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: