"Ah, to be sure. Then there"s a chance: for, you see, she would never look at you if she knew of--of that other. Take my advice--go into society, always at night, when there is no danger; get introduced; dance with her; sing serenades under her window; then marry her. Afterwards--well, that"s your affair."
So the youth went into society and met the girl he loved, and danced with her so vivaciously and sang serenades with such feeling beneath her window, that at last she felt he was all in all to her. Then the youth asked to be allowed to see her father, who was a Retired Colonel; and professed himself a man of Substance. He said nothing of the Shadow: but it is true he had saved a certain amount.
"Then to all intents and purposes you are a gentleman," said the Retired Colonel; and the wedding-day was fixed.
They were married in dull weather, and spent a delightful honeymoon.
But when spring came and brighter days, the young wife began to feel lonely; for her husband locked himself, all the day long, in his study--to work, as he said. He seemed to be always at work; and whenever he consented to a holiday, it was sure to fall on the bleakest and dismallest day in the week.
"You are never so gay now as you were last Autumn. I am jealous of that work of yours. At least," she pleaded, "let me sit with you and share your affection with it."
But he laughed and denied her: and next day she peered in through the keyhole of his study.
That same evening she ran away from him: having seen the shadow of another woman by his side.
Then the poor man--for he had loved his wife--cursed the day of his birth and led an evil life. This lasted for ten years, and his wife died in her father"s house, unforgiving.
On the day of her funeral, the man said to his shadow--"I see it all.
We were made for each other, so let us marry. You have wrecked my life and now must save it. Only it is rather hard to marry a wife whom one can only see by sunlight and moonlight."
So they were married; and spent all their life in the open air, looking on the naked world and learning its secrets. And his shadow bore him children, in stony ways and on the bare mountain-side.
And for every child that was born the man felt the pangs of it.
And at last he died and was judged: and being interrogated concerning his good deeds, began--
"We two--"--and looked around for his shadow. A great light shone all about; but she was nowhere to be seen. In fact, she had pa.s.sed before him, and his children remained on earth, where men already were heaping them with flowers and calling them divine.
Then the man folded his arms and lifted his chin.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "I am simply a sinner."
There are in this world certain men who create. The children of such are poems, and the half of their soul is female. For it is written that without woman no new thing shall come into the world.