311s
The next day some people from Sinzheim, who were walking by the side of the lake, heard groans rising from the depths of the lake, while the surface was stained by three large spots of blood. From that time the three sisters were never seen again at the evening assemblies, and the schoolmaster’s son faded away gradually. He died very soon afterwards.
These three sisters, so gentle, so lovely and laborious, had in nothing betrayed a connection with the spirits of the lower world. The only thing was, that people remembered how the hems of their garments had frequently been wet, a sure sign by which Undines can be recognized. Otherwise they seem to have been very much like other girls, and the severity of the great Nichus appears hardly reasonable.
As to this hour of ten o’clock, however, military rules cannot be more rigorous than his.
It must, on the other hand, not be imagined that all Undines are as gentle and resigned as these three sisters. There are some who bitterly resent having been abandoned by their lovers, and try to revenge themselves; these seem to partake to some degree of the character of the Nixen, or rather,—why should we not say so at once and quite candidly?—they remain faithful to their instincts as women.
As a proof of this statement I will quote a short but perfect little drama, which Miss Margaret Rosahl has, at my request, copied from Busching’s voluminous collection.
Count Herman von Filsen, whose estates lay on the right bank of the Rhine, between Oslerspeyand Brauback, was about to marry the rich heiress of the castle of Rheins, on the other bank. His messenger had started to carry the letters of invitation to all the guests, but a sudden rise of the waters had nearly prevented his crossing a small stream. In trying to get over, his horse stumbled, and was drowned. The messenger, however, did not lose courage, but went on his way on foot. Everywhere he found the brooks swollen into streams, and the torrent seemed to press him more and more closely, describing curves and zigzags, with countless cataracts, barring him the way on all sides and making the usual path impassable.
By the aid of a huge stick and jumping from rock to rock, the poor, half bewildered man kept on, walking well-nigh at hap-hazard, till he found himself near the Rhine, into which the swollen torrent, rushing after him with sudden fury, seemed determined to push him.
Fortunately a small boat was lying quite near the shore: he loosened it, took the oars, and returned to Filsen.
When he reached the castle he said to the Count: “Sir, a Nix has barred me the way.”
The Count did not believe in Nixen. He sent out another messenger. But the same adventure befell him.
The wedding day had been fixed and the Countwent on, although he feared his friends and followers would be few in number.
One morning, as he crossed the river from the right bank to the left, in order to pay a visit to his lady love, a sudden tempest broke out. He thought he saw a pale form arise from the waters, bending over the bow of the boat and trying to draw it down into the abyss beneath the waters. Thereupon he became thoughtful, sent for his steward, and ordered him to find out what had become of a certain girl of the neighborhood, Gott-friede from Braubach.
314s
"I met her a few days ago,” replied the steward, “as she was going to St. Marks Chapel, and I offered her holy water. Gottfriede asked me about your approaching wedding. She was very well, and seemed to be in good spirits.”
“Go and see if you can find her,” said the Count, “and bring me word.”
315s
During the wedding feast Hermann von Filsen appeared joyous and attentive to his bride, the new Countess, but the effort to appear so caused his perspiration to break out profusely, especially when all of a sudden a small woman’s foot, white and delicate, appeared to his eyes, and to his only, on the ceiling of the dinner-hall.
He felt a chill in all his limbs. He rose suddenlyand fled to another room, followed by his wife, his mother, and all the guests, who thought he had been seized with sudden illness.
In this room he saw, and he alone again saw, a white hand raise a curtain and with the forefinger beckon him to follow.
Long time ago Hermann had heard, without paying any attention at that time to the statement, that such a small white foot and a small white hand indicated the presence of an Undine and the coming of an inevitable calamity.
Now he believed it.
The bishop, who had performed the marriage ceremony, was at the dinner. Hermann went straight up to him, knelt down, and confessed aloud, and with many tears, that a young girl named Gottfriede, fairer and better than all her sisters, had loved him dearly, and that he had returned her love and then abandoned her. Gottfriede had sought oblivion of her sufferings in the river, and now was bent upon revenge.
“Bless me, father, for I am going to die!”
The bishop, before uttering the words of absolution, demanded first that the Count should abjure his impious faith in such supernatural beings, of whom the Church knew nothing.
“How can I refuse to believe what I see? There she is! Looking as pale as she was this morningat the bow of the boat. Her hair, full of green grass, is hanging in disorder all over her shoulders; she looks at me with a tearful smile.”
“Nothing but visions!” replies the bishop. “Your eyes deceive you.”
“But it is not only by the eye that I am aware of her presence, I hear her voice; she is calling me? Forgive me, Gottfriede!”
317s
“You are out of your mind! These are the devil’s snares! And who tells you that the girl has ceased to live? That she has committed a crime? Thanks be to God, Gottfriede came to me, she confessed to me penitently, and now she is in a convent!” At this moment the assembly, already deeply excited, was somewhat startled by the entrance of the steward, who looked terrified, went up to the Count’s mother, and whispered some words into her ear. She could not repress a cry.
“Dead!” she said.
“Yes, she is dead, and I also must die!” cried Hermann in accents of despair.
The young bride, offended at this avowal of a previous attachment, had at first stood aloof; now, consulting her own heart alone, she thought of contestingthe right of this invisible rival, and with open arms drew near the Count; but he pushed her aside rudely.
The bishop began his exorcisms. While he was repeating the prescribed words, the Count asked:—
“What do you want of me, Gottfriede? Forgive me and we will all pray for you. You are seeping and kissing me by turns, but your kisses are nothing but bitterness and sorrow to me, since I have given my name to another, since another is my—”
He could not complete the sentence. Uttering a sharp cry he fell at full length to the ground, and on his neck appeared a long, bluish mark, such as is seen in strangled persons.
The great Nichus is, as we have seen, the master, the despot, theWassermann, par excellence, of all this watery, dark world, peopled by Nixen and Undines. His authority is, moreover, by no means limited to the exercise of judicial functions; his will, constantly under the influence of an ill-regulated appetite, is law for everybody; the male Nixen are his Court, and his harem is kept full by the fairest among those women who become his own by suicide. This greenish-complexioned Sardanapalus is said to celebrate incredibly monstrous orgies with his drowned Odalisques.
He is, in reality, Niord, the Scandinavian god,and this Niord again is, originally, one of those old Roman emperors, who were deified, and whose portraits Petronius has left us drawn in mud and blood.
319s
His principal agent, and the Jack-of-all-trades of the whole community, Nixcobt, the messenger of the dead, has to maintain communication between the people who live on the river, and those who live in it. He is perhaps the most eccentric of all the mythical personages of the Rhine.
When morning is about to dawn and the mountain tops are beginning to glow in a faint subdued light, a kind of low, thickset man of the most hideous appearance, may occasionally be seen gliding along the houses of a town, keeping carefully in the shade, or slipping down the hill-side between the long rows of grapes, which are almost as high as he is. His terrible head turns upon his slender neck as upon a pivot, and thus he can see and examine everything without stopping for a moment. His bare shoulders, his elbows, knees, and cheekbones are covered with scales; small pins appearat intervals at his ankles; his round glamous eyes have a bright red point in the centre; his teeth and hair are green, and his enormous mouth, split wide open and shaped like the mouth of a fish, wears a fixed smile, which strikes terror in the beholder. This creature is Nixcobt.
320s
With daybreak he is back in the river to inquire if its mournful population has been added to over night by some victim, suicide or not. He takes down a description of each one, draws up a report, inquires as to what induced them to seek refuge in the new world, and offers them his services for the purpose of letting the friends and parents know,whom they may have left behind, ignorant of their fate and inconsolable at their loss.
Then he amuses the great Nichus with all his stories and all the clever tricks he has been playing during his nocturnal visits to the people in the villages and towns on the river.
These merry tricks of Master Nixcobt form even in our day an ever welcome staple of amusement to the young spinners during the long winter nights, accompanied as they are by the cheerful hum of the swiftly turning wheels.
One day Nixcobt calls upon the tax collector of a little town on the Rhine, whom he finds in great consternation. His wife has left his house and he does not know what has become of her. To console him Nixcobt tells him that she is dead, having drowned herself, and as a proof of it, he shows him a letter which he has with his own hands taken from the pockets of the deceased.
The husband, whose tears had been flowing freely, dries them quickly, becomes furious, and looks at his children with fierce glances. He is jealous of their dead mother. Nixcobt laughs and goes to some one else.
That some one else, an honest vintner of the Rheingau, has the night before killed his friend in an excess of passion and then thrown the body into the Rhine, together with the knife with whichhe had committed the murder. This knife Nix-cobt now presents to him, for he takes delight in restoring lost objects of this kind.
While the murderer stands petrified at the sight of the still bloody knife, the Gnome hastens to the Mayor to report to him the whole matter.
An inquiry is held, the vintner is found, holding the bloody knife in his hand, he is hanged and Nixcobt laughs heartily.
322s
One night a notary of Badenheim, near Mayence, hears in his sleep a voice saying:—
“John Harnisch, the great Nichus is courting your wife, who has been changed into an Undine three months ago; she will not listen to him, andhe wants you to tell him how he must manage to please her.”
The notary thought it was a bad dream, uttered a sigh as he thought of his deceased wife, and fell asleep once more. But a chilly hand resting upon his breast waked him once more, and the voice said:—
“John Harnisch, speak, speak promptly and be sincere, or you shall never sleep again.”
John Harnisch resisted for some time longer, but a red flame dimly lighted up his alcove and he saw a row of green teeth and scaly cheek bones. Thoroughly frightened, he said what he could.
“Thanks!” cries Nixcobt, and breaks out into a far sounding laugh.
We might fill folios with all the lugubrious jokes of this messenger of the dead, but we will abstain. Besides, Nixcobt has lost all respect now-a-days. He is no longer seen gliding along the houses in towns or slipping through the rows in the vineyards.
We might in like manner tell a vast number of interesting stories and quote endlessLiederand ballads, which treat of Nixen and Undines. For there are, besides, Undines of rivers and Undines of lakes, and there are even some in the ocean; in Germany all watercourses, down to the tiniest rills, have their Undines.Only day before yesterday I was walking on the banks of the Rhine; only yesterday on those of the Moselle, This morning, wandering about at haphazard I encountered a brook, a mere rill, which attracted me by its sweet murmurs. I followed it, followed it for two hours. I happened to have nothing else to do.
My tiny rill, a mere infant so near its source, was turning and twisting in the thick grass and seemed to try and walk on all fours as little children do. Farther down it had become a little girl, having increased in size and bulk; it now wandered hither and thither, carelessly, capriciously, leaping merrily over the rocks and carrying off here a flower and there a flower that grew on its banks, no doubt for the purpose of making a bouquet. Still farther on, I witnessed its marriage with a big brook that had come down all the way from the mountains; it was a young woman now, a wife, and walked soberly through the plain, like a prudent stream, bearing already boats on its surface and preparing to join an elder sister, the Moselle. Soon I had to cross it on a bridge; on this same bridge four Prussian soldiers were busy watching the water as it flowed by, no doubt in the hope of catching a fair Undine as she was stealthily slipping down the river. As for myself, I had in vain traced the unknown little river from its birth allalong its banks, under the thick shelter of willows and alder bushes; neither day before yesterday on the Rhine, nor yesterday on the Moselle, nor today, did I ever find a trace of a Nymph, a Nix, or an Undine!
What must be my conclusion?
A thief who had been brought before a police court and was there confronted with two persons who had seen him steal, said:—
“These men claim that they have seen me, but I, I could bring twenty other witnesses who would swear that they have not seen me!”
“What does that prove?” asked the judge of the court.
325s
I saw nothing. “What does that prove?” as the wise judge said to the thief.
329s
Familiar Spirits.—Butzemann.—The Good Frau Holle.—Ko-bolds.—A Kobold in the Cook’s Employ.—Zotterais and the Little White Ladies.—The Killecroffs, the Devil’s Children.—White Angels.—Granted Wishes, a Fable.
France, which is skeptic to the core, has no idea of the importance of certain visible or invisible spirits, who eagerly seek the society of man, sleepingunder his roof, or in certain cases becoming members of his family, in the strictest sense of the word. Besides, they render efficient services to a good housekeeper; they may do great harm if they are made angry, and they give at times most useful advice.
These hobgoblins, little known outside of Germany and England, frequent also the French provinces watered by the Meuse, the Moselle, and the Rhine, and are sometimes brought to Paris by cooks from Alsace and coachmen from Lorraine.
Let us rapidly glance, not at all, but at some of the best authenticated among these familiar spirits.
Evening has come, the night is dark, and master and mistress are fast asleep. A servant with a candle in her hand and gaping to her heart’s content, goes once more over the house, looking in all the corners and out of the way places and putting everything in order. All of a sudden a door is swiftly opened and closed again right in her face and her light is blown out. You will say a window has been left open and the draught has done all this.
By no means! It is theButzemann.
Some merry companions are assembled in the large dining-room of the hotel and celebrate there a feast of grapes in memory of the divine Dionysius. The night advances and there they are still,glass in hand, singing, drinking.... Silence! all of a sudden singing and drinking comes to an end; the glasses halt half way in the midst of a toast; the heavy eyes open wide, the trembling knees grow strong once more. Every one of the guests hastens home. Three times a hairy, ill-shapen creature has come and knocked with its wings against the window. You will say it was a bat.
By no means! It is theButzemann!
The family is gathering around the warm porcelain stove, where they can safely defy cold winter. The men are smoking, a pot of beer by their side; the women are knitting and talking of the approaching wedding of the eldest daughter. Oh misery! Away back in the fireplace, a great noise is heard; a bright light shines. Coals and sparks are scattered all around, and some have fallen upon the dress of the betrothed. What is the matter? You will say again, it was a knot in the wood, perhaps a chestnut that had been overlooked in the ashes and has burst now.
By no means! it is theButzemann!
The Butzemann, a prophetic family spirit, warns you of coming danger and bids you prepare for an approaching misfortune. Never undertake a journey, never get married if a clear sign has made you aware that Butzemann has put his veto upon your journey or your marriage. The only difficultyyou will have is to distinguish between Butzemann and a puff of wind, a bat, or an exploding chestnut.
It is much easier to recognizeFrau Holle, as her presence is always announced by unmistakable indications. She has assumed the task of overlooking the poor country girls at their work. But it has never been found out why this benevolent fairy of work-people does not live in some great industrial city, or some beautiful country district, where the signs of active life are abundant and the whirring of wheels or the stamping of machinery is heard; where the spinners sing, and the washerwomen beat time at the limpid stream. She prefers, with unaccountable perverseness, to live in dismal swamps, beside faithless Will-o’-the-Wisps and low Nixen!
No one has ever dared examine this question so closely as to ascertain the precise truth.
Some have dropped timid hints that Frau Holle, now occupying a very humble position and rated among the familiar spirits only, was once upon a time a high and mighty personage, but they have had nothing more to say of her past glory, as is the case with poor ladies who have been “unfortunate.” Others, with more boldness or more knowledge, have recognized in her the goddess Frigg, Odin’s wife. Dear Frau Holle! what a coming down! what poor creatures we are, after all.As soon as the cross was planted on the banks of the Rhine and the Danube, Frigg, under the name of Hertha (Mother Earth), had taken refuge on an island in the ocean, where she lived invisible and alone in the heart of a sacred forest, which was constantly invaded by the waves of the sea.
A priest, who had remained faithful to the old religion, alone knew the hour and the minute when the goddess would deign once more to appear to men. At the given moment he drew forth, on the marshy island, a chariot wrapped in veils. Hertha got in, and for some days travelled through the world, diffusing all around her good will and consolation. Then all wars were suspended; not only the sword went back into its sheath, but all irons, all defensive and offensive weapons and even the iron shoes of the ploughs, had to be kept carefully concealed. Hertha invited the world to enjoy peace and repose.
Now let us see in what respect Frau Holle or Holla reminds us of the good goddess.
At certain periods of the year, especially at Christmas, Frau Holle leaves her marshy island in order to inspect the world. All who work in linen, spinning, weaving, embroidery, or starching, are by turns visited by the good lady. Their idleness and their carelessness are severely punished. If one fine morning Annie finds her wheelor Kate her loom covered with green slime, if Bertha notices her work torn in the place which she repaired only the night before, or if the water has over night turned greasy and looks discolored, the poor girls may be sure that Frau Holle has been on her round of inspection.
If she is pleased, on the other hand, the ribbon around the distaff holds a pretty marshflower, a lily, an iris, or a gladiolus; on the lace cushion or on the seamstress’s work a little golden needle is stuck, and on the heap of specially well washed and well folded linen lies a cake of perfumed soap, which fills the whole house with its sweet odor.
Sometimes Frau Holle finds her way mysteriously to a garret, where a poor woman is lying sick with fever, the result of overwork. Then she finishes herself the work that had been begun, and when she leaves she puts a few florins under the pillow of the sleeping sufferer.
Blessings be upon you, good Dame Holle! Even if you were really once a goddess of the first rank, you need not blush at your present condition. Still, we cannot help asking, with a slight tremor of fear, how it can have come about, that the noble Frigg, the all powerful Hertha, should have been reduced to play the lady patroness of washerwomen and seamstresses? How has this island in the ocean, with its sacred forest, become a wretchedmarsh, fetid and ill reputed? There is but one answer to such a question: Frigg has been unfortunate.
But the spinners and seamstresses, the clear-starchers and embroiderers are not the only ones who are honored by kind attentions from the supernatural world. The brothers Grimm say:—
335s
“In certain parts of the world, every person—man, woman, or child—has his own goblin to do menial service; he carries water, cuts wood, and fetches beer.” During all this time the master has nothing to do but to set still and to see the work done.
This goblin is evidently theGenius lociof the ancients.
Among all these goblins, however, one is by far the most famous in Germany, and at the same time the oddest, of whom the most extraordinary stories are told. They call himKobold.
During the night the Kobold sets everything torights in the kitchen; he cleans the glasses, the plates, the pans, and wages war against the spiders and the mice. For all these attentions he asks only a little food, specially prepared for him, for he would never dream to ask for a share of his master’s dinner.
Although he seems to be specially devoted to the cook’s department, the Kobold is first of all attached to the house. If the cook is dismissed, or if the master moves, he nevertheless remains in his old home, quite ready to offer his services to the new comers. If the cook goes, she says to her who takes her place:—
“Do not forget to put a little panada on the kneading trough for the Kobold, or he might play you some ugly tricks. Be careful, for he is not always in good humor.”
If the Kobold, or in his place the cat, eats the panada, the new cook is sure to say:—
“Chim has been here; I see we shall be good friends.”
But if Chim has left the dainty untouched, or has merely tasted it, she is troubled.
“Perhaps he wants it made with the yolk of an egg? Or perhaps I had not put enough butter to it?”
Although the Kobold is almost always invisible, he is at all times ready for a chat.What are we to make of these strange beings, the servants of our servants, who are even more faithful than the latter to the house which they have once made their home, who do not, as we are told is the case in some countries, insist so strongly upon certain privileges that it becomes uncertain whether the servants are not themselves masters and those who think themselves to be masters are in reality servants? They generally do nothing but kindness. Nevertheless they keep out of sight, thus shunning all public return for their benevolent services. What are we to make of such servants? Martin Luther answers in his “Table Talk.”
337s
“For many years,” he says, “a servant had a familiar spirit who sat down by her on the hearth, where she had made a little place for him, and they talked to each other during the long winter evenings. One day she asked Heinzchen (Chim, Heinzchen, and Kurt Chimgen are the pet names by which German and Alsatian cooks generally call their Ko-bolds) to let her see him in his natural shape. At first Heinzchen refused.but at last, as she insisted, he told her to go down into the cellar, where he would show himself to her.” “She took a candle,” he goes on to say, “and went into the cellar, where the Kobold appeared to her in the likeness of a child of hers who had died some years before.” Whether he vanished then, leaving her in amazement and terror, or whether he resumed the shape in which she had been accustomed to see him, we are not told. It is a grim story upon which we do not care to dwell, for we prefer to remember the Kobold as a cheerful household companion. It is pleasant to think of those quaint little creatures, whose world is the kitchen, and to imagine the joy they feel in sharing the busy, bustling life that goes on there daily. Be sure they know every nook and corner about,—every stew-pan and ladle, and are learned in the steamy scents and fragrant savors which are the atmosphere of their home. At night when the fires are out, and the family is asleep, they have a life of their own. They are on the best possible terms with the cat, which they permit to share their food, and with which they no doubt waltz when in a gamesome mood. Happy Kobolds.
According to general belief the Kobolds belong as much to the race of men as to the world of spirits; they retain the size and shape of infants, and that knife which so often is noticed in the formof a caudal appendage, is nothing less than the instrument with which they have been put to death.
There exist, however, quite a number of troublesome hobgoblins, who turn the house upside down and deprive the people to whom they bear a grudge of all peace and sleep, till they well nigh drive them mad. But these creatures ought, in my opinion, not be mixed up with the Kobolds. The latter are almost invariably gentle and inoffensive; if they sometimes become angry, they act just like children; they break and smash things, but they are easily pacified by the sight of some little tit-bit, as for instance, a panada made with butter and eggs.
339s
The Zotterais and the Little White Ladies seem, in their habits at least, to come nearer to Kobolds. Very useful and easily satisfied, the Zotterais are as fond of stables as the Kobolds are of kitchens; they curry the horses, nursethem when they are sick, and keep everything in excellent order in their racks as well as in the harness-room.
The Little White Ladies, on the other hand, are more delicate in their instincts and often quite fastidious; they like only blood horses, Arab or Turkish horses, and hence the popular idea that they have originated in the East.
They slip into the stables of wealthy people, while the grooms are asleep; here they light a small candle, which they always keep about them, and then proceed to business.
In the morning, when the head, coachman makes his round to see that everything is right, he sometimes finds a drop of wax on the smooth coat of a sorrel or an Isabel colored horse, and then he says to the grooms:—
“You have not had much to do to-day, my friends, with your horses; I see the little lady has been here.”
The Zotterais are of unmistakable German origin, for they take care of horses without regard to race and without the help of a wax candle. They have, of course, harder work to do and are more apt to become soiled or to have accidents; but, nevertheless, they accomplish their purpose. They are naturally easily tired, and hence they require a knot to be made in the mane of a horse, wherethey can suspend themselves and rest. There is not a peasant on the banks of the Rhine or the Meuse, who would neglect this duty, and I have myself often seen them attend to it carefully.
341s
Formerly the Zotterais also protected sheep against ticks and kept their wool from getting tangled; they even derived their name from Zotte, which means a flock of wool. In those days, it must be presumed, from the habits of those benevolent little people, the fleeces must have been whiter and better kept than they are now-a-days; but sheep raisers had the unlucky idea, produced probably by avarice, that not a particle of wool should be left on ram or ewe, and thus deprived their tiny friends of all means to rest and recover breath when hard at work. The Zotterais looked upon this neglect of what was due to them as an insult, and abandoned the flocks of sheep for the horses in the stables. Besides, they found it impossible to live on good terms with the shepherds’ dogs.
We must finally mention the most important and most extraordinary of all familiar spirits, whom we must needs include among these favored beings,as he represents nothing less than the son of the house, the child of the family.
This is theKillecroff or Suppositus.The last mentioned name is given to him because this so-called son of the house is in reality a changeling, a supposed child, which has been put into the place of the real child.
342s
Who has taken the legitimate child from its cradle in order to put into its place aKillecroff, and who is the real father of the latter?
Both of these questions are met by one and the same answer. The Devil! We have so far carefully avoided touching on matters of witchcraft; but unfortunately they are as well known on the banks of the Rhine as on those of the Thames and the Seine. TheKillecroffs, however, children of the Devil and begotten according to popular belief during the orgies of the Witches’ Sabbath, have been really in existence upon earth;suppositior not, they have played their part in the world’s history and occasionally even left behind them illustrious descendants.In the same way as the Swedish king Vilkins and Merovæus, king of the Franks, boasted of being the sons of a sea-god, the dynasty of the Jagellons in Poland were proud of their original descent from the Devil, no doubt through Killecroffs, and actually bore in their arms certain emblems of hell.
How can a real Killecroff be recognized, since he has been, improperly enough, counted in among the Kobolds?
343s
From his first appearance in the world, the Killecroff excites the astonishment, and sometimes the admiration of his reputed parents. He sucks so heartily and with such an appetite that his nurse has to be reinforced by two goats and a cow, like the renowned Gargantua.
When he is weaned a new marvel appears: he swallows his soup by the tureen, “as much as two peasants and two threshers in the barn would take,” says a celebrated writer in speaking of this subject.
He grows up and keeps everything in commotion around him; he provokes quarrels not only among the servants, but even between his parents. If some untoward event occurs he roars with laughter, on a day of rejoicing he sheds tears and moans piteously. He takes a stick or a spit and rides on it in his room, from morning till evening, climbing on every chair and table, breaking everything that comes in his way, injuring himself—also quite as readily, provoking cats, dogs, and even the parrot on his perch, till they all mew and bark and scream. Then he runs to the stable and sticks a pin into the croup of a horse to see it kick, and then breaks open the doors and locks by the aid of a huge stick of wood; next he rushes into the garden, playing the part of a tempest there, destroying, uprooting, and breaking everything.
In the poultry yard he wrings the hens’ necks and walks over the young chickens; in the kitchenhe loves to take up the tops of pots and pans and to season the dishes according to his fancy with salt, pepper, dust, ashes, oil, vinegar, mustard, sand, or sawdust, and never leaves without having turned on the water everywhere.
If a visitor arrives, he takes possession of him and stands between his legs, and walks on his toes, pulls the buttons off his waistcoat, and draws the strings out of his shoes; he troubles and annoys him in every way, he pinches and scratches, he worries and tortures him. When his mother cautiously observes that he must not trouble the gentleman he obeys like a good child and leaves the gentleman alone, but not without having first broken his watch-chain, taken his cane, and hid his spectacles; the cane he drops accidentally into the well; as for the spectacles, he forgets where he has put them. When the poor visitor, quite overcome and exhausted, at last rises to go, he stumbles and falls down the stairs, thanks to a string which his playful young friend, the Killecroff, has stretched across the top step.
The Killecroffs are generally the delight of their parents; fortunately they do not live long.
The great man whom I have quoted before, told the Duke of Anhalt frankly, that if he were a sovereign like the duke, he would run the risk and become a murderer in such a case, by orderingevery such son of the devil to be thrown into the Moldau!
This great man, who believed so firmly in Killecroffs, who believed likewise in Butzemann, in Ko-bolds, in Nixen and Undines, who saw the Devil in every fly that came to drink his ink or to perch on his nose, was again Dr. Martin Luther.