In Kalbsbraten, as in every other German town, there are a vast number of literary characters, of whom our young friend quickly became the chief. They set up a literary journal, which appeared once a week, upon light-blue or primrose paper, and which, in compliment to the lovely Ottilia's maternal name, was called the Kartoffelnkranz. Here are a couple of her ballads extracted from the Kranz, and by far the most cheerful specimen of her style. For in her songs she never would willingly let off the heroines without a suicide or a consumption. She never would hear of such a thing as a happy marriage, and had an appetite for grief quite amazing in so young a person. As for her dying and desiring to be buried under the willow-tree, of which the first ballad is the subject, though I believed the story then, I have at present some doubts about it. For, since the publication of my Memoirs, I have been thrown much into the society of literary persons (who admire my style hugely), and egad! though some of them are dismal enough in their works, I find them in their persons the least sentimental class that ever a gentleman fell in with.
"THE WILLOW-TREE.
"Know ye the willow-tree Whose gray leaves quiver, Whispering gloomily To yon pale river?
Lady, at even-tide Wander not near it, They say its branches hide A sad, lost spirit!
"Once to the willow-tree A maid came fearful, Pale seemed her cheek to be, Her blue eye tearful;
Soon as she saw the tree, Her step moved fleeter, No one was there--ah me!
No one to meet her!
"Quick beat her heart to hear The far bell's chime Toll from the chapel-tower The trysting time:
But the red sun went down In golden flame, And though she looked round, Yet no one came!
"Presently came the night, Sadly to greet her,--Moon in her silver light, Stars in their glitter.
Then sank the moon away Under the billow, Still wept the maid alone--There by the willow!
"Through the long darkness, By the stream rolling, Hour after hour went on Tolling and tolling.
Long was the darkness, Lonely and stilly;
Shrill came the night-wind, Piercing and chilly.
"Shrill blew the morning breeze, Biting and cold, Bleak peers the gray dawn Over the wold.
Bleak over moor and stream Looks the grey dawn, Gray, with dishevelled hair, Still stands the willow there--THE MAID IS GONE!
"Domine, Domine!
Sing we a litany,--
Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and weary;
Domine, Domine!
Sing we a litany, Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere!"
One of the chief beauties of this ballad (for the translation of which I received some well-merited compliments) is the delicate way in which the suicide of the poor young woman under the willow-tree is hinted at; for that she threw herself into the water and became one among the lilies of the stream, is as clear as a pikestaff.
Her suicide is committed some time in the darkness, when the slow hours move on tolling and tolling, and is hinted at darkly as befits the time and the deed.
But that unromantic brute, Van Cutsem, the Dutch Charge-d'Affaires, sent to the Kartoffelnkranz of the week after a conclusion of the ballad, which shows what a poor creature he must be. His pretext for writing it was, he said, because he could not bear such melancholy endings to poems and young women, and therefore he submitted the following lines:--
I.
"Long by the willow-trees Vainly they sought her, Wild rang the mother's screams O'er the gray water:
'Where is my lovely one?
Where is my daughter?
II.
"'Rouse thee, sir constable--Rouse thee and look;
Fisherman, bring your net, Boatman your hook.
Beat in the lily-beds, Dive in the brook!'
III.
"Vainly the constable Shouted and called her;
Vainly the fisherman Beat the green alder;
Vainly he flung the net, Never it hauled her!
IV.
"Mother beside the fire Sat, her nightcap in;
Father, in easy chair, Gloomily napping;
When at the window-sill Came a light tapping!
V.
"And a pale countenance Looked through the casement.
Loud beat the mother's heart, Sick with amazement, And at the vision which Came to surprise her, Shrieked in an agony--'Lor! it's Elizar!'
VI.
"Yes, 'twas Elizabeth--
Yes, 'twas their girl;
Pale was her cheek, and her Hair out of curl.
'Mother!' the loving one, Blushing, exclaimed, 'Let not your innocent Lizzy be blamed.
VII.
"'Yesterday, going to aunt Jones's to tea, Mother, dear mother, I FORGOT THE DOOR-KEY!
And as the night was cold, And the way steep, Mrs. Jones kept me to Breakfast and sleep.'
VIII.
"Whether her Pa and Ma Fully believed her, That we shall never know, Stern they received her;
And for the work of that Cruel, though short, night, Sent her to bed without Tea for a fortnight.
IX.
"MORAL
"Hey diddle diddlety, Cat and the Fiddlety, Maidens of England take caution by she!
Let love and suicide Never tempt you aside, And always remember to take the door-key!"
Some people laughed at this parody, and even preferred it to the original; but for myself I have no patience with the individual who can turn the finest sentiments of our nature into ridicule, and make everything sacred a subject of scorn. The next ballad is less gloomy than that of the willow-tree, and in it the lovely writer expresses her longing for what has charmed us all, and, as it were, squeezes the whole spirit of the fairy tale into a few stanzas:--
"FAIRY DAYS.
"Beside the old hall-fire--upon my nurse's knee, Of happy fairy days--what tales were told to me!
I thought the world was once--all peopled with princesses, And my heart would beat to hear--their loves and their distresses;
And many a quiet night,--in slumber sweet and deep, The pretty fairy people--would visit me in sleep.
"I saw them in my dreams--come flying east and west, With wondrous fairy gifts--the new-born babe they bless'd;
One has brought a jewel--and one a crown of gold, And one has brought a curse--but she is wrinkled and old.
The gentle queen turns pale--to hear those words of sin, But the king he only laughs--and bids the dance begin.
"The babe has grown to be--the fairest of the land And rides the forest green--a hawk upon her hand.