A peasant, named John Wilde, who lived in Rodenkirchen, found one time a glass shoe on one of the hills where the little people used to dance. He clapped it instantly into his pocket and ran away with it, keeping his hand as close on his pocket as if he had a dove in it; for he knew that he had found a treasure which the underground people must redeem at any price.
Others say that John Wilde lay in ambush one night for the underground people, and gained an opportunity of pulling off one of their shoes, by stretching himself there with a brandy-bottle beside him, and acting like one that was dead drunk; for he was a very cunning man, not over scrupulous in his morals, and had taken in many a one by his craftiness, and, on this account, his name was in no good repute among his neighbours, who, to say the truth, were willing to have as little to do with him as possible. Many hold, too, that he was acquainted with forbidden arts, and used to carry on an intercourse with the fiends and old women that raised storms, and such like.
However, be this as it may, when John had gotten the shoe, he lost no time in letting the folk that dwell under the ground know that he had it. So at midnight he went to the Nine-hills, and cried with all his might, "John Wilde, of Rodenkirchen, has got a beautiful glass shoe. Who will buy it? Who will buy it?" For he knew that the little one who had lost the shoe must go barefoot till he got it again, and that is no trifle, for the little people have generally to walk upon very hard and stony ground.
John's advertisement was speedily attended to. The little fellow who had lost the shoe made no delay in setting about redeeming it. The first free day he got, that he might come out into the daylight, he came as a respectable merchant, and knocked at John Wilde's door, and asked if John had not a glass shoe to sell? "For," says he, "they are an article now in great demand, and are sought for in every market." John replied that it was true he had a very little little, nice, pretty little glass shoe, but it was so small that even a Dwarf's foot would be squeezed in it; and that God Almighty must make people on purpose for it before it could be of any use; but that, for all that, it was an extraordinary shoe, and a valuable shoe, and a dear shoe, and it was not every merchant that could afford to pay for it.
The merchant asked to see it, and when he had examined it, "Glass shoes," said he, "are not by any means such rare articles, my good friend, as you think here in Rodenkirchen, because you do not happen to go much into the world. However," said he, after hemming a little, "I will give you a good price for it, because I happen to have the very fellow of it." And he bid the countryman a thousand dollars for it.
"A thousand dollars are money, my father used to say when he drove fat oxen to market," replied John Wilde, in a mocking tone; "but it will not leave my hands for that shabby price; and, for my own part, it may ornament the foot of my daughter's doll. Harkye, friend: I have heard a sort of little song sung about the glass shoe, and it is not for a parcel of dirt that it will go out of my hands. Tell me now, my good fellow, should you happen to know the knack of it, that in every furrow I make when I am ploughing I should find a ducat? If not, the shoe is still mine, and you may inquire for glass shoes at those other markets."
The merchant made still a great many attempts, and twisted and turned in every direction to get the shoe; but when he found the farmer inflexible, he agreed to what John desired, and swore to the performance of it. Cunning John believed him, and gave him up the glass shoe, for he knew right well with whom he had to do. So the business being ended, away went the merchant with his glass shoe.
Without a moment's delay, John repaired to his stable,got ready his horses and his plough, and drove out to the field. He selected a piece of ground where he would have the shortest turns possible, and began to plough. Hardly had the plough turned up the first sod, when up sprang a ducat out of the ground, and it was the same with every fresh furrow he made. There was now no end of his ploughing, and John Wilde soon bought eight new horses, and put them into the stable to the eight he already had—and their mangers were never without plenty of oats in them—that he might be able every two hours to yoke two fresh horses, and so be enabled to drive them the faster.
John was now insatiable in ploughing; every morning he was out before sunrise, and many a time he ploughed on till after midnight. Summer and winter it was plough, plough with him evermore, except when the ground was frozen as hard as a stone. But he always ploughed by himself, and never suffered any one to go out with him, or to come to him when he was at work, for John understood too well the nature of his crop to let people see what it was he ploughed so constantly for.
But it fared far worse with himself than with his horses, who ate good oats and were regularly changed and relieved, while he grew pale and meagre by reason of his continual working and toiling. His wife and children had no longer any comfort of him; he never went to the alehouse or the club; he withdrew himself from every one, and scarcely ever spoke a single word, but went about silent and wrapped up in his own thoughts. All the day long he toiled for his ducats, and at night he had to count them and to plan and meditate how he might find out a still swifter kind of plough.
His wife and the neighbours lamented over his strange conduct, his dullness and melancholy, and began to think that he was grown foolish. Everybody pitied his wife and children, for they imagined that the numerous horses that he kept in his stable, and the preposterous mode of agriculture that he pursued, with his unnecessary and superfluous ploughing, must soon leave him without house or land.
But their anticipations were not fulfilled. True it is, the poor man never enjoyed a happy or contented hour since he began to plough the ducats up out of the ground. The old saying held good in his case, that he who gives himself up tothe pursuit of gold is half way in the claws of the evil one. Flesh and blood cannot bear perpetual labour, and John Wilde did not long hold out against this running through the furrows day and night. He got through the first spring, but one day in the second, he dropped down at the tail of the plough like an exhausted November fly. Out of the pure thirst after gold he was wasted away and dried up to nothing; whereas he had been a very strong and hearty man the day the shoe of the little underground man fell into his hands.
His wife, however, found after him a considerable treasure, two great nailed up chests full of good new ducats, and his sons purchased large estates for themselves, and became lords and noblemen. But what good did all that do poor John Wilde?
There was once a farmer who was master of one of the little black ones, that are the blacksmiths and armourers; and he got him in a very curious way. On the road leading to this farmer's ground there stood a stone cross, and every morning as he went to his work he used to stop and kneel down before this cross, and pray for some minutes.
On one of these occasions he noticed on the cross a pretty bright insect, of such a brilliant hue that he could not recollect having ever before seen the like with an insect. He wondered greatly at this, yet still he did not disturb it; but the insect did not remain long quiet, but ran without ceasing backwards and forwards on the cross, as if it was in pain, and wanted to get away. Next morning the farmer again saw the very same insect, and again it was running to and fro, in the same state of uneasiness. The farmer began now to have some suspicions about it, and thought to himself, "Would this now be one of the little black enchanters? For certain, all is not right with that insect; it runs about just like one that had an evil conscience, as one that would,yet cannot, go away:" and a variety of thoughts and conjectures passed through his mind; and he called to mind what he had often heard from his father, and other old people, that when the under groundpeople chance to touch anything holy, they are held fast and cannot quit the spot, and are therefore extremely careful to avoid all such things. But he also thought it may as well be something else; and you would perhaps be committing a sin in disturbing and taking away the little animal; so he let it stay as it was.
But when he had found it twice more in the same place, and still running about with the same marks of uneasiness, he said, "No, it is not all right with it. So now, in the name of God!" and he made a grasp at the insect, that resisted and clung fast to the stone; but he held it tight, and tore it away by main force, and lo! then he found he had, by the top of the head, a little ugly black chap, about six inches long, screeching and kicking at a most furious rate.
The farmer was greatly astounded at this sudden transformation; still he held his prize fast and kept calling to him, while he administered to him a few smart slaps on the buttocks: "Be quiet, be quiet, my little man! if crying was to do the business, we might look for heroes in swaddling clothes. We'll just take you with us a bit, and see what you are good for."
The little fellow trembled and shook in every limb, and then began to whimper most piteously, and to beg hard of the farmer to let him go. But "No, my lad," replied the farmer, "I will not let you go till you tell me who you are, and how you came here, and what trade you know, that enables you to earn your bread in the world." At this the little man grinned and shook his head, but said not a word in reply, only begged and prayed the more to get loose; and the farmer found that he must now begin to entreat him if he would coax any information out of him. But it was all to no purpose. He then adopted the contrary method, and whipped and slashed him till the blood run down, but just to as little purpose; the little black thing remained as dumb as the grave, for this species is the most malicious and obstinate of all the underground race.
The farmer now got angry, and he said, "Do but be quiet, my child; I should be a fool to put myself into a passionwith such a little brat. Never fear, I shall soon make you tame enough."
So saying, he ran home with him, and clapped him into a black, sooty, iron pot, and put the iron lid upon it, and laid on the top of the lid a great heavy stone, and set the pot in a dark cold room, and as he was going out he said to him, "Stay there, now, and freeze till you are black! I'll engage that at last you will answer me civilly."
Twice a-week the farmer went regularly into the room and asked his little black captive if he would answer him now; but the little one still obstinately persisted in his silence. The farmer had now, without success, pursued this course for six weeks, at the end of which time his prisoner at last gave up. One day as the farmer was opening the room door, he, of his own accord, called out to him to come and take him out of his dirty stinking dungeon, promising that he would now cheerfully do all that was wanted of him.
The farmer first ordered him to give him his history. The black one replied, "My dear friend you know it just as well as I, or else you never had had me here. You see I happened by chance to come too near the cross, a thing we little people may not do, and there I was held fast and obliged instantly to let my body become visible; so, then, that people might not recognise me, I turned myself into an insect. But you found me out. For when we get fastened to holy or consecrated things, we never can get away from them unless a man takes us off. That, however, does not happen without plague and annoyance to us, though, indeed, to say the truth, the staying fastened there is not over pleasant. And so I struggled against you, too, for we have a natural aversion to let ourselves be taken into a man's hand." "Ho, ho! is that the tune with you?" cried the farmer: "you have a natural aversion, have you? Believe me, my sooty friend, I have just the same for you; and so you shall be away without a moment's delay, and we will lose no time in making our bargain with each other. But you must first make me some present." "What you will, you have only to ask," said the little one: "silver and gold, and precious stones, and costly furniture—all shall be thine in less than an instant."—"Silver and gold, and precious stones, and all such glittering fine things will I none," saidthe farmer; "they have turned the heart and broken the neck of many a one before now, and few are they whose lives they make happy. I know that you are handy smiths, and have many a strange thing with you that other smiths know nothing about. So come, now, swear to me that you will make me an iron plough, such that the smallest foal may be able to draw it without being tired, and then run off with you as fast as your legs can carry you." So the black swore, and the farmer then cried out, "Now, in the name of God; there, you are at liberty," and the little one vanished like lightning.
Next morning, before the sun was up, there stood in the farmer's yard a new iron plough, and he yoked his dog Water to it, and though it was of the size of an ordinary plough, Water drew it with ease through the heaviest clay-land, and it tore up prodigious furrows. The farmer used this plough for many years, and the smallest foal or the leanest little horse could draw it through the ground, to the amazement of every one who beheld it, without turning a single hair. And this plough made a rich man of the farmer, for it cost him no horse-flesh, and he led a cheerful and contented life by means of it. Hereby we may see that moderation holds out the longest, and that it is not good to covet too much.
A shepherd's boy belonging to Patzig, about half a mile from Bergen, where there are great numbers of the underground people in the hills, found one morning a little silver bell on the green heath, among the Giants'-graves, and fastened it on him. It happened to be the bell belonging to the cap of one of the little Brown ones, who had lost it while he was dancing, and did not immediately miss it, or observe that it was no longer tinkling in his cap. He had gone down into the hill without his bell, and having discovered his loss, was filled with melancholy. For the worst thing that can befall the underground people is to lose theircap, then their shoes; but even to lose the bell from their caps, or the buckle from their belts, is no trifle to them. Whoever loses his bell must pass some sleepless nights, for not a wink of sleep can he get till he has recovered it.
The little fellow was in the greatest trouble, and searched and looked about everywhere; but how could he learn who had the bell? For only on a very few days in the year may they come up to the daylight; nor can they then appear in their true form. He had turned himself into every form of birds, beasts, and men; and he had sung and rung, and groaned and moaned, and lamented and inquired about his bell, but not the slightest tidings, or trace of tidings, had he been able to get. For what was worst of all, the shepherd's boy had left Patzig the very day he found the little bell, and was now keeping sheep at Unruh, near Gingst: so it was not till many a day after, and then by mere chance, that the little underground fellow recovered his bell, and with it his peace of mind.
He had thought it not unlikely that a raven, or a crow, or a jackdaw, or a magpie, had found his bell, and from his thievish disposition, which is caught with anything bright and shining, had carried it into his nest; with this thought he had turned himself into a beautiful little bird, and searched all the nests in the island, and had sung before all kinds of birds, to see if they had found what he had lost, and could restore him his sleep; but nothing had he been able to learn from the birds. As he now, one evening, was flying over the waters of Ralov and the fields of Unruh, the shepherd's boy, whose name was Fritz Schlagenteufel (Smite-devil), happened to be keeping his sheep there at the very time. Several of the sheep had bells about their necks, and they tinkled merrily, when the boy's dog set them trotting. The little bird, who was flying over them thought of his bell, and sung, in a melancholy tone,
Little bell, little bell,Little ram as well,You, too, little sheep,If you've my Tingletoo,No sheep's so rich as youMy rest you keep.
Little bell, little bell,Little ram as well,You, too, little sheep,If you've my Tingletoo,No sheep's so rich as youMy rest you keep.
The boy looked up and listened to this strange songwhich came out of the sky, and saw the pretty bird, which seemed to him still more strange:—"Odds bodikins!" said he to himself, "if one but had that bird that's singing up there, so plain that one of us would hardly match him! What can he mean by that wonderful song? The whole of it is, it must be a feathered witch. My rams have only pinchbeck bells, he calls them rich cattle; but I have a silver bell, and he sings nothing about me." And with these words he began to fumble in his pocket, took out his bell, and rang it.
The bird in the air instantly saw what it was, and was rejoiced beyond measure. He vanished in a second—flew behind the nearest bush—alighted and drew off his speckled feather-dress, and turned himself into an old woman dressed in tattered clothes. The old dame, well supplied with sighs and groans, tottered across the field to the shepherd's boy, who was still ringing his bell, and wondering what was become of the beautiful bird. She cleared her throat, and coughing up from the bottom of her chest, bid him a kind good evening, and asked him which was the way to Bergen. Pretending then that she had just seen the little bell, she exclaimed, "Good Lord! what a charming pretty little bell! Well! in all my life I never beheld anything more beautiful Harkye, my son, will you sell me that bell? And what may be the price of it? I have a little grandson at home, and such a nice plaything as it would make for him!" "No," replied the boy, quite short, "the bell is not for sale. It is a bell, that there is not such another bell in the whole world. I have only to give it a little tinkle, and my sheep run of themselves wherever I would have them go. And what a delightful sound it has! Only listen, mother!" said he, ringing it: "is there any weariness in the world that can hold out against this bell? I can ring with it away the longest time, so that it will be gone in a second."
The old woman thought to herself, "We will see if he can hold out against bright shining money." And she took out no less than three silver dollars, and offered them to him: but he still replied, "No, I will not sell my bell." She then offered him five dollars. "The bell is still mine," said he. She stretched out her hand full of ducats: he replied, thisthird time, "Gold is dirt and does not ring." The old dame then shifted her ground, and turned the discourse another way. She grew mysterious, and began to entice him by talking of secret arts, and of charms by which his cattle might be made to thrive prodigiously, relating to him all kinds of wonders of them. It was then the young shepherd began to long, and he now lent a willing ear to her tales.
The end of the matter was, that she said to him, "Harkye, my child! give me the bell and see! here is a white stick for you," said she, taking out a little white stick which had Adam and Eve very ingeniously cut on it, as they were feeding the herds of Paradise, with the fattest sheep and lambs dancing before them; and there was the shepherd David too, as he stood with his sling against the giant Goliath. "I will give you," said the old woman, "this stick for the bell, and as long as you drive the cattle with it they will be sure to thrive. With this you will become a rich shepherd: your wethers will always be fat a month sooner than the wethers of other shepherds, and every one of your sheep will have two pounds of wool more than others, and yet no one will be ever able to see it on them."
The old woman handed him the stick. So mysterious was her gesture, and so strange and bewitching her smile, that the lad was at once in her power. He grasped eagerly at the stick, gave her his hand, and cried, "Done! Strike hands! The bell for the stick!" And cheerfully the old woman struck hands, and took the bell, and went like a light breeze over the field and the heath. He saw her vanish, and she seemed to float away before his eyes like a mist, and to go off with a slight whiz and whistle that made the shepherd's hair stand on end.
The underground one, however, who, in the shape of an old woman, had wheedled him out of his bell, had not deceived him. For the under groundpeople dare not lie, but must ever keep their word; a breach of it being followed by their sudden change into the shape of toads, snakes, dunghill-beetles, wolves and apes; forms in which they wander about, objects of fear and aversion for a long course of years before they are freed. They, therefore, have naturally a great dread of lying. Fritz Schlagenteufel gave close attention and made trial of his new shepherd's-staff, and hesoon found that the old woman had told him the truth, for his flocks, and his work, and all the labour of his hands prospered with him and had wonderful luck, so that there was not a sheep-owner or head shepherd but was desirous of having Fritz Schlagenteufel in his employment.
It was not long, however, that he remained an underling. Before he was eighteen years of age, he had gotten his own flocks, and in the course of a few years was the richest sheep-master in the whole island of Rügen; until at last, he was able to purchase a knight's estate for himself, and that estate was Grabitz, close by Rambin, which now belongs to the lords of Sunde. My father[244]knew him there, and how from a shepherd's boy he was become a nobleman, and he always conducted himself like a prudent, honest and pious man, who had a good word from every one. He brought up his sons like gentlemen, and his daughters like ladies, some of whom are still alive and accounted people of great consequence. And well may people who hear such stories wish that they had met with such an adventure, and had found a little silver bell which the underground people had lost.
Not far from the Ahlbeck lies a little mansion called Granitz, just under the great wood on the sea-coast called the wood of Granitz. In this little seat lived, not many years ago, a nobleman named Von Scheele. Toward the close of his life he sank into a state of melancholy, though hitherto a very cheerful and social man, and a great sportsman. People said that the old man took to his lonesome way of living from the loss of his three beautiful daughters, who were called the three fair-haired maidens, and who grew up here in the solitude of the woods, among the herds and the birds, and who had all three gone off in the same night and never returned. The old man took this greatlyto heart, and withdrew himself from the world, and all cheerful society. He had great intercourse with the little black people, and he was many a night out of the house, and no one knew where he had been; but when he came home in the gray of the morning, he would whisper his housekeeper, and say to her, "Ha, ha! I was at a grand table last night."
This old gentleman used to relate to his friends, and confirm it with many a stout trooper's and sportsman's oath, that the underground people swarmed among the fir-trees of Granitz, about the Ahlbeck, and along the whole shore. He used often, also, to show to those whom he took to walk there, a great number of little foot-prints, like those of very small children, in the sand, and he has suddenly called out to his companions, "Hush! Listen how they are, buzzing and whispering!"
Going once with some friends along the sea-shore, he all of a sudden stood still, as if in amazement, pointed to the sea, and cried out, "My soul! there they are again at full work, and there are several thousands of them employed about a few sunken casks of wine that they are rolling to the shore; oh! what a jovial carouse there will be to-night!" He then told his companions that he could see them both by day and by night, and that they did nothing to him; nay, they were his most particular friends, and one of them had once saved his house from being burnt by waking him in the night out of a profound sleep, when a firebrand, that had fallen out on the floor, was just on the point of setting fire to some wood and straw that lay there. He said that almost every day some of them were to be seen on the sea-shore, but that during high storms, when the sea was uncommonly rough, almost all of them were there looking after amber and shipwrecks, and for certain no ship ever went to pieces but they got the best part of the cargo, and hid it safe under the ground. And how grand a thing, he added, it is to live under the sand-hills with them, and how beautiful their crystal palaces are, no one can have any conception who has not been there.
Von wilden getwergen han ich gehöret sagenSi sin in holren bergen; unt daz si ze scherme tragenEinez heizet tarnkappen, von wunderlicher art—Swerz hat an sime libe, der sol vil wohl sin bewartVor slegen unt vor stichen.Nibelungen, Liedst. 342.Of wild dwarfs I oft have heard men declareThey dwell in hollow mountains; and for defence they wearA thing called a Tarn-cloke, of wonderful nature—Who has it on his body will ever be secure'Gainst cutting and 'gainst thrusting.
Von wilden getwergen han ich gehöret sagenSi sin in holren bergen; unt daz si ze scherme tragenEinez heizet tarnkappen, von wunderlicher art—Swerz hat an sime libe, der sol vil wohl sin bewartVor slegen unt vor stichen.Nibelungen, Liedst. 342.
Of wild dwarfs I oft have heard men declareThey dwell in hollow mountains; and for defence they wearA thing called a Tarn-cloke, of wonderful nature—Who has it on his body will ever be secure'Gainst cutting and 'gainst thrusting.
The religion of the ancient Germans, probably the same with that of the Scandinavians, contained, like it, Alfs, Dwarfs, and Giants. The Alfs have fallen from the popular creed,[245]but the Dwarfs still retain their former dominion. Unlike those of the North, they have put off their heathen character, and, with their human neighbours, have embraced a purer faith. With the creed they seem to have adopted the spirit of their new religion also. In most of the traditions respecting them we recognise benevolence as one of the principal traits of their character.
The oldest monuments of German popular belief are the poems of the Heldenbuch (Hero-book) and the spirit-stirring Nibelungen Lied.[246]In these poems the Dwarfs are actors of importance.
In this last-named celebrated poem the Dwarf Albrich appears as the guardian of the celebrated Hoard which Sifrit (Siegfried) won from the Nibelungen. The Dwarf istwice vanquished by the hero who gains his Tarn-kappe, or Mantle of Invisibility.[247]
In the Heldenbuch we meet with the Dwarf-king Laurin, whose garden Dietrich of Bern and his warriors broke into and laid waste. To repel the invader the Dwarf appears in magnificent array: twenty-three stanzas are occupied with the description of his banner, helmet, shield, and other accoutrements. A furious combat ensues, in which the Dwarf has long the advantage, as his magic ring and girdle endow him with the strength of twenty-four men, and his Hel Keplein[248](Tarnkappe) renders him invisible at pleasure. At length, by the advice of Hildebrand, Dietrich strikes off the Dwarf's finger, breaks his girdle, and pulls off his Hel Keplein, and thus succeeds in vanquishing his enemy. Laurin is afterwards reconciled to the heroes, and prevails on them to enter the mountain in which he dwelt, and partake of a banquet. Having them now in his power, he treacherously makes them all his prisoners. His queen, however, Ditlaub's sister, whom he had stolen away from under a linden, releases them: their liberation is followed by a terrific engagement between them and Laurin, backed by a numerous host of Dwarfs. Laurin is again overcome; he loses his queen; his hill is plundered of its treasures, and himself led to Bern, and there reduced to the extremity of earning his bread by becoming a buffoon.
In the poem named Hürnen Sifrit[249]the Dwarf Eugel[250]renders the hero good service in his combat with the enchanted Dragon who had carried off the fair Chrimhild from Worms, and enclosed her in the Drachenstein. When Sifrit is treacherously attacked by the Giant Kuperan, the ally of the Dragon, the Dwarf flings his Nebelkappe over him to protect him.
But the most celebrated of Dwarfs is Elberich,[251]who aided the emperor Otnit or Ortnit to gain the daughter of the Paynim Soldan of Syria.
Otnit ruled over Lombardy, and had subdued all the neighbouring nations. His subjects wishing him to marry, he held a council to consider the affair. No maiden mentioned was deemed noble enough to share his bed. At last his uncle Elias, king of the "wild Russians," says:—
"I know of a maiden, noble and high-born,Her no man yet hath wooed, his life who hath not lorn."She shineth like the roses, and the gold ruddý,She fair is in her person, thou must credit me;She shines o'er other women, as bright roses do,So fair a child was never; they say she good is too."
"I know of a maiden, noble and high-born,Her no man yet hath wooed, his life who hath not lorn.
"She shineth like the roses, and the gold ruddý,She fair is in her person, thou must credit me;She shines o'er other women, as bright roses do,So fair a child was never; they say she good is too."
The monarch's imagination is inflamed, and, regardless of the remonstrances of his council, he determines to brave all dangers, to sail with a powerful army to Syria, where the maiden dwelt, and to win her or to die. He regulates his kingdom, and says to his uncle:—
As soon as May appeareth, with her days so clear,Then pray thou of thy friends all, their warriors to cheer,To hold themselves all ready; go things as they may,We will, with the birds' singing, sail o'er the sea away.
As soon as May appeareth, with her days so clear,Then pray thou of thy friends all, their warriors to cheer,To hold themselves all ready; go things as they may,We will, with the birds' singing, sail o'er the sea away.
The queen now endeavours to dissuade her son, but finding her efforts vain, resolves to aid him as far as she can. She gives him a ring, and desires him to ride toward Rome till he comes to where a linden stands before a hill, from which runs a brook, and there he will meet with an adventure. She farther tells him to keep the ring uncovered, and the stone of it will direct him.
Obeying his directions, Otnit rides alone from his palace at Garda, continually looking at his ring:
Unto a heath he came then, close by the Garda lake,Where everywhere the flowers and clover out did break;The birds were gaily singing, their notes did loudly ring,He all the night had waked, he was weary with riding.The sun over the mountains and through the welkin shone,Then looked he full oft on the gold and on the stone;Then saw he o'er the meadow, down trodden the green grass,And a pathway narrow, where small feet used to pass.Then followed he downwards, the rocky wall boldlý,Till he had found the fountain, and the green linden-tree,And saw the heath wide spreading, and the linden branching high.It had upon its boughs full many a guest worthy.The birds were loudly singing, each other rivalling,"I have the right way ridden," spake Otnit the king;Then much his heart rejoiced, when he saw the linden spread;He sprang down from his courser, he held him by the head.And when the Lombarder had looked on the lindenHe began to laugh loud; now list what he said then:"There never yet from tree came so sweet breathing a wind."Then saw he how an infant was laid beneath the lind,Who had himself full firmly rolled in the grass;Then little the Lombarder knew who he was:He bore upon his body so rich and noble a dress,No king's child upon earth e'er did the like possess.His dress was rich adorned with gold and precious stone;When he beneath the linden the child found all alone:"Where now is thy mother?" king Otnit he cries;"Thy body unprotected beneath this tree here lies."
Unto a heath he came then, close by the Garda lake,Where everywhere the flowers and clover out did break;The birds were gaily singing, their notes did loudly ring,He all the night had waked, he was weary with riding.
The sun over the mountains and through the welkin shone,Then looked he full oft on the gold and on the stone;Then saw he o'er the meadow, down trodden the green grass,And a pathway narrow, where small feet used to pass.
Then followed he downwards, the rocky wall boldlý,Till he had found the fountain, and the green linden-tree,And saw the heath wide spreading, and the linden branching high.It had upon its boughs full many a guest worthy.
The birds were loudly singing, each other rivalling,"I have the right way ridden," spake Otnit the king;Then much his heart rejoiced, when he saw the linden spread;He sprang down from his courser, he held him by the head.
And when the Lombarder had looked on the lindenHe began to laugh loud; now list what he said then:"There never yet from tree came so sweet breathing a wind."Then saw he how an infant was laid beneath the lind,
Who had himself full firmly rolled in the grass;Then little the Lombarder knew who he was:He bore upon his body so rich and noble a dress,No king's child upon earth e'er did the like possess.
His dress was rich adorned with gold and precious stone;When he beneath the linden the child found all alone:"Where now is thy mother?" king Otnit he cries;"Thy body unprotected beneath this tree here lies."
This child was Elberich, whom the ring rendered visible. After a hard struggle, Otnit overcomes him. As a ransom, Elberich promises him a magnificent suit of armour—
"I'll give thee for my ransom the very best harnéssThat either young or old in the world doth possess."Full eighty thousand marks the harness is worth well,A sword too I will give thee, with the shirt of mail,That every corselet cuts through as if steel it were not;There ne'er was helm so strong yet could injure it a jot."I ween in the whole world no better sword there be,I brought it from a mountain is called Almari;It is with gold adorned, and clearer is than glass;I wrought it in a mountain is called Göickelsass."The sword I will name to thee, it is bright of hue,Whate'er thou with it strikest no gap will ensue,It is Rossè called, I tell to thee its name;Wherever swords are drawing it never will thee shame."With all the other harness I give thee leg armoúr,In which there no ring is, my own hand wrought it sure;And when thou hast the harness thou must it precious hold,There's nothing false within it, it all is of pure gold."With all the armour rich I give thee a helmét,Upon an emperor's head none a better e'er saw yet;Full happy is the man who doth this helmet bear,His head is recognised, a mile off though he were."And with the helmet bright I will give to thee a shield,So strong and so good too, if to me thanks thou'lt yield;It never yet was cut through by any sword so keen,No sort of weapon ever may that buckler win."
"I'll give thee for my ransom the very best harnéssThat either young or old in the world doth possess.
"Full eighty thousand marks the harness is worth well,A sword too I will give thee, with the shirt of mail,That every corselet cuts through as if steel it were not;There ne'er was helm so strong yet could injure it a jot.
"I ween in the whole world no better sword there be,I brought it from a mountain is called Almari;It is with gold adorned, and clearer is than glass;I wrought it in a mountain is called Göickelsass.
"The sword I will name to thee, it is bright of hue,Whate'er thou with it strikest no gap will ensue,It is Rossè called, I tell to thee its name;Wherever swords are drawing it never will thee shame.
"With all the other harness I give thee leg armoúr,In which there no ring is, my own hand wrought it sure;And when thou hast the harness thou must it precious hold,There's nothing false within it, it all is of pure gold.
"With all the armour rich I give thee a helmét,Upon an emperor's head none a better e'er saw yet;Full happy is the man who doth this helmet bear,His head is recognised, a mile off though he were.
"And with the helmet bright I will give to thee a shield,So strong and so good too, if to me thanks thou'lt yield;It never yet was cut through by any sword so keen,No sort of weapon ever may that buckler win."
Elberich persuades the king to lend him his ring; when he gets it he becomes invisible, and amuses himself by telling him of the whipping he will get from his mother for having lost it. At last when Otnit is on the point of going away, Elberich returns the ring, and, to his no small surprise, informs him that he is his father, promising him, at the same time, if he is kind to his mother, to stand his friend, and assist him to gain the heathen maid.
When May arrives Otnit sails from Messina with his troops. As they approach Sunders,[252]they are a little in dread of the quantity of shipping they see in the port, and the king regrets and bewails having proceeded without his dwarf-sire. But Elberich has, unseen, been sitting on themast. He appears, and gives his advice, accompanied by a stone, which, by being put into the mouth, endows its possessor with the gift of all languages. On the heathens coming alongside the vessel, Otnit assumes the character of a merchant, and is admitted to enter the port. He forthwith proposes to murder the inhabitants in the night, an act of treachery which is prevented by the strong and indignant rebukes of the Dwarf.
Elberich sets off to Muntabur,[253]the royal residence, to demand the princess. The Soldan, enraged at the insolence of the invisible envoy, in vain orders his men to put him to death; the "little man" returns unscathed to Otnit, and bids him prepare for war. By the aid of Elberich, Otnit wins, after great slaughter on both sides, the city of Sunders. He then, under the Dwarf's advice, follows up his conquest by marching for Muntabur, the capital. Elberich, still invisible, except to the possessor of the ring, offers to act as guide.
"Give me now the horse here they lead by the hand,And I will guide thine army unto the heathens' land;If any one should ask thee, who on the horse doth ride?Thou shalt say nothing else, but—an angel is thy guide."
"Give me now the horse here they lead by the hand,And I will guide thine army unto the heathens' land;If any one should ask thee, who on the horse doth ride?Thou shalt say nothing else, but—an angel is thy guide."
The army, on seeing the horse and banner advancing as it were of themselves, blessed themselves, and asked Otnit why he did not likewise.
"It is God's messenger!" Otnit then cried:"Who unto Muntabur will be our trusty guide;Him ye should believe in, who like Christians debate,Who in the fight them spare not, he leads to heaven straight."
"It is God's messenger!" Otnit then cried:"Who unto Muntabur will be our trusty guide;Him ye should believe in, who like Christians debate,Who in the fight them spare not, he leads to heaven straight."
Thus encouraged, the troops cheerfully follow the invisible standard-bearer, and soon appear before Muntabur, where Elberich delivers the banner to king Elias, and directs them to encamp. He meanwhile enters the city, flings down the artillery from the walls, and when the Soldan again refuses to give his daughter, plucks out some of his majesty's beard[254]and hair, in the midst of his courtiers and guards, who invain cut and thrust at the viewless tormentor. A furious battle ensues. The queen and princess resort to prayers to their gods Apollo and Mahomet for the safety of the Soldan The princess is thus described:
Her mouth flamed like a rose, and like the ruby stone,And equal to the full moon her lovely eyes they shone.With roses she bedecked had well her head,And with pearls precious,—no one comforted the maid:She was of exact stature, slender in the waist,And turned like a taper was her body chaste.Her hands and her arms, you nought in them could blame,Her nails they so clear were, people saw themselves in them;And her hair ribbons were of silk costly,Which she left down hanging, the maiden fair and free.She set upon her head high a crown of gold red,—Elberich the little, he grieved for the maid;—In front of the crown lay a carbuncle stone,That in the royal palace like a taper shone.
Her mouth flamed like a rose, and like the ruby stone,And equal to the full moon her lovely eyes they shone.
With roses she bedecked had well her head,And with pearls precious,—no one comforted the maid:She was of exact stature, slender in the waist,And turned like a taper was her body chaste.
Her hands and her arms, you nought in them could blame,Her nails they so clear were, people saw themselves in them;And her hair ribbons were of silk costly,Which she left down hanging, the maiden fair and free.
She set upon her head high a crown of gold red,—Elberich the little, he grieved for the maid;—In front of the crown lay a carbuncle stone,That in the royal palace like a taper shone.
Elberich endeavours to persuade her to become a Christian, and espouse Otnit; and to convince her of the incapacity of her gods, he tumbles their images into the fosse. Overcome by his representations and her father's danger, the princess, with her mother's consent, agrees to wed the monarch whom Elberich points out to her in the battle, and she gives her ring to be conveyed to him. The Dwarf, unperceived, leads her out of the city, and delivers her to her future husband, strictly forbidding all intercourse between them, previous to the maiden's baptism.[255]When the old heathen misses his daughter he orders out his troops to recover her. Elberich hastens to king Elias, and brings up the Christians. A battle ensues: the latter are victorious, and the princess is brought to Sunders;—ere they embark Elberich and Elias baptise her, and ere they reached Messina "the noble maiden was a wife."
As yet not intimately acquainted with Christianity, the young empress asks Otnit about his god, giving him to understand that she knew his deity, who had come to her father's to demand her for him. Otnit corrects her mistake,telling her that the envoy was Elberich, whom she then desires to see. At the request of Otnit the Dwarf reveals himself to the queen and court.
Long time he refused,—he showed him then a stone,That like unto the sun, with the gold shone;Ruby and carbuncle was the crown so rich,Which upon his head bare the little Elberich.The Dwarf let the people all see him then,They began to look upon him, both women and men;Many a fair woman with rosy mouth then said,"I ween a fairer person no eye hath e'er survey'd."
Long time he refused,—he showed him then a stone,That like unto the sun, with the gold shone;Ruby and carbuncle was the crown so rich,Which upon his head bare the little Elberich.
The Dwarf let the people all see him then,They began to look upon him, both women and men;Many a fair woman with rosy mouth then said,"I ween a fairer person no eye hath e'er survey'd."
Then Elberich the little a harp laid hold upon;Full rapidly he touched the strings every oneIn so sweet a measure that the hall did resound;All that him beheld then, they felt a joy profound.
Then Elberich the little a harp laid hold upon;Full rapidly he touched the strings every oneIn so sweet a measure that the hall did resound;All that him beheld then, they felt a joy profound.
After giving Otnit abundance of riches, and counselling him to remunerate those who had lost their relatives in his expedition, Elberich takes leave of the king. He then vanishes, and appears no more.
Otnit is the most pleasing poem in the Heldenbuch. Nothing can be more amiable than the character of the Dwarf, who is evidently the model of Oberon. We say this, because the probability is much greater that a French writer should have taken a Dwarf from a German poet, than that the reverse should have occurred. The connexion between the two works appears indubitable.
An attempt has already been made to trace the origin of Dwarfs, and the historical theory respecting those of the North rejected. A similar theory has been given of those of Germany, as being a people subdued between the fifth and tenth centuries by a nation of greater power and size. The vanquished fled to the mountains, and concealed themselves in caverns, only occasionally venturing to appear; and hence, according to this theory, the origin of Dwarf stories. As we regard them as an integrant part of Gotho-German religion, we must reject this hypothesis in the case of Germany also.
Beside the Dwarfs, we meet in the Nibelungen Lied with beings answering to the Nixes or Water-spirits. When[256]the Burgundians on their fatal journey to the court of Ezel (Attila) reached the banks of the Danube, they found that it could not be crossed without the aid of boats. Hagene then proceeded along the bank in search of a ferry. Suddenly he heard a plashing in the water, and on looking more closely he saw some females who were bathing. He tried to steal on them, but they escaped him and went hovering over the river. He succeeded, however, in securing their clothes, and in exchange for them the females, who were Watermaids (Merewiper) promised to tell him the result of the visit to the court of the Hunnish monarch. One of them then named Hadeburch assured him of a prosperous issue, on which he restored the garments. But then another, named Sigelint told him that Hadeburch had lied for the sake of the clothes; for that in reality the event of the visit would be most disastrous, as only one of the party would return alive. She also informed him where the ferry was, and told him how they might outwit the ferryman and get over.
We cannot refrain from suspecting that in the original legend these were Valkyrias and not Water-nymphs, for these last would hardly strip to go into the water, their native element. In the prose introduction to the Eddaic poem of Völundr we are told that he and his two elder brothers went to Wolfdale and built themselves a house by the water named Wolfsea or lake, and one morning early they found on the shore of the lake three women who were spinning flax: beside them were lying theirswan-dresses. They were "Valkyrias, and king's daughters." The three brothers took them home and made them their wives, but after seven years they flew away and returned no more. It is remarkable, that in the poem there is not the slightest allusion to the swan-dresses, though it relates the coming and the departure of the maidens. We are then to suppose either that there were other poems on the subject, or that these dresses were so well known a vehicle that it was deemed needless to mention them. We are to suppose also that it was by securing these dresses that the brothers preventedthe departure of the maidens, and that it was by recovering them that they were enabled to effect their escape. In effect in the German legend of Wielant (Völundr), the hero sees threedovesflying to a spring, and as soon as they touch the ground they become maidens. He then secures their clothes, and will not return them till one of them consents to become his wife.[257]
This legend resembles the tale of the Stolen Veil in Musæus, and those of the Peri-wife and the Mermaid-wife related above.[258]In the Breton tale of Bisclavaret, or the Warwolf, we learn that no one who became a wolf could resume his human form, unless he could recover the clothes which he had put off previous to undergoing the transformation.[259]
Our readers may like to see how the preface to the old editions of the Heldenbuch accounts for the origin of the Dwarfs.
"God," says it, "gave the Dwarfs being, because the land and the mountains were altogether waste and uncultivated, and there was much store of silver and gold, and precious stones and pearls still in the mountains. Wherefore God made the Dwarfs very artful and wise, that they might know good and evil right well, and for what everything was good. They knew also for what stones were good. Some stones give great strength; some make those who carry them about them invisible, that is called a mist-cloke (nebelkap); and therefore did God give the Dwarfs skill and wisdom. Therefore they built handsome hollow hills, and God gave them riches, etc.
"God created the Giants, that they might kill the wild beasts, and the great dragons (würm), that the Dwarfs might thereby be more secure. But in a few years the Giants would too much oppress the Dwarfs, and the Giants became altogether wicked and faithless.
"God then created the Heroes; 'and be it known that the Heroes were for many years right true and worthy, andthey then came to the aid of the Dwarfs against the faithless Giants;'—God made them strong, and their thoughts were of manhood, according to honour, and of combats and war."
We will divide the objects of German popular belief at the present day, into four classes:—1. Dwarfs; 2. Wild-women; 3. Kobolds; 4. Nixes.