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THE DEVIL'S ELIXIR.
FROM THE GERMAN OF
E. T. A. HOFFMANN.
_In diesem Jahre wandelte auch her Deuvel offentlich auf den
Strassen von Berlin.----_
_Haftit Microc. Berol. p. 1043._
In that yeare, the Deville was alsoe seene walking publiclie
on the streetes of Berline.----
VOL. I.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH:
AND T. CADELL, LONDON.
1829.
THE DEVIL'S ELIXIR.
CHAPTER I.
My life, from my fourth to my sixteenth year, was spent at a lonely
farm-house, on the banks of the river Saale, near the Cistertian
Monastery of Kreuzberg. The house, though not large, had once been the
residence of a baronial family, that was now extinct, and of whose
representatives strange stories were narrated. Of course, therefore,
their castle was gloomy; of course, also, said to be haunted, and its
immediate environs were in keeping with the character of the principal
mansion.
There was, for example, a garden in the old style, with steps and
terrace walks, now ruined and neglected; thick hedges of yew and
cypress, with trees cut into fantastic shapes, which the present owner
had not found leisure, or perhaps had not permission, to destroy. The
surrounding country, however, at some distance, was very beautiful,
presenting a fine diversity of hill and dale, rock, wood, and water. The
situation of the Cistertian Convent, too, is particularly admired; but
in the recollections which I am thus commencing, rapid, simple narrative
must be my leading object; I have no time for diffuse and verbose
description.
Being an only child, I was left much alone, and it is therefore not to
be wondered at, that even at this early age, I should have exemplified
an undue developement of the faculty of imagination, and betrayed
singularities of thought and conduct, with proportionate defects in the
more useful qualities of prudence and judgment. It is requisite to
observe, however, that I was not born in this neighbourhood, but at the
convent of the Holy Lime-Tree in Prussia, of which place, even at this
day, I seem to retain the most accurate reminiscence. That I should be
able to describe scenes and events which happened in my earliest
infancy, need not be considered inexplicable, as I have heard so much of
them from the narratives of others, that an impression was of course
very powerfully made on my imagination, or rather, the impressions once
made, have never been suffered to decay, like cyphers carved on a tree,
which some fond lover fails not at frequent intervals to revisit and to
renovate. Of my father's rank or station in the world, I know little or
nothing. From all that I have heard, he must have been a person of
considerable experience and knowledge of life; yet, by various anecdotes
which have only of late become intelligible, it appears that my parents,
from the enjoyment of affluence and prosperity, had sunk, all at once,
into a state of the bitterest poverty and comparative degradation. I
learn, moreover, that my father, having been once enticed by stratagems
of the Arch Enemy into the commission of a mortal sin, wished, when, in
his latter years, the grace of God had brought him to repentance, to
expiate his guilt by a penitential pilgrimage from Italy to the convent
of the Holy Lime-Tree, in the distant and cold climate of Prussia. On
their laborious journey thither, his faithful partner in affliction
perceived, for the first time after several years of a married life,
that she was about to become a mother; and notwithstanding his extreme
poverty, my father was by this occurrence greatly rejoiced, as it tended
to the fulfilment of a mysterious vision, in which the blessed St
Bernard had appeared, and promised to him forgiveness and consolation
through the birth of a son.
In the convent of the Lime-Tree, my father was attacked by severe
illness, and as, notwithstanding his debility, he would on no account
forego any of the prescribed devotional exercises, his disease rapidly
gained ground, till at last, in mysterious conformity to the words of St
Bernard, he died consoled and absolved, almost at the same moment in
which I came into the world.
With my first consciousness of existence dawned on my perceptions the
beautiful imagery of the cloister and celebrated church of the
Lime-Tree. Even at this moment, methinks the dark oak wood yet rustles
around me; I breathe once more the fragrance of the luxuriant grass and
variegated flowers which were my cradle. No noxious insect, no poisonous
reptile, is found within the limits of that sanctuary. Scarce even the
buzzing of a fly, or chirping of a grasshopper, interrupts the solemn
stillness, diversified only by the pious songs of the monks, who walk
about in long solemn processions, accompanied by pilgrims of all
nations, waving their censers of consecrated perfume.
Even now, I seem yet vividly to behold in the middle of the church, the
stem of the lime-tree cased in silver, that far-famed tree, on which
supernatural visitants had placed the miraculous and wonder-working
image of the Virgin, while from the walls and lofty dome, the well-known
features of Saints and Angels are once more smiling upon me.
In like manner, it appears to me also, as if I had once beheld in the
same place the mysterious figure of a tall, grave, and austere-looking
man, of whom I was given to understand, that he could be no other but
the far-famed Italian painter, who had, in times long past, been here
professionally employed. No one understood his language, nor was his
real history known to any one of the monks. This much only was certain,
that he had, in a space of time incredibly short, filled the church with
its richest ornaments, and then, as soon as his work was finished,
immediately disappeared, no one could tell how or whither.
Not less vividly could I paint the portrait of a venerable pilgrim, who
carried me about in his arms, and assisted me in my childish plays of
searching for all sorts of variegated moss and pebbles in the forest.
Yet, though the apparition of the painter was certainly real, that of
the pilgrim, were it not for its influence on my after life, would seem
to me but a dream.
One day this personage brought with him a boy of uncommon beauty, and
about my equal in years, with whom I seated myself on the grass, sharing
with him my treasured store of moss and pebbles, which he already knew
how to form into various regular figures, and above all, into the holy
sign of the cross. My mother, meanwhile, sat near us on a stone bench,
and the old pilgrim stood behind her, contemplating with mild gravity
our infantine employments.
Suddenly, while we were thus occupied, a troop of young people emerged
from the thicket, of whom, judging by their dress and whole demeanour,
it was easy to decide, that curiosity and idleness, not devotion, had
led them to the Lime-Tree. On perceiving us, one of them began to laugh
aloud, and exclaiming to his companions, "See there!--See there!--A
holy family!--Here at last is something for my portfolio;" with these
words he drew out paper and pencils, and set himself as if to sketch our
portraits. Hereupon the old pilgrim was violently incensed, "Miserable
scoffer!" he exclaimed, "thou forsooth wouldst be an artist, while to
thy heart, the inspiration of faith and divine love is yet utterly
unknown! But thy works will, like thyself, remain cold, senseless, and
inanimate, and in the poverty of thine own soul, like an outcast in the
desert, shalt thou perish!"
Terrified by this reproof, the young people hastened away. The old
pilgrim also soon afterwards prepared for departure. "For this one day,"
said he to my mother, "I have been permitted to bring to you this
miraculous child, in order that, by sympathy, he might kindle the flames
of divine love in your son's heart; but I must now take him from you,
nor shall you ever behold either of us in this world again. Your son
will prove by nature admirably endowed with many valuable gifts; nor
will the lessons which have now been impressed on his mind be from
thence ever wholly effaced. Though the passions of his sinful father
should boil and ferment in his veins, yet by proper education their
influence might be repressed, and he might even raise himself up to be a
valiant champion of our holy faith. Let him therefore be a monk!"
With these words he disappeared; and my mother could never sufficiently
express how deep was the impression that his warning had left on her
mind. She resolved, however, by no means to place any restraint on my
natural inclinations, but quietly to acquiesce in whatever destination
Providence, and the limited education she was able to bestow, might seem
to point out for me.
The interval between this period and the time when my mother, on her
homeward journey, stopped at the convent of Kreuzberg, remains a mere
blank; not a trace of any event is left to me. The Abbess of the
Cistertians (by birth a princess) had been formerly acquainted with my
father, and on that account received us very kindly. I recover myself
for the first time, when one morning my mother bestowed extraordinary
care upon my dress; she also cut and arranged my wildly-grown hair,
adorned it with ribbons which she had bought in the town, and
instructed me as well as she could how I was to behave when presented at
the convent.
At length, holding by my mother's hand, I had ascended the broad marble
staircase, and entered a high vaulted apartment, adorned with devotional
pictures, in which we found the Lady Abbess. She was a tall, majestic,
and still handsome woman, to whom the dress of her order gave
extraordinary dignity. "Is this your son?" said she to my mother, fixing
on me at the same time her dark and penetrating eyes. Her voice, her
dress, her _tout ensemble_,--even, the high vaulted room and strange
objects by which I was surrounded, altogether had such an effect on my
imagination, that, seized with a kind of horror, I began to weep
bitterly. "How is this?" said the Abbess; "are you afraid of me? What is
your name, child?"--"Francis," answered my mother.--"Franciscus!"
repeated the Abbess, in a tone of deep melancholy, at the same time
lifting me up in her arms, and pressing me to her bosom.
But here a new misfortune awaited us; I suddenly felt real and violent
pain, and screamed aloud. The Abbess; terrified, let me go; and my
mother, utterly confounded by my behaviour would have directly snatched
me up and retired. This, however, our new friend would by no means
permit. It was now perceived that a diamond cross, worn by the Princess,
had, at the moment when she pressed me in her arms, wounded my neck in
such manner, that the impression, in the form of a cross, was already
quite visible, and even suffused with blood. "Poor Francis!" said the
Abbess, "I have indeed been very cruel to you; but we shall yet,
notwithstanding all this, be good friends."--An attendant nun now
entered with wine and refreshments, at the sight of which I soon
recovered my courage; and at last, seated on the Abbess's lap, began to
eat boldly of the sweetmeats, which she with her own hand kindly held to
my lips.
Afterwards, when I had, for the first time in my life, also tasted a few
drops of good wine, that liveliness of humour, which, according to my
mother's account, had been natural to me from infancy, was completely
restored. I laughed and talked, to the great delight of the Princess and
the nun, who remained in the room. To this moment, I know not how it
occurred to my mother, or how she succeeded in leading me on to talk
freely to the Abbess about all the wonders of my native monastery, or
how, as if supernaturally inspired, I was able to describe the works of
the unknown painter as correctly and livelily as if I had comprehended
their whole import and excellence. Not contented with this, I went on
into all the legends of the saints, as if I had already become
intimately acquainted with the records of the church.
The Princess, and even my mother, looked at me with astonishment. At
last, "Tell me, child," said the Abbess, "how is it possible that you
can have learned all this?"--Without a moment's hesitation, I answered
that a miraculous boy, who had been brought to us by the old pilgrim,
had explained to me all the paintings in the church--nay, that he
himself was able to make beautiful pictures, with moss and pebbles, on
the ground; and had not only explained to me their import, but told me
many legends of the saints.
The bell now rung for vespers. The nun had packed up and given to me a
quantity of sweetmeats in a paper bag, which I grasped and pocketed with
great satisfaction. The Abbess then rose from her seat: "Henceforward,"
said she, turning to my mother, "I shall look upon your son as my chosen
_eleve_, and shall provide for him accordingly."--My mother was so much
affected by this unexpected generosity, that she could only reply with
tears, grasping in silence the hand of the Abbess. We had reached the
door on our retreat, when the Princess came after us, took me up once
more in her arms, first carefully putting aside the diamond cross, and
weeping so that her tears dropped on my forehead, "Franciscus," said
she, "be good and pious!" I was moved also, and wept without knowing
wherefore.