University of Virginia Library

METZENGERSTEIN.

Horror and fatality have been stalking abroad in
all ages. Why then give a date to the 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 Bruyére says of all our unhappiness—
“vient de ne puvoir etre seuls.”

But there were 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 même, 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, 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
Berlifitizing might look, from their lofty buttresses,
into the very windows of the Chateau Metzengerstein.
Least of all was the more than feudal magnificence
thus discovered calculated 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
on the side of the weaker and less influential.

Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although honorably
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
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 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 heyday
of the young blood—the heart 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—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 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 and
bloody 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 instantaneously 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
dignitaties, 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 Princess Metzengerstein—
their muscular war-coursers plunging over the carcass
of a fallen foe—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 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 shroud 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 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, 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.

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 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 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-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 were the case, we know our duty
better than to bring him into the presence of a noble
of your family.”

“True!” observed the Baron drily—and at that
instant a page of the bed-chamber came from the
chateau with a heightened color, and 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, 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 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 towards
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 of a peculiar and unintelligible meaning
shot over the beautiful 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 manœuvring
mamma—while his habits and manners,
still less than formerly, offered anything 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
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 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—in
moonlight or in shadow—the young Metzengerstein
seemed rivetted to the saddle of that colossal horse,
whose intractable audacities so well accorded with
the spirit of his own.

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 extensive 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
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.
Instances of peculiar intelligence in the demeanor of
a noble and high spirited steed 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 silent
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 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 long-continued and habitual ride,
an expression of triumphant malignity distorted every
muscle in his countenance.

One tempestuous night, Metzengerstein, awaking
from a heavy and oppressive slumber, descended like
a maniac from his 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 hour's 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 apathetic
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 out-stripped the very Demon of the Tempest,
and extorted from every stupified 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 stair-cases 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.