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