Tales of E. T. A. Hoffmann

E. T. A. Hoffmann, Leonard J. Kent, Elizabeth C. Knight

• Publisher: University of Chicago Press
• Year: 2008
• ISBN:
  9780226219165
• Topic: Literatur
• Subtopic: Literatur Allgemein

Ranging from macabre fantasies to fairy tales and tales of crime, these stories from the author of The Nutcracker create a rich fictional world. Hoffman paints a complex vision of humanity, where people struggle to establish identities in a hostile, absurd world."The editors have made an excellent selection, and the result is a book of great distinction."—Denis Donoghue, New York Review of Books "The translators have proved fully equal to all the challenges of Hoffmann's romantic irony and his richly allusive prose, giving us an accurate and idiomatic rendering that also retains much of the original flavor."—Harry Zohn, Saturday Review

The Golden Pot

A Modern Fairy Tale*

FIRST VIGIL

The Misfortunes of the Student Anselmus, Assistant Dean Paulmann’s Medicinal Tobacco, and the Gold-green Snakes.

About three in the afternoon on Ascension Day, a young man in Dresden came running out through the Black Gate, directly into a basket of apples and cakes which a hideous old woman was offering for sale, so that everything fortunate enough to survive the tremendous crush was scattered to the winds, and urchins in the street joyously divided the booty that was thrown their way by this precipitous gentleman. At the shriek of “Murder!” unleashed by the hag, her cronies deserted their cake-and-brandy tables, encircled the young man, and cursed him with such vulgarity that, speechless from chagrin and shame, he merely offered his small and by-no-means especially full purse, which the hag clutched greedily and quickly pocketed. Now the tightly closed circle around him opened, but as the young man dashed out, the hag shouted after him: “Yes, run! Run, you spawn of the Devil! Run into the crystal which will soon be your downfall—run into the crystal!” There was something frightful about the shrill, creaking voice of the woman that caused strollers to freeze in amazement; and the laughter, which had at first been general, suddenly was silenced.

Despite the fact that he did not begin to understand these extraordinary phrases, the student Anselmus—and the young man was none other—nevertheless felt himself gripped by a certain involuntary dread, and he quickened his pace even more in an attempt to escape the curious looks the multitude cast upon him from all sides. As he worked his way through the crowd of well-dressed people, he heard them murmuring on all sides: “The poor young man! Oh, the damned old hag!” Peculiarly enough, the hag’s cryptic words had cast over this amusing adventure an aura of the tragic, so that the youth now provoked a certain sympathy, even though he had before remained unnoticed. Because he was a splendid figure of a man and had a face whose handsomeness and expressiveness were enhanced by the anger which glowed within him, the ladies forgave him not only his clumsiness but even the clothing he wore, though it was completely out of fashion. His pike-grey coat was cut as if the tailor had only known of contemporary styles from hearsay, and his worn and shiny black satin trousers gave him a certain schoolmasterish air which was at odds with the gait and bearing of the wearer.

When the student had almost reached the end of the alley which leads out to the Linke Baths,¹ he was almost out of breath and he began to walk instead of run; but he hardly dared to raise his eyes from the ground because he still saw apples and cakes dancing on all sides of him, and every sympathetic look bestowed upon him by this or that pretty girl seemed to be only a reflex reaction to the laughter which had mocked him at the Black Gate. It was in this frame of mind that he ultimately arrived at the entrance to the baths, which were usually thronged by one group of festive visitors after another. The music of a brass band resounded from within, and the din of merrymaking grew increasingly louder. Tears were about to flow from the poor student because he too had expected to take part in the festivities in the Linkean paradise. Ascension Day had invariably been a family celebration for him; indeed, he had even intended to go so far as to indulge in half a pot of coffee laced with rum and to have a bottle of strong beer. To assure proper dissipation, he had even put more money into his purse than was either altogether convenient or advisable. And now, because of his unfortunate step into the apple basket, all that he had carried with him had simply vanished. Of coffee, of beer, of music, of looking at beautifully-dressed girls—in short, of all of his anticipated pleasures—there was nothing more to be thought. He slipped slowly past the baths and finally turned down the road along the Elbe River, which happened to be deserted at the time. Beneath an elder tree that had sprouted through a wall, he found an inviting, grassy resting place. He sat down here and filled his pipe from the canister containing the medicinal tobacco that had recently been given to him by his friend, Dean Paulmann. Immediately before him the golden waves of the beautiful Elbe rolled and tossed; behind this, lordly Dresden rose, boldly and proudly stretching its luminous towers into the fragrant sky, which, in the distance, dipped down toward flowery fields and fresh spring woods, while a range of jagged mountain peaks revealed Bohemia in the dim distance. But the student Anselmus, unmindful of all of this, stared ahead gloomily and puffed smoky clouds into the air until, finally, he articulated his misery, saying, “In truth, I was born unlucky. Even as a schoolboy I could never win a prize; I always guessed wrong at odds and evens; my bread and butter always fell butter side down—I will not say anything about all these miseries. But isn’t it a frightening fate that assures that even now when I have become a student in spite of everything, I remain a clumsy fool. Do I ever wear a coat without immediately staining it with tallow or catching it on some poorly fastened nail or other and tearing an accursed hole in it? Do I even greet any councillor or any lady without hurling my hat away, or even slipping on the smooth pavement and stumbling disgracefully? Didn’t I, while in Halle, regularly have to pay a total of three or four groschen for broken pottery every shopping day, because the devil instilled in my head the need to walk straight ahead, like a lemming? Have I ever managed to get to class—or to any other place where an appointment had been arranged—on time? What good did it do me to start out a half hour early and stand at the door, for just as I was about to knock—swish!—some devil emptied a washbasin on me—or made me bump against some fellow coming out and got me involved in endless quarrels, and so I was late for everything? Ah! Where have you flown, you blissful dreams of future fortune, when I so proudly thought I might even rise to the height of Privy Secretary! Has not my evil star estranged me from my best patrons? I know that the Councillor to whom I have a letter finds cropped hair intolerable; with enormous effort the barber attaches a small plait to the back of my head, but at the first bow the unhappy knot surrenders and a little pug dog that has been blithely sniffing all around me frolics to the Privy Councillor with the plait in his mouth. Horrified, I dart after it, only to stumble against the table where he has been working while breakfasting, so that cups and plates and inkwell all tumble to the floor with a clatter, even as a flood of chocolate and ink flows over the important public document he has just been writing. ‘Sir, has the Devil gotten into you!’ the incensed Privy Councillor bellows and shoves me out of the room.

“What good does it do me that Dean Paulmann has made me hopeful about a secretaryship? Will the malicious fate that hounds me everywhere allow it to happen? Just today—think about it! It was my intention to celebrate a happy Ascension Day with appropriate cheer; for once I was prepared to stretch a point and would, like any other guest, have gone into the Linke Baths and proudly have called out, ‘Waiter, a bottle of beer, the best in the house please!’ I might have sat there till late in the evening, moreover, quite close to this or that splendid group of beautifully-dressed girls. I know it! Courage would have come; I would have been an entirely different man. I would certainly have pulled it off so well that when one or another of the young ladies asked, ‘What time is it?’ or ‘What is it they are playing?’ I would have gracefully sprung to my feet—without overturning my glass or stumbling over the bench—and, bowing, moving forward one and a half steps, I would have responded, ‘By your leave, Mademoiselle, it is the Donauweibchen overture,’² or ‘It is just about to strike six.’ Could anyone in the world have thought badly of me for this? I say, no!—for the girls would have glanced in my direction and smiled that mischievous smile they always show when I muster the courage to let them know that I too am acquainted with the light tone of society and with the manner in which ladies should be amused. But Satan himself directed me right into the damned apple basket, and now I sit here in solitude, with only my tobacco—”

Suddenly the soliloquy of the student was interrupted by a singular rustling and crackling which began near him in the grass, but which soon glided up into the leaves and branches of the elder tree spreading over his head. First it seemed as if an evening breeze were shaking the leaves, then as if little birds were twittering on the branches, their small wings mischievously fluttering to and fro. Then a whispering and a lisping began, and it seemed as if the sound of little crystal bells was coming from the blossoms. Anselmus listened and listened. Then—he himself knew not how—the whispering and the lisping and the tinkling turned into half-heard words:

“Betwixt, between, betwixt the branches, between the blossoms, shooting, twisting, twirling we come! Sister, sister, swing in the shimmer—quickly, quickly, in and out. Rays of sunset, whispering wind of evening, sounds of dew, singing blossoms—we sing with the branches and the blossoms; stars soon to sparkle—we must descend; betwixt, between, twisting, turning, twirling, sisters we!”

And thus did the confusing, hypnotic sounds continue. Anselmus thought, “It is only the evening wind which tonight whispers distinct words.” But at that instant there was a sound over his head—like a triad of pure crystal bells. He glanced up and saw three little snakes, glistening in green and gold, which had twisted around the branches and stretched forth their heads toward the evening sun. Again there came the whispering and the twittering in the same words as before, and the little snakes went sliding and slithering up and down and through the leaves and the branches; and because their movements were so quick, it was as though the elder tree was scattering a thousand sparkling emeralds through the dark leaves.

“It is the rays of the evening sun playing in the elder tree,” Anselmus thought; but the bells once more sounded, and Anselmus saw that one snake was stretching its little head out toward him. A shock like electricity raced through his every limb; he quivered all over, stared upwards, saw a pair of marvelous blue eyes looking down at him with unspeakable desire, so that an unknown feeling of both supreme bliss and deepest sorrow seemed to tear his heart apart. And as he continued to stare, imbued with intense longing, into those charming eyes, the crystal bells sounded harmoniously and the playing, sparkling emeralds fell, encircling him in a thousand glittering flames like golden threads. There was movement in the elder tree, and the tree spoke: “You were lying in my shadow; my perfume surrounded you, but you did not understand me. Fragrance is my speech when it is kindled by love.”

The evening wind drifted by, saying, “I played round your temples, but you did not understand me. The breeze is my speech when it is kindled by love.”

The sunbeams broke through the clouds, their rays burning with words, as if to say, “I drenched you with glowing gold, but you did not understand me. That glow is my speech when it is kindled by love.”

More and more deeply absorbed in gazing into those glorious eyes, his longing grew stronger, his desire more passionate, and everything rose and moved around him as if all were awakening to joyous life. Flowers and blossoms released their odors about him—the fragrance was like the heavenly singing of a thousand flutelike voices; and what they sang was, like an echo, carried on the evening clouds of gold which sailed away with them into remote lands. But as the last ray of sun suddenly sank behind the hills and the twilight’s veil covered the scene, a voice which was hoarse and deep seemed to reach Anselmus from a great distance:

“Hey there! What kind of gossiping and whispering is going on up there? Hey there! Who is seeking my ray behind the hills! Sufficiently sunned, sufficiently sung. Hey there! Through bush and grass, through grass and mist. Hey there! Come dow-w-wn, dow-w-wn!”

Thus the voice faded away, as if in the murmur of distant thunder, but the crystal bells shattered in sharp discord. All became mute; and Anselmus saw how the three snakes, shimmering and sparkling, slipped through the grass towards the river. Gliding, sliding, they rushed into the Elbe; and a green flame crackled over the waves where they had vanished, a green flame which, glowing obliquely ahead, vaporized in the direction of the city.

SECOND VIGIL

How the Student Anselmus was Taken for a Drunk and a Madman.

The Crossing of the Elbe. Kapellmeister Graun’s Bravura.

Conradi’s Medicinal Cordial, and the Bronze Apple Woman.

“The gentleman is mad!” said a respectable citizen’s wife, who had paused as she was returning from a walk with her family, and now, with her arms crossed, was observing the mad antics of Anselmus. He had clasped the trunk of the elder tree and was continuously calling up to the branches and leaves, “Oh, gleam and glow one more time, you dear golden snakes. Let me once more hear your little bell voices! Oh, you lovely blue eyes, look once more upon me, once more or I must die in agony and longing!” And, along with this, the most pitiful sighing and sobbing escaped from the deepest recesses of Anselmus’s soul while, eager and impatient, he shook the elder tree back and forth. But the tree, rather than replying, merely rustled its leaves somberly and inscrutably and seemed as if it were mocking Anselmus and his sorrows.

“The gentleman is mad!” the citizen’s wife repeated. And Anselmus felt as if he had been shaken from a deep dream, or as if someone had poured icy water on him to rouse him suddenly from sleep. Only then did he clearly perceive where he was, and only then did he remember what a strange apparition had assaulted his senses so that he had been forced to begin talking loudly to himself. He gazed at the woman in amazement. At last, snatching up his hat, which had fallen off him to the ground, he was about to dash off. Meanwhile, the citizen himself had approached; after placing on the grass the child he had been carrying in his arms, he rested on his staff, listening and staring at the student in astonishment. Now he picked up the pipe and the tobacco which Anselmus had dropped, and extending them to the student, he said, “My worthy sir, do not behave so abominably or take to alarming people in the dark when in fact there is really nothing the matter with you except that you have had a drop too much. Go home and sleep it off like a good lad.”

Anselmus was deeply ashamed, and only a very pitiful “Ah!” escaped from him.

“There, there,” the citizen continued, “don’t take it so to heart. Such a thing can happen to the best of us. On good old Ascension Day it is easy for a man to forget himself in his happiness and to guzzle one drink too many. It can happen even to a clergyman. I take it, my worthy sir, that you are a candidatus. But, with your permission, sir, I will fill my pipe with your tobacco. I used all of mine a short while ago.”

The citizen uttered this last sentence as Anselmus was about to put his pipe and tobacco away; and now the good citizen cleaned his pipe slowly and deliberately, and just as slowly began to fill it. Several girls from the neighborhood had approached, and they were talking confidentially with the citizen’s wife and each other, giggling as they glanced at Anselmus. For the student it was like standing on prickly thorns and glowing hot needles. Just as soon as his pipe and tobacco were returned to him, he rushed off as quickly as he could.

All of the incredible things that he had seen were completely wiped from his memory; he could only remember having babbled all kinds of foolishness beneath the elder tree, and this he found especially horrifying because he had long had an aversion to all soliloquists. His Dean had once said that it is the Devil himself who chatters out of these people, and Anselmus had sincerely believed him. But to be regarded as a candidatus theologiae and as being drunk on Ascension Day!—the thought was intolerable. He was about to turn into Poplar Lane near Kosel Garden when a voice behind him called out: “Anselmus! Anselmus! In heaven’s name, where are you running so quickly?” The student stopped as if rooted to the spot, because he was certain that some new misfortune was now about to descend upon him. The voice was heard again: “Anselmus, come back, we are waiting for you by the water!” And now Anselmus realized that the voice he heard belonged to his friend, Dean Paulmann. He returned to the Elbe and found the Dean and both of his daughters and Registrar Heerbrand about to embark in a boat. Paulmann extended an invitation to Anselmus to join them in crossing the Elbe and to spend the evening at his house in the suburb of Pirna. Anselmus very happily accepted this invitation, thinking that it was a good way to escape from the evil destiny which had all day pursued him.

By chance, a display of fireworks was taking place on the far bank, in Anton Garden, just as they were crossing the river. Sputtering and hissing, the rockets soared on high, scattering blazing stars through the air, a thousand crackling sparks and flashes bursting all about. Anselmus was sitting near the helmsman, lost in thought; but when he saw the reflection of the darting and crackling sparks and flames in the water, it seemed to him as if the little golden snakes were playing in the waves. All of the marvels which he had seen under the elder tree now once more came alive in his heart and his thoughts, and he was again seized by that ineffable desire, that glowing passion which had shaken him before.

“Ah, my little golden snakes, is it you again? Just sing, sing! Let those lovely, dear dark blue eyes once more come to me through your song. Ah, ah! Are you then beneath the waves!”

Thus cried Anselmus, while at the same instant moving violently, as if he were about to plunge into the river from the boat.

“Is the gentleman mad?” the helmsman shouted and grabbed him by his coattails. The girls, who were close to him, screamed in fear and escaped to the other side of the boat. The Registrar said something in Dean Paulmann’s ear, to which the latter lengthily responded, but of which Anselmus could only understand the words: “Attacks like this—Haven’t you noticed them?” Immediately following this, the Dean rose and then sat down beside Anselmus, with a certain earnestness, seriousness, and official air, taking his hand and saying to him “How are you feeling, Anselmus?” The student was almost fainting because deep within himself there had risen an insane conflict which he desired in vain to reconcile. He clearly saw now that what he had assumed to be the gleam of golden snakes was really nothing more than the reflection of the fireworks being fired in Anton Garden. But a feeling he had never before known, one h...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Copyright
• Title Page
• Frontspiece
• Dedication
• Contents
• List of Illustrations
• Introduction
• Ritter Gluck
• The Golden Pot
• The Sandman
• Councillor Krespel
• The Mines of Falun
• Mademoiselle de Scudéri
• The Doubles
• Notes