NICKLAUSSE (quietly). Yes, master. HERMANN (to Hoffmann). Oh, oh, whence comes this ill temper? NATHANAEL (to Hoffmann). It's as if one did not know you. HERMANN. On what thorn have you trod? HOFFMANN. Alas, on a dead herb With the iced breath of the north. NICKLAUSSE. And there by this door, On a drunkard who sleeps. HOFFMANN. 'Tis true... that rascal, by Jove, I envy him. A drink. Like him, let's sleep in the gutter. HERMANN. Without pillow. HOFFMANN. The flags. NATHANAEL. Without curtains. HOFFMANN. The sky. NATHANAEL. The rain. HERMANN. Have you a nightmare, Hoffmann? HOFFMANN. No, but to-night, A while since, at the play... ALL. Well? HOFFMANN. I thought to see again... The deuce... why reopen old wounds? Life is short. Enjoy it while we can. We must drink, sing, laugh, as we may, Left to weep to-morrow! NATHANAEL. Then sing the first without asking, We'll do chorus. HOFFMANN. Agreed! NATHANAEL. Something gay. HERMANN. The song of the Rat! NATHANAEL. No, for me, I'm tired of it. What we want is the legend Of Klein-Zach... ALL. 'Tis the legand of Klein-Zach. HOFFMANN. Here goes for Klein-Zach!... Once at the court of Eysenach A little dwarf called Klein-Zach, Was covered o'er with a colbac, And his legs they went clic, clac! Clic, clac. There's Klein-Zach. CHORUS. Crick, crack, There's Klein-Zach. HOFFMANN. He had a hump in place of stomach, His webbed feet seemed to burst a sack, His nose was with tobacco black. And his head it went crick crack, Crick, crack. There's Klein-Zach. CHORUS. Crick, crack, There's Klein-Zach. HOFFMANN. As for the features on his face. (He becomes absorbed.) CHORUS. As for the features on his face. HOFFMANN (very slowly). As for the features... (He rises.) Oh, her face was charming... I see it, Fine as the day, running after her, I, like a fool, left the house paternal, And fled there'on to woods and vales Her hair, in sombre rolls, On her neck threw warm shades, Her eyes of enveloping azure, Cast about glances fresh and pure. And as our car without shock or tremor Carried our loves and hearts, her vibrant voice and sweet, To the heav'ns that listened, threw the conq'ring cry, And the eternal echo resounded in my heart. NATHANAEL. Oh strangest brain! Who are you painting! Klein-Zach? HOFFMANN. I speak of her... NATHANAEL. Who? HOFFMANN. Nobody... nothing, my spirit is dullish. Nothing. Klein-Zach is better, malformed as he is! CHORUS. Flick, flack, There's Klein-Zach. HOFFMANN (throwing away his glass). Peuh!... this beer is detestable, Let's light up the punch and drink; And may the light-headed Roll under the table. CHORUS. And may the light headed Roll under the table. CHORUS. (The lights go out, Luther fires an immense punch bowl.)