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DER BLONDE ECKBERT PDF

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Eckbert the Blond (Der blonde Eckbert) was written in and published the following year in Volksmärchen von Peter Lebrecht. Der blonde Eckbert. byTieck, Ludwig, ; Atkinson, For print-disabled users. Borrow this book to access EPUB and PDF files. The Importance of Ambiguity in "Der blonde Eckbert". Ludwig Tieck's reputation as one of the founding fathers of German Romanticism rests primarily in the.


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Title: Der blonde Eckbert. Author: Tieck, Ludwig. (1 of 2 for author by title), ⇤. →, Der Sturm PDF (tablet), cittadelmonte.info HTML Zip, cittadelmonte.info A Translation of "Der Blonde Eckbert" by Ludwig Tieck. (For a PDF version of this translation, go to The Worldview Annex). Eckbert the Blond. Der blonde Eckbert. Home · Der blonde Eckbert Der Blonde Vampir Read more · Der Blonde Vampir 01 · Read more.

A favorite story of Walter Benjamin. It gets mentioned in the correspondence of Benjamin and Adorno by Benjamin and the locus classicus on forgetting. Post a Comment. In a district in the Harz Mountains lived a knight who by custom was called simply Eckbert the Blond. He was about forty years old, of barely average stature, and his pale, gaunt face was covered by a smooth, thick, ash-blond beard. His wife loved solitude just as much as he did, and the two of them seemed sincerely to love each other, although they were wont to lament that heaven had not seen fit to bless their union with any children. Eckbert was then merry and cheerful only when he was alone; others observed in him a certain reticence, a silent and reserved kind of melancholy.

Eckbert the Blond

Eckbert, feeling a compulsion to reveal any and all secrets to his friend, prompts his wife to recount the odd story of her youth: During the woman's frequent absences, Bertha learned to take care of the dog and the magic jewel-laying bird. One day, however, at the age of fourteen, Bertha decided to abandon the hut in search of human company and adventure.

Leaving the dog behind but carrying the bird, whose jewels she sold for a fortune, she fled; soon afterwards, however, she was besieged by guilt, and strangled the bird. Finally, still fearing retribution, she settled down and married Eckbert. As she closes her tale, Bertha notes that she cannot remember the name of the old woman's dog; then, to her surprise, Walther reminds her rather offhandedly of the dog's name, and takes his leave. This strange coincidence sends Bertha to her deathbed, wracked by doubts, and drives Eckbert to murder Walther in the woods.

Later, having found a new friend in Hugo, Eckbert is again compelled to confess his story in full. After doing so, however, Eckbert becomes insanely suspicious of his friend; Hugo then proceeds to take on, to Eckbert's eyes, the features of Walther, and finally, after his journey through the forest and to the secluded hut, the features of the old woman as well. Approaching insanity, Eckbert reels when the vengeful old woman reveals to him that Bertha was, in fact, his own sister.

Bewailing his life of horrific isolation, Eckbert collapses in madness and despair. Tieck's narrative raises many questions, none of which can be answered simply, and all of which have provided critics and readers with ever-changing analyses and interpretations.

Perhaps the most banal question is at once the farthest-reaching: Another question arises from Tieck's rather ambivalent placement of natural elements: Some critics accuse Tieck, as the Berlin city-dweller, of sentimentalizing nature, and for evidence point to the first refrain of the bird's chorus about the blissful innocence of Waldeinsamkeit.

This view ignores, however, the significant failings of nature for the characters themselves: The ambiguities that necessarily appear upon closer analysis of Tieck's work have, to my mind, their center in the ethical questions raised by the story.

Is Eckbert responsible for his own undoing? Is the old woman a symbol of judgment or revenge, meting out punishment to the wicked? What, then, was Eckbert's sin, and even Bertha's, for that matter? And finally, does the outcome of the story lead us to believe that Eckbert had made a choice of free will, or is this simply the fulfillment of his fate? It is clear that Eckbert and Bertha are punished, even victimized, in the story; the question remains, however, with what justification, and why?

The Importance of Ambiguity in Tieck's "Der blonde Eckbert"

She was dressed almost entirely in black, and a black cowl covered her head and a large portion of her face; in her hand she held a walking stick. While I was eating she sang a sacred song with a harsh and shrill intonation. When she had concluded she told me I could follow her if I wished. Thanks to her walking stick she moved fairly fleetly, and with each step she took her face contorted into a grimace that was so odd-looking that at first I could not help laughing at it.

The craggy wilderness receded ever farther behind us; we traversed a fair meadow, and then a fairly lengthy stretch of woods. As we emerged from these woods, the sun was just setting, and I shall never forget the way things looked and the way I felt that evening.

Everything had melted together into a single incomparably soothing mixture of red and gold; from top to root the trees stood bathed in the roseate glow of the evening twilight, in its cloudless purity the sky resembled a newly unlocked paradise, and from time to time the exuberant silence was broken by the wistfully joyous rippling of the springs and rustling of the trees.

My young soul was now vouchsafed its first intimation of the wider world and the things that went on in it. I forgot about myself and my conductress; I had a mind and eyes only for thoughts and images of golden clouds.

A high-spirited yapping sound was drawing ever nearer to us, and by and by a small fleet-footed dog appeared and lunged at the old woman while wagging his tail; then he came up to me, inspected me from all sides, and returned with an ingratiating mien to the old woman. I joy to abide. Through tide after tide. To infinitude. What joy to abide.

Sylvan solitude. Dusk had already begun to set in; everything was neat and tidy throughout the little house; a set of shelves held several ordinary goblets; on a table stood vessels of a more exotic make; in a lustrous metal cage hanging by the window was perched a bird—the very bird that had been singing the words quoted above. The old woman coughed and wheezed, she seemed quite unable to catch her breath; one minute she would pet the little dog, the next she would talk to the bird, which replied to her by singing its usual song—and incidentally, all this while she acted as though I simply were not present.

I shuddered more than once as I stood there contemplating her, for her face was in such constant and violent motion—motion to which the palsy of old age seemed to contribute—that I found it literally impossible to discover what she actually looked like.

Now she took notice of me, and signed to me to take a seat in one of the wickerwork chairs at the tableside. She folded her bony hands and said grace in a loud voice, all the while putting her face through its characteristic round of contortions, such that I once again could hardly refrain from laughing; but I took especial care to retain my composure for fear of making her angry. I was required to spin thread, which I soon figured out how to do; in addition I had to look after the dog and the bird.

I quickly learned to find my way about the house, and got to know all the objects that surrounded me; it now seemed to me as though everything had always been the way it was; it no longer occurred to me that there was anything particularly strange about the old woman, that the house was fantastically situated and remote from other human dwellings, that there was anything even slightly out of the ordinary about a bird that could sing actual words.

Not that I ever failed to be struck anew by its beauty, for its feathers shone with every conceivable color; its throat and torso alternated between the loveliest sky blue and the most incandescent red, and whenever it sang, it would proudly puff itself up to a prodigious size that accentuated the splendor of its plumage. In the evening hours she taught me to read; I picked up this skill very readily, and it subsequently became an endless source of enjoyment for me in my solitude, for the old woman owned several books written a long, long time ago—books full of marvelous stories.

I have never since been able to recall the very odd name of the dog, although at the time I called it by it constantly. I had long ago noticed that the woman was always rummaging through the cage in a secretive manner, but I had never thought to ask myself exactly why she was doing this. She now entrusted me with the task of collecting these eggs during her absences and stowing them securely in the above-mentioned exotic vessels. She now left me to feed myself and stayed away for longer intervals—weeks and months; my little spinning-wheel whirred, the dog yapped, the marvelous bird sang, and at the same time everything outside the house was incredibly still and quiet; indeed, I cannot recall a single windstorm or thunderstorm passing through the area during the entire period I lived there.

Human beings would perhaps be truly happy if they were allowed to live out their lives in such a fashion. I had even read a little bit about love, and in my imagination I now began playing curious little storytelling games with myself. I pictured to myself the handsomest knight in the world; I adorned him with every excellence without really knowing whether or not he appreciated my pains; but I could always enjoy feeling heartily sorry for myself whenever I supposed him not reciprocating my love; on such occasions, I delivered lengthy and moving speeches, mostly silently to myself, occasionally aloud and quite loudly —speeches aimed at winning his heart.

You are both smiling! Well, admittedly it has been a very long time since any of us was young. The dog loved me immensely and did everything I wished him to do, the bird replied to all my questions by singing its song, my little spinning wheel kept merrily spinning and spinning, and so I basically never felt the slightest whisper of a desire for anything to change.

When the old woman returned from her extensive wanderings, she praised my attentiveness to my duties; she said that the house had gotten much tidier since I had taken charge of it; she exulted over how tall I had grown and how healthy I looked—in short, she carried on about me every bit as enthusiastically as if I really were her daughter.

This suspicion soon sharpened into a conviction. No matter how hard I tried, I could not manage to make the slightest sense of her words.

I now knew full well that as soon as the old woman left again I would be able to carry off the bird and the treasure and explore the world that I had read so much about. Moreover, I thought that out there I might possibly encounter the supremely handsome knight who continued perpetually to haunt my daydreams. After having thus completely forgotten myself, I often became very sad upon looking up and finding myself still sitting in that pokey little cottage.

What was more, after I finished my chores, the old woman would completely cease to take any notice of my existence. As I was saying goodbye to her I felt somewhat uneasy, for I sensed that I would never see her again.

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The old woman had been gone a good few days when I rose from bed firmly resolved to leave the cottage with the bird in hand and to explore the so-called world. I felt stifled and hemmed in; I wanted to stay where I was, and yet the very idea of doing so was anathema to me; I felt as though two rebellious spirits were waging some bizarre war with each other inside me.

One minute the placidity of solitude struck me as unsurpassably beautiful; the next I was again smitten by my imaginings of an entirely new world and all its manifold wonders. The dog cringed and whimpered in face of this unwontedly harsh treatment; he gazed at me with supplicating eyes, but I was afraid of what might happen if I took him with me. Still, I took one of the urns filled with precious stones and stuffed it into my pocket; the rest I left on the table.

The dog began yapping and whimpering uninterruptedly, and I was deeply and sincerely moved by its plaint; the bird made a few attempts to start singing, but then it fell solemnly silent; it must have found singing irksome. I wept and was almost on the point of turning back, but my yearning to see something new impelled me to keep going.

I entered the local inn very warily; I was shown to a room and a bed; I slept fairly peacefully, although I dreamt of nothing but the old woman, who menaced me with threats. So I continued walking amid many sighs and tears; whenever I stopped to rest and set the cage on the ground, the bird would sing its curious song, and I would quite vividly remember the lovely little domicile that I had left behind.

As human nature is forgetful, I now fancied that the journey I had undertaken as a child had been less dispiriting than the one I was undertaking now; I yearned to be following the old path again. The moment I set foot in it I felt the strangest sensation; I was terrified and did not know why, but I soon realized it was because this was the very village in which I had been born.

How overwhelmed I was! How violently my cheeks were inundated with tears elicited by a thousand eldritch memories! Much had changed; several new houses had sprung up, while others that had only just been built when I left were now badly dilapidated; I even noticed a few fire-gutted ruins; everything was much smaller, much more crowded together, than I had expected.

I was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing my parents again after so many years; I located the little house, with its instantly recognizable front doorstep; even the door-handle was exactly the same as it had been before; I felt as though I had last let go of it only yesterday; my heart was throbbing violently; I flung open the door only to behold a roomful of unfamiliar faces staring at me in mute incomprehension.

I asked where Martin the shepherd was, and I was told that he and his wife had both been dead for three years. I hastily withdrew from the house and ran sobbing out of the village. The world did not seem as wondrous as I had supposed it would be, but as I had more or less forgotten the old woman and my former abode, I was quite genuinely content.

The bird had long since ceased singing completely; I therefore was not a little alarmed when one night it suddenly began to sing again, and what was more, to sing a different song from the old one. It sang: My sole joy pursued, Sylvan solitude! Upon rising from bed I found the very sight of the bird repellent; it kept staring at me, and its presence made me nervous.

Having resumed singing with this new song, it continued to sing it unremittingly, and much more loudly and shrilly than it had been accustomed to sing in the old days.

The more I contemplated it, the more frightened it made me; finally, I opened the cage, stuck my hand in, grabbed the bird by the throat, and gave it a hearty squeeze; the bird gazed back at me imploringly; I let go of it, but it was already dead. I buried it in the garden.

At long last I met a young knight whom I found exceedingly attractive; I offered him my hand in marriage—and with that marriage my story ends, Master Walther. She appeared before me like a miracle, and I loved her quite beyond all measure.

I had no income, but thanks to her love I came into my present affluence; we moved into this house, and not for a moment since has either of us regretted being bound in marriage to the other.

She stood up and began walking towards her room. Walther bade her good night while kissing her hand, and added: Walther, too, retired to bed; only Eckbert remained awake, pacing restlessly up and down in the banqueting room.

Will he not somehow exploit what he has learned? Will he not perchance—for such is human nature—be seized by an unfortunate avaricious craving for our precious stones, and scheme and dissemble in the hope of acquiring them? It struck him that Walther had not taken leave of him as warmly as someone who had just been vouchsafed such a secret naturally would have done.

When the soul is first roused to suspicion, it espies confirmations of its worst fears in the most trifling circumstances. Eckbert reproached himself for his ignoble mistrust of his valiant friend, and yet he could not manage to let go of it. He wrestled with these imaginings throughout the night and got very little sleep. Next morning Bertha was ill and could not appear at the breakfast table; Walter did not seem to be particularly worried on her account, and he also parted company with the.

Eckbert could not comprehend his conduct; he called on his spouse; she was bedridden with a powerful fever, and she said that this condition could have been brought on only by the strain of telling her story.

One morning she summoned her husband to her bedside; the maidservants were obliged to withdraw. Did he happen to guess the correct name, or did he know it already and mention it deliberately?

Sometimes I try to force myself to believe that I am only imagining the whole bizarre thing, but it is certain, all too certain:

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