Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 4, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 4, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Twas late at night when I reach'd cologne
Last Line: His foolish fond subjects, the poor men!
Subject(s): Cologne, Germany; Courts & Courtiers; Legends; Luther, Martin (1483-1546); Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens


'TWAS late at night when I reach'd Cologne,
The Rhine was past me rushing,
The air of Germany on me breath'd,
And I felt its influence gushing

Upon my appetite. I ate
Some omelets, together with bacon;
And as they were salt, some Rhenish wine
Was by me also taken.

The Rhenish wine gleams like very gold,
When quaff'd from out a green rummer;
If thou drink'st a few pints in excess, 'twill give
Thy nose the colour of summer.

So sweet a tickling attacks the nose,
One's sensations grow fonder and fonder;
It drove me out in the darkening night,
Through the echoing streets to wander.

The houses of stone upon me gazed,
As if wishing to tell me the mysteries
And legends of times that have long gone by, --
The town of Cologne's old histories.

Yes, here it was that the clergy of yore
Dragg'd on their pious existence;
Here ruled the dark men, whose story's preserved
By Ulrich von Hutten's assistance.

'Twas here that the nuns and monks once danced
In mediaeval gyrations,
Here Cologne's own Menzel, Hoogstraaten by name,
Wrote his bitter denunciations.

'Twas here that the flames of the funeral pile
Both books and men once swallow'd;
The bells rang merrily all the while,
And Kyrie Eleison follow'd.

Stupidity here and spitefulness
Like dogs in the street coquetted;
In religious hatred the brood still exists,
Though greatly to be regretted,

But see, where the moonlight yonder gleams,
A form of a monstrous sort is!
As black as the devil it rears its head, --
Cologne Cathedral in short 'tis.

'Twas meant a bastile of the spirit to be,
And the cunning papists bethought them:
"In this prison gigantic shall pine away
"German intellects, when we have caught them."

Then Luther appear'd, and soon by his mouth
A thundering "Halt!" was spoken.
Since then the Cathedral no progress has made
In building, the charm being broken.

It never was finish'd, and this is as well,
For its very non-termination
A monument makes it of German strength
And Protestant reformation.

Ye Cathedral-Society's members vain,
With powerless hands have ye risen
To continue the work that so long has been stopp'd,
And complete the ancient prison.

O foolish delusion! In vain will ye shake
The money-boxes so bootless,
And beg of the Jews and heretics too, --
Your labour is idle and fruitless.

In vain will Liszt on behalf of the fund
Make concerts all the fashion,
And all in vain will a talented king
Declaim with impetuous passion.

Cologne Cathedral will finish'd be ne'er,
Although the Swabian Solons
Have sent a shipload full of stones
To help it, nolens volens.

'Twill ne'er be completed, despite all the cries
Of the ravens and owls without number,
Who, full of antiquarian lore,
In high church-steeples slumber.

Indeed, the time will by-and-by come,
When instead of completing it rightly,
The inner space as a stable will serve
For horses, -- a change but unsightly.

"And if the cathedral a stable becomes,
"Pray tell us how they will then tackle
"The three holy kings who rest there now,
"Within the tabernacle?"

Thus ask they. But why should we, in these days,
Stand up as their supporters?
The three holy kings from the Eastern land
Must find some other quarters.

Take my advice, and place them all
In those three iron cages
That high upon St. Lambert's tower
At Munster have hung for ages.

If one of the three should missing be,
Select in his stead some other;
Replace the king of the Eastern land
By some regal Western brother.

The king of the tailors sat therein
With his two advisers by him;
But we will employ the cages now
For monarchs who greatly outvie him.

On the right Balthasar shall have his place,
On the left shall be Melchior's station,
In the midst shall be Gaspar. I know not what
When alive, was their right situation.

The Holy Alliance from out of the East,
Now canonised so duly,
Perchance has not always its mission fulfill'd
Quite properly and truly.

Balthasar perchance and Melchior too
Were men of but weak resolution,
Who promised, when sorely press'd from without,
Their kingdom a constitution,

And afterwards broke their word. -- Perchance
King Gaspar, who reign'd o'er the Moormen,
Rewarded with black ingratitude
His foolish fond subjects, the poor men!





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