Tales of the German Imagination from the Brothers Grimm to Ingeborg Bachmann (Penguin Classics) (14 page)

Here ends this legend. The woman, whose continued presence in Aachen was completely pointless, after leaving the court a small sum of money for the care of her poor sons returned to The Hague where, the following year, deeply moved by all that had happened, she forthwith returned to the lap of the Catholic Church; her sons, for their part, passed away at a ripe old age, succumbing to a serene and joyous death after having, as was their wont, sung the
Gloria in excelsis
yet again.

1814

Adelbert von Chamisso

Following a fortuitous if less than pleasant voyage, we finally pulled into port. As soon as the dinghy dropped me ashore, I hoisted my meagre baggage onto my back and, pressing my way through the teeming multitudes of that harbour town, I stopped at the first doss-house whose shabby shingle caught my eye. When I asked for a room, the houseboy gave me one look and immediately led me up to the garret. I had them bring me water to wash and thereafter requested precise directions to the home of Mr Thomas John. ‘Take the North Gate, and it’s the first manor on your right, a big, new structure of red and white marble with many columns. Can’t miss it.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. It was still quite early in the day. I untied my miserable bundle, pulled out my realtered black frock coat, donned my best dress clothes, slipped the letter of introduction into my breast pocket and set off immediately to meet the man who, I hoped, would help me in my modest plans at self-improvement.

After hiking up the long northern road and reaching the city gate, I soon spotted the marble columns shimmering through the verdure. ‘Here I am,’ I thought. I wiped the dust off my shoes with my handkerchief, straightened my tie and, murmuring a prayer to God, rang the doorbell. The door sprang open. There on the threshold I was obliged to undergo an interrogation; at last the doorman announced my arrival, and I had the honour of being shepherded into the gardens, where Mr John was just
then entertaining a small party of guests. I immediately recognized the man by the shimmer of his impeccable self-satisfaction. He received me quite nobly – as a rich man receives a poor devil; he even deigned to face me without turning away from the others, and took the letter of introduction out of my hand.

‘Well, well! From my brother, is it; not a word have I heard from him in years. He’s well, I trust? – wherever he is,’ he continued, rejoining his guests without waiting for an answer, and motioning with the letter for me to tag along to the top of the hill. ‘That’s where I plan to have them put up the new building.’ He broke open the seal without even interrupting his conversation with the others, the subject of which was wealth. ‘Frankly,’ he maintained, ‘anyone who isn’t worth at least a million is nothing but – if you’ll forgive the term – a snivelling worm.’

‘How true, how true!’ I cried out in full accord, with a fulsome, oozing enthusiasm.

This must have pleased him, for he smiled at me and said, ‘Stay around, my friend, later perhaps I’ll have a moment to respond to this.’ He nodded at the letter, which he proceeded to slip into his pocket, then turned back to the others. He offered his arm to one young woman, other gentlemen attended to other beauties; in a courtly manner the merry company idled up the rose-covered hill.

I slunk along behind them without getting in anyone’s way, for nobody paid me any further attention. High spirits reigned among Mr John’s invited guests; they fooled around and told jokes, at times they spoke seriously of light-hearted things, more often making light of serious matters, and took a particular pleasure in poking fun at absent friends and their affairs. I was too much a stranger to grasp all the allusions, too much wrapped up in myself and my own troubles to share in the general merriment.

We had reached the rose bushes. Lovely Fanny, who, it appeared, was everyone’s favourite, impetuously reached out and broke off a blossoming sprig of roses, and in the process pricked herself on a thorn; it was as though purple drops fell from the dark rose onto her delicate hand. Everyone was up in
arms. English plasters were requested. A quite thin, haggard, lanky, ageing gentleman who accompanied the others, and whom I had not noticed until then, immediately stuck his hand into the pocket of his tight-fitting grey taffeta coat, pulled out a small pouch, opened it and, with a courtly bow, reached in and handed the lady the desired dressing. She accepted it without so much as acknowledging the kindness, let alone thanking the man; she had her wound dressed, and everyone proceeded up the hill, the crest of which afforded a panoramic view that took in the wide green labyrinth of the gardens and swept far out into the immeasurable expanse of the sea.

The view was truly grand and splendid. On the horizon, between the darkness of the deep and the powder blue of the sky, appeared a light spot. ‘Somebody hand me a looking-glass!’ cried Mr John, and even before the servants could respond to the command, the man in grey bowed humbly, stuck his hand into his coat pocket, pulled out a fine telescope and handed it to the host. The latter immediately brought it up to his eye and informed his guests that it was the ship that had departed the day before and had been held back by unfavourable winds. The telescope was passed from hand to hand and did not find its way back to its owner. I, however, peered in amazement at the man, wondering how such a large piece of equipment could possibly have emerged from the minuscule pocket. Yet nobody else seemed to take notice; they paid no more attention to the grey man than to myself.

Refreshments were served, the rarest, most exotic fruits presented in the most exquisite dishes. Mr John did the honours without much of a fuss, and for the second time addressed a word to me: ‘Eat up, my good man, surely you don’t enjoy such delights at sea!’ I bowed in gratitude, but he didn’t notice; he was already involved in conversation with someone else.

The guests expressed their desire to stretch out on the lawn at the crest of the hill with the splendid panoramic view, were it not for the dampness of the ground. How heavenly it would be, someone said, if only we had Turkish rugs to spread out here. No sooner said than done: the man in the grey coat had already slipped a hand into his pocket, and with a modest,
indeed downright obsequious manner, took pains to pull out a gold-embroidered Turkish carpet. Servants took hold of it matter-of-factly and spread it out at the desired spot. And without any further ado, the guests sat down. Dumbfounded, I once again stared in amazement at the man, his pocket and the carpet, which measured over twenty feet in length and ten in width. I rubbed my eyes, not knowing what to think of it all, particularly since no one else seemed to find anything out of the ordinary.

I would have liked to have some information about the man, to ask who he was, but I didn’t know whom to ask; for I was almost more intimidated by the servants than I was by those they served. Finally I pulled myself together and approached a young man who seemed of a lesser standing than the others, and often kept to himself. Quietly I enquired as to the identity of the accommodating gentleman in grey.

‘That one over there, the one who resembles a snippet of thread that slipped out of a tailor’s needle?’

‘Yes, the one standing alone.’

‘Don’t know him,’ he replied, and to avoid any lengthier exchange with me, he immediately turned away and commenced making small talk with someone else.

The sun was now shining all the more brightly, and this bothered the ladies. Lovely Fanny turned to the grey man, to whom, so far as I could tell, no one had yet addressed a word, and flippantly enquired if he did not perchance also have a tent in his pocket? Responding with a deep bow, as though an undeserved honour had been paid him, he already had his hands in his pocket, and I was witness as he pulled out poles, cords, pikes – in short, everything needed to pitch a magnificent pavilion. The young gentlemen put it up, and it covered the entire length and breadth of the carpet – and not a soul found anything strange in this. I had been flabbergasted from the very beginning, and indeed felt a little queasy; just imagine my state when, in response to the next whimsical wish, I saw him pull out three horses – I swear, three big beautiful steeds fitted with saddle and reins! Imagine, for heaven’s sake, three saddled steeds pulled from the same pocket out of which a wallet, a telescope,
a fine Turkish carpet twenty feet long and ten feet wide, a tent of the same dimensions and all the equipment, poles and pikes that go with it had already emerged! If I hadn’t sworn to have seen it with my own eyes, you surely wouldn’t believe me.

As ill at ease and humble as the man appeared, despite the lack of attention he attracted from the others, his pallid presence (to which my eyes were riveted) so revolted me that I could no longer bear to look at him. I decided to slip away unnoticed from this merry company, which, considering the inconsequential role I played in it, promised to be an easy matter. I wanted to make my way back to the city and try my luck again the following morning with Mr John, and, if I found the courage, to ask him about the strange grey man. If only I had made good my intention!

I had, in fact, already succeeded in slipping through the rose hedges and down the hill, and found myself in an open meadow, when the fear of being spotted sneaking through the grass impelled me to cast a furtive look back. Imagine how startled I was to see the man in the grey coat approaching me from behind. He immediately doffed his hat to me and made the deepest bow that anyone had ever made to me. There was no doubt that he wished to speak to me, and I could not possibly avoid him without being outright rude. I too removed my hat, bowed in turn and stood bareheaded in the blazing sunlight, as if rooted to the ground. I gave him a piercing, terrified look, and felt awfully ill at ease; not looking up at me, he bowed several more times, stepped closer and addressed me with a quiet, quavering voice and the tone and manner of a beggar.

‘The gentleman will please pardon my importunity if I make so bold as to impose my uninvited presence; I have a request. Please be so kind as to forgive me—’

‘But for heaven’s sake, my good man!’ I burst out in terror, ‘what can I possibly do for a man who—’ We both fell silent, and both of us, it seemed to me, turned red at the very same instant.

Following a moment of silence, he once again spoke up. ‘For the short while during which I enjoyed the pleasure of your proximity, I was struck several times – please permit me to
remark upon it – with inexpressible admiration for the lovely, lovely shadow you cast, that shadow you fling to the ground with a certain noble disdain and without the least notice, that lovely shadow lying even now at your feet. Forgive the admitted audacity of such a bold presumption. I wonder if you might possibly consider parting with it – I mean, selling it to me.’

He peered at me without uttering another word, and I felt as though a millstone were turning in my head. What was I supposed to make of this odd offer to buy my shadow from me? The man must be mad, I thought, and, altering my tone to suit his humble manner, I replied, ‘Now, now! Good friend, isn’t your own shadow enough for you? What you propose is a very curious sort of deal.’

To which he immediately answered back, ‘I have here in my pocket certain things that the gentleman may find not altogether lacking in value; the highest sum would be too little to pay for such a priceless shadow.’

I felt a chill run down my spine when he reminded me of that pocket, and I deeply regretted having called him my good friend. It was my turn to speak, and I tried with immeasurable tact to retract any hint of intimacy between us. ‘But my good sir,’ I said, ‘you must forgive your most humble servant. I don’t quite catch your drift; how could I possibly … I mean, my shadow—’

He interrupted me. ‘I beg the gentleman’s consent, if he will permit me here on the spot to pick up and take hold of his noble shadow; how I manage is my affair. In exchange, as a token of my appreciation, the gentleman may choose from among the treasures I have here in my pocket: the original mandrake wishing-root, magic pennies, pirate doubloons, Roland’s squire’s serviette, a little hangman to be had for a song; but such trinkets are surely not your style: how about Fortunato’s magic hat, restored, good as new; or else a magic purse just like the one he had.’

‘Fortunato’s magic purse?’ I interrupted him, and as much as I shivered with fear in his presence, with those three words he had tapped my wildest dreams. I suddenly felt dizzy, my eyes dazzled by the glitter of imagined gold.

‘Will the gentleman be so kind as to examine and test the
efficacy of this purse.’ He stuck his hand into his pocket, pulled out a middling large, tightly stitched pouch of strong Spanish leather fastened by two leather straps, and handed it to me.

I reached in and pulled out ten gold pieces, and another ten, and another; in a flash I extended my hand. ‘Sold! It’s a deal; in exchange for the purse, you can have my shadow.’

He shook my hand and without delay crouched down before me, and I watched as with startling skill he peeled and lifted my shadow from head to foot off the grass, rolled it up and folded it, and stuffed it in his pocket. He got up, bowed again and stepped back towards the rose bushes. It seemed to me as if I heard him quietly laughing to himself. I for my part grasped the purse tightly by its straps; all around me the world was bathed in bright sunlight, and I was oblivious to what I had done.

I finally came to my senses and made haste to leave this place where, I hoped, I had no more business to attend to. First I filled my pockets with gold, then I bound the straps of the purse around my neck and tucked it away under my shirt. Unnoticed, I emerged from the gardens, reached the road and headed back to the city. As I approached the gates of the city, lost in thought, I heard a voice calling behind me. ‘Young man! Hey! Young man! Listen now!’ I looked back and saw an old woman crying out, ‘Better retrace your steps, sir! The gentleman has lost his shadow!’

‘Thanks, Granny!’ I replied, and I tossed her a gold piece for the well-meant advice, whereupon I sought refuge in the shade of the trees lining the road. At the city gates I was obliged to suffer a repeat performance; the gatekeeper said, ‘Where did the gentleman leave his shadow?’ And right after that, a couple of women remarked aloud, ‘Heavens, the poor man has no shadow!’