Herr Friedrick Thiessen, a clockmaker, receives a black-and-white card announcing that Le Cirque des Rêves will appear outside Dresden on September twenty-ninth. Delighted by the advance notice, he finishes his work quickly, rents a flat, and searches the outskirts until the city begins buzzing with rumors of a circus that has seemingly appeared overnight.

On opening night, Thiessen joins the crowd and marvels at how the field that was empty the day before now holds a vast circus as though it has always been there. Once inside, he feels an immediate, intimate sense of belonging and returns almost every night, spending his days writing meticulous journal entries so he can preserve the experience and its details.

At a pub, Thiessen befriends a newspaper editor who persuades him—after drinks—to share his journal and allow excerpts to be published. Even after the circus leaves Dresden in late October, the editor continues printing the pieces; they spread across Europe through reprints and translations, eventually reaching London as “Nights at the Circus.”

The articles make Thiessen an unofficial figurehead for the circus’s most devoted followers, who begin seeking him out for meetings and dinners that evolve into a loose society. The name “rêveurs” starts as a joke but becomes their accepted identity, and Thiessen deepens the community by collecting others’ stories and crafting keepsake clocks for fellow devotees.

Thiessen’s offhand preference for wearing a black coat with a bright red scarf at the circus turns into a recognizable rêveur tradition: neutral clothing with a single shock of red to signal belonging. As the circus’s secretive movement becomes part of the chase, rêveurs share upcoming locations through black-and-white cards reading “The circus is coming…,” helping some followers travel from site to site while others simply connect locally to wait together for nightfall.

The circus acknowledges these devotees with small favors—free entry, treats, extra flourishes from performers—and rêveurs linger late into the night, their red accents often the only color remaining before dawn. Later, Thiessen answers a particularly striking letter from New York—written with unusually precise knowledge of both the circus and his “Wunschtraum” clock—and begins his reply with “Dear Miss Bowen,” hoping to continue the correspondence.