The Trumpeter of Sakkingen Part 19

Three steps backward then he staggered Sinking: "Devil, stir thy fire!

Hast me now!" Dead lay the soldier.

Werner, thy young life guard well now!

Raging were the peasants, thronging In great crowds around this handful.

'Gainst a chestnut-tree now leaning Weak, but still his life defending, Stood young Werner; round him rallied, Brave and faithful, all the servants.

Save him, G.o.d! The wound is bleeding, From his hand the sword falls slowly, Dimmed his eyes are, and the enemy At his gory breast is aiming.

Then--all may go well yet-- From the castle rings distinctly, As if for a charge, the trumpet; Then a shot--one falls; a volley Follows. "Onward!" so the Baron Now commands, and wildly flying Tear the peasants to the Rhine.

Cheer up, Werner, friends are coming, And with them comes Margaretta!

When the fight below was raging, To the terrace she ascended, And she blew--herself not knowing Why she did it--in the anguish Of her soul, the battle signal Used in the Imperial army.

Which she'd learned in happy moments In the honeysuckle-arbour.

It was heard by those returning With the Baron from the town-gate; And the maiden's war-cry made them Hurry quickly to the rescue Of those fighting in the garden.

Woman's heart, so gentle, timid, What gave thee such courage then?

"G.o.d, he lives!" she bent now softly Over him who 'neath the chestnuts There on the green sward was lying, Stroked the fair locks, lank and b.l.o.o.d.y, From his brow: "Hast fought right bravely!"

Half unconscious gazed young Werner; Did he then behold a vision?

Closed his eyes, and on two muskets To the castle he was borne.

TWELFTH PART.

YOUNG WERNER AND MARGARETTA.

In the castle's chapel dimly Was a flickering lamp-light burning, s.h.i.+ning on the altar-picture, Whence the Queen of Heaven looked down With a gracious pitying smile, 'Neath the picture hung fresh gathered Roses and geranium-garlands.

Kneeling there prayed Margaretta: "Sorely tried one, full of mercy!

Thou who givest us protection, Care for him who badly wounded Lies now on a bed of anguish; And bestow on me forgiveness If thou thinkst it very sinful That he fills my thoughts alone."

Hope and trust their light were shedding In her heart as thus she prayed.

And more cheerful Margaretta Now ascended up the staircase.

On the threshold of the sick-room Was the gray old doctor standing, And he beckoned her to come there.

Judging what most likely would be The first question she would ask him, He then said with voice half m.u.f.fled: "Fear no more, my gracious lady; Fresh young blood and youthful vigour From such wounds not long can suffer, And already gentle slumber, Messenger of health, doth soothe him.

He to-day can take an airing."

Spoke and left; for, his attention Many wounded men were craving, And he hated useless gossip.

Softly entered Margaretta Now the sick-room of young Werner, Bashful and yet curious whether All was true the doctor told her.

Gently slumbering lay young Werner, Pale in youthful beauty, looking Like a statue. As if dreaming, He lay holding, o'er his forehead And his healing wound, his right hand, As one who from glaring sunlight Wishes to protect his eyes; Round his lips a smile was playing.

Long on him gazed Margaretta-- Long and longer. Thus in old times In the forest of Mount Ida Gazed the G.o.ddess, fair Diana, On Endymion the sleeper.

Pity held her eye a captive; Ah, and pity is a fruitful Soil for love's sweet plant to grow in.

From a tiny seed 'tis spreading In this ground so rich and fertile, Which it permeates completely With its thousand fibrous rootlets.

Thrice already Margaretta To the door her way had wended, But as many times returning She at last approached the bedside.

On the table stood a cooling Potion, medicines in bottles; But she neither touched the cooling Potion nor the other bottles.

Timidly she bent there o'er him, Timidly and hardly breathing, Lest her breath might wake the sleeper.

Long she gazed at his closed eyelids And involuntarily stooping, With her lips--But who interprets All the strange mysterious actions Of a first sweet loving pa.s.sion?

Well-nigh can my song conjecture That she really wished to kiss him; But she did not; startled sighing, Turned abruptly--like a timid Fawn she hurried from the chamber.

Like a man who, long accustomed To the gloom and damp of dungeons, Seems bewildered when beholding, For the first time free fair Nature: "Hast thou not, O sun, grown brighter?

Has the sky not deeper colours?"

And his eyes are nearly dazzled By the light so long denied him: Thus returns the convalescent Once again to life and vigour.

Fresher, warmer, rosier visions Rise before his raptured glances, Which he greets with fond rejoicing.

"World, how fair thou art!" was also Dropping from the lips of Werner, As on the broad steps he slowly Now descended to the garden.

Leaning on his staff, he stood long Quiet, basking in the sunbeams Playing o'er the fragrant flowers, Drew a long breath, and then slowly Stepped upon the garden-terrace.

On the stone-seat in the suns.h.i.+ne He sat down now. Bees were humming, b.u.t.terflies were lightly flying 'Mid the verdant chestnut-branches, Out and in, like tavern-goers.

Green, pellucid, gently rus.h.i.+ng, Bore the Rhine its waters onward; And a pine-raft filled with people, Snake-like, swiftly sped toward Basel.

Near the sh.o.r.e, up to his knees stood In the river there a fisher, Singing gently to himself thus:

"Peasant comes with spears and muskets, Peasant storms the forest-city, Peasant will now fight with Austria: Peasant! you will find that will Make much heavier the bill; Take your purse and pay the joke!

Seven florins seemed too much then, One-and-twenty must thou pay now.

Soldiers quartered are dear guests too; Then the plaisters from the surgeons: Peasant! you will find that will Make much heavier the bill; Take your purse and pay the joke!"

Gaily gazed young Werner o'er the Lovely landscape and the river; But he stopped his contemplations.

On the wall with sunlight flooded He beheld a shadow gliding, As of curls and flowing garments-- Well did Werner know this shadow.

Through the shrubbery came smiling Margaretta; she was watching Hiddigeigei's graceful gambols, Who then in the garden-arbour With a wee white mouse was playing.

With his velvet paws he held it Tight, and like a gracious sovereign Looked down on his trembling captive.

From his seat rose up young Werner Bowing lowly and with reverence.

Over Margaretta's cheeks spread Ever-changing rosy blushes.

"Master Werner, may G.o.d bless you, And how are you? You were silent Such a long time, so with pleasure Shall I hear your voice once more."

"Since my forehead made acquaintance Lately with the enemy's halberd, Hardly knew I," answered Werner, "Where my life and thoughts had flown to.

O'er me lay thick clouds of darkness; But to-day in dreams an angel To my side descended, saying: Thou art well, arise, be happy That thou hast thy health recovered And it was so. With a firm step Thus far have I come already."

Now again fair Margaretta's Cheeks were like the blush of morning.

When the dream young Werner mentioned, Bashfully she turned her head; then Playfully she interrupted: "I suppose you are now looking At the battle-field; indeed it Proved a hot day, and I fancy Still I hear the roar of battle: Do you still recall, you stood there By yon tree, and there a dead man Lay beneath those blooming elders?

Where the gossamer so lightly Through the air in threads is flying, Spears and halberds then were glittering.

There, where still you see the traces Of fresh plaster on the stone-wall, Broke those peasants through when flying.

And, my good sir, over yonder Then my father loudly scolded, That a certain person headlong Had into such danger plunged."

"Death and--but forgive, my lady.

That well-nigh I swore," said Werner.

"They were mocking us; and others, If they please, may keep their temper.

When I hear such stinging speeches, Then my heart burns, my fist clenches: Fight! no other means I know of; Fight I must, e'en should the whole world Go to atoms with a crash.

Through my veins there flows no fish-blood; And to-day, though somewhat feeble, In the same case, I should stand there By the chestnut-tree again."