Henry of Ofterdingen: A Romance Part 10

Love hies along in dusky ways, The moon his only light; The shadow-realm itself displays, And all uncouthly dight.

An azure mist with golden rim Around him floats in play, And quickly Fancy hurries him O'er stream and land away.

His teeming bosom beating is In wondrous spirit-flow; A presagement of future bliss Bespeaks the ardent glow.

And Longing sat and wept aloud, Nor knew that Love was near; And deeper in her visage ploughed The hopeless sorrow's tear.

The little snake remaineth true, It pointeth to the North, And both in trust and courage new Their leader follow forth.

Love hieth through the hot Simoon, And through the vapor-land, Enters the halo of the moon, The daughter in his hand.

He sat upon his silver throne, Alone with his unrest; When heareth he his daughter's tone, And sinketh on her breast.

Eros stood deeply moved by their tender embrace. At length the tottering old man collected himself and bade his guest welcome. He seized his great horn and blew a mighty blast. The ringing echo vibrated through the ancient castle. The pointed towers with their shining b.a.l.l.s, and the deep black roofs, trembled.

The castle stood firm, for it had settled upon the mountain from beyond the deep sea.

Servants were gathering from every quarter; their peculiar forms and dresses delighted Ginnistan infinitely, and did not frighten the brave Eros. They first greeted her old acquaintances, and all appeared before them in new strength, and in all the glory of their natures. The impetuous spirit of the flood followed the gentle ebb. The old hurricanes rested upon the beating breast of the hot, pa.s.sionate earthquake. The gentle showers looked around for the many-colored bow which stood so pallid, far from the sun that most attracts it. The rude thunder resounded through the play of the lightning, behind the innumerable clouds which stood in a thousand charms, and allured the fiery youth. The two sisters Morning and Evening were especially delighted by their arrival. Tears of tenderness were mingled in their embraces. Indescribable was the appearance of this wonderful court. The old king could not gaze long enough upon his daughter. She was tenfold happy in her father's castle, and could not grow weary of looking at the well known wonders and rarities. Her joy was unspeakable, when the king gave her the key to the treasure-chamber, and permission to arrange there a spectacle for Eros, which could entertain him until the signal for breaking up. The treasure-place was a large garden, the variety and richness of which surpa.s.sed all description. Between the immense cloud-trees lay innumerable air-castles of surprising architecture, each succeeding one more costly than the others. Large herds of little sheep with silver-white, golden, and rose-colored wool, were wandering about, and the most singular animals enlivened the grove. Remarkable pictures stood here and there, and the festive processions, the strange carriages which met the eye on every side, continually occupied the attention. The beds were filled with many-colored flowers. The buildings were crowded with every species of weapon, and furnished with the most beautiful carpets, tapestry, curtains, drinking-cups, and all kinds of furniture and utensils arranged in an endless order. From the hill they saw a romantic region overspread with cities and castles, temples and sepulchres; every delight of inhabited plains united to the fertile charms of the wilderness and the mountain steep. The fairest colors were most happily blended. The mountain peaks shone like pyramids of fire in their hoods of ice and snow. The plain lay smiling in the freshest green. The distance was arrayed in every shade of blue, and from the sombre bosom of the sea waved countless pennons of varied hue from numerous fleets.

In the distance a shipwreck was to be seen; here in the foreground a rustic cheerful meal of country people; there the terribly grand eruption of a volcano, the desolating earthquake; and in front beneath shady trees a loving couple in sweet caresses. Further on was a fearful battle, and beyond it a theatre full of the most ludicrous masks. In another spot of the foreground was a youthful corpse upon its bier, to which an inconsolable lover clung, and the weeping parents at its side; beyond was seen a lovely mother with her child at her breast, and angels sitting at her feet, and gazing from the branches over head. The series were continually shifting, and at last all flowed together into one mysterious picture. Heaven and earth were in complete uproar. All terrors had broken loose. A mighty voice cried, "to arms!" A terrible host of skeletons, with black standards, rushed like a tempest from the dark mountain, and attacked the life which was feasting merrily in youthful bands among the open plains, antic.i.p.ating no danger. Terrible tumults arose, the earth trembled, the tempest howled, fearful meteors lighted the gloom. With unheard of cruelty, the host of phantoms tore the tender limbs of the living. A funeral pyre towered on high, and amid shrieks which made the blood run cold, the children of life were consumed by the flames. Suddenly a milk-blue stream broke on all sides from the dark heap of ashes. The phantoms hastened to fly, but the flood visibly swelled and swallowed up the detestable brood. Soon all fear was allayed. Heaven and earth flowed together in sweet music. A flower, wonderful in beauty, floated glittering upon the gentle billows. A shining bow half circled the flood, and on both sides of it sat celestial shapes on splendid thrones. Sophia sat highest with the bowl in her hands, near a majestic man, whose locks were bound by a garland of oak leaves, and who bore in his right hand a palm of peace instead of a sceptre. A lily leaf bent over the chalice of the floating flower. The little Fable sat upon it, and sang to the harp the sweetest song. In the chalice sat Eros himself, bending over a beautiful, slumbering maiden who held him fast embraced. A smaller blossom closed around them both, so that from the thighs they seemed changed to a flower.

Eros thanked Ginnistan with thousand fold rapture. He embraced her tenderly, and she returned his caresses. Wearied by the fatigues of the journey, and by the manifold objects he had seen, he longed for quiet and rest. Ginnistan, who felt deeply attracted by the beautiful youth, took good care not to mention the draught which Sophia had given him.

She led him to a retired bath, and removed his armor. Eros dipped himself in the dangerous waves, and came out again in rapture.

Ginnistan chafed dry his strong limbs knit with youthful vigor. He thought with ardent longing of his beloved, and embraced the charming Ginnistan in sweet delusion. He surrendered himself carelessly to his tenderness, and fell asleep on the fair bosom of his guide.

In the mean time a sad change had taken place at home. The scribe had involved the domestics in a dangerous conspiracy. His fiendish mind had long sought occasion to obtain possession of the government of the house, and to shake off his yoke. Such an occasion he had found. His party first seized the mother and put her in irons. The father also was deprived of everything but bread and water. The little Fable heard the noise in the chamber. She hid herself behind the altar; and observing that there was a concealed door on its farther side, she opened it quickly, and discovered a staircase leading from it. She closed the door behind her, and descended the stairs in the dark. The scribe rushed furiously into the chamber, in order to revenge himself on the little Fable, and to take Sophia captive. Neither of them was to be found. The bowl was also missing, and in his wrath he broke the altar into a thousand pieces, without, however, discovering the secret staircase.

Fable continued to descend for a considerable time. At length she reached an open s.p.a.ce adorned with splendid colonnades, and closed by a great door. All objects there were dark. The air was like one immense shadow; and a darkly beaming body stood in the sky. One could easily distinguish objects, because each figure exhibited a peculiar shade of black, and cast behind a pale glimmer; light and shade seemed to have changed their respective offices. Fable rejoiced to find herself in a new world. She regarded everything with childish curiosity. At length she reached the door, before which upon a ma.s.sive pedestal reclined a beautiful Sphinx.

"What dost thou seek?" said the Sphinx.

"My possession," replied Fable.

"Whence comest thou hither?"

"From olden times."

"Thou art yet a child."

"And will be a child forever."

"Who wilt a.s.sist thee?"

"I will a.s.sist myself. Where are my sisters?" asked Fable.

"Everywhere, and yet nowhere," answered the Sphinx.

"Dost thou know me?"

"Not as yet."

"Where is Love?"

"In the imagination."

"And Sophia?"

The Sphinx murmured inaudibly to itself, and rustled its wings.

"Sophia and Love!" cried Fable triumphantly, and pa.s.sed the door. She stepped into an immense cave, and joyfully reached the aged sisters, who were pursuing their wonderful occupation, by the poor light of a dimly burning lamp. They seemed not to notice their little guest, who busily hovered around them with artless caresses. At last one of them with a crabbed face roughly rebuked her.

"What wouldst thou here, idler? Who has admitted thee? Thy childish steps disturb the quiet flame. The oil is burning to waste. Canst thou not be seated, and occupy thyself usefully?"

"Beautiful aunt," said Fable, "I am no idler. But I cannot help laughing at your door-keeper. She would have taken me to her breast; but seemed to have eaten too much to rise. Let me sit before the door, and give me something to spin. I cannot see well here; and when I am spinning I must be suffered to sing and talk, which might disturb your serious cogitations."

"Thou shalt not go outside; but through a cleft of the rock a beam from the upper world pierces into a side-chamber, there thou mayest spin if thou knowest how. Here lie great heaps of old ends, spin them together.

But have a care; for if thou spin lazily or break the threads, they will wind round and choke thee."

The old woman laughed maliciously and resumed her labor. Fable gathered up an armful of the threads, took distaff and spindle, and tripped singing into the chamber. She looked out through the cleft, and saw the constellation of Phoenix. Rejoicing at the happy omen, she began to spin industriously, leaving the chamber door ajar, and sang in subdued tones:--

Within your cells awaken, Children of olden time; Be every bed forsaken, The morn begins to climb.

Your threadlets I am weaving Into a single thread: In _one_ life be ye cleaving,-- The times of strife are sped.

Each one in all is living, And all in each beside; _One_ heart its pulses giving.

From _one_ impelling tide.

Yet spirits only are ye.

But dream and witchery.

Into the cavern fare ye, And vex the holy Three.

The spindle turned with incredible velocity between her little feet, while she twisted the thread with both her hands. During the song, innumerable little lights became visible, which pa.s.sed through the c.h.i.n.k of the door, and spread through the cave in hideous masks. The elders continued spinning gloomily, and in expectation of the cries of distress of little Fable. But how terrified were they when a horrible nose appeared over their shoulders, and when upon looking around they beheld the whole cave filled with fearful forms, engaged in a thousand fantastic tricks. They shrunk together, howled with frightful voices, and would have turned to stone through fear, had not the scribe entered the cave bearing with him a mandrake root. The lights concealed themselves in the rocky cleft, and the cave became entirely illuminated, while the black lamp was extinguished, having been overturned in the confusion. The old hags were glad when they heard the scribe approaching; but were full of wrath against the little Fable.

They called her forth, rebuked her terribly, and forbade her spinning longer. The scribe smiled grimly; because he supposed that now the little Fable was in his power, and said,

"It is good that thou art here, and art kept employed. I hope that thou receivest thy share of punishment. Thy good spirit has guided me hither. I wish thee a long life and many pleasures."

"I thank thee for thy good will," said Fable; "lo, what a good age is approaching thee. The hourgla.s.s and sickle only are wanting to make thee like in looks to the brother of my beautiful aunts. If thou needest quills, only pluck a handful of soft down from their cheeks."

The scribe threatened to attack her. She smiled and said,

"If thy beautiful locks and spiritual eyes are dear to thee, beware!

think of my nails, thou hast not much more to loose."

He turned with stifled rage towards the old women, who were rubbing their eyes, and searching for their distaffs. They could not find them because the lamp was extinguished; but they vented their rage against Fable.

"Do let her go," said he spitefully, "that she may catch tarantulas to prepare your oil. I will tell you for your consolation that Eros is restlessly on the wing, and by his industry will keep your scissors busy. His mother, who has so often compelled you to spin the lengthened threads, will become a prey to the flames to-morrow."

He laughed with joy, when he saw that Fable wept at this news, and giving a piece of the root to the old people, departed chuckling. The sisters, though supplied with oil, angrily ordered Fable to go in search of tarantulas, and Fable hastened away. She pretended to open the door, slammed it noisily, and crept stealthily to the back of the cave, where a ladder was hanging down. She ascended quickly, and soon came to an aperture, which opened into the apartment of Arcturus.

The king sat surrounded by his counsellors when Fable appeared. The Northern Crown adorned his head. He held the lily in his left hand, the balance in his right. The eagle and the lion sat at his feet.