The Serapion Brethren, Vol. II

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

When Cyprian had finished, Lothair said, "You told us that the events which suggested this sketch would be more interesting than it is itself; so that I consider those suggesting circumstances are an essential part of it, without which it is not complete. Therefore, I think you ought at once to give us your why and wherefore, as a sort of explanatory note."

"Does it not seem to you to be as unusual as remarkable," said Cyprian, "that all that I have read to you is literally true, and that even the little 'wind up,' has its kernel of actuality?"

"Let us hear!" the friends cried.

"To begin with," said Cyprian, "I must tell you that the fate which befell Anselmus in my sketch was actually my own, as well. My being ten minutes late decided my destiny, so that I was shut up in Dresden just as it was surrounded on all sides. It is a fact that after the battle of Leipzig, when our condition became more painful and trying day by day, certain friends, or mere acquaintances, whom a similar lot and a like way of thinking had drawn together, used to assemble in the back room of a coffee-house, much as the disciples did at Emmaus. The landlord, one Eichelkraut, was a reliable, trustworthy man, who made no secret of his hostility to the French, and always obliged them to treat him with proper respect and keep their due distance from him when they came in as customers. No Frenchman was allowed to make his way into that backroom on any pretext, and if one did succeed in showing his nose there, he could never get a morsel to eat, or a drop to drink, let him implore, or swear, as much as he liked. Moreover, the room was always as silent as the grave, and we all blew such stifling clouds out of our pipes that the place soon became so full of the exhalation that a Frenchman would be very soon smoked out, like a wasp, and usually went growling and swearing out of the door like one. As soon as he did, the window would be opened to let the reek out, and we would be restored to our peace and comfort again. The life and soul of those meetings was a well-known talented and charming writer: and I remember with great pleasure how he and I used to get upstairs to the upper story of the house, look out of the little garret window into the night, and see the enemy's bivouac fires shining in the sky. We used to say to each other all sorts of wonderful things which the shimmer of those fires, combined with the moonlight, used to put into our heads, and then go down and tell our friends what we imagined we had seen. It is a fact that one night one of our number (an advocate) who was always the first to hear any news, and whose reports were always reliable (heaven knows whence he derived his information), came in and told us the decision which had just been come to by the council of war concerning the expedition of Count von der Lobau, exactly as I have repeated it to you. It is likewise true that as I was going home about midnight, while the French battalions were falling-in in profound silence (no generale being beaten) and beginning their march over the bridge, I met ammunition waggons, so that I could have no doubt of the accuracy of his information. And lastly, it is the fact that, on the bridge, there was a grey old beggar lying, begging from the French troops as they crossed, whom I could not remember having seen in Dresden before. Last of all it is the fact, and the most wonderful of all, that when, much interested and excited, I reached my own quarters, on climbing up to the top story I did see a fire on the Meissner Hills, which was neither a watch fire nor a burning building. The sequel showed that the Russians must have known that night all about the attack intended to be made on the following morning, inasmuch as they concentrated troops which had been at a considerable distance upon the Meissner Hills, and it was principally Russian Landwehr which drove the French back as a storm sweeps a field of stubble. When the remnant of them fell back into the fortifications, the Russians quietly marched off to their previous positions. So that at the very time when the council of war was held at Gouvion de St. Cyr's, the decision which it arrived at was communicated to, or, more probably, overheard by persons who were not supposed to have this in their power. Strangely enough, the advocate knew every detail of the deliberation; for instance, that Gouvion was opposed to the expedition, and only yielded lest he might be thought wanting in courage, in a case where rapidity of decision was a desideratum. Count von der Lobau was determined to march out and endeavour to cut his way to the emperor's army. But how did the surrounding force know so soon of what was projected? For they knew of it in the course of an hour. Not only was it apparently impossible to get across the strongly fortified bridge; and if not, the river would have had to be swum, and the various trenches and walls got over. Moreover, the whole of Dresden was palisaded, and carefully guarded by sentries, to a considerable distance round. Where was the possibility of any human being surmounting all those obstacles in such a short space of time! One might think of telegraphic signals, made by means of lights from some tall tower or loftily situated house. But consider the difficulty of carrying that out, and the risk of detection, for such signals would have been easily seen. At all events it remains an incomprehensible thing how what actually happened came to pass; and that is enough to suggest to a lively imagination all sorts of mysterious and sufficiently extraordinary hypotheses to account for it."

"I bow my knee in deep reverence before Saint Serapion," said Lothair; "and before the most worthy of his disciples, and I am quite sure that a Serapiontic account of the important incidents of the war, as seen by him, if given in his characteristic style, would be exceedingly interesting, as well as very instructive, to imaginative members of the profession of arms. At the same time I have little doubt that the incidents in question came about quite naturally, and in the ordinary course of events. But you had to get your landlord's servant-girl, the pleasing Dorothea, into the water, as a sort of deluding Nixie; and she----"

"Don't jest about that," Cyprian said, very solemnly. "Don't make jokes on that subject, Lothair. At this moment I see that beautiful creature before my eyes, that lovely terrible mystery (I do not know what other name to call her by). It was I who had that bridecake sent to me; glittering in diamonds, flashing like lightning, wrapped in priceless sables----"

"Listen," cried Vincenz. "We are getting at it now. The Saxon maid-servant--the Russian Princess--Moskow--Dresden-- Has not Cyprian always spoken in the most mysterious language, and with the most recondite allusions, of a certain period of his life just after the first French war? It is coming out now! Speak! Let all your heart stream forth, my Cyprianic Serapion and Serpiontic Cyprian."

"And how if I keep silence?" answered Cyprian, suddenly drawing in his horns, and growing grave and gloomy. "And how if I am obliged to keep silence? And I shall keep silence!"

He spoke those words in a strangely solemn and exalted tone, leaning back in his chair, and fixing his eyes on the ceiling, as was his wont when deeply moved.

The friends looked at one another with questioning glances.