Southwest Wind, Esquire, was as good as his word. After the momentous
visit above related, he entered the Treasure Valley no more; and, what
was worse, he had so much influence with his relations, the West Winds
in general, and used it so effectually, that they all adopted a similar
line of conduct. So no rain fell in the valley from one year's end to
another. Though everything remained green and flourishing in the plains
below, the inheritance of the Three Brothers was a desert. What had
once been the richest soil in the kingdom became a shifting heap of red
sand; and the brothers, unable longer to contend with the adverse
skies, abandoned their valueless patrimony in despair, to seek some
means of gaining a livelihood among the cities and people of the
plains. All their money was gone, and they had nothing left but some
curious, old-fashioned pieces of gold plate, the last remnants of their
ill-gotten wealth.
"Suppose we turn goldsmiths?" said Schwartz to Hans, as they entered
the large city. "It is a good knave's trade; we can put a great deal of
copper into the gold, without any one's finding it out."
The thought was agreed to be a very good one; they hired a furnace, and
turned goldsmiths. But two slight circumstances affected their trade:
the first, that people did not approve of the coppered gold; the
second, that the two elder brothers, whenever they had sold anything,
used to leave little Gluck to mind the furnace, and go and drink out
the money in the ale-house next door. So they melted all their gold,
without making money enough to buy more, and were at last reduced to
one large drinking-mug, which an uncle of his had given to little
Gluck, and which he was very fond of, and would not have parted with
for the world; though he never drank anything out of it but milk and
water. The mug was a very odd mug to look at. The handle was formed of
two wreaths of flowing golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more
like silk than like metal, and these wreaths descended into, and mixed
with, a beard and whiskers, of the same exquisite workmanship, which
surrounded and decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold
imaginable, right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it
which seemed to command its whole circumference. It was impossible to
drink out of the mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of
the side of these eyes; and Schwartz positively averred that once,
after emptying it full of Rhenish seventeen times, he had seen them
wink! When it came to the mug's turn to be made into spoons, it half
broke poor little Gluck's heart; but the brothers only laughed at him,
tossed the mug into the melting-pot, and staggered out to the
ale-house; leaving him, as usual, to pour the gold into bars, when it
was all ready.
When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in
the melting-pot. The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained but
the red nose, and the sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than
ever. "And no wonder," thought Gluck, "after being treated in that
way." He sauntered disconsolately to the window, and sat himself down
to catch the fresh evening air, and escape the hot breath of the
furnace. Now this window commanded a direct view of the range of
mountains, which, as I told you before, overhung the Treasure Valley,
and more especially of the peak from which fell the Golden River. It
was just at the close of the day, and, when Gluck sat down at the
window, he saw the rocks of the mountain-tops, all crimson and purple
with the sunset; and there were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning
and quivering about them; and the river, brighter than all, fell, in a
waving column of pure gold, from precipice to precipice, with the
double arch of a broad purple rainbow stretched across it, flushing and
fading alternately in the wreaths of spray.
"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a little while,
"if that river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be!"
"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear, metallic voice, close at his
ear.
"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobody
there. He looked round the room, and under the table, and a great many
times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat down
again at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help
thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were
really all gold.
"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.
"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what _is_ that?" He looked again into
all the corners and cupboards, and then began turning round and round,
as fast as he could, in the middle of the room, thinking there was
somebody behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It
was singing now very merrily "Lala-lira-la"; no words, only a soft
running effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the
boil. Gluck looked out of the window. No, it was certainly in the
house. Up stairs, and down stairs. No, it was certainly in that very
room, coming in quicker time and clearer notes every moment.
"Lala-lira-la." All at once it struck Gluck that it sounded louder near
the furnace. He ran to the opening and looked in; yes, he saw right, it
seemed to be coming, not only out of the furnace, but out of the pot.
He uncovered it, and ran back in a great fright, for the pot was
certainly singing! He stood in the farthest corner of the room, with
his hands up, and his mouth open, for a minute or two, when the singing
stopped, and the voice became clear and pronunciative.
"Hollo!" said the voice.
Gluck made no answer.
"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.
Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible,
drew it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all melted, and
its surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of its
reflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in, he saw meeting his
glance, from beneath the gold, the red nose and the sharp eyes of his
old friend of the mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he
had seen them in his life.
"Come, Gluck, my boy," said the voice out of the pot again, "I'm all
right; pour me out."
But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind.
"Pour me out, I say," said the voice, rather gruffly.
Still Gluck couldn't move.
"_Will_ you pour me out?" said the voice, passionately. "I'm too hot."
By a violent effort, Gluck recovered the use of his limbs, took hold of
the crucible, and sloped it so as to pour out the gold. But instead of
a liquid stream, there came out, first, a pair of pretty little yellow
legs, then some coat-tails, then a pair of arms stuck akimbo, and,
finally, the well-known head of his friend the mug; all which articles,
uniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor, in the
shape of a little golden dwarf, about a foot and a half high.
"That's right!" said the dwarf, stretching out first his legs, and then
his arms, and then shaking his head up and down, and as far round as it
would go, for five minutes, without stopping; apparently with the view
of ascertaining if he were quite correctly put together, while Gluck
stood contemplating him in speechless amazement. He was dressed in a
slashed doublet of spun gold, so fine in its texture that the prismatic
colors gleamed over it, as if on a surface of mother-of-pearl; and over
this brilliant doublet his hair and beard fell full half-way to the
ground, in waving curls, so exquisitely delicate, that Gluck could
hardly tell where they ended; they seemed to melt into air. The
features of the face, however, were by no means finished with the same
delicacy; they were rather coarse, slightly inclining to coppery in
complexion, and indicative, in expression, of a very pertinacious and
intractable disposition in their small proprietor. When the dwarf had
finished his self-examination, he turned his small, sharp eyes full on
Gluck, and stared at him deliberately for a minute or two. "No, it
wouldn't, Gluck, my boy," said the little man.
This was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected mode of commencing
conversation. It might indeed be supposed to refer to the course of
Gluck's thoughts, which had first produced the dwarf's observations out
of the pot; but whatever it referred to, Gluck had no inclination to
dispute the dictum.
"Wouldn't it, sir?" said Gluck, very mildly and submissively indeed.
"No," said the dwarf, conclusively. "No, it wouldn't." And with that,
the dwarf pulled his cap hard over his brows, and took two turns of
three feet long, up and down the room, lifting his legs very high, and
setting them down very hard. This pause gave time for Gluck to collect
his thoughts a little, and, seeing no great reason to view his
diminutive visitor with dread, and feeling his curiosity overcome his
amazement, he ventured on a question of peculiar delicacy.
"Pray, sir," said Gluck rather hesitatingly, "were you my mug?"
On which the little man turned sharp round, walked straight up to
Gluck, and drew himself up to his full height. "I," said the little
man, "am the King of the Golden River." Whereupon he turned about
again, and took two more turns, some six feet long, in order to allow
time for the consternation which this announcement produced in his
auditor to evaporate. After which he again walked up to Gluck and stood
still, as if expecting some comment on his communication.
Gluck determined to say something, at all events. "I hope your Majesty
is very well," said Gluck.
"Listen!" said the little man, deigning no reply to this polite
inquiry. "I am the King of what you mortals call the Golden River. The
shape you saw me in was owing to the malice of a stronger king, from
whose enchantments you have this instant freed me. What I have seen of
you, and your conduct to your wicked brothers, renders me willing to
serve you; therefore attend to what I tell you. Whoever shall climb to
the top of that mountain from which you see the Golden River issue, and
shall cast into the stream at its source three drops of holy water, for
him, and for him only, the river shall turn to gold. But no one failing
in his first, can succeed in a second attempt; and if any one shall
cast unholy water into the river, it will overwhelm him, and he will
become a black stone." So saying, the King of the Golden River turned
away, and deliberately walked into the centre of the hottest flame of
the furnace. His figure became red, white, transparent, dazzling,--a
blaze of intense light,--rose, trembled, and disappeared. The King of
the Golden River had evaporated.
"Oh!" cried poor Gluck, running to look up the chimney after him; "O
dear, dear, dear me! My mug! my mug! my mug!"