THE SHADOW
In the hot lands, the sun burns fiercely, turning people a mahogany brown. A learned man from the cold lands came to visit, but he soon found he could not bear the heat. He and all sensible folk were obliged to stay indoors with shutters closed all day. The narrow street was built so that sunshine fell there from morning till evening—it was unbearable.
The learned man sat in a glowing oven; it took effect on him, and he became quite meagre. Even his shadow shrunk in, for the sun affected it too. Only towards evening did they begin to freshen up again.
In the warm lands, every window has a balcony. In the evening, people came out for air. The street was lively with tailors, shoemakers, and all folks moving about. Chairs and tables were brought out, candles burnt, and there was talking, singing, and church-bells ringing. Only in one house opposite the learned man's was it quiet, though flowers on the balcony showed someone lived there. Late in the evening, the door opposite opened, and music was heard from within. The landlord said he didn't know who lived there, but the music seemed tiresome, "as if someone practised a piece he could not master."
One night, the stranger awoke to see a strange lustre from the opposite house. The flowers shone like flames, and in their midst stood a slender, graceful maiden who also seemed to shine. He sprang up, but when he looked, the maiden was gone, and the flowers stood fresh as ever. The door was ajar, and delightful music sounded from within.
One evening, the stranger sat on his balcony with a light behind him, so his shadow fell on the opposite wall. "I think my shadow is the only living thing one sees over there," he said jokingly. "It should go into the room, look about, and then come and tell me what it saw." He nodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded back. As he went inside, his shadow appeared to go in through the half-open door opposite.
Next morning, the man discovered his shadow was gone. This annoyed him, for he knew a story about a man without a shadow. He decided not to speak of it. In the warm lands, everything grows quickly, and after eight days he observed a new shadow growing. In three weeks, he had a fair shadow, which grew large on his journey home.
Years passed. One evening, there was a knock at his door. An extremely lean, finely dressed man stood there. "Do you not know your old shadow?" the man asked. "I have become a man. I have flesh, clothes, and wealth." The learned man was astonished. The shadow explained he had gone out alone into the world and thrived. He asked if he owed anything for his freedom. The learned man said no and asked about his adventures.
The shadow agreed to tell, on condition that the learned man never reveal who he was and address him formally as "you." The shadow said he had entered the house opposite and found Poesy (Poetry) living there. "I was there for three weeks, and that has as much effect as if one had lived three thousand years," he claimed. He learned his own nature and became a man. He then detailed how he spied on people's private lives, causing consternation, and was rewarded with fine clothes, status, and admiration.
The shadow bid farewell. Years later, he returned. The learned man was desperate, as no one cared for his writings about the true, good, and beautiful. The shadow, now fat and successful, invited him to travel as his companion—as his shadow. The learned man refused, calling the proposal too bad. "But it is just so with the world!" said the shadow.
The learned man grew ill. "You look like a shadow," his friends said. The shadow visited again and insisted the man accompany him to a watering-place, offering to pay if the man served as his shadow and wrote amusing descriptions. They travelled, with the shadow as master and the man as shadow.
The man suggested they use the familiar "thou" with each other. The shadow refused, saying it felt pressed to the earth by such familiarity, but he would say "thou" to the man. The man was obliged to accept.
At the watering-place, a princess with sharp sight noticed the shadow could not cast a shadow. The shadow explained he had a unique, trimmed-up shadow—the learned man—whom he had made into a man. The princess was intrigued. She and the shadow danced, and she fell in love with his wisdom. To test him, she asked a difficult question. The shadow said his own shadow (the learned man) could answer it, but must be treated as a man. The princess questioned the learned man, who answered wisely. She decided to marry the shadow for the benefit of her kingdom.
Before the wedding, the shadow told the learned man he must live in the palace, be called "Shadow," and once a year lie at the shadow's feet when he sat in the sunshine. The learned man refused, threatening to expose the truth. The shadow had him imprisoned.
To the princess, the shadow claimed his shadow had gone mad, thinking he was a man. The princess deemed it necessary to quietly do away with the mad shadow. The shadow pretended sorrow but agreed.
The city celebrated the wedding with illuminations and cannon fire. The princess and shadow appeared on the balcony. The learned man heard nothing of it, for he had been deprived of life.