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diff --git a/6022-0.txt b/6022-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d18ff9a --- /dev/null +++ b/6022-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5216 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Stories by Foreign Authors: German, Volume 2, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Stories by Foreign Authors: German, Volume 2 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: October 19, 2002 [eBook #6022] +[Most recently updated: November 7, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Nicole Apostola, Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS: GERMAN *** + + + + +STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS + +GERMAN + + +CHRISTIAN GELLERT’S LAST CHRISTMAS …… BY BERTHOLD AUERBACH +A GHETTO VIOLET …… BY LEOPOLD KOMPERT +THE SEVERED HAND …… BY WILHELM HAUFF +PETER SCHLEMIHL …… BY ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO + + + + +PUBLISHERS’ NOTE + + +The translations in this volume, where previously published, are used +by arrangement with the owners of the copyrights (as specified at the +beginning of each story). Translations made especially for the series +are covered by its general copyright. All rights in both classes are +reserved. + + + + +Contents + + CHRISTIAN GELLERT’S LAST CHRISTMAS — BY BERTHOLD AUERBACH + A GHETTO VIOLET — BY LEOPOLD KOMPERT + THE SEVERED HAND — BY WILHELM HAUFF + PETER SCHLEMIHL — BY ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO + + + + +CHRISTIAN GELLERT’S LAST CHRISTMAS + +BY BERTHOLD AUERBACH + + +Three o’clock had just struck from the tower of St. Nicholas, Leipzig, +on the afternoon of December 22d, 1768, when a man, wrapped in a loose +overcoat, came out of the door of the University. His countenance was +exceedingly gentle, and on his features cheerfulness still lingered, +for he had been gazing upon a hundred cheerful faces; after him +thronged a troop of students, who, holding back, allowed him to precede +them: the passengers in the streets saluted him, and some students, who +pressed forwards and hurried past him homewards, saluted him quite +reverentially. He returned their salutations with a surprised and +almost deprecatory air, and yet he knew, and could not conceal from +himself, that he was one of the best beloved, not only in the good city +of Leipzig, but in all lands far and wide. + +It was Christian Furchtegott Gellert, the Poet of Fables, Hymns, and +Lays, who was just leaving his college. + +When we read his “Lectures upon Morals,” which were not printed until +after his death, we obtain but a very incomplete idea of the great +power with which they came immediately from Gellert’s mouth. Indeed, it +was his voice, and the touching manner in which he delivered his +lectures, that made so deep an impression upon his hearers; and Rabener +was right when once he wrote to a friend, that “the philanthropic +voice” of Gellert belonged to his words. + +Above all, however, it was the amiable and pure personal character of +Gellert which vividly and edifyingly impressed young hearts. Gellert +was himself the best example of pure moral teaching; and the best which +a teacher can give his pupils is faith in the victorious might, and the +stability of the eternal moral laws. His lessons were for the Life, for +his life in itself was a lesson. Many a victory over the troubles of +life, over temptations of every kind, ay, many an elevation to nobility +of thought, and to purity of action, had its origin in that +lecture-hall, at the feet of Gellert. + +It was as though Gellert felt that it was the last time he would +deliver these lectures; that those words so often and so impressively +uttered would be heard no more from his mouth; and there was a peculiar +sadness, yet a peculiar strength, in all he said that day. + +He had this day earnestly recommended modesty and humility; and it +appeared almost offensive to him, that people as he went should tempt +him in regard to these very virtues; for continually he heard men +whisper, “That is Gellert!” + +What is fame, and what is honor? A cloak of many colors, without +warmth, without protection: and now, as he walked along, his heart +literally froze in his bosom, as he confessed to himself that he had as +yet done nothing—nothing which could give him a feeling of real +satisfaction. Men honored him and loved him: but what was all that +worth? His innermost heart could not be satisfied with that; in his own +estimation he deserved no meed of praise; and where, where was there +any evidence of that higher and purer life which he would fain bring +about! Then, again, the Spirit would comfort him and say: “Much seed is +lost, much falls in stony places, and much on good ground and brings +forth sevenfold.” + +His inmost soul heard not the consolation, for his body was weak and +sore burdened from his youth up, and in his latter days yet more than +ever; and there are conditions of the body in which the most elevating +words, and the cheeriest notes of joy, strike dull and heavy on the +soul. It is one of the bitterest experiences of life to discover how +little one man can really be to another. How joyous is that youthful +freshness which can believe that, by a thought transferred to another’s +heart, we can induce him to become another being, to live according to +what he must acknowledge true, to throw aside his previous delusions, +and return to the right path! + +The youngsters go their way! Do your words follow after? Whither are +they going? What are now their thoughts? What manner of life will be +theirs? “My heart yearns after them, but cannot be with them: oh, how +happy were those messengers of the Spirit, who cried aloud to youth or +manhood the words of the Spirit, that they must leave their former +ways, and thenceforth change to other beings! Pardon me, O God! that I +would fain be like them; I am weak and vile, and yet, methinks, there +must be words as yet unheard, unknown—oh! where are they, those words +which at once lay hold upon the soul?” + +With such heavy thoughts went Gellert away from his college-gate to +Rosenthal. There was but one small pathway cleared, but the passers +cheerfully made way for him, and walked in the snow that they might +leave him the pathway unimpeded; but he felt sad, and “as if each tree +had somewhat to cast at him.” Like all men really pure, and cleaving to +the good with all their might, Gellert was not only far from contenting +himself with work already done: he also, in his anxiety to be doing, +almost forgot that he had ever done anything, and thus he was, in the +best sense of the word, modest; he began with each fresh day his course +of action afresh, as if he now for the first time had anything to +accomplish. And yet he might have been happy, in the reflection how +brightly beamed his teaching for ever, though his own life was often +clouded. For as the sun which glows on summer days still lives as +concentrated warmth in wine, and somewhere on some winter night warms +up a human heart, so is the sunshine in that man’s life whose vocation +it is to impart to others the conceptions of his own mind. Nay, there +is here far more; for the refreshing draught here offered is not +diminished, though thousands drink thereof. + +Twilight had set in when Gellert returned home to his dwelling, which +had for its sign a “Schwarz Brett” or “black board.” His old servant, +Sauer by name, took off his overcoat; and his amanuensis, Gödike, asked +whether the Professor had any commands; being answered in the negative, +Gödike retired, and Sauer lighted the lamp upon the study-table. “Some +letters have arrived,” said he, as he pointed to several upon the +table: Gellert inclined his head, and Sauer retired also. Outside, +however, he stood awhile with Gödike, and both spoke sorrowfully of the +fact that the Professor was evidently again suffering severely. “There +is a melancholy,” said Gödike, “ and it is the most usual, in which the +inward depression easily changes to displeasure against every one, and +the household of the melancholic suffers thereby intolerably; for the +displeasure turns against them,—no one does anything properly, nothing +is in its place. How very different is Gellert’s melancholy! Not a soul +suffers from it but himself, against himself alone his gloomy thoughts +turn, and towards every other creature he is always kind, amiable, and +obliging: he bites his lips; but when he speaks to any one, he is +wholly good, forbearing, and self-forgetful. + +Whilst they were talking together, Gellert was sitting in his room, and +had lighted a pipe to dispel the agitation which he would experience in +opening his letters; and while smoking, he could read them much more +comfortably. He reproached himself for smoking, which was said to be +injurious to his health, but he could not quite give up the “horrible +practice,” as he called it. + +He first examined the addresses and seals of the letters which had +arrived, then quietly opened and read them. A fitful smile passed over +his features; there were letters from well-known friends, full of love +and admiration, but from strangers also, who, in all kinds of +heart-distress, took counsel of him. He read the letters full of +friendly applause, first hastily, that he might have the right of +reading them again, and that he might not know all at once; and when he +had read a friend’s letter for the second time, he sprang from his seat +and cried, “Thank God! thank God! that I am so fortunate as to have +such friends!” To his inwardly diffident nature these helps were a real +requirement; they served to cheer him, and only those who did not know +him called his joy at the reception of praise—conceit; it was, on the +contrary, the truest modesty. How often did he sit there, and all that +he had taught and written, all that he had ever been to men in word and +deed, faded, vanished, and died away, and he appeared to himself but a +useless servant of the world. His friends he answered immediately; and +as his inward melancholy vanished, and the philanthropy, nay, the +sprightliness of his soul beamed forth, when he was among men and +looked in a living face, so was it also with his letters. When he +bethought him of the friends to whom he was writing, he not only +acquired tranquillity, that virtue for which his whole life long he +strove; but his loving nature received new life, and only by slight +intimations did he betray the heaviness and dejection which weighed +upon his soul. He was, in the full sense of the word, “philanthropic,” +in the sight of good men; and in thoughts for their welfare, there was +for him a real happiness and a joyous animation. + +When, however, he had done writing and felt lonely again, the gloomy +spirits came back: he had seated himself, wishing to raise his thoughts +for composing a sacred song; but he was ill at ease, and had no power +to express that inward, firm, and self-rejoicing might of faith which +lived in him. Again and again the scoffers and free-thinkers rose up +before his thoughts: he must refute their objections, and not until +that was done did he become himself. + +It is a hard position, when a creative spirit cannot forget the +adversaries which on all sides oppose him in the world: they come +unsummoned to the room and will not be expelled; they peer over the +shoulder, and tug at the hand which fain would write; they turn images +upside down, and distort the thoughts; and here and there, from ceiling +and wall, they grin, and scoff, and oppose: and what was just gushing +as an aspiration from the soul, is converted to a confused absurdity. + +At such a time, the spirit, courageous and self-dependent, must take +refuge in itself and show a firm front to a world of foes. + +A strong nature boldly hurls his inkstand at the Devil’s head; goes to +battle with his opponents with words both written and spoken; and keeps +his own individuality free from the perplexities with which opponents +disturb all that has been previously done, and make the soul +unsteadfast and unnerved for what is to come. + +Gellert’s was no battling, defiant nature, which relies upon itself; he +did not hurl his opponents down and go his way; he would convince them, +and so they were always ready to encounter him. And as the applause of +his friends rejoiced him, so the opposition of his enemies could sink +him in deep dejection. Besides, he had always been weakly; he had, as +he himself complained, in addition to frequent coughs and a pain in his +loins, a continual gnawing and pressure in the centre of his chest, +which accompanied him from his first rising in the morning until he +slept at night. + +Thus he sat for a while, in deep dejection: and, as often before, his +only wish was, that God would give him grace whereby when his hour was +come, he might die piously and tranquilly. + +It was past midnight when he sought his bed and extinguished his light. + +And the buckets at the well go up and go down. + +About the same hour, in Duben Forest, the rustic Christopher was rising +from his bed. As with steel and flint he scattered sparks upon the +tinder, in kindling himself a light, his wife, awakening, cried: + +“Why that heavy sigh?” + +“Ah! life is a burden: I’m the most harassed mortal in the world. The +pettiest office-clerk may now be abed in peace, and needn’t break off +his sleep, while I must go out and brave wind and weather.” + +“Be content,” replied his wife: “why, I dreamt you had actually been +made magistrate, and wore something on your head like a king’s crown.” + +“Oh! you women; as though what you see isn’t enough, you like to +chatter about what you dream.” + +“Light the lamp, too,” said his wife, “and I’ll get up and make you a +nice porridge.” + +The peasant, putting a candle in his lantern, went to the stable; and +after he had given some fodder to the horses, he seated himself upon +the manger. With his hands squeezed between his knees and his head bent +down, he reflected over and over again what a wretched existence he had +of it. “Why,” thought he, “are so many men so well-off, so comfortable, +whilst you must be always toiling? What care I if envy be not a +virtue?—and yet I’m not envious, I don’t grudge others being well-off, +only I should like to be well-off too; oh, for a quiet, easy life! Am I +not worse off than a horse? He gets his fodder at the proper time, and +takes no care about it. Why did my father make my brother a minister? +He gets his salary without any trouble, sits in a warm room, has no +care in the world; and I must slave and torment myself.” + +Strange to say, his very next thought, that he would like to be made +local magistrate, he would in no wise confess to himself. + +He sat still a long while; then he went back again to the sitting-room, +past the kitchen, where the fire was burning cheerily. He seated +himself at the table and waited for his morning porridge. On the table +lay an open book; his children had been reading it the previous +evening: involuntarily taking it up, he began to read. Suddenly he +started, rubbed his eyes, and then read again. How comes this verse +here just at this moment? He kept his hand upon the book, and so easily +had he caught the words, that he repeated them to himself softly with +his lips, and nodded several times, as much as to say: “That’s true!” +And he said aloud: “It’s all there together: short and sweet!” and he +was still staring at it, when his wife brought in the smoking porridge. +Taking off his cap, he folded his hands and said aloud: + +“Accept God’s gifts with resignation, + Content to lack what thou hast not: +In every lot there’s consolation; + There’s trouble, too, in every lot!” + + +The wife looked at her husband with amazement. What a strange +expression was upon his face! And as he sat down and began to eat, she +said: “What is the meaning of that grace? What has to you? Where did +you find it?” + +“It the best of all graces, the very best,—real God’s word. Yes, and +all your life you’ve never made such nice porridge before. You must +have put something special in it!” + +“I don’t know what you mean. Stop! There’s the book lying there—ah! +that’s it—and it’s by Gellert, of Leipzig.” + +“What! Gellert, of Leipzig! Men with ideas like that don’t live now; +there may have been such, a thousand years ago, in holy lands, not +among us; those are the words of a saint of old.” + +“And I tell you they are by Gellert, of Leipzig, of whom your brother +has told us; in fact, he was his tutor, and haven’t you heard how pious +and good he is?” + +“I wouldn’t have believed that such men still lived, and so near us, +too, as Leipzig.” + +“Well, but those who lived a thousand years ago were also once living +creatures: and over Leipzig is just the same heaven, and the same sun +shines, and the same God rules, as over all other cities.” + +“Oh! yes, my brother has an apt pupil in you!” + +“Well, and why not? I’ve treasured up all he told us of Professor +Gellert.” + +“Professor!” + +“Yes, Professor!” + +“A man with such a proud, new-fangled title couldn’t write anything +like that!” + +“He didn’t give himself the title, and he is poor enough withal! and +how hard it has fared with him! Even from childhood he has been well +acquainted with poverty: his father was a poor minister in Haynichen, +with thirteen children; Gellert, when quite a little fellow, was +obliged to be a copying office-clerk: who can tell whether he didn’t +then contract that physical weakness of his? And now that he’s an old +man, things will never go better with him; he has often no wood, and +must be pinched with cold. It is with him, perhaps, as with that +student of whom your brother has told us, who is as poor as a rat, and +yet must read; and so in winter he lies in bed with an empty stomach, +until day is far advanced; and he has his book before him, and first he +takes out one hand to hold his book, and then, when that is numb with +cold, the other. Ah! tongue cannot tell how poorly the man must live; +and yet your brother has told me, if he has but a few pounds, he +doesn’t think at all of himself; he always looks out for one still +poorer than he is, and then gives all away: and he’s always engaged in +aiding and assisting others. Oh! dear, and yet he is so poor! May be at +this moment he is hungry and cold; and he is said to be in ill-health, +besides.” + +“Wife, I would willingly do the man a good turn if I could. If, now, he +had some land, I could plough, and sow, and reap, and carry, and thresh +by the week together for him. I should like to pay him attention in +such a way that he might know there was at least one who cared for him. +But his profession is one in which I can’t be of any use to him.” + +“Well, just seek him out and speak with him once; you are going to-day, +you know, with your wood to Leipzig. Seek him out and thank him; that +sort of thing does such a man’s heart good. Anybody can see him.” + +“Yes, yes; I should like much to see him, and hold out to him my +hand,—but not empty: I wish I had something!” + +“Speak to your brother, and get him to give you a note to him.” + +“No, no; say nothing to my brother; but it might be possible for me to +meet him in the street. Give me my Sunday coat; it will come to no harm +under my cloak.” + +When his wife brought him the coat, she said: “If, now, Gellert had a +wife, or a household of his own, one might send him something; but your +brother says he is a bachelor, and lives quite alone.” + +Christopher had never before so cheerfully harnessed his horses and put +them to his wood-laden wagon; for a long while he had not given his +hand so gayly to his wife at parting as to-day. Now he started with his +heavily-laden vehicle through the village; the wheels creaked and +crackled in the snow. At the parsonage he stopped, and looked away +yonder where his brother was still sleeping; he thought he would wake +him and tell him his intention: but suddenly he whipped up his horses, +and continued his route. He wouldn’t yet bind himself to his +intention—perchance it was but a passing thought; he doesn’t own that +to himself, but he says to himself that he will surprise his brother +with the news of what he has done; and then his thoughts wandered away +to the good man still sleeping yonder in the city; and he hummed the +verse to himself in an old familiar tune. + +Wonderfully in life do effects manifest themselves, of which we have no +trace. Gellert, too, heard in his dreams a singing; he knew not what it +was, but it rang so consolingly, so joyously! … Christopher drove on, +and he felt as though a bandage had been taken from his eyes; he +reflected what a nice house, what a bonny wife and rosy children he +had, and how warm the cloak which he had thrown over him was, and how +well off were both man and beast; and through the still night he drove +along, and beside him sat a spirit; but not an illusion of the brain, +such as in olden time men conjured up to their terror, a good spirit +sat beside him—beside the woodman who his whole life long had never +believed that anything could have power over him but what had hands and +feet. + +It is said that, on troublous nights, evil spirits settle upon the +necks of men, and belabor them so that they gasp and sweat for very +terror; quite another sort it was to-day which sat by the woodman: and +his heart was warm, and its beating quick. + +In ancient times, men also carried loads of wood through the night, +that heretics might be burned thereon: these men thought they were +doing a good deed in helping to execute justice; and who can say how +painful it was to their hearts, when they were forced to think: +To-morrow, on this wood which now you carry, will shriek, and crackle, +and gasp, a human being like yourself? Who can tell what black spirits +settled on the necks of those who bore the wood to make the +funeral-pile? How very different was it to-day with our woodman +Christopher! + +And earlier still, in ancient times, men brought wood to the temple, +whereon they offered victims in the honor of God; and, according to +their notions, they did a good deed: for when words can no longer +suffice to express the fervency of the heart, it gladly offers what it +prizes, what it dearly loves, as a proof of its devotion, of the +earnestness of its intent. + +How differently went Christopher from the Duben Forest upon his way! He +knew not whether he were intending to bring a purer offering than men +had brought in bygone ages; but his heart grew warm within him. + +It was day as he arrived before the gates of Leipzig. Here there met +him a funeral-procession; behind the bier the scholars of St. Thomas, +in long black cloaks, were chanting. Christopher stopped and raised his +hat. Whom were they burying? Supposing it were Gellert.—Yes, surely, he +thought, it is he: and how gladly, said he to himself, would you now +have done him a kindness—ay, even given him your wood! Yes, indeed you +would, and now he is dead, and you cannot give him any help! + +As soon as the train had passed, Christopher asked who was being +buried. It was a simple burgher, it was not Gellert; and in the deep +breath which Christopher drew lay a double signification: on the one +hand, was joy that Gellert was not dead; on the other, a still small +voice whispered to him that he had now really promised to give him the +wood: ah! but whom had he promised?—himself: and it is easy to argue +with one’s own conscience. + +Superstition babbles of conjuring-spells, by which, without the +co-operation of the patient, the evil spirit can be summarily ejected. +It would be convenient if one had that power, but, in truth, it is not +so: it is long ere the evil desire and the evil habit are removed from +the soul into which they have nestled; and the will, for a long while +in bondage, must co-operate, if a releasing spell from without is to +set the prisoner free. One can only be guided, but himself must move +his feet. + +As Christopher now looked about him, he found that he had stopped close +by an inn; he drove his load a little aside, went into the parlor, and +drank a glass of warmed beer. There was already a goodly company, and +not far from Christopher sat a husbandman with his son, a student here, +who was telling him how there had been lately quite a stir. Professor +Gellert had been ill, and riding a well-trained horse had been +recommended for his health. Now Prince Henry of Prussia, during the +Seven Years’ War, at the occupation of Leipzig, had sent him a piebald, +that had died a short time ago; and the Elector, hearing of it, had +sent Gellert from Dresden another—a chestnut—with golden bridle, blue +velvet saddle, and gold-embroidered housings. Half the city had +assembled when the groom, a man with iron-gray hair, brought the horse; +and for several days it was to be seen at the stable; but Gellert dared +not mount it, it was so young and high-spirited. The rustic now asked +his son whether the Professor did not make money enough to procure a +horse of his own, to which the son answered: “Certainly not. His salary +is but one hundred and twenty-five dollars, and his further gains are +inconsiderable. His Lectures on Morals he gives publicly, i.e., gratis, +and he has hundreds of hearers; and, therefore, at his own lectures, +which must be paid for, he has so many the fewer. To be sure, he has +now and then presents from grand patrons; but no one gives him, once +and for all, enough to live upon, and to have all over with a single +acknowledgment.” + +Our friend Christopher started as he heard this; he had quite made up +his mind to take Gellert the wood: but he had yet to do it. How easy +were virtue, if will and deed were the same thing! if performance could +immediately succeed to the moment of burning enthusiasm! But one must +make way over obstacles; over those that outwardly lie in one’s path, +and over those that are hidden deep in the heart; and negligence has a +thousand very cunning advocates. + +How many go forth, prompted by good intentions, but let little +hindrances turn them from their way—entirely from their way of life! In +front of the house Christopher met other woodmen whom he knew, and—“You +are stirring betimes!” “Prices are good to-day!” “But little comes to +the market now!” was the cry from all sides. Christopher wanted to say +that all that didn’t concern him, but he was ashamed to confess that +his design was, and an inward voice told him he must not lie. Without +answering he joined the rest, and wended his way to the market; and on +the road he thought: “There are Peter, and Godfrey, and John, who have +seven times your means, and not one of them, I’m sure, would think of +doing anything of this kind; why will you be the kind-hearted fool? +Stay! what matters it what others do or leave undone? Every man shall +answer for himself. Yes, but go to market—it is better it should be so; +yes, certainly, much better: sell your wood—who knows? perhaps he +doesn’t want it—and take him the proceeds, or at least the greater +portion. But is the wood still yours? You have, properly speaking, +already given it away; it has only not been taken from your keeping….” + +There are people who cannot give; they can only let a thing be taken +either by the hand of chance, or by urgency and entreaty. Christopher +had such fast hold of possession, that it was only after sore wrestling +that he let go; and yet his heart was kind, at least to-day it was so +disposed, but the tempter whispered: “It is not easy to find so +good-natured a fellow as you. How readily would you have given, had the +man been in want, and your good intention must go for the deed.” Still, +on the other hand, there was something in him which made opposition,—an +echo from those hours, when, in the still night, he was driving +hither,—and it burned in him like sacred fire, and it said, “You must +now accomplish what you intended. Certainly no one knows of it, and you +are responsible to no one; but you know of it yourself, and One above +you knows, and how shall you be justified?” And he said to himself, +“I’ll stand by this: look, it is just nine; if no one ask the price of +your wood until ten o’clock, until the stroke of ten,—until it has done +striking, I mean; if no one ask, then the wood belongs to Professor +Gellert: but if a buyer come, then it is a sign that you need +not—should not give it away. There, that’s all settled. But how? what +means this? Can you make your good deed dependent on such a chance as +this? No, no; I don’t mean it. But yet—yet—only for a joke, I’ll try +it.” + +Temptation kept him turning as it were in a circle, and still he stood +with an apparently quiet heart by his wagon in the market. The people +who heard him muttering in this way to himself looked at him with +wonder, and passed by him to another wagon, as though he had not been +there. It struck nine. Can you wait patiently another hour? Christopher +lighted his pipe, and looked calmly on, while this and that load was +driven off. It struck the quarter, half-hour, three-quarters. +Christopher now put his pipe in his pocket; it had long been cold, and +his hands were almost frozen; all his blood had rushed to his heart. +Now it struck the full hour, stroke after stroke. At first he counted; +then he fancied he had lost a stroke and miscalculated. Either +voluntarily or involuntarily, he said to himself, when it had finished +striking, “You’re wrong; it is nine, not ten.” He turned round that he +might not see the dial, and thus he stood for some time, with his hands +upon the wagon-rack, gazing at the wood. He knew not how long he had +been thus standing, when some one tapped him on the shoulder, and said, +“How much for the load of wood?” + +Christopher turned round: there was an odd look of irresolution in his +eyes as he said: “Eh? eh? what time is it?” + +“Half-past ten.” + +“Then the wood is now no longer mine—at least to sell:” and, collecting +himself, he became suddenly warm, and with firm hand turned his horses +round, and begged the woodmen who accompanied him to point him out the +way to the house with the “Schwarz Brett,” Dr. Junius’s. There he +delivered a full load: at each log he took out of the wagon he smiled +oddly. The wood-measurer measured the wood carefully, turning each log +and placing it exactly, that there might not be a crevice anywhere. + +“Why are you so over-particular to-day, pray?” asked Christopher, and +he received for answer: + +“Professor Gellert must have a fair load; every shaving kept back from +him were a sin.” + +Christopher laughed aloud, and the wood-measurer looked at him with +amazement; for such particularity generally provoked a quarrel. +Christopher had still some logs over; these he kept by him on the +wagon. At this moment the servant Sauer came up, and asked to whom the +wood belonged. + +“To Professor Gellert,” answered Christopher. + +“The man’s mad! it isn’t true. Professor Gellert has not bought any +wood; it is my business to look after that.” + +“He has not bought it, and yet it is his!” cried Christopher. + +Sauer was on the point of giving the mad peasant a hearty scolding, +raising his voice so much the louder, as it was striking eleven by St. +Nicholas. At this moment, however, he became suddenly mute; for yonder +from the University there came, with tired gait, a man of a noble +countenance: at every step he made, on this side and on that, off came +the hats and the caps of the passers-by, and Sauer simply called out, +“There comes the Professor himself.” + +What a peculiar expression passed over Christopher’s face! He looked at +the new-comer, and so earnest was his gaze, that Gellert, who always +walked with his head bowed, suddenly looked up. Christopher said: “Mr. +Gellert, I am glad to see you still alive.” + +“I thank you,” said Gellert, and made as though he would pass on; but +Christopher stepped up closer to him, and, stretching out his hand to +him, said: “I have taken the liberty—I should like—will you give me +your hand, Mr. Gellert?” + +Gellert drew his long thin hand out of his muff and placed it in the +hard oaken-like hand of the peasant; and at this moment, when the +peasant’s hand lay in the scholar’s palm, as one felt the other’s +pressure in actual living grasp, there took place, though the mortal +actors in the scene were all unconscious of it, a renewal of that +healthy life which alone can make a people one. + +How long had the learned world, wrapped up in itself, separated from +the fellow-men around, thought in Latin, felt as foreigners, and lived +buried in contemplation of bygone worlds! From the time of Gellert +commences the ever-increasing unity of good-fellowship throughout all +classes of life, kept up by mutual giving and receiving. As the +scholar—as the solitary poet endeavors to work upon others by lays that +quicken and songs that incite, so he in his turn is a debtor to his +age, and the lonely thinking and writing become the property of all; +but the effects are not seen in a moment; for higher than the most +highly gifted spirit of any single man is the spirit of a nation. With +the pressure which Gellert and the peasant exchanged commenced a mighty +change in universal life, which never more can cease to act. + +“Permit me to enter your room?” said Christopher, and Gellert nodded +assent. He was so courteous that he motioned to the peasant to enter +first; however, Sauer went close after him: he thought it must be a +madman; he must protect his master; the man looked just as if he were +drunk. Gellert, with his amanuensis, Gödike, followed them. + +Gellert, however, felt that the man must be actuated by pure motives: +he bade the others retire, and took Christopher alone into his study; +and, as he clasped his left with his own right hand, he asked: “Well, +my good friend, what is your business?” + +“Eh? oh! nothing—I’ve only brought you a load of wood there—a fair, +full load; however, I’ll give you the few logs which I have in my +wagon, as well.” + +“My good man, my servant Sauer looks after buying my wood.” + +“It is no question of buying. No, my dear sir, I give it to you.” + +“Give it to me? Why me particularly?” + +“Oh! sir, you do not know at all what good you do, what good you have +done me; and my wife was right; why should there not be really pious +men in our day too? Surely the sun still shines as he shone thousands +of years ago; all is now the same as then; and the God of old is still +living.” + +“Certainly, certainly; I am glad to see you so pious.” + +“Ah! believe me, dear sir, I am not always so pious; and that I am so +disposed today is owing to you. We have no more confessionals now, but +I can confess to you: and you have taken a heavier load from my heart +than a wagon-load of wood. Oh! sir, I am not what I was. In my early +days I was a high-spirited, merry lad, and out in the field, and +indoors in the inn and the spinning-room, there was none who could sing +against me; but that is long past. What has a man on whose head the +grave-blossoms are growing,” and he pointed to his gray head, “to do +with all that trash? And besides, the Seven Years’ War has put a stop +to all our singing. But last night, in the midst of the fearful cold, I +sang a lay set expressly for me—all old tunes go to it: and it seemed +to me as though I saw a sign-post which pointed I know not whither—or, +nay, I do know whither.” And now the peasant related how discontented +and unhappy in mind he had been, and how the words in the lay had all +at once raised his spirits and accompanied him upon the journey, like a +good fellow who talks to one cheerfully. + +At this part of the peasant’s tale Gellert folded his hands in silence, +and the peasant concluded: “How I always envied others, I cannot now +think why; but you I do envy, sir: I should like to be as you.” + +And Gellert answered: “I thank God, and rejoice greatly that my +writings have been of service to you. Think not so well of me. Would +God I were really the good man I appear in your eyes! I am far from +being such as I should, such as I would fain be. I write my books for +my own improvement also, to show myself as well as others what manner +of men we should be.” + +Laughing, the peasant replied: “You put me in mind of the story my poor +mother used to tell of the old minister; he stood up once in the pulpit +and said: ‘My dear friends, I speak not only for you, but for myself +also; I, too, have need of it.’” + +Christopher laughed outrageously when he had finished, and Gellert +smiled, and said: “Yes, whoever in the darkness lighteth another with a +lamp, lighteth himself also; and the light is not part of ourselves,—it +is put into our hands by Him who hath appointed the suns their +courses.” + +The peasant stood speechless, and looked upon the ground: there was +something within him which took away the power of looking up; he was +only conscious that it ill became him to laugh so loudly just now, when +he told the story of the old minister. + +A longer pause ensued, and Gellert seemed to be lost in reflection upon +this reference to a minister’s work, for he said half to himself: “Oh! +how would it fulfil my dearest wish to be a village-pastor! To move +about among my people, and really be one with them; the friend of their +souls my whole life long, never to lose them out of my sight! Yonder +goes one whom I have led into the right way; there another, with whom I +still wrestle, but whom I shall assuredly save; and in them all the +teaching lives which God proclaims by me. Did I not think that I should +be acting against my duty, I would this moment choose a country life +for the remnant of my days. When I look from my window over the +country, I have before me the broad sky, of which we citizens know but +little, a scene entirely new; there I stand and lose myself for half an +hour in gazing and in thinking. Yes, good friend, envy no man in the +rank of scholars. Look at me; I am almost always ill; and what a burden +is a sickly body! How strong, on the contrary, are you! I am never +happier than when, without being remarked, I can watch a dinner-table +thronged by hungry men and maids. Even if these folks be not generally +so happy as their superiors, at table they are certainly happier.” + +“Yes, sir; we relish our eating and drinking. And, lately, when felling +and sorting that wood below, I was more than usually lively; it seems +as though I had a notion I was to do some good with it.” + +“And must I permit you to make me a present?” asked Gellert, resting +his chin upon his left hand. + +The peasant answered: “It is not worth talking about.” + +“Nay, it might be well worth talking about; but I accept your present. +It is pride not to be ready to accept a gift. Is not all we have a gift +from God? And what one man gives another, he gives, as is most +appropriately said, for God’s sake. Were I your minister, I should be +pleased to accept a present from you. You see, good friend, we men have +no occasion to thank each other. You have given me nothing of yours, +and I have given you nothing of mine. That the trees grow in the forest +is none of your doing, it is the work of the Creator and Preserver of +the world; and the soil is not yours; and the sun and the rain are not +yours; they all are the works of His hand; and if, perchance, I have +some healthy thoughts rising up in my soul, which benefit my +fellow-men, it is none of mine, it is His doing. The word is not mine, +and the spirit is not mine; and I am but an instrument in His hand. +Therefore one man needs not to utter words of thanks to his fellow, if +every one would but acknowledge who it really is that gives.” + +The peasant looked up in astonishment. Gellert remarked it, and said: +“Understand me aright. I thank you from my heart; you have done a kind +action. But that the trees grow is none of yours, and it is none of +mine that thoughts arise in me; every one simply tills his field, and +tends his woodland, and the honest, assiduous toil he gives thereto is +his virtue. That you felled, loaded, and brought the wood, and wish no +recompense for your labor, is very thank-worthy. My wood was more +easily felled; but those still nights which I and all of my calling +pass in heavy thought—who can tell what toil there is in them? There is +in the world an adjustment which no one sees, and which but seldom +discovers itself; and this and that shift thither and hither, and the +scales of the balance become even, and then ceases all distinction +between ‘mine’ and ‘thine,’ and in the still forest rings an axe for +me, and in the silent night my spirit thinks and my pen writes for +you.” + +The peasant passed both his hands over his temples, and his look was as +though he said to himself, “Where are you? Are you still in the world? +Is it a mortal man who speaks to you? Are you in Leipzig, in that +populous city where men jostle one another for gain and bare +existence?” + +Below might be heard the creaking of the saw as the wood was being +sundered: and now the near horse neighs, and Christopher is in the +world again. “It may injure the horse to stand so long in the cold; and +no money for the wood! but perhaps a sick horse to take home into the +bargain; that would be too much,” he thought. + +“Yes, yes, Mr. Professor,” said he—he had his hat under his arm, and +was rubbing his hands—“yes, I am delighted with what I have done; and I +value the lesson, believe me, more than ten loads of wood: and never +shall I forget you to my dying day. And though I see you are not so +poor as I had imagined, still I don’t regret it. Oh! no, certainly not +at all.” + +“Eh! did you think me so very poor, then?” + +“Yes, miserably poor.” + +“I have always been poor, but God has never suffered me to be a single +day without necessaries. I have in the world much happiness which I +have not deserved, and much unhappiness I have not, which perchance I +have deserved. I have found much favor with both high and low, for +which I cannot sufficiently thank God. And now tell me, cannot I give +you something, or obtain something for you? You are a local magistrate, +I presume?” + +“Why so?” + +“You look like it: you might be.” + +Christopher had taken his hat into his hands, and was crumpling it up +now; he half closed his eyes, and with a sly, inquiring glance, he +peered at Gellert. Suddenly, however, the expression of his face +changed, and the muscles quivered, as he said: “Sir, what a man are +you! How you can dive into the recesses of one’s heart! I have really +pined night and day, and been cross with the whole world, because I +could not be magistrate, and you, sir, you have actually helped to +overcome that in me. Oh! sir, as soon as I read that verse in your +book, I had an idea, and now I see still more plainly that you must be +a man of God, who can pluck the heart from one’s bosom, and turn it +round and round. I had thought I could never have another moment’s +happiness, if my neighbor, Hans Gottlieb, should be magistrate: and +with that verse of yours, it has been with me as when one calms the +blood with a magic spell.” + +“Well, my good friend, I am rejoiced to hear it: believe me, every one +has in himself alone a whole host to govern. What can so strongly urge +men to wish to govern others? What can it profit you to be local +magistrate, when to accomplish your object you must perhaps do +something wrong? What were the fame, not only of a village, but even of +the whole world, if you could have no self-respect? Let it suffice for +you to perform your daily duties with uprightness; let your joys be +centred in your wife and children, and you will be happy. What need you +more? Think not that honor and station would make you happy. Rejoice, +and again I say, rejoice: ‘A contented spirit is a continual feast.’ I +often whisper this to myself, when I feel disposed to give way to +dejection: and although misery be not our fault, yet lack of endurance +and of patience in misery is undoubtedly our fault.” + +“I would my wife were here too, that she also might hear this; I grudge +myself the hearing of it all alone; I cannot remember it all properly, +and yet I should like to tell it to her word for word. Who would have +thought that, by standing upon a load of wood, one could get a peep +into heaven!” + +Gellert in silence bowed his head; and afterwards he said: “Yes, +rejoice in your deed, as I do in your gift. Your wood is +sacrificial-wood. In olden time—and it was right in principle, because +man could not yet offer prayer and thanks in spirit—it was a custom and +ordinance to bring something from one’s possessions, as a proof of +devotion: this was a sacrifice. And the more important the gift to be +given, or the request to be granted, the more costly was the sacrifice. +Our God will have no victims; but whatsoever you do unto one of the +least of His, you do unto Him. Such are our sacrifices. My dear friend, +from my heart I thank you; for you have done me a kindness, in that you +have given me a real, undeniable proof, that my words have penetrated +your heart, and that I do not live on for nothing: and treasure it up +in your heart, that you have caused real joy to one who is often, very +often, weighed down with heaviness and sorrow. You have not only +kindled bright tapers upon my Christmas-tree, but the tree itself +burns, gives light, and warms: the bush burns, and is not consumed, +which is an image of the presence of the Holy Spirit, and its +admonition to trust in the Most High in this wilderness of life, in +mourning and in woe. Oh! my dear friend, I have been nigh unto death. +What a solemn, quaking stride is the stride into eternity! What a +difference between ideas of death in the days of health, and on the +brink of the grave! And how shall I show myself worthy of longer life? +By learning better to die. And, mark, when I sit here in solitude +pursuing my thoughts, keeping some and driving away others, then I can +think, that in distant valleys, upon distant mountains, there are +living men who carry my thoughts within their hearts; and for them I +live, and they are near and dear to me, till one day we shall meet +where there is no more parting, no more separation. Peasant and +scholar, let us abide as we are. Give me your hand—farewell!” + +And once again, the soft and the hard hand were clasped together, and +Christopher really trembled as Gellert laid his hand upon his shoulder. +They shook hands, and therewith something touched the heart of each +more impressively, more completely, than ever words could touch it. +Christopher got downstairs without knowing how: below, he threw down +the extra logs of wood, which he had kept back, with a clatter from the +wagon, and then drove briskly from the city. Not till he arrived at +Lindenthal did he allow himself and his horses rest or food. He had +driven away empty: he had nothing on his wagon, nothing in his purse; +and yet who can tell what treasures he took home; and who can tell what +inextinguishable fire he left behind him yonder, by that lonely +scholar! + +Gellert, who usually dined at his brother’s, today had dinner brought +into his own room, remained quite alone, and did not go out again: he +had experienced quite enough excitement, and society he had in his own +thoughts. Oh! to find that there are open, susceptible hearts, is a +blessing to him that writes in solitude, and is as wondrous to him as +though he dipped his pen in streams of sunshine, and as if all he wrote +were Light. The raindrop which falls from the cloud cannot tell upon +what plant it drops: there is a quickening power in it, but for what? +And a thought which finds expression from a human heart; an action, +nay, a whole life is like the raindrop falling from the cloud: the +whole period of a life endures no longer than the raindrop needs for +falling. And as for knowing where your life is continued, how your work +proceeds, you cannot attain to that. + +And in the night all was still around: nothing was astir; the whole +earth was simple rest, as Gellert sat in his room by his lonely lamp; +his hand lay upon an open book, and his eyes were fixed upon the empty +air; and on a sudden came once more upon him that melancholy gloom, +which so easily resumes its place after more than usual excitement. + +It is as though the soul, suddenly elevated above all, must still +remember the heaviness it but now experienced, though that expresses +itself as tears of joy in the eye. + +In Gellert, however, this melancholy had a more peculiar phase: a sort +of timidity had rooted itself in him, connected with his weak chest, +and that secret gnawing pain in his head; it was a fearfulness which +his manner of life only tended to increase. Surrounded though he was by +nothing but love and admiration in the world, he could not divest +himself of the fear that all which is most horrible and terrible would +burst suddenly upon him: and so he gazed fixedly before him. He passed +his hand over his face, and with an effort concentrated his looks and +thoughts upon surrounding objects, saying to himself almost aloud: “How +comforting is light! Were there no light from without to illumine +objects for us, we should perish in gloom, in the shadows of night. And +light is a gentle friend that watches by us, and, when we are sunk in +sorrow, points out to us that the world is still here, that it calls, +and beckons us, and requires of us duty and cheerfulness. ‘You must not +be lost in self,’ it says, ‘see! the world is still here:’ and a friend +beside us is as a light which illumines surrounding objects; we cannot +forget them, we must see them and mingle with them. How hard is life, +and how little I accomplish! I would fain awaken the whole world to +goodness and to love; but my voice is weak, my strength is +insufficient: how insignificant is all I do!” + +And now he rose up and strode across the room; and he stood at the +hearth where the fire was burning, made of wood given to him that very +day, and his thoughts reverted to the man who had given it. Why had he +not asked his name, and where he came from? Perchance he might have +been able in thought to follow him all the way, as he drove home; and +now … but yet ’tis more, ’tis better as it is: it is not an individual, +it is not So-and-so, who has shown his gratitude, but all the world by +the mouth of one. “The kindnesses I receive,” he thought, “are indeed +trials; but yet I ought to accept them with thanks. I will try +henceforth to be a benefactor to others as others are to me, without +display, and with grateful thanks to God, our highest Benefactor: this +will I do, and search no further for the why and for the wherefore.” +And once more a voice spoke within him, and he stood erect, and raised +his arms on high. “Who knows,” he thought, “whether at this moment I +have not been in this or that place, to this or that man, a brother, a +friend, a comforter, a saviour; and from house to house, may be, my +spirit travels, awakening, enlivening, refreshing—yonder in the attic, +where burns a solitary light; and afar in some village a mother is +sitting by her child, and hearing him repeat the thoughts I have +arranged in verse; and peradventure some solitary old man, who is +waiting for death, is now sitting by his fireside, and his lips are +uttering my words.” + +“And yonder in the church, the choir is chanting a hymn of yours; could +you have written this hymn without its vigor in your heart? Oh! no, it +MUST be there.” And with trembling he thought: “There is nothing so +small as to have no place in the government of God! Should you not then +believe that He suffered this day’s incident to happen for your joy? +Oh! were it so, what happiness were yours! A heart renewed.” … He moved +to the window, looked up to heaven, and prayed inwardly: “My soul is +with my brothers and my sisters: nay, it is with Thee, my God, and in +humility I acknowledge how richly Thou hast blessed me. And if, in the +kingdom of the world to come, a soul should cry to me: ‘Thou didst +guide and cheer me on to happiness eternal!’ all hail! my friend, my +benefactor, my glory in the presence of God. … In these thoughts let me +die, and pardon me my weakness and my sins!” + +“And the evening and morning were the first day.” + +At early morning, Gellert was sitting at his table, and reading +according to his invariable custom, first of all in the Bible. He never +left the Bible open—he always shut it with a peaceful, devotional air, +after he had read therein: there was something grateful as well as +reverential in his manner of closing the volume; the holy words should +not lie uncovered. + +To-day, however, the Bible was lying open when he rose. His eye fell +upon the history of the creation, and at the words, “And the evening +and the morning were the first day,” he leaned back his head against +the arm-chair, and kept his hand upon the book, as though he would +grasp with his hand also the lofty thought, how night and day were +divided. + +For a long while he sat thus, and he was wondrously bright in spirit, +and a soft reminiscence dawned upon him; of a bright day in childhood, +when he had been so happy, and in Haynichen, his native place, had gone +out with his father for a walk. An inward warmth roused his heart to +quicker pulsation; and suddenly he started and looked about him: he had +been humming a tune. + +Up from the street came the busy sound of Jay: at other times how +insufferable he had found it! and now how joyous it seemed that men +should bestir themselves, and turn to all sorts of occupations! There +was a sound of crumbling snow: and how nice to have a house and a blaze +upon the hearth! “And the evening and the morning were the first day!” +And man getteth himself a light in the darkness: but how long, O man! +could you make it endure? What could you do with your artificial light, +if God did not cause His sun to shine? Without it grows no grass, no +corn. On the hand lying upon the book there fell a bright sunbeam. How +soon, at other times, would Gellert have drawn the defensive curtain! +Now he watches the little motes that play about in the sunbeam. + +The servant brought coffee, and the amanuensis, Gödike, asked if there +were anything to do. Generally, Gellert scarce lifted his head from his +books, hastily acknowledging the attention and reading on in silence; +to-day, he motioned to Gödike to stay, and said to Sauer, “Another cup: +Mr. Gödike will take coffee with me. God has given me a day of +rejoicing.” Sauer brought the cup, and Gellert said: “Yes, God has +given me a day of rejoicing, and what I am most thankful for is, that +He has granted me strength to thank Him with all my heart: not so +entirely, however, as I should like.” + +“Thank God, Mr. Professor, that you are once more in health, and +cheerful: and permit me, Mr. Professor, to tell you that I was myself +also ill a short time ago, and I then learned a lesson which I shall +never forget. Who is most grateful? The convalescent. He learns to love +God and His beautiful world anew; he is grateful for everything, and +delighted with everything. What a flavor has his first cup of coffee! +How he enjoys his first walk outside the house, outside the gate! The +houses, the trees, all give us greeting: all is again in us full of +health and joy!” So said Gödike, and Gellert rejoined: + +“You are a good creature, and have just spoken good words. Certainly, +the convalescent is the most grateful. We are, however, for the most +part, sick in spirit, and have not strength to recover: and a sickly, +stricken spirit is the heaviest pain.” + +Long time the two sat quietly together: it struck eight. Gellert +started up, and cried irritably: “There, now, you have allowed me to +forget that I must be on my way to the University.” + +“The vacation has begun: Mr. Professor has no lecture to-day.” + +“No lecture to-day? Ah! and I believe today is just the time when I +could have told my young friends something that would have benefited +them for their whole lives.” + +There was a shuffling of many feet outside the door: the door opened, +and several boys from St Thomas’ School-choir advanced and sang to +Gellert some of his own hymns; and as they chanted the verse— + +“And haply there—oh! grant it, Heaven! + Some blessed saint will greet me too; +‘All hail! all hail! to you was given + To save my life and soul, to you!’ +O God! my God! what joy to be +The winner of a soul to thee!” + + +Gellert wept aloud, folded his hands, and raised his eyes to heaven. + +A happier Christmas than that of 1768 had Gellert never seen; and it +was his last. Scarcely a year after, on the 13th of December, 1769, +Gellert died a pious, tranquil death, such as he had ever coveted. + +As the long train which followed his bier moved to the churchyard of +St. John’s, Leipzig, a peasant with his wife and children in holiday +clothes entered among the last. It was Christopher with his family. The +whole way he had been silent: and whilst his wife wept passionately at +the pastor’s touching address, it was only by the working of his +features that Christopher showed how deeply moved he was. + +But on the way home he said: “I am glad I did him a kindness in his +lifetime; it would now be too late.” + +The summer after, when he built a new house, he had this verse placed +upon it as an inscription: + +“Accept God’s gifts with resignation, + Content to lack what thou hast not: +In every lot there’s consolation; + There’s trouble, too, in every lot.” + + + + +A GHETTO VIOLET + +BY LEOPOLD KOMPERT + + +From “Christian and Leah.” Translated by A.S. Arnold. + + +Through the open window came the clear trill of a canary singing +blithely in its cage. Within the tidy, homely little room a pale-faced +girl and a youth of slender frame listened intently while the bird sang +its song. The girl was the first to break the silence. + +“Ephraim, my brother!” she said. + +“What is it, dear Viola?” + +“I wonder does the birdie know that it is the Sabbath to-day?” + +“What a child you are!” answered Ephraim. + +“Yes, that’s always the way; when you clever men can’t explain a thing, +you simply dismiss the question by calling it childish,” Viola +exclaimed, as though quite angry. “And, pray, why shouldn’t the bird +know? The whole week it scarcely sang a note: to-day it warbles and +warbles so that it makes my head ache. And what’s the reason? Every +Sabbath it’s just the same, I notice it regularly. Shall I tell you +what my idea is? + +“The whole week long the little bird looks into our room and sees +nothing but the humdrum of work-a-day life. To-day it sees the bright +rays of the Sabbath lamp and the white Sabbath cloth upon the table. +Don’t you think I’m right, Ephraim?” + +“Wait, dear Viola,” said Ephraim, and he went to the cage. + +The bird’s song suddenly ceased. + +“Now you’ve spoilt its Sabbath!” cried the girl, and she was so excited +that the book which had been lying upon her lap fell to the ground. + +Ephraim turned towards her; he looked at her solemnly, and said +quietly: + +“Pick up your prayer-book first, and then I’ll answer. A holy book +should not be on the ground like that. Had our mother dropped her +prayer-book, she would have kissed it … Kiss it, Viola, my child!” + +Viola did so. + +“And now I’ll tell you, dear Viola, what I think is the reason why the +bird sings so blithely to-day … Of course, I don’t say I’m right.” + +Viola’s brown eyes were fixed inquiringly upon her brother’s face. + +“How seriously you talk to-day,” she said, making a feeble attempt at a +smile. “I was only joking. Mustn’t I ask if the bird knows anything +about the Sabbath?” + +“There are subjects it is sinful to joke about, and this may be one of +them, Viola.” + +“You really quite frighten me, Ephraim.” + +“You little goose, I don’t want to frighten you,” said Ephraim, while a +faint flush suffused his features. “I’ll tell you my opinion about the +singing of the bird. I think, dear Viola, that our little canary knows +… that before long it will change its quarters.” + +“You’re surely not going to sell it or give it away?” cried the girl, +in great alarm; and springing to her feet, she quickly drew her brother +away from the cage. + +“No, I’m not going to sell it nor give it away,” said Ephraim, whose +quiet bearing contrasted strongly with his sister’s excitement. “Is it +likely that I should do anything that would give you pain? And yet, I +have but to say one word … and I’ll wager that you will be the first to +open the cage and say to the bird, ‘Fly, fly away, birdie, fly away +home!’” + +“Never, never!” cried the girl. + +“Viola,” said Ephraim beseechingly, “I have taken a vow. Surely you +would not have me break it?” + +“A vow?” asked his sister. + +“Viola,” Ephraim continued, as he bent his head down to the girl’s +face, “I have vowed to myself that whenever he … our father … should +return, I would give our little bird its freedom. It shall be free, +free as he will be.” + +“Ephraim!” + +“He is coming—he is already on his way home.” + +Viola flung her arms round her brother’s neck. For a long time brother +and sister remained locked in a close embrace. + +Meanwhile the bird resumed its jubilant song. + +“Do you hear how it sings again?” said Ephraim; and he gently stroked +his sister’s hair. + +“It knows that it will soon be free.” + +“A father out of jail!” sobbed Viola, as she released herself from her +brother’s arms. + +“He has had his punishment, dear Viola!” said Ephraim softly. + +Viola turned away. There was a painful silence, and then she looked up +at her brother again. Her face was aglow, her eyes sparkled with a +strange fire; she was trembling with agitation. Never before had +Ephraim seen her thus. + +“Ephraim, my brother,” she commenced, in that measured monotone so +peculiar to intense emotion, “with the bird you can do as you please. +You can set it free, or, if you like, you can wring its neck. But as +for him, I’ll never look in his face again, from me he shall not have a +word of welcome. He broke our mother’s heart … our good, good mother; +he has dishonored himself and us. And I can never forget it.” + +“Is it right for a child to talk like that of her own father?” said +Ephraim in a tremulous voice. + +“When a child has good cause to be ashamed of her own father!” cried +Viola. + +“Oh, my Viola, you must have forgotten dear mother’s dying words. Don’t +you remember, as she opened her eyes for the last time, how she +gathered up her failing strength, and raising herself in her bed, +‘Children,’ she said, ‘my memory will protect you both, yea, and your +father too.’ Viola, have you forgotten?” + +Had you entered that little room an hour later, a touching sight would +have met your eyes. Viola was seated on her brother’s knee, her arms +round his neck, whilst Ephraim with the gentle love of a brother for a +younger sister, was stroking her hair, and whispering in her ear sweet +words of solace. + +The bird-cage was empty. … That evening Ephraim sat up till midnight. +Outside in the Ghetto reigned the stillness of night. + +All at once Ephraim rose from his chair, walked to the old bureau which +stood near the door, opened it, and took from it a bulky volume, which +he laid upon the table in front of him. But he did not seem at all bent +upon reading. He began fingering the pages, until he came upon a bundle +of bank-notes, and these he proceeded to count, with a whispering +movement of his lips. He had but three or four more notes still to +count, when his sharp ear detected the sound of stealthy footsteps, in +the little courtyard in front of the house. Closing the book, and +hastily putting it back again in the old bureau, Ephraim sprang to the +window and opened it. + +“Is that you, father?” he cried. + +There was no answer. + +Ephraim repeated his question. + +He strained his eyes, peering into the dense darkness, but no living +thing could he see. Then quite close to him a voice cried: “Make no +noise … and first put out the light.” + +“Heavens! Father, it is you then…!” Ephraim exclaimed. + +“Hush!” came in a whisper from without, “first put out the light.” + +Ephraim closed the window, and extinguished the light. Then, with +almost inaudible step, he walked out of the room into the dark passage; +noiselessly he proceeded to unbolt the street-door. Almost at the same +moment a heavy hand clasped his own. + +“Father, father!” Ephraim cried, trying to raise his parent’s hand to +his lips. + +“Make no noise,” the man repeated, in a somewhat commanding tone. + +With his father’s hand in his, cautiously feeling his way, Ephraim led +him into the room. In the room adjoining lay Viola, sleeping +peacefully. … + +Time was when “Wild” Ascher’s welcome home had been far otherwise. +Eighteen years before, upon that very threshold which he now crossed +with halting, stealthy steps, as of a thief in the night, stood a fair +and loving wife, holding a sturdy lad aloft in her arms, so that the +father might at once see, as he turned the street corner, that wife and +child were well and happy. Not another Ghetto in all Bohemia could show +a handsomer and happier couple than Ascher and his wife. “Wild” Ascher +was one of those intrepid, venturesome spirits, to whom no obstacle is +so great that it cannot be surmounted. And the success which crowned +his long, persistent wooing was often cited as striking testimony to +his indomitable will. Gudule was famous throughout the Ghetto as “the +girl with the wonderful eyes,” eyes—so the saying ran—into which no man +could look and think of evil. During the earlier years of their married +life those unfathomable brown eyes exercised on Ascher the full power +of their fascination. A time came, however, when he alleged that those +very eyes had been the cause of all his ruin. + +Gudule’s birthplace was far removed from the Ghetto, where Ascher had +first seen the light. Her father was a wealthy farmer in a secluded +village in Lower Bohemia. But distant though it was from the nearest +town of any importance, the solitary grange became the centre of +attraction to all the young swains far and near. But there was none who +found favor in Gudule’s eyes save “Wild Ascher,” in spite of many a +friendly warning to beware of him. One day, just before the betrothal +of the young people, an anonymous letter was delivered at the grange. +The writer, who called himself an old friend, entreated the farmer to +prevent his dear child from becoming the wife of one who was suspected +of being a gambler. The farmer was of an easy-going, indulgent nature, +shunning care and anxiety as a very plague. Accordingly, no sooner had +he read the anonymous missive than he handed it to his daughter, as +though its contents were no concern of his. + +When Gudule had read the letter to the end, she merely remarked: +“Father, this concerns me, and nobody else.” + +And so the matter dropped. + +Not until the wedding-day, half an hour before the ceremony, when the +marriage canopy had already been erected in the courtyard, did the +farmer sum up courage to revert to the warning of the unknown +letter-writer. Taking his future son-in-law aside, he said: + +“Ascher, is it true that you gamble?” + +“Father,” Ascher answered with equal firmness, “Gudule’s eyes will save +me!” Ascher had uttered no untruth when he gave his father-in-law this +assurance. He spoke in all earnestness, for like every one else he knew +the magnetic power of Gudule’s eyes. + +Nowhere, probably, does the grim, consuming pestilence of gaming claim +more victims than in the Ghetto. The ravages of drink and debauchery +are slight indeed; but the tortuous streets can show too many a humble +home haunted by the spectres of ruin and misery which stalked across +the threshold when the FIRST CARD GAME was played. + +It was with almost feverish anxiety that the eyes of the Ghetto were +fixed upon the development of a character like Ascher’s; they followed +his every step with the closest attention. Long experience had taught +the Ghetto that no gambler could be trusted. + +As though conscious that all eyes were upon him, Ascher showed himself +most punctilious in the discharge of even the minutest of communal +duties which devolved upon him as a denizen of the Ghetto, and his +habits of life were almost ostentatiously regular and decorous. His +business had prospered, and Gudule had borne him a son. + +“Well, Gudule, my child,” the farmer asked his daughter on the day when +his grandson was received into the covenant of Abraham,—“well, Gudule, +was the letter right?” + +“What letter?” asked Gudule. + +“That in which your husband was called a gambler.” + +“And can you still give a thought to such a letter?” was Gudule’s +significant reply. + +Three years later, Gudule’s father came to visit her. This time she +showed him his second grandchild, her little Viola. He kissed the +children, and round little Viola’s neck clasped three rows of pearls, +“that the child may know it had a grandfather once.” + +“And where are your pearls, Gudule?” he asked, “those left you by your +mother,—may she rest in peace! She always set such store by them.” + +“Those, father?” Gudule replied, turning pale; “oh, my husband has +taken them to a goldsmith in Prague. They require a new clasp.” + +“I see,” remarked her father. Notwithstanding his limited powers of +observation, it did not escape the old man’s eyes that Gudule looked +alarmingly wan and emaciated. He saw it, and it grieved his very soul. +He said nothing however: only, when leaving, and after he had kissed +the Mezuza [Footnote: Small cylinder inclosing a roll of parchment +inscribed with the Hebrew word Shadai (Almighty) and with other texts, +which is affixed to the lintel of every Jewish house.], he said to +Gudule (who, with little Viola in her arms, went with him to the door), +in a voice quivering with suppressed emotion: “Gudule, my child, the +pearl necklet which I have given your little Viola has a clasp strong +enough to last a hundred years … you need never, therefore, give it to +your husband to have a new clasp made for it.” And without bestowing +another glance upon his child the easy-going man left the house. It was +his last visit. Within the year Gudule received a letter from her +eldest brother telling her that their father was dead, and that she +would have to keep the week of mourning for him. Ever since his last +visit to her—her brother wrote—the old man had been somewhat ailing, +but knowing his vigorous constitution, they had paid little heed to his +complaints. It was only during the last few weeks that a marked loss of +strength had been noticed. This was followed by fever and delirium. +Whenever he was asked whether he would not like to see Gudule, his only +answer was: “She must not give away the clasp of little Viola’s +necklet.” And but an hour before his death, he raised his voice, and +loudly called for “the letter.” Nobody knew what letter. “Gudule knows +where it is,” he said, with a gentle shake of his head. Those were the +last words he spoke. + +Had the old man’s eyes deceived him on the occasion of his last visit +to his son-in-law’s house? No! For, setting aside the incident of the +missing pearls, the whole Ghetto could long since have told him that +the warning of the anonymous letter was not unfounded—for Gudule was +the wife of a gambler. + +With the resistless impetuosity of a torrent released from its prison +of ice and snow, the old invincible disease had again overwhelmed its +victim. Gudule noticed the first signs of it when one day her husband +returned home from one of his business journeys earlier than he had +arranged. Gudule had not expected him. + +“Why did you not come to meet me with the children?” he cried +peevishly; “do you begrudge me even that pleasure?” + +“_I_ begrudge you a pleasure?” Gudule ventured to remark, as she raised +her swimming eyes to his face. + +“Why do you look at me so tearfully?” he almost shouted. + +Ascher loved his wife, and when he saw the effect which his rough words +had produced, he tenderly embraced her. “Am I not right, Gudule?” he +said, “after a man has been working and slaving the livelong week, +don’t you think he looks forward with longing eyes for his dear +children to welcome him at his door?” + +At that moment Gudule felt the long latent suspicion revive in her that +her husband was not speaking the truth. As if written in characters of +fire, the words of that letter now came back to her memory; she knew +now what was the fate that awaited her and her children. + +Thenceforward, all the characteristic tokens of a gambler’s life, all +the vicissitudes which attend his unholy calling, followed close upon +each other in grim succession. Most marked was the disturbance which +his mental equilibrium was undergoing. Fits of gloomy despondency were +succeeded, with alarming rapidity, by periods of tumultuous exaltation. +One moment it would seem as though Gudule and the children were to him +the living embodiment of all that was precious and lovable, whilst at +other times he would regard them with sullen indifference. It soon +became evident to Gudule that her husband’s affairs were in a very bad +way, for her house-keeping allowance no longer came to her with its +wonted regularity. But what grieved and alarmed her most, was the fact +that Ascher was openly neglecting every one of his religious duties. To +return home late on Friday night, long after sunset had ushered in the +Sabbath, was now a common practice. Once even it happened, that with +his clothes covered with dust, he came home from one of his business +tours on a Sabbath morning, when the people in holiday attire were +wending their way to the synagogue. + +Nevertheless, not a sound of complaint escaped Gudule’s lips. Hers was +one of those proud, sensitive natures, such as are to be met with among +all classes and amid all circumstances of life, in Ghetto and in +secluded village, no less than among the most favored ones of the +earth. Had she not cast to the winds the well-intentioned counsel given +her in that unsigned letter? Why then should she complain and lament, +now that the seed had borne fruit? She shrank from alluding before her +husband to the passion which day by day, nay, hour by hour, tightened +its hold upon him. She would have died sooner than permit the word +“gambler” to pass her lips. Besides, did not her eyes tell Ascher what +she suffered? Those very eyes were, according to Ascher, the cause of +his rapid journey along the road to ruin. + +“Why do you look at me so, Gudule?” he would testily ask her, at the +slightest provocation. + +Often when, as he explained, he had had “a specially good week,” he +would bring home the costliest gifts for his children. Gudule, however, +made no use whatever of these trinkets, neither for herself nor for the +children. She put the things away in drawers and cupboards, and never +looked at them, more especially as she observed that, under some +pretext or another, Ascher generally took those glittering things away +again, “in order to exchange them for others,” he said: as often as not +never replacing them at all. + +“Gudule!” he said one day, when he happened to be in a particularly +good humor, “why do you let the key remain in the door of that bureau +where you keep so many valuables?” + +And again Gudule regarded him with those unfathomable eyes. + +“There, you’re … looking at me again!” he exclaimed with sudden +vehemence. + +“They’re safe enough in the cupboard,” Gudule said, smiling, “why +should I lock it?” + +“Gudule, do you mean to say …” he cried, raising his hand as for a +blow. Then he fell back in his chair, and his frame was shaken with +sobs. + +“Gudule, my heart’s love,” he cried, “I am not worthy that your eyes +should rest on me. Everywhere, wherever I go, they look at me, those +eyes … and that is my ruin. If business is bad, your eyes ask me, ‘Why +did you mix yourself up with these things, without a thought of wife or +children?’… Then I feel as if some evil spirit possessed me and +tortured my soul. Oh, why can’t you look at me again as you did when +you were my bride?—then you looked so happy, so lovely! At other times +I think: ‘I shall yet grasp fortune with both hands … and then I can +face my Gudule’s eyes again.’ But now, now … oh, don’t look at me, +Gudule!” + +There spoke the self-reproaching voice, which sometimes burst forth +unbidden from a suffering soul. + +As for Gudule, she already knew how to appreciate this cry of her +husband’s conscience at its true value. It was not that she felt one +moment’s doubt as to its sincerity, but she knew that so far as it +affected the future, it was a mere cry and nothing more. + +The years rolled on. The children were growing up. Ephraim had entered +his fifteenth year. Viola was a little pale girl of twelve. In opinion +of the Ghetto they were the most extraordinary children in the world. +In the midst of the harassing life to which her marriage with the +gambler had brought her, Gudule so reared them that they grew to be +living reflections of her own inmost being. People wondered when they +beheld the strange development of “Wild” Ascher’s children. + +Their natures were as proud and reserved as that of their mother. They +did not associate with the youth of the Ghetto; it seemed as though +they were not of their kind, as though an insurmountable barrier +divided them. And many a bitter sneer was hurled at Gudule’s head. + +“Does she imagine,” she often heard people whisper, “that because her +father was a farmer her children are princes? Let her remember that her +husband is but a common gambler.” + +How different would have been their thoughts had they known that the +children were Gudule’s sole comfort. What their father had never heard +from her, she poured into their youthful souls. No tear their mother +shed was unobserved by them; they knew when their father had lost and +when he had won; they knew, too, all the varying moods of his unhinged +mind; and in this terrible school of misery they acquired an +instinctive intelligence, which in the eyes of strangers seemed mere +precocity. + +The two children, however, had early given evidence of a marked +difference in disposition. Ephraim’s nature was one of an almost +feminine gentleness, whilst Viola was strong-willed and proudly +reserved. + +“Mother,” she said one day, “do you think he will continue to play much +longer?” + +“Viola, how can you talk like that?” Ephraim cried, greatly disturbed. + +Thereupon Viola impetuously flung her arms round her mother’s neck, and +for some moments she clung to her with all the strength of her +passionate nature. It was as though in that wild embrace she would fain +pour forth the long pent-up sorrows of her blighted childhood. + +“Mother!” she cried, “you are so good to him. Never, never shall he +have such kindness from me!” + +“Ephraim,” said Gudule, “speak to your sister. In her sinful anger, +Viola would revenge herself upon her own father. Does it so beseem a +Jewish child?” + +“Why does he treat you so cruelly, then?” Viola almost hissed the +words. + +Soon after fell the final crushing blow. Ascher had been away from home +for some weeks, when one day Gudule received a letter, dated a prison +in the neighborhood of Vienna. In words of genuine sympathy the writer +explained that Ascher had been unfortunate enough to forge the +signature to a bill. She would not see him again for the next five +years. God comfort her! The letter was signed: “A fellow-sufferer with +your husband.” + +As it had been with her old father, after he had bidden her a last +farewell, so it was now with Gudule. From that moment her days were +numbered, and although not a murmur escaped her lips, hour by hour she +wasted away. + +One Friday evening, shortly after the seven-branched Sabbath lamp had +been lit, Gudule, seated in her arm-chair, out of which she had not +moved all day, called the two children to her. A bright smile hovered +around her lips, an unwonted fire burned in her still beautiful eyes, +her bosom heaved … in the eyes of her children she seemed strangely +changed. “Children,” said she, “come and stand by me. Ephraim, you +stand here on my right, and you, dear Viola, on my left. I would like +to tell you a little story, such as they tell little children to soothe +them to sleep. Shall I?” + +“Mother!” they both cried, as they bent towards her. + +“You must not interrupt me, children,” she observed, still with that +strange smile on her lips, “but leave me to tell my little story in my +own way. + +“Listen, children,” she resumed, after a brief pause. “Every human +being—be he ever so wicked—if he have done but a single good deed on +earth, will, when he arrives above, in the seventh heaven, get his +Sechûs, that is to say, the memory of the good he has done here below +will be remembered and rewarded bountifully by the Almighty.” Gudule +ceased speaking. Suddenly a change came over her features: her breath +came and went in labored gasps; but her brown eyes still gleamed +brightly. + +In tones well-nigh inaudible she continued: “When Jerusalem, the Holy +City, was destroyed, the dead rose up out of their graves … the holy +patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob … and also Moses, and Aaron his +brother … and David the King … and prostrating themselves before God’s +throne they sobbed: ‘Dost Thou not remember the deeds we have done?… +Wouldst Thou now utterly destroy all these our children, even to the +innocent babe at the breast?’ But the Almighty was inexorable. + +“Then Sarah, our mother, approached the Throne… When God beheld her, He +covered His face, and wept. ‘Go,’ said He, ‘I cannot listen to thee.’ … +But she exclaimed … ‘Dost Thou no longer remember the tears I shed +before I gave birth to my Joseph and Benjamin … and dost Thou not +remember the day when they buried me yonder, on the borders of the +Promised Land … and now, must mine eyes behold the slaughter of my +children, their disgrace, and their captivity?’… Then God cried: ‘For +THY sake will I remember thy children and spare them.’ …” + +“Would you like to know,” Gudule suddenly cried, with uplifted voice, +“what this Sechûs is like? It has the form of an angel, and it stands +near the Throne of the Almighty. … But, since the days of Rachel, our +mother, it is the Sechûs of a mother that finds most favor in God’s +eyes. When a mother dies, her soul straightway soars heavenward, and +there it takes its place amid the others. + +“‘Who art thou?’ asks God. ‘I am the Sechûs of a mother,’ is the +answer, ‘of a mother who has left children behind her on earth.’ ‘Then +do thou stand here and keep guard over them!’ says God. And when it is +well with the children, it is the Sechûs of a mother which has caused +them to prosper, and when evil days befall them … it is again the Angel +who stands before God and pleads: ‘Dost Thou forget that these children +no longer have a mother?’… and the evil is averted. …” + +Gudule’s voice had sunk to a mere whisper. Her eyes closed, her head +fell back, her breathing became slower and more labored. “Are you still +there, children?” she softly whispered. + +Anxiously they bent over her. Then once again she opened her eyes. + +“I see you still”—the words came with difficulty from her blanched +lips—“you, Ephraim, and you, my little Viola … I am sure my Sechûs will +plead for you … for you and your father.” They were Gudule’s last +words. When her children, whose eyes had never as yet been confronted +with Death, called her by her name, covering her icy hands with burning +kisses, their mother was no more … + +Who can tell what influence causes the downtrodden blade to raise +itself once more! Is it the vivifying breath of the west wind, or a +mysterious power sent forth from the bosom of Mother Earth? It was a +touching sight to see how those two children, crushed as they were +beneath the weight of a twofold blow, raised their heads again, and in +their very desolation found new-born strength. And it filled the Ghetto +with wonder. For what were they but the offspring of a gambler? Or was +it the spirit of Gudule, their mother, that lived in them? + +After Gudule’s death, her eldest brother, the then owner of the grange, +came over to discuss the future of his sister’s children. He wished +Ephraim and Viola to go with him to his home in Lower Bohemia, where he +could find them occupation. The children, however, were opposed to the +idea. They had taken no previous counsel together, yet, upon this +point, both were in perfect accord,—they would prefer to be left in +their old home. + +“When father comes back again,” said Ephraim, “he must know where to +find us. But to you, Uncle Gabriel, he would never come.” + +The uncle then insisted that Viola at least should accompany him, for +he had daughters at home whom she could assist in their duties in the +house and on the farm. But the child clung to Ephraim, and with flaming +eyes, and in a voice of proud disdain, which filled the simple farmer +with something like terror, she cried: + +“Uncle, you have enough to do to provide for your own daughters; don’t +let ME be an additional burden upon you; besides, sooner would I wander +destitute through the world than be separated from my brother.” + +“And what do you propose to do then?” exclaimed the uncle, after he had +somewhat recovered from his astonishment at Viola’s vehemence. + +“You see, Uncle Gabriel,” said Ephraim, a sudden flush overspreading +his grief-stricken features, “you see I have thought about it, and I +have come to the conclusion that this is the best plan. Viola shall +keep house, and I … I’ll start a business.” + +“YOU start a business?” cried the uncle with a loud laugh. “Perhaps you +can tell me what price I’ll get for my oats next market day? A +business!… and what business, my lad?” + +“Uncle,” said Ephraim, “if I dispose of all that is left us, I shall +have enough money to buy a small business. Others in our position have +done the same… and then…” + +“Well, and then?” the uncle cried, eagerly anticipating his answer. + +“Then the Sechûs of our mother will come to our aid.” Ephraim said +softly. + +The farmer’s eyes grew dim with moisture; his sister had been very dear +to him. + +“As I live!” he cried, brushing his hand across his eyes, “you are true +children of my sister Gudule. That’s all _I_ can say.” + +Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, he quickly produced, from +the depths of his overcoat, a heavy pocketbook. “There!”… he cried, +well-nigh out of breath, “there are a hundred gulden for you, Ephraim. +With that you can, at all events, make a start; and then you needn’t +sell the few things you still have. There … put the money away… oats +haven’t fetched any price at all to-day, ’tis true; but for the sake of +Gudule’s children, I don’t mind what I do… Come, put it away, Ephraim… +and may God bless you, and make you prosper.” + +“Uncle!” cried Ephraim, as he raised the farmer’s hand to his lips, “is +all this to be mine? All this?” + +“Yes, my boy, yes; it IS a deal of money isn’t it?” … said Gudule’s +brother, accompanying his words with a sounding slap on his massive +thigh. “I should rather think it is. With that you can do something, at +all events … and shall I tell you something? In Bohemia the oat crop +is, unfortunately, very bad this season. But in Moravia it’s splendid, +and is two groats cheaper … So there’s your chance, Ephraim, my child; +you’ve got the money, buy!” All at once a dark cloud overspread his +smiling face. + +“It’s a lot of money, Ephraim, that I am giving you … many a merchant +can’t lay his hands on it,” he said, hesitatingly; “but if … you were +to … gam—” + +The word remained unfinished, for upon his arm he suddenly felt a +sensation as of a sharp, pricking needle. + +“Uncle Gabriel!” cried Viola—for it was she who had gripped his arm—and +the child’s cheeks were flaming, whilst her lips curled with scorn, and +her white teeth gleamed like those of a beast of prey. “Uncle Gabriel!” +she almost shrieked, “if you don’t trust Ephraim, then take your money +back again … it’s only because you are our mother’s brother that we +accept it from you at all … Ephraim shall repay you to the last +farthing … Ephraim doesn’t gamble … you sha’n’t lose a single penny of +it.” + +With a shake of his head the farmer regarded the strange child. He felt +something like annoyance rise within him; an angry word rose to the +lips of the usually good tempered man. But it remained unsaid; he was +unable to remove his eyes from the child’s face. + +“As I live,” he muttered, “she has Gudule’s very eyes.” + +And with another thumping slap on his leg, he merrily exclaimed: + +“All right, we’ll leave it so then…. If Ephraim doesn’t repay me, I’ll +take YOU, you wild thing… for you’ve stood surety for your brother, and +then I’ll take you away, and keep you with me at home. Do you agree… +you little spit-fire, eh?” + +“Yes, uncle!” cried Viola. + +“Then give me a kiss, Viola.” + +The child hesitated for a moment, then she laid her cheek upon her +uncle’s face. + +“Ah, now I’ve got you, you little spit-fire,” he cried, kissing her +again and again. “Aren’t you ashamed now to have snapped your uncle up +like that?” + +Then after giving Ephraim some further information about the present +price of oats, and the future prospects of the crops, with a sideshot +at the chances of wool, skins, and other merchandise, he took his +leave. + +There was great surprise in the Ghetto when the barely fifteen-year-old +lad made his first start in business. Many made merry over “the great +merchant,” but before the year was ended, the sharp-seeing eyes of the +Ghetto saw that Ephraim had “a lucky hand.” Whatever he undertook he +followed up with a calmness and tact which often baffled the restless +activity of many a big dealer, with all his cuteness and trickery. +Whenever Ephraim, with his pale, sad face, made his appearance at a +farmstead, to negotiate for the purchase of wool, or some such matter, +it seemed as though some invisible messenger had gone before him to +soften the hearts of the farmers. “No one ever gets things as cheap as +you do,” he was assured by many a farmer’s wife, who had been won by +the unconscious eloquence of his dark eyes. No longer did people laugh +at “the little merchant,” for nothing so quickly kills ridicule as +success. + +When, two years later, his Uncle Gabriel came again to see how the +children were getting on, Ephraim was enabled to repay, in hard cash, +the money he had lent him. + +“Oho!” cried Gudule’s brother, with big staring eyes, as he clutched +his legs with both hands, “how have you managed in so short a time to +save so much? D’ye know that that’s a great deal of money?” + +“I’ve had good luck, uncle,” said Ephraim, modestly. + +“You’ve been…playing, perhaps?” + +The words fell bluntly from the rough country-man, but hardly had they +been uttered, when Viola sprang from her chair, as though an adder had +stung her. “Uncle,” she cried, and a small fist hovered before +Gabriel’s eyes in such a threatening manner that he involuntarily +closed them. But the child, whose features reminded him so strongly of +his dead sister, could not make him angry. + +“Ephraim,” he exclaimed, in a jocund tone, warding off Viola with his +hands, “you take my advice. Take this little spit-fire with you into +the village one day…they may want a young she-wolf there.” Then he +pocketed the money. + +“Well, Ephraim,” said he, “may God bless you, and grant you further +luck. But you won’t blame me if I take the money,—I can do with it, and +in oats, as you know, there’s some chance of good business just now. +But I am glad to see that you’re so prompt at paying. Never give too +much credit! That’s always my motto; trust means ruin, and eats up a +man’s business, as rats devour the contents of a corn-barn.” + +There was but one thing that constantly threw its dark shadow across +these two budding lives,—it was the dark figure in a distant prison. +This it was that saddened the souls of the two children with a gloom +which no sunshine could dispel. When on Fridays Ephraim returned, +fatigued and weary from his work, to the home over which Viola presided +with such pathetic housewifely care, no smile of welcome was on her +face, no greeting on his. Ephraim, ’tis true, told his sister where he +had been, and what he had done, but in the simplest words there +vibrated that tone of unutterable sadness which has its constant +dwelling-place in such sorely-tried hearts. + +Meanwhile, a great change had come over Viola. Nature continues her +processes of growth and development ’mid the tempests of human grief, +and often the fiercer the storm the more beautiful the after effects. +Viola was no longer the pale child, “the little spit-fire,” by whom her +Uncle Gabriel’s arm had been seized in such a violent grip. A womanly +gentleness had come over her whole being, and already voices were heard +in the Ghetto praising her grace and beauty, which surpassed even the +loveliness of her dead mother in her happiest days. Many an admiring +eye dwelt upon the beautiful girl, many a longing glance was cast in +the direction of the little house, where she dwelt with her brother. +But the daughter of a “gambler,” the child of a man who was undergoing +imprisonment for the indulgence of his shameful vice! That was a +picture from which many an admirer shrank with horror! + +One day Ephraim brought home a young canary for his sister. When he +handed her the bird in its little gilt cage, her joy knew no bounds, +and showering kisses by turns upon her brother, and on the wire-work of +the cage, her eyes sparkling with animation: + +“You shall see, Ephraim, how I’ll teach the little bird to speak,” she +cried. + +The softening influence which had, during the last few months, come +over his sister’s nature was truly a matter of wonder to Ephraim. +Humbly and submissively she accepted the slightest suggestion on his +part, as though it were a command. He was to her a father and mother, +and never were parents more implicitly obeyed by a child than this +brother by a sister but three years his junior. + +There was one subject, however, upon which Ephraim found his sister +implacable and firm—their absent father, the mere mention of whose name +made her tremble. Then there returned that haughty curl of the lips, +and all the other symptoms of a proud, inflexible spirit. It was +evident that Viola hated the man to whom she owed her existence. + +Thus had it come about that Ephraim was almost afraid to pronounce his +father’s name. Neither did he care to allude to their mother before +Viola, for the memory of her death was too closely bound up with that +dark form behind the distant prison walls. + +Let us now return to the night on which Ephraim opened the door to his +father. How had it come about? A thousand times Ephraim had thought +about his father’s return—and now he durst not even kindle a light, to +look upon the long-estranged face. As silent as when he had come, +Ascher remained during the rest of the night; he had seated himself at +the window, and his arm was resting upon the very spot where formerly +the cage had stood. The bird had obtained its freedom, and was, no +doubt, by this time asleep, nestling amid the breeze-swept foliage of +some wooded glen. HE too had regained his liberty, but no sleep closed +his eyes, and yet he was in safe shelter, in the house of his children. + +At length the day began to break. The sun was still hiding behind the +mountain-tops, but its earliest rays were already reflected upon the +window-panes. In the Ghetto footsteps became audible; here and there +the grating noise of an opening street-door was heard, while from round +the corner resounded, ever and anon, the hammer of the watchman, +calling the people to morning service; for it was a Fast-day, which +commenced at sunrise. + +At that moment Ascher raised himself from his chair, and quickly turned +away from the window. Ephraim was already by his side. “Father, dear +father!” he cried from the inmost depths of his heart, as he tried to +grasp the hand of the convict. + +“Don’t make such a noise,” said the latter, casting a furtive glance in +the direction of the window, and speaking in the same mysterious +whisper in which he had asked for admittance into the house. + +What a strange awakening it was to his son, when, in the gray twilight +of the breaking day, he looked at Ascher more closely. In his +imagination Ephraim had pictured a wan, grief-worn figure, and now he +saw before him a strong, well-built man, who certainly did not present +the appearance of a person who had just emerged from the dank +atmosphere of a prison! On the contrary, he seemed stronger and more +vigorous than he had appeared in his best days. + +“Has he had such a good time of it…?” Ephraim felt compelled to ask +himself… “how different our poor mother looked!” + +With a violent effort he repressed the feelings which swelled his +bosom. “Dear father,” he said, with tears in his eyes, “make yourself +quite comfortable; you haven’t closed your eyes the whole night, you +must be worn out. You are at home, remember…father!” + +“It’s all right,” said Ascher, with a deprecating gesture, “WE fellows +know other ways of spending the night.” + +“WE FELLOWS!” The words cut Ephraim to the heart. + +“But you may be taken ill, father,” he timidly observed. + +“I taken ill! What do you take me for?” Ascher laughed, boisterously. +“I haven’t the slightest intention of falling ill.” + +At that moment the watchman was heard hammering at the door of the next +house. The reverberating blows seemed to have a strangely disquieting +effect upon the strong man: a violent tremor seized him; he cast one of +the frightened glances which Ephraim had noticed before in the +direction of the window, then with one bound he was at the door, and +swiftly turned the knob. + +“Father, what’s the matter?” Ephraim cried, much alarmed. + +“Does the watchman look into the room when he passes by?” asked Ascher, +while his eyes almost burst from their sockets, with the intentness of +their gaze. + +“Never,” Ephraim assured him. + +“Let me see, wait…” whispered Ascher. + +The three well-known knocks now resounded upon their own door, then the +shadow of a passing figure was thrown upon the opposite wall. With a +sigh of relief, the words escaped Ascher’s bosom: + +“He did not look inside…” he muttered to himself. + +Then he removed his hand from the door-knob, came back into the centre +of the room, and approaching the table, rested his hand upon it. + +“Ephraim…” he said after a while, in that suppressed tone which seemed +to be peculiar to him, “aren’t you going to synagogue?” + +“No, father,” replied Ephraim, “I’m not going to-day.” + +“But they’ll want to know,” Ascher observed, and at the words an ugly +sneer curled the corners of his lip; “they’ll want to know who your +guest is. Why don’t you go and tell them?” + +“Father!” cried Ephraim. + +“Then be good enough to draw down the blinds. …What business is it of +theirs who your guest is? Let them attend to their own affairs… But +they wouldn’t be of ‘the chosen race’ if they didn’t want to know what +was taking place in the furthermost corner of your brain. You can’t be +too careful with them…you’re never secure against their far-scenting +noses and their sharp, searching eyes.” + +It was now broad daylight. Ephraim drew down the blinds. + +“The blinds are too white…” Ascher muttered, and moving a chair +forward, he sat down upon it with his back to the window. + +Ephraim proceeded to wind the phylacteries round his arm, and commenced +to say his prayers softly. + +His devotions over, he hurriedly took the phylacteries from his head +and hand. + +Ascher was still sitting immovable, his back to the window, his eyes +fixed upon the door. + +“Why don’t you ask me where I’ve left my luggage?” he suddenly cried. + +“I’ll fetch it myself if you’ll tell me where it is,” Ephraim remarked, +in all simplicity. + +“Upon my word, you make me laugh,” cried Ascher, and a laugh like that +of delirium burst from his lips. “All I can say, Ephraim, is, the most +powerful giant upon earth would break his back beneath the weight of my +luggage!” + +Then only did Ephraim grasp his father’s meaning. + +“Don’t worry yourself, father…” he said lovingly. + +“Would you like to support me, perhaps!” Ascher shouted, with cutting +disdain. + +Ephraim’s heart almost ceased to beat. Then movements were heard in the +adjoining room. + +“Have you any one with you?” cried Ascher springing up. His sharp ears +had instantly caught the sounds, and again the strong man was seized +with violent trembling. + +“Father, it’s only dear Viola,” said Ephraim. + +A nameless terror seemed to have over-powered Ascher. With one hand +convulsively clenched upon the arm of the chair, and the other pressed +to his temple, he sat breathing heavily. Ephraim observed with alarm +what a terrible change had come over his father’s features during the +last few seconds: his face had become ashen white, his eyes had lost +their lustre, he seemed to have aged ten years. + +The door opened, and Viola entered. + +“Viola!” cried Ephraim, “here is our—” + +“Welcome!” said the girl, in a low voice, as she approached a few steps +nearer. She extended her hand towards him, but her eyes were cast down. +She stood still for a moment, then, with a hurried movement, turned +away. + +“Gudule!” cried Ascher, horror-stricken, as he fell back almost +senseless in his chair. + +Was it the glamour of her maiden beauty that had so overpowered this +unhappy father? Or was it the extraordinary resemblance she bore to the +woman who had so loved him, and whose heart he had broken? The +utterance of her name, the terror that accompanied the exclamation, +denoted the effect which the girl’s sudden appearance had produced upon +that sadly unhinged mind. + +“Viola!” Ephraim cried, in a sorrow-stricken voice, “why don’t you come +here?” + +“I CAN’T, Ephraim, I CAN’T…” she moaned, as, with halting steps, she +walked towards the door. + +“Come, speak to him, do,” Ephraim entreated, taking her hand in his. + +“Let me go!” she cried, trying to release herself … “I am thinking of +mother!” + +Suddenly Ascher rose. + +“Where’s my stick?” he cried. “I want the stick which I brought with +me…Where is it? I must go.” + +“Father, you won’t…” cried Ephraim. + +Then Viola turned round. + +“Father,” she said, with twitching lips… “you’ll want something to eat +before you go.” + +“Yes, yes, let me have something to eat,” he shouted, as he brought his +fist down upon the table. “Bring me wine…and let it be good …I am +thirsty enough to drink the river dry. …Wine, and beer, and anything +else you can find, bring all here, and then, when I’ve had my fill, +I’ll go.” + +“Go, Viola,” Ephraim whispered in his sister’s ear, “and bring him all +he asks for.” + +When Viola had left the room, Ascher appeared to grow calmer. He sat +down again leaning his arms upon the table. + +“Yes,” he muttered to himself: “I’ll taste food with my children, +before I take up my stick and go…They say it’s lucky to have the first +drink of the day served by one’s own child …and luck I will have again, +at any price… What good children! While I’ve been anything but a good +father to them, they run hither and thither and take the trouble to get +me food and drink, and I, I’ve brought them home nothing but a wooden +stick. But I’ll repay them, so help me God, I’ll make them rich yet, +but I’ve got nothing but a wooden stick, and I want money, no play +without money, and no luck either…” + +Gradually a certain thoughtfulness overspread Ascher’s agitated +features, his lips were tightly compressed, deep furrows lined his +forehead, while his eyes were fixed in a stony glare, as if upon some +distant object. In the meantime Ephraim had remained standing almost +motionless, and it was evident that his presence in the room had quite +escaped his father’s observation. With a chilling shudder running +through his frame, his hair on end with horror, he listened to the +strange soliloquy!…Then he saw his father’s eyes travelling slowly in +the direction of the old bureau in the corner, and there they remained +fixed. “Why does he leave the key in the door, I wonder,” he heard him +mutter between his teeth, “just as Gudule used to do; I must tell him +when he comes back, keys shouldn’t be left indoors, never, under any +circumstances.” The entrance of Viola interrupted the old gambler’s +audible train of thought. + +Ephraim gave a gasp of relief. + +“Ah, what have you brought me?” cried Ascher, and his eyes sparkled +with animation, as Viola produced some bottles from under her apron, +and placed them and some glasses upon the table. + +“Now then, fill up the glass,” he shouted, in a commanding voice, “and +take care that you don’t spill any, or you’ll spoil my luck.” + +With trembling hand Viola did as she was bidden, without spilling a +single drop. Then he took up the glass and drained it at one draught. +His face flushed a bright crimson: he poured himself out another glass. + +“Aren’t you drinking, Ephraim?” he exclaimed, after he had finished +that glass also. + +“I don’t drink to-day, father,” Ephraim faltered, “it’s a fast.” + +“A fast? What fast? I have been fasting too,” he continued, with a +coarse laugh, “twice a week, on bread and water; an excellent thing for +the stomach. Fancy, a fast-day in midsummer. On such a long day, when +the sun is up at three already, and at eight o’clock at night is still +hesitating whether he’ll go to bed or not …what have I got to do with +your Fast-day?” + +His face grew redder every moment; he had drunk a third and a fourth +glass, and there was nothing but a mere drain left in the bottle. +Already his utterance was thick and incoherent, and his eyes were fast +assuming that glassy brightness that is usually the forerunner of +helpless intoxication. It was a sight Ephraim could not bear to see. +Impelled by that natural, almost holy shame which prompted the son of +Noah to cover the nakedness of his father, he motioned to his sister to +leave. Then HE, too, softly walked out of the room. + +Outside, in the corridor, the brother and sister fell into each other’s +arms. Both wept bitterly: for a long time neither of them could find +words in which to express the grief which filled their souls. At length +Viola, her head resting upon Ephraim’s shoulder, whispered: “Ephraim, +what do you think of him?” + +“He is ill, I think…” said Ephraim, in a voice choked with sobs. + +“What, you call THAT illness, Ephraim?” Viola cried; “if that’s +illness, then a wild beast is ill too.” + +“Viola, for Heaven’s sake, be quiet: he’s our own father after all!” + +“Ephraim!” said the girl, with a violent outburst of emotion, as she +again threw herself into her brother’s arms… “just think if mother had +lived to see this!” + +“Don’t, don’t, Viola, my sweet!” Ephraim exclaimed, sobbing +convulsively. + +“Ephraim!” the girl cried, shaking her head in wild despair, “I don’t +believe in the Sechûs! When we live to see all this, and our hearts do +not break, we lose faith in everything…Ephraim, what is to become of +us?” + +“Hush, dear Viola, hush, you don’t know what you are saying,” replied +Ephraim, “I believe in it, because mother herself told us…you must +believe in it too.” + +But Viola again shook her head. “I don’t believe in it any longer,” she +moaned, “I can’t.” + +Noiselessly, Ephraim walked toward the door of the front room; he +placed his ear against the keyhole, and listened. Within all was +silent. A fresh terror seized him. Why was no sound to be heard?…He +opened the door cautiously lest it should creak. There sat his father +asleep in the arm-chair, his head bent on his bosom, his arms hanging +limp by his side. + +“Hush, Viola,” he whispered, closing the door as cautiously as he had +opened it, “he is asleep. …I think it will do him good. Be careful that +you make no noise.” + +Viola had seated herself upon a block of wood outside the kitchen door, +and was sobbing silently. In the meantime, Ephraim, unable to find a +word of solace for his sister, went and stood at the street door, so +that no unbidden guest should come to disturb his father’s slumbers. It +was mid-day; from the church hard by streamed the peasants and their +wives in their Sunday attire, and many bestowed a friendly smile upon +the well-known youth. But he could only nod his head in return, his +heart was sore oppressed, and a smile at such a moment seemed to him +nothing short of sin. He went back into the house, and listened at the +door of the room. Silence still reigned unbroken, and with noiseless +steps he again walked away. + +“He is still sleeping,” he whispered to his sister. “Just think what +would have happened if we had still had that bird…He wouldn’t have been +able to sleep a wink.” + +“Ephraim, why do you remind me of it?” cried Viola with a fresh +outburst of tears. “Where is the little bird now, I wonder?…” + +Ephraim sat down beside his sister, and took her hand in his. Thus they +remained seated for some time, unable to find a word of comfort for +each other. + +At length movements were heard. Ephraim sprang to his feet and once +more approached the door to listen. + +“He is awake!” he softly said to Viola, and slowly opening the door, he +entered the room. + +Ascher was walking up and down with heavy tread. + +“Do you feel refreshed after your sleep, father?” Ephraim asked +timidly. + +Ascher stood still, and confronted his son. His face was still very +flushed, but his eyes had lost their glassy stare; his glance was clear +and steady. + +“Ephraim, my son,” he began, in a kindly, almost cheerful tone, “you’ve +grown into a splendid business man, as good a business man as one can +meet with between this and Vienna. I’m sure of it. But I must give you +one bit of advice; it’s worth a hundred pounds to one in your position. +Never leave a key in the lock of a bureau!” + +Ephraim looked at his father as though stupefied. Was the man mad or +delirious to talk in such a strain? At that moment, from the extreme +end of the Ghetto, there sounded the three knocks, summoning the people +to evening prayer. As in the morning, so again now the sound seemed to +stun the vigorous man. His face blanched and assumed an expression of +terror; he trembled from head to foot. Then again he cast a frightened +glance in the direction of the window. + +“Nothing but knocking, knocking!” he muttered. “They would like to +knock the most hidden thoughts out of one’s brains, if they only could. +What makes them do it, I should like to know?…To the clanging of a bell +you can, at all events, shut your ears, you need only place your hands +to them…but with that hammer they bang at every confounded door, and +drive one crazy. Who gives them the right to do it, I should like to +know?” He stood still listening. + +“Do you think he will be long before he reaches here?” he asked +Ephraim, in a frightened voice. + +“Who, father?” + +“The watch.” + +“He has already knocked next door but one.” + +Another minute, and the three strokes sounded on the door of the house. +Ascher heaved a sigh of relief; he rubbed his hand across his forehead; +it was wet with perspiration. + +“Thank God!” he cried, as though addressing himself, “that’s over, and +won’t come again till to-morrow.” + +“Ephraim, my son!” he cried, with a sudden outburst of cheerfulness, +accompanying the words with a thundering bang upon the table, “Ephraim, +my son, you shall soon see what sort of a father you have. Now, you’re +continually worrying your brains, walking your feet off, trying to get +a skin, or praying some fool of a peasant to be good enough to sell you +a bit of wool. Ephraim, my son, all that shall soon be changed, take my +word for it. I’ll make you rich, and as for Viola, I’ll get her a +husband—such a husband that all the girls in Bohemia will turn green +and yellow with envy…Ascher’s daughter shall have as rich a dowry as +the daughter of a Rothschild… But there’s one thing, and one thing +only, that I need, and then all will happen as I promise, in one +night.” + +“And what is that, father!” asked Ephraim, with a slight shudder. + +“Luck, luck, Ephraim, my son!” he shouted. “What is a man without luck? +Put a man who has no luck in a chest full of gold; cover him with gold +from head to foot; when he crawls out of it, and you search his +pockets, you’ll find the gold has turned to copper.” + +“And will you have luck, father?” asked Ephraim. + +“Ephraim, my son!” said the old gambler, with a cunning smile, “I’ll +tell you something—There are persons whose whole powers are devoted to +one object—how to win a fortune; in the same way as there are some who +study to become doctors, and the like, so these study what we call +luck…and from them I’ve learned it.” + +He checked himself in sudden alarm lest he might have said too much, +and looked searchingly at his son. A pure soul shone through Ephraim’s +open countenance, and showed his father that his real meaning had not +been grasped. + +“Never mind,” he shouted loudly, waving his arms in the air, “what is +to come no man can stop. Give me something to drink, Ephraim.” + +“Father,” the latter faltered, “don’t you think it will harm you?” + +“Don’t be a fool, Ephraim!” cried Ascher, “you don’t know my +constitution. Besides, didn’t you say that to-day was a fast, when it +is forbidden to eat anything? And have I asked you for any food? But as +for drink, that’s quite another thing! The birds of the air can’t do +without it, much less man!” + +Ephraim saw that for that evening, at all events, it would not do to +oppose his father. He walked into the kitchen where Viola was preparing +supper, or rather breakfast, for after the fast this was the first meal +of the day. + +“Viola,” he said, “make haste and fetch some fresh wine.” + +“For him?” cried Viola, pointing her finger almost threateningly in the +direction of the sitting-room door. + +“Don’t, don’t, Viola!” Ephraim implored. + +“And you are fasting!” she said. + +“Am I not also fasting for him?” said Ephraim. + +With a full bottle in his hand Ephraim once more entered the room. He +placed the wine upon the table, where the glasses from which Ascher had +drunk in the morning were still standing. + +“Where is Viola?” asked Ascher, who was again pacing the room with firm +steps. + +“She is busy cooking.” + +“Tell her she shall have a husband, and a dowry that will make half the +girls in Bohemia turn green and yellow with envy.” + +Then he approached the table, and drank three brimming glasses, one +after the other. “Now then,” he said, as with his whole weight he +dropped into the old arm-chair… “Now I’ll have a good night’s rest. I +need strength and sharp eyes, and they are things which only sleep can +give. Ephraim, my son,” he continued after awhile in thick, halting +accents… “tell the watch—Simon is his name, I think—he can give six +knocks instead of three upon the door, in the morning, he won’t disturb +me…and to Viola you can say I’ll find her a husband, handsomer than her +eyes have ever beheld, and tell her on her wedding-day she shall wear +pearls round her neck like those of a queen—no, no, like those of +Gudule, her mother.” A few moments later he was sound asleep. + +It was the dead of night. All round reigned stillness and peace, the +peace of night! What a gentle sound those words convey, a sound akin +only to the word HOME! Fraught, like it, with sweetest balm, a fragrant +flower from long-lost paradise. Thou art at rest, Ascher, and in safe +shelter; the breathing of thy children is so restful, so tranquil… + +Desist! desist! ’Tis too late. Side by side with the peace of night, +there dwell Spirits of Evil, the never-resting, vagrant, +home-destroying guests, who enter unbidden into the human soul! Hark, +the rustling of their raven-hued plumage! They take wing, they fly +aloft; ’tis the shriek of the vulture, swooping down upon the guileless +dove. + +Is there no eye to watch thee? Doth not thine own kin see thy foul +deeds? + +Desist! + +’Tis too late… + +Open is the window, no grating noise has accompanied the unbolting of +the shutter… The evil spirits have taken care that the faintest sound +shall die away…even the rough iron obeys their voices…it is they who +have bidden: “Be silent; betray him not; he is one of us.” + +Even the key in the door of the old bureau is turned lightly and +without noise. Groping fingers are searching for a bulky volume. Have +they found it? Is there none there to cry in a voice of thunder: +“Cursed be the father who stretches forth his desecrating hand towards +the things that are his children’s”?… + +They HAVE found it, the greedy fingers! and now, but a spring through +the open window, and out into the night… + +At that moment a sudden ray of light shines through a crack in the door +of the room… Swiftly the door opens, a girlish figure appears on the +threshold, a lighted lamp in her hand… + +“Gudule!” he shrieks, horror-stricken, and falls senseless at her feet. + +Ascher was saved. The terrible blow which had struck him down had not +crushed the life from him. He was awakened. But when, after four weeks +of gruesome fever and delirium, his mind had somewhat regained its +equilibrium, his hair had turned white as snow, and his children beheld +an old, decrepit man. + +That which Viola had denied her father when he returned to them in all +the vigor of his manhood, she now lavished upon him in his suffering +and helplessness, with that concentrated power of love, the source of +which is not human, but Divine. In the space of one night of terror, +the merest bud of yesterday had suddenly blossomed forth into a flower +of rarest beauty. Never did gentler hands cool a fever-heated brow, +never did sweeter voice mingle its melody with the gruesome dreams of +delirium. + +On his sick-bed, lovingly tended by Ephraim and Viola, an ennobling +influence gradually came over the heart of the old gambler, and so +deeply touched it, that calm peace crowned his closing days. It was +strange that the events of that memorable night, and the vicissitudes +that had preceded it, had left no recollection behind, and his children +took good care not to re-awaken, by the slightest hint, his sleeping +memory. + +A carriage drew up one day in front of Ascher’s house. There has +evidently been a splendid crop of oats this year. Uncle Gabriel has +come. Uncle Gabriel has only lately assumed the additional character of +father-in-law to Ephraim, for he declared that none but Ephraim should +be his pet daughter’s husband. And now he has come for the purpose of +having a confidential chat with Viola. There he sits, the kind-hearted, +simple-minded man, every line of his honest face eloquent with +good-humor and happiness, still guilty of an occasional violent +onslaught upon his thighs. Viola still remains his “little spit-fire.” + +“Now, Viola, my little spit-fire,” said he, “won’t you yet allow me to +talk to my Nathan about you? Upon my word, the boy can’t bear the +suspense any longer.” + +“Uncle,” says Viola, and a crimson blush dyes her pale cheeks: “Uncle,” +she repeats, in a tone of such deep earnestness, that the laughing +expression upon Gabriel’s face instantly vanishes, “please don’t talk +to him at all. MY place is with my father!” + +And to all appearances Viola will keep her word. + +Had she taken upon herself a voluntary penance for having, in her +heart’s bitter despair, presumed to abjure her faith in the Sechûs of +her mother? Or was there yet another reason? The heart of woman is a +strangely sensitive thing. It loves not to build its happiness upon the +hidden ruins of another’s life. + + + + +THE SEVERED HAND + +BY WILHELM HAUFF + + +I was born in Constantinople; my father was a dragoman at the Porte, +and besides, carried on a fairly lucrative business in sweet-scented +perfumes and silk goods. He gave me a good education; he partly +instructed me himself, and also had me instructed by one of our +priests. He at first intended me to succeed him in business one day, +but as I showed greater aptitude than he had expected, he destined me, +on the advice of his friends, to be a doctor; for if a doctor has +learned a little more than the ordinary charlatan, he can make his +fortune in Constantinople. Many Franks frequented our house, and one of +them persuaded my father to allow me to travel to his native land to +the city of Paris, where such things could be best acquired and free of +charge. He wished, however, to take me with himself gratuitously on his +journey home. My father, who had also travelled in his youth, agreed, +and the Frank told me to hold myself in readiness three months hence. I +was beside myself with joy at the idea of seeing foreign countries, and +eagerly awaited the moment when we should embark. The Frank had at last +concluded his business and prepared himself for the journey. On the +evening before our departure my father led me into his little bedroom. +There I saw splendid dresses and arms lying on the table. My looks were +however chiefly attracted to an immense heap of gold, for I had never +before seen so much collected together. + +My father embraced me and said: “Behold, my son, I have procured for +thee clothes for the journey. These weapons are thine; they are the +same which thy grandfather hung around me when I went abroad. I know +that thou canst use them aright; but only make use of them when thou +art attacked; on such occasions, however, defend thyself bravely. My +property is not large; behold I have divided it into three parts, one +part for thee, another for my support and spare money, but the third is +to me a sacred and untouched property, it is for thee in the hour of +need.” Thus spoke my old father, tears standing in his eyes, perhaps +from some foreboding, for I never saw him again. + +The journey passed off very well; we had soon reached the land of the +Franks, and six days later we arrived in the large city of Paris. There +my Frankish friend hired a room for me, and advised me to spend wisely +my money, which amounted in all to two thousand dollars. I lived three +years in this city, and learned what is necessary for a skilful doctor +to know. I should not, however, be stating the truth if I said that I +liked being there, for the customs of this nation displeased me; +besides, I had only a few chosen friends there, and these were noble +young men. + +The longing after home at last possessed me mightily; during the whole +of that time I had not heard anything from my father, and I therefore +seized a favorable opportunity of reaching home. An embassy from France +left for Turkey. I acted as surgeon to the suite of the Ambassador and +arrived happily in Stamboul. My father’s house was locked, and the +neighbors, who were surprised on seeing me, told me my father had died +two months ago. The priest who had instructed me in my youth brought me +the key; alone and desolate I entered the empty house. All was still in +the same position as my father had left it, only the gold which I was +to inherit was gone. I questioned the priest about it, and he, bowing, +said: “Your father died a saint, for he has bequeathed his gold to the +Church.” This was and remained inexplicable to me. However, what could +I do? I had no witness against the priest, and had to be glad that he +had not considered the house and the goods of my father as a bequest. +This was the first misfortune that I encountered. Henceforth nothing +but ill-luck attended me. My reputation as doctor would not spread at +all, because I was ashamed to act the charlatan; and I felt everywhere +the want of the recommendation of my father, who would have introduced +me to the richest and most distinguished, but who now no longer thought +of the poor Zaleukos! The goods of my father also had no sale, for his +customers had deserted him after his death, and new ones are only to be +got slowly. + +Thus when I was one day meditating sadly over my position, it occurred +to me that I had often seen in France men of my nation travelling +through the country exhibiting their goods in the markets of the towns. +I remembered that the people liked to buy of them, because they came +from abroad, and that such a business would be most lucrative. +Immediately I resolved what to do. I disposed of my father’s house, +gave part of the money to a trusty friend to keep for me, and with the +rest I bought what are very rare in France, shawls, silk goods, +ointments, and oils, took a berth on board a ship, and thus entered +upon my second journey to the land of the Franks. It seemed as if +fortune had favored me again as soon as I had turned my back upon the +Castles of the Dardanelles. Our journey was short and successful. I +travelled through the large and small towns of the Franks, and found +everywhere willing buyers of my goods. My friend in Stamboul always +sent me fresh stores, and my wealth increased day by day. When I had +saved at last so much that I thought I might venture on a greater +undertaking, I travelled with my goods to Italy. I must however confess +to something, which brought me not a little money: I also employed my +knowledge of physic. On reaching a town, I had it published that a +Greek physician had arrived, who had already healed many; and in fact +my balsam and medicine gained me many a sequin. Thus I had at length +reached the city of Florence in Italy. + +I resolved upon remaining in this town for some time, partly because I +liked it so well, partly also because I wished to recruit myself from +the exertions of my travels. I hired a vaulted shop, in that part of +the town called Sta. Croce, and not far from this a couple of nice +rooms at an inn, leading out upon a balcony. I immediately had my bills +circulated, which announced me to be both physician and merchant. +Scarcely had I opened my shop when I was besieged by buyers, and in +spite of my high prices I sold more than any one else, because I was +obliging and friendly towards my customers. Thus I had already lived +four days happily in Florence, when one evening, as I was about to +close my vaulted room, and on examining once more the contents of my +ointment boxes, as I was in the habit of doing, I found in one of the +small boxes a piece of paper, which I did not remember to have put into +it. + +I unfolded the paper, and found in it an invitation to be on the bridge +which is called Ponto Vecchio that night exactly at midnight. I was +thinking for a long time as to who it might be who had invited me +there; and not knowing a single soul in Florence, I thought perhaps I +should be secretly conducted to a patient, a thing which had already +often occurred. I therefore determined to proceed thither, but took +care to gird on the sword which my father had once presented to me. +When it was close upon midnight I set out on my journey, and soon +reached the Ponte Vecchio. I found the bridge deserted, and determined +to await the appearance of him who called me. It was a cold night; the +moon shone brightly, and I looked down upon the waves of the Arno, +which sparkled far away in the moonlight. It was now striking twelve +o’clock from all the churches of the city, when I looked up and saw a +tall man standing before me completely covered in a scarlet cloak, one +end of which hid his face. + +At first I was somewhat frightened, because he had made his appearance +so suddenly; but was however myself again shortly afterwards, and said: +“If it is you who have ordered me here, say what you want?” The man +dressed in scarlet turned round and said in an undertone: “Follow!” At +this, however, I felt a little timid to go alone with this stranger. I +stood still and said: “Not so, sir, kindly first tell me where; you +might also let me see your countenance a little, in order to convince +me that you wish me no harm.” The red one, however, did not seem to pay +any attention to this. “If thou art unwilling, Zaleukos, remain,” he +replied, and continued his way. I grew angry. “Do you think,” I +exclaimed, “a man like myself allows himself to be made a fool of, and +to have waited on this cold night for nothing?” + +In three bounds I had reached him, seized him by his cloak, and cried +still louder, whilst laying hold of my sabre with my other hand. His +cloak, however, remained in my hand, and the stranger had disappeared +round the nearest corner. I became calmer by degrees. I had the cloak +at any rate, and it was this which would give me the key to this +remarkable adventure. I put it on and continued my way home. When I was +at a distance of about a hundred paces from it, some one brushed very +closely by me and whispered in the language of the Franks: “Take care, +Count, nothing can be done to-night.” Before I had time, however, to +turn round, this somebody had passed, and I merely saw a shadow +hovering along the houses. I perceived that these words did not concern +me, but rather the cloak, yet it gave me no explanation concerning the +affair. On the following morning I considered what was to be done. At +first I had intended to have the cloak cried in the streets, as if I +had found it. But then the stranger might send for it by a third +person, and thus no light would be thrown upon the matter. Whilst I was +thus thinking, I examined the cloak more closely. It was made of thick +Genoese velvet, scarlet in color, edged with Astrachan fur and richly +embroidered with gold. The magnificent appearance of the cloak put a +thought into my mind which I resolved to carry out. + +I carried it into my shop and exposed it for sale, but placed such a +high price upon it that I was sure nobody would buy it. My object in +this was to scrutinize everybody sharply who might ask for the fur +cloak; for the figure of the stranger, which I had seen but +superficially, though with some certainty, after the loss of the cloak, +I should recognize amongst a thousand. There were many would-be +purchasers for the cloak, the extraordinary beauty of which attracted +everybody; but none resembled the stranger in the slightest degree, and +nobody was willing to pay such a high price as two hundred sequins for +it. What astonished me was that on asking somebody or other if there +was not such a cloak in Florence, they all answered “No,” and assured +me they never had seen so precious and tasteful a piece of work. + +Evening was drawing near, when at last a young man appeared, who had +already been to my place, and who had also offered me a great deal for +the cloak. He threw a purse with sequins upon the table, and exclaimed: +“Of a truth, Zaleukos, I must have thy cloak, should I turn into a +beggar over it!” He immediately began to count his pieces of gold. I +was in a dangerous position: I had only exposed the cloak, in order +merely to attract the attention of my stranger, and now a young fool +came to pay an immense price for it. However, what could I do? I +yielded; for on the other hand I was delighted at the idea of being so +handsomely recompensed for my nocturnal adventure. + +The young man put the cloak around him and went away, but on reaching +the threshold he returned; whilst unfastening a piece of paper which +had been tied to the cloak, and throwing it towards me, he exclaimed: +“Here, Zaleukos, hangs something which I dare say does not belong to +the cloak.” I picked up the piece of paper carelessly, but behold, on +it these words were written: “Bring the cloak at the appointed hour +to-night to the Ponte Vecchio, four hundred sequins are thine.” I stood +thunderstruck. Thus I had lost my fortune and completely missed my aim! +Yet I did not think long. I picked up the two hundred sequins, jumped +after the one who had bought the cloak, and said: “Dear friend, take +back your sequins, and give me the cloak; I cannot possibly part with +it.” He first regarded the matter as a joke; but when he saw that I was +in earnest, he became angry at my demand, called me a fool, and finally +it came to blows. + +However, I was fortunate enough to wrench the cloak from him in the +scuffle, and was about to run away with it, when the young man called +the police to his assistance, and we both appeared before the judge. +The latter was much surprised at the accusation, and adjudicated the +cloak in favor of my adversary. I offered the young man twenty, fifty, +eighty, even a hundred sequins in addition to his two hundred, if he +would part with the cloak. What my entreaties could not do, my gold +did. He accepted it. I, however, went away with the cloak triumphantly, +and had to appear to the whole town of Florence as a madman. I did not +care, however, about the opinion of the people; I knew better than they +that I profited after all by the bargain. + +Impatiently I awaited the night. At the same hour as before I went with +the cloak under my arm towards the Ponte Vecchio. With the last stroke +of twelve the figure appeared out of the darkness, and came towards me. +It was unmistakably the man whom I had seen yesterday. “Hast thou the +cloak?” he asked me. “Yes, sir,” I replied; “but it cost me a hundred +sequins ready money.” “I know it,” replied the other “Look here, here +are four hundred.” He went with me towards the wide balustrade of the +bridge, and counted out the money. There were four hundred; they +sparkled magnificently in the moonlight; their glitter rejoiced my +heart. Alas, I did not anticipate that this would be its last joy. I +put the money into my pocket, and was desirous of thoroughly looking at +my kind and unknown stranger; but he wore a mask, through which dark +eyes stared at me frightfully. “I thank you, sir, for your kindness,” I +said to him; “what else do you require of me? I tell you beforehand it +must be an honorable transaction.” “There is no occasion for alarm,” he +replied, whilst winding the cloak around his shoulders; “I require your +assistance as surgeon, not for one alive, but dead.” + +“What do you mean?” I exclaimed, full of surprise. “I arrived with my +sister from abroad.” he said, and beckoned me at the same time to +follow him. “I lived here with her at the house of a friend. My sister +died yesterday suddenly of a disease, and my relatives wish to bury her +to-morrow. According to an old custom of our family all are to be +buried in the tomb of our ancestors; many, notwithstanding, who died in +foreign countries are buried there and embalmed. I do not grudge my +relatives her body, but for my father I want at least the head of his +daughter, in order that he may see her once more.” This custom of +severing the heads of beloved relatives appeared to me somewhat awful, +yet I did not dare to object to it lest I should offend the stranger. I +told him that I was acquainted with the embalming of the dead, and +begged him to conduct me to the deceased. Yet I could not help asking +him why all this must be done so mysteriously and at night? He answered +me that his relatives, who considered his intention horrible, objected +to it by daylight; if only the head were severed, then they could say +no more about it; although he might have brought me the head, yet a +natural feeling had prevented him from severing it himself. + +In the meantime we had reached a large, splendid house. My companion +pointed it out to me as the end of our nocturnal walk. We passed the +principal entrance of the house, entered a little door, which the +stranger carefully locked behind him, and now ascended in the dark a +narrow spiral staircase. It led towards a dimly lighted passage, out of +which we entered a room lighted by a lamp fastened to the ceiling. + +In this room was a bed, on which the corpse lay. The stranger turned +aside his face, evidently endeavoring to hide his tears. He pointed +towards the bed, telling me to do my business well and quickly, and +left the room. + +I took my instruments, which I as surgeon always carried about with me, +and approached the bed. Only the head of the corpse was visible, and it +was so beautiful that I experienced involuntarily the deepest sympathy. +Dark hair hung down in long plaits, the features were pale, the eyes +closed. At first I made an incision into the skin, after the manner of +surgeons when amputating a limb. I then took my sharpest knife, and +with one stroke cut the throat. But oh, horror! The dead opened her +eyes, but immediately closed them again, and with a deep sigh she now +seemed to breathe her last. At the same moment a stream of hot blood +shot towards me from the wound. I was convinced that the poor creature +had been killed by me. That she was dead there was no doubt, for there +was no recovery from this wound. I stood for some minutes in painful +anguish at what had happened. Had the “red-cloak” deceived me, or had +his sister perhaps merely been apparently dead? The latter seemed to me +more likely. But I dare not tell the brother of the deceased that +perhaps a little less deliberate cut might have awakened her without +killing her; therefore I wished to sever the head completely; but once +more the dying woman groaned, stretched herself out in painful +movements, and died. + +Fright overpowered me, and shuddering, I hastened out of the room. But +outside in the passage it was dark; for the light was out, no trace of +my companion was to be seen, and I was obliged, haphazard, to feel my +way in the dark along the wall, in order to reach the staircase. I +discovered it at last and descended, partly falling and partly gliding. +But there was not a soul downstairs. I merely found the door ajar, and +breathed freer on reaching the street, for I had felt very strange +inside the house. Urged on by terror, I rushed towards my +dwelling-place, and buried myself in the cushions of my bed, in order +to forget the terrible thing that I had done. + +But sleep deserted me, and only the morning admonished me again to take +courage. It seemed to me probable that the man who had induced me to +commit this nefarious deed, as it now appeared to me, might not +denounce me. I immediately resolved to set to work in my vaulted room, +and if possible to assume an indifferent look. But alas! an additional +circumstance, which I only now noticed, increased my anxiety still +more. My cap and my girdle, as well as my instruments, were wanting, +and I was uncertain as to whether I had left them in the room of the +murdered girl, or whether I had lost them in my flight. The former +seemed indeed the more likely, and thus I could easily be discovered as +the murderer. + +At the accustomed hour I opened my vaulted room. My neighbor came in, +as was his wont every morning, for he was a talkative man. “Well,” he +said, “what do you say about the terrible affair which has occurred +during the night?” I pretended not to know anything. “What, do you not +know what is known all over the town? Are you not aware that the +loveliest flower in Florence, Bianca, the Governor’s daughter, was +murdered last night? I saw her only yesterday driving through the +streets in so cheerful a manner with her intended one, for to-day the +marriage was to have taken place.” I felt deeply wounded at each word +of my neighbor. Many a time my torment was renewed, for every one of my +customers told me of the affair, each one more ghastly than the other, +and yet nobody could relate anything more terrible than that which I +had seen myself. + +About mid-day a police-officer entered my shop and requested me to send +the people away. “Signor Zaleukos” he said, producing the things which +I had missed, “do these things belong to you?” I was thinking as to +whether I should not entirely repudiate them, but on seeing through the +door, which stood ajar, my landlord and several acquaintances, I +determined not to aggravate the affair by telling a lie, and +acknowledged myself as the owner of the things. The police-officer +asked me to follow him, and led me towards a large building which I +soon recognized as the prison. There he showed me into a room +meanwhile. + +My situation was terrible, as I thought of it in my solitude. The idea +of having committed a murder, unintentionally, constantly presented +itself to my mind. I also could not conceal from myself that the +glitter of the gold had captivated my feelings, otherwise I should not +have fallen blindly into the trap. Two hours after my arrest I was led +out of my cell. I descended several steps until at last I reached a +great hall. Around a long table draped in black were seated twelve men, +mostly old men. There were benches along the sides of the hall, filled +with the most distinguished of Florence. The galleries, which were +above, were thickly crowded with spectators. When I had stepped towards +the table covered with black cloth, a man with a gloomy and sad +countenance rose; it was the Governor. He said to the assembly that he +as the father in this affair could not sentence, and that he resigned +his place on this occasion to the eldest of the Senators. The eldest of +the Senators was an old man at least ninety years of age. He stood in a +bent attitude, and his temples were covered with thin white hair, but +his eyes were as yet very fiery, and his voice powerful and weighty. He +commenced by asking me whether I confessed to the murder. I requested +him to allow me to speak, and related undauntedly and with a clear +voice what I had done, and what I knew. + +I noticed that the Governor, during my recital, at one time turned +pale, and at another time red. When I had finished, he rose angrily: +“What, wretch!” he exclaimed, “dost thou even dare to impute a crime +which thou hast committed from greediness to another?” The Senator +reprimanded him for his interruption, since he had voluntarily +renounced his right; besides it was not clear that I did the deed from +greediness, for, according to his own statement, nothing had been +stolen from the victim. He even went further. He told the Governor that +he must give an account of the early life of his daughter, for then +only it would be possible to decide whether I had spoken the truth or +not. At the same time he adjourned the court for the day, in order, as +he said, to consult the papers of the deceased, which the Governor +would give him. I was again taken back to my prison, where I spent a +wretched day, always fervently wishing that a link between the deceased +and the “red-cloak” might be discovered. Full of hope, I entered the +Court of Justice the next day. Several letters were lying upon the +table. The old Senator asked me whether they were in my hand-writing. I +looked at them and noticed that they must have been written by the same +hand as the other two papers which I had received. I communicated this +to the Senators, but no attention was paid to it, and they told me that +I might have written both, for the signature of the letters was +undoubtedly a Z., the first letter of my name. The letters, however, +contained threats against the deceased, and warnings against the +marriage which she was about to contract. + +The Governor seemed to have given extraordinary information concerning +me, for I was treated with more suspicion and rigor on this day. I +referred, to justify myself, to my papers which must be in my room, but +was told they had been looked for without success. Thus at the +conclusion of this sitting all hope vanished, and on being brought into +the Court the third day, judgment was pronounced on me. I was convicted +of wilful murder and condemned to death. Things had come to such a +pass! Deserted by all that was precious to me upon earth, far away from +home, I was to die innocently in the bloom of my life. + +On the evening of this terrible day which had decided my fate, I was +sitting in my lonely cell, my hopes were gone, my thoughts steadfastly +fixed upon death, when the door of my prison opened, and in came a man, +who for a long time looked at me silently. “Is it thus I find you +again, Zaleukos?” he said. I had not recognized him by the dim light of +my lamp, but the sound of his voice roused in me old remembrances. It +was Valetti, one of those few friends whose acquaintance I made in the +city of Paris when I was studying there. He said that he had come to +Florence accidentally, where his father, who was a distinguished man, +lived. He had heard about my affair, and had come to see me once more, +and to hear from my own lips how I could have committed such a crime. I +related to him the whole affair. He seemed much surprised at it, and +adjured me, as my only friend, to tell him all, in order not to leave +the world with a lie behind me. I confirmed my assertions with an oath +that I had spoken the truth, and that I was not guilty of anything, +except that the glitter of the gold had dazzled me, and that I had not +perceived the improbability of the story of the stranger. “Did you not +know Bianca?” he asked me. I assured him that I had never seen her. +Valetti now related to me that a profound mystery rested on the affair, +that the Governor had very much accelerated my condemnation, and now a +report was spread that I had known Bianca for a long time, and had +murdered her out of revenge for her marriage with some one else. I told +him that all this coincided exactly with the “red-cloak,” but that I +was unable to prove his participation in the affair. Valetti embraced +me weeping, and promised me to do all, at least to save my life. + +I had little hope, though I knew that Valetti a clever man, well versed +in the law, and that he would do all in his power to save my life. For +two long days I was in uncertainty; at last Valetti appeared. “I bring +consolation, though painful. You will live and be free with the loss of +one hand.” Affected, I thanked my friend for saving my life. He told me +that the Governor had been inexorable in having the affair investigated +a second time, but that he at last, in order not to appear unjust, had +agreed, that if a similar case could be found in the law books of the +history of Florence, my punishment should be the same as the one +recorded in these books. He and his father had searched in the old +books day and night, and at last found a case quite similar to mine. +The sentence was: That his left hand be cut off, his property +confiscated, and he himself banished for ever. This was my punishment +also, and he asked me to prepare for the painful hour which awaited me. +I will not describe to you that terrible hour, when I laid my hand upon +the block in the public market-place and my own blood shot over me in +broad streams. + +Valetti took me to his house until I had recovered; he then most +generously supplied me with money for travelling, for all I had +acquired with so much difficulty had fallen a prey to the law. I left +Florence for Sicily and embarked on the first ship that I found for +Constantinople. My hope was fixed upon the sum which I had entrusted to +my friend. I also requested to be allowed to live with him. But how +great was my astonishment on being asked why I did not wish to live in +my own house. He told me that some unknown man had bought a house in +the Greek Quarter in my name, and this very man had also told the +neighbors of my early arrival. I immediately proceeded thither +accompanied by my friend, and was received by all my old acquaintances +joyfully. An old merchant gave me a letter, which the man who had +bought the house for me had left behind. I read as follows: “Zaleukos! +Two hands are prepared to work incessantly, in order that you may not +feel the loss of one of yours. The house which you see and all its +contents are yours, and every year you will receive enough to be +counted amongst the rich of your people. Forgive him who is unhappier +than yourself!” I could guess who had written it, and in answer to my +question, the merchant told me it had been a man, whom he took for a +Frank, and who had worn a scarlet cloak. I knew enough to understand +that the stranger was, after all, not entirely devoid of noble +intentions. In my new house I found everything arranged in the best +style, also a vaulted room stored with goods, more splendid than I had +ever had. Ten years have passed since. I still continue my commercial +travels, more from old custom than necessity, yet I have never again +seen that country where I became so unfortunate. Every year since, I +have received a thousand gold-pieces; and although I rejoice to know +that unfortunate man to be noble, yet he cannot relieve me of the +sorrow of my soul, for the terrible picture of the murdered Bianca is +continually on my mind. + + + + +PETER SCHLEMIHL + +BY 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 honor to be +invited into the park, where Mr. John was walking with a few friends. I +recognized 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 gray sarcenet, 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 gray 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 gray 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 honors 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 gray 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 gray 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 commonplace matters with a neighbor. + +The sun’s rays now being stronger, the ladies complained of feeling +oppressed by the heat; and the lovely Fanny, turning carelessly to the +gray 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 honor 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 gray, 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 gray cloak advancing +towards me. He took off his hat, and made me a lower bow than mortal +had ever yet favored 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 embarassment. 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, endeavoring to make up for it by 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 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 favor. 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 schoolboys; 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 leaned 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 gray 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 gray 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 favorable wind now calls all the passengers +on board; but in a year and a day I shall have the honor 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 a person was he?” cried I, in great emotion; and Bendel +described the man in the gray 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 recognize him—I did +not, and I have betrayed my master!” He then broke out into a torrent +of self-reproach; and his distress really excited my compassion. I +endeavored 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 gray 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 +anathematized 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 day-time, 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 recognize 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 recognized 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 arose and took his leave, casting so penetrating a look at me that I +shrank 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 sympathize 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 honor 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 neighboring 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 endeavor 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, honor, etc., 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 honor—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 recognized, 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 endeavored 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. Splendor 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 honor 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 honors 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 honorably, 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 fervor 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 idolized 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 +scrutinize; 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 neighborhood 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 L150,000. + +I confess this was but an innocent artifice to get rid of him, as I had +frequently done before; for it must be confessed that he was somewhat +tedious. The good mother was rather deaf, and not jealous, like her +husband, of the honor 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 recognized 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 thunder-cloud. 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 ante-chamber. 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 favor +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 honorable 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 arbor, which had received the +name of Count Peter’s arbor, 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, 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 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 neighboring 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 +gray-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 gray +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 polarized 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 gray 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 gray man, +I said: “I have exchanged my shadow for this very extraordinary purse, +and I have sufficiently repented it. For Heaven’s sake, let the +transaction be declared null and void!” He shook his head, and his +countenance assumed an expression of the most sinister cast. I +continued: “I will make no exchange whatever, even for the sake of my +shadow, nor will I sign the paper. It follows, also, that the incognito +visit you propose to me would afford you far more entertainment than it +could possibly give me. Accept my excuses, therefore; and, since it +must be so, let us part.” + +“I am sorry, Mr. Schlemihl, that you thus obstinately persist in +rejecting my friendly offer. Perhaps, another time, I may be more +fortunate. Farewell! May we shortly meet again! But, _à propos_, allow +me to show you that I do not undervalue my purchase, but preserve it +carefully.” + +So saying, he drew my shadow out of his pocket; and shaking it cleverly +out of its folds, he stretched it out at his feet in the sun—so that he +stood between two obedient shadows, his own and mine, which was +compelled to follow and comply with his every movement. On again +beholding my poor shadow after so long a separation, and seeing it +degraded to so vile a bondage at the very time that I was so +unspeakably in want of it, my heart was ready to burst, and I wept +bitterly. The detested wretch stood exulting over his prey, and +unblushingly renewed his proposal. “One stroke of your pen, and the +unhappy Minna is rescued from the clutches of the villain Rascal, and +transferred to the arms of the high-born Count Peter—merely a stroke of +your pen!” + +My tears broke out with renewed violence; but I turned away from him, +and made a sign for him to be gone. + +Bendel, whose deep solicitude had induced him to come in search of me, +arrived at this very moment. The good and faithful creature, on seeing +me weeping, and that a shadow (evidently mine) was in the power of the +mysterious unknown, determined to rescue it by force, should that be +necessary; and disdaining to use any finesse, he desired him directly, +and without any disputing, to restore my property. Instead of a reply, +the gray 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 gray 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 given 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 +neighboring 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 shall 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 vigor. + +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 ardor 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 endeavor 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 no 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 gray-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 arbor, 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 honorable 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 honorable 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 gray-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 honorable 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 Minna 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 ears 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 Minna. +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 favor, 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 recognize—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 +gray. He conducted me through the desolate apartments to an inner room, +which had escaped the general wreck. After partaking of some +refreshments, we seated ourselves; and, with fresh lamentations, he +began to tell me that the gray, 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 favor, +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 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 gray 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 +color 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 gayly 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 +side-long 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 gray 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 favorite +custom, employing all the powers of his lavish fancy, and all the charm +of the most brilliant coloring, 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 endeavored to seduce away the shadow with which I had +entrusted you—my own property—confiding implicitly in your honor? 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 honorable +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 rose, +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 good-will; 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, etc. 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 market-place, 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-color 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 endeavored, 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 neighboring 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 northwest 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 southeast, 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 labors 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 Diemen’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 southeast, 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 favoring 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 overburden 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 SCHLEMIHLIUM: 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 recognized; +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. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS: GERMAN *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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