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The Breitmann Ballads
by Charles G. Leland
March, 1996 [Etext #454]
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copy of the Breitmann Ballads
The Breitmann Ballads
by
Charles G. Leland.
1889
TO THE MEMORY
OF THE LATE
NICHOLAS TRÜBNER
This Work is Dedicated
by
Charles G. Leland
This Project Gutenberg Edition
is dedicated to:
Poul and Karen Anderson
without whose inspiration
it would not exist.
Geoff Kidd
Krista Rourke
Ad Musan.
"Est mihi schoena etenim et praestanti corpore liebsta
Haec sola est mea Musa meoque regierit in Herza.
Huic me ergebo ipsum meaque illi abstatto geluebda,
Huic ebrensaulas aufrichto opfroque Geschenka,
Hic etiam absingo liedros et carmina scribo."
-- Rapsodia Andra, Leipzig, 17th Century
Preface
To the Edition of 1889.
----
Though twenty years have passed since the first appearance
of the "Breitmann Ballads" in a collected form, the author is
deeply gratified -- and not less sincerely grateful to the public
-- in knowing that Hans still lives in many memories, that he
continues to be quoted when writers wish to illustrate an
exuberantly joyous "barty" or ladies so very fashionably dressed
as to recall "de maidens mit nodings on," and that no
inconsiderable number of those who are "beginning German"
continue to be addressed by sportive friends in the Breitmann
dialect as a compliment to their capacity as linguists. For as a
young medical student is asked by anxious intimates if he has got
as far as salts, I have heard inquiries addressed to tyros in
Teutonic whether they had mastered these songs. As I have
realised all of this from newspapers and novels, even during the
past few weeks, and have learned that a new and very expensive
edition of the work has just appeared in America, I trust that I
may be pardoned for a self-gratulation, which is, after all
really gratitude to those who have demanded of the English
publisher another issue. My chief pleasure in this -- though it
be mingled with sorrow -- is, that it enables me to dedicate to
the memory of my friend the late NICHOLAS TRÜBNER the most
complete edition of the Ballads ever printed. I can think of no
more appropriate tribute to his memory, since he was not only the
first publisher of the work in England, but collaborated with the
author in editing it so far as to greatly improve and extend the
whole. This is more fully set forth in the Introduction to the
Glossary, which is all his own. The memory of the deep personal
interest which he took in the poems, his delight in being their
publisher, his fondness for reciting them, is and ever will be to
me indescribably touching; such experiences being rare in any
life. He was an immensely general and yet thorough scholar, and
I am certain that I never met with any man in my life who to such
an extensive bibliographical knowledge added so much familiarity
with the contents of books. And he was familiar with nothing
which did not interest him, which is rare indeed among men who
MUST know something of thousands of works -- in fact, he was a
wonderful and very original book in himself, which, if it had
ever been written out and published, would have never died. His
was one of the instances which give the world good cause to
regret that the art of autobiography is of all others the one
least taught or studied. There are few characters more
interesting than those in which the practical man of business is
combined with the scholar, because of the contrasts, or varied
play of light and shadow, in them, and this was, absolutely to
perfection, that of Mr. Trübner. And if I have re-edited
this
work, it was that I might have an opportunity of recording it.
There are others to whom I owe sincere gratitude for
interest displayed in this work when it was young. The first of
these was the late CHARLES ASTOR BRISTED of New York. With the
exception of the "Barty," most of the poems in the first edition
were written merely to fill up letters to him, and as I kept no
copy of them, they would have been forgotten, had he not
preserved and printed them after a time in a sporting paper. Nor
would they even after this have appeared (though Mr. Bristed once
tried to surprise me with a privately printed collection of them,
which attempt failed) had not Mr. RINGWALT, my collaborator on
the PHILADELPHIA PRESS, and also a printer, had such faith in the
work as to have it "set up" in his office, offering to try an
edition for me. This was transferred to PETERSON BROTHERS, in
whose hands the sale became at once very great; and I should be
truly ungrateful if I omitted to mention among the many writers
who were very kind in reviews, Mr. GEORGE A. SALA, who was
chiefly influential in introducing Hans Breitmann to the English
public, and who has ever been his warmest friend. Another friend
who encouraged and aided me by criticism was the late OCTAVE
DELEPIERRE, a man of immense erudition, especially in
archæology,
curiosa and facetiæ. I trust that I may be pardoned for
here
mentioning that he often spoke of Breitmann's "Interview with the
Pope" as his favorite Macaronic poem, which, as he had published
two volumes of Macaronea, was praise indeed. His theory was,
that as Macaronics were the ultra-extravagance of poetry, he who
wrote most recklessly in them did best; in fact, that they should
excel in first-rate BADNESS; and from this point of view it is
possible that Breitmann's Latin lyric is not devoid of merit,
since assuredly nobody ever wrote a worse. The late LORD LYTTON,
or "Bulwer," was also kind enough to take an interest in these
Ballads, which was to me as gratifying as it was amazing. It was
one of the great surprises of my life. I have a long letter from
him, addressed to me on the appearance of the collected edition,
in 1870. In it he spoke with warmest compliment of the poem of
"Leyden," and the first verses of "Breitmann in Belgium."
In conclusion, I acknowledge the courtesy of Messers.
DALZIELL BROTHERS for allowing me to republish here four poems
which had appeared in the "Brand New Ballads" published by them
in 1885. But to mention all of the people of whom I have
grateful memories in connection with the work, who have become
acquainted with me through it, or written to me, or said pleasant
words, would be impossible. I am happy to think it would embrace
many of the Men of the Times during the last twenty years -- and
unfortunately too many who are now departed. And trusting that
the reader will take in good part all that I have said, I remain,
-- his true friend (for truly there is no friend dearer than a
devoted reader),
CHARLES G. LELAND
PREFACE
-----
When HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY, WITH OTHER BALLADS, appeared,
the only claim made on its behalf was, that it constituted the
first book ever written in English as imperfectly spoken by
Germans. The author consequently held himself bound to give his
broken English a truthful form. So far as observation and care,
aided by the suggestions of well-educated German friends, could
enable him to do this, it was done. But the more extensive were
his observations, the more did the fact force itself upon his
mind, that there is actually no well-defined method or standard
of "German-English," since not only do no two men speak it alike,
but no one individual is invariably consistent in his errors or
accuracies. Every reader who knows any foreign language
imperfectly is aware that HE SPEAKS IT BETTER AT ONE TIME THAN
ANOTHER, and it would consequently have been a grave error to
reduce the broken and irregular jargon of the book to a fixed and
regular language, or to require that the author should invariably
write exactly the same mispronunciations with strict consistency
on all occasions.
The opinion -- entirely foreign to any intention of the
author -- that Hans Breitmann is an embodied satire on everything
German, has found very few supporters, and it is with the
greatest gratification that he has learned that educated and
intelligent Germans regard Hans as a jocose burlesque of a type
which is every day becoming rarer. And if Teutonic philosophy
and sentiment, beer, music, and romance, have been made the
medium for what many reviewers have kindly declared to be
laughter-moving, let the reader be assured that not a single word
was meant in a bitter or unkindly spirit. It is true that there
is always a standpoint from which any effort may be misjudged,
but this standpoint certainly did not occur to the writer when he
wrote, with anything but misgiving, of his "hearty,
hard-fighting, good-natured old ex-student," who, in the
political ballads and others, appears to no moral disadvantage by
the side of his associates.
Breitmann in several ballads is indeed a very literal copy
or combination of characteristics of men who really exist or
existed, and who had in their lives embraced as many extremes of
thought as the Captain. America abounds with Germans, who,
having received in their youth a "classical education," have
passed through varied adventures, and often present the most
startling paradoxes of thought and personal appearance. I have
seen bearing a keg a porter who could speak Latin fluently. I
have been in a beer-shop kept by a man who was distinguished in
the Frankfurt Parliament. I have found a graduate of the
University of Munich in a negro minstrel troupe. And while
mentioning these as proof that Breitmann, as I have depicted him,
is not a contradictory character, I cannot refrain from a word of
praise as to the energy and patience with which the German "under
a cloud" in America bears his reverses, and works cheerfully and
uncomplainingly, until, by sheer perseverance, he, in most cases,
conquers fortune. In this respect the Germans, as a race, and I
might almost say as individuals, are superior to any others on
the American continent. And if I have jested with the German new
philosophy, it is with the more seriousness that I here
acknowledge the deepest respect for that true practical
philosophy of life -- that well-balanced mixture of stoicism and
epicurism -- which enables Germans to endure and to ENJOY under
circumstances when other men would probably despair.
Breitmann is one of the battered types of the men of '48 --
a person whose education more than his heart has in every way led
him to entire scepticism or indifference -- and one whose
Lutheranism does not go beyond "Wein, Weib, und Gesang." Beneath
his unlimited faith in pleasure lie natural shrewdness, an
excellent early education, and certain principles of honesty and
good fellowship, which are all the more clearly defined from his
moral looseness in details which are identified in the
Anglo-Saxon mind with total depravity. In such a man, the
appreciation of the beautiful in nature may be keen, but it will
continually vanish before humour or mere fun; while having no
deep root in life or interests in common with the settled
Anglo-Saxon citizen, he cannot fail to appear at times to the
latter as a near relation to Mephistopheles. But his "mockery"
is as accidental and naif as that of Jewish Young Germany is keen
and deliberate; and the former differs from the latter as the
drollery of Abraham a Santa Clara differs from the brilliant
satire of Heine.
The reader should be fairly warned that these poems abound
in words, phrases, suggestions, and even couplets, borrowed to
such an extent from old ballads and other sources, as to make
acknowledgement in many cases seem affectation. Where this has
appeared to be worth the while, it has been done. The lyrics
were written for a laugh -- without anticipating publication, so
far as a number of the principal ones in the first volume were
concerned, and certainly without the least idea that they would
be extensively and closely criticised by eminent and able
reviewers. Before the compilation the "Barty" had almost passed
from the writer's memory, several other songs of the same
character by him were quite forgotten, while a number had formed
portions of letters to friends, by one of whom a few were
published in a newspaper. When finally urged by many who were
pleased with "Breitmann" to issue these humble lyrics in book
form, it was with some difficulty that the first volume was
brought together.
The excuse for the foregoing observations is the unexpected
success of a book which is of itself of so eccentric a character
as to require some explanation. For its reception from the
public, and the kindness and consideration with which it has been
treated by the press, the author can never be sufficiently
grateful.
CHARLES G. LELAND
London, 1871.
CONTENTS
HANS BREITMANN'S BARTY
BREITMANN AND THE TURNERS
BALLAD
A BALLAD APOUT DE ROWDIES
THE PICNIC
I GILI ROMANESKRO
STEINLI VON SLANG
TO A FRIEND STUDYING GERMAN
LOVE SONG
DER FREISCHÜTZ
WEIN GEIST
SCHNITZERL'S PHILOSOPEDE --
I. PROLOGUE
II. HANS BREITMANN AND HIS PHILOSOPEDE
DIE SCHÖNE WITTWE --
I. VOT DE YANKEE CHAP SUNG
II. HOW DER BREITMANN CUT HIM OUT
BREITMANN IN BATTLE
BREITMANN IN MARYLAND
BREITMANN AS A BUMMER
SECOND PART
BREITMANN'S GOING TO CHURCH
BREITMANN IN KANSAS
HANS BREITMANN'S CHRISTMAS
BREITMANN ABOUT TOWN
BREITMANN IN POLITICS --
I.
1. THE NOMINATION
2. THE COMMITTEE OF INSTRUCTIONS
3. MR. TWINE EXPLAINS BEING "SOUND UPON THE GOOSE"
II.
4. HOW BREITMANN AND SMITH WERE REPORTED
TO BE LOG-ROLLING
5. HOW THEY HELD THE MASS MEETING
6. BREITMANN'S GREAT SPEECH
III.
PARDT DE VIRST: -- THE AUTHOR ASSERTS THE VAST
INTELLECTUAL
SUPERIORITY OF GERMANS TO AMERICANS
PARDT DE SECOND: -- SHOWING HOW MR. HIRAM TWINE "PLAYED
OFF"
ON SMITH
BREITMANN AS AN UHLAN --
I. THE VISION
II. BREITMANN IN A BALLOON
III. BREITMANN AND BOUILLI
IV. BREITMANN TAKES THE TOWN OF NANCY
V. BREITMANN IN BIVOUAC
VI. BREITMANN'S LAST BARTY
EUROPE --
BREITMANN IN PARIS
BREITMANN IN LA SORBONNE
BREITMANN IN FORTY-EIGHT
BREITMANN IN BELGIUM --
SPA
OSTENDE
GENT
BREITMANN IN HOLLAND --
'S GRAVENHAGE -- THE HAGUE
LEYDEN
SCHEVENINGEN
AMSTERDAM
GERMANY --
BREITMANN AM RHEIN -- COLOGNE
AM RHEIN -- NO. II
AM RHEIN -- NO. III
MUNICH
FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN
ITALY --
BREITMANN IN ROME
LA SCALA SANTA
BREITMANN INTERVIEWS THE POPE
THE FIRST EDITION OF BREITMANN --
SHOWING HOW AND WHY IT WAS THAT IT NEVER APPEARED
LAST BALLADS --
BREITMANN IN TURKEY
COBUS HAGELSTEIN
FRITZERL SCHNALL
THE GYPSY LOVER
DORNENLIEDER
BREITMANN'S SLEIGH-RIDE
THE MAGIC SHOES
GLOSSARY
INTRODUCTION
BY THE PUBLISHER
---
"HANS BREITMANN GIFE A BARTY" - the first of the poems here
submitted to the English public - appeared originally in 1857, in
Graham's Magazine, in Philadelphia, and soon became widely
known. Few American poems, indeed, have been held in better or
more constant remembrance than the ballad of "Hans Breitmann's
Barty;" for the words just quoted have actually passed into a
proverbial expression. The other ballads of the present
collection, likewise published in several newspapers, were first
collected in 1869 by Mr. Leland, the translator of Heine's
"Pictures of Travel" and "Book of Songs," and author of Meister
Karl's Sketch -Book," Philadelphia, 1856 and "Sunshine in
Thought," New York, 1863. They are much of the same character as
"The Barty" - most of them celebrating the martial career of
"Hans Breitmann," whose prototype was a German, serving during
the war in the 15th Pennsylvanian cavalry, and who - we have it
on good authority - was a man of desperate courage whenever a
cent could be made, and one who never fought unless
something could be made. The "rebs" "gobbled" him
one day; but he re-appeared in three weeks overloaded with money
and valuables. One of the American critics remarks: -
"Throughout all the ballads it is the same figure presented - an
honest 'Deutscher,' drunk with the New World as with new wine,
and rioting in the expression of purely Deutsch nature and
half-Deutsch ideas through a strange speech."
The poems are written in the dull broken English (not to be
confounded with the Pennsylvanian German) spoken by millions of -
mostly uneducated - Germans in America, immigrants to a great
extent from southern Germany. Their English has not yet become a
distinct dialect; and it would even be difficult to fix at
present the varieties in which it occurs. One of its prominent
peculiarities, however, is easily perceived: it consists in the
constant confounding of the soft and hard consonants; and the
reader must well bear it in mind when translating the language
that meets his eye into one to become intelligible to his ear.
Thus to the German of our poet, kiss becomes giss; company -
gompany; care - gare; count - gount; corner - gorner; till -
dill; terrible - derrible; time - dime; mountain - moundain;
thing - ding; through - droo; the - de; themselves - demselves;
other - oder; party - barty; place - blace; pig - big; priest -
breest; piano - biano; plaster - blaster; fine - vine; fighting -
vighting; fellow - veller; or, vice versâ, he sounds
got -
cot; green - creen; great - crate; gold dollars - cold tollars;
dam - tam; dreadful - treadful; drunk - troonk; brown - prown;
blood - ploot; bridge - pridge; barrel - parrel; boot - poot;
begging - peggin'; blackguard - plackguart; rebel - repel; never
- nefer; river - rifer; very - fery; give - gife; victory -
fictory; evening - efening; revive - refife; jump - shoomp; join
- choin; joy - choy; just - shoost; joke - choke; jingling -
shingling;, &c.; or, through a kindred change, both - bofe; youth
- youf; but mouth - mout'; earth - eart'; south - sout'; waiting
- vaiten;' was - vas; widow - vidow; woman - voman; work - vork;
one - von; we - ve, &c. And hence, by way of a compound mixture,
we get from him drafel for travel, derriple for terrible, a
daple-leck for a table-leg, bepples for pebbles, tisasder for
disaster, schimnastig dricks for gymnastic tricks, let-bencil for
lead-pencil, &c. The peculiarity of Germans pronouncing in their
mother tongue s like sh when it is followed by a t or
p, and of Germans in southern Germany often also final
s like sh, naturally produced in their American
jargon such results as shplit, shtop, shtraight, shtar,
shtupendous, shpree, shpirit, &c; ish(is), ash(as), &c.; and, by
analogy led to shveet(sweet), schwig(swig), &c. We need not
notice, however, more than these freaks of the
German-American-English of the present poems, as little as we
need advert to simple vulgarisms also met with in England, such
as the omission of the final g in words terminating in
ing (blayin' - playing; shpinnen' - spinning; ridin',
sailin', roonin', &c.). We must, of course, assume that the
reader of this little volume is well acquainted both with English
and German.
The reader will perceive that the writer has taken another
flight in "Hans Breitmann's Christmas," and many of the later
ballads, from what he did in those preceding; and exception might
be taken to his choice of subjects, and treatment of them, if the
language employed by him were a fixed dialect - that is, a
language arrested at a certain stage of its progress; for in that
case he would have had to subordinate his pictures to the narrow
sphere of the realistic incidents of a given locality. But the
imperfect English utterances of the German, newly arrived in
America, coloured more or less by the peculiarities of his native
idiom, do not make, and never will make a dialect, for the simple
reason that, in proportion to his intelligence, his
opportunities, and the length of time spent by him among his new
English-speaking countrymen, he will sooner or later rid himself
of the crudenesses of his speech, thus preventing it from
becoming fixed. Many of the Germans who have emigrated and are
still emigrating to America belong to the well-educated classes,
and some possess a very high culture. Our poet has therefore
presented his typical German, with perfect propriety, in a
variety of situations which would be imperceptible within which
the the dialect necessarily moves, and has endowed him with
character, even where the local colour is wanting.
In "Breitmann in Politics," we are on purely American ground.
In it the Germans convince themselves that, as their hero can
no longer plunder the rebels, he ought to plunder the nation, and
they resolve on getting him elected to the State Legislature.
They accordingly form a committee, and formulate for their
candidate six "moral ideas" as his platform. These they show to
their Yankee helper, Hiram Twine, who, having changed his
politics fifteen times, and managed several elections, knows how
matters should be handled. He says the moral ideas are very
fine, but not worth a "dern;" and instead of them proclaims the
true cry, that Breitmann is sound upon the goose, about
which he tells a story. Then it is reported that the German
cannot win, and that, as he is a soldier, he has been sent into
the political field only to lead the forlorn hope and get beaten.
In answer to this, Twine starts the report that Smith has sold
the fight to Breitmann, a notion which the Americans take to
at once -
"For dey mostly dinked id de naturalest ding as efer couldt
pefall
For to sheat von's own gonstituents is de pest mofe in de came,
Und dey nefer sooposed a Dootchman hafe de sense to do de same."
Accordingly, Breitmann calls a meeting of Smith's supporters,
tells them that he hopes to get a good place for his friend
Smith, though he cannot approve of Smith's teetotal principles,
because he, Breitmann, is a republican, and the meaning of that
word is plain: - "... If any enlightened man vill seeken in his
Bibel, he will find dat a publican is a barty ash sells
lager; und de ding is very blain, dat a re-publican
ish von who sells id 'gain und 'gain." Moreover, Smith believes
in God, and goes to church, - what liberal German can
stand this? - while Breitmann, being a publican, must be a
sinner. As to parties, the principles of both are the
same - plunder - and "any man who gifes me his fote, - votefer
his boledics pe, - shall alfays pe regardet ash bolidigal friendt
py me."
This brings the house down. And when Breitmann announces that he
sells the best beer in the city, and stands drinks gratis to his
"bolidigal friendts," and orders in twelve barrels of lager for
the meeting, he is unanimously voted "a brickbat, and no
sardine."
After this brilliant success, the author is obliged to pause,
in order to proclaim the intellectual superiority of Germans to
the whole world. He gets tremendously be-fogged in the process,
but that is no matter -
"Ash der Hegel say of his system,' Dat only von mans knew
Vot der tyfel id meant; and he couldn't tell,' und der Jean
Paul Richter, too,
Who saidt, 'Gott knows, I meant somedings vhen foorst dis
buch I writ,
Boot Gott only weiss vot das buch means now, for I hafe
forgotten it!'"
But, taking the point as proved, our German still allows that the
Yankees have some sharp-pointed sense, which he illustrates by
narrating how Hiram Twine turned a village of Smith-voters into
the Breitmann camp. The village is German and Democrat. Smith
has forgotten his meeting, and Twine, who is very like Smith, and
rides into the village to watch the meeting, is taken by the
Germans for Smith. On this, Twine resolves to personate Smith,
and give his supporters a dose of him. Accordingly, on being
asked to drink, he tells the Germans that none but hogs would
drink their stinking beer, and that German wine was only made for
German swine. Then he goes to the meeting, and, having wounded
their feelings in the tenderest point, - the love of beer, -
attacks the next tenderest, - their love for their language, - by
declaring that he will vote for preventing the speaking of it all
through the States; and winds up by exhorting them to stop
guzzling beer and smoking pipes, and set to work to un-Germanise
themselves as soon as possible. On this "dere coomed a shindy,"
with cries of "Shoot him with a bowie-knife," and "Tar and
feather him." A revolver-ball cuts the chandelier-cord; all is
dark; and amidst the row, Twine escapes and gallops off, with
some pistol-balls after him. But the village votes for
Breitmann, and be "licks der Schmit."
The ballad, "Breitmann's Going to Church," is based on a
real occurrence. A certain colonel, with his men, did really,
during the war, go to a church in or near Nashville, and, as the
saying is, "kicked up the devil, and broke things," to such an
extent, that a serious reprimand from the colonel's superior
officer was the result. The fact is guaranteed by Mr. Leland,
who heard the offender complain of the "cruel and heartless
stretch of military authority." As regards the firing into the
guerilla ball-room, it took place near Murfreesboro', on the
night of Feb. 10 or 11, 1865; and on the next day, Mr. Leland was
at a house where one of the wounded lay. On the same night a
Federal picket was shot dead near Lavergne; and the next night a
detachment of cavalry was sent off from General Van Cleve's
quarters, the officer in command coming in while the author was
talking with the general, for final orders. They rode twenty
miles that night, attacked a body of guerillas, captured a
number, and brought back prisoners early next day. The same day
Mr. Leland, with a small cavalry escort, and a few friends, went
out into the country, during which ride one or two curious
incidents occurred, illustrating the extraordinary fidelity of
the blacks to Federal soldiers.
The explanation of the poem entitled, "The First Edition of
Breitmann," is as follows: - It was not long after the war that a
friend of the writer's to whom "the Breitmann Ballads" had been
sent in MSS., and who had frequently urged the former to have
them published, resolved to secure, at least, a small private
edition, though at his own expense. Unfortunately the printers
quarrelled about the MSS., and, as the writer understood, the
entire concern broke up in a row in consequence. And, in fact,
when we reflect on the amount of fierce attack and recrimination
we reflect this unpretending and peaceful little volume elicited
after the appearance of the fifth English edition, and the injury
which it sustained from garbled and falsified editions, in not
less than three unauthorised reprints, it would really seem as if
this first edition, which "died a borning," had been typical of
the stormy path to which the work was predestined.
"I Gili Romaneskro," a gipsy ballad, was written both in the
original and translation - that is to say, in the German gipsy
and German English dialects - to cast a new light on the
many-sided
Bohemianism of Herr Breitmann.
The readers of more than one English newspaper will recall
that
the idea of representing Breitmann as an Uhlan, scouting over
France,
and frequently laying houses and even cities under heavy
contribution,
has occurred to very many of "Our Own." A spirited correspondent
of
the Telegraph, and others of literary fame, have
familiarly
referred to the Uhlan as Breitmann, indicating that the
German-American free-lance has grown into a type; and more than
one
newspaper, anticipating this volume, has published Anglo-German
poems
referring to Hans Breitmann and the Prussian-French war. In
several
pamphlets written in Anglo-German rhymes, which appeared in
London in
1871, Breitmann was made the representative type of the war by
both
the friends and opponents of Prussia, while during February of
the
same year Hans figured at the same time, and on the same evenings
for
several weeks, on the stages of three London theatres. So many
imitations of these poems were published, and so extensively and
familiarly was Mr. Leland's hero spoken of as the exponent of the
German cause, that it seemed to a writer at the time as if he had
become "as regards Germany what John Bull and Brother Jonathan
have
long been to England and America." In connection with this
remark, the
following extract from a letter of the Special Correspondent of
the
London Daily Telegraph of August 29, 1870, may not be
without
interest: -
"The Prussian Uhlan of 1870 seems destined to fill in French
legendary chronicle the place which, during the invasions of 1814
- 15, was occupied by the Cossack. He is a great traveller.
Nancy, Bar-le-Duc, Commercy, Rheims, Chalons, St. Dizier,
Chaumont, have all heard of him. The Uhlan makes himself quite
at home, and drops in, entirely in a friendly way, on mayors and
corporations, asking not only himself to dinner, but an
indefinite number of additional Uhlans, who, he says, may be
expected hourly. The Uhlan wears a blue uniform turned up with
yellow, and to the end of his lance is affixed a streamer
intimately resembling a very dirty white pocket-handkerchief.
Sometimes he hunts in couples, sometimes he goes in threes, and
sometimes in fives. When he lights upon a village, he holds it
to ransom; when he comes upon a city, he captures it, making it
literally the prisoner of his bow and his spear. A writer in
Blackwood's Magazine once drove the people of Lancashire
to
madness by declaring that, in the Rebellion of 1745, Manchester
'was taken by a Scots sergeant and a wench;' but it is a
notorious fact that Nancy submitted without a murmur to five
Uhlans, and that Bar-le-Duc was occupied by two. When the Uhlan
arrives in a conquered city, he visits the mayor, and makes his
usual inordinate demands for meat, drink, and cigars. If his
demands are acceded to, he accepts everything with a grin. If he
is refused, he remarks, likewise with a grin, that he will come
again to-morrow with three thousand light horsemen, and he
gallops away; but in many cases he does not return. The secret
of the fellow's success lies mainly in his unblushing impudence,
his easy mendacity, and that intimate knowledge of every highway
and byway of the country which, thanks to the military
organisation of the Prussian army, he has acquired in the
regimental school. He gives himself out to be the precursor of
an imminently advancing army, when, after all, he is only a
boldly adventurous free-lance, who has ridden thirty miles across
country on the chance of picking up something in the way of
information or victuals. Only one more touch is needed to
complete the portrait of the Uhlan. His veritable name would
seem to be Hans Breitmann, and his vocation that of a 'bummer;'
and Breitmann, we learn from the preface to Mr. Leland's
wonderful ballad, had a prototype in a regiment of Pennsylvanian
cavalry by the name of Jost, whose proficiency in 'bumming,'
otherwise 'looting,' in swearing, fighting, and drinking lager
beer, raised him to a pitch of glory on the Federal side which
excited at once the envy and the admiration of the boldest
bush-whackers and the gauntest guerillas in the Confederate
host."
The present edition embraces all the Breitmann poems which
have as yet appeared; and the publisher trusts that in their
collected form they will be found much more attractive than in
scattered volumes. Many new lyrics, illustrating the hero's
travels in Europe, have been added, and these, it is believed,
are not inferior to their predecessors.
N. TRÜBNER.
The Breitmann Ballads.
-------
HANS BREITMANN'S BARTY.
HANS BREITMANN gife a barty;
Dey had biano-blayin',
I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau,
Her name vas Madilda Yane.
She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,
Her eyes vas himmel-plue,
Und vhen dey looket indo mine,
Dey shplit mine heart in dwo.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty,
I vent dere you'll pe pound;
I valtzet mit Matilda Yane,
Und vent shpinnen' round und round.
De pootiest Fraulein in de house,
She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,
Und efery dime she gife a shoomp
She make de vindows sound.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty,
I dells you it cost him dear;
Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks
Of foost-rate lager beer.
Und vhenefer dey knocks de shpicket in
De deutschers gifes a cheer;
I dinks dot so vine a barty
Nefer coom to a het dis year.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
Dere all vas Souse and Brouse,
Vhen de sooper comed in, de gompany
Did make demselfs to house;
Dey ate das Brot and Gensy broost,
De Bratwurst and Braten vine,
Und vash der Abendessen down
Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
Ve all cot troonk ash bigs.
I poot mine mout' to a parrel of beer,
Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs;
Und den I gissed Madilda Yane,
Und she shlog me on de kop,
Und de gompany vighted mit daple-lecks
Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty --
Vhere ish dot barty now?
Vhere ish de lofely golden cloud
Dot float on de moundain's prow?
Vhere ish de himmelstrahlende stern --
De shtar of de shpirit's light?
All goned afay mit de lager beer --
Afay in de ewigkeit!
BREITMANN AND THE TURNERS.
HANS BREITMANN shoined de Turners,
Novemper in de fall,
Und dey gifed a boostin' bender
All in de Turner Hall.
Dere coomed de whole Gesangverein
Mit der Liederlich Aepfel Chor,[1]
Und dey blowed on de drooms and stroomed on de fifes
Till dey couldn't refife no more.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners,
Dey all set oop some shouts,
Dey took'd him into deir Turner Hall,
Und poots him a course of shprouts.
Dey poots him on de barell-hell pars
Und shtands him oop on his head,
Und dey poomps de beer mit an enchine hose
In his mout' dill he's 'pout half tead!
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners;
Dey make shimnastig dricks;
He stoot on de middle of de floor,
Und put oop a fifdy-six.
Und den he drows it to de roof,
Und schwig off a treadful trink:
De veight coom toomple back on his headt,
Und py shinks! he didn't vink!
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners:--
Mein Gott! how dey drinked und shwore;
Dere vas Schwabians und Tyrolers,
Und Bavarians by de score.
Some vellers coomed from de Rheinland,
Und Frankfort-on-de-Main,
Boot dere vas only von Sharman dere,
Und he vas a Holstein Dane.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners,
Mit a Limpurg' cheese he coom;
Vhen he open de box it schmell so loudt
It knock de musik doomb.
Vhen de Deutschers kit de flavour,
It coorl de haar on deir head;
Boot dere vas dwo Amerigans dere;
Und, py tam! it kilt dem dead!
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners;
De ladies coomed in to see;
Dey poot dem in de blace for de gals,
All in der gal-lerie.
Dey ashk: "Vhere ish der Breitmann?"
Und dey dremple mit awe and fear
Vhen dey see him schwingen' py de toes,
A trinken' lager beer.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners:
I dells you vot py tam!
Dey sings de great Urbummellied:[2]
De holy Sharman psalm.
Und vhen de kits to de gorus
You ought to hear dem dramp!
It scared der Teufel down below
To hear de Dootchmen stamp.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners:--
By Donner! it vas grand,
Vhen de whole of dem goes valkin
Und dancin' on deir hand,
Mit deir veet all vavin' in de air,
Gottstausend! vot a dricks!
Dill der Breitmann fall und dey all go down
Shoost like a row of bricks.
Hans Breitmann shoined de Turners,
Dey lay dere in a heap,
And slept dill de early sonnen shine
Come in at de vindow creep;
And de preeze it vake dem from deir dream,
And dey go to kit deir feed:
Here hat dis song an ende --
Das ist DES BREITMANNSLEID.
BALLAD.
BY HANS BREITMANN.
Der noble Ritter Hugo
Von Schwillensaufenstein,
Rode out mit shper and helmet,
Und he coom to de panks of de Rhine.
Und oop dere rose a meermaid,
Vot hadn't got nodings on,
Und she say, "Oh, Ritter Hugo,
Vhere you goes mit yourself alone?"
And he says, "I rides in de creenwood,
Mit helmet und mit shpeer,
Til I coomes into em Gasthaus,
Und dere I trinks some beer."
Und den outshpoke de maiden
Vot hadn't got nodings on:
"I don't dink mooch of beoplesh
Dat goes mit demselfs alone.
"You'd petter coom down in de wasser,
Vhere dere's heaps of dings to see,
Und hafe a shplendid tinner
Und drafel along mit me.
"Dere you sees de fisch a schwimmin',
Und you catches dem efery von:"--
So sang dis wasser maiden
Vot hadn't got nodings on.
"Dere ish drunks all full mit money
In ships dat vent down of old;
Und you helpsh yourself, by dunder!
To shimmerin' crowns of gold.
"Shoost look at dese shpoons und vatches!
Shoost see dese diamant rings!
Coom down and fill your bockets,
Und I'll giss you like efery dings.
"Vot you vantsh mit your schnapps und lager?
Coom down into der Rhine!
Der ish pottles der Kaiser Charlemagne
Vonce filled mit gold-red wine!"
Dat fetched him - he shtood all shpell pound;
She pooled his coat-tails down,
She drawed him oonder der wasser,
De maiden mit nodings on.
A BALLAD APOUT DE ROWDIES.
De moon shines ofer de cloudlens,
Und de cloudts plow ofer de sea,
Und I vent to Coney Island,
Und I took mein Schatz mit me.
Mein Schatz, Katrina Bauer,
I gife her mein heart und vortdt;
Boot ve tidn't know vot beoples
De Dampfsschiff hafe cot on poard.
De preeze plowed cool und bleasant,
We looket at de town
Mit sonn-light on de shdeebles,
Und wetter fanes doornin' round.
Ve sat on de deck in a gorner
Und dropled nopody dere,
Vhen all aroundt oos de rowdies
Peginned to plackguard und schvear.
A voman mit a papy
Vos sittin' in de blace;
Von tooket a chew tobacco
Und trowed it indo her vace.
De voman got coonvulshons,
De papy pegin to gry;
Und de rowdies shkreemed out a laffin,
Und saidt dat de fun was "high."
Pimepy ve become some hoonger,
Katrina Bauer und I,
I openet de lit of mine pasket,
Und pringed out a cherry bie.
A cherry kooken mit pretzels,
"How goot!" Katrina said,
Vhen a rowdy snatched it from her,
Und preaked it ofer mine het.
I dells him he pe a plackguart,
I gifed him a biece my mind,
I vouldt saidt it pefore a tousand,
Mit der teufel himself pehind.
Den he knocks me down mit a sloong-shot,
Und peats me plack and plue;
Und de plackguards kick me,
Dill I vainted, und dat ish drue.
De rich American beoples
Don't know how de rowdies shtrike
Der poor hardtworkin' Sharman,
He knows it more ash he like.
If de Deutsche speakers und bapers
Are somedimes too hard on dis land,
Shoost dink how de Deutsch kit driven
Along by de rowdy's hand!
THE PICNIC
DE picknock oud at Spraker's Wood:-
It melt de soul und fire de plood.
Id sofly slid from cakes und cream;
Boot busted oop on brandy shdeam.
Mit stims of tender graceful ring,
De gals begoon a song to sing;
A bland mildt lied of olden dime-
Deutsch vas die doon, und Deutsch de rhyme.
Wi's uff der Stross' wenn's finschter ischt,
Und niemond in der Goss' mehr ischt,
Nur Schöne Mädel wolle mer fonga,
Wie es gebil'te Leut' verlonga.
At de picknock oud in Spraker's Wood,
De Bier was soft-de gals were good:
Oondil von feller, vild and rasch,
Called out for a Yankee brandy-smash!
A crow vot vas valkin on de vall,
Fell dead ven he hear dis Dootchmann call;
For he knew dat droples coom, py shinks!
Ven de Dootch go in for Yankee drinks.
De Dootch got ravin droonk ash sin,
Dey smash de windows out und in;
Dey bust und bang de bar-room ein,
Und call for a bucket of branntewein.
Avay, avay, demselfs dey floong,
Und a wild infernal lied dey sung:
'Tvas, "Tam de wein, and cuss de bier!
Ve tont care nix for de demprance here!
"O keep a pringin juleps in,
Und baldface corn dat burn like sin;
Mit apple tods und oldt shtone fence,
Ve'll all get corned ere ve go hence!"
Dey dash deir glasses on de cround,
Und tanz dill'tvas all to brick-duss ground,
Ven dey hear von man had a ten-dollar note,
De crowd go dead for dat rich man's troat.
A demperance chap vot coomed dere in,
Vent squanderin out mit his shell burst in;
"It's walk your chalks, you loost your chance,
Dis vot de call der Dootchmans' dance."
Boot ven de law, mit his myrmidon,
Vas hear of dese Dootchmen's carryins-on,
Dey sent bolicemen shtern und good,
To pull dose Dootch in Spraker's Wood.
De Dootch vas all gone roarin mad,
Und trinked mit Spraker all dey had;
Dey shpend 'nuf money to last deir life,
And each vas tantzin mit anoder man's wife.
Dey all cot poonish difers vays,
Some vent to jug for dirty tays;
Und de von dat kilt de demperance man
Vas kit from de Alderman repriman.
Und dus it ran:-"A warnin dake,
For you mighdt hafe mate soom pig mishdake;
Now how vouldt you hafe feeled, py shing!
If dat man hat peen in de whiskey ring?
"Since you votes mine dicket, of course you know,
I'm pound to led you shlide und go.
Boot nefer on whiskey trink your fill,
For you Dootchmen don't know who to kill."
Now Deutschers all-on dis warning dink,
Und don't get troonk on Yankee trink,
For neider you, or anoder man,
Can pe hocks like de New York rowdies can.
So trink goot bier, mit musik plest,
For if you tried your level best,
You can't be plackguarts-taint in de plood:
Dus endet de shdory of Spraker's Wood.
I GILI ROMANESKRO.
A GIPSY BALLAD.
Vhen der Herr Breitmann vas a yungling, he vas go bummin
aroundt
goot deal in de worldt, vestigatin human natur, roulant de
vergne
en vergne, ash de Fraentsch boet says: "goin from town to
town;"
seein beobles in gemixed sociedy, und learnin dose languages
vitch
ornamendt a drue moskopolite, or von whose kopf ish bemosst mit
experience. Mong oder tongues, ash it would appeared, he shpoke
fluendly, Red Welsh, Black Dootch, Kauder-Waelsch, Gaunersprache,
und Shipsy; und dis latter languashe he pring so wide dat he
write
a pook of pallads in it,-von of vitch pallads I hafe intuce him
mit
moosh droples to telifer ofer to de worldt. De inclined reader
vill, mit crate heavy-hood blace pefore himself de fexation und
lapor I hafe hat in der Breitmann his absents, to ged dese Shipsy
verses broperly gorrected; as de only shentleman in town who vas
culpable of so doin, ish peen gonfined in de town-brison, pout
some
droples he hat for shdealin some hens; und pefore I couldt
consoolt
mit him, he vas rooned afay. Denn I fond an oldt vomans Shipsy,
who vas do nodings boot peg, und so wider mit pout five or four
oders more. Derfore, de errordoms moost pe excused py de
enlightened
pooplic, who are fomiliar mit dis peautiful languashe, vitch is
now so
shenerally fashionábel in laterary und shpordin circles.
F. SCHWACKENHAMMER.
----------
I GILI ROMANESKRO.
Schunava, ke baschno del a godla,
Schunava Paschomàskro.
Te del miro Dewel tumen
Dschavena Bachtallo.[3]
Schunava opré to ruka
Chirikló ke gillela:
Kamovéla but dives,
Eh'me pale kamaveva.
Apo je wa'wer divesseste
Schunava pro gilaviben,
M'akana me avava,
Pro marzos, pro kuriben.
So korava kuribente,
So korava apre dróm;
Me kanáv miri romni,
So kamela la lákero rom.
DRANSLATION.
I hear de gock a growin!
I hear de musikant!
Gott gife dee a happy shourney
Vhen you go to a distand landt.
I hears oopon de pranches
A pird mit merry shdrain,
Goot many tays moost fanish
Ere I coom to dis blace again.
Oopon some oder tay-times
I'll hear dat song from dee;
Boot now I goes ash soldier
To war, o'er de rollin sea.
Und vot I shdeals in pattle,
Und vot on de road I shdeal,
I'll pring all to my true lofe
Who lofes her lofer so well.
STEINLI VON SLANG.
I.
DER watchman look out from his tower
Ash de Abendgold glimmer grew dim,
Und saw on de road troo de Gauer
Ten shpearmen coom ridin to him:
Und he schvear: "May I lose my next bitter,
Und denn mit der Teufel go hang!
If id isn't dat pully young Ritter,
De hell-drivin Steinli von Slang.
"De vorldt nefer had any such man,
He vights like a sturm in its wrath:
You may call me a recular Dutchman,
If he arn't like Goliath of Gath.
He ish big ash de shiant O'Brady,
More ash sefen feet high on a string,
Boot he can't vin de hearts of my lady,
De lofely Plectruda von Sling."
De lady make welcome her gast in,
Ash he shtep to de dop of de shtair,
She look like an angel got lost in
A forest of audumn-prown hair.
Und a bower-maiden said ash she tarried:
"I wish I may bust mit a bang!
If id isn't a shame she ain't married
To der her-re-liche Steinli von Slang!"
He pows to de cround fore de lady,
Vhile his vace ish ash pale ash de tead;
Und she vhispers oonto him a rédè
Ash mit arrow point accents, she said:
"You hafe long dimes peen dryin to win me,
You hafe vight, and mine braises you sing,
Boot I'm 'fraid dat de notion aint in me,
De Lady Plectruda von Sling.
"Boot brafehood teserves a reward, sir;
Dough you've hardly a chost of a shanse.
Sankt Werolf! medinks id ish hard, sir,
I should allaweil lead you dis dance."
Like a bees vhen it it booz troo de clofer,
Dese murmurin accents she flang,
Vhile singin, a stingin her lofer,
Der woe-moody Ritter von Slang.
"Boot if von ding you do, I'll knock under,
Our droples moost endin damit
Und if you pull troo it,- by donder!
I'll own myself euchred, und bit.
I schvear py de holy Sanct Chlody!
Py mine honor-und avery ding!
You may hafe me-soul, puttons und pody,
Mit de whole of Plectruda von Sling."
"Und dish ish de test of your power:-
Vhile ve shtand ourselfs round in a row,
You moost roll from de dop of dis tower,
Down shdairs to de valley pelow.
Id ish rough and shteep ash my virtue:"
(Mit schwanenshweet accents she sang:)
"Tont try if you dinks id vill hurt you,
Mine goot liddle Ritter von Slang."
An Moormoor arosed mong de beoples;
In fain tid she doorn in her shkorn,
Der vatchman on dop of de shdeeples
Plowed a sorryfool doon on his horn.
Ash dey look down de dousand-foot treppé,
Dey schveared dey vouldt pass on de ding,
Und not roll down de firstest tam steppé
For a hoondred like Fräulein von Sling.
II.
'Twas audumn. De dry leafs vere bustlin
Und visperin deir elfin wild talk,
Vhen shlow, mit his veet in dem rustlin,
Herr Steinli coomed out for a walk.
Wild dooks vly afar in de gloamin,
He hear a vaint gry vrom de gang;
Und vished he vere off mit dem roamin:
De heart-wounded Ritter Von Slang.
Und ash he vent musin und shbeakin,
He se, shoost ahead in his vay,
In sinkular manner a streakin,
A strange liddle bein, in cray,
Who toorned on him quick mit a holler,
Und cuttin a dwo bigeon ving,
Cried, "Say, can you change me a thaler,
Oh, guest of de Lady von Sling?"
De knight vas a goot-nadured veller,
(De peggars all knowed him at sight,)
So he forked out each groschen und heller,
Dill he fix de finances aright.
Boot shoost ash de liddle man vent, he,
(Der Ritter,) ashtonished cried "Dang!"
For id vasn't von thaler boot tventy,
He'd passed on der Ritter von Slang.
O reater! Soopose soosh a vlight in
De vingers of me, or of you,
How we'd toorned on our heels, und gon kitin
Dill no von vos left to pursue!
Good Lort! how we'd froze to de ready!
Boot mit him 'dvas a different ding;
For he vent on de high, moral steady,
Dis lofer of Fräulein von Sling.
Und dough no von vill gife any gredit
To dis part of mine dale, shdill id's drue,
He drafelled ash if he vould dead it,
Dis liddle oldt man to pursue.
Und loudly he after him hollers,
Till de vales mit de cliffers loud rang:
"You hafe gifed me nine-ten too moosh dollars,
Hold Hard!" cried der Ritter von Slang.
De oldt man ope his eyes like a casement,
Und laid a cold hand on his prow,
Denn mutter in ootmosdt amazement,
"Vot manner of mordal art dou?
I hafe lifed in dis world a yar tausend,
Und nefer yed met soosh a ding!
Yet you find it hart vork to pe spouse, and
Peloved by de Lady von Sling!
"Und she vant you to roll from de tower
Down shteps to yon rifulet spot."
(Here de knight, whom amazement o'erbower,
Cried, "Himmels potz pumpen Herr Gott!")
Boot de oldt veller saidt: "I'll arrange it,
Let your droples und sorrows co hang!
Und nodings vill coom to derange it-
Pet high on it, Ritter von Slang.
"So get oop dis small oonderstandin,
Dat to-morrow by ten, do you hear?
You'll pe mit your trunk at de landin;
I'll also be dere-nefer fear!
Und I dinks we shall make your young voman
A new kind of meloty sing;
Dat vain, wicked, cruel, unhuman,
Gott-tamnaple Fräulein von Sling."
De fiolet shdars vere apofe him,
Vhite moths und vhite dofes shimmered round,
All nature seemed seekin to lofe him,
Mit perfume und vision und sound.
De liddle oldt veller hat fanished,
In a harp-like, melotious twang;
Und mit him all sorrow vas panished
Afay from der Steinli von Slang.
III.
Id vas morn, und de vorldt hat assempled
Mid panners und lances und dust,
Boot de heart of de Paroness trempled,
Und ofden her folly she cussed.
For she found dat der Ritter vould do it,
Und "die or get into de Ring,"
Und denn she'd pe cerdain to rue it,
Aldough she vas Lady von Sling.
For no man in Deutschland stood higher
Dan he mit de Minnesing crew,
He vas friendet to Heini von Steier,
Und Wolfram von Eschenbach too.
Und she dinked ash she look from de vinders,
How herzlich his braises dey sang;
"Now dey'll knock my goot name indo flinders,
For killin der Ritter von Slang."
Boot oh! der goot knight had a Schauer,
Und felt most ongommonly queer,
Vhen he find on de top of de dower
De goblum, pesite him, abbear.
Denn he find he no more could go valkin,
Und shtood, shoost and potrified ding,
Vhile de goblum vent round about talkin,
Und chaffin Plectruda von Sling.
Denn at vonce he see indo de problum,
Und vas stoggered like rats at ids vim:
His soul had gone indo de goblum,
Und de goblum's hat gone indo him.
Und de eyes of de volk vas enchanted,
Dere vas "glamour" oopon de whole gang;
For dey dinked dat dis veller who ranted
So loose, vas der Ritter von Slang.
Und, Lordt! how he dalked! Oonder heafens
Dere vas nefer soosh derriple witz,
Knockin all dings to sechses and sefens,
Und gifin Plectruda, Dutch fits.
Mein Gott! how he poonished und chaffed her
Like a hell-stingin, devil-born ding;
Vhile de volk lay a-rollin mit laughter
At Fräulein Plectruda von Sling.
De lady grew angry und paler,
De lady grew ratful und red,
She felt some Satanical jailer
Hafe brisoned de tongue in her head.
She moost laugh vhen she vant to pe cryin,
Und vas crushed mit de teufelisch clang,
Till she knelt herself, pooty near dyin,
To dis derriple image of Slang.
Denn der goblum shoomp oop to der ceiling
Und trow sommerseds round on de vloor,
Right ofer Plectruda a-kneelin,
Dill she look more a vool dan pefore.
Denn he roll down de shteps light und breezy,
His laughs made it all apout ring;
Ash he shveared dere vas noding more easy
Dan to win a Plectruda von Sling.
Und vhen he cot down to de pottom,
He laugh so to freezen your plood;
Und schwear dat de boomps ash he cot em
Hafe make him feel petter ash good.
Boot, oh! how dey shook at his power,
Vhen he toorned himself roundt mit a bang,
Und roll oop to de dop of de tower,
To change forms mit de oder Von Slang!
Denn all in an insdand vas altered,
Der Steinli vas coom to himself;
Und de sprite, vitch in double sense paltered,
From dat moment acain vas an elf.
Dey shdill dinked dat he vas de person
Who had bobbed oop and down on de ving,
Und knew not who 'tvas lay de curse on
De peaudiful Lady von Sling.
Nun-endlich- Plectruda repented,
Und gazed on der Ritter mit shoy;
In dime to pe married consented,
Und vas plessed mit a peautifool poy.
A dwenty gold biece on his bosom
Vhen geporn vas tiscofered to hang
Mit de inscript-"Dis dime dont refuse em"-
So endet de tale of Von Slang.
Dresden, 1870.
TO A FRIEND STUDYING GERMAN.
Si liceret te amare
Ad Suevorum magnum mare
Sponsam te perducerem
- Tristicia Amorosa.
Frau Aventiure,
von J. V. Scheffel.
VILL'ST dou learn die Deutsche Sprache?
Denn set it on your card,
Dat all the nouns have shenders,
Und de shenders all are hard.
Dere ish also dings called pronoms,
Vitch id's shoost ash vell to know;
Boot ach! de verbs or time-words-
Dey'll work you bitter woe.
Will'st dou learn de Deutsche Sprche?
Den you allatag moost go
To sinfonies, sonatas,
Or an oratorio.
Vhen you dinks you knows 'pout musik,
More ash any other man,
Be sure de soul of Deutschland
Into your soul ish ran.
Will'st dou learn de Deutsche Sprache?
Dou moost eat apout a peck
A week of stinging sauerkraut,[4]
Und sefen pfoundts of speck.
Mit Gott knows vot in vinegar,
Und deuce knows vot in rum:
Dis ish de only cerdain vay
To make de accents coom.
Will'st dou learn de Deutsche Sprache?
Brepare dein soul to shtand
Soosh sendences ash ne'er vas heardt
In any oder land.
Till dou canst make parentheses
Intwisted-ohne zahl-
Dann wirst du erst Deutschfertig seyn,[5]
For a languashe ideál.
Will'st dou learn de Deutsche Sprache?
Du must mitout an fear
Trink afery tay an gallon dry,
Of foamin Sherman bier.
Und de more you trinks, pe certain,
More Deutsch you'll surely pe;
For Gambrinus ish de Emperor
Of de whole of Germany.
Will'st dou learn de Deutsche Sprache?
Be sholly, brav, und treu,
For dat veller ish kein Deutscher
Who ish not a sholly poy.
Find out vot means Gemütlichkeit,
Und do it mitout fail,
In Sang und Klang dein Lebenlang,[6]
A brick-ganz kreuzfidél.
Willst dou learn de Deutsche Sprache?
If a shendleman dou art,
Denn shtrike right indo Deutschland,
Und get a schveetes heart.
From Schwabenland or Sachsen
Vhere now dis writer pees;
Und de bretty girls all wachsen
Shoost like aepples on de drees.
Boot if dou bee'st a laty,
Denn on de oder hand,
Take a blonde moustachioed lofer
In de vine green Sherman land.
Und if you shoost kit married
(Vood mit vood soon makes a vire),
You'll learn to sprechen Deutsch mein kind,
Ash fast ash you tesire.
Dresden, January 1870.
LOVE SONG
Vulnerasti cor meum, soror mea sponsa.
O VERE mine lofe a sugar-powl,
De fery shmallest loomp
Vouldt shveet de seas, from pole to pole,
Und make de shildren shoomp.
Und if she vere a clofer-field,
I'd bet my only pence,
It vouldn't pe no dime at all
Pefore I'd shoomp de fence.
Her heafenly foice, it drill me so,
It oft-dimes seems to hoort,
She ish de holiest anamile
Dat roons oopon de dirt.
De renpow rises vhen she sings,
De sonnshine vhen she dalk;
De angels crow und flop deir vings
Vhen she goes out to valk.
So livin white, so carnadine,
Mine lofe's gomblexion show;
It's shoost like Abendcarmosine,
Rich gleamin on de shnow.
Her soul makes plushes in her sheek
Ash sommer reds de wein,
Or sonnlight sends a fire life troo
An blank Karfunkelstein.
De überschwengliche idées
Dis lofe poot in my mind,
Vouldt make a foost-rate philosoph
Of any human kind.
'Tis schudderin schveet on eart to meet
An himmlisch-hoellisch Qual;
Und treat mitwhiles to Kümmel Schnapps
De schoenheitsidéal.
Dein Füss seind weiss wie Kreiden,
Dein Ermlein Helfenbein,
Dein ganzer Leib ist Seiden
Dein Brust wie Marmelstein-
Ja-vot de older boet sang,
I sing of dee-dou Fine!
Dou'rt soul und pody, heart und life
Glatt, zart, gelind, und rein.[7]
DER FREISCHÜTZ
AIR - "Der Pabst lebt," &c.
WIE gehts, my frendts-if you'll allow-
I sings you rite afay shoost now
Some dretful shdories vitch dey calls
Der Freyschütz, or de Magic Balls.
Wohl in Bohemian land it cooms,
Vhere folk trink prandy mate of plooms;[8]
Dere lifed ein Yaeger-Maxerl Schmit-
Who shot mit goons und nefer hit.
Now dere vas von oldt Yaeger, who
Says, "Maxerl, dis vill nefer do;
If you shouldt miss on drial-tay,
Dere'll pe der tyfel denn to bay.
"If you do miss, you shtupid coose,
Dere'll pe de donnerwetter loose;
For you shant hafe mine taughter's hand,
Nor pe der Hertzhog's yaegersmann."
Id coomed pefore de tay vas set,
Dat all de shaps togeder met;
Und Max he fired his goon und missed,
Und all de gals cot roundt und hissed.
Dey laughed pefore und hissed pehind;
Boot von shap-Kaspar-saidt, "Ton't mind;
I dells you vot-you stoons 'em alls
If yoost you shoodt mit magic balls."
"De magic balls! oh, vot is dat?"
"I cot soom in my hoontin' hat;
Dey're plack as kohl, und shoodt so drue:
Oh, dem's de kindt of balls for you.
"You see dat eagle vlyin' high,
Ein hoondred miles oop in de sky;
Shoot at dat eagle mit your bix,
You kills hin tead ash doonderblix!"
"I ton't pelieve de dings you say."
"You fool," says Kasp, "denn plaze afay!"
He plazed afay, vhen, sure as plood,
Down coom de eagle in de mud.
"O was ist das?" said Maxerl Schmit:
"Vhy! dat's de eagle vot you hit.
You kills him vhen you plaze afay;
Boot dat's a ding you nix verstay.
"Und you moost go to make dem balls
To de Wolf's Glen vhen mitnight valls.
Dow know'st de shpot-alone und late"-
"Oh ja-I know shim ganz foost-rate!
"Boot denn I does not like to co
Among dem dings." Says Kasp, "Ach, 'sho!
I'll help you fix dem tyfel chaps,
Like a goot veller-dake some schnapps!"
("Hilf Zamiel! hilf")-"Here, dake some more!'
Denn Kasp vent shtompin' roundt de vloor,
Und coomed his hoompugs ofer Schmit,
Dill Max saidt, "Nun-ich gehe mit!"
All in de finster mitternocht,
Vhen oder folk in shleep vas lockt,
Down in de Wolfschlucht, Kasp tid dry
His tyfel-strikes und Hexery.
Mit skools und pones he mate a ring,
De howls und shpooks pegin to sing,
Und all the tyfels oonder croundt
Coom preakin' loose und rooshin' roundt.
Denn Maxerl cooms along: says he,
"Mein Gott! vot dings ish dis I see!
I dinks de fery tyfel und all
Moost help to make dem magic ball.
"I vish dat I had nix cum raus,
Und shtaid mineself in bett to house."
"Hilf Zamiel!" cried Kasp; "you whelp-
You red Dootch tyfel-coom und help!"
Den oop dere coomed a tredfull shdorm,
De todtengrips aroundt tid schvarm;
De howl shoomped oop und flopt his vings
Und toorned his het like avery dings.
Oop droo de croundt dere coomed a pot
Mit leadt, und dings to make de shot;
Und hœllisch fire in grimson plaze,
Und awful schmells like Schweitzer kase.
Agross de scene a pine-shtick flew
Mit seferal shail-pirds vastened to;
Six treadtful shail-pirds mit deir vings
Tied to de shticks mit magic shtrings.
All droo de air, all in a row,
Die wilde Jagd vas seen to go;
De hounds und teer all mate of pone,
Und hoonted py a skilleton.
Dere coomed a tredful shpecdre pig,
Who, shpitten' fire afay, tid dig;
Und fiery drocks und tyfel-shnake
A scootin' droo de air tid preak.
Boot Kaspar tidn't mindt dem alls,
But casted out de pullet balls;
Six vas to go ash he vouldt like,
De sevent' moost for de tyfel shtrike.
Ad last, oopon de drial tay,
De gals cot roundt so nice und gay,
Und den dey goed und maked a tantz,
Und singed apout de Jungfernkranz.
Und denn der Hertshog-dat's der Duke-
Cooms doun und dinks he'll dake a look;
"Young mans," to Maxerl denn saidt he,
"Shoost shoot dem dove oopon dat dree!"
Denn Maxerl pointed mit de bix,
"Potzblitz!" says he, "dat dove I'll fix!"
He fired his rifle at de Taub',
When Kass rollt ofer in de Staub.
De pride she falled too in de doost,
Dey gals dey cried, de men dey got coossed:
Der Hertshog says, "Id's fery glear
Dat dere has peen some tyfels here!
"Und Max has shot mit tyfels-blei!
Pfui!-die verfluchte Hexerei!
O Maximilian! O Du
Gehst nit mit rechten Dingen zu!"
Boot denn a hermits coomed in late;
Says he, "I'll fix dese dings foostrate;"
Und telled der Hertshog dat yung men
Vill raise der Tyfel now und denn.
De Duke forgifed de Kaspar dann,
Und mate of him a Yægersmann,
Vhat shoodts mit bixen goon, und pfeil,
Und talks apout de Waidmannsheil.
Und denn de pride she coomed to life,
Und cot to pe de Maxerl's vife;
Denn all de beoples gried "Hoorah!
Das ist recht brav! und hopsasa!"
MORAL
Py dis dings may pe oondershtood
Dat vhat is pad works ofden goot:
Or, Maximilia maximilibus curantur-if you will.
WEIN GEIST
I STOOMPLED oud ov a dafern,
Breauscht mit a gallon of wein,
Und I rooshed along de strassen,
Like a derriple Eberschwein.
Und like a lordly boar-pig,
I doomplet de soper folk;
Und I trowed a shtone droo a shdreed lamp,
Und bot' of de classes I proke.
Und a gal vent roonin' bast me,
Like a vild coose on de vings,
Boot I gatch her for all her skreechin',
Und giss her like efery dings.
Und denn mit an board und a parell,
I blay de horse-viddle a biece,
Dill de neighbours shkreem "deat'!" und "murder!"
Und holler aloudt "bolice!"
Und vhen der crim night wæchter
Says all of dis foon moost shtop,
I oop mit mein oomberella,
Und schlog him ober de kop.
I leaf him like tead on de bavemend,
Und roosh droo a darklin' lane,
Dill moonlighd und tisdand musik,
Pring me roundt to my soul again.
Und I sits all oonder de linden,
De hearts-leaf linden dree;
Und I dink of de quick gevanisht lofe
Dat vent like de vind from me.
Und I voonders in mine dipsyhood,
If a damsel or dream vas she!
Dis life is all a lindens
Mit holes dat show de plue,
Und pedween de finite pranches
Cooms Himmel-light shinin' troo.
De blaetter are raushlin' o'er me,
Und efery leaf ish a fay,
Und dey vait dill de windsbraut comet,
To pear dem in Fall afay.
Denn I coomed to a rock py der rifer,
Vhere a stein ish of harpe form,
-Jahrdausand in, oud, it standet'-
Und nopody blays but de shtorm.
Here, vonce on a dimes, a vitches,
Soom melodies here peginned,
De harpe ward all zu steine,
Die melodie ward zu wind.
Und so mit dis tox-i-gation,
Vitch hardens de outer Me;
Ueber stein and schwein, de weine
Shdill harps oud a melodie.
Boot deeper de Ur-lied ringet',
Ober stein und wein und svines,
Dill it endeth vhere all peginnet,
Und alles wird ewig zu eins,
In de dipsy, treamless sloomper
Vhich units de Nichts und Seyns.
Und im Mondenlicht it moormoors,
Und it burns by waken wein,
In Mädchenlieb or Schnapsenrausch
Das Absolut ist dein.
SCHNITZERL'S PHILOSOPEDE.
Die Speer die er thut führen
die ist sehr gross und lang,
Das sollt du glauben mire,
gemacht von Vogelsgang.
Sein Ross das ist die Heide,
das sollt du glauben mir,
Darauf er nun thut reiten,
führwahr das sag ich dir.
- Ein schön nerr Lied von dem Mai Und
von dem Herbst. 16th century.
I.
PROLOGUE.
HERR SCHNITZERL make a ph'losopede,
Von of de pullyest kind;
It vent mitout a vheel in front,
And hadn't none pehind.
Von vheel vas in de mittel, dough,
And it vent as sure ash ecks,
For he shtraddled on de axel dree,
Mit der vheel petween his lecks.
Und vhen he vant to shtart it off
He paddlet mit his feet,
Und soon he cot to go so vast
Dat efery dings he peat.
He run her out on Broader shtreed,
He shkeeted like der vind,
Hei! how he bassed de vancy crabs,
And lef dem all pehind!
De vellers mit de trottin nags
Pooled oop to see him bass;
De Deutschers all erstaunished saidt:
"Potztausend! Was ist das?"
Boot vaster shtill der Schnitzerl flewed
On - mit a ghastly shmile;
He tidn't tooch de dirt, py shings!
Not vonce in half a mile.
Oh, vot ish all dis eart'ly pliss?
Oh, vot ish man's soocksess?
Oh, vot ish various kinds of dings?
Und vot ish hobbiness?
Ve find a pank node in de shtreedt,
Next dings der pank ish preak!
Ve folls, and knocks our outsides in,
Vhen ve a ten shtrike make.
So vas it mit der Schnitzerlein
On his philosopede.
His feet both shlipped outsidevard shoost
Vhen at his exdra shpeed.
He felled oopon der vheel of coorse;
De vheel like blitzen flew!
Und Schnitzerl he vos schnitz in vact,
For it shlished him grod in two.
Und as for his philosopede,
Id cot so shkared, men say,
It pounded onward till it vent
Ganz tyfelwards afay.
Boot vhere ish now der Schnitzerl's soul?
Vhere dos his shbirit pide?
In Himmel droo de endless plue,
It takes a medeor ride.
II.
HANS BREITMANN AND HIS PHILOSOPEDE.
Vhen Breitmann hear dat Schnitzerl
Vas quardered into dwo,
Und how his crate philosopede
To 'm tyfel had peen flew,
He dinked und dinked so heafy,
Ash only Deutschers can,
Denn saidt, "Who mighdt peliefet
Dish is de ent of man?"
"De human souls of beoples
Exisdt in deir idées,
Und dis of Wolfram Schnitzerl
Mighdt drafel many vays.
In his Bestimmung des Menschen
Der Fichte makes pelieve,
Dat ve brogress oon-endtly
In vhat pehindt ve leave.
"De shparrow falls ground-downvarts
Or drafels to de West;
De shparrows dat coom afder,
Bild shoost de same old nest.
Man had not vings or fedders,
Und in oder dings, 'tis set,
He tont coom up to shparrows,
But on nests he goes ahet.
"O! vliest dou droo bornin' vorldts,
Und nebuloser foam,
By monsdrous mitnight shiant forms,
Or vhere red tyfels roam;
Or vhere de ghosdts of shky-rockets
Peyond creation flee?
Vhere e'er dou art, O Schnitzerlein,
Crate Saindt! Look down on me!
"Und deach me how you maket
Dat crate philosopede,
Vhich roon dwice six mals vaster
Ash any Arap shteed.
Und deach me how to 'stonish volk,
Und knock dem oud de shpots.
Coom pack to eart', O Schnitzerlein,
Und pring id down to dots!"
Shoost ash dish vordt vent outvarts,
Hans dinked he saw a vlash,
Und oonterwards de dable
He doompelt mit a crash.
Und to him, moong de glasses,
Und pottles ash vas proke,
Mit his het in a cigar-box,
A foice from Himmel shpoke:
"Adsum, Domine Breitmann!
Herr Copitain, here I pe!
So dell me rite honeste,
Quare inquietasti me?
Te video inter spoonibus,
Et largis glassis too,
Cerevisia repletis,
Sicut percussus tonitru!"
Denn Breitmann ansver Schnitzerl;
"Coarctor nimis, see!
Siquidem Philistiim
Pugnant adversum me.
Ergo vocavi te,
Ash Saul vocavit Sam-
Uel, ut mi ostenderes
Quid teufel faciam?"
Denn de shpirit (in Lateinisch)
Saidt "Bene, dat's de talk,
Non habes in hoc shanty,
A shingle et some chalk?
Non video inkum nec calamos
(I shpose some bummer shdole 'em),
Levate oculos tuos, son,
Et aspice ad linteolum!"
Denn Breitmann see de biece of chalk
Vhich riset vrom de vloor,
Und signed a fine philosopede
Alone, oopon de toor.
De von dat Schnitzerl fobricate,
Und oonderneat' he see:
Probate inter equites,
(Try dis in de cavallrie).
Der Breitmann shtood oop from de vloor,
Und leanet on a post;
Und saidt: "If dis couldt, shouldt hafe peen,
Dar vouldt, mighdt peen a ghosdt;
Boot if id pe noumenon,
Phenomenoned indeed,
Or de soobyectif obyectified,
I'fe cot de philosopede."
Denn out he seekt a plackschmit,
Ash vork in iron-steel,
To make him a philosopede
Mit shoost an only vheel.
De dings vas maket simple,
Ash all crate idées shouldt pe,
For 'tvas noding boot a gart-vheel,
Mit a dwo-feet axel dree.
De dimes der Breitmann doomple,
In learnin' for to ride,
Vas ofdener ash de sand-crains
Dat rollen in de tide.
De dimes he cot oopsettet,
In shdeerin' left und righdt,
Vas ofdener ash de cleamin' shdars,
Dat shtud de shky py night.
Boot de vorstest of de veadures
In dis von-vheel horse, you pet,
Ish dat man couldt go so nicely,
Pefore he get oopset.
Some dimes he co like plazes,
Und doorn her, extra-fine;
Und denn shlop ofer - dis is vot
Hafe kill der Schnitzerlein.
Soosh droples ash der Breitmann hafe,
To make dis 'vention go,
Vas nefer seen py mordal man,
Oopon dis vorldt pelow.
He doomplet righdt - he doomplet left,
He hafe a dousand doomps;
Dere nefer vas a gricket ball
Ash get soosh 'fernal boomps.
Boot - ash he'd shvearet he'd poot it droo,
He shvear't it moost pe tone;
Dough he schimpft' und flucht' gar læsterlich,
He visht he't ne'er pegun.
Mit "Hagel! Blitz! Kreuz-sakrament!"
He maket de Houser ring,
Und vish der Schnitzerl vas in hell,
For deachin' him dis ding.
Nun - goot! At lasht he cot it,
Und peautifool he goed,
"Dis day," saidt he, "I'll 'stonish folk
A ridin' in de road.
Dis day, py shings! I'll do it,
Und knock dings oud of sight:"-
Ach weh! - for Breitmann dat day
Vas not be-markt mit vhite.
De noombers of de Deutsche volk,
Dat coomed dis sighdt to see,
I dink, in soper earnst-hood,
Mighdt not ge-reckonet pe.
For miles dey shtoodt along de road,
Mein Gott! - boot dey wer'n dry;
Dey trinket den lager-bier shops out,
Pefore der Hans coom py.
Vhen all at vonce drementous gries
De fery coondry shook,
Und beople's shkreemt, "Da ist er! - Schau!
Here cooms der Breitmann, look!"
Mein Gott! vas efer soosh a sighdt!
Vas efer soosh a gry!
Vhen like a brick-pat in a vighdt,
Der Breitemann roosh py?
Oh mordal man! Vhy ish idt, dou
Hast passion to go vast?
Vhy ish id dat te tog und horse
Likes shbeed too quick to lasht?
De pugs, de pirds, de pumple-pees,
Und all dat ish, 'tvouldt seem
Ish nefer hobby boot, exsepdt,
Vhen pilin' on de shdeam.
Der Breitmann flew! Von mighdy gry
Ash he vent scootin' bast;
Von derriple, drementous yell;-
Dat day de virst - und lasht.
Vot ha! Vot ho! Vhy ish it dus?
Vhot makes dem shdare aghasht?
Vhy cooms dat vail of vild deshbair?
Ish somedings cot ge-shmasht?
Yea, efen so. Yea, ferily,
Shbeak, soul!-it ish dy biz!
Der Breitmann shkeet so vast along
Dey fairly heard him whizz.
Vhen shoost oopon a hill-top point
It caught a pranch ge-bent,
Und like an apple from a shling,
Afay Hans Breitmann vent.
Vent droo de air an hoondert feet
Allowin' more or lees:-
Denn, pob-pob-pob - a mile or dwo
He rollet along - I guess.
Say - hast dou seen a gannon ball
Half shpent, shtill poundin' on,
Like made of gummi-lasticum?-
So vent der Breitmann.
Dey bick him oop - dey pring him in,
No wort der Breitmann shboke.
Der doktor look - he shwear erstaunt
Dat nodings ish peen proke.
"He rollt de rocky road entlang,
He pounce o'er shtock und shtone,
You'd dink he'd knocked his outsites in,
Yet nefer preak a pone!"
All shtill Hans lay, bevilderfied;
He seemt not mind de shaps,
Nor mofed oontil der medicus
Hafe dose him vell mit schnapps.
De schmell voke oop de boetry
Of tays vhen he vas yoong,
Und he murmulte de fragmends
Of an sad romantish song:
"Ash sommer pring de roses
Und roses pring de dew,
So Deutschland gifes de maidens
Who fetch de bier for you.
Komm Maidelein! rothe Waengelein!
Mit wein-glass in your paw!
Ve'll get troonk among de roses,
Und pe soper on de shtraw!
"Ash vinter pring de ice-wind
Vitch plow o'er Burg und hill,
Hard times pring in de landlord,
Und de landlord pring the pill.
Boot sing Maidelein - rothe Waengelein!
Mit wein glass in your paw!
Ve'll get troonk among de roses,
Und pe soper on de shtraw!"
Dey dook der Breitmann homewarts,
Boot efer on de vay
He nefer shpeaket no man,
Und nodings else couldt say,
Boot, "Maidelein - rothe Waengelein!
Mit wein-glass in her paw,
Ve'll get troonk among de roses,
Und pe soper on de shtraw!"
Dey laid der Hans im bette,
Peneat' de eider doun,
Und sembelet all de doktors
Who doktor in de town,-
Dat ish, de Deutsche Aertzte,-
For Breitmann alvays says,
De Deutschers ish de onlies
Mit originell idées.
Der vas Doktor Moritz Schlinkenschlag,
Dat vork ash Caféopath,
Und de learned Cobus Schoepfskopf,
Who use de milchy bath;
Und Korschalitschky aus Boehmen,
Vhat cure mit slibovitz,
Und Wechselbalg, der Preusse,
Who only 'tend to fits.
Dere vas Strobbich aus Westfalen,
Who mofe all eart'ly ills
Mit concentrirter Schinken juice,
Und Pumpernickel pills.
Und a bier-kur man from Munich,
Und a grape-curist from Rhein,
Und von who shkare tiseases
Mit a dose of Schlesier-wein.
So dey meet in consooldation,
Mit Doktor Winkeleck,
Who proctice "renovation"
Mit sauer-kraut und speck.
Und dat no man shouldt pe shlightet,
Or dreatet ash a tunce,
Dey 'greed to dry deir systems
Oopon Breitmann - all at vonce.
Dat ish, mit de exscepdion
Of gifin' Schlesier-wein:
For de remedy vas dangerfull
For von who trink from Rhein.
Ash der Teufel vonce deklaret,
Vhen he taste it on a shpree,
Dat a man, to trink soosh liquor,
Moost a porn Silesian pe.
So dey all vent los at Breitmann,
Und woonderfool to dell,
He coom to his Gesundheit,
Und pooty soon cot vell.
Some hinted at Natura,
Mit her olt vis sanatrix,
Boot eash doktor shvore he curet him,
Und de rest were taugenix.
I know not vot der Breitmann
More newly has pegun;
Boot dey say he talks day-dayly
Mit Dana of de Sun.
Dey talk in Deutsch togeder,
Und volk say de end will be,
Philosopedal shanges
In de Union Cavallrie.
Gott helf de howlin' safage!
Got helf de Indi-án!
Shouldt Breitmann shoin his forces
Mit Sheneral Sheridan!
Und denn, to sing his braises,
I'll write anoder lied:
Hier hat dis dale an ende,
Of Breitmann's Philosopede!
DIE SCHÖNE WITTWE[9]
(DE POOTY VIDOW.)
I.
VOT DE YANKEE CHAP SUNG.
DAT pooty liddle vidow
Vot ve dosh'nt vish to name,
Ish still leben on dat liddle shtreet,
A doin' shoost de same.
De glerks aroundt de gorners
Somedimes goes round to zee
How die tarlin' liddle vitchy ees,
Und ask 'er how she pe.
Dey lofes her ver' goot liquœr,
Dey lofes her liddle shtore;
Dey lofes her little paby,
But dey lofes die vidow more.
To dalk mit dat shveet vidow,
Ven she hands das lager round,
Vill make der shap dat does id
Pe happy, ve'll be pound.
Dat ish if we can vell pelieve
De glerks vat drinks das beer,
Who goes in dere for noding elshe,
Put simply for to zee her.
II.
HOW DER BREITMANN CUT HIM OUT.
Oh yes I know die wittwe,
Mit eyes so prite und proun!
She's de allerschœnste wittwe
Vot live in dis here down.
In her plack silk gown - mine grashious!-
All puttoned to de neck-
Und a pooty liddle collar,
Mitout a shpot or shpeck.
Ho! clear de drack you oder fraus-
You can't pegin to shine
Vhen de lofely vidder cooms along-
Dis vidder ash ish mine!
Ho! clear de drack you Yankee chaps,
You Englishers und sooch,
You can't pegin to coot me out,
Mitout you dalks in Dootch.
Ich hab die schœne wittwe
Schon lange nit gesehn,
Ich sah sie gestern Abend
Wohl bei dem Counter Stehn.
Die Wangen rein wie Milch and Blut
Die Augen hell und klar.
Ich hab sie sechsmal auch geküsst-
Potztausend! das ist wahr.[10]
BREITMANN IN BATTLE
"TUNC TAPFRE AUSFUHRERE STREITUM ET RITTRIS DIGNUM POTUERE
ERIAGERE
LOBUM."
"Hiltibraht enti Hadubrant."
DER FADER UND DER SON.[11]
I DINKS I'll go a vightin'" - outshpoke der Breitemann.
"It's eighdeen hoonderd fordy-eight since I kits swordt in hand;
Dese fourdeen years mit Hecker all roostin' I haf been,
Boot now I kicks der Teufel oop and goes for sailin' in."
"If you go land out-ridin'," said Caspar Pickletongue,
"Foost ding you knows you cooms across some repels prave and
young.
Away down Sout' in Tixey, dey'll split you like a clam"-
"For dat," spoke out der Breitmann, "I doos not gare one tam!
"Who der Teufel pe's de repels, und vhere dey kits deir sass?
If dey make a run on Breitmann he'll soon let out de gas;
I'll shplit dem like kartoffels; I'll schlog em on de kop;
I'll set de plackguarts roonin' so, dey don't know vhere to
shtop."
Und de outshpoke der Breitmann, mit his schlaeger py his side:
"Forvarts, my pully landsmen! it's dime to run and ride;
Vill riden, vill vighten - der Copitain I'll pe,
It's sporn und horn und saddle now - all in de Cavallrie!"
Und ash dey rode droo Vinchesder, so herrlich to be seen,
Dere coomed some repel cavallrie a riden' on de creen;
Mit a sassy repel Dootchman - an colonel in gommand,
Says he, "Vot Teufel makes you here in dis mein Faderland?
"You're dressed oop like a shentleman mit your
plackguart Yankee crew,
You mudsills and meganics! Der Teufel put you droo!
Old Yank, you ought to shtay at home und dake your liddle horn,
Mit some oldt voomans for a noorse" - der Breitmann
laugh mit shkorn.
"Und should I trink mein lager beer und roost mine self to home?
I'fe got too many dings like you to mash beneat' my thoom:
In many a fray und fierce foray dis Dootchman will be feared
Pefore he stops dis vightin' trade - 'twas dere he grayed
his peard."
"I pools dat peard out py de roots - I gifes him such a dwist
Dill all de plood roons out, you tamned old Apolitionist!
You creenpacks mit your swordt und vatch, right ofer
you moost shell,
Und den you goes to Libby stright - und after dat to h-ll!"
"Mein creenpacks and mein schlaeger, I kits 'em in New York,
To gife dem up to creenhorns, young man, is not de talk;"
De heroes shtopped deir sassin' here und grossed deir sabres
dwice,
Und de vay dese Deutschers vent to vork vos von pig ding on ice.
Der younger fetch de older such a gottallmachty shmack
Der Breitmann dinks he really hears his skool go shplit and
crack;
Der repel shoomps dwelfe paces back, und so he safe his life:
Der Breitmann says: "I guess dem shoomps, you
learns dem of your vife."
"If I should learn of vomans I dinks it vere a shame,
Bei Gott I am a shentleman, aristograt, and game.
My fader vos anoder - I lose him fery young-
Der Teufel take your soul! Coom on! I'll split your
vaggin' tongue!"
A Yankee drick der Breitmann dried - dat oldt gray-pearded man-
For ash the repel raised his swordt, beneat' dat sword he ran.
All round der shlim yoong repels vaist his arms oldt
Breitmann pound,
Und shlinged him down oopon his pack and laidt him on der ground.
"Who rubs against olt kittle-pots may keep vhite - if he can,
Say vot you dinks of vightin' now mit dis oldt shentleman?
Your dime is oop; you got to die, und I your breest vill pe;
Peliev'st dou in Morál Ideas? If so, I lets you
free."[12]
"I don't know nix apout ideas - no more dan 'pout Saint Paul,
Since I'fe peen down in Tixey I kits no books at all;
I'm greener ash de clofer-grass; I'm shtupid as a shpoon;
I'm ignoranter ash de nigs - for dey takes de Tribune.
"Mein fader's name vas Breitmann, I heard mein mutter say,
She read de bapers dat he died after she rooned afay;
Dey say he leaf some broperty - berhaps 'tvas all a sell-
If I could lay mein hands on it I likes it mighty vell."
"Und vas dy fader Breitmann? Bist du his kit and kin?
Denn know dat ich der Breitmann dein lieber Vater bin?"
Der Breitmann poolled his hand-shoe off und shooked him py de
hand;
"Ve'll hafe some trinks on strengt' of dis - or else may
I be tam'd!"
"Oh! fader, how I shlog your kop," der younger Breitmann said;
"I'd den dimes sooner had it coom right down on mein own headt!"
"Oh, never mind - dat soon dry oop - I shticks him mit a blaster;
If I had shplit you like a fish, dat vere an vorse tisasder."
Dis fight did last all afternoon - wohl to de fesper tide,
Und droo de streets of Vinchesder, der Breitmann he did ride.
Vot vears der Breitmann on his hat? De ploom of fictory!
Who's dat a ridin' py his side? "Dis here's mein son," says he.
How stately rode der Breitmann oop! - how lordly he kit down!
How glorious from de great pokal he drink de beer so
prown!
But der Younger bick der parrel oop und schwig him all at one.
"Bei Gott! dat settles all his dings - I know dou art mein
son!"
Der one has got a fader; de oder found a child.
Bofe ride oopon one war-path now in pattle fierce und vild.
It makes so glad our hearts to hear dat dey did so succeed-
Und damit hat sein Ende DES JUNGEN BREITMANN'S LIED.
BREITMANN IN MARYLAND.
DER BREITMANN mit his gompany
Rode out in Marylandt.
"Dere's nix to trink in dis countrie;
ine droat's as dry as sand.
It's light canteen und haversack,
It's hoonger mixed mit doorst;
Und if ve had some lager beer
I'd trink oontil I boorst.
Gling, glang, gloria!
Ve'd trink oontil ve boorst.[13]
Herr Leut'nant, take a dozen men,
Und ride dis land around!
Herr Feldwebel, go foragin'
Dill somedings goot is found.
Gotts-donder! men, go ploonder!
Ve hafn't trinked a bit
Dis fourdeen hours! If I had beer
I'd sauf oontil I shplit!
Gling, glang, gloria!
Ve'd sauf oontil ve shplit!"
At mitternacht a horse's hoofs
Coom rattlin' droo de camp;
"Rouse dere! - coom rouse der house dere!
Herr Copitain - ve moost tromp!
De scouds have found a repel town,
Mit repel davern near,
A repel keller in de cround,
Mit repel lager beer!!
Gling, glang, gloria!
All fool of lager beer!"
Gottsdonnerkreuzschockschwerenoth!
How Breitmann broked de bush!
"O let me see dat lager beer!
O let me at him rush!
Und is mein sabre sharp und true,
Und is mein var-horse goot?
To get one quart of lager beer
I'd shpill a sea of ploot.
Gling, glang, gloria!
I'd shpill a sea of ploot.
"Fuenf hoonderd repels hold de down,
One hoonderd strong are ve;
Who gares a tam for all de odds
Vhen men so dirsty pe."
And in dey smashed and down dey crashed,
Like donder-polts dey fly,
Rash fort as der vild yæger cooms
Mit blitzen droo de shky.
Gling, glang, gloria!
Like blitzen droo de shky.
How flewed to rite, how flewed to left
De moundains, drees, und hedge;
How left und rite de yæger corps
Vent donderin' droo de pridge.
Und splash und splosh dey ford de shtream
Vhere not some pridges pe:
All dripplin' in de moondlight peam
Stracks vent de Cavallrie.
Gling, glang, gloria!
Der Breitmann's cavallrie.
Und hoory, hoory, on dey rote,
Oonheedin' vet or try;
Und horse und rider shnort and blowed
Und shparklin' bepples fly.
Ropp! Ropp! I shmell de parley-prew!
Dere's somedings goot ish near.
Ropp! Ropp! - I scent de kneiperei;
Ve've got to lager beer!
Gling, glang, gloria!
Ve've got to lager beer!
Hei! how de carpine pullets klinged
Oopon de helmets hart!
Oh, Breitmann - how dy sabre ringed;
Du alter Knasterbart!
De contrapands dey sing for shoy
To see de rebs go down,
Und hear der Breitmann grimly gry:
Hoorah! - ve've dook de down.
Gling, glang, gloria!
Victoria, victoria!
De Dootch have dook de down.
Mid shout and crash and sabre flash,
And vild husaren shout
De Dootchmen boorst de keller in,
Und rolled de lager out;
Und in de coorlin' powder shmoke,
Vhile shtill de pullets sung,
Dere shtood der Breitmann, axe in hand,
A knockin' out de boong.
Gling, glang, gloria!
Victoria! Encoria!
De shpicket beats de boong.
Gotts! vot a shpree der Breitmann had
Vhile yet his hand was red,
A trinkin' lager from his poots
Among de repel tead.[14]
"Tvas dus dey vent at mitternight
Along der moundain side;
'Tvas dus dey help make history!
Dis vas der Breitmann's ride.
Gling, glang, gloria!
Victoria! Victoria!
Cer'visia, encoria!
De treadful mitnight ride
Of Breitmann's vild Freischarlinger,
All famous, broad, und vide.
BREITMANN AS A BUMMER
DER SHENERAL SHERMAN holts oop on his coorse,
He shtops at de gross-road und reins in his horse.
"Dere's a ford on de rifer dis day we moost dake,
Or elshe de grand army in bieces shall preak!"
Vhen shoost ash dis vord from his lips had gone bast,
There coomed a young orterly gallopin' fast,
Who gry mit amazement: "Herr Shen'ral! Goot Lord!
Dat Bummer der Breitmann ish holdin' der ford!"
Der Shen'ral he ootered no hymn und no psalm,
But opened his lips und he priefly say "D--n!
Dere moost hafe been viskey on dat side der rifer;
To get it dose shaps vould set hell in a shiver;
But now dat dey hold it, ride quick to deir aid:
Ho, Sickles! move promp'ly, send down a prigade!
Dat Dootchman moost vork mighty hard mit his sword
If againsd a whole army he holds to de ford."
Dey spoored on, dey hoory'd on, gallopin' shtraight,
But for Breitmann help coomed shoost a liddle too late,
For as de Lauwiné goes smash mit her pound,
So on to de Bummers de repels coom down:
Heinrich von Schinkenstein's tead in de road,
Dieterich Hinkelbein's flat as a toad;
Und Sepperl - Tyroler - shpoke nefer a vord,
But shoost "Mutter Gottes!" und died in de ford.
Itsch'l of Innspruck ish drilled droo de hair,
Einer aus Böblingen[15] - he too vash dere-
Karli of Karlisruh's shot near de fence
(His horse vash o'erloadet mit toorkies und hens),
Und dough he like a ravin' mad cannibal fought
Yet der Breitmann - der capt'n - der hero vash caught;
Und de last dings ve saw, he vas tied mit a cord,
For de repels had goppled him oop at de ford.
Dey shtripped off his goat und skyugled his poots
Dey dressed him mit rags of a repel recruits;
But von gray-haared oldt veller shmiled crimly und bet
Dat Breitmann vouldt be a pad egg for dem yet.
"He has more on his pipe[16] as dem vellers allows,
He has cardts yet in hand und das Spiel ist nicht aus,
Dey'll find dat dey took in der Teufel to board,
De day dey pooled Breitmann vell ofer de ford."
In de Bowery each beer-haus mit crape vas oopdone,
Vhen dey read in de papers dat Breitmann vas gone;
Und de Dootch all cot troonk oopon lager und wein,
At the great Trauer-fest of de Turner Verein.
Dere vas wein - en mit weinen ven beoplesh did dink
Dat Sherman's great Sharman cood nefer more trink.
Und in Villiam Shtreet veepin' und vailen' vas hoor'd,
Pecause der Hans Breitmann vas lost at de ford.
SECOND PART.
In dulce jubilo now ve all sings,
A-vaifin' de panners like efery dings.
De preeze droo de bine-trees ish cooler und salt,
Und der Shen'ral is merry venefer ve halt;
Loosty und merry he schmells at de preeze,
Lustig und heiter he looks droo de drees,
Lustig und heiter ash vell he may pe,
For Sherman, at last has marched down to the sea.
Dere's a gry from de guart - dere's a clotter und dramp,
Vhen dat fery same orterly rides droo de camp
Who report on de ford. Dere ish droples and awe
In de face of de youf' apout somedings he saw;
Und he shpeak me in Fræntsch, like he always do: "Look!
Sagre pleu! Fentre Tieu! - dere ish Breitmann - his
spook!
He ish goming dis vay! Nom de Garce![17] can it pe
Dat de spooks of de tead men coom down to de sea!"
Und he looks, und ve sees, und ve tremples mit tread,
For risin' all swart on de efenin' red
Vas Johannes - der Breitmann - der war es, bei Gott!
Coom riding' to oos-vard, right shtraight to de shpot!
All mouse-still ve shtood, yet mit oop-shoompin' hearts,
For he look shoost so pig as de shiant of de Hartz;
Und I heard de Sout Deutschers say "Ave Morie!
Braise Gott all goot shpirids py land und by sea!"
Boot Itzig of Frankfort he lift oop his nose,
Und be-mark dat de shpook hat peen changin' his clothes,
For he seemed like an Generalissimus drest
In a vlamin' new coat und magnificent vest.
Six bistols beschlagen mit silber he vore,
Und a cold mounded swordt like a Kaisar he bore,
Und ve dinks dat de ghosdt - or votever he pe-
Moost hafe proken some panks on his vay to de sea.
"Id is he!""Und er lebt noch!" he lifes ve all say:
"Der Breitmann - Oldt Breitmann! - Hans Breitmann! Herr
Je!"
Und ve roosh to emprace him, und shtill more ve find
Dat vherefer he'd peen, he'd left noding pehine.
In bofe of his poots dere vas porte-moneys crammed,
Mit creen-packs stoof full all his haversack jammed,
In his bockets cold dollars vere shinglin' deir doons
Mit dwo doozen votches und four dozen shpoons,
Und dwo silber tea-pods for makin' his dea,
Der ghosdt hafe pring mit him, en route to de sea.
Mit goot sweed-botatoes, und doorkies, und rice,
Ve makes him a sooper of efery dings nice.
Und de bummers hoont roundt apout, alle wie ein,
Dill dey findt a plantaschion mit parrels of wein.
Den t'vas "Here's to you, Breitmann! Alt Schwed"[18] - bist
zurück?
Vot teufels you makes since dis fourteen nights veek?"
Und ve holds von shtupendous and derriple shpree
For shoy dat der Breitmann has got to de sea.
But in fain tid we ashk vhere der Breitmann hat peen,
Vot he tid; vot he pass droo - or vot he might seen?
Vhere he kits his vine horse, or who gafe him dem woons,
Und how Brovidence plessed him mit tea-pods und shpoons?
For to all of dem queeries he only reblies,
"If you dells me no quesdions, I ashks you no lies!"
So 'twas glear dat some derriple mysh'dry moost pe
Vhere he kits all dat ploonder he prings to de sea.
Dere ish bapers in Richmond dells derriple lies
How Sherman's grand armee hafe raise deir sooplies:
For ve readt in brindt dat der Sheneral Grant
Say de bummers hafe only shoost take vat dey vant.
But 'tis vhispered dat vhile a refolfer'll go round
Der BREITMANN vill nefer a peggin' be found;
Or shtarvin' ash brisner - by doonder! - not he,
Vhile der Teufel could help him to ged to de sea.
BREITMANN'S GOING TO CHURCH.
"Vides igitur, Collega carissime, visitationem canonicam esse rem
haud ita periculosam, sed valde amoenam, si modo vinum, groggio
et
cibi praesto sunt."
- Novissimae Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum, Berolini F.
Berggold, 1869. Epistola xxiii., p. 63.
D'VAS near de state of Nashfille,
In de town of Tennessee,
Der Breitmann vonce vas quarderd
Mit all his cavallrie.
Der Sheneral kept him glose in gamp,
He vouldn't let dem go;
Dey couldn't shdeal de first plack hen,
Or make de red cock crow.
Und virst der Breitmann vildly shmiled,
Und denn he madly shvore;
"Crate h--l, mit shpoons und shinsherbread,
Can dis pe makin war?
Verdammt pe all der discipline!
Verdammt der Shenerál!
Vere I vonce on de road, his will,
Vere wurst mir und egâl. [19]
"Oh vhere ish all de plazin roofs
Dat claddened vonce mine eyes?
Und vhere de crand plantaschions
Vhere ve gaddered many a brize?
Und vhere de plasted shpies ve hung
A howlin loud mit fear?
Und vhere de rascal push-whackers
Ve shashed like vritened deer?
"De roofs are shtandin fast and firm
Mit repels blottin oonder;
De crand blantaschions lie round loose
For Morgan's men to ploonder!
De shpies go valkin out und in,
Ash sassy ash can pe;
Und in de voods de push-whackers
Are makin foon of me!
"Oh vere I on my schimmel grey
Mein sabre in mein hand,
Dey should drack me py de ruins
Of de houses troo de land.
Dey should drack me py de puzzards
High sailen ofer head,
A vollowin der Breitmann's trail
To claw de repel dead."
Outspoke der bold Von Stossenheim,
Who had théories of Gott:
"O Breitmann, dis ish shoodgement on
De vays dat you hafe trot.
You only lifes to joy yourself,
Yet you, yourself moost say,
Dat self-defelopment requires
De réligiös Idée."
Dey sat dem down and argued id,
Like Deutschers vree from fear,
Dill dey schmoke ten pounds of knaster,
Und drinked drei fass of bier.
Der Breitmann go py Schopenhauer,
Boot Veit he had him denn;
For he dook him on de angles
Of de moral oxygen.
Der Breitmann 'low, dat 'pentence,
Ish known in efery glime,
Und dat to grin und bear it
Vas healty und soopline.
"For mine Sout German Catolicks,
Id vas pe goot, I know;
Likevise dem Nordland Luterans,
If vonce to shoorsh dey go.
"Boot how vas id mit oders
Who dinks philosophie?
I don't begreif de matter,"
Said Stossenheim: "Denn see.
De more dat shoorsh disgoostet you,
Und make despise und bain,
De crater merid ish to go,
Und de crater ish your gain.
"I know a liddle shoorsh mineself,
Oopon de Bole Jack road:
(De rebs vonce shot dree Federals dere,
Ash into shoorsh dey goed.)
Dere you might make a bilcrimage,
Und do id in a tay:
Gott only knows vot dings you mighdt
Bick oop, oopon de vay."
Denn oop dere shpoke a contrapand,
Vas at de tent id's toor-
"Dere's twenty bar'ls of whiskey, hid,
In dat tabernacle, shore.
A rebel he done gone and put
It in de cellar, true,
No libin man dat secret knows,
'Cept only me an' you."
Der Stossenheim, he grossed himself,
Und knelt peside de fence,
Und gried: "O Coptain Breitmannn, see,
Die finger Providence."
Der Breitmann droed his hat afay,
Says he, "Pe't hit or miss,
I'fe heard of miragles pefore,
Boot none so hunk ash dis."
"Wohlauf mine pully cafaliers,
Ve'll ride to shoorsh to-day,
Each man ash hasn't cot a horse
Moost shteal von, rite afay.
Dere's a raw, green corps from Michigan,
Mit horses on de loose,
You men ash vants some hoof-irons,
Look out and crip deir shoes."
All brooshed und fixed, de cavallrie,
Rode out py moonen shine,
De cotton fields in shimmerin light,
Lay white as elfenbein.
Dey heard a shot close py Lavergne,
Und men who rode afay,
In de road a-velterin his his ploot,
A Federal picket lay.
Und all dat he hafe dimes to say,
"Vhile shtandin at my post,
De guerillas got first shot at me,"
Und so gafe oop de ghost.
Denn a contrapand, who helt his head,
Said: "Sah - dose grillers all
Is only half a mile from hy'ar,
A dancin at a ball."
Der Breitmann shpoke and brummed it out
Ash if his heart tid schvell:
"I'll gife dem music at dat pall
Vill tantz dem into hell."
Hei! - arrow-fast - a teufel's ride!
De plack man led de vay,
Dey reach de house - dey see de lights-
Dey heard de fiddle blay.
Dey nefer vaited for a word
Boot galloped from de gloom,
Und, bang! - a hoonderd carpine shots
Dey fired indo de room.
Oop vent de groans of vounded men,
De fittlin died away:
Boot some of dem vere tead pefore
De music ceased to blay.
Denn crack und smack coom scotterin shots
Troo vindow und troo door,
Boot bang and clang de Germans gife
Anoder volley more.
"Dere - let 'em shlide. Right file to shoorsh!"
Aloudt de orders ran.
"I kess I paid dem for dat shot,"
Shpeak grim der Breitemann.
All rosen red de mornin fair
Shone gaily o'er de hill,
A violet plue de shky crew teep
In rifer, pond, und rill;
All cloudy grey de limeshtone rocks
Coom oop troo dimmerin wood;
All shnowy vite in mornin light
De shoorsh pefore dem shtood.
"Now loudet vell de organ, oop,
To drill mit solemn fear;
Und ring also dat Lumpenglock
To pring de beoples here.
Und if it prings guerillas down,
Ve'll gife dem, py de Lord,
De low-mass of de sabre, and
De high-mass of de cord.[20]
"Du, Eberlé aus Freiburg,
Du bist ein Musikant,
Top-sawyer on de counterpoint
Und buster in discánt,
To dee de soul of musik
All innerly ish known,
Du canst mit might fullenden
De art of orgel-ton.
"Derefore, a Miserére
Vill dou, be-ghostet, spiel,
Und vake be-raiséd, yearnin,
Also a holy feel:-
Pe referent, men - rememper
Dis ish a Gotteshaus-
Du Conrad - go along de aisles
Und schenk de whiskey aus!:
Dey blay crate dings from Mozart,
Beethoven, und Méhul
Mit chorals of Sebastian Bach
Soopline und peaudiful.
Der Breitmann feel like holy saints,
De tears roon down his fuss;
Und he sopped out, "got verdammich - dis
Ist wahres Kunstgenuss!"[21]
Der Eberlé blayed oop so high,
He maket de rafters ring;
Der Eberlé blayed lower, und
Ve heardt der Breitmann sing
Like a dronin wind in piney woods
Like a nightly moanin sea:
Ash de dinked on Sonntags long agone
Vhen a poy in Germany.
Und louder und mit louder tone
High oop de orgel blowed,
Und plentifuller efer yet
Around de whiskey goed.
Dey singed ash if mit singin, dey
Might indo Himmel win:-
I dink in all dis land soosh shprees
Ash yet hafe nefer peen.
Vhen in de Abendsonnenschein,
Mit doost-clouds troo de door,
All plack ash night in golden lighdt
Der shtood ein schwartzer Mohr,
Dat contrapand so wild und weh,
Mit eye-palls glaring roun,
Who cried "For Gott's sake, hoory oop!
De reps ish gomin down!"
Und while he yet was shpeakin,
A far-off soundt pegan,
Down rollin from de moundain
Of many a ridersmann.
Und vhile de waves of musik
Vere rollin o'er deir heads,
Dey heard a foice a schkreemin,
"Pile out of thar, you Feds!
"For we uns ar' a comin
For to guv to you uns fits,
And knock you into brimstun
And blast you all to bits"-
Boot ere it done ids shpeakin,
Der vas order in de band,
Ash Breitmann, mit an awfool stim
Out-dondered his gommand.
Und ash fisch-hawk at a mackarel
Doth make a splurgin flung,
Und ash eagles dab de fish-hawks
Ash if de gods vere young,
So from all de doors and vindows,
Like shpiders down deir webs
De Dootch went at deir horses,
Und de horses at de rebs.
Crate shplendors of de treadful
Vere in dat pattle rush,
Crate vights mit swords und carpine,
Py efery fence and bush.
Ash panters vight mit crislies
In famished morder fits-
For de rebs vere mad ash boison,
Und de Dootch vere droonk ash blitz.
Yet vild ash vas de pattle,
So quickly vas it o'er,
O, vhy moost I forefer
Pestain mine page mit gore?
Py liddle und py liddle
Dey drawed demselfs afay,
Oft toornin' round to vighten
Like boofaloes at bay.
De scatterin shots grew fewer,
De scatterin gries more shlow,
Und furder troo de forest
Ve heard dem vainter grow.
Ve gife von shout - "Victoria!"
Und denn der Breitmann said,
Ash he wiped his ploody sabre:
"Now, poys, count oop your dead!"
Oh small had been our shoutin
For shoy, if ve had known
Dat der Stossenheim im oaken wald,
Lay dyin all alone.
Vhile his oldt vhite horse mit droopin het
Look dumbly on him doun,
Ash if he dinked, "Vy lyest dou here
Vhile fightin's goin on?"
Und dreams coom o'er de soldier
Slow dyin on de eart;
Of a schloss afar in Baden,
Of his mutter, und nople birt!
Of poverty and sorrow,
Vhich drofe him like de wind,
Und he sighed, "Ach weh for de lofed ones,
Who wait so far pehind!"
"Wohl auf, my soul o'er de moundains!
Wohl auf - well ofer de sea!
Dere's a frau dat sits in de Odenwald
Und shpins, und dinks of me.
Dere's a shild ash blays in de greenin grass,
Und sings a liddle hymn,
Und learns to shpeak a fader's name
Dat she nefer will shpeak to him.
"But mordal life ends shortly
Und Heafen's life is long:-
Wo bist du Breitmann? - glaub'es-[22]
Gott suffers noding wrong.
Now I die like a Christian soldier,
My head oopon my sword:-
In nomine Domini!"-
Vas Stossenheim his word.
O, dere vas bitter wailen
Vhen Stossenheim vas found.
Efen from dose dere lyin
Fast dyin on de ground.
Boot time vas short for vaiten,
De shades vere gadderin dim:
Und I nefer shall forget it,
De hour ve puried him.
De tramp of horse und soldiers
Vas all de funeral knell;
De ring of sporn und carpine
Vas all de sacrin bell.
Mit hoontin knife und sabre
Dey digged de grave a span,
From German eyes blue gleamin
De holy water ran.
Mit moss-grown shticks und bark-thong
De plessed cross ve made,
Und put it vhere de soldier's head
Towards Germany vas laid.
Dat grave is lost mit dead leafs,
De cross is goned afay:
Boot Gott will find der reiter
Oopon de Youngest Day.
Und dinkin of de fightin,
Und dinkin of de dead,
Und dinkin of de organ,
To Nashville, Breitmann led
Boot long dat rough oldt Hanserl
Vas earnsthaft, grim und kalt,
Shtill dinkin o'er de heart's friend,
He'd left im gruenen wald.[23]
De verses of dis boem
In Heidelberg I write;
De night is dark around me,
De shtars apove are bright.
Studenten in den Gassen[24]
Make singen many a song;
Ach Faderland! - wie bist du weit!
Ach Zeit! - wie bist du lang![25]
BREITMANN IN KANSAS.[26]
VONCE oopon a dimes, goot vhile afder der var vas ofer, der Herr
Breitmann vent oud Vest, drafellin' apout like efery dings -
"circuivit terram et perambulavit eam," ash der Teufel
said ven
dey ask him: "How vash you und how you has peen?"
Von efenings he vas drafel mit some ladies und shendlemans,
und he
shtaid incognitus. Und dey singed songs, dill py und py
one of
de ladies say: "Ish any podies here ash know de crate pallad of
Hans
Breitmann's Barty?" Den Hans say: "Ecce Gallus! I am dat
rooster!" Den der Hans dook a trink und a let-bencil und a biece
of
baper, und goes indo himself a little dimes und den coomes out
again
mit dis boem:
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas:
He drafel fast und far;
He rided shoost drei dousand miles
All in von rail-roat car.
He knowed foost rate how far he goed-
He gounted all de vile,
Dere vash shoost one bottle of champagne,
Dat bopped at efery mile.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;
I dell you vot, my poy,
You bet dey hat a pully dimes
In crossin' Illinoy.
Dey speaked deir speaks to all de folk
A shtandin' in de car;
Den ask dem in to dake a trink,
Und corned em gans und gar.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;
By shings! dey did it prown.
When he got into Leafenvort,
He found himself in town.
Dey dined him at de Blanter's House,
More goot as man could dink;
Mit efery dings on eart' to eat,
Und dwice as mooch to trink.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;
He vent it on de loud.
At Ellsvort, in de prairie land,
He foundt a pully crowd.
He looked for bleedin' Kansas,
But dat's "blayed out," dey say;
De vhiskey keg's de only ding
Dat's bleedin' dere to-day.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas,
To see vot he could hear.
He foundt soom Deutschers dat exisdt
Py makin' lager beer.
Says he: "Wie gehts du Alt Gesell?"
But nodings could be heard;
Dey'd growed so fat in Kansas
Dat dey couldn't speak a vord.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;
Py shings! I dell you vot,
Von day he met a crisly bear
Dat rooshed him down, bei Gott!
Boot der Breitmann took und bind der bear
Und bleased him fery much-
For efery vordt der crisly growled
Vas goot Bavarian Dutch!
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas!
By donder dat is so!
He ridet oout upon de blains
To shase de boofalo.
He fired his rifle at de bools,
Und gallop droo de shmoke,
Und shoomp de canyons shoost as if
Der teufel vas a choke!
It's hey de trail to Santa Fé;
It's ho! agross de plain;
It's lope along de Denver road,
Until ve toorn again.
Und de railroad drafel after us
Apout as quick as ve;
Dis Kansas ish de fastest land
Ash efer I did see.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;
He have a pully dime;
But 'twas in old Missouri
Dat dey rooshed him up subline.
Dey took him to der Bilot Nob,
Und all der nobs around;
Dey shpreed him und dey tea'd him
Dill dey roon him to de ground.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas,
Und made his carpine pop!
Ven he shooted at a drifer man
To make de wagon shdop.
A noble Tribune shendleman
Shoost dodged dat pullet's bore,
Und de driver shwore dat soosh a crowd
He nefer druv pefore.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;
Droo all dis earthly land,
A vorkin' out life's mission here
Soobyectifly und grand.
Some beoplesh runs de beautiful,
Some vorks philosophie;
Der Breitmann solfe de infinide
Ash von eternal shpree!
HANS BREITMANN'S CHRISTMAS.
"Hæc est illa bona dies
Et vocata læta quies
Vina sitientibus.
"Nullus metus, nec labores,
Nulla cura, nec dolores,
Sint in hoc symposio."
[De Generibus Ebriosorum, Francoforti
ad Mœnum, A.D. 1585.
ID vas on Weihnachtsabend - Vot Ghristmas Efe dey call-
Der Breitmann mit his Breitmen tid rent de Musik Hall;
Ash de Breitmen und die vomen who vere in de Liederkranz
Vouldt blend deir souls in harmonie to have a bleasin tantz.
Dey reefed de Hall 'mid pushes so nople to pe seen,
Aroundt Beethoven's buster dey dey on-did a garlandt creen:
De laties vork like teufels dwo tays to scroob de vloor
Und hanged a crate serenity mit WILLKOMM! oop de toor!
Und vhile dere vas a Schwein-blatt whose redakteur tid say,
Die Breitmann he vas liederlich: ve ant-worded dis-a way,
Ve maked anoder serenity mid ledders plue und red:
"Our Leader lick de repels! N.G." (enof gesaid.)
Und anoder serene dransbarency ve make de veller baint,
Boot de vay he potch und vertyfeled id, vas enof to shvear a
saint,
For ve vanted LA GERMANIA; - boot der ardist mit a bloonder,
Vent und vlorished LAGER agross id - und denn poot MANIA oonder!
"Now ve moost pe guest-friendlich," said Breitmann, said he;
"Und shoot te toor vide oben, for beople all to see.
Four elemends indernally unided make a punsch;
Boot id dakes a tausend fellers vhen you gifes dem freie lunsch."
Und as Ghristmas Efe vas gekommen, de beoplesh weren im Hall;
I shvears you id vas Gott-full - dat shplendit, peglory'd ball;
Ve hat foon wie der Teufel in Frankreich - ve coot oop
like der teufel in France,
Und valk pair-wise in, vhile de musik blayed loudt de
Fackel-Tanz.
Boot vhen de valtz shtrike oopwart ve most went out of fits,
Ash der Breitmann led off on a dwister mit de lofely
Helmine Schmitz.
He valtz yoost like he vas shtandin' shtill mit a
peaudiful solemn shmile,
Und Helmine say he nefer shtop poussiren alla weil.
"Es tœnt, es rauschet Saitenklang - I hear de musik
call
Den herzenhellen Saal entlang - all droo de gleamin' Hall.
O mœcht ich schweben stolz und froh - O mighdt I
efer pe
Mit dir durchs ganze Leben so! - mine Lebanlang py dee!"
Und vaster blay de musik de Wellen und Wogen von Strauss;
Und soom drop indo de tantzen, und soom of dem drop aus;
Und soon like a shtorm in de Meere I veel de reelin' vloor,
So de shpinners shtop mit de shpinsters, for dey couldn't
shpin no more.
Now weren ve all frolic, und lauter guter ding,
Und dirsty ash a broosh-pinder - vhen ve hear some glasses ring;
Foors mild und sonft in de distants - like de song of
a nightingall,
Denn a ringin' und rottlin und clotterin' - ash de Glück
of Edenhall?
Hei! how ve roosh on de liquor! - hei: how de kellners coom:
Hei! how ve busted de bier-kegs und poonished de Punsch a la
Rhum.
Like lonely wafes at mitternight oopon some shiant shore-
Like an awful shtorm in de Wælder - vas de dirsty
Deutschers' roar!
I pyed some carts for a dime abiece - I pyed shoost fifdy-dwo,
Dey vere goot for bier, or schnapps, or wein - by
doonder how dey flew!
I ring de deck on de vaiters for liquor hot und cool,
Und efery dime I blays a cart, py shings, I rake de pool![27]
Und ash ve trinked so comforble, like boogs in any roog,
De trompets blowed tan da ra dei, und dere come in a
Maskenzug,
A peaudiful brocession, soul-raisin' and sooplime,
De marmorbilds of de heroes of de early Sharman dime.
Dere vent der gros Arminius, mit his frau Thusnelda, doo,
De vellers ash lam de Romans dill dey roon mit noses plue;
Denn vollowed Quinctilius Varus who carry a Roman yoke,
Und arm in arm mit Gambrinus coom der Allemane Chroc.
Der Alte Friedrich Rothbart, und Kaiser Karl der crate,
Mit Roland und Uliverus vent shveepin' on in shtate;
Und Conradin, whose sad-full deat' shtill makes our heartsen
pleed,
Und all ov dem oldt vellers aus dem Nibelungen Lied.
Und as dey mofed on, der Breitmann maked a tyfeled shplendid witz
In anti-word to dis quesdion from de lofely Mina Schmitz:
"Vhy ish id dey always makes in shtone dem vellers so
andiquadet?"
"Vhy - dey set in de laps of Ages dill dey got
lapi-dated!"
Und shoost as de last of dis hisdory hat fanished droo de door,
Ve heardt a ge-screech, and Pelz Nickel coom howlin' on de vloor;
Denn de laties yell like der teufel, und vly like gulls mit
wings,
Und der Pelz Nickel lick em mit svitches, und ve
laugh like eferydings.
I nefer hafe sooch laughen before dat I vas geborn;
Und Pelz Nickel, vhen 'tvas ober, he plow on a yæger horn,
Und denounce do all de beople gesembled in de hall:
"Dat a Ghristmas dree vas vaiten', mit bresents for oos all!"
So ve vollowed him into de zimmer so quick ash dese vords
he said,
To kit dem peaudiful bresents, all gratis und on de dead;
Und in facdt a shplendid Weihnachtsbaum mit lighds ve druly
vound,
Und liddel kifts dat ge-kostet a benny abiece all round!
Dere vas Rike Strange die Dessauerinn - a maedchen
shtraigdt und tall,
She cot a bicture of Cubid - boot she tidn't see it ad
all,
Dill der Breitmann say, mit his shplendid shtyle dat
all de laties dake:
"Dat pend of de bow ish de Crecian pend dat you so ofden make!"
Anoder scharmante laity, Maria Top, did cot,
A schwingin' mit a ribbon, a liddle benny pot;
Boot Breitmann hafe id de roughest of any oder mans,
For he kit a yellow gratle mit a liddle vooden Hans.
Denn next Beethoven's Sinfonie, die orkester tid blay;
Adagio - allegro - andante cantabile.
Ve sat in shtill commotion so dat a bin mighdt drops,
Und de deers roon town der Breitmann's sheeks,
mitwhiles he was trinkin' schnapps.
Next dings ve had de Weinnachtstraum ge-sung by de
Liederkranz,
Denn I trinked dwelf schoppens of glee-wine to sed
me oop for a tantz;
Dis dimes I tanz wie der Teufel - we shriek de volk on de vloor;
Und boost right indo de sooper room - vor ve tanzt a
hole droo de door!
Denn 'twas rowdy tow und hop-sassa, ve hollered,
Mann und Weib;
"Rip Sam und sed her oop acain! - ve're all of de Shackdaw
tribe!"
Vhen Pelz Nickel plow his tromp vonce more, und
peg oos to shtop our din,
Und droo de oben door dere coomed nine den-pins marchin' in.
Nine vellers tressed like den-pins - dey goed to de end' der
hall.
Und dwo Hans Wurst, shack-puddin' glowns - dey
rolled at em mit a ball.
De balls vas paintet peaudiful; dey was vifdeen feet aroundt;
Und de rule ov de came: "whoefer cot hidt, moost
doomple on de croundt."
Sometimes dey hit de den-pins - sometimes de oder volk-
Und pooty soon de gompany vas all laid out in shoke;
Boot I dells you vot, it maked oos laugh dill we by-nearly
shplits,
Vhen der Breitmann he roll ofer, und drip oop de Mina Schmitz.
Dis lets itself in Sharman pe foost-rade word-blayed on,
Und 'mongst oos be-gifted vellers you pet dat id vas tone!
How der Breitmann mighdt drafel ash bride-man on
de roadt dat ish breit und krumm:[28]
Here de drumpets soundt, and pair-wise ve goed for de
sooper-room.
Ve goed for ge-roasted Welsh-hens, ve goed for ge-spickter hare,
Ve goed for kartoffel salade mit butter brod,-kaviar:
Ve roosh at de lordtly sauer-kraut und de wurst which lofely
shine,
Und oh, mein Gott im Kimmel! how we goed for de
Mosel-wein!
Und troonker more, und troonker yet, und troonker shtill cot ve,
In rosy lighdt shtill drivin on agross a fairy sea;
Denn madder, vilder, frantic-er, I proked a salat dish!
Und shoost like roarin' elefants ve tantzed aroundt de tish.
I'fe shvimmed in heafenly droonks pefore - boot nefer von like
dis;
De morgen-het-ache only seemt a bortion of de pliss.
De vhile in trilling peauty roundt like heafenly vind-harps rang
A goosh of goldnen melodie - de Rheinweinbechers' Klang.
De meltin' minnesingers' song - a droonk of honey'd rhyme-
De b'wildrin-dipsy Bardic shants of Teutoburgic dime;
Back to de runic dim Valhall und Balder's foamin' mead:-
Here ents in heller glorie schein des Breitmann's Weihnachtslied!
BREITMANN ABOUT TOWN
DER SCHWACKENHAMMER coom to down,
Pefore de Fall vas past,
Und by der Breitmann drawed he in
Ash dreimals honored gast.
"Led's see de sighdts! In self und worldt,-
Dere's 'sighdts' for him, to see,
Who Selbstanschauungsvermögen hat,"
Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to de Opera Haus,
Und dere dey vound em blayin',
Of Offenbach (der open brook),
His show spiel Belle Heléne.
"Dere's Offenbach, - Sebastian Bach,-
Mit Kaulbach, - dat makes dree:
I alvays like sooch brooks ash dese;"
Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to de Bibliothek,
Vhich Mishder Astor bilt:
Some pooks vere only en broschure,
Und some vere pound und gilt.
"Dat makes de gold - dat makes de sinn,
Mit pooks, ash men, ve see,
De pest tressed vellers guilt de most:"-
Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent to see an edidor,
Who'd shanged his flag und doon,
Und crowed oopon der oder side,
Dat very afdernoon.
"De anciends vorshipped wettercocks,
To wetter fanes pent de knee;
Pow down, mein Schwackenhammer, pow!"
Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented by a panker's hause,
Und Schwackenhammer shvore,
He only vant a pig red shield
Hoong oop pefore de toor;
One side of red, one side of gold,
Like de knighds in hisdorie-
"De schildern of dat schild is rich,"
Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent oonto a bicture sale.
Of frames wort' many a cent,
De broperty of a shendleman,
Who oonto Europe vent.
"Don't gry - he'll soon pe pack again
Mit anoder gallerie:
He sells dem oud dwelf dimes a year,"
Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to dis berson's house,
To see his furnidure,
Sold oud at aucdion rite afay,
Beremdory und sure.
"He geeps six houses all at vonce,
Each veek a sale dere pe,
Gotts! vot a dime his vife moost hafe!"-
Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent to vind a goot cigar,
Long dimes dey roamed apout,
Von veller had a pran new sort,
De fery latest out
"Mein freund - I dinks you errs yourself
De shmell ish oldt to m