On recovering, I found myself lying comfortably in a good bed,
which, with many other beds, stood in a spacious and handsome
apartment. Some one was watching by me; people seemed to be walking
from one bed to another; they came beside me, and spoke of me as
NUMBER TWELVE. On the wall, at the foot of my bed--it was no
dream, for I distinctly read it--on a black-marble tablet was
inscribed my name, in large letters of gold


PETER SCHLEMIHL


Underneath were two rows of letters in smaller characters, which I
was too feeble to connect together, and closed my eyes again.

I now heard something read aloud, in which I distinctly noted the
words, "Peter Schlemihl," but could not collect the full meaning. I
saw a man of benevolent aspect, and a very beautiful female dressed
in black, standing near my bed; their countenances were not unknown
to me, but in my weak state I could not remember who they were.
Some time elapsed, and I began to regain my strength. I was called
Number Twelve, and, from my long beard, was supposed to be a Jew,
but was not the less carefully nursed on that account. No one
seemed to perceive that I was destitute of a shadow. My boots, I
was assured, together with everything found on me when I was brought
here, were in safe keeping, and would be given up to me on my
restoration to health. This place was called the SCHLMEIHLIUM: the
daily recitation I had heard, was an exhortation to pray for Peter
Schlemihl as the founder and benefactor of this institution. The