Peter Schlemihl
Page 1
Peter Schlemihl
Adelbert von Chamisso
Translated by Leopold von Loewenstein-Wertheim
ALMA CLASSICS
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Peter Schlemihl first published in German in 1813
First published by John Calder (Publishers) Limited in 1957
Translation © John Calder (Publishers) Limited, 1957
This edition first published by Alma Classics Limited (previously Oneworld Classics Limited) in 2008
This new edition first published by Alma Classics Limited in 2015
Cover image © 123RF / ella
Printed in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY
ISBN: 978-1-84749-450-4
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be resold, lent, hired out or otherwise circulated without the express prior consent of the publisher.
Contents
Introduction
Principal Dates of Chamisso’s Life
Peter Schlemihl
Notes
Introduction
LOUIS CHARLES ADELAIDE de chamisso de boncourt – as a German he called himself Adelbert von Chamisso – was born at the Château of Boncourt in the Champagne on 27th January 1781. In 1790 his family was forced to flee from the terrors of the French Revolution, in which the ancestral castle was destroyed. They went as exiles first to Liege and subsequently to Aachen, The Hague, Düsseldorf and Southern Germany, finally settling in Berlin in 1796. Henceforth Berlin was to remain Chamisso’s home and Germany his spiritual fatherland. He studied at the French Lycée (Französische Gymnasium) in Berlin and became a page to the Queen at the court of Frederick William II. In 1798 he enlisted as an ensign in the Prussian army and in 1801 became a lieutenant.
He hated military life and suffered from poverty and loneliness. After a short visit to France in 1803, he returned to Berlin where, together with friends, among them his compatriot De la Foye, the poet Fouqué and his future biographer J.E. Hitzig, he formed a literary circle which published a magazine (1804–1806) devoted to poetry, to which Chamisso contributed sonnets and other poems. It was his aim to become a German poet but at the same time he followed his scientific bent and spent his leisure hours earnestly pursuing his studies.
Meanwhile war had broken out again with France, which forced Chamisso to take up arms against his own country, though he spent most of the campaign in Hameln, taking part in the humiliating surrender of that fortress to the French. During those years he was busy on a number of poetic works, among them Adelbert’s Fable, an allegory of his own life, as well as a fairytale, Fortunatus, both of which remained unfinished. After the surrender of Hameln, he was allowed to go to France, where he lived unmolested until the peace treaty of Tilsit in 1807, when he returned to Prussia. In 1809 he was honourably discharged from the Prussian army with the rank of captain. A small private income, which he supplemented by teaching, enabled him to resume his studies, though with no clear idea as to his ultimate aims. In 1810, very much against his own inclination, he went to France where his family had arranged a teaching post for him at the Lycée in Napoleonville.
He remained in France for two and a half years, trying in vain to take root there. This is the time in which Chamisso found himself, as he put it, without a shadow – that is to say, without established or recognized background, a born Frenchman, a former Prussian officer, an exile in his own homeland – a sorry figure, a “Schlemihl”. In Paris, he formed a romantic attachment with Madame de Staël, in whose literary circle he met Alexander von Humboldt and August Wilhelm Schlegel, whose lectures on literature he translated into French. He finally reached the decision that his destiny lay in Germany and in a scientific career. He returned to Berlin in 1812 and took up the study of anatomy and zoology.
The year 1813, which brought the culmination of the struggle between Germany and France, was a time of great inner struggle for Chamisso. Though a German patriot, he was a Frenchman and felt he could not take up arms once more against France. From this conflict of loyalties the book Peter Schlemihl sprang, written as a fairytale for the children of his friend, Hitzig. The Jewish word “Schlemihl” means an unlucky, ridiculous person. This is how Chamisso saw himself at the time. He has described how the idea first came to him: “On a journey I had lost my hat, my portmanteau, gloves, handkerchief – in short, my entire personal effects. Fouqué asked me if I had not also lost my shadow and we both tried to imagine the misfortune of such a loss.” And so the idea of the lost shadow came to stand in Chamisso’s mind as a symbol for a man without recognized background and connections. “I am nowhere at home,” he once wrote to Madame de Staël, “I am a Frenchman in Germany and a German in France. A Catholic among Protestants, a Protestant among Catholics, a Jacobin among aristocrats, an aristocrat among democrats.” He was convinced that he was condemned to remain a man without a home, despised and even persecuted. The world of science and of learning was the only one which had no national barriers and in which he could roam freely.
In 1815 he joined the Russian brig Rurik, commanded by Otto von Kotzebue, on a journey of scientific exploration for the Russian Government. The ship put to sea at Copenhagen in July 1815 and in the three years that followed circumnavigated the globe, returning to Swinemünde in the autumn of 1818. Chamisso has given a complete account of this journey, in the course of which he collected a considerable amount of knowledge of the natural sciences, ethnography and languages and brought back a number of valuable specimens of plant and animal life.
Returned to Germany, he devoted himself to science and poetry. He became custodian of the Botanical Gardens in Berlin. He was given the honorary degree of Doctor of Berlin University and finally was made a member of the Berlin Academy of Science. In 1819 he married Antonia Piaste, a young girl of nineteen, whom he had known when she was still a child. By now he had gained full recognition in the literary and scientific world and could devote his energies to the pursuit of his two main interests. Financially he was helped by a grant from the French Government in compensation for the losses he had sustained during the Revolution.
He had the satisfaction of seeing his work acclaimed and himself regarded as a leading German poet. In 1836 his Collected Works appeared in four volumes.
The last years of his life were clouded by illness. His wife died in May 1837 and he only survived her by fifteen months. He died on August 21st, 1838, in Berlin.
L.L.W.
Principal Dates of Chamisso’s Life
1781 27th January. Born at Boncourt, France.
1790 Family flees to Germany.
1796 Berlin (enters French Lycée and becomes
a page).
1798 Enlists in Prussian Army.
1801 Promoted lieutenant.
1803 Visits France.
1804–1806 Germany. First poems and publication
of literary magazine.
1805–1806 War service. Writes Fortunatus, Adel-
bert’s Fable (published 1807) and other miscellaneous works.
1806–1807 In France.
1807 Returns to Berlin.
1809 Discharged from army.
1810–1812 Lives in France.
1812 Returns to Germany.
1813 Peter Schlemihl.
1815–1818 Journey round t
he world.
1819 Marriage to Antonia Piaste. Honorary
Doctor of Berlin University.
1821 Publication of Journey round the World
(revised edition 1836).
1826–1837 Main period of poetic and scientific
output.
1831 First Collected Edition.
1835 Second enlarged and revised edition
of Works. Became member of Berlin Academy of Science.
1836 Final edition of Works in four volumes.
1838 21st August. Death in Berlin.
Peter Schlemihl
1
A SAFE VOYAGE, but I cannot pretend a pleasant one and now at last we were in port. As soon as we had been put ashore, I picked up my modest luggage, pushing my way through the milling crowd, made for the humblest house I could see with the sign of an inn outside. I asked for a room. The boots gave me one look and sent me to the garret. I demanded some clean water and asked where Mr Thomas John lived. Outside the town, I was told, beyond the North Gate; the first country house on the right – a large new building of red and white marble, with many pillars.
It was still early in the day; I opened my bundle, took out my newly-turned black coat, washed and dressed myself in my best clothes. Then, with my letter of introduction in my pocket, I set out on my way to the man who, I hoped, would further my modest ambitions.
Going up the long North Street, I reached the gate whence I could see the pillars of the squire’s country seat gleaming through the trees. Here we are at last, I said to myself. I wiped the dust from my boots with my handkerchief, and straightened my cravat. In God’s name, I muttered and resolutely pulled the handle of the bell. The door flew open. In the hall I was subjected to close questioning before the porter would consent to announce me. Thereupon he was good enough to summon me into the park, where Mr John was strolling with a few of his friends. I recognized him at once by his portly, self-complacent air. He received me well enough – as a rich man receives a poor devil – condescending even to look at me (without, however, turning away from his guests) and took the letter of introduction which I held out to him.
“Well, well,” he said, “fancy a letter from my brother! I have not heard from him for a long time. I trust he is in good health? Over there,” he continued, addressing himself to the assembled company without waiting for my reply and pointing with the letter to a hillock, “over there I am putting up a new building.” He then broke the seal of the letter, without interrupting the conversation, which seemed to turn on the subject of wealth. “In my considered opinion,” he exclaimed, “a man who is worth less than a million is, if you will pardon the expression, a ragamuffin.”
“How very true!” I hastened to concur with deep feeling. This must have pleased him for he smiled.
“Stay here, my young friend; I may have time later to tell you what I think of it,” he said, indicating the letter, which he put into his pocket. He then turned again towards the company and offered his arm to a young lady; most of the other gentlemen followed his example, pairing off with the ladies of their choice, and the whole party made towards the rose-covered hill.
I lingered behind, not wishing to impose my presence – an unnecessary precaution, for no one took the slightest notice of me. The company seemed in high spirits. There was much joking and flirting and the ponderous discussion of trifles, while serious matters were dismissed with levity. In the main, the shafts of their witticisms were directed at absent friends and their affairs. I was too much of a stranger to make anything of their conversation, too engrossed in my own business to take an interest in their badinage.
We had reached the rose grove. The lovely Fanny, who seemed to be the girl of the moment, insisted on breaking off a flowering branch; she pricked herself with a thorn and blood, so red that it might have come from the roses themselves, flowed over her delicate hand. The incident caused a lively commotion and someone called for a dressing. A quiet elderly man, tall and rather thin, whom I had not previously noticed, instantly put his hand into the close-fitting coat-tail pocket of his old-fashioned grey taffeta coat and produced a small wallet, from which he took some sticking-plaster which he handed to the lady with a courteous bow. She received it without so much as a nod of thanks. The small scratch was duly bound up and the company proceeded to the brow of the hill, from which they wished to enjoy the magnificent view over the green labyrinth of the park and the infinite expanse of the sea beyond.
It was indeed a grand and noble sight. A light speck appeared on the horizon between the dark blue waters and the azure of the sky.
“Bring a telescope,” called Mr John, and before any of the servants answering the call had bestirred themselves, the man in grey had already put his hand into his coat pocket and produced a beautiful Dolland which, with a modest bow, he handed to the Squire. The latter immediately raised it to his eye and informed the company that what he saw was the ship which had sailed yesterday and was held by contrary winds outside the port.
The telescope passed from hand to hand, but was not returned to the owner. I looked at him in astonishment, unable to understand how this large instrument could have come out of so small a pocket. No one else showed any surprise and no one appeared to pay any more attention to the man in grey than to myself.
Refreshments were served, the choicest fruits of many lands piled up on precious plates. Mr John did the honours with easy grace and for the second time addressed me.
“Eat your fill, young man. I’m sure you’ve had very little to eat during your voyage.” I bowed to him, but he was already talking to someone else.
It soon appeared that it was the wish of the company to rest awhile on the slope of the hill facing the broad sweep of the landscape below: unfortunately, the grass was too damp. It would be divine, someone suggested, if Turkish rugs could be spread on the ground. Hardly had the wish been expressed than the man in grey put his hand in his pocket and with a modest, even humble, gesture, produced a gorgeous carpet, woven with gold. The servants took it from him as though this were nothing unusual and spread it on the selected spot and, without further ado, the company settled down on it. I looked with consternation at the man, his pocket and then at the carpet, which measured twenty paces in length and ten in width. I rubbed my eyes, not knowing what to think, especially as no one else appeared to see anything remarkable in what had just occurred.
I longed to know more about the man, to find out who he was but I did not know whom to ask, for I was almost more afraid of the haughty servants than of their haughty masters. At last I mustered my courage and went up to a young man who, I concluded, was socially not quite equal to the others, for he was mostly left standing by himself. I asked him in a low voice who the obliging gentleman in grey might be.
“You mean the one who looks like a bit of thread blown away from a tailor’s needle?”
“Yes, the one standing over there alone.”
“I don’t know him,” he replied and, obviously not too keen to enter into discussion with me, he turned away and started a trivial conversation with someone.
The sun was now blazing down, which seemed to be distressing the ladies. The delightful Fanny nonchalantly turned to the man in grey whom, as far as I know, no one had hitherto addressed, and frivolously asked him if by any chance he could oblige with a marquee. He acknowledged the request by a deep bow, as if to express that this was indeed an undeserved honour, and at once put his hand into his pocket, extracting canvas pegs, ropes and framework; in short, everything with which to erect a most sumptuous tent. The young bloods helped him to put it up; it covered the whole extent of the carpet, and again, no one seemed to consider the incident as at all extraordinary. To me all this was becoming increasingly uncanny, indeed quite horrifying, and my dismay was complete when, on the next wish casually expressed by somebody, the man in grey produced from his pocket three horses – I repeat, three magnificent black steeds, saddled and bridled. Just imagine, three saddled horses from the same
pocket from which he had already produced a wallet, a telescope, a large woven carpet and a pleasure tent, complete in every respect, to fit over the carpet! If I did not solemnly swear that I have seen it all with my own eyes, I am sure you could not believe it. Despite the man’s obvious embarrassment and humility, and the fact that no one seemed to pay much attention to him, his ghostly figure, at which I stared with fascination, had something so appallingly sinister that I could bear it no longer.
I decided to steal away from the company, which seemed to be easy enough considering the insignificant part I had been playing. I wanted to return to the city and try my luck once more the following day with Mr John, and perhaps if I could muster up sufficient courage, ask him about the man in grey. Oh, if only I had made my escape then and there! I had managed to leave the rose grove unobserved and to reach an open lawn at the bottom of the hill when, apprehensive at the thought that I might be observed straying off the gravel path, I stopped to look round. I was startled to see the man in grey walking towards me. He raised his hat and bowed to me more deeply than anyone had ever done. There was no doubt that he wished to speak to me, and without being extremely rude it was impossible to avoid him. I, too, took off my hat and bowed to him, and there I stood rooted to the soil in the blazing sun. I trembled with fear as I looked at him; I felt like a bird hypnotized by a snake. He himself seemed to be embarrassed; he did not raise his eyes, repeatedly bowed to me and then, coming quite close, spoke in a low and uncertain voice like someone asking for alms.
“Will the gentleman pardon my importunity if I presume to speak to him without having been formally introduced. I have a request to make if you will kindly—”
“For Heaven’s sake, dear sir,” I broke in with apprehension, “what can I do for a man who…” We both stopped short and both seemed to blush.
After a moment’s silence he resumed:
“In the short time in which I had the good fortune to find myself in your presence I have, my dear sir, repeatedly – if you will permit me to say so – observed with truly inexpressible admiration the magnificent shadow which you, standing in the sun, with a certain noble contempt and without being aware of it, cast from you – this wonderful shadow there at your feet. Forgive this truly daring imposition but would you not perhaps consider disposing of your shadow?”