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diff --git a/5339-0.txt b/5339-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1b9550 --- /dev/null +++ b/5339-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4028 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Peter Schlemihl etc., by Adelbert Chamisso, +Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Peter Schlemihl etc. + + +Author: Adelbert Chamisso + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: July 27, 2014 [eBook #5339] +[This file was first posted on July 2, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER SCHLEMIHL ETC.*** + + +Transcribed from the 1889 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY. + + * * * * * + + + + + + PETER SCHLEMIHL + + + BY + ADELBERT CHAMISSO + + THE STORY WITHOUT AN END + BY + CARODÉ + + HYMNS TO THE NIGHT + BY + NOVALIS + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited: + LONDON, PARIS & MELBOURNE + 1889 + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +“PETER SCHLEMIHL,” one of the pleasantest fancies of the days when +Germany delighted in romance, was first published in 1814, and was +especially naturalised in England by association with the genius of +George Cruikshank, who enriched a translation of it with some of his +happiest work as an illustrator. An account of the book and its author +is here reprinted at the end of the tale, as originally given by the +translator. To this account one or two notes may be added. Louis +Charles Adelaide de Chamisso de Boncourt was born on the 27th of January, +1781, at the Château of Boncourt, in Champagne, which he made the subject +of one of his most beautiful lyrics. He belonged to a family faithful to +Louis XVI., that fled to Würzburg from the fury of the French Revolution. +Thus he was taken to Germany a child of nine, and was left there when the +family, with other emigrants, returned to France in 1801. At fifteen he +had Teutonised his name to Adelbert von Chamisso, and was appointed page +to the Queen of Prussia. In the war that came afterwards, for a very +short time he bore arms against the French, but being one of a garrison +taken in the captured fort of Hamlin, he and his comrades had to pledge +their honour that they would not again bear arms against France during +that war. After the war he visited France. His parents then were dead, +and though he stayed in France some years, he wrote from France to a +friend, “I am German heart and soul, and cannot feel at home here.” He +wandered irresolutely, then became Professor of Literature in a gymnasium +in La Vendée. Still he was restless. In 1812 he set off for a walk in +Switzerland, returned to Germany, and took to the study of anatomy. In +1813, Napoleon’s expedition to Russia and the peril to France from +legions marching upon Paris caused to Chamisso suffering and confusion of +mind. + +It is often said that his sense of isolation between interests of the +land of his forefathers and the land of his adoption makes itself felt +through all the wild playfulness of “Peter Schlemihl,” which was at this +time written, when Chamisso’s age was about thirty-two. A letter of his +to the Councillor Trinius, in Petersburg, tells how he came to write it. +He had lost on a pedestrian tour his hat, his knapsack, his gloves, and +his pocket handkerchief—the chief movables about him. His friend Fouqué +asked him whether he hadn’t also lost his shadow? The friends pleased +their fancies in imagining what would have happened to him if he had. +Not long afterwards he was reading in La Fontaine of a polite man who +drew out of his pocket whatever was asked for. Chamisso thought, He will +be bringing out next a coach and horses. Out of these hints came the +fancy of “Peter Schlemihl, the Shadowless Man.” In all thought that goes +with invention of a poet, there are depths as well as shallows, and the +reader may get now and then a peep into the depths. He may find, if he +will, in a man’s shadow that outward expression of himself which shows +that he has been touched, like others, by the light of heaven. But +essentially the story is a poet’s whim. Later writings of Chamisso +proved him to be one of the best lyric poets of the romance school of his +time, entirely German in his tone of thought. His best poem, “Salas y +Gomez,” describes the feeling of a solitary on a sea-girt rock, living on +eggs of the numberless sea-birds until old age, when a ship is in sight, +and passes him, and his last agony of despair is followed by a triumph in +the strength of God. + + “Alone and world-forsaken let me die; + Thy Grace is all my wealth, for all my loss: + On my bleached bones out of the southern sky + Thy Love will look down from the starry cross.” + +The “Story Without an End”—a story of the endless beauty of Creation—is +from a writer who has no name on the rolls of fame. The little piece has +been made famous among us by the good will of Sarah Austin. The child +who enjoyed it, and for whom she made the delicate translation which here +follows next after Chamisso’s “Peter Schlemihl,” was that only daughter +who became Lady Duff-Gordon, and with whom we have made acquaintance in +this Library as the translator of “The Amber Witch.” + +To make up the tale of pages in this little book without breaking its +uniformity, I have added a translation of the “Hymns to Night” of +Novalis. It is a translation made by myself seven-and-forty years ago, +and printed in a student’s magazine that I then edited. “Novalis” was +the name assumed by a poet, Friedrich von Hardenberg, who died on the +25th March, 1801, aged twenty-nine. He was bred among the Moravian +brethren, and then sent to the University of Jena. Two years after his +marriage to a young wife, Sophie von Kühn, she died. That was in 1797. +At the same time he lost a brother who was very dear to him. It was +then—four years before his own death—that he wrote his “Hymns to Night.” + + H. M. + + + + +INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE +FROM +A. VON CHAMISSO TO JULIUS EDWARD HITZIG. + + +YOU, who forget nobody, must surely remember one Peter Schlemihl, whom +you used to meet occasionally at my house—a long-legged youth, who was +considered stupid and lazy, on account of his awkward and careless air. +I was sincerely attached to him. You cannot have forgotten him, Edward. +He was on one occasion the hero of our rhymes, in the hey-day of our +youthful spirits; and I recollect taking him one evening to a poetical +tea-party, where he fell asleep while I was writing, without even waiting +to hear my effusion: and this reminds me of a witticism of yours +respecting him. You had already seen him, I know not where or when, in +an old black frock-coat, which, indeed, he constantly wore; and you said, +“He would be a lucky fellow if his soul were half as immortal as his +coat,” so little opinion had you of him. _I_ loved him, however: and to +this very Schlemihl, of whom for many years I had wholly lost sight, I am +indebted for the little volume which I communicate to you, Edward, my +most intimate friend, my second self, from whom I have no secrets;—to +you, and of course our Fouqué, I commit them, who like you is intimately +entwined about my dearest affections,—to him I communicate them only as a +friend, but not as a poet; for you can easily imagine how unpleasant it +would be if a secret confided to me by an honest man, relying implicitly +on my friendship and honour, were to be exposed to the public in a poem. + +One word more as to the manner in which I obtained these sheets: +yesterday morning early, as soon as I was up, they were brought to me. +An extraordinary-looking man, with a long grey beard, and wearing an old +black frock-coat with a botanical case hanging at his side, and slippers +over his boots, in the damp, rainy weather, had just been inquiring for +me, and left me these papers, saying he came from Berlin. + + ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO. + + + + +PETER SCHLEMIHL, +_THE SHADOWLESS MAN_. + + +CHAPTER I. + + +AFTER a prosperous, but to me very wearisome, voyage, we came at last +into port. Immediately on landing I got together my few effects; and, +squeezing myself through the crowd, went into the nearest and humblest +inn which first met my gaze. On asking for a room the waiter looked at +me from head to foot, and conducted me to one. I asked for some cold +water, and for the correct address of Mr. Thomas John, which was +described as being “by the north gate, the first country-house to the +right, a large new house of red and white marble, with many pillars.” +This was enough. As the day was not yet far advanced, I untied my +bundle, took out my newly-turned black coat, dressed myself in my best +clothes, and, with my letter of recommendation, set out for the man who +was to assist me in the attainment of my moderate wishes. + +After proceeding up the north street, I reached the gate, and saw the +marble columns glittering through the trees. Having wiped the dust from +my shoes with my pocket-handkerchief and readjusted my cravat, I rang the +bell—offering up at the same time a silent prayer. The door flew open, +and the porter sent in my name. I had soon the honour to be invited into +the park, where Mr. John was walking with a few friends. I recognised +him at once by his corpulency and self-complacent air. He received me +very well—just as a rich man receives a poor devil; and turning to me, +took my letter. “Oh, from my brother! it is a long time since I heard +from him: is he well?—Yonder,” he went on,—turning to the company, and +pointing to a distant hill—“Yonder is the site of the new building.” He +broke the seal without discontinuing the conversation, which turned upon +riches. “The man,” he said, “who does not possess at least a million is +a poor wretch.” “Oh, how true!” I exclaimed, in the fulness of my heart. +He seemed pleased at this, and replied with a smile, “Stop here, my dear +friend; afterwards I shall, perhaps, have time to tell you what I think +of this,” pointing to the letter, which he then put into his pocket, and +turned round to the company, offering his arm to a young lady: his +example was followed by the other gentlemen, each politely escorting a +lady; and the whole party proceeded towards a little hill thickly planted +with blooming roses. + +I followed without troubling any one, for none took the least further +notice of me. The party was in high spirits—lounging about and +jesting—speaking sometimes of trifling matters very seriously, and of +serious matters as triflingly—and exercising their wit in particular to +great advantage on their absent friends and their affairs. I was too +ignorant of what they were talking about to understand much of it, and +too anxious and absorbed in my own reflections to occupy myself with the +solution of such enigmas as their conversation presented. + +By this time we had reached the thicket of roses. The lovely Fanny, who +seemed to be the queen of the day, was obstinately bent on plucking a +rose-branch for herself, and in the attempt pricked her finger with a +thorn. The crimson stream, as if flowing from the dark-tinted rose, +tinged her fair hand with the purple current. This circumstance set the +whole company in commotion; and court-plaster was called for. A quiet, +elderly man, tall, and meagre-looking, who was one of the company, but +whom I had not before observed, immediately put his hand into the tight +breast-pocket of his old-fashioned coat of grey sarsnet, pulled out a +small letter-case, opened it, and, with a most respectful bow, presented +the lady with the wished-for article. She received it without noticing +the giver, or thanking him. The wound was bound up, and the party +proceeded along the hill towards the back part, from which they enjoyed +an extensive view across the green labyrinth of the park to the +wide-spreading ocean. The view was truly a magnificent one. A slight +speck was observed on the horizon, between the dark flood and the azure +sky. “A telescope!” called out Mr. John; but before any of the servants +could answer the summons the grey man, with a modest bow, drew his hand +from his pocket, and presented a beautiful Dollond’s telescope to Mr. +John, who, on looking through it, informed the company that the speck in +the distance was the ship which had sailed yesterday, and which was +detained within sight of the haven by contrary winds. The telescope +passed from hand to hand, but was not returned to the owner, whom I gazed +at with astonishment, and could not conceive how so large an instrument +could have proceeded from so small a pocket. This, however, seemed to +excite surprise in no one; and the grey man appeared to create as little +interest as myself. + +Refreshments were now brought forward, consisting of the rarest fruits +from all parts of the world, served up in the most costly dishes. Mr. +John did the honours with unaffected grace, and addressed me for the +second time, saying, “You had better eat; you did not get such things at +sea.” I acknowledged his politeness with a bow, which, however, he did +not perceive, having turned round to speak with some one else. + +The party would willingly have stopped some time here on the declivity of +the hill, to enjoy the extensive prospect before them, had they not been +apprehensive of the dampness of the grass. “How delightful it would be,” +exclaimed some one, “if we had a Turkey carpet to lay down here!” The +wish was scarcely expressed when the man in the grey coat put his hand in +his pocket, and, with a modest and even humble air, pulled out a rich +Turkey carpet, embroidered in gold. The servant received it as a matter +of course, and spread it out on the desired spot; and, without any +ceremony, the company seated themselves on it. Confounded by what I saw, +I gazed again at the man, his pocket, and the carpet, which was more than +twenty feet in length and ten in breadth; and rubbed my eyes, not knowing +what to think, particularly as no one saw anything extraordinary in the +matter. + +I would gladly have made some inquiries respecting the man, and asked who +he was, but knew not to whom I should address myself, for I felt almost +more afraid of the servants than of their master. At length I took +courage, and stepping up to a young man who seemed of less consequence +than the others, and who was more frequently standing by himself, I +begged of him, in a low tone, to tell me who the obliging gentleman was +in the grey cloak. “That man who looks like a piece of thread just +escaped from a tailor’s needle?” “Yes; he who is standing alone yonder.” +“I do not know,” was the reply; and to avoid, as it seemed, any further +conversation with me, he turned away, and spoke of some common-place +matters with a neighbour. + +The sun’s rays now being stronger, the ladies complained of feeling +oppressed by the heat; and the lovely Fanny, turning carelessly to the +grey man, to whom I had not yet observed that any one had addressed the +most trifling question, asked him if, perhaps, he had not a tent about +him. He replied, with a low bow, as if some unmerited honour had been +conferred upon him; and, putting his hand in his pocket, drew from it +canvas, poles, cord, iron—in short, everything belonging to the most +splendid tent for a party of pleasure. The young gentlemen assisted in +pitching it: and it covered the whole carpet: but no one seemed to think +that there was anything extraordinary in it. + +I had long secretly felt uneasy—indeed, almost horrified; but how was +this feeling increased when, at the next wish expressed, I saw him take +from his pocket three horses! Yes, Adelbert, three large beautiful +steeds, with saddles and bridles, out of the very pocket whence had +already issued a letter-case, a telescope, a carpet twenty feet broad and +ten in length, and a pavilion of the same extent, with all its +appurtenances! Did I not assure thee that my own eyes had seen all this, +thou wouldst certainly disbelieve it. + +This man, although he appeared so humble and embarrassed in his air and +manners, and passed so unheeded, had inspired me with such a feeling of +horror by the unearthly paleness of his countenance, from which I could +not avert my eyes, that I was unable longer to endure it. + +I determined, therefore, to steal away from the company, which appeared +no difficult matter, from the undistinguished part I acted in it. I +resolved to return to the town, and pay another visit to Mr. John the +following morning, and, at the same time, make some inquiries of him +relative to the extraordinary man in grey, provided I could command +sufficient courage. Would to Heaven that such good fortune had awaited +me! + +I had stolen safely down the hill, through the thicket of roses, and now +found myself on an open plain; but fearing lest I should be met out of +the proper path, crossing the grass, I cast an inquisitive glance around, +and started as I beheld the man in the grey cloak advancing towards me. +He took off his hat, and made me a lower bow than mortal had ever yet +favoured me with. It was evident that he wished to address me; and I +could not avoid encountering him without seeming rude. I returned his +salutation, therefore, and stood bareheaded in the sunshine as if rooted +to the ground. I gazed at him with the utmost horror, and felt like a +bird fascinated by a serpent. + +He affected himself to have an air of embarrassment. With his eyes on +the ground, he bowed several times, drew nearer, and at last, without +looking up, addressed me in a low and hesitating voice, almost in the +tone of a suppliant: “Will you, sir, excuse my importunity in venturing +to intrude upon you in so unusual a manner? I have a request to +make—would you most graciously be pleased to allow me—!” “Hold! for +Heaven’s sake!” I exclaimed; “what can I do for a man who”—I stopped in +some confusion, which he seemed to share. After a moment’s pause, he +resumed: “During the short time I have had the pleasure to be in your +company, I have—permit me, sir, to say—beheld with unspeakable admiration +your most beautiful shadow, and remarked the air of noble indifference +with which you, at the same time, turn from the glorious picture at your +feet, as if disdaining to vouchsafe a glance at it. Excuse the boldness +of my proposal; but perhaps you would have no objection to sell me your +shadow?” He stopped, while my head turned round like a mill-wheel. What +was I to think of so extraordinary a proposal? To sell my shadow! “He +must be mad,” thought I; and assuming a tone more in character with the +submissiveness of his own, I replied, “My good friend, are you not +content with your own shadow? This would be a bargain of a strange +nature indeed!” + +“I have in my pocket,” he said, “many things which may possess some value +in your eyes: for that inestimable shadow I should deem the highest price +too little.” + +A cold shuddering came over me as I recollected the pocket; and I could +not conceive what had induced me to style him “_good friend_,” which I +took care not to repeat, endeavouring to make up for it by a studied +politeness. + +I now resumed the conversation:—“But, Sir—excuse your humble servant—I am +at a loss to comprehend your meaning,—my shadow?—how can I?” + +“Permit me,” he exclaimed, interrupting me, “to gather up the noble image +as it lies on the ground, and to take it into my possession. As to the +manner of accomplishing it, leave that to me. In return, and as an +evidence of my gratitude, I shall leave you to choose among all the +treasures I have in my pocket, among which are a variety of enchanting +articles, not exactly adapted for you, who, I am sure, would like better +to have the wishing-cap of Fortunatus, all made new and sound again, and +a lucky purse which also belonged to him.” + +“Fortunatus’s purse!” cried I; and, great as was my mental anguish, with +that one word he had penetrated the deepest recesses of my soul. A +feeling of giddiness came over me, and double ducats glittered before my +eyes. + +“Be pleased, gracious sir, to examine this purse, and make a trial of its +contents.” He put his hand in his pocket, and drew forth a large +strongly stitched bag of stout Cordovan leather, with a couple of strings +to match, and presented it to me. I seized it—took out ten gold pieces, +then ten more, and this I repeated again and again. Instantly I held out +my hand to him. “Done,” said I; “the bargain is made: my shadow for the +purse.” “Agreed,” he answered; and, immediately kneeling down, I beheld +him, with extraordinary dexterity, gently loosen my shadow from the +grass, lift it up, fold it together, and, at last put it in his pocket. +He then rose, bowed once more to me, and directed his steps towards the +rose bushes. I fancied I heard him quietly laughing to himself. +However, I held the purse fast by the two strings. The earth was basking +beneath the brightness of the sun; but I presently lost all +consciousness. + +On recovering my senses, I hastened to quit a place where I hoped there +was nothing further to detain me. I first filled my pockets with gold, +then fastened the strings of the purse round my neck, and concealed it in +my bosom. I passed unnoticed out of the park, gained the high road, and +took the way to the town. As I was thoughtfully approaching the gate, I +heard some one behind me exclaiming, “Young man! young man! you have lost +your shadow!” I turned, and perceived an old woman calling after me. +“Thank you, my good woman,” said I; and throwing her a piece of gold for +her well-intended information, I stepped under the trees. At the gate, +again, it was my fate to hear the sentry inquiring where the gentleman +had left his shadow; and immediately I heard a couple of women +exclaiming, “Jesu Maria! the poor man has no shadow.” All this began to +depress me, and I carefully avoided walking in the sun; but this could +not everywhere be the case: for in the next broad street I had to cross, +and, unfortunately for me, at the very hour in which the boys were coming +out of school, a humpbacked lout of a fellow—I see him yet—soon made the +discovery that I was without a shadow, and communicated the news, with +loud outcries, to a knot of young urchins. The whole swarm proceeded +immediately to reconnoitre me, and to pelt me with mud. “People,” cried +they, “are generally accustomed to take their shadows with them when they +walk in the sunshine.” + +In order to drive them away I threw gold by handfuls among them, and +sprang into a hackney-coach which some compassionate spectators sent to +my rescue. + +As soon as I found myself alone in the rolling vehicle I began to weep +bitterly. I had by this time a misgiving that, in the same degree in +which gold in this world prevails over merit and virtue, by so much one’s +shadow excels gold; and now that I had sacrificed my conscience for +riches, and given my shadow in exchange for mere gold, what on earth +would become of me? + +As the coach stopped at the door of my late inn, I felt much perplexed, +and not at all disposed to enter so wretched an abode. I called for my +things, and received them with an air of contempt, threw down a few gold +pieces, and desired to be conducted to a first-rate hotel. This house +had a northern aspect, so that I had nothing to fear from the sun. I +dismissed the coachman with gold; asked to be conducted to the best +apartment, and locked myself up in it as soon as possible. + +Imagine, my friend, what I then set about? O my dear Chamisso! even to +thee I blush to mention what follows. + +I drew the ill-fated purse from my bosom; and, in a sort of frenzy that +raged like a self-fed fire within me, I took out gold—gold—gold—more and +more, till I strewed it on the floor, trampled upon it, and feasting on +its very sound and brilliancy, added coins to coins, rolling and +revelling on the gorgeous bed, until I sank exhausted. + +Thus passed away that day and evening; and as my door remained locked, +night found me still lying on the gold, where, at last, sleep overpowered +me. + +Then I dreamed of thee, and fancied I stood behind the glass door of thy +little room, and saw thee seated at thy table between a skeleton and a +bunch of dried plants; before thee lay open the works of Haller, +Humboldt, and Linnæus; on thy sofa a volume of Goethe, and the Enchanted +Ring. I stood a long time contemplating thee, and everything in thy +apartment; and again turning my gaze upon thee, I perceived that thou +wast motionless—thou didst not breathe—thou wast dead. + +I awoke—it seemed yet early—my watch had stopped. I felt thirsty, faint, +and worn out; for since the preceding morning I had not tasted food. I +now cast from me, with loathing and disgust, the very gold with which but +a short time before I had satiated my foolish heart. Now I knew not +where to put it—I dared not leave it lying there. I examined my purse to +see if it would hold it,—impossible! Neither of my windows opened on the +sea. I had no other resource but, with toil and great fatigue, to drag +it to a huge chest which stood in a closet in my room; where I placed it +all, with the exception of a handful or two. Then I threw myself, +exhausted, into an arm-chair, till the people of the house should be up +and stirring. As soon as possible I sent for some refreshment, and +desired to see the landlord. + +I entered into some conversation with this man respecting the arrangement +of my future establishment. He recommended for my personal attendant one +Bendel, whose honest and intelligent countenance immediately prepossessed +me in his favour. It is this individual whose persevering attachment has +consoled me in all the miseries of my life, and enabled me to bear up +under my wretched lot. I was occupied the whole day in my room with +servants in want of a situation, and tradesmen of every description. I +decided on my future plans, and purchased various articles of vertu and +splendid jewels, in order to get rid of some of my gold; but nothing +seemed to diminish the inexhaustible heap. + +I now reflected on my situation with the utmost uneasiness. I dared not +take a single step beyond my own door; and in the evening I had forty wax +tapers lighted before I ventured to leave the shade. I reflected with +horror on the frightful encounter with the school-boys; yet I resolved, +if I could command sufficient courage, to put the public opinion to a +second trial. The nights were now moonlight. Late in the evening I +wrapped myself in a large cloak, pulled my hat over my eyes, and, +trembling like a criminal, stole out of the house. + +I did not venture to leave the friendly shadow of the houses until I had +reached a distant part of the town; and then I emerged into the broad +moonlight, fully prepared to hear my fate from the lips of the +passers-by. + +Spare me, my beloved friend, the painful recital of all that I was doomed +to endure. The women often expressed the deepest sympathy for me—a +sympathy not less piercing to my soul than the scoffs of the young +people, and the proud contempt of the men, particularly of the more +corpulent, who threw an ample shadow before them. A fair and beauteous +maiden, apparently accompanied by her parents, who gravely kept looking +straight before them, chanced to cast a beaming glance on me; but was +evidently startled at perceiving that I was without a shadow, and hiding +her lovely face in her veil, and holding down her head, passed silently +on. + +This was past all endurance. Tears streamed from my eyes; and with a +heart pierced through and through, I once more took refuge in the shade. +I leant on the houses for support, and reached home at a late hour, worn +out with fatigue. + +I passed a sleepless night. My first care the following morning was, to +devise some means of discovering the man in the grey cloak. Perhaps I +may succeed in finding him; and how fortunate it were if he should be as +ill satisfied with his bargain as I am with mine! + +I desired Bendel to be sent for, who seemed to possess some tact and +ability. I minutely described to him the individual who possessed a +treasure without which life itself was rendered a burden to me. I +mentioned the time and place at which I had seen him, named all the +persons who were present, and concluded with the following directions:—He +was to inquire for a Dollond’s telescope, a Turkey carpet interwoven with +gold, a marquee, and, finally, for some black steeds—the history, without +entering into particulars, of all these being singularly connected with +the mysterious character who seemed to pass unnoticed by every one, but +whose appearance had destroyed the peace and happiness of my life. + +As I spoke I produced as much gold as I could hold in my two hands, and +added jewels and precious stones of still greater value. “Bendel,” said +I, “this smooths many a path, and renders that easy which seems almost +impossible. Be not sparing of it, for I am not so; but go, and rejoice +thy master with intelligence on which depend all his hopes.” + +He departed, and returned late and melancholy. + +None of Mr. John’s servants, none of his guests (and Bendel had spoken to +them all) had the slightest recollection of the man in the grey cloak. + +The new telescope was still there, but no one knew how it had come; and +the tent and Turkey carpet were still stretched out on the hill. The +servants boasted of their master’s wealth; but no one seemed to know by +what means he had become possessed of these newly acquired luxuries. He +was gratified; and it gave him no concern to be ignorant how they had +come to him. The black coursers which had been mounted on that day were +in the stables of the young gentlemen of the party, who admired them as +the munificent present of Mr. John. + +Such was the information I gained from Bendel’s detailed account; but, in +spite of this unsatisfactory result, his zeal and prudence deserved and +received my commendation. In a gloomy mood, I made him a sign to +withdraw. + +“I have, sir,” he continued, “laid before you all the information in my +power relative to the subject of the most importance to you. I have now +a message to deliver which I received early this morning from a person at +the gate, as I was proceeding to execute the commission in which I have +so unfortunately failed. The man’s words were precisely these: ‘Tell +your master, Peter Schlemihl, he will not see me here again. I am going +to cross the sea; a favourable wind now calls all the passengers on +board; but, in a year and a day I shall have the honour of paying him a +visit; when, in all probability, I shall have a proposal to make to him +of a very agreeable nature. Commend me to him most respectfully, with +many thanks.’ I inquired his name; but he said you would remember him.” + +“What sort of person was he?” cried I, in great emotion; and Bendel +described the man in the grey coat feature by feature, word for word; in +short, the very individual in search of whom he had been sent. “How +unfortunate!” cried I bitterly; “it was himself.” Scales, as it were, +fell from Bendel’s eyes. “Yes, it was he,” cried he, “undoubtedly it was +he; and fool, madman, that I was, I did not recognise him—I did not, and +have betrayed my master!” He then broke out into a torrent of +self-reproach; and his distress really excited my compassion. I +endeavoured to console him, repeatedly assuring him that I entertained no +doubt of his fidelity; and despatched him immediately to the wharf, to +discover, if possible, some trace of the extraordinary being. But on +that very morning many vessels which had been detained in port by +contrary winds had set sail, all bound to different parts of the globe; +and the grey man had disappeared like a shadow. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +OF what use were wings to a man fast bound in chains of iron? They would +but increase the horror of his despair. Like the dragon guarding his +treasure, I remained cut off from all human intercourse, and starving +amidst my very gold, for it gave me no pleasure: I anathematised it as +the source of all my wretchedness. + +Sole depository of my fearful secret, I trembled before the meanest of my +attendants, whom, at the same time, I envied; for he possessed a shadow, +and could venture to go out in the daytime; while I shut myself up in my +room day and night, and indulged in all the bitterness of grief. + +One individual, however, was daily pining away before my eyes—my faithful +Bendel, who was the victim of silent self-reproach, tormenting himself +with the idea that he had betrayed the confidence reposed in him by a +good master, in failing to recognise the individual in quest of whom he +had been sent, and with whom he had been led to believe that my +melancholy fate was closely connected. Still, I had nothing to accuse +him with, as I recognised in the occurrence the mysterious character of +the unknown. + +In order to leave no means untried, I one day despatched Bendel with a +costly ring to the most celebrated artist in the town, desiring him to +wait upon me. He came; and, dismissing the attendants, I secured the +door, placing myself opposite to him, and, after extolling his art, with +a heavy heart came to the point, first enjoining the strictest secrecy. + +“For a person,” said I, “who most unfortunately has lost his shadow, +could you paint a false one?” + +“Do you speak of the natural shadow?” + +“Precisely so.” + +“But,” he asked, “by what awkward negligence can a man have lost his +shadow?” + +“How it occurred,” I answered, “is of no consequence; but it was in this +manner”—(and here I uttered an unblushing falsehood)—“he was travelling +in Russia last winter, and one bitterly cold day it froze so intensely, +that his shadow remained so fixed to the ground, that it was found +impossible to remove it.” + +“The false shadow that I might paint,” said the artist, “would be liable +to be lost on the slightest movement, particularly in a person who, from +your account, cares so little about his shadow. A person without a +shadow should keep out of the sun, that is the only safe and rational +plan.” + +He rose and took his leave, casting so penetrating a look at me that I +shrunk from it. I sank back in my chair, and hid my face in my hands. + +In this attitude Bendel found me, and was about to withdraw silently and +respectfully on seeing me in such a state of grief: looking up, +overwhelmed with my sorrows, I felt that I must communicate them to him. +“Bendel,” I exclaimed, “Bendel, thou the only being who seest and +respectest my grief too much to inquire into its cause—thou who seemest +silently and sincerely to sympathise with me—come and share my +confidence. The extent of my wealth I have not withheld from thee, +neither will I conceal from thee the extent of my grief. Bendel! forsake +me not. Bendel, you see me rich, free, beneficent; you fancy all the +world in my power; yet you must have observed that I shun it, and avoid +all human intercourse. You think, Bendel, that the world and I are at +variance; and you yourself, perhaps, will abandon me, when I acquaint you +with this fearful secret. Bendel, I am rich, free, generous; but, O God, +I have _no shadow_!” + +“No shadow!” exclaimed the faithful young man, tears starting from his +eyes. “Alas! that I am born to serve a master without a shadow!” He was +silent, and again I hid my face in my hands. + +“Bendel,” at last I tremblingly resumed, “you have now my confidence; you +may betray me—go—bear witness against me!” + +He seemed to be agitated with conflicting feelings; at last he threw +himself at my feet and seized my hand, which he bathed with his tears. +“No,” he exclaimed; “whatever the world may say, I neither can nor will +forsake my excellent master because he has lost his shadow. I will +rather do what is right than what may seem prudent. I will remain with +you—I will shade you with my own shadow—I will assist you when I can—and +when I cannot, I will weep with you.” + +I fell upon his neck, astonished at sentiments so unusual; for it was +very evident that he was not prompted by the love of money. + +My mode of life and my fate now became somewhat different. It is +incredible with what provident foresight Bendel contrived to conceal my +deficiency. Everywhere he was before me and with me, providing against +every contingency, and in cases of unlooked-for danger, flying to shield +me with his own shadow, for he was taller and stouter than myself. Thus +I once more ventured among mankind, and began to take a part in worldly +affairs. I was compelled, indeed, to affect certain peculiarities and +whims; but in a rich man they seem only appropriate; and so long as the +truth was kept concealed I enjoyed all the honour and respect which gold +could procure. + +I now looked forward with more composure to the promised visit of the +mysterious unknown at the expiration of the year and a day. + +I was very sensible that I could not venture to remain long in a place +where I had once been seen without a shadow, and where I might easily be +betrayed; and perhaps, too, I recollected my first introduction to Mr. +John, and this was by no means a pleasing reminiscence. However, I +wished just to make a trial here, that I might with greater ease and +security visit some other place. But my vanity for some time withheld +me, for it is in this quality of our race that the anchor takes the +firmest hold. + +Even the lovely Fanny, whom I again met in several places, without her +seeming to recollect that she had ever seen me before, bestowed some +notice on me; for wit and understanding were mine in abundance now. When +I spoke, I was listened to; and I was at a loss to know how I had so +easily acquired the art of commanding attention, and giving the tone to +the conversation. + +The impression which I perceived I had made upon this fair one completely +turned my brain; and this was just what she wished. After that, I +pursued her with infinite pains through every obstacle. My vanity was +only intent on exciting hers to make a conquest of me; but although the +intoxication disturbed my head, it failed to make the least impression on +my heart. + +But why detail to you the oft-repeated story which I have so often heard +from yourself? + +However, in the old and well-known drama in which I played so worn-out a +part a catastrophe occurred of quite a peculiar nature, in a manner +equally unexpected to her, to me, and to everybody. + +One beautiful evening I had, according to my usual custom, assembled a +party in a garden, and was walking arm-in-arm with Fanny at a little +distance from the rest of the company, and pouring into her ear the usual +well-turned phrases, while she was demurely gazing on vacancy, and now +and then gently returning the pressure of my hand. The moon suddenly +emerged from behind a cloud at our back. Fanny perceived only her own +shadow before us. She started, looked at me with terror, and then again +on the ground, in search of my shadow. All that was passing in her mind +was so strangely depicted in her countenance, that I should have burst +into a loud fit of laughter had I not suddenly felt my blood run cold +within me. I suffered her to fall from my arm in a fainting-fit; shot +with the rapidity of an arrow through the astonished guests, reached the +gate, threw myself into the first conveyance I met with, and returned to +the town, where this time, unfortunately, I had left the wary Bendel. He +was alarmed on seeing me: one word explained all. Post-horses were +immediately procured. I took with me none of my servants, one cunning +knave only excepted, called Rascal, who had by his adroitness become very +serviceable to me, and who at present knew nothing of what had occurred—I +travelled thirty leagues that night; having left Bendel behind to +discharge my servants, pay my debts, and bring me all that was necessary. + +When he came up with me next day, I threw myself into his arms, vowing to +avoid such follies and to be more careful for the future. + +We pursued our journey uninterruptedly over the frontiers and mountains; +and it was not until I had placed this lofty barrier between myself and +the before-mentioned unlucky town that I was persuaded to recruit myself +after my fatigues in a neighbouring and little-frequented watering-place. + + * * * * * + +I must now pass rapidly over one period of my history, on which how +gladly would I dwell, could I conjure up your lively powers of +delineation! But the vivid hues which are at your command, and which +alone can give life and animation to the picture, have left no trace +within me; and were I now to endeavour to recall the joys, the griefs, +the pure and enchanting emotions, which once held such powerful dominion +in my breast, it would be like striking a rock which yields no longer the +living spring, and whose spirit has fled for ever. With what an altered +aspect do those bygone days now present themselves to my gaze! + +In this watering-place I acted an heroic character, badly studied; and +being a novice on such a stage, I forgot my part before a pair of lovely +blue eyes. + +All possible means were used by the infatuated parents to conclude the +bargain; and deception put an end to these usual artifices. And that is +all—all. + +The powerful emotions which once swelled my bosom seem now in the +retrospect to be poor and insipid, nay, even terrible to me. + +Alas, Minna! as I wept for thee the day I lost thee, so do I now weep +that I can no longer retrace thine image in my soul. + +Am I, then, so far advanced into the vale of years? O fatal effects of +maturity! would that I could feel one throb, one emotion of former days +of enchantment—alas, not one! a solitary being, tossed on the wild ocean +of life—it is long since I drained thine enchanted cup to the dregs! + +But to return to my narrative. I had sent Bendel to the little town with +plenty of money to procure me a suitable habitation. He spent my gold +profusely; and as he expressed himself rather reservedly concerning his +distinguished master (for I did not wish to be named), the good people +began to form rather extraordinary conjectures. + +As soon as my house was ready for my reception, Bendel returned to +conduct me to it. We set out on our journey. About a league from the +town, on a sunny plain, we were stopped by a crowd of people, arrayed in +holiday attire for some festival. The carriage stopped. Music, bells, +cannons, were heard; and loud acclamations rang through the air. + +Before the carriage now appeared in white dresses a chorus of maidens, +all of extraordinary beauty; but one of them shone in resplendent +loveliness, and eclipsed the rest as the sun eclipses the stars of night. +She advanced from the midst of her companions, and, with a lofty yet +winning air, blushingly knelt before me, presenting on a silken cushion a +wreath, composed of laurel branches, the olive, and the rose, saying +something respecting majesty, love, honour, &c., which I could not +comprehend; but the sweet and silvery magic of her tones intoxicated my +senses and my whole soul: it seemed as if some heavenly apparition were +hovering over me. The chorus now began to sing the praises of a good +sovereign, and the happiness of his subjects. All this, dear Chamisso, +took place in the sun: she was kneeling two steps from me, and I, without +a shadow, could not dart through the air, nor fall on my knees before the +angelic being. Oh, what would I not now have given for a shadow! To +conceal my shame, agony, and despair, I buried myself in the recesses of +the carriage. Bendel at last thought of an expedient; he jumped out of +the carriage. I called him back, and gave him out of the casket I had by +me a rich diamond coronet, which had been intended for the lovely Fanny. + +He stepped forward, and spoke in the name of his master, who, he said, +was overwhelmed by so many demonstrations of respect, which he really +could not accept as an honour—there must be some error; nevertheless he +begged to express his thanks for the goodwill of the worthy townspeople. +In the meantime Bendel had taken the wreath from the cushion, and laid +the brilliant crown in its place. He then respectfully raised the lovely +girl from the ground; and, at one sign, the clergy, magistrates, and all +the deputations withdrew. The crowd separated to allow the horses to +pass, and we pursued our way to the town at full gallop, through arches +ornamented with flowers and branches of laurel. Salvos of artillery +again were heard. The carriage stopped at my gate; I hastened through +the crowd which curiosity had attracted to witness my arrival. +Enthusiastic shouts resounded under my windows, from whence I showered +gold amidst the people; and in the evening the whole town was +illuminated. Still all remained a mystery to me, and I could not imagine +for whom I had been taken. I sent Rascal out to make inquiry; and he +soon obtained intelligence that the good King of Prussia was travelling +through the country under the name of some count; that my _aide-de-camp_ +had been recognised, and that he had divulged the secret; that on +acquiring the certainty that I would enter their town, their joy had +known no bounds: however, as they perceived I was determined on +preserving the strictest _incognito_, they felt how wrong they had been +in too importunately seeking to withdraw the veil; but I had received +them so condescendingly and so graciously, that they were sure I would +forgive them. The whole affair was such capital amusement to the +unprincipled Rascal, that he did his best to confirm the good people in +their belief, while affecting to reprove them. He gave me a very comical +account of the matter; and, seeing that I was amused by it, actually +endeavoured to make a merit of his impudence. + +Shall I own the truth? My vanity was flattered by having been mistaken +for our revered sovereign. I ordered a banquet to be got ready for the +following evening, under the trees before my house, and invited the whole +town. The mysterious power of my purse, Bendel’s exertions, and Rascal’s +ready invention, made the shortness of the time seem as nothing. + +It was really astonishing how magnificently and beautifully everything +was arranged in these few hours. Splendour and abundance vied with each +other, and the lights were so carefully arranged that I felt quite safe: +the zeal of my servants met every exigency and merited all praise. + +Evening drew on, the guests arrived, and were presented to me. The word +_majesty_ was now dropped; but, with the deepest respect and humility, I +was addressed as the _count_. What could I do? I accepted the title, +and from that moment I was known as Count Peter. In the midst of all +this festivity my soul pined for one individual. She came late—she who +was the empress of the scene, and wore the emblem of sovereignty on her +brow. + +She modestly accompanied her parents, and seemed unconscious of her +transcendent beauty. + +The Ranger of the Forests, his wife, and daughter, were presented to me. +I was at no loss to make myself agreeable to the parents; but before the +daughter I stood like a well-scolded schoolboy, incapable of speaking a +single word. + +At length I hesitatingly entreated her to honour my banquet by presiding +at it—an office for which her rare endowments pointed her out as +admirably fitted. With a blush and an expressive glance she entreated to +be excused; but, in still greater confusion than herself, I respectfully +begged her to accept the homage of the first and most devoted of her +subjects, and one glance of the count was the same as a command to the +guests, who all vied with each other in acting up to the spirit of the +noble host. + +In her person majesty, innocence, and grace, in union with beauty, +presided over this joyous banquet. Minna’s happy parents were elated by +the honours conferred upon their child. As for me, I abandoned myself to +all the intoxication of delight: I sent for all the jewels, pearls, and +precious stones still left to me—the produce of my fatal wealth—and, +filling two vases, I placed them on the table, in the name of the Queen +of the banquet, to be divided among her companions and the remainder of +the ladies. + +I ordered gold in the meantime to be showered down without ceasing among +the happy multitude. + +Next morning Bendel told me in confidence that the suspicions he had long +entertained of Rascal’s honesty were now reduced to a certainty; he had +yesterday embezzled many bags of gold. + +“Never mind,” said I; “let him enjoy his paltry booty. I like to spend +it; why should not he? Yesterday he, and all the newly-engaged servants +whom you had hired, served me honourably, and cheerfully assisted me to +enjoy the banquet.” + +No more was said on the subject. Rascal remained at the head of my +domestics. Bendel was my friend and confidant; he had by this time +become accustomed to look upon my wealth as inexhaustible, without +seeking to inquire into its source. He entered into all my schemes, and +effectually assisted me in devising methods of spending my money. + +Of the pale, sneaking scoundrel—the unknown—Bendel only knew thus much, +that he alone had power to release me from the curse which weighed so +heavily on me, and yet that I stood in awe of him on whom all my hopes +rested. Besides, I felt convinced that he had the means of discovering +_me_ under any circumstances, while he himself remained concealed. I +therefore abandoned my fruitless inquiries, and patiently awaited the +appointed day. + +The magnificence of my banquet, and my deportment on the occasion, had +but strengthened the credulous townspeople in their previous belief. + +It appeared soon after, from accounts in the newspapers, that the whole +history of the King of Prussia’s fictitious journey originated in mere +idle report. But a king I was, and a king I must remain by all means; +and one of the richest and most royal, although people were at a loss to +know where my territories lay. + +The world has never had reason to lament the scarcity of monarchs, +particularly in these days; and the good people, who had never yet seen a +king, now fancied me to be first one, and then another, with equal +success; and in the meanwhile I remained as before, Count Peter. + +Among the visitors at this watering-place a merchant made his appearance, +one who had become a bankrupt in order to enrich himself. He enjoyed the +general good opinion; for he projected a shadow of respectable size, +though of somewhat faint hue. + +This man wished to show off in this place by means of his wealth, and +sought to rival me. My purse soon enabled me to leave the poor devil far +behind. To save his credit he became bankrupt again, and fled beyond the +mountains; and thus I was rid of him. Many a one in this place was +reduced to beggary and ruin through my means. + +In the midst of the really princely magnificence and profusion, which +carried all before me, my own style of living was very simple and +retired. I had made it a point to observe the strictest precaution; and, +with the exception of Bendel, no one was permitted, on any pretence +whatever, to enter my private apartment. As long as the sun shone I +remained shut up with him; and the Count was then said to be deeply +occupied in his closet. The numerous couriers, whom I kept in constant +attendance about matters of no importance, were supposed to be the +bearers of my despatches. I only received company in the evening under +the trees of my garden, or in my saloons, after Bendel’s assurance of +their being carefully and brilliantly lit up. + +My walks, in which the Argus-eyed Bendel was constantly on the watch for +me, extended only to the garden of the forest-ranger, to enjoy the +society of one who was dear to me as my own existence. + +Oh, my Chamisso! I trust thou hast not forgotten what love is! I must +here leave much to thine imagination. Minna was in truth an amiable and +excellent maiden: her whole soul was wrapped up in me, and in her lowly +thoughts of herself she could not imagine how she had deserved a single +thought from me. She returned love for love with all the full and +youthful fervour of an innocent heart; her love was a true woman’s love, +with all the devotion and total absence of selfishness which is found +only in woman; she lived but in me, her whole soul being bound up in +mine, regardless what her own fate might be. + +Yet I, alas, during those hours of wretchedness—hours I would even now +gladly recall—how often have I wept on Bendel’s bosom, when after the +first mad whirlwind of passion I reflected, with the keenest +self-upbraidings, that I, a shadowless man, had, with cruel selfishness, +practised a wicked deception, and stolen away the pure and angelic heart +of the innocent Minna! + +At one moment I resolved to confess all to her; then that I would fly for +ever; then I broke out into a flood of bitter tears, and consulted Bendel +as to the means of meeting her again in the forester’s garden. + +At times I flattered myself with great hopes from the near approaching +visit of the unknown; then wept again, because I saw clearly on +reflection that they would end in disappointment. I had made a +calculation of the day fixed on by the fearful being for our interview; +for he had said in a year and a day, and I depended on his word. + +The parents were worthy old people, devoted to their only child; and our +mutual affection was a circumstance so overwhelming that they knew not +how to act. They had never dreamed for a moment that the _Count_ could +bestow a thought on their daughter; but such was the case—he loved and +was beloved. The pride of the mother might not have led her to consider +such an alliance quite impossible, but so extravagant an idea had never +entered the contemplation of the sounder judgment of the old man. Both +were satisfied of the sincerity of my love, and could but put up prayers +to Heaven for the happiness of their child. + +A letter which I received from Minna about that time has just fallen into +my hands. Yes, these are the characters traced by her own hand. I will +transcribe the letter:— + +“I am indeed a weak, foolish girl to fancy that the friend I so tenderly +love could give an instant’s pain to his poor Minna! Oh no! thou art so +good, so inexpressibly good! But do not misunderstand me. I will accept +no sacrifice at thy hands—none whatever. Oh heavens! I should hate +myself! No; thou hast made me happy, thou hast taught me to love thee. + +“Go, then—let me not forget my destiny—Count Peter belongs not to me, but +to the whole world; and oh! what pride for thy Minna to hear thy deeds +proclaimed, and blessings invoked on thy idolised head! Ah! when I think +of this, I could chide thee that thou shouldst for one instant forget thy +high destiny for the sake of a simple maiden! Go, then; otherwise the +reflection will pierce me. How blest I have been rendered by thy love! +Perhaps, also, I have planted some flowers in the path of thy life, as I +twined them in the wreath which I presented to thee. + +“Go, then—fear not to leave me—you are too deeply seated in my heart—I +shall die inexpressibly happy in thy love.” + +Conceive how these words pierced my soul, Chamisso! + +I declared to her that I was not what I seemed—that, although a rich, I +was an unspeakably miserable man—that a curse was on me, which must +remain a secret, although the only one between us—yet that I was not +without a hope of its being removed—that this poisoned every hour of my +life—that I should plunge her with me into the abyss—she, the light and +joy, the very soul of my existence. Then she wept because I was unhappy. +Oh! Minna was all love and tenderness. To save me one tear she would +gladly have sacrificed her life. + +Yet she was far from comprehending the full meaning of my words. She +still looked upon me as some proscribed prince or illustrious exile; and +her vivid imagination had invested her lover with every lofty attribute. + +One day I said to her, “Minna, the last day in next month will decide my +fate, and perhaps change it for the better; if not, I would sooner die +than render you miserable.” + +She laid her head on my shoulder to conceal her tears. “Should thy fate +be changed,” she said, “I only wish to know that thou art happy; if thy +condition is an unhappy one, I will share it with thee, and assist thee +to support it.” + +“Minna, Minna!” I exclaimed, “recall those rash words—those mad words +which have escaped thy lips! Didst thou know the misery and curse—didst +thou know who—what—thy lover—Seest thou not, my Minna, this convulsive +shuddering which thrills my whole frame, and that there is a secret in my +breast which you cannot penetrate?” She sank sobbing at my feet, and +renewed her vows and entreaties. + +Her father now entered, and I declared to him my intention to solicit the +hand of his daughter on the first day of the month after the ensuing one. +I fixed that time, I told him, because circumstances might probably occur +in the interval materially to influence my future destiny; but my love +for his daughter was unchangeable. + +The good old man started at hearing such words from the mouth of Count +Peter. He fell upon my neck, and rose again in the utmost confusion for +having forgotten himself. Then he began to doubt, to ponder, and to +scrutinise; and spoke of dowry, security, and future provision for his +beloved child. I thanked him for having reminded me of all this, and +told him it was my wish to remain in a country where I seemed to be +beloved, and to lead a life free from anxiety. I then commissioned him +to purchase the finest estate in the neighbourhood in the name of his +daughter—for a father was the best person to act for his daughter in such +a case—and to refer for payment to me. This occasioned him a good deal +of trouble, as a stranger had everywhere anticipated him; but at last he +made a purchase for about £150,000. + +I confess this was but an innocent artifice to get rid of him, as I had +frequently done before; for it must be confessed that he was somewhat +tedious. The good mother was rather deaf, and not jealous, like her +husband, of the honour of conversing with the Count. + +The happy party pressed me to remain with them longer this evening. I +dared not—I had not a moment to lose. I saw the rising moon streaking +the horizon—my hour was come. + +Next evening I went again to the forester’s garden. I had wrapped myself +closely up in my cloak, slouched my hat over my eyes, and advanced +towards Minna. As she raised her head and looked at me, she started +involuntarily. The apparition of that dreadful night in which I had been +seen without a shadow was now standing distinctly before me—it was she +herself. Had she recognised me? She was silent and thoughtful. I felt +an oppressive load at my heart. I rose from my seat. She laid her head +on my shoulder, still silent and in tears. I went away. + +I now found her frequently weeping. I became more and more melancholy. +Her parents were beyond expression happy. The eventful day approached, +threatening and heavy, like a thundercloud. The evening preceding +arrived. I could scarcely breathe. I had carefully filled a large chest +with gold, and sat down to await the appointed time—the twelfth hour—it +struck. + +Now I remained with my eyes fixed on the hand of the clock, counting the +seconds—the minutes—which struck me to the heart like daggers. I started +at every sound—at last daylight appeared. The leaden hours passed +on—morning—evening—night came. Hope was fast fading away as the hand +advanced. It struck eleven—no one appeared—the last minutes—the first +and last stroke of the twelfth hour died away. I sank back in my bed in +an agony of weeping. In the morning I should, shadowless as I was, claim +the hand of my beloved Minna. A heavy sleep towards daylight closed my +eyes. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +IT was yet early, when I was suddenly awoke by voices in hot dispute in +my antechamber. I listened. Bendel was forbidding Rascal to enter my +room, who swore he would receive no orders from his equals, and insisted +on forcing his way. The faithful Bendel reminded him that if such words +reached his master’s ears, he would turn him out of an excellent place. +Rascal threatened to strike him if he persisted in refusing his entrance. + +By this time, having half dressed myself, I angrily threw open the door, +and addressing myself to Rascal, inquired what he meant by such +disgraceful conduct. He drew back a couple of steps, and coolly +answered, “Count Peter, may I beg most respectfully that you will favour +me with a sight of your shadow? The sun is now shining brightly in the +court below.” + +I stood as if struck by a thunderbolt, and for some time was unable to +speak. At last, I asked him how a servant could dare to behave so +towards his master. He interrupted me by saying, quite coolly, “A +servant may be a very honourable man, and unwilling to serve a shadowless +master—I request my dismissal.” + +I felt that I must adopt a softer tone, and replied, “But, Rascal, my +good fellow, who can have put such strange ideas into your head? How can +you imagine—” + +He again interrupted me in the same tone—“People say you have no shadow. +In short, let me see your shadow, or give me my dismissal.” + +Bendel, pale and trembling, but more collected than myself, made a sign +to me. I had recourse to the all-powerful influence of gold. But even +gold had lost its power—Rascal threw it at my feet: “From a shadowless +man,” he said, “I will take nothing.” + +Turning his back upon me, and putting on his hat, he then slowly left the +room, whistling a tune. I stood, with Bendel, as if petrified, gazing +after him. + +With a deep sigh and a heavy heart I now prepared to keep my engagement, +and to appear in the forester’s garden like a criminal before his judge. +I entered by the shady arbour, which had received the name of Count +Peter’s arbour, where we had appointed to meet. The mother advanced with +a cheerful air; Minna sat fair and beautiful as the early snow of autumn +reposing on the departing flowers, soon to be dissolved and lost in the +cold stream. + +The ranger, with a written paper in his hand, was walking up and down in +an agitated manner, and struggling to suppress his feelings—his usually +unmoved countenance being one moment flushed, and the next perfectly +pale. He came forward as I entered, and, in a faltering voice, requested +a private conversation with me. The path by which he requested me to +follow him led to an open spot in the garden, where the sun was shining. +I sat down. A long silence ensued, which even the good woman herself did +not venture to break. The ranger, in an agitated manner, paced up and +down with unequal steps. At last he stood still; and glancing over the +paper he held in his hand, he said, addressing me with a penetrating +look, “Count Peter, do you know one Peter Schlemihl?” I was silent. + +“A man,” he continued, “of excellent character and extraordinary +endowments.” + +He paused for an answer.—“And supposing I myself were that very man?” + +“You!” he exclaimed, passionately; “he has lost his shadow!” + +“Oh, my suspicion is true!” cried Minna; “I have long known it—he has no +shadow!” And she threw herself into her mother’s arms, who, convulsively +clasping her to her bosom, reproached her for having so long, to her +hurt, kept such a secret. But, like the fabled Arethusa, her tears, as +from a fountain, flowed more abundantly, and her sobs increased at my +approach. + +“And so,” said the ranger fiercely, “you have not scrupled, with +unparalleled shamelessness, to deceive both her and me; and you pretended +to love her, forsooth—her whom you have reduced to the state in which you +now see her. See how she weeps!—Oh, shocking, shocking!” + +By this time I had lost all presence of mind; and I answered, confusedly, +“After all, it is but a shadow, a mere shadow, which a man can do very +well without; and really it is not worth the while to make all this noise +about such a trifle.” Feeling the groundlessness of what I was saying, I +ceased, and no one condescended to reply. At last I added, “What is lost +to-day may be found to-morrow.” + +“Be pleased, sir,” continued the ranger, in great wrath—“be pleased to +explain how you have lost your shadow.” + +Here again an excuse was ready: “A boor of a fellow,” said I, “one day +trod so rudely on my shadow that he tore a large hole in it. I sent it +to be repaired—for gold can do wonders—and yesterday I expected it home +again.” + +“Very well,” answered the ranger. “You are a suitor for my daughter’s +hand, and so are others. As a father, I am bound to provide for her. I +will give you three days to seek your shadow. Return to me in the course +of that time with a well-fitted shadow, and you shall receive a hearty +welcome; otherwise, on the fourth day—remember, on the fourth day—my +daughter becomes the wife of another.” + +I now attempted to say one word to Minna; but, sobbing more violently, +she clung still closer to her mother, who made a sign for me to withdraw. +I obeyed; and now the world seemed shut out from me for ever. + +Having escaped from the affectionate care of Bendel, I now wandered +wildly through the neighbouring woods and meadows. Drops of anguish fell +from my brow, deep groans burst from my bosom—frenzied despair raged +within me. + +I knew not how long this had lasted, when I felt myself seized by the +sleeve on a sunny heath. I stopped, and looking up, beheld the +grey-coated man, who appeared to have run himself out of breath in +pursuing me. He immediately began: + +“I had,” said he, “appointed this day; but your impatience anticipated +it. All, however, may yet be right. Take my advice—redeem your shadow, +which is at your command, and return immediately to the ranger’s garden, +where you will be well received, and all the past will seem a mere joke. +As for Rascal—who has betrayed you in order to pay his addresses to +Minna—leave him to me; he is just a fit subject for me.” + +I stood like one in a dream. “This day?” I considered again. He was +right—I had made a mistake of a day. I felt in my bosom for the purse. +He perceived my intention, and drew back. + +“No, Count Peter; the purse is in good hands—pray keep it.” I gazed at +him with looks of astonishment and inquiry. “I only beg a trifle as a +token of remembrance. Be so good as to sign this memorandum.” On the +parchment, which he held out to me, were these words:—“By virtue of this +present, to which I have appended my signature, I hereby bequeath my soul +to the holder, after its natural separation from my body.” + +I gazed in mute astonishment alternately at the paper and the grey +unknown. In the meantime he had dipped a new pen in a drop of blood +which was issuing from a scratch in my hand just made by a thorn. He +presented it to me. “Who are you?” at last I exclaimed. “What can it +signify?” he answered; “do you not perceive who I am? A poor devil—a +sort of scholar and philosopher, who obtains but poor thanks from his +friends for his admirable arts, and whose only amusement on earth +consists in his small experiments. But just sign this; to the right, +exactly underneath—Peter Schlemihl.” + +I shook my head, and replied, “Excuse me, sir; I cannot sign that.” + +“Cannot!” he exclaimed; “and why not?” + +“Because it appears to me a hazardous thing to exchange my soul for my +shadow.” + +“Hazardous!” he exclaimed, bursting into a loud laugh. “And, pray, may I +be allowed to inquire what sort of a thing your soul is?—have you ever +seen it?—and what do you mean to do with it after your death? You ought +to think yourself fortunate in meeting with a customer who, during your +life, in exchange for this infinitely-minute quantity, this galvanic +principle, this polarised agency, or whatever other foolish name you may +give it, is willing to bestow on you something substantial—in a word, +your own identical shadow, by virtue of which you will obtain your +beloved Minna, and arrive at the accomplishment of all your wishes; or do +you prefer giving up the poor young girl to the power of that +contemptible scoundrel Rascal? Nay, you shall behold her with your own +eyes. Come here; I will lend you an invisible cap (he drew something out +of his pocket), and we will enter the ranger’s garden unseen.” + +I must confess that I felt excessively ashamed to be thus laughed at by +the grey stranger. I detested him from the very bottom of my soul; and I +really believe this personal antipathy, more than principle or +previously-formed opinion, restrained me from purchasing my shadow, much +as I stood in need of it, at such an expense. Besides, the thought was +insupportable, of making this proposed visit in his society. To behold +this hateful sneak, this mocking fiend, place himself between me and my +beloved, between our torn and bleeding hearts, was too revolting an idea +to be entertained for a moment. I considered the past as irrevocable, my +own misery as inevitable; and turning to the grey man, I said, “I have +exchanged my shadow for this very extraordinary purse, and I have +sufficiently repented it. For Heaven’s sake, let the transaction be +declared null and void!” He shook his head; and his countenance assumed +an expression of the most sinister cast. I continued, “I will make no +exchange whatever, even for the sake of my shadow, nor will I sign the +paper. It follows, also, that the incognito visit you propose to me +would afford you far more entertainment than it could possibly give me. +Accept my excuses, therefore; and, since it must be so, let us part.” + +“I am sorry, Mr. Schlemihl, that you thus obstinately persist in +rejecting my friendly offer. Perhaps, another time, I may be more +fortunate. Farewell! May we shortly meet again! But, _à propos_, allow +me to show you that I do not undervalue my purchase, but preserve it +carefully.” + +So saying, he drew my shadow out of his pocket; and shaking it cleverly +out of its folds, he stretched it out at his feet in the sun—so that he +stood between two obedient shadows, his own and mine, which was compelled +to follow and comply with his every movement. + +On again beholding my poor shadow after so long a separation, and seeing +it degraded to so vile a bondage at the very time that I was so +unspeakably in want of it, my heart was ready to burst, and I wept +bitterly. The detested wretch stood exulting over his prey, and +unblushingly renewed his proposal. “One stroke of your pen, and the +unhappy Minna is rescued from the clutches of the villain Rascal, and +transferred to the arms of the high-born Count Peter—merely a stroke of +your pen!” + +My tears broke out with renewed violence; but I turned away from him, and +made a sign for him to be gone. + +Bendel, whose deep solicitude had induced him to come in search of me, +arrived at this very moment. The good and faithful creature, on seeing +me weeping, and that a shadow (evidently mine) was in the power of the +mysterious unknown, determined to rescue it by force, should that be +necessary; and disdaining to use any finesse, he desired him directly, +and without any disputing, to restore my property. Instead of a reply, +the grey man turned his back on the worthy fellow, and was making off. +But Bendel raised his buck-thorn stick; and following close upon him, +after repeated commands, but in vain, to restore the shadow, he made him +feel the whole force of his powerful arm. The grey man, as if accustomed +to such treatment, held down his head, slouched his shoulders, and, with +soft and noiseless steps, pursued his way over the heath, carrying with +him my shadow, and also my faithful servant. For a long time I heard +hollow sounds ringing through the waste, until at last they died away in +the distance, and I was again left to solitude and misery. + + * * * * * + +Alone on the wild heath, I disburdened my heart of an insupportable load +by giving free vent to my tears. But I saw no bounds, no relief, to my +surpassing wretchedness; and I drank in the fresh poison which the +mysterious stranger had poured into my wounds with a furious avidity. As +I retraced in my mind the loved image of my Minna, and depicted her sweet +countenance all pale and in tears, such as I had beheld her in my late +disgrace, the bold and sarcastic visage of Rascal would ever and anon +thrust itself between us. I hid my face, and fled rapidly over the +plains; but the horrible vision unrelentingly pursued me, till at last I +sank breathless on the ground, and bedewed it with a fresh torrent of +tears—and all this for a shadow!—a shadow which one stroke of the pen +would repurchase. I pondered on the singular proposal, and on my +hesitation to comply with it. My mind was confused—I had lost the power +of judging or comprehending. The day was waning apace. I satisfied the +cravings of hunger with a few wild fruits, and quenched my thirst at a +neighbouring stream. Night came on; I threw myself down under a tree, +and was awoke by the damp morning air from an uneasy sleep, in which I +had fancied myself struggling in the agonies of death. Bendel had +certainly lost all trace of me, and I was glad of it. I did not wish to +return among my fellow-creatures—I shunned them as the hunted deer flies +before its pursuers. Thus I passed three melancholy days. + +I found myself on the morning of the fourth on a sandy plain, basking in +the rays of the sun, and sitting on a fragment of rock; for it was sweet +to enjoy the genial warmth of which I had so long been deprived. Despair +still preyed on my heart. Suddenly a slight sound startled me; I looked +round, prepared to fly, but saw no one. On the sunlit sand before me +flitted the shadow of a man not unlike my own; and wandering about alone, +it seemed to have lost its master. This sight powerfully excited me. +“Shadow!” thought I, “art thou in search of thy master? in me thou shalt +find him.” And I sprang forward to seize it, fancying that could I +succeed in treading so exactly in its traces as to step in its footmarks, +it would attach itself to me, and in time become accustomed to me, and +follow all my movements. + +The shadow, as I moved, took to flight, and I commenced a hot chase after +the airy fugitive, solely excited by the hope of being delivered from my +present dreadful situation; the bare idea inspired me with fresh strength +and vigour. + +The shadow now fled towards a distant wood, among whose shades I must +necessarily have lost it. Seeing this, my heart beat wild with fright, +my ardour increased and lent wings to my speed. I was evidently gaining +on the shadow—I came nearer and nearer—I was within reach of it, when it +suddenly stopped and turned towards me. Like a lion darting on its prey, +I made a powerful spring and fell unexpectedly upon a hard substance. +Then followed, from an invisible hand, the most terrible blows in the +ribs that anyone ever received. The effect of my terror made me +endeavour convulsively to strike and grasp at the unseen object before +me. The rapidity of my motions brought me to the ground, where I lay +stretched out with a man under me, whom I held tight, and who now became +visible. + +The whole affair was now explained. The man had undoubtedly possessed +the bird’s nest which communicates its charm of invisibility to its +possessor, though not equally so to his shadow; and this nest he had now +thrown away. I looked all round, and soon discovered the shadow of this +invisible nest. I sprang towards it, and was fortunate enough to seize +the precious booty, and immediately became invisible and shadowless. + +The moment the man regained his feet he looked all round over the wide +sunny plain to discover his fortunate vanquisher, but could see neither +him nor his shadow, the latter seeming particularly to be the object of +his search: for previous to our encounter he had not had leisure to +observe that I was shadowless, and he could not be aware of it. Becoming +convinced that all traces of me were lost, he began to tear his hair, and +give himself up to all the frenzy of despair. In the meantime, this +newly acquired treasure communicated to me both the ability and the +desire to mix again among mankind. + +I was at a loss for a pretext to vindicate this unjust robbery—or, +rather, so deadened had I become, I felt no need of a pretext; and in +order to dissipate every idea of the kind, I hastened on, regardless of +the unhappy man, whose fearful lamentations long resounded in my ears. +Such, at the time, were my impressions of all the circumstances of this +affair. + +I now ardently desired to return to the ranger’s garden, in order to +ascertain in person the truth of the information communicated by the +odious unknown; but I knew not where I was, until, ascending an eminence +to take a survey of the surrounding country, I perceived, from its +summit, the little town and the gardens almost at my feet. My heart beat +violently, and tears of a nature very different from those I had lately +shed filled my eyes. I should, then, once more behold her! + +Anxiety now hastened my steps. Unseen I met some peasants coming from +the town; they were talking of me, of Rascal, and of the ranger. I would +not stay to listen to their conversation, but proceeded on. My bosom +thrilled with expectation as I entered the garden. At this moment I +heard something like a hollow laugh which caused me involuntarily to +shudder. I cast a rapid glance around, but could see no one. I passed +on; presently I fancied I heard the sound of footsteps close to me, but +no one was within sight. My ears must have deceived me. + +It was early; no one was in Count Peter’s bower—the gardens were +deserted. I traversed all the well-known paths, and penetrated even to +the dwelling-house itself. The same rustling sound became now more and +more audible. With anguished feelings I sat down on a seat placed in the +sunny space before the door, and actually felt some invisible fiend take +a place by me, and heard him utter a sarcastic laugh. The key was turned +in the door, which was opened. The forest-master appeared with a paper +in his hand. Suddenly my head was, as it were, enveloped in a mist. I +looked up, and, oh horror! the grey-coated man was at my side, peering in +my face with a satanic grin. He had extended the mist-cap he wore over +my head. His shadow and my own were lying together at his feet in +perfect amity. He kept twirling in his hand the well-known parchment +with an air of indifference; and while the ranger, absorbed in thought, +and intent upon his paper, paced up and down the arbour, my tormentor +confidentially leaned towards me, and whispered, “So, Mr. Schlemihl, you +have at length accepted my invitation; and here we sit, two heads under +one hood, as the saying is. Well, well, all in good time. But now you +can return me my bird’s nest—you have no further occasion for it; and I +am sure you are too honourable a man to withhold it from me. No need of +thanks, I assure you; I had infinite pleasure in lending it to you.” He +took it out of my unresisting hand, put it into his pocket, and then +broke into so loud a laugh at my expense, that the forest-master turned +round, startled at the sound. I was petrified. “You must acknowledge,” +he continued, “that in our position a hood is much more convenient. It +serves to conceal not only a man, but his shadow, or as many shadows as +he chooses to carry. I, for instance, to-day bring two, you perceive.” +He laughed again. “Take notice, Schlemihl, that what a man refuses to do +with a good grace in the first instance, he is always in the end +compelled to do. I am still of opinion that you ought to redeem your +shadow and claim your bride (for it is yet time); and as to Rascal, he +shall dangle at a rope’s end—no difficult matter, so long as we can find +a bit. As a mark of friendship I will give you my cap into the bargain.” + +The mother now came out, and the following conversation took place: “What +is Minna doing?” “She is weeping.” “Silly child! what good can that +do?” “None, certainly; but it is so soon to bestow her hand on another. +O husband, you are too harsh to your poor child.” “No, wife; you view +things in a wrong light. When she finds herself the wife of a wealthy +and honourable man, her tears will soon cease; she will waken out of a +dream, as it were, happy and grateful to Heaven and to her parents, as +you will see.” “Heaven grant it may be so!” replied the wife. “She has, +indeed, now considerable property; but after the noise occasioned by her +unlucky affair with that adventurer, do you imagine that she is likely +soon to meet with so advantageous a match as Mr. Rascal? Do you know the +extent of Mr. Rascal’s influence and wealth? Why, he has purchased with +ready money, in this country, six millions of landed property, free from +all encumbrances. I have had all the documents in my hands. It was he +who outbid me everywhere when I was about to make a desirable purchase; +and, besides, he has bills on Mr. Thomas John’s house to the amount of +three millions and a half.” “He must have been a prodigious thief!” +“How foolishly you talk! he wisely saved where others squandered their +property.” “A mere livery-servant!” “Nonsense! he has at all events an +unexceptionable shadow.” “True, but . . . ” + +While this conversation was passing, the grey-coated man looked at me +with a satirical smile. + +The door opened, and Minna entered, leaning on the arm of her female +attendant, silent tears flowing down her fair but pallid face. She +seated herself in the chair which had been placed for her under the +lime-trees, and her father took a stool by her side. He gently raised +her hand; and as her tears flowed afresh, he addressed her in the most +affectionate manner:— + +“My own dear, good child—my Minna—will act reasonably, and not afflict +her poor old father, who only wishes to make her happy. My dearest +child, this blow has shaken you—dreadfully, I know it; but you have been +saved, as by a miracle, from a miserable fate, my Minna. You loved the +unworthy villain most tenderly before his treachery was discovered: I +feel all this, Minna; and far be it from me to reproach you for it—in +fact, I myself loved him so long as I considered him to be a person of +rank: you now see yourself how differently it has turned out. Every dog +has a shadow; and the idea of my child having been on the eve of uniting +herself to a man who . . . but I am sure you will think no more of him. +A suitor has just appeared for you in the person of a man who does not +fear the sun—an honourable man—no prince indeed, but a man worth ten +millions of golden ducats sterling—a sum nearly ten times larger than +your fortune consists of—a man, too, who will make my dear child +happy—nay, do not oppose me—be my own good, dutiful child—allow your +loving father to provide for you, and to dry up these tears. Promise to +bestow your hand on Mr. Rascal. Speak my child: will you not?” + +Minna could scarcely summon strength to reply that she had now no longer +any hopes or desires on earth, and that she was entirely at her father’s +disposal. Rascal was therefore immediately sent for, and entered the +room with his usual forwardness; but Minima in the meantime had swooned +away. + +My detested companion looked at me indignantly, and whispered, “Can you +endure this? Have you no blood in your veins?” He instantly pricked my +finger, which bled. “Yes, positively,” he exclaimed, “you have some +blood left!—come, sign.” The parchment and pen were in my hand! + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +I SUBMIT myself to thy judgment, my dear Chamisso; I do not seek to bias +it. I have long been a rigid censor of myself, and nourished at my heart +the worm of remorse. This critical moment of my life is ever present to +my soul, and I dare only cast a hesitating glance at it, with a deep +sense of humiliation and grief. Ah, my dear friend, he who once permits +himself thoughtlessly to deviate but one step from the right road, will +imperceptibly find himself involved in various intricate paths, all +leading him farther and farther astray. In vain he beholds the +guiding-stars of Heaven shining before him. No choice is left him—he +must descend the precipice, and offer himself up a sacrifice to his fate. +After the false step which I had rashly made, and which entailed a curse +upon me, I had, in the wantonness of passion, entangled one in my fate +who had staked all her happiness upon me. What was left for me to do in +a case where I had brought another into misery, but to make a desperate +leap in the dark to save her?—the last, the only means of rescue +presented itself. Think not so meanly of me, Chamisso, as to imagine +that I would have shrunk from any sacrifice on my part. In such a case +it would have been but a poor ransom. No, Chamisso; but my whole soul +was filled with unconquerable hatred to the cringing knave and his +crooked ways. I might be doing him injustice; but I shuddered at the +bare idea of entering into any fresh compact with him. But here a +circumstance took place which entirely changed the face of things . . . + +I know not whether to ascribe it to excitement of mind, exhaustion of +physical strength (for during the last few days I had scarcely tasted +anything), or the antipathy I felt to the society of my fiendish +companion; but just as I was about to sign the fatal paper, I fell into a +deep swoon, and remained for a long time as if dead. The first sounds +which greeted my ear on recovering my consciousness were those of cursing +and imprecation; I opened my eyes—it was dusk; my hateful companion was +overwhelming me with reproaches. “Is not this behaving like an old +woman? Come, rise up, and finish quickly what you were going to do; or +perhaps you have changed your determination, and prefer to lie groaning +there?” + +I raised myself with difficulty from the ground and gazed around me +without speaking a word. It was late in the evening, and I heard strains +of festive music proceeding from the ranger’s brilliantly illuminated +house; groups of company were lounging about the gardens; two persons +approached, and seating themselves on the bench I had lately occupied, +began to converse on the subject of the marriage which had taken place +that morning between the wealthy Mr. Rascal and Minima. All was then +over. + +I tore off the cap which rendered me invisible; and my companion having +disappeared, I plunged in silence into the thickest gloom of the grove, +rapidly passed Count Peter’s bower towards the entrance-gate; but my +tormentor still haunted me, and loaded me with reproaches. “And is this +all the gratitude I am to expect from you, Mr. Schlemihl—you, whom I have +been watching all the weary day, until you should recover from your +nervous attack? What a fool’s part I have been enacting! It is of no +use flying from me, Mr. Perverse—we are inseparable—you have my gold, I +have your shadow; this exchange deprives us both of peace. Did you ever +hear of a man’s shadow leaving him?—yours follows me until you receive it +again into favour, and thus free me from it. Disgust and weariness +sooner or later will compel you to do what you should have done gladly at +first. In vain you strive with fate!” + +He continued unceasingly in the same tone, uttering constant sarcasms +about the gold and the shadow, till I was completely bewildered. To fly +from him was impossible. I had pursued my way through the empty streets +towards my own house, which I could scarcely recognise—the windows were +broken to pieces, no light was visible, the doors were shut, and the +bustle of domestics had ceased. My companion burst into a loud laugh. +“Yes, yes,” said he, “you see the state of things: however, you will find +your friend Bendel at home; he was sent back the other day so fatigued, +that I assure you he has never left the house since. He will have a fine +story to tell! So I wish you a very good night—may we shortly meet +again!” + +I had repeatedly rung the bell: at last a light appeared; and Bendel +inquired from within who was there. The poor fellow could scarcely +contain himself at the sound of my voice. The door flew open, and we +were locked in each other’s arms. I found him sadly changed; he was +looking ill and feeble. I, too, was altered; my hair had become quite +grey. He conducted me through the desolate apartments to an inner room, +which had escaped the general wreck. After partaking of some +refreshment, we seated ourselves; and, with fresh lamentations, he began +to tell me that the grey withered old man whom he had met with my shadow +had insensibly led him such a zig-zag race, that he had lost all traces +of me, and at last sank down exhausted with fatigue; that, unable to find +me, he had returned home, when, shortly after the mob, at Rascal’s +instigation, assembled violently before the house, broke the windows, and +by all sorts of excesses completely satiated their fury. Thus had they +treated their benefactor. My servants had fled in all directions. The +police had banished me from the town as a suspicious character, and +granted me an interval of twenty-four hours to leave the territory. +Bendel added many particulars as to the information I had already +obtained respecting Rascal’s wealth and marriage. This villain, it +seems—who was the author of all the measures taken against me—became +possessed of my secret nearly from the beginning, and, tempted by the +love of money, had supplied himself with a key to my chest, and from that +time had been laying the foundation of his present wealth. Bendel +related all this with many tears, and wept for joy that I was once more +safely restored to him, after all his fears and anxieties for me. In me, +however, such a state of things only awoke despair. + +My dreadful fate now stared me in the face in all its gigantic and +unchangeable horror. The source of tears was exhausted within me; no +groans escaped my breast; but with cool indifference I bared my +unprotected head to the blast. “Bendel,” said I, “you know my fate; this +heavy visitation is a punishment for my early sins: but as for thee, my +innocent friend, I can no longer permit thee to share my destiny. I will +depart this very night—saddle me a horse—I will set out alone. Remain +here, Bendel—I insist upon it: there must be some chests of gold still +left in the house—take them, they are thine. I shall be a restless and +solitary wanderer on the face of the earth; but should better days arise, +and fortune once more smile propitiously on me, then I will not forget +thy steady fidelity; for in hours of deep distress thy faithful bosom has +been the depository of my sorrows.” With a bursting heart, the worthy +Bendel prepared to obey this last command of his master; for I was deaf +to all his arguments and blind to his tears. My horse was brought—I +pressed my weeping friend to my bosom—threw myself into the saddle, and, +under the friendly shades of night, quitted this sepulchre of my +existence, indifferent which road my horse should take; for now on this +side the grave I had neither wishes, hopes, nor fears. + +After a short time I was joined by a traveller on foot, who, after +walking for a while by the side of my horse, observed that as we both +seemed to be travelling the same road, he should beg my permission to lay +his cloak on the horse’s back behind me, to which I silently assented. +He thanked me with easy politeness for this trifling favour, praised my +horse, and then took occasion to extol the happiness and the power of the +rich, and fell, I scarcely know how, into a sort of conversation with +himself, in which I merely acted the part of listener. He unfolded his +views of human life and of the world, and, touching on metaphysics, +demanded an answer from that cloudy science to the question of +questions—the answer that should solve all mysteries. He deduced one +problem from another in a very lucid manner, and then proceeded to their +solution. + +You may remember, my dear friend, that after having run through the +school-philosophy, I became sensible of my unfitness for metaphysical +speculations, and therefore totally abstained from engaging in them. +Since then I have acquiesced in some things, and abandoned all hope of +comprehending others; trusting, as you advised me, to my own plain sense +and the voice of conscience to direct and, if possible, maintain me in +the right path. + +Now this skilful rhetorician seemed to me to expend great skill in +rearing a firmly-constructed edifice, towering aloft on its own +self-supported basis, but resting on, and upheld by, some internal +principle of necessity. I regretted in it the total absence of what I +desired to find; and thus it seemed a mere work of art, serving only by +its elegance and exquisite finish to captivate the eye. Nevertheless, I +listened with pleasure to this eloquently gifted man, who diverted my +attention from my own sorrows to the speaker; and he would have secured +my entire acquiescence if he had appealed to my heart as well as to my +judgment. + +In the meantime the hours had passed away, and morning had already dawned +imperceptibly in the horizon; looking up, I shuddered as I beheld in the +east all those splendid hues that announce the rising sun. At this hour, +when all natural shadows are seen in their full proportions, not a fence +or a shelter of any kind could I descry in this open country, and I was +not alone! I cast a glance at my companion, and shuddered again—it was +the man in the grey coat himself! He laughed at my surprise, and said, +without giving me time to speak: “You see, according to the fashion of +this world, mutual convenience binds us together for a time: there is +plenty of time to think of parting. The road here along the mountain, +which perhaps has escaped your notice, is the only one that you can +prudently take; into the valley you dare not descend—the path over the +mountain would but reconduct you to the town which you have left—my road, +too, lies this way. I perceive you change colour at the rising sun—I +have no objections to let you have the loan of your shadow during our +journey, and in return you may not be indisposed to tolerate my society. +You have now no Bendel; but I will act for him. I regret that you are +not over-fond of me; but that need not prevent you from accepting my poor +services. The devil is not so black as he is painted. Yesterday you +provoked me, I own; but now that is all forgotten, and you must confess I +have this day succeeded in beguiling the wearisomeness of your journey. +Come, take your shadow, and make trial of it.” + +The sun had risen, and we were meeting with passengers; so I reluctantly +consented. With a smile, he immediately let my shadow glide down to the +ground; and I beheld it take its place by that of my horse, and gaily +trot along with me. My feelings were anything but pleasant. I rode +through groups of country people, who respectfully made way for the +well-mounted stranger. Thus I proceeded, occasionally stealing a +sidelong glance with a beating heart from my horse at the shadow once my +own, but now, alas, accepted as a loan from a stranger, or rather a +fiend. He moved on carelessly at my side, whistling a song. He being on +foot, and I on horseback, the temptation to hazard a silly project +occurred to me; so, suddenly turning my bridle, I set spurs to my horse, +and at full gallop struck into a by-path; but my shadow, on the sudden +movement of my horse, glided away, and stood on the road quietly awaiting +the approach of its legal owner. I was obliged to return abashed towards +the grey man; but he very coolly finished his song, and with a laugh set +my shadow to rights again, reminding me that it was at my option to have +it irrevocably fixed to me, by purchasing it on just and equitable terms. +“I hold you,” said he, “by the shadow; and you seek in vain to get rid of +me. A rich man like you requires a shadow, unquestionably; and you are +to blame for not having seen this sooner.” + +I now continued my journey on the same road; every convenience and even +luxury of life was mine; I moved about in peace and freedom, for I +possessed a shadow, though a borrowed one; and all the respect due to +wealth was paid to me. But a deadly disease preyed on my heart. My +extraordinary companion, who gave himself out to be the humble attendant +of the richest individual in the world, was remarkable for his dexterity; +in short, his singular address and promptitude admirably fitted him to be +the very _beau ideal_ of a rich man’s lacquey. But he never stirred from +my side, and tormented me with constant assurances that a day would most +certainly come when, if it were only to get rid of him, I should gladly +comply with his terms, and redeem my shadow. Thus he became as irksome +as he was hateful to me. I really stood in awe of him—I had placed +myself in his power. Since he had effected my return to the pleasures of +the world, which I had resolved to shun, he had the perfect mastery of +me. His eloquence was irresistible, and at times I almost thought he was +in the right. A shadow is indeed necessary to a man of fortune; and if I +chose to maintain the position in which he had placed me, there was only +one means of doing so. But on one point I was immovable: since I had +sacrificed my love for Minna, and thereby blighted the happiness of my +whole life, I would not now, for all the shadows in the universe be +induced to sign away my soul to this being—I knew not how it might end. + +One day we were sitting by the entrance of a cavern, much visited by +strangers, who ascended the mountain: the rushing noise of a subterranean +torrent resounded from the fathomless abyss, the depths of which exceeded +all calculation. He was, according to his favourite custom, employing +all the powers of his lavish fancy, and all the charm of the most +brilliant colouring, to depict to me what I might effect in the world by +virtue of my purse, when once I had recovered my shadow. With my elbows +resting on my knees, I kept my face concealed in my hands, and listened +to the false fiend, my heart torn between the temptation and my +determined opposition to it. Such indecision I could no longer endure, +and resolved on one decisive effort. + +“You seem to forget,” said I, “that I tolerate your presence only on +certain conditions, and that I am to retain perfect freedom of action.” + +“You have but to command, I depart,” was all his reply. + +The threat was familiar to me; I was silent. He then began to fold up my +shadow. I turned pale, but allowed him to continue. A long silence +ensued, which he was the first to break. + +“You cannot endure me, Mr. Schlemihl—you hate me—I am aware of it—but +why?—is it, perhaps, because you attacked me on the open plain, in order +to rob me of my invisible bird’s nest? or is it because you thievishly +endeavoured to seduce away the shadow with which I had entrusted you—my +own property—confiding implicitly in your honour! I, for my part, have +no dislike to you. It is perfectly natural that you should avail +yourself of every means, presented either by cunning or force, to promote +your own interests. That your principles also should be of the strictest +sort, and your intentions of the most honourable description,—these are +fancies with which I have nothing to do; I do not pretend to such +strictness myself. Each of us is free, I to act, and you to think, as +seems best. Did I ever seize you by the throat, to tear out of your body +that valuable soul I so ardently wish to possess? Did I ever set my +servant to attack you, to get back my purse, or attempt to run off with +it from you?” + +I had not a word to reply. + +“Well, well,” he exclaimed, “you detest me, and I know it; but I bear you +no malice on that account. We must part—that is clear; also I must say +that you begin to be very tiresome to me. Once more let me advise you to +free yourself entirely from my troublesome presence by the purchase of +your shadow.” + +I held out the purse to him. + +“No, Mr. Schlemihl; not at that price.” + +With a deep sigh, I said, “Be it so, then; let us part, I entreat; cross +my path no more. There is surely room enough in the world for us both.” + +Laughing, he replied, “I go; but just allow me to inform you how you may +at any time recall me whenever you have a mind to see your most humble +servant: you have only to shake your purse, the sound of the gold will +bring me to you in an instant. In this world every one consults his own +advantage; but you see I have thought of yours, and clearly confer upon +you a new power. Oh this purse! it would still prove a powerful bond +between us, had the moth begun to devour your shadow.—But enough: you +hold me by my gold, and may command your servant at any distance. You +know that I can be very serviceable to my friends; and that the rich are +my peculiar care—this you have observed. As to your shadow, allow me to +say, you can only redeem it on one condition.” + +Recollections of former days came over me; and I hastily asked him if he +had obtained Mr. Thomas John’s signature. + +He smiled, and said, “It was by no means necessary from so excellent a +friend.” + +“Where is he? for God’s sake tell me: I insist upon knowing.” + +With some hesitation, he put his hand into his pocket; and drew out the +altered and pallid form of Mr. John by the hair of his head, whose livid +lips uttered the awful words, “_Justo judicio Dei judicatus sum_; _justo +judicio Dei condemnatus sum_”—“I am judged and condemned by the just +judgment of God.” I was horror-struck; and instantly throwing the +jingling purse into the abyss, I exclaimed, “Wretch! in the name of +Heaven, I conjure you to be gone!—away from my sight!—never appear before +me again!” With a dark expression on his countenance, he arose, and +immediately vanished behind the huge rocks which surrounded the place. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +I WAS now left equally without gold and without shadow; but a heavy load +was taken from my breast, and I felt cheerful. Had not my Minna been +irrecoverably lost to me, or even had I been perfectly free from +self-reproach on her account, I felt that happiness might yet have been +mine. At present I was lost in doubt as to my future course. I examined +my pockets, and found I had a few gold pieces still left, which I counted +with feelings of great satisfaction. I had left my horse at the inn, and +was ashamed to return, or at all events I must wait till the sun had set, +which at present was high in the heavens. I laid myself down under a +shady tree and fell into a peaceful sleep. + +Lovely forms floated in airy measures before me, and filled up my +delightful dreams. Minna, with a garland of flowers entwined in her +hair, was bending over me with a smile of goodwill; also the worthy +Bendel was crowned with flowers, and hastened to meet me with friendly +greetings. Many other forms seemed to rise up confusedly in the +distance: thyself among the number, Chamisso. Perfect radiance beamed +around them, but none had a shadow; and what was more surprising, there +was no appearance of unhappiness on this account. Nothing was to be seen +or heard but flowers and music; and love and joy, and groves of +never-fading palms, seemed the natives of that happy clime. + +In vain I tried to detain and comprehend the lovely but fleeting forms. +I was conscious, also, of being in a dream, and was anxious that nothing +should rouse me from it; and when I did awake, I kept my eyes closed, in +order if possible to continue the illusion. At last I opened my eyes. +The sun was now visible in the east; I must have slept the whole night: I +looked upon this as a warning not to return to the inn. What I had left +there I was content to lose, without much regret; and resigning myself to +Providence, I decided on taking a by-road that led through the wooded +declivity of the mountain. I never once cast a glance behind me; nor did +it ever occur to me to return, as I might have done, to Bendel, whom I +had left in affluence. I reflected on the new character I was now going +to assume in the world. My present garb was very humble—consisting of an +old black coat I formerly had worn at Berlin, and which by some chance +was the first I put my hand on before setting out on this journey, a +travelling-cap, and an old pair of boots. I cut down a knotted stick in +memory of the spot, and commenced my pilgrimage. + +In the forest I met an aged peasant, who gave me a friendly greeting, and +with whom I entered into conversation, requesting, as a traveller +desirous of information, some particulars relative to the road, the +country, and its inhabitants, the productions of the mountain, &c. He +replied to my various inquiries with readiness and intelligence. At last +we reached the bed of a mountain-torrent, which had laid waste a +considerable tract of the forest; I inwardly shuddered at the idea of the +open sunshine. I suffered the peasant to go before me. In the middle of +the very place which I dreaded so much, he suddenly stopped, and turned +back to give me an account of this inundation; but instantly perceiving +that I had no shadow, he broke off abruptly, and exclaimed, “How is +this?—you have no shadow!” + +“Alas, alas!” said I, “in a long and serious illness I had the misfortune +to lose my hair, my nails, and my shadow. Look, good father; although my +hair has grown again, it is quite white; and at my age, my nails are +still very short; and my poor shadow seems to have left me, never to +return.” + +“Ah!” said the old man, shaking his head; “no shadow! that was indeed a +terrible illness, sir.” + +But he did not resume his narrative; and at the very first cross-road we +came to, left me without uttering a syllable. Fresh tears flowed from my +eyes, and my cheerfulness had fled. With a heavy heart I travelled on, +avoiding all society. I plunged into the deepest shades of the forest; +and often, to avoid a sunny tract of country, I waited for hours till +every human being had left it, and I could pass it unobserved. In the +evenings I took shelter in the villages. I bent my steps to a mine in +the mountains, where I hoped to meet with work underground; for besides +that my present situation compelled me to provide for my own support, I +felt that incessant and laborious occupation alone could divert my mind +from dwelling on painful subjects. A few rainy days assisted me +materially on my journey; but it was to the no small detriment of my +boots, the soles of which were better suited to Count Peter than to the +poor foot-traveller. I was soon barefoot, and a new purchase must be +made. The following morning I commenced an earnest search in a +marketplace, where a fair was being held; and I saw in one of the booths +new and second-hand boots set out for sale. I was a long time selecting +and bargaining; I wished much to have a new pair, but was frightened at +the extravagant price; and so was obliged to content myself with a +second-hand pair, still pretty good and strong, which the beautiful +fair-haired youth who kept the booth handed over to me with a cheerful +smile, wishing me a prosperous journey. I went on, and left the place +immediately by the northern gate. + +I was so lost in my own thoughts, that I walked along scarcely knowing +how or where. I was calculating the chances of my reaching the mine by +the evening, and considering how I should introduce myself. I had not +gone two hundred steps, when I perceived I was not in the right road. I +looked round, and found myself in a wild-looking forest of ancient firs, +where apparently the stroke of the axe had never been heard. A few steps +more brought me amid huge rocks covered with moss and saxifragous plants, +between which whole fields of snow and ice were extended. The air was +intensely cold. I looked round, and the forest had disappeared behind +me; a few steps more, and there was the stillness of death itself. The +icy plain on which I stood stretched to an immeasurable distance, and a +thick cloud rested upon it; the sun was of a red blood-colour at the +verge of the horizon; the cold was insupportable. I could not imagine +what had happened to me. The benumbing frost made me quicken my pace. I +heard a distant sound of waters; and, at one step more, I stood on the +icy shore of some ocean. Innumerable droves of sea-dogs rushed past me +and plunged into the waves. I continued my way along this coast, and +again met with rocks, plains, birch and fir forests, and yet only a few +minutes had elapsed. It was now intensely hot. I looked around, and +suddenly found myself between some fertile rice-fields and +mulberry-trees; I sat down under their shade, and found by my watch that +it was just one quarter of an hour since I had left the village market. +I fancied it was a dream; but no, I was indeed awake, as I felt by the +experiment I made of biting my tongue. I closed my eyes in order to +collect my scattered thoughts. Presently I heard unintelligible words +uttered in a nasal tone; and I beheld two Chinese, whose Asiatic +physiognomies were not to be mistaken, even had their costume not +betrayed their origin. They were addressing me in the language and with +the salutations of their country. I rose, and drew back a couple of +steps. They had disappeared; the landscape was entirely changed; the +rice-fields had given place to trees and woods. I examined some of the +trees and plants around me, and ascertained such of them as I was +acquainted with to be productions of the southern part of Asia. I made +one step towards a particular tree, and again all was changed. I now +moved on like a recruit at drill, taking slow and measured steps, gazing +with astonished eyes at the wonderful variety of regions, plains, +meadows, mountains, steppes, and sandy deserts, which passed in +succession before me. I had now no doubt that I had seven-leagued boots +on my feet. + +I fell on my knees in silent gratitude, shedding tears of thankfulness; +for I now saw clearly what was to be my future condition. Shut out by +early sins from all human society, I was offered amends for the privation +by Nature herself, which I had ever loved. The earth was granted me as a +rich garden; and the knowledge of her operations was to be the study and +object of my life. This was not a mere resolution. I have since +endeavoured, with anxious and unabated industry, faithfully to imitate +the finished and brilliant model then presented to me; and my vanity has +received a check when led to compare the picture with the original. I +rose immediately, and took a hasty survey of this new field, where I +hoped afterwards to reap a rich harvest. + +I stood on the heights of Thibet; and the sun I had lately beheld in the +east was now sinking in the west. I traversed Asia from east to west, +and thence passed into Africa, which I curiously examined at repeated +visits in all directions. As I gazed on the ancient pyramids and temples +of Egypt, I descried, in the sandy deserts near Thebes of the hundred +gates, the caves where Christian hermits dwelt of old. + +My determination was instantly taken, that here should be my future +dwelling. I chose one of the most secluded, but roomy, comfortable, and +inaccessible to the jackals. + +I stepped over from the pillars of Hercules to Europe; and having taken a +survey of its northern and southern countries, I passed by the north of +Asia, on the polar glaciers, to Greenland and America, visiting both +parts of this continent; and the winter, which was already at its height +in the south, drove me quickly back from Cape Horn to the north. I +waited till daylight had risen in the east of Asia, and then, after a +short rest, continued my pilgrimage. I followed in both the Americas the +vast chain of the Andes, once considered the loftiest on our globe. I +stepped carefully and slowly from one summit to another, sometimes over +snowy heights, sometimes over flaming volcanoes, often breathless from +fatigue. At last I reached Elias’s mountain, and sprang over Behring’s +Straits into Asia; I followed the western coast in its various windings, +carefully observing which of the neighbouring isles was accessible to me. +From the peninsula of Malacca, my boots carried me to Sumatra, Java, +Bali, and Lombok. I made many attempts—often with danger, and always +unsuccessfully—to force my way over the numerous little islands and rocks +with which this sea is studded, wishing to find a north-west passage to +Borneo and other islands of the Archipelago. + +At last I sat down at the extreme point of Lombok, my eyes turned towards +the south-east, lamenting that I had so soon reached the limits allotted +to me, and bewailing my fate as a captive in his grated cell. Thus was I +shut out from that remarkable country, New Holland, and the islands of +the southern ocean, so essentially necessary to a knowledge of the earth, +and which would have best assisted me in the study of the animal and +vegetable kingdoms. And thus, at the very outset, I beheld all my +labours condemned to be limited to mere fragments. + +Ah! Chamisso, what is the activity of man? + +Frequently in the most rigorous winters of the southern hemisphere I have +rashly thrown myself on a fragment of drifting ice between Cape Horn and +Van Dieman’s Land, in the hope of effecting a passage to New Holland, +reckless of the cold and the vast ocean, reckless of my fate, even should +this savage land prove my grave. + +But all in vain—I never reached New Holland. Each time, when defeated in +my attempt, I returned to Lombok; and seated at its extreme point, my +eyes directed to the south-east, I gave way afresh to lamentations that +my range of investigation was so limited. At last I tore myself from the +spot, and, heartily grieved at my disappointment, returned to the +interior of Asia. Setting out at morning dawn, I traversed it from east +to west, and at night reached the cave in Thebes which I had previously +selected for my dwelling-place, and had visited yesterday afternoon. + +After a short repose, as soon as daylight had visited Europe, it was my +first care to provide myself with the articles of which I stood most in +need. First of all a drag, to act on my boots; for I had experienced the +inconvenience of these whenever I wished to shorten my steps and examine +surrounding objects more fully. A pair of slippers to go over the boots +served the purpose effectually; and from that time I carried two pairs +about me, because I frequently cast them off from my feet in my botanical +investigations, without having time to pick them up, when threatened by +the approach of lions, men, or hyenas. My excellent watch, owing to the +short duration of my movements, was also on these occasions an admirable +chronometer. I wanted, besides, a sextant, a few philosophical +instruments, and some books. To purchase these things, I made several +unwilling journeys to London and Paris, choosing a time when I could be +hid by the favouring clouds. As all my ill-gotten gold was exhausted, I +carried over from Africa some ivory, which is there so plentiful, in +payment of my purchases—taking care, however, to pick out the smallest +teeth, in order not to over-burden myself. I had thus soon provided +myself with all that I wanted, and now entered on a new mode of life as a +student—wandering over the globe—measuring the height of the mountains, +and the temperature of the air and of the springs—observing the manners +and habits of animals—investigating plants and flowers. From the equator +to the pole, and from the new world to the old, I was constantly engaged +in repeating and comparing my experiments. + +My usual food consisted of the eggs of the African ostrich or northern +sea-birds, with a few fruits, especially those of the palm and the banana +of the tropics. The tobacco-plant consoled me when I was depressed; and +the affection of my spaniel was a compensation for the loss of human +sympathy and society. When I returned from my excursions, loaded with +fresh treasures, to my cave in Thebes, which he guarded during my +absence, he ever sprang joyfully forward to greet me, and made me feel +that I was indeed not alone on the earth. An adventure soon occurred +which brought me once more among my fellow-creatures. + + * * * * * + +One day, as I was gathering lichens and algæ on the northern coast, with +the drag on my boots, a bear suddenly made his appearance, and was +stealing towards me round the corner of a rock. After throwing away my +slippers, I attempted to step across to an island, by means of a rock, +projecting from the waves in the intermediate space, that served as a +stepping-stone. I reached the rock safely with one foot, but instantly +fell into the sea with the other, one of my slippers having inadvertently +remained on. The cold was intense; and I escaped this imminent peril at +the risk of my life. On coming ashore, I hastened to the Libyan sands to +dry myself in the sun; but the heat affected my head so much, that, in a +fit of illness, I staggered back to the north. In vain I sought relief +by change of place—hurrying from east to west, and from west to east—now +in climes of the south, now in those of the north; sometimes I rushed +into daylight, sometimes into the shades of night. I know not how long +this lasted. A burning fever raged in my veins; with extreme anguish I +felt my senses leaving me. Suddenly, by an unlucky accident, I trod upon +some one’s foot, whom I had hurt, and received a blow in return which +laid me senseless. + +On recovering, I found myself lying comfortably in a good bed, which, +with many other beds, stood in a spacious and handsome apartment. Some +one was watching by me; people seemed to be walking from one bed to +another; they came beside me, and spoke of me as _Number Twelve_. On +the wall, at the foot of my bed—it was no dream, for I distinctly read +it—on a black-marble tablet was inscribed my name, in large letters of +gold:— + + PETER SCHLEMIHL + +Underneath were two rows of letters in smaller characters, which I was +too feeble to connect together, and closed my eyes again. + +I now heard something read aloud, in which I distinctly noted the words, +“Peter Schlemihl,” but could not collect the full meaning. I saw a man +of benevolent aspect, and a very beautiful female dressed in black, +standing near my bed; their countenances were not unknown to me, but in +my weak state I could not remember who they were. Some time elapsed, and +I began to regain my strength. I was called _Number Twelve_, and, from +my long beard, was supposed to be a Jew, but was not the less carefully +nursed on that account. No one seemed to perceive that I was destitute +of a shadow. My boots, I was assured, together with everything found on +me when I was brought here, were in safe keeping, and would be given up +to me on my restoration to health. This place was called the +SCHLMEIHLIUM: the daily recitation I had heard, was an exhortation to +pray for Peter Schlemihl as the founder and benefactor of this +institution. The benevolent-looking man whom I had seen by my bedside +was Bendel; the beautiful lady in black was Minna. + +I had been enjoying the advantages of the Schlemihlium without being +recognised; and I learned, further, that I was in Bendel’s native town, +where he had employed a part of my once unhallowed gold in founding an +hospital in my name, under his superintendence, and that its unfortunate +inmates daily pronounced blessings on me. Minna had become a widow: an +unhappy lawsuit had deprived Rascal of his life, and Minna of the greater +part of her property. Her parents were no more; and here she dwelt in +widowed piety, wholly devoting herself to works of mercy. + +One day, as she stood by the side of Number Twelve’s bed with Bendel, he +said to her, “Noble lady, why expose yourself so frequently to this +unhealthy atmosphere? Has fate dealt so harshly with you as to render +you desirous of death?” + +“By no means, Mr. Bendel,” she replied; “since I have awoke from my long +dream, all has gone well with me. I now neither wish for death nor fear +it, and think on the future and on the past with equal serenity. Do you +not also feel an inward satisfaction in thus paying a pious tribute of +gratitude and love to your old master and friend?” + +“Thanks be to God, I do, noble lady,” said he. “Ah, how wonderfully has +everything fallen out! How thoughtlessly have we sipped joys and sorrows +from the full cup now drained to the last drop; and we might fancy the +past a mere prelude to the real scene for which we now wait armed by +experience. How different has been the reality! Yet let us not regret +the past, but rather rejoice that we have not lived in vain. As respects +our old friend also, I have a firm hope that it is now better with him +than formerly.” + +“I trust so, too,” answered Minna; and so saying she passed by me, and +they departed. + +This conversation made a deep impression on me; and I hesitated whether I +should discover myself or depart unknown. At last I decided; and, asking +for pen and paper, wrote as follows:— + +“Matters are indeed better with your old friend than formerly. He has +repented; and his repentance has led to forgiveness.” + +I now attempted to rise, for I felt myself stronger. The keys of a +little chest near my bed were given me; and in it I found all my effects. +I put on my clothes; fastened my botanical case round me—wherein, with +delight, I found my northern lichens all safe—put on my boots, and +leaving my note on the table, left the gates, and was speedily far +advanced on the road to Thebes. + +Passing along the Syrian coast, which was the same road I had taken on +last leaving home, I beheld my poor Figaro running to meet me. The +faithful animal, after vainly waiting at home for his master’s return, +had probably followed his traces. I stood still, and called him. He +sprang towards me with leaps and barks, and a thousand demonstrations of +unaffected delight. I took him in my arms—for he was unable to follow +me—and carried him home. + +There I found everything exactly in the order in which I had left it; and +returned by degrees, as my increasing strength allowed me, to my old +occupations and usual mode of life, from which I was kept back a whole +year by my fall into the Polar Ocean. And this, dear Chamisso, is the +life I am still leading. My boots are not yet worn out, as I had been +led to fear would be the case from that very learned work of Tieckius—_De +rebus gestis Pollicilli_. Their energies remain unimpaired; and although +mine are gradually failing me, I enjoy the consolation of having spent +them in pursuing incessantly one object, and that not fruitlessly. + +So far as my boots would carry me, I have observed and studied our globe +and its conformation, its mountains and temperature, the atmosphere in +its various changes, the influences of the magnetic power; in fact, I +have studied all living creation—and more especially the kingdom of +plants—more profoundly than any one of our race. I have arranged all the +facts in proper order, to the best of my ability, in different works. +The consequences deducible from these facts, and my views respecting +them, I have hastily recorded in some essays and dissertations. I have +settled the geography of the interior of Africa and the Arctic regions, +of the interior of Asia and of its eastern coast. My _Historia stirpium +plantarum utriusque orbis_ is an extensive fragment of a _Flora +universalis terræ_ and a part of my _Systema naturæ_. Besides increasing +the number of our known species by more than a third, I have also +contributed somewhat to the natural system of plants and to a knowledge +of their geography. I am now deeply engaged on my _Fauna_, and shall +take care to have my manuscripts sent to the University of Berlin before +my decease. + +I have selected thee, my dear Chamisso, to be the guardian of my +wonderful history, thinking that, when I have left this world, it may +afford valuable instruction to the living. As for thee, Chamisso, if +thou wouldst live amongst thy fellow-creatures, learn to value thy shadow +more than gold; if thou wouldst only live to thyself and thy nobler +part—in this thou needest no counsel. + + + +APPENDIX. + + +[_From the prefatory matter prefixed to time Berlin edition_, 1839, _from + which the present translation is made_.] + + +PREFACE BY THE EDITOR. + + +THE origin of “Peter Schlemihl” is to be ascribed in a great degree to +circumstances that occurred in the life of the writer. During the +eventful year of 1813, when the movement broke out which ultimately freed +Germany from the yoke of her oppressor, and precipitated his downfall, +Chamisso was in Berlin. Everyone who could wield a sword hastened then +to employ it on behalf of Germany and of the good cause. Chamisso had +not only a powerful arm, but a heart also of truly German mould; and yet +he was placed in a situation so peculiar as to isolate him among +millions. As he was of French parentage, the question was, not merely +whether he should fight on behalf of Germany, but, also, whether he +should fight against the people with whom he was connected by the ties of +blood and family relationship. Hence arose a struggle in his breast. +“I, and I alone, am forbidden at this juncture to wield a sword!” Such +was frequently his exclamation; and instead of meeting with sympathy on +account of his peculiar situation, he was frequently doomed to hear, in +the capital of Prussia, the head-quarters of the confederation against +France and Napoleon, expressions of hatred and scorn directed against his +countrymen. He was himself too equitable to mistake the cause of such +expressions, which were perfectly natural under the circumstances, but +they nevertheless deeply afflicted him when they reached his ears. In +this state of things his friends resolved to remove him from such a scene +of excitement, and to place him amid the quiet scenery of the country. +An asylum was offered him in the family of Count Itzenplitsch, where he +was sufficiently near to become acquainted with the gradual development +of the all-important crisis, and yet free from any unpleasant personal +contact with it. Here, at the family-seat of Cunersdorf, scarcely a +day’s journey from Berlin, wholly devoted to botany and other favourite +pursuits, Chamisso conceived the idea of “Peter Schlemihl,” and with +rapid pen finished off the story. Chamisso’s letters of this date (in +the first volume of his Life, by the writer of this notice) afford +evidence of this. + +The first edition of the incomparable story appeared in 1814, with a +dedication dated May 27, 1813; and it was just beginning to be known in +the world at the commencement of 1815, when the author left Germany on a +voyage round the world, of which the story contains a remarkable +anticipation. “Peter Schlemihl” was his parting salutation to his second +fatherland, and the first foundation-stone of his future fame. + +Chamisso was often pestered with questions respecting what he really +meant by the story of Schlemihl. These questions amused as well as +annoyed him. The truth is, that his intention in writing it was perhaps +scarcely of so precise a nature as to admit of his giving a formal +account of it. The story sprang into being of itself, like every work of +genius, prompted by a self-creating power. In a letter to the writer of +this notice, after he had just commenced the story, he says, “A book was +the last thing you would have expected from me! Place it before your +wife this evening, if you have time; should she be desirous to know +Schlemihl’s further adventures, and particularly who the man in the grey +cloak is—send me back the MS. immediately, that I may continue the story; +but if you do not return it, I shall know the meaning of the signal +perfectly.” Is it possible for any writer to submit himself to the +scrutiny of the public more good-naturedly? + +In the preface to the new French translation (which appeared in 1838) of +this story, Chamisso amuses himself in his own peculiar way, over the +prying curiosity of those who want to know what his real object was in +writing this tale:—“The present story,” he says, “has fallen into the +hands of thoughtful people, who, being accustomed to read only for +instruction’s sake, have been at a loss to know what the shadow +signifies. On this point several have formed curious hypotheses; others, +who do me the honour to believe that I am more learned than I really am, +have addressed themselves to me for the solution of their doubts. The +questions with which they have besieged me have made me blush on account +of my ignorance. I have therefore been induced to devote myself to the +investigation of a matter not hitherto the subject of my studies; and I +now beg to submit to the world the result of my learned researches. + +“‘_Concerning Shadows_.—A dark body can only be partially illuminated by +a bright one. The dark space which lies in the direction of the +unilluminated part is what we call a _shadow_. Properly speaking, shadow +signifies a bodily space, the form of which depends upon the form of the +illuminating body, and upon their opposite position with regard to each +other. The shadow thrown on a surface, situated before the +shadow-projecting body, is, therefore, nothing else than the intersection +of this surface by the bodily space (in French, _le solide_, on which +word _solid_ the whole force of the humour turns), which we before +designated by the word shadow.’ + +“The question in this wonderful history of Peter Schlemihl relates +entirely to the last-mentioned quality, _solidity_. The science of +finance instructs us sufficiently as to the value of money: the value of +a shadow is less generally acknowledged. My thoughtless friend was +covetous of money, of which he knew the value, and forgot to think on +solid substance. It was his wish that the lesson which he had paid for +so dearly should be turned to our profit; and his bitter experience calls +to us with a loud voice, Think on the solid—the substantial!” So far +Chamisso. + +“Peter Schlemihl” has been translated into almost all the languages of +Europe. Of the Dutch, Spanish, and Russian translations we do not +possess any copies. The French and Italian are as follows:— + + _Pierre Schlemihl_. _Paris_, _chez Ladvocat_, 1822.—This was revised + by Chamisso in manuscript, who added a preface to it; but the + translation was afterwards capriciously altered by the same publisher. + + _Un Roman du Poète Allemand contemporain_, _Adelbert de Chamisso_; + _traduit par N. Martin_. _Histoire merveilleuse de Pierre Schlemihl_. + _Dunquerque_, 1837.—At the end the translator has added a letter to a + friend, with the Greek motto, “Life is the dream of a shadow.” The + translator, while laughing in this letter at the Germans, who, he says, + ought to write three folio volumes of explanatory notes on the little + volume, falls into the error of being very diffuse himself in the + attempt to elucidate his author. His long letter concludes not + inappropriately with these words: “I have just observed, although + certainly rather late, that I have written a letter full of shadows, + and instead of lighting a torch to illuminate the darkness, have, I + fear, only deepened the gloom. Should this be the case, the reader at + any rate will not withhold from me the praise of having preserved the + colours of the original.” + + _Merveilleuse Histoire de Pierre Schlemihl_. _Enrichie d’une savente + préface_, _où les curieux pourront apprendre ce que c’est que l’ombre_. + _Paris et Nurnberg_, 1838. _With illustrations_.—This translation was + revised by Chamisso. + + _L’Uomo senz’ Ombra_. _Dono di simpatia al gentil sesso_. _Milano_, + 1838. Published as an Annual, with a Calendar, and Engravings.—The + editor is pleased not only to withhold the author’s name, but manages + so to word his own preface as to lead his readers to conclude that he + himself is the author of the book. + +“Schlemihl” was also brought on the stage, but without giving the honours +of authorship to the true source. This took place at Vienna, in +February, 1819. The announcement ran thus:—“Pulzlivizli, or the Man +without a Shadow: a comic, enchanted drama, in three acts, adapted from +De la Motte Fouqué, by Ferdinand Rosenau.” Among the characters were the +grey man, and a certain Albert, probably intended for Schlemihl. Of the +contents of the piece we know nothing. + +In England two editions have appeared [previous to the present,—_Tr._]; +one of which was reprinted at Boston in 1825. Of the popularity of +“Peter Schlemihl” in Great Britain we have a striking proof, from a +caricature that appeared shortly after the coronation of William IV. On +the celebration of this solemnity, a brother of the King—the Duke of +Cumberland—arrived from the Continent to be present on the occasion; and +as he was well known to be an ardent Tory, his reception on the part of +the people was not of the most flattering description. As a consequence +of this, and owing, perhaps, to an expression that fell from the Duke, +that “popularity is only a shadow,” the caricature made its appearance. +In the foreground of the print is seen a striking likeness of the royal +Duke in the costume of the Order of the Garter. On his right stands the +King, with the crown on his head, and reflecting a goodly shadow on the +wall. Between the King and his brother are some courtiers, who exclaim, +in a tone of commiseration, “Lost, or stolen, a gentleman’s shadow.” At +the bottom of the print is the following inscription:— + + “PETER SCHLEMIHL AT THE CORONATION. + + Granted that popularity is nothing but a shadow, it is still far from + pleasant to be without that shadow.” + + + +BRIEF SKETCH OF CHAMISSO’S LIFE. + + +Louis Adelbert de Chamisso was born January 27, 1781, at Beaucourt, in +Champagne. At the Revolution, he left France with his parents, and came +to Berlin, where, in 1796, he was appointed page to the King, and soon +after had a commission given him in the army. He applied himself with +much ardour to acquire the German language, and felt great interest in +the study of its literature, particularly its poetry and philosophy, and +was most attracted by those writers whose character presented the +greatest contrast to that of his own countrymen. By intercourse with the +learned, and by the friendships which he formed, he soon became +thoroughly German, which he proved by his poems, which were distinguished +above the crowd of such compositions by the originality of their style, +and peculiar vigour. From 1804 to 1806 he published the “Almanack of the +Muses,” in conjunction with Varnhagen von Ense. At the peace of Tilsit +he left the army, and visited France, when his family obtained back part +of their possessions. At this time he held, for a short period, a +situation as Professor at the school of Napoleonville, but soon returned +to Germany, devoting himself wholly to a literary life, and in particular +to the study of natural history. During his visit to France, he spent +some time with Madame de Staël, whom he also visited in Switzerland. In +1811 he returned to Berlin; and in 1813 he wrote his “Peter Schlemihl,” +which marked him out as a man of distinguished and original genius. It +was published in 1814 by his friend Fouqué. When Count Runnjanzow +resolved on undertaking a voyage round the world, he invited Chamisso to +accompany him as naturalist to the expedition—an invitation which he +gladly embraced. The ships left Cronstadt in 1815, and returned in 1818; +and although the discovery of a North-West passage—the great object of +the expedition—was not attained, yet extensive acquisitions were made in +every department of scientific research. Chamisso’s share in the voyage +is recorded in the third volume of the account of it published at Weimar +in 1821, and does honour to his spirit of careful observation and his +accuracy. He now again fixed his residence at Berlin, from whose +university he received the degree of doctor in philosophy. An +appointment at the Botanic Garden allowed him full liberty to follow up +his favourite pursuit of natural history, and bound him by still stronger +ties to his second fatherland. He now wrote an account of the principal +plants of the North of Germany, with views respecting the vegetable +kingdom and the science of botany: this work appeared at Berlin in 1827. +Poetry, however, had still some share of his attention; and he continued, +during the latter years of his life, to maintain his claims to an +honourable place among the poets of Germany. Several of his ballads and +romances rank with the most distinguished of modern times in this branch +of composition. Surrounded by a circle of attached and admiring friends, +Chamisso continued thus entirely engaged till his death, in 1839, leaving +behind him a name and works which posterity “will not willingly let +perish.” + + + +FROM THE BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ TO JULIUS EDWARD HITZIG. + + + [_From the first edition_.] + +We should take care, my dear Edward, not to expose the history of poor +Schlemihl to eyes unfit to look upon it. That would be a bad experiment. +Of such eyes there are plenty; and who is able to predict what may befal +a _manuscript_, which is almost more difficult to guard than spoken +language? Like a person seized with vertigo, therefore, who, in the +paroxysm of his feelings, leaps into the abyss, I commit the story to the +press. + +And yet there are better and more serious reasons for the step I have +taken. If I am not wholly deceived, there are in our dear Germany many +hearts both capable and worthy of comprehending poor Schlemihl, although +a smile will arise on the countenance of many among our honest countrymen +at the bitter sport which was death to him and to the innocent being whom +he drew along with him. And you, Edward, when you have seen the +estimable work, and reflected on the number of unknown and sympathising +bosoms who, with ourselves, will learn to love it,—you will, then, +perhaps, feel that some drops of consolation have been instilled into +those wounds inflicted on you, and on all who love you, by death. + +To conclude: I have become convinced, by repeated experience, that a +guardian angel watches over books, places them in proper hands, and if +not always, yet often, prevents them from falling into improper. In any +case, he exercises an invisible guardianship over every work of true +genius and genuine feeling, and with unfailing tact and skill opens or +shuts its pages as he sees fit. + +To this guardian angel I commit our “Schlemihl.” And so, adieu! + + FOUQUÉ. + +_Neunhausen_, _May_, 1814. + + + + +THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. + + +TO MY DAUGHTER + + +MY DEAR CHILD, + +The story you love so much in German I dedicate to you in English. It +was in compliance with your earnest wish that other children might share +the delight it has so often afforded you, that I translated it; so that +it is, in some sort, yours of right. Let us hope that your confident +expectations of sympathy in your pleasure may not be disappointed; or +that, if others think the story less beautiful than you do, they may find +compensation in the graceful designs it has inspired. + +You have often regretted that it left off so soon, and would, I believe, +“have been glad to hear more and more, and for ever.” The continuation +you have longed for lies in a wide and magnificent book, which contains +more wonderful and glorious things than all our favourite fairy tales put +together. But to read in that book, so as to discover all its beautiful +meanings, you must have pure, clear eyes, and an humble, loving heart; +otherwise you will complain, as some do, that it is dim and puzzling; or, +as others that it is dull and monotonous. + +May you continue to read in it with new curiosity, new delight, and new +profit; and to find it, as long as you live, the untiring “Story without +an End.” + + Your affectionate mother, + + S. A. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +THERE was once a Child who lived in a little hut, and in the hut there +was nothing but a little bed and a looking-glass which hung in a dark +corner. Now the Child cared nothing at all about the looking-glass; but +as soon as the first sunbeam glided softly through the casement, and +kissed his sweet eyelids, and the finch and the linnet waked him merrily +with their morning songs, he arose, and went out into the green meadow. +And he begged flour of the primrose, and sugar of the violet, and butter +of the buttercup; he shook dewdrops from the cowslip into the cup of a +harebell; spread out a large lime-leaf, set his little breakfast upon it, +and feasted daintily. Sometimes he invited a humming-bee, oftener a gay +butterfly, to partake his feast; but his favourite guest was the blue +dragon-fly. The bee murmured a good deal, in a solemn tone, about his +riches; but the Child thought that if he were a bee, heaps of treasure +would not make him gay and happy; and that it must be much more +delightful and glorious to float about in the free and fresh breezes of +spring, and to hum joyously in the web of the sunbeams, than, with heavy +feet and heavy heart, to stow the silver wax and the golden honey into +cells. + +To this the Butterfly assented; and he told how once on a time, he too +had been greedy and sordid; how he had thought of nothing but eating, and +had never once turned his eyes upwards to the blue heavens. At length, +however, a complete change had come over him; and instead of crawling +spiritless about the dirty earth, half dreaming, he all at once awaked as +out of a deep sleep. And now he would rise into the air;—and it was his +greatest joy sometimes to play with the light, and to reflect the heavens +in the bright eyes of his wings; sometimes to listen to the soft language +of the flowers, and catch their secrets. Such talk delighted the Child, +and his breakfast was the sweeter to him, and the sunshine on leaf and +flower seemed to him more bright and cheering. + +But when the Bee had flown off to beg from flower to flower, and the +Butterfly had fluttered away to his playfellows, the Dragon-fly still +remained, poised on a blade of grass. Her slender and burnished body, +more brightly and deeply blue than the deep blue sky, glistened in the +sun beam; and her net-like wings laughed at the flowers because _they_ +could not fly, but must stand still and abide the wind and the rain. The +Dragon-fly sipped a little of the Child’s clear dew-drops and blue +violet-honey, and then whispered her winged words. And the Child made an +end of his repast, closed his dark blue eyes, bent down his beautiful +head, and listened to the sweet prattle. + + * * * * * + +Then the Dragon-fly told much of the merry life in the green wood; how +sometimes she played hide-and-seek with her playfellows under the broad +leaves of the oak and the beech trees; or hunt-the-hare along the surface +of the still waters; sometimes quietly watched the sunbeams, as they flew +busily from moss to flower and from flower to bush, and shed life and +warmth over all. But at night, she said, the moonbeams glided softly +around the wood, and dropped dew into the mouths of all the thirsty +plants; and when the dawn pelted the slumberers with the soft roses of +heaven, some of the half-drunken flowers looked up and smiled; but most +of them could not so much as raise their heads for a long, long time. + +Such stories did the Dragon-fly tell; and as the Child sat motionless +with his eyes shut, and his head rested on his little hand, she thought +he had fallen asleep; so she poised her double wings and flew into the +rustling wood. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +BUT the Child was only sunk into a dream of delight, and was wishing _he_ +were a sunbeam or a moonbeam; and he would have been glad to hear more +and more, and for ever. But at last, as all was still, he opened his +eyes and looked around for his dear guest; but she was flown far away; so +he could not bear to sit there any longer alone, and he rose and went to +the gurgling brook. It gushed and rolled so merrily, and tumbled so +wildly along as it hurried to throw itself head over heels into the +river, just as if the great massy rock out of which it sprang were close +behind it, and could only be escaped by a break-neck leap. + +Then the Child began to talk to the little waves, and asked them whence +they came. They would not stay to give him an answer, but danced away, +one over another; till at last, that the sweet Child might not be +grieved, a drop of water stopped behind a piece of rock. From her the +Child heard strange histories, but he could not understand them all, for +she told him about her former life, and about the depths of the mountain. + +“A long while ago,” said the Drop of Water, “I lived with my countless +sisters in the great ocean, in peace and unity. We had all sorts of +pastimes; sometimes we mounted up high into the air, and peeped at the +stars; then we sank plump down deep below, and looked how the coral +builders work till they are tired, that they may reach the light of day +at last. But I was conceited, and thought myself much better than my +sisters. And so one day, when the sun rose out of the sea, I clung fast +to one of his hot beams, and thought that now I should reach the stars, +and become one of them. But I had not ascended far, when the sunbeam +shook me off, and in spite of all I could say or do, let me fall into a +dark cloud. And soon a flash of fire darted through the cloud, and now I +thought I must surely die; but the whole cloud laid itself down softly +upon the top of a mountain, and so I escaped with my fright, and a black +eye. Now I thought I should remain hidden, when all on a sudden I +slipped over a round pebble, fell from one stone to another, down into +the depths of the mountain, till at last it was pitch dark, and I could +neither see nor hear anything. Then I found, indeed, that ‘pride goeth +before a fall,’ resigned myself to my fate, and, as I had already laid +aside all my unhappy pride in the cloud, my portion was now the salt of +humility; and after undergoing many purifications from the hidden virtues +of metals and minerals, I was at length permitted to come up once more +into the free cheerful air; and now will I run back to my sisters, and +there wait patiently till I am called to something better.” + +But hardly had she done when the root of a forget-me-not caught the drop +of water by her hair and sucked her in, that she might become a floweret, +and twinkle brightly as a blue star on the green firmament of earth. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +THE Child did not very well know what to think of all this: he went +thoughtfully home and laid himself on his little bed; and all night long +he was wandering about on the ocean, and among the stars, and over the +dark mountain. But the moon loved to look on the slumbering Child as he +lay with his little head softly pillowed on his right arm. She lingered +a long time before his little window, and went slowly away to lighten the +dark chamber of some sick person. + +As the moon’s soft light lay on the Child’s eyelids, he fancied he sat in +a golden boat, on a great, great water; countless stars swam glittering +on the dark mirror. He stretched out his hand to catch the nearest star, +but it had vanished, and the water sprayed up against him. Then he saw +clearly that these were not the real stars; he looked up to heaven, and +wished he could fly thither. + +But in the meantime the moon had wandered on her way; and now the Child +was led in his dream into the clouds, and he thought he was sitting on a +white sheep, and he saw many lambs grazing around him. He tried to catch +a little lamb to play with, but it was all mist and vapour; and the Child +was sorrowful, and wished himself down again in his own meadow, where his +own lamb was sporting gaily about. + +Meanwhile the moon was gone to sleep behind the mountains, and all around +was dark. Then the Child dreamt that he fell down into the dark, gloomy +caverns of the mountain, and at that he was so frightened, that he +suddenly awoke, just as morning opened her clear eye over the nearest +hill. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +THE Child started up, and, to recover himself from his fright, went into +the little flower-garden behind his cottage, where the beds were +surrounded by ancient palm-trees, and where he knew that all the flowers +would nod kindly at him. But, behold, the Tulip turned up her nose, and +the Ranunculus held her head as stiffly as possible, that she might not +bow good-morrow to him. The Rose, with her fair round cheeks, smiled and +greeted the Child lovingly; so he went up to her and kissed her fragrant +mouth. And then the Rose tenderly complained that he so seldom came into +the garden, and that she gave out her bloom and her fragrance the +live-long day in vain; for the other flowers could not see her, because +they were too low, or did not care to look at her, because they +themselves were so rich in bloom and fragrance. But she was most +delighted when she glowed in the blooming head of a child, and could pour +out all her heart’s secrets to him in sweet odours. Among other things, +the Rose whispered in his ear that she was the fulness of beauty. + +And in truth the Child, while looking at her beauty, seemed to have quite +forgotten to go on; till the Blue Larkspur called to him, and asked +whether he cared nothing more about his faithful friend; she said that +she was unchanged, and that even in death she should look upon him with +eyes of unfading blue. + +The Child thanked her for her true-heartedness, and passed on to the +Hyacinth, who stood near the puffy, full-cheeked, gaudy Tulips. Even +from a distance the Hyacinth sent forth kisses to him, for she knew not +how to express her love. Although she was not remarkable for her beauty, +yet the Child felt himself wondrously attracted by her, for he thought no +flower loved him so well. But the Hyacinth poured out her full heart and +wept bitterly, because she stood so lonely; the Tulips indeed were her +countrymen, but they were so cold and unfeeling that she was ashamed of +them. The Child encouraged her, and told her he did not think things +were so bad as she fancied. The Tulips spoke their love in bright looks, +while she uttered hers in fragrant words; that these, indeed, were +lovelier and more intelligible, but that the others were not to be +despised. + +Then the Hyacinth was comforted, and said she would be content; and the +Child went on to the powdered Auricula, who, in her bashfulness, looked +kindly up to him, and would gladly have given him more than kind looks, +had she had more to give. But the Child was satisfied with her modest +greeting; he felt that he was poor too, and he saw the deep, thoughtful +colours that lay beneath her golden dust. But the humble flower, of her +own accord, sent him to her neighbour, the Lily, whom she willingly +acknowledged as her queen. And when the Child came to the Lily, the +slender flower waved to and fro and bowed her pale head with gentle pride +and stately modesty, and sent forth a fragrant greeting to him. The +Child knew not what had come to him: it reached his inmost heart, so that +his eyes filled with soft tears. Then he marked how the lily gazed with +a clear and steadfast eye upon the sun, and how the sun looked down again +into her pure chalice, and how, amid this interchange of looks, the three +golden threads united in the centre. And the Child heard how one scarlet +Lady-bird at the bottom of the cup said to another, “Knowest thou not +that we dwell in the flower of heaven?” and the other replied, “Yes; and +now will the mystery be fulfilled.” And as the Child saw and heard all +this, the dim image of his unknown parents, as it were veiled in a holy +light, floated before his eyes: he strove to grasp it, but the light was +gone, and the Child slipped, and would have fallen, had not the branch of +a currant bush caught and held him; and he took some of the bright +berries for his morning’s meal, and went back to his hut and stripped the +little branches. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +BUT in the hut he stayed not long, all was so gloomy, close, and silent +within, and abroad everything seemed to smile, and to exult in the clear +and unbounded space. Therefore the Child went out into the green wood, +of which the Dragon-fly had told him such pleasant stories. But he found +everything far more beautiful and lovely even than she had described it; +for all about, wherever he went, the tender moss pressed his little feet, +and the delicate grass embraced his knees, and the flowers kissed his +hands, and even the branches stroked his cheeks with a kind and +refreshing touch, and the high trees threw their fragrant shade around +him. + +There was no end to his delight. The little birds warbled and sang, and +fluttered and hopped about, and the delicate wood-flowers gave out their +beauty and their odours; and every sweet sound took a sweet odour by the +hand, and thus walked through the open door of the Child’s heart, and +held a joyous nuptial dance therein. But the Nightingale and the Lily of +the Valley led the dance; for the Nightingale sang of nought but love, +and the Lily breathed of nought but innocence, and he was the bridegroom +and she was the bride. And the Nightingale was never weary of repeating +the same thing a hundred times over, for the spring of love which gushed +from his heart was ever new—and the Lily bowed her head bashfully, that +no one might see her glowing heart. And yet the one lived so solely and +entirely in the other, that no one could see whether the notes of the +Nightingale were floating lilies, or the lilies visible notes, falling +like dewdrops from the Nightingale’s throat. + +The Child’s heart was full of joy even to the brim. He set himself down, +and he almost thought he should like to take root there, and live for +ever among the sweet plants and flowers, and so become a true sharer in +all their gentle pleasures. For he felt a deep delight in the still, +secluded, twilight existence of the mosses and small herbs, which felt +not the storm, nor the frost, nor the scorching sunbeam; but dwelt +quietly among their many friends and neighbours, feasting in peace and +good fellowship on the dew and cool shadows which the mighty trees shed +upon them. To them it was a high festival when a sunbeam chanced to +visit their lowly home; whilst the tops of the lofty trees could find joy +and beauty only in the purple rays of morning or evening. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +AND as the Child sat there, a little Mouse rustled from among the dry +leaves of the former year, and a Lizard half glided from a crevice in the +rock, and both of them fixed their bright eyes upon the little stranger; +and when they saw that he designed them no evil, they took courage and +came nearer to him. + +“I should like to live with you,” said the Child to the two little +creatures, in a soft, subdued voice, that he might not frighten them. +“Your chambers are so snug, so warm, and yet so shaded, and the flowers +grow in at your windows, and the birds sing you their morning song, and +call you to table and to bed with their clear warblings.” + +“Yes,” said the Mouse, “it would be all very well if all the plants bore +nuts and mast, instead of those silly flowers; and if I were not obliged +to grub under ground in the spring, and gnaw the bitter roots, whilst +they are dressing themselves in their fine flowers and flaunting it to +the world, as if they had endless stores of honey in their cellars.” + +“Hold your tongue,” interrupted the Lizard, pertly; “do you think, +because you are grey, that other people must throw away their handsome +clothes, or let them lie in the dark wardrobe under ground, and wear +nothing but grey too? I am not so envious. The flowers may dress +themselves as they like for me; they pay for it out of their own pockets, +and they feed bees and beetles from their cups; but what I want to know +is, of what use are birds in the world? Such a fluttering and +chattering, truly, from morning early to evening late, that one is +worried and stunned to death, and there is never a day’s peace for them. +And they do nothing; only snap up the flies and the spiders out of the +mouths of such as I. For my part, I should be perfectly satisfied, +provided all the birds in the world were flies and beetles.” + +The Child changed colour, and his heart was sick and saddened when he +heard their evil tongues. He could not imagine how anybody could speak +ill of the beautiful flowers, or scoff at his beloved birds. He was +waked out of a sweet dream, and the wood seemed to him lonely and desert, +and he was ill at ease. He started up hastily, so that the Mouse and the +Lizard shrank back alarmed, and did not look around them till they +thought themselves safe out of the reach of the stranger with the large, +severe eyes. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +BUT the Child went away from the place; and as he hung down his head +thoughtfully, he did not observe that he took the wrong path, nor see how +the flowers on either side bowed their heads to welcome him, nor hear how +the old birds from the boughs, and the young from the nests, cried aloud +to him, “God bless thee, our dear little prince!” And he went on and on, +farther and farther, into the deep wood; and he thought over the foolish +and heartless talk of the two selfish chatterers, and could not +understand it. He would fain have forgotten it, but he could not. And +the more he pondered, the more it seemed to him as if a malicious spider +had spun her web around him, and as if his eyes were weary with trying to +look through it. + +And suddenly he came to a still water, above which young beeches lovingly +entwined their arms. He looked in the water, and his eyes were riveted +to it as if by enchantment. He could not move, but stood and gazed in +the soft, placid mirror, from the bosom of which the tender green +foliage, with the deep blue heavens between, gleamed so wondrously upon +him. His sorrow was all forgotten, and even the echo of the discord in +his little heart was hushed. That heart was once more in his eyes; and +fain would he have drunk in the soft beauty of the colours that lay +beneath him, or have plunged into the lovely deep. + +Then the breeze began to sigh among the treetops. The Child raised his +eyes and saw overhead the quivering green, and the deep blue behind it, +and he knew not whether he were waking or dreaming: which were the real +leaves and the real heaven—those in the depths above or in the depths +beneath? Long did the Child waver, and his thoughts floated in a +delicious dreaminess from one to the other, till the Dragon-fly flew to +him in affectionate haste, and with rustling wings greeted her kind host. +The Child returned her greeting, and was glad to meet an acquaintance +with whom he could share the rich feast of his joy. But first he asked +the Dragon-fly if she could decide for him between the Upper and the +Nether—the height and the depth? The Dragon-fly flew above, and beneath, +and around; but the Water spake:—“The foliage and the sky above are not +the true ones: the leaves wither and fall; the sky is often overcast, and +sometimes quite dark.” Then the Leaves and the Sky said, “The water only +apes us; it must change its pictures at our pleasure, and can retain +none.” Then the Dragon-fly remarked that the height and the depth +existed only in the eyes of the Child, and that the Leaves and the Sky +were true and real only in his thoughts; because in the mind alone the +picture was permanent and enduring, and could be carried with him +whithersoever he went. + +This she said to the Child; but she immediately warned him to return, for +the leaves were already beating the tattoo in the evening breeze, and the +lights were disappearing one by one in every corner. Then the Child +confessed to her with alarm that he knew not how he should find the way +back, and that he feared the dark night would overtake him if he +attempted to go home alone; so the Dragon-fly flew on before him, and +showed him a cave in the rock where he might pass the night. + +And the Child was well content; for he had often wished to try if he +could sleep out of his accustomed bed. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +BUT the Dragon-fly was fleet, and gratitude strengthened her wings to pay +her host the honour she owed him. And truly, in the dim twilight good +counsel and guidance were scarce. She flitted hither and thither without +knowing rightly what was to be done; when, by the last vanishing sunbeam, +she saw hanging on the edge of the cave some strawberries who had drunk +so deep of the evening-red, that their heads were quite heavy. Then she +flew up to a Harebell who stood near, and whispered in her ear that the +lord and king of all the flowers was in the wood, and ought to be +received and welcomed as beseemed his dignity. Aglaia did not need that +this should be repeated. She began to ring her sweet bells with all her +might; and when her neighbour heard the sound, she rang hers also; and +soon all the Harebells, great and small, were in motion, and rang as if +it had been for the nuptials of their Mother Earth herself with the +Prince of the Sun. The tone of the Bluebells was deep and rich, and that +of the white, high and clear, and all blended together in a delicious +harmony. + +But the birds were fast asleep in their high nests, and the ears of the +other animals were not delicate enough, or were too much overgrown with +hair, to hear them. The Fire-flies alone heard the joyous peal, for they +were akin to the flowers, through their common ancestor, Light. They +inquired of their nearest relation, the Lily of the Valley, and from her +they heard that a large flower had just passed along the footpath more +blooming than the loveliest rose, and with two stars more brilliant than +those of the brightest fire-fly, and that it must needs be their King. +Then all the Fire-flies flew up and down the footpath, and sought +everywhere, till at length they came, as the Dragon-fly had hoped they +would, to the cave. + +And now, as they looked at the Child, and every one of them saw itself +reflected in his clear eyes, they rejoiced exceedingly, and called all +their fellows together, and alighted on the bushes all around; and soon +it was so light in the cave, that herb and grass began to grow as if it +had been broad day. Now, indeed, was the joy and triumph of the +Dragon-fly complete. The Child was delighted with the merry and silvery +tones of the bells, and with the many little bright-eyed companions +around him, and with the deep red strawberries which bowed down their +heads to his touch. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +AND when he had eaten his fill, he sat down on the soft moss, crossed one +little leg over the other, and began to gossip with the Fire-flies. And +as he so often thought on his unknown parents, he asked them who were +their parents. Then the one nearest to him gave him answer; and he told +how that they were formerly flowers, but none of those who thrust their +rooty hands greedily into the ground and draw nourishment from the dingy +earth, only to make themselves fat and large withal; but that the light +was dearer to them than anything, even at night; and while the other +flowers slept, they gazed unwearied on the light, and drank it in with +eager adoration—sun, and moon, and star light. And the light had so +thoroughly purified them, that they had not sucked in poisonous juices +like the yellow flowers of the earth, but sweet odours for sick and +fainting hearts, and oil of potent ethereal virtue for the weak and the +wounded; and at length, when their autumn came, they did not, like the +others, wither and sink down, leaf and flower, to be swallowed up by the +darksome earth, but shook off their earthly garment and mounted aloft, +into the clear air. But there it was so wondrously bright, that sight +failed them; and when they came to themselves again, they were +fire-flies, each sitting on a withered flower-stalk. + +And now the Child liked the bright-eyed flies better than ever; and he +talked a little longer with them, and inquired why they showed themselves +so much more in spring. They did it, they said, in the hope that their +gold-green radiance might allure their cousins, the flowers, to the pure +love of light. + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +DURING this conversation the dragon-fly had been preparing a bed for her +host. The moss upon which the Child sat had grown a foot high behind his +back, out of pure joy; but the dragon-fly and her sisters had so revelled +upon it, that it was now laid at its length along the cave. The +dragon-fly had awakened every spider in the neighbourhood out of her +sleep, and when they saw the brilliant light, they had set to work +spinning so industriously that their web hung down like a curtain before +the mouth of the cave. But as the Child saw the ant peeping up at him, +he entreated the fire-flies not to deprive themselves any longer of their +merry games in the wood on his account. And the dragon-fly and her +sisters raised the curtain till the Child had laid him down to rest, and +then let it fall again, that the mischievous gnats might not get in to +disturb his slumbers. + +The Child laid himself down to sleep, for he was very tired; but he could +not sleep, for his couch of moss was quite another thing than his little +bed, and the cave was all strange to him. + +He turned himself on one side and then on the other, and, as nothing +would do, he raised himself and sat upright to wait till sleep might +choose to come. But sleep would not come at all; and the only wakeful +eyes in the whole wood were the Child’s. For the harebells had rung +themselves weary, and the fire-flies had flown about till they were +tired, and even the dragon-fly, who would fain have kept watch in front +of the cave, had dropped sound asleep. + +The wood grew stiller and stiller; here and there fell a dry leaf which +had been driven from its old dwelling place by a fresh one; here and +there a young bird gave a soft chirp when its mother squeezed it in the +nest; and from time to time a gnat hummed for a minute or two in the +curtain, till a spider crept on tip-toe along its web, and gave him such +a gripe in the wind-pipe as soon spoiled his trumpeting. + +And the deeper the silence became, the more intently did the Child +listen, and at last the slightest sound thrilled him from head to foot. +At length, all was still as death in the wood; and the world seemed as if +it never would wake again. The Child bent forward to see whether it were +as dark abroad as in the cave, but he saw nothing save the pitch-dark +night, who had wrapped everything in her thick veil. Yet as he looked +upwards his eyes met the friendly glance of two or three stars, and this +was a most joyful surprise to him, for he felt himself no longer so +entirely alone. The stars were, indeed, far, far away, but yet he knew +them, and they knew him; for they looked into his eyes. + +The Child’s whole soul was fixed in his gaze; and it seemed to him as if +he must needs fly out of the darksome cave, thither where the stars were +beaming with such pure and serene light; and he felt how poor and lowly +he was, when he thought of their brilliancy; and how cramped and +fettered, when he thought of their free unbounded course along the +heavens. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +BUT the stars went on their course, and left their glittering picture +only a little while before the Child’s eyes. Even this faded, and then +vanished quite away. And he was beginning to feel tired, and to wish to +lay himself down again, when a flickering Will-o’-the-wisp appeared from +behind a bush—so that the Child thought, at first, one of the stars had +wandered out of its way, and had come to visit him, and to take him with +it. And the Child breathed quick with joy and surprise, and then the +Will-o’-the-wisp came nearer, and sat himself down on a damp mossy stone +in front of the cave, and another fluttered quickly after him, and sat +down over against him and sighed deeply, “Thank God, then, that I can +rest at last!” + +“Yes,” said the other, “for that you may thank the innocent Child who +sleeps there within; it was his pure breath that freed us.” + +“Are you, then,” said the Child, hesitatingly, “not of yon stars which +wander so brightly there above?” + +“Oh, if we were stars,” replied the first, “we should pursue our tranquil +path through the pure element, and should leave this wood and the whole +darksome earth to itself.” + +“And not,” said the other, “sit brooding on the face of the shallow +pool.” + +The Child was curious to know who these could be who shone so +beautifully, and yet seemed so discontented. Then the first began to +relate how he had been a child too, and how, as he grew up, it had always +been his greatest delight to deceive people and play them tricks, to show +his wit and cleverness. He had always, he said, poured such a stream of +smooth words over people, and encompassed himself with such a shining +mist, that men had been attracted by it to their own hurt. But once on a +time there appeared a plain man, who only spoke two or three simple +words, and suddenly the bright mist vanished, and left him naked and +deformed, to the scorn and mockery of the whole world. But the man had +turned away his face from him in pity, while he was almost dead with +shame and anger. And when he came to himself again, he knew not what had +befallen him, till, at length, he found that it was his fate to hover, +without rest or change, over the surface of the bog as a +Will-o’-the-wisp. + +“With me it fell out quite otherwise,” said the first: “instead of giving +light without warmth, as I now do, I burned without shining. When I was +only a child, people gave way to me in everything, so that I was +intoxicated with self-love. If I saw any one shine, I longed to put out +his light; and the more intensely I wished this, the more did my own +small glimmering turn back upon myself, and inwardly burn fiercely while +all without was darker than ever. But if any one who shone more brightly +would have kindly given me of his light, then did my inward flame burst +forth to destroy him. But the flame passed through the light and harmed +it not; it shone only the more brightly, while I was withered and +exhausted. And once upon a time I met a little smiling child, who played +with a cross of palm branches, and wore a beamy coronet around his golden +locks. He took me kindly by the hand and said, ‘My friend, you are now +very gloomy and sad, but if you will become a child again, even as I am, +you will have a bright circlet such as I have.’ When I heard that, I was +so angry with myself and with the child, that I was scorched by my inward +fire. Now would I fain fly up to the sun to fetch rays from him, but the +rays drove me back with these words: + +‘Return thither whence thou camest, thou dark fire of envy, for the sun +lightens only in love; the greedy earth, indeed, sometimes turns his mild +light into scorching fire. Fly back, then, for with thy like alone must +thou dwell.’ I fell, and when I recovered myself I was glimmering coldly +above the stagnant waters.” + +While they were talking the Child had fallen asleep, for he knew nothing +of the world nor of men, and he could make nothing of their stories. +Weariness had spoken a more intelligible language to him—_that_ he +understood, and he had fallen asleep. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +SOFTLY and soundly he slept till the rosy morning clouds stood upon the +mountain, and announced the coming of their lord, the sun. But as soon +as the tidings spread over field and wood, the thousand-voiced echo +awoke, and sleep was no more to be thought of. + +And soon did the royal sun himself arise; at first his dazzling diadem +alone appeared above the mountains; at length he stood upon their summit +in the full majesty of his beauty, in all the charms of eternal youth, +bright and glorious, his kindly glance embracing every creature of earth, +from the stately oak to the blade of grass bending under the foot of the +wayfaring man. Then arose from every breast, from every throat, the +joyous song of praise; and it was as if the whole plain and wood were +become a temple, whose roof was the heaven, whose altar the mountain, +whose congregation all creatures, whose priest the sun. + +But the Child walked forth and was glad, for the birds sang sweetly, and +it seemed to him as if everything sported and danced out of mere joy to +be alive. Here flew two finches through the thicket, and, twittering, +pursued each other; there, the young buds burst asunder, and the tender +leaves peeped out and expanded themselves in the warm sun, as if they +would abide in his glance for ever; here, a dewdrop trembled, sparkling +and twinkling on a blade of grass, and knew not that beneath him stood a +little moss who was thirsting after him; there, troops of flies flew +aloft, as if they would soar far, far over the wood: and so all was life +and motion, and the Child’s heart joyed to see it. + +He sat down on a little smooth plot of turf, shaded by the branches of a +nut-bush, and thought he should now sip the cup of his delight, drop by +drop. And first he plucked down some brambles which threatened him with +their prickles; then he bent aside some branches which concealed the +view; then he removed the stones, so that he might stretch out his feet +at full length on the soft turf; and when he had done all this, he +bethought himself what was yet to do; and as he found nothing, he stood +up to look for his acquaintance the dragon-fly, and to beg her to guide +him once more out of the wood into the open fields. About midway he met +her, and she began to excuse herself for having fallen asleep in the +night. The Child thought not of the past, were it even but a minute ago, +so earnestly did he now wish to get out from among the thick and close +trees; for his heart beat high, and he felt as if he should breathe freer +in the open ground. The dragon-fly flew on before and showed him the way +as far as the outermost verge of the wood, whence the Child could espy +his own little hut, and then flew away to her playfellows. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +THE Child walked forth alone upon the fresh dewy cornfield. A thousand +little suns glittered in his eyes, and a lark soared warbling above his +head. And the lark proclaimed the joys of the coming year, and awakened +endless hopes, while she soared circling higher and higher, till, at +length, her song was like the soft whisper of an angel holding converse +with the spring, under the blue arch of heaven. The Child had seen the +earth-coloured little bird rise up before him, and it seemed to him as if +the earth had sent her forth from her bosom as a messenger to carry her +joy and her thanks up to the sun, because he had turned his beaming +countenance again upon her in love and bounty. And the lark hung poised +above the hope-giving field, and warbled her clear and joyous song. + +She sang of the loveliness of the rosy dawn, and the fresh brilliancy of +the earliest sunbeams; of the gladsome springing of the young flowers, +and the vigorous shooting of the corn; and her song pleased the Child +beyond measure. + +But the lark wheeled in higher and higher circles, and her song sounded +softer and sweeter. + +And now she sang of the first delights of early love; of wanderings +together on the sunny fresh hilltops, and of the sweet pictures and +visions that arise out of the blue and misty distance. The Child +understood not rightly what he heard, and fain would he have understood, +for he thought that even in such visions must be wondrous delight. He +gazed aloft after the unwearied bird, but she had disappeared in the +morning mist. + +Then the Child leaned his head on one shoulder to listen if he could no +longer hear the little messenger of spring; and he could just catch the +distant and quivering notes in which she sang of the fervent longing +after the clear element of freedom, after the pure all-present light, and +of the blessed foretaste of this desired enfranchisement, of this +blending in the sea of celestial happiness. + +Yet longer did he listen, for the tones of her song carried him there, +where, as yet, his thoughts had never reached, and he felt himself +happier in this short and imperfect flight than ever he had felt before. +But the lark now dropped suddenly to the earth, for her little body was +too heavy for the ambient ether, and her wings were not large nor strong +enough for the pure element. + +Then the red corn-poppies laughed at the homely looking bird, and cried +to one another and to the surrounding blades of corn in a shrill voice, +“Now, indeed, you may see what comes of flying so high, and striving and +straining after mere air; people only lose their time, and bring back +nothing but weary wings and an empty stomach. That vulgar-looking +ill-dressed little creature would fain raise herself above us all, and +has kept up a mighty noise. And now there she lies on the ground and can +hardly breathe, while we have stood still where we are sure of a good +meal, and have stayed, like people of sense, where there is something +substantial to be had; and in the time she has been fluttering and +singing, we have grown a good deal taller and fatter.” + +The other little redcaps chattered and screamed their assent so loud that +the Child’s ears tingled, and he wished he could chastise them for their +spiteful jeers; when a cyane said, in a soft voice, to her younger +playmates, “Dear friends, be not led astray by outward show, nor by +discourse which regards only outward show. The lark is, indeed, weary, +and the space into which she has soared is void; but the void is not what +the lark sought, nor is the seeker returned empty home. She strove after +light and freedom, and light and freedom has she proclaimed. She left +the earth and its enjoyments, but she has drunk of the pure air of +heaven, and has seen that it is not the earth, but the sun that is +steadfast. And if earth has called her back, it can keep nothing of her +but what is its own. Her sweet voice and her soaring wings belong to the +sun, and will enter into light and freedom long after the foolish prater +shall have sunk and been buried in the dark prison of the earth.” + +And the lark heard her wise and friendly discourse, and with renewed +strength she sprang once more into the clear and beautiful blue. + +Then the Child clapped his little hands for joy, that the sweet bird had +flown up again, and that the redcaps must hold their tongues for shame. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +AND the Child was become happy and joyful, and breathed freely again, and +thought no more of returning to his hut, for he saw that nothing returned +inwards, but rather that all strove outwards into the free air; the rosy +apple blossoms from their narrow buds, and the gurgling notes from the +narrow breast of the lark. The germs burst open the folding doors of the +seeds, and broke through the heavy pressure of the earth in order to get +at the light; the grasses tore asunder their bands, and their slender +blades sprung upward. Even the rocks were become gentle, and allowed +little mosses to peep out from their sides, as a sign that they would not +remain impenetrably closed for ever. And the flowers sent out colour and +fragrance into the whole world, for they kept not their best for +themselves, but would imitate the sun and the stars, which poured their +warmth and radiance over the spring. And many a little gnat and beetle +burst the narrow cell in which it was enclosed and crept out slowly, and, +half asleep, unfolded and shook its tender wings, and soon gained +strength, and flew off to untried delights. And as the butterflies came +forth from their chrysalids in all their gaiety and splendour, so did +every humbled and suppressed aspiration and hope free itself, and boldly +launch into the open and flowing sea of spring. + + + + +HYMNS TO NIGHT. + + + (_Translated from the German of Novalis_.) + + + +I. + + +WHO that has life and intelligence, loves not, before all the surrounding +miracles of space, ever-joyous light with its tints, its beams, and its +waves, its mild omnipresence, when it comes as the waking day. Like the +inmost soul of life, it is inhaled by the giant universe of gleaming +stars, that dance as they swim in its blue flood; it is inhaled by the +glittering, eternally motionless stone, by the living plant that drinks +it in, by the wild and impetuous beast in its many forms; but above all, +by the glorious stranger, with eyes of intellect, majestic step, with +lips melodious, and gently closed. As a king over earthly nature, it +calls forth to countless changes every power, binds and loosens bonds +unnumbered, and hangs around every earthly being its heavenly picture. +Alone its presence declares the wondrous glory of the kingdoms the world. + +I turn aside to the holy, the inexpressible, the mysterious Night. Afar +off lies the world, buried in some deep chasm: desolate and lonely is the +spot it filled. Through the chords of the breast sighs deepest sorrow. +I will sink down into the dewdrops, and with ashes will I be commingled. +The distant lines of memory, desires of youth, the dreams of childhood, a +whole life’s short joys and hopes vain, unfulfilled, come clothed in +grey, like evening mists, when the sun’s glory has departed. Elsewhere +has the light broken upon habitations of gladness. What, should it never +return again to its children, who with the faith of innocence await its +coming? + +What fount is thus suddenly opened within the heart, so full of +forethought, that destroys the soft breath of sorrow? Thou also—dost +thou love us, gloomy Night? What holdest thou concealed beneath thy +mantle that draws my soul towards thee with such mysterious power? +Costly balsam raineth from thy hand; from thy horn pourest thou out +manna; the heavy wings of the spirit liftest thou. Darkly and +inexpressibly do we feel ourselves moved: a solemn countenance I behold +with glad alarm, that bends towards me in gentle contemplation, +displaying, among endless allurements of the mother, lovely youth! How +poor and childish does the light now seem! How joyous and how hallowed +is the day’s departure!—Therefore then only, because Night dismissed thy +vassals, hast thou sown in the infinity of space those shining balls to +declare thine almighty power, and thy return in the season of absence? +More heavenly than those glittering stars seem the unnumbered eyes that +Night has opened within us. Farther can they see than beyond the palest +of that countless host; without need of light can they pierce the depths +of a spirit of love, that fills a yet more glorious space with joy beyond +expression. Glory to the world’s Queen, the high declarer of spheres of +holiness, the nurse of hallowed love! Thee, thou tenderly beloved one, +doth she send to me—thee, lovely sun of the Night. Now I awaken, for I +am thine and mine: the Night hast thou given as a sign of life, and made +me man. Devour with glowing spiritual fire this earthly body, that I +ethereal may abide with thee in union yet more perfect, and then may the +bridal Night endure for ever. + + + +II. + + +MUST ever the morn return? Is there no end to the sovereignty of earth? +Unhallowed occupation breaks the heavenly pinion of the Night. Shall the +secret offering of love at no time burn for ever? To the Light is its +period allotted; but beyond time and space is the empire of the Night. +Eternal is the duration of sleep. Thou holy sleep! bless not too rarely +the Night’s dedicated son in this earth’s daily work! Fools alone +recognise thee not, and know of no sleep beyond the shadow which in that +twilight of the actual Night thou throwest in compassion over us. They +feel thee not in the vine’s golden flood, in the almond-tree’s marvel +oil, and in the brown juice of the manna; they know not that it is thou +that enhaloest the tender maiden’s breast, and makest a heaven of her +bosom; conceive not that out of histories of old thou steppest forth an +opener of heaven, and bearest the key to the abodes of the blessed, the +silent messenger of unending mysteries. + + + +III. + + +ONCE, when I was shedding bitter tears, when my hope streamed away +dissolved in sorrow, and I stood alone beside the barren hill, that +concealed in narrow gloomy space the form of my existence—alone, as never +solitary yet hath been, urged by an agony beyond expression, powerless, +no more than a mere thought of sorrow; as I looked around me there for +aid, could not advance, could not retire, and hung with incessant longing +upon fleeting, failing life;—then came there from the blue distance, from +the heights of my former happiness, a thin veil of the twilight gloom, +and in a moment burst the bondage of the fetters of the birth of light. +Then fled the glories of the earth, and all my sorrow with them; sadness +melted away in a new, an unfathomable world; thou, inspiration of the +Night, slumber of heaven, camest over me; the spot whereon I stood rose +insensibly on high; above the spot soared forth my released and new-born +spirit. The hill became a cloud of dust; through the cloud I beheld the +revealed features of my beloved one. In her eyes eternity reposed; I +grasped her hands, and my tears formed a glittering, inseparable bond. +Ages were swept by like storms into the distance; on her neck I wept +tears of ecstasy for life renewed. It was my first, my only dream; and +from that time I feel an eternal and unchanging faith in the heaven of +the Night, and in its light, the Loved One. + + + +IV. + + +NOW do I know when the last morn will be; when the light shall no more +give alarm to the night and to love; when the slumber shall be without +end, and there shall be but one exhaustless dream. Heavenly weariness do +I feel within me. Long and wearisome had become the pilgrimage to the +holy grave—the cross a burthen. He who hath tasted of the crystal wave +that gushes forth, unknown to common eye, in the dark bosom of that hill, +against whose foot the flood of earthly waves is dashed and broken; he +who hath stood upon the summit of the world’s mountain bounds, and hath +looked beyond them down into that new land, into the abode of Night; he, +well I ween, turns not back into the turmoil of the world—into the land +where the light, and eternal unrest, dwells. + +There, above, does he erect his huts—his huts of peace; there longs and +loves, until comes the most welcome of all hours to draw him down into +that fountain’s source. Upon the surface floats all that is earthly—it +is hurried back by storms; but that which was hallowed by the breath of +love, freely streams it forth, through hidden paths, into that realm +beyond the mountain chain, and there, exhaled as incense, becomes mixed +with loves that have slept. Still, cheerful light, dost thou waken the +weary to his toil, still pourest thou glad life into my breast; but from +the mossy monument that memory has raised, thence canst thou not allure +me. Willingly will I employ my hands in industry and toil; I will look +around me at thy bidding; I will celebrate the full glory of thy +splendour; trace out, untired, the beauteous consistency of thy wondrous +work; willingly will I mark the marvellous course of thy mighty, glowing +timepiece; observe the balance of gigantic powers, and the laws of the +wondrous play of countless spaces and their periods. But true to the +Night remains my heart of hearts, and to creative Love, her daughter. +Canst thou show me a heart for ever faithful? Hath thy sun fond eyes +that know me? Do thy stars clasp my proffered hand? Do they return the +tender pressure, the caressing word? Hast thou clothed her with fair +hues and pleasing outline? Or was it she who gave thine ornament a +higher, dearer meaning? What pleasure, what enjoyment, can thy life +afford, that shall overweigh the ecstasies of death? Bears not +everything that inspires us the colours of the Night? Thee she cherishes +with a mother’s care; to her thou owest all thy majesty. Thou hadst +melted in thyself, hadst been dissolved in endless space, had she not +restrained and encircled thee, so that thou wert warm, and gavest life to +the world. Verily I was, before thou wert: the mother sent me with my +sisters to inhabit thy world, to hallow it with love, so that it might be +gazed on as a memorial for ever, to plant it with unfading flowers. As +yet they have borne no fruit, these godlike thoughts; but few as yet are +the traces of our revelation. The day shall come when thy timepiece +pointeth to the end of time, when thou shalt be even as one of us; and, +filled with longing and ardent love, be blotted out and die. Within my +soul I feel the end of thy distracted power, heavenly freedom, hailed +return. In wild sorrow I recognise thy distance from our home, thy +hostility towards the ancient glorious heaven. In vain are thy tumult +and thy rage. Indestructible remains the cross—a victorious banner of +our race. + + “I wander over, + And every tear + To gem our pleasure + Will then appear. + A few more hours, + And I find my rest + In maddening bliss, + On the loved one’s breast. + Life, never ending, + Swells mighty in me; + I look from above down— + Look back upon thee. + By yonder hillock + Expires thy beam; + And comes with a shadow, + The cooling gleam. + Oh, call me, thou loved one, + With strength from above; + That I may slumber, + And wake to love. + I welcome death’s + Reviving flood; + To balm and to ether + It changes my blood. + I live through each day, + Filled with faith and desire; + And die when the Night comes + In heaven-born fire.” + + + +V. + + +OVER the widely-spreading races of mankind, ruled aforetime an iron +Destiny with silent power. A dark and heavy band was around man’s +anxious soul; without end was the earth; the home of the gods and their +abode. Throughout eternities had her mysterious structure stood. Beyond +the red mountains of the morning, in the holy bosom of the sea, there +dwelt the Sun, the all-inflaming, living light. A hoary giant bare the +sacred world. Securely prisoned, beneath mountains, lay the first sons +of the mother Earth, powerless in their destructive fury against the new +and glorious race of the gods, and their kindred, joyous men. The dark, +green ocean’s depth was the bosom of a goddess. In the crystal grottoes +rioted a voluptuous tribe. Rivers, trees, flowers, and brute beasts had +human understanding. Sweeter was the wine poured forth by youth’s soft +bloom; a god in the vine’s clusters; a loving, a maternal goddess, +shooting forth among the full, golden sheaves; love’s holy flame, a +delicious service to the most beauteous of the goddesses. An ever gay +and joyous festival of heaven’s children and the dwellers upon earth, +life rustled on as a spring, through centuries. All races venerated, +like children, the tender, thousand-fold flame, as the highest of the +world; one thought only was there, one hideous vision of a dream:— + + “That fearful to the joyous tables came, + And the gay soul in wild distraction shrouded. + Here could the gods themselves no counsel frame, + That might console the breast with sorrow clouded. + This monster’s path mysterious, still the same, + Unstilled his rage, though prayers on gifts were crowded. + His name was Death, who with distress of soul, + Anguish and tears, on the hour of pleasure stole. + + For ever now from everything departed + That here can swell the heart with sweet delight, + Torn now from the beloved one, who, sad-hearted, + On earth could but desire and grief excite, + A feeble dream seemed to the dead imparted, + Powerless striving made man’s only right; + And broken was enjoyment’s heaving billow, + Upon the rock of endless care, its pillow. + + With daring mind, as heavenly fancy glows, + Man masks the fearful shape with fair resembling: + His torch put out, a mild youth doth repose; + Soft is the end as the lyre’s mournful trembling. + Remembrance fades i’ the gloom a shadow throws: + So sang the song, a dreadful doom dissembling. + Yet undefined remained eternal Night, + The stern reminder of some distant might.” + +At length the old world bowed its head. The gay gardens of the young +race were withered; beyond into the freer, desert space aspired less +childish and maturing man. The gods then vanished with their train. +Lonely and lifeless, Nature stood. The scanty number and the rigid +measure bound her with fetters of iron. As into dust and air melted the +inconceivable blossoms of life into mysterious words. Fled was the magic +faith, and phantasy the all-changing, all-uniting friend from heaven. +Over the rigid earth, unfriendly, blew a cold north wind, and the +wonder-home, now without life, was lost in ether; the recesses of the +heavens were filled with beaming worlds. Into a holier sphere, into the +mind’s far higher space, did the world draw the soul with its powers, +there to wander until the break of the world’s dawning glory. No longer +was the light the gods’ abode, their token in the heavens: the veil of +the night did they cast over them. The night was the mighty bosom of +revelations; in it the gods returned, and slumbered there, to go forth in +new and in more glorious forms over the altered world. + +Among the people above all despised, too soon matured, and wilful +strangers to the blessed innocence of youth; among them, with features +hitherto unseen, the new world came, in the poet’s hut of poverty, a son +of the first virgin mother, endless fruit of a mysterious embrace. The +boding, budding wisdom of the East first recognised another Time’s +beginning; to the humble cradle of the monarch their star declared the +way. In the name of the distant future, with splendour and with incense, +did they make offering to him, the highest wonder of the world. In +solitude did the heavenly heart unfold to a flowery chalice of almighty +love, bent towards the holy countenance of the father, and resting on the +happily-expectant bosom of the lovely pensive mother. With divine ardour +did the prophetic eye of the blooming child look forth into the days of +the future, towards his beloved, the offspring of the race of God, +careless for his day’s earthly destiny. The most child-like spirits, +wondrously seized with a deep, heart-felt love, collected soon around +him; as flowers, a new and unknown life budded forth upon his path. +Words inexhaustible, the gladdest tidings fell, as sparks from a heavenly +spirit, from his friendly lips. From a distant coast, born under Hellas’ +cheerful sky, a minstrel came to Palestine, and yielded his whole heart +to the wondrous child:— + + “The youth art thou, who for uncounted time, + Upon our graves hast stood with hidden meaning; + In hours of darkness a consoling sign, + Of higher manhood’s joyous, hailed beginning; + That which hath made our soul so long to pine, + Now draws us hence, sweet aspirations winning. + In Death, eternal Life hath been revealed: + And thou art Death, by thee we first are healed.” + +The minstrel wandered, full of joy, towards Hindostan, the heart elated +with the sweetest love, which, beneath yonder heavens, he poured forth in +fiery songs, so that a thousand hearts inclined towards him, and with a +thousand branches grew towards heaven the joyous tidings. Soon after the +minstrel’s departure, the precious life became a sacrifice to the deep +guilt of man: he died in youthful years, torn from the world he loved, +from the weeping mother and lamenting friends. His mouth of love emptied +the dark cup of inexpressible affliction. In fearful anguish approached +the hour of the new world’s birth. Deeply was he touched with the old +world’s fearful death—the weight of the old world fell heavily upon him. +Once more he gazed placidly upon the mother, then came the loosening hand +of eternal love, and he slumbered. Few days only hung a deep veil over +the swelling sea, over the quaking land; the beloved ones wept countless +tears; the mystery was unsealed: the ancient stone heavenly spirits +raised from the dark grave. Angels sat beside the slumberer, tenderly +formed out of his dreams. Awakened in the new glory of a god, he +ascended the height of the new-born world; and with his own hand buried +within the deserted sepulchre the old one’s corpse, and with almighty +hand placed over it the stone no power can raise. + +Yet do thy dear ones weep rich tears of joy, tears of emotion, and of +eternal gratitude beside thy grave; even yet, with glad alarm, do they +behold thee rise, themselves with thee; behold thee weeping, with sweet +feeling, on the happy bosom of thy mother, solemnly walking with thy +friends, speaking words as if broken from the tree of life; see thee +hasten, full of longing, to thy Father’s arms, bringing the young race of +man, and the cup of a golden future, which shall never be exhausted. The +mother soon followed thee in heavenly triumph; she was the first to join +thee in the new home. Long ages have flown by since then, and ever in +yet higher glory hath thy new creation grown, and thousands from out of +pain and misery have, full of faith and longing, followed thee; roam with +thee and the heavenly virgin in the realm of love, serve in the temple of +heavenly Death, and are in eternity thine. + + “Lifted is the stone, + Manhood hath arisen: + Still are we thine own, + Unharmed by bond or prison. + When earth—life—fade away + In the last meal’s solemn gladness, + Around thy cup dare stray + No trace of grief or sadness. + + To the marriage, Death doth call, + The brilliant lamps are lighted; + The virgins come, invited, + And oil is with them all. + Space now to space is telling + How forth thy train hath gone, + The voice of stars is swelling + With human tongue and tone! + + To thee, Maria, hallowed, + A thousand hearts are sent; + In this dark life and shadowed, + On thee their thoughts are bent: + The soul’s releasement seeing + They, longing, seek its rest; + By thee pressed, holy being, + Upon thy faithful breast. + + How many who, once glowing, + Earth’s bitterness have learned, + Their souls with grief o’erflowing, + To thee have sadly turned; + Thou pitying hast appearéd, + In many an hour of pain; + We come to thee now, wearied, + There ever to remain. + + By no cold grave now weepeth + A faithful love, forlorn; + Each still love’s sweet rights keepeth, + From none will they be torn. + To soften his sad longing + Her fires doth Night impart; + From heaven cherubs thronging, + Hold watch upon his heart. + + Content, our life advancing + To a life that shall abide, + Each flame its worth enhancing, + The soul is glorified. + The starry host shall sink then + To bright and living wine, + The golden draught we drink then, + And stars ourselves shall shine. + + Love released, lives woundless, + No separation more; + While life swells free and boundless + As a sea without a shore. + One night of glad elation, + One joy that cannot die, + And the sun of all creation + Is the face of the Most High.” + + + +VI. +LONGING FOR DEATH. + + + BELOW, within the earth’s dark breast, + From realms of light departing, + There sorrow’s pang and sigh oppressed + Is signal of our starting. + In narrow boat we ferry o’er + Speedily to heaven’s shore. + + To us be hallowed endless Night, + Hallowed eternal slumber! + The day hath withered us with light, + And troubles beyond number. + No more ’mong strangers would we roam; + We seek our Father, and our home. + + Upon this world, what do we here, + As faithful, fond, and true men? + The Old but meets with scorn and sneer:— + What care we for the New, then? + Oh, lone is he, and sadly pines, + Who loves with zeal the olden times! + + Those old times when the spirits light + To heaven as flame ascended; + The Father’s hand and features bright + When men yet comprehended; + When many a mortal, lofty-souled, + Yet bore the mark of heavenly mould. + + Those olden times when budded still + The stems of ancient story, + And children, to do Heaven’s will, + In pain and death sought glory; + Those times when life and pleasure spoke, + Yet many a heart with fond love broke. + + Those old times when in fires of youth + Was God himself revealéd, + And early death, in love and truth, + His sweet existence sealéd, + Who put not from him care and pain, + That dear to us he might remain. + + With trembling longing these we see, + By darkness now belated, + In Time’s dominions ne’er will be + Our ardent thirsting sated. + First to our home ’tis need we go, + Seek we these holy times to know. + + And our return what still can stay? + Long have the best-loved slumbered; + Their grave bounds for us life’s drear way, + Our souls with grief are cumbered. + All that we have to seek is gone, + The heart is full—the world is lone. + + Unending, with mysterious flame, + O’er us sweet awe is creeping; + Methought from viewless distance came + An echo to our weeping; + The loved ones long for us on high, + And sent us back their pining sigh. + + Below, to seek the tender bride, + To Jesus, whom we cherish! + Good cheer! lo, greys the even-tide,— + Love’s agonies shall perish.— + A dream—our fetters melt, at rest + We sink upon the Father’s breast. + + * * * * * + + Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Bell Sauvage, London, E.C. + 30,590 + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER SCHLEMIHL ETC.*** + + +******* This file should be named 5339-0.txt or 5339-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/3/3/5339 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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