THEwaters tossed and foamed through the huge rocks that were pressed so close together that up amid the heights a strip of blue sky was scarcely to be seen. Upon a narrow slippery path, alongside the oozy rocky walls, ran Sorrow, as fast as though the path were sure and the surroundings a flowery meadow. The rushing waters threatened every moment to ingulf her. Their thunder, repeated by a thousand echoes, seemed to grow yet louder, and sounded so menacingas though the audacious pilgrim must turn back before them. But with burning cheeks Sorrow hurried onwards, and her long black hair floated behind her like a somber cloud. Her nostrils quivered, her lips opened and shut, with outstretched arms she whispered or called something, but the sound died away before it was spoken. Her eyes stared into space as though she would search the depths, and yet they had fain be cast down, for the gorge narrowed and the last trace of a path was inundated by the water. Beneath her surged a whirlpool, above her rushed the water, rushed down in ever new masses; now it sounded like song, now like moaning voices, now like pealing thunder. One moment she halted, then she raised her thin skirts and began to wade through the water where the rocks had quieted it a little andscooped out a place large enough for her small feet. With one hand she held herself against the rocky wall and looked from time to time into the depths where yawned the opening of a cavern. At the risk of death she reached the entrance and stood still a second, breathing deeply. Once more her gaze eagerly swept the sides of the cliffs; there was no projection on which to gain a footing, no bird could have stood there. Out of the cavern's mouth there gushed water, and it too offered no road. One more look did she cast back, then she resolutely entered the cave and groped through it in the dark, along the wet stones. Often she sank deep into the waters. When she lost sight of the last sheen of daylight she resolved to wade, and did not feel in the icy cold of the water how the stones cut her feet. At last a red spotgleamed. She thought it was the daylight outside the cavern. Then the space enlarged. In this impenetrable darkness there was a huge vault adorned with columns and capitals and ornaments of all kinds. Darting lights and shades quivered through the hall, which re-echoed with the sound of weeping and moaning. It was a confusion of sobbing women, whimpering children, groaning, sighing men, and every flash of light seemed to increase the misery. Sorrow pressed her hands upon her breast and panted. She was so dazzled that at first she could not see whence these lightnings came; the horrible sounds about her made her giddy. She leaned against one of the shining columns and shading her eyes with her hand, sought to follow the water-course and so discover the exit. There she beheld a colossal man, as tall, rough,and angular as the columns around. His ardent eyes were fixed on her. In his hand he held the lightnings, which from time to time he threw across the cave like fiery arrows or blue snakes.
"Come here, little Sorrow," he called in a voice of thunder. "Have you found your way to me? Come here, for you are mine."
Sorrow clung to the pillar against which she leaned and seized one of its pendent points. Pale as death, she glared at the monster who beckoned to her.
"I will not come to you," she said at last. "I do not know you. I seek for Peace whom I saw go in here, and I am hurrying after him. Oh," she cried, and wrung her hands; "oh, have you hidden him here, or perchance killed him, you terrible man?"
"I am Pain. Peace is not here, but beyond this cave, in the happy valley."
"Show me the exit that I may follow him;" and Sorrow sank down on her knees imploringly.
The fearful man laughed, and his laughter was louder than the rushing and thundering of the waters, more terrible than the sound of moaning round about.
"No, child; you and I, we do not belong to the happy valley, and the exit thither is barred to us by the weepers who fill this cave, and who are our victims. We two belong together. You shall be my wife, and we will seek a spot to fix our dwelling."
"Your wife!"
The words came from Sorrow's breast like a cry, but they were drowned in laughter. Then she darted up and turned to fly. Buther arm was seized in such a grip that she thought it would break, and Pain swung his lightnings over her head.
"If ever you flee from me," he roared, "one of these shall fall on you, and what you will then feel will be so horrible that crushed, burnt, tortured, you will scarcely be able to moan like these wretches. I will show them to you."
He lifted the hand that held the lightnings and illuminated the whole space. No human words can tell what fearful forms filled it. Of every age and sex stricken ones lay around. They wound themselves in agony, they lacerated themselves with their fists, they clawed the stones and with the nails of their hands and feet tried to raise themselves. Horrid wounds were held under the falling drops to cool them. Women writhed in eternal birth-throes andcould not bring forth; children beat their heads sore against the rocky walls to overpower the pain that gnawed their entrails. Many lay on their knees and wrung their hands and beat their breasts in unextinguishable remorse. Others lay motionless, as though dead, only their eyes moved slowly in their sockets, following the direction of the light. Sorrow veiled her face and tottered; Pain caught her in his arms and pressed her to his breast.
"As great as are these agonies, so great is my love," he said.
Sorrow wept passionately.
"How could you think Peace could be yours. You have nothing in common with him. You are mine; you belong to me. I have loved you in your deeds without beholding you; your traces delighted my eyes."
He drew her hands away from her face and kissed her. Sorrow closed her eyes that she might not see him, but under her dark lids tears welled forth, which he kissed away.
"Weep, weep, my little maid; your tears are dew, far fairer than your laughter, they refresh and cheer me."
She tried to get loose from him, but he held her with his iron grasp.
"If you are afraid here," he said, "I will bear you to a sweet spot and win you there with violence."
He hastily raised the trembling maiden in his arms, threw a lightning in front of him that traced a line of light along the whole dark passage, and wading through the waters that seemed to retreat from his feet, he hurried to the cavern's mouth. He bore her past thewaterfall, and when he let her glide to earth, he took hold of her hand, as though he feared she would escape him. She often looked back and tried to think of the happy valley, but to her mental vision there ever appeared only the cave with its desperate inhabitants. She hoped the terrible man might grow weary, and then if sleep overcame him, she could flee; therefore she complained of fatigue. But Pain was never weary; he instantly carried her again, and went onwards yet faster.
"Be happy," he said, "for now at least some one carries you."
She turned her head away from his gleaming eyes. Then a great sense of weakness came over her, and it seemed to her as though they were going backwards, as though the rushing of the river came ever nearer, as though his eyespierced her breast. Powerless to speak or move, she lay in the arms of Pain. Oh, where—where was her brother Death, who could have freed her? Where her father Strife? He would have wrestled with her captor. Or was he too powerless against this all-mighty Pain? She would have prayed the river, the trees, the grasses to help her, but they did not see her need. At last she lost consciousness, and when she woke she lay under a rock amid deep hot sand—no tree, no song of bird, no murmur of waters; only sand, yellow burning sand and golden air that quivered in the heat.
"My wife," said Pain, and his eyes burnt like the sand and the air, and seemed to drain Sorrow's life blood. Her tears began to flow anew.
"Oh! how thirsty I am," she moaned.
Pain looked at her with satisfaction.
"Well," he said, "was it not beautiful in that cool gorge, so near to the cold foaming river? Do you recall how clear it was, and how it gushed out of the rocks? It came from the happy valley, that is so full of luscious fruits, fruits such as you have never beheld. Shall I show it you?"
At his words Sorrow's eyes had grown ever bigger, her lips more parched.
"Yes, yes," she panted, and behold, away, across the sand, there shimmered in the air a broad stream, and beside it were shady trees laden with fruits. Without knowing what she did, Sorrow sprang up and ran to the river as fast as she could, through the deep sand, under the scorching sunbeams. But the river seemed to retreat ever further from her, and at lastit had vanished. At the same moment Pain laughed behind her, and it sounded as though the whole desert laughed.
"Do you now see that you are wholly in my power; you can even only think as I will. Here is water."
He showed her a few trees that overshadowed a well. Sorrow fell down beside it and drank eager draughts. Then she sank into a deep sleep. When she woke the trees were withered, the well dried up, and there was again nothing but sand as far as the eye could reach.
"Do you see," said Pain, "we are stronger than the sun and the desert wind; all must vanish before our might. Wherever we have passed pestilence has broken out, towns and villages are burnt; and where we set up our dwelling the earth grows a desert."
Sorrow wrung her hands. She sprang up and hurried forward. A whole long day she sped on, on, and did not see that he followed. At evening he came towards her and laughed, and laughed so long that the whole desert grew noisy, and hyenas and jackals began to howl, and lions approached roaring. But Pain held them in check with his look of fire, so that they only walked round them from afar off all the night. When day dawned the wild beasts withdrew.
"Oh," said Sorrow, "I die of fear. Take me away from here, wherever you will, only away from this heat, these horrid beasts."
"Do you want coolness, love? You shall have it."
He took her in his arms and bore her fast as the wind towards the north, ever further,past the homes of men, past fields and cities, across the ocean, which he waded through, up to the North. There lay a lovely islet, and birches shook their tender foliage in the fresh breezes.
"Here we will found our happy valley," said Pain, and beckoned.
And as he beckoned the wind blew colder and sharper, the grass crackled under his feet as it withered and froze, and from the ocean there neared crystal mountains that came closer and closer to the land, and the wind that drove them to shore howled dismally. Soon the whole air was filled with snow that whirled from above, from below, from all sides, choking like fine sand. Ice-blocks were piled upon ice-blocks, there was much thundering and crackling, but at last all was still, wrapped in snowand awful silence. The transparent rocks stared up to the heavens like frozen joy. Pain flung a lightning dart into the ice. It bored a blue-green glistening cave in which he laid Sorrow.
"Do you stay here and rest," he said; "I will search for a verdant spot. But do not stir from here, for out of the ice-fields you will never find your road back to the happy valley."
Scarcely had he gone than Sorrow felt her frozen blood revive, and the terrible woe in her breast seemed to yield. First she leaned on her hand and peeped out, then she knelt and breathed on her numbed fingers, then she stepped outside. There towered blocks of ice; here snow was spread in endless extent. She knew that the snow covered the island and theice-blocks the sea, and it was over the ice-blocks she must wander, for otherwise she could not get across it. She began to slip through the cracks and crevices, to jump from one block to another, following the sunbeams that alone marked a track for her. She did not rest when night came for fear she should be pursued. Twice she went round the island without knowing it, in her senseless fear; but at last the sun led her out of the ice-bound world and across the first green blades of grass. Then she sank down for very weariness. How she found her road back to the mountain gorge she never knew. She entered it trembling. If he was already here, he from whom she had fled, then she was lost. After her wanderings upon the ice, this road seemed to be quite easy, and her fearful glances around were notdirected to the masses of water that poured down yet more wildly than when she had first come here, and which seemed to threaten her tender form at every moment, as though they would sweep her away like a leaf. Trembling in every limb, and with chattering teeth, Sorrow entered the dreadful cave.
It was dark, and the confusion of voices sounded painfully through the vaults. Suddenly she felt herself surrounded on all sides, and held by her hands and clothes.
"I will not let you go before you liberate me," a voice sounded at her ear.
"Give me back happiness," moaned another.
"Make me well again," cried a third.
"We are but echoes of the woes of earth," they cried; "but you shall hear us, though you stay here forever."
"But I cannot help you," wailed Sorrow.
"Yes," they shrieked; "you can bring woe, but you will not free us. Revenge! revenge!"
And Sorrow felt herself pressed against the angular columns, and in the noise that clamored round her, she heard—
"Bind her, bind her, tear out her heart. Blind the eyes of her who has brought so much woe."
In her fear she cried—
"Beware what you do, Pain comes behind me, and terrible will be his revenge if you hurt a hair of my head."
Then she forced a road for herself and ran on, on to the spot where she fancied was the outlet She groped a long while along the dripping walls, but just as she had found it, she felt herself held anew, and a voice said—
"And what will Pain do to you if you flee thither? Kiss me, or I will betray you."
"Do not kiss him, his face is quite mutilated," called another voice.
"I will betray you," was whispered into her ear. "I will hold you fast until Pain comes. Kiss me."
Sorrow bent down trembling, and touched a hideous mass with her delicate lips; then she freed herself shuddering, and fled on again along the dark passage. She had to bend nearly double, it grew so low. She dipped her hand in the water and washed her face. It seemed to her as if she never advanced, as if she would never reach the end. At last there shone a bright spot that slowly grew larger. There, yes, there, gleamed the dear sun; there must be the happy valley. But how, if Peace, whom shehad sought in vain over the whole earth, were there no longer! But if he were not, she could at least follow in his footsteps, and rest there where he had passed.
Now the outlet of the cave yawned, and Sorrow stood still dazzled. Whatever there was that was fair on earth, whatever could be pictured of power and beauty, was all collected in that valley—luscious greenery, wealth of flowers that covered the earth or crept along the giant trees in lovely garlands, trees that no ax had ever touched, and a singing of birds like heavenly music. A deep green lake reflected all this beauty; deer and gazelles stood around it and drank.
At Sorrow's feet shone strawberries in rich red masses, above her head hovered a bird of paradise, the tip of his golden tail touched her hair.
Suddenly Sorrow heard a voice, at whose tones it seemed to her as though her heart leapt from her mouth. At first it sounded so soft, so full and gentle, like purest melody; then it seemed to retreat. Sorrow held her breath. Now again it came nearer, and at last she could hear the words.
"You are the only maid on earth whom I can love, and you will not stay with me! Is it not fair enough here to please you?"
To whom were these words spoken, for whom the caressing sound of that voice? Sorrow bent back a branch and beheld Peace with his heavenly eyes, calm like a deep lake, and his radiant face of blooming youth. Sorrow was so sunk in contemplation that she forgot herself, her existence, and the sufferings she had endured. Her soul was in her eyes and quaffed eagerlythis first refreshment. Then another face came to view. Sorrow at once recognized Work by her bright blue eyes and the waving of her golden locks. She was blushing and tending her sweet lips to Peace. How lovely they both were under the green half shadows of the broad leaves! Sorrow held her breath, the branch trembled in her hand.
"Do not go back to earth," Peace pleaded; "you know what that is like."
"I must, I must," said Work. "I am the comforter in all need, I have dried the tears of even Sorrow herself."
"Oh do not speak of Sorrow here."
"Have you ever beheld her?"
"I have beheld her!" and Peace's eyes grew veiled; "and she destroyed my heaven with her ugly eyes. I have fled from her across thewhole world and hidden here from her sight, for through that awful cave she will not come. Her victims will not let her pass, if ever she sets foot in it."
At that instant the poor listener felt herself seized in an iron grasp, and the cry that would have issued from her was stifled by a strong hand. She reeled back through the dark passage, into the cavern in which lightning flamed. Now she was forcibly bound and before her stood Pain in towering passion.
"What shall I do to you, faithless one?" he gnashed.
"Revenge, revenge!" resounded from all sides, and a rain of stones hit the defenseless one.
Sorrow sank on her knees, but Pain raised her.
"No," he said, "she is not to be given over to you, for she must return to earth; but I will return her to earth in such a manner that she shall with unconcern do yet more mischief than heretofore."
He seized Sorrow by her hair and drew her forth relentlessly, away from the howls of the cave which pursued her long.
It was twilight outside; under the rocks it was already night. Sorrow was dragged onwards, she knew not how, she knew not whither. Now she flew up the mountain sides, ever higher, higher, dragged, when her tottering knees would no longer bear her, across bare stones and through thorn-bushes. A fearful storm raged. At last she reached a high mountain top on which there was only room for her foot. Here she stood a second above thedark-threatening mountain forest lashed by the wind, high and free, above the mountains and the clefts, above the firs and the waters, alone in the world. She no longer felt, she did not see Pain who cowered near to her on a rocky ledge and waited. Now he raised his hand and cast lightning upon lightning towards her. From her crown to her feet she felt herself torn and penetrated by these glowing rays.
She silently extended her arms and turned round slowly. As she did so, the last lightning dart pierced through her eyes into her heart, and she fell down, down, deep into the yawning precipice. Pain listened until he heard her fall, and then laughed terribly. The mountains answered his laugh with thundrous voice, the firs bent and broke, the waters stood still a second for fear.
How long Sorrow lay in that abyss none knew, for none asked after her. The firs alone kept watch over the sleeper and whispered dreams to her that she did not hear.
One day strong steps broke the silence, and Courage, his club upon his shoulder, came singing by. He beheld Sorrow as she lay there, her head on a stone, her feet in the water, encircled with her long black hair that had been bathed in blood. He raised the body and rubbed her numb hands.
"Have I got you at last?" he said, "I wanted to find you. You may not die, you must be alive again."
He warmed her in his arms, he revived her with his breath until she opened her eyes.
"Why do you seek me?" she asked in tuneless voice. "I am dead."
"The world misses you, you must wander again. Sin reigns unchecked since you have vanished."
"Let her keep her empire," said Sorrow, and closed her eyes.
Courage shook her.
"It must not be, little sister, you must wander again."
"But I am dead, do you not see? Do you not see that I am burnt?—my brain, my eyes, my heart; leave me alone."
"That does not concern the world whether you wander through it dead or alive, but wander you must. I will not let you go till you do."
He raised her on her feet. She turned and looked at him. He grew pale. Her face was stony, her eyes stony, her hair hung round her rigid and dead.
"Shall I go?" she said, without moving her lips.
"Go," said Courage, "for you all pains are past; you will gaze into the world indifferently, a fearful enemy to Sin."
Sorrow swept her hair from off her marble brow, and tried to collect herself. As memory stirred, her eyes began to flash again; but their light died down almost immediately. Yes, she had grown terrible, as terrible as Pain had desired in his fierce vengeance, as terrible as she needed to be to put a curb on Sin. Poor little Sorrow!
THEforest gorge was full of the sound of trickling and running waters. A streamlet skipped from rock to rock. Through the dense foliage a sunbeam crept here and there, and changed into a rainbow in the embraces of the waters. Here and there dark little pools formed, upon whose surface floated a withered leaf, until it came too close to the current and vanished, whirling over the nearest waterfall. Huge tree trunks had fallen across the gorge. They were used asbridges by the mosses and climbing plants that overgrew them with exuberant vitality, and hung down from their sides as though they would drink of the waters that murmured beneath. There of a sudden a wondrously white arm stretched forth from out of the climbing plants. In its delicate hand it held a staff of rock crystal with a diamond knob, that flashed and glistened strangely, as though the sun had stepped down to behold itself in the mountain stream. Then fair curls came to view over the confusion of plants that covered the tree trunk; then a rosy face, with large dreamy eyes, now black, now dark blue in color, according to the thoughts that swayed under the cover of its curls. Anon the charming being knelt, and one could see the golden girdle that held the soft garment which clung about her tender form, and herother hand that held a spindle cut from a single emerald, which she twirled in the air as though she would that it outshine the green of the beech leaves.
"Oh, Märchen,[2]Märchen," the brook began to sing, "will you not bathe to-day? Put by your staff and spindle and dip down to me. I have not kissed you to-day."
The fair head peeped down and looked into the wood. No, there was no one there, not even a deer. So Märchen laid distaff and spindle among the moss of the tree trunk, twisted her hair into a knot, let fall her linengarment, and, seizing hold of two twigs, let herself glide down to the surface of the brook, and then began to swing merrily to and fro, her feet touching the water as she swung. But the brook did not cease from singing, and from imploring her to come down into him. Then she let go the twigs, and fell, like a shower of spring blossoms, into its wavelets.
Far from here was a lonely gorge. Rock towered upon rock, and a torrent forced its way through with difficulty. There a grave man leaned and looked down into the waterfall. His brow was thoughtful; the hand that rested upon the stones was delicate, almost suffering. A pencil had fallen from its grasp. Suddenly there sounded a wondrous singing from out the waterfall, and the man's brow grew clearer as he listened. That was the moment whenMärchen had touched the waters, and it sang and sounded and was full of lovely forms and sweet songs and many fair things that attracted that lonely man. He listened enraptured, and his soul expanded with the things he heard. The brook itself hardly knew what it babbled; it still trembled from having felt Märchen's touch, and it sang for sheer joy. The lonely man departed with lightened brow and airy steps as though the air bore him. He had not long gone before Märchen appeared upon one of the highest rocks, swung her distaff in the air, and filled it with gossamer that glistened in the dew. Then she skipped down, broke a branch from a blossoming wild rose-bush and encircled the distaff with it in lieu of a ribbon, put it into her belt, and, jumping from stone to stone, crossed the brook and went far into theforest. The birds flew about her and chirped to her news of the east and west, the north and south. Squirrels slid out of the trees, seated themselves at her feet, looked at her with their sage eyes, and recounted all that had happened in the wood. The deer and does came about her; even the blind worms reared their heads and chattered with their sharp tongues. Märchen stood still and listened; and from time to time she touched her distaff as though she would say, "Remember."
The forest grew ever denser, the flowers that sent out their scent to Märchen more luxurious. At last she had to bend the branches apart in order to penetrate further. There stood a dream-like castle with tall gabled windows, into which grew the tree branches, and from out which tumbled creeping plants. Roof and wallshad vanished beneath the roses that grew over all things, and out of the castle sounded a thousand songs of birds. Märchen stepped to the open door and entered the wide hall, whose floor and walls were of jewels, and in whose midst a tall fountain played. Round about stood hundreds of Kobolds. They had brought with them little stools of pure gold, and waited to see if their sweet queen be content. She smiled approvingly, and thanked her friends. In midst of all this shimmering splendor fair Märchen stood like a reviving sunbeam.
"See how I have filled my distaff to-day," she said, genially. "I believe a magnet lives in your crystal, to which all things fly. Will you not fill it yet fuller?"
The Kobolds frowned, which made them look very comic, and one said—
"We have resolved to tell you nothing more, because you let it flow from you like the water that tumbles yonder. We have watched you. When you go forth at eve, you go to our enemies, the mortals—those wretched thieves that rob our treasures, and you tell them our secrets."
"No," said Märchen, "I do not go to all mortals; only to some—your friends, who love you as I do; and I only tell them as much as they deserve. Will you not go on trusting me?"
They pushed a golden stool near to the fountain and began to recount to Märchen, whose eyes gleamed like the ocean. When she had heard enough, and given it to the distaff to guard, she nodded to her little guests, who hurried away. She then passed into the nearest chamber. There stood such a wealth of flowers thatone could not tell where first to rest one's eyes. The walls were covered with all the wonders of the tropics; from the ceiling hung orchids; the floor was overgrown with soft green moss, from which peeped crocuses, hyacinths, violets, primroses, and lilies of the valley. Hummingbirds and nightingales greeted their queen joyously, while from the flower crowns elves uprose and stretched out their arms in love.
Märchen seated herself on the grass and let them talk to her, toyed with the fair flower-children and began to sing in unison with the birds. Then she entered the next room, whose walls were pure rock crystal, that reflected Märchen many hundred times. In its center, under mighty palm fans, was a large basin, studded with rubies, into which foamed a waterfall. The nixes lay around it upon couches,and waited for the beauty whom as yet they had not seen that day. But Märchen wanted to hear no more; she had, like a true queen, given ear to so many that she was overpowered with fatigue, and craved rest. So she passed into the next room, that was a single little bower of rushes and bindweeds; the ground was strewn with poppy flowers, and in its midst stood the fairest couch eye has seen—one single, large rose—into which Märchen laid herself, and that closed its leaves above her.
Now the rushes began to rustle like an echo of distant singing, and the bindweeds tolled their bells, and the poppies gave forth their faint odor, and Märchen slumbered deep and sweet until the evening.
When the sun was sinking, and gazed like a large, glowing eye between the trunks of theforest, so that all the leaves looked golden, Märchen awoke, placed her distaff in her girdle, put the spindle beside it, and stepped outside.
Twilight was creeping up mysteriously and dreamily and spreading its wings over the forest. The birds grew still; only the toads in the watery gorge began their one-toned song. A gentle murmur ran through the leaves and across the parched grass, for all wanted to look on Märchen and aspired towards her. Now the moon rose and threw bright lights hither and thither and haunted the trees. He wanted to kiss Märchen and entice her forth to play upon the forest meadow.
"The elves await you," he called after Märchen, who would not listen, but floated on airily, as though the evening breezes bore her. A mill stood beside the brook in the shadow ofthe beeches. A fire gleamed within it, around which people sat gathered. Märchen entered, and called the children. They flew towards her and drew her to the fireside, brought her a stool to sit upon, and gazed with large, eager eyes at her full distaff.
Märchen caressed the dear, fair heads, drew forth the spindle, knotted the yarn, and began to spin. And while the spindle floated up and down, swirling, she told them what she beheld in the yarn, until from sheer listening the children's eyes fell to, and they never knew next day whether they had really seen Märchen or only in their sleep. She herself slipped out and glided between the trees till she came to a meadow shimmering in evening mist. Hundreds of butterflies hung upon the myriad flowers, two and three on one blossom, and sleptso deep and sound that the heads of the sleepy flowers hung deep down under the weight of so many guests. Only the large night-moth floated about darkly and watched over the whole.
"I wonder if the butterflies dream," thought Märchen, as she knelt down beside the flowers and approached her ear.
Yes, they dreamed of the journeys they had taken that day; they dreamed they had gained far fairer colors: just such green, blue, and red hues like the flowers and leaves. Even the plainest gray one dreamt of colors brighter than the gayest parrot. The flowers dreamt that a warm wind touched them, and gave to them far sweeter scents than they had ever owned—quite intoxicatingly luscious. It was Märchen's breath which they had felt in their sleep.
Soon Märchen came to a pretty house beside a gurgling stream. The water formed a quiet little pool, in which the moon and the ivy-grown house were reflected. The beeches dipped the tips of their branches into it, and a nightingale sang lonesomely into the night. Up in the house burnt a solitary light, like to a glowworm. Märchen entered the house as though it were most familiar to her, opened a door softly, and stepped within a little room. In a deep armchair, beside a writing-table, sat a handsome, pale, agitated man. His head was sunk in his palm, and he gazed with lightless eyes across the table, on which Sorrow was resting both her hands.
"See," he said, "this morning, beside the mountain stream, I was glad for a moment. Pictures filled my brain, but now all is emptyand dead, and I am so weary—so weary. I wish to die. I cannot forgive my body that it still lives on, and yet a heavenly gift dwells within me that keeps me alive and makes me believe I could still create. But I do nothing more. Fatigue has grown stronger than aught else in this ugly world. Would that I had never been born, for I am a man who must reflect the whole world in its pain and suffering and falsehood. I love men too much, and therefore they have no faces for me. I only see their souls, and these are beautiful notwithstanding all wickedness and misery. Now I grow miserable with them. I should like to hide before my own eyes, for I am worth nothing—nothing. All that I do is vain, and will vanish unheard; all I think others know much better. A fire burns in me that consumes me in lieu of warmingmy fellow-men. I feel like one that is drowning, to whom no saving hand is extended. I should be a man and save myself, but my strength is at an end. I have lived too much. I have lived through all that which others have felt, and borne my own woes besides. Now it is too much, do you see—too much; and I can no longer give to the world what I fain would have given it—all the new, great, lovely things that dwell in my brain. But it had no time to listen to me. And perhaps there is, after all, no value in these things, though to my small mind they seemed so great. Yet they cannot bear the light. I am weary. I want to die."
Sorrow listened, and never took her eyes from him; but her pitying gaze made him yet more irritable and desperate. Suddenly Märchen stood before him, with glittering distaff, withshining teeth and beaming eyes; dimples in her cheeks, and the distaff of promise in her hands. He looked at her and was dazzled.
"I wanted to help," said Sorrow, "but he grew ever worse."
"Youhelp him!"
Märchen laughed.
"Go your ways and leave him to me; I will manage him. I know all. You are once more weary of the world and want to die, and have no talent, and men are all bad, very wicked indeed, and faithless, and have deserted you, and do not believe in you. Oh, you poor, poor human soul! Why do you not become a butterfly and sleep on a flower? He knows that he has wings, and that his flower has scent, and that his meadow is quite full of blossoms. What does he care whether the others see itsince he sees it! And now look here; I have come back, although you scarcely deserve it, you doubter. Look at this heavy laden distaff, that is for you, only for you, if you will listen to me."
And Märchen began to spin and sing and narrate all night long, and her friend wrote and wrote, without knowing that his pencil moved; he thought he had only heard and listened. He wrote down thoughts and songs and poems; they streamed like living fire from under his hand. And what he wrote moved the world. Men thought his thoughts after him, and sang his songs, and wept over his stories, and knew not that the poet who had given them all these things was sad unto death, misunderstood of all, and that Sorrow visited him far oftener than Märchen.
They called him a child of the gods and a genius, and knew not that he was a man for whose soul Sorrow and Märchen struggled ceaselessly, and who had suffered so much grief and seen so many wonders that his strength was broken. Ay, the children of the gods must suffer much on earth, and Märchen only visits those that have been proved, and ever departs from them if they have made themselves unworthy of her. Once she told at parting the tale which follows:—
Footnotes[2]I have been forced to keep the German word, as no English one covers that peculiar type of German fanciful stories that are known under this appellation.Märchenare something more than fairy tales; something deeper, wider, richer, and more varied. The queen calls the present book a cycle ofMärchen.—Translator.
Footnotes[2]I have been forced to keep the German word, as no English one covers that peculiar type of German fanciful stories that are known under this appellation.Märchenare something more than fairy tales; something deeper, wider, richer, and more varied. The queen calls the present book a cycle ofMärchen.—Translator.
Footnotes
[2]I have been forced to keep the German word, as no English one covers that peculiar type of German fanciful stories that are known under this appellation.Märchenare something more than fairy tales; something deeper, wider, richer, and more varied. The queen calls the present book a cycle ofMärchen.—Translator.
[2]I have been forced to keep the German word, as no English one covers that peculiar type of German fanciful stories that are known under this appellation.Märchenare something more than fairy tales; something deeper, wider, richer, and more varied. The queen calls the present book a cycle ofMärchen.—Translator.
THEPhilosopher and the Poet set out together on a pilgrimage, to seek after the hidden treasure of cognition[3]and to raise it. They had been told that it lay buried there where the rainbow touches the earth, and that it was quite easy to find. The Philosopher dragged instruments with him, andbegan accurate measurements, and as often as he saw a rainbow he carefully measured the distance, determined the spot with mathematical accuracy, hurried thither and began to dig. The Poet, meanwhile, laid himself in the grass and laughed and toyed with the sunbeams. They played about his happy brow, they told to him bright fairy tales of dreamland, and showed him the life and working of nature. He grew familiar with all plants and creatures, he learnt to know their speech, and he became versed in their secret whisperings and sighs. Ay, all created things came to have faces for him, from the tenderest plant and the most insignificant beast, and before his eyes were unrolled deeds full of woe and joy.
When at last the Philosopher, with solemn look, torn hands, and weary back, rose fromhis shaft back into daylight, laden with some new stones, he marveled when he saw the Poet's face radiant, as though he had heard wonders.
"How transfigured you are, you lazy one!" he said angrily.
"Who tells you that I am lazy?"
"You always remain here on the surface while I go into the depths."
"Perhaps the surface, too, offers some solutions, and perchance I read these."
"What can the surface offer? One must penetrate into the depths. I have as yet not found the right spot in which the promised treasure lies, but I have made some most important discoveries, though never yet the right ones, those that I apprehend."
"Let us seek further," said the Poet.
Suddenly he held his friend by the arm, and pointed with breathless delight.
"Another rainbow!" cried the Philosopher, and began his measurements.
But the Poet had seen behind the sun-glittering rainbow a wondrous form with black hair and large, sad eyes. She seemed to wait for him; then she turned away slowly. As though demented, the Poet rushed after her; he forgot the aim of his pilgrimage, forgot his friend, who had descended into a new shaft. He only hurried after that wondrous being whose eyes had sunk into his soul. Over hill and dale, from house to house he followed the fair form. He saw the world and its agonies, wherever he looked he beheld woe, for in his own heart dwelt the greatest woe, the gnawing pangs of love. He ever thought he must attain to his enchantress,who stepped in front of him so calmly, through the fallen autumn leaves, across the soft snow, in the bitter north wind—north, south, east, and west, ever unapproachable. Once or twice she looked round after him, and her gaze only increased his yearning.
At last Spring neared on the wings of the wind. At the spot whence the Poet had set out the fair form halted. Now he should reach it. But at that moment a hurricane broke loose that shook the world. Forests were uprooted, and all the sluices of heaven seemed opened. The Poet crossed the foaming mountain stream at the peril of his life, and came up to her who stood calm amid all this uproar, and only gazed at him. He seized her hand.
"You are mistaken in me," she said, sadly. "I wanted to flee from you because I love you,for I bring you no happiness. I am Sorrow, and must leave you a heavy heart and serious thoughts. Farewell! You have found your treasure; now you need me no longer."
So speaking she vanished.
The hurricane had changed into a fine, drizzling rain, through which the Spring sunbeams pierced to the Poet. At that moment the Philosopher rose out of the earth richly laden. He let all his burden fall, folded his hands, and cried—"Why, you lucky wight, you stand in the very midst of the rainbow, straight upon the treasure."
"Who? I?" said the Poet, waking from his stupor. Then he threw himself to earth and wept aloud and cried—
"Oh that I had never been born! I suffer unspeakable torture."
The Philosopher shrugged his shoulders and began to dig anew.
"There stands one right upon his treasure," he said, "and does not know it; and when I tell him he weeps. Oh these poets!"