The Magic Maze. (From Colburn's Monthly Magazine.)
The Germans are said to be a philosophical and sagacious people, with a strong penchant for metaphysics and mysticism. They are certainly a leichtgläubiges Volk, but, notwithstanding, painstaking and persevering in their search after truth. I know not whence it arises—whether from temperament, climate, or association—but it is very evident that a large portion of their studies is recondite and unsatisfactory, and incapable of being turned to any practical or beneficial account. They meditate on things which do not concern them; they attempt to penetrate into mysteries which lie without the pale of human knowledge. It has been ordained, by an inscrutable decree of Providence, that there are things which man shall not know; but they have endeavored to draw aside the vail which He has interposed as a safeguard to those secrets, and have perplexed mankind with a relation of their discoveries and speculations. They have pretended to a knowledge of the invisible world, and have assumed a position scarcely tenable by the weight of argument adduced in its defense. What has puzzled the minds of the most erudite and persevering men, I do not presume to decide. Instances of the re-appearance of persons after their decease, may or may not have occurred; there may, for aught I know, be good grounds for the belief in omens, warnings, wraiths, second-sight, with many other descriptions of supernatural phenomena. I attempt not to dispute the point. The human mind is strongly tinctured with superstition; it is a feeling common to all nations and ages. We find it existing among savages, as well as among people of refinement; we read of it in times of antiquity, as well as in modern and more enlightened periods. This universality betokens the feeling to be instinctive, and is an argument in favor of the phenomena which many accredit, and vouch to have witnessed.
I inherit many of the peculiarities of my countrymen. I, too, have felt that deep and absorbing interest in every thing appertaining to the supernatural. This passion was implanted in my breast at a very early age, by an old woman, who lived with us as nurse. I shall remember her as long as I live, for to her may be attributed a very great portion of my sufferings. She was an excellent story-teller. I do not know whether she invented them herself, but she had always a plentiful supply. My family resided at that time in Berlin, where, indeed, I was born. This old woman, when she took me and my sister to bed of an evening, kept us awake for hours and hours, by relating to us tales which were always interesting, and sometimes very frightful. Our parents were not aware of this, or they never would have suffered her to relate them to us. In the long winter nights, when it grew quite dark at four o'clock, she would draw her chair to the stove, and we would cluster round her, and listen to her marvelous stories. Many a time did my limbs shake, many a time did I turn as pale as death, and cling closely to her from fear, as I sat listening with greedy ear to her narratives. So powerful an effect did they produce, that I dared not remain alone. Even in the broad day-light, and when the sun was brightly shining into every chamber, I was afraid to go upstairs by myself; and so timid did I become, that the least noise instantly alarmed me. That old woman brought misery and desolation into our house; she blasted the fondest hopes, and threw a dark and dismal shadow over the brightest and most cheerful places. Often and often have I wished that she had been sooner removed; but, alas! it was ordered otherwise. She pretended to be very fond of us, and our parents never dreamed of any danger in permitting her to remain under their roof. We were so delighted and captivated with her narratives, that we implicitly obeyed her in every respect; but she laid strong injunctions upon us, that we were not to inform either our father or mother of the nature of them. If we were alarmed at any time, we always attributed it to some other than the true cause; hence the injury she was inflicting upon the family was unperceived. I have sometimes thought that she was actuated by a spirit of revenge, for some supposed injury inflicted upon her, and that she had long contemplated the misfortune into which she eventually plunged my unhappy parents, and which hurried them both to a premature grave.
I will briefly state the cause of the grievous [pg 685] change in our domestic happiness. My sister was a year or two younger than myself, and, at the time of which I speak, about seven years of age. She had always been a gay, romping child, till this old woman was introduced into the family, and then she became grave, timid, and reserved; she lost all that buoyancy of disposition, that joyousness of heart, which were common to her before. Methinks I now see her as she was then—a rosy-cheeked, fair-haired little creature, with soft, blue eyes, that sparkled with animation, a mouth pursed into the pleasantest smile, and a nose and chin exquisitely formed. My sister, as I have already stated, altered much after the old woman had become an inmate of the family. She lost the freshness of her complexion, the bright lustre of her eye, and was often dejected and thoughtful. One night (I shudder even now when I think of it), the wicked old beldame told us, as usual, one of her frightful stories, which had alarmed us exceedingly. It related to our own house, which she declared had at one time been haunted, and that the apparition had been seen by several persons still living. It appeared as a lady, habited in a green silk dress, black velvet bonnet, with black feathers. After she had concluded her narrative, under some pretense or other, she left the room, though we both strenuously implored her to remain; for we were greatly afraid, and trembling in every limb. She, however, did not heed our solicitation, but said she would return in a few minutes. There was a candle upon the table, but it was already in the socket, and fast expiring. Some ten or fifteen minutes elapsed, and the chamber-door was quietly thrown open. My hand shakes, and my flesh seems to creep upon my bones, as I recall that horrid moment of my past existence. The door was opened, and a figure glided into the room. It seemed to move upon the air, for we heard not its footsteps. By the feeble and sickly light of the expiring taper, we closely examined the appearance of our extraordinary visitor. She had on a green dress, black bonnet and feathers, and, in a word, precisely corresponded with the appearance of the apparition described by the wicked old nurse. My sister screamed hysterically, and I fell into a swoon. The household was disturbed, and in a few minutes the servants and our parents were by the bed-side. The old woman was among them. I described, as well as I was able, what had occurred; and my parents, without a moment's hesitation, laid the mysterious visitation to the charge of the old woman; but she stoutly denied it. My belief, however, to this day, is, that she was concerned in it. My beloved sister became a confirmed idiot, and died about two years after that dreadful night.
My subsequent wretchedness may be traced to this female, for she had already instilled into my mind a love for the marvelous and supernatural. I was not satisfied unless I was reading books that treated of these subjects; and I desired, like the astrologers of old, to read the stars, and to be endowed with the power of casting the horoscopes of my fellow-creatures.
When directed by my guardians to select a profession, I chose that of medicine, as being most congenial to my taste. I was accordingly placed with a respectable practitioner, and in due time sent to college, to perfect myself in my profession. I found my studies dry and wearisome, and was glad to relieve myself with books more capable of interesting me than those relating to medical subjects.
I had always attached great importance to dreams, and to the various coincidences which so frequently occur to us in life. I shall mention a circumstance or two which occurred about this time, and which made a very forcible impression upon me. I dreamed one night that an intimate friend of mine, then residing in India, had been killed by being thrown from his horse. Not many weeks elapsed, before I received intelligence of his death, which occurred in the very way I have described. I was so struck with the coincidence, that I instituted further inquiry, and ascertained that he had died on the same night, and about the same hour on which I had dreamed that the unfortunate event took place. I reflected a good deal upon this occurrence. Was it possible, I asked myself, that his disinthralled spirit had the power of communicating with other spirits, though thousands of miles intervened? An event so strange I could not attribute to mere chance. I felt convinced that the information had been conveyed by design, although the manner of its accomplishment I could not comprehend.
A circumstance scarcely less remarkable happened to me only a few days subsequently. I had wandered a few miles into the country, and at length found myself upon a rising eminence, commanding a view of a picturesque little village in the distance. Although I had at no period of my life been in this part of the country, the scene was not novel to me. I had seen it before. Every object was perfectly familiar. The mill, with its revolving wheel—the neat cottages, with small gardens in front—and the little stream of water that gently trickled past.
These matters gave a stronger impulse to my reading, and I devoured, with the greatest voracity, all books appertaining to my favorite subjects. Indeed, I became so engrossed in my employment, that I neglected my proper studies, avoided all society, all exercise, and out-door occupation. For weeks and weeks I shut my self up in my chamber, and refused to see anybody. I would sit for hours of a night, gazing upon the stars, and wondering if they exercised any control over the destinies of mankind. So nervous did this constant study and seclusion render me, that if a door were blown open by a sudden blast of wind, I trembled, and became as pale as death; if a withered bough fell from a neighboring tree, I was agitated, and unable for some seconds to speak; if a sudden footstep was heard on the stairs, I anticipated that my chamber-door would be immediately thrown [pg 686] open, and ere many seconds elapsed to be in the presence of a visitor from the dark and invisible world of shadows. I became pale and feverish, my appetite failed me, and I felt a strong disinclination to perform the ordinary duties of life.
My friends observed, with anxiety and disquietude, my altered appearance; and I was recommended to change my residence, and to withdraw myself entirely from books. A favorable locality, combining the advantages of pure air, magnificent scenery, and retirement, was accordingly chosen for me, in which it was determined I should remain during the winter months. It was now the latter end of September.
My future residence lay at the distance of about ten German miles from Berlin. It was a fine autumnal day, that I proceeded, in the company of a friend, to take possession of my new abode. Toward the close of the day we found ourselves upon an elevated ground, commanding an extensive and beautiful view of the country for miles around. From this spot we beheld the house, or rather castle (for it had once assumed this character, although it was now dismantled, and a portion only of the eastern wing was inhabitable), that I was to occupy. It stood in an extensive valley, through which a broad and deep stream held its devious course—now flowing smoothly and placidly along, amid dark, overhanging trees—now dashing rapidly and furiously over the rocks, foaming and roaring as it fell in the most beautiful cascades. The building stood on the margin of the stream, and in the midst of thick and almost impenetrable woods, that rendered the situation in the highest degree romantic and captivating. The scene presented itself to us under the most favorable aspect. The sun was just setting behind the distant hills, and his rays were tinging with a soft, mellow light, the foliage of the trees, of a thousand variegated colors. Here and there, through the interstices of the trees, they fell upon the surface of the water, thus relieving the dark and sombre appearance of the stream. The road we now traversed led, by a circuitous route, into the valley. As we journeyed on, I was more than ever struck with the beauty of the scene. Dried leaves in many places lay scattered upon the ground; but the trees were still well laden with foliage, although I foresaw they would be entirely stripped in a short time. The evening was soft and mild; but occasionally a gentle breeze would spring up, and cause, for a moment, a slight rustling among the trees, and then gradually die away. The sky above our heads was serene and placid, presenting one vast expanse of blue, relieved, here and there, by a few light fleecy clouds. As we got deeper into the valley, the road became bad and uneven, and it was with much difficulty we prevented our horses from stumbling. In one or two instances we had to dismount and lead them, the road in many places being dangerous and precipitous. At length we gained the bottom of the valley. A rude stone bridge was thrown over the stream above described, over which we led our steeds. Arrived at the other side, we entered a long avenue of trees, sufficient to admit of two horsemen riding abreast. When we had gained the extremity of the avenue, the road diverged to the left, and became tortuous and intricate in its windings. It was in a bad state of repair, for the building had not been inhabited by any body but an old woman for a great number of years. We at length arrived in front of the entrance. As I gazed upon the dilapidated structure, I did not for a moment dream of the suffering and misery I was to undergo beneath its roof. We dismounted and gave our horses into the charge of a man who worked about the grounds during the day-time. We were no sooner admitted into this peculiar-looking place, than a circumstance occurred which plunged me into the greatest distress of mind, and aroused a host of the most painful and agonizing reminiscences. I conceived the event to be ominous of disaster; and so it proved. I recognized, in the woman who admitted us, that execrable being who had already so deeply injured my family, and to whose infernal machinations I unhesitatingly ascribed the idiocy and death of my dearly beloved sister. She gazed earnestly upon me, and seemed to recognize me. This discovery caused me the greatest uneasiness. I hated the sight of the woman; I loathed her; I shuddered when I was in her presence; and a vague, undefinable feeling took possession of me, which seemed to suggest that she was something more than mortal. I know not what evils I anticipated from this discovery. I predicted, however, nothing so awful, nothing so horrible, as what actually befell me.
I took the earliest opportunity of speaking alone with this woman.
“My good woman,” I said to her, “I shall not suffer you to remain here at night.”
“Why not, sir?” she asked.
“There are certain insuperable objections, the nature of which you may probably surmise.”
“Indeed, I do not.”
“Then your memory is short.”
“I do not understand you, sir.”
“It is not of any consequence.”
After some further altercation, she consented to submit to the terms dictated to her.
On the following day, my friend Hoffmeister returned to Berlin, where he had some business to transact, on which depended much of his future happiness. He promised to pay me another visit in the course of a week or ten days.
I spent the first three or four days very comfortably, though I was still very nervous, and in a weak state of health. On the morning of the fifth day, the old woman (who had by some means discovered my profession) asked me if I required a subject for the purpose of dissection. This was what I had long been seeking for, but my efforts to obtain one had hitherto been fruitless. I asked the sex, and she informed [pg 687] me it was a male. I was delighted with the offer, and at once acquiesced in the terms. Toward nightfall it was arranged that the corpse should be conveyed to the castle.
I know not from what cause, but, during the whole of the day, I was in a very abstracted and desponding state of mind, and began to regret that I had agreed to take the body through the mediation of the old woman, whom I almost conceived to be in league with Beelzebub himself.
The day had been exceedingly sultry, and toward evening the sky became overcast with huge masses of dark clouds. The wind, at intervals, moaned fitfully, and as it swept through the long corridors of the building, strongly resembled the mournful and pitiful tones of a human being in distress. The trees that stood in front of the house ever and anon yielded to the intermitting gusts of wind, and bowed their heads as though in submission to a superior power. There was no human being to be seen out of doors, and the cattle, shortly before grazing upon some distant hills, had already been removed. The river flowed sluggishly past, its brawling breaking occasionally upon the ear when the wind was inaudible. Suddenly the wind ceased, and large drops of rain began to fall; presently afterward, it came down in torrents. It was a fearful night. Frequent peals of thunder smote upon the ear; now it seemed to be at a distance, now immediately overhead. Vivid flashes of lightning were at intervals seen in the distant horizon, illumining for a moment, with supernatural brilliancy, the most minute and insignificant objects. In the midst of the tempest, I fancied I heard a rumbling noise at a distance. It grew more distinct; the cause of it was rapidly approaching. I looked earnestly out of the window, and I thought I could discern a moving object between the interstices of the trees. I was not mistaken. It was the vehicle conveying the dead body. It came along at a rapid pace. It was just in the act of turning an angle of the road, when a tree, of gigantic proportions, was struck by the electric fluid to the ground. The horse shied, and the car narrowly escaped being crushed beneath its ponderous weight. The men drove up to the entrance, and speedily took the box containing the body from the car, and placed it in a room which I showed them into. I directed them to take the body out of the box, and place it upon a deal board, which I had laid horizontally upon a couple of trestles. The corpse was accordingly taken out. It was that of a finely-grown young man. I laid my hand upon it; it was still warm, and I fancied I felt a slight pulsation about the region of the heart. Anxious to dismiss the men as soon as possible, and fearing that the old woman might be imposing upon me, I asked the price.
“Siebzig Thaler, mein Herr,” said the man.
“Danke, danke—tausendmal,” said he, as I counted the money into his hand.
At this instant a vivid flash of lightning illumined, for a second or two, the livid and ghastly corpse of the man, rendering the object horrible to gaze upon.
“Gott im Himmel! was für ein schrecklicker Stürm!” exclaimed the man to whom I had paid the money.
In a few minutes the men departed, and I stood at the window watching them, as they drove furiously away. At length they disappeared altogether from my view.
I was now alone in the house. The storm was as furious as ever. I had never before felt so wretched. I was restless and uneasy, and a thousand dark thoughts flitted across my distracted brain as I wandered from room to room. It was already quite dark, and I was at least a couple of miles distant from any living soul. The frequent flashes of lightning, the loud peals of thunder, the dead body of the man, and my own nervous and superstitious temperament, constituted a multitude of anxieties, fears, and apprehensions, that might have caused the stoutest heart to quail beneath their influence. I seated myself in the sitting-room that had been provided for me, and took up my meerschaum, and endeavored to compose myself. It was, however, in vain. I was exceedingly restless, and I know not what vague and indefinable apprehensions entered my imagination. Whenever I have felt a presentiment of evil, it has invariably been followed by some danger or difficulty. It was so in the present instance. I drew the curtains in front of the windows, for I could not bear to look upon the storm that was raging with unabated vehemence out of doors, and I drew my chair closer to the fire, and sat for a considerable time. At length, between ten and eleven o'clock, I took from a small cabinet a bottle containing some excellent French brandy. I poured a portion of it into a tumbler, and diluted it with warm water. I took two or three copious draughts, which I thought imparted new life to my frame.
I was in this way occupied, when a sudden noise in a corner of the room caused a feeling of horror to thrill through my whole system. I sprang upon my legs in a moment; my eyes stared wildly, and every limb in my body shook as though with convulsions. For a moment, I stood still, steadfastly fixing my eyes upon the place from whence the noise proceeded. All was quiet. I heard nothing save the beating of the rain against the windows, and low peals of distant thunder. I walked across the room, and I discovered that a riding-whip had fallen from the nail from which it had been suspended. Satisfied that there was no occasion for alarm, I resumed my seat, and indulged in fresh draughts of brandy-and-water. A few minutes elapsed, and a noise similar to the last filled me with new apprehensions. I sprang again from my seat. The pulses of my heart beat quickly. I gazed wildly about me. I could see nothing—hear nothing. I walked a few paces, and found an empty powder-flask upon the floor; it had fallen from a shelf upon which I had placed it [pg 688] in the morning. I was much alarmed; I reeled like a drunken man, and my mind was filled with the most horrible forebodings. I drank the diluted spirit more freely than usual, and stood awaiting the issue. Another article in a few minutes fell from the wall. I now knew what to expect. I had frequently read of this species of disturbance before. It was what, is called in Germany the Poltergeist. In a few minutes, the greatest uproar manifested itself. The pictures fell from the walls, the ornaments from the shelves; the jugs, glasses, and bottles leaped from the table; the chairs, &c., by some unseen and infernal agency, were overturned. I ran about like one beside himself; I tore my hair with agony; I groaned with mental affliction; and my heart cursed the devil incarnate that had brought all this misery to pass. It was the woman; I was convinced of it. She, she alone, could conceive and hatch such monstrous and nefarious stratagems. I knew not what to do—whither to fly. The uproar continued. In my distraction, I ran from place to place. I entered the room where the corpse lay. Merciful God! I discovered, by the glimmering light from the other chamber, that it had changed its position. I had laid it upon its back. Its face was now turned downward! My cup was full—my misery complete. I returned to the room I had just quitted. The disturbance had in some measure abated. I was thankful that it was so, and I proceeded to place the tables, chairs, &c., in their usual position. While I was thus engaged, the tumult commenced afresh. No sooner had I placed a chair in an upright direction, than it was immediately overturned; no sooner had I suspended a picture from the wall, than it was again upon the floor. What was I to do? How was I to escape the horrible spells with which the archfiend had encompassed me? I could not leave the place on account of the storm; and even if I had done so, it was not possible that I could gain admittance into any habitation at that late hour of the night. Wretch that I was! What crime had I committed, wherein had I erred, that I should be visited with so unaccountable and terrible a calamity? My presence seemed to arouse the malignity of the Poltergeist, and I deemed it expedient to leave the room. I was afraid to enter that in which the dead (?) man lay, lest I should be exposed to further causes for alarm. There was certainly a room in the higher part of the building in which I had been accustomed to sleep; but I dared not venture there in my present state of mind. I entered an adjourning corridor, and paced up and down for a few minutes, but the air was chilly, and I was in total darkness. The disturbance ceased as soon as I had quitted the room. I could not remain where I was, so I re-entered it, but my return was only the signal for fresh disasters. The uproar was resumed with tenfold energy. However much my heart might revolt from it, there was no other course open than to go into the room where the dead body lay. In the condition of one who is driven to the last stage of desperation, I walked, with as much fortitude as I could command, into that chamber. God of Heaven! I had no sooner reached the threshold than I started back with affright. I will not dwell upon that horrible scene; I will not minutely detail the agony I endured. The corpse sat upright! I drew the chamber-door quickly after me and staggered into the next apartment. Powerless and overcome, I fell to the ground.
When I recovered, it was day. The light was streaming into the chamber, and the storm had subsided. Fresh marvels were to be revealed. I was no longer in the room in which I had been on the preceding night. I was in bed, in the chamber where I had hitherto slept! How came I hither? I knew not. I pressed my hand to my brow, and strove to collect my scattered senses. I was bewildered and confused, and could only account for the marvelous transition to which I had been exposed, by some remarkable agency, altogether intangible to my senses, and utterly beyond the power of my understanding to comprehend.
I descended, as soon as I was dressed, to breakfast, of which I sparingly partook. I was pale and agitated. My sitting-room was in its usual state of order. I did not venture into the other apartment, neither did I speak to the woman touching the spectacles I had witnessed.
Hoffmeister returned in the evening, some days sooner than he expected. He observed my altered appearance, and said—
“Was fehlt dir? Du bist krank, nicht wahr?”
“Nein; ich bin recht wohl, Gott sei dank.”
I could not, however, convince Hoffmeister that nothing had happened. I was not disposed to reveal to him what I had witnessed, for I knew he would treat the matter with unbecoming levity. His opinions were very different from mine upon these subjects.
Hoffmeister appeared much depressed in spirits himself. I inquired the cause, but he evaded the question. I concluded that his journey to Berlin had not been attended with satisfactory results, for I could conjecture no other cause for his unhappiness. We retired to rest early, for Hoffmeister appeared fatigued. I proposed that we should sleep together, which my friend gladly assented to.
I was much surprised, when I awoke on the following morning, to find myself alone. What had become of Hoffmeister? Had he, too, been under the domination of some evil power? I knew he was not an early riser, and his absence, therefore, astonished and agitated me. I dressed myself hastily, and immediately went in search of him. I wandered about the adjacent grounds, but he was not there. I could not rest till I had found him. I had known him for many years, and had always loved and esteemed him. He was, till lately, my constant companion—my bosom-friend—in a word, my alter ego.
I resolved to extend my search. I swiftly [pg 689] passed through the avenue of trees, crossed the bridge, and it was not long before I had gained the summit of the road that led into the valley. I stood for a while gazing around me. I gazed earnestly at the dilapidated and time-worn walls of the old castle, in which I had witnessed so many marvelous and horrible sights. I shuddered when I reflected upon them. I resumed my journey, and at length reached a village a few miles distant from my former abode. I walked quickly forward, and on my way met several persons who saluted me, whom I did not remember to have seen before. What could they mean by taking such unwarrantable liberties with me? They did not appear to be drunk, nor to have any intention of insulting me. It was odd—unaccountable. I hurried on. My head began to swim; my eyes were burning hot, and ready to start from their sockets. I was wild—frantic.
I reached the shop of an apothecary, and stepped in to ask for water, to quench my thirst. The man smirked, and asked me how I was. I told him, I did not know him; but he persisted in saying he had been in my company only a night or two before. I was confounded. I seized the glass of water he held in his hand, and took a hearty draught, and precipitately departed. I traveled on. I was bewildered—in a maze, from which I found it impossible to extricate myself. I made inquiries about my friend, but the people stared and laughed, as though there was something extraordinary about me. I wandered about till nightfall, and at last found shelter in a cottage by the road-side, which was inhabited by an infirm old woman.
The next day I returned to the village. I called upon a gentleman with whom I was intimately acquainted. I thought he might be able to give me some tidings of my friend. When I was ushered into his presence he did not know me. I was incredulous. Was I no longer myself? Had I changed my identity? Whence this mystery? I was unable to fathom it. I handed my card to him; he looked at it, and returned it, saying he did not know Mr. Hoffmeister. The card was that of my friend. How it had come into my possession I knew not. I apologized for the error, and informed him that my name was not Hoffmeister, but Heinrich Gottlieb Langström. My surprise may be conceived, when he informed me Langström—in fact, that I myself was dead, and that my body had been found in the stream that flowed past the village the day previously! I was ready to sink through the floor, and could not find language to reply to the monstrous falsehood. I rushed from his presence, feeling assured that some conspiracy was afoot to drive me mad. I must have become so, or I never would have been exposed to the extraordinary delusion to which I afterward became a victim.
I entered a house of public entertainment, and determined to solve this dreadful enigma. I was, unfortunately, acquainted with the doctrines of Pythagoras, and, at the time to which I refer, no doubt insane.
I requested to be shown into a room, where I could arrange my dress. I was conducted into a chamber, in which all things necessary for that purpose were provided. My object, however, was of greater consequence than this. I wished to unravel the strange mystery that surrounded me—to discover, in a word, whether I were really myself, or some other person. There was no way of freeing myself from this horrible suspense and uncertainty than by examining my features in the looking-glass. There was one placed upon a dressing-table, but I shrank from it as though it had been a demon. I dreaded to approach it; I feared to look into it, lest it should confirm all the vague and monstrous misgivings that agitated my mind. I regarded it as the arbiter of my destiny. It possessed the power either to transport me with happiness, or to plunge me into utter, irretrievable misery. In that brief moment I endured an age of agony and suspense. With a faltering step, with a whirling brain, I advanced toward the glass. I stood opposite to it; I looked into it. Distraction! horror of horrors! It was not my own face I beheld! I swooned—fell backward.
When I recovered, I found myself in the arms of a man, who bathed my temples with water. I quickly made my escape from the house. I was pale and haggard, like one stricken with some sudden and grievous calamity. I fancied, as I passed along, that the passengers whom I met stared at me, laughed in my face, and seemed to consider my misfortune a fit subject for their mirth and ridicule. Every hubbub in the street, every screeching voice that assailed my ear, I conceived to be attributable to my horrible transformation. I was afraid to look around; I dared not arrest my progress for a moment, lest any of the mocking fiends should make sport of my unhappy situation, and drive me to some act of desperation. On, on, I hurried. I gained the fields. Thank Heaven! the village lay at a distance behind me. The haunts of men were no place for me. I was something more than mortal. I had undergone a change, of which I had never conceived myself susceptible. I sped forward; naught could impede my course. My only relief was in action. Any thing to dissipate the thoughts that flitted across my distracted brain. Bodily pain might be endured—fatigue, hunger, any corporeal suffering; but to think, was death—destruction. Oh! could I have evaded thought for one moment, what joy, what transport! I fled onward; there was no time to pause—to consider. The sun had already sunk behind the hills, and night was about to spread her mantle o'er the earth, when I threw myself down, exhausted and overpowered. Slumber sealed my eyes, and I lay upon the ground, an outcast of men, an isolated and wretched being, to whom the common lot of humanity had been denied.
I will hurry this painful narrative to a close. I have but a vague idea of the events that occurred during the next few weeks. I remember being told, as I lay in bed, by a young woman who attended me, that I had been found by some workpeople, on the night above referred to, in the vicinity of my former residence, and conveyed thither, and that I had been attacked by the brain fever, and that my life had been despaired of by my medical attendant.
The body which had been found in the stream, and which was supposed to be mine, was that of my dear friend, Hoffmeister. In his agitation, previously to his committing the dreadful act of suicide, he had inadvertently mistaken my garments for his own.
When I became convalescent, I determined upon leaving, as soon as possible, the scene of my recent suffering. Before doing so, I proceeded to the village which I had previously visited. I called upon the gentleman who had not recognized me on a former occasion; but, strange to say, he now remembered me perfectly, and received me very kindly indeed. I referred to the circumstance of our late interview, but he had no recollection of it. While we were thus conversing, a third person entered the room, the very image of my friend, and who, it appeared was his brother. An explanation at once ensued.
These matters I have thought it necessary to explain. There are, however, occurrences in the narrative, of which I can give no solution, though I may premise, that my conviction is, that those which took place in the village, arose from natural causes, with which I am nevertheless unacquainted. The body of the man, who, I have reason to believe, was not quite dead when he was brought to me, I conveyed with me to Berlin. The old woman I never again beheld.