HOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE
PROSPERED THEREIN.
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The King of the Golden River had hardly made the extraordinary exit
related in the last chapter, before Hans and Schwartz came roaring into
the house, very savagely drunk. The discovery of the total loss of their
last piece of plate had the effect of sobering them just enough to
enable them to stand over Gluck, beating him very steadily for a quarter
of an hour; at the expiration of which period they dropped into a couple
of chairs, and requested to know what he had got to say for himself.
Gluck told them his story, of which, of course, they did not believe a
word. They beat him again, till their arms were tired, and staggered to
bed. In the morning, however, the steadiness with which he adhered to
his story obtained him some degree of credence; the immediate
consequence of which was, that the two brothers, after wrangling a long
time on the knotty question, which of them should try his fortune first,
drew their swords and began fighting. The noise of the fray alarmed the
neighbours, who, finding they could not pacify the combatants, sent for
the constable.
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Hans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid himself; but
Schwartz was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the peace,
and, having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was thrown into
prison till he should pay.
When Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and determined to set out
immediately for the Golden River. How to get the holy water, was the
question. He went to the priest, but the priest could not give any holy
water to so abandoned a character. So Hans went to vespers in the
evening for the first time in his life, and, under pretence of crossing
himself, stole a cupful, and returned home in triumph.
Next morning he got up before the sun rose, put the holy water into a
strong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a basket, slung
them over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand, and set off for
the mountains.
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On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he looked
in at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself peeping out
of the bars, and looking very disconsolate.
"Good morning, brother," said Hans; "have you any message for the King
of the Golden River?"
Schwartz gnashed his teeth with rage, and shook the bars with all his
strength; but Hans only laughed at him, and advising him to make himself
comfortable till he came back again, shouldered his basket, shook the
bottle of holy water in Schwartz's face till it frothed again, and
marched off in the highest spirits in the world.
It was, indeed, a morning that might have made any one happy, even with
no Golden River to seek for. Level lines of dewy mist lay stretched
along the valley, out of which rose the massy mountains--their lower
cliffs in pale grey shadow, hardly distinguishable from the floating
vapour, but gradually ascending till they caught the sunlight, which ran
in sharp touches of ruddy colour, along the angular crags, and pierced,
in long level rays, through their fringes of spear-like pine. Far above,
shot up red splintered masses of castellated rock, jagged and shivered
into myriads of fantastic forms, with here and there a streak of sunlit
snow, traced down their chasms like a line of forked lightning; and, far
beyond, and far above all these, fainter than the morning cloud, but
purer and changeless, slept, in the blue sky, the utmost peaks of the
eternal snow.
The Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower and snowless
elevations, was now nearly in shadow; all but the uppermost jets of
spray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of the
cataract, and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind.
On this object, and on this alone, Hans' eyes and thoughts were fixed;
forgetting the distance he had to traverse, he set off at an imprudent
rate of walking, which greatly exhausted him before he had scaled the
first range of the green and low hills. He was, moreover, surprised, on
surmounting them, to find that a large glacier, of whose existence,
notwithstanding his previous knowledge of the mountains, he had been
absolutely ignorant, lay between him and the source of the Golden
River. He entered on it with the boldness of a practised mountaineer;
yet he thought he had never traversed so strange or so dangerous a
glacier in his life. The ice was excessively slippery, and out of all
its chasms came wild sounds of gushing water; not monotonous or low, but
changeful and loud, rising occasionally into drifting passages of wild
melody, then breaking off into short melancholy tones, or sudden
shrieks, resembling those of human voices in distress or pain. The ice
was broken into thousands of confused shapes, but none, Hans thought,
like the ordinary forms of splintered ice. There seemed a curious
_expression_ about all their outlines--a perpetual resemblance to living
features, distorted and scornful. Myriads of deceitful shadows, and
lurid lights, played and floated about and through the pale blue
pinnacles, dazzling and confusing the sight of the traveller; while his
ears grew dull and his head giddy with the constant gush and roar of the
concealed waters. These painful circumstances increased upon him as he
advanced; the ice crashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his feet,
tottering spires nodded around him, and fell thundering across his path;
and though he had repeatedly faced these dangers on the most terrific
glaciers, and in the wildest weather, it was with a new and oppressive
feeling of panic terror that he leaped the last chasm, and flung
himself, exhausted and shuddering, on the firm turf of the mountain.
He had been compelled to abandon his basket of food, which became a
perilous incumbrance on the glacier, and had now no means of refreshing
himself but by breaking off and eating some of the pieces of ice. This,
however, relieved his thirst; an hour's repose recruited his hardy
frame, and with the indomitable spirit of avarice, he resumed his
laborious journey.
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His way now lay straight up a ridge of bare red rocks, without a blade
of grass to ease the foot, or a projecting angle to afford an inch of
shade from the south sun. It was past noon, and the rays beat intensely
upon the steep path, while the whole atmosphere was motionless, and
penetrated with heat. Intense thirst was soon added to the bodily
fatigue with which Hans was now afflicted; glance after glance he cast
on the flask of water which hung at his belt. "Three drops are enough,"
at last thought he; "I may, at least, cool my lips with it."
He opened the flask, and was raising it to his lips, when his eye fell
on an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it moved. It was a
small dog, apparently in the last agony of death from thirst. Its tongue
was out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended lifelessly, and a swarm of
black ants were crawling about its lips and throat. Its eye moved to the
bottle which Hans held in his hand. He raised it, drank, spurned the
animal with his foot, and passed on. And he did not know how it was, but
he thought that a strange shadow had suddenly come across the blue sky.
The path became steeper and more rugged every moment; and the high hill
air, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood into a fever.
The noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery in his ears; they
were all distant, and his thirst increased every moment. Another hour
passed, and he again looked down to the flask at his side; it was half
empty; but there was much more than three drops in it. He stopped to
open it, and again, as he did so, something moved in the path above him.
It was a fair child, stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its breast
heaving with thirst, its eyes closed, and its lips parched and burning.
Hans eyed it deliberately, drank, and passed on. And a dark grey cloud
came over the sun, and long, snake-like shadows crept up along the
mountain sides. Hans struggled on. The sun was sinking, but its descent
seemed to bring no coolness; the leaden weight of the dead air pressed
upon his brow and heart, but the goal was near. He saw the cataract of
the Golden River springing from the hill-side, scarcely five hundred
feet above him. He paused for a moment to breathe, and sprang on to
complete his task.
At this instant a faint cry fell on his ear. He turned, and saw a
grey-haired old man extended on the rocks. His eyes were sunk, his
features deadly pale, and gathered into an expression of despair.
"Water!" he stretched his arms to Hans, and cried feebly, "Water! I am
dying."
"I have none," replied Hans; "thou hast had thy share of life." He
strode over the prostrate body, and darted on. And a flash of blue
lightning rose out of the East, shaped like a sword; it shook thrice
over the whole heaven, and left it dark with one heavy, impenetrable
shade. The sun was setting; it plunged towards the horizon like a
red-hot ball.
The roar of the Golden River rose on Hans' ear. He stood at the brink of
the chasm through which it ran. Its waves were filled with the red glory
of the sunset: they shook their crests like tongues of fire, and flashes
of bloody light gleamed along their foam. Their sound came mightier and
mightier on his senses; his brain grew giddy with the prolonged thunder.
Shuddering he drew the flask from his girdle, and hurled it into the
centre of the torrent. As he did so, an icy chill shot through his
limbs: he staggered, shrieked, and fell. The waters closed over his cry.
And the moaning of the river rose wildly into the night, as it gushed
over
THE BLACK STONE.
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