Phantastes, A Faerie Romance

I should have ill endured, the day before, to be called BOY; but now the

motherly kindness of the word went to my heart; and, like a boy indeed,

I burst into tears. She soothed me right gently; and, leading me into

a room, made me lie down on a settle, while she went to find me some

refreshment. She soon returned with food, but I could not eat. She

almost compelled me to swallow some wine, when I revived sufficiently to

be able to answer some of her questions. I told her the whole story.

"It is just as I feared," she said; "but you are now for the night

beyond the reach of any of these dreadful creatures. It is no wonder

they could delude a child like you. But I must beg you, when my husband

comes in, not to say a word about these things; for he thinks me even

half crazy for believing anything of the sort. But I must believe my

senses, as he cannot believe beyond his, which give him no intimations

of this kind. I think he could spend the whole of Midsummer-eve in

the wood and come back with the report that he saw nothing worse than

himself. Indeed, good man, he would hardly find anything better than

himself, if he had seven more senses given him."

"But tell me how it is that she could be so beautiful without any heart

at all--without any place even for a heart to live in."

"I cannot quite tell," she said; "but I am sure she would not look so

beautiful if she did not take means to make herself look more beautiful

than she is. And then, you know, you began by being in love with

her before you saw her beauty, mistaking her for the lady of the

marble--another kind altogether, I should think. But the chief thing

that makes her beautiful is this: that, although she loves no man, she

loves the love of any man; and when she finds one in her power, her

desire to bewitch him and gain his love (not for the sake of his love

either, but that she may be conscious anew of her own beauty,

through the admiration he manifests), makes her very lovely--with a

self-destructive beauty, though; for it is that which is constantly

wearing her away within, till, at last, the decay will reach her face,

and her whole front, when all the lovely mask of nothing will fall to

pieces, and she be vanished for ever. So a wise man, whom she met in

the wood some years ago, and who, I think, for all his wisdom, fared no

better than you, told me, when, like you, he spent the next night here,

and recounted to me his adventures."