THE GOBLIN BARBER

_Famous Stories--The Old-time Favorites_

(By Johann Musäus. This writer, little known save to scholars, enjoyed

a great reputation during his life--1733 to 1787--as a collector of his

native folk lore. The Goblin Barber is founded on an old German legend.

Franz Melcherson, a good-for-nothing, squanders a fortune; becomes

beggared; falls in love with his landlady’s daughter, Meta; tramps to

Antwerp to recover money due him; fails to collect, and on his way back

asks shelter at an inn; is refused; curses the landlord, who, to be

revenged, calls him back and lodges him in the haunted castle where the

incidents of this story befall him.)

The castle lay hard by the hamlet, on a steep rock, right opposite

the inn, from which it was divided merely by the highway and a little

gurgling brook. The situation being so agreeable, the edifice was still

kept in repair, and well provided with all sorts of house-gear; for

it served the owner as a hunting-lodge, where he frequently caroused

all day; and so soon as the stars began to twinkle in the sky, retired

with his whole retinue, to escape the mischief of the ghost, who rioted

about in it the whole night over, but by day gave no disturbance.

Unpleasant as the owner felt this spoiling of his mansion by a bugbear,

the nocturnal sprite was not without advantages, for the great security

it gave from thieves. The count could have appointed no trustier or

more watchful keeper over the castle than this same spectre, for the

rashest troop of robbers never ventured to approach this old tower in

the hamlet of Rummelsburg, near Rheinberg.

The sunshine had sunk, the dark night was coming heavily on, when

Franz, with a lantern in his hand, proceeded to the castle-gate,

under the guidance of mine host, who carried in his hand a basket of

victuals, with a flask of wine, which he said should not be marked

against him. He had also taken along with him a pair of candlesticks

and two wax-lights; for in the whole castle there was neither lamp nor

taper, as no one ever stayed in it after twilight. On the way, Franz

noticed the creaking, heavy-laden basket, and the wax-lights, which he

thought he should not need, and yet must pay for. Therefore he said:

“What is this superfluity and waste, as at a banquet? The light in the

lantern is enough to see with till I go to bed; and when I awake the

sun will be high enough, for I am tired, and shall sleep with both

eyes.”

“I will not hide from you,” replied the landlord, “that a story runs

of there being mischief in the castle, and a goblin that frequents it.

You, however, need not let the thing disturb you; we are near enough,

you see, for you to call us; should you meet with aught unnatural I and

my folks will be at your hand in a twinkling to assist you. Down in the

house there we keep astir all night through, some one is always moving.

I have lived here these thirty years, yet I cannot say that I have ever

seen aught. If there be now and then a little hurly-burlying at nights,

it is nothing but cats and martens rummaging about the granary. As a

precaution I have provided you with candles; the night is no friend of

man; and the tapers are consecrated, so that sprites, if there be such

in the castle, will avoid their shine.”

It was no lying in mine host to say that he had never seen anything

of spectres in the castle; for by night he had taken special care not

once to set foot in it; and by day, the goblin did not come to sight.

In the present case, too, the traitor would not risk himself across the

border. After opening the door he handed Franz the basket, directed

him what way to go, and wished him good-night. Franz entered the lobby

without anxiety or fear, believing the ghost story to be empty tattle,

or a tradition of some real occurrence in the place, which idle fancy

had shaped into an unnatural adventure. He had laid it down as a rule

deduced from experiences, when he heard any rumor, to believe exactly

the reverse, and left the grain of truth which, in the opinion of the

wise knight, always lies in such reports, entirely out of sight.

Pursuant to mine host’s direction, he ascended the winding stone stair;

and reached a bolted door, which he opened with his key. A long, dark

gallery, where his footsteps resounded, led him into a large hall, and

from this, a side-door, into a suite of apartments, richly provided

with all furniture for decoration or convenience. Out of these he

chose the room which had the friendliest aspect, where he found a

well-pillowed bed, and from the window could look right down upon

the inn, and catch every loud word that was spoken there. He lit his

wax-tapers, furnished his table, and feasted with the commodiousness

and relish of an Otaheitean noble. The big-bellied flask was an

antidote to thirst. So long as his teeth were in full occupation, he

had no time to think of the reported devilry in the castle. If aught

now and then made a stir in the distance, and Fear called to him,

“Hark! hark! There comes the goblin;” Courage answered: “Stuff! it

is cats and martens bickering and caterwauling.” But in the digestive

half-hour after meat, when the sixth sense, that of hunger and thirst,

no longer occupied the soul, she directed her attention from the other

five exclusively upon the sense of hearing; and already Fear was

whispering three timid thoughts into the listener’s ear, before Courage

had time to answer once.

As the first resource, he locked the door, bolted it, and made his

retreat to the walled seat in the vault of the window. He opened this,

and to dissipate his thoughts a little, looked out on the spangled sky,

gazed at the corroded moon, and counted how often the stars snuffed

themselves. On the road beneath him all was void; and in spite of the

pretended nightly bustle in the inn, the doors were shut, the lights

out, and everything as still as in a sepulchre. On the other hand, the

watchman blew his horn, making his “List, gentlemen!” sound over all

the hamlet; and for the composure of the timorous astronomer, who still

kept feasting his eyes on the splendor of the stars, uplifted a rusty

evening hymn right under his window; so that Franz might easily have

carried on a conversation with him, which, for the sake of company,

he would willingly have done, had he in the least expected that the

watchman would make answer to him.

In a populous city, in the middle of a numerous household, where

there is a hubbub equal to that of a bee-hive, it may form a pleasant

entertainment for the thinker to philosophize on solitude, to decorate

her as the loveliest playmate of the human spirit, to view her under

all her advantageous aspects, and long for her enjoyment as for hidden

treasure. But in scenes where she is no exotic, in the isle of Juan

Fernandez, where a solitary eremite, escaped from shipwreck, lives with

her through long years; or in the dreary nighttime, in a deep wood,

or in an old uninhabited castle, where empty walls and vaults awaken

horror, and nothing breathes of life but the moping owl in the ruinous

turret; there, in good sooth, she is not the most agreeable companion

for the timid anchorite that has to pass his time in her abode,

especially if he is every moment looking for the entrance of a spectre

to augment the party. In such a case it may easily chance that a window

conversation with the watchman shall afford a richer entertainment

for the spirit and the heart, than a reading of the most attractive

eulogy on solitude. If Ritter Zimmerman had been in Franz’s place,

in the castle of Rummelsburg, on the Westphalian marches, he would

doubtless in this position have struck out the fundamental topics of as

interesting a treatise on _Society_, as, inspired to all appearances by

the irksomeness of some ceremonious assembly, he has poured out from

the fullness of his heart in praise of _Solitude_.

Midnight is the hour at which the world of spirits acquires activity

and life, when hebetated animal nature lies entombed in deep slumber.

Franz inclined getting through this critical hour in sleep rather than

awake; so he closed his window, went the round of his rooms once more,

spying every nook and crevice, to see whether all was safe and earthly;

snuffed the lights to make them burn clearer; and without undressing

or delaying, threw himself upon his bed, with which his wearied person

felt unusual satisfaction. Yet he could not get asleep so fast as

he wished. A slight palpitation at the heart, which he ascribed to

a tumult in the blood, arising from the sultriness of the day, kept

him waking for a while; and he failed not to employ this respite in

offering up such a pithy prayer as he had not prayed for many years.

This produced the usual effect, and he softly fell asleep while saying

it.

After about an hour, as he supposed, he started up with a sudden

terror; a thing not at all surprising when there is tumult in the

blood. He was broad awake; he listened whether all was quiet, and

heard nothing but the clock strike twelve; a piece of news which the

watchman forthwith communicated to the hamlet in doleful recitative.

Franz listened for a while, turned on the other side, and was again

about to sleep, when he caught, as it were, the sound of a door grating

in the distance, and immediately it shut with a stifled bang. “Alack!

alack!” bawled Fright into his ear; “this is the ghost in very deed!”

“’Tis nothing but the wind,” said Courage manfully. But quickly it came

nearer, nearer, like the sound of heavy footsteps. Clink here, clink

there, as if a criminal were rattling his irons, or as if the porter

were walking about the castle with his bunch of keys. Alas, here was no

wind business! Courage held his peace; and quaking Fear drove all the

blood to the heart, and made it thump like a smith’s forehammer.

The thing was now beyond jesting. If Fear would still have let Courage

get a word, the latter would have put the terror-struck watcher in

mind of his subsidiary treaty with mine host, and incited him to claim

the stipulated assistance loudly from the window; but for this there

was a want of proper resolution. The quaking Franz had recourse to the

bedclothes, the last fortress of the timorous, and drew them close

over his ears, as bird-ostrich sticks his head in the grass when he

can no longer escape the huntsman. Outside it came along, door up,

door to, with hideous uproar; and at last it reached the bedroom. It

jerked sharply at the lock, tried several keys till it found the right

one; yet the bar still held the door, till a bounce like a thunderclap

made bolt and rivet start, and threw it wide open. Now stalked in a

long, lean man, with a black beard, in ancient garb, and with a gloomy

countenance, his eyebrows hanging down in deep earnestness from his

brow. Over his right shoulder he had a scarlet cloak, and on his head

he wore a peaked hat. With a heavy step he walked thrice in silence up

and down the chamber; looked at the consecrated tapers, and snuffed

them that they might burn brighter. Then he drew aside his cloak,

girded on a scissor pouch which he had under it, produced a set of

shaving tackle, and immediately began to whet a sharp razor on the

broad strap which he wore at his girdle.

Franz perspired in mortal agony under his coverlet; recommended himself

to the keeping of the Virgin; and anxiously speculated on the object of

this manœuvre, not knowing whether it was meant for his throat or his

beard. To his comfort, the goblin poured some water from a silver flask

into a basin of silver, and with his skinny hand lathered the soap into

a light foam; then set a chair, and beckoned with a solemn look to the

quaking looker-on to come forth from among the quivering bedclothes.

Against so pertinent a sign remonstrance was as bootless as against

the rigorous commands of the Grand Turk when he transmits an exiled

vizier to the angel of death, the Capichi Bashi with the silken cord,

to take delivery of his head. The most rational procedure that can be

adopted in this critical case is to comply with necessity, put a good

face on a bad business, and with stoical composure let one’s throat be

noosed. Franz honored the spectre’s order; the coverlet began to move,

he sprang sharply from his couch, and took the place pointed out to

him. However strange this quick transition from the uttermost terror

to the boldest resolution may appear, I doubt not but Moritz in his

_Psychological Journal_ could explain the matter till it seemed quite

natural.

Immediately the goblin barber tied the towel about the shivering

customer, seized the comb and scissors, and clipped off his hair and

beard. Then he soaped him scientifically; first the beard, next the

eyebrows, at last the temples and the hind-head; and shaved him from

throat to nape, as smooth and bald as a death’s-head. This operation

finished, he washed his head, dried it clean, made his bow, and

buttoned up his scissor pouch, wrapped himself in his scarlet mantle,

and made for departing. The consecrated tapers had burned with an

exquisite brightness through the whole transaction; and Franz, by the

light of them, perceived in the mirror that the shaver had changed him

into a Chinese pagoda. In secret he heartily deplored the loss of his

fair brown locks; yet took fresh breath as he observed that with this

sacrifice the account was settled, and the ghost had no more power over

him.

So it was in fact; Redcloak went toward the door, silently as he had

entered, without salutation or good-bye, and seemed entirely the

contrast of his talkative guild-brethern. But scarcely was he gone

three steps when he paused, looked round with a mournful expression at

his well-served customer, and stroked the flat of his hand over his

black, bushy beard. He did the same a second time, and again just as

he was in the act of stepping out at the door. A thought struck Franz

that the spectre wanted something, and a rapid combination of ideas

suggested that perhaps he was expecting the very service he himself had

just performed.

As the ghost, notwithstanding his rueful look, seemed more disposed

for banter than for seriousness, and had played his guest a scurvy

trick--not done him any real injury, the panic of the latter had now

almost subsided. So he ventured the experiment, and beckoned to the

ghost to take the seat from which he had himself just risen. The goblin

instantly obeyed, threw off his coat, laid his barber tackle on the

table, and placed himself in the chair, in the posture of a man that

wishes to be shaved. Franz carefully observed the same procedure which

the spectre had observed to him; clipped his beard with the scissors,

cropped away his hair, lathered his whole scalp, and the ghost all the

while sat steady as a wig-block. The awkward journeyman came ill at

handling the razor; he had never had another in his hand, and he shore

the beard right against the grain, whereat the goblin made as strange

grimaces as Erasmus’s ape when imitating its master’s shaving. Nor

was the unpracticed bungler himself well at ease, and he thought more

than once of the sage aphorism, “What is not thy trade make not thy

business;” yet he struggled through the task the best way he could, and

scraped the ghost as bald as he himself had been scraped.

Hitherto the scene between the spectre and the traveler had been played

pantomimically; the action now became dramatic. “Stranger,” said the

ghost, “accept my thanks for the service thou hast done me. By thee I

am delivered from the long imprisonment which has chained me for three

hundred years within these walls, to which my departed soul was doomed,

till a mortal hand should consent to retaliate on me what I practiced

on others in my lifetime.

“Know that of old a reckless scorner dwelt within this tower, who

took his sport on priests as well as laics. Count Hardman, such his

name, was no philanthropist, acknowledged no superior, and no law, but

practiced vain caprice and waggery, regarding not the sacredness of

hospitable rights; the wanderer who came beneath his roof, the needy

man who asked a charitable alms of him, he never sent away unvisited by

wicked joke. I was his castle barber, still a willing instrument, and

did whatever pleased him. Many a pious pilgrim, journeying past us, I

allured with friendly speeches to the hall; prepared the bath for him,

and when he thought to take good comfort, shaved him smooth and bald,

and packed him out of doors. Then would Count Hardman, looking from the

window, see with pleasure how the foxes’ whelps of children gathered

from the hamlet to assail the outcast, and to cry, as once their

fellows to Elijah:

“‘Baldhead! Baldhead!’

“In this the scoffer took pleasure, laughing with a devilish joy till

he would hold his pot-paunch, and his eyes ran down with water.

“Once came a saintly man from foreign lands; he carried, like a

penitent, a heavy cross upon his shoulder, and had stamped five nail

marks on his hands and feet and side; upon his head there was a ring

of hair like to the crown of thorns. He called upon us here, requested

water for his feet and a small crust of bread. Immediately I took him

to the bath to serve him in my common way; respected not the sacred

ring, but shore it clean from off him. Then the pious pilgrim spoke

a heavy malison upon me: ‘Know, accursed man, that when thou diest,

heaven, and hell, and purgatory’s iron gate are shut against thy soul.

As goblin it shall rage within these walls, till unrequired, unbid, a

traveler come and exercise retaliation on thee.’

“That hour I sickened, and the marrow in my bones dried up; I faded

like a shadow. My spirit left the wasted carcass, and was exiled to

this castle, as the saint had doomed it. In vain I struggled for

deliverance from the torturing bonds that fettered me to earth; for

thou must know that when the soul forsakes her clay she panteth for her

place of rest, and this sick longing spins her years to aeons, while

in foreign elements she languishes for home. Now self-tormenting, I

pursued the mournful occupation I had followed in my lifetime. Alas! my

uproar soon made desolate this house. But seldom came a pilgrim here to

lodge. And though I treated all like thee, no one would understand me,

and perform, as thou, the service which has freed my soul from bondage.

Henceforth shall no hobgoblin wander in this castle; I return to my

long-wished-for rest. And now, young stranger, once again my thanks

that thou hast loosed me! Were I keeper of deep-hidden treasures, they

were thine; but wealth in life was not my lot, nor in this castle lies

there any cash entombed. Yet mark my counsel. Tarry here till beard

and locks again shall cover chin and scalp; then turn thee homeward to

thy native town; and on the Weser-bridge of Bremen, at the time when

day and night in autumn are alike, wait for a friend who there will

meet thee, who will tell thee what to do, that it be well with thee on

earth. If from the golden horn of plenty blessing and abundance flow to

thee, then think of me; and ever as the day thou freedst me from the

curse comes round, cause for my soul’s repose three masses to be said.

Now fare thee well. I go, no more returning.”

With these words the ghost, having by his copiousness of talk

satisfactorily attested his former existence as court-barber in the

castle of Rummelsburg, vanished into air, and left his deliverer

full of wonder at the strange adventure. He stood for a long while

motionless, in doubt whether the whole matter had actually happened, or

an unquiet dream had deluded his senses; but his bald head convinced

him that there had been a real occurrence. He returned to bed, and

slept, after the fright he had undergone, till the hour of noon. The

treacherous landlord had been watching since morning, when the traveler

with the scalp was to come forth, that he might receive him with jibing

speeches under pretext of astonishment at his nocturnal adventure. But

as the stranger loitered too long, and midday was approaching, the

affair became serious; and mine host began to dread that the goblin

might have treated his guest a little harshly, have beaten him to a

jelly perhaps, or so frightened him that he had died of terror; and

to carry his wanton revenge to such a length as this had not been

his intention. He therefore rung his people together, hastened out

with man and maid to the tower, and reached the door of the apartment

where he had observed the light on the previous evening. He found an

unknown key in the lock; but the door was barred within, for after the

disappearance of the goblin, Franz had again secured it. He knocked

with a perturbed violence, till the Seven Sleepers themselves would

have awoke at the din. Franz started up, and thought in his first

confusion that the ghost was again standing at the door to favor him

with another call. But hearing mine host’s voice, who required nothing

more but that his guest would give some sign of life, he gathered

himself up and opened the door.

With seeming horror at the sight of him, mine host, striking his hands

together, exclaimed, “By heaven and all the saints! Redcloak” (by this

name the ghost was known among them) “_has_ been here, and has shaved

you bald as a block! Now, it is clear as day that the old story is no

fable. But tell me, how looked the goblin; what did he say to you? what

did he do?”

Franz, who had now seen through the questioner, made answer: “The

goblin looked like a man in a red cloak; what he did is not hidden from

you, and what he said I well remember: ‘Stranger,’ said he, ‘trust no

innkeeper who is a Turk in grain. What would befall thee here he knew.

Be wise and happy. I withdraw from this my ancient dwelling, for my

time is run. Henceforth no goblin riots here; I now become a silent

incubus to plague the landlord; nip him, tweak him, harrass him, unless

the Turk do expiate his sin; do freely give thee food and lodging till

brown locks again shall cluster round thy head.’”

The landlord shuddered at these words, cut a large cross in the air

before him, vowed by the Holy Virgin to give the traveler free board so

long as he liked to continue, led him over to his house and treated him

with the best. By this adventure Franz had well-nigh got the reputation

of a conjurer, as the spirit thenceforth never once showed face. He

often passed the night in the tower; and a desperado of the village

once kept him company, without having beard or scalp disturbed. The

owner of the place, having learned that Redcloak no longer walked in

Rummelsburg, was delighted at the news, and ordered that the stranger,

who, as he supposed, had laid him, should be well taken care of.

By the time when the clusters were beginning to be colored on the vine,

and the advancing autumn reddened the apples, Franz’s brown locks were

again curling over his temples, and he girded up his knapsack; for all

thoughts and meditations were turned upon the Weser-bridge, to seek

the friend, who, at the behest of the goblin barber, was to direct

him how to make his fortune. When about taking leave of mine host,

that charitable person led from his stable a horse well saddled and

equipped, which the owner of the castle had presented to the stranger,

for having made his house again habitable; nor had the count forgot to

send a sufficient purse along with it to bear his traveling charges;

and so Franz came riding back into his native city, brisk and light

of heart. He sought out his old quarters, but kept himself quite

retired, only inquiring underhand how matters stood with the fair Meta,

whether she was still alive and unwedded. To this inquiry he received

a satisfactory answer, and contented himself with it in the meanwhile;

for, till his fate was decided, he would not risk appearing in her

sight, or making known to her his arrival in Bremen.

With unspeakable longing he waited the equinox; his impatience made

every intervening day a year. At last the long-wished-for term

appeared. The night before he could not close an eye for thinking of

the wonders that were coming. The blood was whirling and beating in

his arteries, as it had done at the Castle of Rummelsburg, when he lay

in expectation of his spectre visitant. To be sure of not missing his

expected friend, he rose by daybreak, and proceeded with the earliest

dawn to the Weser-bridge, which as yet stood empty, and untrod by

passengers. He walked along it several times in solitude, with that

presentiment of coming gladness which includes in it the real enjoyment

of all terrestrial felicity; for it is not the attainment of our

wishes, but the undoubted hope of attaining them, which offers to the

human soul the full measure of highest and most heartfelt satisfaction.

He formed many projects as to how he should present himself to his

beloved Meta, when his looked-for happiness should have arrived;

whether it would be better to appear before her in full splendor, or

to mount from his former darkness with the first gleam of morning

radiance, and discover to her by degrees the change in his condition.

Curiosity, moreover, put a thousand questions to Reason in regard

to the adventure. Who can the friend be that is to meet me on the

Weser-bridge? Will it be one of my old acquaintances, by whom, since my

ruin, I have been entirely forgotten? How will he pave the way to me

for happiness? And will this way be short or long, easy or toilsome?

To the whole of which Reason, in spite of her thinking, answered not a

word.

In about an hour the bridge began to get awake; there was riding,

driving, walking to and fro on it, and much commercial ware passing

this way and that. The usual dayguard of beggars and importunate

persons also by degrees took up this post, so favorable for their

trade, to levy contributions on the public benevolence; for of

poorhouses and workhouses the wisdom of legislators had as yet formed

no scheme. The first of the tattered cohort that applied for alms to

the jovial promenader, from whose eyes gay hope laughed forth, was a

discharged soldier, provided with the military badge of a timber leg,

which had been lent him, seeing he had fought so stoutly in former

days for his native country, as the recompense of his valor, with the

privilege of begging where he pleased; and who now, in the capacity of

physiognomist, pursued the study of man upon the Weser-bridge, with

such success, that he very seldom failed in his attempts for charity.

Nor did his exploratory glance mislead him in the present instance; for

Franz, in the joy of his heart, threw a white engelgroshen into the

cripple’s hat.

During the morning hours, when none but the laborious artisan is

busy, and the more exalted townsmen still lie in sluggish rest, he

scarcely looked for his promised friend; he expected him in the higher

classes, and took little notice of the present passengers. About the

council-hour, however, when the proceres of Bremen were driving past

to the hall, in their gorgeous robes of office, and about exchange

time, he was all eye and ear; he spied the passengers from afar, and

when a right man came along the bridge his blood began to flutter, and

he thought here was the creator of his fortune. Meanwhile hour after

hour passed on; the sun rose high; ere long the noontide brought a

pause in business; the rushing crowd faded away, and still the expected

friend appeared not. Franz now walked up and down the bridge quite

alone; had no society in view but the beggars, who were serving out

their cold collations without moving from the place. He made no scruple

to do the same; purchased some fruit, and took his dinner _inter

ambulandum_.

The whole club that was dining on the Weser-bridge had remarked

the young man watching here from early morning till noon, without

addressing any one or doing any sort of business. They held him to

be a lounger; and though all of them had tasted his bounty, he did

not escape their critical remarks. In jest they had named him the

bridge-bailiff. The physiognomist with the timber-toe, however, noticed

that his countenance was not now so gay as in the morning; he appeared

to be reflecting earnestly on something; he had drawn his hat close

over his face; his movement was slow and thoughtful; he had nibbled at

an apple rind for some time, without seeming to be conscious that he

was doing so. From this appearance of affairs the man-spier thought he

might extract some profit; therefore he put his wooden and his living

leg in motion, and stilted off to the other end of the bridge, and lay

in wait for the thinker, that he might assail him, under the appearance

of a new arrival, for a fresh alms. This invention prospered to the

full; the musing philosopher gave no heed to the mendicant, put his

hand into his pocket mechanically, and threw a six-groat piece into the

fellow’s hat, to be rid of him.

In the afternoon a thousand new faces once more came abroad. The

watcher was now tired of his unknown friend’s delaying, yet hope still

kept his attention on the stretch. He stepped into the view of every

passenger, hoped that one of them would clasp him in his arms; but all

proceeded coldly on their way, the most did not observe him at all,

and few returned his salute with a slight nod. The sun was already

verging to decline, the shadows were becoming longer, the crowd upon

the bridge diminished; and the beggar-brigade by degrees drew back into

their barracks in the Mattenburg. A deep sadness sank upon the hopeless

Franz when he saw his expectation mocked, and the lordly prospect which

had lain before him in the morning vanish from his eyes at evening. He

fell into a sort of sulky desperation; was on the point of springing

over the parapet, and dashing himself down from the bridge into the

river. But the thought of Meta kept him back, and induced him to

postpone his purpose till he had seen her yet once more. He resolved to

watch her next day when she should go to church, for the last time to

drink delight from her looks, and then forthwith to still his warm love

forever in the cold stream of the Weser.

While about to leave the bridge he was met by the invalided pikeman

with the wooden leg, who, for pastime, had been making many

speculations as to what could be the young man’s object, that had

made him watch upon the bridge from dawn to darkness. He himself had

lingered beyond his usual time, that he might wait him out; but as the

matter hung too long upon the pegs, curiosity incited him to turn to

the youth himself, and question him respecting it.

“No offence, young gentleman,” said he, “allow me to ask you a

question.”

Franz, who was not in a talking humor, and was meeting, from the mouth

of a cripple, the address which he had looked for with such longing

from a friend, answered rather testily, “Well, then, what is it? Speak,

old graybeard.”

“We two,” said the other, “were the first upon the bridge to-day, and

now, you see, we are the last. As to me and others of my kidney, it is

our vocation brings us hither, our trade of alms-gathering; but for

you, in sooth you are not of our guild; yet you have watched here the

whole blessed day. Now I pray you, tell me, if it is not a secret, what

is it that brings you hither, or what stone is lying on your heart.”

“What good were it to thee, old blade,” said Franz, bitterly, “to know

where the shoe pinches me, or what concern is lying on my heart? It

will give thee small care.”

“Sir, I have a kind wish toward you, because you opened your hand and

gave me alms; but your countenance at night is not so cheerful as in

the morning, and that grieves my heart.”

The kindly sympathy of this old warrior pleased the misanthrope, so

that he willingly pursued the conversation.

“Why, then,” answered he, “if thou wouldst know what has made me battle

here all day with tedium, thou must understand that I was waiting for a

friend, who appointed me hither, and now leaves me to expect in vain.”

“Under favor,” answered Timbertoe, “if I might speak my mind, this

friend of yours, be he who he like, is little better than a rogue, to

lead you such a dance. If he treated _me_ so, by my faith, his crown

should get acquainted with my crutch next time we met. If he could not

keep his word he should have let you know, and not thus bamboozle you

as if you were a child.”

“Yet I cannot altogether blame this friend,” said Franz, “for being

absent; he did not promise; it was but a dream that told me I should

meet him here.”

The goblin tale was too long for him to tell, so he veiled it under

cover of a dream.

“Ah! that is another story,” said the beggar; “if you build on dreams

it is little wonder that your hope deceives you. I myself have dreamed

much foolish stuff in my time, but I was never such a madman as to heed

it. Had I all the treasures that have been allotted to me in dreams,

I might buy the city of Bremen, were it sold by auction. But I never

credited a jot of them, or stirred hand or foot to prove their worth or

worthlessness. I knew well it would be lost. Ha! I must really laugh

in your face, to think that, on the order of an empty dream, you have

squandered a fair day of your life, which you might have spent better

at a merry banquet.”

“The issue shows that thou art right, old man, and that dreams many

times deceive. But,” continued Franz, defensively, “I dreamed so

vividly and circumstantially, above three months ago, that on this very

day, in this very place, I should meet a friend, who would tell me

things of the deepest importance, that it was well worth while to come

and see if it would come to pass.”

“O, as for vividness,” said Timbertoe, “no man can dream more vividly

than I. There is one dream I had, which I shall never in my life

forget. I dreamed, who knows how many years ago, that my guardian angel

stood before my bed in the figure of a youth, with golden hair, and

two silver wings on his back, and said to me: ‘Berthold, listen to the

words of my mouth, that none of them be lost from thy heart. There is

a treasure appointed thee which thou shalt dig, to comfort thy heart

withal for the remaining days of thy life. To-morrow, about evening,

when the sun is going down, take spade and shovel upon thy shoulder;

go forth from the Mattenburg on the right, across the Tieber, by the

Balkenbrücke, past the cloister of St. John’s, and on to the Great

Roland. Then take thy way over the court of the cathedral, through the

Schüsselkorb, till thou arrive without the city at a garden, which

has this mark, that a stair of three stone steps leads down from the

highway to its gate. Wait by a side, in secret, till the sickle of the

moon shall shine on thee, then push with the strength of a man against

the weak-barred gate, which will resist thee little. Enter boldly into

the garden, and turn thee to the vine trellises which overhang the

covered walk; behind this, on the left, a tall apple tree overtops

the lowly shrubs. Go to the trunk of this tree, thy face turned right

against the moon; look three ells before thee on the ground, thou shalt

see two cinnamon rose bushes; there strike in and dig three spans deep,

till thou find a stone plate; under this lies the treasure, buried

in an iron chest, full of money and money’s worth. Though the chest

be heavy and clumsy, avoid not the labor of lifting it from its bed;

it will reward thy trouble well, if thou seek the key which lies hid

beneath it.’”

In astonishment at what he heard, Franz stared and gazed upon the

dreamer, and could not have concealed his amazement had not the dusk

of night been on his side. By every mark in the description he had

recognized his own garden, left him by his father, and which in the

days of his extravagance, he had sold for an old song.

To Franz the pikeman had at once become extremely interesting, as he

perceived that this was the very friend to whom the goblin in the

castle of Rummelsburg had consigned him. Gladly could he have embraced

the veteran, and in the first rapture called him friend and father; but

he restrained himself, and found it more advisable to keep his thoughts

about this piece of news to himself. So he said, “Well, this is what I

call a circumstantial dream. But what didst thou do, old master, in the

morning, on awakening? Didst thou not follow whither thy guardian angel

beckoned thee?”

“Pooh,” said the dreamer, “why should I toil, and have my labor for my

pain? It was nothing, after all, but a mere dream. My guardian angel

takes little charge of me, I think, else I should not, to his shame,

be going hitching about here on a wooden leg.”

Franz took out the last piece of silver he had on him: “There,” said

he, “old father, take this other gift from me, to get thee a pint of

wine for evening-cup; thy talk has driven away my ill humor. Neglect

not diligently to frequent this bridge; we shall see each other here, I

hope, again.”

The lame old man had not gathered so rich a stock of alms for many a

day as he was now possessed off; he blessed his benefactor for his

kindness, hopped away into a drinking shop to do himself a good turn;

while Franz, enlivened with new hope, hastened off to his lodging in

the alley.

Next day he got in readiness everything that is required for

treasure-digging. The unessential equipments, conjurations, magic

formulas, magic girdles, hieroglyphic characters, and such like, were

entirely wanting; but these are not indispensable, provided there be no

failure in the three main requisites--shovel, spade, and, before all, a

treasure underground. The necessary implements he carried to the place

a little before sunset, and hid them for the meanwhile in a hedge; and

as to the treasure itself, he had the firm conviction that the goblin

in the castle and the friend on the bridge would prove no liars to him.

With longing impatience he expected the rising of the moon, and no

sooner did she stretch her silver horns over the bushes than he briskly

set to work, observing exactly everything the old man had taught him;

and happily raised the treasure without meeting any adventure in the

process, without any black dog having frightened him, or any bluish

flame having lighted him to the spot.

Father Melchior, in burying this penny for a rainy day, had nowise

meant that his son should be deprived of so considerable part of

his inheritance. The mistake lay in this, that death had escorted

the testator out of the world in another way than said testator had

expected. He had been completely convinced that he should take his

journey, old and full of days, after regulating his temporal concerns

with all the formalities of an ordinary sick-bed; for so it had been

prophesied to him in his youth. In consequence he purposed, when,

according to the usage of the church, extreme unction should have

been dispensed to him, to call his beloved son to his bedside, having

previously dismissed all bystanders, there to give him the paternal

blessing, and by way of farewell memorial direct him to this treasure

buried in the garden. All this, too, would have happened in just order,

if the light of the old man had departed like that of a wick whose

oil is done; but as death had privily snuffed him out at a feast, he

undesignedly took along with him his secret to the grave.

With immeasurable joy the treasure-digger took possession of the

shapeless Spanish pieces, which, with a vast multitude of other

finer coins the old chest had faithfully preserved. When the first

intoxication of delight had in some degree evaporated, he bethought

him how the treasure was to be transported, safe and unobserved into

the narrow alley. The burden was too heavy to be carried without help;

thus, with the possession of riches, all the cares attendant on them

were awakened. The new Crœsus found no better plan than to intrust his

capital to the hollow trunk of a tree that stood behind the garden,

in a meadow; the empty chest he again buried under the rose-bush, and

smoothed the place as well as possible. In the space of three days the

treasure had been faithfully transmitted by instalments from the hollow

tree into the narrow alley; and now the owner of it thought he might

with honor lay aside his strict incognito. He dressed himself with the

finest; had his prayer displaced from the church, and required, instead

of it, “A Christian thanksgiving for a traveler on returning to his

native town, after happily arranging his affairs.” He hid himself in

a corner of the church, where he could observe the fair Meta, without

himself being seen; he turned not his eye from the maiden, and drank

from her looks the actual rapture which in foretaste had restrained him

from suicide on the bridge of the Weser. When the thanksgiving came in

hand, a glad sympathy shone from all her features and the cheeks of the

virgin glowed with joy.

Franz now appeared once more on the Exchange; began a branch of trade

which in a few weeks extended to a great scale; and as his wealth

became daily more apparent, Neighbor Grudge, the scandal-chewer, was

obliged to conclude, that in the cashing of his old debts he must have

had more luck than sense. He hired a large house, fronting the Roland,

in the market-place; engaged clerks and warehousemen; carried on his

trade unweariedly; married Meta; provided for old Timbertoe; lived

happily with his wife; and found the most tolerable mother-in-law that

has ever been discovered.