Of what use would wings be to him who is fast bound in iron fetters? He must still despair, and despair with deeper melancholy. I lay like Taffner by his stronghold, far removed from any earthly consolation, starving in the midst of riches. They gave me no enjoyment; I cursed them; they had cut me off from mankind. Concealing my gloomy secret within me, I trembled before the meanest of my servants, whom I could not but envy: for he had his shadow, and could show himself in the sun. Alone in my apartments, I mourned through harassing days and nights, and anguish fed upon my heart.

One individual was constantly sorrowing under my eyes. My faithful Bendel ceased not to torment himself with silent reproaches that he had deceived the confidence of his generous master, and had not recognized him whom he was sent to seek, and with whom my mournful fate seemed strongly intertwined. I could not blame him: I recognized too well in that event the mysterious nature of the unknown being.

But, to leave nothing untried, I sent Bendel with a costly brilliant ring to the most celebrated painter in the city, requesting he would pay me a visit. He came—I ordered away my servants—locked the door—sat myself by him; and after praising his art, I came with a troubled spirit to the great disclosure, having first enjoined on him the strictest secresy.

“Mr. Professor,” I began, “can you paint a false shadow for one, who in the most luckless way in the world has lost his own?” “You mean a reflected shadow?”—“To be sure.” “But,” he added, “through what awkwardness, or what negligence, could he lose his own shadow?”—“How it happened,” replied I, “that does not matter, but—” I impudently began again with a lie,—“last winter, when he was travelling in Russia, it froze so severely, during the extraordinary cold, that his shadow was frozen to the ground, and it was impossible for him to get it free.”

“And I,” said the professor, “could only make him a sheet shadow, which he would be apt to lose again on the slightest motion; especially for one whose genuine shadow was so badly fixed, as must be inferred from your account; the simplest and wisest determination for him who has no shadow, is not to go in the sun.” He stood up and walked away, after having sent through me a piercing glance which I could not endure. I sunk back on my chair, and veiled my face with my hands.

Thus Bendel found me when he entered. He saw his master’s sorrow, and wanted silently and respectfully to turn back. I raised my eyes: the weight of my grief was upon me—I determined to divide it. “Bendel!” I called to him; “Bendel! you, who alone see and respect my sufferings, not curiously prying into them, but secretly and devotedly sharing them with me—come to me, Bendel, be the nearest to my heart. The stores of my gold I have not concealed from you: from you I will not hide the store of my anguish. Bendel, forsake me not. You know I am wealthy, kind, and generous, and perhaps you think the world should honour me for that: but, you see, I shun the world; I hide myself from its observation. Bendel, the world has judged me and condemned me—and Bendel, too, perhaps, will turn from me when he possesses my dreadful secret. Bendel! I am indeed rich, liberal, and independent, but—heavens! I have no shadow!”

“No shadow!” echoed the good young man in an agony, while bright tears broke from his eyelids; “Alas! alas! that I should have been born to serve a shadowless master!” He was silent, and I hid my face in my hands.

At last I tremblingly said, “Bendel! you have now my confidence—betray it if you will—away! and bear witness against me.” He seemed struggling with internal emotion; he threw himself at my feet, seized my hand, and bathed it with his tears. “No,” he cried, “let the world say what it may, I will not leave my good master for the sake of a shadow; I will do what is right and not what is prudent: I will remain with you, I will lend you my shadow; I will help you where I can; I will weep with you.” I fell on his neck, overcome with such an unexpected self-devotion. I felt assured he did nothing for the sake of gold.

From that moment my fate and my mode of life changed. It is indescribable how carefully Bendel sought to cover my defects. He was ever before and with me, foreseeing everything, arranging everything, and where unexpected danger threatened, covering me with his shadow, for he was fortunately taller and stouter than I. Again I mingled with mankind, and acted my part in the scenes of the world. It was necessary to assume much singularity and queerness; but these sit well upon a rich man, and while the truth lay concealed, I enjoyed all the honour and esteem to which wealth has a claim. I looked with more calmness on the advancing year and day, whose close was to bring with them the visit of the mysterious unknown.

I was well aware that I could not remain long in the place where I had been seen without a shadow, and where I might so easily be betrayed; and I thought perhaps more on this, remembering how I had first shown myself to the merchant, which was now a sad recollection to me; consequently I would only make an experiment here, that I might learn how to introduce myself hereafter with more ease and confidence; nevertheless it happened that I was momentarily bound down by my vanity; which is the firm ground in man where the anchor fixes itself.

The beautiful Fanny, whom I again met in another situation, bestowed on me some attention, without recollecting that she had seen me before; for now I had both wit and understanding. When I talked, all listened, and I could not imagine when or how I had acquired the talent of leading and directing the conversation. The impression which I perceived I had produced on the fair one, made me, as she would have me, a very fool; and from this time I pursued her, where only I could pursue her, through shades and twilight. I was vain enough to make her vain of me; yet I could not succeed, notwithstanding all my efforts to drive the intoxication from my head to my heart.

Schlemihl and Fanny

But why enter upon the details of an everyday story? You know, and have often told me, how other wealthy people spend their days. From an old, well-known drama, in which I, out of mere good-humour, was playing a hacknied part, arose a singular and incredible catastrophe, unexpected by me, or by Fanny, or by anybody.

According to my custom, one lovely evening I had assembled a large company in an illuminated garden. I was wandering about with my divinity arm-in-arm, separated from the rest of the guests, and endeavouring to amuse her with well-timed conversation; she looked modestly towards the ground, and gently returned the pressure of my hand. At this moment the moon unexpectedly burst through the clouds: her shadow alone was there,—she started, looked alarmed at me, then at the earth, as if her eyes were asking for my shadow;—all her emotions were painted so faithfully on her countenance, that I should have burst into a loud laugh, had I not felt an icy dullness creeping over me.

She sunk down from my arms in a swoon. I flew like an arrow through the alarmed company, reached the door, threw myself into the first coach I found waiting there, and hurried back to the city, where, to my misfortune, I had left the foresighted Bendel. He was startled at seeing me—a word told all. Post-horses were instantly ordered. I took only one of my servants with me, an interested villain called Rascal, who had learned to make himself useful by his dexterity, and who could suspect nothing of what had occurred. We travelled a hundred miles before night. Bendel was left behind to dismiss my household, to distribute my money by paying my debts, and to bring away what was most necessary. When he overtook me the next day, I threw myself into his arms, solemnly promising to commit no farther folly, but to be more discreet in future. We continued our journey without interruption, passing over the chain of mountains which formed the frontier; and only when on the descent, and separated by the high bastions from the land so fatal to my peace, did I allow myself to be comforted, and hastened away to a watering-place in the vicinity, where I sought repose from my disappointments and my sorrows.