THE KING OF THE
CHAPTER I
HOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK
BROTHERS WAS INTERFERED WITH BY SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE
[3] IN a secluded and mountainous part of Stiria there was, in old time, a valley of the most
surprising and luxuriant fertility. It was surrounded, on all sides, by steep
and rocky mountains, rising into peaks, which were always covered with snow and
from which a number of torrents descended in constant cataracts. One of these
fell westward, over the face of a crag so high, that, when the sun had set to
everything else, and all below was darkness, his beams still shone full upon
this waterfall, so that it looked like a shower of gold. It was, therefore,
called by the people of the [4] neighborhood the
The whole of this little valley belonged to three
brothers, called Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers,
were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small, dull eyes which were
always half shut, so that you couldn't see into [5] them, and always
fancied they saw very far into you. They lived by farming the
The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely
opposed, in both appearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be
imagined or desired. He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed, and
kind in temper to every living thing. He did not, of course, agree particularly
well with his brothers, or rather, they did not agree with him. He was
usually appointed to the honorable office of
turnspit, when there was anything to roast, which was not often; for, to do the
brothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon themselves than upon other
people. At other times he used to clean the shoes, floors, and sometimes the
plates, occasionally getting [7] what was left on them, by way of
encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry blows, by way of education.
Things went on in this manner for a long time. At last
came a very wet summer, and everything went wrong in the country round. The hay
had hardly been got in when the haystacks were floated bodily down to the sea
by an inundation; the vines were cut to pieces with the hail; the corn was all
killed by a black blight; only in the
It was drawing towards winter, and very [8] cold
weather, when one day the two elder brothers had gone out, with their usual
warning to little Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let
nobody in, and give nothing out. Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it
was raining very hard, and the kitchen walls were by no means dry or
comfortable-looking. He turned and turned, and the roast got nice and brown.
"What a pity," thought Gluck, "my brothers never ask anybody to
dinner. I'm sure, when they've got such a nice piece of mutton as this, and
nobody else has got so much as a piece of dry bread,
it would do their hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them."
Just as he spoke there came a double knock at the
house door, yet heavy and dull, as though the knocker had been tied up—more
like a puff than a knock.
"It must be the wind," said Gluck;
"nobody else would venture to knock double knocks at our door."
[9] No, it wasn't the wind; there it came again very
hard, and what was particularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry
and not to be in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck went to the
window, opened it, and put his head out to see who it was.
It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman
that he had ever seen in his life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his cheeks were very round, and very red, and
might have warranted a supposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire
for the last eight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily through long
silky eyelashes, his moustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on each
side of his mouth, and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt color, descended far over his shoulders. He was about four
feet six in height, and wore a conical-pointed cap of nearly the same altitude,
decorated with a black feather some three feet [10] long. His doublet was
prolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of what is
now termed a "swallow-tail," but was much obscured by the swelling
folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must have been very
much too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling round the old house,
carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders to about four times his own
length.
Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular
appearance of his visitor, that he remained fixed
without uttering a word, until the old gentleman, having performed another and
a more energetic concerto on the knocker, turned round to look after his
fly-away cloak. In so doing he caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head
jammed in the window, with his mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.
"Hollo!" said the
little gentleman; "that's not the way to answer the door; I'm wet; let me
in."
[11] To do the little gentleman justice, he was
wet. His feather hung down between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail,
dripping like an umbrella; and from the ends of his moustaches the water was
running into his waistcoat pockets and out again like a mill stream.
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"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, "I'm
very sorry, but I really can't."
"Can't what?" said the old gentleman.
"I can't let you in, sir—I can't, indeed; my
brothers would beat me to death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you
want, sir?"
"Want?" said the old gentleman petulantly,
"I want fire and shelter; and there's your great fire there blazing,
crackling, and dancing on the wall, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I
only want to warm myself."
Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of
the window that he began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold; and when he
[12] turned and saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring and throwing long
bright tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savory smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within
him that it should be burning away for nothing. "He does look very
wet," said little Gluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an
hour." Round he went to the door and opened it; and as the little
gentleman walked in there came a gust of wind through the house that made the
old chimneys totter.
"That's a good boy," said the little
gentleman. "Never mind your brothers. I'll talk to them."
"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said
Gluck. "I can't let you stay till they come; they'd be the death of
me."
"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm
very sorry to hear that. How long may I stay?"
"Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied
Gluck, "and it's very brown."
[13] Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen
and sat himself down on the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the
chimney, for it was a great deal too high for the roof.
"You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck,
and sat down again to turn the mutton. But the old gentleman did not dry
there, but went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed
and sputtered and began to look very black and uncomfortable; never was such a
cloak; every fold in it ran like a gutter.
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"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length,
after watching the water spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the
floor for a quarter of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"
"No, thank you," said the old gentleman.
"Your cap, sir?"
"I am all right, thank you," said the old
gentleman rather gruffly.
[14] "But—sir—I'm very sorry," said Gluck
hesitatingly; "but—really, sir—you're putting the fire out."
"It'll take longer to do the mutton then,"
replied his visitor dryly.
Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior
of his guest; it was such a strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned
away at the string meditatively for another five minutes.
"That mutton looks very nice," said the old
gentleman at length. "Can't you give me a little bit?"
"Impossible, sir," said Gluck.
"I'm very hungry," continued the old
gentleman; "I've had nothing to eat yesterday nor
to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the knuckle!"
He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite
melted Gluck's heart. "They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said
he; "I can give you that, but not a bit more."
[15] "That's a good boy," said the old gentleman
again.
Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife.
"I don't care if I do get beaten for it," thought he. Just as he had
cut a large slice out of the mutton there came a
tremendous rap at the door. The old gentleman jumped off the hob, as if it had
suddenly become inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton
again, with desperate efforts at exactitude, and ran to open the door.
"What did you keep us waiting in the rain
for?" said Schwartz, as he walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's
face. "Ay! what for, indeed, you little
vagabond?" said Hans, administering an educational box on the ear, as he
followed his brother into the kitchen.
"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz when he
opened the door.
"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had
taken his cap off and was standing in the [16] middle of the kitchen, bowing
with the utmost possible velocity.
"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a
rolling-pin, and turning to Gluck with a fierce frown.
"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck
in great terror.
"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz.
"My dear brother," said Gluck deprecatingly,
"he was so very wet!"
The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but,
at the instant, the old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it
crashed with a shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was
very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap than it flew out of
Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into the corner
at the further end of the room.
"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz,
turning upon him.
[17] "What's your business?" snarled Hans.
"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little
gentleman began very modestly, "and I saw your fire through the window and
begged shelter for a quarter of an hour."
"Have the goodness to walk out again, then,"
said Schwartz. "We've quite enough water in our kitchen, without making it
a drying house."
"It is a cold day to turn an old man out, sir;
look at my gray hairs." They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you
before.
"Ay!" said Hans; "there are enough of
them to keep you warm. Walk!"
"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare
me a bit of bread before I go?"
"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you
suppose we've nothing to do with our bread but to give it to such red-nosed
fellows as you?"
"Why don't you sell your feather?" said
Hans, sneeringly. "Out with you!"
[18] "A little bit," said the old gentleman.
"Be off!" said Schwartz.
"Pray, gentlemen."
"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing
him by the collar. But he had no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar than
away he went after the rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into
the corner on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the old
gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him, when away he
went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against the wall as he
tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all three.
Then the old gentleman spun himself round with
velocity in the opposite direction; continued to spin until his long cloak was
all wound neatly about him; clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side
(for it could not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an
additional twist to his cork- [19] screw moustaches, and replied with perfect
coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning. At twelve o'clock
tonight, I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as I have just
experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last I ever pay
you."
"If ever I catch you here again," muttered
Schwartz, coming, half frightened, out of the corner—but, before he could
finish his sentence, the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with
a great bang; and there drove past the window, at the same instant, a wreath of
ragged cloud, that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of
shapes; turning over and over in the air; and melting away at last in a gush of
rain.
"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!"
said Schwartz. "Dish the mutton, sir. If ever I catch
you at such a trick again—bless me, why the mutton's been cut!"
"You promised me one slice, brother, you
know," said Gluck.
"Oh! and you were
cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all the gravy. It'll be long
before I promise you such a thing again. Leave the room, sir; and have the
kindness to wait in the coal-cellar till I call you."
Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers
ate as much mutton as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and
proceeded to get very drunk after dinner.
Such a night as it was! Howling wind, and rushing
rain, without intermission. The brothers had just sense enough left to put up
all the shutters and double bar the door, before they went to bed. They usually
slept in the same room. As the clock struck twelve, they were both awakened by
a tremendous crash. Their door burst open with a violence that shook the house
from top to bottom.
"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up
in his bed.
"Only I," said the little gentleman.
The two brothers sat up on their bolster, and stared
into the darkness. The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which
found its way through a hole in the shutter, they could see, in the midst of
it, an enormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like a
cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old
gentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for the roof was
off.
"Sorry to incommode you," said their
visitor, ironically. "I'm afraid your beds are dampish; perhaps you had
better go to your brother's room; I've left the ceiling on there."
They required no second admonition, but rushed into
Gluck's room, wet through, and in an agony of terror.
"You'll find my card on the kitchen table,"
the old gentleman called after them. "Remember, the last visit."
"Pray Heaven it may!" said Schwartz,
shuddering. And the foam globe disappeared.
Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of
Gluck's little window in the morning. The
CHAPTER II
OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS
AFTER A VISIT OF THE SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE; AND HOW LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN
INTERVIEW WITH THE KING OF THE
[23] SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQUIRE, was as good as his
word. After the momentous visit above related, he entered the
"Suppose we turn goldsmiths?" said Schwartz
to Hans, as they entered the large city. "It is a good knave's trade; we
can put a great deal of copper into the gold, without anyone's finding it out."
The thought was agreed to be a very good one; they
hired a furnace, and turned goldsmiths. But two slight circumstances affected
their trade: the first, that people did not approve of
the coppered gold; the second, that the two elder brothers, whenever they had
sold anything, used to leave little Gluck to mind the furnace, and go and drink
out the money in the ale-house next door. So they melted all their gold,
without making money enough to buy more, and were at last reduced to one large
drinking-mug, which an uncle of his had given to little Gluck, and which he was
very fond of, and would not have parted with for the world; though he never
drank anything out of it but milk and water. The mug was a very odd mug to look
at. The handle was formed of two wreaths of flowing golden hair, so finely spun
that it looked more like silk than metal, and these wreaths descended into, and
mixed with, a beard and whiskers, of the same exquisite workmanship, which
surrounded and decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold
imaginable, right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it which
seemed to command its whole circumference. It was impossible to drink out of
the mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of the side of these
eyes; and Schwartz positively averred, that once, after emptying it full of Rhenish seventeen [26] times, he had seen them wink! When
it came to the mug's turn to be made into spoons, it half broke poor little
Gluck's heart; but the brothers only laughed at him, tossed the mug into the
melting-pot, and staggered out to the ale-house; leaving him, as usual, to pour
the gold into bars when it was all ready.
When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his
old friend in the melting-pot. The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained
but the red nose, and the sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than
ever. "And no wonder," thought Gluck, "after being treated in
that way." He sauntered disconsolately to the window, and sat himself down
to catch the fresh evening air, and escape the hot
breath of the furnace. Now this window commanded a direct view of the range of
mountains, which, as I told you before, overhung the
"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked
at it for a little while, "if that river were really all gold, what a nice
thing it would be."
"No it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear
metallic voice close at his ear.
"Bless me! what's
that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobody there. He looked
round the room, and under the table, and a great many times behind him, but
there [28] was certainly nobody there, and he sat down again at the window.
This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help thinking again that it would be
very convenient if the river were really all gold.
"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice,
louder than before.
"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what is that?" He looked again into all the corners and
cupboards, and then began turning round and round as fast as he could, in the
middle of the room, thinking there was somebody behind him, when the same voice
struck again on his ear. It was singing now very merrily, "Lala-lira-la"; no words, only a soft running
effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the boil. Gluck looked
out of the window. No, it was certainly in the house. Upstairs,
and downstairs. No, it was certainly in that very room, coming in quicker time,
and clearer notes, every moment: "Lala-lira-la."
All at [29] once it struck Gluck, that it sounded
louder near the furnace. He ran to the opening and looked in; yes, he saw
right, it seemed to be coming not only out of the furnace, but out of the pot.
He uncovered it, and ran back in a great fright, for the pot was certainly
singing. He stood in the farthest corner of the room, with his hands up, and
his mouth open, for a minute or two, when the singing stopped, and the voice
became clear, and pronunciative.
"Hollo!" said the
voice.
Gluck made no answer.
"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.
Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to
the crucible, drew it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all
melted, and its surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of
reflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in, he saw, meeting his glance,
from beneath the gold, the red nose [30] and sharp eyes of his old friend of
the mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had seen them in his
life.
"Come, Gluck, my boy," said the voice out of
the pot again, "I'm all right; pour me out."
But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of
the kind.
"Pour me out, I say," said the voice rather
gruffly.
Still Gluck couldn't move.
"Will you pour me out?" said the voice,
passionately; "I'm too hot."
By a violent effort, Gluck recovered the use of his
limbs, took hold of the crucible, and sloped it, so as
to pour out the gold. But instead of a liquid stream there came out, first, a
pair of pretty little yellow legs, then some coat tails, then a pair of arms
stuck akimbo, and, finally the well-known head of his friend the mug; all which
articles, uniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor, [31]
in the shape of a little golden dwarf, about a foot and a half high.
"That's right!" said the dwarf, stretching
out first his legs, and then his arms, and then shaking his head up and down,
and as far round as it would go, for five minutes, without stopping; apparently
with the view of ascertaining if he were quite correctly put together, while
Gluck stood contemplating him in speechless amazement. He was dressed in a
slashed doublet of spun gold, so fine in its texture, that the prismatic colors gleamed over it, as if on a surface of
mother-of-pearl; and, over this brilliant doublet, his hair and beard fell full
half-way to the ground, in waving curls, so exquisitely delicate, that Gluck
could hardly tell where they ended; they seemed to melt into air. The features
of the face, however, were by no means finished with the same delicacy; they
were rather coarse, slightly inclining to coppery in complexion, and indica- [32] tive, in expression,
of a very pertinacious and intractable disposition in their small proprietor.
When the dwarf had finished his self-examination, he turned his small sharp
eyes full on Gluck, and stared at him deliberately for a minute or two.
"No, it wouldn't, Gluck, my boy," said the little man.
This was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected
mode of commencing conversation. It might indeed be supposed to refer to the
course of Gluck's thoughts, which had first produced the dwarf's observations
out of the pot; but whatever it referred to, Gluck had no inclination to
dispute the dictum.
"Wouldn't it, sir?" said Gluck very mildly
and submissively indeed.
"No," said the dwarf, conclusively.
"No, it wouldn't." And with that the dwarf pulled his cap hard over
his brows, and took two turns of three feet long, up and down the room, lifting
his legs up very high, and setting them [33] down very hard. This pause gave
time for Gluck to collect his thoughts a little, and, seeing no great reason to
view his diminutive visitor with dread, and feeling his curiosity overcome his
amazement, he ventured on a question of peculiar delicacy.
"Pray, sir," said Gluck, rather
hesitatingly, "were you my mug?"
On which the little man turned sharp round, walked
straight up to Gluck, and drew himself up to his full height. "I,"
said the little man, "am the King of the
Gluck determined to say something at all [34] events.
"I hope your Majesty is very well," said Gluck.
"Listen!" said the little man, deigning no
reply to this polite inquiry. "I am the King of what you mortals call the
"Oh!" cried poor Gluck, running to look up
the chimney after him; "oh, dear, dear, dear me! My mug!
my mug! my mug!"
CHAPTER III
HOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO
THE
[36] THE King of the
Hans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid
himself; but Schwartz was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the
peace, and, having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was thrown into
prison till he should pay.
When Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and
determined to set out immediately for the
Next morning he got up before the sun rose, put the
holy water into a strong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a
basket, slung them over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand, and set
off for the mountains.
On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison,
and as he looked in at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself
peeping out of the bars, and looking very disconsolate.
"Good morning, brother," said Hans;
"have you any message for the King of the
Schwartz gnashed his teeth with rage, and shook the
bars with all his strength; but Hans only laughed at him, and advised him to
make himself comfortable till he came back again, shouldered his basket, shook
the bottle of holy [39] water in Schwartz's face till it frothed again, and
marched off in the highest spirits in the world.
It was indeed a morning that might have made anyone
happy, even with no
The Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower
and snowless elevations, was now nearly in shadow; all but the uppermost jets
of spray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of the cataract,
and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind.
On this object, and on this
alone, Hans' eyes and thoughts were fixed; forgetting the distance he had to
traverse, he set off at an imprudent rate of walking, which greatly exhausted
him before he had scaled the first range of the green and low hills. He was,
moreover, surprised, on surmounting them, to find that a large glacier, of
whose existence, notwithstanding his previous knowledge of the mountains, he
had been absolutely ignorant, lay between him and the source of the Golden
River. He entered on it with the boldness of a practised mountaineer; yet he
thought he had never traversed so strange or [41] so dangerous a glacier in his
life. The ice was excessively slippery, and out of all its chasms came wild
sounds of gushing water; not monotonous or low, but changeful and loud, rising
occasionally into drifting passages of wild melody, then breaking off into
short melancholy tones, or sudden shrieks resembling those of human voices in
distress or pain. The ice was broken into thousands of confused shapes, but
none, Hans thought, like the ordinary forms of splintered ice. There seemed a
curious expression about all their outlines—a perpetual resemblance to
living features, distorted and scornful. Myriads of deceitful shadows and lurid
lights played and floated about and through the pale blue pinnacles, dazzling
and confusing the sight of the traveler; while his
ears grew dull and his head giddy with the constant gush and roar of the
concealed waters. These painful circumstances increased upon him as he
advanced; the ice [42] crashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his feet,
tottering spires nodded around him, and fell thundering across his path; and
though he had repeatedly faced these dangers on the most terrific glaciers, and
in the wildest weather, it was with a new and oppressive feeling of panic
terror that he leaped the last chasm, and flung himself, exhausted and
shuddering, on the firm turf of the mountain.
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He had been compelled to abandon his basket of food,
which became a perilous incumbrance on the glacier,
and had no means of refreshing himself but by breaking off and eating some of
the pieces of ice. This, however, relieved his thirst; an hour's repose
recruited his hardy frame, and with the indomitable spirit of avarice he
resumed his laborious journey.
His way now lay straight up a ridge of bare red rocks,
without a blade of grass to ease the foot, or a projecting angle to afford an
inch of [43] shade from the south sun. It was past noon, and the rays beat
intensely upon the steep path, while the whole atmosphere was motionless, and
penetrated with heat. Intense thirst was soon added to the bodily fatigue with
which Hans was now afflicted; glance after glance he cast on the flask of water
which hung at his belt. "Three drops are enough," at last thought he;
"I may, at least, cool my lips with it."
He opened the flask, and was raising it to his lips,
when his eye fell on an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it
moved. It was a small dog, apparently in the last agony of death from thirst.
Its tongue was out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended
lifelessly, and a swarm of black ants were crawling about its lips and throat.
Its eye moved to the bottle which Hans held in his hand. He raised it, drank,
spurned the animal with his foot, and passed on. And he did not know how [44]
it was, but he thought that a strange shadow had suddenly come across the blue
sky.
The path became steeper and more rugged every moment;
and the high hill air, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood
into a fever. The noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery in his ears;
they were all distant, and his thirst increased every moment. Another hour
passed, and he again looked down to the flask at his side; it was half empty,
but there was much more than three drops in it. He stopped to open it, and
again, as he did so, something moved in the path above him. It was a fair
child, stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its breast heaving with thirst,
its eyes closed, and its lips parched and burning. Hans eyed it deliberately,
drank, and passed on. And a dark gray cloud came over the sun, and long,
snake-like shadows crept up along the mountain sides. Hans struggled on. The
sun was sinking, but its descent seemed to bring no [45] coolness; the leaden
height of the dead air pressed upon his brow and heart, but the goal was near.
He saw the cataract of the
At this instant a faint cry fell on his ear. He
turned, and saw a gray-haired old man extended on the rocks. His eyes were
sunk, his features deadly pale, and gathered into an expression of despair.
"Water!" he stretched his arms to Hans, and cried feebly:
"Water! I am dying."
"I have none," replied Hans; "thou hast
had thy share of life." He strode over the prostrate body, and darted on.
And a flash of blue lightning rose out of the east, shaped like a sword; it
shook thrice over the whole heaven, and left it dark with one heavy,
impenetrable [46] shade. The sun was setting; it plunged towards the horizon
like a red-hot ball.
The roar of the
|
THE BLACK STONE. |
CHAPTER IV
HOW MR. SCHWARTZ SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION
TO THE
[47] POOR little Gluck waited very anxiously, alone in
the house, for Hans' return. Finding he did not come back, he was terribly
frightened, and went and told Schwartz in the prison all that had happened.
Then Schwartz was very much pleased, and said that Hans must certainly have
been turned into a black stone, and he should have all the gold to himself. But
Gluck was very sorry, and cried all night. When he got
up in the morning, there was no bread in the house, nor any money; so Gluck
went and hired himself to another goldsmith, and he worked so hard and so
neatly, and so long every day, that he soon got money enough together to pay
his brother's fine, and he went, and [48] gave it all to Schwartz, and Schwartz
got out of prison. Then Schwartz was quite pleased, and said he should have
some of the gold of the river. But Gluck only begged he would go and see what
had become of Hans.
Now when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the
holy water, he thought to himself that such a proceeding might not be
considered altogether correct by the King of the
"Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I
haven't half enough for myself," and passed on. And as he went he thought
the sunbeams grew more dim, and he saw a low bank of
black cloud rising out of the west; and, when he had climbed for another hour,
the thirst overcame him again, and he would have drunk. Then he saw the old man
lying before him on the path, and heard him cry out for water. "Water,
indeed," said Schwartz, "I haven't half enough for myself," and
on he went.
Then again the light seemed to fade from before his
eyes, and he looked up, and, behold, [50] a mist, of the color
of blood, had come over the sun; and the bank of black cloud had risen very
high, and its edges were tossing and tumbling like the waves of an angry sea.
And they cast long shadows, which flickered over Schwartz's path.
Then Schwartz climbed for another hour, and again his
thirst returned; and as he lifted his flask to his lips, he thought he saw his
brother Hans lying exhausted on the path before him, and, as he gazed, the
figure stretched its arms to him, and cried for water. "Ha, ha!"
laughed Schwartz, "are you there? Remember the
prison bars, my boy. Water, indeed! do you suppose I
carried it all the way up here for you?" And he strode over the
figure; yet, as he passed, he thought he saw a strange expression of mockery
about its lips. And, when he had gone a few yards farther, he looked back; but
the figure was not there.
And a sudden horror came over Schwartz, he knew not
why; but the thirst for gold pre- [51] vailed over
his fear, and he rushed on. And the bank of black cloud rose to the zenith, and
out of it came bursts of spiry lightning, and waves
of darkness seemed to heave and float between their flashes over the whole
heavens. And the sky where the sun was setting was all level and like a lake of
blood; and a strong wind came out of that sky, tearing its crimson clouds into
fragments, and scattering them far into the darkness. And when Schwartz stood
by the brink of the Golden River, its waves were black, like thunder-clouds,
but their foam was like fire; and the roar of the waters below and the thunder
above met, as he cast the flask into the stream. And, as he did so, the
lightning glared in his eyes, and the earth gave way beneath him, and the
waters closed over his cry. And the moaning of the river rose wildly into the
night, as it gushed over the
|
TWO BLACK STONES. |
CHAPTER V
HOW LITTLE GLUCK SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION
TO THE
[52] WHEN Gluck found that Schwartz did not come back,
he was very sorry, and did not know what to do. He had no money, and was
obliged to go and hire himself again to the goldsmith, who worked him very
hard, and gave him very little money. So, after a month or two, Gluck grew
tired and made up his mind to go and try his fortune with the
[53] If the glacier had occasioned a great deal of
fatigue in his brothers, it was twenty times worse for him, who was neither so
strong nor so practised on the mountains. He had several very bad falls, lost
his basket and bread, and was very much frightened at the strange noises under
the ice. He lay a long time to rest on the grass, after he had got over, and
began to climb the hill just in the hottest part of the day. When he had
climbed for an hour, he got dreadfully thirsty, and was going to drink, like
his brothers, when he saw an old man coming down the path above him, looking
very feeble, and leaning on a staff. "My son," said the old man,
"I am faint with thirst; give me some of that water." Then Gluck
looked at him, and when he saw that he was pale and weary, he gave him the
water. "Only pray don't drink it all," said Gluck. But the old man
drank a great deal, and gave him back the bottle two-thirds empty. Then he bade
him goodspeed, [54] and Gluck went on again merrily.
And the path became easier to his feet, and two or three blades of grass
appeared upon it, and some grasshoppers began singing on the bank beside it;
and Gluck thought he had never heard such merry singing.
Then he went on for another hour, and the thirst increased
on him so that he thought he should be forced to drink. But, as he raised the
flask, he saw a little child lying panting by the road-side, and it cried out
piteously for water. Then Gluck struggled with himself, and determined to bear
the thirst a little longer; and he put the bottle to the child's lips, and it
drank it all but a few drops. Then it smiled on him, and got up, and ran down
the hill; and Gluck looked after it, till it became as small as a little star,
and then turned, and began climbing again. And then there were all kinds of
sweet flowers growing on the rocks, bright green moss with pale-pink starry
[55] flowers, and soft belled gentians, more blue than the sky at its deepest,
and pure white transparent lilies. And crimson and purple butterflies darted
hither and thither, and the sky sent down such pure light that Gluck had never
felt so happy in his life.
Yet, when he had climbed for another hour, his thirst
became intolerable again; and when he looked at his bottle, he saw that there
were only five or six drops left in it, and he could not venture to drink. And
as he was hanging the flask to his belt again, he saw a little dog lying on the
rocks, gasping for breath—just as Hans had seen it on the day of his ascent.
And Gluck stopped and looked at it, and then at the Golden River, not five
hundred yards above him; and he thought of the dwarf's words, "that no one
could succeed, except in his first attempt"; and he tried to pass the dog,
but it whined piteously, and Gluck stopped again. "Poor beastie,"
said Gluck, "it'll be dead when I [56] come down again if I don't help
it." Then he looked closer and closer at it, and its eye turned on him so
mournfully that he could not stand it. "Confound the King and his gold
too," said Gluck; and he opened the flask and poured all the water into
the dog's mouth.
The dog sprang up and stood on its hind legs. Its tail
disappeared; its ears became long, longer, silky, golden;
its nose became very red; its eyes became very twinkling; in three seconds the
dog was gone, and before Gluck stood his old acquaintance, the King of the
"Thank you," said the monarch; "but
don't be frightened, it's all right"; for Gluck showed manifest symptoms
of consternation at this unlooked-for reply to his last observation. "Why
didn't you come before," continued the dwarf, "instead of sending me
those rascally brothers of yours, for me to have the trouble of turning into
stones? Very hard stones they make too."
[57] "Oh, dear me!" said Gluck, "have
you really been so cruel?"
"Cruel!" said the dwarf; "they poured
unholy water into my stream; do you suppose I'm going to allow that?"
"Why," said Gluck, "I am sure, sir—your
majesty, I mean—they got the water out of the church font."
"Very probably," replied the dwarf;
"but," and his countenance grew stern as he spoke, "the water
which has been refused to the cry of the weary and dying is unholy, though it
had been blessed by every saint in heaven; and the water which is found in the
vessel of mercy is holy, though it had been defiled with corpses."
So saying, the dwarf stooped and plucked a lily that
grew at his feet. On its white leaves there hung three drops of clear dew. And
the dwarf shook them into the flask which Gluck held in his hand. "Cast
these into the river," [58] he said, "and descend
on the other side of the mountains into the
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![[Frontispiece]](etexts04_archivos/image003.gif)
As he spoke the figure of the dwarf became indistinct.
The playing colors of his robe formed themselves into
a prismatic mist of dewy light; he stood for an instant veiled with them as
with the belt of a broad rainbow. The colors grew
faint, the mist rose into the air; the monarch had evaporated.
And Gluck climbed to the brink of the
Gluck stood watching it for some time, very much
disappointed, because not only the river was not turned into gold, but its
waters seemed much diminished in quantity. Yet he obeyed [59] his friend the
dwarf and descended the other side of the mountains, towards the
And as Gluck gazed, fresh grass sprang beside the new
streams, and creeping plants grew and climbed among the moistening soil. Young
flowers opened suddenly along the river sides, as stars leap out when twilight
is deepening, and thickets of myrtle and tendrils of vine cast lengthening
shadows over the valley as they grew. And thus the
And Gluck went and dwelt in the valley, and the poor
were never driven from his door; so that his barns became full of corn, and his
house of treasure. And, for him, the river had, according to the dwarf's
promise, become a
And to this day, the inhabitants of the valley point
out the place where the three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream, and
trace the course of the
|
THE BLACK BROTHERS. |
DAME WIGGINS OF LEE AND HER SEVEN
WONDERFUL CATS
|
[63] Dame Wiggins of Lee Was a worthy old soul, As e'er threaded a nee- dle, or wash'd
in a bowl: She held mice and rats In such antipa-thy; That seven fine cats Kept Dame Wiggins of Lee. The rats and mice scared By this fierce whisker'd crew, The poor seven cats Soon had nothing to do; So, as any one idle She ne'er loved to see, She sent them to school, Did Dame Wiggins of Lee.
The Master soon wrote That they all of them knew How to read the word "milk" And to spell the word "mew." And they all washed their faces Before they took tea: "Were there ever such dears!" Said Dame Wiggins of Lee. He had also thought well To comply with their wish To spend all their play-time In learning to fish For Stitlings; they sent her A present of three, Which, fried, were a feast For Dame Wiggins of Lee.
But soon she grew tired Of living alone; So she sent for her cats From school to come home. Each rowing a wherry, Returning you see: The frolic made merry Dame Wiggins of Lee. The Dame was quite pleas'd, And ran out to market; When she came back They were mending the carpet. The needle each handled As brisk as a bee; "Well done, my good cats," Said Dame Wiggins of Lee.
To give them a treat, She ran out for some rice; When she came back, They were skating on ice. "I shall soon see one down, Aye, perhaps, two or three, I'll bet half-a-crown," Said Dame Wiggins of Lee. When spring-time came back They had breakfast of curds; And were greatly afraid Of disturbing the birds. "If you sit, like good cats, All the seven in a tree, They will teach you to sing!" Said Dame Wiggins of Lee.
So they sat in a tree, And said, "Beautiful! Hark!" And they listened and looked In the clouds for the lark. They sang, by the fireside, Symphonious-ly, A song without words. To Dame Wiggins of Lee. They called the next day On a tomtit and sparrow, And wheeled a poor sick lamb Home in a barrow. "You shall all have some sprats For your human-ity, My seven good cats," Said Dame Wiggins of Lee.
While she ran to the field, To look for its dam, They were warming the bed For the poor sick lamb: They turn'd up the clothes All as neat as could be; "I shall ne'er want a nurse," Said Dame Wiggins of Lee. She wished them good-night, And went up to bed: When, lo! in the morning, The cats were all fled. But soon—what a fuss! "Where can they all be? Here, pussy, puss, puss!" Cried Dame Wiggins of Lee.
The Dame's heart was nigh broke, So she sat down to weep, When she saw them come back Each riding a sheep: She fondled and patted Each purring Tom-my: "Ah! welcome, my dears," Said Dame Wiggins of Lee. The Dame was unable Her pleasure to smother; To see the sick lamb Jump up to its mother. In spite of the gout, And a pain in her knee, She went dancing about: Did Dame Wiggins of Lee.
The farmer soon heard Where his sheep went astray, And arrived at Dame's door With his faithful dog Tray. He knocked with his crook, And the stranger to see, Out of window did look Dame Wiggins of Lee. For their kindness he had them All drawn by his team; And gave them some field-mice, And raspberry-cream. Said he, "All my stock You shall presently see; For I honor the cats Of Dame Wiggins of Lee."
He sent his maid out For some muffins and crumpets; And when he turn'd round They were blowing of trumpets. Said he, "I suppose, She's as deaf as can be, Or this ne'er could be borne By Dame Wiggins of Lee." To show them his poultry, He turn'd them all loose, When each nimbly leap'd On the back of a Goose, Which frighten'd them so That they ran to the sea, And half-drowned the poor cats Of Dame Wiggins of Lee.
For the care of his lamb, And their comical pranks, He gave them a ham And abundance of thanks. "I wish you good-day, My fine fellows," said he; "My compliments, pray, To Dame Wiggins of Lee." You see them arrived At their Dame's welcome door; They show her their presents, And all their good store. "Now come in to supper, And sit down with me; All welcome once more," Cried Dame Wiggins of Lee. |
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