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Written for the Saturday Courier.
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METZENGERSTEIN.
"Pestis eram vivus, moriens tua mors ero."
MARTIN LUTHER.
HORROR
and fatality have been stalking abroad in all ages. Why then give a
date
to this story I have to tell? I will not. Besides I have other reasons
for concealment. Let it suffice to say that, at the period of which I
speak,
there existed, in the interior of Hungary, a settled although hidden
belief
in the doctrines of the Metempsychosis. Of the doctrines themselves —
that
is, of their falsity, or probability — I say nothing. I assert,
however,
that much of our incredulity (as La Bruyere observes of all our
unhappiness,) vient de ne pouvoir etre seuls.
But there are some points in the
Hungarian
superstition
(the Roman term was religio,) which were fast verging to absurdity.
They,
the Hungarians, differed essentially from the Eastern authorities. For
example — "The soul," said the former, (I give the words of an acute,
and
intelligent Parisian,) "ne demeure, quun seul fois, dans un corps
sensible — au reste — ce quon croit d'etre un cheval —
un chien —
un homme — n'est que le resemblance peu tangible de ces animaux."
The families of Berlifitzing, and
Metzengerstein
had been at variance for centuries. Never, before, were two houses so
illustrious
[,] mutually embittered by hostility so deadly. Indeed, at the era of
this
history, it was remarked by an old crone of haggard, and sinister
appearance,
that fire and water might sooner mingle, than a Berlifitzing clasp the
hand of a Metzengerstein. The origin of this enmity seems to be found
in
the words of an ancient prophecy. "A lofty name shall have a fearful
fall,
when, like the rider over his horse, the mortality of Metzengerstein
shall
triumph over the immortality of Berlifitzing."
To be sure, the words themselves had
little or no
meaning — but more trivial causes have given rise (and that no long
while
ago) to consequences equally eventful. Besides, the estates, which were
contiguous, had long exercised a rival influence, in the affairs of a
busy
government. Moreover, near neighbors are seldom friends; and the
inhabitants
of the Castle Berlifitzing might look, from their lofty buttresses,
into
the very windows of the Chateau Metzengerstein; and least of all had
the
more than feudal magnificence thus discovered, calclated to allay the
irritable
feelings of the less ancient, and less wealthy Berlifitzings. What
wonder
then, that the words, however silly, of that prediction, should have
succeeded
in setting, and keeping at variance, two families, already predisposed
to quarrel, by every instigation of hereditary jealousy? The words of
the
prophecy implied, if they implied any thing, a final triumph on the
part
of the already more powerful house, and were, of course, remembered,
with
the more bitter animosity, by the weaker, and less influential.
Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although
honourably,
and loftily descended, was, at the epoch of this narrative, an infirm,
and doting old man, remarkable for nothing but an inordinate, and
inveterate
personal antipathy to the family of his rival, and so passionate a love
of horses, and of hunting, that neither bodily decrepitude, great age,
nor mental incapacity, prevented his daily participation in the dangers
of the chace [chase].
Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was,
on the
other
hand [,] not yet of age. His father, the Minister G——, died young. His
mother, the Lady Mary, followed quickly after. Frederick was, at that
time,
in his fifteenth year. In a city [,] fifteen years are no long period —
a child may be still a child in his third lustrum. But in a wilderness
— in so magnificent a wilderness as that old principality, fifteen
years
have a far deeper meaning.
The beautiful Lady Mary! — how could
she die? —
and
of consumption! But it is a path I have prayed to follow. I would wish
all I love to perish of that gentle disease. How glorious! to depart in
the hey-day of the young blood — the heart of all passion — the
imagination
all fire — amid the remembrances of happier days — in the fall of the
year,
and so be buried up forever in the gorgeous, autumnal leaves! Thus died
the Lady Mary. The young Baron Frederick stood, without a living
relative,
by the coffin of his dead mother. He laid his hand upon her placid
forehead.
No shudder came over his delicate frame — no sigh from his gentle bosom
— no curl upon his kingly lip. Heartless, self-willed, and impetuous
from
his childhood, he had reached the age of which I speak, through a
career
of unfeeling, wanton, and reckless dissipation, and a barrier had long
since arisen in the channel of all holy thoughts and gentle
recollections.
From some peculiar circumstances
attending the
administration
of his father, the young Baron, at the decease of the former, entered
immediately
upon his vast possessions. Such estates were, never before, held by a
nobleman
of Hungary. His castles were without number — of these, the chief, in
point
of splendor and extent, was the Chateau Metzengerstein. The boundary
line
of his dominions was never clearly defined, but his principal park
embraced
a circuit of one hundred and fifty miles.
Upon the succession of a proprietor
so young,
with
a character so well known, to a fortune so unparalleled, little
speculation
was afloat in regard to his probable course of conduct. And, indeed,
for
the space of three days, the behavior of the heir, out-heroded Herod,
and
fairly surpassed the expectations of his most enthusiastic admirers.
Shameful
debaucheries — flagrant treacheries — unheard-of atrocities — gave his
trembling vassals quickly to understand, that no servile submission on
their part — no punctilios of conscience on his own were,
thenceforward,
to prove any protection against the bloodthirsty and remorseless fangs
of a petty Caligula. On the night of the fourth day, the stables of the
castle Berlifitzing were discovered to be on fire — and the
neighborhood
unanimously added the crime of the incendiary, to the already firghtful
list of the Baron's misdemeanors and enormities. But, during the tumult
occasioned by this occurrence, the young nobleman himself, sat,
apparently
buried in meditation, in a vast, and desolate upper apartment of the
family
palace of Metzengerstein. The rich, although faded tapestry hangings
which
swung gloomily upon the walls, represented the majesteic, and shadowy
forms
of a thousand illustrious ancestors. Here, rich-ermined priests, and
pontifical
dignitaries, familiarly seated with the autocrat, and the sovereign,
put
a veto on the wishes of a temporal king, or restrained, with the fiat
of
papal supremacy, the rebellious sceptre of the Arch-enemy. Here the
dark,
tall statures of the Princes Metzengerstein — their muscular
war-coursers
plunging over the carcass of a fallen foes — startled the firmest
nerves
with their vigorous expression — and here, the voluptuous, and
swan-like
figures of the dames of days gone by, floated away, in the mazes of an
unreal dance, to the strains of imaginary melody.
But as the Baron listened, or
affected to listen,
to the rapidly increasing uproar in the stables of Berlifitzing, or
perhaps
pondered, like Nero, upon some more decided audacity, his eyes were
unwittingly
rivetted to the figure of an enormous and unnaturally coloured horse,
represented,
in the tapestry, as belonging to a Saracen ancestor of the family of
his
rival. The horse, itself, in the foreground of the design, stood
motionless,
and statue-like; while, farther back, its discomfited rider perished by
the dagger of a Metzengerstein. There was a fiendish expression on the
lip of the young Frederick, as he [column 2:]
became
aware of the direction which his glance had, thus, without his
consciousness,
assumed. But he did not remove it. On the contrary, the longer he
gazed,
the more impossible did it appear that he might ever withdraw his
vision
from the fascination of that tapestry. It was with difficulty that he
could
reconcil his dreamy and incoherent feelings, with the certainty of
being
awake. He could, by no means, account for the singluar, intense, and
overwhelming
anxiety which appeared falling, like a shroud, upon his senses. But the
tumult without, becoming, suddenly, more violent, with a kind of
compulsory,
and desperate exertion, he diverted his attention to the glare of ruddy
light thrown full by the flaming stables upon the windows of the
apartment.
The action was but momentary; his gaze returned mechanically to the
wall.
To his extreme horror and surprise, the head of the gigantic steed had,
in the meantime, altered its position. The neck of the animal, before
arched,
as if in compassion, over the prostrate body of its lord, was now
extended
at full length, in the direction of the Baron. The eyes, before
invisible,
now wore an energetic, and human expression; while they gleamed with a
fiery, and unusual red, and the distended lips of the apparently
enraged
horse left in full view his sepulchral and disgusting teeth.
Stupified with terror, the young
nobleman
tottered
to the door. As he threw it open, a flash of red light, streaming far
into
the chamber, flung his shadow, with a clear, decided outline, against
the
quivering tapestry: and he shuddered to perceive that shadow, as he
staggered,
for a moment, upon the threshold, assuming the exact position, and
precisely
filling up the contour of the relentless, and triumphant murderer of
the
Saracen Berlifitzing.
With a view of lightening the
oppression of his
spirits,
the Baron hurried into the open air. At the principal gate of the
Chateau
he encountered three equerries. With much difficulty, and, at the
imminent
peril of their lives, they were restraining the unnatural, and
convulsive
plunges of a gigantic, and fiery-coloured horse.
"Whose horse is that? Where did you
get him?"
demanded
the youth, in a querulous, and husky tone of voice, as he became
instantly
aware that the mysterious steed, in the tapestried chamber, was the
very
counterpart of the furious animal before his eyes.
"He is your own property, Sire,"
replied one of
the
equerries — "at least, he is claimed by no other owner. We caught him,
just now, flying all smoking, and foaming with rage, from the burning
stables
of the Castle Berlifitzing. Supposing him to have belonged to the old
Count's
stud of foreign horses, we led him back as an estray. But the grooms
there
disclaim any title to the creature, which is singular, since he bears
evident
marks of a narrow escape from the flames" ——
"The letters W. V. B. are, moreover,
branded very
distinctly on his forehead," interrupted a second equerry. "We at
first,
supposed them to be the initials of Wilhelm Von Berlifitzing."
"Extremely singular!" said the young
Baron, with
a musing air, apparently unconscious of the meaning of his words. "He
is,
as you say, a remarkable horse — a prodigious horse! Although, as you
very
justly observe, of a suspicious and untractable character. Let him be
mine,
however," he added, after a pause, "perhaps a rider, like Frederick of
Metzengerstein, may tame even the devil, from the stables of
Berlifitzing."
"You appear to be mistaken, my lord,
the horse
(as
I think we mentioned) is not from the stables of the Count. If
such
had been the case, we know our duty better than to bring him in the
presence
of a noble of your name."
"True!" observed the Baron, dryly,
and, at that
instant,
a page of the bed-chamber came from the Chateau with a heightened
colour,
and a precipitate step. He whispered into his master's ear, an account
of the miraculous, and sudden disappearance of a small portion of the
tapestry
in an apartment which he designated — entering, at the same time, into
particulars of a minute, and circumstantial character, but, from the
low
tone of voice in which these latter were communicated, nothing escaped
to gratify the excited curiosity of the equerries.
The young Frederick, however, during
the
conference,
seemed agitated by a variety of emotions. He soon, however, recovered
his
composure, and an expression of determined malignancy settled upon his
countenance, as he gave peremptory orders that a certain chamber should
be immediately locked up, and the key placed, forthwith, in his own
possession.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
"Have you heard of the unhappy death
of the
hunter
Berlifitzing?" said one of his vassals to the Baron, as, after the
affair
of the page, the huge and mysterious steed, which that nobleman had
adopted
as his own, plunged, and curvetted with redoubled, and supernatural
fury
down the long avenue which extended from the Chateau to the stables of
Metzengerstein.
"No!" said the Baron, turning
abruptly toward the
speaker, "dead! say you?"
"It is true, my lord, and is no
unwelcome
intelligence,
I imagine, to a noble of your family."
A rapid smile, of a peculiar and
unintelligible
meaning,
shot over the beautiful countenance of the listener — "How died he?"
"In his great exertions to rescue a
favorite
portion
of his hunting-stud, he has, himself, perished miserably in the
flames."
"I-n-d-e-e-d-!" ejaculated the Baron,
as if
slowly,
and deliberately impressed with the truth of some exciting idea.
"Indeed," repeated the vassal.
"Shocking!" said the youth, calmly,
and returned
into the Chateau.
From this date, a marked alteration
took place in
the outward demeanor of the dissolute young Baron, Frederick Von
Metzengerstein.
Indeed, his behaviour disappointed every expectation, and proved little
in accordance with the views of many a manoeuvering mamma, while his
habits
and manner, still less than formerly, offered any thing congenial with
those of the neighbouring aristocracy. He was seldom to be seen at all;
never beyond the limits of his own domain. There are few, in this
social
world, who are utterly companionless, yet so seemed he; unless, indeed,
that unnatural, impetuous, and fiery-coloured horse which he
thenceforward
continually bestrode, had any mysterious right to the title of his
friend.
Numerous invitations on the part of the neighbourhood for a long time,
however, continually flocked in. "Will the Baron attend our excursions?
Will the Baron honour our festivals with his presence?" — "Baron
Frederick
does not hunt — Baron Frederick will not attend," were the haughty, and
laconic answers. These repeated insults were not to be endured by
an imperious nobility. Such invitations became less cordial — less
frequent.
In time they ceased altogether. The widow of the unfortunate Count
Berlifitzing,
was even heard to express a hope "that the Baron might be at home, when
he did not choose to be at home, since he disdained the company of his
equals — and ride when he did not wish to ride, since he preferred the
society of a horse." This, to be sure, was a very silly explosion of
hereditary
pique, and merely proved how singularly unmeaning our sayings are apt
to
become, when we desire to be unusually energetic.
The charitable, nevertheless,
attributed the
alteration
in the conduct of the young nobleman, to the natural sorrow of a son
for
the untimely loss of his parents; forgetting, however, his [column
3:] atrocious, and reckless behaviour, during the short
period
immediately succeeding that bereavement. Some there were, indeed, who
suggested
a too haughty idea of self-consequence and dignity. Others again, among
whom may be mentioned the family physician, did not hesitate in
speaking
of morbid melancholy, and hereditary ill health; while dark hints of a
more equivocal nature, were current among the multitude.
Indeed, the Baron's perverse
attachment to his
lately
acquired charger, an attachment which seemed to attain new strength
from
every fresh example of the brute's ferocious, and demon-like
propensities;
at length became, in the eyes of all reasonable men, a hideous, and
unnatural
fervor. In the glare of noon, at the dead hour of night, in sickness or
in health, in calm or in tempest, in moonlight or in shadow, the young
Metzengerstein seemed rivetted to the saddle of that colossal horse,
whose
intractable audacities so well accorded with his own spirit. There were
circumstances, moreover, which coupled with late events, gave an
unearthly,
and portentous character to the mania of the rider, and to the
capabilities
of the steed. The space passed over in a single leap, had been
accurately
measured, and was found to exceed, by an incalculable distance, the
wildest
expectations of the most imaginative; while the red lightning itself,
was
declaried to have been outridden in many a long-continued, and
impetuous
career. The Baron, besides had no particular name for the animal,
although
all the rest in his collection, were distinguished by characteristic
appellations.
Its stable was appointed at a distance from the others, and with regard
to grooming, and other necessary offices, none but the owner, in
person,
had ever ventured to officiate, or even to enter the enclosure of that
particular stall. It was also to be observed, that although the three
grooms
who had caught the horse, as he fled from the conflagration at
Berlifitzing,
had succeeded in arresting his course, by means of a chain-bridle and
noose,
yet no one of the three could, with any certainty affirm, that he had,
during that dangerous struggle, or at any period thereafter, actually
placed
his hand upon the body of the beast.
Among all the retinue of the Baron,
however, none
were found to doubt the ardour of that extraordinary affection which
existed,
on the part of the young nobleman, for the fiery qualities of his
horse;
at least, none but an insignificant, and misshapen little page, whose
deformities
were in every body's way, and whose opinions were of the least possible
importance. He, if his ideas are worth mentioning at all, had the
effrontery
to assert, that his master never vaulted into the saddle without an
unaccountable,
and almost imperceptible shudder, and that upon his return from every
habitual
ride, during which his panting and bleeding brute was never know to
pause
in his impetuosity, although he, himself, evinced no appearance of
exhaustion,
yet an expression of triumphant malignity distorted every muscle in his
countenance.
These ominous circumstances portended
in the
opinion
of all people, some awful, and impending calamity. Accordingly one
tempestuous
night, the Baron descended, like a maniac, from his bed-chamber, and,
mounting
in great haste, bounded away into the mazes of the forest.
An occurrence so common attracted no
particular
attention,
but his return was looked for with intense anxiety on the part of his
domestics,
when, after some hours absence, the stupendous, and magnificent
battlements
of the Chateau Metzengerstein were discovered crackling, and rocking to
their very foundation, under the influence of a dense, and livid mass
of
ungovernable fire. As the flames, when first seen, had already made so
terrible a progress, that all efforts to save any portion of the
building
were evidently futile, the astonished neighbourhood stood idly around
in
silent, and apathetic wonder. But a new, and fearful object soon
rivetted
the attention of the multitude, and proved the vast superiority of
excitement
which the sight of human agony excercises in the feelings of a crowd,
above
the most appalling spectacles of inanimate matter.
Up the long avenue of aged oaks,
which led from
the
forest to the main entrance of the Chateau Metzengerstein, a steed
bearing
an unbonneted and disordered rider, was seen leaping with an
impetuosity
which outstripped the very demon of the tempest, and called forth from
every beholder the ejaculation "Azrael!"
The career of the horseman was,
indisputably, on
his own part, uncontrollable. The agony of his countenance, the
convulsive
struggling of his frame gave evidence of superhuman exertion: but no
sound,
save a solitary shriek, escaped from his lacerated lips, which were
bitten
through and through, in the intensity of terror. One instant, and the
clattering
of hoofs resounded sharply, and shrilly, above the roaring of the
flames
and the shrieking of the winds — another, and, clearing, at a single
plunge,
the gateway, and the moat, the animal bounded, with its rider, far up
the
tottering staircase of the palace, and was lost in the whirlwind of
hissing,
and chaotic fire.
The fury of the tempest immediately
died away,
and
a dead calm suddenly succeeded. A white flame still enveloped the
building,
like a shroud, and streaming far away into the quiet atmosphere, shot
forth
a glare of preternatural light, while a cloud of wreathing smoke
settled
heavily over the battlements, and slowly, but distincly assumed the
appearance
of a motionless and colossal horse.
Frederick, Baron Metzengersetin, was the last of
a long line of princes. His family name is no longer to be found among
the Hungarian aristocracy. |
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