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diff --git a/31305.txt b/31305.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2cbb95b --- /dev/null +++ b/31305.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4415 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Atta Troll + +Author: Heinrich Heine + +Contributor: Oscar Levy + +Illustrator: Willy Pogany + +Translator: Herman Scheffauer + +Release Date: February 17, 2010 [EBook #31305] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATTA TROLL *** + + + + +Produced by Meredith Bach, Chuck Greif and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + +ATTA TROLL + +_From the German of +Heinrich Heine_ + +by + +_Herman Scheffauer_ +with an introduction + +by + +_Dr Oscar Levy_ +and some Pen-and-Ink +sketches by +_Willy Pogany_ + +Sidgwick & Jackson London 1913 + +[Illustration: Frontispiece] + +[Illustration: + +ATTA TROLL + +From the German of +_Heinrich Heine_ + +by + +_Herman Scheffauer_ +with some Pen-and-Ink +sketches by +_Willy Pogany _ + +Sidgwick & Jackson London 1913] + +[Illustration] + + + + +CONTENTS + + + page + +INTRODUCTION + An Interpretation of Heinrich + Heine's "Atta Troll," by Dr. + Oscar Levy 3 + +PREFACE + By Heine 25 + +ATTA TROLL 35 + +NOTES + By Dr. Oscar Levy 165 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + page + +FRONTISPIECE ii + +TITLE-PAGE iii + +ATTA TROLL iv + +INTRODUCTION (Half-Title) 1 + +ATTA TROLL (Half-Title) 33 + + +_The headings and tail-pieces to the Cantos are by Horace Taylor_ + + + + +[Illustration: INTRODUCTION] + + + + +AN INTERPRETATION OF HEINRICH HEINE'S "ATTA TROLL" + + +_HE who has visited the idyllic isle of Corfu must have seen, gleaming +white amidst its surroundings of dark green under a sky of the deepest +blue, the Greek villa which was erected there by Elizabeth, Empress of +Austria. It is called the Achilleion. In its garden there is a small +classic temple in which the Empress caused to be placed a marble statue +of her most beloved of poets, Heinrich Heine. The statue represented the +poet seated, his head bowed in profound melancholy, his cheeks thin and +drawn and bearded, as in his last illness._ + +_Elizabeth, Empress of Austria, felt a sentimental affinity with the +poet; his unhappiness, his_ Weltschmerz, _touched a responsive chord in +her own unhappy heart. Intellectual sympathy with Heine's thought or +tendencies there could have been little, for no woman has ever quite +understood Heinrich Heine, who is still a riddle to most of the men of +this age._ + +_After the assassination of the hapless Empress, the beautiful villa was +bought by the German Emperor. He at once ordered Heine's statue to be +removed--whither no one knows. Royal (as well as popular) spite has +before this been vented on dead or inanimate things--one need only ask +Englishmen to remember what happened to the body of Oliver Cromwell. The +Kaiser's action, by the way, did not pass unchallenged. Not only in +Germany but in several other countries indignant voices were raised at +the time, protesting against an act so insulting to the memory of the +great singer, upholding the fame of Heine as a poet and denouncing the +new master of the Achilleion for his narrow and prejudiced views on art +and literature._ + +_There was, however, a sound reason for the Imperial interference. +Heinrich Heine was in his day an outspoken enemy of Prussia, a severe +critic of the House of Hohenzollern and of other Royal houses of +Germany. He was one who held in scorn the principles of State and +government that are honoured in Germany, and elsewhere, to this very +day. He was one of those poets--of whom the nineteenth century produced +only a few, but those amongst the greatest--who had begun to distrust +the capacity of the reigning aristocracy, who knew what to expect from +the rising bourgeoisie, and who were nevertheless not romantic enough to +believe in the people and the wonderful possibilities hidden in them. +These poets--one and all--have taken up a very negative attitude towards +their contemporaries and have given voice to their anger and +disappointment over the pettiness of the society and government of their +time in words full of satire and contempt._ + +_Of course, the echo on the part of their audiences has not been +wanting. All these poets have experienced a fate surprisingly similar, +and their relationship to their respective countries reminds one of +those unhappy matrimonial alliances which--for social or religious +reasons--no divorce can ever dissolve. And, worse than that, no +separation either, for a poet is--through his mother tongue--so +intimately wedded to his country that not even a separation can effect +any sort of relief in such a desperate case. All of them have tried +separation, all of them have lived in estrangement from their +country--we might almost say that only the local and lesser poets of the +last century have stayed at home--and yet in spite of this separation +the mutual recriminations of these passionate poetical husbands and +their obstinate national wives have never ceased. Again and again we +hear the male partner making proposals to win his spouse to better and +nobler ways, again and again he tries to "educate her up to himself" and +endeavours to direct her anew, pointing out to her the danger of her +unruly and stupid behaviour; again and again his loving approaches are +thwarted by the well-known waywardness of the feminine character, and so +all his friendly admonitions habitually turn into torrents of abuse and +vilification. There have been many unhappy unions in the world, but the +compulsory_ mesalliances _of such great nineteenth-century writers as +Heine, Byron, Stendhal, Gobineau, and Nietzsche with Mesdames +Britannia, Gallia, and Germania, those otherwise highly respectable +ladies, easily surpass in grotesqueness anything that has come to us +through divorce court proceedings in England and America. That, as every +one will agree, is saying a good deal._ + +_The German Emperor, as I have said, had some justification for his +action, some motives that do credit, if not to his intellect, at least +to what in our days best takes the place of intellect; that is to say +his character and his principles of government. The German Emperor +appears at least to realize how offensive and, from his point of view, +dangerous, the spirit of Heinrich Heine is to this very day, how deeply +his satire cuts into questions of religion and State, how impatient he +is of everything which the German Emperor esteems and venerates in his +innermost heart. But the German people, on the whole, and certainly all +foreigners, have long ago forgiven the poet, not because they have +understood the dead bard better than the Emperor, but because they +understood him less well. It is always easier to forgive an offender if +you do not understand him too well, it is likewise easier to forgive +him if your memory be short. And the peoples likewise resemble our +womenfolk in this respect, that as soon as they are widowed of their +poets, they easily forget all the unpleasantness that had ever existed +between them and their dead husbands. It is then and only then that they +discover the good qualities of their dead consorts and go about telling +everybody "what a wonderful man he was." Their behaviour reminds me of a +picture I once saw in a French comic paper. It represented a widow who, +in order to hear her deceased husband's voice, had a gramophone put at +his empty place at the breakfast table. And every morning she sat +opposite that gramophone weeping quietly into her handkerchief, gazing +mournfully at the instrument--decorated with her dead hubby's tasselled +cap--and listening to the voice of the dear departed. But the only words +which came out of the gramophone every morning were:_ Mais fiche-moi +donc la paix--tu m'empeches de lire mon journal! _(For goodness' sake, +leave me alone and let me read my paper.) This, however, did not appear +to disturb the sentimental widow at all, as little indeed as a good +sentimental people resents being abused by its dead poet._ + +_And how our poet did abuse them during his life! And not only during +his life, for Heine would not have been a great poet if his loves and +hatreds, his censure and his praise had not outlasted his life, nay, had +not come to real life only after his death. Thus the shafts of wit and +satire which Heine levelled at his age and his country will seem +singularly modern to the reader of to-day. It is this peculiar modern +significance and application that has been one of the two reasons for +presenting to the English public the first popular edition of Heine's +lyrico-satiric masterpiece "Atta Troll." The other reason is the fine +quality of the translation, made by one who is himself well known as a +poet, my friend Herman Scheffauer. I venture to say that it renders in a +remarkable degree the elusive brilliance, wit, and tenderness of the +German original._ + +_The poem begins in a sprightly fashion full of airy mockery and +romantic lyricism. The reader is beguiled as with music and led on as in +a dance. Heine himself called it_ das letzte freie Waldlied der Romantik +_("The last free woodland-song of Romanticism"); and so we hear the +alluring sound of flutes and harps, we listen to the bells ringing from +lonely chapels in the forest, and many beautiful flowers nod to us, the +mysterious blue flower amongst them. Then our eyes rejoice at the sight +of fair maidens, whose nude and slender bodies gleam from under their +floods of golden hair, who ride on white horses and throw us provocative +glances, that warm and quicken our innermost hearts. But just as we are +on the point of responding to their fond entreaties we are startled by +the cracking of the wild hunter's whip, and we hear the loud hallo and +huzza of his band, and see them galloping across our path in the eerie +mysterious moonlight. Yes, in "Atta Troll" there is plenty of that +moonshine, of that tender sentimentality, which used to be the principal +stock-in-trade of the German Romanticist._ + +_But this moonshine and all the other paraphernalia of the Romantic +School Heine handled with all the greater skill, inasmuch as he was no +longer a real Romanticist when he wrote "Atta Troll." He had left the +Romantic School long ago, not without (as he himself tells us) "having +given a good thrashing to his schoolmaster." He was now a Greek, a +follower of Spinoza and Goethe. He was a_ Romantique defroque--_one who +had risen above his neurotic fellow-poets and their hazy ideas and wild +endeavours. But for this very reason he is able to use their mode of +expression with so much the greater skill, and, knowing all their +shortcomings, he could give to his Dreamland a semblance of reality +which they could never achieve. Only after having left a town are we in +a position to judge the height of its church steeple, only as exiles do +we begin to see the right relation in which our country stands to the +rest of the world, and only a poet who had bidden farewell to his party +and school, who had freed himself from Romanticism, could give us the +last, the truest, the most beautiful poem of Romanticism._ + +_It is possible, even probable, that "Atta Troll" will appeal to a +majority of readers, not through its satire, but through its wonderful +lyrical and romantic qualities--our age being inclined to look askance +at satire, at least at true satire, at satire that, as the current +phrase goes, "means business." Weak satire, aimless satire, humour, +caricature--that is to say satire which uses blank cartridges--this age +of ours will readily endure, nay heartily welcome; but of true satire, +of satire that goes in for powder and shot, that does not only crack, +but kill, it is mortally, and, if one comes to think of it rightly, +afraid. But let even those who object to powder and shot approach "Atta +Troll" without fear or misgiving. They will not be disappointed. They +will find in this work proof of the old truth that a satirist is always +and originally a man of high ideals and imagination. They will gain an +insight into his much slandered soul, which is always that of a great +poet. They will readily understand that this poet only became a satirist +through the vivacity of his imagination, through the strength of his +poetic vision, through his optimistic belief in humanity and its +possibilities; and that it was precisely this great faith which forced +him to become a satirist, because he could not endure to see all his +pure ideals and the possibilities of perfection soiled and trampled upon +by thoughtless mechanics, aimless mockers and babbling reformers. The +humorist may be--and very often is--a sceptic, a pessimist, a nihilist; +the satirist is invariably a believer, an optimist, an idealist. For let +this dangerous man only come face to face, not with his enemies, but +with his ideals, and you will see--as in "Atta Troll"--what a generous +friend, what an ardent lover, what a great poet he is. Thus no one will +be in the least disturbed by Heine's satire: on the contrary, those who +object to it on principle will hardly be aware of it, so delighted will +they be with the wonderful imagination, the glowing descriptions, and +the passionate lyrics in which the poetry of "Atta Troll" abounds. The +poem may be and will be read by them as "Gulliver's Travels" is read +to-day by young and old, by poet and politician alike, not for its +original satire, but for its picturesque, dramatic, and enthralling +tale._ + +_But let those who still believe that writing is fighting, and not +sham-fighting only, those who hold that a poet is a soldier of the pen +and therefore the most dangerous of all soldiers, those who feel that +our age needs a hailstorm of satire, let these, I say, look closer at +the wonderfully ideal figures that pass before them in the pale +mysterious light. Let them listen more intently to the flutes and harps +and they will discover quite a different melody beneath--a melody by no +means bewitching or soothing, nor inviting us to dreams, sweet +forgetfulness, soft couches, and tender embraces, but a shrill and +mocking tune that is at times insolently discordant and that strikes us +as decidedly modern, realistic, and threatening. As the poet himself +expressed it in his dedication to Varnhagen von Ense:_ + + "_Aye, my friend, such strains arise_ + _From the dream-time that is dead_ + Though some modern trills may oft + Caper through the ancient theme. + + "Spite of waywardness thou'lt find + Here and there a note of pain...." + +_Let their ears seek to catch these painful notes. Let their eyes +accustom themselves to the deceitful light of the moon; let them +endeavour to pierce through the romanticism on the surface to the +underlying meaning of the poem.... A little patience and we shall see +clearly...._ + +_Atta Troll, the dancing bear, is the representative of the people. He +has--by means of the French Revolution, of course--broken his fetters +and escaped to the freedom of the mountains. Here he indulges in that +familiar ranting of a_ sansculotte, _his heart and mouth brimming over +with what Heine calls_ frecher Gleichheitsschwindel _("the barefaced +swindle of equality"). His hatred is above all directed against the +masters from whose bondage he has just escaped, that is to say against +all mankind as a race. As a "true and noble bear" he simply detests +these human beings with their superior airs and impudent smiles, those +arrogant wretches, who fancy themselves something lofty, because they +eat cooked meat and know a few tricks and sciences. Animals, if properly +trained, if only equality of opportunity were given to them, could +learn these tricks just as well--there is therefore no earthly reason +why_ + + _"these men,_ + _Cursed arch-aristocrats,_ + _Should with haughty insolence_ + _Look upon the world of beasts."_ + +_The beasts, so Atta Troll declares, ought not to allow themselves to be +treated in this wise. They ought to combine amongst themselves, for it +is only by means of proper union that the requisite degree of strength +can ever be attained. After the establishment of this powerful union +they should try to enforce their programme and demand the abolition of +private property and of human privileges:_ + + _"And its first great law shall be_ + _For God's creatures one and all_ + _Equal rights--no matter what_ + _Be their faith, or hide, or smell,_ + + _"Strict equality! Each ass_ + _May become Prime Minister,_ + _On the other hand the lion_ + _Shall bear corn unto the mill."_ + +_This outrageous diatribe of the freed slave cuts deeply into the poet's +heart. He, the poet, does not believe in equal, but in the "holy inborn" +rights of men, the rights of valid birth, the rights of the man of +[Greek: harethe]. He, the poet, the admirer of Napoleon, believes +in the latter's_ la carriere ouverte aux talents, _but not in +opportunity given to every dunce or dancing bear. He holds Atta Troll's +opinion to be "high treason against the majesty of humanity," and since +he can endure this no longer, he sets out one fine morning to hunt the +insolent bear in his mountain fastnesses._ + +_A strange being, however, accompanies him. This is a man of the name of +Lascaro, a somewhat abnormal fellow, who is very thin, very pale, and +apparently in very poor health. He is consequently not exactly a +pleasant comrade for the chase: he does not seem to enjoy the sport at +all, and his one endeavour is to get through with his task without +losing more of his strength and health. Even now he is more of an +automaton than a human being, more dead than alive, and yet--greatest of +all miseries!--he is not allowed to die. For he has a mother, the witch +Uraka, who keeps him artificially alive by anointing him every night +with magic salve and giving him such diabolic advice as will be useful +to him during the day. By means of the sham health she gives to her son, +the magic bullets she casts for him, the tricks and wiles she teaches +him, Lascaro is enabled to find the track of Atta Troll, to lure him out +of his lair and to lay him low with a treacherous shot._ + +_Who is this silent Lascaro and his mysterious mother, whom the poet +seems to hold in as slight regard as the noisy Atta Troll? Who is this +Lascaro, whose methods he deprecates, whose health he doubts, whose cold +ways and icy smiles make him shudder? Who is this chilliest of all +monsters? The chilliest of all monsters--we may find the answer in +"Zarathustra"--is the State: and our Lascaro is nothing else than the +spirit of reactionary government, kept artificially alive by his old +witch-mother, the spirit of Feudalism. The nightly anointing of Lascaro +is a parody on the revival of mediaeval customs, by means of which the +frightened aristocracy of Europe in the middle of the last century tried +to stem the tide of the French Revolution--the anointed of the Lord +becoming in Heine's poem the anointed of the witch. But in spite of his +nightly massage, our Lascaro does not gain much strength or spirit: no +mediaeval salves, no feudal pills, no witch's spell, will ever cure him. +Not even a wizard's experiments (we may add, with that greater insight +bestowed upon us by history) could do him any good, not even the astute +magic tricks that were lavished upon the patient in Heine's time by that +arch wizard, the Austrian Minister Metternich. For we must not forget +the time in which "Atta Troll" was written, the time of the omnipotent +Metternich! Let us recall to our memories this cool, clever, callous +statesman, who founded and set the Holy Alliance against the Revolution, +who calmly shot down the German Atta Troll, who skilfully strangled and +stifled that promising poetical school, "Young Germany," to which Heine +belonged. Let us recall this man, who likewise artificially revived the +old religion and the old feudalism, who repolished and regilded the +scutcheons of the decadent aristocracy, and who, despite all his energy, +had at heart no belief in his work, no joy in his task, no faith in the +anointed dummies he brought to life again in Europe--and those puzzling +personalities of Uraka and Lascaro will be elucidated to us by a real +historical example._ + +_Metternich is now part of history. But, alas! we cannot likewise banish +into that limbo of the past those two superfluous individuals, the +revolutionary Atta Troll and the reactionary Lascaro. Alas! we cannot +join the joyful, but inwardly so hopeless, band of those who sing the +paean of eternal progress, who pretend to believe that the times are +always "changing for the better." Let these good people open their eyes, +and they will see that Atta Troll was not shot down in the valley of +Roncesvalles, but that he is still alive, very much alive, and making a +dreadful noise, and that not in the Pyrenees, but just outside our +doors, where he still keeps haranguing about equality and liberty and +occasionally breaks his fetters and escapes from his masters. And when +this occurs, then that icy monster Lascaro is likewise seen, with his +hard, pallid face and his joyless mouth, and his disgust with his own +task and his doubts and disbeliefs in himself. He still carries his gun +and he still possesses some of that craftiness which his mother the +witch has taught him, and he still knows how to entrap that poor, stupid +Atta Troll, and to shoot him down when the spirit of "order and +government," the spirit of a soulless capitalism, requires it._ + +_No, there is very little feeling in the man as yet, and he seems as +difficult to move as ever. There is apparently only one thing that can +rouse him into action, and that is when a poet appears, one who knows +the truth and who dares to speak the truth not only about Atta Troll, +the people, but also about its Lascaros, its leaders, its emperors, and +kings. Then and then only his hard features change, and his affected +self-possession leaves him, then and then only his mask of calmness is +thrown off, and he waxes very angry with the poet, and has his name +banished from his court and his statues turned out of his cities and +villas--nay, he would even level his gun to slay the truth-telling poet +as he slew Atta Troll._ + +_From which we may see that the modern Lascaro has become a sort of Don +Quixote--for, truly is it not the height of folly for a mortal emperor +to shoot at an immortal poet?_ + +OSCAR LEVY + +London, 1913 + + + + + +PREFACE BY HEINE + + +_"ATTA TROLL" was composed in the late autumn of 1841, and appeared as a +fragment in_ The Elegant World, _of which my friend Laube had at that +time resumed the editorship. The shape and contents of the poem were +forced to conform to the narrow necessities of that periodical. I wrote +at first only those cantos which might be printed and even these +suffered many variations. It was my intention to issue the work later in +its full completeness, but this commendable resolve remained +unfulfilled--like all the mighty works of the Germans--such as the +cathedral of Cologne, the God of Schelling, the Prussian Constitution, +and the like. This also happened to "Atta Troll"--he was never finished. +In such imperfect form, indifferently bolstered up and rounded only from +without, do I now set him before the public, obedient to an impulse +which certainly does not proceed from within._ + +_"Atta Troll," as I have said, originated in the late autumn of 1841, at +the time when the great mob which my enemies of various complexions, +had drummed together against me, had not quite ceased its noise. It was +a very large mob and indeed I would never have believed that Germany +could produce so many rotten apples as then flew about my head! Our +Fatherland is a blessed country! Citrons and oranges certainly do not +grow here, and the laurel ekes out but a miserable existence, but rotten +apples thrive in the happiest abundance, and never a great poet of ours +but could write feelingly of them! On the occasion of that hue and cry +in which I was to lose both my head and my laurels it happened that I +lost neither. All the absurd accusations which were used to incite the +mob against me have since then been miserably annihilated, even without +my condescending to refute them. Time justified me, and the various +German States have even, as I must most gratefully acknowledge, done me +good service in this respect. The warrants of arrest which at every +German station past the frontier await the return of this poet, are +thoroughly renovated every year during the holy Christmastide, when the +little candles glow merrily on the Christmas trees. It is this +insecurity of the roads which has almost destroyed my pleasure in +travelling through the German meads. I am therefore celebrating my +Christmas in an alien land, and it will be as an exile in a foreign +country that I shall end my days._ + +_But those valiant champions of Light and Truth who accuse me of +fickleness and servility, are able to go about quite securely in the +Fatherland--as well-stalled servants of the State, as dignitaries of a +Guild, or as regular guests of a club where of evenings they may regale +themselves with the vinous juices of Father Rhine and with +"sea-surrounded Schleswig-Holstein" oysters._ + +_It was my express intention to indicate in the foregoing at what period +"Atta Troll" was written. At that time the so-called art of political +poetry was in full flower. The opposition, as Ruge says, sold its +leather and became poetry. The Muses were given strict orders that they +were thenceforth no longer to gad about in a wanton, easy-going fashion, +but would be compelled to enter into national service, possibly as_ +vivandieres _of liberty or as washerwomen of Christian-Germanic +nationalism. Especially were the bowers of the German bards afflicted by +that vague and sterile pathos, that useless fever of enthusiasm which, +with absolute disregard for death, plunges itself into an ocean of +generalities. This always reminds me of the American sailor who was so +madly enthusiastic over General Jackson that he sprang from the +mast-head into the sea, crying out: "I die for General Jackson!" Yes, +even though we Germans as yet possessed no fleet, still we had plenty of +sailors who were willing to die for General Jackson, in prose or verse. +In those days talent was a rather questionable gift, for it brought one +under suspicion of being a loose character. After thousands of years of +grubbing deliberation, Impotence, sick and limping Impotence, at last +discovered its greatest weapon against the over-encouragement of +genius--it discovered, in fact, the antithesis between Talent and +Character. It was almost personally flattering to the great masses when +they heard it said that good, average people were certainly poor +musicians as a rule, but that, on the other hand, fine musicians were +not usually good people--that goodness was the important thing in this +world and not music. Empty-Head now beat resolutely upon his full Heart, +and Sentiment was trumps. I recall an author of that day who accounted +his inability to write as a peculiar merit in himself, and who, because +of his wooden style, was given a silver cup of honour._ + +_By the eternal gods! at that time it became necessary to defend the +inalienable rights of the spirit, above all in poetry. Inasmuch as I +have made this defence the chief business of my life, I have kept it +constantly before me in this poem whose tone and theme are both a +protest against the plebiscite of the tribunes of the times. And verily, +even the first fragments of "Atta Troll" which saw the light, aroused +the wrath of my heroic worthies, my dear Romans, who accused me not only +of a literary but also of a social reaction, and even of mocking the +loftiest human ideals. As to the esthetic worth of my poem--of that I +thought but little, as I still do to-day--I wrote it solely for my own +joy and pleasure, in the fanciful dreamy manner of that romantic school +in which I whiled away my happiest years of youth, and then wound up by +thrashing the schoolmaster. Possibly in this regard my poem is to be +condemned. But thou liest, Brutus, thou too, Cassius, and even thou, +Asinius, when ye declare that my mockery is levelled against those +ideals which constitute the noble achievements of man, for which I too +have wrought and suffered so much. No, it is just because the poet +constantly sees these ideas before him in all their clarity and +greatness that he is forced into irresistible laughter when he beholds +how raw, awkward, and clumsy these ideas may appear when interpreted by +a narrow circle of contemporary spirits. Then perforce must he jest +about their thick temporal hides--bear hides. There are mirrors which +are ground in so irregular a way that even an Apollo would behold +himself as a caricature in them, and invite laughter. But we do not +laugh at the god but merely at his distorted image._ + +_Another word. Need I lay any special emphasis upon the fact that the +parodying of one of Freiligrath's poems, which here and there somewhat +saucily titters from the lines of "Atta Troll," in no wise constitutes a +disparagement of that poet? I value him highly, especially at present, +and account him one of the most important poets who have arisen in +Germany since the Revolution of 1830. His first collection of poems came +to my notice rather late, namely just at the time when I was composing +"Atta Troll." The fact that the Moorish Prince affected me so comically +was no doubt due to my particular mood at that time. Moreover, this work +of his is usually vaunted as his best. To such readers as may not be +acquainted with this production--and I doubt not such may be found in +China and Japan, and even along the banks of the Niger and Senegal--I +would call attention to the fact that the Blackamoor King, who at the +beginning of the poem steps from his white tent like an eclipsed moon, +is beloved by a black beauty over whose dusky features nod white ostrich +plumes. But, eager for war, he leaves her, and enters into the battles +of the blacks, "where rattles the drum decorated with skulls," but, +alas! here he finds his black Waterloo, and is sold by the victors unto +the whites. They take the noble African to Europe and here we find him +in a company of itinerant circus folk who intrust him with the care of +the Turkish drum at their performances. There he stands, dark and +solemn, at the entrance to the ring, and drums. But as he drums he +thinks of his erstwhile greatness, remembers, too, that he was once an +absolute monarch on the far, far banks of the Niger, that he hunted +lions and tigers:_ + + _"His eye grew moist; with hollow thunder_ + _He beat the drum, till it sprang in sunder."_ + +HEINRICH HEINE + +Written at Paris, 1846 + +[Illustration: ATTA TROLL] + + _Out of the gleaming, shimmering tents of white_ + _Steps the Prince of the Moors in his armour bright--_ + _So out of the slumbering clouds of night,_ + _The moon in its dark eclipse takes flight._ + + "The Prince of Blackamoors," + by Ferdinand Freiligrath. + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO I + + + Ringed about by mountains dark, + Rising peak on sullen peak, + And by furious waterfalls + Lulled to slumber, like a dream + + White within the valley lies + Cauterets. Each villa neat + Sports a balcony whereon + Lovely ladies stand and laugh. + + Heartily they laugh and look + Down upon the crowded square + Where unto a bag-pipe's drone + He- and she-bear strut and dance. + + Atta Troll is dancing there + With his Mumma, dusky mate, + While in wonderment the Basques + Shout aloud and clap their hands. + + Stiff with pride and gravity + Dances noble Atta Troll, + Though his shaggy partner knows + Neither dignity nor shame. + + I am even fain to think + She is verging on the can-can, + For her shameless wagging hints + Of the gay _Grande Chaumiere_ + + Even he, the showman brave, + Holding her with loosened chain, + Marks the immorality + Of her most immodest dance. + + So at times he lays the lash + Straight across her inky back, + Till the mountains wake and shout + Echoes to her frenzied howls. + + On the showman's pointed hat + Six Madonnas made of lead + Shield him from the foeman's balls + Or invasions of the louse. + + And a gaudy altar-cloth + From his shoulders hanging down, + Makes a proper sort of cloak, + Hiding pistol and a knife. + + In his youth a monk was he, + Then became a robber chief; + Later, in Don Carlos' ranks, + He combined the other two. + + When Don Carlos, forced to flee, + Bade his Table Round farewell, + All his Paladins resolved + Straight to learn an honest trade. + + Herr Schnapphahnski turned a scribe, + And our staunch Crusader here + Just a showman, with his bears + Trudging up and down the land. + + And in every market-place + For the people's pence they dance-- + In the square at Cauterets + Atta Troll is dancing now! + + Atta Troll, the Forest King, + He who ruled on mountain-heights, + Now to please the village mob, + Dances in his doleful chains. + + Worse and worse! for money vile + He must dance who, clad in might, + Once in majesty of terror + Held the world a sorry thing! + + When the memories of his youth + And his lost dominions green, + Smite the soul of Atta Troll, + Mournful sobs escape his breast. + + And he scowls as scowled the black + Monarch famed of Freiligrath; + In his rage he dances badly, + As the darkey badly drummed. + + Yet compassion none he wins,-- + Only laughter! Juliet + From her balcony is laughing + At his wild, despairing bounds. + + Juliet, you see, is French, + And was born without a soul-- + Lives for mere externals--but + Her externals are so fair! + + Like a net of tender gleams + Are the glances of her eye, + And our hearts like little fishes, + Fall and struggle in that net. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO II + + + When the dusky Moorish Prince + Sung by poet Freiligrath + Beat upon his mighty drum + Till the drumskin crashed and broke-- + + Thrilling must that crash have been-- + Likewise hard upon the ear-- + But just fancy when a bear + Breaks away from captive chains! + + Swift the laughter and the pipes + Cease. What yells of fear arise! + From the square the people rush + And the gentle dames grow pale. + + Yea, from all his slavish bonds + Atta Troll has torn him free. + Suddenly! With mighty leaps + Through the narrow streets he runs. + + Room enough is his, I trow! + Up the jagged cliffs he climbs, + Flings down one contemptuous look, + Then is lost within the hills. + + Lone within the market-place + Mumma and her master stand-- + Raging, now he grasps his hat, + Cursing, casts it on the earth, + + Tramples on it, kicks and flouts + The Madonnas, tears the cloak + Off his foul and naked back, + Yells and blasphemes horribly + + 'Gainst the base ingratitude + Of the race of sable bears. + Had he not been kind to Troll? + Taught him dancing free of charge? + + Everything this monster owed him, + Even life. For some had bid, + All in vain! three hundred marks + For the hide of Atta Troll. + + Like some carven form of grief + There the poor black Mumma stands + On her hind feet, with her paws + Pleading with the raging clown. + + But on her the raging clown + Looses now his twofold wrath; + Beats her; calls her Queen Christine, + Dame Munoz--Putana too.... + + All this happened on a fair + Sunny summer afternoon. + And the night which followed, ah! + Was superb and wonderful. + + Of that night a part I spent + On a small white balcony; + Juliet was at my side + And we viewed the passing stars. + + "Fairer far," she sighed, "the stars + Which in Paris I have seen, + When upon a winter's night + In the muddy streets they shine." + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO III + + + Dream of summer nights! How vain + Is my fond fantastic song. + Quite as vain as Love and Life, + And Creator and Creation. + + Subject to his own sweet will, + Now in gallop, now in flight, + So my Pegasus, my darling, + Revels through the realms of myth. + + Ah, no plodding cart-horse he! + Harnessed up for citizens, + Nor a ramping party-hack + Full of showy kicks and neighs. + + For my little winged steed's + Hoofs are shod with solid gold + And his bridle, dragging free, + Is a rope of gleaming pearls. + + Bear me wheresoe'er thou wouldst-- + To some lofty mountain-trail + Where the torrents toss and shriek + Warnings over folly's gulf. + + Bear me through the silent vales + Where the solemn oaks arise + From whose twisted roots there well + Ancient springs of fairy lore. + + There, oh, let me drink--mine eyes + Let me lave--Oh, how I thirst + For that flashing wonder-spring, + Full of wisdom and of light. + + All my blindness flees. My glance + Pierces to the dimmest cave, + To the lair of Atta Troll, + And his speech I understand! + + Strange it is--this bearish speech + Hath a most familiar ring! + Once, methinks, I heard such tones + In my own dear native land. + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO IV + + + Roncesvalles, thou noble vale! + When thy golden name I hear, + Then the lost blue flower blooms + Once again within my heart! + + All the glittering world of dreams + Rises from its hoary gulf, + And with great and ghostly eyes + Stares upon me till I quake! + + What a stir and clang! The Franks + Battle with the Saracens, + While a thin, despairing wail + Pours like blood from Roland's horn. + + In the Vale of Roncesvalles, + Close beside great Roland's Gap-- + So 'twas named because the Knight + Once to clear himself a path. + + Now this youngest was the pet + Of his mother. Once in play + Chewing off his tiny ear-- + She devoured it for love. + + A most genial youth is he, + Clever in gymnastic tricks, + Throwing somersaults as clever + As dear Massmann's somersaults. + + Blossom of the pristine cult, + For the mother-tongue he raves, + Scorning all the senseless jargon + Of the Romans and the Greeks. + + "Fresh and pious, gay and free," + Hating all that smacks of soap + Or the modern craze for baths-- + Verily like Massmann too! + + Most inspired is this youth + When he clambers up the tree + Which from out the hollow gorge + Rears itself along the cliff, + + Rears and lifts unto the crest + Where at night this jolly band + Squat and loll about their sire + In the twilight dim and cool. + + Gladly there the father bear + Tells them stories of the world, + Of strange cities and their folk, + And of all he suffered too, + + Suffered like Ulysses great-- + Differing slightly from this brave + Since his black Penelope + Never parted from his side. + + Loudly too prates Atta Troll + Of the mighty meed of praise + Which by practice of his art + He had wrung from humankind. + + Young and old, so runs his tale, + Cheered in wonder and in joy, + When in market-squares he danced + To the bag-pipe's pleasant skirl. + + And the ladies most of all-- + Ah, what gentle connoisseurs!-- + Rendered him their mad applause + And full many a tender glance. + + Artists' vanity! Alas, + Pensively the dancing-bear + Thinks upon those happy hours + When his talents pleased the crowd. + + Seized with rapture self-inspired, + He would prove his words by deeds, + Prove himself no boaster vain + But a master in the art. + + Swiftly from the ground he springs, + Stands on hinder paws erect, + Dances then his favourite dance + As of old--the great Gavotte. + + Dumb, with open jaws the cubs + Gaze upon their father there + As he makes his wondrous leaps + In the moonshine to and fro. + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO V + + + In his cavern by his young, + Atta Troll in moody wise + Lies upon his back and sucks + Fiercely at his paws, and growls: + + "Mumma, Mumma, dusky pearl + That from out the sea of life + I had gathered, in that sea + I have lost thee once again! + + "Shall I never see thee more? + Shall it be beyond the grave + Where from earthly travail free + Thy bright spirit spreads its wings? + + "Ah, if I might once again + Lick my darling Mumma's snout-- + Lovely snout as dear to me + As if smeared with honey-dew. + + "Might I only sniff once more + That aroma sweet and rare + Of my dear and dusky mate-- + Scent as sweet as roses' breath! + + "But, alas! my Mumma lies + In the bondage of that tribe + Which believes itself Creation's + Lords and bears the name of Man! + + "Death! Damnation! that these men-- + Cursed arch-aristocrats! + Should with haughty insolence + Look upon the world of beasts! + + "They who steal our wives and young, + Chain us, beat us, slaughter us!-- + Yea, they slaughter us and trade + In our corpses and our pelts! + + "More, they deem these hideous deeds + Justified--particularly + Towards the noble race of bears-- + This they call the Rights of Man! + + "Rights of Man? The Rights of Man! + Who bestowed these rights on you? + Surely 'twas not Mother Nature-- + She is ne'er unnatural! + + "Rights of Man! Who gave to you + All these privileges rare? + Verily it was not Reason-- + Ne'er unreasonable she! + + "Is it, men, because you roast, + Stew or fry or boil your meat, + Whilst our own is eaten raw, + That you deem yourselves so grand? + + "In the end 'tis all the same. + Food alone can ne'er impart + Any worth;--none noble is + Save who nobly acts and feels! + + "Are you better, human things, + Just because success attends + All your arts and sciences? + No mere wooden-heads are we! + + "Are there not most learned dogs! + Horses, too, that calculate + Quite as well as bankers?--Hares + Who have skill in beating drums? + + "Are not beavers most adroit + In the craft of waterworks? + Were not clyster-pipes invented + Through the cleverness of storks? + + "Do not asses write critiques? + Do not apes play comedy? + Could there be a greater actress + Than Batavia the ape? + + "Do the nightingales not sing? + Is not Freiligrath a bard? + Who e'er sang the lion's praise + Better than his brother mule? + + "In the art of dance have I + Gone as far as Raumer quite + In the art of letters--can he + Scribble better than I dance? + + "Why should mortal men be placed + O'er us animals? Though high + You may lift your heads, yet low + In those heads your thoughts do crawl. + + "Human wights, why better, pray, + Than ourselves? Is it because + Smooth and slippery is your skin? + Snakes have that advantage too! + + "Human hordes! two-legged snakes! + Well indeed I understand + That those flapping pantaloons + Must conceal your serpent hides! + + "Children, Oh, beware of these + Vile and hairless miscreants! + O my daughters, never trust + Monsters that wear pantaloons!" + + But no further will I tell + How this bear with arrogant + Fallacies of equal rights + Raved against the human race + + For I too am man, and never + As a man will I repeat + All this vile disparagement, + Bound to give most grave offence. + + Yes, I too am man, am placed + O'er the other mammals all! + Shall I sell my birthright?--No! + Nor my interest betray. + + Ever faithful unto man, + I will fight all other beasts. + I will battle for the high + Holy inborn rights of man! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO VI + + + Yet for man who forms the higher + Class of animals 'twere well + That betimes he should discover + What the lower thinks of him. + + Verily within those drear + Strata of the world of brutes, + In those lower social layers + There is misery, pride and wrath. + + Laws which Nature hath decreed, + Customs sanctioned long by Time, + And for centuries established, + They deny with pertest tongue. + + Grumbling, there the old instil + Evil doctrines in the young, + Doctrines which endanger all + Human culture on the Earth. + + "Children!" grunts our Atta Troll, + As he tosses to and fro + On his hard and stony couch, + "Future time we hold in fee! + + "If each bear, each quadruped, + Held with me a like ideal, + With our whole united force + We the tyrant might engage. + + "Compact then the boar should make + With the horse--the elephant + Curve his trunk in comradeship + Round the valiant ox's horns. + + "Bear and wolf of every shade, + Goat and ape, the rabbit, too. + Let them for the common cause + Labour--and the world is ours! + + "Union! union! is the need + Of our times! For singly we + Fall as slaves, but joined as one + We shall overcome our lords. + + "Union! union! Victory! + We shall overthrow the reign + Of such tyranny and found + One great Kingdom of the Brutes. + + "And its first great law shall be + For God's creatures one and all + Equal rights--no matter what + Be their faith, or hide or smell. + + "Strict equality! Each ass + May become Prime Minister; + On the other hand the lion + Shall bear corn unto the mill. + + "And the dog? Alas, 'tis true + He's a very servile cur, + Just because for ages man + Like a dog has treated him. + + "Yet in our Free State shall he + Once again enjoy his rights-- + Rights most unassailable-- + Thus ennobled be the dog. + + "Yea, the very Jews shall win + All the rights of citizens, + By the law made equal with + Every other mammal free. + + "One thing only be denied them! + Dancing in the market-place; + This amendment I shall make + In the interests of my art. + + "For they lack all sense of style; + All plasticity of limb + Lacks that race. Full surely they + Would debauch the public taste." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO VII + + + Gloomy in his gloomy cave, + In the circle of his home, + Crouches Troll, the Foe of Man, + As he growls and champs his jaws. + + "Men, O crafty, pert _canaille_! + Smile away! That mighty hour + Dawns wherein we shall be freed + From your bondage and your smiles! + + "Most offensive was to me + That same twitching bitter-sweet + Of the lips--the smiles of men + I found unendurable! + + "When in every visage white + I beheld that fatal spasm, + Then did anger seize my bowels + And I felt a hideous qualm. + + "For the smiling lips of men + More insultingly declare, + Even than their lips avouch, + All their insolence of soul. + + "And they smile forever! Even + When all decency demands + Gravity--as in the moments + Of love's solemn mysteries. + + "Yea, they smile forever. Even + In their dances!--desecrate + Thus this high and noble art + Which a sacred cult should be. + + "Ah, the dance in olden days + Was a pious act of faith, + When the priests in solemn round + Turned about their holy shrines. + + "Thus before the Covenant's + Sacred Ark King David danced. + Dancing then was worship too,-- + It was praying with the legs! + + "So did I regard my dance + When before the people all + In the market-place I danced + And was cheered by every soul. + + "This applause, I grant you, oft + Made me feel content at heart; + Sweet it is from grudging foes + Admiration thus to win! + + "Yet despite their rapture they + Still would smile and smile! My art-- + Even that proved vain to save + Them from base frivolity!" + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO VIII + + + Many a virtuous citizen + Smells unpleasantly the while + Ducal knaves are lavendered + Or a-reek with ambergris. + + There are many virgin souls + Redolent of greenest soap; + Vice will often lave herself + In rose attar top to toe. + + Therefore, gentle reader, pray, + Do not lift your nose in air + Should Troll's cavern fail to rouse + Memories of Arabia's spice. + + Bide with me within this reek, + 'Mid these turbid odours foul, + Whence unto his son our hero + Speaks, as from a misty cloud: + + "Child, my child, the last begot + Of my loins, thy single ear + Snuggle close against the snout + Of thy father, and give heed! + + "Oh, beware man's mode of thought; + It destroys both flesh and soul, + For amongst all mankind never + Shalt thou find one worthy man. + + "E'en the Germans, once the best, + Even Tuiskion's sons, + Our dear cousins primitive, + Even they have grown effete. + + "Godless, faithless have they grown; + Atheism now they preach. + Child, my child, oh, guard thee 'gainst + Feuerbach and Bauer too! + + "Never be an atheist! + Monster void of reverence! + For a great Creator reared + All the mighty Universe! + + "And the sun and moon on high, + And the stars--the stars with tails + Even as the tailless ones-- + Are reflections of His power. + + "In the depths of sea and land + Ring the echoes of His fame, + And each creature yields Him praise + For His glory and His might. + + "E'en the tiny silver louse + Which within some pilgrim's beard + Shares his earthly pilgrimage, + Sings to Him a song of praise! + + "High upon his golden throne + In yon splendid tent of stars, + Clad in cosmic majesty, + Sits a titan polar bear. + + "Spotless, gleaming white as snow + Is his fur; his head is decked + With a crown of diamonds + Blazing through the central vault. + + "In his face bide harmony + And the silent deeds of thought, + And obedient to his sceptre + All the planets chime and sing. + + "At his feet sit holy bears, + Saints who suffered on the Earth, + Meekly. In their paws they hold + Splendid palms of martyrdom. + + "Ever and anon they leap + To their feet as though aroused + By the Holy Ghost, and lo! + In a festal dance they join! + + "'Tis a dance where saintly gifts + Cover up defects of style,-- + Dance in which the very soul + Seeks to leap from out its skin! + + "I, unworthy Troll, shall I + Ever such salvation share? + Shall I ever from this drear + Vale of tears ascend to joy? + + "Shall I, drunk with Heaven's draught, + In that tent of stars above, + Dance before the Master's throne + With a halo and a palm?" + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO IX + + + As the noble negro king + Of our Freiligrath protrudes + From his dusky mouth his long + Scarlet tongue in scorn and rage,-- + + Even so the moon now peers + Out of darkling clouds. The sad, + Sleepless waterfalls forever + Roar into the brooding night. + + Atta Troll upon the crest + Of his well-beloved cliff + Stands alone, and now he howls + Down the wind and the abyss: + + "Yea, a bear am I--even he, + Even he whom you have named + Bruin, growler, shag-coat too, + And such other titles vile. + + "Yea, a bear am I--that same + Boorish animal you know; + That gross, trampling brute am I + Of your sly and crafty smiles! + + "Of your wit am I the mark; + I'm the bugbear--him with whom + Every wicked child you frighten + In the silence of the night. + + "Yea, I am that clumsy butt + Of your nursery tales--aloud + Will I shout that name forever + Through the scurvy world of men. + + "Oyez! Oyez! I'm a bear + Unashamed of my descent, + Just as proud as if my forbear + Had been Moses Mendelsohn." + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO X + + + Lo, two figures, wild and sullen, + Gliding, sliding on all fours, + Break a path at dead of night + Through a wood of gloomy pines. + + It is Atta Troll the Sire, + One-Ear too, his youngest son, + And they halt within a clearing + By a stone of bloody rites. + + "This same stone," growled Atta Troll, + "Is a shrine where Druids once + Slaughtered wretched human wights + In dark Superstition's days. + + "Oh! what frightful horrors these! + When I think of them, my fur + Lifts along my back! To praise + God they drenched the soil in blood! + + "Certes, men have now become + More enlightened. Now no more + Do they slaughter in their zeal + For celestial interests. + + "'Tis no longer holy rage, + Ecstasy nor madness sheer, + But self-love alone that urges + Them to slaughter and to crime. + + "Now for worldly goods they strive, + Day by day and year by year. + It is one eternal war; + Each goes robbing for himself. + + "When the common goods of all + Fall into the hands of one, + Straight of Rights of Property + He will prate and Ownership. + + "Property! Just Ownership? + Property is theft! O lies! + Craft and folly!--such a mixture + Man alone would dare invent. + + "Never yet did Nature make + Properties, for pocketless + We are born into the world-- + Who hath pockets in his pelt? + + "None of us was ever born + With such little sacks devised + In our outer hides and skins + To enable us to steal! + + "Only man, that creature smooth + Who in alien wool is garbed + Artfully, in artful wise + Made himself such pockets too. + + "Pockets! as unnatural + As is property itself, + Or that law of have-and-hold. + Men are only pocket-thieves! + + "Flamingly I hate them! Thee + All my hatred I bequeath. + Oh, my son, upon this shrine + Shalt thou swear eternal hate! + + "Be the mortal foeman thou + Of th' oppressor, unforgiving + To thy very end of days! + Swear it--swear it here, my son!" + + And the youngster swore as once + Hannibal. The moonbeams bleak + Yellowed on the bloodstone hoary + And that brace of misanthropes. + + Later shall our harp record + How the young bear kept his faith + And his plighted oath,--for him + Shall our epic strings be strung. + + With regard to Atta Troll, + Let us leave him for a space, + So we may the surer smite + Him with our unerring ball. + + Traitor to Humanity! + Thou art judged, the sentence writ. + Of _lese-majeste_ thou'rt guilty, + And to-morrow sees the chase. + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XI + + + Like to sleepy dancing-girls + Lift the mountains white and cold, + Standing in their skirts of mist + Flaunted by the winds of morn. + + Yet full soon their breasts shall glow + To the sun-god's burning kiss, + He shall tear the clinging veils + And illume their beauty nude. + + In the early dawn had I + With Lascaro sallied forth + On a bear-hunt and the noon + Saw us at the Pont d'Espagne. + + Thus is named the bridge that leads + From the land of France to Spain, + To barbarians of the West, + Centuries behind the times. + + Full ten centuries they lie + From all modern thought removed, + And my own barbarians + Of the East--not more than two. + + Lingering and loth I left + The all-hallowed soil of France, + Left great Freedom's motherland + And the women that I love. + + Midmost of the Pont d'Espagne + Sat a Spaniard. Misery + Lurked within his tattered cape; + Misery lurked within his eyes. + + With his bony fingers he + Plucked an ancient mandolin + Full of discord shrill which echoed + Mockingly from out the gulch. + + Then betimes he leaned aslant + O'er the depths and laughed aloud, + Tinkled then in maddest wise + As he sang his little song: + + "In my very heart of heart + There's a tiny golden table, + And about this golden table + Four small golden chairs are set. + + "Seated on these golden chairs, + Little dames with darts of gold + In their hair are playing cards-- + Clara wins at every game. + + "Yes, she wins and smiles in glee. + Clara, oh, within my heart, + Thou can'st never fail to win, + For thou holdest all the trumps!" + + On I wandered and I spoke + Thus unto myself. How strange! + Lunacy itself sits there + Singing on the road to Spain. + + Is this madman not a sign + Of how nations trade in thought? + Or is he his native land's + Wild and crazy title-page? + + Twilight sank before we came + To a wretched old _posada_ + Where _podrida_--favourite dish! + Steamed within a dirty pot. + + There _garbanzos_ did I eat + Huge and hard as musket-balls, + Which not e'en a native Teuton, + Bred on dumplings, could digest. + + And my bed was of a piece, + With the cooking. Insects vile + Dotted it. Oh, surely these + Are the grimmest foes of man! + + Far more fearful than the wrath + Of a thousand elephants, + Is one small and angry bug + Crawling o'er thy lowly couch. + + Helpless thou against its bite-- + That is bad enough!--but worse + Evil comes if it be crushed + And its horrid smell released. + + All Life's terrors we may taste + In the war with vermin waged, + Vermin well-equipped with stinks, + And in duels with a bug. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XII + + + How they rave, the blessed bards-- + Even the tamest! how they sing,-- + How they do protest that Nature + Is a mighty fane of God! + + One great fane whose splendours all + Of the Maker's glory tell; + Sun and moon and stars they vow + Hang as lamps within the dome. + + Yet concede, most worthy folk, + That this mighty temple hath + Most uncomfortable stairs, + Stairs most villainously bad! + + All this climbing up and down, + Escalading, jumping o'er + Boulders--how it tires me + Both in spirit and in legs! + + By my side Lascaro strode, + Like a taper long and pale-- + Never speaks he, never laughs-- + He the witch's lifeless son. + + For they say Lascaro died + Many years ago--his mother's,-- + Old Uraka's,--magic draughts + Gave to him a seeming life. + + These confounded temple steps! + How it chanced that I escaped + With whole vertebrae will puzzle + Me until my dying day. + + How the torrents foamed and roared! + Through the pines how lashed the wind + Till they groaned! Then suddenly + Burst the clouds! O weather vile! + + In a fisherman's poor hut + Close by Lac de Gaube we gained + Shelter and a mess of trout-- + Dish divine and glorious! + + In his padded arm-chair there + Sat the ancient ferryman, + Ill and grey. His nieces sweet + Like two angels tended him. + + Plumpest angels, Flemish quite, + As if out of Rubens' frame + They had leaped, with golden locks, + Sparkling eyes of limpid blue, + + Dimples in each ruddy cheek + Where bright mischief peered and hid, + And with limbs robust and lithe, + Waking both desire and fear. + + Sweet and bonny creatures they + Who disputed prettily + Which might prove the sweetest draught + To their ancient, ailing charge. + + If one proffers him a brew + Made of linden-flower tea, + Then the other tempts him with + Possets made of elder-blooms. + + "I will swallow none of this!" + Cried the greyhead, sorely tried, + "Bring me wine so that my guest + May have worthy drink with me!" + + If this stuff was really wine + Which I drank at Lac de Gaube-- + Who can tell? My countrymen + Would have dubbed it sweetish beer. + + Vilely smelled the wine-skin too, + Fashioned from a black goat's hide. + But the old man drank and drank + And grew jubilant and gay. + + Of banditti tales he told + And of smugglers, merry men + Who still ply their goodly trades + Freely in the Pyrenees. + + Many ancient stories, too, + He recited, as of wars + 'Twixt the giants and the bears + In the grey primeval days. + + For it seems the bears and ogres + Waged a war for mastery + Of these ranges and these vales + Long ere man came wandering in. + + Startled then at sight of men + All the giants fled the land;-- + Only tiny brains were housed + In their huge, unwieldy heads! + + It is also said these dolts, + When they reached the ocean-shore + Where the azure skies lay glassed + In the watery plains below, + + Fondly fancied that the sea + Must be Heaven. In they plunged + All in reckless confidence, + And in watery graves were gulfed. + + Now the bears are slain by man, + And each year their number grows + Smaller, smaller, till at last + None shall roam within the hills. + + "And," the old man cackled, "thus + On this Earth must one yield room + To the other--after man + We shall have a reign of dwarfs. + + "Tiny and most clever wights + Toiling in the bowels of Earth, + Busy little folk that gather + Riches from Earth's golden veins. + + "I have seen their rounded heads + Peering out of rabbit-holes + In the moonlight--and I shook + As I thought of coming days. + + "Yes, I dread the golden power + Of these mites. Our sons, I fear, + Will like stupid giants plunge + Straight into some watery heaven." + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XIII + + + In the cauldron of the cliffs + Lies the deep and inky lake. + And from heaven the solemn stars + Peer upon us. Night and stillness. + + Night and stillness. Beat of oars. + Like a rippling mystery + Swims our boat. The nieces twain + Serve in place of ferrymen. + + Swift and blithe they row. Their arms + Sometimes shine from out the night, + And on their white skins the stars + Gleam and on large eyes of blue. + + At my side Lascaro sits + Pale and mute as is his wont, + And I shudder at the thought: + Is Lascaro really dead? + + Or perchance 'tis I am dead? + I, perchance, am drifting down + With these spectral passengers + To the icy realm of shades? + + Can this lake be Styx's dark, + Sullen flood? Hath Proserpine, + In the absence of her Charon + Sent her maids to fetch me down? + + Nay, not yet my days are done! + Unextinguished in my soul + Still the living flame of life, + Leaps and blazes, glows and sings. + + And these girls who swing their oars + Merrily, and splash me too, + Laugh and grin with mischief rare + As the drops upon me flash. + + Ah, these wenches fresh and strong, + Surely they could never be + Ghostly hell-cats, nor the maids + Of the dark queen Proserpine. + + So that I might be assured + Of the girls' reality, + And unto myself might prove + My own honest flesh and blood,-- + + On their rosy dimples I + Swiftly pressed my eager lips, + And to this conclusion came: + Lo, I kiss; therefore I live! + + When we reached the shore, again + Did I kiss these bonny maids,-- + Kisses were the only coin + Which in payment they would take. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XIV + + + Joyous in the golden air + Lift the purple mountain heights + Where a daring hamlet clings + Like a nest against the steep. + + Wearily I climbed and climbed. + When at last I stood aloft, + Then I found the old birds flown + And the fledglings left behind. + + Pretty lads and lassies small + With their little heads half hid + In their white and scarlet caps, + Played at bridals in the mart. + + Neither stay nor halt they brooked, + And the little love-lorn Prince + Of the Mice knelt down at once + To the Cat-King's daughter fair. + + Hapless Prince! At last he's wed + To the Princess. How she scolds! + Bites him and devours him-- + Hapless mouse!--thus ends the play. + + That entire day I spent + With the children, and we talked + Cosily. They longed to know + Who I was? and what my trade? + + "Germany, my dears," I spoke, + "Is my native country's name-- + Bears are all too common there, + So I took to hunting bears! + + "Many a bear-pelt have I pulled + Over many a bearish head, + Though, 'tis true, I sometimes got + Damage from their bearish paws. + + "But at last I felt disgust + Of this strife with ill-licked boors + In my blessed land--I grew + Weary of these daily moils. + + "So in quest of nobler game, + I at last have come to you; + I shall try my little strength + 'Gainst the mighty Atta Troll. + + "Worthy of me is this noble + Foe. In Germany, alas! + Many a battle did I win, + Most ashamed of victory." + + When I left, the little folk + Danced about me in a ring, + And in sweetest wise they sang: + "Girofflino! Girofflett'!" + + And the youngest of them all + Stepped before me quick and pert, + And four times she curtsied low + As she sang in silver tones: + + "Curtsies two I give the King, + Should I meet him. And the Queen, + Should I meet her, then I give + Curtsies three unto the Queen. + + "But should I the devil meet + With his fiery eyes and horns, + I will make him curtsies four-- + Girofflino! Girofflett'!" + + "Girofflino! Girofflett'!" + Shouts once more the mocking band, + And around me swings the gay + Ring-o'-roses with its song. + + As I scrambled down the slopes, + After me in echoes sweet, + Came these words in bird-like strains: + "Girofflino! Girofflett'!" + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + + CANTO XV + + + Hulking and enormous cliffs + Of deformed and twisted shapes + Look on me like petrified + Monsters of primeval times. + + Strange! the dingy clouds above + Drift like doubles bred of mist, + Like some silly counterfeit + Of these savage shapes of stone. + + In the distance roars the fall; + Through the fir trees howls the wind! + 'Tis a sound implacable + And as fatal as despair. + + Lone and dreadful lies the waste + And the black daws sit in swarms + On the bleached and rotten pines, + Flapping with their weary wings. + + At my side Lascaro strides + Pale and silent--I myself + Must like sorry madness look + By dire Death accompanied. + + 'Tis a wild and desert place. + Curst perchance? I seem to see + On the crippled roots of yonder + Tree a crimson smear of blood. + + This tree shades a little hut + Cowering humbly in the earth, + And the wretched roof of thatch + Pleads for pity in your sight. + + Cagots are the denizens + Of this hut--the last remains + Of a tribe which sunk in darkness + Bides its bitter destiny. + + In the heart of every Basque + You will find a rooted hate + Of the Cagots. 'Tis a foul + Relic of the days of faith. + + In the minster at Bagneres + You may see a narrow grille, + Once the door, the sexton told me, + Which the herded Cagots used. + + In that day all other gates + Were forbidden them. They crawled + Like to thieves into the blest + House of God to worship there. + + There these wretched beings sat + On their lowly stools and prayed, + Parted as by leprosy, + From all other worshippers. + + But the hallowed lamps of this + Later century burn bright, + And their light destroys the black + Shadows of that cruel age! + + While Lascaro waited there, + Entered I the lonely hut + Of the Cagot, and I clasped + Straight his hand in brotherhood. + + Likewise did I kiss his child + Which unto the shrivelled breast + Of his wife clung fast and sucked + Like some spider sick and starved. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XVI + + + Shouldst thou see these mountain peaks + From the distance thou wouldst think + That with gold and purple they + Flamed in splendour to the sun. + + But at closer hand their pomp + Vanishes. Earth's glories thus + With their myriad light-effects + Still beguile us artfully. + + What to thee seemed blue and gold + Is, alas, but idle snow, + Idle snow which, lone and drear, + Bores itself in solitude. + + There upon the heights I heard + How the hapless crackling snow + Cried aloud its pallid grief + To the cold and heartless wind: + + "Ah," it sobbed, "how slow the hours + Crawl within this awful waste! + All these many endless hours, + Like eternities of ice! + + "Woe is me, poor snow! I would + I had never seen these peaks-- + Might I but in vales have fallen + Where a myriad flowers bloom! + + "To some little brook would I + Then have melted, and some maid-- + Fairest of the land! with smiles + Would in me have laved her face. + + "Yea, perchance, I might have fared + To the sea and changed betimes + To a pearl and gleamed at last + In some royal coronet!" + + When I heard this plaint, I spake: + "Dearest Snow, indeed I doubt + Whether such a brilliant fate + Had been thine within the world. + + "Comfort take. Few, few, indeed, + Ever grow to pearls. No doubt + Thou hadst fallen in the mire + And become a clod of mud." + + As in kindly wise I spoke + Thus unto the joyless snow, + Came a shot--and from the skies + Plunged a hawk of brownish wing. + + It was just a hunter's joke + Of Lascaro's. But his face + Was as ever stark and grim, + And his rifle barrel smoked. + + Silently he tore a plume + From the hawk's erected tail, + Stuck it in his pointed hat + And resumed his silent way. + + 'Twas an eerie sight to see + How his shadow black and thin + With the nodding feather moved + O'er the slopes of drifted snow. + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XVII + + + Lo, a valley like a street! + 'Tis the Hollow Way of Ghosts: + Dizzily the cloven crags + Tower up on every side. + + There upon the sheerest slope + Hangs Uraka's little shack + Like some outpost over chaos-- + Thither fared her son and I. + + In a secret dumb-show speech + He took counsel with his dam, + How great Atta Troll might best + Be ensnared and safely slain. + + We had found his mighty spoor. + Never more canst thou escape + From our hands! thine earthly days + All are numbered--Atta Troll! + + Never could I well determine + If Uraka, ancient hag, + Was in truth a potent witch, + As within these Pyrenees + + It was rumoured. But I know + That in truth her very looks + Were suspicious. Most suspicious + Were her red and running eyes. + + Evil is her look and slant. + It is said whene'er she stares + At some hapless cow, its milk + Dries, its udder withers straight. + + It is said that stroking with + Her thin fingers, many a kid + She had slaughtered, many a huge + Ox had stricken unto death. + + Oft within the local court + For such crimes arraigned she stood, + But the Justice of the Peace + Was a true Voltairean. + + Quite a modern worldling he, + Shallow and devoid of faith,-- + So the plaintiffs he dismissed + Both in mockery and scorn. + + The alleged official trade + Of Uraka's honest quite, + For she deals in mountain-herbs + And in birds that she has stuffed. + + Her entire hut was crammed + With such relics. Horrible + Was the smell of cuckoo-flowers, + Fungi, henbane, elder-blooms. + + There a fine array of hawks + To advantage was displayed, + All with pinions stretching wide + And with grim enormous bills. + + Was it but the breath of these + Maddening plants that turned my brain? + Still the vision of these birds + Filled me with the strangest thoughts. + + These perchance are mortal wights, + Bound by sorcery in this + Miserable state as birds + Stuffed and most disconsolate. + + Sad, pathetic is their stare, + Yet it hath impatience too, + And, methinks at times they cast + Sidelong glances at the witch. + + She, Uraka, ancient, grim, + Crouches low beside her son, + Mute Lascaro near the fire + Where the twain are casting slugs. + + Casting that same fateful ball + Whereby Atta Troll was slain. + How the lurching firelight flares + O'er the witch's features gaunt! + + Ceaselessly, yet silently + Move her thin and quivering lips. + Are those magic spells she murmurs + That the balls may travel true? + + Now and then she nods and titters + To her son. But he is deep + In the business of the casts + And sits silently as Death. + + Overcome by fevered fears, + Yearning for the cooler air, + To the window then I strode + And looked down the gulches dim. + + All that in that midnight hour + I beheld, all that will I + Faithfully and featly tell + In the canto that shall follow. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XVIII + + + 'Twas the night before Saint John's, + In the fullness of the moon, + When that wild and spectral hunt + Fills the Hollow Way of Ghosts. + + From the window of Uraka's + Little cabin I could see + All that mighty host of wraiths + As it drifted through the gorge. + + Yea, a goodly place was mine + Wherefrom I might well behold + The tremendous spectacle + Of the raised, carousing dead. + + Cracking whips, hallo! hurrah! + Neigh of horses, bark of dogs, + Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns-- + How the tumult echoed there! + + Dashing in advance there came + Stags and boars adventurous + In a solid pack; behind + Charged a wild and merry rout. + + Huntsmen come from many zones + And from many ages too. + Charles the Tenth rode close beside + Nimrod the Assyrian. + + High upon their snowy steeds + They charged onward. Then on foot + Came the whips with hounds in leash + And the pages with the links. + + Many in that maddened horde + Seemed familiar--yon knight + Gleaming all in golden mail,-- + Surely was King Arthur's self! + + And Lord Ogier the Dane + In chain-armour shining green, + Truly close resemblance bore + To some mighty frog forsooth! + + Many a hero I beheld + Of the gleaming world of thought; + Wolfgang Goethe straight I knew + By the sparkling of his eyes. + + Being damned by Hengstenberg, + In his grave no peace he finds, + So with pagan blazonry + Gallops down the chase of Life. + + By the glamour of his smile + Did I know the mighty Will + Whom the Puritans once cursed + Like our Goethe,--yet must he, + + Luckless sinner, in this host + Ride a charger black as coal. + Close beside him on an ass + Rode a mortal and--great heavens! + + By the weary mien of prayer + And the snowy night-cap too, + And the terror of his soul, + Francis Horn I recognized. + + Commentaries he composed + On that great and cosmic child, + Shakespeare--therefore at his side + He must ride through thick and thin. + + Lo, poor silent Francis rides, + He who scarcely dared to walk, + He who only stirred himself + At tea-tables and at prayers. + + Surely all the oldish maids + Who indulged him in his ease, + Will be startled when they hear + Of his riding rough and free. + + When the gallop faster grows, + Then great William glances down + On his commentator meek + Jogging onward on his ass. + + To the saddle clinging tight, + Fainting in his terror sheer, + Yet unto his author loyal + In his death as in his life. + + Many ladies there I saw, + In that crazy train of ghosts, + Many lovely nymphs with forms + Slender with the grace of youth. + + On their steeds they sat astride + Mythologically nude! + Though their tresses thick and long + Fell like cloaks of stranded gold. + + Garlands rustled on their heads + And they swung their laurelled staves, + Bending back in reckless ways, + Full of joyous insolence. + + Mediaeval maids I saw + Buttoned high unto the chin, + On their saddles seated slant, + Poising falcons on their wrists. + + Like a burlesque, from behind + On their hacks and skinny nags + Came a rout of merry wenches, + Most extravagantly garbed. + + And each face, though lovely quite, + Bore a trace of impudence; + Madly would they shriek and yell, + Puffing up their painted cheeks. + + How this tumult echoed there! + Laughter, blare of huntsmen's horns; + Neigh of horses, bark of dogs, + Crack of whips! hallo! hurrah! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XIX + + + But like Beauty's clover-leaf, + In the very midst arose + Three fair women. I shall never + Their majestic forms forget! + + Well I knew the first! Her head + Glittered with the crescent moon. + Haughty, like some ivory statue + Sat the goddess on her steed. + + And her fluttering tunic fell + Loose about her hips and breasts, + And the torchlight and the moon + Laved with love her snowy limbs. + + Marble seemed her very face + And like marble cold. How dread + Was the pallor and the chill + Of that stern and noble front! + + But within her dusky eye + Smouldered a mysterious, + Cruel and enticing fire + Which devoured my poor soul. + + What a change has come o'er Dian + Since in outraged chastity + She smote Actaeon to a stag + As a quarry for his hounds! + + Doth she now requite this crime + In this gallant company, + Riding like some ghostly mortal + Through the bleak, nocturnal air? + + Late did passion wake in her + But for that the stronger burns, + And within her eyes its flames + Gleam like fiercest brands of hell. + + For those vanished times she grieves + When the men were beautiful; + Now in quantity perchance, + She forgets their quality. + + At her side a fair one rode-- + Fair, but not by Grecian lines + Was she fair; for all her features + Shone with wondrous Celtic glow. + + 'Twas Abunda, fairy queen, + Whom to know I could not fail + By the sweetness of her smile + And the madness of her laugh! + + Full and rosy was her face, + Like the faces limned by Greuze; + And from out her heart-shaped mouth + Flashed the splendour of her teeth! + + All the winds made dalliance + With her robe of azure blue, + And such shoulders never I + In my wildest dreams beheld. + + I was almost moved to leap + From the window for a kiss; + This had been sheer folly, true, + Ending in a broken neck! + + Ah, and she, she would have laughed + If within that awful gulf + I had fallen at her feet;-- + Laughter such as this I know! + + And the third fair phantom, she + Who so moved my errant heart,-- + Was this but some female fiend + Like the other figures twain? + + Whether devil this or saint + Know I not. With women, ah, + None can ever know where saint + Ends nor where the fiend begins. + + All the magic of the East + Lay within her glowing face, + And her dress brought memories + Of Scheherazade's tales. + + Lips as red as pomegranates + And a curved nose lily white, + Limbs as slender and as cool + As some green oasis-palm. + + From her palfrey white she leaned, + Flanked by giant Moors who trod + Close beside the queenly dame + Holding up the golden reins. + + Of most royal blood was she, + She the Queen of old Judea, + She great Herod's lovely wife, + She who craved the Baptist's head. + + For this crimson crime was she + Banned and cursed. Now in this chase + Must she ride, a wandering spook, + Till the dawn of Judgment Day. + + Still within her hands she bears + That deep charger with the head + Of the Prophet, still she kisses-- + Kisses it with fiery lips. + + For she loved the Prophet once, + Though the Bible naught reveals, + Yet her blood-stained love lives on + Storied in her people's hearts. + + How might else a man declare + All the longing of this lady? + Would a woman crave the head + Of a man she did not love? + + She perchance was slightly vexed + With her darling, and was moved + To behead him, but when she + On the trencher saw his head, + + Then she wept and lost her wits, + Dying in love's madness straight. + (What! Love's madness? pleonasm! + Love itself is madness still!) + + Rising nightly from her grave, + To this frenzied hunt she hies, + In her hands the gory head + Which with feline joy she flings + + High into the air betimes, + Laughing like a wanton child, + Cleverly she catches it + Like some idle rubber ball. + + As she swept past me she bowed + Most coquettishly and looked + On me with her melting eyes, + So that all my heart was stirred. + + Thrice that rout raged up and down + Past my window, then did she, + Ah, most beautiful of shades! + Greet me with her precious smile. + + Even when the pageant dimmed + And the tumult silent grew + In my brain, that smiling face + Shone and beckoned on and on. + + All that night I tossed and turned + My o'erwearied limbs on straw, + Musty straw. No feather-beds + In Uraka's hut I found! + + And I mused: what might this mean, + This mysterious beckoning? + Why, Oh, why, Herodias, + Held thy look such tenderness? + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XX + + + Sunrise. Golden arrows dart + Through the pallid ranks of mist + Till they redden as with wounds + And dissolve in shining light. + + Now hath triumph come to Day + And the gleaming conqueror + In his blinding glory treads + O'er the ridges and the peaks. + + All the merry bands of birds + Twitter in their hidden nests, + And the scent of plants arises + Like a psalm of odours rare. + + At the early glint of day + Down the valley we had gone. + While Lascaro dumb and dour + Followed up the bear-tracks dim, + + I with musings sought to slay + Time, but tired soon I grew + Of my musings,--drear, ah, drear! + Were my thoughts and void of joy. + + Weary, joyless, down I sank + On a bank of softest moss + 'Neath a great and kingly ash + Where a little spring gushed forth. + + This with wondrous voice beguiled + All my wayward mood until + Thought and thinking vanished both + In the music of the spring. + + Mighty longings seized me then, + Madness, dreams and death-desires, + Longings for those splendid queens + Riding in that ghostly throng. + + Oh, ye lovely shapes of night, + Banished by the rose of dawn, + Whither, tell me, have ye fled, + Whither have ye flown by day? + + Somewhere 'neath old temple-ruins + In the wide Romagna hid, + It is said Diana flees + The dominion of the Christ. + + Only in the midnight gloom, + Dare she venture forth, but then + How she joys the merry chase + And the pagan sports of old! + + Fay Abunda also fears + All these sallow Nazarenes, + So by day she hides herself + Deep in secret Avalon. + + For this sacred island lies + In the still and silent sea + Of Romanticism, whither + None save winged steeds may go. + + There no anchor Care may drop, + Never there do steamships touch, + Bringing loads of Philistines + With tobacco-pipes, to stare. + + Never does that dismal, dull + Ring of bells this stillness break-- + That atrocious bumm-bamm sound + Which all gentle fairies hate. + + There, abloom with lasting youth + In unbroken joyfulness, + Lives that merry-hearted dame, + Golden-locked Abunda fair. + + Laughing there she strolls between + Huge sun-flowers drenched with light, + Followed by her retinue + Of unworldly Paladins. + + Ah, but thou, Herodias, + Say, where art thou? Ah, I know! + Thou art dead and buried deep + By Jerusholayim's walls! + + Corpse-like is thy sleep by day + In thy marble coffin laid, + But at midnight dost thou wake + To the crack of whips! hurrah! + + With Abunda, Dian, too, + Dost thou join the headlong plunge + And the blithesome hunter rout + Fleeing from all cross and care. + + What companions rare and blithe! + Might but I, Herodias, + Ride at night through forests dark, + I would gallop at thy side! + + For of all I love thee most! + More than any goddess Grecian, + More than any northern fay, + Do I love thee, Jewess dead! + + Yea, I love thee most! 'Tis true, + By the trembling of my soul! + Love me too and be my sweet,-- + Loveliest Herodias! + + Love me too and be my love! + Fling that gory block-head far + With its trencher. Sweeter dishes + I shall give thee to enjoy. + + Am not I thy proper knight + Whom thou seekest? What care I + If perchance thou'rt dead and damned-- + Prejudices I have none! + + Is my own salvation not + In a parlous state? And oft + Do I question if my life + Still be linked with human lives. + + Take me, take me as thy knight, + Thine own _cavalier servente_; + I will bear thy silken robe + And each wayward mood of thine. + + Every night beside thee, love, + With this crazy horde I'll ride, + And we'll kiss and thou shalt laugh + At my quips and merry pranks. + + I will help thee speed the hours + Of the night. And yet by day + All my joy shall pass;--in tears + I shall sit upon thy grave. + + Aye, by day will I sit down + In the dust of kingly vaults, + At the grave of my beloved + By Jerusholayim's walls! + + Then the grey Jews passing by + Will imagine that I mourn + The destruction of thy temple + And thy gates, Jerusholayim. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XXI + + + Shipless Argonauts are we, + Foot loose in the mighty hills, + But instead of golden fleece + We seek Bruin's shaggy hide. + + Naught but sorry devils twain, + Heroes of a modern cut, + And no classic bard will ever + Make us live within his song! + + Even though we suffered dire + Hardships! What torrential rains + Fell upon us at the peak + Where was neither tree nor cab! + + Cloudbursts! Heaven's dykes were down! + And in bucketsful it poured-- + Jason, lost on Colchis bleak, + Suffered no such shower-bath! + + "Six-and-thirty kings I'll give + Just for one umbrella now!" + So I cried. Umbrella none + Was I offered in that flood. + + Weary unto death and glum, + Wet as drowned rats, we came + Back unto the witch's hut + In the middle of the night. + + There beside the glowing hearth + Sat Uraka with a comb, + Toiling o'er her swollen pug;-- + Him she quickly flung aside + + As we entered. First my couch + She prepared, then bent to loose + From my feet the _espardillos_,-- + Footgear comfortless and rude! + + Helped me to disrobe,--she drew + Off my pantaloons which clung + To my legs as close and tight + As the friendship of a fool. + + "Oh, a dressing-gown! I'd give + Six-and-thirty kings," I cried, + "For a dry one!"--as my shirt, + Wringing wet, began to steam. + + Shivering, with chattering teeth, + There I stood beside the hearth, + Till the fire drowsed me quite, + Then upon the straw I sank. + + Sleepless but with blinking eyes + Peered I at the witch who crouched + By the fire with her son's + Body spread upon her lap. + + Upright at her side the pug + Stood, and in his clumsy paws, + Very cleverly and tight, + Held aloft a little jar. + + From this did Uraka take + Reddish fat and salved therewith + Swift Lascaro's ribs and breast + With her thin and trembling hands. + + And she hummed a lullaby + In a high and nasal tone + As she rubbed him with the salve + 'Midst the crackling of the fire. + + Sere and bony like a corpse + Lay the son upon the lap + Of his mother; opened wide + Stared his pale and tragic eyes. + + Is he really dead, this man? + Kept alive by mother-love? + Nightly by the witch-fat potent + Salved into a magic life? + + Oh, that strange, strange fever-sleep! + In which all my limbs grew stiff + As if fettered, yet each sense, + Overwrought, waked horribly! + + How that smell of hellish herbs + Plagued me! Musing in my woe, + Long I thought where had I once + Smelled such odours?--but in vain. + + How the wind within the flue + Wrought me terror! Like the sobs + Of some parched soul it rang-- + Or some well-remembered voice! + + But these stuffed birds standing guard + On a board above my head, + These grim birds tormented me + Far beyond all other things! + + Slowly, gruesomely they moved + Their accursed wings and bent + Low to me with monstrous bills, + Bills like human noses huge. + + Where had I such noses seen? + Well, mayhap in Hamburg once, + Or in Frankfort's ghetto dim; + Memory smote me harshly then. + + But at last did slumber quite + Overcome me and in place + Of such waking phantoms crept + Wholesome and unbroken dreams. + + And within my dream the hut + Quickly to a ball-room changed, + High on lofty pillars borne + And illumed by chandeliers. + + There invisible musicians + Played from "Robert le Diable" + That atrocious dance of nuns + As I promenaded there. + + But at last the portals wide + Open and with stately step + Slowly in the hall appear + Guests most wonderful and strange. + + Every one a bear or spectre! + Striding upright every bear + Leads an apparition wrapped + In a white and gleaming shroud. + + Coupled in this wise, each pair + Up and down began to waltz + Through the hall. O strangest sight! + Fit for laughter and for fear! + + How those plump old animals + Panted in the paces set + By those filmy shapes of air + Whirling gracefully and light! + + Pitiless, the harried beasts + Thus were borne along until + Their deep panting overdroned + Even the orchestral bass! + + When betimes the couples crashed + In collision, then each bear + Gave the pushing spectre straight + Hearty kicks upon the rump. + + Sometimes in the tumult too + When the cerements fell away + From each white and muffled head,-- + Lo! a grinning skull appeared! + + But at last with shattering blare + Yelled the horns, the cymbals clashed + And the thunder of the drums + Brought about the gallopade. + + But the end of this, alas, + Came not to my dreams. For, lo, + One most clumsy bear trod full + On my corns--I shrieked and woke! + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XXII + + + Phoebus in his solar coach, + Whipping up his steeds of flame, + Had traversed the middle part + Of his journey through the skies, + + Whilst in sleep I lay a-dream + With the goblins and the bears + Winding like mad arabesques + Through my slack and heated brain. + + When I wakened it was noon, + And I found myself alone, + Since my hostess and Lascaro + For the chase had left at dawn. + + There was no one save the pug + In the hovel. There he stood + By the hearth beside the pot + Holding in his paws a spoon. + + Clever pug! well disciplined! + Lest the steaming soup boil over, + Swift he stirred it round and round, + Skimming off the foam and scum. + + But--am I bewitched too? + Or does fever smoulder still + In my brain? For scarce can I + Trust my ears. The pug-dog speaks! + + Aye, he speaks in homely strains + Of the Swabian dialect, + Deeply sunk in thought, he cries, + As it were within a dream: + + "Woe is me--a Swabian bard, + Banned in exile must I grieve + In a pug-dog's cursed shape + Guardian of a witch's pot. + + "What a base and hideous crime + Is this sorcery! My fate + Ah, how tragic! I, a man, + In the body of a dog! + + "Had I but remained at home + With my jolly comrades true-- + No vile sorcerers are they! + And their spells no man need fear. + + "Had I but remained at home + At Karl Meyer's--with the sweet + Noodles of the Vaterland + And good honest metzel-soup! + + "Of homesickness I shall die! + Might I only spy the smoke + Rising from old Stuttgart's flues + When the precious dumplings seethe." + + Pity seized me when I heard + This sad story, and I sprang + From my couch and took a seat + By the fireplace and spake: + + "Noble poet, tell what chance + Brought thee to this beldam's hut. + Why, oh why, in cruel wise, + Wast thou changed into a dog?" + + But the pug exclaimed in joy: + "What! You are no Frenchman then? + But a German, and you've heard + All my hapless monologue? + + "Ah, dear countryman, 'twas ill + That old Koelle, Councillor, + When at eve we sat and argued + At the inn o'er pipe and mug, + + "Should have harped on the idea + That by travel only might + One attain such culture broad, + As by travel he attained! + + "Now, so I might shed the rude + Husk that on my manners lay, + Even as Koelle, and attain + Polish from the world at large, + + "To my home I bade farewell, + And in quest of culture came + To the Pyrenees at last, + And Uraka's little hut. + + "And a reference I brought + From Justinus Kerner too! + Never did I dream my friend + Stood in league with such a witch! + + "Friendly was Uraka's mood, + Till at last with horrid shock, + Lo, I found her friendliness + Had to fiery passion grown. + + "Yes, within that withered breast + Lust blazed up in monstrous wise, + And at once this vicious crone + Sought to drag me down to sin. + + "Yet I prayed: 'Oh, pardon, ma'am! + Do not fancy I am one + Of those wanton Goethe Bards,-- + I belong to Swabia's school. + + "'Sweet Morality's our Muse + And the drawers she wears are made + Of the stoutest leather--Oh! + Do not wrong my virtue, pray! + + "'Other bards may boast of soul, + Others phantasy--and some + Of their passion--Swabians have + Nothing but their innocence. + + "'Nothing else do we possess! + Do not rob me of my pure, + Most religious beggar's cloak,-- + Naked else my soul must go!' + + "Thus I spoke, whereat the hag + Smiled with hideous irony, + Seized a switch of mistletoe, + Smote me over brow and cheek. + + "Chilly spasms seized me then + Just as if a goose's skin + Crept across my limbs--but oh! + This was worse than goose's-skin! + + "It was nothing more nor less + Than a dog-pelt! Since that hour, + That accursed hour, I've lived + Changed into a lumpy pug!" + + Luckless wight! his piteous sobs + Now denied him further speech, + And so bitterly he wept + That he half dissolved in tears. + + "Hark!" I spoke in pity then, + "Tell me how you might be freed + From this dog-skin. How may I + Give you back to muse and man?" + + In despair, disconsolate, + Then he raised his paws in air, + And with sobs and groans at length + Thus his mournful plaint he made: + + "Not before the Judgment Day + Shall I shed this horrid form, + If no noble virgin come + To absolve me of the curse. + + "None can free me save a maid, + Pure, untouched by any man, + And she must fulfil a pact + Most inexorable--thus: + + "Such unspotted maiden must + In Sylvester's holy night + Read the verse of Gustav Pfizer, + Read it and not fall asleep! + + "If her chaste eyes do not close + At the reading--then, O bliss! + I shall disenchanted be, + Breathe as man--unpugged at last!" + + "In that case, alas," said I, + "Never may I undertake + Your salvation, for you see, + First I am no spotless maid, + + "And, still more impossible, + Secondly, I ne'er could read + Any one of Pfizer's poems + And not fall asleep at once." + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XXIII + + + From this eerie witch-menage + To the valley down we went, + And once more our feet took hold + On the good and solid Earth. + + Spectres hence! Hence, gibbering masks! + Shapes of air and fever-dreams!-- + Once again, most sensibly + Let us deal with Atta Troll. + + In the cavern with his young + Bruin lies in slumber wrapt, + Snoring like an honest soul, + Then he stretches, yawns and wakes. + + And young One-Ear crouches down + At his side, his head he rakes + Like a poet seeking rhymes, + And upon his paws he scans. + + Close beside the father lie + Atta Troll's beloved girls, + Pure, four-footed lilies they, + Stretched in dreams upon their backs. + + Ah, what tender thoughts must glow + In the budding souls of these + Snow-white virgin bearesses + With their soft and dewy eyes? + + And the youngest of them all + Seems most deeply stirred. Her heart, + Smitten by Dan Cupid's shaft, + Quivers with a blissful throe. + + Yea, this godling's arrow pierced + Through and through her furry pelt + When she saw him first--Oh, heavens! + 'Tis a mortal man she loves! + + Man it is--Schnapphahnski named, + Who one day in mad retreat + Passed her as she wandered through + The dim passes of the hills. + + Woes of heroes move the fair, + And within our hero's face, + Quite as usual, sorrow lowered, + Pallid care and money-need. + + Spent were all his funds of war! + Two-and-twenty silver groats + Taken unto Spain by him + Espartero seized as spoil. + + Aye, his very watch was gone! + This in Pampeluna's pawnshop + Lay in bondage. 'Twas a rich + Heirloom all of silver made. + + Little thought he as he ran + On his long legs through the woods, + He had won a greater thing + Than a fight--a loving heart! + + Yes, she loves him--him the born + Enemy of bears she loves! + Hapless maid! If but your sire + Knew it--oh! what rage were his! + + Just like Odoardo old + Who in honest burgess-pride + Stabbed Emilia Galotti-- + Even so would Atta Troll + + Rather slay his darling lass, + Slay her with his proper paws, + Than that she should ever sink + Even into princely arms! + + Yet in this same moment he + Is as softly moved--"no rose + Would he pluck before the storm + Reft it of its petals fair." + + Atta Troll in saddest mood + Lies within his rocky cave. + Like Death's warning o'er him creeps + Hunger for infinity. + + "Children!" then he sobs, the tears + Burst from out his mournful eyes,-- + "Children! soon my earthly days + Shall be ended--we must part. + + "Unto me this very noon + Came a dream of import vast, + And my soul drank in the sweet + Sense of early death-to-be. + + "Superstitious am I not, + Nor fantastic--ah, and yet + More things lie 'twixt Earth and Heaven + Than philosophy may dream. + + "Pondering on the world and fate, + Yawning I had dropped asleep, + And I dreamed that I was lying + Stretched beneath a mighty tree. + + "From the branches of this tree + White celestial honey dripped + Straight into my open jaws, + Filling me with wondrous bliss. + + "Peering happily aloft + Soon I spied within the leaves + Seven pretty little bears + Gliding up and down the boughs. + + "Delicate and dainty things, + All with pelts of rosy hue, + And their heavenly voices rang + Like a melody of flutes! + + "As they sang an icy chill + Seized my flesh, although my soul + Like a flame went soaring straight + Gleaming into highest Heaven." + + Thus with soft and quivering grunts, + Spake our Atta Troll, then grew + Silent in his wistful grief. + Suddenly his ears he raised, + + And in strangest wise they twitched! + Then from up his couch he sprang + Trembling, bellowing with joy: + "Children! do you hear that voice! + + "Are not those the dulcet tones + Of your mother? Do I not + My dear Mumma's grumbles know?-- + Mumma! Mumma! precious mate!" + + Like a madman with these words + From the cave rushed Atta Troll + Swift to his destruction--oh! + To his ruin straight he plunged. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XXIV + + + In the Vale of Roncesvalles, + On that very spot where erst + Charlemagne's great nephew fell, + Gasping forth his warrior soul, + + Fell and perished Atta Troll, + Fell through ambush, even as he + Whom that Judas of the Knights, + Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed. + + Oh! that noblest trait in bears-- + Conjugal affection--love-- + Formed a pitfall which Uraka + In her evil craft prepared. + + For so truly mimicked she + Coal-black Mumma's tender growls, + That poor Atta Troll was lured + From the safety of his lair. + + On desire's wings he ran + Through the valley, halting oft + By a rock with tender sniff, + Thinking Mumma there lay hid. + + There Lascaro lay, alas, + With his rifle. Swift he shot + Through that gladsome heart a ball, + And a crimson stream welled forth. + + Twice or thrice he shakes his head + To and fro, at last he sinks + Groaning, seized with ghastly shudders;-- + "Mumma!" is his final sob! + + Thus our noble hero fell-- + Perished thus. Immortal he + Yet shall live in strains of bards, + Resurrected after death. + + He shall rise again in song, + And his wide renown shall stalk + In this blunt trochaic verse + O'er the round and living Earth. + + In Valhalla's Hall a shaft + Shall King Ludwig build for him,-- + In Bavarian lapidary + Style these words be there inscribed: + + ATTA TROLL, REFORMER, PURE, + PIOUS: HUSBAND WARM AND TRUE, + BY THE ZEIT-GEIST LED ASTRAY-- + WOOD-ENGENDERED SANS-CULOTTE: + + DANCING BADLY: YET IDEALS + BEARING IN HIS SHAGGY BREAST: + OFTTIMES STINKING VERY STRONGLY, + TALENT NONE: BUT CHARACTER. + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XXV + + + Three-and-thirty wrinkled dames, + Wearing on their heads their Basque + Scarlet hoods of ancient style, + Stood beside the village gate. + + One of them, like Deborah, + Beat the tambourine and danced + While she sang a hymn in praise + Of the slayer of the bear. + + Four strong men in triumph bore + Slaughtered Atta, who erect + In his wicker litter sat + Like some patient at a spa. + + To the rear, like relatives + Of the dead, Lascaro came + With Uraka, who abashed, + Nodded to the right and left. + + Then the town-clerk at the hall + Spoke as the procession came + To a halt. Of many things + Spoke that dapper little man. + + As, for instance, of the rise + Of the navy, of the Press, + Of the sugar-beet debates, + And that hydra, party strife. + + All the feats of Louis Philippe + Vaunted he unto the skies,-- + Of Lascaro then he spoke + And his great heroic deed. + + "Thou Lascaro!" cried the clerk, + As he mopped his streaming brow + With his bright tri-coloured sash-- + "Thou Lascaro! thou that hast + + "Freed Hispania and France + From that monster Atta Troll, + By both lands shalt be acclaimed the + Pyreneean Lafayette!" + + When Lascaro in official + Wise thus heard himself announced + As a hero, then he smiled + In his beard and blushed for joy. + + And in stammering syllables + And in broken phrases he + Stuttered forth his gratitude + For the honour shown to him. + + Wonder-smitten then stood all + At the unexpected sight, + And in low and timid tones + Thus the ancient women spoke: + + "Did you hear Lascaro laugh? + Did you see Lascaro blush? + Did you hear Lascaro speak? + He the witch's perished son!" + + On that very day they flayed + Atta Troll. At auction they + Sold his hide. A furrier bid + Just an even hundred francs. + + And the furrier decked the skin + Handsomely, and mounted it + All on scarlet. For this work + He demanded twice the cost. + + From a third hand Juliet + Then received it. Now it lies + As a rug before her bed + In the city by the Seine. + + Oh, how many nights I've stood + Barefoot on the earthly husk + Of my hero great and true, + On the hide of Atta Troll! + + Then by sorrow deeply touched + Would I think of Schiller's words: + "That which song would make eternal + First must perish from the Earth." + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XXVI + + + What of Mumma? Mumma, ah! + Is a woman. Frailty + Is her name! Alas, that women + Should be frail as porcelain! + + Now when Fate had parted her + From her great and noble mate, + Did she perish of her woe, + Sinking into hopeless gloom? + + Nay, contrarywise, she lived + Merrily as ever--danced + For the public as before, + Eager for their plaudits too. + + And at last a splendid place + And support for all her days + Was procured for her in Paris + At the old Jardin-des-Plantes. + + There, last Sunday as I strolled + Through that place with Juliet, + Baring Nature's realms to her-- + Animal and vegetable,-- + + Tall giraffes, and cedars brought + Out of Lebanon, the huge + Dromedary, golden pheasants, + And the zebra;--chatting thus,-- + + We at last stood still and leaned + O'er the rampart of that pit + Where the bears are safely penned-- + Heavens! what a sight we saw! + + There a huge bear from the wastes + Of Siberia, snowy-white, + Dallied in a love-feast sweet + With a she-bear small and dark. + + This was Mumma! This, alas, + Was the mate of Atta Troll! + Well I knew her by the soft + Glances of her dewy eye. + + It was she! the daughter dark + Of the Southland! Mumma lives + With a Russian now; she lives + With this savage of the North! + + Smirking spake a negro then, + Coming up with stealthy pace: + "Could there be a fairer sight + Than a pair of lovers, say?" + + Then I answered him: "Pray, who + Honours me by this address?" + Whereupon he cried amazed: + "Have you quite forgotten me? + + "Why I am that Moorish prince + Who beat drums in Freiligrath-- + Times were bad--in Germany + I was lonely and forlorn. + + "Now as keeper I'm employed + In this garden,--here I find + All the flowers of my native + Tropics,--lions, tigers, too. + + "Here I feel content and gay, + Better than at German fairs, + Where each day I beat the drum + And was fed but scantily. + + "Late in wedlock was I bound + To a blonde Alsatian cook, + And within her arms I feel + All my native joys again! + + "And her feet remind me ever + Of my blessed elephants, + And her French has quite the ring + Of my sable mother-tongue. + + "When she coughs, the rattle fierce + Moves me of that famous drum + Which, bedecked with human skulls, + Drove the snakes and lions far. + + "But when moonlight charms her mood, + Like a crocodile she weeps, + Which from out some luke-warm stream + Lifts to gape in cooler air. + + "And she cooks me dainty bits. + See, I thrive! I feed again + As upon the Niger I + Fed with gusto African! + + "Mark the nicely rounded paunch + I possess! Behold it peeps + From my shirt like some black moon + Stealing forth from whitest clouds." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + CANTO XXVII + + (To August Varnhagen von Ense) + + + "Heavens! where, dear Ludoviso, + Did you steal this crazy stuff?" + With these words did Cardinal + D'Este Ariosto greet + + When that poet read his work + On Orlando's madness. This + He unto His Eminence + Humbly sought to dedicate. + + Yes, Varnhagen, dear old friend, + Yes, I see these very words + Tremble on thy lips, that same + Faint and devastating smile. + + Sometimes o'er a book thou laughest, + Then again in earnestness + Thy high forehead wrinkles o'er + As old memories come to thee. + + Hark unto the dreams of youth! + Such Chamisso dreamed with me, + And Brentano, Fouque, too, + In blue nights beneath the moon. + + Comes no sound of saintly chimes + From that vanished forest fane, + And no tinkling of the gay + Unforgotten cap-and-bells? + + Through the choir of nightingales + Rumbles now the growl of bears, + Low and fierce, and changes then + To the gibbering of ghosts! + + Madness in the guise of sense, + Wisdom with a broken spine! + Dying sobs which suddenly + Into hollow laughter pass! + + Aye, my friend, such strains arise + From the dream-time that is dead, + Though some modern trills may oft + Caper through the ancient theme. + + Spite of waywardness thou'lt find + Here and there a note of pain;-- + To thy well-proved mildness now + Do I recommend my song! + + 'Tis, perchance, the final strain + Of the pure and free Romance:-- + In to-day's wild battle-clash, + Miserably it must end. + + Other times and other birds! + Other birds and other songs! + What a chattering as of geese + That had saved a capitol! + + What a chirping!--sparrows these + Penny tapers in their claws, + Yet have they assumed the ways + Of Jove's eagle with the bolt. + + What a cooing! Turtle-doves, + Cloyed with love, now long to hate, + And thenceforth in place of Venus' + They would drag Bellona's car! + + What a buzz that shakes the skies!-- + These must be the great May-beetles + Of the nation's dawning Spring, + With a Viking fury seized! + + Other times and other birds! + Other birds and other songs;-- + These, perchance, might yield delight + Were I blest with other ears! + +[Illustration] + + + + +NOTES TO "ATTA TROLL" + +BY DR. OSCAR LEVY + + + + +PREFACE + +THE GOD OF SCHELLING. The German philosopher Schelling (1775-1854) was +at first a follower of Spinoza, and had published in his youth a +pantheistic philosophy which had made him famous. In later life he began +to doubt his former beliefs, and promised to the world another and more +Christian explanation of God and the universe. The promised book, +however, never appeared. + +The gap, thus left by Schelling, has since been filled up by a host of +more courageous, if less conscientious, investigators. + +"SEA-SURROUNDED SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN" OYSTERS. "Schleswig-Holstein +Meerumschlungen (sea-surrounded)" was the German Marseillaise after 1846 +and again in 1863-64. + +ARNOLD RUGE (1802-1880) was the leader of the New Hegelian school, and +published certain famous annuals for art and science at Halle. In 1848 +he was elected to the Parliament at Frankfort, but was forced to flee to +London, where he struck up a fast friendship with Mazzini. In the +Revolutionary Committee of London he represented Germany, as +Ledru-Rollin represented France and Mazzini Italy. + +CHRISTIAN-GERMANIC. One of the favourite phrases and shibboleths of the +Romantic School, which may still be heard in the Germany of to-day. + +FERDINAND FREILIGRATH (1810-1876). A well-known poet and skilful +translator of French and English poets, such as Burns, Byron, Thomas +Moore, and Victor Hugo. His own poems betray his dependence upon Hugo. +Frederick William IV, King of Prussia, bestowed a pension upon him in +1842. When his friends, however, charged him with having sold himself to +the Government, the poet refused the pension. Thereafter he devoted +himself more and more to the democratic party and wrote many political +poems. In 1848 he went abroad, living in London the greater part of the +time. He returned to Germany in 1868, and in 1870 published several +patriotic poems which met with great acclaim. + +The sudden conversion from international Democracy to Nationalism is +easily explained. Modern states have become democratic, and +democrats--but they alone--find it easy to feel comfortable and +patriotic in such a milieu. + + +CANTO I + +DON CARLOS. After the death of Ferdinand VII of Spain (1833) a lengthy +civil war broke out between his younger brother, Don Carlos, and the +Queen-widow Christina, who had assumed the regency for her daughter +Isabella. + +SCHNAPPHAHNSKI. A comic word composed of the German word "schnappen," +to snap, and "hahn," cock. It has also been incorporated into French in +the form "chenapan." It is applied here to Prince Felix Lichnowski +(1814-1848), who left the Prussian Army in 1838 and entered the service +of Don Carlos, who appointed him a brigadier-general. After his return +from Spain, Lichnowski wrote his "Reminiscences," the publication of +which involved him in a duel in which he was badly wounded. The +"Reminiscences" are couched in Heine's own style, and their hero is +called Schnapphahnski. + +JULIET. Juliet is to be understood as referring to Heine's mistress and +subsequent wife, Mathilde. + + +CANTO II + +QUEEN MARIA CHRISTINA. She was the wife of Ferdinand VII and assumed the +regency after his death. Soon after the king's demise, she married a +member of her bodyguard, one Don Ferdinand Munoz, who was afterwards +given the title of Duke of Rianzares. She bore him several children. + +PUTANA. Italian for strumpet. + + +CANTO IV + +MASSMANN. A German philologist and one of Heine's favourite butts. He +was one of the most enthusiastic advocates of German gymnastics. +Athletics was one of the pet ideas of the German patriots; the +Government, however, held it in suspicion, inasmuch as the so-called +"Turner" (gymnasts) cherished political ambitions. In time, however, the +exercise of the muscles cured the revolutionary brain-fag, and the +Government was enabled to assume a sort of protectorship over +gymnastics. Though enthusiastically carried on to this very day in +Germany, the movement no longer has any political significance. + +FRESH, PIOUS, GAY, AND FREE. FRISCH, FROMM, FROeHLICH, FREI--the four +F's--formed the motto of the German "Turner." + + +CANTO V + +BATAVIA. Apparently a well-known female ape in Heine's day, trained in +theatrical feats of skill. + +FREILIGRATH (see above). As a refuge from the crassness of his times, +Freiligrath usually chose exotic themes for his poems, frequently +African in nature, as, for instance, in his "Loewenritt." The allusion to +the mule (in German "camel," which bears the same opprobrious meaning as +"ass") gives us reason to believe that Heine's preface must not be taken +too seriously and that his opinion of the poet Freiligrath was by no +means a high one. + +FRIEDRICH LUDWIG GEORG VON RAUMER (1781-1873). A well-known German +historian, author of the "History of the Hohenstaufens." + + +CANTO VIII + +TUISKION. The god whom the Germans, according to Tacitus (vide +"Germania," cap. II) regard as the original father of their race. + +LUDWIG FEUERBACH (1804-1872). An honest thinker, who recognised that +there was an unbridgable gulf between philosophy and theology. He left +the Hegelian school, which can be so well adapted to the need of +theologians, and considered as the only source of religion--the human +brain. "The Gods are only the personified wishes of men," he used to +say. He brought German philosophy down from the clouds to cookery by +declaring: "Der Mensch ist, was er isst" ("Man is what he eats"). He was +a believer in what he called "Healthy sensuality," which made him the +philosopher of artists in the 'thirties and 'forties of the last +century, amongst others of Richard Wagner. The latter, however, +afterwards repented, and, by way of Schopenhauer, turned Christian. + +Feuerbach came from a family that would have been the delight of Sir +Francis Galton, author of "Hereditary Genius." Feuerbach's father was a +famous jurist, who had five sons, all of whom attained the honour of +appearing in the German Encyclopaedias. The philosopher was the fourth +son. Again: the famous painter Anselm Feuerbach was his nephew, the son +of his eldest brother. + +BRUNO BAUER (1809-1882). A destructive commentator of the New Testament. +He belonged to the school of "higher" criticism which has done so much +to "lower" Christianity in the eyes of savants and professors and so +little in those of mankind at large. His "Critique of the Evangelistic +History of Saint John" (1840) and his "Critique of the Evangelistic +Synoptists" (1841-42) had just been published when Heine wrote "Atta +Troll." + + +CANTO IX + +MOSES MENDELSOHN (1729-1786). Grandfather of the famous composer. He was +a Jewish philosopher and a friend of Lessing's, who, it is supposed, +took him as his model for "Nathan the Wise." He freed his German +co-religionaries from the oppressive influence of the Talmud. + + +CANTO X + +PROPERTY IS THEFT. A dictum of Prudhon. + + +CANTO XII + +REIGN OF DWARFS. The approaching rule of clever little trades-people, +whose turn it will soon be if democracy progresses as at present. +Compare Nietzsche's "Zarathustra," Part III, 49, "The Bedwarfing +Virtue": "I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they have +become _smaller_, and ever become _smaller: the reason thereof is their +doctrine of happiness and virtue_." + +THIS CONCLUSION. "Lo, I kiss, therefore I live"--a witty travesty of +Descartes' "Cogito, ergo sum." + + +CANTO XIV + +SO I TOOK TO HUNTING BEARS. Heine considers Atta Troll, the bear bred by +the French Revolution, as a much greater and more dangerous foe, and +therefore a worthier opponent of his than the sorry German bears--or +patriots--with whom he was forced to contend in his native country and +who incessantly worried (and still worry) him. + + +CANTO XV + +CAGOTS. The remnant of an ancient tribe, driven out of human society as +unclean--Cagot from _Canis gothicus_. The Cagots may still be found in +obscure parts of the French Pyrenees; they have their own language and +are distinguished by their yellow skins from the peoples of Western +Europe. In the Middle Ages they were persecuted as heretics and were +excluded from all contact with their neighbours. They were forced to +bear a tag upon their clothes so that they might be known as inferiors. +Even to-day, despite the fact that they possess the same rights as other +Frenchmen, they are considered as somewhat debased and unclean. + + +CANTO XVIII + +THE WILD HUNT which Heine describes in this canto is an old German +legend which poets and painters have found to be a fertile source of +inspiration. The wild huntsman must ride through the world every night, +followed by all evil-doers, and wherever he appears, thither, according +to old folk-belief, does misfortune come. Tradition herds all the foes +of Christianity among this rout of evil-doers; for this reason does +Heine include Goethe--the "great pagan," as the Germans call him--in +that crew. There have been other foes of Christianity since, and some +very great figures amongst them, so that in time the Wild Huntsman's +Company may become quite presentable. + +HENGSTENBERG (1802-1869). A fanatical theologian professor at Berlin who +made an attack upon Goethe's "Elective Affinities," which then had not +yet become a classic, and was thus still liable to the attacks of the +"learned." + +FRANZ HORN. A contemporary of Heine's of no particular importance, a +poet of the Romantic School and a verbose literary historian. He wrote a +work in five volumes upon Shakespeare's plays. In this he interprets the +poet in a wholly romantic sense and winds up by presenting him as an +enthusiastic Christian. + + +CANTO XIX + +ABUNDA--in the Celtic (Breton) folk-lore Dame Abonde and even Dame +Habonde. The Celtic element (as, for instance, the legend of King +Arthur's Round Table) played a great part in the romantic poetry of +Germany, and later in the music dramas of Wagner. Romanticism is +therefore represented in Heine's poem by the fairy Abunda, in +contradistinction to the Greek and Semitic inspiration--represented by +Diana and Herodias. Heine's conception of Herodias as being in love with +the Baptist and taking her revenge on him for his Josephian attitude +towards her, has, no doubt, influenced later writers on the subject, +especially Flaubert and Oscar Wilde, save that these had not the courage +(nor perhaps the insight) to regard the hero in question as a +"block-head." + + +CANTO XX + +SIX-AND-THIRTY KINGS. At once an allusion to Shakespeare's "A kingdom +for a horse!" ("Richard III") and a side-stroke glancing at the various +kings and princes of Germany--some thirty-six in Heine's time. + + +CANTO XXI + +HELLISH HERBS. The foul and mouldy herbs and medicines in Uraka's hut +represent a collection of remedies for the cure and preservation of +decaying feudalism and Christian mediaevalism, which, however, no remedy +can restore to health. The smell in Uraka's hut is the smell of the +"rotting past," that, in spite of all nostrums and artificial revivals, +goes on decomposing. The stuffed birds which glare so fixedly and +forlorn, and have long bills like human noses, are members of Heine's +own race. These stuffed birds are the symbols of Judaism which according +to our Hellenistic poet, possesses, as religion, as little life as the +Christianity that is based upon it. + + +CANTO XXII + +A SWABIAN BARD. The Swabian school of poetry, of which Uhland was the +leader, was the chief representative of German Chauvinism in Heine's +day. W. Menzel, the critic who denounced "Young Germany" to the +Government, belonged to this school. Boerne answered him in his "Menzel +der Franzosenfresser" ("The Gallophobe"), and Heine mocked at him in his +paper "The Denunciator." Gustav Pfizer (who had provoked Heine) and Karl +Meyer were members of the Swabian school, and prided themselves +particularly upon their morality and religiosity, for which reason they +set themselves in antagonism to the "heathen" Goethe. Goethe, on his +part, estimated this school as little as did Heine. In a letter to +Zelter dated October 5, 1831, Goethe writes thus of Pfizer: "...I read a +poem lately by Gustav Pfizer ... the poet appears to have real talent +and is evidently a very good man. But as I read I was oppressed by a +certain poverty of spirit in the piece and put the little book away at +once, for with the advance of the cholera it is well to shield oneself +against all debilitating influences. The work is dedicated to Uhland, +and one might well doubt if anything exciting, thorough, or humanly +compelling could be produced from those regions in which he is master. I +will therefore not rail at the work, but simply leave it alone. _It is +really marvellous how these little men are able to throw their +goody-religious-poetic beggar's cloak so cleverly about their shoulders +that, whenever an elbow happens to stick out, one is tempted to consider +this as a deliberate poetic intention_." + +METZEL-SOUP. A Swabian soup of the country districts, glorified in the +poetry of Uhland. It is usually prepared from the "insides" of pigs. + +CHRISTOPHER FRIEDRICH K. VON KOeLLE (1781-1848). A Privy Councillor of +the Legation of Wuertemberg--composer of many poems and political +pamphlets. + +JUSTINUS KERNER (1786-1862) was also a poet of the Swabian school. He +believed in spirits, and made many observations and experiments in his +house at Weinsburg in order to obtain some knowledge of the +supernatural world. Thousands of those who believed, or wished to +believe, came to his "seances." He worked in conjunction with a +celebrated medium of his time, and later published a very successful +book about this lady. Heine, no doubt, had this medium in mind when he +mentioned Kerner. + + +CANTO XXIII + +BALDOMERO ESPARTERO (1792-1879). A celebrated Spanish general who fought +against Don Carlos on the side of Maria Christina. He was later given +the title of Duke of Vittoria. + +EMILIA GALOTTI. This refers to the heroine of Lessing's drama of the +same name, in which old Odoardo Galotti slays his daughter in order to +protect her from dishonour. The theme is derived from the story of +Virginia and Tarquin. + +"NO ROSE WOULD HE PLUCK, ETC." Lessing's drama closes thus: "_Odoardo_: +'God! what have I done!' _Emilia_: 'Thou hast merely plucked a rose ere +the storm reft it of its petals.'" + + +CANTO XXIV + +GANELON OF MAINZ was the stepfather of Roland, against whom he bore a +grudge. He contrived to bring about his destruction by betraying him to +the Saracens, who over-powered and killed him in the Valley of +Roncesvalles, as related in the well-known "Chanson de Roland." + +VALHALLA'S HALL. King Ludwig I of Bavaria ordered a Greek temple to be +built on the banks of the Danube near Regensburg, to which he gave the +name of Valhalla. In this the busts of all great Germans are placed--as, +for instance, with great ceremony, that of Bismarck some years ago, and +recently that of Wagner. Atta Troll's epitaph is a satirical imitation +of the poetic effusions of Ludwig I, who considered himself a poet but +was nothing more than an affected versifier. His mania for compression +and for participial forms (not to be tolerated in German) more than once +drew the arrows of Heine's wit. The last line: "Talent none, but +character," has become a familiar phrase in Germany. + + +CANTO XXV + +PYRENEEAN LAFAYETTE. Lafayette fought for the Revolution in France as +well as in America. + +"THAT WHICH SONG WOULD MAKE ETERNAL," &c. A quotation in a semi-satiric +vein from Schiller's "The Gods of Greece." + + +CANTO XXVI + +DROVE THE SNAKES AND LIONS FAR. A burlesque quotation from +Freiligrath's poem "Der Loewenritt," from which also the reference later +on to the crocodile is taken. + + +CANTO XXVII + +VARNHAGEN VON ENSE (1785-1858). After abandoning his career as a +diplomat, von Ense married the celebrated Rahel. He lived in Berlin, +where the salon of his wife became the meeting-ground for artists and +writers. In his youth he associated closely with the romantics--de la +Motte Fouque, Chamisso, and Clemens Brentano, the brother of Bettina von +Arnim. Though imitating the heavy and cautious style of the later Goethe +he was a good writer, and his biographies of celebrated men belong to +the best in German literature. He endeavoured, but without success, to +win over the all-powerful Austrian Minister Metternich to the cause of +"Young Germany." + +OTHER TIMES AND OTHER BIRDS! These words refer to the new generation of +poets--Georg Herwegh, Friedrich Freiligrath, Dingelstedt, Hoffmann von +Fallersleben, and Anastasius Gruen--who came upon the scene about 1840, +cherished mechanic-democratic ideals and brought about the Revolution of +1848. Heine, by nature an aristocratic poet, who instinctively dreaded +the competition of "noble bears," saw all his loftiest principles +trodden into the mire by these Utopian hot-heads and the crew of +politicians that came storming after them. This doctrinaire and +numerical interpretation of the rights of man--for which rights in their +proper application the poet himself had fought so valiantly--caused him +great unhappiness. He now saw his fairest concepts (as is made clear in +his own introduction) distorted as in some crooked mirror, and so, +filled with anger, grief and disgust, he conceived and wrote his +lyrico-satiric masterpiece, "Atta Troll." The poem has been +misunderstood to this very day, for the mechanics and theorists have +practically won. _The day it is understood, their reign will be over_. + +PRINTED AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS LONDON + + +NOTES OF THE TRANSCRIBER + +Three instances of "Willy Pogany" were corrected to "Willy Pogany." + +"ond entreaties" was changed to "fond entreaties." + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Atta Troll, by Heinrich Heine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATTA TROLL *** + +***** This file should be named 31305.txt or 31305.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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