| |
|
|
Der
Bueb seit zum Aetti:
Fast allmol, Aetti, wenn mer's Röttler Schloß
so vor den Auge stoht, se denki dra,
obs üsem Hus echt au e mol so goht.
Stohts denn nit dört, so schudrig, wie der Tod
im Basler Todtetanz? Es gruset eim,
wie länger as me's bschaut. Und üser Hus,
es sitzt io wie ne Chilchli uffem Berg,
und d'Fenster glitzeren, es isch e Staat.
Schwetz, Aetti, gohts em echterst au no so?
I mein emol, es chönn schier gar nit sy.
Der Aetti seit:
Du guete Bursch, 's cha frili sy, was meinsch?
's chunnt alles jung und neu, und alles schliicht
sim Alter zu, und alles nimmt en End,
und nüt stoht still. Hörsch nit, wie 's Wasser ruuscht,
und siehsch am Himmel obe Stern an Stern?
Me meint, vo alle rühr si kein, und doch
ruckt alles witers, alles chunnt und goht.
Je, 's isch nit anderst, lueg mi a, wie d'witt.
De bisch no iung; närsch, i bi au so gsi,
iez würds mer anderst, 's Alter, 's Alter chunnt,
und woni gang, go Gresgen oder Wies,
in Feld und Wald, go Basel oder heim,
's isch einerley, i gang im Chilchhof zu, -
briegg, alder nit! - und bis de bisch wien ich,
e gstandne Ma, se bini nümme do,
und d'Schof und Geiße weide uf mi'm Grab.
Jo wegerli, und 's Hus wird alt und wüst;
der Rege wäscht der's wüster alli Nacht,
und d'Sunne bleicht der's schwärzer alli Tag,
und im Vertäfer popperet der Wurm.
Es regnet no dur d'Bühne ab, es pfift
der Wind dur d'Chlimse. Drüber thuesch du au
no d'Auge zu: es chomme Chindes-Chind,
und pletze dra. Z'lezt fuults im Fundement,
und 's hilft nüt meh. Und wemme nootno gar
zweytusig zehlt, isch alles z'semme g'keit.
Und 's Dörfli sinkt no selber in si Grab.
Wo d'Chilche stoht, wo 's Vogts und 's Here Hus,
goht mit der Zit der Pflug -
Der Bueb seit:
Nei, was de seisch!
Der Aetti seit:
Je, 's isch nit anderst, lueg mi a, wie d' witt!
Isch Basel nit e schöni tolli Stadt?
's sin Hüser drinn, 's isch mengi Chilche nit
so groß, und Chilche, 's sin in mengem Dorf
nit so viel Hüser. 's isch e Volchspiel, 's wohnt
e Richthum drinn, und menge brave Her,
und menge, woni gchennt ha, lit scho lang
im Chrüz-Gang hinterm Münster-Platz und schloft.
's isch eithue, Chind, es schlacht e mol e Stund,
goht Basel au ins Grab, und streckt no do
und dort e Glied zum Boden us, e Joch,
en alte Thurn, e Giebel-Wand; es wachst
do Holder druf, do Büechli, Tanne dört,
und Moos und Farn, und Reiger niste drinn -
's isch schad derfür! - und sin bis dörthi d'Lüt
so närsch wie iez, se göhn au Gspenster um,
d'Frau Faste, 's isch mer iez, sie fang scho a,
me seits emol, - der Lippi Läppeli,
und was weiß ich, wer meh. Was stoßisch mi?
Der Bueb seit:
Schwetz lisli, Aetti, bis mer über d'Bruck
do sin, und do an Berg und Wald verbey!
Dort obe iagt e wilde Jäger, weisch?
Und lueg, do niden in de Hürste seig
gwiß 's Eyer-Meidli g'lege, halber fuul,
's isch Johr und Tag. Hörsch, wie der Laubi schnuuft?
Der Aetti seit:
Er het der Pfnüsel! Seig doch nit so närsch!
Hüst Laubi, Merz! - und loß die Todte go,
sie thüen der nüt meh! - Je, was hani gseit?
Vo Basel, aß es au emol verfallt. -
Und goht in langer Zit e Wanders-Ma
ne halbi Stund, e Stund wit dra verbey,
se luegt er dure, lit ke Nebel druf,
und seit si'm Cammerad, wo mittem goht:
„Lueg, dört isch Basel gstande! Selle Thurn
seig d'Peters-Chilche gsi, 's isch schad derfür!"
Der Bueb seit:
Nei Aetti, ischs der Ernst, es cha nit sy?
Der Aetti seit:
Je 's isch nit anderst, lueg mi a, wie d' witt,
und mit der Zit verbrennt di ganzi Welt.
Es goht e Wächter us um Mitternacht,
e fremde Ma, me weiß nit, wer er isch,
er funklet, wie ne Stern, und rüeft: „Wacht auf!
Wacht auf, es kommt der Tag!" - Drob röthet si
der Himmel, und es dundert überal,
z'erst heimlig, alsg'mach lut, wie sellemol
wo Anno Sechsenünzgi der Franzos
so uding gschoße het. Der Bode schwankt,
aß d'Chilch-Thürn guge; d'Glocke schlagen a,
und lüte selber Bett-Zit wit und breit,
und alles bettet. Drüber chunnt der Tag;
o, b'hütis Gott, me brucht ke Sunn derzu,
der Himmel stoht im Blitz, und d'Welt im Glast.
Druf gschieht no viel, i ha iez nit der Zit;
und endli zündets a, und brennt und brennt,
wo Boden isch, und niemes löscht. Es glumst
wohl selber ab. Wie meinsch, siehts us derno?
Der Bueb seit:
O Aetti, sag mer nüt me! Zwor wie gohts
de Lüte denn, wenn alles brennt und brennt?
Der Aetti seit:
He, d'Lüt sin nümme do, wenns brennt, sie sin -
wo sin sie? Seig du frumm, und halt di wohl,
geb, wo de bisch, und bhalt di Gwisse rein!
Siehsch nit, wie d'Luft mit schöne Sterne prangt!
's isch iede Stern verglichlige ne Dorf,
und witer obe seig e schöni Stadt,
me sieht sie nit vo do, und haltsch di gut,
se chunnsch in so ne Stern, und 's isch der wohl,
und findsch der Aetti dort, wenn's Gottswill isch,
und 's Chüngi selig, d'Muetter. Oebbe fahrsch
au d'Milchstroß uf in die verborgni Stadt,
und wenn de sitwärts abe luegsch, was siehsch?
s Röttler Schloß! Der Belche stoht verchohlt,
der Blauen au, as wie zwee alti Thürn,
und zwische drinn isch alles use brennt,
bis tief in Boden abe. D'Wiese het
ke Wasser meh, 's isch alles öd und schwarz,
und todtestill, so wit me luegt - das siehsch,
und seisch di'm Cammerad, wo mitder goht:
„Lueg, dört isch d'Erde gsi, und selle Berg
het Belche gheiße! Nit gar wit dervo
isch Wisleth gsi, dört hani au scho glebt,
und Stiere g'weitet, Holz go Basel g'führt,
und broochet, Matte g'raust, und Liecht-Spöh' g'macht,
und g'vätterlet, bis an mi selig End,
und möcht iez nümme hi." - Hüst Laubi, Merz!
|
|
The boy says to his father:
Almost
every time,
father, when the Röttler Castle
stands before my eyes, I think about it,
whether our house will really be like that one day.
Doesn't it stand there, as gruesome as death
in the Basel Dance of Death? It makes you shudder,
the longer you look at it. And our house,
sits like a little church on the hill,
and the windows glitter, it's quite something.
ell me, Father, is it really still like that?
I mean, for once, it couldn't be.
The Father says:
You good fellow, of course it can be, what do you think?
Everything begins young and new; and everything creeps
onwards
its age, and everything comes to an end,
and nothing stands still. Can't you hear the water rushing?
and see star after star in the sky above?
You think that none of them is moving, and yet
everything moves on, everything comes and goes.
Yes, it is
no different, look at me as you will.
You are still young; crazy, I was like that too,
Now I feel different, old age, old age is coming,
and where I go, to Gresgen or Wies,
To field and forest, to Basel or home
it is all the same, I go towards the churchyard, -
weep or not! - and until you are like me,
a grown man, I am no longer there,
and the sheep and goats graze on my grave.
Yes indeed, and the
house grows old and desolate,
the rain washes it more and more every night,
and the sun bleaches it blacker every day,
and the worm knocks in the panelling.
It rains down through the attic, the wind whistles
the wind whistles through the cracks. And you too
close your eyes shut: your children's children will come
and mend it. Finally it rots in the foundations,
and nothing helps any more And when you count by and by
2000, everything has collapsed.
And the village sinks into its own grave.
Where the church stands, where the mayor's and the master's
house,
the plough goes with time -
The boy says:
No! what do you say!
The father says:
Yes, it's the same, look at me any way you want!
Isn't Basel a beautiful city?
There are houses in it, some churches are not
so big, and churches, There are in many a village
not so many houses. It's a lively people, it has
wealth, and many a good gentleman,
and some that I have known have been lying for a long time
in the cloister behind the cathedral square and sleeps.
It's all the same, child, once the hour strikes,
Basel also goes to the grave, and stretches out here and there
a limb to the ground here and there, a vault,
an old tower, a gable wall; on it
Elder grows there, small beech trees here, fir there,
and moss and ferns, and herons nest in it -
It's a pity! - and if the people are
as crazy as they are now, then ghosts will go around,
Mrs Faste, it seems to me now, is already beginning,
at least that's what they say, - the Lippi Läppeli,
and I don't know who else. What are you pushing me for?
The boy says:
Speak softly, father, until we cross the bridge
and past the mountain and forest!
There's a wild hunter up there, you know.
And down there in the bushes
the Eyer-Meidli must have been lying there, half rotten,
years and days ago. Do you hear how Laubi snorts?
The father says:
He has a cold! Don't be so jumpy!
Hush Laubi, Merz! - and leave the dead alone,
They won't hurt you anymore! - Yes, what did I say?
About Basel, that it will also decay one day. -
And if in the distant future a
hiker
passes it half an hour, an hour away,
he looks over, there is no fog on it,
and says to his companion, who is walking with him:
"Look! That's where Basel stood! This tower
was St. Peter's Church, it's a pity!"
The boy says:
No Aetti, are you serious, it can't be?
The Aetti says:
Yes, it is no different, look at me as you will.
and in time the whole world burns.
A watchman goes out at midnight,
a strange man, you don't know who he is,
He twinkles, like a star, and calls out: "Wake up!
Wake up, the day is coming!" - Then its reddening
the sky, and there is thunder everywhere,
first secretly, soon loudly, like in the old days
when in ninety-six the Frenchman
shot so dreadful. The ground sways,
that the church towers sway to and fro, the bells strike
and ring of their own accord at prayer time far and wide,
and everything prays. Above it comes the day;
o, keep us God, no sun is needed for this
the sky is in lightning, and the world in flames.
There's a lot more to come, I don't have the time now;
and at last it lights, and burns and burns,
where there is ground, and no one puts it out. It smoulders
and goes out by itself. What do you think, does it look like that?
The boy says:
O father, tell me no more! Indeed, how are
people when everything is burning and burning?
The father says:
Hey, the people are no longer there when there's a fire, they're -
where are they? Be pious and behave well,
you may be wherever you want, and keep your conscience clear!
Don't you see how the air is resplendent with beautiful stars!
every star is comparable to a village,
and further up is a beautiful city,
You can't see it from here, and if you behave well,
you will come to such a star and it will be well,
and find your father there, if it is God's will,
and Kunigunde the blessed mother. Perhaps you will drive
up the Milky Way into the hidden city,
and when you look down sideways, what do you see?
The Röttler Castle! The Belchen stands charred,
the Blauen too, just like two old towers,
and in between everything is burnt out,
deep into the ground. The Wiese has
no water as far as you can see - you can see that,
and dead calm as far as you can see - that's what you see,
and you tell your mate who is walking with you:
"Look, that's where the earth was, and this mountain
was called Belchen! Not far from there
was Wiesleth, I've lived there too,
and grazed bulls, drove wood to Basel,
and ploughed, dug ditches in meadows and made light chips,
and tinkered around until my blessed end,
and I don't want to go back now." - Hush
Laubi, Merz!
|
