THE BROKEN CUP BY JOHANN HEINRICH DANIEL ZSCHOKKE [Illustration] _Unlike most of the early romantic writers of Germany, Zschokke is still read in his own country and abroad. He was born in Magdeburg in 1771 and died in 1848, honored throughout Germany as liberal and patriot during the Napoleonic wars._ _After a sojourn in Switzerland as head of the Department of Education in the Canton of Grisons and later of the Department of Forests and Mines in the Canton of Aargau, he began to devote himself more exclusively to literature, producing with amazing versatility a great number of works on religion, history, politics, and the drama. But popularity came to him through his charming short stories, written in a rather loose and careless style, but full of vivacity, imagination, humor, and a broad knowledge of life and character. Many years of literary sifting have proved “The Adventures of a New-Year’s Eve” and “The Broken Cup” to be the most enduring and popular of his short stories._ [Illustration] THE BROKEN CUP BY HEINRICH ZSCHOKKE Translated by P. G. Copyright, 1891, by The Current Literature Publishing Company. Author’s Note.--There is extant under this name a short piece by the author of “Little Kate of Heilbronn.” That and the tale which here follows originated in an incident which took place at Bern in the year 1802. Henry Von Kleist and Ludwig Wieland, the son of the poet, were both friends of the writer, in whose chamber hung an engraving called _La Cruche Cassée_, the persons and contents of which resembled the scene set forth below, under the head of The Tribunal. The drawing, which was full of expression, gave great delight to those who saw it, and led to many conjectures as to its meaning. The three friends agreed, in sport, that they would each one day commit to writing his peculiar interpretation of its design. Wieland promised a satire; Von Kleist threw off a comedy; and the author of the following tale what is here given. That Napoule is only a very little place on the bay of Cannes is true; yet it is pretty well known through all Provence. It lies in the shade of lofty evergreen palms, and darker orange trees; but that alone would not make it renowned. Still they say that there are grown the most luscious grapes, the sweetest roses, and the handsomest girls. I don’t know but it is so; in the mean time I believe it most readily. Pity that Napoule is so small, and can not produce more luscious grapes, fragrant roses, and handsome maidens; especially, as we might then have some of them transplanted to our own country.