In our childhood we don't even notice the strangeness of these strange things since in that age we approach the whole world like that, so that we just make ourselves familiar with everything. But when shooting up into a young man, and thinking about our narrow knowledge as if it were enough for the whole span of life and we go forward on the path of youth towards manhood, certainly all the things that seem to be unclassifiable into the stock of knowledge that we already have, can have a dreadful impact on us. So in this age we already recognise what is strange and we name this recognition with proper terror. And then, in our manhood, we only smile at such fears which could be caused by our experiences that do not fit into our world's order which we believe to be secure.

Well, I'm neither a child, nor a young lad, nor a rip-roaring man anymore. I became an old man, who is fraternising with Death, and who, if he can have any fears yet, must give an account of it in front of the Almighty. For this reason here and now I dare to confess to you, my fellow-creatures, that during my lifetime I saw and heard more than once occurrences, the reason and explanation of which - in my, perhaps not very remarkable, but carefully thought-out opinion - falls outside of the realm of reasons and explanations that are to be conceded by us, people.

I am going to record here one of these occurrences in this note, not denying the didactic and educational purpose at all: be careful and keep your eyes open, for we are able to know but few things and we do know even less. We are able to know but few things, since, though with the knowledge about ourselves we create ourselves, but at the same time we loose it as well; and we know even less, since our life which seems to run among necessities, is the toy of chance much more than we would think.

I had been the eye- and ear-witness of the story that I am going to give an account of, in that age when boys begin to feel ashamed of being compelled to sing the treble in the church choir. At that time I spent all the summers in the palace of my cousin. This palace stood in a beautiful vicinity in Giovetto, a bit North from Verona, at the feet of the Alps, not far from the picturesque and mystic Lake Garda, to which we made excursions now and again. I don't think I need to say what did these summers mean to a boy coming from the far North but being in origin and in his heart a Southerner? My father had namely landed himself in Prussia as the Consul of the Republic of Venice, and then, after being married, he settled down in Westphalen. The palace at Logenwald, in which now I am writing these lines, was given to him by Frederick the Great, the monarch of glorious memory. This was the palace from which I had travelled at the beginning of every summer with joyful expectations to Giovetto. But, before being misunderstood, I must mention that I liked the German winters just as much as the Italian summers; for as bright green the trees are in Italy so bright white the snow is in Germany; God let every place of the world participate in perfection. There is no North without South and there is no South without North; just like man and woman can't be created without each other. So did I travel from home, from the lap of my Northern mother, home, to the Italian summers, to the surroundings of my father's youth. And as I have just said, I had travelled every summer, till the curious story happened which I am really going to begin right now, because I have just noticed that all these remarks in advance are going to become the chatter of an old man; though it may be nothing else than a sign indicating that I am still afraid.

But before telling the story I must say a few words about the environment, the palace of Giovetto and mainly its park, because the latter plays an important role in my tale.

The palace had been built only recently, in the French style; though it had no flight, but the semicircle drawn by the side-wings made a monumental impact on the viewer; and then this feeling of greatness, while one was approaching the building, totally dissolved in the arabesques of the window-frames, in the tendrillar scrolls growing from the sills, so, that at last, standing in the middle of the semicircle, under the drive-way, one felt like being enchanted by a fairy, becoming a dwarf, and being given as an apartment a casket decorated with filigree-works.

And the park! Well, the park was the united marvel of genuineness and deception. Anything that was real, was lent an artificial shape here, but real objects were feigned by brilliant imitations. Inventive gardeners as if they were sculptors working with living material, cut bushes and trees into the shapes of different objects and animals. I remember a table for instance that was formed of hedgerow and around which the properly planted and pruned rose-bushes were given the shape of chairs; but there was also a weeping willow cut into the shape of a galloping horse and a pine recalling the memory of a Japanese pagoda. On the other hand, a blooming bower was created in the middle of the park made of painted, thin laths and colourful papers. Beside this bower there was a pond called the Water of Life; the reason for this name was that one could not drawn in this pond because the water of the pond was made of wood! The polished boards were painted bluish-green by clever masters, but so deceptively, that those who only saw it and did not try to step into it, could think quite naturally that the rippling surface of the pond, from which not even the reflection of the surrounding bower lacked, was real water. There were even small boats rocking at the shore moved by ingenious contraptions, so, that the delusion could be total. I myself thought for years that the bower and the pond were real, and I was enlightened on my mistake when once, on a hot summer day, I wanted to swim in the water of the pond but of course didn't succeed in submerging into it.

Thus, in this park, trees were galloping, silk-paper was blooming, and boards were plashing. And this curious environment perhaps explains to a certain extent the curiosity of my story.

That summer, apart from the concerts, balls and masquerades, actors coming from Venice entertained the guests at Giovetto. These players at this time began to be ousted from the cities, where comedies of a new type, invented by the famous Mr. Goldoni, were spreading. These bergamasque-players found those comedies odious, for they considered improvisation, conformity to place and time as the soul and life of theatre, and, to be sure, that new type of comedy didn't give them any opportunity to act in this way. And, obviously, learning text by heart wasn't to their taste. For this reason they had travelled through the provinces and sometimes they had been playing for months at the court of a wealthy aristocrat. And though their manner was old-fashioned, it cannot be gainsaid, that they were genuine comedians, and though obviously not all of them were equally good actors - one can't judge this in one's salad days, and, on the other hand, memories are deceptive -, but one thing remains certain, that all of them knew the ins and outs of his or her line, and all of them took advantage of all the opportunities of laughter-making. Besides, they were identical with their role to such an extent - and this is to be said in favour of the old manner in which the play was always different but the role never - that I, for one, didn't know anything else about them than their stage-names; though this phenomenon can be explained by the fact that being a child, after the performances I was always sent to bed, and for reasons of difference of rank I had to keep the distance during the day, too. And, moreover, during the day they were sleeping anyway.

Thus they all were for me whom they seemed to be in their roles. I liked mainly three of them: the frightfully enticing maid servant, Colombina, having a tortuous mind, brimming with life; her husband, or rather who always became that at the end of the plays, and who, as I came to know it later, was really her spouse, the artful valet, Zanni; and finally him, who was bright with colours in his patched-up suit, having a woeful look and a wistful smile: Arlecchino, the poor guy, who was always led up the garden by yonder couple. But as it soon became evident, Arlecchino, who was always made fun of and guyed, notwithstanding, was a good friend of the other two and my puerile intuition didn't cheat me, when I liked or even loved the three of them together and at the same time - and, anticipating a bit the events described below, I may say, that in a certain way they also liked and loved themselves together and at the same time. If I may now, with my aged head, in spite of everything having written before, give my opinion: I think nowadays, that they were the most gifted and the best actors of the group. That's not the same at all; but if one can say both epithets about the same actor, it is one of the greatest things, because, undoubtedly, only the concurrence of talent and thoroughful knowledge of trade dodges is capable to raise in us the sensation of sweet unity suggested by grace.

Though I didn't even fancy at the outset, that these people do live at all outside the stage, later a dim surmise took shape in my mind and it suggested to me, that perhaps they didn't dissolve every evening into the air, after leaving the stage. I became more and more curious, but during the day I didn't have any opportunity to meet them. Though my cousin and his wife were affable and good-natured people, but being worshipfully old-fashioned, they stuck rigorously to traditions and differences given by rank and tradition, and it was totally unimaginable that I, with their knowledge - that is, during the day, while my tutors always kept an eye on all of my steps - would have been allowed to enter into conversation with these comedians; nay, that I would have given the smallest possible sign of being interested in their personalities apart from their acting.

If something is forbidden, the path to realise it leads through even more forbidden things - all children know this fundamental rule. Thus did I decide, that if during the day I was not allowed even to approach my three favourites, well, I would watch them at night!

One evening, after the comedy having been finished, I said good-bye with all due honour to my cousin, his wife and the swarm of guests and went to my room. But after a short quarter of an hour I climbed out of the window and lurking among the bushes I saw joyfully that the guests were adjourning to the ballroom, while the actors were pottering around the stage, putting the props in order. I don't remember exactly why, but anyhow, nobody else than Colombina, Zanni and Arlecchino remained in the park at the end, all the others had disappeared somewhere. Well, it isn't all that important why did it happen like this; when anything happens that has to do something with essentials, we shouldn't try purely rational explanations.

So, the three of them remained there, and I approached them, following with attention, how my beloved bergamasque-players, sitting in the flickering lights of the fairy-lamps, were quietly speaking as any other common mortal human being. I wouldn't have been obliged to hide myself, of course; since they perhaps didn't even know about my existence, let alone my presence, I could have sit beside them, I would have remained invisible. For we usually notice only that what we know about beforehand, be this knowledge as scanty as possible. I think that in the case of actors who every evening know in advance even that when they will come down on their nose, this truth can be applied so much the more. But I was sitting and hiding myself anyhow.

That they were sitting and having a chat, was even more surprising for me, as if I would have seen somersaulting my serious cousin. I felt being a bit upset. I stood too far to understand their words. Suddenly their gestures became more vivid; obviously they began to discuss something. Colombina smiled with charming devotion at Zanni - she seemed to want something of him. But Zanni's manners showed tired negation. Arlecchino was sitting, gazing into the air as one does who is resigning himself to the will of the others - he lifted his eyes only, and this was worth of a smile in his case, when Colombina cast a glance at him every now and then. But in the heat of the debate even he made a few gestures occasionally.

Suddenly Colombina pulled out a kerchief from her bodice and, goading, handed it to Zanni. Then I understood: she wanted to play blind-man's buff, and this was what Zanni raised objections against just now. For Arlecchino, it was obviously all the same. As a matter of course, Colombina's will prevailed and they began to play.

Zanni had the hoop. The kerchief was put on his eyes and he was turned around a few times. Colombina and Arlecchino had to hide themselves while shouting their own name. In this sort of the play the fundamental rule is that the one with the hoop when touching somebody, must say the name of the person touched at once, and if he makes a mistake, the kerchief remains on his eyes. While those who hide themselves are not allowed to remain silent. I played this game often with my mates and in companies befitting his state even my cousin wasn't loath to beguile the time with such childish nonsense. After all in this game one wasn't compelled neither to somersault nor to hop.

I was totally disappointed. Even actors play only the same games that we common creatures? Nay, I was sleepy, so I would have gone back to sleep to my room. But the situation made it impossible. The Gelosis kept on scampering around me, and as I didn't want them to realise that I had watched them, I had to hide myself behind a tree or a bush every now and then, while Colombina ran beside me more than once, shouting and laughing: "Colombina! Colombina!" And Arlecchino, whose outcries sounded like resigned gestures: "Arlecchino... Arlecchino..." As for him, Zanni was tottering clumsily enough, once even came down on his nose, but might be that he was only straining after effect.

During the game we kept moving away from the palace and we were already somewhere in the middle of the park. All of a sudden Colombina, while still running, seized Arlecchino, and, shouting her name, embraced the boy, who, in his alarm - or rather: in his surprise, because we are surprised most usually at those things for which we have been waiting long and excitedly, but, because, while waiting, all sorts of preliminary images of the awaited event occur in our mind, and the real event being different, is surprising; well, Arlecchino was surprised like this at the moment - what else could he do than shouting: "Arlecchino!...." And then Colombina clasped him in her arms and kissed him. And ran further immediately.

But what happened?!

Colombina, running further, following the rules of the game, kept on shouting. However, she didn't shout her own name, but that of Arlecchino! And Arlecchino shouted Colombina - and Zanni with the kerchief on his eyes didn't notice the change! Because from the moment of their kiss Colombina was shouting in Arlecchino's voice and Arlecchino in that of Colombina!

In that kiss their voice was exchanged! And Zanni with the kerchief on his eyes wasn't able to discover this fact.

To be sure, both of them were frightened. (I was frightened, too, but, luckily enough, I wasn't kissed by anybody, and I was standing there speechless anyway, partly as until then, that I wouldn't be discovered, and partly of course from my stupefaction.) Those two, overcome by fear, stopped shouting, but then Zanni rebuked them, that one cannot play like this. Then they continued playing and took pains over not being seized by Zanni, because in that case he would have been allowed to take the kerchief off to control if he had guessed right, and in that very moment the change would be discovered! Colombina, to be sure, unlike poor Arlecchino, didn't lose her head totally and made an attempt to unbind the strange spell: she seized and kissed the boy again. But she didn't succeed. I wonder if I need to say how did Arlecchino try to escape after that not only from Zanni but already from Colombina, too! I stood nearby and I heard Colombina telling Arlecchino in a man's voice: "I love you!" But Arlecchino, as I have already said, ran away and shouted in the shrewish Colombina's sharp female voice: "Colombina! Colombina!" How accusing his voice was! As if he were shouting: "Colombina! Colombina! What have you done, Colombina?!"

I was running after them, for never in my life did I have such an experience. At the paper bower I was so close to Arlecchino that I even heard his breathing; I almost ran into his arms. Only a few painted laths separated us from each other. It was full moon and this sallow, yellow light fell just on Arlecchino's frightened face. And at this moment, as he pulled his head aside, listening, how close Zanni was to him, because in case he was close, he must run further, from this sudden movement his cap fell on the ground. This accidental circumstance led to the completion of the tragedy. Because Arlecchino, who, though ever being the target of mockery and cruel pranks, still moved with uncommon facility, catching falling objects in flight, now put his hand out for the fallen cap so womanly, with affected airs and pretended clumsiness, that he himself noticed it immediately, and, as the following vents indicate, felt totally despairing. He cried out sorrowfully: "Oh, the unlucky creature that I am!" And, springing up with a dash, he threw himself into the little pond beside the bower.

By that time Colombina had also arrived at the bower. Noticing that Arlecchino jumps into the pond, wanting to be drowned in it, forgetting her sorrow, she burst into an enormous laugh. She obviously knew the secret of the Water of Life. Arlecchino plunged with his head forward onto the boards, cried out and fell flat. Colombina ran laughing to him - but the smile froze on her lips, when she had to see, that Arlecchino didn't move! The poor guy fell so fatally, that he broke his neck and died on the spot. I regretted very much that my curiosity had brought me up to this moment; I was quivering what else I would be compelled to see here. I didn't dare to escape back, because I could have run into Zanni's arms - and by now I was already afraid of these mysterious people. Colombina was shouting: Arlecchino died! Arlecchino died! But as she was shouting in Arlecchino's voice, Zanni, who came forward from the bushes - coming after them still blindfolded - only laughed: "Enough of jokes, Arlecchino!" This was what he said and he didn't even took the kerchief off. Colombina then cried out: "See for yourself! Arlecchino died and took my voice with him!" Then Zanni took the kerchief off, at last - he stood there perplexed for a moment - then, as if he had understood everything at once - looking now at the kneeling Colombina and then at the lifeless, outstretched Arlecchino -, and now he cried out: "Murderer! Murderer! What have you done to my friend, you murderous witch?!" And assailed her and got Colombina by the throat.

The rest I have only from hearsay. Though I was nearly unconscious but somehow I succeeded in coming back to the palace. From my discontinuous speech they somehow made out the essence of the story and the rushing servants delivered Colombina from Zanni's hands.

I travelled home to Germany already on the day after and I have no sure knowledge of what happened to the actors following this horrible night. People say they remained with the group and Colombina acted for long years with great success as a female Arlecchino, for people had not seen anything like that before, anyhow.

And that what happened to me was that my voice was beginning to break already on that summer and in the Autumn I was left out from the church choir. My fate wanted it so, that though I visited a lot of countries, I didn't even approach Italy ver since.

If I will be able to gather my strength I will tell you other miracles seen by me, my fellow creatures. But as for today, I became tired, so let this be enough for the time being and please, draw a lesson from it.

Under the date of Midsummer Night, 1891, Jena.