"Tell me, dear Lothair," said Theodore, "how you can call your

'Nutcracker and the King of the Mice' a children's story? It is

impossible that children should follow the delicate threads which run

through the structure of it, and hold together its apparently

heterogeneous parts. The most they could do would be to keep hold of

detached fragments, and enjoy those, here and there."

"And is that not enough?" answered Lothair. "I think it is a great

mistake to suppose that clever, imaginative children--and it is only

they who are in question here--should content themselves with the empty

nonsense which is so often set before them under the name of Children's

Tales. They want something much better; and it is surprising how much

they see and appreciate which escapes a good, honest, well-informed

papa. Before I read this story to you, I read it to the only sort of

audience whom I look upon as competent critics of it, to wit, my

sister's children. Fritz, who is a great soldier, was delighted with

his namesake's army, and the battle carried him away altogether. He

cried 'prr and poof, and schmetterdeng, and boom booroom,' after me, in

a ringing voice; jigged about on his chair, and cast an eye towards his

sword, as if he would go to Nutcracker's aid when he got into danger.

He had never read Shakespeare, or the recent newspaper accounts of

fighting; so that all the significance of the military strategy and

evolutions connected with that greatest of battles escaped him

completely, as well as 'A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!' And

in the same way dear little Eugenie thoroughly appreciated, in her kind

heart, Marie's regard for little Nutcracker, and was moved to tears

when she sacrificed her playthings and her picture-books--even her

little Christmas dress--to rescue her darling; and doubted not for a

moment as to the existence of the glittering Candy Mead on to which

Marie stepped from the neck of the mysterious fox-fur cloak in her

father's wardrobe. The account of Toyland delighted the children more

than I can tell."

"That part of your story," said Ottmar, "keeping in view the

circumstance that the readers or listeners are to be children, I think

the most successful. The interpolation of the story of the Hard Nut,

although the 'cement' of the whole lies there, I consider to be a

fault, because the story is--in appearance at all events--complicated

and confused by it, and it rather stretches and broadens the threads.

You have declared that we are incompetent critics, and so reduced us to

silence; but I cannot help telling you that, if you bring this tale

before the public, many very rational people--particularly those who

never have been children themselves (which is the case with many)--will

shrug their shoulders and shake their heads, and say the whole affair

is a pack of stupid nonsense; or, at all events, that some attack of

fever must have suggested your ideas, because nobody in his sound and

sober senses could have written such a piece of chaotic monstrosity."

"Very good," said Lothair, "to such a head-shaker I should make a

profound reverence, lay my hand on my heart, and assure him that it is

little service to an author if all sorts of fancies dawn upon him in a

confused dream, unless he can discuss them with himself by the light of

sound reason and judgment, and work out the threads of them firmly and

soberly. Moreover, I would say that no description of work demands a

clear and quiet mind more absolutely than just this; for, although it

must have the effect of flashing out in all directions with the most

arbitrary disregard of all rules, it must contain a firm kernel within

it."

"Nobody can gainsay you in this," said Cyprian. "Still, it must always

be a risky undertaking to bring the utterly fanciful into the domain of

everyday life, and clap mad, enchanted caps on to the heads of grave

and sober folks--judges, students, and Masters of the Rolls--so that

they go gliding about like ghosts in broad daylight up and down the

most frequented streets of the most familiar towns, and one does not

know what to think of his most respectable neighbours. It is true that

this brings with it a certain tone of irony, which acts as a spur to

the lazy spirit, or rather entices it, unobservedly, with a plausible

face, into this unaccustomed province."

"But the said tone of irony," said Theodore, "is capable of becoming

a most dangerous pitfall; for the pleasantness of the plot and

execution--which we have a right to demand in all tales of the

kind--may very easily trip over it and go tumbling to the bottom."

"But I do not believe it is possible to lay down definite canons for

the construction of stories of this kind," said Lothair. "Tieck, the

profound and glorious master--the creator of the most delightful

works of the 'tale' class--has only placed a very few scattered,

instructive hints on the subject in the mouths of the characters in his

'Phantasus.' According to them, the conditions are, a quietly

progressive tone of the narrative; a certain guilelessness in the

relation, which, like gently fantasising music, enters the soul without

noise or din. There should be no bitter after-taste left behind by it,

but only a sense of enjoyment, echoing on. But is this sufficient to

define the only admissible tone for this species of literature?

However, I don't wish to think any more about my 'Nutcracker.' I feel

that it is pervaded by what I may call 'overflowing spirits' to too

great an extent; and I have thought too much of grown-up people and

their ways and doings; for the rest, I have had to promise the little

critics in my sister's nursery to get another story ready for them by

next Christmas, and I undertake to keep it in a quieter tone. For

to-day, I think we ought to be thankful that I have summoned you

up out of the dreadful mine-shaft at Falun to the light of day, and

restored you to the good humour and good spirits which become Serapion

Brethren--particularly at the moment of parting, for I hear the clock

striking twelve."

"May Serapion continue to protect and aid us," cried Theodore, rising

and elevating his glass, "and enable us to describe what we have seen

with the eye of the spirit, in graphic and apposite words."

The Brethren drank the toast, and parted.

* * * * *

SECTION THIRD.

"There can be no question," said Lothair, when the Serapion Brethren

were next assembled, "that our Cyprian--just as was the case on the St.

Serapion's Day when our Brotherhood was founded--has something strange

occupying his mind and thoughts. He is pale and disturbed; listens to

our conversation with only half an ear; and seems, though present in

the body, to be far away in spirit."

"Then," said Ottmar, "the best thing he can do is to out with the story

of the madman whose name-day he is probably celebrating."

"And discharge the contents of his brain in eccentric sparks just

as he pleases," added Theodore; "for I know that he will then become

humanly-minded again, and come back to our circle, which he will have

to content himself with as best he may."

"You are doing me an injustice," said Cyprian; "for instead of my being

preoccupied with anything relating to insanity, I bring you a piece of

news which ought to delight you all. Our friend Sylvester has come back

here to-day from his long stay in the country."

The friends welcomed this announcement with shouts; for they were all

much attached to the quiet but brilliant and kindly Sylvester, whose

inward poesy shone forth in the mildest and most beauteous radiance.

"No more worthy Serapion Brother than our Sylvester could possibly

exist," said Theodore. "He is quiet and thoughtful: it is true it costs

some trouble to kindle him up to the point of clear utterance; but

probably there never was any one more susceptive of the work of other

people. Though he is a man of few words himself, one reads in his face,

in the clearest traits, the impression which the words of others

produce upon him; and when his kindliness and talent stream forth in

his looks and whole being, I feel myself more kind and more clever in

his presence--more free and more happy."

"The truth is," said Ottmar, "that Sylvester is a very remarkable man

just on that account. The poets of the present day seem all to go

storming, of set purpose, up above the level of that unpretending

modesty which ought to be considered the most marked and essential

quality of the true poet-nature; and even the better-minded among them

have need to be careful that, in the mere maintenance of their rights,

they should abstain from drawing that sword which the great majority of

them never lay out of their hands. But Sylvester goes about weaponless,

like a guileless child. We have often accused him of indolence, and

told him that, considering the wealth of his intellect, he writes too

little. But must people go on writing continually? When Sylvester sits

down and fixes some inner image into words, there is sure to be some

irresistible impulse constraining him to do so. He never writes

anything that he has not most vividly felt, and seen; and therefore he

must come amongst us as a perfect Serapion Brother."

"I have a dislike to all odd numbers," said Lothair, "except the mystic

and pleasant number seven; and I think that five Serapion Brethren

would never answer, but that six, on the other hand, would sit very

comfortably about this round table. Sylvester has arrived to-day; and

very shortly that restless, wandering spirit, Vincent, will be casting

anchor here too. We all know him; and we are aware that, except for the

kindness of heart which he possesses in common with Sylvester, he is

the most absolute contrast to him, in all respects, that it would be

possible to find. Sylvester is quiet and meditative; whilst Vincent

boils over with wit and high spirits. He has an inexhaustible faculty

of clothing everything in bizarre imagery--the most everyday matters,

as well as the most extraordinary; as, moreover, he says everything in

a clear, almost piercing voice, and with the drollest pathos, his talk

is often like a set of magic-lantern slides, carrying the attention

along in constant, unresting alternation and change, without allowing

it to pause and contemplate anything quietly."

"You have drawn a most striking portrait of Vincent," said Theodore;

"but there is one of his characteristics which we must not lose

sight of, that, with all his brilliant qualities, and constant

firework-volleys of humour, he is, heart and soul, devoted to mysticism

of every kind, and introduces it into his pursuits in rich measure. You

know he has taken up medicine as a profession?"

"Yes," said Ottmar; "and, by the way, he is the most eager champion of

Mesmerism to be found, and I must say that I have heard from his lips

the most acute and profound observations possible on that somewhat

obscure subject."

"Ho ho!" said Lothair, laughing, "have you gone to be schooled by all

the magnetisers since the days of Mesmer, that you can be so very

certain as to 'the most acute and profound things possible' that can be

said about Mesmerism? No doubt, if dreams and reveries have to be

brought within the confines of any given system, Vincent, by reason of

his clear-sightedness, is the very man to do it better than thousands

of others. And he treats everything with a jovial good-temper which is

always very delightful. Some time since he happened, in the course of

his peregrinations, to be with me in a certain place, and it chanced

that I had an unendurable nervous headache. Nothing would do it the

slightest good. Vincent came in, and I told him what was the matter.

'What!' he cried, in that clear-toned voice of his, 'you have a

headache?--a mere trifle! I can conjure headaches away in ten minutes'

time; send them wherever you choose--into the arm-chair, or the

ink-bottle, or out of the window!' And he began making his mesmeric

passes. They did not do me the slightest good, but I could not help

laughing most heartily; and Vincent, delighted, cried, 'See how I've

conquered your headache in a moment!' Unfortunately I was compelled to

answer that the headache was just as bad as ever. But Vincent said I

was only feeling a sort of after-echo of the former pain. After-echo or

not, it lasted for several days. I take this opportunity of declaring

to my respected Serapion Brethren that I have not the slightest belief

in the curative effects of Mesmerism; the most careful and ingenious

researches on this subject seem to me to be much like the theorisings

of the Royal Society of England on the question proposed to them by the

King: why a vessel of water with a ten-pound fish in it should not

weigh more than a similar vessel containing water alone? Several of the

philosophers had solved the problem successfully, and were about to lay

the results of their wisdom before the King, when one, a little more

practical than the others, suggested that the experiment should be

tried. When this was done, the fish weighed down the balance, as it

could not but do. The basis of all the ingenious reasoning did not

exist."

"Ah ha!" said Lothair, "incredulous, prosaic Schismatic! how was it,

since you don't believe in Mesmerism,--how was it--but I must tell you,

Cyprian and Theodore, this little story at full length, so that the

shame of the contemptuous unbelief which Lothair has just avowed may

return upon his head. You have probably heard that Lothair had an

illness some time ago, the principal seat of which was in his nervous

system. It came upon him in an indescribable manner; destroyed all his

fine spirits and good temper, and spoilt all his enjoyment of life. I

went one day to see him, all compassion and sympathy. I found him

sitting in an arm-chair, with a cap drawn over his ears; pale, worn-out

by a sleepless night, with his eyes closed. In front of him (whom

Heaven has not endowed with the most gigantic dimensions in the world),

sat a personage almost as diminutive as himself, breathing upon him,

drawing the tips of his fingers along his spine, laying his hand on his

epigastrium, and asking him, in a soft, whispering voice:

"'How do you feel now, Lothair?'

"And Lothair opened his eyes, smiled pathetically, and sighed out:

"'Better, doctor; much better.'

"In short, Lothair, who has no faith in the curative effects of

Mesmerism; who says Mesmerism is all nonsense; who laughs the

whole thing to scorn, and considers it all mere charlatanry and

deception--Lothair was having himself mesmerized!"

Cyprian and Theodore laughed heartily over this rather grotesque

picture.

"Pray don't talk of such things," said Lothair. "Man, by virtue of his

wonderful organization, is, alas! such a feeble creature the physical

element in him has such an injurious influence on the psychical that

every illness, every abnormal condition, awakens an alarm and anxiety

in him which, being a temporary insanity, causes him to do the most

extraordinary things. Plenty of clever and rational men, when they have

thought their doctors' prescriptions were not working as they expected

them to do, have had recourse to old women's nostrums, or 'sympathetic

media,' and I don't know what all. That I, at the time in question,

when my nerves were all out of order, inclined to Mesmerism, is a proof

of my weakness, but not of anything else."

"I," said Cyprian, "must beg you to allow me rather to believe that the

doubts respecting Mesmerism which you have expressed to-night are only

the results of some passing mental mood of the moment. What is

Mesmerism, considered as to its curative effects, but the concentrated,

increased, potentiated power of man's psychical element, empowered, by

being thus concentrated and augmented, thoroughly to control the

physical element; to know it, see it, and understand it through and

through; to detect the minutest abnormal condition in it, and, by the

very knowledge and perception of any such abnormal condition, to remove

it? It is not possible that you can deny this power of our psychical

element, or close your ears to the marvellous chords which come toning

into us, and pass toning out from us--mysterious 'music of the

spheres,'--the grand, unchangeable principle of Nature herself."

"You are talking in your usual strain," answered Lothair, "revelling in

your mystic dreams as you always do. I admit at once that Mesmerism,

stretching, as it undoubtedly does, into the domain of the ghostly,

must always exercise a powerful attraction on poetic temperaments. I

myself cannot deny that this mysterious subject has always penetrated

to the very depths of my soul. But listen while I make my confession of

faith in a few words. Who can penetrate, with foolhardy presumption,

into the deepest mysteries of Nature? Who can understand, or even

conjecture, with any sort of clearness, the nature of the mysterious

bond which unites soul and body, and, in consequence, is the

fundamental condition of our existence? Yet it is exactly upon the

cognizance of this mystery that Mesmerism is wholly based; and so long

as this cognizance is an impossibility, both the theory and the

practice of Mesmerism (which are grounded upon isolated experiments,

often illusory), are like the gropings of the born-blind. It is certain

that there occur states of exaltation in which the spirit, ruling over

the body and controlling its activity, acts with much power, and, in so

acting, produces phenomena of the most extraordinary description. Dim

presciences and fore-anticipations assume distinct shape and form; and

we see and understand, with the fullest powers of comprehension, things

as yet slumbering deep and motionless in our souls. Dreams (which are

undoubtedly the most wonderful phenomena belonging to the human

organism, and, as I consider, appear in their most potentiated form in

what is called, in general terms, 'somnambulism') belong to this

province. But it is also certain that such conditions presuppose the

existence of some abnormality in the relation between the psychical and

the physical principles. The most distinct and vivid dreams come to us

always when some diseased or morbid feeling is affecting the body. The

spirit takes advantage of the inactive condition of its co-regent;

taken possession of the throne, and turns that co-regent into a servile

vassal. So that Mesmerism, also, is a result of some diseased or morbid

condition of the body. It may also happen that Nature may frequently

establish a psychical dualism, during which the mutual inter-play of

the two principles produces highly remarkable phenomena. But I consider

that it is Nature only which should produce this dualism, and that

every attempt to produce it artificially, without Queen Nature's

command, at one's own will and pleasure, is dangerous and rash, if not

wicked. I go even further. I cannot deny that it is possible to produce

this potentiated condition of the psychical element--of course all

experience would be against me if I did. The psychical principle

belonging to a given person can, in the process of mesmeric

manipulation, become embodied, and can stream out from the mesmerizer

in the form of some 'fluid' (or whatever one may choose to term it),

and seize upon and govern the psychical principle of another--the

person mesmerized--producing a state which is at variance with all the

ordinary conditions of human life, and the usual rules of existence,

and which, even in its celebrated 'ecstatic forms,' comprehends in

itself all the awesomeness of the mysterious spirit realm. All this, I

say, I can by no means deny; but I must always look upon this process

as the blind exercise of an evil power, whose effects and results, in

spite of all theory, cannot be predicted or relied upon. Mesmerism is

somewhere defined as a dangerous weapon in the hands of a child; and

with that definition I thoroughly agree. If human beings are to set to

work to operate at will upon each other's spiritual elements, the

doctrine of the Barbarini school of spiritualists, who work purely by

faith and will, without any manipulations, seems to me to be much the

purest and most innocuous. The fixing of the firm will is a discreet

and sober question put to Nature whether the dualism of spirit is to be

established or not in any particular case; and it is she alone who

decides it and answers it. Similarly, people's magnetising themselves,

at the 'Bacquet' (as it was called) without any intervention of a

mesmerizer, may be considered less dangerous, inasmuch as no influence

of a foreign possibly hostile or hurtful spiritual principle can then

be exercised. But think of the hosts of people who now practise this

most mysterious of all sciences if it is to be called a science

light-mindedly, or in complete self-deception, where they do not do it

altogether for parade or notoriety! Bartels, in his 'Physiology and

Physics of Mesmerism,' quotes the saying of a foreign physician, in

which he expresses his surprise that the German doctors treat, and

experiment upon, mesmeric subjects, just as if they were pieces of

lifeless apparatus. Unfortunately this is perfectly true, and therefore

I prefer to disbelieve in the curative effects of mesmerism, at all

events, than to entertain the idea that the uncanny exercise and

influence of another person's spiritual principle might some day

destroy my own life beyond the possibility of remedy."

"What results," said Theodore, "from what you have said not without

much truth and profundity about mesmerism is, that you have made up

your mind, from mere dread of the consequences, never to allow any

mesmerist in the world to make any of his manipulations on the ganglia

of your back, or elsewhere. So far as regards your dread of the effect

of a foreign spiritual principle, I quite agree with you. And I beg to

be allowed by way of an illustrative note to your confession of faith

to add an account of my own experiences in mesmerism. A college friend

of mine who was studying medicine was the first to introduce me to this

mysterious subject. You, who know me so very intimately, will have no

difficulty in understanding how it took entire possession of my mind. I

read everything bearing on the subject that I could get hold of, and

finally Klug's book on 'Mesmerism as a Curative Agent.' This book

caused some doubts to arise in me, as, without being very luminously

scientific in its mode of treating the subject, it is based chiefly on

cases, besides mixing up proved facts with matter wholly legendary. My

friend rebutted all my objections, and at last proved to me that the

mere study of the theory would never awaken that faith which was

essential, and which could only be attained by witnessing mesmeric

experiments. At this time there was no opportunity of seeing any at the

University; for even if a promising mesmeric operator had been to be

found, there did not appear to be any one with any disposition to

become somnambulistic or clairvoyant.

"I went to the Residenz, and there mesmerism was in its fullest flower.

Nobody talked of anything but the wonderful magnetic crises of a

talented and accomplished lady of position, who, after some not very

important nerve-attacks, had, almost of herself, become first a

'sonnambule,' and then the most remarkable clairvoyante that (by the

verdict of all who were authorities on the subject) ever had been, or

ever could be, seen. I managed to make the acquaintance of the doctor

who attended and treated her; and, seeing that I was a student eager

for knowledge, he promised to take me to this lady when she was in one

of her crises. This he accordingly did. One day he said, 'Come to me at

six this afternoon, for I know that my patient has just fallen into the

magnetic sleep.' Full of the most eager anticipation, I went with him

to the elegantly, nay, sumptuously, appointed room. Rose-coloured

curtains were carefully drawn over the windows, so that the rays of the

evening sun, passing through them, tinted everything with a magic

roseate shimmer. The 'subject' was lying, dressed in a beautiful and

becoming morning dress, stretched on the sofa, with her eyes fast

closed, breathing gently as if in a profound sleep.

"In a wide circle around her, several devotees were ranged. There were

one or two young ladies, who were rolling their eyes and sighing

profoundly, and who would evidently have been but too happy to become

subjects on the spot themselves, for the edification of the handsome

officer and the other nice-looking young gentleman, who both seemed to

be eagerly looking forward to this important moment; besides some

elderly ladies who were watching, with bent heads and folded hands,

every breath drawn by their sleeping friend.

The coming on of the highest condition of clairvoyance was expected

momentarily. The mesmerizer, who did not take the trouble to place

himself _en rapport_ with his subject, as, he said, the _rapport_

between them was continually in existence, went near her, and began to

talk with her. She specified the times during the day when he had been

thinking of her with special vividness, and mentioned many other

circumstances which had occurred to him. At last she asked him to put

away the ring which he had in his pocket in a red morocco case, and

which he had never had with him before, because the gold of it, and

particularly the diamond, affected her painfully. With every mark of

the profoundest astonishment, the mesmerist stepped back, and took the

described ring, in its case, out of his pocket. He had only got it that

afternoon from the jeweller's, and the subject could have been

conscious of its existence in no other way than by the _rapport_

between them. This miracle had such an effect on the young ladies that

they both sunk down into easy-chairs, sighing deeply; and a few passes

by the mesmerizer speedily sent them both into a profound sleep.

"The fatal morocco case being got out of the way, the mesmerizer,

chiefly for my edification, put his patient through some 'feats' (if I

may so term them). She sneezed when he took snuff. She read a letter

which he placed upon her pericardium, and so forth. At last he tried

whether he could place me _en rapport_ with her through himself, and

succeeded admirably. She described me minutely from head to foot, and

said she had known beforehand that her mesmerizer was going to bring a

friend with him that day, and had long had a clear presentiment within

her of him, and of the manner of man he was. She appeared to be well

pleased with my proximity. Suddenly she ceased speaking, and raised

herself into a partly sitting posture. I fancied I observed a trembling

of her eyelids, and a slight twitching of her lips. The Mesmerizer told

us she was passing into the fifth stage--that of self-contemplation and

detachment from the external world. This distracted the attention of

the two young gentlemen from the young ladies, just as they were

beginning to be extremely interesting. One of them had got the length

of stating that the hair of the officer (whom she had got _en rapport_

with) was emitting a strange and beautiful light; the other announced

that the general's lady, who occupied the floor below, was at that

moment drinking very fine caravan tea, the aroma of which she could

scent through the floor, and, moreover, she prophesied,

clairvoyantically, that she would wake from her mesmeric sleep in a

quarter of an hour, and drink some tea herself, and also eat some

tea-cake into the bargain. But the lady in the High Condition began to

speak again, in an altogether altered voice, which had a strange, and,

as I must admit, remarkably beautiful tone. What she said, moreover,

was couched in such mystic phraseology, and extraordinary expressions,

that I could make no sense of it. But the mesmerizer told us she was

saying the most glorious, the most profound, and the most instructive

things on the subject of her own stomach. This, of course, I had to

take for granted. Quitting the theme of her stomach (to rely again upon

her mesmerizer's interpretation), she soared away upon a loftier

flight. Sometimes it seemed to me that there occurred whole passages

which I had read somewhere or other; I had an idea that I had met with

them in Novalis's 'Fragments,' perhaps, or in Schelling's 'Weltseele.'

And then she fell back rigid upon her cushions. Her mesmerizer expected

her to awake directly, and begged us to go away, because it might have

a painful effect upon her if she found strangers about her when she

awoke. So we were sent about our business. The two young ladies, about

whom nobody had given themselves any further trouble, had thought it as

well to wake up some little time before, and slip quietly away.

"You cannot imagine the odd impression this whole scene had produced

upon me. To say nothing of the two silly girls--who, of course, would

have been only too happy to emerge from their uninteresting position as

mere spectators--I could not drive away the idea that the lady on the

sofa was playing--with very considerable talent and ability--a

thoroughly studied, well got-up, carefully rehearsed part. I was

perfectly certain that the mesmerist was the most sincere and

honourable of human beings, and would have abhorred any 'comedy' of

the sort from the bottom of his heart; so that I was convinced that

he--even from a desire to make converts to the true faith--would never

for one moment have lent himself to anything in the shape of deception.

Consequently, if there was any deception in the case, it must rest with

the lady, whose acting was more than a match for the scientific

doctor's powers of observation. I did not dare to ask myself what

object she could have in subjecting herself to such a process of

self-torture--for self-torture such a feigned condition of exaltation

must certainly be. There have been, as we know, devil-possessed

Ursulines--nuns who mewed like cats, horrible creatures who dislocated

their own limbs; to say nothing of the woman in the hospital at

Wuerzburg who, regardless of the frightful torture she endured, bored

pieces of glass and needles into her lancet wounds, merely to astonish

her doctor at the strangeness of the substances to be found within her.

We know that there have, at all times, been hosts of women who have

risked health and life, honour, fair fame, and freedom, solely that the

world might look upon them as extraordinary beings, and talk of the

marvels connected with them. But to return to the lady in question. I

ventured, though with much diffidence, to formulate my doubts to the

doctor. But he replied, with a smile, that doubts like these were

nothing but the last feeble struggles of the vanquished intelligence.

The lady, he said, had several times declared that my proximity

affected her favourably, so that he had every reason to desire me to

continue my visits, which, he was certain, would convince me in the

end. In fact, after going to see her several times, I did begin to be

more convinced, and my belief almost became absolute when, once that

the mesmerizer had placed me _en rapport_ with her in one of her higher

conditions, she mentioned, in an incomprehensible manner, certain

circumstances in my previous life, and spoke, particularly, of an

affection of the nervous system into which I fell at a time when I had

lost a beloved sister. It displeased me much, however, that the number

of spectators kept increasing, and that the mesmerizer tried to convert

the lady into a prophetess and sibyl, making her give oracular

utterances about the health and circumstances of strangers with win mi

he placed her _en rapport_.

"One day I found, among the spectators, an old doctor, a celebrated

man, who was well known as the most strenuous and formidable opponent

of, and sceptic concerning, the curative effects of mesmerism. Before

his arrival the lady, in her magnetic sleep, had said that it would

last longer this time than usual, and that she would not awake for

fully two hours. Soon after this she attained the highest stage of

clairvoyance, and began her mystic utterances. The mesmerist told us

that, in this highest grade, the subject was a wholly spiritual being,

had completely stripped off the body, and was utterly insensible to

physical pain. The old doctor thought this was an opportunity for

making a decisive experiment in the cause of science, for the

convincing of all the incredulous; and proposed that he should be

allowed to burn the sole of the lady's foot with a red-hot iron, and

see whether she would feel it or not. It seemed rather a terrible

experiment, but abundant means of cure were at hand; he had brought

them in his pocket, and a small iron for the purpose as well. These he

at once produced.

"The mesmerizer averred that, on awaking, the lady would not mind any

slight inconvenience which she might thus suffer in the cause of

science, and ordered a chafing-dish to be brought. It came, and the

doctor placed his iron in it to be heated. Just then the lady was

seized with a sudden spasm, heaved a deep sigh, awoke, and complained

of feeling uncomfortable. The old doctor cast a piercing glance at her,

unceremoniously cooled his iron in some mesmerized water which happened

to be on the table, put it in his pocket, took his hat and stick, and

left the house. The scales fell from my eyes. I hastened to take my

departure also, indignant at the vile deception which this fine lady

was practising on her mesmerizer, and on us all.

"As a matter of course, neither the mesmerizer nor the devotees--who

looked upon their visits as a species of mystic divine service--were in

the slightest degree enlightened by what had occurred. It is equally a

matter of course that I, for my part, was convinced that everything in

the shape of mesmerism was the merest chimeric superstition, and would

listen to nothing more on the subject.

"My destiny took me to B----. There, also, much was being said about

mesmerism, but there was no mention of any experiments on it going on.

It was said that a much esteemed old doctor, the director of the

admirably ordered lunatic asylum there--like the one in the Residenz

who, in a horrible manner, carried anti-somnambulistic irons about in

his pockets--had declared himself decidedly against mesmerism as a

cure, and strictly forbidden the doctors under his orders to practise

it.

"My surprise was all the greater, therefore, to learn, after a time,

that this very doctor himself was employing mesmerism, though quite

secretly, in the lunatic asylum.

"When I had made his acquaintance, I tried to bring him on to the

subject of mesmerism. He avoided it: but at last, as I persisted in

talking of this wondrous science, and showed that I had a certain

amount of practical knowledge on the subject, he asked what was being

done at the Residenz in the direction of curative mesmerism. I told

him, without ceremony, the story of the lady who came back so suddenly

from the realms of celestial ecstasies to this sublunary world at the

idea of being slightly burned. 'That is just it! that is just it!' he

cried, whilst his eyes flashed lightnings; and he at once changed the

subject. At last, when I had gained more of his confidence, he spoke

out his mind concerning mesmerism, to the effect that he was convinced,

from personal experience, of the existence of this mysterious natural

power, and of its beneficial effects in particular cases, but

considered the calling into action of this power to be the most

dangerous experiment possible, which should only be permitted to

doctors, in the most absolute serenity of their minds, and above any

sort of passionate enthusiasm; that there was nothing in which there

was a greater possibility of self-deception, or in which self-deception

was easier; and that he considered no experiment satisfactory in which

the person operated on had previously heard much of the marvels of

mesmerism, and possessed sufficient intelligence and education to

understand what it was all about. He considered that the charm of

penetrating into a higher spirit-world was, for poetic temperaments, or

those naturally 'exalted,' too alluring not to give rise, taken in

connection with an eager desire to attain that condition, to illusory

feelings of every kind. Moreover, he said that the magnetizer's dream

of controlling the spiritual principle of another was a source of

deception, where he lends himself wholly to the fancies of exciteable

people, instead of throwing the most prosaic cold water over them, and

thus keeping them in check as by bit and bridle. At the same time he

would not deny that he made use of the curative powers of mesmerism

himself, in his asylum, although he thought that the mode in which,

from pure conviction, he allowed it to be applied, by doctors

carefully selected under his own strict superintendence, obviated all

risk of abuse, and, on the contrary, produced beneficial effects on the

patients, as well as resulting increase of knowledge respecting this

most mysterious of all curative agents. Although it was a breach of all

regulations, he said he was willing, provided that I would promise him

the strictest secrecy, so as to keep the curious at bay, to allow me to

be present at a mesmeric cure, if a case of the kind should occur.

"Chance soon brought a very remarkable case of the kind under my

observation, of which the circumstances are as follow:

"In a certain village about twenty miles from B---- the local medical

man met with a country labourer's daughter, of about sixteen, whose

condition her parents bewailed with bitter tears. They said their

daughter could neither be said to be ill nor well. She suffered from no

pain or illness, she ate and drank, slept--often for a whole day at a

time--and yet she seemed to be wasting away, and getting weaker and

feebler daily, so that she had been able to do no work for a long time

past. The doctor convinced himself that some deep-seated affection of

the nervous system was the root of the evil, and that mesmerism was

clearly indicated as the remedy. He told the parents that it was

impossible that their daughter could be cured there in the village, but

that she could be put to rights completely if they would send her to

the hospital in B----, where she would have the best of advice and

treatment, and be given the necessary medicine without having to pay a

farthing. After a hard struggle the parents did as they were advised.

"Before the mesmeric cure had been commenced I went with my friend to

the hospital, and saw the patient. I found the girl in a lofty,

well-lighted room, fitted up in the most careful manner with all

imaginable comforts and conveniences. She was of very delicate build

for her station in life, and her refined-looking face was almost to be

called beautiful, had it not been for the dull, vacant eyes, the deadly

pallor, the colourless lips. Probably her malady had impaired, for the

time, her mental powers, but she seemed to be very limited in

intelligence, appeared to have a good deal of difficulty in

understanding questions put to her, and answered them in the broad,

abominable, unintelligible jargon which the country people speak in her

part of the world. The director had selected as her mesmerizer a young,

robust medical student whose face expressed ingenuousness and

kindliness, and to whom he had ascertained that the girl had no

dislike. The process began. There was no question in this case of

visits by the curious, astonishing feats, or the like. Besides the

mesmerizer, no one was present except the director (who watched the

process with the minutest attention, and carefully observed the most

trifling incidents) and me. At first the girl seemed but very slightly

susceptible, but ere long she progressed rapidly from grade to grade,

until in three weeks' time she reached the stage of true clairvoyance.

Let me pass over the various wonderful phenomena which presented

themselves in her several stages. It is sufficient if I assure you that

here, where there was no possibility whatever of the smallest

deception, I was convinced to the depths of my soul of the real

occurrence of that state which mesmerists describe as the highest form

of clairvoyance. In this stage, as Kluge says, the union with the

mesmerizer is so absolute and complete that the subject not only knows

instantly when the mesmerizer's thoughts are withdrawn from him (or

her), but reads the thoughts which are in the mesmerizer's mind with

the utmost minuteness. On the other hand, the clairvoyant is completely

under the control of the mesmerizer's will, and can only think, speak,

and act by means of, and through, the mesmerizer's psychical principle.

This is exactly the condition in which this peasant girl was.

"I am unwilling to weary you with all that happened as between the

mesmerizer and patient in this condition; I shall merely mention one

circumstance--to my mind the most convincing of all. While she was in

this condition, the girl spoke the pure, educated dialect of her

mesmerizer, and in her answers to his questions--often given with a

most charming smile--she expressed herself in the choice and refined

language of a person of intelligence and education; in fact, exactly as

her mesmerizer was in the habit of expressing himself; and as she did

so, her lips and cheeks bloomed into rosy colours, and her features and

expression were ennobled in the most striking manner.

"I could not but be amazed. But this complete absence of individual

will in the patient, this absolute surrender of her personality, this

objectionable dependence upon the spiritual principle of another--this

existence, in fact, conditioned solely by another's spiritual

principle--filled me with horror and awe. Nay, I could not but feel the

deepest and most heartrending pity for the poor thing, even after I was

obliged to see and admit that the mesmerism was doing the patient a

most wonderful amount of good, so that she bloomed forth into the

finest and most robust health, and thanked her mesmerizer, the

director--and even me--for all the benefit she had derived, saying all

this in a broader and more unintelligible jargon than ever. The

director seemed to observe my feeling, and to share it. We never came

to any explanation about it; probably for the best of reasons. Never

since then have I been able to persuade myself to witness any more

mesmeric cures. I had no wish to see any experiments besides the one in

question, which was so perfect in all its conditions as to remove all

doubts of the wondrous power of mesmerism. At the same time, it had

brought me to the brink of an abyss into which it was impossible to

peer without profound alarm.

"From all which it results that I am entirely of Lothair's opinion."

"And," said Ottmar, "as I add that I am entirely of yours, it is clear

that we are all of one mind on this mysterious subject. No doubt any

clever doctor who is an advocate for mesmerism would refute all

our arguments in a moment, and soundly rebuke us for setting our

crude laymen's opinions up in opposition to convictions resulting

from careful experiments and extensive experience. Do not let us

forget, neither, that we ought not to be altogether unfavourably

disposed towards mesmerism, since, in our Serapiontic essays it may

frequently find its application as a most efficient lever for bringing

little-understood spiritual powers into play. Even you, Lothair, have

made use of this lever not seldom. In your very 'Nutcracker,' that most

edifying story, Marie is sometimes a little 'sonnambule.' But, ah! how

far we have wandered away from the subject of Vincent!"

"The transition was easy enough," said Lothair. "The path was traced

all ready. If Vincent joins our Brotherhood, there is sure to be much

dabbling in mysteries, for his head is full of them. However, Cyprian

here has not been attending to what we have been saying for several

minutes past; he has been turning over the leaves of a manuscript which

he took from his pocket. He ought now to have an opportunity of

disburdening his mind."

"The truth is," said Cyprian, "that your discussion on mesmerism

seemed, to me, tedious and wearisome; and, if you like, I will read you

a Serapiontic tale which was suggested to me by Wagenseil's 'Chronicles

of Nuernberg.' Remember, that my object was not to write a critical,

antiquarian treatise on the celebrated Contest on the Wartburg; I have

merely, according to my wont, related the circumstances just as they

arose before my mental vision."

He read:--

"'THE SINGERS' CONTEST.

"'At the season when spring and winter are bidding each other

farewell--on the night of the Equinox--a reader sat in a lonely chamber

with Johann Christoph Wagenseil's work on the glorious craft of the

Master Singers open before him. The storm, raging and roaring without,

was clearing up the fields, dashing the heavy rain-drops against the

windows, and whistling and howling the winter's wild adieu through the

chimneys of the houses; whilst the beams of the full moon were dancing

and playing like pallid spectres up and down on the wall. But the

reader took no note of all this. He closed the book, and gazed, deep in

thought, into the fire which was crackling on the hearth, given over

wholly to contemplation of the magic forms of long-past times, which

his book had evoked for him. It was as if some invisible being laid

down veil after veil upon his head, so that the objects around him

floated far away into thicker and thicker mists. The raging of the

storm and the crackling of the fire turned to gentle, harmonious

murmuring whispers, and a voice within him said,

"'"This is the dream, whose wings murmur so softly up and down, as it

lays itself on man's breast like a loving child, awaking with a sweet

kiss the inner sight--so that it beholds the beauteous forms of a

higher life, which is all splendour and glory."

"'A dazzling radiance burst forth like lightning-flash, and the veiled

dreamer opened his eyes. But no veil--no mist cloud--now obscured his

sight. He was lying on beds of flowers in the twilight dimness of a

thick, beautiful forest. The brooks were murmuring, the thickets

rustling, like the secret talk of lovers; and between whiles a

nightingale complained in sweetest pain. The morning breeze awoke,

and--rolling the clouds away--made straight the pathway of the glorious

sunshine; and soon the sunlight gleamed upon all the green, green

leaves, waking the sleeping birds, which fluttered from spray to spray,

singing their joyous strains. Then came sounding from afar the tones of

the merry horn. The deer sprang up from their lairs, and the harts and

the roes peered out--shyly, with bright, wise eyes--through the leafy

thickets, at him who lay on the flowers, and then dashed back in alarm

into their coverts again. The horns were silent; but now the chords of

harps were heard, and tones of voices, making a music so sweet, that it

seemed to come straight from Heaven. Nearer and nearer approached

the sound of these beautiful strains, and hunters armed with their

boar-spears, with bright horns slung over their shoulders, rode forth

from the forest shades. On a splendid cream-coloured charger rode

onward a stately lord, dressed in old German garb, robed in a prince's

mantle. By his side on a graceful palfrey, a lady of dazzling beauty,

richly attired, rode along. After them came six cavaliers, riding on

beautiful horses, each of a different colour; their marked and

expressive faces spake of a long vanished time. They had laid their

bridle reins over their horses' necks, and were playing on lutes and

harps, and singing in clear-toned voices. Their horses, trained to the

music, went prancing in time to the strains, after the royal pair along

the woodland way. When the singing ceased for a time, the hunters

sounded their horns, and the horses whinnied and neighed as if in

gladness of heart. Pages and servitors richly attired brought up the

rear of the stately procession, which wended its way along into the

depths of the woods.

"'He who had been sunk in amaze at this wondrous sight, rose from his

flowery couch, and cried enraptured,

"'"Oh, Ruler of the Universe! have those grand old days arisen again

from the grave? What were these glorious forms?"

"'A deep voice spoke behind him: "Did you not recognize the men, whom

you have had so vividly present to your mind?"

"'He looked round, and saw a grave and stately man in a dark

full-bottomed wig, dressed all in black, in the fashion of about the

year 1680; and he recognized the learned old Professor Johann Christoph

Wagenseil, who went on to speak as follows:

"'"You need have had no difficulty in seeing that the stately lord in

the prince's mantle, was the doughty Landgrave Hermann of Thuringia. By

his side rode the star of his court, Countess Mathilda, the youthful

widow of Count Cuno of Falkenstein, who died advanced in years. The six

who rode after them, singing to lutes and harps, were the six great

masters of song, whom the Landgrave--heart and soul devoted to the

glorious singer's craft--has assembled at his Court. They are now

engaged in the chase; but when that is over, they will meet in a

beautiful meadow in the heart of the forest, and hold a singing

contest. Thither let us repair, that we may be present when the hunt is

over."

"'Wherefore they went along; while the distant rocks and the woods

re-echoed the notes of the horns, the cries of the hounds, and the

shouts of the hunters. All turned out as Professor Wagenseil had

desired. Scarcely had they come to the gold-green glittering meadow,

when the Landgrave, the Countess, and the six masters came slowly up

from the distance.

"'"Good friend!" said Wagenseil, "I shall now point out to you each of

the masters, and call him by his name. You see the one who looks about

him so joyfully, and, holding his chestnut horse well in hand, comes

caracoling up so bravely? The Landgrave nods to him--he gives a happy

smile--that is the cheerful, vigorous Walther of the Vogelweid. He with

the broad shoulders and the strong, curly beard, with knightly blazon

on his shield--riding quietly forward on the piebald--is Reinhard of

Zweckhstein. Now, notice him there riding away from us into the woods

on a small-sized dapple grey. He gazes thoughtfully before him, and

smiles as if fair forms and pictures were rising before him out of the

ground; that is the great Professor Heinrich Schreiber. He is probably

far away in spirit, and thinks not of the meadow or of the singers'

contest. For see how he pushes his way down the narrow woodland path,

while the branches above him strike his head. There goes Johannes

Bitterolff after him, that fine-looking man on the sorrel, with the

short reddish beard. He calls to the professor, who wakes up from his

reverie, and they come riding back together. But what is this wild

commotion there amongst the trees; Can storm squalls be passing along

down so low in the thickets? This is indeed a wild rider, spurring his

horse till he bounds and rears, foaming and fretting. See the pale

handsome lad; how his eyes flame, and the muscles of his face are drawn

with pain--as if some invisible being were sitting behind him and

torturing him--it is Heinrich of Ofterdingen. What can have changed him

thus? He used to ride quietly on, joining with beautiful tones in the

songs of the other masters. Oh look, now, at this grand cavalier on the

white Arab! He is dismounting, and now he swings his bridle reins over

his arm, and, with genuine knightly courtesy, holds his hand out to

Countess Mathilda to help her from her saddle. See the grace with which

he stands, his bright blue eyes beaming on the lady. It is Wolfframb of

Eschinbach. But they are taking their places, and the contest is going

to begin."

"'Each of the masters in turn now sung a magnificent song. It was easy

to see that they strove to surpass each other. But though none of them

did altogether surpass the others--difficult as it was to decide which

of them had sung the best--yet the Lady Mathilda bent to Wolfframb of

Eschinbach with the garland, which she held in her hand, as the prize.

But Heinrich of Ofterdingen sprang up from his seat, with a gleam of

wild fire sparkling in his dark eyes; and as he stepped impetuously

forward to the centre of the meadow, a gust of wind carried away his

barret-cap, and the hair streamed up in spikes on his deadly pale

forehead.

"'"Stay! stay!" he cried, "the prize has not been won! my song, my song

has still to be heard; and then let the Landgrave say which of us wins

the garland."

"'"With this there came to his hand--one scarce could tell how or

whence--a lute of wonderful form, almost like some strange unearthly

creature turned to wood. This lute he began to play and strike with

such power, that all the distant woodlands trembled and shook to its

tones. Then he sang to its chords in a voice of grandeur and power, in

praise of a stranger prince, a mightier prince than all, whom every

master must hail and lowly worship, and laud, on pain of shame and

dismay, of speedy ruin and end. Often marvellous tones--sneering and

harsh, and wild--seemed to sound from the lute, as he was singing this

strain.

"'The Landgrave's glances were angry as this wild singer sang. But the

other masters sang all together, joining their voices in answer.

Heinrich's wonderful song was well-nigh lost in their singing. So that

he swept his strings with more and more passionate swell, till they

strained and shivered, and broke, uttering a cry as of pain. Then, in

place of the lute, lo! a sudden, dark horrible form was seen to stand

at his side; it grasped him with horrible talons, and rose with him up

to the air. The songs of the masters ceased, and died away in faint

echoes. Black clouds sunk down over forest and meadow, shrouding the

scene in night. Then a star arose, shining in soft, gentle radiance,

and passed along upon its heavenly way. And the masters floated after

this star, resting on shining clouds, singing, and softly touching

their strings. A glimmering radiance trembled up from the grass, the

woodland voices awoke from their deep slumber, and toned forth, and

joined in the masters' songs.

"'And now you perceive, dear reader, that he who dreamed this dream is

he who is about to lead you amongst these masters, to whose

acquaintance Professor Johann Christian Wagenseil has introduced him.

"'Often, when we see strange forms moving in the dimness of distance,

our hearts beat with a painful anxiety to know what or whom they may

be, and what they are doing. They come nearer and nearer; we can make

out the colour of their dress, and see their faces. We hear their

voices, although the words cannot be distinguished. But they dip down

into the blue haze of some valley, and we can scarcely wait till they

come up again and reach us, so eager are we to see them and talk with

them, and know what those who seemed so wondrous in the distance may

turn out to be when close at hand. May the dream above narrated give

rise to similar feelings in you, dear reader, and may you consider that

the narrator is doing you no unfriendly service in at once conducting

you to the famous Wartburg, and the Court of Landgrave Hermann of

Thuringia.

"'THE MASTER SINGERS AT THE WARTBURG.

"'It was about the year 1208, that the noble Landgrave of Thuringia, a

zealous lover and active patron of the gracious singers-craft, had

gathered six mighty masters of song together at his Court. These were

Wolfframb of Eschinbach, Walther of the Vogelweid, Reinhardt of

Zweckhstein, Heinrich Schreiber, Johannes Bitterolff--all of knightly

rank--and Heinrich of Ofterdingen, burgher of Eisenach. The masters

dwelt together in heartfelt amity and harmony, as priests of one and

the same church, all their efforts being directed to maintaining the

gift of song--the most precious wherewith the Lord hath blessed

mankind--in full flower and in high honour. Each of them had a "manner"

of his own, as it was called, a "style" as we should more probably term

it; but just as each note of a harmony differs from all the rest, and

yet they all unite in forming the beautiful chord, so the various

"modes" or "styles" of these masters harmonized completely together,

and seemed but diverse rays of the same star of love. Hence neither of

them thought that his own "manner" was the best, but held those of the

others in high esteem, and knew that his own "mode" would not sound so

beautiful but for the others; just as any note of a chord does not

acquire its full beauty, significance, and power until the others

belonging to it awake and come lovingly to greet it.

"'Whilst the songs of Walther of the Vogelweid (a lord of broad acres)

were noble and elegantly turned, yet full of exuberant gladness,

Reinhardt sung in curt and knightly phrases, employing words and forms

of force and might; whilst Heinrich Schreiber was learned and profound,

Johannes Bitterolff was full of glitter, and rich in ingenious similes

and quaint conceits. Heinrich of Ofterdingen's songs went straight to

the depths of the soul. Wasted and worn himself by pain and longing, he

knew how to stir the deepest sorrow in the hearts of men; but often

there rang through his music harsh accents coming from the torn and

wounded breast, where bitter scorn and sorrow had taken their abode,

stinging and gnawing like venomous insects. It was a mystery unknown to

all why Heinrich had fallen into this condition. Wolfframb of

Eschinbach was born in Switzerland, his songs, breathing of grace and

peaceful clearness, were like the pure blue skies of his beautiful

native land, his "manner" had in it the sounds of the cattle-bells, and

of herdsmen playing their reeden pipes; but yet the wild waterfalls

lifted their voices, and the thunder among the mountains. As he sang,

those who listened were borne floating along with him, on the

glittering wavelets of some beautiful stream, now gliding gently, now

battling with the storm-driven surges; anon, the storm over, and the

danger past, steering in gladness to the wished-for haven.

Notwithstanding his youth, Wolfframb of Eschinbach was the most

experienced of the masters assembled at the Landgrave's Court. He had

been wholly devoted to the singer's craft from his early childhood,

and, as soon as he had grown to be a lad, he had travelled in quest of

instruction through many countries, till he met with the great master

whose name was Friedebrand. This master taught him faithfully in his

art, and gave him many master poems in manuscript, which sent light

into his inner spirit, enabling him to see and distinguish all that was

formless and dim before. More especially at Siegebrunnen, in Scotland,

Master Friedebrand gave him certain books from which he learned the

histories which he rendered into German song. They related chiefly to

Gamurret and his son Parcival, to the Markgrave Wilhelm of Narben and

his doughty Rennewart. These poems another master singer, Ulrich of

Tuerkheim, afterwards translated into more modern German verse, and

enlarged into a thick book at the request of lords and ladies who could

not rightly understand Eschinbach's poetry. Thus Wolfframb was renowned

far and wide for the excellence of his art, and obtained the favour of

many princes and great lords. He visited many courts, and received the

richest rewards for his splendid mastership, till at length the

enlightened Landgrave Hermann of Thuringia, having heard of his fame

from all quarters, invited him to his Court.

"'Not only his greatness in his art, but his sweet disposition and his

modesty, very shortly gained him the Landgrave's fullest favour and

affection, and perhaps Heinrich of Ofterdingen, who had formerly

enjoyed the full sunshine of the prince's favour had, in consequence,

to step somewhat backwards into the shade; but notwithstanding, none of

the masters clung to Wolfframb with such sincerity of affection as

Heinrich of Ofterdingen. Wolfframb returned it from the depth of his

soul; and thus they two stood united in the closest friendship, while

the other masters formed a beautiful shining garland around them.

"'HEINRICH OF OFTERDINGEN's SECRET.

"'Ofterdingen's wild and distracted condition increased upon him every

day; gloomier and more restless grew his glance, paler and paler his

cheek. Whilst the other masters, after singing the most sublime themes

from holy writ, raised their glad voices in praise of fair ladies, and

of their valiant prince, Ofterdingen's songs bewailed the immeasurable

pain of earthly existence, and were often like the wailing cry of one

who is mortally hurt, and longs in vain for death to deliver him. All

believed him to be suffering from hopeless love; but none could succeed

in wringing his secret from him. The Landgrave, who was devoted to him

heart and soul, tried once, when they chanced to be alone together, to

find out the cause of his trouble; he plighted his princely word that

he would spare no effort in his power to avert any misfortune

threatening him should that be the cause; or, by furthering any desire

which might at that time seem hopeless, convert his bitter sufferings

into joy and hope; but the Landgrave succeeded no better than the

others in inducing young Heinrich to open his heart.

"'"Alas, my lord!" he said, while the hot tears came to his eyes, "I

cannot myself tell what hellish monster has clutched me with fiery

talons, and is holding me suspended halfway between heaven and earth. I

belong no more to this world; and I thirst in vain for the joys up in

the heaven above me. The heathen poets have told of the desolate shades

of the dead, who do not belong to Elysium or to Orcus; they flit and

wander to and fro on Acheron's banks, and the darksome air, where no

star of hope can ever shine, resounds with their cries of sorrow; and

the terrible wailings of their inexpressible pain, their weeping, their

prayers are vain; the inexorable ferryman drives them away when they

try to enter the mysterious barge, and this condition of theirs--this

frightful perdition--is mine."

"'Soon after Heinrich had thus spoken with the Landgrave, he left the

Wartburg in a state of real bodily sickness, and betook himself to

Eisenach. The masters sorrowed that so fair a flower was lost from

their garland, faded before its time, as if by the blight of some

poisonous blast; but Wolfframb of Eschinbach by no means gave up all

hope--rather he thought that, now that Ofterdingen's mental trouble had

turned to a bodily sickness, recovery might be near at hand, for it is

not seldom the case that the mind falls sick, presaging bodily pain,

and it might be so with Ofterdingen, whom he determined to go and

faithfully comfort and tend.

"'So Wolfframb went at once to Eisenach, and when he went in to

Ofterdingen, he found him stretched on his couch, deathly pale, with

half-closed eyes; his lute was hung on the wall covered thickly with

dust, and many of its strings were broken. When he saw his friend, he

raised himself a little, and stretched out his hand to him with a

melancholy smile. Wolfframb having taken a seat beside him, and

delivered to him the hearty greetings of the Landgrave, and of the

other masters; and spoken many other kindly words--Heinrich, in the

languid voice of a sick man said, "Much that is strange has happened to

me; doubtless I have borne myself as one bereft of his senses. Well

might you all believe that some secret, penned up within my breast, was

what was driving me so wildly hither and thither; but alas, my wretched

state was a mystery even to myself; a raging torture was eating at my

heart, but its cause I could not discover. All that I did seemed to me

wretched and worthless. The songs which I held so high before, sounded

toneless and weak, unworthy the feeblest learner; and yet, befooled by

a vain presumption, I burned to outvie you all. A bliss unknown, the

highest joy of heaven, shone far above me like a golden star. To it

must I raise myself, or perish miserably. I raised my eyes, I stretched

my longing arms; but ice-cold wings waved a chill to heart and soul,

and a voice said 'What avails thy hope and longing? Is not thine eye

blinded? Is not thy power lost? Thou canst not endure the ray of thy

hope; thou canst not grasp and hold thy heavenly bliss.' But now, now

my secret is plain, even to myself. It is true it gives me my death,

but death in the highest of heavenly bliss. Sick and feeble I lay on my

bed. It was sometime deep in the night, and the fever-wanderings, which

had been driving me hither and thither for so long, left me at once. I

felt myself at peace; and a gentle beneficent warmth went spreading

through my frame. I seemed to be floating away through the deeps of

heaven, borne upon dark clouds. Then a glittering levin-bolt seemed to

come cleaving through the gloom, and I cried out--

"'"'Mathilda! Mathilda!'

"'"Upon this I awoke. The dream was gone, my heart was throbbing with a

strange sweet pain, and with a nameless joy I was conscious that I had

cried 'Mathilda,' and I gave way to fear--for I thought that the woods

and the meadows, and all the hills and the caves would re-echo that

beauteous name--and that thousands of voices would tell her glorious

self how deep and true and tender, even to the death, my adoration must

always be, and that she is the marvellous star whose beams, streaming

into my heart, awake those destroying pains of hopeless longing; and

that now those passionate flames have burst into blazing might, that

all my soul is athirst, and dies for her peerless beauty!

"'"You know all my secret now, Wolfframb; bury it deep in your breast.

You see that I am peaceful and happy, and you believe me when I tell

you that I would rather die than render myself despicable in your

eyes--in the eyes of all. But to you--to you, whom Mathilda loves--I

felt that I must tell all. As soon as I can rise from this couch, I

shall wander away into some foreign land, with death in my heart.

Should you hear that I am no more, you may tell Mathilda that I----"

"But Heinrich could speak no further. He sank back upon his couch, and

turned his face to the wall. His bitter sobs betrayed the struggle

within him.

"'Wolfframb was greatly startled and surprised at that which Heinrich

had disclosed to him. He sat with his eyes fixed on the ground, and

considered how his friend might be rescued from the dominion of this

mad and foolish passion, which must infallibly lead him to his

destruction.

"'He tried to speak words of comfort, and even to induce Heinrich to go

back to the Wartburg, and return--with hope in his heart--into the

sunshine which Mathilda shed around her. He even said that it was only

by virtue of his songs that he himself had found favour in her eyes,

and that Ofterdingen might well reckon upon equal good fortune. But

poor Heinrich gazed at him sadly, and said:

"'"You will never see me, I think, at the Wartburg any more. Would you

have me cast myself into the flames? I shall die a happier death afar

from her--the sweet death of longing."

"'Wolfframb departed, leaving Heinrich in Eisenach.

"'WHAT HAPPENED FURTHER TO HEINRICH OF OFTERDINGEN.

"'It sometimes comes to pass that the love-pain in our hearts, which at

first threatened to tear them asunder, grows habitual after a time, so

that we even come to cherish it with care; and the sharp cries of

anguish which the nameless torture at first made us utter, turn to

melodious plaints of gentle sorrow, which tone back like sweet echoes

into our souls, laying themselves, like balm, on our bleeding wounds.

"'And thus it was with Heinrich of Ofterdingen. His love was as warm

and longing as ever, but he looked no more into the black, hopeless

abyss. He lifted his eyes to the shimmering clouds of spring, and then

it seemed to him as if his beloved was looking down at him with her

beautiful eyes, inspiring him with the most glorious songs he had ever

sung. He took his lute down from the wall, strung it with fresh

strings, and went forth into the fair spring weather which had just

commenced. Then he felt powerfully impelled towards the region of the

Wartburg; and when he saw the towers of the castle shining in the

distance, and reflected that he would never see Mathilda more--that his

life would never be anything but a hopeless longing; that Wolfframb had

won the peerless lady by the power of song--all his lovely visions of

hope sank away into gloomy night, and the deathly pangs of despair and

jealousy pierced his heart. Then he fled, as if pursued by evil

spirits, back to his lonely chamber, and there he was able to sing

songs which brought him delicious dreams, and, in them, the Beloved

herself.

"'For a long time he had succeeded in avoiding the sight of the towers

of the Wartburg; but one day he got into the forest--he scarce could

tell how--the forest which lies in front of the Wartburg, on going out

of which one has the castle close before his sight. He had come to a

part of the woods where strangely-shaped crags rise up, covered with

many-tinted mosses, surrounded by thick copses and ugly, stunted,

prickly underwood. With some difficulty he clambered halfway up these

rocks, so that, through a cleft, he could see the towers of the

Wartburg rising in the distance. There he sat himself down, and,

vanquishing the pain of his gloomy fancies, lost himself in dreams of

the sweetest hope.

"'The sun had been some time set, and from out the gloomy clouds which

had come down and spread upon the hill, the moon rose, red and fiery.

The night wind began to sigh through the lofty trees, and, touched by

its icy breath, the thicket shuddered and shivered like one in the

chills of fever. The night birds rose screaming from the rocks, and

began their wavering flight. The woodland streams rushed louder--the

distant waterfalls lifted their voices. But as the moon begun to shine

more brightly through the trees, the tones of distant singing came

faintly over the valley. Heinrich rose. He thought how the masters on

the Wartburg were now beginning their pious evening hymns. He saw

Mathilda, as she retired, casting looks of affection at Wolfframb--whom

she loved--with a heart brimming over with fondness and longing.

Heinrich took his lute and begun a song such as perhaps he had never

sung before. The night wind paused; the thickets and trees kept

silence; the tones went gleaming through the woodland shadows as if

they were part of the moonlight. But as this song was dying away in

sighs of bitter sorrow, a sudden burst of shrill, piercing laughter

rang out behind him. He turned quickly round, startled, and saw a tall

dark form, which, ere he could collect his thoughts, began to speak in

a disagreeable, sneering tone:

"'"Aha! I have been searching about here for a considerable time to see

who might be singing so beautifully at this hour of the night. So it is

you, is it, Heinrich of Ofterdingen? Ha! I might have known that, for

you are certainly by far the poorest (which is not saying little) of

all the 'masters,' as folks call them, up on the Wartburg there; and

that silly song, without either meaning or melody, could only have come

from your mouth."

"'Half still alarmed, half glowing in anger, Heinrich cried:

"'"And who may you be, who know me and think you can attack me here

with contumely and scorn?" And he laid his hand on his sword. But the

dark stranger gave another of his screaming laughs, and, as he did, a

ray of moonlight fell upon his deathly pale face, so that Ofterdingen

could see, with much distinctness, the wild-gleaming eyes, the sunken

cheeks, the pointed, reddish beard, the mouth with its fixed sneering

smile, and the barret-cap with its black feather.

"'"Heyday, young sir!" said the stranger; "are you going to come at me

with lethal weapons because I criticise your songs? I know you singers

do not like anything but praise, and expect to receive it for

everything that drops from your renowned lips, though there be nothing

good about it. But just because that is not my way, and because I tell

you candidly that instead of being a master you are but a mediocre

scholar and learner of the noble singer's craft, you ought to see that

I am your true friend, and mean you kindly."

"'"How," said Ofterdingen, who felt a secret shudder run through him;

"how can you, whom I do not remember to have seen before, be my friend

and mean me kindly?"

"'Without answering this question the stranger went on to say:

"'"This is a charming spot, and the night is delightful. I will sit

down beside you in the friendly light of the moon; you are not going

back to Eisenach just yet, so we can have a little chat together. Pay

attention to what I am going to tell you, it may prove instructive."

"'With this the stranger sat down on the large mossy rock, close beside

Ofterdingen. The latter struggled with the strangest feelings. With all

his fearlessness he could not, in the loneliness of the night, and in

that desert place, overcome the profound shuddering which the

stranger's voice and manner awakened in him. He felt as if he ought to

throw him down the steep precipice into the woodland stream which

roared beneath. Then, again, he felt as if paralyzed in all his

members.

"'Meanwhile the stranger came and sat quite close to Ofterdingen and

spoke very softly, almost whispering in his ear.

"'"I have just come from the Wartburg," he said, "where I have been

listening to the poor, homely, unskilled, schoolboy-like 'singing,' as

it is by courtesy styled, of the so-called 'masters' up there. But the

Countess Mathilda is peerless; she is more perfect and charming than

any other lady on earth!"

"'"Mathilda!" Ofterdingen cried in a tone of the deepest sorrow.

"'"Hoho, young sir," cried the stranger; "it is there where the shoe

pinches, is it? However, for the present we have lofty matters to

discuss; we have to deal with the noble craft of song. I have no doubt

that you people up there mean your best with those songs of yours, and

that they all come to you as smoothly and naturally as possible. But of

the real, true, profound singer-craft not one of you has the most

distant idea. I shall just give you one or two elementary notions on

the subject, and then you will see that, on the path on which you are

at present, you will never reach the goal you are aiming at."

"'The dark stranger now began to speak of the true craft of song in

very extraordinary language, which itself almost sounded like strange

songs hitherto unheard. And as he spoke image after image arose in

Heinrich's mind, and then vanished again as if borne away by some

storm-wind. A new world seemed to be opening upon him, seething with

voluptuous shapes. Each word of the stranger's kindled lightning gleams

which flashed forth for an instant and then went out again. The full

moon was now high above the trees. Heinrich and the stranger were both

sitting in her full radiance, and the former now noticed that the face

of the stranger was far from being as horrible as it had appeared at

first. There was certainly a strange fire sparkling in his eyes, but

Heinrich fancied that a pleasing smile played about his lips, and the

great, hawk-like nose and the lofty brow gave the face an expression of

immense power and strength.

"'"I cannot express to you," said Heinrich, "the strangeness of the

effect which your words produce upon me. I seem to be only now, for the

first time in my life, beginning to form some slight notion what

singing really means--as if all that I have done hitherto, under the

impression that it was singing, was utterly poor and miserable--and

that the true singer's craft was only beginning to dawn upon me. You

must certainly yourself be a mighty master of song. Perhaps you will

favour me so far as to take me as your most zealous pupil. I most

earnestly beg that you will do so."

"'The stranger gave another of his disagreeable laughs. He rose from

his seat and stood before Heinrich, of such giant stature, and with a

face so altered, that Heinrich felt the same shudder as when the

stranger had first appeared at his side. The latter said, in a voice of

such power that it re-echoed amongst the rocks:

"'"You think I am a mighty master of song, do you? Perhaps I am at

times, but the giving of lessons is a matter with which I can by no

means be troubled. I have good advice at the service of all who are

eager for knowledge, as you seem to be. Have you ever heard of the

great master Klingsohr, who is renowned for his mastery of the singer's

craft as well as in all other branches of knowledge? People say he is a

magician, and has dealings with one who is not everywhere in the best

of odour. But do not you be deceived. Things which people do not

understand, and cannot themselves manipulate, they think to be

supernatural, and pertaining either to Heaven or to Hell. Master

Klingsohr will lead you to your goal. His home is in Siebenbuergen; go

you to him there, and you will see how science and art have procured

for him, in lavish measure, all that his heart could desire--honours

and riches, and fair ladies' favour. Ay, my young sir, if Klingsohr

were here you would see how little the Lady Mathilda would trouble

herself about the gentle Wolfframb of Eschinbach, our sighing Swiss

herdsman."

"'"Do not dare to mention her name!" cried Heinrich. "Begone, and leave

me in peace; I shudder at your presence."

"'"Hoho!" laughed the stranger; "do not get out of temper, my little

friend; the cause of your shuddering is the chilliness of the night

breeze and the thinness of your doublet. You felt well and happy whilst

I was sitting near you, diffusing warmth through your frame. Shuddering

and terror! Nonsense! I have blood and fire at your command. As for the

Lady Mathilda, what I tell you is that her favour may be gained by

means of the singer's gift, such as Master Klingsohr possesses. I began

by making light of your singing, to show you your own lack of skill.

But the fact that you begin to see your own shortcomings when I give

you some inklings of the true craft is sufficient to prove that you are

possessed of good dispositions. Who knows? You may be destined to tread

in Master Klingsohr's footsteps, and then you may sue for the Lady

Mathilda's favour with some reasonable hope of success. So make

yourself ready; be off to Siebenbuergen. But stay; if you cannot start

off at once I will give you a little book which you shall study

diligently. It is a book written by Master Klingsohr, and it contains

not only the rules of the true singer's craft, but also one or two

admirable compositions of his own."

"'With this the stranger had produced a little book in a blood-red

cover, which glimmered and shone in the moonlight. He handed this book

to Heinrich, and, as soon as he had done so, he stepped back and

vanished amongst the underwood.

"'Heinrich fell into a profound sleep. When he awoke the sun was high in

the heavens, and, had it not been that the book was lying on his

breast, he would have looked upon his adventure with the stranger as

merely a vivid dream.

"'OF THE LADY MATHILDA. EVENTS ON THE WARTBURG.

"'Doubtless, dear reader, you have at some time or other found yourself

in some circle composed of fair ladies and talented men, which might be

likened to a fair garland of many-tinted flowers, vieing in colour and

perfume. But, like the exquisite tones of a music breathing over the

whole, and awaking joy and rapture in every breast, it was the special

charm of some one lady in particular, which, outshining the rest of the

circle, was the special determining cause of the perfection of harmony

pervading the whole. The other ladies seemed more lovely and

attractive, seen in the light of her beauty, joining in the music of

her voice. It made the men's hearts grow wider, and enabled them to

give play to the enthusiasm and inspiration which is shy to come to the

light at ordinary times, so that it streamed forth in words or music,

or in such form as the nature of the circumstances might suggest. And,

however this "queen" of the circle might endeavour, in the kindness and

simplicity of her thoughtful goodness and consideration for all, to

apportion her favour to each in equal measure, one still could see that

her glance singled out one youth in particular standing in silence near

her, whose eyes, moist with tears of soft emotion, betrayed the

blissfulness of the passion burning in his breast. Many might envy, but

none could hate this fortunate being; nay, those who were his friends

rather loved him the better for the sake of the love he felt.

"Thus it happened that, in the fair garland of ladies and poets at the

Court of Landgrave Hermann of Thuringia, the Countess Mathilda, widow

of Count Cuno of Falkenstein (dead at an advanced age), was the fairest

flower, surpassing the others in beauty and sweetness.

"'Wolfframb of Eschinbach, deeply moved by her loveliness and charm,

fell in love with her at first sight, and the other masters, inspired

by her beauty, celebrated her in many a tuneful lay. Reinhardt of

Zweckhstein called her the lady of his thoughts, for whom he was ready

to tilt in the tournay, or perish in the fray. Walther of the Vogelweid

burned with the most chivalrous passion for her, whilst Heinrich

Schreiber and Johannes Bitterolff outvied each other in praising her in

every variety of quaint and ingenious conceit. But Wolfframb's songs

came from the depths of a loving soul, and found their way to

Mathilda's heart like glittering, sharp-pointed arrows. The other

masters knew this well, but they felt that Wolfframb's good fortune and

happiness irradiated them all with a sunny shimmer, and gave even to

their songs a peculiar sweetness and power.

"The first dark shadow that fell upon Wolfframb's radiant life was cast

by Ofterdingen's unlucky secret, when he thought how all the other

masters loved him, although they, too, were deeply impressed by

Mathilda's beauty and grace. As it was only in Ofterdingen's mind that

hostile rancour was associated with affection, driving him away into

dreary and joyless solitude, he could not help feeling bitterly pained.

Often he thought Ofterdingen was only affected by a temporary madness

which would wear itself out. Then again he felt with much vividness

that he himself would not have been able to endure it if he had sued

for Mathilda's favour in vain. "And," he said to himself, "what better

claim to it have I? Am I in any way better than Ofterdingen? Am I wiser

or handsomer? Where is the difference between us? That which presses

him to earth is but the power of a hostile destiny, which might have

been mine just as it is his; and I, his faithful friend, pass

carelessly by on the other side, and never hold out a hand to help

him."

"'Such reflections brought him at last to the conviction that he must

go to Eisenach, and use his utmost efforts to induce Ofterdingen to

come back to the Wartburg; but when he arrived Heinrich was gone, no

one knew where. Sorrowfully Wolfframb returned to the Wartburg, and

told the Landgrave and the masters of Heinrich's disappearance. Then

for the first time it was seen how was their affection for him, in

spite of his disturbed condition, which was sometimes sullen even to

bitterness. They mourned for him as for one dead, and long did this

grief lie over all their songs like a gloomy veil, depriving them of

all their splendour and tone, till at length the image of the lost one

passed further and further away into the dimness of distance.

"'The spring had come again, and with it all the joy and happiness of

renewed life. On a pleasant place in the castle gardens, closed in by

beautiful flowers, the masters were assembled to greet the young leaves

and the buds and blossoms with festive songs. The Landgrave, with

Mathilda and other ladies, had taken their seats in a circle round

them, and Wolfframb of Eschinbach was about to begin a song, when a

young man, with a lute in his hand, came forward from amongst the

trees. With glad surprise they all recognized in him the long missing

Heinrich of Ofterdingen. The masters went to meet him with greetings of

the heartiest kindliness; but, without taking much notice of them, he

approached the Landgrave, to whom, and then to the Countess Mathilda,

he made a lowly reverence. He said he was completely cured of the

sickness which had been upon him, and begged, should there be any

reasons precluding him from being readmitted to the circle of the

masters, to be at least allowed to sing his compositions as well as the

others. But the Landgrave said that, though he had been away from among

them for a time, he was by no means withdrawn from the circle of the

masters, and he did not know why he should imagine that that would be

the case. He embraced him, and himself pointed out to him his former

place, between Walther of the Vogelweid and Wolfframb of Eschinbach. It

was soon apparent that Heinrich's looks and bearing were completely

changed. Instead of hanging his head as formerly, and creeping about

with eyes fixed on the ground, he now walked with a bold firm step,

lifting his head on high. His face was as pale as ever, but his glance

was firm and penetrating, instead of wavering and uncertain. On his

brow, instead of the old deep melancholy, sat a proud, gloomy gravity;

and a strange muscular play about his mouth and cheek at times

expressed a most uncanny kind of scorn. He deigned no word to the

masters, but sat down silent in his place. Whilst the others were

singing, he looked at the sky, moved about on his seat, counted on his

fingers, yawned--in short, gave every indication of tedium and

impatience. Wolfframb of Eschinbach sung in praise of the Landgrave,

and then alluded to the return of the dear friend so long absent,

describing it so thoroughly out of the depths of his heart that all

present were deeply affected. But Heinrich knitted his brows, and,

turning away from Wolfframb, took his lute, and struck upon it the most

wonderful and extraordinary chords. He advanced to the centre of the

circle, and began a song, of which the "manner," wholly unlike anything

that the others had sung, was so unprecedented, that every one was

struck with the profoundest amazement, and at last consternation. It

was as if he was knocking, with tones of might, at the dark portal of

some strange mysterious realm, and conjuring forth the mystic secrets

of the unknown power therein dwelling. Then he invoked the stars, and

his lute's tones whispered soft and low, till one thought one heard the

harmonies of the ringing measures of the spheres. Then the chords grew

stronger, and rushed louder and louder; and glowing vapours seemed to

rise round the assemblage, whilst forms as of voluptuous love-passion

glowed in the opened Eden of the pleasures of sense. When he ended all

were sunk in the deepest silence, till a burst of applause broke

stormily forth; and Lady Mathilda rose quickly from her seat, went up

to him, and placed on his brow the garland which she had been holding

as the prize.

"'Ofterdingen's face grew red as fire. He fell on his knees, and

pressed her hands to his breast with rapture. As he rose, his

sparkling, penetrating glance fell upon the faithful Wolfframb, who was

coming up towards him, but turned away, as if suddenly constrained to

do so by some evil power.

"'There was but one who did not join in the enthusiastic applause, and

that was the Landgrave, who had become very grave and thoughtful during

Ofterdingen's singing, and could scarce find a word of praise for the

marvellous song. At this Ofterdingen seemed visibly annoyed.

"'When the twilight was almost merging into night, Wolfframb, who had

been seeking for Heinrich in vain, met with him in one of the garden

alleys. He hastened to him, and after warmly embracing him said:

"'"Well, dearest brother, and so you have become the greatest master of

song, as I suppose, that the world contains. Tell me how you have

accomplished what all we others, nay, yourself of old, had not the

faintest conception of? What spirit has stood at your command to teach

you the marvellous music of another world?"

"'"It is well," said Heinrich of Ofterdingen coldly, "that you see the

height to which I have risen above you, the so-called 'masters'; or

rather how I, and I only, have landed, and feel at home, in that realm

towards which you are all striving on mistaken paths. You will not

blame me, then, for thinking you all somewhat tedious and

uninteresting, as well as what you call your 'singing' into the

bargain."

"'"Then," said Wolfframb, "you now altogether despise us, whom of old

you held in high esteem--you will have nothing more in common with us.

All friendship, all liking have passed away from your heart, because

you are a greater master than we. Even me you hold no longer worthy of

your regard, because I may not be able to soar as high in my songs as

do you. Ah, Heinrich, if I were to tell you what I felt when I heard

you sing!"

"'"Pray let me hear," said Heinrich with a scornful laugh, "perhaps it

may teach me something of value."

"'"Heinrich," said Wolfframb, in a very earnest and serious tone, "it

is true your song was couched in a very extraordinary 'manner,' quite

unlike anything we had ever heard before, and the ideas soared high,

even beyond the clouds. But something within me said that such a song

could never come out of the pure human soul, but must be produced by

supernatural agency--as necromancers manure the earth of home with

magical substances, and it brings forth the strange plants of foreign

lands. You have become a great master of song Heinrich, and are

occupied in lofty matters; but do you still understand the sweet

greeting of the evening wind when you wander through the deep forest

shadows? Does your heart still throb with gladness at the rustling of

the branches, and the voices of the mountain streams? Do the flowers

still look up at you with the eyes of innocent children? Does the

nightingale's complaining still make your heart well nigh faint with

pain? Ah, Heinrich, there were many things in your song which filled me

with a sense of unholy awe. I could not but think of the picture you

drew of the poor disembodied shades wandering on the banks of Acheron,

when the Landgrave once asked you the cause of your secret pain. I

could but fancy that you had bidden farewell to love, and that what you

have obtained in its place is but the useless hoard of the wanderer

lost in the wilderness. Even now I cannot help fearing--pardon me for

speaking so plainly--that you have bought your mastership with all that

joy in life which is only vouchsafed to the pious and childlike of

spirit. A dark presentiment seizes me. I think of what drove you from

the Wartburg, and the circumstances in which you have returned. Many

things may succeed with you, it is true; perhaps the beautiful star of

hope to which I have been raising my eyes may set for me for ever.

Still, Heinrich--here, take my hand on it--never can any ill-will

towards you find place in my heart. Notwithstanding the good fortune

which is streaming over you now, should you one day suddenly find

yourself on the brink of some deep, bottomless abyss, and the whirl of

giddiness seizes you, and you are about to fall down and be destroyed,

I shall be standing behind you, firm in heart, and I will hold you fast

with my strong arms."

"'Heinrich had listened in profound silence to all that Wolfframb said.

He now covered his face with his mantle, and dashed rapidly in amongst

the thick trees. And Wolfframb heard him sighing and gently sobbing as

he sped quickly away.

"'THE CONTEST ON THE WARTBURG.

"'Much as at first the other masters marvelled at the haughty

Heinrich's songs, and praised them, ere long they began to talk

of spuriousness in the "manners," of emptiness and superficial

display--nay, of absolute wickedness--in the works which he brought

before them. Lady Mathilda, and she alone, had turned to the singer

with her whole soul; and he praised her charms in a "manner" which all

the other masters (except Wolfframb of Eschinbach, who reserved his

opinion) declared to be heathenish and abominable. Before very long

Lady Mathilda became a wholly altered creature. She looked down upon

the other masters with scornful arrogance, and even withdrew her favour

from Wolfframb of Eschinbach. She carried matters so far as to ask

Heinrich of Ofterdingen to give her instruction in the craft of song,

and began to write compositions herself quite in the style of his. From

this time all beauty and attractiveness seemed to abandon this poor

deluded lady. Discarding everything which serves to adorn noble ladies,

and leaving off all womanly ways, she became an uncanny creature,

neither woman nor man, detested by the women and laughed at by the men.

The Landgrave, fearing that this disorder of hers might infect the

other ladies of the Court, issued strict commands that no lady should

occupy herself in composition under pain of banishment, and for this

the men, who were much horrified at Mathilda's state, thanked him

warmly. Countess Mathilda left the Wartburg, and repaired to a castle

not far from Eisenach, whither Heinrich of Ofterdingen would have

followed her had not the Landgrave ordered that he should go through

with the contest to which the other masters had challenged him.

"'"Heinrich of Ofterdingen," the Landgrave said to this overweening

minstrel, "you have in ugly fashion broken up and disturbed, by those

unholy songs of yours, the fair and happy circle which I had collected

in this place. Me you could never beguile; I saw clearly, from the

beginning, that your songs did not come out of the depths of a pure,

honest singer's heart, but were the fruits of the teaching of some

false master. What avails outward ornamentation, glitter, and

brilliance, when what it covers is merely a lifeless corpse? You sing

of lofty matters, of mysteries of the universe, it is true, not as they

dawn in the hearts of men, as sweet presciences of a higher life, but

as the presumptuous astrologer tries to comprehend them, and reduce and

measure them with compass and scale. You should blush, Heinrich of

Ofterdingen, to think at what you have arrived, that your brave, honest

spirit has bent itself to serve an unworthy master."

"'"I know not, my Lord," said Heinrich, "how far I merit your

displeasure and your reproaches. You may possibly alter your opinion

when you hear who the master was who opened to me that province of song

which is his own special home. I left your Court in a condition of the

deepest melancholy; and it may have been that the pain, which then

threatened to destroy me, was in truth only caused by the powerful

effort of the germ within me to burst its way towards the fertilizing

breath of a higher life. In a strange and remarkable manner a little

book came to my hands, in which the greatest master of song on earth

had expounded, with the profoundest science, the principles of the art,

adding one or two compositions of his own. The more I read and studied

in this book, the clearer it became to me what a wretched affair it is

when the singer cannot go beyond expressing in words merely that which

he fancies he feels in his heart. But, more than this, I felt by

degrees as though I were becoming gradually linked on to higher powers,

who often sang through me, instead of its being I myself who sang,

although I was, in absolute truth, the singer at the same time. My

longing to see this great master himself, and listen to the profound

wisdom and the critical judgments streaming from his very lips, became

irresistible. I went, therefore, to Siebenbuergen, for, pray let me tell

you, my Lord, it was to Master Klingsohr himself that I repaired; it is

to him I am indebted for the super-earthly scope of my compositions,

and perhaps you may now take a more favourable view of my feeble

efforts."

"'"The Duke of Austria," the Landgrave said, "has told and has written

me much in praise of your master. Master Klingsohr is versed in

profound and secret sciences. He calculates the courses of the stars,

and distinguishes the wonderful connection existing between them and

the destinies of men. The secrets of the metals, the plants, and the

gems are laid open to him, and at the same time he is skilled in the

conduct of mundane affairs, and aids the Duke of Austria in action, as

well as with advice and counsel. But what all this may have to do with

the singer's pureness of heart I do not know, and I believe, moreover,

that this is exactly the reason why Master Klingsohr's music, artfully

and cleverly thought out and constructed as it doubtless is, has not

the smallest power to touch or move my heart. However that may be,

Heinrich of Ofterdingen, my masters, enraged, nay outraged, at your

arrogant, overbearing demeanour, desire to sing against you for the

prize, for several days together, and that shall now take place."

"'So the masters' contest began, but whether it was that Ofterdingen's

spirit, confounded by false teaching, could no longer find its way by

that pure light which served for truthful minds, or whether the

interest of the occasion redoubled the powers of the other masters, the

result was that each one who sang against him overcame him and gained

the prize, in spite of his utmost efforts. Ofterdingen was very angry

over this disgrace, and began songs which, with contemptuous allusions

to Landgrave Hermann, extolled the Duke of Austria to the skies,

calling him the only glorious sun that had arisen upon art. Moreover,

he attacked the ladies of the Court with insolent and scornful words,

and went on to praise only the charms and beauty of Lady Mathilda, in

heathenish and reprobate style. It could not be but that all the

masters--the gentle Wolfframb of Eschinbach included--fell into just

and righteous indignation at this, so that they trod Heinrich of

Ofterdingen's mastership into the mire in the most fervent and

unsparing songs. Heinrich Schreiber and Johannes Bitterolff stripped

off the false and deceptive outward glitter from Ofterdingen's

compositions, and clearly demonstrated the feebleness of the skeleton

form hidden beneath. But Walther of the Vogelweid, and Reinhard of

Zweckhstein, went further. They maintained that Ofterdingen's conduct

was worthy of condign punishment, which they were prepared and eager to

inflict upon him, sword in hand.

"'Thus Heinrich of Ofterdingen saw his mastership contemptuously

trodden into the mire, and found even his very life in danger. Full of

despair and fury, he appealed to the Landgrave for protection; nay

more, to entrust the decision of the contest for the mastership to

Master Klingsohr, the most renowned master of the time.

"'The Landgrave said:

"'"Matters now have come, between you and the masters, to such a

point that it is no longer merely a question of mastership in the

singer-craft. In those wild, insane songs of yours you have outraged

me, as well as the noble ladies of my Court; therefore my honour and

theirs is involved in the question. But it must be decided in singing

contest, and I agree to this Master Klingsohr of yours being the

arbiter. One of my masters, who shall be chosen by lot, shall contend

with you, and the subject you shall treat of shall be left to your own

selection. But the headsman shall stand behind you with drawn sword,

and he who is vanquished shall be beheaded on the spot. About it,

therefore, arrange for Master Klingsohr's arrival at the Wartburg

within a year and a day, that he may settle the issue of this trial for

life and death."

"'Heinrich departed, and peace returned to the Wartburg for the time.

"'The songs which at this time the masters sang in contest with

Heinrich were spoken of as "the war of the Wartburg."

"'MASTER KLINGSOHR ARRIVES AT EISENACH.

"Nearly a year had elapsed when news came to the Wartburg that Master

Klingsohr had arrived at Eisenach, and taken up his abode in the house

of a citizen named Helgrefe, who lived near the St. George's Gate. The

masters were much relieved in their minds that now their bitter quarrel

with Heinrich of Ofterdingen would be brought to an end; but none of

them was so eager to see this world-renowned master face to face as

Wolfframb of Eschinbach. "It may be," he said to himself, "that, as the

people say, Klingsohr is devoted to unholy arts, that the powers of

evil are at his command, and have aided him to the acquisition of his

mastership in all branches of knowledge. But the noblest wine is grown

upon congealed lava. What recks the thirsty traveller that the grapes

which quench his thirst are nourished by the very fires of hell? I can

profit and delight myself by the masters deep knowledge and skilful

tuition without asking further questions, only assimilating so much of

it as a pure and pious heart may accept."

"'Wolfframb went off at once to Eisenach. When he came in front of the

citizen Helgrefe's house, he found a crowd of people assembled, all

staring, in eager expectancy, up at the balcony. He recognized amongst

them many young men, scholars of the singer's craft, who kept on

quoting this or that saying of the great master. One of them had

written down the words he uttered when he went into Helgrefe's house;

another knew exactly what he had had for dinner; a third averred that

the master had actually looked at him with a smile, because he knew him

to be a singer by his barret-cap, which he wore just as Klingsohr did

his. A fourth began a song which he said was in Klingsohr's "manner."

In short, it was a great excitement and commotion.

"'Wolfframb of Eschinbach at last succeeded in forcing his way with

difficulty through the crowd, and in getting into the house. Helgrefe

welcomed him courteously, and, at his desire, went upstairs to announce

to the master his arrival. The master, however, was engaged in his

studies, and could not receive any one just then. He might come back in

a couple of hours. Wolfframb had to swallow this rebuff. He came back

in some two hours' time, and had to wait an hour longer. After this,

Helgrefe was allowed to usher him in. A strange-looking servant,

dressed in silks of many colours, opened the door of the room, and

Wolfframb went in. He saw before him a tall stately man, dressed in a

robe of dark-red samite, with wide arms, richly trimmed with sable,

pacing up and down the chamber with long solemn steps. His face was

much like that which classical sculptors have given to their

representations of Jupiter, such a domineering gravity sat on the brow,

such a formidable fire flashed out of the great eyes. His cheeks and

chin were covered by a black curling beard, and on his head was what

was either a barret-cap of strange form or a cloth wound round it in a

peculiar fashion; it was hard to determine which. He had his arms

folded over his breast, and, as he paced up and down, he spoke, in a

clear, ringing voice, words which to Wolfframb were incomprehensible.

On looking round the chamber, which was full of books and quantities of

extraordinary-looking apparatus, Wolfframb saw in one corner a little

old pallid mannikin, scarce three feet high, sitting upon a tall stool,

busied in writing down, as hard as he could, all that the master was

saying, on a leaf of parchment, with a silver pen. When this had been

going on for a considerable time, the master's glance fell upon

Wolfframb, and, stopping in his walk, he stood still in the centre of

the chamber. Wolfframb greeted him with pleasant verses, in a light

playful style, explaining that he was come to be edified by Klingsohr's

masterly skill and knowledge, and begging him to respond to him in a

similar vein, so as to display his powers. The master measured him from

head to foot with a wrathful glance, and said:

"'"Heyday! and who may you be, young sir, who have the impertinence to

come here, pitting yourself against me with your idiotic rhymes, as if

actually having the overweening presumption to challenge me to a

prize-singing? Ah! I see! you can be none other than Wolfframb of

Eschinbach, the most unfledged, ignorant laic of those who style

themselves masters of the singer's craft up on the Wartburg. No, no,

boy! You will have to grow a little ere you can hope to pit yourself

against me."

"'Wolfframb had not looked for a reception of this kind. His blood

boiled at Klingsohr's insulting words. He felt the power with which the

heavens had gifted him awaking within him more vividly than was usual.

He looked the master straight in the eyes, gravely and firmly, and

said:

"'"Master Klingsohr, you do not well in assuming this hard and bitter

tone, in place of answering me kindly and frankly, as I addressed you.

I know you are my superior in science, and probably also in the

singer's craft; but that does not justify you in these arrogant

vauntings, which you ought to think beneath you. I tell you to your

face, Master Klingsohr, that I now believe that, as the people say, you

have power over evil spirits, and intercourse with infernal beings,

through the unholy arts which you practise. It is because you can call

up dark spirits from the abyss that your mastership is so great. The

mind of man stands aghast at them, and it is the terror of them which

makes you prevail; not that profound love which streams forth from a

pure singer's soul into the heart of the sympathetically-minded. This

is why you are arrogant, as no singer, whose heart is untainted, ever

can be."

"'"Hoho!" answered Master Klingsohr, "Hoho, young sir! Do not get on

your high horse in this manner. As for my supposed intercourse with

powers of evil, be silent. It is beyond your comprehension; it is but

the idle chatter of childish idiots that it is from such a source that

my skill in sing-craft is derived. But, let me ask you, whence did you

derive what small knowledge on the subject you possess? Do you suppose

I do not know that at Siegebrunnen, in Scotland, Master Friedebrand

lent you certain books, which you, with base ingratitude, did not

return, but kept, and that all your songs are taken from them? Ha ha!

if I have the devil to thank, you have to thank your own ingrained

ingratitude."

"'Wolfframb was aghast at this horrible accusation. He laid his hand on

his heart, and said:

"'"May God be mine aid!--Amen. The spirit of falsehood is mighty within

you, Master Klingsohr. How could I have so shamefully cozened my great

master, Friedebrand, of his precious writings? Let me tell you that I

kept these manuscripts only just as long as Master Friedebrand wished

me to do so, and then gave them back to him again. Have you never

learned anything from the writings of other masters?"

"'"Be that as it may," Klingsohr replied, without paying much attention

to what Wolfframb said, "whencesoever you may have derived your art,

what warrants you in attempting to place yourself on a level with me?

Are you aware how diligently I have studied in Rome, in Paris, in

Cracow; that I have travelled to the distant east, and learned the

secrets of the wise Arabs; that I have sucked the essence of every

school of the singer's craft that exists, and wrung the prize from

every one who has competed with me; that I am a master of the Seven

Liberal Arts? Whereas you, who have spent your days in far-off

Switzerland, at a distance from everything in the shape of art and

science, you, who are a mere laic, ignorant of all book-knowledge,

cannot by any possibility have acquired even the rudiments of the true

craft of song."

"'During this speech of Klingsohr's, Wolfframb's anger had quite calmed

down. The cause may have been that, at Klingsohr's braggart language,

the precious gift of song within him shone forth more jubilantly

bright, as do the sunbeams when they break victoriously through the

heavy clouds which the storm has brought driving up on its wings. A

gentle and pleasant smile spread over his face, and he said, in a quiet

tone of self-command, to the irritated Master Klingsohr:

"''Nay, good master, I might reply that though I have never studied at

Rome or Paris, nor sought out the wise Arabs in their own distant land,

I have known many singers of fame and skill (to say nothing of my

master, Friedebrand, whom I followed into the heart of Scotland) whose

instruction has much profited me; and that--like yourself--I have

gained the singer's prize at the courts of many of our exalted princes

in Germany. But I hold that all instruction, and all intercourse with

the greatest masters would have availed me nothing, had not the eternal

might of heaven placed within me the spark which has blazed up into the

glorious beams of song; had I not held--and did I not still hold--afar

from me all that is false or base; did I not strive, with all my

strength, to sing nothing other than that which truly fills my heart."

"'And here he began--he scarcely knew how, or why--to sing a glorious

song, in the "Golden Tone," which he had shortly before composed.

"'Master Klingsohr paced up and down full of wrath. Then he paused

before Wolfframb, gazing at him with his fixed, gleaming eyes, as if he

would pierce him through and through. When Wolfframb had ended,

Klingsohr laid his hands on his shoulders, and said, gently and

quietly, "Well, since you will not have it otherwise, Wolfframb, let us

sing against one another, in all the tones and manners. But we will go

elsewhere; this chamber is not fit for the like. Besides, you must

drink a cup of good wine with me."

"'At this instant the little mannikin who had been writing tumbled down

from his stool, and, as he fell hard on to the floor, he gave a little

delicate cry of pain. Klingsohr turned quickly round, and pushed the

little creature with his foot into a sort of cupboard under the desk,

which he closed upon him. Wolfframb heard the mannikin making a low

whimpering and sobbing. After this, Klingsohr shut all the books which

were lying about open; and each time that he closed one, a strange,

awe-inspiring sound, like a death sigh, passed through the room. Next

he took up in his hands wonderful roots; which, as he took them, had

the appearance of strange unearthly creatures, and struggled with their

stems and fibres, as if with arms and legs. Indeed, often a little,

distorted human-looking countenance would come jerking out grinning and

laughing in a horrible manner. At the same time it grew unquiet in the

cupboards round the room, and a great bird appeared, flapping about in

wavering, irregular flight with whirring wings that glittered like

gold. Darkness was falling fast, and Wolfframb began to feel profound

alarm. Klingsohr took a stone out of a case, which immediately diffused

a light as bright as the sun through the room. On this all grew still,

and Wolfframb saw and heard no more of that which had caused his

uneasiness.

"'Two servants, dressed in the same strange fashion, in many-coloured

silks, as the one who had opened the door at first, came in with

magnificent garments, in which they dressed their master. And then

Klingsohr and Wolfframb went out together to the Town-Cellar.

"'They drank to friendship and reconciliation, and they sang against

each other in all the most skilful and artful "manners." There was no

other master present to decide which of them was the victor, but had

there been one he would doubtless have declared that Klingsohr had the

worst of it. For with the utmost efforts of his art and intelligence he

never in the least attained to the power and sweetness of the simple

songs which Wolfframb sung.

"'The latter had just ended one of his most successful essays when

Master Klingsohr leaned back in his chair, and said, in a low, gloomy

tone:

"'"You called me vain and braggart, Master Wolfframb; but you would

much mistake me if you supposed that I was so blinded by vanity that I

should not recognize the true art of song wherever I come across

it--were it in the wilderness, or in the master's hall. There is none

here to judge between you and me; but I tell you that you have

vanquished me Master Wolfframb: and, by my so saying, you may recognize

the genuineness of my art."

"'"Oh, good Master Klingsohr," said Wolfframb, "it may be that a

certain special sense of happiness which I feel within me to-night may

have made my efforts more successful than they may be at other times.

Far be it from me to rank myself higher than you on that account.

Perhaps your heart was heavy to-day--how often it happens that a heavy

weight seems to lie upon one, like mists resting upon a meadow, and

hindering the flowers from lifting up their heads. You may say you are

vanquished to-night, but nevertheless I admired much in your beautiful

songs, and you may very probably gain the victory to-morrow."

"'"What does that single-hearted modesty of yours avail you?" cried

Master Klingsohr, who started up quickly from his seat, and turning his

back to Wolfframb, placed himself at the lofty window, through which he

gazed in silence at the pale moonbeams falling from on high.

"'After some minutes of this he turned, walked up to Wolfframb and said,

in a loud voice, while his eyes glared with anger:

"'"You were right, Wolfframb of Eschinbach. My skill and knowledge are

backed up by powers of darkness; and your nature and mine must ever be

at variance. You have vanquished me: but in the night which follows

this I will send one to you who is called Nasias. Sing against him; and

have a care that he does not vanquish you."

"'With which Master Klingsohr went storming out of the Town-Cellar.

"'NASIAS COMES BY NIGHT TO VISIT WOLFFRAMB OF ESCHINBACH.

"'Wolfframb lodged in Eisenach over against the Bread House with a

burgher of the name of Gottschalk: a kindly, pious man who held him in

great honour. Although Klingsohr and Eschinbach had thought they were

alone and unobserved in the Town-Cellar, it might well have been that

many of the young scholars of song who dogged and watched every step of

the celebrated master, and strove to catch every word and syllable that

fell from his lips, might have found means to listen to the two masters

singing against each other. At all events, the news that Wolfframb of

Eschinbach had overcome the great Master Klingsohr had spread abroad in

Eisenach, so that Gottschalk had come to hear of it. He hastened to his

lodger full of joy, and asked him how it could possibly have happened

that this haughty master should have consented to undertake a

prize-singing in the Town-Cellar. Wolfframb told him all that had

happened, not concealing the circumstance that Master Klingsohr had

threatened to set one of the name of Nasias at him in the night. At

this Gottschalk turned pale with terror, beat his hands together, and

cried in a lamentable tone:

"'"Ah! gracious heavens, good sir, do you not know that Master

Klingsohr has dealings with evil spirits, which are subject to him and

obliged to execute his commands? Helgrefe, in whose house Master

Klingsohr has taken up his abode, tells his neighbours the strangest

tales as to what goes on there. It seems that often in the night time

one would think a large concourse of people were collected in his room,

although no one is ever seen to go in; and then there begins a wild,

extraordinary singing, and the strangest goings on of all kinds--all

the windows streaming with dazzling light. Very likely this Nasias

may be the very evil one in person, and will carry you off to

perdition--you ought to set off, dearest master. Do not wait for this

terrible visitor--get away, I implore you."

"'"What?" answered Wolfframb. "My good landlord Gottschalk, why would

you have me go away as if I was afraid to sing against this same

Nasias? That would not be conduct for a master singer by any means. Be

Master Nasias an evil spirit or not, I await him patiently and

tranquilly. He may sing me down with his acherontic 'manners,' but he

will strive in vain to beguile my pious heart, or to do hurt to my

immortal soul!"

"'"I am well aware," said Gottschalk, "that you are a valiant

gentleman, and have not the slightest fear of the very devil himself.

But if you are determined to stay here, at least allow my servant Jonas

to be in the room with you. He is a pious, stalwart, broad-shouldered

fellow, and doesn't mind the singing one hair's breadth. And if you

chance to get a little spent, and feel a trifle faint with all the

devilish howling--so that Nasias should be like to get the better of

you and come at you--Jonas will give a shout, and we will come in with

holy water and consecrated candles. And they say the devil cannot

endure the stink of musk which a Capuchin friar has worn on his breast

in a bag. I'll have some of that handy, and will make such a fumigation

that Master Nasias won't have enough breath left to sing a bar."

"'Wolfframb of Eschinbach laughed at his landlord's kindly anxiety, and

said he was now quite ready, and only wished the trial between him and

Nasias were over. Jonas, however--the pious man with the broad

shoulders, proof against all singing, of whatsoever kind--might stay

and be welcome.

"The fateful night arrived. At first all was quiet; till the works of

the church clock whirred and rattled, and it struck twelve. Then a gust

of wind came breezing through the house, ugly voices howled in

confusion and a wild croaking scream as of pain and terror--like that

of some frightened night-bird--was heard. Wolfframb had been immersed

in beautiful, pure, pious poets' fancies, and had almost forgotten the

evil visit in store for him. But now icy shudders ran through his

veins; yet he pulled himself together and went to the centre of the

room. The door burst open with a tremendous crash, which shook the

whole house; and a tall form, surrounded with fiery light, stood before

him, and gazed at him with gleaming, malignant eyes. This form was of

such terrible aspect that doubtless many a man would have lost his

courage, nay, fallen to the ground in wild apprehension; but Wolfframb

stood firm, and asked in a grave and emphatic manner:

"'"What is your will and business in this place?"

"'The form answered, in a horrible, yelling voice:

"'"I am Nasias, come to contend with you in the singer's craft."

"'Nasias opened his large cloak, and Wolfframb saw that he had a number

of books under his arms, which he let fall on the table beside him. He

then at once began a wonderful song, which treated of the Seven Planets

and the music of the Heavenly Spheres, as described in Scipio's Dream,

and he rang the changes on the most ingenious and complicated "tones"

and "manners." Wolfframb, who had seated himself in his armchair,

listened calmly, with downcast eyes; and when he had quite finished

began a beautiful "tone" or "manner" upon religious themes. At this

Nasias jumped hither and thither, and tried to interrupt Wolfframb with

howlings, and to throw the heavy books he had brought with him at the

singer. But the clearer and the stronger that Wolfframb's song streamed

forth, the paler grew Nasias's fieriness, and the more his form

crumbled and shrunk together, so that at last he was running up and

down on the cupboards, with his little red cloak and the thick ruff at

the throat of it, no more than a span long--weaking and squeaking.

Wolfframb, when he had ended his song, was going to catch hold of him,

but he shot out at once to his original size, and breathed out flames

of fire all round him.

"'"Hei! hei!" he cried, in a terrible voice, "none of these tricks on

me, young sir; very likely you may be a great authority on theology,

and well versed in the doctrines and subtleties of your fat book; but

you are not therefore a singer fit to measure himself against me and my

master. Let us have a nice love song, and see where your mastership

will be then."

"He then sang a song concerning Fair Helen, and the marvellous delights

of the Venusberg. And indeed this song was fascinating; and it was as

if the flames which Nasias emitted turned to perfume, breathing

voluptuous passion, delight, and desire, amid which the beautiful

sounds floated up and down, like love gods at play. Wolfframb had

listened to this song as to the former one quietly, with his eyes fixed

on the ground. But soon there came to him a sense as though he were

wandering along the shady alleys of some beautiful garden, while lovely

tones of an exquisite music came floating over the beds of flowers,

breaking through the leafy shadows like the dawning red of morning; and

the songs of the Evil Thing sunk away before them into night, as the

birds of darkness plunge terrified into some deep ravine, croaking at

the coming of the day. And as those tones streamed clearer and clearer,

his heart throbbed with sweet anticipation and ineffable longing. Soon

she who was his life came forth from the thick bushes, in all the

splendour of her beauty and grace; and the leaves rustled, and the

clear streams plashed, greeting the fairest of women with a thousand

sighs of love. She came floating onward, borne on the pinions of song,

as on the outstretched wings of a beautiful swan; and when her heavenly

glance touched him all the bliss of the purest love-rapture awoke in

his heart. In vain he strove to find words, or tones of music. But,

when she vanished, he threw himself down on the flowery mead, he called

her name to the breezes, he embraced the tall lilies, he kissed the

roses on their glowing lips; and all the flowers understood his

rapture, and the morning wind, the brooks, and the bushes talked with

him of the nameless ecstasy of pure affection.

"'Thus, while Nasias was going on with his vain and empty love songs,

Wolfframb was thinking of the moment when he saw Lady Mathilda for the

first time in the garden at the Wartburg; just as she had appeared to

him then, he saw her before him now in all her beauty, looking at him

with the self-same eyes of love.

"Thus he had heard none of that which the Evil Thing was singing, and

when it was done he himself began a song which treated of the bliss of

a pious singer's pure affection in the most glorious strains of power.

"'The Evil Thing grew more and more restless, till at last he began to

bleat like a goat, and do all manner of mischief in the room. Then

Wolfframb arose, and commanded him, in the name of Christ and the

saints, to take himself off. Nasias, spurting out fiery flames around

him, gathered his books together, and cried, with mocking laughter:

"'"Schnib! Schnab! what are you but an ignorant laic?--yield the

mastership to Klingsohr!" he stormed out like a hurricane, and a

stifling stench of sulphur filled the room.

"'Wolfframb opened the windows; the fresh morning air streamed in, and

cleared away all traces of the Evil Thing. Jonas woke up from the deep

sleep into which he had fallen, and wondered not a little to learn that

all was over. He called his master, to whom Wolfframb related all that

occurred. And if Gottschalk had honoured the noble Wolfframb before, he

now looked upon him as a very saint, whose pious power could baffle the

denizens of hell itself. When he chanced to cast his eyes towards the

ceiling of the room, what was his astonishment to see, written in

letters of fire above the door, the words:

"'"Schnib! Schnab! what are you but an ignorant laic?--yield the

mastership to Klingsohr!"

"The Evil Thing had written there the last words he spoke when he took

his departure, by way of an eternal defiance. "Not a single happy

hour," said Gottschalk, "can I spend in this house while that devilish

writing--an affront to my dear Master Wolfframb of Eschinbach--keeps on

burning there on the wall." He went off straight and fetched masons to

plaster the words over with lime. It was so much labour wasted.