In olden legends, golden castles stood
 Where harps were sounding, beauteous maidens danced,
 And spruce attendants flash’d, and jessamine
 And rose and myrtle shed their fragrance round—
 And yet one single word of disenchantment
 Made all this splendour in a moment vanish,
 And nought remain’d behind but olden ruins
 And croaking birds of night and drear morass.
 So have I, too, with but one single word,
 All Nature’s blooming glories disenchanted.
 There lies she now, as lifeless, cold, and pale
 As some bedizen’d regal corpse might be,
 Whose cheekbones have been colour’d red by art,
 And in whose hand a sceptre hath been placed.
 His lips however wither’d look and yellow,
 For they forgot to dye them red as well;
 And mice are springing o’er his regal nose,
 And ridicule the pond’rous golden sceptre.

ATTA TROLL,

A SUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM.

CAPUT I.

Hemm’d close in by gloomy mountains
 Proudly o’er each other rising,
 Lull’d to sleep by wildly-dashing
 Cataracts, like some fair vision,
In the valley lies the charming
 Cauterets. Its snow-white houses
 All have balconies; upon them
 Stand fair ladies, laughing loudly.
Laughing loudly, downward look they
 On the chequer’d noisy market,
 Where there dance a male and female
 Bear, to sound of bagpipe-music.
Atta Troll and his dear wife ’tis
 (Her they call the swarthy Mumma),
 Who are dancing, and with wonder
 The Biscayans are rejoicing.
Stately, and with solemn grandeur,
 Dances noble Atta Troll;
 Yet his shaggy partner’s wanting
 Both in dignity and manners.
Yes, I have a shrewd suspicion
 That she is too much accustom’d
 To the vulgar shameless dances
 At the Grand’-Chaumière at Paris.
E’en the excellent bear-leader,
 Who with chain conducts the couple
 Seems the immorality
 Of her dance to notice plainly.
And he oft bestows upon her
 With his whip fast-falling lashes,
 And the swarthy Mumma howls then,
 And awakes the mountain echoes.
This bear-leader six Madonnas
 Wears upon his pointed hat,
 To protect his head from bullets
 Or from lice perchance it may be.
O’er his shoulder there is hanging,
 Many-hued, an altar covering,
 Doing office as a mantle;
 Knife and pistol lurk beneath it.
He had been a monk when younger,
 Then became a robber-captain;
 Then, to join the two vocations,
 Took the service of Don Carlos.
When Don Carlos had to scamper
 With the knights of his round table,
 And his paladins were driven
 To pursue some honest calling,
(Thus Schnapphahnski turn’d an author)
 Then our knight became bear-leader,
 And across the country travell’d
 Leading Atta Troll and Mumma.
And in sight of all the people,
 In the market, they must dance now;
 Atta Troll must in the market
 Of this city dance in fetters!
Atta, Troll, who once was dwelling
 Like a haughty desert-monarch
 On the airy mountain, dances
 In a valley to the rabble!
And for filthy lucre merely
 He must dance, who formerly
 In the majesty of terror
 Felt himself so high exalted!
When his younger days recalls he,
 His lost lordship of the forest,
 Then growl forth despairing noises
 From the soul of Atta Troll.
Gloomy looks he, like a swarthy
 Moorish prince of Freiligrath;[29]
 As the latter drums but badly,
 So with rage he badly dances.
But instead of pity, wakes he
 Only laughter. Even Juliet
 From the balcony laughs downward
 At his leaps of desperation.—
Juliet has not in her bosom
 Any feelings; French by nation,
 Outwardly she lives; her outside
 Is delightful and enchanting.
Her sweet looks compose a blissful
 Net of rays, within whose meshes
 Is our heart fast held in prison,
 Like a fish, and gently struggles.

CAPUT II.

That a swarthy Freiligrathian
 Moorish prince with anxious longing
 On the big drum’s skin should rattle,
 Till with violence ’tis broken,
Is a very drum-affecting
 And a drumskin-breaking matter—
 But just fancy the confusion
 When a bear has burst his fetters!
Both the music and the laughter
 Straight are hush’d; with screams of terror
 Rush the people from the market,
 Pale as death turn all the ladies.
Yes, from out his slavish fetters
 Atta Troll has freed himself
 Suddenly, and springing wildly,
 Through the narrow streets he hastens—
(Each one civilly makes way),
 Up the rocks he nimbly clambers,
 Then looks down, as if in scorn,—then
 Vanishes within the mountains.
On the empty market stand now
 Swarthy Mumma, and bear-leader
 All alone. In angry fury
 On the ground his hat he flingeth,
Trampling on it,—the Madonnas
 Trampling also, tears the covering
 From his ugly naked body,
 Swears at such ingratitude,
Such black bear’s ingratitude!
 For he constantly had treated
 Atta Troll in friendly fashion,
 And instructed him in dancing.
All he had to him was owing,
 E’en his very life. In vain they
 Offer’d him a hundred dollars
 For the skin of Atta Troll!
Then upon the poor black Mumma,
 Who, a form of silent sorrow,
 On her hinder paws imploring,
 Stood before the much enraged one,
Fell the much enraged one’s fury
 With redoubled strength. He beats her,
 Calls her even Queen Christina,
 Madame Muñoz and Putana.—
All this happen’d in a beauteous
 Sultry summer afternoon,
 And the night which then succeeded
 To that day was quite superb.
Almost half that night consumed I
 On the house’s balcony;
 Juliet was beside me standing,
 Gazing on the stars above us.
Sighing said she: “Ah, in Paris
 “Fairest are the stars of all,
 “When they on a winter evening
 “In the street mud are reflected!”

CAPUT III.

Summer-night’s dream! All-fantastic,
 Aimless is my song. Yes, aimless
 As our love and as our living,
 As Creator and creation!
His own will alone obeying,
 Galloping along or flying,
 Revels in the realms of fable
 My belovèd Pegasus.
He’s no serviceable, virtuous
 Carthorse of the citizens,
 Nor a battle-steed of party,
 With pathetic neighs and stamping!
Golden-mounted are the hoofs all
 Of my white and wingèd charger,
 Cords of pearls the guiding reins are,
 And at will I let him wander.
Bear me whereso’er thou wouldest!
 Over steep and merry hill-paths,
 Where cascades with mournful shrieking
 Warn ’gainst madness’s abysses!
Bear me on through silent valleys,
 Where the solemn oaks are standing,
 While primeval sweet traditions
 From their knotted roots have birth!
Let me drink there, while I moisten
 My dim eyes,—ah, now I languish
 For the sparkling wondrous water
 That imparts both sight and knowledge!
All my blindness goes! my gaze
 Pierces to the deepest rock-cleft,
 To the cave of Atta Troll,
 And I understand his language!
Strange ’tis how familiar to me
 This bear-language now appeareth!
 In my dear home have I never
 Heard those sounds in earlier days?

CAPUT IV.

Ronceval, thou noble valley!
 Whensoe’er I hear thy name,
 That blue flower so long departed
 O’er my bosom sheds its fragrance!
Then the glitt’ring dream-world rises
 Which for thousand years had faded,
 And the mighty spirit-eyes
 Gaze upon me, till I’m awe-struck!
Rattling sounds awake. There struggle
 Saracen and Frankish knight;
 As though bleeding and despairing
 Ring Orlando’s bugle-notes
In the vale of Ronceval,
 Hard beside Orlando’s gap—
 Christen’d thus, because the hero,
 Seeking how to force a passage,
With his trusty sword Duranda
 Struck with such death-dealing fury
 On the wall of rock, that plainly
 To this day are seen its traces—
There within a gloomy hollow,
 Close surrounded by a thicket
 Of wild fir-trees, safely hidden,
 Lies the cave of Atta Troll.
In the bosom of his fam’ly
 Rests he after all the hardships
 Of his flight and the distresses
 Of his public show and travels.
Sweet the meeting! all his young ones
 Found he in that happy cavern
 Where with Mumma he begot them,—
 Four his sons, and daughters two.
Well-lick’d maidens were the latter,
 Fair their hair, like parsons’ daughters
 Brown the youths, the youngest only
 With the single ear is black.
Now this youngest was the darling
 Of his mother, who when playing
 Happen’d once to bite his ear off,
 And for very love she ate it.
He’s a very genial stripling,
 At gymnastics very clever,
 And he turns a somersault
 Like the posture-master Massmann.
Sprig of autochthonic humour,
 He his mother-tongue loves only,
 And has never learnt the jargon
 Of the Grecian and the Roman.
Fresh and free and good and merry,
 Soap he holds in detestation,
 (Luxury of modern washing,)
 Like the posture-master Massmann.
But our young friend is most genial
 Where upon the tree he clambers,
 Which along the steepest rock-side
 From the deep abyss upriseth,
And extendeth to the summit,
 When the family at night-time
 Gather all around their father,
 Toying in the evening coolness.
Then the old one loves to tell them
 What he in the world has witness’d;
 How he many men and cities
 Had beheld, and greatly suffer’d,
Like Laertes’ noble offspring,
 But in one thing still unlike him,—
 Namely, that his wife went with him,
 His dear black Penelope.
Atta Troll then also tells them
 Of the wondrous approbation
 That he, by his skill in dancing,
 Had acquired in ev’ry quarter.
He assured them young and old
 Had exultingly admired him,
 When he danced upon the market
 To the sweet notes of the bagpipe.
In particular the ladies,
 Those dear connoisseurs of all things,
 Had with vehemence applauded,
 And had ogled him with favour.
O the vanity of Artists!
 Our old dancing bear with simpers
 Calls to mind the time when late he
 To the public show’d his talent.
Overcome by self laudation,
 He would fain by act exhibit
 That he’s no mere boaster only,
 But a really first-rate dancer.
From the ground then sudden springs he,
 On his hinder paws upstanding,
 And, as formerly, he dances
 The gavotte, his favourite dance.
Mute, with muzzles gaping open,
 The young bears look on with wonder,
 While their father in the moonlight
 Capers here and there thus strangely.

CAPUT V.

In the cavern, by his young ones,
 Sick at heart, upon his back lies
 Atta Troll, while thoughtful sucks he
 At his paws, and sucks, and growls:
“Mumma, Mumma, swarthy jewel,
 “Whom I out of life’s wide ocean
 “Once did fish, in life’s wide ocean
 “Once again I now have lost thee!
“Shall I ne’er again behold thee,
 “Or beyond the grave p’rhaps only,
 “Where, set free from earthly trammels,
 “Thy dear soul is glorified?
“Would that I, alas! could once more
 “Lick thy well-belovèd muzzle,
 “My dear Mumma, which so sweetly
 “Stroked me over, as with honey!
“Would that I again could snuffle
 “That sweet smell, thy own peculiar,
 “O my dear and swarthy Mumma,
 “Charming as the scent of roses!
“But, alas! my Mumma’s pining
 “In the fetters of those rascals,
 “Who, the name of men adopting,
 “Deem themselves creation’s masters.
“Death and hell! These men unworthy
 “Aristocracy’s arch-emblems,
 “Look down on the an’mal kingdom
 “Proudly and disdainfully.
“Take away our wives and children,
 “Fetter us, ill-treat us, even
 “Kill us, for the sake of selling
 “Our poor hide and our poor carcass!
“And they think themselves permitted
 “Wicked deeds like this to practise
 “‘Gainst us bears especially,
 “And the rights of man they call it!
“Rights of man indeed! Fine rights these.
 “Tell me who bestow’d them on you?
 “Nature certainly ne’er did so,
 “For she’s not unnatural!
“Rights of man indeed! Who gave you
 “This great privilege, I wonder?
 “Reason certainly ne’er did so,
 “For she’s not unreasonable!
“Men, pray are ye any better
 “Than we others, just for eating
 “All your dinners boil’d or roasted?
 “In a raw state we eat ours,
“Yet is the result the same
 “To us both.—No, food can never
 “Make one noble; he is noble
 “Who both nobly feels and acteth.
“Men, pray are ye any better
 “Just because the arts and science
 “With success ye follow? We now
 “Never give ourselves the trouble.
“Are there not such things as learnèd
 “Dogs, and horses too, who reckon
 “Just like councillors of Commerce?
 “Do not hares the drum play finely?
“Are not many beavers adepts
 “In the art of hydrostatics?
 “Were not clysters first invented
 “By the cleverness of storks?
“Write not asses criticisms?
 “Are not apes all good comedians?
 “Is there any greater mimic
 “Than Batavia, long tail’d monkey?
“Are not nightingales good singers?
 “And is Freiligrath no poet,
 “Who can sing of lions better
 “Than his countryman the Camel?
“I myself the art of dancing
 “Have advanced as much as Raumer
 “That of writing. Writes he better
 “Than I dance,—yes, I the bear?
“Men, why are ye any better
 “Than we others? Upright hold ye,
 “It is true, your heads, but in them
 “Low-born thoughts are ever creeping.
“Men, pray are ye any better
 “Than are we, because your skin is
 “Smooth and glist’ning? This advantage
 “Ye but share with every serpent.
“Human race, two leggèd serpents!
 “Well I see the reason why ye
 “Breeches wear; with foreign wool ye
 “Hide your serpent-nakedness!
“Children, guard yourselves against these
 “Hairless and misshapen creatures!
 “My dear daughters, never marry
 “Any monster that wears breeches!”
More than this I’ll not report now,
 How the bear in his wild mania
 For equality, kept reasoning
 All about the human race.
For, to say the truth, I also
 Am a man, and never will I
 Tell again such foolish libels,
 Which are, after all, offensive.
Yes, I am a man, and better
 Than the other sucking creatures,
 And the interests of the race
 Ne’er will I renounce promoting.
In the fight with other creatures
 Faithfully I’ll ever struggle
 For humanity,—the holy
 Rights of man that he is born to.

CAPUT VI.

Yet perchance ’tis beneficial
 For us men, who form the higher
 Kind of livestock, to discover
 How they reason down below us.
Yes, below us, in the gloomy
 Mournful spheres of fellowship,
 In the beasts’ inferior strata,
 Brood resentment, misery, pride.
That which natural hist’ry ever,
 Equally with common custom,
 Has for centuries admitted
 Is denied with impious muzzle.
That false doctrine by the aged
 In the young ones’ ears is grumbled
 Which assails both cultivation
 And humanity on earth.
“Children!” Atta Troll thus growl’d,
 As he hither roll’d and thither
 On his carpet-wanting couch:
 “Unto us belongs the Future!
“If each bear but thought as I do,
 “If all beasts but thought so too,
 “With united forces would we
 “Take up arms against the tyrants.
“Then the bear would form alliance
 “With the horse, the elephant
 “Twine his trunk in loving fashion
 “Round the valiant ox’s horn.
“Bear and wolf of every colour,
 “Goat and monkey, e’en the hare
 “For a time would work in common,
 “And our triumph would be certain.
“Union, union is the’ essential
 “Requisite; alone, we’re conquer’d
 “Easily, but join’d together
 “We would overreach the tyrants.
“Union! union! and we’ll triumph,
 “And Monopoly’s vile sway
 “Be o’erthrown, and we’ll establish
 “A just kingdom for us beasts,
“Full equality for all, then,
 “Of God’s creatures, irrespective
 “Of their faith, or skin, or odour,
 “Be its fundamental maxim!
“Strict equality! Each donkey
 “Be entitled to high office;
 “On the other hand, the lion
 “Carry to the mill the sack.
“As respects the dog, indeed he
 “Is a very servile rascal,
 “Since for centuries has man
 “Like a dog ne’er ceased to treat him.
“Yet in our free state we’ll give him
 “Once again his olden rights,
 “His prescriptive birthright, and he
 “Soon again will be ennobled.
“Yes, the Jews shall then enjoy too
 “All the rights of citizens,
 “And by law be made the equals
 “Of all other sucking creatures.
“Only dancing in the market
 “For the Jew shall not be lawful;
 “This amendment I insist on
 “In the interest of my art.
“For a sense of style, of rigid
 “Plastic art in motion’s wanting
 “To that race, who really ruin
 “What there is of public taste.”

CAPUT VII.

Gloomy, in his gloomy cavern,
 Squats, in his belov’d home-circle,
 Atta Troll, the misanthrope,
 And he shows his teeth, and growls thus:
“Men, the pert and vulgar fellows!
 “Smile away! From all your smiling
 “And from your offensive yoke too
 “Shall the coming day release us!
“I am always most offended
 “By that sour-sweet kind of quiv’ring
 “Round the mouth,—these smiles of man
 “Find I really past all bearing!
“When I in his pallid visage
 “See display’d that fatal quiv’ring,
 “All my entrails in my body
 “Turn right round with indignation.
“More impertinently even
 “Than by words, a man lays open
 “By his smile the deepest hidden
 “Insolence of his vile spirit.
“They are always smiling! Even
 “When by decency is needed
 “Real solemnity of feature,—
 “E’en in love’s most solemn moment!
“They are always smiling! Even
 “When they’re dancing. In this manner
 “They degrade this noble science,
 “Which should be a kind of worship.
“Yes, the dance throughout all ages
 “Was a pious act of faith;
 “Solemnly around the altar
 “Turn’d the priests in mystic circle.
“Thus in olden time King David
 “Danced before the ark of cov’nant;
 “Dancing was an act of worship,
 “Was a prayer upon the legs!
“I have ever understood thus
 “Dancing, when upon the market
 “To the people I was dancing,
 “Who with their applause repaid me.
“This applause, I must confess it,
 “Often made me feel quite happy;
 “For extorting admiration
 “From one’s foes is very sweet!
“But in their enthusiasm
 “Still they smile. The art of dancing
 “Powerless is to make them better,
 “And they frivolous remain.”

CAPUT VIII.

Many a very virtuous burgher
 Smells but badly, whilst the servants
 Of a king with ambergris
 Or else lavender are scented.
Virgin spirits may be met with
 Which of green soap bear the odour,
 Whilst the criminal with rose-oil
 May have wash’d himself demurely.
Do not therefore turn your nose up,
 Gentle reader, if the cave of
 Atta Troll may not remind you
 Of Arabia’s sweetest spices.
Tarry in that reeking circle,
 ’Mid those miserable stenches,
 Where to his young son the hero
 As from out a cloud thus speaks:
“Child, my child, thou youngest offspring
 “Of my loins, now place thy one ear
 “Close beside thy father’s muzzle,
 “And suck in my solemn words!
“Guard against man’s ways of thinking,
 “They destroy both soul and body;
 “‘Mongst all men there’s no such thing as
 “Any ordinary man.
“E’en the Germans, once so noble,
 “E’en the very sons of Tuisco,
 “Our own primitive relations,
 “They too have degenerated.
“They’ve become now faithless, godless,
 “Even preaching atheism—
 “Child, my child, be on thy guard,
 “‘Gainst both Feuerbach and Bauer![30]
“Never be an Atheist,
 “Monster void of all respect for
 “The Creator—a Creator
 “’Twas who made this universe!
“High above us, sun and moon
 “And the stars too (both the tail-less
 “And all those with tails provided)
 “Are reflections of His power.
“Down below us, land and sea
 “Are the echo of His glory,
 “And each living creature praises
 “Evermore His excellencies.
“E’en the smallest silver-louse that
 “In the aged pilgrim’s beard
 “In life’s pilgrimage is sharer,
 “Sings the great Eternal’s praises!
“In yon starry bright pavilion,
 “On the golden seat of power,
 “World-directing and majestic,
 “Sits a mighty polar bear.
“Free from spot and snow-white glitt’ring
 “Is his skin; his head is cover’d
 “With a crown of diamonds,
 “Which illumines all the heavens.
“In his face is harmony,
 “And the silent deeds of thinking;
 “If he signs but with his sceptre,
 “All the spheres resound with singing.
“At his feet bear-saints are sitting
 “Piously, who meekly suffer’d
 “While on earth, and in their paws they
 “Hold the palms of martyrdom.
“Ofttimes one amongst them rises,
 “Then another,—by the Spirit
 “Seeming mov’d, and straightway dance they
 “Their most solemn sacred dance—
“Sacred dance, where mercy’s radiance
 “Renders talent quite superfluous,
 “And the soul for very rapture
 “From the skin attempts to leap!
“O shall I, unworthy Troll,
 “E’er partake this great salvation?
 “And from earth’s debasing sorrows
 “To the realms of bliss soar upwards?
“O shall I, all-drunk with heaven,
 “In the stars’ pavilion yonder,
 “With the palm and with the glory,
 “Dance before the Master’s throne?”

CAPUT IX.

Like the tongue as red as scarlet,
 Which a swarthy Freiligrathian
 Moorish prince with scornful fury
 From his sullen mouth protruded,
So the moon from out the gloomy
 Clouds of heaven advanced. Afar off
 Cataracts are roaring, sleepless
 And morosely through the night.
Atta Troll upon the summit
 Of his fav’rite rock stands lonely,
 Lonely, and to the abyss
 Downward howls he in the nightwind:
“Yes, I am a bear, I am so,—
 “Him ye christen shaggy bear,
 “Growler, Isegrim, and Bruin,
 “And heav’n knows how many others.
“Yes, I am a bear, I am so,
 “The uncouth and boorish creature,
 “I’m the awkward dromedary
 “Of your scorn and cruel laughter.
“I’m the butt of all your wit,
 “I’m the bugbear, with whose terrors
 “Ye at night your children frighten,
 “Human children, when they’re naughty.
“I’m the joke of all your idle
 “Nurs’ry stories, well I know it,
 “And I now proclaim it loudly
 “To man’s paltry world below.
“Hear it, hear; a bear am I,
 “My descent I’m not ashamed of,
 “But am proud of it, as though I
 “Sprang from Moses Mendelssohn!”

CAPUT X.

Two dark figures, wild and surly,
 And upon their all-fours gliding,
 Force their way across the gloomy
 Grove of firs at midnight’s hour.
This is Atta Troll, the father,
 And his son, young master one-ear.
 Where the wood grows somewhat lighter
 By the stone of blood they halted.
“This old stone”—growl’d Atta Troll,—
 “Is the altar where the Druids
 “In the days of superstition
 “Human sacrifices offer’d.
“O their cruelty accursèd!
 “All the hair upon my back
 “Bristles when I think upon it;
 “Blood was pour’d out to God’s honour!
“Now these men are more enlighten’d,
 “And no longer kill each other
 “Merely in excessive zeal
 “For the interests of heaven.
“’Tis no longer pious fancies,
 “Madness, nor enthusiasm,
 “But mere vanity and self-love
 “Makes them now commit their murders.
“On the good things of the earth
 “Eagerly they’re ever seizing;
 “’Tis an endless round of fighting,
 “For himself each person stealeth!
“Yes! the heritage of all
 “Is the individual’s booty;
 “Of the rights, then, of possession
 “Speaks he, thinking of his own!
“Of his own! Possession’s rights too!
 “O, the cruel theft, the lying!
 “None but man could have invented
 “Such commingled fraud and madness.
“Private property was never
 “Made by Nature; pocketless,
 “With no pockets in our skins, we
 “Ev’ry one the world first entered.
“Not a single one amongst us
 “At his birth had such a pocket
 “In his body’s outer skin,
 “Where he might conceal his robb’ries.
“Man alone, that smooth-skinn’d being,
 “Who with foreign wool so nicely
 “Clothes himself, had e’er the sharpness
 “To provide himself with pockets.
“Pockets! They’re as much ’gainst nature
 “As is private property,
 “As possession’s rights themselves are—
 “Men in fact are but pickpockets!
“Fiercely hate I them! My hatred
 “Unto thee, my son, bequeath I;
 “Here upon this altar shalt thou
 “Swear to man undying hatred!
“Be implacably the death-foe
 “Of those wicked vile oppressors
 “To the very end of life,—
 “Swear it, swear it here, my son!”
And the youngster swore, as once did
 Hannibal. The moon, all yellow,
 On the stone of blood look’d wildly,
 And the pair of misanthropes.
By-and-by we’ll tell the story
 How the young bear ever faithful
 To his oath remain’d. Our lyre shall
 In another Epic praise him.
As respects friend Atta Troll,
 We will leave him for the present,
 Presently to come across him,
 All the surer, with a bullet.
All thy stealthy machinations,
 Traitor ’gainst man’s majesty,
 Now at length are terminated,
 And thy hour will sound to-morrow!

CAPUT XI.