It must have been early morning when a light awakened me, and I opened my eyes to see the little man, still in his white dressing gown, nightcap on his head, back turned to me, sitting at the table busily writing by the light of the two candles. There was a weird look about him, and I felt the chill of the supernatural. I fell into a waking-dream then, and was back at the Justizrat’s again, sitting beside Julia on the ottoman. But the whole party seemed to be only a comic candy display in the window of Fuchs, Weide and Schoch (or somewhere similar) for Christmas, and the Justizrat was a splendid gumdrop with a coat made of pleated notepaper. Trees and rosebushes rose higher and higher about us, and Julia stood up, handing me the crystal goblet, out of which blue flames licked. Someone tugged at my arm and there was the little brown man, his old man’s face on, whispering loudly to me, “Don’t drink it, don’t drink it. Look at her closely. Haven’t you seen her and been warned against her in Brueghel and Callot and Rembrandt?”
I looked at Julia with horror, and indeed, with her pleated dress and ruffled sleeves and strange coiffure, she did look like one of the alluring young women, surrounded by demonic monsters, from the work of those masters.
“What are you afraid of?” said Julia. “I have you and your reflection, once and for all.” I seized the goblet, but the little man leaped to my shoulder in the form of a squirrel, and waved his tail through the blue flames, chattering, “Don’t drink it, don’t drink it.” At this point the sugar figures in the display came alive and moved their hands and feet ludicrously. The Justizrat ran up to me and called out in a thin little voice, “Why all the uproar, my friend? Why all the commotion? All you have to do is get to your feet; for quite a while I’ve been watching you stride away over tables and chairs.”
The little man had completely disappeared. Julia no longer held the goblet in her hand. “Why wouldn’t you drink?” she asked. “Wasn’t the flame streaming out of the goblet simply the kisses you once got from me?”
I wanted to take her in my arms, but Schlemihl stepped between us and said, “This is Mina, who married my servant, Rascal.” He stepped on a couple of the candy figures, who made groaning noises. They started to multiply enormously, hundreds and thousands of them, and they swarmed all over me, buzzing like a hive of bees. The gumdrop Justizrat, who had continued to climb, had swung up as far as my neckcloth, which he kept pulling tighter and tighter. “Justizrat, you confounded gumdrop,” I screamed out loud, and startled myself out of sleep. It was bright day, already eleven o’clock.
I was just thinking to myself that the whole adventure with the little brown man had only been an exceptionally vivid dream, when the waiter who brought in my breakfast told me that the stranger who had shared his room with me had left early, and presented his compliments. Upon the table where I had seen the weird little man sitting and writing I found a fresh manuscript, whose content I am sharing with you, since it is unquestionably the remarkable story of the little man in brown. It is as follows.
THE STORY OF THE LOST REFLECTION
Things finally worked out so that Erasmus Spikher was able to fulfill the wish that he had cherished all his life. He climbed into the coach with high spirits and a well-filled knapsack. He was leaving his home in the North and journeying to the beautiful land of Italy. His devoted wife was weeping copiously, and she lifted little Rasmus (after carefully wiping his mouth and nose) into the coach to kiss his father goodbye.
“Farewell, Erasmus Spikher,” said his wife, sobbing. “I will keep your house well for you. Think of me often, remain true to me, and do not lose your hat if you fall asleep near the window, as you always do.” Spikher promised.
In the beautiful city of Florence Spikher found some fellow Germans, young men filled with high spirits and joie de vivre, who spent their time revelling in the sensual delights which Italy so well affords. He impressed them as a good fellow and he was often invited to social occasions since he had the talent of supplying soberness to the mad abandon about him, and gave the party a highly individual touch.
One evening in the grove of a splendid fragrant public garden, the young men (Erasmus could be included here, since he was only twenty-seven) gathered for an exceptionally merry feast. Each of the men, except Spikher, brought along a girl. The men were dressed in the picturesque old Germanic costume, and the women wore bright dresses, each styled differently, often fantastically, so that they seemed like wonderful mobile flowers. Every now and then one of the girls would sing an Italian love song, accompanied by the plaintive notes of mandolins, and the men would respond with a lusty German chorus or round, as glasses filled with fine Syracuse wine clinked. Yes, indeed, Italy is the land of love.
The evening breezes sighed with passion, oranges and jasmine breathed out perfume through the grove, and it all formed a part in the banter and play which the girls (delightfully merry as only Italian women can be) began. Wilder and noisier grew the fun. Friedrich, the most excited of all, leaped to his feet, one arm around his mistress, waving high a glass of sparkling Syracuse wine with the other, and shouted, “You wonderful women of Italy! Where can true, blissful love be found except with you? You are love incarnate! But you, Erasmus,” he continued, turning to Spikher, “You don’t seem to understand this. You’ve violated your promise, propriety and the custom. You didn’t bring a girl with you, and you have been sitting here moodily, so quiet and self-concerned that if you hadn’t been drinking and singing with us I’d believe you were suffering an attack of melancholy.”
“Friedrich,” replied Erasmus, “I have to confess that I cannot enjoy myself like that. You know that I have a wife at home, and I love her. If I took up with a girl for even one night it would be betraying my wife. For you young bachelors it’s different, but I have a family.”
The young men laughed uproariously, for when Erasmus announced his family obligations his pleasant young face became very grave, and he really looked very strange. Friedrich’s mistress, when Spikher’s words had been translated for her (for the two men had spoken German), turned very seriously to Erasmus, and said, half-threateningly, finger raised, “ Cold-blooded, heartless German —watch out, you haven’t seen Giuletta yet.”
At that very instant a rustling noise indicated that someone was approaching, and out of the dark night into the area lighted by the candles strode a remarkably beautiful girl. Her white dress, which only half-hid her bosom, shoulders and neck, fell in rich broad folds; her sleeves, puffed and full, came only to her elbows; her thick hair, parted in the front, fell in braids at the back. Golden chains around her throat, rich bracelets upon her wrists, completed her antique costume. She looked exactly if she were a woman from Mieris or Rembrandt walking about. “Giuletta,” shrieked the girls in astonishment and delight.
Giuletta, who was by far the most beautiful of all the women present, asked in a sweet, pleasant voice, “Good Germans, may I join you? I’ll sit with that gentleman over there. He doesn’t have a girl, and he doesn’t seem to be having a very good time, either.” She turned very graciously to Erasmus, and sat down upon the empty seat beside him—empty because everyone thought Erasmus would bring a girl along, too. The girls whispered to each other, “Isn’t Giuletta beautiful tonight,” and the young men said, “How about Erasmus? Was he joking with us? He’s got the best-looking girl of all!”
As for Erasmus, at the first glance he cast at Giuletta, he was so aroused that he didn’t even know what powerful passions were working in him. As she came close to him, a strange force seized him and crushed his breast so that he couldn’t even breathe. Eyes fixed in a rigid stare at her, mouth agape, he sat there not able to utter a syllable, while all the others were commenting upon Giuletta’s charm and beauty.
Giuletta took a full goblet, and standing up, handed it with a friendly smile to Erasmus. He seized the goblet, touching her soft fingers, and as he drank, fire seemed to stream through his veins. Then Giuletta asked him in a bantering way, “Am I to be your girl friend? ” Erasmus threw himself wildly upon t
he ground in front of her, pressed her hands to his breast, and cried in maudlin tones, “Yes, yes, yes! You goddess! I’ve always been in love with you. I’ve seen you in my dreams, you are my fortune, my happiness, my higher life!”
The others all thought the wine had gone to Erasmus’s head, since they had never seen him like this before; he seemed to be a different man.
“You are my life! I don’t care if I am destroyed, as long as it’s with you,” Erasmus shouted. “You set me on fire!” But Giuletta just took him gently in her arms. He became quieter again, and took his seat beside her. And once again the gaiety which had been interrupted by Erasmus and Giuletta began with songs and laughter. Giuletta sang, and it was as if the tones of her beautiful voice aroused in everyone sensations of pleasure never felt before but only suspected to exist. Her full but clear voice conveyed a secret ardor which inflamed them all. The young men clasped their mistresses more closely, and passion leaped from eye to eye.
Dawn was breaking with a rosy shimmer when Giuletta said that she had to leave. Erasmus got ready to accompany her home, but she refused but gave him the address at which he could find her in the future. During the chorus which the men sang to end the party, Giuletta disappeared from the grove and was seen walking through a distant allée, preceded by two linkmen. Erasmus did not dare follow her.
The young men left arm in arm with their mistresses, full of high spirits, and Erasmus, greatly disturbed and internally shattered by the torments of love, followed, preceded by his boy with a torch. After leaving his friends, he was passing down the distant street which led to his dwelling, and his servant had just knocked out the torch against the stucco of the house, when a strange figure mysteriously appeared in the spraying sparks in front of Erasmus. It was a tall, thin, dried-out-looking man with a Roman nose that came to a sharp point, glowing eyes, mouth contorted into a sneer, wrapped in a flame-red cloak with brightly polished steel buttons. He laughed and called out in an unpleasant yelping voice, “Ho, ho, you look as if you came out of a picture book with that cloak, slit doublet and plumed hat. You show a real sense of humor, Signor Erasmus Spikher, but aren’t you afraid of being laughed at on the streets? Signor, signor, crawl quietly back into your parchment binding.”
“What the Devil is my clothing to you?” said Erasmus with anger, and shoving the red-clad stranger aside, he was about to pass by when the stranger called after him, “Don’t be in such a hurry. You won’t get to Giuletta that way.”
“What are you saying about Giuletta?” cried Erasmus wildly. He tried to seize the red-clad man by the breast, but he turned and disappeared so rapidly that Erasmus couldn’t even see where he went, and Erasmus was left standing in astonishment, in his hand a steel button that had been ripped from the stranger’s cloak.
“That’s the Miracle Doctor Dapertutto. What did he want?” asked Erasmus’s servant. But Erasmus was seized with horror, and without replying, hastened home.
When, some time later, Erasmus called on Giuletta, she received him in a very gracious and friendly manner, yet to Erasmus’s fiery passion she opposed a mild indifference. Only once in a while did her eyes flash, whereupon Erasmus would feel shudders pass through him, from his innermost being, when she regarded him with an enigmatic stare. She never told him that she loved him, but her whole attitude and behaviour led him to think so, and he found himself more and more deeply entangled with her. He seldom saw his old friends, however, for Giuletta took him into other circles.
Once Erasmus met Friedrich at a time when Erasmus was depressed, thinking about his native land and his home. Friedrich said, “Don’t you know, Spikher, that you are moving in a very dangerous circle of acquaintances? You must realize by now that the beautiful Giuletta is one of the craftiest courtesans on earth. There are all sorts of strange stories going around about her, and they put her in a very peculiar light. I can see from you that she can exercise an irresistible power over men when she wants to. You have changed completely and are totally under her spell. You don’t think of your wife and family any more.”
Erasmus covered his face with his hands and sobbed, crying out his wife’s name. Friedrich saw that a difficult internal battle had begun in Spikher. “Erasmus,” he said, “let us get out of here immediately.”
“Yes, Friedrich,” said Erasmus heavily. “You are right. I don’t know why I am suddenly overcome by such dark horrible foreboding—I must leave right away, today.”
The two friends hastened along the street, but directly across from them came Signor Dapertutto, who laughed in Erasmus’s face, and cried nasally, “Hurry, hurry; a little faster. Giuletta is waiting; her heart is full of longing, and her eyes are full of tears. Make haste. Make haste.”
Erasmus stood as if struck by lightning.
“This scoundrel,” said Friedrich, “this charlatan—I cannot stand him. He is always in and out of Giuletta’s, and he sells her his magical potions.”
“What!” cried Erasmus. “That disgusting creature visits Giuletta, Giuletta?”
“Where have you been so long? Everything is waiting for you. Didn’t you think of me at all,” breathed a soft voice from the balcony. It was Giuletta, in front of whose house the two friends, without noticing it, had stopped. With a leap Erasmus was in the house.
“He is gone, and cannot be saved,” said Friedrich to himself, and walked slowly away.
Never before had Giuletta been more amiable. She wore the same clothing that she had worn when she first met Erasmus, and beauty, charm and youth shone from her. Erasmus completely forgot his conversation with Friedrich, and now more than ever his irresistible passion seized him. This was the first time that Giuletta showed without reservation her deepest love for him. She seemed to see only him, and to live for him only. At a villa which Giuletta had rented for the summer, a festival was being celebrated, and they went there. Among the company was a young Italian with a brutal ugly face and even worse manners, who kept paying court to Giuletta and arousing Erasmus’s jealousy. Fuming with rage, Erasmus left the company and paced up and down in a side path of the garden. Giuletta came looking for him. “What is wrong with you? Aren’t you mine alone?” she asked. She embraced him and planted a kiss upon his lips. Sparks of passion flew through Erasmus, and in a passion he crushed her to himself, crying, “No, I will not leave you, no matter how low I fall.” Giuletta smiled strangely at these words, and cast at him that peculiar oblique glance which never failed to arouse a chilly feeling in him.
They returned to the company, and the unpleasant young Italian now took over Erasmus’s role. Obviously enraged with jealousy, he made all sorts of pointed insults against Germans, particularly Spikher. Finally Spikher could bear it no longer, and he strode up to the Italian and said, “That’s enough of your insults, unless you’d like to get thrown into the pond and try your hand at swimming.” In an instant a dagger gleamed in the Italian’s hand, but Erasmus dodged, seized him by the throat, threw him to the ground, and shattered his neck with a kick. The Italian gasped out his life on the spot.
Pandemonium broke loose around Erasmus. He lost consciousness, but felt himself being lifted and carried away. When he awoke later, as if from a deep enchantment, he lay at Giuletta’s feet in a small room, while she, head bowed over him, held him in both her arms.
“You bad, bad German,” she finally said, softly and mildly. “If you knew how frightened you’ve made me! You’ve come very close to disaster, but I’ve managed to save you. You are no longer safe in Florence, though, or even Italy. You must leave, and you must leave me, and I love you so much.”
The thought of leaving Giuletta threw Erasmus into pain and sorrow. “Let me stay here,” he cried. “I’m willing to die. Dying is better than living without you.”
But suddenly it seemed to him as if a soft, distant voice was calling his name painfully. It was the voice of his wife at home. Erasmus was stricken dumb. Strangely enough, Giuletta asked him, “Are you thinking of your wife? Ah, Erasmus, you will forget me onl
y too soon!”
“If I could only remain yours forever and ever,” said Erasmus. They were standing directly in front of the beautiful wide mirror, which was set in the wall, and on the sides of it tapers were burning brightly. More firmly, more closely, Giuletta pressed Erasmus to her, while she murmured softly in his ear, “Leave me your reflection, my beloved; it will be mine and will remain with me forever.”
“Giuletta,” cried Erasmus in amazement. “What do you mean? My reflection?” He looked in the mirror, which showed him himself and Giuletta in sweet, close embrace. “How can you keep my reflection? It is part of me. It springs out to meet me from every clear body of water or polished surface.”
“Aren’t you willing to give me even this dream of your ego? Even though you say you want to be mine, body and soul? Won’t you even give me this trivial thing, so that after you leave, it can accompany me in the loveless, pleasureless life that is left to me?”
Hot tears started from Giuletta’s beautiful dark eyes.
At this point Erasmus, mad with pain and passion, cried, “Do I have to leave? If I have to, my reflection will be yours forever and a day. No power—not even the Devil—can take it away from you until you own me, body and soul.”
Giuletta’s kisses burned like fire on his mouth as he said this, and then she released him and stretched out her arms longingly to the mirror. Erasmus saw his image step forward independent of his movements, glide into Giuletta’s arms, and disappear with her in a strange vapor. Then Erasmus heard all sorts of hideous voices bleating and laughing in demoniac scorn, and, seized with a spasm of terror, he sank to the floor. But his horror and fear aroused him, and in thick dense darkness he stumbled out the door and down the steps. In front of the house he was seized and lifted into a carriage, which rolled away with him rapidly.
The Best Tales of Hoffmann Page 20