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Edgar Allan Poe: Metzengerstein
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Poe
METZENGERSTEIN
by Edgar Allan Poe
1850
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? 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 of their
probability–I say nothing. I assert, however, that much of our
incredulity–as La Bruyere says of all our unhappiness–"vient de ne pouvoir
etre seuls."
But there are some points in the Hungarian superstition which were fast
verging to absurdity. They–the Hungarians–differed very essentially from
their Eastern authorities. For example, "The soul," said the former–I give
the words of an acute and intelligent Parisian–"ne demeure qu'un seul fois
dans un corps sensible: au reste–un cheval, un chien, un homme meme, n'est
que la ressemblance 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 observed
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, as 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 palace Metzengerstein. Least of all had the more than feudal
magnificence, thus discovered, a tendency 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 prophecy seemed to imply–if it
implied anything–a final triumph on the part of the already more powerful
house; and was of course remembered with the more bitter animosity by the
weaker and less influential.
Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although 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 infirmity, great age, nor mental incapacity, prevented his daily
participation in the dangers of the chase.
Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was, on the other hand, not yet Mary,
followed him 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 heyday 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 placed his hand upon her
placid forehead. No shudder came over his delicate frame–no sigh from his
flinty bosom. 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 seldom held before by a
nobleman of Hungary. His castles were without number. 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 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 security
against the 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 unanimous opinion of the neighborhood added the crime of the
incendiary to the already hideous 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
shadowy and majestic 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. There, the dark, tall statures of the Princes
Metzengerstein–their muscular war-coursers plunging over the carcasses of
fAllan foes–startled the steadiest nerves with their vigorous expression;
and here, again, 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 gradually
increasing uproar in the stables of Berlifitzing–or perhaps pondered upon
some more novel, some more decided act of audacity–his eyes became
unwittingly rivetted to the figure of an enormous, and unnaturally colored
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.
On Frederick's lip arose a fiendish expression, as he became aware of the
direction which his glance had, without his consciousness, assumed. Yet he
did not remove it. On the contrary, he could by no means account for the
overwhelming anxiety which appeared falling like a pall upon his senses. It
was with difficulty that he reconciled his dreamy and incoherent feelings
with the certainty of being awake. The longer he gazed the more absorbing
became the spell–the more impossible did it appear that he could ever
withdraw his glance from the fascination of that tapestry. But the tumult
without becoming suddenly more violent, with a compulsory 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, however, was but momentary, his gaze returned mechanically to
the wall. To his extreme horror and astonishment, 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 gigantic and disgusting
teeth.
Stupefied 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 outline against the quivering tapestry, and he
shuddered to perceive that shadow–as he staggered awhile upon the
threshold–assuming the exact position, and precisely filling up the contour,
of the relentless and triumphant murderer of the Saracen Berlifitzing.
To lighten the depression of his spirits, the Baron hurried into the open
air. At the principal gate of the palace he encountered three equerries.
With much difficulty, and at the imminent peril of their lives, they were
restraining the convulsive plunges of a gigantic and fiery-colored
horse.
"Whose horse? 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 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 strange, since he bears evident marks of having made a
narrow escape from the flames.
"The letters W. V. B. are also branded very distinctly on his forehead,"
interrupted a second equerry, "I supposed them, of course, to be the
initials of Wilhelm Von Berlifitzing–but all at the castle are positive in
denying any knowledge of the horse."
"Extremely singular!" said the young Baron, with a musing air, and
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 are 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 into the presence of a noble of your family."
"True!" observed the Baron, dryly, and at that instant a page of the
bedchamber came from the palace with a heightened color, and a precipitate
step. He whispered into his master's ear an account of the 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, 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 in his own possession.
"Have you heard of the unhappy death of the old hunter Berlifitzing?"
said one of his vassals to the Baron, as, after the departure of the page,
the huge steed which that nobleman had adopted as his own, plunged and
curvetted, with redoubled 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 indeed true, my lord; and, to a noble of your name, will be, I
imagine, no unwelcome intelligence."
A rapid smile shot over the countenance of the listener. "How died
he?"
"In his rash 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 turned quietly 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 behavior
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 neighboring
aristocracy. He was never to be seen beyond the limits of his own domain,
and, in this wide and social world, was utterly companionless–unless,
indeed, that unnatural, impetuous, and fiery-colored horse, which he
henceforward continually bestrode, had any mysterious right to the title of
his friend.
Numerous invitations on the part of the neighborhood for a long time,
however, periodically came in. "Will the Baron honor our festivals with his
presence?" "Will the Baron join us in a hunting of the
boar?"–"Metzengerstein does not hunt;" "Metzengerstein 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 wish 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 atrocious and reckless behavior 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 them 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 animal'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–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 astounding difference,
the wildest expectations of the most imaginative. The Baron, besides, had no
particular name for the animal, although all the rest in his collection were
distinguished by characteristic appellations. His stable, too, was appointed
at a distance from the rest; and with regard to grooming and other necessary
offices, none but the owner in person had 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 steed 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.
Instances of peculiar intelligence in the demeanor of a noble and
high-spirited horse are not to be supposed capable of exciting unreasonable
attention–especially among men who, daily trained to the labors of the
chase, might appear well acquainted with the sagacity of a horse–but there
were certain circumstances which intruded themselves per force upon the most
skeptical and phlegmatic; and it is said there were times when the animal
caused the gaping crowd who stood around to recoil in horror from the deep
and impressive meaning of his terrible stamp–times when the young
Metzengerstein turned pale and shrunk away from the rapid and searching
expression of his earnest and human-looking eye.
Among all the retinue of the Baron, however, none were found to doubt the
ardor 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
everybody'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
long-continued and habitual ride, an expression of triumphant malignity
distorted every muscle in his countenance.
One tempestuous night, Metzengerstein, awaking from a heavy slumber,
descended like a maniac from his chamber, and, mounting in hot 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 neighborhood stood idly around in silent and pathetic wonder.
But a new and fearful object soon rivetted the attention of the multitude,
and proved how much more intense is the excitement wrought in the feelings
of a crowd by the contemplation of human agony, than that brought about by
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 extorted from every stupefied beholder the
ejaculation–"horrible."
The career of the horseman was indisputably, on his own part,
uncontrollable. The agony of his countenance, the convulsive struggle 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
gate-way and the moat, the steed bounded far up the tottering staircases of
the palace, and, with its rider, disappeared amid the whirlwind of chaotic
fire.
The fury of the tempest immediately died away, and a dead calm sullenly
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 smoke settled heavily over the
battlements in the distinct colossal figure of–a horse.
THE END
Edgar Allan Poe: Metzengerstein
Up to the EServer | The Complete Works of Edgar Allan
Poe
METZENGERSTEIN
by Edgar Allan Poe
1850
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? 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 of their
probability–I say nothing. I assert, however, that much of our
incredulity–as La Bruyere says of all our unhappiness–"vient de ne pouvoir
etre seuls."
But there are some points in the Hungarian superstition which were fast
verging to absurdity. They–the Hungarians–differed very essentially from
their Eastern authorities. For example, "The soul," said the former–I give
the words of an acute and intelligent Parisian–"ne demeure qu'un seul fois
dans un corps sensible: au reste–un cheval, un chien, un homme meme, n'est
que la ressemblance 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 observed
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, as 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 palace Metzengerstein. Least of all had the more than feudal
magnificence, thus discovered, a tendency 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 prophecy seemed to imply–if it
implied anything–a final triumph on the part of the already more powerful
house; and was of course remembered with the more bitter animosity by the
weaker and less influential.
Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although 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 infirmity, great age, nor mental incapacity, prevented his daily
participation in the dangers of the chase.
Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was, on the other hand, not yet Mary,
followed him 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 heyday 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 placed his hand upon her
placid forehead. No shudder came over his delicate frame–no sigh from his
flinty bosom. 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 seldom held before by a
nobleman of Hungary. His castles were without number. 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 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 security
against the 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 unanimous opinion of the neighborhood added the crime of the
incendiary to the already hideous 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
shadowy and majestic 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. There, the dark, tall statures of the Princes
Metzengerstein–their muscular war-coursers plunging over the carcasses of
fAllan foes–startled the steadiest nerves with their vigorous expression;
and here, again, 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 gradually
increasing uproar in the stables of Berlifitzing–or perhaps pondered upon
some more novel, some more decided act of audacity–his eyes became
unwittingly rivetted to the figure of an enormous, and unnaturally colored
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.
On Frederick's lip arose a fiendish expression, as he became aware of the
direction which his glance had, without his consciousness, assumed. Yet he
did not remove it. On the contrary, he could by no means account for the
overwhelming anxiety which appeared falling like a pall upon his senses. It
was with difficulty that he reconciled his dreamy and incoherent feelings
with the certainty of being awake. The longer he gazed the more absorbing
became the spell–the more impossible did it appear that he could ever
withdraw his glance from the fascination of that tapestry. But the tumult
without becoming suddenly more violent, with a compulsory 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, however, was but momentary, his gaze returned mechanically to
the wall. To his extreme horror and astonishment, 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 gigantic and disgusting
teeth.
Stupefied 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 outline against the quivering tapestry, and he
shuddered to perceive that shadow–as he staggered awhile upon the
threshold–assuming the exact position, and precisely filling up the contour,
of the relentless and triumphant murderer of the Saracen Berlifitzing.
To lighten the depression of his spirits, the Baron hurried into the open
air. At the principal gate of the palace he encountered three equerries.
With much difficulty, and at the imminent peril of their lives, they were
restraining the convulsive plunges of a gigantic and fiery-colored
horse.
"Whose horse? 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 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 strange, since he bears evident marks of having made a
narrow escape from the flames.
"The letters W. V. B. are also branded very distinctly on his forehead,"
interrupted a second equerry, "I supposed them, of course, to be the
initials of Wilhelm Von Berlifitzing–but all at the castle are positive in
denying any knowledge of the horse."
"Extremely singular!" said the young Baron, with a musing air, and
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 are 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 into the presence of a noble of your family."
"True!" observed the Baron, dryly, and at that instant a page of the
bedchamber came from the palace with a heightened color, and a precipitate
step. He whispered into his master's ear an account of the 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, 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 in his own possession.
"Have you heard of the unhappy death of the old hunter Berlifitzing?"
said one of his vassals to the Baron, as, after the departure of the page,
the huge steed which that nobleman had adopted as his own, plunged and
curvetted, with redoubled 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 indeed true, my lord; and, to a noble of your name, will be, I
imagine, no unwelcome intelligence."
A rapid smile shot over the countenance of the listener. "How died
he?"
"In his rash 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 turned quietly 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 behavior
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 neighboring
aristocracy. He was never to be seen beyond the limits of his own domain,
and, in this wide and social world, was utterly companionless–unless,
indeed, that unnatural, impetuous, and fiery-colored horse, which he
henceforward continually bestrode, had any mysterious right to the title of
his friend.
Numerous invitations on the part of the neighborhood for a long time,
however, periodically came in. "Will the Baron honor our festivals with his
presence?" "Will the Baron join us in a hunting of the
boar?"–"Metzengerstein does not hunt;" "Metzengerstein 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 wish 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 atrocious and reckless behavior 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 them 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 animal'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–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 astounding difference,
the wildest expectations of the most imaginative. The Baron, besides, had no
particular name for the animal, although all the rest in his collection were
distinguished by characteristic appellations. His stable, too, was appointed
at a distance from the rest; and with regard to grooming and other necessary
offices, none but the owner in person had 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 steed 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.
Instances of peculiar intelligence in the demeanor of a noble and
high-spirited horse are not to be supposed capable of exciting unreasonable
attention–especially among men who, daily trained to the labors of the
chase, might appear well acquainted with the sagacity of a horse–but there
were certain circumstances which intruded themselves per force upon the most
skeptical and phlegmatic; and it is said there were times when the animal
caused the gaping crowd who stood around to recoil in horror from the deep
and impressive meaning of his terrible stamp–times when the young
Metzengerstein turned pale and shrunk away from the rapid and searching
expression of his earnest and human-looking eye.
Among all the retinue of the Baron, however, none were found to doubt the
ardor 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
everybody'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
long-continued and habitual ride, an expression of triumphant malignity
distorted every muscle in his countenance.
One tempestuous night, Metzengerstein, awaking from a heavy slumber,
descended like a maniac from his chamber, and, mounting in hot 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 neighborhood stood idly around in silent and pathetic wonder.
But a new and fearful object soon rivetted the attention of the multitude,
and proved how much more intense is the excitement wrought in the feelings
of a crowd by the contemplation of human agony, than that brought about by
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 extorted from every stupefied beholder the
ejaculation–"horrible."
The career of the horseman was indisputably, on his own part,
uncontrollable. The agony of his countenance, the convulsive struggle 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
gate-way and the moat, the steed bounded far up the tottering staircases of
the palace, and, with its rider, disappeared amid the whirlwind of chaotic
fire.
The fury of the tempest immediately died away, and a dead calm sullenly
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 smoke settled heavily over the
battlements in the distinct colossal figure of–a horse.
THE END
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