The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 04: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English. in Twenty Volumes
General
The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 04: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English. in Twenty Volumes
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
However, it seemed to be his damnation that his suspicions should
awaken just at the time when he grew confidential; for they had no
more than entered the hall when the glow of the many lights revealed
an expression in his friend's features which he did not like. He
thought he detected a malicious smile, and it seemed to him that he,
Hugo, said very little to him, that he talked a great deal with the
other people present, and seemed to pay absolutely no attention to
him. There was an old knight in the company who had always shown
himself as Eckbert's rival, and had often inquired in a peculiar way
about his riches and his wife. Hugo now approached this man, and they
talked together a long time secretly, while every now and then they
glanced toward Eckbert. He, Eckbert, saw in this a confirmation of his
suspicions; he believed that he had been betrayed, and a terrible rage
overcame him. As he continued to stare in that direction, he suddenly
saw Walther's head, all his features, and his entire figure, so
familiar to him. Still looking, he became convinced that it was nobody
but Walther himself who was talking with the old man. His terror was
indescribable; completely beside himself, he rushed out, left the city
that night, and, after losing his way many times, returned to his
castle.
Like a restless spirit he hurried from room to room. No thought could
he hold fast; the pictures in his mind grew more and more terrible,
and he did not sleep a wink. The idea often occurred to him that he
was crazy and that all these notions were merely the product of his
own imagination. Then again he remembered Walther's features, and it
was all more puzzling to him than ever. He resolved to go on a journey
in order to compose his thoughts; he had long since given up the idea
of a friend and the wish for a companion.
Without any definite destination in view, he set out, nor did he pay
much attention to the country that lay before him. After he had
trotted along several days on his horse, he suddenly lost his way in a
maze of rocks, from which he was unable to discover any egress.
Finally he met an old peasant who showed him a way out, leading past a
water-fall. He started to give him a few coins by way of thanks, but
the peasant refused them.
"What can it mean?" he said to himself. "I could easily imagine that
that man was no other than Walther." He looked back once more--it was
indeed no one else but Walther!
Eckbert spurred on his horse as fast as it could run--through meadows
and forests, until, completely exhausted, it collapsed beneath him.
Unconcerned, he continued his journey on foot.
Dreamily he ascended a hill. There he seemed to hear a dog barking
cheerily close by--birch trees rustled about him--he heard the notes
of a wonderful song:
O solitude
Of lonely wood,
Thou chiefest good,
Where thou dost brood
Is joy renewed,
O solitude!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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