ON THE GERMAN ROMANCE.
Our mode of living is become so simple, and all our customs so little mysterious; our cities are, for the most part, so small, the land so open; all is so simply true, that a man who is desirous to write a German romance, hardly knows how he is to bring the people together, or to lay his plot. Then, as the mothers now in Germany suckle their own children, there is an end of all exchanging them, and a fountain of emotion is thus stopped, that is not to be purchased with money. If I would persuade a maiden to come out in man's clothes, that is immediately discovered, and the servants betray it, before she can get out of the house; and besides, our ladies are educated in such housewifely notions that they have not the heart in them to do any thing of the kind. No, to sit fine by mamma, to cook and to sew, and to become themselves cooks and sewing mothers, that is their business. It is undoubtedly very convenient for them, but it's a shame to the Fatherland, and an invincible obstacle to the romance writer.
In England, people think that if two persons of the same sex sleep in the same room, a fever is unavoidable, on which account the people in one house are by night, for the most part separated, and a writer has only to take care that he sets open the house-door, and he can let who he will into the house, and need not fear that any body will awake sooner than he would have them. Furthermore, in England the chimneys are not merely the channels of smoke, but the especial windpipes of the chambers, and afford at the same time such an excellent way to come down into any room of the house, at once and unheard, that I have often been told that he who had once gone up and down a chimney would prefer it to a staircase.
In Germany a lover would make a pretty journey if he were to come down a chimney! Yes, if he had a mind to fall into a fire-hearth, or into a wash-kettle with lye, or into an anti-chamber with two or three stoves, which one probably could not open from within at all. And suppose one should let the lover come down into the kitchen, the question then is, which way would you bring him first upon the roof? The cats in Germany can take this way to their loves, but not men. On the contrary, in England, the roofs make a kind of street which sometimes are better than those on the ground; and when a man is upon one, it costs him then no further trouble to get upon another than to run across a village street in winter.
People will say that those contrivances have been hit upon on account of fires; but as these scarcely occur once in one hundred and fifty years in any house, so I conceive that they have rather been found advantageous to lovers driven to extremity and to thieves, who very often take this way, when they might have chosen others, and certainly always when a hasty retreat is necessary, exactly as the witches and the devil are wont to do in Germany. Finally, a right powerful prevention of intrigues is that otherwise fine and praiseworthy conceit of the post-directors in Germany, by whom a vast amount of the virtues of the times are preserved, since instead of the English coaches and chaises, in which a princess in the most delicate condition would neither fear nor be ashamed to travel, they have substituted those so-beloved open Rumpelwagen. For what mischief the convenient coaches and the most excellent highways of England may occasion, is not to be expressed by words.
For, in the first place, if a maiden goes out of London with her lover of an evening, they may be in France ere the father awoke, or in Scotland ere he has come to resolve with his relations what he shall do; therefore, a writer has need of neither fairies, conjurors, nor talismans in order to bring the beloved into security, since if he can only bring them to Charing-Cross or Hyde-Park Corner, they are as safe as if they were in Weaver Melek's chest in the Persian Tales.
On the contrary, in Germany, if the father misses but his daughter on the third day; if he only knows that she is gone by post-wagon, he can mount his horse and seize her again at the third station. Another mischievous circumstance is the, alas! much too good company in the commodious stage-coaches of England, which are always filled full of beautiful and well-dressed ladies, and where--a thing which parliament ought not not to suffer--the passengers so sit, that they must gaze upon one another; whereby is endangered, not only a highly dangerous bewilderment of the eyes, but sometimes a highly shameful, and on both sides a smile-exciting bewilderment of the legs of the opposite traveller; and finally, as frequently as dissolving a bewilderment of souls and thoughts arises, so that many an honourable young man who was proposing to travel from London to Oxford, has instead of that travelled to the devil. Such things, thanks to heaven, are impossible in our post-wagons; since, in the first place, no genteel ladies could possibly seat themselves in such a conveyance if they had not in their youth been after climbing hedges, magpie-nesting, apple-gathering and battering down of walnuts; since the spring over the side-ladder requires a remarkable nimbleness, and no lady can do it without setting the coach-master and the ostler-fellows that are standing round, laughing. In the second place, the passengers so seat themselves, when they at length do seat themselves, that they cannot look each other in the face, and in such a situation, whatever may be said to the contrary, cannot very well begin an intrigue. Conversation loses all its spice, and one can at the most only understand what another says, but not what he desires to say. In short, one has something else to do in a German post wagon than to gossip; one must hold one's-self fast when we come to holes, hold ourselves in readiness for a spring in case of accident; must keep an eye on the boughs, and duck at the proper time, that one's hat or one's head may be left in its place; keep an eye to the windy side, and keep strengthening the clothing on that quarter from which the attack comes; and if it rains, why then one has the property common to other creatures that live neither in the water nor on the water, of being silent when it is wet; and thus the conversation stands at once stock still. If one at length reaches a Wirthshaus (inn,) thus passes the time amongst other things--one dries himself, another shakes himself, one sucks his lozenge, another blows up his cheeks, or enacts whatever other child's megrim he may be in the habit of on such occasions. And hereby comes a circumstance into notice which makes all friendly intercourse in a Wirthshaus impossible; to wit,--that since so many miseries are bound up with post-wagon travelling, so care has been taken that the Wirthshauses shall be made so much worse than is necessary, in order to render a return to the post-wagons the more tolerable. And nobody can imagine to himself what an effect that has too. I have seen people who were pounded and knocked to pieces, and sighed ardently for repose, that when they saw the Wirthshaus in which they were to refresh themselves, with the courage of heroes, have resolved to travel on, which was similar to the fortitude of Regulus, which drove him back to Carthage, although he knew that they would there put him into a sort of German post-wagon, and so let him roll down the hill.
So fall through altogether the stage-coach intrigues with the stage-coaches themselves, those true hot-houses of episodes and declarations. But, it will be said, there is now a stage-coach in Hanover. Good, I know it; and one quite as good as an English one. And must we, therefore, begin all our romances on the way between Haarburg and Minden, which we now leave so swiftly behind us that we have hardly time to see it? All that the travellers do there, is to break out in praise of the king who has ordered this coach, and to sleep; for they are generally so wearied before they get into this coach, that they then fancy they are got home, or that they lie in bed. But those are proper objects truly to fill a romance with! To introduce five sleeping merchants, all snoring; or to fill out a chapter with the praises of the king! The first is by no means a fit subject for any book, and the latter for no romance.
But through this exception, I have wandered from my proper business. Yes, if there were not left yet a monastery or two, to which we can bring a loving couple for refuge, I should not know how to carry on a German romance to the third page; and when, in fact, there shall no longer be a cloister left, there is an end of German romance.
The majority of the company paid their tribute of approbation to this satire. The observations which they made upon it were interrupted in good time by the appearance of a steaming bowl of punch. When the guests had filled their glasses, Hoffmann seized his guitar, and accompanied the voices of the rest, who sung Schiller's famous song.
[THE FOUR ELEMENTS.]
Four Elements all thoroughly blent,
Build up the world, our being cement.
Press ye the juice of citrons, and pour;
Harsh is of life the innermost core.
Now let the sugar's tempering juice,
Softly the fiery harsh strength reduce;
Now let the water bright gushing fall;
Peacefully water embraceth all.
Let drops of spirit therein be thrown;
Life to the life it giveth alone.
Quaff it off quickly ere virtue goes,
Only revives the well while it glows.
Freisleben arose, and said, "Let us drink to the prosperity of our friend. May many happy years find him still young in his spirit, and in the love of his art. May future generations lament that he did not live amongst them. May he be continually surrounded by friends who love him as we do! May he only know sickness that he may learn more vividly to enjoy health. May so much earthly good fall to his lot, that he may live contented. To his prosperity let us give a three times thundering Live-hoch! Vivat!--vivat!--vivat!"
Hoffmann.--To the prosperity of my dear friends! May you--if in the autumn of our lives we should meet again--say to me, "All that we once wished thee on thy birthday, has had its fulfilment in ourselves. But may there never come a winter in your lives!" Let us sing something in company.
[THERE TWINKLE THREE STARS.]
There twinkle three stars, oh! so friendly!
I' the darkness of life do they shine,
These stars, oh! they sparkle so kindly,
We call them love, music, and wine,
We call them love, music, and wine.
There lives in the sweet voice of singing,
A heart sympathizing and true;
Song giveth new youth to rejoicing,
And barreth the heart to all rue!
But wine unto song is united,
A joyous and wondrous thing;
With glowing rays clothes itself brightly,--
To earth a perpetual spring!
But glitt'ring and joyfully winking,
When brightly the third star doth shine;
It sounds in the spirit like singing,
It glows in the bosom like wine.
Then fill, ye three cordial planets,
Our breasts with your glory divine;
In life and in death our companions,
Be love, and sweet music, and wine!
And wine, and sweet love, and singing,
They honour the festival night;
Then live! who in kissing and loving,
In wine and in singing delight!
In wine and in singing delight!
Hoffmann.--Gentlemen, don't drink yet. I must yet once more animate you; so then sing:--
Love we them for ever;
Grasp them bravely where they shine,--
Cup's exhausted never!
(To Mr. Traveller.) Brother, thy beloved is called?--
Mr. Traveller.--Georgina.
All.--Georgina, she shall live-o! shall live-o!
Georgina, she shall live-o!
All.--Roundelay and true grape wine,
Love we them for ever.
Grasp them bravely where they shine,--
Cup's exhausted never.
(To Von Kronen). Brother, thy beloved is called?--
Von Kronen.--Rapunzel.
All.--Rapunzel, she shall live-o! shall live-o! shall live-o!
Rapunzel, she shall live-o!
So goes the song in this manner round; and each one names the actual or feigned name of his lady.
Mr. Traveller.--Where, then, have you found the name of Rapunzel, Von Kronen?
Von Kronen.--Look into Grimms' "Kinder und Haus-Märchen;" there you may read the moving history of Rapunzel, which has so seized upon me that I have without further ado made the poor Rapunzel my beloved.
Enderlin.--I hope that thou correspondest with her. How touchingly must the subscription of the letters sound:--"Thy faithful Rapunzel," or "Thy affectionate Rapunzel."
Pittschaft.--But do procure me the favour of thy Rapunzel writing something in my Stammbook.
Von Kronen.--In thy bore of a Stammbook? But O yes! yes! for she is quite at liberty to write in what she will.
Pittschaft.--And what, I wonder, will she write?
Von Kronen.--Instead of an answer, which perhaps after all may not come, I will give thee an anecdote.
Every body knows how great was at one time the rage in the universities to have Stammbücher. Every student kept one; and all the inmates of the house, the numerous members of the landsmannschaft, the whole body of the teachers and other acquaintances who approached him, each and all found their place in it. A student even came once to Dr. Semmler in Halle, with the request that he would have the goodness to write in his Stammbuch. Semmler, who, spite of his well-known and highly praiseworthy economy of time, could not repress his curiosity to turn over the leaves of the Stammbuch, found, to his great amazement, almost on every page such sentences and sayings as were not the most calculated to give him a high idea of the morality of the friends of the gentleman Stammbuch-holder. Finding a clear page, he therefore wrote--Matt. viii. 31. "Lord, suffer me, that I go amongst this herd of swine."
Pittschaft.--If Rapunzel could say such stupid things as thou dost, I should set her down for a very conceited person, and would not trouble her with my Stammbuch, more particularly that she might not get a wicked notion of the morality of my friends, and amongst them of her beloved.
Hoffmann.--Away with all personalities. Let us have a roundelay.
There goes a drinking-law our table all around, around--
There goes a drinking-law our table all around:--
Three times three are nine-a,
Ye know well what I opine-a.
There goes a drinking-law our table all around.
What a jolly time the damsels have though--
They're not compelled to the war to go.
[Here he drinks out his glass, as each one does in his turn, after having song.]
[THE KRÄHWINKLER LANDSTURM.]
But march you slow there before, but still march slow there before,
Or the Krähwinkler Landsturm can follow no more.
What a jolly time the maidens have though,--
They're not compelled to the war to go.
| Pittschaft-- | Dame hostess, cook you Millet-bree, When the Landsturm comes it will hungry be. |
| Chorus-- | [As above, and repeated after the singing of each strophe.] |
| Freisleben-- | Our captain is from Rudolstadt, He eats a deal, but hungers for all that. |
| Von Kronen-- | Sir Captain! my follower goes so in trot, That scarcely a scrap of heel I have got. |
| Enderlin-- | At Leipsic, in the People's-Fight, We had nearly taken a prisoner quite. |
| Eckhard-- | The artillery would have fought right well, But of powder it can not bear the smell. |
Hoffmann (for Mr. Traveller)--The cavalry stout doth charge amain,
And is always in when the dumpling's slain.
Hoffmann.--Still farther goes our Lumpitus yet once more around!
At Hamburgh burst a dreadful bomb,
Potz Wetter! how ran we there all and some!
And as the foe came galloping fast,
We hid in the grass till they were past.
The Krähwinkle Landsturm hath courage high,
The baggage it always standeth by.
Our Captain is a most valiant wight,
'Tis only a pity he can not fight.
They gave us a banner moreover to show,
Which way the wind did chance to blow.
Run, run, brave comrades, run left and right--
A French sentry-box stands there in sight!
This song was written originally in ridicule of the Austrian Landwehr. It has almost endless strophes, of which a few only are here given. It is very frequently used as a Round-song or roundelay, in which each person must sing a fresh verse, and when the known verses are at an end, some one extemporizes, so that every day it becomes richer in strophes. The sixth strophe is then usually sung as the conclusion.
Hoffmann.--I fill the glasses, and then let us sound a still greater Lumpitus.
| Hoffman.-- | My brethren, when no more I'm drinking, |
| Freisleben-- | A lordly life the Pope doth hold, |
| Von Kronen-- | Brothers! in this place of festive meeting, |
| Pittschaft-- | So crown with leaves the love-o'erbrimming beakers, And drain them o'er and o'er; In Europe far and wide, ye pleasure seekers,-- Is such a wine no more! |
| Enderlin-- | Ca, ça, carouse it! Let us not fiery-heads become;-- Who won't here now sit, Let him stay at home! Edite bibite, collegiales |
| Mr. Traveller sings "The Old English Gentleman." | |
| Eckhard-- | God greet thee, Brother Straubinger, I'm glad to meet thee, tho-ough; Perhaps it is unknown to thee, That from Heidelberg I go-o. The master and the misteress, Of them I cant complai-en; But with these gents, the studi-ents, No mortal can conta-ien |
| Chorus.-- | The master and the misteress, etc. |
Hoffmann, in the mean time, had seated himself at the harpsichord, and drew a quodlibet from the most varied Burschen songs, leaping from one to the other, and interweaving phantasy-pieces between them. The platform in the chamber enabled the company to sing the Bavarian Folks'-song, "The Binschgauer." One chorus placed itself on the platform with the punch-glasses, the other remained by the steaming bowl. Hoffmann accompanied them on the harpsichord.
[THE BINSCHGAUER'S PILGRIMAGE.]
The Binschgauer would a pilgrimage go,
Fain would they go singing, but how they did not know,
Zschahi! Zschahe! Zschaho! etc. etc.
The Binschgauer have got there,
Now take heed that ev'ry one his knapsack bear,
Zschahi! Zschahe! Zschaho! etc. etc.
The Binschgauer far from their homescenes have gone;
They saw many cities, and far around were known.
Zschahi, Zschahe, Zschaho! etc. etc.
The Binschgauer long through joy and sorrow run,
Till high the holy pinnacles glanced i' the evening sun.
Zschahi, Zschahe, Zschaho! etc. etc.
The Binschgauer wended about that dome renowned,
The vane-staff was broken, yet still the vane turned round.
Zschahi, Zschahe, Zschaho! etc. etc.
The Binschgauer entered the holy dome within,
The saints were all asleep, and woke not with their din.
Zschahi, Zschahe, Zschaho! etc. etc.
The song was ended. The company became continually more jovial, and began, on the platform, to dance a most singular quadrille, to which their musician played on the harpsichord in the most extraordinary style. Von Kronen, of a tall and strong figure, stood there exactly as if he had been turned in wood, but an electrical stream seemed to run now through this, and now through that limb, and twitched him hither and thither. His motions were those of a puppet which is drawn by strings attached to every member. When the dance was become right wild, then darted he suddenly forwards, so that no one knew whence the movement came, and all squandered in astonishment His partner, the little Enderlin, made a graceful spring, and, as the tall fellow stretched wide his legs, darted boldly between them, and then danced round him with the newest steps. The other dancers had again seized each other's hands, and made such a desperate leap that they sprang almost to the top of the room. The music rushed on more wildly--the dance grew madder and madder, and with more ringing laughter of the spectators, as the pair, suddenly making a high side spring, sent a pane of glass from the window jingling down into the street. Great snow-flakes came whirling into the room through their new-made way. "It struck two!" cried several voices. "It is time to break up!" exclaimed others. All prepared themselves for departure, even the host himself, who would accompany his guests a little way.
The glasses were emptied--"To a speedy and as happy an evening!" and the farewell cigars lit.
The wind without had laid itself, but the snow-flakes chased each other rapidly through the air, and a deep snow covered the silent streets. In a few moments the merry home-goers were clad in a thick covering of snow; and being once thus besnowed, they separated themselves into two parties, and began to bombard each other with snowballs. One party prevailed and put the other into flight. The fleers espied a Bauer's sledge; one jumped in, the other two seized its pole, and thus rushed rapidly along the Hauptstrasse, pursued by the other party with snowballs. When they now reached one of the principal squares, the madcap chase came to an end. The sledge remained standing in the square to the amazement of the Bauer, who the next morning, after much hunting, found it there.
Now sounded a general "good-night," and every one hastened home. Hoffmann reached his chamber, which filled him with that feeling of desolation, so often felt in places which a moment before were all alive with the presence of those we love. But the delightful consciousness of having enjoyed an evening to the uttermost, the still more delightful consciousness of having afforded such an one to his friends, absorbed all other thoughts. He called to mind again the good wishes of his friends, and his last thoughts in the night were, "May God, if he denies me every thing else, never, to my life's end, deprive me of the sense which renders me capable of enjoying worthily such delightful hours."
[DRINKING SONG.]
Ye brothers, when no more I'm drinking,
But faint with gout and palsy lie,
Exhausted on the sick bed sinking,
Believe it then, my end is nigh.
And die I this day or to-morrow,
My testament's already made;
My funeral from your care I'll borrow,
But without splendour or parade.
And as for coffin, that remanding,
A Rhenish cask for it shall pass;
Instead of lemon placed each hand in,
Give me a brimfull Deckel-glass.
Into the cellar then convey me,
Where I have drunk whole hogsheads dry;
With head unto the tap then lay me,
My feet towards the wall may lie.
And when you're to the grave me bringing,
As follow all then, man by man;
For God's sake let no bell be ringing,
And clinking glasses be your plan.
Upon my gravestone be inscribed,
This man was born, grew, drank, and died,--
And now he rests where he imbibed
In lifelong joy, the purple tide.
[THE POPE.]
A lordly life the Pope doth hold,
He lives on absolution gold;
The best of wines still drinketh he;
The Pope, the Pope I fain would be.
But no! 'tis but a wretched lot,
A German maiden loves him not.
Alone in his great house lives he--
The Pope, the Pope, I would not be.
The Sultan lives full blithe and crowse,
He liveth in a golden house,
With lovely ladies liveth he--
The Sultan then I fain would be.
But no! he is a wretched man,
He liveth by the Alcoran.
No drop of wine may drink--not he;
The Sultan then I will not be.
Their separate fortunes, howe'er fine,
I'd wish not, for one moment, mine,
But would to this right glad agree,
Now Pope, now Sultanus to be.
Come, lovely maiden, yield a kiss,
For this my reign as Sultan is.
And faithful brother send a fee,
For now I choose the Pope to be.
[DRINKING SONG.]
Brothers! in this place of festive meeting,
Let us every trouble now defeating,
God, in goodness, hath us thus combined;
Drink here with the friend of honest mind.
There, where nectar flows,
Sweetest pleasure blows,
E'en as flowers when the spring hath shined.
Golden time! oh revel we it through,
Hanging on the friend's devoted breast;
From the friend a blissful warmth we'll borrow;
Of our pleasure cool in wine the zest.
In the grapes pure blood,
Drink we German mood,
Feel we of a higher strength possessed.
Sip ye not when Bacchus' fountain floweth,
With full beakers to lips faintly bent;
He who life by drops yet only knoweth,
Knoweth not of life the full intent.
Lift it to thy mouth,
Drain it in thy drouth,
For a God from heaven it hath sent
On the spirit's light accustomed pinion,
In the world the youngling plunges bold;
Friends to win him, as his best dominion,
And whom fast and faster he will hold.
So remain mine all,
Till the world shall fall;
Round their friend truth's arms eternal fold.
Let ye not the strength of youth be wasted;
In the wine-cap doth the gold-star shine;
From sweet lips be honeyed sweetness tasted,
For of life is love the heart divine.
Is the strength gone forth?
Lose the wine its worth?
Follow we, old Charon, nor repine.
[RHINE-WINE.]
So, crown with leaves the love o'er-brimming beakers,
And drain them o'er and o'er,
In Europe far and wide, ye pleasure-seekers,
Is such a wine no more!
It comes not out of Hungary nor Poland.
Nor where they French do speak.
St. Vitus, he may fetch wine from such wo-land,
Ours there we do not seek.
It is from Fatherland's abundance rendered,
How were it else so good!
How could in it such noble peace be blended,
And yet such bravest mood!
Yet it grows not upon all German mountains;
For many hills we trace,
Like the old Cretans, dull and sluggish fountains,
Which are not worth their space.
The Ertzgebirge, ye need not explore there,
If wine ye would behold;
Thüce spring but silver and the cobalt ore there,
And mischief-making gold.
Thüringia's mountains, for example, bringing,
A growth which looks like wine,
But it is not; o'er that there is no singing,
No glad eyes round it shine.
The Blocksberg is the lengthy Sir Philister,
As windy and as drear;
Dance the cuckoo and his wild sacrister,
Upon him here and there.
The Rhine! the Rhine! 'tis there our vines are growing!
O blessed be the Rhine!
The slopes by which that noble stream is flowing
They give this precious wine.
So drink! so drink! let us all methods trying,
For joyous hours combine.
And if we knew where one in wo were lying
We'd give him of this wine!