Talent none, but
+character," has become a familiar phrase in Germany.
+
+
+CANTO XXV
+
+PYRENEEAN LAFAYETTE. Lafayette fought for the Revolution in France as
+well as in America.
+
+"THAT WHICH SONG WOULD MAKE ETERNAL," &c. A quotation in a semi-satiric
+vein from Schiller's "The Gods of Greece."
+
+
+CANTO XXVI
+
+DROVE THE SNAKES AND LIONS FAR. A burlesque quotation from
+Freiligrath's poem "Der Löwenritt," from which also the reference later
+on to the crocodile is taken.
+
+
+CANTO XXVII
+
+VARNHAGEN VON ENSE (1785-1858). After abandoning his career as a
+diplomat, von Ense married the celebrated Rahel. He lived in Berlin,
+where the salon of his wife became the meeting-ground for artists and
+writers. In his youth he associated closely with the romantics--de la
+Motte Fouqué, Chamisso, and Clemens Brentano, the brother of Bettina von
+Arnim. Though imitating the heavy and cautious style of the later Goethe
+he was a good writer, and his biographies of celebrated men belong to
+the best in German literature. He endeavoured, but without success, to
+win over the all-powerful Austrian Minister Metternich to the cause of
+"Young Germany."
+
+OTHER TIMES AND OTHER BIRDS! These words refer to the new generation of
+poets--Georg Herwegh, Friedrich Freiligrath, Dingelstedt, Hoffmann von
+Fallersleben, and Anastasius Grün--who came upon the scene about 1840,
+cherished mechanic-democratic ideals and brought about the Revolution of
+1848. Heine, by nature an aristocratic poet, who instinctively dreaded
+the competition of "noble bears," saw all his loftiest principles
+trodden into the mire by these Utopian hot-heads and the crew of
+politicians that came storming after them. This doctrinaire and
+numerical interpretation of the rights of man--for which rights in their
+proper application the poet himself had fought so valiantly--caused him
+great unhappiness. He now saw his fairest concepts (as is made clear in
+his own introduction) distorted as in some crooked mirror, and so,
+filled with anger, grief and disgust, he conceived and wrote his
+lyrico-satiric masterpiece, "Atta Troll." The poem has been
+misunderstood to this very day, for the mechanics and theorists have
+practically won. _The day it is understood, their reign will be over_.
+
+PRINTED AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS LONDON
+
+
+NOTES OF THE TRANSCRIBER
+
+Three instances of "Willy Pogàny" were corrected to "Willy Pogány."
+
+"ond entreaties" was changed to "fond entreaties."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine
+
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+<title>
+  The Project Gutenberg eBook of ATTA TROLL, by Heinrich Heine.
+</title>
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+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Atta Troll
+
+Author: Heinrich Heine
+
+Contributor: Oscar Levy
+
+Illustrator: Willy Pogány
+
+Translator: Herman Scheffauer
+
+Release Date: February 17, 2010 [EBook #31305]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATTA TROLL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Meredith Bach, Chuck Greif and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+
+<div class="image">
+<a href="images/ill_ititle.png">
+<img src="images/ill_ititle.png"
+alt="image of the title page"
+style="max-height:550px;"
+/></a>
+</div>
+
+<div class="image"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii"></a>
+<a href="images/ill_ifrontis.png">
+<img src="images/ill_ifrontis.png"
+alt="image of the frontispiece"
+style="max-height:550px;"
+/></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="image"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii"></a>
+<a href="images/ill_ititle2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_ititle2.png"
+alt="ATTA TROLL
+From the German of
+Heinrich Heine
+by
+Herman Scheffauer
+with some Pen-and-Ink
+sketches by
+Willy Pogány
+Sidgwick &amp; Jackson London 1913"
+style="max-height:550px;"
+/></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="image"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv"></a>
+<a href="images/ill_ifrontis2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_ifrontis2.png"
+alt="image liberté egalité franternité not available"
+style="max-height:550px;"
+/></a>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h3>CONTENTS</h3>
+
+<table summary="toc"
+cellspacing="3"
+cellpadding="5">
+<tr valign="bottom"><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="right">page</td></tr>
+<tr valign="bottom"><td><a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An &nbsp; Interpretation &nbsp; of &nbsp; Heinrich</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heine's &nbsp; "Atta &nbsp; Troll," &nbsp; by &nbsp; Dr.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oscar &nbsp; Levy</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr>
+<tr valign="bottom"><td><a href="#PREFACE1">PREFACE</a><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By &nbsp; Heine</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_25">25</a></td></tr>
+<tr valign="bottom"><td><a href="#ATTATROLL">ATTA &nbsp; TROLL</a></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr valign="bottom"><td><a href="#NOTES_TO_ATTA_TROLL">NOTES</a><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Dr. &nbsp; Oscar &nbsp; Levy</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_165">165</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3>
+
+<table summary="toc"
+cellspacing="3"
+cellpadding="5">
+<tr valign="bottom"><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="right">page</td></tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom"><td>FRONTISPIECE</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_ii">ii</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom"><td>TITLE-PAGE</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_iii">iii</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom"><td>ATTA &nbsp; TROLL</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_iv">iv</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom"><td>INTRODUCTION (Half-Title)</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom"><td>ATTA &nbsp; TROLL (Half-Title)</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_33">33</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<p class="c top15"><i>The headings and tail-pieces to the Cantos are by
+Horace Taylor</i><a name="page_1" id="page_1"></a></p>
+
+
+<div class="image"><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>
+<a href="images/ill_i_intro.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i_intro.png"
+alt="Image of Introduction not available"
+style="max-height:550px;"
+/></a>
+</div>
+
+<p><a name="page_2" id="page_2"></a></p>
+
+<p><a name="page_3" id="page_3"></a></p>
+
+
+<h3>AN &nbsp; INTERPRETATION &nbsp; OF<br />
+HEINRICH &nbsp; HEINE'S<br />
+"ATTA &nbsp; TROLL"</h3>
+
+
+<p class="notes"><i>HE who has visited the idyllic isle of Corfu must
+have seen, gleaming white amidst its surroundings
+of dark green under a sky of the deepest blue, the
+Greek villa which was erected there by Elizabeth,
+Empress of Austria. It is called the Achilleion.
+In its garden there is a small classic temple
+in which the Empress caused to be placed a marble
+statue of her most beloved of poets, Heinrich
+Heine. The statue represented the poet seated,
+his head bowed in profound melancholy, his
+cheeks thin and drawn and bearded, as in his
+last illness.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Elizabeth, Empress of Austria, felt a sentimental
+affinity with the poet; his unhappiness,
+his</i> Weltschmerz, <i>touched a responsive chord
+in her own unhappy heart. Intellectual sympathy
+with Heine's thought or tendencies there could<a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a>
+have been little, for no woman has ever quite
+understood Heinrich Heine, who is still a riddle
+to most of the men of this age.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>After the assassination of the hapless Empress,
+the beautiful villa was bought by the German
+Emperor. He at once ordered Heine's statue
+to be removed&mdash;whither no one knows. Royal
+(as well as popular) spite has before this been
+vented on dead or inanimate things&mdash;one need
+only ask Englishmen to remember what happened
+to the body of Oliver Cromwell. The Kaiser's
+action, by the way, did not pass unchallenged.
+Not only in Germany but in several other
+countries indignant voices were raised at the
+time, protesting against an act so insulting to
+the memory of the great singer, upholding the
+fame of Heine as a poet and denouncing the new
+master of the Achilleion for his narrow and
+prejudiced views on art and literature.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>There was, however, a sound reason for the
+Imperial interference. Heinrich Heine was in
+his day an outspoken enemy of Prussia, a severe
+critic of the House of Hohenzollern and of other
+Royal houses of Germany. He was one who<a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a>
+held in scorn the principles of State and government
+that are honoured in Germany, and elsewhere,
+to this very day. He was one of those
+poets&mdash;of whom the nineteenth century produced
+only a few, but those amongst the greatest&mdash;who
+had begun to distrust the capacity of the
+reigning aristocracy, who knew what to expect
+from the rising bourgeoisie, and who were nevertheless
+not romantic enough to believe in the people
+and the wonderful possibilities hidden in them.
+These poets&mdash;one and all&mdash;have taken up a very
+negative attitude towards their contemporaries
+and have given voice to their anger and disappointment
+over the pettiness of the society
+and government of their time in words full of
+satire and contempt.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Of course, the echo on the part of their
+audiences has not been wanting. All these
+poets have experienced a fate surprisingly similar,
+and their relationship to their respective countries
+reminds one of those unhappy matrimonial
+alliances which&mdash;for social or religious reasons&mdash;no
+divorce can ever dissolve. And, worse than
+that, no separation either, for a poet is&mdash;through<a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a>
+his mother tongue&mdash;so intimately wedded to
+his country that not even a separation can effect
+any sort of relief in such a desperate case. All
+of them have tried separation, all of them have
+lived in estrangement from their country&mdash;we
+might almost say that only the local and lesser
+poets of the last century have stayed at home&mdash;and
+yet in spite of this separation the mutual
+recriminations of these passionate poetical
+husbands and their obstinate national wives
+have never ceased. Again and again we hear
+the male partner making proposals to win his
+spouse to better and nobler ways, again and
+again he tries to "educate her up to himself" and
+endeavours to direct her anew, pointing out to
+her the danger of her unruly and stupid behaviour;
+again and again his loving approaches
+are thwarted by the well-known waywardness
+of the feminine character, and so all his friendly
+admonitions habitually turn into torrents of
+abuse and vilification. There have been many
+unhappy unions in the world, but the compulsory</i>
+mésalliances <i>of such great nineteenth-century
+writers as Heine, Byron, Stendhal, Gobineau,<a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a>
+and Nietzsche with Mesdames Britannia, Gallia,
+and Germania, those otherwise highly respectable
+ladies, easily surpass in grotesqueness anything
+that has come to us through divorce court proceedings
+in England and America. That, as
+every one will agree, is saying a good deal.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>The German Emperor, as I have said, had
+some justification for his action, some motives
+that do credit, if not to his intellect, at least
+to what in our days best takes the place of
+intellect; that is to say his character and his
+principles of government. The German Emperor
+appears at least to realize how offensive
+and, from his point of view, dangerous, the
+spirit of Heinrich Heine is to this very day, how
+deeply his satire cuts into questions of religion and
+State, how impatient he is of everything which
+the German Emperor esteems and venerates in
+his innermost heart. But the German people,
+on the whole, and certainly all foreigners, have
+long ago forgiven the poet, not because they have
+understood the dead bard better than the Emperor,
+but because they understood him less well.
+It is always easier to forgive an offender if you<a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a>
+do not understand him too well, it is likewise
+easier to forgive him if your memory be short.
+And the peoples likewise resemble our womenfolk
+in this respect, that as soon as they are widowed
+of their poets, they easily forget all the unpleasantness
+that had ever existed between them and their
+dead husbands. It is then and only then that
+they discover the good qualities of their dead
+consorts and go about telling everybody "what
+a wonderful man he was." Their behaviour
+reminds me of a picture I once saw in a French
+comic paper. It represented a widow who, in
+order to hear her deceased husband's voice,
+had a gramophone put at his empty place at the
+breakfast table. And every morning she sat
+opposite that gramophone weeping quietly into
+her handkerchief, gazing mournfully at the
+instrument&mdash;decorated with her dead hubby's
+tasselled cap&mdash;and listening to the voice of the
+dear departed. But the only words which came
+out of the gramophone every morning were:</i>
+Mais fiche-moi donc la paix&mdash;tu m'empêches
+de lire mon journal! <i>(For goodness' sake,
+leave me alone and let me read my paper.)<a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a>
+This, however, did not appear to disturb the
+sentimental widow at all, as little indeed as a
+good sentimental people resents being abused by
+its dead poet.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>And how our poet did abuse them during his
+life! And not only during his life, for Heine
+would not have been a great poet if his loves
+and hatreds, his censure and his praise had not
+outlasted his life, nay, had not come to real life
+only after his death. Thus the shafts of wit
+and satire which Heine levelled at his age and
+his country will seem singularly modern to the
+reader of to-day. It is this peculiar modern
+significance and application that has been one
+of the two reasons for presenting to the English
+public the first popular edition of Heine's lyrico-satiric
+masterpiece "Atta Troll." The other
+reason is the fine quality of the translation,
+made by one who is himself well known as a
+poet, my friend Herman Scheffauer. I venture
+to say that it renders in a remarkable degree
+the elusive brilliance, wit, and tenderness of
+the German original.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>The poem begins in a sprightly fashion full<a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a>
+of airy mockery and romantic lyricism. The
+reader is beguiled as with music and led on as
+in a dance. Heine himself called it</i> das letzte
+freie Waldlied der Romantik <i>("The last free
+woodland-song of Romanticism"); and so we
+hear the alluring sound of flutes and harps, we
+listen to the bells ringing from lonely chapels
+in the forest, and many beautiful flowers nod to
+us, the mysterious blue flower amongst them.
+Then our eyes rejoice at the sight of fair maidens,
+whose nude and slender bodies gleam from under
+their floods of golden hair, who ride on white
+horses and throw us provocative glances, that
+warm and quicken our innermost hearts. But
+just as we are on the point of responding to their
+fond entreaties we are startled by the cracking
+of the wild hunter's whip, and we hear the loud
+hallo and huzza of his band, and see them
+galloping across our path in the eerie mysterious
+moonlight. Yes, in "Atta Troll" there is
+plenty of that moonshine, of that tender sentimentality,
+which used to be the principal stock-in-trade
+of the German Romanticist.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>But this moonshine and all the other para<a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a>phernalia
+of the Romantic School Heine handled
+with all the greater skill, inasmuch as he was no
+longer a real Romanticist when he wrote "Atta
+Troll." He had left the Romantic School long
+ago, not without (as he himself tells us) "having
+given a good thrashing to his schoolmaster."
+He was now a Greek, a follower of Spinoza and
+Goethe. He was a</i> Romantique défroqué&mdash;<i>one
+who had risen above his neurotic fellow-poets
+and their hazy ideas and wild endeavours. But
+for this very reason he is able to use their mode of
+expression with so much the greater skill, and,
+knowing all their shortcomings, he could give to
+his Dreamland a semblance of reality which they
+could never achieve. Only after having left a town
+are we in a position to judge the height of its
+church steeple, only as exiles do we begin to see
+the right relation in which our country stands
+to the rest of the world, and only a poet who had
+bidden farewell to his party and school, who had
+freed himself from Romanticism, could give
+us the last, the truest, the most beautiful poem of
+Romanticism.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>It is possible, even probable, that "Atta<a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a>
+Troll" will appeal to a majority of readers, not
+through its satire, but through its wonderful
+lyrical and romantic qualities&mdash;our age being
+inclined to look askance at satire, at least at
+true satire, at satire that, as the current phrase
+goes, "means business." Weak satire, aimless
+satire, humour, caricature&mdash;that is to say satire
+which uses blank cartridges&mdash;this age of ours
+will readily endure, nay heartily welcome;
+but of true satire, of satire that goes in for
+powder and shot, that does not only crack, but
+kill, it is mortally, and, if one comes to think of
+it rightly, afraid. But let even those who object
+to powder and shot approach "Atta Troll"
+without fear or misgiving. They will not be disappointed.
+They will find in this work proof of
+the old truth that a satirist is always and originally
+a man of high ideals and imagination.
+They will gain an insight into his much slandered
+soul, which is always that of a great poet. They
+will readily understand that this poet only
+became a satirist through the vivacity of his
+imagination, through the strength of his poetic
+vision, through his optimistic belief in humanity<a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a>
+and its possibilities; and that it was precisely
+this great faith which forced him to become a
+satirist, because he could not endure to see all
+his pure ideals and the possibilities of perfection
+soiled and trampled upon by thoughtless mechanics,
+aimless mockers and babbling reformers. The
+humorist may be&mdash;and very often is&mdash;a sceptic,
+a pessimist, a nihilist; the satirist is invariably
+a believer, an optimist, an idealist. For let
+this dangerous man only come face to face, not
+with his enemies, but with his ideals, and you will
+see&mdash;as in "Atta Troll"&mdash;what a generous friend,
+what an ardent lover, what a great poet he is.
+Thus no one will be in the least disturbed by
+Heine's satire: on the contrary, those who
+object to it on principle will hardly be aware of
+it, so delighted will they be with the wonderful
+imagination, the glowing descriptions, and the
+passionate lyrics in which the poetry of "Atta
+Troll" abounds. The poem may be and will
+be read by them as "Gulliver's Travels" is
+read to-day by young and old, by poet and
+politician alike, not for its original satire, but
+for its picturesque, dramatic, and enthralling tale.</i><a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a></p>
+
+<p><i>But let those who still believe that writing is
+fighting, and not sham-fighting only, those who
+hold that a poet is a soldier of the pen and therefore
+the most dangerous of all soldiers, those who feel
+that our age needs a hailstorm of satire, let these,
+I say, look closer at the wonderfully ideal figures
+that pass before them in the pale mysterious
+light. Let them listen more intently to the
+flutes and harps and they will discover quite a
+different melody beneath&mdash;a melody by no means
+bewitching or soothing, nor inviting us to dreams,
+sweet forgetfulness, soft couches, and tender
+embraces, but a shrill and mocking tune that is
+at times insolently discordant and that strikes
+us as decidedly modern, realistic, and threatening.
+As the poet himself expressed it in his dedication
+to Varnhagen von Ense:</i></p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+"<i>Aye, my friend, such strains arise</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>From the dream-time that is dead</i></span><br />
+Though some modern trills may oft<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Caper through the ancient theme.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Spite of waywardness thou'lt find<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here and there a note of pain...."</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p><i>Let their ears seek to catch these painful
+notes. Let their eyes accustom themselves to
+the deceitful light of the moon; let them
+endeavour to pierce through the romanticism
+on the surface to the underlying meaning of the
+poem.... A little patience and we shall see
+clearly....</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Atta Troll, the dancing bear, is the representative
+of the people. He has&mdash;by means of
+the French Revolution, of course&mdash;broken his
+fetters and escaped to the freedom of the mountains.
+Here he indulges in that familiar ranting
+of a</i> sansculotte, <i>his heart and mouth brimming
+over with what Heine calls</i> frecher Gleichheitsschwindel
+<i>("the barefaced swindle of equality").
+His hatred is above all directed against the
+masters from whose bondage he has just escaped,
+that is to say against all mankind as a race. As
+a "true and noble bear" he simply detests
+these human beings with their superior airs and
+impudent smiles, those arrogant wretches, who
+fancy themselves something lofty, because they
+eat cooked meat and know a few tricks and
+sciences. Animals, if properly trained, if only<a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a>
+equality of opportunity were given to them,
+could learn these tricks just as well&mdash;there is
+therefore no earthly reason why</i></p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>"these men,</i></span><br />
+<i>Cursèd arch-aristocrats,</i><br />
+<i>Should with haughty insolence</i><br />
+<i>Look upon the world of beasts."</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<p><i>The beasts, so Atta Troll declares, ought not
+to allow themselves to be treated in this wise.
+They ought to combine amongst themselves, for
+it is only by means of proper union that the
+requisite degree of strength can ever be attained.
+After the establishment of this powerful union
+they should try to enforce their programme and
+demand the abolition of private property and of
+human privileges:</i></p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>"And its first great law shall be</i><br />
+<i>For God's creatures one and all</i><br />
+<i>Equal rights&mdash;no matter what</i><br />
+<i>Be their faith, or hide, or smell,</i><a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a><br />
+<br />
+<i>"Strict equality! Each ass</i><br />
+<i>May become Prime Minister,</i><br />
+<i>On the other hand the lion</i><br />
+<i>Shall bear corn unto the mill."</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<p><i>This outrageous diatribe of the freed slave cuts
+deeply into the poet's heart. He, the poet, does
+not believe in equal, but in the "holy inborn"
+rights of men, the rights of valid birth, the rights
+of the man of &#7937;&#961;&#949;&#964;&#7969;. He, the poet, the
+admirer of Napoleon, believes in the latter's</i>
+la carrière ouverte aux talents, <i>but not in
+opportunity given to every dunce or dancing
+bear. He holds Atta Troll's opinion to be
+"high treason against the majesty of humanity,"
+and since he can endure this no longer, he sets
+out one fine morning to hunt the insolent bear in
+his mountain fastnesses.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>A strange being, however, accompanies him.
+This is a man of the name of Lascaro, a somewhat
+abnormal fellow, who is very thin, very pale,
+and apparently in very poor health. He is
+consequently not exactly a pleasant comrade
+for the chase: he does not seem to enjoy the<a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a>
+sport at all, and his one endeavour is to get
+through with his task without losing more of his
+strength and health. Even now he is more of an
+automaton than a human being, more dead than
+alive, and yet&mdash;greatest of all miseries!&mdash;he is
+not allowed to die. For he has a mother, the
+witch Uraka, who keeps him artificially alive by
+anointing him every night with magic salve and
+giving him such diabolic advice as will be useful
+to him during the day. By means of the sham
+health she gives to her son, the magic bullets she
+casts for him, the tricks and wiles she teaches him,
+Lascaro is enabled to find the track of Atta
+Troll, to lure him out of his lair and to lay him
+low with a treacherous shot.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Who is this silent Lascaro and his mysterious
+mother, whom the poet seems to hold in as slight
+regard as the noisy Atta Troll? Who is this
+Lascaro, whose methods he deprecates, whose
+health he doubts, whose cold ways and icy smiles
+make him shudder? Who is this chilliest of all
+monsters? The chilliest of all monsters&mdash;we may
+find the answer in "Zarathustra"&mdash;is the
+State: and our Lascaro is nothing else than the<a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a>
+spirit of reactionary government, kept artificially
+alive by his old witch-mother, the spirit
+of Feudalism. The nightly anointing of Lascaro
+is a parody on the revival of mediæval customs,
+by means of which the frightened aristocracy of
+Europe in the middle of the last century tried
+to stem the tide of the French Revolution&mdash;the
+anointed of the Lord becoming in Heine's poem
+the anointed of the witch. But in spite of his
+nightly massage, our Lascaro does not gain
+much strength or spirit: no mediæval salves,
+no feudal pills, no witch's spell, will ever cure him.
+Not even a wizard's experiments (we may add,
+with that greater insight bestowed upon us by
+history) could do him any good, not even the
+astute magic tricks that were lavished upon the
+patient in Heine's time by that arch wizard, the
+Austrian Minister Metternich. For we must
+not forget the time in which "Atta Troll" was
+written, the time of the omnipotent Metternich!
+Let us recall to our memories this cool, clever,
+callous statesman, who founded and set the
+Holy Alliance against the Revolution, who
+calmly shot down the German Atta Troll, who<a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a>
+skilfully strangled and stifled that promising
+poetical school, "Young Germany," to which
+Heine belonged. Let us recall this man, who
+likewise artificially revived the old religion and
+the old feudalism, who repolished and regilded
+the scutcheons of the decadent aristocracy, and
+who, despite all his energy, had at heart no belief
+in his work, no joy in his task, no faith in the
+anointed dummies he brought to life again in
+Europe&mdash;and those puzzling personalities of
+Uraka and Lascaro will be elucidated to us by
+a real historical example.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Metternich is now part of history. But, alas!
+we cannot likewise banish into that limbo of the
+past those two superfluous individuals, the revolutionary
+Atta Troll and the reactionary
+Lascaro. Alas! we cannot join the joyful, but
+inwardly so hopeless, band of those who sing the
+pæan of eternal progress, who pretend to believe
+that the times are always "changing for the
+better." Let these good people open their eyes,
+and they will see that Atta Troll was not shot
+down in the valley of Roncesvalles, but that he
+is still alive, very much alive, and making a<a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a>
+dreadful noise, and that not in the Pyrenees, but
+just outside our doors, where he still keeps
+haranguing about equality and liberty and
+occasionally breaks his fetters and escapes from
+his masters. And when this occurs, then that icy
+monster Lascaro is likewise seen, with his hard,
+pallid face and his joyless mouth, and his disgust
+with his own task and his doubts and disbeliefs in
+himself. He still carries his gun and he still
+possesses some of that craftiness which his mother
+the witch has taught him, and he still knows how
+to entrap that poor, stupid Atta Troll, and to
+shoot him down when the spirit of "order and
+government," the spirit of a soulless capitalism,
+requires it.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>No, there is very little feeling in the man as
+yet, and he seems as difficult to move as ever.
+There is apparently only one thing that can rouse
+him into action, and that is when a poet appears,
+one who knows the truth and who dares to speak
+the truth not only about Atta Troll, the people,
+but also about its Lascaros, its leaders, its
+emperors, and kings. Then and then only
+his hard features change, and his affected self-<a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a>possession
+leaves him, then and then only his
+mask of calmness is thrown off, and he waxes
+very angry with the poet, and has his name
+banished from his court and his statues turned
+out of his cities and villas&mdash;nay, he would even
+level his gun to slay the truth-telling poet as
+he slew Atta Troll.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>From which we may see that the modern
+Lascaro has become a sort of Don Quixote&mdash;for,
+truly is it not the height of folly for a mortal
+emperor to shoot at an immortal poet?</i></p>
+
+<p class="r">OSCAR LEVY</p>
+
+<p>London, 1913<a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a></p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a><a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a>
+<a name="PREFACE1" id="PREFACE1"></a>PREFACE &nbsp; BY &nbsp; HEINE</h3>
+
+
+<p class="notes"><i>"ATTA TROLL" was composed in the late
+autumn of 1841, and appeared as a fragment in</i>
+The Elegant World, <i>of which my friend Laube
+had at that time resumed the editorship. The
+shape and contents of the poem were forced to
+conform to the narrow necessities of that periodical.
+I wrote at first only those cantos which might be
+printed and even these suffered many variations.
+It was my intention to issue the work later in
+its full completeness, but this commendable
+resolve remained unfulfilled&mdash;like all the mighty
+works of the Germans&mdash;such as the cathedral of
+Cologne, the God of Schelling, the Prussian
+Constitution, and the like. This also happened
+to "Atta Troll"&mdash;he was never finished. In
+such imperfect form, indifferently bolstered up
+and rounded only from without, do I now set
+him before the public, obedient to an impulse
+which certainly does not proceed from within.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>"Atta Troll," as I have said, originated in
+the late autumn of 1841, at the time when<a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a>
+the great mob which my enemies of various
+complexions, had drummed together against me,
+had not quite ceased its noise. It was a very
+large mob and indeed I would never have
+believed that Germany could produce so many
+rotten apples as then flew about my head!
+Our Fatherland is a blessed country! Citrons
+and oranges certainly do not grow here, and the
+laurel ekes out but a miserable existence, but
+rotten apples thrive in the happiest abundance,
+and never a great poet of ours but could write
+feelingly of them! On the occasion of that
+hue and cry in which I was to lose both my head
+and my laurels it happened that I lost neither.
+All the absurd accusations which were used to
+incite the mob against me have since then been
+miserably annihilated, even without my condescending
+to refute them. Time justified me,
+and the various German States have even, as I
+must most gratefully acknowledge, done me
+good service in this respect. The warrants of
+arrest which at every German station past the
+frontier await the return of this poet, are
+thoroughly renovated every year during the holy<a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a>
+Christmastide, when the little candles glow
+merrily on the Christmas trees. It is this
+insecurity of the roads which has almost destroyed
+my pleasure in travelling through the German
+meads. I am therefore celebrating my Christmas
+in an alien land, and it will be as an exile in a
+foreign country that I shall end my days.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>But those valiant champions of Light and
+Truth who accuse me of fickleness and servility,
+are able to go about quite securely in the Fatherland&mdash;as
+well-stalled servants of the State, as
+dignitaries of a Guild, or as regular guests of a
+club where of evenings they may regale themselves
+with the vinous juices of Father Rhine
+and with "sea-surrounded Schleswig-Holstein"
+oysters.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>It was my express intention to indicate in the
+foregoing at what period "Atta Troll" was
+written. At that time the so-called art of
+political poetry was in full flower. The opposition,
+as Ruge says, sold its leather and became
+poetry. The Muses were given strict orders
+that they were thenceforth no longer to gad about
+in a wanton, easy-going fashion, but would be<a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a>
+compelled to enter into national service, possibly
+as</i> vivandières <i>of liberty or as washerwomen of
+Christian-Germanic nationalism. Especially
+were the bowers of the German bards afflicted
+by that vague and sterile pathos, that useless
+fever of enthusiasm which, with absolute disregard
+for death, plunges itself into an ocean of
+generalities. This always reminds me of the
+American sailor who was so madly enthusiastic
+over General Jackson that he sprang from the
+mast-head into the sea, crying out: "I die for
+General Jackson!" Yes, even though we
+Germans as yet possessed no fleet, still we had
+plenty of sailors who were willing to die for
+General Jackson, in prose or verse. In those
+days talent was a rather questionable gift, for
+it brought one under suspicion of being a loose
+character. After thousands of years of grubbing
+deliberation, Impotence, sick and limping Impotence,
+at last discovered its greatest weapon
+against the over-encouragement of genius&mdash;it
+discovered, in fact, the antithesis between Talent
+and Character. It was almost personally
+flattering to the great masses when they heard it<a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a>
+said that good, average people were certainly
+poor musicians as a rule, but that, on the other
+hand, fine musicians were not usually good people&mdash;that
+goodness was the important thing in this
+world and not music. Empty-Head now beat
+resolutely upon his full Heart, and Sentiment
+was trumps. I recall an author of that day who
+accounted his inability to write as a peculiar
+merit in himself, and who, because of his wooden
+style, was given a silver cup of honour.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>By the eternal gods! at that time it became
+necessary to defend the inalienable rights of the
+spirit, above all in poetry. Inasmuch as I
+have made this defence the chief business of my
+life, I have kept it constantly before me in this
+poem whose tone and theme are both a protest
+against the plebiscite of the tribunes of the times.
+And verily, even the first fragments of "Atta
+Troll" which saw the light, aroused the wrath
+of my heroic worthies, my dear Romans, who
+accused me not only of a literary but also of a
+social reaction, and even of mocking the loftiest
+human ideals. As to the esthetic worth of my
+poem&mdash;of that I thought but little, as I still do<a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a>
+to-day&mdash;I wrote it solely for my own joy and
+pleasure, in the fanciful dreamy manner of that
+romantic school in which I whiled away my
+happiest years of youth, and then wound up by
+thrashing the schoolmaster. Possibly in this
+regard my poem is to be condemned. But thou
+liest, Brutus, thou too, Cassius, and even thou,
+Asinius, when ye declare that my mockery is
+levelled against those ideals which constitute
+the noble achievements of man, for which I
+too have wrought and suffered so much. No, it
+is just because the poet constantly sees these
+ideas before him in all their clarity and greatness
+that he is forced into irresistible laughter when he
+beholds how raw, awkward, and clumsy these
+ideas may appear when interpreted by a narrow
+circle of contemporary spirits. Then perforce
+must he jest about their thick temporal hides&mdash;bear
+hides. There are mirrors which are ground
+in so irregular a way that even an Apollo would
+behold himself as a caricature in them, and invite
+laughter. But we do not laugh at the god
+but merely at his distorted image.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Another word. Need I lay any special<a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a>
+emphasis upon the fact that the parodying of
+one of Freiligrath's poems, which here and there
+somewhat saucily titters from the lines of "Atta
+Troll," in no wise constitutes a disparagement
+of that poet? I value him highly, especially
+at present, and account him one of the most
+important poets who have arisen in Germany
+since the Revolution of 1830. His first collection
+of poems came to my notice rather late, namely
+just at the time when I was composing "Atta
+Troll." The fact that the Moorish Prince
+affected me so comically was no doubt due to my
+particular mood at that time. Moreover, this
+work of his is usually vaunted as his best. To
+such readers as may not be acquainted with this
+production&mdash;and I doubt not such may be found
+in China and Japan, and even along the banks
+of the Niger and Senegal&mdash;I would call attention
+to the fact that the Blackamoor King, who at
+the beginning of the poem steps from his white
+tent like an eclipsed moon, is beloved by a black
+beauty over whose dusky features nod white
+ostrich plumes. But, eager for war, he leaves
+her, and enters into the battles of the blacks,<a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a>
+"where rattles the drum decorated with skulls,"
+but, alas! here he finds his black Waterloo, and
+is sold by the victors unto the whites. They
+take the noble African to Europe and here we
+find him in a company of itinerant circus folk
+who intrust him with the care of the Turkish
+drum at their performances. There he stands,
+dark and solemn, at the entrance to the ring,
+and drums. But as he drums he thinks of his
+erstwhile greatness, remembers, too, that he was
+once an absolute monarch on the far, far banks of
+the Niger, that he hunted lions and tigers:</i></p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>"His eye grew moist; with hollow thunder</i><br />
+<i>He beat the drum, till it sprang in sunder."</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<p class="r">HEINRICH HEINE</p>
+
+<p class="nind">Written at Paris, 1846<a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a></p>
+
+
+<div class="image"><a name="ATTATROLL" id="ATTATROLL"></a>
+<a href="images/ill_i033.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i033.png"
+alt="ATTA TROLL"
+style="max-height:550px;"
+/></a>
+</div>
+
+<p><a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a></p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>Out of the gleaming, shimmering tents of white</i><br />
+<i>Steps the Prince of the Moors in his armour bright&mdash;</i><br />
+<i>So out of the slumbering clouds of night,</i><br />
+<i>The moon in its dark eclipse takes flight.</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<p class="r">"The Prince of Blackamoors,"<br />
+by Ferdinand Freiligrath.</p>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td><a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+alt="image not available"
+height="119"
+/></a><a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto1"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO I</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Ringed about by mountains dark,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rising peak on sullen peak,</span><br />
+And by furious waterfalls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lulled to slumber, like a dream</span><br />
+<br />
+White within the valley lies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cauterets. Each villa neat</span><br />
+Sports a balcony whereon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lovely ladies stand and laugh.</span><br />
+<br />
+Heartily they laugh and look<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down upon the crowded square</span><br />
+Where unto a bag-pipe's drone<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He- and she-bear strut and dance.</span><br />
+<br />
+Atta Troll is dancing there<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his Mumma, dusky mate,</span><br />
+While in wonderment the Basques<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shout aloud and clap their hands.<a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Stiff with pride and gravity<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dances noble Atta Troll,</span><br />
+Though his shaggy partner knows<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Neither dignity nor shame.</span><br />
+<br />
+I am even fain to think<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She is verging on the can-can,</span><br />
+For her shameless wagging hints<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the gay <i>Grande Chaumière</i></span><br />
+<br />
+Even he, the showman brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holding her with loosened chain,</span><br />
+Marks the immorality<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of her most immodest dance.</span><br />
+<br />
+So at times he lays the lash<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Straight across her inky back,</span><br />
+Till the mountains wake and shout<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Echoes to her frenzied howls.</span><br />
+<br />
+On the showman's pointed hat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Six Madonnas made of lead</span><br />
+Shield him from the foeman's balls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or invasions of the louse.<a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+And a gaudy altar-cloth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From his shoulders hanging down,</span><br />
+Makes a proper sort of cloak,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hiding pistol and a knife.</span><br />
+<br />
+In his youth a monk was he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then became a robber chief;</span><br />
+Later, in Don Carlos' ranks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He combined the other two.</span><br />
+<br />
+When Don Carlos, forced to flee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bade his Table Round farewell,</span><br />
+All his Paladins resolved<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Straight to learn an honest trade.</span><br />
+<br />
+Herr Schnapphahnski turned a scribe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our staunch Crusader here</span><br />
+Just a showman, with his bears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trudging up and down the land.</span><br />
+<br />
+And in every market-place<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the people's pence they dance&mdash;</span><br />
+In the square at Cauterets<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Atta Troll is dancing now!<a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Atta Troll, the Forest King,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He who ruled on mountain-heights,</span><br />
+Now to please the village mob,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dances in his doleful chains.</span><br />
+<br />
+Worse and worse! for money vile<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He must dance who, clad in might,</span><br />
+Once in majesty of terror<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Held the world a sorry thing!</span><br />
+<br />
+When the memories of his youth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his lost dominions green,</span><br />
+Smite the soul of Atta Troll,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mournful sobs escape his breast.</span><br />
+<br />
+And he scowls as scowled the black<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monarch famed of Freiligrath;</span><br />
+In his rage he dances badly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the darkey badly drummed.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet compassion none he wins,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only laughter! Juliet</span><br />
+From her balcony is laughing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At his wild, despairing bounds.<a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Juliet, you see, is French,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And was born without a soul&mdash;</span><br />
+Lives for mere externals&mdash;but<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her externals are so fair!</span><br />
+<br />
+Like a net of tender gleams<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are the glances of her eye,</span><br />
+And our hearts like little fishes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fall and struggle in that net.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td><a href="images/ill_i039.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i039.png"
+width="250px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto2"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO II</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+When the dusky Moorish Prince<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sung by poet Freiligrath</span><br />
+Beat upon his mighty drum<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the drumskin crashed and broke&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Thrilling must that crash have been&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Likewise hard upon the ear&mdash;</span><br />
+But just fancy when a bear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Breaks away from captive chains!</span><br />
+<br />
+Swift the laughter and the pipes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cease. What yells of fear arise!</span><br />
+From the square the people rush<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the gentle dames grow pale.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yea, from all his slavish bonds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Atta Troll has torn him free.</span><br />
+Suddenly! With mighty leaps<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the narrow streets he runs.<a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Room enough is his, I trow!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up the jagged cliffs he climbs,</span><br />
+Flings down one contemptuous look,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then is lost within the hills.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lone within the market-place<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mumma and her master stand&mdash;</span><br />
+Raging, now he grasps his hat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cursing, casts it on the earth,</span><br />
+<br />
+Tramples on it, kicks and flouts<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Madonnas, tears the cloak</span><br />
+Off his foul and naked back,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yells and blasphemes horribly</span><br />
+<br />
+'Gainst the base ingratitude<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the race of sable bears.</span><br />
+Had he not been kind to Troll?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Taught him dancing free of charge?</span><br />
+<br />
+Everything this monster owed him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even life. For some had bid,</span><br />
+All in vain! three hundred marks<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the hide of Atta Troll.<a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Like some carven form of grief<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There the poor black Mumma stands</span><br />
+On her hind feet, with her paws<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleading with the raging clown.</span><br />
+<br />
+But on her the raging clown<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looses now his twofold wrath;</span><br />
+Beats her; calls her Queen Christine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dame Muñoz&mdash;Putana too....</span><br />
+<br />
+All this happened on a fair<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sunny summer afternoon.</span><br />
+And the night which followed, ah!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was superb and wonderful.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of that night a part I spent<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a small white balcony;</span><br />
+Juliet was at my side<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we viewed the passing stars.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Fairer far," she sighed, "the stars<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which in Paris I have seen,</span><br />
+When upon a winter's night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the muddy streets they shine."</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto3"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO III</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Dream of summer nights! How vain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is my fond fantastic song.</span><br />
+Quite as vain as Love and Life,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Creator and Creation.</span><br />
+<br />
+Subject to his own sweet will,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now in gallop, now in flight,</span><br />
+So my Pegasus, my darling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Revels through the realms of myth.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, no plodding cart-horse he!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harnessed up for citizens,</span><br />
+Nor a ramping party-hack<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full of showy kicks and neighs.</span><br />
+<br />
+For my little wingèd steed's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hoofs are shod with solid gold</span><br />
+And his bridle, dragging free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a rope of gleaming pearls.<a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Bear me wheresoe'er thou wouldst&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To some lofty mountain-trail</span><br />
+Where the torrents toss and shriek<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Warnings over folly's gulf.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bear me through the silent vales<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the solemn oaks arise</span><br />
+From whose twisted roots there well<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ancient springs of fairy lore.</span><br />
+<br />
+There, oh, let me drink&mdash;mine eyes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let me lave&mdash;Oh, how I thirst</span><br />
+For that flashing wonder-spring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full of wisdom and of light.</span><br />
+<br />
+All my blindness flees. My glance<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pierces to the dimmest cave,</span><br />
+To the lair of Atta Troll,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his speech I understand!</span><br />
+<br />
+Strange it is&mdash;this bearish speech<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath a most familiar ring!</span><br />
+Once, methinks, I heard such tones<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In my own dear native land.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto4"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO IV</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Roncesvalles, thou noble vale!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When thy golden name I hear,</span><br />
+Then the lost blue flower blooms<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once again within my heart!</span><br />
+<br />
+All the glittering world of dreams<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rises from its hoary gulf,</span><br />
+And with great and ghostly eyes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stares upon me till I quake!</span><br />
+<br />
+What a stir and clang! The Franks<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Battle with the Saracens,</span><br />
+While a thin, despairing wail<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pours like blood from Roland's horn.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the Vale of Roncesvalles,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Close beside great Roland's Gap&mdash;</span><br />
+So 'twas named because the Knight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once to clear himself a path.<a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a><a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Now this youngest was the pet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his mother. Once in play</span><br />
+Chewing off his tiny ear&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She devoured it for love.</span><br />
+<br />
+A most genial youth is he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clever in gymnastic tricks,</span><br />
+Throwing somersaults as clever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As dear Massmann's somersaults.</span><br />
+<br />
+Blossom of the pristine cult,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the mother-tongue he raves,</span><br />
+Scorning all the senseless jargon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Romans and the Greeks.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Fresh and pious, gay and free,"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hating all that smacks of soap</span><br />
+Or the modern craze for baths&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Verily like Massmann too!</span><br />
+<br />
+Most inspired is this youth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he clambers up the tree</span><br />
+Which from out the hollow gorge<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rears itself along the cliff,<a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Rears and lifts unto the crest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where at night this jolly band</span><br />
+Squat and loll about their sire<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the twilight dim and cool.</span><br />
+<br />
+Gladly there the father bear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tells them stories of the world,</span><br />
+Of strange cities and their folk,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And of all he suffered too,</span><br />
+<br />
+Suffered like Ulysses great&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Differing slightly from this brave</span><br />
+Since his black Penelope<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never parted from his side.</span><br />
+<br />
+Loudly too prates Atta Troll<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the mighty meed of praise</span><br />
+Which by practice of his art<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He had wrung from humankind.</span><br />
+<br />
+Young and old, so runs his tale,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cheered in wonder and in joy,</span><br />
+When in market-squares he danced<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the bag-pipe's pleasant skirl.<a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+And the ladies most of all&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, what gentle connoisseurs!&mdash;</span><br />
+Rendered him their mad applause<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And full many a tender glance.</span><br />
+<br />
+Artists' vanity! Alas,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pensively the dancing-bear</span><br />
+Thinks upon those happy hours<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When his talents pleased the crowd.</span><br />
+<br />
+Seized with rapture self-inspired,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He would prove his words by deeds,</span><br />
+Prove himself no boaster vain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But a master in the art.</span><br />
+<br />
+Swiftly from the ground he springs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stands on hinder paws erect,</span><br />
+Dances then his favourite dance<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As of old&mdash;the great Gavotte.</span><br />
+<br />
+Dumb, with open jaws the cubs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gaze upon their father there</span><br />
+As he makes his wondrous leaps<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the moonshine to and fro.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td><a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto1"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO V</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+In his cavern by his young,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Atta Troll in moody wise</span><br />
+Lies upon his back and sucks<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fiercely at his paws, and growls:</span><br />
+<br />
+"Mumma, Mumma, dusky pearl<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That from out the sea of life</span><br />
+I had gathered, in that sea<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have lost thee once again!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Shall I never see thee more?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall it be beyond the grave</span><br />
+Where from earthly travail free<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy bright spirit spreads its wings?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Ah, if I might once again<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lick my darling Mumma's snout&mdash;</span><br />
+Lovely snout as dear to me<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if smeared with honey-dew.<a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Might I only sniff once more<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That aroma sweet and rare</span><br />
+Of my dear and dusky mate&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scent as sweet as roses' breath!</span><br />
+<br />
+"But, alas! my Mumma lies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the bondage of that tribe</span><br />
+Which believes itself Creation's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lords and bears the name of Man!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Death! Damnation! that these men&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cursèd arch-aristocrats!</span><br />
+Should with haughty insolence<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look upon the world of beasts!</span><br />
+<br />
+"They who steal our wives and young,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chain us, beat us, slaughter us!&mdash;</span><br />
+Yea, they slaughter us and trade<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In our corpses and our pelts!</span><br />
+<br />
+"More, they deem these hideous deeds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Justified&mdash;particularly</span><br />
+Towards the noble race of bears&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This they call the Rights of Man!<a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Rights of Man? The Rights of Man!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who bestowed these rights on you?</span><br />
+Surely 'twas not Mother Nature&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She is ne'er unnatural!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Rights of Man! Who gave to you<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All these privileges rare?</span><br />
+Verily it was not Reason&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er unreasonable she!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Is it, men, because you roast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stew or fry or boil your meat,</span><br />
+Whilst our own is eaten raw,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you deem yourselves so grand?</span><br />
+<br />
+"In the end 'tis all the same.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Food alone can ne'er impart</span><br />
+Any worth;&mdash;none noble is<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save who nobly acts and feels!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Are you better, human things,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just because success attends</span><br />
+All your arts and sciences?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No mere wooden-heads are we!<a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Are there not most learnèd dogs!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Horses, too, that calculate</span><br />
+Quite as well as bankers?&mdash;Hares<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who have skill in beating drums?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Are not beavers most adroit<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the craft of waterworks?</span><br />
+Were not clyster-pipes invented<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the cleverness of storks?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Do not asses write critiques?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do not apes play comedy?</span><br />
+Could there be a greater actress<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than Batavia the ape?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Do the nightingales not sing?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is not Freiligrath a bard?</span><br />
+Who e'er sang the lion's praise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Better than his brother mule?</span><br />
+<br />
+"In the art of dance have I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gone as far as Raumer quite</span><br />
+In the art of letters&mdash;can he<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scribble better than I dance?<a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Why should mortal men be placed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er us animals? Though high</span><br />
+You may lift your heads, yet low<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In those heads your thoughts do crawl.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Human wights, why better, pray,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than ourselves? Is it because</span><br />
+Smooth and slippery is your skin?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Snakes have that advantage too!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Human hordes! two-legged snakes!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well indeed I understand</span><br />
+That those flapping pantaloons<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must conceal your serpent hides!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Children, Oh, beware of these<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vile and hairless miscreants!</span><br />
+O my daughters, never trust<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monsters that wear pantaloons!"</span><br />
+<br />
+But no further will I tell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How this bear with arrogant</span><br />
+Fallacies of equal rights<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Raved against the human race<a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+For I too am man, and never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a man will I repeat</span><br />
+All this vile disparagement,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bound to give most grave offence.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yes, I too am man, am placed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the other mammals all!</span><br />
+Shall I sell my birthright?&mdash;No!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor my interest betray.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ever faithful unto man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will fight all other beasts.</span><br />
+I will battle for the high<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holy inborn rights of man!</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i055.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i055.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto1"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO VI</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Yet for man who forms the higher<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Class of animals 'twere well</span><br />
+That betimes he should discover<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What the lower thinks of him.</span><br />
+<br />
+Verily within those drear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strata of the world of brutes,</span><br />
+In those lower social layers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is misery, pride and wrath.</span><br />
+<br />
+Laws which Nature hath decreed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Customs sanctioned long by Time,</span><br />
+And for centuries established,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They deny with pertest tongue.</span><br />
+<br />
+Grumbling, there the old instil<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Evil doctrines in the young,</span><br />
+Doctrines which endanger all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Human culture on the Earth.<a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Children!" grunts our Atta Troll,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he tosses to and fro</span><br />
+On his hard and stony couch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Future time we hold in fee!</span><br />
+<br />
+"If each bear, each quadruped,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Held with me a like ideal,</span><br />
+With our whole united force<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We the tyrant might engage.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Compact then the boar should make<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the horse&mdash;the elephant</span><br />
+Curve his trunk in comradeship<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round the valiant ox's horns.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Bear and wolf of every shade,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Goat and ape, the rabbit, too.</span><br />
+Let them for the common cause<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Labour&mdash;and the world is ours!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Union! union! is the need<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of our times! For singly we</span><br />
+Fall as slaves, but joined as one<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We shall overcome our lords.<a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Union! union! Victory!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We shall overthrow the reign</span><br />
+Of such tyranny and found<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One great Kingdom of the Brutes.</span><br />
+<br />
+"And its first great law shall be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For God's creatures one and all</span><br />
+Equal rights&mdash;no matter what<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be their faith, or hide or smell.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Strict equality! Each ass<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May become Prime Minister;</span><br />
+On the other hand the lion<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall bear corn unto the mill.</span><br />
+<br />
+"And the dog? Alas, 'tis true<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's a very servile cur,</span><br />
+Just because for ages man<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a dog has treated him.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yet in our Free State shall he<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once again enjoy his rights&mdash;</span><br />
+Rights most unassailable&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus ennobled be the dog.<a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Yea, the very Jews shall win<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the rights of citizens,</span><br />
+By the law made equal with<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every other mammal free.</span><br />
+<br />
+"One thing only be denied them!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dancing in the market-place;</span><br />
+This amendment I shall make<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the interests of my art.</span><br />
+<br />
+"For they lack all sense of style;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All plasticity of limb</span><br />
+Lacks that race. Full surely they<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would debauch the public taste."</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i059.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i059.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto7"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO VII</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Gloomy in his gloomy cave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the circle of his home,</span><br />
+Crouches Troll, the Foe of Man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he growls and champs his jaws.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Men, O crafty, pert <i>canaille</i>!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smile away! That mighty hour</span><br />
+Dawns wherein we shall be freed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From your bondage and your smiles!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Most offensive was to me<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That same twitching bitter-sweet</span><br />
+Of the lips&mdash;the smiles of men<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I found unendurable!</span><br />
+<br />
+"When in every visage white<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I beheld that fatal spasm,</span><br />
+Then did anger seize my bowels<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I felt a hideous qualm.<a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"For the smiling lips of men<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More insultingly declare,</span><br />
+Even than their lips avouch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All their insolence of soul.</span><br />
+<br />
+"And they smile forever! Even<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When all decency demands</span><br />
+Gravity&mdash;as in the moments<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of love's solemn mysteries.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yea, they smile forever. Even<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their dances!&mdash;desecrate</span><br />
+Thus this high and noble art<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which a sacred cult should be.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Ah, the dance in olden days<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was a pious act of faith,</span><br />
+When the priests in solemn round<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turned about their holy shrines.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Thus before the Covenant's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sacred Ark King David danced.</span><br />
+Dancing then was worship too,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was praying with the legs!<a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"So did I regard my dance<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When before the people all</span><br />
+In the market-place I danced<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And was cheered by every soul.</span><br />
+<br />
+"This applause, I grant you, oft<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made me feel content at heart;</span><br />
+Sweet it is from grudging foes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Admiration thus to win!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yet despite their rapture they<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still would smile and smile! My art&mdash;</span><br />
+Even that proved vain to save<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Them from base frivolity!"</span><br />
+
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i062.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i062.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto8"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO VIII</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Many a virtuous citizen<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smells unpleasantly the while</span><br />
+Ducal knaves are lavendered<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a-reek with ambergris.</span><br />
+<br />
+There are many virgin souls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Redolent of greenest soap;</span><br />
+Vice will often lave herself<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In rose attar top to toe.</span><br />
+<br />
+Therefore, gentle reader, pray,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do not lift your nose in air</span><br />
+Should Troll's cavern fail to rouse<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memories of Arabia's spice.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bide with me within this reek,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Mid these turbid odours foul,</span><br />
+Whence unto his son our hero<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speaks, as from a misty cloud:<a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Child, my child, the last begot<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my loins, thy single ear</span><br />
+Snuggle close against the snout<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of thy father, and give heed!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Oh, beware man's mode of thought;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It destroys both flesh and soul,</span><br />
+For amongst all mankind never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shalt thou find one worthy man.</span><br />
+<br />
+"E'en the Germans, once the best,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even Tuiskion's sons,</span><br />
+Our dear cousins primitive,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even they have grown effete.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Godless, faithless have they grown;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Atheism now they preach.</span><br />
+Child, my child, oh, guard thee 'gainst<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Feuerbach and Bauer too!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Never be an atheist!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monster void of reverence!</span><br />
+For a great Creator reared<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the mighty Universe!<a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"And the sun and moon on high,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the stars&mdash;the stars with tails</span><br />
+Even as the tailless ones&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are reflections of His power.</span><br />
+<br />
+"In the depths of sea and land<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ring the echoes of His fame,</span><br />
+And each creature yields Him praise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For His glory and His might.</span><br />
+<br />
+"E'en the tiny silver louse<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which within some pilgrim's beard</span><br />
+Shares his earthly pilgrimage,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sings to Him a song of praise!</span><br />
+<br />
+"High upon his golden throne<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In yon splendid tent of stars,</span><br />
+Clad in cosmic majesty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sits a titan polar bear.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Spotless, gleaming white as snow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is his fur; his head is decked</span><br />
+With a crown of diamonds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blazing through the central vault.<a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"In his face bide harmony<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the silent deeds of thought,</span><br />
+And obedient to his sceptre<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the planets chime and sing.</span><br />
+<br />
+"At his feet sit holy bears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saints who suffered on the Earth,</span><br />
+Meekly. In their paws they hold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Splendid palms of martyrdom.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Ever and anon they leap<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To their feet as though aroused</span><br />
+By the Holy Ghost, and lo!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a festal dance they join!</span><br />
+<br />
+"'Tis a dance where saintly gifts<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cover up defects of style,&mdash;</span><br />
+Dance in which the very soul<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seeks to leap from out its skin!</span><br />
+<br />
+"I, unworthy Troll, shall I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever such salvation share?</span><br />
+Shall I ever from this drear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vale of tears ascend to joy?<a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Shall I, drunk with Heaven's draught,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that tent of stars above,</span><br />
+Dance before the Master's throne<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a halo and a palm?"</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i067.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i067.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto9"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO IX</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+As the noble negro king<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of our Freiligrath protrudes</span><br />
+From his dusky mouth his long<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarlet tongue in scorn and rage,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Even so the moon now peers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of darkling clouds. The sad,</span><br />
+Sleepless waterfalls forever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roar into the brooding night.</span><br />
+<br />
+Atta Troll upon the crest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his well-beloved cliff</span><br />
+Stands alone, and now he howls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down the wind and the abyss:</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yea, a bear am I&mdash;even he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even he whom you have named</span><br />
+Bruin, growler, shag-coat too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And such other titles vile.<a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Yea, a bear am I&mdash;that same<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Boorish animal you know;</span><br />
+That gross, trampling brute am I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of your sly and crafty smiles!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Of your wit am I the mark;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm the bugbear&mdash;him with whom</span><br />
+Every wicked child you frighten<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the silence of the night.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yea, I am that clumsy butt<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of your nursery tales&mdash;aloud</span><br />
+Will I shout that name forever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the scurvy world of men.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Oyez! Oyez! I'm a bear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unashamed of my descent,</span><br />
+Just as proud as if my forbear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had been Moses Mendelsohn."</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto10"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO X</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Lo, two figures, wild and sullen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gliding, sliding on all fours,</span><br />
+Break a path at dead of night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through a wood of gloomy pines.</span><br />
+<br />
+It is Atta Troll the Sire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One-Ear too, his youngest son,</span><br />
+And they halt within a clearing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By a stone of bloody rites.</span><br />
+<br />
+"This same stone," growled Atta Troll,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Is a shrine where Druids once</span><br />
+Slaughtered wretched human wights<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In dark Superstition's days.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Oh! what frightful horrors these!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I think of them, my fur</span><br />
+Lifts along my back! To praise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God they drenched the soil in blood!<a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Certes, men have now become<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More enlightened. Now no more</span><br />
+Do they slaughter in their zeal<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For celestial interests.</span><br />
+<br />
+"'Tis no longer holy rage,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ecstasy nor madness sheer,</span><br />
+But self-love alone that urges<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Them to slaughter and to crime.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Now for worldly goods they strive,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Day by day and year by year.</span><br />
+It is one eternal war;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each goes robbing for himself.</span><br />
+<br />
+"When the common goods of all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fall into the hands of one,</span><br />
+Straight of Rights of Property<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He will prate and Ownership.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Property! Just Ownership?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Property is theft! O lies!</span><br />
+Craft and folly!&mdash;such a mixture<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man alone would dare invent.<a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Never yet did Nature make<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Properties, for pocketless</span><br />
+We are born into the world&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who hath pockets in his pelt?</span><br />
+<br />
+"None of us was ever born<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With such little sacks devised</span><br />
+In our outer hides and skins<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To enable us to steal!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Only man, that creature smooth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who in alien wool is garbed</span><br />
+Artfully, in artful wise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made himself such pockets too.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Pockets! as unnatural<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As is property itself,</span><br />
+Or that law of have-and-hold.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Men are only pocket-thieves!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Flamingly I hate them! Thee<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All my hatred I bequeath.</span><br />
+Oh, my son, upon this shrine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shalt thou swear eternal hate!<a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Be the mortal foeman thou<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of th' oppressor, unforgiving</span><br />
+To thy very end of days!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swear it&mdash;swear it here, my son!"</span><br />
+<br />
+And the youngster swore as once<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hannibal. The moonbeams bleak</span><br />
+Yellowed on the bloodstone hoary<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that brace of misanthropes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Later shall our harp record<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the young bear kept his faith</span><br />
+And his plighted oath,&mdash;for him<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall our epic strings be strung.</span><br />
+<br />
+With regard to Atta Troll,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let us leave him for a space,</span><br />
+So we may the surer smite<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Him with our unerring ball.</span><br />
+<br />
+Traitor to Humanity!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou art judged, the sentence writ.</span><br />
+Of <i>lèse-majesté</i> thou'rt guilty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to-morrow sees the chase.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto11"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XI</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Like to sleepy dancing-girls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lift the mountains white and cold,</span><br />
+Standing in their skirts of mist<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flaunted by the winds of morn.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet full soon their breasts shall glow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the sun-god's burning kiss,</span><br />
+He shall tear the clinging veils<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And illume their beauty nude.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the early dawn had I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Lascaro sallied forth</span><br />
+On a bear-hunt and the noon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saw us at the Pont d'Espagne.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thus is named the bridge that leads<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the land of France to Spain,</span><br />
+To barbarians of the West,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Centuries behind the times.<a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Full ten centuries they lie<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From all modern thought removed,</span><br />
+And my own barbarians<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the East&mdash;not more than two.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lingering and loth I left<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The all-hallowed soil of France,</span><br />
+Left great Freedom's motherland<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the women that I love.</span><br />
+<br />
+Midmost of the Pont d'Espagne<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat a Spaniard. Misery</span><br />
+Lurked within his tattered cape;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Misery lurked within his eyes.</span><br />
+<br />
+With his bony fingers he<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plucked an ancient mandolin</span><br />
+Full of discord shrill which echoed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mockingly from out the gulch.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then betimes he leaned aslant<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the depths and laughed aloud,</span><br />
+Tinkled then in maddest wise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he sang his little song:<a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"In my very heart of heart<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's a tiny golden table,</span><br />
+And about this golden table<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Four small golden chairs are set.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Seated on these golden chairs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little dames with darts of gold</span><br />
+In their hair are playing cards&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clara wins at every game.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yes, she wins and smiles in glee.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clara, oh, within my heart,</span><br />
+Thou can'st never fail to win,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For thou holdest all the trumps!"</span><br />
+<br />
+On I wandered and I spoke<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus unto myself. How strange!</span><br />
+Lunacy itself sits there<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Singing on the road to Spain.</span><br />
+<br />
+Is this madman not a sign<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of how nations trade in thought?</span><br />
+Or is he his native land's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild and crazy title-page?<a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Twilight sank before we came<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a wretched old <i>posada</i></span><br />
+Where <i>podrida</i>&mdash;favourite dish!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steamed within a dirty pot.</span><br />
+<br />
+There <i>garbanzos</i> did I eat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Huge and hard as musket-balls,</span><br />
+Which not e'en a native Teuton,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bred on dumplings, could digest.</span><br />
+<br />
+And my bed was of a piece,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the cooking. Insects vile</span><br />
+Dotted it. Oh, surely these<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are the grimmest foes of man!</span><br />
+<br />
+Far more fearful than the wrath<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a thousand elephants,</span><br />
+Is one small and angry bug<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crawling o'er thy lowly couch.</span><br />
+<br />
+Helpless thou against its bite&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is bad enough!&mdash;but worse</span><br />
+Evil comes if it be crushed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And its horrid smell released.<a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+All Life's terrors we may taste<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the war with vermin waged,</span><br />
+Vermin well-equipped with stinks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in duels with a bug.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i078.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i078.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto1"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XII</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+How they rave, the blessèd bards&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even the tamest! how they sing,&mdash;</span><br />
+How they do protest that Nature<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a mighty fane of God!</span><br />
+<br />
+One great fane whose splendours all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Maker's glory tell;</span><br />
+Sun and moon and stars they vow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hang as lamps within the dome.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet concede, most worthy folk,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That this mighty temple hath</span><br />
+Most uncomfortable stairs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stairs most villainously bad!</span><br />
+<br />
+All this climbing up and down,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Escalading, jumping o'er</span><br />
+Boulders&mdash;how it tires me<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Both in spirit and in legs!<a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+By my side Lascaro strode,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a taper long and pale&mdash;</span><br />
+Never speaks he, never laughs&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He the witch's lifeless son.</span><br />
+<br />
+For they say Lascaro died<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Many years ago&mdash;his mother's,&mdash;</span><br />
+Old Uraka's,&mdash;magic draughts<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gave to him a seeming life.</span><br />
+<br />
+These confounded temple steps!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How it chanced that I escaped</span><br />
+With whole vertebræ will puzzle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Me until my dying day.</span><br />
+<br />
+How the torrents foamed and roared!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the pines how lashed the wind</span><br />
+Till they groaned! Then suddenly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Burst the clouds! O weather vile!</span><br />
+<br />
+In a fisherman's poor hut<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Close by Lac de Gaube we gained</span><br />
+Shelter and a mess of trout&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dish divine and glorious!<a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+In his padded arm-chair there<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat the ancient ferryman,</span><br />
+Ill and grey. His nieces sweet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like two angels tended him.</span><br />
+<br />
+Plumpest angels, Flemish quite,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if out of Rubens' frame</span><br />
+They had leaped, with golden locks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sparkling eyes of limpid blue,</span><br />
+<br />
+Dimples in each ruddy cheek<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where bright mischief peered and hid,</span><br />
+And with limbs robust and lithe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waking both desire and fear.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sweet and bonny creatures they<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who disputed prettily</span><br />
+Which might prove the sweetest draught<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To their ancient, ailing charge.</span><br />
+<br />
+If one proffers him a brew<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made of linden-flower tea,</span><br />
+Then the other tempts him with<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Possets made of elder-blooms.<a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"I will swallow none of this!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cried the greyhead, sorely tried,</span><br />
+"Bring me wine so that my guest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May have worthy drink with me!"</span><br />
+<br />
+If this stuff was really wine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which I drank at Lac de Gaube&mdash;</span><br />
+Who can tell? My countrymen<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would have dubbed it sweetish beer.</span><br />
+<br />
+Vilely smelled the wine-skin too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fashioned from a black goat's hide.</span><br />
+But the old man drank and drank<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And grew jubilant and gay.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of banditti tales he told<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And of smugglers, merry men</span><br />
+Who still ply their goodly trades<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freely in the Pyrenees.</span><br />
+<br />
+Many ancient stories, too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He recited, as of wars</span><br />
+'Twixt the giants and the bears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the grey primeval days.<a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+For it seems the bears and ogres<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waged a war for mastery</span><br />
+Of these ranges and these vales<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long ere man came wandering in.</span><br />
+<br />
+Startled then at sight of men<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the giants fled the land;&mdash;</span><br />
+Only tiny brains were housed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their huge, unwieldy heads!</span><br />
+<br />
+It is also said these dolts,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they reached the ocean-shore</span><br />
+Where the azure skies lay glassed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the watery plains below,</span><br />
+<br />
+Fondly fancied that the sea<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must be Heaven. In they plunged</span><br />
+All in reckless confidence,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in watery graves were gulfed.</span><br />
+<br />
+Now the bears are slain by man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And each year their number grows</span><br />
+Smaller, smaller, till at last<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">None shall roam within the hills.<a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"And," the old man cackled, "thus<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On this Earth must one yield room</span><br />
+To the other&mdash;after man<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We shall have a reign of dwarfs.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Tiny and most clever wights<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Toiling in the bowels of Earth,</span><br />
+Busy little folk that gather<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riches from Earth's golden veins.</span><br />
+<br />
+"I have seen their rounded heads<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peering out of rabbit-holes</span><br />
+In the moonlight&mdash;and I shook<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I thought of coming days.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yes, I dread the golden power<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of these mites. Our sons, I fear,</span><br />
+Will like stupid giants plunge<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Straight into some watery heaven."</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto13"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XIII</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+In the cauldron of the cliffs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lies the deep and inky lake.</span><br />
+And from heaven the solemn stars<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peer upon us. Night and stillness.</span><br />
+<br />
+Night and stillness. Beat of oars.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a rippling mystery</span><br />
+Swims our boat. The nieces twain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Serve in place of ferrymen.</span><br />
+<br />
+Swift and blithe they row. Their arms<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sometimes shine from out the night,</span><br />
+And on their white skins the stars<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleam and on large eyes of blue.</span><br />
+<br />
+At my side Lascaro sits<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pale and mute as is his wont,</span><br />
+And I shudder at the thought:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is Lascaro really dead?<a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Or perchance 'tis I am dead?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I, perchance, am drifting down</span><br />
+With these spectral passengers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the icy realm of shades?</span><br />
+<br />
+Can this lake be Styx's dark,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sullen flood? Hath Proserpine,</span><br />
+In the absence of her Charon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sent her maids to fetch me down?</span><br />
+<br />
+Nay, not yet my days are done!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unextinguished in my soul</span><br />
+Still the living flame of life,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaps and blazes, glows and sings.</span><br />
+<br />
+And these girls who swing their oars<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Merrily, and splash me too,</span><br />
+Laugh and grin with mischief rare<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the drops upon me flash.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, these wenches fresh and strong,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surely they could never be</span><br />
+Ghostly hell-cats, nor the maids<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the dark queen Proserpine.<a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+So that I might be assured<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the girls' reality,</span><br />
+And unto myself might prove<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My own honest flesh and blood,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+On their rosy dimples I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swiftly pressed my eager lips,</span><br />
+And to this conclusion came:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lo, I kiss; therefore I live!</span><br />
+<br />
+When we reached the shore, again<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did I kiss these bonny maids,&mdash;</span><br />
+Kisses were the only coin<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which in payment they would take.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i087.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i087.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto1"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XIV</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Joyous in the golden air<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lift the purple mountain heights</span><br />
+Where a daring hamlet clings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a nest against the steep.</span><br />
+<br />
+Wearily I climbed and climbed.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When at last I stood aloft,</span><br />
+Then I found the old birds flown<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the fledglings left behind.</span><br />
+<br />
+Pretty lads and lassies small<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With their little heads half hid</span><br />
+In their white and scarlet caps,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Played at bridals in the mart.</span><br />
+<br />
+Neither stay nor halt they brooked,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the little love-lorn Prince</span><br />
+Of the Mice knelt down at once<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Cat-King's daughter fair.<a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Hapless Prince! At last he's wed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Princess. How she scolds!</span><br />
+Bites him and devours him&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hapless mouse!&mdash;thus ends the play.</span><br />
+<br />
+That entire day I spent<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the children, and we talked</span><br />
+Cosily. They longed to know<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who I was? and what my trade?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Germany, my dears," I spoke,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Is my native country's name&mdash;</span><br />
+Bears are all too common there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I took to hunting bears!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Many a bear-pelt have I pulled<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over many a bearish head,</span><br />
+Though, 'tis true, I sometimes got<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Damage from their bearish paws.</span><br />
+<br />
+"But at last I felt disgust<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of this strife with ill-licked boors</span><br />
+In my blessèd land&mdash;I grew<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weary of these daily moils.<a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"So in quest of nobler game,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I at last have come to you;</span><br />
+I shall try my little strength<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Gainst the mighty Atta Troll.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Worthy of me is this noble<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foe. In Germany, alas!</span><br />
+Many a battle did I win,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most ashamed of victory."</span><br />
+<br />
+When I left, the little folk<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Danced about me in a ring,</span><br />
+And in sweetest wise they sang:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Girofflino! Girofflett'!"</span><br />
+<br />
+And the youngest of them all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stepped before me quick and pert,</span><br />
+And four times she curtsied low<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she sang in silver tones:</span><br />
+<br />
+"Curtsies two I give the King,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should I meet him. And the Queen,</span><br />
+Should I meet her, then I give<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curtsies three unto the Queen.<a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"But should I the devil meet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his fiery eyes and horns,</span><br />
+I will make him curtsies four&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girofflino! Girofflett'!"</span><br />
+<br />
+"Girofflino! Girofflett'!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shouts once more the mocking band,</span><br />
+And around me swings the gay<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ring-o'-roses with its song.</span><br />
+<br />
+As I scrambled down the slopes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">After me in echoes sweet,</span><br />
+Came these words in bird-like strains:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Girofflino! Girofflett'!"</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i091.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i091.png"
+width="350px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto1"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XV</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Hulking and enormous cliffs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of deformed and twisted shapes</span><br />
+Look on me like petrified<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monsters of primeval times.</span><br />
+<br />
+Strange! the dingy clouds above<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drift like doubles bred of mist,</span><br />
+Like some silly counterfeit<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of these savage shapes of stone.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the distance roars the fall;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the fir trees howls the wind!</span><br />
+'Tis a sound implacable<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as fatal as despair.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lone and dreadful lies the waste<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the black daws sit in swarms</span><br />
+On the bleached and rotten pines,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flapping with their weary wings.<a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+At my side Lascaro strides<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pale and silent&mdash;I myself</span><br />
+Must like sorry madness look<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By dire Death accompanied.</span><br />
+<br />
+'Tis a wild and desert place.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curst perchance? I seem to see</span><br />
+On the crippled roots of yonder<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tree a crimson smear of blood.</span><br />
+<br />
+This tree shades a little hut<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cowering humbly in the earth,</span><br />
+And the wretched roof of thatch<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pleads for pity in your sight.</span><br />
+<br />
+Cagots are the denizens<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of this hut&mdash;the last remains</span><br />
+Of a tribe which sunk in darkness<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bides its bitter destiny.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the heart of every Basque<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You will find a rooted hate</span><br />
+Of the Cagots. 'Tis a foul<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Relic of the days of faith.<a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+In the minster at Bagnères<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You may see a narrow grille,</span><br />
+Once the door, the sexton told me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which the herded Cagots used.</span><br />
+<br />
+In that day all other gates<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were forbidden them. They crawled</span><br />
+Like to thieves into the blest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">House of God to worship there.</span><br />
+<br />
+There these wretched beings sat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On their lowly stools and prayed,</span><br />
+Parted as by leprosy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From all other worshippers.</span><br />
+<br />
+But the hallowed lamps of this<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Later century burn bright,</span><br />
+And their light destroys the black<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shadows of that cruel age!</span><br />
+<br />
+While Lascaro waited there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Entered I the lonely hut</span><br />
+Of the Cagot, and I clasped<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Straight his hand in brotherhood.<a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Likewise did I kiss his child<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which unto the shrivelled breast</span><br />
+Of his wife clung fast and sucked<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like some spider sick and starved.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i095.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i095.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto16"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XVI</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Shouldst thou see these mountain peaks<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the distance thou wouldst think</span><br />
+That with gold and purple they<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flamed in splendour to the sun.</span><br />
+<br />
+But at closer hand their pomp<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vanishes. Earth's glories thus</span><br />
+With their myriad light-effects<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still beguile us artfully.</span><br />
+<br />
+What to thee seemed blue and gold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is, alas, but idle snow,</span><br />
+Idle snow which, lone and drear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bores itself in solitude.</span><br />
+<br />
+There upon the heights I heard<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the hapless crackling snow</span><br />
+Cried aloud its pallid grief<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the cold and heartless wind:<a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Ah," it sobbed, "how slow the hours<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crawl within this awful waste!</span><br />
+All these many endless hours,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like eternities of ice!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Woe is me, poor snow! I would<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I had never seen these peaks&mdash;</span><br />
+Might I but in vales have fallen<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where a myriad flowers bloom!</span><br />
+<br />
+"To some little brook would I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then have melted, and some maid&mdash;</span><br />
+Fairest of the land! with smiles<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would in me have laved her face.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yea, perchance, I might have fared<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the sea and changed betimes</span><br />
+To a pearl and gleamed at last<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In some royal coronet!"</span><br />
+<br />
+When I heard this plaint, I spake:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Dearest Snow, indeed I doubt</span><br />
+Whether such a brilliant fate<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had been thine within the world.<a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Comfort take. Few, few, indeed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ever grow to pearls. No doubt</span><br />
+Thou hadst fallen in the mire<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And become a clod of mud."</span><br />
+<br />
+As in kindly wise I spoke<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus unto the joyless snow,</span><br />
+Came a shot&mdash;and from the skies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plunged a hawk of brownish wing.</span><br />
+<br />
+It was just a hunter's joke<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Lascaro's. But his face</span><br />
+Was as ever stark and grim,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his rifle barrel smoked.</span><br />
+<br />
+Silently he tore a plume<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the hawk's erected tail,</span><br />
+Stuck it in his pointed hat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And resumed his silent way.</span><br />
+<br />
+'Twas an eerie sight to see<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How his shadow black and thin</span><br />
+With the nodding feather moved<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the slopes of drifted snow.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto17"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XVII</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Lo, a valley like a street!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis the Hollow Way of Ghosts:</span><br />
+Dizzily the cloven crags<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tower up on every side.</span><br />
+<br />
+There upon the sheerest slope<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hangs Uraka's little shack</span><br />
+Like some outpost over chaos&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thither fared her son and I.</span><br />
+<br />
+In a secret dumb-show speech<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He took counsel with his dam,</span><br />
+How great Atta Troll might best<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be ensnared and safely slain.</span><br />
+<br />
+We had found his mighty spoor.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never more canst thou escape</span><br />
+From our hands! thine earthly days<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All are numbered&mdash;Atta Troll!<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Never could I well determine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If Uraka, ancient hag,</span><br />
+Was in truth a potent witch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As within these Pyrenees</span><br />
+<br />
+It was rumoured. But I know<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That in truth her very looks</span><br />
+Were suspicious. Most suspicious<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were her red and running eyes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Evil is her look and slant.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is said whene'er she stares</span><br />
+At some hapless cow, its milk<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dries, its udder withers straight.</span><br />
+<br />
+It is said that stroking with<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her thin fingers, many a kid</span><br />
+She had slaughtered, many a huge<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ox had stricken unto death.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oft within the local court<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For such crimes arraigned she stood,</span><br />
+But the Justice of the Peace<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was a true Voltairean.<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Quite a modern worldling he,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shallow and devoid of faith,&mdash;</span><br />
+So the plaintiffs he dismissed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Both in mockery and scorn.</span><br />
+<br />
+The alleged official trade<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Uraka's honest quite,</span><br />
+For she deals in mountain-herbs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in birds that she has stuffed.</span><br />
+<br />
+Her entire hut was crammed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With such relics. Horrible</span><br />
+Was the smell of cuckoo-flowers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fungi, henbane, elder-blooms.</span><br />
+<br />
+There a fine array of hawks<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To advantage was displayed,</span><br />
+All with pinions stretching wide<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with grim enormous bills.</span><br />
+<br />
+Was it but the breath of these<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maddening plants that turned my brain?</span><br />
+Still the vision of these birds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Filled me with the strangest thoughts.<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+These perchance are mortal wights,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bound by sorcery in this</span><br />
+Miserable state as birds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stuffed and most disconsolate.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sad, pathetic is their stare,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet it hath impatience too,</span><br />
+And, methinks at times they cast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sidelong glances at the witch.</span><br />
+<br />
+She, Uraka, ancient, grim,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crouches low beside her son,</span><br />
+Mute Lascaro near the fire<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the twain are casting slugs.</span><br />
+<br />
+Casting that same fateful ball<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whereby Atta Troll was slain.</span><br />
+How the lurching firelight flares<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the witch's features gaunt!</span><br />
+<br />
+Ceaselessly, yet silently<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Move her thin and quivering lips.</span><br />
+Are those magic spells she murmurs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the balls may travel true?<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Now and then she nods and titters<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To her son. But he is deep</span><br />
+In the business of the casts<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sits silently as Death.</span><br />
+<br />
+Overcome by fevered fears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yearning for the cooler air,</span><br />
+To the window then I strode<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And looked down the gulches dim.</span><br />
+<br />
+All that in that midnight hour<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I beheld, all that will I</span><br />
+Faithfully and featly tell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the canto that shall follow.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i103.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i103.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto18"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XVIII</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+'Twas the night before Saint John's,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the fullness of the moon,</span><br />
+When that wild and spectral hunt<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fills the Hollow Way of Ghosts.</span><br />
+<br />
+From the window of Uraka's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little cabin I could see</span><br />
+All that mighty host of wraiths<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As it drifted through the gorge.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yea, a goodly place was mine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherefrom I might well behold</span><br />
+The tremendous spectacle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the raised, carousing dead.</span><br />
+<br />
+Cracking whips, hallo! hurrah!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Neigh of horses, bark of dogs,</span><br />
+Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the tumult echoed there!<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Dashing in advance there came<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stags and boars adventurous</span><br />
+In a solid pack; behind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charged a wild and merry rout.</span><br />
+<br />
+Huntsmen come from many zones<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And from many ages too.</span><br />
+Charles the Tenth rode close beside<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nimrod the Assyrian.</span><br />
+<br />
+High upon their snowy steeds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They charged onward. Then on foot</span><br />
+Came the whips with hounds in leash<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the pages with the links.</span><br />
+<br />
+Many in that maddened horde<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seemed familiar&mdash;yon knight</span><br />
+Gleaming all in golden mail,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surely was King Arthur's self!</span><br />
+<br />
+And Lord Ogier the Dane<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In chain-armour shining green,</span><br />
+Truly close resemblance bore<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To some mighty frog forsooth!<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Many a hero I beheld<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the gleaming world of thought;</span><br />
+Wolfgang Goethe straight I knew<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the sparkling of his eyes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Being damned by Hengstenberg,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his grave no peace he finds,</span><br />
+So with pagan blazonry<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gallops down the chase of Life.</span><br />
+<br />
+By the glamour of his smile<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did I know the mighty Will</span><br />
+Whom the Puritans once cursed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like our Goethe,&mdash;yet must he,</span><br />
+<br />
+Luckless sinner, in this host<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ride a charger black as coal.</span><br />
+Close beside him on an ass<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rode a mortal and&mdash;great heavens!</span><br />
+<br />
+By the weary mien of prayer<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the snowy night-cap too,</span><br />
+And the terror of his soul,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Francis Horn I recognized.<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Commentaries he composed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On that great and cosmic child,</span><br />
+Shakespeare&mdash;therefore at his side<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He must ride through thick and thin.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lo, poor silent Francis rides,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He who scarcely dared to walk,</span><br />
+He who only stirred himself<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At tea-tables and at prayers.</span><br />
+<br />
+Surely all the oldish maids<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who indulged him in his ease,</span><br />
+Will be startled when they hear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his riding rough and free.</span><br />
+<br />
+When the gallop faster grows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then great William glances down</span><br />
+On his commentator meek<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jogging onward on his ass.</span><br />
+<br />
+To the saddle clinging tight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fainting in his terror sheer,</span><br />
+Yet unto his author loyal<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his death as in his life.<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Many ladies there I saw,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that crazy train of ghosts,</span><br />
+Many lovely nymphs with forms<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slender with the grace of youth.</span><br />
+<br />
+On their steeds they sat astride<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mythologically nude!</span><br />
+Though their tresses thick and long<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fell like cloaks of stranded gold.</span><br />
+<br />
+Garlands rustled on their heads<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they swung their laurelled staves,</span><br />
+Bending back in reckless ways,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full of joyous insolence.</span><br />
+<br />
+Mediæval maids I saw<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buttoned high unto the chin,</span><br />
+On their saddles seated slant,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poising falcons on their wrists.</span><br />
+<br />
+Like a burlesque, from behind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On their hacks and skinny nags</span><br />
+Came a rout of merry wenches,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most extravagantly garbed.<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+And each face, though lovely quite,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bore a trace of impudence;</span><br />
+Madly would they shriek and yell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Puffing up their painted cheeks.</span><br />
+<br />
+How this tumult echoed there!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns;</span><br />
+Neigh of horses, bark of dogs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crack of whips! hallo! hurrah!</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i109.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i109.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto19"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XIX</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+But like Beauty's clover-leaf,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the very midst arose</span><br />
+Three fair women. I shall never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their majestic forms forget!</span><br />
+<br />
+Well I knew the first! Her head<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glittered with the crescent moon.</span><br />
+Haughty, like some ivory statue<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat the goddess on her steed.</span><br />
+<br />
+And her fluttering tunic fell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Loose about her hips and breasts,</span><br />
+And the torchlight and the moon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Laved with love her snowy limbs.</span><br />
+<br />
+Marble seemed her very face<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And like marble cold. How dread</span><br />
+Was the pallor and the chill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of that stern and noble front!<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+But within her dusky eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smouldered a mysterious,</span><br />
+Cruel and enticing fire<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which devoured my poor soul.</span><br />
+<br />
+What a change has come o'er Dian<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since in outraged chastity</span><br />
+She smote Actæon to a stag<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a quarry for his hounds!</span><br />
+<br />
+Doth she now requite this crime<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this gallant company,</span><br />
+Riding like some ghostly mortal<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the bleak, nocturnal air?</span><br />
+<br />
+Late did passion wake in her<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But for that the stronger burns,</span><br />
+And within her eyes its flames<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleam like fiercest brands of hell.</span><br />
+<br />
+For those vanished times she grieves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the men were beautiful;</span><br />
+Now in quantity perchance,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She forgets their quality.<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+At her side a fair one rode&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair, but not by Grecian lines</span><br />
+Was she fair; for all her features<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shone with wondrous Celtic glow.</span><br />
+<br />
+'Twas Abunda, fairy queen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whom to know I could not fail</span><br />
+By the sweetness of her smile<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the madness of her laugh!</span><br />
+<br />
+Full and rosy was her face,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the faces limned by Greuze;</span><br />
+And from out her heart-shaped mouth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flashed the splendour of her teeth!</span><br />
+<br />
+All the winds made dalliance<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her robe of azure blue,</span><br />
+And such shoulders never I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In my wildest dreams beheld.</span><br />
+<br />
+I was almost moved to leap<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the window for a kiss;</span><br />
+This had been sheer folly, true,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ending in a broken neck!<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, and she, she would have laughed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If within that awful gulf</span><br />
+I had fallen at her feet;&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Laughter such as this I know!</span><br />
+<br />
+And the third fair phantom, she<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who so moved my errant heart,&mdash;</span><br />
+Was this but some female fiend<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the other figures twain?</span><br />
+<br />
+Whether devil this or saint<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Know I not. With women, ah,</span><br />
+None can ever know where saint<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ends nor where the fiend begins.</span><br />
+<br />
+All the magic of the East<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay within her glowing face,</span><br />
+And her dress brought memories<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Scheherazadê's tales.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lips as red as pomegranates<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a curved nose lily white,</span><br />
+Limbs as slender and as cool<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As some green oasis-palm.<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+From her palfrey white she leaned,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flanked by giant Moors who trod</span><br />
+Close beside the queenly dame<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holding up the golden reins.</span><br />
+<br />
+Of most royal blood was she,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She the Queen of old Judea,</span><br />
+She great Herod's lovely wife,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She who craved the Baptist's head.</span><br />
+<br />
+For this crimson crime was she<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banned and cursed. Now in this chase</span><br />
+Must she ride, a wandering spook,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the dawn of Judgment Day.</span><br />
+<br />
+Still within her hands she bears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That deep charger with the head</span><br />
+Of the Prophet, still she kisses&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kisses it with fiery lips.</span><br />
+<br />
+For she loved the Prophet once,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though the Bible naught reveals,</span><br />
+Yet her blood-stained love lives on<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Storied in her people's hearts.<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+How might else a man declare<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the longing of this lady?</span><br />
+Would a woman crave the head<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a man she did not love?</span><br />
+<br />
+She perchance was slightly vexed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her darling, and was moved</span><br />
+To behead him, but when she<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the trencher saw his head,</span><br />
+<br />
+Then she wept and lost her wits,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dying in love's madness straight.</span><br />
+(What! Love's madness? pleonasm!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love itself is madness still!)</span><br />
+<br />
+Rising nightly from her grave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To this frenzied hunt she hies,</span><br />
+In her hands the gory head<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which with feline joy she flings</span><br />
+<br />
+High into the air betimes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Laughing like a wanton child,</span><br />
+Cleverly she catches it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like some idle rubber ball.<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+As she swept past me she bowed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most coquettishly and looked</span><br />
+On me with her melting eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So that all my heart was stirred.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thrice that rout raged up and down<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Past my window, then did she,</span><br />
+Ah, most beautiful of shades!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Greet me with her precious smile.</span><br />
+<br />
+Even when the pageant dimmed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the tumult silent grew</span><br />
+In my brain, that smiling face<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shone and beckoned on and on.</span><br />
+<br />
+All that night I tossed and turned<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My o'erwearied limbs on straw,</span><br />
+Musty straw. No feather-beds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Uraka's hut I found!</span><br />
+<br />
+And I mused: what might this mean,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This mysterious beckoning?</span><br />
+Why, Oh, why, Herodias,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Held thy look such tenderness?</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto20"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XX</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Sunrise. Golden arrows dart<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the pallid ranks of mist</span><br />
+Till they redden as with wounds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dissolve in shining light.</span><br />
+<br />
+Now hath triumph come to Day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the gleaming conqueror</span><br />
+In his blinding glory treads<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the ridges and the peaks.</span><br />
+<br />
+All the merry bands of birds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twitter in their hidden nests,</span><br />
+And the scent of plants arises<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a psalm of odours rare.</span><br />
+<br />
+At the early glint of day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down the valley we had gone.</span><br />
+While Lascaro dumb and dour<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Followed up the bear-tracks dim,<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+I with musings sought to slay<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time, but tired soon I grew</span><br />
+Of my musings,&mdash;drear, ah, drear!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were my thoughts and void of joy.</span><br />
+<br />
+Weary, joyless, down I sank<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a bank of softest moss</span><br />
+'Neath a great and kingly ash<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where a little spring gushed forth.</span><br />
+<br />
+This with wondrous voice beguiled<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All my wayward mood until</span><br />
+Thought and thinking vanished both<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the music of the spring.</span><br />
+<br />
+Mighty longings seized me then,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madness, dreams and death-desires,</span><br />
+Longings for those splendid queens<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riding in that ghostly throng.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, ye lovely shapes of night,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banished by the rose of dawn,</span><br />
+Whither, tell me, have ye fled,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whither have ye flown by day?<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Somewhere 'neath old temple-ruins<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the wide Romagna hid,</span><br />
+It is said Diana flees<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dominion of the Christ.</span><br />
+<br />
+Only in the midnight gloom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dare she venture forth, but then</span><br />
+How she joys the merry chase<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the pagan sports of old!</span><br />
+<br />
+Fay Abunda also fears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All these sallow Nazarenes,</span><br />
+So by day she hides herself<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep in secret Avalon.</span><br />
+<br />
+For this sacred island lies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the still and silent sea</span><br />
+Of Romanticism, whither<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">None save wingèd steeds may go.</span><br />
+<br />
+There no anchor Care may drop,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never there do steamships touch,</span><br />
+Bringing loads of Philistines<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With tobacco-pipes, to stare.<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Never does that dismal, dull<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ring of bells this stillness break&mdash;</span><br />
+That atrocious bumm-bamm sound<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which all gentle fairies hate.</span><br />
+<br />
+There, abloom with lasting youth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In unbroken joyfulness,</span><br />
+Lives that merry-hearted dame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden-locked Abunda fair.</span><br />
+<br />
+Laughing there she strolls between<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Huge sun-flowers drenched with light,</span><br />
+Followed by her retinue<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of unworldly Paladins.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, but thou, Herodias,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Say, where art thou? Ah, I know!</span><br />
+Thou art dead and buried deep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Jerusholayim's walls!</span><br />
+<br />
+Corpse-like is thy sleep by day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In thy marble coffin laid,</span><br />
+But at midnight dost thou wake<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the crack of whips! hurrah!<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+With Abunda, Dian, too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dost thou join the headlong plunge</span><br />
+And the blithesome hunter rout<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fleeing from all cross and care.</span><br />
+<br />
+What companions rare and blithe!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might but I, Herodias,</span><br />
+Ride at night through forests dark,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would gallop at thy side!</span><br />
+<br />
+For of all I love thee most!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More than any goddess Grecian,</span><br />
+More than any northern fay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do I love thee, Jewess dead!</span><br />
+<br />
+Yea, I love thee most! 'Tis true,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the trembling of my soul!</span><br />
+Love me too and be my sweet,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Loveliest Herodias!</span><br />
+<br />
+Love me too and be my love!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fling that gory block-head far</span><br />
+With its trencher. Sweeter dishes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall give thee to enjoy.<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Am not I thy proper knight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whom thou seekest? What care I</span><br />
+If perchance thou'rt dead and damned&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prejudices I have none!</span><br />
+<br />
+Is my own salvation not<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a parlous state? And oft</span><br />
+Do I question if my life<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still be linked with human lives.</span><br />
+<br />
+Take me, take me as thy knight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thine own <i>cavalier servente</i>;</span><br />
+I will bear thy silken robe<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And each wayward mood of thine.</span><br />
+<br />
+Every night beside thee, love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With this crazy horde I'll ride,</span><br />
+And we'll kiss and thou shalt laugh<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At my quips and merry pranks.</span><br />
+<br />
+I will help thee speed the hours<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the night. And yet by day</span><br />
+All my joy shall pass;&mdash;in tears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall sit upon thy grave.<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Aye, by day will I sit down<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the dust of kingly vaults,</span><br />
+At the grave of my belovèd<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Jerusholayim's walls!</span><br />
+<br />
+Then the grey Jews passing by<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will imagine that I mourn</span><br />
+The destruction of thy temple<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thy gates, Jerusholayim.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i123.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i123.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto21"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XXI</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Shipless Argonauts are we,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foot loose in the mighty hills,</span><br />
+But instead of golden fleece<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We seek Bruin's shaggy hide.</span><br />
+<br />
+Naught but sorry devils twain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heroes of a modern cut,</span><br />
+And no classic bard will ever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make us live within his song!</span><br />
+<br />
+Even though we suffered dire<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hardships! What torrential rains</span><br />
+Fell upon us at the peak<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where was neither tree nor cab!</span><br />
+<br />
+Cloudbursts! Heaven's dykes were down!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in bucketsful it poured&mdash;</span><br />
+Jason, lost on Colchis bleak,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Suffered no such shower-bath!<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Six-and-thirty kings I'll give<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just for one umbrella now!"</span><br />
+So I cried. Umbrella none<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was I offered in that flood.</span><br />
+<br />
+Weary unto death and glum,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wet as drownèd rats, we came</span><br />
+Back unto the witch's hut<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the middle of the night.</span><br />
+<br />
+There beside the glowing hearth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat Uraka with a comb,</span><br />
+Toiling o'er her swollen pug;&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Him she quickly flung aside</span><br />
+<br />
+As we entered. First my couch<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She prepared, then bent to loose</span><br />
+From my feet the <i>espardillos</i>,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Footgear comfortless and rude!</span><br />
+<br />
+Helped me to disrobe,&mdash;she drew<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off my pantaloons which clung</span><br />
+To my legs as close and tight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the friendship of a fool.<a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Oh, a dressing-gown! I'd give<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Six-and-thirty kings," I cried,</span><br />
+"For a dry one!"&mdash;as my shirt,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wringing wet, began to steam.</span><br />
+<br />
+Shivering, with chattering teeth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There I stood beside the hearth,</span><br />
+Till the fire drowsed me quite,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then upon the straw I sank.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sleepless but with blinking eyes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peered I at the witch who crouched</span><br />
+By the fire with her son's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Body spread upon her lap.</span><br />
+<br />
+Upright at her side the pug<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood, and in his clumsy paws,</span><br />
+Very cleverly and tight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Held aloft a little jar.</span><br />
+<br />
+From this did Uraka take<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reddish fat and salved therewith</span><br />
+Swift Lascaro's ribs and breast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her thin and trembling hands.<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+And she hummed a lullaby<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a high and nasal tone</span><br />
+As she rubbed him with the salve<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Midst the crackling of the fire.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sere and bony like a corpse<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay the son upon the lap</span><br />
+Of his mother; opened wide<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stared his pale and tragic eyes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Is he really dead, this man?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kept alive by mother-love?</span><br />
+Nightly by the witch-fat potent<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Salved into a magic life?</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, that strange, strange fever-sleep!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In which all my limbs grew stiff</span><br />
+As if fettered, yet each sense,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Overwrought, waked horribly!</span><br />
+<br />
+How that smell of hellish herbs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plagued me! Musing in my woe,</span><br />
+Long I thought where had I once<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smelled such odours?&mdash;but in vain.<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+How the wind within the flue<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrought me terror! Like the sobs</span><br />
+Of some parchèd soul it rang&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or some well-remembered voice!</span><br />
+<br />
+But these stuffed birds standing guard<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a board above my head,</span><br />
+These grim birds tormented me<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far beyond all other things!</span><br />
+<br />
+Slowly, gruesomely they moved<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their accursèd wings and bent</span><br />
+Low to me with monstrous bills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bills like human noses huge.</span><br />
+<br />
+Where had I such noses seen?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, mayhap in Hamburg once,</span><br />
+Or in Frankfort's ghetto dim;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Memory smote me harshly then.</span><br />
+<br />
+But at last did slumber quite<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Overcome me and in place</span><br />
+Of such waking phantoms crept<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wholesome and unbroken dreams.<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+And within my dream the hut<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quickly to a ball-room changed,</span><br />
+High on lofty pillars borne<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And illumed by chandeliers.</span><br />
+<br />
+There invisible musicians<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Played from "Robert le Diable"</span><br />
+That atrocious dance of nuns<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I promenaded there.</span><br />
+<br />
+But at last the portals wide<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Open and with stately step</span><br />
+Slowly in the hall appear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guests most wonderful and strange.</span><br />
+<br />
+Every one a bear or spectre!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Striding upright every bear</span><br />
+Leads an apparition wrapped<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a white and gleaming shroud.</span><br />
+<br />
+Coupled in this wise, each pair<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up and down began to waltz</span><br />
+Through the hall. O strangest sight!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fit for laughter and for fear!<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+How those plump old animals<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Panted in the paces set</span><br />
+By those filmy shapes of air<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whirling gracefully and light!</span><br />
+<br />
+Pitiless, the harried beasts<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus were borne along until</span><br />
+Their deep panting overdroned<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even the orchestral bass!</span><br />
+<br />
+When betimes the couples crashed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In collision, then each bear</span><br />
+Gave the pushing spectre straight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hearty kicks upon the rump.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sometimes in the tumult too<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the cerements fell away</span><br />
+From each white and muffled head,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lo! a grinning skull appeared!</span><br />
+<br />
+But at last with shattering blare<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yelled the horns, the cymbals clashed</span><br />
+And the thunder of the drums<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brought about the gallopade.<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+But the end of this, alas,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came not to my dreams. For, lo,</span><br />
+One most clumsy bear trod full<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On my corns&mdash;I shrieked and woke!</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i131.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i131.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto22"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XXII</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Ph&oelig;bus in his solar coach,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whipping up his steeds of flame,</span><br />
+Had traversed the middle part<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his journey through the skies,</span><br />
+<br />
+Whilst in sleep I lay a-dream<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the goblins and the bears</span><br />
+Winding like mad arabesques<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through my slack and heated brain.</span><br />
+<br />
+When I wakened it was noon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I found myself alone,</span><br />
+Since my hostess and Lascaro<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the chase had left at dawn.</span><br />
+<br />
+There was no one save the pug<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the hovel. There he stood</span><br />
+By the hearth beside the pot<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holding in his paws a spoon.<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Clever pug! well disciplined!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lest the steaming soup boil over,</span><br />
+Swift he stirred it round and round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Skimming off the foam and scum.</span><br />
+<br />
+But&mdash;am I bewitchèd too?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or does fever smoulder still</span><br />
+In my brain? For scarce can I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trust my ears. The pug-dog speaks!</span><br />
+<br />
+Aye, he speaks in homely strains<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Swabian dialect,</span><br />
+Deeply sunk in thought, he cries,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As it were within a dream:</span><br />
+<br />
+"Woe is me&mdash;a Swabian bard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banned in exile must I grieve</span><br />
+In a pug-dog's cursèd shape<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guardian of a witch's pot.</span><br />
+<br />
+"What a base and hideous crime<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is this sorcery! My fate</span><br />
+Ah, how tragic! I, a man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the body of a dog!<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Had I but remained at home<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With my jolly comrades true&mdash;</span><br />
+No vile sorcerers are they!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And their spells no man need fear.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Had I but remained at home<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Karl Meyer's&mdash;with the sweet</span><br />
+Noodles of the Vaterland<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And good honest metzel-soup!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Of homesickness I shall die!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might I only spy the smoke</span><br />
+Rising from old Stuttgart's flues<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the precious dumplings seethe."</span><br />
+<br />
+Pity seized me when I heard<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This sad story, and I sprang</span><br />
+From my couch and took a seat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the fireplace and spake:</span><br />
+<br />
+"Noble poet, tell what chance<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brought thee to this beldam's hut.</span><br />
+Why, oh why, in cruel wise,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wast thou changed into a dog?"<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+But the pug exclaimed in joy:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What! You are no Frenchman then?</span><br />
+But a German, and you've heard<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All my hapless monologue?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Ah, dear countryman, 'twas ill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That old Köllè, Councillor,</span><br />
+When at eve we sat and argued<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the inn o'er pipe and mug,</span><br />
+<br />
+"Should have harped on the idea<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That by travel only might</span><br />
+One attain such culture broad,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As by travel he attained!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Now, so I might shed the rude<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Husk that on my manners lay,</span><br />
+Even as Köllè, and attain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Polish from the world at large,</span><br />
+<br />
+"To my home I bade farewell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in quest of culture came</span><br />
+To the Pyrenees at last,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Uraka's little hut.<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"And a reference I brought<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Justinus Kerner too!</span><br />
+Never did I dream my friend<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood in league with such a witch!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Friendly was Uraka's mood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till at last with horrid shock,</span><br />
+Lo, I found her friendliness<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had to fiery passion grown.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yes, within that withered breast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lust blazed up in monstrous wise,</span><br />
+And at once this vicious crone<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sought to drag me down to sin.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Yet I prayed: 'Oh, pardon, ma'am!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do not fancy I am one</span><br />
+Of those wanton Goethe Bards,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I belong to Swabia's school.</span><br />
+<br />
+"'Sweet Morality's our Muse<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the drawers she wears are made</span><br />
+Of the stoutest leather&mdash;Oh!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do not wrong my virtue, pray!<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"'Other bards may boast of soul,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Others phantasy&mdash;and some</span><br />
+Of their passion&mdash;Swabians have<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing but their innocence.</span><br />
+<br />
+"'Nothing else do we possess!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do not rob me of my pure,</span><br />
+Most religious beggar's cloak,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Naked else my soul must go!'</span><br />
+<br />
+"Thus I spoke, whereat the hag<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smiled with hideous irony,</span><br />
+Seized a switch of mistletoe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smote me over brow and cheek.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Chilly spasms seized me then<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just as if a goose's skin</span><br />
+Crept across my limbs&mdash;but oh!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This was worse than goose's-skin!</span><br />
+<br />
+"It was nothing more nor less<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than a dog-pelt! Since that hour,</span><br />
+That accursèd hour, I've lived<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Changed into a lumpy pug!"<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Luckless wight! his piteous sobs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now denied him further speech,</span><br />
+And so bitterly he wept<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That he half dissolved in tears.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Hark!" I spoke in pity then,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Tell me how you might be freed</span><br />
+From this dog-skin. How may I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give you back to muse and man?"</span><br />
+<br />
+In despair, disconsolate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then he raised his paws in air,</span><br />
+And with sobs and groans at length<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus his mournful plaint he made:</span><br />
+<br />
+"Not before the Judgment Day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall I shed this horrid form,</span><br />
+If no noble virgin come<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To absolve me of the curse.</span><br />
+<br />
+"None can free me save a maid,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pure, untouched by any man,</span><br />
+And she must fulfil a pact<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most inexorable&mdash;thus:<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Such unspotted maiden must<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Sylvester's holy night</span><br />
+Read the verse of Gustav Pfizer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Read it and not fall asleep!</span><br />
+<br />
+"If her chaste eyes do not close<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the reading&mdash;then, O bliss!</span><br />
+I shall disenchanted be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Breathe as man&mdash;unpugged at last!"</span><br />
+<br />
+"In that case, alas," said I,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Never may I undertake</span><br />
+Your salvation, for you see,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First I am no spotless maid,</span><br />
+<br />
+"And, still more impossible,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Secondly, I ne'er could read</span><br />
+Any one of Pfizer's poems<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And not fall asleep at once."</span><br />
+<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto23"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XXIII</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+From this eerie witch-menage<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the valley down we went,</span><br />
+And once more our feet took hold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the good and solid Earth.</span><br />
+<br />
+Spectres hence! Hence, gibbering masks!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shapes of air and fever-dreams!&mdash;</span><br />
+Once again, most sensibly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let us deal with Atta Troll.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the cavern with his young<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bruin lies in slumber wrapt,</span><br />
+Snoring like an honest soul,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then he stretches, yawns and wakes.</span><br />
+<br />
+And young One-Ear crouches down<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At his side, his head he rakes</span><br />
+Like a poet seeking rhymes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And upon his paws he scans.<a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Close beside the father lie<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Atta Troll's belovèd girls,</span><br />
+Pure, four-footed lilies they,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stretched in dreams upon their backs.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, what tender thoughts must glow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the budding souls of these</span><br />
+Snow-white virgin bearesses<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With their soft and dewy eyes?</span><br />
+<br />
+And the youngest of them all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seems most deeply stirred. Her heart,</span><br />
+Smitten by Dan Cupid's shaft,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quivers with a blissful throe.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yea, this godling's arrow pierced<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through and through her furry pelt</span><br />
+When she saw him first&mdash;Oh, heavens!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis a mortal man she loves!</span><br />
+<br />
+Man it is&mdash;Schnapphahnski named,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who one day in mad retreat</span><br />
+Passed her as she wandered through<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dim passes of the hills.<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Woes of heroes move the fair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And within our hero's face,</span><br />
+Quite as usual, sorrow lowered,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pallid care and money-need.</span><br />
+<br />
+Spent were all his funds of war!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two-and-twenty silver groats</span><br />
+Taken unto Spain by him<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Espartero seized as spoil.</span><br />
+<br />
+Aye, his very watch was gone!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This in Pampeluna's pawnshop</span><br />
+Lay in bondage. 'Twas a rich<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heirloom all of silver made.</span><br />
+<br />
+Little thought he as he ran<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his long legs through the woods,</span><br />
+He had won a greater thing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than a fight&mdash;a loving heart!</span><br />
+<br />
+Yes, she loves him&mdash;him the born<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enemy of bears she loves!</span><br />
+Hapless maid! If but your sire<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knew it&mdash;oh! what rage were his!<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Just like Odoardo old<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who in honest burgess-pride</span><br />
+Stabbed Emilia Galotti&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even so would Atta Troll</span><br />
+<br />
+Rather slay his darling lass,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slay her with his proper paws,</span><br />
+Than that she should ever sink<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even into princely arms!</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet in this same moment he<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is as softly moved&mdash;"no rose</span><br />
+Would he pluck before the storm<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reft it of its petals fair."</span><br />
+<br />
+Atta Troll in saddest mood<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lies within his rocky cave.</span><br />
+Like Death's warning o'er him creeps<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hunger for infinity.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Children!" then he sobs, the tears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Burst from out his mournful eyes,&mdash;</span><br />
+"Children! soon my earthly days<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall be ended&mdash;we must part.<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Unto me this very noon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came a dream of import vast,</span><br />
+And my soul drank in the sweet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sense of early death-to-be.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Superstitious am I not,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor fantastic&mdash;ah, and yet</span><br />
+More things lie 'twixt Earth and Heaven<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than philosophy may dream.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Pondering on the world and fate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yawning I had dropped asleep,</span><br />
+And I dreamed that I was lying<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stretched beneath a mighty tree.</span><br />
+<br />
+"From the branches of this tree<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White celestial honey dripped</span><br />
+Straight into my open jaws,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Filling me with wondrous bliss.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Peering happily aloft<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon I spied within the leaves</span><br />
+Seven pretty little bears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gliding up and down the boughs.<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Delicate and dainty things,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All with pelts of rosy hue,</span><br />
+And their heavenly voices rang<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a melody of flutes!</span><br />
+<br />
+"As they sang an icy chill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seized my flesh, although my soul</span><br />
+Like a flame went soaring straight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleaming into highest Heaven."</span><br />
+<br />
+Thus with soft and quivering grunts,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spake our Atta Troll, then grew</span><br />
+Silent in his wistful grief.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Suddenly his ears he raised,</span><br />
+<br />
+And in strangest wise they twitched!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then from up his couch he sprang</span><br />
+Trembling, bellowing with joy:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Children! do you hear that voice!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Are not those the dulcet tones<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of your mother? Do I not</span><br />
+My dear Mumma's grumbles know?&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mumma! Mumma! precious mate!"<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Like a madman with these words<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the cave rushed Atta Troll</span><br />
+Swift to his destruction&mdash;oh!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his ruin straight he plunged.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i146.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i146.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto1"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XXIV</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+In the Vale of Roncesvalles,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On that very spot where erst</span><br />
+Charlemagne's great nephew fell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gasping forth his warrior soul,</span><br />
+<br />
+Fell and perished Atta Troll,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fell through ambush, even as he</span><br />
+Whom that Judas of the Knights,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh! that noblest trait in bears&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conjugal affection&mdash;love&mdash;</span><br />
+Formed a pitfall which Uraka<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her evil craft prepared.</span><br />
+<br />
+For so truly mimicked she<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coal-black Mumma's tender growls,</span><br />
+That poor Atta Troll was lured<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the safety of his lair.<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+On desire's wings he ran<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the valley, halting oft</span><br />
+By a rock with tender sniff,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thinking Mumma there lay hid.</span><br />
+<br />
+There Lascaro lay, alas,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his rifle. Swift he shot</span><br />
+Through that gladsome heart a ball,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a crimson stream welled forth.</span><br />
+<br />
+Twice or thrice he shakes his head<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To and fro, at last he sinks</span><br />
+Groaning, seized with ghastly shudders;&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Mumma!" is his final sob!</span><br />
+<br />
+Thus our noble hero fell&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perished thus. Immortal he</span><br />
+Yet shall live in strains of bards,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Resurrected after death.</span><br />
+<br />
+He shall rise again in song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his wide renown shall stalk</span><br />
+In this blunt trochaic verse<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the round and living Earth.<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+In Valhalla's Hall a shaft<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall King Ludwig build for him,&mdash;</span><br />
+In Bavarian lapidary<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Style these words be there inscribed:</span><br />
+<br />
+ATTA TROLL, REFORMER, PURE,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">PIOUS: HUSBAND WARM AND TRUE,</span><br />
+BY THE ZEIT-GEIST LED ASTRAY&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">WOOD-ENGENDERED SANS-CULOTTE:</span><br />
+<br />
+DANCING BADLY: YET IDEALS<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">BEARING IN HIS SHAGGY BREAST:</span><br />
+OFTTIMES STINKING VERY STRONGLY,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">TALENT NONE: BUT CHARACTER.</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+height="119"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto25"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XXV</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Three-and-thirty wrinkled dames,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wearing on their heads their Basque</span><br />
+Scarlet hoods of ancient style,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood beside the village gate.</span><br />
+<br />
+One of them, like Deborah,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beat the tambourine and danced</span><br />
+While she sang a hymn in praise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the slayer of the bear.</span><br />
+<br />
+Four strong men in triumph bore<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slaughtered Atta, who erect</span><br />
+In his wicker litter sat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like some patient at a spa.</span><br />
+<br />
+To the rear, like relatives<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the dead, Lascaro came</span><br />
+With Uraka, who abashed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nodded to the right and left.<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Then the town-clerk at the hall<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spoke as the procession came</span><br />
+To a halt. Of many things<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spoke that dapper little man.</span><br />
+<br />
+As, for instance, of the rise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the navy, of the Press,</span><br />
+Of the sugar-beet debates,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that hydra, party strife.</span><br />
+<br />
+All the feats of Louis Philippe<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vaunted he unto the skies,&mdash;</span><br />
+Of Lascaro then he spoke<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his great heroic deed.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Thou Lascaro!" cried the clerk,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he mopped his streaming brow</span><br />
+With his bright tri-coloured sash&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thou Lascaro! thou that hast</span><br />
+<br />
+"Freed Hispania and France<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From that monster Atta Troll,</span><br />
+By both lands shalt be acclaimed the<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pyreneean Lafayette!"<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+When Lascaro in official<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wise thus heard himself announced</span><br />
+As a hero, then he smiled<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his beard and blushed for joy.</span><br />
+<br />
+And in stammering syllables<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in broken phrases he</span><br />
+Stuttered forth his gratitude<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the honour shown to him.</span><br />
+<br />
+Wonder-smitten then stood all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the unexpected sight,</span><br />
+And in low and timid tones<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus the ancient women spoke:</span><br />
+<br />
+"Did you hear Lascaro laugh?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did you see Lascaro blush?</span><br />
+Did you hear Lascaro speak?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He the witch's perished son!"</span><br />
+<br />
+On that very day they flayed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Atta Troll. At auction they</span><br />
+Sold his hide. A furrier bid<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just an even hundred francs.<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+And the furrier decked the skin<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Handsomely, and mounted it</span><br />
+All on scarlet. For this work<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He demanded twice the cost.</span><br />
+<br />
+From a third hand Juliet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then received it. Now it lies</span><br />
+As a rug before her bed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the city by the Seine.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, how many nights I've stood<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Barefoot on the earthly husk</span><br />
+Of my hero great and true,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the hide of Atta Troll!</span><br />
+<br />
+Then by sorrow deeply touched<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would I think of Schiller's words:</span><br />
+"That which song would make eternal<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First must perish from the Earth."</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head2.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head2.png"
+width="350px"
+height="136"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto26"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td>
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XXVI</span><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+What of Mumma? Mumma, ah!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a woman. Frailty</span><br />
+Is her name! Alas, that women<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should be frail as porcelain!</span><br />
+<br />
+Now when Fate had parted her<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From her great and noble mate,</span><br />
+Did she perish of her woe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sinking into hopeless gloom?</span><br />
+<br />
+Nay, contrarywise, she lived<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Merrily as ever&mdash;danced</span><br />
+For the public as before,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eager for their plaudits too.</span><br />
+<br />
+And at last a splendid place<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And support for all her days</span><br />
+Was procured for her in Paris<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the old Jardin-des-Plantes.<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+There, last Sunday as I strolled<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through that place with Juliet,</span><br />
+Baring Nature's realms to her&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Animal and vegetable,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Tall giraffes, and cedars brought<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of Lebanon, the huge</span><br />
+Dromedary, golden pheasants,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the zebra;&mdash;chatting thus,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+We at last stood still and leaned<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the rampart of that pit</span><br />
+Where the bears are safely penned&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heavens! what a sight we saw!</span><br />
+<br />
+There a huge bear from the wastes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Siberia, snowy-white,</span><br />
+Dallied in a love-feast sweet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a she-bear small and dark.</span><br />
+<br />
+This was Mumma! This, alas,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the mate of Atta Troll!</span><br />
+Well I knew her by the soft<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glances of her dewy eye.<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+It was she! the daughter dark<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Southland! Mumma lives</span><br />
+With a Russian now; she lives<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With this savage of the North!</span><br />
+<br />
+Smirking spake a negro then,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coming up with stealthy pace:</span><br />
+"Could there be a fairer sight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than a pair of lovers, say?"</span><br />
+<br />
+Then I answered him: "Pray, who<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Honours me by this address?"</span><br />
+Whereupon he cried amazed:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Have you quite forgotten me?</span><br />
+<br />
+"Why I am that Moorish prince<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who beat drums in Freiligrath&mdash;</span><br />
+Times were bad&mdash;in Germany<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I was lonely and forlorn.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Now as keeper I'm employed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this garden,&mdash;here I find</span><br />
+All the flowers of my native<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tropics,&mdash;lions, tigers, too.<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"Here I feel content and gay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Better than at German fairs,</span><br />
+Where each day I beat the drum<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And was fed but scantily.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Late in wedlock was I bound<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a blonde Alsatian cook,</span><br />
+And within her arms I feel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All my native joys again!</span><br />
+<br />
+"And her feet remind me ever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my blessèd elephants,</span><br />
+And her French has quite the ring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my sable mother-tongue.</span><br />
+<br />
+"When she coughs, the rattle fierce<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moves me of that famous drum</span><br />
+Which, bedecked with human skulls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drove the snakes and lions far.</span><br />
+<br />
+"But when moonlight charms her mood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a crocodile she weeps,</span><br />
+Which from out some luke-warm stream<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lifts to gape in cooler air.<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+"And she cooks me dainty bits.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See, I thrive! I feed again</span><br />
+As upon the Niger I<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fed with gusto African!</span><br />
+<br />
+"Mark the nicely rounded paunch<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I possess! Behold it peeps</span><br />
+From my shirt like some black moon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stealing forth from whitest clouds."</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i158.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i158.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_icanto_head1.png">
+<img src="images/ill_icanto_head1.png"
+width="350px"
+alt="image not available"
+height="119"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+<table summary="canto27"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0">
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">CANTO XXVII</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(To August Varnhagen von Ense)</span><br />
+<br />
+
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"Heavens! where, dear Ludoviso,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did you steal this crazy stuff?"</span><br />
+With these words did Cardinal<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">D'Este Ariosto greet</span><br />
+<br />
+When that poet read his work<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Orlando's madness. This</span><br />
+He unto His Eminence<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Humbly sought to dedicate.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yes, Varnhagen, dear old friend,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, I see these very words</span><br />
+Tremble on thy lips, that same<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faint and devastating smile.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sometimes o'er a book thou laughest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then again in earnestness</span><br />
+Thy high forehead wrinkles o'er<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As old memories come to thee.<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Hark unto the dreams of youth!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such Chamisso dreamed with me,</span><br />
+And Brentano, Fouqué, too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In blue nights beneath the moon.</span><br />
+<br />
+Comes no sound of saintly chimes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From that vanished forest fane,</span><br />
+And no tinkling of the gay<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unforgotten cap-and-bells?</span><br />
+<br />
+Through the choir of nightingales<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rumbles now the growl of bears,</span><br />
+Low and fierce, and changes then<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the gibbering of ghosts!</span><br />
+<br />
+Madness in the guise of sense,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wisdom with a broken spine!</span><br />
+Dying sobs which suddenly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into hollow laughter pass!</span><br />
+<br />
+Aye, my friend, such strains arise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the dream-time that is dead,</span><br />
+Though some modern trills may oft<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Caper through the ancient theme.<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Spite of waywardness thou'lt find<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here and there a note of pain;&mdash;</span><br />
+To thy well-proved mildness now<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do I recommend my song!</span><br />
+<br />
+'Tis, perchance, the final strain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the pure and free Romance:&mdash;</span><br />
+In to-day's wild battle-clash,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miserably it must end.</span><br />
+<br />
+Other times and other birds!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Other birds and other songs!</span><br />
+What a chattering as of geese<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That had saved a capitol!</span><br />
+<br />
+What a chirping!&mdash;sparrows these<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Penny tapers in their claws,</span><br />
+Yet have they assumed the ways<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Jove's eagle with the bolt.</span><br />
+<br />
+What a cooing! Turtle-doves,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cloyed with love, now long to hate,</span><br />
+And thenceforth in place of Venus'<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They would drag Bellona's car!<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a></span><br />
+<br />
+What a buzz that shakes the skies!&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These must be the great May-beetles</span><br />
+Of the nation's dawning Spring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a Viking fury seized!</span><br />
+<br />
+Other times and other birds!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Other birds and other songs;&mdash;</span><br />
+These, perchance, might yield delight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were I blest with other ears!</span><br />
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a></p>
+
+<table summary="attatroll"
+cellspacing="0"
+cellpadding="0"
+class="attatroll2">
+<tr><td>
+<a href="images/ill_i162.png">
+<img src="images/ill_i162.png"
+width="300px"
+alt="image not available"
+/></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<h3><a name="NOTES_TO_ATTA_TROLL" id="NOTES_TO_ATTA_TROLL"></a>NOTES &nbsp; TO &nbsp; "ATTA &nbsp; TROLL"</h3>
+
+<p class="c">BY &nbsp; DR. &nbsp; OSCAR &nbsp; LEVY<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a></p>
+
+
+
+<p class="c top15">PREFACE</p>
+
+<p class="notes">THE GOD OF SCHELLING. The German
+philosopher Schelling (1775-1854) was at
+first a follower of Spinoza, and had published
+in his youth a pantheistic philosophy which
+had made him famous. In later life he began
+to doubt his former beliefs, and promised to
+the world another and more Christian explanation
+of God and the universe. The
+promised book, however, never appeared.</p>
+
+<p class="nind">The gap, thus left by Schelling, has since
+been filled up by a host of more courageous,
+if less conscientious, investigators.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">"SEA-SURROUNDED SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN"
+OYSTERS. "Schleswig-Holstein
+Meerumschlungen (sea-surrounded)" was
+the German Marseillaise after 1846 and
+again in 1863-64.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">ARNOLD RUGE (1802-1880) was the leader
+of the New Hegelian school, and published<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>
+certain famous annuals for art and science at
+Halle. In 1848 he was elected to the Parliament
+at Frankfort, but was forced to flee to
+London, where he struck up a fast friendship
+with Mazzini. In the Revolutionary Committee
+of London he represented Germany,
+as Ledru-Rollin represented France and
+Mazzini Italy.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">CHRISTIAN-GERMANIC. One of the favourite
+phrases and shibboleths of the Romantic
+School, which may still be heard in the
+Germany of to-day.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">FERDINAND FREILIGRATH (1810-1876).
+A well-known poet and skilful translator of
+French and English poets, such as Burns,
+Byron, Thomas Moore, and Victor Hugo.
+His own poems betray his dependence upon
+Hugo. Frederick William IV, King of
+Prussia, bestowed a pension upon him in
+1842. When his friends, however, charged
+him with having sold himself to the
+Government, the poet refused the pension.<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>
+Thereafter he devoted himself more and
+more to the democratic party and wrote
+many political poems. In 1848 he went
+abroad, living in London the greater part
+of the time. He returned to Germany in
+1868, and in 1870 published several patriotic
+poems which met with great acclaim.</p>
+
+<p class="nind">The sudden conversion from international
+Democracy to Nationalism is easily explained.
+Modern states have become democratic,
+and democrats&mdash;but they alone&mdash;find
+it easy to feel comfortable and patriotic
+in such a milieu.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO I</p>
+
+<p class="notes">DON CARLOS. After the death of Ferdinand
+VII of Spain (1833) a lengthy civil war broke
+out between his younger brother, Don Carlos,
+and the Queen-widow Christina, who had
+assumed the regency for her daughter
+Isabella.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">SCHNAPPHAHNSKI. A comic word composed
+of the German word "schnappen," to<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>
+snap, and "hahn," cock. It has also been
+incorporated into French in the form "chenapan."
+It is applied here to Prince Felix
+Lichnowski (1814-1848), who left the Prussian
+Army in 1838 and entered the service
+of Don Carlos, who appointed him a brigadier-general.
+After his return from Spain,
+Lichnowski wrote his "Reminiscences,"
+the publication of which involved him in
+a duel in which he was badly wounded. The
+"Reminiscences" are couched in Heine's own
+style, and their hero is called Schnapphahnski.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">JULIET. Juliet is to be understood as referring
+to Heine's mistress and subsequent
+wife, Mathilde.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO II</p>
+
+<p class="notes">QUEEN MARIA CHRISTINA. She was the
+wife of Ferdinand VII and assumed the
+regency after his death. Soon after the king's
+demise, she married a member of her bodyguard,
+one Don Ferdinand Muñoz, who was
+afterwards given the title of Duke of Rianzares.
+She bore him several children.<a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a></p>
+
+<p class="notes">PUTANA. Italian for strumpet.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO IV</p>
+
+<p class="notes">MASSMANN. A German philologist and one
+of Heine's favourite butts. He was one of
+the most enthusiastic advocates of German
+gymnastics. Athletics was one of the pet
+ideas of the German patriots; the Government,
+however, held it in suspicion, inasmuch
+as the so-called "Turner" (gymnasts)
+cherished political ambitions. In time, however,
+the exercise of the muscles cured the
+revolutionary brain-fag, and the Government
+was enabled to assume a sort of protectorship
+over gymnastics. Though enthusiastically
+carried on to this very day in Germany, the
+movement no longer has any political significance.</p>
+
+<p class="top5">FRESH, PIOUS, GAY, AND FREE. FRISCH,
+FROMM, FRÖHLICH, FREI&mdash;the four F's&mdash;formed
+the motto of the German
+"Turner."<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a></p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO V</p>
+
+<p class="notes">BATAVIA. Apparently a well-known female
+ape in Heine's day, trained in theatrical feats
+of skill.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">FREILIGRATH (see above). As a refuge
+from the crassness of his times, Freiligrath
+usually chose exotic themes for his poems,
+frequently African in nature, as, for instance,
+in his "Löwenritt." The allusion to the mule
+(in German "camel," which bears the same
+opprobrious meaning as "ass") gives us
+reason to believe that Heine's preface must
+not be taken too seriously and that his opinion
+of the poet Freiligrath was by no means a
+high one.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">FRIEDRICH LUDWIG GEORG VON RAUMER
+(1781-1873). A well-known German
+historian, author of the "History of the
+Hohenstaufens."<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a></p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO VIII</p>
+
+<p class="notes">TUISKION. The god whom the Germans,
+according to Tacitus (vide "Germania,"
+cap. <span class="smcap">ii</span>) regard as the original father of their
+race.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">LUDWIG FEUERBACH (1804-1872). An
+honest thinker, who recognised that there
+was an unbridgable gulf between philosophy
+and theology. He left the Hegelian school,
+which can be so well adapted to the need of
+theologians, and considered as the only source
+of religion&mdash;the human brain. "The Gods
+are only the personified wishes of men," he
+used to say. He brought German philosophy
+down from the clouds to cookery by declaring:
+"Der Mensch ist, was er isst" ("Man is what he
+eats"). He was a believer in what he called
+"Healthy sensuality," which made him the
+philosopher of artists in the 'thirties and
+'forties of the last century, amongst others
+of Richard Wagner. The latter, however,<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>
+afterwards repented, and, by way of Schopenhauer,
+turned Christian.</p>
+
+<p class="nind">Feuerbach came from a family that would
+have been the delight of Sir Francis Galton,
+author of "Hereditary Genius." Feuerbach's
+father was a famous jurist, who had
+five sons, all of whom attained the honour
+of appearing in the German Encyclopædias.
+The philosopher was the fourth son. Again:
+the famous painter Anselm Feuerbach was
+his nephew, the son of his eldest brother.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">BRUNO BAUER (1809-1882). A destructive
+commentator of the New Testament. He
+belonged to the school of "higher" criticism
+which has done so much to "lower"
+Christianity in the eyes of savants and professors
+and so little in those of mankind at
+large. His "Critique of the Evangelistic
+History of Saint John" (1840) and his
+"Critique of the Evangelistic Synoptists"
+(1841-42) had just been published when
+Heine wrote "Atta Troll."<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a></p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO IX</p>
+
+<p class="notes">MOSES MENDELSOHN (1729-1786). Grandfather
+of the famous composer. He was a
+Jewish philosopher and a friend of Lessing's,
+who, it is supposed, took him as his model
+for "Nathan the Wise." He freed his
+German co-religionaries from the oppressive
+influence of the Talmud.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO X</p>
+
+<p class="notes">PROPERTY IS THEFT. A dictum of Prudhon.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XII</p>
+
+<p class="notes">REIGN OF DWARFS. The approaching rule
+of clever little trades-people, whose turn it
+will soon be if democracy progresses as at
+present. Compare Nietzsche's "Zarathustra,"
+Part III, 49, "The Bedwarfing Virtue":
+"I pass through this people and keep mine
+eyes open: they have become <i>smaller</i>, and
+ever become <i>smaller: the reason thereof is
+their doctrine of happiness and virtue</i>."<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a></p>
+
+<p class="notes">THIS CONCLUSION. "Lo, I kiss, therefore
+I live"&mdash;a witty travesty of Descartes'
+"Cogito, ergo sum."</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XIV</p>
+
+<p class="notes">SO I TOOK TO HUNTING BEARS. Heine
+considers Atta Troll, the bear bred by the
+French Revolution, as a much greater and
+more dangerous foe, and therefore a worthier
+opponent of his than the sorry German bears&mdash;or
+patriots&mdash;with whom he was forced to
+contend in his native country and who incessantly
+worried (and still worry) him.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XV</p>
+
+<p class="notes">CAGOTS. The remnant of an ancient tribe,
+driven out of human society as unclean&mdash;Cagot
+from <i>Canis gothicus</i>. The Cagots
+may still be found in obscure parts of the
+French Pyrenees; they have their own language
+and are distinguished by their yellow
+skins from the peoples of Western Europe.<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>
+In the Middle Ages they were persecuted as
+heretics and were excluded from all contact
+with their neighbours. They were forced to
+bear a tag upon their clothes so that they
+might be known as inferiors. Even to-day,
+despite the fact that they possess the same
+rights as other Frenchmen, they are considered
+as somewhat debased and unclean.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XVIII</p>
+
+<p class="notes">THE WILD HUNT which Heine describes
+in this canto is an old German legend which
+poets and painters have found to be a fertile
+source of inspiration. The wild huntsman
+must ride through the world every night,
+followed by all evil-doers, and wherever he
+appears, thither, according to old folk-belief,
+does misfortune come. Tradition herds all
+the foes of Christianity among this rout of
+evil-doers; for this reason does Heine include
+Goethe&mdash;the "great pagan," as the Germans
+call him&mdash;in that crew. There have been
+other foes of Christianity since, and some<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>
+very great figures amongst them, so that in
+time the Wild Huntsman's Company may
+become quite presentable.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">HENGSTENBERG (1802-1869). A fanatical
+theologian professor at Berlin who made an
+attack upon Goethe's "Elective Affinities,"
+which then had not yet become a classic, and
+was thus still liable to the attacks of the
+"learned."</p>
+
+<p class="notes">FRANZ HORN. A contemporary of Heine's
+of no particular importance, a poet of the
+Romantic School and a verbose literary historian.
+He wrote a work in five volumes upon
+Shakespeare's plays. In this he interprets
+the poet in a wholly romantic sense and winds
+up by presenting him as an enthusiastic
+Christian.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XIX</p>
+
+<p class="notes">ABUNDA&mdash;in the Celtic (Breton) folk-lore
+Dame Abonde and even Dame Habonde. The
+Celtic element (as, for instance, the legend<a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>
+of King Arthur's Round Table) played a great
+part in the romantic poetry of Germany, and
+later in the music dramas of Wagner. Romanticism
+is therefore represented in Heine's
+poem by the fairy Abunda, in contradistinction
+to the Greek and Semitic inspiration&mdash;represented
+by Diana and Herodias. Heine's
+conception of Herodias as being in love with
+the Baptist and taking her revenge on him
+for his Josephian attitude towards her, has,
+no doubt, influenced later writers on the
+subject, especially Flaubert and Oscar Wilde,
+save that these had not the courage (nor
+perhaps the insight) to regard the hero in
+question as a "block-head."</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XX</p>
+
+<p class="notes">SIX-AND-THIRTY KINGS. At once an allusion
+to Shakespeare's "A kingdom for a
+horse!" ("Richard III") and a side-stroke
+glancing at the various kings and princes of
+Germany&mdash;some thirty-six in Heine's time.<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a></p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XXI</p>
+
+<p class="notes">HELLISH HERBS. The foul and mouldy
+herbs and medicines in Uraka's hut represent
+a collection of remedies for the cure and
+preservation of decaying feudalism and
+Christian mediævalism, which, however, no
+remedy can restore to health. The smell in
+Uraka's hut is the smell of the "rotting
+past," that, in spite of all nostrums and
+artificial revivals, goes on decomposing. The
+stuffed birds which glare so fixedly and forlorn,
+and have long bills like human noses,
+are members of Heine's own race. These
+stuffed birds are the symbols of Judaism which
+according to our Hellenistic poet, possesses, as
+religion, as little life as the Christianity that
+is based upon it.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XXII</p>
+
+<p class="notes">A SWABIAN BARD. The Swabian school of
+poetry, of which Uhland was the leader, was
+the chief representative of German Chau<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>vinism
+in Heine's day. W. Menzel, the critic
+who denounced "Young Germany" to the
+Government, belonged to this school. Börne
+answered him in his "Menzel der Franzosenfresser"
+("The Gallophobe"), and Heine
+mocked at him in his paper "The Denunciator."
+Gustav Pfizer (who had provoked
+Heine) and Karl Meyer were members of the
+Swabian school, and prided themselves particularly
+upon their morality and religiosity,
+for which reason they set themselves in
+antagonism to the "heathen" Goethe.
+Goethe, on his part, estimated this school as
+little as did Heine. In a letter to Zelter dated
+October 5, 1831, Goethe writes thus of
+Pfizer: "...I read a poem lately by
+Gustav Pfizer ... the poet appears to have
+real talent and is evidently a very good man.
+But as I read I was oppressed by a certain
+poverty of spirit in the piece and put the little
+book away at once, for with the advance of the
+cholera it is well to shield oneself against all
+debilitating influences. The work is dedicated
+to Uhland, and one might well doubt if any<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>thing
+exciting, thorough, or humanly compelling
+could be produced from those regions
+in which he is master. I will therefore not
+rail at the work, but simply leave it alone.
+<i>It is really marvellous how these little men
+are able to throw their goody-religious-poetic
+beggar's cloak so cleverly about their shoulders
+that, whenever an elbow happens to
+stick out, one is tempted to consider this as
+a deliberate poetic intention</i>."</p>
+
+<p class="notes">METZEL-SOUP. A Swabian soup of the
+country districts, glorified in the poetry of
+Uhland. It is usually prepared from the
+"insides" of pigs.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">CHRISTOPHER FRIEDRICH K. VON
+KÖLLE (1781-1848). A Privy Councillor of
+the Legation of Würtemberg&mdash;composer of
+many poems and political pamphlets.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">JUSTINUS KERNER (1786-1862) was also
+a poet of the Swabian school. He believed
+in spirits, and made many observations and
+experiments in his house at Weinsburg in<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>
+order to obtain some knowledge of the supernatural
+world. Thousands of those who
+believed, or wished to believe, came to his
+"séances." He worked in conjunction with
+a celebrated medium of his time, and later
+published a very successful book about this
+lady. Heine, no doubt, had this medium in
+mind when he mentioned Kerner.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XXIII</p>
+
+<p class="notes">BALDOMERO ESPARTERO (1792-1879).
+A celebrated Spanish general who fought
+against Don Carlos on the side of Maria
+Christina. He was later given the title of
+Duke of Vittoria.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">EMILIA GALOTTI. This refers to the heroine
+of Lessing's drama of the same name, in
+which old Odoardo Galotti slays his daughter
+in order to protect her from dishonour. The
+theme is derived from the story of Virginia
+and Tarquin.<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a></p>
+
+<p class="notes">"NO ROSE WOULD HE PLUCK, ETC."
+Lessing's drama closes thus: "<i>Odoardo</i>:
+'God! what have I done!' <i>Emilia</i>: 'Thou
+hast merely plucked a rose ere the storm reft
+it of its petals.'"</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XXIV</p>
+
+<p class="notes">GANELON OF MAINZ was the stepfather
+of Roland, against whom he bore a grudge.
+He contrived to bring about his destruction by
+betraying him to the Saracens, who over-powered
+and killed him in the Valley of
+Roncesvalles, as related in the well-known
+"Chanson de Roland."</p>
+
+<p class="notes">VALHALLA'S HALL. King Ludwig I of
+Bavaria ordered a Greek temple to be built
+on the banks of the Danube near Regensburg,
+to which he gave the name of Valhalla. In
+this the busts of all great Germans are placed&mdash;as,
+for instance, with great ceremony, that
+of Bismarck some years ago, and recently
+that of Wagner. Atta Troll's epitaph is<a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>
+a satirical imitation of the poetic effusions
+of Ludwig I, who considered himself a
+poet but was nothing more than an affected
+versifier. His mania for compression and
+for participial forms (not to be tolerated
+in German) more than once drew the arrows
+of Heine's wit. The last line: "Talent none,
+but character," has become a familiar phrase
+in Germany.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XXV</p>
+
+<p class="notes">PYRENEEAN LAFAYETTE. Lafayette
+fought for the Revolution in France as well
+as in America.</p>
+
+<p class="notes">"THAT WHICH SONG WOULD MAKE
+ETERNAL," &amp;c. A quotation in a semi-satiric
+vein from Schiller's "The Gods of
+Greece."</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XXVI</p>
+
+<p class="notes">DROVE THE SNAKES AND LIONS FAR.
+A burlesque quotation from Freiligrath's<a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>
+poem "Der Löwenritt," from which also the
+reference later on to the crocodile is taken.</p>
+
+
+<p class="canto">CANTO XXVII</p>
+
+<p class="notes">VARNHAGEN VON ENSE (1785-1858).
+After abandoning his career as a diplomat,
+von Ense married the celebrated Rahel. He
+lived in Berlin, where the salon of his wife
+became the meeting-ground for artists and
+writers. In his youth he associated closely
+with the romantics&mdash;de la Motte Fouqué,
+Chamisso, and Clemens Brentano, the brother
+of Bettina von Arnim. Though imitating
+the heavy and cautious style of the later
+Goethe he was a good writer, and his biographies
+of celebrated men belong to the best
+in German literature. He endeavoured, but
+without success, to win over the all-powerful
+Austrian Minister Metternich to the cause of
+"Young Germany."</p>
+
+<p class="notes">OTHER TIMES AND OTHER BIRDS!
+These words refer to the new generation of
+poets&mdash;Georg Herwegh, Friedrich Freiligrath,<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>
+Dingelstedt, Hoffmann von Fallersleben, and
+Anastasius Grün&mdash;who came upon the scene
+about 1840, cherished mechanic-democratic
+ideals and brought about the Revolution of
+1848. Heine, by nature an aristocratic poet,
+who instinctively dreaded the competition
+of "noble bears," saw all his loftiest principles
+trodden into the mire by these Utopian
+hot-heads and the crew of politicians that
+came storming after them. This doctrinaire
+and numerical interpretation of the rights
+of man&mdash;for which rights in their proper
+application the poet himself had fought so
+valiantly&mdash;caused him great unhappiness.
+He now saw his fairest concepts (as is made
+clear in his own introduction) distorted as in
+some crooked mirror, and so, filled with
+anger, grief and disgust, he conceived and
+wrote his lyrico-satiric masterpiece, "Atta
+Troll." The poem has been misunderstood
+to this very day, for the mechanics and
+theorists have practically won. <i>The day it
+is understood, their reign will be over</i>.<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a></p>
+
+<p class="c sml top15"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>
+PRINTED AT<br />
+THE BALLANTYNE PRESS<br />
+LONDON</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="c">Notes of the transcriber of this etext:</p>
+
+<ol>
+<li>Three instances of "Willy Pogàny" were corrected to "Willy Pogány"</li>
+<li>"ond entreaties" was changed to "fond entreaties"</li>
+</ol>
+
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine
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+</pre>
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+</body>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Atta Troll
+
+Author: Heinrich Heine
+
+Contributor: Oscar Levy
+
+Illustrator: Willy Pogany
+
+Translator: Herman Scheffauer
+
+Release Date: February 17, 2010 [EBook #31305]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATTA TROLL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Meredith Bach, Chuck Greif and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ATTA TROLL
+
+_From the German of
+Heinrich Heine_
+
+by
+
+_Herman Scheffauer_
+with an introduction
+
+by
+
+_Dr Oscar Levy_
+and some Pen-and-Ink
+sketches by
+_Willy Pogany_
+
+Sidgwick & Jackson London 1913
+
+[Illustration: Frontispiece]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ATTA TROLL
+
+From the German of
+_Heinrich Heine_
+
+by
+
+_Herman Scheffauer_
+with some Pen-and-Ink
+sketches by
+_Willy Pogany _
+
+Sidgwick & Jackson London 1913]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                page
+
+INTRODUCTION
+  An Interpretation of Heinrich
+  Heine's "Atta Troll," by Dr.
+  Oscar Levy                       3
+
+PREFACE
+  By Heine                        25
+
+ATTA TROLL                        35
+
+NOTES
+  By Dr. Oscar Levy              165
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+                              page
+
+FRONTISPIECE                    ii
+
+TITLE-PAGE                     iii
+
+ATTA TROLL                      iv
+
+INTRODUCTION (Half-Title)        1
+
+ATTA TROLL (Half-Title)         33
+
+
+_The headings and tail-pieces to the Cantos are by Horace Taylor_
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: INTRODUCTION]
+
+
+
+
+AN INTERPRETATION OF HEINRICH HEINE'S "ATTA TROLL"
+
+
+_HE who has visited the idyllic isle of Corfu must have seen, gleaming
+white amidst its surroundings of dark green under a sky of the deepest
+blue, the Greek villa which was erected there by Elizabeth, Empress of
+Austria. It is called the Achilleion. In its garden there is a small
+classic temple in which the Empress caused to be placed a marble statue
+of her most beloved of poets, Heinrich Heine. The statue represented the
+poet seated, his head bowed in profound melancholy, his cheeks thin and
+drawn and bearded, as in his last illness._
+
+_Elizabeth, Empress of Austria, felt a sentimental affinity with the
+poet; his unhappiness, his_ Weltschmerz, _touched a responsive chord in
+her own unhappy heart. Intellectual sympathy with Heine's thought or
+tendencies there could have been little, for no woman has ever quite
+understood Heinrich Heine, who is still a riddle to most of the men of
+this age._
+
+_After the assassination of the hapless Empress, the beautiful villa was
+bought by the German Emperor. He at once ordered Heine's statue to be
+removed--whither no one knows. Royal (as well as popular) spite has
+before this been vented on dead or inanimate things--one need only ask
+Englishmen to remember what happened to the body of Oliver Cromwell. The
+Kaiser's action, by the way, did not pass unchallenged. Not only in
+Germany but in several other countries indignant voices were raised at
+the time, protesting against an act so insulting to the memory of the
+great singer, upholding the fame of Heine as a poet and denouncing the
+new master of the Achilleion for his narrow and prejudiced views on art
+and literature._
+
+_There was, however, a sound reason for the Imperial interference.
+Heinrich Heine was in his day an outspoken enemy of Prussia, a severe
+critic of the House of Hohenzollern and of other Royal houses of
+Germany. He was one who held in scorn the principles of State and
+government that are honoured in Germany, and elsewhere, to this very
+day. He was one of those poets--of whom the nineteenth century produced
+only a few, but those amongst the greatest--who had begun to distrust
+the capacity of the reigning aristocracy, who knew what to expect from
+the rising bourgeoisie, and who were nevertheless not romantic enough to
+believe in the people and the wonderful possibilities hidden in them.
+These poets--one and all--have taken up a very negative attitude towards
+their contemporaries and have given voice to their anger and
+disappointment over the pettiness of the society and government of their
+time in words full of satire and contempt._
+
+_Of course, the echo on the part of their audiences has not been
+wanting. All these poets have experienced a fate surprisingly similar,
+and their relationship to their respective countries reminds one of
+those unhappy matrimonial alliances which--for social or religious
+reasons--no divorce can ever dissolve. And, worse than that, no
+separation either, for a poet is--through his mother tongue--so
+intimately wedded to his country that not even a separation can effect
+any sort of relief in such a desperate case. All of them have tried
+separation, all of them have lived in estrangement from their
+country--we might almost say that only the local and lesser poets of the
+last century have stayed at home--and yet in spite of this separation
+the mutual recriminations of these passionate poetical husbands and
+their obstinate national wives have never ceased. Again and again we
+hear the male partner making proposals to win his spouse to better and
+nobler ways, again and again he tries to "educate her up to himself" and
+endeavours to direct her anew, pointing out to her the danger of her
+unruly and stupid behaviour; again and again his loving approaches are
+thwarted by the well-known waywardness of the feminine character, and so
+all his friendly admonitions habitually turn into torrents of abuse and
+vilification. There have been many unhappy unions in the world, but the
+compulsory_ mesalliances _of such great nineteenth-century writers as
+Heine, Byron, Stendhal, Gobineau, and Nietzsche with Mesdames
+Britannia, Gallia, and Germania, those otherwise highly respectable
+ladies, easily surpass in grotesqueness anything that has come to us
+through divorce court proceedings in England and America. That, as every
+one will agree, is saying a good deal._
+
+_The German Emperor, as I have said, had some justification for his
+action, some motives that do credit, if not to his intellect, at least
+to what in our days best takes the place of intellect; that is to say
+his character and his principles of government. The German Emperor
+appears at least to realize how offensive and, from his point of view,
+dangerous, the spirit of Heinrich Heine is to this very day, how deeply
+his satire cuts into questions of religion and State, how impatient he
+is of everything which the German Emperor esteems and venerates in his
+innermost heart. But the German people, on the whole, and certainly all
+foreigners, have long ago forgiven the poet, not because they have
+understood the dead bard better than the Emperor, but because they
+understood him less well. It is always easier to forgive an offender if
+you do not understand him too well, it is likewise easier to forgive
+him if your memory be short. And the peoples likewise resemble our
+womenfolk in this respect, that as soon as they are widowed of their
+poets, they easily forget all the unpleasantness that had ever existed
+between them and their dead husbands. It is then and only then that they
+discover the good qualities of their dead consorts and go about telling
+everybody "what a wonderful man he was." Their behaviour reminds me of a
+picture I once saw in a French comic paper. It represented a widow who,
+in order to hear her deceased husband's voice, had a gramophone put at
+his empty place at the breakfast table. And every morning she sat
+opposite that gramophone weeping quietly into her handkerchief, gazing
+mournfully at the instrument--decorated with her dead hubby's tasselled
+cap--and listening to the voice of the dear departed. But the only words
+which came out of the gramophone every morning were:_ Mais fiche-moi
+donc la paix--tu m'empeches de lire mon journal! _(For goodness' sake,
+leave me alone and let me read my paper.) This, however, did not appear
+to disturb the sentimental widow at all, as little indeed as a good
+sentimental people resents being abused by its dead poet._
+
+_And how our poet did abuse them during his life! And not only during
+his life, for Heine would not have been a great poet if his loves and
+hatreds, his censure and his praise had not outlasted his life, nay, had
+not come to real life only after his death. Thus the shafts of wit and
+satire which Heine levelled at his age and his country will seem
+singularly modern to the reader of to-day. It is this peculiar modern
+significance and application that has been one of the two reasons for
+presenting to the English public the first popular edition of Heine's
+lyrico-satiric masterpiece "Atta Troll." The other reason is the fine
+quality of the translation, made by one who is himself well known as a
+poet, my friend Herman Scheffauer. I venture to say that it renders in a
+remarkable degree the elusive brilliance, wit, and tenderness of the
+German original._
+
+_The poem begins in a sprightly fashion full of airy mockery and
+romantic lyricism. The reader is beguiled as with music and led on as in
+a dance. Heine himself called it_ das letzte freie Waldlied der Romantik
+_("The last free woodland-song of Romanticism"); and so we hear the
+alluring sound of flutes and harps, we listen to the bells ringing from
+lonely chapels in the forest, and many beautiful flowers nod to us, the
+mysterious blue flower amongst them. Then our eyes rejoice at the sight
+of fair maidens, whose nude and slender bodies gleam from under their
+floods of golden hair, who ride on white horses and throw us provocative
+glances, that warm and quicken our innermost hearts. But just as we are
+on the point of responding to their fond entreaties we are startled by
+the cracking of the wild hunter's whip, and we hear the loud hallo and
+huzza of his band, and see them galloping across our path in the eerie
+mysterious moonlight. Yes, in "Atta Troll" there is plenty of that
+moonshine, of that tender sentimentality, which used to be the principal
+stock-in-trade of the German Romanticist._
+
+_But this moonshine and all the other paraphernalia of the Romantic
+School Heine handled with all the greater skill, inasmuch as he was no
+longer a real Romanticist when he wrote "Atta Troll." He had left the
+Romantic School long ago, not without (as he himself tells us) "having
+given a good thrashing to his schoolmaster." He was now a Greek, a
+follower of Spinoza and Goethe. He was a_ Romantique defroque--_one who
+had risen above his neurotic fellow-poets and their hazy ideas and wild
+endeavours. But for this very reason he is able to use their mode of
+expression with so much the greater skill, and, knowing all their
+shortcomings, he could give to his Dreamland a semblance of reality
+which they could never achieve. Only after having left a town are we in
+a position to judge the height of its church steeple, only as exiles do
+we begin to see the right relation in which our country stands to the
+rest of the world, and only a poet who had bidden farewell to his party
+and school, who had freed himself from Romanticism, could give us the
+last, the truest, the most beautiful poem of Romanticism._
+
+_It is possible, even probable, that "Atta Troll" will appeal to a
+majority of readers, not through its satire, but through its wonderful
+lyrical and romantic qualities--our age being inclined to look askance
+at satire, at least at true satire, at satire that, as the current
+phrase goes, "means business." Weak satire, aimless satire, humour,
+caricature--that is to say satire which uses blank cartridges--this age
+of ours will readily endure, nay heartily welcome; but of true satire,
+of satire that goes in for powder and shot, that does not only crack,
+but kill, it is mortally, and, if one comes to think of it rightly,
+afraid. But let even those who object to powder and shot approach "Atta
+Troll" without fear or misgiving. They will not be disappointed. They
+will find in this work proof of the old truth that a satirist is always
+and originally a man of high ideals and imagination. They will gain an
+insight into his much slandered soul, which is always that of a great
+poet. They will readily understand that this poet only became a satirist
+through the vivacity of his imagination, through the strength of his
+poetic vision, through his optimistic belief in humanity and its
+possibilities; and that it was precisely this great faith which forced
+him to become a satirist, because he could not endure to see all his
+pure ideals and the possibilities of perfection soiled and trampled upon
+by thoughtless mechanics, aimless mockers and babbling reformers. The
+humorist may be--and very often is--a sceptic, a pessimist, a nihilist;
+the satirist is invariably a believer, an optimist, an idealist. For let
+this dangerous man only come face to face, not with his enemies, but
+with his ideals, and you will see--as in "Atta Troll"--what a generous
+friend, what an ardent lover, what a great poet he is. Thus no one will
+be in the least disturbed by Heine's satire: on the contrary, those who
+object to it on principle will hardly be aware of it, so delighted will
+they be with the wonderful imagination, the glowing descriptions, and
+the passionate lyrics in which the poetry of "Atta Troll" abounds. The
+poem may be and will be read by them as "Gulliver's Travels" is read
+to-day by young and old, by poet and politician alike, not for its
+original satire, but for its picturesque, dramatic, and enthralling
+tale._
+
+_But let those who still believe that writing is fighting, and not
+sham-fighting only, those who hold that a poet is a soldier of the pen
+and therefore the most dangerous of all soldiers, those who feel that
+our age needs a hailstorm of satire, let these, I say, look closer at
+the wonderfully ideal figures that pass before them in the pale
+mysterious light. Let them listen more intently to the flutes and harps
+and they will discover quite a different melody beneath--a melody by no
+means bewitching or soothing, nor inviting us to dreams, sweet
+forgetfulness, soft couches, and tender embraces, but a shrill and
+mocking tune that is at times insolently discordant and that strikes us
+as decidedly modern, realistic, and threatening. As the poet himself
+expressed it in his dedication to Varnhagen von Ense:_
+
+    "_Aye, my friend, such strains arise_
+      _From the dream-time that is dead_
+    Though some modern trills may oft
+      Caper through the ancient theme.
+
+    "Spite of waywardness thou'lt find
+      Here and there a note of pain...."
+
+_Let their ears seek to catch these painful notes. Let their eyes
+accustom themselves to the deceitful light of the moon; let them
+endeavour to pierce through the romanticism on the surface to the
+underlying meaning of the poem.... A little patience and we shall see
+clearly...._
+
+_Atta Troll, the dancing bear, is the representative of the people. He
+has--by means of the French Revolution, of course--broken his fetters
+and escaped to the freedom of the mountains. Here he indulges in that
+familiar ranting of a_ sansculotte, _his heart and mouth brimming over
+with what Heine calls_ frecher Gleichheitsschwindel _("the barefaced
+swindle of equality"). His hatred is above all directed against the
+masters from whose bondage he has just escaped, that is to say against
+all mankind as a race. As a "true and noble bear" he simply detests
+these human beings with their superior airs and impudent smiles, those
+arrogant wretches, who fancy themselves something lofty, because they
+eat cooked meat and know a few tricks and sciences. Animals, if properly
+trained, if only equality of opportunity were given to them, could
+learn these tricks just as well--there is therefore no earthly reason
+why_
+
+          _"these men,_
+    _Cursed arch-aristocrats,_
+    _Should with haughty insolence_
+    _Look upon the world of beasts."_
+
+_The beasts, so Atta Troll declares, ought not to allow themselves to be
+treated in this wise. They ought to combine amongst themselves, for it
+is only by means of proper union that the requisite degree of strength
+can ever be attained. After the establishment of this powerful union
+they should try to enforce their programme and demand the abolition of
+private property and of human privileges:_
+
+    _"And its first great law shall be_
+    _For God's creatures one and all_
+    _Equal rights--no matter what_
+    _Be their faith, or hide, or smell,_
+
+    _"Strict equality! Each ass_
+    _May become Prime Minister,_
+    _On the other hand the lion_
+    _Shall bear corn unto the mill."_
+
+_This outrageous diatribe of the freed slave cuts deeply into the poet's
+heart. He, the poet, does not believe in equal, but in the "holy inborn"
+rights of men, the rights of valid birth, the rights of the man of
+[Greek: harethe]. He, the poet, the admirer of Napoleon, believes
+in the latter's_ la carriere ouverte aux talents, _but not in
+opportunity given to every dunce or dancing bear. He holds Atta Troll's
+opinion to be "high treason against the majesty of humanity," and since
+he can endure this no longer, he sets out one fine morning to hunt the
+insolent bear in his mountain fastnesses._
+
+_A strange being, however, accompanies him. This is a man of the name of
+Lascaro, a somewhat abnormal fellow, who is very thin, very pale, and
+apparently in very poor health. He is consequently not exactly a
+pleasant comrade for the chase: he does not seem to enjoy the sport at
+all, and his one endeavour is to get through with his task without
+losing more of his strength and health. Even now he is more of an
+automaton than a human being, more dead than alive, and yet--greatest of
+all miseries!--he is not allowed to die. For he has a mother, the witch
+Uraka, who keeps him artificially alive by anointing him every night
+with magic salve and giving him such diabolic advice as will be useful
+to him during the day. By means of the sham health she gives to her son,
+the magic bullets she casts for him, the tricks and wiles she teaches
+him, Lascaro is enabled to find the track of Atta Troll, to lure him out
+of his lair and to lay him low with a treacherous shot._
+
+_Who is this silent Lascaro and his mysterious mother, whom the poet
+seems to hold in as slight regard as the noisy Atta Troll? Who is this
+Lascaro, whose methods he deprecates, whose health he doubts, whose cold
+ways and icy smiles make him shudder? Who is this chilliest of all
+monsters? The chilliest of all monsters--we may find the answer in
+"Zarathustra"--is the State: and our Lascaro is nothing else than the
+spirit of reactionary government, kept artificially alive by his old
+witch-mother, the spirit of Feudalism. The nightly anointing of Lascaro
+is a parody on the revival of mediaeval customs, by means of which the
+frightened aristocracy of Europe in the middle of the last century tried
+to stem the tide of the French Revolution--the anointed of the Lord
+becoming in Heine's poem the anointed of the witch. But in spite of his
+nightly massage, our Lascaro does not gain much strength or spirit: no
+mediaeval salves, no feudal pills, no witch's spell, will ever cure him.
+Not even a wizard's experiments (we may add, with that greater insight
+bestowed upon us by history) could do him any good, not even the astute
+magic tricks that were lavished upon the patient in Heine's time by that
+arch wizard, the Austrian Minister Metternich. For we must not forget
+the time in which "Atta Troll" was written, the time of the omnipotent
+Metternich! Let us recall to our memories this cool, clever, callous
+statesman, who founded and set the Holy Alliance against the Revolution,
+who calmly shot down the German Atta Troll, who skilfully strangled and
+stifled that promising poetical school, "Young Germany," to which Heine
+belonged. Let us recall this man, who likewise artificially revived the
+old religion and the old feudalism, who repolished and regilded the
+scutcheons of the decadent aristocracy, and who, despite all his energy,
+had at heart no belief in his work, no joy in his task, no faith in the
+anointed dummies he brought to life again in Europe--and those puzzling
+personalities of Uraka and Lascaro will be elucidated to us by a real
+historical example._
+
+_Metternich is now part of history. But, alas! we cannot likewise banish
+into that limbo of the past those two superfluous individuals, the
+revolutionary Atta Troll and the reactionary Lascaro. Alas! we cannot
+join the joyful, but inwardly so hopeless, band of those who sing the
+paean of eternal progress, who pretend to believe that the times are
+always "changing for the better." Let these good people open their eyes,
+and they will see that Atta Troll was not shot down in the valley of
+Roncesvalles, but that he is still alive, very much alive, and making a
+dreadful noise, and that not in the Pyrenees, but just outside our
+doors, where he still keeps haranguing about equality and liberty and
+occasionally breaks his fetters and escapes from his masters. And when
+this occurs, then that icy monster Lascaro is likewise seen, with his
+hard, pallid face and his joyless mouth, and his disgust with his own
+task and his doubts and disbeliefs in himself. He still carries his gun
+and he still possesses some of that craftiness which his mother the
+witch has taught him, and he still knows how to entrap that poor, stupid
+Atta Troll, and to shoot him down when the spirit of "order and
+government," the spirit of a soulless capitalism, requires it._
+
+_No, there is very little feeling in the man as yet, and he seems as
+difficult to move as ever. There is apparently only one thing that can
+rouse him into action, and that is when a poet appears, one who knows
+the truth and who dares to speak the truth not only about Atta Troll,
+the people, but also about its Lascaros, its leaders, its emperors, and
+kings. Then and then only his hard features change, and his affected
+self-possession leaves him, then and then only his mask of calmness is
+thrown off, and he waxes very angry with the poet, and has his name
+banished from his court and his statues turned out of his cities and
+villas--nay, he would even level his gun to slay the truth-telling poet
+as he slew Atta Troll._
+
+_From which we may see that the modern Lascaro has become a sort of Don
+Quixote--for, truly is it not the height of folly for a mortal emperor
+to shoot at an immortal poet?_
+
+OSCAR LEVY
+
+London, 1913
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE BY HEINE
+
+
+_"ATTA TROLL" was composed in the late autumn of 1841, and appeared as a
+fragment in_ The Elegant World, _of which my friend Laube had at that
+time resumed the editorship. The shape and contents of the poem were
+forced to conform to the narrow necessities of that periodical. I wrote
+at first only those cantos which might be printed and even these
+suffered many variations. It was my intention to issue the work later in
+its full completeness, but this commendable resolve remained
+unfulfilled--like all the mighty works of the Germans--such as the
+cathedral of Cologne, the God of Schelling, the Prussian Constitution,
+and the like. This also happened to "Atta Troll"--he was never finished.
+In such imperfect form, indifferently bolstered up and rounded only from
+without, do I now set him before the public, obedient to an impulse
+which certainly does not proceed from within._
+
+_"Atta Troll," as I have said, originated in the late autumn of 1841, at
+the time when the great mob which my enemies of various complexions,
+had drummed together against me, had not quite ceased its noise. It was
+a very large mob and indeed I would never have believed that Germany
+could produce so many rotten apples as then flew about my head! Our
+Fatherland is a blessed country! Citrons and oranges certainly do not
+grow here, and the laurel ekes out but a miserable existence, but rotten
+apples thrive in the happiest abundance, and never a great poet of ours
+but could write feelingly of them! On the occasion of that hue and cry
+in which I was to lose both my head and my laurels it happened that I
+lost neither. All the absurd accusations which were used to incite the
+mob against me have since then been miserably annihilated, even without
+my condescending to refute them. Time justified me, and the various
+German States have even, as I must most gratefully acknowledge, done me
+good service in this respect. The warrants of arrest which at every
+German station past the frontier await the return of this poet, are
+thoroughly renovated every year during the holy Christmastide, when the
+little candles glow merrily on the Christmas trees. It is this
+insecurity of the roads which has almost destroyed my pleasure in
+travelling through the German meads. I am therefore celebrating my
+Christmas in an alien land, and it will be as an exile in a foreign
+country that I shall end my days._
+
+_But those valiant champions of Light and Truth who accuse me of
+fickleness and servility, are able to go about quite securely in the
+Fatherland--as well-stalled servants of the State, as dignitaries of a
+Guild, or as regular guests of a club where of evenings they may regale
+themselves with the vinous juices of Father Rhine and with
+"sea-surrounded Schleswig-Holstein" oysters._
+
+_It was my express intention to indicate in the foregoing at what period
+"Atta Troll" was written. At that time the so-called art of political
+poetry was in full flower. The opposition, as Ruge says, sold its
+leather and became poetry. The Muses were given strict orders that they
+were thenceforth no longer to gad about in a wanton, easy-going fashion,
+but would be compelled to enter into national service, possibly as_
+vivandieres _of liberty or as washerwomen of Christian-Germanic
+nationalism. Especially were the bowers of the German bards afflicted by
+that vague and sterile pathos, that useless fever of enthusiasm which,
+with absolute disregard for death, plunges itself into an ocean of
+generalities. This always reminds me of the American sailor who was so
+madly enthusiastic over General Jackson that he sprang from the
+mast-head into the sea, crying out: "I die for General Jackson!" Yes,
+even though we Germans as yet possessed no fleet, still we had plenty of
+sailors who were willing to die for General Jackson, in prose or verse.
+In those days talent was a rather questionable gift, for it brought one
+under suspicion of being a loose character. After thousands of years of
+grubbing deliberation, Impotence, sick and limping Impotence, at last
+discovered its greatest weapon against the over-encouragement of
+genius--it discovered, in fact, the antithesis between Talent and
+Character. It was almost personally flattering to the great masses when
+they heard it said that good, average people were certainly poor
+musicians as a rule, but that, on the other hand, fine musicians were
+not usually good people--that goodness was the important thing in this
+world and not music. Empty-Head now beat resolutely upon his full Heart,
+and Sentiment was trumps. I recall an author of that day who accounted
+his inability to write as a peculiar merit in himself, and who, because
+of his wooden style, was given a silver cup of honour._
+
+_By the eternal gods! at that time it became necessary to defend the
+inalienable rights of the spirit, above all in poetry. Inasmuch as I
+have made this defence the chief business of my life, I have kept it
+constantly before me in this poem whose tone and theme are both a
+protest against the plebiscite of the tribunes of the times. And verily,
+even the first fragments of "Atta Troll" which saw the light, aroused
+the wrath of my heroic worthies, my dear Romans, who accused me not only
+of a literary but also of a social reaction, and even of mocking the
+loftiest human ideals. As to the esthetic worth of my poem--of that I
+thought but little, as I still do to-day--I wrote it solely for my own
+joy and pleasure, in the fanciful dreamy manner of that romantic school
+in which I whiled away my happiest years of youth, and then wound up by
+thrashing the schoolmaster. Possibly in this regard my poem is to be
+condemned. But thou liest, Brutus, thou too, Cassius, and even thou,
+Asinius, when ye declare that my mockery is levelled against those
+ideals which constitute the noble achievements of man, for which I too
+have wrought and suffered so much. No, it is just because the poet
+constantly sees these ideas before him in all their clarity and
+greatness that he is forced into irresistible laughter when he beholds
+how raw, awkward, and clumsy these ideas may appear when interpreted by
+a narrow circle of contemporary spirits. Then perforce must he jest
+about their thick temporal hides--bear hides. There are mirrors which
+are ground in so irregular a way that even an Apollo would behold
+himself as a caricature in them, and invite laughter. But we do not
+laugh at the god but merely at his distorted image._
+
+_Another word. Need I lay any special emphasis upon the fact that the
+parodying of one of Freiligrath's poems, which here and there somewhat
+saucily titters from the lines of "Atta Troll," in no wise constitutes a
+disparagement of that poet? I value him highly, especially at present,
+and account him one of the most important poets who have arisen in
+Germany since the Revolution of 1830. His first collection of poems came
+to my notice rather late, namely just at the time when I was composing
+"Atta Troll." The fact that the Moorish Prince affected me so comically
+was no doubt due to my particular mood at that time. Moreover, this work
+of his is usually vaunted as his best. To such readers as may not be
+acquainted with this production--and I doubt not such may be found in
+China and Japan, and even along the banks of the Niger and Senegal--I
+would call attention to the fact that the Blackamoor King, who at the
+beginning of the poem steps from his white tent like an eclipsed moon,
+is beloved by a black beauty over whose dusky features nod white ostrich
+plumes. But, eager for war, he leaves her, and enters into the battles
+of the blacks, "where rattles the drum decorated with skulls," but,
+alas! here he finds his black Waterloo, and is sold by the victors unto
+the whites. They take the noble African to Europe and here we find him
+in a company of itinerant circus folk who intrust him with the care of
+the Turkish drum at their performances. There he stands, dark and
+solemn, at the entrance to the ring, and drums. But as he drums he
+thinks of his erstwhile greatness, remembers, too, that he was once an
+absolute monarch on the far, far banks of the Niger, that he hunted
+lions and tigers:_
+
+    _"His eye grew moist; with hollow thunder_
+    _He beat the drum, till it sprang in sunder."_
+
+HEINRICH HEINE
+
+Written at Paris, 1846
+
+[Illustration: ATTA TROLL]
+
+    _Out of the gleaming, shimmering tents of white_
+    _Steps the Prince of the Moors in his armour bright--_
+    _So out of the slumbering clouds of night,_
+    _The moon in its dark eclipse takes flight._
+
+     "The Prince of Blackamoors,"
+      by Ferdinand Freiligrath.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO I
+
+
+    Ringed about by mountains dark,
+      Rising peak on sullen peak,
+    And by furious waterfalls
+      Lulled to slumber, like a dream
+
+    White within the valley lies
+      Cauterets. Each villa neat
+    Sports a balcony whereon
+      Lovely ladies stand and laugh.
+
+    Heartily they laugh and look
+      Down upon the crowded square
+    Where unto a bag-pipe's drone
+      He- and she-bear strut and dance.
+
+    Atta Troll is dancing there
+      With his Mumma, dusky mate,
+    While in wonderment the Basques
+      Shout aloud and clap their hands.
+
+    Stiff with pride and gravity
+      Dances noble Atta Troll,
+    Though his shaggy partner knows
+      Neither dignity nor shame.
+
+    I am even fain to think
+      She is verging on the can-can,
+    For her shameless wagging hints
+      Of the gay _Grande Chaumiere_
+
+    Even he, the showman brave,
+      Holding her with loosened chain,
+    Marks the immorality
+      Of her most immodest dance.
+
+    So at times he lays the lash
+      Straight across her inky back,
+    Till the mountains wake and shout
+      Echoes to her frenzied howls.
+
+    On the showman's pointed hat
+      Six Madonnas made of lead
+    Shield him from the foeman's balls
+      Or invasions of the louse.
+
+    And a gaudy altar-cloth
+      From his shoulders hanging down,
+    Makes a proper sort of cloak,
+      Hiding pistol and a knife.
+
+    In his youth a monk was he,
+      Then became a robber chief;
+    Later, in Don Carlos' ranks,
+      He combined the other two.
+
+    When Don Carlos, forced to flee,
+      Bade his Table Round farewell,
+    All his Paladins resolved
+      Straight to learn an honest trade.
+
+    Herr Schnapphahnski turned a scribe,
+      And our staunch Crusader here
+    Just a showman, with his bears
+      Trudging up and down the land.
+
+    And in every market-place
+      For the people's pence they dance--
+    In the square at Cauterets
+      Atta Troll is dancing now!
+
+    Atta Troll, the Forest King,
+      He who ruled on mountain-heights,
+    Now to please the village mob,
+      Dances in his doleful chains.
+
+    Worse and worse! for money vile
+      He must dance who, clad in might,
+    Once in majesty of terror
+      Held the world a sorry thing!
+
+    When the memories of his youth
+      And his lost dominions green,
+    Smite the soul of Atta Troll,
+      Mournful sobs escape his breast.
+
+    And he scowls as scowled the black
+      Monarch famed of Freiligrath;
+    In his rage he dances badly,
+      As the darkey badly drummed.
+
+    Yet compassion none he wins,--
+      Only laughter! Juliet
+    From her balcony is laughing
+      At his wild, despairing bounds.
+
+    Juliet, you see, is French,
+      And was born without a soul--
+    Lives for mere externals--but
+      Her externals are so fair!
+
+    Like a net of tender gleams
+      Are the glances of her eye,
+    And our hearts like little fishes,
+      Fall and struggle in that net.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO II
+
+
+    When the dusky Moorish Prince
+      Sung by poet Freiligrath
+    Beat upon his mighty drum
+      Till the drumskin crashed and broke--
+
+    Thrilling must that crash have been--
+      Likewise hard upon the ear--
+    But just fancy when a bear
+      Breaks away from captive chains!
+
+    Swift the laughter and the pipes
+      Cease. What yells of fear arise!
+    From the square the people rush
+      And the gentle dames grow pale.
+
+    Yea, from all his slavish bonds
+      Atta Troll has torn him free.
+    Suddenly! With mighty leaps
+      Through the narrow streets he runs.
+
+    Room enough is his, I trow!
+      Up the jagged cliffs he climbs,
+    Flings down one contemptuous look,
+      Then is lost within the hills.
+
+    Lone within the market-place
+      Mumma and her master stand--
+    Raging, now he grasps his hat,
+      Cursing, casts it on the earth,
+
+    Tramples on it, kicks and flouts
+      The Madonnas, tears the cloak
+    Off his foul and naked back,
+      Yells and blasphemes horribly
+
+    'Gainst the base ingratitude
+      Of the race of sable bears.
+    Had he not been kind to Troll?
+      Taught him dancing free of charge?
+
+    Everything this monster owed him,
+      Even life. For some had bid,
+    All in vain! three hundred marks
+      For the hide of Atta Troll.
+
+    Like some carven form of grief
+      There the poor black Mumma stands
+    On her hind feet, with her paws
+      Pleading with the raging clown.
+
+    But on her the raging clown
+      Looses now his twofold wrath;
+    Beats her; calls her Queen Christine,
+      Dame Munoz--Putana too....
+
+    All this happened on a fair
+      Sunny summer afternoon.
+    And the night which followed, ah!
+      Was superb and wonderful.
+
+    Of that night a part I spent
+      On a small white balcony;
+    Juliet was at my side
+      And we viewed the passing stars.
+
+    "Fairer far," she sighed, "the stars
+      Which in Paris I have seen,
+    When upon a winter's night
+      In the muddy streets they shine."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO III
+
+
+    Dream of summer nights! How vain
+      Is my fond fantastic song.
+    Quite as vain as Love and Life,
+      And Creator and Creation.
+
+    Subject to his own sweet will,
+      Now in gallop, now in flight,
+    So my Pegasus, my darling,
+      Revels through the realms of myth.
+
+    Ah, no plodding cart-horse he!
+      Harnessed up for citizens,
+    Nor a ramping party-hack
+      Full of showy kicks and neighs.
+
+    For my little winged steed's
+      Hoofs are shod with solid gold
+    And his bridle, dragging free,
+      Is a rope of gleaming pearls.
+
+    Bear me wheresoe'er thou wouldst--
+      To some lofty mountain-trail
+    Where the torrents toss and shriek
+      Warnings over folly's gulf.
+
+    Bear me through the silent vales
+      Where the solemn oaks arise
+    From whose twisted roots there well
+      Ancient springs of fairy lore.
+
+    There, oh, let me drink--mine eyes
+      Let me lave--Oh, how I thirst
+    For that flashing wonder-spring,
+      Full of wisdom and of light.
+
+    All my blindness flees. My glance
+      Pierces to the dimmest cave,
+    To the lair of Atta Troll,
+      And his speech I understand!
+
+    Strange it is--this bearish speech
+      Hath a most familiar ring!
+    Once, methinks, I heard such tones
+      In my own dear native land.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO IV
+
+
+    Roncesvalles, thou noble vale!
+      When thy golden name I hear,
+    Then the lost blue flower blooms
+      Once again within my heart!
+
+    All the glittering world of dreams
+      Rises from its hoary gulf,
+    And with great and ghostly eyes
+      Stares upon me till I quake!
+
+    What a stir and clang! The Franks
+      Battle with the Saracens,
+    While a thin, despairing wail
+      Pours like blood from Roland's horn.
+
+    In the Vale of Roncesvalles,
+      Close beside great Roland's Gap--
+    So 'twas named because the Knight
+      Once to clear himself a path.
+
+    Now this youngest was the pet
+      Of his mother. Once in play
+    Chewing off his tiny ear--
+      She devoured it for love.
+
+    A most genial youth is he,
+      Clever in gymnastic tricks,
+    Throwing somersaults as clever
+      As dear Massmann's somersaults.
+
+    Blossom of the pristine cult,
+      For the mother-tongue he raves,
+    Scorning all the senseless jargon
+      Of the Romans and the Greeks.
+
+    "Fresh and pious, gay and free,"
+      Hating all that smacks of soap
+    Or the modern craze for baths--
+      Verily like Massmann too!
+
+    Most inspired is this youth
+      When he clambers up the tree
+    Which from out the hollow gorge
+      Rears itself along the cliff,
+
+    Rears and lifts unto the crest
+      Where at night this jolly band
+    Squat and loll about their sire
+      In the twilight dim and cool.
+
+    Gladly there the father bear
+      Tells them stories of the world,
+    Of strange cities and their folk,
+      And of all he suffered too,
+
+    Suffered like Ulysses great--
+      Differing slightly from this brave
+    Since his black Penelope
+      Never parted from his side.
+
+    Loudly too prates Atta Troll
+      Of the mighty meed of praise
+    Which by practice of his art
+      He had wrung from humankind.
+
+    Young and old, so runs his tale,
+      Cheered in wonder and in joy,
+    When in market-squares he danced
+      To the bag-pipe's pleasant skirl.
+
+    And the ladies most of all--
+      Ah, what gentle connoisseurs!--
+    Rendered him their mad applause
+      And full many a tender glance.
+
+    Artists' vanity! Alas,
+      Pensively the dancing-bear
+    Thinks upon those happy hours
+      When his talents pleased the crowd.
+
+    Seized with rapture self-inspired,
+      He would prove his words by deeds,
+    Prove himself no boaster vain
+      But a master in the art.
+
+    Swiftly from the ground he springs,
+      Stands on hinder paws erect,
+    Dances then his favourite dance
+      As of old--the great Gavotte.
+
+    Dumb, with open jaws the cubs
+      Gaze upon their father there
+    As he makes his wondrous leaps
+      In the moonshine to and fro.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO V
+
+
+    In his cavern by his young,
+      Atta Troll in moody wise
+    Lies upon his back and sucks
+      Fiercely at his paws, and growls:
+
+    "Mumma, Mumma, dusky pearl
+      That from out the sea of life
+    I had gathered, in that sea
+      I have lost thee once again!
+
+    "Shall I never see thee more?
+      Shall it be beyond the grave
+    Where from earthly travail free
+      Thy bright spirit spreads its wings?
+
+    "Ah, if I might once again
+      Lick my darling Mumma's snout--
+    Lovely snout as dear to me
+      As if smeared with honey-dew.
+
+    "Might I only sniff once more
+      That aroma sweet and rare
+    Of my dear and dusky mate--
+      Scent as sweet as roses' breath!
+
+    "But, alas! my Mumma lies
+      In the bondage of that tribe
+    Which believes itself Creation's
+      Lords and bears the name of Man!
+
+    "Death! Damnation! that these men--
+      Cursed arch-aristocrats!
+    Should with haughty insolence
+      Look upon the world of beasts!
+
+    "They who steal our wives and young,
+      Chain us, beat us, slaughter us!--
+    Yea, they slaughter us and trade
+      In our corpses and our pelts!
+
+    "More, they deem these hideous deeds
+      Justified--particularly
+    Towards the noble race of bears--
+      This they call the Rights of Man!
+
+    "Rights of Man? The Rights of Man!
+      Who bestowed these rights on you?
+    Surely 'twas not Mother Nature--
+      She is ne'er unnatural!
+
+    "Rights of Man! Who gave to you
+      All these privileges rare?
+    Verily it was not Reason--
+      Ne'er unreasonable she!
+
+    "Is it, men, because you roast,
+      Stew or fry or boil your meat,
+    Whilst our own is eaten raw,
+      That you deem yourselves so grand?
+
+    "In the end 'tis all the same.
+      Food alone can ne'er impart
+    Any worth;--none noble is
+      Save who nobly acts and feels!
+
+    "Are you better, human things,
+      Just because success attends
+    All your arts and sciences?
+      No mere wooden-heads are we!
+
+    "Are there not most learned dogs!
+      Horses, too, that calculate
+    Quite as well as bankers?--Hares
+      Who have skill in beating drums?
+
+    "Are not beavers most adroit
+      In the craft of waterworks?
+    Were not clyster-pipes invented
+      Through the cleverness of storks?
+
+    "Do not asses write critiques?
+      Do not apes play comedy?
+    Could there be a greater actress
+      Than Batavia the ape?
+
+    "Do the nightingales not sing?
+      Is not Freiligrath a bard?
+    Who e'er sang the lion's praise
+      Better than his brother mule?
+
+    "In the art of dance have I
+      Gone as far as Raumer quite
+    In the art of letters--can he
+      Scribble better than I dance?
+
+    "Why should mortal men be placed
+      O'er us animals? Though high
+    You may lift your heads, yet low
+      In those heads your thoughts do crawl.
+
+    "Human wights, why better, pray,
+      Than ourselves? Is it because
+    Smooth and slippery is your skin?
+      Snakes have that advantage too!
+
+    "Human hordes! two-legged snakes!
+      Well indeed I understand
+    That those flapping pantaloons
+      Must conceal your serpent hides!
+
+    "Children, Oh, beware of these
+      Vile and hairless miscreants!
+    O my daughters, never trust
+      Monsters that wear pantaloons!"
+
+    But no further will I tell
+      How this bear with arrogant
+    Fallacies of equal rights
+      Raved against the human race
+
+    For I too am man, and never
+      As a man will I repeat
+    All this vile disparagement,
+      Bound to give most grave offence.
+
+    Yes, I too am man, am placed
+      O'er the other mammals all!
+    Shall I sell my birthright?--No!
+      Nor my interest betray.
+
+    Ever faithful unto man,
+      I will fight all other beasts.
+    I will battle for the high
+      Holy inborn rights of man!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VI
+
+
+    Yet for man who forms the higher
+      Class of animals 'twere well
+    That betimes he should discover
+      What the lower thinks of him.
+
+    Verily within those drear
+      Strata of the world of brutes,
+    In those lower social layers
+      There is misery, pride and wrath.
+
+    Laws which Nature hath decreed,
+      Customs sanctioned long by Time,
+    And for centuries established,
+      They deny with pertest tongue.
+
+    Grumbling, there the old instil
+      Evil doctrines in the young,
+    Doctrines which endanger all
+      Human culture on the Earth.
+
+    "Children!" grunts our Atta Troll,
+      As he tosses to and fro
+    On his hard and stony couch,
+      "Future time we hold in fee!
+
+    "If each bear, each quadruped,
+      Held with me a like ideal,
+    With our whole united force
+      We the tyrant might engage.
+
+    "Compact then the boar should make
+      With the horse--the elephant
+    Curve his trunk in comradeship
+      Round the valiant ox's horns.
+
+    "Bear and wolf of every shade,
+      Goat and ape, the rabbit, too.
+    Let them for the common cause
+      Labour--and the world is ours!
+
+    "Union! union! is the need
+      Of our times! For singly we
+    Fall as slaves, but joined as one
+      We shall overcome our lords.
+
+    "Union! union! Victory!
+      We shall overthrow the reign
+    Of such tyranny and found
+      One great Kingdom of the Brutes.
+
+    "And its first great law shall be
+      For God's creatures one and all
+    Equal rights--no matter what
+      Be their faith, or hide or smell.
+
+    "Strict equality! Each ass
+      May become Prime Minister;
+    On the other hand the lion
+      Shall bear corn unto the mill.
+
+    "And the dog? Alas, 'tis true
+      He's a very servile cur,
+    Just because for ages man
+      Like a dog has treated him.
+
+    "Yet in our Free State shall he
+      Once again enjoy his rights--
+    Rights most unassailable--
+      Thus ennobled be the dog.
+
+    "Yea, the very Jews shall win
+      All the rights of citizens,
+    By the law made equal with
+      Every other mammal free.
+
+    "One thing only be denied them!
+      Dancing in the market-place;
+    This amendment I shall make
+      In the interests of my art.
+
+    "For they lack all sense of style;
+      All plasticity of limb
+    Lacks that race. Full surely they
+      Would debauch the public taste."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VII
+
+
+    Gloomy in his gloomy cave,
+      In the circle of his home,
+    Crouches Troll, the Foe of Man,
+      As he growls and champs his jaws.
+
+    "Men, O crafty, pert _canaille_!
+      Smile away! That mighty hour
+    Dawns wherein we shall be freed
+      From your bondage and your smiles!
+
+    "Most offensive was to me
+      That same twitching bitter-sweet
+    Of the lips--the smiles of men
+      I found unendurable!
+
+    "When in every visage white
+      I beheld that fatal spasm,
+    Then did anger seize my bowels
+      And I felt a hideous qualm.
+
+    "For the smiling lips of men
+      More insultingly declare,
+    Even than their lips avouch,
+      All their insolence of soul.
+
+    "And they smile forever! Even
+      When all decency demands
+    Gravity--as in the moments
+      Of love's solemn mysteries.
+
+    "Yea, they smile forever. Even
+      In their dances!--desecrate
+    Thus this high and noble art
+      Which a sacred cult should be.
+
+    "Ah, the dance in olden days
+      Was a pious act of faith,
+    When the priests in solemn round
+      Turned about their holy shrines.
+
+    "Thus before the Covenant's
+      Sacred Ark King David danced.
+    Dancing then was worship too,--
+      It was praying with the legs!
+
+    "So did I regard my dance
+      When before the people all
+    In the market-place I danced
+      And was cheered by every soul.
+
+    "This applause, I grant you, oft
+      Made me feel content at heart;
+    Sweet it is from grudging foes
+      Admiration thus to win!
+
+    "Yet despite their rapture they
+      Still would smile and smile! My art--
+    Even that proved vain to save
+      Them from base frivolity!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO VIII
+
+
+    Many a virtuous citizen
+      Smells unpleasantly the while
+    Ducal knaves are lavendered
+      Or a-reek with ambergris.
+
+    There are many virgin souls
+      Redolent of greenest soap;
+    Vice will often lave herself
+      In rose attar top to toe.
+
+    Therefore, gentle reader, pray,
+      Do not lift your nose in air
+    Should Troll's cavern fail to rouse
+      Memories of Arabia's spice.
+
+    Bide with me within this reek,
+      'Mid these turbid odours foul,
+    Whence unto his son our hero
+      Speaks, as from a misty cloud:
+
+    "Child, my child, the last begot
+      Of my loins, thy single ear
+    Snuggle close against the snout
+      Of thy father, and give heed!
+
+    "Oh, beware man's mode of thought;
+      It destroys both flesh and soul,
+    For amongst all mankind never
+      Shalt thou find one worthy man.
+
+    "E'en the Germans, once the best,
+      Even Tuiskion's sons,
+    Our dear cousins primitive,
+      Even they have grown effete.
+
+    "Godless, faithless have they grown;
+      Atheism now they preach.
+    Child, my child, oh, guard thee 'gainst
+      Feuerbach and Bauer too!
+
+    "Never be an atheist!
+      Monster void of reverence!
+    For a great Creator reared
+      All the mighty Universe!
+
+    "And the sun and moon on high,
+      And the stars--the stars with tails
+    Even as the tailless ones--
+      Are reflections of His power.
+
+    "In the depths of sea and land
+      Ring the echoes of His fame,
+    And each creature yields Him praise
+      For His glory and His might.
+
+    "E'en the tiny silver louse
+      Which within some pilgrim's beard
+    Shares his earthly pilgrimage,
+      Sings to Him a song of praise!
+
+    "High upon his golden throne
+      In yon splendid tent of stars,
+    Clad in cosmic majesty,
+      Sits a titan polar bear.
+
+    "Spotless, gleaming white as snow
+      Is his fur; his head is decked
+    With a crown of diamonds
+      Blazing through the central vault.
+
+    "In his face bide harmony
+      And the silent deeds of thought,
+    And obedient to his sceptre
+      All the planets chime and sing.
+
+    "At his feet sit holy bears,
+      Saints who suffered on the Earth,
+    Meekly. In their paws they hold
+      Splendid palms of martyrdom.
+
+    "Ever and anon they leap
+      To their feet as though aroused
+    By the Holy Ghost, and lo!
+      In a festal dance they join!
+
+    "'Tis a dance where saintly gifts
+      Cover up defects of style,--
+    Dance in which the very soul
+      Seeks to leap from out its skin!
+
+    "I, unworthy Troll, shall I
+      Ever such salvation share?
+    Shall I ever from this drear
+      Vale of tears ascend to joy?
+
+    "Shall I, drunk with Heaven's draught,
+      In that tent of stars above,
+    Dance before the Master's throne
+      With a halo and a palm?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO IX
+
+
+    As the noble negro king
+      Of our Freiligrath protrudes
+    From his dusky mouth his long
+      Scarlet tongue in scorn and rage,--
+
+    Even so the moon now peers
+      Out of darkling clouds. The sad,
+    Sleepless waterfalls forever
+      Roar into the brooding night.
+
+    Atta Troll upon the crest
+      Of his well-beloved cliff
+    Stands alone, and now he howls
+      Down the wind and the abyss:
+
+    "Yea, a bear am I--even he,
+      Even he whom you have named
+    Bruin, growler, shag-coat too,
+      And such other titles vile.
+
+    "Yea, a bear am I--that same
+      Boorish animal you know;
+    That gross, trampling brute am I
+      Of your sly and crafty smiles!
+
+    "Of your wit am I the mark;
+      I'm the bugbear--him with whom
+    Every wicked child you frighten
+      In the silence of the night.
+
+    "Yea, I am that clumsy butt
+      Of your nursery tales--aloud
+    Will I shout that name forever
+      Through the scurvy world of men.
+
+    "Oyez! Oyez! I'm a bear
+      Unashamed of my descent,
+    Just as proud as if my forbear
+      Had been Moses Mendelsohn."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO X
+
+
+    Lo, two figures, wild and sullen,
+      Gliding, sliding on all fours,
+    Break a path at dead of night
+      Through a wood of gloomy pines.
+
+    It is Atta Troll the Sire,
+      One-Ear too, his youngest son,
+    And they halt within a clearing
+      By a stone of bloody rites.
+
+    "This same stone," growled Atta Troll,
+      "Is a shrine where Druids once
+    Slaughtered wretched human wights
+      In dark Superstition's days.
+
+    "Oh! what frightful horrors these!
+      When I think of them, my fur
+    Lifts along my back! To praise
+      God they drenched the soil in blood!
+
+    "Certes, men have now become
+      More enlightened. Now no more
+    Do they slaughter in their zeal
+      For celestial interests.
+
+    "'Tis no longer holy rage,
+      Ecstasy nor madness sheer,
+    But self-love alone that urges
+      Them to slaughter and to crime.
+
+    "Now for worldly goods they strive,
+      Day by day and year by year.
+    It is one eternal war;
+      Each goes robbing for himself.
+
+    "When the common goods of all
+      Fall into the hands of one,
+    Straight of Rights of Property
+      He will prate and Ownership.
+
+    "Property! Just Ownership?
+      Property is theft! O lies!
+    Craft and folly!--such a mixture
+      Man alone would dare invent.
+
+    "Never yet did Nature make
+      Properties, for pocketless
+    We are born into the world--
+      Who hath pockets in his pelt?
+
+    "None of us was ever born
+      With such little sacks devised
+    In our outer hides and skins
+      To enable us to steal!
+
+    "Only man, that creature smooth
+      Who in alien wool is garbed
+    Artfully, in artful wise
+      Made himself such pockets too.
+
+    "Pockets! as unnatural
+      As is property itself,
+    Or that law of have-and-hold.
+      Men are only pocket-thieves!
+
+    "Flamingly I hate them! Thee
+      All my hatred I bequeath.
+    Oh, my son, upon this shrine
+      Shalt thou swear eternal hate!
+
+    "Be the mortal foeman thou
+      Of th' oppressor, unforgiving
+    To thy very end of days!
+      Swear it--swear it here, my son!"
+
+    And the youngster swore as once
+      Hannibal. The moonbeams bleak
+    Yellowed on the bloodstone hoary
+      And that brace of misanthropes.
+
+    Later shall our harp record
+      How the young bear kept his faith
+    And his plighted oath,--for him
+      Shall our epic strings be strung.
+
+    With regard to Atta Troll,
+      Let us leave him for a space,
+    So we may the surer smite
+      Him with our unerring ball.
+
+    Traitor to Humanity!
+      Thou art judged, the sentence writ.
+    Of _lese-majeste_ thou'rt guilty,
+      And to-morrow sees the chase.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XI
+
+
+    Like to sleepy dancing-girls
+      Lift the mountains white and cold,
+    Standing in their skirts of mist
+      Flaunted by the winds of morn.
+
+    Yet full soon their breasts shall glow
+      To the sun-god's burning kiss,
+    He shall tear the clinging veils
+      And illume their beauty nude.
+
+    In the early dawn had I
+      With Lascaro sallied forth
+    On a bear-hunt and the noon
+      Saw us at the Pont d'Espagne.
+
+    Thus is named the bridge that leads
+      From the land of France to Spain,
+    To barbarians of the West,
+      Centuries behind the times.
+
+    Full ten centuries they lie
+      From all modern thought removed,
+    And my own barbarians
+      Of the East--not more than two.
+
+    Lingering and loth I left
+      The all-hallowed soil of France,
+    Left great Freedom's motherland
+      And the women that I love.
+
+    Midmost of the Pont d'Espagne
+      Sat a Spaniard. Misery
+    Lurked within his tattered cape;
+      Misery lurked within his eyes.
+
+    With his bony fingers he
+      Plucked an ancient mandolin
+    Full of discord shrill which echoed
+      Mockingly from out the gulch.
+
+    Then betimes he leaned aslant
+      O'er the depths and laughed aloud,
+    Tinkled then in maddest wise
+      As he sang his little song:
+
+    "In my very heart of heart
+      There's a tiny golden table,
+    And about this golden table
+      Four small golden chairs are set.
+
+    "Seated on these golden chairs,
+      Little dames with darts of gold
+    In their hair are playing cards--
+      Clara wins at every game.
+
+    "Yes, she wins and smiles in glee.
+      Clara, oh, within my heart,
+    Thou can'st never fail to win,
+      For thou holdest all the trumps!"
+
+    On I wandered and I spoke
+      Thus unto myself. How strange!
+    Lunacy itself sits there
+      Singing on the road to Spain.
+
+    Is this madman not a sign
+      Of how nations trade in thought?
+    Or is he his native land's
+      Wild and crazy title-page?
+
+    Twilight sank before we came
+      To a wretched old _posada_
+    Where _podrida_--favourite dish!
+      Steamed within a dirty pot.
+
+    There _garbanzos_ did I eat
+      Huge and hard as musket-balls,
+    Which not e'en a native Teuton,
+      Bred on dumplings, could digest.
+
+    And my bed was of a piece,
+      With the cooking. Insects vile
+    Dotted it. Oh, surely these
+      Are the grimmest foes of man!
+
+    Far more fearful than the wrath
+      Of a thousand elephants,
+    Is one small and angry bug
+      Crawling o'er thy lowly couch.
+
+    Helpless thou against its bite--
+      That is bad enough!--but worse
+    Evil comes if it be crushed
+      And its horrid smell released.
+
+    All Life's terrors we may taste
+      In the war with vermin waged,
+    Vermin well-equipped with stinks,
+      And in duels with a bug.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XII
+
+
+    How they rave, the blessed bards--
+      Even the tamest! how they sing,--
+    How they do protest that Nature
+      Is a mighty fane of God!
+
+    One great fane whose splendours all
+      Of the Maker's glory tell;
+    Sun and moon and stars they vow
+      Hang as lamps within the dome.
+
+    Yet concede, most worthy folk,
+      That this mighty temple hath
+    Most uncomfortable stairs,
+      Stairs most villainously bad!
+
+    All this climbing up and down,
+      Escalading, jumping o'er
+    Boulders--how it tires me
+      Both in spirit and in legs!
+
+    By my side Lascaro strode,
+      Like a taper long and pale--
+    Never speaks he, never laughs--
+      He the witch's lifeless son.
+
+    For they say Lascaro died
+      Many years ago--his mother's,--
+    Old Uraka's,--magic draughts
+      Gave to him a seeming life.
+
+    These confounded temple steps!
+      How it chanced that I escaped
+    With whole vertebrae will puzzle
+      Me until my dying day.
+
+    How the torrents foamed and roared!
+      Through the pines how lashed the wind
+    Till they groaned! Then suddenly
+      Burst the clouds! O weather vile!
+
+    In a fisherman's poor hut
+      Close by Lac de Gaube we gained
+    Shelter and a mess of trout--
+      Dish divine and glorious!
+
+    In his padded arm-chair there
+      Sat the ancient ferryman,
+    Ill and grey. His nieces sweet
+      Like two angels tended him.
+
+    Plumpest angels, Flemish quite,
+      As if out of Rubens' frame
+    They had leaped, with golden locks,
+      Sparkling eyes of limpid blue,
+
+    Dimples in each ruddy cheek
+      Where bright mischief peered and hid,
+    And with limbs robust and lithe,
+      Waking both desire and fear.
+
+    Sweet and bonny creatures they
+      Who disputed prettily
+    Which might prove the sweetest draught
+      To their ancient, ailing charge.
+
+    If one proffers him a brew
+      Made of linden-flower tea,
+    Then the other tempts him with
+      Possets made of elder-blooms.
+
+    "I will swallow none of this!"
+      Cried the greyhead, sorely tried,
+    "Bring me wine so that my guest
+      May have worthy drink with me!"
+
+    If this stuff was really wine
+      Which I drank at Lac de Gaube--
+    Who can tell? My countrymen
+      Would have dubbed it sweetish beer.
+
+    Vilely smelled the wine-skin too,
+      Fashioned from a black goat's hide.
+    But the old man drank and drank
+      And grew jubilant and gay.
+
+    Of banditti tales he told
+      And of smugglers, merry men
+    Who still ply their goodly trades
+      Freely in the Pyrenees.
+
+    Many ancient stories, too,
+      He recited, as of wars
+    'Twixt the giants and the bears
+      In the grey primeval days.
+
+    For it seems the bears and ogres
+      Waged a war for mastery
+    Of these ranges and these vales
+      Long ere man came wandering in.
+
+    Startled then at sight of men
+      All the giants fled the land;--
+    Only tiny brains were housed
+      In their huge, unwieldy heads!
+
+    It is also said these dolts,
+      When they reached the ocean-shore
+    Where the azure skies lay glassed
+      In the watery plains below,
+
+    Fondly fancied that the sea
+      Must be Heaven. In they plunged
+    All in reckless confidence,
+      And in watery graves were gulfed.
+
+    Now the bears are slain by man,
+      And each year their number grows
+    Smaller, smaller, till at last
+      None shall roam within the hills.
+
+    "And," the old man cackled, "thus
+      On this Earth must one yield room
+    To the other--after man
+      We shall have a reign of dwarfs.
+
+    "Tiny and most clever wights
+      Toiling in the bowels of Earth,
+    Busy little folk that gather
+      Riches from Earth's golden veins.
+
+    "I have seen their rounded heads
+      Peering out of rabbit-holes
+    In the moonlight--and I shook
+      As I thought of coming days.
+
+    "Yes, I dread the golden power
+      Of these mites. Our sons, I fear,
+    Will like stupid giants plunge
+      Straight into some watery heaven."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XIII
+
+
+    In the cauldron of the cliffs
+      Lies the deep and inky lake.
+    And from heaven the solemn stars
+      Peer upon us. Night and stillness.
+
+    Night and stillness. Beat of oars.
+      Like a rippling mystery
+    Swims our boat. The nieces twain
+      Serve in place of ferrymen.
+
+    Swift and blithe they row. Their arms
+      Sometimes shine from out the night,
+    And on their white skins the stars
+      Gleam and on large eyes of blue.
+
+    At my side Lascaro sits
+      Pale and mute as is his wont,
+    And I shudder at the thought:
+      Is Lascaro really dead?
+
+    Or perchance 'tis I am dead?
+      I, perchance, am drifting down
+    With these spectral passengers
+      To the icy realm of shades?
+
+    Can this lake be Styx's dark,
+      Sullen flood? Hath Proserpine,
+    In the absence of her Charon
+      Sent her maids to fetch me down?
+
+    Nay, not yet my days are done!
+      Unextinguished in my soul
+    Still the living flame of life,
+      Leaps and blazes, glows and sings.
+
+    And these girls who swing their oars
+      Merrily, and splash me too,
+    Laugh and grin with mischief rare
+      As the drops upon me flash.
+
+    Ah, these wenches fresh and strong,
+      Surely they could never be
+    Ghostly hell-cats, nor the maids
+      Of the dark queen Proserpine.
+
+    So that I might be assured
+      Of the girls' reality,
+    And unto myself might prove
+      My own honest flesh and blood,--
+
+    On their rosy dimples I
+      Swiftly pressed my eager lips,
+    And to this conclusion came:
+      Lo, I kiss; therefore I live!
+
+    When we reached the shore, again
+      Did I kiss these bonny maids,--
+    Kisses were the only coin
+      Which in payment they would take.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XIV
+
+
+    Joyous in the golden air
+      Lift the purple mountain heights
+    Where a daring hamlet clings
+      Like a nest against the steep.
+
+    Wearily I climbed and climbed.
+      When at last I stood aloft,
+    Then I found the old birds flown
+      And the fledglings left behind.
+
+    Pretty lads and lassies small
+      With their little heads half hid
+    In their white and scarlet caps,
+      Played at bridals in the mart.
+
+    Neither stay nor halt they brooked,
+      And the little love-lorn Prince
+    Of the Mice knelt down at once
+      To the Cat-King's daughter fair.
+
+    Hapless Prince! At last he's wed
+      To the Princess. How she scolds!
+    Bites him and devours him--
+      Hapless mouse!--thus ends the play.
+
+    That entire day I spent
+      With the children, and we talked
+    Cosily. They longed to know
+      Who I was? and what my trade?
+
+    "Germany, my dears," I spoke,
+      "Is my native country's name--
+    Bears are all too common there,
+      So I took to hunting bears!
+
+    "Many a bear-pelt have I pulled
+      Over many a bearish head,
+    Though, 'tis true, I sometimes got
+      Damage from their bearish paws.
+
+    "But at last I felt disgust
+      Of this strife with ill-licked boors
+    In my blessed land--I grew
+      Weary of these daily moils.
+
+    "So in quest of nobler game,
+      I at last have come to you;
+    I shall try my little strength
+      'Gainst the mighty Atta Troll.
+
+    "Worthy of me is this noble
+      Foe. In Germany, alas!
+    Many a battle did I win,
+      Most ashamed of victory."
+
+    When I left, the little folk
+      Danced about me in a ring,
+    And in sweetest wise they sang:
+      "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+    And the youngest of them all
+      Stepped before me quick and pert,
+    And four times she curtsied low
+      As she sang in silver tones:
+
+    "Curtsies two I give the King,
+      Should I meet him. And the Queen,
+    Should I meet her, then I give
+      Curtsies three unto the Queen.
+
+    "But should I the devil meet
+      With his fiery eyes and horns,
+    I will make him curtsies four--
+      Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+    "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+      Shouts once more the mocking band,
+    And around me swings the gay
+      Ring-o'-roses with its song.
+
+    As I scrambled down the slopes,
+      After me in echoes sweet,
+    Came these words in bird-like strains:
+      "Girofflino! Girofflett'!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XV
+
+
+    Hulking and enormous cliffs
+      Of deformed and twisted shapes
+    Look on me like petrified
+      Monsters of primeval times.
+
+    Strange! the dingy clouds above
+      Drift like doubles bred of mist,
+    Like some silly counterfeit
+      Of these savage shapes of stone.
+
+    In the distance roars the fall;
+      Through the fir trees howls the wind!
+    'Tis a sound implacable
+      And as fatal as despair.
+
+    Lone and dreadful lies the waste
+      And the black daws sit in swarms
+    On the bleached and rotten pines,
+      Flapping with their weary wings.
+
+    At my side Lascaro strides
+      Pale and silent--I myself
+    Must like sorry madness look
+      By dire Death accompanied.
+
+    'Tis a wild and desert place.
+      Curst perchance? I seem to see
+    On the crippled roots of yonder
+      Tree a crimson smear of blood.
+
+    This tree shades a little hut
+      Cowering humbly in the earth,
+    And the wretched roof of thatch
+      Pleads for pity in your sight.
+
+    Cagots are the denizens
+      Of this hut--the last remains
+    Of a tribe which sunk in darkness
+      Bides its bitter destiny.
+
+    In the heart of every Basque
+      You will find a rooted hate
+    Of the Cagots. 'Tis a foul
+      Relic of the days of faith.
+
+    In the minster at Bagneres
+      You may see a narrow grille,
+    Once the door, the sexton told me,
+      Which the herded Cagots used.
+
+    In that day all other gates
+      Were forbidden them. They crawled
+    Like to thieves into the blest
+      House of God to worship there.
+
+    There these wretched beings sat
+      On their lowly stools and prayed,
+    Parted as by leprosy,
+      From all other worshippers.
+
+    But the hallowed lamps of this
+      Later century burn bright,
+    And their light destroys the black
+      Shadows of that cruel age!
+
+    While Lascaro waited there,
+      Entered I the lonely hut
+    Of the Cagot, and I clasped
+      Straight his hand in brotherhood.
+
+    Likewise did I kiss his child
+      Which unto the shrivelled breast
+    Of his wife clung fast and sucked
+      Like some spider sick and starved.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XVI
+
+
+    Shouldst thou see these mountain peaks
+      From the distance thou wouldst think
+    That with gold and purple they
+      Flamed in splendour to the sun.
+
+    But at closer hand their pomp
+      Vanishes. Earth's glories thus
+    With their myriad light-effects
+      Still beguile us artfully.
+
+    What to thee seemed blue and gold
+      Is, alas, but idle snow,
+    Idle snow which, lone and drear,
+      Bores itself in solitude.
+
+    There upon the heights I heard
+      How the hapless crackling snow
+    Cried aloud its pallid grief
+      To the cold and heartless wind:
+
+    "Ah," it sobbed, "how slow the hours
+      Crawl within this awful waste!
+    All these many endless hours,
+      Like eternities of ice!
+
+    "Woe is me, poor snow! I would
+      I had never seen these peaks--
+    Might I but in vales have fallen
+      Where a myriad flowers bloom!
+
+    "To some little brook would I
+      Then have melted, and some maid--
+    Fairest of the land! with smiles
+      Would in me have laved her face.
+
+    "Yea, perchance, I might have fared
+      To the sea and changed betimes
+    To a pearl and gleamed at last
+      In some royal coronet!"
+
+    When I heard this plaint, I spake:
+      "Dearest Snow, indeed I doubt
+    Whether such a brilliant fate
+      Had been thine within the world.
+
+    "Comfort take. Few, few, indeed,
+       Ever grow to pearls. No doubt
+    Thou hadst fallen in the mire
+      And become a clod of mud."
+
+    As in kindly wise I spoke
+      Thus unto the joyless snow,
+    Came a shot--and from the skies
+      Plunged a hawk of brownish wing.
+
+    It was just a hunter's joke
+      Of Lascaro's. But his face
+    Was as ever stark and grim,
+      And his rifle barrel smoked.
+
+    Silently he tore a plume
+      From the hawk's erected tail,
+    Stuck it in his pointed hat
+      And resumed his silent way.
+
+    'Twas an eerie sight to see
+      How his shadow black and thin
+    With the nodding feather moved
+      O'er the slopes of drifted snow.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+             CANTO XVII
+
+
+    Lo, a valley like a street!
+      'Tis the Hollow Way of Ghosts:
+    Dizzily the cloven crags
+      Tower up on every side.
+
+    There upon the sheerest slope
+      Hangs Uraka's little shack
+    Like some outpost over chaos--
+      Thither fared her son and I.
+
+    In a secret dumb-show speech
+      He took counsel with his dam,
+    How great Atta Troll might best
+      Be ensnared and safely slain.
+
+    We had found his mighty spoor.
+      Never more canst thou escape
+    From our hands! thine earthly days
+      All are numbered--Atta Troll!
+
+    Never could I well determine
+      If Uraka, ancient hag,
+    Was in truth a potent witch,
+      As within these Pyrenees
+
+    It was rumoured. But I know
+      That in truth her very looks
+    Were suspicious. Most suspicious
+      Were her red and running eyes.
+
+    Evil is her look and slant.
+      It is said whene'er she stares
+    At some hapless cow, its milk
+      Dries, its udder withers straight.
+
+    It is said that stroking with
+      Her thin fingers, many a kid
+    She had slaughtered, many a huge
+      Ox had stricken unto death.
+
+    Oft within the local court
+      For such crimes arraigned she stood,
+    But the Justice of the Peace
+      Was a true Voltairean.
+
+    Quite a modern worldling he,
+      Shallow and devoid of faith,--
+    So the plaintiffs he dismissed
+      Both in mockery and scorn.
+
+    The alleged official trade
+      Of Uraka's honest quite,
+    For she deals in mountain-herbs
+      And in birds that she has stuffed.
+
+    Her entire hut was crammed
+      With such relics. Horrible
+    Was the smell of cuckoo-flowers,
+      Fungi, henbane, elder-blooms.
+
+    There a fine array of hawks
+      To advantage was displayed,
+    All with pinions stretching wide
+      And with grim enormous bills.
+
+    Was it but the breath of these
+      Maddening plants that turned my brain?
+    Still the vision of these birds
+      Filled me with the strangest thoughts.
+
+    These perchance are mortal wights,
+      Bound by sorcery in this
+    Miserable state as birds
+      Stuffed and most disconsolate.
+
+    Sad, pathetic is their stare,
+      Yet it hath impatience too,
+    And, methinks at times they cast
+      Sidelong glances at the witch.
+
+    She, Uraka, ancient, grim,
+      Crouches low beside her son,
+    Mute Lascaro near the fire
+      Where the twain are casting slugs.
+
+    Casting that same fateful ball
+      Whereby Atta Troll was slain.
+    How the lurching firelight flares
+      O'er the witch's features gaunt!
+
+    Ceaselessly, yet silently
+      Move her thin and quivering lips.
+    Are those magic spells she murmurs
+      That the balls may travel true?
+
+    Now and then she nods and titters
+      To her son. But he is deep
+    In the business of the casts
+      And sits silently as Death.
+
+    Overcome by fevered fears,
+      Yearning for the cooler air,
+    To the window then I strode
+      And looked down the gulches dim.
+
+    All that in that midnight hour
+      I beheld, all that will I
+    Faithfully and featly tell
+      In the canto that shall follow.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XVIII
+
+
+    'Twas the night before Saint John's,
+      In the fullness of the moon,
+    When that wild and spectral hunt
+      Fills the Hollow Way of Ghosts.
+
+    From the window of Uraka's
+      Little cabin I could see
+    All that mighty host of wraiths
+      As it drifted through the gorge.
+
+    Yea, a goodly place was mine
+      Wherefrom I might well behold
+    The tremendous spectacle
+      Of the raised, carousing dead.
+
+    Cracking whips, hallo! hurrah!
+      Neigh of horses, bark of dogs,
+    Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns--
+      How the tumult echoed there!
+
+    Dashing in advance there came
+      Stags and boars adventurous
+    In a solid pack; behind
+      Charged a wild and merry rout.
+
+    Huntsmen come from many zones
+      And from many ages too.
+    Charles the Tenth rode close beside
+      Nimrod the Assyrian.
+
+    High upon their snowy steeds
+      They charged onward. Then on foot
+    Came the whips with hounds in leash
+      And the pages with the links.
+
+    Many in that maddened horde
+      Seemed familiar--yon knight
+    Gleaming all in golden mail,--
+      Surely was King Arthur's self!
+
+    And Lord Ogier the Dane
+      In chain-armour shining green,
+    Truly close resemblance bore
+      To some mighty frog forsooth!
+
+    Many a hero I beheld
+      Of the gleaming world of thought;
+    Wolfgang Goethe straight I knew
+      By the sparkling of his eyes.
+
+    Being damned by Hengstenberg,
+      In his grave no peace he finds,
+    So with pagan blazonry
+      Gallops down the chase of Life.
+
+    By the glamour of his smile
+      Did I know the mighty Will
+    Whom the Puritans once cursed
+      Like our Goethe,--yet must he,
+
+    Luckless sinner, in this host
+      Ride a charger black as coal.
+    Close beside him on an ass
+      Rode a mortal and--great heavens!
+
+    By the weary mien of prayer
+      And the snowy night-cap too,
+    And the terror of his soul,
+      Francis Horn I recognized.
+
+    Commentaries he composed
+      On that great and cosmic child,
+    Shakespeare--therefore at his side
+      He must ride through thick and thin.
+
+    Lo, poor silent Francis rides,
+      He who scarcely dared to walk,
+    He who only stirred himself
+      At tea-tables and at prayers.
+
+    Surely all the oldish maids
+      Who indulged him in his ease,
+    Will be startled when they hear
+      Of his riding rough and free.
+
+    When the gallop faster grows,
+      Then great William glances down
+    On his commentator meek
+      Jogging onward on his ass.
+
+    To the saddle clinging tight,
+      Fainting in his terror sheer,
+    Yet unto his author loyal
+      In his death as in his life.
+
+    Many ladies there I saw,
+      In that crazy train of ghosts,
+    Many lovely nymphs with forms
+      Slender with the grace of youth.
+
+    On their steeds they sat astride
+      Mythologically nude!
+    Though their tresses thick and long
+      Fell like cloaks of stranded gold.
+
+    Garlands rustled on their heads
+      And they swung their laurelled staves,
+    Bending back in reckless ways,
+      Full of joyous insolence.
+
+    Mediaeval maids I saw
+      Buttoned high unto the chin,
+    On their saddles seated slant,
+      Poising falcons on their wrists.
+
+    Like a burlesque, from behind
+      On their hacks and skinny nags
+    Came a rout of merry wenches,
+      Most extravagantly garbed.
+
+    And each face, though lovely quite,
+      Bore a trace of impudence;
+    Madly would they shriek and yell,
+      Puffing up their painted cheeks.
+
+    How this tumult echoed there!
+      Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns;
+    Neigh of horses, bark of dogs,
+      Crack of whips! hallo! hurrah!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XIX
+
+
+    But like Beauty's clover-leaf,
+      In the very midst arose
+    Three fair women. I shall never
+      Their majestic forms forget!
+
+    Well I knew the first! Her head
+      Glittered with the crescent moon.
+    Haughty, like some ivory statue
+      Sat the goddess on her steed.
+
+    And her fluttering tunic fell
+      Loose about her hips and breasts,
+    And the torchlight and the moon
+      Laved with love her snowy limbs.
+
+    Marble seemed her very face
+      And like marble cold. How dread
+    Was the pallor and the chill
+      Of that stern and noble front!
+
+    But within her dusky eye
+      Smouldered a mysterious,
+    Cruel and enticing fire
+      Which devoured my poor soul.
+
+    What a change has come o'er Dian
+      Since in outraged chastity
+    She smote Actaeon to a stag
+      As a quarry for his hounds!
+
+    Doth she now requite this crime
+      In this gallant company,
+    Riding like some ghostly mortal
+      Through the bleak, nocturnal air?
+
+    Late did passion wake in her
+      But for that the stronger burns,
+    And within her eyes its flames
+      Gleam like fiercest brands of hell.
+
+    For those vanished times she grieves
+      When the men were beautiful;
+    Now in quantity perchance,
+      She forgets their quality.
+
+    At her side a fair one rode--
+      Fair, but not by Grecian lines
+    Was she fair; for all her features
+      Shone with wondrous Celtic glow.
+
+    'Twas Abunda, fairy queen,
+      Whom to know I could not fail
+    By the sweetness of her smile
+      And the madness of her laugh!
+
+    Full and rosy was her face,
+      Like the faces limned by Greuze;
+    And from out her heart-shaped mouth
+      Flashed the splendour of her teeth!
+
+    All the winds made dalliance
+      With her robe of azure blue,
+    And such shoulders never I
+      In my wildest dreams beheld.
+
+    I was almost moved to leap
+      From the window for a kiss;
+    This had been sheer folly, true,
+      Ending in a broken neck!
+
+    Ah, and she, she would have laughed
+      If within that awful gulf
+    I had fallen at her feet;--
+      Laughter such as this I know!
+
+    And the third fair phantom, she
+      Who so moved my errant heart,--
+    Was this but some female fiend
+      Like the other figures twain?
+
+    Whether devil this or saint
+      Know I not. With women, ah,
+    None can ever know where saint
+      Ends nor where the fiend begins.
+
+    All the magic of the East
+      Lay within her glowing face,
+    And her dress brought memories
+      Of Scheherazade's tales.
+
+    Lips as red as pomegranates
+      And a curved nose lily white,
+    Limbs as slender and as cool
+      As some green oasis-palm.
+
+    From her palfrey white she leaned,
+      Flanked by giant Moors who trod
+    Close beside the queenly dame
+      Holding up the golden reins.
+
+    Of most royal blood was she,
+      She the Queen of old Judea,
+    She great Herod's lovely wife,
+      She who craved the Baptist's head.
+
+    For this crimson crime was she
+      Banned and cursed. Now in this chase
+    Must she ride, a wandering spook,
+      Till the dawn of Judgment Day.
+
+    Still within her hands she bears
+      That deep charger with the head
+    Of the Prophet, still she kisses--
+      Kisses it with fiery lips.
+
+    For she loved the Prophet once,
+      Though the Bible naught reveals,
+    Yet her blood-stained love lives on
+      Storied in her people's hearts.
+
+    How might else a man declare
+      All the longing of this lady?
+    Would a woman crave the head
+      Of a man she did not love?
+
+    She perchance was slightly vexed
+      With her darling, and was moved
+    To behead him, but when she
+      On the trencher saw his head,
+
+    Then she wept and lost her wits,
+      Dying in love's madness straight.
+    (What! Love's madness? pleonasm!
+      Love itself is madness still!)
+
+    Rising nightly from her grave,
+      To this frenzied hunt she hies,
+    In her hands the gory head
+      Which with feline joy she flings
+
+    High into the air betimes,
+      Laughing like a wanton child,
+    Cleverly she catches it
+      Like some idle rubber ball.
+
+    As she swept past me she bowed
+      Most coquettishly and looked
+    On me with her melting eyes,
+      So that all my heart was stirred.
+
+    Thrice that rout raged up and down
+      Past my window, then did she,
+    Ah, most beautiful of shades!
+      Greet me with her precious smile.
+
+    Even when the pageant dimmed
+      And the tumult silent grew
+    In my brain, that smiling face
+      Shone and beckoned on and on.
+
+    All that night I tossed and turned
+      My o'erwearied limbs on straw,
+    Musty straw. No feather-beds
+      In Uraka's hut I found!
+
+    And I mused: what might this mean,
+      This mysterious beckoning?
+    Why, Oh, why, Herodias,
+      Held thy look such tenderness?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XX
+
+
+    Sunrise. Golden arrows dart
+      Through the pallid ranks of mist
+    Till they redden as with wounds
+      And dissolve in shining light.
+
+    Now hath triumph come to Day
+      And the gleaming conqueror
+    In his blinding glory treads
+      O'er the ridges and the peaks.
+
+    All the merry bands of birds
+      Twitter in their hidden nests,
+    And the scent of plants arises
+      Like a psalm of odours rare.
+
+    At the early glint of day
+      Down the valley we had gone.
+    While Lascaro dumb and dour
+      Followed up the bear-tracks dim,
+
+    I with musings sought to slay
+      Time, but tired soon I grew
+    Of my musings,--drear, ah, drear!
+      Were my thoughts and void of joy.
+
+    Weary, joyless, down I sank
+      On a bank of softest moss
+    'Neath a great and kingly ash
+      Where a little spring gushed forth.
+
+    This with wondrous voice beguiled
+      All my wayward mood until
+    Thought and thinking vanished both
+      In the music of the spring.
+
+    Mighty longings seized me then,
+      Madness, dreams and death-desires,
+    Longings for those splendid queens
+      Riding in that ghostly throng.
+
+    Oh, ye lovely shapes of night,
+      Banished by the rose of dawn,
+    Whither, tell me, have ye fled,
+      Whither have ye flown by day?
+
+    Somewhere 'neath old temple-ruins
+      In the wide Romagna hid,
+    It is said Diana flees
+      The dominion of the Christ.
+
+    Only in the midnight gloom,
+      Dare she venture forth, but then
+    How she joys the merry chase
+      And the pagan sports of old!
+
+    Fay Abunda also fears
+      All these sallow Nazarenes,
+    So by day she hides herself
+      Deep in secret Avalon.
+
+    For this sacred island lies
+      In the still and silent sea
+    Of Romanticism, whither
+      None save winged steeds may go.
+
+    There no anchor Care may drop,
+      Never there do steamships touch,
+    Bringing loads of Philistines
+      With tobacco-pipes, to stare.
+
+    Never does that dismal, dull
+      Ring of bells this stillness break--
+    That atrocious bumm-bamm sound
+      Which all gentle fairies hate.
+
+    There, abloom with lasting youth
+      In unbroken joyfulness,
+    Lives that merry-hearted dame,
+      Golden-locked Abunda fair.
+
+    Laughing there she strolls between
+      Huge sun-flowers drenched with light,
+    Followed by her retinue
+      Of unworldly Paladins.
+
+    Ah, but thou, Herodias,
+      Say, where art thou? Ah, I know!
+    Thou art dead and buried deep
+      By Jerusholayim's walls!
+
+    Corpse-like is thy sleep by day
+      In thy marble coffin laid,
+    But at midnight dost thou wake
+      To the crack of whips! hurrah!
+
+    With Abunda, Dian, too,
+      Dost thou join the headlong plunge
+    And the blithesome hunter rout
+      Fleeing from all cross and care.
+
+    What companions rare and blithe!
+      Might but I, Herodias,
+    Ride at night through forests dark,
+      I would gallop at thy side!
+
+    For of all I love thee most!
+      More than any goddess Grecian,
+    More than any northern fay,
+      Do I love thee, Jewess dead!
+
+    Yea, I love thee most! 'Tis true,
+      By the trembling of my soul!
+    Love me too and be my sweet,--
+      Loveliest Herodias!
+
+    Love me too and be my love!
+      Fling that gory block-head far
+    With its trencher. Sweeter dishes
+      I shall give thee to enjoy.
+
+    Am not I thy proper knight
+      Whom thou seekest? What care I
+    If perchance thou'rt dead and damned--
+      Prejudices I have none!
+
+    Is my own salvation not
+      In a parlous state? And oft
+    Do I question if my life
+      Still be linked with human lives.
+
+    Take me, take me as thy knight,
+      Thine own _cavalier servente_;
+    I will bear thy silken robe
+      And each wayward mood of thine.
+
+    Every night beside thee, love,
+      With this crazy horde I'll ride,
+    And we'll kiss and thou shalt laugh
+      At my quips and merry pranks.
+
+    I will help thee speed the hours
+      Of the night. And yet by day
+    All my joy shall pass;--in tears
+      I shall sit upon thy grave.
+
+    Aye, by day will I sit down
+      In the dust of kingly vaults,
+    At the grave of my beloved
+      By Jerusholayim's walls!
+
+    Then the grey Jews passing by
+      Will imagine that I mourn
+    The destruction of thy temple
+      And thy gates, Jerusholayim.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXI
+
+
+    Shipless Argonauts are we,
+      Foot loose in the mighty hills,
+    But instead of golden fleece
+      We seek Bruin's shaggy hide.
+
+    Naught but sorry devils twain,
+      Heroes of a modern cut,
+    And no classic bard will ever
+      Make us live within his song!
+
+    Even though we suffered dire
+      Hardships! What torrential rains
+    Fell upon us at the peak
+      Where was neither tree nor cab!
+
+    Cloudbursts! Heaven's dykes were down!
+      And in bucketsful it poured--
+    Jason, lost on Colchis bleak,
+      Suffered no such shower-bath!
+
+    "Six-and-thirty kings I'll give
+      Just for one umbrella now!"
+    So I cried. Umbrella none
+      Was I offered in that flood.
+
+    Weary unto death and glum,
+      Wet as drowned rats, we came
+    Back unto the witch's hut
+      In the middle of the night.
+
+    There beside the glowing hearth
+      Sat Uraka with a comb,
+    Toiling o'er her swollen pug;--
+      Him she quickly flung aside
+
+    As we entered. First my couch
+      She prepared, then bent to loose
+    From my feet the _espardillos_,--
+      Footgear comfortless and rude!
+
+    Helped me to disrobe,--she drew
+      Off my pantaloons which clung
+    To my legs as close and tight
+      As the friendship of a fool.
+
+    "Oh, a dressing-gown! I'd give
+      Six-and-thirty kings," I cried,
+    "For a dry one!"--as my shirt,
+      Wringing wet, began to steam.
+
+    Shivering, with chattering teeth,
+      There I stood beside the hearth,
+    Till the fire drowsed me quite,
+      Then upon the straw I sank.
+
+    Sleepless but with blinking eyes
+      Peered I at the witch who crouched
+    By the fire with her son's
+      Body spread upon her lap.
+
+    Upright at her side the pug
+      Stood, and in his clumsy paws,
+    Very cleverly and tight,
+      Held aloft a little jar.
+
+    From this did Uraka take
+      Reddish fat and salved therewith
+    Swift Lascaro's ribs and breast
+      With her thin and trembling hands.
+
+    And she hummed a lullaby
+      In a high and nasal tone
+    As she rubbed him with the salve
+      'Midst the crackling of the fire.
+
+    Sere and bony like a corpse
+      Lay the son upon the lap
+    Of his mother; opened wide
+      Stared his pale and tragic eyes.
+
+    Is he really dead, this man?
+      Kept alive by mother-love?
+    Nightly by the witch-fat potent
+      Salved into a magic life?
+
+    Oh, that strange, strange fever-sleep!
+      In which all my limbs grew stiff
+    As if fettered, yet each sense,
+      Overwrought, waked horribly!
+
+    How that smell of hellish herbs
+      Plagued me! Musing in my woe,
+    Long I thought where had I once
+      Smelled such odours?--but in vain.
+
+    How the wind within the flue
+      Wrought me terror! Like the sobs
+    Of some parched soul it rang--
+      Or some well-remembered voice!
+
+    But these stuffed birds standing guard
+      On a board above my head,
+    These grim birds tormented me
+      Far beyond all other things!
+
+    Slowly, gruesomely they moved
+      Their accursed wings and bent
+    Low to me with monstrous bills,
+      Bills like human noses huge.
+
+    Where had I such noses seen?
+      Well, mayhap in Hamburg once,
+    Or in Frankfort's ghetto dim;
+      Memory smote me harshly then.
+
+    But at last did slumber quite
+      Overcome me and in place
+    Of such waking phantoms crept
+      Wholesome and unbroken dreams.
+
+    And within my dream the hut
+      Quickly to a ball-room changed,
+    High on lofty pillars borne
+      And illumed by chandeliers.
+
+    There invisible musicians
+      Played from "Robert le Diable"
+    That atrocious dance of nuns
+      As I promenaded there.
+
+    But at last the portals wide
+      Open and with stately step
+    Slowly in the hall appear
+      Guests most wonderful and strange.
+
+    Every one a bear or spectre!
+      Striding upright every bear
+    Leads an apparition wrapped
+      In a white and gleaming shroud.
+
+    Coupled in this wise, each pair
+      Up and down began to waltz
+    Through the hall. O strangest sight!
+      Fit for laughter and for fear!
+
+    How those plump old animals
+      Panted in the paces set
+    By those filmy shapes of air
+      Whirling gracefully and light!
+
+    Pitiless, the harried beasts
+      Thus were borne along until
+    Their deep panting overdroned
+      Even the orchestral bass!
+
+    When betimes the couples crashed
+      In collision, then each bear
+    Gave the pushing spectre straight
+      Hearty kicks upon the rump.
+
+    Sometimes in the tumult too
+      When the cerements fell away
+    From each white and muffled head,--
+      Lo! a grinning skull appeared!
+
+    But at last with shattering blare
+      Yelled the horns, the cymbals clashed
+    And the thunder of the drums
+      Brought about the gallopade.
+
+    But the end of this, alas,
+      Came not to my dreams. For, lo,
+    One most clumsy bear trod full
+      On my corns--I shrieked and woke!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXII
+
+
+    Phoebus in his solar coach,
+      Whipping up his steeds of flame,
+    Had traversed the middle part
+      Of his journey through the skies,
+
+    Whilst in sleep I lay a-dream
+      With the goblins and the bears
+    Winding like mad arabesques
+      Through my slack and heated brain.
+
+    When I wakened it was noon,
+      And I found myself alone,
+    Since my hostess and Lascaro
+      For the chase had left at dawn.
+
+    There was no one save the pug
+      In the hovel. There he stood
+    By the hearth beside the pot
+      Holding in his paws a spoon.
+
+    Clever pug! well disciplined!
+      Lest the steaming soup boil over,
+    Swift he stirred it round and round,
+      Skimming off the foam and scum.
+
+    But--am I bewitched too?
+      Or does fever smoulder still
+    In my brain? For scarce can I
+      Trust my ears. The pug-dog speaks!
+
+    Aye, he speaks in homely strains
+      Of the Swabian dialect,
+    Deeply sunk in thought, he cries,
+      As it were within a dream:
+
+    "Woe is me--a Swabian bard,
+      Banned in exile must I grieve
+    In a pug-dog's cursed shape
+      Guardian of a witch's pot.
+
+    "What a base and hideous crime
+      Is this sorcery! My fate
+    Ah, how tragic! I, a man,
+      In the body of a dog!
+
+    "Had I but remained at home
+      With my jolly comrades true--
+    No vile sorcerers are they!
+      And their spells no man need fear.
+
+    "Had I but remained at home
+      At Karl Meyer's--with the sweet
+    Noodles of the Vaterland
+      And good honest metzel-soup!
+
+    "Of homesickness I shall die!
+      Might I only spy the smoke
+    Rising from old Stuttgart's flues
+      When the precious dumplings seethe."
+
+    Pity seized me when I heard
+      This sad story, and I sprang
+    From my couch and took a seat
+      By the fireplace and spake:
+
+    "Noble poet, tell what chance
+      Brought thee to this beldam's hut.
+    Why, oh why, in cruel wise,
+      Wast thou changed into a dog?"
+
+    But the pug exclaimed in joy:
+      "What! You are no Frenchman then?
+    But a German, and you've heard
+      All my hapless monologue?
+
+    "Ah, dear countryman, 'twas ill
+      That old Koelle, Councillor,
+    When at eve we sat and argued
+      At the inn o'er pipe and mug,
+
+    "Should have harped on the idea
+      That by travel only might
+    One attain such culture broad,
+      As by travel he attained!
+
+    "Now, so I might shed the rude
+      Husk that on my manners lay,
+    Even as Koelle, and attain
+      Polish from the world at large,
+
+    "To my home I bade farewell,
+      And in quest of culture came
+    To the Pyrenees at last,
+      And Uraka's little hut.
+
+    "And a reference I brought
+      From Justinus Kerner too!
+    Never did I dream my friend
+      Stood in league with such a witch!
+
+    "Friendly was Uraka's mood,
+      Till at last with horrid shock,
+    Lo, I found her friendliness
+      Had to fiery passion grown.
+
+    "Yes, within that withered breast
+      Lust blazed up in monstrous wise,
+    And at once this vicious crone
+      Sought to drag me down to sin.
+
+    "Yet I prayed: 'Oh, pardon, ma'am!
+      Do not fancy I am one
+    Of those wanton Goethe Bards,--
+      I belong to Swabia's school.
+
+    "'Sweet Morality's our Muse
+      And the drawers she wears are made
+    Of the stoutest leather--Oh!
+      Do not wrong my virtue, pray!
+
+    "'Other bards may boast of soul,
+      Others phantasy--and some
+    Of their passion--Swabians have
+      Nothing but their innocence.
+
+    "'Nothing else do we possess!
+      Do not rob me of my pure,
+    Most religious beggar's cloak,--
+      Naked else my soul must go!'
+
+    "Thus I spoke, whereat the hag
+      Smiled with hideous irony,
+    Seized a switch of mistletoe,
+      Smote me over brow and cheek.
+
+    "Chilly spasms seized me then
+      Just as if a goose's skin
+    Crept across my limbs--but oh!
+      This was worse than goose's-skin!
+
+    "It was nothing more nor less
+      Than a dog-pelt! Since that hour,
+    That accursed hour, I've lived
+      Changed into a lumpy pug!"
+
+    Luckless wight! his piteous sobs
+      Now denied him further speech,
+    And so bitterly he wept
+      That he half dissolved in tears.
+
+    "Hark!" I spoke in pity then,
+      "Tell me how you might be freed
+    From this dog-skin. How may I
+      Give you back to muse and man?"
+
+    In despair, disconsolate,
+      Then he raised his paws in air,
+    And with sobs and groans at length
+      Thus his mournful plaint he made:
+
+    "Not before the Judgment Day
+      Shall I shed this horrid form,
+    If no noble virgin come
+      To absolve me of the curse.
+
+    "None can free me save a maid,
+      Pure, untouched by any man,
+    And she must fulfil a pact
+      Most inexorable--thus:
+
+    "Such unspotted maiden must
+      In Sylvester's holy night
+    Read the verse of Gustav Pfizer,
+      Read it and not fall asleep!
+
+    "If her chaste eyes do not close
+      At the reading--then, O bliss!
+    I shall disenchanted be,
+      Breathe as man--unpugged at last!"
+
+    "In that case, alas," said I,
+      "Never may I undertake
+    Your salvation, for you see,
+      First I am no spotless maid,
+
+    "And, still more impossible,
+      Secondly, I ne'er could read
+    Any one of Pfizer's poems
+      And not fall asleep at once."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXIII
+
+
+    From this eerie witch-menage
+      To the valley down we went,
+    And once more our feet took hold
+      On the good and solid Earth.
+
+    Spectres hence! Hence, gibbering masks!
+      Shapes of air and fever-dreams!--
+    Once again, most sensibly
+      Let us deal with Atta Troll.
+
+    In the cavern with his young
+      Bruin lies in slumber wrapt,
+    Snoring like an honest soul,
+      Then he stretches, yawns and wakes.
+
+    And young One-Ear crouches down
+      At his side, his head he rakes
+    Like a poet seeking rhymes,
+      And upon his paws he scans.
+
+    Close beside the father lie
+      Atta Troll's beloved girls,
+    Pure, four-footed lilies they,
+      Stretched in dreams upon their backs.
+
+    Ah, what tender thoughts must glow
+      In the budding souls of these
+    Snow-white virgin bearesses
+      With their soft and dewy eyes?
+
+    And the youngest of them all
+      Seems most deeply stirred. Her heart,
+    Smitten by Dan Cupid's shaft,
+      Quivers with a blissful throe.
+
+    Yea, this godling's arrow pierced
+      Through and through her furry pelt
+    When she saw him first--Oh, heavens!
+      'Tis a mortal man she loves!
+
+    Man it is--Schnapphahnski named,
+      Who one day in mad retreat
+    Passed her as she wandered through
+      The dim passes of the hills.
+
+    Woes of heroes move the fair,
+      And within our hero's face,
+    Quite as usual, sorrow lowered,
+      Pallid care and money-need.
+
+    Spent were all his funds of war!
+      Two-and-twenty silver groats
+    Taken unto Spain by him
+      Espartero seized as spoil.
+
+    Aye, his very watch was gone!
+      This in Pampeluna's pawnshop
+    Lay in bondage. 'Twas a rich
+      Heirloom all of silver made.
+
+    Little thought he as he ran
+      On his long legs through the woods,
+    He had won a greater thing
+      Than a fight--a loving heart!
+
+    Yes, she loves him--him the born
+      Enemy of bears she loves!
+    Hapless maid! If but your sire
+      Knew it--oh! what rage were his!
+
+    Just like Odoardo old
+      Who in honest burgess-pride
+    Stabbed Emilia Galotti--
+      Even so would Atta Troll
+
+    Rather slay his darling lass,
+      Slay her with his proper paws,
+    Than that she should ever sink
+      Even into princely arms!
+
+    Yet in this same moment he
+      Is as softly moved--"no rose
+    Would he pluck before the storm
+      Reft it of its petals fair."
+
+    Atta Troll in saddest mood
+      Lies within his rocky cave.
+    Like Death's warning o'er him creeps
+      Hunger for infinity.
+
+    "Children!" then he sobs, the tears
+      Burst from out his mournful eyes,--
+    "Children! soon my earthly days
+      Shall be ended--we must part.
+
+    "Unto me this very noon
+      Came a dream of import vast,
+    And my soul drank in the sweet
+      Sense of early death-to-be.
+
+    "Superstitious am I not,
+      Nor fantastic--ah, and yet
+    More things lie 'twixt Earth and Heaven
+      Than philosophy may dream.
+
+    "Pondering on the world and fate,
+      Yawning I had dropped asleep,
+    And I dreamed that I was lying
+      Stretched beneath a mighty tree.
+
+    "From the branches of this tree
+      White celestial honey dripped
+    Straight into my open jaws,
+      Filling me with wondrous bliss.
+
+    "Peering happily aloft
+      Soon I spied within the leaves
+    Seven pretty little bears
+      Gliding up and down the boughs.
+
+    "Delicate and dainty things,
+      All with pelts of rosy hue,
+    And their heavenly voices rang
+      Like a melody of flutes!
+
+    "As they sang an icy chill
+      Seized my flesh, although my soul
+    Like a flame went soaring straight
+      Gleaming into highest Heaven."
+
+    Thus with soft and quivering grunts,
+      Spake our Atta Troll, then grew
+    Silent in his wistful grief.
+      Suddenly his ears he raised,
+
+    And in strangest wise they twitched!
+      Then from up his couch he sprang
+    Trembling, bellowing with joy:
+      "Children! do you hear that voice!
+
+    "Are not those the dulcet tones
+      Of your mother? Do I not
+    My dear Mumma's grumbles know?--
+      Mumma! Mumma! precious mate!"
+
+    Like a madman with these words
+      From the cave rushed Atta Troll
+    Swift to his destruction--oh!
+      To his ruin straight he plunged.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXIV
+
+
+    In the Vale of Roncesvalles,
+      On that very spot where erst
+    Charlemagne's great nephew fell,
+      Gasping forth his warrior soul,
+
+    Fell and perished Atta Troll,
+      Fell through ambush, even as he
+    Whom that Judas of the Knights,
+      Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed.
+
+    Oh! that noblest trait in bears--
+      Conjugal affection--love--
+    Formed a pitfall which Uraka
+      In her evil craft prepared.
+
+    For so truly mimicked she
+      Coal-black Mumma's tender growls,
+    That poor Atta Troll was lured
+      From the safety of his lair.
+
+    On desire's wings he ran
+      Through the valley, halting oft
+    By a rock with tender sniff,
+      Thinking Mumma there lay hid.
+
+    There Lascaro lay, alas,
+      With his rifle. Swift he shot
+    Through that gladsome heart a ball,
+      And a crimson stream welled forth.
+
+    Twice or thrice he shakes his head
+      To and fro, at last he sinks
+    Groaning, seized with ghastly shudders;--
+      "Mumma!" is his final sob!
+
+    Thus our noble hero fell--
+      Perished thus. Immortal he
+    Yet shall live in strains of bards,
+      Resurrected after death.
+
+    He shall rise again in song,
+      And his wide renown shall stalk
+    In this blunt trochaic verse
+      O'er the round and living Earth.
+
+    In Valhalla's Hall a shaft
+      Shall King Ludwig build for him,--
+    In Bavarian lapidary
+      Style these words be there inscribed:
+
+    ATTA TROLL, REFORMER, PURE,
+      PIOUS: HUSBAND WARM AND TRUE,
+    BY THE ZEIT-GEIST LED ASTRAY--
+      WOOD-ENGENDERED SANS-CULOTTE:
+
+    DANCING BADLY: YET IDEALS
+      BEARING IN HIS SHAGGY BREAST:
+    OFTTIMES STINKING VERY STRONGLY,
+      TALENT NONE: BUT CHARACTER.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXV
+
+
+    Three-and-thirty wrinkled dames,
+      Wearing on their heads their Basque
+    Scarlet hoods of ancient style,
+      Stood beside the village gate.
+
+    One of them, like Deborah,
+      Beat the tambourine and danced
+    While she sang a hymn in praise
+      Of the slayer of the bear.
+
+    Four strong men in triumph bore
+      Slaughtered Atta, who erect
+    In his wicker litter sat
+      Like some patient at a spa.
+
+    To the rear, like relatives
+      Of the dead, Lascaro came
+    With Uraka, who abashed,
+      Nodded to the right and left.
+
+    Then the town-clerk at the hall
+      Spoke as the procession came
+    To a halt. Of many things
+      Spoke that dapper little man.
+
+    As, for instance, of the rise
+      Of the navy, of the Press,
+    Of the sugar-beet debates,
+      And that hydra, party strife.
+
+    All the feats of Louis Philippe
+      Vaunted he unto the skies,--
+    Of Lascaro then he spoke
+      And his great heroic deed.
+
+    "Thou Lascaro!" cried the clerk,
+      As he mopped his streaming brow
+    With his bright tri-coloured sash--
+      "Thou Lascaro! thou that hast
+
+    "Freed Hispania and France
+      From that monster Atta Troll,
+    By both lands shalt be acclaimed the
+      Pyreneean Lafayette!"
+
+    When Lascaro in official
+      Wise thus heard himself announced
+    As a hero, then he smiled
+      In his beard and blushed for joy.
+
+    And in stammering syllables
+      And in broken phrases he
+    Stuttered forth his gratitude
+      For the honour shown to him.
+
+    Wonder-smitten then stood all
+      At the unexpected sight,
+    And in low and timid tones
+      Thus the ancient women spoke:
+
+    "Did you hear Lascaro laugh?
+      Did you see Lascaro blush?
+    Did you hear Lascaro speak?
+      He the witch's perished son!"
+
+    On that very day they flayed
+      Atta Troll. At auction they
+    Sold his hide. A furrier bid
+      Just an even hundred francs.
+
+    And the furrier decked the skin
+      Handsomely, and mounted it
+    All on scarlet. For this work
+      He demanded twice the cost.
+
+    From a third hand Juliet
+      Then received it. Now it lies
+    As a rug before her bed
+      In the city by the Seine.
+
+    Oh, how many nights I've stood
+      Barefoot on the earthly husk
+    Of my hero great and true,
+      On the hide of Atta Troll!
+
+    Then by sorrow deeply touched
+      Would I think of Schiller's words:
+    "That which song would make eternal
+      First must perish from the Earth."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXVI
+
+
+    What of Mumma? Mumma, ah!
+      Is a woman. Frailty
+    Is her name! Alas, that women
+      Should be frail as porcelain!
+
+    Now when Fate had parted her
+      From her great and noble mate,
+    Did she perish of her woe,
+      Sinking into hopeless gloom?
+
+    Nay, contrarywise, she lived
+      Merrily as ever--danced
+    For the public as before,
+      Eager for their plaudits too.
+
+    And at last a splendid place
+      And support for all her days
+    Was procured for her in Paris
+      At the old Jardin-des-Plantes.
+
+    There, last Sunday as I strolled
+      Through that place with Juliet,
+    Baring Nature's realms to her--
+      Animal and vegetable,--
+
+    Tall giraffes, and cedars brought
+      Out of Lebanon, the huge
+    Dromedary, golden pheasants,
+      And the zebra;--chatting thus,--
+
+    We at last stood still and leaned
+      O'er the rampart of that pit
+    Where the bears are safely penned--
+      Heavens! what a sight we saw!
+
+    There a huge bear from the wastes
+      Of Siberia, snowy-white,
+    Dallied in a love-feast sweet
+      With a she-bear small and dark.
+
+    This was Mumma! This, alas,
+      Was the mate of Atta Troll!
+    Well I knew her by the soft
+      Glances of her dewy eye.
+
+    It was she! the daughter dark
+      Of the Southland! Mumma lives
+    With a Russian now; she lives
+      With this savage of the North!
+
+    Smirking spake a negro then,
+      Coming up with stealthy pace:
+    "Could there be a fairer sight
+      Than a pair of lovers, say?"
+
+    Then I answered him: "Pray, who
+      Honours me by this address?"
+    Whereupon he cried amazed:
+      "Have you quite forgotten me?
+
+    "Why I am that Moorish prince
+      Who beat drums in Freiligrath--
+    Times were bad--in Germany
+      I was lonely and forlorn.
+
+    "Now as keeper I'm employed
+      In this garden,--here I find
+    All the flowers of my native
+      Tropics,--lions, tigers, too.
+
+    "Here I feel content and gay,
+      Better than at German fairs,
+    Where each day I beat the drum
+      And was fed but scantily.
+
+    "Late in wedlock was I bound
+      To a blonde Alsatian cook,
+    And within her arms I feel
+      All my native joys again!
+
+    "And her feet remind me ever
+      Of my blessed elephants,
+    And her French has quite the ring
+      Of my sable mother-tongue.
+
+    "When she coughs, the rattle fierce
+      Moves me of that famous drum
+    Which, bedecked with human skulls,
+      Drove the snakes and lions far.
+
+    "But when moonlight charms her mood,
+      Like a crocodile she weeps,
+    Which from out some luke-warm stream
+      Lifts to gape in cooler air.
+
+    "And she cooks me dainty bits.
+      See, I thrive! I feed again
+    As upon the Niger I
+      Fed with gusto African!
+
+    "Mark the nicely rounded paunch
+      I possess! Behold it peeps
+    From my shirt like some black moon
+      Stealing forth from whitest clouds."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+            CANTO XXVII
+
+    (To August Varnhagen von Ense)
+
+
+      "Heavens! where, dear Ludoviso,
+    Did you steal this crazy stuff?"
+    With these words did Cardinal
+      D'Este Ariosto greet
+
+    When that poet read his work
+      On Orlando's madness. This
+    He unto His Eminence
+      Humbly sought to dedicate.
+
+    Yes, Varnhagen, dear old friend,
+      Yes, I see these very words
+    Tremble on thy lips, that same
+      Faint and devastating smile.
+
+    Sometimes o'er a book thou laughest,
+      Then again in earnestness
+    Thy high forehead wrinkles o'er
+      As old memories come to thee.
+
+    Hark unto the dreams of youth!
+      Such Chamisso dreamed with me,
+    And Brentano, Fouque, too,
+      In blue nights beneath the moon.
+
+    Comes no sound of saintly chimes
+      From that vanished forest fane,
+    And no tinkling of the gay
+      Unforgotten cap-and-bells?
+
+    Through the choir of nightingales
+      Rumbles now the growl of bears,
+    Low and fierce, and changes then
+      To the gibbering of ghosts!
+
+    Madness in the guise of sense,
+      Wisdom with a broken spine!
+    Dying sobs which suddenly
+      Into hollow laughter pass!
+
+    Aye, my friend, such strains arise
+      From the dream-time that is dead,
+    Though some modern trills may oft
+      Caper through the ancient theme.
+
+    Spite of waywardness thou'lt find
+      Here and there a note of pain;--
+    To thy well-proved mildness now
+      Do I recommend my song!
+
+    'Tis, perchance, the final strain
+      Of the pure and free Romance:--
+    In to-day's wild battle-clash,
+      Miserably it must end.
+
+    Other times and other birds!
+      Other birds and other songs!
+    What a chattering as of geese
+      That had saved a capitol!
+
+    What a chirping!--sparrows these
+      Penny tapers in their claws,
+    Yet have they assumed the ways
+      Of Jove's eagle with the bolt.
+
+    What a cooing! Turtle-doves,
+      Cloyed with love, now long to hate,
+    And thenceforth in place of Venus'
+      They would drag Bellona's car!
+
+    What a buzz that shakes the skies!--
+      These must be the great May-beetles
+    Of the nation's dawning Spring,
+      With a Viking fury seized!
+
+    Other times and other birds!
+      Other birds and other songs;--
+    These, perchance, might yield delight
+      Were I blest with other ears!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+NOTES TO "ATTA TROLL"
+
+BY DR. OSCAR LEVY
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+THE GOD OF SCHELLING. The German philosopher Schelling (1775-1854) was
+at first a follower of Spinoza, and had published in his youth a
+pantheistic philosophy which had made him famous. In later life he began
+to doubt his former beliefs, and promised to the world another and more
+Christian explanation of God and the universe. The promised book,
+however, never appeared.
+
+The gap, thus left by Schelling, has since been filled up by a host of
+more courageous, if less conscientious, investigators.
+
+"SEA-SURROUNDED SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN" OYSTERS. "Schleswig-Holstein
+Meerumschlungen (sea-surrounded)" was the German Marseillaise after 1846
+and again in 1863-64.
+
+ARNOLD RUGE (1802-1880) was the leader of the New Hegelian school, and
+published certain famous annuals for art and science at Halle. In 1848
+he was elected to the Parliament at Frankfort, but was forced to flee to
+London, where he struck up a fast friendship with Mazzini. In the
+Revolutionary Committee of London he represented Germany, as
+Ledru-Rollin represented France and Mazzini Italy.
+
+CHRISTIAN-GERMANIC. One of the favourite phrases and shibboleths of the
+Romantic School, which may still be heard in the Germany of to-day.
+
+FERDINAND FREILIGRATH (1810-1876). A well-known poet and skilful
+translator of French and English poets, such as Burns, Byron, Thomas
+Moore, and Victor Hugo. His own poems betray his dependence upon Hugo.
+Frederick William IV, King of Prussia, bestowed a pension upon him in
+1842. When his friends, however, charged him with having sold himself to
+the Government, the poet refused the pension. Thereafter he devoted
+himself more and more to the democratic party and wrote many political
+poems. In 1848 he went abroad, living in London the greater part of the
+time. He returned to Germany in 1868, and in 1870 published several
+patriotic poems which met with great acclaim.
+
+The sudden conversion from international Democracy to Nationalism is
+easily explained. Modern states have become democratic, and
+democrats--but they alone--find it easy to feel comfortable and
+patriotic in such a milieu.
+
+
+CANTO I
+
+DON CARLOS. After the death of Ferdinand VII of Spain (1833) a lengthy
+civil war broke out between his younger brother, Don Carlos, and the
+Queen-widow Christina, who had assumed the regency for her daughter
+Isabella.
+
+SCHNAPPHAHNSKI. A comic word composed of the German word "schnappen,"
+to snap, and "hahn," cock. It has also been incorporated into French in
+the form "chenapan." It is applied here to Prince Felix Lichnowski
+(1814-1848), who left the Prussian Army in 1838 and entered the service
+of Don Carlos, who appointed him a brigadier-general. After his return
+from Spain, Lichnowski wrote his "Reminiscences," the publication of
+which involved him in a duel in which he was badly wounded. The
+"Reminiscences" are couched in Heine's own style, and their hero is
+called Schnapphahnski.
+
+JULIET. Juliet is to be understood as referring to Heine's mistress and
+subsequent wife, Mathilde.
+
+
+CANTO II
+
+QUEEN MARIA CHRISTINA. She was the wife of Ferdinand VII and assumed the
+regency after his death. Soon after the king's demise, she married a
+member of her bodyguard, one Don Ferdinand Munoz, who was afterwards
+given the title of Duke of Rianzares. She bore him several children.
+
+PUTANA. Italian for strumpet.
+
+
+CANTO IV
+
+MASSMANN. A German philologist and one of Heine's favourite butts. He
+was one of the most enthusiastic advocates of German gymnastics.
+Athletics was one of the pet ideas of the German patriots; the
+Government, however, held it in suspicion, inasmuch as the so-called
+"Turner" (gymnasts) cherished political ambitions. In time, however, the
+exercise of the muscles cured the revolutionary brain-fag, and the
+Government was enabled to assume a sort of protectorship over
+gymnastics. Though enthusiastically carried on to this very day in
+Germany, the movement no longer has any political significance.
+
+FRESH, PIOUS, GAY, AND FREE. FRISCH, FROMM, FROeHLICH, FREI--the four
+F's--formed the motto of the German "Turner."
+
+
+CANTO V
+
+BATAVIA. Apparently a well-known female ape in Heine's day, trained in
+theatrical feats of skill.
+
+FREILIGRATH (see above). As a refuge from the crassness of his times,
+Freiligrath usually chose exotic themes for his poems, frequently
+African in nature, as, for instance, in his "Loewenritt." The allusion to
+the mule (in German "camel," which bears the same opprobrious meaning as
+"ass") gives us reason to believe that Heine's preface must not be taken
+too seriously and that his opinion of the poet Freiligrath was by no
+means a high one.
+
+FRIEDRICH LUDWIG GEORG VON RAUMER (1781-1873). A well-known German
+historian, author of the "History of the Hohenstaufens."
+
+
+CANTO VIII
+
+TUISKION. The god whom the Germans, according to Tacitus (vide
+"Germania," cap. II) regard as the original father of their race.
+
+LUDWIG FEUERBACH (1804-1872). An honest thinker, who recognised that
+there was an unbridgable gulf between philosophy and theology. He left
+the Hegelian school, which can be so well adapted to the need of
+theologians, and considered as the only source of religion--the human
+brain. "The Gods are only the personified wishes of men," he used to
+say. He brought German philosophy down from the clouds to cookery by
+declaring: "Der Mensch ist, was er isst" ("Man is what he eats"). He was
+a believer in what he called "Healthy sensuality," which made him the
+philosopher of artists in the 'thirties and 'forties of the last
+century, amongst others of Richard Wagner. The latter, however,
+afterwards repented, and, by way of Schopenhauer, turned Christian.
+
+Feuerbach came from a family that would have been the delight of Sir
+Francis Galton, author of "Hereditary Genius." Feuerbach's father was a
+famous jurist, who had five sons, all of whom attained the honour of
+appearing in the German Encyclopaedias. The philosopher was the fourth
+son. Again: the famous painter Anselm Feuerbach was his nephew, the son
+of his eldest brother.
+
+BRUNO BAUER (1809-1882). A destructive commentator of the New Testament.
+He belonged to the school of "higher" criticism which has done so much
+to "lower" Christianity in the eyes of savants and professors and so
+little in those of mankind at large. His "Critique of the Evangelistic
+History of Saint John" (1840) and his "Critique of the Evangelistic
+Synoptists" (1841-42) had just been published when Heine wrote "Atta
+Troll."
+
+
+CANTO IX
+
+MOSES MENDELSOHN (1729-1786). Grandfather of the famous composer. He was
+a Jewish philosopher and a friend of Lessing's, who, it is supposed,
+took him as his model for "Nathan the Wise." He freed his German
+co-religionaries from the oppressive influence of the Talmud.
+
+
+CANTO X
+
+PROPERTY IS THEFT. A dictum of Prudhon.
+
+
+CANTO XII
+
+REIGN OF DWARFS. The approaching rule of clever little trades-people,
+whose turn it will soon be if democracy progresses as at present.
+Compare Nietzsche's "Zarathustra," Part III, 49, "The Bedwarfing
+Virtue": "I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they have
+become _smaller_, and ever become _smaller: the reason thereof is their
+doctrine of happiness and virtue_."
+
+THIS CONCLUSION. "Lo, I kiss, therefore I live"--a witty travesty of
+Descartes' "Cogito, ergo sum."
+
+
+CANTO XIV
+
+SO I TOOK TO HUNTING BEARS. Heine considers Atta Troll, the bear bred by
+the French Revolution, as a much greater and more dangerous foe, and
+therefore a worthier opponent of his than the sorry German bears--or
+patriots--with whom he was forced to contend in his native country and
+who incessantly worried (and still worry) him.
+
+
+CANTO XV
+
+CAGOTS. The remnant of an ancient tribe, driven out of human society as
+unclean--Cagot from _Canis gothicus_. The Cagots may still be found in
+obscure parts of the French Pyrenees; they have their own language and
+are distinguished by their yellow skins from the peoples of Western
+Europe. In the Middle Ages they were persecuted as heretics and were
+excluded from all contact with their neighbours. They were forced to
+bear a tag upon their clothes so that they might be known as inferiors.
+Even to-day, despite the fact that they possess the same rights as other
+Frenchmen, they are considered as somewhat debased and unclean.
+
+
+CANTO XVIII
+
+THE WILD HUNT which Heine describes in this canto is an old German
+legend which poets and painters have found to be a fertile source of
+inspiration. The wild huntsman must ride through the world every night,
+followed by all evil-doers, and wherever he appears, thither, according
+to old folk-belief, does misfortune come. Tradition herds all the foes
+of Christianity among this rout of evil-doers; for this reason does
+Heine include Goethe--the "great pagan," as the Germans call him--in
+that crew. There have been other foes of Christianity since, and some
+very great figures amongst them, so that in time the Wild Huntsman's
+Company may become quite presentable.
+
+HENGSTENBERG (1802-1869). A fanatical theologian professor at Berlin who
+made an attack upon Goethe's "Elective Affinities," which then had not
+yet become a classic, and was thus still liable to the attacks of the
+"learned."
+
+FRANZ HORN. A contemporary of Heine's of no particular importance, a
+poet of the Romantic School and a verbose literary historian. He wrote a
+work in five volumes upon Shakespeare's plays. In this he interprets the
+poet in a wholly romantic sense and winds up by presenting him as an
+enthusiastic Christian.
+
+
+CANTO XIX
+
+ABUNDA--in the Celtic (Breton) folk-lore Dame Abonde and even Dame
+Habonde. The Celtic element (as, for instance, the legend of King
+Arthur's Round Table) played a great part in the romantic poetry of
+Germany, and later in the music dramas of Wagner. Romanticism is
+therefore represented in Heine's poem by the fairy Abunda, in
+contradistinction to the Greek and Semitic inspiration--represented by
+Diana and Herodias. Heine's conception of Herodias as being in love with
+the Baptist and taking her revenge on him for his Josephian attitude
+towards her, has, no doubt, influenced later writers on the subject,
+especially Flaubert and Oscar Wilde, save that these had not the courage
+(nor perhaps the insight) to regard the hero in question as a
+"block-head."
+
+
+CANTO XX
+
+SIX-AND-THIRTY KINGS. At once an allusion to Shakespeare's "A kingdom
+for a horse!" ("Richard III") and a side-stroke glancing at the various
+kings and princes of Germany--some thirty-six in Heine's time.
+
+
+CANTO XXI
+
+HELLISH HERBS. The foul and mouldy herbs and medicines in Uraka's hut
+represent a collection of remedies for the cure and preservation of
+decaying feudalism and Christian mediaevalism, which, however, no remedy
+can restore to health. The smell in Uraka's hut is the smell of the
+"rotting past," that, in spite of all nostrums and artificial revivals,
+goes on decomposing. The stuffed birds which glare so fixedly and
+forlorn, and have long bills like human noses, are members of Heine's
+own race. These stuffed birds are the symbols of Judaism which according
+to our Hellenistic poet, possesses, as religion, as little life as the
+Christianity that is based upon it.
+
+
+CANTO XXII
+
+A SWABIAN BARD. The Swabian school of poetry, of which Uhland was the
+leader, was the chief representative of German Chauvinism in Heine's
+day. W. Menzel, the critic who denounced "Young Germany" to the
+Government, belonged to this school. Boerne answered him in his "Menzel
+der Franzosenfresser" ("The Gallophobe"), and Heine mocked at him in his
+paper "The Denunciator." Gustav Pfizer (who had provoked Heine) and Karl
+Meyer were members of the Swabian school, and prided themselves
+particularly upon their morality and religiosity, for which reason they
+set themselves in antagonism to the "heathen" Goethe. Goethe, on his
+part, estimated this school as little as did Heine. In a letter to
+Zelter dated October 5, 1831, Goethe writes thus of Pfizer: "...I read a
+poem lately by Gustav Pfizer ... the poet appears to have real talent
+and is evidently a very good man. But as I read I was oppressed by a
+certain poverty of spirit in the piece and put the little book away at
+once, for with the advance of the cholera it is well to shield oneself
+against all debilitating influences. The work is dedicated to Uhland,
+and one might well doubt if anything exciting, thorough, or humanly
+compelling could be produced from those regions in which he is master. I
+will therefore not rail at the work, but simply leave it alone. _It is
+really marvellous how these little men are able to throw their
+goody-religious-poetic beggar's cloak so cleverly about their shoulders
+that, whenever an elbow happens to stick out, one is tempted to consider
+this as a deliberate poetic intention_."
+
+METZEL-SOUP. A Swabian soup of the country districts, glorified in the
+poetry of Uhland. It is usually prepared from the "insides" of pigs.
+
+CHRISTOPHER FRIEDRICH K. VON KOeLLE (1781-1848). A Privy Councillor of
+the Legation of Wuertemberg--composer of many poems and political
+pamphlets.
+
+JUSTINUS KERNER (1786-1862) was also a poet of the Swabian school. He
+believed in spirits, and made many observations and experiments in his
+house at Weinsburg in order to obtain some knowledge of the
+supernatural world. Thousands of those who believed, or wished to
+believe, came to his "seances." He worked in conjunction with a
+celebrated medium of his time, and later published a very successful
+book about this lady. Heine, no doubt, had this medium in mind when he
+mentioned Kerner.
+
+
+CANTO XXIII
+
+BALDOMERO ESPARTERO (1792-1879). A celebrated Spanish general who fought
+against Don Carlos on the side of Maria Christina. He was later given
+the title of Duke of Vittoria.
+
+EMILIA GALOTTI. This refers to the heroine of Lessing's drama of the
+same name, in which old Odoardo Galotti slays his daughter in order to
+protect her from dishonour. The theme is derived from the story of
+Virginia and Tarquin.
+
+"NO ROSE WOULD HE PLUCK, ETC." Lessing's drama closes thus: "_Odoardo_:
+'God! what have I done!' _Emilia_: 'Thou hast merely plucked a rose ere
+the storm reft it of its petals.'"
+
+
+CANTO XXIV
+
+GANELON OF MAINZ was the stepfather of Roland, against whom he bore a
+grudge. He contrived to bring about his destruction by betraying him to
+the Saracens, who over-powered and killed him in the Valley of
+Roncesvalles, as related in the well-known "Chanson de Roland."
+
+VALHALLA'S HALL. King Ludwig I of Bavaria ordered a Greek temple to be
+built on the banks of the Danube near Regensburg, to which he gave the
+name of Valhalla. In this the busts of all great Germans are placed--as,
+for instance, with great ceremony, that of Bismarck some years ago, and
+recently that of Wagner. Atta Troll's epitaph is a satirical imitation
+of the poetic effusions of Ludwig I, who considered himself a poet but
+was nothing more than an affected versifier. His mania for compression
+and for participial forms (not to be tolerated in German) more than once
+drew the arrows of Heine's wit. The last line: "Talent none, but
+character," has become a familiar phrase in Germany.
+
+
+CANTO XXV
+
+PYRENEEAN LAFAYETTE. Lafayette fought for the Revolution in France as
+well as in America.
+
+"THAT WHICH SONG WOULD MAKE ETERNAL," &c. A quotation in a semi-satiric
+vein from Schiller's "The Gods of Greece."
+
+
+CANTO XXVI
+
+DROVE THE SNAKES AND LIONS FAR. A burlesque quotation from
+Freiligrath's poem "Der Loewenritt," from which also the reference later
+on to the crocodile is taken.
+
+
+CANTO XXVII
+
+VARNHAGEN VON ENSE (1785-1858). After abandoning his career as a
+diplomat, von Ense married the celebrated Rahel. He lived in Berlin,
+where the salon of his wife became the meeting-ground for artists and
+writers. In his youth he associated closely with the romantics--de la
+Motte Fouque, Chamisso, and Clemens Brentano, the brother of Bettina von
+Arnim. Though imitating the heavy and cautious style of the later Goethe
+he was a good writer, and his biographies of celebrated men belong to
+the best in German literature. He endeavoured, but without success, to
+win over the all-powerful Austrian Minister Metternich to the cause of
+"Young Germany."
+
+OTHER TIMES AND OTHER BIRDS! These words refer to the new generation of
+poets--Georg Herwegh, Friedrich Freiligrath, Dingelstedt, Hoffmann von
+Fallersleben, and Anastasius Gruen--who came upon the scene about 1840,
+cherished mechanic-democratic ideals and brought about the Revolution of
+1848. Heine, by nature an aristocratic poet, who instinctively dreaded
+the competition of "noble bears," saw all his loftiest principles
+trodden into the mire by these Utopian hot-heads and the crew of
+politicians that came storming after them. This doctrinaire and
+numerical interpretation of the rights of man--for which rights in their
+proper application the poet himself had fought so valiantly--caused him
+great unhappiness. He now saw his fairest concepts (as is made clear in
+his own introduction) distorted as in some crooked mirror, and so,
+filled with anger, grief and disgust, he conceived and wrote his
+lyrico-satiric masterpiece, "Atta Troll." The poem has been
+misunderstood to this very day, for the mechanics and theorists have
+practically won. _The day it is understood, their reign will be over_.
+
+PRINTED AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS LONDON
+
+
+NOTES OF THE TRANSCRIBER
+
+Three instances of "Willy Pogany" were corrected to "Willy Pogany."
+
+"ond entreaties" was changed to "fond entreaties."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine
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