The style of his discourse: “I beg your pardon,”
He said; “young lady! I perceive that I
Have troubled pastime. Oh! I beg your pardon.
I am this moment hastening to breakfast;
I am already late; I wished to come
In time. You know, young lady, how the road
Goes circling round. The garden seemed to me
A shorter way to reach the house.” The girl
Replied: “The way is here, sir, but you must
Not spoil the garden beds. There is the path
Among the turf.” “Is it to left or right?”
The Count demanded. Lifting her blue eyes,
The gardening-nymph appeared to search him through
With curiosity. For there the house,
A thousand paces off, stood plainly seen,
As though at arm’s length; yet he asked the way.
But yet the Count must absolutely talk
With her, and sought for this some fresh excuse.
“Live you here, lady, near the garden? or
There in the village? How then has it chanced,
I have not seen you at the manor-house?
Have you not long been here? new come perhaps?”
The damsel shook her head. “Pray, pardon me,
Young lady; is not that your chamber there,
Where stands that little window? But he thought
Within his heart, “If not the heroine
Of a romance, she seems a very young,
And very pretty girl. Too often does
A great soul, a high mind, in solitude
Concealèd, blossom like a rose among
A forest; ’tis enough to bring it forth
Into the world, and place it in the sun,
And make beholders wonder at its thousand
Bright colours.” Meanwhile silently uprose
The gardening maiden; on her shoulder lifting
One child, another taking by the hand,
Driving the rest like geese before her, she
Passed through the garden. Turning round she said,
“Sir, cannot you drive back my runaway
Poultry into the barn?” “I drive the poultry!”
The Count exclaimed in wonder. She meanwhile
Had vanished, in the shadows of the trees;
And yet awhile from the espalier yet,
Through wreaths of foliage, something gleamed athwart,
As though it were two eyes. The Count alone
Stood long yet in the garden. And his spirit,
Like to the earth when once the sun is down,
Grew gradually colder; sober hues
Assumed. He now began to dream, but he
Had very disagreeable dreams indeed. He woke,
Not knowing against whom he felt such rage.
Alas! he had found so little; he expected
Too much! For when he crept through rows of plants
Towards that shepherdess, his head did burn,
His heart within him jumped. So many charms
In that mysterious nymph he gazed upon,
He clothed her in such marvels, guessed so many,
And all things he found out were otherwise!
She had indeed a pretty face, a slender
Figure, but how unformed! and such a plumpness
Of cheeks, and that deep red, depainting such
Excessive vulgar happiness; sure sign
Her mind yet slept, her heart was still unstirred.
And those replies, so vulgar, country-like!
“Wherefore delude myself?” he cried; “I have guessed
Too late. And my mysterious nymph, no doubt
Is the goose-girl!” With the nymph’s vanishing,
The magical transparency all changed!
Those ribbons, those resplendent lattices
Of gold and silver, all, alas! was straw!
Wringing his hands, the Count gazed on a bunch
Of grass, that formed a broom, which he had taken
For ostrich feathers in the damsel’s hand.
The vessel he forgot not, made of gold,
That horn of Amalthea!—it was a carrot!
He saw the children gorge it eagerly.
Then all the charm was over! the enchantment!
The wonder! Even so when a boy perceives
The flowers of succory, with soft, light blue
Tempting his hand, and longs to grasp them; near
He comes, he breathes, and with the breath the flower
In light down vanishes in air. And now
The seeker over-curious beholds
Only a naked, grey-green stalk of grass,
Left in his hand. The Count pressed down his hat
Upon his brows, and by the way he came
Returned, but shorter made the road; he trod
O’er vegetables, flowers, and gooseberry bushes;
Till, o’er the paling sprung, he breathed at last.
Then he remembered that he spoke of breakfast
Unto the damsel. Every one, may be,
Now knew the story of this meeting in
The garden, near unto the house. Perhaps
They now were coming out to seek for him.
They saw his flight, who knows what they may think?
So it behoved him to return. Down bending
Along the hedges, ’twixt the ridges and
The plants, he made a thousand turns, yet glad
He was, when he at last attained the path,
Which straightway to the mansion courtyard led.
He went beside the hedge, but from the orchard
He turned away his head;—a thief resembling,
Who looketh from the granary away,
To give no trace of wish to visit it,
Or that he has already visited.
So prudent was the Count, though no one tracked him,
That towards the quarter opposite the garden,
Towards the right he looked. A sparse-grown thicket
Was there, all paved with turf, upon whose carpets,
Across the white stems of the birchen-trees,
Beneath a tent of hanging leafy boughs,
A multitude of forms were moving round,
With actions strange, like dances, and strange dress.
They seemed like spirits wandering by the moon,
Some clad in black, tight garments, some in long
And flowing robes, all shining—white as snow;
One underneath a hat like spreading hoop,
Bareheaded one; and others, as though wrapped
In clouds seemed walking, long veils on the wind
Let fly, far streaming like a comet’s tail.
Each in a different posture; one as grown
Fast to the earth; his eyes alone cast down
Upon the earth do circle round about;
One looking straight before him, forward strides,
As though in sleep, in a straight line; nor turns
Aside to right or left. But all bend down
To various sides, unto the very ground,
As though they made deep bows. If they draw near,
Or meet each other, they do neither speak,
Nor do salute each other. Deep in thought,
Buried within themselves, the Count beheld
In them an image of Elysian shades,
Who, though by pains or fears unreachable,
Wander on peacefully and still, though gloomy.
Who would have guessed these scarcely moving folk,
Those silent people, were our old acquaintance,
The Judge’s friends? They from their noisy breakfast,
Went forth unto the solemn ceremony
Of mushroom-gathering. Like heedful folk,
They knew how they should mark their speech and action,
So as to suit them both to place and time,
In every circumstance. And for this reason,
Ere to the thicket followed they the Judge,
They took on different forms, and change of dress,
Rain-cloaks of linen, that for walking served,
Wherewith they hid the top of the kontusz,
And on
