NO MATTER how much I weaken, disappoint, fail to live up to expectations or satisfy demands, I can still offer up my shadow, and this indeed attests to my good character. He’s slender and handsome; the sight of him fills me with a lust for life, he makes me feel unequivocally that I have a right to exist. Of course everyone has his shadow; that this is the case diminishes its importance a bit, but isn’t it precisely this that’s so delectable? That I can show what everyone else can produce on request reassures me enormously; it proves I’m normal. It goes without saying that anyone endowed with reason is happy to be average. Wherever shadows exist, light also shines. Whoever has a shadow also possesses a body; pure spirit I’ve no desire to become. Who but he tells me I’m kindhearted, have a serene nature, and possess a bit of wit? He accommodates my every move and speaks flatteringly to me. That’s to say, like everyone I’m susceptible to the latter. No one shouts after me “He doesn’t have a shadow!” as was the case with poor Peter Schlemihl who gave away what was most precious to him; questions like “Bendel, what should I do now?” never cross my lips. Schlemihl fled from the sun, whereas I delight in it. Better an honest shadow than to triumph in life and be a genius.
(1924)