No More Learning

Indeed, to most of his readers, perhaps, he is known as E. T. A.
rather than E. T. W. Hoffmann. His masterly analysis of Don Gio-
vanni' is a choice piece of musical criticism, not without value to-day.
In his management of the Bamberg theatre Hoffmann was guided
by high artistic ideals; through his influence several of Calderon's
plays were produced. But the incubus of the Napoleonic wars rested
upon every enterprise, and the theatre had to be closed. Hoffmann
still held the post of correspondent of the Musical Gazette of Leipzig,
but had no adequate income. He led a wretched life as musical
director of a troupe which played alternately in Leipzig and in Dres-
den. He was in Dresden during the siege, and while the bullets
flew thick around him he wrote with enthusiastic exaltation one of
his best tales, 'Der Goldene Topf' (The Golden Pot), which Carlyle
translated for his collection of German romances. It was during
this period also that he set Fouqué's 'Undine' to music, and the
opera was produced at the Berlin opera-house.


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ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7391
All this is aside from Hoffmann's literary work, upon which his
fame is solely founded. His early years, with their varied experi-
ences in strange places and amid exciting scenes, supplied his pen
with inexhaustible material. His first characteristic contribution to
literature was the 'Fantasiestücke in Callots Manier' (Fantasy-pieces
in the style of Callot). These were a collection of his articles that
had been published in the Musical Gazette; striking pen sketches in
the manner of the celebrated and eccentric French engraver of the
early seventeenth century, Jacques Callot. In the following year,
1815, appeared 'Die Elixire des Teufels' (The Devil's Elixir). This
work made his literary reputation sure. Among the most widely
known of his numerous books is the collection of tales bearing the
general title of 'Die Serapionsbrüder' (The Serapion Brethren). The
name was derived from an association of kindred spirits in Berlin,
which happened to hold its first meeting on the night of the anniver-
sary of St. Serapion. Among the occasional guests of this coterie
was Oehlenschläger, who in introducing a young countryman of his
wrote to Hoffmann: "Dip him also a little into the magic sea of your
humor, respected friend, and teach him how a man can be a phi-
losopher and seer of the world under the ironical mantle of the mad-
house, and what is more, an amiable man as well. " These words
admirably characterize the peculiar quality of Hoffmann's strange
blending of wit, wisdom, and madness. His amiability appears prob-
ably most conspicuously in the 'Kater Murr' (Tom-Cat Murr's Views
of Life). The satire is keen but genial, and of the author's more
ambitious works this is his most finished production. But it is in the
shorter tales that the artist displays his highest excellence: the seri-
ous philosopher in the garb of a madman, and the tender-hearted
poet telling quaint fairy tales. Spiritually he is related to Jean Paul,
but missed his depth and greatness. The lyric swing, the wild imagi-
nation, the serious undercurrent beneath the sprightly wit, the biting
satire, and the playful fancy, assure him generations of readers among
his countrymen, and numerous translations attest his popularity in
England and America.
The rest of the story of Hoffmann's sad life is soon told. After
the peace which concluded the Napoleonic wars he was restored to
his official position in 1816, this time in the high tribunal of Berlin;
and his seniority was acknowledged as if he had served without a
break. Here he found himself in the midst of a choice and con-
genial circle: Hitzig his biographer, Fouqué, Chamisso. His dissolute
ways, however, never completely abandoned, led finally to the disease
which terminated in his death. He died literally inch by inch, though
eager to live in what pitiable condition soever; and to the end, when
his vital functions were almost suspended, his mind and imagination
remained unimpaired. He died on June 25th, 1822.


## p. 7392 (#190) ###########################################

7392
ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
Hoffmann's writings, like himself, are full of strange contradic-
tions. He was an epicurean to the point of weakness and a stoic to
the point of heroic endurance. At the very portals of death he con-
tinued to write in his own fantastic vein; and at the same time was
inspired to compose a tale, 'Des Vetters Eckfenster' (The Cousin's
Corner Window), which is so unlike his usual style that lovers of
Émile Souvestre would take pleasure in its serene and grave phi-
losophy. "He preferred to remain a riddle to himself, a riddle which
he always dreaded to have solved," wrote a friend; and he demanded
that he should be regarded as a "sacred inexplicable hieroglyph. "
FROM THE GOLDEN POT›
ST
TIR not the emerald leaves of the palm-trees in soft sighing
and rustling, as if kissed by the breath of the morning wind?
Awakened from their sleep, they move, and mysteriously
whisper of the wonders which from the far distance approach
like tones of melodious harps! The azure rolls from the walls,
and floats like airy vapor to and fro; but dazzling beams shoot
through it; and whirling and dancing, as in jubilee of childlike
sport, it mounts and mounts to immeasurable height, and vaults
itself over the palm-trees. But brighter and brighter shoots beam
on beam, till in boundless expanse opens the grove where I be-
hold Anselmus. Here glowing hyacinths and tulips and roses lift
their fair heads; and their perfumes in loveliest sound call to the
happy youth: "Wander, wander among us, our beloved; for thou
understandest us! Our perfume is the longing of love; we love
thee, and are thine for evermore! " The golden rays burn in
glowing tones: "We are fire, kindled by love. Perfume is long-
ing; but fire is desire; and dwell we not in thy bosom? We are
thy own! " The dark bushes, the high trees, rustle and sound:
"Come to us, thou loved, thou happy one! Fire is desire; but
hope is our cool shadow. Lovingly we rustle round thy head;
for thou understandest us, because love dwells in thy breast! "
The brooks and fountains murmur and patter: "Loved one, walk
not so quickly by; look into our crystal! Thy image dwells in us,
which we preserve with love, for thou hast understood us. " In
the triumphal choir, bright birds are singing: "Hear us! Hear
us! We are joy, we are delight, the rapture of love! " But
anxiously Anselmus turns his eyes to the glorious temple which
rises behind him in the distance. The fair pillars seem trees,


## p. 7393 (#191) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7393
and the capitals and friezes acanthus leaves, which in wondrous
wreaths and figures form splendid decorations. Anselmus walks
to the temple; he views with inward delight the variegated mar-
ble, the steps with their strange veins of moss. "Ah, no! ” cries
he, as if in the excess of rapture, "she is not far from me now;
she is near! " Then advances Serpentina, in the fullness of beauty
and grace, from the temple; she bears the golden pot, from which
a bright lily has sprung. The nameless rapture of infinite long-
ing glows in her meek eyes; she looks at Anselmus and says,
"Ah! dearest, the lily has sent forth her bowl; what we longed
for is fulfilled. Is there a happiness to equal ours? " Anselmus
clasps her with the tenderness of warmest ardor; the lily burns
in flaming beams over his head. And louder move the trees and
bushes; clearer and gladder play the brooks; the birds, the shining
insects dance in the waves of perfume; a gay, bright, rejoicing
tumult, in the air, in the water, in the earth, is holding the fes-
tival of love! Now rush sparkling streaks, gleaming over all the
bushes; diamonds look from the ground like shining eyes; strange
vapors are wafted hither on sounding wings; they are the spirits
of the elements, who do homage to the lily, and proclaim the
happiness of Anselmus. Then Anselmus raises his head, as if
encircled with a beamy glory. Is it looks? Is it words? Is it
song? You hear the sound: "Serpentina! Belief in thee, love of
thee has unfolded to my soul the inmost spirit of nature! Thou
hast brought me the lily, which sprung from gold, from the pri-
meval force of the world, before Phosphorus had kindled the
spark of thought; this lily is knowledge of the sacred harmony
of all beings; and in this do I live in highest blessedness for
evermore. Yes, I, thrice happy, have perceived what was high-
est; I must indeed love thee forever, O Serpentina! Never shall
the golden blossoms of the lily grow pale; for, like belief and
love, this knowledge is eternal. "
Carlyle's Translation.
XIII-463


## p. 7394 (#192) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7394
NUTCRACKER AND THE KING OF MICE
From The Serapion Brethren ›
As
S SOON as Marie was alone, she set rapidly to work to do the
thing which was chiefly at her heart to accomplish, and
which, though she scarcely knew why, she somehow did
not like to set about in her mother's presence. She had been
holding Nutcracker, wrapped in the handkerchief, carefully in
her arms all this time; and she now laid him softly down on the
table, gently unrolled the handkerchief, and examined his wounds.
Nutcracker was very pale, but at the same time he was smil-
ing with a melancholy and pathetic kindliness which went straight
to Marie's heart.
"O my darling little Nutcracker! " said she very softly, “don't
you be vexed because brother Fritz has hurt you so: he didn't
mean it, you know; he's only a little bit hardened with his sol-
diering and that; but he's a good nice boy, I can assure you: and
I'll take the greatest care of you and nurse you till you're quite,
quite better and happy again. And your teeth shall be put in
again for you, and your shoulder set right; godpapa Drosselmeier
will see to that; he knows how to do things of the kind—”
Marie could not finish what she was going to say, because at
the mention of godpapa Drosselmeier, friend Nutcracker made a
most horrible ugly face. A sort of green sparkle of much sharp-
ness seemed to dart out of his eyes. This was only for an
instant, however; and just as Marie was going to be terribly
frightened, she found that she was looking at the very same nice,
kindly face, with the pathetic smile, which she had seen before,
and she saw plainly that it was nothing but some draught of air
making the lamp flicker that had seemed to produce the change.
"Well! " she said, "I certainly am a silly girl to be so easily
frightened, and think that a wooden doll could make faces at
me! But I'm too fond really of Nutcracker, because he's so
funny, and so kind and nice; and so he must be taken the great-
est care of, and properly nursed till he's quite well. "
With which she took him in her arms again, approached the
cupboard, and kneeling down beside it, said to her new doll:-
"I'm going to ask a favor of you, Miss Clara: that you will
give up your bed to this poor, sick, wounded Nutcracker, and
make yourself as comfortable as you can on the sofa here.
Remember that you're quite well and strong yourself, or you
-


## p. 7395 (#193) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7395
wouldn't have such fat red cheeks, and that there are very
few dolls indeed who have as comfortable a sofa as this to lie
upon.
>>
and
Miss Clara, in her Christmas full dress, looked very grand
disdainful, and said not so much as "Muck! "
«Very well," said Marie, "why should I make such a fuss,
and stand on any ceremony? " took the bed and moved it for-
ward; laid Nutcracker carefully and tenderly down on it; wrapped
another pretty ribbon, taken from her own dress, about his hurt.
shoulder, and drew the bed-clothes up to his nose.
―――――――
"But he shan't stay with that nasty Clara," she said, and
moved the bed, with Nutcracker in it, up to the upper shelf, so
that it was placed near the village in which Fritz's hussars had
their cantonments. She closed the cupboard and was moving
away to go to bed, when-listen, children! - there began a low
soft rustling and rattling, and a sort of whispering noise, all
round, in all directions, from all quarters of the room,- behind
the stove, under the chairs, behind the cupboards. The clock on
the wall "warned" louder and louder, but could not strike.
Marie looked at it, and saw that the big gilt owl which was on
the top of it had drooped its wings so that they covered the
whole of the clock, and had stretched its cat-like head, with the
crooked beak, a long way forward. And the "warning" kept
growing louder and louder, with distinct words: "Clocks, clock-
ies, stop ticking. No sound, but cautious warning. ' Mousey
king's ears are fine. Prr-prr. Only sing 'poom, poom'; sing the
olden song of doom! prr-prr; poom, poom. Bells go chime!
Soon rings out the fated time! " And then came
<< Poom! poom! "
quite hoarsely and smothered, twelve times.
Marie grew terribly frightened, and was going to rush away
as best she could, when she noticed that godpapa Drosselmeier
was up on the top of the clock instead of the owl, with his yel-
low coat-tails hanging down on both sides like wings. But she
manned herself, and called out in a loud voice of anguish:-
"Godpapa! godpapa! what are you up there for? Come down
to me, and don't frighten me so terribly, you naughty, naughty
godpapa Drosselmeier! »
But then there began a sort of wild kickering and queaking,
everywhere, all about, and presently there was a sound as of
running and trotting, as of thousands of little feet behind the
walls and thousands of little lights began to glitter out between


## p. 7396 (#194) ###########################################

7396
ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
the chinks of the woodwork. But they were not lights; no, no!
little glittering eyes; and Marie became aware that everywhere
mice were peeping and squeezing themselves out through every
chink. Presently they were trotting and galloping in all directions
over the room; orderly bodies, continually increasing, of mice,
forming themselves into regular troops and squadrons, in good
order, just as Fritz's soldiers did when manoeuvres were going
on. As Marie was not afraid of mice (as many children are), she
could not help being amused by this; and her first alarm had
nearly left her, when suddenly there came such a sharp and ter-
rible piping noise that the blood ran cold in her veins. Ah!
what did she see then? Well, truly, kind reader, I know that
your heart is in the right place, just as much as my friend Field
Marshal Fritz's is, itself: but if you had seen what now came
before Marie's eyes, you would have made a clean pair of heels
of it; nay, I consider that you would have plumped into your
bed, and drawn the blankets further over your head than neces-
sity demanded.
But poor Marie hadn't it in her power to do any such thing,
because, right at her feet, as if impelled by some subterranean
power, sand and lime and broken stone came bursting up, and
then seven mouse-heads, with seven shining crowns upon them,
rose through the floor, hissing and piping in a most horrible way.
Quickly the body of the mouse which had those seven crowned
heads forced its way up through the floor, and this enormous
creature shouted, with its seven heads, aloud to the assembled
multitude, squeaking to them with all the seven mouths in full
chorus; and then the entire army set itself in motion, and went
trot, trot, right up to the cupboard-and in fact, to Marie who
was standing beside it.
Marie's heart had been beating so with terror that she had
thought it must jump out of her breast, and she must die. But
now it seemed to her as if the blood in her veins stood still.
Half fainting, she leant backwards, and then there was a "klirr,
klirr, prr," and the pane of the cupboard, which she had broken
with her elbow, fell in shivers to the floor. She felt for a mo-
ment a sharp, stinging pain in her arm, but still this seemed to
make her heart lighter; she heard no more of the queaking and
piping. Everything was quiet; and though she didn't dare to
look, she thought the noise of the glass breaking had frightened
the mice back to their holes.
——


## p. 7397 (#195) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7397
But what came to pass then? Right behind Marie a move-
ment seemed to commence in the cupboard, and small faint
voices began to be heard, saying:-
"Come, awake, measures take;
Out to the fight, out to the fight;
Shield the right, shield the right;
Arm and away,- this is the night. "
And harmonica bells began ringing as prettily as you please.
"Oh! that's my little peal of bells! " cried Marie, and went
nearer and looked in. Then she saw that there was bright light
in the cupboard, and everything busily in motion there; dolls
and little figures of various kinds all running about together, and
struggling with their little arms. At this point, Nutcracker
rose from his bed, cast off the bedclothes, and sprung with both
feet on to the floor (of the shelf), crying out at the top of his
voice: -
--
"Knack, knack, knack,
Stupid mousey pack,
All their skulls we'll crack.
Mousey pack, knack, knack,
Mousey pack, crick and crack,
Cowardly lot of schnack! »
And with this he drew his little sword, waved it in the air,
and cried:-
"Ye, my trusty vassals, brethren and friends, are ye ready to
stand by me in this great battle? "
Immediately three scaramouches, one pantaloon, four chimney-
sweeps, two zither-players, and a drummer, cried in eager ac-
cents:-
"Yes, your Highness: we will stand by you in loyal duty; we
will follow you to the death, the victory, and the fray! " And
they precipitated themselves after Nutcracker (who in the excite-
ment of the moment had dared that perilous leap) to the bot-
tom shelf. Now they might well dare this perilous leap; for
not only had they got plenty of clothes on, of cloth and silk, but
besides, there was not much in their insides except cotton and
sawdust, so that they plumped down like little wood-sacks. But
as for poor Nutcracker, he would certainly have broken his arms.
and legs; for, bethink you, it was nearly two feet from where he
had stood to the shelf below, and his body was as fragile as if


## p. 7398 (#196) ###########################################

7398
ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
he had been made of elm-wood. Yes, Nutcracker would have
broken his arms and legs had not Miss Clara started up from
her sofa at the moment of his spring, and received the hero,
drawn sword and all, in her tender arms.
"O you dear good Clara! " cried Marie, "how I did mis-
understand you! I believe you were quite willing to let dear
Nutcracker have your bed. "
But Miss Clara now cried, as she pressed the young hero
gently to her silken breast:
"O my lord! go not into this battle and danger, sick and
wounded as you are. See how your trusty vassals-clowns and
pantaloon, chimney-sweeps, zithermen, and drummer—are already
arrayed below; and the puzzle figures, in my shelf here, are in
motion and preparing for the fray! Deign, then, O my lord, to
rest in these arms of mine, and contemplate your victory from a
safe coign of vantage. "
Thus spoke Clara. But Nutcracker behaved so impatiently,
and kicked so with his legs, that Clara was obliged to put him
down on the shelf in a hurry. However, he at once sank grace-
fully on one knee, and expressed himself as follows:-
"O lady! the kind protection and aid which you have afforded
me will ever be present to my heart, in battle and in victory! "
On this, Clara bowed herself so as to be able to take hold of
him by his arms, raised him gently up, quickly loosed her girdle,
which was ornamented with many spangles, and would have
placed it about his shoulders. But the little man drew himself
swiftly two steps back, laid his hand upon his heart, and said
with much solemnity:-
―
"O lady! do not bestow this mark of your favor upon me;
for-" He hesitated, gave a deep sigh, took the ribbon with
which Marie had bound him from his shoulders, pressed it to his
lips, put it on as a cognizance for the fight, and waving his glit-
tering sword, sprang like a bird over the ledge of the cupboard
down to the floor.
You will observe, kind reader, that Nutcracker, even before
he really came to life, had felt and understood all Marie's good-
ness and regard, and that it was because of his gratitude and
devotion to her that he would not take, or wear even, a ribbon
of Miss Clara's, although it was exceedingly pretty and charming.
This good, true-hearted Nutcracker preferred Marie's much com-
moner and more unpretending token.


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ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7399
But what is going to happen further, now? At the moment
when Nutcracker sprang down, the queaking and piping com-
menced again worse than ever. Alas! under the big table the
hordes of the mouse army had taken up a position, densely
massed, under the command of the terrible mouse with the seven
heads. So what is to be the result?
THE BATTLE
"BEAT the Générale, trusty vassal drummer! " cried Nutcracker
very loud; and immediately the drummer began to roll his drum
in the most splendid style, so that the windows of the glass cup-
board rattled and resounded. Then there began a cracking and
a clattering inside, and Marie saw all the lids of the boxes in
which Fritz's army was quartered bursting open, and the soldiers
all came out and jumped down to the bottom shelf, where they
formed up in good order. Nutcracker hurried up and down the
ranks, speaking words of encouragement.
"There's not a dog of a trumpeter taking the trouble to sound
a call! " he cried in a fury. Then he turned to the pantaloon
(who was looking decidedly pale), and wobbling his long chin a
good deal, said in a tone of solemnity:-
"I know how brave and experienced you are, General! What
is essential here is a rapid comprehension of the situation, and
immediate utilization of the passing moment. I intrust you with
the command of the cavalry and artillery. You can do without
a horse; your own legs are long, and you can gallop on them as
fast as is necessary. Do your duty! "
Immediately Pantaloon put his long lean fingers to his mouth,
and gave such a piercing crow that it rang as if a hundred little
trumpets had been sounding lustily. Then there began a tramp-
ing and a neighing in the cupboard; and Fritz's dragoons and
cuirassiers- but above all, the new glittering hussars-marched
out, and then came to a halt, drawn up on the floor. They then
marched past Nutcracker by regiments, with guidons flying and
bands playing; after which they wheeled into line, and formed
up at right angles to the line of march. Upon this, Fritz's artil-
lery came rattling up, and formed action-front in advance of the
halted cavalry. Then it went "boom-boom! " and Marie saw the
sugar-plums doing terrible execution amongst the thickly massed
mouse battalions, which were powdered quite white by them, and


## p. 7400 (#198) ###########################################

7400
ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
greatly put to shame. But a battery of heavy guns, which had
taken up a strong position on mamma's footstool, was what did
the greatest execution; and "poom-poom-poom! " kept up a mur-
derous fire of gingerbread nuts into the enemy's ranks with most
destructive effect, mowing the mice down in great numbers.
The enemy, however, was not materially checked in his advance,
and had even possessed himself of one or two of the heavy guns,
when there came "prr-prr-prr! " and Marie could scarcely see
what was happening, for smoke and dust; but this much is cer-
tain, that every corps engaged fought with the utmost bravery
and determination, and it was for a long time doubtful which
side would gain the day.
The mice kept on developing fresh
bodies of their forces, as they were advanced to the scene of
action; their little silver balls-like pills in size-which they
delivered with great precision (their musketry practice being
specially fine) took effect even inside the glass cupboard. Clara
and Gertrude ran up and down in utter despair, wringing their
hands and loudly lamenting.
"Must I-the very loveliest doll in all the world - perish
miserably in the very flower of my youth? " cried Miss Clara.
"Oh! was it for this," wept Gertrude, "that I have taken
such pains to conserver myself all these years? Must I be shot
here in my own drawing-room after all? "
-
On this they fell into each other's arms, and howled so terri-
bly that you could hear them above all the din of the battle.
For you have no idea of the hurly-burly that went on now, dear
auditor! It went prr-prr-poof, piff-schnetterdeng― schnetterdeng
boom-booroom — boom-booroom - boom - all confusedly and
higgledy-piggledy; and the mouse king and the mice squeaked
and screamed; and then again Nutcracker's powerful voice was
heard shouting words of command and issuing important orders,
and he was seen striding along amongst his battalions in the
thick of the fire.
Pantaloon had made several most brilliant cavalry charges,
and covered himself with glory. But Fritz's hussars were sub-
jected by the mice-to a heavy fire of very evil-smelling shot,
which made horrid spots on their red tunics: this caused them to
hesitate, and hang rather back for a time. Pantaloon made them
take ground to the left, in échelon; and in the excitement of the
moment, he, with his dragoons and cuirassiers, executed a some-
what analogous movement. That is to say, they brought up the
―――


## p. 7401 (#199) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7401
right shoulder, wheeled to the left, and marched home to their
quarters. This had the effect of bringing the battery of artillery
on the footstool into imminent danger; and it was not long before
a large body of exceedingly ugly mice delivered such a vigorous
assault on this position that the whole of the footstool, with the
guns and gunners, fell into the enemy's hands. Nutcracker
seemed much disconcerted, and ordered his right wing to com-
mence a retrograde movement. A soldier of your experience, my
dear
knows well that such a movement is almost tanta-
mount to a regular retreat, and you grieve with me, in anticipa-
tion, for the disaster which threatens the army of Marie's beloved
little Nutcracker. But turn your glance in the other direction,
and look at this left wing of Nutcracker's, where all is still
going well, and you will see that there is yet much hope for the
commander-in-chief and his cause.
During the hottest part of the engagement, masses of mouse
cavalry had been quietly debouching from under the chest of
drawers, and had subsequently made a most determined advance
upon the left wing of Nutcracker's force, uttering loud and hor-
rible queakings. But what a reception they met with! Very
slowly, as the nature of the terrain necessitated (for the ledge at
the bottom of the cupboard had to be passed), the regiment of
motto figures, commanded by two Chinese emperors, advanced
and formed square. These fine, brilliantly uniformed troops, con-
sisting of gardeners, Tyrolese, Tungooses, hair-dressers, harlequins,
Cupids, lions, tigers, unicorns, and monkeys, fought with the
utmost courage, coolness, and steady endurance. This bataillon
d'élite would have wrested the victory from the enemy had not
one of his cavalry captains, pushing forward in a rash and fool-
hardy manner, made a charge upon one of the Chinese emperors
and bitten off his head. This Chinese emperor, in his fall,
knocked over and smothered a couple of Tungooses and a uni-
corn; and this created a gap, through which the enemy effected
a rush which resulted in the whole battalion being bitten to
But the enemy gained little advantage by this; for as
soon as one of the mouse cavalry soldiers bit one of these brave
adversaries to death, he found that there was a small piece of
printed paper sticking in his throat, of which he died in a mo-
ment Still, this was of small advantage to Nutcracker's army,
which, having once commenced a retrograde movement, went on
retreating farther and farther, suffering greater and greater loss.


## p. 7402 (#200) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7402
So that the unfortunate Nutcracker found himself driven back
close to the front of the cupboard, with a very small remnant of
his army.
"Bring up the reserves! Pantaloon! Scaramouch! Drummer!
where the devil have you got to? " shouted Nutcracker, who was
still reckoning on reinforcements from the cupboard. And there
did, in fact, advance a small contingent of brown gingerbread
men and women, with gilt faces, hats, and helmets; but they laid
about them so clumsily that they never hit any of the enemy, and
soon knocked off the cap of their commander-in-chief, Nutcracker
himself. And the enemy's chasseurs soon bit their legs off, so
that they tumbled topsy-turvy, and killed several of Nutcracker's
companions-in-arms into the bargain.
Nutcracker was now hard pressed, and closely hemmed in by
the enemy, and in a position of extreme peril. He tried to jump
the bottom ledge of the cupboard, but his legs were not long
enough. Clara and Gertrude had fainted; so they could give him
no assistance. Hussars and heavy dragoons came charging up
at him, and he shouted in wild despair:-
"A horse! a horse! My kingdom for a horse! "
At this moment two of the enemy's riflemen seized him by
his wooden cloak, and the king of the mice went rushing up to
him, squeaking in triumph out of all his seven throats.
Marie could contain herself no longer. "O my poor Nut-
cracker! " she sobbed; took off her left shoe without very dis-
tinctly knowing what she was about, and threw it as hard as she
could into the thick of the enemy, straight at their king.
Instantly everything vanished and disappeared. All was
silence. Nothing to be seen. But Marie felt a more stinging
pain than before in her left arm, and fell on the floor insensible.


## p. 7403 (#201) ###########################################

7403
JAMES HOGG
(1770-1835)
NE of the great names in modern Scottish Border poetry is
James Hogg, better known as the Ettrick Shepherd; a child
of nature, nourished in the Border glens and beside Border
streams, on the stories and traditions of Scotland. Born in 1770 in
Ettrick, which is situated in one of the most mountainous and pict-
uresque districts in the South of Scotland, when he was thirty he had
had but half a year's schooling; for he was sent to fold the sheep
when but seven years old, and at sixteen attained to the dignity of
shepherd, in which capacity he remained.
until he met Sir Walter Scott (1801), who
felt that in him he had found "a true son
of nature and genius, hardly conscious of
his power," and advised him to publish his
poems.

At this time Hogg is described by the
son of his master as
"above middle height, of faultless symmetry of
form; his face was round and full, and of a
ruddy complexion, with bright blue eyes that
beamed with gayety, glee, and good-humor. His
head was covered with a singular profusion of
light-brown hair, which he was obliged to wear
coiled up under his hat. On entering church on
a Sunday, he used, on lifting his hat, to raise his right hand to assist a
graceful shake of his head in laying back his long hair, which rolled down
his back and fell almost to his loins. And every female eye was upon him,
as with light step he ascended the stair to the gallery where he sat. "
JAMES HOGG
From 1810 to 1816 he lived in Edinburgh, but then went back to
Eltrive Lake in Yarrow, where his best verse was inspired. Of his
early work, which was done in Blackhouse Glen, far from human
life, alone with his lambs and dogs, the poet says: "For several
years my compositions consisted wholly of songs and ballads, made
up for the lasses to sing in chorus; and a proud man I was when
I first heard the rosy nymphs chanting my uncouth strains, and jeer-
ing me by the still clear appellation of Jamie the Poeter. » Hogg's
poetry, which is happiest when it has a strong flavor of dialect,
is notable for its fanciful humor or rollicking spirit of song, its love


## p. 7404 (#202) ###########################################

7404
JAMES HOGG
<
of the weird and wonderful, its pictures of brownies, fairies, and
country life; but his ambition to rival in their own way the greatest
poets of his time was curiously egotistic. The Queen's Wake,' his
most ambitious effort, was written in imitation of Scott's historical
romances, and he boasted that he had "beaten him in his own line. "
Though a most prolific writer, the greater part of his verse is charm-
ing. He died at Eltrive Lake, November 21st, 1835, aged sixty-five.
WHEN MAGGY GANGS AWAY
H, WHAT will a' the lads do
OH When Maggy gangs away?
Oh, what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?
There's no a heart in a' the glen
That disna dread the day:
Oh, what will a' the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?
Young Jock has ta'en the hill for't,
A waefu' wight is he;
Poor Harry's ta'en the bed for't,
An' laid him down to dee;
An' Sandy's gane unto the kirk,
An' learnin' fast to pray:
An' oh, what will the lads do
When Maggy gangs away?
The young laird o' the Lang-Shaw
Has drunk her health in wine;
The priest has said-in confidence -
The lassie was divine,
An' that is mair in maiden's praise
Than ony priest should say:
But oh, what will the lads do
When Maggy gangs away
y?
The wailing in our green glen
That day will quaver high;
"Twill draw the redbreast frae the wood,
The laverock frae the sky;
The fairies frae their beds o' dew
Will rise an' join the lay:
An' hey! what a day 'twill be
When Maggy gangs away!


## p. 7405 (#203) ###########################################

JAMES HOGG
7405
B
THE SKYLARK
IRD of the wilderness,
Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place:
Oh to abide in the desert with thee!
Wild is thy lay, and loud,
Far in the downy cloud;
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth!
Where, on thy dewy wing-
Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven; thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and fountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar singing away!
Then when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms,
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place-
Oh to abide in the desert with thee!
Μ'
DONALD M'DONALD
Air-"Woo'd an' married an' a'. »
Y NAME it is Donald M'Donald,
I live in the Hielands sae grand;
I hae follow'd our banner, and will do,
Wherever my Maker has land.
When rankit amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me ava:
I ken that my brethren around me
Are either to conquer or fa'.
Brogues an' brochen an' a',
Brochen an' brogues an' a':
An' is nae her very weel aff,
Wi' her brogues an' brochen an' a'?


## p. 7406 (#204) ###########################################

7406
JAMES HOGG
What though we befriendit young Charlie?
To tell it I dinna think shame :
Poor lad! he came to us but barely,
An' reckoned our mountains his hame.
'Twas true that our reason forbade us,
But tenderness carried the day;
Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away,
Sword an' buckler an' a',
Buckler an' sword an' a';
Now for George we'll encounter the Devil,
Wi' sword an' buckler an' a'!
An' oh, I wad eagerly press him
The keys o' the East to retain;
For should he gie up the possession,
We'll soon hae to force them again.
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonor,
Though it were my finishing blow,
He aye may depend on M'Donald,
Wi' his Hielanders a' in a row,
Knees an' elbows an' a',
Elbows an' knees an' a';
Depend upon Donald M'Donald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'!
Wad Bonaparte land at Fort William,
Auld Europe nae langer should grane;
I laugh when I think how we'd gall him,
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy
We'd rattle off frae our shore,
Or lull him asleep in a cairny,
An' sing him-'Lochaber no more! '
Stanes an' bullets an' a',
Bullets an' stanes an' a';
We'll finish the Corsican callan
Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'!
For the Gordon is good in a hurry,
An' Campbell is steel to the bane,
An' Grant, an' M'Kenzie, an' Murray,
An' Cameron will hurkle to nane;
The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal,
An' sae is M'Leod an' M'Kay;


## p. 7407 (#205) ###########################################

JAMES HOGG
7407
An' I their gude brither M'Donald,
Shall ne'er be last in the fray!
Brogues an' brochen an' a',
Brochen an' brogues an' a';
An' up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet,
The kilt an' the feather an' a'!
WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME
NOME, all ye jolly shepherds,
COME That whistle through the glen
I'll tell ye of a secret
That courtiers dinna ken:
What is the greatest bliss
That the tongue o' man can name?
'Tis to woo a bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame,
When the kye comes hame,
When the kye comes hame,
'Tween the gloaming and the mirk,
When the kye comes hame.
'Tis not beneath the coronet,
Nor canopy of state,
'Tis not on couch of velvet,
Nor arbor of the great-
'Tis beneath the spreading birk,
In the glen without the name,
Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie,
When the kye comes hame.
-
There the blackbird bigs his nest,
For the mate he lo'es to see,
And on the topmost bough
Oh! a happy bird is he!
Where he pours his melting ditty
And love is a' the theme,
And he'll woo his bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame.
When the blewart bears a pearl,
And the daisy turns a pea,
And the bonny luken gowan
Has fauldit up her ee,


## p. 7408 (#206) ###########################################

7408
JAMES HOGG
Then the laverock, frae the blue lift,
Drops down and thinks nae shame
To woo his bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame.
See yonder pawkie shepherd,
That lingers on the hill:
His ewes are in the fauld,
An' his lambs are lying still,
Yet he downa gang to bed,
For his heart is in a flame,
To meet his bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame.
When the little wee bit heart
Rises high in the breast,
An' the little wee bit starn
Rises red in the east,
Oh, there's a joy sae dear
That the heart can hardly frame,
Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame.
Then since all Nature joins
In this love without alloy,
Oh wha wad prove a traitor
To Nature's dearest joy?
Or wha wad choose a crown,
Wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss his bonnie lassie
When the kye comes hame?


## p. 7408 (#207) ###########################################



## p. 7408 (#208) ###########################################


LUDVIG HOLBERG.


## p. 7408 (#209) ###########################################

1
1.


## p. 7408 (#210) ###########################################




## p. 7409 (#211) ###########################################

7409
LUDVIG HOLBERG
(1684-1754)
BY WILLIAM MORTON PAYNE
T
HE literature of modern Scandinavia was, like that of modern
Germany, slow to emerge from the intellectual darkness of
the Middle Ages; and the writer who ushers in the litera-
ture of modern Denmark was a boy of sixteen when the seventeenth
century rounded to its close. In Scandinavia, as in Germany, the
Reformation had indeed been followed by a period of intellectual
ferment, but the energies thus liberated found their chief vent in
theological and political discussion. In Danish literature this period
is known as the age of learning; but it was an age which left
humanism clean out of the question, and even its learning was of
the narrow scholastic type. Into the world thus busied, which was
destined during his lifetime and largely owing to his activity to
undergo so complete an intellectual transformation, Ludvig Holberg
was born at Bergen, Norway, December 3d, 1684. The accident of
his birth in this Hansa town has led the Norwegians to claim him for
their own, and to dispute his title as the Father of Danish Literature.
The facts are, of course, that Norway and Denmark were politically
one until 1814, with a common language, and a common intellectual
centre in Copenhagen. Nearly all the literature produced, whether
by Danes or Norwegians, saw the light in the Danish capital, and
is properly to be described as Danish literature. Holberg saw Nor-
way for the last time in 1705; it was in Denmark that he lived and
wrote, and made for himself the greatest name in all Scandinavian
literature.
The principal authority for the facts of Holberg's life, except for
the closing years, is a sort of autobiography, originally published in
his 'Opuscula Latina,' and afterwards translated into Danish with
the title Trende Epistler' (Three Epistles). This little volume is
candid, concise, and extremely readable, mingling jest with earnest
in an altogether delightful fashion. The touch of the writer of satir-
ical comedy is frequently seen, and the author describes his own
foibles with the same sort of good-humor that goes to the creation
of the types immortalized in 'Den Danske Skueplads,' or collection
of his plays. From this autobiography we learn that Ludvig was the
youngest of twelve children, and was left an orphan at the age of
XIII-464


## p. 7410 (#212) ###########################################

7410
LUDVIG HOLBERG
ten.
He went to school in Bergen, and was then sent to Copenhagen
for an examination. Being without the money needful for university
study, he soon returned to Norway, where he taught for a year in a
clergyman's family, incidentally preaching on occasion in his master's
place, and giving great satisfaction in the latter capacity by the
brevity of his discourses. With the money thus earned, he went
back to Copenhagen, studied French and Italian, and passed a fairly
creditable examination in philosophy and theology. In the autumn
of 1704, with sixty rigsdaler in his pocket, he set out to see the
world.
Holberg's first glimpse of foreign lands was gained in about two
months, and at cost of no little hardship. He got as far as Amster-
dam and Aachen, and then home again. This was the first of the
five foreign journeys that he made in about twenty years. In itself it
was unimportant, but all the five taken together were of great sig-
nificance both for him and his country. For from these excursions
into the larger world of thought and action, he brought back nothing
less than the great gift of European culture to bestow upon his
fellow-countrymen; through him the light of the modern intelligence
shone upon the darkness of the North. The freedom of the human
spirit was asserting itself in many directions abroad; at home it was
held in the shackles of tradition. Holberg learned of such men as
Rabelais and Montaigne, Descartes and Bayle, Newton and Locke,
Leibnitz and Puffendorf, Spinoza and Grotius; and felt called upon
to become their interpreter to his fellow-countrymen. To this task
he gave his life; and, thanks to his efforts, the Scandinavian coun-
tries, in spite of their place apart, have never lagged far behind the
rest of Europe. But it is eminently characteristic of their literature,
from that time to the present, that its main inspiration has been thus
brought from without; and Ibsen in 1864, leaving his country because
its air seemed too sultry to breathe, but repeated the experience of
Holberg a century and a half earlier.
Holberg's second outing took him to Oxford, where he remained
from 1705 to 1707, pursuing his studies and supporting himself by
teaching music and the languages. It has been recently pointed out,
mainly from internal evidence, that Addison was probably numbered
among the friends made during this English sojourn, and that the
germs of several of the comedies may be found in the Spectator and
Tatler. The stay in Oxford was a turning-point in Holberg's life, in
the sense that when he returned it was to Copenhagen, not to Nor-
way, and that he never thereafter set foot upon his native soil. After
lecturing for a while in Copenhagen, he went abroad for a winter
in Dresden, Leipzig, and Halle. Returning in 1708, he spent the six
years following in teaching, and during this period published his first


## p. 7411 (#213) ###########################################

LUDVIG HOLBERG
7411
work, an introduction to European history. The publication of this
work got the author into a literary controversy which is mainly sig-
nificant because it first aroused Holberg's consciousness of his posses-
sion of the gift of satire, and helped prepare the way for 'Peder
Paars and the comedies.
The dedication to the King of a historical work of minor import-
ance won for Holberg an appointment as professor extraordinary at
the University, a purely honorary post. He thought it a good deal
of a joke that he should be appointed to lecture at the University, in
view of his opinion of the subjects most industriously pursued in that
institution. "I could," he says, "by good luck frame a syllogism
after a fashion, but could by no means be sure whether it was in
Barbara or Elizabeth. " The question of subsistence in his unsalaried
position was, however, anything but a joke; for his new dignity
debarred him from giving private instruction, hitherto his mainstay.
But there came presently a traveling stipend of one hundred rigs-
daler annually; and thus slenderly provided, he set out in 1714 upon
his fourth foreign journey, remaining more than two years away from
home, for the most part in France and Italy. In the summer of 1716
he made his way home, and his Wanderjahre were over.
The one
foreign journey subsequently made by him took place ten years later,
when he was at the height of his fame.
For two years after his return, Holberg lived in great poverty. At
this time he published a treatise upon the law of nations, basing his
work upon that of Grotius and Puffendorf. At last a chair became
vacant in the University, and he was called to fill it. In 1718 he was
installed in his professorship, and for the rest of his life remained,
occupying higher and higher positions, in close official connection
with the University. Metaphysics was the subject at first assigned
him, and so with a wry face he became, and remained for two years,
philosophe malgré lui. Brandes very plausibly finds in this enforced
and distasteful occupation a main cause of the irony which was
planted deep within his soul, and the active impulse which led to the
development of his genius in its most characteristic phase.
'Peder Paars,' the first of the works to which Holberg mainly owes
his fame, was published in 1719-20. It is a mock epic in four books,
and extends to upwards of six thousand lines. It is written in rhymed
iambic hexameters of a very pedestrian gait. Although a poem in
form, it is as destitute of the spirit of true poetry as is the 'Lutrin ›
of Boileau, which it suggests. Holberg was not a poet, and could not
become one. The gifts of irony and satire he had in the richest
measure, his humor was all but the deepest, and his imagination was
vivid upon every side but the poetic. His intellectual and human
sympathies embraced nearly all the life and thought of mankind. Hel


## p. 7412 (#214) ###########################################

7412
LUDVIG HOLBERG
was of the Voltairean type, the incarnation of intelligence tempered
by sympathy; and he even had his enthusiasms, although the super-
ficial student might fail to find them. Most of these qualities appear
in this his first great work, which recounts the adventures of a grocer
of Callundborg upon a journey to Aarhus. It pretends to be written
by one Hans Mickelson, and is provided with notes by an equally
mythical Just Justesen. Speaking through the mask of the latter, the
author declares that it is the object of his work "to ridicule the many
ballads that are with so much eagerness read by the common people.
. He has also wished to poke fun at heroic verse. "
The poem
is from beginning to end a travesty of the heroic epic, employing
and turning to ridicule the supernatural machinery and the rhetori-
cal devices of the classics of antiquity. Both the one and the other
seemed absurd enough to this shrewd humorist, and probably the use
to which the classics were put in an institution like the University of
Copenhagen was sufficient to repress any impulse on the part of any-
body to enter into their real spirit.
In the course of his journeyings, Peder Paars is wrecked upon the
island of Anholt; and the following passage, relating to the inhabit-
ants of that spot, may be given to illustrate the poem:-
"Anholt the island's name, in answer he did say,
And daily for seafarers the islanders do pray,
That they may come to shore. And answer oft is given,
For hither storm-tossed ships quite frequently are driven.
Good people are they now, although I fear 'tis true
That they in former days were but a sorry crew.
A very aged man, once guest of mine, I know,
Who told me of a priest that lived here long ago,-
His name I do not give; it need not mentioned be,-
Who for a child baptized a daler charged as fee;
-
And when 'twas asked of him upon what grounds, and why,
He made this double charge, he boldly gave reply:—
(Two marks I am allowed for each child I baptize,
And two for burial. Now, rarely 'tis one dies
Of sickness in his bed, for hanged are nearly all,
And thus my rightful dues I get, or not at all. '
Of yore their lives were evil, as we from this may tell,-
It little touches me, for here I do not dwell,-
But now we see that better they grow from day to day,
For Christian lives they lead, and shipwrecks are their stay. "
A certain worthy Anholter felt so much aggrieved at this descrip-
tion that he petitioned to have the poem burned by the hangman.
Another passage, which gave particular offense to the solemn pedants
of the University, thus describes an academic disputation:-


## p. 7413 (#215) ###########################################

LUDVIG HOLBERG
7413
"The entire hall was seen with syllogisms quaking,
While some their outstretched hands, and others fists were shaking.
From off the learned brows salt perspiration ran,
And most profusely from a venerable man
Who in the pulpit stood. There flew his head about
Greek-Latin shafts so thick, one could no longer doubt
That nothing less than life and honor were at stake;
Since for no trifle men would such a tumult make.
Tell me, Calliope, what deep, what grievous wrong
Hath to such passionate wrath stirred up this learned throng?
What ails these sages now, whose minds the world illume,
That here, like men made drunk or mad, they shout and fume? »
In spite of the indignation aroused by such passages, the poem
escaped burning and the author punishment. Tradition says that the
King read it and found it amusing. And the public read it as no
Danish book had ever been read before. The author had his reward
in the fame that suddenly came to him, and in the proud conscious-
ness that posterity would atone for the injustice done him by his
enemies. Some years later, in verses that come as near to being
genuine poetry as any that Holberg ever penned, he referred to him-
self and his work in the following prophetic terms:
―
"Perchance, when in the grave his body moldering lies,
Perchance, when with his death the voice of envy dies,
Another tone may swell, struck from another chord,
And things now hidden men may view with sight restored.
Admit, the work does not display the scholar's lore,
Admit that 'tis a fantasy, and nothing more:
Although of little use, yet with a work of art
For many learnèd books the wise man will not part. »
We now come to the most fruitful period of Holberg's activity;
the creative period that gave to Denmark a national stage, and to
universal literature a series of comedies that can be classed with
those of Molière alone. The comedies of Aristophanes and Shake-
speare are of course out of court: they constitute a distinct literary
species, with a divineness all its own. We owe the comedies of Hol-
berg to the fact that King Frederik IV. was fond of the theatre,
and the other fact that the foreign companies that gave plays in
Copenhagen were not exactly successful in suiting the public taste.
In this emergency, it was suggested that Danish plays might be vent-
ured upon as an experiment, and Holberg was asked to try his hand
at their composition.