path: root/old/ptsc10.txt

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Peter Schlemihl etc., by  Chamisso et. al.

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.

This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file.  Please do not remove it.  Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.

Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file.  Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used.  You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****


Title: Peter Schlemihl etc.

Author:  Chamisso et. al.

Release Date: March, 2004  [EBook #5339]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on July 2, 2002]
[Most recently updated: July 2, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PETER SCHLEMIHL ETC. ***




Transcribed from he 1889 Cassell & Company edition by David Price,
email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk




PETER SCHLEMIHL ETC.




Contents:
   Introduction by Henry Morley
   Peter Schlemihl by Adelbert Chamisso
      Peter Schlemihl
      Appendix
         Preface by the Editor
         Brief Sketch of Chamisso's Life
         From the Baron de la Motte Fouque
   The Story Without An End by Carode translated by Sarah Austin
   Hymns To Night by Novalis translated by Henry Morley



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 Chateau 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 Wurzburg 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 Vendee.  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 Fouque 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
Kuhn, 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.




PETER SCHLEMIHL, THE SHADOWLESS MAN.




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 Fouque, 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.



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 Linnaeus; 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 pounds.

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, a 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 algae 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 terrae and a part of my Systema naturae.  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 Poete 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
preface, ou 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 Fouque, 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 Stael, 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 Fouque.  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 FOUQUE 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!
FOUQUE.

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 appeared,
   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 revealed,
And early death, in love and truth,
   His sweet existence sealed,
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.




*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PETER SCHLEMIHL ETC. ***

This file should be named ptsc10.txt or ptsc10.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, ptsc11.txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ptsc10a.txt

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).


Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04

Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month:  1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

    1  1971 July
   10  1991 January
  100  1994 January
 1000  1997 August
 1500  1998 October
 2000  1999 December
 2500  2000 December
 3000  2001 November
 4000  2001 October/November
 6000  2002 December*
 9000  2003 November*
10000  2004 January*


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information online at:

http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html


***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.

We would prefer to send you information by email.


**The Legal Small Print**


(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     eBook or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word
     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
     let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com

[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees.  Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart.  Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*