Tales From the "Phantasus," etc. of Ludwig Tieck

by Ludwig Tieck

As soon as she had ended, she began to undress, laying aside her garments in a splendid wardrobe. First, she took from her head a golden veil, and her long black hair flowed in full ringlets down to her waist; then she loosed her bosom-dress, and the youth forgot himself and the world in gazing at the superterrestrial beauty. After some time, she went to another golden cabinet, took thereout a tablet that glittered with inlaid stones, rubies, diamonds, and all kinds of jewels, and stood contemplating it with scrutinising look. The tablet seemed to form a strange unintelligible figure, with its several lines and colours; one while, as its brightness glanced towards him, he was painfully dazzled; then, again, a soft green and blue playing over it, refreshed his eye; but he stood devouring the objects with his looks, and at the same time absorbed in deep thoughts. In his inmost heart there was opened up an abyss of forms and harmony, of longing and desire; troops of winged tones and sad and joyful melodies passed through his spirit, that was moved to the very foundation: he saw a world of pain and hope arise within himself, mighty wondrous rocks of trust and daring confidence, deep torrents as of melancholy flowing by. He no longer knew himself; and he was terrified as the fair one opened the window, and reaching forth to him the magic tablet, spoke to him these few words: "Take this in remembrance of me!" He grasped the tablet, and felt the figure; the invisible within him immediately passed away, and the light, and the potent beauty, and the strange hall, had vanished. As it were, a dark night, with cloud-curtains, fell within his inmost soul; he searched after his former feelings, after that inspiration and incomprehensible love; he gazed at the costly tablet, in which the sinking moon was mirrored faint and bluish.

He still held the tablet fast pressed within his hands, when the morning dawned; and he, exhausted, giddy, and half-asleep, fell headlong down the steep mountain-side.

The sun shone on the face of the stupified sleeper; who, on awaking, found himself again upon a pleasant hill. He looked around, and beheld far behind him, and scarcely discernible at the extreme horizon, the ruins of the Runenberg; he searched for the tablet, and could no where find it. Astonished and perplexed, he tried to collect his thoughts and unite his recollections; but his memory was as if filled with a confused mist, in which shapeless and unknown forms were wildly contending with one another. His entire former life lay behind him, as in a far distance; the strangest and the most familiar were so mingled together, that he found it impossible to sever them. After long struggle with himself, he at last thought that a dream, or sudden madness, must have befallen him that night; but still he could not understand how he had wandered so far into a strange and remote region.

Still, almost overcome with sleep, he descended the hill, and came upon a beaten path, which led him down from the mountains on to the open country. All was strange to him; he at first thought that he should find his native home, but he saw before him quite a different region, and at length conjectured that he must be on the southern side of the mountains, which in the spring he had trodden from the north. Towards noon he stood over a village from whose cottages a peaceful smoke was ascending; children clad in festal dress were playing on the green, and from the little church came the sound of the organ and the chant of the congregation. All seized him with a sweet, indescribable melancholy; all so stirred his heart, that he was forced to weep. The narrow gardens, the little cottages with their smoking chimneys, the neatly parted cornfields, reminded him of the wants of poor human nature, of its dependence on the friendly earth, in whose beneficence it is obliged to trust; while the singing and the tones of the organ filled his heart with a devoutness he had never felt before. His feelings and wishes of the previous night appeared to him reckless and wicked; he wished again, in a childlike, dependent, and humble spirit, to unite himself to men as his brethren, and to withdraw from his ungodly purposes and opinions. The plain, with its little river that wound itself in manifold turnings about the gardens and meadows, seemed charming and alluring to him; he thought with fear on his abode in the solitary mountains amid the desolate rocks; he longed that he might dwell in this peaceful village; and with these feelings he entered the crowded church.

The singing was just ended, and the priest had begun his sermon, which was on the kindness of God in the harvest; how His goodness feeds all, and satisfies every living thing; how wonderfully in the corn He has provided for the support of the human race; how the love of God is incessantly communicating itself in bread; and therefore the devout Christian may, with thankfulness, perpetually celebrate a holy supper. The congregation was edified. The young hunter's looks were fixed on the pious preacher, and observed close by the pulpit a young maiden, who seemed, beyond all others, resigned to devotion and attention. She was slim and fair, her blue eye gleamed with the most piercing softness, her countenance was as if transparent, and blooming with the tenderest colours. The stranger youth had never felt himself and his heart so before; so full of love and so calm, so resigned to the stillest and the most enlivening feelings. He bowed himself in tears, when the priest at last spoke the blessing; he felt penetrated by the holy words, as by an invisible power; and the shadowy image of the night sank down behind him, like a spectre, into the deepest distance. He left the church, stopped a while under a tall lime-tree, and thanked God in a fervent prayer, that, without his deserving, He had freed him from the snares of the evil spirit. The village was that day celebrating the harvest-feast, and all men were determined to be joyful; the children gaily dressed were rejoicing in cakes and dances; the young men on the village square, which was encircled with young trees, were preparing all things for the festival, where also the musicians were sitting and trying their instruments. Christian went again into the fields, in order to collect his thoughts and fix his contemplations, and then returned to the village, where now all were united in joyfulness and celebration of the festival. The fair Elizabeth was also there with her parents; and the stranger joined himself to the joyful throng. Elizabeth was dancing; and he had, in the mean time, entered into conversation with the father, who was a farmer, and one of the richest men in the village. The youth and speech of the stranger seemed to please him, and so in a short time it was agreed that Christian should remain with him as gardener. This he was able to undertake; for he hoped that now the knowledge and occupations he had so much despised at home would stand him in good stead.

From this time a new life began for him. He went to live with the farmer, and was reckoned with his family. With his station also he changed his dress. He was so good, so serviceable, and ever kind; so diligent at his labour, that soon all in the house, but especially the daughter, became friendly to him. So often as on Sunday he saw her going to church, he held for her in readiness a beautiful nosegay, which she received from him with blushing thankfulness: he missed her when the day passed without his seeing her; and then in the evening she would relate to him legends and pleasant stories. They became ever more needful to each other; and the old people, who observed it, seemed not to have any thing against it; for Christian was the handsomest and most industrious youth in the village. They themselves, from the first moment, had felt a constraint of love and friendship towards him. After half a year, Elizabeth was his wife. It was again spring; the swallows and birds of song had come into the land; the garden stood in its gayest attire; the marriage was celebrated with all joyfulness; bride and bridegroom appeared as if intoxicated with their happiness. Late in the evening, as they went to their chamber, the young husband said to his beloved: "No, thou art not that form which once charmed me in a dream, and which I never can quite forget; yet am I happy in thy presence, and blest in thine embrace."

How joyful was the family, when, after a year, it was increased by a little daughter, that was named Leonora. It is true that Christian was at times somewhat more serious as he contemplated the child; but yet his youthful sprightliness always again returned to him. He scarcely ever thought of his former way of life, for he felt himself quite at home and contented. After some months, however, the thought of his parents occurred to him, and especially how his father would rejoice at his peaceful lot, at his condition as gardener and husbandman; it pained him that he had been able for so long a time to forget father and mother; his own child reminded him of what joy children are to parents; and so he at length resolved to put himself on the journey, and revisit his native home.

Unwillingly he left his wife; all wished him happiness; and in the fine season of the year, on foot he took his way. Already, after a few miles, he felt how painful was the parting; for the first time in his life he felt the smart of separation; the strange objects around seemed almost savage to him; he felt as if he were lost in a hostile solitude. Then the thought occurred to him that his youth was over; that he had found a home to which he belonged, in which his heart had taken root; he could almost lament the lost levity of former years; and he felt the extremest dejection of spirit as at a village he turned into the inn to pass the night. He could not comprehend why he had left his affectionate wife and acquired parents; and peevish and discontented, he next morning set forth to continue his journey.

His anguish increased as he came near the chain of mountains; the distant ruins were already visible, and gradually became more distinguishable; while numerous hill-tops rose round and clear from out the blue mist. He went timidly on; often stopping and wondering with himself at the fear, at the horror, which more and more oppressed him at every step. "Madness!" he exclaimed, "I know thee well, and thy perilous allurement; but I will manfully withstand thee. Elizabeth is no idle dream; I know that she now thinks on me, that she is expecting me, and, full of love, counts the hours of my absence. Do I not already see forests as black hair before me? Do not the lightening eyes look towards me from the brook? The giant forms, are they not advancing to me from the mountains?"

With these words, he was about to lay himself down to rest beneath a tree, when he saw an old man sitting under its shadow, who was, with the greatest attention, contemplating a flower, now holding it towards the sun, then again shading it with his hand, counting its leaves, and striving in all ways to impress it strictly on his memory. As he approached nearer, the form seemed known to him, and soon no doubt remained that the old man with the flower was his father. He rushed into his arms with an expression of the most vehement joy; the other was delighted, but not astonished, at meeting him so suddenly.