It is in the hot lands that the sun burns， sureenough! there the people become quite a mahoganybrown， ay， and in the HOTTEST lands they areburnt to Negroes. But now it was only to the HOTlands that a learned man had come from the cold;there he thought that he could run about just aswhen at home， but he soon found out his mistake.
He， and all sensible folks， were obliged to staywithin doors——the window-shutters and doors wereclosed the whole day; it looked as if the whole house slept， or there was no one at home.
the narrow street with the high houses， was built so that the sunshine must fall therefrom morning till evening——it was really not to be borne.
the learned man from the cold lands——he was a young man， and seemed to be a cleverman——sat in a glowing oven; it took effect on him， he became quite meaGRE——even hisshadow shrunk in， for the sun had also an effect on it. It was first towards evening when thesun was down， that they began to freshen up again.
In the warm lands every window has a balcony， and the people came out on all thebalconies in the street——for one must have air， even if one be accustomed to bemahogany!* It was lively both up and down the street. Tailors， and shoemakers， and all thefolks， moved out into the street——chairs and tables were brought forth——and candles burnt——yes， above a thousand lights were burning——and the one talked and the other sung;and people walked and church-bells rang， and asses went along with a dingle-dingle-dong!for they too had bells on. The street boys were screaming and hooting， and shouting andshooting， with devils and detonating balls——and there came corpse bearers and hood wearers——for there were funerals with psalm and hymn——and then the din of carriages driving andcompany arriving： yes， it was， in truth， lively enough down in the street. Only in thatsingle house， which stood opposite that in which the learned foreigner lived， it was quitestill; and yet some one lived there， for there stood flowers in the balcony——they GREw sowell in the sun's heat! and that they could not do unless they were watered——and some onemust water them——there must be somebody there. The door opposite was also opened late inthe evening， but it was dark within， at least in the front room;further in there was heard thesound of music. The learned foreigner thought it quite marvellous， but now——it might be thathe only imagined it——for he found everything marvellous out there， in the warm lands， ifthere had only been no sun. The stranger's landlord said that he didn't know who had takenthe house opposite， one saw no person about， and as to the music， it appeared to him tobe extremely tiresome. “It is as if some one sat there， and practised a piece that he could notmaster——always the same piece. 'I shall master it!' says he; but yet he cannot master it，however long he plays.”
* the word mahogany can be understood， in Danish， as having two meanings. Ingeneral， it means the reddish-brown wood itself; but in jest， it signifies“excessively fine，”which arose from an anecdote of Nyboder， in Copenhagen，(the seamen's quarter.) Asailor's wife， who was always proud and fine， in her way， came to her neighbor， andcomplained that she had got a splinter in her finger. “What of?” asked the neighbor's wife. “Itis a mahogany splinter，”said the other. “Mahogany! It cannot be less with you!” exclaimedthe woman——and thence the proverb， “It is so mahogany!”——(that is， so excessivelyfine)——is derived.
One night the stranger awoke——he slept with the doors of the balcony open——thecurtain before it was raised by the wind， and he thought that a strange lustre came from theopposite neighbor's house; all the flowers shone like flames， in the most beautiful colors，and in the midst of the flowers stood a slender，graceful maiden——it was as if she alsoshone; the light really hurt his eyes. He now opened them quite wide——yes， he was quiteawake; with one spring he was on the floor; he crept gently behind the curtain， but themaiden was gone; the flowers shone no longer， but there they stood， fresh and bloomingas ever; the door was ajar， and， far within， the music sounded so soft and delightful，one could really melt away in sweet thoughts from it. Yet it was like a piece of enchantment.And who lived there? Where was the actual entrance? The whole of the ground-floor was arow of shops， and there people could not always be running through.
One evening the stranger sat out on the balcony. The light burnt in the room behind him;and thus it was quite natural that his shadow should fall on his opposite neighbor's wall. Yes!there it sat， directly opposite， between the flowers on the balcony; and when the strangermoved， the shadow also moved：
for that it always does.
“I think my shadow is the only living thing one sees over there，” said the learned man. “See， how nicely it sits between the flowers. The door stands half-open： now the shadowshould be cunning， and go into the room， look about，and then come and tell me what ithad seen. Come， now! Be useful， and do me a service，” said he， in jest. “Have thekindness to step in. Now! Art thou going?” and then he nodded to the shadow， and theshadow nodded again. “Well then， go! But don't stay away.”
the stranger rose， and his shadow on the opposite neighbor's balcony rose also; thestranger turned round and the shadow also turned round. Yes! if anyone had paid particularattention to it， they would have seen， quite distinctly， that the shadow went in throughthe half-open balcony-door of their opposite neighbor， just as the stranger went into his ownroom， and let the long curtain fall down after him.
Next morning， the learned man went out to drink coffee and read the newspapers.
“What is that?” said he， as he came out into the sunshine. “I have no shadow!
So then， it has actually gone last night， and not come again. It is really tiresome!“
This annoyed him： not so much because the shadow was gone， but because he knewthere was a story about a man without a shadow.* It was known to everybody at home， inthe cold lands; and if the learned man now came there and told his story， they would say thathe was imitating it， and that he had no need to do. He would， therefore， not talk about it atall; and that was wisely thought.
*Peter Schlemihl， the shadowless man.
In the evening he went out again on the balcony. He had placed the light directly behindhim， for he knew that the shadow would always have its master for a screen， but he couldnot entice it. He made himself little; he made himself GREat： but no shadow came again. Hesaid， “Hem! hem!” but it was of no use.
It was vexatious; but in the warm lands everything grows so quickly; and after the lapseof eight days he observed， to his GREat joy， that a new shadow came in the sunshine. Inthe course of three weeks he had a very fair shadow，which， when he set out for his home inthe northern lands， grew more and more in the journey， so that at last it was so long and solarge， that it was more than sufficient.
the learned man then came home， and he wrote books about what was true in the world，and about what was good and what was beautiful; and there passed days and years——yes!many years passed away.
One evening， as he was sitting in his room， there was a gentle knocking at the door.
“Come in!” said he; but no one came in; so he opened the door， and there stoodbefore him such an extremely lean man， that he felt quite strange. As to the rest， the manwas very finely dressed——he must be a gentleman.
“Whom have I the honor of speaking?” asked the learned man.