Every one with deep amazement
Gazed upon this sight unwonted,
And the aged women mutter’d
In alarm, beneath their breath:
“Why, Lascaro has been laughing!
“Why, Lascaro has been blushing!
“Why, Lascaro has been speaking!
“He, the dead son of the witch!”—
Atta Troll that very day was
Flay’d, and then they sold by auction
His poor skin. A furrier bought it
For one hundred francs, hard money.
He most beautifully trimm’d it
With a lovely scarlet border,
And then sold it for just double
What it cost him in the first place.
Juliet then became its owner
At third hand, and in her bedroom
Lies it now in Paris, serving
As a rug beside her bed.
O, with naked feet how often
Have I stood at night upon this
Earthly brown coat of my hero,
On the skin of Atta Troll!
And o’ercome by sad reflections,
Schiller’s words I then remember’d:
“What in song shall be immortal
“Must in actual life first die!”[38]
CAPUT XXVI.
Well, and Mumma? Ah, poor Mumma
Is a woman! Frailty
Is her name! Alas! all women
Are as frail as any porcelain.
When by fate’s hand she was parted
From her glorious noble husband,
She by no means died of sorrow,
Nor succumb’d to her affliction.