t
elegant equipage equally with the common porter stopped to stare at
them open-mouthed; further, a theatre conducted in the national
language, a thoroughly good French troupe, an Italian opera, German
comedians, who were at least ready to undertake almost anything,
'routs' of a quite original but extremely attractive kind, and resorts
of pilgrims in the immediate vicinity of the town--was there not
something for an eye like Hoffmann's to see and for a hand like
Hoffmann's to sketch?"[8]

Thus far Hitzig. Hoffmann writes on May 14, 1804:--

"Yesterday ... I resolved to enjoy myself; I threw away my deeds and
sat down to the piano to compose a sonata, but soon found myself in the
situation of Hogarth's _Musicien enrage_ (Wrathful Musician).
Immediately underneath my window there arose certain differences
between three women selling meal, two wheelbarrow-men, and one sailor;
each of the parties pleaded its cause with a good deal of violent
demonstration before the tribunal of the hunchback, who stands with a
stall under the door-way below. Whilst this was going on the bells of
the parish church, of the Bennonites, and of the Dominican church (all
close to me) began to clang; in the churchyard of the last named (right
opposite to me) the hopeful catechumens were hammering away on two old
kettle-drums, with which all the dogs of the neighbourhood, spurred by
the strong powers of instinct, joined with a chorus of barkings and
howlings--at that moment too Wambach and his musical band of
Janissaries trotted gaily past to the merry strains of their own
music--meeting them out of [another] street came a herd of swine. A
tremendous friction in the middle of the street--seven swine were
ridden over! Terrific squealing!--Oh!--oh! a _tutti_ invented for the
torture of the damned! Here I threw aside my pen and paper, pulled on
my top-boots, and ran away out of the wild mad tumult through the
Cracow suburb--through the 'new world'--down the hill. A sacred Grove
received me in its shade; I was in Lazienki.[9] Ay, truly, the pleasant
palace swims upon the mirror-like lake like a virgin swan. Zephyrs come
wafted through the blossoming trees loaded with voluptuous delight. How
pleasant to stroll through the thickly foliaged walks! That is the
place for an amiable Epicurean to live in. What! why this man with
the white nose galloping[10] along here through the dark-leaved trees
must be the 'Commendatore' in _Don Juan_. Ah! John Sobiesk