Fraulein Aennchen didn’t seem disposed to believe what her father was telling her to her dear Daucus’s discredit, but began talking again about the marvels of the beautiful vegetable country over which she was expecting so soon to reign as queen.
“Foolish, blinded child,” cried Herr Dapsul, “do you not give your father credit for possessing sufficient cabbalistic science to be well aware that what the abominable Daucus Carota made you suppose you saw was all deception and falsehood? No, you don’t believe me, and to save you, my only child, I must convince you, and this conviction must be arrived at by most desperate methods. Come with me.”
For the second time she had to go up into the astronomical tower with her papa. From a big band-box Herr Dapsul took a quantity of yellow, red, white, and green ribbon, and, with strange ceremonies, he wrapped Fräulein Aennchen up in it from head to foot. He did the same to himself, and then they both went very carefully to the silken palace of Daucus Carota the First. It was close shut, and by her papa’s directions, she had to rip a small opening in one of the seams of it with a large pair of scissors, and then peep in at the opening.
Heaven be about us! what did she see? Instead of the beautiful vegetable garden, the carrot guards, the plumed ladies, lavender pages, lettuce princes, and so forth, she found herself looking down into a deep pool which seemed to be full of a colourless, disgusting-looking slime, in which all kinds of horrible creatures from the bowels of the earth were creeping and twining about. There were fat worms slowly writhing about amongst each other, and beetle-like creatures stretching out their short legs and creeping heavily out. On their backs they bore big onions; but these onions had ugly human faces, and kept fleering and leering at each other with bleared yellow eyes, and trying, with their little claws (which were close behind their ears), to catch hold of one another by their long roman noses, and drag each other down into the slime, while long, naked slugs were rolling about in crowds, with repulsive torpidity, stretching their long horns out of their depths. Fräulein Aennchen nearly fainted away at this horrid sight. She held both hands to her face, and ran away as hard as she could.
“You see now, do you not?” said Herr Dapsul, “how this atrocious Daucus Carota has been deceiving you in showing you splendours of brief duration? He dressed his vassals up in gala dresses to delude you with dazzling displays. But now you have seen the kingdom which you want to reign over in undress uniform; and when you become the consort of the frightful Daucus Carota you will have to live for ever in the subterranean realms, and never appear on the surface any more. And if—Oh, oh, what do I see, wretched, most miserable of fathers that I am?”
He suddenly became so excited that she felt certain some fresh misfortune had just come to light, and asked him anxiously what he was lamenting about now. However, he could do nothing for sheer sobbing, but stammer out, “Oh—oh—dau—gh—ter. You look . . . you look . . . ” and he dashed precipitously up the stairs of his tower. She ran to her room, looked into the mirror, and started back, terrified almost to death.
And she had reason. As Herr Dapsul was trying to open the eyes of Daucus Carota’s intended queen to the danger of gradually losing her pretty figure and good looks, and growing more and more into the semblance of a gnome queen, he suddenly became aware of how far the process had proceeded already. Aennchen’s head had got much broader and bigger, and her skin had turned yellow, so that she was quite ugly enough already. And though vanity was not one of her failings, she was woman enough to know that to grow ugly is the greatest and most frightful misfortune which can happen here below. How often had she thought how delightful it would be when she would drive, as queen, to church in the coach and eight, with the crown on her head, in satins and velvets, with diamonds, and gold chains, and rings, seated beside her royal husband, setting all the women, the schoolmaster’s wife included, into amazement of admiration, and most likely, in fact, no doubt, instilling a proper sense of respect even into the minds of the pompous lord and lady of the manor themselves. Ay, indeed, how often had she been lapped in these and other such eccentric dreams, and visions of the future!—Fräulein Aennchen burst into long and bitter weeping.
“Anna, my daughter Anna,” cried Herr Dapsul down through the speaking trumpet; “come up here to me immediately!”
She found him dressed very much like a miner. He spoke in a tone of decision and resolution, saying, “When need is the sorest, help is often nearest. I have ascertained that Daucus Carota will not leave his palace today, and most probably not till noon of tomorrow. He has assembled the princes of his house, the ministers, and other people of consequence to hold a council on the subject of the next crop of winter cabbage. The sitting is important, and it may be prolonged so much that we may not have any cabbage at all next winter. I mean to take advantage of this opportunity, while he is so occupied with his official affairs that he won’t be able to attend to my proceedings, to prepare a weapon with which I may perhaps attack this shameful gnome, and prevail over him, so that he will be compelled to withdraw, and set you at liberty. While I am at work, look uninterruptedly at the palace through this glass and tell me instantly if anybody comes out, or even looks out of it.” She did as she was directed, but the tent remained closed, although she often heard (notwithstanding that Herr Dapsul was making a tremendous hammering on plates of metal a few paces behind her), a wild confused crying and screaming, apparently coming from the tent, and also distinct sounds of slapping, as if ears were being well boxed. She told Herr Dapsul this, and he was delighted, saying that the more they quarrelled in there the less they were likely to know what was being prepared for their destruction.
Fräulein Aennchen was much surprised when she found that Herr Dapsul had hammered out and made several most lovely kitchen pots and stew pans of copper. As an expert in such matters, she observed that the tinning of them was done in a most superior style, so that her papa must have paid careful heed to the duties legally enjoined on coppersmiths. She begged to be allowed to take these nice pots and pans down to the kitchen, and use them there. But Herr Dapsul smiled a mysterious smile, and merely said:
“All in good time, my daughter Anna. Just you go downstairs, my beloved child, and wait quietly till you see what happens to-morrow.”
He gave a melancholy smile, and that infused a little hope and confidence into his luckless daughter.
Next day, as dinner-time came on, Herr Dapsul brought down his pots and pans, and betook himself to the kitchen, telling his daughter and the maid to go away and leave him by himself, as he was going to cook the dinner. He particularly enjoined Fräulein Aennchen to be as kind and pleasant with Cordovanspitz as ever she could, when he came in—as he was pretty sure to do.
Cordovanspitz—or rather, King Daucus Carota the First—did come in very soon, and if he had borne himself like an ardent lover on previous occasions, he far outdid himself on this. Aennchen noticed, to her terror, that she had grown so small by this time, that Daucus had no difficulty in getting up into her lap to caress and kiss her; and the wretched girl had to submit to this, notwithstanding her disgust with the horrid little monster. Presently Herr Dapsul came in, and said:
“Oh, my dear Porphyrio von Ockerodastes, won’t you come into the kitchen with my daughter and me, and see what beautiful order your future bride has got everything in there?”
Aennchen had never seen the malicious look upon her father’s face before, which it wore when he took little Daucus by the arm, and almost forced him from the sitting-room to the kitchen. At a sign from her father she went there after them.
Her heart swelled within her when she saw the fire burning so merrily, the glowing coals, the beautiful copper pots and pans. As Herr Dapsul drew Cordovanspitz closer to the fireplace, the hissing and bubbling in the pots grew louder and louder, and at last changed into whimpering and groaning. And out of one of the pots came voices, crying, “Oh Daucus Carota! Oh King, rescue your faithful vassals! Rescue us poor carrots! Cut up, thrown into despicable wat
er; rubbed over with salt and butter to our torture, we suffer indescribable woe, whereof a number of noble young parsleys are partakers with us!”
And out of the pans came the plaint: “Oh Daucus Carota! Oh King! Rescue your faithful vassals—rescue us poor carrots. We are roasting in hell—and they put so little water with us, that our direful thirst forces us to drink our own heart’s blood!”
And from another of the pots came: “Oh Daucus Carota! Oh King! Rescue your faithful vassals—rescue us poor carrots. A horrible cook eviscerated us, and stuffed our insides full of egg, cream, and butter, so that our minds are in utter confusion, and we don’t know ourselves what we are thinking about!”
And out of all the pots and pans came howling at once a general chorus of “Oh Daucus Carota! Mighty King! Rescue us, thy faithful vassals—rescue us poor carrots!”
On this, Cordovanspitz gave a loud croaking cry of “Cursed, infernal, stupid humbug and nonsense!” sprang with his usual agility on to the kitchen range, looked into one of the pots, and suddenly popped down into it bodily. Herr Dapsul sprang forward and tried to clap on the pot lid, with a triumphant cry of “A Prisoner!” But with the speed of a spiral spring Cordovanspitz came bounding up out of the pot, and gave Herr Dapsul two or three ringing slaps on the face, crying “Meddling idiot of an old cabbalist, you shall pay for this! Come out, my lads, one and all!”
Then there came swarming out of all the pots and pans hundreds and hundreds of little creatures about the length of one’s finger, and they attached themselves firmly all over Herr Dapsul’s body, threw him down backwards into an enormous dish, and there dished him up, pouring the hot juice out of the pots and pans over him, and bestrewing him with chopped egg, mace, and grated breadcrumbs. Having done this, Daucus Carota darted out of the window, his people after him.
Fräulein Aennchen sank down in terror beside the dish whereon her poor papa lay, served up in this manner as if for table. She supposed he was dead, as he gave not the faintest sign of life.
She began to lament: “Ah, poor papa—you’re dead now, and there’s nobody to save me from this diabolical Daucus!” But Herr Dapsul opened his eyes, sprang up from the dish with renewed energy, and cried in a terrible voice, such as she had never heard him make use of before, ”Ah accursed Daucus Carota, I am not at the end of my resources yet. You shall soon see what a meddling old idiot of a cabbalist can do.”
Aennchen had to set to work and clean him with the kitchen broom of all the chopped egg, mace, and grated breadcrumbs; and then he seized a copper pot, crammed it on his head by way of a helmet, took a frying pan in his left hand, and a long iron kitchen ladle in his right, and thus armed and accoutred, he darted out into the open. Fräulein Aennchen saw him running as hard as he could towards Cordovanspitz’s tent, and yet never moving from the same spot. At this her senses left her.
When she came to herself, Herr Dapsul had disappeared, and she got terribly anxious when evening came, and night, and even the next morning, without his making his appearance. She could not but dread the very worst.
VI
Fräulein Aennchen was sitting in her room in the deepest sorrow, when the door opened, and who should come in but Herr Amandus von Nebelstern. All shame and contrition, she shed a flood of tears, and in the most weeping accents addressed him as follows: “Oh, my darling Amandus, pray forgive what I wrote to you in my blinded state! I was bewitched, and I am so still, no doubt. I am yellow, and I’m hideous, may God pity me! But my heart is true to you, and I am not going to marry any king at all.”
“My dear girl,” said Amandus, “ I really don’t see what you have to complain of. I consider you one of the luckiest women in the world.”
“Oh, don’t mock at me,” she cried. “I am punished severely enough for my absurd vanity in wishing to be a queen.”
“Really and truly, my dear girl,” said Amandus, “I can’t make you out one bit. To tell you the real truth, your last letter drove me stark, staring mad. I first thrashed my servant boy, then my poodle, smashed several glasses—and you know a student who’s breathing out threatenings and slaughter in that sort of way isn’t to be trifled with. But when I got a little calmer I made up my mind to come here as quickly as I could, and see with my own eyes how, why, and to whom I had lost my intended bride. Love makes no distinction of class or station, and I made up my mind that I would make this King Daucus Carota give a proper account of himself, and ask him if this tale about his marrying you was mere brag, or if he really meant it—but everything here is different from what I expected. As I was passing near the grand tent yonder, King Daucus Carota came out of it, and I soon found that I had before me the most charming prince I ever saw—at the same time he happens to be the first I ever did see; but that’s nothing. For, just fancy, my dear girl, he immediately detected the sublime poet in me, praised my poems (which he has never read) above measure, and offered to appoint me Poet Laureate in his service. Now a position of that sort has long been the fairest goal of my warmest wishes, so I accepted his offer with a thousandfold delight. Oh, my dear girl, with what an enthusiasm of inspiration will I chant your praises! A poet can love queens and princesses: or rather, it is really a part of his simple duty to choose a person of that exalted station to be the lady of his heart. And if he does get a little silly on the subject, that circumstance of itself gives rise to that divine frenzy without which no poetry is possible, and no one ought to feel any surprise at a poet’s perhaps somewhat extravagant proceedings. Remember the great Tasso, who must have had a considerable bee in his bonnet when in love with the Princess Leonore d’Este. Yes, my dear girl, as you are going to be a queen so soon, you will always be the lady of my heart, and I will extoll you to the stars in the sublimest and most celestial verses.”
“What, you have seen him, the wicked kobold?” Fräulein Aennchen broke out in the deepest amazement. “And he has—”
But at that moment in came the little gnomish King himself, and said, in the tenderest accents, “Oh, my sweet, darling fiancée! Idol of my heart! Do not suppose for a moment that I am in the least degree annoyed with the little piece of rather unseemly conduct which Herr Dapsul von Zabelthau was guilty of. Oh, no—and indeed it has led to the more rapid fulfilment of my hopes; so that the solemn ceremony of our marriage will actually be celebrated tomorrow. You will be pleased to find that I have appointed Herr Amandus von Nebelstern our Poet Laureate, and I wish him to favour us at once with a specimen of his talents, and recite one of his poems. But let us go out under the trees, for I love the open air: and I will lie in your lap, while you, my most beloved bride-elect, may scratch my head a little while he is singing—for I am fond of having my head scratched in such circumstances.”
Fräulein Aennchen, turned to stone with horror and alarm, made no resistance to this proposal. Daucus Carota, out under the trees, laid himself in her lap, she scratched his head, and Herr Amandus, accompanying himself on the guitar, began the first of twelve dozen songs which he had composed and written out in a thick book.
It is a matter of regret that in the Chronicle of Dapsulheim (from which all this history is taken), these songs have not been inserted, it being merely stated that the country folk who were passing, stopped on their way, and anxiously inquired who could be in such terrible pain in Herr Dapsul’s wood, that he was crying and screaming out in such a style.
Daucus Carota, in Aennchen’s lap, twisted and writhed, and groaned and whined more and more lamentably, as if he had a violent pain in his stomach. Moreover, Fräulein Aennchen fancied she observed, to her great amazement, that Cordovanspitz was growing smaller and smaller as the song went on. At last Herr Amandus sung the following sublime effusion (which is preserved in the Chronicle):
Gladly sings the Bard, enraptured,
Breath of blossoms, bright dream-visions,
Moving thro’ roseate spaces in Heaven,
Blessed and beautiful, whither away?
‘Whither away?’ oh, question of questions—
Caring for nought but to love, to believe.
Moving through roseate heavenly spaces,
Towards this ‘Whither,’ where’er it may be,
Singeth the bard, in a tumult of rapture,
Ever becoming a radiant em——
At this point, Daucus Carota uttered a loud croaking cry, and, now dwindled into a little, little carrot, slipped down from Aennchen’s lap, and into the ground, leaving no trace behind. Upon which, the great gray fungus which had grown in the nighttime beside the grassy bank, shot up and up. This fungus was nothing less than Herr Dapsul von Zabelthau’s gray felt hat, and he himself was under it; he fell stormily on Amandus’s breast, crying out in the utmost ecstasy, “Oh, my dearest, best, most beloved Herr Amandus von Nebelstern, with that mighty song of conjuration you have beaten all my cabbalistic science out of the field? What the profoundest magical art, the utmost daring of the philosopher fighting for his very existence, could not accomplish, your verses achieved, passing into the frame of the deceitful Daucus Carota like the deadliest poison, so that he would have perished of stomach-ache, in spite of his gnomish nature, if he had not made off into his kingdom.
“My daughter Anna is delivered—I am delivered from the horrible charm which held me spellbound here in the shape of a nasty fungus, at the risk of being hewn to pieces by my own daughter’s hands; for the good soul hacks them all down with her spade, unless their edible character is unmistakable, as in the case of the mushrooms. Thanks, my most heartfelt thanks, and I have no doubt your intentions as regards my daughter have undergone no change. I am sorry to say she has lost her good looks, through the machinations of that inimical gnome; but you are too much of a philosopher to—”
The Best Tales of Hoffmann Page 59