The Dwarf seated himself
Dwarf Elberich and the Emperor.
“Otnit, Emperor of Lombardy, was one of the greatest kings that ever lived. By force of wisdom more than by might, he subdued the surrounding nations, and his people looked up to him as to a god. When the time came for him to wed, no maid in his wide dominionspleased his fancy, for the wife he pictured in his dreams was sweet and simple, though of royal birth, and quite unspoiled by praise and flattery. He told his ministers this, and they shrugged their shoulders.
‘His Majesty desires the impossible!’ they whispered amongst themselves, and so it seemed until the Emperor’s Uncle Elias, the wild-bearded King of the Russians, told him of a highborn maid who was as good as she was beautiful, and had never yet been wooed by man.
‘She shines o’er other women as bright roses do!’ he cried, and Otnit vowed to win her.
On the eve of his departure for Syria, where she dwelt with her father the Soldan, Otnit’s mother gave him the ring you held, bidding him take his horse and ride toward Rome while gazing at the gem in the ring, that what he saw there might direct his path. The Emperor smiled, but wishing to humour her, did as she requested, and rode through the silver starlight thinking of his fair maid. At early dawn, when the welkin rang with the song of birds, he saw mirrored in the ringa narrow pathway trodden in the green grass. Making his way by this fragrant road, he reached a linden tree by a lake. Here he stayed his courser, and sprang to the ground, peering beneath its boughs.
‘Never yet from tree came so sweet-breathing a wind,’ he laughed; for lo! an infant lay on the grass, his fair white frock fringed with many gems. Otnit found it all he could do to lift him, in spite of his strength, but placing the little creature on the saddle, declared his intention of taking him to the palace, and putting him in his mother’s care.
But this did not please Dwarf Elberich, who for his own purpose had taken the form of an innocent babe. He offered Otnit such splendid ransom of sword and shield to set him free, that the Emperor laid him down again, and even allowed him to hold the magic ring, by the wearing of which it had been possible for him to see what is usually hidden from mortal sight.
Now it was Elberich’s turn, and being once more invisible, he teased the Emperor tohis heart’s content, dwelling on the anger of the Queen-Mother should she find that her gift was lost. Not until the Emperor was out of patience, and on the point of riding away did Elberich restore the ring to him.
‘And now, O Otnit,’ he said, ‘since I see you love well your mother, whom I loved long ere you saw the light, I will help you to gain your bride.’
And Otnit was glad, for he knew that the word of a Dwarf is ever as good as his bond.
In the spring of the year, ‘when all the birds were singing,’ the Emperor called his friends together and bade them embark their troops with his in the ships at anchor in the harbour. The waters of the bay gleamed as a field of gold as the stately vessels glided over them, and for long the carols of the birds on shore went with them on the breeze. Otnit’s hopes were high as he paced the deck, though he grieved that the Dwarf had not come to join him.
At length the fleet reached the Eastern coast of the Mediterranean, and there King Otnit beheld a haven full of ships, far more innumber than his own. ‘I would that Elberich were here, for he is skilled in warfare,’ he murmured uneasily, for his men looked askance at the fleet before them. The words had barely left his lips when the sound of a laugh came from aloft, and straightway the Dwarf displayed himself. He had been in hiding amongst the rigging, and was now at hand to use his Fairy powers in Otnit’s service.
Elberich’s gift of a small round stone, which he bade him thrust into his cheek, conferred upon Otnit the gift of language, and enabled him to impersonate a rich merchant with so much success that his ship was allowed to drop anchor in the harbour. When dusk had fallen, and all was quiet, the Emperor disembarked, encamping with his troops among the rock-hewn burial places of the ancient Phœnicians, which abounded on that coast. Here he abode for three whole days, while Elberich sought the King of Syria, demanding his daughter’s hand in marriage for his royal master. It was refused point blank, and, more than this, the Soldan orderedhis unwelcome visitor to be put to death. But the flashing blades of the guards cut the empty air, and Elberich jeered at them finely.
Elberich had jeered him finely.
Cut the empty air
‘Your daughter shall go to my lord of her own free will,’ he cried to the Soldan, ‘and only so shall your skull be saved!’ He then returned to the Emperor, who bade his troops attack the city of Sidon.
A desperate battle with the heathen followed; for awhile the enemy’s numbers triumphed, but not for long. The Emperor’s charge swept all before him, and the Soldan’s soldiers fell like corn before the scythe. Then the Dwarf led the army to the Syrian capital; and red as had been the field of Sidon, it was as nothing to that of Muntabur, where men’s blood flowed as a crimson river.
While yet the battle was at its height, Elberich made his way, unseen, to an inner chamber of the Royal Palace, and though he had come to rate the Princess for her father’s obstinacy, words forsook him in her presence. So fair a maid he had never seen; her mouth ‘flamed like the rose,’ her flowing hair wasthe colour of rich red gold, and her lovely eyes had the radiance of the moon. Elberich drew her to the window, and by the aid of his power over space, showed her King Otnit in the thick of the fight. The sun fell full on his upturned face, as, seated on his white charger, he rallied his men for the final onslaught; he looked as brave a knight as the Princess had ever seen, and she lowered her glance as Elberich told her how she could save her father.
‘Death alone can wean King Otnit’s desire to wed you,’ he said. ‘His love for you passes the love of man, and is withal as tender as that of a woman for her child.’
Much more Elberich spake to her to the same purpose, and at close of day she allowed him to lead her where he would. Together they passed through a secret passage beneath the Palace, and so through the royal gardens, to a path which wound down to the field of battle.
Fighting had ceased for awhile, for the heathen had been sore smitten; and since his men had neither eaten nor slept for many longhours, the Emperor must needs let them rest until dawn. Full of impatience at the delay which kept him from storming the walls that held the lady of his love, he paced his tent, and turned to find her standing before him. Her mouth flamed red as the reddest rose; her eyes had the lustre of the harvest moon, and her red-gold hair framed a snowy brow that was white as the breast of a swan. Bending his knee, he touched with his lips the hem of her gown, and when the Princess gave him her exquisite hand, he could scarce breathe for rapture.
“‘She is yours, O Otnit!’ cried the Dwarf”“‘She is yours, O Otnit!’ cried the Dwarf”
‘She is yours, O Otnit!’ cried the Dwarf; and the Emperor lifted her on to his charger, speaking to her with such tender and kindly words that her fears were stilled. With Elberich perched on the horse’s mane, they straightway rode to the coast, where the sails of the Emperor’s vessel swelled roundly in the wind. On the summer seas of the blue Mediterranean, they two were wed; and never had mortal man a sweeter wife, or maid a more gallant husband.”
Playing soldier
Chapter VIII The Silver Horn.
When the Dwarf had come to the endof his story, he very politely bade me goodbye, and bowed me out of his Castle. A week or two later we went to Saltzburg, and there I had a real adventure.
The Professor with whom we were staying hadn’t a single grandchild, and as all his books were old and dusty, to say nothing of being written in German, I should have found it rather dull if he had not lent me his nephew’s pony. I had learnt to ride as a little chap, when we lived in the country. It was lovely there, but no one was ever ill, and Father had so few patients that we could not stay.
The pony’s name was Heinrich. He knew his way everywhere, the Professor said, so Father didn’t mind my riding him alone, and I had a ripping time.
One day we went to the Wunderberg, a big hill on a wide bleak moor, which was supposed to be quite hollow, and the favourite haunt of Wild Women.
The ground was extremely bumpy, and several times I was almost thrown out of thesaddle. At last I got off, for I thought I would rather walk.
It was a splendid morning, and I was glad that I wasn’t the Professor’s nephew, away at school, as I lay on my back and looked up at the sky.
A small black beetle crawled over my hand, but I was so comfortable that I scarcely stirred. It crossed my cuff and climbed a blade of grass; and as I watched it a shadow fell between me and the sunlight.
A slender woman in a white gown was standing close to me. Her face was thin, and very wistful, and over her shoulders, down to her very feet, fell a mantle of glistening yellow hair.
“Are you hungry, child?” she asked gently, holding out to me a slice of fine white bread.
“Not yet,” I answered, for we had hadSauerkrautfor breakfast, and I felt that I should not want anything more to eat for a long time. She looked disappointed, and sighed as she threw the bread away. A birdflew down and pecked it, but after a taste or two he left it where it was.
“Then surely you are thirsty, and will drink from my horn?” she pleaded, showing me a silver vessel with curious scrolls and writings traced in gold, which had been hidden by her beautiful hair. I took a sip from its bevelled edge, and had scarcely swallowed the first drop when I felt myself sinking through the hill, the Wild Woman still beside me.
“At last! At last!” she cried, clapping her shadowy hands as we stood in a wide hall lit with amber light. “O sisters, rejoice with me! I have found a child, and his eyes, his eyes are crystal clear.”
She bent over me as she spoke, half smothering me with her silken tresses, and I was so afraid that those sisters of hers would hug me too, that I scrambled away and I took to my heels andran.
But you couldn’t get far in that place. It was a miniature town, with silver streets and golden houses, and gorgeous palaces inbetween. Every turn I took led to a wide square filled with rose trees, where fountains of gold and silver water bubbled and sparkled in the mysterious pale green light. A flock of brilliant humming birds whirred their wings in my face so that I could not see where I was going, and the Wild Women formed a circle round me and began to sing:
“Only once did mortal child,By our silver horn beguiled,Find a way to leave us;Though they call us strange and wild,Thou shalt find us soft and mild.Stay, and do not grieve us.”
“Only once did mortal child,By our silver horn beguiled,Find a way to leave us;Though they call us strange and wild,Thou shalt find us soft and mild.Stay, and do not grieve us.”
“Only once did mortal child,By our silver horn beguiled,Find a way to leave us;Though they call us strange and wild,Thou shalt find us soft and mild.Stay, and do not grieve us.”
Their voices were very sweet, but when they had sung that verse twice over, I did not want to hear it again.
“I don’t mind staying with you for an hour or two,” I said, as they stopped singing, “but I shouldn’t care to live here. I am a Christmas Child, and there are other Fairy Folk I want to see.”
Then they looked at each other, and drew away.
“Since he is a Christmas Child,” said one,“we cannot keep him. You should have known better, Sister Snow-blossom, than to bring him here!”
“How could I tell,” wailed Snow-blossom. “He seemed like any other boy, and would just have fitted the green silk suit that I wove so long ago.”
“Alas, alas!” the others sighed. “The longer he stays, the more it will wring our hearts to part with him. Take him back to the hill at once, dear Snow-blossom, and bid him hasten home.”
But I didn’t want to go just yet, for now that they did not wish to hug me, I thought they were rather nice. Their faces were like pure marble, so still and pale, and their light green eyes were very gentle. So I asked if Snow-blossom might not show me round, as the Professors did Father when he came to a strange town. Her sisters still urged her to send me away at once, before she had time to grow fond of me, but she would not listen.
“What do you want with a mortal child?” I said, when I had been all over the emptygolden houses, and had seen the tiny cathedral, the model of the one at Saltzburg, set with pearls and rubies, and many other precious stones of which I did not know the name.
“Because we are lonely,” she answered; “so lonely, child. Our only friends are the little people who guard our treasures in the centre of the earth, and we would fain have mortals to bear us company. Once, long ago, a goodly youth of noble birth was almost tempted to sip from our silver horn, and had he done so his home would have known him no more. Sweet Stella, the fairest Wild Woman who drew breath between the last faint pulse of the night time and the glowing dawn of day, waylaid him on the brow of the hill when he was heated in the chase, but although he craved the cooling draught she offered him, he would not drink from her hand; her exceeding beauty excited his suspicions, and he guessed that she was no mortal maid.
‘Let me see what your wine is like before I taste it!’ he said warily, taking the silver hornfrom her hands. He had no sooner grasped it, than he sprang to his horse and rode away. For many years the horn was kept amongst the treasures of the House of Oldenburg, to which he belonged, but at last, after many generations, it came back to us. No one but you and the little Karl has drunk from it since then.”
We were under the rose trees in the great square, and I had found a seat in a ruby and pearl pavillion, with queer golden faces staring down on me from each corner. Snow-blossom hid her face in her hands when I asked her who was Karl, and rocked herself to and fro; then she lifted her head and looked at me, and I saw that she was crying.
“I will tell you,” she said, “but first come close. For words have wings in the Wunderberg, and I would not have my sisters know I am grieving still.”
I sat down beside her, and then she began, speaking very softly and slowly, with deep sighs in between. The tears on her cheeks seemed to shine like pearls, and her hair gleamed more golden than ever.
The little Karl and the wild-woman.
“There was once a poor man named Henzel who should have been well content, for his girl-wife, Gretchen, was good and sweet, and the black bread he ate when his toil was over was pleasant to his taste. His bed was warm, and his sleep was sound. What could a man want more?
But Henzel was ever full of complainings. His neighbour, Johann, had married a rich woman, and now owned a well stocked farm with many herds. Each time that he met him, Henzel sighed.
‘I might have done better than he,’ he grumbled, even when he heard that Johann’s wife was a great scold, and did not allow her husband a moment’s peace. He looked askance at his gentle Gretchen, who bore with his rough moods tenderly, since once he had been her lover. But she grieved in secret, for never a good word had he for her now, and her flaxen hair lost its shimmer of satin, and her cheeks their dainty bloom.
She was digging in the cottage garden, for Henzel would do no work at home, when a very old man toiled slowly up the hill. His clothes were dusty, and his staff was bent; he looked very weary, and his voice, as he bade her ‘Goodmorrow,’ was faint and low. Gretchen’s heart was filled with pity; she invited him to enter her tidy kitchen, and put before him the best she had. It was notmuch, but her strange guest thanked her gratefully. While he rested, she went to the forest, to cut him a strong oak sapling for a staff. The old man had vanished when she returned, and in his place sat a little Dwarf, not more than twelve inches high.
In the old man’s place sat a little Dwarf.
Henzel
‘I perceive that you have a kind disposition, Gretchen, which is better than a rich dower,’ he said, waving his hand for her to be seated also. ‘You are already sufficiently blessed,’ he went on, ‘in being both virtuous and patient, but I am willing to grant you your dearest wish. Speak out, and tell me what you most desire.’
Gretchen bent her brows, and pondered deeply. If she asked the Dwarf for gold, Henzel would rejoice, but she had lived with him long enough to know that whatever he had, he would still want more. Should she ask for another husband, then, since the one she had, had ceased to love her, and threw her but scornful looks? Nay—that would be wrong, for whatever happened she was Henzel’s wife. And the flush on her girlish face became yet deeper, for a very sweetthought had fluttered across her mind. She would ask for a little child to lie on her breast, and bear her company through the long nights and days.
When the Dwarf heard her whispered request, he smiled on her very kindly.
‘You are a true woman,’ he said, and disappeared as Henzel crossed the threshold.
‘Who has been here?’ he asked, scowling at the empty cup and platter.
‘An old, old man, who was tired and hungry,’ Gretchen replied, and anxious to escape his further questioning, she turned to the newly-kindled fire, and put on a saucepan of broth for him. But Henzel was very curious, for strangers came that way but seldom, and before long he had drawn the whole story from Gretchen’s lips, with the exception of the Dwarf’s offer to grant her a wish.
‘Did he not speak of rewarding you for your hospitality?’ her husband persisted, guessing that something had been kept back from him. And Gretchen shyly told him for what she had asked.
Fierce was Henzel’s anger at her neglect of this opportunity to make him rich. He stormed and raved until poor Gretchen longed to hide, and when at last his rage had spent itself, he was sullen as winter clouds. She would have minded this more had it not been for the dear new hope that filled her bosom, and early in the spring a little son was born to her.
What cared she then for Henzel’s anger, so long as it did not touch her child? It was joy enough to feel the wee thing’s fingers straying over her face, to see his limbs grow round and dimpled, and to hear him laugh as she sang to him baby songs. Henzel went in and out, taking little notice of either of them; his thoughts were all absorbed in schemes for growing rich, for the love of money held him in its grip.
When little Karl was six years old his mother died. Instead of sorrowing for her, Henzel was glad, for now he could marry the elderly widow in the next town who was ready to exchange her wealth for a handsome husband.
So Henzel, too, had now a well-stocked farm, but this brought him small satisfaction. For his new wife was a greater scold even than Johann’s, and he dare not so much as cross the threshold without taking off his boots. As to Karl, he was sent to mind the cattle on the Kugelmill close by; the little lad was so ill-clad that his ragged tatters blew in the winter wind. He was hungry also, for his stepmother grudged him the simplest food, and but that he shared their berries with the birds, he must have starved.
When the hawthorns were white with the snows of spring, and the daisies showed their golden centres on the grassy slopes, we heard him crying for his mother. Stella flew to his side, and gathered him in her arms. Her lovely hair covered his shivering limbs, and the desolate child clung close to her as she held the silver horn to his curved red lips. His soft embrace set her woman-love on fire, and veiling him in her golden tresses, she brought him here.
He was happy with us—as happy as thedays were long. We wove for him garments of silken sheen, and taught him to call us by the sweet name of ‘Mother.’ … One day he begged us to let him play on the hill, so we took him thither, hiding close by, that we might guard him from harm. He was seen by some wood-cutters working near, and they took word to his father; but before he could fetch him, we had spirited him away. Karl never asked to play on the hill again, and all went well with us for many years, till he sprang into a gallant youth, with his mother’s eyes and a lordly will, unlike her yielding way.
And then? Ah me! His love for our beautiful Stella grew fierce and wild—the love of a mortal man for a maid. And since no Wild Woman may wed, one night he bore her away from our hill to the evening star, which is the sanctuary of lovers. Thence she sends glad dreams to motherless children, and to lonely women who pine for love.”
I did not stay much longer in the Wunderberg, for somehow the scented air seemed tohave grown chilly. When I said to Snow-blossom that I must leave her, she wept again, and gave me a shining strand of hair to guide me back to the moor. It turned into gossamer when I reached the daylight, and floated softly away.
Heinrich was still munching at the short grass, and stared at me very hard when I caught his bridle. I suppose he thought I had been a long while gone.
Wild Women
Chapter IX The Little White Feather.
If you’ve ever tried to count the raindrops,you will know how I felt when for three whole days it poured in torrents. I was alone in the library, watching a hole in the wainscotting through which a mouse had just poked her head, when some one said “Guten Morgen” in a piping voice, and I knew this must be a Kobold. I was rather surprised that I had not met one of these House-Spirits before.
He was sitting on the edge of a bookcase—a little brown man with a wrinkled, good-natured face, and wearing no clothes. He chuckled when I said that I would rather speak English if he did not mind, and remarked that all languages were the same to him.
“I believe you have met some cousins of mine, the Brownies,” he went on affably, kissing his hand to the mouse, who popped back to her hole as if he had shocked her. “They are good little chaps, but quiet and humdrum. You always know what a Brownie will do, but as for us—mortals can never tell what a Kobold will be up to next. We make ourselves quite at home in their houses, and really own them, if the truth were known.But excuse me—I should not appear before you in this undress.”
In the twinkling of an eye the Kobold had changed himself into a curly haired boy, with smooth pink cheeks and a red silk coat, and knickerbockers of dark green velvet. “This is my best suit,” he explained proudly, turning himself from side to side. “I usually wear it when I play with children who were born, like yourself, at the blessed feast of Christmas-tide. It is only one of my many disguises, however, though I seldom allow myself to be seen at all. I can even hide in the cast-off coat of a harmless snake, and woe to him who lays stick upon me or seeks to drive me away. The Heinzelmänchen, as we are called, can be bitter foes as well as powerful friends, and ’twas an evil day for the city of Köln when we marched out of it. It has never prospered since.”
“Why——” I began, and the Kobold held up his hand to stop me, puckering his baby face into a dreadful frown.
“Why? Why? Why?” he mimicked. “Howlike the child of mortal man! Everything has to tell its reason—you rob the peach of its velvet bloom that you may find the secret of its ruddy splendour, and the fairy gems on the grass at dawn are to you but water distilled from earth! You would know how the tide finds a way to turn, why the light of the stars transcends your rush-lights! Elves and Fairies and such-like things are driven away by your curiosity, as the Heinzelmänchen were by Rosetta.”
I was going to ask who Rosetta might be, but I remembered just in time that this would be another question. The Kobold chose a more comfortable seat, and told me of his own accord.
Heinzelmänchen
The Sin of Rosetta.
“Toward the end of the eighteenth century,” he began, “the Heinzelmänchen, took up their abode in the city of Köln, where Johann Farina distilled the sweet-scented waters now famous all over the world. When first he blended the fragrant oils of bergamot,citron, orange and rosemary, it was we who whispered to him in what proportion he should mix them, and how to imprison their lasting perfume. Not only him did we help, but wherever we came across a worthy fellow who was poor but honest, we gave him a lift up; such was Rudolph the tailor, whom we found when a lad on the steps of the great Cathedral, without apfennigin his pocket, and with a wolf inside him big enough to swallow a little pig. When we saw how readily he returned athalerthat rolled to his feet to the feeble old woman who had dropped it, though he might well have said he had not seen it fall, we took him to our hearts, and swore to befriend him.
‘So!’ we said, one to the other. ‘Rudolph is worthy to be our comrade. He is a good lad, and henceforth we will see that he does not want.’
The first thing to be done was to procure him decent clothing, for no one would employ him while he went in rags. We did this by pointing him out to the wife of a rich merchant,who fancied she saw in his pinched white face a likeness to the son she had lost long since.
Touched by the poor lad’s poverty, she gave him a suit of clothes which had lain by for many a day, and on finding he was an orphan, apprenticed him to a tailor. The lad worked well. We took it in turns to sit beside him, showing him just where to place his needle, so that his seams were always neat, and guiding his scissors so that he cut the cloth to the best advantage. So skilful did he become that, when his time was out, his master begged him to stay on with him as head assistant, and gave him a good wage.
A fine young spright was Rudolph now, with jet-black hair and eyes like coals. His master’s daughters, Euralie and Rosetta, both looked on him with favour, and for a time it seemed that he knew not which to choose. Euralie was small and slight, with eyes like a dove’s; Rosetta was tall and buxom, and had she been free from the vice of curiosity would have made him a model wife. She was clever and industrious as well as witty,and when Dark Rudolph passed by the gentle Euralie, and took Rosetta for his betrothed, it was only the Heinzelmänchen who shook their heads.
Never was grander wedding feast than his. While he and Rosetta where still in church, we brought to his house the finest drinking vessels that we could lay our hands on, and pots and pans of beaten copper that were the envy of every housewife bidden as a guest. There were fairy cakes in the silver dishes, and luscious fruits such as grew in no western lands; the wine in the ruby goblets was honeyed nectar, and though his friends quaffed deeply, their heads remained quite clear. A proud man was Rudolph as he drank to his bride, and she looked so happy and gay and bright, that we resolved to take her, too, under our protection.
And this we did. When her children came,we rocked the cradleand sang them lullabies while she baked and brewed, and when they slept we scrubbed and polished from garret to cellar, until her house was thepride of the street. Often she would ask to be allowed to see us, but we always refused, telling her to respect our wish, and be content. Still she would not rest, and nothing that Dark Rudolph could say to her would induce her to hold her peace.
He had now three shops instead of one, and counted lords and barons among his customers. No one could fit as he could, for we were always at hand to nip in here or let out there, and many a fine straight figure was the result of our cunning skill. His fame spread far through the neighbouring towns, and one spring a great noble travelled to Köln to order some rich apparel for himself and his suite. Our busy tailor was at his wit’s end how to get it finished in time, for all his assistants were working their hardest, and still they were behind.
‘Have no fear! Dark Rudolph,’ we cried, when we found him alone. ‘Send your men to rest, and leave it to us. When you wake in the morning you shall find all done.’
We lost not a moment that livelongnight—it was as if our needles had wings. Just before cockcrow, the door of the workroom creaked softly open, and there stood Rosetta in her white nightgown, with her hair in two long plaits, peering round the corner to see if she could catch us at work. We were justly enraged, but since we heard her in time to render ourselves invisible, and also because we loved Dark Rudolph, we decided to give her one more chance.
It was our custom to leave the lower part of the house at the hour of midnight, no matter what we might be doing, and climb the steep stairs that led to the bedrooms, to watch that the ghosts which were free to roam till cockcrow might not ruffle the children’s hair, or wake them with their long-drawn sighs. Rosetta knew this, for she had often heard us comforting the little Rudolph when his sleep was disturbed by a bad dream, and with gross ingratitude she tried to be-fool us. One night, she strewed dried peas on the top steps of the winding staircase, so that when we came up we should lose our footing andfall to the bottom, and thus she might see us struggling on the ground. We knew perfectly well, however, why she had bought the peas, and stayed below. When she rose next morning, she forgot the trap she had laid for us, and tumbled headlong down the stairs. While she groaned and moaned over her broken ankle, the Heinzelmänchen marched out of the town to stirring music, which was heard by all the citizens. We sailed down the Rhine in a phantom boat, which you may yet see floating on its waters if you look for it at the right time. And Dark Rudolph and his Rosetta sighed for our help in vain.”
The phantom boat
The Kobold was a most entertaining little fellow, and stayed with me all the morning, telling me of well known House Spirits of days gone by. One of these tales was about
The Little white Feather.
“Hinzelmann,” said the Kobold solemnly, “was a Spirit who haunted the castle of Hudemühlen, though it was not until late in the sixteenth century that those who lived there were aware of his presence. He seemed of so friendly a disposition that the servantsbecame quite used to him. They never saw him, but he would often talk with them while they worked, telling them of what went on in the Underworld, and of the mighty Giants of bye-gone days who had been created in order to protect the Dwarfs from savage beasts, but had become themselves so savage in the course of the ages that they had to be done away with. In time the lord of the castle heard of his strange visitor, and sent him a message saying he desired his presence at a certain hour.
‘No need to wait until then, good Sir!’ laughed Hinzelmann over his shoulder. ‘I assist each morning at your lordship’s toilet, though you do not perceive me, and I blunt your razors when you are out of temper.’
This displeased the lord of the castle, for he thought it unseemly to be on terms of such familiar intimacy with a bodiless House-Spirit. When he rebuked him for his presumption, Hinzelmann laughed more loudly still. ‘Better men than you have to put up with my company, if I will!’ he cried, ‘and, believe me, I do not intend to leave you!’
The nobleman grew more and more uneasy, for it disturbed him to feel that he was never alone. Hinzelmann whistled and sang through the State rooms, and when his lordship expressed irritation this was the House-Spirit’s favourite song:
‘If thou here wilt let me stay,Good luck shalt thou have alway.But if hence thou dost me chase,Luck will ne’er come near the place.’[1]
‘If thou here wilt let me stay,Good luck shalt thou have alway.But if hence thou dost me chase,Luck will ne’er come near the place.’[1]
‘If thou here wilt let me stay,Good luck shalt thou have alway.But if hence thou dost me chase,Luck will ne’er come near the place.’[1]
He hummed this morning, noon, and night, until the lord of the castle was sick of it. ‘Since I cannot drive this fellow away,’ he said at last, ‘I must e’en go myself;’ and telling no one of his intentions, he summoned his coach and set out for Hanover. On the way he noticed that no matter how fast his horses went, a little white feather danced above their heads. Although he wondered at this, he did not connect it with the House-Spirit, and when he arrived at his chosen Inn, sought his couch with a mind at ease.
‘Thank heaven,’ he muttered, as he turned him over and went to sleep, ‘I am free at lastof this troublesome Hinzelmann. By the time I see fit to return home, he may have gone elsewhere.’
A little white Feather danced above their heads.
Hinzelmann
Next morning he missed his fine gold chain, which was an heirloom, and, greatly distressed, he haughtily demanded of the Innkeeper that his servants should be searched.
‘They have robbed me,’ he cried, ‘and they shall suffer for it! Cannot one sleep at your house without meeting with knaves and thieves?’
At this the Innkeeper was very angry. Instead of condoling with the nobleman on his loss, and offering to make it good, he roundly rebuked him for taking away the character of honest men without due proof. The noble was leaving the Inn in much haste when a soft voice asked him why he was troubled.
‘If it be on account of the bauble upon which you set such store,’ it continued, ‘look under your pillow and you will find it. You cannot get on without Hinzelmann after all!’
‘I would I had never known you, base spirit!’ stormed the nobleman. ‘You have putme greatly in the wrong with all these men, and my journey has been for nought, since you are here. If you do not quit me I will leave this country; it is not wide enough to hold us both.’
Then Hinzelmann spoke to him with much reason, pointing out that he wished him no harm, and that it was impossible to shake him off, since wherever the lord went, he could follow.
‘It was I who flew as a little white feather in front of your coach,’ he concluded. ‘You played the part of a poltroon when you fled from what you believed to be evil, instead of fighting it on your own ground. Come back with me, and if you give me your friendship, I will work but good to you and yours.’
So the nobleman went back to his castle, and Hinzelmann lived there with him. A little room was set aside for his use in an upper story, and here they placed, by the nobleman’s orders, a small round table, and a tiny bed. No one could ever make out if he slept on this, but once when the cook entered very quickly, to take him the dish of newmilk and wheaten crumbs which was placed each morn on his table, she saw a shallow depression on the down pillow, as if something very small and soft had rested there.
When the time came for Hinzelmann to leave the castle, he presented its lord with three fairy gifts, the last of these being a leather glove richly wrought with pearls in a curious pattern of snails and scrolls. So long as this glove was in possession of his house, he told him, so long would his race flourish. And thus he requited the kindness which had been shown him. There is nothing that we like better than to help our friends.”
“I know,” I said, nodding my head. And the House Spirit smiled as if this pleased him.
“We need take no credit for this,” he remarked, “since the Dwarf King himself sets us the example. His rescue of the poor old couple at Schillingsdorf is but one of many instances of the way in which he gladly helps those who show hospitality to him or his.
Caught in a storm, he wandered from door to door, entreating each person who answeredhis knock to let him enter and warm himself. One and all they refused, for his green velvet garments were stained and draggled, and they had not the wit to see that in spite of his dripping clothes and dishevelled beard he was still every whit a king. At last he came to the hut of an ancient shepherd, whose little old wife was as thin as he, for food had been very scarce. The moment she saw the wanderer, her heart went out to him.
‘Come in and welcome, you poor little fellow!’ she said, setting wide her door. ‘Our fire is not much to boast of, but ’tis better than none on a night like this.’ And the shepherd hobbled to the inner room that he might bring his Sunday coat, and place this round their visitor’s shoulders while his own lay drying on the hearth. Then the old woman spread a white cloth on the table, and gave the Dwarf her share of the coarse black bread which was all her cupboard contained.
‘I thank you, my friends,’ he said, breaking the bread into two fragments. As he did so, one became a fine white loaf, and the other anoble cheese. The Dwarf laughed at the old couple’s amazement, and bade them feast to their heart’s content.
‘So long as you leave on the platter a crust of bread and an inch of cheese,’ he said, ‘so long will a fresh loaf and a fresh cheese spring from these fragments during the night; but if ever a beggar entreats your help, and you refuse him, they will turn to dust and ashes. Now I bid you farewell, but ere long we shall meet again.’
So saying, he went out in the rain, despite their entreaties that he would at least stay with them until the storm was over.
Little sleep did they have that night, for wind and rain swept through the valley. Torrents roared down the mountain side, flooding the wooden houses, and even worse befell at daybreak. An enormous rock snapped off from a topmost peak, and carrying with it great masses of stones and uprooted firs, crashed down on the little village. All living things were buried beneath its weight except the shepherd and his wife, whose cottage yetwas spared. Tremblingly they stood on the threshold, for they thought their last hour had come.
‘Thou hast been a good wife, my dear one,’ breathed the shepherd, as he drew her frail form close to him.
‘It is well that we should go together, since thou hast lain by my side for nigh sixty years,’ she whispered, hiding her face against his breast.
‘How now?’ cried a reassuring voice. ‘Dost despair so easily?’ And looking up they saw their friend the Dwarf riding on a rough raft in the centre of the stream, and steering before him the trunk of an immense pine. This he proceeded to fix crosswise in front of their little garden, so as to form a dam. The torrent now passed by the cottage, leaving it undisturbed, and the voice of the wind was hushed. The sun came out, and the birds sang; but the only people alive in Schillingsdorf were the shepherd and his old wife.”