beams played round the jagged brow of the glacier, and wove a veil of
silver round the beech woods that adorned the mountain landscape.
The old man was sitting silently on a ledge of rock; his hands lay
folded on his lap, his head was bare, and the night wind moved lightly
through his grey tresses. But the old man heeded it not. His eyes
gazed fixedly on the night sky, as if they could, like the seers of
olden time, decipher the records of the stars, and his features were
ennobled by such a look of majesty that the boy gazed at him in
astonishment, not daring to disturb him. At last he said softly, "Do
not be angry, sir, at my troubling you, but the night is growing cold,
and the dew is beginning to fall. Would you not be better in a warm
bed?"
The old man sighed, as if his thoughts returned unwillingly from their
flight. Then he nodded pleasantly to the boy, went up to the
trap-door, and let himself down upon the floor of the loft. He lay
down silently on the fragrant hay, and was just about to close his
weary eyes when he felt the boy's warm hand passing over him.
The little fellow had taken off his jacket, and was now carefully
spreading it over the old man that the night wind might not hurt him.
With a silent smile the dwarf accepted the service of love, and soon
their deep breathing told that slumber had fallen on the eyes of both.
Several hours had passed by, when something like a flash of lightning
woke the boy. He rose quickly; the trap-door was open, and the old man
was rummaging busily in his wallet; he had just taken out of it a very
bright hand-mirror, and the light of the moon, reflected with a flash
from the crystal, had awakened the boy.
The dwarf now threw his sack over his shoulder, took the mirror in his
hand, and began to go through the trap-door to the rock.
Hans could bear it no longer. "Oh, sir," he begged, "take me with you
into the mountains, for that you are bound thither the mirror in your
hand tells me. My dear mother has often told me about the mountain
mirror, by means of which one can see into the depths of the earth,
and watch the metal gleaming and glittering in its veins. And although
you have not said so, yet I know that you are one of the mysterious
strangers who come from far-off lands to seek the gold of our
mountains, which is hidden from our dim eyes. Oh, take me with you!"
The old man turned his face to the boy. "That is idle curiosity, my
son," he said gravely, and his eyes shone almost as brightly as the
mirror had a few minutes before; "stay at home and tend thy herds, as
a good boy should."
"Oh no, sir," begged Hans earnestly; "I have always longed to see the
wonders of the mountains, and I will be quiet and silent as is
befitting in presence of such marvels, and I will help you and serve
you to the best of my power. Take me with you!"
The old man thought a minute, glanced searchingly into the boy's eyes,
who had come nearer to him in his earnestness, and then he
said--"Come, then, and remember thy promise."
They stepped out together, shut the trap-door behind them, and
clambered up to the top of the rock, from which the broad footpath led
up to the heights and abysses of the mountain. The moon poured its
mystic radiance down from the deep blue sky of night, and the young
foliage of the beech wood gleamed like silver as it fluttered in the
breeze. Not a footstep was heard on the mossy ground, only their
shadows glided in company with the lonely wanderers, who in silent
haste pressed on deeper into the recesses of the mountains. The wood
lay behind them, and the path led to a ravine, at the bottom of which
a raging torrent rushed; they stood now at its edge.
None save Tyrol's boldest mountain climbers know this path, and even
they, though provided with ice-shoes and alpenstocks, tread its steep
ascent with trembling hearts. But the little man seemed to heed no
danger; fearlessly he set his foot upon the highest point, and
securely, as if on level ground, he went down the side of the
precipice, where one false step would have been certain death. The boy
followed him with beating heart. The moonlight broke through the
overhanging bushes and the lofty rocks overhead, and made its way down
into the ravine.
The wanderers stood now at the edge of the raging torrent, and walked
along it to the high rock over which the glacier stream fell into its
rocky bed, and which seemed to them, as it stood veiled in night, like
one of the giants of old who, the old legends tell us, were turned to
stone. Even in the distance they had seen the moving cloud of vapour
above its head, which hovered in the light of the full moon, like a
giant eagle, above the rushing waters. The milk-white billows of the
torrent that rushed down from this height rolled in the moonlight like
silvery tresses down from the rock's giant head. The old man walked
quietly through the noise and foam round the foot of the rock and into
a narrow cleft, which was the opening into the heart of the mountain;
here he laid down his wallet.
Now, now the boy's heart beat even more loudly than it had done amid
the dangers of the abyss, when the old man silently beckoned to him.
He held the mountain mirror in his hand: Hans stepped timidly to his
side, and looked into the magic glass. Mists impenetrable as the
curtain which parts the present from the future rolled over its
crystal surface, but they became lighter and lighter, and soon the
interior of the mountain lay open before the eyes of the delighted
child. Through the wide rocky gates his eye pierced into a land of
wonders such as are never seen on earth. Through the blue air rose the
pinnacles of a crystal palace; the golden roof and the windows of
precious stone shone in the splendour of another sun; and in the lofty
star-spangled hall sat King Laurin, the hoary king of the dwarfs, on
his emerald throne. Round him stood his subjects, the wise and aged
dwarfs, who had long since forsaken the wicked world to lead an active
but peaceful life here in their magic kingdom, where the malice and
inquisitiveness of mortals could not come to disturb them. They
listened with heads bent in reverent attention to the words of their
king, and then went in different directions to obey his commands; but
Laurin descended from his throne, laid aside crown and sceptre, and
went down the golden steps to the rose-garden, which his beloved
daughter, the only one left to him of all his circle of blooming
children, tended with skilful hand. The lovely maiden was walking
among the garden paths, tying up the young roses and moistening their
roots with water from the golden vessel in her hand, when she saw her
royal father coming. She hastened to meet him, took his strong hand
with respectful tenderness, and led him joyfully through the blooming
beds. Meantime, the little dwarfs had set busily to work: some were
leading their herds of chamois through a secret gate out to the
mountains of the upper world, that they might there enjoy earthly air
and light; others hastened to the clear silvery springs which watered
this realm, to guide their waters of blessing up to the meadows
and woods of the children of men, that they might yield a more
abundant increase; others, again, took pickaxes, mallets, and dark
lanterns, all made of precious metal, and went into the heart of the
surrounding mountains to bring their hidden wealth to light, and to
increase still more the royal treasure, countless though their king's
hoards already were.
[Illustration: HANS SEES KING LAURIN'S KINGDOM IN THE MAGIC MIRROR. F.
C., p. 62.]
Glittering veins of gold streaked the stone, and out of the dark rock
bubbled springs, whose clear waters flashed and sparkled, as if they
bore onward with them grains of the precious and much longed-for
metal. In a dark grotto lay something white and motionless like a
slumbering eagle; but at the flash of the lanterns it roused itself,
and the white serpent queen lifted her gem-crowned head. The drops
that trickled down the walls of the grotto gleamed like jewels in the
light of her diadem; but the serpent bent her head again, and coiled
herself up for further sleep, for she knew well that the little
dwarfs, unlike the robber sons of men, would never stretch forth their
hands to seize the jewel on her brow. And there, at yonder spring,
knelt a dark form busily engaged in gathering the gold sand from the
bottom of the water, and putting it into the wallet beside him; but
the figure could not be recognised in the shadow which lay deep at
that spot. But when some of the industrious little men drew near with
their flickering lanterns, the man at the spring turned his head and
nodded to them a friendly greeting, which they returned as if he was
an old and dear acquaintance.
Then the boy recognised by his grey locks and his dark eyes full of
gravity and wisdom the old man who had been showing him the mountain
mirror. He raised his eyes in astonishment from the magic glass, and
now for the first time he perceived that he held the mirror in his own
hand, and that the old man was no longer by his side.
"Ah! how thoughtless I am; I promised to help him, and now the kind
old man is tiring himself, unaided, with his heavy work," said Hans in
self-reproach. Then he hid the magic mirror in his bosom and turned
towards the hole which formed the entrance to the treasures of the
mountains. But just as he was stooping to creep in, the old man
himself came out, bearing on his shoulder the shabby wallet with its
priceless contents. "Forgive me, sir," begged Hans in a tone of true
sorrow, "for having kept my promise so ill, but my mind was
spell-bound by the wonders I beheld."
"It matters not, my son," replied the old man mildly; "I have always
had to work alone and without help, and I will continue to do so. All
I ask of thee is a night's rest on the hay and a bite of bread when
thou canst spare it. But come now! Seest thou how the cloud above the
waterfall is gleaming rosy red? It is the reflection of the dawn. I
would not that thy herds should wait for thee, and thy harsh master
find thee behindhand with thy work. So let us hasten!"
And back they hurried on the dangerous path by which they had come;
the beech leaves gleamed in the first light of the new day as they
passed through the wood, and the thrushes were just beginning their
morning song.
Soon they stood on the ledge of rock, and a few minutes brought them
to the trap-door. The old man slipped in to snatch a little slumber
before he began another day's wanderings, but the boy could not think
of lying in his dark loft after all the splendour he had left behind,
so he went to let out his goats and take them to the mountain. But
to-day he could not bear to stay as usual in the tiny cottage where he
performed the light duties of the mountain herdsman, while the goats
clambered alone up the steep walls of rock in search of juicy plants,
and came back uncalled at the sound of the evening bell. To-day he
climbed with them up to the highest peaks, for he hoped to find some
opening through which he might see into the magic kingdom which the
mountain mirror had held before his view.
It was, indeed, a wondrous land which stretched far and wide before
him in fresh and fragrant beauty. It was his native land shining in
unimagined splendour. Crystal lakes gleamed in the distance, and the
snow-crowned mountain peaks glowed in the morning sunlight like the
roses in King Laurin's magic garden. But there was no palace here, no
lovely maiden among her flowers, and no old and yet nimble dwarfs. But
there, far away, scarcely visible even to the sharpest eye, a little
black dot moved along the winding mountain path, and the flashes which
now and then darted from it over to the rock where Hans was standing
amid his goats told him that it was the old man with the magic mirror.
"Oh! how I wish it was evening," sighed the boy, looking longingly at
the sun, which had scarcely run a quarter of its appointed course. At
last it was evening, and herd-boy and herds hastened homewards. The
boy did not stay long in the house. With a great piece of bread and
meat in his hand he climbed the steep ladder to the hay-loft, and
found to his joy the old man there already, waiting to receive the
food with humble thanks. Hans lost no time in going to sleep, that the
longed-for hour of the night journey might come the more quickly; and
when again a sudden light flashed across his eyes, he opened them in
delight and rose. But it was not the brilliance of the magic mirror
that had awakened him, but the beam of the morning sun. He looked
round in astonishment; he had slept so soundly that he had lost his
expected journey. It was now clear daylight, and the goats were loudly
calling their young master to his duty. He gave a hasty glance at his
companion, who still lay in deep slumber. Whether he had slept thus
since yesterday evening, or whether he was resting after his nightly
labours, Hans had no time to ask. Quickly he ran down the ladder into
the farm-yard, where all was life; then he took his shepherd's bag,
which hung behind the door, already filled with the daily portion of
food, and hurried with his impatient flock up towards the mountain.
Again he looked wistfully from his high rocky seat down on the
blooming meadows, and recognised the little man with the magic mirror
in the remote distance, and determined to keep his eyes open the whole
night. But when evening came, and he sought his couch, scarcely had he
lain down by the side of his aged friend, when deep sleep fell on his
eyelids, and left them only at the glance of the morning sun. Haste
and timidity always prevented him from disturbing the old man in his
sleep, and telling him once more the fervent wishes of his heart; and
so every morning he bore his unfulfilled desires up with him to the
mountain. Thus summer passed, and when one morning the first rough
breath of autumn chilled the boy's brow, there was a rustling behind
the rock on which he sat, and the old man, who had been his companion
for so many months, stood before him. The wallet on his shoulder was
full, and in his hand he held a staff as if he was ready to return to
his distant home, for so indeed he was.
"I come, my son," said the little man with his old grave kindliness,
"to thank thee for shelter and food, and to ask thee if thou hast any
wish which I can gratify."
Hans shouted with joy; but the old man raised his finger gravely--he
seemed to read into the boy's very soul.
"Neglect not sacred duties for the sake of idle curiosity," said he in
a tone of warning, and the boy blushed and was silent. Then Hans
thought of his good mother down in the valley, whose cottage he passed
every morning and evening, and found the poor woman always at the
window waiting to whisper a loving word, a motherly blessing to her
only child. But this morning her eyes had been dim with trouble, and
when he asked what was wrong she had answered with a sigh--
"Nothing, my good child, that thou canst alter; I am only thinking of
the approach of winter, and how the cold wind will whistle through my
battered cottage, and how I have no warm clothing to protect me from
the cold."
All this flashed like lightning through the boy's mind; tremblingly he
clasped his hands, and a prayer for help fell from his lips.
"That is right, my son," said the old man kindly, handing the boy a
little coin. "Despise this not for its mean appearance, and never use
it foolishly; and when I return next year, let me find thy hand as
open and thy heart as pure as I have found them now. Farewell."
He nodded kindly to the boy, took the cloak from his shoulder, spread
it on the rock, and placed himself on it, staff in hand, and with the
burden on his shoulders. Immediately the mantle rose, and hovered
before the boy's astonished eyes, bearing the little man up into the
air. The old man waved farewell from his airy height; then he pointed
southwards with his staff, and swift as an arrow flew the magic mantle
towards his far-off home. The boy watched the wonderful journey with
devoutly folded hands. Like the beat of eagle's wings was the motion
of the dark garment through the white clouds, and the little man kept
his balance perfectly, he guiding his flight with the staff in his
left hand, while the magic mirror in his right gleamed in the beams of
the morning sun like the diadem of carbuncles on the head of the
serpent queen. The last flash died away at last, and the boy sat once
more alone on his rocky seat, dreamily gazing on the gold coin in his
hand. It had evidently passed through many a hand before, for it
needed a sharp eye to trace the impression on its surface; on one side
the lion of San Marco stretched his royal limbs, and with raised head
kept guard over Venice, the Queen of the Sea, whose foot the Adriatic
kisses with its caressing waves, wedded to her anew each year by the
Doge's ring. The other side bore the name of one of the rulers of that
proud Republic. It was scarcely legible, and it had been long eclipsed
by a younger glory.
The boy, indeed, had no key to the understanding of the image and
inscription, but he felt confident the gift out of such a hand must
bring blessing in spite of its mean appearance, and so he kept the
coin carefully in his pocket. To-day he started joyfully at the tone
of the evening bell, said his prayer with more than usual fervour, and
hastened with winged feet after his thriving flock.
"Just look, dear mother, what I have brought you," he cried joyfully
through the window of the cottage, showing the old man's gift. "Do not
despise it," he begged earnestly, as he saw his mother's doubting
smile; "he told me not to despise it, the kind, powerful man who gave
it to me. Put it with your savings, and let us see what will happen."
As he spoke, his eyes shone so brightly with joy and confidence that
his good mother could not bear to vex him by her doubts; she promised
to lay the gold piece in the drawer, and bade her boy good night with
a loving smile.
* * * * *
Ten springs had passed over Tyrol's mountains and valleys, and there
had been many changes in the time. The young trees had grown tall and
leafy; the children had become men and women. Hans was no longer a
goat-herd, but a clever senner, as they call the mountain shepherds in
the Tyrol, and now the farmer's herds had been entrusted to his sole
care during the rest of their stay on the higher pastures, to which he
had led them early in spring. The setting sun glowed on the lofty
glacier before him, and its reflection flowed down to the night
pasture, and hung like a golden veil over the pine trees, beneath
whose wide branches the herds had lain down for their nightly rest.
But Hans stood before his cottage, which he had entered to-day for the
first time as senner, and gazed joyfully on his new charge.
The valleys were already slumbering in the evening shadows, but the
peaks of the glacier were aglow with purple, and reminded the young
man of an image that he had long borne in his soul with secret
longing; he thought now, as he had not done for months, of the
rose-garden before the crystal palace, and of the little man who had
been his yearly companion in the farmer's hay-loft, and who, every
autumn, had climbed the mountain side to say farewell to him, and then
with his wallet full of gold had returned on his magic mantle to his
distant home. He had never asked the old man for a glance into the
mountain mirror since he had received that grave warning about idle
curiosity, and these memories of King Laurin's realm had gradually
faded. But his reverence for the strange old man had remained
unchanged, and every day he had shared his supper with him out of
gratitude for the parting gift which Hans had long ago taken home to
his mother. He had not hoped or promised too much. With the little
man's dim old coin blessing had come into the hut of poverty, and the
money in the drawer had never grown less. There was always some left,
even when they erected on the site of the tumble-down cottage a firmly
built and comfortable house, and though after that they bought many a
much needed piece of furniture and warm clothing for the winter. There
was no need now to creep in secretly at even to receive the gifts of
the kind-hearted farmer's wife without her miserly husband's
knowledge. They were able first to keep one cow, and then two, and
then--Hans looked joyfully round on the slumbering herds--four fine
cows now rested there, his mother's property, which he had been
allowed to lead up to the mountain pastures to graze with his master's
cattle. The churlish farmer, indeed, had never granted him this
favour, but his unkindly eyes had closed for the last sleep the autumn
before, and the eyes which now shone in the farm-house were so mild
and lovely that it was a pleasure to obey their glance. What were
these eyes like? Hans tried to remember as he gazed at the glacier,
whose purple had changed to a pale rosy hue. Yes, yes, now he knows.
The eyes of Anneli, whom he had loved from childhood as his own dear
little sister, were just like the eyes of that fair maiden who used to
walk in the rose-garden by the dwarf king's side, and this brought him
back to the beginning of his reverie.
And now he began to wonder if the little man, if he returned, would
rest at night in the farmer's hay-loft, or, according to his old
custom, climb up the mountain to seek him here. Then he heard, not far
off, something like the sigh of a weary wanderer. The youth's sharp
ear was directed attentively towards the path which led from the
village to the senner's cottage, and which was now veiled in the
double shadow of the trees and of the falling night. Yes, it was
coming from that direction, and immediately Hans was ready to offer
help. He took his lantern in his hand, seized his alpenstock, and ran
down the path between the rocks and the dew-covered bushes. He had not
far to seek, for there, on a stone by the wayside, sat a dwarf in a
dark and shabby garment, and a well-remembered wallet hung from his
bent shoulders. The young man cast a hasty glance at the figure, and
then shouted aloud with delight. It was the old man of whom he had
just been thinking, and it was with grateful emotion that he found
that his old friend had not forgotten him, but that, in spite of the
darkness and his increasing infirmities, he had toiled up the path to
the mountains.
"Good evening, sir," said he joyfully, bending as reverently to kiss
the dwarf's withered hand as if he had been a lord of the land. "You
must be tired; take my arm, and let me carry your sack; that's the
way. And now, courage for a hundred steps or so, and we are at the end
of our journey." And with such care and reverence as are shown rather
to great princes than to such a poor little dwarf, Hans led the old
man over the last difficulties of the mountain path, and over the
threshold of his hut. Then he hastened to take the covering off his
couch of moss and spread it over the wooden bench before the hearth,
that the old man might rest his tired limbs on a softer seat. Next he
kindled a fire, and made a fritter which the senner who had preceded
him had taught him how to make. He had no drink to offer but good,
sweet, new milk; but Anneli's hand had provided richly for the wants
of the new senner, and the little wooden cupboard in the corner was
stocked with good things from the farm-house. The young man searched
in it joyfully for something dainty for his guest, and felt proud and
happy in his unwonted work. A white cloth was spread over the coarse
oaken table, and on it was placed the delicate fritter, with a plate
of eggs and bacon sending forth fragrance by its side. Proudly the
young man brought his guest to the well-set table, and both enjoyed
its good things in silent comfort. Then Hans led the old man, tenderly
as a child his beloved father, to his own couch of moss, and when the
little dwarf sank on it with a look of love and gratitude, the young
man spread the covering over him as he used to spread his jacket years
ago in the hay-loft. Then he sat down before the fire that the
flickering flame might not disturb the old man, and when at last his
deep breathing told that he was asleep, the youth rose and went out
into the open air. The moss-couch in the senner's cottage was not
broad, and Hans must not spoil the old man's comfort, so he went to
the night pasture, where the herds lay sleeping, and sank to rest in
the soft moss beneath the aged pines. They let their evergreen
branches fall over him protectingly, and the long moss that hung from
them served as covering to the youthful sleeper, while the glacier
torrents in the distant ravines sang his lullaby.
The days passed by in keener enjoyment than even his boyish dreams had
pictured. The hours were bright with happy sunshine, in spite of the
double burden of work which he, contrary to the custom of his
predecessors, had undertaken in the consciousness of his own powers
and fidelity. And when the day had flown by with its quick succession
of pleasure and toil, the evening hour would come when the beloved
guest sat at the fire and at the oaken table, and sometimes the
hitherto so silent lips would let fall words of grave wisdom.
Then came the hour of rest, calling the old man to the moss-bed under
the senner's roof; but Hans slipped out when the fire was dead to the
shelter of the old pine trees, and slept in their protection, lulled
to slumber by the song of the glacier stream.
One warm spring evening, when the jagged ice-crown of the glacier
gleamed with a bluish light beneath the full moon's beams, he did not
turn towards his soft couch beneath the trees, but hastened to the
grove of pines which rose above him on a steep wall of rock. With a
sharp axe on his shoulder, gleaming brightly in the moonlight, he
stepped along the well-known path across the green meadows to the dark
ravine which separated him from the wood on the rocky height. Was the
dream of his childhood now really fulfilled--was he going to look
through the magic mirror into the heart of the mountains? Oh no. The
spirit world had lost its power over his soul. His thoughts and
desires belonged now more than ever to real life.
A few days ago Anneli had come up with her mother to the senner's
cottage to see about the produce of the mountain farm, as the farmers
are in the habit of doing when the herds have been some time on the
high pastures; and while the mother inspected the dairy, tried the
cheese, and tasted the balls of butter, Anneli stood outside with Hans
and the grazing herds, and chatted with him pleasantly as in days gone
by.
"And do you remember, good Hans, what day to-morrow is?" she asked
with an arch look in her eyes, when Hans, after thinking in vain,
shook his head.
"Do you not know?" she said, laughing. "Why, Hans, to-morrow is the
first of May, and I am curious to know if I shall have a May-pole
raised for me."
"You, Anneli!" cried Hans, looking in astonishment on her beautiful
face--"you will have many a tree; they call you already 'the pearl of
the valley,' and the rich farmers' sons will fight for the honour," he
added in a low sorrowful tone.
This tone thrilled Anneli's heart; she leant towards him with innocent
confidence, and said with emotion--"Let them, Hans; but you know that
I shall take pleasure in no May-pole but _one_."
It was these words which were driving Hans now in the silence of night
through the dangerous ravine and the foaming torrent, and up the steep
precipice to the pine wood. Here he felled the chosen tree skilfully,
tore the bark from the smooth stem, and bore the trunk carefully on
his shoulder through shrubs and narrow mountain ways down into the
valley. His path was dark and difficult, and jutting rocks often
hemmed his footsteps; but his love for Anneli kept him from feeling
weary, and the thought of her joy always gave him new strength. Thus,
after hours of toil, he arrived at last in the village, and stood
before Anneli's door. Then he took a packet carefully out of his
shepherd's bag, and with the prettiest ribbons which his mother had
been able to find in the nearest town he adorned the tree; and that
Anneli's heart might make no mistake, he tied at the top a bunch of
alproses, such as he used to bring every evening when he was the
goat-herd and she a lovely little child. Then he planted the pole
firmly in the ground right before Anneli's window, and with a glance
at the bright ribbons fluttering gaily in the wind like the streamers
from a ship, he turned joyfully towards the mountain and his
slumbering herds.
It was evening, and the farewell sunbeams shed their gold on the
mountain meadows and the senner's dark flowing hair, as he went with
pail and stool to milk the herds just returning from the pasture. Well
he loved the mountain, the herds, and the evenings full of sunset
splendour and of peace. But to-day he had no eye for the glory around
him; he thought of the valley and of Anneli, who was to join to-day
for the first time in the village dance, and who would be led by some
richer hand. Hitherto, he had thought himself passing rich; to-day,
for the first time, he sighed over his poverty. He sat down beside his
favourite, Brownie, and began to milk; but in the middle of his work
his hands dropped on his lap, and he began to wonder who besides
himself had set up trees for Anneli, and whether she had known his
among them all. Surely she must have. The bunch of alproses at the top
would tell her, and he smiled to himself, and began again to milk.
Then a well-known voice called to him from the cottage, "Hallo, Hans!
where are you hiding? I have been searching the whole place for you."
Hans shouted back an answer, and there appeared above the hedge the
face of Seppi, the only one of the farm-servants who did not grudge
Hans his place in Anneli's favour, and who had always remained his
firm and faithful friend.
"Well, Seppi, what good news do you bring?" asked Hans, with a feeling
of presentiment. "What brings you so late to the mountain?"
"It is Anneli, self-willed girl," answered Seppi, laughing. "She will
not go to the dance without you. Quick, quick, put on your best
clothes. The fiddlers are ready, and the maidens waiting to be
fetched. I will stay here in your place to-night." Hans darted up like
an arrow and flew into the cottage, while Seppi took his seat beside
the cows, and went on with the unfinished work.
In a few minutes Hans appeared in holiday clothes, and in his hat a
garland and a ribbon like those on Anneli's May-pole. "Now, Seppi,
take good care of the cattle," said he, coming back to the hedge. "You
have known the beasts for years--ever since you were here for a while
as under-senner. Good-bye." And he hurried off.
But suddenly he remembered the little man, and that he had not told
Seppi about the expected guest. Notwithstanding his eagerness about
Anneli and the evening's merry-making, he ran back and commended the
dwarf to the care of his astonished friend. But now nothing kept him
back. Swift as the chamois before the hunter he flew down the steep
path, and reached the gate of the farm just as the festal procession
was moving along the village street to escort the "pearl of the
valley" to the dance.
She was waiting for him at the gate, and watching impatiently for his
coming. "I am so glad you are here at last," she said, stretching out
both her hands towards him. "You shall be my partner; I have chosen
you out of all the lads who have set up May-poles for me. Just look
how yours looks down on the other contemptible little things. Seppi,
the good fellow, went up to bring me the bunch of alproses and the
ribbon, that I might wear them for your sake."
She pointed smilingly to her fair head, which was gay with a sky-blue
ribbon, and to the bouquet at her breast. Hans looked at her in a
rapture of delight, and grasped her dear hand more firmly, for the
procession had now reached the farm-house, and the youths who had set
up May-poles in Anneli's honour came out from the rest and stood
before her, that she might choose one as her partner in the dance. But
great were the astonishment and envy of them all when they saw that
the former goat-herd had been preferred to them, and although they had
to consent to this arrangement, yet poor Hans owned from this moment
a number more of bitter foes. But he neither thought of this nor
feared it; he led the "pearl" which had fallen to his lot out through
the gate, and his face shone with happy excitement as he joined the
procession, and led his fair partner to the linden-trees where the
dance was to be.
[Illustration: ANNELI SEES THE MAY-POLE ERECTED BY HANS.]
Hans had always counted himself a happy fellow, but as he now led the
lovely Anneli in the merry dance beneath the green linden-trees, it
seemed as if he had never known before what happiness meant, and his
whole past life he counted now as nothing. But this life offers no
lasting happiness, and the purer it is the shorter is its reign.
Anneli looked up at him with unconscious tenderness, and whispered
that she would not dance that night with any one but him. The maiden's
softly spoken words reached the ear of Nazerl, the son of a rich
neighbour; and anger and envy blazed forth in his soul.
"Anneli, you must dance once with me," he said, stepping up to her;
but his petition sounded more like an imperious command.
"You know, Nazerl," answered the girl, "that Hans is my partner; you
must ask his consent." Now Hans was just bringing a glass to offer
Anneli some refreshment.
"Listen, goat-boy," said the rich farmer's son haughtily to the poor
senner, "I will let you know that I mean to dance now with Anneli."
And he seized her hand.
Hans was of a peaceable disposition, and his new happiness had not
made him proud, but this taunt was too much for him.
"Let go her hand, Nazerl," he said quietly, though his voice trembled.
"She may not dance with you."
"May she not, indeed, you beggar?" cried Nazerl; "then take this," and
he struck Hans in the face with clenched fist.
Anneli screamed, and poor Hans lost all control over himself; without
thinking, he hurled the glass in his tormentor's face, and with a loud
groan Nazerl fell pale and bloody to the ground. Again a cry of terror
escaped Anneli's lips, but it was not for the sake of the fallen
Nazerl, but for Hans, whose thoughtless deed must bring him into
trouble.
The music ceased, and all hastened to the motionless form that lay
stretched on the grass to offer help, while Hans stood by in
speechless astonishment at his own mad act.
Then he felt his hand seized, and Anneli's gentle voice whispered in
his ear, "Flee, oh flee, dear Hans, at once, for a minute's delay may
make flight hopeless."
But when Hans still hesitated, she caught his arm and, unnoticed by
the others, drew him away till they stood at some distance from the
lindens, and were hidden from their companions by the trees. Hans
still looked stunned and paralysed.
"Hans," she said more earnestly than before, laying her little hand
upon his arm--"Hans, listen to me and follow me. Flee as quickly as
you can, for all, all are against you, because I chose you in
preference to them. Flee, and hide yourself somewhere till the noise
of this is over and Nazerl is recovered."
"Ah, Anneli," answered Hans shuddering, "he is dead! Did you not see
how pale and motionless he lay?"
"Then there is all the more need for you to flee," said the maiden
decidedly; "listen, they are coming; go, go," she urged anxiously.
"Farewell, Anneli. Do not be angry with me, and never forget poor
Hans," and he looked down at her with sorrowful eyes.
"Never, never, Hans," she said in a firm voice, for the experience of
the last few minutes had ripened her self-knowledge and her will. "But
you will come back some day, guiltless and happy; I know you will. But
now go. They are coming to look for you."
He stooped, and, overcome with the sorrow of the moment, pressed a
kiss on her sweet lips.
"Farewell, farewell, my Anneli," he whispered once more, and then he
turned and fled like a hunted chamois. It was dark on the path along
which he hastened, but darker in his soul. The short-lived happiness
to which he had so joyfully opened his heart was gone, perhaps never
to return; even the thought of Anneli's love, which she had so frankly
revealed to him, could not scatter the dark shadows.
If Nazerl was dead, then he was a murderer, and must remain so all his
life, no matter what might be his punishment and his repentance. He
shuddered, and hastened trembling up the very path which his joyful
footsteps had pressed a few hours before, when his heart was full of
vague but sweetest hopes.
How all, all had changed in so short a time!
The moon, which before had beamed almost with the golden light of day,
seemed now as pale as Nazerl's face; the night wind moaned through the
trees like the sighs of a dying man, and the harp-like music of the
glacier stream sounded like avenging thunder. Hans flew onwards,
despair in his heart, great drops of anguish on the brow so lately
crowned with calm content. There lay the night pasture. The moonbeams
fell across it, and showed him the slumbering animals. He pressed his
lips closer at the thought that he must say farewell to the herd that
had grown so dear to him.
Soon he stood at the senner's cottage. He looked through the window.
All was peaceful as usual. The bed was still unoccupied, and the old
man was not at the table; but Seppi was merrily turning the fritters
and whistling a cheerful tune.
"Seppi, Seppi!" cried poor Hans outside, as he knocked with trembling
finger against the panes.
Seppi turned his head in surprise, and when he saw Hans standing out
in the moonlight, he came to the window and drew back the bolt.
"What's the matter, Hans? Is anything wrong?" he said hastily.
"Alas! yes," sighed Hans, and he told his friend in hurried words the
misfortune that had befallen him.
"The impudent fellow," cried Seppi angrily. "You may be sure your
reminder will not do him any harm; and as for his being dead, you
know, Hans, 'weeds wont die.' So don't be vexing yourself beyond
measure. And are you going away? Where will you go?"
"I do not know, Seppi," answered Hans sadly--"as far as my feet will
carry me; away from my beloved country, perhaps for ever;" and he
wiped a tear from his cheek. "But you must do me one kindness, that I
may go content. As soon as you can get down to the valley, go to my
good old mother, and tell her not to grieve too much. Tell her that I
will try to do right, though I must leave the mountains of the Tyrol;
and beg Anneli never, never to forget me. And one thing more, Seppi.
Take good care of the little man, and let him want for nothing.
Promise me this."
Seppi nodded, and his good, honest face had a cheery smile on it as he
gave his hand to his friend, who hurried away on his restless
wandering. He gave a hasty glance at the night pastures, which he now
reached; the long mossy veil of the old pine-trees, beneath which he
had so often slept, fluttered in the wind like mourning banners. His
favourite brown cow raised her head slowly, and the bell round her
neck sounded like a sad farewell. Hot tears flowed from his eyes, but
he had no time for long leave-taking, he must hurry on. Yonder rose
the rugged brow of the glacier, with its furrows lighted by the weird
moonbeams. He passed it by winding paths through the gloom of the
fir-trees, now climbing steep ascents, now descending into a ravine
with its foaming torrent--paths known to no eye and foot save those of
the boldest mountaineer.
At last he stood on the lofty ridge from which the road led downwards
into an unknown valley and unfamiliar fields. He threw a last glance
back towards his own loved mountain, then he hastened without further
delay on his sorrowful journey.
* * * * *
The golden sunlight of evening lay once more on mountain and valley,
and floated on the waves of the lovely river Inn, which flowed as
peacefully as if it had never tried to foam and rage like its brothers
in the mountains. A youth was descending the mountain with tottering
footsteps. It was the last of the hills that had lain between him and
the great and populous town that stood in the valley below. His blue
eyes looked dim and sunken, his long hair hung tangled round his head,
and his once respectable clothing bore traces of hasty and toilsome
journeying.
The son of the quiet mountains looked down in amazement at the bustle
in the town below, and a deep sigh escaped his lips. But he collected
himself, and descended the last declivity to the bank of the stream,
across which a bridge led to the town. At one end of this bridge stood
a watch-house, for it was a needful thing in those unsettled times to
keep a sharp look-out on friend and foe. Two soldiers sat at the oaken
table before the door. The young man went up to the building, and
stood timidly a few steps from the men. At last the elder of the two
raised his head.
"Look, Franzerl," said he, after a hasty glance at the young wanderer;
"there comes a lad from your mountains, but he does not look so
cheerful as you did when you came."
Franzerl looked up, but scarcely had he met the wanderer's eye than he
sprang up and with a cry of joy caught his arm.
"Hans, dear Hans, where have you come from?" he cried. "Do not you
remember me? Do you not know Franzerl, with whom you and Anneli used
so often to play, and with whom you so often shared your bread and
cheese, when my poor mother had nothing to give to her hungry little
Franzerl?"
Hans--for it was he--looked with joyful surprise at the cheerful
young face, and recognised at once his old playfellow, who years ago
had left his native valley to push his fortune in the great world, and
whose friends had long believed him to be dead. He had become a
soldier; but in spite of his stern employment his heart had remained
as warm and true as ever. He drew his old friend to the table where
the other man sat, and offered him some of the fiery drink in the
glass before him.
"Drink, my good fellow," he said pressingly, "drink--you seem to be in
need of refreshment--and then tell me what brings you hither."
The rough kindness touched the poor wanderer's heart, and acted like
magic on his weary spirit. It was the first familiar face that he had
seen for many days--the first pleasant reminder of days gone by, and
he found it sweet to open his heart to this friend of his childhood,
and tell him of the folly that had driven him from home, and how he
had wandered since from mountain to mountain begging a bite of bread
and a drink of milk from kind-hearted herdsmen; for he had not
ventured to go down to the villages, where the news of what had
happened might have arrived before him. "And now," he said, "I am
going away--away to some far-off country, where they know nothing of
Nazerl or of Hans, or even of the beautiful land of the Tyrol."
"You are very foolish," laughed Franzerl. "Are you quite sure that
Nazerl is dead? He had always a thick skull, as I know full well.
Don't be a fool, but stay here and become a brave soldier like us.
Believe me, it is a merry life, and it is possible to be a good man
even under this coat."
Hans hesitated a moment; he had never thought of this, but Franzerl
overwhelmed him with persuasive eloquence.
"Look here, Hans; to-morrow or next day we are going to Italy, a
country that, they say, is even more lovely than our own. Ours is a
cheerful life, and when you come back in two or three years grass will
have grown over the whole affair, and they will not dare to say a word
to you after you have worn the Emperor's uniform."
"But Anneli?" sighed Hans.
"You cannot see Anneli for a time at any rate, and if she is really
worthy of you, she will be true to you."
Yes, Franzerl was right, Hans saw that; so he agreed to his proposal,
and went with his friend to the recruiting sergeant, who was glad to
receive the fine fellow into his ranks.
* * * * *
It was autumn. The morning wind swept over the Adriatic, rippling its
deep blue waves, and played with the dark hair of a youth who leant in
deep reverie against the archway of the Piazza di San Marco, gazing
dreamily at the flow of the Grand Canal, which, after cutting Venice
with its great curve, mingles its waters with the waves of the
Adriatic.
It was Hans. The mountains and valleys of his native land lay far
away. It was long since he had left the last mountain-pass of the
Tyrol far behind, but he could not leave his love for home there at
the boundary--it filled him with secret longings in this beautiful,
but foreign land. What good did all the splendour of this strange
country do him--all the lofty palaces and art-trophies of the queenly
city--all the sweet melody of this unknown tongue? Could one of those
musical sounds be compared with Anneli's voice when she said, "I am so
glad you have come, dear Hans"? Could one of these marble towers
attempt to rival the jagged glacier peaks when they shone with the
purple of the evening sky? And when the horn sounded at sunset through
the mountains, echoed a hundred-fold from clefts and deep ravines, and
dying softly amid the shades of the valley, who would compare with
that the tones of the music which day and night hovered on the waters
through the streets of Venice?
Hans raised his tearful eyes: the sky, at least, must be the same
which spans the valleys of the Tyrol. Then he noticed a figure on a
slender pillar--a figure which he must have seen long years before. A
brazen lion with a proudly flowing mane raised its kingly head, as if
keeping watch over the city below, and over the sea that kissed its
feet. The young man dashed the rising tear from his eye, and looked
thoughtfully up at the kingly beast. Yes, indeed, that was the same
lion which was marked on the coin that the little man gave him long
ago, and which in the secret drawer had kept watch and guard over his
mother's treasure. A smile passed like a sunbeam over his troubled
face as he thought of that sunny autumn morning when the old man said
good-bye to him, and when he watched him from the rock as he sailed
through the air on his magic mantle.
"Oh! I wish I had such a ship," he said with a sigh. Then, in the
familiar accents of his native tongue, the words sounded in his ear,
"Good morning, Hans."
Hans started--there was no one near. Had a dream mocked him? But no,
there it was again--"Look up, Hans, up here." And Hans looked up.
Above him, out of the high bow-window of one of those proud palaces,
leant a familiar head with snowy locks and dark earnest eyes that
smiled kindly down on poor Hans.
He uttered a cry of joy, his first since he came to this foreign land,
and quick as an arrow he darted into the archway, and entered the
portal of the palace. His foot flew over marble steps and velvet
carpets; but he had no eye for that. On he went, up to where, leaning
over the golden banister of the landing-place, a noble and
well-remembered face awaited him. Full of emotion, he stood before the
old man, who gave him his hand in loving greeting. No longer a shabby
coat, but a garment of black velvet covered his form, and his withered
but wonder-working hand gleamed with costly diamonds. But the youth's
affection broke the barriers of this marvellous change, and tenderly,
as on that spring evening on the mountain when he had brought the old
man into his cottage, he pressed his lips against the kind hand, and
said from the fulness of his heart, "God bless you, sir. I bless Him
for letting me find you here in this foreign land."
[Illustration: HANS RECEIVES A HEARTY WELCOME FROM AN OLD FRIEND.]
"Not a foreign land, Hans; I am in my own country," answered the noble
Venetian, as he led the young man through the splendid halls, whose
stately walls were adorned with the masterpieces of those immortal
artists who called Italy their home. Then they sat down together in
the wide bow-window, and Hans looked joyfully into the old man's
venerable countenance.
"So you did not forget the poor herdsman in your splendid home?" said
he.
"Forget thee, Hans!" replied the noble Venetian--"forget thee, who
didst think of me in the midst of love and pleasure, and even in thy
flight, when thy heart was filled with deadly anguish! No, indeed. I
long to reward those years of faithful love, and perhaps the
opportunity has come at last."
"Oh, sir," cried Hans with shining eyes, "will you tell me how things
go at home, where you have been more lately than I? Tell me if Nazerl
recovered, if my mother has ceased to grieve about me, and if Anneli
still remembers me."
"Nazerl is dead--but through no fault of thine," said the old man
soothingly, for Hans had looked terror-stricken at his opening words.
"He soon recovered from the trifling wound caused by thy hand; but his
own foolhardiness drove him up to the highest points of rock after a
chamois, and a rash step hurled him into the ravine. It was not till
long afterwards that they found his mangled corpse. As for thy mother
and Anneli, thou mayest see for thyself."
So saying he rose, stepped up to a richly carved cabinet, and took
from a secret compartment a flashing jewel. The young man recognised
it well; it was the wondrous mountain mirror; and now he held it once
more in his hand, and looked searchingly on its shining surface. Light
mists rolled over it; they grew gradually thinner and thinner, till at
last there lay before him in the splendour of the morning sunlight his
own beloved valley, and the substantial farm-house, Anneli's home. He
gave no heed to the cheerful stir in barn and stable, nor to the busy
preparation for the returning herds. No, his eye pressed through the
clear window-panes to a well-remembered room. It was quiet and cosy,
as in days gone by. At the window sat Anneli, fair and lovable as
ever, but her countenance bore traces of gentle melancholy. The
snow-white thread rested in her hands, and her lips moved in earnest
talk with the two women at the other window--the farmer's widow and
the old mother that Hans was longing to comfort. It seemed to Hans
that the conversation concerned him, and as if now and then his name
fell from Anneli's rosy lips. And every time she raised her eyes
towards the opposite wall, Hans followed the direction of her gaze,
and saw, carefully preserved by glass and frame, a well-remembered
blue ribbon and bunch of withered mountain flowers. At this sign of
faithful memory tears started to the young man's eyes, and when he had
dried them, and looked again on the magic mirror, the dear vision had
vanished, and the glass flashed once more in the light of the Italian
sun.
"Listen, my son; I will tell thee the wish that my heart cherishes for
thee," said the old man, as he laid the magic mirror carefully back in
the cabinet. "I am alone and lonely, the last representative of a name
of ancient renown. When I was young and strong, I was filled with a
desire after secret knowledge. I sought the gold of the mountains far
and near--thou knowest this well--heaping treasures on treasures, and
all the while I never noticed that I was growing old, and was still
alone in life. Stay now with me. I will enrich thy mind with the
treasures of my knowledge, and thy heart shall remain pure. Thou shalt
be my son, the heir of my wealth; and thy name shall be inscribed
among the noblest names in the golden book of Venice."
The young man clasped his hands, and leant towards his aged friend.
"Forgive me, noble sir," he begged humbly, "if I cannot gratify your
wishes; but what can riches and honour do for a heart that is pining
with longings after home? The scene which I have just witnessed--the
vision of Anneli and my home--has shown me where alone my happiness
must be sought. But if you wish to grant me a favour, then loose the
fetters that bind me here, and let me go as quickly as possible back
to my loved mountains."
The old man sat a moment in silent thought. "I would fain have kept
thee with me," he said at last, "for thy heart is true and pure; but
my wishes must yield to thy happiness."
So saying, he rose and once more opened the cupboard which hid his
magic hoards. From its most secret recess he brought a dark object,
and when he unrolled it, it proved to be the magic mantle, the
air-ship of which Hans had thought so longingly a short time before.
The old man spread it on the balcony, embraced the astonished youth
with the tenderness of a father, and led him towards the mantle.
"Now stand on it," he said; "take this staff to guide thy flight; and
think of me with love."
Hans obeyed as in a dream. The old Venetian waved his hand, and the
mantle rose and bore the young man up into the air.
Not till his eyes met the full light of the open air, and the fresh
wind played with the folds of the mantle, did Hans awake to the
reality of his situation. He looked sorrowfully back at his noble
friend, who still stood in the bow-window looking after him, with a
smile on his aged features, and waving a farewell with his withered
hand. Hans stretched out his arms towards him, and cried in a voice of
deep emotion, "Farewell, farewell, noble sir," and the mantle bore him
onwards with the swiftness of the storm-wind.
For a moment the Queen of the Sea gleamed far below, in the splendour
of her towers and palaces; the sunlight flashed from the high windows
of her churches, and the black gondolas glided noiselessly over the
winding canals. But soon this scene grew faint in the distance, and
nothing was left of it all but the sea stretching in a blue line along
the horizon. Hans turned his face homewards, and directed his course
towards the north. Swift as an arrow he flew onwards; the air rustled
around him like the sound of eagles' wings; in the dim distance lay
the mountain peaks of his native land, but they began to shine out
more and more clearly from the blue mists. Soon he was floating above
that rocky pass which long months before he had trodden with deadly
sorrow in his heart; and now he breathes the air of his native land.
With beaming eyes he looked down over the side of the magic eagle
whose dark pinions were bearing him onwards to his home. Far below
him lay the mountains with the grazing herds; from his cloudy height
they seemed no larger than the lady-birds with which he used to play
when a boy, and the senners' cottages like the round pebbles in the
village brook. He almost felt as if he could touch the glacier peaks
with his hand, so near did they seem in the splendour of the midday
sun. He looked down into their icy clefts, and saw the glacier torrent
rolling far below in milk-white waves; but the magic boat sped further
and further, still bearing Hans swiftly onwards to his home.
The young man now began to view the country more carefully, and soon
he directed his course westwards. Then he uttered a cry of joy, for
they were sailing towards a well-known mountain, and the mantle, as if
it knew exactly its appointed task, sank gently downwards, till Hans
found himself on a projecting rock. It was the same spot from which he
had often, when a goat-herd, looked down longingly on the smiling
meadows, searching for the entrance to the dwarf king's magic
realm--the same spot where the old man bade him farewell that autumn
morning long ago, before taking his airy journey to his distant home.
Hans sprang joyously from his magic boat, laid the staff on it with
whispered words of thanks, and immediately the mantle rose, and flew
swift as an arrow up into the clouds. Hans stood watching it for a few
moments, then he hurried down the old familiar path. A little below
herds were grazing--his herds--and Seppi was leaning against a rock
watching them, and singing the while in his own cheery way. Hans
glanced joyfully at the distant scene, and hurried on. There was the
night pasture, and now he arrived at the senner's cottage; he did not
wait, however, even to peep in at the window, so eager was he to reach
the village. With flying footsteps he hurried down the rocky path
which he had climbed a few months before with deadly anguish in his
heart.
But to-day--to-day all was changed. With joy throbbing in every
pulse-beat Hans felt the stony path softer than the grass of the
pasture-lands, and the sound of the stream seemed sweeter than the
melody of harps. At last he reached the valley, and just as he entered
it the evening bell began to ring. At the sound he stopped, bared his
head, and knelt by the wayside; but when the last tone died away he
rose and hastened up the village street, then with a bound he crossed
the brook and reached the farm-yard gate. There was no one to be seen,
for the servants were at supper in the house. Quickly, but
noiselessly, Hans slipped through the yard, and stood with beating
heart at the door of the sitting-room. There was no sound of life
within. Hans put his ear to the key-hole and listened. Then he heard
Anneli's sweet voice saying, "Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, and
bless Thy gifts. Amen." And when the Amen was said, Hans opened the
door and stepped over the threshold.
"Have you any of God's gifts to spare for a poor wanderer?" he said
softly.
"Hans, dear Hans!" was Anneli's glad cry, for in spite of the twilight
and his unfamiliar dress she recognised him at a glance, and soon she
lay weeping with joy in the tall soldier's arms.
* * * * *
Next May-day a stately May-pole stood, as before, at Anneli's window,
richly adorned with fluttering blue ribbons and with the bunch of
alproses at the top, and Anneli once more walked on the arm of her
Hans to the dance beneath the lindens. But this time the rich farmers'
sons could not say a word of protest, for Anneli was now a fair and
happy bride.
Meantime, the brave Franzerl had tired of the merry soldier's life,
for it had grown dull to him since the return home of his dear friend
Hans. So he had laid aside the Emperor's uniform, and come back to his
native valley.
RHINE GOLD: A Tale of the Nibelungen
[Illustration: HACO THROWS THE TREASURE OF THE NIBELUNGEN INTO THE
RHINE.]
Evening's dim shadows had ceased to hover in vague mystery around the
walls of Worms. They had, hours before, gathered in dark masses in
every nook of the royal city, hiding like traitors from the light of
the clear full moon that flooded with silvery splendour the Rhine
river and the Wonnegau on its banks, where, transformed by the soft
touch of the moonbeams, stood the proud seat of Burgundy's mighty
kings.
Slumber and silence reigned in the palace which, but the morning
before, had resounded with the clash of weapons and a cheerful
bustling life; for King Gunther, accompanied by his brothers and his
bravest men-at-arms, had that day set out on a warlike expedition,
leaving the town and the castle and his fair queen Brunhild to the
care of the truest of the true, bold Haco, in whose courage and wisdom
he placed the fullest confidence.
With a loose velvet mantle half hiding his gold-gleaming armour, Haco
paced the streets of the lonely city, and listened attentively for
some sound to break the stillness of the night. A distant noise like
the rumbling of many wheels reached his ear, and an eager look came
into his eyes. He glanced over at the palace, in the safest room of
which lay Brunhild, his honoured queen. Out of love to her he had
murderously slain the noble Siegfried, the immortal hero of the
Nibelungen; and the shame of the deed will last to the remotest ages,
dimming with rust the splendid escutcheon of his fame.
When he had convinced himself of the undisturbed repose of the royal
household, he turned and walked towards the minster, in whose shadow
lay another palace. There dwelt the beautiful Kriemhild, King
Gunther's sister, and widow of the noble Siegfried, whose death she
mourned with inconsolable grief. The stillness of repose hovered also
round these walls. The windows were dark, the doors barred, and amidst
her maids lay the royal widow in her first deep sleep.
The moonbeams glided over the roof of the palace, and glanced
suspiciously at the dark figure of the man who stood gazing anxiously
up at the windows. When he saw that there was no movement, he went
towards the tower built of huge blocks which guarded the entrance to
the castle, took a bunch of rusty keys from under his mantle, and
opened the locks and bolts of the ironbound door which led into the
vaults. The last bolt was loosed, the heavy gate opened, and the
moonlight streamed in freely over the treasures which were here
displayed in splendid piles. Crowns of gold richly adorned with
diamonds, bracelets and chains gleaming with jewels, lay there in rich
profusion. Wrought by the skilful hands of the dwarfs, they had been
kept hid by the little folk in secret mountain recesses until
Siegfried came, and Alberich, the dwarf-king, had been obliged,
notwithstanding his magic power and cunning, to yield to the might of
the hero's arm, and give him the precious hoards of jewels. And beside
these, heaped up to the very roof, were bars upon bars of uncoined
gold, only waiting the impress of the mint to change them into an
exhaustless hoard. This was the treasure of the Nibelungen, the widow
Kriemhild's rightful possession, which the heroes had brought her a
few weeks before from the land of the Nibelungen. With full hands she
had scattered gold among these heroes, and had also given rich gifts
to the vassals of her brother, the king of Burgundy, for she had now
come to live in his land that she might be near the corpse of her
beloved husband. And what Kriemhild's beauty and misfortune had failed
to do, her bounteous gifts accomplished. The hearts of the Burgundians
were turned towards her, so that Haco, the watchful hero, began to be
anxious about his own influence and her probable revenge. So he
determined to rob her of the Nibelungen treasure, that she might be
deprived of the means of working his ruin.
At a place not far from the royal city, where the Rhine flows in a
still deeper channel, stood Haco a few hours later in a boat on the
river, and watched the high-piled waggons, the first of which now
passed over the shaking bridge, rolled on with threatening rumble, and
stopped close to the low parapet. Haco stretched forth his stalwart
arm and removed the back of the waggon, so that its precious burden
slid into the depths below.
The stream gleamed brightly in the radiance of gold and precious
stones, the jewels whirled round and round in the rapid waters, then
sank down flashing from wave to wave, till they had reached the still,
deep bed of the river. Waggon after waggon was silently emptied by
Haco's powerful hand, and each time the costly load made the Rhine
river flash with borrowed splendour. So hour after hour went by in
silent and restless haste. When the last gold bar had disappeared
beneath the water, the drivers swore an oath of eternal secrecy,
received rich rewards of gold, and led their waggons away in endless
line. Haco stood alone in the boat, and watched them till the last man
had vanished in the shades of night; then he stooped to gaze down into
the stream.
There far down lay the treasure of the Nibelungen, and the Rhine
flowed on in silence over the golden secret that it hid. No tongue
would ever tell the tale, no arm would ever reach the hoards. Why,
then, did Haco still stand lost in thought?--why did he gaze down
gloomily into the river depths? Was it that the shadows of the past,
or visions of a bloody future, rose from the gleaming waves? Was he
thinking of Kriemhild's beauty and the passionate love which his now
hard heart had once felt for the beautiful princess, and which, when
rejected, changed into anger and hatred that moved his arm to the
murder of Siegfried and the robbery of the Nibelungen treasure? Or did
he see with prophetic eye that time in which the now helpless one
should take revenge on all who had injured her--a revenge which should
exterminate the heroes of Burgundy to the last man.
* * * * *
Many hundred years had passed over the world since that night robbery;
blood and tears had been shed, dried, and forgotten; new nations had
arisen and the old ones fallen, so that there was scarcely a page of
the world's chronicle to tell of their struggles, hopes, and tears.
All things had changed. The new had taken the place of the old, only
to yield in its turn to a newer order still. Nothing was the same but
ever young, ever beautiful, ever innocent nature, and the human heart
with its love and hate. The Rhine still flowed and the Wonnegau on its
banks still bloomed as of old, but its name was changed; the Cathedral
of Worms still pointed to the sky, but it was not the same building in
the shadow of which Kriemhild's palace used to stand. The generation
that now trod the same soil knew nothing of the Nibelungen--the
tradition of those heroes lived only in some half-forgotten songs. The
sunken treasure had long since been thought a myth, and with an
incredulous smile the wise men of those days pointed to the stream
which was said to hide such a "golden secret."
Nevertheless, it was no myth; the treasure still lay beneath the
waters. Not a crown, not a bracelet was lost; not a diamond had fallen
from the brilliant setting; for, as if held together by magic hand,
the jewels had remained firmly united; but wave after wave had rolled
on unceasingly, day and night, from year's end to year's end, and
softly and gradually the treasure had been pressed on further into the
bed of the river. The Wonnegau lay behind it; there the waves foamed,
whirling over the hidden reefs beneath, and further on towards the sea
they roared loudly against the walls of the Pfalzburg, then flowed
caressingly past the blooming vines which wound their clustered
garlands round the white cottages of the vine-dressers.
The treasure of the Nibelungen had been carried in safety, though
without any guiding hand, past all these different scenes, and the
waves had borne it further and further into the shadow of the bank,
bit by bit, until, after many years, it lay at the foot of a rock that
rose high and bold above the waves. The moonbeams wove a silver
garland round its granite brow, and for centuries tradition echoed
round its jagged peak; but a row of crags surrounded the foot of the
rock, and the foaming rage of the waves kept away even the boldest.
There into that deep rocky bed the waves bore the treasure, and now
it rested safely hidden at the foot of the Loreley rock.
But treasures which have once gleamed in the sunlight, and been
grasped by human hands, can never rest in darkness; they strive to
reach again the light of day and the warm living hand of man. Slowly
they rise from year to year, till at last they glow in the light of
the sun, and await a pure hand to set them free, to do good with their
riches, and so to expiate the guilt which was attached to them. It was
thus that the treasure of the Nibelungen pressed upwards. It rose
slowly, slowly, for sighs and blood and tears hung more heavily on it
than on other sunken hoards. But at last, about a thousand years after
that night when Haco threw the treasure into the stream, it had made
its way up through the water.
It was just such a delightful spring night as that memorable one long
ago; work had long since ended in the blooming vineyards, rest and
peace lay all around. The night-wind came softly from the mountains
and bore the fragrance of the vines across the Rhine; the moon stood
high in heaven, its light glided trembling down on the ledges of the
Loreley and kissed the feet of the rock, which until now had lain in
deep shadow. There in magic radiance floated the jewels of the
Nibelungen treasure, so that the Rhine shone brightly as its waves
played round the golden hoard. The night-wind blew more strongly,
bearing on its wings something like a spirit, which sank in a veil of
mist round the point of the rock, and then stood in that majestic
beauty which had in days long past touched Haco's proud heart and won
the love of the hero Siegfried. It was Kriemhild, once Siegfried's
sorrowing widow, and afterwards King Etzel's queen in the distant land
of the Huns. As Queen of Hungary, she invited the Burgundian heroes to
her kingdom, that she might demand the stolen treasure from Haco, or
take revenge on him for Siegfried's murder and the robbery of her
gold. But the vengeance which should only have overtaken one fell upon
all, even on her own little son. Kriemhild's proud heart was softened
by the blow, and with a pang of keen repentance she thought of those
other mothers whom her mad revenge had rendered childless. One way
only was left her of giving happiness instead of sorrow. With a desire
that rose to heaven like a prayer, she thought of her lost treasure.
If she could but get it now, what troubled hearts would be soothed by
her who had heretofore brought misery to happy ones! But the swift
sword sent her to the grave with her longings unsatisfied. The same
slaughter that had freed her from her enemies had robbed her of her
child and of her life.
Her spirit hovered often round the scenes of her youthful happiness,
seeking the hidden treasure in the river-bed. That night, when it rose
to the surface, and its golden radiance was seen bright and clear,
Kriemhild came, thinking to set it free. Her eyes gazed longingly on
the floating gold, and her arms, light and transparent as the
moonbeams, were outstretched over the rock as if she would fain grasp
the moving treasure. Then she glided with spirit tread down over the
jagged moonlit rock by paths which no human foot could follow, and
soon she stood on the narrow ledge over which the Rhine river flowed
in gleaming ripples. Her white foot was covered by the water, but she
heeded it not; her eye gazed fixedly on the treasure for which she had
longed unceasingly in life, and which now hovered close to her feet in
the dancing waves. Her lips moved softly, her hands were clasped as if
in earnest desire, and she stooped to reach the golden crown which now
knocked with a metallic sound against the rock and almost touched her
foot; but when she stretched out her transparent hand, and thought she
had touched the point of the diamond cross, the crown shrank from her
fingers, sank into the stream, and was borne away out of her reach by
the mighty waters. Kriemhild sank on her knees; the waves wet her long
flowing locks, and the hem of her purple robe--but she felt them not.
Only one thought, one feeling, lived in her heart--the longing to
recover the treasure. She bent forward once more; her white hands
clutched again and again at the jewels which shone around her in
tempting nearness, and yet always shrank from her touch. Other
treasures floated towards her, the bars of gold came close to her
feet, then started back when the white hands grasped at them, and
gradually all disappeared in the middle of the stream.
Kriemhild's cold lips trembled, her transparent hands ceased their
useless toil, and were clasped again in prayer. Then there was a
louder rushing in the river, and a majestic shadow floated down the
stream. Kriemhild's eye watched its onward movement; nearer and nearer
it came, till it passed through the foaming gold stream, and
approached the rock where the Queen now stood erect and majestic.
[Illustration: CHARLEMAGNE MEETS WITH KRIEMHILD. F. C., p. 108.]
It was Charlemagne, once Germany's beloved and mighty ruler, who every
year leaves his tomb at Aachen, glides along the Rhine to bless the
vineyards on its banks, and then lies down again in the golden coffin
until the fragrance of a new spring awakes him to another beneficent
progress. Now he stood before her on the river, clad in his purple
mantle and his golden crown, with the sword which formerly decided the
fate of nations in his cold right hand. His foot rested on the shield
of Roland, his beloved nephew, which they had laid beside him in the
tomb, and which now bore him like a trusty boat. The water rippled
over the golden edge, and washed the grave-dust from the flashing
emerald which the hero of Ronceval once won from the giant and
fastened as an ornament on his shield.
"Who art thou?" asked the dead Emperor, when his gaze had rested long
on Kriemhild's face. "Thou art no mortal woman; I know that by the
glance of thine eye, which speaks to me of bygone ages. It was thus
that Fastrada's eyes shone; her golden hair was soft and silken as
thine. I have not forgotten it, though I have slept for more than
half-a-thousand years in the dark vault--yet thou art not Fastrada,
the Emperor's beloved wife."
"No, great Emperor," said the Queen; "I was once Kriemhild, the wife
of Siegfried, the hero of the Nibelungen, who ruled over the land
which was also subject to thy sway. The present generation know almost
nothing of his glory, but in thy times, O Emperor, his renown was
still bright."
"I know him well, that model of all knightly virtues," said the
Emperor thoughtfully, "and his fate and thine are familiar to me. It
was but the old and yet ever new song that sounds through all
time--the song of the victory of evil over good--which made my life
also one of pain and trouble. But what brings thee hither, O Queen?"
"If thou knowest my fate, noble Emperor," answered Kriemhild, "thou
knowest also what I seek for here. Thou knowest the misery I caused in
life. When repentance came it was at the last moment, and my time was
gone for earthly works of love. But now, perhaps, my spirit may be
permitted to grasp this treasure, cause of so much sin, and use it
well and wisely, till as many tears are dried as have been shed, and
as much sorrow healed as was once caused by me.
"See yonder, noble Emperor! there gleams the Nibelungen hoard, the
bequest left me by my husband, but of which Haco robbed me. It has
risen, and awaits only the delivering hand; but no one comes. So I
would fain grasp the treasures and seize the moving bars of gold. Then
in the stillness of the night I would take them into the abodes of
poverty and misfortune, so that when the inmates awake Kriemhild's
treasure might dry the tears of need and despair. But it is not
permitted me."
The Emperor turned his face and gazed searchingly down at the jewels,
which floated in bright clear radiance on the waters of the Rhine.
"Thou askest a thing impossible, O Queen," he said at length; "knowest
thou not the limits which debar spirits from the deeds of mortals? It
is only a guiltless, living, human hand which may change the sentence
that hangs over them. But the Nibelungen treasure has long since been
forgotten. Yet look! Thou no longer seest the jewels in the full size
of olden days. Wave after wave has gnawed at them; the waters have
worked unceasingly through long centuries at this tedious task. See
how the ornaments on the bracelets and crowns have shrunk, and how
slender the links of the chains have become. The Rhine has taken the
gold of thy treasure, and with it fertilised the blooming meadows on
its banks. Nightly the gold set free rises in light mists above the
stream and sinks in blessing on mountain and valley, and when autumn
comes thy gold gleams in every cluster, ripens in every ear of corn.
Freer, stronger, more joyous are the people of these meadows--and that
is the blessing of the Nibelungen treasure, which rests unseen in
earth and air and water--thus will the guilt and tears be done away
with which once lay heavy on this hoard. Then have patience, O Queen,
for a few short years--then thou wilt search in vain for thy treasure.
Meantime other ministries are thine."
The Emperor bowed his head in courteous farewell, and sailed on his
magic boat up the moonlit stream.
Kriemhild gazed after him. The emerald in the point of the shield
flashed brightly in the moonlight, and the wide purple mantle
fluttered above the gleaming waves. The Emperor blessed the vineyards
as he passed; and when the last glimmer of his crown grew pale and
the veil of night concealed him, the Queen once more looked at the
gold hoard at her feet. The dead Emperor had spoken truly; her eyes
now perceived it too; so she could wait in patience till the last
crown, the last gold bar, had melted in the sparkling river.
The treasure's time of freedom was passed; no delivering hand had
come. The jewels slowly shrank together round the foot of the Loreley
and fell into their watery bed. Their splendour was extinguished;
still and dark the river flowed. Then Kriemhild turned and ascended
the rock. She gave one long farewell look at the meadows of her former
home, and then vanished like a mist in the distance.
* * * * *
Again centuries have passed. Kriemhild no longer hovers round the
Loreley, for the Nibelungen treasure has melted in the waves; only its
diamonds rest uninjured in the river bed, and any one gazing into its
depths on starry nights may see them flash and sparkle far below. But
the gold runs freely through the Rhine, so that its waters flow in
bright, clear waves; and on summer nights the precious substance rises
to the clouds, and then falls in fertilising dew on the meadows and
vineyards all around. Gold shines in the ripening berries and gleams
in the waving corn; with the clear ring of gold sound the songs of the
Rhenish people; pure as gold is their honesty--that surest safeguard
against every foe.
That is the German Nibelungenhort--that is the Rhine gold.
The Friendship of the Dwarfs.
[Illustration: THE COUNTESS MATILDA RESTORES THE DWARF-QUEEN TO
HEALTH.]