"Mr. Professor," said I, "could not you, think you, paint a false
shadow for one who, by the most unlucky chance in the world, has
become deprived of his own?"
"You mean a personal shadow?"
"That is precisely my meaning"--
"But," continued he, "through what awkwardness, through what
negligence, could he then lose his proper shadow?"
"How it happened," replied I, "is now of very little consequence, but
thus far I may say," added I, lying shamelessly to him; "in Russia,
whither he made a journey last winter, in an extraordinary cold his
shadow froze so fast to the ground that he could by no means loose it
again."
"The false shadow that I could paint him," replied the professor,
"would only be such a one as by the slightest movement he might lose
again, especially a person, who, as appears by your relation, has so
little adhesion to his own native shadow. He who has no shadow, let
him keep out of the sunshine--that is the safest and most sensible
thing for him." He arose and withdrew, casting at me a trans-piercing
glance which mine could not support. I sunk back in my seat, and
covered my face with my hands.
Thus Bendel found me, as he at length entered. He saw the grief of his
master, and was desirous silently and reverently to withdraw. I looked
up, I succumbed under the burden of my trouble; I must communicate it.
"Bendel!" cried I, "Bendel, thou only one who seest my affliction and
respectest it, seekest not to pry into it, but appearest silently and
kindly to sympathize, come to me, Bendel, and be the nearest to my
heart; I have not locked from thee the treasure of my gold, neither
will I lock from thee the treasure of my grief.
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