No More Learning

There was wealth, comfort, and happiness even among the domestic
animals, for they were all well cared for, and well kept. The
kitchen looked bright with its copper and tin utensils, and white
plates, and from the rafters hung hams, beef, and winter stores in
plenty. This can still be seen in many rich farms on the west coast of
Jutland: plenty to eat and drink, clean, prettily decorated rooms,
active minds, cheerful tempers, and hospitality can be found there, as
in an Arab's tent.

Jurgen had never spent such a happy time since the famous burial
feast, and yet Miss Clara was absent, except in the thoughts and
memory of all.

In April a ship was to start for Norway, and Jurgen was to sail in
it. He was full of life and spirits, and looked so sturdy and well
that Dame Bronne said it did her good to see him.

"And it does one good to look at you also, old wife," said the
merchant. "Jurgen has brought fresh life into our winter evenings, and
into you too, mother. You look younger than ever this year, and seem
well and cheerful. But then you were once the prettiest girl in
Viborg, and that is saying a great deal, for I have always found the
Viborg girls the prettiest of any. "

Jurgen said nothing, but he thought of a certain maiden of
Skjagen, whom he was soon to visit. The ship set sail for
Christiansand in Norway, and as the wind was favourable it soon
arrived there.

One morning merchant Bronne went out to the lighthouse, which
stands a little way out of Old Skjagen, not far from "Grenen. " The
light was out, and the sun was already high in the heavens, when he
mounted the tower. The sand-banks extend a whole mile from the
shore, beneath the water, outside these banks; many ships could be
seen that day, and with the aid of his telescope the old man thought
he descried his own ship, the Karen Bronne. Yes! certainly, there
she was, sailing homewards with Clara and Jurgen on board.

Clara sat on deck, and saw the sand-hills gradually appearing in
the distance; the church and lighthouse looked like a heron and a swan
rising from the blue waters. If the wind held good they might reach
home in about an hour. So near they were to home and all its joys--so
near to death and all its terrors! A plank in the ship gave way,
and the water rushed in; the crew flew to the pumps, and did their
best to stop the leak. A signal of distress was hoisted, but they were
still fully a mile from the shore. Some fishing boats were in sight,
but they were too far off to be of any use. The wind blew towards
the land, the tide was in their favour, but it was all useless; the
ship could not be saved.

Jurgen threw his right arm round Clara, and pressed her to him.
With what a look she gazed up into his face, as with a prayer to God
for help he breasted the waves, which rushed over the sinking ship!
She uttered a cry, but she felt safe and certain that he would not
leave her to sink. And in this hour of terror and danger Jurgen felt
as the king's son did, as told in the old song:

"In the hour of peril when most men fear,
He clasped the bride that he held so dear. "


How glad he felt that he was a good swimmer! He worked his way
onward with his feet and one arm, while he held the young girl up
firmly with the other. He rested on the waves, he trod the water--in
fact, did everything he could think of, in order not to fatigue
himself, and to reserve strength enough to reach land. He heard
Clara sigh, and felt her shudder convulsively, and he pressed her more
closely to him. Now and then a wave rolled over them, the current
lifted them; the water, although deep, was so clear that for a
moment he imagined he saw the shoals of mackerel glittering, or
Leviathan himself ready to swallow them. Now the clouds cast a
shadow over the water, then again came the playing sunbeams; flocks of
loudly screaming birds passed over him, and the plump and lazy wild
ducks which allow themselves to be drifted by the waves rose up
terrified at the sight of the swimmer. He began to feel his strength
decreasing, but he was only a few cable lengths' distance from the
shore, and help was coming, for a boat was approaching him. At this
moment he distinctly saw a white staring figure under the water--a
wave lifted him up, and he came nearer to the figure--he felt a
violent shock, and everything became dark around him.

On the sand reef lay the wreck of a ship, which was covered with
water at high tide; the white figure head rested against the anchor,
the sharp iron edge of which rose just above the surface. Jurgen had
come in contact with this; the tide had driven him against it with
great force. He sank down stunned with the blow, but the next wave
lifted him and the young girl up again. Some fishermen, coming with
a boat, seized them and dragged them into it. The blood streamed
down over Jurgen's face; he seemed dead, but still held the young girl
so tightly that they were obliged to take her from him by force. She
was pale and lifeless; they laid her in the boat, and rowed as quickly
as possible to the shore. They tried every means to restore Clara to
life, but it was all of no avail. Jurgen had been swimming for some
distance with a corpse in his arms, and had exhausted his strength for
one who was dead.

Jurgen still breathed, so the fishermen carried him to the nearest
house upon the sand-hills, where a smith and general dealer lived
who knew something of surgery, and bound up Jurgen's wounds in a
temporary way until a surgeon could be obtained from the nearest
town the next day. The injured man's brain was affected, and in his
delirium he uttered wild cries; but on the third day he lay quiet
and weak upon his bed; his life seemed to hang by a thread, and the
physician said it would be better for him if this thread broke. "Let
us pray that God may take him," he said, "for he will never be the
same man again. "

But life did not depart from him--the thread would not break,
but the thread of memory was severed; the thread of his mind had
been cut through, and what was still more grievous, a body remained--a
living healthy body that wandered about like a troubled spirit.

Jurgen remained in merchant Bronne's house. "He was hurt while
endeavouring to save our child," said the old man, "and now he is
our son. " People called Jurgen insane, but that was not exactly the
correct term. He was like an instrument in which the strings are loose
and will give no sound; only occasionally they regained their power
for a few minutes, and then they sounded as they used to do. He
would sing snatches of songs or old melodies, pictures of the past
would rise before him, and then disappear in the mist, as it were, but
as a general rule he sat staring into vacancy, without a thought. We
may conjecture that he did not suffer, but his dark eyes lost their
brightness, and looked like clouded glass.

"Poor mad Jurgen," said the people. And this was the end of a life
whose infancy was to have been surrounded with wealth and splendour
had his parents lived! All his great mental abilities had been lost,
nothing but hardship, sorrow, and disappointment had been his fate. He
was like a rare plant, torn from its native soil, and tossed upon
the beach to wither there. And was this one of God's creatures,
fashioned in His own likeness, to have no better fate? Was he to be
only the plaything of fortune? No! the all-loving Creator would
certainly repay him in the life to come for what he had suffered and
lost here. "The Lord is good to all; and His mercy is over all His
works. " The pious old wife of the merchant repeated these words from
the Psalms of David in patience and hope, and the prayer of her
heart was that Jurgen might soon be called away to enter into
eternal life.

In the churchyard where the walls were surrounded with sand
Clara lay buried. Jurgen did not seem to know this; it did not enter
his mind, which could only retain fragments of the past. Every
Sunday he went to church with the old people, and sat there
silently, staring vacantly before him. One day, when the Psalms were
being sung, he sighed deeply, and his eyes became bright; they were
fixed upon a place near the altar where he had knelt with his friend
who was dead. He murmured her name, and became deadly pale, and
tears rolled down his cheeks. They led him out of church; he told
those standing round him that he was well, and had never been ill; he,
who had been so grievously afflicted, the outcast, thrown upon the
world, could not remember his sufferings. The Lord our Creator is wise
and full of loving kindness--who can doubt it?

In Spain, where balmy breezes blow over the Moorish cupolas and
gently stir the orange and myrtle groves, where singing and the
sound of the castanets are always heard, the richest merchant in the
place, a childless old man, sat in a luxurious house, while children
marched in procession through the streets with waving flags and
lighted tapers. If he had been able to press his children to his
heart, his daughter, or her child, that had, perhaps never seen the
light of day, far less the kingdom of heaven, how much of his wealth
would he not have given! "Poor child! " Yes, poor child--a child still,
yet more than thirty years old, for Jurgen had arrived at this age
in Old Skjagen.

The shifting sands had covered the graves in the courtyard,
quite up to the church walls, but still, the dead must be buried among
their relatives and the dear ones who had gone before them. Merchant
Bronne and his wife now rested with their children under the white
sand.

It was in the spring--the season of storms. The sand from the
dunes was whirled up in clouds; the sea was rough, and flocks of birds
flew like clouds in the storm, screaming across the sand-hills.
Shipwreck followed upon shipwreck on the reefs between Old Skagen
and the Hunsby dunes.

One evening Jurgen sat in his room alone: all at once his mind
seemed to become clearer, and a restless feeling came over him, such
as had often, in his younger days, driven him out to wander over the
sand-hills or on the heath. "Home, home! " he cried. No one heard
him. He went out and walked towards the dunes. Sand and stones blew
into his face, and whirled round him; he went in the direction of
the church. The sand was banked up the walls, half covering the
windows, but it had been cleared away in front of the door, and the
entrance was free and easy to open, so Jurgen went into the church.

The storm raged over the town of Skjagen; there had not been
such a terrible tempest within the memory of the inhabitants, nor such
a rough sea. But Jurgen was in the temple of God, and while the
darkness of night reigned outside, a light arose in his soul that
was never to depart from it; the heavy weight that pressed on his
brain burst asunder. He fancied he heard the organ, but it was only
the storm and the moaning of the sea. He sat down on one of the seats,
and lo! the candies were lighted one by one, and there was
brightness and grandeur such as he had only seen in the Spanish
cathedral. The portraits of the old citizens became alive, stepped
down from the walls against which they had hung for centuries, and
took seats near the church door. The gates flew open, and all the dead
people from the churchyard came in, and filled the church, while
beautiful music sounded. Then the melody of the psalm burst forth,
like the sound of the waters, and Jurgen saw that his foster parents
from the Hunsby dunes were there, also old merchant Bronne with his
wife and their daughter Clara, who gave him her hand. They both went
up to the altar where they had knelt before, and the priest joined
their hands and united them for life. Then music was heard again; it
was wonderfully sweet, like a child's voice, full of joy and
expectation, swelling to the powerful tones of a full organ, sometimes
soft and sweet, then like the sounds of a tempest, delightful and
elevating to hear, yet strong enough to burst the stone tombs of the
dead. Then the little ship that hung from the roof of the choir was
let down and looked wonderfully large and beautiful with its silken
sails and rigging:

"The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,
And everywhere riches and pomp untold,"

as the old song says.

The young couple went on board, accompanied by the whole
congregation, for there was room and enjoyment for them all. Then
the walls and arches of the church were covered with flowering
junipers and lime trees breathing forth fragrance; the branches waved,
creating a pleasant coolness; they bent and parted, and the ship
sailed between them through the air and over the sea. Every candle
in the church became a star, and the wind sang a hymn in which they
all joined. "Through love to glory, no life is lost, the future is
full of blessings and happiness. Hallelujah! " These were the last
words Jurgen uttered in this world, for the thread that bound his
immortal soul was severed, and nothing but the dead body lay in the
dark church, while the storm raged outside, covering it with loose
sand.

The next day was Sunday, and the congregation and their pastor
went to the church. The road had always been heavy, but now it was
almost unfit for use, and when they at last arrived at the church, a
great heap of sand lay piled up in front of them. The whole church was
completely buried in sand. The clergyman offered a short prayer, and
said that God had closed the door of His house here, and that the
congregation must go and build a new one for Him somewhere else. So
they sung a hymn in the open air, and went home again.

Jurgen could not be found anywhere in the town of Skjagen, nor
on the dunes, though they searched for him everywhere. They came to
the conclusion that one of the great waves, which had rolled far up
on the beach, had carried him away; but his body lay buried in a
great sepulchre--the church itself. The Lord had thrown down a
covering for his grave during the storm, and the heavy mound of sand
lies upon it to this day. The drifting sand had covered the vaulted
roof of the church, the arched cloisters, and the stone aisles. The
white thorn and the dog rose now blossom above the place where the
church lies buried, but the spire, like an enormous monument over a
grave, can be seen for miles round. No king has a more splendid
memorial. Nothing disturbs the peaceful sleep of the dead. I was the
first to hear this story, for the storm sung it to me among the
sand-hills.




THE SAUCY BOY

Once upon a time there was an old poet, one of those right good
old poets.

One evening, as he was sitting at home, there was a terrible storm
going on outside; the rain was pouring down, but the old poet sat
comfortably in his chimney-corner, where the fire was burning and
the apples were roasting.

"There will not be a dry thread left on the poor people who are
out in this weather," he said.

"Oh, open the door! I am so cold and wet through," called a little
child outside. It was crying and knocking at the door, whilst the rain
was pouring down and the wind was rattling all the windows.

"Poor creature! " said the poet, and got up and opened the door.
Before him stood a little boy; he was naked, and the water flowed from
his long fair locks. He was shivering with cold; if he had not been
let in, he would certainly have perished in the storm.

"Poor little thing! " said the poet, and took him by the hand.
"Come to me; I will soon warm you. You shall have some wine and an
apple, for you are such a pretty boy. "

And he was, too. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and
although the water flowed down from his fair locks, they still
curled quite beautifully.

He looked like a little angel, but was pale with cold, and
trembling all over. In his hand he held a splendid bow, but it had
been entirely spoilt by the rain, and the colours of the pretty arrows
had run into one another by getting wet.

The old man sat down by the fire, and taking the little boy on his
knee, wrung the water out of his locks and warmed his hands in his
own.

He then made him some hot spiced wine, which quickly revived
him; so that with reddening cheeks, he sprang upon the floor and
danced around the old man.

"You are a merry boy," said the latter. "What is your name? "

"My name is Cupid," he answered. "Don't you know me? There lies my
bow. I shoot with that, you know. Look, the weather is getting fine
again--the moon is shining. "

"But your bow is spoilt," said the old poet.

"That would be unfortunate," said the little boy, taking it up and
looking at it. "Oh, it's quite dry and isn't damaged at all. The
string is quite tight; I'll try it. " So, drawing it back, he took an
arrow, aimed, and shot the good old poet right in the heart. "Do you
see now that my bow was not spoilt? " he said, and, loudly laughing,
ran away. What a naughty boy to shoot the old poet like that, who
had taken him into his warm room, had been so good to him, and had
given him the nicest wine and the best apple!

The good old man lay upon the floor crying; he was really shot
in the heart. "Oh! " he cried, "what a naughty boy this Cupid is! I
shall tell all the good children about this, so that they take care
never to play with him, lest he hurt them. "

And all good children, both girls and boys, whom he told about
this, were on their guard against wicked Cupid; but he deceives them
all the same, for he is very deep. When the students come out of
class, he walks beside them with a book under his arm, and wearing a
black coat. They cannot recognize him. And then, if they take him by
the arm, believing him to be a student too, he sticks an arrow into
their chest. And when the girls go to church to be confirmed, he is
amongst them too. In fact, he is always after people. He sits in the
large chandelier in the theatre and blazes away, so that people
think it is a lamp; but they soon find out their mistake. He walks
about in the castle garden and on the promenades. Yes, once he shot
your father and your mother in the heart too. Just ask them, and you
will hear what they say. Oh! he is a bad boy, this Cupid, and you must
never have anything to do with him, for he is after every one. Just
think, he even shot an arrow at old grandmother; but that was a long
time ago. The wound has long been healed, but such things are never
forgotten.

Now you know what a bad boy this wicked Cupid is.




THE SHADOW

In very hot climates, where the heat of the sun has great power,
people are usually as brown as mahogany; and in the hottest
countries they are negroes, with black skins. A learned man once
travelled into one of these warm climates, from the cold regions of
the north, and thought he would roam about as he did at home; but he
soon had to change his opinion. He found that, like all sensible
people, he must remain in the house during the whole day, with every
window and door closed, so that it looked as if all in the house
were asleep or absent. The houses of the narrow street in which he
lived were so lofty that the sun shone upon them from morning till
evening, and it became quite unbearable. This learned man from the
cold regions was young as well as clever; but it seemed to him as if
he were sitting in an oven, and he became quite exhausted and weak,
and grew so thin that his shadow shrivelled up, and became much
smaller than it had been at home. The sun took away even what was left
of it, and he saw nothing of it till the evening, after sunset. It was
really a pleasure, as soon as the lights were brought into the room,
to see the shadow stretch itself against the wall, even to the
ceiling, so tall was it; and it really wanted a good stretch to
recover its strength. The learned man would sometimes go out into
the balcony to stretch himself also; and as soon as the stars came
forth in the clear, beautiful sky, he felt revived. People at this
hour began to make their appearance in all the balconies in the
street; for in warm climates every window has a balcony, in which they
can breathe the fresh evening air, which is very necessary, even to
those who are used to a heat that makes them as brown as mahogany;
so that the street presented a very lively appearance. Here were
shoemakers, and tailors, and all sorts of people sitting. In the
street beneath, they brought out tables and chairs, lighted candles by
hundreds, talked and sang, and were very merry. There were people
walking, carriages driving, and mules trotting along, with their bells
on the harness, "tingle, tingle," as they went. Then the dead were
carried to the grave with the sound of solemn music, and the tolling
of the church bells. It was indeed a scene of varied life in the
street. One house only, which was just opposite to the one in which
the foreign learned man lived, formed a contrast to all this, for it
was quite still; and yet somebody dwelt there, for flowers stood in
the balcony, blooming beautifully in the hot sun; and this could not
have been unless they had been watered carefully. Therefore some one
must be in the house to do this. The doors leading to the balcony were
half opened in the evening; and although in the front room all was
dark, music could be heard from the interior of the house. The foreign
learned man considered this music very delightful; but perhaps he
fancied it; for everything in these warm countries pleased him,
excepting the heat of the sun. The foreign landlord said he did not
know who had taken the opposite house--nobody was to be seen there;
and as to the music, he thought it seemed very tedious, to him most
uncommonly so.

"It is just as if some one was practising a piece that he could
not manage; it is always the same piece. He thinks, I suppose, that he
will be able to manage it at last; but I do not think so, however long
he may play it. "

Once the foreigner woke in the night. He slept with the door
open which led to the balcony; the wind had raised the curtain
before it, and there appeared a wonderful brightness over all in the
balcony of the opposite house. The flowers seemed like flames of the
most gorgeous colors, and among the flowers stood a beautiful
slender maiden. It was to him as if light streamed from her, and
dazzled his eyes; but then he had only just opened them, as he awoke
from his sleep. With one spring he was out of bed, and crept softly
behind the curtain. But she was gone--the brightness had
disappeared; the flowers no longer appeared like flames, although
still as beautiful as ever. The door stood ajar, and from an inner
room sounded music so sweet and so lovely, that it produced the most
enchanting thoughts, and acted on the senses with magic power. Who
could live there?
Where was the real entrance? for, both in the street
and in the lane at the side, the whole ground floor was a continuation
of shops; and people could not always be passing through them.

One evening the foreigner sat in the balcony. A light was
burning in his own room, just behind him. It was quite natural,
therefore, that his shadow should fall on the wall of the opposite
house; so that, as he sat amongst the flowers on his balcony, when
he moved, his shadow moved also.

"I think my shadow is the only living thing to be seen
opposite," said the learned man; "see how pleasantly it sits among the
flowers. The door is only ajar; the shadow ought to be clever enough
to step in and look about him, and then to come back and tell me
what he has seen. You could make yourself useful in this way," said
he, jokingly; "be so good as to step in now, will you? " and then he
nodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded in return. "Now go, but
don't stay away altogether. "

Then the foreigner stood up, and the shadow on the opposite
balcony stood up also; the foreigner turned round, the shadow
turned; and if any one had observed, they might have seen it go
straight into the half-opened door of the opposite balcony, as the
learned man re-entered his own room, and let the curtain fall. The
next morning he went out to take his coffee and read the newspapers.

"How is this? " he exclaimed, as he stood in the sunshine. "I
have lost my shadow. So it really did go away yesterday evening, and
it has not returned. This is very annoying. "

And it certainly did vex him, not so much because the shadow was
gone, but because he knew there was a story of a man without a shadow.
All the people at home, in his country, knew this story; and when he
returned, and related his own adventures, they would say it was only
an imitation; and he had no desire for such things to be said of
him. So he decided not to speak of it at all, which was a very
sensible determination.

In the evening he went out again on his balcony, taking care to
place the light behind him; for he knew that a shadow always wants his
master for a screen; but he could not entice him out. He made
himself little, and he made himself tall; but there was no shadow, and
no shadow came. He said, "Hem, a-hem;" but it was all useless. That
was very vexatious; but in warm countries everything grows very
quickly; and, after a week had passed, he saw, to his great joy,
that a new shadow was growing from his feet, when he walked in the
sunshine; so that the root must have remained. After three weeks, he
had quite a respectable shadow, which, during his return journey to
northern lands, continued to grow, and became at last so large that he
might very well have spared half of it. When this learned man
arrived at home, he wrote books about the true, the good, and the
beautiful, which are to be found in this world; and so days and
years passed--many, many years.

One evening, as he sat in his study, a very gentle tap was heard
at the door. "Come in," said he; but no one came. He opened the
door, and there stood before him a man so remarkably thin that he felt
seriously troubled at his appearance. He was, however, very well
dressed, and looked like a gentleman. "To whom have I the honor of
speaking? " said he.

"Ah, I hoped you would recognize me," said the elegant stranger;
"I have gained so much that I have a body of flesh, and clothes to
wear. You never expected to see me in such a condition. Do you not
recognize your old shadow? Ah, you never expected that I should return
to you again. All has been prosperous with me since I was with you
last; I have become rich in every way, and, were I inclined to
purchase my freedom from service, I could easily do so. " And as he
spoke he rattled between his fingers a number of costly trinkets which
hung to a thick gold watch-chain he wore round his neck. Diamond rings
sparkled on his fingers, and it was all real.

"I cannot recover from my astonishment," said the learned man.
"What does all this mean? "

"Something rather unusual," said the shadow; "but you are yourself
an uncommon man, and you know very well that I have followed in your
footsteps ever since your childhood. As soon as you found that I
have travelled enough to be trusted alone, I went my own way, and I am
now in the most brilliant circumstances. But I felt a kind of
longing to see you once more before you die, and I wanted to see
this place again, for there is always a clinging to the land of
one's birth. I know that you have now another shadow; do I owe you
anything? If so, have the goodness to say what it is. "

"No! Is it really you? " said the learned man. "Well, this is
most remarkable; I never supposed it possible that a man's old
shadow could become a human being. "

"Just tell me what I owe you," said the shadow, "for I do not like
to be in debt to any man. "

"How can you talk in that manner? " said the learned man. "What
question of debt can there be between us? You are as free as any
one. I rejoice exceedingly to hear of your good fortune. Sit down, old
friend, and tell me a little of how it happened, and what you saw in
the house opposite to me while we were in those hot climates. "

"Yes, I will tell you all about it," said the shadow, sitting
down; "but then you must promise me never to tell in this city,
wherever you may meet me, that I have been your shadow. I am
thinking of being married, for I have more than sufficient to
support a family. "

"Make yourself quite easy," said the learned man; "I will tell
no one who you really are. Here is my hand,--I promise, and a word
is sufficient between man and man. "

"Between man and a shadow," said the shadow; for he could not help
saying so.

It was really most remarkable how very much he had become a man in
appearance. He was dressed in a suit of the very finest black cloth,
polished boots, and an opera crush hat, which could be folded together
so that nothing could be seen but the crown and the rim, besides the
trinkets, the gold chain, and the diamond rings already spoken of. The
shadow was, in fact, very well dressed, and this made a man of him.
"Now I will relate to you what you wish to know," said the shadow,
placing his foot with the polished leather boot as firmly as
possible on the arm of the new shadow of the learned man, which lay at
his feet like a poodle dog. This was done, it might be from pride,
or perhaps that the new shadow might cling to him, but the prostrate
shadow remained quite quiet and at rest, in order that it might
listen, for it wanted to know how a shadow could be sent away by its
master, and become a man itself. "Do you know," said the shadow, "that
in the house opposite to you lived the most glorious creature in the
world? It was poetry. I remained there three weeks, and it was more
like three thousand years, for I read all that has ever been written
in poetry or prose; and I may say, in truth, that I saw and learnt
everything. "

"Poetry! " exclaimed the learned man. "Yes, she lives as a hermit
in great cities. Poetry! Well, I saw her once for a very short moment,
while sleep weighed down my eyelids. She flashed upon me from the
balcony like the radiant aurora borealis, surrounded with flowers like
flames of fire. Tell me, you were on the balcony that evening; you
went through the door, and what did you see? "

"I found myself in an ante-room," said the shadow. "You still
sat opposite to me, looking into the room. There was no light, or at
least it seemed in partial darkness, for the door of a whole suite
of rooms stood open, and they were brilliantly lighted. The blaze of
light would have killed me, had I approached too near the maiden
myself, but I was cautious, and took time, which is what every one
ought to do. "

"And what didst thou see? " asked the learned man.

"I saw everything, as you shall hear. But--it really is not
pride on my part, as a free man and possessing the knowledge that I
do, besides my position, not to speak of my wealth--I wish you would
say you to me instead of thou. "

"I beg your pardon," said the learned man; "it is an old habit,
which it is difficult to break. You are quite right; I will try to
think of it. But now tell me everything that you saw. "

"Everything," said the shadow; "for I saw and know everything. "

"What was the appearance of the inner rooms? " asked the scholar.
"Was it there like a cool grove, or like a holy temple? Were the
chambers like a starry sky seen from the top of a high mountain? "

"It was all that you describe," said the shadow; "but I did not go
quite in--I remained in the twilight of the ante-room--but I was in
a very good position,--I could see and hear all that was going on in
the court of poetry. "

"But what did you see? Did the gods of ancient times pass
through the rooms? Did old heroes fight their battles over again? Were
there lovely children at play, who related their dreams? "

"I tell you I have been there, and therefore you may be sure
that I saw everything that was to be seen. If you had gone there,
you would not have remained a human being, whereas I became one; and
at the same moment I became aware of my inner being, my inborn
affinity to the nature of poetry. It is true I did not think much
about it while I was with you, but you will remember that I was always
much larger at sunrise and sunset, and in the moonlight even more
visible than yourself, but I did not then understand my inner
existence. In the ante-room it was revealed to me. I became a man; I
came out in full maturity. But you had left the warm countries. As a
man, I felt ashamed to go about without boots or clothes, and that
exterior finish by which man is known. So I went my own way; I can
tell you, for you will not put it in a book. I hid myself under the
cloak of a cake woman, but she little thought who she concealed. It
was not till evening that I ventured out. I ran about the streets in
the moonlight. I drew myself up to my full height upon the walls,
which tickled my back very pleasantly. I ran here and there, looked
through the highest windows into the rooms, and over the roofs. I
looked in, and saw what nobody else could see, or indeed ought to see;
in fact, it is a bad world, and I would not care to be a man, but that
men are of some importance. I saw the most miserable things going on
between husbands and wives, parents and children,--sweet, incomparable
children. I have seen what no human being has the power of knowing,
although they would all be very glad to know--the evil conduct of
their neighbors. Had I written a newspaper, how eagerly it would
have been read! Instead of which, I wrote directly to the persons
themselves, and great alarm arose in all the town I visited. They
had so much fear of me, and yet how dearly they loved me. The
professor made me a professor. The tailor gave me new clothes; I am
well provided for in that way. The overseer of the mint struck coins
for me. The women declared that I was handsome, and so I became the
man you now see me. And now I must say adieu. Here is my card. I
live on the sunny side of the street, and always stay at home in rainy
weather. " And the shadow departed.

"This is all very remarkable," said the learned man.

Years passed, days and years went by, and the shadow came again.
"How are you going on now? " he asked.

"Ah! " said the learned man; "I am writing about the true, the
beautiful, and the good; but no one cares to hear anything about it. I
am quite in despair, for I take it to heart very much. "

"That is what I never do," said the shadow; "I am growing quite
fat and stout, which every one ought to be. You do not understand
the world; you will make yourself ill about it; you ought to travel; I
am going on a journey in the summer, will you go with me? I should
like a travelling companion; will you travel with me as my shadow?
It would give me great pleasure, and I will pay all expenses. "

"Are you going to travel far? " asked the learned man.

"That is a matter of opinion," replied the shadow. "At all events,
a journey will do you good, and if you will be my shadow, then all
your journey shall be paid. "

"It appears to me very absurd," said the learned man.

"But it is the way of the world," replied the shadow, "and
always will be. " Then he went away.

Everything went wrong with the learned man. Sorrow and trouble
pursued him, and what he said about the good, the beautiful, and the
true, was of as much value to most people as a nutmeg would be to a
cow. At length he fell ill. "You really look like a shadow," people
said to him, and then a cold shudder would pass over him, for he had
his own thoughts on the subject.

"You really ought to go to some watering-place," said the shadow
on his next visit. "There is no other chance for you. I will take
you with me, for the sake of old acquaintance. I will pay the expenses
of your journey, and you shall write a description of it to amuse us
by the way. I should like to go to a watering-place; my beard does not
grow as it ought, which is from weakness, and I must have a beard. Now
do be sensible and accept my proposal; we shall travel as intimate
friends. "

And at last they started together. The shadow was master now,
and the master became the shadow. They drove together, and rode and
walked in company with each other, side by side, or one in front and
the other behind, according to the position of the sun. The shadow
always knew when to take the place of honor, but the learned man
took no notice of it, for he had a good heart, and was exceedingly
mild and friendly.

One day the master said to the shadow, "We have grown up
together from our childhood, and now that we have become travelling
companions, shall we not drink to our good fellowship, and say thee
and thou to each other? "

"What you say is very straightforward and kindly meant," said
the shadow, who was now really master. "I will be equally kind and
straightforward. You are a learned man, and know how wonderful human
nature is. There are some men who cannot endure the smell of brown
paper; it makes them ill. Others will feel a shuddering sensation to
their very marrow, if a nail is scratched on a pane of glass. I myself
have a similar kind of feeling when I hear any one say thou to me. I
feel crushed by it, as I used to feel in my former position with
you. You will perceive that this is a matter of feeling, not pride.
I cannot allow you to say thou to me; I will gladly say it to you, and
therefore your wish will be half fulfilled. " Then the shadow addressed
his former master as thou.

"It is going rather too far," said the latter, "that I am to say
you when I speak to him, and he is to say thou to me. " However, he was
obliged to submit.

They arrived at length at the baths, where there were many
strangers, and among them a beautiful princess, whose real disease
consisted in being too sharp-sighted, which made every one very
uneasy. She saw at once that the new comer was very different to every
one else. "They say he is here to make his beard grow," she thought;
"but I know the real cause, he is unable to cast a shadow. " Then she
became very curious on the matter, and one day, while on the
promenade, she entered into conversation with the strange gentleman.
Being a princess, she was not obliged to stand upon much ceremony,
so she said to him without hesitation, "Your illness consists in not
being able to cast a shadow. "

"Your royal highness must be on the high road to recovery from
your illness," said he. "I know your complaint arose from being too
sharp-sighted, and in this case it has entirely failed. I happen to
have a most unusual shadow. Have you not seen a person who is always
at my side? Persons often give their servants finer cloth for their
liveries than for their own clothes, and so I have dressed out my
shadow like a man; nay, you may observe that I have even given him a
shadow of his own; it is rather expensive, but I like to have things
about me that are peculiar. "

"How is this? " thought the princess; "am I really cured? This must
be the best watering-place in existence. Water in our times has
certainly wonderful power. But I will not leave this place yet, just
as it begins to be amusing. This foreign prince--for he must be a
prince--pleases me above all things. I only hope his beard won't grow,
or he will leave at once. "

In the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the
large assembly rooms. She was light, but he was lighter still; she had
never seen such a dancer before. She told him from what country she
had come, and found he knew it and had been there, but not while she
was at home. He had looked into the windows of her father's palace,
both the upper and the lower windows; he had seen many things, and
could therefore answer the princess, and make allusions which quite
astonished her. She thought he must be the cleverest man in all the
world, and felt the greatest respect for his knowledge. When she
danced with him again she fell in love with him, which the shadow
quickly discovered, for she had with her eyes looked him through and
through. They danced once more, and she was nearly telling him, but
she had some discretion; she thought of her country, her kingdom,
and the number of people over whom she would one day have to rule. "He
is a clever man," she thought to herself, "which is a good thing,
and he dances admirably, which is also good. But has he
well-grounded knowledge? that is an important question, and I must try
him. " Then she asked him a most difficult question, she herself
could not have answered it, and the shadow made a most unaccountable
grimace.

"You cannot answer that," said the princess.

"I learnt something about it in my childhood," he replied; "and
believe that even my very shadow, standing over there by the door,
could answer it. "

"Your shadow," said the princess; "indeed that would be very
remarkable.