This bear-leader six Madonnas Wears upon his pointed hat, To protect his head from bullets Or from lice perchance it may be. O’er his shoulder there is hanging, Many-hued, an altar covering, Doing office as a mantle; Knife and pistol lurk beneath it. He had been a monk when younger, Then became a robber-captain; Then, to join the two vocations, Took the service of Don Carlos. When Don Carlos had to scamper With the knights of his round table, And his paladins were driven To pursue some honest calling, (Thus Schnapphahnski turn’d an author) Then our knight became bear-leader, And across the country travell’d Leading Atta Troll and Mumma. And in sight of all the people, In the market, they must dance now; Atta Troll must in the market Of this city dance in fetters! Atta, Troll, who once was dwelling Like a haughty desert-monarch On the airy mountain, dances In a valley to the rabble! And for filthy lucre merely He must dance, who formerly In the majesty of terror Felt himself so high exalted! When his younger days recalls he, His lost lordship of the forest, Then growl forth despairing noises From the soul of Atta Troll. Gloomy looks he, like a swarthy Moorish prince of Freiligrath;[29] As the latter drums but badly, So with rage he badly dances. But instead of pity, wakes he Only laughter. Even Juliet From the balcony laughs downward At his leaps of desperation.-- Juliet has not in her bosom Any feelings; French by nation, Outwardly she lives; her outside Is delightful and enchanting. Her sweet looks compose a blissful Net of rays, within whose meshes Is our heart fast held in prison, Like a fish, and gently struggles. CAPUT II. That a swarthy Freiligrathian Moorish prince with anxious longing On the big drum’s skin should rattle, Till with violence ’tis broken, Is a very drum-affecting And a drumskin-breaking matter-- But just fancy the confusion When a bear has burst his fetters! Both the music and the laughter Straight are hush’d; with screams of terror Rush the people from the market, Pale as death turn all the ladies. Yes, from out his slavish fetters Atta Troll has freed himself Suddenly, and springing wildly, Through the narrow streets he hastens-- (Each one civilly makes way), Up the rocks he nimbly clambers, Then looks down, as if in scorn,--then Vanishes within the mountains. On the empty market stand now Swarthy Mumma, and bear-leader All alone. In angry fury On the ground his hat he flingeth, Trampling on it,--the Madonnas Trampling also, tears the covering From his ugly naked body, Swears at such ingratitude,