He in return has complimented the French by illustrating a couple of Lives of Napoleon, and the “Life in Paris” before mentioned.  He has also made designs for Victor Hugo’s “Hans of Iceland.”  Strange, wild etchings were those, on a strange, mad subject; not so good in our notion as the designs for the German books, the peculiar humor of which latter seemed to suit the artist exactly.  There is a mixture of the awful and the ridiculous in these, which perpetually excites and keeps awake the reader’s attention; the German writer and the English artist seem to have an entire faith in their subject.  The reader, no doubt, remembers the awful passage in “Peter Schlemihl,” where the little gentleman purchases the shadow of that hero—­“Have the kindness, noble sir, to examine and try this bag.”  “He put his hand into his pocket, and drew thence a tolerably large bag of Cordovan leather, to which a couple of thongs were fixed.  I took it from him, and immediately counted out ten gold pieces, and ten more, and ten more, and still other ten, whereupon I held out my hand to him.  Done, said I, it is a bargain; you shall have my shadow for your bag.  The bargain was concluded; he knelt down before me, and I saw him with a wonderful neatness take my shadow from head to foot, lightly lift it up from the grass, roll and fold it up neatly, and at last pocket it.  He then rose up, bowed to me once more, and walked away again, disappearing behind the rose bushes.  I don’t know, but I thought I heard him laughing a little.  I, however, kept fast hold of the bag.  Everything around me was bright in the sun, and as yet I gave no thought to what I had done.”

This marvellous event, narrated by Peter with such a faithful, circumstantial detail, is painted by Cruikshank in the most wonderful poetic way, with that happy mixture of the real and supernatural that makes the narrative so curious, and like truth.  The sun is shining with the utmost brilliancy in a great quiet park or garden; there is a palace in the background, and a statue basking in the sun quite lonely and melancholy; there is a sun-dial, on which is a deep shadow, and in the front stands Peter Schlemihl, bag in hand:  the old gentleman is down on his knees to him, and has just lifted off the ground the shadow of one leg; he is going to fold it back neatly, as one does the tails of a coat, and will stow it, without any creases or crumples, along with the other black garments that lie in that immense pocket of his.  Cruikshank has designed all this as if he had a very serious belief in the story; he laughs, to be sure, but one fancies that he is a little frightened in his heart, in spite of all his fun and joking.