But she tarried, for her eyes were Held in durance by the trumpet, Like a shad caught by the fish-hook. "Oh, I wonder," she was thinking, "Whether my breath would be able From its depths a tone to waken. Oh I much should like to know this! No one sees what I am doing, All around no living being. Only my old Hiddigeigei Licks the dew from off the box-tree; Only insects in the sand here Follow out their digging instinct, And the caterpillars gently Up and down the arbour crawl." So the maiden shyly entered, Shyly she took up the trumpet, To her rosy lips she pressed it; But with fright she well-nigh trembled At her breath to sound transforming In the trumpet's golden calyx. Which the air was bearing farther, Farther--ah, who knoweth where? But she cannot stop the fun now, And with sounds discordant, horrid, Fit to rend the ears to pieces, So disturbed the morning stillness, That the poor cat Hiddigeigei's Long black hair stood up like bristles, Like the sharp quills of a hedgehog. Raising then his paw to cover His offended ear, he spoke thus: "Suffer on, my valiant cat-heart, Which so much has borne already, Also bear this maiden's music! We, we understand the laws well, Which do regulate and govern Sound, enigma of creation. And we know the charm mysterious Which invisibly through space floats, And, intangible a phantom, Penetrates our hearing organs, And in beasts' as well as men's hearts Wakes up love, delight and longing, Raving madness and wild frenzy. And yet, we must bear this insult, That when nightly in sweet mewing We our love-pangs are outpouring, Men will only laugh and mock us, And our finest compositions Rudely brand as caterwauling. And in spite of this we witness That these same fault-finding beings Can produce such horrid sounds as Those which I have just now heard. Are such tones not like a nosegay Made of straw, and thorns, and nettles, In the midst a prickly thistle? And in presence of this maiden Who the trumpet there is blowing, Can a man then without blushing E'er sneer at our caterwauling? But, thou valiant heart, be patient! Suffer now, the time will yet come When this self-sufficient monster, Man, will steal from us the true art Of expressing all his feelings; When the whole world in its struggle For the highest form of culture Will adopt our style of music. For in history, there is justice. She redresses every wrong."