An illustrated brief version of E.T.A. Hoffmann’s “Meister Floh” — excerpted from “Tales of the Nations,” a picture book published in Hamburg in 1933 by the “Cigarettenbilderdienst Hamburg-Bahrenfeld” (“Cigarette Picture Service”).Narrator and Illustrator:Stefan Mart.
During such a fight, Alina one day saw among the gaping crowd a young man with long curly hair who was making his way up to the steps of the booth. The girl couldn’t believe her eyes, but there was no doubt: that was what Zeherit, her thistle prince, would look like in human form. And it really was him! He had taken on human shape because of his great longing to see the lovely girl and to be able to protect her in the dismal darkness of the human world.
“Zeherit!” Alinore cried out in joyful surprise on her high platform. But the youth put his finger on his lips, indicating that she should remain silent, and in feverish haste he gave her a folded piece of paper on which a few words had been scribbled.
The note was signed “Pepush”. Alina read it, her heart beating fast. – “Oh, Mr Pepush…!” At that moment Leuwenhoek’s big bell rang out summoning her and Master Flea to the performance in the tent. Still very confused, little Alina looked around in the dim light of the theatre for the Master. But he was sitting far away from her, and was very aggrieved because he had seen her gazing at Mr Pepush and knew she had fallen in love with him. Master Flea had his pride.
It was he who had rescued her – had she forgotten that his bites were still essential to preserve her life? Deeply mortified, he decided he would leave the girl. A tumult set in outside the tent. The rival entrepreneur had once again turned his megaphone in the direction of Leuwenhoek’s circus. Swammer was trying to prevent the crowd from entering the tent. Master Flea seized the opportunity. He took a determined jump to freedom through a hole in the canvas of the tent.
To his surprise, he found himself among the colourful odds and ends on sale in the neighbouring booth, a toy bazaar. Among many others looking at the goods stood a very respectable gentleman, Mr Peregrinus
Tys, who was doing his Christmas shopping. Mr Peregrinus was a bachelor: not, however, on principle but due to excessive shyness, which he was unable to overcome in the presence of the fair sex. He had selected the very finest things as he wanted to give many presents to the children of his neighbour, a bookbinder called Shepherd.
The real reason for his generosity he did not admit even to himself: he had long felt secretly attracted to the eldest daughter of this large family but he did not dare to raise his eyes and look freely and openly at the gentle, beautiful girl.
Peregrinus Tys, both arms laden with presents, was just about to reach for the last item he had selected – an oval box with a picture of a wild boar hunt on it – when a little incident took place. Master Flea came leaping out. He had noticed Alina following him in her fear. He quickly sprang into one of the boxes lying on the counter in order to hide. But Alina was already there, seized the box in which she thought Master Flea had taken refuge, and ran off with it.
Peregrinus hesitated for a moment, his hand outstretched, but then he took hold of what he thought was the box with hunting scene. – When he got home, his housekeeper took charge of his purchases. Pauline was a stout old dame with a beetroot-red nose. She was the only female whose presence the shy and introverted eccentric would tolerate in his vicinity. Heaven alone knows how this ugly creature with her watery eyes and unkempt hair came to be known as the Empress of Golgonda. –
It must be said right away that the heart of the bachelor, Mr Peregrinus Tys, had never beaten so fast on any previous Christmas Eve as it was now beating in anxious anticipation. He already heard in his imagination the little silver bell tinkling gently at Shepherd’s and the loud jubilation of all the children. But before he left, he checked the presents once more. He was annoyed to find that box with the hunting scene had somehow gone astray. Then he noticed another unopened box.
When he opened it he saw to his horror that it was empty, except that something seemed to leap out of it towards him which bore some resemblance to a large coloured flea. But his eyesight was not good enough for him to be sure.
He now felt a strange tickling sensation under his cravat. But as it was Christmas, Mr Peregrinus did not wish to delay any further and prepared to visit his neighbour to bring him all the wonderful presents. But before him now stood a very pretty, slender creature dressed up as though she were coming from a ball, wearing a silk gown, and a tiara in her dark hair. The frightened bachelor wanted to make off at once, but the apparition took him by both hands and whispered in her delightful voice: “Oh, Peregrin, dear Peregrin, I am bringing you the wooden box with the missing hunting scene.”
It was Alinore, who had noticed her mistake. This incident and the sight of the beautiful girl was too much for the fat housekeeper, Pauline, who was still present in the room. Being unwilling to tolerate a second woman in her vicinity, she refused to serve, gave notice and hurried out of the house. When Alina was alone with Mr Peregrinus Tys, she fell on her knees before him: “My dear friend, return the prisoner to me! My very life depends upon it!” Peregrinus did not know that the prisoner she was talking about was that something that had escaped from the empty box. He thought a mill wheel was revolving in his head.
He heard sobbing and weeping. When he had recovered from his dizziness, he saw the beautiful girl lying on the ground before him, motionless and pale as death. “Be on your guard, good sir, be on your guard!” Peregrinus heard something whisper this just under his nose. A tiny monster was sitting on his silken cravat. A pair of round, bright eyes shone out of its bird-like head, and a long pointed object protruded from its sparrow’s beak.
Two horns grew out of its forehead, and on its feet the curious creature was wearing golden boots with diamond spurs. – “Though you do not know me, good Mr Peregrinus; I beg you, sir, allow me to introduce myself – I am Master Flea. Permit me to insert a minute microscope made by a skilled optician of my people into the pupil of your left eye. You will see at once what power this microscope will give you over others, since you will be able to read their innermost thoughts.
But do not always wear it, as it would weigh you down unbearably to always know what your fellow men are thinking!” So enthralled was Peregrinus Tys by this magical insect that he had almost forgotten the beautiful girl lying lifeless at his feet. – “Woe is me, I am dying!” Alinore murmured through her snow-white lips. – “Give – the – prisoner! – I am dying!” All at once a penetrating but harmonious sound was to be heard, as though little golden bells had been struck. Alinore leaped up and hopped around the room laughing, her lips and cheeks now rosy and warm. Good Master Flea had taken pity on her and bitten
her. Mr Peregrinus Tys stood there motionless with astonishment; but that was not the end of the wondrous events of the day. The door was thrown open – Leuwenhoek and Swammer burst in. The two scoundrels had resolved their differences and were determined to join forces to bring back the two escaped prisoners. Due to the power of the microscope, Peregrinus Tys became instantly aware of the sinister thoughts of these villains. A third person appeared – Mr Pepush turned up to protect Alinore.
Mr Peregrinus, the bachelor, began to understand the background of these mysterious events thanks to that marvelous instrument which Master Flea had inserted into his eye. To everybody’s amazement, a milky ray of light came in through the window, and wound itself in a spiral around the chandelier. The Sublime Spirit from the fairy-land of Famagusta had arrived at the very last minute to recover his assets from the two magicians who had stolen them.
As soon as he had taken on visible form, the two magicians, Swammer and Leuwenhoek, fell upon the spirit with howls of rage; they grabbed two chairs and lambasted it until the milky substance of his body was flowing out of it in all directions. Only then was the magic spell broken which had bound lovely Alinore and Mr Pepush, and the two magicians no longer had any power over them either.
Alinore fell into Mr Pepush’s arms; they were both now so happy that they had enough vitality to live as humans for a whole lifetime. Swammer and Leuwenhoek made off like two beaten curs. – The air had been cleared. Master Flea bestirred himself. He whispered to the bachelor, Peregrinus Tys, who was now alone: “Now is the time for you to take a big decision, Mr Peregrinus.
Take your presents and let us go over to your neighbour. I can tell you a secret: that lovely girl Rosy Shepherd has been waiting for you with impatience. Don’t be so shy, Mr Peregrinus, give the child your hand and tell her that you are ready!”
A year of marital bliss had passed. Nobody would have recognised the former bachelor Peregrinus: he had become a useful husband. He sat at the cradle and was rocking his first-born son.
“I would never have known you, my son, had it not been for Master Flea.” The good papa was telling his sleeping baby son the whole epic of the flea from start to finish. – Peregrinus suddenly raised his head. He could hear shouting in the kitchen. Master Flea had bitten fat Pauline’s nose, because the old housekeeper had been careless enough to let the baby’s milk boil over. Rosy, the beautiful young wife, now joined the happy father at the cradle and both laughed merrily at the joke.
But they then heard the silvery sound of Master Flea’s voice: “Mr and Mrs Peregrinus Tys, your devoted servant! I beg to inform you that my mission here has been accomplished. I would ask you to remember that I am, after all, a flea. Please excuse me! I am expected elsewhere. Should His Grace, young Master Tys, ever fall into bad health, I shall appear at once and help out with a couple of bites!”
Having made this promise, the kindly insect executed some extraordinary leaps: “Goodbye! I am jumping back to my madcaps, to the flea people whose master I am!”
An illustrated version of E.T.A. Hoffmann’s “Meister Floh” — excerpted from “Tales of the Nations,” a picture book published in Hamburg in 1933 by the “Cigarettenbilderdienst Hamburg-Bahrenfeld” (“Cigarette Picture Service”).Narrator and Illustrator:Stefan Mart.
n the fairy-tale land of Famagusta – the land of the strangest flowers and of blossom creatures, the land of speaking birds and other marvels never seen or heard by any mortal – two intruders turned up one day from the world of human beings. They were both very handsome lads, but rogues of bad character, magicians and sorcerers by profession.
They appeared in the guise of harmless botanists with green specimen containers and butterfly nets. But they also had hidden on their persons sharp-edged instruments, microscopes and collapsible telescopes. It was only due to a number of coincidences that they were able to enter this land – something which these scoundrels may have divined through their magic arts. It so happened that the guardian of this fairy-tale land, a giant as tall as a tree, was just taking his seven-day nap.
And the Sublime Spirit that kept watch over everything had just flown off on a trip to the stars to make a few inquiries. That was how the two magicians managed to set out on their searches
undisturbed. One of the two was called Leuwenhoek; he had a flea circus at a fun fair outside the gates of a small town close by. The other, whose name was Swammer, had a conjurer’s stall there. They soon discovered something with their powerful microscopes which had them dancing for joy like a pair of billy goats.
They had found a pearl lying in the stamen of a tulip which reflected the portrait of a beautiful girl’s face in its magnificent lustre. The two magicians at once began to make use of their sinister powers to break the spell binding the pearl. A prickly thistle, known in this fairy-tale land as Zeherit, the thistle prince, grew very close to the tulip and had always sought to protect the magic pearl. The prince, in despair, stuck his thorns into everything he could reach, and Leuwenhoek and Swammer often howled with pain, their howls sounding like the hoarse barking of old watch dogs.
However, after much experimenting, the magicians succeeded in their endeavours. A slender girl of almost ethereal beauty soon sprang out of the tulip. Leuwenhoek at once caught hold of the extraordinary creature with his rough hands so that she could not escape him. The other rascal, Swammer, would have liked to take hold of her as well, but he was probably afraid that the delicate little creature might be destroyed, as she hardly showed any signs of life. He relied on his cunning and was already quietly planning to remove this miraculous creature from his colleague.
While the two magicians were both secretly pondering how they could take sole possession of this girl of elfin beauty, they suddenly heard a very fine melodious voice that must have come
from a creature leaping around high up over them. Sometimes the voice came from behind, sometimes from above them in the air, then from the right and then again from the left. – “Oh dear, oh dear! what have you done, you scoundrels? You will not escape severe punishment: you have changed Alinore, the daughter of great King Sekatis, back into human shape. The Sublime Spirit had changed her into a pearl in order to preserve her from the burden of life on earth. Shame on you scoundrels!” But the two unscrupulous magicians only laughed.
Leuwenhoek took an ever firmer hold of the little girl, taking out his telescope with his other hand to see who was jumping around with such amazing prowess. – It had to be an incredibly small and also quite remarkable creature. – “Right! There it is!” cried Leuwenhoek, “it’s a huge flea as big as a good-sized bean. That would be the very thing for my circus!” He focussed his glass so directly on the insect that, in the middle of a big leap, it fell from the sky, stunned, and landed right on the nose of Leuwenhoek the flea-tamer. The flea slipped down the smooth, even surface of the nose and, still dizzy, unfortunately leapt straight into the big botanical specimen container, the cover of which was wide open. – “Well!
That’s taken care of!” said Leuwenhoek with a pleased grunt, closing the box. – “This splendid specimen of a flea will be the main attraction of my show!” – Now it was time for the magicians to see to gentle little Alinore. During the flea hunt, Leuwenhoek had taken too firm a grip of her, and the lovely girl now lay across his arm like a lifeless doll. – “Help her soul! She is dying before my eyes!” cried the flea-tamer in disappointment.
Both magicians now murmured magic spells and exhaled their warm breath over her in the hope of bringing her home alive. Leuwenhoek put the girl very carefully into his specimen container, which had fly-mesh on both sides, and he ran off with it as fast as he could to bring his loot to safety. Swammer ran after him, spitting with rage, as he begrudged his colleague the ownership of Alinore. Now that the flea was alone in the specimen container with little Alinore, a human being, it at once came to and took a lively interest in her condition. The poor girl wasn’t able to live or die and was moaning in her struggle with death. The flea saw how beautiful and graceful she was, was filled with pity for her and decided to help. –
“Quiet, fair human child! We shall very soon cross the border of fairy-land Famagusta. – But before we cross the border, I cannot give you the vitality you need; only then does the power of the Sublime Spirit cease and am I out of reach of his revenge.”
“I am dying! I am dying!” breathed Alinore, who became pale as death and fainted. The flea quickly bit the unfortunate girl in the shoulder. As if by magic, Alinore opened her eyes, and warm colour returned to her cheeks. She smiled like a delighted child and kept calling out: “My heart is beating! – I am alive! A thousand thanks to you, Master Flea!” – But the lovely girl was soon to be torn out of her happy fairy-tale dreams and to learn that it does not bring happiness to be brought into the world of humans.
Only a few days later she was standing on the rough and shaky stage of the fun-fair booth which belonged to Leuwenhoek the flea-tamer. Behind her a canvas backdrop covered with silly and horrible coloured pictures fluttered in the wind. The sounds of squeaky organ notes, bad music and cracked bells came from all sides, producing deafening confusion. People shoved and pushed everywhere, shouting like rough-voiced cattle drivers.
Alinore found herself in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the fun-fair. She thought with longing of the land of Famagusta; she thought of Zeherit, the noble thistle prince, who had always kept his arms chivalrously around her to protect her from trouble. It now seemed to her to be a paradise lost. Master Flea was her only comfort and she could count on his unconditional help.
He sat next to her, fettered with a tiny little chain to the large nose of a huge papier-maché mask. They were both supposed to attract passers-by into the booth. They both had to sing a little song. Master Flea usually performed a few jumps and sang first:
I am the master of the fleas
Jump twenty metres if you please.
Golden garments can I wear
Travelling in my sedan chair.
I can ride and fire a cannon
And in duelling I’m a champion.
My somersaults on the trapeze –
Just watch them, and your blood will freeze.
Now, hurry up, the show is starting
Entrance fee for kids: one farthing.
Straight afterwards came the wonderfully delicate voice of the lovely girl, and everybody paid attention:
I’m pretty Princess Alina.
Doll-like is my demeanour.
I’m from a fairyland forlorn,
In Famagusta I was born –
Where some enchanted humans live,
Where hidden spirits reign and thrive,
Where birds and flowers all can speak,
Where . . . .
She didn’t get any further. Swammer, the rogue, had his conjuror’s booth straight opposite Leuwenhoek’s, and he was extremely envious of his colleague’s success. He was determined to employ all means to undermine his rival’s business. As soon as Master Flea and Alina began to sing their songs, the scoundrel would take his megaphone and drown their gentle voices. Then the injured party Leuwenhoek would dash out from behind the red velvet curtain of his flea theatre in a towering rage.
The two sinister magicians drew their dangerous weapons and – the battle of the telescopes began. The former friends, now bitter enemies, attacked each other with huge telescopes. – “Draw, damned scoundrel, if you have the courage!” shouted Leuwenhoek. – “Come on! I am not afraid of you – you will soon feel my strength!” cried Swammer and he, too, took his telescope apart. Both now put the well focussed glasses to their eyes and continued to denounce each other violently.
The struggle continued with murderous flashes aimed at each other’s eyes. Both fought as hard as they could, sometimes lengthening their weapons, sometimes shortening them, by pulling out or collapsing the instruments. The combattants often hit their targets, and jumped wildly up and down with pain, supplying a musical accompaniment of howling and screaming reminiscent of the wailing and gnashing of teeth of the damned in hell.
To be continued…
Set by Robert Schumann (1810-1856), “Sehnsucht nach der Waldgegend”, op. 35 no. 5 (1840), from “Zwolf Lieder, no. 5.” Translation © Emily Ezust, Lied & Art Song Texts Page.
“Der Abend” – Caspar David Friedrich, 1820-21.
Sehnsucht nach der Waldgegend
Would that I had never left you,
woodlands, lofty and wondrous!
You held me lovingly in your embrace
for many a long, long year.
Where, in your twilit spots,
there was birdsong and silver streams,
there also sprang up many songs
from my bosom, fresh and bright.
Your surging, your echoes,
your never-tiring whispering,
your melodies all
awoke song in my breast.
Here in these wide meadows
everything is desolate and mute to me,
and I gaze up into the blue sky,
looking for shapes in the clouds.
While you compelled song from my breast,
it seldom stirs now,
just as the bird sings only a half song
when parted from tree and leaf.
By Johann Ludwig Tieck (1773-1853), from Liebesgeschichte der schönen Magelone und des Grafen Peter von Provence.
Set by Johannes Brahms (1833-1897), “Ruhe, Süßliebchen, im Schatten”, op. 33 no. 9, from Romanzen aus L. Tieck’s Magelone, no. 9. Translation © Emily Ezust, Lied & Art Song Texts Page.
Ruhe, Süßliebchen, im Schatten
Rest, my love, in the shade
Of green, darkening night;
The grass rustles on the meadow,
The shadows fan and cool thee
And true love is awake.
Sleep, go to sleep!
Gently rustles the grove,
Eternally am I thine.
Hush, you hidden songs,
And disturb not her sweetest repose!
The flock of birds listens,
Stilled are their noisy songs.
Close thine eyes, my darling,
Sleep, go to sleep;
In the twilight
I will watch over thee.
Murmur on, you melodies,
Rush on, you quiet stream.
Lovely fantasies of love
do these melodies evoke:
Tender dreams swim after them.
Through the whispering grove
Swarm tiny golden bees
which hum thee to sleep.
Excerpt, Wagner: “Der fliegende Holländer”
..This girl’s image speaks to me:
As I dreamt of her for restless ages,
I see her now before my eyes.
I have often lifted my eyes at dead of night,
Longing for a wife.
Satan’s spite left me but a pounding heart
To remind me of my torment.
The dull glow I feel burning here,
Can I in my misery call it love?
Ah, no! It is a yearning for redemption:
would that through such an angel it came true!
As from the mist of times long gone.
Excerpt, “Specimens of the Choicest Lyrical Productions of the Most Celebrated German Poets, from Klopstock to the Present Time.” With Biographical and Literary Notes translated in English Verse by Mary Anne Burt. 1856.
Excerpt, “Borrowed Plumes: Translations from German Poets.” James D.B. Gribble. 1888..
I dreamt that I was young and hale again,
It was the mansion in my native land;
I ran along the pathway to the vale,
Ran with Ottilia, racing hand in hand.
How neatly formed, her tiny figure looks!
Those sweet green eyes have such a roguish play,
And on those little feet she stands so firm,
A type of grace and strength’s united sway.
Her voice’s music is so sweet and true
You almost fancy through her heart to see;
And all she says is clever, full of sense;
Her ruddy lips a budding rose might be!
It is not sensuous longing that I feel;
I’m not in love; my senses calm remain,
And yet her manners have a wondrous charm,
And as I kiss her hand I thrill with pain.
Methinks at last I plunked a lily fair,
And gave it to her, saying: from my heart
Accept my troth, Ottilia, be my own,
That I may be as gentle as thou art.
The answer that she gave I ne’er shall know
For I awake to find myself in tears, —
That I am ill and lying on my bed,
Forlorn as I have been these many years.
THE GLOVE (1797)
Before his lion-court,
To see the gruesome sport,
Sate the king;
Beside him group’d his princely peers;
And dames aloft, in circling tiers,
Wreath’d round their blooming ring.
King Francis, where he sate,
Raised a finger–yawn’d the gate,
And, slow from his repose,
A LION goes!
Dumbly he gazed around
The foe-encircled ground;
And, with a lazy gape,
He stretch’d his lordly shape,
And shook his careless mane,
And–laid him down again!
A finger raised the king–
And nimbly have the guard
A second gate unbarr’d;
Forth, with a rushing spring,
A TIGER sprung!
Wildly the wild one yell’d
When the lion he beheld;
And, bristling at the look,
With his tail his sides he strook,
And roll’d his rabid tongue;
In many a wary ring
He swept round the forest king,
With a fell and rattling sound;–
And laid him on the ground,
The king raised his finger; then
Leap’d two LEOPARDS from the den
With a bound;
And boldly bounded they
Where the crouching tiger lay
And he gripped the beasts in his deadly hold;
In the grim embrace they grappled and roll’d;
Rose the lion with a roar!
And stood the strife before;
And the wild-cats on the spot,
From the blood-thirst, wroth and hot,
Now from the balcony above,
A snowy hand let fall a glove:–
Midway between the beasts of prey,
Lion and tiger; there it lay,
The winsome lady’s glove!
Fair Cunigonde said, with a lip of scorn,
To the knight DELORGES–“If the love you have sworn
Were as gallant and leal as you boast it to be,
I might ask you to bring back that glove to me!”
The knight left the place where the lady sate;
The knight he has pass’d thro’ the fearful gate;
The lion and tiger he stoop’d above,
And his fingers have closed on the lady’s glove!
All shuddering and stunn’d, they beheld him there–
The noble knights and the ladies fair;
But loud was the joy and the praise, the while
He bore back the glove with his tranquil smile!
With a tender look in her softening eyes,
That promised reward to his warmest sighs,
Fair Cunigonde rose her knight to grace;
He toss’d the glove in the lady’s face!
“Nay, spare me the guerdon, at least,” quoth he;
And he left forever that fair ladye!
The Knight scorns Cunigonde
by Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), “Song of the Imprisoned Huntsman” from The Lady of the Lake, The Guard Room, XXIV.
Set by Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828) , “Lied des gefangenen Jägers”, op. 52 no. 7, D. 843 (1825).
“Lied des gefangenen Jägers”
My hawk is tired of perch and hood.
My idle greyhound loathes his food,
My horse is weary of his stall
And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were, as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forest green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that’s the life is meet for me.
I hate to learn the ebb of time
From yon dull steeple’s drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king’s they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.
No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen’s eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew.
To My old Friend
After long years once more thy writing lay
Before me, and – how wonderful – forth flew
Back on my heart our youthful friendship’s day,
When in the world’s great school we yet were new.
I now am an old man; my hair is grey,
And false shame I have long learned to subdue,
Yes! I will call thee friend, as I did then,
Will hail thee mine, and tell it unto men!
My poor, poor friend! the joggling fiend hath not
Me, as thyself, so treacherously undone;
Still have I striven, still hoped a brighter lot,
And truly, in the end, have little won’
Yet the Grey Man will boast not to have got
Hold of my shadow; nor hath ever done.
Here lies my native shadow, free unfurled:
I never lost my shadow in the world.
Yet, guiltless as a child, on me descended
The scorn men for thy nakedness did feel,
What! is our likeness then so subtly blended?
They shouted, “Where’s thy shadow, O Schlemihl?”
And when I showed it, laughing, they pretended
Blindness, and still laughed endless peal on peal.
What help? We learn in patience to endure;
Nay more – are glad – feel we our conscience pure.
And what then is the shadow? May I know it?
As I myself so oft am catechised?
Thus monstrously, and higher far to show it,
Than the harsh world itself it e’er hath prized?
Yes! and to nineteen thousand days we own it
Which passing o’er us, thus have us advised –
As formerly to shadow we gave being,
We now see life, a shadow, from us fleeing.
And thereupon we give our hands, Schlemihl!
On we will go, and to the Old One leave it;
How little for the whole world will we feel,
But our own union, firm and firmer weave it.
As thus unto our goal we nearer wheel,
Who laughs or blames — we’ll hear not, nor conceive it;
Till, ‘scaped from all the tempests of the deep
We’ll enter port, and sleep our soundest sleep.
Berlin, August 1834
Adelbert von Chamisso
Excerpt, “The Wonderful History of Peter Schlemihl” by Adelbert von Chamisso. London: Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans. Paternoster Row. 1843. Translated by William Howitt. Illustrated by A. Fleischmann.
Excerpt, “Borrowed Plumes.” Translations from German Poets.” James Gribble. 1888.