"Niemand hat meine Gestalt als der Ich." Schoppe, in JEAN PAUL'S Titan.
"No one has my form but the I."
"Joy's a subtil elf. I think man's happiest when he forgets himself." CYRIL TOURNEUR, The Revenger's Tragedy. On the third day of my journey, I was riding gently along a road, apparently little frequented, to judge from the grass that grew upon it. I was approaching a forest. Everywhere in Fairy Land forests are the places where one may most certainly expect adventures. As I drew near, a youth, unarmed, gentle, and beautiful, who had just cut a branch from a yew growing on the skirts of the wood, evidently to make himself a bow, met me, and thus accosted me:
"Sir knight, be careful as thou ridest through this forest; for
it is said to be strangely enchanted, in a sort which even those
who have been witnesses of its enchantment can hardly describe."
I thanked him for his advice, which I promised to follow, and
rode on. But the moment I entered the wood, it seemed to me
that, if enchantment there was, it must be of a good kind; for
the Shadow, which had been more than usually dark and
distressing, since I had set out on this journey, suddenly
disappeared. I felt a wonderful elevation of spirits, and began
to reflect on my past life, and especially on my combat with the
giants, with such satisfaction, that I had actually to remind
myself, that I had only killed one of them; and that, but for the
brothers, I should never have had the idea of attacking them, not
to mention the smallest power of standing to it. Still I
rejoiced, and counted myself amongst the glorious knights of old; having even the unspeakable presumption—my shame and self-condemnation at the memory of it are such, that I write it as the only and sorest penance I can perform—to think of myself (will the world believe it?) as side by side with Sir Galahad! Scarcely had the thought been born in my mind, when, approaching me from the left, through the trees, I espied a resplendent knight, of mighty size, whose armour seemed to shine of itself, without the sun. When he drew near, I was astonished to see that this armour was like my own; nay, I could trace, line for line, the correspondence of the inlaid silver to the device on my own. His horse, too, was like mine in colour, form, and motion; save that, like his rider, he was greater and fiercer than his counterpart. The knight rode with beaver up. As he halted right opposite to me in the narrow path, barring my way, I saw the reflection of my countenance in the centre plate of shining steel on his breastplate. Above it rose the same face—his face—only, as I have said, larger and fiercer. I was bewildered. I could not help feeling some admiration of him, but it was mingled with a dim conviction that he was evil, and that I ought to fight with him.
"Let me pass," I said.
"When I will," he replied.
Something within me said: "Spear in rest, and ride at him! else
thou art for ever a slave."
I tried, but my arm trembled so much, that I could not couch my
lance. To tell the truth, I, who had overcome the giant, shook
like a coward before this knight. He gave a scornful laugh, that
echoed through the wood, turned his horse, and said, without
looking round, "Follow me."
I obeyed, abashed and stupefied. How long he led, and how long I
followed, I cannot tell. "I never knew misery before," I said to
myself. "Would that I had at least struck him, and had had my
death-blow in return! Why, then, do I not call to him to wheel
and defend himself? Alas! I know not why, but I cannot. One
look from him would cow me like a beaten hound." I followed, and
was silent.