sympathy enkindled into life, and about psychic elective
affinity—all of which Olimpia listened to with great
reverence. He fished up from the very bottom of his desk
all the -things that he had ever written—poems, fancy
sketches, visions, romances, tales, and the heap was
increased daily with all kinds of aimless sonnets, stanzas,
canzonets. All these he read to Olimpia hour after hour
without growing tired; but then he had never had such an
exemplary listener. She neither embroidered, nor knitted; she did not look out of the window, or feed a bird, or play with a little pet dog or a favourite cat, neither did
she twist a piece of paper or anything of that kind round
her finger, she did not forcibly convert a yawn into a low
affected cough— in short, she sat hour after hour with
her eyes bent unchangeably upon her lover’s face, without moving or altering her position, and her gaze grew more ardent and more ardent still. And it was only when
at last Nathanael rose and kissed her lips or her hand
that she said, “Ach! Ach!” and then “Good-night, dear.”
Arrived in his own room, Nathanael would break out
with, “Oh! what a brilliant— what a profound mind!
Only you— you alone understand me.” And his heart
trembled with rapture when he reflected upon the wondrous harmony which daily revealed itself between his own and his Olimpia’s character; for he fancied that she
had expressed in respect to his works and his poetic
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genius the identical sentiments which he himself cherished deep down in his own heart in respect to the same, and even as if it was his own heart’s voice speaking to
him. And it must indeed have been so; for Olimpia never
uttered any other words than those already mentioned.
And when Nathanael himself in his clear and sober
moments, as, for instance, directly after waking in a
morning, thought about her utter passivity and taciturnity, he only said, “What are words— but words? The glance of her heavenly eyes says more than any tongue of
earth. And how can, anyway, a child of heaven accustom
herself to the narrow circle which the exigencies of a
wretched mundane life demand?”
Professor Spalanzani appeared to be greatly pleased at
the intimacy that had sprung up between his daughter
Olimpia and Nathanael, and showed the young man
many unmistakable proofs of his good feeling towards
him; and when Nathanael ventured at length to hint very
delicately at an alliance with Olimpia, the Professor
smiled all over his face at once, and said he should allow
his daughter to make a perfectly free choice. Encouraged
by these words, and with the fire of desire burning in his
heart, Nathanael resolved the very next day to implore
Olimpia to tell him frankly, in plain words, what he had
long read in her sweet loving glances,— that she would
be his for ever. He looked for the ring which his mother
had given him at parting; he would present it to Olimpia
as a symbol of his devotion, and of the happy life he was
to lead with her from that time onwards. Whilst looking
for it he came across his letters from Clara and Lothair;
he threw them carelessly aside, found the ring, put it in
his pocket, and ran across to Olimpia. Whilst still on
the stairs, in the entrance-passage, he heard an extraordinary hubbub; the noise seemed to proceed from Spalanzani’s study. There was a stamping— a rattling—
pushing— knocking against the door, with curses and
oaths intermingled. “Leave hold— leave hold— you
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monster— you rascal—staked your life and honour
upon it?— Ha! ha! ha! ha!—That was not our wager— I,
I made the eyes— I the clock-work.— Go to the devil
with your clock-work:—you damned dog of a watchmaker—be off— Satan— stop— you paltry turner— you infernal beast!— stop— begone— let me go.” The voices
which were thus making all this racket and rumpus were
those of Spalanzani and the fearsome Coppelius. Nathanael rushed in, impelled by some nameless dread.
The Professor was grasping a female figure by the
shoulders, the Italian Coppola held her by the feet; and
they were pulling and dragging each other backwards
and forwards, fighting furiously to get possession of her.
Nathanael recoiled with horror on recognising that the
figure was Olimpia. Boiling with rage, he was about to
tear his beloved from the grasp of the madmen, when
Coppola by an extraordinary exertion of strength twisted
the figure out of the Professor’s hands and gave him such
a terrible blow with her, that he reeled backwards and
fell over the table all amongst the phials and retorts,
the bottles and glass cylinders, which covered it: all
these things were smashed into a thousand pieces. But
Coppola threw the figure across his shoulder, and, laughing shrilly and horribly, ran hastily down the stairs, the figure’s ugly feet hanging down and banging and rattling
like wood against the steps. Nathanael was stupefied;—
he had seen only too distinctly that in Olimpia’s pallid
waxed face there were no eyes, merely black holes in
their stead; she was an inanimate puppet. Spalanzani
was rolling on the floor; the pieces of glass had cut his
head and breast and arm; the blood was escaping from
him in streams. But he gathered his strength together by
an effort.
“After him— after him! What do you stand-staring
there for? Coppelius— Coppelius— he’s stolen my best
automaton— at which I’ve worked for twenty years—
staked my life upon it—the clock-work— speech—
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movement— mine— your eyes— stolen your eyes—
damn him— curse him— after him— fetch me back
Olimpia—there are the eyes.” And now Nathanael saw a
pair of bloody eyes lying on the floor staring at him;
Spalanzani seized them with his uninjured hand and
threw them at him, so that they hit his breast. Then
madness dug her burning talons into him and swept
down into his heart, rending his mind and thoughts to
shreds. “Aha! aha! aha! Fire-wheel— fire-wheel! Spin
round, fire-wheel! merrily, merrily! Aha! wooden doll!
spin round, pretty wooden doll!” and he threw himself
upon the Professor, clutching him fast by the throat. He
would certainly have strangled him had not several
people, attracted by the noise, rushed in and tom away
the madman; and so they saved the Professor, whose
wounds were immediately dressed. Siegmund, with all
his strength, was not able to subdue the frantic lunatic,
who continued to scream in a dreadful way, “Spin
round, wooden doll!” and to strike out right and left with
his doubled fists. At length the united strength of several
succeeded in overpowering him by throwing him on the
floor and binding him. His cries passed into a brutish
bellow that was awful to hear; and thus raging with the
harrowing violence of madness, he was taken away t
o the
madhouse.
Before continuing my narration of what happened
further to the unfortunate Nathanael, I will tell you,
indulgent reader, in case you take any interest in that
skilful mechanician and fabricator of automata, Spalanzani, that he recovered completely from his wounds.
He had, however, to leave the university, for Nathanael’s fate had created a great sensation; and the opinion was pretty generally expressed that it was an imposture
altogether unpardonable to have smuggled a wooden
puppet instead of a living person into intelligent tea-
circles,— for Olimpia had been present at several with
success. Lawyers called it a cunning piece of knav
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ery, and all the harder to punish since it was directed
against the public; and it had been so craftily contrived
that it had escaped unobserved by all except a few
pretematurally acute students, although everybody was
very wise now and remembered to have thought of
several facts which occurred to them as suspicious. But
these latter could not succeed in making out any sort of
a consistent tale. For was it, for instance, a thing likely
to occur to any one as suspicious that, according to the
declaration of an elegant beau of these tea-parties,
Olimpia had, contrary to all good manners, sneezed
oftener than she had yawned? The former must have
been, in the opinion of this elegant gentleman, the
winding up of the concealed clock-work; it had always
been accompanied by an observable creaking, and so on.
The Professor of Poetry and Eloquence took a pinch of
snuff, and, slapping the lid to and clearing his throat,
said solemnly, “My most honourable ladies and gentlemen, don’t you see then where the rub is? The whole thing is an allegory, a continuous metaphor. You understand me? Sapienti sat. ” But several most honourable gentlemen did not rest satisfied with this explanation;
the history of this automaton had sunk deeply into their
souls, and an absurd mistrust of human figures began to
prevail. Several lovers, in order to be fully convinced
that they were not paying court to a wooden puppet,
required that their mistress should sing and dance a little
out of time, should embroider or knit or play with her
little pug, &c., when being read to, but above all things
else that she should do something more than merely
listen— that she should frequently speak in such a way as
to really show that her words presupposed as a condition
some thinking and feeling. The bonds of love were in
many cases drawn closer in consequence, and so of
course became more engaging; in other instances they
gradually relaxed and fell away. “ I cannot really be made
responsible for it,” was the remark of more than one
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young gallant. At the tea-gatherings everybody, in order
to ward off suspicion, yawned to an incredible extent and
never sneezed. Spalanzani was obliged, as has been said,
to leave the place in order to escape a criminal charge of
having fraudulently imposed an automaton upon human
society. Coppola, too, had also disappeared.
When Nathanael awoke he felt as if he had been
oppressed by a terrible nightmare; he opened his eyes
and experienced an indescribable sensation of mental
comfort, whilst a soft and most beautiful sensation of
warmth pervaded his body. He lay on his own bed in his
own room at home; Clara was bending over him, and at a
little distance stood his mother and Lothair. “At last, at
last, O my darling Nathanael; now we have you again;
now you are cured of your grievous illness, now you are
mine again.” And Clara’s words came from the depths of
her heart; and she clasped him in her arms. The bright
scalding tears streamed from his eyes, he was so overcome with mingled feelings of sorrow and delight; and he gasped forth, “My Clara, my Clara!” Siegmund, who had
staunchly stood by his friend in his hour of need, now
came into the room. Nathanael gave him his hand—
“My faithful brother, you have not deserted me.” Every
trace of insanity had left him, and in the tender hands of
his mother and his beloved, and his friends, he quickly
recovered his strength again. Good fortune had in the
meantime visited the house; a niggardly old uncle, from
whom they had never expected to get anything, had died,
and left Nathanael’s mother not only a considerable
fortune, but also a small estate, pleasantly situated not
far from the town. There they resolved to go and live,
Nathanael and his mother, and Clara, to whom he was
now to be married, and Lothair. Nathanael was become
gentler and more childlike than he had ever been before,
and now began really to understand Clara’s supremely
pure and noble character. None of them ever reminded
him, even in the remotest degree, of the past. But when
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Siegmund took leave of him, he said, “By heaven,
brother! I was in a bad way, but an angel came just at the
right moment and led me back upon the path of light.
Yes, it was Clara.” Siegmund would not let him speak
further, fearing lest the painful recollections of the past
might arise too vividly and too intensely in his mind.
The time came for the four happy people to move to
their little property. At noon they were going through the
streets. After making several purchases they found that
the lofty tower of the townhouse was throwing its giant
shadows across the marketplace. “Come,” said Clara,
“let us go up to the top once more and have a look at
the distant hills.” No sooner said than done. Both of
them, Nathanael and Clara, went up the tower; their
mother, however, went on with the servant-girl to her
new home, and Lothair, not feeling inclined to climb up
all the many steps, waited below. There the two lovers
stood arm-in-arm on the topmost gallery of the tower,
and gazed out into the sweet-scented wooded landscape,
beyond which the blue hills rose up like a giant’s city.
“Oh! do look at that strange little grey bush, it looks as
if it were actually walking towards us,” said Clara.
Mechanically he put his hand into his side-pocket; he
found Coppola’s perspective and looked for the bush;
Clara stood in front of the glass. Then a convulsive thrill
shot through his pulse and veins; pale as a corpse, he
fixed his staring eyes upon her; but soon they began to
roll, and a fiery current flashed and sparkled in them,
and he yelled fearfully, like a hunted animal. Leaping up
high in the air and laughing horribly at the same time, he
began to shout, in a piercing voice, “Spin round, wooden
doll! Spin round, wooden doll!” With the strength of a
giant he laid hold upon Clara and tried to hurl her over,
but in an agony of despair she clutched fast hold of the
railing that went round the gallery. Lotha
ir heard the
madman raging and Clara’s scream of terror: a fearful
presentiment flashed across his mind. He ran up the
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171
steps; the door of the second flight was locked. Clara’s
scream for help rang out more loudly. Mad with rage and
fear, he threw himself against the door, which at length
gave way. Clara’s cries were growing fainter and fainter,
— “Help! save me! save me!” and her voice died away in
the air. “She is killed— murdered by that madman,”
shouted Lothair. The door to the gallery was also locked.
Despair gave him the strength of a giant; he burst the
door off its hinges. Good God! there was Clara in
the grasp of the madman Nathanael, hanging over the
gallery in the air, she only held to the iron bar with one
hand. Quick as lightning, Lothair seized his sister and
pulled her back, at the same time dealing the madman a
blow in the face with his doubled list, which sent him
reeling backwards, forcing him to let go his victim.
Lothair ran down with his insensible sister in his arms.
She was saved. But Nathanael ran round and round the
gallery, leaping up in the air and shouting, “Spin round,
fire-wheel! Spin round, fire-wheel!” The people heard the
wild shouting, and a crowd began to gather. In the midst
of them towered the advocate Coppelius, like a giant; he
had only just arrived in the town, and had gone straight
to the marketplace. Some were going up to overpower
and take charge of the madman, but Coppelius laughed
and said, “Ha! ha! wait a bit; he’ll come down of his own
accord”; and he stood gazing upwards along with the
rest. All at once Nathanael stopped as if spell-bound; he
bent down over the railing, and perceived Coppelius.
With a piercing scream, “Ha! foine oyes! foine oyes!” he
leapt over.
When Nathanael lay on the stone pavement with a
broken head, Coppelius had disappeared in the crush
and confusion.
Several years afterwards it was reported that, outside
the door of a pretty country house in a remote district,
Clara had been seen sitting hand in hand with a pleasant
gentleman, whilst two bright boys were playing at her
Visions of Fear - Foundations of Fear III (1992) Page 21
