“Things have changed somewhat, it seems,” said a man in German, who had taken a seat beside him. “Nevertheless, everything will be all right if you give yourself over to me completely. Dear Giuletta has done her share, and has recommended you to me. You are a fine, pleasant young man and you have a strong inclination to pleasant pranks and jokes—which please Giuletta and me nicely. That was a real nice German kick in the neck. Did you see how Amoroso’s tongue protruded—purple and swollen—it was a fine sight and the strangling noises and groans—ha, ha, ha.” The man’s voice was so repellent in its mockery, his chatter so gruesomely unpleasant, that his words felt like dagger blows in Erasmus’s chest.
“Whoever you are,” he said, “don’t say any more about it. I regret it bitterly.”
“Regret? Regret?” replied the unknown man. “I’ll be bound that you probably regret knowing Giuletta and winning her love.”
“Ah, Giuletta, Giuletta!” sighed Spikher.
“Now,” said the man, “you are being childish. Everything will run smoothly. It is horrible that you have to leave her, I know, but if you were to remain here, I could keep your enemies’ daggers away from you, and even the authorities.”
The thought of being able to stay with Giuletta appealed strongly to Erasmus. “How, how can that be?”
“I know a magical way to strike your enemies with blindness, in short, that you will always appear to them with a different face, and they will never recognize you again. Since it is getting on toward daylight, perhaps you will be good enough to look long and attentively into any mirror. I shall then perform certain operations upon your reflection, without damaging it in the least, and you will be hidden and can live forever with Giuletta. As happy as can be; no danger at all.”
“Oh, God,” screamed Erasmus.
“Why call upon God, my most worthy friend,” asked the stranger with a sneer.
“I—I have . . . began Erasmus.
“Left your reflection behind—with Giuletta—” interrupted the other. “Fine. Bravissimo, my dear sir. And now you course through floods and forests, cities and towns, until you find your wife and little Rasmus, and become a paterfamilias again. No reflection, of course—though this really shouldn’t bother your wife since she has you physically. Even though Giuletta will eternally own your dream-ego.”
A torch procession of singers drew near at this moment, and the light the torches cast into the carriage revealed to Erasmus the sneering visage of Dr. Dapertutto. Erasmus leaped out of the carriage and ran toward the procession, for he had recognized Friedrich’s resounding bass voice among the singers. It was his friends returning from a party in the countryside. Erasmus breathlessly told Friedrich everything that had happened, only withholding mention of the loss of his reflection. Friedrich hurried with him into the city, and arrangements were made so rapidly that when dawn broke, Erasmus, mounted on a fast horse, had already left Florence far behind.
Spikher set down in his manuscript the many adventures that befell him upon his journey. Among the most remarkable is the incident which first caused him to appreciate the loss of his reflection. He had stopped over in a large town, since his tired horse needed a rest, and he had sat down without thinking at a well-filled inn table, not noticing that a fine clear mirror hung before him. A devil of a waiter, who stood behind his chair, noticed that the chair seemed to be empty in the reflection and did not show the person who was sitting in it. He shared his observation with Erasmus’s neighbor, who in turn called it to the attention of his. A murmuring and whispering thereupon ran all around the table, and the guests first stared at Erasmus, then at the mirror. Erasmus, however, was unaware that the disturbance concerned him, until a grave gentleman stood up, took Erasmus to the mirror, looked in, and then turning to the company, cried out loudly, “ ’Struth. He’s not there. He doesn’t reflect.”
“What? No reflection? He’s not in the mirror?” everyone cried in confusion. “He’s a mauvais sujet, a homo nefas. Kick him out the door!”
Raging and filled with shame, Erasmus fled to his room, but he had hardly gotten there when he was informed by the police that he must either appear with full, complete, impeccably accurate reflection before the magistrate within one hour or leave the town. He rushed away, followed by the idle mob, tormented by street urchins, who called after him, “There he goes. He sold his reflection to the Devil. There he goes!” Finally he escaped. And from then on, under the pretext of having a phobia against mirrors, he insisted on having them covered. For this reason he was nicknamed General Suvarov, since Suvarov acted the same way.
When he finally reached his home city and his house, his wife and child received him with joy, and he began to think that calm, peaceful domesticity would heal the pain of his lost reflection. One day, however, it happened that Spikher, who had now put Giuletta completely out of his mind, was playing with little Rasmus. Rasmus’s little hands were covered with soot from the stove, and he dragged his fingers across his father’s face. “Daddy! I’ve turned you black. Look, look! ” cried the child, and before Spikher could prevent it or avoid it, the little boy held a mirror in front of him, looking into it at the same time. The child dropped the mirror with a scream of terror and ran away to his room.
Spikher’s wife soon came to him, astonishment and terror plainly on her face. “What has Rasmus told me—” she began. “Perhaps that I don’t have a reflection, dear,” interrupted Spikher with a forced smile, and he feverishly tried to prove that the story was too foolish to believe, that one could not lose a reflection, but if one did, since a mirror image was only an illusion, it didn’t matter much, that staring into a mirror led to vanity, and pseudo-philosophical nonsense about the reflection dividing the ego into truth and dream. While he was declaiming, his wife removed the covering from a mirror that hung in the room and looked into it. She fell to the floor as if struck by lightning. Spikher lifted her up, but when she regained consciousness, she pushed him away with horror. “Leave me, get away from me, you demon! You are not my husband. No! You are a demon from Hell, who wants to destroy my chance of heaven, who wants to corrupt me. Away! Leave me alone! You have no power over me, damned spirit!”
Her voice screamed through the room, through the halls; the domestics fled the house in terror, and in rage and despair Erasmus rushed out of the house. Madly he ran through the empty walks of the town park. Giuletta’s form seemed to arise in front of him, angelic in beauty, and he cried aloud, “Is this your revenge, Giuletta, because I abandoned you and left you nothing but my reflection in a mirror? Giuletta, I will be yours, body and soul. I sacrificed you for her, Giuletta, and now she has rejected me. Giuletta, let me be yours—body, life, and soul!”
“That can be done quite easily, caro signore,” said Dr. Dapertutto, who was suddenly standing beside him, clad in scarlet cloak with polished steel buttons. These were words of comfort to Erasmus, and he paid no heed to Dapertutto’s sneering, unpleasant face. Erasmus stopped and asked in despair, “How can I find her again? She is eternally lost to me.”
“On the contrary,” answered Dapertutto, “she is not far from here, and she longs for your true self, honored sir; you yourself have had the insight to see that a reflection is nothing but a worthless illusion. And as soon as she has the real you—body, life, and soul—she will return your reflection, smooth and undamaged with the utmost gratitude.”
“Take me to her, take me to her,” cried Erasmus. “Where is she?”
“A certain trivial matter must come first,” replied Dapertutto, “before you can see her and redeem your reflection. You are not entirely free to dispose of your worthy self, since you are tied by certain bonds which have to be dissolved first. Your worthy wife. Your promising little son.”
“What do you mean?” cried Erasmus wildly.
“This bond,” continued Dapertutto, “can be dissolved incontrovertibly, easily and humanely. You may remember from your Florentine days that I have the knack of preparing wonder-working medications
. I have a splendid household aid here at hand. Those who stand in the way of you and your beloved Giuletta—let them have the benefit of a couple of drops, and they will sink down quietly, no pain, no embarrassment. It is what they call dying, and death is said to be bitter; but don’t bitter almonds taste very nice? The death in this little bottle has only that kind of bitterness. Immediately after the happy collapse, your worthy family will exude a pleasant odor of almonds. Take it, honored sir.”
He handed a small phial to Erasmus.1
“I should poison my wife and child?” shrieked Erasmus.
“Who spoke of poison?” continued the red-clad man, very calmly. “It’s just a delicious household remedy. It’s true that I have other ways of regaining your freedom for you, but for you I would like the process to be natural, humane, if you know what I mean. I really feel strongly about it. Take it and have courage, my friend.”
Erasmus found the phial in his hand, he knew not how. Without thinking, he ran home, to his room. His wife had spent the whole night amid a thousand fears and torments, asserting continually that the person who had returned was not her husband but a spirit from Hell who had assumed her husband’s form. As a result, the moment Erasmus set foot in the house, everyone ran. Only little Rasmus had the courage to approach him and ask in childish fashion why he had not brought his reflection back with him, since Mother was dying of grief because of it. Erasmus stared wildly at the little boy, Dapertutto’s phial in his hand. His son’s pet dove was on his shoulder, and it so happened that the dove pecked at the stopper of the phial, dropped its head, and toppled over, dead. Erasmus was overcome with horror.
“Betrayer,” he shouted. “You cannot make me do it!”
He threw the phial out through the open window, and it shattered upon the concrete pavement of the court. A luscious odor of almonds rose in the air and spread into the room, while little Rasmus ran away in terror.
Erasmus spent the whole day in torment until midnight. More and more vividly each moment the image of Giuletta rose in his mind. On one occasion, in the past, her necklace of red berries (which Italian women wear like pearls) had broken, and while Erasmus was picking up the berries he concealed one and kept it faithfully, because it had been on Giuletta’s neck. At this point he took out the berry and fixed his gaze upon it, focusing his thought on his lost love. It seemed to him that a magical aroma emerged from the berry, the scent which used to surround Giuletta.
“Ah, Giuletta, if I could only see you one more time, and then go down in shame and disgrace . . .”
He had hardly spoken, when a soft rustling came along the walk outside. He heard footsteps—there was a knock on the door. Fear and hope stopped his breath. He opened the door, and in walked Giuletta, as remarkably beautiful and charming as ever. Mad with desire, Erasmus seized her in his arms.
“I am here, beloved,” she whispered softly, gently. “See how well I have preserved your reflection?”
Peter Schlemihl and Erasmus Spikher (detail from illustration following page 230).
She took the cloth down from the mirror on the wall, and Erasmus saw his image nestled in embrace with Giuletta, independent of him, not following his movements. He shook with terror.
“Giuletta,” he cried, “must you drive me mad? Give me my reflection and take me—body, life, soul!”
“There is still something between us, dear Erasmus,” said Giuletta. “You know what it is. Hasn’t Dapertutto told you?”
“For God’s sake, Giuletta,” cried Erasmus. “If that is the only way I can become yours, I would rather die.”
“You don’t have to do it the way Dapertutto suggested,” said Giuletta. “It is really a shame that a vow and a priest’s blessing can do so much, but you must loose the bond that ties you or else you can never be entirely mine. There is a better way than the one that Dapertutto proposed.”
“What is it?” asked Spikher eagerly. Giuletta placed her arm around his neck, and leaning her head upon his breast whispered up softly, “You just write your name, Erasmus Spikher, upon a little slip of paper, under only a few words: ‘I give to my good friend Dr. Dapertutto power over my wife and over my child, so that he can govern and dispose of them according to his will, and dissolve the bond which ties me, because I, from this day, with body and immortal soul, wish to belong to Giuletta, whom I have chosen as wife, and to whom I will bind myself eternally with a special vow.’ ”
Erasmus shivered and twitched with pain. Fiery kisses burned upon his lips, and he found the little piece of paper which Giuletta had given to him in his hand. Gigantic, Dapertutto suddenly stood behind Giuletta and handed Erasmus a steel pen. A vein on Erasmus’s left hand burst open and blood spurted out.
“Dip it, dip it, write, write,” said the red-clad figure harshly.
“Write, write, my eternal, my only lover,” whispered Giuletta.
He had filled the pen with his blood and started to write when the door suddenly opened and a white figure entered. With staring eyes fixed on Erasmus, it called painfully and leadenly, “Erasmus, Erasmus! What are you doing? For the sake of our Saviour, don’t do this horrible deed.”
Erasmus recognized his wife in the warning figure, and threw the pen and paper far from him.
Sparks and flashes shot out of Giuletta’s eyes; her face was horribly distorted; her body seemed to glow with rage.
“Away from me, demon; you can have no part of my soul. In the name of the Saviour, begone. Snake—Hell glows through you,” cried Erasmus, and with a violent blow he knocked back Giuletta, who was trying to embrace him again. A screaming and howling broke loose, and a rustling, as of raven feathers. Giuletta and Dapertutto disappeared in a thick stinking smoke, which as it poured out of the walls put out the lights.
Dawn finally came, and Erasmus went to his wife. He found her calm and restrained. Little Rasmus sat very cheerfully upon her bed. She held out her hand to her exhausted husband and said, “I now know everything that happened to you in Italy, and I pity you with all my heart. The power of the Enemy is great. He is given to ill-doing and he could not resist the desire to make away with your reflection and use it to his own purposes. Look into the mirror again, husband.”
Erasmus, trembling, looked into the mirror, completely dejected. It remained blank and clear; no other Erasmus Spikher looked back at him.
“It is just as well that the mirror does not reflect you,” said his wife, “for you look very foolish, Erasmus. But you must recognize that if you do not have a reflection, you will be laughed at, and you cannot be the proper father for a family; your wife and children cannot respect you. Rasmus is already laughing at you and next will paint a mustache on you with soot, since you cannot see it.
“Go out into the world again, and see if you can track down your reflection, away from the Devil. When you have it back, you will be very welcome here. Kiss me” (Erasmus did) “and now—goodbye. Send little Rasmus new stockings every once in a while, for he keeps sliding on his knees and needs quite a few pairs. If you get to Nuremberg, you can also send him a painted soldier and a spice cake, like a devoted father. Farewell, dear Erasmus.”
His wife turned upon her other side and went back to sleep. Spikher lifted up little Rasmus and hugged him to his breast. But since Rasmus cried quite a bit, Spikher set him down again, and went into the wide world. He struck upon a certain Peter Schlemihl, who had sold his shadow; they planned to travel together, so that Erasmus Spikher could provide the necessary shadow and Peter Schlemihl could reflect properly in a mirror. But nothing came of it.
The end of the story of the lost reflection.
POSTSCRIPT BY THE TRAVELLING ENTHUSIAST
What is it that looks out of that mirror there? Is it really I? Julia, Giuletta—divine image, demon from Hell; delights and torments; longing and despair. You can see, my dear Theodore Amadeus Hoffmann, that a strange dark power manifests itself in my life all too often, steals the best dreams away from sleep, pushing strange forms into my life. I am complete
ly saturated with the manifestations of this New Year’s Eve, and I more than half believe that the Justizrat is a gumdrop, that his tea was a candy display for Christmas or New Year’s, that the good Julia was a picture of a siren by Rembrandt or Callot—who betrayed the unfortunate Spikher to get his alter ego, his reflection in the mirror. Forgive me. . . .
NUTCRACKER AND THE KING OF MICE
CHRISTMAS EVE
On the twenty-fourth of December, Dr. Stahlbaum’s children were not allowed on any pretext whatever at any time that day to go into the small drawing-room, much less into the best drawing-room into which it opened. Fritz and Marie were sitting cowering together in a corner of the back parlour when the evening twilight fell, and they began to feel terribly eerie. Seeing that no candles were brought, as was generally the case on Christmas Eve, Fritz, whispering in a mysterious fashion, confided to his young sister (who was just seven) that he had heard rattlings and rustlings going on all day, since early morning, inside the forbidden rooms, as well as distant hammering. Further, that a short time ago a little dark-looking man had gone slipping and creeping across the floor with a big box under his arm, though he was well aware that this little man was no other than Godpapa Drosselmeier. At this news Marie clapped her little hands with joy, and cried:
“Oh! I do wonder what pretty things Godpapa Drosselmeier has been making for us this time!”
Godpapa Drosselmeier was anything but a nice-looking man. He was small and lean, with a great many wrinkles on his face, a big patch of black plaster where his right eye ought to have been, and not a hair on his head; which was why he wore a fine white wig, made of glass, and a very beautiful work of art. But he was a very, very clever man, who even knew and understood all about clocks and watches, and could make them himself. So that when one of the beautiful clocks that were in Dr. Stahlbaum’s house was out of sorts and couldn’t sing, Godpapa Drosselmeier would come, take off his glass periwig and his little yellow coat, gird himself with a blue apron, and proceed to stick sharp-pointed instruments into the inside of the clock in a way that made little Marie quite miserable to witness. However, this didn’t really hurt the poor clock, which, on the contrary, would come to life again, and begin to whirr and sing and strike as merrily as ever; which caused everybody the greatest satisfaction. Of course, whenever he came he always brought something delightful in his pockets for the children—perhaps a little man, who would roll his eyes and make bows and scrapes, most comic to behold; or a box, out of which a little bird would jump; or something else of the kind. But for Christmas he always had some specially charming piece of ingenuity; something which had cost him infinite pains and labour—for which reason it was always taken away and put aside with the greatest care by the children’s parents.
The Best Tales of Hoffmann Page 21
