Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Note:
Source: http://www.archive.org/details/marvelloushistor00chamrich
_THE_
MARVELLOUS HISTORY
_OF_
THE SHADOWLESS
MAN.
_by_ A. von CHAMISSO
_and_
THE COLD HEART
_by_ WILHELM HAUFF
_With an Introduction by_
DR. A. S. RAPPOPORT
_Illustrated by_
FORSTER ROBSON
LONDON
HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM
CONTENTS
THE SHADOWLESS MAN
PAGE
INTRODUCTION
AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1
" 2
" 3
" 4
" 5
THE COLD HEART
INTRODUCTION
PART 1
" 2
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE SHADOWLESS MAN
"THE WHOLE SWARM PROCEEDED IMMEDIATELY TO RECONNOITRE
ME AND TO PELT ME WITH MUD" _Frontispiece_
_To face page_
"AN EXTRAORDINARY LOOKING OLD MAN LEFT ME THESE
PAPERS SAYING HE CAME FROM BERLIN" 2
FANNY 6
"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" 16
"AND TREMBLING LIKE A CRIMINAL STOLE OUT OF THE HOUSE" 18
"I SUFFERED HER TO FALL FROM MY ARM IN A FAINTING FIT" 28
"SHE ADVANCED FROM THE MIDST OF HER COMPANIONS, AND
BLUSHINGLY KNELT BEFORE ME PRESENTING A WREATH" 30
"NEXT EVENING I WENT AGAIN TO THE FORESTER'S GARDEN" 42
"SO SAYING HE DREW MY SHADOW OUT OF HIS POCKET AND
STRETCHED IT OUT AT HIS FEET IN THE SUN" 50
"ALONE ON THE WILD HEATH I DISBURDENED MY HEART" 52
THE FOREST OF ANCIENT FIRS 62
"WITH SOME HESITATION HE PUT HIS HAND INTO HIS POCKET
AND DREW OUT THE ALTERED AND PALLID FORM OF MR.
JOHN" 76
THE DREAM 78
"AND SO WAS OBLIGED TO CONTENT MYSELF WITH A
SECONDHAND PAIR" 80
THE FROZEN SEA 82
"AT LAST I SAT DOWN AT THE EXTREME POINT OF LOMBOCK
LAMENTING" 86
PETER AT HOME 92
THE COLD HEART
_To face page_
DUTCH MICHAEL FELLING THE TREES 14
PETER'S DREAM 22
"HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH, THEY ASKED HIM" 24
"PETER MUNK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE PINE GROVE" 26
"THEN IN A FLASH A MONSTROUS WOODCOCK SWEPT DOWN
FROM ABOVE AND SEIZED THE SNAKE IN ITS BEAK" 28
"YOU HAVEN'T QUITE HIT IT, CHARCOAL PETER" 30
PETER GAMBLING AT THE INN 36
"SO HERE WE ARE AT THE END OF IT ALL" 40
"THEN THE MONSTER STRETCHED FORTH AN ARM AS LONG AS A
WEAVER'S BEAM AND A HAND AS BROAD AS A LARGE
TABLE" 46
"AH, HAVE MERCY, GOOD LADY AND GIVE ME A DRINK OF
WATER" 58
"BUT SCARCELY HAD HE UTTERED THESE WORDS THAN THE
GLASS MANIKIN SUDDENLY BEGAN TO INCREASE IN SIZE
AND STATURE" 62
"AND AS HE PRAYED MICHAEL DECREASED MORE AND MORE IN
SIZE, FALLING TO THE GROUND" 68
"LOOK ONCE MORE AROUND, PETER MUNK!" 72
INTRODUCTION
LOUIS ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
In 1813 Europe was busy watching the career of the Corsican
Giant--which was nearing its end. Having reached the summit of power,
and put his foot on the neck of Europe, Napoleon was suddenly hurled
down from his dizzy height. And yet in the midst of stirring events and
the din of arms, people found time to pay attention to important
literary productions. A curious book, "The Strange Narrative of Peter
Schlemihl," by Louis Adelbert von Chamisso, which made its first
appearance in Germany in 1813, aroused an ever increasing interest, in
spite of the distraction of the public mind, until the name of the
author became world-famous.
Chamisso was by birth a Frenchman, having been born at the castle of
Bon-Court in Champagne, on January 27, 1781.[1] On the outbreak of the
French Revolution our author left France with his parents; and in 1795
we find them in Bayreuth, which then belonged to the King of Prussia,
the Margrave of Anspach having sold the town to his Prussian Majesty in
1791. Chamisso's parents at last came to Berlin, and young Adelbert was
appointed page to Queen Louise. This famous queen, wife of Frederic
William II. and mother of Frederic William III., took a lively interest
in the young page and decided to complete his somewhat neglected
education. A commission in the army was secured for him, he was made
ensign and soon afterwards lieutenant. Napoleon having in the meantime
become First Consul, he recalled the French emigrants, and Chamisso's
parents availed themselves of the permission and returned to their
home, but they nevertheless advised their son to remain in Prussian
service. Adelbert obeyed them, although he felt far from happy in
Berlin. The service of page did not please him, and his correspondence
is full of passages revealing the melancholy state of his mind. The
court atmosphere was stifling him, and his poverty caused him a great
deal of humiliation. We see him, at that time, as a young man of a
serious and independent disposition, a dreamer and a sceptic, timid and
naive, dissatisfied with his position as page and as soldier, unhappy
in his exile, his misery and his solitude!
But at last Chamisso found consolation in work. With great ardour he
applied himself to the study of the German language and literature, and
particularly to poetry and philosophy. He learned Greek, and the Iliad
became his constant companion. Klopstock and Schiller attracted him
greatly; but he also read J. J. Rousseau, Voltaire and Diderot. He
published several poems in the language of his adopted country,
compositions distinguished by an originality of style and a peculiar
vigour. Chamisso's first work is supposed to have been "The Count de
Comminges," written in 1801 or 1802. It is not an original work, but
rather an imitation or translation of a drama from the pen of Baculard
d'Arnaud, produced in 1790. Later on he read Wieland and Goethe, and in
1803 appeared his Faust, in which the influence of the philosophy of
Fichte made itself felt. It was also in this year that love, by the
side of poetry and metaphysics, occupied the mind and heart of the
young lieutenant. Chamisso fell in love with Madame Cérès Duvernay, a
young French coquette widow, of whom--unlike Sam Weller--he did not
learn to beware. He had made her acquaintance in the salon of the
banker Ephraim, and asked her to marry him. Madame Duvernay, however,
was a practical Frenchwoman and refused the legitimate love of the poor
lieutenant! This love affair and its sad ending increased Chamisso's
melancholy and his inclination for solitude. The war with France then
broke out, and Chamisso tasted the bitterness which is so often the lot
of that unhappy product of modern civilization and political
circumstances: _the naturalized alien_! He found himself in an
anomalous position which caused him great distress, for it isolated him
among many millions. Although a naturalized German, nay, at heart
attached to Germany and animated--like so many of his _confrères_--by
the spirit of liberty--he was nevertheless of French parentage. It was
not only a question whether he should take up arms on behalf of
Germany, but also, whether he should fight against France and the
people with whom he was connected by ties of blood and family
relationship. Hence arose a struggle in his breast. "I, and I alone,"
he exclaimed in his despair, "am forbidden at this juncture to wield a
sword!" Very few people understand the tragedy of those exiles who are
compelled to seek a new home and adopt a new country which they love as
much, if not more, than the people among whom they have come to dwell.
Instead of meeting with sympathy on account of his peculiar situation,
Chamisso was frequently doomed to hear, in the Capital of Prussia, the
headquarters of the confederation against France and Napoleon,
expressions of hatred and scorn directed against his countrymen. He was
himself too fair-minded to mistake the cause of such expressions, which
were, after all, only natural in the circumstances, but they
nevertheless deeply hurt the sensitive poet when they reached his ears.
After the treaty of Tilsit had been signed by Napoleon and the King of
Prussia, Chamisso visited France, where his family regained possession
of part of their estates, and our author secured, for a short time, the
post of professor at the school at Napoléonville in the Vendée. It was
during his stay in France that Chamisso was drawn into the circle of
Madame de Stael, and he followed her to Coppet, where she had been
exiled by Napoleon in 1811. In the house of this "magnificent and
wonderful woman," as he calls her in his letters, he passed
incomparable days in the company of August Wilhelm von Schlegel, Madame
Récamier and other celebrities. It was also then that he began to study
botany on the advice of an English friend. Soon, however, Chamisso
returned to Berlin, which was to him what Delphi once was to the
ancient Athenians. He continued his botanical studies and at the age of
31 entered the University as a student of medicine. Again the war broke
out, and the uprising of the Germans against Napoleon involved Chamisso
once more in the popular hatred against the French. Anyone who lays
claim to some historical knowledge and a dash of culture is acquainted
with the events of 1813. A wave of patriotic enthusiasm swept over
Germany, and Germans rose like one man, in answer to the appeal of
Frederic William, King of Prussia. Houses, streets and universities
resounded with the clash of arms and the shouts of war-like patriots.
In the midst of this effervescence Chamisso suffered greatly. He loved
Germany and liberty, but he also cherished France, his native land;
moreover, he could not help admiring Napoleon, in spite of the latter's
tyranny. While the German poets Koerner and Eichendorff took up arms,
while Arndt, Rückert and Uhland fired the courage of their compatriots
by their warlike songs, Chamisso not only stood alone, but was even
exposed to danger. His friends therefore decided to remove him from
Berlin. Lichtenstein, his professor at the University, found him a
position as teacher in the family of Count Itzenplitz, where he taught
French and botany. He was sufficiently near to the capital to be kept
acquainted with the gradual development of the all-important crisis,
and yet remained free from any unpleasant personal contact with it!
Here, at Kunnersdorf, the family seat of Count Itzenplitz, scarcely a
day's journey from Berlin, while occupied with the study of botany and
other sciences, Chamisso conceived the idea of "The Shadowless Man,"
and with rapid pen completed the story.
One day, to divert himself and to amuse the wife and children of his
friend Hitzig, whom Heine calls _Der Dekan der Schlemihle_, he wrote
Peter Schlemihl.
In 1814, this wonderful narrative was brought to the notice of Baron de
la Motte Fouqué, the celebrated author of _Undine_, under whose
auspices the book was published with the following letter from de la
Motte Fouqué to Julius Edward Hitzig, by way of introduction:--
FROM THE BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE TO JULIUS EDWARD
HITZIG.
We should take care, my dear Edward, not to expose the history of poor
Schlemihl to eyes unfit to look upon it. That would be a bad
experiment. Of such eyes there are plenty; and who is able to predict
what may befall a _manuscript_, which is almost more difficult to guard
than spoken language? Like a person seized with vertigo, therefore,
who, in the paroxysm of his feelings, leaps into the abyss, I commit
the story to the press.
And yet there are better and more serious reasons for the step I have
taken. If I am not wholly deceived, there are in our dear Germany many
hearts both capable and worthy of comprehending poor Schlemihl,
although a smile will arise on the countenance of many among our honest
countrymen at the bitter sport which was death to him and to the
innocent being whom he drew along with him. And you, Edward, when you
have seen the estimable work and reflected on the number of unknown and
sympathising bosoms who, with ourselves, will learn to love it,--you
will then, perhaps, feel that some drops of consolation have been
instilled into those wounds inflicted on you, and on all who love you,
by death.
To conclude: I have become convinced, by repeated experience, that a
guardian angel watches over books, places them in proper hands, and if
not always, yet often, prevents them from falling into improper. In any
case, he exercises an invisible guardianship over every work of true
genius and genuine feeling, and with unfailing tact and skill opens or
shuts its pages as he sees fit.
To this guardian angel I commit our Schlemihl. And so, adieu!
Neunhausen, May 1814. FOUQUÉ.
Some of the incidents of the wonderful story of "The Shadowless Man"
were suggested by actual experiences of its author; and it is
remarkable that in the latter part of the narrative Chamisso should
have anticipated his own voyage round the world.
Chamisso was often pestered with questions respecting what he really
meant by the story of Schlemihl. These questions amused as well as
annoyed him. The truth is, that his intention in writing it was perhaps
scarcely of so precise a nature as to admit of his giving a formal
account of it. The story sprang into being of itself, like every work
of genius, prompted by a self-creating power. In a letter which he
wrote to Trinius, Councillor at St. Petersburg in 1829, Chamisso says:
"When I write I rarely have anything in view; I am, if you like, a
nightingale, a singing bird, and not a reasoning man." And when he had
just commenced the book he wrote to Hitzig as follows: "A book was the
last thing you would have expected from me! Place it before your wife
this evening, if you have time; should she be desirous to know
Schlemihl's further adventures, and particularly who the man in the
grey cloak is--send me back the MS. immediately, that I may continue
the story; but if you do not return it, I shall know the meaning of the
signal perfectly." "One day," Chamisso further relates, "I had lost my
hat, portmanteau, gloves and all my luggage, and Fouqué asked me
jestingly whether I had also lost my shadow. We then amused ourselves
imagining such a calamity. I conceived the idea of Peter Schlemihl, and
as I had leisure in the country I wrote the story."
In the preface to a French translation (which appeared in 1838) of this
story, Chamisso amuses himself over the prying curiosity of those who
want to know what was his real object in writing this tale:--"The
present story," he says, "has fallen into the hands of thoughtful
people, who, being accustomed to read only for instruction's sake, have
been at a loss to know what the shadow signifies. On this point several
have formed curious hypotheses; others, who do me the honour to believe
that I am more learned than I really am, have addressed themselves to
me for the solution of their doubts. The questions with which they have
besieged me have made me blush on account of my ignorance. I have
therefore been induced to devote myself to the investigation of a
matter not hitherto the subject of my studies; and I now beg to submit
to the world the result of my learned researches:
"'_Concerning Shadows._--A dark body can only be partially illuminated
by a bright one. The dark space which lies in the direction of the
un-illuminated part is what we call a _shadow_. Properly speaking,
shadow signifies a bodily space, the form of which depends upon the
form of the illuminating body, and upon their opposite position with
regard to each other. The shadow thrown on a surface situated before
the shadow-projecting body is therefore nothing else than the
intersection of this surface by the bodily space [in French, _le
solide_, on which word _solid_ the whole force of the humour turns],
which we before designated by the word shadow.'
"The question in this wonderful history of Peter Schlemihl relates
entirely to the last-mentioned quality, _solidity_. The science of
finance instructs us sufficiently as to the value of money: the value
of a shadow is less generally acknowledged. My thoughtless friend was
covetous of money, of which he knew the value, and forgot to think of
solid substance. It was his wish that the lesson which he had paid for
so dearly should be turned to our profit; and his bitter experience
calls to us with a loud voice. Think of the solid--the substantial!"
In Peter Schlemihl, it is practically admitted by all literary critics,
Chamisso drew his own portrait, not only with regard to external
appearance but also in a moral sense. He is supposed to have described
his own sufferings, the sufferings of a man who has lost his fatherland
and nationality, and is an exile. Peter Schlemihl, the shadowless man,
at last finds consolation and reconciliation in wandering over the face
of earth. Here again the author mirrors his own yearning in a moment
when--in the tumult of war--he, a German Frenchman or a French German,
finds no proper place in countries limited by political boundaries. He
strove therefore to rise above the quarrels of the human race and to
wander forth into the vast space of nature, or plunge into the depths
of science! His dream soon became realised, when he found himself on
board the Rurik. It was in the early part of 1815 when Chamisso
gladly accepted the invitation of Count Roumyanzov to accompany the
latter on a voyage round the world. The ships left Kronstadt in 1815,
and returned in 1818, and although the discovery of a north-west
passage--the object of the expedition--was not accomplished, yet
extensive acquisitions were made in every department of scientific
research.
Chamisso's share in the voyage is recorded in the third volume of the
account of it published at Weimar in 1821, and does honour to his spirit
of careful observation and his accuracy. Like Darwin after him,
Chamisso has related his experiences interspersed with scientific
observations. He now again fixed his residence at Berlin, from which
University he received the degree of Doctor in Philosophy. An
appointment at the Botanic Gardens allowed him full liberty to follow
up his favourite pursuit of Natural History, and bound him by still
stronger ties to his second fatherland. He soon married Antonie Piaste,
a relation of Hitzig. Chamisso then wrote an account of the principal
plants of the north of Germany, with views respecting the vegetable
kingdom, and science of Botany; this work appeared at Berlin in 1827.
Poetry, however, had still some share of his attention; and he
continued, during the latter years of his life, to maintain his claims
to an honourable place among the poets of Germany. In 1829 he published
his famous work "Salas y Gomez." Several of his ballads and romances
rank with the most distinguished of modern times in this branch of
composition. With regard to the story before us, the narrative of Peter
Schlemihl, it is in any case very original. At once comic and tragic,
grotesque and terrible, it is full of gaiety and emotion, and the
supernatural, phantastic and absurd are skillfully mixed with natural
and real elements. From the world which we inhabit the author leads us
into the realm of mystery--and yet, while we experience sensations of
the marvellous, we do not seem to leave the world of reality. And
herein lies the difference between Peter Schlemihl and other tales of
the period. In Tieck and Arnim the fairy and real worlds are opposed
and hostile to each other, in Fouqué's _Undine_ these elements are
reconciled, but the events are laid in the middle-ages, when people
believed in fairies. Chamisso, however, wields into one the
supernatural and the real and writes a fable in accordance with modern
civilization! Of course, Chamisso cannot be compared with Ariosto and
The Thousand and One Nights,--where we find logic even in the domain of
the impossible. Chamisso, it must further be pointed out, while
possessing all the qualities of the Romanticists, is free from their
obscurities. His nationally dual nature and his peculiar poetic gifts
enabled him to give expression in poetry to the variegated
manifestations of science and of art. He contributed greatly to the
unification of the national German and foreign elements, and was one of
the most useful and productive workers in the lovely garden of fairy
tales. Surrounded by a circle of admiring friends, Chamisso continued
his literary work until his death in 1839.
A. S. RAPPOPORT.
Berck-Plage,
September, 1913.
FOOTNOTE TO THE INTRODUCTION:
[Footnote 1: From certain passages in Chamisso's works it appears,
however, that he was born on January 31st.--Cf. Brun X., A. de
Chamisso's de Boncourt, Lyon, 1895, p. 4.]
THE MARVELLOUS HISTORY OF
THE SHADOWLESS MAN
[Illustration: "An extraordinary looking old man left me these papers,
saying he came from Berlin."]
AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION
A LETTER FROM CHAMISSO TO JULIUS EDWARD HITZIG.
You, who forget nobody, must surely remember one Peter Schlemihl, whom
you used to meet occasionally at my house,--a long-legged youth, who
was considered stupid and lazy, on account of his awkward and careless
air. I was sincerely attached to him. You cannot have forgotten him,
Edward. He was, on one occasion, the hero of our rhymes, in the hey-day
of our youthful spirits; and I recollect taking him one evening to a
poetical tea-party, where he fell asleep while I was writing, without
even waiting to hear my effusion: and this reminds me of a witticism of
yours respecting him. You had already seen him, I know not where or
when, in an old black frock-coat, which indeed, he constantly wore; and
you said, "He would be a lucky fellow if his soul were half as immortal
as his coat,"--so little opinion had you of him. _I_ loved him,
however: and to this very Schlemihl, of whom for many years I had
wholly lost sight, I am indebted for the little volume which I
communicate to you, Edward, my most intimate friend, my second self,
from whom I have no secrets;--to you, and of course our Fouqué, I
commit them, who, like you, is intimately entwined about my dearest
affections,--to him I communicate them only as a friend, but not as a
poet; for you can easily imagine how unpleasant it would be if a secret
confided to me by an honest man, relying implicitly on my friendship
and honour, were to be exposed to the public in a poem.
One word more as to the manner in which I obtained these sheets;
yesterday morning early, as soon as I was up, they were brought to me.
An extraordinary-looking man, with a long grey beard, and wearing an
old black frock-coat, with a botanical case hanging at his side and
slippers over his boots, in the damp, rainy weather, had just been
inquiring for me, and left me these papers, saying he came from Berlin.
ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO.
The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man
CHAPTER I
After a prosperous, but to me very wearisome, voyage, we came at last
into port. Immediately on landing, I got together my few effects; and,
squeezing myself through the crowd, went into the nearest and humblest
inn which first met my gaze. On asking for a room, the waiter looked at
me from head to foot, and conducted me to one. I asked for some cold
water, and for the correct address of Mr. Thomas John, which was
described as being "by the north gate, the first country-house to the
right, a large new house of red and white marble, with many pillars."
This was enough. As the day was not 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 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 re-adjusted my cravat, I rang
the bell--offering up, at the same time, a silent prayer. The door flew
open; and the porter sent in my name. I had soon the honour to be
invited into the park, where Mr. John was walking with a few friends. I
recognised him at once by his corpulency and self-complacent air. He
received me very well; just as a rich man receives a poor devil; and,
turning to me, took my letter.
"Oh, from my brother! It is a long time since I heard from him, is he
well?--Yonder," he went on, turning to the company, and pointing to a
distant hill--"Yonder is the site of the new building." He broke the
seal without discontinuing the conversation, which turned upon riches.
"The man," he said, "who does not possess at least a million is a poor
wretch."
"O 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 were 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. A beautiful girl, who
seemed to be the queen of the day, was obstinately bent on plucking a
rose-branch for herself, and, in the attempt, pricked her finger with a
thorn. The crimson stream, as if flowing from the dark-tinted rose,
tinged her fair hand with the purple current. This circumstance set the
whole company in commotion; and court-plaster was called for. A quiet,
elderly man, tall, and meagre-looking, who was one of the company, but
whom I had not before observed, immediately put his hand into the tight
breast-pocket of his old-fashioned coat of grey sarsnet, pulled out a
small letter-case, opened it, and, with a most respectful bow,
presented the lady with the wished-for article. She received it without
noticing the giver, or thanking him. The wound was bound up; and the
party proceeded along the hill towards the back part, from which they
enjoyed an extensive view across the green labyrinth of the park to the
wide-spreading ocean.
The view was truly a magnificent one. A slight speck was observed on
the horizon, between the dark flood and the azure sky.
"A telescope!" called out Mr. John. But before any of the servants
could answer the summons, the grey man, with a modest bow, drew his
hand from his pocket, and presented a beautiful Dollond's telescope to
Mr. John, who, on looking through it, informed the company that the
speck in the distance was the ship which had sailed yesterday, and
which was detained within sight of the haven by contrary winds.
The telescope passed from hand to hand, but was not returned to the
owner, whom I gazed at with astonishment, for I could not conceive how
so large an instrument could have proceeded from so small a pocket.
This, however, seemed to excite surprise in no one; and the grey man
appeared to create as little interest as myself.
Refreshments were now brought forward, consisting of the rarest fruits
from all parts of the world, served up in the most costly dishes. Mr.
John did the honours with unaffected grace, and addressed me for the
second time, saying, "You had better eat; you did not get such things
at sea." I acknowledged his politeness with a bow, which, however, he
did not perceive, having turned round to speak with some one else.
The party would willingly have stopped some time here on the declivity
of the hill, to enjoy the extensive prospect before them, had they not
been apprehensive of the dampness of the grass.
"How delightful it would be," exclaimed some one, "if we had a Turkey
carpet to lay down here!"
The wish was scarcely expressed, when the man in the grey coat put his
hand in his pocket, and, with a modest and even humble air, pulled out
a rich Turkey carpet, embroidered in gold. The servant received it as a
matter of course, and spread it out on the desired spot; and, without
any ceremony, the company seated themselves on it. Confounded by what I
saw, I gazed again at the man, his pocket, and the carpet, which was
more than twenty feet in length and ten in breadth; and rubbed my eyes,
not knowing what to think, particularly as no one saw anything
extraordinary in the matter.
I would gladly have made some inquiries respecting the man, and asked
who he was, but knew not to whom I should address myself, for I felt
almost more afraid of the servants than of their master. At length I
took courage, and stepping up to a young man who seemed of less
consequence than the others, and who was more frequently standing by
himself, I begged of him, in a low tone, to tell me who was the
obliging gentleman in the grey cloak.
"That man who looks like a piece of thread just escaped from a tailor's
needle?"
"Yes; he who is standing alone yonder."
"I do not know," was the reply; and to avoid, as it seemed, any further
conversation with me, he turned away, and spoke of some common-place
matters with a neighbour.
The sun's rays now becoming stronger, the ladies complained of feeling
oppressed by the heat; and the lovely Fanny, she who had pricked her
finger with the thorn, turning carelessly to the grey man, to whom I
had not yet observed that any one had addressed the most trifling
question, asked him if, perhaps, he had not a tent about him. He
replied with a low bow, as if some unmerited honour had been conferred
upon him; and, putting his hand in his pocket, drew from it canvass,
poles, cord, irons--in short, every thing 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, 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!
This man, although he appeared so humble and embarrassed in his air and
manners, and passed so unheeded, had inspired me with such a feeling of
horror by the unearthly paleness of his countenance, from which I could
not avert my eyes, that I was unable longer to endure it.
I determined, therefore, to steal away from the company, which appeared
no difficult matter, from the undistinguished part I acted in it. I
resolved to return to the town, and pay another visit to Mr. John the
following morning, and, at the same time, make some inquiries of him
relative to the extraordinary man in grey, provided I could command
sufficient courage. Would to Heaven that such good fortune had awaited
me!
I had stolen safely down the hill, through the thicket of roses, and
now found myself on an open plain; but fearing lest I should be met out
of the proper path, crossing the grass, I cast an inquisitive glance
around, and started as I beheld the man in the grey cloak advancing
towards me. He took off his hat, and made me a lower bow than mortal
had ever yet favoured me with. It was evident that he wished to address
me; and I could not avoid encountering him without seeming rude. I
returned his salutation, therefore, and stood bareheaded in the
sunshine, as if rooted to the ground. I gazed at him with the utmost
horror, and felt like a bird fascinated by a serpent.
He affected himself to have an air of embarrassment. With his eyes on
the ground, he bowed several times, drew nearer, and at last, without
looking up, addressed me in a low and hesitating voice, almost in the
tone of a suppliant: "Will you, sir, excuse my importunity in venturing
to intrude upon you in so unusual a manner? I have a request to
make,--would you most graciously be pleased to allow me--?"
"Hold! for Heaven's sake!" I exclaimed; "what can I do for a man
who"--I stopped in some confusion, which he seemed to share.
After a moment's pause, he resumed: "During the short time I have
had the pleasure to be in your company, I have--permit me, sir, to
say--beheld with unspeakable admiration your most beautiful shadow, and
remarked the air of noble indifference with which you, at the same
time, turn from the glorious picture at your feet, as if disdaining to
vouchsafe a glance at it. Excuse the boldness of my proposal; but
perhaps you would have no objection to sell me your shadow?"
He stopped; while my head turned round like a millwheel. What was I to
think of so extraordinary a proposal? To sell my shadow!
"He must be mad," thought I; and assuming a tone more in character with
the submissiveness of his own, I replied, "My good friend, are you not
content with your own shadow? This would be a bargain of a strange
nature indeed!"
"I have in my pocket," he said, "many things which may possess some
value in your eyes: for that inestimable shadow, I should deem the
highest price too little."
A cold shuddering came over me as I recollected the pocket; and I could
not conceive what had induced me to style him "_good friend_," which I
took care not to repeat, endeavouring to make up for it by a studied
politeness.
I now resumed the conversation:--"But, sir--excuse your humble
servant--I am at a loss to comprehend your meaning,--my shadow!--how
can I?"
"Permit me," he exclaimed, interrupting me, "to gather up the noble
image as it lies on the ground, and to take it into my possession. As
to the manner of accomplishing it, leave that to me. In return, and as
an evidence of my gratitude, I shall leave you to choose among all the
treasures I have in my pocket, among which are a variety of enchanting
articles, not exactly adapted for you, who, I am sure, would like
better to have the wishing-cap of Fortunatus, all made new and sound
again, and a lucky purse, which also belonged to him."
"Fortunatus's purse!" cried I; and, great as was my mental anguish,
with that one word he had penetrated the deepest recesses of my soul. A
feeling of giddiness came over me, and double ducats glittered before
my eyes.
"Be pleased, gracious sir, to examine this purse, and make a trial of
its contents."
He put his hand in his pocket, and drew forth a large strongly stitched
bag of stout Cordovan leather, with a couple of strings to match, and
presented it to me. I seized it--took out ten gold pieces, then ten
more, and this I repeated again and again. Instantly I held out my hand
to him.
"Done," said I; "the bargain is made: my shadow for the purse."
"Agreed," he answered; and, immediately kneeling down, I beheld him,
with extraordinary dexterity, gently loosen my shadow from the grass,
lift it up, fold it together, and, at last, put it in his pocket. He
then rose, bowed once more to me, and directed his steps towards the
rose-bushes. I fancied I heard him quietly laughing to himself.
However, I held the purse fast by the two strings. The earth was
basking beneath the brightness of the sun; but I presently lost all
consciousness.
* * * * *
On recovering my senses, I hastened to quit a place where I hoped there
was nothing further to detain me. I first filled my pockets with gold,
then fastened the strings of the purse round my neck, and concealed it
in my bosom. I passed unnoticed out of the park, gained the high road,
and took the way to the town.
As I was thoughtfully approaching the gate, I heard some one behind me
exclaiming, "Young man! young man! you have lost your shadow!" I
turned, and perceived an old woman calling after me. "Thank you,
my good woman," said I; and throwing her a piece of gold for her
well-intended information, I stepped under the trees.
At the gate, again, it was my fate to hear the sentry inquiring where
the gentleman had left his shadow; and immediately I heard a couple of
women exclaiming, "Jesu Maria! the poor man has no shadow!" All this
began to depress me, and I carefully avoided walking in the sun; but
this could not everywhere be the case: for in the next broad street I
had to cross, and, unfortunately for me, at the very hour in which the
boys were coming out of school, a humpbacked lout of a fellow,--I see
him yet,--soon made the discovery that I was without a shadow, and
communicated the news, with loud outcries, to a knot of young urchins.
The whole swarm proceeded immediately to reconnoitre me, and to pelt me
with mud. "People," cried they, "are generally accustomed to take their
shadows with them when they walk in the sunshine."
In order to drive them away, I threw gold by handfuls among them, and
sprang into a hackney-coach which happened to be passing.
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.
[Illustration: I drew the ill-fated purse from my bosom and took
gold--gold--gold, more and more.]
I drew the ill-fated purse from my bosom; and, in a sort of frenzy that
raged like a self-fed fire within me, I took out gold--gold--gold--more
and more, till I strewed it on the floor, trampled upon it, and
feasting on its very sound and brilliancy, added coins to coins,
rolling and revelling on the gorgeous bed, until I sank exhausted.
Thus passed away that day and evening; and as my door remained locked,
night found me still lying on the gold, where, at last, sleep
overpowered me.
Then I dreamed of thee, and fancied I stood behind the glass door of
thy little room, and saw thee seated at thy table between a skeleton
and a bunch of dried plants; before thee lay open the works of Haller,
Humboldt, and Linnæus; on thy sofa a volume of Goethe, and the
Enchanted Ring. I stood a long time contemplating thee, and every thing
in thy apartment; and again turning my gaze upon thee, I perceived that
thou wast motionless--thou didst not breathe--thou wast dead.
I awoke--it seemed yet early--my watch had stopped. I felt thirsty,
faint, and worn out; for since the preceding morning I had not tasted
food. I now cast from me, with loathing and disgust, the very gold with
which but a short time before I had satiated my foolish heart. Now I
knew not where to put it--I dared not leave it lying there. I examined
my purse to see if it would hold it,--impossible! Neither of my windows
opened on the sea. I had no other resource but, with toil and great
fatigue, to drag it to a huge chest which stood in a closet in my room;
where I placed it all, with the exception of a handful or two. Then I
threw myself, exhausted, into an arm-chair, till the people of the
house should be up and stirring. As soon as possible, I sent for some
refreshment, and desired to see the landlord.
I entered into some conversation with this man respecting the
arrangement of my future establishment. He recommended for my personal
attendant one Bendel, whose honest and intelligent countenance
immediately prepossessed me in his favour. It is this individual whose
persevering attachment has consoled me in all the miseries of my life,
and enabled me to bear up under my wretched lot. I was occupied the
whole day in my room with servants in want of a situation, and
tradesmen of every description. I decided on my future plans, and
purchased various articles of vertue and splendid jewels, in order to
get rid of some of my gold; but nothing seemed to diminish the
inexhaustible heap.
[Illustration: And trembling like a criminal, stole out of the house.]
I now reflected on my situation with the utmost uneasiness. I dared not
take a single step beyond my own door; and in the evening I had forty
wax-tapers lighted before I ventured to leave the shade. I reflected
with horror on the frightful encounter with the school-boys; yet I
resolved, if I could command sufficient courage, to put the public
opinion to a second trial. The nights were now moonlight. Late in the
evening I wrapped myself in a large cloak, pulled my hat over my eyes,
and, trembling like a criminal, stole out of the house.
I did not venture to leave the friendly shadow of the houses until I
had reached a distant part of the town: and then I emerged into the
broad moonlight, fully prepared to hear my fate from the lips of the
passers-by.
Spare me, my beloved friend, the painful recital of all that I was
doomed to endure. The women often expressed the deepest sympathy for
me--a sympathy not less piercing to my soul than the scoffs of the
young people, and the proud contempt of the men, particularly of the
more corpulent, who threw an ample shadow before them. A fair and
beauteous maiden, apparently accompanied by her parents, who gravely
kept looking straight before them, chanced to cast a beaming glance at
me; but was evidently startled at perceiving that I was without a
shadow, and hiding her lovely face in her veil, and holding down her
head, passed silently on.
This was past all endurance. Tears streamed from my eyes; and with a
heart pierced through and through, I once more took refuge in the
shade. I leant on the houses for support, and reached home at a late
hour, worn out with fatigue.
I passed a sleepless night. My first care the following morning was, to
devise some means of discovering the man in the grey cloak. Perhaps I
may succeed in finding him; and how fortunate it were if he should be
as ill satisfied with his bargain as I am with mine!
I desired Bendel to be sent for, who seemed to possess some tact and
ability. I minutely described to him the individual who possessed a
treasure without which life itself was rendered a burden to me. I
mentioned the time and place at which I had seen him, named all
the persons who were present, and concluded with the following
directions:--he was to inquire for a Dollond's telescope, a Turkey
carpet interwoven with gold, a marquee, and, finally, for some black
steeds,--the history, without entering into particulars, of all these
being singularly connected with the mysterious character who seemed to
pass unnoticed by every one, but whose appearance had destroyed the
peace and happiness of my life.
As I spoke, I produced as much gold as I could hold in my two hands,
and added jewels and precious stones of still greater value. "Bendel,"
said I, "this smooths many a path, and renders that easy which seems
almost impossible. Be not sparing of it, for I am not so; but go, and
rejoice thy master with intelligence on which depends all his hopes."
He departed, and returned late and melancholy. None of Mr. John's
servants, none of his guests (and Bendel had spoken to them all) had
the slightest recollection of the man in the grey cloak. The new
telescope was still there, but no one knew how it had come; and the
tent and Turkey carpet were still stretched out on the hill. The
servants boasted of their master's wealth; but no one seemed to know by
what means he had become possessed of these newly acquired luxuries. He
was gratified; and it gave him no concern to be ignorant how they had
come to him. The black coursers which had been mounted on that day were
in the stables of the young gentlemen of the party, who admired them as
the munificent present of Mr. John.
Such was the information I gained from Bendel's detailed account; but,
in spite of this unsatisfactory result, his zeal and prudence deserved
and received my commendation. In a gloomy mood, I made him a sign to
withdraw.
"I have, sir," he continued, "laid before you all the information in my
power relative to the subject of the most importance to you. I have now
a message to deliver which I received early this morning from a person
at the gate, as I was proceeding to execute the commission in which I
have so unfortunately failed. The man's words were precisely these:
'Tell your master, Peter Schlemihl, he will not see me here again. I am
going to cross the sea; a favourable wind now calls all the passengers
on board; but, in a year and a day, I shall have the honour of paying
him a visit; when, in all probability, I shall have a proposal to make
to him of a very agreeable nature. Commend me to him most respectfully,
with many thanks.' I inquired his name; but he said you would remember
him."
"What sort of person was he?" cried I, in great emotion; and Bendel
described the man in the grey coat, feature by feature, word for word;
in short, the very individual in search of whom he had been sent.
"How unfortunate!" cried I, bitterly; "it was himself."
Scales, as it were, fell from Bendel's eyes.
"Yes, it was he," cried he, "undoubtedly it was he; and fool, madman,
that I was, I did not recognise him--I did not, and have betrayed my
master!"
He then broke out into a torrent of self-reproach; and his distress
really excited my compassion. I endeavoured to console him, repeatedly
assuring him that I entertained no doubt of his fidelity; and
despatched him immediately to the wharf, to discover, if possible, some
trace of the extraordinary being. But on that very morning many
vessels, which had been detained in port by contrary winds, had set
sail, all bound to different parts of the globe; and the grey man had
disappeared with my shadow.