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 every thing 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 recognised; and I learned, further, that I was in Bendel's native town, where he had employed a part of my once unhallowed gold in founding a hospital in my name, under his superintendence, and that its unfortunate inmates daily pronounced blessings on me. Minna had become a widow: an unhappy law-suit 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 reveal 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 poor Figaro, my spaniel, 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.
Peter at Home.
So far as my boots would carry me, I have observed and studied our globe and its conformation, its mountains and temperature, the atmosphere in its various changes, the influences of the magnetic power,--in fact, I have studied all living creation--and more especially the kingdom of plants--more profoundly than any one of our race. I have arranged all the facts in proper order, to the best of my ability, in different works. The consequences deducible from these facts, and my views respecting them, I have hastily recorded in some essays and dissertations. I have settled the geography of the interior of Africa and the Arctic regions, of the interior of Asia and of its eastern coast. My Historia stirpium plantarum utriusque orbis is an extensive fragment of a Flora universalis terræ and a part of my Systema naturæ. Besides increasing the number of our known species by more than a third, I have also contributed somewhat to the natural system of plants, and to a knowledge of their geography. I am now deeply engaged on my Fauna, and shall take care to have my manuscripts sent to the University of Berlin before my decease.
I have selected thee, my dear Chamisso, to be the guardian of my wonderful history, thinking that, when I have left this world, it may afford valuable instruction to the living. As for thee, Chamisso, if thou wouldst live amongst thy fellow-creatures, learn to value thy shadow more than gold; if thou wouldst only live to thyself and thy nobler part--in this thou needest no counsel.
[THE COLD HEART]
[INTRODUCTION]
WILHELM HAUFF
Wilhelm Hauff was born on the 29th November, 1802, at Stuttgart, and died in the same town on the 18th November, 1827, within a few days of completing his twenty-fifth year.
Losing his father when but six years of age, he was placed in the care of his grandfather in Tübingen, and was later sent to a convent school at Blaubeuren. Returning to Tübingen, he devoted four years, 1820-24, to the study of theology, and was appointed tutor to the family of Baron von Hügel in Stuttgart.
It was at this time that Hauff began his remarkable literary career with the publication in November, 1825, of his "Fairy Tale Annual for 1826." The years 1826 and 1827 saw the appearance of two succeeding annuals of fairy stories, which were everywhere received with the most enthusiastic admiration.
Hauff's productivity was truly amazing; in four years he wrote, besides the fairy-tales, poems, short stories, fantasies satirical and humourous, and the classic novel "Lichtenstein," all of which have gained an enduring place in German literature.
Returning from a journey through France, Holland and North Germany, Hauff was appointed to the literary editorship of the "Morgenblatt," a position which enabled him to marry, the wedding taking place in Nördlingen, on the 13th February, 1827.
Hauff's journalistic duties did not interfere with his activity in other spheres of literary work. In this last year of his short life he continued to produce short stories and fantasies, his experiences while on his travels furnishing him with plenty of material. Indeed, it was while on a journey that he wrote the second "Fairy-tale Annual."
Shortly after his marriage he set himself to the composition of his third a final "Annual"--the connecting story of which is entitled "The Inn in Spessart," and in which occurs the story of "The Cold Heart," a new translation of which is published in the present volume.
Hauff's brilliant career was now drawing to a close. The last work to proceed from his pen was the playful fantasy, "Phantasien im Bremer Ratskeller." Early in November, 1827, a daughter was born to him; but he was already suffering from an attack of typhoid fever, to which he succumbed on the 18th day of the same month.
Notwithstanding the genius displayed in his other works, the "Fairytales" will always be regarded as the most precious legacy which the great author has bequeathed to posterity; and of these "The Cold Heart" holds undoubtedly the first place in popular esteem. Unlike the majority of his fairy-tales, it owes something of its origin to folk-lore, as it is based on an old Black Forest Legend. But the human figures in the story are Hauff's very own; those conversant with the master's works will recognise in Charcoal Peter and Fat Ezekiel characters which only Hauff could have created.
As in all his fairy-tales the human element is supreme, even Dutch Michael and the Glassmanikin evince more human characteristics than supernatural, and though they came from a mythological source they never appear to us pale and colourless as the supernatural beings in the fairy-tales of the brothers Grimm. Having chosen the groundwork of his story, Hauff developed it with all the force of his vivid imagination, fantastic humour and rare talent for narration.
H. Robertson Murray.