Chapter VII: Preface: By the Editor

THE origin of “Peter Schlemihl” is to be ascribed in a great degree to circumstances that occurred in the life of the writer. During the eventful year of 1813, when the movement broke out which ultimately freed Germany from the yoke of her oppressor, and precipitated his downfall, Chamisso was in Berlin. Everyone who could wield a sword hastened then to employ it on behalf of Germany and of the good cause. Chamisso had not only a powerful arm, but a heart also of truly German mould; and yet he was placed in a situation so peculiar as to isolate him among millions. As he was of French parentage, the question was, not merely whether he should fight on behalf of Germany, but, also, whether he should fight against the people with whom he was connected by the ties of blood and family relationship. Hence arose a struggle in his breast. “I, and I alone, am forbidden at this juncture to wield a sword!” Such was frequently his exclamation; and instead of meeting with sympathy on account of his peculiar situation, he was frequently doomed to hear, in the capital of Prussia, the head-quarters of the confederation against France and Napoleon, expressions of hatred and scorn directed against his countrymen. He was himself too equitable to mistake the cause of such expressions, which were perfectly natural under the circumstances, but they nevertheless deeply afflicted him when they reached his ears. In this state of things his friends resolved to remove him from such a scene of excitement, and to place him amid the quiet scenery of the country. An asylum was offered him in the family of Count Itzenplitsch, where he was sufficiently near to become acquainted with the gradual development of the all-important crisis, and yet free from any unpleasant personal contact with it. Here, at the family-seat of Cunersdorf, scarcely a day’s journey from Berlin, wholly devoted to botany and other favourite pursuits, Chamisso conceived the idea of “Peter Schlemihl,” and with rapid pen finished off the story. Chamisso’s letters of this date (in the first volume of his Life, by the writer of this notice) afford evidence of this.

The first edition of the incomparable story appeared in 1814, with a dedication dated May 27, 1813; and it was just beginning to be known in the world at the commencement of 1815, when the author left Germany on a voyage round the world, of which the story contains a remarkable anticipation. “Peter Schlemihl” was his parting salutation to his second fatherland, and the first foundation-stone of his future fame.

Chamisso was often pestered with questions respecting what he really meant by the story of Schlemihl. These questions amused as well as annoyed him. The truth is, that his intention in writing it was perhaps scarcely of so precise a nature as to admit of his giving a formal account of it. The story sprang into being of itself, like every work of genius, prompted by a self-creating power. In a letter to the writer of this notice, after he had just commenced the story, he says, “A book was the last thing you would have expected from me! Place it before your wife this evening, if you have time; should she be desirous to know Schlemihl’s further adventures, and particularly who the man in the grey cloak is—send me back the MS. immediately, that I may continue the story; but if you do not return it, I shall know the meaning of the signal perfectly.” Is it possible for any writer to submit himself to the scrutiny of the public more good-naturedly?

In the preface to the new French translation (which appeared in 1838) of this story, Chamisso amuses himself in his own peculiar way, over the prying curiosity of those who want to know what his real object was in writing this tale:—“The present story,” he says, “has fallen into the hands of thoughtful people, who, being accustomed to read only for instruction’s sake, have been at a loss to know what the shadow signifies. On this point several have formed curious hypotheses; others, who do me the honour to believe that I am more learned than I really am, have addressed themselves to me for the solution of their doubts. The questions with which they have besieged me have made me blush on account of my ignorance. I have therefore been induced to devote myself to the investigation of a matter not hitherto the subject of my studies; and I now beg to submit to the world the result of my learned researches.

“‘_Concerning Shadows_.—A dark body can only be partially illuminated by a bright one. The dark space which lies in the direction of the unilluminated part is what we call a _shadow_. Properly speaking, shadow signifies a bodily space, the form of which depends upon the form of the illuminating body, and upon their opposite position with regard to each other. The shadow thrown on a surface, situated before the shadow-projecting body, is, therefore, nothing else than the intersection of this surface by the bodily space (in French, _le solide_, on which word _solid_ the whole force of the humour turns), which we before designated by the word shadow.’

“The question in this wonderful history of Peter Schlemihl relates entirely to the last-mentioned quality, _solidity_. The science of finance instructs us sufficiently as to the value of money: the value of a shadow is less generally acknowledged. My thoughtless friend was covetous of money, of which he knew the value, and forgot to think on solid substance. It was his wish that the lesson which he had paid for so dearly should be turned to our profit; and his bitter experience calls to us with a loud voice, Think on the solid—the substantial!” So far Chamisso.

“Peter Schlemihl” has been translated into almost all the languages of Europe. Of the Dutch, Spanish, and Russian translations we do not possess any copies. The French and Italian are as follows:—

_Pierre Schlemihl_. _Paris_, _chez Ladvocat_, 1822.—This was revised
by Chamisso in manuscript, who added a preface to it; but the
translation was afterwards capriciously altered by the same publisher.

_Un Roman du Poète Allemand contemporain_, _Adelbert de Chamisso_;
_traduit par N. Martin_. _Histoire merveilleuse de Pierre Schlemihl_.
_Dunquerque_, 1837.—At the end the translator has added a letter to a
friend, with the Greek motto, “Life is the dream of a shadow.” The
translator, while laughing in this letter at the Germans, who, he says,
ought to write three folio volumes of explanatory notes on the little
volume, falls into the error of being very diffuse himself in the
attempt to elucidate his author. His long letter concludes not
inappropriately with these words: “I have just observed, although
certainly rather late, that I have written a letter full of shadows,
and instead of lighting a torch to illuminate the darkness, have, I
fear, only deepened the gloom. Should this be the case, the reader at
any rate will not withhold from me the praise of having preserved the
colours of the original.”

_Merveilleuse Histoire de Pierre Schlemihl_. _Enrichie d’une savente
préface_, _où les curieux pourront apprendre ce que c’est que l’ombre_.
_Paris et Nurnberg_, 1838. _With illustrations_.—This translation was
revised by Chamisso.

_L’Uomo senz’ Ombra_. _Dono di simpatia al gentil sesso_. _Milano_,
1838. Published as an Annual, with a Calendar, and Engravings.—The
editor is pleased not only to withhold the author’s name, but manages
so to word his own preface as to lead his readers to conclude that he
himself is the author of the book.

“Schlemihl” was also brought on the stage, but without giving the honours of authorship to the true source. This took place at Vienna, in February, 1819. The announcement ran thus:—“Pulzlivizli, or the Man without a Shadow: a comic, enchanted drama, in three acts, adapted from De la Motte Fouqué, by Ferdinand Rosenau.” Among the characters were the grey man, and a certain Albert, probably intended for Schlemihl. Of the contents of the piece we know nothing.

In England two editions have appeared [previous to the present,—_Tr._]; one of which was reprinted at Boston in 1825. Of the popularity of “Peter Schlemihl” in Great Britain we have a striking proof, from a caricature that appeared shortly after the coronation of William IV. On the celebration of this solemnity, a brother of the King—the Duke of Cumberland—arrived from the Continent to be present on the occasion; and as he was well known to be an ardent Tory, his reception on the part of the people was not of the most flattering description. As a consequence of this, and owing, perhaps, to an expression that fell from the Duke, that “popularity is only a shadow,” the caricature made its appearance. In the foreground of the print is seen a striking likeness of the royal Duke in the costume of the Order of the Garter. On his right stands the King, with the crown on his head, and reflecting a goodly shadow on the wall. Between the King and his brother are some courtiers, who exclaim, in a tone of commiseration, “Lost, or stolen, a gentleman’s shadow.” At the bottom of the print is the following inscription:—

“PETER SCHLEMIHL AT THE CORONATION.

Granted that popularity is nothing but a shadow, it is still far from
pleasant to be without that shadow.”

BRIEF SKETCH OF CHAMISSO’S LIFE.

Louis Adelbert de Chamisso was born January 27, 1781, at Beaucourt, in Champagne. At the Revolution, he left France with his parents, and came to Berlin, where, in 1796, he was appointed page to the King, and soon after had a commission given him in the army. He applied himself with much ardour to acquire the German language, and felt great interest in the study of its literature, particularly its poetry and philosophy, and was most attracted by those writers whose character presented the greatest contrast to that of his own countrymen. By intercourse with the learned, and by the friendships which he formed, he soon became thoroughly German, which he proved by his poems, which were distinguished above the crowd of such compositions by the originality of their style, and peculiar vigour. From 1804 to 1806 he published the “Almanack of the Muses,” in conjunction with Varnhagen von Ense. At the peace of Tilsit he left the army, and visited France, when his family obtained back part of their possessions. At this time he held, for a short period, a situation as Professor at the school of Napoleonville, but soon returned to Germany, devoting himself wholly to a literary life, and in particular to the study of natural history. During his visit to France, he spent some time with Madame de Staël, whom he also visited in Switzerland. In 1811 he returned to Berlin; and in 1813 he wrote his “Peter Schlemihl,” which marked him out as a man of distinguished and original genius. It was published in 1814 by his friend Fouqué. When Count Runnjanzow resolved on undertaking a voyage round the world, he invited Chamisso to accompany him as naturalist to the expedition—an invitation which he gladly embraced. The ships left Cronstadt in 1815, and returned in 1818; and although the discovery of a North-West passage—the great object of the expedition—was not attained, yet extensive acquisitions were made in every department of scientific research. Chamisso’s share in the voyage is recorded in the third volume of the account of it published at Weimar in 1821, and does honour to his spirit of careful observation and his accuracy. He now again fixed his residence at Berlin, from whose university he received the degree of doctor in philosophy. An appointment at the Botanic Garden allowed him full liberty to follow up his favourite pursuit of natural history, and bound him by still stronger ties to his second fatherland. He now wrote an account of the principal plants of the North of Germany, with views respecting the vegetable kingdom and the science of botany: this work appeared at Berlin in 1827. Poetry, however, had still some share of his attention; and he continued, during the latter years of his life, to maintain his claims to an honourable place among the poets of Germany. Several of his ballads and romances rank with the most distinguished of modern times in this branch of composition. Surrounded by a circle of attached and admiring friends, Chamisso continued thus entirely engaged till his death, in 1839, leaving behind him a name and works which posterity “will not willingly let perish.”

FROM THE BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ TO JULIUS EDWARD HITZIG.

[_From the first edition_.]

We should take care, my dear Edward, not to expose the history of poor Schlemihl to eyes unfit to look upon it. That would be a bad experiment. Of such eyes there are plenty; and who is able to predict what may befal a _manuscript_, which is almost more difficult to guard than spoken language? Like a person seized with vertigo, therefore, who, in the paroxysm of his feelings, leaps into the abyss, I commit the story to the press.

And yet there are better and more serious reasons for the step I have taken. If I am not wholly deceived, there are in our dear Germany many hearts both capable and worthy of comprehending poor Schlemihl, although a smile will arise on the countenance of many among our honest countrymen at the bitter sport which was death to him and to the innocent being whom he drew along with him. And you, Edward, when you have seen the estimable work, and reflected on the number of unknown and sympathising bosoms who, with ourselves, will learn to love it,—you will, then, perhaps, feel that some drops of consolation have been instilled into those wounds inflicted on you, and on all who love you, by death.

To conclude: I have become convinced, by repeated experience, that a guardian angel watches over books, places them in proper hands, and if not always, yet often, prevents them from falling into improper. In any case, he exercises an invisible guardianship over every work of true genius and genuine feeling, and with unfailing tact and skill opens or shuts its pages as he sees fit.

To this guardian angel I commit our “Schlemihl.” And so, adieu!

FOUQUÉ.

_Neunhausen_, _May_, 1814.

THE STORY WITHOUT AN END.

TO MY DAUGHTER

MY DEAR CHILD,

The story you love so much in German I dedicate to you in English. It was in compliance with your earnest wish that other children might share the delight it has so often afforded you, that I translated it; so that it is, in some sort, yours of right. Let us hope that your confident expectations of sympathy in your pleasure may not be disappointed; or that, if others think the story less beautiful than you do, they may find compensation in the graceful designs it has inspired.

You have often regretted that it left off so soon, and would, I believe, “have been glad to hear more and more, and for ever.” The continuation you have longed for lies in a wide and magnificent book, which contains more wonderful and glorious things than all our favourite fairy tales put together. But to read in that book, so as to discover all its beautiful meanings, you must have pure, clear eyes, and an humble, loving heart; otherwise you will complain, as some do, that it is dim and puzzling; or, as others that it is dull and monotonous.

May you continue to read in it with new curiosity, new delight, and new profit; and to find it, as long as you live, the untiring “Story without an End.”

Your affectionate mother,

S. A.