CHAPTER V

I was now left equally without gold and without shadow; but a heavy

load was taken from my breast, and I felt cheerful. Had not my Minna

been irrecoverably lost to me, or even had I been perfectly free from

self-reproach on her account, I felt that happiness might yet have been

mine. At present I was lost in doubt as to my future course. I examined

my pockets, and found I had a few gold pieces still left, which I

counted with feelings of great satisfaction. I had left my horse at the

inn, and was ashamed to return, or at all events I must wait till the

sun had set, which at present was high in the heavens. I laid myself

down under a shady tree, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Lovely forms floated in airy measures before me, and filled up my

delightful dreams. Minna, with a garland of flowers entwined in her

hair, was bending over me with a smile of good-will; also the worthy

Bendel was crowned with flowers, and hastened to meet me with friendly

greetings. Many other forms seemed to rise up confusedly in the

distance: thyself among the number, Chamisso. Perfect radiance beamed

around them, but none had a shadow; and what was more surprising, there

was no appearance of unhappiness on this account. Nothing was to be

seen or heard but flowers and music; and love and joy, and groves of

never-fading palms, seemed the natives of that happy clime.

[Illustration: The Dream.]

In vain I tried to detain and comprehend the lovely but fleeting forms.

I was conscious, also, of being in a dream, and was anxious that

nothing should rouse me from it; and when I did awake, I kept my eyes

closed, in order if possible to continue the illusion. At last I opened

my eyes. The sun was now visible in the east; I must have slept the

whole night: I looked upon this as a warning not to return to the inn.

What I had left there I was content to lose, without much regret; and

resigning myself to Providence, I decided on taking a by-road that led

through the wooded declivity of the mountain. I never once cast a

glance behind me; nor did it ever occur to me to return, as I might

have done, to Bendel, whom I had left in affluence. I reflected on the

new character I was now going to assume in the world. My present garb

was very humble,--consisting of an old black coat I formerly had worn

at Berlin, and which by some chance was the first I put my hand on

before setting out on this journey, a travelling-cap, and an old pair

of boots. I cut down a knotted stick in memory of the spot, and

commenced my pilgrimage.

In the forest I met an aged peasant, who gave me a friendly greeting,

and with whom I entered into conversation, requesting, as a traveller

desirous of information, some particulars relative to the road, the

country, and its inhabitants, the productions of the mountains, &c. He

replied to my various inquiries with readiness and intelligence. At

last we reached the bed of a mountain-torrent, which had laid waste a

considerable tract of the forest; I inwardly shuddered at the idea of

the open sunshine. I suffered the peasant to go before me. In the

middle of the very place which I dreaded so much, he suddenly stopped,

and turned back to give me an account of this inundation; but instantly

perceiving that I had no shadow, he broke off abruptly, and exclaimed,

"How is this?--you have no shadow!"

"Alas, alas!" said I, "in a long and serious illness I had the

misfortune to lose my hair, my nails, and my shadow. Look, good father;

although my hair has grown again, it is quite white; and at my age, my

nails are still very short; and my poor shadow seems to have left me,

never to return."

"Ah!" said the old man, shaking his head; "no shadow! that was indeed

a terrible illness, sir."

But he did not resume his narrative; and at the very first cross-road

we came to, left me without uttering a syllable.

Fresh tears flowed from my eyes, and my cheerfulness had fled. With a

heavy heart I travelled on, avoiding all society. I plunged into the

deepest shades of the forest; and often, to avoid a sunny tract of

country, I waited for hours till every human being had left it, and I

could pass it unobserved. In the evenings I took shelter in the

villages. I bent my steps to a mine in the mountains, where I hoped to

meet with work underground; for besides that my present situation

compelled me to provide for my own support, I felt that incessant and

laborious occupation alone could divert my mind from dwelling on

painful subjects. A few rainy days assisted me materially on my

journey; but it was to the no small detriment of my boots, the

soles of which were better suited to Count Peter than to the poor

foot-traveller. I was soon barefoot, and a new purchase must be made.

[Illustration: "So was obliged to content myself with a second-hand

pair."]

The following morning I commenced an earnest search in a market-place,

where a fair was being held; and I saw in one of the booths new and

second-hand boots set out for sale. I was a long time selecting and

bargaining; I wished much to have a new pair, but was frightened at

the extravagant price; and so was obliged to content myself with a

second-hand pair, still pretty good and strong, which the beautiful

fair-haired youth who kept the booth handed over to me with a cheerful

smile, wishing me a prosperous journey. I went on, and left the place

immediately by the northern gate.

I was so lost in my own thoughts, that I walked along scarcely knowing

how or where. I was calculating the chances of my reaching the mine by

the evening, and considering how I should introduce myself. I had not

gone two hundred steps, when I perceived I was not in the right road. I

looked round, and found myself in a wild-looking forest of ancient

firs, where apparently the stroke of the axe had never been heard. A

few steps more brought me amid huge rocks covered with moss and

saxifragous plants, between which whole fields of snow and ice were

extended. The air was intensely cold. I looked round, and the forest

had disappeared behind me; a few steps more, and there was the

stillness of death itself. The icy plain on which I stood stretched to

an immeasurable distance, and a thick cloud rested upon it; the sun was

of a red blood-colour at the verge of the horizon; the cold was

insupportable. I could not imagine what had happened to me. The

benumbing frost made me quicken my pace. I heard a distant sound of

waters; and, at one step more, I stood on the icy shore of some ocean.

Innumerable droves of sea-dogs rushed past me and plunged into the

waves. I continued my way along this coast, and again met with rocks,

plains, birch and fir forests, and yet only a few minutes had elapsed.

It was now intensely hot. I looked around, and suddenly found myself

between some fertile rice-fields and mulberry-trees; I sat down under

their shade, and found by my watch that it was just one quarter of an

hour since I had left the village-market. I fancied it was a dream; but

no, I was indeed awake, as I felt by the experiment I made of biting my

tongue. I closed my eyes, in order to collect my scattered thoughts.

Presently I heard unintelligible words uttered in a nasal tone; and I

beheld two Chinese, whose Asiatic physiognomies were not to be

mistaken, even had their costume not betrayed their origin. They were

addressing me in the language and with the salutations of their

country.

[Illustration: On the shores of the Frozen Sea.]

I rose, and drew back a couple of steps. They had disappeared; the

landscape was entirely changed; the rice-fields had given place to

trees and woods. I examined some of the trees and plants around me, and

ascertained such of them as I was acquainted with to be productions of

the southern part of Asia. I made one step towards a particular tree,

and again all was changed. I now moved on like a recruit at drill,

taking slow and measured steps, gazing with astonished eyes at the

wonderful variety of regions, plains, meadows, mountains, steppes, and

sandy deserts, which passed in succession before me. I had now no doubt

that I had seven-leagued boots on my feet.

I fell on my knees in silent gratitude, shedding tears of thankfulness;

for I now saw clearly what was to be my future condition. Shut out by

early sins from all human society, I was offered amends for the

privation by Nature herself, which I had ever loved. The earth was

granted me as a rich garden; and the knowledge of her operations was to

be the study and object of my life. This was not a mere resolution. I

have since endeavoured, with anxious and unabated industry, faithfully

to imitate the finished and brilliant model then presented to me; and

my vanity has received a check when led to compare the picture with the

original. I rose immediately, and took a hasty survey of this new

field, where I hoped afterwards to reap a rich harvest.

I stood on the heights of Thibet; and the sun I had lately beheld in

the east was now sinking in the west. I traversed Asia from east to

west, and thence passed into Africa, which I curiously examined at

repeated visits in all directions. As I gazed on the ancient pyramids

and temples of Egypt, I descried, in the sandy deserts near Thebes of

the hundred gates, the caves where Christian hermits dwelt of old.

My determination was instantly taken, that here should be my future

dwelling. I chose one of the most secluded, but roomy, comfortable, and

inaccessible to the jackals.

I stepped over from the pillars of Hercules to Europe; and having taken

a survey of its northern and southern countries, I passed by the north

of Asia, on the polar glaciers, to Greenland, and America, visiting

both parts of this continent; and the winter, which was already at its

height in the south, drove me quickly back from Cape Horn to the north.

I waited till daylight had risen in the east of Asia, and then, after a

short rest, continued my pilgrimage. I followed in both the Americas

the vast chain of the Andes, once considered the loftiest on our globe.

I stepped carefully and slowly from one summit to another, sometimes

over snowy heights, sometimes over flaming volcanoes, often breathless

from fatigue. At last I reached Elias's mountain, and sprang over

Behring's straits into Asia; I followed the western coast in its

various windings, carefully observing which of the neighbouring isles

was accessible to me. From the peninsula of Malacca, my boots carried

me to Sumatra, Java, Bali, and Lombock. I made many attempts--often

with danger, and always unsuccessfully--to force my way over the

numerous little islands and rocks with which this sea is studded,

wishing to find a north-west passage to Borneo and other islands of the

Archipelago.

At last I sat down at the extreme point of Lombock, my eyes turned

towards the south-east, lamenting that I had so soon reached the limits

allotted to me, and bewailing my fate as a captive in his grated cell.

Thus was I shut out from that remarkable country, New Holland, and the

islands of the southern ocean, so essentially necessary to a knowledge

of the earth, and which would have best assisted me in the study of the

animal and vegetable kingdoms. And thus, at the very outset, I beheld

all my labours condemned to be limited to mere fragments.

Ah! Chamisso, what is the activity of man?

Frequently in the most rigorous winters of the southern hemisphere I

have rashly thrown myself on a fragment of drifting ice between Cape

Horn and Van Dieman's Land, in the hope of effecting a passage to New

Holland, reckless of the cold and the vast ocean, reckless of my fate,

even should this savage land prove my grave.

But all in vain--I never reached New Holland. Each time, when defeated

in my attempt, I returned to Lombock; and seated at its extreme point,

my eyes directed to the south-east, I gave way afresh to lamentations

that my range of investigation was so limited. At last I tore myself

from the spot, and, heartily grieved at my disappointment, returned to

the interior of Asia. Setting out at morning dawn, I traversed it from

east to west, and at night reached the cave in Thebes which I had

previously selected for my dwelling-place, and had visited yesterday

afternoon.

[Illustration: At last I sat down at the extreme point of Lombock,

lamenting.]

After a short repose, as soon as daylight had visited Europe, it was my

first care to provide myself with the articles of which I stood most in

need. First of all a drag, to act on my boots; for I had experienced

the inconvenience of these whenever I wished to shorten my steps and

examine surrounding objects more fully. A pair of slippers to go over

the boots served the purpose effectually; and from that time I carried

two pairs about me, because I frequently cast them off from my feet in

my botanical investigations, without having time to pick them up, when

threatened by the approach of lions, men, or hyenas. My excellent

watch, owing to the short duration of my movements, was also on these

occasions an admirable chronometer. I wanted, besides, a sextant, a few

philosophical instruments, and some books. To purchase these things, I

made several unwilling journeys to London and Paris, choosing a time

when I could be hid by the favouring clouds. As all my ill-gotten gold

was exhausted, I carried over from Africa some ivory, which is there so

plentiful, in payment of my purchases--taking care, however, to pick

out the smallest teeth, in order not to overburden myself. I had thus

soon provided myself with all that I wanted, and now entered on a new

mode of life as a student--wandering over the globe--measuring the

height of the mountains, and the temperature of the air and of the

springs--observing the manners and habits of animals--investigating

plants and flowers. From the equator to the pole, and from the new

world to the old, I was constantly engaged in repeating and comparing

my experiments.

My usual food consisted of the eggs of the African ostrich or northern

sea-birds, with a few fruit, especially those of the palm and the

banana of the tropics. The tobacco-plant consoled me when I was

depressed; and the affection of my spaniel was a compensation for the

loss of human Sympathy and society. When I returned from my excursions,

loaded with fresh treasures, to my cave in Thebes, which he guarded

during my absence, he ever sprang joyfully forward to greet me, and

made me feel that I was indeed not alone on the earth. An adventure

soon occurred which brought me once more among my fellow-creatures.

* * * * *

One day, as I was gathering lichens and algae on the northern coast,

with the drag on my boots, a bear suddenly made his appearance, and was

stealing towards me round the corner of a rock. After throwing away my

slippers, I attempted to step across to an island, by means of a rock,

projecting from the waves in the intermediate space, that served as a

stepping-stone. I reached the rock safely with one foot, but instantly

fell into the sea with the other, one of my slippers having

inadvertently remained on. The cold was intense; and I escaped this

imminent peril at the risk of my life. On coming ashore, I hastened to

the Libyan sands, to dry myself in the sun; but the heat affected my

head so much, that, in a fit of illness, I staggered back to the north.

In vain I sought relief by change of place--hurrying from east to west,

and from west to east--now in climes of the south, now in those of the

north; sometimes I rushed into daylight, sometimes into the shades of

night. I know not how long this lasted. A burning fever raged in my

veins; with extreme anguish I felt my senses leaving me. Suddenly, by

an unlucky accident, I trod upon someone's foot, whom I had hurt, and

received a blow in return, which laid me senseless.

On recovering, I found myself lying comfortably in a good bed, which,

with many other beds, stood in a spacious and handsome apartment.

Someone was watching by me; people seemed to be walking from one bed to

another; they came beside me, and spoke of me as _Number Twelve_. On

the wall, at the foot of my bed,--it was no dream, for I distinctly

read it,--on a black-marble tablet was inscribed my name, in large

letters of gold:

PETER SCHLEMIHL.

Underneath were two rows of letters in smaller characters, which I was

too feeble to connect together, and closed my eyes again.

I now heard something read aloud, in which I distinctly noted the words

"Peter Schlemihl," but could not collect the full meaning. I saw a man

of benevolent aspect, and a very beautiful female dressed in black,

standing near my bed; their countenances were not unknown to me, but in

my weak state I could not remember who they were. Some time elapsed,

and I began to regain my strength. I was called Number Twelve, and,

from my long beard, was supposed to be a Jew, but was not the less

carefully nursed on that account. No one seemed to perceive that I was

destitute of a shadow. My boots, I was assured, together with every

thing found on me when I was brought here, were in safe keeping, and

would be given up to me on my restoration to health. This place was

called the SCHLEMIHLIUM: the daily recitation I had heard, was an

exhortation to pray for Peter Schlemihl as the founder and benefactor

of this institution. The benevolent-looking man whom I had seen by my

bedside was Bendel; the beautiful lady in black was Minna.

I had been enjoying the advantages of the Schlemihlium without being

recognised; and I learned, further, that I was in Bendel's native town,

where he had employed a part of my once unhallowed gold in founding a

hospital in my name, under his superintendence, and that its

unfortunate inmates daily pronounced blessings on me. Minna had become

a widow: an unhappy law-suit had deprived Rascal of his life, and Minna

of the greater part of her property. Her parents were no more; and here

she dwelt in widowed piety, wholly devoting herself to works of mercy.

One day, as she stood by the side of Number Twelve's bed with Bendel,

he said to her, "Noble lady, why expose yourself so frequently to this

unhealthy atmosphere? Has fate dealt so harshly with you as to render

you desirous of death?"

"By no means, Mr. Bendel," she replied; "since I have awoke from my

long dream, all has gone well with me. I now neither wish for death nor

fear it, and think on the future and on the past with equal serenity.

Do you not also feel an inward satisfaction in thus paying a pious

tribute of gratitude and love to your old master and friend?"

"Thanks be to God, I do, noble lady," said he. "Ah, how wonderfully has

everything fallen out! How thoughtlessly have we sipped joys and

sorrows from the full cup now drained to the last drop; and we might

fancy the past a mere prelude to the real scene for which we now wait

armed by experience. How different has been the reality! Yet let us not

regret the past, but rather rejoice that we have not lived in vain. As

respects our old friend also, I have a firm hope that it is now better

with him than formerly."

"I trust so too," answered Minna; and so saying, she passed by me, and

they departed.

This conversation made a deep impression on me; and I hesitated whether

I should reveal myself, or depart unknown. At last I decided; and,

asking for pen and paper, wrote as follows:--

"Matters are indeed better with your old friend than formerly. He has

repented; and his repentance has led to forgiveness."

I now attempted to rise, for I felt myself stronger. The keys of a

little chest near my bed were given me; and in it I found all my

effects. I put on my clothes--fastened my botanical case round me,

wherein, with delight, I found my northern lichens all safe--put on my

boots--and leaving my note on the table, left the gates, and was

speedily far advanced on the road to Thebes.

Passing along the Syrian coast, which was the same road I had taken on

last leaving home, I beheld poor Figaro, my spaniel, running to meet

me. The faithful animal, after vainly waiting at home for his master's

return, had probably followed his traces. I stood still, and called

him. He sprang towards me with leaps and barks, and a thousand

demonstrations of unaffected delight. I took him in my arms--for he was

unable to follow me--and carried him home.

There I found everything exactly in the order in which I had left it;

and returned by degrees, as my increasing strength allowed me, to my

old occupations and usual mode of life, from which I was kept back a

whole year by my fall into the Polar ocean. And this, dear Chamisso, is

the life I am still leading. My boots are not yet worn out, as I had

been led to fear would be the case, from that very learned work of

Tieckius--_De rebus gestis Pollicilli_. Their energies remain

unimpaired; and although mine are gradually failing me, I enjoy the

consolation of having spent them in pursuing incessantly one object,

and that not fruitlessly.

[Illustration: Peter at Home.]

So far as my boots would carry me, I have observed and studied our

globe and its conformation, its mountains and temperature, the

atmosphere in its various changes, the influences of the magnetic

power,--in fact, I have studied all living creation--and more

especially the kingdom of plants--more profoundly than any one of our

race. I have arranged all the facts in proper order, to the best of my

ability, in different works. The consequences deducible from these

facts, and my views respecting them, I have hastily recorded in some

essays and dissertations. I have settled the geography of the interior

of Africa and the Arctic regions, of the interior of Asia and of its

eastern coast. My _Historia stirpium plantarum utriusque orbis_ is an

extensive fragment of a _Flora universalis terræ_ and a part of my

_Systema naturæ_. Besides increasing the number of our known species by

more than a third, I have also contributed somewhat to the natural

system of plants, and to a knowledge of their geography. I am now

deeply engaged on my _Fauna_, and shall take care to have my

manuscripts sent to the University of Berlin before my decease.

I have selected thee, my dear Chamisso, to be the guardian of my

wonderful history, thinking that, when I have left this world, it may

afford valuable instruction to the living. As for thee, Chamisso, if

thou wouldst live amongst thy fellow-creatures, learn to value thy

shadow more than gold; if thou wouldst only live to thyself and thy

nobler part--in this thou needest no counsel.

THE COLD HEART

INTRODUCTION

WILHELM HAUFF

Wilhelm Hauff was born on the 29th November, 1802, at Stuttgart, and

died in the same town on the 18th November, 1827, within a few days of

completing his twenty-fifth year.

Losing his father when but six years of age, he was placed in the care

of his grandfather in Tübingen, and was later sent to a convent school

at Blaubeuren. Returning to Tübingen, he devoted four years, 1820-24,

to the study of theology, and was appointed tutor to the family of

Baron von Hügel in Stuttgart.

It was at this time that Hauff began his remarkable literary career

with the publication in November, 1825, of his "Fairy Tale Annual for

1826." The years 1826 and 1827 saw the appearance of two succeeding

annuals of fairy stories, which were everywhere received with the most

enthusiastic admiration.

Hauff's productivity was truly amazing; in four years he wrote, besides

the fairy-tales, poems, short stories, fantasies satirical and

humourous, and the classic novel "Lichtenstein," all of which have

gained an enduring place in German literature.

Returning from a journey through France, Holland and North Germany,

Hauff was appointed to the literary editorship of the "Morgenblatt," a

position which enabled him to marry, the wedding taking place in

Nördlingen, on the 13th February, 1827.

Hauff's journalistic duties did not interfere with his activity in

other spheres of literary work. In this last year of his short life he

continued to produce short stories and fantasies, his experiences while

on his travels furnishing him with plenty of material. Indeed, it was

while on a journey that he wrote the second "Fairy-tale Annual."

Shortly after his marriage he set himself to the composition of his

third a final "Annual"--the connecting story of which is entitled "The

Inn in Spessart," and in which occurs the story of "The Cold Heart," a

new translation of which is published in the present volume.

Hauff's brilliant career was now drawing to a close. The last work to

proceed from his pen was the playful fantasy, "Phantasien im Bremer

Ratskeller." Early in November, 1827, a daughter was born to him; but

he was already suffering from an attack of typhoid fever, to which he

succumbed on the 18th day of the same month.

Notwithstanding the genius displayed in his other works, the

"Fairytales" will always be regarded as the most precious legacy which

the great author has bequeathed to posterity; and of these "The Cold

Heart" holds undoubtedly the first place in popular esteem. Unlike the

majority of his fairy-tales, it owes something of its origin to

folk-lore, as it is based on an old Black Forest Legend. But the human

figures in the story are Hauff's very own; those conversant with the

master's works will recognise in Charcoal Peter and Fat Ezekiel

characters which only Hauff could have created.

As in all his fairy-tales the human element is supreme, even Dutch

Michael and the Glassmanikin evince more human characteristics than

supernatural, and though they came from a mythological source they

never appear to us pale and colourless as the supernatural beings in

the fairy-tales of the brothers Grimm. Having chosen the groundwork of

his story, Hauff developed it with all the force of his vivid

imagination, fantastic humour and rare talent for narration.

H. ROBERTSON MURRAY.

THE COLD HEART

PART I.

He who travels through Suabia should not pass without seeing something

of the Black Forest; not because of the trees, although such countless

masses of stately pines are not to be met with everywhere; but because

of the people, who differ remarkably from their neighbours on every

side. They are broad-shouldered and strong-limbed and taller than the

generality of human beings; it is as if the invigorating air, which

blows every morning through the pines, has endowed them with a freer

respiration, a clearer eye and a firmer though, perhaps, rougher

courage than is possessed by the dwellers in valley and on plain.

And not only in bearing and stature, but also in customs and dress

they form a marked contrast to those who live beyond the confines

of the forest. The costume of the Baden Black Forester is the

more picturesque: with full-grown beards, as in accordance with

Nature's intention, the men, in their black jerkins, their enormous

narrow-pleated breeches, their red stockings and their peaked,

broad-brimmed hats, have an air somewhat strange, but, at the same

time, serious and dignified. These people are mostly occupied in

glassblowing; but they are also noted for the manufacture of clocks,

which are exported to all parts of the world.

On the other side of the forest dwell people of the same stock; but

their employment has imparted to them habits, manners and customs

differing from those of the glass-blowers. They are occupied with their

forest, felling and splitting up the pine trees, which they float down

the Nagold to the Necker, and thence to the Rhine and to far-away

Holland. The Black Foresters and their rafts are familiar objects even

to the inhabitants of the remote coast regions. The raftsmen touch at

every town along the river, proudly awaiting offers for their baulks

and beams; but the strongest and the longest of the former they sell

for gold to the Mynheers, who build ships of them. These men are

accustomed, therefore, to a rough, wandering existence. Their delight

is to float down stream on their rafts, while the return homeward along

the river-banks is but weary work.

Their holiday costume is also very different from that of the

glass-blowers on the other side of the Black Forest. They wear dark

linen jerkins with wide, green braces across their broad chests, and

black leathern breeches, from the pocket of which peeps, as a badge of

honour, the end of a brass foot-rule. But they take most joy and pride

in their boots, the biggest, perhaps, which have ever been in fashion

in any part of the world, for these are drawn quite two handspans above

the knee, so that the raftsmen can wade knee deep in the water without

getting wet.

Until quite recently the inhabitants of this forest believed it

inhabited by supernatural beings, and it is only latterly that they

have begun to abandon the superstition, and it is remarkable that even

the forest spirits, which according to legend haunt the Black Forest,

are also distinguished by their different costume and habits. Thus we

are assured, the Glass-manikin, a benevolent elf, of about four feet in

height, is never seen in anything but a little peaked broad trimmed

hat, with jerkin, knee-breeches and red stockings.

Dutch Michael again, who dwells on the other side of the forest, is

said to be a gigantic, broad shouldered fellow, dressed in like fashion

to the raftsmen; and many people, who have seen him, are wont to

declare that they would not like to bear the cost of the calves, the

skins of which have gone to the making of the boots. "So big are they

that an ordinary man could stand up to his neck in them," say the

latter, protesting that the description is no exaggerated one.

Now, there is a story of the very strange adventure which a young Black

Forester once had with these forest spirits, and which story I will now

relate.

In the Black Forest there lived a widow, one Mistress Barbara Munk; her

husband had been a charcoal burner, and after his death she brought up

her son, a lad of sixteen, to the same calling. Peter Munk, a slenderly

built young fellow, took to the business as a matter of course, because

he had never seen his father do aught else but sit by his smoking

charcoal-kiln, or, blackened and begrimed, travel to the towns to sell

his charcoal.

Now, a charcoal-burner has a great deal of time for meditation on

things as they are, and on himself; and as Peter Munk sat before his

kiln, the dark trees around him and the heavy silence of the forest

stirred his heart to sorrow and to vague longings. He felt grieved and

vexed at something; but what that something was he could not tell. At

last, the cause of his discontent was revealed to him: it was--his

position in the world.

"A grimy, lonely charcoal-burner!" he exclaimed to himself. "What a

wretched existence! Look at the glassblowers, the watchmakers, even the

musicians who play on Sunday evenings--how they are respected! And I,

Peter Munk, though cleaned up and dressed in my father's best jerkin

with the silver buttons, and with my brand-new red stockings on, if

someone follows me and asks himself 'Who can that slim young fellow

be?'--admiring my stockings and easy gait, no sooner does he pass me

and chance to look round, than he exclaims, 'Pooh, it's only that

charcoal-burning Peter Munk after all.'"

The raftsmen on the other side of the forest were also objects of his

envy. When these giants came over to his side of the forest, in all

their glory of apparel, their buttons, chains and buckles representing

great weight and wealth of silver; when they stood with outstretched

legs looking on at the dancing, swearing Dutch oaths, and smoking

yard-long Rhenish pipes like the grandest Mynheers, each of these

handsome raftsmen appeared to him to be a perfect representation of a

really happy man. And when one of these lucky fellows chanced to dive

his hands into his pockets, bringing forth whole handsful of silver

thalers, and throwing them down on the dice table, five gulden here,

ten there, Peter became well-nigh distracted, and slunk dolefully back

to his hut; for on many a festival he had seen one or other of these

woodsmen play away more money than his poor father had been able to

earn in a year.

There were three of these men in particular of whom he could not say

which he admired the most. One was a big, fat, red-faced man, generally

conceded to be the richest person in those parts. He was called Fat

Ezekiel. Twice a year he travelled to Amsterdam with building timber,

and always had the good fortune to dispose of it at so much better

profit than his comrades could, that he was able to travel homewards in

luxurious style, while they were compelled to return on foot.

The second was the tallest and lankiest fellow in the whole forest. He

was called Lanky Schlurker, and Munk envied him because of his

extraordinary boldness. He would flatly contradict the most worthy

people, and always took up more room in the overcrowded tavern than was

required by four others of the bulkiest, leaning with both elbows on

the table, or stretching his legs along the bench; yet nobody dared to

complain, for he was fabulously rich.

The third was a handsome young man, the best dancer for miles round,

who had earned the nickname of the Dance King. He had formerly been a

poor man in the service of a wealthy timber merchant; but all at once

he had become immensely rich. Some said that he had found a jar, full

of money, at the root of an old pine tree; others maintained that not

far from Bingen on the Rhine he had brought up with his pole, such as

the raftsmen use to spear fish, a bundle filled with gold, and that

this bundle had formed part of the great Nibelung's hoard which lies

buried there. But no matter--the fact was that he had suddenly become

rich, and was consequently respected by young and old as if he had been

a prince.

The charcoal-burner, Peter Munk, thought long and oft of these men as

he sat alone among the pine-trees. All three of them had one great

failing which made them hated by all; and this common failing was

their inhuman avarice, their callousness towards debtors and the poor,

for the Black-foresters were a kindly and good-hearted people.

Nevertheless, as is often found in such cases, though they were hated

because of their covetousness, they were held in awe because of their

money; for who but they could fling thalers broadcast as though by

simply shaking the pine-trees the money fell into their hands.

"I cannot endure this any longer!" said Peter to himself, sorely

depressed, one day when there had been a fête, and the people had

foregathered in the tavern to enjoy themselves. "If I do not soon have

a stroke of luck, I shall be doing myself some harm. Oh, if I were only

as rich and feared as Fat Ezekiel, or as bold and strong as the Lanky

Schlurker, or as famous as the Dance King, throwing thalers instead of

kreuzers to the musicians, as he does! Where the fellow gets his money

from is a mystery to me!" He turned over in his mind all possible means

of earning money, but none attracted him; at last, he fell to

reflecting on the stories which he had heard of people who in bygone

times had become rich through the aid of Dutch Michael or the

Glassmanikin. While his father was alive, other poor folk would often

pay him visits, and the conversation would turn on rich people and how

they had gained their wealth. In these stories the Glassmanikin often

played a part. Indeed, after some striving, Peter was able to recall a

portion of the little rhymed incantation which had to be pronounced in

the depths of the forest before the Glassmanikin would appear. It began

thus:

"Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold,

Art many hundred ages old.

Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow."

But tax his memory as he might, he could not recollect any more of the

rhyme. He often felt inclined to question this or that old man how the

little incantation ran, but a certain shyness always prevented him from

betraying the drift of his thoughts. He came also to the conclusion

that not many could be acquainted with the story of the Glassmanikin,

and but few could know the incantation, as there were hardly any rich

people in the forest, and--but why had not his father and other poor

folk tried their luck? At last, he coaxed his mother to talk of the

Glassmanikin; but she could only tell him what he already knew, being

able to quote only the first line of the rhymed incantation, although

she informed him, at length, that the goblin showed himself only to

those born on a Sunday between the hours of eleven and two. He himself,

having been born at noon on a Sunday, was, therefore, one of the elect,

if he but knew the incantation.

When Charcoal-Peter Munk heard this he could scarcely contain himself

with joy and eagerness to make the adventure. Because he knew a part of

the incantation and was born on Sunday, he conjectured that the

Glassmanikin would surely show himself. One day, therefore, having sold

all his charcoal he kindled no fresh fires in his kilns, but dressed

himself in his father's state-jerkin and new red stockings, donned his

Sunday hat, took his five-foot blackthorn stick in hand, and bade

farewell to his mother. "I must go to the mayoralty in town," he said,

"for we have to draw lots as to who shall serve as soldier, and I will

impress it on the mayor, for once and for all, that you are a widow and

that I am your only son."

His mother having commended his resolution, he made his way to the

Pine-grove. The Pine-grove lies on the highest point of the Black

Forest, for miles around which there lay at that time no village, not

even a hut, for the superstitious people believed that the spot was

haunted. Further, no one cared to fell wood in that quarter, though the

pines there grew tall and stately, for it often happened that when

woodcutters were at work there, their axeheads flew from the hafts and

wounded them in the foot, or the trees fell over without warning,

injuring and even killing the men round about; besides which, even the

finest trees growing there were only used as firewood, for the raftsmen

never took any timber from the Pine-grove, because the saying went that

man and wood would surely come to grief if a tree from the Pine-grove

found itself in a raft. This is the reason why the trees grew so thick

and tall in the Pine-grove, so that even in the brightest sunshine all

was as dark as night. Well might Peter Munk shudder with fear, for he

could hear no sound of of human voice, no ring of axe, and no footfall

save his own; even the very birds appeared to shun this awesome grove.

Having reached the highest point in the Pine-grove, Charcoal-Peter Munk

stood before a pine of huge circumference, one for which any Dutch

ship-builder would have given many hundred guilders on the spot.

"This must be the place," thought Peter, "where the Treasure-guardian

lives." Saying which, he doffed his big Sunday hat, made a deep bow

before the tree, cleared his throat and spoke in a trembling voice: "I

wish you a very good evening, Master Glassmanikin!"

No answer--all was as silent as before.

"Perhaps I had better recite the little verse," thought Peter, and

straightway began to mutter:

"Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold,

Art many hundred ages old;

Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow."

As he uttered these words he saw to his amazement a tiny, weird figure

peeping forth from behind the great pine tree. He fancied he could see

the little Glassmanikin just as the latter had been described to him,

with his little black jerkin, little red stockings, little hat;

everything, indeed, even the pale, but wise and refined little face of

which he had heard so much. But, alas! the Glassmanikin vanished as

quickly as he had appeared.

"Master Glassmanikin!" said Peter Munk, after a moment's hesitation,

"please don't take me for a fool!--Master Glassmanikin, if you think

that I did not catch sight of you, you are greatly mistaken: I saw you

quite clearly peeping from behind the tree."

Still no answer, though, at times, he fancied he could hear a faint,

hoarse chuckle from behind the tree. Finally, his impatience overcame

his fear, which until now had restrained him.

"Just you wait a moment, you little beggar," he cried out, "I'll soon

have you!" and at one bound he was behind the pine-tree, but there was

no "guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold," nothing but a pretty

little squirrel clambering away up the tree.

Peter Munk shook his head; he perceived that he had succeeded in

working the spell to a certain degree; and if he could only think of

the last line to the rhyme he would be able to induce the Glassmanikin

to show himself. He pondered, and pondered, and pondered, but all to no

purpose. He could see the little squirrel perched on the lowest branch

of the pine, and he could not be sure whether it was trying to inspire

him with courage or only making fun of him. It cleaned itself, whisked

its beautiful tail to and fro, gazing at him all the while with

intelligent eyes, until he began to be almost afraid of being alone

with the creature; for, at one moment, the little squirrel appeared to

have a human head covered with a three cornered hat; then it looked

just like any other squirrel, except that on its hind legs it had red

stockings and black shoes. In short it was a comical creature; but,

nevertheless, it made Charcoal Peter feel quite uncomfortable, for it

seemed to him to be so uncanny.

Peter returned at a quicker pace than he had gone thither. The gloom of

the pine-forest seemed to be intensified, the trees grew in denser

clumps, and at last he was so fearful that he broke into a run, and did

not regain courage until he heard dogs barking in the distance, and

saw, shortly afterwards the smoke from a cottage rising between the

trees. On drawing nearer, he was able to distinguish the costume of the

people in the cottage, and he realised to his consternation that he had

fled in exactly the opposite direction to the one he had intended, and

had arrived among the raftsmen instead of among the glass-blowers.

The cottagers were wood-fellers, and the family consisted of an old

man, his son, who was the owner of the cottage, and some grown-up

grandchildren. They bade Charcoal-Peter a kindly welcome when he asked

for a night's lodging, without questioning him as to his name or whence

he came, offered him cider to drink, and set on the table for supper a

large woodcock, which is the choicest dish of the Black Forest.

[Illustration: Dutch Michael felling the trees.]

After supper the housewife and her daughters betook themselves to

their spinning, sitting round the large burning wood-splinter, which

served as light and which the young people kept fed with the finest

pine-resin, while the grandfather, the house-owner and their guest

smoked and watched the women, and the boys busied themselves cutting

spoons and forks out of wood. Without, in the forest the storm howled

and rushed through the pines, heavy thuds being heard every now and

then, as if whole trees were being torn up by the roots and flung to

earth. The fearless youngsters wanted to run out into the forest to

witness the scene in all its awful grandeur, but their grandfather

forbade them with stern words and looks. "I advise no one to set foot

outside the door this night," he cried to them; "he who does so will

never return; for Dutch Michael is abroad to-night hewing down timber

for a new raft."

The young ones stared at him; although they must have heard many a time

of Dutch Michael, yet they begged their grandfather to relate them once

more some good story of that forest-spirit. Peter Munk, also, who had

only heard vague rumours of Dutch Michael on his side of the forest,

chimed in with the others and begged the old man to say who and what he

might be.

"He is the lord of this forest," answered the old man, "and for one of

your age not to have heard of him tells me that your home lies on the

other side of the Pine-grove, or even farther off. But I will relate to

you what I know of Dutch Michael, and what people say of him. About a

hundred years ago, at least, so my grandfather told me, there were no

more honourable people than the Black-Foresters in the whole world. But

now that money is so plentiful, dishonesty and evil are everywhere. Our

young lads dance and riot on the Sabbath, and swear terribly. But

formerly it was quite otherwise, and, though he himself were to look

through the window at this moment, I say, as I have said time and

again, that Dutch Michael is to blame for all the mischief. Well--one

hundred or more years ago, there lived a rich timber merchant who had a

very large business; he traded far away down the Rhine, and his affairs

prospered, for he was a good Christian. One evening there came to his

door a man, the like of whom he had never cast eyes upon. He was

dressed as one of our young Black-Foresters, but was a good head taller

than any of them; indeed, one could hardly have believed that there was

such a giant in existence. The fellow asked the merchant for work, and

the latter, seeing how strong and capable of doing heavy work he

looked, was ready to engage him at a fair wage. So the matter was

agreed upon. Michael turned out to be a workman such as that merchant

had never yet employed. He was equal to three men at felling trees, and

where it took six men to carry one end of a trunk, he could manage the

other end all by himself. But after six months at tree-felling, he went

one day to his master, and demanded of him: 'I have been hewing wood

long enough in this place, and I would like to know where the felled

trunks go; how would it be if you were to let me go for a time on one

of your rafts?'"

The timber merchant replied: "I won't stand in your way, Michael, if

you want to see a bit of the world. It's true that I am in sore need of

strong fellows like yourself for the tree-felling, while on the rafts

it is more a question of skill. For this once, however, you may go!"

And thus it was; the raft upon which he was to go was in eight parts,

the last part being composed of enormous roof-beams. But what happened?

The night before starting, this huge fellow brought down to the water

yet another eight beams, bigger and longer than any that had ever been

seen, so much so that everybody was amazed. And no one knows to this

day where he had felled them. The merchant chuckled to himself when he

calculated the price these beams would fetch. But Michael said: "These

are for me to travel upon, for I could not make any headway on those

little splinters."

His grateful master then wished to present him with a pair of

raftsmen's boots, but Michael put them aside, and brought forth another

pair, such as had never before been made. My grandfather used to

declare that they must have weighed a hundred pounds, and were five

feet in length.

The raft went on its way, and as Michael had hitherto astonished the

wood-cutters, he now caused the raftsmen to marvel; for the raft,

instead of going more slowly down the stream, as one would have

thought, taking the monstrous baulks into consideration, it simply flew

forward like an arrow as soon as it reached the Neckar. And when it

came to a bend in the river where otherwise the raftsmen would have had

trouble to keep the raft in mid-stream or to prevent it from stranding,

Michael would spring into the water, and with one push would force the

raft to left or right, so that it escaped danger; and if they came to a

shallow, he ran to the forepart of the raft, made them all lay aside

their poles, laid a huge round beam on the sandbank, and with one push

the raft sped over, so fast that land, trees and villages seemed to fly

past. Thus they came to Cologne in about half the time it usually

takes. Here it was that the wood was always sold at that time; but

Michael addressed the raftsmen: "I can see that you are all good

business men, and know how to manage your affairs to the best

advantage! Do you suppose that here in Cologne they want all the timber

which comes from the Black Forest for their own use? Not at all: they

buy it from you at half its value, and then sell it at a higher price

in Holland. Let us sell our smaller beams here, and then go on to

Holland with the big ones; and what we receive above the usual price

will be for our own profit."

Thus spoke the cunning Michael, and the others agreed; some because

they wished to go to Holland, others for the sake of the money. There

was only one honest man among them, and he tried to dissuade them from

risking their master's goods, and from cheating him out of any higher

price they might get. But they would not listen to him, and soon forgot

the words he had said; though Dutch Michael did not forget them.

The raft continued its journey down the Rhine with Michael in command,

so that it soon arrived at Rotterdam. There they received about four

times the price usually obtained, while Michael's huge baulks fetched

an enormous sum of money. When the Black Foresters saw so much gold

they could scarcely contain themselves for joy. Michael divided the

money into four parts, setting aside one for the master, and dividing

the remainder among the men. With this they mixed with sailors and evil

characters, spending their money in dissipation and debauchery in the

taverns. As to the honest man, who had warned them, Dutch Michael is

said to have sold him to a slave-dealer, for nothing more was ever

heard of him.

From that day forth Holland has been the paradise of our Black Forest

lads; the timber merchants knew nothing of this trade, and all the

while money, swearing, evil habits, drink and gambling were being

introduced by the raftsmen from Holland.

Dutch Michael, so the story goes, disappeared and was nowhere to be

found; but it is certain that he did not die. For one hundred years his

spirit has haunted the forest, and it is said that he has helped many

to become rich, at the cost of their poor souls, of which I would

rather not say any more. This much is certain, that on such stormy

nights as this he is up in the Pine-grove, where no one fells trees,

selecting the biggest pines. And my father has seen him take hold of

one, four to five feet in thickness, and snap it as one would a reed.

This is his gift to those who turn from the straight path to go to him;

at midnight they carry their timber to the water, and fare away on it

into Holland. Oh, if I were only king and lord of Holland, I would send

him to the bottom with grape-shot; for every ship, the hull of which

contains one single beam of Dutch Michael's felling, must come to

grief. And that is the reason why one hears of so many shipwrecks; how

otherwise could a fine, strong ship, as big as a church, sink in the

open sea? Every time Dutch Michael fells a pine on a stormy night in

the Black Forest, one of his old ones is sprung from the bottom of some

ship, the water rushes in, and that ship with all on board is lost.

Such is the story of Dutch Michael, and it is but the truth when people

declare that he is the author of all the evil which is committed in the

Black Forest!

"Ah! he can make you rich enough!" continued the old man,

confidentially. "But I would receive nothing at his hands, not for all

the gold in the world would I stand in the shoes of Fat Ezekiel or the

Lanky Schlurker. And it is also thought that the Dance-King is one of

his familiars."

The storm had abated during the recital of the old man's story; the

girls lit the lamps, and stole away; the men gave Peter Munk a sack

full of leaves to serve as a pillow, and left him to sleep on the

hearth, wishing him good-night as they went.

Never in his life had Charcoal-Peter dreamed so heavily as during that

night. First there appeared to him the dark gigantic form of Dutch

Michael, who wrenched open the window and stretched an enormously long

arm into the room, in the hand of which was a purse full of gold

pieces, which he shook so that the money jingled temptingly. Then he

saw the little, friendly Glassmanikin riding round the room on a huge

green bottle, and he seemed again to hear that hoarse chuckle he had

heard in the Pine-grove. Then it was as if someone was murmuring in his

left ear:

"From Holland comes Gold!

Canst have it, if bold.

For payment soon told!

Gold! Gold!"

Then again in his right ear he heard the little rhyme beginning:

"Guardian of gold in the pine tree wold!"

and a soft voice whispered: "Stupid Charcoal-Peter! silly Peter Munk!

cannot you find a rhyme to 'grow,' and yet you were born at noon on a

Sunday! Rhyme, stupid Peter, rhyme!"

[Illustration: Peter's dream in the woodman's cottage.]

He sighed and groaned in his sleep, he tried hard to find a rhyme; but

as he had never been able to make one when awake, to do so in a dream

was equally beyond him. But when he awoke with the first flush of dawn,

his dream seemed to have been very wonderful; he sat with folded arms

at the table, and thought of the whispered exhortation which still

resounded in his ear: "Rhyme, stupid Charcoal-Peter, rhyme!" he

repeated to himself, pressing his finger to his forehead; but no rhyme

was forthcoming. But while he sat there, staring despondently in front

of him and trying to think of a rhyme to "grow," three lads passed the

house on their way through the forest, and one of them was singing as

he trudged along:

"To the mountains there above,

To the heights where pine-trees grow,

I go to meet my love;

She's true to me, I know."

The words thrilled Peter's senses like a flash of lightning. He leapt

to his feet and rushed out of the house, for he was not sure whether he

had caught the words correctly. He ran after the three lads, and seized

the singer by the arm.

"Stop, my friend!" he cried, "what was it you made to rhyme with

'grow'? For the love of Heaven tell me what you were singing?"

"What ever is the matter with you?" demanded the Black Forester. "I can

sing what I like--and if you don't leave go of my arm, I'll----"

"Not till you tell me what you were singing," screamed Peter, nearly

beside himself, and gripping the other more tightly by the arm.

Seeing which, the two friends of the singer lost all patience, and

started punching the wretched Peter with all their might until the pain

he suffered forced him to loose his hold and to sink to his knees.

"Have you had enough?" they asked him, while laughing at him. "Take

care, you foolish fellow, that in future you do not molest people on

the public highway."

"Ah, I will be careful enough as to that," replied Charcoal-Peter,

dismally. "But now that you have beaten me, be so good as to repeat

slowly and distinctly what that friend of yours was singing."

At which all three once more burst out laughing, making game of him;

but the singer repeated the words of his song for him, and, laughing

and singing, they went their way.

"Then _know_ is the word," said Peter Munk, getting once more on to his

legs. "_Know_ rhymes with _grow_--and now Master Glassmanikin we will

have another little chat together."

[Illustration: "Have you had enough?" they asked him.]

He returned to the cottage, took his hat and long stick, bade farewell

to the cottagers, and strode away in the direction of the pine-grove.

Becoming engrossed in thought, he slackened his speed, for it had

occurred to him that, now he had found a rhyme, he must complete the

verse. At length, approaching the Pine-grove, and reaching the part

where the trees grow taller and denser, he completed the missing line,

and his delight caused him to bound into the air. At the same moment

there stepped from behind a pine a gigantic man, dressed as a raftsman,

and with a pole as big as a ship's mast in his hand. Peter Munk sank in

terror to his knees, as he saw the stranger striding slowly towards

him. He felt that this could be none other than Dutch Michael. No sound

came from the terrible apparition, while Peter stole fearful glances at

him every now and then. He towered a full head above the tallest man

whom Peter had ever seen; his features were not youthful in appearance,

neither did he look old, though his face was a mass of wrinkles and

furrows. He wore a linen jerkin, and his huge boots, which were drawn

up well over his leather knee-breeches, were exactly as they had been

described to Peter.

"Peter Munk! what are you doing in the Pine-grove?" asked the lord of

the forest, at last, in deep, threatening tones.

"Good morning, countryman," answered Peter, trying to conceal his

terror, but trembling violently all the same. "I am going home through

the Pine-grove."

"Peter Munk," rejoined the other, surveying him with a terrible

penetrating look. "Your way lies not through this glade."

"You are quite right," said Peter, "but it is so hot to-day, and I

thought it would be cooler here."

"Utter no falsehoods, Charcoal-Peter!" thundered Dutch Michael; "or I

will strike you to earth with my staff! Do you think that I have not

seen you begging of that pigmy yonder?" And he continued in more gentle

tones: "Go to! Go to! that was a silly thing to do, and well it was for

you that you did not know the incantation. He is a niggard, that little

fellow, and gives but little; and those to whom he gives have not

enough wherewith to enjoy themselves. Peter, you are a poor simpleton,

and my heart grieves for you; such a brave and handsome fellow as

you are, one who should make his mark in the world, and yet but a

charcoal-burner! While others can throw away whole armsful of thalers

and ducats, you have but a few farthings to spend;--'tis a wretched

existence."

"True! true! You are right! 'Tis a miserable life!"

"Well, it is no fault of mine," pursued the terrible Michael; "I have

already rescued many a brave fellow from misery, and you would not be

the first. Tell me: how many hundred thalers do you want to begin

with?"

As he spoke Michael rattled the money in his huge pocket, and the sound

of it was as in the dream overnight. But his words caused Peter's heart

to quake fearfully and painfully in his breast, he went hot and cold,

for he did not look as one who offers gold out of compassion without

expecting something in exchange.

[Illustration: Peter Munk, what are you doing in the pine grove?]

There flashed into his mind the mysterious words of the old man when

speaking of those who had become rich, whereupon, seized with

indefinable horror and dread, he exclaimed: "Many thanks, good sir! but

I would rather have nothing to do with you; I have heard enough of you

already!" Saying which, he turned and ran away as fast as he could.

But the Forest demon, taking enormous strides, kept at his side,

muttering in a dull and threatening voice: "You will repent this,

Peter--so stands it written on your brow; I can read it in your eyes!

_You cannot escape me!_--Run not so fast: hearken to a word of reason;

yonder is the boundary of my domain."

Hearing this and seeing not far ahead a little ditch, Peter redoubled

his speed in order to cross it and escape, and Michael was compelled to

hurry in order to keep up with him, cursing and muttering threats the

while. On coming to the ditch, the lad made a desperate leap, for he

perceived that the demon had raised his staff to crush him with it.

Luckily he managed to jump the ditch, and as he did so the staff flew

into splinters as though it had struck against an invisible wall, while

a large piece of it fell at Peter's feet.

He seized it, turning triumphantly to hurl it at the brutal Dutch

Michael; but, in the same moment, he felt the wood moving in his hand,

and discovered to his horror that he had hold of a huge snake, which

was rearing its head at him with venomous tongue and glittering eyes.

He loosened his grasp of it; but it had already entwined itself about

his arm, bringing its swaying head nearer and nearer to his face. Then,

in a flash, a monstrous woodcock swept down from above, seized the

snake in its beak, and bore it aloft in the air. Dutch Michael, who had

been watching the scene from the further side of the ditch, howled and

shouted and raved as he saw the snake overpowered by this powerful

antagonist.

[Illustration: "Then, in a flash, a monstrous woodcock swept down from

above and seized the snake in its beak."]

Exhausted and trembling, Peter pursued his way; the path grew steeper,

the scene ever wilder, until he found his way blocked by a huge

pine-tree.

Bowing low towards the invisible Glassmanikin, just as he had done the

day before, he began:

"Guardian of all in the pine-tree wold,

Art many hundred ages old,

Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow,

Thee only Sunday's children know."

"You haven't quite hit it, Charcoal-Peter; but as it is yourself, we

will let it pass," said a soft clear voice close by him. He turned

round in amazement; and there, under a splendid pine-tree, he saw a

little, old manikin, clad in black jerkin and red stockings, and with a

large hat on his head. He had a delicate friendly little face and

beard, the latter as fine as a spider's web. And what was the more

wonderful, he was smoking a pipe of blue glass; and Peter, on going

nearer was astounded to see that the little man's clothes, shoes and

hat were also made of coloured glass; yet it was as pliant as if still

molten, for it folded and creased like cloth with every movement of the

little body.

"So you have just met that vagabond, Dutch Michael," said the manikin,

with an odd wheeze between each word. "He tried to give you a good

fright; but I have relieved him of that magic cudgel of his--it will

never serve him again as a weapon."

"Yes, Master Guardian," replied Peter, with a deep bow "I was quite

terrified. You must indeed have been that Master Woodcock which bit the

snake to death; for which I thank you with all my heart. But I have

come to you for advice; things are very bad and irksome with me; a

charcoal-burner cannot do much for himself; and as I am still young, I

thought that, perhaps, I could become something better. And I cannot

help thinking of others, and how well they have done for themselves in

a very short time--take, for example, that fellow, Ezekiel, and the

Dance-King, why, money is to them as leaves in autumn."

"Peter," said the little man gravely, emitting a long puff of smoke

from his mouth: "Peter, don't mention such people to me. What profit

have those who are able to appear to be happy for a year or two, only

at the cost of misery hereafter? You must not despise your trade; it

was your father's and your grandfather's before you, and they were

worthy men, Peter Munk! I should not like to think that it is love of

idleness that has led you to me!"

The seriousness with which the manikin spoke disconcerted Peter. "No,

no," he replied, blushing. "Idleness, I know well, Master Guardian, is

the root of all evil; but you cannot blame me for preferring other

trades to my own. Charcoal-burning is held by the world to be such a

mean calling, while glassblowers, and raftsmen, and watchmakers and

such like are highly respected."

"Pride often comes before a fall," replied the diminutive lord of the

Pine-forest, in somewhat friendlier tones. "You are a peculiar race,

you human beings! It is seldom indeed that one is found who is

contented with the lot to which he was born and bred. And to little

purpose would it be if you did become a glass-blower, you would then

yearn to be a timber-merchant; and were you timber-merchant, you would

at once be coveting the post of forester or magistrate! Yet, so be it,

Peter! if you promise me to be diligent, I will help you to something

better. To every Sunday's child who knows how to find me, I am bound to

accord three wishes. The first two I freely grant; but the third I can

refuse, if it be a foolish one. Wherefore, Peter, wish yourself

something: but take care that it is something good and useful!"

[Illustration: You hav'nt quite hit, Charcoal Peter.]

"Hurrah! what a splendid Glass-manikin you are; you rightly deserve to

be called Guardian, for you can dispense treasures indeed! Well--and so

I may wish for whatever my heart desires! Now, for my first, I wish I

could dance even better than the Dance-King, and could always have as

much money in my pocket as Fat Ezekiel."

"You idiot!" cried the dwarf, angrily. "What a miserable wish--to be a

good dancer, and to have money wherewith to gamble! Are you not ashamed

of yourself, you stupid Peter, to cheat yourself of so good a chance of

happiness? What good will your dancing be to your mother or to

yourself? How will your money help you, which, according to your wish,

is only for the tavern, and will only stay there like that of the

wretched Dance-King? For the rest of the week you will have nothing,

and be no better off than before. One more wish I am to grant you; but

take care you ask for something more sensible." Peter scratched his

head, and after a little hesitation, said: "Well, I will wish myself

the finest and richest glass-factory in the whole Black Forest with

everything complete and money to carry it on."

"Nothing else?" asked the little man, anxiously. "Nothing else, Peter?"

"Well--you might add a horse, and a little trap--"

"Oh, you stupid Charcoal-Peter!" exclaimed the dwarf, throwing his

glass-pipe angrily against a big pine, where it shattered to atoms.

"Horses! Traps! _Sense_, I say to you, _good sense, sound common-sense

and insight_ you should have wished for--not horses and traps. Ah well,

don't be so downcast; we will see whether we cannot keep you from

coming to harm, for the second wish was not so foolish on the whole. A

good glass-factory will support both master and man; if you had only

insight and understanding into the bargain, carriages and horses would

have come of themselves."

"But, Master Guardian," remarked Peter, "I have still one wish left. I

could wish for sense with that, if it is so supremely necessary as you

say."

"No, no, Peter. You will find yourself in many an awkward fix yet, when

you will be glad that you have still another wish left you. For the

present, take yourself homewards. Here are two thousand guilders,"

continued the little forest gnome, drawing a little purse from his

pocket. "Be satisfied with them; for if you come here again asking for

money, I shall have to hang you to the tallest of yonder pine-trees.

Such has been my custom ever since I came to live in this forest. Old

Winkfritz, who owned that large glass-factory in the lower part of the

forest, died three days ago. Go thither early to-morrow morning, and

make a bid for the property. Behave yourself, be industrious, and I

will visit you from time to time, to be at hand with advice and help,

seeing that you did not wish for common-sense. But--and I am now

speaking in all seriousness--your first wish was a bad one. Have a care

of becoming too fond of the tavern, Peter! it is a place which brings

good to nobody in the long run!"

While speaking, the little man had pulled out another pipe of the

finest flint-glass, and after filling it with dried pine-needles, had

thrust it into his little, toothless mouth. He then produced a huge

burning-glass, stepped into the sunlight and lit his pipe. This

business over, he turned to Peter, and shook hands with him in the most

friendly manner, gave him a few more words of advice, puffed away at

his pipe even more vigorously until he disappeared in a cloud of smoke

which gave forth an aroma of the finest Dutch tobacco as it curled

slowly upwards among the pine branches overhead.

On arriving home, Peter found his mother in great trouble about him,

for the good lady had come to the conclusion that her son must have

enlisted as a soldier. But with great glee he bade her be of good

cheer, telling her how he had fallen in with a good friend in the

forest, who had advanced him money so that he could set himself up in a

business other than charcoal-burning. Although his mother had been

living for a good thirty years in the charcoal-burner's hut, and had

grown as accustomed to the sight of grimy faces as a miller's wife to

the flour-covered features of her husband, yet she was vain enough to

despise her former station from the very moment in which Peter showed

her the means to a more ostentatious way of life.

"Ah!" she said, "as the mother of the owner of a glass factory, my

position is very different from that of my neighbours, Greta and Beta;

in future I shall occupy a more prominent place in church, in a pew

where the better class people sit."

Her son soon came to an agreement with the owners of the glass-factory.

He kept on the old staff of workmen, and busied himself night and day

in the manufacture of glass. At first, he was very interested in the

work. It was his pleasure to go down to the glass-works, walking about

with a pompous air and with his hands in both pockets, up and down, in

and out, peeping in here, and peering in there, talking to this man,

and then to that one, often causing his work-people to laugh heartily

at his comments; while his chief delight was to watch the glass being

blown, frequently taking a hand himself in the work, forming from the

molten mass the most extraordinary patterns.

But too soon he began to weary of the business; at first, he was at the

factory for only one hour per day, then only every other day, and,

finally, only once a week, so that his workmen did just as they

pleased. And it was all the result of his visits to the tavern. On the

Sunday after his return from the Pine-grove, he went into the tavern,

and who should be footing it on the dancing floor but the Dance-King;

while Fat Ezekiel was already sitting behind a stoup of ale, throwing

dice for crown-thalers. At sight of the latter Peter thrust his hands

in his pockets to find out if the Glassmanikin had kept his word--and

behold! his pockets were stuffed full of gold and silver pieces.

Meanwhile, his legs were twitching and jerking as if they were itching

to be dancing; so when the first dance was over, he took up a position

with his partner exactly opposite the Dance-King. Whenever the latter

sprang three feet into the air, Peter leapt four; and if his rival

performed any particularly wonderful or graceful steps, Peter twirled

and twisted his feet so that all beholders were well nigh beside

themselves with delight and admiration. And when those at the dance

heard that Peter had bought a glass-factory, and when they saw how he

flung a small coin to the musicians every time he danced past them,

there was no limit to their astonishment. Some were of opinion that he

had discovered a treasure in the forest; others held that he must have

inherited a fortune; while all paid him honour, and thought him to be a

man of position, simply because he had money. He might gamble away

twenty guilders in an evening, yet his pockets rattled and jingled just

the same, as though they still contained hundreds of thalers. When

Peter saw how much he was respected, he did not know how to contain

himself, so great was his joy and pride. He threw money about by

handsful, and was particularly liberal to the poor, because he himself

knew what it was to feel the pinch of poverty. The supernatural ability

of the new dancer soon cast all the feats of the Dance-King into the

shade, and Peter was now hailed as "Dance-Emperor." The most

venturesome gamblers did not stake so recklessly as he did, and

therefore did not lose so heavily. But the more he lost, the more he

gained--which was quite in accordance with the promise he had obtained

from the Glassmanikin. He had wished always to have as much money in

his pockets as there was in Fat Ezekiel's, and it was to him he lost

most of his money. No matter whether he lost twenty or thirty guilders

on a single throw, there they were again in his pocket as soon as

Ezekiel had gathered them from the table.

[Illustration: Peter gambling at the Inn.]

But gradually he brought his debauchery and gambling to a degree worse

than that of the vilest character in the Black Forest; and he was

more often dubbed Gambling-Peter than Dance-Emperor, for he was at

the gambling table nearly the whole week through. Meanwhile his

glass-business was going rapidly to rack and ruin, and it was all due

to Peter's folly. He manufactured glass as fast as it could be made;

but with the glass-factory he had not bought the secret how to manage

it. In the end he had so much glass on hand that he did not know what

to do with it; and he was forced to sell it at half its value to

pedlars in order to find the money wherewith to pay his workpeople. One

evening while returning home from the tavern, despite all the wine he

had drunk to keep up his spirits, he could not help contemplating with

terror and grief the ruin of his fortunes. All at once he noticed that

somebody was walking at his side; he looked round, and behold--it was

the Glassmanikin. He flew at once into a furious passion, bewailing his

bad luck and cursing the little man as the cause of all his misfortune.

"What am I to do now with my horses and carts?" he said. "Of what use

to me is my factory and all my glass? Even when I was a miserable

charcoal-burner, I was happier, and did not have all these worries.

Now, I am expecting any day to see the bailiffs in my factory to sell

me up in order to pay my debts."

"So-ho?" rejoined the Glassmanikin. "So-ho? Then I am to be blamed for

your misfortunes? Is this your gratitude for all my kindness to you?

Did I not warn you not to make such foolish wishes. You wished to

become a glass-blower, without having the slightest idea how to sell

your glass. Did I not tell you not to wish too hastily? Common-sense,

Peter, Wisdom, that was what you lacked."

"Bother your Common-sense and Wisdom!" cried the other. "I am as clever

a fellow as anyone else--and what is more I will prove it to you,

Glassmanikin." Saying which he seized the little man by the collar, and

shouted: "Ha! I have you now. Guardian of the pine-tree wold! And now I

will make my third wish, which you will have to grant me. I demand,

without delay, on this very spot, two hundred thousand thalers, and a

house, and--oh-oh-ah!" he shrieked, wringing his hands, for the

Glassmanikin had turned into a mass of white-hot glass, burning Peter's

hand as if he had thrust it into fire; and in the same moment the

manikin vanished.

For several days afterwards Peter's scorched and swollen hand reminded

him of his ingratitude, and folly. But he soon turned a deaf ear to the

voice of conscience, consoling himself with the reflection: "What if

they do sell up my glass-factory and everything else. Fat Ezekiel is

still left to me! So long as he has money on Sundays, I shall not go

without."

Very good Peter! But supposing he should happen to have none at all,

for once?

And this is what actually came to pass. One Sunday, Peter drove to the

tavern, people observing him through their windows as he passed.

"There goes Gambling-Peter!" cried some; while others exclaimed:

"Hullo, there's the Dance-Emperor, the rich Glass-manufacturer." But a

few shook their heads, saying: "Don't be so sure about his wealth; why,

everybody is talking about his debts, and it is rumoured among the

townspeople that the bailiffs will soon be selling him up."

Meanwhile Peter bowed proudly and gravely to those he knew, and on

arriving at the tavern, alighted from his carriage, crying out: "Good

evening, landlord; has Fat Ezekiel yet arrived?" To which a deep voice

replied: "Just come in, Peter? Your place has been kept for you, and we

have got the cards out already."

Peter entered and got ready to play, well aware that Ezekiel must be

well supplied with funds, for his own pockets were stuffed full with

money.

Having taken his seat opposite the others he began playing, now

winning, and now losing; and they kept on until such a late hour that

all respectable people went off home. The lamps were lighted, and still

they played on, until two of the players said: "There, that's enough!

we must be getting home to wife and child."

But Gambling-Peter urged Fat Ezekiel to stay on. The latter was for a

time unwilling, but said at last: "Well, I will just count my money,

and then we will play at dice--and let the stake be five guilders, for

to throw for less is child's play."

He pulled out his purse and counted his money, of which he found he had

nearly a hundred guilders; whereby, Peter knew at once how much he

himself had in his pockets without being under the necessity of

reckoning.

But Ezekiel's luck had gone; exactly as he had been winning, hitherto,

he now lost steadily at every throw, cursing heartily the while. If he

threw a pair, Gambling-Peter followed with one, two pips higher. At

length he laid his last five guilders on the table, saying: "One more

throw, and if I lose, you can lend me some of your winnings, Peter, so

that we can continue, for every good sportsman ought to help another."

"As much as you like, even to a hundred guilders," said the

Dance-Emperor, rejoicing in his luck; whereupon Fat Ezekiel shook the

dice-box and threw "fifteen."

"Good," he cried, "now we shall see." Peter threw eighteen, and as he

looked he heard a harsh voice, not unknown to him, mutter in his ear:

"So, here we are at the end of it all!" He swung round. There, standing

directly behind him, towered the gigantic form of Dutch Michael.

Stricken with surprise and horror he let the money, which he had just

picked up from the table, slip through his fingers.

Fat Ezekiel apparently, had not noticed the demon, for he requested

Gambling-Peter to lend him ten guilders so that he could go on playing.

As one in a dream, Peter put his hand in his pocket--it was empty! He

tried another pocket--there was nothing in that, either. He took off

his coat and turned it upside down, shaking it--but not a single coin

showed itself. And now, for the first time he remembered his first

wish--to have always as much money in his pockets as Fat Ezekiel had in

his. But all had vanished like smoke.

[Illustration: "So! here we are at the end of it all."]

Meanwhile the landlord and Ezekiel sat staring at him in bewilderment,

as he searched himself all over in vain to find some money somewhere.

They refused to believe that he had none; and, at last, after they

themselves had felt in his pockets, they grew angry, vowing that

Gambling-Peter must be a magician who had transported all the money he

had won together with his own to his house. Peter defended himself as

best he could, but appearances were against him. Ezekiel vowed he would

spread the shameful story all over the Black Forest; and the landlord

declared he would go to town the first thing on the morrow, and

denounce Peter as a sorcerer, and he would see to it, he added, that he

was burnt at the stake as such. Whereupon they both fell on him in a

fury, tore his clothes from his back, and flung him out into the road.

It was pitch-dark, not a star appearing in the sky, as Peter slunk

homewards; but the misery which he suffered did not prevent him from

recognising a dark form which strode along at his side, and which broke

silence, at length, with the following words: "It is all up with you,

Peter Munk; all your glory has come to an end; as I would have told you

at first, if you had but listened to me instead of running off to that

stupid Glassmanikin. Now you can see for yourself what is to be gained

by despising my advice. Just try your luck with me for once, for I am

very sorry for you in your present miserable condition. Nobody who

comes to me ever repents having done so; and if you are not too afraid

to come, I shall be awaiting you all day in the Pine-grove and you have

only to call me, and I will come to you."

Peter knew well who it was thus addressing him. Seized with a sudden

dread, he made no reply, but sped onwards to his home.

END OF PART I.

THE COLD HEART

PART II

On the Monday morning when Peter arrived at his Glassworks, he found

not only his workpeople there, but also some very unwelcome visitors;

these were the Bailiff and three of his myrmidons. The Bailiff greeted

Peter with a "Good-morning," asked how he had slept, and then produced

a lengthy document on which appeared the names of Peter's creditors.

"Can you settle or not?" demanded the official, with a keen glance at

Peter. "And make haste, please, for I have very little time to spare,

as the tower-clock struck three some time ago."

Then Peter, in despair, had to confess that he had no more money in the

world, and made over to the Bailiff for appraisement all his property,

including factory, stock, stables, horses, wagons, etc.; and as the

official and his men went round making an inventory of everything, he

thought to himself: "The Pine-grove is not so far away; and as the

_Little One_ has not come to my aid, I'll try my luck with the _Big

One_." And straightway he set off running for the Pine-grove as fast as

if the officers of justice were at his heels.

As he passed the spot where he had first spoken to the Glassmanikin, he

felt as though an invisible hand had caught hold of him; but he

wrenched himself free, and ran on towards the ditch which, as he had

had occasion to remember marked the boundary of Dutch Michael's domain,

and no sooner did he spy it than he cried out with what breath he had

left in his lungs: "Dutch Michael! Master Dutch Michael!" and

immediately there stood before him the gigantic form of the raftsman,

pole in hand.

"So, you've come!" cried Michael, with a laugh. "Did they want to strip

the skin from your back in order to sell it for the benefit of your

creditors? Well, don't worry about it; as I have already told you, for

your troubles you have to thank that sanctimonious little hypocrite,

the Glassmanikin. When one gives at all, it should be with a lavish

hand, and not stingily as is that niggard's wont. But come," he

continued, turning towards the forest, "follow me to my house, and we

will see if we cannot strike a bargain."

"Strike a bargain?" thought Peter. "What can he get out of me? What

have I to offer him? Must I serve him in some way; or what else will he

require of me?"

At first, they climbed a steep incline which ended abruptly on the edge

of a dark, deep, precipitous ravine. Dutch Michael sprang down from

rock to rock as easily as down a broad staircase; and Peter nearly

fainted with terror when he perceived how the form of the demon, as

soon as the latter's foot had touched bottom, shot up to the height of

a church steeple. Then the monster stretched forth an arm as long as a

weaver's beam, and a hand as broad as a large table, crying out in a

deep voice that sounded like a death-knell: "Stand on my hand and take

hold of my fingers, so that you do not fall." Trembling all over, Peter

did as he was bid, sitting down on the palm and steadying himself by

grasping the gigantic thumb.

Deep down into the bowels of the earth he descended, but to Peter's

surprise it grew no darker; on the contrary, the daylight seemed to

become more and more intense in the ravine, until his eyes could

scarcely bear the glare of it.

As Peter descended, Dutch Michael gradually decreased in size until

when Peter had reached the ground the former had regained his normal

stature, and there they stood before a house similar in all respects to

those owned by well-to-do peasants in the Black Forest. The room, into

which Peter was conducted, differed in no particular from the rooms of

other Black Forest cottages, except that its appearance imparted a

feeling of loneliness. The wooden clock hanging on the wall, the huge

Dutch stove, the broad benches, the crockery arranged along the cornice

were just as one might see anywhere.

Michael bade Peter take a seat at the great table, and then left the

room, returning immediately with a jug of wine and glasses. He poured

out some for Peter and himself, after which they sat and talked, Dutch

Michael speaking of the joys of life, of foreign countries, of

beautiful cities and rivers, until Peter became possessed of a longing

to visit the same, and expressed his desire to the Dutchman.

[Illustration: And stretched forth an arm as long as a weaver's beam,

and a hand as broad as a large table.]

"But even if your whole frame were pulsating with the courage and

energy to undertake something of the sort, would not a few beats of

that foolish heart of yours set you all of a tremble at the prospect?

And why should a sensible fellow such as you be troubled with such

things as misfortune or wounded pride? The other day when they called

you a cheat and a villain, was it in your head that you felt the

disgrace? Did you get a pain in your stomach when the bailiff appeared

just now and turned you out of doors? Come, tell me, where did you feel

most anguish?"

"In my heart," Peter replied, pressing his hand on his throbbing

breast; for he felt that his heart was turning over and over in his

bosom.

"Now, don't be angry at what I am going to say--you have thrown away

many a hundred guilders to beggars and other worthless people; and what

profit has it brought you? They have showered blessings on your head,

and wished you good health; but did you ever feel any better for that?

Why, you could have kept a physician on half the money you thus wasted.

A blessing, indeed--a fine blessing, now that they have seized your

goods and turned you out! What was it that drove you to dive your hands

into your pockets every time a beggarman stretched out his tattered hat

to you?--Your heart it was, and always your heart; never your eyes, nor

your tongue, your arms, nor your legs,--but your heart; you have always

taken it too much to heart, as the saying is."

"But how can one manage to avoid it? I am trying all I can to suppress

it, but my heart keeps on thumping and causing me anguish."

"By yourself, poor wretch that you are, you can do nothing," cried the

other with a laugh; "but just let me take charge of the fluttering

thing, and you will see how much more pleasant it will be."

"Give you my heart?" shrieked the horrified Peter. "Why I should fall

down dead on the spot! Not if I can help it!"

"Of course, if one of your master surgeons were to remove your heart,

then you would die to a certainty; but with me it is quite another

matter. But just come in here and satisfy yourself."

Saying which, he opened a door leading into another room, and bade

Peter follow him. As the latter crossed the threshold his heart

contracted convulsively, but he did not notice it, for the sight which

now presented itself to him was too weird and amazing. On a number of

wooden shelves stood glass-vessels filled with some transparent fluid,

and in each of these was a human heart. Moreover, to every vessel was

affixed a label upon which a name had been inscribed, several of which

Peter's curiosity drove him to read. Here was the heart of the mayor of

a neighbouring town; there, that of Fat Ezekiel; in the next vessel lay

the heart of the Dance-King; further on, was the head-forester's heart.

Here were also six hearts of well-known corn-brokers, eight belonging

to conscription overseers, three to money lenders; in short, it was a

collection of hearts of the most respected people in the district for

twenty miles round.

"Look," said Dutch Michael, "all these people have shaken themselves

free from the cares and troubles of life! These hearts beat anxiously

and painfully no longer, and their original owners rejoice that they

have been able to rid themselves of such restless companions."

"But what do they carry in their breasts in place of these?" asked

Peter, who was quite faint with all that he had seen.

"This!" answered the other, as he took from a drawer _a heart of

stone_.

"What?" cried Peter, unable to repress a shudder which affected his

entire frame. "_A heart of marble?_ But, if it is as you say, Master

Dutch Michael, such a thing must feel very cold inside one's bosom."

"Not exactly cold, but quite pleasantly cool. Why should one's heart be

warm? It doesn't keep you warm in winter--a good glass of spirits is

far better for that purpose than a warm heart; while in summer, when it

is so hot and close, you cannot think how cooling is the effect of such

a heart as this. Besides which, as I have already told you, such a

heart as this never throbs with anguish or terror, with foolish

compassion or with any other emotion."

"And is that all that you have to give me?" asked Peter disappointedly.

"I hoped for money, and you offer me a stone!"

"Well, perhaps a hundred thousand guilders may satisfy you for a start.

If you went the right way to work, you would soon be a millionaire."

"A hundred thousand?" cried the poor charcoal-burner in an ecstasy.

"There, don't beat so violently in my breast, we shall soon have done

with one another. Good, Michael! give me the stone and the money, and

you may relieve this habitation of its restless inmate."

"Ah, I was sure that you were a sensible fellow!" answered the

Dutchman, smiling amiably. "Come, we will have just one more glass, and

then I will count out the money for you!"

Whereupon they returned to the other room, and sat down to their wine,

drinking glass after glass, until Peter fell into a deep sleep.

* * * * *

Charcoal-Peter was awakened by the joyous fanfare of a posthorn, and

behold he was sitting in a coach, which was bowling along a handsome

broad highway, and when he leaned out of the window he could see the

Black-Forest lying far behind him in the distance. At first he could

not believe that it was he himself who could be thus sitting in this

coach. His clothes were not the same that he had been wearing the day

before; yet he remembered everything that had happened so clearly, that

at last he doubted no longer, but cried out: "I am Charcoal-Peter,

that's certain--Charcoal-Peter Munk and no other!"

He fell to wondering why it was that he could feel no regret,

considering that, for the first time in his life, he had left the

peaceful homestead and the forest where he had lived so long. Even when

the thought of his mother occurred to him, helpless and wretched as she

must be now, no tear came to his eyes, not a sigh escaped him--he felt

so absolutely indifferent to everything. "Truly," he muttered, "tears

and sighs, homesickness and melancholy, all come from the heart; thanks

to Dutch Michael, mine is cold and made of stone."

He laid his hand on his breast; all was still within; there was no

movement whatever. "If he has kept his word as to the hundred thousand

guilders as he has with regard to my heart, I shall be quite content,"

he cried, beginning to examine everything in the coach. He found

wearing apparel in such quantity and of such variety as he could

possibly desire, but no money. At last he came upon a pocket in which

he found many thousands of thalers in gold, besides bills drawn on

business houses in all the great cities. "Now I have got what I want,"

he thought, and he settled himself comfortably in a corner of the

coach, as it drove onward into the wide world.

For two years Peter drove about everywhere, gazing to left and right

from his coach at the houses as he passed them, and at the signboards

of the inns at which he stopped, afterwards wandering about the towns,

where everything that was worthy of note was shown to him. But he

found pleasure in nought;--no picture, no building, no music, no

dance,--nothing could move his heart of stone; his eyes and ears could

no longer convey to him any sense of the beautiful. Nothing remained

for him but to take what joy he could in eating, drinking, and

sleeping; and thus he lived; travelling aimlessly about the world,

eating, drinking for his sole entertainment, and sleeping his only

escape from ennui. Now and then he would recollect how he had been

happier when he was poor and had to work for his living. Then every

beautiful vista over hill and vale had enchanted him, music and song

had always delighted him, and he had found lasting enjoyment in the

simple fare brought him by his mother as he sat by the charcoal pile.

And as he pondered on the fact, he thought it very strange that now he

could laugh at nothing, whereas, formerly, he had been wont to roar

over the smallest joke. Now, when others laughed, he, for politeness'

sake, distended his mouth, but there was no laughter in his heart. He

perceived then that this outward tranquility of his brought no

contentment. In the end it was not homesickness or melancholy which

drove him homeward, but a depressing sense of solitude and joylessness.

As he drove over from Strasburg and came within view of the dark forest

which was his home; when he saw for the first time since his departure

the powerful frames, the friendly, trusty faces of the Black Foresters;

as his ears caught the old familiar homely sounds, he put his hand to

his heart, for his pulse beat more quickly, and he was sure that in

another moment he must either rejoice or weep--but, how was it possible

for him to be so foolish; had he not a heart of stone?

His first visit was to Dutch Michael, who welcomed him with all his old

friendliness.

"Michael," he said to the latter, "I've been on my travels, and have

seen everything; but it is all trash and humbug, and has only succeeded

in boring me. Certainly, this stony thing of yours, which I bear in my

bosom, saves me from much. I am never angry, and never sorrowful; but

then I am never glad, and I feel as if I were only half alive. Cannot

you put a little life into this stone heart? or, better still, give me

back my old heart? It was my companion for five and twenty years, and

if at times it did play me a bad turn, yet on the whole it was a merry

and brave heart."

The forest spirit laughed grimly and bitterly.

"When you are dead, Peter Munk," he replied, "it will not fail you;

then, indeed, will that soft, emotional heart be yours once more, and

you will be able to feel whatever happens to you, joy or sorrow. But

here on this earth it can never return to you! Yes, Peter, you have

certainly been on your travels, but the way in which you lived was too

aimless to be of any use to you. Settle down somewhere in the forest,

build yourself a house, marry; set up in business--it is occupation of

which you are in need; you were bored because you were idle, and yet

you blamed it all upon this unoffending heart!"

Peter perceived that Michael was right in so far as his idleness was

concerned, and determined to amass riches for himself. Michael gave him

another hundred thousand guilders, and they parted good friends.

The story was soon spread throughout the Black-Forest that

Charcoal-Peter Munk, or Gambling-Peter, had returned, this time richer

than before. And it was the same as it is always: when he was reduced

to beggary, they had thrust him from the door in broad daylight; but

now, when he once more visited the inn one fine Sunday afternoon, they

held out their hands to him, praised his horse, asked him about his

travels, and when he sat down to play with Fat Ezekiel with thalers for

points, he stood as high in their esteem as ever. He no longer engaged

in glass-making, but in timber dealing, though this was merely a blind.

His real business was corn-selling and money-lending. By degrees nearly

half the Black Forest was in his debt; he lent money only at a

ruinously high rate of interest, and sold corn only to the poor, to

those who could not pay him cash down for it, at three times its value.

He and the bailiff were now on the friendliest terms, and when anybody

failed to pay Master Peter Munk to the very day, the bailiff and his

myrmidons rode over, made an inventory of all the debtor's belongings

and sold him up, driving father, mother and child out into the forest.

At first, these proceedings caused the wealthy Peter some trouble; for

the poor outcasts besieged his door, the men begging for time to pay,

while their wives sought to move his stony heart by drawing his

attention to their children, who were crying for bread. But after he

had provided himself with one or two big and savage dogs, there was

soon an end to these "cat's concerts," as he termed them. He had but to

whistle and call his dogs, and the beggars fled, crying and screaming,

in all directions.

His chief annoyance was the "old woman"--who was none other than Dame

Munk, his own mother. She had lived in misery and want from the day

when they had sold up her house and home; and now her son, though he

had come back rich, no longer took any notice of her. Yet she, old,

feeble and broken down, would come from time to time and stand, leaning

on her stick, in front of his house. She did not now dare to enter, for

he had once driven her out. But her greatest grief was that she was

compelled to accept the charity of others in order to live, though her

own son could have made her old age happy and free from care. But the

cold heart was never touched at the sight of those pale well-known

features, by their pleading expression, by the withered outstretched

hand, by the frail and tottering form. When she knocked at the door on

Saturdays he would draw sixpence from his pocket, grumbling the while,

wrap it up in a piece of paper, and send a servant out to her with it.

He caught the sound of her quavering voice as she spoke her thanks and

wished him well on this earth; he heard her pant as she shuffled away

from his door; then he thought no more of her except to regret that

another sixpence had been so profitlessly expended.

At length Peter determined to marry. He knew well that any father in

the Black Forest would be glad to let him wed his daughter; but he took

pains over his choice, for he wanted everybody to praise his good luck

and sense even in this matter. Wherefore he rode about on a round of

inspection, visiting several houses in all parts of the forest; but

none of the pretty Black Forest maidens seemed to be beautiful enough

for him. At last, after having vainly attended all the dance-meetings

in his search for a beautiful damsel, he heard one day that the

loveliest and most virtuous of all the girls in the forest was the

daughter of a poor woodcutter.

She lived quietly and alone, keeping house for her father, was clever

and diligent, and never attended a dance, not even at Whitsuntide nor

on Dedication Day. When Peter learnt of this jewel of the Black Forest,

he resolved to marry her, and rode to the cottage which had been

pointed out to him. The father of the lovely girl, whose name was

Elspeth, received his distinguished visitor with surprise, but was even

more astonished when he discovered that this was the wealthy Peter, and

that he was anxious to become his son-in-law. He was not long making up

his mind, for he considered that now there would be an end to all his

troubles and poverty; therefore, without consulting Elspeth, he gave

his consent; and the good child was so obedient that she became Dame

Peter Munk without a murmur of dissent.

But it did not turn out so well for the poor girl as she had expected.

She thought she knew how to keep house, but in nothing could she please

Master Peter. She was sorry for poor people, and as her husband was a

rich man, she considered it no crime to give a penny to a beggar-woman,

or to offer an old man a "schnaps." But one day Master Peter, who had

been watching her, spoke to her roughly and angrily: "Why are you

wasting my fortune on rascals and vagabonds? Did you bring anything

with you into the house that you might give away? In your father's

house there was not enough broth to go round, and yet you are now

throwing money about as if you were a princess! Let me catch you once

more, and you shall feel the weight of my hand."

The lovely Elspeth wept in her room over her husband's ill-nature, and

she often wished she were back again in her father's mean cottage

instead of having to live in the house of the rich, avaricious and

hard-hearted Peter. Even had she known that he had a heart of marble,

and could never love anybody, not even herself, she would not have been

so greatly surprised. Whenever she sat in the porch and a beggar passed

by, taking off his hat and asking for alms, she shut her eyes in order

not to see his wretchedness; she clenched her fist as if to keep her

hand from straying against her will into her pocket in order to bestow

a farthing or so. And so it came about that people throughout the

forest began to speak despitefully of the beautiful Elspeth, saying

that she was even more miserly than Peter Munk.

But one day Elspeth was sitting in front of the house, spinning and

humming a little song, for she was in good spirits, the day was fine,

and her husband, Peter, had ridden away across the country. And as she

sat there, there came along the road a little old man, who was carrying

a great heavy sack, and she could hear him panting from a long way off.

Dame Elspeth regarded him sympathetically, thinking the while that such

a little old man should not have to carry so heavy a burden.

Meanwhile the little man, panting and staggering, drew near, and as he

passed Elspeth, he nearly broke down under the weight of the sack. "Ah,

have mercy, good lady, and give me a drink of water!" said the little

man; "I can go no further, and feel ready to perish."

"But at your age you ought not to carry such a heavy load," said

Elspeth.

[Illustration: Oh, have mercy, good lady and give a drink of water.]

"But I must run errands; I am so poor, and I have to earn my living

somehow," he replied. "Surely so rich a lady as yourself can never know

how hard it is to be poor, and how welcome would be a fresh drink on

such a hot day."

Hearing this, she hurried indoors, took down a jug and filled it with

water; but as she was returning, and was only a few paces away from

him, she noticed how wretched and miserable the little man looked, and

how he had sunk in exhaustion on his sack. This filled her with pity

for him, and, the thought occurring to her that her husband was not at

home, she put down the jug of water, took a goblet and filled it with

wine, and carried it, with a loaf of good rye-bread, out to the old

man. "There!" she said, "as you are so very old a draught of wine will

do you much more good than water. But don't drink it so quickly, and

eat a little of the bread with it."

The little man looked at her in astonishment, then great tears gathered

in his eyes, and he spoke: "I am very old, but I have seen few people

who were so compassionate and who have known so well how to dispense

charity as you, Dame Elspeth. And therefore it will go well with you on

this earth, such a heart as yours shall not lack its reward."

"Nay, and her reward she shall have on this very spot," cried a

terrible voice. Both turned, and there stood Peter, his face crimson

with rage.

"Not only do you offer my best wine to beggars, but you bring it out in

my own goblet so that it may be contaminated by the lips of vagabonds!

There--take your reward!" Elspeth fell at his feet, imploring pardon;

but the stony heart knew no mercy; he swung the whip which he held in

his hand, and with the ebony handle of it struck the beautiful forehead

uplifted to him. Elspeth sank lifeless into the old man's arms.

When he saw her fall, Peter bent over her to see if she still lived. It

was as if he repented the deed for a moment. And as he looked, the

little man spoke to him in a well-known voice: "Don't trouble yourself,

Charcoal-Peter; this was the most beautiful and most lovable flower in

the forest; you have struck it down, and it will never bloom again."

All the blood left Peter's face as he replied: "So, it is you, Master

Guardian? Well, what has been done cannot be undone, and it was bound

to happen thus. But I hope you won't accuse me before the justices as a

murderer."

"Wretch!" answered the Glassmanikin. "What profit could it be to me to

bring your mortal body to the gallows? It is no earthly judge that you

have to fear, but another and sterner Judge; for you have sold your

soul to the Evil One."

"And if I have sold my heart," shrieked Peter, "then nobody is to blame

but yourself and your illusory gifts. Malicious spirit that you are,

you led me on to my destruction; it was you who drove me to seek help

of that other, and you will have to answer for it."

But scarcely had he uttered these words than the Glassmanikin suddenly

began to increase in size and stature, his eyes became as big as

soup-plates, and his mouth was as a glowing furnace, flames darting

from between his lips. Peter sank to his knees, and even his

stone-heart did not prevent his limbs from trembling like an aspen.

With vulture-like claws the forest spirit seized Peter by the neck,

swung him round like dried leaves in a whirlwind, and flung him to

earth with such force that all his ribs cracked.

"Earth-worm!" cried the spirit in a voice that rolled like thunder; "I

could smash you to atoms if I would, for you have blasphemed against

the lord of the forest. But for this dead woman's sake, who gave me

food and drink, I give you eight days' grace. If you do not repent I

will come and crush your bones to powder, and send you hence in your

sins."

It was not until nightfall that some men, who happened to be passing

that way, spied the wealthy Peter Munk lying stretched on the ground.

They turned him over, seeking to discover if he yet lived; and for a

long time he gave no sign. At last, one of them went to a house and

fetched some water. After they had dashed some in his face, Peter drew

a deep breath, groaned and opened his eyes. He gazed about him, and

then asked for his wife, Elspeth; but no one had seen her. He thanked

the men for their assistance, rose and crept into his house, where he

hunted high and low for Elspeth, but without finding her; and he now

knew that what he had hoped had been only a terrible dream was a grim

reality. In his loneliness strange thoughts occurred to him. He feared

nothing, for his heart was insensible to that emotion; but whenever he

thought of his wife's death, he could not help but contemplate his own

probable destiny; when his hour arrived to quit the world, how heavily

laden he would be with the tears and curses of the poor who could not

soften his heart, with the wails of those wretched beings at whom

he had set his dogs, and, yet more, how he would have to bear the

weight of his mother's silent despair, and the blood of his good and

beautiful wife. And what sort of answer would he give the old man,

his father-in-law, if he should come and demand: "Where is my

daughter, your wife?" And how should he answer Another, to Whom all

belongs--woods, seas, hills and the lives of human beings?

[Illustration: "His eyes became as big as soup plates and his mouth as

a glowing furnace."]

The thought of it haunted his dreams; and every now and then he was

awakened by the sound of a sweet voice calling to him: "Peter, get

yourself a warmer heart!" And when thus awakened, he would quickly

close his eyes again, for the voice was that of Elspeth, warning him.

In order to distract his thoughts he sought the tavern, and there he

met Fat Ezekiel. He took a seat opposite him, and they started talking

on various topics: the fine weather, the war, the taxes, and at last

about death and what happened afterwards. Ezekiel replied that the body

is buried while the soul ascends to Heaven or descends to Hell.

"Then they bury one's heart with one?" asked Peter with intense

interest.

"Certainly, that's buried with us."

"But if a man has no heart?" Peter went on. Ezekiel stared at him in

terror. "What do you mean by that? Are you trying to make a fool of me?

Do you suggest that I have no heart?"

"Oh, you have a heart right enough--as hard as stone," replied Peter.

Ezekiel looked at him in amazement, then glanced around to make sure

nobody was within earshot, and spoke: "How do you know that? Perhaps,

your own heart beats no longer?"

"It beats no more;--at least, not here in my breast," answered Peter.

"But tell me, now you know what I mean, what will happen to our

hearts?"

"My dear fellow, why worry about it?" Ezekiel laughingly remonstrated.

"You have plenty to go through this life with, and that is all one

wants. That is just the comfort of having a cold heart; we can never

feel any fear at such thoughts."

"That's true enough; but one cannot help thinking of such things, even

though one feels no dread of them; and I can well remember how terribly

afraid of Hell I used to be when I was a little innocent boy."

"Well--it is certain that it will not go well with us hereafter," said

Ezekiel. "I once asked a schoolmaster about it, and he told me that,

after death, our hearts are weighed to find out how much they are

burdened with sins committed. The light ones mount upwards; the heavy

ones sink downwards; and our stone hearts will weigh a good bit, I'm

thinking."

"That's very probable," replied Peter; "and I often feel very uneasy

that my heart is so indifferent and unfeeling whenever such thoughts

occur to me."

The night following this conversation Peter heard the well-known voice

whisper five or six times in his ear: "Peter! get yourself a warmer

heart!"

Although he felt no remorse that he had killed her, yet when he told

his servants that his wife had gone on a journey, he could not help

thinking: "Ah, but whither has she gone?"

Six days passed in this manner; every night he heard the voice, while

the little forest-spirit's terrible threat rang continually in his

ears. On the seventh morning he sprang out of bed, crying: "Come, I

will see if I can get a warmer heart, for this insensible stone in my

breast makes life too wearisome and dull for anything!"

He put on his best clothes, mounted his horse and rode off to the

Pine-grove.

Having arrived at the spot where the pines grew thickest, he

dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and then strode swiftly to the

summit of the hill, and taking his stand before the great pine, he

repeated the old rhyme:

"Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold.

Art many hundred ages old;

Lord of all lands where pine trees grow,

Thee only Sunday's children know."

And then the Glassmanikin appeared, but not friendly and cordial as

before, but sad and mournful. He was clad in a little coat of black

glass, and a long mourning band trailed from his hat; and Peter knew

well enough for whom he mourned.

"What do you want with me, Peter Munk?" he asked in a hollow voice.

"I have still one wish left, Master Guardian," replied Peter, casting

down his eyes.

"Can stone-hearts wish for anything?" said the other. "You have

everything that your evil mind desired; and I shall be very reluctant

to grant you anything."

"But you promised me three wishes; and one of them still remains to

me."

"But I can reject it, if it is foolish," the forest spirit replied.

"Yet, speak out, I will listen to what you have to say."

"Then take this dead stone away, and give me my living heart," said

Peter.

"Did I make the bargain with you?" the Glassmanikin demanded. "Am I

Dutch Michael, who gives away riches and cold hearts? To him you must

go if you want your own heart again."

"Alas, he will never give it back to me," answered Peter, dejectedly.

"I am sorry for you, bad as you are," said the little man, after a

moment's reflection. "And as your wish is not a foolish one, I can at

least, not refuse to help you. Listen, therefore. By force you can

never regain possession of your heart, but you can do so by cunning;

and by such means you may achieve your purpose without much difficulty;

for Michael is still the stupid Michael, although he deems himself so

clever. Go straight to him, therefore, and do exactly as I tell you!"

Saying which, he gave him full instructions how to proceed, and handed

him a little cross of transparent glass. "He cannot take your life, and

if you hold this up in front of him, saying your prayers meanwhile, he

will have to let you go unharmed. And if you succeed in obtaining that

which you go for, return to me here immediately."

Peter Munk took the little cross, and trying to remember all that he

had been told to do, he proceeded to Dutch Michael's abode. Having

called him thrice by name, the giant stood before him.

"And so you have slain your wife?" asked the Dutchman, laughing

horribly. "I should have done the same, for she was squandering all

your fortune on beggars. But you must leave the country for a time, for

there will be trouble when they find she is missing; and you want

money, of course, and have come to me for some?"

"You have guessed aright!" replied Peter; "and a substantial sum this

time, for it is a long way to America."

Michael led the way to his cottage, where he opened a desk in which lay

a store of money, and took therefrom a roll of gold coins. As he was

counting them out on the table, Peter said to him: "You are a miserable

cheat, Michael, to have deceived me as you did, trying to make me

believe that I had a stone in my breast and that you had my heart."

Michael stared at him perplexedly. "And is it not so?" he asked. "Can

you feel your heart? Is it not as cold as ice? Do you know what it is

to be afraid, or sorry, or remorseful?"

"You have only made my heart stop still; but it is still here in my

breast; and Ezekiel, also, agrees with me that you have imposed on

both of us. You are not the sort of man who could tear anybody's heart

out of their breast without their knowledge, or without danger to

them--that would be witchcraft indeed!"

"But I assure you," cried Michael angrily, "you and Ezekiel and all

those who came to me and are now rich have cold hearts in their bosoms

just as you have, and their own hearts I have here in my keeping."

"Ah; how glibly the lies slip off your tongue," laughed Peter. "You may

tell that story to other people. Do you think I did not come across

dozens of such conjuring tricks when on my travels? The hearts here in

this room are made of wax. You are a wealthy fellow--I will concede so

much, but you are a fool at magic."

The giant flew into a rage, and, flinging open the door to the inner

room, he cried: "Come in here and read all the labels, especially that

one there; look, that is Peter Munk's heart. See how it beats! Do you

think it is possible to make such a thing as that out of wax?"

"And yet it is wax," answered Peter. "A real heart would not beat thus;

and mine is here in my breast. No, no, you are no good at magic."

"But I will prove it to you!" cried Michael, angrily. "You shall feel

for yourself that it is your own heart." He took up the heart, tore

Peter's jerkin open, and drew from his breast a stone which he held

before him; then he breathed on the heart carefully and put it back in

its original place; and as Peter felt the old familiar beat of it, he

rejoiced, that it was possible to him once more.

"How do you feel now?" asked Michael, smiling.

"Well, I must confess you were right after all," answered Peter,

feeling carefully in his pocket for the little cross. "I could not have

believed that anybody could do such things."

"Well, it's possible, anyway! And I can work magic, as you see. But

come, I will now replace the stone."

[Illustration: "And, as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in

size, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a

worm."]

"Gently, Master Michael!" cried Peter, retreating a step and holding up

the cross in front of him. "I laid the trap for _you_ this time, and you

have fallen into it!" And straightway he began to pray, saying whatever

came to his mind. And as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in

size, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a

worm, groaning and moaning; and all the hearts on the surrounding

shelves began to beat and throb until the place sounded as it might

have been a clockmaker's workshop. Then Peter's courage left him; he

rushed from the room and out of the house, and, goaded on by terror,

began to clamber up the rocky precipice; and as he climbed he heard

Michael stamping and clattering and roaring out the most terrible

curses, as he rose from the ground to follow him. Having succeeded in

surmounting the cliff, Peter set out to run to the Pine-grove; and at

the same time a most frightful storm broke out; lightning flashes fell

to right and left of him, creating havoc among the trees. But Peter

reached the Glassmanikin's domain in safety.

His heart beat joyfully in his breast; but only because it _did_ beat.

Then all his past life flashed before him, as horrible as the storm

which was laying waste the forest on all sides behind him. He thought

of Elspeth, his lovely, gentle wife, whom in his avaricious rage he had

murdered; he saw himself as an outcast from society, and he burst into

tears as he stood before the mount on which the Glassmanikin had sat.

And there was the Guardian of the Pine-forest, sitting under a pine and

smoking a little pipe; but he looked more cheerful now. "Why are you

weeping, Charcoal-Peter?" he asked. "Have you your own heart again, or

is the cold stone still in your breast?"

"Ah, Master Guardian!" sobbed Peter; "when I had that cold stone heart

I could not weep, my eyes were as dry as the country in July; and now

this real heart of mine is like to break with grief at my misdeeds! I

drove my debtors to ruin; I set my dogs at the poor and sick, and, you

yourself saw how with my whip I struck the fair forehead of Elspeth!"

"Peter! you were a great sinner!" said the manikin. "Money and idleness

were your undoing, until your heart was turned to stone, knowing

neither joy, nor sorrow, nor remorse, nor compassion. But repentance

atones for much; and if I were only sure that you truly repent for your

past life, I could do something for you even now."

"I want nothing now," answered Peter, sadly, while his head drooped on

his bosom. "I have nothing left to live for; I could never be happy

again; besides what is there for me to do now that I am left alone in

the world? My mother will never forgive my conduct towards her; and,

perhaps, monster that I am, I have already sent her to her grave. And

Elspeth, my wife! Slay me also, Master Guardian, and then there will be

an end at least of my wretched life."

"Good!" replied the Glassmanikin, "If that is your only wish, I can not

refuse to grant it; and my axe is here to my hand."

Calmly he withdrew his little pipe from his mouth, knocked out the

ashes and pocketed it. Then, slowly, he arose and went behind the

pine-trees. Peter threw himself down weeping, on the grass; he had

nothing more to do with this life but to await patiently the death-blow

that should end it. After a while he heard light footsteps approaching,

and thought: "Now he is coming."

[Illustration: "Look once more around, Peter Munk."]

"Look once more around, Peter Munk!" said the voice of the Manikin. He

brushed the tears from his eyes, and looked up,--and there before him

stood his mother and Elspeth, his wife, smiling kindly at him.

He sprang joyfully to his feet: "You are not dead, Elspeth! And you,

mother!--Ah, how can you ever pardon me?"

"They will pardon you," said the Glassmanikin, "because you have truly

repented, and they will forget everything. Return to your father's

cottage, a charcoal-burner as before. If you are good and honest, you

will do honour to your trade, and your neighbours will love and respect

you more than if you were the possessor of ten tons of gold."

Thus spoke the Glassmanikin, and bade them farewell.

The three praised and blessed him, and set out for home together.

The grand house which had belonged to Peter in his days of splendour

was no longer there; it had been struck by lightning and had been burnt

to the ground with all its treasures; but the cottage which had been

his father's home was not far distant; thither they went their way,

quite unmoved by their heavy loss.

But what a surprise was in store for them when they reached the

cottage. It had been changed into a fine farmhouse, and everything

within, though simple, was good and clean.

"The good Glassmanikin has done all this!" cried Peter.

"How lovely!" exclaimed Elspeth. "I shall feel much more at home here

than in that big house with all those servants."

Thenceforth Peter Munk became a hard-working and noble man. He was

content with his lot, and worked at his trade without murmuring; and

thus it came that by his own efforts he made money, and earned the love

and respect of all in the forest. He never spoke another harsh word to

his wife Elspeth, he honoured his mother, and relieved all the poor who

knocked at his door.

One year after, when his wife bore him a beautiful boy, Peter set out

for the Pine-grove and repeated the old rhyme. But no Glassmanikin

showed himself.

"Master Guardian!" he shouted. "Do listen to me! I don't want anything,

but have come to ask you to be godfather to my little son."

But there was no answer; nothing but a light breath of wind which

rustled through the pines, causing a few pinecones to fall at his feet.

"Well, I will take these with me in remembrance, as you will not show

yourself," cried Peter, putting the cones in his pocket, and turning

homewards. But when he took off his jerkin, and his mother turned the

pockets inside out before putting the jerkin away, there fell on the

floor four bulky packets of money, which, when opened, were seen to

contain nothing but bright new Baden thalers, with not a single bad one

among them. And this was the manikin's present, as sponsor, to his

little godchild, Peterkin.

Thus they lived on in peace and contentment, and Peter would often say

then, and in after years when a grey-haired old man: "It is better to be

content with a little, than to be possessed of wealth and _a cold

heart_!"

* * * * *

Printed by Ebenezer Baylis & Son, Trinity Works, Worcester.