The town of Minden’s a fortress strong,With arms and stores well provided;But Prussian fortresses, truth to say,I never have abided.We got there just as evening fell;The planks of the drawbridge sadlyBeneath us groan’d, as over we roll’d,And the dark moat gaped on us madly.The lofty bastions on me gazedWith threat’ning and sulky wonder;The heavy gate open’d with rattling loud,And closed with a noise like thunder.Alas! my soul felt as sad as the soulOf Odysseus, the world-renown’d warrior,When he heard Polyphemus rolling a rockIn front of the cave as a barrier.A Corporal came to the door of the coachFor our names; I replied to this latter act:“I’m Nobody call’d; I an oculist am,“Who couch the giants for cataract!”At the inn I found my discomfort increase,My victuals fill’d me with loathing;I straight went to bed, but slept not a wink,So heavy I found the bed-clothing.The bed was a large, broad featherbed,Red damask curtains around it,The canopy wrought with faded gold,While a dirty tassel crown’d it.Accursèd tassel! of all my reposeIt robb’d me all the night through;It hung over head, like Damocles’ sword,And threaten’d to pierce me right through!A serpent’s head it often appear’d,And I heard its hissing mysterious:“In the fortress thou art, and canst not escape”—A position especially serious!“O would that I were”—I thought with a sigh,—“Of my peaceable home a sharer,“With my own dear wife in Paris once more,“In the Faubourg-Poissonière!”I felt that a Something oftentimesWas over my forehead stealing,Just like a Censor’s chilly hand,And all my thoughts congealing.Gendarmes, in the dresses of corpses conceal’d,In white and ghostly confusionSurrounded my bed, while a rattling of chainsI heard, to swell the illusion.Alas! the spectres carried me off,And at length with amazement I found meBeside a precipitous wall of rocks,And there they firmly had bound me.Detestable tassel, so dirty and foul!Again it appear’d before me,But now in the shape of a vulture with clawsAnd black wings hovering o’er me.And now like the well-known eagle it seem’dAnd grasp’d me, and breathing prevented;It ate the liver out of my breast,While sadly I groan’d and lamented.Long time I lamented, when crow’d the cock,And the feverish vision faded;Perspiring in bed at Minden I lay,To a tassel the bird was degraded.I travell’d with post-horses on,And free breath presently drew IOn the domain of Bückeburg,As by my feelings knew I.
The town of Minden’s a fortress strong,With arms and stores well provided;But Prussian fortresses, truth to say,I never have abided.We got there just as evening fell;The planks of the drawbridge sadlyBeneath us groan’d, as over we roll’d,And the dark moat gaped on us madly.The lofty bastions on me gazedWith threat’ning and sulky wonder;The heavy gate open’d with rattling loud,And closed with a noise like thunder.Alas! my soul felt as sad as the soulOf Odysseus, the world-renown’d warrior,When he heard Polyphemus rolling a rockIn front of the cave as a barrier.A Corporal came to the door of the coachFor our names; I replied to this latter act:“I’m Nobody call’d; I an oculist am,“Who couch the giants for cataract!”At the inn I found my discomfort increase,My victuals fill’d me with loathing;I straight went to bed, but slept not a wink,So heavy I found the bed-clothing.The bed was a large, broad featherbed,Red damask curtains around it,The canopy wrought with faded gold,While a dirty tassel crown’d it.Accursèd tassel! of all my reposeIt robb’d me all the night through;It hung over head, like Damocles’ sword,And threaten’d to pierce me right through!A serpent’s head it often appear’d,And I heard its hissing mysterious:“In the fortress thou art, and canst not escape”—A position especially serious!“O would that I were”—I thought with a sigh,—“Of my peaceable home a sharer,“With my own dear wife in Paris once more,“In the Faubourg-Poissonière!”I felt that a Something oftentimesWas over my forehead stealing,Just like a Censor’s chilly hand,And all my thoughts congealing.Gendarmes, in the dresses of corpses conceal’d,In white and ghostly confusionSurrounded my bed, while a rattling of chainsI heard, to swell the illusion.Alas! the spectres carried me off,And at length with amazement I found meBeside a precipitous wall of rocks,And there they firmly had bound me.Detestable tassel, so dirty and foul!Again it appear’d before me,But now in the shape of a vulture with clawsAnd black wings hovering o’er me.And now like the well-known eagle it seem’dAnd grasp’d me, and breathing prevented;It ate the liver out of my breast,While sadly I groan’d and lamented.Long time I lamented, when crow’d the cock,And the feverish vision faded;Perspiring in bed at Minden I lay,To a tassel the bird was degraded.I travell’d with post-horses on,And free breath presently drew IOn the domain of Bückeburg,As by my feelings knew I.
The town of Minden’s a fortress strong,With arms and stores well provided;But Prussian fortresses, truth to say,I never have abided.
We got there just as evening fell;The planks of the drawbridge sadlyBeneath us groan’d, as over we roll’d,And the dark moat gaped on us madly.
The lofty bastions on me gazedWith threat’ning and sulky wonder;The heavy gate open’d with rattling loud,And closed with a noise like thunder.
Alas! my soul felt as sad as the soulOf Odysseus, the world-renown’d warrior,When he heard Polyphemus rolling a rockIn front of the cave as a barrier.
A Corporal came to the door of the coachFor our names; I replied to this latter act:“I’m Nobody call’d; I an oculist am,“Who couch the giants for cataract!”
At the inn I found my discomfort increase,My victuals fill’d me with loathing;I straight went to bed, but slept not a wink,So heavy I found the bed-clothing.
The bed was a large, broad featherbed,Red damask curtains around it,The canopy wrought with faded gold,While a dirty tassel crown’d it.
Accursèd tassel! of all my reposeIt robb’d me all the night through;It hung over head, like Damocles’ sword,And threaten’d to pierce me right through!
A serpent’s head it often appear’d,And I heard its hissing mysterious:“In the fortress thou art, and canst not escape”—A position especially serious!
“O would that I were”—I thought with a sigh,—“Of my peaceable home a sharer,“With my own dear wife in Paris once more,“In the Faubourg-Poissonière!”
I felt that a Something oftentimesWas over my forehead stealing,Just like a Censor’s chilly hand,And all my thoughts congealing.
Gendarmes, in the dresses of corpses conceal’d,In white and ghostly confusionSurrounded my bed, while a rattling of chainsI heard, to swell the illusion.
Alas! the spectres carried me off,And at length with amazement I found meBeside a precipitous wall of rocks,And there they firmly had bound me.
Detestable tassel, so dirty and foul!Again it appear’d before me,But now in the shape of a vulture with clawsAnd black wings hovering o’er me.
And now like the well-known eagle it seem’dAnd grasp’d me, and breathing prevented;It ate the liver out of my breast,While sadly I groan’d and lamented.
Long time I lamented, when crow’d the cock,And the feverish vision faded;Perspiring in bed at Minden I lay,To a tassel the bird was degraded.
I travell’d with post-horses on,And free breath presently drew IOn the domain of Bückeburg,As by my feelings knew I.
O Danton, great was thy mistake,And thy error was paid for dearly!One can carry away one’s fatherlandOn the soles of one’s feet, pretty nearly.Of the princely domain of BückeburgOne half to my boots clung in patches;In all my life I never have seenA place that in filth its match is.At the town of Bückeburg shortly I stopp’d,To see the ancestral castleWhence my grandfather came; my grandmother thoughOf Hamburg was part and parcel.I got to Hanover just at noon,And there had my boots clean’d neatly,And afterwards went to visit the town;When I travel, I do it completely.By heavens, how spruce the place appear’d!No mud in its streets was lying;Many handsome buildings there I saw,In massive splendour vying.[59]I was mostly charm’d by a very large square,Surrounded by houses superior;There lives the king and his palace there stands,Of a really handsome exterior,—(The palace I mean.) On each side of the doorA sentry-box had its station;Redcoats with muskets there kept guard,Of threat’ning and wild reputation.My cicerone said: “Here lives“King Ernest Augustus, a tory“Of the olden school, and a nobleman,—“Very sharp, though his hairs are hoary.“In safety idyllic here he dwells,“For he’s far more securely protected“By the scanty courage of our dear friends“Than his satellites ever effected.“I see him sometimes, and then he complains“How very tedious his post is,—“The regal post, of which he here“In Hanover now the boast is.“Accustom’d to a British life,“And plagued by spleen, to cure it“He finds it not easy, and greatly fears“That he cannot much longer endure it.“T’other day I found him at early morn“By the fireside mournfully bending;“For his dog, who was sick, with his own royal hands“A comforting draught he was blending.”
O Danton, great was thy mistake,And thy error was paid for dearly!One can carry away one’s fatherlandOn the soles of one’s feet, pretty nearly.Of the princely domain of BückeburgOne half to my boots clung in patches;In all my life I never have seenA place that in filth its match is.At the town of Bückeburg shortly I stopp’d,To see the ancestral castleWhence my grandfather came; my grandmother thoughOf Hamburg was part and parcel.I got to Hanover just at noon,And there had my boots clean’d neatly,And afterwards went to visit the town;When I travel, I do it completely.By heavens, how spruce the place appear’d!No mud in its streets was lying;Many handsome buildings there I saw,In massive splendour vying.[59]I was mostly charm’d by a very large square,Surrounded by houses superior;There lives the king and his palace there stands,Of a really handsome exterior,—(The palace I mean.) On each side of the doorA sentry-box had its station;Redcoats with muskets there kept guard,Of threat’ning and wild reputation.My cicerone said: “Here lives“King Ernest Augustus, a tory“Of the olden school, and a nobleman,—“Very sharp, though his hairs are hoary.“In safety idyllic here he dwells,“For he’s far more securely protected“By the scanty courage of our dear friends“Than his satellites ever effected.“I see him sometimes, and then he complains“How very tedious his post is,—“The regal post, of which he here“In Hanover now the boast is.“Accustom’d to a British life,“And plagued by spleen, to cure it“He finds it not easy, and greatly fears“That he cannot much longer endure it.“T’other day I found him at early morn“By the fireside mournfully bending;“For his dog, who was sick, with his own royal hands“A comforting draught he was blending.”
O Danton, great was thy mistake,And thy error was paid for dearly!One can carry away one’s fatherlandOn the soles of one’s feet, pretty nearly.
Of the princely domain of BückeburgOne half to my boots clung in patches;In all my life I never have seenA place that in filth its match is.
At the town of Bückeburg shortly I stopp’d,To see the ancestral castleWhence my grandfather came; my grandmother thoughOf Hamburg was part and parcel.
I got to Hanover just at noon,And there had my boots clean’d neatly,And afterwards went to visit the town;When I travel, I do it completely.
By heavens, how spruce the place appear’d!No mud in its streets was lying;Many handsome buildings there I saw,In massive splendour vying.[59]
I was mostly charm’d by a very large square,Surrounded by houses superior;There lives the king and his palace there stands,Of a really handsome exterior,—
(The palace I mean.) On each side of the doorA sentry-box had its station;Redcoats with muskets there kept guard,Of threat’ning and wild reputation.
My cicerone said: “Here lives“King Ernest Augustus, a tory“Of the olden school, and a nobleman,—“Very sharp, though his hairs are hoary.
“In safety idyllic here he dwells,“For he’s far more securely protected“By the scanty courage of our dear friends“Than his satellites ever effected.
“I see him sometimes, and then he complains“How very tedious his post is,—“The regal post, of which he here“In Hanover now the boast is.
“Accustom’d to a British life,“And plagued by spleen, to cure it“He finds it not easy, and greatly fears“That he cannot much longer endure it.
“T’other day I found him at early morn“By the fireside mournfully bending;“For his dog, who was sick, with his own royal hands“A comforting draught he was blending.”
In an hour from Harburg to Hamburg I went;The shades of evening were thick’ning,The stars in the heavens their greetings sent,And the air was soft and quick’ning.And when I reach’d my mother at last,She was wellnigh frighten’d with gladness;She cried “My darling child!” and clasp’dHer hands together with madness.“My darling child, full thirteen years“Have pass’d since our last meeting;“You surely are hungry; tell me now“What you’ll take in the way of eating?“I’ve here some fish, and goose-flesh too,“And handsome oranges also!”—“Then give me some fish, and goose-flesh too,“And handsome oranges also!”And whilst I ate with an appetite good,My mother was lively and merry;She ask’d me this, and she ask’d me that,And her questions were awkward, very.“My darling child, in your foreign home“Do you get all the things you require?“Is your wife pretty skilful at keeping house?“Are your shirts and stockings darn’d by her?”“The fish is good, my mother dear,“But in silence one ought to eat it;“’Tis easy to get a bone in one’s throat,“Pray leave me in peace to complete it.”And when I had finish’d the excellent fish,The goose next made its appearance;My mother again ask’d for this and for that,With the same ill-timed perseverance.“My darling child, which land do you think“Is the best for people to dwell in,—“This place, or France? which nation’s the best?“What thing does each excel in?”—“A German goose, my mother dear,“Is good as one of the courses;“But the French stuff geese far better than we,“And they also have better sauces.”And when the goose had taken its leave,The oranges presently follow’d,And tasted so unexpectedly nice,That with pleasure they quickly were swallow’d.But now my mother again beganHer questions with very much pleasure;She ask’d me a thousand things, but someWere awkward beyond all measure.“My darling child, pray tell me now,“If politics still you’re inclined to?“Which party in the state to support“Have you the greatest mind to?”—“The quality, my mother dear,“Of your oranges cannot be beaten;“The sweet juice I swallow with much delight,“But I leave the peel uneaten.”
In an hour from Harburg to Hamburg I went;The shades of evening were thick’ning,The stars in the heavens their greetings sent,And the air was soft and quick’ning.And when I reach’d my mother at last,She was wellnigh frighten’d with gladness;She cried “My darling child!” and clasp’dHer hands together with madness.“My darling child, full thirteen years“Have pass’d since our last meeting;“You surely are hungry; tell me now“What you’ll take in the way of eating?“I’ve here some fish, and goose-flesh too,“And handsome oranges also!”—“Then give me some fish, and goose-flesh too,“And handsome oranges also!”And whilst I ate with an appetite good,My mother was lively and merry;She ask’d me this, and she ask’d me that,And her questions were awkward, very.“My darling child, in your foreign home“Do you get all the things you require?“Is your wife pretty skilful at keeping house?“Are your shirts and stockings darn’d by her?”“The fish is good, my mother dear,“But in silence one ought to eat it;“’Tis easy to get a bone in one’s throat,“Pray leave me in peace to complete it.”And when I had finish’d the excellent fish,The goose next made its appearance;My mother again ask’d for this and for that,With the same ill-timed perseverance.“My darling child, which land do you think“Is the best for people to dwell in,—“This place, or France? which nation’s the best?“What thing does each excel in?”—“A German goose, my mother dear,“Is good as one of the courses;“But the French stuff geese far better than we,“And they also have better sauces.”And when the goose had taken its leave,The oranges presently follow’d,And tasted so unexpectedly nice,That with pleasure they quickly were swallow’d.But now my mother again beganHer questions with very much pleasure;She ask’d me a thousand things, but someWere awkward beyond all measure.“My darling child, pray tell me now,“If politics still you’re inclined to?“Which party in the state to support“Have you the greatest mind to?”—“The quality, my mother dear,“Of your oranges cannot be beaten;“The sweet juice I swallow with much delight,“But I leave the peel uneaten.”
In an hour from Harburg to Hamburg I went;The shades of evening were thick’ning,The stars in the heavens their greetings sent,And the air was soft and quick’ning.
And when I reach’d my mother at last,She was wellnigh frighten’d with gladness;She cried “My darling child!” and clasp’dHer hands together with madness.
“My darling child, full thirteen years“Have pass’d since our last meeting;“You surely are hungry; tell me now“What you’ll take in the way of eating?
“I’ve here some fish, and goose-flesh too,“And handsome oranges also!”—“Then give me some fish, and goose-flesh too,“And handsome oranges also!”
And whilst I ate with an appetite good,My mother was lively and merry;She ask’d me this, and she ask’d me that,And her questions were awkward, very.
“My darling child, in your foreign home“Do you get all the things you require?“Is your wife pretty skilful at keeping house?“Are your shirts and stockings darn’d by her?”
“The fish is good, my mother dear,“But in silence one ought to eat it;“’Tis easy to get a bone in one’s throat,“Pray leave me in peace to complete it.”
And when I had finish’d the excellent fish,The goose next made its appearance;My mother again ask’d for this and for that,With the same ill-timed perseverance.
“My darling child, which land do you think“Is the best for people to dwell in,—“This place, or France? which nation’s the best?“What thing does each excel in?”—
“A German goose, my mother dear,“Is good as one of the courses;“But the French stuff geese far better than we,“And they also have better sauces.”
And when the goose had taken its leave,The oranges presently follow’d,And tasted so unexpectedly nice,That with pleasure they quickly were swallow’d.
But now my mother again beganHer questions with very much pleasure;She ask’d me a thousand things, but someWere awkward beyond all measure.
“My darling child, pray tell me now,“If politics still you’re inclined to?“Which party in the state to support“Have you the greatest mind to?”—
“The quality, my mother dear,“Of your oranges cannot be beaten;“The sweet juice I swallow with much delight,“But I leave the peel uneaten.”
They bit by bit are building againThe hapless half-burnt city;Like a half-shorn poodle Hamburg now looks,An object to waken one’s pity.[60]Full many a street has disappear’dThat mournfully one misses—Where is the house, wherein I kiss’dLove’s first delicious kisses?Where is the printing-house, where IMyReisebilderprinted?The oyster shop, where I oysters gulp’d downWith appetite unstinted?The Dreckwall too,—where is it now?I now should seek it vainly;Where the pavilion, where I ateSo many cakes profanely?Where is the town-hall, wherein satThe senate and burghers stately?A prey to the flames! The flames spared notWhatever was holiest lately.The people still were sighing with grief,And with most mournful facesThe history sad of the great fire told,And pointed out all its traces:—“It burnt in every corner at once,“All was smoke and flames fiercely flashing;“The churches’ towers all blazed on high,“And tumbled in with loud crashing.“The old exchange was also burnt,“Where our fathers in every weather“Were wont to assemble for centuries past,“And honestly traded together.“The bank, the silvery soul of the town,“And the books which have always served us“To note the assets of every man,“Thank heaven! have been preserved us.“Thank heaven! In every land they made“On our behalf large collections;“A capital job,—we got no less“Than eight millions in all directions.“The money from every country flow’d“In our hands, which were far from unwilling,“And plenty of food they also sent,“And we gladly accepted each shilling.“They sent us clothes and bedding enough,“And bread, and meat, and soups too;“The King of Prussia, to show his regard,“Would fain have sent us troops too.“Our losses in property thus were replaced,“A matter of mere valuation;“But then the fright,—our terrible fright,“Admits of no compensation!”I cheeringly said: “My worthy friends,“You should not lament and bawl so!“A far better city than yours was Troy,“And yet it was burnt down also.“Rebuild your houses as fast as you can,“And dry up every puddle;“Get better engines and better laws,“That are not quite such a muddle.“Don’t put in your nice mock-turtle soup“So very much Cayenne pepper;“Your carp are not wholesome with so much sauce,“Or when eaten with scales, like a leper.“Your turkeys will not do much harm,“But be on your guard ’gainst disaster“From the knavish bird that lays its eggs“In the wig of the burgomaster.“’Tis not for me to tell you the name“Of this bird of bad reputation;“When thinking about him, the food in my maw“Is stirr’d with indignation.”
They bit by bit are building againThe hapless half-burnt city;Like a half-shorn poodle Hamburg now looks,An object to waken one’s pity.[60]Full many a street has disappear’dThat mournfully one misses—Where is the house, wherein I kiss’dLove’s first delicious kisses?Where is the printing-house, where IMyReisebilderprinted?The oyster shop, where I oysters gulp’d downWith appetite unstinted?The Dreckwall too,—where is it now?I now should seek it vainly;Where the pavilion, where I ateSo many cakes profanely?Where is the town-hall, wherein satThe senate and burghers stately?A prey to the flames! The flames spared notWhatever was holiest lately.The people still were sighing with grief,And with most mournful facesThe history sad of the great fire told,And pointed out all its traces:—“It burnt in every corner at once,“All was smoke and flames fiercely flashing;“The churches’ towers all blazed on high,“And tumbled in with loud crashing.“The old exchange was also burnt,“Where our fathers in every weather“Were wont to assemble for centuries past,“And honestly traded together.“The bank, the silvery soul of the town,“And the books which have always served us“To note the assets of every man,“Thank heaven! have been preserved us.“Thank heaven! In every land they made“On our behalf large collections;“A capital job,—we got no less“Than eight millions in all directions.“The money from every country flow’d“In our hands, which were far from unwilling,“And plenty of food they also sent,“And we gladly accepted each shilling.“They sent us clothes and bedding enough,“And bread, and meat, and soups too;“The King of Prussia, to show his regard,“Would fain have sent us troops too.“Our losses in property thus were replaced,“A matter of mere valuation;“But then the fright,—our terrible fright,“Admits of no compensation!”I cheeringly said: “My worthy friends,“You should not lament and bawl so!“A far better city than yours was Troy,“And yet it was burnt down also.“Rebuild your houses as fast as you can,“And dry up every puddle;“Get better engines and better laws,“That are not quite such a muddle.“Don’t put in your nice mock-turtle soup“So very much Cayenne pepper;“Your carp are not wholesome with so much sauce,“Or when eaten with scales, like a leper.“Your turkeys will not do much harm,“But be on your guard ’gainst disaster“From the knavish bird that lays its eggs“In the wig of the burgomaster.“’Tis not for me to tell you the name“Of this bird of bad reputation;“When thinking about him, the food in my maw“Is stirr’d with indignation.”
They bit by bit are building againThe hapless half-burnt city;Like a half-shorn poodle Hamburg now looks,An object to waken one’s pity.[60]
Full many a street has disappear’dThat mournfully one misses—Where is the house, wherein I kiss’dLove’s first delicious kisses?
Where is the printing-house, where IMyReisebilderprinted?The oyster shop, where I oysters gulp’d downWith appetite unstinted?
The Dreckwall too,—where is it now?I now should seek it vainly;Where the pavilion, where I ateSo many cakes profanely?
Where is the town-hall, wherein satThe senate and burghers stately?A prey to the flames! The flames spared notWhatever was holiest lately.
The people still were sighing with grief,And with most mournful facesThe history sad of the great fire told,And pointed out all its traces:—
“It burnt in every corner at once,“All was smoke and flames fiercely flashing;“The churches’ towers all blazed on high,“And tumbled in with loud crashing.
“The old exchange was also burnt,“Where our fathers in every weather“Were wont to assemble for centuries past,“And honestly traded together.
“The bank, the silvery soul of the town,“And the books which have always served us“To note the assets of every man,“Thank heaven! have been preserved us.
“Thank heaven! In every land they made“On our behalf large collections;“A capital job,—we got no less“Than eight millions in all directions.
“The money from every country flow’d“In our hands, which were far from unwilling,“And plenty of food they also sent,“And we gladly accepted each shilling.
“They sent us clothes and bedding enough,“And bread, and meat, and soups too;“The King of Prussia, to show his regard,“Would fain have sent us troops too.
“Our losses in property thus were replaced,“A matter of mere valuation;“But then the fright,—our terrible fright,“Admits of no compensation!”
I cheeringly said: “My worthy friends,“You should not lament and bawl so!“A far better city than yours was Troy,“And yet it was burnt down also.
“Rebuild your houses as fast as you can,“And dry up every puddle;“Get better engines and better laws,“That are not quite such a muddle.
“Don’t put in your nice mock-turtle soup“So very much Cayenne pepper;“Your carp are not wholesome with so much sauce,“Or when eaten with scales, like a leper.
“Your turkeys will not do much harm,“But be on your guard ’gainst disaster“From the knavish bird that lays its eggs“In the wig of the burgomaster.
“’Tis not for me to tell you the name“Of this bird of bad reputation;“When thinking about him, the food in my maw“Is stirr’d with indignation.”
More changed than even the city itselfAppear’d the people within it;Like walking ruins they totter’d about,As if ready to tumble each minute.The thin still thinner than ever appear’d,The fat appear’d still fatter,The children were old, and the old were young,(In their second childhood the latter).Full many that I had left as calves,As oxen were herding together,And many a gosling had now becomeA goose in fullest feather.The aged Gudel I found be-rouged,And dress’d with syren-like brightness;She had procured some dark black hair,And teeth of dazzling whiteness.The best preserved of all was my friendThe paper-dealer, good fellow;Like John the Baptist, round his headWas floating his hair so yellow.I only saw D—— a long way off,He slipp’d away so fleetly;I hear that his soul was burnt, but insuredFor a large amount discreetly.I also saw my old Censor againIn the fog, and lowly stoopingI met him in the goose market by chance,And he seem’d completely drooping.We shook each other’s hands, and some tearsIn his eye appear’d collecting;He was so pleased to see me once more!The scene was truly affecting.I found not all, for many a oneHad quitted this scene for ever;My Gumpelino,[61]’mongst others, alas!Was gone, to appear again never.That noble one had surrender’d his soulTo Him by whom it was given,And now had a glorified seraph becomeIn the blissful realms of heaven.In vain for the crooked Adonis I sought,(Though I look’d in every direction,)Who used to sell pots and pans in the street,—A very cheap collection.And Sarras, the trusty dog, was dead,A loss of a serious nature;Friend Campe[62]would sooner have lost a whole hostOf writers than this good creature.The population of Hamburg townHas from time immemorial consistedOf Jews and Christians; ’tis also the caseThat the latter are rather close-fisted.The Christians all behave pretty well,And pass their time in clover,And promptly pay their bills of exchange,Ere the days of grace are over.The Jews are however divided againInto two very different parties;The old one goes to the synagogue,In the temple the new one’s heart is.The new party eat the flesh of swine,Their manners are somewhat dogmatic;They democrats are, but the older schoolIs much more aristocratic.I love the old, and I love the new,Yet I swear by the prophet JonasThat certain fish I love still more,—Smoked sprats they are commonly known as!
More changed than even the city itselfAppear’d the people within it;Like walking ruins they totter’d about,As if ready to tumble each minute.The thin still thinner than ever appear’d,The fat appear’d still fatter,The children were old, and the old were young,(In their second childhood the latter).Full many that I had left as calves,As oxen were herding together,And many a gosling had now becomeA goose in fullest feather.The aged Gudel I found be-rouged,And dress’d with syren-like brightness;She had procured some dark black hair,And teeth of dazzling whiteness.The best preserved of all was my friendThe paper-dealer, good fellow;Like John the Baptist, round his headWas floating his hair so yellow.I only saw D—— a long way off,He slipp’d away so fleetly;I hear that his soul was burnt, but insuredFor a large amount discreetly.I also saw my old Censor againIn the fog, and lowly stoopingI met him in the goose market by chance,And he seem’d completely drooping.We shook each other’s hands, and some tearsIn his eye appear’d collecting;He was so pleased to see me once more!The scene was truly affecting.I found not all, for many a oneHad quitted this scene for ever;My Gumpelino,[61]’mongst others, alas!Was gone, to appear again never.That noble one had surrender’d his soulTo Him by whom it was given,And now had a glorified seraph becomeIn the blissful realms of heaven.In vain for the crooked Adonis I sought,(Though I look’d in every direction,)Who used to sell pots and pans in the street,—A very cheap collection.And Sarras, the trusty dog, was dead,A loss of a serious nature;Friend Campe[62]would sooner have lost a whole hostOf writers than this good creature.The population of Hamburg townHas from time immemorial consistedOf Jews and Christians; ’tis also the caseThat the latter are rather close-fisted.The Christians all behave pretty well,And pass their time in clover,And promptly pay their bills of exchange,Ere the days of grace are over.The Jews are however divided againInto two very different parties;The old one goes to the synagogue,In the temple the new one’s heart is.The new party eat the flesh of swine,Their manners are somewhat dogmatic;They democrats are, but the older schoolIs much more aristocratic.I love the old, and I love the new,Yet I swear by the prophet JonasThat certain fish I love still more,—Smoked sprats they are commonly known as!
More changed than even the city itselfAppear’d the people within it;Like walking ruins they totter’d about,As if ready to tumble each minute.
The thin still thinner than ever appear’d,The fat appear’d still fatter,The children were old, and the old were young,(In their second childhood the latter).
Full many that I had left as calves,As oxen were herding together,And many a gosling had now becomeA goose in fullest feather.
The aged Gudel I found be-rouged,And dress’d with syren-like brightness;She had procured some dark black hair,And teeth of dazzling whiteness.
The best preserved of all was my friendThe paper-dealer, good fellow;Like John the Baptist, round his headWas floating his hair so yellow.
I only saw D—— a long way off,He slipp’d away so fleetly;I hear that his soul was burnt, but insuredFor a large amount discreetly.
I also saw my old Censor againIn the fog, and lowly stoopingI met him in the goose market by chance,And he seem’d completely drooping.
We shook each other’s hands, and some tearsIn his eye appear’d collecting;He was so pleased to see me once more!The scene was truly affecting.
I found not all, for many a oneHad quitted this scene for ever;My Gumpelino,[61]’mongst others, alas!Was gone, to appear again never.
That noble one had surrender’d his soulTo Him by whom it was given,And now had a glorified seraph becomeIn the blissful realms of heaven.
In vain for the crooked Adonis I sought,(Though I look’d in every direction,)Who used to sell pots and pans in the street,—A very cheap collection.
And Sarras, the trusty dog, was dead,A loss of a serious nature;Friend Campe[62]would sooner have lost a whole hostOf writers than this good creature.
The population of Hamburg townHas from time immemorial consistedOf Jews and Christians; ’tis also the caseThat the latter are rather close-fisted.
The Christians all behave pretty well,And pass their time in clover,And promptly pay their bills of exchange,Ere the days of grace are over.
The Jews are however divided againInto two very different parties;The old one goes to the synagogue,In the temple the new one’s heart is.
The new party eat the flesh of swine,Their manners are somewhat dogmatic;They democrats are, but the older schoolIs much more aristocratic.
I love the old, and I love the new,Yet I swear by the prophet JonasThat certain fish I love still more,—Smoked sprats they are commonly known as!
Though as a republic Hamburg was ne’erAs great as Venice or Florence,Yet Hamburg has better oysters; one getsThe best in the cellar of Laurence.I went there with Campe at evening time,When splendid was the weather,Intending on oysters and Rhenish wineTo have a banquet together.I found some excellent company there,And greatly was delightedTo see many old friends, such as Chaufepié,And new ones, self-invited.There Wille was, whose very faceWas an album where foes academicRight legibly had inscribed their namesIn the shape of scars polemic.There Fucks was also, a heathen blind,And personal foe of Jehovah,Who believed but in Hegel, and slightly perhapsIn the Venus of Canova.My Campe was our Amphytrion there,And smiled and enjoy’d the honour;His eye was beaming with happiness,Just like an ecstatic Madonna.I ate and drank with an appetite good,And these thoughts then cross’d my noddle:“This Campe is really an excellent man,“And of publishers quite the model.“Another publisher, I feel sure,“Would have left me of hunger to perish;“But he has given me drink as well,“His name I ever shall cherish.“I thank the mighty Lord of all“Who this juice of the grape created,“And Campe to me as a publisher gave,“Whose merits can’t be overrated.“I thank the mighty Lord of all“Who by His own mere motion“Created on earth the Rhenish wine,“And the oysters in the ocean.“Who also made the lemons to grow,“The oyster’s flavour to sweeten,—“O may I peacefully to-night“Digest what I have eaten!”The Rhenish wine makes my feelings soft,All quarrelsome thoughts congealingWithin my breast, and kindling insteadA philanthropic feeling.It now compell’d me to leave the room,And through the streets to wander;My soul sought a soul, and the sight of each dressOf a woman made it still fonder.In moments like this, with grief I could melt,While my yearning makes me tremble;The cats appear to me all too grey,And Helens the women resemble.—And when I came to the Drehbahn Street,I saw in the moonbeams glancingThe noble form of a woman fair,With stately grace advancing.Her face was perfectly healthy and round,Her cheek like a damask rose was,Like a turquoise her eye, like a cherry her mouth,While somewhat reddish her nose was.Her head was cover’d with a capOf snowy stiff linen, not ragged,But folded like a mural crown,With turrets and battlements jagged.She wore as her dress a tunic whiteWhich down to her calves descended;And O what calves! The pedestals theyOf two Doric columns splendid.A very worldly naïvetéCould be read in her every feature,But her superhuman hinder partsBetray’d a superior creature.She now approach’d me, and straightway said:“To the Elbe here’s a welcome hearty!“E’en after an absence of thirteen years,“I see that thou’rt still the same party!“Perchance thou seekest the souls so fair“Who so often used to meet thee,“And all night long in this beautiful place“With their reveries loved to greet thee.“By that hundred-headed hydra, Life,“That monster fierce, they were swallow’d;“Thou’lt find those olden times no more,“Nor those friends once lovingly follow’d.“No longer thou’lt find those beauteous flowers,“Which enchanted thy youthful bosom;“’Twas here they bloom’d,—they’re wither’d now,“And the tempest has scatter’d each blossom.“Yes, wither’d, and stripp’d, and trampled down“By destiny’s footsteps appalling—“My friend, this is ever the fate upon earth“Of all that is sweet and enthralling!”—“Who art thou?” I cried—“like a dream of old times“Thy appearance doth strangely beset me;“Where is thy dwelling, enormous one?“I’ll follow thee there, if thou’lt let me.”The woman then smiled, and thus she replied:“Thou art wrong, I’m a decent and quiet“And highly moral personage too,“By no means given to riot.“I’m none of your foreign lorettes, my friend,“And none of your common ladies;“I’m Hamburg’s goddess, Hammonia by name,“And to watch o’er its welfare my trade is!“Thou art startled perchance to bear this news,“Thou once undaunted singer?“Art thou prepared to follow me still?“Then quick, and no more let us linger.”But I in reply laugh’d loudly and cried:“I’ll follow thee instanter!“If thou’lt go in front, I’ll go behind,—“Yes, even to hell in a canter!”
Though as a republic Hamburg was ne’erAs great as Venice or Florence,Yet Hamburg has better oysters; one getsThe best in the cellar of Laurence.I went there with Campe at evening time,When splendid was the weather,Intending on oysters and Rhenish wineTo have a banquet together.I found some excellent company there,And greatly was delightedTo see many old friends, such as Chaufepié,And new ones, self-invited.There Wille was, whose very faceWas an album where foes academicRight legibly had inscribed their namesIn the shape of scars polemic.There Fucks was also, a heathen blind,And personal foe of Jehovah,Who believed but in Hegel, and slightly perhapsIn the Venus of Canova.My Campe was our Amphytrion there,And smiled and enjoy’d the honour;His eye was beaming with happiness,Just like an ecstatic Madonna.I ate and drank with an appetite good,And these thoughts then cross’d my noddle:“This Campe is really an excellent man,“And of publishers quite the model.“Another publisher, I feel sure,“Would have left me of hunger to perish;“But he has given me drink as well,“His name I ever shall cherish.“I thank the mighty Lord of all“Who this juice of the grape created,“And Campe to me as a publisher gave,“Whose merits can’t be overrated.“I thank the mighty Lord of all“Who by His own mere motion“Created on earth the Rhenish wine,“And the oysters in the ocean.“Who also made the lemons to grow,“The oyster’s flavour to sweeten,—“O may I peacefully to-night“Digest what I have eaten!”The Rhenish wine makes my feelings soft,All quarrelsome thoughts congealingWithin my breast, and kindling insteadA philanthropic feeling.It now compell’d me to leave the room,And through the streets to wander;My soul sought a soul, and the sight of each dressOf a woman made it still fonder.In moments like this, with grief I could melt,While my yearning makes me tremble;The cats appear to me all too grey,And Helens the women resemble.—And when I came to the Drehbahn Street,I saw in the moonbeams glancingThe noble form of a woman fair,With stately grace advancing.Her face was perfectly healthy and round,Her cheek like a damask rose was,Like a turquoise her eye, like a cherry her mouth,While somewhat reddish her nose was.Her head was cover’d with a capOf snowy stiff linen, not ragged,But folded like a mural crown,With turrets and battlements jagged.She wore as her dress a tunic whiteWhich down to her calves descended;And O what calves! The pedestals theyOf two Doric columns splendid.A very worldly naïvetéCould be read in her every feature,But her superhuman hinder partsBetray’d a superior creature.She now approach’d me, and straightway said:“To the Elbe here’s a welcome hearty!“E’en after an absence of thirteen years,“I see that thou’rt still the same party!“Perchance thou seekest the souls so fair“Who so often used to meet thee,“And all night long in this beautiful place“With their reveries loved to greet thee.“By that hundred-headed hydra, Life,“That monster fierce, they were swallow’d;“Thou’lt find those olden times no more,“Nor those friends once lovingly follow’d.“No longer thou’lt find those beauteous flowers,“Which enchanted thy youthful bosom;“’Twas here they bloom’d,—they’re wither’d now,“And the tempest has scatter’d each blossom.“Yes, wither’d, and stripp’d, and trampled down“By destiny’s footsteps appalling—“My friend, this is ever the fate upon earth“Of all that is sweet and enthralling!”—“Who art thou?” I cried—“like a dream of old times“Thy appearance doth strangely beset me;“Where is thy dwelling, enormous one?“I’ll follow thee there, if thou’lt let me.”The woman then smiled, and thus she replied:“Thou art wrong, I’m a decent and quiet“And highly moral personage too,“By no means given to riot.“I’m none of your foreign lorettes, my friend,“And none of your common ladies;“I’m Hamburg’s goddess, Hammonia by name,“And to watch o’er its welfare my trade is!“Thou art startled perchance to bear this news,“Thou once undaunted singer?“Art thou prepared to follow me still?“Then quick, and no more let us linger.”But I in reply laugh’d loudly and cried:“I’ll follow thee instanter!“If thou’lt go in front, I’ll go behind,—“Yes, even to hell in a canter!”
Though as a republic Hamburg was ne’erAs great as Venice or Florence,Yet Hamburg has better oysters; one getsThe best in the cellar of Laurence.
I went there with Campe at evening time,When splendid was the weather,Intending on oysters and Rhenish wineTo have a banquet together.
I found some excellent company there,And greatly was delightedTo see many old friends, such as Chaufepié,And new ones, self-invited.
There Wille was, whose very faceWas an album where foes academicRight legibly had inscribed their namesIn the shape of scars polemic.
There Fucks was also, a heathen blind,And personal foe of Jehovah,Who believed but in Hegel, and slightly perhapsIn the Venus of Canova.
My Campe was our Amphytrion there,And smiled and enjoy’d the honour;His eye was beaming with happiness,Just like an ecstatic Madonna.
I ate and drank with an appetite good,And these thoughts then cross’d my noddle:“This Campe is really an excellent man,“And of publishers quite the model.
“Another publisher, I feel sure,“Would have left me of hunger to perish;“But he has given me drink as well,“His name I ever shall cherish.
“I thank the mighty Lord of all“Who this juice of the grape created,“And Campe to me as a publisher gave,“Whose merits can’t be overrated.
“I thank the mighty Lord of all“Who by His own mere motion“Created on earth the Rhenish wine,“And the oysters in the ocean.
“Who also made the lemons to grow,“The oyster’s flavour to sweeten,—“O may I peacefully to-night“Digest what I have eaten!”
The Rhenish wine makes my feelings soft,All quarrelsome thoughts congealingWithin my breast, and kindling insteadA philanthropic feeling.
It now compell’d me to leave the room,And through the streets to wander;My soul sought a soul, and the sight of each dressOf a woman made it still fonder.
In moments like this, with grief I could melt,While my yearning makes me tremble;The cats appear to me all too grey,And Helens the women resemble.—
And when I came to the Drehbahn Street,I saw in the moonbeams glancingThe noble form of a woman fair,With stately grace advancing.
Her face was perfectly healthy and round,Her cheek like a damask rose was,Like a turquoise her eye, like a cherry her mouth,While somewhat reddish her nose was.
Her head was cover’d with a capOf snowy stiff linen, not ragged,But folded like a mural crown,With turrets and battlements jagged.
She wore as her dress a tunic whiteWhich down to her calves descended;And O what calves! The pedestals theyOf two Doric columns splendid.
A very worldly naïvetéCould be read in her every feature,But her superhuman hinder partsBetray’d a superior creature.
She now approach’d me, and straightway said:“To the Elbe here’s a welcome hearty!“E’en after an absence of thirteen years,“I see that thou’rt still the same party!
“Perchance thou seekest the souls so fair“Who so often used to meet thee,“And all night long in this beautiful place“With their reveries loved to greet thee.
“By that hundred-headed hydra, Life,“That monster fierce, they were swallow’d;“Thou’lt find those olden times no more,“Nor those friends once lovingly follow’d.
“No longer thou’lt find those beauteous flowers,“Which enchanted thy youthful bosom;“’Twas here they bloom’d,—they’re wither’d now,“And the tempest has scatter’d each blossom.
“Yes, wither’d, and stripp’d, and trampled down“By destiny’s footsteps appalling—“My friend, this is ever the fate upon earth“Of all that is sweet and enthralling!”—
“Who art thou?” I cried—“like a dream of old times“Thy appearance doth strangely beset me;“Where is thy dwelling, enormous one?“I’ll follow thee there, if thou’lt let me.”
The woman then smiled, and thus she replied:“Thou art wrong, I’m a decent and quiet“And highly moral personage too,“By no means given to riot.
“I’m none of your foreign lorettes, my friend,“And none of your common ladies;“I’m Hamburg’s goddess, Hammonia by name,“And to watch o’er its welfare my trade is!
“Thou art startled perchance to bear this news,“Thou once undaunted singer?“Art thou prepared to follow me still?“Then quick, and no more let us linger.”
But I in reply laugh’d loudly and cried:“I’ll follow thee instanter!“If thou’lt go in front, I’ll go behind,—“Yes, even to hell in a canter!”
How I managed to mount the narrow stairsI haven’t the slightest notion;Perhaps the spirits carried me upWith some invisible motion.But here, in Hammonia’s little room,The hours pass’d swiftly o’er me;The goddess confess’d the sympathyThat she had ever felt for me.“Look here”—said she, “in former days“The minstrel who sang the Messiah“Was dearest to me of all the throng,“With his piously-sounding lyre.“To this day the bust of my Klopstock stands“On that chest of drawers, but though on it,“For many a year it has only served“As a block for holding my bonnet.“Thou’rt my favourite now, and thy likeness hangs“At the head of my bed in due order;“And see, a fresh laurel now surrounds“The cherish’d portrait’s border.“Yet thy attacks on my sons, I confess,“Repeated by thee so often,“Have sometimes caused me the greatest pain;“Thy language thou must soften.“I trust that time has cured thee now“Of rudeness so cold-hearted,“And somewhat greater tolerance“For even the fools imparted.“But say how thou camest to travel north“At such an unclement season?“The weather already is winterly quite,—“I fain would know the reason.”“O worthy goddess!” I said in reply,“In the bosom’s inmost recesses“Are slumbering thoughts which often awake“At a time which rather distresses.“Externally things went on pretty well,“But within I was weigh’d down with anguish,“Which every day grew worse and worse,—“For home I ceased not to languish.“The air of France, so usually light,“Began to be oppressive;“I long’d to breathe some German air,“To relieve this burden excessive.“I yearn’d for German tobacco-smoke,“And the smell of German peat too;“My foot impatiently quiver’d, the ground“Of Germany to beat too.“I sigh’d all night, and I long’d and long’d“Yet once again to view her,“The old woman who close to the Dammthor lives,“And Lotte, who lives close to her.“The thought of that old and worthy man“Who always freely reproved me,“And then his protection over me threw,“To many a sigh now moved me.“I fain would hear again from his mouth“The words ‘young stupid!’ repeated,“Which always in my younger days“My heart like music greeted.“I yearn’d for the blue smoke that high in the air“From German chimneys reaches,“For the Lower-Saxony nightingales,“For the silent groves of beeches.“I yearn’d for all the sorrowful spots,“The places where once I resorted,“Where once I trail’d my youthful cross,“And my crown of thorns supported.“I fain would weep where I formerly wept“Those tears so bitter and burning;“The love of fatherland methinks“They call this foolish yearning.“I love not to talk of it; ’tis nought else“But a whim of the’ imagination;“Shamefaced by nature, I hide my wounds“From public observation.“O how I detest the trumpery set“Who, to stir men’s passion heated,“Of patriotism make a show“With all its ulcers fetid.“They’re shameless and shabby beggars all,“Who live upon people’s charity;“For Menzel[63]and all his Swabians, here’s“A penn’orth of popularity!“My goddess! thou hast found me to-day“Of a tender disposition!“I’m rather ill, but a little care“Will soon recruit my condition.“Yes, I am ill, and thou canst refresh“My spirits in a minute“By means of a cup of excellent tea,“With a little rum mix’d in it.”
How I managed to mount the narrow stairsI haven’t the slightest notion;Perhaps the spirits carried me upWith some invisible motion.But here, in Hammonia’s little room,The hours pass’d swiftly o’er me;The goddess confess’d the sympathyThat she had ever felt for me.“Look here”—said she, “in former days“The minstrel who sang the Messiah“Was dearest to me of all the throng,“With his piously-sounding lyre.“To this day the bust of my Klopstock stands“On that chest of drawers, but though on it,“For many a year it has only served“As a block for holding my bonnet.“Thou’rt my favourite now, and thy likeness hangs“At the head of my bed in due order;“And see, a fresh laurel now surrounds“The cherish’d portrait’s border.“Yet thy attacks on my sons, I confess,“Repeated by thee so often,“Have sometimes caused me the greatest pain;“Thy language thou must soften.“I trust that time has cured thee now“Of rudeness so cold-hearted,“And somewhat greater tolerance“For even the fools imparted.“But say how thou camest to travel north“At such an unclement season?“The weather already is winterly quite,—“I fain would know the reason.”“O worthy goddess!” I said in reply,“In the bosom’s inmost recesses“Are slumbering thoughts which often awake“At a time which rather distresses.“Externally things went on pretty well,“But within I was weigh’d down with anguish,“Which every day grew worse and worse,—“For home I ceased not to languish.“The air of France, so usually light,“Began to be oppressive;“I long’d to breathe some German air,“To relieve this burden excessive.“I yearn’d for German tobacco-smoke,“And the smell of German peat too;“My foot impatiently quiver’d, the ground“Of Germany to beat too.“I sigh’d all night, and I long’d and long’d“Yet once again to view her,“The old woman who close to the Dammthor lives,“And Lotte, who lives close to her.“The thought of that old and worthy man“Who always freely reproved me,“And then his protection over me threw,“To many a sigh now moved me.“I fain would hear again from his mouth“The words ‘young stupid!’ repeated,“Which always in my younger days“My heart like music greeted.“I yearn’d for the blue smoke that high in the air“From German chimneys reaches,“For the Lower-Saxony nightingales,“For the silent groves of beeches.“I yearn’d for all the sorrowful spots,“The places where once I resorted,“Where once I trail’d my youthful cross,“And my crown of thorns supported.“I fain would weep where I formerly wept“Those tears so bitter and burning;“The love of fatherland methinks“They call this foolish yearning.“I love not to talk of it; ’tis nought else“But a whim of the’ imagination;“Shamefaced by nature, I hide my wounds“From public observation.“O how I detest the trumpery set“Who, to stir men’s passion heated,“Of patriotism make a show“With all its ulcers fetid.“They’re shameless and shabby beggars all,“Who live upon people’s charity;“For Menzel[63]and all his Swabians, here’s“A penn’orth of popularity!“My goddess! thou hast found me to-day“Of a tender disposition!“I’m rather ill, but a little care“Will soon recruit my condition.“Yes, I am ill, and thou canst refresh“My spirits in a minute“By means of a cup of excellent tea,“With a little rum mix’d in it.”
How I managed to mount the narrow stairsI haven’t the slightest notion;Perhaps the spirits carried me upWith some invisible motion.
But here, in Hammonia’s little room,The hours pass’d swiftly o’er me;The goddess confess’d the sympathyThat she had ever felt for me.
“Look here”—said she, “in former days“The minstrel who sang the Messiah“Was dearest to me of all the throng,“With his piously-sounding lyre.
“To this day the bust of my Klopstock stands“On that chest of drawers, but though on it,“For many a year it has only served“As a block for holding my bonnet.
“Thou’rt my favourite now, and thy likeness hangs“At the head of my bed in due order;“And see, a fresh laurel now surrounds“The cherish’d portrait’s border.
“Yet thy attacks on my sons, I confess,“Repeated by thee so often,“Have sometimes caused me the greatest pain;“Thy language thou must soften.
“I trust that time has cured thee now“Of rudeness so cold-hearted,“And somewhat greater tolerance“For even the fools imparted.
“But say how thou camest to travel north“At such an unclement season?“The weather already is winterly quite,—“I fain would know the reason.”
“O worthy goddess!” I said in reply,“In the bosom’s inmost recesses“Are slumbering thoughts which often awake“At a time which rather distresses.
“Externally things went on pretty well,“But within I was weigh’d down with anguish,“Which every day grew worse and worse,—“For home I ceased not to languish.
“The air of France, so usually light,“Began to be oppressive;“I long’d to breathe some German air,“To relieve this burden excessive.
“I yearn’d for German tobacco-smoke,“And the smell of German peat too;“My foot impatiently quiver’d, the ground“Of Germany to beat too.
“I sigh’d all night, and I long’d and long’d“Yet once again to view her,“The old woman who close to the Dammthor lives,“And Lotte, who lives close to her.
“The thought of that old and worthy man“Who always freely reproved me,“And then his protection over me threw,“To many a sigh now moved me.
“I fain would hear again from his mouth“The words ‘young stupid!’ repeated,“Which always in my younger days“My heart like music greeted.
“I yearn’d for the blue smoke that high in the air“From German chimneys reaches,“For the Lower-Saxony nightingales,“For the silent groves of beeches.
“I yearn’d for all the sorrowful spots,“The places where once I resorted,“Where once I trail’d my youthful cross,“And my crown of thorns supported.
“I fain would weep where I formerly wept“Those tears so bitter and burning;“The love of fatherland methinks“They call this foolish yearning.
“I love not to talk of it; ’tis nought else“But a whim of the’ imagination;“Shamefaced by nature, I hide my wounds“From public observation.
“O how I detest the trumpery set“Who, to stir men’s passion heated,“Of patriotism make a show“With all its ulcers fetid.
“They’re shameless and shabby beggars all,“Who live upon people’s charity;“For Menzel[63]and all his Swabians, here’s“A penn’orth of popularity!
“My goddess! thou hast found me to-day“Of a tender disposition!“I’m rather ill, but a little care“Will soon recruit my condition.
“Yes, I am ill, and thou canst refresh“My spirits in a minute“By means of a cup of excellent tea,“With a little rum mix’d in it.”
Some tea the goddess quickly made,And then the rum pour’d she in;But she herself preferr’d the rumWithout a drop of tea in.Against my shoulder she lean’d her head,And rather tumbled her bonnetOr mural crown, and gently she spake,While I reflected upon it:“I often have thought with much alarm“That in Paris, that wicked city,“With the frivolous French thou’rt living still,—“’Tis really a very great pity.“Without an object thou’rt passing thy time,“And hast not even beside thee“Some faithful German publisher who“As a Mentor might warn and guide thee.“And then the temptations there are so great,“So many a sylph amuses,“Whose health is bad, and one’s peace of mind“One far too easily loses.“Return not again, but stop with us,“Here modesty reigns still, and morals;“And here thou may’st gather, e’en in our midst,“In silence many fair laurels.“In Germany stay, and thou’lt relish things more“Than thou wert formerly able;“We’re fast advancing, and thou must have seen“Our progress so rapid and stable.“The censorship even less rigorous is,“Friend Hoffmann is milder and older;“His youthful passion for cutting up“ThyReisebilderis colder.“Thou too art older and milder now,“And many things quietly takest,“And in a better spirit than once,“Past times thou now awakest.“That matters in Germany used to go ill“Is a great exaggeration;“One could always escape, like the Romans of old,“From serfdom, by self-immolation.“The people enjoy’d full freedom of thought,“For the masses it never was stinted;“Restrictions affected nobody, save“The limited number who printed.“No lawless despotism then reign’d,“The worst of demagogues never“Were deprived of their rights of citizenship,“Till condemn’d for some wicked endeavour.“Things never in Germany went so ill,“Whatever disputes may have risen;“Believe me, no mortal was e’er starved to death“Inside a German prison.“In those long vanish’d days there bloom’d“Full many a fair apparition“Of simple faith and kindliness too,—“Now all is doubt and sedition.“The practical freedom that’s all outside“Will soon destroy the Ideal“That we bore in our bosoms,—as fair as a dream“Of lilies, and not more real!“Our beautiful poetry’s fading fast,“Already ’tis somewhat faded;“TheMoorish Kingof Freiligrath,“Like the rest of the kings, is degraded.“O couldst thou be silent, I soon would unseal“The book of fate, free from all error,“And suffer thee future ages to see“Within my magic mirror.“That which to mortal man I ne’er show’d,“To thee would I gladly discover:“The future of thy fatherland,—“Thou wouldst tell it, though, all the world over!”“Good heavens, dear goddess!” I cried with delight.“It would give me most exquisite pleasure;“O let me the future of Germany see,“I know how a secret to treasure.“I’m ready to swear whatever oath“Thou soonest would have me swallow,“As a pledge to thee of my secrecy;“So say what form I shall follow.”But she rejoin’d: “Thou must swear to me“As by Father Abraham’s order“His servant Eliezer swore,“When starting to cross the border.“Lift up my dress and place thy hand“Upon my thigh below it,“And swear that in speaking, the secret thou’lt keep,“And in thy works as a poet!”The moment was solemn. I felt as though fann’dBy the breath of ages long perish’d,When I swore the oath in the manner ordain’dBy Abraham, our forefather cherish’d.I lifted up the goddess’s dress,And placed on her thigh below itMy hand, vowing secrecy both in my wordsAnd in my works as a poet.
Some tea the goddess quickly made,And then the rum pour’d she in;But she herself preferr’d the rumWithout a drop of tea in.Against my shoulder she lean’d her head,And rather tumbled her bonnetOr mural crown, and gently she spake,While I reflected upon it:“I often have thought with much alarm“That in Paris, that wicked city,“With the frivolous French thou’rt living still,—“’Tis really a very great pity.“Without an object thou’rt passing thy time,“And hast not even beside thee“Some faithful German publisher who“As a Mentor might warn and guide thee.“And then the temptations there are so great,“So many a sylph amuses,“Whose health is bad, and one’s peace of mind“One far too easily loses.“Return not again, but stop with us,“Here modesty reigns still, and morals;“And here thou may’st gather, e’en in our midst,“In silence many fair laurels.“In Germany stay, and thou’lt relish things more“Than thou wert formerly able;“We’re fast advancing, and thou must have seen“Our progress so rapid and stable.“The censorship even less rigorous is,“Friend Hoffmann is milder and older;“His youthful passion for cutting up“ThyReisebilderis colder.“Thou too art older and milder now,“And many things quietly takest,“And in a better spirit than once,“Past times thou now awakest.“That matters in Germany used to go ill“Is a great exaggeration;“One could always escape, like the Romans of old,“From serfdom, by self-immolation.“The people enjoy’d full freedom of thought,“For the masses it never was stinted;“Restrictions affected nobody, save“The limited number who printed.“No lawless despotism then reign’d,“The worst of demagogues never“Were deprived of their rights of citizenship,“Till condemn’d for some wicked endeavour.“Things never in Germany went so ill,“Whatever disputes may have risen;“Believe me, no mortal was e’er starved to death“Inside a German prison.“In those long vanish’d days there bloom’d“Full many a fair apparition“Of simple faith and kindliness too,—“Now all is doubt and sedition.“The practical freedom that’s all outside“Will soon destroy the Ideal“That we bore in our bosoms,—as fair as a dream“Of lilies, and not more real!“Our beautiful poetry’s fading fast,“Already ’tis somewhat faded;“TheMoorish Kingof Freiligrath,“Like the rest of the kings, is degraded.“O couldst thou be silent, I soon would unseal“The book of fate, free from all error,“And suffer thee future ages to see“Within my magic mirror.“That which to mortal man I ne’er show’d,“To thee would I gladly discover:“The future of thy fatherland,—“Thou wouldst tell it, though, all the world over!”“Good heavens, dear goddess!” I cried with delight.“It would give me most exquisite pleasure;“O let me the future of Germany see,“I know how a secret to treasure.“I’m ready to swear whatever oath“Thou soonest would have me swallow,“As a pledge to thee of my secrecy;“So say what form I shall follow.”But she rejoin’d: “Thou must swear to me“As by Father Abraham’s order“His servant Eliezer swore,“When starting to cross the border.“Lift up my dress and place thy hand“Upon my thigh below it,“And swear that in speaking, the secret thou’lt keep,“And in thy works as a poet!”The moment was solemn. I felt as though fann’dBy the breath of ages long perish’d,When I swore the oath in the manner ordain’dBy Abraham, our forefather cherish’d.I lifted up the goddess’s dress,And placed on her thigh below itMy hand, vowing secrecy both in my wordsAnd in my works as a poet.
Some tea the goddess quickly made,And then the rum pour’d she in;But she herself preferr’d the rumWithout a drop of tea in.
Against my shoulder she lean’d her head,And rather tumbled her bonnetOr mural crown, and gently she spake,While I reflected upon it:
“I often have thought with much alarm“That in Paris, that wicked city,“With the frivolous French thou’rt living still,—“’Tis really a very great pity.
“Without an object thou’rt passing thy time,“And hast not even beside thee“Some faithful German publisher who“As a Mentor might warn and guide thee.
“And then the temptations there are so great,“So many a sylph amuses,“Whose health is bad, and one’s peace of mind“One far too easily loses.
“Return not again, but stop with us,“Here modesty reigns still, and morals;“And here thou may’st gather, e’en in our midst,“In silence many fair laurels.
“In Germany stay, and thou’lt relish things more“Than thou wert formerly able;“We’re fast advancing, and thou must have seen“Our progress so rapid and stable.
“The censorship even less rigorous is,“Friend Hoffmann is milder and older;“His youthful passion for cutting up“ThyReisebilderis colder.
“Thou too art older and milder now,“And many things quietly takest,“And in a better spirit than once,“Past times thou now awakest.
“That matters in Germany used to go ill“Is a great exaggeration;“One could always escape, like the Romans of old,“From serfdom, by self-immolation.
“The people enjoy’d full freedom of thought,“For the masses it never was stinted;“Restrictions affected nobody, save“The limited number who printed.
“No lawless despotism then reign’d,“The worst of demagogues never“Were deprived of their rights of citizenship,“Till condemn’d for some wicked endeavour.
“Things never in Germany went so ill,“Whatever disputes may have risen;“Believe me, no mortal was e’er starved to death“Inside a German prison.
“In those long vanish’d days there bloom’d“Full many a fair apparition“Of simple faith and kindliness too,—“Now all is doubt and sedition.
“The practical freedom that’s all outside“Will soon destroy the Ideal“That we bore in our bosoms,—as fair as a dream“Of lilies, and not more real!
“Our beautiful poetry’s fading fast,“Already ’tis somewhat faded;“TheMoorish Kingof Freiligrath,“Like the rest of the kings, is degraded.
“O couldst thou be silent, I soon would unseal“The book of fate, free from all error,“And suffer thee future ages to see“Within my magic mirror.
“That which to mortal man I ne’er show’d,“To thee would I gladly discover:“The future of thy fatherland,—“Thou wouldst tell it, though, all the world over!”
“Good heavens, dear goddess!” I cried with delight.“It would give me most exquisite pleasure;“O let me the future of Germany see,“I know how a secret to treasure.
“I’m ready to swear whatever oath“Thou soonest would have me swallow,“As a pledge to thee of my secrecy;“So say what form I shall follow.”
But she rejoin’d: “Thou must swear to me“As by Father Abraham’s order“His servant Eliezer swore,“When starting to cross the border.
“Lift up my dress and place thy hand“Upon my thigh below it,“And swear that in speaking, the secret thou’lt keep,“And in thy works as a poet!”
The moment was solemn. I felt as though fann’dBy the breath of ages long perish’d,When I swore the oath in the manner ordain’dBy Abraham, our forefather cherish’d.
I lifted up the goddess’s dress,And placed on her thigh below itMy hand, vowing secrecy both in my wordsAnd in my works as a poet.
The cheeks of the goddess glow’d all-red(I think that the rum had ascendedUp into her head) and she spoke in a toneIn which sorrow was painfully blended:“I’m fast getting old; I was born on the day“Of Hamburg’s first foundation;“My mother was a mermaid, who had“At the mouth of the Elbe her station.“My father was a monarch renown’d,“Called Charlemagne the glorious;“He was still more wise than Frederick the Great,“And also still more victorious.“At Aix-la-Chapelle is the seat where he sat“On the day of his coronation:“The seat where he sat at night devolved“On my mother, as nearest relation.“My mother left it to me in her turn,“A common-looking article;“And yet for the whole of Rothschild’s gold“I wouldn’t surrender one particle.“Behold, in yon corner stands a chair,“Both old and weather-beaten;“The leather that covers its arms is torn,“And the cushion is sadly moth-eaten.“Approach it now, and gently lift“The cushion from the settle;“Thou’lt see an oval opening then,“And under it a kettle.“That is a magic kettle wherein“The magic forces are brewing;“On placing thy head in the aperture, soon“The future thou’lt clearly be viewing.“Yes, Germany’s future there thou’lt see,“Like wondrously rolling phantasmas;“But shudder not, if out of the filth“Arise any foul miasmas!”She spoke, and she laugh’d a singular laughBut I undauntedly hastedTo hold my head over the terrible hole,And there I eagerly placed it.I’ll not betray, for silence I vow’d,The things that I saw and felt there;I scarcely dare to utter a word,Good heavens, of what I smelt there!With deep disgust I think to this dayOf that smell, which blended together,In vile and accursèd union, a stenchOf old cabbage and Russia leather.And heavens! the stink that afterwards roseWas still more filthy and dirty;’Twas as though they had swept together the soilFrom closets six and thirty.I know full well what was said by Saint JustIn the famous Committee of Safety:“Great illnesses cannot be cured by musk“And rose-oil,” he told them with naïveté.And yet this German futurity’s smellWas infinitely strongerThan aught that my nose could e’er have conceived—In fact I could bear it no longer.—My senses I lost, and on opening my eyesOnce more, I found myself sittingBeside the goddess, and leaning my headOn her breast, in a manner befitting.Her look it glisten’d, her mouth it glow’d,Her nostrils twitched, with bacchanticExcitement she clasp’d the poet, and sangWith ecstasy fearful and frantic:“Stay with me in Hamburg, I love thee full well,“And we’ll eat and drink with gladness“The oysters and wine of present times,“Forgetting the future’s sadness.“Put on the cover, for fear lest the stench“Should all our pleasure cloud over;“I love thee no German poet had e’er“A more affectionate lover!“I kiss thee, and I feel myself now“By thy genius quite inspired;“My spirit by a wondrous kind“Of paroxysm is fired.“I feel as though I heard in the street“The watchmen singing in chorus;“’Tis wedding music and bridal songs,“Sweet friend, that are rising o’er us.“The attendants on horseback also approach,“With their torches flaring brightly;“The torch-dance they dance in dignified wise,“And hop and spring about lightly.“The noble and worshipful Senate is there,“And the elders according to station;“The burgomaster clears his throat,“Preparing a lengthy oration.“In glittering uniforms also appear“The whole of the corps diplomatic,“In the name of the neighbouring states to present“Congratulations emphatic.“A clerical deputation, too, comes,“By rabbis and pastors guided;“But, alas! here Hoffmann also draws near,“With his scissors, as censor, provided.“The scissors rattle in his hand,“And eagerly he races“To seize thy body,—he cuts thy flesh—“Methinks it by far the best place is.”
The cheeks of the goddess glow’d all-red(I think that the rum had ascendedUp into her head) and she spoke in a toneIn which sorrow was painfully blended:“I’m fast getting old; I was born on the day“Of Hamburg’s first foundation;“My mother was a mermaid, who had“At the mouth of the Elbe her station.“My father was a monarch renown’d,“Called Charlemagne the glorious;“He was still more wise than Frederick the Great,“And also still more victorious.“At Aix-la-Chapelle is the seat where he sat“On the day of his coronation:“The seat where he sat at night devolved“On my mother, as nearest relation.“My mother left it to me in her turn,“A common-looking article;“And yet for the whole of Rothschild’s gold“I wouldn’t surrender one particle.“Behold, in yon corner stands a chair,“Both old and weather-beaten;“The leather that covers its arms is torn,“And the cushion is sadly moth-eaten.“Approach it now, and gently lift“The cushion from the settle;“Thou’lt see an oval opening then,“And under it a kettle.“That is a magic kettle wherein“The magic forces are brewing;“On placing thy head in the aperture, soon“The future thou’lt clearly be viewing.“Yes, Germany’s future there thou’lt see,“Like wondrously rolling phantasmas;“But shudder not, if out of the filth“Arise any foul miasmas!”She spoke, and she laugh’d a singular laughBut I undauntedly hastedTo hold my head over the terrible hole,And there I eagerly placed it.I’ll not betray, for silence I vow’d,The things that I saw and felt there;I scarcely dare to utter a word,Good heavens, of what I smelt there!With deep disgust I think to this dayOf that smell, which blended together,In vile and accursèd union, a stenchOf old cabbage and Russia leather.And heavens! the stink that afterwards roseWas still more filthy and dirty;’Twas as though they had swept together the soilFrom closets six and thirty.I know full well what was said by Saint JustIn the famous Committee of Safety:“Great illnesses cannot be cured by musk“And rose-oil,” he told them with naïveté.And yet this German futurity’s smellWas infinitely strongerThan aught that my nose could e’er have conceived—In fact I could bear it no longer.—My senses I lost, and on opening my eyesOnce more, I found myself sittingBeside the goddess, and leaning my headOn her breast, in a manner befitting.Her look it glisten’d, her mouth it glow’d,Her nostrils twitched, with bacchanticExcitement she clasp’d the poet, and sangWith ecstasy fearful and frantic:“Stay with me in Hamburg, I love thee full well,“And we’ll eat and drink with gladness“The oysters and wine of present times,“Forgetting the future’s sadness.“Put on the cover, for fear lest the stench“Should all our pleasure cloud over;“I love thee no German poet had e’er“A more affectionate lover!“I kiss thee, and I feel myself now“By thy genius quite inspired;“My spirit by a wondrous kind“Of paroxysm is fired.“I feel as though I heard in the street“The watchmen singing in chorus;“’Tis wedding music and bridal songs,“Sweet friend, that are rising o’er us.“The attendants on horseback also approach,“With their torches flaring brightly;“The torch-dance they dance in dignified wise,“And hop and spring about lightly.“The noble and worshipful Senate is there,“And the elders according to station;“The burgomaster clears his throat,“Preparing a lengthy oration.“In glittering uniforms also appear“The whole of the corps diplomatic,“In the name of the neighbouring states to present“Congratulations emphatic.“A clerical deputation, too, comes,“By rabbis and pastors guided;“But, alas! here Hoffmann also draws near,“With his scissors, as censor, provided.“The scissors rattle in his hand,“And eagerly he races“To seize thy body,—he cuts thy flesh—“Methinks it by far the best place is.”
The cheeks of the goddess glow’d all-red(I think that the rum had ascendedUp into her head) and she spoke in a toneIn which sorrow was painfully blended:
“I’m fast getting old; I was born on the day“Of Hamburg’s first foundation;“My mother was a mermaid, who had“At the mouth of the Elbe her station.
“My father was a monarch renown’d,“Called Charlemagne the glorious;“He was still more wise than Frederick the Great,“And also still more victorious.
“At Aix-la-Chapelle is the seat where he sat“On the day of his coronation:“The seat where he sat at night devolved“On my mother, as nearest relation.
“My mother left it to me in her turn,“A common-looking article;“And yet for the whole of Rothschild’s gold“I wouldn’t surrender one particle.
“Behold, in yon corner stands a chair,“Both old and weather-beaten;“The leather that covers its arms is torn,“And the cushion is sadly moth-eaten.
“Approach it now, and gently lift“The cushion from the settle;“Thou’lt see an oval opening then,“And under it a kettle.
“That is a magic kettle wherein“The magic forces are brewing;“On placing thy head in the aperture, soon“The future thou’lt clearly be viewing.
“Yes, Germany’s future there thou’lt see,“Like wondrously rolling phantasmas;“But shudder not, if out of the filth“Arise any foul miasmas!”
She spoke, and she laugh’d a singular laughBut I undauntedly hastedTo hold my head over the terrible hole,And there I eagerly placed it.
I’ll not betray, for silence I vow’d,The things that I saw and felt there;I scarcely dare to utter a word,Good heavens, of what I smelt there!
With deep disgust I think to this dayOf that smell, which blended together,In vile and accursèd union, a stenchOf old cabbage and Russia leather.
And heavens! the stink that afterwards roseWas still more filthy and dirty;’Twas as though they had swept together the soilFrom closets six and thirty.
I know full well what was said by Saint JustIn the famous Committee of Safety:“Great illnesses cannot be cured by musk“And rose-oil,” he told them with naïveté.
And yet this German futurity’s smellWas infinitely strongerThan aught that my nose could e’er have conceived—In fact I could bear it no longer.—
My senses I lost, and on opening my eyesOnce more, I found myself sittingBeside the goddess, and leaning my headOn her breast, in a manner befitting.
Her look it glisten’d, her mouth it glow’d,Her nostrils twitched, with bacchanticExcitement she clasp’d the poet, and sangWith ecstasy fearful and frantic:
“Stay with me in Hamburg, I love thee full well,“And we’ll eat and drink with gladness“The oysters and wine of present times,“Forgetting the future’s sadness.
“Put on the cover, for fear lest the stench“Should all our pleasure cloud over;“I love thee no German poet had e’er“A more affectionate lover!
“I kiss thee, and I feel myself now“By thy genius quite inspired;“My spirit by a wondrous kind“Of paroxysm is fired.
“I feel as though I heard in the street“The watchmen singing in chorus;“’Tis wedding music and bridal songs,“Sweet friend, that are rising o’er us.
“The attendants on horseback also approach,“With their torches flaring brightly;“The torch-dance they dance in dignified wise,“And hop and spring about lightly.
“The noble and worshipful Senate is there,“And the elders according to station;“The burgomaster clears his throat,“Preparing a lengthy oration.
“In glittering uniforms also appear“The whole of the corps diplomatic,“In the name of the neighbouring states to present“Congratulations emphatic.
“A clerical deputation, too, comes,“By rabbis and pastors guided;“But, alas! here Hoffmann also draws near,“With his scissors, as censor, provided.
“The scissors rattle in his hand,“And eagerly he races“To seize thy body,—he cuts thy flesh—“Methinks it by far the best place is.”