FROM THE BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE TO JULIUS EDWARD HITZIG. [From the first edition.]

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

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

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

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

Neunhausen, May, 1814.

THE STORY WITHOUT AN END

TO MY DAUGHTER

My Dear Child,

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

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