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Explanation of an Ancient Woodcut
Translated by E. A. Bowring
EARLY within his workshop here, | |
| On Sundays stands our master dear; | |
| His dirty apron he puts away, | |
| And wears a cleanly doublet to-day; | |
| Lets waxed thread, hammer, and pincers rest, | 5 |
| And lays his awl within his chest; | |
| The seventh day he takes repose | |
| From many pulls and many blows. | |
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| Soon as the spring sun meets his view, | |
| Repose begets him labor anew; | 10 |
| He feels that he holds within his brain | |
| A little world, that broods there amain, | |
| And that begins to act and to live, | |
| Which he to others would gladly give. | |
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| He had a skilful eye and true, | 15 |
| And was full kind and loving too. | |
| For contemplation, clear and pure,— | |
| For making all his own again, sure; | |
| He had a tongue that charmed when ’t was heard, | |
| And graceful and light flowed every word; | 20 |
| Which made the Muses in him rejoice, | |
| The master-singer of their choice. | |
| |
| And now a maiden entered there, | |
| With swelling breast and body fair; | |
| With footing firm she took her place, | 25 |
| And moved with stately, noble grace; | |
| She did not walk in wanton mood, | |
| Nor look around with glances lewd. | |
| She held a measure in her hand, | |
| Her girdle was a golden band, | 30 |
| A wreath of corn was on her head, | |
| Her eye the day’s bright lustre shed; | |
| Her name is honest Industry, | |
| Else, Justice, Magnanimity. | |
| She entered with a kindly greeting; | 35 |
| He felt no wonder at the meeting, | |
| For, kind and fair as she might be, | |
| He long had known her, fancied he. | |
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| “I have selected thee,” she said, | |
| “From all who earth’s wild mazes tread, | 40 |
| That thou shouldst have clear-sighted sense, | |
| And naught that ’s wrong shouldst e’er commence. | |
| When others run in strange confusion, | |
| Thy gaze shall see through each illusion; | |
| When others dolefully complain, | 45 |
| Thy cause with jesting thou shalt gain, | |
| Honor and right shalt value duly, | |
| In everything act simply, truly,— | |
| Virtue and godliness proclaim, | |
| And call all evil by its name, | 50 |
| Naught soften down, attempt no quibble, | |
| Naught polish up, naught vainly scribble. | |
| The world shall stand before thee, then, | |
| As seen by Albert Dürer’s ken, | |
| In manliness and changeless life, | 55 |
| In inward strength, with firmness rife. | |
| Fair Nature’s genius by the hand | |
| Shall lead thee on through every land, | |
| Teach thee each different life to scan, | |
| Show thee the wondrous ways of man, | 60 |
| His shifts, confusions, thrustings, and drubbings, | |
| Pushings, tearings, pressings, and rubbings; | |
| The varying madness of the crew, | |
| The ant-hill’s ravings bring to view; | |
| But thou shalt see all this expressed, | 65 |
| As though ’t were in a magic chest. | |
| Write these things down for folks on earth, | |
| In hopes they may to wit give birth.” | |
| Then she a window opened wide, | |
| And showed a motley crowd outside, | 70 |
| All kinds of beings ’neath the sky, | |
| As in his writings one may spy. | |
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| Our master dear was, after this, | |
| On Nature thinking, full of bliss, | |
| When toward him, from the other side, | 75 |
| He saw an agéd woman glide; | |
| The name she bears, Historia, | |
| Mythologia, Fabula; | |
| With footstep tottering and unstable | |
| She dragged a large and wooden-carved table, | 80 |
| Where, with wide sleeves and human mien, | |
| The Lord was catechising seen; | |
| Adam, Eve, Eden, the Serpent’s seduction, | |
| Gomorrah and Sodom’s awful destruction, | |
| The twelve illustrious women, too, | 85 |
| That mirror of honor brought to view; | |
| All kinds of bloodthirstiness, murder, and sin, | |
| The twelve wicked tyrants also were in, | |
| And all kinds of goodly doctrine and law; | |
| Saint Peter with his scourge you saw, | 90 |
| With the world’s ways dissatisfied, | |
| And by our Lord with power supplied. | |
| Her train and dress, behind and before, | |
| And e’en the seams, were painted o’er | |
| With tales of worldly virtue and crime. | 95 |
| Our master viewed all this for a time; | |
| The sight right gladly he surveyed, | |
| So useful for him in his trade, | |
| Whence he was able to procure | |
| Example good and precept sure, | 100 |
| Recounting all with truthful care, | |
| As though he had been present there. | |
| His spirit seemed from earth to fly, | |
| He ne’er had turned away his eye, | |
| Did he not just behind him hear | 105 |
| A rattle of bells approaching near? | |
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| And now a fool would catch his eye, | |
| With goat and ape’s leap drawing nigh, | |
| A merry interlude preparing | |
| With fooleries and jests unsparing. | 110 |
| Behind him, in a line drawn out, | |
| He dragged all fools, the lean and stout, | |
| The great and little, the empty and full, | |
| All too witty, and all too dull. | |
| A lash he flourished overhead, | 115 |
| As though a dance of apes he led, | |
| Abusing them with bitterness, | |
| As though his wrath would ne’er grow less. | |
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| While on this sight our master gazed, | |
| His head was growing wellnigh crazed: | 120 |
| What words for all could he e’er find? | |
| Could such a medley be combined? | |
| Could he continue with delight | |
| Forevermore to sing and write? | |
| When lo, from out a cloud’s dark bed | 125 |
| In at the upper window sped | |
| The Muse, in all her majesty, | |
| As fair as our loved maids we see. | |
| With clearness she around him threw | |
| Her truth, that ever stronger grew. | 130 |
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| “I, to ordain thee come,” she spake: | |
| “So prosper, and my blessing take! | |
| The holy fire that slumbering lies | |
| Within thee, in bright flames shall rise; | |
| Yet that thine ever-restless life | 135 |
| May still with kindly strength be rife, | |
| I, for thine inward spirit’s calm, | |
| Have granted nourishment and balm, | |
| That rapture may thy soul imbue, | |
| Like some fair blossom bathed in dew.” | 140 |
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| Behind his house then secretly | |
| Outside the doorway pointed she, | |
| Where, in a shady garden-nook, | |
| A beauteous maid with downcast look | |
| Was sitting where a stream was flowing, | 145 |
| With elder-bushes near it growing. | |
| She sat beneath an apple-tree, | |
| And naught around her seemed to see. | |
| Her lap was full of roses fair, | |
| Which in a wreath she twined with care, | 150 |
| And with them leaves and blossoms blended: | |
| For whom was that sweet wreath intended? | |
| Thus sat she, modest and retired, | |
| Her bosom throbbed, with hope inspired; | |
| Such deep forebodings filled her mind, | 155 |
| No room for wishing could she find, | |
| And with the thoughts that o’er it flew, | |
| Perchance a sigh was mingled too. | |
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| “But why should sorrow cloud thy brow? | |
| That, dearest love, which fills thee now | 160 |
| Is fraught with joy and ecstasy, | |
| Prepared in one alone for thee, | |
| That he within thine eye may find | |
| Solace when fortune proves unkind, | |
| And be new-born through many a kiss, | 165 |
| That he receives with inward bliss; | |
| Whene’er he clasps thee to his breast, | |
| May he from all his toils find rest; | |
| When he in thy dear arms shall sink, | |
| May he new life and vigor drink: | 170 |
| Fresh joys of youth shalt thou obtain, | |
| In merry jest rejoice again. | |
| With raillery and roguish spite | |
| Thou now shalt tease him, now delight. | |
| Thus Love will nevermore grow old, | 175 |
| Thus will the minstrel ne’er be cold!” | |
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| While he thus lives, in secret blessed, | |
| Above him in the clouds doth rest | |
| An oak-wreath, verdant and sublime, | |
| Placed on his brow in after-time; | 180 |
| While they are banished to the slough, | |
| Who their great master disavow. | |
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