"And my youngest boy! my Conrad!--was not he too good and beautiful
for thy sword?--hast thou killed him too?"
"I have," said the duke again.
And Eckart replied, as he shed tears, "Oh, say not that! say not that,
Burgundy!--for I cannot bear those words: recall them. Say, at least,
that it repents you of all you have done; and I will yet try to take
comfort, though you have now done your worst to break my heart."
The duke answered, "Away! thou faithless traitor! hence from my sight!
thou art the bitterest enemy I have on the face of the earth."
Eckart stood firm, and said, "Heretofore thou didst call me thy best
friend; but good thoughts are now become strange to thee. Never did I
aught against thy honour: nay, I have revered and loved thee as my
true prince, so help me God! or here, with this hand upon my good
sword, I could take speedy and bitter vengeance for all my wrongs. But
no; I will for ever banish myself from your presence, and end my few
and evil days in solitude and woe."
Having uttered these sad words, Eckart turned away; while Burgundy,
agitated with hateful passions, called aloud for his pages and his
lancers, who surrounded the old hero, and followed him with the points
of their spears out of the duke's palace; none venturing, though at
their lord's command, to put him to death.
Away he spurred at speed,
Eckart that noblest knight;
And spoke, "No more I heed
The world, nor wrong, nor right.
My sons are gone, and I
Am left to mourn alone;
My prince would have me die;
And friends I have not one."
Then made he to the woods,
And with full heart did strive
To bear his dismal moods--
To bear his woes and live.
"I fly man's hated face!
Ye mountains, lakes, and trees,
Be now my resting-place,
And join your tears to these.
No child beguiles my grief;
Their lives were sworn away;
Their days were all too brief--
My last one they did slay!"
Thus wild did Eckart weep,
Till mind and sense were gone;
Then madly down the steep
He spurr'd his true steed on.
He bounded, leaped, and fell,
Yet Eckart took no heed;
But said it was right well,
Though sadly he did bleed.
He next ungirt his horse,
And lay down on the ground;
And wish'd it had happ'd worse--
That he his grave had found.
None of the duke's peasantry could say whither the faithful Eckart had
fled; for he had taken to the wild mountain-woods, and been seen by no
human being. The duke dreaded his great courage and prudence, and he
repented that he had not secured him, blaming his pages that they had
suffered him to escape. Yet, to make his mind more easy, he proceeded
at the head of a large train, as if going to the chase; being
determined to ride through all the surrounding hills and woods until
he should find the spot where Eckart had concealed himself, and there
put him to death.
His followers spread themselves abroad on all sides, and vied with
each other in the hope of pleasing the prince, and reaping the reward
of their evil deed; but the day passed, and the sun went down, without
their discovering any traces of him they sought.
A storm was now gathering, and the great clouds came darkling over the
woods and hills; the thunder began to peal along the sky; the
lightning flashed athwart the heavens, smiting the largest oaks; while
torrents of rain fell upon their heads. The duke and his followers ran
for shelter among the rocks and caves; but the duke's steed burst his
reins, and ran headlong down the heights; while his master's voice was
lost in the uproar of the storm, and separated from all his followers,
he called out in vain for assistance.
Wild as the animals of the forest, poor Eckart had wandered,
unconscious now of his sorrows or whither he went. Roots and berries,
with the water of the mountain-spring, formed his sole refreshment: he
would no longer have known any of his former acquaintance; the day of
his despair seemed at length to have gone by. Yet no! As the storm
increased, he suddenly seemed to recover some portion of his
intellect, and to become aware of objects around him. Then he uttered
a loud cry of horror, tore his hair, and beat his aged breast, as he
bethought himself of his children. "Dear as the life-blood of my
heart," he cried, "whither, my sweet boys, are ye all gone? Oh, foul
befell my coward spirit that hath not yet avenged ye! Why smote I not
your fell destroyer, who hath pierced my heart through and through,
worse than with a thousand daggers? Mad wretch that I am! I deserve it
all--all; for well may your tyrant murderer despise me, when I oppose
not the assassin of my own children. Ah, would that he might once come
within the reach of my arm!--for now I long, when it is all too late,
to taste the sweetness of revenge."
Thus he spent the night, wandering, and weeping as he went. At last he
thought he heard a distant voice of some one crying for help. He
turned his steps towards the direction in which it came; and finally
he approached a man, whom the darkness hid from his sight, though he
heard his voice close to him. This voice beseeched him piteously to
guide a stranger into the right path. Eckart shrieked as it again fell
upon his ear--he knew it; and he seized his sword. He prepared to cut
down the assassin of his children--he felt new strength--and drew
nigh, in the hope of full vengeance; when suddenly his oath of fealty,
and all his former promises, when he was the duke's friend, came
across his mind. Instead of piercing him to the heart, he took the
duke's hand, and promised to lead him into the right path. They passed
along conversing together, although the duke trembled with fear and
cold. Soon they met some one. It was Wolfram, the duke's page, who
had been long in search of his master. It was still dark night--not a
star cast its feeble rays through the thick black clouds. The duke
felt very weak, and sighed to reach some habitation, to refresh
himself and repose; besides, he was in dread of encountering the
enraged Eckart, whose strange feigned voice he did not yet know. He
feared he should hardly survive till morning, and trembled at every
fresh blast of wind that shook the trees, or the thunder as it rolled
more awfully above their heads. "My good Wolfram," cried the duke,
"mount this lofty fir, and cast a keen glance around thee to discover
some light--whether from house or hut it boots not, so that we can but
live to reach it."
The page obeyed at his life's risk, as the storm bent the strongest
branches of the huge tree as if it had been a tender reed. Its topmost
boughs sometimes nearly touched the ground; while the boy appeared
little more than an acorn growing on a branch of the tree. At length
he cried out, "In the plain below us there I perceive a glimmering--I
can see the way we ought to go." At the same time he carefully
descended, and took the lead. In a short while the friendly light
greeted the eyes of all three--the very sight of which greatly
restored the fallen spirits of the duke.
Absorbed within himself, Eckart uttered not a word. He walked along,
striving with the bitter feelings that rose in his breast, leading the
duke by the hand.
At length the page knocked at the cottage-door; and an infirm old
woman appeared. When they had entered, Eckart loosed the duke's hand,
whom he had led along; and the latter fell trembling upon his knees,
to return Heaven thanks for his deliverance from the perils of that
terrific night.
Eckart retired into a dark corner; where he found, stretched in sleep,
the same old man who shortly before had been bewailing his unhappy
fate in regard to his sons, whom he was then in search of.
The duke having finished his prayers, thus spoke:--"This has indeed
appeared a miraculous night to me. I feel the goodness and almighty
power of God more than ever I had before reason to do. Yet my heart
hath failed within me, and I feel that I must shortly die; only
wishing for time, before I depart, to entreat forgiveness for my
manifold sins and offences against the Most High; but I will take care
to reward you both, my faithful companions, before I go, and that as
handsomely as I can. To thee, my trusty page, I bequeath the two
castles which lie close to the next mountain here, on condition that,
in remembrance of this terrific night, thou dost in future call them
the Tannenhaeuser, or Fir-houses.--And who art thou, good man, that
hast laid thy weary limbs in the corner? Come forth, that I may reward
thee quickly, according to thy great services and many kind offices
shewn me during this terrific night."
Then up rose Eckart, like a thing
That starts from out the dim moonlight;
His furrowed cheek betrays the sting
Of many a woful day and night.
The soul of Burgundy sighed sore
To witness thus that aged face;
The blood forsook his veins--he tore
His hair, and swooned for dire disgrace.
They raise him from the low cold ground,
His limbs and temples warmly chafe:
"Then, O my God, at last he's found,"
He cried; "true Eckart's here--he's safe.
O whither shall I fly thy look?
Was't thou didst bring me from the wood?
And was it I thy dear babes struck--
Thou that to me hast been so good?"
And Burgundy, as thus he said,
He felt his heart was breaking fast;
On Eckart's breast he laid his head,
And thought he there would breathe his last.
His senses fled! Then Eckart spoke:
"I reck not, master, of their fate--
That so the world may see, though broke,
True Eckart's heart's yet true and great."
Thus passed the night. In the morning the followers of the duke
arrived, and found him very sick. They placed him upon their mules,
and carried him back to his castle. Eckart stirred not from his side;
and often the duke took his hand, and, pressing it to his bosom,
looked up at him imploringly; when Eckart would embrace him, and speak
soft words of comfort till he was again still. The duke next called
together his council, and declared that such was his confidence in his
faithful Eckart, the bravest and noblest of all his land, that he
would leave him governor of his sons. Having said which, he died.
Eckart then took the reins of government into his own hands,
fulfilling the trust reposed in him in such a humane and prudent way
as to excite the admiration of all the country. Shortly afterwards,
the report spread more and more on all sides, of the arrival of the
strange musician from Venus-berg, who seduced his victims with the
strange sweetness of his tones; so that they disappeared without
leaving a trace behind. Many gave credit to the report--others not;
while Eckart again bethought him of the unhappy old man whom he had
seen so forlorn and crazed upon the mountain.
"I have now adopted you as my children," he said to the young princes,
as he one day sat with them on the bill before the castle; "your
happiness is now become my inheritance; I shall continue to survive,
after my departure, in your welfare and your good conduct."
They all stretched themselves on the hill-side, whence they could look
far into the distant and lovely prospect beyond; and Eckart would then
strive to subdue the regrets he felt for his own children, though they
would appear as if passing over the mountain before him, while in the
distance he thought he heard the faint echo of delicious music
gradually growing louder.
Hark! comes it not like dreams
Before the morning beams?
From some far greenwood bowers,
Such as the night-bird pours,
So sweet, and such its dying fall?--
Those tones the magic song recall;
And Eckart sees each princely cheek
Flushed with the joys its victims seek;
Wild wishes seized each youthful breast
For some far unknown bourne of rest.
"Away to the mountains!" they cried; "the deep woods
Where the trees, winds, and waters make music for gods:
Sweet, strange, secret voices are singing there now,
And invite us to seek their blest Eden below."
In strange attire then came in view
The unblest sorcerer, and anew
Inspired the maddening youths, till bright
And brighter shone the sunny light.
Trees, streams, and flowers danced in the rays;
Through earth, air, heavens, were heard the lays;
The grass, fields, forests, trembling join'd
That magic tumult wild and blind.
Swift as a shadow fade the ties
That bind the soul to earth, and rise
Soft longings for unearthly scenes;
And strange confusion intervenes
Between the seen and unseen world,
Till reason from her seat is hurl'd,
And madly bursts the soul away
To mingle in the infernal fray.
The trusty Eckart felt it,
But wist not of the cause;
His heart the music melted,
He wondered what it was.
The world seems new and fairer,
All blooming like the rose;
Can Eckart be a sharer
In raptures such as those?
"Ha! are those tones restoring
My wife and noble sons?--
All that I was deploring--
My lost beloved ones?"
Yet soon his sense collected,
Brought doubts within his breast:
These magic arts detected,
A horror him possessed.
His children fade in air--
Mocks of infernal might;
His young friends vanished were--
He could not check their flight.
Yes, these his princely trust,
Late yielded to his power,
He now desert them must,
Or share their evil hour.
Faith, duty to his prince,
Is still his watchword here;
He still thinks of him, since
His last sad look and tear.
So boldly doth he now
Advance his foot and stand,
Arm'd proof to overthrow
The evil powers at hand.
The wild musician comes;
Eckart his sword has ta'en;
But ah! those magic tunes
His mortal strength enchain!
From out the mountain's side
Come thousand dwarfish shapes,
That threaten and deride,
And leap and grin like apes.
The princes fair are gone,
And mingled with the swarm;
True Eckart is alone,
And faint his valiant arm.
The rout of revellers grows,
Gathering from east to west,
And gives him no repose--
Around--before--abreast.
True Eckart's 'mid the din,
His might is lost and gone;
The hellish powers must win--
He of their slaves be one.
For now they reach the hill
Whence those wild notes are heard;
The dwarfish fiends stand still,
The hills their sides uprear'd,
And made a mighty void,
Whence fiercer sprites glower'd grim.
"What now will us betide?"
He cried:--none answered him.
Again he grasped his sword;
He said he must prove true:
Eckart has spoke the word,
And rushed amid the crew.
He saved the princes dear;
They fled and reach'd the plain;
But see, the fiend is near--
His imps their malice strain.
Though Eckart's strength is gone,
He sees the children safe;
And cried, "I fight alone--
Now let their malice chafe!"
He fought--he fell--he died
Upon that well-fought field;
His old heroic pride
Both scorn'd to fly or yield.
"True to the sire and son,
The bulwark of their throne,
Proud feats hath Eckart done;
There's not a knight, not one,
Of all my court and land,"
Cried the young duke full loud,
"Would make so bold a stand.
Our honour to uphold.
For life, and land, and all,
To Eckart true we owe;
He snatch'd our souls from thrall,
For all it work'd him woe."
And soon the story ran
Through Burgundy's broad land,
That who so venture can
To take his dangerous stand
Upon that mountain-side,
Where in that contest hard
True Eckart fought and died,
Shall see his shade keep guard,
To warn the wanderers back
Who seek th' infernal pit,
And spurn them from the track
That leads them down to it.
THE TANNENHAeUSER.
About four centuries had elapsed since the death of the Faithful
Eckart, when there lived a Lord of the Woods who stood in high
reputation as a counsellor at the imperial court. The same lord had a
son, one of the _handsomest_ knights in all the land, highly esteemed
and beloved by his friends and countrymen. Suddenly, however, he
disappeared under very peculiar circumstances, which occurred previous
to his departure; and no one could gather any tidings of him
whatsoever. But from the time of the Faithful Eckart, a tradition
respecting the Venus-berg had become very prevalent among the people,
and it was asserted by many that he must have wandered thither, and
there been devoted to eternal destruction.
Among the whole of his friends and relatives who lamented the young
knight's loss, none grieved so much as Frederick of Wolfsburg. They
had been early companions, and their attachment had grown with their
years, insomuch that their subsequent attachment appeared rather the
result of necessity than of choice. Meanwhile the Lord of the Woods
died, having heard no account of his son; and in the course of a few
years his friend Frederick married. He had already a playful young
circle around him. Years passed away, and still no tidings arrived as
to the fate of his friend, whom he was at length reluctantly compelled
to number with the dead.
One evening, as he was standing under the tower of his castle, he
observed a pilgrim approaching at some distance, in the direction of
the castle-gates. The stranger was very singularly dressed; his whole
appearance, and particularly his gait, striking the young knight as
something odd and unaccountable. As the pilgrim drew nigh, he went to
meet him; and, on examining his features, thought he could recognise
them. He looked again, and the whole truth burst upon him: it was
indeed no other than his long-lost friend--the young Lord of the
Fir-woods himself. Yet he shuddered, and uttered an exclamation of
surprise, when he contemplated the ravages which time had made in the
noblest face and form--the theme of his former admirers,--of which
only the ruins were to be traced;--no, he no longer appeared the same
being.
The two friends embraced, while they still gazed at each other as upon
perfect strangers but newly introduced. Many were the confused
questions and answers which passed between them; and Frederick often
trembled at the strange wild glances of his friend: the fire seemed to
sparkle in his eyes. He agreed, however, to sojourn with him; but when
he had remained a few days, he informed Frederick that he was about to
go upon a pilgrimage to Rome.
Their acquaintance in a short time grew more familiar, and resumed its
former happy and confidential tone. They recalled the mutual
adventures and plans of their early years, though the Lord of the
Woods seemed to avoid touching upon any incident which had occurred
since his late disappearance from home. This only raised Frederick's
curiosity the more; he entreated to be informed, and with yet more
earnestness as he found their former regard and confidence increase.
Still the stranger long sought, by the most friendly appeals and
warnings, to be excused; till at last, upon fresh solicitation, he
said, "Now, then, be it so! your wish shall be fully gratified;
only never in future reproach me, should my history excite
feelings--lasting feelings--of sorrow and dismay."
Frederick took him in the most friendly manner by the arm, and led him
into the open air. They turned into a pleasant grove, and seated
themselves on a mossy bank; the stranger then giving his hand to his
friend, turned away his head among the soft leaves and grass, and,
amidst many bitter sighs and sobs, gave way to the sad emotions which
the recollection seemed to inspire. His friend, pressing his hand,
tried every means to console him; upon which the stranger, again
raising his head, began his story in a calmer voice, to the following
purport:--
"There goes an ancient tradition, that several hundred years ago there
lived a knight known by the name of the Faithful Eckart. It is farther
believed that there appeared a mysterious musician at that time from
one of the wonderful mountains, whose unearthly music awakened such
strange delight and wild wishes in the hearts of his audience, that
they would irresistibly follow him, and lose themselves in the
labyrinths of the same mountain. At that period, hell is supposed to
have kept its portals open there, in order to entrap, by such sweet
irresistible airs, unhappy mortals into its abyss. Often have I heard
the same account when I was a boy, and sometimes it used to make me
shudder. In a short time it seemed as if all nature, every tone and
every flower, reminded me, in spite of myself, of that same old
fearful saying. Oh, it is impossible for me to convey to you what kind
of mournful thought, what strange ineffable longing, one time suddenly
seized me, bound me, and led me, as it were, in chains; and
particularly when I gazed upon the floating clouds, and the streaks of
light ethereal blue seen between them; and what strange recollections
the woods and meadows conjured up in my soul. Often did I feel all the
love and tenderness of nature in my inmost spirit; often stretched
forth my arms, and longed for wings to fly into the embrace of
something yet more beautiful; to pour myself, like the spirit of
nature, over vale and mountain; to become all present with the grass,
the flowers, the trees; and to breathe in the fulness of the mighty
sea. When some lovely prospects had delighted me during the day, I was
sure to be haunted with dark and threatening images that same night,
all of which, seemed busy in closing against me the gates of life. One
dream, in particular, made an indelible impression upon my mind,
although I was unable to recall its individual features clearly to my
memory.
"I thought I could see an immense concourse of people in the
streets,--I heard unintelligible words and languages, and I turned
away, and went in the dark night to the house of my parents, where I
found only my father, who was unwell. The next morning I threw my arms
round both my parents' necks--embracing them tenderly, as if I felt
that some evil power were about to separate us for ever. 'Oh, were I
to lose you,' I said to my dear father, 'how very lonely and unhappy
should I feel in this world without you!' They kissed and consoled me
tenderly, but they could not succeed in dispelling that dark
foreboding image from my imagination.
"As I grew older, I did not mingle with other children of my own age
in their sports. I wandered lonely through the fields; and on one
occasion it happened that I missed my way, and got into a gloomy wood,
where I wandered about, calling for help. After searching my way back
for some time in vain, I all at once found myself standing before a
lattice, which opened into a garden. Here I remarked pleasant shady
walks, fruit-trees, and flowers, among which were numbers of roses,
which shone lovely in the sunbeams. An uncontrollable wish to approach
them more nearly seized me; and I eagerly forced my way through the
lattice-work, and found myself in that beautiful garden. I bent down
and embraced the plants and flowers, kissed the roses over and over,
and shed tears. While lost in this strange feeling, half sorrow, half
delight, two young maidens came towards me along the walk, one older,
and the other about my own years. I was roused from my trance, only
to yield myself up to fresh amazement. My eye reeled upon the younger,
and at that moment I felt as if I had been suddenly restored to
happiness after all my sufferings. They invited me into the house; the
parents of the young people inquired my name, and were kind enough to
send my father word that I was safe with them; and in the evening he
himself came to bring me home.
"From this day forth the uncertain and idle tenour of my life acquired
some fixed aim;--my ideas recurred incessantly to the lovely maidens
and the garden; thither daily flew my hopes and all my wishes. I
abandoned my playmates, and all my usual pastimes, and could not
resist again visiting the garden, the castle, and its lovely young
inmate. Soon I appeared to become domesticated, and my absence no
longer created surprise; while my favourite Emma became hourly more
dear to me. My affection continued to increase in warmth and
tenderness, though I was myself unconscious of it. I was now happy! I
had not a wish to gratify, beyond that of returning, and looking
forward again to the hour of meeting.
"About this time a young knight was introduced to the family; he was
acquainted likewise with my parents, and he appeared to attach himself
in the same manner as I had done to the fair young Emma. From the
moment I observed this, I began to hate him as my deadliest enemy. But
my feelings were indescribably more bitter when I fancied I saw that
Emma preferred his society to mine. I felt as if, from that instant,
the music which had hitherto accompanied me, suddenly died away in my
breast. My thoughts dwelt incessantly upon hatred and death; strange
feelings burned within my breast, in particular whenever I heard Emma
sing the well-known song to the lute. I did not even attempt to
disguise my enmity; and when my parents reproached me for my conduct,
I turned away from them with an obstinate and wilful air. I wandered
for hours together in the woods and among the rocks, indulging evil
thoughts, chiefly directed against myself;--I had already determined
upon my rival's death.
"In the course of a few months the young knight declared his wishes to
Emma's parents, and they were received with pleasure. All that was
most sweet and wonderful in nature, all that had ever influenced and
delighted me, seemed to have united in my idea of Emma. I knew, I
acknowledged, and I wished for no other happiness--nothing
more--nothing but her. I had even wilfully predetermined that the loss
of her and my own destruction should take place on one and the same
day; neither should survive the other a moment.
"My parents were much grieved at witnessing my wildness and rudeness
of manner; my mother became ill, but it touched me not; I inquired
little after her, and saw her only very seldom. The nuptial-day of my
rival |was drawing nigh, and my agony proportionably increased: it
hurried me through the woods and across the mountains, as if pursued
by a grizzly phantom by day and by night. I called down the most
frightful maledictions both upon Emma and myself. I had not a single
friend to advise with--no one wished to receive me--for all seemed to
have given me over for lost. Yes! for the detested fearful eve of the
bridal-day was at hand: I had taken refuge among the rocks and cliffs;
I was listening to the roaring cataract; I looked into the foaming
waters, and started back in horror at myself. On the approach of
morning, I saw my abhorred rival descending the hill at a little
distance; I drew nigh--provoked him with bitter and jeering words; and
when he drew his sword, I flew upon him like lightning, beat down his
guard with my hanger, and--he bit the dust.
"I hastened from the spot--I never once looked back at him; but his
guide bore the body away. The same night I haunted the neighbourhood
of the castle where dwelt my Emma now. A few days afterwards, in
passing the convent near at hand, I heard the bells tolling, nuns
singing funeral-hymns, and saw death-lights burning in the sanctuary.
I inquired into the cause, and was informed that the young lady Emma
had died of the shock on hearing that her lover had been killed.
"I was in doubt what to think, and where to remain; I doubted whether
I existed; whether all were true. I determined to see my parents; and
the night after reached the place where they lived. I found every
thing in commotion; the street was filled with horses and carriages;
pages and soldiers were all mingled together, and spoke in strange
broken words;--it was just as if the emperor were on the eve of
undertaking a campaign against his enemies. A single light was dimly
burning in my father's house; I felt a strange sensation, like
strangulation, within my breast. When I knocked, my father himself
came to the door, with slow soft steps; and just then I recollected a
strange dream I had in my childhood, and felt, with horrible truth,
that it was the same scene which I was then going through. Quite
dismayed, I inquired, 'Why are you up so late to-night, father?' He
led me in; saying, as he entered,--'I may well be up and watching,
when your mother has only this moment expired.'
"These words shot like lightning through my soul. My father sat
himself thoughtfully down; I seated myself at his side; the corpse lay
upon a bed, and was appallingly covered over with white fillets and
napkins. My heart struggled, but could not burst. 'I myself keep
watch,' said the old man, 'for my poor wife always sits near me.' My
senses here failed me. I raised my eyes towards one corner, and there
I saw something rising up like a mist; it turned and motioned, and
soon took the well-known lineaments of my mother, who seemed to regard
me with a fixed and serious air. I attempted to escape, but I could
not; for the figure motioned to him, and my father held me fast in his
arms, while he softly whispered me, 'She died of grief, my son, for
you.' I embraced him with the most terrific, soul-cutting emotion. I
clung to him for protection like a feeble child,--burning tears ran
down my breast; but I uttered no sound. My father kissed me, and I
shuddered as I felt his lips, for they were deadly cold--cold as if I
had been kissed by the dead. 'How is it with you, dear father?' I
murmured in trembling agony; but he seemed to sink and gather into
himself, as it were, and replied not a word. I felt him in my arms,
growing colder and colder. I felt at his heart, but it was quite
still; yet, in the bitterness of my woe, I held the body fast clasped
in my embrace.
"By a sudden glimmer, like the first break of morning, which shot
through the gloomy chamber, I there saw my father's spirit close to
that of my mother; and both gazed upon me with a compassionate
expression, as I stood with the dear deceased in my arms. From that
moment I saw and heard no more, I lay deprived of consciousness; and I
was found by the servants delirious, and yet powerless as a babe, on
the ensuing morning.
"The memory of that hour is still as fearfully impressed upon my mind,
and I am at a loss to conjecture how I was so unfortunate as to
survive it. For it was now, indeed, that this once fair earth, with
life, and all that life had to afford, became worse than dead and
perished for me;--became a lone waste and wilderness, with all its
soft airs, sweet flowers, pure streams, and blue starry skies. I stood
like one, the last of a sudden overwhelming wreck, saved only to
regret that he had not perished with all that was dearest to him on
earth. How I lived on from day to day, I know not; till at last,
unable longer to contend with the fiends of remorse that grappled me,
I flew to society for relief. I joined a number of dissipated
characters, who sought, like me, to lose the sense of their follies
and enormities in the most dissolute pleasures. Yes, I sought to
propitiate the evil spirit within me by obedience to its worst
dictates. My former wildness and impatience revived, and I no longer
placed any restraint over my wishes.
"I fell into the hands of an abandoned wretch of the name of Rudolf,
who only laughed at my lamentations and remorse. More than a year thus
elapsed; my anxiety and horror, in spite of all efforts to control
them, daily gaining ground upon me, until I was seized with utter
despair. Like all who experience that stage of such a malady, I took
to wandering without any object. I arrived at distant and unknown
places--spots unvisited by other feet; and often I could have thrown
myself from some airy height into the green sunny meads and vales
below, or rushed into the cool streams to quench my soul's fiery and
insatiable thirst; yet though I had no fear, something unaccountable
always restrained me. I made many attempts towards the close of the
day; for I longed to be annihilated: but when the morning returned,
with its golden beams, its fresh dews, and odorous flowers, I felt I
could destroy nothing; and hope and love of life revived within my
breast. A conviction then seized me, that all hell was conspired
together to work my utter perdition; that both my pleasures and my
pains arose from the same fiendish source; and that a malicious spirit
was gradually directing all the powers and influences of my mind to
that sole end. I yielded myself up to him, in order to dissipate these
alternating raptures and agonies. On one dark and stormy night I went
into the mountains; I mounted one of their highest and giddiest peaks,
where foot of man never before trod; and there, with my whole strength
of heart and soul, I invoked the foe of God and man to appear. I
called him in language that I felt he must obey. My words were
powerful--the fiend stood at my side, and I felt no alarm. While
conversing with him, I could feel my faith in each haunted and
wonder-working mountain growing stronger within me; and the base one
taught me a song sufficiently potent of itself to shew me the right
path into its labyrinths. It was thus I approached the strange
mountain: the night was dark and tempestuous; the moon glimmered
through a mass of dusky livid clouds; yet boldly and loudly did I
sing that song. A giant form arose, and motioned me back with its
staff. I drew nigher. 'I am the faithful Eckart,' exclaimed the
supernatural form; 'and, praise to the goodness of the blessed God, I
am permitted to hold watch here, to deter the unhappy from rushing
into the base fiend's power.' I pushed on. In passing, I found my way
led through subterraneous passages in the mountain. The path was so
narrow as to compel me to force my way: I heard the gushing of the
hidden waters, and the noise of the spirits engaged in forging steel,
gold, and silver in their caverns, for the temptation and perdition of
man. I heard, too, the deep clanging tones and notes in their simple
and secret powers, which supply all our earthly music; and the lower I
descended, the more there seemed to fall as it were a veil from before
my eyes.
"Soon I heard other music, of quite an opposite character to the last;
and my spirit within me struggled, as if eager to fly nearer and catch
the notes. I came into more open space; and on all sides strange,
clear, glowing colours burst upon my eye. This I felt was what I had
all along sighed for;--deep in my heart I welcomed the presence of
something I had long looked for--the deep-seated master-passion, of
which I then felt the ravishing powers playing in their full strength
within my breast. A swarm of the mad heathen deities, with the goddess
Venus at their head, ran forward to greet me;--all demons, that
assumed those ancients' names, and were banished thither by the
Almighty, their career being fully run upon earth; though they still
continue to work in secret.
"All the delights so familiar to the world I there found and enjoyed
in their fullest and keenest zest. My appetite was as insatiable as
the delight was lasting. The long-famed beauties of the ancient world
were all there--all that my most ardent wishes required was mine; and
each day that world grew brighter, and appeared arrayed in more
charming colours. The most costly wines slaked our thirst; the most
lovely and delicious forms played and wantoned in the air; a throng of
loves hovered invitingly around me, shedding perfumes over my head;
and tones of music burst forth from nature's inmost heart, and with
their undulating freshness restored the ardour of our desires, while
soft mists and dews stole over flowery fields, giving new essence to
their ravishing odours.
"How many years thus passed, I am quite unable to state, for here was
no time and no divisions; the luscious charm of virgin beauty burned
in the flowers, and in the forms of girls bloomed the fragrant charm
of the flowers; their colours seemed to enjoy a peculiar language;
tones uttered new words; the world of sense was enclosed, as it were,
within the glowing bloom of those luxurious flowers--the resident
spirits within were ever engaged in celebrating their triumphant
delights.
"How this was accomplished, I can neither explain nor comprehend; but
soon, amid all this pomp of sin and unlawful pleasure, I began to sigh
for repose, for the old innocent earth I had left, with all its
virtuous, social endearments; and my desire grew as violent as it had
formerly been to leave it for what I had there obtained. I wished to
lead the same life as other mortals, with its mixed pains and
pleasures. I was satiated with splendour and excess, and turned with
thoughts of pleasure towards my native land. Some unaccountable mercy
of the Almighty granted me the privilege of returning. I found myself
once more in this present world, and still within reach of repentance
and salvation; and I now think only of receiving absolution for my
sins at the footstool of the Almighty Father, for which purpose I am
on the way to Rome; that so I may again be numbered in the rank of
other living men."
Here the sad pilgrim became silent; and Frederick fixed his eye upon
him, with a searching glance, for some time. At last he took his poor
friend's hand, and said: "Although I have not yet recovered from my
astonishment, and cannot, in any way, comprehend your narrative; yet
I conceive it impossible that all with which you have been thus
fearfully haunted can be other than a strong delusion of the mind. For
Emma herself is still alive, she is my own wife; we two have never
differed, much less engaged with our weapons, during the whole course
of our lives. No, we never hated each other, as you seem to think,
though you were missing just before my marriage from home. Besides,
you never, at the time, gave me a single hint that you loved my Emma."
Then he again took his bewildered friend by the hand, and led him into
another apartment to his wife, who had just returned from a visit of
some days to one of her sisters.
The pilgrim stood silent and thoughtful in her presence, while he
examined the form and features of the lady. Then, shaking his head
repeatedly, he said, in a low voice, "By Heavens! this is the most
wonderful incident of all!"
Frederick now related to him every thing which had occurred to himself
since they parted, and attempted to explain how he must have been
labouring under a temporary delirium during many years past.
"Oh! I know right well," answered the pilgrim, "how it is. It is now
that I am bewitched and insane; and hell has cast this juggling show
before me that I may not go to Rome and seek the pardon of my sins."
Emma tried to withdraw his attention from the subject, by recurring to
scenes and incidents of his childhood; but the pilgrim was not to be
undeceived. One day he suddenly leaped up, declaring he must instantly
set out, and forth he went without even saying farewell.
Frederick and his Emma often discoursed of the strange unhappy
pilgrim. A few months had elapsed, when, pale and worn, in tattered
attire and barefoot, his poor friend entered Frederick's apartment,
while he was yet asleep. He pressed his lips to his, and exclaimed
hastily, "The holy father cannot and will not forgive me. I must away
and seek my former abode." And with this he went hurriedly away.
Frederick roused himself, and was going into his wife's chamber, when
he met her women, who were all running to find him, in an agony of
terror and alarm. The Tannenhaeuser had been there: he had come early
in the morning, and uttering the words, "She shall not stop me in my
career!" had despatched her upon the spot.
Frederick had not been able yet to recall his thoughts, when a strange
feeling of horror came over him. He could not rest; he ran into the
open air, and when they wished to bring him back, he exclaimed, "that
the pilgrim had kissed his lips, and that the kiss was burning him
until he should meet with him again."
He then ran rapidly in a variety of directions in search of the
Tannenhaeuser and the mysterious mountain; and he was never afterwards
heard of. It is reported by the people, that whoever receives a kiss
from one of the dwellers of that mountain is unable to resist the
enchantment; which draws him with magic force into its subterraneous
depths.