|
Song of the Bell
Moral Values in a different time,when the sexes still had respect for one another,
when self-centeredness was considered a vice, not a virtueThe power of poets in shaping public opinion, either through indoctrinating or through social criticism.
We hear so much about how women were suppressed and discriminated against. Certainly, there seems to be some typical sex-role assignment in the Song of the Bell by Schiller. However, there isn't any indication in that ode that women were oppressed and not appreciated in the late 1700's. Nevertheless, there is plenty of evidence that our forebears had a good appreciation of where society will wind up if freedom is given freely to all individuals without giving any thought to their obligations to society. Consider the evidence given in the poem written two centuries ago, in 1798.
DAS LIED VON DER GLOCKE
Friedrich von Schiller
Vivos voco
Mortuos plango
Fulgura frango
[Lateinische Worte die nach Gebrauch viele Kirchenglocken schmückten.
Uebersetzung:
Ich rufe die Lebenden,
Beklage die Toten,
Breche Blitze.
(Quelle) —WHS]
| SONG OF THE BELL
Friedrich von Schiller
Vivos voco
Mortuos plango
Fulgura frango
[Latin inscription that customarily adorned many church bells.
Translation:
I call the living,
Mourn the dead,
Shatter lightning.
(Source -
in German) —WHS]
|
Fest gemauert in der Erden
Steht die Form, aus Lehm gebrannt.
Heute muß die Glocke werden.
Frisch Gesellen, seid zur Hand.
Von der Stirne heiß
Rinnen muß der Schweiß,
Soll das Werk den Meister loben,
Doch der Segen kommt von oben.
|
Firmly bricked in the earth
Stands the mold, fired from clay.
Today the bell shall be.
Quickly, workers, be at hand.
From the forehead hot
The sweat must run,
If the creation shall praise the master,
But the blessing comes from on-high.
|
Zum Werke, daß wir ernst bereiten,
Geziemt sich wohl ein ernstes Wort;
Wenn gute Reden sie begleiten,
Dann fließt die Arbeit munter fort.
So laßt uns jetzt mit Fleiß betrachten,
Was durch die schwache Kraft entspringt,
Den schlechten Mann muß man verachten,
Der nie bedacht, was er vollbringt.
Das ist's ja, was den Menschen zieret,
Und dazu ward ihm der Verstand,
Daß er im innern Herzen spüret,
Was er erschafft mit seiner Hand.
|
For the work, that we prepare in earnest,
An earnest word is only right;
When accompanied by good banter,
Then work flows lively forth.
So with diligence let us observe,
What from weak strength does bud,
The useless man be scorned,
Who never views what he brings forth.
Exactly that is what adorns a mensch,
[1]
And for that he got his reason,
That in his innermost heart he feels,
What he creates with his hand.
|
Nehmet Holz vom Fichtenstamme,
Doch recht trocken laßt es sein,
Daß die eingepreßte Flamme
Schlage zu dem Schwalch hinein.
Kocht des Kupfers Brei,
Schnell das Zinn herbei,
Daß die zähe Glockenspeise
Fließe nach der rechten Weise.
|
Take wood from the trunk of the fir,
But let it be quite dry,
That the compressed flame
Roars into the furnace's chamber.
Cooks the copper's soup,
Quickly bring the tin thereto,
That the viscous meal for the bell,
Floweth in the manner right.
|
Was in des Dammes tiefer Grube
Die Hand mit Feuers Hülfe baut,
Hoch auf des Turmes Glockenstube
Da wird es von uns zeugen laut.
Noch dauern wird's in späten Tagen
Und rühren vieler Menschen Ohr
Und wird mit dem Betrübten klagen
Und stimmen zu der Andacht Chor.
Was unten tief dem Erdensohne
Das wechselnde Verhängnis bringt,
Das schlägt an die metallne Krone,
Die es erbaulich weiterklingt.
|
What within the dam's deep pit
Was built by hand with fire's help,
In the towers bell floor high up
Loudly will proclaim of us.
Endure it will in later days
And touch many a human ear
And with the grieving will lament
And join its voice to the service's choir.
What down below for Earth's son
The changing destinies will bring,
That beats on the metallic crown,
Which edifyingly passes it on.
|
Weiße Blasen seh ich springen,
Wohl! Die Massen sind im Fluß.
Laßt's mit Aschensalz durchdringen,
Das befördert schnell den Guß.
Auch von Schaume rein
Muß die Mischung sein,
Daß vom reinlichen Metalle
Rein und voll die Stimme schalle.
|
White bubbles I now see burst,
Well! The masses are in flow.
Let the salt of ashes permeate it,
That accelerates the casting.
From foam too
The mixture must be free,
That from the pure metal
Pure and full the voice may sound.
|
Denn mit der Freude Feierklange
Begrüßt sie das geliebte Kind
Auf seines Lebens erstem Gange,
Den es in Schlafes Arm beginnt;
Ihm ruhen noch im Zeitenschoße
Die schwarzen und die heitern Lose,
Der Mutterliebe zarte Sorgen
Bewachen seinen goldnen Morgen. —
Die Jahre fliehen pfeilgeschwind.
Vom Mädchen reißt sich stolz der Knabe,
Er stürmt ins Leben wild hinaus,
Durchmißt die Welt am Wanderstabe.
Fremd kehrt er heim ins Vaterhaus,
Und herrlich, in der Jugend Prangen,
Wie ein Gebild aus Himmelshöhn,
Mit züchtigen, verschämten Wangen
Sieht er die Jungfrau vor sich stehn.
Da faßt ein namenloses Sehnen
Des Jünglings Herz, er irrt allein,
Aus seinen Augen brechen Tränen,
Er flieht der Brüder wilder Reihn.
Errötend folgt er ihren Spuren
Und ist von ihrem Gruß beglückt,
Das Schönste sucht er auf den Fluren,
Womit er seine Liebe schmückt.
O! zarte Sehnsucht, süßes Hoffen,
Der ersten Liebe goldne Zeit,
Das Auge sieht den Himmel offen,
Es schwelgt das Herz in Seligkeit.
O! daß sie ewig grünen bliebe,
Die schöne Zeit der jungen Liebe!
|
Because with the festive sound of joy
She greets the well-beloved child
On his life's first walk,
Which he begins in the arms of sleep;
For him in the womb of time
The black and the lighter lots still rest,
Mother-love's tender worries
Guard his golden morning. —
The years flee arrow-swiftly.
From the girl the boy proudly tears himself,
He storms wildly into life,
Measures the world with his walking stick.
A stranger, he returns to his father's house,
And splendidly, in youth's full shine,
As an apparition from the heights of heaven,
With modest, bashful cheeks
He sees the young woman now before him.
Immediately a nameless yearning clenches
The young man's heart, he wanders in confusion,
His eyes break out in tears,
He flees the brothers’ wild ranks.
Blushing he follows her tracks
And is made blissful by her greeting,
In the meadows the prettiest he seeks,
With which to decorate his love.
Oh! tender yearning, sweet hoping,
First Love's golden time,
The eye can see the heavens open,
The heart luxuriates in bliss,
Oh! that she would green eternally,
The beautiful time of that young love!
|
Wie sich schon die Pfeifen bräunen!
Dieses Stäbchen tauch ich ein,
Sehn wir's überglast erscheinen,
Wird's zum Gusse zeitig sein.
Jetzt, Gesellen, frisch!
Prüft mir das Gemisch,
Ob das Spröde mit dem Weichen
Sich vereint zum guten Zeichen.
|
Look how the pipes are browning!
This little rod I'll now dip in,
If we see it re-appear all glazed,
It'll will be ready for the cast.
Now, workers, quick!
Test the mixture for me,
To see whether the brittle and the soft
For a good sign did combine.
|
Denn wo das Strenge mit dem Zarten,
Wo Starkes sich und Mildes paarten,
Da gibt es einen guten Klang.
Drum prüfe, wer sich ewig bindet,
Ob sich das Herz zum Herzen findet!
Der Wahn ist kurz, die Reu ist lang.
Lieblich in der Bräute Locken
Spielt der jungfräuliche Kranz,
Wenn die hellen Kirchenglocken
Laden zu des Festes Glanz.
Ach! des Lebens schönste Feier
Endigt auch den Lebensmai,
Mit dem Gürtel, mit dem Schleier
Reißt der schöne Wahn entzwei.
Die Leidenschaft flieht!
Die Liebe muß bleiben,
Die Blume verblüht,
Die Frucht muß treiben.
Der Mann muß hinaus
Ins feindliche Leben,
Muß wirken und streben
Und pflanzen und schaffen,
Erlisten, erraffen,
Muß wetten und wagen,
Das Glück zu erjagen.
Da strömet herbei die unendliche Gabe,
Es füllt sich der Speicher mit köstlicher Habe,
Die Räume wachsen, es dehnt sich das Haus.
Und drinnen waltet
Die züchtige Hausfrau,
Die Mutter der Kinder,
Und herrschet weise
Im häuslichen Kreise,
Und lehret die Mädchen
Und wehret den Knaben,
Und reget ohn Ende
Die fleißigen Hände,
Und mehrt den Gewinn
Mit ordnendem Sinn.
Und füllet mit Schätzen die duftenden Laden,
Und dreht um die schnurrende Spindel den Faden,
Und sammelt im reinlich geglätteten Schrein
Die schimmernde Wolle, den schneeigten Lein,
Und füget zum Guten den Glanz und den Schimmer,
Und ruhet nimmer.
Und der Vater mit frohem Blick
Von des Hauses weitschauendem Giebel
Überzählet sein blühendes Glück,
Siehet der Pfosten ragende Bäume
Und der Scheunen gefüllte Räume
Und die Speicher, vom Segen gebogen,
Und des Kornes bewegte Wogen,
Rühmt sich mit stolzem Mund:
Fest, wie der Erde Grund,
Gegen des Unglücks Macht
Steht mit des Hauses Pracht!
Doch mit des Geschickes Mächten
Ist kein ewger Bund zu flechten,
Und das Unglück schreitet schnell.
|
Because where austerity and tenderness,
Where strength and mildness paired,
There'll always be appealing timbre.
Therefore test, who wants to bind himself forever,
Whether heart will find right heart.
The elation is short, the remorse is long.
Lovely in the curls of the bride,
The bridal wreath does play,
When the bright church bells
Invite to the splendour of the feast.
Alas! life's most beautiful feast
Will end the May of life too soon,
With the bridal dress, the veil
The beautiful illusion is torn.
The passion flees!
Love must endure,
The flower wilts,
The fruit must grow.
The man must go out
Into hostile life,
Must work and strive
And plant and produce,
Calculate, gather,
Must wager and risk,
To hunt for fortune.
There streams to him the endless gift,
The warehouse fills with precious goods,
The rooms grow, the house expands.
And inside rules
The modest housewife,
The children's mother,
And reigns wisely
In the domestic circle,
And teaches the girls,
And guides the boy,
And stirs without end
The industrious hands,
And multiplies the gains
With orderly mind.
And fills with treasures the fragrant chests,
And winds on the purring spindle the thread,
And collects in the cleanly smoothed shelves,
The shimmering wool, the snow-whitened linen,
And adds to the good the gleam and the shine,
And rests not at all.
And with delighted glance the father
From the house's far-seeing gable
Counts his flowering fortune,
Sees the towering trunks of the posts
And the barns' filled rooms
And the warehouses bent with blessing,
And the grain fields' moving waves,
Boasts with a proud mouth:
Firmly, as the solid ground,
Defying the might of misfortune
With the splendour of the house he stands!
But with the powers of destiny
It's not possible to weave a lasting union,
And misfortune moves quickly.
|
Wohl! nun kann der Guß beginnen,
Schön gezacket ist der Bruch.
Doch bevor wir's lassen rinnen,
Betet einen frommen Spruch!
Stoßt den Zapfen aus!
Gott bewahr das Haus!
Rauchend in des Henkels Bogen
Schießt's mit feuerbraunen Wogen.
|
Well! now the casting can begin,
Beautifully jagged is the fracture.
But before we let it run,
Pray a godly verse!
Push out the plug!
God protect this house!
Smoking and in an arc
It's shooting forth in fiery-brown waves.
|
Wohltätig ist des Feuers Macht,
Wenn sie der Mensch bezähmt, bewacht,
Und was er bildet, was er schafft,
Das dankt er dieser Himmelskraft,
Doch furchtbar wird die Himmelskraft,
Wenn sie der Fessel sich entrafft,
Einhertritt auf der eignen Spur
Die freie Tochter der Natur.
Wehe, wenn sie losgelassen
Wachsend ohne Widerstand
Durch die volkbelebten Gassen
Wälzt den ungeheuren Brand!
Denn die Elemente hassen
Das Gebild der Menschenhand.
Aus der Wolke
Quillt der Segen,
Strömt der Regen,
Aus der Wolke, ohne Wahl,
Zuckt der Strahl!
Hört ihr's wimmern hoch vom Turm?
Das ist Sturm!
Rot wie Blut
Ist der Himmel,
Das ist nicht des Tages Glut!
Welch Getümmel
Straßen auf!
Dampf wallt auf!
Flackernd steigt die Feuersäule,
Durch der Straße lange Zeile
Wächst es fort mit Windeseile,
Kochend wie aus Ofens Rachen
Glühn die Lüfte, Balken krachen,
Pfosten stürzen, Fenster klirren,
Kinder jammern, Mütter irren,
Tiere wimmern
Unter Trümmern,
Alles rennet, rettet, flüchtet,
Taghell ist die Nacht gelichtet,
Durch der Hände lange Kette
Um die Wette
Fliegt der Eimer, hoch im Bogen
Spritzen Quellen, Wasserwogen.
Heulend kommt der Sturm geflogen,
Der die Flamme brausend sucht.
Prasselnd in die dürre Frucht
Fällt sie in des Speichers Räume,
In der Sparren dürre Bäume,
Und als wollte sie im Wehen
Mit sich fort der Erde Wucht
Reißen, in gewaltger Flucht,
Wächst sie in des Himmels Höhen
Riesengroß!
Hoffnungslos
Weicht der Mensch der Götterstärke,
Müßig sieht er seine Werke
Und bewundernd untergehn. Leergebrannt
Ist die Stätte,
Wilder Stürme rauhes Bette,
In den öden Fensterhöhlen
Wohnt das Grauen,
Und des Himmels Wolken schauen
Hoch hinein. Einen Blick
Nach den Grabe
Seiner Habe
Sendet noch der Mensch zurück —
Greift fröhlich dann zum Wanderstabe.
Was Feuers Wut ihm auch geraubt,
Ein süßer Trost ist ihm geblieben,
Er zählt die Haupter seiner Lieben,
Und sieh! ihm fehlt kein teures Haupt.
|
Benevolent is the fire's might,
If the
mensch
[1] tames and watches it,
For what he builds, what he creates,
He owes to this heavenly power,
But terrible this heavenly power is,
If she, casting off her shackles,
Strides along on tracks her own
This free daughter of nature.
Beware when she is let loose
Growing without hindrance
Through the much populated by-streets
Rolls the monstrous blaze!
Because the elements hate
The structure created by human hand.
Out of the cloud
The blessing pours forth,
Streams the rain,
Out of the cloud, aimlessly,
Flashes lightning's beam!
Do you hear the yammering high from the tower?
That is the storm!
Red as blood
Is the sky,
That is not the glow of day!
What a turmoil
Up the streets!
Steam is rising!
Wavering, the fire's column rises.
Through the long row of the street
With the speed of wind it grows,
Boiling as out of oven's maw,
The air is glowing, beams are breaking,
Posts topple, windows shatter,
Children cry, mothers scurry aimlessly,
Animals bleat
Under the rubble,
Everyone runs, saves, flees,
The night is lit as day,
Through the long chain of hands
In competition
Flies the bucket, arcing high
Spurt springs, waves of water.
Howling comes the storm,
Which roaringly seeks the flame.
Which, crackling into the dry harvest,
Falls into the granary’s rooms,
Into the dry trees of the rafters,
And as if she wanted in a blow
Tear away from Earth's mass,
In powerful headlong flight,
She grows into the height of the sky
Gigantically large!
Hopelessly
The mensch
[1] yields to the godly force,
Idly he watches all his works
Go down, amazed. Burnt out
Is this place,
The rough bed of wild storms,
In the empty window openings
Lives the horror,
And the heaven's clouds look
Into all from on high. One glance
Towards the grave
Of his belongings
The mensch
[1] still sends back —
Reaches happily then for his walking stick.
Whatever the fire's rage has robbed him off,
One sweet consolation is left to him,
He counts the heads of his loved ones,
And look! he is not missing one of them.
|
In die Erd ist's aufgenommen,
Glücklich ist die Form gefüllt,
Wird's auch schön zutage kommen,
Daß es Fleiß und Kunst vergilt?
Wenn der Guß mißlang?
Wenn die Form zersprang?
Ach! vielleicht indem wir hoffen,
Hat uns Unheil schon getroffen.
|
It's taken up by the Earth,
Luckily the mold is filled,
Will it be beautiful when it sees the light of day,
So that diligence and skill be paid?
If the cast has failed?
If the mold has cracked?
Alas! perhaps just while we hope,
Misfortune has already struck.
|
Dem dunkeln Schoß der heilgen Erde
Vertrauen wir der Hände Tat,
Vertraut der Sämann seine Saat
Und hofft, daß sie entkeimen werde
Zum Segen, nach des Himmels Rat.
Noch köstlicheren Samen bergen
Wir trauernd in der Erde Schoß
Und hoffen, daß er aus den Särgen
Erblühen soll zu schönerm Los. Von dem Dome,
Schwer und bang,
Tönt die Glocke
Grabgesang.
Ernst begleiten ihre Trauerschläge
Einen Wandrer auf dem letzten Wege. Ach! die Gattin ist's, die teure,
Ach! es ist die treue Mutter,
Die der schwarze Fürst der Schatten
Wegführt aus dem Arm des Gatten,
Aus der zarten Kinder Schar,
Die sie blühend ihm gebar,
Die sie an der treuen Brust
Wachsen sah mit Mutterlust —
Ach! des Hauses zarte bande
Sind gelöst auf immerdar,
Denn sie wohnt im Schattenlande,
Die des Hauses Mutter war,
Denn es fehlt ihr treues Walten,
Ihre Sorge wacht nicht mehr,
An verwaister Stätte schalten
Wird die Fremde, liebeleer.
|
The dark womb of sacred Earth
We trust with the deed of our hands,
The sower trusts his seed
And hopes that it may sprout
Into a blessing, by the will of Heaven.
Even more precious seed we store
Grieving in the womb of Earth
And hope, that out of the caskets it
Will blossom to a better lot. From the cathedral,
Serious and uneasy,
The bell sounds
Funereal song.
Gravely, her grieving peals accompany
A wanderer on his last
journey. Alas! it is the spouse, the precious,
Alas! it is the loyal mother,
Which the black prince of shadows
Leads away from the arm of her husband,
Away from the children's tender flock,
Which she bore him while in bloom,
Which she on her faithful breast
With motherly love watched grow —
Alas! the tender bonds of the house
Are loosened evermore,
She now lives in the land of shadows,
She who was the mother of the house,
Now her faithful reign is missing,
Her care watches no more,
In the orphaned place a strange one
Shall direct, lovelessly.
|
Bis die Glocke sich verkühlet,
Laßt die strenge Arbeit ruhn,
Wie im Laub der Vogel spielet,
Mag sich jeder gütlich tun.
Winkt der Sterne Licht,
Ledig aller Pflicht
Hört der Bursch die Vesper schlagen,
Meister muß sich immer plagen.
|
Until the bell cools off,
Let the heavy labour rest,
As in the foliage the bird will play,
May all be good unto themselves.
When the light of stars does wink,
Idle of all responsibilities
The journeyman hears the vespers toll.
The master, always toil he must.
|
Munter fördert seine Schritte
Fern im wilden Forst der Wandrer
Nach der lieben Heimathütte.
Blökend ziehen
Heim die Schafe,
Und der Rinder
Breitgestirnte, glatte Scharen
Kommen brüllend,
Die gewohnten Ställe füllend.
Schwer herein
Schwankt der Wagen,
Kornbeladen,
Bunt von Farben
Auf den Garben
Liegt der Kranz,
Und das junge Volk der Schnitter
Fliegt zum Tanz.
Markt und Straße werden stiller,
Um des Lichts gesellge Flamme
Sammeln sich die Hausbewohner,
Und das Stadttor schließt sich knarrend.
Schwarz bedecket
Sich die Erde,
Doch den sichern Bürger schrecket
Nicht die Nacht,
Die den Bösen gräßlich wecket,
Denn das Auge des Gesetzes wacht. Heilge Ordnung, segenreiche
Himmelstochter, die das Gleiche
Frei und leicht und freudig bindet,
Die der Städte Bau begründet,
Die herein von den Gefilden
Rief den ungesellgen Wilden,
Eintrat in der Menschen Hütten,
Sie gewöhnt zu sanften Sitten
Und das teuerste der Bande
Wob, den Trieb zum Vaterlande! Tausend fleißge Hände regen,
helfen sich in munterm Bund,
Und in feurigem Bewegen
Werden alle Kräfte kund.
Meister rührt sich und Geselle
In der Freiheit heilgem Schutz.
Jeder freut sich seiner Stelle,
Bietet dem Verächter Trutz.
Arbeit ist des Bürgers Zierde,
Segen ist der Mühe Preis,
Ehrt den König seine Würde,
Ehret uns der Hände Fleiß. Holder Friede,
Süße Eintracht,
Weilet, weilet
Freundlich über dieser Stadt!
Möge nie der Tag erscheinen,
Wo des rauhen Krieges Horden
Dieses stille Tal durchtoben,
Wo der Himmel,
Den des Abends sanfte Röte
Lieblich malt, Von der Dörfer, von der Städte
Wildem Brande schrecklich strahlt!
|
The wanderer far away in the
Wild forest sprightly points his steps towards
His hut beloved he calls his home.
The sheep are moving, bleating,
Towards home,
And the cattle's
Broad-headed, smooth herds
Come lowing,
Filling the barns they know.
Coming in heavily,
Sways the wagon,
Grain-laden,
Gay with colours
On the sheaves
Lies the wreath,
And the young folk of the harvesters
Flies to the dance.
Market and streets become quieter,
Around the light's homely flame
The house's people gather,
And creakingly the town's gate closes.
The Earth
Covers itself in black,
But the secure burgher is
Not afraid of the night,
Which horribly wakes the bad,
Because the eye of the law is watching. Holy orderliness, heaven's daughter
Blessing-rich, which binds equality
Freely, easily and happily,
Which founded the cities' construction,
Which called in from the wilderness fields
The unruly savage,
Entered people's huts,
Got them used to manners mild
And wove the most precious of all ties,
The urge to have a fatherland! Thousands of busy hands stir,
Help each other in happy union,
And in this fiery movement
All powers become known.
The master stirs and journeyman too
Within the holy protection of freedom.
Everyone enjoys his place,
Offering defiance to contemptors.
Work is the adornment of the burgher,
Blessing the reward for toil,
If dignity honours the king,
We are honoured by industriousness of hands. Treasured peace,
Sweet concord,
Stay, stay
Friendly over our town!
May never come the day,
Where war's rough hordes
Rampage through this quiet vale,
When the sky,
Which the soft red of the evening
Paints so lovely,
is lit so terribly from
The conflagration of villages and towns!
|
Nun zerbrecht mir das Gebäude,
Seine Absicht hat's erfüllt,
Daß sich Herz und Auge weide
An dem wohlgelungnen Bild.
Schwingt den Hammer, schwingt,
Bis der Mantel springt,
Wenn die Glock soll auferstehen,
Muß die Form in Stücke gehen.
|
Now break this construction for me,
Its purpose it has served,
So that heart and eye may feast
On a well-created construct.
Swing your hammer, swing,
'Til the coat cracks,
If the bell is to rise,
The mold must be broken into pieces.
|
Der Meister kann die Form zerbrechen
Mit weiser Hand, zur rechten Zeit,
Doch wehe, wenn in Flammenbächen
Das glühnde Erz sich selbst befreit!
Blindwütend mit des Donners Krachen
Zersprengt es das geborstne Haus,
Und wie aus offnem Höllenrachen
Speit es Verderben zündend aus;
Wo rohe Kräfte sinnlos walten,
Da kann sich kein Gebild gestalten,
Wenn sich die Völker selbst befrein,
Da kann die Wohlfahrt nicht gedeihn. Weh, wenn sich in dem Schoß der Städte
Der Feuerzunder still gehäuft,
Das Volk, zerreißend seine Kette,
Zur Eigenhilfe schrecklich greift!
Da zerret an der Glocken Strängen
Der Aufruhr, daß sie heulend schallt
Und, nur geweiht zu Friedensklängen,
Die Losung anstimmt zur Gewalt. Freiheit und Gleichheit!
hoert man schallen,
Der ruhge Bürger greift zur Wehr,
Die Straßen füllen sich, die Hallen,
Und Würgerbanden ziehn umher,
Da werden Weiber zu Hyänen
Und treiben mit Entsetzen Scherz,
Noch zuckend, mit des Panthers Zähnen,
Zerreißen sie des Feindes Herz.
Nichts Heiliges ist mehr, es lösen
Sich alle Bande frommer Scheu,
Der Gute räumt den Platz dem Bösen,
Und alle Laster walten frei.
Gefährlich ist's, den Leu zu wecken,
Verderblich ist des Tigers Zahn,
Jedoch der schrecklichste der Schrecken,
Das ist der Mensch in seinem Wahn.
Weh denen, die dem Ewigblinden
Des Lichtes Himmelsfackel leihn!
Sie strahlt ihm nicht, sie kann nur zünden
Und äschert Städt und Länder ein.
|
The master may break the mold
With knowing hand, if the time is right,
But beware when in fiery, spouting brooks
The glowing ore liberates itself!
Blindly raging, with the roar of thunder
It bursts the broken house,
And as out of the maw of Hell
It spews out, igniting destruction;
Where brute force rules mindlessly,
No design can emerge,
When
the people liberate themselves,
Then wellbeing can't thrive. Beware, when in the cities' womb
The fire-tinder has accumulated,
The citizenry, breaking its chains,
Frightfully seizes arms to help itself!
Then tears at the ropes of the bell
The uprising, that she clamors howlingly ,
And, only meant to sound in times of peace,
The password gives to violence. Freedom and Equality! one hears
proclaimed,
The peaceful citizen is driven to arms,
The streets are filling, the halls,
The vigilante-bands are moving,
Then women change into hyenas
And make a plaything out of terror,
Though it twitches still, with panthers teeth,
They tear apart the enemy's heart.
Nothing is holy any longer, loosened
Are all ties of righteousness,
The good gives room to bad,
And all vices freely rule.
Dangerous it is to wake the lion,
Ruinous is the
tiger's tooth,
But the most terrible of all the terrors,
That is the mensch
[1] when crazed.
Woe to those, who lend to the eternally-blind
Enlightenment's heavenly torch!
It does not shine for him, it only can ignite
And puts to ashes towns and lands.
|
Freude hat mir Gott gegeben!
Sehet! Wie ein goldner Stern
Aus der Hülse, blank und eben,
Schält sich der metallne Kern.
Von dem Helm zum Kranz
Spielt's wie Sonnenglanz,
Auch des Wappens nette Schilder
Loben den erfahrnen Bilder.
|
God has given me joy!
Look! As a golden star
Out of the husk, shining and even,
The metal kernel peels itself.
From the crown to the mouth
It gleams like sunshine,
The crest’s nice panels too
Praise the experienced builder.
|
Herein! herein!
Gesellen alle, schließt den Reihen,
Daß wir die Glocke taufend weihen,
Concordia soll ihr Name sein,
Zur Eintracht, zu herzinnigem Vereine
Versammle sich die liebende Gemeine. Und dies sei fortan ihr Beruf,
Wozu der Meister sie erschuf!
Hoch überm niedern Erdenleben
Soll sie im blauen Himmelszelt
Die Nachbarin des Donners schweben
Und grenzen an die Sternenwelt,
Soll eine Stimme sein von oben,
Wie der Gestirne helle Schar,
Die ihren Schöpfer wandelnd loben
Und führen das bekränzte Jahr.
Nur ewigen und ernsten Dingen
Sei ihr metallner Mund geweiht,
Und stündlich mit den schnellen Schwingen
Berühr im Fluge sie die Zeit,
Dem Schicksal leihe sie die Zunge,
Selbst herzlos, ohne Mitgefühl,
Begleite sie mit ihrem Schwunge
Des Lebens wechselvolles Spiel.
Und wie der Klang im Ohr vergehet,
Der mächtig tönend ihr erschallt,
So lehre sie, daß nichts bestehet,
Daß alles Irdische verhallt.
|
Come in! Come in!
All journeymen, close the circle,
That, christening her, we consecrate the bell,
Concordia its name shall be,
To harmony, to heartening union
The
loving community shall gather. And this from now on be its calling,
For which the master did create her!
High above the lowly life of
Earth
She shall in the blue tent of heaven
Float, thunder's neighbour,
And border on the world of stars,
Shall be a voice from on high,
Like the stars’ bright host,
Who as they wander praise their creator
And pilot the circle of the year.
Only eternal and serious things
Be her metallic mouth's devotion,
And hourly with the swift wings
May she touch fleetingly the time,
To destiny she may lend her tongue,
Herself heartless and without compassion,
May she accompany in her swinging,
The ever-changing play of life.
And as the sound fades in the ear,
That so mightily issues from her mouth,
So she may teach, that nothing lasts,
That all things earthly fade away.
|
Jetzo mit der Kraft des Stranges
Wiegt die Glock mir aus der Gruft,
Daß sie in das Reich des Klanges
Steige, in die Himmelsluft.
Zehet, ziehet, hebt!
Sie bewegt sich, schwebt,
Freude dieser Stadt bedeute,
Friede sei ihr erst Geläute.
|
Therefore now, with the strength of the rope
Lift the bell out of her tomb for me,
That into the realm of sound she may
Rise, into the air of heaven.
Pull, pull, lift!
She's moving, floats,
May she mean joy for this city,
Peace shall be her first sounding.
|
Translated by Walter H. Schneider Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, German dramatist, poet, historian and philosophic thinker; born in Marbach in Swabia, Nov. 10, 1759; died Weimar, May 9, 1805.
His father was an officer in the army of the Duke of Württemberg, his mother a pious housewife nowise distinguished above her kind. [Encyclopedia Americana, Canadian edition, 1956] What is noticeable about this poem are Schiller's views about the need to preserve the system of class hierarchy that existed in his time. With him being a member of the nobility, those views of his are understandable. Schiller spent a few months in a bell foundry, observing the processes required in the creation of a bell, while he was creating "Song of the Bell." Would he have expressed different views if he would not have been able to observe, but, rather, would have had to be in the foundry as one of the workers, earning a living from that kind of work?
His ode "Song of the Bell" is to a large extent an idealization of what society should be like. The society and morals
decribed in his ode were the standard of the time, a goal that people strove to attain but not necessarily lived by. Some people
were definitely unhappy with the social institutions that Schiller glorified, of whom
many were more truly instances of grave injustices and exploitation.
The working days were quite long for many people; they worked between sixty and seventy hours per week. Even Schiller gave recognition to that by describing that the work day ended when the vespers were rung. That would have been at 6 p.m.. What he didn't mention is that many people started work at 7 a.m. or even earlier and worked at least half of each Saturday, and that there was a fair bit of persecution by the police. Most of all, he didn't touch at all upon the fact that in the mid-eighteenth century serfdom was still firmly in place in Germany to some extent, that people had
no power to vote if they didn't own any property, which meant that most people by far had no possible way in which to influence politics, other than through a revolution or by voting with their feet. For many of them that wasn't possible, either because they were simply to poor to emigrate, or they, being serfs, would have broken the law by leaving and would have been severely punished if they did try to leave.
During Schiller's times many of the German States had no religious freedom. That is especially true of some of the South German states, amongst them Swabia, the state of Schiller's birth. Swabia became at that time the main source of German emigrants, who were bound for Russia and others of the Eastern European nations, to escape political and religious oppression. That's why, amongst others, the Hutterites and the Mennonites came to be in Russia. In Bavaria, they had been given 24 hours to leave the state after their religion
had been declared to be illegal. Any of them who were still found to remain in Bavaria after that and didn't renounce their religion were killed for their beliefs and became martyrs. A common method of execution was to tie the "heretics" into sacks weighted with rocks and to throw them off bridges into a river. Another poet who described the circumstances of the era in a somewhat more realistic fashion is Hoffmann von Fallersleben, as per the following poem published at some point during the first half of the 19th century. It will be only fair to show how he addressed
some of the issues that Schiller omitted or at best looked at through rose-tinted glasses.
Auswanderungslied August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben
Unsre Fürsten hatten viel versprochen,
Doch das Halten schien nicht ihre Pflicht.
Haben wir denn nun soviel verbrochen,
Daß sie hielten ihr Versprechen nicht?
Schlimmer wird es jetzt von Tag zu Tage,
Schweigen ist nur unser einzig Recht:
Untertanen ziemet keine Klage,
Und gehorchen muß dem Herrn der Knecht.
Unsre Brüder werden ausgewiesen,
Mehr als alles Recht gilt Polizei.
Heute trifft es jenen, morgen diesen,
Jeder, jeder Deutsch' ist vogelfrei.
Deutsche Freiheit lebet nur im Liede,
Deutsches Recht, es ist ein Märchen nur.
Deutschlands Wohlfahrt ist ein langer Friede —
Voll von lauter Willkür und Zensur.
Darum ziehn wir aus dem Vaterlande,
Kehren nun und nimmermehr zurück,
Suchen Freiheit uns am fremden Strande —
Freiheit ist nur Leben, ist nur Glück.
|
Emigration Song August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben
Our sovereigns promised us much,
But the keeping seemed not their obligation.
Is it that we did so many crimes,
That they didn't keep their pledge?
It is getting worse from day to day,
To be silent is our only right:
Subjects aren't entitled to complaints,
And the slave must obey his lord.
Our brothers are ordered to be deported,
Of greater value than all rights is the police.
Today it hits this one, tomorrow that one,
Every, every German is an outlaw.
German Liberty only lives in song,
German right, it only is a tale,
German welfare is a long peace —
Full of avarice and censorship.
Therefore we leave the fatherland,
Neither now nor ever to return,
Seek our freedom on foreign shores —
Freedom is to
live, to be happy.
|
(Hoffman von Fallersleben also created the poem that was given a degree of infamy by the Nazis through the latter's promotion of its words in the German national anthem, "Deutschland
über Alles.") Nevertheless, many Germans were being indoctrinated in views such as
those promoted by Schiller.
That was done through the education system. My parents and their siblings, who attended school in the late 19th and
early 20th century, had to memorize and be able to recite the whole ode of
the Song of the Bell, while when I and my peers attended school in the 1940s
and later we had to memorize only some of its verses, although the ode took
up about seven weeks in the curriculum we were being taught.
The views of Schiller and his peers manifested themselves in a popular song that extolled "German virtues," Ueb' immer Treu' und Redlichkeit — bis an dein stilles Grab, und weiche keinen Finger-breit from Tugendpfade ab. (Always exercise fidelity and honesty — until your quiet grave, and stray not a finger's width from the path of virtue.) The path of virtue, of course, was nothing other than to live by the laws of the land, no matter how discriminatory, exploitative or oppressive they were.
I believe it was the last verse in that song which exclaimed: Der Kaiser ist ein lieber Mann, und er lebt in Berlin, und waer'
Es nicht so weit von hier so zög' ich heut' noch hin (The Kaiser is a dear man and he lives in Berlin, and if it weren't so far from here, this very day I would move in.).
The tune to that song was ever-present through being chimed from many a bellfry, as effectively indoctrinating Germans that the oppressive totalitarian monarchy was good for them then as surely as today's ever-present television commercials
and anti-male TV programs ridicule, slander and vilify all men. It wasn't until 1918 that a true democracy came into existence in Germany, when the "Weimar Republic" was created, and even that lasted for only 15 years, to be replaced by the totalitarian regime of the Nazis from 1933 to 1945.
The Weimar Republic promoted, virtually to an identical extent as is being done today throughout
the Western nations, the liberalization of all moral standards. What happened was nothing less than as if Schiller had made a prophesy that became reality during the time of the Weimar Republic
and today:
The good gives room to bad,
And all vices freely rule.
Dangerous it is to wake the lion,
Ruinous is the tiger's tooth,
But the most terrible of all the terrors,
That is the mensch [1] when crazed.
Woe to those, who lend to the eternally-blind
Enlightenment's heavenly torch!
It does not shine for him, it only can ignite
And puts to ashes towns and lands. What got ignited
then was totalitarianism. It matters little whether it sprang from
fascism, communism or national-socialism. Most certainly it did put to ashes towns and lands, not merely
in Germany but in almost all of Europe and many other parts of the world. What is being ignited now is the
systematic destruction of our civilization's cultural heritage and of all
foundations of society, the most important of which is our families. Today another tyranny is in power, in Germany as well as in other countries of the world.
It is the tyranny of an ideology that, too, aims at world domination, this time in the name of equality for "womyn," an ideology that, like Communism and Fascism before, is attempting — successfully — to sweep away all religions, traditional morals, respect for freedom and life itself, to replace them
with the jaded, ghoulish and destructive goals of its sinister aims. ______________
-
The definition of mensch given in Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary 10th edition is interesting:
[Yiddish, mentsh human being, fr. MHG mensch, fr. OHG
menisco; akin to OE man human being, man]
(1953) :
a person of integrity and honor.
The term is currently still very much part of the German language and still means human being, just like the English term man did until the feminists decided that it was discriminatory to women.
______________
Last updated:
2000 04 06
2001 01 29 (format changes)
2001 01 28 (added translation of leading Latin Verse (thanks to the suggestion by Helmut Stolzle in California) and made a few minor edits and format corrections.)
2004 06 12 (corrected translation of Latin motto at the introduction of the ode)
2006 08 30 (made minor edits and format changes)
2011 03 15 (changed, in the opening of the poem, the translation of the Latin
word "frango" to "shatter" (was "break")
|
|
Share
