No More Learning

His friends called in the doctor, who felt his pulse and was not
very well satisfied with it, and said that in any case it would be
well for him to attend to the health of his soul, as that of his
body was in a bad way. Don Quixote heard this calmly; but
not so his housekeeper, his niece, and his squire, who fell weeping
bitterly, as if they had him lying dead before them. The doc-
tor's opinion was that melancholy and depression were bringing
him to his end. Don Quixote begged them to leave him to him-
self, as he had a wish to sleep a little. They obeyed, and he
slept at one stretch, as the saying is, more than six hours, so
that the housekeeper and niece thought he was going to sleep
forever. But at the end of that time he woke up, and in a loud
voice exclaimed, "Blessed be Almighty God, who has shown me
* Jacopo Sannazaro, the Neapolitan poet, author of the Arcadia. )


## p. 3497 (#475) ###########################################

CERVANTES
3497
such goodness! In truth his mercies are boundless, and the sins.
of men can neither limit them nor keep them back! "
The niece listened with attention to her uncle's words, and
they struck her as more coherent than what usually fell from him,
at least during his illness, so she asked: "What are you saying,
Has anything strange occurred? What mercies or what
sins of men are you talking of? "
"The mercies, niece," said Don Quixote, "are those that God
has this moment shown me, and with him, as I said, my sins are
no impediment to them. My reason is now free and clear, rid of
the dark shadows of ignorance that my unhappy constant study
of those detestable books of chivalry cast over it. Now I see
through their absurdities and deceptions, and it only grieves me
that this destruction of my illusions has come so late that it
leaves me no time to make some amends by reading other books
that might be a light to my soul. Niece, I feel myself at the
point of death, and I would fain meet it in such a way as to
show that my life has not been so ill that I should leave behind
me the name of a madman; for though I have been one, I would
not that the fact should be made plainer at my death. Call in to
me, my dear, my good friends the curate, the bachelor Samson
Carrasco, and Master Nicholas the barber, for I wish to confess
and make my will. "
But his niece was saved the trouble by the entrance of the
three. The instant Don Quixote saw them he exclaimed:-" Good
news for you, good sirs, that I am no longer Don Quixote of
La Mancha, but Alonso Quixano, whose way of life won for him
the name of Good. Now am I the enemy of Amadis of Gaul
and of the whole countless troop of his descendants; odious to
me now are all the profane stories of knight-errantry; now
I perceive my folly, and the peril into which reading them
brought me; now, by God's mercy schooled into my right senses,
I loathe them. "
When the three heard him speak in this way, they had no
doubt whatever that some new craze had taken possession of
him; and said Samson, "What! Señor Don Quixote! Now that
we have intelligence of the lady Dulcinea being disenchanted,
are you taking this line? now, just as we are on the point of
becoming shepherds, to pass our lives singing, like princes, are
you thinking of turning hermit? Hush, for heaven's sake; be
rational, and let's have no more nonsense. "


## p. 3498 (#476) ###########################################

3498
CERVANTES
"All that nonsense," said Don Quixote, "that until now has
been a reality to my hurt, my death will with heaven's help
turn to my good. I feel, sirs, that I am rapidly drawing near
death: a truce to jesting; let me have a confessor to confess me,
and a notary to make my will; for in extremities like this, man
must not trifle with his soul; and while the curate is confessing
me, let some one, I beg, go for the notary. "
They looked at one another, wondering at Don Quixote's
words; but though uncertain they were inclined to believe him,
and one of the signs by which they came to the conclusion he
was dying, was this so sudden and complete return to his senses
after having been mad; for to the words already quoted he added
much more, so well expressed, so devout, and so rational, as to
banish all doubt and convince them that he was sound of mind.
The curate turned them all out, and left alone with him, con-
fessed him. The bachelor went for the notary, and returned
shortly afterwards with him and with Sancho, who, having
already learned from the bachelor the condition his master was
in, and finding the housekeeper and niece weeping, began to
blubber and shed tears.
The confession over, the curate came out saying:
"Alonso
Quixano the Good is indeed dying, and is indeed in his right
mind; we may now go in to him, while he makes his will. "
This news gave a tremendous impulse to the brimming eyes
of the housekeeper, niece, and Sancho Panza his good squire,
making the tears burst from their eyes and a host of sighs from
their hearts; for of a truth, as has been said more than once,
whether as plain Alonso Quixano the Good, or as Don Quixote
of La Mancha, Don Quixote was always of a gentle disposition
and kindly in all his ways, and hence he was beloved not only
by those of his own house, but by all who knew him. "
The notary came in with the rest, and as soon as the pre-
amble of the will had been set out and Don Quixote had com-
mended his soul to God with all the devout formalities that are
usual, coming to the bequests, he said: "Item: It is my will
that, touching certain moneys in the hands of Sancho Panza
(whom in my madness I made my squire), inasmuch as between
him and me there have been certain accounts and debits and
credits, no claim be made against him, nor any account demanded
of him in respect of them; but that if anything remain over and
above, after he has paid himself what I owe him, the balance,
-:


## p. 3499 (#477) ###########################################

CERVANTES
3499
which will be but little, shall be his, and much good may it do
him; and if as when I was mad I had a share in giving him
the government of an island, so now that I am in my senses I
could give him that of a kingdom, it should be his, for the sim-
plicity of his character and the fidelity of his conduct deserve
it. " And then turning to Sancho, he said, "Forgive me, my
friend, that I led thee to seem as mad as myself, making thee
fall into the same error I myself fell into, that there were and
still are knights-errant in the world. "
"Ah! " said Sancho weeping; "don't die, master, but take
my advice and live many years; for the foolishest thing a man
can do in this life is to let himself die without rhyme or rea-
son, without anybody killing him, or any hands but melancholy's
making an end of him. Come, don't be lazy, but get up from
your bed and let us take to the fields in shepherd's trim as we
agreed. Perhaps behind some bush we shall find the lady Dul-
cinea disenchanted, as fine as fine can be. If it be that you are
dying of vexation at having been vanquished, lay the blame on
me, and say you were overthrown because I had girthed Rosi-
nante badly; besides, you must have seen in your books of
chivalry that it is a common thing for knights to upset one
another, and for him who is conquered to-day to be conqueror
to-morrow. "
"Very true," said Samson, "and good Sancho Panza's view
of these cases is quite right. "
"In last year's nests
"Sirs, not so fast," said Don Quixote.
there are no birds this
I was mad
year.
now I am in my
senses; I was Don Quixote of La Mancha-I am now, as I said,
Alonso Quixano the Good; and may my repentance and sincerity
restore me to the esteem you used to have for me; and now let
Master Notary proceed.
" Item-I leave all my property absolutely to Antonia Quixana
my niece, here present, after all has been deducted from the
most available portion of it that may be required to satisfy the
bequests I have made. And the first disbursement I desire to
be made is the payment of the wages I owe for the time my
housekeeper has served me, with twenty ducats, over and above,
for a gown.
The curate and the bachelor Samson Carrasco, now
present, I appoint my executors.
"Item-It is my wish that if Antonia Quixana, my niece,
desires to marry, she shall marry a man of whom it shall be first
-


## p. 3500 (#478) ###########################################

3500
CERVANTES
of all ascertained by information taken that he does not know
what books of chivalry are; and if it should be proved that he
does, and if in spite of this my niece insists upon marrying him
and does marry him, then she shall forfeit the whole of what I
have left her, which my executors shall devote to works of
charity as they please.
"Item-I entreat the aforesaid gentlemen my executors, that
if any happy chance should lead them to discover the author who
is said to have written a history now going about under the title
of 'Second Part of the Achievements of Don Quixote of La
Mancha,' they beg of him on my behalf as earnestly as they can
to forgive me for having been, without intending it, the cause of
his writing so many and such monstrous absurdities as he has
written in it; for I am leaving the world with a feeling of com-
punction at having provoked him to write them. "
With this he closed his will, and a faintness coming over him,
he stretched himself out at full length on the bed. All were in
a flutter and made haste to relieve him, and during the three
days he lived after that on which he made his will, he fainted.
away very often. The house was all in confusion; but still the
niece ate and the housekeeper drank and Sancho Panza enjoyed
himself; for inheriting property wipes out or softens down in the
heir the feeling of grief the dead man might be expected to
leave behind him.
At last Don Quixote's end came, after he had received all the
sacraments, and had in full and forcible terms expressed his
detestation of books of chivalry. The notary was there at the
time, and he said that in no book of chivalry had he ever read
of any knight-errant dying in his bed so calmly and so like a
Christian as Don Quixote, who amid the tears and lamentations
of all present yielded up his spirit,—that is to say, died. On per-
ceiving it, the curate begged the notary to bear witness that
Alonso Quixano the Good, commonly called Don Quixote of La
Mancha, had passed away from this present life, and died natu-
rally; and said he desired this testimony in order to remove the
possibility of any other author save Cid Hamet Benengeli
bringing him to life again falsely and making interminable
stories out of his achievements.
Such was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha,
whose village Cid Hamet would not indicate precisely, in order
to leave all the towns and villages of La Mancha to contend


## p. 3501 (#479) ###########################################

CERVANTES
3501
among themselves for the right to adopt him and claim him as a
son, as the seven cities of Greece contended for Homer. The
lamentations of Sancho and the niece and housekeeper are omitted
here, as well as the new epitaphs upon his tomb; Samson Car-
rasco, however, put the following:--
"A doughty gentleman lies here,
A stranger all his life to fear;
Nor in his death could Death prevail,
In that last hour, to make him quail.
He for the world but little cared,
And at his feats the world was scared;
A crazy man his life he passed,
But in his senses died at last. "
And said most sage Cid Hamet to his pen:-
"Rest here, hung up by this brass wire, upon this shelf, O
my pen! whether of skillful make or clumsy cut I know not;
here shalt thou remain long ages hence, unless presumptuous or
malignant story-tellers take thee down to profane thee. But
ere they touch thee warn them, and as best thou canst, say to
them:
'Hold off! ye weaklings; hold your hands!
Adventure it let none,
For this enterprise, my lord the King,
Was meant for me alone. '
For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; it was
his to act, mine to write; we two together make but one, not-
withstanding and in spite of that pretended Tordesillesque writer
who has ventured or would venture with his great coarse ill-
trimmed ostrich quill to write the achievements of my valiant
knight; no burden for his shoulders, nor subject for his frozen.
wit: whom, if perchance thou shouldst come to know him, thou
shalt warn to leave at rest where they lie the weary moldering
bones of Don Quixote, and not to attempt to carry him off, in
opposition to all the privileges of death, to Old Castile, making
him rise from the grave where in reality and truth he lies
stretched at full length, powerless to make any third expedition
or new sally; for the two that he has already made, so much to
the enjoyment and approval of everybody to whom they have
become known, in this as well as in foreign countries, are quite


## p. 3502 (#480) ###########################################

CERVANTES
3502
sufficient for the purpose of turning into ridicule the whole of
those made by the whole set of the knights-errant; and so doing
shalt thou discharge thy Christian calling, giving good counsel to
one that bears ill-will to thee. And I shall remain satisfied, and
proud to have been the first who has ever enjoyed the fruit of
his writings as fully as he could desire; for my desire has been
no other than to deliver over to the detestation of mankind the
false and foolish tales of the books of chivalry, which, thanks to
that of my true Don Quixote, are even now tottering, and doubt-
less doomed to fall forever. Farewell. "


## p. 3503 (#481) ###########################################

3503
ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
(1781-1838)
OUIS CHARLES ADELAIDE DE CHAMISSO, known as Adelbert von
Chamisso, the youngest son of Count Louis Marie de Cha-
misso, was born in the paternal castle of Boncourt, in
Champagne, January 30th, 1781. Driven into exile by the Revolu-
tion, the family of loyalists sought refuge in the Low Countries and
afterward in Germany, settling in Berlin in 1797. In later years the
other members of the family returned to France and established
themselves once more as Frenchmen in their native land; but Adel-
bert von Chamisso, German by nature and
characteristics as well as by virtue of his
early education and environment, struck
root in Germany and was the genuine
product of German soil. In 1796 the young
Chamisso became page to Queen Louise of
Prussia, and while at court, by the Queen's
directions, he received the most careful
education. He was made ensign in 1798
and lieutenant in 1801, in the Regiment
von Goetze. A military career was repug-
nant to him, and his French antecedents
did not tend to make his life agreeable
among the German officers. That the serv-
ice was not wholly without interest, how-
ever, is shown by the two treatises upon military subjects written by
him in 1798 and 1799.
As a young officer he belonged to a romantic brotherhood calling
itself "The Polar Star," which counted among its members his life-
long friend Hitzig, Alexander zur Lippe, Varnhagen, and other young
writers of the day. He diligently applied himself to the mastery of
the German tongue, made translations of poems and dramas, and to
relieve the irksomeness of his military life incessantly studied
Homer. His most ambitious literary effort of this time was a
'Faust' (1803). a metaphysical, somewhat sophomoric attempt, but
the only one of his early poems that he admitted into his collected
works.

CHAMISSO
While still in the Prussian army, he edited with Varnhagen and
Neumann a periodical called the Musenalmanach (1804), which existed


## p. 3504 (#482) ###########################################

ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
3504
three years.
After repeated but vain efforts to obtain release
from the uncongenial military service, the capitulation of Hameln at
length set him free (1806). He left Germany and went to France;
but, disappointed in his hopes, unsettled and without plans, he
returned, and several years were lost in profitless and desultory
wanderings. From 1810 to 1812 he was again in France. Here he
became acquainted with Alexander von Humboldt and Uhland, and
renewed his friendship with Wilhelm Schlegel. With Helmina von
Chézy he undertook the translation into French of Schlegel's Vienna
lectures upon art and literature. Chamisso was indifferent to the
task, and the translation went on but slowly. To expedite the work
he was invited to stay at Chaumont, the residence of Madame de
Staël, where Schlegel was a member of her household. Here his
careless personal habits and his inevitable pipe brought odium upon
him in that polished circle.
Madame de Staël was always his friend, and in 1811 he went to
her at Coppet, where by a happy chance he took up the study of
botany, with August de Staël as instructor. Filled with enthusiasm
for his new pursuit, he made excursions through Switzerland, col-
lecting and botanizing. The period of indecision was at an end,
and in 1812, at the age of thirty-one, he matriculated as student of
medicine at the University of Berlin, and applied himself with reso-
lution to the study of the natural sciences. During the war against
Napoleon he sought refuge in Kunersdorf with the Itzenplitz family,
where he occupied his time with botany and the instruction of young
Itzenplitz. It was during this time (1813) that 'Peter Schlemihl's
Wundersame Geschichte' (Peter Schlemihl's Wonderful History) was
written,- one of the masterpieces of German literature. His 'Faust'
and Fortunatus' had in some degree foreshadowed his later and
more famous work, Faust' in the compact with the devil, 'Fortu-
natus in the possession of the magical wishing-bag. The simple
motif of popular superstition, the loss of one's shadow, familiar in
folk-stories and already developed by Goethe in his Tales,' and by
Körner in Der Teufel von Salamanca' (The Devil of Salamanca),
was treated by Chamisso with admirable simplicity, directness of
style, and realism of detail.
-
Chamisso's divided allegiance to France and Germany made the
political situation of the times very trying for him, and it was with
joy that he welcomed an appointment as scientist to a Russian polar
expedition, fitted out under the direction of Count Romanzoff, and
commanded by Captain Kotzebue (1815-1818). The record of the
scientific results of this expedition, as published by Kotzebue, was
full of misstatements; and to correct these, Chamisso wrote the
( Tagebuch (Journal) in 1835, a work whose pure and plastic style


## p. 3505 (#483) ###########################################

ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
3505
places it in the first order of books of travel, and entitles its author,
in point of description, to rank with Von Humboldt among the best
writers of travels of the first half of the century.
After three years of voyaging, Chamisso returned to Berlin, and
in 1819 he was made a member of the Society of Natural Sciences
and received the degree of Ph. D. from the University of Berlin, was
appointed adjunct custodian of the botanical garden in New Schöne-
berg, and in September of the same year he married Antonie Piaste.
An indemnity granted by France to the French emigrants put him
in possession of the sum of one hundred thousand francs, and in 1825
he again visited Paris, where he remained some months among old
friends and new interests. The period of his great activity was after
this date. His life was now peaceful and domestic. Poetry and
botany flourished side by side. Chamisso, to his own astonishment,
found himself read and admired, and everywhere his songs were
sung. To the influence of his wife we owe the cycles of poems,
'Frauen-Liebe und Leben' (Woman's Love and Life), and 'Lebens
Lieder und Bilder' (Life's Songs and Pictures), for without her they
would have been impossible. The former cycle inspired Robert
Schumann in the first days of his happy married life, and the music
of these songs has made 'Woman's Love and Life' familiar to all
the world. Salas y Gomez,' a reminiscence of his voyage around
the world, appeared in the Musenalmanach in 1830. The theme of
this poem was the development of the romantic possibilities suggested
by the sight of the profound loneliness and grandeur of the South
Sea island, Salas y Gomez. Chamisso translated Andersen and
Béranger, made translations from the Chinese and Tonga, and his
version of the Eddic Song of Thrym (Das Lied von Thrym') is
among the best translations from the Icelandic that have been made.
(
In 1832 he became associate editor of the Berlin Deutscher Musen-
almanach, which position he held until his death, and in his hands
the periodical attained a high degree of influence and importance.
His health failing, he resigned his position at the Botanical Garden,
retiring upon full pay. He died at Berlin, August 21st, 1838.
Frenchman though he was, his entire conception of life and the
whole character of his writings are purely German, and show none
of the French characteristics of is time. Chamisso, as botanist,
traveler, poet, and editor, made important contributions in each and
every field, although outside of Germany his fame rests chiefly upon
his widely known 'Schlemihl,' which has been translated into all the
principal languages of Europe.
VI-220


## p. 3506 (#484) ###########################################

3506
ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
THE BARGAIN
From The Wonderful History of Peter Schlemihl'
Α'
FTER a fortunate, but for me very troublesome voyage, we
finally reached the port. The instant that I touched land
in the boat, I loaded myself with my few effects, and pass-
ing through the swarming people I entered the first and least
house before which I saw a sign hang. I requested a room; the
boots measured me with a look, and conducted me into the gar-
ret. I caused fresh water to be brought, and made him exactly
describe to me where I should find Mr. Thomas John.
"Before the north gate; the first country-house on the right
hand; a large new house of red and white marble, with many
columns. "
"Good. " It was still early in the day. I opened at once my
bundle; took thence my new black-cloth coat; clad myself cleanly
in my best apparel; put my letter of introduction into my pocket,
and set out on the way to the man who was to promote my
modest expectations.
When I had ascended the long North Street, and reached the
gate, I soon saw the pillars glimmer through the foliage. "Here
it is, then," thought I. I wiped the dust from my feet with my
pocket-handkerchief, put my neckcloth in order, and in God's
name rang the bell. The door flew open. In the hall I had an
examination to undergo; the porter however permitted me to be
announced, and I had the honor to be called into the park, where
Mr. John was walking with a select party. I recognized the man
at once by the lustre of his corpulent self-complacency. He
received me very well,- as a rich man receives a poor devil,—
even turned towards me, without turning from the rest of the
company, and took the offered letter from my hand.
"So, so,
from my brother. I have heard nothing from him for a long
time. But he is well? There," continued he, addressing the
company, without waiting for an answer, and pointing with the
letter to a hill, "there I am going to erect the new building. ”
He broke the seal without breaking off the conversation, which
turned upon riches.
"He that is not master of a million at least," he observed,
"is - pardon me the word- a wretch! "
-


## p. 3507 (#485) ###########################################

ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
3507
"Oh, how true! " I exclaimed, with a rush of overflowing
feeling.
That pleased him. He smiled at me and said, "Stay here,
my good friend; in a while I shall perhaps have time to tell
you what I think about this. " He pointed to the letter, which
he then thrust into his pocket, and turned again to the com-
pany.
He offered his arm to a young lady; the other gentlemen
addressed themselves to other fair ones; each found what suited
him: and all proceeded towards the rose-blossomed mount.
I slid into the rear without troubling any one, for no one
troubled himself any further about me. The company was
excessively lively; there was dalliance and playfulness; trifles
were sometimes discussed with an important tone, but oftener
important matters with levity; and the wit flew with special
gayety over absent friends and their circumstances. I was too
strange to understand much of all this; too anxious and intro-
verted to take an interest in such riddles.
We had reached the rosery. The lovely Fanny, who seemed.
the belle of the day, insisted out of obstinacy in breaking off
a blossomed stem herself. She wounded herself on a thorn, and
the purple streamed from her tender hand as if from the dark
roses. This circumstance put the whole party into a flutter.
English plaster was sought for. A quiet, thin, lanky, longish,
oldish man who stood near, and whom I had not hitherto
remarked, put his hand instantly into the tight breast-pocket of
his old gray French taffeta coat; produced thence a little pocket-
book, opened it, and presented to the lady with a profound
obeisance the required article. She took it without noticing the
giver, and without thanks; the wound was bound up and we
went forward over the hill, from whose back the company could
enjoy the wide prospect over the green labyrinth of the park to
the boundless ocean.
The view was in reality vast and splendid. A light point
appeared on the horizon between the dark flood and the blue of
the heaven. "A telescope here! " cried John; and already,
before the servants who appeared at the call were in motion, the
gray man, modestly bowing, had thrust his hand into his coat
pocket, drawn thence a beautiful Dollond, and handed it to Mr.
John. Bringing it immediately to his eye, he informed the com-
pany that it was the ship which went out yesterday, and was
detained in view of port by contrary winds. The telescope


## p. 3508 (#486) ###########################################

3508
ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
passed from hand to hand, but not again into that of its owner.
I however gazed in wonder at the man, and could not conceive
how the great machine had come out of the narrow pocket;
but this seemed to have struck no one else, and nobody troubled
himself any further about the gray man than about myself.
Refreshments were handed round; the choicest fruits of every
zone, in the costliest vessels. Mr. John did the honors with an
easy grace, and a second time addressed a word to me: "Help
yourself; you have not had the like at sea. " I bowed, but he
did not see it; he was already speaking with some one else.
The company would fain have reclined upon the sward on the
slope of the hill, opposite to the outstretched landscape, had
they not feared the dampness of the earth. "It were divine,"
observed one of the party, "had we but a Turkey carpet to
spread here. " The wish was scarcely expressed when the man
in the gray coat had his hand in his pocket, and was busied in
drawing thence, with a modest and even humble deportment, a
rich Turkey carpet interwoven with gold. The servants received
it as a matter of course, and opened it on the required spot.
The company, without ceremony, took their places upon it; for
myself, I looked again in amazement on the man - at the carpet,
which measured about twenty paces long and ten in breadth –
and rubbed my eyes, not knowing what to think of it, especially
as nobody saw anything extraordinary in it.
-
I would fain have had some explanation regarding the man
and have asked who he was, but I knew not to whom to address
myself, for I was almost more afraid of the gentlemen's servants
than of the served gentlemen. At length I took courage, and
stepped up to a young man who appeared to me to be of less
consideration than the rest, and who had often stood alone. I
begged him softly to tell me who the agreeable man in the
gray coat there was.
"He there, who looks like an end of thread that has escaped
out of a tailor's needle? "
"Yes, he who stands alone. "
"I don't know him," he replied, and-in order to avoid a
longer conversation with me, apparently—he turned away and
spoke of indifferent matters to another.
The sun began now to shine more powerfully, and to incon-
venience the ladies. The lovely Fanny addressed carelessly to
the gray man-whom, as far as I am aware, no one had yet


## p. 3509 (#487) ###########################################

ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
―
spoken to the trifling question whether he "had not, perchance,
also a tent by him? " He answered her by an obeisance most
profound, as if an unmerited honor were done him, and had
already his hand in his pocket, out of which I saw come canvas,
poles, cordage, iron-work,—in short, everything which belongs to
the most splendid pleasure-tent. The young gentlemen helped
to expand it, and it covered the whole extent of the carpet, and
nobody found anything remarkable in it.
I had already become uneasy-nay, horrified at heart; but
how completely so, as at the very next wish expressed I saw
him pull out of his pocket three roadsters-I tell you, three
beautiful great black horses, with saddle and caparison. Take it
in, for Heaven's sake! -three saddled horses, out of the same
pocket from which already a pocket-book, a telescope, an em-
broidered carpet twenty paces long and ten broad, a pleasure-
tent of equal dimensions and all the requisite poles and irons,
had come forth! If I did not protest to you that I saw it
myself with my own eyes, you could not possibly believe it.
Embarrassed and obsequious as the man himself appeared to
be, little as was the attention which had been bestowed upon
him, yet to me his grisly aspect, from which I could not turn
my eyes, became so fearful that I could bear it no longer.
I resolved to steal away from the company, which from the
insignificant part I played in it seemed to me an easy affair.
I proposed to myself to return to the city to try my luck again
on the morrow with Mr.
John, and if I could muster the neces-
sary courage, to question him about the singular gray man. Had
I only had the good fortune to escape so well!
I had already actually succeeded in stealing through the ros-
ery, and on descending the hill found myself on a piece of lawn,
when, fearing to be encountered in crossing the grass out of the
path, I cast an inquiring glance round me. What was my terror
to behold the man in the gray coat behind me, and making
towards me! The next moment he took off his hat before me,
and bowed so low as no one had ever yet done to me. There
was no doubt but that he wished to address me, and without
being rude I could not prevent it. I also took off my hat,
bowed also, and stood there in the sun with bare head as if
rooted to the ground. I stared at him full of terror, and was
like a bird which a serpent has fascinated. He himself appeared
very much embarrassed. He did not raise his eyes, again bowed
3509
-


## p. 3510 (#488) ###########################################

3510
ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
repeatedly, drew nearer and addressed me with a soft tremulous
voice, almost in a tone of supplication:-
"May I hope, sir, that you will pardon my boldness in ven-
turing in so unusual a manner to approach you? but I would ask
a favor. Permit me most condescendingly - "
"But in God's name! " exclaimed I in my trepidation, "what
can I do for a man who—" we both started, and as I believe,
reddened.
After a moment's silence he again resumed:-
"During the short time that I had the happiness to find my-
self near you, I have, sir, many times,- allow me to say it to
you,- really contemplated with inexpressible admiration the beau-
tiful, beautiful shadow which, as it were with a certain noble
disdain and without yourself remarking it, you cast from you in
the sunshine. The noble shadow at your feet there! Pardon me
the bold supposition, but possibly you might not be indisposed
to make this shadow over to me. "
-
I was silent, and a mill-wheel seemed to whirl round in my
head. What was I to make of this singular proposition to sell
my own shadow? He must be mad, thought I; and with an
altered tone which was more assimilated to that of his own
humility, I answered him thus:-
"Ha ha! good friend, have not you then enough of your
own shadow? I take this for a business of a very singular sort —”
He hastily interrupted me:-"I have many things in my
pocket which, sir, might not appear worthless to you; and for
this inestimable shadow I hold the very highest price too small. "
It struck cold through me again as I was reminded of the
pocket. I knew not how I could have called him good friend.
I resumed the conversation, and sought to set all right again by
excessive politeness if possible.
"But, sir, pardon your most humble servant; I do not under-
stand your meaning. How indeed could my shadow—»
He interrupted me.
"I beg your permission only here on the spot to be allowed
to take up this noble shadow and put it in my pocket; how I
shall do that, be my care. On the other hand, as a testimony of
my grateful acknowledgment to you, I give you the choice of all
the treasures which I carry in my pocket,—the genuine 'spring-
root,' the mandrake-root,' the 'change-penny,' the 'rob-dollar,'
the napkin of Roland's page,' a 'mandrake-man,' at your own


## p. 3511 (#489) ###########################################

ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
3511
price. But these probably don't interest you; rather 'Fortu-
natus's wishing-cap,' newly and stoutly repaired, and a lucky-
bag such as he had! "
"The luck-purse of Fortunatus! " I exclaimed, interrupting
him; and great as my anxiety was, with that one word he had
taken my whole mind captive. A dizziness seized me, and dou-
ble ducats seemed to glitter before my eyes.
"Honored sir, will you do me the favor to view and to make
trial of this purse? " He thrust his hand into his pocket and
drew out a tolerably large, well-sewed purse of stout Cordovan
leather, with two strong strings, and handed it to me. I plunged
my hand into it, and drew out ten gold pieces, and again ten. I
extended him eagerly my hand. "Agreed! the business is done:
for the purse you have my shadow! "
He closed with me; kneeled instantly down before me, and
I beheld him, with an admirable dexterity, gently loosen my
shadow from top to toe from the grass, lift it up, roll it to-
gether, fold it, and finally pocket it. He arose, made me
another obeisance, and retreated towards the rosery. I fancied
that I heard him there softly laughing to himself, but I held the
purse fast by the strings; all round me lay the clear sunshine,
and within me was yet no power of reflection.
At length I came to myself, and hastened to quit the place
where I had nothing more to expect. In the first place I filled
my pockets with gold; then I secured the strings of the purse
fast round my neck, and concealed the purse itself in my
bosom. I passed unobserved out of the park, reached the high-
way and took the road to the city. As, sunk in thought, I
approached the gate, I heard a cry behind me:
"Young gentleman! eh! young gentleman! hear you! "
I looked round; an old woman called after me.
"Do take care, sir, you have lost your shadow! "
"Thank you, good mother! " I threw her a gold piece for
her well-meant intelligence, and stopped under the trees.
At the city gate I was compelled to hear again from the
sentinel, "Where has the gentleman left his shadow? » And
immediately again from some women, "Jesus Maria! the poor
fellow has no shadow! " That began to irritate me, and I
became especially careful not to walk in the sun. This could
not, however, be accomplished everywhere; for instance, over the
broad street I must next take-actually, as mischief would have


## p. 3512 (#490) ###########################################

3512
ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO
it, at the very moment the boys came out of school. A cursed
hunchbacked rogue-I see him yet-spied out instantly that
I had no shadow. He proclaimed the fact with a loud outcry
to the whole assembled literary street youth of the suburb,
who began forthwith to criticize me and to pelt me with mud.
"Decent people are accustomed to take their shadow with them
when they go into the sunshine. " To defend myself from them
I threw whole handfuls of gold amongst them, and sprang into
a hackney coach which some compassionate soul procured for me.
As soon as I found myself alone in the rolling carriage, I
began to weep bitterly. The presentiment must already have
arisen in me that on earth, far as gold transcends merit and vir-
tue in estimation, so much higher than gold itself is the shadow
valued; and as I had earlier sacrificed wealth to conscience, I
had now thrown away the shadow for mere gold. What in the
world could and would become of me!
FROM WOMAN'S LOVE AND LIFE'
HOU ring upon my finger,
My little golden ring,
Against my fond bosom I press thee,
And to thee my fond lips cling.
THOU
Τ
My girlhood's dream was ended,
Its peaceful, innocent grace,
Forlorn I woke, and so lonely,
In desolate infinite space.
Thou ring upon my finger,
Thou bringest me peace on earth,
And thou my eyes hast opened
To womanhood's infinite worth.
I'll love and serve him forever,
And live for him alone;
I'll give him my life, but to find it
Transfigured in his own.
Thou ring upon my finger,
My little golden ring,
Against my fond bosom I press thee,
And to thee my fond lips cling.
Translation of Charles Harvey Genung.


## p. 3513 (#491) ###########################################

3513
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
(1780-1842)
D
R. CHANNING, the recognized leader although not the origi-
nator of the Unitarian movement in this country, was a
man of singular spirituality, sweetness of disposition, purity
of life, and nobility of character. He was thought by some to be
austere and cold in temperament, and timid in action; but this was
rather a misconception of a life given to conscientious study, and an
effort to allow due weight to opposing arguments. He was not liable
to be swept from his moorings by momentary enthusiasm.
As a
writer he was clear and direct, admirably
perspicuous in style, without great orna-
ment, much addicted to short and simple
sentences, though singularly enough an
admirer of those which were long and
involved. A critic in Fraser's Magazine
wrote of him:-"Channing is unquestion-
ably the first writer of the age. From his
writings may be extracted some of the
richest poetry and richest conceptions,
clothed in language-unfortunately for our
literature-too little studied in the day in
which we live. "

He was of "blue blood," - the grand- WILLIAM E. CHANNING
son of William Ellery, one of the signers
of the Declaration,- and was born at Newport, Rhode Island, April
7th, 1780. He was graduated at Harvard College with high honors in
1798, and first thought of studying medicine, but was inclined to the
direction of the ministry. He became a private tutor in Richmond,
Virginia, where he learned to detest slavery. Here he laid the seeds
of subsequent physical troubles by imprudent indulgence in asceti-
cism, in a desire to avoid effeminacy. He entered upon the study of
theology, which he continued in Cambridge; he was ordained in
1803, and soon became pastor of the Federal Street Church in Bos-
ton, in charge of which society he passed his ministerial life. In
the following year he was associated with Buckminster and others
in the liberal Congregational movement, and this led him into a posi-
tion of controversy with his orthodox brethren,-one he cordially
disliked. But he could not refrain from preaching the doctrines of
the dignity of human nature, the supremacy of reason, and religious
freedom, of whose truth he was profoundly assured.


## p. 3514 (#492) ###########################################

3514
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
It has been truly said that Channing was too much a lover of
free thought, and too desirous to hold only what he thought to be
true, to allow himself to be bound by any party ties. "I wish," he
himself said, "to regard myself as belonging not to a sect but to the
community of free minds, of lovers of truth and followers of Christ,
both on earth and in heaven. I desire to escape the narrow walls of
a particular church, and to stand under the open sky in the broad
light, looking far and wide, seeing with my own eyes, hearing with
my own ears, and following Truth meekly but resolutely, however
arduous or solitary be the path in which she leads. "
He was greatly interested in temperance, in the anti-slavery
movement, in the elevation of the laboring classes, and other social
reforms; and after 1824, when Dr. Gannett became associate pastor,
he gave much time to work in these directions. His death occurred
at Bennington, Vermont, April 2d, 1842. His literary achievements
are mainly or wholly in the line of his work,- sermons, addresses,
and essays; but they were prepared with scrupulous care, and have
the quality naturally to be expected from a man of broad and cath-
olic spirit, wide interests, and strong love of literature. His works,
in six volumes, are issued by the American Unitarian Association,
which also publishes a 'Memorial' by his nephew, William Henry
Channing, in three volumes.
THE PASSION FOR POWER
From The Life and Character of Napoleon Bonaparte'
is
HE passion for ruling, though most completely developed in
to no forms of government. It is
the chief peril of free States, the natural enemy of free
institutions. It agitates our own country, and still throws an
uncertainty over the great experiment we are making here in
behalf of liberty.
It is the distinction of republican
institutions, that whilst they compel the passion for power to
moderate its pretensions, and to satisfy itself with more limited
gratifications, they tend to spread it more widely through the
community, and to make it a universal principle. The doors of
office being opened to all, crowds burn to rush in. A thousand
hands are stretched out to grasp the reins which are denied to
none. Perhaps in this boasted and boasting land of liberty, not
a few, if called to state the chief good of a republic, would
place it in this: that every man is eligible to every office, and


## p. 3515 (#493) ###########################################

WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
3515
that the highest places of power and trust are prizes for univer-
sal competition. The superiority attributed by many to our
institutions is, not that they secure the greatest freedom, but give
every man
chance of ruling; not that they reduce the power
of government within the narrowest limits which the safety of
the State admits, but throw it into as many hands as possible.
The despot's great crime is thought to be that he keeps the
delight of dominion to himself, that he makes a monopoly of it;
whilst our more generous institutions, by breaking it into parcels
and inviting the multitude to scramble for it, spread this joy
more widely. The result is that political ambition infects our
country and generates a feverish restlessness and discontent,
which to the monarchist may seem more than a balance for our
forms of liberty. The spirit of intrigue, which in absolute gov-
ernments is confined to courts, walks abroad through the land;
and as individuals can accomplish no political purposes single-
handed, they band themselves into parties, ostensibly framed for
public ends, but aiming only at the acquisition of power. The
nominal sovereign,- that is, the people,-like all other sov-
ereigns, is courted and flattered and told that it can do no wrong.
Its pride is pampered, its passions inflamed, its prejudices made
inveterate. Such are the processes by which other republics have
been subverted, and he must be blind who cannot trace them
among ourselves. We mean not to exaggerate our dangers. We
rejoice to know that the improvements of society oppose many
checks to the love of power. But every wise man who sees its
workings must dread it as one chief foe.
This passion derives strength and vehemence in our country
from the common idea that political power is the highest prize
which society has to offer. We know not a more general delu-
sion, nor is it the least dangerous. Instilled as it is in our
youth, it gives infinite excitement to political ambition. It turns
the active talents of the country to public station as the supreme
good, and makes it restless, intriguing, and unprincipled. It
calls out hosts of selfish competitors for comparatively few
places, and encourages a bold, unblushing pursuit of personal
elevation, which a just moral sense and self-respect in the com-
munity would frown upon and cover with shame.


## p. 3516 (#494) ###########################################

3516
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
THE CAUSES OF WAR
From a Discourse delivered before the Congregational ministers of
Massachusetts >
ONE
NE of the great springs of war may be found in a very
strong and general propensity of human nature-in the
love of excitement, of emotion, of strong interest; a pro-
pensity which gives a charm to those bold and hazardous enter-
prises which call forth all the energies of our nature. No state
of mind, not even positive suffering, is more painful than the
want of interesting objects. The vacant soul preys on itself, and
often rushes with impatience from the security which demands
no effort, to the brink of peril. This part of human nature is
seen in the kind of pleasures which have always been preferred.
Why has the first rank among sports been given to the chase?
Because its difficulties, hardships, hazards, tumults, awaken the
mind, and give to it a new consciousness of existence, and a
deep feeling of its powers. What is the charm which attaches
the statesman to an office which almost weighs him down with
labor and an appalling responsibility? He finds much of his
compensation in the powerful emotion and interest awakened by
the very hardships of his lot, by conflict with vigorous minds,
by the opposition of rivals, by the alternations of success and
defeat. What hurries to the gaming tables the man of prosper-
ous fortune and ample resources The dread of apathy, the
love of strong feeling and of mental agitation. A deeper inter-
est is felt in hazarding than in securing wealth, and the tempta-
tion is irresistible.
Another powerful principle of our
nature which is the spring of war, is the passion for superiority,
for triumph, for power. The human mind is aspiring, impatient
of inferiority, and eager for control. I need not enlarge on the
predominance of this passion in rulers, whose love of power is
influenced by its possession, and who are ever restless to extend
their sway.
It is more important to observe that were this de-
sire restrained to the breasts of rulers, war would move with a
sluggish pace. But the passion for power and superiority is uni-
versal; and as every individual, from his intimate union with
the community, is accustomed to appropriate its triumphs to
himself, there is a general promptness to engage in any contest
by which the community may obtain an ascendency over other
·


## p. 3517 (#495) ###########################################

WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
3517
nations. The desire that our country should surpass all others
would not be criminal, did we understand in what respects it is
most honorable for a nation to excel; did we feel that the glory
of a State consists in intellectual and moral superiority, in pre-
eminence of knowledge, freedom and purity. But to the mass
of the people this form of pre-eminence is too refined and un-
substantial. There is another kind of triumph which they better
understand: the triumph of physical power, triumph in battle,
triumph not over the minds but the territory of another State.
Here is a palpable, visible superiority; and for this a people are
willing to submit to severe privations. A victory blots out the
memory of their sufferings, and in boasting of their extended
power they find a compensation for many woes.
An-
other powerful spring of war is the admiration of the brilliant
qualities displayed in war. Many delight in war, not for its
carnage and woes, but for its valor and apparent magnanimity,
for the self-command of the hero, the fortitude which despises
suffering, the resolution which courts danger, the superiority of
the mind to the body, to sensation, to fear. Men seldom delight
in war, considered merely as a source of misery. When they
hear of battles, the picture which rises to their view is not
what it should be-a picture of extreme wretchedness, of the
wounded, the mangled, the slain; these horrors are hidden under
the splendor of those mighty energies which break forth amidst
the perils of conflict, and which human nature contemplates with
an intense and heart-thrilling delight. Whilst the peaceful sov-
ereign who scatters blessings with the silence and constancy of
Providence is received with a faint applause, men assemble in
crowds to hail the conqueror,—perhaps a monster in human form,
whose private life is blackened with lust and crime, and whose
greatness is built on perfidy and usurpation. Thus war is the
surest and speediest way to renown; and war will never cease
while the field of battle is the field of glory, and the most lux-
uriant laurels grow from a root nourished with blood.


## p. 3518 (#496) ###########################################

3518
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
SPIRITUAL FREEDOM
From the Discourse on Spiritual Freedom,' 1830
I
CONSIDER the freedom or moral strength of the individual
mind as the supreme good, and the highest end of govern-
ment.
I am aware that other views are often taken. It is
said that government is intended for the public, for the commu-
nity, not for the individual. The idea of a national interest
prevails in the minds of statesmen, and to this it is thought that
the individual may be sacrificed. But I would maintain that the
individual is not made for the State so much as the State for
the individual. A man is not created for political relations as
his highest end, but for indefinite spiritual progress, and is
placed in political relations as the means of his progress. The
human soul is greater, more sacred than the State, and must
never be sacrificed to it. The human soul is to outlive all
earthly institutions. The distinction of nations is to pass away.
Thrones which have stood for ages are to meet the doom pro-
nounced upon all man's works. But the individual mind sur-
vives, and the obscurest subject, if true to God, will rise to
power never wielded by earthly potentates.
A human being is a member of the community, not as a
limb is a member of the body, or as a wheel is a part of a
machine, intended only to contribute to some general joint
result. He was created not to be merged in the whole, as a
drop in the ocean or as a particle of sand on the seashore, and
to aid only in composing a mass. He is an ultimate being,
made for his own perfection as his highest end; made to main-
tain an individual existence, and to serve others only as far as
consists with his own virtue and progress. Hitherto governments
have tended greatly to obscure this importance of the individual,
to depress him in his own eyes, to give him the idea of an out-
ward interest more important than the invisible soul, and of an
outward authority more sacred than the voice of God in his own
secret conscience. Rulers have called the private man the prop-
erty of the State, meaning generally by the State themselves;
and thus the many have been immolated to the few, and have
even believed that this was their highest destination. These
views cannot be too earnestly withstood. Nothing seems to me
so needful as to give to the mind the consciousness, which gov-
ernments have done so much to suppress, of its own separate


## p. 3519 (#497) ###########################################

WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
3519
worth. Let the individual feel that through his immortality he
may concentrate in his own being a greater good than that of
nations. Let him feel that he is placed in the community, not
to part with his individuality or to become a tool, but that he
should find a sphere for his various powers, and a preparation
for immortal glory. To me the progress of society consists in
nothing more than in bringing out the individual, in giving him.
a consciousness of his own being, and in quickening him to
strengthen and elevate his own mind.
In thus maintaining that the individual is the end of social
institutions, I may be thought to discourage public efforts and
the sacrifice of private interests to the State. Far from it. No
man, I affirm, will serve his fellow-beings so effectually, so fer-
vently, as he who is not their slave; as he who, casting off every
other yoke, subjects himself to the law of duty in his own mind.
For this law enjoins a disinterested and generous spirit, as man's
glory and likeness to his Maker. Individuality, or moral self-
subsistence, is the surest foundation of an all-comprehending love.
No man so multiplies his bonds with the community, as he who
watches most jealously over his own perfection. There is a beau-
tiful harmony between the good of the State and the moral free-
dom and dignity of the individual. Were it not so, were these
interests in any case discordant, were an individual ever called
to serve his country by acts debasing his own mind, he ought
not to waver a moment as to the good which he should prefer.
Property, life, he should joyfully surrender to the State. But his
soul he must never stain or enslave. From poverty, pain, the
rack, the gibbet, he should not recoil; but for no good of others
ought he to part with self-control, or violate the inward law.
We speak of the patriot as sacrificing himself to the public weal.
Do we mean that he sacrifices what is most properly himself,
the principle of piety and virtue? Do we not feel that however
great may be the good which through his sufferings accrues to
the State, a greater and purer glory redounds to himself; and
that the most precious fruit of his disinterested services is the
strength of resolution and philanthropy which is accumulated in
his own soul? .
The advantages of civilization have their peril. In such a
state of society, opinion and law impose salutary restraint, and
produce general order and security. But the power of opinion
grows into a despotism, which more than all things represses


## p. 3520 (#498) ###########################################

3520
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
original and free thought, subverts individuality of character, re-
duces the community to a spiritless monotony, and chills the
love of perfection. Religion, considered simply as the principle
which balances the power of human opinion, which takes man
out of the grasp of custom and fashion, and teaches him to refer
himself to a higher tribunal, is an infinite aid to moral strength
and elevation.
An important benefit of civilization, of which we hear much
from the political economist, is the division of labor, by which
arts are perfected. But this, by confining the mind to an
unceasing round of petty operations, tends to break it into little-
ness. We possess improved fabrics, but deteriorated men.
Another advantage of civilization is, that manners are refined
and accomplishments multiplied; but these are continually seen
to supplant simplicity of character, strength of feeling, the love
of nature, the love of inward beauty and glory. Under outward
courtesy we see a cold selfishness, a spirit of calculation, and
little energy of love.
I confess I look round on civilized society with many fears,
and with more and more earnest desire that a regenerating spirit
from heaven, from religion, may descend upon and pervade it.
I particularly fear that various causes are acting powerfully
among ourselves, to inflame and madden that enslaving and
degrading principle, the passion for property. For example, the
absence of hereditary distinctions in our country gives prominence
to the distinction of wealth, and holds up this as the chief prize
to ambition.