from the German.
Originally published in Reynolds's Miscellany of Romance, General Literature, Science, and Art (John Dicks) vol.8 #194 (27 Mar 1852).
The tall, blonde maids of Germany were in the olden time very beautiful, as we all know, and they well deserved the homage paid to their charms by the chivalrous knights of the middle ages; yet these fair damsels had sometimes to suffer from the rivalry of the more classical charms of the once worshipped goddesses of Greece and Italy. Poor Venus! poor Diana! expelled from your temples, deprived of the worship once offered at your shrines, and living only in marble, you cannot any more captivate the hearts of men. You can only deceive and enchant the minds of some poor knight-errant straying in quest of adventures.
Some centuries ago, a young German knight, remarkable for his valour and manly beauty, wandered to Italy. The warmth of the Italian sun, the blue transparence of the cloudless sky, opened his heart to the most tender feelings; and one time, when walking through the orange-groves, and dreaming of his native oak forests and the blooming maid he had left behind, he was suddenly attracted by the inanimate beauty of a marble statue. It was the statue of Venus, the Goddess of Love and Beauty. He stood transfixed before it, and a strange confusion of ideas came over his mind. The knight thought he had never seen before such symmetry of form; and he invested the pale, cold face of the statue with a beauty and life which for the time obscured the charms of the rosy countenance of his countrywoman. Not far from this statue was a lake of limpid waters; and one day as he was going to bathe, with some of his friends, he took the ring from his finger and placed it on the finger of the statue, in order that he might not lose it in the water. As soon as he had finished bathing, he went to get his ring, and found, with surprise, that the finger of the statue, instead of being straight as before, was bent nearly double, so that he could not obtain his ring without breaking the finger. The statue he thought looked on him with such an expression of loveliness, and he felt such a strange sympathy, that he could not make up his mind to mutilate the hand. He rejoined his companions, told them of the singular circumstance, and invited them to go with him and witness the wonder. When they reached the spot, the statue held its finger straight, as usual, but the ring was gone.
The chevalier was returned back into Germany to the tournaments and to his beloved maid. The pale face of the statue and the lost ring were forgotten, and the ceremony of betrothment was about to take place. Suddenly appeared in the midst of the company the pale figure of a woman, resembling exactly the Italian statue, and, placing herself between him and his bride, said, "I am your betrothed; I became your wife from the moment you placed this ring on my finger, and I will not suffer you to marry another." The chevalier protested that his intention was never to marry the statue, and endeavoured to place a ring on the finger of his living bride, but his efforts were in vain. Every time he attempted to approach the lady, the marble woman placed herself between them. In this singular struggle, all seemed changing forms and places; the poor bride, fainting, became a statue, a dying Venus. The inanimate statue, the beautiful Venus, became a living fury, disfigured by rage; and the chevalier, the valiant champion, who had so often come out of the lists victorious-the Christian knight, found himself vanquished by a heathen goddess.
The lady was carried away, the statue disappeared, and the poor chevalier went to a priest named Palumnus to relate his griefs. "You are not the first man," said the priest, "who has had to suffer from the vagaries of the heathen goddesses. Venus is not quite overcome yet. Expelled from her temples, and robbed of her homage, she has taken to wander and to assume any form best suited for the purpose of deluding poor Christians." Palumnus then traced a few mysterious characters on parchment, and gave it to the chevalier, and told him to go at midnight to a certain church, which had formerly been a temple--there he would see extraordinary things; but he was to keep quiet until he saw the woman who had his ring on her finger. "When you see," said Palumnus, "this woman, present to her this parchment. Venus will know what it means. You are not the first Christian that I have snatched from her hidden spells, and she will be very indignant that I have again thwarted her."
At midnight the chevalier repaired to the place mentioned by the old priest. He saw with terror the whole assembly of gods and goddesses enter the church. But how different in appearance from what they used to be in the good old time when Jove held his court on Mount Olympus. Where is the merry laughter? where the cheerful conversations? Has the nectar become scarce? Are you languishing for the smoke from the burning lambs? and does not ambrosia any longer suit your immortal appetites?
The chevalier looked on with a feeling of pity and sympathy. Can that be Jupiter, he thought; the sire of gods, who made the whole Olympus tremble by merely shaking his locks. How careworn he looks--all his majesty is gone! The young Christian knight felt almost inclined to pray for the heathen god who had once had prayers addressed to him. Apollo followed Jupiter at a slow pace. The beauty of the favourite of the poets was gone. He was murmuring strange hollow sounds, and the lyre he held in his hand was broken. Mars made the best appearance. He looked so peaceful, so resigned to his fate, as if he was glad to be released from all the tumult, the trouble of war. The aspects of the goddesses were pitiful in the extreme. Juno, with her eyes cast down, and her peacock with its tail closed and sweeping the ground, were sauntering along. Minerva, deprived of her protecting œgis, appeared helpless and wretched, as if she required the protection of one more powerful than herself. The chevalier let them all pass in silence, when suddenly he was struck by the appearance of a figure well known to him. It was Venus--the only goddess who was not changed! She had the same charms, the same magic power, the same beautiful contours--and she even retained her girdle. The chevalier approached and presented her the parchment. When she recognized the writing of Palumnus she clasped her hands and exclaimed, "Miserable that I am--once more defeated: but it shall be the last time!" She gave back the ring, and the chevalier hastened from the church to Palumnus: he was dead! When, three days afterwards, the chevalier again attempted to place a ring on the finger of his bride, no figure appeared, and the ceremony was concluded.