Goethe: The King in Thule, The Minstrel, and the Cavalier’s Choice.
Our last episode of ballads from Goethe. Thanks again to the Librivox recorders. Shall we start with a potential candidate for cursed treasure?
The King in Thule
A King there was in Thule,
Kept troth unto the grave
The maid he loved so truly
A goblet to him gave.
And ever set before him
At banquet was the cup
And saddening thoughts came o’er him,
Whene’er he took it up.
When Death with him had spoken,
His treasures rang’d he there,
And all, save one dear token,
He gifted to his heir.
Once more to royal wassail
His peers he summon’d all
Around were knight and vassal
Throng’d in his father’s hall.
Then rose the grand old Rover,
Again the cup drain’d he,
And bravely flung it over
Into the welt’ring sea.
He saw it flashing, falling,
And settling in the main.
Heard Death unto him calling
He never drank again
The Minstrel
” What sounds are those I hear, along
The drawbridge sweetly stealmg ?
“Within our hall I’d have that song,
That minstrel measure, pealing.”
Then forth the little foot-page hied
When he came back, the king he cried,
” Bring in the aged minstrel ! “
” Good-even to you, lordlings all
Fair ladies all, good-even.
Lo, star on star ! Within this hall
I see a radiant heaven.
In hall so bright with noble light,
‘Tis not for thee to feast thy sight.
Old man, look not around thee ! “
He closed his eyne, he struck his lyre
In tones with passion laden.
Till every gallant’s eye shot fire,
And down look’d every maiden.
The king, enraptured with his strain,
Held out to him a golden chain,
In guerdon of his harping.
” The golden chain give not to me.
For noble’s breast its glance is,
Who meets and beats thy enemy.
Amid the shock of lances.
Or give it to thy chancellere
Let him its golden burden bear,
Among his other burdens.
” I sing as sings the bird, whose note
The leafy bough is heard on.
The song that falters from my throat
For me is ample guerdon.
Yet I’d ask one thing, an I might,
A draught of brave wine, sparkling bright
Within a golden beaker ! “
The cup was brought. He drain’d its lees,
” O draught that warms me cheerly !
Blest is the house, where gifts like these
Are counted trifles merely.
Lo, when you prosper, think on me,
And thank your God as heartily,
As for this draught I thank you !
The Cavalier’s Choice
A note from the translators: “This lively little ballad occurs in one of Goethe’s Operas, very charming compositions, which probably are less read than they deserve. It is not altogether original, being evidently founded on a popular Scottish ditty, called indiscriminately “Captain Wedderburn’s Courtship,” or ” The Laird of Roslin’s Daughter,” in which precisely the same questions are propounded and answered. Truth compels us to say that, in point of merit, the superiority lies with the Scottish ballad. This being a case of disputed property, or rather commonty, the translator has allowed himself more license in rendering than has been used in any other instance in the present collection.”
It was a gallant cavalier
Of honour and renown,
And all to seek a ladye-love
He rode from town to town.
Till at a widow-woman’s door
He drew the rein so free
For at her side the knight espied
Her comely daughters three.
Well might he gaze upon them,
For they were fair and tall
Ye never have seen fairer maids,
In bower nor yet in hall.
Small marvel if the gallant’s heart
Beat quicker in his breast
‘Twas hard to choose, and hard to lose-
How might he wale the best ?
” Now, maidens, pretty maidens mine,
Who’ll rede me riddles three ?
And she who answers best of all
Shall be mine own ladye ! “
I ween they blush’d as maidens do,
When such rare words they hear
” Now speak thy riddles, if thou wilt,
Thou gay young cavalier ! “
What’s longer than the longest path ?
First tell ye that to me
And tell me what is deeper yet.
Than is the deepest sea ?
And tell me what is louder far,
Than is the loudest horn ?
And tell me what hath sharper point,
Than e’en the sharpest thorn 1
” And tell me what is greener yet,
Than greenest grass on hill ?
And tell me what is crueller
Than a wicked woman’s will “?
The eldest and the second maid,
They mus’d and thought awhile
But the youngest she looked upward.
And spoke with merry smile
” O, love is surely longer far,
Than the longest paths that be
And hell, they say, is deeper yet.
Than is the deepest sea
The roll of thunder is more loud.
Than is the loudest horn ;
And hunger it is worse to bear
Than sharpest wound of thorn
” The copper sweat is greener yet,
Than is the grass on hill
And the foul fiend he is cruellei
Than any woman’s will ! “
He leapt so lightly from his steed,
He took her by the hand ;
” Sweet maid, my riddles thou hast read,
Be lady of my land ! “
The eldest and the second maid,
They pondered and were dumb,
And there, perchance, are waiting yet
Till another wooer come.
Then, maidens, take this warning word.
Be neither slow nor shy.
But always, when a lover speaks,
Look kindly, and reply.
A note here from my own reading. In the Scottish variants, it is the woman who asks the riddles and the man who answers them. This might make her the same type of faerie I made up out of whole cloth for one of the earliest of my Ars Magica submissions, based on the riddle rhyme “Scarborough Fair”
I’d also like to know where “copper sweat” came from in this translation. The Scots versions I’ve seen use the word “verdigris” and that seems a better translation. Copper sweating is, I believe, the process Australians would call soldering. Copper pipes oxidize to a deep green at the joins due to a reaction with the flux and air. Verdigris was made historically, mostly by women as a dye. The usual method was to hang a piece of copper, in a sealed container, over vinegar, so that crystals of verdigris, which is a copper salt, formed on the surface.
