It was yet early, when I was suddenly awoke by voices in hot dispute in
my ante-chamber. I listened. Bendel was forbidding Rascal to enter my
room, who swore he would receive no orders from his equals, and
insisted on forcing his way. The faithful Bendel reminded him that if
such words reached his master’s ears, he would turn him out of an
excellent place. Rascal threatened to strike him if he persisted in
refusing his entrance.
By this time, having half-dressed myself, I angrily threw open the
door, and addressing myself to Rascal, inquired what he meant by such
disgraceful conduct. He drew back a couple of steps, and coolly
answered: “Count Peter, may I beg most respectfully that you will favor
me with a sight of your shadow? The sun is now shining brightly in the
court below.”
I stood as if struck by a thunderbolt, and for some time was unable to
speak. At last I asked him how a servant could dare to behave so
towards his master. He interrupted me by saying, quite coolly, “A
servant may be a very honorable man, and unwilling to serve a
shadowless master—I request my dismissal.”
I felt that I must adopt a softer tone, and replied, “But, Rascal, my
good fellow, who can have put such strange ideas into your head? How
can you imagine—”
He again interrupted me in the same tone—
“People say you have no shadow. In short, let me see your shadow, or
give me my dismissal.”
Bendel, pale and trembling, but more collected than myself, made a sign
to me. I had recourse to the all-powerful influence of gold. But even
gold had lost its power—Rascal threw it at my feet: “From a shadowless
man,” he said, “I will take nothing.”
Turning his back upon me, and putting on his hat, he then slowly left
the room, whistling a tune. I stood, with Bendel, as if petrified,
gazing after him.
With a deep sigh and a heavy heart I now prepared to keep my
engagement, and to appear in the forester’s garden like a criminal
before his judge. I entered by the shady arbor, which had received the
name of Count Peter’s arbor, where we had appointed to meet. The mother
advanced with a cheerful air; Minna sat fair and beautiful as the early
snow of autumn reposing on the departing flowers, soon to be dissolved
and lost in the cold stream.
The ranger, with a written paper in his hand, was walking up and down
in an agitated manner, struggling to suppress his feelings—his usually
unmoved countenance being one moment flushed and the next perfectly
pale. He came forward as I entered, and, in a faltering voice,
requested a private conversation with me. The path by which he
requested me to follow him led to an open spot in the garden, where the
sun was shining. I sat down. A long silence ensued, which even the good
woman herself did not venture to break. The ranger, in an agitated
manner, paced up and down with unequal steps. At last he stood still;
and glancing over the paper he held in his hand, he said, addressing me
with a penetrating look, “Count Peter, do you know one Peter
Schlemihl?” I was silent.
“A man,” he continued, “of excellent character and extraordinary
endowments.”
He paused for an answer. “And supposing I myself were that very man?”
“You!” he exclaimed passionately; “he has lost his shadow!”
“Oh, my suspicion is true!” cried Minna; “I have long known it—he has
no shadow!” And she threw herself into her mother’s arms, who,
convulsively clasping her to her bosom, reproached her for having so
long, to her hurt, kept such a secret. But, like the fabled Arethusa,
her tears, as from a fountain, flowed more abundantly, and her sobs
increased at my approach.
“And so,” said the ranger fiercely, “you have not scrupled, with
unparalleled shamelessness, to deceive both her and me; and you
pretended to love her, forsooth!—her whom you have reduced to the state
in which you now see her. See how she weeps!—Oh, shocking, shocking!”
By this time I had lost all presence of mind; and I answered,
confusedly: “After all, it is but a shadow, a mere shadow, which a man
can do very well without; and really it is not worth the while to make
all this noise about such a trifle.” Feeling the groundlessness of what
I was saying, I ceased, and no one condescended to reply. At last I
added: “What is lost to-day may be found to-morrow.”
“Be pleased, sir,” continued the ranger, in great wrath—“be pleased to
explain how you have lost your shadow.”
Here again an excuse was ready: “A boor of a fellow,” said I, “one day
trod so rudely on my shadow that he tore a large hole in it. I sent it
to be repaired—for gold can do wonders—and yesterday I expected it home
again.”
“Very well,” answered the ranger. “You are a suitor my daughter’s hand,
and so are others. As a father, I am bound to provide for her. I will
give you three days to seek your shadow. Return to me in the course of
that time with a well-fitted shadow, and you shall receive a hearty
welcome; otherwise, on the fourth day—remember, on the fourth day—my
daughter becomes the wife of another.”
I now attempted to say one word to Minna; but, sobbing more violently,
she clung still closer to her mother, who made a sign for me to
withdraw. I obeyed; and now the world seemed shut out from me for ever.
Having escaped from the affectionate care of Bendel, I now wandered
wildly through the neighboring woods and meadows. Drops of anguish fell
from my brow, deep groans burst from my bosom—frenzied despair raged
within me.
I knew not how long this had lasted, when I felt myself seized by the
sleeve on a sunny heath. I stopped, and looking up, beheld the
gray-coated man, who appeared to have run himself out of breath in
pursuing me. He immediately began: “I had,” said he, “appointed this
day; but your impatience anticipated it. All, however, may yet be
right. Take my advice—redeem your shadow, which is at your command, and
return immediately to the ranger’s garden, where you will be well
received, and all the past will seem a mere joke. As for Rascal—who has
betrayed you in order to pay his addresses to Minna—leave him to me; he
is just a fit subject for me.”
I stood like one in a dream. “This day?” I considered again. He was
right—I had made a mistake of a day. I felt in my bosom for the purse.
He perceived my intention, and drew back.
“No, Count Peter; the purse is in good hands—pray keep it.” I gazed at
him with looks of astonishment and inquiry. “I only beg a trifle as a
token of remembrance. Be so good as to sign this memorandum.” On the
parchment, which he held out to me, were these words: “By virtue of
this present, to which I have appended my signature, I hereby bequeath
my soul to the holder, after its natural separation from my body.”
I gazed in mute astonishment alternately at the paper and the gray
unknown. In the meantime he had dipped a new pen in a drop of blood
which was issuing from a scratch in my hand just made by a thorn. He
presented it to me. “Who are you?” at last I exclaimed. “What can it
signify?” he answered: “do you not perceive who I am? A poor devil—a
sort of scholar and philosopher, who obtains but poor thanks from his
friends for his admirable arts, and whose only amusement on earth
consists in his small experiments. But just sign this; to the right,
exactly underneath—Peter Schlemihl.”
I shook my head, and replied: “Excuse me, sir; I cannot sign that.”
“Cannot!” he exclaimed; “and why not?”
“Because it appears to me a hazardous thing to exchange my soul for my
shadow.”
“Hazardous!” he exclaimed, bursting into a loud laugh. “And, pray, may
I be allowed to inquire what sort of a thing your soul is?—have you
ever seen it?—and what do you mean to do with it after your death? You
ought to think yourself fortunate in meeting with a customer who,
during your life, in exchange for this infinitely minute quantity, this
galvanic principle, this polarized agency, or whatever other foolish
name you may give it, is willing to bestow on you something
substantial—in a word, your own identical shadow, by virtue of which
you will obtain your beloved Minna, and arrive at the accomplishment of
all your wishes; or do you prefer giving up the poor young girl to the
power of that contemptible scoundrel Rascal? Nay, you shall behold her
with your own eyes. Come here; I will lend you an invisible cap (he
drew something out of his pocket), and we will enter the ranger’s
garden unseen.”
I must confess that I felt excessively ashamed to be thus laughed at by
the gray stranger. I detested him from the very bottom of my soul; and
I really believe this personal antipathy, more than principle or
previously formed opinion, restrained me from purchasing my shadow,
much as I stood in need of it, at such an expense. Besides, the thought
was insupportable of making this proposed visit in his society. To
behold this hateful sneak, this mocking fiend, place himself between me
and my beloved, between our torn and bleeding hearts, was too revolting
an idea to be entertained for a moment. I considered the past as
irrevocable, my own misery as inevitable; and turning to the gray man,
I said: “I have exchanged my shadow for this very extraordinary purse,
and I have sufficiently repented it. For Heaven’s sake, let the
transaction be declared null and void!” He shook his head, and his
countenance assumed an expression of the most sinister cast. I
continued: “I will make no exchange whatever, even for the sake of my
shadow, nor will I sign the paper. It follows, also, that the incognito
visit you propose to me would afford you far more entertainment than it
could possibly give me. Accept my excuses, therefore; and, since it
must be so, let us part.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Schlemihl, that you thus obstinately persist in
rejecting my friendly offer. Perhaps, another time, I may be more
fortunate. Farewell! May we shortly meet again! But, _à propos_, allow
me to show you that I do not undervalue my purchase, but preserve it
carefully.”
So saying, he drew my shadow out of his pocket; and shaking it cleverly
out of its folds, he stretched it out at his feet in the sun—so that he
stood between two obedient shadows, his own and mine, which was
compelled to follow and comply with his every movement. On again
beholding my poor shadow after so long a separation, and seeing it
degraded to so vile a bondage at the very time that I was so
unspeakably in want of it, my heart was ready to burst, and I wept
bitterly. The detested wretch stood exulting over his prey, and
unblushingly renewed his proposal. “One stroke of your pen, and the
unhappy Minna is rescued from the clutches of the villain Rascal, and
transferred to the arms of the high-born Count Peter—merely a stroke of
your pen!”
My tears broke out with renewed violence; but I turned away from him,
and made a sign for him to be gone.
Bendel, whose deep solicitude had induced him to come in search of me,
arrived at this very moment. The good and faithful creature, on seeing
me weeping, and that a shadow (evidently mine) was in the power of the
mysterious unknown, determined to rescue it by force, should that be
necessary; and disdaining to use any finesse, he desired him directly,
and without any disputing, to restore my property. Instead of a reply,
the gray man turned his back on the worthy fellow, and was making off.
But Bendel raised his buck-thorn stick; and following close upon him,
after repeated commands, but in vain, to restore the shadow, he made
him feel the whole force of his powerful arm. The gray man, as if
accustomed to such treatment, held down his head, slouched his
shoulders, and, with soft and noiseless steps, pursued his way over the
heath, carrying with him my shadow, and also my faithful servant. For a
long time I heard hollow sounds ringing through the waste, until at
last they died away in the distance, and I was again left to solitude
and misery.
Alone on the wild heath, I disburdened my heart of an insupportable
load by given free vent to my tears. But I saw no bounds, no relief, to
my surpassing wretchedness; and I drank in the fresh poison which the
mysterious stranger had poured into my wounds with a furious avidity.
As I retraced in my mind the loved image of my Minna, and depicted her
sweet countenance all pale and in tears, such as I had beheld her in my
late disgrace, the bold and sarcastic visage of Rascal would ever and
anon thrust itself between us. I hid my face, and fled rapidly over the
plains; but the horrible vision unrelentingly pursued me, till at last
I sank breathless on the ground, and bedewed it with a fresh torrent of
tears—and all this for a shadow!—a shadow which one stroke of the pen
would repurchase. I pondered on the singular proposal, and on my
hesitation to comply with it. My mind was confused—I had lost the power
of judging or comprehending. The day was waning apace. I satisfied the
cravings of hunger with a few wild fruits, and quenched my thirst at a
neighboring stream. Night came on; I threw myself down under a tree,
and was awoke by the damp morning air from an uneasy sleep, in which I
had fancied myself struggling in the agonies of death. Bendel had
certainly lost all trace of me, and I was glad of it. I did not wish to
return among my fellow-creatures—I shunned them as the hunted deer
flies before its pursuers. Thus I passed three melancholy days.
I found myself on the morning of the fourth on a sandy plain, basking
in the rays of the sun, and sitting on a fragment of rock; for it was
sweet to enjoy the genial warmth of which I had so long been deprived.
Despair still preyed on my heart. Suddenly a slight sound startled me;
I looked round, prepared to fly, but saw no one. On the sunlit sand
before me flitted the shadow of a man not unlike my own; and wandering
about alone, it seemed to have lost its master. This sight powerfully
excited me. “Shadow!” thought I, “art thou in search of thy master? in
me thou shall find him.” And I sprang forward to seize it, fancying
that could I succeed in treading so exactly in its traces as to step in
its footmarks, it would attach itself to me, and in time become
accustomed to me, and follow all my movements.
The shadow, as I moved, took to flight, and I commenced a hot chase
after the airy fugitive, solely excited by the hope of being delivered
from my present dreadful situation; the bare idea inspired me with
fresh strength and vigor.
The shadow now fled towards a distant wood, among whose shades I must
necessarily have lost it. Seeing this, my heart beat wild with fright,
my ardor increased and lent wings to my speed. I was evidently gaining
on the shadow—I came nearer and nearer—I was within reach of it, when
it suddenly stopped and turned towards me. Like a lion darting on its
prey, I made a powerful spring and fell unexpectedly upon a hard
substance. Then followed, from an invisible hand, the most terrible
blows in the ribs that anyone ever received. The effect of my terror
made me endeavor convulsively to strike and grasp at the unseen object
before me. The rapidity of my motions brought me to the ground, where I
lay stretched out with a man under me, whom I held tight, and who now
became visible.
The whole affair was now explained. The man had undoubtedly possessed
the bird’s nest which communicates its charm of invisibility to its
possessor, though not equally so to his shadow; and this nest he had
now thrown away. I looked all round, and soon discovered the shadow of
this invisible nest. I sprang towards it, and was fortunate enough to
seize the precious booty, and immediately became invisible and
shadowless.
The moment the man regained his feet he looked all round over the wide
sunny plain to discover his fortunate vanquisher, but could see neither
him nor his shadow, the latter seeming particularly to be the object of
his search: for previous to our encounter he had not had leisure to
observe that I was shadowless, and he could not be aware of it.
Becoming convinced that all traces of me were lost, he began to tear
his hair, and give himself up to all the frenzy of despair. In the
meantime, this newly acquired treasure communicated to me both the
ability and the desire to mix again among mankind.
I was at no loss for a pretext to vindicate this unjust robbery—or,
rather, so deadened had I become, I felt no need of a pretext; and in
order to dissipate every idea of the kind, I hastened on, regardless of
the unhappy man, whose fearful lamentations long resounded in my ears.
Such, at the time, were my impressions of all the circumstances of this
affair.
I now ardently desired to return to the ranger’s garden, in order to
ascertain in person the truth of the information communicated by the
odious unknown; but I knew not where I was, until, ascending an
eminence to take a survey of the surrounding country, I perceived, from
its summit, the little town and the gardens almost at my feet. My heart
beat violently, and tears of a nature very different from those I had
lately shed filled my eyes. I should, then, once more behold her!
Anxiety now hastened my steps. Unseen, I met some peasants coming from
the town; they were talking of me, of Rascal, and of the ranger. I
would not stay to listen to their conversation, but proceeded on. My
bosom thrilled with expectation as I entered the garden. At this moment
I heard something like a hollow laugh which caused me involuntarily to
shudder. I cast a rapid glance around, but could see no one. I passed
on; presently I fancied I heard the sound of footsteps close to me, but
no one was within sight. My ears must have deceived me.
It was early; no one was in Count Peter’s bower—the gardens were
deserted. I traversed all the well-known paths, and penetrated even to
the dwelling-house itself. The same rustling sound became now more and
more audible. With anguished feelings I sat down on a seat placed in
the sunny space before the door, and actually felt some invisible fiend
take a place by me, and heard him utter a sarcastic laugh. The key was
turned in the door, which was opened. The forest-master appeared with a
paper in his hand. Suddenly my head was, as it were, enveloped in a
mist. I looked up, and, oh horror! the gray-coated man was at my side,
peering in my face with a satanic grin. He had extended the mist-cap he
wore over my head. His shadow and my own were lying together at his
feet in perfect amity. He kept twirling in his hand the well-known
parchment with an air of indifference; and while the ranger, absorbed
in thought, and intent upon his paper, paced up and down the arbor, my
tormentor confidentially leaned towards me, and whispered: “So, Mr.
Schlemihl, you have at length accepted my invitation; and here we sit,
two heads under one hood, as the saying is. Well, well, all in good
time. But now you can return me my bird’s nest—you have no further
occasion for it; and I am sure you are too honorable a man to withhold
it from me. No need of thanks, I assure you; I had infinite pleasure in
lending it to you.” He took it out of my unresisting hand, put it into
his pocket, and then broke into so loud a laugh at my expense, that the
forest-master turned round, startled at the sound. I was petrified.
“You must acknowledge,” he continued, “that in our position a hood is
much more convenient. It serves to conceal not only a man, but his
shadow, or as many shadows as he chooses to carry. I, for instance,
to-day bring two, you perceive.” He laughed again. “Take notice,
Schlemihl, that what a man refuses to do with a good grace in the first
instance, he is always in the end compelled to do. I am still of
opinion that you ought to redeem your shadow and claim your bride (for
it is yet time); and as to Rascal, he shall dangle at a rope’s end—no
difficult matter, so long as we can find a bit. As a mark of friendship
I will give you my cap into the bargain.”
The mother now came out, and the following conversation took place:
“What is Minna doing?”—“She is weeping.”—“Silly child! what good can
that do?”—“None, certainly; but it is so soon to bestow her hand on
another. O husband, you are too harsh to your poor child.”—“No, wife;
you view things in a wrong light. When she finds herself the wife of a
wealthy and honorable man, her tears will soon cease; she will waken
out of a dream, as it were, happy and grateful to Heaven and to her
parents, as you will see.”—“Heaven grant it may be so!” replied the
wife. “She has, indeed, now considerable property; but after the noise
occasioned by her unlucky affair with that adventurer, do you imagine
that she is likely soon to meet with so advantageous a match as Mr.
Rascal? Do you know the extent of Mr. Rascal’s influence and wealth?
Why, he has purchased with ready money, in this country, six millions
of landed property, free from all encumbrances. I have had all the
documents in my hands. It was he who outbid me everywhere when I was
about to make a desirable purchase; and, besides, he has bills on Mr.
Thomas John’s house to the amount of three millions and a half.”—“He
must have been a prodigious thief!”—“How foolishly you talk! he wisely
saved where others squandered their property.”—“A mere
livery-servant!”—“Nonsense! he has at all events an unexceptionable
shadow.”—“True, but…”
While this conversation was passing, the gray-coated man looked at me
with a satirical smile.
The door opened, and Minna entered, leaning on the arm of her female
attendant, silent tears flowing down her fair but pallid face. She
seated herself in the chair which had been placed for her under the
lime trees, and her father took a stool by her side. He gently raised
her hand; and as her tears flowed afresh, he addressed her in the most
affectionate manner:
“My own dear, good child—my Minna—will act reasonably, and not afflict
her poor old father, who only wishes to make her happy. My dearest
child, this blow has shaken you—dreadfully, I know it; but you have
been saved, as by a miracle, from a miserable fate, my Minna. You loved
the unworthy villain most tenderly before his treachery was discovered:
I feel all this, Minna; and far be it from me to reproach you for it—in
fact, I myself loved him so long as I considered him to be a person of
rank: you now see yourself how differently it has turned out. Every dog
has a shadow; and the idea of my child having been on the eve of
uniting herself to a man who… but I am sure you will think no more of
him. A suitor has just appeared for you in the person of a man who does
not fear the sun—an honorable man—no prince indeed, but a man worth ten
millions of golden ducats sterling—a sum nearly ten times larger than
your fortune consists of—a man, too, who will make my dear child
happy—nay, do not oppose me—be my own good, dutiful child—allow your
loving father to provide for you, and to dry up these tears. Promise to
bestow your hand on Mr. Rascal. Speak my child: will you not?”
Minna could scarcely summon strength to reply that she had now no
longer any hopes or desires on earth, and that she was entirely at her
father’s disposal. Rascal was therefore immediately sent for, and
entered the room with his usual forwardness; but Minna in the meantime
had swooned away.
My detested companion looked at me indignantly, and whispered: “Can you
endure this? Have you no blood in your veins?” He instantly pricked my
finger, which bled. “Yes, positively,” he exclaimed, “you have some
blood left!—come, sign.” The parchment and pen were in my hand!…