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diff --git a/31305-h/31305-h.htm b/31305-h/31305-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b592f87 --- /dev/null +++ b/31305-h/31305-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5416 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> + <head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of ATTA TROLL, by Heinrich Heine. +</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top:.75em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.75em;text-indent:2%;} + +p.notes {margin-top:5%;text-indent:0%;} + +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.canto {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;margin-top:5%;} + +.sml {font-size:60%;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} + +.r {text-align:right;margin-right:5%;} + + h3 {margin-top:15%;text-align:center;clear:both;} + +.top5 {margin-top:5%;} + +.top15 {margin-top:15%;} + + hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} + + hr.full {width:100%;margin:5% auto 5% auto;border:4px double gray;} + + table {margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} + +table.attatroll {padding-right:3em;padding-top:10em;padding-bottom:3em;border:none;} + +table.attatroll2 {padding-right:3em;padding-top:0;padding-bottom:3em;border:none;} + + body{margin-left:10%;margin-right:10%;background:#fdfdfd;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:large;font-weight:bold;} + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + +.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:95%;} + + img {border:none;} + +div.image {margin:auto;text-align:center;padding:15%;} + +.poem {margin-left:25%;white-space:nowrap;text-indent:0%;} +</style> + </head> +<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 & 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> </td><td align="right">page</td></tr> +<tr valign="bottom"><td><a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Interpretation of Heinrich</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heine's "Atta Troll," by Dr.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oscar 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 Heine</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr valign="bottom"><td><a href="#ATTATROLL">ATTA 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. Oscar 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> </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 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 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 INTERPRETATION OF<br /> +HEINRICH HEINE'S<br /> +"ATTA 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—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.</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—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.</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—for social or religious reasons—no +divorce can ever dissolve. And, worse than +that, no separation either, for a poet is—through<a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a> +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</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—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:</i> +Mais fiche-moi donc la paix—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—<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—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<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—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.</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—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—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</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—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—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 ἁρετἡ. 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—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.</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—we may +find the answer in "Zarathustra"—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—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—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—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—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 BY 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—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.</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—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—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—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—of that I thought but little, as I still do<a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a> +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.</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—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,<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—</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—</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,—<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—</span><br /> +Lives for mere externals—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—</span><br /> +<br /> +Thrilling must that crash have been—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Likewise hard upon the ear—</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—</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—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—<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—mine eyes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let me lave—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—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—</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—<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—<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—<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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, what gentle connoisseurs!—</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—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—</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—<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—<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!—</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—particularly</span><br /> +Towards the noble race of bears—<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—<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—<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;—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?—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—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?—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—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—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—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—</span><br /> +Rights most unassailable—<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—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—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!—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,—<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—</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—the stars with tails</span><br /> +Even as the tailless ones—<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,—</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,—</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—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—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—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—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!—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—<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—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,—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—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—<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>—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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is bad enough!—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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even the tamest! how they sing,—</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—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—</span><br /> +Never speaks he, never laughs—<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—his mother's,—</span><br /> +Old Uraka's,—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—<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—</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;—</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—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—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,—</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,—</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hapless mouse!—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—</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—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—<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—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—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—</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—</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—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—<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—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,—</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—<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—yon knight</span><br /> +Gleaming all in golden mail,—<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,—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—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—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—<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;—<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,—</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—<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,—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—</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,—<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—<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;—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—</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;—<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>,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Footgear comfortless and rude!</span><br /> +<br /> +Helped me to disrobe,—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!"—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?—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—<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,—<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—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 /> +Phœbus 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—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—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—</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—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,—<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—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—and some</span><br /> +Of their passion—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,—<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—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—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—then, O bliss!</span><br /> +I shall disenchanted be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Breathe as man—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!—</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—Oh, heavens!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis a mortal man she loves!</span><br /> +<br /> +Man it is—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—a loving heart!</span><br /> +<br /> +Yes, she loves him—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—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—<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—"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,—</span><br /> +"Children! soon my earthly days<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall be ended—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—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?—<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—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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conjugal affection—love—</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;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Mumma!" is his final sob!</span><br /> +<br /> +Thus our noble hero fell—<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,—</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—<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,—</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—<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—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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Animal and vegetable,—</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;—chatting thus,—</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—<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—</span><br /> +Times were bad—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,—here I find</span><br /> +All the flowers of my native<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tropics,—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;—</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:—</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!—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!—<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;—</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 TO "ATTA TROLL"</h3> + +<p class="c">BY DR. OSCAR 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—but they alone—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—the four F's—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—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"—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—or +patriots—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—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—the "great pagan," as the Germans +call him—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—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—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—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—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—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," &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—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—Georg Herwegh, Friedrich Freiligrath,<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a> +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. <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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATTA TROLL *** + +***** This file should be named 31305-h.htm or 31305-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/0/31305/ + +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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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