{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_52417/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_52417","id":"gutenberg_52417","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52417","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Legends -- Germany","Legends -- Romania"],"text":"LEGENDS FROM RIVER AND MOUNTAIN\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n[Illustration: FROM \u201cTHE CAVE OF JALOMITZA.\u201d--_p. 146._\n\nBut thereupon the horse was changed into a hawk, that shot down from a\ngiddy height, and bore her away in his talons.]\n\n\n\n\n    Legends from * * * * *\n    River & Mountain\n    By Carmen Sylva (H.M. the\n    Queen of Roumania) and Alma\n    Strettell. With Illustrations\n    by T. H. Robinson\n\n    London: George Allen\n    156 Charing Cross Road\n    1896\n\n\n\n\n                  Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.\n                        At the Ballantyne Press\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe first ten of these stories are taken from the German of Carmen\nSylva, who has kindly given the translator her special permission to\nadd them to the following collection of legends. The originals are to\nbe found in her charming volumes of Roumanian tales: \u201cPelesch M\u00e4rchen\u201d\nand \u201cDurch die Jahrhunderte.\u201d\n\nMany of them are associated with the mountains which surround her\nhome among the pine-woods of Sinaia; others belong to the districts\ntraversed by the Pelesch river, the merry stream that dashes through\nthe ravine at the foot of her garden, \u201cwhispering all sorts of wonders\nand secrets to those who have ears to hear.\u201d\n\nThe remaining tales in the volume are collected from different parts\nof Germany. \u201cThe Little Glass-man,\u201d a legend of the Black Forest, is\ntaken from \u201cHauff\u2019s M\u00e4rchen\u201d; the other stories are all compiled from,\nor founded upon, legends to be met with in various German collections,\nsuch as Ziehnert\u2019s, Pr\u00f6hle\u2019s, &c.[1] Most of them, however, are there\nset forth in so condensed a form, and with such scanty detail, that\nthey could hardly prove of interest as stories, and therefore, they\nhave in sundry cases been somewhat amplified and developed; or, where\nthere was a resemblance between several legends belonging to different\ndistricts, indicating that they had a common source, their varying\nincidents have been worked into one tale.\n\nIt will be seen that the latter part, at least, of this volume makes\nno claim to be considered as an addition to the serious literature of\nFolk-lore. Its endeavour is rather to furnish the younger readers of\nthe present generation with a fresh supply of stories--half legend,\nhalf fairy-tale--of a kind with which the children of an earlier day\nwere familiar, but which are now less often to be met with; stories\nwhich came to them also from foreign lands, and were invested with a\ncharm which it has been vainly sought, as the compiler fears, to impart\nto the present series.\n\n\n_September 1895._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\n     I. THE JIPI. (_Roumania_)                                         1\n\n    II. THE SERPENT-ISLE. (_Roumania_)                                19\n\n   III. V\u00ceRFUL CU DOR. (_Roumania_)                                   37\n\n    IV. FURNICA. (_Roumania_)                                         55\n\n     V. THE CARAIMAN. (_Roumania_)                                    69\n\n    VI. THE STAGS\u2019 VALLEY. (_Roumania_)                               81\n\n   VII. THE WITCH\u2019S STRONGHOLD. (_Roumania_)                         101\n\n  VIII. PIATRA ARSA. (_Roumania_)                                    121\n\n    IX. R\u00ceUL DOAMNEI. (_Roumania_)                                   131\n\n     X. THE CAVE OF JALOMITZA. (_Roumania_)                          139\n\n    XI. THE NIXIES\u2019 CLEFT. (_Saxony_)                                149\n\n   XII. THE FLYING CASTLE. (_The Hartz Mountains and Baden_)         163\n\n  XIII. THE SILVER NAIL. (_The Hartz Mountains_)                     177\n\n   XIV. A DOUBTING LOVER. (_The Riesengebirge_)                      195\n\n    XV. A LEGEND OF WALPURGIS-NIGHT. (_The Hartz Mountains_)         203\n\n   XVI. SEEKERS AFTER GOLD. (_Saxony and the Hartz Mountains_)       215\n\n  XVII. THE MAIDEN\u2019S ROCK. (_The Elbe_)                              239\n\n XVIII. THE WATER-SNAKE. (_The Hartz Country_)                       251\n\n   XIX. THE LITTLE GLASS-MAN. (_The Black Forest_)--\n\n          I. THE SUNDAY-CHILD                                        271\n\n         II. THE COLD HEART                                          302\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n FRONTISPIECE                                            _To face Title_\n\n    _But thereupon the horse was changed into a hawk, that\n    shot down from a giddy height, and bore her away in his\n    talons._ (From \u201cThe Cave of Jalomitza.\u201d)\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\n THE JIPI                                                              3\n\n    _And ere one of them could stretch out a hand she had\n    flown like a bird over the edge of the cliff_                     15\n\n\n THE SERPENT ISLE                                                     21\n\n    _So he manned a sail-boat with stout rowers, took\n    provisions with him for several days, and set out across\n    the sea_                                                          23\n\n    _Presently a little boy ran up to him and cried in\n    pleading tones_, \u201c_Take me away with thee_\u201d                       31\n\n\n V\u00ceRFUL CU DOR                                                        39\n\n    _A little to one side, a handsome shepherd stood leaning\n    upon his staff_                                                   41\n\n    _From every side came the cry_, \u201c_Thou goodly youth, be\n    mine! Come with me!_\u201d                                             45\n\n\n FURNICA                                                              57\n\n\n THE CARAIMAN                                                         71\n\n    _But at the sight of them he burst into such\n    laughter_----                                                     77\n\n\n THE STAGS\u2019 VALLEY                                                    83\n\n    _The maiden gazed earnestly at one and another_                   87\n\n    _But the poor mother rose up with fixed gaze, and lifting\n    her arms to the clouds, she cried, \u201cMay ye then turn to\n    stone!\u201d_                                                          97\n\n\n THE WITCH\u2019S STRONGHOLD                                              103\n\n    _\u201cBut a while ago a beautiful creature came up our\n    mountain\u201d_                                                       107\n\n    _With these words she began to scatter down jewels in\n    endless quantities upon the horsemen_                            117\n\n\n PIATRA ARSA                                                         123\n\n    _Looking up, they saw that one of the rocky peaks of the\n    Bucegi seemed all aglow_                                 To face 126\n\n\n R\u00ceUL DOAMNEI                                                        133\n\n    _And behold! the river was no longer brown, but clear and\n    blue as the air_                                         To face 138\n\n\n THE CAVE OF JALOMITZA                                               141\n\n    _Jalomitza followed it the whole night through, without\n    knowing whither she went_                                        145\n\n\n THE NIXIES\u2019 CLEFT                                                   151\n\n\n THE FLYING CASTLE                                                   165\n\n    _For the first time her heart sank, and she almost turned\n    back_                                                            170\n\n\n THE SILVER NAIL                                                     179\n\n    _And declaring that he would have no more gaping fools\n    in his house, disturbing his honeymoon, he drove the\n    neighbours forth_                                                189\n\n\n A DOUBTING LOVER                                                    197\n\n    _Yet even now she would sometimes draw aside from her\n    young companions, as they paced the gardens or terrace\n    together_                                                To face 200\n\n\n A LEGEND OF WALPURGIS-NIGHT                                         205\n\n    _The company was arriving in great numbers_                      207\n\n    _But in a moment the tables were turned, and he found\n    himself in an unexpected position_                               211\n\n\n SEEKERS AFTER GOLD                                                  217\n\n\n THE MAIDEN\u2019S ROCK                                                   241\n\n    _And in the twinkling of an eye had rushed like a storm\n    up the rocky ascent, and fallen upon the luckless lovers_\n                                                                     249\n\n\n THE WATER-SNAKE                                                     253\n\n\n THE LITTLE GLASS-MAN. PART I                                        271\n\n\n THE LITTLE GLASS-MAN. PART II                                       302\n\n    _He lifted it from the jar, tore open Peter\u2019s jerkin,\n    pulled the stone from his breast, and held it before him_        323\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nTHE JIPI\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThere is in Roumania a group of mountains named the Bucegi-group. Among\nthese the two peaks of Jipi tower aloft, close together, as though\ngazing defiantly at one another, and between them the Urlatoare, or\n\u201croaring stream,\u201d dashes down, a cloud-like waterfall, into the valley\nbelow, and storms onward over every barrier towards the town of Prahova.\n\nThey say that long, long ago the Jipi were twin-brothers, who loved\neach other so well that one could not live without the other, or eat a\nmouthful of bread the other did not share; nay, more--that when one was\nasked a question, the other answered it, and that when one did himself\nsome hurt, the other wept and would not be comforted. They were as fair\nas morning and evening, as slender and straight as lances, as swift as\narrows, as strong as young bears. The mother who had borne them looked\nupon them with pride and joy, and would say, as she stroked their curly\nheads, \u201cAndrei and Mirea, my beautiful sons, may your fame become so\ngreat that even the stones shall discourse of it.\u201d\n\nThey were of noble blood, and dwelt in a castle upon a lofty crag,\nwhere they lorded it as though the whole world belonged to them. They\noften jestingly declared that they should have to wed one wife only\nbetween them, since they were sure never to find two quite alike, and\nthat the best plan would be for them never to wed at all. But of this\ntheir mother would not hear, for she longed to cradle her sons\u2019 sons\nupon her knee and sing them lullabies.\n\nShe would often sing the ancient lays of their country to her boys, of\nan evening, while she sat spinning and the noble lads hung fondly about\nher. Andrei would kneel at her feet, while Mirea leant upon the arm of\nher chair, and drew in the sweet scent of the heavy, dark braids that\nshone lustrous through her delicate white veil.\n\n\u201cOur mother is still quite a young woman,\u201d said Andrei.\n\n\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d cried Mirea; \u201cshe has not yet a single grey hair.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor a wrinkle,\u201d rejoined Andrei.\n\n\u201cWe shall find no wife worth our mother,\u201d continued Mirea, kissing the\nveil upon her head.\n\n\u201cThou dost cast them all into the shade,\u201d laughed Andrei, and kissed\nthe fingers that were spinning such wondrous fine threads.\n\n\u201cOur father was a happy man,\u201d cried the one. \u201cAnd we are lucky\nchildren,\u201d rejoined the other. Then the mother would smile at the\ntender dialogue, and tell them tales of their grandmother, and of the\nrough times she lived in--of her stern father and yet sterner husband.\n\nThe meals that the three partook of together were as merry as though\nthe house had been full of company; and, indeed, when guests were\nreally present they grew graver, as beseemed the dignity of their\nhouse. They were the most kindly of hosts, and spent many a night\nupon the bare ground, that their soft couch might be given up to some\nstranger guest. All who entered there felt at ease in that happy home,\nwherein love made its dwelling.\n\nOne day the two brothers were out hunting a bear that had been making\nsore havoc in the district. They climbed up the steepest of their\ncliffs to find him, and got at last upon his track, as a loud growling\nand a shower of dislodged stones betokened. At the very moment,\nhowever, that Mirea was about to cast his spear, another flew out of\nthe underbrush hard by and smote the beast in the vitals. A peal of\nsilvery laughter followed the stroke. Then the bear, growling with\nrage, rose upon his hinder feet and made for the patch of undergrowth.\nAndrei perceived the danger in which the bold huntsman stood, and while\nMirea called out indignantly, \u201cLet him end the chase he has begun!\u201d\nhis brother exclaimed, \u201cCanst thou not hear?--it is a boy\u2019s voice!\u201d\nand casting himself before the bear, which towered high above him, he\nplunged his knife up to the hilt in its shoulder. The brute clawed\nthe air for a moment and then fell dead. \u201cOh, what a pity!\u201d cried a\nclear voice, and from the bushes there stepped forth a wondrously fair\nmaiden, clad in short garments and sandals, and having a white fur cap\nset upon her wild and abundant brown locks. Her eyes shone beneath\ndark, highly arched brows; they were green eyes, yet with a glint of\ngold in them. From her shoulders hung a mantle of snow-white, silky\ngoatskin; like Andrei, she held in her hand a broad hunting-knife,\nwith which she had unflinchingly awaited the onslaught of the bear.\n\u201cWhat a pity,\u201d she cried again, \u201cnow it is not I that have slain\nhim!\u201d and her eyes filled with tears. Andrei stood quite shame-faced,\ngazing at the bear, as though he would gladly, to please the lovely\nmaiden, have restored him to life again. To conceal her ill-humour,\nshe thoughtlessly thrust at the brute with her foot--when, behold! he\nturned in the death-throe and clawed at her once again. But on the\ninstant she was caught back by Mirea, who set her on her feet with the\nreproving words, \u201cFoolish child!\u201d She gazed upwards in astonishment,\nfor the voice was that of the young man before her--and the face, too,\nwas bewildering in its likeness to his. Open-mouthed, like a child\nindeed, she looked from one to the other till all three broke out into\na storm of laughter.\n\n\u201cYou are double!\u201d cried the girl, \u201clike two hazel-nuts in one shell.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd two nuts out of one shell we are,\u201d replied Andrei. \u201cBut who art\nthou, little wood-fairy? Perchance some witch in disguise, who will\nwork our undoing.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho can say?\u201d answered the maiden. \u201cPerhaps I am a witch--grandfather\noften says so; and, indeed, I have only been with him a week yet, and\nhe has had no more of his old pain since I came.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe would straightway treat thee as an evil witch, then,\u201d said Mirea,\n\u201cand carry thee a prisoner to our castle, for having hunted upon our\nhills without leave.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have a cruel mother, too, at our castle,\u201d added Andrei.\n\n\u201cGood,\u201d cried the maiden. \u201cHer I must see. I am your prisoner!\u201d\n\nShe called her attendant huntsman, gave him messages to her grandfather,\nand bade him bring horses to fetch her home; then she followed the\nbrothers with a light step by the giddiest and steepest paths to the\ncastle.\n\nThe lads\u2019 mother, Dame Roxana, stood looking from the castle windows,\nand wondering what strange shepherd-boy her sons were bringing home\nwith them. The dead bear was carried behind them, slung upon green\nboughs. As they drew near the castle Dame Roxana exclaimed in alarm,\n\u201cIt is a girl they have with them. Where can they have found her?\u201d\n\nThe next moment the sound of youthful voices and footsteps re-echoed\nthrough courtyard and hall. \u201cMother,\u201d cried Mirea, \u201chere we bring\nthee a prisoner, a hunter who has spoilt our chase! What shall be his\npunishment?\u201d\n\nDame Roxana gazed at the young girl in great anxiety. She would fain\nhave sent her away again as quickly as possible; but the vision was\nso entrancing a one that she could not restrain a kindly smile, and\nstretched out her hand, which the maiden respectfully kissed. \u201cI\nthink,\u201d said Dame Roxana, \u201cthat the worst punishment would be to make\nthis merry child spend a few hours in spinning with an old woman like\nme!\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, nay,\u201d the girl replied; \u201cI can spin as lightly as any fairy. The\nspear has not made my hand heavy. And as for old folks--why, I spend\nall my time alone with grandfather, who sits in his chair all day, and\nfalls asleep whenever I would tell him aught.\u201d\n\nShe was about to lay aside her mantle as she spoke, but Andrei stepped\nforward and took it from her, while his mother herself lifted the fur\ncap from her brow and stroked back the damp curly hair. With abundant\nlocks falling about her like a lion\u2019s mane, she seemed fairer than\never, and mother and sons gazed at her in delight.\n\n\u201cWhat is thy name, dear child?\u201d asked Dame Roxana.\n\n\u201cUrlanda. Is it not an ugly name? They would have called me Rolanda,\nbut it turned into Urlanda, because I was always so wild and untutored.\nMy grandfather dwells on the other side of the mountain. Oh! I have\ncome far to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen thou wilt be all the gladder of the meal that awaits us.\u201d\n\nThey led her into the dining-hall, sumptuously decked with Eastern\ncarpets and hangings and massive silver-ware. Here the talk flowed\nmerrily on. Wondrous tales were told of the chase and of adventures\nwith savage bears; but Rolanda would never suffer herself to be\noutdone, and would cap each tale with one more amazing yet, told in\ntones as earnest as though she were swearing an oath upon it.\n\nThe merriment was heightened by her constant mistaking of one brother\nfor the other, and when Andrei gave himself out as having saved her\nlife, Mirea would eagerly affirm that it was he who had warded off the\nbear\u2019s last embrace.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a good thing,\u201d she would cry, \u201cthat I have to thank you both\nfor my life, for else, indeed, I should never be able to recognise my\npreserver.\u201d\n\nWhen the meal was over she begged for distaff and spindle, \u201cfor she\nwanted to show that her spinning was no hunter\u2019s tale.\u201d This was spoken\nwith a sly glance at the brothers. And, in truth, the threads she spun\nwere as fine and even as a spider\u2019s web, to the great amazement of Dame\nRoxana.\n\n\u201cI can embroider beautifully too,\u201d said the maiden. \u201cMy mother, who\ncould do wonders at it, taught me that, for she hoped to tame me with\nsuch fair work. But it was all in vain, for I had always finished\nbefore she expected it, and was out and away again to the stables\nor the chase.\u201d She sighed a little. \u201cBut now the stud is sold; and,\nindeed, who could ride among these wretched mountains, where there is\nno room? Ah, there are the horses!\u201d and she sprang from her seat. \u201cI\nmust go, or I shall not be home by nightfall; and surely grandfather\nmust know how to chide if he be minded to, for he has such bushy\neyebrows!\u201d In a moment she had kissed the hand of Dame Roxana, greeted\nthe brothers with a wave of her furry cap as she cast it upon her\ncurly locks, and was away out of the hall and into her saddle like a\nwhirlwind. But the brothers, too, had their horses ready, and were not\nto be hindered from bearing their young guest company to the outskirts\nof their lands. So, greeting Dame Roxana with laughing glances, they\nrode away, and she looked after them with grave eyes, though a smile\nwas on her lips. Her heart was heavy, she knew not why, and she would\nfain have called her sons back to her.\n\nIt was with difficulty that Rolanda could be restrained from galloping\nup hill and down dale; only when her pity for the horses was stirred\ndid she draw rein, saying with a sigh, \u201cYou call these walking chairs\nhorses!\u201d\n\nAs night was now falling, she begged the brothers to seek shelter\nbeneath her grandfather\u2019s roof. The old man was sitting by the hearth\nwhen they entered, stroking the white beard that fell down far over his\nbreast.\n\n\u201cAnd where has this wild creature been now?\u201d he kindly asked.\n\n\u201cIn a dreadful prison, because of having trespassed on another\u2019s\nhunting-ground! And here are my persecutors, whom I have brought with\nme to prove whether I speak truly.\u201d\n\nThe old man\u2019s gaze was full of kindliness as it rested upon the two\nyouths, standing ready to do him homage. The evening meal was soon\nready; nor was it less cheerful than that which they had shared at\nmidday at Dame Roxana\u2019s table. At early dawn Andrei and Mirea rode\nhence again. They were startled, as they passed under the castle\nwindows, at finding themselves pelted by a shower of blossoms. But as\nthey glanced upwards a window was hastily closed, and they saw no one.\n\nThis was the first of many mutual visits, of many riding and hunting\nparties, and pleasant hours passed in merry chatter within doors. But\nRolanda had her sadder moments also, when she was more entrancing than\never; then she would speak of her dead parents, and of how lonely she\nwas in the wide world; for her grandfather could not live much longer,\nand then she would not know whither to turn.\n\n\u201cOh, cruel words!\u201d Andrei would exclaim. \u201cAre we, then, not thy\nbrothers? and is there no home for thee here?\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes our mother not love thee?\u201d Mirea would add.\n\nThen would Dame Roxana\u2019s heart quiver with pain once more; and yet the\nuntutored child had become very dear to her.\n\nNot long after this a clatter of hurrying horse\u2019s hoofs sounded up the\nhillside, and then upon the stones of the courtyard; it was Rolanda,\nriding bare-headed and with fluttering locks. As pale as death she\nburst in upon Dame Roxana. \u201cFor God\u2019s sake, let me take shelter with\nyou! Grandfather is dead! I closed his eyes myself; I made him ready\nfor the grave, and laid him there to rest, and felt no fear the while.\nBut now all the kinsfolk have come flocking in, quarrelling over the\ninheritance, and giving me hard and cruel words because some of it is\nto be mine. And one bald-headed fellow would straightway have taken\nme to wife. Ah me! then I was affrighted. Such a wretch! But I told\nhim I was called Urlanda, and was so bad that none would care to marry\nme. Nor will I have any husband. I will stay here with you until I am\nturned out.\u201d\n\nIt was a hard matter for Dame Roxana to understand this flow of\nincoherent words, and harder still for her to soothe the agitated\ngirl. She folded her to her heart and stroked the disordered curls;\nthen she led her to the little white bed-chamber, where she had often\ndwelt before, and told her this should be her home as long as there was\na roof over the house.\n\nRolanda threw herself into her arms, kissed her hands, and promised to\nbecome as gentle and calm as a deep, calm lake.\n\nDame Roxana smiled. \u201cMethinks,\u201d she replied, \u201cthat the calm and\ngentleness will come all in good time, when once thou art a wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I would never become a wife. I would always remain a maiden and\nfree--free as a bird.\u201d\n\nDame Roxana sighed quite low, and listened for the voices of her sons,\nwho had just come home and were asking for Rolanda, whose tumultuous\narrival they had witnessed from afar.\n\nA wondrous change took place in the behaviour of the brothers after\nRolanda came to sojourn with them.\n\nThey had greeted her as their \u201clittle sister,\u201d but thereupon the young\ngirl had suddenly grown shy and constrained. They lived out of doors\nmore than ever now, only they no longer went together, but by separate\nways; and Rolanda stayed much at home with the mother, and grew dreamy\nand absent, often shedding tears in secret. When she thought herself\nunnoticed, her quick glance would travel backwards and forwards between\nthe brothers, as though she would fain discover something that yet\nremained dark to her. She often still confused the two together, yet\nnow she no longer laughed at this, but gazed anxiously over at the\nmother. Dame Roxana watched with a heavy heart the dark cloud that\nseemed gathering over her house, and wept far oftener and more secretly\nthan Rolanda, since the day that each of her sons had confessed to her,\nalone at the twilight hour, his great, undying, unconquerable love, and\nhad asked--\n\n\u201cDost think my brother loves her too, he is so changed? And to which of\nus will she give her heart?\u201d\n\nDame Roxana offered many a taper in the little mountain chapel at\nLespes, and hoped that this painfully made pilgrimage might incline\nHeaven\u2019s mercy towards them, and ward off a great disaster from her\nhome.\n\nRolanda had been in a state of indescribable agitation ever since the\ntime that Andrei and Mirea had, each unknown to the other, confessed\ntheir love to her. In vain the poor child questioned her heart; she\nloved them both too well--far too well--to make either wretched; nor\ncould she separate the one from the other in her heart, any more than\nshe could with her eyes. She kept silence towards Dame Roxana, for\nshe could not bear to give her pain; but day by day she saw how the\nbrothers no longer cherished each other, and even how sharp words\nsometimes passed between them, and that had never chanced in all their\nlives before.\n\nAt last Dame Roxana called the three to her side and spoke.\n\n\u201cI have watched the bitter struggle of your hearts too long. One of you\nmust needs make a hard sacrifice, that the other may be happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered Mirea gloomily, \u201cone of us must quit this world.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor God\u2019s sake!\u201d cried Rolanda, \u201cyou would not fight over me?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d said Andrei, with a sad smile, \u201cthat were impossible. But one\ncan go hence alone.\u201d\n\nThen said Dame Roxana with uplifted hands, \u201cO godless children! have I,\nthen, borne you and brought you up so feeble that neither of you has\nthe strength to bear his first sorrow? Rolanda, till to-morrow shalt\nthou have time for thought; by to-morrow we shall all have won strength\nand courage.\u201d\n\nSo they parted.\n\nAndrei took a path that led through the forest to Lespes, and there\nhe knelt in the little rock-hewn chapel and prayed: \u201cO my God! Thou\nknowest my heart and my strength. Grant that I may be preserved from\nany sin towards myself, my mother, my brother, or the woman that I\nlove. But if she give herself not to me, then turn me to stone, that\nI may feel pain no more.\u201d But, by another path, Mirea had come, too,\nto the little chapel, and had prayed the same prayer. They cast a\nsorrowful look at one another, and went home, each by himself; for each\nthought that he alone had offered up the sacrifice.\n\nDame Roxana appeared next morning as white as the veil which covered\nthe first silver threads in her hair. The two brothers wore the look\nof men going to their death. Rolanda alone came among them with the\nglow of joy on her face. She was as though transfigured by an unearthly\nbeauty, that seemed to increase her very height. With gentle dignity\nshe spoke: \u201cCome out yonder with me, my only dear ones; let the\ndecision be given under God\u2019s open sky.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: And ere one of them could stretch out a hand she had\nflown like a bird over the edge of the cliff.]\n\nShe glided out before them, hardly seeming to tread on earth; her\nhands were transparent as wax, and her eyes full of tears as she raised\nthem to heaven. On the edge of a steep and giddy precipice she paused,\nand knelt before Dame Roxana.\n\n\u201cGive me thy blessing, mother,\u201d she said.\n\nDame Roxana laid a trembling hand upon the fair, curly head.\n\n\u201cAnd now,\u201d continued Rolanda in a clear voice, \u201cnow hearken to me. I\nlove you both so well, so passing well--far more than myself or my\nown life--that I cannot give myself to either of you. But whichever\nbrings me back from the abyss, his wife will I be.\u201d And ere one of them\ncould stretch out a hand she had flown like a bird over the edge of\nthe cliff, into the immeasurable depths below. But--oh wonder!--as she\nfell, she was changed into a foaming waterfall, whose spray floated in\nthe air like a bridal veil. The two brothers would have cast themselves\ndown after her, but they could not, for their feet turned to rock,\ntheir arms to rock, their hearts to stone, and so they towered aloft\ntoward heaven. But the unhappy mother spread out her arms, crying,\n\u201cAnd I alone must live! Hast Thou no pity, Heaven?\u201d Then with arms\noutstretched she fell to earth, embracing her children. And, behold!\nwhere she lay she was changed into thick, soft moss, that grew and\nspread farther and farther, till the rocks were half shrouded in it. So\nthey remain, and will remain for ever--the wild white bride, Urlatoare,\nthe self-sacrificing sons, the Jipi, and their loving, tender mother.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE SERPENT-ISLE\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThe great Latin poet Ovid was banished by the Emperor of Rome, no one\nknew why, to a desolate spot near the mouth of the Danube, on the\nshores of the Black Sea. That land has had many masters, and last\nof all the Roumanians, under King Charles, took it from the Turks.\nWhere Ovid once wandered by that lonely shore there is now a grand\nhotel, where fashionable ladies and officers sit and listen to the\nmusic of the band; a large town, too, lies hard by, but in the poet\u2019s\ndays only a small collection of miserable huts stood there, which\nmen called the city of Tomi. On one side there was nothing to be\nseen, as far as the eye could reach, but sand and marshes, where at\nintervals a solitary tree stretched out its barren boughs over some\nevil-smelling mere; while on the other the endless sea, black and\ncheerless, rolled its monotonous waves towards the shore. Snowstorms,\nunknown to an inhabitant of Rome, swept over the land in winter; and\nin summer the sun beat down with scorching heat, setting the brain on\nfire and parching the tongue. Wells were scarce here, and Ovid learnt\nto prize a draught of pure water more than he had ever prized the\nchoicest wines in his Roman cellars. The inhabitants of the country\nwere few--dark-skinned men, whose language was strange to him. The only\nRomans were men whom he would in former days have thought unworthy of\nhis slightest glance or word--thieves, galley-slaves, or fraudulent\nofficials. Surely he could never have borne such a life, and must have\ndied of misery, save for one only consolation. Every man must have\nsome such, be it only a dog, a flower, or a spider. Ovid had a snake,\na tiny, bewitching snake, that always lay curled about his neck or his\narm, and in whose eyes he read the most wondrous tales. To his mind\nshe was very likely the victim of some spell--a banished princess in\na serpent\u2019s shape--for did he not write the \u201cMetamorphoses\u201d?--and he\nwove fancies about her by the hour together--of how fair she was in\nreality, and how unfortunate, his shining little Colubra, as he called\nher. And as his thoughts wandered thus, and he sat gazing out upon\nthe sea, his eyes would close and he would sink into peaceful sleep.\nOne day, as he thus slept, he dreamed a strange dream; his little snake\nhad suddenly become possessed of human speech, and was whispering\nsoftly in his ear, \u201cCome, come with me to the island at the mouth of\nthe Danube--that which they call the Serpent-Isle. There thou shalt\nwitness transformations indeed.\u201d He awoke with a start of surprise;\nbut his little snake was lying quite quietly about his neck, as though\nshe had never spoken a word. Again he fell asleep, and again Colubra\nwhispered, \u201cCome to the Serpent-Isle. Come; trust thy little friend.\u201d\nThe poet awoke once more and gazed at the little creature, that still\nclung motionless to his throat, and met his eyes with a strange look\nof comprehension. He slept for the third time, and for the third time\nColubra whispered, \u201cCome with me; thou wilt not repent it.\u201d But this\ntime he awoke before she had finished speaking, and she gave him so\nexpressive a glance that Ovid thought to himself, \u201cWhy should I not\ngo to the Serpent-Isle? It cannot be a more desolate spot than this\nis; and if the serpents devour me, then there is an end of my pain for\never.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: So he manned a sail-boat with stout rowers, took\nprovisions with him for several days, and set out across the sea.]\n\nSo he manned a sail-boat with stout rowers, took provisions with him\nfor several days, and set out across the sea. He reached the island,\nnot without trouble, for the Black Sea has its evil moods, far worse\nthan those of the ocean itself. The heart-sick poet was in danger of\nbeing punished for his desire to be quit of life, for it came near\ntaking him at his word. But the boatmen were less weary of life than\nhe, and fought bravely with the stormy elements, grumbling all the\nwhile at the enterprise.\n\n\u201cSo much pain and danger for the sake of a desert island full of\npoisonous reptiles,\u201d they would mutter, casting dark glances upon the\npoet. Several times was he minded to put back, for fear of a mutiny\namong the crew, but each time a slight movement from the little\ncreature about his throat admonished him to pause. Once or twice he was\neven aware of an impatient stroke from the slender tail, and the tiny\nhead would be raised aloft, ever gazing in the same direction. \u201cThere\nis the island,\u201d muttered the sailors at last. \u201cWhere?\u201d asked Ovid, for\nhe could see nothing. \u201cThat strip of land there, at the river\u2019s mouth,\nthat is the Isle of Serpents.\u201d As he saw the bank of sand covered with\nstunted bushes, the poet\u2019s heart sank, more on account of the men\u2019s\ndiscontent than because of the uninviting aspect of the place. To\nhis mind the whole country was equally desolate, and whether it were\nsomewhat more or less so was of little moment. But the little snake\nabout his throat began fairly to dance for joy, and the lonely man felt\nglad of the pleasure he could give to the only creature he loved. As he\nstepped on shore he felt for her about his neck. What was his amazement\nat finding nothing there! His little Colubra was gone! Sore at heart,\nhe thought to himself, \u201cSo that was why thou wert so fain to reach the\nisland--only to forsake me! Thou art not a human being, yet thy deeds\nare even as theirs.\u201d And, lost in bitter thought, he waded onward\nthrough the deep sand, having promised the sailors to go and seek water\nfor them. But the wine to be found on board was far more acceptable\nto the men, and soon they lay wrapped in a drunken sleep. Ovid went\nsorrowfully on his way. \u201cNow have I lost my all,\u201d he sighed; and since\nno one saw him, he was not ashamed of the tears that filled his eyes.\n\nWas it the gleam of those tears or the light of the sun that blinded\nhim? Was a midsummer madness upon him? He passed his hand over his\nbrow again and again and closed his eyes; but each time he reopened\nthem his bewilderment increased. For there rose before him a magic\ngarden, with shady trees, undulating lawns, and plashing fountains. A\ncarpet of forget-me-nots and poppies spread out on every side, and the\ntender petals of the flowers seemed transfused with sunlight. Marble\nsteps led down to the sea, and smooth paths wound in and out among\nhedges of rose and myrtle. Wondrous birds perched among the planes and\nchestnut-trees, and poured out a song that no nightingale could rival.\nBeneath the poet\u2019s feet, violets and mignonette gave forth well-nigh\ntoo unrestrained a perfume; and sprays of lilac and jessamine caressed\nhis brow. The lonely exile fancied himself transported to one of the\nfairest gardens of Rome, and his heart beat high with joy, till it\nseemed ready to burst in his bosom. But what was his delight when he\nsuddenly became aware of a crowd of beautiful maidens, gliding about\namong the trees and over the smooth turf chasing and embracing one\nanother in the wildest glee, swinging upon the thick, tangled boughs\nof the hedge-roses, and tripping down the marble stairs to the sea,\nto bathe, and splash each other with the clear water. He saw, too,\nRoman matrons clad in long robes and snowy veils, whose faces seemed\nfamiliar, and men wearing the toga and mantle, who paced to and fro,\nas though in eager discussion over the topics of the day, just as of\nold in the Roman Forum. But before he could draw near them, a lovely\nmaiden hastened up to him with a gesture of familiar greeting and took\nhis hand, saying, \u201cI warrant thou dost not know me in this shape; yet\nI am thy little Colubra! Come with me and I will show thee all.\u201d And\nshe drew him away, through the undulating crowd of people, who were\nall speaking Latin and Greek, so that he could understand their every\nword. He seemed to recognise them too, and would fain have accosted\nmany a one by name, for they appeared to him to be courtiers of the\nEmperor, whom he had been wont to see every day. But his little guide\nclung to his hand with slender, caressing fingers and led him on. He\nheard around him the names of Greek sculptors or philosophers and Roman\nstatesmen; and though these names might once have been indifferent\nto him, they now made his heart leap and brought the moisture to his\neyes, only because it was so sweet to hear the familiar sounds once\nmore. Several persons approached him with an expression of delighted\nsurprise, but Colubra motioned them all aside with an impatient stamp\nof her little foot, and if they did not heed, her delicate eyebrows\nwould contract and her dark eyes flash--those eyes which were the only\nreminder of her serpent nature. Once, however, it is true that she\nthrust the tip of her rosy tongue between her lips--a little tongue as\nsharp as though it could prick.\n\nThere were very few children to be seen in the magic garden, and those\nfew, the poet noticed, crept sadly about, holding one another by the\nhand, and gazing with wide-open eyes at this gay, merry world, which\nseemed quite strange to them. No one spoke to them or took any notice\nof them, for here each seemed to think of nothing but his own pleasure.\nOvid would have given them a kind word, but Colubra drew him past them\nalso, and led him to an arbour hidden among the thick bushes, hard by\na bubbling spring. There she fed him with the most luscious fruits, and\nmaking a cup out of a broad leaf, she fetched a draught of water for\nhim. Then, swinging herself up on one bough and clasping her white arms\nround another, she began in triumphant tones: \u201cNow, what dost think of\nthy little friend?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think thou art lulling me with a fa\u00ebry dream.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, nay, thou art not dreaming! Thou art on the Serpent-Isle, whither\nall men are banished who have lied during their lifetime. Once in every\nthousand years the island grows green, and we can take our own shapes\nagain, and wander in this magic garden. But no living man may look upon\nus save a poet, and he must be a sorrow-stricken creature; nor must he\nspeak with any one, for should he utter the smallest lie he would be\nchanged into a serpent for a thousand years. And it will no longer be\nfair here to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I can surely speak without lying?\u201d\n\n\u201cYea, with thy little Colubra, or on the mainland yonder, in Tomi,\nwhere thou dost need to ask for naught but bread, water, and wood, and\nwhere it avails thee nothing to be gracious or witty, since none would\nunderstand thee; but amid this company thou wouldst be tempted to speak\nas they do, and then I would not stand warranty for thee!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I see statesmen here, high officials, artists and philosophers,\nmatrons who are held in esteem, and even little children.\u201d\n\nWith a pitying smile she replied, \u201cAll these spoke untruths while they\nlived; and because even in the under-world they and their false tongues\nare dreaded, they have been sent here on to this island, where they\ncan do no harm, or at least only hiss, and strangle one another. It\nis saddest of all for the children, because they are such strangers\nhere, and belong to no one, neither are they remembered by any earthly\nfriends. Even this festive day is sad for them, since it makes them\nfeel lonelier than ever. This evening the old boatman, Charon, will\nsail to the shore of the island, and those who have spoken nothing but\nthe truth during the last thousand years he will suffer to enter his\nboat, and to journey with him to the under-world. But thou must not\nawait that moment, for then everything will be changed. I, truly, am\nprivileged, for I may stay with thee, and thou art safe on the island,\nbecause thou art doing penance enough in thy lifetime.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut thou--what hast thou done?\u201d asked the poet.\n\n\u201cI?\u201d The maiden blushed, and springing from the bough, answered\ncarelessly, \u201cI suppose I lied like the rest.\u201d And she drew him hastily\naway to join a group of dancing maidens. Yet, with a look round at him,\nshe laid her finger on her lip.\n\nIt was high time, for an ancient dame approached Ovid with a friendly\ngrimace and began--\u201cWhy, see! our great poet! Is he too, like us,\nbanished from the earth and the under-world alike? Poor Ovid, art thou\nthyself metamorphosed? What a trick they have played us clever people,\nhave they not? Were we to blame for being wiser than the rest? And thy\nsweet companion! I have known and loved her this long, long while.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou liest!\u201d cried Colubra, beside herself.\n\nIn the twinkling of an eye the old dame was changed into a huge snake,\nwhich darted hissing upon the young girl, coiled round her, and would\nsurely have throttled her, had not Ovid used all his strength to\nwrestle with the noxious creature, and tearing it off, cast it far away\nfrom them. The maiden kissed his hands in a passion of gratitude,\nand the dancers crowned him with roses and myrtle. Presently a little\nboy ran up to him and cried in pleading tones--\n\n\u201cTake me away with thee; oh! take me away, and I will be as truthful\nas the sunbeams and as transparent as the clearest brook. Only take me\nwith thee. I have seen that thou art a hero, and I--I was once a hero\ntoo; I was so strong that all my playmates feared to feel my fists!\u201d\nWhile he yet spoke a little sharp, forked tongue shot out between his\nrosy lips, and before the poet\u2019s very eyes he was changed into a tiny\nslow-worm, that wound itself about his feet.\n\n[Illustration: Presently a little boy ran up to him and cried in\npleading tones, \u201cTake me away with thee.\u201d]\n\n\u201cAnd canst thou not speak truth for one hour, thou miserable little\nworm?\u201d cried Colubra angrily. Yet Ovid looked compassionately upon the\ntiny snake, and did not move for a long time, for fear of hurting it.\n\nBut his friend was in haste to draw him from the spot: \u201cDost thou not\nsee the sun is setting? Methinks I already hear the keel of Charon\u2019s\nboat rushing through the smooth water. Thou must away from here. The\nreality here is ugly, terribly ugly. Thou shalt only keep the memory of\nthe beautiful dream.\u201d\n\nStill Ovid lingered. He plucked blossoms and threw them to the laughing\ngirls; he stood gazing out over the sea, that was now bathed in a flood\nof purple and golden light. But presently, like the very night itself,\na ship with dusky sails moved silently towards the shore, spreading\ndarkness around it as it came. The ship was large, but only one boatman\nstood therein, an old man with snowy beard and sunken eyes. His bony\nhands held a huge pole, with which he steered the ship, till he brought\nits keel grating upon the shore. Now he raised his pole aloft, so that\nthe trickling water-drops shone like pure gold in the last rays of\nsunshine.\n\n\u201cCome,\u201d whispered Colubra, growing pale. But Ovid stood as though\nspell-bound. Charon raised his pole again and smote it against the\ntrees with a sound like thunder. Then, behold, all the forms that moved\nupon the island pressed toward the ship and held out imploring hands.\nBut Charon asked in deep, dread tones: \u201cWho hath spoken the truth these\nthousand years?\u201d\n\n\u201cI!--I!\u201d came the answer from every side: but all who spoke the word\nwere instantly changed into serpents.\n\n\u201cI,\u201d cried a wondrously beautiful woman, forcing her way through the\nmass of writhing reptiles, her white veil shining as it floated in\nthe twilight air--\u201cI have kept silence for a thousand years, that I\nmight rejoin my seven children in the Elysian fields. I will go to my\nchildren!\u201d And with this cry she sped over the sand into the ship.\n\n\u201cI,\u201d said Colubra quite low.\n\n\u201cThou?\u201d asked Ovid sadly. \u201cThen must I lose thee?\u201d\n\nColubra looked at the poet and then at the ship.\n\n\u201cIf I could but remain a maiden, I would love thee only, and belong to\nno other.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Colubra, thou liest! Keep silence!\u201d\n\nBut he had scarcely spoken the words ere she was changed into the same\nlittle snake as of old.\n\nNow the keel grated on the sand once again and Charon pushed off from\nthe shore. And lo! the trees came crashing down, the flowers turned to\ndust, and the grass withered; while far, far away Charon\u2019s white beard\nand the woman\u2019s waving white veil shone out in the moonlight. But upon\nthe sandy shore and among the stunted, thorny bushes only the smooth,\ngleaming serpent-forms crawled and writhed. Then horror fell upon Ovid,\nand he hastened towards his own boat. With the cry of \u201cSerpents!\u201d\nhe awakened the sleeping men, who rubbed their eyes, muttering\ndiscontentedly, \u201cFor this we came hither, then--to see serpents!\u201d\n\u201cAway now, away!\u201d cried Ovid, who, for the horror that was upon him,\nhad well-nigh forgotten his little friend. But as they were pushing\noff he remembered her, and called aloud: \u201cColubra! my faithful little\nColubra!\u201d Then a faint, very faint sound of laughter smote his ear,\nand something wound itself caressingly about his neck, and two eyes\ngazed steadily up into his in the clear moonlight. The sailors thought\ntheir master had taken leave of his wits, for he spoke no more, save\nto murmur from time to time, \u201cA thousand years!--and for me!\u201d while he\nstroked something which shone round his throat, and which they took to\nbe a jewel.\n\nBut, laughing softly once more, Colubra hissed into his ear, \u201cBe not\nover vain, my soft-hearted poet. Not for thee alone did I give way to\nlying. For I found my lost lover again, yonder among the serpents, and\na serpent he must remain. Yea--and I will remain even as my beloved is,\nuntil we can belong to one another.\u201d\n\nSince that day the Serpent-Isle has been green and lovely once again,\nand only once, but no one was there to see it. Ah, if one could but be\na poet, and alive in the year 2000!\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nV\u00ceRFUL CU DOR\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThere was once on a time a _hora_[2] at Sinaia, the like of which had\nnever been seen before; for it was upon a great holiday, and the monks\nin the neighbouring cloister had distributed food to every one, heaping\nbowls of it, so that all the villagers had eaten their fill. The folk\nhad gathered from far and near, from Isvor and Poeana Zapului, from\nComarnic and Predeal, and from the other side of the mountains. The sun\nshone down so warm into the valley that the maidens took the kerchiefs\nfrom their heads, and the lads pushed their flower-bedecked hats from\ntheir brows, so hot had the dancing made them. The mothers stood round\nabout upon the green, suckling their children; their shimmering veils\nshowed afar off, as white and soft as spring blossoms.\n\nWhat a stamping and shouting there were amid the merry dancers! The\nmaidens seemed to hover in the air, as though their dainty feet,\npeeping out from the narrow petticoat, never touched the ground. Their\nshifts were gaily and richly embroidered, and glittered with gold, like\nthe coins that hung on their necklets. The dance moved on, in circles\nboth great and small; ceaselessly it moved, to the ceaseless music of\nthe lute-players, like the pulsation of a vein, or an undulating wave.\nA little to one side, a handsome shepherd stood leaning upon his staff\nand watched the _hora_ with his dark eyes, dark as blackberries. His\nform was slender, like a young pine-tree; his hair fell in black locks\nupon his shoulders from under his cap of white lambskin. His shirt\nwas grey, fastened about the hips with a broad leather girdle, and he\nwore sandals upon his feet. Only for a moment had his eyes glanced\nuncertainly around; now they had discovered what they sought, and their\nsparkling gaze was fixed upon a maiden, who did not seem to notice him\nat all. The maiden was fair--fair as the most beautiful flower; nay,\nlovelier far than the gentian or the Alpine rose, more delicate than\nthe edelweiss. In each of her eyes shone two points of light, one in\nthe black pupil and the other in the brown circle surrounding it. Her\nteeth flashed white every time the coral lips parted; her hair was as\nblack as the abyss from whose depths a gleam of water shoots up, and\nthe wreath of flowers upon her head did not fade; it was as though\nshe gave it freshness and life. Such a slender body she had, one might\nhave thought a man could break it with a turn of his hand; and yet\nthe people told tales of her wondrous strength. Yes, Irina was fair,\nvery fair, and Jonel, the young shepherd, gazed upon her ceaselessly.\nAt last he too drew near the circle and grasped her hand. The maidens\nlooked at one another and laughed, and Irina grew crimson. Now of a\nsudden the lute-players stopped upon a shrill, high note, the lads each\nturned their partners round under their arms and once about, and then\nJonel drew Irina\u2019s hand downwards with a firm grasp. There was deep\nsignificance in this, but Irina only shrugged her shoulders and laughed.\n\n[Illustration: A little to one side, a handsome shepherd stood leaning\nupon his staff.]\n\n\u201cIrina,\u201d he whispered, \u201cdost thou see the golden leaves on yonder\nbeech? It is time--I must go down with my sheep into the valley, down\ninto the Baragan, perhaps as far as the Dobrudgea, and I shall see thee\nno more till spring-time. Give me a good word, that my heart may have\nno cause to tremble when I think of thee looking upon the other lads!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat wouldst have me say? Thou dost not love me truly, and I shall\nsoon be forgotten.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will die ere I forget thee, Irina.\u201d\n\n\u201cThese be but words--these I do not believe.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat must I do, then, that thou mayst believe me?\u201d\n\nIrina\u2019s eyes sparkled as she gave him a sidelong glance and answered,\n\u201cThat which thou canst never do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can do anything,\u201d said Jonel slowly, as though he scarcely knew that\nhe spoke.\n\n\u201cNay, thou canst not bide without thy sheep; thou wouldst sooner do\nwithout me than them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWithout my sheep,\u201d repeated Jonel, and sighed.\n\n\u201cDost see,\u201d laughed Irina, \u201cthe only thing which I require of thee,\nthat thou shouldst stay on yonder mountain-top without thy sheep, that\nthou canst not do! Words, nought but words!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what if I do it?\u201d said Jonel. He grew pale and clenched his teeth\nas he spoke.\n\nThe youths and maidens had gathered about the pair and were listening.\n\u201cDo it not!\u201d \u201cDo it!\u201d cried one and another.\n\nThen an old shepherd with silver locks and overhanging brows laid his\nhand on Jonel\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cLet the maidens be,\u201d he said roughly; \u201cthey will but break thy heart\nand then laugh thee to scorn. Dost thou not know that the shepherd who\nforsakes his sheep must die?\u201d He shook his clenched fist at Irina: \u201cAnd\nthou dost think, because thou art fair, that thou canst dare all, and\nthat nothing shall quell thy mischievous spirit? But the evil thou dost\nwork, to thine own self dost thou work it!\u201d\n\nIrina did but laugh again. \u201cHe need not go,\u201d said she, \u201cnor do I need\nhim either.\u201d And turning, she ran off to drink from the spring that\nrises beside the cloister.\n\nJonel would listen to no one, but with pale cheeks and set mouth took\nhis way toward the mountain. He passed Irina by, and only made a\ngesture of farewell to her with his hand.\n\n\u201cDo it not!\u201d she called after him, and laughed with the other maidens.\nAnd the Pelesch stream, as it rushed by, re-echoed the words, \u201cDo it\nnot! do it not!\u201d But Jonel did not hear it, and went on climbing higher\nand higher in the noontide sun, over the smooth uplands, beneath the\ngiant pines--whose trunks six men can scarcely span--and through the\nshady beech-woods, up to the shepherd\u2019s hut round which his flock was\nlying, and whence his dogs ran forth to meet him, barking for joy. He\npassed his hand caressingly over their rough coats, and then called his\n\u201cMioritza,\u201d or the ewe that led his flock. \u201cBrr, brr, Oitza,\u201d[3] he\ncalled; \u201cbrr, come hither.\u201d She came trotting up with her little lamb,\nand suffered him to thrust the carnation that he had stolen from Irina\ninto her fleece. Then he begged the other shepherds to take his flock\nwith them, saying that he would follow later, but must first accomplish\na vow that he had taken. They all looked at him in wonder. \u201cAnd if I\nreturn no more,\u201d he ended, \u201cye shall say that Yearning hath bidden me\nto the marriage-feast.\u201d\n\nHe took his Alp-horn in his hand, and climbed on and on to the very\nsummit of the mountain, whence he could look away across the Danube\nto the Balkans. There he stood still, and putting his horn to his\nlips, sent forth a wailing note whose echoes spread far around. But at\nthe call his faithful dog rushed in pursuit, and was soon springing\nround him, whining for joy; then, seizing his master\u2019s shirt between\nhis teeth, he tried to drag him away toward the valley, so that Jonel\nscarce knew how to resist, and was obliged at last, with tears in\nhis eyes, to speak roughly to the poor beast and drive him away with\nstones. And now he had turned away his last friend, and was alone in\nthose desolate mountain wilds. Two eagles circled in the air beneath\nhim; save for this, all was motionless and silent.\n\nHe stretched himself upon the turf and sighed so deeply that his breast\nseemed nigh to bursting. At last he fell asleep, from sheer heart-ache\nand longing. When he awoke the clouds were rolling above his head and\ngathering nearer and nearer; first they moved rapidly, then a sudden\ncalm seemed to fall upon them, and finally they closed about him in a\nmist so dense that he could not see one step before his face. All at\nonce they appeared to take distinct form, and to be gliding round him\nin the likeness of wondrously beautiful women, clad in shimmering,\nsnow-white garments, and holding one another by the hand. He rubbed his\neyes, for he thought he still dreamed; but presently he heard that they\nwere singing, a song so soft and low that it sounded as from afar off;\nand now they stretched lily-white arms towards him, while from every\nside came the cry, \u201cThou goodly youth, be mine, be mine! Come with me!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: From every side came the cry, \u201cThou goodly youth, be\nmine! Come with me!\u201d]\n\nBut he shook his head.\n\n\u201cDo not despise us,\u201d cried one; \u201cwe will give thee such happiness as\nshall make thee forget the valley for ever!\u201d She parted the mist with\nher hand, and there appeared before him a mountain meadow, carpeted\nwith flowers as he had never seen one before, and upon the meadow stood\na shepherd\u2019s hut built of rose-leaves, and beside it was a spring,\nwhose pearly drops gushed out over the fresh green moss.\n\n\u201cCome, we will dwell there together!\u201d called the fair one in silvery\ntones. \u201cNay, come to me!\u201d cried another, and before his very eyes\nshe built out of the mist a house that shone like a rainbow when the\nsunbeams fell upon it. Inside it was as downy as though floor and walls\nalike were of the softest wool; from the roof fell rainbow drops, and\nno sooner did they touch the earth than grass and flowers sprang up\nthere. \u201cWe will dwell here,\u201d cried the lovely maiden. \u201cSee, I will\nadorn thee, even as I am adorned;\u201d and she cast wreaths and chains of\nthe glittering drops about his head and his neck. But he shook them off\nagain. \u201cOne only may deck me,\u201d he said, with a darkening brow; \u201conly my\nbride.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I will be thy bride!\u201d exclaimed a third maiden. \u201cSee, here is my\ndower!\u201d And rolling the mist into balls, she made sheep of it, ever\nmore and more sheep, till the whole mountain--nay, all the mountains\nand the sky itself were full of them. They were dazzling white, with\nsilver and gold bells about their necks, and everywhere fresh green\nsprang up beneath their feet. For a moment the face of the lonely\nshepherd cleared, but anon he waved the tempting picture aside. \u201cI have\nbut one flock,\u201d he said, \u201cmy own, and I desire no other.\u201d\n\nThen the mist grew thicker and darker again; he was soon surrounded by\nblack clouds once more, and from their midst the lightning flashed and\nthe thunder rolled dreadful and near. And in the thunder a voice spoke:\n\u201cRash son of Earth, thou that hast dared despise us, to destruction\nart thou doomed!\u201d Then a fresh peal of thunder seemed to rend the very\nmountain, and as it rolled on toward the valley, snowflakes began\nto fall around Jonel, first lightly, then thicker and thicker, till\nall the mountain-top was covered, and his cloak, his hair and his\neyebrows were frosted over. And, \u2019mid the soft patter of the descending\nsnow, the sweet voices rang out again in rich harmony, the sound of\nshepherds\u2019 pipes and Alpine horns mingled with their song, and a palace\nbuilt by unseen hands rose before him--a palace of snow so dazzling\nin its radiance that now and again he had to shield his eyes from it.\nAnd lo! when he looked up, the moon and the stars had assembled in the\npalace, and illuminated it so that the walls shone quite transparent.\nThe moon sat enthroned on high upon a downy couch and watched the\nstars, that were holding one another by the hand and dancing a _hora_.\nThe blacker the heavens became, the more stars flocked into the palace,\nand whenever the moon beckoned, another little star left the sky and\nhurried in. There were quite tiny stars, like children, that rolled\nabout with one another, and laughed and played at the feet of the\nmoon. Others marched in majestically, wearing a long train--a train\nas long as the whole Bucegi, that swept over all the mountain-tops\nand was borne by a host of little stars, all in shining dresses and\ndecked with wreaths and crowns of wondrous brightness. The gates of the\npalace opened wider of their own accord as these mighty stars appeared.\nAnd one of these commanded the moon to come down from her seat and do\nobeisance. Then that star beckoned to Jonel and said, \u201cCome, child of\nman, be thou my consort; with me thou shalt range over the universe,\nmy little stars shall be thy servants, and thou thyself shalt bathe, a\nshining star, in a flood of radiance!\u201d\n\nJonel, without knowing it, had drawn close to the gateway, and was\nlistening to these entrancing tones, while the other stars all sang\ntogether in soft accompaniment. Then the moon raised her head and\nlooked at him, and she was so like Irina that Jonel clutched at his\nheart and cried out, \u201cNay, were the whole world at my feet, I would but\noffer it to Irina!\u201d\n\nThen there arose a rustling, roaring sound, that ended in a fearful\ncrash--the stars swept by towards heaven, in an endless, mighty\ntrain--the palace fell, burying Jonel in its ruins--and the moon gazed\ndown pale and sad upon the desolate snow-drifts.\n\nBut the dwarfs, who had heard the fearful crash overhead, now climbed\npainfully forth from the recesses of the mountain to see whether their\nroof were in danger. And so they discovered the vast heap of precious\nstones of which the palace had been built, and began in great glee to\ncollect this costly treasure, and to drag it down into the fastnesses\nof the mountain, where they heaped it up in their mighty vaults. Thus\nthey came upon poor Jonel, and since there was still some life left in\nhim, and he was so fair to look upon--far more so, certainly, than any\nof themselves--they dragged him down too, with much trouble, and laid\nhim upon a couch of their softest moss. They drew water from both hot\nand cold springs, washed and bathed him, and then carried him to the\ngreat underground lake that feeds all earthly springs. After they had\nplunged him once into those waters he awoke healed of all pain, and\nlooked about him in astonishment.\n\n\u201cWhere am I?\u201d he exclaimed at last. And well might he be amazed. For\nabove him vaults of shimmering rock rose to giddy heights and were lost\nin darkness; and at his feet a lake stretched forth, so far, so far,\nthat it seemed as though it must fill up the whole earth within, and\nit too was lost in dark distance. All around thousands of gnomes were\nstanding, running, or climbing; they wore long beards, and carried\nlights, some in their girdles, some upon their heads. Countless hosts\nof them were busy carrying jewels to the lake, washing them in its\nwater--whereby their radiance was greatly enhanced--and storing and\narranging them in chambers or upon heaps. Many of the gnomes came in\nupon rafts, bringing treasure of hitherto unknown stones with them;\nothers loaded up rafts for a far voyage and pushed off from shore.\n\nThere was such a stir and din of lights and voices in the great vault\nthat Jonel was fairly bewildered. Yet all seemed to understand their\nbusiness quite clearly, save those who surrounded him, and they did\nnot appear to know what they should do with him. But a sudden longing\nseized him to journey away into the unknown, dark distance, and he\nhurried towards a raft that was just about to put off. Then there arose\nfrom the waves a beautiful woman; she was as like to Irina as though\nshe had been her sister, and she stretched out her arms towards Jonel.\nWith a great cry of \u201cIrina!\u201d he would have flung himself down to her,\nbut that twenty strong arms held him back, and twenty others as strong\nbegan to rain blows upon him. He made resistance, for the beautiful\nwoman still beckoned to him from the water; but his captors would not\nlet go their hold, and even began to stone him in their anger.\n\nThen on a sudden there appeared before him a dwarf who wore a crown\nupon his head, and who, commanding the others to desist, said, \u201cThou\nart mistaken, Jonel; thy bride is not here; she waits for thee in the\nvalley. This is my appointed bride, and for her I have tarried many a\nlong year.\u201d At this an angry look, that yet only enhanced her charm,\ncrossed the fair woman\u2019s face, and with a threatening gesture she dived\nbeneath the waves.\n\nThe little king sighed, and Jonel sighed, and all the dwarfs, being\ngood, faithful subjects, sighed too; yet they still held their stones\nin readiness, lest perchance Jonel should be condemned to die. But\nthe king gazed pityingly at the goodly shepherd-lad, and bade his\npeople wash him once more in the waters of the healing spring, since\nhe was bleeding from many wounds. With youth and beauty thus renewed,\nhe was escorted, by the king\u2019s orders, to the mountain-top where they\nhad found him, and as the little monarch bade him farewell he added,\n\u201cThou art surely to blame, Jonel; thou hast forgotten thy duty for\nthe sake of a fair woman. Thy faithfulness to her is beautiful and\ngreat, but thine unfaithfulness to thy duty is greater; and though I\nmay understand the feeling that overmastered thee, I cannot avert the\npunishment that awaits thee.\u201d\n\nWith a heavy heart did Jonel take his stand once more upon the lonely\npeak, around which the storm was still raging.\n\nIts violence increased with every moment, as though it would fain have\ncast down the solitary mortal from the height whereon he stood, to dash\nhim into a thousand pieces. Jonel took firm hold of a projection in the\nrock, and glanced wildly about him, expecting to see new enemies, new\ndangers and temptations, rise up on every side. He felt as though the\nstorm were crushing him to the earth, as though it were tearing and\ndragging at his heart, as though he were dying of his agony and grief.\nHe clung yet more closely to the rock, that seemed to reel beneath the\npressure.\n\nAnd amid the raging and the din round about him he caught sounds, now\nas of many voices, and again as of one voice alone, calling, enticing,\nthreatening; then there was a blare of trumpets, that seemed to cleave\nhis very brain; and suddenly his love for Irina changed into bitter,\nburning hate, since it was she who with laughing lips had sent him to\nhis death. Yea, he would wait out his time here, unshaken to the end;\nbut in spring he would go down and take leave of her with scorn, for\never! No woman should possess his heart; that should be for his flock\nalone, the flock he had shamefully forsaken.\n\nThen there rang forth from the rock a deep and mighty voice: \u201cNay, lad!\nthou art mine, in my power, irrevocably and for ever!\u201d and in a moment\nthe rock changed into a giant woman\u2019s form, that embraced Jonel with\nstony arms and kissed him with lips of stone. In horror he strove\nto free himself from her, and could not. \u201cWho art thou?\u201d he cried.\n\u201cHave all the powers of hell conspired together against me? Who art\nthou--unless thou be Velva?\u201d\n\nBut the woman had turned to rock again, and through the storm these\nwords echoed: \u201cI am the Spirit of Yearning, and thou art mine--mine the\nlast lips thou shalt ever kiss.\u201d\n\nThen a great silence fell upon the place, and the sun broke forth from\nbehind the clouds. It shone upon a pale man, who stood leaning upon his\nAlpine horn and gazing into the valley, and far away to the Danube. He\nneither sighed nor moved, and the beating of his heart did not stir his\narms, which were folded upon his breast.\n\nSave for the languid motion of his eyelids no one could have told that\nhe still lived. Anon the surrounding world began to awake to life. Ice\nand snow melted and ran down in streams to the valley, while young\ngreen crept forth upon the spots the snow had covered. But Jonel never\nmoved. The forest shook off its withered leaves and the new buds began\nto swell. But Jonel never seemed to heed them. Up the mountain slopes\ncame the voices of twittering birds, and the sound of the woodland\nstreams rushing on under the warm rain. But Jonel did not hear. It\nseemed as though all things living had drawn near to awaken him, yet in\nvain; he only gazed forth toward the Danube, as though he were turned\nto stone. Then all at once his face awoke to life, his eyes shone, a\nfaint colour came upon his cheek, and with open arms and outstretched\nneck, he stood listening as the sound of barking dogs and tinkling\nbells drew nearer. Now he could plainly see the white fleeces of his\nflock, and he put his horn to his lips to sound a welcome. But even as\nhe did so he clutched at his heart, and wailing forth the words \u201cI\ndie!\u201d he sank upon the earth.\n\nIn vain did his dogs lick him lovingly on hands and face, in vain did\nhis _mioritza_ stand bleating beside him and his fellow-shepherds\ncall him by name; he lay still, with a happy smile upon his wan face,\nand gave answer to none. The Alpine horn, whose voice his breath had\nso lately stirred, lay broken beside him, and nought around him bore\nwitness to the battles the young warrior had fought. They buried him\nwhere he lay, and named the mountain _V\u00eerful cu Dor_--\u201cthe Peak of\nYearning.\u201d Often have I been up there and seen his grave, and the sheep\nlove to browse upon it still.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nFURNICA\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThere was once a beautiful maiden, Viorica by name; she had hair like\ngold, and eyes like the blue sky, and cheeks like carnations, and lips\nlike cherries, and her body was as lithe as the rushes that sway by the\nriverside. All men rejoiced when they beheld this fair maiden, yet not\nso much on account of her beauty as because of her wondrous diligence.\nWhen she went to the spring with her pitcher on her head she carried\nher distaff in her girdle and spun the while. She could weave too,\nand embroider like a fairy. Her shifts were the finest in the whole\nvillage, wrought with black and red stitches, and with wide seams of\nbroidery on the shoulders. She had adorned her petticoat, and even her\nSunday hose, with flowers wrought in the same way. In short, it seemed\nas though the little hands could never rest; in field and meadow she\ndid as much work as in the house; and all the lads turned their eyes\nupon the fair Viorica, who should one day be such a notable housewife.\nBut she never turned her eyes toward them; she would hear no talk of\nmarriage; there was plenty of time for that, she said, and she had to\ncare for her old mother. Thereupon the mother would bend her brows, and\nsay that, for her part, she thought a stalwart son-in-law would be but\na prop the more. But this troubled the little daughter, who would ask\nwhether she were of no more use at all, that the mother should be so\nset upon having a man into the house.\n\n\u201cThe men do but make a deal more work for us,\u201d said she; \u201cfor we must\nspin and stitch and weave for them as well as ourselves, and then we\nnever find time to get the field-labor done.\u201d\n\nThen the mother would sigh, and think of her dead son, for whom she had\nmade so many fine linen shirts, and washed them so dazzlingly white\nthat all the village maidens gazed their eyes out, looking after him.\nIt had never been too much trouble for her--but then, what will not a\nmother do, indeed, and never be weary!\n\nThe hour came when Viorica had to own that her mother had been right\nto wish for a son-in-law, even as though something had warned her that\nshe was not much longer for this world. She began to fail, and all her\ndaughter\u2019s love was powerless to hold her upon earth. The fair maiden\nhad to close the beloved eyes; and now she was all alone in the little\nhouse. For the first time, her hands lay idle in her lap. For whom,\nindeed, should she work now? There was no one left to her.\n\nOne day, as she sat upon her threshold and gazed sadly forth, she saw\nsomething long and black moving across the ground towards her; and,\nbehold! it was an endless procession of ants. No one could have told\nwhence the creeping host had travelled, it reached so far into the\ndistance. But now it halted, forming into a mighty circle round about\nViorica, and one or two of the ants stepped forth and spoke thus:\n\n\u201cWell do we know thee, Viorica, and oft have we admired thy industry,\nwhich we may liken to our own; and that is a thing we seldom notice\namong mortal men. We know, too, that thou art now alone in the world,\nand so we pray thee to go hence with us and be our Queen. We will build\nthee a palace, finer and larger than the largest house thou hast ever\nseen. Only one thing thou must promise--that thou wilt never return to\ndwell among men, but stay with us faithfully all thy life long.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will stay with you gladly,\u201d replied Viorica, \u201cfor I have nothing\nmore to hold me here except my mother\u2019s grave; but that I must still\nvisit, and bring flowers, wine, and cake to it, and pray there for her\nsoul.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou shalt visit thy mother\u2019s grave; only thou must speak with no man\non the way, else wilt thou be unfaithful to us, and our revenge shall\nbe terrible.\u201d\n\nSo Viorica went forth with the ants, a far, far way, until they reached\nthe spot that seemed most fitting for the building of her palace. Then\nViorica saw how far the ants surpassed her in skill. How could she have\nraised up such a building in so short a time? There were galleries,\none above another, leading into spacious halls, and farther yet, into\nthe innermost recesses where the pup\u00e6, or infant ants, dwelt, that\nwere carried out whenever the sun shone, and brought quickly under\nshelter again as often as there was a threatening of rain. The chambers\nwere daintily decked with the petals of flowers, fastened on to the\nwalls with pine needles; and Viorica learnt to spin cobwebs, out of\nwhich canopies and coverlets were fashioned. Higher and higher grew\nthe building, but the apartment that was prepared for Viorica was more\nbeautiful than any vision of her dreams. Many galleries led to it,\nso that she could hold communication with all her subjects with the\ngreatest rapidity. The floors of these galleries were laid over with\npoppy-leaves, so that the feet of the Queen should rest on nothing but\npurple. The doors were of rose-leaves, and the hinges were spiders\u2019\nthreads, so that they could open and shut noiselessly. The floor of the\nroom was covered with a thick velvety carpet of edelweiss, into which\nViorica\u2019s rosy feet sank softly down; for she needed to wear no shoes\nhere, they would have been far too clumsy, and would have trodden the\nflower-carpets to pieces. The walls were hung with a tapestry cunningly\nwoven of carnations, lilies of the valley, and forget-me-nots, and\nthese flowers were constantly renewed, so that their freshness and\nperfume were always entrancing. The ceiling had a tent-like covering of\nlily-leaves stretched across it. The bed had taken the diligent little\nants many weeks to prepare; it was all made of pollen, the softest they\ncould find, and a cobweb of Viorica\u2019s spinning was spread over it. When\nshe lay there asleep she was so lovely that the stars would have fallen\nfrom heaven, could they have seen her. But the ants had built her room\nin the most secret recesses of the palace, and guarded their beloved\nQueen jealously and well; even they themselves scarcely dared to look\nupon her in her sleep.\n\nLife in the ant-hill could scarce have been made happier or fairer than\nit was. One and all, they took a pride in doing the most they could,\nand trying to surpass each other in pleasing their industrious Queen.\nThey were as quick as lightning in carrying out her every command;\nfor she never gave too many orders at once, and never unreasonable\nones; but her gentle voice sounded ever as though it were but giving\nsome friendly advice or opinion, and her eyes expressed her thanks in\na sunny glance. The ants often declared that they had the sunshine\ndwelling within their house, and exulted over their good fortune. They\nhad made a special terrace for Viorica, where she could enjoy air and\nsunlight when her room grew too confined; and from thence she could\nobserve the progress of the building, which was already as high as many\na mountain. One day she sat in her room embroidering a dress, upon\nwhich she had sewn butterflies\u2019 wings with the threads from a silkworm\nthat the ants had brought in for her. None but her dainty fingers could\nhave accomplished such a task. All on a sudden there was a tumult\nround about her mountain; the sound of voices rang forth, and in a\nmoment all her little kingdom was thrown into alarm, and her subjects\ncame breathlessly crowding about their Queen and crying, \u201cThey are\noverthrowing our house; evil men are trampling it down. Two, nay, three\ngalleries have fallen in, and the next is threatened. What shall we do?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d asked Viorica calmly. \u201cI will bid them stay their\ncourse, and in a few days the galleries will be built up again.\u201d She\nhurried through the labyrinth of galleries, and appeared suddenly upon\nher terrace. Looking down, she beheld a splendid youth, who had just\ndismounted from his horse, and was engaged with some of his followers\nin turning up the ant-hill with sword and lance. But when she appeared\nthey all stopped short, and the noble youth stood shielding his dazzled\neyes with his hand as he gazed upon the radiant figure in its shining\ndraperies. Viorica\u2019s golden hair fell in waves to her very feet, a\ndelicate colour flooded her cheeks, and her eyes shone like stars. She\ndropped them, indeed, a moment before the young man\u2019s glance; but soon\nshe raised them again, and from her rosy mouth her voice came ringing\nforth--\n\n\u201cWho are ye that have laid such rude hands upon my kingdom?\u201d\n\n\u201cForgive, fairest lady!\u201d cried the youth, \u201cand as surely as I am\na knight and a king\u2019s son, I will henceforth be thy most zealous\ndefender! How could I guess that a fairy--nay, a goddess--reigned over\nthis kingdom?\u201d\n\n\u201cI thank thee,\u201d answered Viorica. \u201cI need no other service save that\nof my faithful subjects; and all I ask is, that no foot of mortal man\nshall intrude upon my kingdom.\u201d\n\nWith these words she disappeared as though the mountain had swallowed\nher up, and those outside could not see how hosts of ants were kissing\nher feet and escorting her back in triumph to her chamber, where she\ntook up her work once more as calmly as though nothing had happened.\nAnd outside, there, before the mountain, the king\u2019s son stood as though\nin a dream, and for hours could not be prevailed upon to remount his\nhorse. He still kept hoping that the beautiful Queen would appear\nagain--even though it were with angry word and glance, he would at\nleast see her once more! But he only saw ants and yet more ants, in an\nendless stream, busying themselves with all diligence in repairing the\nmischief that his youthful thoughtlessness had occasioned. He could\nhave crushed them under foot in his anger and impatience, for they\nseemed not to understand, or perhaps not even to hear, his questions,\nand ran quite boldly in front of him, in their new-found sense of\nsecurity. At last he dejectedly mounted his steed, and so, plotting and\nplanning how he might win the loveliest maid his eyes had ever beheld,\nhe rode on through the forest till nightfall, to the great discontent\nof his followers, who consigned both ant-hill and maiden to the devil,\nas they thought of the supper-table and the bumpers of wine that had\nlong been awaiting them.\n\nViorica had gone to rest later than any of her subjects. It was her\nwont to visit the nurseries herself, to see to the infants and feel\nif their little beds were soft enough; so she glided about, lifting\none flower-curtain after another, with a fire-fly clinging to her\nfinger-tips, and looked tenderly after the little brood. Now she went\nback into her room, and dismissed all the fire-flies, who had been\nlighting her about her work for many hours. She only kept one little\nglow-worm beside her while she undressed. She was used to fall at once\ninto the deepest and quietest sleep, but to-night she tossed restlessly\nto and fro, twisting her hair about her fingers, sitting up and then\nlying down again, and all the time feeling so hot--oh, so hot! Never\nbefore had she been sensible of a lack of air in her kingdom, but now\nshe would gladly have hurried forth, only that she feared to be heard\nand to corrupt others by her bad example. Had she not already, though\nunder much pressure from the others, been obliged to pass many a harsh\nsentence, to banish some ants from her jurisdiction, because they had\nindulged in forbidden wanderings--nay, even to condemn some to capital\npunishment, and, with a bleeding heart, to see them ruthlessly stung to\ndeath?\n\nThe next morning she was up earlier than any of the rest, and gave them\na surprise by showing them one of the galleries that she had built up\nall alone.\n\nDoubtless she herself did not know that whilst doing so she had cast\nseveral glances towards the forest, and had even stood listening for a\nfew moments.\n\nShe was scarcely back in her chamber again before some of the ants\nhurried to her in terror, crying, \u201cThe bad man who came yesterday has\nreturned, and is riding round our hill!\u201d\n\n\u201cLet him be,\u201d replied Viorica, the Queen, quite calmly; \u201che will do us\nno more harm.\u201d But the heart of Viorica, the lovely maiden, beat so\nfast that she could scarce draw breath.\n\nA wondrous unrest had come over her; she roamed about far more than was\nher wont; she was always thinking that the baby-ants were not enough\nin the sunshine, and carrying them out herself, only to bring them in\nagain as quickly; and she often gave contradictory orders. The ants\ncould not tell what had befallen her, and took twice the pains to do\nall their tasks quickly and well. They surprised her with a splendid\nnew vaulted hall, too; but she gazed at it with an abstracted air and\npraised it but scantily. The sound of horses\u2019 hoofs was now constantly\nheard, both late and early, round about the mountain; but for many\ndays Viorica never showed herself. A desperate yearning for the\ncompanionship of human beings, which she had never yet felt, now seized\nupon her. She thought of her native village, of the Hora, of her little\nhouse, of her mother, and of her mother\u2019s grave, which she had never\nagain visited.\n\nAfter a few days she announced to her subjects that she thought of\nmaking a pilgrimage to her mother\u2019s grave, and at this the ants\ninquired, in alarm, whether she were no longer happy with them, since\nshe had begun to think of her home again.\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d replied Viorica, \u201cI would go for a few hours only, and be back\namong you before nightfall.\u201d\n\nShe refused all escort, but one or two of the ants followed her,\nunobserved, afar off. Everything looked greatly changed to her, and she\nthought she must have been away a long time. She began to reckon how\nlong it could have taken the ants to build the great mountain wherein\nthey dwelt, and said to herself that it must have been years. Her\nmother\u2019s grave was no longer to be found, the spot was so overgrown\nwith grass and weeds, and Viorica wandered about the churchyard\nweeping, since here too she was nought but a stranger. Evening drew\non, and still Viorica was seeking for the grave she could not find.\nThen close beside her she heard the voice of the King\u2019s son. She would\nhave fled, but he held her fast and spoke to her of his mighty love,\nwith such gentle and moving words that she stood still with bowed head,\nlistening to him. It was so sweet to hear a human voice once more,\nand to hear it speak of love and friendship. Not until the night had\ngrown quite dark did she remember that she was no forlorn orphan, but a\nQueen forgetful of her duties, and that the ants had forbidden her to\nhold any further converse with mankind. Then she broke away and fled in\nhaste from the King\u2019s son; but he pursued her, with caressing words,\nto the very foot of her mountain. Here she prayed and implored him to\nleave her, but he would only consent upon her promising to meet him\nagain the following evening.\n\nShe glided noiselessly in, feeling her way along the galleries, and\nlooking fearfully behind her, for she fancied she heard the sound of\nhurriedly tripping feet and whispering voices all around. No doubt it\nwas but the anxious beating of her heart, for as soon as she stood\nstill all was silence. At last she reached her chamber and sank in\nexhaustion upon her couch, but no soothing sleep fell on her eyelids.\nShe felt that she had broken her promise; and who would now hold her\nin respect, since her word was no longer sacred? She tossed uneasily\nto and fro; her pride revolted against any secrecy, and yet she knew\nthe ants only too well--their implacable hate, their cruel punishments.\nMany times she raised herself on her elbow to listen, and always she\nseemed to hear the hurried tripping of thousands of little feet, as\nthough the whole mountain were alive.\n\nWhen she felt that morning drew near, she lifted one of the rose-leaf\ncurtains to hurry out into the open. But what was her amazement when\nshe found the doorway completely stopped up with pine-needles! She\ntried another, then a third, until she had been the round of them\nall. In vain--they were all filled in to the very roof. Then she\ncalled aloud, and lo! the ants appeared in hosts, creeping in through\ncountless tiny, invisible openings.\n\n\u201cI must go forth into the air,\u201d said Viorica in commanding tones.\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d replied the ants, \u201cwe cannot let thee forth, or we shall lose\nthee.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo ye then obey me no more?\u201d\n\n\u201cYea, in all things, save this one. Crush us under foot in punishment\nif thou wilt; we are ready to die for the good of our community, and to\nsave the honour of our Queen.\u201d\n\nViorica bowed her head, and tears gushed from her eyes. She implored\nthe ants to give her back her freedom, but the stern little creatures\nheld their peace, and all at once she found herself alone in those dark\nhalls.\n\nOh, how Viorica wept and wailed and tore her beautiful hair! Then she\nbegan to try and dig an opening with her tender fingers, but all she\nscooped out was filled in again as quickly, so that she was fain at\nlast to throw herself upon the ground in despair. The ants brought her\nthe sweetest flowers, and nectar and dewdrops to quench her thirst, but\nall her prayers for freedom remained unanswered.\n\nIn the fear that her wailing might be heard without, the ants built\ntheir hill higher and higher, till it was as high as the peak V\u00eerful cu\nDor, and they called their mountain Furnica, or \u201cthe ant.\u201d The King\u2019s\nson has long since left off riding round about the mountain, but in\nthe silence of the night one can still hear the sound of Viorica\u2019s\nweeping.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE CARAIMAN\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThe Caraiman towers up, dark and threatening of aspect, with his mighty\npeak of rock, that looks as though a great fragment of it had been\npartly loosened, and were hanging in mid-air. That part of the rock is\nshaped like a set of bagpipes--and this is the tale they tell about it.\n\nLong, long ago, when the sky was nearer to the earth than now, and\nthere was more water than land, there dwelt a mighty sorcerer in the\nCarpathians. He was as tall as the tallest pine-tree, and he carried\nupon his head a whole tree with green twigs and budding branches. His\nbeard, that was many yards long, was of moss, and so were his eyebrows.\nHis clothing was of bark, his voice was like rolling thunder, and\nbeneath his arm he carried a set of bagpipes, as big as a house. He\ncould do anything he liked with his bagpipes. When he played softly,\nyoung green sprang up all round about him, as far as his eye could\nreach; if he blew harder, he could create living things; but when he\nblew fearfully loud, then such a storm arose that the mountains shook\nand the sea shrank back from the rocks, so that more land was left\nuncovered.\n\nOnce he was attacked by some powerful enemies, but instead of having\nto defend himself, he merely put the bagpipes to his lips, and changed\nhis foes into pines and beech-trees. He was never tired of playing, for\nit delighted his ear when the echo sent back the sound of his music to\nhim, but still more was his eye delighted to see all grow into life\naround him. Then would thousands of sheep appear, on every height and\nfrom every valley, and upon the forehead of each grew a little tree,\nwhereby the Caraiman might know which were his; and from the stones\naround, too, dogs sprang forth, and every one of them knew his voice.\nSince he had not noticed much that was good in the inhabitants of other\ncountries, he hesitated a long while before making any human beings.\nYet he came to the conclusion that children were good and loving, and\nhe decided to people his land with children only. So he began to play\nthe sweetest tune he had ever yet composed--and behold! children sprang\nup on every side, and yet more children, in endless crowds. Now you can\nfancy how wonderful the Caraiman\u2019s kingdom looked. Nothing but play\nwas ever carried on there; and the little creatures toddled and rolled\naround in that beautiful world and were very happy. They crept under\nthe ewes and sucked the milk from their udders; they plucked herbs and\nfruit and ate them; they slept on beds of moss and under overhanging\nrocks, and were as happy as the day was long. Their happiness crept\neven into their sleep, for then the Caraiman played them the loveliest\nairs, so that they had always beautiful dreams.\n\nThere was never any angry word spoken in the kingdom of the Caraiman,\nfor these children were all so sweet and joyful that they never\nquarrelled with one another. There was no occasion for envy or jealousy\neither, since each one\u2019s lot was as happy as his neighbour\u2019s. And the\nCaraiman took care that there should be plenty of sheep to feed the\nchildren; and with his music he always provided enough of grass and\nherbs, that the sheep, too, might be well nourished.\n\nNo child ever hurt itself, either; the dogs took care of that, for they\ncarried them about and sought out the softest, mossiest spots for their\nplaygrounds. If a child fell into the water, the dogs fetched it out;\nand if one were tired, a dog would take it upon his back and carry it\ninto the cool shade to rest. In short, the children were as happy as\nthough they had been in Paradise. They never wished for anything more,\nsince they had never seen anything outside their little world.\n\nThere were not yet any \u201csmart\u201d or \u201cugly\u201d clothes then; nor any fine\npalaces with miserable huts beside them, so that no one could look\nenviously at his neighbour\u2019s belongings. Sickness and death were\nunknown, too, in the Caraiman\u2019s country; for the creatures he made came\ninto the world as perfect as a chick from its shell, and there was no\nneed for any to die, since there was so much room for all. All the\nland which he had redeemed from the sea had to be populated, and for\nnothing but sheep and children there was room on it, and to spare, for\nmany a long day.\n\nThe children knew nothing of reading or writing; it was not necessary\nthey should, since everything came to them of itself, and they had\nto take no trouble about anything. Neither did they need any further\nknowledge, since they were exposed to no dangers.\n\nYet, as they grew older, they learnt to dig out little dwellings for\nthemselves in the ground, and to carpet them with moss, and then of a\nsudden they began to say, \u201cThis is mine.\u201d\n\nBut when once a child had begun to say, \u201cThis is mine,\u201d all the others\nwanted to say it too. Some built themselves huts like the first; but\nothers found it much easier to nestle into those that were already\nmade, and then, when the owners cried and complained, the unkind little\nconquerors laughed. Thereupon those who had been cheated of their\nbelongings struck out with their fists, and so the first battle arose.\nSome ran and brought complaints to the Caraiman, who in consequence\nblew a mighty thunder upon his bagpipes, which frightened all the\nchildren terribly.\n\nSo they learnt for the first time to know fear; and afterwards they\nshowed anger against the tale-bearers. In this way even strife and\ndivision entered into the Caraiman\u2019s beautiful, peaceful kingdom.\n\nHe was deeply grieved when he saw how the tiny folk in his kingdom\nbehaved in just the same way as the grown people in other lands, and he\ndebated how he might cure the evil. Should he blow them all away into\nthe sea, and make a new family? But the new ones would soon be as bad\nas these, and then he was really too fond of his little people. Next he\nthought of taking away everything over which they might quarrel; but\nthen all would become dry and barren, for it was but over a handful of\nearth and moss that the strife had arisen, and, in truth, only because\nsome of the children had been industrious and others lazy. Then he\nbethought himself of making them presents, and gave to each sheep and\ndogs and a garden for his particular use. But this only made things far\nworse. Some planted their gardens, but others let them run wild, and\nthen perceived that the cultivated gardens were the fairest, and that\nthe sheep that had good pasture gave the most milk. Then the trouble\nbecame great indeed. The lazy children made a league against the\nothers, attacked them, and took away many of their gardens. Then the\nindustrious ones moved to a fresh spot, which soon grew fair also under\ntheir hands; or else they refused to be driven out, and long conflicts\narose, in the course of which some of the children were slain. When\nthey saw death for the first time they were greatly frightened\nand grieved, and swore to keep peace with one another. But all in\nvain--they could not stay quiet for long; so, as they were now loth\nto kill one another, they began to take away each other\u2019s property by\nstealth and with cunning. And this was far sadder to see; the Caraiman,\nindeed, grew so heavy of heart over it that he wept rivers of tears.\nThey flowed down through the valley and into the sea; yet the wicked\nchildren never considered that these were the tears their kind father\nwas weeping over them, and went on bickering and quarrelling. Thereupon\nthe Caraiman wept ever more and more, and his tears turned to torrents\nand cataracts that devastated the land, and ended by changing it into\none large lake, wherein countless living creatures came to their\ndeath. Then he ceased weeping, and blew a mighty wind, which left the\nland dry again; but now all the green growth had vanished, houses and\ngardens lay buried under heaps of stones, and the sheep, for lack of\npasture, no longer gave any milk. Then the children cut their throats\nopen with sharp stones, to see if the milk would not flow out in a\nfresh place; but instead of milk, blood gushed out, and when they had\ndrunk that they became fierce, and were always craving for more of it.\nSo they slew many other sheep, stealing those of their brethren, and\ndrank blood and ate meat. Then the Caraiman said, \u201cThere must be larger\nanimals made, or there will soon be none left!\u201d and blew again upon his\nbagpipes. And behold! wild bulls came into the world, and winged horses\nwith long scaly tails, and elephants, and serpents. The children now\nbegan to fight with all these creatures, and thereby grew very tall\nand strong themselves. Many of the animals allowed themselves to be\ntamed and made useful; but others pursued the children and killed them,\nand as they no longer dwelt in such peace and safety, many grievous\nand dangerous sicknesses appeared among them. Soon they became in all\nrespects like the men of other lands, and the Caraiman grew more and\nmore soured and gloomy, since all that which he had intended to use\nfor good, had but turned to evil. His creatures, too, neither loved\nnor trusted him, and instead of perceiving that they themselves had\nwrought the harm, thought that the Caraiman had sent sorrow upon them\nout of wanton cruelty and sport. They would no longer listen to the\nbagpipes, whose sweet strains had of old been wont to delight their\nears. The old giant, indeed, did not often care to play on his pipes\nnow. He had grown weary for very sorrow, and would sleep for hours\ntogether under the shade of his eyebrows, which had grown down into his\nbeard. But sometimes he would start up out of sleep, put the pipes to\nhis mouth, and blow a very trumpet-blast out into the wicked world.\nHence there at last arose such a raging storm that the trees ground,\ncreaking and groaning, against one another, and caused a fire to burst\nout, so that soon the whole forest was in flames. Then he reached up\nwith the tree that grew upon his head, till he touched the clouds,\nand shook down rain, to quench the fire. But all this while the human\nbeings below had but one thought--how to put the bagpipes to silence\nfor ever and ever. So they set out with lances and spears, and slings\nand stones, to give battle to the giant; but at the sight of them he\nburst into such laughter that an earthquake took place, which swallowed\nthem all up, with their dwellings and their cattle. Then another host\nset out against him with pine-torches, wherewith to set his beard on\nfire. He did but sneeze, however, and all the torches were extinguished\nand their bearers fell backwards to the earth. A third host would have\nbound him while he slept, but he stretched his limbs, and the bonds\nburst, and all the men about him were crushed to atoms. Then they would\nhave set upon him all the mighty wild beasts he had created. But he\nswept the air together and made thereof an endless fall of snow, that\ncovered them over and over, and buried them deep, and turned to ice\nabove them; so that after thousands of years, when their like was no\nmore to be seen on earth, those beasts still lay, with fur and flesh\nunchanged, embedded in the ice.\n\n[Illustration: But at the sight of them he burst into such laughter----]\n\nThen they bethought themselves of getting hold of the bagpipes by\nstealth, and carrying them off while the giant was asleep. But he laid\nhis head upon them, and it was so heavy that men and beasts together\ncould not drag the pipes from under it. So at last they crept up quite\nsoftly and bored a tiny hole in the bagpipes--and lo! there arose such\na storm that one could not tell earth or sea or sky apart, and scarcely\nanything survived of all that the Caraiman had created. But the giant\nawoke no more; he is still slumbering, and under his arm are the\nbagpipes, which sometimes begin to sound, when the storm-wind catches\nin them, as it hurries down the Prahova valley. If only some one could\nbut mend the bagpipes, then the world would belong to the children once\nmore.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTHE STAGS\u2019 VALLEY\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nBetween the mountains Caraiman and Omul lies a wide valley shaped like\na crescent. It is called _Valea Cerbului_--the Stags\u2019 Valley--though\nfor a long time past no stags have been seen there. But the valley\ncontains something else which time cannot do away. All along the foot\nof the mountain, and leaning up against it, stand a number of gigantic\nstone figures, with unmistakable hands and faces, not unlike statues of\nthe ancient Egyptian gods. A strange legend is told about these figures.\n\nIn days gone by there dwelt among these mountains a race of men, proud\nand of mighty strength, who were feared in all the region round about,\nfor whatever they undertook was sure of success. From the hour of\ntheir birth they lived out under the open sky, slept upon the snow, and\nbathed in the icy mountain-streams. They were so tall that they could\nclimb the highest mountains in a few steps; and if they did but give a\ntree one single stroke, it remained crooked for all time to come. They\ndrank the milk of winged hinds and rode upon winged stags, whose wings,\nhowever, only increased their speed in covering the ground, for they\ncould not rise into the air with burdens upon their backs.\n\nAn aged, very aged King ruled over these men; he was so wise that they\nconsulted him about everything, and obeyed him like children. It was\na glorious sight when the old man, with waving white locks and beard,\nswept by upon his winged stag, all his men following after, like a\nstorm-cloud, beneath whose thunder the Carpathians shook again.\n\nThere was something, however, which filled them all with deepest\nconcern. King Briar had no son, but only one daughter--a glorious\nmaiden, as tall as a fir-tree, as bold as a boy, and so strong that she\ncould lead the wild winged stags three and four on one halter, without\ngiving way a step when they reared and tore at the bridle.\n\nThe men held a great council, and came to lay their anxious thoughts\nbefore the King. \u201cMay the Great Spirit send thee yet a long, long\nlife,\u201d said they, \u201cbut when he shall call thee down to the golden\ncaverns below, whom are we to choose in thy stead, since thou hast no\nson? We would gladly choose thy daughter, and gladly would we serve\nher, but how can we submit a maiden to the hard test our kings have to\nundergo?\u201d\n\nThe King stroked his white beard and answered: \u201cWho knows but my child\nwould endure the ordeal as heroically as though she were a lad? Ye\ncan see that in all other matters she is brave and strong, and if she\nshould choose a good and a wise mate, ye would be as happy then as ye\nare now. I will ask her if she will make the trial.\u201d\n\nKing Briar clapped his hands. Then the Carpathians trembled from end to\nend; and presently, amid a trampling of hoofs and rustling of wings, a\nsound like the rushing of the storm-wind drew near.\n\nThe King\u2019s daughter stood upright upon a stag\u2019s back, clasping the\ngolden chains that held his bit in one hand, while with the other she\nswung a whip, as long as a huge snake, that flashed in the air like\na streak of fiery lightning. Her form seemed to reach up to the sky,\nand her hair fluttered about her like a thick cloud, hiding the sun\nat intervals. But, instead of the sun, the stars in her face shone\nforth, and the teeth that her laughing mouth disclosed, as she sang and\nshouted for glee.\n\nThe King glanced at his men with a smile, as though he would have said,\n\u201cIs she enough of a lad for ye?\u201d\n\nAt that moment she sprang to the ground, and throwing the chains to\nsome of the bystanders, she cried, \u201cThere, take them; but there is not\none of you can drive them all at once.\u201d Then kneeling before the King,\nshe asked in gentle tones, \u201cDidst thou call me, my father?\u201d\n\n\u201cVijelia,[4] my child, arise and look upon these men; they have come to\nask who shall be king after me. Whom thinkest thou?\u201d\n\nThe maiden gazed earnestly at one and another, and when she had scanned\nevery face, she turned again and examined each a second, yea, and a\nthird time. Her face the while grew ever more anxious and grave, and\nmore gloomy the frown that drew her heavy brows together, till the\nflashing eyes, in which a tear glistened, were darkened as by the\nshades of night.\n\nThen she spoke in a deep and hollow voice: \u201cNone, my father; for not\none is thine equal in my eyes. But thou, in thy wisdom, hast surely\nchosen long since, and chosen the best.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe whom I choose must submit to the test of which I still bear the\nscars on my body. Dost thou know the test, my child?\u201d\n\n\u201cYea, surely do I know it! It is a pity that I am not a lad. The test\nwould not make me quail!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what if I should treat thee as a lad?\u201d\n\n\u201cMe!\u201d A crimson flush overspread the cheeks and forehead and throat of\nthe noble maiden, and with trembling lips she spoke:--\n\n\u201cI have not deserved so great an honour, and know not whether I\nhave understanding enough; but the test I will gladly endure, if my\nfather will make the first throw with his own hand. He shall himself\nconsecrate me as his successor, but he must yet live for long years\nafter, and grant me my freedom as of yore.\u201d\n\nThis speech was greeted with a tempest of applause, that thundered and\nre-echoed till the eagles felt the air quiver around them, and the\ntrees swayed as though beneath the northern storm-wind. The King\u2019s\ndaughter bent her head with a smile of acknowledgment, and thrust back\nthe golden locks from her glowing face. The day upon which the test was\nto begin was now fixed, and the place for it chosen.\n\n[Illustration: The maiden gazed earnestly at one and another.]\n\nFirst of all, Vijelia had to stand through a whole day, without meat or\ndrink, in the burning sun. If she showed any weakness or weariness, or\nate and drank too greedily when evening came, she could not be king.\n\nThe second day she was to collect a mighty heap of stones from a\ncertain river in the depths of the valley, and would have to perform\nher journey countless times before she could get together the requisite\nnumber of stones, which, on the third day, were to be cast at her. If\nher endurance failed beneath the stoning, she could not be king.\n\nThe oldest man of the tribe explained all this to her, and she listened\nto him with a cheerful face.\n\nThe day came--a burning hot July day--and at sunrise Vijelia, clad in\na snowy woollen robe, took her stand upon a neighbouring hill-top. For\nthe first few hours she sang, as she stood there, in a full and ringing\nvoice; but as noon drew on, her lips and throat grew so dry, she was\nfain to keep silence. The sun had already passed over the highest of\nthe mountain-peaks before she even changed her weight from one foot\nto the other. Suddenly she heard the sound of hoofs ascending towards\nher, and lo! her stags appeared, and, flying around her, fanned her\nwith a cool breeze from their wings; then her favourite hind drew near,\noffering her full udders for her mistress to drink from. But Vijelia,\nwith stern voice, bade them all depart, and with drooping heads the\nfaithful creatures slank away to their pasture.\n\nThe hours crept slowly on, and the sun burnt so hot that the tips of\nVijelia\u2019s golden locks were singed by it. But she did not stir.\n\nWhen the sun was setting the men came and offered her a drink of water,\nbut she only moistened her lips with it, and called, \u201cMititica!\u201d Then\nthe winged hind came flying up, and she took a little milk from her,\nrefusing all other nourishment.\n\nKing Briar gazed with anxious eyes at his beautiful daughter, but she\ngave him a merry laugh, and said the first day had passed quickly and\neasily indeed. When the darkness fell she went down to the river, and\nplunged as many as ten times into its cool depths. Then she climbed the\nbank, and sitting upon a mossy stone, began to shake out the coils of\nher hair. The moon rose over the mountain-top and looked down upon the\nmaiden sitting there in her heavenly beauty, and tenderly did she shed\nher beams upon her, so that the drops that were wrung from the golden\ncoils glittered like silver. The moon did not know that that perfect\nbody was to endure a cruel hail of stones, or she would have veiled her\nface for very sadness.\n\nWhen the second day dawned, there stood Vijelia in her short garment,\nas fresh and cheerful as though no fatigue could ever touch her. When\nthe men came to fetch her down for this day\u2019s work, she was ranging\nover the hill upon her stag Graur, casting herself down upon his back,\nand playing with his wings, like a child in the cradle. But now she\nsprang down and dismissed the creature with a light touch of the hand;\nthen, taking a broad, flat fragment of rock upon her shoulder, she\ncarried it down into the valley, laid it beside the river\u2019s edge, and\nwading into the water, began to seek for stones, which she piled upon\nit as high as it would hold.\n\n\u201cHelp me up with it on to my shoulder,\u201d said she. But none of the men\ncould lift the weight. Then she bent down, and, laughing, threw it on\nto her left shoulder. Moreover, she made the men pick up the stones\nthat had slipped off the while, and throw them on to the heap with the\nrest. Then she set off so fast up the hill that no one could follow\nher, put down her load, and ran back to the valley again without\nwaiting to rest.\n\nKing Briar sat watching his daughter from the heights above, and\nstroked his white beard in silence.\n\nLong before the day had begun to decline, Vijelia had already collected\nthe prescribed number of stones. She crossed her arms and stood and\nlooked at the heap, without the smallest sign of flinching. King\nBriar\u2019s heart sank as he watched his child standing there, and he slept\nbut little that night. Yet she slept, quietly and soundly, beneath a\ngiant pine, through the branches of which the moonbeams stole to look\nat the beautiful sleeper, lying with her head on her arms, her lips\nslightly parted, in the sweetest, most childlike slumber.\n\nWhen the dawn aroused her, she sought out a linen garment that she had\nspun and woven herself, so that she could rely upon its strength.\n\nAnd thus she appeared before her people, so fair that the heart of many\na one burnt within him at the thought of misusing her.\n\nThe heap of stones disappeared in a few minutes, for each man had armed\nhimself with one. Now they formed a great circle round the maiden, who\nquietly gathered her hair up and fastened it in a knot.\n\n\u201cSo that ye may not think my mantle shields me,\u201d she explained, with a\nsmile.\n\nThe first stone sped from the hand of King Briar himself, who looked\nhis daughter firmly and earnestly in the face as he cast it. She\nkissed the place on her arm where he had smitten her, and threw him a\nkiss with both hands. Then she stood as still as a statue beneath the\nhail of stones, though her anguish grew with every moment. Only once\na sigh escaped her, and she crossed her hands for a moment over her\nbreast--and the hands were so white! But she let her arms drop again\ndirectly, and only turned her head aside, looking towards the sun, that\nwas slowly, very slowly, sinking nearer to the mountain-top, and bathed\nthe maiden\u2019s face in a golden glow.\n\nOn a sudden the rain of stones ceased, and all the men knelt, with\nlowered swords and lances, at her feet, while in solemn voices they\nswore faith to her--eternal faith, and never to be broken.\n\nBut she raised her hand and spoke:--\n\n\u201cAnd I swear to you to work, to fight, and to endure, with and for you,\nto my life\u2019s end!\u201d Then she turned to the King and whispered low to\nhim: \u201cGive me thy hand, father; I am weary.\u201d\n\nThe old man cast his mantle round her, and clasping his arm about her,\nled her homewards. She leaned her head on his shoulder, but as she went\nshe felt something snuffing about her ear, and there was Graur, her\nfaithful stag.\n\n\u201cHa, do thou carry me!\u201d she cried, and kissing the beast\u2019s warm, downy\nnose, she sprang on his back and was out of sight in the twinkling\nof an eye. Graur bore her down to the river, in which she bathed for\na long time, stretching and cooling her bruised limbs. She drank\ngreedily, too, of the ice-cold water, and then came dashing homewards\nas merrily as though she had endured nothing.\n\nFor a while life went on again as of old, and Vijelia was once\nmore the same untamed creature that she had ever been--wild as the\nstorm-wind, and refusing to hear aught that concerned the affairs of\ngovernment. But King Briar aged visibly, and his people besieged him\nwith requests that he would choose a mate for his daughter, so that he\nmight soon hope to hold a fair grandson upon his knee.\n\n\u201cWhom wilt thou have for thy husband, my child?\u201d he one day asked his\ndaughter. \u201cDo none of our people please thee?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d answered Vijelia, \u201cI cannot wed any of those who stoned me; I\nshould always remember it, and could not give myself to him in true\nlove. The man whom I shall love must come down from the air above, into\nwhich none belonging to us can rise up--none save our winged stags.\u201d\n\nShe had scarcely ceased speaking, when there appeared as it were a\nmighty cloud, descending from the heavens, and from the midst of the\ncloud the sound of a harp rang forth unearthly sweet. Slowly the cloud\nsank earthwards, and now it disclosed to view a radiant youth, his head\ncovered with waving curls, who held in his hand a harp, that towered\naloft as high as the forest trees, and was strung with golden strings,\nthat glittered, like a rainbow, with a thousand changing hues. Now he\nwould smite the chords with a powerful hand, and again he would only\nblow softly upon them, and then they sent forth such sounds as melted\nthe very heart in one\u2019s breast.\n\nVijelia stood motionless, gazing up at him, and still she gazed on, as\nhe sprang boldly to the ground, and with a thrust of his hand sent back\nthe cloud that had brought him thither, away into the blue distance\nabove. And now he came straight toward the maiden, and stretching out\nhis hands to her, spoke thus:--\n\n\u201cI come from out the air; I am _Viscol_.[5] Wilt thou be mine, for I am\nthine equal?\u201d\n\n\u201cYea,\u201d answered the maiden, as though in a dream. \u201cI will be thine, for\nall time.\u201d\n\nBut King Briar frowned, saying:\n\n\u201cAnd dost thou, indeed, love him already, my child? Have a care; for\nthou wilt not find happiness at his side, and he is not fitted for our\npeople; he will ever be ranging far away over the skies and leaving\nthee alone, till thy men will refuse to serve thee. Child, child, it\nwill come to a bad end, and thou wilt not be happy!\u201d\n\n\u201cHappy or not, it is all alike to me, father. I cannot live without\nhim; and I would rather be miserable with him than happy with another!\u201d\n\nWith a deep sigh, the old King consented to her wish; but he cut short\nthe promises and protestations of the youth with an impatient gesture\nof the hand.\n\n\u201cI will judge thee by thine actions,\u201d he said curtly.\n\nAt first all went merrily enough; now Vijelia would ride through the\nheavens upon a cloud, and again, her husband would go forth with the\nflying stags. But the King often heard his men complain that there was\nmuch unrest in the land, and that the stranger had better never have\ncome.\n\nPresently, however, Vijelia began to stay much at home with her father,\nwhile her husband went rushing over the world. She spoke very little,\nand looked far sadder than she had done upon the day of her stoning.\nWhen she was asked where her husband was, she would hang her head and\nanswer, \u201cI know not;\u201d or again, if inquiry were made when he was\ncoming back, or when he would carry her forth with him upon the clouds,\nstill the answer was, \u201cI know not.\u201d\n\nAnd when he did return he was rough and violent, and the more humbly\nand quietly his young wife behaved, the more hardly he treated her.\n\nOften did old King Briar\u2019s beard tremble and his head droop toward the\nearth, whereon, indeed, he soon laid him down, saying:\n\n\u201cI shall never see my fair grandson now! May the Great Spirit grant\nthee, in him, the happiness thou hast not found for thyself!\u201d\n\nWhen he was dead, his men mourned night and day with lowered spears\naround his grave, for nine times nine weeks. And Vijelia did not cease\nfrom sighs and groans, until, in the midst of her great sorrow, a\nwondrous fair but exceeding tender little son was laid in her arms.\nHer tears rained down upon his tiny face as she gave him the name of\nZephyr. Alas! how was he ever to rule this mighty people, and how\nwithstand his father\u2019s harsh usage?\n\nShe held him in her arms night and day, and never left him for an hour.\nHe lay upon her lap when she sat and pronounced sentence, or tried to\nsmooth over quarrels with all justice and wisdom.\n\nWhen Viscol returned his anger knew no bounds. She had to defend the\nfragile child like a lioness, for he would fain have dashed him to\npieces against a rock. He threw the whole land into an uproar; he gave\nunjust judgments, and was a scourge indeed, until he dashed forth again\nupon his wanderings. His harp, which he had forgotten, was, however,\na source of consolation and joy both to mother and child. She learnt\nto play dirges upon it, to which all the people listened; but it was\nsweeter yet when Zephyr breathed across the strings--then the whole air\nseemed to be swelling with song, and the heart in every bosom melted\nfor delight.\n\nZephyr grew dazzlingly beautiful, all the more so since his mother\nthought much of training and hardening him against the time of the\n\u201cKing-choosing,\u201d which she dreaded exceedingly for her tender boy. She\nwould trust him now to Graur, now to Mititica, who had to carry him for\nhours, and use him to their quickest pace. But in the midst of these\nrides Mititica would often kneel down and suffer him to suck a draught\nof her milk. Vijelia, too, would run races with the boy, and teach him\nto bend the bow and to bear heavy burdens; and, that he might become\nused to pain, she would smite him with rods and pelt him with stones,\nand if he did not laugh over it, but began to weep, she would call him\ncoward, and after bathing him in the coldest streams, would strike him\nthe next day yet harder, till he learnt to clench his teeth and laugh.\n\nThe people had such a hatred of Viscol that they would suffer him to\nenter the land no more, and shot at him as soon as he drew near upon\nhis cloud. Some of them loved the boy for his noble mother\u2019s sake, but\nsome bore a grudge against him, because he was so delicate and tender.\nBut when he played upon his harp all were enchanted, and, indeed, when\nhe stood beside the harp, his silky golden curls falling upon his\nshoulders, he looked like a being from another world. He could not, it\nis true, drive five stags at once, or bear such burdens as his mother\ncould; but he was far stronger than she had ever dared to hope, when\nhe reached his sixteenth year, and the men judged it was time to try\nhim and see if he were strong enough to be king. If it should chance\notherwise, they were ready to force upon Vijelia another husband,\nchosen from amongst them, whose son might be expected to prove a\nstalwart king.\n\nZephyr bore the heat of the sun the whole day without flinching, and\nno one knew that all through the ensuing night he tossed to and fro in\nfever, while his mother watched beside him and bathed his temples. The\nnext day he gathered the stones together, and his mother went beside\nhim all the while, and secretly lent a helping hand. When evening came\nand the darkness covered them, he sank fainting into her arms. And\nnow dawned the day, of which the unhappy mother stood in such dread.\nEvery stone that struck her boy\u2019s fair body smote her in the heart.\nOnce she saw him reel, but her clear voice, ringing out in cheery\nencouragement, brought back the colour to his cheeks and the smile to\nhis white lips. There were only a few more stones yet to come, when\none, cast by a spiteful hand, sped forth, sharp and pointed, and struck\nthe lad upon the temple. A wild cry burst from his mother, who flew to\ncatch her fainting child in her arms, and kneeling down, pressed his\nblood-stained locks to her heart. He opened his eyes once more. \u201cMy\nharp--bring me the harp!\u201d he whispered, and clasping it in his arms, he\nbreathed out his pure soul into those chords, till the heavenly sound\nechoed on and on, vibrating ever further upon the air. But the poor\nmother rose up with fixed and terrible gaze, and lifting her arms to\nthe clouds, she cried, \u201cMay ye then turn to stone, O ye men of stone!\nThe Great Spirit will hear a mother\u2019s voice, that cries aloud for\nvengeance! Stone shall ye become, who have broken faith with me!\nStone shall ye become, who have cast out the purest spirit among you!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: But the poor mother rose up with fixed and terrible\ngaze, and lifting her arms to the clouds, she cried, \u201cMay ye then turn\nto stone!\u201d]\n\nAnd behold! before her eyes the people, as they stood in a circle,\nwere turned to stone. But she sighed so deeply that the sighs burst\nher bosom, and went forth in wails of sorrow to tell the world of a\nmother\u2019s woe, and to shake the foundations of the world, that had\nwrought such evil!\n\nAnd the winged stags rose up into the air and disappeared for ever.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTHE WITCH\u2019S STRONGHOLD\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nGoing up the Prahova valley one cannot see \u201cCetatea Babei,\u201d the\nWitch\u2019s Castle, because it is hidden by the Bucegi Mountain. It is a\njagged peak, and looks as though it were covered with ruins. A field\nof eternal snow lies between it and the Jipi. In far-off times, when\nwolves guarded the flocks, and eagles and doves made their nests\ntogether, a proud castle stood there, and within the castle busy\ndoings went on. From morning till night it rang with pattering,\nclanging, bustling sounds, and hundreds of hasty footsteps scurried to\nand fro therein. But at night-time a light shone forth from the tower,\nand the humming of a mighty wheel was heard, and above the hum of the\nwheel a wondrous, soft song seemed to hover, keeping time with it. Then\npeople would glance fearfully up toward the castle and whisper: \u201cShe\nis spinning again!\u201d And she who sat spinning there was the mistress of\nthe castle, a very evil witch, to whom the mountain-dwarfs brought all\nthe gold that they found in the depths of the earth, that she might\nspin threads of gold for all the brides to wear upon their heads on\ntheir wedding-day.[6] The gold was unloaded in heaps in her castle,\nand she weighed it and chose it out--and woe to the dwarf who did not\nbring the required weight; he was thrust between the stem and bark of\na huge tree, and squeezed until he gave up the very uttermost grain of\ngold; or he would be caught by the beard only in the tree, and there\nhe might struggle and writhe as he pleased, and cry for mercy--the old\nwitch turned a deaf ear to it all. The name of _Baba Coaja_ (\u201cMother\nBark\u201d) had been given her, perhaps because of this cruel custom of\nhers, perhaps because she was as hard as a stale crust of bread, and as\nwrinkled as the stem of an old oak. She alone understood the spinning\nof the golden threads, and she went on preparing them for hundreds of\nyears in advance.\n\nBaba Coaja had a wondrously beautiful daughter, named _Alba_ (\u201cThe\nWhite One\u201d), for she was as white as the snow that covered the\nmountain-tops. Her skin was like velvet, and like velvet, too, were her\nbrown eyes, and her hair was like the gold-threads that her mother spun.\n\nShe was always kept shut up, for Baba Coaja had plenty of work for her\nto do; and, besides, no one was to be allowed to see her, still less to\nwoo her. She had to wind all the golden thread on reels, and store it\nup in underground cellars, ready for all those hundreds and hundreds\nof years to come. This work was very burdensome to the sweet maiden,\nbecause her mother would sing and mutter all sorts of evil spells and\nsayings as she spun, so that a portion of sorrow and heartache was\nalready prepared for each bride, so soon as the golden threads should\nhave rested upon her head; and Alba thought sadly of all the trouble\nthat was being thus determined beforehand. Indeed, she once sat down\nherself to the great wheel, while her mother was away, and spun a\nlength of thread into which she worked nothing but good wishes. But\nwhen Baba Coaja came home she was very wroth, and beat her daughter\nunmercifully, saying, as she threw the thread upon a heap with the\nrest: \u201cThou shalt never wed until thou canst tell thine own spinning\napart again!\u201d\n\nIn her heart the old witch was glad to have a pretext for keeping her\ndaughter to herself, for it had been prophesied that Alba would be very\nunhappy, and would die young. The only being that she loved in the\nworld was her beautiful child, yet, however much trouble she took to\nplease her with fine clothes and all sorts of pretty trifles, she could\nnot bring a shade of colour to her cheek or a smile to her eyes, for\nthe only thing the maiden yearned after was freedom, and that was never\nhers. How she longed to go wandering for once beneath the trees that\nclothed the foot of the mountain whereon she dwelt. Up there nothing\ngrew, save a little short grass; and the winter lasted far longer than\nthe summer. When the wind howled round the castle, raging as though he\nwould tear it to pieces, then her heart would grow heavy indeed; she\nwould sit for hours before the hearth, staring into the fire, watching\nthe sparks fly, and thinking of nothing at all. Or again, she would\nlisten to her mother\u2019s uncanny singing, while the humming of the wheel\nand the howling of the storm mingled in one dreary accompaniment. And\nthen she would wonder why she spun so much sorrow for the brides into\nthe gold-threads--why men were not suffered to be happy and gay, out\nthere in the beautiful sunshine, for that always looked bright and\nmerry. But she could never make out the reason why, and would fall\nasleep at last from sheer thinking. The great reels of gold in the\ncellars all had one and the same face, yet she would play with them,\nand pretend they were people, and make up their histories, and try\nand fancy what would befall the brides that were to wear those golden\nthreads; but as she knew nothing of the world, all her stories were\nvery unlikely ones.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d she asked one day, resting her chin upon her hand, \u201care the\npeople in the world just as we are, thou and I--or have they other\nforms, and other thoughts?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are the people in the world to thee? They are all very bad, and\nwould only do thee harm if they got hold of thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut a while ago a beautiful creature came up our mountain, and there\nsat one upon him, one who was fairer far to see than any of the little\ndwarfs; he had black locks, and no beard, and a purple mantle. Was not\nthat a man?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cBut a while ago a beautiful creature came up our\nmountain.\u201d]\n\nThe old witch was terror-stricken at this speech, and answered: \u201cIf he\ndoes but ride up here again, I will break his neck for him, and those\nin the valley shall never see him again!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, mother! do not thus--he was so fair!\u201d\n\n\u201cIf thou dost think but once again of him, I tell thee I will lock\nthee in the cellar, and make thee weigh gold out night and day. As it\nis, thou art grown so idle in these latter times, and dost nought but\nsit there and ask useless questions! Hast thou not all thy heart can\ndesire?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, mother; I too would fain have a beautiful creature, such as\nyonder man had, and sit upon it. Up here there are but sheep, and one\ncannot sit upon them.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow thou wouldst have a horse indeed, wouldst thou, foolish child!\nDost not see that it were dangerous to life to ride here? The grass\nis slippery and the abyss deep. One false step, and thou wert lying\nshattered to pieces down below.\u201d\n\nAlba thought over this for a long while, and wondered why it was\ndangerous for horses to go where sheep could tread in safety; but to\nthis question also she got no reply, for she did not dare to ask it.\nOnly, the dwarfs appeared much uglier to her than before, and the gold\nbecame so distasteful to her that she could not bear to look at it. She\nconstantly thought of the beautiful horse, and of the youth who was\nto have his neck broken if he showed himself there again. Why did her\nmother want to break his neck? This time, too, she found no answer,\nhowever much she puzzled over the matter.\n\nSome time after, the handsome youth rode up to the mountain again; he\nwas tormented by curiosity to discover who lived in that mighty castle,\nwhose walls were hewn out of the living rock. He was a king\u2019s son, and\nhis name was Porfirie. He was not used to being unable to do things,\nand any obstacle was welcome to his impetuous nature. When they spoke\nto him of marriage, he was wont to reply that he should win his bride\nfrom the clutches of a dragon, or pluck her down from a cliff, but\nnever have her tamely wooed for him by a deputy, and end up with a\ncommonplace wedding!\n\nJust at that moment Alba was busy bedecking herself, by way of passing\nthe time, after having worked at reeling off gold all the morning. She\nhad bathed her hands and face, and combed her long hair with her ivory\ncomb, and about her brow she had bound a double row of pearls, in which\nshe had fastened an alpine rose sideways. Her robe was white, with a\ngolden girdle, and over it flowed a green velvet mantle, held on either\nshoulder with chains of pearls. Around her snow-white throat she laid\na string of emeralds, as large as pigeons\u2019 eggs, a present from the\nmountain-dwarfs; and then she looked at herself in the glass, in which,\nhowever, she could not see how her golden hair gleamed upon the green\nvelvet mantle. Indeed, she could not have seen aright at all, or the\nglass was bad, for now she smote her face, crying: \u201cHow ugly I am!--oh,\nhow ugly! That is why my mother hides me from all men, and gives me\nfine dresses, and jewels like a queen\u2019s--that it may be forgotten how\nugly I am!\u201d\n\nJust then the sound of horses\u2019 hoofs echoed among the rocks, and with\nhorror-stricken gaze she beheld the handsome stranger, who was to lose\nhis life if he appeared again before the castle. He must be warned at\nany cost. She sprang like a wild goat down the mountain-side, with\nfluttering mantle and waving hair, in which the sunbeams seemed to\ncatch as she went. The young King saw her speeding towards him over the\nrocks, her feet scarcely seeming to touch the stones upon the way, and\nreined in his horse in wonder-struck admiration. He asked himself what\nprincess, or mountain-fairy, this might be, flying down to him thus.\nAnd now she waved both her arms, crying breathlessly: \u201cBack, back! Do\nnot come up hither--it were thy death!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd though it should be my death,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cI would die gladly,\nseeing I have beheld the fairest maid that ever trod this earth!\u201d\n\nAlba stood still before him, a faint blush overspread her cheeks, and\nlooking at him with wide-open eyes, she said: \u201cAm I fair?\u201d\n\n\u201cYea, verily, wondrous fair! So bewitching art thou, with thy golden\nhair and thy golden eyes, that I love thee from this hour!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I love thee, too,\u201d replied the guileless maiden, unaware of the\nfact that it is not customary among men to say what one thinks. \u201cBut do\nnot say my hair is golden, for gold is so ugly!\u201d\n\n\u201cUgly!\u201d The King\u2019s son laughed. \u201cI have never heard that of it before.\nHast thou, then, seen so much gold that it has grown to seem ugly to\nthee?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes! I see nought save gold--instead of green trees, gold--instead\nof flowers, gold--instead of men, gold--heaps of it, like that.\u201d And\nshe spread out her arms and turned herself about. \u201cOh, how much rather\nwould I sit upon yon beautiful creature! I have never seen a horse\nbefore--may I touch it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed, and stroke it too, and climb up beside me. Thou shalt\nride as long as thou hast a mind to.\u201d\n\nThen he bade her rest her foot on his and give him both her hands,\nand so he drew her up before him on the saddle, clasped his arm about\nher, and gave his horse the spur. He fancied she would be frightened,\nbut no such thought occurred to the gentle, innocent creature, for she\nknew nought of danger. As soon as the ground was soft beneath them he\nloosened the reins, and away they sped, through the woodland shade,\nand over the flowery meadows.\n\nAlba shouted and clapped her hands for glee, crying: \u201cFaster, faster\nyet!\u201d So they drew near to the city, through which they had to ride\nbefore reaching the hill upon which the royal castle stood. Then\nsuddenly fear came upon the maiden.\n\n\u201cAre all these human beings?\u201d she asked, as they rode at a foot\u2019s-pace\nthrough the streets. \u201cAnd does not the wind blow down these tiny\nhouses?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d laughed Porfirie. \u201cThe wind does not blow here as hard as it\ndoes up yonder.\u201d\n\n\u201cSee, my people,\u201d he cried to the folk as he passed, \u201chere I bring\nyou your Queen. She is a fairy-blossom, and I plucked her from yonder\ncliff!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I am no Queen,\u201d said Alba in affright.\n\n\u201cI am a King, and since thou art to be my wife, thou wilt become Queen\nalso.\u201d\n\n\u201cThy wife? But I was to have no husband, my mother said.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe only said that because she knew that none was to have thee, save I\nalone.\u201d\n\n\u201cArt thou not at all bad, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I am not bad.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen art thou not a human being?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, but I am.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet my mother said that all human creatures were bad, and that I must\nhave nought to do with them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is thy mother, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat I do not know. She spins gold.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpins gold? And for what?\u201d\n\n\u201cFor bridal veils--but I will have no gold at my wedding!\u201d added Alba\nhastily, and she clutched at her head as though she would defend it\nfrom that dangerous contact.\n\n\u201cBut thou canst not do otherwise,\u201d said Porfirie, \u201cor every one would\nwonder. Here we are at my home; we are even now riding into the\ncourtyard, and thou must speak pleasantly to my mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs she old and ugly?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, she is fair and proud.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does \u2018proud\u2019 mean?\u201d asked Alba.\n\nPorfirie looked into her eyes--they were as clear and unsullied as the\nsun itself. He pressed the maiden to his heart; then throwing the reins\nto the attendants who came forward, he sprang from his horse, lifted\nAlba gently to the ground, and offered his hand to lead her up the\nbroad stone steps.\n\nThey entered a lofty hall, and there sat a tall, noble lady, surrounded\nby many maidens, and she was spinning beautiful gold-coloured silk. All\nrose from their work, and gazed in delighted amaze on the beautiful\npair standing beneath the portal, that was just then flooded by the\nglory of the setting sun.\n\n\u201cHere, mother,\u201d cried Porfirie, \u201cis thy dear daughter, my sweet bride,\nwhom I found up yonder, quite near the sky; and I am not yet sure\nwhether she be not indeed one of the heavenly inhabitants, that will\npresently spread wings and flee away from us!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, thou beauteous lady!\u201d cried Alba, and fell at the feet of the\nQueen, who raised her up and kissed her with great kindness.\n\n\u201cAnd thou art spinning too,\u201d she went on, \u201conly far, far more\nbeautifully than my mother; for what thou dost spin is as soft and fine\nas snowflakes, or the petals of flowers.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does thy mother spin, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, always that hard, ugly gold!\u201d\n\n\u201cGold!\u201d echoed the bystanders; and many laughed, and did not believe\nthe maiden\u2019s words.\n\n\u201cCanst thou, too, spin gold?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can, but I may not.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d\n\nShe was opening her lips to tell what her mother did over her spinning,\nbut all at once she felt strangely ill at ease, and realised how\nangrily every one would look at her if the maidens knew that all kinds\nof sorrow was spun for them into their bridal veils. And here they were\nall looking so happy and so kind, these bad people, against whom her\nmother had warned her! They seemed far better, indeed, than that mother\nherself, of whom the mountain-dwarfs were always so horribly afraid.\n\nShe was relieved of her perplexity by hearing one of the maidens\nwhisper: \u201cHer dress is velvet--real white velvet!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the jewels--from whom did she get her jewels?\u201d said another,\nrather louder.\n\n\u201cFrom my friends,\u201d answered Alba. \u201cWould you like them? I have many\nmore such playthings at home.\u201d And taking the emeralds from her neck,\nshe gave each of the girls one.\n\nShe would have done the same with her strings of pearls, had not the\nQueen prevented her.\n\n\u201cAre thy friends so rich, then?\u201d inquired the latter.\n\n\u201cI do not know. What is \u2018rich\u2019? They bring it all up out of the earth\nin sacks; and when they do not bring enough, they are punished.\u201d\n\nThen the Queen\u2019s face darkened; she drew her son aside and said: \u201cThis\nmaiden is none other than the daughter of the abominable witch, Baba\nCoaja. Take her back as quickly as possible to the spot where thou\ndidst find her. She will only bring trouble upon our house.\u201d\n\n\u201cAsk anything of me but that, mother,\u201d replied the young King, turning\npale. \u201cI love this sweet and innocent maid with my every thought, with\nmy every breath, with all the blood in my veins, and though she were\nBaba Coaja her very self, I could not give her up!\u201d\n\nThe Queen sighed. But she gave orders that an apartment should be made\nready next to her own for the maiden; and the wedding was fixed for the\nfollowing day.\n\nThe Queen desired to adorn her new daughter for it with her own hands,\nbut she had a bitter struggle with her, because the maiden would on no\naccount suffer any gold-threads to be laid upon her head. She fled from\none end of the castle to the other like a hunted doe, she cast herself\nupon the ground, and hid beneath the coverings of the divans; she\nbegged and prayed with streaming eyes that she might be spared. \u201cLet\nthe Queen put some of the beautiful silken threads of her own spinning\nupon her hair, only not the horrible gold!\u201d\n\nBut as she knelt wailing and praying before her, the Queen gave a\nsign, and two of the attendant maidens bound her hands, while a third\nfastened on the golden veil. They all expected to see an outbreak of\nrage and despair; but Alba grew quite quiet. As pale as death, she\nbowed her head beneath its burden. \u201cThou art harder than my mother,\u201d\nshe said, \u201cfor she would not give me a husband, lest I should be\nunhappy, but thou dost thyself call down sorrow upon me!\u201d\n\nNo one understood these words. Alba could not be prevailed upon to\nexplain them, whereby the general mistrust of her was yet further\nincreased. She looked so sad that the people no longer even recognised\nin her the beaming maiden of yesterday; and all her young husband\u2019s\nwords of love could not chase the clouds from her brow.\n\nAt court there was presently no talk of anything but the countless\ntreasures of the young Queen, and many people urged the King to go up\nthe mountain and examine them for himself. He cared nothing for the\ntreasures; he only thought of how he could bring back the smile to his\nyoung wife\u2019s face, and fancied that perhaps, if he fetched her the\nornaments she was fond of, she would grow merry again. For she smiled\npityingly at the little stones other people called jewels, and could\nnot at all understand that such trifles should be costly. But as soon\nas she learnt that Porfirie intended to ride up to her castle again,\nshe was terror-stricken, and implored and conjured him not to do so.\n\u201cIt will surely be thy death,\u201d said she.\n\nHe, however, would not be convinced, and the more she depicted the\ndangers that awaited him there, the more did these very dangers attract\nhim; so that one morning he set off secretly, while she still lay in a\ndeep slumber.\n\nWith only a few followers, he dashed up towards Baba Coaja\u2019s castle.\nBut she spied his coming from afar, and cried out to him as he drew\nnearer: \u201cA curse upon thee--thou who didst ravish my child, only to\nbring her to sorrow! See here, then--satisfy the greed that has driven\nthee back hither, miserable wretch! I never desired to have aught to do\nwith thee--why didst thou seek me out?\u201d\n\nWith these words she began to scatter down jewels in endless quantities\nupon the horsemen; but as they fell, the precious stones were changed\ninto ice and snow, and whirled through the air in such clouds that the\nunhappy men were unable to shield themselves, and were, moreover, so\ndazzled that they could no longer see their way. The greater number\nof them fell over the precipices; but the young King, who, thirsting\nfor vengeance, tried to reach the castle that he might strangle the\nterrible witch, was so completely caught in the avalanche that ere a\nmoment was past he could no longer move a limb, and before he had time\nto utter a word he was buried deep beneath the snow.\n\nAs he disappeared, Baba Coaja said, with a malicious laugh: \u201cNow she\nwill come, to him, not to me--yet it will be to me, not to him, that\nshe comes. I shall have my child again, for she may not remain in the\nwicked world, and among men, whom I hate.\u201d\n\nAnd indeed it was not long before Alba, weary with her long journey\nafoot, her white velvet dress dusty and travel-stained, came hastening\nup the mountain.\n\n\u201cWhere, where is he?\u201d she asked, with blanched lips.\n\n\u201cSo!\u201d said the old witch, \u201cthou hast run away from me with a strange\nman, and now comest back, and dost not ask after me, but after him? He\nis not here.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes, he is! I traced him, up to the edge of yonder snow!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: With these words she began to scatter down jewels in\nendless quantities upon the horsemen.]\n\n\u201cHe came no further, indeed!\u201d laughed the old witch. \u201cHe is smothered\nbeneath thy jewels!\u201d\n\nWith a terrible cry, Alba cast herself down upon the patch of snow and\nbegan to shovel it away with her hands. But in vain! The covering that\nlay upon her beloved was too heavy, it was frozen too fast. With one\ncry--\u201cOh, mother, mother! what hast thou done to me!\u201d--Alba fell dead\nbeside the ice and snow.\n\nThen Baba Coaja hurled forth so terrible a curse, that the very\nmountain reeled, and the castle fell with a crash, burying her and\nher gold beneath its ruins. But on the spot where the beautiful Alba\nhad drawn her last breath, there sprang up a white flower, in a white\nvelvet dress, which has ever since been called \u201cAlba Regina,\u201d or\n_Edelweiss_. This flower only blooms close to the eternal snow which\ncovered her beloved, and is as white and pure as she was herself.\n\nPerhaps the snow will turn to jewels again some day, if an innocent\nmaiden should pass over it.\n\nThe piece of gold-thread that Alba spun is still being sought for, and\nevery bride hopes that it is she who has found it. That is why not one\nof them ever fears the golden threads that are so dangerous, but still\nbelieves that happiness will be her portion.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nPIATRA ARSA\n\n(\u201cTHE BURNT ROCK\u201d)\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThe beautiful Pa\u00f9na was proud, very proud. It was not for nothing that\nshe had those great dark eyes, with black brows rising to a point\nabove them, and that sharply-cut aquiline nose. Her mouth was somewhat\nlarge, but well-shaped, and when she spoke or laughed she showed two\ngleaming rows of teeth. Her black tresses were coiled like a crown\nabove her brow, and the people were wont to call her, in jest, _Pui de\nImparat_, or \u201cEmperor\u2019s child,\u201d when she went by with her long stride\nand her broad shoulders, holding her head as straight as though she\nwere carrying something upon it. But she was not too proud to turn that\nhead when Tannas went by, or to give ear to him when he talked to\nher during the Hora. Only, if any one teased her about him, an angry\nflush would rise to her cheek, and she was quick to punish the daring\noffender with a sharp retort.\n\nTannas was an object of envy to all the other village lads, specially\nas the betrothal was looked upon as a certainty. Then, on a sudden,\nwar broke out in the land, and Tannas had to join the army and march\ndown to the Danube. Pa\u00f9na swallowed her tears before people; but no one\ndared ask her whether she did not shed a few in secret.\n\nShe always contrived to be one of the first in the village to get\ntidings from the army; and when tales went about of the first battles\nthat had taken place, she was obliged, as she listened, to lean against\nthe great stone cross that stood at the entrance of the village, so\nweak and faint did the strong Pa\u00f9na turn. At night all sleep forsook\nher, and she often had to let her light burn till morning, to chase\naway the terrible visions that arose before her in the darkness, of\nTannas covered with wounds, and dead or dying. One dark night she was\nsitting thus, still dressed, upon the edge of her bed--and never knew\nthat, outside, some one was gliding round the house, and peeping in at\nher little window. She did not know, either, how beautiful she looked,\ngazing before her with wide-open eyes, her hands folded upon her knee.\nAll at once there was a knocking on the window, and she sprang up with\na stifled cry, turning her head and trying to pierce the darkness with\nher eyes. Then she fancied she could make out the face of Tannas at the\nwindow, and presently, indeed, she heard him call her in low tones--\n\n\u201cPa\u00f9na, dear Pa\u00f9na, I pray thee to come out to me. Do not be afraid; it\nis only I, Tannas.\u201d\n\nPa\u00f9na\u2019s hand was already upon the latch--in a moment she was outside,\nand felt herself enfolded in a warm embrace. But she put aside the arm\nthat clasped her, and said: \u201cArt thou Tannas indeed, or is some one\nmaking sport of me?\u201d\n\n\u201cHere, feel thine own little ring, Pa\u00f9na; and here again, the coin\nabout my neck. I could bear it no longer, without coming to see whether\nthou wert true to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho gave thee leave to come away from the army?\u201d\n\n\u201cMe? No one.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo one?--and thou art here? Is the war over, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, there is still war. But I came secretly, and out of love to thee,\nPa\u00f9na!\u201d\n\n\u201cLove to me!\u201d Pa\u00f9na gave a short, bitter laugh. \u201cDost thou think, then,\nthat it gives me pleasure to have a deserter for my betrothed? Go out\nof my sight!\u201d\n\n\u201cPa\u00f9na! Is this thy love? Thou art sending me back to death and\ndestruction!\u201d\n\n\u201cGo whither thou wilt. This only I tell thee, I will never be thy\nwife--I could not endure to have to despise my husband.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou dost love some other!\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, Tannas, thee I love, and thee alone. I have many a time watched\nthrough the livelong night for love of thee; but I never dreamed that I\nhad a coward for my lover!\u201d Pa\u00f9na wept, burying her face in her hands.\n\n\u201cAnd I, who thought thou wouldst welcome me with joy, and hide me in\nthy dwelling!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, shame!\u201d cried the maiden--\u201cshame! that I should have betrothed\nmyself to thee. But this I swear, that the Bucegi Mountain shall burn\nere I become thy wife!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I swear,\u201d cried Tannas, \u201cthat thou shalt not see me again till I\nam a cripple--or dead!\u201d\n\nAnd as they spoke thus, the two lovers faced one another with such\nburning glances that their eyes sparkled in the darkness.\n\nJust then a red light shone out over the heights above, and looking up,\nthey saw that one of the rocky peaks of the Bucegi seemed all aglow.\nBrighter and brighter it grew, till a red flame appeared to break out\nand send up a shower of stars on high. The two lovers stood as though\nturned to stone. Then windows began to open in the neighbouring houses,\nand the people to call out to one another that there was a forest\nfire--nay, that the mountain was burning! All the village was in an\nuproar--dogs began to bark and cocks to crow.\n\nThereupon Pa\u00f9na took her lover by the shoulders, and thrusting him far\nfrom her, she cried: \u201cAway, away from hence--hide thy face, or I shall\ndie of shame!\u201d\n\nThen she flung the door to behind her, and extinguished her light.\nWith a beating heart she watched Tannas slip away in the shadow of the\nhouses; and presently she turned her eyes to the mountain as it glowed\nand slowly grew dark again, but never an answer did she give when the\nneighbours called her to come and look at the miracle.\n\n[Illustration: And looking up, they saw that one of the rocky peaks of\nthe Bucegi seemed all aglow.]\n\nFrom that time forth people began to notice that Pa\u00f9na looked\nwonderfully pale; no smile was ever seen now upon her lips, that before\nhad been wont so often to curl in mockery, and quick retorts no longer\ncut short the teasing words that folk called out to her as she passed.\nShe did her work in silence, but was often so tired that she was\nobliged to sit down to rest upon the margin of the well, and bathe her\nforehead with the fresh water. Sometimes she would gaze sadly at her\nown reflection in the well, or glance timidly up towards the Bucegi\nMountain. All at once it began to be bruited about that Tannas had been\nin the village; this person and that felt sure of having seen him by\nthe light of the burning mountain, and it was even said that his voice\nhad been heard with Pa\u00f9na\u2019s. When the latter was questioned about it,\nthe drops of sweat burst out upon her brow and round her lips, that\ntrembled slightly as she replied: \u201cWas not all still and dark in our\nhouse, the night that the mountain was on fire?\u201d\n\nPa\u00f9na\u2019s mother shook her head, till her very under lip quivered, and\nsaid that all manner of strange signs were to be seen in these evil\ndays.\n\nAt last the news came that a great and deadly battle had been fought.\nThis time Pa\u00f9na was the last to hear of it, but when she did, she\nhurried home and made a little bundle, tying up a gourd and some\nmaize-bread in a cloth; and when her mother anxiously asked her whither\nshe was going, she only said: \u201cI shall soon come back again, mother; do\nnot fear for me.\u201d\n\nThe battlefield lay wide and silent in the twilight; thousands of dead\nbodies were scattered upon it; horses writhed in the death-throes, or\nlimped about with drooping heads. The army was encamped around huge\nsentry-fires, and the men no longer gave any heed to the cries and\nwailings that echoed from the battlefield. A stately woman\u2019s form moved\nalone amid the lines of bodies; it was Pa\u00f9na, who had already made\ninquiry after Tannas throughout the whole camp. She drew bravely near\nto both friend and foe, giving many a one a drink, and closely scanning\nthe features of the dead. Night had now closed in, and the moon lit up\nthe fearsome scene. Still the maiden moved to and fro, anon kneeling\ndown and resting some dying man\u2019s head upon her breast, and again\nsearching some terribly disfigured corpse for a little ring, and a\ncoin about the throat. Only once she staggered back, and that was when\nshe beheld some women plundering a corpse, and heard the finger-joints\ncrack as they dragged the rings from off the hand. She hastened away,\nbut soon returned to scan the dead man\u2019s face with anxiety.\n\nThe whole camp was sunk in slumber, but still Pa\u00f9na glided about the\nbattlefield in the moonlight. Sometimes she would utter a low cry:\n\u201cTannasse!\u201d--and often a groan would be heard in answer, but she\nalways shook her head sadly, after bending to give the sufferer a\ndrink. The dawn was beginning to break, and the moon to pale, when she\nsuddenly saw something glitter on the ground, and drawing near, found a\nhalf-stripped, dead man lying there, on whose hand shone a little ring.\nAnd the hand had grasped something that the man wore about his neck, so\nfirmly, that the plunderers had plainly given up trying to force the\nfingers open. Pa\u00f9na knew her own ring again, and with a loud cry of\n\u201cTannasse!\u201d she sank down beside the body, whose face was so covered\nwith blood that it was scarcely recognisable. In a few moments Pa\u00f9na\ncame to herself again, and began to wash the beloved face. She saw,\nwith fast-flowing tears, that both eyes and nose were gashed through\nby a terrible stroke, but she saw also that the blood gushed out again\nas she wiped it away. Now she was sure that her beloved was not dead,\nand she hastened to moisten his lips, and to bind up his wound with her\nkerchief. Then he began to sigh, and when he heard his name called,\nto feel about with his hand. Presently it touched Pa\u00f9na\u2019s face, and\nlingered long upon it.\n\n\u201cMy Pa\u00f9na!\u201d he murmured almost inaudibly. \u201cLet me die--I am blind--I am\nof no more use on earth!\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, nay!\u201d cried Pa\u00f9na, \u201cthou art my beloved, and, God willing, shalt\nbe my husband soon. Only be still now, be still!\u201d\n\nMany long weeks had passed since that morning--weeks during which Pa\u00f9na\nhad watched day and night by Tannas\u2019s bed and nursed him untiringly.\nAnd now, one day, two wanderers were seen coming along the road into\nthe village--a blind man in a soldier\u2019s cloak, with the cross of honour\nupon his breast, and a maiden, who led him carefully along, and said to\nthe passers-by, with a joyful smile: \u201cThis is my bridegroom. He is a\nhero! See the cross upon his breast!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd upon his face!\u201d rejoined Tannas, with a sigh.\n\nNever had such a crowded wedding been seen before. People streamed from\nfar and near, to pity the beautiful Pa\u00f9na at the side of the blind man.\nBut she smiled at every one, and said: \u201cI am proud now. I have a hero\nfor my husband; and, thank God, I am strong and can work for both.\u201d\n\nThe mountain that had been seen on fire was from that day called\n_Piatra Arsa_ (\u201cthe burnt rock\u201d), for both shepherds and hunters bore\nwitness that on that spot they had found the rock all blackened and\ncharred.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nR\u00ceUL DOAMNEI\n\n(\u201cTHE RIVER OF THE PRINCESS\u201d)\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nNot far from the pretty little mountain-town of C\u00e2mpa Lungo, a clear,\ncool stream winds along, called _R\u00eeul Doamnei_--\u201cthe river of the\nPrincess.\u201d This stream washes down gold along its bed, sometimes a bit\nhalf the size of one\u2019s nail; and it was a custom in times gone by that\nall the gold found there should belong to the Princess, the wife of the\nruler of the land. And this is the reason why:--\n\nThere was once a great famine in the land of Roumania, such a famine as\nhad never been known in the memory of man. First the locusts had come\ninto the land, in such swarms that the sun was darkened, and wherever\nthey settled they devastated everything, so that in a few minutes the\nfairest field of corn would be left bald as a threshing-floor, and the\ntrees, stripped of every leaf, stretched out their naked boughs against\nthe summer sky, beneath whose cloudless blue the heat grew ever greater\nand greater, so that even at night there was no longer a breath of\ncoolness in the air. As soon as all things around were devoured, the\ncloud of locusts would arise, only to settle instantly again upon the\nnext green patch. And so it went on unceasingly; and in those days folk\nwere not so clever as they are now, when they cover the great stretches\nof land where the insects have settled, with petroleum, and set it all\non fire. Nor were there then any cannon with which they could shoot\ninto the swarm of flying locusts, as they do now, and so sometimes\ncontrive to scatter them.\n\nAfter the locusts came the Poles from the North, the Hungarians from\nthe West, and the Turks from the South, and fell upon the land, and\nby them all the houses were burnt and the cattle stolen away. At last\nthese foes, too, quitted the country, but they left behind them fever\nand pestilence, both among man and beast.\n\nMen went about with blackened lips, and grievous sores on their bodies.\nThe cattle perished together in heaps on the barren fields, where not a\nsingle blade of grass was standing. Only the dogs and the ravens were\nin good case; they tore the flesh from the bones of the dead creatures,\nand for miles around nothing was to be seen but white bones with red\nflesh hanging to them, and millions of flies, that shone with gorgeous\nprismatic colours, settling upon them.\n\nThe air quivered with heat, and pestilential odours spread far over the\nland, so that men were stricken as with a plague, and died in a few\nhours.\n\nComplaints were heard no longer, for dull despair had reduced all men\nto silence; and when the starving people tore one another to pieces, no\none even told of it.\n\nThe bells rang no more; there was no keeping Sundays or holidays, nor\nwas there any work done, for no one had any oxen for the ploughing, or\nany seeds to sow.\n\nMen crept about like ghosts, with their bones staring through the skin,\ntheir lips drawn back so that the teeth lay bare, and only a few rags\nupon their bodies. There was hardly any one found to bury the dead, and\nmany remained lying, like the cattle, upon the fields.\n\nThe beautiful Princess Irina felt her heart breaking for pity. She had\ngiven away all her jewels for the poor; she had spent her last coin to\nbuy cattle for the peasants, but they had all been slain by the plague\nas soon as purchased. She had fed the hungry, till she had scarcely\nenough left to feed her own four little children. She stood at her\nwindow wringing her hands in despair, and prayed thus:\n\n\u201cO good God! hast Thou, then, quite forsaken me? Wilt Thou bring our\npoor land to destruction? Have we sinned yet more, that we must endure\nsuch searchings-out of Thy wrath?\u201d\n\nThen a soft, cool breath stole in, bearing a perfume as from the most\nbeautiful of gardens, and a silvery voice spoke:\n\n\u201cHelp shall arise for thee out of a river. Only seek.\u201d\n\nThen she went to the Prince, her husband, and to her children, and bade\nthem farewell, promising soon to return, and saying she now knew where\nto seek for that which should free them all from their misery. She\nspoke with such cheerful assurance that it brought trust and hope to\nevery man, for she never told them that she did not even know what she\nwas to seek.\n\nThen, through the burning summer heat, she began a weary pilgrimage\ntoward the rivers. Sometimes she would still chance upon a poor,\nstarved little horse, that would carry her a short distance, and then\nfall down dead, even beneath her light weight. She went up the _Olto_\nriver, the _Gin_, the _Buzlu_, the _Sereth_, all the rivers, both great\nand small. They flowed but meagrely over their stony beds, and those\nonce mighty waters scarcely whispered as they went, they that of old\nwere wont to rush and roar.\n\n\u201cMerciful God!\u201d prayed the Princess, \u201clet but a little cloud appear\nwhen I have found the river that is to help us!\u201d But there arose\nno cloud. She was wandering for a second time up the banks of the\n_Argesch_, and was just about to turn sadly back, when she caught sight\nof the mouth of a little stream that she had not noticed before. She\nturned her steps hesitatingly in that direction, her heart growing\nheavier and heavier as she saw the stream grow smaller and more\ninsignificant.\n\nWearied by her hard journey over the stones, she stood still a moment\nand sighed: \u201cI can find nothing, nothing at all, and perchance my\nchildren are starving and dying! Perhaps my thought was but a foolish\none--a cobweb of the brain, a lying fancy!\u201d Even as she spoke a shadow\nseemed to fall upon her. She thought it was only caused by the tears\nwhich for the first time were filling her large, wan eyes. She wiped\nthem off. Nay, there was indeed a shadow lying over the treeless waste;\nand when she raised her eyes, lo! the sun had hidden itself behind a\ntiny cloud, that yet was growing slowly larger.\n\nIrina began to tremble for joy, that yet was mingled with dread. Had\nGod heard her, or was it only another mistake? \u201cDear God,\u201d she prayed\nagain, \u201cif this be the river, suffer the cloud to become larger and\nthe rain to fall, for rain alone would be a blessing, and a great help\nto us in our need.\u201d She went on a little--yes, the cloud was growing\nlarger; she hurried forward, she ran, till she grew too weak to go\nfarther; then a few great, heavy drops began to fall. She drank them\nin, with lips and eyes, with hands and hair. Now a light patter and\nplashing began round about her, and all at once a perfect waterspout\nbroke forth. She struggled on in the wet loam of the river-bed as well\nas she could, till the stream began to swell, and dashed by in a brown,\nfoaming flood, like a broad river. Sometimes she was forced to stand\nstill and seek for her path, but yet she went on and on, for fear the\nrain should leave off. It rained all day and all night. The Princess\nwas so wet that a stream flowed from her garments. But she wrung them\nout, girt them up higher, and still went on, for one whole day and\nnight longer. Now she had reached the mountains, and often fell to the\nground from exhaustion after her long journey. At last she lay down\nupon the river-bank and fell asleep, while the rain streamed down upon\nher, and the river rose higher and higher, as though it would have\nsnatched her down and floated her away.\n\nShe awoke trembling with cold. There stood the gleaming sun, looking\nas fresh in the bright morning air as if he had had a bath himself.\nAnd behold! the river was no longer brown, but clear and blue as the\nair, and at the bottom of the water something shone and glittered like\nthe sunbeams themselves. Irina again girt up her garments and waded\nin--she must see what it was that shone with so wondrous a gleam. And\nlo! it was pure gold. She fell on her knees, there in the stream, and\ngave God thanks, aloud and earnestly. Gold! gold! Now she could help!\nShe went carefully on through the water and gathered up the golden\ngrains and little fragments, filling her mantle with them, till the\nburden was almost too heavy for her. And now she hurried home with her\ntreasure, and poured it out before her husband. Her children were yet\nalive, though weak and sorely exhausted; and they scarcely knew her\nagain, she was so emaciated and sunburnt. Yet now messengers went forth\ninto distant lands and bought corn, maize and hay, seeds and cattle;\nand the river never grew weary of giving till the famine was at an end,\nand laughing green, and sleek cattle, covered the Roumanian meadows\nonce more. And the thankful people called the river _R\u00eeul Doamnei_, and\nno one was to touch any of the gold therein, to possess it, save the\nPrincess of the land.\n\nBut the Princesses who came after this one, no doubt made a less good\nuse of their riches, for the river has become more niggardly, and the\ngold that the peasants still find in it now and then, is saved up for\nexhibition in the State Museum.\n\n[Illustration: And behold! the river was no longer brown, but clean and\nblue as the air.]\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nTHE CAVE OF JALOMITZA\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nIn crossing the pass between the peaks of V\u00eerful cu Dor and Furnica, on\nthe other side of the Bucegi, you come upon the Jalomitza river. One of\nthe springs which feed it rises hard by, in a vast stalactite cave, at\nthe entrance of which stands a small cloister. From time immemorial it\nhas always been said that there is no ending to this cave, and that a\nman who once went in there has never been seen again to this day.\n\nThe cave was once inhabited by a terrible enchanter, of whom it was\ntold that he carried off all the fairest maidens round about--carried\nthem off out of the fields, from their parents\u2019 cottages, yes, even\nfrom before the marriage-altar. They all followed him, without\nresistance, but no one ever saw them more. Many a bold youth had sworn\nto go and free them, and had even marched bravely into the cave and\ncalled the enchanter by name: \u201cBucur! Bucur!\u201d but not one had ever\ncaught a glimpse either of Bucur or of the maidens.\n\nBut in the pretty village of Rucar, at the foot of the Bucegi, there\ndwelt a beautiful maiden, named Jalomitza, who had been rash enough to\nsay that she engaged never to follow the enchanter, no matter in what\nshape he might appear before her, or with what promises he might try to\nentice her.\n\n\u201cAnd though he should even drag me into his cave,\u201d she said, \u201cI would\nstill get forth again.\u201d\n\nThis was a very daring speech, and the old folks shook their heads at\nit, and shrugged their shoulders, saying: \u201cIf he were really to come,\nshe would yet go with him gladly, just like all the others.\u201d\n\nA short time passed, during which no one appeared, and nothing\nhappened, to try the young girl\u2019s courage. She was a joy for all men\nto look upon, with her red cheeks, her fresh, cool lips, her waving\nauburn hair, and her great blue eyes. Her nose was delicately cut, with\ntransparent nostrils, only the tip had just a little impudent, upward\nturn. Her throat rose snow-white from her richly embroidered shift, and\nupon her forehead, temples, and neck the pretty reddish locks curled in\nwild abundance, escaping from the plaits and rebelliously defying all\nthe efforts of the comb. When Jalomitza loosened her plaits she was as\nthough clothed from head to foot in a golden mantle, of which she could\nnot see the half in her little mirror when she was decking herself on a\nSunday for the _Hora_.\n\nThere was one in the village who was for ever running after her, to the\nwell, in the fields, and at the dance. But she did not care to have\nmuch to do with poor Coman, and yet he was a fine lad, and rich. He\nowned broad meadows, with horses, cows, buffaloes, and sheep, and wore\na fine, embroidered white leather jerkin, and a long white cloak lined\nwith red, and richly adorned with gold and coloured threads. Many a\nmaiden looked round after Coman, but Jalomitza never did. She thought\nonly of the enchanter Bucur, and of how she would strive with him and\navenge all the poor maidens who had fallen into his clutches.\n\nOne beautiful Sunday afternoon, when the heated dancers were standing\nstill to rest for a moment, there was heard close by the sweetest sound\nof flute-playing--so sweet that every heart in that gay young throng\nbeat high with delight. All turned curiously to see who the player was,\nand there stood a handsome young shepherd, leaning against a tree, with\nhis feet crossed, as quietly as though he had been there for ever--and\nyet no one had seen him come, and no one knew him. He played on and\non, as if he were alone in the world; only once he raised his eyes and\nlooked at Jalomitza, who had drawn quite near, and was listening to\nthose heavenly melodies with parted lips and quivering nostrils.\n\nAfter a while he looked at her again, and presently a third time.\n\nThen Coman whispered to her from behind: \u201cCome away, Jalomitza; yon is\nan impudent fellow!\u201d\n\nAn impatient motion of the girl\u2019s shoulders and elbows was the only\nreply.\n\n\u201cJalomitza!\u201d whispered the jealous lover once more, \u201cart thou not\nashamed to let thyself be stared at thus?\u201d\n\nAgain she made no answer, but turned her back upon him.\n\n\u201cJalomitza, I tell thee, yon shepherd is no other than Bucur, the\nenchanter!\u201d\n\nJust at that moment the shepherd, without leaving off his playing,\nnodded his head, and Jalomitza\u2019s heart turned cold and her throat dry.\n\n\u201cWhat dost thou know about it?\u201d she rejoined defiantly, yet her voice\ntrembled a little.\n\n\u201cI know it, I can feel it! I feel it because I love thee--and because I\nlove thee I see, too, that he has taken thy fancy, and that thou wilt\nfall a prey to him, as all the others have.\u201d\n\n\u201cI! Never--I swear it!\u201d cried Jalomitza, and turned deadly pale.\n\n\u201cHere is my flute; do thou play for us a while,\u201d the shepherd now\ncalled out, handing his flute to Coman.\n\nWithout knowing what he did, Coman grasped the flute and began to play,\nand he played more beautifully than he had ever done in his life; but\nhe presently perceived, to his horror, that he could not leave off. He\nimprovised new _Horas_, such as he had never heard before--_Brius_,\n_Kindias_, he played them all, and could see, as he did so, that the\nstranger was always dancing with Jalomitza. Then he began to play a\n_Doina_, and the air was so passing sad that tears stood in all the\nwomen\u2019s eyes, and Jalomitza implored him to stop. But he played on and\non, looking round with terror in his glance, for the flute would not\nbe silent. Evening closed in; the people, in twos and threes, began\nto turn homewards, and still Coman blew upon the flute, and Jalomitza\nstood beside him as though spell-bound. The strange shepherd had\ndisappeared.\n\n\u201cLeave off, Coman,\u201d said she; \u201cthou art breaking my heart. Thou\nknowest I do not love thee; but I have sworn to thee never to belong to\nthat other. Leave off, Coman; be sensible!\u201d\n\nBut Coman played on, now merrily, as though he would have laughed,\nand now in so sad and melting a strain, that the nightingale made\nanswer from the depths of the dewy valley. Nearer and nearer drew the\nnightingale; Jalomitza could see it in the moonlight, how it came and\nsettled above Coman\u2019s head, and sang with the flute. Then it flew off,\nstill uttering its sweet, entrancing note, and Jalomitza followed it\nthe whole night through, without knowing whither she went. Coman too,\nwith his flute, followed the wonderful bird through the dewy valley,\nalong by the edge of the stream.\n\n[Illustration: Jalomitza followed it the whole night through, without\nknowing whither she went.]\n\nMorning broke, and Jalomitza smote her hands upon her head in terror:\n\u201cWhere am I? I am far away from home, and this place is strange to me.\nComan, where are we? I am affrighted! That bird was Bucur!\u201d\n\nComan gave no answer, but only played a merry dance. Then a horse came\ngalloping towards them over the meadow, and circled about the maiden,\noffering her his back to mount, and rubbing his head against her.\n\n\u201cAh me!\u201d she cried, \u201cI know the dread one again! If I were but a bird\nand could flee away!\u201d\n\nShe had scarcely said this before she was flying away in the shape of a\ndove, far away into the dewy morning.\n\nBut thereupon the horse was changed into a hawk, that shot down upon\nher from a giddy height, and bore her away in his talons toward the\nmountains.\n\n\u201cAh, would I were a flower down in the meadow!\u201d thought the terrified\nmaiden; and the next instant she was growing beside the stream, a blue\nforget-me-not; but then the hawk became a butterfly, and circled about\nthe flower, settling upon it, and swinging with it to and fro.\n\n\u201cOh, were I rather a trout in the stream!\u201d thought Jalomitza; and in a\nmoment she became a trout, but the butterfly turned into a net, caught\nher, and lifted her up into the air, till she was like to die.\n\n\u201cI would I were a lizard!\u201d thought the poor maid as she lay dying in\nthe net; and lo! in the twinkling of an eye she was gliding as quick\nas thought among the grass and flowers, and fancying she was hidden\nbeneath every stone and leaf. But from under the nearest stone a snake\ncrawled forth, and held her spell-bound beneath his dreadful eyes, so\nthat she could not move. They tarried a long while thus, and the little\nlizard\u2019s heart beat to bursting against her sides.\n\n\u201cWould I had become a nun! I should have been safe in the cloister!\u201d\nshe thought; and in a moment the lofty dome of a church rose above her\nhead, she saw tapers burning, and heard the voices of many hundreds of\nnuns re-echoing in a mighty wave of song. Jalomitza knelt, in the guise\nof a nun, before the picture of one of the saints; her heart was still\nthrobbing with fear, and she rejoiced to think that she was hidden in\nthis sanctuary. She raised her eyes in thanksgiving to the picture\nabove her--and behold! Bucur\u2019s eyes were gazing at her from out its\nface, and cast such a spell upon her that she could not quit the spot,\neven when the church grew empty. Night fell; the eyes began to shine\nand glitter, and Jalomitza\u2019s tears fell ceaselessly down on the stones\nwhere she knelt.\n\n\u201cAh me!\u201d she cried, \u201ceven in this holy place I find no rest from thee!\nWould I were a cloud!\u201d As she spoke the vaulted roof above her changed\nto the blue vault of heaven, and she was floating as a cloud through\nits boundless heights. But her persecutor turned into the wind, and\nhunted her from south to north, and from east to west, over the whole\nearth.\n\n\u201cI had better have been a grain of sand,\u201d said the little cloud to\nitself at last. Then it sank to earth, and fell, in the form of a\ntiny grain of golden sand, into the _R\u00eeul Doamnei_. But Bucur became\na peasant, wading with naked feet in the river to seek for gold, and\nhe fished up the little grain of sand out of the depths. It slipped\nhastily through his fingers, and turned into a doe, that fled away\ntoward the woodland thickets. But before the doe could reach the\nshelter of the forest, Bucur became an eagle, shot down upon her from\nabove, and once more bore her off in his talons toward his eyrie in\nthe Bucegi Mountain. Hardly had he loosed his grasp of her before she\nfell, as a dewdrop, into the cup of a gentian blossom. But he became a\nsunbeam, and glanced down upon her to drink her up. Then at last, in\nthe shape of a wild goat, she dashed, without knowing whither she went,\nstraight towards his cave. Laughing, he pursued her in the guise of a\nhunter, and murmured: \u201cI have thee now.\u201d She ran into the cave, ever\ndeeper and deeper, and on a sudden perceived that all the stones round\nabout were beautiful maidens, from whose eyes tears dropped unceasingly\ndown.\n\n\u201cOh, flee, flee from hence!\u201d a hundred voices called to her. \u201cThou\nunhappy maid! If once he kisses thee, thou wilt turn to stone like us!\u201d\n\nAt that moment an arrow flew through the whole length of the cave, and\nstruck the little goat as she fled. In deadly anguish she cried: \u201cOh,\nwould I were a stream! then I could flow away from him.\u201d Instantly she\nfelt herself rushing out of the cave as a foaming mountain torrent;\nthe enchanter uttered a terrible curse, turned into rock, and caught\nin his arms the little stream, that still kept on ever escaping him.\nJust then Coman reached the cave, and recognising his Jalomitza by her\nvoice, as she uttered a heartrending cry of \u201cComan, Coman!\u201d he gathered\nup all his remaining strength, and hurled his flute against the rock,\nin the outlines of which he could discern Bucur\u2019s cruel grin. And now\nthe spell was broken. Bucur could no more change his shape again than\nJalomitza hers, and so she flows on to this day, away over his stony,\nimmovable arms. But Coman built a little church before the cave, and\nbecame a monk, dwelling there in holiness, and gazing upon his fair\nbeloved, unto his life\u2019s end.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nTHE NIXIES\u2019 CLEFT\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nNot far from the little village of Dietenhain, in Saxony, there stands,\non the bank of the Zschopau river, where it winds through the forest, a\ngreat rock full of narrow clefts. In the days of long ago, when fairies\nand spirits were still visible to the eyes of Sunday-children,[7]\nthere dwelt in a cleft of this rock the King of the Nixies, who\nheld sway over all the water-folk of the Zschopau and its tributary\nrivers. No one could have told, looking by day at the outside of that\nrugged cliff, and at the narrow entrance of the Nixies\u2019 dwelling, how\nbeautiful it was when night fell, and the moonbeams lit up the broad\nsweep of the river and crept in among the dusky trees upon its banks.\nFor then the belated fisherman might see how all the face of the cliff\nseemed to melt away like a dream, and how a stately castle, built of\nshining crystal, arose in its place. A soft, unearthly light shone\nthrough the walls, so that one could look from end to end of the vast\nhalls and galleries, and see how the doors and windows were cut each\nfrom a single opal, and how the whole building was hung with garlands\nof lotus-flowers and water-lilies. Light figures, clad in misty\ndraperies, moved airily to and fro, and sounds of such exquisite music\nrang out from the place, that the very fishes rose to the surface of\nthe river to listen, and the passing boatmen hung upon their oars as if\nspell-bound. But the castle was never to be seen if crowds of people\nset out from home on purpose to gaze at it; and always with the first\nray of sunlight in the morning, it vanished like a summer cloud, the\nmusic was silenced, and the little fishes dived to the bottom of the\nriver again.\n\nNow, it was small wonder that there was sometimes music and dancing in\nthe Nixie\u2019s castle, for he had three beautiful daughters, and doubtless\nthey often invited their friends from the neighbouring streams and\ncaves to the palace, that they might disport themselves together. Yet\nit seemed that this did not satisfy the beautiful Nixies, but that\nthey still pined for the company of mortal men, as we, too, must needs\never hanker after all that lies out of our reach and is fraught with\ndanger. So the Nix-maidens now and then had leave, when the new moon\nrose at a favourable time, to go to the village dances at Dietenhain,\nand liked them better than the splendours of their own crystal palace.\nAnd they, too, were the despair of all the village youths, and the envy\nof all the village beauties, for what mortal maidens could be compared\nto these, with their strange, unearthly loveliness? Their delicate\nfeatures were as though moulded in wax; their cheeks were as white and\nglistening as the foam on their own river, and, despite all the heat\nand agitation of the dance, remained ever as pure, as pale, and as cold\nas ice. Only their eyes shone with a warmer light, that would sometimes\ndeepen to the glow of passion when they met the burning glances of\ntheir partners in the dance. But kind and sweet as they might show\nthemselves to these partners, none of them ever heard a word pass the\nNixies\u2019 lips. Their flaxen tresses, fair to whiteness, were decked\nwith trailing wreaths of water-plants, and their veils and draperies\nwere woven of mist, that glistened, as they moved, with the faintest\nrainbow hues. A broad girdle of cunningly plaited rushes confined these\ndraperies at the waist, and a necklace of many rows of crystal dewdrops\nsparkled on their bosoms. From this chain hung a fresh-water lily, that\nwas as good as a watch to the fairy sisters, for as soon as they saw\ntheir lilies fading, they knew that the first ray of sunlight was at\nhand, and vanished like a dream from the dancers\u2019 midst. Yet sometimes\nthey would suffer a favoured partner to bear them company for a little\nway through the forest, but as they neared the river-bank, their gentle\nyet warning glances and gestures forbade the eager lovers to pursue\nthem farther. And though many a heart was heavy for their sake, yet\nnone ever dared disobey their warnings or rouse their displeasure,\neither among the youths who loved them, or the maidens whose loves they\nhad crossed; for it was known that it is an ill thing to anger the\nwater-folk, and that they bid their rivers take a human life for every\nslight that is put upon them.\n\nSo a hundred summers passed by; men were born, and grew old, and died\nin the village, but the Nixies\u2019 beauty blossomed each year anew, and\nthe lips that had kissed the grandfather, now pressed the same warm\nkisses on the mouths of father and son, and the kisses never grew\ncolder.\n\nBut one day there came back from the wars to Dietenhain a young\nsoldier, the finest lad and the most stalwart the village had ever\nseen. All the maidens strove to win his favour, but among them all\nhe had eyes for one alone--Katrine, the miller\u2019s daughter--Katrine,\nthe boldest, proudest girl in the country-side; and the bravest, too.\nHad she not saved a child from drowning that had fallen into the\nmill-stream, and did she not drive away the wolf that had crept from\nthe forest and prowled around the village, one winter\u2019s day, when all\nthe men were from home? Nay, Katrine was afraid of nothing--handsome,\ntoo, she was; but soldier Veit maintained that he cared more for a\nstout heart and a strong arm than for beauty, even in a woman. But\nperhaps Veit scarcely knew his own mind on this subject.\n\nTo be sure, nothing had yet been said of betrothal, for Veit had only\nbeen home a month; but he was always willing to carry the neighbours\u2019\nsacks of corn to be ground, and would stay leaning over the mill-bridge\nand talking to Katrine by the hour, till her mother said she had need\nof one of the friendly forest-dwarfs to come and finish her neglected\nwork for her. But her father began to look askance at Veit, and said\nsoldiers were wont to make too light of home-work, and of many other\nthings.\n\nNow a great holiday fell about this time, and there was to be a fine\ndance in the village on that evening. Mysterious whispers began to\ncreep about among the lads and maidens. \u201cThe moon is in its first\nquarter--who knows? perhaps the Nixies will be seen at the dance,\u201d they\nsaid; \u201cit is many months since they were last among us.\u201d\n\nAnd one timid maiden cried, \u201cOh, I pray not! There is no pleasure\nin the dance for me when I know they are by, the silent, uncanny\ncreatures!\u201d\n\n\u201cLittle care I for that,\u201d rejoined Katrine, who was standing near;\n\u201c\u2019tis for another cause I would wish them away. They say many a heart\nhas been broken in the village, ay, through these hundred years and\nmore, for the sake of the vain, misty things. Now \u2019tis enough! Let not\none of them touch aught that concerns me!\u201d\n\nThe maidens shrank back in terror. \u201cHush, hush, Katrine!\u201d they cried;\n\u201chow canst thou dare speak thus--thou who dwellest by the water-side,\ntoo? Who can tell what may befall?\u201d\n\nKatrine laughed scornfully, all the more so, no doubt, that Veit had\njust joined the group, and was listening with a mocking air.\n\n\u201cTo be sure,\u201d he said, \u201cKatrine is not afraid, I\u2019ll be bound; and why\nshould she be? I, for one, do not believe in these Nixies and their\nspells; there is not a Nixie of them all can lay a spell on me!\u201d\n\nNow it was the men\u2019s turn to murmur. \u201c\u2019Tis the ignorant who boast,\u201d\nsaid an old white-haired fellow, who leaned, smoking his pipe, against\nthe tavern door. \u201cThou art a foolish fellow, Veit. There is many a\none among us could speak of the Nixies\u2019 spells. Dost thou mind poor\nHeinrich, who wanders about as if he were daft and speaks to no one?\nHast thou marked him sitting alone in a corner of the ale-house at\nnight? He is a living proof that the Nixies are no dream. To be sure,\nhe has not taken the matter aright. A kiss and a laugh--that is the way\nto use with them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey may get the laugh from me, but never a kiss,\u201d rejoined Veit,\nangered at the old man\u2019s reproof; and he exchanged a glance with\nKatrine, who turned away with an unwonted blush upon her cheek.\n\nThe dance was at its height. Lanterns, fastened with garlands of\nflowers, hung from the trees that surrounded the village-green, but\ntheir light was not needed, for the rays of the young moon flooded the\ndancing-space with their silvery radiance. Veit leaned against a tree;\nhe was hot from the dance, and glad to rest as he waited for his turn\nto lead Katrine out. All at once he felt a cool breeze fan his cheek,\nand yet no wind stirred the branches above him. This was as the cool,\nmoist breath of a fountain. He turned his head, for he fancied he\ncaught a glimpse of something glistening in the shadow behind him. Yes,\nindeed, there was some one standing by him, a misty form, whose white\ndraperies shone like a ray of moonlight among the trees. And then a\npair of eyes were raised to his--eyes as deep, and yet transparent, as\nthe waters of some mountain lake, eyes that shone, beneath the masses\nof pale hair, as the lake shines when the stars are mirrored in it. And\nthat gaze drank up Veit\u2019s very soul, and with it the memory of Katrine,\nand of all his promises and all his boasts. In vain Katrine waited for\nher partner, and turned at last in a rage to seek another, hoping by\njealousy to win back her truant lover. In vain! All night long Veit\ndanced with that misty form on the outskirts of the green, where the\ntrees throw their deepest shadow. For the Nixies do not willingly\nmingle with the throng of mortal youths and maidens. There, too, in\nthe shadow, Heinrich danced, the clouds all lifted from his brow; and\nyet another dancer drew near and clasped the third fairy sister in\nhis arms. The hours flew by, and the enraptured dancers could hardly\nbelieve that the dawn was breaking, but there, on the necklace of each\nof the sisters, hung the water-lily, scarcely whiter than the fair\nbosom on which it rested--and the petals of the flower were drooping!\nThen suddenly Veit felt the gentle pressure lifted from his arm, and\neven as he looked round, the glistening forms were already disappearing\namong the dark pine-stems. He hastened after them, his comrades\nat his heels, but not all their entreaties could stay the Nixies\u2019\nfast-fleeting steps; and when their partners reached the edge of the\nforest, where it meets the lush, green river-meadows, the rising mists\nof morning had already swallowed up those fairy beings, that seemed,\nindeed, born of the mists themselves.\n\nHeinrich sighed heavily, and wandered away by himself down another path\nthat led to the river-side; and the third youth, a merry, reckless\nfellow, sauntered off with a careless laugh; but Veit made an angry\ngesture, and exclaimed as he turned his steps homeward: \u201cI shall catch\nthem yet; it is not thus she shall baulk me.\u201d\n\nBut many a time was Veit doomed to disappointment. True, the Nixies\nreturned, and oftener than was their wont; for now, whenever the moon\nshone, and the lads and maidens danced on the green in their spare\nmoments, even though it might be but of a work-day evening, the white\nsisters crept like the moonbeams through the trees, seeking out always\nthe same partners. And between times Heinrich grew more and more\nmelancholy, and Veit more forgetful of his old love for Katrine, and\nmore reckless, withal, in his speech. The old folk in the village shook\ntheir heads ever more gravely, and whispered ancient tales of boatmen\nwho had been drawn down into the deep water by the Nixies\u2019 rock. \u201cVeit\nhad better guard his tongue, and not try to blind their eyes with his\nfoolish boasts, now that he was plainly more under the spell than any\nman of them all.\u201d What would they have said had they known that the\nwhite sisters, too, had warnings whispered to them by the friendly folk\nwho came to the crystal palace? \u201cIt was ill for Nixies ever to seek\nout the same man among mortals, and, indeed, to love the haunts of any\nmortals over-much.\u201d Perhaps these speeches were prompted by jealousy as\nmuch in the crystal palace as they might have been in the village hut,\nbut however this may be, the Nix-maidens heeded them not, and seemed,\nindeed, more eager than ever before to join the dances on the green.\n\nNow if Veit forgot, Katrine never did; and her anger against the\ninterlopers grew hotter and more cruel as her own pain and heartache\ngrew deeper. She sat at home and brooded over thoughts of revenge, and\nshe spoke with all the wise elders of the village who could tell her\nanything of the traditions concerning the Nixies. They dreaded being\nsurprised by the sunlight--that was plain. But why? No one had ever yet\nhad the courage to gainsay them, or try to hold them back and find out\nthe truth. Love, however, gives courage, and Karl, the third partner\nwhom the fairy sisters sought out, had sworn he loved Katrine, and\nonly went with the Nix-maidens because Katrine slighted him. True,\nKatrine had given her heart to Veit, but the longing for revenge, and\nthe desire to win back her lost love at any cost, had grown so strong\nin her that there was nothing she would not do to gain her end. So it\nwas Karl now who talked with Katrine on the mill-bridge, and promised,\nif her love was to be his reward, to carry out the plot they made\ntogether. Then the cunning Karl set about fanning the flame that was\nalready raging in Veit\u2019s veins, and consuming the life of poor, foolish\nHeinrich. How often, Karl insinuated, had they not been on the point\nof winning the love of the wayward Nix-maidens, when the first rays\nof dawn had interrupted them! Were they always to be cheated thus?\nWhat mystery was there about these Nixies, that they would not let\nthemselves be followed, or persuaded to outstay the rising of the sun?\nNay, they had not managed wisely! At the next dance, let them lead the\nfairy sisters away, while the night was yet dark, to the deepest part\nof the forest, where no light of dawn could penetrate, and try if thus\nthe spell might not be broken, and the love of these evasive maidens\nwon.\n\nHe spoke to willing ears. Had not Veit said long ago that he would\nbe master of his fairy partner at last? The plan was a good one. Why\nhad it never been thought of before? It must be, Veit concluded, the\nspell that the wilful creature had laid upon him that had so dulled\nhis mind! Heinrich, too, needed no pressing; he was clean daft for\nlove, and hardly knew what he did any longer. So the plan was laid,\nand woe betide the Nixies when the time for the next dance arrived.\nKatrine watched for it now with anxious eyes, and her heart throbbed\nwith bitter satisfaction when at last she saw those rainbow draperies\nglisten once more in the moonlight beneath the trees. But they were\nnot long to be seen. The Nixies had suffered their fancy to ensnare\nthem too far, and when the eager lovers spoke of a quiet space amid\ndistant forest trees where they could dance and dally undisturbed,\nthey consented only too easily to follow them thither. No one knew\nhow the hours sped by in that quiet and dusky spot. Once, as they lay\nresting upon the grass, Karl contrived with cunning hand to unfasten\nthe lilies from the crystal chains, and the flowers that might have\nwarned the Nixies from their fate withered unheeded upon the moss.\nThey were missed too late. Too late the fairy sisters grasped at their\nchains and sought with anxious eyes for their guardian lilies. When\nthey espied them, they were already faded and dying. At that sight a\nmoan, the only sound that mortal ears had ever heard from the Nixies\u2019\nlips, escaped the ill-fated sisters. They fled, as the spray of the\nfountain flies before the wind, through the forest-glades; but even as\nthey reached the river-meadow, a ray of sunlight greeted them upon its\nverge--sunlight, that gladdens the heart of man, but to them was the\nshaft of death. No friendly mist spread forth a sheltering veil over\nthe meadow; and as they felt the warmth of those piercing rays, they\nmelted as wax before the fire, as foam upon the water. In a moment the\nfairy sisters were gone, and in their stead three slender rivulets,\nwhose foamy whiteness was stained with a faint streak of red, wound\ntheir way with a complaining murmur through the green meadow, towards\nthe river and the great rock. They disappeared among its hollows, and\nhe who doubts the tale need but seek out the river-bank by Dietenhain,\nand he will find the three streamlets, and the spot that is still\ncalled the \u201cNixies\u2019 cleft.\u201d\n\nBut the spell that the fairy sisters had laid upon two human hearts\nwas not to be broken thus. From that time Heinrich could find no\nrest from his remorse and sorrow, so that they drove him at last to\nseek his death in the fatal river. Veit, too, flying in horror from\nthe village, was drowned in crossing the Elbe, by the great rock at\nStrehla, where it is said that the Nixies yearly require the sacrifice\nof one human life. Only the reckless Karl and the bold Katrine seem to\nhave gone scot-free. They married after a while, and lived on beside\nthe mill-stream without fear of the Nixies; nor can I learn that the\nwater-folk ever succeeded in doing them any harm.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nTHE FLYING CASTLE\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nBeside the stream of Gerlach, and at the foot of the Glockenberg, in\nthe Hartz Mountains, there is a deep pit, and here--so the country-folk\ntell--there once stood a mighty castle, that was inhabited, not by\nknights or earls, but by a wicked woman, who was known only as the\n\u201cLady of the Castle.\u201d She was learned in all manner of evil lore, and\ncast spells upon many of the country-people and their belongings,\nso that she was feared and hated throughout the district. But her\nfavourite pastime was to capture the village maidens as they passed\nalong the road below, and shut them up in the castle, where she made\nthem work for her, nor ever let them out again as long as they lived.\nAll about the woods and hedges her spies and serving-men were hidden,\nready to pounce on any luckless girl whose business obliged her to\ncross that dangerous valley.\n\nOne might suppose that the whole country-side would have risen in\narms against this hateful tyrant. But her dread power of working\nspells and her authority as lady of all the surrounding lands made\nthe people afraid to rebel. At last they could bear it no longer,\nhowever, and they determined to form a strong band, and march against\nthe castle, with their priest at their head, carrying a crucifix, to\nbe their defence against the spells and curses of the witch. When the\nlittle army reached the castle they found the great gates closed, the\ndrawbridge up, and the walls manned by a host of grinning dwarfs, more\nlike apes than men, who swarmed about the battlements with threatening\ngestures. This sight struck terror to the hearts of the rescuers, but\nthe priest encouraged them by the assurance that, if every man did but\ncross himself faithfully, there could no danger befall him from any\nof these fiendish apparitions. However, as the castle could not be\nsurprised, they determined to surround and keep watch about it that\nnight, till they could bring ladders and storm it on the following day.\nSo sentry-fires were lighted, and preparations made for a camp, but\nnot one of the besiegers could get to sleep that night. And behold!\nat midnight, as they sat round their fires, watching the dark, silent\nfortress with anxious eyes, they saw three tongues of blue flame shoot\nup from the topmost tower, and suddenly there appeared upon it the Lady\nof the Castle, her witch\u2019s staff in her hand. Her tall form, veiled in\nblack, stood out in dusky outline against the lurid blue light; and\nas she stood there, she waved her wand towards the four corners of\nheaven, and uttered some words in an unknown tongue. Immediately the\nground trembled, the light of the stars was darkened, a fearful roar\nand turmoil were heard, and with a rending sound, as though the earth\nwere opening beneath it, the great castle was torn from its foundations\nand carried by an invisible hand through the air, till it reached the\ntop of a neighbouring mountain, where it settled like some monster\nbird. But as it went the voice of the witch was heard crying aloud: \u201cIf\nye dare to disturb me again in my dwelling, I will take your houses\ntoo, and carry them through the air, as I do this my castle--but into\nthe lake yonder will I cast them down.\u201d The terror-stricken besiegers\nhardly dared follow the flight of the castle with their eyes, but there\nit was the next morning, and for many days to come, standing upon the\nmountain far above them.\n\nNow there was no more question of rescuing the maidens by force, and\nno one, you may be sure, ever set foot on that mountain if he could\nhelp it. But the witch\u2019s servants still haunted the woodland paths, and\nbore off many a hapless girl into a captivity, which now seemed more\nterrible than ever, far away on yon lonely hill-top.\n\nBut as the years went on, there grew up in the village a brave and\npious maiden whom her parents had dedicated from childhood to the holy\nSt. Anthony, the patron saint of the family. For it was good, they\nthought, to be under the protection of a saint, when there was so much\nevil dwelling near at hand, and so much danger to be feared. The maiden\nwas named Antonia, and got her living as a shepherdess. This often led\nher into lonely places among the woods and meadows at the foot of the\ndreaded mountain, but she was never afraid, and always escaped being\ncaught, though many a maid she knew was taken almost from her side.\nSometimes she would even lead her sheep up the slopes of the mountain\nitself, for every one shunned those pastures, so that they were rich\nand untrodden. And as she got nearer to the castle, and looked up\nat its dark, frowning walls, she mused more and more upon the poor\ncreatures shut up within it, and how they might be helped to escape.\nAt last the matter got such hold upon her mind that she dreamed of it\nat night, and her dreams took clearer and clearer shape, until this is\nwhat she dreamed. She saw a garden filled with shrubs and flowers, such\nas she had never known before; dark walls closed it in on every side,\nbut within all was bright and blooming. Yet there was a taint in the\nscent of the blossoms, and an unwholesome heaviness filled the air. She\nherself lay upon a mossy bank, and above her hung boughs covered with\ntrails of purple blossom. She tried to reach them, but could not move\na limb. Then a dreadful sense of terror came over her, and she called\naloud upon St. Anthony, and at once the heavy air cleared, and the\nweight was lifted from her limbs; and as she rose, cheerful and glad\nonce more, a voice sounded among the trees: \u201cFrom within the castle\nhelp must come--from within.\u201d\n\nThe sound of the voice woke her, and there she lay in her own bed at\nhome, and wondered. \u201cFrom within.\u201d Did that mean that she must give\nherself up into captivity? The more she thought of it, the more she was\nsure it must be so; but she dared ask counsel of no one, for she knew\nher parents would never consent to her casting herself into the lion\u2019s\njaws.\n\nAnd there was one other, too, in the village, who would never suffer it\neither. She thought of him, and sighed; yet now she thought far oftener\nof her captive sisters even than of him, and his glance and his smile\nmade her sad instead of merry.\n\nThe day came--she had felt it coming for long--when she could resist\nthe call no more: the dark walls of the castle drew her as by an\nirresistible fascination; and when it was time to lead her sheep\nhomeward at evening, she gave them into the charge of another maiden\nwho was going that way, and saying she had lost her staff upon the hill\nand must turn back to seek it, she sprang up the mountain-slopes.\n\nTo her surprise, no one spoke to her, no armed figures dashed out from\namong the bushes to seize her, but she was allowed to go on unharmed,\nright up to the castle. She had never been so far before, and when\nshe reached the great gates, they looked so dark and frowning in the\ntwilight, and the whole place so still and lonely, that for the first\ntime her heart sank, and she almost turned back. But just then the\nvesper-bell sounded from the valley below, and it seemed to put heart\ninto her, and to remind her that her saintly protector was just as near\nas in the valley. She advanced towards the gate, and was raising her\nstaff to knock upon it, when it opened silently, and in the dusky porch\nshe saw a tall figure, veiled in black, and holding a golden key. It\nbeckoned to her, and with a beating heart Antonia entered, and heard\nthe great door swing to behind her.\n\n[Illustration: For the first time her heart sank, and she almost turned\nback.]\n\nAs she went forward, the air grew thick and heavy, and she felt the\nsame sense of deadly faintness that she remembered in her dream steal\nover her now. Presently her guide lifted a dark hanging, that covered\none of the doors in the passage they had been following, and they\ncame out into a lofty hall. Here the darkness had fully closed in,\nand the great, misty spaces of the roof were lit by swinging lamps,\nthat threw out a strong perfume as they burnt. Underneath, all along\nthe walls, ran long divans, or heaps of cushions, covered with silken\ndrapery, and above them hung canopies formed of huge flower-heads,\nlike poppies, whose transparent, blood-red petals waved and fluttered\ngently in the upper air, shedding the same drowsy perfume as the lamps.\nUpon the divans many maidens lay sleeping, in all sorts of positions,\njust as they had sunk down while at work. The faces of some were\nfamiliar to Antonia; these were the girls who had been ravished from\nthe village since she could remember; and others there were, who had\nbeen taken many years before her birth, and of whom she had but heard.\nBefore every girl--for they kept their youth unchanged--stood a wide\ntapestry-frame, on which, through each weary day, their fingers wove\nstrange and lovely patterns, in delicate hues of every kind. As long\nas daylight lasted, the witch, as Antonia learnt afterwards, kept them\nawake by many ingenious means of torture; by unearthly and startling\nsounds that broke from the vaults below--by cruel pricks from the magic\nneedles they worked with--by strokes, too, from her fairy wand, with\nwhich she walked up and down, and which lengthened at her pleasure,\nso that none were out of its reach. But even so, though their fingers\nmight move, their heads were heavy and giddy, and no thought of home,\nno stirrings of a desire for freedom, ever arose with enough strength\nto give them energy to rebel.\n\nAs she entered the hall, the witch cast off her black veil, and Antonia\nbeheld the cruel red eyes, the lank jaws, and the grizzled tresses, the\nsight of which had first bereft her wretched captives of all their\nwill and courage. But upon brave little Antonia they failed in their\ndreadful effect, and the witch saw it with surprise. \u201cHere we have a\nhearty lass indeed,\u201d she jeered; \u201cand truly I might have known it,\nsince she is the first I have known foolhardy enough to come to these\ngates of her own accord. Perhaps she will be able to bear the burden of\nthe keys.\u201d And bending down, she drew from under an iron table a heavy\nebony casket, bound with silver, and a huge bunch of keys. Both of\nthese she fastened with chains about Antonia\u2019s shoulder, and the poor\ngirl almost sank to the ground beneath their terrible weight. The witch\ngrinned. \u201cI have long been looking for a girl strong enough to carry\nthese about for me,\u201d she said, \u201cand perhaps they will keep thee quiet.\nNow follow me; thy time for slumber is not yet.\u201d\n\nSo all through the night, and for many other nights and days, Antonia\nfollowed her about, staggering beneath her burden, while the witch\nvisited all the doors and grated windows of the castle, all the\nunderground cells where she put her few unruly prisoners, or where she\nkept her treasures of gold and jewels, and stores of beautiful silks\nfor the embroideries. Antonia now carried the keys of all these doors,\nbound about her in such a way that she herself could not raise a hand\nto touch one.\n\nWhen the midday sun was hot, all the maidens, and Antonia among them,\nwere allowed to spend an hour in the garden; and as soon as she entered\nit Antonia knew it for the place she had seen in her dreams. There\nwere the high, dark walls, that matted boughs of ivy, and a poisonous\nscarlet creeper, only partly succeeded in hiding. There were the\nstrange shrubs and nameless purple flowers, and there was to be felt\nthe heavy, sickly air--she remembered it all so well. The sun struck\nthrough the overhanging boughs with a fierce, burning heat, as though\nit were shining through a roof of glass, and no refreshing breezes ever\nstirred the leaves, or cooled the brows of the captive maidens. Yet\nthey never complained; and when, during their short hour of leisure,\nAntonia spoke to them as to old acquaintances, or told them she had\ncome from their home, they did not seem to care about hearing of it,\nor to have any recollection of their former friends. She saw she could\nexpect no help from them. From whom was she to look for it, then?\nSurely, only from her guardian, St. Anthony, whose voice it had been,\nshe knew, that had bidden her \u201cgive help from within the castle.\u201d But\nwhere, in all this bewitched, wicked place, could she find a corner\nto pray to him, or a spot worthy of his holy presence? Not one of the\ncaptive maidens wore her rosary, or seemed ever to think of saying a\nprayer. How could he turn his eyes upon such a household? Oh! could\nit be that she, in her earnest desire to obey his voice and help her\nforsaken sisters, might be thought worthy to make a shrine for him!\nWell, at any rate she would try.\n\nAnd so, day after day, in the little time given her for rest and\nrefreshment, Antonia toiled to make St. Anthony a shrine. She found a\nspot, hidden among wild-rose bushes--the only flowers in the garden\nthat she knew--where there was a ruined pillar and what looked like\nthe remains of an old archway. Here there were some fallen stones;\nand others she brought--staggering under their weight and that of her\nhateful keys--from more distant parts of the garden. Sometimes her\nstrength almost gave way; sometimes she had to stop her work because of\nthe spying eyes of the witch herself; sometimes she had to make great\nefforts to overcome the dull, faint feeling that the unwholesome air\nproduced, and that she feared above all things.\n\nBut at last the work was done, and a little shrine rose unseen\namong the thick bushes. She covered the grey stone with a shower of\nrose-leaves, and the white petals of a fragrant flower that grew among\nthe grass of the garden--and looked proudly and hopefully upon her\nlabour of love. And now she flung herself upon her knees before it,\npraying St. Anthony to accept her work, to fill the shrine which she\nhad made, and to free his children from the captivity of evil. At first\nthere was no answer; the minutes of her short hour of rest were ebbing\nfast away, and the bell which called back the maidens to their tasks\nwas beginning to sound, when her eager eyes caught sight of a shadowy\nform in the niche of the little shrine. It grew plainer, and a figure\nlike that of an old man, robed in grey, hovered for a moment against\nthe wall. Scarcely had his foot touched the rose-covered pedestal, when\na sound like thunder rent the air, and a mighty blast of wind swept\nthrough the trees of the sleeping garden. Antonia fell with her face to\nthe earth, but in the roar of the storm she was aware of these words,\nspoken by the same voice she had heard in her dream: \u201cThy prayer is\nheard, the prison-gates are open, and thou art freed from thy burden;\nbut it shall fall upon her who laid it on thee--yea, for twice two\nhundred years.\u201d The thunder rolled louder, and she heard and knew no\nmore.\n\nWhen she came to herself she was again in her own little room at home,\nand might have thought this was but a second awakening from a dream,\nonly that a great noise of rejoicing broke upon her ear, and when she\nwent out into the village, she found that in every house whence a\nmaiden had once been stolen away, the lost one was now restored to the\nlove of her people. Her own parents, too, clasped her with joy to their\nhearts, for she now found that she had been missing for a whole year,\nand they also had given her up as lost. When her story was known, the\nenthusiasm of the village knew no bounds; Antonia was looked up to by\nevery one as only next door to a saint herself, and a splendid shrine,\nyou may be sure, was raised by the people to St. Anthony.\n\nThere was one person in the village, however, who thought that nobody\nhad made enough of Antonia, after all, and so he devoted himself for\nthe rest of his days to making up the lack.\n\nAnd now, amid all the happy faces in the village, faces of parents\nconsoled and lovers reunited, only a few sad ones were seen, those of\nthe maidens who had returned young, to find their loved ones old, or\nforgetful, or dead. For these Antonia came too late; and thus it is\nthat no evil can be so blotted out but that it will leave some traces\nin this world.\n\nOf the castle on the hill, however, no traces were left save a few\nruins. It was years, to be sure, before any one ventured up there, and\nthen nothing was found but owls and bats and a heap of whitened bones.\nBut something like the old castle still reappears now and then, the\npeople say; only it always shows itself down in the valley, where it\nfirst stood, and where the pit now is. It has been seen once or twice,\nand the saying is, that if only the beholder could throw something that\nbelonged to him upon this castle--a cap, a kerchief, or what not--it\nwould be fixed to the spot and would become his property. Once a\nmaiden, who knew naught of the tale, went to draw water near the spot,\nand came running home to tell her father she had seen a splendid house\nstanding above the old pit.\n\n\u201cAnd didst thou cast thy kerchief on it?\u201d asked the father in haste.\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d replied the girl.\n\nThen he gave her a stinging box on the ear, and ran out himself, but\nthe castle was gone.\n\nAs for the witch, St. Anthony\u2019s curse was fulfilled upon her, and she\nstill haunts the hill, carrying the heavy casket and the huge bunch of\nkeys; nor has any one yet been found to ease her of her burden.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nTHE SILVER NAIL\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nMany years ago there lived in the little town of Stolberg, which is the\ncentre of a mining district in the Hartz Mountains, a certain Joseph\nKerst, who was the overseer of one of the neighbouring mines. He had\nbegun work there as a boy, and had no thought or care but for the\ntreasures that were to be found in those dusky depths, so that he had\ncome, early in life, to enjoy a position of trust, and a certain degree\nof wealth. This, however, was not enough to satisfy him; his great\nambition was to discover a fresh vein of silver, that should be his\nalone, and make him the richest of men; and to this end he would wander\nnight and day about the mountains, and through the disused pits, pick\nin hand, seeking for a spot that seemed to promise what he desired.\n\nNow, with the wealth which was his already, he might easily have kept\na wife, and, indeed, many a girl in the town was on the look-out for\noverseer Joseph, and would gladly have become the mistress of the\ncomfortable old house on the market-place. At last he did seem to\nhave made his choice, and a good choice too; for he often spent his\nspare hours with the watchmaker\u2019s daughter Anna, who was the sweetest,\ngentlest girl in the world, and plainly did not want him for his money,\nfor it was easy to see she worshipped the ground he trod on. If the\ntruth were known, she often wept in secret over his craze for silver,\nand his dangerous midnight excursions into the heart of the mountains;\nbut the poor, loving creature fancied that when once he had \u201cgiven her\nthe ring,\u201d which he promised soon to do, she could persuade him to turn\nhis mind to other things.\n\nMeanwhile, however, he did not give up his search, and this is what\nbefell him at last:--It was a moonlight night; he had turned his steps\ntowards one of the disused tunnels of the _Auerberg_, and was going to\nenter it, when he saw that the inside of the tunnel itself was flooded\nwith light, as though the moonbeams had found their way in there also.\nYet he presently perceived that this was no ray of the moon, for the\nshaft of light streamed forth from within, even from the very heart of\nthe cavern, and as he gazed, a sound of far-off music struck upon his\near. Now all miners know that there are spirits in the mountain, who\ndraw the precious metal down to the depths of the earth, or suffer it\nto rise nearer to the surface, according to their pleasure; and Joseph\nguessed at once that here might be the clue he was seeking. So, spurred\non by the thought that he was perhaps near the realisation of his\ndearest hope, he stepped with a beating heart into the cavern and along\nthe shining pathway of light. Brighter and brighter it grew; louder\nand sweeter, too, the music swelled forth, till his eyes were dazzled,\nand his heart throbbed with so exquisite a pleasure that he could\nhardly draw breath. And now misty forms, as of men and maidens dancing,\nbegan to whirl before his eyes upon the golden floor; and then, as\nthese disappeared, he was aware of one radiant figure, clad in snowy,\nshimmering garments, who stood alone against the dark rock and beckoned\nto him. As he went nearer he saw that the form was that of a maiden.\nHer long, dusky tresses fell round a pale, delicate face, in which the\nlarge eyes shone out like lamps; her raiment was woven all of silver\nthreads, and in one hand she held a slender silver staff, shaped like a\nlong nail.\n\nPresently she began to speak, and her voice was as sweet as the music\nwhich had heralded her coming. \u201cHave no fear, good mortal,\u201d the gentle\nvoice said. \u201cI have watched many a day for thy coming, for I knew thou\nwert bold, and wouldst venture much, and I need such a one to release\nme from my prison. Thou art seeking for precious ore. Know, then,\nthat the silver nail I hold can guide thee to the spot where lies the\nrichest vein in all these mountains. But there is a price to pay.\u201d As\nshe spoke these words a smile dawned upon her face. But Joseph had no\nears save for the welcome news of the vein of ore; he forgot all his\nalarm and doubt, and springing forward, cried: \u201cBeautiful spirit, there\nis no price I would not pay for such knowledge!\u201d\n\n\u201cArt thou sure, Joseph? For this is the price--even that thou shalt wed\nme, and promise that thou wilt not ever, in the time to come, cast it\nin my teeth that I am a being of the under-world, and that thou hast\nbeen my releaser. Only thus can I be freed; for I seek for love, yea,\nas thou seekest for wealth; and if there be one in the town yonder who\nhath already taken thy love, why then the price is not thine to pay,\nand I warn thee to pause and consider ere thou promise it.\u201d\n\nJoseph felt a chill creep round his heart. He thought of Anna, but her\nimage seemed to grow pale beside the one before him. Yet--a spirit\ndwelling in the old house on the market-place! How might this be?\n\nThe fairy maiden saw his hesitation, and her smile died away. \u201cNay, not\nnow,\u201d she cried as he opened his lips to answer, \u201cnot yet must thou\nreply, for thy fate and mine will be dark if thou dost promise what\nthou canst not fulfil. To-morrow night, when the moon is full, come\nagain to the mountain, and let thy heart be honest and thy purpose\nfirm, to answer according to truth.\u201d As she spoke the light vanished,\nand Joseph stood once more alone at the cavern\u2019s mouth. The moon\nwas setting, and its beams were scarcely bright enough to guide him\nhomeward again, but he stumbled on, unheeding, his mind in a whirl of\nperplexity and doubt. When he reached his own door, and creeping in,\nsat down by the warm stove, he could scarcely have told whether he\nhad not been sitting there all night, or whether his adventure had\nbeen anything but a dream. Yet nay--he had surely set forth to the\nAuerberg that evening, and in such haste that his half-finished supper\nstill stood there upon the table. Suppose it were true, and he within\nan ace of being the richest man in the land? There was Anna--but did\nhe really love Anna? Had he promised her anything? He thought not; all\nhis intercourse with her seemed misty and far off now. Thus through\nthe night and day he struggled with one thought and another, his mind\nin a whirl. His work was neglected, and even his underlings laughed,\nunreproved, at his distraught and wandering looks. By evening he had\nreached a condition in which he could not have sworn to the truth of\nanything. Probably what he had seen the night before was all fancy;\nbut he must prove it to himself, for if it were true, what vague and\nfoolish lovers\u2019 talk was there in the world worth giving up such a\nchance for?\n\nMidnight and the full moon saw him standing again at the entrance of\nthe cavern, his mouth dry and his heart beating with anxiety. He waited\nlong. Despair, and a secret rage at his own credulous folly, were\nbeginning to seize hold on him, when his straining eyes caught sight\nof a faint glimmer spreading through the dark. He hurried forward, and\nwith each step the light grew brighter and brighter, till it led him\nat last to the rock where he had seen the maiden the night before. But\nshe was not there; the only thing that met his eyes was an iron door,\nlet into the rock on the spot where she had leant. He thrust against\nit with all his might, and straightway there rang out a strain of the\nsweetest music, such as he had heard before. And with the sound of the\nmusic, these words were borne to his ear: \u201cIf thou truly and with a\nloving heart seekest Eruna, call and she will answer.\u201d\n\n\u201cEruna!\u201d repeated Joseph with trembling voice; \u201cEruna!\u201d\n\nAt the second call the door flew open beneath his hand, and discovered\na rock-hewn chamber, radiant with light that streamed from its walls,\nand at the farther end of it, just as he had seen her before, stood\nthe magic maiden he had learnt to call Eruna. A golden table stood\nbeside her, and upon it were a book, and a golden candlestick holding\na burning taper, and the candlestick was in the shape of a tall lily,\nwith buds and blossoms of gold. But in front of the table, on either\nside, crouched two strange, terrible creatures with flaming eyes, and\ntheir form was like that of a lion.\n\n\u201cCome to me without fear, Joseph,\u201d cried Eruna as she saw him start\nback; \u201cthese beasts are my faithful guardians, but they will not touch\none who comes without fear.\u201d As she spoke she raised the silver nail in\nher hand, and a feeling of triumph swept over the heart of the man. It\nwas true, then; this beautiful being and her promises were no dream,\nand he had reached his goal! He sprang forward, all fear driven out by\nhis eager hopes, and the beasts crouched lower, as he passed them and\nfell at the feet of the radiant Eruna. Ah, lions with the flaming eyes!\nwhy was your sight darkened then, and why did no kindly instinct tell\nyou that daring is not born of love alone?\n\n\u201cJoseph,\u201d said the gentle voice again, \u201cart thou truly come to set\nme free and take me for thy wife? And dost thou make the promise I\nasked of thee? Then raise thy hand and pluck this golden flower from\nits stem.\u201d He obeyed, scarcely knowing what he did; and lo! as he\nbroke the lily from the stalk, again the sound of music rang forth and\nechoed through the vaulted chamber. And at the plucking of the lily,\nthe taper was extinguished, and with it all the light in the room.\nDarkness enveloped them, and he felt Eruna grasp his hand. He dropped\nthe golden blossom, and would have fled, dragging her with him, for\nnow the music had changed to a discord of horrid sounds, and he could\nhear the wild beasts moving towards them. But Eruna stopped him for a\nmoment. \u201cWilt thou leave this behind thee,\u201d said she--\u201cthe token of our\nlove?\u201d And raising the golden blossom from where it had fallen at her\nfeet, she laid it in his hand. \u201cNow, indeed, fly,\u201d she hurriedly added,\n\u201cor the door will close!\u201d And, in truth, they had scarcely reached\nit, she guiding him with unerring steps, when the door clanged behind\nthem--even striking Joseph upon the heel as he fled--and the clamour\nwithin rose to a hideous pitch. \u201cI have angered my people, the spirits\nof the mountain,\u201d murmured Eruna; \u201cthen do not thou, O love, ever\nforsake me!\u201d\n\nJoseph shivered; an iron hand seemed to clasp his heart, but he\nreplied, with the best grace he could muster: \u201cI have sworn to love\nthee, Eruna, if thou hast indeed a mind to come down into our life, and\nbear our burdens; but, that we may be happy, and that I may give thee\nall it befits thee to have, wilt not thou, too, keep thy word and show\nme that which I was seeking when I first saw thee?\u201d\n\nHe felt Eruna\u2019s hand tremble in his. \u201cSo be it, foolish man,\u201d she said.\n\u201cI was nearly forgetting the store thou dost set by the dross that\nfills this mountain, and the sight of which wearies me. Come hither,\nthen, and where I strike in my silver nail, do thou smite with thy\npick, and leave it hanging there. To-morrow thou shalt find what thou\nseekest.\u201d As she spoke she paused at a certain point of the rocky\nwall beside them, and raised her silver nail on high. Immediately a\npale light shone round about them, and lit up the side of the cavern.\nChoosing a spot, she thrust in the point of the silver nail, and it\nsank into the rock, leaving scarcely a trace behind. But into the track\nit left Joseph eagerly drove his pick, and rolling up a large stone\nfurther to mark the spot, he turned to leave the cavern with Eruna.\n\nAll night long such a storm raged among the mountains that their rocky\npeaks seemed to reel beneath the echoing thunder-claps. Joseph never\nknew how he got home that night, or whose hand it was that tended him\nas he lay, smitten half senseless by the violence of the storm, upon\nhis cold hearth-stone.\n\nIn the morning curious neighbours, and workmen from the mines, came\npressing in to see if he were at home, and to inquire why he had been\nabsent so long, and then he knew, for the first time, that a whole week\nhad elapsed since his departure from home on a certain moonlight night.\nBut this was no longer, any more than the rest, a surprise to Joseph;\nindeed, he rather welcomed the discovery, for how could he else have\naccounted for the sudden appearance in his house of the beautiful,\npale woman with dusky tresses, who moved about with timid, uncertain\nfootsteps, as though the place and its ways were strange to her? He\nwas relieved to see her silvery raiment had disappeared. But she wore\na garb somewhat different from the dress of the women of the district,\nand a happy thought struck him.\n\n\u201cHa! ha!\u201d he laughed, \u201cI have stolen a march upon you all! Ye have\noften told me I needed a wife, and here I have one, but she comes from\nafar, from the other side of the mountains. I became acquainted with\nher last year, when I went to see my kinsfolk yonder, and I have had it\nin mind to wed her ever since; but I will have no gossips plaguing me\nabout such matters, so I even went to fetch her home by myself, without\nany ado.\u201d\n\nThe neighbours looked at one another, and those on the outskirts of\nthe crowd slipped off to tell the news, with much added detail, to\nAnna, who was too sick to leave her bed. For the poor child had fretted\nherself into a fever over the supposed death of Joseph during one of\nhis lonely rambles among the mountains.\n\n\u201cWhy, then,\u201d cried one of the miners in the crowd, \u201cwe have taken a\ndeal of trouble, master, for naught; we have been seeking thee at the\nfoot of every precipice in the country for days past.\u201d\n\n\u201cPlague take ye for meddlesome fellows!\u201d cried Joseph. \u201cCannot\nsuch a man as I go away for a holiday but it must raise the whole\ncountry-side? I\u2019ll warrant you\u2019ve been making it an excuse to do scant\nwork; but wait a while, I shall have work enough for ye all soon--ay,\nand for many more!\u201d\n\nHe would have driven them forth and hurried away to explore the fateful\nspot where he had left his pick hanging, but that a cry of wonder arose\nfrom a woman who had ventured close up to the spot where Eruna was\nstanding--the spot where Joseph had lain through the night. She had\npicked up from the ground a tall branch of lilies, bud and blossom, all\nfashioned in pure gold, so cunningly that no such goldsmith\u2019s work\nhad ever been seen; and the weight of the branch was so great that she\ncould scarcely lift it. Exclamations and questions rose on every side,\nand every one crowded round the holder of this wonderful treasure.\n\n\u201cThat is my wife\u2019s dowry,\u201d explained Joseph, a little taken aback by\nthe discovery of this prize, which he had forgotten for the moment, but\nproud enough of it withal. \u201cThere is naught like it, I\u2019ll be bound, in\nall the length and breadth of Germany!\u201d\n\nThe people stared open-mouthed, and the men were disposed to envy\nJoseph both bride and dowry, but many of the women, though they could\nnot disguise their wonder and admiration over the golden blossom, began\nto cast suspicious glances at Eruna. Joseph was soon aware of them, and\nthey only increased the uncanny feeling of deception and mystery which\nwas to become but too familiar to him. For the moment, however, he\nsmothered it in anger; and declaring that he would have no more gaping\nfools in his house, disturbing his honeymoon, he drove the neighbours\nforth, only to send them carrying the news of his wondrous marriage far\nand wide over the country.\n\n[Illustration: And declaring that he would have no more gaping fools in\nhis house, disturbing his honeymoon, he drove the neighbours forth.]\n\nAs soon as they were gone, he too rushed out to the mountain, and\npresently found the spot marked by his pick. A few hours\u2019 work\nconvinced him that Eruna\u2019s promise had not been false, and that here\nwas a vein of silver whose richness surpassed his wildest dreams. And\nnow for a time, indeed, Joseph reaped his reward. The country-side rang\nwith tales of his strange marriage, and of his still more wonderful\ndiscovery of silver. Miners came from all sides, and found employment\nat the new works, for a shaft was being sunk, and the vein seemed\ninexhaustible. Joseph refused to give any particulars as to how he had\nmade his discovery; he only insisted on calling the shaft \u201cThe Silver\nNail,\u201d a name which caused fresh wonderment among the townspeople. He\nwas fast becoming a rich man, and the tale of his good-luck, and of the\nwondrous golden lily he owned, spread through the land, till it reached\nthe ears of the King himself, who expressed a wish to behold the\ntreasure that had fallen into the keeping of a working-man. So Joseph\nhad to travel to court and show his golden lily--for he had almost\nforgotten that it belonged as much to Eruna as to himself, and had\nonly been entrusted to him as a guerdon of their love. At court he was\nforced to baffle as best he could the inquiries that were made as to\nhow he had come by this marvellous piece of work. It was an heirloom,\nhe said; none knew how it had come into his family, and for years it\nhad been hidden in the earth, lest thieves should get at it. Some one\nwhispered to the bewildered man that he must offer it to His Majesty,\nsince all treasure-trove rightly belonged to him. This had certainly\nnot been part of Joseph\u2019s plan, but the King and his courtiers overawed\nhim, and he stammered forth his willingness to lay the offering at His\nMajesty\u2019s feet.\n\n\u201cIn sooth,\u201d the King replied, \u201cthis is too rich a treasure for me to\npurchase it, or to think of taking it as a gift either, from this good\nfellow; yet I were proud to possess it, and it is, indeed, only fit for\na king\u2019s treasury. Now I have found a way. Leave me thy flower, Joseph\nKerst, and take instead the barony of Stolberg, for thou hast enriched\nthy native town, and hast paid due homage to thy King, and art worthy\nto be reckoned amid the nobles of the land.\u201d\n\nSo Joseph went forth a great man, and thought to return home and bring\njoy to his bride, Eruna, for whom he cherished a kind of awe-struck\nadmiration, as the being who had brought him all his luck. But take\nher honestly to his heart, as a simple woman, and love her as he might\nhave loved his faithful Anna, whom he had known from childhood, that\nhe felt he could never do. He was dismayed, however, on his return\nhome, to find a different reception from that which he expected. The\ntownspeople, indeed, received him with acclamations, as their new\nbaron, but Eruna\u2019s eyes wore a sadder, more wistful look than usual.\n\n\u201cThou hast parted with our lily, our marriage token!\u201d she moaned. \u201cWoe\nbe to us, Joseph! what are lands and names beside the guarding of our\nlove? Oh, blind of heart! hadst thou no care for the token that bound\nus together, or even for the treasures which my love alone can bring\nfor thee from the depths of the earth? Take heed to thy tongue, then,\nfor if love guard it not, it may easily speak the fatal word.\u201d\n\nJoseph would have replied angrily, but the close of her speech reminded\nhim of the promise he had solemnly made on that night, which now seemed\nso far away, and he choked back his wrath. But from that day things\nwent crookedly. He spent his money right and left, so that it was gone\nalmost as soon as it came from the mines. That was of no consequence,\nindeed, since there seemed to be no end to \u201cThe Silver Nail\u201d vein; but\nthe riches soon ceased to bring him all the pleasure he had expected.\nHe was ill at ease in his lordly castle, and heavy at heart when he\nwent down into the town and saw how his old acquaintances shunned him,\npartly from awkwardness at feeling him now so much higher placed than\nthemselves, and partly on account of the suspicions and rumours that\nwere whispered about concerning his mysterious wife, who could never\nlearn the ways of the other women, or talk like one having interests\nakin to theirs. Only Anna, who had so just a cause of offence against\nhim, yet treated him as she had done of old; and when the poor child\narose from the long illness which fell upon her at the sudden news\nof his marriage, her gentle, forgiving spirit gave him shelter as a\nfriend, who now could never be a lover. In talk with her he learnt more\nand more to see how great a gift he had bartered away for his heaps of\nhard coin, and his lordly, unhome-like home. Yet Anna was often sick,\nand could not speak cheerfully even to him, and her father and the\nneighbours looked coldly upon his comings and goings.... And up yonder,\nat the castle, the pale face framed in dusky tresses gazed forth with\ndespairing eyes as he turned his steps to the watchmaker\u2019s house.\n\nAt last there came a day when Joseph too looked sadly down from the\nhill, watching a funeral train that wound its way along the valley; a\ntrain he might not join, for the people whispered, loud enough for him\nto hear, that Anna\u2019s death lay at his door, and that he could do no\nless than let her go to her grave in peace. So he watched her go with\nremorse in his heart, and as he watched there was that in his face\nthat no one could mistake. Eruna read it, and the fount of misery that\nhad been gathering in her breast broke forth, for the first time, in\nuncontrollable wailings.\n\n\u201cHer, her thou hast loved, Joseph!\u201d she cried, \u201cand hast been false\nboth to her and me! Ah, woe is me that I could not read one mortal\u2019s\nheart aright!\u201d\n\nNow the pent-up wrath and pain in Joseph\u2019s heart were more than\nhe could bear. No remembrance of his covetous longings or of his\nfalse-hearted dealings withheld him, and he turned upon her, crying--\n\n\u201cAnd if it were so, what is that to thee? For what did I barter my\nhappiness but to release thee and give thee mortal life, thou soulless\nclod of earth!\u201d\n\nEven as he spoke Eruna glided close, and threw her arms about him,\ntrying to stay his speech. But it was too late, the words were out, and\nas her cold white hand touched his lips, he felt a deadly chill at his\nheart, and fell senseless to the ground.\n\nA clamour of voices, and the sound of hurrying footsteps, brought him\nto himself, as the workmen from his mines crowded into the hall.\n\n\u201cWoe be upon us all, master!\u201d they cried, \u201cwhere is thy lady? She is\nnot to be found in the castle, and but an hour ago, as we were leaving\nour work to go homewards, we saw a white figure, that wore her face,\nthough not her garb, glide past us and reach the mouth of the \u2018Silver\nNail\u2019 shaft. And we followed after in fear; but as we approached,\nbefore any one could reach it, the white figure cast itself down the\nshaft. Then we were affrighted indeed, and the foremost of us went\ndown, fearing to find a shattered form at the bottom, but there was\nno one--no, not a sign, though we searched with care. But strange\nsounds rang through the mountain, master. And we came up again, and\nhither in haste, to see if perchance she were dead and we had seen her\nwraith--but nowhere in the castle halls or woods can she be found.\u201d\n\nNor, indeed, was Eruna ever found again; and, what is more, from the\nday that the white woman leaped down the shaft, no more ore was found\nin the \u201cSilver Nail\u201d mine, and though it still bears that name, no\nsilver has again been found there to this day. But Joseph wandered\naway, distraught with grief, into the mountains; nor could any one\nprevail upon him to return again to the castle, but he continued to\nwander, seeking for his vein of lost silver, till he met his death by\na fall from one of the mountain precipices, leaving behind him, as the\nonly tokens of the riches so dearly bought, a ruined castle, and the\nforsaken shaft of the \u201cSilver Nail.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nA DOUBTING LOVER\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nUpon a lofty crag, overhanging the river Weistritz, in Eastern Germany,\nstand the ruins of the Kynsburg. Once it was a splendid castle, and\nmany an assemblage of noble knights and ladies, and many a gay revel,\nwere held within its walls. It had its guardian spirit, too; for the\ntale went that an apparition, called by the castle-folk \u201cthe white\nlady,\u201d often wandered by night through hall and garden, and most of\nall when some maiden of the house of Kynsburg needed help. So it had\nbeen, they said, when a daring and cruel knight once waylaid a daughter\nof Kynsburg as she passed alone at even along the corridor. For this\nknight had cast his eyes upon the maiden, who was beautiful, and had\nurged her to give him her love, but she denied it him; and so he would\nfain have won by foul means what he could not get by fair ones. But\nthis maiden had, from her childhood, loved to hear of the \u201cwhite lady,\u201d\nand to fancy she was under her protection, and many a prayer had she\nsaid in the castle chapel for the repose of her soul. And now, in the\nhour of need, she called upon her, and at once the mysterious white\nfigure appeared; and while the reckless knight fell upon his knees in\nterror, the closed doors of the corridor silently opened, and the girl\nfled through them to a place of safety. But next morning the knight was\nfound lying dead upon the floor.\n\nThis was the story that was handed down from generation to generation\namong the folk of Kynsburg, and Adelheid, the beautiful daughter of the\nhouse, had often listened to it with eager ears, and had longed in her\nturn to see the \u201cwhite lady,\u201d and invoke her help.\n\nFor Adelheid, too, had her trouble, though it was hard to see how\nany, save one person, could mend it. And that person was not the\n\u201cwhite lady,\u201d but the knight, Bernhard von Haugwitz, whom Adelheid had\nsecretly loved ever since she first saw him ride by to the hunt, in all\nthe splendour of his youth and noble bearing. But she had no certainty,\nnor much hope even, of her love being returned, though sometimes, to\nbe sure, she caught his eyes fixed upon her as earnestly as though he\nwould have read her very soul, so that it needed all the pride that\nher blood and her upbringing had taught her, to help her to hide\nher agitation. And just at the time I tell of, the knight was at the\ncastle, for the lord of Kynsburg was giving a great feast to celebrate\nthe beginning of the autumn hunt; and all the nobles of the country,\nfar and near, were gathered together for it. Many of their wives and\ndaughters had come with them, too, so that the castle was overflowing\nwith guests and merriment, and little time left for Adelheid to brood\nover her own thoughts. Yet even now she would sometimes draw aside\nfrom her young companions, as they paced the gardens or the terrace\ntogether, for she hoped that the knight would come and seek her out for\na few moments alone, as he had done once or twice before. But he came\nseldom, and her heart grew heavier each day.\n\nIf only she could have known! If only she could have read that proud\nand secret heart, and seen how it was filled with love for her, which\ngloomy fears and doubts alone kept silent! For Bernhard von Haugwitz\nwas not the cheery, hopeful being that his years and his fortune should\nhave made him. Bitter experience and sorrow had already overshadowed\nhim, and shaken his trust in his fellow-creatures, and his belief in\nthe happiness of life. He would not, so he told himself, again stake\neverything upon the love of a woman; he hesitated to pluck the fruit,\nfor fear it should leave a bitter taste behind. And this though his\nheart was wrung for longing after Adelheid\u2019s love, and pity, too, for\nher; for he knew that she loved him, and that her life was consuming\naway for his sake; nor had he any good reason to fancy that her love\nwas not pure and faithful.\n\nHe thought upon it as he sat with his companions round the great oaken\ntable in the castle hall; the gold and silver flagons passed from hand\nto hand, but he let them go by untasted; songs and jesting sounded\nmerrily on every side, but he did not heed them; the present scene\nfaded from his sight, and he saw only the tall figure in the white,\ngold-embroidered garments, and the wistful eyes gazing into his, as he\nhad seen them that evening, when he stood for a moment beside Adelheid\nin the dusky hall. As he mused he felt his resolution weakening, and\nswore that he would flee from the temptation to which he would not give\nway. Why not now, at once, without seeing her again? for a meeting\nmight give rise to words and looks that could only increase his pain\nand remorse in the future. What had he to do with these carousing\nknights, whose thoughts were far from his own? He would slip out and\nlook for his page; then the horses should be saddled forthwith, and\nthey would be up and away. He rose and went out through the ante-rooms\nto the terrace of the castle, glad to let the night-wind lift his hair\nand cool his throbbing brow.\n\nThe stars shone bright above the opposite hills and sparkled in the\nriver below. A little breeze whispered in the branches of the poplars;\nit was as though the trees talked together. A strange feeling of\nexpectation was in the air; could it be only that he was looking\nupon this spot for the last time? Something moved beside him in the\nshadow--he turned, and saw that a tall white figure stood beneath the\npoplar-trees. He strained his eyes through the dark--surely he could\nnot be mistaken, it was the maiden he loved and was leaving for ever.\n\n\u201cAdelheid,\u201d he called almost in spite of himself, \u201cis it thou? Then bid\nme farewell.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: Yet even now she would sometimes draw apart from her\nyoung companions, as they paced the gardens or terrace together.]\n\nThe figure moved, as though making a sign of assent, and beckoning with\nher hand, glided on under the trees. He followed, scarcely knowing what\nhe did. Onward along the winding paths the figure hurried, and now came\nout upon the open space before the castle, where stood the old well,\novershadowed by a spreading lime-tree. Here the light from the windows\nfell in patches upon the flags; and before Bernhard had time to reach\nthe fleeting white form, he saw it cross the streaks of light, and\nwith a quick movement, spring upon the worn stone margin of the well.\nHe dashed forward, but too late. With a despairing wave of the white\nhands, the figure had plunged into the deeps below.\n\nBernhard stood for an instant motionless with horror; then he roused\nhimself and rushed toward the castle, raising an alarm. \u201cHelp, help!\u201d\nhe cried; \u201cthe Lady Adelheid ... the well!\u201d His tongue refused to utter\nanything more; he stood gasping, and clinging to the pillars of the\ngateway, while a horrible sense of remorse and hopeless desolation\nbegan to stir in his heart. In the castle all was dismay and confusion;\nin an instant the knights and serving-men flocked out with torches,\nropes, and ladders. The cries of Adelheid\u2019s mother rose above the\nshouts of the men, and from the woods beyond the terrace came trooping\nthe band of white-robed maidens.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d asked one and another as they hurried along.\n\n\u201cAdelheid,\u201d was the answer, \u201cAdelheid has fallen down the well.\u201d\n\n\u201cAdelheid!\u201d repeated the maidens in astonishment. \u201cNay, she has been\nwith us, yonder; she does but linger behind.\u201d\n\nAnd as the group parted, Bernhard beheld Adelheid, a flush of surprise\nupon her cheek, coming towards him down the line of eager, questioning\nmaidens. The tide of sorrow which had gone nigh to drown his soul,\nturned to a flood of great joy, which swept every fear and doubt away.\nHe sprang forward and cried, as he fell at her feet--\n\n\u201cOh love, my love! that I thought by my folly to have lost! But thanks\nbe to Heaven, who in the fear of the loss hath made certain to me the\njoy of the gain! Here, before all men, I own my love, too long hidden,\nand offer thee my heart and my life.\u201d\n\nSo, in all the company, the brief moment of sorrow was turned to sweet\nrejoicing, and most of all in the hearts of Bernhard and Adelheid, who\nnever to their lives\u2019 end had any need to regret the events of that\nmysterious night.\n\nSo soon as she heard the story, and that no one else was missing from\nthe castle, Adelheid felt sure she knew who the mysterious lady had\nbeen; it was the \u201cwhite lady\u201d of her dreams and fancies, the guardian\nof the maidens of Kynsburg, who had thus found a way to end her long\nuncertainty. But the question was not so easily answered for the rest\nof the company, and some doubting spirits insisted that the well should\nbe explored. Blazing torches were lowered into its dark, silent depths,\nand long poles thrust down to sound it; but nothing was discovered, and\nthe glare of the torches showed only the damp, moss-grown walls and the\ncalm face of the slumbering water.\n\nSo the story was proudly added to the annals of Kynsburg, and since\nthen many peasant youths and maidens have been quite sure that the\n\u201cwhite lady\u201d watches over their love-affairs, and that they have seen\nher wandering by night in the woods of the castle, and beside the old\nwell.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nA LEGEND OF WALPURGIS-NIGHT\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThere was once a young fellow who dwelt near the Brocken, and he had\nwon a lovely maiden for his bride. He thought himself a lucky man, but\nthen he did not know that both the girl and her mother were witches.\nNow one evening he tarried very late at his bride\u2019s house, and could\nnot guess why she and her mother were so eager to send him away, for\ngenerally the maiden was loth to let him go; and he did not know that\nthis was Walpurgis-night, the great meeting-time of the witches. Yet\nhe grew suspicious, and after he had bidden his dear \u201cgood-night,\u201d he\nhid himself in the hay-loft, for he half expected to see another man\ncreep up for a stolen meeting with his sweetheart, and was ready to fly\nat his throat. But, instead of this, he beheld mother and daughter step\ninto the hay-loft alone, and the mother held in her hand a strangely\nshaped glass. There they stood in the middle of the barn, and spoke\nstrange words, and drank from the glass, when lo! on a sudden they had\ndisappeared.\n\nNow this tore the bridegroom\u2019s heart with dread and foreboding, and\nhe determined to follow them. So he came from his hiding-place, and\ntook up the glass they had left behind. A few drops of red, fiery\nliquid still remained in it. Then the lad went out and plucked a\ngarland of dragon-wort, which he wound round about him, to preserve\nhim from witchcraft; and after he had done this, he boldly drank all\nthat remained in the glass, repeating the same words that he had heard\nhis sweetheart use. And behold! in the twinkling of an eye, he found\nhimself on the Brocken, in the midst of the magic circle among the\nrocks, where the witches meet.\n\n[Illustration: The company was arriving in great numbers.]\n\nJagged peaks and giant fir-trees, with boughs bent crooked by the\nbreath of the storm-wind, rose on every side, and here and there,\non the rocks, huge fires were burning. The company was arriving in\ngreat numbers, and the bridegroom was astonished to see how many\nof his neighbours and familiar acquaintance came riding up, some\non pitchforks, some on goats, cats, or geese. His lovely bride was\nthere, riding pillion behind her mother on the hay-fork that had been\nlying beside him in the loft. He himself was sitting, he knew not\nhow, on a great hay-waggon, that was drawn to one side of the open\ndancing-space, and he laid his wreath of dragon-wort so as to form a\nkind of circle around him. Presently the oldest and fiercest among the\nwitches came swooping down upon him, riding a huge tom-cat. \u201cAh!\u201d she\ncried with a disappointed scowl, \u201ccurse thy hedge of dragon-wort, thou\ninterloper! \u2019Twould have gone ill with thee but for that!\u201d The tom-cat\ngave an angry spit, and the baffled witch pulled him round by the\nwhiskers, and rode away into the dance. For the dance had begun, fast\nand furious, so that the lad could hardly see which way the frantic\ncreatures bounded and pranced; and all the while there was a terrible\nbeing with horns upon his head, who moved about and directed the\nfestivities. And what was the bridegroom\u2019s dismay when this fearful\nbeing came towards him, and looking up with a jeering expression, said:\n\u201cA bridegroom should have a merry heart, and thou art not here only\nto stare and be idle, I take it. I know thee well enough for a fine\ncornet-player; here, catch hold of this instrument, and help to play\nfor our dance.\u201d\n\nWith that he threw up a splendid new cornet into the waggon, and the\nbridegroom was fain to take it, and join in with the other players,\nwho, hidden among the rocks, where he could not see them, were filling\nthe air with a burst of music. Now the bridegroom could not help\nagreeing with the opinion expressed about his playing, and so for\nsome time he played on, not a little pleased with himself, upon the\nbeautiful cornet.\n\nBut after a while the Terrible Being gave a sign, and music and dance\nstopped at once. Then all the company stood silent, while he drew water\nfrom the \u201cwitches\u2019 well,\u201d and poured it into the \u201cwitches\u2019 basin,\u201d\nwhere the witches then had to wash themselves, while he sprinkled some\nof the water, too, upon them.\n\nWhile the bridegroom was watching this dread ceremony, he became aware\nthat his sweetheart had spied him out, and was gazing at him anxiously.\nAs soon as she caught his eye, she danced up, and whispered: \u201cDear\nlover, come with me, and I will prepare a couch for thee, for thou must\nbe weary of this long, wild night.\u201d He would have opened his lips to\nscold her, but she touched them, and he was unable to say another word.\nThen, taking him by the hand, she drew him, as he thought, into the\nneighbouring thicket, where she showed him a downy feather-bed, shut\nin by flowered curtains. \u201cCreep in there,\u201d she whispered, \u201cand sleep;\nbut thy new cornet thou mayst keep as thy reward for playing so finely;\nour master hath said so.\u201d With this, she was gone, and he heard the\nmusic and tumult of the dance break forth again, but presently a great\nweariness overcame him, and he fell asleep.\n\nWhen he awoke it was high noon, and he lay in a meadow close to his\nhome; the downy bed with thick curtains turned out to be the skeleton\nof an old horse, which had lain mouldering in the fields, and between\nthe ribs of which he found himself wedged. The new cornet, too, proved\nto be nothing but a dead cat, with a stumpy tail, which he had almost\nchewed off during his fine musical efforts.\n\nThe bridegroom went home, seething with indignation, and bent upon\nrevenge. That very same evening he betook himself, armed with his\nrighteous wrath, to his sweetheart\u2019s house, and began:--\n\n\u201cWretched girl! what honest man can have any more to do with thee now?\u201d\n\nBut in a moment the tables were turned, and he found himself in an\nunexpected position. \u201cWretched!\u201d cried she. \u201cI? whom thou hast spied\nupon, stolen a march upon, from whose magic glass thou hast dared\ndrink, and but for whose care thou wouldst have been crushed to powder\nlast night, thou foolhardy meddler!\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Twas not thou, but my dragon-wort, that saved me,\u201d began the unlucky\nfellow.\n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d screamed mother and daughter, now both together. \u201cDost\nthink that could have availed thee at all had _we_ raised our voices\nagainst thee? Nay, \u2019twas we who saved thee; and hadst thou not been\nkept out of sight and put to sleep, thou couldst never have lived\nthrough the terrible hour of the \u2018witches\u2019 sprinkling.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cAt any rate,\u201d complained the brow-beaten man, trying to keep up his\ndignity, \u201cI should have been warned it was a witch I was taking for my\nbride. But it is time yet,\u201d he added angrily, \u201cand take such a bride I\nwill not--I will not, I say!\u201d\n\n\u201cWarned!\u201d shouted mother and daughter at once; \u201che, a common mortal,\n_warned_ of the honour we did him in stooping to mate with his like!\nNay, \u2019tis plain he is only fit for one lot--a donkey\u2019s! And a donkey he\nshall be; let that be his punishment.\u201d\n\nSo before the hapless bridegroom could defend himself, or take refuge\nin flight, the magic words were pronounced, and he went forth, an ugly,\nrough, braying donkey, a terrible example of man\u2019s folly in attempting,\nwith however much right on his side, to argue with a witch--or a woman.\n\n[Illustration: But in a moment the tables were turned, and he found\nhimself in an unexpected position.]\n\nDown the road the poor donkey ambled, trying to express his deep sense\nof injury by piteous brayings. Presently a neighbour heard him, and\nthough far from recognising in him an old comrade of the workshop\nand the ale-house, he still had pity on him, and noticing, besides,\nthat he was a fine donkey, he drove him into a stall and put fresh\nhay before him. But the donkey could neither eat nor drink, nor bear\nto be put to work, so at last the farmer lost patience and drove it\nout of his stable. And now the wretched donkey wandered about the\ncountry, munching such dusty grass and thistles as he could find by the\nwayside, but driven out of every green paddock as a useless beast,\nand receiving more kicks than kind handling. At last, half starved and\nhopeless, he determined to swallow his pride, and return to beg the\ncruel witches for mercy.\n\nNow, his bride had been thinking things over, on her side, since he had\nbeen turned from her door in the shape of a donkey. She noticed that\nthe village-folk shunned her more of late, and besides, they had always\nheld a kind of suspicious attitude towards her and her mother.\n\nWhat if the bridegroom should have let out the horrid truth, during\nthose few hours that he had spent in the village, after awaking from\nhis enchanted sleep? What if she should get no one else to woo her now?\nSo, when she saw the poor donkey appear beneath her window, with lean\nribs and drooping ears, her heart was quite prepared to be softened,\nand she listened graciously to his bray of apology and repentance.\n\n\u201cWell, I will forgive thee this once,\u201d she said, \u201con one condition, and\nthat is, that thou dost wed me within twelve hours of the time thou art\nrid of thy donkey\u2019s skin. If thou wilt promise this, I will tell thee\nhow to get back thy proper shape.\u201d\n\nThe donkey went feebly down on his knees in the dust, and held up one\nhoof, as a solemn sign that his promise was given.\n\n\u201cListen, then,\u201d said the little witch; \u201cthou must watch for a child\nto be christened in the village, and wait at the church door till the\nwater from the font is thrown out; if some only falls on thy back, thou\nwilt be changed directly.\u201d\n\nThe donkey threw up his hoofs in glee, and trotted off to the village.\nIt was a long time before any christening took place; never had there\nseemed such a scarcity of births before. But at last the donkey heard\nthat the son and heir of his old friend the farmer was to be christened\nthe following Sunday, and he watched eagerly for the party to go to\nchurch, and return again, and then for the beadle to come out upon the\nporch and empty away the water from the font. When at last he did so,\nthe donkey stood right in his way. \u201cGet away, foolish beast,\u201d called\nthe beadle; but the donkey did not budge. \u201cWhat care I?\u201d the beadle\nthereupon angrily exclaimed, and threw the whole pan of water over the\ndonkey\u2019s back. He nearly fell to the ground when he saw his old friend\nthe bridegroom, who had so long been missing, standing in the donkey\u2019s\nplace; but the young fellow gave him a golden crown to hold his tongue,\nand trump up some tale about his having been away on a journey, and he\nfirmly believed ever after that the beadle had done so.\n\nThen the bridegroom hurried to claim his bride, and keep his promise,\nwhich was not so very hard after all, for she was a pretty bride, and\none only had to forget that little matter of the Brocken, and take\ncare to sleep sound on every future Walpurgis-night. But she kept him\nin order--\u201cFor, mind,\u201d said she, \u201cif ever thou dost treat me to any\nfoolish behaviour, back into the donkey\u2019s skin thou shalt go again, and\nthis time every one shall know of it.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nSEEKERS AFTER GOLD\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nAmong those mountains of Saxony known as the Obererzgebirge, once\nfamous for their silver-mines, there lived, nearly three hundred years\nago, a man named Ran, who was overseer of the mines of Schneeberg. Now\nmany among his workmen tried to win the favour of overseer Ran, not\nonly because he was master of the works, but because of his only child,\nhis beautiful daughter Gretchen. Her loveliness and her sweetness were\nthe talk of the country, and every young man in Schneeberg fancied\nhimself ready to jump down the shaft of the mine for her sake, if it\nwere required of him. This, however, was not what Master Ran needed.\nHe was a grasping man, and the constant handling of precious metal\nseemed to have increased his thirst for riches. So he was determined\nthat lovely Gretchen should be a mine of wealth to him, all the more,\nperhaps, that the other mine with which he had to do was no longer\nas prosperous as it had been. There were general complaints over the\nquantity of \u201cblind ore,\u201d as the people called it, that had lately been\nfound--worthless stuff, that did not repay smelting. This misfortune\nwas said to be due to the \u201csilver-thief,\u201d or \u201cKobold,\u201d a wicked little\ndwarf that was supposed to haunt the mountain, and draw the silver down\nout of the quartz as the workmen approached. At any rate, the failure\nof the mine, whoever was to blame for it, was like to bring poverty\namong the folk of Schneeberg, and Ran was all the more anxious to\nsecure riches for himself and his child against that evil day. So he\nlet it be known that the man who could produce the largest bag of gold\nin all the district, should have the beautiful Gretchen to wife.\n\n\u201cLet those who would get her seek,\u201d said he, \u201cfor it is well known\nthere is plenty of gold in these mountains for any who have wit to find\nit, and courage to risk something in the winning of it.\u201d\n\nNow here was a gauntlet thrown down. Every one knew that the overseer\nmust be speaking of the mysterious treasures hidden under trees and in\ncaverns by the dwarfs, and other mountain-spirits; and at the ale-house\nof an evening, when the men were gathered together, every one had\nsome tale to tell of people who had tried to \u201clift\u201d these wonderful\ntreasure-pots, or who had been befriended by the dwarfs.\n\nOne told of the dwarf-king who lived in a cave under the neighbouring\nmountain, and was mightily fond of teasing people, but would also do\nthem great kindnesses now and then. Thus a poor maiden was once picking\nup wood in the forest, at the mouth of the cave, on a cold winter\u2019s\nday, when she met a tiny man with a crown upon his head, and he said to\nher: \u201cKind maiden, I pray thee, pick me up and put me in thy basket; it\nsnows, and I am so cold and tired, and have no shelter. Have pity on\nme, and take me to thy cottage.\u201d The maid had never seen the dwarf-king\nbefore; but as he begged so earnestly, she picked him up, put him in\nher basket, covered him over with her apron to keep the snow off, and\nturned homewards. But on the way the little man grew so heavy that\nshe could hardly stagger along under the weight, and had much ado to\nget her basket home. She put it down by the fire, and whipped off the\napron, crying: \u201cLet us see what thou art made of, little man, to weigh\nso much!\u201d But what were her surprise and joy to find the little man\ngone, and in his place a great lump of solid silver!\n\n\u201cThat is an easy way enough to get rich,\u201d said another miner, taking\nthe pipe from his mouth. He was a native of the Hartz Mountains, and\nwas looked upon with suspicion for having left his own province to\nseek for work so far away. \u201cBut every one does not come off so well\nas that. There is plenty of treasure hidden in our mountains too; and\nthere is one spot I mind, near to where I was working, not so long ago,\nthat I can tell a strange tale of. \u2019Twas hard by a copper-mine, and\nthe owners of the works were very rich. But one night the works, the\nowners, their house and all, disappeared; all that was left was a great\nheap of slack. People said their money was buried beneath it; and not\nlong after, we began to notice that a blue flame would flicker up from\nthe slack every night between eleven and twelve. And there was a tall,\nblack man\u2019s figure, too,\u201d he continued, lowering his voice, \u201cthat would\nstand over the flame, and try to keep it in till twelve o\u2019clock. That\nshould have been enough to keep folk from meddling with the place; but\nthere was a man from Sonan, who declared he had lifted many a treasure,\nand was going to have a try for this. And he talked over my brother\nand some other men, poor fools, into giving him a helping hand. It was\nsettled they were to meet at sunset--for that was the right time--by\nthe slack-heap. \u2018Only be sure,\u2019 said the leader, \u2018not to speak a single\nword while we are at the job, whatever chances, or all is lost.\u2019 At the\nappointed hour the work began, and sure enough, after a short time,\nthey came upon a great pot, brimming over with golden ducats. Now it\nhad to be lifted. The levers were soon at hand, and up, up, it came. It\nwas almost on a level with the ground, when a wild shouting and yelping\nof dogs were heard; and the workmen turned, resting for a moment upon\ntheir poles, to see what it was. Then behold! from the shadow of the\nwoods, the Wild Huntsman and his train swept forth, flying through\nthe air, and followed by their baying hounds. Every one has heard of\nthe Wild Huntsman, but it is given to few to see him. He went by so\nfast, my brother said, that it was as the passing of a shadow across\nthe sun; yet they could see he wore the dress of a forester, and his\nmantle fluttering in the breeze looked like the beating of a huge\nwing. Not one of the men spoke as he passed--\u2019tis bad luck to do that;\nand besides, they remembered their leader\u2019s words; but they swore he\nlooked back at them as if angered at getting no answer to his loud\nhunting-cry: \u2018Hoi-hoi!\u2019 that he shouts as he goes. But no sooner had he\npassed than another sight was seen--a queer little man humped together\nin a common kneading-trough, who came sliding and pushing along in the\ntrack of the wild train, shouting as he went: \u2018If I could but catch\nthem up! if I could but catch them up!\u2019 Now at this laughable sight the\nmen forgot both fear and prudence; they shouted with merriment, and one\ncried: \u2018He will have a hard job to do that!\u2019 And there! as he spoke,\nthe pot of gold was gone, and all their efforts to find it were in\nvain! The men went home with long faces, and well they might, for their\nhair presently turned grey with fretting over the lost treasure, and\nevery one of them died not long after.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d began one of the Schneeberg men after a short silence, \u201c\u2019tis\ntrue enough that the gift of holding his tongue is needful to him who\nhas dealings with the mountain-spirits. See the case of poor Hans\nof Donat. He was always bemoaning his poverty, and on the look-out\nfor treasure; and the mountain-dwarf gave him riches, too, but only\non condition that he should hold his tongue about the business, and\nbring him a penny loaf and a penny dip, every time he went on duty in\nthe mine; for Hans was a miner. All went well for a bit, and Hans had\nplenty of money and to spare; but one day, at the ale-house, drink\nunloosed his tongue, and he let the great secret out. And not many days\nafter, when his comrades were waiting at the mouth of the shaft for him\nto give the signal to haul the bucket up, he kept them there a long\ntime, and then there was a mighty pull on the rope, and a bright light\nflashed up the shaft. They hauled as fast as they might, but when the\nbucket got to the top, there lay poor Hans in it, dead, and all round\nthe edge of the bucket penny dips were burning, and the last loaf he\nhad taken to the dwarf lay untouched on his breast So it was easy to\nsee who had given him his death-stroke. Poor Hans--to think he bought\nhis own funeral tapers, too!\u201d\n\n\u201cCome now,\u201d another of the Schneeberg men rejoined: \u201call the stories\nof treasure-seekers aren\u2019t as dismal as these. Look at the story of\nJahnsbach. Jahn was a poverty-stricken fellow, tramping about after\nwork; and one night, as he was wandering in the forest near the\nGreifenstein, having lost his way, he too met a dwarf, that stood\nbeckoning to him. He followed, not without fears, and the dwarf led him\ninto a dark, narrow-mouthed cavern; but no sooner were they within,\nthan it broadened out into a stately hall, with walls of silver and\nchairs and tables of gold, all lit up as bright as day by thousands\nof wax-candles in crystal candlesticks. At one table sat twelve men\nof noble mien, each wearing the stately dress of a knight. The dwarf\ninvited the astonished Jahn to sit down and eat with them, and he\nobeyed, for hunger gets the better of shyness. He had never before had\nsuch a meal, and he felt refreshed after it, and in excellent spirits.\nThe twelve men seemed to enjoy his company, and bade the dwarf fill up\nhis wallet. Jahn took leave of them with hearty thanks, and the dwarf\nled him out of the cavern, showed him the road he was in search of,\nand then disappeared. When Jahn unpacked the wallet, which was very\nheavy, he found that the kindly spirits had filled it with bars of gold\nand silver. In his joy and gratitude, he vowed that he would make a\ngood use of it; and so he built, not far from Thum, a little group of\nhouses, which he gave rent-free to the poor; and they say he did much\ngood besides, to the sick and needy. And I never heard that any harm\nhappened to him. Ye may prove the truth of the tale, for the village of\n_Jahnsbach_, which grew up round that knot of houses, is called after\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt seems to me,\u201d said a young man, who, sitting by the fire in deep\nstudy over a roll of paper, had not yet spoken, \u201cthat in these tales\nof yours, only those came to harm who themselves sought after money,\ngreedily, and merely for their own use. But methinks, after all, the\nbest and safest way of getting wealth is to work for it. I, too, hope\nto find a pot of gold in the earth, but not by your manner of seeking.\u201d\n\nThe men turned and looked at him, with more dislike and suspicion in\ntheir faces than they had shown to the Hartz miner.\n\n\u201cYea, by witchcraft,\u201d muttered one of them under his breath, in\nresponse to the young fellow\u2019s words. For Christopher Sch\u00fcrer, also,\nwas no native of these mountains, and, besides, his doings were\ntoo strange, in the eyes of the rough mining-folk, to be regarded\nas anything but uncanny. He had fled from his native province of\nWestphalia to escape religious persecution; and his knowledge of\nchemistry, and general cleverness, had quickly won him a high position\nin the works. Here was already food for jealousy; but, besides this,\nhe had lately taken to shutting himself up in a little workshop of\nhis own, and busying himself with experiments, by which, if the truth\nwere known, he one day hoped to turn the hateful \u2018blind ore\u2019 to good\naccount, and build up the fortunes of Schneeberg and its people. But\nthis was a deep secret; all his fellow-workmen knew was that he kept\nhis \u201csmelting-hut\u201d carefully locked, and would tell no one what he\nwas doing. \u201cAnd what could that mean save one thing?\u201d said they. Had\nthey known as well, that he had raised his eyes to Master Ran\u2019s lovely\nGretchen, and that his love was returned, their feeling against him\nwould have been yet more bitter.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d resumed the Hartzman, a bold fellow, who had been heard\nto declare that he would stake body and soul on winning beautiful\nGretchen, \u201cI say again, there is danger in \u2018gold-lifting,\u2019 but I am\nnot the one to give up happiness and wealth for that. Danger or no, I\nam off to seek for gold, away from this poverty-stricken place; and it\nis back to my own mountains I shall go. That is the place for hidden\ntreasure. But I think Mistress Gretchen\u2019s suitors should play fair; one\nmust not sneak in before another; so, if there be any here bent on the\nsame quest, let them stand forth, and agree with me to fix a time when\nwe shall all meet again, ready to go before Master Ran and show which\nhas won the wager.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is but right,\u201d answered the men; and two of them stood up and\nannounced that they meant to join in the contest One was a strapping\nyoung fellow, bold and careless, fond of the dice and the bottle, and\nwell known to be one of Mistress Gretchen\u2019s most desperate admirers.\nThe other was a pale, red-haired man, with a shifty glance; it was\nplain he could never hope to get any girl except by tempting her with\ngold.\n\n\u201cWhat, only three of us!\u201d cried the Hartzman; \u201conly three to contend\nfor the winning of so fair a flower?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe stakes are too high for common men to take a hand,\u201d replied one\nof the Schneebergers, laughing awkwardly: \u201cperhaps when ye have all\nfailed, there will be a chance for humbler and less daring folk.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, so be it,\u201d rejoined the Hartzman; \u201cI have no fear of failure,\nand six months is enough for me, but that I must have, for my goal lies\nfar off. Say, comrades, shall we meet here again this day six months,\nand report our success?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is one more would join you,\u201d spoke a quiet voice from the\nchimney-corner, and Christopher Sch\u00fcrer rose and came towards them.\n\u201cI do not mean to dig for pots of gold, or to follow dwarfs into dark\ncaverns, but if I get the needful wealth, I suppose I may contend with\nthe rest?\u201d\n\nHe spoke with a somewhat scornful smile, for he marked the look of\ndislike upon his comrades\u2019 faces.\n\n\u201cWe cannot gainsay thee,\u201d said Fritz, the tall young Schneeberger,\nafter some hesitation, \u201cfor there is nothing to keep any man from\ntaking part in this contest--but methinks thy trouble will be in vain,\u201d\nhe added, with a self-satisfied air.\n\n\u201cUnless the devil help him!\u201d growled the Hartzman, who looked more like\na comrade of the devil\u2019s himself, as he glared from under his heavy\nbrows at his rival. \u201cBut let be--fair means or foul are alike to me,\u201d\nhe muttered low to himself, \u201cso I do but keep your smug face out of\nthis fight.\u201d\n\nSo the four parted, and next day the tale was all over Schneeberg,\nand Mistress Gretchen was sorely teased by all the wives and maidens\namong her friends, on the subject of the event that was to decide her\nfate. Master Ran bit his lip and frowned angrily, when his old friends\nupbraided him with his indifference to his daughter\u2019s happiness and\nsaid that such wealth as her suitors had been driven to seek for\nwould never bring luck; but he stood firm, even against his daughter\u2019s\nprayers--the richest man should have her, and no other. \u201cWho knows,\u201d\npeople began to say, \u201cwhat his own secret troubles may be, or what\nmoney he needs to cover his own ill doings?\u201d\n\nGretchen had indeed implored her father to withdraw his rash promise to\nthe gold-seekers, and had sworn she would be bought by no man to wife,\nfor a pot of ill-gotten money; yet his obstinacy did not seem to cause\nher as much uneasiness as might have been expected. Perhaps she knew\nwhat was going on in Christopher\u2019s little smelting-hut, or perhaps he\nfound words wherewith to comfort her, during their stolen interviews\nand walks in the lonely pinewoods far up the mountain. He, at any\nrate, did not believe in the likelihood of the seekers finding hidden\ntreasure.\n\nFritz had gone forth on his wanderings alone, and alone, too, the\nHartzman had departed to his native mountains; but Master Red-hair\nhad taken a friend with him on his journey, and Christopher, as has\nbeen said, remained quietly at home in his workshop. Time sped on, and\nas the six months drew to their close, Gretchen began to look more\nanxious, and Christopher more careworn and pale, and overworked.\n\nAt last the great day arrived, and all the men gathered eagerly\ntogether at the ale-house, where Master Ran, too, was to be seen\nlooking out for his would-be sons-in-law. It was known that not one\nof the wanderers had as yet turned up in Schneeberg, and Christopher\nSch\u00fcrer, too, seemed to have forgotten the day, for he had not left his\nhut since morning.\n\nIt was summer, and still quite light, for the men had assembled\nearly. Now, as they sat at the tavern door, looking anxiously down\nall the roads, there appeared on the edge of the forest, to the left,\nthe form of a man staggering along with a heavy burden upon his back.\nExpectation rose to the highest pitch; but what was the horror and\ndismay of the company, when it was seen that the man was that friend\nwhom Red-hair had taken away with him on his quest, and that the burden\nhe bore was the body of his unfortunate comrade! With awe-struck faces\nthey carried the dead man into an inner room, and then supplied the\nweary bearer of this sad burden with food and refreshment. When he was\nable to speak, he told the story of Red-hair\u2019s ill-omened journey:--\n\n\u201cWe sought for many weeks,\u201d he said, \u201cfar and near, following up any\nclue we could get about buried treasures; but we never found anything,\nnor could we even get enough information to make a trial, until a\nweek or two ago, when we were returning homewards in despair, and\nlearnt that in a cliff, about a day\u2019s journey from here, there was\na \u2018treasure-chamber,\u2019 where gold and silver lay in heaps. More than\none of the villagers swore to having peeped in and seen it, but none\nhad dared venture farther, because there was said to be a wild beast\nin the cave, whose growlings could be heard outside. Master Red-hair\nhad much ado, methinks, to muster up courage for the venture, but one\nday, towards evening, after he had been drinking deep at the tavern,\nhe armed himself with a stout stick and a knife, and called me to\nclimb the cliff with him. The climb in the hot afternoon sun brought\nthe blood to my cheeks, but he grew paler the higher we got, and when\nat last we stood at the mouth of the cave, he stammered: \u2018See here,\ncomrade, thou art a stronger man than I, and art not troubled with such\na fluttering heart; what if thou shouldst first step in and see how the\nland lies? I will join thee at thy first call, and--thou shalt have\nhalf the treasure.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Nay, nay, comrade,\u2019 I answered; \u2018each man for himself. I agreed to\ncome with thee for company, and to give thee a helping hand in case of\nneed, but this is not my venture, and I never said I would risk _my_\nskin to win thee a bride. As for treasure--I have wife and babes at\nhome, \u2019tis true, yet I warrant we would all rather be there together,\nin poverty, but with whole skins, than risk life and limb for a pot of\ngold that had a curse upon it.\u2019 This did not seem to cheer him much,\nand I saw I had gone the wrong way about to hearten him up. \u2018Yet I\nsee nothing greatly to fear in the look of the case,\u2019 I continued,\n\u2018and a step within is not much to venture, to win a bride that is so\nbeloved\u2019--for I had often heard him call on Gretchen\u2019s name in his\ndreams--\u2018and for that matter, I will come _with_ thee fast enough;\nonly mind, thou wilt have but half the treasure if I do!\u2019 This seemed\nto decide him, and he said he would venture in if I promised to stand\nby the mouth of the cave and run to his help at his first cry. This I\npromised to do, and saw him disappear into the darkness. The mouth of\nthe cave was wide, but it narrowed immediately within, and what was my\nhorror when I saw, as I stood watching it, that it was beginning slowly\nto close--and yet Red-hair had given no sign! As I saw the opening grow\nsmaller, I shouted to him to return, and would have gone in search of\nhim but that I could not push my way along the narrow windings of the\npath. But at that moment I heard his voice answering with terrified\ncries to mine, and mingled with them, the sound of an angry growl. I\nthrust my hand through the opening and groped about, for I felt sure he\nwas not far off. In another instant I had, indeed, grasped him by the\narm, and with much ado, dragged him through the chinks of the rock to\nthe outer air. He was torn, bleeding--and empty-handed.\n\n\u201cWhen he could speak, he told me that it had at first been light in the\ncavern, and that at the farther end of it he had found, sure enough,\na great chest full of gold. He was busy filling a sack he had brought\nwith him, when he heard my call, and turning, saw that the front of the\ncavern was growing quite dark, and closing up. In horror, he started\ntowards it, dragging his half-filled sack; but before he could reach\nthe cave\u2019s mouth, a huge black form, like that of a monstrous dog,\ndashed upon him out of the shadow and struck the sack of gold from his\nhand. He fell fainting to the earth, and never knew, he said, how he\nreached the spot from which my hand dragged him forth. I carried him to\nthe village; but when the folk who lived there heard where he had been,\nthey would have nothing to say to him, and we were fain to take refuge\nin a lonely hut, where I cared for his wounds as best I could. But he\nnever held up his head again, and died yesterday. There was nothing\nleft for me to do, since none would help me, but to carry him home as\nye have seen.\u201d\n\nThe man stopped speaking, and an awe-struck silence fell on the\ncompany. The first to break it was a stranger, who had joined them,\nunheeded in the common excitement.\n\n\u201cI fear,\u201d said he, \u201cthat ye miss yet another of your countrymen from\namong you to-night, and though I am no friend of his, yet I, too, felt\nit was all I could do to come hither and bring you tidings of him--sad\nones though they be. One Fritz of Schneeberg took up his quarters in\nour village, many long miles from here, a few weeks back. He, too, told\nus he had been wandering in search of adventure, and asked if there\nwere no hidden treasures in our land. Well, to be sure, we told him of\nthe G\u00fcss, a deep lake that lies in one of our valleys. It is said that\na rich and prosperous farm once stood there, of which the owners were\nas wicked as they were rich. So one night, thus the tale runs, this\nlake rose suddenly from the depths of the earth, and swallowed up the\nfarmhouse and all it contained, yet the gold belonging to those wicked\nmen is still lying down below there, for any bold diver who has a mind\nto go and try for it. No one in our village has ever tried, within the\nmemory of man; but this Fritz declared he was at home in the water and\ndid not fear to make the venture. He was a bold fellow. Many of us\ntried to dissuade him--yes, some of our maidens amongst the number,\u201d\nhe added with a half-smile; \u201cbut no one succeeded, and the tale went\nthrough the country-side that a stranger was going to dive to the\nbottom of the G\u00fcss for the treasure. Fritz spent some time every day\nswimming and diving in the lake, and soon got to know its deeps and\nshallows, and the exact spot where the house stands, for on clear days\none can plainly see from a boat the shadow that it casts. At length\nthe day came on which he had promised to make the trial; and a great\ncrowd of people, among whom were some very wealthy noblemen from a\nneighbouring castle, assembled to see it. Fritz dived once, and it was\na long time before he reappeared; ye could have heard a pin drop in\nthe crowd while we waited. But he came up again, and told us he had\nseen the house, as plain as he saw the boat we were awaiting him in.\nThe roof had fallen in, and in one of the top chambers he had seen the\npromised heap of gold. Every one gaped, except those grand gentlemen,\nfor they, one could see, didn\u2019t believe him.\n\n\u201c\u2018I am ready to go again,\u2019 cried Fritz, standing up on the boat\u2019s edge.\n\u2018I will have that gold yet!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe noble gentlemen looked scornful, yet one seemed half convinced,\nand said--\n\n\u201c\u2018Thou\u2019rt a bold lad. Do but bring me one of yon pieces of gold, and I\nwill add a thousand golden crowns to it!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe unlucky lad needed no other spur; in he leapt, and we waited,\nhopefully at first, but all in vain. Fritz never came to the top again,\nand we tried without success even to drag the lake for his body.\u201d\n\nThis second dismal tale was received with lamentations, for Fritz had\nbeen a popular lad, and had left a widowed mother behind him. Some one\nwas heard to say that Mistress Gretchen stood a poor chance of getting\nany husband at all, since her father\u2019s greed had been the means of\nbringing ill luck to so many poor fellows--for the Hartzman had not\nturned up either, and doubtless he too had come to a bad end. \u201cAh!\u201d\nsaid another bystander, \u201cChristopher Sch\u00fcrer was right, and it had been\nbetter to have worked for their wealth like other men.\u201d\n\n\u201cSch\u00fcrer, indeed!\u201d echoed Master Ran, trying to put a bold face on it,\ndespite the dismay which he, too, secretly felt: \u201cAnd where, prithee,\nis he? Did he, too, not promise to show himself on this evening?\u201d\n\n\u201cThou wilt not see him, Master Ran,\u201d replied the sheriff of the town,\ncoming forward from among the crowd, where he had hitherto stood\nconcealed, \u201ctill I give my men leave to open his door. I have had my\neye on yon fellow for many months, for ye all know that he has long\nbeen suspected of witchcraft and sorcery; but what no one knows is,\nthat the Hartzman, before he left this place, gave me further and more\ntelling proofs of Sch\u00fcrer\u2019s evil doings, which he had noticed unawares.\nOnly he prayed me not to denounce him--except he should try to fly from\nthe town--until this day arrived. I have kept my word, but Sch\u00fcrer has\nbeen a prisoner in his smelting-hut since this noon; and if ye will, we\ncan now go there, and judge of his doings for ourselves.\u201d\n\nNo sooner said than done. The sheriff, Master Ran, and the whole\ncompany turned their steps to the little hut on the hill, followed,\nI dare swear, at a short distance, by the trembling Gretchen. As the\nbolt which the sheriff had had fastened across the door was withdrawn,\na joyful exclamation greeted the startled officers of justice, and\nSch\u00fcrer came towards them with a glowing face, holding in his hand a\ntrough full of a blue powder of beautiful colour.\n\n\u201cWelcome, my masters!\u201d he cried, without noticing their black looks.\n\u201cAre ye come that I may prove to you the sooner how I have kept my\nword?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so fast, Master Sch\u00fcrer,\u201d interrupted the sheriff; \u201ckeep thy\nwelcome till thou seest how far it is due. We have come to charge thee\nwith witchcraft and sorcery. What hast thou to say against that?\u201d\n\nChristopher\u2019s face darkened, but he showed no dejection. \u201cI say,\u201d he\nanswered, \u201cthat ye should prove before you condemn; and here now I\nhave the proof to give. A few days past it might have gone harder with\nme, for I could not have convinced you of the sincerity of my aim;\nbut within the last few hours, thank Heaven, the work of long months\nhas been successful, and I can bring the \u2018pot of gold\u2019--or what is as\ngood--that I promised to produce to-night, as the price of Mistress\nGretchen\u2019s hand.\u201d His eyes sought those of some one in the crowd, and\nseemingly found what they sought, for he continued with a joyful smile:\n\u201cSee this powder; it is prepared, by an invention of my own, from that\nore which you think worthless, and cast away out of the mines; and if\nI mistake not, it will be of great use, and bring work and wealth back\namongst our people.\u201d\n\nHe then showed them how the powder was made, and what its use was, and\nsoon convinced even those who would most willingly have continued to\nsuspect him, that he was free from the charge they had made against\nhim. Master Ran, too, presently saw that the discovery of the beautiful\nblue powder, which the people at first called the \u201cblue wonder,\u201d but\nwhich was afterwards named smalt, would be as good as many a pot of\ngold to Christopher, and so he ended by giving him his daughter with a\ngood grace, all the more that he saw well enough the young people would\nnever suffer to be parted. The wedding feast was clouded only by the\nmemory of the unhappy suitors who had fallen victims to their own folly\nand Ran\u2019s greed.\n\nMany people, and Gretchen amongst them, often wondered what had become\nof the Hartzman, and whether he had been punished by some dreadful\naccident for his plot against Sch\u00fcrer. But no answer was forthcoming\nto this question, for many years. Mistress Gretchen was already the\nbuxom mother of many fair children, when one day a man, worn and old\nbefore his time, came toiling up the village street, and stopped before\nthe ale-house. Master Ran, now quite an old fellow, was sitting at\nthe door, and seeing the man\u2019s gaze fixed upon his face, noticing,\ntoo, something familiar in his look, he inquired: \u201cDost thou know me,\nfriend, or can I do somewhat for thee?\u201d\n\n\u201cI see,\u201d answered the traveller, \u201cthat the Hartzman is forgotten. I\nsuspected as much, and suppose, indeed, that the game is played out,\nbut I wanted to come and see for myself!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Hartzman!\u201d cried Ran. \u201cWhy, we all thought you lost, man, long\nago, with the others. For know that they were lost, all save my\nson-in-law, Christopher, who has made Schneeberg rich. But tell us\nwhere thou hast been these many years, and why thou didst give up the\nprize that once so tempted thee--yea, tempted thee to do a dirty trick,\ntoo. But let bygones be bygones!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo he got her after all,\u201d mused the Hartzman. \u201cWell, when I saw what\nhad befallen me, I guessed that all was lost.\u201d\n\nBy this time a crowd had collected round the stranger, and a whisper\nwent round, explaining who he was.\n\n\u201cAnd what was it befell thee?\u201d asked one of the Hartzman\u2019s former\ncomrades.\n\n\u201cWhen I reached home,\u201d the latter answered, \u201cI went to the Morgenbrots\nValley, near the Brocken, for I knew many wonders happened there, and\nthat it was the likeliest place for me to find the sort of treasure I\nwas after. Many days and nights I wandered about the hills and woods of\nthat district, hoping to overhear some word of counsel from the voices\nof the underworld. At last, one morning, as I sat near a spring that\nrises toward the head of the valley, I suddenly saw a man of strange\nappearance, and wearing a foreign dress, standing by the spring, where\nno one had stood the moment before; and he was holding a sieve under\nthe waterfall, but as the stream rushed through it, the sieve caught\nand held a number of large pearls. When his sieve was full of them the\nman washed his hands in the spring and said:\n\n    \u2018In the Morgenbrots Valley I wash myself,\n    In Venice town[8] I dry myself.\u2019\n\nWith that he disappeared, and I hurried to the water\u2019s edge, but could\nonly pick up one or two pearls that he had let drop; nor could I find\nany more. This was not enough, so I determined to follow him, and\nrepeated the charm, making sure it would carry me into some hidden\ntreasure-cave. But I had hardly finished the words before I found\nmyself in a strange city, where I saw not a soul I knew, and could not\nunderstand a word any one said. I am a bold man, but I am bound to say\nthis dismayed me, and I wandered about till nightfall, wondering how I\nshould keep from starvation. I was beginning to despair, when, on one\nof the bridges of which the city was full, I met the same man whom I\nhad seen that morning in my native mountains. He could understand me, I\nknew, and I spoke to him and implored him to help me.\n\n\u201c\u2018I know thee, and thy history,\u2019 said the man, and his face was ill to\nlook upon. \u2018Thou art a fool, and wouldst have been a thief. Wherefore\nshould I help thee?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Sir,\u2019 I cried, \u2018have pity on me this once, and know it was but love\nthat made me covetous and reckless. I am a fool, in truth; but I am\nalso, surely, a countryman of thine, and in a wretched case. I pray\nthee, send me back to my own land.\u2019\n\n\u201cAt last he was moved, and took me home with him to a splendid house,\nwhere the very bed I slept upon was hung with tassels of pure gold. And\nall this treasure he had got out of our Morgenbrots Valley. He told me\nto go to bed and sleep in peace, and that on rising in the morning I\nwas to take water and wash my hands, saying:\n\n    \u2018In Venice town I wash myself,\n    In the Morgenbrots Valley I dry myself,\u2019.\n\nand I should at once find myself in our Hartz Mountains again. I did\nas he bade me, and all came to pass as he said. Only, when I looked at\nmy face in the spring, and when I questioned the folk in the villages\nhard by, I found that not one night, as I supposed, but many years, had\npassed since I left the valley. Home, relations--and bride, I had lost\nall. I knew it was vain to return here, yet I have come all the same.\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my soul, \u2019tis a worse punishment than thou didst deserve!\u201d cried\nMaster Ran. \u201cBut come home now, at any rate, and greet my daughter.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d replied the wanderer, taking up his staff again, \u201cthere is no\nplace there for me, and I had best go on my way. I shall never be\nanything but a homeless man now.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nTHE MAIDEN\u2019S ROCK\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nOn the left bank of the Elbe, near Pirna, stands a lofty crag, called\nthe \u201cMaiden\u2019s Rock.\u201d One part of it, in fact, is shaped like a maiden\u2019s\nfigure--and this is the reason why:--\n\nIt seems that, a thousand years ago and more, there dwelt in the\nvillage of Pfaffendorf, close by, a terrible old witch, who went by\nthe name of Mother Gundelheind. No one dared go near her or enter her\nhouse, but those who had ventured to peep through the window in her\nabsence declared that a blue flame danced upon her hearthstone, above\nwhich some devilish brew hung boiling, and that a black fox crouched\nwhining beside this uncanny fire. Many a belated passer-by had seen her\nat night, flashing through the air upon her broomstick; and sometimes\nshe had a companion, a fiery dragon who flew by her side, and brought\nher great store of red, molten gold, that he dropped from his wings\nbefore her threshold. It is needless to say that she was never at home\non Walpurgis-night, the great meeting time of all the witches and evil\nspirits; but, indeed, she was oftener abroad than within doors, for\nwhen she was not revelling with her own kind, she was busy working evil\nspells upon her neighbours, bewitching their wives, their children,\nand their cattle. Plenty of people had seen her at it, but there was\nnothing to be done; complaints and lamentations were of no avail\nagainst her stony heart, and punishment was not to be thought of, for\nher revenge would have been such as no one in the land dared brave;\nand besides, how can any one get the better of a witch so mighty, that\nneither fire nor water have power over her? Yet her punishment awaited\nher, and she feared it, and had, in her great wickedness, found a way\nout of it, as she thought.\n\nFor there was another person who dwelt in that ill-famed cottage, and\nwas in all ways the opposite of the terrible Mother Gundelheind. This\nwas her young daughter Truda, and how she came by such a daughter none\ncan tell; for Truda was as sweet as a May morning, and her hazel eyes\nhad the look that the angels wear, in the church pictures. Instead of\nthe old woman\u2019s horny, blackened hide, Truda had a skin as fair and\nsoft as cream; instead of her mother\u2019s harsh and grizzled locks, she\nhad long, silky tresses, the colour of a newly ripened chestnut; and\ninstead of the witch\u2019s cruel, rasping speech, a voice as gentle and\nmusical as the ringdove\u2019s. And her mind and soul were as beautiful\nas her body, so that every one loved her, and looked after her with\nfriendly smiles, while they turned their eyes from the wicked mother\nand her ill-omened glance. To be sure, this made it hard for Truda to\nhave any of the friends or the pastimes befitting her age and sweet\nnature; for none would cross the threshold of her mother\u2019s house,\nnor would she suffer her daughter to enter one of the neighbours\u2019\ndwellings. She kept Truda fast at home, sewing, washing, or spinning;\nfor it can easily be believed that the old witch herself had no time or\nmind for such a wholesome work, and the housekeeping would have gone to\nruin but for Truda.\n\nNor was this all: the capricious creature would have her child as pious\nas she herself was godless, and made her learn her Catechism, and go\nto church on Sundays, and fast, and do penance, with such zeal that\nthe poor child was sometimes quite worn-out. Never a day\u2019s merrymaking\ndid she get; never might she join the dance upon the village-green, or\nwander by the river in the moonlight, like the other young folk; for\neven when her mother was from home, she could watch and spy upon her\nby means of a magic mirror, in which the old witch could see at her\npleasure all that was happening at home, or, indeed, in any place she\nchose to think of.\n\nNow, it may be thought that the old woman was not so graceless but\nthat she still had some lingering care for her child\u2019s well-being--but\nthis, alas! was not the cause of her watchfulness, for which she had\nonly too horrid a reason. It is needless to say that this wicked\ncreature had long been given, body and soul, to the Evil One; she knew\nthat the day would come when he would surely claim his prey, and, as\nhas been said, she feared her punishment, and was ready to pay any\nprice to escape, and to be allowed to go on freely in her wickedness.\nNow, upon one of those midnight wanderings, during which all dark\nsecrets were unveiled to her, she had happened to find out that the\nPrince of the lower regions was not so particular as to the fashion\nin which his debtors paid their score, and that he would be willing\nto take her little daughter Truda in her place, so long as the girl\nwas innocent of any sort of wrong-doing. And this was why Mother\nGundelheind scolded and spied, and used every means in her power to\nbring up her daughter a model of pious perfection.\n\nShe had succeeded pretty well, to be sure, and her bad example, far\nfrom doing any harm, seemed rather to have driven the girl in an\nopposite direction; but there was one thing that had so far escaped\nthe old hag\u2019s notice. She could not choose but let Truda go into the\nvillage sometimes--to market, for instance--because no one would have\nany dealings with the witch herself, if they could help it, while to\nTruda they gave their freshest fruit and richest cream. And again,\nshe must go to church, for that her mother dared not let her miss.\nSo it came to pass that Truda made a few friends, and one especial\nadmirer, Wippold the forester, who spent half his life in planning\nstolen meetings with her, or in waiting to catch a glance from those\nhazel eyes as she went demurely by, prayer-book in hand. Old Mother\nGundelheind had by this time got into the habit of trusting Truda,\nperhaps over much; but even witches will be caught napping sometimes,\nand this was the time of the Walpurgis Feast, and her head was full\nof other matters. So it came to pass that she forgot, once or twice,\nto look into her magic mirror, and never knew that Truda held tryst\nwith the forester upon the rock overhanging the Elbe, to which the\ncountry-folk sometimes climbed up on their Sunday rambles. For the\nwitch\u2019s harsh and unnatural behaviour had borne fruit at last, and had\ndriven even the sweet, confiding Truda into underhand ways, because\nthey were the only means of bringing a little relief into a life that\nwould else have been nearly unbearable.\n\nBut it was hard work to keep anything from the old hag for long; and\npresently she began to notice that Truda was wont to sit dreaming by\nthe hearth of an evening, while her spindle lay idle beside her, and\nher wheel stood silent in a corner. Then the witch grew suspicious, and\nobserved her more closely again; nor was it long before she spied out\nWippold escorting the girl home from market one morning. He left her\nbefore they turned the corner of the cottage, to be sure, but as soon\nas Truda\u2019s hand touched the latch, the old woman flew at her like the\nfury she was.\n\n\u201cWhat is this?\u201d she screamed. \u201cWhat good-for-nothing acquaintances\nhast thou been picking up, idle baggage that thou art? Never think to\ndeceive me! If thou dost so much as give yon fellow a \u2018good-day\u2019 again,\nI will rather starve here at home with thee than suffer thee to set\nfoot in the market!\u201d And she flung herself down, quite out of breath,\nin her dark ingle-nook, muttering something about \u201crunning no such\nrisks.\u201d\n\nTruda betook herself to her wheel, silent and bewildered, and ventured\nno word of self-defence. But that evening, as she sat gazing into\nthe flame that flickered up with blue tongues from the blackened\nhearth-stone, she plucked up courage and asked--\n\n\u201cWhy must I never speak to a man, mother, or have any dealings with the\nvillage-folk, as other maidens do?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause men, and all human folk, are evil. Thou shalt speak to the man\nI shall choose for thee, and to no other,\u201d rejoined the hag, with a\ngrim chuckle.\n\n\u201cHave men wrought thee harm, then, that thou dost shun them so?\u201d\ncontinued the girl. \u201cMethinks the folk at market fear thee more than\nthou dost them. And yet there be some folk whose company thou dost\nseek, I have heard thee say, when thou goest forth on these long\njourneys. Whither dost thou go so far, mother, and wherefore?\u201d\n\n\u201cFine doings!\u201d sputtered the old woman viciously. \u201cListening to evil\nspoken of thine own mother, and spying upon her! Little white-faced\nfool! what knowest thou of that which is fitting to be done? But have\na care, or thou wilt find out something of my power, and of how I can\npunish when I have a mind.\u201d\n\nTruda sank into terrified silence, and brooded in her own heart over\nthe mysteries of the dark fate which she seemed unable to escape.\n\nBut she would escape it yet! She would not give up her love, and\neverything that made life happy, without a struggle! Only her weapons\nmust be guile and secrecy, and she was but little skilled in the use\nof them, poor child. For days and weeks she worked and drudged at home,\nto quiet her mother\u2019s suspicions; only now and then, as she hurried\nalong to get some few things they could not do without, she managed to\ngive Wippold a sign that kept him quiet. At last, one Sunday, the old\nwitch, afraid to keep her from her pious duties any more, and feeling\nsure that she had frightened her into obedience, bade the girl get\nready to go to Mass; she herself would see her to the church door,\nthough she might go no farther. Truda could not quite keep out of her\nface the joy which this order gave her, and her mother did not fail to\nnotice the radiant gleam which lit up her eyes. She hurried away to get\nready; and before the bell had ceased ringing, her mother had watched\nher run lightly up the steps and disappear into the church. Could she\nat that moment have seen through stone walls, she would have beheld her\ndaughter reply to a sign made her by the young fellow who stood waiting\nbehind one of the pillars and follow him out at the small north door,\nwhich was nearly opposite to the one by which she had gone in. And now,\nkeeping close in the thickets, so as to be seen of no one, the pair\nof lovers hastened towards the lonely rock, where they were sure of a\nquiet hour together, and where Truda could unburden her heart of all\nits fears and sorrows, and hear from her lover that he would never rest\ntill he had carried her away from her unhappy home.\n\nMeanwhile the old witch had returned to her cottage, thinking over her\ndaughter\u2019s behaviour that morning. \u201cI wonder why she was so overjoyed\nto go to church,\u201d she mused; \u201cit was not always her wont.\u201d She could\nnot get the matter out of her mind, and after a time she was so\ntormented by suspicion that she fetched out her mirror, and sprinkling\nsome drops of magic water upon it, desired it to show her the spot\nwhere her daughter was.\n\nImmediately there arose before her the picture of the lofty rock--its\nsurface sparkled in the sunshine; down below, the blue Elbe wound along\namid the meadows, and on a narrow green space near the top of the crag,\nand overshadowed by it, she saw the forms of the two lovers. Her Truda,\nthe virtuous maiden, on whom she had staked all her hopes, was folded\nin the arms of the forester, while he pressed burning kisses upon her\nlips, and prayer-book and rosary lay forgotten at their feet.\n\nEvery drop of blood in the old hag\u2019s veins tingled with fury, a hellish\nlight gleamed in her sunken eyes, and seizing her witch\u2019s staff in her\nhand, she went raging forth, and in the twinkling of an eye had rushed\nlike a storm up the rocky ascent, and fallen upon the luckless lovers.\n\n\u201cAccursed child! and hast thou lied to me, and is this the Mass thou\nwentest forth to hear? And thou, thrice accursed fellow, it was an evil\nday for thee when thou camest a-wooing of Gundelheind\u2019s daughter!\u201d\n\nAnd before the ill-fated man could so much as attempt to defend\nhimself, the witch, suddenly grown to an immense height, and towering\ngrimly above him, seized him in her huge horny hands and cast him down\nthe cliff into the river below.\n\n[Illustration: And in the twinkling of an eye had rushed like a storm\nup the rocky ascent, and fallen upon the luckless lovers.]\n\nTruda, white and cold with anguish, stood rooted to the spot, and now\nthe raging fury sprang upon her also. \u201cNow it is thy turn,\u201d she hissed\nout. \u201cAh! hast thou lied, and blasphemed, and dallied here with thy\nlover? A pretty ransom thou art, and much that creditor of mine will\ncare to get thee now! Hence go all my chances of safety! But at least\nthou, accursed creature, shalt never be a witness of my defeat!\u201d And\nlifting the staff with which she wrought her wicked spells, she struck\nher daughter across the face with it. But Truda never felt the blow.\nBeneath her fiendish mother\u2019s curse she had turned to stone; the rock\nfolded her, as it were, in its inflexible arms, and to this day bears,\nas a witness of the terrible deed, the form of a maiden.\n\nBut where, as she fled through the night from his vengeance, the\nArch-Enemy\u2019s stroke fell upon Mother Gundelheind, that the legend\nforbears to say.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nTHE WATER-SNAKE\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nOld Lisbeth sat by the fire and spun, but on the opposite side of the\nhearth her son Dietrich crouched idle, his cheek upon his hand, gazing\ninto the embers. For many weeks he had been growing more and more\nsilent and listless, and no one could tell what ailed him. Was it that\nJohanna, the maiden he was courting, had been cruel to him, or was\nsomething wrong with his work? His old mother looked across at him and\nwondered. Outside the wind was blowing, and brought plainly to their\nears the sound of the river as it rushed through the valley towards the\nlake of P\u00f6hlde, that the Hartz-folk call the Tumpensee. Now and then\nthe blast rose to so shrill a pitch that you might have thought a voice\nwas calling from afar; and when this happened, Dietrich would start\nfrom his seat and make as though he would rush from the house, but each\ntime he checked himself, and sank with a shiver upon the bench again.\nAt last Lisbeth could bear it no longer.\n\n\u201cWhat ails thee, son?\u201d she cried. \u201cArt thou bewitched, that a mere gust\nof wind can set thee all a-tremble?\u201d\n\nDietrich was silent for a while, casting furtive glances toward door\nand window, as though he were afraid that his reply might call up some\nunwelcome sight. At last he answered in a whisper--\n\n\u201cI doubt I am, indeed, mother! Hast thou ever heard tell of voices\nrising from the river and the lake yonder? Or was any one drowned there\nthese days, that one should see a gleam of red-gold hair beneath the\nwater?\u201d\n\nLisbeth turned pale.\n\n\u201cHeaven help us!\u201d she exclaimed in a low voice, as though she, too,\nwere afraid of being overheard, \u201cdo thou have nothing to do with the\nriver-side or the banks of the lake, Dietrich. That is how men come by\ntheir death.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut knowest thou anything of it, mother? What is there to fear, if\nfear there be?\u201d persisted the young man.\n\n\u201cWhat care I for such tales! Tales there are of spell-bound maidens\nwho call for some one to deliver them, and of water-snakes, and such\nnonsense; the country is full of them, thou knowest as well as I. But\nthere is no need to believe them,\u201d continued Lisbeth hastily, as if\nfearing she had said too much. \u201cDo thou take thy Johanna to wife, and\nbring her home; that will drive all such fancies from thy head.\u201d\n\nA look of pain crossed Dietrich\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cAh, Johanna!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cif I could but turn my mind to thoughts\nof her! Yet I fear she has fancied me cold and neglectful of late.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, nay, son,\u201d his mother answered, \u201cJohanna has eyes but for thee;\ntrust my word for it. See, the storm is passing; do thou go over and\nbid her good-evening, and tell her that the old mother needs some more\nof that yarn she can spin so stoutly, and thinks she might even bring\nit over herself, and gladden this house with a sight of her face. There\nis a gloom hangs about it when she is away, and the sooner she lives\nwith us for good, the better it will be.\u201d\n\nDietrich took his cap from the peg and opened the door, but as he stood\non the threshold, he turned to his mother once more.\n\n\u201cWhat if I should bring _her_ to harm too?\u201d he said, and was gone.\n\nThe old woman mused on by the hearth; her thoughts were not cheerful,\nfor in her secret heart she firmly believed that some water-sprite\nhad indeed bewitched her unlucky boy, but she put a bold face on it,\nand stuck to the idea that his marriage with Johanna would be the\nsaving of him. Her thoughts would have been sadder still could she\nhave seen how Dietrich swerved from the path that led to Johanna\u2019s\ncottage, and, almost as though unaware of what he did, wandered down\ntoward the banks of the river. Here, where it joined the lake, the\nswirling torrent became calmer, and patches of sedge and water-willow\ngrew far out into the stream. It was now growing dusk, and the wind\nhad dropped. As Dietrich paused, standing in the long, dank grass, he\nheard a sound, scarcely more than a whisper, borne to him on the dying\nbreeze: \u201cDietrich!\u201d and in a moment again, a little louder: \u201cDietrich!\u201d\nA dread, irresistible fascination drew him nearer to the rush-grown\nbanks, and as he went, he heard again and again that voice, calling his\nname with sweet insistence. And now, far down, almost hidden amid the\ntangle of willow-boughs and waving blue forget-me-nots that swept the\nsurface of the dark lake, a face appeared--a lovely face, with a bloom\nas delicate as a rose-leaf or the heart of a shell, and all around it\nlong tresses of red-gold hair floated upon the water.\n\n\u201cDietrich,\u201d the sweet voice continued, \u201cI have called thee unto seven\ntimes. Hast thou not heard? Wilt thou not come and save me?\u201d\n\nDietrich sprang forward, parting the overhanging boughs, and trying to\nget a clearer sight of the vision. \u201cHow shall I save thee?\u201d he cried,\nalmost in spite of himself, while fear and longing struggled together\nat his heart, \u201cand who art thou?\u201d\n\nBut lo! the face was gone; only a rustling was heard in the bushes, and\npresently a water-snake reared its head among the reeds, and shooting\nout its forked tongue, glided towards him. As it came nearer, the same\nvoice sounded again upon the silent air. \u201cSave me by a kiss,\u201d it said.\nBut fear now gained the mastery, and with a cry of horror, Dietrich\nturned and fled; yet, as his hurrying feet bore him from the water\u2019s\nedge, the voice pursued him still.\n\n\u201cSo mightest thou have broken the spell and saved me,\u201d it wailed, \u201cbut\nthou art afraid! Oh, wretched man, who hast seen my face and fled! And\noh, miserable me! for now none may save me, till the oak-tree be sprung\nfrom the acorn, and the cradle carved from the oak!\u201d\n\nAlmost beside himself, Dietrich reached the top of the river-bank,\nand hurried through the wood to his cottage, where his mother found\nhim late that night--when she came anxiously out to watch for his\ncoming--lying senseless on the steps of the little porch.\n\nAn illness now laid hold upon him, through which Johanna and Lisbeth\nnursed him with untiring care. During the weary weeks of his slow\nreturn to life, Dietrich turned to Johanna as the flower turns to the\nsunshine; and, indeed, she was his one ray of comfort, and in her\npresence only could he shake off the gloom that overshadowed him. He\nwas glad enough to obey his mother\u2019s wish, and make Johanna his wife as\nsoon as might be; and the girl\u2019s loving heart did not shrink from the\nlifelong task of cheering this broken-down man.\n\nSo she went to live in the cottage, and in due time a little son,\ntoo, came to brighten their home. Dietrich worked as usual again, but\nalways showed an unconquerable dislike to going near the river or the\nlake; and the sight of a snake was enough to send him into a fit of\nshuddering terror, such as none could understand.\n\nTime went on, and Johanna fancied that he was becoming more like\nhimself again, till one day he happened to notice, in an open space\nbeside the cottage, a tiny oak sapling springing up from the grass.\n\n\u201cDost thou know how yonder little tree came there?\u201d he asked of his\nwife.\n\n\u201cTo be sure,\u201d replied Johanna. \u201cOne day, when thou wert sick, and I\nwas heavy at heart, and came out here for a breath of air, I found an\nacorn in the wood, and bethought me of planting it here. \u2018If it grows\nup,\u2019 I thought, \u2018I shall take it as a good omen;\u2019 and now, see how it\nthrives!\u201d Johanna laughed merrily, but Dietrich\u2019s face darkened.\n\n\u201cA good omen,\u201d he murmured. \u201cWho knows? \u2018When the oak-tree is sprung\nfrom the acorn----\u2019 I cannot read the saying.\u201d\n\nThat night Lisbeth said to her daughter-in-law: \u201cMy son looks again as\nhe did in those unhappy days. Didst thou not notice the terror-struck\nlook he wore this evening? Heaven help us!\u201d\n\nJohanna laughed it off, but in a few days she said to her mother: \u201cThou\nwert right; he goes down to the river-banks again, as he used. What\nshall we do?\u201d\n\nThere seemed nothing to be done. Neither his wife nor his little son\ncould cheer him any longer. Once Johanna saw him stride out to the open\npatch, and make as though he would have torn the sapling up by the\nroots, but he suddenly stopped, as though an invisible hand had held\nhim, and turned down through the woods to the river.\n\nHe never came back. They said that he had lost his footing in the\ndusk, and fallen into the deep, reedy pool that lies beneath the steep\nbank where the river joins the lake. At any rate, he was found there,\ndrowned and dead; and his death was that of old Lisbeth, too, for she\nnever raised her head again after the news was brought to her.\n\nThe years rolled on, and young Dietrich, Johanna\u2019s son, grew to be a\nman. The oak-tree, too, grew tall and strong, and overshadowed the\nlittle cottage.\n\nDietrich the second was a sober-minded fellow, and gave no heed to the\nmaidens, nor could he be got to think of marriage till he was well on\nin life. He followed the calling of ferryman, and ferried people over\nthe narrow end of the lake, just above the place where the river rushes\nout of it again. His mother disliked this work for him, and often tried\nto persuade him to give it up, but he had a fondness for the water.\nOnce he filled her with a great fear.\n\n\u201cThere must be something wrong with my hearing,\u201d said he, \u201cfor I often\nfancy my name is called across the water, and I hurry back with my\nboat, but there is no passenger there.\u201d\n\nJohanna remembered how Lisbeth had told her that it was a voice calling\nfrom the water that had bewitched the boy\u2019s father, and she determined\nher son should not fall a prey to the same fate.\n\n\u201cDietrich,\u201d said she, \u201cthou must marry. Thou art past thirty now, and\nover grave even for thy years. I am getting old, and need help in the\ncottage, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave it as thou wilt, mother,\u201d he replied, with a sober smile; \u201conly\nfind me a red-haired maiden. I have ever had a fancy for red-haired\nwomen; I do not know whence I got it, for there are not many such\nhereabouts.\u201d\n\nHis mother wondered at what seemed to her an idle speech, and one very\nunlike her grave son, but she thought little more of it, and presently\ntold him she thought he could not do better than take their neighbour\u2019s\ndaughter Alice to wife; \u201cfor, if she is not red-haired,\u201d she said,\nlaughing, \u201cshe is red-cheeked, and as merry as a squirrel--a good mate\nfor a grave fellow like thee.\u201d\n\nDietrich said there was no hurry, but at last, for the sake of peace,\nhe yielded, and was betrothed to Alice.\n\nBut before they could be married a strange thing happened. As he sat\nwaiting one day on the bank of the lake beside his empty boat, he heard\na sound among the bushes behind him, and looking round, fancied he saw\na gleam of red-gold hair through the leaves. At the same time, he could\nhave sworn that a voice quite close to him murmured these words: \u201cIs\nthe oak-tree not yet grown?\u201d\n\nHe sprang up and went in search, as he thought, of a would-be\npassenger, but no one was there; only, as he bent his head down to peer\nthrough the under-brush, a slender water-snake glided from amongst it,\nalmost touching his face with its forked tongue--\u201cas though it would\nhave kissed him,\u201d he said afterwards. He started back with a shout of\ndisgust, for he had always had a great dislike to snakes, and snatching\nup a stone from the ground, threw it at the creature. But it glided\naway untouched; only, as it went, it gave, so Dietrich swore, such a\nhorrible and piercing scream, that his ears rang with it, and when that\ndreadful sound died away, all other sounds, too, ceased for him, and he\nwas deaf from that hour.\n\nHe went home a graver man than before, and since all attempts to cure\nhis deafness failed, he told Alice that he would give her back her\nword. But the stout-hearted little woman would not hear of it; she\nhad had many a talk with Johanna, and was persuaded that, since his\nadventure, Dietrich needed her more than ever. \u201cNo such small matter,\u201d\nshe said, \u201cwould keep her from the man she loved.\u201d\n\nSo these two, also, were wed; though there was but a poor prospect\nbefore them, for Dietrich soon saw that his infirmity would oblige him\nto give up his ferryman\u2019s calling, and that just when he most needed\nit, for there would before long, he knew, be another mouth to feed in\nthe little hillside cottage.\n\nOne spring evening, when the rain was falling and the wind swept the\nwet branches of the oak-tree right across the roof, Dietrich said\nto his wife: \u201cI have a mind to cut down that oak-tree, and sell the\ntimber, after I have used some to make a cradle for the little one that\nis coming. I never could abide the tree, and it now so overshadows the\nhouse that it grows damp for want of sun.\u201d\n\n\u201cI planted the tree when thy father was ill,\u201d said old Johanna from her\nnook by the fire, \u201cand thought that its growth was a good omen for us.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt hath brought us but scant luck, that I can see,\u201d rejoined Alice;\n\u201cperhaps it will be a better omen dead than living.\u201d\n\nSo the oak-tree was cut down, and the timber lay for a while and became\nseasoned; and when Dietrich\u2019s little son, Dietrich the third, was a\nthriving, sturdy babe of a few months, his father one day brought in\nthe new cradle that he had made him from the fallen oak-tree.\n\nBut Johanna\u2019s life seemed to have been cut down with the tree, for that\nwinter she failed and died. And who knows but it was well for her; she\nwas thus spared another grief, for when next spring\u2019s melting snows\nhad swollen the waters of lake and river, Dietrich, whose deaf ears no\nlonger heard the warning rush of the neighbouring waterfall, ventured\ntoo near the narrow part of the river, in his haste to get his boat\nover to the side where his passengers awaited him, and so both boat\nand man were swept down over the fall; nor was poor Dietrich\u2019s body\nfound for many days.\n\nNow might it indeed have been thought that young Dietrich the third\nwould avoid the fatal lake and river; but from the time he had lain, a\nrosy babe, in the oaken cradle, he had always been a merry, fearless\nlittle fellow, and the shadow that so long had darkened the cottage\nabove the river seemed unable to touch him. He became a fisherman;\nand when the neighbours shook their heads meaningly, and reminded him\nthat both his father and grandfather had perished in those waters, he\nwould answer, with a cheery smile, that this was no reason why harm\nshould befall him; the luck would turn the third time, he believed; and\nbesides, he would know how to take care of himself, for his mother\u2019s\nsake. There was no denying that he loved the water, and was successful\nin his calling, for the fish flocked to his nets as though they had\nbeen driven into them. He was fond of the different creatures that\ndwelt among the reedy banks--the water-fowl, the rats, and even the\nsnakes--and many of them he tamed, so that they would come at his call.\nHis delight was to sit idly rocking in his boat, as the twilight fell\nand the stars came out above the hill, and to listen to the rush of the\nriver, and the mysterious sounds and calls that echoed across the lake.\nThen all sorts of strange fancies filled his mind, and amid the voices\nof the night, he thought he could hear one that called his name, in\nlow, sweet tones, over and over again. This did not frighten him, but\nrather brought a throb of joy to his heart; and the voice at last grew\nfamiliar and dear to him, so that he missed it when storm and cold kept\nhim away from the water for a while. The country-folk told tales, which\nhis mother tried to keep from his ears, of how his grandfather had\nbeen driven distraught with terror by the voices that he had heard thus\ncalling from the lake; and he wondered how this might be, and why such\nthings should frighten one. At last he questioned his mother about it,\nand she replied quietly, for she was a cheery woman, and it was easy to\nsee whence Dietrich got his sunny temper:\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis true thy grandfather was a prey to his fears and fancies, my son,\nbut methinks these fears were all in his own mind, and that nothing\nfrom without need have terrified him, if his spirit had but been firm\nand cheerful within. Thy father had something of the same sad temper,\nand so men said he too was bewitched; but I have this notion, that the\nwater-folk would hurt none that did not first hurt themselves by their\nown timid mind. And so I have never withheld thee from the water, for I\nthink thou art of different stuff from thy father, my boy.\u201d\n\nDietrich nodded his head. \u201cThou art right, mother,\u201d he said; \u201cand\nperhaps these beings that call us are but as ourselves, and need our\npity and our love.\u201d\n\nA few evenings after this, as he came home through the woods\noverhanging the river, he was aware of a rustling among the reeds\nand willows beneath him, and a voice--a voice that sounded strangely\nfamiliar to his ear--called from the water: \u201cAh, Dietrich, Dietrich,\nsave me!\u201d\n\nHe dashed down to the river\u2019s brink, and, parting the boughs, saw\nthrough the dusk a lovely face gazing up at him--a face with a bloom\nupon it like a rose, and surrounded by tresses of red-gold hair, that\nhad escaped the comb and floated far out upon the water. Two white\nhands clung to the branches above, and in an instant Dietrich had\nwaded into the stream, and clasping the hands in his own, had drawn to\na safe place upon the bank a slender maiden, who stood leaning against\na tree, as she panted for breath and wrung the water-drops from her\nlong tresses.\n\n\u201cDietrich, I thank thee, for thou knowest no fear,\u201d she presently said\nin the sweet, low tones that seemed so familiar.\n\n\u201cFear!\u201d rejoined the lad, with a laugh, though his voice trembled a\nlittle; \u201cthere was no time for that. What had to be done was to save\nthee from drowning.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet others have felt fear,\u201d said the maiden, raising her deep, clear\neyes to his. He could see them gleam through the deepening twilight,\nthough he could but indistinctly make out her dress, which seemed\nrather different from that of the maidens he was wont to meet in the\ndistrict.\n\n\u201cThat is not the sort of fellow I am,\u201d replied Dietrich, with a bold\nair; \u201cit were strange if one should pause before giving a helping hand\nto any creature in need, let alone so fair a one as thou.\u201d\n\nHe blushed as he spoke, and a strange fancy shot into his mind; but\nthe maiden\u2019s hapless plight, as she stood wringing the water from her\ngarments, dismissed all other thoughts, and he continued: \u201cLet me take\nthee quickly to my mother, who will dry thy garments and give thee\nshelter.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, not to-night, Dietrich,\u201d said the maiden. \u201cI was on my way to\nsome kinsfolk hard by, when I slipped from the path into the river, and\ntheirs is the shelter I must seek out.\u201d\n\nHe thought there was a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she spoke, but\nshe continued more gravely: \u201cYet give thy mother greeting from me, and\nsay I would gladly come and see her soon, for my kinsfolk have known\nthine this many a day, and I have often longed to climb to the cottage\non the hill.\u201d\n\nThe lad leaned forward eagerly; \u201cOh! let me lead thee there to-night,\u201d\nhe pleaded; \u201cit is surely nearer than any other dwelling, and I am loth\nto leave thee, alone--and so soon,\u201d he added falteringly.\n\n\u201cNay, not now, Dietrich,\u201d she repeated, while the merry smile again\nplayed over her face; \u201cI am wet, and it is late, and my kinsfolk await\nme. Only give thy mother my message.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what name doth she know thee by,\u201d he asked, \u201csince thou knowest\nmine so well?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy name is Crystal,\u201d replied the maiden, \u201cbut I doubt she will not\nknow me by it--though I know thine so well,\u201d she added, laughing.\n\n\u201cThou art a strange creature,\u201d said the lad, laughing too, for her\ngaiety was infectious, \u201cyet a very fair one, and if I may not go with\nthee, at least I may ask one boon for having saved thee out of the\nriver--the boon of a single kiss.\u201d\n\nBut at this Crystal drew back and became grave. \u201cNot from me,\u201d she said\nsoftly; \u201cbut if thou wouldst yet do anything for my sake, Dietrich,\nor see me again, give thy kiss to the first dumb thing that shall ask\nfor a caress. That is my last word.\u201d And, turning, she glided so fast\nthrough the trees, that she was out of sight in a moment. Dietrich\nwent home, a strange turmoil in his heart, and told his mother of the\nadventure.\n\n\u201cAnd the oddest thing is,\u201d he concluded, \u201cthat her face looks to me as\nthough I had always known it, had always seen and loved those red-gold\ntresses coiled about that white brow--and her voice is as the voices\nthat call to me at night-time over the lake. Dost thou know, indeed,\nwho she may be, or what these kinsmen are to whom she is going?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know nothing of them, my son,\u201d replied Alice, \u201cand I do not think we\nshall ever know aught. Yet do as she bade thee, for it may bring thee\ngood fortune.\u201d\n\nDietrich spent a sleepless night, and in the morning went down early\nto the pool between lake and river, where his boat was moored, and\nsat down to mend his nets on the bank. Yet his hands often lay idle,\nand his eyes were fixed dreamily upon the reeds before him. Suddenly\na rustling among them roused him with a start, and the next moment\na water-snake glided forth, and paused beside him. He held out his\nhand, for the creature looked like one he had tried to tame a while\nbefore. The snake drew nearer across the grass, and presently wound\nitself about his leg, raising its head and shooting out its tongue, as\nthough it would have touched his face. Like a flash, the remembrance of\nCrystal\u2019s request came into his mind. The snake\u2019s eyes were fixed upon\nhis, and drew him with a strange fascination.\n\n\u201cThis is more than I bargained for,\u201d laughed Dietrich aloud, \u201cbut\nfor Crystal\u2019s sake I will do it, as I would do anything--wise or\nfoolish--that she bade me. Here is a kiss for thee, then, thou cold,\nuncanny little creature;\u201d and he kissed the glittering head.\n\nBut his lips had scarcely touched it, when a gleeful shout broke from\nthe woods behind him, and the well-known sweet voice, ringing with\nmerriment, cried out: \u201cDietrich, Dietrich, I am here!\u201d\n\nHe started to his feet, and never knew what became of the snake, for\nin one bound he had cleared the bank, and was clasping Crystal by the\nhand. She looked fairer than ever in the daylight, which seemed to\nlend her form more strength and vitality than it had shown the evening\nbefore. Her red-gold tresses shone with dewdrops, like a flower in the\nmeadow, and her eyes glowed with life and happiness.\n\nDietrich\u2019s wooing was short, for he had known from the first moment\nof beholding Crystal, that here was the only woman in the world for\nhim. And Alice, too, directly she looked into the fair, laughing face,\ndoubted not that luck, in however mysterious a fashion, had come to\nyoung Dietrich indeed. There was much talk among the country-folk over\nthe mystery of the young bride\u2019s parentage, and the dower of jewels\nthat so simple a country lass had brought her husband.\n\nNot that they were long in his possession, for Crystal could never bear\nthe sight of them, and they were soon sold, all but one, an ornament of\ngold shaped like a little snake, with an emerald head, which Dietrich\nwould have her keep. What she told him, in the secrecy of their lovers\u2019\ntalk, concerning this, and her past existence, will never be known.\nWhat is certain is, that a stately farmhouse, with good store of cattle\nand sheep, rose up in place of the old cottage, on the meadow where\nthe oak-tree had stood. Success followed Dietrich in all he undertook,\nand the fish thronged to his net more abundantly than before. But\nthose voices of old cried to him no more across the lake, for now,\nas he turned homewards at evening, it was his dear wife\u2019s voice that\nsent forth from the farm-yard upon the hill the soft, familiar call:\n\u201cDietrich!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nTHE LITTLE GLASS-MAN\n\n    PART I. THE SUNDAY-CHILD\n\n    PART II. THE COLD HEART\n\n\nThe Little Glassman Part I\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTHE SUNDAY-CHILD\n\nIn the days before railroads were known or tourists ran to and fro\nover the face of the earth, the Black Forest was given up, one may\nsay, to two races of men--the woodmen and the glass-blowers, who even\nyet hold their own among the remoter hills and valleys. They have\nalways been fine fellows, tall and broad-shouldered, as though the\nstrengthening breath of the mountain pines had given them, from their\nyouth up, a healthier body, a clearer eye, and a braver spirit than the\ninhabitants of the valleys and plains below. The glass-blowers live on\nthe Baden side of the hills, and theirs was of old the most picturesque\ndress--you may see it still in the more out-of-the-way parts of the\nforest. Their black jerkins, wide, closely pleated breeches, red\nstockings, and pointed hats give them a quaint, somewhat serious\nappearance, in keeping with the work which they carry on in the depths\nof the woods. There are watchmakers among them as well, who peddle\ntheir goods for sale, far and wide; but the glass-makers, as a rule,\nare stay-at-home folk. They are very different from their brethren the\nwoodmen, who live on the other side of the forest, and spend their\nlives felling and hewing their great pine-trees, which they then float\ndown the Nagold into the Neckar, and from the Neckar into the Rhine.\nThen down that mighty river they go, far away into Holland, where the\nmen of the Black Forest and their long rafts are a familiar sight. They\nstop in every city along the banks of the Rhine, to see if any one will\npurchase their stout beams and planks; but the longest and stoutest\nthey keep for the _Mynheers_, who buy them at a high price to build\ntheir ships with. Now these raftsmen are used to a rough and wandering\nlife; it is joy to them to spin down the stream upon their tree-trunks,\nand sorrow to climb the bank homewards again. And their holiday dress,\ntoo, is quite different from that of the glass-makers. Their jerkins\nare of dark linen, with wide, green braces crossed over their broad\nchests; their breeches are of black leather, and from one pocket, as\na sign of their calling, an inch-rule is always to be seen peeping\nforth. But their chief pride and joy are their boots, the highest, most\nlikely, that are worn in any part of the world, for they can be drawn\nup two spans and more above the knee, and the raftsmen can wade through\nthree or four feet of water without getting wet.\n\nNot so very long ago, the people of the forest still believed in\nspirits that haunted the woods, and the superstition died hard.\nStrangely enough, the legends clothe these supernatural inhabitants\nof the woods in just the same garments, varying with the district,\nthat the men of flesh and blood wear. So they tell that the little\nGlass-man, a kindly spirit, only about four feet high, was never to be\nseen save in a broad-brimmed, pointed hat, with little black jerkin,\nwide breeches, and red stockings. But Dutch Michael, who haunted the\nother side of the forest, seems to have been a huge, broad-shouldered\nfellow, in the dress of the raftsmen; and many who are supposed to have\nseen him, swear that they would have been sorry to pay out of their own\npockets, the price of the calf-skins that made his boots,--\u201cfor they\nwere so big that an ordinary man could have stood up to his neck in\nthem,\u201d they say, \u201cand this is the sober truth.\u201d\n\nThere is a wonderful story of the dealings of these wood-spirits with a\nyoung fellow of the Black Forest, which I will tell just as I heard it.\n\nThere lived then, in the forest, a widow, Dame Barbara Munk, whose\nhusband had been a charcoal-burner, and supplied the glass-makers with\nthe fuel they needed for their work. After his death, she kept her\nson, a boy of sixteen, to the same calling as his father; and young\nPeter Munk, though a well-grown lad, at first made no objection, for\nhe had always seen his father looking black and ugly, as he crouched,\nthe whole week long, over his smoky kiln, or went abroad to sell his\ncoals, an object of disgust to every one; so that it never came into\nhis head to mind such a thing. But a charcoal-burner has a great deal\nof time for thought, about himself and others; and as Peter Munk sat\nby his kiln, the dark trees, and the deep silence of the forest round\nabout him, often inclined his heart to tears and nameless yearnings.\nThere was something--he knew not what--that both saddened and angered\nhim. After thinking it over for a long time, he at last came to the\nconclusion that it was his calling.\n\n\u201cA lonely, black-faced charcoal-burner!\u201d he said to himself; \u201cit is but\na poor life. The glass-blowers, the watchmakers, even the musicians\nwho play in the tavern on Sunday evenings, are all thought of some\nconsequence. And yet if Peter Munk, washed and dressed in his best,\nwith his father\u2019s holiday jerkin and silver buttons, and a pair of new\nred stockings, were to make his appearance, and some one behind, seeing\nthe new stockings and the upright gait, were to say: \u2018Who is yon fine\nlad?\u2019 I am sure that directly he passed me by and caught sight of my\nface, he would add: \u2018Oh, it is but \u201cCoal-Munk Peter\u201d!\u2019\u201d\n\nThe raftsmen, too, from the other side of the forest, excited his envy.\nWhen these giants of the woods went by in their grand clothes, with\nhalf-a-hundredweight of silver buttons, clasps, and chains upon them;\nwhen they stood watching the dance, with widespread legs and important\nfaces, and swore in Dutch, and smoked yard-long Cologne pipes, like the\nrichest of the _Mynheers_, then he would think that the lot of such men\nmust be the happiest on earth. But when these fortunate beings felt\nin their pockets and brought out handfuls of thaler-pieces, tossing up\nfor sixpenny-bits, and staking five guldens here, and ten there, Peter\nwould turn quite bewildered, and slink sadly away to his hut; for he\nsaw many of these master wood-cutters play away more in one evening\nthan poor father Munk had been wont to earn in a year. There were, in\nparticular, three of these men whom he thought so wonderful; he did\nnot know which of them to admire most. One was a big, stout, red-faced\nfellow, known as \u201cfat Ezekiel,\u201d and supposed to be the richest man in\nall the country round. He went twice a year to Amsterdam to sell wood\nfor building, and was always lucky enough to sell it for a higher price\nthan any one else, so that, whereas the others had to come home on\nfoot, he always drove back in great style.\n\nThe other was the tallest, thinnest man in the whole forest, nick-named\n\u201clong Shuffler,\u201d and Peter envied him because of his extraordinary\nimpudence. He contradicted the most important people, and always took\nup more room in the tavern, however crowded it was, than four of the\nstoutest among the other guests; for he must needs sit with both elbows\non the table, or draw up one of his long legs before him on the bench;\nyet no one ever dared gainsay him, for he had endless sums of money.\n\nBut the third was a young, handsome fellow, and the best dancer for\nmiles round, so that he was called the \u201cking of the dancing-floor.\u201d He\nhad been quite poor, and had worked for one of the master wood-cutters,\nbut all at once he became as rich as any of them. Some said he had\nfound a pot of gold under an ancient pine-tree; others that he had been\nspearing fish, as the raftsmen often do, and that, not far from Bingen\non the Rhine, he had fished up on his spear a great roll of gold\npieces, and that the roll belonged to the famous Nibelung-treasure,\nwhich, as every one knows, lies buried there. Be this as it may, he\ncertainly grew rich all of a sudden, and was looked up to by young and\nold, as though he were a prince.\n\nCoal-Munk Peter often thought of these three men, as he sat alone in\nthe pine-woods. All three, indeed, had one and the same ugly fault,\nwhich won them every man\u2019s hatred--and this was their inhuman avarice\nand hard-heartedness towards their debtors and the poor about them; yet\nthe people of the Black Forest are kind-hearted as a rule. But so it\ngoes in this world--if they were hated for their meanness, they were\nthought much of for their wealth, for who else could throw money about\nas though they shook it down from the fir-trees?\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t go on like this,\u201d said Peter sadly to himself one morning--the\nday before had been a holiday, and the ale-house full of people--\u201cif\nthe luck doesn\u2019t turn soon, I shall do myself a harm! If only I were\nrich and respected, like fat Ezekiel, or bold and powerful, like the\nlong Shuffler, or famous, like the king of the dancing-floor, and could\nthrow the musicians thalers instead of pence, as he does! Where can the\nfellow get all his money from?\u201d\n\nHe thought over all the means he had heard of, whereby men make money,\nbut could not seem to hit on any good ones. At last he remembered the\ntales about the folk who had been enriched, in old days, by Dutch\nMichael and the little Glass-man. In his father\u2019s lifetime their hut\nhad often been visited by poor people like themselves; then the talk\nhad always been of rich men, and of how they had come by their riches,\nand in these tales the little Glass-man often played a part. When he\nthought hard, he could almost remember the verse which had to be spoken\nin the \u201cPine-thicket\u201d in the midst of the forest, to make him appear.\nIt began thus:--\n\n    \u201cO Treasure-keeper in the forest green,\n    Thine age is many hundred years--this land\n    Is all thine own, wherever pine-trees stand----\u201d\n\nBut however he cudgelled his memory, he could not remember another\nline. He was often on the point of asking some old man among the\nneighbours how the verse ended; but a certain timidity withheld him\nfrom betraying his thoughts to any one; and besides, he came to the\nconclusion that the legend of the little Glass-man could not be widely\nknown, or the verse either, for there were not many rich people in the\ndistrict, and why should not his own father, or any of the other poor\nmen, have tried their luck? At last he led his mother to speak about\nthe little man. She began by telling him nothing but what he already\nknew; nor could she remember any but the first line of the charm; but\nshe wound up by saying that the spirit only appeared to persons who\nwere born on a Sunday between eleven and two o\u2019clock. He himself, she\nadded, was one of the right people, as he had been born exactly at noon\non a Sunday.\n\nWhen Coal-Munk Peter heard this, he was beside himself with joy and\neagerness to attempt the adventure. He thought it might, perhaps, be\nenough to have been born on a Sunday, and to know part of the charm;\nso one day, when he had sold his charcoal, he did not light the kiln\nagain, but put on his father\u2019s holiday jerkin, his new red stockings\nand Sunday hat, took his five-foot staff of blackthorn in his hand,\nand bade his mother farewell.\n\n\u201cI must go to the town,\u201d he said, \u201cfor they will soon be drawing the\nconscription, to see who is to serve his time in the army, and I want\nto remind the gentlemen in office that thou art a widow, and I thine\nonly son.\u201d\n\nHis mother let him go, saying it was a wise step to take. But it was\nnot to the town, but to the \u201cPine-thicket,\u201d that he took his way. The\npart of the woods so called lies on the highest slopes of the Black\nForest hills, and there is not a single house, or even a hut, for the\nspace of a two hours\u2019 journey all around; for the superstitious people\nbelieve that it is not a safe place, and though the pine-trees there\nstand high and splendid, they are very seldom cut down, for mishaps\nhave often befallen the wood-cutters when they have been working\nthere. Now it has been an axe that has flown from its handle and cut\ndeep into a man\u2019s foot; or again, a tree they were felling has fallen\nover suddenly, and carried the workmen down with it, wounding, or\neven killing them. And one could only have used these fine trees for\nfire-wood, in any case; for the raftsmen would never put a trunk from\nthe \u201cthicket\u201d into their rafts, because of the saying that men and wood\ncame to grief together, if a \u201cthicket-stem\u201d were with them upon the\nwater. So it came about that the trees in the \u201cthicket\u201d stood so high\nand so close together that even at noontide it was almost as dark as\nnight there; and Peter Munk felt quite eerie as he entered that deep\nshadow, where he heard no voice, no sound of an axe, and no foot-fall\nsave his own. Even the birds seemed to avoid that thick darkness among\nthe fir-trees.\n\nPeter had now reached the highest point among the forest hills, and\nstood under a tree of mighty girth, for which a Dutch shipbuilder\nwould have given many hundred guldens. \u201cSurely it will be here the\nTreasure-keeper dwells,\u201d he thought, and taking off his broad Sunday\nhat, he made his best bow to the tree, cleared his throat, and\nsaid with a trembling voice: \u201cI wish you a right good evening, Mr.\nGlass-man.\u201d But there was no answer, and everything around remained as\nsilent as before. \u201cPerhaps I must say the charm first,\u201d he thought, and\nstammered forth the words:\n\n    \u201cO Treasure-keeper in the forest green,\n    Thine age is many hundred years--this land\n    Is all thine own, wherever pine-trees stand----\u201d\n\nAs he spoke these lines, he beheld, with much alarm, a strange, tiny\nfigure peeping out from behind the tree; it looked just like the\ndescription he had heard of the Glass-man--the little black jerkin, red\nstockings, and pointed hat; he even thought he saw the pale, but wise\nand shrewd little face he had heard tell of. But, alas! no sooner had\nit shown itself than it disappeared again.\n\n\u201cMr. Glass-man,\u201d called Peter, after some hesitation, \u201cpray do not take\nme for a fool! If you think I didn\u2019t see you, you are much mistaken; I\nsaw you peep from behind the tree, plain enough.\u201d\n\nStill there was no answer; only he fancied he caught the sound of a\nfaint, hoarse chuckle from behind the tree. At last impatience got the\nbetter of fear. \u201cWait a bit, thou little man,\u201d he cried, \u201cI\u2019ll have\nthee yet!\u201d And he sprang with one bound to the other side of the tree,\nbut no \u201cTreasure-keeper in the forest green\u201d was there--only a little\nsquirrel that dashed up the tree as he approached.\n\nPeter Munk shook his head; he saw well enough that he had partly\nsucceeded with the spell, and that very likely he only lacked the last\nline of the verse, to be able to make the little Glass-man appear; but\nthink as he might, he could not think of that.\n\nThe little squirrel ran down to the lower boughs of the tree, and\nseemed to look at him encouragingly--or mockingly? It cleaned its paws,\nwhisked its bushy tail, and peered at him with shrewd eyes, till he\nfelt quite afraid of being alone with the creature, for one minute it\nseemed to have a man\u2019s head, with a pointed hat on it, and the next\nit looked just like an ordinary squirrel, except that it wore red\nstockings and black shoes on its hind feet. In short, though it seemed\na merry creature, it made Peter\u2019s flesh creep, for he felt there was\nsomething uncanny about it. He hurried away faster than he had come,\nfor the darkness seemed to be growing deeper and deeper, and the\ntrees to be standing thicker and thicker about him, so that at last\nhe grew positively terrified, and broke into a run; nor did he feel\neasy until he heard a dog bark, and saw the smoke rising from a hut\namong the trees. But as he approached the hut and noticed the dress\nof its inmates, he found that, in his fright, he had run in the wrong\ndirection, and come among the raftsmen instead of the glass-makers. The\npeople in the hut were wood-cutters--an old man, his son--the master of\nthe house--and some grandchildren of various ages. When Peter begged\nfor shelter over night, they welcomed him kindly, without asking his\nname or that of his native place, and presently gave him a drink of\ncider, and served up for supper a fine grouse, which is the greatest of\ndainties among the Black Forest folk.\n\nAfter supper the family gathered round the great pine-torches, the\nwomen spinning, the men smoking, or carving spoons and forks out of\nspare bits of wood. Out in the forest a violent storm was howling and\nraging among the pines; and now and then heavy blows were heard, as\nthough whole trees were being snapped off and hurled to the ground. The\nfoolhardy youths of the party would have run out into the forest to\nwitness this splendid and terrible sight, but the grandfather held them\nback with stern word and glance.\n\n\u201cI would not advise any one to go out at yon door to-night,\u201d said he.\n\u201cBy Heaven! he would never return, for Dutch Michael is busy hewing\nhimself a new raft in the forest.\u201d\n\nThe children stared at him; though they had doubtless heard something\nof Dutch Michael before, yet they knew too little to satisfy them, and\nnow begged their grandfather to tell them the whole tale about him for\nonce. And Peter Munk, too, who had only heard of him vaguely on the\nother side of the hills, joined in, and asked the old man what the\ntruth about him was.\n\n\u201cHe is the master of these woods,\u201d returned the grandfather; \u201cand if\nyou, at your age, do not know this, it proves you must belong to the\nother side of the \u2018Pine-thicket,\u2019 or to some yet more distant place.\nBut I will tell you the tale, as it goes in this district, of Dutch\nMichael.\n\n\u201cA hundred years ago--so my grandfather used to say--there were no\nworthier people on earth than those of the Black Forest. But now,\nsince so much money has come into the land, men have grown bad and\ndishonest. The lads dance and sing on Sundays, and swear so, that \u2019tis\ndreadful to hear! In other days it was not thus; and though Dutch\nMichael should look in at the window this very minute, I say, as I\noften have already, that all this evil is his fault. A hundred years\nago, then, and more, there was a rich master woodman, who employed\nmany work-people, and sold his stuff far down the Rhine, and his trade\nwas blessed with prosperity, for he was a pious man. One evening there\ncame to his door a man whose like he had never seen before; he wore\nthe dress of the Black Forest lads, but he was a good head taller\nthan any of them; no one would have believed that such a giant could\nbe. He asked the master for work, and the latter, seeing how strong\nhe was, and fitted for heavy tasks, agreed with him for a price, and\nengaged him. Such a workman that master had never had before. For\nfelling trees, Michael was as good as three men, and when it took six\ntogether to lift one end of a trunk, Michael could raise the other all\nby himself. But when he had cut down trees for half a year, he went one\nday to the master and said: \u2018I have had enough of hewing wood now, and\nshould like to see whither my tree-trunks go. How would it be if thou\nshouldst let me travel with one of the rafts?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018I will not stand in thy way, Michael, if thou art fain to see the\nworld a bit,\u2019 the woodman answered. \u2018To be sure, I need strong fellows\nlike thee for the tree-felling, and on the rafts it is rather skill\nthat is needed; but let it be so for once.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd so it was. The raft which he was to take down the river had eight\ndivisions, and the last was made up of the stoutest roof-beams. But see\nwhat happened. The evening before they started, big Michael brought\ndown eight more beams to the river, the thickest and longest that had\never been seen, and he bore each on his shoulder as lightly as though\nit had been a raftsman\u2019s pole, so that all who saw it were taken aback.\nWhere he had hewn these beams no one knows to this day. The master\nwoodman laughed in his heart when he saw them, for he knew what such\nbeams were worth. But Michael only said: \u2018There, these are for me to\nstand upon, I could never manage upon yonder little chips.\u2019 His master\nwould have given him a pair of raftsman\u2019s boots as a reward, but he\nthrew them aside, and brought out a pair, such as none had ever seen\nbefore; my grandfather swore they were five feet long and weighed over\na hundred pounds.\n\n\u201cThe raft started off, and if Michael had astonished the wood-cutters\nbefore, it was the raftsmen\u2019s turn to be amazed now. For the raft,\ninstead of going more slowly, as they expected, because of the huge\nbeams, flew along like an arrow as soon as they got into the Neckar;\nand when there was a bend in the river, where the men usually had\ntrouble in keeping their rafts in mid-stream, and away from shoals and\nsand-banks, Michael would leap into the river and push them clear of\nevery hindrance; then, when they reached an open stretch of water, he\nwould spring on to the foremost raft, and bidding the others put their\npoles aside, would give one mighty shove into the gravel with his huge\nbeam, and away sped the raft, so that trees, banks, and houses seemed\nto fly past on either hand. By this means, they came in half their\nusual time to Cologne upon the Rhine, where they had always been used\nto sell their cargo of wood; but now Michael spoke thus:\n\n\u201c\u2018A nice set of traders ye are, and well ye understand your own\ninterests! Do ye think the men of Cologne need all the wood for\nthemselves that comes out of the Black Forest? Nay, but they buy it\nof us half-price, and then sell it for far more to Holland. Let us\nsell the small beams here, and go on to Holland with the big ones; and\nwhatever we get over the usual price, we will pocket for ourselves.\u2019\n\n\u201cSo spoke the crafty Michael, and the rest heard him gladly, some\nbecause they wished to see Holland, others because they were greedy\nfor the money. Only one was honest, and warned his comrades against\nrisking their master\u2019s goods, or deceiving him about their price; but\nthey paid no heed to his words, only Dutch Michael did not forget them.\nSo they went on down the Rhine with their wood, and Michael steered the\nraft, and brought it quickly to Rotterdam. There they were soon offered\nfour times the usual price for the cargo, and Michael\u2019s huge beams, in\nparticular, were sold for much money.\n\n\u201cWhen the Black Forest lads saw all that gold, they were beside\nthemselves with joy. Michael divided it into four parts; one he kept\nfor the master, and the other three were for the men. And now they went\ninto the taverns, with sailors and other bad company, and guzzled or\nplayed away their money. But the honest man who had given them good\ncounsel, Michael sold to a kidnapping shipowner, and nothing more was\never heard of him.\n\n\u201cFrom that time forth Holland was the paradise of all the Black Forest\nlads, and Dutch Michael their king. It was long before the master\nwoodman found out the trick; and meanwhile money, swearing, bad\ncustoms, drunkenness and gambling came up into this land from Holland.\nWhen the story leaked out, Dutch Michael was nowhere to be found. Yet\nhe is not dead. For more than a hundred years he has haunted this\nforest, and people say he has helped many men to get rich, but only at\nthe cost of their own poor souls,--I will say no more. Yet this much\nis certain, that on these stormy nights he still picks out the finest\ntrees from the \u2018Pine-thicket,\u2019 where no man may hew wood, and my father\nonce saw him break off a stem four feet thick as if it had been a reed.\nThese he gives to the misguided folk who turn away from righteous\ndealing, and go to him for help; then they take their raft down to the\nwater at midnight, and float away with Dutch Michael to Holland. But if\nI were king there, I would have him shot to pieces, for all ships that\nhave a single one of Dutch Michael\u2019s beams in them will go down some\nday. That is why we hear of all these shipwrecks; for how else should\na fine, strong ship, as big as a church, come to harm upon the water?\nBut every time that Dutch Michael hews a fresh tree during a stormy\nnight in the \u2018Pine-thicket,\u2019 one of his old beams cracks, and the ship\nsprings a leak, and goes to the bottom with all hands. That is the\nstory of Dutch Michael, and true it is that all the evil in the Black\nForest may be traced to him.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, he can make one rich, sure enough,\u201d the old man added in a\nmysterious whisper, \u201cbut I would not take anything from him for\nthe world. I would not be in the shoes of fat Ezekiel, or the long\nShuffler--and they say the king of the dancing-floor, too, has sold\nhimself to him.\u201d\n\nThe storm had died away while the old man told his tale, and now the\nmaidens lit their lamps and went to bed. The men laid a sack full of\nleaves upon the bench near the stove, as a pillow for Peter Munk, and\nwished him good-night. But Peter had never had such restless dreams as\nupon this night. One moment he thought he saw the black-browed giant,\nDutch Michael, tearing open the window and thrusting in his long arm to\noffer him a purse full of gold pieces, which he chinked with a pleasant\nsound; and the next, it was the kindly-faced little Glass-man who was\nriding about the room on a huge green bottle, and then Peter seemed to\nhear the same hoarse chuckle again, that he had heard in the forest.\nPresently some one muttered in his left ear:\n\n    \u201cIn Holland there is gold;\n    Ye can have it, an\u2019 ye will;\n    For a trifle it is sold--\n          Gold, gold!\u201d\n\nAnd again, in his right ear sounded the little song about the\nTreasure-keeper in the green woods; and a gentle voice added: \u201cFoolish\nCoal-Peter, foolish Peter Munk, canst find no rhyme to \u2018green?\u2019 and yet\nart born at noon on a Sunday! Rhyme, silly Peter, rhyme!\u201d\n\nHe moaned and groaned, and tried to think of a rhyme, but as he had\nnever in his life made one waking, it was not likely he should find one\nin his sleep. But when he awoke at dawn, he could not help thinking his\ndream a very strange one, and sitting down at the table, with his head\nin his hands, he began to ponder over the whispers he had heard, and\nwhich still rang in his ears.\n\n\u201cRhyme, foolish Peter, rhyme!\u201d he kept saying to himself, and tapped\nhis forehead with his finger, yet no rhyme came forth. But as he sat\nthere, puzzling over a rhyme to \u201cgreen,\u201d three lads went by the house,\nand one was singing:\n\n    \u201cI stood upon the hill-top green,\n      And gazed into the vale below,\n    For there it was I last had seen\n      Her----\u201d\n\nPeter Munk waited to hear no more, but springing from his chair and out\nat the door like an arrow, he caught the singer roughly by the arm.\n\n\u201cStay, friend,\u201d he cried; \u201conly tell me! what didst thou rhyme to\n\u2018green\u2019?\u201d\n\nBut the other was startled and angered, and shaking himself free,\nrejoined: \u201cA plague on thee for a rude fellow! What business is it of\nthine? Take that!\u201d And he gave him a stinging box on the ear, which his\ncomrades followed up with more blows.\n\nPoor Peter sank to his knees, quite stunned. \u201cI pray you to forgive\nme,\u201d he moaned; \u201cI meant no harm, and was but over anxious about a\ncertain matter. But since I have got the blows now, will ye not also\nplainly tell me the words of your song?\u201d\n\nAt this they began to laugh and mock at him; but at last the singer\nconsented to repeat the words, after which they went on, laughing and\nsinging, upon their way.\n\n\u201c\u2018Seen,\u2019 then,\u201d said poor Peter, as he got up, feeling quite sore,\n\u201c\u2018seen\u2019 with \u2018green.\u2019 Now, Mr. Glass-man, we will have another word\ntogether.\u201d\n\nHe went back to the hut, fetched his hat and long staff, and bidding\nhis hosts farewell, took his way homeward towards the \u201cPine-thicket.\u201d\nHe went along slowly and thoughtfully, for he still had to compose\nhis verse; but as he began to enter the \u201cthicket,\u201d and the trees\ngrew higher and thicker about him, he thought he had found it, and\nleapt into the air for joy. At that very moment a gigantic man in a\nraftsman\u2019s dress, and with a staff as long as a mast in his hand,\nstepped from behind the trees. Peter Munk\u2019s knees shook beneath him\nas he saw this apparition walking slowly by his side, for he thought\nto himself: \u201cThis is no other than Dutch Michael.\u201d The dreadful being\nnever said a word, and from time to time Peter shot a terrified glance\nup at him. He was a good head taller than any one he had ever seen; his\nface was no longer young, neither was it old, yet it was deeply seamed\nand wrinkled; he wore a linen jerkin, and Peter easily recognised the\nhuge boots he had heard of in the story, which were drawn up over his\nleather breeches.\n\n\u201cPeter Munk,\u201d said the King of the Forest at last, in a deep, hollow\nvoice, \u201cwhat art thou doing here in the \u2018Pine-thicket\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cGood morrow, countryman,\u201d answered Peter, who wished to appear\nundismayed, though he was trembling all over; \u201cI am going homewards\nthrough the \u2018Pine-thicket.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cPeter Munk,\u201d rejoined the other, with a dreadful, piercing glance at\nhim, \u201cthy way home does not lie through this wood.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps not exactly,\u201d stammered the youth, \u201cbut it is a hot day,\nand I thought it would be cooler here.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo lies, thou Coal-Peter!\u201d thundered Dutch Michael, \u201cor I will fell\nthee to the earth with my staff. Dost think I did not see thee creep\nbegging to yon little man?\u201d he added more quietly. \u201cGo to! that was\na silly trick, and it is a good thing thou didst not know the charm.\nThe little fellow is a niggard, and gives but scantily, and he to whom\nhe gives is never merry all his life long. Peter, thou art a poor\nwight, and from my soul I pity thee; such a fine, jolly lad as thou,\nthat mightest make something of thy life--and thou art to spend it in\ncharcoal-burning! Where others can shake heavy thalers and ducats out\nof their sleeves, thou canst scarce spare a beggarly sixpence. \u2019Tis a\nwretched life!\u201d\n\n--\u201cThou art right, it is indeed--a wretched life!\u201d\n\n--\u201cWell, I will not be hard on thee,\u201d the terrible Michael went on; \u201cI\nhave helped many a good fellow in his need--thou wouldst not be the\nfirst. Tell me, then, how many hundred thalers mightest thou want to\nbegin with?\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, he rattled the money in his huge pockets, so that it\nchinked as Peter had heard it in his dream. But the lad\u2019s heart\nfluttered painfully as he listened to the tempter\u2019s words, and he grew\nhot and cold all at once, for Dutch Michael did not look the sort of\nperson who would give away money out of sheer kindness of heart and ask\nfor nothing in return. The mysterious words of the old grandfather,\nabout the men who had grown suddenly rich, returned to his mind, and\nurged by a strange uneasiness and fear, he cried out:\n\n\u201cMy best thanks to you, sir; but I would rather have nothing to do with\nyou, and I know well enough who you are;\u201d and ran off as fast as his\nlegs could carry him.\n\nBut the wood-spirit still kept alongside of him with mighty strides,\nmuttering in hollow, threatening tones: \u201cThou wilt yet repent it,\nPeter. I see it written on thy brow--I read it in thine eyes--that\nthou art not to escape me. Do not run so fast; give heed to one more\nsensible word of advice, for yonder is my boundary-line.\u201d\n\nBut when Peter heard this, and caught sight of a small ditch not far\noff, he hurried faster than ever towards it, so that Michael was\nobliged to go faster too, and pursued him with threats and curses.\nWith a desperate leap Peter cleared the ditch, just as he saw his\nenemy raising the great staff to crush him. It fell with a crash, but\nPeter was already safe, and the staff broke into splinters, as upon an\ninvisible wall, so that a long piece of it fell over close to the lad.\nHe picked it up in triumph, to throw it back to its churlish owner, but\nas he did so, he felt it writhe in his hand, and saw, to his horror,\nthat it had changed into a great snake, which was already shooting out\nits forked tongue, and with glittering eyes, prepared to dart up into\nhis face. He let the creature go, but it had twisted about his arm, and\nhe could scarcely have escaped being attacked by it, but that a large\nhawk suddenly swooped down from above, seized the serpent by the head,\nand rose with it into the air.\n\nDutch Michael, who was looking on from the other side of the ditch,\nraged and swore worse than ever, as he beheld his snake carried off\nby a more powerful enemy. Exhausted and trembling, Peter went on his\nway. The path grew steeper, the landscape wilder, and after a bit he\nfound himself once more on the mountain-top, under the huge fir-tree.\nHe again made his bow to the invisible Glass-man, and then began\nimmediately:\n\n    \u201cO Treasure-keeper in the forest green,\n      Thine age is many hundred years--this land\n      Is all thine own, wherever pine-trees stand;\n    By none save Sunday children art thou seen.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou hast not got it quite right; but since it is thou, Coal-Munk\nPeter, I will let it pass,\u201d said a gentle, low voice beside him.\n\nHe stared about him in amaze, and there, beneath a tall pine, sat a\nlittle old man, in black jerkin and red stockings, with the broad,\npointed hat on his head. He had a kind, delicately cut face, and a\nlittle beard, as soft as a spider\u2019s web; he was smoking, strange to\nsay, a blue glass pipe, and as Peter went nearer, he saw that all his\nclothes too, and his hat, and his shoes, were made of coloured glass,\nbut it was pliable, as though it were still warm, and fitted like cloth\nto every turn and movement of the little man\u2019s body.\n\n\u201cThou hast met that scoundrel, Dutch Michael, then?\u201d said the little\nman, making an odd, hoarse sound in his throat between almost every\nword. \u201cHe tried to frighten thee badly, but I got his magic whip away\nfrom him, and he shall never have it back again!\u201d\n\n\u201cYea, Master Treasure-keeper,\u201d answered Peter, with a deep bow, \u201cI was\ndreadfully frightened. But doubtless you were his lordship the hawk,\nwho killed the snake for me. I am very much obliged to you. But I was\ncoming to get some advice from you, for things are going very poorly\nwith me. A charcoal-burner does not get on very well in life, and as I\nam still young, I thought I might manage to better myself. Specially\nwhen I look at others, who seem to have got on so easily. Take fat\nEzekiel, or the \u2018dancers\u2019 king,\u2019 for instance; with them money is as\nplentiful as hay.\u201d\n\n\u201cPeter,\u201d said the little man very gravely, and as he spoke he blew the\nsmoke from his pipe far out before him--\u201cPeter, never speak to me of\nthem. What does it advantage them to _seem_ happy here for a few years,\nand then to be all the more miserable afterwards? Thou must not despise\nthy calling. Thy father and grandfather were honest folk, and yet they\nfollowed the same. Peter Munk, I hope it is not love of idleness that\nhas brought thee to me.\u201d\n\nPeter was alarmed at the little man\u2019s serious tone, and reddened as he\nanswered: \u201cNay, Master Treasure-keeper, idleness, I know full well, is\nthe beginning of all evil; but you cannot blame me if another calling\npleases me better than my own. A charcoal-burner is so very low, you\nsee, and glass-blowers, and raftsmen, and watchmakers are all of more\nconsequence.\u201d\n\n\u201cPride often goes before a fall,\u201d answered the little master of the\nforest, rather more kindly. \u201cYe are a strange race, ye sons of men.\nYou are scarcely ever quite content with the state of life to which\nyou are born and brought up! And what is the use of wishing? Wert thou\na glass-maker, thou wouldst wish to be a master woodman; and if that\nwere granted thee, thou wouldst covet the forester\u2019s place, or the\nMayor\u2019s house! But let be; if thou wilt promise to work diligently,\nI will help thee to something better, Peter. I am wont to give every\nSunday child that finds its way to me three wishes. The first two are\ngranted without question; the third I can deny if it is a foolish one.\nSo now thou mayst wish for something--but let it be something good and\nuseful, Peter.\u201d\n\n\u201cHurrah! you are a capital little Glass-man!\u201d shouted Peter, \u201crightly\ncalled the Treasure-keeper, for you have treasures indeed in your hand.\nAnd so I may wish for whatever my heart desires? Then I will begin\nby wishing to dance better than the \u2018king of the dancing-floor,\u2019 and\nalways to have as much money in my pocket as fat Ezekiel.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou fool!\u201d exclaimed the little man angrily. \u201cWhat a miserable wish\nis this! To dance well, and to have money for gambling! Art thou not\nashamed, foolish Peter, of being so blind to thine own welfare? What\nuse is it to thyself, or thy poor mother, that thou shouldst be able\nto dance? What use is money, when by thine own wish, it is but to be\nspent in the tavern, and will stay there, like that of the miserable\n\u2018dancers\u2019 king\u2019? So all the week long thou wilt still have nought, and\nstarve as before. I will give thee one more free wish, but be careful\nto choose something more sensible.\u201d\n\nPeter scratched his head, and resumed after some hesitation: \u201cWell,\nthen, I will wish for the finest and richest glass-hut in all the Black\nForest, with its belongings, and all the money that is needed to carry\non the work.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing else?\u201d said the little man anxiously. \u201cOh, Peter, nothing\nelse?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you might add a horse and a little cart.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh thou foolish Coal-Munk Peter!\u201d cried the little fellow, and threw\nhis glass pipe in a rage against a neighbouring tree, so that it broke\ninto a hundred pieces.\n\n\u201cHorses, carts!\u201d he continued. \u201cWisdom, I tell thee, wisdom and plain\ncommon sense, and insight--these thou shouldst have wished for, not\nhorses and carts! Well, do not look so downcast; we will try and see\nthat thou dost not come to harm, even so, for the second wish was not\naltogether foolish. A good glass-hut keeps master and man alive; only\nthou shouldst have wished for knowledge and sense to carry it on, then\nhorses and carts would have followed of themselves.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Master Treasure-keeper,\u201d said Peter, \u201cI have still a wish left. I\ncan wish for wisdom with that, if it is really as indispensable as you\nthink.\u201d\n\n--\u201cNay, stop there! Thou wilt find thyself in many a scrape yet, that\nwill make thee glad thou hast a wish still left. Now go home; and\nhere,\u201d continued the little spirit of the pine-wood, drawing a purse\nout of his pocket, \u201chere are two thousand gulden, and let that suffice;\ndo not come asking me for money again, or I should be obliged to hang\nthee from the highest fir-tree. That has been my rule since I have\ndwelt in this forest. Three days ago old Winkfritz died, who owned the\nlarge glass-hut in the lower forest. Go there to-morrow morning, and\nmake a proper bid for the business. Look to thyself, be diligent, and I\nwill pay thee a visit now and again, and give thee a helping hand, and\nwise counsel, since thou didst not ask for wisdom thyself. But I tell\nthee again, and I am in earnest, thy first wish was bad. Beware of the\nale-house, Peter; it has never yet done any one good for long!\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, the little man had drawn a new pipe of fine glass from his\npocket, and stuffed it with dry pine-needles. He now put it between\nhis little toothless gums, and producing a large burning-glass, he\nstepped into the sun and lit his pipe. Having done this, he shook Peter\nkindly by the hand, and after giving him a few more good counsels, as\nthey went along, he began to puff and blow so rapidly at his pipe, that\nhe ended by completely disappearing in a cloud of smoke, which smelt\nof real Dutch tobacco, and faded slowly away among the tops of the\nfir-trees.\n\nWhen Peter got home, he found his mother very anxious about him, for\nthe good woman had quite made up her mind that her son had been drawn\nfor a soldier, and already carried off. But he was in high spirits, and\ntold her that he had met a kind friend in the forest, who had procured\nhim money to start a new business, instead of the charcoal-burning. And\nthough his mother had lived for thirty years in a charcoal-burner\u2019s\nhut, and had been as used to blackened faces as a miller\u2019s wife is to\nfloury ones, still she was foolish and proud enough to despise her\nformer condition as soon as Peter promised her a more prosperous one,\nand said \u201cthat now, as the mother of a man who owned a glass-hut, she\nwas something above the neighbours, Betty and Grete, and should take a\nfront seat in church, among the respectable people.\u201d\n\nPeter soon struck a bargain with the inheritors of the glass-hut the\nlittle man had told him of; he kept on the workmen he found there, and\nlet the glass-making go on night and day. At first the work pleased\nhim. He went down to the workshop at his convenience, and walked about\nit with an important air, his hands in his pockets, looking to right\nand left, and making this and that remark, over which his work-people\noften laughed not a little. His greatest pleasure was to see the glass\nblown, and he would often set to work himself, and form the strangest\nfigures out of the soft, warm mass. But after a while he tired of it,\nand went to the hut, first only an hour each day, then only every two\ndays, and at last only once a week, while his workmen did as they\npleased. Now his fondness for the tavern was to blame for all this.\nThe Sunday after his return from the \u201cPine-thicket,\u201d he went there\nas usual, and there was the \u201cking\u201d already bounding about upon the\ndancing-floor; and there sat fat Ezekiel, too, his tankard before him,\nrattling the dice and casting for crown thalers. Peter\u2019s hands jumped\nto his pockets, that he might see if the little Glass-man had kept\nhis word; and lo! they were bulging with silver and gold coins. His\nlegs, too, twitched and itched, as though they were fain to jump and\ndance; and when the first dance was over, he stood up with his partner\nopposite the \u201cdancing-king,\u201d and when the latter sprang three feet\ninto the air, Peter leaped four, and when his opponent cut all sorts\nof nimble and dainty steps, Peter twisted and turned his feet about so\nmuch more rapidly, that the beholders could hardly contain themselves\nfor wonder and admiration. But when people heard that Peter had bought\na glass-hut, and saw how he scattered sixpences among the musicians\nwhenever he went by, there was no end to the general astonishment.\nSome said he had found a treasure in the forest, others that he had\ncome into an inheritance, but one and all honoured him, and looked up\nto him, only because he had money. He played away as much as twenty\nguldens that evening, and yet the coins rattled in his pocket, as\nthough there were at least a hundred thalers left there. When Peter\nsaw how much he was respected, he was beside himself with pride and\njoy. He threw his money about with both hands, and gave generously of\nit to the poor. Did he not know by experience how bitter is the sting\nof poverty? The \u201cdancing king\u201d was cast quite into the shade by Peter\u2019s\nsuperhuman talents, and Peter was now called \u201cthe dancers\u2019 emperor.\u201d\n\nThe most reckless of the Sunday gamblers did not make such wagers as he\ndid, but neither did they lose so much. But, then, the more he lost,\nthe more he won, and this happened just as he had begged the little\nGlass-man that it might. He had wished \u201calways to have as much money in\nhis pocket as fat Ezekiel,\u201d and it was to this very man that he always\nlost his money; so when he lost twenty or thirty gulden at a stroke,\nthere they were in his pocket again, the very moment Ezekiel swept them\ninto his own. Presently he went further in betting and gambling than\nthe most daring ne\u2019er-do-weels in all the forest, and he was oftener\ncalled \u201cgambling Peter\u201d than \u201cthe dancers\u2019 emperor,\u201d for he played on\nmost work-days as well as Sundays now. Hence his business began to go\nbadly, and this was the fault of Peter\u2019s lack of wisdom. He had as much\nglass made as there possibly could be, but with the business, he had\nnot bought the secret of disposing of his wares to the best advantage.\nAt last he did not know what to do with all his unsold glass, and got\nrid of it half-price, to pedlars, only that he might have enough to pay\nhis workmen their wage.\n\nOne evening, as he was coming home from the ale-house, and thinking\nwith shame and distress--despite all the wine he had drunk to cheer\nhimself up--of the failure of his fortunes, he perceived that some one\nwas walking beside him, and when he looked round, behold, it was the\nlittle Glass-man!\n\nThen Peter broke out in anger against him, and with boastful, daring\nwords, swore that the little man was to blame for all his troubles.\n\n\u201cWhat use are my horse and cart to me now?\u201d he cried. \u201cWhat use are my\nhut and all my glass? Even when I was only a poor charcoal-burner\u2019s\nlad, I had a happier life and fewer cares. Now I do not even know at\nwhat hour the sheriff will come and value my goods, and sell me up\nbecause of my debts!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo,\u201d answered the little man, \u201cso! I am to blame if thou art unhappy?\nAre these the thanks I get for all my benefits? Was it I who told thee\nto make such foolish wishes? Thou wouldst be a glass-maker, and didst\nnot even know whither to sell thy wares! Did I not warn thee to frame\nthy wishes carefully? Common sense, Peter, common sense and knowledge\nwere lacking to thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cSense and knowledge, indeed!\u201d shouted Peter. \u201cI am as sensible a\nlad as any, and I will prove it to thee, little Glass-man!\u201d And with\nthese words he seized the little man by the collar, and yelled: \u201cI\nhave thee now, have I not, thou Treasure-keeper! And now I will wish\nmy third wish, and thou shalt grant it. I wish, then, this moment, for\ntwo hundred thousand hard thalers, and a house, and--ah!\u201d he screamed,\nfor the little man of the woods had changed into burning glass, and\nwas scorching Peter\u2019s hand like a flaming fire. But of the little man\nhimself no trace was to be seen.\n\nFor several days Peter\u2019s swollen hand reminded him unpleasantly of\nhis ingratitude and folly. But after a time he stifled the voice of\nconscience, and said to himself: \u201cWhat matter though they should sell\nmy glass-hut, and all I have? I still have fat Ezekiel, and as long as\nhe has money on Sundays, I cannot want for it.\u201d\n\nYea, Peter, but if he should have none?\n\nAnd so it happened one day, as a strange and wonderful judgment upon\nthem both. For one Sunday he drove up to the inn, and the people\nstretched their heads out of window, and said: \u201cThere goes gambling\nPeter--there goes the \u2018dancers\u2019 emperor,\u2019 the rich glass-man!\u201d And\nothers rejoined: \u201cWho knows about the riches? They do say his debts are\nmany, and that it will not be long before the sheriff appears to seize\nhis goods!\u201d\n\nBut meanwhile Peter dismounted, and greeted them all pompously, and\ncalled out to the host: \u201cGood-evening, mine host of the Sun Inn! Is fat\nEzekiel here?\u201d And a voice from within replied: \u201cHere we are, Peter, at\nthe cards already, and thy place is kept for thee.\u201d\n\nSo Peter Munk went in, feeling his pockets, and saw directly that\nEzekiel must be well off that night, for they were brimming over with\ngold and silver. He sat down to the table, and played with one and\nanother, and won and lost, and won again, till it grew late, and the\nsteadier heads among them said it was enough, and they must go home\nto wife and child. So one and another went, till gambling Peter and\nEzekiel were left alone. Peter begged the latter to stop on a while,\nbut he was loth, and resisted for a long time. At last he cried: \u201cWell,\nI will count what I have left, and then we will play one last bout,\nfive gulden a throw, for it is childish to keep on for less.\u201d\n\nHe counted his money, and found he had just a hundred guldens; and now\nPeter did not need to count his, for he knew how much he had, too.\n\nBut if Ezekiel had won before, he lost now, one throw after another,\nswearing fearfully the while. At last he put his only remaining five\ngulden on the table, and said: \u201cNow, even if I lose this time, I will\nyet not leave off, for thou wilt lend me some of thy winnings, Peter;\none good fellow helps another.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo be sure I will, and were it a hundred guldens!\u201d cried the other,\nproud of his winnings; and fat Ezekiel threw the dice--fifteen. \u201cNow\nlet us see!\u201d he cried.\n\nPeter rattled the box, and threw--eighteen; and as he did so, a hoarse,\nwell-known voice behind him said: \u201cSo, that was _the last_!\u201d\n\nHe turned round, and saw the giant form of Dutch Michael. He let the\nmoney he had won fall in terror. But fat Ezekiel saw no one, and only\nbegged Peter to lend him ten guldens, that he might go on playing.\nHalf dreaming, Peter thrust his hand into one pocket--it was empty.\nHe tried the other--it was the same. He turned his coat inside out,\nbut not a penny-piece was to be found; and now he thought of his own\nwish--that he might always have as much money as fat Ezekiel. It had\nall disappeared like smoke.\n\nThe host and Ezekiel gazed at him in surprise as he went on hunting,\nand still found none of his money. They would not believe he had no\nmore; but when they themselves felt in his pockets, and were obliged to\nconfess it was the truth they became very wroth, and swore gambling\nPeter was a wicked conjurer and had \u201cwished\u201d all Ezekiel\u2019s money, and\nhis own, away into his coffers at home. He defended himself as best he\ncould, but appearances were against him. Ezekiel swore he would spread\nthe shameful tale through all the Black Forest, and the host declared\nhe would go to the town at dawn and denounce Peter as a sorcerer,\nadding that he believed he would come to be burnt as one yet. Then they\nset upon him in a rage, tore his jerkin from his back, and thrust him\nout of doors.\n\nNo star lit up the dark sky as Peter slunk dejectedly homewards, yet he\ncould make out a dusky form that strode along beside him, and at last\nspoke as follows:\n\n\u201cThou art done for now, Peter Munk; all thy grandeur is at an end.\nAnd I could have told thee as much before, but thou wouldst have\nnaught to do with me, and wert set upon running to that foolish\nlittle glass-dwarf. Now thou seest what happens to those who scorn my\ncounsels. But try me again, for I have pity upon thy miserable plight.\nNo one ever repented it yet who turned to me, and if thou dost not fear\nthe way, I am to be found all day to-morrow in the \u2018Pine-thicket,\u2019 and\nwill come forth to speak with thee, if thou dost but call.\u201d\n\nPeter was well aware who it was that spoke thus to him, but a sense\nof dread crept over him. He made no answer, but hurried on upon his\nhomeward way.\n\n\nThe Little Glassman Part II\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTHE COLD HEART\n\nWhen Peter went down to his glass-hut on Monday morning, he found not\nonly his workmen there, but other and more unwelcome occupants, namely,\nthe sheriff and three of his officers. The former wished him good-day,\nasked how he had slept, and then drew out a long list of Peter\u2019s\ncreditors.\n\n\u201cCanst thou pay--yes or no?\u201d asked the sheriff, with a stern look.\n\u201cAnswer me quickly, for I have not much time to lose, and it will take\nme three hours to get back to the town.\u201d\n\nPeter\u2019s heart sank; he was obliged to own that his last penny was gone,\nand to suffer the sheriff to begin valuing his goods.\n\nAs he and his officers went about, examining and valuing the house, the\nworkshop, the stable, the horse, cart, and all, Peter said to himself\nthat it was not far to the \u201cPine-thicket,\u201d and that, as the little man\nhad not helped him, he would now try what the big one could do.\n\nHe hurried to the \u201cPine-thicket\u201d as fast as if the sheriff\u2019s officers\nhad been at his heels; and though, as he ran by the spot where he had\nfirst spoken to the little Glass-man, he fancied that an invisible hand\nwas laid upon him, trying to hold him back, still he broke away, and\nhastened on, till he came to the boundary-line, of which he had taken\ngood care to note the position before.\n\nHe had scarcely had time to call out in a breathless voice: \u201cDutch\nMichael! Master Dutch Michael!\u201d ere the giant raftsman, with his long\npole, stood before him.\n\n\u201cSo thou art come!\u201d said he, with a laugh. \u201cWould they fain have\nskinned thee and sold thee to thy creditors? Well, make thy mind easy.\nAll thy troubles, as I said before, come from the little Glass-man,\nthat canting bit of piety, who is too good to mix with other folk. If\none gives at all, one should give freely, and not like yon miser. But\ncome,\u201d he continued, turning toward the forest, \u201cfollow me to my house,\nand we will see whether we can strike a bargain.\u201d\n\n\u201cA bargain!\u201d thought Peter. \u201cWhat can he ask of me, or what have I to\nbarter? Am I to be his servant, or what?\u201d\n\nThey went for a bit down a steep woodland path, that led suddenly to\nthe brink of a dark, deep, and precipitous ravine. Dutch Michael swung\nhimself down the cliff as though it had been a flight of smooth marble\nsteps; but Peter nearly lost his senses for terror when the giant,\nhaving reached the bottom, suddenly grew up as tall as a steeple, and\nreaching out an arm as long as a weaver\u2019s beam, with a hand at the end\nof it as big as the table at the tavern, called up in tones as deep and\nmuffled as a funeral bell: \u201cSit thee down on my hand, and hold on by\none of the fingers, that thou mayst not fall.\u201d\n\nPeter tremblingly did as he was told, and taking his seat upon the\ngiant\u2019s hand, held firmly on by one of his thumbs. They went down a\nlong way, deeper and deeper; yet to Peter\u2019s surprise it grew no darker,\nbut rather the daylight brightened as they descended into the chasm,\nonly his eyes could not endure that light for long together.\n\nDutch Michael\u2019s size decreased the farther Peter got down, until he\nhad shrunk to his usual height, and they stood at the door of a house,\nthat was neither better nor worse than that of any rich peasant in\nthe forest. The sitting-room which Peter now entered was no different\nfrom other people\u2019s, except that it seemed very lonely; the tall\nwooden clock, the great earthenware stove, the broad benches, and\nthe household utensils on the shelves, were just the same here as\nelsewhere. Michael motioned him to a seat by the centre table, and then\nwent out, returning with a pitcher of wine and some glasses. He filled\nthem up, and began chatting with his guest, telling him so much about\nthe pleasures of the world, and the beauties of foreign countries,\ntowns, and rivers, that Peter at last confessed to a great desire to\nsee all these fine things.\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said Dutch Michael, \u201cthough thy body might be full of strength\nand courage, enough to venture upon any undertaking, yet one or two\nthrobs of thy foolish heart would be enough to make thee tremble and\ngrow weak! And then again, what you call sorrow, or wounded honour,\nwhat are these, that a sensible lad should trouble about them? Was it\nin thy head thou didst feel it, when a while ago some one called thee\nan impostor and a scoundrel? When the sheriff came to turn thee out of\nhouse and home, was it thy belly that pained thee? Nay, but where, tell\nme, where didst thou feel the pain?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my heart,\u201d said Peter, as he pressed his hand to his throbbing\nside, for he felt, indeed, as though his heart were leaping to and fro\nin alarm.\n\n\u201cWell, in past days--do not take it amiss--but in past days, I say,\nthou hast thrown away many hundred guldens to good-for-nothing beggars,\nand other ragamuffins, and what use has it been to thee? They wished\nthee health and every blessing--art thou any the healthier for it?\nFor half that wasted money thou couldst have paid for a doctor all to\nthyself. Blessings! A fine blessing it is to be sold up and turned\nadrift, eh? And what was it that made thee thrust thy hand in thy\npocket as often as a dirty beggar stretched out his ragged cap? Thy\nheart, always thy heart; not thine eye, thy tongue, or thy leg, but thy\nheart--thou didst always _take it_, as they rightly say, _too much to\nheart_!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how can a man get to feel differently? I am taking a deal of\ntrouble, this very moment, to keep my heart quiet, and yet it is\nthrobbing and aching.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Thou!_\u201d laughed the other. \u201cThou, poor wretch, canst do nothing to\nprevent it, I know. Yet only give _me_ the feebly beating thing, and\nthou shalt see what ease will be thine.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou?--my heart?\u201d cried Peter in terror. \u201cBut then I should die on the\nspot? Never!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, if one of these gentlemen, the surgeons, were to try and cut the\nheart out of thy body, thou wouldst die, sure enough; but it is not so\nwhen I do it. Come hither and be convinced.\u201d\n\nWith these words, he opened a door and led Peter into an adjoining room.\n\nThe lad\u2019s heart sank, with a painful quiver, as he stepped over the\nthreshold; but he did not notice it, so startling and amazing was the\nsight that met his eyes. On sundry wooden shelves stood glass jars,\nfilled with a transparent fluid, and in every one of these jars lay a\nheart. Moreover, each jar was labelled and bore a name, which Peter\nread with eager curiosity. Here was the heart of the sheriff of F.,\nand there the heart of fat Ezekiel, and the heart of the \u201cdancers\u2019\nking,\u201d and of the head-forester; there were six hearts belonging to\ncorn-brokers, eight to recruiting officers, three to usurers--in fact,\nit was a collection of the most respectable hearts for twenty miles\nround.\n\n\u201cSee!\u201d said Dutch Michael, \u201call these have cast away the cares and\nsorrows of life; not one of these hearts beats anxiously or heavily any\nmore, and their former owners feel all the better for having got this\nrestless guest out of their house.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what do they carry in their breasts instead?\u201d asked Peter, who\nfelt quite confused and giddy from all he had seen and heard.\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d answered the other, and reached out to him, from a drawer which\nhe had opened, a stone heart.\n\n\u201cThis!\u201d echoed Peter, and could not prevent a cold shiver from going\nover him. \u201cA heart of marble. But surely, Master Dutch Michael, such a\none must feel very cold in a man\u2019s breast?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly; but the coolness is really quite pleasant. Why should\na heart be warm, after all? In winter, a good dram will warm thee\nbetter; and in summer, when all is sultry and hot, it\u2019s past belief how\ncomfortably such a heart as this cools a fellow down. And, as I said\nbefore, neither fear nor care, neither foolish pity nor other men\u2019s\nsorrow, can knock at the door of such a heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is that all you can give me?\u201d asked Peter angrily. \u201cI hoped for\nmoney, and you offer me a stone.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I should think a hundred thousand guldens would be enough to\nbegin with, would it not? If thou dost only manage it well, thou canst\nsoon be a rich man.\u201d\n\n\u201cA hundred thousand!\u201d cried the poor charcoal-burner joyfully. \u201cWell,\ndo not leap so wildly in my breast, unruly heart! we shall soon have\ndone with one another! So be it, Michael, give me the money and\nthe stone, and thou hast leave to take away the unrest from this\ndwelling-place.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was sure thou wert a sensible lad,\u201d replied the Dutchman, smiling\npleasantly; \u201ccome, let us have one more drink together, and then I will\ncount out the money.\u201d\n\nThey sat down to their wine again, and drank and drank, until Peter\nfell into a deep slumber.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCoal-Munk Peter was awakened by the cheery ring of a post-boy\u2019s horn,\nand found himself sitting in a fine carriage, rolling along a broad\nroad; and as he leaned from the door and looked back, he could see the\nBlack Forest lying far behind him in the distance. At first he could\nnot believe that it was really himself sitting in this post-chaise,\nfor even his clothes were not the same as he had worn yesterday, but\nhe remembered everything that had happened so clearly, that at last he\ngave up puzzling, and cried: \u201cWell, I am Coal-Munk Peter at any rate,\nand no other; that much is certain.\u201d\n\nHe was surprised that he felt no melancholy, no home-sickness, on thus\nleaving his quiet village, and the silent woods where he had lived so\nlong, for the first time. Even when he thought of his mother, whom he\nmust have left behind in penury and distress, he could not squeeze a\ntear out of his eye, or even heave a sigh at the thought of her, for he\nfelt indifferent to everything.\n\n\u201cBut of course,\u201d he thought to himself, \u201ctears and sighs, melancholy\nand home-sickness, all come from the heart, and, thanks to Dutch\nMichael, mine is cold and of stone.\u201d He laid his hand on his breast,\nand all was quiet and motionless within. \u201cIf he has kept his word as\nwell about the hundred thousand, I may think myself lucky indeed,\u201d he\nsaid, and began to search the carriage.\n\nAt first he only found clothes, of every description that he could\nwant, yet no money; but finally he hit on a bag filled with golden\nthalers, and bills upon various merchants in all the great cities. \u201cNow\neverything is as I wish,\u201d he thought, and settling himself comfortably\nin a corner of the carriage, he journeyed forth into the world.\n\nHe travelled about for two years, gazing right and left out of his\ncarriage at the houses and lands as he went by; and the first thing he\nlooked for, when he stopped anywhere, was the sign of the tavern. Then\nhe would wander about in the cities, and let all their rarest treasures\nand most beautiful sights be displayed to him. But nothing gave him\npleasure--no picture, no house, no music, no merrymaking; his stone\nheart could take no interest in anything, and his eyes and ears were\ndeadened to all that was lovely. He had nothing left but the pleasures\nof eating and drinking, and of sleep; and so he lived, wandering about\nthe world without object, eating for his amusement, and sleeping\nbecause he was dull. Now and then he remembered, indeed, that he had\nbeen happier and merrier when he was still poor, and had to work for\nhis livelihood. Then every beautiful outlook into the valley, all music\nand song, still delighted him, and he had even looked forward for hours\nto the simple meal that his mother was to bring up to the charcoal-kiln\nfor him. It seemed quite strange, as he looked back over the past, and\ncalled to mind how he had been wont to laugh at the slightest jest,\nto think that he could no longer laugh now. When others did so, he\ndrew his mouth, out of politeness, into a wry smile, but his heart had\nno smile within. Then he knew that, though he was very calm, he was\nnot happy. It was not melancholy or home-sickness, but merely want of\ninterest, and the weariness of his empty, joyless life, that at last\nsent him home again.\n\nWhen he drove from Strasbourg and caught sight of the dark woods of his\nhome--when he saw again, for the first time, the powerful forms and the\nkind, honest faces of the Black Forest folk--when the tones of that\nfamiliar speech, deep and loud, yet pleasant withal, fell upon his ear,\nhe hastily put his hand to his heart, for he felt a stir in his blood,\nand thought that now he must surely both rejoice and weep--but how\ncould he have been so foolish? Had he not a heart of stone? Stones are\ndead, and neither laugh nor weep.\n\nHis first visit was to Dutch Michael, who welcomed him with his old\nkindness.\n\n\u201cMichael,\u201d Peter said to him, \u201cI have travelled and seen everything\nnow, but it is all foolish stuff, and I only bored myself. This stone\nthing of yours, to be sure, saves me a great deal. I never get angry\nand am never sad, but then I am never merry either, and I seem to\nmyself to be only half alive. Could you not make the stone heart a bit\nlivelier? Or--why not give me back my old heart? I would rather have\nit back; I had got used to it in five-and-twenty years, and if it did\nsometimes play me a foolish trick, yet it was merry, and a blithe sort\nof heart.\u201d\n\nThe wood-spirit laughed a bitter, grim laugh.\n\n\u201cWhen once thou art dead, Peter Munk,\u201d he replied, \u201cthou shalt have it\nfast enough. Yes, then thou shalt have thy soft, easily moved heart\nagain, and be able to feel all that comes, whether joy or pain. But\nabove ground it can never be thine again. Yet, Peter, if thou hast\ntravelled, and reaped no pleasure from it, this was only because of thy\nfoolish way of life. Now settle somewhere in the forest, build a house,\nmarry, use thy money so as to increase thy wealth. Lack of work is all\nthat is amiss with thee; thou wert only dull because thou wert idle,\nand now thou wouldst put all the blame on this innocent heart?\u201d\n\nPeter admitted that, as far as the idleness was concerned, Michael was\nright; and he made up his mind to set to work at getting richer and\nricher. Michael again made him a present of a hundred thousand guldens,\nand bade him farewell as the best of friends.\n\nThe story soon got spread about that Coal-Munk Peter, or \u201cgambling\nPeter,\u201d had returned, and far richer than before. And thereupon things\nwent as they always do--at the time he had been reduced to beggary,\nthey had turned him out of the Sun Inn, but now when he made his first\nappearance there on a Sunday afternoon, every one shook him by the\nhand, praised his horse, and asked about his travels; and when he began\nto play again for hard coin with fat Ezekiel, he stood as high as ever\nin the public esteem.\n\nHe no longer made glass now, but took up the wood-business, and even\nthat only as a pretence. His real business was that of a corn-broker\nand money-lender. By-and-by half the Black Forest was in debt to him,\nbut he only lent out money at ten per cent., or sold corn at treble\nthe usual price, to poor people who could not pay at once. He was now\nfast friends with the sheriff; and if any one failed to pay what he\nowed Master Peter Munk, punctually and to the very day, out would come\nthe sheriff with his men, and having hastily valued the poor debtor\u2019s\ngoods, they would sell all he had, and turn him out, with wife and\nchild, into the forest.\n\nAt first this caused the rich Peter some inconvenience, for the poor\nsold-up wretches would besiege his house in swarms, the men begging for\na little respite, the women trying to soften the heart of stone, and\nthe little children crying for a crust of bread. But he soon provided\nhimself with a couple of fierce bloodhounds, and then the \u201ccats\u2019\nmusic,\u201d as he called it, stopped at once.\n\nThe person who gave him the most trouble was \u201cthe old wife,\u201d as he\ncalled her, and who was she but Mistress Munk, his own mother. She\nhad fallen into misery and want, at the time their house and goods\nhad been sold up, and since her son had come home a rich man, he had\nnever troubled himself about her. Now she would sometimes hobble up\nto the house, leaning on her stick, old, broken-down, and feeble. She\ndid not dare go in, for he had once driven her away; but it cut her\nto the heart to be obliged to live on the charity of others, when her\nown son could have made her old age comfortable and free from care.\nBut the cold heart was never moved by the sight of the well-known form\nand features, now so pale and wasted, or of the outstretched hand and\nimploring gaze. When she knocked at the door on Saturday evenings,\nhe grudgingly drew forth a sixpenny-piece, wrapped it in paper, and\nsent it out to her by a serving-man. He could hear her trembling voice\nuttering thanks, and wishes for his prosperity--he could hear her cough\nas she crept from the door, but he thought no more of it, except that\nhe had been obliged to spend another sixpence uselessly.\n\nAt last he bethought himself of marrying. He knew that any father in\nthe district would gladly give him his daughter, but he was particular\nin his choice, for he desired men to praise his luck and his wisdom in\nthis matter too. So he rode about through all the forest, looking here\nand there, yet none of the handsome Black Forest girls seemed handsome\nenough for him. At last, after having sought in vain among all the\npretty girls at the various dances and meeting-places, he heard that\nthe fairest and best girl in the whole country was the daughter of a\npoor wood-cutter. She was said to live very quietly, in the strictest\nseclusion, managing her father\u2019s house diligently and well, and never\nshowing herself at a dance, not even on the greatest holidays. When\nPeter heard of this wonder of the forest, he determined to woo her,\nand rode off to the hut that had been pointed out to him.\n\nThe father of beautiful Lisbeth received this fine gentleman with much\nsurprise, and was even more surprised to learn that he was the rich\nMaster Peter Munk, and was anxious to become his son-in-law. The old\nman was not long in making up his mind, for he fancied all his care\nand poverty would now be at an end; he even gave his consent without\nconsulting Lisbeth, and the good child was so obedient that she made no\nobjection to becoming Mistress Peter Munk.\n\nBut the poor girl was far from having as pleasant a life as she\nhad expected. She had thought she understood housekeeping, but she\ncould never please Master Peter; she had compassion on the poor and\nsuffering, and as her husband was so rich, she thought it no sin to\ngive a penny to a poor beggar-woman, or a dram to an old man; but when\nMaster Peter one day discovered this, he growled out with rough voice\nand angry looks:\n\n\u201cWhat is this thou art after, wasting my substance on vagabonds and\nragamuffins? Didst thou bring anything into the house, that thou\nshouldst have the right to give anything away? Thy father\u2019s beggar\u2019s\nstaff will warm no soup, and yet thou canst throw money about like a\nqueen. Let me catch thee at it again, and thou shalt feel my hand!\u201d\n\nBeautiful Lisbeth wept alone in her room over her husband\u2019s hard heart,\nand often wished herself home again in her father\u2019s poor hut, rather\nthan in the house of rich, but niggardly, stony-hearted Peter. Ah! if\nshe had only known that he had a heart of marble, that could neither\nlove her nor any one else, she would no longer have wondered at him.\n\nNow, when she sat at her door, and a beggar came up, and took off his\nhat and began his little speech, she would close her eyes, so as not to\nsee his misery, and clench her hand tightly, lest it should slip into\nher pocket and fetch out a coin.\n\nTherefore it came to pass that beautiful Lisbeth fell into bad repute\nthrough all the forest, and people said she was even more of a miser\nthan her husband.\n\nBut one day she was sitting at her door, spinning and singing a little\nsong, for she was light of heart, because the weather was fine, and\nMaster Peter had ridden far afield; and presently a little man came\ndown the road, carrying a large, heavy sack; she could hear him a long\nway off, panting for breath. Mistress Lisbeth looked at him pityingly,\nand thought to herself that such an old man should not be so heavily\nladen.\n\nNow the little man staggered up, gasping, and when he got opposite\nMistress Lisbeth\u2019s door, he broke down altogether beneath his load.\n\n\u201cOh, have pity on me, and give me a drink of water, mistress!\u201d he\npanted. \u201cI can go no farther, and am fainting for misery.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you should not carry such heavy loads at your age,\u201d said Mistress\nLisbeth.\n\n\u201cAy, \u2019tis all very well, but what if I must do errands, because I am\npoor and have to earn my bread?\u201d he answered. \u201cAh! a rich woman like\nyou does not know how bitter poverty is, or how welcome a cool drink in\nsuch hot weather.\u201d\n\nWhen Lisbeth heard this, she hurried into the house and filled a glass\nwith water, but as she was coming back, and saw how wretched and\ncareworn he looked, crouching upon his sack, a deeper compassion welled\nup within her; she remembered her husband was not at home, and turning\nagain, she put the water aside, and brought out a beaker full of wine,\nwith a good loaf of rye-bread, to the old man.\n\n\u201cThere, a draught of wine will do thee more good than water, as thou\nart so old,\u201d she said; \u201cbut do not drink so hastily, and eat some bread\nwith it.\u201d\n\nThe old man gazed at her in astonishment, till great tears gathered in\nhis eyes. He drank again, and then said:\n\n\u201cI am old, but I have met with few people so compassionate as thou,\nor who gave their gifts with so sweet and heartfelt a grace, Mistress\nLisbeth. But thou wilt surely have a happy life in return, for such a\nheart does not go unrewarded.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, and she shall reap the reward this very moment!\u201d shouted a\nfurious voice--and looking round, they saw Master Peter, crimson with\nanger, standing behind them. \u201cAnd I see thou dost give my choicest\nwine, too, to beggars, and my own tankard to the lips of vagabonds!\nThere is thy reward!\u201d\n\nMistress Lisbeth fell at his feet and begged for forgiveness, but the\nstone heart knew no pity; he turned the whip he held in his hand, and\nbrought down its ebony handle with such force upon her fair forehead,\nthat she sank lifeless into the old man\u2019s arms.\n\nWhen he saw this, Peter at once seemed to feel remorseful, for he bent\ndown to see if there were any life left in her; but the little old man\nsaid, in well-known tones:\n\n\u201cTrouble thyself no further, Coal-Peter; here was the fairest and\nsweetest blossom in all the forest, but thou hast trodden it under\nfoot, and it will never bloom again.\u201d\n\nEvery drop of blood left Peter\u2019s cheeks, and he stammered: \u201cIt is you,\nthen, Master Treasure-keeper? Well, what is done is done, and doubtless\nit had to be. But I trust you will not denounce me to justice as a\nmurderer?\u201d\n\n\u201cMiserable wretch!\u201d said the little Glass-man sternly. \u201cWhat good would\nit do me to bring thy perishable body to the gallows? Not earthly\njudgments hast thou to fear, but other and more terrible ones; for thou\nhast sold thy soul to the Evil One.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if I have sold my heart,\u201d screamed Peter, \u201cit is thou who art\nto blame, thou and thy deceitful treasures! Thou, malicious spirit,\nhast been my undoing--\u2019tis thou hast driven me to ask help from\nanother--thou hast to answer for it all!\u201d\n\nBut hardly had he spoken these words, when the little Glass-man began\nto grow larger and taller, till he towered above him, and his eyes,\nthey declare, were as large as soup-plates, and his mouth was like a\nheated oven, and breathed forth fiery flames. Peter fell on his knees,\nand his stone heart did not prevent him from trembling like an aspen\nleaf. The wood-spirit seized him by the neck with its hawk-like talons,\nwhirled him round as the storm-wind does a dry leaf, and then cast him\nto the ground again, so that all his bones rattled.\n\n\u201cEarth-worm!\u201d he cried with a voice of thunder, \u201cI could shatter thee\nto atoms if I would, for thou hast blasphemed against the Lord of the\nForest. But, for this dead woman\u2019s sake, who gave me food and drink, I\nwill grant thee eight days\u2019 respite. If thou dost not turn and repent\nthee in that time, I will come and grind thy bones to powder, and thou\nshalt go hence in thy sins!\u201d\n\nIt was already evening, when some men who were going by saw rich Peter\nMunk lying on the ground. They turned him this way and that, and sought\nif there was still any breath in him, but for a time they sought in\nvain. Presently one fetched water from the house and sprinkled some\nover him, and at that Peter gave a deep sigh, moaned, and opened his\neyes. He looked about him, and asked where Mistress Lisbeth was, but no\none had seen her. Then he thanked the men for their help, and crawled\ninto his house, where he began seeking in every corner from roof to\ncellar, but Mistress Lisbeth was nowhere to be found. So he knew that\nwhat he had taken for a hideous dream was the awful reality.\n\nNow that he was quite alone, strange thoughts visited him; not that he\nwas afraid of anything, for was not his heart of stone? But when he\nthought of his wife\u2019s death, pictures of his own end came unbidden into\nhis mind, and he saw himself going hence, so heavily laden with the\ntears of the poor and their curses--which had alike been unavailing to\nsoften his heart--with the misery of all the wretched folk on whom he\nhad set his dogs, with the silent despair of his mother, and with the\nblood of good and beautiful Lisbeth. What account should he give to the\nold man, her father, when he came and asked, \u201cWhere is my daughter,\nwhom I gave thee to wife?\u201d How could he answer the questions of that\nBeing, to whom belong all the forests, the seas, the mountains, and the\nlives of men?\n\nThese thoughts even tormented him at night in his dreams, and he kept\non being awakened by a sweet voice that called to him, \u201cPeter, get thee\na warmer heart.\u201d But when he was awake, he made haste to shut his eyes\nagain, for the voice that spoke this warning sounded like that of\nMistress Lisbeth.\n\nOne day he went to the ale-house to distract his thoughts, and there he\nfell in with fat Ezekiel. They sat down together and talked of this and\nthat, the weather, the taxes, the war, and lastly of death, and of how\nmany people here and there had died suddenly. Then Peter asked the fat\nman what he thought about death, and what was to come after it. Ezekiel\nreplied that the body was buried, but that the soul would go to its\nappointed place.\n\n\u201cAnd the heart?\u201d asked Peter anxiously, \u201cdo they bury that too?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo be sure,\u201d answered Ezekiel.\n\n\u201cBut if one has no heart?\u201d Peter went on.\n\nEzekiel looked at him with a dreadful expression. \u201cWhat dost thou mean\nby that?\u201d he asked. \u201cArt thou mocking me? Dost mean to say I have no\nheart?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, a heart sure enough, as hard as a stone,\u201d replied Peter.\n\nEzekiel stared at him in amazement, looked cautiously round to see if\nhe could be overheard, and then said: \u201cHow comest thou to know that? Or\ndoes thine own heart beat no longer, perhaps?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt beats no longer,\u201d rejoined Peter, \u201cat least not here in my breast.\nBut tell me, since now thou hast taken my meaning, what will happen to\n_our_ hearts?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy trouble about that, comrade?\u201d asked Ezekiel, laughing. \u201cHast thou\nnot all thou canst need for a jolly life on earth, and is not that\nenough? That is just the comfort of having these cold hearts, that such\nthoughts cannot terrify us.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue; yet we think such thoughts, and though I may no longer feel any\ndread now, yet I remember how I felt when I was still an innocent boy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t suppose our lot will be of the best,\u201d said Ezekiel.\n\u201cI asked a schoolmaster once, and he told me that after death all\nhearts were weighed, to see how heavily they were laden with sins. The\nlightest rise up, but the heavy ones sink down, and methinks our stones\nwill be of tolerable weight.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, truly,\u201d replied Peter; \u201cand even now it often makes me uneasy to\nfeel my heart so careless and indifferent when I think of such matters.\u201d\n\nSo they talked; but on the following night Peter heard the well-known\nvoice whisper in his ear, five or six times: \u201cPeter, get thee a warmer\nheart.\u201d\n\nStill he felt no remorse at the thought of having killed Lisbeth;\nbut when he replied, in answer to the servants\u2019 inquiries, that his\nwife was away on a journey, he thought within himself: \u201cWhat may that\njourney be?\u201d\n\nHe went on thus for six days, always hearing the voice by night, and by\nday always thinking of the wood-spirit and his terrible threat; but on\nthe seventh morning he sprang from his bed, crying, \u201cSo be it, then; I\nwill try whether I can get me a warmer heart, for this unfeeling stone\nin my breast makes life weary and desolate to me.\u201d He hastily put on\nhis Sunday clothes, mounted his horse, and rode to the \u201cPine-thicket.\u201d\n\nOn reaching the spot where the trees begin to stand closer together,\nhe dismounted, made fast his horse, and began, with a rapid step, to\nascend the hill. When he reached the top, and stood beneath the great\npine, he raised his voice and repeated:--\n\n    \u201cO Treasure-Keeper in the forest green,\n      Thine age is many hundred years--this land\n    Is all thine own, wherever pine-trees stand;\n      By Sunday-children only art thou seen.\u201d\n\nThen the little Glass-man came forth, looking, not genial and friendly\nas before, but sad and gloomy; he wore a coat all of black glass, and\na long mourning-band fluttered from his hat. Peter knew full well for\nwhom he was mourning.\n\n\u201cWhat wilt thou of me, Peter Munk?\u201d he asked in a hollow voice.\n\n\u201cI have yet one wish left, Master Treasure-keeper,\u201d said Peter, with\ndowncast eyes.\n\n\u201cCan hearts of stone still wish?\u201d asked the other. \u201cThou hast all that\nthy wicked mind can require, and it can hardly be that I may fulfil any\nwish of thine.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet you promised me three wishes, and I still have one left.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I can deny it, if it is a foolish one,\u201d said the wood-spirit.\n\u201cHowever, let be; I will hear what it is.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen take away this dead stone, and give me back my living heart,\u201d\nsaid Peter.\n\n\u201cDid I make the bargain with thee?\u201d asked the little Glass-man. \u201cAm I\nDutch Michael, who gives riches and cold hearts? Yonder, with him, must\nthou go seek for thy heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas! he will never give it me back,\u201d replied Peter sorrowfully.\n\n\u201cI pity thee, wicked though thou art,\u201d said the little man after some\nthought. \u201cAnd since thy wish was not a foolish one, I cannot, at\nleast, deny thee my help. Listen, then. Thou canst never get back thy\nheart by force, yet by cunning thou mayst, and without much difficulty\neither, perhaps; for Michael is still only foolish Michael, after all,\nthough he thinks himself very clever. Therefore go straight to him, and\ndo as I bid thee.\u201d And now he gave Peter full instructions, and handed\nhim a little cross of pure glass. \u201cHe cannot endanger thy life,\u201d he\nconcluded, \u201cand he will let thee go free directly thou shalt hold this\nbefore him, if thou dost only pray the while. Then, if thou hast got\nthy desire, come back to me here.\u201d\n\nPeter Munk took the cross, made sure that all the little man\u2019s words\nwere thoroughly fixed in his mind, and went his way to Dutch Michael\u2019s\ndwelling-place. He called his name three times, and the giant stood\nbefore him directly.\n\n\u201cThou hast killed thy wife,\u201d said he, with a dreadful laugh. \u201cWell,\nI should have done as much; she was giving all thy wealth away to\nbeggars. But thou wilt have to leave the country for a while, for there\nwill be a stir made when she is not to be found; and thou wilt need\nmoney for the journey, and art come to fetch it?\u201d\n\n\u201cThou hast guessed rightly,\u201d answered Peter; \u201conly it must be a large\nsum this time, for it is a long way to America.\u201d\n\nMichael went first, and brought him down to his house; there he opened\na chest full of gold, and took out roll after roll of it. While he was\ncounting it out on the table, Peter began:--\n\n\u201cThou art a cunning trickster, Michael, to have taken me in with that\ntale of my having a stone in my breast, and of thy having got my\nheart!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is it not the truth?\u201d asked Michael in surprise; \u201cdost thou feel\nthy heart, then? Is it not like ice? Dost thou know fear, or sorrow, or\nremorse?\u201d\n\n--\u201cThou hast stopped the beating of my heart, perhaps, but I have it\njust as usual in my breast. And Ezekiel too; he told me that thou hadst\ntaken us both in. Thou art not the fellow to be able to tear a man\u2019s\nheart out of his breast like that, unnoticed and without danger. It\nwould take a sorcerer to do that.\u201d\n\n\u201cI swear to thee,\u201d cried Michael angrily, \u201cthat thou, and Ezekiel, and\nall the rich folk who have made a bargain with me, have just such cold\nhearts as I showed thee, and your real hearts are here in my closet.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear, dear! how the lies do slip from thy tongue, to be sure!\u201d laughed\nPeter. \u201cGo and tell that tale elsewhere. Dost think I have not seen\ndozens of such conjuring tricks on my travels? Those hearts in thy\nchamber there are sham ones, made of wax. Thou art a rich fellow, I\nallow; but thou art no sorcerer.\u201d\n\nThen the giant grew enraged, and threw open the chamber door.\n\n\u201cCome in and read all these labels--that one yonder, see, is Peter\nMunk\u2019s heart. Dost thou mark how it quivers? Can _that_, too, be done\nwith wax?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet it is of wax,\u201d answered Peter. \u201cA real heart does not throb\nlike that, and besides, I have mine still in my breast. Nay, thou art\nno sorcerer!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I will prove it to thee,\u201d cried the other, more angrily still;\n\u201cthou shalt feel for thyself that it is thine own heart.\u201d\n\nHe lifted it from the jar, tore open Peter\u2019s jerkin, pulled the stone\nfrom his breast, and held it before him. Then taking the real heart, he\nbreathed upon it, and put it carefully into its place--and immediately\nPeter felt how it beat, and could rejoice that he had it once more.\n\n[Illustration: He lifted it from the jar, tore open Peter\u2019s jerkin,\npulled the stone from his breast, and held it before him.]\n\n\u201cHow dost thou feel now?\u201d asked Michael, smiling.\n\n\u201cIn truth, thou wert right,\u201d answered Peter, beginning carefully to\ndraw the cross from his pocket. \u201cI would never have believed that any\none could do such a thing.\u201d\n\n--\u201cNo, indeed! And so thou seest that I am a sorcerer after all. But\ncome now, I will put the stone back again.\u201d\n\n\u201cGently, Master Michael,\u201d cried Peter, stepping back and holding out\nthe cross towards him. \u201cMice are caught with lard, and this time \u2019tis\nthou art the dupe.\u201d And he straightway took to repeating all the\nprayers he could think of.\n\nThen Michael began to grow smaller and smaller, and dropped to the\nground, where he writhed to and fro like a worm, moaning and groaning.\nAnd all the hearts round about began to quiver and to throb, so that it\nsounded like a watchmaker\u2019s workshop. But Peter was filled with dread,\nand an awe-struck feeling crept over him; he ran as fast as he could\nfrom the room and from the house, and, urged by fear, climbed rapidly\nup the face of the cliff, for he could hear that Michael had risen\nagain, and was stamping and raging after him, sending out terrible\ncurses the while. As soon as he reached the top of the cliff, he\nhurried towards the \u201cPine-thicket.\u201d As he went, a fearful storm arose,\nand the bolts of lightning fell to right and left of him, shattering\nthe trees; but he held on his way, and came in safety to the domain of\nthe little Glass-man.\n\nHis heart was beating joyfully, and that merely _because_ it beat. But\nnow he looked back with horror upon his past life--it seemed to him\nas terrible as the thunderstorm, that had laid bare the noble woods\nbehind him. He thought of Mistress Lisbeth, his good and lovely wife,\nwhom he had murdered out of avarice, and he appeared to himself as the\nvery scum and offscouring of mankind. He was weeping bitterly when he\nreached the little Glass-man\u2019s mountain-top.\n\nThe Treasure-keeper was sitting under the fir-tree smoking a little\npipe, yet he looked more cheerful than before.\n\n\u201cWhy art thou weeping, Coal-Peter?\u201d he asked. \u201cHast thou not got thy\nheart back again? Is the cold one still in thy breast?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas, sir!\u201d sighed Peter, \u201cwhile I yet carried the cold heart within\nme, I never wept--mine eyes were as dry as the fields in August; but\nnow my own, old heart is like to break, because of what I have done.\nI have driven out my debtors into want and misery--I have set my dogs\nupon the sick and the poor--and you know yourself how my whip fell upon\n_her_ fair forehead!\u201d\n\n\u201cThou hast been a great sinner, Peter,\u201d said the little man. \u201cRiches\nand idleness corrupted thee, till thy heart turned to stone, and could\nno longer be touched by joy or sorrow, pity or remorse. But repentance\nmakes amends, and if I could only be sure that thou dost truly grieve\nover thy past life, I might very likely still be able to do something\nfor thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want nothing more,\u201d answered Peter, and his head sank sorrowfully\nupon his breast. \u201cIt is all over with me; I can never be happy again\nas long as I live. What shall I do all alone in the world? My mother\nwill never forgive me the great wrong I have done her, and perhaps,\nindeed, I have already brought her to her grave, monster that I am!\nAnd Lisbeth, my wife! Do thou rather strike me dead, too, Master\nTreasure-keeper, and let my wretched life end at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it,\u201d answered the little man; \u201cif thou wilt not have it\notherwise, it shall be done. I have my axe here at hand.\u201d He took his\npipe quietly from his mouth, knocked the ashes from it, and put it by.\nThen he stood slowly up, and went behind the pine-trees. But Peter\nflung himself down weeping upon the grass, and awaited the death-stroke\npatiently, for his life was worth nothing more to him.\n\nAfter a while he heard light footsteps behind him, and thought: \u201cNow he\nis coming.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook up once more, Peter Munk,\u201d called the little man.\n\nHe wiped the tears from his face, and turned round, and see! there were\nhis mother and Lisbeth, his wife, looking at him with kind and loving\neyes. Peter sprang to his feet, bewildered with joy.\n\n\u201cArt thou not dead, then, Lisbeth?\u201d he gasped. \u201cAnd thou art here too,\nmother, and hast forgiven me?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey will both forgive thee,\u201d said the little Glass-man, \u201cbecause\nthou dost truly repent--and all shall be forgotten. Go home now to thy\nfather\u2019s hut, and be a charcoal-burner as before; if thou art kind and\nhonest, thou wilt honour thy calling, and thy neighbours will love and\nrespect thee more than if thou hadst ten coffers full of gold.\u201d\n\nSo spoke the little Glass-man, and bade them farewell; and with thanks\nand praise upon their lips, the three went home together.\n\nThe rich Peter\u2019s fine house was no longer standing; the lightning had\nstruck it and burnt it to the ground, with all its treasures; but the\nhut that had been his father\u2019s was not far off. Thither they turned\ntheir steps, and even this heavy loss did not trouble them much. But\nwhat was their amazement when they reached the hut, and found in its\nstead a comfortable peasant\u2019s house! Everything in it was simple, but\ngood and clean.\n\n\u201cOur kind little Glass-man has done this!\u201d cried Peter.\n\n\u201cHow beautiful!\u201d said Mistress Lisbeth; \u201cand I feel much more at home\nhere than in that large house with all those servants.\u201d\n\nFrom this time forth Peter Munk became a worthy and industrious man.\nHe was content with what he had, and followed his calling cheerfully,\nand so it came about that he gathered some wealth together by his own\nefforts, and was respected and beloved throughout the forest. He no\nlonger found fault with his wife, he honoured his mother, and gave to\nthe needy who came to his door. When, after a year and a day, Mistress\nLisbeth became the mother of a fine little boy, Peter went once more\nto the \u201cPine-thicket,\u201d and repeated his charm. But no little Glass-man\nappeared.\n\n\u201cMaster Treasure-keeper,\u201d cried Peter, \u201cdo but hear me! I have only\ncome to beg you to be my little son\u2019s godfather. I want nothing else.\u201d\n\nThere was no answer, only a puff of wind stirred the pine-trees above,\nand cast one or two fir-cones down upon the grass.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d cried Peter again, \u201cI will take these with me as a remembrance,\nsince thou wilt not show thyself.\u201d And he put the fir-cones in his\npocket and went home; but when he took off his Sunday jerkin, and his\nmother turned the pockets out before putting it away in the chest,\nthere fell from them four great rolls of money, which proved to be\ngood, new thalers of the realm, and there was not a single false one\namong them. And this was baby Peter\u2019s christening-gift from the little\nman in the pine-forest.\n\nSo they lived on, quiet and contented; and many a time, when Peter\nMunk\u2019s hair was already turning white, he would be heard to say: \u201cIt\nis better, after all, to be happy with little, than to have money and\ngoods, and a cold heart.\u201d\n\n\n                                THE END\n\n\n                 _Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n                        _Edinburgh and London_\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] No Rhine legends have been introduced, as they were considered to\nbe already so widely known.\n\n[2] The _hora_ is a Roumanian dance, the dancers forming into circles\nor rounds.\n\n[3] Little sheep.\n\n[4] Vijelia means \u201cthe storm-wind.\u201d\n\n[5] The hurricane.\n\n[6] The bridal veil of Roumanian girls is composed of a shower of loose\ngolden threads.\n\n[7] It was believed in Germany that children born on a Sunday were more\nlikely than others to see fairies and supernatural beings.\n\n[8] Most of the supernatural apparitions in this part of the Hartz\ndistrict are called in the legends \u201cVenetians.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n    Transcriber's Note:\n\n    Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as\n    possible. Some minor corrections of spelling and punctuation have\n    been made.\n\n    Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.","title":"Legends from River & Mountain","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":74543}