It was yet early, when I was awakened by the sound of voices violently disputing in my antechamber. I listened: Bendel was forbidding access to my door. Rascal swore loudly and deeply that he would take no orders from his fellow-servant, and insisted on rushing into my apartment. The good Bendel warned him that if such language reached my ears, he might perchance lose a profitable place; but Rascal threatened to lay violent hands upon him, if he impeded his entrance any longer.

I had half dressed myself. I angrily flung the door open, and called out to Rascal, “What dost want, thou scoundrel?” He retreated two paces, and answered with perfect coldness,

“Humbly to request, may it please your lordship, for once to show me your shadow; the sun is shining so beautifully in the court.”

I felt as if scathed by a thunderbolt, and it was long before I could utter a word: “How can a servant presume against his master that—” He interrupted me with provoking calmness: “A servant may be a very honest man, and yet refuse to serve a shadowless master—I must have my discharge.” I tried another weapon.

“But, Rascal, my dear Rascal, who has put this wild notion into your head? How can you imagine—” But he continued in the same tone, “There are people who assert you have no shadow; so, in a word, either show me your shadow, or give me my discharge!”

Bendel, pale and trembling, but more discreet than I, made me a sign to seek a resource in the silence-imposing gold—but it had lost its power; Rascal flung it at my feet: “I will take nothing from a shadowless being.” He turned his back upon me, put his hat on his head, and went slowly out of the apartment whistling a tune. I stood there like a petrifaction—looking after him, vacant and motionless.

Heavy and melancholy, with a deathlike feeling within me, I prepared to redeem my promise, and, like a criminal before his judges, to show myself in the forester’s garden. I ascended to the dark arbour which had been called by my name, where an appointment had been made to meet me. Mina’s mother came forwards toward me, gay, and free from care. Mina was seated there, pale and lovely, as the earliest snow when it kisses the last autumnal flower, and soon dissolves into bitter drops. The forest-master, with a written sheet in his hand, wandered in violent agitation from side to side, seemingly overcome with internal feelings, which painted his usually unvarying countenance with constantly changing paleness and scarlet. He came towards me as I entered, and with broken accents requested to speak to me alone. The path through which he invited me to follow him led to an open sunny part of the garden. I seated myself down without uttering a word; a long silence followed, which even our good mother dared not interrupt.

With irregular steps the forest-master paced the arbour backwards and forwards; he stood for a moment before me, looked into the paper which he held, and said with a most penetrating glance, “Count, and do you indeed know one Peter Schlemihl?” I was silent—“a man of reputable character, and of great accomplishments.” He waited for my answer. “And what if I were he?”—“He!” added he vehemently, “who has in some way got rid of his shadow!”—“Oh, my forebodings! my forebodings!” exclaimed Mina, “alas! I knew long ago that he had no shadow!” and she flung herself into her mother’s arms, who, alarmed, pressed her convulsively to her bosom, reproaching me with having concealed such a fatal secret from her:—but she, like Arethusa, was bathed in a fountain of tears, which flowed abundantly at the sound of my voice, and at my approach tempestuously burst forth.

“And so,” cried the forest-master furiously, “your matchless impudence has sought to betray that poor girl and me—and you pretended to love her—her whom you have dragged to the abyss—see how she weeps, how she is agonized! O shame! O sin!”

I was so completely confused that I answered incoherently: “After all, ’twas but a shadow—nothing but a shadow—one can manage without it; and surely it is not worth making such a noise about.” But I felt so deeply the deception of my language, that I was silent before he deigned to give me an answer. I added, “What a man has lost to-day he may find again to-morrow.”

He spoke angrily: “Explain to me, sir, explain how you got rid of your shadow.” I was compelled again to lie: “A vulgar fellow trod so clumsily upon my shadow, that he tore a great hole in it; I sent it to be mended—gold can do everything; I ought to have received it back yesterday.”

“Very well, sir, very well,” he replied. “You sue for my daughter—others do the same; as her father I must take care of her. I give you three days’ respite, which you may employ in procuring a shadow. Come to me after this, and if you have one that suits you, you will be welcome: but if not, on the fourth day, I must tell you, my daughter shall be the wife of another.” I attempted to address a word to Mina; but she clung, violently agitated, closer to her mother, who silently beckoned to me that I should retire. I slunk away as if the world’s gates had closed behind me.

Escaped to Bendel’s affectionate guidance, I wandered with erring footsteps through fields and woods, sweat-drops of anguish fell from my brow; deep groans broke from my bosom; within me raged a wild frenzy.

I know not how long it had lasted, when on a sunny heath I found myself held by the sleeve—I stood still, and looked around me. It was the grey-coated stranger; he seemed to have followed me till he was out of breath. He instantly began:

“I had announced myself for to-day; you have hardly been able to wait so long—but all is well—you will take good counsel: exchange your shadow again; it only waits your commands, and then turn back. You will be welcome in the forester’s garden; it was but a jest. Rascal, who has betrayed you, and who is a suitor to your betrothed, I will dispose of—the fellow is ripe.”

Schlemihl offered the parchment

I stood there still, as if I were asleep—“Announced for to-day?”—I reckoned the time over again; it was so. I had erred in my calculations. I put my right hand on the bag in my bosom; he discovered my meaning, and drew back two paces.

“No, Sir Count, that is in good hands; that you may retain.” I looked on him with staring and inquiring eyes. He spoke: “May I ask for a trifling memento? Be so good as to sign this note.” The following words were on the parchment he held:

“I hereby promise to deliver over my soul to the bearer after its natural separation from my body.”

I looked with dumb astonishment, now on the grey unknown, and now on the writing. In the mean time he had dipped a new pen in a drop of my blood, which was flowing from a scratch made by a thorn in my hand. He handed the pen to me.

“Who are you, then?” I at last inquired.

“What does that matter?” he answered. “Don’t you see what I am?—a poor devil; a sort of philosopher or alchemist, who receives spare thanks for great favours he confers on his friends; one who has no enjoyment in this world, except a little experimentializing:—but sign, I pray—ay, just there on the right, Peter Schlemihl.”

I shook my head. “Forgive me, sir, for I will not sign.”—“Not!” replied he, with seeming surprise, “why not?”

“’Tis an affair that requires some consideration—to add my soul to my shadow in the bargain.”—“Oh, oh!” he exclaimed, “consideration!” and burst into a loud laugh. “May I then be allowed to ask, what sort of a thing is your soul? Have you ever seen it? Do you know what will become of it when you are once departed? Rejoice that you have found somebody to take notice of it; to buy, even during your lifetime, the reversion of this X, this galvanic power, this polarising influence, or whatever the silly trifle may turn out to be; to pay for it with your bodily shadow, with something really substantial; the hand of your mistress, the fulfilment of your prayers. Or will you rather deliver over the sweet maiden to that contemptible scoundrel, Mr. Rascal? No, no! look to that with your own eyes. Come hither; I will lend you the wishing-cap too, (he drew something from his pocket), and we will have a ramble unseen through the forest-garden.”

I must confess I was sadly ashamed to be thus laughed at by this fellow. I hated him from the bottom of my soul; and I believe this personal antipathy prevented me, more than my principles, from giving the required signature for my shadow, necessary as it was to me. The thought was unbearable, that I should undertake such a walk in his company. This sneaking scoundrel, this scornful, irritating imp, placing himself betwixt me and my beloved, sporting with two bleeding hearts, roused my deepest feelings. I looked on what had past as ordained, and considered my misery as irretrievable. I turned upon the man and said:

“Sir, I sold you my shadow for this most estimable bag of yours: I have repented it enough; if the bargain can be annulled, in the name of—” He shook his head—looked at me with a dark frown. I began again: “I will sell you nothing more of my possessions, though you may offer as high a price as for my shadow; and I will sign nothing. Hence you may conclude that the metamorphosis to which you invite me would perhaps be more agreeable to you than to me. Forgive me, but it cannot be otherwise; let us part.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Schlemihl, that you so capriciously push away the favours which are presented to you; but I may be more fortunate another time. Farewell, till our speedy meeting! By the way, you will allow me to mention, that I do not by any means permit my purchases to get mouldy; I hold them in special regard, and take the best possible care of them.” With this he took my shadow out of his pocket, and with a dexterous fling it was unrolled and spread out on the heath on the sunny side of his feet, so that he stood between the two attendant shadows, mine and his, and walked away; mine seemed to belong to him as much as his own; it accommodated itself to all his movements and all his necessities.

When I saw my poor shadow again, after so long a separation, and found it applied to such base uses, at a moment when for its sake I was suffering nameless anguish, my heart broke within me, and I began to weep most bitterly. The hated one walked proudly on with his spoil, and unblushingly renewed his proposals.

“You may have it—’tis but a stroke of the pen; you will save, too, your poor unhappy Mina from the claws of the vagabond; save her for the arms of the most honourable Count. ’Tis but a stroke of the pen, I say.” Tears broke forth with new violence; but I turned away, and beckoned him to be gone.

Bendel, who had followed my steps to the present spot, approached me full of sadness at this instant. The kind-hearted fellow perceived me weeping, and observed my shadow, which he could not mistake, attached to the figure of the extraordinary, grey, unknown one, and he endeavoured by force to put me in possession of my property; but not being able to lay firm hold on this subtle thing, he ordered the old man, in a peremptory tone, to abandon what did not belong to him. He, for a reply, turned his back upon my well-meaning servant, and marched away. Bendel followed him closely, and lifting up the stout black-thorn cudgel which he carried, required the man to give up the shadow, enforcing the command with the strength of his nervous arm; but the man, accustomed perhaps to such encounters, bowed his head, raised his shoulders, and walked silently and calmly over the heath, accompanied by my shadow and my faithful man. For a long time I heard the dull sound echoed over the waste. It was lost at last in the distance. I stood alone with my misery as before.