Poor little Gluck waited very anxiously alone in the house for Hans's
return. Finding he did not come back, he was terribly frightened, and
went and told Schwartz in the prison all that had happened. Then
Schwartz was very much pleased, and said that Hans must certainly have
been turned into a black stone, and he should have all the gold to
himself. But Gluck was very sorry, and cried all night. When he got up
in the morning, there was no bread in the house, nor any money; so
Gluck went and hired himself to another goldsmith, and he worked so
hard, and so neatly, and so long every day, that he soon got money
enough together to pay his brother's fine, and he went and gave it all
to Schwartz, and Schwartz got out of prison. Then Schwartz was quite
pleased, and said he should have some of the gold of the river. But
Gluck only begged he would go and see what had become of Hans.
Now when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the holy water, he
thought to himself that such a proceeding might not be considered
altogether correct by the King of the Golden River, and determined to
manage matters better. So he took some more of Gluck's money, and went
to a bad priest, who gave him some holy water very readily for it. Then
Schwartz was sure it was all quite right. So Schwartz got up early in
the morning before the sun rose, and took some bread and wine in a
basket, and put his holy water in a flask, and set off for the
mountains. Like his brother, he was much surprised at the sight of the
glacier, and had great difficulty in crossing it, even after leaving
his basket behind him. The day was cloudless, but not bright: a heavy
purple haze was hanging over the sky, and the hills looked lowering and
gloomy. And as Schwartz climbed the steep rock path, the thirst came
upon him, as it had upon his brother, until he lifted his flask to his
lips to drink. Then he saw the fair child lying near him on the rocks,
and it cried to him, and moaned for water.
"Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I haven't half enough for myself," and
passed on. And as he went he thought the sunbeams grew more dim, and he
saw a low bank of black cloud rising out of the west; and, when he had
climbed for another hour, the thirst overcame him again, and he would
have drunk. Then he saw the old man lying before him on the path, and
heard him cry out for water. "Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I haven't
half enough for myself," and on he went.
Then again the light seemed to fade from before his eyes, and he looked
up, and, behold, a mist, of the color of blood, had come over the sun;
and the bank of black cloud had risen very high, and its edges were
tossing and tumbling like the waves of the angry sea. And they cast
long shadows, which flickered over Schwartz's path.
Then Schwartz climbed for another hour, and again his thirst returned;
and as he lifted his flask to his lips, he thought he saw his brother
Hans lying exhausted on the path before him, and, as he gazed, the
figure stretched its arms to him, and cried for water. "Ha, ha,"
laughed Schwartz, "are you there? Remember the prison bars, my boy.
Water, indeed! do you suppose I carried it all the way up here for
_you_?" And he strode over the figure; yet, as he passed, he thought he
saw a strange expression of mockery about its lips. And, when he had
gone a few yards farther, he looked back; but the figure was not there.
And a sudden horror came over Schwartz, he knew not why; but the thirst
for gold prevailed over his fear, and he rushed on. And the bank of
black cloud rose to the zenith, and out of it came bursts of spiry
lightning, and waves of darkness seemed to heave and float between
their flashes, over the whole heavens. And the sky where the sun was
setting was all level, and like a lake of blood; and a strong wind came
out of that sky, tearing its crimson clouds into fragments, and
scattering them far into the darkness. And when Schwartz stood by the
brink of the Golden River, its waves were black like thunderclouds, but
their foam was like fire; and the roar of the waters below and the
thunder above met, as he cast the flask into the stream. And, as he did
so, the lightning glared in his eyes, and the earth gave way beneath
him, and the waters closed over his cry. And the moaning of the river
rose wildly into the night, as it gushed over the