“I will pass over my journey to Hamburg, till my arrival in a little common inn, in the old part of town. Not having a penny to spare, I set out early the next morning to look out for a lodging, and saw several that would have suited myself very well, but which did not suit my finances. At length, seeing the wife of a grocer standing at the door, with a good-humored countenance, in a narrow and dark street, containing some large, fine houses which had seen the splendors of former times, I walked up to her, and asked if she could recommend a lodging to a young man who was not over rich. After thinking for a moment, she pointed over the way, to a house with a decorated front, which had become as black as ink with age. The lower story was entirely occupied by an iron warehouse; but she said that up above on the first floor I should find Widow Gentner, who let one room, and who had, she believed, no lodger at the time. I thanked her many times for her civility, and walking across the street to the point she indicated, I looked up at the cornices and other ornaments which were displayed upon the facade. Dirty they were, beyond all doubt. A pair of stone ladies with baskets in their hands, which had probably been once as white as snow, now displayed long dripping lines of black upon their garments; their noses had disappeared, but the balls of the eyes were of the deepest brown, though above the center appeared a white spot, which seemed to show the presence of a cataract. The fruit in the baskets, however, consisted apparently of black cherries, and a dingy cornucopia, which stood by the side of each, vomited forth swarthy fruit and flowers of a very uninviting quality. I gazed in surprise and admiration, and asked myself if it ever would be my fate to live in so fine a mansion.
“Taking courage, however, I inquired at the ironmonger’s which was the door of Widow Gentner, and of the three which opened into the lower part of the house, I was directed to the second. On the first floor I found a tidy little maid, who introduced me to the presence of her mistress, a quiet, dry old lady, who was seated in a room which had apparently formed part of a magnificent saloon—I say formed part, for it was evident that the size of the chamber had been much curtailed. On the ceiling, which was the most magnificent stucco work I ever saw, appeared various groups of angels and cherubs in high relief, as large as life, and seated amid clouds and bunches of flowers as big as feather-beds. But that ceiling betrayed the dismemberment of the room; for all along the side where ran this wall behind the good lady were seen angels’ legs without the heads and bodies, baskets of flowers cut in two, and cherubs with not above one-half of the members even, which sculptors have left them. This was soon explained: the widow informed me that she had divided her chamber into three, of which she reserved one for herself, another for her little maid, and let the third, which had a staircase to itself opening from the street. She had done so with a good wall, she said, to support the platform, so that if I wanted to see the room she had to let, I must go down again with her and mount the other stairs, as there was no door of communication. I admired her prudence, and accompanied her at once to a small room, arrived at by a small staircase with its own street-door; and there I found on the ceiling above my head the lost legs and wings of the angels on the other side, besides a very solid pair of cherubins of my own. It contained a little narrow bed, a table, a scanty proportion of chairs and other things necessary for the existence of a student; and though an unpleasant feeling of solitude crept over me as I thought of inhabiting an apartment so entirely cut off from all human proximity, yet as the widow’s rent was small, I closed the bargain at once, and soon was installed in my new abode. The good lady was very kind and attentive, and did all she could to make me comfortable, inquiring, among other things, what letters of introduction I had in Hamburg. I had but one which I considered of any value, which was addressed, with many of those flourishes which you know are common among us, to Mr. S., a famous man in his day, both as a philosopher and literary man, and who was also a man of sense in the world, and what is more than all, of a kind and benevolent heart. I went to deliver it that very day, and met with a most kind and friendly reception from a good-looking old gentleman, of perhaps sixty-three or four, who at once made me feel myself at home with him, treating me with that parental which inspires both respect and confidence. He asked several questions about my journey, where I lodged, how I intended to employ my time, and last, what was the state of my finances. I told him all exactly as it was, and when I rose to depart, he laid his hand on my arm with the most benevolent air in the world, saying, ‘You will dine with me tomorrow at twelve o’clock, and I shall expect to see you at dinner three days in the week as long as you stay. From eight to ten at night I am always at home, and whenever you have nothing else to do, come in and spend those hours with us.’ I will not pretend to say I was not quite well aware that the place thus granted me at his dinner-table was offered from a knowledge of the limited state of my finances; but pride in my case was out of the question, and I was exceedingly grateful for the act of kindness, which saved me a considerable sum in my housekeeping, and enabled me to indulge in a few little luxuries which I could not otherwise have commanded.
“It was the autumn of the year when I arrived at Hamburg, but the time passed very pleasantly. All the day I was engaged in my studies; at twelve o’clock I dined, either at my own chambers or at worthy Mr. S.’s, and almost every evening was spent at his house, where he failed not to regale me, either with a cup of fine coffee, or sometimes as a great treat, with a cup of tea, according to your English mode. In short, I became his nightly guest, and as the evening grew dark and sometimes foggy, I bought a little lantern to light myself through the long and lonely streets which I had to pass from his house to my own. On these occasions, too, as the weather grew intensely cold, my blue cloak with the square collar proved a most serviceable friend, and every night at ten o’clock I might be seen in precisely the same attire, with my black suit, in great part covered by the azure mantle, and the small lantern in my hand, finding my way homeward to my solitary abode. Mr. S. lived in the fine new part of the town, where he had a handsome house, with two maidservants and his coachman, but the latter slept at the stables. I lived, as I have said before, in the old part of the town, well nigh a mile distant; thus, in coming and going, I got exercise at night, if I did not in the day, and I mark it particularly, that I used to enjoy my walk to his house and back, and used to look forward to it with pleasure during my hours of study, in order that you may see, that on the occasions of which I am about to speak, I was affected by no fantastical melancholy.
“At length, one night in the winter of 17—, after passing the evening at the house of Mr. S., where I had taken nothing but a cup of coffee and a slice of brown bread-and-butter, I took leave of my friend, put on my blue mantle with a square collar, lighted my lantern at the housemaid’s candle, and having safely shut the glass, set out on my walk home. It was about a quarter past ten, and the night was clear and very dark; the sky, indeed, was full of stars, which looked peculiarly bright as I gazed up at them, between the tall houses, as if from the bottom of a well, and I felt a sort of exhilarating freshness in the air that raised my spirits rather than otherwise. I walked along to the end of the first street with a light step, turned into the second, and was just entering the third, when I saw a figure some thirty or forty paces before me, standing in a corner as if waiting for someone. Although the streets, in the good old days of Hamburg, were generally by that time of night quite deserted, yet there was nothing extraordinary in my meeting one or two persons as I went home, so that I took little or no notice of this figure, till I had advanced to within about twenty paces, when it turned itself full toward me, and at the same time the light of the lantern fell directly upon it. Guess my surprise when I saw a being, so exactly like myself, that I could have imagined I was looking in a glass. There were the black legs, the shoes and silver buckles, the blue mantle with the square-cut collar, and the little lantern with the handle at the back, held just as I held mine. I stopped suddenly, and rubbed my eyes with my left hand; but the figure immedia
tely turned round and walked away before me. At the same time my heart beat violently, and a sort of strange dreamy sensation of horror came over me, like that which takes possession of one sometimes when laboring under the nightmare. An instant’s reflection made me ashamed of what I felt, and saying to myself, ‘I’ll look a little closer at this gentleman,’ I walked on, hurrying my pace. The figure, however, quickened its steps in the same proportion. I did not like to run, but I was always a quick walker, and I hastened as fast as ever I could; but to no effect: the figure, without the least apparent effort, kept always at the same distance, and every moment I felt the sort of superstitious dread which had taken possession of me, increasing, and struggling against the efforts of resolution. Resolution conquered, however, and determined to see who this was that was so like me, without showing him too plainly that I was chasing him, I stopped at a corner where a street wound round, and entered again the one that I was pursuing at some distance, and then taking to my heels, I ran as hard as I could to get before my friend in the blue mantle. When I entered the other street again, though I must have gained two or three minutes at least, instead of seeing the figure coming from the side where I had left it, there it was, walking on deliberately in the direction I usually followed toward my own house. We were now within three streets of Widow Gentner’s, and though they were all of them narrow enough, I generally took those which were most open. There was lane, however, to the left, which, passing by the grocer’s I have mentioned, cut off at least a quarter of the way, and as I was now overpowered by feelings I cannot describe, I resolved to take the shortest path, and run as hard as I could, in order to get home and shut myself in before the figure in the blue mantle reached the spot. Off I set then down the narrow lane like lightning, but when I came to the grocer’s corner, my horror was complete, on beholding the lame figure walking along past the closed windows of the iron-shop, and I stopped with my heart beating as if it would have burst through my ribs. With eyes almost starting from my head and the light of the lantern turned full upon it, I gazed at its proceedings, when behold, it walked quietly up to my door, stopped, turned round toward the house, put the right hand in its pocket, and seemed feeling for my key. The key was produced, and stooping down, just as I should have done, after a little searching for the keyhole, the door was opened, the figure went in, and instantly the door closed again.
“If you had given me the empire of a world, I could not have made up my mind to go in after it, and setting off more like a madman than anything else, I returned to the house of Mr. S., with the intention of telling him what had occurred. The bell was answered quickly enough by the housemaid, who gazed at my wild and scared appearance with some surprise. She told me, however, that the old gentleman had gone to bed, and that she could not think of waking him on my account; and resolved not to go home, and yet not liking to walk the streets of Hamburg all night, I persuaded her with some difficulty to let me sit in the saloon till I could speak with Mr. S. in the morning. I will not detain you by describing how I passed the night; but when my friend came down the next day, I related to him all that had occurred, with many excuses for the liberty I had taken. He listened gravely, and his first question naturally was, if I were quite sure I had gone straight homeward, without entering any of those places where strong drinks were sold. I assured him most solemnly that the only thing that had entered my lips that night was the cup of coffee which I had taken at his house.
“‘The maid can tell you,’ I said, ‘that I had not been absent more than three quarters of an hour when I returned.’
“‘Well, my young friend,’ he replied, ‘I believe you fully; very strange things occasionally happen to us in life, and this seems one. However, we will have some breakfast, and then go and inquire into it.’
“After breakfast we set out and walked to my house, I pointing out by the way, all the different spots connected with my tale. When we reached the gloomy old mansion, with its decorated front, I was going direct to my door, but Mr. S. said, ‘Stay, we will first talk to your landlady for a minute.’ And we accordingly walked up to the rooms of Widow Gentner by the other door and the other staircase. The widow was very proud of the visit of so distinguished a person in the town as Mr. S., and answered his questions with due respect. The first was a very common one in that part of Germany, namely, whether she had slept well that night. She assured him she had, perfectly well; and he then proceeded with a somewhat impressive air, to inquire if nothing had occurred to disturb her, She then suddenly seemed to recollect herself, and answered: ‘Now you mention it, I recollect I was awoke about eleven o’clock, I think, by a noise on the other side of the wall; but thinking that Mr. Z had thrown over his table, or something of that kind, I turned on the other side, and went to sleep again.’
“No further information being to be obtained, we descended to the street, and taking out my keys, I opened the door, and we went in. My heart beat a little as we mounted the stairs, but resolving not to show any want of courage, I boldly unlocked the room door and threw it open. The sight that presented itself made me pause on the threshold, for there on my bed, where I should have been lying at the very moment of its fall, was the whole ceiling of that part of the room, angels’ legs, and cherubims’ wings, flower-baskets, and everything, and so great was the weight and force with which it had come down, that it had broken the solid bedstead underneath it. As I do not suppose my head is composed of much more strong materials, it is probable that it would have been cracked as well as the bed, and I heartily thank God for my preservation. All my good old friend ventured to say, however, was, ‘A most fortunate escape! Had you slept here last night, you would have been killed to a certainty.’ Though a doctor of philosophy, he did not risk any speculations upon the strange apparition which I had beheld the night before; but invited me to take up my abode in his house till my room could be put in order, never afterward mentioning the appearance of my double; and I have only to add that from that time to this, now between fifty and sixty years, I have never seen myself again except in a looking-glass.”
THE THREE SOULS, by Alexander Chatrian and Emile Erckmann
(1859)
In the year 1805 I was engaged in my sixth year of transcendental philosophy at Heidelberg. You understand the life of a university student; it is a grand life—the life of a great lord. He rises at noon, smokes his pipe, drinks two or three glasses of schnaps, and then, unbuttoning his coat to his chin, he places his little flat Prussian cap jauntily on his head, and quietly goes to listen for half an hour to the illustrious Professor Hasenkopf discuss on ideas a priori a posteriori. While listening to him he may yawn as much as he pleases, or even go to sleep if he likes.
The lecture over, he goes to a tavern; he stretches his legs under a table, and pretty waitresses run about with plates of sausages, slices of ham and large jugs of strong beer. he sings the air of the “Brigands” of Schiller, he drinks, he eats. He whistles to his dog Hector, and takes a walk, or perhaps some difficulty arises in the tavern, blows are exchanged, glasses are knocked over, and jugs fall to the ground. The watchman arrives, he seizes the students, and they pass a night in the station-house.
Thus pass away days, months, years.
In Heidelberg are to be seen princes, dukes and barons in embryo; there are also the sons of shoemakers, schoolmasters and honorable traders. The young noblemen form a band to themselves, but the rest mingle fraternally together.
I was then thirty-two years of age; my beard had commenced to turn gray; beer, pipes and sauerkraut began to decline in my esteem. I felt the necessity of change. With respect to Hasenkopf, the listening to so many lectures on discursive ideas and intuitive ideas, on apodietical truths and predicted truths, turned by head into a veritable pot-pouri. It seemed to me that the foundation of science was ex nihilo nihili. Often I exclaimed to myself, stretching out my arms,
“Kasper Zann, Kasper Zann! it is not wise to know too much; nature has no more illusions for you. You can say, in a v
oice of lamentation, with the prophet Jeremiah, Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas!”
The Macabre Megapack Page 23
