and wives, parents and children,—sweet, incomparable children. I have seen what no human being has the power of knowing, although they would all be very glad to know—the evil conduct of their neighbours. Had I written a newspaper, how eagerly it would have been read! Instead of which, I wrote direct to the persons themselves, and great alarm arose in all the towns I visited. They had so much fear of me, and yet how dearly they loved me. The professor made me a professor. The tailor made me new clothes; I am well provided for in that way. The overseer of the mint struck coins for me. The women declared that I was handsome, and so I became the man you now see me. And now I must say adieu. Here is my card. I live on the sunny side of the street, and always stay at home in rainy weather.” And the shadow departed.
“This is all very remarkable,” said the learned man.
Years passed, days and years went by, and the shadow came again. “How are you going on now?” he asked.
“Ah!” said the learned man, “I am writing about the true, the beautiful, and the good; but no one cares to hear anything about it. I am quite in despair, for I take it to heart very much.”
“That is what I never do,” said the shadow; ‘‘I am growing quite fat and stout, which every one ought to be. You do not understand the world; you will make yourself ill about it; you ought to travel; I am going on a joumey in the summer, will you go with me? I should like a travelling companion; will you travel with me as my shadow? It will give me great pleasure, and I will pay all expenses.”
“Are you going to travel far?” asked the learned man.
“That is a matter of opinion,” replied the shadow. “At all events, a journey will do you good, and if you will be my shadow, then all your journey shall be paid.”
“It appears to me very absurd,” said the learned man.
“But it is the way of the world,” replied the shadow, “and always will be.” Then he went away.
Everything went wrong with the learned man. Sorrow and trouble pursued him, and what he said about the good, the beautiful, and the true, was of as much value to most people as a nutmeg would be to a cow. At length he fell ill. “You really look like a shadow,” people said to him, and then a cold shudder would pass over him, for he had his own thoughts on the subject.
“You really ought to go to some watering-place,” said the shadow on his next visit. “There is no other chance for you. I will take you with me, for the sake of old acquaintance. I will pay the expenses of your journey, and you shall write a description of it to amuse us by the way. I should like to go to a watering-place; my beard does not grow as it ought, which is from weakness, and I must have a beard. Now do be sensible and accept my proposal; we shall travel as intimate friends.”
And at last they started together. The shadow was master now, and the master became the shadow. They drove together, and rode and walked in
