{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_701/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_701","id":"gutenberg_701","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/701","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Didactic fiction","Fairy tales","Short stories"],"text":"Produced by HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe King of the Golden River\n\nby\n\nJohn Ruskin\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\"The King of the Golden River\" is a delightful fairy tale told with all\nRuskin's charm of style, his appreciation of mountain scenery, and with\nhis usual insistence upon drawing a moral.  None the less, it is quite\nunlike his other writings.  All his life long his pen was busy\ninterpreting nature and pictures and architecture, or persuading to\nbetter views those whom he believed to be in error, or arousing, with\nthe white heat of a prophet's zeal, those whom he knew to be\nunawakened. There is indeed a good deal of the prophet about John\nRuskin.  Though essentially an interpreter with a singularly fine\nappreciation of beauty, no man of the nineteenth century felt more\nkeenly that he had a mission, and none was more loyal to what he\nbelieved that mission to be.\n\nWhile still in college, what seemed a chance incident gave occasion and\ndirection to this mission. A certain English reviewer had ridiculed the\nwork of the artist Turner.  Now Ruskin held Turner to be the greatest\nlandscape painter the world had seen, and he immediately wrote a\nnotable article in his defense.  Slowly this article grew into a\npamphlet, and the pamphlet into a book, the first volume of \"Modern\nPainters.\"  The young man awoke to find himself famous.  In the next\nfew years four more volumes were added to \"Modern Painters,\" and the\nother notable series upon art, \"The Stones of Venice\" and \"The Seven\nLamps of Architecture,\" were sent forth.\n\nThen, in 1860, when Ruskin was about forty years old, there came a\ngreat change.  His heaven-born genius for making the appreciation of\nbeauty a common possession was deflected from its true field.  He had\nbeen asking himself what are the conditions that produce great art, and\nthe answer he found declared that art cannot be separated from life,\nnor life from industry and industrial conditions.  A civilization\nfounded upon unrestricted competition therefore seemed to him\nnecessarily feeble in appreciation of the beautiful, and unequal to its\ncreation. In this way loyalty to his mission bred apparent disloyalty.\nDelightful discourses upon art gave way to fervid pleas for humanity.\nFor the rest of his life he became a very earnest, if not always very\nwise, social reformer and a passionate pleader for what he believed to\nbe true economic ideals.\n\nThere is nothing of all this in \"The King of the Golden River.\" Unlike\nhis other works, it was written merely to entertain.  Scarcely that,\nsince it was not written for publication at all, but to meet a\nchallenge set him by a young girl.\n\nThe circumstance is interesting.  After taking his degree at Oxford,\nRuskin was threatened with consumption and hurried away from the chill\nand damp of England to the south of Europe.  After two years of\nfruitful travel and study he came back improved in health but not\nstrong, and often depressed in spirit.  It was at this time that the\nGuys, Scotch friends of his father and mother, came for a visit to his\nhome near London, and with them their little daughter Euphemia.  The\ncoming of this beautiful, vivacious, light-hearted child opened a new\nchapter in Ruskin's life.  Though but twelve years old, she sought to\nenliven the melancholy student, absorbed in art and geology, and bade\nhim leave these and write for her a fairy tale.  He accepted, and after\nbut two sittings, presented her with this charming story. The incident\nproved to have awakened in him a greater interest than at first\nappeared, for a few years later \"Effie\" Grey became John Ruskin's wife.\nMeantime she had given the manuscript to a friend.  Nine years after it\nwas written, this friend, with John Ruskin's permission, gave the story\nto the world.\n\nIt was published in London in 1851, with illustrations by the\ncelebrated Richard Doyle, and at once became a favorite.  Three\neditions were printed the first year, and soon it had found its way\ninto German, Italian, and Welsh.  Since then countless children have\nhad cause to be grateful for the young girl's challenge that won the\nstory of Gluck's golden mug and the highly satisfactory handling of the\nBlack Brothers by Southwest Wind, Esquire.\n\nFor this edition new drawings have been prepared by Mr. Hiram P.\nBarnes.  They very successfully preserve the spirit of Doyle's\nillustrations, which unfortunately are not technically suitable for\nreproduction here.\n\nIn the original manuscript there was an epilogue bearing the heading\n\"Charitie\"--a morning hymn of Treasure Valley, whither Gluck had\nreturned to dwell, and where the inheritance lost by cruelty was\nregained by love:\n\nThe beams of morning are renewed The valley laughs their light to see\nAnd earth is bright with gratitude And heaven with charitie.\n\n\nR.H. COE\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK BROTHERS WAS INTERFERED WITH\nBY SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS AFTER THE VISIT OF SOUTHWEST\nWIND, ESQUIRE; AND HOW LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN INTERVIEW WITH THE KING OF\nGOLDEN RIVER\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE\nPROSPERED THEREIN\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHOW MR. SCHWARTZ SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW\nHE PROSPERED THEREIN\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHOW LITTLE GLUCK SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW\nHE PROSPERED THEREIN, WITH OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK BROTHERS WAS INTERFERED WITH\nBY SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE\n\n\nIn a secluded and mountainous part of Stiria there was in old time a\nvalley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility.  It was\nsurrounded on all sides by steep and rocky mountains rising into peaks\nwhich were always covered with snow and from which a number of torrents\ndescended in constant cataracts.  One of these fell westward over the\nface of a crag so high that when the sun had set to everything else,\nand all below was darkness, his beams still shone full upon this\nwaterfall, so that it looked like a shower of gold.  It was therefore\ncalled by the people of the neighborhood the Golden River.  It was\nstrange that none of these streams fell into the valley itself.  They\nall descended on the other side of the mountains and wound away through\nbroad plains and by populous cities.  But the clouds were drawn so\nconstantly to the snowy hills, and rested so softly in the circular\nhollow, that in time of drought and heat, when all the country round\nwas burned up, there was still rain in the little valley; and its crops\nwere so heavy, and its hay so high, and its apples so red, and its\ngrapes so blue, and its wine so rich, and its honey so sweet, that it\nwas a marvel to everyone who beheld it and was commonly called the\nTreasure Valley.\n\nThe whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers, called\nSchwartz, Hans, and Gluck.  Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers,\nwere very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small, dull eyes\nwhich were always half shut, so that you couldn't see into THEM and\nalways fancied they saw very far into YOU.  They lived by farming the\nTreasure Valley, and very good farmers they were.  They killed\neverything that did not pay for its eating.  They shot the blackbirds\nbecause they pecked the fruit, and killed the hedgehogs lest they\nshould suck the cows; they poisoned the crickets for eating the crumbs\nin the kitchen, and smothered the cicadas which used to sing all summer\nin the lime trees.  They worked their servants without any wages till\nthey would not work any more, and then quarreled with them and turned\nthem out of doors without paying them.  It would have been very odd if\nwith such a farm and such a system of farming they hadn't got very\nrich; and very rich they DID get.  They generally contrived to keep\ntheir corn by them till it was very dear, and then sell it for twice\nits value; they had heaps of gold lying about on their floors, yet it\nwas never known that they had given so much as a penny or a crust in\ncharity; they never went to Mass, grumbled perpetually at paying\ntithes, and were, in a word, of so cruel and grinding a temper as to\nreceive from all those with whom they had any dealings the nickname of\nthe \"Black Brothers.\"\n\nThe youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in both\nappearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be imagined\nor desired.  He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed, and\nkind in temper to every living thing.  He did not, of course, agree\nparticularly well with his brothers, or, rather, they did not agree\nwith HIM.  He was usually appointed to the honorable office of\nturnspit, when there was anything to roast, which was not often, for,\nto do the brothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon\nthemselves than upon other people.  At other times he used to clean the\nshoes, floors, and sometimes the plates, occasionally getting what was\nleft on them, by way of encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry\nblows by way of education.\n\nThings went on in this manner for a long time.  At last came a very wet\nsummer, and everything went wrong in the country round.  The hay had\nhardly been got in when the haystacks were floated bodily down to the\nsea by an inundation; the vines were cut to pieces with the hail; the\ncorn was all killed by a black blight.  Only in the Treasure Valley, as\nusual, all was safe.  As it had rain when there was rain nowhere else,\nso it had sun when there was sun nowhere else.  Everybody came to buy\ncorn at the farm and went away pouring maledictions on the Black\nBrothers.  They asked what they liked and got it, except from the poor\npeople, who could only beg, and several of whom were starved at their\nvery door without the slightest regard or notice.\n\nIt was drawing towards winter, and very cold weather, when one day the\ntwo elder brothers had gone out, with their usual warning to little\nGluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let nobody in and\ngive nothing out.  Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it was\nraining very hard and the kitchen walls were by no means dry or\ncomfortable-looking.  He turned and turned, and the roast got nice and\nbrown.  \"What a pity,\" thought Gluck, \"my brothers never ask anybody to\ndinner.  I'm sure, when they've got such a nice piece of mutton as\nthis, and nobody else has got so much as a piece of dry bread, it would\ndo their hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them.\"\n\nJust as he spoke there came a double knock at the house door, yet heavy\nand dull, as though the knocker had been tied up--more like a puff than\na knock.\n\n\"It must be the wind,\" said Gluck; \"nobody else would venture to knock\ndouble knocks at our door.\"\n\nNo, it wasn't the wind; there it came again very hard, and, what was\nparticularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry and not to\nbe in the least afraid of the consequences.  Gluck went to the window,\nopened it, and put his head out to see who it was.\n\nIt was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman he had ever seen\nin his life.  He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his\ncheeks were very round and very red, and might have warranted a\nsupposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire for the last\neight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily through long, silky\neyelashes; his mustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on each\nside of his mouth; and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt\ncolor, descended far over his shoulders.  He was about four feet six in\nheight and wore a conical pointed cap of nearly the same altitude,\ndecorated with a black feather some three feet long.  His doublet was\nprolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of\nwhat is now termed a \"swallowtail,\" but was much obscured by the\nswelling folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must\nhave been very much too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling\nround the old house, carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders\nto about four times his own length.\n\nGluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of his\nvisitor that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the old\ngentleman, having performed another and a more energetic concerto on\nthe knocker, turned round to look after his flyaway cloak.  In so doing\nhe caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammed in the window,\nwith its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.\n\n\"Hollo!\" said the little gentleman; \"that's not the way to answer the\ndoor.  I'm wet; let me in.\"\n\nTo do the little gentleman justice, he WAS wet.  His feather hung down\nbetween his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella,\nand from the ends of his mustaches the water was running into his\nwaistcoat pockets and out again like a mill stream.\n\n\"I beg pardon, sir,\" said Gluck, \"I'm very sorry, but, I really can't.\"\n\n\"Can't what?\" said the old gentleman.\n\n\"I can't let you in, sir--I can't, indeed; my brothers would beat me to\ndeath, sir, if I thought of such a thing.  What do you want, sir?\"\n\n\"Want?\" said the old gentleman petulantly.  \"I want fire and shelter,\nand there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on\nthe walls with nobody to feel it.  Let me in, I say; I only want to\nwarm myself.\"\n\nGluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window that he\nbegan to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned and\nsaw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring and throwing long, bright\ntongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savory\nsmell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it should\nbe burning away for nothing.  \"He does look very wet,\" said little\nGluck; \"I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour.\"  Round he went\nto the door and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, there\ncame a gust of wind through the house that made the old chimneys totter.\n\n\"That's a good boy,\" said the little gentleman.  \"Never mind your\nbrothers.  I'll talk to them.\"\n\n\"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing,\" said Gluck.  \"I can't let you\nstay till they come; they'd be the death of me.\"\n\n\"Dear me,\" said the old gentleman, \"I'm very sorry to hear that.  How\nlong may I stay?\"\n\n\"Only till the mutton's done, sir,\" replied Gluck, \"and it's very\nbrown.\"\n\nThen the old gentleman walked into the kitchen and sat himself down on\nthe hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it\nwas a great deal too high for the roof.\n\n\"You'll soon dry there, sir,\" said Gluck, and sat down again to turn\nthe mutton.  But the old gentleman did NOT dry there, but went on drip,\ndrip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and sputtered and\nbegan to look very black and uncomfortable.  Never was such a cloak;\nevery fold in it ran like a gutter.\n\n\"I beg pardon, sir,\" said Gluck at length, after watching the water\nspreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a\nquarter of an hour; \"mayn't I take your cloak?\"\n\n\"No, thank you,\" said the old gentleman.\n\n\"Your cap, sir?\"\n\n\"I am all right, thank you,\" said the old gentleman rather gruffly.\n\n\"But--sir--I'm very sorry,\" said Gluck hesitatingly, \"but--really,\nsir--you're--putting the fire out.\"\n\n\"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then,\" replied his visitor dryly.\n\nGluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was such a\nstrange mixture of coolness and humility.  He turned away at the string\nmeditatively for another five minutes.\n\n\"That mutton looks very nice,\" said the old gentleman at length.\n\"Can't you give me a little bit?\"\n\n\"Impossible, sir,\" said Gluck.\n\n\"I'm very hungry,\" continued the old gentleman.  \"I've had nothing to\neat yesterday nor to-day.  They surely couldn't miss a bit from the\nknuckle!\"\n\nHe spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck's\nheart.  \"They promised me one slice to-day, sir,\" said he; \"I can give\nyou that, but not a bit more.\"\n\n\"That's a good boy,\" said the old gentleman again.\n\nThen Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife.  \"I don't care if I do\nget beaten for it,\" thought he.  Just as he had cut a large slice out\nof the mutton there came a tremendous rap at the door.  The old\ngentleman jumped off the hob as if it had suddenly become\ninconveniently warm.  Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again,\nwith desperate efforts at exactitude, and ran to open the door.\n\n\"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?\" said Schwartz, as he\nwalked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face.\n\n\"Aye! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?\" said Hans, administering\nan educational box on the ear as he followed his brother into the\nkitchen.\n\n\"Bless my soul!\" said Schwartz when he opened the door.\n\n\"Amen,\" said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off and was\nstanding in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible\nvelocity.\n\n\"Who's that?\" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin and turning to\nGluck with a fierce frown.\n\n\"I don't know, indeed, brother,\" said Gluck in great terror.\n\n\"How did he get in?\" roared Schwartz.\n\n\"My dear brother,\" said Gluck deprecatingly, \"he was so VERY wet!\"\n\nThe rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head, but, at the instant,\nthe old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with\na shock that shook the water out of it all over the room.  What was\nvery odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap than it flew out of\nSchwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into\nthe corner at the further end of the room.\n\n\"Who are you, sir?\" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him. \"What's your\nbusiness?\" snarled Hans.\n\n\"I'm a poor old man, sir,\" the little gentleman began very modestly,\n\"and I saw your fire through the window and begged shelter for a\nquarter of an hour.\"\n\n\"Have the goodness to walk out again, then,\" said Schwartz.  \"We've\nquite enough water in our kitchen without making it a drying house.\"\n\n\"It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray\nhairs.\"  They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before.\n\n\"Aye!\" said Hans; \"there are enough of them to keep you warm.  Walk!\"\n\n\"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread\nbefore I go?\"\n\n\"Bread, indeed!\" said Schwartz; \"do you suppose we've nothing to do\nwith our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?\"\n\n\"Why don't you sell your feather?\" said Hans sneeringly. \"Out with you!\"\n\n\"A little bit,\" said the old gentleman.\n\n\"Be off!\" said Schwartz.\n\n\"Pray, gentlemen.\"\n\n\"Off, and be hanged!\" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar.  But he\nhad no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar than away he went\nafter the rolling-pin, spinning round and round till he fell into the\ncorner on the top of it.  Then Schwartz was very angry and ran at the\nold gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him when\naway he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against\nthe wall as he tumbled into the corner.  And so there they lay, all\nthree.\n\nThen the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the opposite\ndirection, continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatly\nabout him, clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for it\ncould not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an\nadditional twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied with perfect\ncoolness: \"Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning.  At twelve\no'clock tonight I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as\nI have just experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the\nlast I ever pay you.\"\n\n\"If ever I catch you here again,\" muttered Schwartz, coming, half\nfrightened, out of the corner--but before he could finish his sentence\nthe old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with a great bang,\nand there drove past the window at the same instant a wreath of ragged\ncloud that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of\nshapes, turning over and over in the air and melting away at last in a\ngush of rain.\n\n\"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!\" said Schwartz. \"Dish the\nmutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again--bless me, why,\nthe mutton's been cut!\"\n\n\"You promised me one slice, brother, you know,\" said Gluck.\n\n\"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all the\ngravy.  It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again.  Leave\nthe room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal cellar till I\ncall you.\"\n\nGluck left the room melancholy enough.  The brothers ate as much mutton\nas they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to get\nvery drunk after dinner.\n\nSuch a night as it was!  Howling wind and rushing rain, without\nintermission.  The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all\nthe shutters and double-bar the door before they went to bed.  They\nusually slept in the same room.  As the clock struck twelve they were\nboth awakened by a tremendous crash.  Their door burst open with a\nviolence that shook the house from top to bottom.\n\n\"What's that?\" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed.\n\n\"Only I,\" said the little gentleman.\n\nThe two brothers sat up on their bolster and stared into the darkness.\nThe room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its\nway through a hole in the shutter, they could see in the midst of it an\nenormous foam globe, spinning round and bobbing up and down like a\ncork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old\ngentleman, cap and all.  There was plenty of room for it now, for the\nroof was off.\n\n\"Sorry to incommode you,\" said their visitor ironically. \"I'm afraid\nyour beds are dampish.  Perhaps you had better go to your brother's\nroom; I've left the ceiling on there.\"\n\nThey required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wet\nthrough and in an agony of terror.\n\n\"You'll find my card on the kitchen table,\" the old gentleman called\nafter them.  \"Remember, the LAST visit.\"\n\n\"Pray Heaven it may!\" said Schwartz, shuddering.  And the foam globe\ndisappeared.\n\nDawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's little\nwindow in the morning.  The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and\ndesolation.  The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle,\nand left in their stead a waste of red sand and gray mud.  The two\nbrothers crept shivering and horror-struck into the kitchen.  The water\nhad gutted the whole first floor; corn, money, almost every movable\nthing, had been swept away, and there was left only a small white card\non the kitchen table.  On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters,\nwere engraved the words:\n\nSOUTH WEST WIND, ESQUIRE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS AFTER THE VISIT OF SOUTHWEST\nWIND, ESQUIRE; AND HOW LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN INTERVIEW WITH THE KING OF\nTHE GOLDEN RIVER\n\n\nSouthwest Wind, Esquire, was as good as his word.  After the momentous\nvisit above related, he entered the Treasure Valley no more; and, what\nwas worse, he had so much influence with his relations, the West Winds\nin general, and used it so effectually, that they all adopted a similar\nline of conduct.  So no rain fell in the valley from one year's end to\nanother.  Though everything remained green and flourishing in the\nplains below, the inheritance of the three brothers was a desert.  What\nhad once been the richest soil in the kingdom became a shifting heap of\nred sand, and the brothers, unable longer to contend with the adverse\nskies, abandoned their valueless patrimony in despair, to seek some\nmeans of gaining a livelihood among the cities and people of the\nplains.  All their money was gone, and they had nothing left but some\ncurious old-fashioned pieces of gold plate, the last remnants of their\nill-gotten wealth.\n\n\"Suppose we turn goldsmiths,\" said Schwartz to Hans as they entered the\nlarge city.  \"It is a good knave's trade; we can put a great deal of\ncopper into the gold without anyone's finding it out.\"\n\nThe thought was agreed to be a very good one; they hired a furnace and\nturned goldsmiths.  But two slight circumstances affected their trade:\nthe first, that people did not approve of the coppered gold; the\nsecond, that the two elder brothers, whenever they had sold anything,\nused to leave little Gluck to mind the furnace, and go and drink out\nthe money in the alehouse next door. So they melted all their gold\nwithout making money enough to buy more, and were at last reduced to\none large drinking mug, which an uncle of his had given to little\nGluck, and which he was very fond of and would not have parted with for\nthe world, though he never drank anything out of it but milk and water.\nThe mug was a very odd mug to look at.  The handle was formed of two\nwreaths of flowing golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more like\nsilk than metal, and these wreaths descended into and mixed with a\nbeard and whiskers of the same exquisite workmanship, which surrounded\nand decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold\nimaginable, right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it\nwhich seemed to command its whole circumference.  It was impossible to\ndrink out of the mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of\nthe side of these eyes, and Schwartz positively averred that once,\nafter emptying it, full of Rhenish, seventeen times, he had seen them\nwink!  When it came to the mug's turn to be made into spoons, it half\nbroke poor little Gluck's heart; but the brothers only laughed at him,\ntossed the mug into the melting pot, and staggered out to the alehouse,\nleaving him, as usual, to pour the gold into bars when it was all ready.\n\nWhen they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in\nthe melting pot.  The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained but\nthe red nose and the sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than\never.  \"And no wonder,\" thought Gluck, \"after being treated in that\nway.\"  He sauntered disconsolately to the window and sat himself down\nto catch the fresh evening air and escape the hot breath of the\nfurnace.  Now this window commanded a direct view of the range of\nmountains which, as I told you before, overhung the Treasure Valley,\nand more especially of the peak from which fell the Golden River.  It\nwas just at the close of the day, and when Gluck sat down at the\nwindow, he saw the rocks of the mountain tops, all crimson and purple\nwith the sunset; and there were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning\nand quivering about them; and the river, brighter than all, fell, in a\nwaving column of pure gold, from precipice to precipice, with the\ndouble arch of a broad purple rainbow stretched across it, flushing and\nfading alternately in the wreaths of spray.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a little while,\n\"if that river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be.\"\n\n\"No, it wouldn't, Gluck,\" said a clear, metallic voice close at his ear.\n\n\"Bless me, what's that?\" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up.  There was nobody\nthere.  He looked round the room and under the table and a great many\ntimes behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat down\nagain at the window.  This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help\nthinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were\nreally all gold.\n\n\"Not at all, my boy,\" said the same voice, louder than before.\n\n\"Bless me!\" said Gluck again, \"what is that?\"  He looked again into all\nthe corners and cupboards, and then began turning round and round as\nfast as he could, in the middle of the room, thinking there was\nsomebody behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear.  It\nwas singing now, very merrily, \"Lala-lira-la\"--no words, only a soft,\nrunning, effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the\nboil.  Gluck looked out of the window; no, it was certainly in the\nhouse.  Upstairs and downstairs; no, it was certainly in that very\nroom, coming in quicker time and clearer notes every moment:\n\"Lala-lira-la.\"  All at once it struck Gluck that it sounded louder\nnear the furnace.  He ran to the opening and looked in.  Yes, he saw\nright; it seemed to be coming not only out of the furnace but out of\nthe pot.  He uncovered it, and ran back in a great fright, for the pot\nwas certainly singing!  He stood in the farthest corner of the room,\nwith his hands up and his mouth open, for a minute or two, when the\nsinging stopped and the voice became clear and pronunciative.\n\n\"Hollo!\" said the voice.\n\nGluck made no answer.\n\n\"Hollo! Gluck, my boy,\" said the pot again.\n\nGluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible,\ndrew it out of the furnace, and looked in.  The gold was all melted and\nits surface as smooth and polished as a river, but instead of\nreflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in he saw, meeting his\nglance from beneath the gold, the red nose and sharp eyes of his old\nfriend of the mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had\nseen them in his life.\n\n\"Come, Gluck, my boy,\" said the voice out of the pot again, \"I'm all\nright; pour me out.\"\n\nBut Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind.\n\n\"Pour me out, I say,\" said the voice rather gruffly.\n\nStill Gluck couldn't move.\n\n\"WILL you pour me out?\" said the voice passionately.  \"I'm too hot.\"\n\nBy a violent effort Gluck recovered the use of his limbs, took hold of\nthe crucible, and sloped it, so as to pour out the gold.  But instead\nof a liquid stream there came out, first a pair of pretty little yellow\nlegs, then some coat tails, then a pair of arms stuck akimbo, and\nfinally the well-known head of his friend the mug--all which articles,\nuniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor in the\nshape of a little golden dwarf about a foot and a half high.\n\n\"That's right!\" said the dwarf, stretching out first his legs and then\nhis arms, and then shaking his head up and down and as far round as it\nwould go, for five minutes without stopping, apparently with the view\nof ascertaining if he were quite correctly put together, while Gluck\nstood contemplating him in speechless amazement.  He was dressed in a\nslashed doublet of spun gold, so fine in its texture that the prismatic\ncolors gleamed over it as if on a surface of mother-of-pearl; and over\nthis brilliant doublet his hair and beard fell full halfway to the\nground in waving curls, so exquisitely delicate that Gluck could hardly\ntell where they ended; they seemed to melt into air.  The features of\nthe face, however, were by no means finished with the same delicacy;\nthey were rather coarse, slightly inclining to coppery in complexion,\nand indicative, in expression, of a very pertinacious and intractable\ndisposition in their small proprietor.  When the dwarf had finished his\nself-examination, he turned his small, sharp eyes full on Gluck and\nstared at him deliberately for a minute or two.  \"No, it wouldn't,\nGluck, my boy,\" said the little man.\n\nThis was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected mode of commencing\nconversation.  It might indeed be supposed to refer to the course of\nGluck's thoughts, which had first produced the dwarf's observations out\nof the pot; but whatever it referred to, Gluck had no inclination to\ndispute the dictum.\n\n\"Wouldn't it, sir?\" said Gluck very mildly and submissively indeed.\n\n\"No,\" said the dwarf, conclusively, \"no, it wouldn't.\"  And with that\nthe dwarf pulled his cap hard over his brows and took two turns, of\nthree feet long, up and down the room, lifting his legs up very high\nand setting them down very hard.  This pause gave time for Gluck to\ncollect his thoughts a little, and, seeing no great reason to view his\ndiminutive visitor with dread, and feeling his curiosity overcome his\namazement, he ventured on a question of peculiar delicacy.\n\n\"Pray, sir,\" said Gluck, rather hesitatingly, \"were you my mug?\"\n\nOn which the little man turned sharp round, walked straight up to\nGluck, and drew himself up to his full height.  \"I,\" said the little\nman, \"am the King of the Golden River.\"  Whereupon he turned about\nagain and took two more turns, some six feet long, in order to allow\ntime for the consternation which this announcement produced in his\nauditor to evaporate.  After which he again walked up to Gluck and\nstood still, as if expecting some comment on his communication.\n\nGluck determined to say something at all events.  \"I hope your Majesty\nis very well,\" said Gluck.\n\n\"Listen!\" said the little man, deigning no reply to this polite\ninquiry.  \"I am the king of what you mortals call the Golden River.\nThe shape you saw me in was owing to the malice of a stronger king,\nfrom whose enchantments you have this instant freed me.  What I have\nseen of you and your conduct to your wicked brothers renders me willing\nto serve you; therefore, attend to what I tell you.  Whoever shall\nclimb to the top of that mountain from which you see the Golden River\nissue, and shall cast into the stream at its source three drops of holy\nwater, for him and for him only the river shall turn to gold.  But no\none failing in his first can succeed in a second attempt, and if anyone\nshall cast unholy water into the river, it will overwhelm him and he\nwill become a black stone.\"  So saying, the King of the Golden River\nturned away and deliberately walked into the center of the hottest\nflame of the furnace.  His figure became red, white, transparent,\ndazzling,--a blaze of intense light,--rose, trembled, and disappeared.\nThe King of the Golden River had evaporated.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried poor Gluck, running to look up the chimney after him, \"O\ndear, dear, dear me! My mug! my mug! my mug!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE\nPROSPERED THEREIN\n\n\nThe King of the Golden River had hardly made the extraordinary exit\nrelated in the last chapter, before Hans and Schwartz came roaring into\nthe house very savagely drunk.  The discovery of the total loss of\ntheir last piece of plate had the effect of sobering them just enough\nto enable them to stand over Gluck, beating him very steadily for a\nquarter of an hour; at the expiration of which period they dropped into\na couple of chairs and requested to know what he had got to say for\nhimself.  Gluck told them his story, of which, of course, they did not\nbelieve a word.  They beat him again, till their arms were tired, and\nstaggered to bed.  In the morning, however, the steadiness with which\nhe adhered to his story obtained him some degree of credence; the\nimmediate consequence of which was that the two brothers, after\nwrangling a long time on the knotty question, which of them should try\nhis fortune first, drew their swords and began fighting.  The noise of\nthe fray alarmed the neighbors, who, finding they could not pacify the\ncombatants, sent for the constable.\n\nHans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid himself; but\nSchwartz was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the peace,\nand, having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was thrown\ninto prison till he should pay.\n\nWhen Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and determined to set out\nimmediately for the Golden River.  How to get the holy water was the\nquestion.  He went to the priest, but the priest could not give any\nholy water to so abandoned a character.  So Hans went to vespers in the\nevening for the first time in his life and, under pretense of crossing\nhimself, stole a cupful and returned home in triumph.\n\nNext morning he got up before the sun rose, put the holy water into a\nstrong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a basket, slung\nthem over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand, and set off for\nthe mountains.\n\nOn his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he looked\nin at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself peeping out\nof the bars and looking very disconsolate.\n\n\"Good morning, brother,\" said Hans; \"have you any message for the King\nof the Golden River?\"\n\nSchwartz gnashed his teeth with rage and shook the bars with all his\nstrength, but Hans only laughed at him and, advising him to make\nhimself comfortable till he came back again, shouldered his basket,\nshook the bottle of holy water in Schwartz's face till it frothed\nagain, and marched off in the highest spirits in the world.\n\nIt was indeed a morning that might have made anyone happy, even with no\nGolden River to seek for.  Level lines of dewy mist lay stretched along\nthe valley, out of which rose the massy mountains, their lower cliffs\nin pale gray shadow, hardly distinguishable from the floating vapor but\ngradually ascending till they caught the sunlight, which ran in sharp\ntouches of ruddy color along the angular crags, and pierced, in long,\nlevel rays, through their fringes of spearlike pine.  Far above shot up\nred, splintered masses of castellated rock, jagged and shivered into\nmyriads of fantastic forms, with here and there a streak of sunlit snow\ntraced down their chasms like a line of forked lightning; and far\nbeyond and far above all these, fainter than the morning cloud but\npurer and changeless, slept, in the blue sky, the utmost peaks of the\neternal snow.\n\nThe Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower and snowless\nelevations, was now nearly in shadow--all but the uppermost jets of\nspray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of the\ncataract and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind.\n\nOn this object, and on this alone, Hans's eyes and thoughts were fixed.\nForgetting the distance he had to traverse, he set off at an imprudent\nrate of walking, which greatly exhausted him before he had scaled the\nfirst range of the green and low hills.  He was, moreover, surprised,\non surmounting them, to find that a large glacier, of whose existence,\nnotwithstanding his previous knowledge of the mountains, he had been\nabsolutely ignorant, lay between him and the source of the Golden\nRiver.  He entered on it with the boldness of a practiced mountaineer,\nyet he thought he had never traversed so strange or so dangerous a\nglacier in his life.  The ice was excessively slippery, and out of all\nits chasms came wild sounds of gushing water--not monotonous or low,\nbut changeful and loud, rising occasionally into drifting passages of\nwild melody, then breaking off into short, melancholy tones or sudden\nshrieks resembling those of human voices in distress or pain.  The ice\nwas broken into thousands of confused shapes, but none, Hans thought,\nlike the ordinary forms of splintered ice.  There seemed a curious\nEXPRESSION about all their outlines--a perpetual resemblance to living\nfeatures, distorted and scornful.  Myriads of deceitful shadows and\nlurid lights played and floated about and through the pale blue\npinnacles, dazzling and confusing the sight of the traveler, while his\nears grew dull and his head giddy with the constant gush and roar of\nthe concealed waters.  These painful circumstances increased upon him\nas he advanced; the ice crashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his\nfeet, tottering spires nodded around him and fell thundering across his\npath; and though he had repeatedly faced these dangers on the most\nterrific glaciers and in the wildest weather, it was with a new and\noppressive feeling of panic terror that he leaped the last chasm and\nflung himself, exhausted and shuddering, on the firm turf of the\nmountain.\n\nHe had been compelled to abandon his basket of food, which became a\nperilous incumbrance on the glacier, and had now no means of refreshing\nhimself but by breaking off and eating some of the pieces of ice.\nThis, however, relieved his thirst; an hour's repose recruited his\nhardy frame, and with the indomitable spirit of avarice he resumed his\nlaborious journey.\n\nHis way now lay straight up a ridge of bare red rocks, without a blade\nof grass to ease the foot or a projecting angle to afford an inch of\nshade from the south sun.  It was past noon and the rays beat intensely\nupon the steep path, while the whole atmosphere was motionless and\npenetrated with heat.  Intense thirst was soon added to the bodily\nfatigue with which Hans was now afflicted; glance after glance he cast\non the flask of water which hung at his belt. \"Three drops are enough,\"\nat last thought he; \"I may, at least, cool my lips with it.\"\n\nHe opened the flask and was raising it to his lips, when his eye fell\non an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it moved.  It was\na small dog, apparently in the last agony of death from thirst.  Its\ntongue was out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended lifelessly, and a\nswarm of black ants were crawling about its lips and throat.  Its eye\nmoved to the bottle which Hans held in his hand.  He raised it, drank,\nspurned the animal with his foot, and passed on.  And he did not know\nhow it was, but he thought that a strange shadow had suddenly come\nacross the blue sky.\n\nThe path became steeper and more rugged every moment, and the high hill\nair, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood into a fever.\nThe noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery in his ears; they\nwere all distant, and his thirst increased every moment.  Another hour\npassed, and he again looked down to the flask at his side; it was half\nempty, but there was much more than three drops in it.  He stopped to\nopen it, and again, as he did so, something moved in the path above\nhim.  It was a fair child, stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its\nbreast heaving with thirst, its eyes closed, and its lips parched and\nburning.  Hans eyed it deliberately, drank, and passed on.  And a dark\ngray cloud came over the sun, and long, snakelike shadows crept up\nalong the mountain sides.  Hans struggled on.  The sun was sinking, but\nits descent seemed to bring no coolness; the leaden height of the dead\nair pressed upon his brow and heart, but the goal was near.  He saw the\ncataract of the Golden River springing from the hillside scarcely five\nhundred feet above him.  He paused for a moment to breathe, and sprang\non to complete his task.\n\nAt this instant a faint cry fell on his ear.  He turned, and saw a\ngray-haired old man extended on the rocks.  His eyes were sunk, his\nfeatures deadly pale and gathered into an expression of despair.\n\"Water!\" he stretched his arms to Hans, and cried feebly, \"Water! I am\ndying.\"\n\n\"I have none,\" replied Hans; \"thou hast had thy share of life.\" He\nstrode over the prostrate body and darted on.  And a flash of blue\nlightning rose out of the East, shaped like a sword; it shook thrice\nover the whole heaven and left it dark with one heavy, impenetrable\nshade.  The sun was setting; it plunged towards the horizon like a\nredhot ball. The roar of the Golden River rose on Hans's ear.  He stood\nat the brink of the chasm through which it ran.  Its waves were filled\nwith the red glory of the sunset; they shook their crests like tongues\nof fire, and flashes of bloody light gleamed along their foam.  Their\nsound came mightier and mightier on his senses; his brain grew giddy\nwith the prolonged thunder.  Shuddering he drew the flask from his\ngirdle and hurled it into the center of the torrent.  As he did so, an\nicy chill shot through his limbs; he staggered, shrieked, and fell.\nThe waters closed over his cry, and the moaning of the river rose\nwildly into the night as it gushed over\n\nTHE BLACK STONE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHOW MR. SCHWARTZ SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW\nHE PROSPERED THEREIN\n\n\nPoor little Gluck waited very anxiously, alone in the house, for Hans's\nreturn.  Finding he did not come back, he was terribly frightened and\nwent and told Schwartz in the prison all that had happened.  Then\nSchwartz was very much pleased and said that Hans must certainly have\nbeen turned into a black stone and he should have all the gold to\nhimself.  But Gluck was very sorry and cried all night.  When he got up\nin the morning there was no bread in the house, nor any money; so Gluck\nwent and hired himself to another goldsmith, and he worked so hard and\nso neatly and so long every day that he soon got money enough together\nto pay his brother's fine, and he went and gave it all to Schwartz, and\nSchwartz got out of prison.  Then Schwartz was quite pleased and said\nhe should have some of the gold of the river.  But Gluck only begged he\nwould go and see what had become of Hans.\n\nNow when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the holy water, he\nthought to himself that such a proceeding might not be considered\naltogether correct by the King of the Golden River, and determined to\nmanage matters better.  So he took some more of Gluck's money and went\nto a bad priest, who gave him some holy water very readily for it.\nThen Schwartz was sure it was all quite right. So Schwartz got up early\nin the morning before the sun rose, and took some bread and wine in a\nbasket, and put his holy water in a flask, and set off for the\nmountains.  Like his brother he was much surprised at the sight of the\nglacier and had great difficulty in crossing it, even after leaving his\nbasket behind him.  The day was cloudless but not bright; there was a\nheavy purple haze hanging over the sky, and the hills looked lowering\nand gloomy.  And as Schwartz climbed the steep rock path the thirst\ncame upon him, as it had upon his brother, until he lifted his flask to\nhis lips to drink.  Then he saw the fair child lying near him on the\nrocks, and it cried to him and moaned for water.  \"Water, indeed,\" said\nSchwartz; \"I haven't half enough for myself,\" and passed on.  And as he\nwent he thought the sunbeams grew more dim, and he saw a low bank of\nblack cloud rising out of the west; and when he had climbed for another\nhour, the thirst overcame him again and he would have drunk.  Then he\nsaw the old man lying before him on the path, and heard him cry out for\nwater.  \"Water, indeed,\" said Schwartz; \"I haven't half enough for\nmyself,\" and on he went.  Then again the light seemed to fade from\nbefore his eyes, and he looked up, and, behold, a mist, of the color of\nblood, had come over the sun; and the bank of black cloud had risen\nvery high, and its edges were tossing and tumbling like the waves of\nthe angry sea and they cast long shadows which flickered over\nSchwartz's path.\n\nThen Schwartz climbed for another hour, and again his thirst returned;\nand as he lifted his flask to his lips he thought he saw his brother\nHans lying exhausted on the path before him, and as he gazed the figure\nstretched its arms to him and cried for water. \"Ha, ha!\" laughed\nSchwartz, \"are you there? Remember the prison bars, my boy.  Water,\nindeed! do you suppose I carried it all the way up here for you?\"  And\nhe strode over the figure; yet, as he passed, he thought he saw a\nstrange expression of mockery about its lips.  And when he had gone a\nfew yards farther, he looked back; but the figure was not there.\n\nAnd a sudden horror came over Schwartz, he knew not why; but the thirst\nfor gold prevailed over his fear, and he rushed on.  And the bank of\nblack cloud rose to the zenith, and out of it came bursts of spiry\nlightning, and waves of darkness seemed to heave and float, between\ntheir flashes, over the whole heavens.  And the sky where the sun was\nsetting was all level and like a lake of blood; and a strong wind came\nout of that sky, tearing its crimson clouds into fragments and\nscattering them far into the darkness.  And when Schwartz stood by the\nbrink of the Golden River, its waves were black like thunder clouds,\nbut their foam was like fire; and the roar of the waters below and the\nthunder above met as he cast the flask into the stream.  And as he did\nso the lightning glared in his eyes, and the earth gave way beneath\nhim, and the waters closed over his cry.  And the moaning of the river\nrose wildly into the night as it gushed over the\n\nTWO BLACK STONES\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHOW LITTLE GLUCK SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW\nHE PROSPERED THEREIN, WITH OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST\n\n\nWhen Gluck found that Schwartz did not come back, he was very sorry and\ndid not know what to do.  He had no money and was obliged to go and\nhire himself again to the goldsmith, who worked him very hard and gave\nhim very little money.  So, after a month or two, Gluck grew tired and\nmade up his mind to go and try his fortune with the Golden River.  \"The\nlittle king looked very kind,\" thought he. \"I don't think he will turn\nme into a black stone.\"  So he went to the priest, and the priest gave\nhim some holy water as soon as he asked for it.  Then Gluck took some\nbread in his basket, and the bottle of water, and set off very early\nfor the mountains.\n\nIf the glacier had occasioned a great deal of fatigue in his brothers,\nit was twenty times worse for him, who was neither so strong nor so\npracticed on the mountains.  He had several very bad falls, lost his\nbasket and bread, and was very much frightened at the strange noises\nunder the ice.  He lay a long time to rest on the grass, after he had\ngot over, and began to climb the hill just in the hottest part of the\nday.  When he had climbed for an hour, he got dreadfully thirsty and\nwas going to drink like his brothers, when he saw an old man coming\ndown the path above him, looking very feeble and leaning on a staff.\n\"Why son,\" said the old man, \"I am faint with thirst; give me some of\nthat water.\"  Then Gluck looked at him, and when he saw that he was\npale and weary, he gave him the water.  \"Only pray don't drink it all,\"\nsaid Gluck.  But the old man drank a great deal and gave him back the\nbottle two thirds empty.  Then he bade him good speed, and Gluck went\non again merrily.  And the path became easier to his feet, and two or\nthree blades of grass appeared upon it, and some grasshoppers began\nsinging on the bank beside it, and Gluck thought he had never heard\nsuch merry singing.\n\nThen he went on for another hour, and the thirst increased on him so\nthat he thought he should be forced to drink.  But as he raised the\nflask he saw a little child lying panting by the roadside, and it cried\nout piteously for water.  Then Gluck struggled with himself and\ndetermined to bear the thirst a little longer; and he put the bottle to\nthe child's lips, and it drank it all but a few drops.  Then it smiled\non him and got up and ran down the hill; and Gluck looked after it till\nit became as small as a little star, and then turned and began climbing\nagain.  And then there were all kinds of sweet flowers growing on the\nrocks--bright green moss with pale pink, starry flowers, and soft\nbelled gentians, more blue than the sky at its deepest, and pure white\ntransparent lilies.  And crimson and purple butterflies darted hither\nand thither, and the sky sent down such pure light that Gluck had never\nfelt so happy in his life.\n\nYet, when he had climbed for another hour, his thirst became\nintolerable again; and when he looked at his bottle, he saw that there\nwere only five or six drops left in it, and he could not venture to\ndrink.  And as he was hanging the flask to his belt again, he saw a\nlittle dog lying on the rocks, gasping for breath--just as Hans had\nseen it on the day of his ascent.  And Gluck stopped and looked at it,\nand then at the Golden River, not five hundred yards above him; and he\nthought of the dwarf's words, that no one could succeed except in his\nfirst attempt; and he tried to pass the dog, but it whined piteously\nand Gluck stopped again. \"Poor beastie,\" said Gluck, \"it'll be dead\nwhen I come down again, if I don't help it.\"  Then he looked closer and\ncloser at it, and its eye turned on him so mournfully that he could not\nstand it.  \"Confound the king and his gold too,\" said Gluck, and he\nopened the flask and poured all the water into the dog's mouth.\n\nThe dog sprang up and stood on its hind legs.  Its tail disappeared;\nits ears became long, longer, silky, golden; its nose became very red;\nits eyes became very twinkling; in three seconds the dog was gone, and\nbefore Gluck stood his old acquaintance, the King of the Golden River.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the monarch.  \"But don't be frightened; it's all\nright\"--for Gluck showed manifest symptoms of consternation at this\nunlooked-for reply to his last observation. \"Why didn't you come\nbefore,\" continued the dwarf, \"instead of sending me those rascally\nbrothers of yours, for me to have the trouble of turning into stones?\nVery hard stones they make, too.\"\n\n\"O dear me!\" said Gluck, \"have you really been so cruel?\"\n\n\"Cruel!\" said the dwarf; \"they poured unholy water into my stream.  Do\nyou suppose I'm going to allow that?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Gluck, \"I am sure, sir,--your Majesty, I mean,--they got\nthe water out of the church font.\"\n\n\"Very probably,\" replied the dwarf, \"but\" (and his countenance grew\nstern as he spoke) \"the water which has been refused to the cry of the\nweary and dying is unholy, though it had been blessed by every saint in\nheaven; and the water which is found in the vessel of mercy is holy,\nthough it had been defiled with corpses.\"\n\nSo saying, the dwarf stooped and plucked a lily that grew at his feet.\nOn its white leaves there hung three drops of clear dew. And the dwarf\nshook them into the flask which Gluck held in his hand. \"Cast these\ninto the river,\" he said, \"and descend on the other side of the\nmountains into the Treasure Valley.  And so good speed.\"\n\nAs he spoke the figure of the dwarf became indistinct.  The playing\ncolors of his robe formed themselves into a prismatic mist of dewy\nlight; he stood for an instant veiled with them as with the belt of a\nbroad rainbow.  The colors grew faint; the mist rose into the air; the\nmonarch had evaporated.\n\nAnd Gluck climbed to the brink of the Golden River, and its waves were\nas clear as crystal and as brilliant as the sun.  And when he cast the\nthree drops of dew into the stream, there opened where they fell a\nsmall, circular whirlpool, into which the waters descended with a\nmusical noise.\n\nGluck stood watching it for some time, very much disappointed, because\nnot only the river was not turned into gold, but its waters seemed much\ndiminished in quantity.  Yet he obeyed his friend the dwarf and\ndescended the other side of the mountains towards the Treasure Valley;\nand as he went he thought he heard the noise of water working its way\nunder the ground.  And when he came in sight of the Treasure Valley,\nbehold, a river, like the Golden River, was springing from a new cleft\nof the rocks above it and was flowing in innumerable streams among the\ndry heaps of red sand.\n\nAnd as Gluck gazed, fresh grass sprang beside the new streams, and\ncreeping plants grew and climbed among the moistening soil.  Young\nflowers opened suddenly along the riversides, as stars leap out when\ntwilight is deepening, and thickets of myrtle and tendrils of vine cast\nlengthening shadows over the valley as they grew.  And thus the\nTreasure Valley became a garden again, and the inheritance which had\nbeen lost by cruelty was regained by love.\n\nAnd Gluck went and dwelt in the valley, and the poor were never driven\nfrom his door, so that his barns became full of corn and his house of\ntreasure.  And for him the river had, according to the dwarf's promise,\nbecome a river of gold.\n\nAnd to this day the inhabitants of the valley point out the place where\nthe three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream, and trace the\ncourse of the Golden River under the ground until it emerges in the\nTreasure Valley.  And at the top of the cataract of the Golden River\nare still to be seen two black stones, round which the waters howl\nmournfully every day at sunset; and these stones are still called by\nthe people of the valley\n\nTHE BLACK BROTHERS","title":"The King of the Golden River","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":10013}