Tales of the German Imagination from the Brothers Grimm to Ingeborg Bachmann (Penguin Classics) (18 page)

Having eluded Bendel’s loving vigilance, I ran through the forests and fields at a mad pace. The cold sweat of terror ran down my brow, I heaved an abysmal sigh, my mind tottered on the brink of madness.

I can’t say how much time elapsed before I found myself in a sunny field. I felt a tug at my sleeve. Standing stock-still, I looked around. It was the man in the grey coat, who appeared to be out of breath from chasing after me. He immediately spoke up.

‘I announced my arrival for this very day, but you were too impatient to wait. Don’t worry, my friend, it’s not too late. Take my advice – for a fair trade you can have your shadow back and do an immediate about-turn in life. The forest warden will welcome you back with open arms, and this whole unhappy business will be treated as a bad joke. And that Rascal who betrayed you and who this very minute is wooing your bride-to-be, I’ll take him into my service where he belongs – the fellow’s ripe for the picking.’

In a daze, I repeated his words. ‘Announced your arrival for this very day—?’ I mentally recalculated the allotted time. He was right, I had been a day off. With my right hand, I felt for the purse dangling under my shirt against my breast. He immediately guessed my intent and stepped back two paces.

‘Oh no, Sir Count, the purse is in good hands as it is, it’s yours
to keep.’ Astonished, I gave him a befuddled, questioning look, to which he replied forthwith, ‘All I ask for is a little token, a memento, if you will: your signature, sir, on this document will do.’ And on the parchment he held in his hands I read the following:

‘By my signature I empower the recipient of this parchment to take full claim to my soul following its natural separation from my body.’

Dumbfounded, I kept looking back and forth between the document and the grey stranger. Meanwhile, with a freshly cut quill, he proceeded to dab the open wound a thorn had torn in my hand, wet the tip with a drop of blood and passed the pen to me.

‘Who in God’s name are you?’ I asked at last.

‘What difference does it make?’ he replied. ‘Can’t you tell by looking at me? I’m just a poor devil, a sort of sage and alchemist who gets little thanks from his friends for his incomparable wizardry exercised on their behalf, and whose sole pleasure on earth is a little experimentation. But hurry up and sign before the blood dries up. Bottom right: Peter Schlemiel.’

I shook my head and said, ‘Forgive me, sir, this document I cannot sign.’

‘Not sign?’ he repeated, surprised. ‘But why not?’

‘It seems a somewhat questionable transaction, to exchange my soul for my shadow.’

‘Questionable indeed!’ he replied, and broke into loud, sarcastic laughter. ‘And if I may ask, what sort of thing is that, your soul? Have you ever seen it? What possible use do you intend to make of it once you’re dead? You ought to be pleased to have found a collector during your lifetime who’s willing to buy the nebulous bequest of X, that galvanic force of polarizing potential, or whatever you prefer to call that ridiculous thing; a collector who proposed to take that tenuous trifle off your hands in exchange for something real, namely, your shadow, the very thing you need to attain the hand of your beloved and make all your dreams come true. Or would you rather be the one to hand her over – nay! – to veritably
push
that poor thing into the arms of that low scoundrel, Rascal? No, my friend,
better see it for yourself; here then, let me lend you this magic hood’ (he pulled something out of his pocket) ‘and together we’ll make our way unseen to the forest warden’s garden.’

I must admit that I felt terribly ashamed to be derided by this man. I loathed him from the bottom of my heart, and it was this personal revulsion, I believe, much more than any principles or prejudices, that prevented me from buying back my shadow, however much I needed it, for the price of that signature. How distasteful, the very thought of accepting his proposition to take a stroll together! Just the idea of seeing that slimy weasel, that sniggering devil, standing between me and my beloved, two bleeding hearts torn asunder – that was more than I could bear. What’s done is done, I decided, and, turning to the man, I said, ‘Sir, I did indeed sell my shadow for this admittedly splendid purse, and I have come ruefully to regret it. In God’s name, will you take it back!’ He shook his head and gave me a very dark look. So I continued, ‘In that case, I have no intention of selling you any more of what’s mine, be it for the price of my shadow, and I cannot, I’m afraid, sign the contract. And furthermore, you must realize that a hooded hike in your company would prove far more amusing to you than to me; therefore, please allow me to decline your kind invitation, which concludes our business together – and so let us go our separate ways!’

‘I regret very much, Monsieur Schlemiel, that you should be so thick-headed as to reject out of hand the proposition I made as a token of friendship. Better luck next time, then. I do hope we will meet again soon! Oh, by the way, permit me to show you that I by no means let the things I buy grow musty, but rather take great pains to preserve them – please be assured of my fastidious care!’

He proceeded to pull my shadow out of his pocket and, with a skilful toss, unfurled it on the heath and spread it out on the sunny side at his feet so that he could stride up and down in between the two shadows, his and mine; mine had to obey, to twist and turn in accordance with his every move. When I first caught a glimpse of my poor shadow after such a long time and saw it reduced to such a lowly purpose – as for its sake I too was made to suffer such unspeakable misery – my heart broke,
and I burst into bitter tears. That hateful man proudly paraded around with his booty and shamelessly repeated his offer:

‘You can still have it for the asking; just a stroke of the pen and His Highness the Count can save his poor unhappy Mina from the claws of that lout, Rascal, and take her in his arms – as I said, just a stroke of the pen.’ My tears burst forth with renewed vigour, but I turned away and with a wave of my hand bade him adieu.

At that very moment Bendel, who had been anxiously following my footsteps, appeared on the scene. As soon as that faithful, God-fearing man found me in tears and spotted my shadow – for it was unmistakably mine – in the thrall of that awful grey stranger, he immediately resolved to get back for me what was mine, even if by force; and since he had no idea of how to grasp the insubstantial thing itself, he let fly a flurry of angry words and, without beating about the bush, demanded that the shadow be returned to its rightful owner. In lieu of an answer, the stranger simply turned his back on my innocent defender, whereupon Bendel raised the thorny club in his hand and followed hot on the grey man’s heels, repeating his demand to give up the shadow, pummelling him mercilessly with all his might. The latter, as though well accustomed to such treatment, merely ducked his head, hunched his shoulders and calmly, quietly continued on his way across the heath, robbing me of both my shadow and my faithful servant. For a very long time I heard the dull thud resounding until finally it faded in the distance. I was all alone again with my bitter fate.

Alone on the barren moor, I let loose a torrent of tears, relieving my heart if but for a moment of the inexpressible burden of my fate. I saw no end to the misery that overwhelmed me, no exit, no way out, and I sucked with a grim thirst on the new poison that stranger had poured into my wounds. When I pictured Mina in my mind’s eye and her dear sweet face appeared to me pale and drowned in tears, as I had last seen her in the hour of my disgrace, Rascal’s impudent, sneering visage stepped
between us; I buried my face in my hands and ran wildly across the desolate terrain, but I couldn’t shake off that terrible spectre, it followed me wherever I fled, until, breathless, I sank to the ground and once again burst into tears.

All for the sake of a shadow! And the mere stroke of a pen could buy me that shadow back! I mulled over the stranger’s disconcerting proposition, as well as my reluctance. My mind was a blur, I had lost all capacity to judge or comprehend.

The day drew to an end. I stilled my hunger with wild berries, my thirst in a mountain stream; night fell, and I took refuge under a tree. The damp dawn woke me from a heavy sleep, in which I had overheard my own death rattle. Bendel must have lost my trail, and I was glad of it; I wanted nothing more to do with my fellow man, from whom I had fled in terror like the frightened beasts of the wild. Three desolate days I spent in hiding.

On the morning of the fourth day I found myself on a sandy plain on which the sun shone brightly. I was seated on a pile of rocks with the sun in my face, for I now craved the very sunbath I had so long done without. My heart supped in silence on the source of my despair. Then a faint sound startled me; prepared for escape, I cast a furtive look around. I saw no one; and yet, on the sunny stretch of sand, a human shadow came ambling by, a shadow not unlike my own, a shadow strolling all alone, which appeared to have lost its master.

Then a mighty urge arose in me. Shadow, thought I, if it’s a master you’re searching for, consider me him. And I leapt forward in an attempt to overtake it. I was convinced, you see, that if I succeeded in stepping into its path so that it made contact with my feet, the shadow would remain stuck there and in time grow accustomed to me.

But as I advanced, the shadow took flight, and I was obliged to give wearisome chase to that fleet-footed quarry. Only the thought of my intolerable condition gave me the energy to press on. The elusive fugitive was heading for a forest in the distance, in the shadow of which I would naturally have lost him. The prospect of his escape made my heart flutter with horror, sharpened my resolve, accelerated my pace. I was visibly gaining on him, coming closer and closer – I simply had to
catch him. Then suddenly he stopped and turned to me. Like the lion upon its prey, I bounded with a mighty leap to make him mine – and struck unexpectedly against physical resistance. From no visible source I received the most violent jab in the ribs that ever a man endured.

Fear impelled me involuntarily to clamp shut my arms before me, seizing the unseen presence. That swift gesture made me lunge forward and tumble to the ground; only now did the man lying beneath me prone on his back, and whom I held fast, become visible. Now the whole mysterious business became eminently clear to me. That man must first have been carrying, then dropped, the magic invisible bird’s nest, the one that rendered invisible whoever happens to be holding it, but not his shadow. I cast a long look around and soon discovered the shadow of the invisible bird’s nest, bounded up at it and captured my precious prey. Invisible and shadow-less, I held that nest in my hands.

The unfortunate man, now starkly visible on the wide, sunny plain, sat up forthwith and peered about, looking for the thief, but spotted neither him nor his shadow; the absence of the latter made him particularly anxious. Fleeing from me, he failed to notice, and could hardly be expected to imagine that I was shadow-less to begin with. Once he convinced himself that there was not a trace of me anywhere, he took out his extreme consternation on himself, and tugged and tore at his hair in despair. I, on the other hand, was invigorated by this newly acquired treasure, which gave me at once the ability and the desire once again to seek out human company. I was perfectly inured to any sense of guilt, and felt neither the slightest remorse at having committed an act of common thievery nor the need to excuse myself, and so as to elude any guilt-engendering train of thought, I hurried off without looking back at the poor unfortunate, whose piteous cries kept echoing in my ears. This, at any rate, is how it all seemed to me at the time.

I was burning with desire to return to the forest warden’s garden to find out for myself the truth of what the hateful one had revealed to me, but I had no idea where I was. I clambered up a nearby hill to take a look around. From the top of the hill
I spotted the little town a mere stone’s throw away, and the forest warden’s garden lying right there at my feet. My heart started pounding furiously, and tears of another sort from those I had lately shed welled up: I was going to see her again. A longing full of misgivings quickened my step as I went bounding down the path to her house. I passed unnoticed a group of peasants on their way home from town. They spoke of me, of Rascal and of the forest warden; I did not want to hear what they had to say, and hurried on.

I entered the garden with the horror of anticipation seething in my breast. The sound of laughter rang out in my ear; shuddering, I cast a quick look around. There was no one in sight. I stepped forward and heard what seemed like the sound of footsteps nearby, but no one was there; my ears must be deceiving me, I thought. It was still early, no one was up and about in Count Peter’s arbour, the garden was still deserted; I hastened down the familiar paths and made my way to the house. The same sound, now more distinct, kept following me. With a trembling heart I sat down on an empty bench in a sunny niche facing the front door. I swear I heard that unseen devil laughing scornfully as he sat himself down beside me. A key turned in the lock, the door opened, the forest warden stepped out with papers in hand. I felt as though a fog had descended over my head, I looked around, and – horror of horrors! – the man in the grey coat was seated there beside me eyeing me with a satanic grin. He had draped his magic hood over his head and mine, and at his feet his shadow and mine lay peacefully side by side. He fiddled absently with the sheet of parchment in his hand, and as the forest warden started pacing up and down in the shadow of the arbour with his own papers in hand, he leant forward with an air of familiarity and whispered in my ear:

‘You really ought to have accepted my invitation, we’d only be seated as we are now, two heads under one hood. So be it! So be it! But how about giving me back my bird’s nest? You have no more need of it now and are far too honourable a gentleman to want to withhold something that does not by rights belong to you – and of course I expect no gratitude, I assure you, for I’d have been more than happy to lend it to
you.’ Without batting an eye, he took the nest out of my hand, stuffed it into his pocket, and laughed at me again – indeed so loudly that the forest warden looked up at the sound. I sat there riveted to the spot.