PART II

* * * * *

TALES OF THE INN.

THE INN IN THE SPESSART.

Many years ago, while yet the roads in the Spessart were in poor

condition and but little traveled, two young journeymen were making

their way through this wooded region. The one might have been about

eighteen years old, and was by trade a compass-maker; the other was a

goldsmith, and, judging from his appearance, could not have been more

than sixteen, and was most likely making his first journey out into the

world.

Evening was coming on, and the shadows of the giant pines and

beeches darkened the narrow road on which the two were walking. The

compass-maker stepped bravely forward, whistling a tune, playing

occasionally with Munter, his dog, and not seeming to feel much concern

that the night was near, while the next inn for journeymen was still

far ahead of them. But Felix, the goldsmith, began to look about him

anxiously. When the wind rustled through the trees, it sounded to him

as if there were steps behind him; when the bushes on either side of

the road were stirred, he was sure he caught glimpses of lurking faces.

The young goldsmith was, moreover, neither superstitious nor lacking in

courage. In Wuerzburg, where he had learned his trade, he passed among

his fellows for a fearless youth, whose heart was in the right spot;

but on this day his courage was at a singularly low ebb. He had been

told so many things about the Spessart. A large band of robbers were

reported as committing depredations there; many travellers had been

robbed within a few weeks, and a horrible murder was spoken of as

having occurred here not long before. Therefore he felt no little

alarm, as they were but two in number and could not successfully

resist armed robbers. How often he regretted that he had not stopped

over-night at the edge of the forest, instead of agreeing to accompany

the compass-maker to the next station!

"And if I am killed to-night, and lose all I have with me, you will be

to blame, compass-maker, for you persuaded me to come into this

terrible forest," said he.

"Don't be a coward," retorted the other. "A real journeyman should

never be afraid. And what is it you are afraid of? Do you think that

the lordly robbers of the Spessart would do us the honor to attack and

kill us? Why should they give themselves that trouble? To gain

possession of the Sunday-coat in my knapsack, or the spare pennies

given us by the people on our route? One would have to travel in a

coach-and-four, dressed in gold and silks, before the robbers would

think it worth their while to kill one."

"Stop! Didn't you hear somebody whistle in the woods?" exclaimed Felix,

nervously.

"That was the wind whistling through the trees. Walk faster, and we

shall soon be out of the wood."

"Yes, it's all well enough for you to talk that way about not being

killed," continued the goldsmith; "they would simply ask you what you

had, search you, and take away your Sunday-coat and your change. But

they would kill me because I carry gold and jewelry with me."

"Why should they kill you on that account? If four or five were to

spring out of the bush there now with loaded rifles pointed at us, and

politely inquire, 'Gentlemen, what have you with you?' or 'If

agreeable, we will help you carry it,' or some such elegant mode of

address, then you wouldn't make a fool of yourself, but would open your

knapsack and lay the yellow waist-coat, the blue coat, two shirts, and

all your necklaces, bracelets, combs, and whatever you had besides,

politely on the ground, and be thankful for the life they spared you."

"You think so, do you?" responded Felix warmly. "You think I would give

up the ornament I have here for my godmother, the dear lady countess?

Sooner would I part with my life! Sooner would I be hacked into small

pieces. Did she not take a mother's interest in me, and since my tenth

year bind me out as apprentice? Has she not paid for my clothes and

every thing? And now, when I am about to go to her, to carry her

something of my own handiwork that she had ordered of the master; now,

that I am able to give her this ornament as a sample of what I have

learned; now you think I would give that up, and my yellow waistcoat as

well, that she gave me? No, better death than to give to these base men

the ornament intended for my godmother!"

"Don't be a fool!" exclaimed the compass-maker. "If they were to kill

you, the countess would still lose the ornament; so it would be much

better for you to deliver it up and keep your life."

Felix did not answer. Night had settled down, and by the uncertain

gleam of the new moon he could not see more than five feet before him.

He became more and more nervous, kept close by the side of his

companion, and was uncertain whether he ought to approve of the

arguments of his friend or not. Thus they continued on, side by side

for another hour, when they saw a light in the distance. The young

goldsmith was of opinion that they should not prematurely rejoice, as

the light might come from a den of thieves; but the compass-maker

informed him the robbers had their houses or caves under ground, and

that this must be the inn that a man had told them of, as they entered

the forest.

It was a long, low house, before which a wagon stood; and adjoining

the house was a stable from which came the neighing of horses. The

compass-maker beckoned his comrade to a window whose shutters were

open; and by standing on their toes they were able to look into the

room. In a chair before the stove slept a man whose clothes bespoke him

a wagoner--very likely the owner of the cart before the door. On the

other side of the stove sat a woman and a girl, spinning. Behind the

table, close to the wall, sat a man with a glass of wine before him.

His head was supported in his hands so that his face could not be seen.

But the compass-maker judged from his clothes that he was a man of

rank. While they were peeping, a dog in the house began to bark;

Munter, the compass-maker's dog, barked a reply; and a servant-girl

appeared at the door and looked out at the strangers.

They were promised supper and a bed; so they entered, and laying their

heavy bundles, sticks, and hats in the corner, sat down at the table

with the gentleman. He looked up at their greeting, and they perceived

him to be a handsome young man, who returned their greeting pleasantly.

"You are late on the road," said he; "were you not afraid to travel

through the Spessart on so dark a night? For my part, I would have

stabled my horse in this tavern before I would have ridden an hour

longer."

"You are quite right in that, sir," responded the compass-maker. "The

hoof beats of a fine horse are music in the ears of these highwaymen,

and lure them from a great distance; but when a couple of poor

journeymen like us steal through the woods--people to whom the robbers

would sooner think of making a present than of taking any thing from

them--then, they do not lift a foot."

"That is very likely," chimed in the wagoner, who, awakened by the

arrival of the journeymen, had taken a seat at the table. "They could

not very well be attracted by a poor man's purse, but there have been

instances of robbers killing poor people, simply out of thirst for

blood, and of forcing others to join the band and serve as robbers."

"Well, if such are the deeds of these people in the forest, then this

house will not afford us very good protection," observed the young

goldsmith. "There are only four of us, or, counting the hostler, five;

and if ten men were to attack us here, what could we do against them?

And more than this," he added, in a low tone, "who can guarantee that

the people of this inn are honest?"

"Nothing to fear there," returned the wagoner. "I have known this

tavern for more than ten years, and have never seen any thing wrong

about it. The master of the house is seldom at home; they say he

carries on a wine trade; but his wife is a quiet woman who would not

harm any one. No, you do them a wrong, sir."

"And yet," interposed the young gentleman, "I should not like to brush

aside so lightly what he said. Don't you remember the reports about

those people who suddenly disappeared in this forest and left no trace

behind them? Several of them had previously announced their intention

of passing the night at this inn; and as two or three weeks passed by

without their being heard from, they were searched for, and inquiries

made at this inn, when they were assured that the missing men had never

been here. It looks suspicious, to say the least."

"God knows," cried the compass-maker, "we should do a much more

sensible thing if we were to camp out under the next best tree we came

to, than to remain within these four walls, where there is no chance of

running away when they are once at the door, for the windows are

grated."

All grew very thoughtful over these speeches. It did not seem so very

improbable, after all, that these tavern people in the forest, be it

under compulsion or of their free accord, were in league with the

robbers. The nighttime seemed particularly dangerous to them, for they

had all heard many stories of travellers who had been attacked and

murdered in their sleep; and even if their lives were not endangered,

yet most of the guests of the inn were possessed of such moderate means

that the robbery of even a part of their property would have: been a

very serious loss to them. They looked dolefully into their glasses.

The young gentleman wished himself on the back of his horse, trotting

through a safe open valley. The compass-maker wished for twelve of his

sturdy comrades, armed with clubs, for a body-guard. Felix, the

goldsmith, was more anxious for the safety of the ornament designed for

his benefactress, than for his own life. But the wagoner, who had been

blowing clouds of smoke before him, said softly: "Gentlemen, at least

they shall not surprise us asleep. I, for my part, will remain awake

the whole night, if one other will keep watch with me."

"I will"--"I too," cried the three others. "And I could not go to

sleep," added the young gentleman.

"Well we had better contrive some means of keeping awake," said the

wagoner. "I think while we number just four people, we might play

cards, that would keep us awake and while away the time."

"I never play cards," said the young gentleman, "therefore you would

have to count me out."

"Nor do I know any thing about cards," added Felix.

"What can we do, then, if we don't play cards," asked the

compass-maker. "Sing? That wouldn't do, for it would only attract the

attention of the robbers. Give one another riddles to guess? That would

not last very long. How would it do if we were to tell stories?

Humorous or pathetic, true or imaginative, they would keep us awake and

pass away the time as well as cards."

"I am agreed, if you will begin," said the young gentleman, smiling.

"You gentlemen of trades visit all countries, and have something to

tell; for every town has its own legends and tales."

"Yes, certainly, one hears a great deal," replied the compass-maker.

"But, on the other hand, gentlemen like you study diligently in books,

where really wonderful things are written; therefore, you would know

how to tell a wiser and more entertaining story than a plain

journeyman, such as one of us, could pretend to--for unless I am much

mistaken you are a student, a scholar."

"A scholar, no," laughed the young gentleman; "but certainly a student,

and am now on my way home for the vacation. But what one reads in books

does not answer for the purpose of a story nearly as well as what one

hears. Therefore begin, if the other gentlemen are inclined to listen."

"Still more than with cards," responded the wagoner, "am I pleased when

I hear a good story told. I often keep my team down to a miserably slow

pace, that I may listen to one who walks near by, and has a fine story

to tell; and I have taken many a person into my wagon, in bad weather,

with the understanding that he should tell me a story; and one of my

comrades I love very dearly, for the reason that he knows stories that

last for seven hours and even longer."

"That is also my case," added the young goldsmith. "I love stories as I

do my life; and my master in Wuerzburg had to forbid me books lest I

should neglect my work. So tell us something fine, compass-maker; I

know that you could tell stories from now until day-break before your

stock gave out."

The compass-maker complied by emptying his glass and beginning his

story.

THE HIRSCH-GULDEN.

In Upper-Suabia still stands the walls of a castle that was once the

stateliest of the surrounding country, Hohen-Zollern. It rose from the

summit of a round steep mountain, from whence one had a distant and

unobstructed view of the country. Farther than this castle could be

seen from the encircling horizon, was the brave race of the Zollerns

feared; and their name was known and honored in all German countries.

There lived several hundred years ago, in this castle, a Zollern, who

was by nature a singular man. One could not say that he oppressed his

subjects, or that he lived at war with his neighbors; yet no one

trusted him, on account of his sullen look, his knitted brow, and his

moody, crusty manner. There were few people, outside of the castle

servants, who had ever heard him speak properly like other people; for

when he rode through the valley, if one met him, gave him the road, and

said to him with uncovered head, "Good evening, Sir Count! It is a fine

day," he would answer, "Stupid stuff," or, "I know it already." If,

however, one had been inattentive to his wants or had neglected his

charger, or if a peasant with his cart met him on a narrow road, so

that the count could not pass him quickly enough, he broke out into a

torrent of curses. Yet it was never said of him on these occasions that

he had struck a peasant. But all through this region he was called "The

Tempest of Zollern."

The Tempest of Zollern had a wife who was a complete contrast to

himself, and as mild and pleasant as a May morning. Often by her

friendly words and her kind glance had she reconciled to her husband

people whom he, by his rude speech, had deeply insulted. To the poor

she did all the good in her power; nor could the warmest days of Summer

or the most terrible snow storms of Winter prevent her from descending

the steep mountain to visit poor people or sick children. If the count

met her on these errands, he would say in a surly manner, "Know

already--stupid stuff," and proceed on his way.

[Illustration]

Many ladies would have been discouraged or intimidated by such a crusty

manner; one would have thought, "why should I concern myself with poor

people when my husband calls it all stupid stuff?" another, through

pride or sorrow, might have lost her love for so moody a husband; but

not so with the Countess Hedwig of Zollern. She was constant in her

affection, strove to smooth the lines on his brow with her beautiful

white hand, and loved and honored him. And when after a long time

Heaven bestowed upon them the gift of a son, she loved her husband none

the less while conferring all the duties of a tender mother on her

little boy.

[Illustration]

Three years went by, and the Count of Zollern saw his son only on

Sunday afternoons, when the child was handed to him by the nurse. He

looked at him without changing a feature of his face, growled something

through his beard, and gave him back to the nurse. But when the boy was

able to say "father," the count gave the nurse a gulden, but showed no

pleasanter face to the boy.

On his third birthday, however, the count had his son put on the first

pair of breeches and had him dressed splendidly in velvet and silk.

Then he ordered his horse, and also another fine horse for his son,

took the child up on his arm, and began to descend the spiral

staircase. The countess was astonished as she saw this. She was not

accustomed to inquire where he was going and when he would return; but

this time anxiety for her child opened her lips.

"Are you going to ride out, Sir Count?" she asked. He made no reply.

"For what purpose do you take the child?" continued she, "Cuno will

take a walk with me."

"Know already," replied the Tempest of Zollern; and kept on his way

till he stood in the court-yard, where he took the boy by one of his

little feet and lifted him into the saddle, bound him fast, and then

swinging himself on his horse, trotted out of the castle gate with the

bridle of his son's horse in his hand.

At first the little fellow regarded it as a great treat to ride down

the mountain with his father. He clapped his hands, laughed, shook the

mane of his horse to make him go faster, all of which pleased the count

so much that he called out several times: "You will make a brave lad!"

But when they came to the foot of the mountain, and the count's horse

began to trot, the boy lost his courage, and begged, at first very

quietly, that his father would ride slower; but as the count spurred on

his horse, and the strong wind nearly took poor Cuno's breath away, the

boy began to cry, became more and more impatient, and finally howled at

the top of his lungs.

"Know already! stupid stuff!" began his father. "The young one howls on

his first ride; be still, or----"

But in the moment he was about to stop the boy's cries by a curse, his

horse reared, and the bridle of his son's horse slipped from his hand.

He gave his attention to quieting his horse, and when he had mastered

it and looked around for his child, he saw the other horse running up

the mountain without its little rider.

Stern and unfeeling as was the Count of Zollern, this sight struck him

to the heart. He believed his son had been dashed to the ground and

killed. He pulled his beard and groaned; but nowhere could he find a

trace of the boy. He had just began to think that the frightened horse

had thrown him into the ditch that ran along the road, full of water,

when he heard a child's voice call his name, and as he quickly turned,

there sat an old woman under a tree, not far from the road, rocking the

child on her knees.

"How do you come by that boy, old witch?" shouted the count angrily.

"Bring him to me at once."

"Not so fast, not so fast, your Honor!" laughed the ugly old woman, "or

you too might meet with an accident on your proud horse. How did I come

by the boy, did you ask? Well, his horse ran by and he was hanging down

by one little foot, with his hair touching the ground, when I caught

him in my apron."

"Know already!" cried the Count of Zollern, ill-humoredly. "Bring him

here now; I can not very well dismount, my horse is wild and might kick

him."

"Give me a hirsch-gulden, then," pleaded the woman humbly.

"Stupid stuff!" cried the count, and flung some copper coins to her

under the tree.

"Oh, no! Come, I could make good use of a hirsch-gulden," continued the

old woman.

"What, a hirsch-gulden! You are not worth that much yourself!" said the

count angrily. "Quick with that child, or I will set the dogs on you!"

"So, I am not worth a hirsch-gulden, eh?" replied the old woman with a

mocking laugh. "Well, it shall be seen what part of your heritage is

worth a hirsch-gulden; but there, keep your money!" So saying, she

tossed the three copper coins to the count; and so well could the old

woman throw, that all three of the coins fell into the purse that the

count still held in his hand.

The count was struck dumb with astonishment at this exhibition of

skill, but at last his surprise was changed into anger. He grasped his

gun, cocked it, and took aim at the old woman. But she, unmoved, hugged

and kissed the boy, holding him up before her so as to protect herself

from the bullet. "You are a good little fellow," said she. "Only remain

so, and you will never want for any thing." Then she let him go, shook

her finger threateningly at the count, and said: "Zollern, Zollern! you

owe me a hirsch-gulden!" With that she moved off slowly into the

forest, leaning on a staff of box-wood. Conrad, the attendant,

dismounted from his horse trembling, lifted his little master into the

saddle, vaulted up behind him, and followed the count up to the castle.

This was the first and last time that the Tempest of Zollern took his

son out riding with him; for because the boy had cried when his horse

broke into a trot, the count regarded him as a spiritless child out of

whom nothing was to be made, and looked on him with displeasure; and

when the boy, who loved his father dearly, came in a friendly, coaxing

way to his knee, he would motion him to go away, exclaiming: "Know it

already! Stupid stuff!"

The countess had patiently borne all the unpleasant caprices of her

husband, but this unfatherly behavior towards an innocent child

affected her deeply. She fell sick several times with terror, when the

sullen count had punished the boy severely for some trivial offense,

and died at last in her best years, and was mourned by her servants, by

the people for miles around, but especially by her little son.

From this time forth the aversion of the count for his son steadily

progressed. He turned the lad over to the nurse and the house-chaplain

to bring up, and looked after him but little himself--especially as

shortly after his wife's death he married a rich young lady, who in a

twelvemonth presented him with twins.

Cuno's favorite walk was to the house of the old woman who had once

saved his life. She told him many things about his dead mother, and how

much the countess had done for her. The men and maid-servants often

warned him that he should not visit the Frau Feldheimerin so often,

because she was nothing more nor less than a witch; but the boy was not

frightened by their tales, as the chaplain had taught him that there

were no witches, and that the stories that certain women could bewitch

one, and ride through the air on broomsticks to the Brocken Mountains,

were lies. To be sure, he had seen many things about Frau Feldheimerin

that he could not understand; the trick with the three coins that she

had thrown so cleverly into his father's purse, he remembered

distinctly. Then too she could prepare all manner of salves and

decoctions with which she healed people and cattle; but it was not

true, as was said of her, that she had a weather-pan, which, whenever

she placed it over the fire, produced a terrible thunder-storm. She

taught the little count much that was useful to him--various remedies

for sick horses, a drink to cure hydrophobia, a bait for fishes, and

many other things. The Frau Feldheimerin was soon his only company, for

his nurse died, and his step-mother did not trouble herself much about

him.

[Illustration]

With his half-brothers, Cuno had a more sorrowful life than before.

They had the good fortune to stick to their horses on their first ride,

and the Tempest of Zollern, therefore, regarded them as apt and

promising boys, and took them out to ride every day, and taught them

all that he knew himself.

But they did not learn much that was good from him, for he could

neither read nor write, and he would not have his two precious sons

wasting their time over such matters; but by the time they were ten

years old they could swear as terribly as their father, quarreled with

everybody, lived together as peacefully as would a dog and cat, and

only when they joined hands to do Cuno a wrong were they at all

friendly with each other.

[Illustration]

Their mother did not grieve over this state of things, as she

considered it healthful and strengthening for the boys to fight; but a

servant told the count about their quarrels one day, and although he

answered, "Know it already! stupid stuff!" yet he tried to hit upon

some plan for the future that would prevent his sons from killing each

other, as he dreaded that threat of the Frau Feldheimerin, whom he held

to be a witch: "Well, it shall be seen what part of your heritage is

worth a hirsch-gulden."

One day as he was hunting in the vicinity of his castle, his attention

was attracted by two mountains, which from their form seemed well

adapted for castles; and he at once resolved to build there. Upon one

of these mountains he built the Castle Schalksberg, naming it after the

smaller of the twins, who, on account of his many naughty tricks, had

long ago received the nickname of the little Schalk from his father.

The castle he built on the other hill he thought at first of calling

Hirschguldenberg, in order to propitiate the old witch, because she did

not esteem his heritage worth a hirsch-gulden; but he finally concluded

to give it the simple name of Hirschberg. Such are the names of the two

mountains to-day; and he who travels through the Suabian Alps can have

them pointed out to him.

The Tempest of Zollern had at first designed to make a will bequeathing

Zollern to his eldest son, Schalksberg to the little Schalk, and

Hirschberg to the other twin; but his wife did not rest until he had

changed it. "The stupid Cuno--" such was the way she spoke of the poor

boy, because he was not so wild and ungovernable as her sons--"the

stupid Cuno is rich enough from what he inherited from his mother,

without getting the beautiful castle of Zollern. And shall my sons get

only a castle, to which nothing belongs but a forest?"

It was in vain that the count represented to her that one could not

justly rob Cuno of his birthright; she wept and scolded, until the

Tempest of Zollern who never gave way to any one, at last, for the sake

of peace, surrendered to her, and willed Schalksberg to Schalk, Zollern

to Wolf, the larger of the twins, and Hirschberg, with the village of

Balinger, to Cuno. Soon afterwards he was taken severely ill. When the

doctor told him he was going to die, he replied, "Know it already;" and

when the chaplain begged him to prepare for the future life, he

answered, "Stupid stuff," cursed and stormed, and died, as he had

lived, a great sinner.

But before his body was laid to rest, the countess produced the will,

and sneeringly told Cuno that he might show his learning by reading

what was written therein--namely, that he no longer had any business at

Zollern. With her sons she rejoiced over the fine estate and the two

castles which they had taken away from him, the first-born.

Cuno submitted, without complaint, to the provisions of the will; but

with tears, he took leave of the castle where he was born, where his

mother lay buried, and where the good chaplain lived, while not far

away was the home of his only woman friend, Frau Feldheimerin. The

castle of Hirschberg was, it is true, a fine stately building; but

still it was so lonely and desolate for him, that he felt very

homesick.

The countess and the twin brothers, who were now eighteen years old,

sat one evening on the balcony looking down the mountain-side, when

they perceived a stately knight riding up the road, followed by several

servants and two mules bearing a sedan chair. They speculated for some

time as to who he might be, when at last the little Schalk cried out:

"Why, that is no other than our brother from Hirschberg!"

"The stupid Cuno!" said the countess in surprise. "Why, he is about to

do us the honor of inviting us to visit him, and has brought along that

splendid sedan to carry me to Hirschberg. Such kindness and politeness

I had not given my son, the stupid Cuno, the credit of possessing. One

politeness deserves another; let us go down to the gate to receive him;

look pleased to see him, and perhaps he will make us some presents at

Hirschberg--you a horse, and you a harness; and I have long wished to

own his mother's ornaments."

"I don't want any presents from the stupid Cuno," replied Wolf,

"neither will I appear glad to see him; and for aught I care, he might

follow our blessed father; then we should inherit Hirschberg and

everything, and to you, madame, we would sell those ornaments at a low

price."

"Indeed, you good-for-nothing!" exclaimed his mother angrily, "I should

have to buy the ornaments, should I? Is that your gratitude for my

procuring Zollern for you? Little Schalk, I can have the ornaments

free, can I not?

"No pay, no work, lady mother!" replied Schalk, laughing. "And if it be

true that the ornaments are worth as much as most castles are, we

certainly should not be fools enough to hang them around your neck. As

soon as Cuno shuts his eyes for good, we will ride over there, divide

every thing, and I will sell my part of the ornaments. Then if you will

give more than the Jew, you shall have them."

Thus speaking, they came to the castle gate, and the countess had great

difficulty in concealing the rage she felt, as Count Cuno rode over the

draw-bridge. When he saw his step-mother and brothers standing there,

he stopped his horse, dismounted, and greeted them politely; for

although they had done him much wrong, still he remembered that they

were his brothers and that his father had loved this woman.

"Well, this is nice to have my son visit us," said the countess, in a

sweet voice, and with a gracious smile. "How do you like Hirschberg?

Can one feel at home there? And you have furnished yourself with a

sedan. Why, how splendid it is! an empress would have no cause to be

ashamed of it; a wife will not be long wanting, I'm thinking, to ride

around the country in it."

"I have not thought about that yet, gracious mother," replied Cuno,

"and will therefore take home other company for my entertainment; for

this purpose I have brought along the sedan."

"Why, you are very kind and thoughtful," interrupted the countess, as

she bowed and smiled.

"For he can not ride a horse very well now," continued Cuno, quietly.

"Father Joseph, I mean, the chaplain. I will take him home with me, for

he is my old teacher, and we made that arrangement when I left Zollern.

I will also pick up the old Frau Feldheimerin at the foot of the

mountain. Why, bless me, she's as old as the hills, and saved my life

once when I rode out for the first time with my blessed father. I have

plenty of room in Hirschberg, and she shall live and die there." So

saying, he passed through the court-yard to call the chaplain.

The youngster Wolf bit his lips angrily; the countess became livid with

rage; while Schalk laughed aloud. "What will you give me for the horse

that I received as a present from him?" said he. "Brother Wolf, will

you trade off your harness for it? Is he going to take home the

chaplain and the old witch? They will make a fine pair; in the forenoon

he can learn Greek from the chaplain, and in the afternoon take lessons

in witchcraft from Frau Feldheimerin. Why, what kind of tricks is the

stupid Cuno up to!"

[Illustration]

"He is a low, vulgar fellow," cried the countess, "and you shouldn't

laugh about it, little Schalk. It is a shame for the whole family, and

we shall be the sport of the neighborhood when it is reported that the

Count of Zollern has fetched the old witch home to live with him in a

splendid sedan. He gets that from his mother, who was also familiar

with the sick and with miserable servants. Alas, his father would turn

in his coffin if he could know of it."

"Yes," added Schalk, "father would say in his grave: 'Know already!

stupid stuff!'"

"As sure as you live! there he comes now with the old man, and is not

ashamed to take him by the arm," exclaimed the countess, in disgust.

"Come, I don't wish to meet him again."

They went off, and Cuno conducted his old teacher to the drawbridge,

and assisted him into the sedan. They stopped at the foot of the

mountain, before the hut of Frau Feldheimerin, and found her waiting

with a bundle full of glasses, dishes, and medicines.

But Cuno's action was not looked at in the light prophesied by the

countess. It was thought to be noble and praiseworthy that he should

try to cheer the last days of the old Frau Feldheimerin, and that he

should take Father Joseph into his castle. The only ones who disliked

and slandered him were his brothers and his stepmother. But only to

their own hurt; for everybody took an aversion to such unnatural

brothers, and by way of retaliation the story went that they lived in

continual strife with their mother and did all they could to harm one

another. Count Cuno made several attempts to reconcile his brothers to

himself, for it was unbearable to him when they rode by his castle

without stopping, or when they met him in the field and forest and

greeted him as coldly as though he were a stranger. But his attempts

failed, and only increased their bitterness towards him.

One day a plan occurred to him by which he might perhaps win their

hearts, for he knew that they were miserly and avaricious. There was a

pond situated at about an equal distance from the three castles, but

lying in Cuno's domain. This pond contained the finest pike and carp

to be found any where; and it was one of the chief grievances of the

twin-brothers, who were fond of fishing, that their father had not

included this pond in the land he had given them. They were too proud

to fish there without their brother's knowledge, neither would they ask

permission of him. But Cuno knew that his brothers had set their hearts

on this pond, so he sent an invitation to them to meet him there on a

certain day.

It was a beautiful Spring morning, as, nearly at the same moment, the

three brothers from the three castles met.

"Why, look you!" said Schalk; "we are well met! I rode away from

Schalksberg just on the stroke of seven."

"So did I,"--"and I," repeated the brothers from Hirschberg and

Zollern.

"Well, then, the pond must lie precisely in the middle," continued

Schalk. "It is a beautiful sheet of water."

"Yes, and for that reason did I choose this spot for our meeting. I

know that you are both fond of fishing, and although I sometimes throw

a line myself, yet there are fish enough here for three castles, and on

these banks there is room enough for us three, even were we all to meet

here at the same time. Therefore, I propose from this time forth that

this pond shall be the common property of us three, and each one of you

shall have the same rights here that I do."

"Why, our brother is certainly graciously minded," said Schalk, in a

jeering way. "He really gives us six acres of water and a few hundred

little fishes! And what shall we have to give in return?"

"You shall have it free," said Cuno. "I should like to see and speak

with you at this pond now and then. We are the sons of one father."

"No," exclaimed Schalk; "that would not do at all, for there is nothing

more silly than to fish in company; one is always frightening off the

other's fishes. We might, however, decide on days for each one--say

Monday and Thursday for you, Cuno, Tuesday and Friday for Wolf, and

Wednesday and Saturday for me. Such an arrangement would suit me."

"But I won't agree to that," cried the surly Wolf. "I don't want any

free gift, neither will I divide my rights with any one. You were

right, Cuno, in making your offer, for in justice the pond belongs as

much to one as to the other; but let us throw the dice to decide who

shall have the entire ownership for the future, and if I am more

fortunate than you, then you will have to come to me for permission to

fish."

"I never throw," replied Cuno, sad at this display of obduracy on the

part of his brothers.

"Of course not," sneered Schalk. "Our brother is so pious that he

thinks it is a deadly sin to throw dice. But I will make another

proposal, to which the most religious recluse could offer no objection:

Let us get some bait and hooks, and he who shall have caught the most

fish this morning when the bell of Zollern strikes twelve, will be the

owner of the pond."

"I am truly a fool," responded Cuno, "to strive for that which is mine

by right of inheritance; but that you may see that my offer of a

division was made in earnest, I will fetch my fishing tackle."

They rode home, each one to his own castle. The twins sent their

servants out in all haste, with orders to turn over all the old stones

near by, and to collect what worms they found underneath them for bait.

But Cuno took his usual fishing tackle, together with the bait which

Frau Feldheimerin had once learned him to prepare, and was the first to

reach the pond again. On the arrival of the twins he allowed them the

first choice of position, and then threw in his own line. Then it was

as if the fish seemed to recognize in him the owner of the pond. Whole

schools of carp and pike drew near and swarmed about his line. The

oldest and largest crowded the small fry aside; every moment he landed

a fish, and each time he cast his line twenty or thirty darted at the

hook with open mouths. Before two hours had passed, the ground around

him was covered with fish; then he laid down his line and went over to

where his brothers sat, to see how they were getting along. Schalk had

one poor little carp and two paltry shiners; while Wolf had caught

three barbels and two little gudgeons, and both looked sadly down into

the water, for they had seen from their place the vast number that Cuno

had caught.

When Cuno approached his brother Wolf, the latter sprang up in a rage,

tore off his line, broke his rod into small pieces and flung them into

the pond. "I wish I had a thousand hooks to throw in there, instead of

one, and that a fish, was wriggling on every one of them," cried he;

"but this could never have occurred in a natural way, it is sorcery and

witchcraft, or how should you, stupid Cuno, catch more fish in one hour

than I could take in a year?"

"Yes, that's so," echoed Schalk. "I remember now that he learned how to

fish from that vile witch, Frau Feldheimerin; and we were fools to fish

with him; he will be a wizard himself one of these days."

"You wicked fellows!" returned Cuno, sadly. "I have had time enough

this morning to get an insight into your avarice, your shamelessness,

and your insolence. Go now, and never return here; and believe it would

be better for your souls if you were half as pious and good as she whom

you have called a witch."

"No, she is not a genuine witch," sneered Schalk. "Such wives can

prophesy; but Frau Feldheimerin is about as much of a prophetess as a

goose is a swan. Didn't she tell our father that one would be able to

buy a good part of his heritage for a hirsch-gulden? And yet at his

death everything within sight of the towers of Zollern belonged to him.

Frau Feldheimerin is nothing more than a silly old hag, and you the

stupid Cuno."

Thus saying, Schalk ran off as fast as he could, for he feared the

strong arm of his brother Cuno; and Wolf followed him, shouting back

all the cursed he had learned from his father.

Grieved to the soul, Cuno returned home; for he now saw plainly that

his brothers would never be reconciled to him. And he took their bitter

words so seriously to heart that he fell sick the next day, and only

the consoling words of good Father Joseph, and the strengthening

remedies of Frau Feldheimerin, rescued him from death.

But when his brothers heard that Cuno lay very sick, they sat down to a

jovial banquet, and over their cups made an agreement that the one who

should be the first to hear of his death was to fire off a cannon, in

order to notify the other of the event, and he who fired first might

take the best cask of wine in Cuno's cellar. From this time forth Wolf

stationed a watchman in the vicinity of Hirschberg, while Schalk bribed

one of Cuno's servants with a large sum of money, to inform him,

without delay, when Cuno was breathing his last.

But this servant was more faithful to his good and gentle master than

to the wicked Count of Schalksberg. He inquired one evening of Frau

Feldheimerin, very solicitously, after his master's health, and when

she told him that the count was doing quite well, he related to her the

project of the brothers of firing off guns when the Count Cuno should

die. The old woman was infuriated, and quickly repeated this story to

the count, who could hardly believe his brothers were so utterly

heartless; so she advised him to put the matter to the proof by

spreading a report of his death. The count summoned the servant to whom

his brother had given a bribe, questioned him closely, and then ordered

him to ride to Schalksberg and announce his approaching death.

As the servant was riding hastily down the hill, he was seen and

stopped by the servant of Count Wolf, who asked him where he was riding

to in such a hurry. "Alas!" was his reply, "my poor master will not

outlive the night, they have all given him up."

"Indeed! Has his time come?" cried the spy, as he ran to his horse,

'sprang on his back, and rode so fast towards Zollern, that his horse

sank down at the gate, and he was himself only able to call out: "Count

Cuno is dying!" before he fell down senseless. Thereupon, the cannon of

Hohen-Zollern thundered, and Count Wolf rejoiced with his mother, in

anticipation of the cask of wine, over the castle and its belongings,

the jewels, the pond, and the echo of his cannon.

But what he had taken for its echo, was the cannon of Schalksberg, and

Wolf said smilingly to his mother: "It seems Schalk has had a spy there

too, and therefore he and I will have to divide the wine equally, as

well as the rest of the property." With this he mounted his horse,

fearing lest Schalk should arrive at Hirschberg before he did, and

perhaps take away some of the jewels of the deceased. But the twins met

at the fish-pond, and each blushed before the other, so apparent was

the desire of both to be the first-comer at Hirschberg. They said not a

word about Cuno, as they continued on their way together, but discussed

in a brotherly manner how things should be arranged in the future, and

to which of them Hirschberg should belong. But as they rode over the

draw-bridge into the court, they saw their brother, safe and sound,

looking out of the window; but anger and scorn flashed from his

features.

The brothers shrank back in terror, taking him at first to be a ghost,

and crossed themselves; but when they saw that he was still in flesh

and blood, Wolf exclaimed:

"Stupid stuff! I thought you were dead."

"Omittance is no quittance," said Schalk, darting up at his

half-brother a venomous look.

Cuno replied in a threatening voice: "From this hour, all bonds of

brotherhood between us are broken. I heard the salute you fired; but

know this, that I have five field-pieces here in the court that were

loaded to do you honor. Take care to keep out of the range of my

cannon, or you shall have a sample of our shooting at Hirschberg."

They did not wait to be spoken to a second time, for they saw that

their brother was fully in earnest; so they gave their horses the spurs

and raced down the mountain, while their brother sent a parting shot

after them, that whistled above their heads, so that they both made a

low and polite bow together; but he only wished to frighten and not to

wound them.

"Why did you fire off your gun?" asked Schalk of his brother Wolf, in

an ill-humored lone. "I only shot because I heard your gun, you fool!"

"On the contrary," replied Wolf. "I'll leave it to mother if you were

not the first to shoot; and you have brought this disgrace on us, you

little badger."

Schalk returned all his brother's epithets with interest; and when they

came to the pond, they hurled at one another some of the choicest

curses that the "Tempest of Zollern" had bequeathed them, and parted in

hate and anger.

Shortly after this occurrence, Cuno made his will, and Frau

Feldheimerin said to Father Joseph: "I would wager something that he

has not left much to the twins." But with all her curiosity, and much

as she urged her favorite, he would not tell her what was written in

the will; nor did she ever learn, for a year afterwards the good woman

passed away in spite of her salves and potions. She died, not of any

disease, but of her ninety-eighth year, which might well bring even the

most healthy person to the grave. Count Cuno had her buried with as

much ceremony as if she had been his own mother and not a poor old

woman, and he grew more and more lonely in his castle, especially as

Father Joseph soon followed Frau Feldheimerin.

Still he did not suffer this solitude very long; for in his

twenty-eighth year the good Cuno died, and, as wicked people asserted,

of poison administered by Schalk. Be that as it may, some hours after

his death the thunder of cannon was heard once more from Zollern and

Schalksberg.

"This time he will have to acknowledge the truth of the reports," said

Schalk to his brother Wolf, as they met on the road to Hirschberg.

"Yes," answered Wolf; "but even if he should rise from the dead and

abuse us from the window as before, I have a rifle with me that will

make him polite and dumb."

As they rode up the castle hill, they were joined by a horseman with

his retinue, whom they did not know. They believed, however, that he

must be a friend of their brother's who had come to attend the funeral.

Therefore they demeaned themselves as mourners, were loud in their

praises of the deceased, lamented his early death, and Schalk even

managed to squeeze out a few crocodile tears. The stranger paid no

attention to what they said, but rode silently by their side up to the

castle. "Now, then, we will make ourselves comfortable; and, butler,

bring some wine, the very best!" cried Wolf, as he dismounted. They

went up the spiral staircase into the salon, where they were followed

by the silent stranger; and just as the twins had sat down to the

table, he took from his purse a silver coin, and throwing it down on

the slate table, where it rolled about and settled down with a ring,

said:

"Then and there you have your inheritance; it is a good piece of

silver, a hirsch-gulden."

The two brothers looked at one another in astonishment, laughed, and

asked him what he meant by this.

The stranger, by way of reply, produced a parchment, attached to which

were many seals, in which Cuno had recorded all the instances of

malevolence that his brothers had shown him in his life-time, and at

the close decreed and made known that his entire estate, real and

personal, with the exception of his mother's jewels, should, in the

event of his death, become the property of Wuertemberg, in

consideration of _a pitiful hirsch-gulden_! But with his mother's

jewels, a poor-house should be built in the town of Balingen.

The brothers were astonished anew; but instead of laughing this time,

they ground their teeth together, for they could not hope to dispute

the claim of Wuertemberg. They had lost the beautiful castle, the

forest and field, the town of Balingen, and even the fish-pond, and

inherited nothing but a miserable hirsch-gulden. This, Wolf stuck into

his purse with a defiant air, put on his cap, passed the Wuertemberg

officer without a word, sprang on his horse, and rode back to Zollern.

When, on the following morning, his mother reproached him with having

trifled away the estate and jewels, he rode over to Schalksberg and

said to his brother:

"Shall we gamble with our inheritance, or drink it up?"

"Let's drink it away," replied Schalk; "then we shall both have won. We

will ride down to Balingen and let the people see our disdain, even if

we have lost the village in a most outrageous manner."

"And at 'The Lamb' tavern they have as good red wine as any the emperor

drinks," added Wolf.

So they rode down together to "The Lamb," and inquired the cost of a

quart of this red wine, and drank the worth of the gulden. Then Wolf

got up, took from his purse the silver coin with the leaping stag

stamped on it, threw it down on the table, and said:

"There's your gulden, that will make it right."

But the landlord picked up the gulden, looked at it first on one side

and then on the other, and said smilingly:

"Yes, if it was any thing but a hirsch-gulden; but last night the

messenger came from Stuttgart, and early this morning it was proclaimed

in the name of the Count of Wuertemberg, to whom this town now belongs,

that these coins would be no longer current; so give me some other

money."

The brothers looked at one another in dismay. "Pay up," said one.

"Haven't you got any change?" replied the other; and, in short, they

were obliged to remain in debt to "The Lamb" for a gulden.

They started back "home without speaking to one another until they came

to the cross-road, where the road to the right ran to Zollern and the

one to the left to Schalksberg. Then Schalk said:

"How now? We have inherited less than nothing; and moreover, the wine

was miserable."

"Yes, to be sure," replied his brother, "but what Frau Feldheimerin

said, has come to pass: 'We shall see what part of your inheritance is

worth a hirsch-gulden.' And now we were not able to pay for even a

measure of wine with it."

"Know it already!" answered he of Schalksberg.

"Stupid stuff!" returned the Count of Zollern, as he rode off moodily,

towards his castle.

"That is the Legend of the Hirsch-Gulden," concluded the compass-maker,

"and said to be a true one. The landlord at Duerrwangen, which is

situated near the three castles, related it to one of my best friends,

who often acted as guide through the Suabian Alps, and always put up at

Duerrwangen."

The guests applauded the compass-maker's story. "What curious things

one hears in the world!" exclaimed the wagoner. "Really, I feel glad

now that we did not spoil the time with cards; this is much better, and

so interested was I in the story, that I can tell it to-morrow to my

comrades without missing a single word of it."

"While you were telling your story, something came into my mind," said

the student.

"Oh, tell it, tell it!" pleaded the compass-maker and Felix.

"Very well," replied he, "it makes no difference whether my turn comes

now or later. Still, what I tell you must be considered in confidence,

for the incidents are reported to have really occurred."

He changed his position to a more comfortable one, and was just about

to begin his story, when the landlady put away her distaff and went up

to her guests at the table. "It is time now, gentlemen, to go to bed,"

said she. "It has struck nine, and to-morrow will be another day."

"Well, go to bed then," said the student. "Set another bottle of wine

on the table for us, and we won't keep you up any longer."

"By no means," returned she, fretfully; "so long as guests remain in

the public-room, it is not possible for the landlady and servants to

retire. And once for all, gentlemen, I must request you to go to your

rooms; the time hangs heavy on me, and there shall be no carousing in

my house after nine o'clock."

"What's the matter with you, landlady?" said the compass-maker in

surprise. "What harm can it do you if we sit here even after you have

gone to sleep? We are honest people, and won't run off with any thing,

nor leave without paying. I won't be ordered around in this way in any

tavern."

The woman's eyes flashed angrily. "Do you suppose I will change the

rules of my house to suit every ragamuffin of a journeyman and every

vagrant who pays me only twelve kreuzers? I tell you for the last time

that I won't submit to this nuisance."

The compass-maker was about to make a retort, when the student gave him

a significant look, winked at the others, and said: "Very well, if the

landlady will have it so, then let us go up to our rooms. But we should

like some candles to find our way."

"I cannot accommodate you in that," responded the landlady, sullenly;

"the others can find their way in the dark, and this stump of a candle

will suffice for your needs; it's all I have in the house."

The young gentleman got up and took the light without replying. The

others followed him, the journeymen taking their bundles up with them

to keep them near their side.

When they got up to the head of the stairs, the student cautioned them

to step very lightly, opened his door, and beckoned them to come in.

"There can now be no doubt," said he, "that she means to betray us. Did

you not notice how anxious she was to have us go to bed, and the means

she took to prevent our remaining awake and together? She probably

thinks that we will go to bed now, and thus play into her hands."

"But do you think that escape is impossible?" asked Felix. "In the

forest one might more reasonably hope for rescue than in this room."

"These windows are also grated," said the student, vainly trying to

wrench out one of the iron bars. "There is but one way by which we can

get out, if we wish to escape, and that is by way of the front door;

but I do not believe that they would let us out."

"We might make the attempt," said the wagoner; "I will see whether I

can get into the yard. If it is possible then I will return for you."

The others assented to this proposal, so the wagoner took off his shoes

and stole on tiptoe to the stair-case, while his companions listened

anxiously from their room. He had got half-way down, safely and

unnoticed, when suddenly a bull-dog rose up before him, placed its paws

on his shoulders, and displayed a gleaming set of teeth right before

his face. He did not dare to step either forward or backward, for at

the least movement the dog would have seized him by the throat. At the

same time the dog began to growl and bark, until the landlady and

hostler appeared with lights.

"Where were you going? What do you want? cried the woman.

"I wanted to fetch something from my cart," answered the wagoner

trembling in every limb; for as the door opened he had caught a glimpse

of several dark suspicious faces of armed men in the room.

"You might have done that before you went upstairs," replied the woman

crossly. "Come here, Fassan! Jacob, lock the yard-gate and light the

man out to his wagon."

The dog drew back his muzzle from the wagoner's face, removed his paws

from the man's shoulders, and lay down once more across the stair-way.

In the meantime the hostler had secured the yard-gate, and now lighted

the wagoner to his cart. An escape was not to be thought of. But when

he came to consider what he should take from his wagon, he recollected

that he had a pound of wax candles that were to be delivered in the

next town. "That short piece of candle won't last more than fifteen

minutes longer," said he to himself, "and yet we must have light!" He

therefore took two wax candles from the wagon, concealed them in his

sleeve, and also took his cloak as an excuse for his errand, telling

the hostler that he needed it for a blanket.

Without further incident he got back to the room upstairs. He told his

companions about the big dog that guarded the stair-case, of the

glimpse he had caught of the armed men, and of all the precautions that

had been taken to prevent their escape; and concluded with a groan: "We

shall not survive the night."

"I don't think that," said the student. "I cannot believe that these

people would be so foolish as to take the lives of four men for the

sake of the few little things we have with us. But we had better not

try to defend ourselves. For my part I shall lose the most; my horse is

already in their hands, and it cost me fifty ducats only four weeks

ago; my purse and my clothes I will give up willingly, for after all my

life is dearer to me than all these."

"You talk sensibly," responded the wagoner. "Such things as you have

can be easily replaced; but I am the messenger from Aschaffenburg, and

have all kinds of goods in my wagon, and in the stable two fine horses,

all I possess in the world."

"I can hardly believe that they would harm you," said the goldsmith;

"the robbery of a messenger would cause an alarm to be given all

through the country. But then I agree with what the young gentleman

said: sooner would I give up every thing I possess, and bind myself

with an oath never to speak of this matter and never to make complaint

against them, than to attempt to defend my little property against

people who have rifles and pistols."

During these words, the wagoner had taken out his wax candles. He stuck

them on the table and lighted them. "Here let us await, in the name of

God, whatever may happen to us," said he; "let us sit down together

again, and banish sleep with stories."

"We will do that," answered the student; "and as the turn came to me

down-stairs, I will now begin."

THE MARBLE HEART.

FIRST PART.

Whoever travels through Suabia should not neglect to take a peep into

the Black Forest; not on account of the trees, although one does not

find every-where such a countless number of magnificent pines, but

because of the inhabitants, between whom and their outlying neighbors

there exists a marked difference. They are taller than ordinary people,

broad-shouldered and strong-limbed. It seems as though the balmy

fragrance exhaled by the pines had given them a freer respiration, a

clearer eye, and a more resolute if somewhat ruder spirit than that

possessed by the inhabitants of the valleys and plains. And not only in

their bearing and size do they differ from other people, but in their

customs and pursuits as well. In that part of the Black Forest included

within the Grand Duchy of Baden, are to be seen the most strikingly

dressed inhabitants of the whole forest. The men let nature have her

own way with their beards; while their black jackets, close-fitting

knee breeches, red stockings, and peaked hats bound with a broad sheaf,

give them a picturesque, yet serious and commanding appearance. Here

the people generally are occupied in the manufacture of glass; they

also make watches and sell them to half the world.

On the other side of the forest formerly dwelt a branch of this same

race; but their employment had given them other customs and manners.

They felled and trimmed their pine trees, rafted the logs down the

Nagold into the Neckar, and from the Upper-Neckar to the Rhine, and

thence far down into Holland, and even at the sea coast these raftsmen

of the Black Forest were known. They stopped on their way down the

rivers at each city that lined the banks, and proudly awaited

purchasers for their logs and boards, but kept their largest and

longest logs to dispose of for a larger sum, to the Mynheers for

shipbuilding purposes. These raftsmen were accustomed to a rough,

wandering life. Their joy was experienced in floating down the streams

on their rafts; their sorrow in the long walk back on the banks. Thus

from the nature of their occupation they required a costume entirely

different from that worn by the glass-makers on the other side of the

Black Forest. They wore jackets of dark linen, over which green

suspenders of a hand-breadth's width crossed over their broad breasts;

black leather knee breeches, from the pockets of which projected brass

foot-rules like badges of honor; but their joy and pride lay in their

boots, the largest perhaps that ever came into vogue in any part of the

world, as they could be drawn up two spans of the hand above the knee,

so that the raftsmen could wade around in a yard of water without

wetting their feet.

Up to quite a recent period, the inhabitants of this forest believed in

spirits of the wood. But it is somewhat singular that the spirits who,

as the legend ran, dwelt in the Black Forest, took sides in these

prevailing fashions. Thus, it was averred that the Little Glass-Man, a

good little spirit, only three-and-a-half feet high, never appeared

otherwise than in a peaked hat with a wide brim, as well as a jacket

and knee breeches and red stockings; whereas, Dutch-Michel, who haunted

the other part of the forest, was a giant-sized broad-shouldered fellow

in the dress of a raftsman, and several people who had seen him,

asserted that they would not care to pay for the hides that would be

used to make him a pair of boots. "And so tall," said they, "that an

ordinary man would not reach to his neck."

With these spirits of the forest, a young man of this region is

reported to have had a strange experience, which I will relate:

There lived in the Black Forest a widow by the name of Frau Barbara

Munkin; her husband had been a charcoal-burner, and after his death she

brought up her son to the same business. Young Peter Munk, a cunning

fellow of sixteen, was much pleased to sit all the week round on his

smoking piles of wood, just as he had seen his father do; or, all black

and sooty as he was, and a scarecrow to the people, he would go down to

the towns to sell his charcoal. But a charcoal-burner has plenty of

time to think about himself and others; and when Peter Munk sat on his

half-burned piles of wood, the dark trees about him and the deep

stillness of the forest disposed him to tears and filled his heart with

nameless longings. Something troubled him, and he could not well make

out what it was. Finally he discovered what it was that had so put him

out of sorts; it was his occupation. "A lonely black charcoal-burner,"

reflected he. "It is a miserable life. How respectable are the

glassmakers, the watchmakers, and even the musicians of a Sunday

evening! And when Peter Munk, cleanly-washed and brushed, appears

dressed in his father's best jacket with silver buttons and with

bran-new red stockings, and when one walks behind me and thinks, Who is

that stylish-looking fellow? and inwardly praises my stockings and my

stately walk--when he passes by me and turns around to look, he is sure

to say to himself: 'Oh, it's only Charcoal Pete!'"

The raftsmen on the other side of the forest also aroused his envy.

When these giants came over among the glass-makers, dressed in their

elegant clothes, wearing at least fifty pounds of silver in buttons,

buckles, and chains, when they looked on at a dance, with legs spread

wide apart, swore in Dutch, and smoked pipes from Cologne three feet

long in the stem, just like any distinguished Mynheer--then was Peter

convinced that such a raftsman was the very picture of a lucky man. And

when these fortunate beings put their hands into their pockets and

drew out whole handfuls of thalers and shook for half a-dozen at a

throw--five guldens here, ten there--then he would nearly lose his

senses, and would steal home to his hut in a very melancholy mood. On

many holiday nights he had seen one or another of these timber

merchants lose more at play than his poor father had ever been able to

earn in a year.

Distinguished above all others were three of these men and Peter was

uncertain which one of them was most wonderful. One was a large heavy

man, with a red face, who passed for the richest man of them all. He

was called Stout Ezekiel. He went down to Amsterdam twice a year with

timber, and always had the good fortune to sell it at so much higher a

price than others could sell theirs, that he could afford to ride back

home in good style, while the others had to return on foot. The second

man of the trio was the lankest and leanest person in the whole forest,

and was called Slim Schlurker. Peter envied him for his audacity; he

contradicted the most respectable people, occupied more room when the

inn was crowded than four of the stoutest, either by spreading his

elbows out on the table, or by stretching his legs out on the bench,

and yet no one dared to interfere with him, for he had an enormous

amount of money. But the third was a handsome young man, who was the

best dancer far and wide, and had, therefore, received the title of

King of the Ball. He had been a poor boy, and had been a servant to one

of the lumber dealers, when he suddenly became very rich. Some said

that he had found a pot of gold under an old pine tree, others asserted

that he had fished up a packet of gold pieces near Bingen on the Rhine,

with the pole with which the raftsmen sometimes speared for fish; and

that the packet was part of the great Nibelungen treasure that lies

buried there. In short, he had suddenly become a rich man, and was

looked upon by young and old with the respect due a prince. Charcoal

Pete often thought of these three men, as he sat so lonely in the

forest of pines. It is true that all three had a common failing that

made them hated by the people; this was their inhuman avarice--their

utter lack of sympathy for the poor and unfortunate; for the

inhabitants of the Black Forest are a kind-hearted people. But you know

how it goes in the world; if they were hated on account of their

avarice, they yet commanded deference by virtue of their money; for who

but they could throw away thalers as if one had only to shake them down

from the pines?

[Illustration]

"I won't stand this much longer," said Peter, dejectedly, to himself

one day; for the day before had been a holiday, and all the people had

been down to the inn. "If I don't make a strike pretty soon, I shall

make away with myself. Oh, if I were only as rich and respectable as

the Stout Ezekiel, or so bold and mighty as the Slim Schlurker, or as

famous and as well able to throw thalers to the fiddlers as the King of

the Ball! Where can the fellow get his money?" He thought over all the

ways by which one could make money, but none of them suited him.

Finally there occurred to him the traditions of people who had become

rich through the aid of Dutch Michel and the Little Glass-Man. During

his father's life-time, other poor people often came to visit them, and

Peter had heard them talk by the hour of rich people and of the way

their riches were acquired. The name of the Little Glass-Man was often

mentioned in these conversations, as one who had helped these rich men

to their wealth; and Peter could almost remember the verse that had to

be spoken at the Tannenbuehl in the centre of the forest in order to

summon him. It ran thus:

"Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,

Bis schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,

Dir gehoert all' Land wo Tannen stehn--"

But strain his memory as he would, he could not recall another line. He

often debated within himself whether he should not ask this or that old

man what the rest of the rhyme was, but was held back by a certain

dread of betraying his thoughts--and then, too, the tradition of the

Glass-Man could not be very widely known, and the rhyme must be known

to but very few, for there were not many rich people in the forest;

and, strangest of all, why had not his father and the other poor people

tried their luck? He finally led his mother into speaking about the

Little Glass-Man; but she only told him what he knew before, and knew

only the first line of the rhyme, although she did add afterwards that

the spirit only showed himself to people who were born on a Sunday

between eleven and two o'clock. In that respect, she told him, he would

fill the requirements, if he could only remember the verse; as he was

born on a Sunday noon.

When Charcoal Pete heard this, he was almost beside himself with joy at

the thought of undertaking this adventure. It appeared to him

sufficient that he knew a part of the verse, and that he was born on a

Sunday; so he thought that the Glass-Man would appear to him.

Therefore, after he had sold his charcoal one day, he did not kindle

any more fires, but put on his father's best jacket, his new red

stockings and his Sunday hat, grasped his black-thorn cane, and bade

good-bye to his mother, saying: "I must go to town on business; we

shall soon have to draw lots again to see who shall serve in the army,

and I will once more call the justice's attention to the fact that I am

the only son of a widow."

His mother commended his resolution, and he started off for

Tannenbuehl. The Tannenbuehl lies on the highest point of the Black

Forest; and within a radius of a two-hours' walk, not a village nor

even a hut was to be found, for the superstitious people held the

Tannenbuehl to be an unsafe place. And tall and splendid as were the

trees in this region, they were now but seldom disturbed by the

woodman's ax; for often when the wood-choppers had ventured in there to

work, the axes had flown from the helves and cut them in the foot, or

the trees had fallen unexpectedly before they could get out of the way,

and had killed and injured many. Then, too, these magnificent trees

could only be sold for firewood, as the raftsmen would never take a

single log from this locality into their rafts, for the tradition was

current among them that both men and rafts would come to grief if they

were to do so. Therefore, it was that the trees of the Tannenbuehl had

been left to grow so thick and tall that it was almost as dark as night

there on the clearest day; and Peter Muck began to feel rather timid

there, for he heard not a voice, not a step save his own, not even the

ring of an ax, while even the birds appeared to shun these dark

shadows.

Charcoal Pete at last reached the highest point of the Tannenbuehl, and

stood before a pine of enormous girth, for which a ship-builder in

Holland would have given many hundred guldens, delivered at his yard.

"Here," thought he, "the Little Glass-Man would be most likely to

live." So he took off his Sunday hat, made a low bow before the tree,

cleared his throat, and said in a trembling voice: "I wish you a very

good afternoon, Mr. Glass-Man." But there was no answer, and every

thing about was as still as before. "Perhaps I have to speak the verse

first," thought he, and mumbled:

"Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,

Bist schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,

Dir gehoert all' Land wo Tannen stehn--"

As he spoke these words, he saw, to his great terror, a very small,

strange figure peep out from behind the great tree. To Peter it seemed

to be the Little Glass-Man, just as he had heard him described: a black

jacket, red stockings, a peaked hat with a broad brim, and a pale but

fine and intelligent little face. But alas, as quickly as the Little

Glass-Man had looked around the tree, so quickly had he disappeared

again. "Mr. Glass-Man," cried Peter Munk after a long pause, "be so

kind as not to make a fool of me. Mr. Glass-Man, if you think I didn't

see you, you are very much mistaken. I saw you very plainly when you

looked around the tree." Still no answer; but occasionally Peter

believed he heard a low, amused chuckle behind the tree. Finally his

impatience conquered the fear that had held him back. "Wait, you little

fellow," cried he; "I will soon catch you." With one leap he sprang

behind the tree, but there was no

"Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,"

and only a small squirrel ran up the tree.

Peter Munk shook his head; he saw that he had the method of conjuration

all right up to a certain point, and that perhaps only another line was

needed to induce the Little Glass-Man to appear. He thought over this

and that, but found nothing to the purpose. The squirrel was to be seen

on the lower branches of the tree, and acted as if it were either

trying to cheer him up or was making sport of him. It smoothed down its

fur, waved its fine bushy tail, and looked at him with intelligent

eyes. But at last he was afraid to remain here alone with this little

creature; for now the squirrel would appear to have a human head and a

three-peaked hat, and then again it would be just like other squirrels,

with the exception of red stockings and black shoes on its hinder legs.

In short, it was a merry creature; but nevertheless Charcoal Pete stood

in dread of it, believing that there was some magic in all this.

Peter left the spot at a much faster pace than he had approached it.

The shadows of the pine wood seemed to deepen, the trees to be taller,

and such terror took possession of him that he broke into a run, and

experienced a sense of security only when he heard dogs barking in the

distance, and saw between the trees the smoke rising from a hut. But

when he came nearer, and perceived the dress worn by the people in the

hut, he found that in his alarm he had taken the wrong direction, and

instead of arriving among the glass-makers, he had come to the

raftsmen. The people who dwelt in the hut were wood-choppers; an old

man, his son, who was the owner of the house, and some grandchildren.

They gave Charcoal Pete a hospitable reception, without asking for his

name and residence; brought him cider to drink, and for supper a large

blackcock, the most tempting dish in the Black Forest, was set on the

table.

After supper the housewife and her daughters gathered, with their

distaffs, around the light which the children fed with the finest

resin; the grandfather, the guest, and the master of the house smoked

and looked at the busy fingers of the women, while the boys were

occupied in cutting out wooden forks and spoons. Out in the forest a

storm was raging; one heard every now and then heavy peals of thunder,

and often it sounded as though entire trees had been snapped off and

crushed together. The fearless children wanted to go out into the

forest to view this wild and beautiful scene; but their grandfather

restrained them by a sharp word and look. "I would not advise any one

to go outside the door," exclaimed he; "he would never come back again,

for Dutch Michel is cutting a fresh link of logs to-night."

The children all stared at him. They might have heard the name of Dutch

Michel mentioned before, but now they begged their grandfather that he

would tell them all about him. And Peter Munk, who had heard Dutch

Michel spoken of on the other side of the forest only in a vague way,

joined in the children's request, and asked the old man who Dutch

Michel was and where he was to be seen. "He is the master of this

forest; and, judging from such an inquiry from a man of your age, you

must live on the other side of the Tannenbuehl, or even farther away,

not to have heard of him. I will tell you what I know about Dutch

Michel, and the stories that are circulated regarding him:

"About a hundred years ago--at least so my ancestors said--there was

not a more honorable race of people on the face of the earth than the

inhabitants of the Black Forest. But now, since so much money has come

into the country, the people are dishonest and wicked; the young

fellows dance and sing on Sunday, and swear most terribly. But at the

time of which I speak there was a very different state of things; and

even though Dutch Michel is looking in at the window now, I say, just

as I have often said before, that he is to blame for all this woful

change. There lived a hundred years or more ago, a rich timber

merchant, who employed a large number of men. He traded far down the

Rhine, and his business prospered, as he was a God-fearing man. One

evening a man came to his door, the like of whom he had never seen

before. His clothing did not differ from that of the Black Forest

workingmen, but he was a good head taller than any of them, and it had

not been believed that such a giant existed any where. He asked for

work, and the timber merchant, seeing that he was strong and so well

adapted to carrying heavy loads, made a bargain with him. Michel was a

workman such as this man had never had before. As a wood-chopper he was

the equal of any other three men; and he would carry one end of a tree

which required six men to carry the other end.

"But after cutting trees for six months, he went to his employer and

said: 'I have cut wood here long enough now, and should like to see

where my tree-trunks go to; so how would it do if you were to let me go

down on the rafts?' The timber merchant replied: 'I will not stand in

the way of your seeing a little of the world, Michel. To be sure, I

need strong men to fell the trees, while on the raft more cleverness is

required; but it shall be as you wish for this time.'

"The raft on which he was to go, consisted of eight sections, the last

of which was made up of the largest timbers. But what do you think

happened? On the evening before they started, the tall Michel brought

eight more logs to the water, thicker and longer than any that had ever

been seen before, and each one he had carried as lightly on his

shoulder as if it were simply a raft pole, so that all were amazed.

Where he had cut them remains a mystery to-day. The heart of the timber

merchant rejoiced as he saw them, and began to reckon up what they

might be worth; but Michel said: 'There, those are for me to travel on.

I shouldn't get very far on those other chips.' His master, by way of

thanks, presented him with a pair of high boots; but Michel threw them

aside, and produced a pair that my grandfather assured me weighed a

hundred pounds and stood five feet high.

[Illustration]

"The raft was started off, and if Michel had astonished the

wood-choppers before, it was now the turn of the raftsmen to be

surprised; for instead of the float going more slowly down the stream,

as had been expected on account of these enormous logs, as soon as they

touched the Neckar they flew down the river with the speed of an arrow.

If they came to a curve in the Neckar, that had usually given the

raftsmen much trouble to keep the raft in the middle of the stream and

prevent it from grounding on the gravel or sand, Michel would spring

into the water and push the raft to the right or the left, so that it

passed by without accident. But if they came to a stand-still, he would

run forward to the first section, have all the other men throw down

their poles, stick his own enormous beam into the gravel, and with a

single push the float flew down the river at such a rate that the land

and trees and villages seemed to be running away from them.

"Thus in half the time usually consumed, they reached Cologne on the

Rhine, where they had been accustomed to sell their float. But here

Michel spoke up once more: 'You seem to be merchants who understand

your own interests. Do you then think that the people of Cologne use

all this timber that comes from the Black Forest? No, they buy it of

you at half its cost, and sell it to Holland merchants at an immense

advance. Let us sell the smaller logs here, and take the larger ones

down to Holland; what we receive above the usual price will be our own

gain.'

"Thus spake the crafty Michel, and the others were content to do as he

advised--some because they had a desire to see Holland, and others on

account of the money they would pocket. Only one of the men was honest,

and tried to dissuade his companions from exposing their master's

property to further risks, or to cheat him out of the higher price they

might receive; but they would not listen to him, and forgot his words.

Dutch Michel, however, did not forget them. They continued on down the

Rhine, and Michel conducted the raft and soon brought it to Rotterdam.

There they were offered four times the former price, and the enormous

logs that Michel had brought sold for a large sum. When these raftsmen

found themselves the possessors of so much money, they could hardly

contain themselves for joy. Michel made the division, one part for the

timber merchant and the three others among the men. And now they

frequented the taverns with sailors and other low associates, gambled

and threw away their money; but the brave man who had advised against

their going to Holland was sold to a slave-dealer by Dutch Michel, and

was never again heard of. From that time forth Holland was the paradise

of the raftsmen of the Black Forest, and Dutch Michel was their king.

The timber merchants did not learn of the swindle practiced on them for

some time; and money, oaths, bad manners, drunkenness and gambling were

gradually imported from Holland unnoticed.

"When the story of these doings came out, Dutch Michel was nowhere to

be found. But he is not by any means dead. For a hundred years he has

carried on his ghostly deeds in the forest, and it is said that he has

been the means of enriching many; but at the cost of their souls. How

that may be, I will not say; but this much is certain: that on these

stormy nights he picks out the finest trees in the Tannenbuehl, where

none dare to chop, and my father once saw him break off a tree four

feet thick as easily as if it had been a reed. He makes a present of

these trees to those who will turn from the right and follow him; then

at midnight they bring down these logs to the river, and he goes with

his followers down to Holland. But if I were the King of Holland, I

would have him blown to pieces with grape-shot; for every ship that has

in it any of Dutch Michel's timber, even if it be only a single stick,

must go to the bottom. This is the cause of all the shipwrecks we hear

of; for how else could a fine strong ship, as large as a church, be

destroyed on the water? And whenever Dutch Michel fells a pine in the

Black Forest on a stormy night, one of his timbers springs from a

ship's side, the water rushes in, and the ship is lost with all her

crew. Such is the legend of Dutch Michel; and it is sure that all that

is bad in the Black Forest may be ascribed to him. But oh, he can make

one rich!" added the old man mysteriously; "yet I wouldn't have any

thing to do with him--I would not for any money stand in the shoes of

the Stout Ezekiel or in those of the Slim Schlurker; and the King of

the Ball is reported to belong to him also."

During the recital of the old man's story, the storm had ceased. The

girls now timidly lighted their lamps and went off to bed; while the

man gave Peter a bag of leaves for a pillow on the settee, and wished

him goodnight.

Never before did Charcoal Pete have such dreams as on this night. Now

the sullen giant, Dutch Michel, would raise the window and hold out

before him with his enormously long arm a purse full of gold pieces,

which he chincked together; then he would see the good-natured Little

Glass-Man riding about the room on a monstrous green bottle, and he

could hear his merry laugh just as it sounded in the Tannenbuehl; then

again there was hummed into his left ear:

"In Holland there is gold;

You can have it if you will

For very little pay;

Gold, Gold!"

then in his right ear he heard the song of the "Schatzhauser im gruenen

Tannenwald," and a soft voice whispered: "Stupid Charcoal Pete! stupid

Peter Munk can't think of any thing to rhyme with _stehen_, and yet was

born on Sunday at twelve o'clock. Rhyme, stupid Peter, rhyme!"

He sighed and groaned in his sleep. He tried his best to think of a

rhyme for that word; but as he had never made a rhyme in his life, all

his efforts in his dream were fruitless. But on awaking with the early

dawn, his dream recurred to his mind. He sat himself down behind the

table with folded arms, and thought over the whispers he could still

hear. "Rhyme, stupid Charcoal Pete, rhyme," said he to himself,

meanwhile tapping his forehead with his finger; but the rhyme would not

come forth at his bidding.

While he was sitting thus, looking sadly before him with his mind

intent on a rhyme for _stehen_, three fellows passed by the house, one

of whom was singing:

"Am Berge that ich stehen

Und schaute in das Thal,

Da hab' ich sie gesehen

Zum allerletzten Mal."

That struck Peter's ear instantly, and springing up he rushed hastily

out of the house, ran after the three men, and seized the singer

roughly by the arm. "Stop, friend," cried he, "what was your rhyme for

_stehen_? Be so kind as to recite what you sang."

"What's the trouble with you, young fellow?" retorted the singer. "I

can sing what I please, so let go of my arm, or----"

"No, you must tell me what you sang!" shouted Peter, taking a firmer

grip on his arm. The two others did not hesitate long on seeing this

but fell upon Peter with their hard fists and gave him such a beating

that he was forced to let go his hold on the first man and sank

exhausted to his knees. "You have got your share now," said they

laughing, "and mind you, stupid fellow, never to jump upon people again

on the highway."

"Oh, I will surely take care!" replied Charcoal Pete sighing; "but now

that I have had the blows, be so good as to tell me plainly what it was

that man sang."

They began to laugh again, and made sport of him; but the one who had

sung the song repeated it to him, and laughing and singing they

continued on their way.

"Also _gesehen_," said the beaten one, as he raised himself up with

some difficulty; "_gesehen_ rhymes with _stehen_. Now then, Little

Glass-Man, we will speak a word together." He went back to the hut,

took his hat and stick, and bade farewell to the inmates of the hut,

and started on his way back to the Tannenbuehl.

He walked on slowly and thoughtfully, for he had a line to make up;

finally as he came into the neighborhood of the Tannenbuehl, and the

pines grew taller and thicker, he had completed the verse, and in his

joy made a leap into the air. Just then appeared a man of giant size,

who held in his hand a pole as long as a ship's mast. Peter's courage

failed him as he saw this giant walking along very slowly near him;

for, thought he, that is none other than Dutch Michel. But the giant

remained silent, and Peter occasionally took a half-frightened look at

him. He was fully a head taller than the largest man Peter had ever

seen; his face was neither young nor old, and yet full of lines; he

wore a linen jacket, and the enormous boots drawn over the leather

breeches, Peter recognized from the legend he had heard the night

before.

"Peter Munk, what are you doing in the Tannenbuehl?" inquired the King

of the Wood, in a deep threatening voice.

"Good morning, neighbor," replied Peter, with an effort to hide his

uneasiness: "I was going back home through the Tannenbuehl."

"Peter Munk," returned the giant, darting a piercing look at him, "your

way does not lie through this grove."

"Well, no, not directly," said Peter; "but it is warm to-day, and I

thought it would be cooler up here."

"Don't tell a lie. Charcoal Pete!" cried Dutch Michel, in a voice of

thunder, "or I will beat you to the ground with my pole. Do you think I

didn't hear you pleading with the Little Glass-Man?" continued he more

gently. "Come, come, that was a foolish thing to do, and it is

fortunate that you did not know that verse; he is a niggard, the little

churl, and doesn't give much, and those to whom he does give don't

enjoy life very much. Peter, you are a poor simpleton, and it grieves

me to the soul to see such a lively, handsome fellow, who might do

something in the world, burning charcoal. While others are throwing

about great thalers or ducats, you can hardly raise a sixpence: 'tis a

miserable life."

"That's all true, and you are right; it is a miserable life."

"Well, I shouldn't mind giving you a lift," continued the terrible

Michel. "I have already helped many a brave fellow out of his misery,

so you would not be the first. Speak up, now; how many hundred thalers

do you want to start with?"

With these words, he shook the gold pieces in his immense pocket, and

they jingled as Peter had heard them last night in his dream. His heart

beat wildly and painfully; he was warm and cold by turns, and Dutch

Michel did not look as if he was in the habit of giving away money in

compassion without receiving something in return. The mysterious words

of the old man in the hut recurred to his mind, and driven by

unaccountable anxiety and terror, he cried: "Best thanks, master; but I

won't have any dealings with you, for I know you too well," and ran off

at the top of his speed.

But Dutch Michel strode after him muttering in a hollow, threatening

voice: "You will regret it, Peter; it is written on your forehead and

can be read in your eye, you will not escape me. Don't run so fast;

listen to just one word of reason. There is my boundary line now." But

when Peter heard this, and saw not far ahead of him a small trench, he

increased his speed in order to get beyond the line, so that Michel,

too, had to run much faster and followed him with curses and threats.

The young man made a desperate leap over the trench, as he saw Dutch

Michel raise his pole to destroy him. He landed safely on the other

side, and saw the pole shattered in the air as though it had struck an

invisible wall, and a long splinter fell at Peter's feet. He picked it

up triumphantly with the intention of hurling it back at Michel; but at

that moment he felt it moving in his hand, and discovered, to his

horror, that it was an enormous snake, which with darting tongue and

glistening eyes reared its head to strike at him. He let go his hold,

but the reptile had coiled itself tightly about his arm, and its fangs

were already close to his face, when of a sudden a blackcock swooped

down, seized the snake's head in its bill and flew up into the air with

its prey, while Dutch Michel, who had seen all this from the boundary

line, howled and stormed as the snake was carried off by its more

powerful enemy.

Trembling and staggering, Peter continued on his way. The path became

steeper, the region wilder, and soon he found himself at the base of

the large pine tree. He made his obeisance as yesterday to the

invisible Little Glass-Man, and then recited his verse:

"Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,

Bist schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,

Dein is all' Land, wo Tannen stehen,

Laesst Dich nur Sonntagskindern sehn."

"You haven't quite hit it, but seeing it's you, Charcoal Pete, we'll

let it pass," said a low soft voice near him. He looked around him in

surprise, and beneath a splendid pine sat a little old man, dressed in

a black jacket and red stockings, with a large hat on his head. He had

a delicate, pleasing face, and a beard as fine as a spider's web. He

smoked from a pipe of blue glass; and on approaching nearer, Peter saw,

to his astonishment, that the clothing, shoes, and hat of the little

man were all made of colored glass, but it was as flexible as though

still hot, for it bent like cloth with every movement of the little

man.

"You have met that churl, Dutch Michel?" said the little man, coughing

peculiarly after every word. "He meant to scare you badly; but I have

taken away his magic pole and he will never recover it again."

"Yes, Mr. Schatzhauser," replied Peter, with a low bow. "I was in a

pretty bad fix. Then you must have been the blackcock who killed the

snake! My best thanks for your kindness. But I have come here to

counsel with you. Things are in a bad way with me; a charcoal burner

doesn't get ahead any, and as I am still young I thought that perhaps

something better might be made out of me. When I look at others, I see

how they have progressed in a short time--the stout Ezekiel for

instance, and the King of the Ball; they have money like hay."

"Peter," said the little man, gravely blowing the smoke from his pipe

to a great distance, "do not talk to me in that way. How much would you

be benefitted by being apparently happy for a few years, only to be

still more unhappy afterwards? You must not despise your calling; your

father and grandfather were honorable people, and followed the same

pursuit. Peter Munk! I will not think that it is laziness that brings

you to me."

Peter shrank back before the earnestness of the little man, and

reddened. "Idleness, Herr Schatzhauser im Tannenwald, is, I well know,

the beginning of all burdens; but you should not think poorly of me for

desiring to better my condition, A charcoal burner is of very little

account in the world, while the glass-makers and raftsmen and

watchmakers are all respectable."

"Pride often comes before a fall," replied the master of the pine wood,

in a more friendly manner. "You mortals are a strange race. Seldom is

one of you contented with the lot to which he was born and brought up.

And what would be the result of your becoming a glass-maker? You would

then want to be a timber merchant; and if you were a timber merchant,

the life of the ranger or the magistrate's dwelling would seem more

attractive still. But it shall be as you wish, provided you promise to

work hard. I am accustomed to grant every Sunday child who knows how to

find me three wishes; the first two are free, the third I can set aside

if it is a foolish one. So announce your wishes, Peter, but let them be

something good and useful."

"Hurrah! You are an excellent Little Glass-Man, and you are rightly

called Schatzhauser, for with you the treasures are always at home.

Well, if I am at liberty to wish for what my heart longs, my first wish

shall be that I could dance better than the King of the Ball, and that

I had as much money in my pocket as the Stout Ezekiel."

[Illustration]

"You fool!" exclaimed the little man scornfully; "What a pitiful wish

is that, to dance well and have money to gamble with! Are you not

ashamed, stupid Peter, to fool away your chance in such a fashion? Of

what use will your dancing be to you and your poor mother? Of what use

will money be to you, when, as can be seen from your wish, it is

destined for the tavern, and like that of the miserable King of the

Ball, will remain there? Then you would have nothing for the rest of

the week, and will suffer want as before. I will give you another wish

free; but look to it that you choose more intelligently?"

Peter scratched his head, and said, after some hesitation: "Well, I

wish for the most beautiful and costly glass-works in the whole Black

Forest, together with suitable belongings for it, and money to keep it

going."

"Nothing else?" inquired the little man in an apprehensive manner;

"nothing else, Peter?"

"Well, you might add a horse and carriage to all this."

"Oh, you stupid Charcoal Pete!" cried the little man, and threw his

glass pipe in a fit of anger at a large pine tree, so that it broke

into a hundred pieces. "Horses? Wagons? Intellect, I tell you,

intellect, a sound human understanding and foresight, you should have

wished for, and not horses and wagons. Well, don't look so sad; we will

see that you don't come to much harm by it, for your second wish was

not such a bad one. Glass-works will support both man and master; and

if you had wished for foresight and understanding with it, wagons and

horses would have followed as a matter of course."

"But, Herr Schatzhauser," returned Peter, "I have one more wish left,

and if you think that intellect is such a desirable thing, why, I might

wish for it now."

"Not so. You will get into many difficulties when you will rejoice that

you still have one wish left. And so you had better now start on your

way home. Here," said the little man, drawing a purse from his pocket,

"are two thousand guldens, and it should be enough, so don't come

back to me begging for more money, or I should have to hang you up

to the highest pine tree. Three days ago old Winkfritz, who had the

glass-works in the valley, died. Go there to-morrow early, and make a

suitable bid for the business. Conduct yourself well, be diligent, and

I will visit you occasionally and assist you with word and deed, as you

did not wish for understanding. But--and I say this to you in all

seriousness--your first wish was a bad one. Take care, Peter, how you

run to the tavern; no one ever received any good thereby."

While thus speaking, the little man had produced a second pipe of

alabaster glass, filled it with crushed pine cones, and lighted it by

holding a large burning-glass in the sun. When he had done this, he

shook Peter's hand in a friendly manner, accompanied him a short

distance on his way, giving him some valuable advice, meanwhile blowing

out thicker and thicker volumes of smoke, and finally disappearing in a

cloud of smoke, that, as if from genuine Dutch tobacco, curled slowly

about the tops of the pine trees.

When Peter arrived at home, he found his mother in a state of great

alarm about him, for the good woman could believe nothing else but that

her son had been drawn as a soldier. He, however, was in a very happy

mood, and told her how he had met a good friend in the forest, who had

advanced him money to undertake a better business than that of charcoal

burning. Although his mother had lived in this hut for thirty years,

and was as much accustomed to the sight of sooty faces as every

miller's wife is to the flour on her husband's face, yet she was vain

enough when Peter held out the prospect of a more brilliant life, to

despise her early condition, and said: "Yes, as mother of a man who

owns the glassworks, I am somewhat better than neighbor Grete and Bete,

and for the future I shall take a front seat in the church among

respectable people."

Peter soon concluded a bargain with the heirs for the glass-works. He

retained the workmen whom he found there, and made glass by day and

night. In the beginning he was much pleased with the business. He was

accustomed to walk proudly about the works, with his hands in his

pockets, looking into this and that, advising here and there, over

which his workmen laughed not a little; but his great delight was to

see the glass blown, and he often attempted this work himself, forming

the most singular shapes out of the molten mass. But before long he

tired of the business, and spent only an hour a day at the works; then

only an hour in two days, and finally he went only once a week, so that

his workmen did what they pleased.

All this resulted from his visits to the tavern. The Sunday after he

had met the little man in the wood, he went to the tavern, and found

the King of the Ball already leading the dance, while the Stout Ezekiel

was sitting down to his glass and shaking dice for crown-thalers. Peter

put his hand in his pocket to see if the Little Glass-Man had kept

faith with him, and behold, his pockets were bulged out with silver and

gold. His legs, too, began to twitch and move as though they were about

to dance and leap; and when the first dance was over, he placed himself

with his partner opposite, near the King of the Ball, and if this man

sprang three feet high, Peter would fly up four, and if the other

accomplished wonderfully intricate steps, Peter would throw out his

legs in such a marvelous style that all present were beside themselves

with delight and amazement. But as soon as it was known that Peter had

bought a glass-factory, and as the dancers saw him tossing sixpences to

the musicians every time he passed them in the dance, their

astonishment knew no bounds. Some thought he must have found treasure

in the forest; others, that he had inherited an estate; but all

deferred to him and looked upon him as a great man, simply because he

had money. On the same evening he lost twenty guldens at play; and

still the coins chinked in his pocket as though there were still a

hundred guldens there.

When Peter saw how important a person he had become, he could not

contain himself for joy and pride He threw his money right and left,

and divided it generously among the poor, remembering how sorely

poverty pressed on him. The skill of the King of the Ball was brought

to shame by the supernatural art of the new dancer, and Peter was

dubbed Emperor of the Ball. The most adventurous gamblers of a Sunday

did not risk as much as he; but neither did they lose as much. And yet

the more he lost the more he won. This happened through the agency of

the Little Glass-Man. He had wished always to have as much money in his

pocket as the Stout Ezekiel had in his; and the latter was the very man

to whom Peter lost his money. And when he lost twenty or thirty guldens

at a throw, he had just as many more when Ezekiel pocketed them.

By degrees, however, he got deeper into gambling and drinking than the

worst topers in the Black Forest, so that he was oftener called Gambler

Pete than Emperor of the Ball, for he played now nearly every work-day

as well. Hence it was that his business was soon ruined, and Peter's

lack of understanding was to blame for it. He had as much glass made as

the works could possibly produce; but he had not bought with the

business the secret of how to dispose of the glass. He did not know

what in the world to do with his stock, and finally sold it to peddlers

at half the cost price, in order to pay the men's wages.

One evening he was returning home as usual from the tavern, and in

spite of the wine he had drunk in order to make himself merry, he

reflected with terror and anguish on the ruin of his glass-works

business, when suddenly he felt conscious that some one was walking at

his side. He turned around and, behold, it was the Little Glass-Man. At

once Peter fell into a passion, and protested with high and boastful

words that the little man was to blame for his misfortunes.

"What do I want now with a horse and wagon?" cried he. "Of what use is

the glass-foundry and all my glass? Even when I was a poor charcoal

burner, I was far happier, and had no cares. Now I do not know how soon

the magistrate will come and seize my property for debt!"

"Indeed?" replied the Little Glass-Man, "indeed? I should bear the

blame for your misfortunes? Is this your gratitude for what I have done

for you? Who advised you to wish so foolishly? You were bound to be a

glass-manufacturer, and yet did not know where to sell your wares.

Didn't I caution you to wish wisely? Judgment, Peter, and wisdom, you

were lacking in."

"What do you mean by judgment and wisdom?" demanded Peter. "I am as

wise a man as any body. Little Glass-Man, and will prove it to you."

With these words he seized the Little Glass-Man violently by the neck,

shouting: "Now I have you, Schatzhauser im gruennen Tannenwald! and now

I will make my third wish, which you must grant me. I want right here

on the spot two hundred thousand thalers, and a house and----oh dear!"

shrieked he, as he wrung his hands, for the Little Glass-Man had

transformed himself into a glowing glass that burned his hand like

flaming fire. And nothing more was to be seen of the little man.

For many days Peter's blistered hand reminded him of his folly and

ingratitude; but when his hand healed his conscience became deadened,

and he said: "Even if my glass-works and every thing I have should be

sold, I still have the Stout Ezekiel to fall back on. As long as he has

money of a Sunday I shall not want for it."

True, Peter! But if he should have none? And this very thing happened

one day. For one Sunday Peter came down to the tavern, and the people

stretched their necks out of the window, one saying, "There comes

Gambler Pete!" and another, "Yes, the Emperor of the Ball, the

rich glass-manufacturer!" while a third one shook his head, saying,

"Every-where his debts are spoken of, and in the town it is said

that the magistrate will not be put off much longer from seizing his

glass-works." The rich Peter greeted the guests at the window politely

as he stepped out of his wagon, and called out: "Good evening,

landlord! has the Stout Ezekiel come yet?" And a deep voice replied:

"Come right in, Peter. We have already set down to the cards, and have

kept a place for you." So Peter entered the public room, put his hand

into his pocket and found that the Stout Ezekiel must be pretty well

provided with money, for his own pocket was crammed full.