‘In Holland I wot,There’s gold to be got,Small price for a lot,Who would have it not?’
‘In Holland I wot,There’s gold to be got,Small price for a lot,Who would have it not?’
‘In Holland I wot,There’s gold to be got,Small price for a lot,Who would have it not?’
Again he heard in his right ear the song of the Schatzhauser in the green forest, and a soft voice whispered to him, ‘Stupid Coal-Peter, stupid Peter Munk, you cannot find a rhyme with “place,” and yet are born on a Sunday at twelve o’clock precisely. Rhyme, dull Peter, rhyme!’
He groaned, he wearied himself to find a rhyme, but never having made one in his life, his trouble in his dream was fruitless. When he awoke the next morning with the first dawn, his dream seemed strange to him; he sat down at the table with his arms crossed, and meditated upon the whisperings that were still ringing in his ears. He said to himself, ‘Rhyme, stupid Peter, rhyme,’ knocking his forehead with his finger, but no rhyme would come. While still sitting in this mood, looking gloomily down before him and thinking of a rhyme with ‘place,’ he heard three men passing outside and going into the forest, one of whom wassinging—
‘I stood upon the brightest place,I gazed upon the plain,And then—oh then—I saw that face,I never saw again.’
‘I stood upon the brightest place,I gazed upon the plain,And then—oh then—I saw that face,I never saw again.’
‘I stood upon the brightest place,I gazed upon the plain,And then—oh then—I saw that face,I never saw again.’
These words flashed like lightning through Peter’s ear, and hastily starting up, he rushed out of the house, thinking he was mistaken in what he had heard, ran after the three fellows and seized, suddenly and rudely, the singer by the arm, crying at the same time, ‘Stop, friend, what was it you rhymed with “place”? Do me the favour to tell me what you were singing.’
‘What possesses you, fellow?’ replied the Schwarzwälder. ‘I may sing what I like; let go my arm, or——’
‘No, you shall tell me what you were singing,’ shouted Peter, almost beside himself, clutching him more tightly at the same time. When the other two saw this, they were not long in falling foul upon poor Peter with their large fists, and belabouring him till the pain made him release the third, and he sank exhausted upon his knees.
‘Now you have your due,’ said they, laughing; ‘and mark you, madcap, never again stop people like us upon the highway.’
‘Woe is me!’ replied Peter with a sigh, ‘I shall certainly recollect it. But now that I have had the blows, you will oblige me by telling me plainly what he was singing.’ To this they laughed again and mocked him; but the one who had sung repeated the song to him, after which they went away laughing and singing.
‘“Face,”’ then said the poor belabouredPeter as he got up slowly, ‘will rhyme with “place”; now, Little Glass Man, I will have another word with you.’ He went into the hut, took his hat and long stick, bade farewell to the inmates, and commenced his way back to the Tannenbühl. Being under the necessity of inventing a verse, he proceeded slowly and thoughtfully on his way; at length, when he was already within the precincts of the Tannenbühl, and the trees became higher and closer, he found his verse, and for joy cut a caper in the air. All at once he saw coming from behind the trees a gigantic man dressed like a raftsman, who held in his hand a pole as large as the mast of a ship. Peter Munk’s knees almost gave way under him, when he saw him slowly striding by his side, thinking he was no other than the Dutchman Michel. Still the terrible figure kept silence, and Peter cast a side glance at him from time to time. He was full a head taller than the biggest man Peter had even seen; his face expressed neither youth nor old age, but was full of furrows and wrinkles; he wore a jacket of linen, and the enormous boots being drawn above his leather breeches, were well known to Peter from hearsay.
‘What are you doing in the Tannenbühl, Peter Munk?’ asked the wood king at length, in a deep, roaring voice.
‘Good morning, countryman,’ repliedPeter, wishing to show himself undaunted, but trembling violently all the while.
‘Peter Munk,’ replied Michel, casting a piercing, terrible glance at him, ‘your way does not lie through this grove.’
‘True, it does not exactly,’ said Peter, ‘but being a hot day, I thought it would be cooler here.’
‘Do not lie, Peter,’ cried Michel, in a thundering voice, ‘or I strike you to the ground with this pole; think you I have not seen you begging of the little one?’ he added mildly. ‘Come, come, confess it was a silly trick, and it is well you did not know the verse; for the little fellow is a skinflint, giving but little; and he to whom he gives is never again cheerful in his life. Peter, you are but a poor fool and I pity you in my soul; you, such a brisk, handsome fellow, surely could do something better in the world than make charcoal. While others lavish big thalers and ducats, you can scarcely spend a few pence; ’tis a wretched life.’
‘You are right, it is truly a wretched life.’
‘Well,’ continued Michel, ‘I will not stand upon trifles; you would not be the first honest good fellow whom I have assisted at a pinch. Tell me, how many hundred thalers do you want for the present?’ shaking the money in his huge pocket, as he said this, so that it jingledjust as Peter had heard it in his dream. But Peter’s heart felt a kind of painful convulsion at these words, and he was cold and hot alternately; for Michel did not look as if he would give away money out of charity, without asking anything in return. The old man’s mysterious words about rich people occurred to him, and urged by an inexplicable anxiety and fear, he cried, ‘Much obliged to you, sir, but I will have nothing to do with you and know you well,’ and at the same time he began to run as fast as he could. The wood spirit, however, strode by his side with immense steps, murmuring and threatening, ‘You will repent it, Peter; it is written on your forehead and to be read in your eyes that you will not escape me. Do not run so fast, listen only to a single rational word; there is my boundary already.’ But Peter, hearing this and seeing at a little distance before him a small ditch, hastened the more to pass this boundary, so that Michel was obliged at length to run faster, cursing and threatening while pursuing him. With a desperate leap Peter cleared the ditch, for he saw that the wood spirit was raising his pole to dash it upon him; having fortunately reached the other side, he heard the pole shatter to pieces in the air as if against an invisible wall, and a long piece fell down at his feet.
He picked it up in triumph to throw it at the rude Michel; but in an instant he felt the piece of wood move in his hand, and, to his horror, perceived that he held an enormous serpent, which was raising itself up towards his face with its venomous tongue and glistening eyes. He let go his hold, but it had already twisted itself tight round his arm and came still closer to his face with its vibrating head; at this instant, however, an immense black cock rushed down, seized the head of the serpent with its beak, and carried it up in the air. Michel, who had observed all this from the other side of the ditch, howled, cried, and raved when he saw the serpent carried away by one more powerful than himself.
Exhausted and trembling, Peter continued his way; the path became steeper, the country wilder, and soon he found himself before the large pine. He again made a bow to the invisible Little Glass Man, as he had done the day before, andsaid—
‘Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,Hundreds of years are surely thine,Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place,Those born on Sunday see thy face.’
‘Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,Hundreds of years are surely thine,Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place,Those born on Sunday see thy face.’
‘Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,Hundreds of years are surely thine,Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place,Those born on Sunday see thy face.’
‘You have not quite hit it,’ said a delicate fine voice near him, ‘but as it is you, Peter, I will not be particular.’ Astonished he looked round, and lo! under a beautiful pine there sat a little old man in a blackjacket, red stockings, and a large hat on his head. He had a tiny affable face and a little beard as fine as a spider’s web; and strange to see, he was smoking a pipe of blue glass. Nay, Peter observed to his astonishment, on coming nearer, that the clothes, shoes, and hat of the little man were also of coloured glass, which was as flexible as if it were still hot, bending like cloth to every motion of the little man.
‘You have met the lubber Michel, the Dutchman?’ asked the little man, laughing strangely between each word. ‘He wished to frighten you terribly; but I have got his magic cudgel, which he shall never have again.’
‘Yes, Mr. Schatzhauser,’ replied Peter, with a profound bow, ‘I was terribly frightened. But I suppose the black cock was yourself, and I am much obliged to you for killing the serpent. The object of my visit to you, however, is to ask your advice; I am in very poor circumstances, for charcoal-burning is not a profitable trade; and being still young I should think I might be made something better, seeing so often as I do how other people have thriven in a short time; I need only mention Hezekiel, and the king of the dancing-room, who have money like dirt.’
‘Peter,’ said the little man gravely, blowing the smoke of his pipe a long wayoff, ‘don’t talk to me of these men. What good have they from being apparently happy for a few years here, and the more unhappy for it afterwards? you must not despise your trade; your father and grandfather were honest people, Peter Munk, and they carried on the same trade. Let me not suppose it is love of idleness that brings you to me.’
Peter was startled at the gravity of the little man, and blushed. ‘No, Mr. Schatzhauser,’ said he; ‘idleness is the root of every vice, but you cannot blame me, if another condition pleases me better than my own. A charcoal-burner is, in truth, a very mean personage in this world; the glass manufacturer, the raftsmen, and clock-makers, are people much more looked upon.’
‘Pride will have a fall,’ answered the little man of the pine wood, rather more kindly. ‘What a singular race you are, you men! It is but rarely that one is contented with the condition in which he was born and bred, and I would lay a wager that if you were a glass manufacturer, you would wish to be a timber merchant, and if you were a timber merchant you would take a fancy to the ranger’s place, or the residence of the bailiff. But no matter for that; if you promise to work hard, I will get you something better to do. It is mypractice to grant three wishes to those born on a Sunday, who know how to find me out. The first two are quite free from any condition, the third I may refuse, should it be a foolish one. Now, therefore, Peter, say your wishes; but mind you wish something good and useful.’
‘Hurrah!’ shouted Peter; ‘you are a capital glass man, and justly do people call you the treasure-keeper, for treasures seem to be plentiful with you. Well, then, since I may wish what my heart desires, my first wish is that I may be able to dance better than the king of the dancing-room, and to have always as much money in my pocket as fat Hezekiel.’
‘You fool!’ replied the little man angrily, ‘what a paltry wish is this, to be able to dance well and to have money for gambling. Are you not ashamed of this silly wish, you blockish Peter? Would you cheat yourself out of good fortune? What good will you and your poor mother reap from your dancing well? What use will money be to you, which, according to your wish, is only for the public-house, there to be spent like that of the wretched king of the dancing-room? And then you will have nothing for the whole week and starve. Another wish is now left free to you; but have a care to desire something more rational.’
Peter scratched himself behind his ears, and said, after some hesitation, ‘Now I wish for the finest and richest glass factory in the Schwarzwald, with everything appertaining to it, and money to carry it on.’
‘Is that all?’ asked the little man, with a look of anxiety; ‘is there nothing else, Peter?’
‘Why you might add a horse and chaise.’
‘Oh, you stupid Peter!’ cried the little man, while he flung his glass pipe against a thick pine so that it broke in a hundred pieces. ‘Horses? a carriage? Sense, I tell you, sense—common sense and judgment you ought to have wished for, but not a horse and chaise. Come, come, don’t be so sad, we will do all we can to make it turn out for the best, even as it is, for the second wish is on the whole not altogether foolish. A good glass factory will support its man; but you ought to have wished for judgment and sense in addition; a horse and chaise would come as a matter of course.’
‘But, Mr. Schatzhauser,’ replied Peter, ‘I have another wish left, and might very well wish for sense, if I am so much in need of it, as you seem to think.’
‘Say no more about it. You will get involved in many an embarrassment yet, when you will be glad of being at liberty to obtain your third wish. And now proceed on your way home.’ Drawing a smallbag from his pocket, he said: ‘There are two thousand florins; let that be enough, and don’t come again asking for money, for, if you do, I must hang you up to the highest pine. That is the way I have always acted ever since I have lived in the forest. Three days ago old Winkfritz died, who had a large glass factory in the Unterwald. Go there to-morrow morning, and make a fair offer for it. Look well to yourself. Be prudent and be industrious; I will come to see you from time to time, and assist you with word and deed, since you have not wished for common sense. But I must repeat it seriously; your first wish was evil. Guard against frequenting the public-house, Peter; no one who did so ever prospered long.’ The little man, while thus talking to him, had taken a new pipe, of the most beautiful glass, from his pocket, charged it with dry fir-apples, and stuck it into his little toothless mouth. Then drawing out a large burning-glass, he stepped into the sun and lighted it. When he had done this, he kindly offered his hand to Peter, added a few more words of salutary advice which he might carry on his way, puffed and blew still faster, and finally disappeared in a cloud of smoke, which smelled of genuine Dutch canaster, and, slowly curling upwards, vanished amidst the tops of the pines.
On his arrival home, Peter found his mother in great anxiety about him, for the good dame thought in reality her son had been drawn among the recruits. He, however, was in great glee and full of hope, and related to her how he had met with a good friend in the forest, who had advanced him money to begin another trade. Although his mother had been living for thirty years in a charcoal-burner’s hut, and was as much accustomed to the sight of sooty people as any miller’s wife is to the floury face of her husband, yet, as soon as her Peter showed her a more splendid lot, she was vain enough to despise her former condition, and said: ‘In truth, as the mother of a man who possesses a glass manufactory, I shall indeed be something different from neighbour Kate and Betsy, and shall in future sit more consequentially at church among the people of quality.’ Her son soon came to terms with the heir of the glass manufactory. He kept the workmen he found, and made them work day and night at manufacturing glass. At first he was pleased well enough with his new trade; he was in the habit of walking leisurely into the factory, striding up and down with an air of consequence and with his hands in his pockets, looking now in one corner, now in another, and talking about various things at which his workmen often used to laughheartily. His chief delight, however, was to see the glass blown, when he would often set to work himself, and form the strangest figures of the soft mass. But he soon took a dislike to the work; first he came only for an hour in the day, then only every other day, and finally only once a week, so that his workmen did just what they liked. All this came from his frequenting the public-house. The Sunday after he had come back from the Tannenbühl he went to the public-house, and who should be jumping there already but the king of the dancing-room; fat Hezekiel also was already sitting by a quart pot, playing at dice for crown-pieces. Now Peter quickly put his hand into his pocket to feel whether the Little Glass Man had been true to his word, and lo! his pockets were stuffed full of silver and gold. He also felt an itching and twitching in his legs, as if they wished to dance and caper. When the first dance was over, he took his place with his partner at the top next to the king of the dancing-room; and if the latter jumped three feet high, Peter jumped four; if he made fantastic and graceful steps, Peter twined and twisted his legs in such a manner that all the spectators were utterly amazed with delight and admiration. But when it was rumoured in the dancing-room that Peter had bought a glass manufactory, and whenpeople saw that Peter, as often as he passed the musicians, threw a six-bätzner piece to them, there was no end of astonishment. Some thought he had found a treasure in the forest, others were of opinion that he had succeeded to some fortune, but all respected him now, and considered him a made man, simply because he had plenty of money. Indeed that very evening he lost twenty florins at play, and yet his pockets jingled and tingled as if there were a hundred thalers in them.
When Peter saw how much respected he was, he could no longer contain himself with joy and pride. He threw away handfuls of money and distributed it profusely among the poor, knowing full well as he did how poverty had formerly pinched him. The feats of the king of the dancing-room were completely eclipsed by those of the new dancer, and Peter was surnamed the ‘emperor of the dancing-room.’ The most daring gamblers did not stake so much as he did on a Sunday, neither did they, however, lose so much; but then, the more he lost, the more he won. This was exactly what he had demanded from the Little Glass Man; for he had wished he might always have as much money in his pocket as fat Hezekiel, and it was to this very man he lost his money. If he lost twenty or thirty florins at a stroke, they were immediatelyreplaced in his own pocket, as soon as Hezekiel pocketed them. By degrees he carried his revelling and gambling further than the worst fellows in the Schwarzwald, and he was oftener called ‘gambling Peter’ than ‘emperor of the dancing-room,’ since he now gambled almost all days of the week. In consequence of his imprudence, his glass manufactory gradually fell off. He had manufactured as much as ever could be made, but he had failed to purchase, together with the factory, the secret of disposing of it most profitably. At length it accumulated to such a degree that he did not know what to do with it, and sold it for half price to itinerant dealers in order to pay his workmen.
Walking homewards one evening from the public-house, he could not, in spite of the quantity of wine he had drunk to make himself merry, help thinking with terror and grief of the decline of his fortune. While engaged in these reflections, he all at once perceived some one walking by his side. He looked round, and behold it was the Little Glass Man. At the sight of him he fell into a violent passion, protested solemnly, and swore that the little man was the cause of all his misfortune. ‘What am I to do now with the horse and chaise?’ he cried; ‘of what use is the manufactory and all the glass to me? Even when I was merely a wretchedcharcoal-burner, I lived more happily, and had no cares. Now I know not when the bailiff may come to value my goods and chattels, and seize all for debt.’
‘Indeed?’ replied the Little Glass Man, ‘indeed? I am then the cause of your being unfortunate. Is that your gratitude for my benefits? Who bade you wish so foolishly? A glass manufacturer you wished to be, and you did not know where to sell your glass! Did I not tell you to be cautious in what you wished for? Common sense, Peter, and prudence, you wanted.’
‘A fig for your sense and prudence,’ cried Peter; ‘I am as shrewd a fellow as any one, and will prove it to you, Little Glass Man,’ seizing him rudely by the collar as he spoke these words, and crying, ‘Have I now got you, Schatzhauser? Now I will tell you my third wish, which you shall grant me. I’ll have instantly, on the spot, two hundred thousand hard thalers and a house. Woe is me!’ he cried, suddenly shaking his hand, for the little man of the wood had changed himself into red-hot glass, and burned in his hand like bright fire. Nothing more was to be seen of him.
For several days his swollen hand reminded him of his ingratitude and folly. Soon, however, he silenced his conscience, saying: ‘Should they sell my glass, manufactory and all, still fat Hezekiel is certainto me; and as long as he has money on a Sunday, I cannot want.’
‘Very true, Peter! But, if he has none?’ And so it happened one day, and it proved a singular example in arithmetic. For he came one Sunday in his chaise to the inn, and at once all the people popped their heads out of the windows, one saying, ‘There comes gambling Peter;’ a second saying, ‘Yes, there is the emperor of the dancing-room, the wealthy glass manufacturer;’ while a third shook his head, saying, ‘It is all very well with his wealth, but people talk a great deal about his debts, and somebody in town has said that the bailiff will not wait much longer before he distrains upon him.’
At this moment the wealthy Peter saluted the guests at the windows in a haughty and grave manner, descended from his chaise, and cried: ‘Good evening, mine Host of the Sun. Is fat Hezekiel here?’
To this question a deep voice answered from within: ‘Only come in, Peter; your place is kept for you; we are all here at the cards already.’
Peter entering the parlour, immediately put his hand into his pocket, and perceived, by its being quite full, that Hezekiel must be plentifully supplied. He sat down at the table among the others and played, losing and winning alternately; thus they kept playing till night, when all sober people wenthome. After having continued for some time by candle-light, two of the gamblers said: ‘Now it is enough, and we must go home to our wives and children.’
But Peter challenged Hezekiel to remain. The latter was unwilling, but said, after a while, ‘Be it as you wish; I will count my money, and then we’ll play dice at five florins the stake, for anything lower is, after all, but child’s play.’ He drew his purse, and, after counting, found he had a hundred florins left; now Peter knew how much he himself had left, without counting first. But if Hezekiel had won before, he now lost stake after stake, and swore most awfully. If he cast apasch, Peter immediately cast one likewise, and always two points higher. At length he put down the last five florins on the table, saying, ‘Once more; and if I lose this stake also, yet I will not leave off; you will then lend me some of the money you have won now, Peter; one honest fellow helps the other.’
‘As much as you like, even if it were a hundred florins,’ replied Peter, joyful at his gain, and fat Hezekiel rattled the dice and threw up fifteen; ‘Pasch!’ he exclaimed, ‘now we’ll see!’ But Peter threw up eighteen, and, at this moment, a hoarse, well-known voice said behind him, ‘So! that was the last.’
He looked round, and behind him stoodthe gigantic figure of Michel the Dutchman. Terrified, he dropped the money he had already taken up. But fat Hezekiel, not seeing Michel, demanded that Peter should advance him ten florins for playing. As if in a dream, Peter hastily put his hand into his pocket, but there was no money; he searched in the other pocket, but in vain; he turned his coat inside out, not a farthing, however, fell out; and at this instant he first recollected his first wish, viz. to have always as much money in his pocket as fat Hezekiel. All had now vanished like smoke.
The host and Hezekiel looked at him with astonishment as he still searched for and could not find his money; they would not believe that he had no more left; but when they at length searched his pockets, without finding anything, they were enraged, swearing that gambling Peter was an evil wizard, and had wished away all the money he had won home to his own house. Peter defended himself stoutly, but appearances were against him. Hezekiel protested he would tell this shocking story to all the people in the Schwarzwald, and the host vowed he would the following morning early go into the town and inform against Peter as a sorcerer, adding that he had no doubt of his being burnt alive. Upon this they fell furiously upon him, tore off his coat, and kicked him out of doors.
Not one star was twinkling in the sky tolighten Peter’s way as he sneaked sadly towards his home, but still he could distinctly recognise a dark form striding by his side, which at length said, ‘It is all over with you, Peter Munk; all your splendour is at an end, and this I could have foretold you even at the time when you would not listen to me, but rather ran to the silly glass dwarf. You now see to what you have come by disregarding my advice. But try your fortune with me this time, I have compassion on your fate. No one ever yet repented of applying to me, and if you don’t mind the walk to the Tannenbühl, I shall be there all day to-morrow and you may speak to me, if you will call.’ Peter now very clearly perceived who was speaking to him, but feeling a sensation of awe, he made no answer and ran towards home.
When, on the Monday morning, he came to his factory, he not only found his workmen, but also other people whom no one likes to see, viz. the bailiff and three beadles. The bailiff wished Peter good morning, asked him how he had slept, and then took from his pocket a long list of Peter’s creditors, saying, with a stern look, ‘Can you pay or not? Be short, for I have no time to lose, and you know it is full three leagues to the prison.’ Peter in despair confessed he had nothing left, telling the bailiff he might value all the premises, horses andcarts. But while they went about examining and valuing the things, Peter said to himself, ‘Well, it is but a short way to the Tannenbühl, and as thelittleman has not helped me, I will now for once try thebigman.’ He ran towards the Tannenbühl as fast as if the beadles were at his heels. On passing the spot where the Little Glass Man had first spoken to him, he felt as if an invisible hand were stopping him, but he tore himself away and ran onwards till he came to the boundary which he had well marked. Scarcely had he, quite out of breath, called ‘Dutch Michel, Mr. Dutch Michel!’ when suddenly the gigantic raftsman with his pole stood before him.
‘Have you come then?’ said the latter, laughing. ‘Were they going to fleece you and sell you to your creditors? Well, be easy, all your sorrow comes, as I have always said, from the Little Glass Man, the Separatist and Pietist. When one gives, one ought to give right plentifully and not like that skinflint. But come,’ he continued, turning towards the forest, ‘follow me to my house, there we’ll see whether we can strike a bargain.’
‘Strike a bargain?’ thought Peter. ‘What can he want of me, what can I sell to him? Am I perhaps to serve him, or what is it that he can want?’ They went at first uphill over a steep forest path, when all atonce they stopped at a dark, deep, and almost perpendicular ravine. Michel leaped down as easily as he would go down marble steps; but Peter almost fell into a fit when he saw him below, rising up like a church steeple, reaching him an arm as long as a scaffolding pole, with a hand at the end as broad as the table in the ale-house, and calling in a voice which sounded like the deep tones of a death bell, ‘Set yourself boldly on my hand, hold fast by the fingers and you will not fall off.’ Peter, trembling, did as he was ordered, sat down upon his hand and held himself fast by the thumb of the giant.
They now went down a long way and very deep, yet, to Peter’s astonishment, it did not grow darker; on the contrary, the daylight seemed rather to increase in the chasm, and it was some time before Peter’s eyes could bear it. Michel’s stature became smaller as Peter came lower down, and he stood now in his former size before a house just like those of the wealthy peasants of the Schwarzwald. The room into which Peter was led differed in nothing but its appearance of solitariness from those of other people. The wooden clock, the stove of Dutch tiles, the broad benches and utensils on the shelves were the same as anywhere else. Michel told him to sit down at the large table, then went out of the room and returned with apitcher of wine and glasses. Having filled these, they now began a conversation, and Dutch Michel expatiated on the pleasures of the world, talked of foreign countries, fine cities and rivers, so that Peter, at length, feeling a yearning after such sights, candidly told Michel his wish.
‘If you had courage and strength in your body to undertake anything, could a few palpitations of your stupid heart make you tremble; and the offences against honour, or misfortunes, why should a rational fellow care for either? Did you feel it in your head when they but lately called you a cheat and a scoundrel? Or did it give you a pain in your stomach, when the bailiff came to eject you from your house? Tell me, where was it you felt pain?’
‘In my heart,’ replied Peter, putting his hand on his beating breast, for he felt as if his heart was anxiously turning within him.
‘Excuse me for saying so, but you have thrown away many hundred florins on vile beggars and other rabble; what has it profited you? They have wished you blessings and health for it; well, have you grown the healthier for that? For half that money you might have kept a physician. A blessing, a fine blessing, forsooth, when one is distrained upon and ejected! And what was it that urged you put your hand into your pocket, as often as a beggar held outhis broken hat?—Why your heart again, and ever your heart, neither your eyes, nor your tongue, nor your arms, nor your legs, but your heart; you have, as the proverb truly says, taken too much to heart.’
‘But how can we accustom ourselves to act otherwise? I take, at this moment, every possible pains to suppress it, and yet my heart palpitates and pains me.’
‘You, indeed, poor fellow!’ cried Michel, laughing; ‘you can do nothing against it; but give me this scarcely palpitating thing, and you will see how comfortable you will then feel.’
‘My heart to you?’ cried Peter, horrified. ‘Why, then, I must die on the spot! Never!’
‘Yes, if one of your surgeons would operate upon you and take out your heart, you must indeed die; but with me it is a different thing; just come in here and convince yourself.’
Rising at these words, he opened the door of a chamber and took Peter in. On stepping over the threshold, his heart contracted convulsively, but he minded it not, for the sight that presented itself was singular and surprising. On several shelves glasses were standing, filled with a transparent liquid, and each contained a heart. All were labelled with names which Peter read with curiosity; there was the heart of the bailiffin F., that of fat Hezekiel, that of the king of the dancing-room, that of the ranger; there were the hearts of six usurious corn merchants, of eight recruiting officers, of three money-brokers; in short, it was a collection of the most respectable hearts twenty leagues around.
‘Look!’ said Dutch Michel, ‘all these have shaken off the anxieties and cares of life; none of these hearts any longer beat anxiously and uneasily, and their former owners feel happy now they have got rid of the troublesome guest.’
‘But what do they now carry in their breasts instead?’ asked Peter, whose head was nearly swimming at what he beheld.
‘This,’ replied he, taking out of a small drawer, and presenting to him—a heart of stone.
‘Indeed!’ said Peter, who could not prevent a cold shuddering coming over him. ‘A heart of marble? But, tell me, Mr. Michel, such a heart must be very cold in one’s breast.’
‘True, but very agreeably cool. Why should a heart be warm? For in winter its warmth is of little use, and good strong Kirschwasser does more than a warm heart, and in summer when all is hot and sultry, you can’t think how cooling such a heart is. And, as before said, such a heart feels neitheranxiety nor terror, neither foolish compassion nor other grief.’
‘And that is all you can offer me?’ asked Peter indignantly; ‘I looked for money and you are going to give me a stone.’
‘Well! an hundred thousand florins, methinks, would suffice you for the present. If you employ it properly, you may soon make it a million.’
‘An hundred thousand!’ exclaimed the poor coal-burner, joyfully. ‘Well, don’t beat so vehemently in my bosom, we shall soon have done with one another. Agreed, Michel, give me the stone and the money, and the alarum you may take out of its case.’
‘I always thought you were a reasonable fellow,’ replied Michel, with a friendly smile; ‘come, let us drink another glass, and then I will pay you the money.’
They went back to the room and sat down again to the wine, drinking one glass after another till Peter fell into a profound sleep.
He was awakened by the cheerful blast of a post-boy’s bugle, and found himself sitting in a handsome carriage, driving along on a wide road. On putting his head out he saw in the airy distance the Schwarzwald lying behind him. At first he could scarcely believe that it was his own self sitting in the carriage, for even his clothes were different from those he had worn the day before; but still he had such a distinct recollection that,giving up at length all these reflections, he exclaimed, ‘I am Peter and no other, that is certain.’
He was astonished that he could not, in the slightest degree, feel melancholy now that he for the first time departed from his quiet home and the forests where he had lived so long. He could not even press a tear out of his eyes or utter a sigh, when he thought of his mother, who must now feel helpless and wretched; for he was indifferent to everything: ‘Well,’ he said, ‘tears and sighs, yearning for home and sadness, proceed indeed from the heart, but thanks to Dutch Michel, mine is of stone and cold.’ Putting his hand upon his breast, he felt all quiet and no emotion. ‘If Michel,’ said he, beginning to search the carriage, ‘keeps his word as well with respect to the hundred thousand florins as he does with the heart, I shall be very glad.’ In his search he found articles of dress of every description he could wish, but no money. At length, however, he discovered a pocket containing many thousand thalers in gold, and bills on large houses in all the great cities. ‘Now I have what I want,’ thought he, squeezed himself into the corner of the carriage and went into the wide world.
For two years he travelled about in the world, looked from his carriage to the right and left up the houses, but whenever healighted he looked at nothing except the sign of the hotel, and then ran about the town to see the finest curiosities. But nothing gladdened him, no pictures, no building, no music, no dancing, nor anything else had any interest for, or excited his stone heart; his eyes and ears were blunted for everything beautiful. No enjoyment was left him but that which he felt in eating and drinking and sleep; and thus he lived running through the world without any object, eating for amusement and sleeping fromennui. From time to time he indeed remembered that he had been more cheerful and happier, when he was poor and obliged to work for a livelihood. Then he was delighted by every beautiful prospect in the valley, by music and song, then he had for hours looked in joyful expectation towards the frugal meal which his mother was to bring him to the kiln.
When thus reflecting on the past, it seemed very strange to him that now he could not even laugh, while formerly he had laughed at the slightest joke. When others laughed, he only distorted his mouth out of politeness, but his heart did not sympathise with the smile. He felt he was indeed exceedingly tranquil, but yet not contented. It was not a yearning after home, nor was it sadness, but a void, desolate feeling, satiety and a joyless life that at last urged him to his home.
When, after leaving Strasburg, he beheld the dark forest of his native country; when for the first time he again saw the robust figures, the friendly and open countenances of the Schwarzwälder; when the homely, strong, and deep, but harmonious sounds struck upon his ear, he quickly put his hand upon his heart, for his blood flowed faster, thinking he must rejoice and weep at the same time; but how could he be so foolish? he had a heart of stone, and stones are dead and can neither smile nor weep.
His first walk was to Michel, who received him with his former kindness. ‘Michel,’ said he, ‘I have now travelled and seen everything, but all is dull stuff and I have only foundennui. The stone I carry about with me in my breast, protects me against many things; I never get angry, am never sad, but neither do I ever feel joyful, and it seems as if I were only half alive. Can you not infuse a little more life into my stone heart, or rather, give me back my former heart? During five-and-twenty years I had become quite accustomed to it, and though it sometimes did a foolish thing, yet it was, after all, a merry and cheerful heart.’
The sylvan spirit laughed grimly and sarcastically at this, answering, ‘When once you are dead, Peter Munk, it shall not be withheld; then you shall have back your soft, susceptible heart, and may then feelwhatever comes, whether joy or sorrow. But here, on this side of the grave, it can never be yours again. Travelled you have indeed, Peter, but in the way you lived, your travelling could afford you no satisfaction. Settle now somewhere in the world, build a house, marry, and employ your capital; you wanted nothing but occupation; being idle, you feltennui, and now you lay all the blame on this innocent heart.’ Peter saw that Michel was right with respect to idleness, and therefore proposed to himself to become richer and richer. Michel gave him another hundred thousand florins, and they parted good friends.
The report soon spread in the Schwarzwald that ‘Coal Peter,’ or ‘gambling Peter,’ had returned, and was much richer than before. It was here as it is always. When he was a beggar he was kicked out of the inn, but now he had come back wealthy, all shook him by the hand when he entered on the Sunday afternoon, praised his horse, asked about his journey, and when he began playing for hard dollars with fat Hezekiel, he stood as high in their estimation as ever before. He no longer followed the trade of glass manufacturer, but the timber trade, though that only in appearance, his chief business being in corn and money transactions. Half the people of the Schwarzwald became by degrees his debtors, and he lentmoney only at 10 per cent, or sold corn to the poor, who, not being able to pay ready money, had to purchase it at three times its value. With the bailiff he now stood on a footing of the closest friendship, and if any one failed paying Mr. Peter Munk on the very day the money was due, the bailiff with his beadles came, valued house and property, sold all instantly, and drove father, mother, and child out into the forest. This became at first rather troublesome to Peter, for the poor outcasts besieged his doors in troops, the men imploring indulgence, the women trying to move his stony heart, and the children moaning for a piece of bread. But getting a couple of large mastiffs, he soon put an end to this cat’s music, as he used to call it, for he whistled and set them on the beggars, who dispersed screaming. But the most troublesome person to him was ‘the old woman,’ who, however, was no other than Frau Munk, Peter’s mother. She had been reduced to great poverty and distress, when her house and all was sold, and her son, on returning wealthy, had troubled himself no more about her. So she came sometimes before his house, supporting herself on a stick, as she was aged, weak, and infirm; but she no more ventured to go in, as he had on one occasion driven her out; and she was much grieved at being obliged to prolong her existence by the bounties ofother people, while her own son might have prepared for her a comfortable old age. But his cold heart never was moved by the sight of the pale face and well-known features, by her imploring looks, outstretched withered hands, and decaying frame. If on a Saturday she knocked at the door, he put his hand grumbling into his pocket for a six-batzen piece, wrapped it in a bit of paper, and sent it out by a servant. He heard her tremulous voice when she thanked him, and wished him a blessing in this world, he heard her crawl away coughing from the door, but he thought of nothing except that he had again spent six batzen for nothing.
At length Peter took it into his head to marry. He knew that every father in the Schwarzwald would gladly give him his daughter, but he was fastidious in his choice, for he wished that everybody should praise his good fortune and understanding in matrimony as well as in other matters. He therefore rode about the whole forest, looking out in every direction, but none of the pretty Schwarzwälder girls seemed beautiful enough for him. Having finally looked out in vain for the most beautiful at all the dancing-rooms, he was one day told the most beautiful and most virtuous girl in the whole forest was the daughter of a poor wood-cutter. He heard she lived quiet and retired, was industrious and managed herfather’s household well, and that she was never seen at a dancing-room, not even at Whitsuntide or theKirchweihfest.[2]When Peter heard of this wonder of the Schwarzwald, he determined to court her, and, having inquired where the hut was, rode there. The father of the beautiful Elizabeth received the great gentleman with astonishment, but was still more amazed when he heard it was the rich Herr Peter who wished to become his son-in-law. Thinking all his cares and poverty would now be at an end, he did not hesitate long in giving his consent, without even asking the beautiful Elizabeth, and the good child was so dutiful that she became Frau Peter Munk without opposition.
But the poor girl did not find the happiness she had dreamt of. She believed she understood the management of a house well, but she could never give satisfaction to Herr Peter; she had compassion on poor people, and, as her husband was wealthy, thought it no sin to give a poor woman a penny, or a dram to a poor aged man. This being one day found out by Peter, he said to her, with angry look and gruff voice, ‘Why do you waste my property upon ragamuffins and vagabonds? Have you brought anything of your own to the house that you can giveaway? With your father’s beggar’s staff you could not warm a soup, and you lavish my money like a princess. Once more let me find you out, and you shall feel my hand.’ The beautiful Elizabeth wept in her chamber over the hard heart of her husband, and often wished herself at home in her father’s poor hut rather than with the rich, but avaricious and sinful Peter. Alas! had she known that he had a heart of marble and could neither love her nor anybody else, she would not, perhaps, have wondered. But as often as a beggar now passed while she was sitting before the door, and drawing his hat off, asked for alms, she shut her eyes that she might not behold his distress, and closed her hand tight that she might not put it involuntarily in her pocket and take out a kreutzer. This caused a report and obtained an ill name for Elizabeth in the whole forest, and she was said to be even more miserly than Peter Munk. But one day Frau Elizabeth was again sitting before the door spinning and humming an air, for she was cheerful because it was fine weather, and Peter was taking a ride in the country, when a little old man came along the road, carrying a large heavy bag, and she heard him panting at a great distance. Sympathisingly she looked at him and thought how cruel it was to place such a heavy burden upon an aged man.
In the meanwhile the little man came near, tottering and panting, and sank under the weight of his bag almost down on the ground just as he came opposite Frau Elizabeth.
‘Oh, have compassion on me, good woman, and give me a drink of water,’ said the little man; ‘I can go no farther, and must perish from exhaustion.’
‘But you ought not to carry such heavy loads at your age,’ said she.
‘No more I should if I were not obliged to work as carrier from poverty and to prolong my life,’ replied he. ‘Ah, such rich ladies as you know not how painful poverty is, and how strengthening a fresh draught would be in this hot weather.’
On hearing this she immediately ran into the house, took a pitcher from the shelf and filled it with water; but she had only gone a few paces back to take it to him, when, seeing the little man sit on his bag miserable and wretched, she felt pity for him, and recollecting that her husband was from home, she put down the pitcher, took a cup, filled it with wine, put a loaf of rye bread on it, and gave it to the poor old man. ‘There,’ she said, ‘a draught of wine will do you more good than water, as you are very old; but do not drink so hastily, and eat some bread with it.’
The little man looked at her in astonishmenttill the big tears came into his eyes; he drank and said, ‘I have grown old, but have seen few people who were so compassionate and knew how to spend their gifts so handsomely and cordially as you do, Frau Elizabeth. But you will be blessed for it on earth; such a heart will not remain unrequited.’
‘No, and she shall have her reward on the spot,’ cried a terrible voice, and looking round they found it was Herr Peter, with a face as red as scarlet. ‘Even my choicest wine you waste upon beggars, and give my own cup to the lips of vagabonds? There, take your reward.’ His wife fell prostrate before him and begged his forgiveness, but the heart of stone knew no pity, and flourishing the whip he held in his hand, he struck her with the ebony handle on her beautiful forehead with such vehemence that she sank lifeless into the arms of the old man. When he saw what he had done it was almost as if he repented of the deed immediately; he stooped to see whether there was yet life in her, but the little man said in a well-known voice, ‘Spare your trouble, Peter; she was the most beautiful and lovely flower in the Schwarzwald, but you have crushed it and never again will see it bloom.’
Now the blood fled from Peter’s cheek and he said, ‘It is you, then, Mr. Schatzhauser?well, what is done is done then, and I suppose this was to happen. But I trust you will not inform against me.’
‘Wretch,’ replied the Little Glass Man, ‘what would it profit me if I brought your mortal part to the gallows? It is not earthly tribunals you have to fear, but another and more severe one; for you have sold your soul to the evil one.’
‘And if I have sold my heart,’ cried Peter, ‘it is no one’s fault but yours and your deceitful treasures’; your malicious spirit brought me to ruin; you forced me to seek help from another, and upon you lies the whole responsibility.’ He had scarcely uttered these words when the little man grew enormously tall and broad, his eyes it is said became as large as soup plates, and his mouth like a heated furnace vomiting flames. Peter fell upon his knees, and his stone heart did not protect his limbs from trembling like an aspen leaf. The sylvan spirit seized him, as if with vultures’ claws, by the nape of the neck, whirled him round as the storm whirls the dry leaves, and dashed him to the ground so that his ribs cracked within him. ‘You worm of dust,’ he cried, in a voice roaring like thunder, ‘I could crush you if I wished, for you have trespassed against the lord of the forest; but for the sake of this dead woman that fed and refreshed me, I give you a week’s respite. If you do not repent Ishall return and crush your bones, and you will go hence in your sins.’
It was already evening when some men passing by saw the wealthy Peter Munk lying on the ground. They turned him over and over to see whether there was still life in him, but for a long time looked in vain. At length one of them went into the house, fetched some water and sprinkled some on his face. Peter fetched a deep sigh and opened his eyes, looked for a long time around, and asked for his wife Elizabeth, but no one had seen her. He thanked the men for their assistance, crawled into his house, searched everywhere, but in vain, and found what he imagined to be a dream a sad reality. As he was now quite alone strange thoughts came into his mind; he did not indeed fear anything, for his heart was quite cold; but when he thought of the death of his wife his own forcibly came to his mind, and he reflected how laden he should go hence—heavily laden with the tears of the poor; with thousands of the curses of those who could not soften his heart; with the lamentations of the wretched on whom he had set his dogs; with the silent despair of his mother; with the blood of the beautiful and good Elizabeth; and yet he could not even so much as give an account of her to her poor old father, should he come and ask, ‘Where is my daughter, your wife?’ Howthen could he give an account to Him—to Him to whom belong all woods, all lakes, all mountains, and the life of men?
This tormented him in his dreams at night, and he was awoke every moment by a sweet voice crying to him, ‘Peter, get a warmer heart!’ And when he was awoke he quickly closed his eyes again, for the voice uttering this warning to him could be none other but that of his Elizabeth. The following day he went into the inn to divert his thoughts, and there met his friend, fat Hezekiel. He sat down by him and they commenced talking on various topics, of the fine weather, of war, of taxes, and lastly, also of death, and how such and such a person had died suddenly. Now Peter asked him what he thought about death, and how it would be after death. Hezekiel replied, ‘That the body was buried, but that the soul went either up to heaven or down to hell.’
‘Then the heart also is buried?’ asked Peter, anxiously.
‘To be sure that also is buried.’
‘But supposing one has no longer a heart?’ continued Peter.
Hezekiel gave him a terrible look at these words. ‘What do you mean by that? Do you wish to rally me? Think you I have no heart?’
‘Oh, heart enough, as firm as stone,’ replied Peter.
Hezekiel looked in astonishment at him, glancing round at the same time to see whether they were overheard, and then said, ‘Whence do you know that? Or does your own perhaps no longer beat within your breast?’
‘It beats no longer, at least, not in my breast,’ replied Peter Munk. ‘But tell me, as you know what I mean, how will it be with our hearts?’
‘Why does that concern you, my good fellow?’ answered Hezekiel, laughing. ‘Why, you have plenty here upon earth, and that is sufficient. Indeed, the comfort of our cold hearts is that no fear at such thoughts befalls us.’
‘Very true, but still one cannot help thinking of it, and though I know no fear now, still I well remember how I was terrified at hell when yet an innocent little boy.’
‘Well, it will not exactly go well with us,’ said Hezekiel; ‘I once asked a schoolmaster about it, who told me that the hearts are weighed after death to ascertain the weight of their sins. The light ones rise, the heavy sink, and methinks our stone hearts will weigh heavy enough.’
‘Alas, true,’ replied Peter; ‘I often feel uncomfortable that my heart is so devoid of sympathy, and so indifferent when I think of such things.’ So ended their conversation.
But the following night Peter again heardthe well-known voice whispering into his ear five or six times, ‘Peter, get a warmer heart!’ He felt no repentance at having killed his wife, but when he told the servants that she had gone on a journey, he always thought within himself, where is she gone to? Six days had thus passed away, and he still heard the voice at night, and still thought of the sylvan spirit and his terrible menace; but on the seventh morning he jumped up from his couch and cried, ‘Well, then, I will see whether I can get a warmer heart, for the cold stone in my breast makes my life only tedious and desolate.’ He quickly put on his best dress, mounted his horse, and rode towards the Tannenbühl.
Having arrived at that part where the trees stand thickest, he dismounted, and went with a quick pace towards the summit of the hill, and as he stood before the thick pine he repeated the following verse: