Читать книгу: «The Poems of Schiller — Third period», страница 7

FRIDOLIN; OR, THE WALK TO THE IRON FOUNDRY

 
   A gentle was Fridolin,
    And he his mistress dear,
   Savern's fair Countess, honored in
    All truth and godly fear.
   She was so meek, and, ah! so good!
   Yet each wish of her wayward mood,
   He would have studied to fulfil,
   To please his God, with earnest will.
 
 
   From the first hour when daylight shone
    Till rang the vesper-chime,
   He lived but for her will alone,
    And deemed e'en that scarce time.
   And if she said, "Less anxious be!"
   His eye then glistened tearfully.
   Thinking that he in duty failed,
   And so before no toil he quailed.
 
 
   And so, before her serving train,
    The Countess loved to raise him;
   While her fair mouth, in endless strain,
    Was ever wont to praise him.
   She never held him as her slave,
   Her heart a child's rights to him gave;
   Her clear eye hung in fond delight
   Upon his well-formed features bright.
 
 
   Soon in the huntsman Robert's breast
    Was poisonous anger fired;
   His black soul, long by lust possessed,
    With malice was inspired;
   He sought the Count, whom, quick in deed,
   A traitor might with ease mislead,
   As once from hunting home they rode,
   And in his heart suspicion sowed.
 
 
   "Happy art thou, great Count, in truth,"
    Thus cunningly he spoke;
   "For ne'er mistrust's envenomed tooth
    Thy golden slumbers broke;
   A noble wife thy love rewards,
   And modesty her person guards.
   The tempter will be able ne'er
   Her true fidelity to snare."
 
 
   A gloomy scowl the Count's eye filled:
    "What's this thou say'st to me?
   Shall I on woman's virtue build,
    Inconstant as the sea?
   The flatterer's mouth with ease may lure;
   My trust is placed on ground more sure.
   No one, methinks, dare ever burn
   To tempt the wife of Count Savern."
 
 
   The other spoke: "Thou sayest it well,
    The fool deserves thy scorn
   Who ventures on such thoughts to dwell,
    A mere retainer born, —
   Who to the lady he obeys
   Fears not his wishes' lust to raise." —
   "What!" tremblingly the Count began,
   "Dost speak, then, of a living man?" —
 
 
   "Is, then, the thing, to all revealed,
    Hid from my master's view?
   Yet, since with care from thee concealed,
    I'd fain conceal it too" —
   "Speak quickly, villain! speak or die!"
   Exclaimed the other fearfully.
   "Who dares to look on Cunigond?"
   "'Tis the fair page that is so fond."
 
 
   "He's not ill-shaped in form, I wot,"
    He craftily went on;
   The Count meanwhile felt cold and hot,
    By turns in every bone.
   "Is't possible thou seest not, sir,
   How he has eyes for none but her?
   At table ne'er attends to thee,
   But sighs behind her ceaselessly?"
 
 
   "Behold the rhymes that from him came
    His passion to confess" —
   "Confess!" — "And for an answering flame, —
    The impious knave! — to press.
   My gracious lady, soft and meek,
   Through pity, doubtless, feared to speak;
   That it has 'scaped me, sore I rue;
   What, lord, canst thou to help it do?"
 
 
   Into the neighboring wood then rode
    The Count, inflamed with wrath,
   Where, in his iron foundry, glowed
    The ore, and bubbled forth.
   The workmen here, with busy hand,
   The fire both late and early fanned.
   The sparks fly out, the bellows ply,
   As if the rock to liquefy.
 
 
   The fire and water's might twofold
    Are here united found;
   The mill-wheel, by the flood seized hold,
    Is whirling round and round;
   The works are clattering night and day,
   With measured stroke the hammers play,
   And, yielding to the mighty blows,
   The very iron plastic grows.
 
 
   Then to two workmen beckons he,
    And speaks thus in his ire;
   "The first who's hither sent by me
    Thus of ye to inquire
   'Have ye obeyed my lord's word well?'
   Him cast ye into yonder hell,
   That into ashes he may fly,
   And ne'er again torment mine eye!"
 
 
   The inhuman pair were overjoyed,
    With devilish glee possessed
   For as the iron, feeling void,
    Their heart was in their breast,
   And brisker with the bellows' blast,
   The foundry's womb now heat they fast,
   And with a murderous mind prepare
   To offer up the victim there.
 
 
   Then Robert to his comrade spake,
    With false hypocrisy:
   "Up, comrade, up! no tarrying make!
    Our lord has need of thee."
   The lord to Fridolin then said:
   "The pathway toward the foundry tread,
   And of the workmen there inquire,
   If they have done their lord's desire."
 
 
   The other answered, "Be it so!"
    But o'er him came this thought,
   When he was all-prepared to go,
    "Will she command me aught?"
   So to the Countess straight he went:
   "I'm to the iron-foundry sent;
   Then say, can I do aught for thee?
   For thou 'tis who commandest me."
 
 
   To this the Lady of Savern
    Replied in gentle tone:
   "To hear the holy mass I yearn,
    For sick now lies my son;
   So go, my child, and when thou'rt there,
   Utter for me a humble prayer,
   And of thy sins think ruefully,
   That grace may also fall on me."
 
 
   And in this welcome duty glad,
    He quickly left the place;
   But ere the village bounds he had
    Attained with rapid pace,
   The sound of bells struck on his ear,
   From the high belfry ringing clear,
   And every sinner, mercy-sent,
   Inviting to the sacrament.
 
 
   "Never from praising God refrain
    Where'er by thee He's found!"
   He spoke, and stepped into the fane,
    But there he heard no sound;
   For 'twas the harvest time, and now
   Glowed in the fields the reaper's brow;
   No choristers were gathered there,
   The duties of the mass to share.
 
 
   The matter paused he not to weigh,
    But took the sexton's part;
   "That thing," he said, "makes no delay
    Which heavenward guides the heart."
   Upon the priest, with helping hand,
   He placed the stole and sacred band,
   The vessels he prepared beside,
   That for the mass were sanctified.
 
 
   And when his duties here were o'er,
    Holding the mass-book, he,
   Ministering to the priest, before
    The altar bowed his knee,
   And knelt him left, and knelt him right,
   While not a look escaped his sight,
   And when the holy Sanctus came,
   The bell thrice rang he at the name.
 
 
   And when the priest, bowed humbly too,
    In hand uplifted high,
   Facing the altar, showed to view
    The present Deity,
   The sacristan proclaimed it well,
   Sounding the clearly-tinkling bell,
   While all knelt down, and beat the breast,
   And with a cross the Host confessed.
 
 
   The rites thus served he, leaving none,
    With quick and ready wit;
   Each thing that in God's house is done,
    He also practised it.
   Unweariedly he labored thus,
   Till the Vobiscum Dominus,
   When toward the people turned the priest,
   Blessed them, — and so the service ceased.
 
 
   Then he disposed each thing again,
    In fair and due array;
   First purified the holy fane,
    And then he went his way,
   And gladly, with a mind at rest,
   On to the iron-foundry pressed,
   Saying the while, complete to be,
   Twelve paternosters silently.
 
 
   And when he saw the furnace smoke,
    And saw the workmen stand,
   "Have ye, ye fellows," thus he spoke,
    "Obeyed the Count's command?"
   Grinning they ope the orifice,
   And point into the fell abyss:
   "He's cared for — all is at an end!
   The Count his servants will commend."
 
 
   The answer to his lord he brought,
    Returning hastily,
   Who, when his form his notice caught,
    Could scarcely trust his eye:
   "Unhappy one! whence comest thou?" —
   "Back from the foundry" — "Strange, I vow!
   Hast in thy journey, then, delayed?" —
   "'Twas only, lord, till I had prayed."
 
 
   "For when I from thy presence went
    (Oh pardon me!) to-day,
   As duty bid, my steps I bent
    To her whom I obey.
   She told me, lord, the mass to hear,
   I gladly to her wish gave ear,
   And told four rosaries at the shrine,
   For her salvation and for thine."
 
 
   In wonder deep the Count now fell,
    And, shuddering, thus spake he:
   "And, at the foundry, quickly tell,
    What answer gave they thee?"
   "Obscure the words they answered in, —
   Showing the furnace with a grin:
   'He's cared for — all is at an end!
   The Count his servants will commend.'"
 
 
   "And Robert?" interrupted he,
    While deadly pale he stood, —
   "Did he not, then, fall in with thee?
    I sent him to the wood." —
   "Lord, neither in the wood nor field
   Was trace of Robert's foot revealed." —
   "Then," cried the Count, with awe-struck mien,
   "Great God in heaven his judge hath been!"
 
 
   With kindness he before ne'er proved,
    He led him by the hand
   Up to the Countess, — deeply moved, —
    Who naught could understand.
   "This child, let him be dear to thee,
   No angel is so pure as he!
   Though we may have been counselled ill,
   God and His hosts watch o'er him still."
 

THE GENIUS WITH THE INVERTED TORCH

Lovely he looks, 'tis true, with the light of his torch now extinguished; But remember that death is not aesthetic, my friends!

THE COUNT OF HAPSBURG.²⁴
A BALLAD

 
   At Aix-la-Chapelle, in imperial array,
    In its halls renowned in old story,
   At the coronation banquet so gay
    King Rudolf was sitting in glory.
   The meats were served up by the Palsgrave of Rhine,
   The Bohemian poured out the bright sparkling wine,
    And all the Electors, the seven,
   Stood waiting around the world-governing one,
   As the chorus of stars encircle the sun,
    That honor might duly be given.
 
 
   And the people the lofty balcony round
    In a throng exulting were filling;
   While loudly were blending the trumpets' glad sound,
    The multitude's voices so thrilling;
   For the monarchless period, with horror rife,
   Has ended now, after long baneful strife,
    And the earth had a lord to possess her.
   No longer ruled blindly the iron-bound spear,
   And the weak and the peaceful no longer need fear
    Being crushed by the cruel oppressor.
 
 
   And the emperor speaks with a smile in his eye,
    While the golden goblet he seizes:
   "With this banquet in glory none other can vie,
    And my regal heart well it pleases;
   Yet the minstrel, the bringer of joy, is not here,
   Whose melodious strains to my heart are so dear,
    And whose words heavenly wisdom inspire;
   Since the days of my youth it hath been my delight,
   And that which I ever have loved as a knight,
    As a monarch I also require."
 
 
   And behold! 'mongst the princes who stand round the throne
    Steps the bard, in his robe long and streaming,
   While, bleached by the years that have over him flown,
    His silver locks brightly are gleaming;
   "Sweet harmony sleeps in the golden strings,
   The minstrel of true love reward ever sings,
    And adores what to virtue has tended —
   What the bosom may wish, what the senses hold dear;
   But say, what is worthy the emperor's ear
    At this, of all feasts the most splendid?"
 
 
   "No restraint would I place on the minstrel's own choice,"
    Speaks the monarch, a smile on each feature;
   "He obeys the swift hour's imperious voice,
    Of a far greater lord is the creature.
   For, as through the air the storm-wind on-speeds, —
   One knows not from whence its wild roaring proceeds —
    As the spring from hid sources up-leaping,
   So the lay of the bard from the inner heart breaks
   While the might of sensations unknown it awakes,
    That within us were wondrously sleeping."
 
 
   Then the bard swept the cords with a finger of might,
    Evoking their magical sighing:
   "To the chase once rode forth a valorous knight,
    In pursuit of the antelope flying.
   His hunting-spear bearing, there came in his train
   His squire; and when o'er a wide-spreading plain
    On his stately steed he was riding,
   He heard in the distance a bell tinkling clear,
   And a priest, with the Host, he saw soon drawing near,
    While before him the sexton was striding."
 
 
   "And low to the earth the Count then inclined,
    Bared his head in humble submission,
   To honor, with trusting and Christian-like mind,
    What had saved the whole world from perdition.
   But a brook o'er the plain was pursuing its course,
   That swelled by the mountain stream's headlong force,
    Barred the wanderer's steps with its current;
   So the priest on one side the blest sacrament put,
   And his sandal with nimbleness drew from his foot,
    That he safely might pass through the torrent."
 
 
   "'What wouldst thou?' the Count to him thus began,
    His wondering look toward him turning:
   'My journey is, lord, to a dying man,
    Who for heavenly diet is yearning;
   But when to the bridge o'er the brook I came nigh,
   In the whirl of the stream, as it madly rushed by
    With furious might 'twas uprooted.
   And so, that the sick the salvation may find
   That he pants for, I hasten with resolute mind
    To wade through the waters barefooted.'"
 
 
   "Then the Count made him mount on his stately steed,
    And the reins to his hands he confided,
   That he duly might comfort the sick in his need,
    And that each holy rite be provided.
   And himself, on the back of the steed of his squire,
   Went after the chase to his heart's full desire,
    While the priest on his journey was speeding
   And the following morning, with thankful look,
   To the Count once again his charger he took,
    Its bridle with modesty leading."
 
 
   "'God forbid that in chase or in battle,' then cried
    The Count with humility lowly,
   'The steed I henceforward should dare to bestride
    That had borne my Creator so holy!
   And if, as a guerdon, he may not be thine,
   He devoted shall be to the service divine,
    Proclaiming His infinite merit,
   From whom I each honor and earthly good
   Have received in fee, and my body and blood,
    And my breath, and my life, and my spirit.'"
 
 
   "'Then may God, the sure rock, whom no time can e'er move,
    And who lists to the weak's supplication,
   For the honor thou pay'st Him, permit thee to prove
    Honor here, and hereafter salvation!
   Thou'rt a powerful Count, and thy knightly command
   Hath blazoned thy fame through the Switzer's broad land;
    Thou art blest with six daughters admired;
   May they each in thy house introduce a bright crown,
   Filling ages unborn with their glorious renown' —
    Thus exclaimed he in accents inspired."
 
 
   And the emperor sat there all-thoughtfully,
    While the dream of the past stood before him;
   And when on the minstrel he turned his eye,
    His words' hidden meaning stole o'er him;
   For seeing the traits of the priest there revealed,
   In the folds of his purple-dyed robe he concealed
    His tears as they swiftly coursed down.
   And all on the emperor wonderingly gazed,
   And the blest dispensations of Providence praised,
    For the Count and the Caesar were one.