FROM THE LIFE OF A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING
The wheel of my father’s mill roared and boomed merrily again; snow
dripped busily from the roof, and sparrows twittered and darted around. I sat on the doorstep and rubbed the
sleep from my eyes; I felt so at home in the warm sunshine. Then my father stepped out of the house;
since the break of day he had been rumbling about in the mill, and, his
nightcap skew-whiff on his head, he said to me:
“You
good-for-nothing! There you are
sunning yourself again, straightening
and stretching your bones tired and leaving me to do all the work on my
own. I can’t feed you here any
longer. Spring is at the door; you
go on out into the world and earn your own bread.”
“Right,”
I said, “if I’m a good-for-nothing, that’s fine, I’ll go out into the world and
make my fortune.”
Actually,
I was really chuffed about this; for a short time earlier, I had hit on the
notion of going travelling when I heard the yellowhammer – who in autumn and
winter had kept up his sad song at our window, “Miller hire me, miller hire
me!” – sing out proudly and lustily with the lovely springtime: “Miller, stuff
your service!”
So
I went into the house and took my fiddle – which I played pretty nicely – down
from the wall; my father gave me a few pennies for the road, and then I
strolled along the sprawling village.
Secretly, it gave me great pleasure to see all my old friends and
companions there, going off right and left to work, digging and ploughing – as
they had done yesterday and the day before that, and as they will do for
evermore – while there was I, rambling out into the free world. Satisfied and as proud as punch, I
shouted adieus on all sides to the poor people, but none of them took any
particular notice. I felt as though
every day was going to be Sunday.
And when at last I came out into the open country, I took up my beloved
fiddle; and walking down the highroad, I played and sang:
When
God will show a man true favour,
He
sends him into distant lands,
Where
wood and mountain, field and river
All
show the wonder of His hands.
No
rousing flush of morning glows
On
sluggards who remain in bed;
Their
thoughts are filled with cares and woes,
With
little mouths and little bread.
The
runnels from the mounts fall springing,
Up
high the darting larks rejoice;
Now
what’s there to stop me from singing
Full-throated
airs with heartfelt voice?
I
leave dear God to rule and reign;
Who
brooks and larks and wood and lea
And
Earth and Heaven can maintain,
I’ll
say he knows what’s best for me!
While
I was taking in all the sights, a splendid travelling-coach passed close by me;
no doubt it had been travelling behind me for some time without my noticing it
(my heart being so full of melody), for it was moving really slowly. And two distinguished ladies, having
stuck their heads out, were listening to my song. One was especially beautiful, and
younger than the other; but if truth be told they were both easy on the eye. Now when I stopped singing, the elder
lady called a halt before sweetly addressing me:
“Well,
my merry little man! You know how
to sing some very pretty songs.”
As
quick as you please, I answered: “Serving Your Ladyship, I could sing much
lovelier ones.”
Whereupon
she asked me: “And where exactly are you wandering to, so early in the
morning?”
Then
I felt ashamed, for I did not know that myself; so I boldly said, “To V.”
Then
the two spoke together in a strange language I did not understand. The younger shook her head a few times,
but the other one laughed incessantly, and finally called to me: “Jump up on
the back, we too are going to V.”
Who
was happier than I? Making an
obeisance, I was up with one leap on the back of the coach; the coachman
cracked his whip, and we flew along the shining road, the wind whistling
through my hat.
Now
villages, gardens and church towers disappeared behind me, and fresh villages,
castles and mountains sprang up before; below me young crops, bushes and
meadows flying past in a blaze of colour, above me countless larks in the clear
blue sky. I was shy of shouting
aloud, but my heart was exultant, and I leapt and danced around on the
footboard, needing little to lose my fiddle, which I held under my arm. But when the sun rose higher and higher,
and heavy white midday clouds gathered around the horizon; when the air, and
everything on the broad plain, became so empty and muggy and still above the
gently waving cornfields – then, for the first time, I remembered my village
and my father and our mill, and how cosily cool it was there by the shady pond,
and how far, far behind me all that lay now. This put me in so strange a mood that I
felt as if I had to turn back; I tucked my fiddle between my coat and
waistcoat, sat down full of thoughts on the footboard, and fell asleep.
When
I opened my eyes, the coach had come to a halt beneath some tall lime-trees,
behind which a broad flight of steps led between pillars to a magnificent
castle. Looking sideways through
the trees, I could see the towers of V.
The ladies, it appeared, had alighted a long time since; and the horses
had been unhitched. It gave me a
mighty shock to suddenly find myself sitting there all alone, so I ran swiftly
into the castle – when I heard laughter from a window above.
I
had some strange experiences in this castle. First of all, there I was, looking
around in the wide, cool entrance-hall, when somebody tapped me on the shoulder
with a stick. I quickly span
around, there before me was standing a big man in gala dress, a broad, golden,
silk bandoleer slung over his shoulder down to his hips, a silver-tipped staff
in his hand and an extraordinarily long, hooked and electoral nose on his face;
as stout and splendid as a puffed-up turkey-cock, who was asking me what I was
doing here. I was totally stunned
and too shocked and astonished to find my tongue. Thereupon several servants came running
from upstairs and downstairs; they said not a word, but just looked me up and
down. Then a lady’s-maid (as I
afterwards discovered) came straight up to me and said: I was a charming youth,
and the master wished to know if I wanted to serve here as gardener’s lad?
I
clutched at my waistcoat; my few pennies had gone, Heaven knows they must have
jumped out of my pocket when I was dancing about on the coach; I had nothing
but my fiddling, for which the gentleman with the staff, as he remarked to me
in passing, would not give me a brass farthing. So, anxious at heart, I told the
lady’s-maid Yes, looking sideways all the while at the sinister figure who was
wandering constantly up and down the hall like the pendulum of a tower-clock,
and at that moment approaching majestic and terrible from the background.
At
last the gardener arrived, muttered something in his beard about riff-raff and
country oafs, and led me to the garden, giving me a long sermon on the way: how
I must be nice and sober, and industrious, not stravaig around the world, not
indulge in any labours of love or useless rubbish; then, perhaps, with time, I
could come to something. – There were yet more very charming, well-chosen, and
helpful nuggets of advice; I just seem to have forgotten nearly all of them in
the meantime. Anyhow, I’m not
actually certain how all this happened; I just kept saying, “Yes” to
everything, for I felt like a bird whose wings have been drenched. – And so I
had, thank God, a living.
Life
in the garden was very pleasant; every day I had enough hot meals and more
money than I needed for wine; it was just unfortunate that I had rather a heavy
workload. As for the temples,
pergolas and other leafy walks, they all really caught my fancy; if only I had
been free to stroll around inside them and discourse rationally, like the
ladies and gentlemen who entered there every day. Whenever the gardener had gone and I was
alone, I straightaway pulled out my short pipe, sat down, and thought up some
fine, courtly phrases with which I could entertain the beautiful young lady who
had brought me along to the castle, if I were a cavalier walking around with
her here. Or I would lie down on my
back, on sultry afternoons when all was so still that only the buzzing of bees
could be heard, and watch the clouds above me flying towards my village and the
grass and flowers swaying, and think about the lady; and then it often happened
that the lovely lady actually passed through the garden, in the distance, with
a guitar or a book, as quiet and serene as an angel, so that I couldn’t be
certain whether I was dreaming or waking.
And
one day, just as I was passing one of the summerhouses on my way to work, I
sang to myself:
What
sights my eyes may lure,
In
wood and field and wold,
From
mountain to the azure,
Then,
lady fair and pure,
I
greet you thousandfold.
Then
I saw, sparkling out from between the half-opened jalousies of the cool, dark
summerhouse and the flowers on the ledge, two beautiful, bright young
eyes. I was quite startled; I did
not finish my song, but went on to my work, without looking back.
One
evening – it was a Saturday, and there I was, standing with my fiddle at the
garden-shed window, in joyful anticipation of the coming Sunday, and still
thinking about those sparkling eyes – when suddenly the lady’s-maid came
sweeping up out of the twilight.
“Here’s
something for you from our beautiful mistress, you’re to drink it to her
health. And have a good night!”
With
that she quickly set down a bottle of wine on the window-sill then immediately
disappeared like a lizard between the flowers and the hedges.
I
stood for a long time before the wondrous bottle, not knowing what had happened
to me. – And if before that time I had bowed the fiddle merrily, now I really began to play and sing; I sang
the song about the lovely lady to the very last note, and all the songs I had
in my head, until outside every nightingale awoke and the moon and the stars
had long been shining down on the garden.
Yes, that was a good, a
beautiful night!
No
man’s fate is foretold at his cradle; the blind hen sometimes finds a grain of
corn; he who laughs last, laughs longest; much of what’s been was not foreseen;
man reflects and God directs – so I meditated when, on the following day, I was
sitting again in the garden with my pipe and it almost seemed to me, as I
attentively looked myself up and down, that I really was a right rogue. – By
this time, in total contrast to my usual custom, I would get up very early
every day, before even the gardener and the other workers were stirring. It was so gorgeous out in the garden at
that hour. The flowers, the fountains,
the rose-bushes, indeed all the garden glittered in the morning sun like pure
gold and gemstones. And in the tall
beech avenues, all was yet as still, cool and solemn as a church; only birds
fluttered about and pecked at the sand.
Immediately before the castle, directly beneath the windows where the
lovely lady lived, there was a blossoming bush. I always went there at the crack of dawn
and ducked behind the branches, so I could look up at the windows; for I did
not have the courage to show myself in the open. Every time, I saw the loveliest of
ladies, still warm and half asleep, emerge in a snow-white dress at the open
window. Now she plaited her
dark-brown hair, her gracefully playful gaze sweeping over bushes and garden
all the while; now she bent and bound the flowers which stood before her
window, or she took her guitar into her white arms and sang along so
wondrously, across and out of the garden, that even now my heart nigh turns
over from melancholy when one of her songs returns every now and then to my
remembrance – and oh, all that is long ago!
This
went on for perhaps a week or longer.
But then on one occasion – she was standing there at the window and
there was silence all around – a cursed fly buzzed up my nose and I launched
into a shocking sneezing fit that seemed to have no end. She leant far out of the window and saw
me, miserable wretch, eavesdropping behind the bush. – Well, I was ashamed, and
I did not go back for many days.
Eventually
I dared to return, but this time the window remained shut; I sat behind the
bush for four, five, six mornings, but she did not come to the window
again. Then time hung heavy on my
hands, so I took heart and started to walk, as open as you like, below the
windows along the front of the castle every morning. But the dear, lovely lady was never,
never to be seen. A little further
on I always saw the other lady standing at her window. I had never seen her in so much detail
before. She was actually pretty
rosy and fat, and with a really splendid and proud appearance, like a
tulip. I always gave her a low bow,
and, I have to say, she thanked me every time, and as she nodded her eyes would
twinkle in a quite extraordinarily courteous manner. – Only once did I think
that I saw the beautiful lady standing at her window behind the curtains and
furtively peering out.
However,
many days passed without my seeing her.
She no longer came into the garden, she no longer came to the
window. The gardener called me a
lazy rascal, I was morose, the tip of my nose was in my way when I looked out
into God’s free world.
So
I was lying in the garden one Sunday afternoon, looking into the blue clouds
rising from my pipe and getting annoyed at my not having settled on another
trade, one that would at least have given me a blue Monday to look forward to
on the following day. The other
lads had all gone off, smartly decked out, to the dances in the nearby
suburb. There everyone was surging
and seething enthusiastically back and forth, in their Sunday best, between the
bright houses and the turning hurdy-gurdies. Whereas I was sitting like a bittern
among the reeds of a lonely lake in the garden, rocking myself in the boat that
was moored there, while the vesper-bells pealed over the garden from the city
and the swans slowly glided up and down the water beside me. I was almost dead with yearning.
In
the meantime I heard from afar all kinds of voices, cheerfully chattering all
at once, and laughter, coming ever nearer; then red and white shawls, hats and
feathers shimmered through the greenery, and suddenly a bright and breezy crowd
of young ladies and gentlemen from the castle was heading towards me over the
meadow, both my ladies in the midst of them. I stood up, about to leave, when the
elder of the lovely ladies caught sight of me. “Well, here’s just the man we need!” she
shouted to me with laughing lips, “row us across the lake to the far
bank!” Now the ladies climbed
cautiously and timorously into the boat, one after the other; the gentlemen
gave them a hand and made themselves look rather consequential with their
boldness on the water. When the
ladies had all settled themselves on the side-benches, I pushed off from the
bank. One of the young gentlemen,
standing in the bows, began to surreptitiously rock the boat. Then the ladies turned anxiously from
side to side; several even screamed.
The lovely lady, a lily in her hand, sat close to the boat’s edge,
gazing with a serene smile down into the clear waves, which she touched with
the lily, so that her entire form was reproduced between the reflected clouds
and trees, like an angel softly moving across the deep blue floor of Heaven.
And
while I was looking at her, the other of my two ladies – the jovial, fat one –
suddenly hit on the idea that I should sing them a ditty during the
crossing. At once a very dainty
young gentleman with a pair of glasses on his nose, who was sitting beside her,
swivelled round, gently kissed her hand, and said: “I thank you for your
apropos suggestion! A folk-song, sung by the populace in the open field
and forest, is an alpine rose on an alpine meadow – the Wonder-horns are
herbariums, herbariums -, is the soul of the national soul.” But I said I knew no songs lovely enough
for such polite society. Then the
saucy lady’s-maid, who was standing close beside me with a basket full of cups
and bottles, and whom I hadn’t noticed at all until that moment, said: “But you
do know a really pretty ballad about a deeply lovely woman.” – “Yes, yes, sing
that out nice and loud,” cried the lady the next instant. I went red all over. – Meanwhile the
lovely lady suddenly raised her eyes from the water and fixed me with a look
that shot through me, body and soul.
So hesitating no longer, I plucked up courage and belted out gung-ho
with swelling lungs:
Wherever my eyes may be,
In
wood or field or wold,
From
mountain down to the gay lea,
Then,
pure and lovely lady,
I
greet you thousandfold.
Within
my garden are bands
Of
flowers, fair and sought;
I
wind them into garlands,
And
weave a thousand snar strands
Of
greetings, blooms and thought.
I
dare not hand one thither,
She
is too fair, too high;
Theirs
is to fade and wither,
But
love, one like no other,
Lives
in the heart for aye.
I
teem with merry chatter,
And
bustle to and fro;
And,
though my heart may shatter,
I
dig and clunk and clatter
And
help my grave to grow.
We
ran against the shore, and all the company disembarked; while I was singing,
many of the young gentlemen – oh yes, I noticed them – had been mocking me in
front of the ladies with sly looks and whispers. The gentleman with glasses seized my
hand as he was leaving and said to me – I can’t remember what – and the elder
of my ladies looked at me very approvingly. The lovely lady, having cast down her
eyes for the duration of my song, now walked away without uttering a single
word. – As for me, the tears were in my eyes before my song was ended, its
lines led my heart to burst with shame and anguish; all of a sudden I clearly
realised everything – how she is so
beautiful and I am so poor and mocked
and forsaken by the world -, and once they had all disappeared behind the
bushes, I could hold out no longer, but threw myself down on the grass and
burst into bitter tears.
Chapter Two
Close
to the comital garden passed the high-road; only a high wall separated
them. A really neat little
toll-house with a red tiled roof had been built there; behind it was a little
garden, enclosed by a brightly coloured fence which jutted through a gap in the
castle garden wall into its shadiest, most secluded part. The toll-collector who had always lived
there had just died. Then early one
morning, when I was still lying sound asleep, the clerk from the castle called
on me and ordered me to come to the steward on the double. I dressed quickly and ambled along
behind the happy-go-lucky clerk, who broke off a rose now here, now there on
the way and stuck it into the front of his coat, then fenced the air with a
little walking-stick and wasted his breath prattling all kinds of things to me,
none of which I caught, for my eyes and ears were still full of sleep. When I stepped into the office, where it
was not yet quite light, the steward looked at me from behind an enormous
ink-pot, piles of papers and books and an impressive wig, like an owl peering
out of her nest, and began: “What is your name? Where are you from? Can you read, write, and count?” When I affirmed that I could, he
retorted: “Well, the master, in view of your good behaviour and especial
merits, has decided that you shall fill the vacant post of collector.” I quickly ran over my previous behaviour
and manners in my mind and, I had to admit, I myself came to the conclusion
that the steward was right. – And so, before you could say Jack Robinson, I
really was the toll-collector.
Then
I moved into my new dwelling without more ado, and in no time at all I had
settled in. I found some
paraphernalia which the late collector had left his successor; among other
things, a splendid red dressing-gown with yellow spots, a pair of green
slippers, a nightcap and several long-stemmed pipes. I had wished to possess all of these in
my days at home, whenever I saw the priest going around in such comfort. All day (I had nothing else to do) I sat
on the little bench before my house, in dressing-gown and nightcap, smoked
tobacco from the longest pipe the late collector had left, and watched the
people walking and riding to and fro along the country road. I just kept wishing that a few people
from my village, who had always claimed that I would never come to anything,
would pass this way too, and see me in my present state. – The dressing-gown
suited me very nicely, and indeed everything pleased me greatly. So I sat there and thought about various
things, that the start is always the hardest part, that a more genteel life is
actually right comfortable, and I formed a secret revolve to desist from
travelling from that point on, to save money like other people, and assuredly
achieve something great in the world with time. Meanwhile, my resolutions, concerns and
duties did not make me forget the gorgeous lady in the slightest.
I
threw out the potatoes and other vegetables I found in my little garden and
planted the whole area with the most select flowers; which caused the porter
from the castle, he with the large electoral nose, who had often paid me a
visit since the time I came to live here and had become my intimate friend, to
apprehensively give me a sidelong glance and take me for someone whom sudden
good fortune had robbed of his reason.
But I didn’t let that trouble me.
For not far from me, in the comital garden, I heard the sound of refined
voices, among which I believed I recognised that of my lovely lady, although I
could not see anyone because of the thick bushes. So every day I would make up a bouquet
of the most beautiful flowers I had; and every evening, when it grew dark, I
would climb over the wall and lay the bouquet down on a stone table which stood
in the middle of an arbour. And
every evening, when I brought a fresh bouquet, the old one had gone from the
table.
One
evening the society had gone riding on the hunt; the sun was just setting,
bathing all the land with a radiant shimmer; the
In
the end, though, I had to laugh out loud, and I was heartily glad to be rid of
my know-all companion; for it was precisely the hour at which I used to lay the
bouquet in the arbour. And today
was no exception; I quickly sprang over the wall and was just heading towards
the little stone table when I heard the clopping of horse’s hooves at a little
distance. It was too late to make
my escape, for my lovely lady herself, in a green hunting-habit and with
nodding plumes in her hat, was at that moment riding down the avenue, slowly,
and apparently in deep thought. I felt
as I always used to when reading about the beautiful Magelone in the old books
at my father’s, how she would emerge from between the tall trees, with the
huntsmen’s horns resounding ever nearer, and the changing evening light – I was
rooted to the spot. She, however,
gave a violent start when she suddenly noticed me and, almost involuntarily,
came to a halt. I was drunk with
fear, palpitation and great joy; and when I noticed that she was really wearing
my yesterday’s bouquet on her breast, I could restrain myself no longer, but
said, totally flustered: “My dear, beautiful lady, take this bouquet from me,
along with all the flowers in my garden and everything I have. Oh, if only I could jump into fire for you!” Right at the outset she had looked at me
so gravely, almost crossly, that it shot right through me; but then, while I
was speaking, she kept her eyes cast fixed on the ground. Just at that moment the sound of voices
and horses’ hooves could be heard in the bushes. Then she quickly snatched the bunch out
of my hand and presently, without saying a word, disappeared at the far end of
the curving road.
After
that evening I had neither rest nor respite. My mood was constantly as it always used
to be when spring was dawning – so restless and joyful, without my knowing why,
as if there were a great piece of good fortune or some other extraordinary
occurrence in store for me. In
particular, I just couldn’t get my head round the odious calculations any longer,
and when the sunshine fell through the chestnut-tree before the window in green
and gold upon the figures, and added up from Brought Forward to Total, and up
and down again, so quickly, I had extremely strange thoughts, so that I
sometimes became utterly confused and was truly unable to count up to
three. For the Eight always
appeared to me as my fat, tightly-laced lady with the wide head-dress, the
wicked Seven was the spitting image of a signpost pointing eternally backwards,
or of a gallows. – The Nine afforded me the greatest fun, merrily turning
itself onto its head as a Six before I realised what was happening, while the
Two, like a question-mark, looked so sly, as if she wanted to ask me: What’s
going to happen to you in the end, you poor Nought? Without her, this slender One and everything, why, you will remain nothing
for ever!
Sitting
outside in front of the door no longer gave me pleasure, either. To have a more comfortable time of it, I
took a stool out with me and stretched my legs out on it; I mended an old
parasol of the collector’s and spanned it over me, like a Chinese summerhouse,
against the sun. But it was no
use. It seemed to me, as I sat
there smoking and speculating, that my legs were growing gradually longer and
longer from boredom and my nose grew from doing nothing when I looked down at
it for hours on end. – And then, when a post-chaise on occasion came by before
day had even broken, and I stepped out into the cool air half asleep, and a
sweet little face, of which only the sparkling eyes could be seen in the
twilight, bent forward inquisitively out of the carriage and cordially wished
me good morning; in the villages all around the cocks crowed so cheerily across
the lightly waving cornfields, and some larks, awakened too early, were already
roving between the stripes of morning high in the sky, and the postilion took
his post-horn and drove on and blew and blew – then I stood a long time
following the coach with my eyes, and I felt that I just had to go away at
once, far, far into the world. –
In
the meantime I continued to lay my bouquets on the stone table in the dark
arbour as soon as the sun had set.
But that was precisely the problem: it was all over with this since that
evening. – Nobody troubled themselves with them; whenever I went to look in the
early morning, the flowers still lay where they had been the previous day and
looked at me really sadly with their wilted, drooping little heads, which
dew-drops clung to, as if they were crying. This irked me sorely. I did not tie another bouquet. The weeds in my garden were free to
flourish as they liked, and I left the flowers in peace to grow until the wind
scattered their petals. After all,
everything was just as wild, confused, and disturbed in my heart.
Then,
at this critical juncture, it so happened that one day, just as I was lying by
the window in my house and gazing out morosely into empty space, the
lady’s-maid from the castle came mincing across the road. Seeing me, she quickly headed towards me
and stopped before the window. – “The master returned from his travels
yesterday,” she said zealously.
“So?” I retorted, astonished – for I had cared about nothing for several
weeks now and did not even know that the master had been on a journey – “then
his daughter, the young lady, will be greatly pleased.” – The lady’s-maid
looked me over from top to toe, so strangely that I really had to reflect on
whether I had dropped a stupid remark. – “You don’t know anything,” she said at last, turning up her little nose. “Now,” she continued, “this evening, to
honour the master, there is to be a dance and a masquerade in the castle. My mistress will also be masquerading,
as a gardener – understand this clearly – as a gardener. Now the lady has seen that you have
especially beautiful flowers in your garden.” – That is odd, I thought to
myself, for at present you can hardly see any flowers for weeds. – But she went
on: “Now, as the lady requires beautiful flowers for her costume, but quite
fresh, just picked from their bed, you’re to bring her some this evening, after
dusk, and wait with them under the big pear-tree in the castle-garden; then
she’ll come and collect the flowers.”
I
was quite stunned with joy at this news and ran, in my delight, from the window
out to the lady’s-maid. – “Ugh, that nasty dressing-gown!” she exclaimed, on
suddenly seeing me in this get-up out of doors. That annoyed me; not wanting to be found
behind in gallantry, I cut some fancy capers to grab and kiss her. But unfortunately, the dressing-gown,
which was far too long for me, got tangled up under my feet in the process, and
I fell down flat on my face. By the
time I had picked myself up, the lady’s-maid was far away; and even over that
distance I could hear her laughing so hard that she had to hold her sides.
Now,
however, I had something to make me ponder and rejoice. She still thought about me and my
flowers! I went into my little
garden, hastily tore all the weeds out of the beds and threw them away, high
over my head into the shimmering air, as if I were pulling out all evil and
melancholy by the root. Now the
roses were like her mouth, the sky-blue bindweed like her eyes, the snow-white
lily, with its head bowed in melancholy, looked exactly like her. I piled them all together in my little
basket. It was a still, lovely
evening, without a cloud in the sky.
A few stars already shone in the firmament, the murmuring
When
night finally fell, I took my little basket on my arm and made my way to the
great garden. Everything in the
basket was in such a colourful and charming muddle, white, red, blue and
fragrant, that my heart laughed soundly at the sight.
Full
of cheerful thoughts, I walked in the lovely moonlight down the silent, clean
and sand-strewn paths over the small white bridges, under which the swans sat
sleeping on the water, past the elegant arbours and summerhouses. I found the large pear-tree in no time
at all, for it was the same tree I would lie under, when I was the gardener’s
lad, on sultry afternoons.
It
was so dark and lonely here. Only a
tall aspen shook and whispered incessantly with its silver leaves. Sometimes dance music rang over from the
castle. I also heard human voices
from time to time in the garden; they often came up quite close to me, then all
was suddenly silent again.
My
heart pounded. I felt uneasy and
strange, as though I meant to rob someone.
For a long time I stood stock-still, leaning against the tree, and
listening on all sides; but because no one showed any signs of ever appearing,
I could bear it no longer. I hung
my basket on my arm and quickly climbed up the pear-tree, to draw breath in the
open again.
Up
there, the dance music really rang
out towards me over the tree-tops.
My gaze passed over all of the garden and directly into the brightly-lit
castle windows. There the
chandeliers revolved slowly like wreaths of stars, countless spruce ladies and
gentlemen surged and waltzed and reeled in a colourful, indecipherable
confusion, like figures in a shadow dance; at times some leaned against a
window and looked down into the garden.
In front of the castle, the lawns, bushes and trees seemed to be bathed
in gold from the many lights in the room, so that the flowers and birds
actually appeared to wake up.
Further away, around and behind me, the garden lay so dark and silent.
She is dancing there now, I thought to myself, up
in the tree, and has no doubt long forgotten about you and your flowers once
more. Everybody is so happy, and no
one has a thought for you. – And this is what happens to me everywhere and
always. Everyone has marked out his
own little spot on the Earth, his warm stove, his cup of coffee, his wife, his
glass of wine in the evening, and is quite content with that; even the porter
is quite comfortable in his long skin. – I don’t feel at ease anywhere. It is as if I always arrive a second too
late, as if all the world had utterly failed to take me into account. –
As
I was philosophising thus, I suddenly heard something rustling along below me
in the grass. Two refined voices
were speaking softly together in the near distance. Soon afterwards the branches in the
bushes parted, and the lady’s-maid stuck her little face between the foliage,
looking around on all sides. The
moonlight sparkled directly on to her sly eyes as they peeped out. I held my breath and gazed fixedly down. And I had not long to wait before the
‘gardener’, dressed exactly as the lady’s-maid had described to me yesterday,
did step out from between the trees.
My heart thumped fit to burst.
She was wearing a mask and looked around her, it seemed to me, in
astonishment. – Then it occurred to me that she might not after all be so slim
and dainty. – At last she walked up quite close to the tree and took her mask
off. – It was actually the other, older lady!
How
glad I was now, when I had recovered from the initial shock, that I was
situated up here in safety. How on
earth, I thought, has she come here just
now? When the dear, beautiful lady
comes to collect the flowers – that will be a fine how-do-you-do! In the end, I could have cried with
vexation at the whole affair.
Meanwhile
the disguised gardener below began: “It is so suffocatingly hot up there in the
hall, I had to come to cool down a little in the lovely open country.” As she spoke she fanned herself
continually with the mask and puffed vigorously. In the bright moonlight I could clearly
see that the tendons in her neck were very swollen; she looked quite furious
and brick-red in the face. The
lady’s-maid, in the meantime, was searching behind all the hedges, as though
she had lost a pin. –
“And
I urgently need more fresh flowers for my disguise,” the gardener continued
anew, “now where is he!” - The
lady’s-maid went on with her search, giggling to herself the whole time. “Did you say something, Rosette?” the
gardener asked pointedly. – “I say what I’ve said all along,” replied the maid,
looking serious and innocent, “that collector is and always will be a downright
oaf; I don’t doubt he’ll be lying fast asleep behind one of these bushes.”
Every
part of me itched to leap down and save my reputation – when suddenly a great
drumming and playing of instruments and noisemaking came from the castle.
Now
the lady could control herself no longer.
“The company,” she flared out, “are giving the master the vivat. Come, we shall be missed!” – And with
this she quickly put on her mask and walked furiously away towards the castle
with the lady’s-maid. The trees and
bushes pointed strangely after her, as if with long noses and fingers; the
moonlight danced rapidly up and down over her broad figure, as over a keyboard;
and so she made, just like the divas I have occasionally seen on the stage, a
hasty exit, with a fanfare and a flourish.
Whereas
I, up in my tree, really was not entirely sure about what had happened to me,
and from that point on I fixed my gaze steadfastly on the castle; for a circle
of tall lanterns at the foot of the entrance steps cast a peculiar light over
the flashing windows and far out into the garden. It was the servants, who were in the
process of serenading their young master.
In their midst the porter, splendidly decked out like a minister of
state, stood before a music-stand and zestfully emptied his lungs into a
bassoon.
Just
as I was settling myself to listen to the harmonious serenade, the double doors
up on the castle balcony were flung open.
A tall gentleman, handsome and imposing in uniform, with many sparkling
stars, stepped out onto the balcony, holding the hand of – the beautiful young
lady, dressed all in white, like a lily at night, or like the moon passing
across the clear heavens.
I
could not wrest my eyes from the scene, and gardens, trees and fields sank from
my senses as she stood there, tall and slim, so wondrously lit by the torches,
now talking pleasantly with the handsome officer, now nodding amiably down to
the musicians. The people below
were beside themselves with joy, and in the end I too could contain myself no
longer, but kept shouting vivat with them as loud as my lungs would allow.
But
when, shortly afterwards, she disappeared from the balcony, then down below one
torch after the other went out and the music-stands were cleared away, and now
the garden all around fell dark again and rustled as before – then, then I
realised everything – it suddenly sent my heart plunging, that it was really
only the aunt who had ordered my flowers, that the fair one hadn’t spared me
the slightest thought, was married long since, and I, myself, was a great fool.
All
of this made me tumble deep into an abyss of cogitation. I curled myself together, like a
hedgehog, in the spines of my own thoughts; the dance music sounded over from
the castle less frequently, the clouds drifted, lonely, over the dark garden
and away. And so I sat up in the
tree, like a night-owl, in the ruins of my happiness all night long.
The
cool morning air aroused me at last from my reveries. I was thoroughly amazed when I suddenly
looked around me. The music and
dancing were long over; in the castle, and around the castle on the lawns and
stone steps and pillars, everything looked so peaceful, cool and solemn; the
fountain before the entrance kept up a lonely splashing, but that was all. Here and there in the branches beside me
birds were already awakening; they shook their colourful feathers and,
stretching their little wings, looked with curiosity and wonder at their
strange sleeping companion.
Sparkling beams of morning light roved merrily over the garden and on to
my breast.
Then
I sat up straight in my tree and, for the first time in a long while, I looked
out really far across the land, and I saw several ships sailing down the
I
do not know how it came about – but all of a sudden my old wanderlust gripped
me again; all the old melancholy and desire and great expectations. At the same time it occurred to me that
the lovely lady was now slumbering between flowers and under silken covers up
there in the castle, and an angel was sitting at her bedside in the
peacefulness of morning. – “No,” I cried, “I must get away from here, farther
and farther away, as far as the sky is blue!”
And
with this I took my basket and threw it high up into the air, so that it was
really delightful to see how the flowers lay around in a blaze of colours
between the branches and on the green lawn below. Then I myself quickly descended and
walked through the silent garden to my house. Many times I would stop and stand at a
place where I thought I had once seen her, or had lain in the shadows and
thought of her.
In
and around my little house everything was just as I had left it the previous
day. The square of garden had been
plundered and was desolate; in the room the ledger lay open, my fiddle, which I
had almost totally forgotten, hung covered in dust on the wall. But a morning ray passed flashing
through the window opposite and landed directly on the strings. That struck a real chord in my
heart. Yes, I said, come to me, my
faithful instrument! Our Kingdom is
not of this world! –
And
so I took my fiddle from the wall, left ledger, dressing-gown, slippers, pipe
and parasol lying there and wandered out of my house, as poor as I had entered,
and away along the shining highroad.
I
looked back often; I felt quite strange, so sad and yet again so exceedingly
happy, like a bird tearing out of its cage. And once I had covered a considerable
stretch, I took out my fiddle, in the open air, and sang:
I leave dear God to rule and reign;
Who brooks and larks and wood and lea
And Earth and Heaven can maintain,
I’ll say he knows what’s best for me!
The
castle, the garden, and the towers of V. had already become immersed behind me
in the morning mist; above me, high in the air, countless larks sang joyfully;
and so I moved on, between green hills and past merry towns and villages, down
towards Italy.
Chapter Three
But
this was awful! I hadn’t given the
least thought to the fact that I did not actually know the correct road. Moreover, there was no sign of anyone
anywhere in the quiet morning hour whom I could have asked; and not far ahead
of me the highroad divided into many new highways, which went far, far away
over the highest mountains, as if they were leading out of the world, so that I
felt quite dizzy when my gaze tried to follow them.
At
last a farmer came along the road, on his way, I believed, to church, today
being Sunday, in an old-fashioned frock-coat with large silver buttons and a
long cane with a solid knob which could be spotted from afar sparkling in the
sun. I at once asked him most
courteously: “Could you perhaps tell me which is the way to
Now
what was I to do? Turn on my heels
and go back to my village? Then the
people would point at me, and the lads would leap around me: “Well, a thousand
welcomes back from the World! And
how are things in the World? Hasn’t
he brought us gingerbread back from the World?” The porter with the electoral nose, who
actually had an extensive knowledge of world history, often said to me:
“Highly-esteemed Collector!
When
I had journeyed thus for some distance, I saw an extremely beautiful orchard on
the right of the road, where the morning sun shimmered so merrily through the
branches and tree-tops that it looked as though the lawn were laid with golden
carpets. As I could not see a soul,
I climbed over the low garden-fence and settled down quite comfortably on the
grass under an apple-tree, for all my limbs were still aching from yesterday’s
bivouac in the pear-tree. From
there I could see far out into the land; and because it was Sunday, chimes rang
out from the far distance across the still fields, and all around spruce
country folk were passing between meadows and bushes to church. I was really happy at heart, the birds
sang above me in the tree, I thought of my mill and the lovely lady’s garden,
and how all that was so, so far away now – until in the end I fell asleep. Then I dreamt that the lovely lady came
walking to me from the marvellous region – actually, she came in slow flight
between the chimes with long white veils which fluttered with the dawn. And then it seemed that we were not in a
strange land at all, but near my village, in the deep shade by the mill. But there all was silent and empty, as
on Sunday when folk are in church, and only the notes of the organ came through
the trees, so that I was sad to the depths of my heart. The lovely lady, however, was very kind
and friendly; she held my hand and walked with me, singing all the while in
this solitude the sweet song she would sing, to her guitar, at her open window
in the early morning; and as she sang I saw her reflection in the still pond,
many thousand times more beautiful, but with strange, large eyes which looked
at me so fixedly that I almost felt afraid. – When suddenly the mill began to
turn, with slow and single revolutions at first, then ever faster and more
fiercely until it was thundering; the pool darkened and broke into ripples, the
lovely lady went quite pale, and her veils grew longer and longer, and their
long peaks flapped appallingly, like streaks of mist, high into the sky; the
roaring increased continually, it often seemed that the porter was blowing along
on his bassoon, until I finally awoke, my heart pounding furiously.
A
wind had indeed arisen and was blowing softly through the apple-tree above me;
but the booming and rumbling was caused by neither the mill nor the porter, but
by that same farmer who had just now refused to show me the way to
When
at last I came to a halt to recover my wind, the garden and all of the valley
had disappeared, and I was standing in a beautiful forest. But I took little enough notice of that,
for now I was really annoyed by the
scene and the fellow’s always thee- and thouing me; and I quietly cursed to
myself for a long time. With such
thoughts I passed rapidly on, moving further and further away from the
high-road, right into the heart of the mountains. The logging-path I had been running
along came to an end, and now there was only a narrow, little-trod footpath
before me. All around there was
neither sight nor sound of anyone.
This aside, it was a really pleasant walk; the tree-tops swished, and
birds sang very beautifully. And so
I commended myself to God’s guidance, took out my violin and played through all
my favourite pieces, sending a really cheerful sound ringing through the lonely
forest.
The
playing, however, did not last long, for at every instant I tripped over the
cursed tree-roots; also, I finally began to grow hungry, and the forest seemed
endless. So I wandered around the
whole day long, and the sun was shining slantwise between the tree-trunks by
the time I at last emerged onto a small meadow-clothed valley, completely
surrounded by mountains and full of red and yellow flowers, over which
countless butterflies were fluttering in the golden light of evening. Here it was as lonely as if the world
were some hundred miles away.
House-crickets were chirping, and a shepherd lay in the tall grass on
the far side, playing such melancholy tunes on his shawm that the hearer’s
heart could have burst with yearning.
Aye, I thought to myself, who has it so good as a layabout like that! The likes of us must struggle around
through strange lands, constantly on our guard. – Because a lovely clear stream
lay between us, and I could not cross over, I shouted to him from a distance:
Where was the nearest village? But
he refused to let me disturb him and merely raised his head a little from the
grass, pointed towards the other forest with his shawm, and calmly resumed his
playing.
Meanwhile
I marched busily onwards, for dusk was already falling. The birds, who had all been making a
racket as the last rays of sunlight glimmered through the wood, fell suddenly
silent; and I almost began to feel afraid in the eternal, lonely murmurs of the
forest. I upped my pace, the wood
became ever more sparse, and a little later I was looking through the last
trees at a lovely green lawn, on which a crowd of children were dinning and
romping around a great lime-tree standing in the dead centre. Further ahead, there was an inn on the
lawn, with several farmers sitting around a table in front, playing cards and
smoking tobacco. On the other side,
before the door, sat young lads and maids, the latter with their arms rolled
inside their aprons, chatting together in the cool evening.
Without
a moment’s hesitation I pulled my fiddle from my pocket and quickly struck up a
merry country-dance as I stepped out of the wood. The maids were astonished, and the old
folk laughed so hard that the forest depths echoed with the sound. But when I had reached the lime-tree
and, leaning back against it, kept on with my playing, a secret murmuring and whispering
passed between the young people; the lads finally put aside their Sunday pipes,
each took his girl, and before I knew what was happening the young farmers were
spinning with gusto around me, dogs barked, skirts flew, and the children
encircled me, staring with curiosity at my face and my rapidly dancing fingers.
When
the first round was over, I
really learnt how good music goes to the limbs. The country lads, who had been spread
out on the benches, pipe in mouth, stretching their stiff legs, were now
suddenly like new men; letting their colourful handkerchiefs hang down low from
their buttonholes, they caprioled so courteously around the maids that it was a
downright joy to see. One of them,
who doubtless considered himself to be of some consequence, poked around in his
waistcoat pocket for a long time to catch the others’ attention, then finally
produced a small, silver coin which he wanted to press into my palm. This annoyed me, even though my pockets
were empty at that precise moment.
I told him to hold on to his pennies; I was only playing from joy at
being among people again. Soon
afterwards, a trim maid came up to me with a large rummer of wine. “Musicians like a drink,” she said with
a friendly smile; and her pearl-white teeth gleamed really charmingly through
her red lips, which I would dearly have liked to plant a kiss on. She dipped her little mouth into the
wine, her eyes twinkling at me over the glass, and then handed me the
rummer. I drained the glass and
started to play afresh, and soon everyone was merrily revolving around me.
In
the meantime the old folk had broken off their game, and the young ones,
beginning to grow tired, were dispersing; and so, little by little, all became
silent and deserted before the inn.
The maid who had handed me the wine also headed for the village, but she
walked very slowly, looking around from time to time as if she had forgotten
something. Finally she came to a
stop and searched for something on the ground; but I could clearly see that, as
she bent down, she looked back at me through the gap between arm and body. Having learnt manners at the castle, I
quickly ran up to her and said: “Have you lost something, fair lady?” “Ah, no,” she said, blushing all over,
“it was only a rose – dost thou want it?”
I thanked her and fixed the rose in my buttonhole. She looked at me with smiling eyes and
said: “Thou playest really beautifully.”
“Yes,” I replied, “it’s a gift from God.” “Musicians are very rare in this
region,” the maid began, then hesitated, her gaze fixed firmly on the
ground. “Thou couldst earn a good
sum of money here – my father plays the fiddle a little and likes hearing tales
of foreign parts – and my father is very rich.” – Then she burst out laughing
and said: “If only thou didst not keep making those grimaces with thy head when
thou fiddlest!” – “Dearest maiden,” I replied, “first of all: do not keep thee-
and thouing me; and as for the head-wagging, there is no getting away from it,
it’s something we virtuosi all do.” – “Oh, I see,” replied the maid. She was about to speak further, but a
dreadful rumpus suddenly arose in the inn, the front door opened with a bang
and a thin fellow came flying out like a discharged ramrod, whereupon the door
was at once slammed shut behind him.
At
the first sound the maid had skipped away like a deer and disappeared into the
darkness. As for the figure before
the door, he quickly picked himself up off the ground and launched into a
flurried volley of curses at the house which was really astonishing to
hear. “What!” he yelled, “I’m
drunk? I haven’t paid the
chalk-marks on your smoke-darkened door?
Rub them out, rub them out!
Didn’t I, only yesterday, shave you over a cooking-spoon[1]
and snick your nose, making you bite the rotten spoon in two? The shave crosses one stroke out –
another stroke for the cooking-spoon – plaster on the nose, another stroke –
how many of these currish strokes do you want payment for? But fine, no problem! I’ll leave the whole village, the whole
world unshaven. For all I care, you
can run around in your beards, and on Judgement Day the dear Lord won’t know
whether you’re Christians or Jews!
Yes, hang yourselves by your beards, you shaggy oafs!” At this point he suddenly burst out
crying pitifully, then continued in a wretched, piping voice: “So I’m to swig
water, like a miserable fish? is that brotherly love? Am I not a human being and an
experienced army barber-surgeon?
Oh, I’m in a rage today! My
heart is full of emotion and love of mankind!” All this while he had been retreating,
little by little, for nothing had stirred in the house. When he caught sight of me, he ran at me
with open arms; thinking the madman meant to embrace me, I jumped aside, and he
stumbled onwards; and for a long time I could hear him discoursing with
himself, now coarsely, now elegantly, through the darkness.
Many
thoughts were busy in my head. The
maiden who had just now given me the rose was young, beautiful and rich – I
could make my fortune there in the flick of a wrist. And mutton and pork, turkey and fat
geese stuffed with apples – yes, it even seemed that I could see the porter
advancing towards me: “Grab it, collector, grab it! no heart was ever wrung
after marrying young; the lucky man leads his bride home, stay in the land and
batten.” Sunk in such philosophical
thoughts I sat down on a stone on the green – which was now totally deserted –
for I did not dare knock at the inn door, having no money on me. The moon shone a splendid light; from
the mountains came the sound of trees, rustling in the quiet night; now and
then dogs would bark in the village lying further down the valley, seemingly
buried beneath the trees and the moonlight. I looked at the firmament, where single
clouds drifted slowly through the moonlight and the occasional star fell to
earth in the far distance. The moon
is shining just so, I thought, over my father’s mill and on the Count’s white
castle. All has long been restful
there; the lady sleeps, and the fountains and trees in the garden still murmur
away as formerly; and it’s all the same to everyone whether I’m still there, or
abroad, or dead. – And the world suddenly appeared to me as such an awfully
large place, with I so totally alone in it that I could have cried from the
bottom of my heart.
While
I was sitting there, I suddenly heard hoofbeats coming from some distance
inside the wood. I held my breath
and listened; the sound came nearer and nearer, until I could hear the horses
snorting. Soon afterwards two riders
did indeed emerge from among the trees, but halted at the edge of the wood and
began to whisper animatedly to each other – as I could see from the shadows
which suddenly shot over the moonlit green, pointing long, dark arms now here,
now there. – How often, when at home my late mother told me stories of wild
woods and martial robbers, had I secretly wished to personally experience just
such a story. And here now was the
result of my stupid thoughts of derring-do! – I surreptitiously stretched
myself as tall as I could against the lime tree I was sitting under until,
having reached the lowest bough, I quickly swung myself up. But half of me still dangled down from
the bough, and I was just about to fetch my legs up when one of the riders came
steadily trotting across the green behind me. Now I screwed my eyes shut, among the
dark foliage, and did not move a muscle. – “Who is there?” a voice suddenly
cried close behind me. “No one!” I
shouted with all my might, terrified that he had caught me after all. But secretly I had to chuckle to myself
when I thought of the mistake the fellows would be making as they turned out my
empty pockets. – “Well, well,” said the robber, “so who do those two legs
hanging down there belong to?” – There was nothing else for it. “They’re nothing more,” I said, “than a
pair of poor, lost musician’s legs”; and I let myself quickly down on to the
ground, for I was ashamed to hang any longer over the bough like a broken fork.
The
rider’s horse shied when I slid down from the tree so suddenly. He patted its neck and said laughing:
“Now we too have lost our way, so we are true companions; therefore I would
think that you would give us a little help to find the road to B. It won’t be to your disadvantage.” Now it was all very well my averring
that I had no idea where B. was and that I would rather enquire at this inn or
lead them down into the village.
The fellow simply would not listen to reason, but very calmly pulled a
pistol, which glittered really prettily in the moonlight, from his belt. “My dear friend,” he said most
cordially, now wiping the barrel of the pistol, now testing the sights, “my
dear friend, I think you will be good enough to lead the way to B. in person.”
Now
I was in a right fix. If I found
the road, I was sure to end up among the robber-band and take a beating for
having no money on me; if I did not find it – I would take a beating. So without pausing for thought, I took
the first road I came to, the one which came from the village and ran past the
inn. The rider quickly thundered
back to his companion, then both followed me slowly at a distance. So we really proceeded quite foolishly,
by guess and by God, into the moonlit night. The road ran through the wood, on a
mountain-slope. Now and then you
could look out over the tops of the fir-trees, which reached up darkly stirring
from the depths, far into the deep, silent valleys; here and there a
nightingale burst into song, and dogs barked in distant villages. A river murmured incessantly down in the
valley and flashed every so often in the moonlight. And there was the monotonous clip-clopping
and the confused buzzing of the riders behind me, who chatted non-stop together
in a strange language, and the bright moonlight and the long shadows of the
tree-trunks intermittently flying over both riders, making them appear now
black, now bright, now small, and now gigantic. My thoughts were thoroughly befuddled,
as though I lay in a dream and was quite unable to wake up. I kept marching hard ahead. We must surely, I thought, eventually
come out of the wood and out of the night.
At
last, long rosy streams of light began to fly across the sky, from time to
time, very faintly, like breath on a mirror; and a lark was singing high above
the still valley. This
dawn-greeting at once lifted the load from my heart, and all fear
vanished. But both riders had a
stretch and looked all around; and they now seemed to realise, for the first
time, that we might not be on the correct road. They chatted a great deal, and it was
obvious that they were talking about me; indeed, I had the impression that one
of them was beginning to fear me, as though I were secretly a knight of the
road planning to lead them astray in the wood. This gave me some amusement, for the
lighter it grew all around, the higher my courage rose, particularly as we came
out just then on to a beautiful glade.
So I looked all around wildly and whistled through my fingers a few
times, as rogues do when they want to signal to each other.
“Stop!”
shouted one of the riders, so abruptly that I gave a proper start. When I looked around, both had dismounted
and tethered their horses to a tree.
One of them stepped rapidly up to me, stared me in the face, and burst
into immoderate laughter. I must
admit that I was annoyed by that stupid laughter. But he said: “Why, it is really the
gardener – I mean, the collector – from the castle!”
I
stared at him, but could not recall having seen him before; I should have had
my work cut out to notice all the young gentlemen who rode to and from the
castle. But he continued, with
unending laughter: “That is splendid!
You are taking time off, I see; now we need a servant, so stay with us,
and your life will be one long vacation!”
I
was totally stunned and said at last that I was just at this moment in the
middle of a journey to
“To
“Well,
in that case,” I cried; and I
delightedly pulled my fiddle out of my pocket and stroked the strings, waking
the birds up in the wood. The
gentleman swiftly grabbed his companion and the two waltzed like madmen over
the grass.
Then
they suddenly came to a halt. “By
Heaven,” cried one, “there I can see the church-tower of B.! Well, we’ll get down there in no time.” Taking out his repeater, he let it
strike, shook his head, then let it strike again. “No,” he said, “that won’t do, we’ll
arrive there too soon, things could get serious!”
After
that they fetched cakes, meat and bottles of wine from their saddle-bags,
spread out a handsome brightly-coloured cloth on the green grass, lay down on
it, and enjoyed a very pleasurable feast; and they shared everything very
generously with me, which did me the world of good, as I had not had a proper
meal for several days.
“And
so that you know – ” one began, “you don’t know us, do you?”
I
shook my head.
“Well
then, so that you know: I am the artist Leonardo, and this here is – again an
artist – by the name of Guido.”
Now
I looked at both artists more closely in the light of dawn. The one who called himself Herr Leonardo
was tall, slim and brown with merry, fiery eyes. The other was much younger, shorter and
more delicate, dressed in the old German style – as the porter called it – with
a white collar and bare throat, over which hung down the dark-brown curls he
often had to shake out of his handsome face.
When
the latter had breakfasted his fill, he reached out for my fiddle, which I had
laid on the ground by my side, sat down with it on a felled branch, and began
to thrum its strings. Then he sang
along in a voice as clear as a woodland bird’s, which echoed in my heart:
Dawn’s
first ray flies down its path
Through
the silent, misty strath;
Wood
and hill both rustle wakening,
All
the flying creatures take wing!
And
the beaming goodman cries,
Cap
tossed brightly to the skies:
‘Now,
if song gives wings to sound,
I’ll
sing out a joyous round!’
And
the rosy light of dawn played so charmingly over his rather pale face and
black, amorous eyes. But I was so
tired that, as he sang, the words and music merged together more and more,
until I finally fell fast asleep.
When
I gradually came to myself, I heard, as in a dream, both artists still talking
beside me and birds singing above me, and the rays of morning glimmered through
my closed eyelids, making inside me that mixture of dark and light formed when
the sun shines through red silk curtains.
“Come è
I
leapt to my feet, for it was broad daylight by this time. Herr Leonardo seemed to be annoyed; two
angry furrows lined his forehead and he was hurriedly urging departure. But the other artist shook his locks out
from his face and, bridling his horse, calmly warbled a ditty, until at last
Leonardo burst out into loud laughter, quickly grabbed a bottle off the grass,
and emptied it into the glasses.
“To a happy arrival!” he cried, and they clinked glasses, giving rise to
a beautiful sound. Then Leonardo
hurled the empty bottle high into the air, where it glittered merrily in the
morning light.
Finally
they mounted their horses, and I marched vigorously by their side. Directly before us lay a valley,
stretching out further than the eye could see, into which we now descended. All around there was light flashing and
shimmering, and the sound of rustling and joyful birdsong! I felt so cool, so happy, as if I were
about to fly from the mountains into that marvellous land.
Chapter Four
Now adieu, mill and castle and
porter! We were going so fast that
the wind whistled around my hat.
Villages, towns and vineyards flew past on the right and left, images
which danced before my eyes; behind me both artists in the coach, before me
four horses with a splendid postilion; and I up above, on the coach-box, being
bounced yards high into the air.
This had come to pass as follows: on
arriving before B., a long, scrawny, morose man in a green frieze coat came out
towards us, kow-towed many times to the artists, and led us into the
village. Under the tall lime-trees,
in front of the post-house, was a splendid carriage with four horses. On the way Herr Leonardo opined that I
had outgrown my clothes; so he swiftly took other garments out of his portmanteau,
and I had to put on a brand-new tail-coat and waistcoat which were very stylish
and becoming, apart from their being too long and broad for me and therefore
hanging loosely in baggy folds. I
received a spanking-new hat as well, which sparkled in the sun as though spread
with fresh butter. Then the morose
stranger took the bridles off the artists’ horses, the artists sprang into the
carriage, I on to the box, and then we flew away, just as the postmaster was
sticking his nightcapped head out the window. The postilion gave a round of merry blasts
on his horn, and thus we set off breezily for
I
really had a marvellous life up there, like a bird on the wing but without the
effort of flying. I had nothing
further to do than to sit on the box night and day and occasionally fetch food
and drink from the inn; for the artists never spoke a word, and by day they
closed the carriage windows so tightly you would think they were afraid of
being stabbed by the sun’s rays.
Only now and then did Herr Guido stick his handsome head out the window,
discourse amiably with me, then laugh at Herr Leonardo, who would not suffer
this and grew angry every time we engaged in a long discourse. On a few occasions I almost quarrelled
with my masters. The first time was
on a lovely, starry night, when I started playing my fiddle up on the box; and
another time because of sleep. Now
that was quite astonishing! I
wanted to get a thorough look at
In
this way had I travelled – exactly how, I myself do not know – through half of
As
I was eating and meditating thus, a manikin who had been sitting over his glass
of wine in a dark corner suddenly whisked out of his nook towards me like a
spider. He was very short and
hunchbacked, but had a large, hideous head with a long, aquiline Roman nose and
thin red whiskers, and his powdered hair was sticking up on all sides as if a
whirlwind had passed through it.
What was more, he was wearing an old-fashioned, faded jacket, short,
plush breeches and completely yellowed silk stockings. He had been to
Outside
it was a warm summer’s night, ideal for a stroll. From the distant vineyards there came at
occasions the sound of a vintager singing; in between these bursts, lightning
flashed far away, and the whole region trembled and murmured in the
moonlight. Indeed, I sometimes had
the impression that a long, dark figure was slipping along behind the hazels in
front of the house and peering through the branches – then all was still again.
Just
at that moment Herr Guido walked out on to the inn balcony. He did not notice me, but began to play
with great skill on a zither he must have found in the house; then he sang
along like a nightingale:
Silence
falls on man’s loud zest;
Dreamlike
Earth feels forces stir her
Forests
with a magic murmur,
What
the heart but glimpsed or guessed;
Distant
ages, gentle grieving, -
Tremors
shimmer softly heaving
Sheets
of lightning through the breast.
I
do not know if there was any more to his song, for I had lain down on the bench
before the inn door and fallen asleep from sheer weariness in the mild night.
A
few hours may well have flown by before I was awakened by a posthorn which had
been blowing merrily into my dreams before I had quite come to my senses. Finally I leapt up; day was dawning over
the mountains and the morning air made my limbs shiver. Then it suddenly occurred to me that we
should have been well on our way by this time. Oho, I thought, today the waking and
laughter fall to me for once. How
Herr Guido, with his sleepy, curly head, will jump up when he hears me
outside! So I went into the little
inn-garden, close under the window of my masters’ room, had a good stretch in
the morning light, and sang in high spirits:
When
the hoopoe pipes his call,
Day’s
about to fall;
When
the sun throws off night’s hood,
Sleep
still tastes so good!
The
window was open, but all remained silent above me, except for the night-wind
still passing through the vine-shoots that stretched up and through the window.
“Now,
what is the meaning of this?” I cried, totally amazed; and I ran into the
house, through the silent corridors, to the room. But there I was cut to the quick. For when I flung the door open, all was
empty inside – no coat, no hat, no boots.
There was only the zither Herr Guido had played on the previous day,
hanging on the wall; on the table in the middle of the room was a handsome,
full purse with a note attached.
Holding it up to the window, I could hardly believe my eyes – the
writing really did say, in large letters: For the collector!
But
what use was all of this to me if I did not find my dear, merry masters
again? I shoved the purse into my
deep jacket-pocket; it plumped as though dropped into a deep well, actually
making me tilt over to one side.
Then I ran out, made a great noise, and woke all the serving-lads and
maids in the house. They had no
idea of what I wanted and thought that I had gone mad. But they then felt no small
astonishment, when they saw the empty nest upstairs. No one knew anything about my
masters. Only one maid – as I could
piece together from her signs and gesticulations – had noticed that Herr Guido,
when he had been singing on the balcony on the evening before, had suddenly
yelled out and dashed back into the room to the other gentleman. Later on, during the night, she woke up
and heard the clopping of hooves outside.
Looking through the small chamber-window, she saw the hunchbacked
Signor, who had talked so much with me the previous day, galloping so hard on a
grey across the moonlit fields that he kept flying heavenward out of the saddle
and the maid crossed herself, for he looked like a ghost riding a three-legged
horse.
I
had no idea what I should do next.
Meanwhile,
our carriage had been ready before the door for quite some time, and the
postilion blew impatient blasts on his horn until he was fit to burst, for he
had to be at the next station by a certain time, his schedule having been
arranged in advance to the minute.
I ran around the house one more time, calling the artists, but no one
replied; those inside the house gathered together and gaped at me, the
postilion swore, the horses snorted, I, utterly nonplussed, at last sprang
quickly into the carriage, the boots slammed the door shut behind me, the
postilion cracked his whip, and out we went into the wide world.
Chapter Five
We
now travelled over hill and dale, day and night, without stopping. I had no time to think, for wherever we
arrived, fresh horses were standing harnessed and I was not given the
opportunity to speak to the people there, despite my demonstrations; often,
when I was sitting in an inn, just enjoying the tastiest part of my meal, the
postilion would blow and I had to throw down my knife and fork and jump into
the carriage once again, without having a clue as to where and why I was
travelling with such exceptional haste.
Apart
from that, this way of life was really not so bad. I would lie down as on a canapé, now in
this corner of the carriage, now in the other, building an acquaintance with
peoples and lands; and when we travelled through a town, I would lean on folded
arms out of the coach-window and salute the people who courteously raised their
hats to me, or I would greet the girls at the windows as though we were old
friends, so that they were quite amazed and, in their curiosity, gazed after me
for a long time.
But
in the end I grew very afraid. I
had never counted the money in the purse I had found; I had to pay large
amounts to all the postmasters and innkeepers, and before I knew what was
happening, the purse was empty.
Initially I resolved to quickly jump out of the carriage and run away as
soon as we arrived in a lonely forest.
But then again, I would have been sorry to leave the beautiful carriage
so alone, for in other circumstances I would have travelled in it to the ends
of the world.
Now
just as I was sitting full of thought, at my wit’s end, we all of a sudden
turned off the highroad. I yelled
out the window to the postilion: Where on Earth are you going? But no matter what I said, the fellow
would simply reply: “Sì, sì, Signore!” and continue driving up hill and down
dale so fast that I was flung from one corner of the carriage to the other.
I
really could not understand why he had done this, for the highroad ran straight
through a resplendent landscape towards a setting sun, as into a sea of radiant
sparks. But on the side we had
turned into, there lay before us a desolate mountain range with grey gorges,
long since interspersed with darkness.
And the further we travelled, the wilder and lonelier the region
became. Finally the moon emerged
from behind the clouds and shone at once so brightly down between the trees and
cliffs that the sight was really terrible to behold. We could travel but slowly through the
narrow, stony ravines, and the monotonous, endless rattling of the carriage
echoed against the rocky walls far into the silent night, as if we were driving
into an immense vault. There was a
ceaseless roaring, coming from many waterfalls which were hidden from sight in
the depths of the wood; and the screech-owls constantly called from afar: “Come
along! Come along!”
Moreover,
it seemed to me that the coachman, who, as I now noticed for the first time,
wore no livery and was no postilion, looked around uneasily a few times and
began to drive faster; and I as leaned right out of the carriage, a rider
suddenly sprang out of the bushes, thundered across the road a short distance
in front of our horses, and straightaway disappeared into the forest on the
other side. I was thrown into utter
confusion, for, as far as I could tell in the bright moonlight, it was the same
hunchbacked little man on his grey who had pecked his eagle’s beak at me in the
inn. The coachman shook his head
and laughed out loud at this foolish riding, then turned quickly around to me,
spoke a great deal with warm enthusiasm, of which I unfortunately understood
not a word, then drove on even more rapidly.
I
was pleased when, a short time after, I saw a light glimmering in the
distance. Several more lights
appeared, one by one, growing ever larger and brighter, until at last we passed
some smoky huts which hung on the cliffs like swallows’ nests. The night being warm, the doors stood
open, and I could see into brightly-lit rooms where all kinds of ragged rabble
crouched like dark shadows around the hearth. We rattled on through the soundless
night up a stone road which climbed a high mountain. One moment the overhanging branches of
tall trees roofed in the narrow pass, the next moment the whole firmament
appeared and you could look over the wide, silent circle of mountains, woods
and valleys far below. On the
mountain-summit stood a large, many-towered old castle in brilliant
moonlight. “Now God be with me!” I
cried, deep down quite high-spirited with anticipation about where they would
eventually take me.
It
must have been another good half-hour before we finally arrived at the
castle-gates. The way led through a
broad, round tower, whose upper levels were in quite a ruinous state. The coachman cracked his whip three
times; the sound echoed far into the old castle, where a flock of startled
jackdaws flew out of every hole and crack and circled with noisy caws. Then the carriage rolled into the long,
dark gateway. The horses struck
sparks from the cobbles with their hooves, a large dog barked, and the carriage
thundered between the vaulted walls.
The jackdaws kept shrieking at intervals – and so we came with a
dreadful din into the narrow, cobbled courtyard.
A
singular station! I thought to myself, as the carriage came to a stop. Then the carriage-door was opened from
the outside and a tall old man with a small lantern looked at me morosely from
under bushy eyebrows. He grabbed me
under the arm and helped me, like a great lord, out of the carriage. Before the front door stood a very ugly
old woman in a black camisole and skirt, with a white apron and a black bonnet,
from which a long peak hung down to her nose. She had a large bunch of keys hanging
from one hip, and in the opposite hand she held an old-fashioned candelabrum
containing two burning wax-candles.
As soon as she caught sight of me she began to drop deep curtseys,
speaking and asking a great deal all at once. But I understood nothing of this, so
kept making low bows before her, scraping a foot backwards; and I felt quite
uneasy.
In
the meantime the old man had illuminated the carriage all over, and he growled
and shook his head at not finding a trunk or any luggage anywhere. Then the coachman, not demanding a tip
from me, drove the carriage into an old shed standing open at one side of the
courtyard. The old woman asked me
very politely, by means of various signs, to follow her. She led me by the light of her wax
candles through a long, narrow corridor and then up a small stone
staircase. When we passed the
kitchen, a few young maidservants stuck their heads inquisitively round the
half-open door and looked at me so fixedly, and furtively waved and nodded to
each other, as if they had never seen a man before in their lives. At last the old woman opened a door on
the top floor, and my immediate reaction was one of complete bafflement. For before me lay a large, beautiful,
lordly room with golden decoration on the ceiling, and on the walls there hung
splendid tapestries with all kinds of figures and flowers. In the middle of the room stood a table
laid with a roast, gateaux, salad, fruit, wine and pastries – enough to make
your heart leap for joy. Between
both windows hung an enormous mirror, which reached from floor to ceiling.
I
must say that this did me very nicely.
I stretched myself a few times and walked genteely, with long strides,
up and down the room. And then I
just could not resist the urge to take a look at myself in such a huge
mirror. There is no denying that
the new clothes from Herr Leonardo became me very well, and I had acquired a
certain fieriness of eye in
All
this while the old woman was grinding her toothless mouth, so that it looked
exactly as though she were chewing the tip of her long, curved nose. Then she pressed me to take a seat,
stroked my chin with her scrawny fingers, and called me poverino! – looking at
me so roguishly out of her red-rimmed eyes that one corner of her mouth was
raised half-way up her cheek – and finally departed with a deep curtsey through
the doorway.
I
sat down at the full table and a young, pretty maid came in to wait on me. I tried to enter into all kinds of
gallant discourse with her, but she did not understand me; she just cast me
curious sidelong glances because I found the meal so tasty – for the food was
delicious. When I had eaten my fill
and stood up, the maid took a light from a table and led me into another
room. This contained a sofa, a
small mirror and a magnificent bed with green silk curtains. I asked her by signs if I was to sleep
in it? Although she nodded Yes, I
could not possibly do so at this moment, for she was standing rooted to the
spot beside me. In the end, I fetched
myself a large glass of wine from the dining room and cried out: “felicissima
notte!” – for I had learnt so much Italian by this time. But when I tossed the wine down in one
gulp, she burst out into suppressed giggles, blushed all over, went into the
dining-room and shut the door behind her.
‘And what is so funny?’ I wondered, in total amazement, ‘I think that
the Italians are all mad’.
My
only fear now was that the postilion would begin blowing his horn any
moment. I listened at the window,
but all was silent outside. Let him
blow! I thought, then undressed and lay down in the magnificent bed. It was just like swimming in milk and
honey! Before the windows the old
lime-tree in the courtyard rustled, and on occasion a jackdaw would start up
from the roof; finally, full of contentment, I fell asleep.
Chapter Six
When
I awoke, the first rays of morning were playing over the green curtains. I could not think where I actually
was. I half-imagined that I was
still travelling in the carriage and I had dreamed of a castle in the
moonlight, an old witch, and her pale little daughter.
At
last I leapt out of bed and dressed, looking all around the room. Then I noticed a small secret door,
which I had not seen the previous day.
It was ajar, so I opened it and espied a neat little room which looked
very homely in the morning sunshine.
Female garments had been thrown untidily over a chair; on a bed beside
this lay the maid who had waited on me at table the evening before. She was still sleeping peacefully, her
head, with its flowing black locks, resting on her bare white arm. “If she knew the door was open!” I said
to myself and returned to my bedroom, closing and bolting the door behind me to
spare the maid from shock and shame when she awoke.
Outside
there was as yet no sound to be heard, but for an early-waken wood-bird who sat
before my window, on a shrub growing out of the wall, singing his morning
song. “No,” I said, “you won’t put
me to shame, praising God so early and fervently on your own!” And quickly grabbing my fiddle, which I
had laid on a side-table the previous day, I went outside. All was deathly silent in the castle,
and it was a long time before I found my way through dark passages out into the
open air.
When
I emerged from the castle, I came into a large garden which sloped down half of
the mountain in broad terraces, each one deeper than the last. But this was sloppy horticulture. The paths were all overgrown with high
grass, and the ornamental box-trees had not been pruned; they stretched out
ghostly long noses or yard-high pointed caps into the air, presenting a terrifying
spectacle in the twilight. On a few
broken statues over a dried-up fountain there was even washing hung up; here
and there in the garden, cabbages were being cultivated, then came a few
ordinary flowers, all of them in disorderly confusion and overgrown with high,
wide weeds, among which brightly-coloured lizards snaked their way. Between the tall, old trees was a broad,
solitary prospect all around, one mountain-peak behind the other, as far as the
eye could see.
After
I had walked around in the wilderness for a little while in the dawn, I espied
on the terrace below me a tall, slender, pale youth in a long, brown, cowled
coat, his arms folded, walking up and down with great strides. He behaved as if he had not seen me: he
presently sat down on a stone bench, pulled a book from his pocket, read very
loudly, as if he were preaching, looked up to the heavens every so often, then
rested his head on his right hand in deep melancholy. I watched him for a long time; at last,
curious to know why he was making such peculiar faces, I walked quickly towards
him. Having just heaved a deep
sigh, he sprang up in affright at my arrival. He was thoroughly embarrassed, as was I;
neither of us knew what to say, so we kept bowing to each other until he
finally took to his heels and disappeared among the bushes. In the meantime the sun had risen above
the wood; I leapt up onto the bench and fiddled from sheer joy, sending music
resounding far down into the quiet valleys. The old woman with the bunch of keys, who
had been anxiously searching for me all over the castle to call me to
breakfast, now appeared on the terrace above me and was amazed that I could
play the fiddle with such skill.
The morose old man also appeared and was likewise amazed; finally the
maids came as well, and everyone above stood astonished as I swung and
flourished my bow with ever more artistry and swiftness, playing cadenzas and
variations until I was fit to drop.
Now
this was the strangest of situations at the castle! Nobody gave a thought to travelling
further. And the castle was no inn,
but belonged, as I learned from the maid, to a wealthy Count. If I ever inquired of the old woman what
was the Count’s name, where did he live? – Then she just smiled, as on the
evening of my arrival, and pinched me and winked at me so sharply that it
seemed she had taken leave of her senses.
If, on a hot day, I drank a bottle of wine to the last drop, the maids
were sure to snicker when they brought another; and when, on one occasion, I
longed for a pipe and tobacco, and described my wish by signs, then they all
burst out into loud and senseless laughter.
Most
amazing of all was the music, which on many nights, and always on the darkest
ones, sounded beneath my window.
The occasional single, very soft note, was being plucked on a
guitar. Once it seemed to me that
somebody was calling, “Pst! Pst!”
from below. So I sprang out of bed
and, my head out of the window, called down: “Hello! Hey there! Who is out there?” But no reply came, and all I heard was
something running quickly away through the bushes. The big dog in the courtyard barked a
few times when it heard me, then all fell silent again; and after that, the
night-music was heard no more.
Otherwise
I led a life here such as anyone in the world would wish for. The good old porter – oh, he knew what
he was talking about when he said that in
In
this wise passed one day after another, until at last the good food and drink
began to make me feel quite melancholy.
My limbs were coming loose from their joints with this eternal
inactivity, and I felt as if I would fall apart at the seams from sheer
idleness.
At
this time I was sitting, one sultry afternoon, in the top of a high tree on the
slope, rocking slowly on the branches over the still, deep valley. The bees buzzed amidst the leaves around
me, otherwise the scene was deserted; there was no one in sight between the
mountains; far below me, in the quiet glades, cows lay at rest in the long
grass. Then, from a great distance,
the sound of a posthorn came over the wooded peaks, now barely audible, now
louder and clearer. All of a sudden
an old song, which I had learnt at home in my father’s mill from a travelling
journeyman, came into my mind, and I sang:
When
a man feels the urge to wander,
He
must journey with his heart’s own;
The
locals make merry, while yonder
The
stranger is standing alone.
You
gloomy tree-tops, you are blind
To
the glories of yesteryear;
Ah,
my homeland lies behind
These
peaks, so far from here.
My
greatest joy lies in star-gazing,
They
shone when I visited her;
The
nightingale sets my heart blazing,
It
sang by my loved one’s door.
Now
morning is such a delight!
I
climb in the hour of hush
To
the view from the topmost height,
And
my heart sends my country his wish.
It
seemed as if the posthorn was blowing an accompaniment from afar. As I sang, it came between the
mountains, nearer and nearer, until at last I heard it resounding up in the
castle courtyard. I swiftly leapt
down from the tree. The old woman
was coming towards me with an opened parcel. “Something arrived for you as well,” she
said, handing me a neat little letter.
There was no address; I quickly broke it open. But then my face blushed as red as a
peony, and my heart beat so violently that the old woman could not fail to
notice, for the letter was from – my beautiful lady, whose writing I had often
seen on notes to the steward. It
was very brief: ‘Everything is alright now, all obstacles are removed. I secretly make use of this opportunity
to be the first to write you this joyful message. Come, hurry back. It is so dreary here, and I can barely
face life since you left us.
Aurelie.’
On
reading this, my eyes overflowed with delight, shock, and inexpressible
joy. I felt ashamed before the old
woman, who was smirking abominably at me again, and flew like an arrow into the
loneliest corner of the garden.
There, I threw myself down into the grass under the hazel-shrubs and
read the note again, repeated it to myself until I had learnt it by heart, then
read it over and over again, and the sun’s rays danced through the spaces
between the leaves over the letters which intertwined before my eyes like
golden and light green and red blossoms.
Is she not married after all? I thought – was the strange officer
perhaps her brother, or is he dead by now, or am I mad, or – “None of that
matters!” I cried at last, leaping up, “it’s quite clear now, she loves me, she
loves me!”
When
I crept out from under the bushes, the sun had begun to bow farewell to
day. The sky was red, the birds
sang merrily in the woods, the valleys were painted with shimmering light, but
all was many, many thousand times lovelier and happier in my heart!
I
shouted into the castle that they should bring my dinner out into the garden
this evening. The old woman, the
morose old man, and the maids, they all had to come out and sit with me at the
laid table under the tree. I pulled
out my fiddle and played, ate and drank in turn. Then everyone grew merry; the old man
smoothed the morose furrows on his brow and sank glass after glass; the old
woman chattered incessantly, about God knows what; the maids began to dance
together on the lawn. In the end
even the pale student came out, drawn by curiosity; after throwing several
contemptuous glances at the spectacle, he made to genteely move on. I, however, quick as you please, jumped
up, caught him, before he had time to realise what was going on, by his long
frock-coat, and waltzed him energetically around. He now exerted himself to dance in a
refined and new-fangled fashion, and tripped his feet so eagerly and artfully
that the sweat poured off his face and his long coat-tails flew around us like
a wheel. But there were occasions
during this dance when he looked at me so oddly, with rolling eyes, that I
really began to fear him and suddenly let my grip go.
Now
the old woman would have dearly liked to discover what was in the letter and
why I suddenly happened to be so merry today. But it was far too complicated a story
to explain to her. I just pointed
to a few cranes which were flying high over us, and said: I too now had to move
away, away, to a distant land! – At that she opened her shrivelled eyes
saucer-wide and stared like a basilisk now at me, now at the old man. Then I noticed that whenever I turned
away, they both secretly put their heads together and talked very animatedly,
giving me sideways glances the while.
This
struck me as strange. I mused a
great deal over what they could possibly have planned for me. With this, I grew more quiet; the sun
had long set; and so I wished everyone goodnight and walked up to my bedroom in
deep thought.
Inwardly
I was so happy, and so restless, that I paced up and down my room for a long
time. Outside the wind rolled heavy
black clouds over the castle-tower and into the distance; the nearest
mountain-peaks were barely discernible in the thick darkness. Then I thought that I could hear voices
below in the garden. I snuffed out
my light and positioned myself by the window. The voices seemed to draw nearer, but
spoke together in very quiet tones.
Suddenly a little lantern, which one of the figures carried under his
cloak, threw a long beam. Now I
recognised the morose steward and the old housekeeper. The light flashed over the old woman’s
face, which had never appeared so hideous to me as now, and over the long knife
she was holding in her hand.
Moreover, I could see that they were both looking up at my window. Then the steward drew his cloak more
tightly around him, and all was once more dark and silent.
What
do they want, I thought, out in the garden at this hour? And I shuddered, for there came into my
mind all the murder stories I had heard in my lifetime, of witches and robbers
who butchered people to eat their hearts.
While my thoughts were running in this vein, I heard footsteps, first
coming up the stairs, then down the long corridor very softly, softly towards
my door; and it seemed that, every now and then, I caught the sound of voices
secretly whispering. So I rushed to
the far end of the room and took my stand behind a large table, which I
intended to lift up before me, the moment that anything moved, and make a dash
for the door for all I was worth.
But in the darkness I knocked over a chair, making a dreadful din. Then all fell instantly silent
outside. I listened from behind the
table and stared at the door so intently, as if my gaze would bore a hole
through it, that my eyes were starting from my head. A little while later, when I had kept so
quiet that you could have heard flies moving on the walls, I heard someone
outside very gently sliding a key into the keyhole. Now I was just about to sprint forward
with the table – when the key turned slowly three times in the lock, and was
carefully pulled out; then there was a soft humming along the corridor and down
the steps.
I
drew deep breaths. Oho, I thought,
now they have locked you in so that it’s nice and easy for them, when you’re in
a sound sleep. I swiftly examined
the door and found I was correct, it was securely locked; likewise the other
door, behind which the pretty, pale maid was sleeping. That had never happened before during my
stay at the castle.
Now
here I was, a prisoner in a strange place! The lovely lady was no doubt standing at
her window looking out over the quiet garden to the highroad, to see if I was
not sweeping along by the tollhouse with my fiddle; the clouds flew across the
sky, time was passing – and I could not get away from here! Oh, I was so sore at heart, I just did
not know what to do. And whenever
the leaves rustled, or a rat nibbled on the floor, it was as if the old woman
had secretly entered through a hidden door and was softly stealing through the
room with her long knife.
As
I sat, so full of care, on my bed, I heard for the first time in a long while
the night-music beneath my window.
At the first note of the guitar it felt exactly as if a shaft of
daylight suddenly shot through my soul.
I flung open the window and called quietly down that I was awake. “Pst, pst!” came the reply from
below. Without a moment’s
hesitation I put the note and my fiddle into my pocket, swung myself out of the
window, and clambered down the crack-ridden old wall, keeping my hands gripped
on the shrubs which grew out of the cracks. But a few rotten bricks gave way, I
began to slide, faster and faster, until I finally plumped down so hard on both
feet that my brain-box rattled.
Hardly
had I thus arrived down in the garden when someone embraced me with such
vehemence that I cried out loud.
But my good friend quickly pressed his finger to my mouth, seized my
hand, and led me through the shrubbery out into the open. There, to my astonishment, I recognised
the good, tall student, with his guitar hanging from a broad, silk ribbon round
his neck. I explained to him in the
greatest haste that I wanted out of the garden. But he seemed to have already been aware
of that, and he led me through all sorts of secret byways to the lowest door in
the high garden wall. But now the
door was securely locked too!
However, the student had planned in advance for this; and drawing out a
large key, he cautiously unlocked.
Now
as we stepped out into the wood and I was just about to ask him the best way to
the nearest town, he suddenly plunged down on one knee before me, raised a hand
high in the air, and began to swear and make oaths which were really terrible
to hear. I had no idea what he was
after, I only heard the incessant cry: Idio & cuore & amore & furore! But when, in the end, he began to
quickly crawl towards me on both knees, coming nearer and nearer, an awful
sensation flashed through me; clearly perceiving that he was mad, I fled, never
once looking back, into the thickest part of the wood.
I
could hear the student shouting like a maniac after me. Soon, another rough voice answered from
the castle. I felt quite certain
that they could come in search for me.
The way was unfamiliar, the night dark, I could easily fall into their
clutches again. So I climbed to the
top of a tall pine-tree to wait for a more favourable opportunity for escape.
From
there I could hear one voice after another coming to life in the castle. Several lanterns appeared high up and
threw their wild red light over the old castle-walls and far beyond the
mountains into the black night. I
commended my soul to the good Lord, for the confused tumult was growing ever
louder and drawing ever nearer.
Finally the student dashed past my tree with a torch, his coat-tails
flying far behind him in the wind.
Then they all seemed, by degrees, to make for the other side of the
mountain; the voices rang out at an ever greater distance, and the wind
murmured through the silent wood once more. And I quickly climbed down from the tree
and ran breathlessly out into the valley and into the night.
Chapter Seven
Day
and night I sped on my way, for there continued a buzzing in my ears, as if the
people on the mountain were still pursuing me with their calls, their torches
and their long knives. On the way I
discovered that I was only a few miles from
Night
had fallen long ago, and the moon shone resplendently when I finally emerged
from the wood onto a hill and saw the city there before me in the
distance. The sea glinted from
afar, the vast sky flashed and twinkled with innumerable stars; beneath them
lay the
At
first I came to a large, lonely heath, as grey and silent as the grave. Here and there stood some old ruins or a
dry, strangely winding bush; sometimes a night-bird whizzed through the air,
and my own shadow, long and dark, brushed through the loneliness beside
me. The legend goes that an ancient
city and Lady Venus are buried here, and the old pagans, to this day, will on
occasion rise up from their graves and walk the heath, in the silence of the
night, leading wanderers astray.
But I walked straight ahead, letting nothing concern me. For the city rose ever more clearly in
its magnificence before me, and the tall castles and gates and golden domes
shone superbly in the bright moonlight, as if angels in golden robes were
really standing at the top and pouring song through the quiet night.
After
passing some small houses, I at last entered, through a splendid gate, the
famous city of
Now
as I was strolling along, too absorbed in pleasure, moonlight and fragrance to
know where to turn my steps, the sound of a guitar came from the depths of a
garden. My God, I thought, the mad
student in the long cowled coat must have secretly followed me! And then a lady in the garden began to
sing extremely delightfully. I
stood, totally bewitched, for it was the lovely lady’s voice, and the same
Italian song she had so often sung by the open window at home.
Then
the good old times suddenly struck my remembrance so forcefully that I could
have wept bitterly; the quiet garden in front of the castle in the early
morning, and how I had been so blissfully happy behind the bush until that
stupid fly flew up my nose. I could
contain myself no longer. I
clambered up the gilded scroll-work over the iron-barred gate and swung myself
down into the garden whence the strains of the song were floating. Then I noticed a slim, white figure
standing behind a poplar, first watching me climb over the bars in
astonishment, then flying all at once through the dark garden towards the house
so swiftly that I could hardly see its feet moving in the moonlight. “That was her!” I cried, and my heart beat a joyful tune, for I recognised
her immediately by her small, quick little feet. It was just a pity that I had somewhat
twisted my right foot in jumping down from the garden-gate and so had to shake
my leg a few times before I was able to run towards the house. But in the meantime the door and windows
had been securely locked. I knocked
very humbly, listened, and knocked again.
Then it was just as if there was a quiet whispering and giggling inside;
indeed, I once had the impression of two bright eyes sparkling in the moonlight
between the blinds. And suddenly
silence fell again.
That
is because she doesn’t know it’s me,
I thought; and pulling out my fiddle, my constant companion, I walked up and
down the path in front of the house playing and singing the song about the
lovely lady; and I joyfully went through all the songs I used to play on
beautiful summer nights in the castle-garden, or on the bench before the
tollhouse, with a vigour that sent the sound ringing far over into the castle
windows.
But
it was all to no avail; nothing moved or stirred anywhere in the house. So in the end I tucked my fiddle sadly
away and lay down on the front doorstep, for I was very tired from my long
walk. The night was warm, the
flower-beds before the house shed a sweet fragrance; further down in the garden
a fountain kept an incessant splashing.
I dreamt of sky-blue flowers, of beautiful, dark-green, lonely valleys
where springs murmured, rills flowed and brightly-plumaged birds sang
marvellous airs, until I finally fell fast asleep.
When
I woke up, my limbs were shivering in the dawn air. The birds, awake by this time, were
chirruping in the trees as if they took me for a fool. I sprang to my feet and looked around on
all sides. The fountain in the
garden splashed on, but all was silent in the house. I peeked through green jalousies into
one of the rooms. There was a sofa
and a large, round table covered with a grey cotton cloth, and the chairs were
standing in a very orderly arrangement against the walls; on the outside,
however, the jalousies had been lowered over every window, as if the entire
house had been unoccupied for years.
Then
a proper horror at the empty house and garden and the white figure of the previous
day came over me. So I ran, never
once turning my head, through the silent arbours and alleys and quickly climbed
the gate. But there I sat still, as
one enchanted, when I found myself looking down from the high barring over the
magnificent city. The morning sun
flashed and sparkled so, over the roofs and into the long, still streets, that
I had to shout out loud; and then, filled with delight, I sprang down onto the
road.
But
where was I to turn to in the large, strange city? Furthermore, the confused night and the
Italian song the lovely lady had sung on the previous day were still buzzing
around in my head. Finally I sat
down on the stone fountain in the middle of the empty square and washed my eyes
bright in the clear water while I sang:
Now
if I was a little bird,
I
know what song I’ld make me;
And
if I had two little wings,
I
know where I’ld betake me!
“Hey,
my merry friend, you sing just like a lark at dawn’s first light!” suddenly
said a young man who had walked up to the fountain while I was singing. Now to me, so unexpectedly hearing
someone speak German, it was just as though the bell in my village was ringing
to me across a quiet Sunday morning.
“God, welcome, my dear compatriot!” I cried, jumping delightedly down
from the stone ledge. The young man
smiled and looked me up and down.
“But what exactly are you doing here in
For
a long time he led me hither and thither through a muddled mass of dark, narrow
alleys, until we finally slipped into an old, smoky house. There we climbed one gloomy flight of
stairs after another, as if we intended to ascend to Heaven. At last we stood, with the roof over our
heads, before a door, and the painter began to hastily search his pockets
inside-out. But he had forgotten to
lock up that morning and had left the key in the room. For he had, as he had told me on the
way, taken a walk out of the city before the break of day to observe the region
at sunrise. And shaking his head,
he kicked the door open.
It
was a long, large room, in which you could have danced if only the floor had
not been so littered. But there
were boots, papers, clothes and overturned paint-pots lying all over the place;
in the middle of the room stood large trestles, like those used for picking
pears; and all around there were large pictures propped against the wall. On a long, wooden table was a dish on
which, beside a blob of paint, lay bread and butter. Next to it stood a bottle of wine.
“Now
eat and drink first, my countryman!” cried the artist.
I
wanted to butter some slices of bread at once, but there was no knife. We had to rustle around for a long time
among the papers on the table before we finally found it under a large
packet. Then the artist threw open
the window, and the fresh morning air cheerfully filled all of the room. There was a glorious view stretching far
out over the city to the mountains, where the morning sun shone merrily on
white country houses and vineyards.
“Vivat our cool, green
In
the meantime the artist had pushed the wooden trestle, on which there was
spread out a very large sheet of paper, closer to the window. On the paper an old hut had been
skilfully drawn, simply with large, black strokes. The Blessed Virgin sat therein with an
utterly beautiful, joyous, yet deeply melancholy face. At her feet, in a little bed of straw,
lay the Baby Jesus; very friendly, but with wide, serious eyes. Outside, before the opened door, kneeled
two shepherd boys with their crooks and pouches.
“You
see,” said the artist, “I intend to put your head on that shepherd there, then
your face will gain wide recognition; and if God wills, people shall still take
pleasure in it when we are both long gone to the grave and kneeling as
peacefully and joyfully before the Holy Mother and her Son as these happy boys
here.” Thereupon he grasped an old
chair, but when he tried to lift it half of the back came away in his
hands. After quickly fitting it
back together, he pushed it in front of the trestle, and I had to sit down and
turn my face half-side-on to the artist.
I sat thus for a few minutes, not moving a muscle. But, I just don’t know – in the end I
could bear it no longer; first I itched here, then I itched there. Moreover, directly opposite me hung half
of a broken mirror, which I had to stare into the whole time; and while he was
painting I made, from sheer boredom, all kinds of faces and grimaces. The painter, having noticed this, at
last laughed out loud and motioned me with his hand to stand up. My face, on the shepherd’s shoulders,
was finished; and it looked so clear that I rather took a shine to myself.
He
continued to draw industriously in the fresh, cool morning air, singing a ditty
the while and casting the occasional look through the open window out into the
splendid surroundings. Meanwhile, I
made myself another slice of buttered bread and, taking bites, walked up and
down the room, quite content, throwing an eye over the pictures that were stood
up against the walls. I liked two
of them uncommonly well. “Did you
paint these as well?” I asked the artist.
“And why not?” he replied.
“They are by the famous Masters Leonardo da Vinci and Guido Reni – but
you won’t know anything about that.”
“Oh,” I stated, as cool as you like, “both Masters and I are hand in
glove.” He opened his eyes
wide. “How come?” he asked
quickly. “Well,” I said, “didn’t I
travel with them day and night – on horseback, on foot, by carriage, till the
wind whistled past my hat – and lose them both in the inn, and then journey on
and on alone in their carriage with the express post, so fast that the rattling
carriage flew over the dreadful stones on two wheels, and - ” “Oho! Oho!” interrupted the artist, looking
fixedly at me as if he took me for a madman. But then he burst out into loud
laughter. “Ah,” he cried, “now I
begin to understand. You travelled
with two artists named Guido and Leonardo?” When I confirmed this, he leapt up and
looked me over from head to foot again.
“I do believe,” he said, “perhaps – do you play the violin?” I slapped my jacket pocket, making the
fiddle inside clang. “Now,
actually,” said the artist, “there was a German countess here who had made
enquiries in every corner of
“Well,
I don’t know the whole story,” the artist replied, “I saw her only a few times
at a lady friend of hers, who however does not live in the city either. – Do
you know her?” he continued, suddenly lifting the canvas-cover from a large
picture in the corner. Then I felt
as you do when you open the shutters in a dark room and the morning sun
sparkles over your eyes, it was – the lovely Lady! – she stood in a garden in a
black velvet dress, lifting the veil from her face with one hand and gazing
with a kind and calm expression out into a distant, splendid region. The longer I looked, the more it seemed
to me that it was the garden of the castle, and the flowers and branches were
swaying gently in the wind, and far below I saw my little tollhouse, and the
high road stretching through the country, and the Danube, and the distant blue
mountains.
“It’s
her, it’s her!” I cried at last; and snatching up my hat, I raced out of the
door, down the many stairs, and just caught the astonished artist shouting
after me that I should come back towards evening, then we might possibly find
out more!
Chapter Eight
I ran with great haste through the
city to immediately put in another appearance at the summerhouse where the
lovely lady had sung on the previous evening. In the meantime the streets had sprung
to life; ladies and gentlemen were strolling in the sunshine in a brilliant
confusion of greetings and bows, magnificent coaches rattled through the
throng, and from every tower the bells rang for mass, the medley of tones
resounding wonderfully in the clear air over the crowd. I was intoxicated with joy and the din,
and in my merriment I ran straight ahead until I ended up without a clue as to
where I was. Everything seemed
bewitched, as if the quiet square with the fountain and the garden and the
house had been just a dream, and with the light of day everything had vanished once
more off the face of the earth.
I
could not ask anyone, for I did not know the name of the square. In the end it began to get very sultry;
the sun’s rays shot down on the cobbles like scorching arrows, the people crept
into their houses, everywhere the jalousies were closed once more, and suddenly
the streets were deserted. At last,
sunk in despair, I threw myself down in front of a large, beautiful house,
before which a balcony on pillars threw broad shadows, and observed now the
quiet city, which looked downright eerie in the sudden solitude of the bright
midday, now the deep-blue, cloudless sky, until at last, from sheer weariness,
I fell asleep. Then I dreamt that I
lay on a lonely green meadow near my village, a warm summer rain sparkled and
shone in the sun which was just setting behind the mountains, and as the
raindrops fell to the ground they changed to flowers, beautiful, colourful
flowers, which soon covered me entirely.
But
how amazed I was when, on waking, I really did find a heap of beautiful, fresh
flowers lying over and around me! I
jumped to my feet, but noticed nothing remarkable, other than a window above
me, right at the top of the house, full of fragrant shrubs and flowers, behind
which a parrot was chattering and screeching incessantly. I picked up the scattered flowers, bound
them together, and stuck the bunch in my buttonhole. Then I began to discourse a little with
the parrot, for it gave me pleasure to watch him climbing up and down his
golden cage with all kinds of grimaces, clumsily stepping over his big toe as
he did so. But before I knew what
was happening, he called me “furfante.[2]” Now, it may have been only a senseless
beast, but I was annoyed nonetheless.
I cursed him in return, we both raised our hackles; the more I cursed in
German, the more he gurgled back at me in Italian.
Suddenly
I heard someone laughing behind me.
I span quickly around; it was the artist from this morning. “What crazy capers are you up to now?”
he asked. “I’ve been waiting for
you a good half-hour. The air is
cooler now, let us go to a garden before the city; there you will find several
fellow-countrymen, and perhaps glean some more information about the German
countess.”
This
proposal delighted me beyond measure, and we started off on our walk at once,
accompanied for a long stretch by the curses the parrot screeched after me.
After
leaving the city, and spending a long time ascending narrow stony footpaths
between villas and vineyards, we arrived at a small, high-lying garden, where a
number of youths and maidens were sitting at a round table in the open
air. The moment that we entered,
they signalled to us to keep quiet and pointed to the other end of the garden. There, in a large, creeper-covered
arbour, two beautiful women sat facing each other at a table. One sang, and the other accompanied her
on the guitar. Between them both,
on the further side of the table, a pleasant man stood beating time with a
little baton. The evening sun
sparkled through the vine leaves, now over the wine-bottles and fruits with
which the table in the arbour was full, now over the full, round,
dazzlingly-white shoulders of the woman with the guitar. The other lady, seemingly in raptures,
sang in Italian with such exceptional artistry that the tendons in her neck
stood out.
Now
just at the moment when, with eyes uplifted to the heavens, she was holding a
long cadenza, and the man beside her was waiting, his baton raised, for the
instant when she would rejoin the beat, and not a soul in the entire garden
dared to draw breath – then the garden doors suddenly flew open, and a hot and
bothered young woman, followed by a youth with a noble, pale face, burst in,
quarrelling furiously. The startled
musical director stood still, his baton raised, like a petrified sorcerer, even
though the singer had long since closed her lengthy trill with a snap and
angrily stood up. Everyone else
hissed lividly at the new arrivals.
“Barbarian!” one of the company at the round table shouted at the youth,
“you have just burst right into the middle of the uplifting tableau-vivant of
the beautiful description given by Hoffmann of blessed memory on page 347 of
the Woman’s Pocketbook for 1816 of
the exquisite painting by Hummel which was on view at the Berlin Art Exhibition
in autumn 1814!”
But
all this was in vain. “Oh, what do
you want with your tableaux of tableaux!” retorted the youth. “Her image I painted for others; but my
girl is for me alone! That’s the
way it must stay! Oh, you
faithless, you false one!” he began, turning again on the poor girl, “you
critical soul, seeking only the flash of silver in the art of painting and the
golden thread in poetry, and having no loved one, only mere darlings! I wish on you henceforth, instead of an
honest brush of a painter, an old duca with a whole mine of diamonds on his
nose, bright silver on his balding pate, and gilt edging on his few remaining
hairs! Yes, out with that loathsome
note you concealed from me just now!
What have you set in motion this time? Who is this bumph from, and who is it
for?”
But
the girl put up a staunch defence, and the more eagerly the others surrounded
the infuriated youth, noisily seeking to console and pacify him, the more
heated and wild he grew at the clamour, especially as the girl could not hold
her tongue, until in the end she flew in tears out of the tangle of bodies and
quite unexpectedly flung herself on my breast to seek my protection. I at once adopted the proper posture,
but as the others were paying no attention to us right then, owing to the
turmoil, she suddenly turned, lifted her little head to me and, with a
perfectly calm face, whispered very softly and quickly in my ear: “You
abominable collector! It’s for your
sake that I have to suffer all this.
Here, stick this cursed note in your pocket double-quick, you’ll find
our address on it. So to the
appointed hour – when you pass through the gate, keep walking down the deserted
street to the right!”
I
could not loosen my tongue for amazement; for now that I had a proper look at
the girl, I recognised her at once: she was actually the pert lady’s-maid from
the castle who had brought me the bottle of wine on that lovely Saturday
evening. She had never appeared so
beautiful to me as she did then, leaning against me in a deep flush, her black
locks flowing down over my arm.
“But,
my dear mamselle,” I said in utter astonishment, “what are you doing - ”
“For
Heaven’s sake, just be quiet, be quiet!” she replied; and she rushed away to
the far side of the garden before I had really taken everything in.
Meanwhile
the others had almost entirely forgotten the original subject of their quarrel,
yet squabbled merrily on, attempting to prove to the young man that he was in
fact drunk, which was not at all seemly for an artist with a care to his
honour. The plump, brisk man from
the arbour, who – as I later learnt – was a great connoisseur and friend of the
arts, and whose love of the sciences led him to take a willing part in
everything, had thrown his baton away and sauntered eagerly around in the heart
of the hurly-burly, his fat face shining with cordiality, in order to mediate
and appease everyone, while between times mourning the long cadenza and the
lovely tableau he had taken so much trouble to put together.
In
my heart the stars were shining as brightly as on that blissful Saturday when I
played my fiddle by the open window, before the bottle of wine, deep into the
night. As the racket showed no
signs of ever diminishing, I whipped out my violin and, without pausing for
thought, struck up an Italian tune which they dance to in the mountains, and
which I had learnt in the old, secluded forest castle.
At
this they all craned their necks.
“Bravo, bravissimo! A
delicious idea!” cried the merry connoisseur of the arts, and he immediately ran
from one person to the next to arrange a rural divertissement, as he called
it. He himself led the way by
offering his hand to the lady who had played the guitar in the arbour. Then he began to dance with exceptional
skill, describing all sorts of figures on the grass with his toes, making his
feet sing, and, every now and then, cutting quite passable capers. But he soon had his fill of this, being
somewhat corpulent. After making
ever shorter and clumsier leaps, he finally walked right out of the circle,
puffing and panting violently, and constantly mopping the sweat from his brow
with his snow-white handkerchief.
In the meantime the young man, who had returned to his senses by this
stage, had fetched castanets from the inn, and in the twinkling of an eye
everyone was dancing in a muddle of colour beneath the trees. The setting sun threw a handful of rosy
gleams between the dark shadows, over the old ruined walls and the half-sunken
pillars wildly overgrown with ivy at the back of the garden, while on the other
side, far below the vineyards, the city of
I
may have jumped around in the circle for quite some time and failed to notice
that the others, having begun to tire, were disappearing, one by one, from the
dancing-green. Then someone gave my
coat-tails a vigorous tug from behind.
It was the lady’s-maid.
“Don’t be a fool,” she said quietly, “you’re leaping like a
billy-goat! Study your note
carefully and follow on soon, the beautiful young countess is waiting.”
And
with that she slipped through the twilight out of the garden-gate, soon to
disappear between the vineyards.
My
heart was pounding; I would dearly have liked to run after her at once. Fortunately, it having grown dark by
now, a waiter had lit a large lantern by the garden-gate. I walked up to it and hastily pulled out
the note. On it, scribbled in pencil,
was a description of the gate and the street, much as the lady’s-maid had
said. Then there was written:
“Eleven o’clock at the small door.”
That
was some long hours away! But
notwithstanding this, I wanted to set out at once, for it was all over with my
peace; but then the artist who had brought me hither came up to me. “Did you speak to the girl?” he
asked. “I can’t see any sign of her
now; that was the German countess’s lady’s-maid.” “Quiet, quiet!” I replied, “the countess
is still in
By
now it had become quite empty and desolate. The merry guests, each with his
sweetheart on his arm, were wandering off towards the city; in the still of
evening they could still be heard chatting and laughing between the vineyards,
ever further and further away, until finally, in the depths of the valley,
their voices faded away into the rustling trees and the murmuring river. I was left alone up there with my artist
friend and Herr Eckbrecht – such was the name of the other young artist, who
had been squabbling so earlier. The
moon shone brilliantly between the tall, dark trees down on to the garden; a
candle on the table before us flickered in the wind and shimmered over the
spilt pools of wine. I had to take
my seat with the others, and my artist friend chatted with me about my
background, my journey, and my future plans. As for Herr Eckbrecht, he had taken the
pretty young maid from the inn, once she had set some bottles on the table, and
seated her on his lap, placed the guitar in her arms, and began to teach her to
thrum a tune. Her little hands soon
got the hang of it, and they sang an Italian song together, taking the verses
in turn, which sounded splendid in the lovely, still evening.
When
the maid was then called away, Herr Eckbrecht leaned back on the bench with the
guitar, rested his feet on a chair in front of him, and sang many marvellous
German and Italian songs to himself, not taking any further notice of us. And the stars shone superbly in the
clear heavens, the whole region was painted silver by moonlight; I thought of
the lovely lady, of my distant homeland, and so completely forgot my artist
beside me. From time to time Herr
Eckbrecht had to tune his guitar, which always sent him into a rage. In the end he screwed and yanked at the
instrument until a string suddenly snapped. Then he threw the guitar away and leapt
to his feet. Only now did he notice
that my artist friend, with his arms laid on the table and his head resting on
them, had fallen fast asleep. He
quickly threw a white cloak, which had been hanging on a branch close to the
table, round his shoulders; then he suddenly thought again, threw a few sharp
glances first at my artist friend, then at me, whereupon he wasted no time in
sitting down directly opposite me, cleared his throat, straightened his cravat
and then began to address me: “Dear listener and compatriot!” he said, “as the
bottles are almost empty, and morality is indisputably the citizen’s first duty
when virtue is on the decline, then I feel myself driven by compatriotic
sympathy to turn your thoughts to a little morality. – One could certainly think,”
he continued, “that you were just a youth, although your coat has seen its best
days; one could, perhaps, suppose that you have just been making wondrous leaps
like a satyr; indeed, some might well even claim that you are a vagabond,
because you fiddle your way through the land; but I care nothing for such
superficial judgements, I place my trust in your finely pointed nose, I
consider you to be a vagabondising genius.” These insidious locutions annoyed me; I
was ready to reply. But he did not
give me the chance to speak. “You
see,” he said, “a little praise and you’re already puffing yourself up. Retire into yourself and reflect on this
dangerous profession! We geniuses –
for I too am one – make just as little of the world as it makes of us; rather,
we stride, without any particular fuss, in the seven-league boots we soon bring
to the world, straight towards eternity.
Oh, most wretched, uncomfortable, stretched, straddling position, with
one foot in the future, full of dawn and the faces of children to come, and the
other foot still in the middle of Rome, on the Piazza del Popolo, where the
entire saeculum, wanting to come along at the first favourable opportunity,
clings to one’s boots so tightly that they could tear one’s leg out! And all the jerking, wine-drinking and
hunger-entertaining merely for undying eternity! And look at my colleague, on the bench
there, likewise a genius; time hangs
heavy on his hands, so how will he cope with eternity? Yes, my highly-esteemed colleague, you
and I and the sun, we rose together early this morning and have brooded and
painted all day, and everything was beauty – and now sleepy night passes with
furred sleeves over the world, wiping all colours away.” He kept talking on and on, his hair
tousled from dancing and drinking, and his face pale as death in the moonlight.
I
had long since began to feel terror at him and his wild words, and when he
formally turned around to the sleeping artist, I used the opportunity to steal
round the table, without his noticing, and out of the garden; then I descended
by the vine trellis, alone and happy at heart, into the broad, moon-illumined
valley.
From
the city came the sound of the clocks striking ten. Behind me, I could hear, sounding from
afar through the still night, the occasional twang of a guitar, and sometimes
the voices of both artists, also now on the homeward trail. Therefore I ran as fast as my legs would
carry me, to avoid being questioned further.
At
the gate I immediately turned into the street on the right and walked rapidly
with pounding heart between the silent houses and gardens. But how astonished I was when I suddenly
emerged into the square with the fountain which I had not been able to find at
all during the day. There was the
lovely summerhouse, in resplendent moonlight, and the lovely lady was in the
garden singing the same Italian song as on the previous evening.
I
ran in raptures first to the small door, then to the front one, and finally for
all I was worth against the large garden-gate; but they were all locked. Only then did it occur to me that the
hour had not yet struck eleven. I
was annoyed at the slowness of time, but good manners prevented me from climbing
over the garden-gate as I had the night before. So I paced up and down the lonely square
for a little while, before finally sitting down on the stone fountain, full of
thought and quiet anticipation.
The
stars were twinkling in the sky, all was empty and still in the square; I
listened with great pleasure to the lovely lady’s song which reached my ear
from the garden through the splashing of the fountain. Suddenly I espied a white figure
emerging from the opposite side of the square and heading straight for the
small garden-gate. I peered hard
through the shimmering moonlight – it was the wild artist in his white
cloak. He hastily drew out a key,
unlocked, and before you could say knife he was in the garden.
Now
I already had a peculiar grudge against the artist because of his senseless
conversation. But now I was beside
myself with fury. That dissipated
genius is drunk again, no doubt, I thought; he has the key from the lady’s-maid
and he is now going to creep up on the lady, betray her, attack her. – And so I
dashed through the small, open gate into the garden.
When
I entered, all was silent and deserted.
The French windows of the summerhouse were open, and from them issued
forth a milk-white light which played on the grass and the flowers before the
door. I looked in from a
distance. There, in a splendid
green chamber, faintly lit by a white lamp, lay the lovely lady, her guitar in
her arms, on a silken couch, oblivious in her innocence to the dangers outside.
But
I had no time to stand there gazing, for I noticed the white figure cautiously
creeping behind the bushes on the far side towards the summerhouse. All the while the lady sang so dolefully
that it quite cut me to the quick.
Therefore I did not take time to think but broke off a hefty bough and
bore down with it on Whitemantle, yelling “Mordio!” at the top of my voice
until the garden trembled with the sound.
The
artist, seeing me approach out of the blue, quickly took to his heels,
screaming dreadfully. I screamed
even more frantically, he ran towards the house, I in pursuit – and I was just
about to nab him when my feet got entangled in some cursed flower-stalks and I
crashed down flat on my face before the front door.
“So
it’s you, you idiot!” I heard a voice above me exclaim, “you almost frightened
me to death!” I swiftly picked
myself up, and once I had wiped the sand and earth from my eyes, there was the
lady’s-maid standing before me, the white cloak having slipped from her
shoulders with her final bound.
“But,” I said in total stupefaction, “was the artist not here?” “Why, certainly,” came her pert reply,
“at least his cloak, which he wrapped round me just now when I met him at the
gate, because I was freezing.”
While we were chatting, the lady had jumped up from her sofa and come to
the door. My heart was pounding fit
to burst. But what a shock I had when,
on looking more closely, I saw, instead of the lovely lady, a total stranger!
She
was quite a tall, corpulent, solid lady with a proud aquiline nose and
sharply-arched black eyebrows, with a beauty that was quite startling. She looked at me so majestically with
her large, sparkling eyes that I was overcome with awe. I was thoroughly bewildered, made one
bow after another to her, and eventually took her hand to kiss. But she hastily snatched it away and
began to speak to the lady’s-maid in Italian; I did not understand a word.
In
the meantime the outcry had brought the whole neighbourhood to life. Dogs barked, children yelled, in between
times men’s voices could be heard coming ever nearer. Then the lady shot me another look, as
if she wished to pierce me with fiery bullets, and turned back to her room with
a burst of proud and forced laughter, slamming the door in my face. The lady’s-maid grabbed me without
further ado by the coat-flaps and dragged me towards the garden-gate.
“Once
again, you’ve acted like a right idiot,” she maliciously remarked on the
way. I too became vitriolic. “Damn and blast!” I said, “and didn’t
you yourself summon me here?”
“That’s
just it!” cried the lady’s-maid, “my countess meant so well by you, threw
flowers from her window to you, sang arias – and this is her reward! But
you’re just a dead loss, you trample over your luck.”
“But,”
I replied, “I meant the German countess, the lovely lady…”
“Oh,”
she interrupted me, “she’s back in
Now
a dreadful din and brouhaha arose behind us. From other gardens, people with cudgels
were clambering hurriedly over the fence; others swore as they scoured the
passages; anxious faces under night-caps appeared in the moonlight now here,
now there, peeking over the hedges; it was as if the devil had suddenly enticed
a rabble out of the hedges and bushes.
The
lady’s-maid did not shilly-shally.
“There goes the thief, there!” she shouted to the people, pointing to
the other side of the garden. Then
she quickly shoved me out of the garden and banged the gate shut behind me.
So
there I was, standing under God’s clear sky back in the quiet square, as
utterly alone as I had been on my arrival the day before. The fountain, which had shimmered so
merrily in the moonlight such a short while ago, as if little angels were
rising and descending inside, murmured ever on, but all my joy and pleasure had
fallen into the fount.
I
now made the firm resolve to turn my back for ever on
Chapter Nine
The
challenge rolls down from the skies:
‘What
dawn-lit figure this, that darts
Across
the heath from foreign parts?’ –
I
meet the mountains with my eyes
And
joyous laughter thrills my bones
As
I belt out in ringing tones
The
password and the battle-cry:
With
that, the land around me knows;
Then
stream and bird and woods all say
Soft
welcome in my country’s way,
The
St.
Stephen’s, distant many miles,
Peers
over the peaks, sees me, and smiles –
And
if that’s not him, he’ll soon be nigh:
I
was standing on a high mountain that affords the first sight of Austria,
singing the last verse and gleefully waving my hat, when suddenly, in the wood
behind me, a wonderful chorus of wind-instruments joined in. Spinning quickly around, I saw three
young companions in long blue coats; one playing an oboe, the second a clarinet,
and the third, who wore an old tricorn on his head, a French horn – they all
accompanied me until the wood rang with the sound. I, needing little encouragement, pulled
out my fiddle and played and sang afresh.
Then they looked thoughtfully at one another; the French hornist let his
puffed cheeks cave in and unshouldered his horn; presently they were all silent
and looking at me. I stopped in
amazement and returned their gaze.
“We thought,” said the hornist at last, “that as sir is wearing such a
long tail-coat, then sir must be a travelling Englishman, walking here to
admire the beauties of nature; we thought to earn a viaticum. But it seems to me that the gentleman is
himself a musician.”
“Actually
a toll collector,” I replied, “coming hot-heeled from
“Doesn’t
bring in much nowadays!” said the hornist, who had by this time walked back
into the wood and was fanning, with his tricorn, a small fire they had lit
there. “You’re better off with wind
instruments,” he continued, “when the master and mistress are eating a peaceful
midday meal and we enter the vaulted hall without warning and every one of us
begins to blow with all his might – a servant comes rushing out at once with
money or food, just to get rid of the noise. But will sir not take a collation with
us?”
It
was a fresh morning. The fire was
now blazing merrily in the wood; we sat around it on the grass, and two of the
musicians lifted a small pot containing coffee and even some milk from the
fire, took some bread from their coat-pockets, and dunked and drank alternately
from the pot with such relish that it was really a delight to watch.
The
French hornist, however, said: “I can’t stomach that black swill,” and handed
me half of a large, folded buttered sandwich before producing a bottle of
wine. “Will the gentleman not take
a drink as well?” I took a hearty
swig, but quickly had to put the bottle down and grimace hard, for it tasted
like Traminer[3]. “A local wine,” said the hornist, “but
the gentleman has had his German taste spoiled in
Thereupon
he rummaged busily about in his pocket, eventually pulling out, among all kinds
of junk, a tattered old map, on which the Kaiser could be seen in full regalia,
the sceptre in his right hand, the imperial orb in his left. He spread it out carefully on the
ground, the others drew nearer, and they began to discuss what kind of
route-march they should follow.
“The
vacation is almost at an end,” one said, “we must turn left at
“Now
really!” cried the hornist, “and who are you whistling that tune to? Nothing but forests and charcoal
burners, no artistic taste, no sensible free board and lodging!”
“Oh,
stuff and nonsense!” replied the other, “it’s the peasants that I like most of
all; they know best where the shoe pinches, and don’t take it so seriously if
you blow the odd false note.”
“That
means that you have no point d’honneur”, remarked the hornist, “odi profanum
vulgus et arceo,” as the Latinist says.[4]
“Well,
there must be churches on the way, no?” opined the third, “so we can call in on
the priest.”
“Your
most obedient servant, I’m sure!” said the hornist, “they give short money and
long sermons on how we should not rove so uselessly around the world but should
apply ourselves more to learning, especially when they scent a future confrater
in me. No, no, clericus clericum
non decimat. But why all this great
rush, anyway? Our professors are
still in Karlsbad,[5] and they won’t keep to the
exact day.”
“Yes,
distinguendum est inter et inter,” replied the other, “quod licet Jovi, non
licet bovi!”
By
now I had realised that these were students from
“Is
sir an intellectual as well?” the hornist then asked. I humbly replied that I had always felt
an especial desire to study, but had never had any money.
“That
doesn’t matter in the least,” he cried, “we do not have money or wealthy
relations either. But a man of
brains must needs know how to help himself.
I
don’t know – but with the manner of his narration – it rent my heartstrings to
think that such learned people should be so utterly alone in the world. Then my thoughts turned to myself, how
my case was really no different – and the tears welled up in my eyes. The hornist stared at me.
“It
really does not bother us,” he continued, “I would not at all like to travel in
this way: with horses and coffee and beds with fresh sheets and nightcaps and
bootjacks ordered in advance. This
is precisely the best part of it, that when we step out in the early morning,
and the birds of passage are flying on their way high overhead, we have
absolutely no idea which chimney is smoking for us today, nor can we foresee
what special stroke of fortune may come our way by the advent of evening.”
“Yes,”
said the second student, “and wherever we turn up and take out our instruments,
everyone becomes merry; and when we set foot in a country house at the
midday-hour and begin to play in the entrance-hall, then the maids dance
together before the front door, and the master and mistress have the hall-doors
opened a little so that they can hear the music more clearly inside, and
through a gap comes the clatter of plates and the aroma of roasted meat to
merge with the joyous sound, and the waiting-maids at table almost twist their
heads off to see the musicians outside.”
“True,”
cried the hornist, his eyes shining, “Let the others repeat their compendia,
while we study the great picture-book
that the dear Lord has opened for us outdoors! Why, believe me sir, we shall make just
the right kind of fellows with a tale or two to tell the peasants, and we shall
beat our fists on the pulpit until the hearts of the clodhoppers below us are
ready to burst with edification and remorse.”
Hearing
them talk in this way raised my spirits to such a pitch that I wanted to start
studying with them on the spot. I
could not hear enough, for I enjoy conversing with educated persons; one can
draw some benefit from this. But
there was no opportunity to move on to a really sensible discourse. For one of the students had become anxious,
with the vacation coming to an end so soon; as a result he had promptly screwed
his clarinet together, laid down a sheet of music on his drawn-up knees, and
begun to drill himself in a difficult passage from a Mass in which he was to
play on their return to Prague. And
there he sat, with fumbling fingers, sometimes piping such a discordant note
that it set our teeth on edge; and we often could not hear ourselves speak.
Suddenly
the hornist cried out in his bass voice: “There, I’ve got it!” and he cheerfully
smacked the map on a spot by his side.
The second student desisted for a moment from his busy blowing and
looked at him in amazement.
“Listen,” said the hornist, “not far from
When
I heard this I started up. “Does he
play the bassoon?” I cried, “and is he of a tall, straight physical
constitution, and has he a large, aristocratic nose?”
The
hornist nodded. I embraced him with
delight, so heartily that his tricorn fell from his head, and we immediately
decided to sail together down the
When
we arrived at the river-bank, all was ready for departure. The fat host, by whose inn the boat had
berthed over night, stood broad and contented in his doorway, filling up all
the space, his voice ringing out all kinds of jokes and dicta, while a maid’s
head popped out of every window and gave friendly nods to the boatmen who were
just that moment carrying the last parcels to the boat. An elderly gentleman in a grey overcoat
and black scarf, who was also about to take part in the trip, stood on the bank
talking animatedly to a slender young lad in long leather breeches and a tight
scarlet jacket who was sitting on a splendid cob. It seemed, to my great astonishment,
that the two of them occasionally looked across at me and were talking about
me. In the end the old man laughed;
the slender lad cracked his whip and thundered through the morning air, racing
the larks overhead, into the sparkling landscape.
During
all this the students and I had been pooling our money together. The captain laughed and shook his head
when the hornist counted out our fares to him from the kitty, entirely in the
copper coins we had with great difficulty collected from the depths of our pockets. I gave a whoop of joy on suddenly seeing
the
Birds
were singing in the woods, and from both sides came the sound of morning-bells
ringing in distant villages; at times larks could be heard singing high in the
air. On the boat a canary warbled
along so jubilantly that it was quite delightful to hear.
It
belonged to a pretty young girl who was also on board. She had placed the cage close beside
her; on the other side she held a neat bundle of clothes under her arm. She sat perfectly still, looking with
deep satisfaction now at her new travelling shoes, which peeped out from under
her skirt, and now down into the water before her; and as she did so the
morning sun shone on her white forehead below her very neatly parted hair. I could plainly see that the students
would have liked to enter into a courteous discourse with her, for they passed
back and forth in front of her, the hornist clearing his throat each time and
pulling at either his cravat or his tricorn. But they did not possess any real
courage; and the girl lowered her eyes every time they approached her.
They
were especially shy of the elderly gentleman in the grey overcoat, now sitting
at the opposite side of the boat, whom they straightaway put down as a
priest. He had a breviary in his
hands, which he was reading; but often he would lift his eyes to gaze at the
beautiful scenery, while the book’s gilt edging and wealth of highly-coloured
holy pictures flashed splendidly in the morning sun. At the same time he noticed exactly what
was happening on the boat, and he soon knew the birds by their feathers; for little
time elapsed before he was addressing one of the students in Latin, whereupon
all three went up to him, raised their hats, and answered him in that tongue.
I
had seated myself right at the front, on the prow of the ship, where I happily
dangled my legs over the water; and I looked, while the ship flew onwards and
the waves rushed and foamed beneath me, ever into the blue distance, watching a
tower, then one castle after another, rise from the green banks, growing and
growing, until it finally disappeared behind us. If only I had wings today! I thought; at last my impatience led me to pull out my dear
violin, and I played through all of my oldest pieces, which I had learnt while
yet at home or at the lovely lady’s castle.
Suddenly
someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind. It was the ecclesiastical gentleman,
who, having laid aside his book, had been listening to me for a little
while. “Well,” he said, laughing,
“well, well, Sir Master of Revels, you have forgotten about food and drink.” Then bidding me put my fiddle away and
partake of a snack with him, he led me to a cheerful little arbour which the
sailors had constructed amidships from birch and pine saplings. He had had a table set up there, and I,
the students, and even the young girl, were made to sit down around it on
barrels and bundles.
The
ecclesiastical gentleman now unpacked a large roast and slices of buttered
bread, which were carefully wrapped in paper; pulled from a case several
bottles of wine and a silver goblet, gilt on the inside; poured out, tasted,
smelt, tested again, and then served each one of us. The students sat bolt upright on their
barrels, eating and drinking only very little out of great reverence. The girl also merely dipped her little
mouth into her mug while casting shy glances first at me, then at the students;
but the more often she looked at us, the bolder she slowly became.
Finally
she told the ecclesiastical gentleman that she had left home to enter into
service for the first time, and was even now travelling to her new mistress’s
castle. I blushed red to the roots,
for she named the lovely lady’s abode.
So here is the future lady’s-maid! I thought, and I stared at her with a
growing feeling of giddiness.
“There
will soon be a great wedding at the castle,” said the ecclesiastical
gentleman. “Yes,” rejoined the
girl, who would gladly have heard more about the matter, “the rumour runs that
it’s an old secret amour but the countess would never admit to it.” The priest replied only, “Hm, hm!” while
he filled his hunting-goblet to the brim and sipped from it with a thoughtful
mien. Resting my elbows on the
table, I had leant far forward to catch every word of their discussion. The ecclesiastical gentleman noticed
this. “I think I can tell you,” he
began, “that the two countesses have sent me out to ascertain if the bridegroom
had yet arrived in the neighbourhood.
A lady in
When
he brought up the lady in
“So
does Your Reverence know the bridegroom?” I asked, totally confused.
“No,”
replied the elderly gentleman, “but he is said to be a merry bird.”
“Oh
yes,” I said hastily, “a bird who breaks out of every cage as soon as he can,
and sings merrily when he has his freedom once more.”
“And
gads about in foreign lands,” the gentleman calmly continued, “saunters about
alleys at night and sleeps on doorsteps by day.”
That
irked me sorely.
“Reverend
Sir,” I exclaimed with some heat, “you have been falsely informed there. The bridegroom is a moral, slim,
promising youth, who has lived the high life in an old castle in Italy, who has
kept company with none but countesses, famous artists and lady’s-maids, who
well knows how to husband his resources, or would if he had any, who…”
“Well,
well, I was not aware that you knew him so well,” the priest here interrupted
me, laughing so heartily that he went quite blue in the face and tears rolled
down his cheeks.
“But
I heard,” the girl piped up, “that
the bridegroom was a great and extremely rich gentleman.”
“Oh
God, yes, of course, yes! Confusion,
nothing but confusion!” cried the priest, and he could not have his fill of
laughter, until he ended up coughing himself hoarse. When he had recovered a little, he
raised his goblet high and cried: “Long live the bridal pair!”
I
really did not know what to make of the priest and his gossip; I was too
ashamed, on account of the Roman affair, to tell him here before all the others
that the lost, blissfully happy bridegroom was I.
The
goblet was passed busily around, while the ecclesiastical gentleman spoke in
cordial tones to each one of us, so that we all soon grew fond of him; and in
the end everyone was talking merrily all at once. The students also became more talkative
and told stories of their travels in the mountains, until at last they even
took out their instruments and began to blow lustily. The cool water-vapour streamed through
the arbour branches, the evening sun was bathing in gold the woods and valleys
which flew past us, and the river-banks echoed to the sounds of the French horn.
And
as the music made the priest happier and happier, and he recounted amusing
stories from his youth: how he, too, had roamed over mountains and through
vales, often hungry and thirsty, but always happy; and how the whole span of a
student’s life was actually a long vacation between the narrow, gloomy
school-time and the serious duties of office – then the students drank another
round and, in high spirits, launched into a song which rang out far into the
mountains:
To
southern countries winging,
The
flock of birds takes flight,
Above
blithe rovers flinging
Their
hats to catch dawn’s light.
The
students are these rovers,
They
leave the city’s bounds;
Their
bookish term now over,
They
blow a farewell round:
Adieu
to all, from spires to gates,
Oh
Et
habeat bonam pacem,
Qui
fedet post fornacem!
At
night we stroll through townships,
The
windows shine out wide,
And
many a smart gown slips
And
turns and whirls inside.
We
play before the grating,
And
soon thirst grips our throats –
That
comes from musicating,
Fresh
drinks all around, dear host!
A
small beer will do fine,
Beside
a stoup of wine!
Venit
ex sua domo –
Beatus
ille homo!
Now
Boreas is blowing
Cold
blasts to make woods sway,
It’s
raining and it’s snowing,
We
wander on our way;
Our
cloaks fly in the flurry,
Our
shoes each show a foot,
So
we play in a hurry
And
sing along to boot:
Beatus
ille homo
Qui
sedet in sua domo
Et
sedet post fornacem
Et
habet bonam pacem!
I,
the sailors and the girl, although we understood no Latin, exultantly joined in
the last lines of each stanza; but I was rejoicing the loudest of all, for just
then I could see my little tollhouse, followed soon afterwards by the castle,
appearing over the trees in the light of the evening sun.
Chapter Ten
The
boat bumped against the bank, we quickly jumped ashore and then scattered in
all directions across the land, like birds whose cage is suddenly opened. The ecclesiastical gentleman bade us a
hasty farewell and headed with great strides for the castle. The students, on the other hand,
hastened to a remote thicket, there to beat the dust from their coats, bathe in
the nearby stream and shave one another.
The lady’s-maid, finally, went with her canary and her bundle under her
arm to the inn at the bottom of the castle hill, whose landlady I had
recommended to her as a good sort of woman, to change into some more suitable
clothes before she presented herself up in the castle. As for me: the beautiful evening shone
straight into my heart, and when all the others had dispersed, I needed little
time for thought, but ran at once towards the comital garden.
My
tollhouse, which my route led me past, was still standing in the same place; the
high trees in the comital garden still rustled above it; a yellowhammer, which
had always sung his evening hymn with the setting sun on the chestnut-tree
before the window, was singing again, as if absolutely nothing had happened in
the world in the meantime. The
tollhouse window was open; I joyously ran over and poked my head into the
room. There was nobody inside, but
the wall-clock was pecking quietly away, the writing-desk was by the window and
the long pipe in a corner, just as in the past. I could not resist the urge, but leapt
through the window and sat down at the desk before the large
accounts-book. Again, the sunshine
slanted through the chestnut branches, lighting the numbers in the open book in
golden-green; again, bees buzzed to and fro at the window; and all the while,
the yellowhammer sang merrily on the tree.
But
suddenly the room door opened, and a tall old collector, wearing my spotted
dressing-gown, walked in! Catching
sight of me so unexpectedly, he halted in the doorway, then quickly removed his
spectacles and fixed me with a fierce stare. Not a little startled at this, I jumped
up, without uttering a word, and ran out the front door and away through the
small garden, where I came close to entangling my feet in the cursed potato leaves
which the old collector, as I saw, had planted on the porter’s advice in place
of my flowers. I could hear him
hastening out through the door and following me with curses, but by now I was
sitting on the high garden wall, looking down with pounding heart into the
castle garden.
Down
there was fragrance, and shimmering light, and the joyful song of many birds;
the lawns and walks were empty, but the gold-tinged tree-tops bowed before me
in the evening breeze, as if to bid me welcome; and to one side, from a great
depth, the Danube intermittently flashed up between the trees.
All
at once I heard, some distance away in the garden, a voice singing:
Silence
falls on man’s loud zest:
Dreamlike
Earth feels forces stir her
Forests
with a magic murmur,
What
the heart but glimpsed or guessed;
Distant
ages, gentle grieving, -
Tremors
shimmer softly heaving
Sheets
of lightning through the breast.
The
voice, and the song, struck me as so wondrous, and yet again as so well-known,
as if I had heard them sometime in a dream. I thought for long; for long.
“That
is Guido!” I at last cried out in delight, and I jumped quickly down into the
garden – it was the same song he had sung that summer evening on the balcony of
the Italian inn, where I had seen him last.
His
song continued while I sprang over flowerbeds and hedges towards the
sound. Now when I emerged from
among the final rosebushes, I suddenly stopped as though bewitched. For on a stone bench on the lawn by the
swan-lake, bathed in the glow of the setting sun, there sat the lovely lady, in
a magnificent dress, a garland of red and white roses in her black hair, her
eyes cast down; while the song lasted, she toyed with her riding crop on the
lawn, exactly as she had done in the boat that time when I had had to sing the
song of the fair lady before her.
Opposite her sat another young lady, the brown locks over her plump
white neck turned towards me, singing to a guitar, while swans slowly circled
on the quiet lake.
Then
the lovely lady suddenly raised her eyes and cried aloud on espying me. The other lady swiftly turned her head
round, her curls flying into her face; and once she had taken a proper look at
me, she burst into immoderate laughter, then sprang up from the bench and
clapped her hands three times.
Immediately a large crowd of small girls in short, blossom-white frocks
with red and green bows slipped out of the rosebushes, so many that I really
could not imagine where they had all been hiding. Holding a long flower-garland in their
hands, they quickly formed a circle around me, dancing and singing:
We
tender you the maiden’s crown
With
violet-blue silk threading,
To
sport and dance we’ll lead you down,
The
pleasures of a wedding.
Lovely,
verdant maiden’s crown,
Violet-blue
silk threading.
That
was from Der Freischütz.[6] I now began to recognise some of the
little singers – they were girls from the village. I pinched their cheeks and would have
liked to escape from the circle, but the pert little things would not let me
out. I had absolutely no idea what
all this was meant to signify; and I just stood there, utterly baffled.
All
of a sudden a young man in a fine hunting-habit stepped out of the bushes. I could hardly believe my eyes – it was
happy Leonardo!
The
small girls now opened the circle and stood perfectly still, as if spellbound,
on one leg, the other one stretched out in the air, holding the garlands of
flowers high above their heads with both hands. Leonardo took the hand of the lovely
lady, who was standing quite motionless, only glancing across at me from time
to time, led her over to me, and said:
“Love
– and all scholars are agreed on this point – is one of the most courageous
properties of the human heart; it smashes the bastions of rank and class to the
ground with one fiery look; the world is too narrow for it and eternity too
short. Indeed, it is really a
poet’s mantle, which every visionary dons once in this cold world in order to
migrate to
“So
now, as this has happened, you two dear, dear, foolish people! wrap the blessed
mantle around you, so that the other world goes under – love one another like
turtle-doves and be happy!”
Leonardo
had barely finished his sermon when the other young lady – the one who had just
been singing the ditty – came up to me, swiftly placed a fresh myrtle-wreath on
my head, singing very archly while she fixed it in my hair, her face close
before mine:
“Your
head is decorated so,
My
heart is your heart’s capture,
Because
the fiddling of your bow
Has
set my soul in rapture.”
Then
she took a few steps back – “Do you remember the robbers who shook you out of
the tree that night?” she said, dropping me a curtsey and giving me such a
charming and merry look that my heart leapt for joy. And then, without awaiting my answer,
she began to walk around me.
“Truly, still exactly the same as before, with no trace of an Italian
tinge! But no, just take a look at
those fat pockets!” she suddenly cried to the lovely lady, “violin, linen,
razor, travel-case, all in a muddle!”
While saying this she turned me round, and round, and could not have an
end of laughing. The lovely lady
had kept still all this time and dared not raise her eyes for shame and
confusion. I often had the
impression that she was secretly angry at all this talk and foolery. Finally tears streamed down her cheeks,
and she buried her face in the other lady’s breast. This lady first looked at her in
amazement, then warmly threw her arms around her.
I
stood there totally taken aback.
For the more closely I observed the strange lady, the more clearly I
recognised her: she was in truth none other than – the young artist Guido!
At
a complete loss for words, I was just about to make closer inquiry when
Leonardo walked over to her and exchanged whispered words. “Does he still not know?” I heard him
ask. She shook her head. Thereupon he took thought for a
moment. “No, no,” he said at last,
“he must be told everything at once, or fresh gossip and confusion will arise.
“Collector,”
he said, turning to me, “we do not have much time right now, but do me the
favour of wondering yourself back to your senses as quickly as possible, so
that you do not at some future time rake up old stories among people and shake
out new fabrications and conjectures through your questions, your look of
amazement, and your head-shaking.”
With
these words he drew me further into the bushes, while the young lady made
passes in the air with the riding crop the lovely lady had laid to one side,
tossing her curls low down over her face; but I could nevertheless see that she
was blushing furiously.
“Now
then,” said Leonardo, “Fräulein Flora here, who is making believe that she
hears and knows nothing of the whole affair, had with the utmost swiftness
exchanged her heart with somebody.
After that another comes along and, with speeches, fanfarades and
flourishes, offers her his heart and
wants hers in return. But her heart
is already with somebody, and somebody’s heart is with her, and this somebody
does not want his heart back or to return her heart. Then everyone began to shout – but I
don’t suppose you’ve ever read a novel?”
I
answered in the negative.
“Well,
you have nonetheless taken part in one.
In short: there was such confusion about the hearts, that somebody –
that is I – ended up having to intervene in person. On a mild summer evening I leapt onto my
steed, lifted the lady as the artist Guido onto another, and off we rode to the
south, to hide her in one of my isolated castles in
“Ah,
the hunchbacked Signor?”
“A
spy. Therefore we passed in secret
into the woods and let you travel on alone along the post-course we had
reserved. That deceived our
pursuers, and my servants in the mountain-castle into the bargain, who were
expecting the disguised Flora any hour and, with more zeal than acumen, took
you to be the Fräulein. Even here,
at this castle, it was believed that Flora was living on that mountain; they
made inquiries, they wrote to her – did you not receive a note?”
At
these words I pulled out the paper in a flash. “This letter?”
“Is
mine,” said Fräulein Flora, who had not appeared to be paying any attention to
our conversation up till then; she hastily snatched the note from my hand,
glanced over it, then thrust it down her breast.
“And
now,” said Leonardo, “we must go quickly into the castle; everyone is awaiting
us there. So in conclusion, as is
only to be expected, and as befits a novel of good breeding: discovery,
repentance, reconciliation, we are all together and merry once more, and the
day after tomorrow will be a wedding-day!”
While
he was talking, there erupted in the bushes a tremendous racket of kettledrums
and trumpets, horns and trombones; small cannon were let off amid cries of
Vivat, the little girls began to dance anew, and from every bush there popped
out one head over another, as if they were growing out of the earth. I leapt hip-high from one side to the
other of the buzzing round of figures, but as it was dark by this time I
recognised familiar faces only gradually.
The old gardener beat the drums, the
In
the meantime the lovely lady had surreptitiously escaped from the racket and
was flying over the lawn deeper into the garden like a startled deer. I saw her just in time and rushed in
pursuit. The musickers were too
absorbed to notice this; perhaps thinking that we had started for the castle,
the entire band likewise began to march thither with music and a terrific
tumult.
We
had arrived, almost simultaneously, in a summerhouse on the garden-slope, with
open windows looking out across the wide, deep valley. The sun had long since set behind the
mountains, leaving only a reddish haze shimmering over the warm, quiescent
evening; the murmuring of the
But
she swiftly freed herself and, quite flustered, moved over to the window to cool
her burning cheeks in the evening air.
“Ah,” I cried, “my heart is ready to burst, but I still cannot get my
head around everything, it all still seems like a dream to me!”
“And
to me,” said the lovely lady. “Last
summer,” she added after a while, “when I came from
“Do
you remember,” she said, “the last time you saw me, on the balcony? That was just like today, such a still
evening with music in the garden.”
“So
who exactly has died?” I asked hastily.
“Who?”
said the lovely lady, looking at me in astonishment.
“Your
Ladyship’s husband,” I replied, “who stood beside you on the balcony that
time.”
She
blushed red to the roots. “What
peculiar notions you have!” she cried, “that was the countess’s son, newly
returned from his travels; and as it was also my birthday, he took me out on to
the balcony with him so that I too would receive a vivat. – But is that perhaps
the reason why you ran away?”
“Oh,
God, of course!” I exclaimed, slapping my brow. She shook her head, laughing heartily.
It
felt so good, having her chatting so merrily and intimately beside me; I could
have listened till dawn. As happy
as a sandboy, I drew a handful of crack-shelled almonds, which I had brought
from
“You
see,” she said after a short while, “the small white castle over there, shining
in the moonlight – that is our present from the count, together with its
gardens and vineyards; that is where we shall live. He has known for a long time that we are
keen on one another, and he is very well-disposed towards you, for if you had
not been there when he abducted the Fräulein from her pensionnat, they would
both have been caught before they could have made their peace with the
countess, and everything would have taken a different turn.”
“My
God, most beautiful countess,” I cried, “I no longer know whether I’m coming or
going, with all this unexpected news – so he is Leonardo?”
“Yes,
yes,” she broke in, “that was the name he went by in
I
stared at her.
“I’m no countess,” she went on, “our kind
countess took me in at the castle when my uncle, the porter, brought me here as
a small child and a poor orphan.”
Now
I felt just as if a load had fallen from my heart! “God bless the porter,” I exclaimed,
absolutely enchanted, “for being our uncle! I have always held a high opinion of him.”
“And
he means well by you,” she replied, “if you only behaved with a touch more refinement,
he always says. And you must dress
with greater elegance now.”
“Oh,”
I cried with sheer joy, “English tailcoat, straw-hat, knickerbockers and spurs!
and right after the wedding, we’ll travel to
She
smiled softly and looked at me with such happiness and warmth; and all the
while the strains of music carried from afar, and fireworks flew from the
castle over the gardens into the peaceful night, and the song of the murmuring
[1] A spoon was shoved inside hollow cheeks for the purposes of shaving.
[2] “Scoundrel”.
[3] A low-quality, sour wine, also known in German as: Dreimännerwein (‘Three Men’s Wine’) – for it takes three men to drink it; one to drink, a second to hold him still, and a third to pour it down his throat.
[4] Horace, Odes: Book 3, Ode 1.
[5] Taking the baths.
[6] Opera by Carl Maria von Weber (1786-1862).