Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ATTA TROLL; A SUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM: CAPUT 22, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ATTA TROLL; A SUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM: CAPUT 22, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Phoebus in his sunny droschka
Last Line: "and not fall asleep instanter!"
Subject(s): Kerner, Justinius (1786-1862); Poetry & Poets


PHOEBUS in his sunny droschka
Lash'd his flaming horses onwards,
And had half his course already
Through the spacious heavens completed

Whilst I still in slumber lay,
And of bears and spirits, strangely
Intertwining with each other
In quaint arabesque, was dreaming.

Midday 'twas ere I awaken'd,
And I found myself alone;
Both my hostess and Lascaro
For the chase had started early.

In the hut the pug-dog only
Still remain'd. Beside the hearth he
Stood upright before the kettle,
While his paws a spoon were holding.

Admirably had they taught him
Whensoe'er the broth boil'd over
Hastily to stir it round,
And to skim away the bubbles.

But am I myself bewitch'd?
Or still blazes there the fever
In my head? I scarce can credit
My own ears -- the pug-dog's talking!

Yes, he's talking, and his accent
Gentle is and Swabian; dreaming,
As though buried in deep thought,
Speaks he in the foll'wing fashion:

"Poor unhappy Swabian poet!
"In a foreign land I sadly
"Languish, as a dog enchanted,
"And a witch's kettle watch!

"What a shameful sin is witchcraft!
"O how sad, how deeply tragic
"Is my fate, -- with human feelings
"Underneath a dog's exterior!

'Would that I at home had tarried
"With my trusty school companions!
"They're at any rate no wizards, --
"Ne'er bewitch'd a single being!

"Would that I at home had tarried
"With Charles Mayer, with the fragrant
"Wallflow'rs of my native country,
"With its pudding-broth delicious!

"I'm half dead now with nostalgia --
"Would that I could see the smoke
"Rising from the chimneys where they
"Vermicelli cook at Stukkert!"

When I heard this, deep emotion
Came across me; quickly sprang I
From the couch, approach'd the fireplace,
And address'd him with compassion:

"Noble bard, say how it happens
"That thou'rt in this witch's cottage?
"Tell me wherefore have they changed thee
"Cruelly into a pug-dog?"

But with joy exclaim'd the other:
"Then thou'rt really not a Frenchman,
"But a German, understanding
"All my silent monologue?

"Ah, dear countryman! how sad that
"Counc'llor-of-legation Kolle,
"When we o'er our pipes and glasses
"Held discussions in the beershop,

"Always harp'd upon the thesis
"That by travelling alone we
"Could obtain that polish, which he
"Had from foreign lands imported!

"So, that I might wipe away all
"That raw crust which stuck upon me,
"And like Kolle might acquire
"Elegant and polish'd manners,

"From my country I departed,
"And while thus the grand tour making,
"Came I to the Pyrenees,
"To the cottage of Uraca.

"I an introduction brought her
"From Justinus Kerner, never
"Thinking that this so-called friend
"Was in wicked league with witches.

"Kindly welcomed me Uraca,
"Yet, to my alarm, her friendship
"Kept on growing, till converted
"At the last to sensual passion.

"Yes, immodesty still flicker'd
"Wildly in the wither'd bosom
"Of this wretched, worthless woman,
"And she now must needs seduce me!

"Yet implored I: 'Ah, excuse me,
"'Worthy madam! I'm no friv'lous
"'Goethe's pupil, but belong
"'To the poet-school of Swabia.

"'Modesty's the muse we worship,
"'And the drawers she wears are made of
"'Thickest leather -- Ah, good madam,
"'Do not violate my virtue!

"'Other poets boast of genius,
"'Others fancy, others passion,
"'But the pride of Swabian poets
"'Is especially their virtue.

"'That's the only wealth we boast of!
"'Do not rob me of the modest
"'And religious simple garment
"'Which my nakedness doth cover!

"Thus I spoke, and yet the woman
"Smiled ironically; smiling
"She a switch of mistletoe
"Took, and then my head touch'd with it.

"Thereupon I felt a chilly
"Strange sensation, like a goose-skin
"Being o'er my members drawn;
"Yet in truth a goose-skin 'twas not --

"On the contrary. a dog-skin
"Was it rather: since that fearful
"Moment have I been converted
"As thou see'st me, to a pug-dog!"

Poor young fellow! Through his sobbing
Not a word more could he utter;
And he wept with so much fervour,
That in tears wellnigh dissolved he.

"Listen now," I said with pity:
"Can I possibly relieve you
"Of your dog-skin, and restore you
"To humanity and verses?"

But the other raised his paws up
In the air disconsolately
And despairingly; at length he
Spake with sighing and with groaning:

"Till the Judgment Day, alas! I
"In this dog-skin must be prison'd,
"If I'm freed not from enchantment
"By a virgin's self-devotion.

"Yes, a pure unsullied virgin,
"Who ne'er touch'd a human being,
"And the-following condition
"Truly keeps alone can free me

"This unsullied virgin must,
"In the night of Saint Sylvester,
"Read Gustavus Pfizer's poems,
"And not go to sleep one moment!

"If she keeps awake while reading,
"And her modest eye ne'er closes, --
"Then shall I be disenchanted,
"Be a man, -- yes, be undogg'd!"

"In that case, good friend," replied I,
"I at any rate can never
"Undertake to disenchant you,
"For I'm no unsullied virgin;

"And still less should I be able
"To fulfil the task of reading
"All Gustavus Pfizer's poems,
"And not fall asleep instanter!"





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