“Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn…
Know’st thou the land where the pale citrons grow,
The golden fruits in darker foliage glow?
Soft blows the wind that breathes from that blue sky!
Still stands the myrtle and the laurel high!
Know’st thou it well, that land, beloved Friend?
Thither with thee, O, thither would I wend!”
Neither Huohu nor Wilhelmina Wang expected the burly and hale Störtebecker to recite Johann Wolfgang von Goethe at length, but there it was: he did. Just the evening before at Villa Undine, Clara Schumann had played compositions from both her husband and Beethoven set to this poem by Goethe, and now Huohu and Wilhelmina hear it again, from the unexpected mouth of a red-bearded pirate.
“You didn’t expect that from an ancient mariner, did you?” Klaus Störtebecker said slyly.
It was exactly what she was thinking, minus the ancient part, for Klaus Störtebecker’s beard was still full-blown red, and the wrinkles around his eyes were from the sea and wind and crinkling against the reflected sun.
“We haven’t found the pale citrons over these northern waters yet, but we’ve sea buckthorn to keep the scurvy at bay,” Störtebecker went on, “full of ascorbic acid, them berries.”
He was an astute and knowledgeable captain, and no one could question his dominance on the Baltic and North Seas. The Black, the Caspian, and the Mediterranean Seas he’s been to, but actually others held sway there. The Cathay and Yapon Seas, well, he plans to visit. Even if it was a stretch to call himself and his ship Lord of the Seven Seas, he peremptorily did so because Lord of the Two to Five Seas just wasn’t bone-chilling enough for a pirate ship.
“Knowest thou the house with all its rooms aglow,
And shining hall and columned portico?
The marble statues stand and look at me.
Alas, poor child, what have they done to thee?
Knowest thou the land? So far and fair.
My Guardian, thou and I will wander there.
Knowest thou the mountain with its bridge of cloud?
The mule plods warily: the white mists crowd.
Coiled in their caves the brood of dragons sleep;
The torrent hurls the rock from steep to steep.
Knowest thou the land? So far and fair.
Father, away! Our road is over there!”
Whether Klaus Störtebecker sang the song for him or for anyone else on the sea that day, it was hard to say. But the wind carried the song anyway.